Imagine the perfect winter postcard: pure white snow, an untouched blanket of frost beneath a crystalline blue sky. Now, drop into that serene image one college kid—yep, that's me. Age 19, ordinary computer science major by day, and now, comically underdressed in a t-shirt and jeans in what seems to be the middle of a frozen fantasy forest. The kicker? Face off against a literal giant—a snarling, bear-like monster that's as tall as a two-story house.

I bet you're asking yourself, "How did this average Joe end up there, shivering in a t-shirt, squaring off with a monster straight out of a nightmare?" It's the kind of question that makes you want to hit pause and rewind to the beginning of the story. So, let's do just that. Let's zip back a few hours to when I was just a regular student, living an utterly regular life—that is until this very irregular chapter started.

My name's Damian, and I'm the proverbial black sheep of the Mazur family. Picture a household with siblings who could easily be poster children for success. My sister was on the express train to the medical profession, practically juggling internships and dissertations in her sleep. My brother, a science whiz, had already made headway in high school, carving out a name for himself in science fairs, not to mention his trophies in track and field. Then there was me. I liked computers. Programming was my jam, and the horizon of artificial intelligence was my daydream. Compared to my family's résumé of achievements, mine were humble: Lazy? Check. Not quite an academic titan? Embarrassingly so. Nerd credentials? I had those in spades.

Despite all of that, I had my heart set on computers. I was betting on a future with these machines despite the world insisting that AI would, any day now, wrench programming from the realm of human necessity. So you can imagine my parents' thrill (read: outrage) when I chose computer science over something more... lucrative. Consequently, familial discord became a staple at dinner, and I became household enemy number one: The Kid Who Could've Been Something.

Now that you've got the context, let's cut back to the part you're really here for—the bear. But bear with me (sorry, couldn't resist); the background was necessary for you to appreciate the absolute weirdness of this situation.

It all went down this morning. Overslept, as usual, I was in an absolute sprint to make it to the lecture hall. College life, right? I blitzed through the campus, dodged a couple of close calls with oncoming cyclists, and just as I reached the building's threshold—BAM! Collision course with some guy, and then black. Darkness, like a theater just before a film starts, except there was no movie—just a sensation of falling that stretched on for a couple of heartbeats. When the lights flicked back on in my head, I was lying in a bare, white room—not a speck of color except for the confused faces of the people around me. We were all picking ourselves off the floor, our expressions mirrors of each other's bewilderment.

Enter the voice — the grand voice. It vibrated off the walls and filled the space:

"Don't be scared. You've been chosen to represent Earth," it proclaimed.

It was the kind of announcement that made your skin crawl—in combination with the scenery, if your next thought wasn't "alien abduction," then you were definitely calmer than the rest of us.

"The Earth you know is about to change. Monsters will appear, and without help, humans won't stand a chance," the voice announced with a seriousness that demanded attention. "We've selected Earth's most talented for this task."

I stood there, dumbfounded. Most talented? Clearly, they hadn't checked my school records. I was as shocked as anyone else.

"You will get training and any help needed here. Your goal is to become stronger so you can save your planet," the voice continued.

While everyone was panicking and confused, a girl nearby started to lose it completely.

"I want to go back home!" she wailed, tears threatening to spill.

"SILENCE," boomed the voice.

It's strange how a call for silence can suddenly make a room even more terrifying. Everyone went quiet as we turned to see a table appear out of nowhere. On it, there were ten backpacks, each with a name tag.

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"Take your backpack. In the right pocket, you'll find a translation device, which will help you until you master local language."

We all moved toward the table, hesitantly, like kids in a lunch line, each of us driven by a mix of curiosity and the knowledge that standing still wasn't safe.

"When you have your backpack, go through that door," the voice instructed, as a portal slid open in the wall. "Everything will be explained on the other side."

One by one, people found their backpacks, their names, and their way through the door until—surprise, surprise — I was the one left behind. No Damian Mazur on the table, no backpack, nothing.

So I did the natural thing. I raised my hand (because that's what you do when you're lost, right?) and called out, "I think there was a mistake. There is no backpack for me."

All I got back was a thick, awkward silence until he showed up: Tharion Xyrex, a man as sharp and stern as his clearly military look implied.

"What's your name?" he asked quickly, his voice carrying a bit of urgency, like he was as anxious as I was.

"Damian Mazur," I replied, each syllable laced with an unease that was growing by the second.

Tharion rifled through some papers, his eyes flicking back and forth as if he was panicking inside but trying not to show it.

He fired off another question, "Where are you from?"

"Warsaw, Poland," I managed to say. "Is everything okay?" Even I could hear the worry creeping into my voice.

"Just... give me a moment," Tharion brushed off my question with a quick wave of his hand that didn't reassure me at all.

After a minute, he muttered, "Oh, I see," to himself. Whatever he figured out seemed to make him even more anxious.

"Is something wrong?" I asked yet again, as that uneasy feeling crept up my spine.

"You got teleported by mistake with someone else from Poland," he explained, his voice shaking a bit despite his attempt to sound calm. "Don't worry, follow me and I'll send you back home."

Left with no other option, I followed him, my mind still wrapping around the idea that I was an accidental guest in a gathering meant for Earth's finest. A mix-up. An oversight. Just another day in the life of Damian Mazur. At least now I had one unbelievable story to tell to my friends.

"Stand on this platform and don't move," Tharion Xyrex instructed me as he made his way over to a console brimming with buttons and screens.

With a few keystrokes, he sent me away, murmur to himself, "Good luck with surviving that." Then he added under his breath, likely thinking himself unheard, "Now I need to remove all evidence. If the higher-ups find out about this blunder, I can kiss that promotion goodbye."

* * *

Once again, darkness swallowed me — it was supposed to be a brief blackout. But when things came back into focus, I wasn't on Warsaw's streets. Instead, I found myself in a snowy forest, more like something out of a fairytale than anywhere on Earth.

"What the..." I muttered, my breath forming a mist in the frigid air. "This isn't home. It can't be. It's supposed to be summer in Poland..." My voice trailed off as I took in the endless stretch of snow-laden trees before me.

"Hey! You've sent me to the wrong place!" I shouted, the words aiming skyward in a futile hope that Tharion—or anyone responsible—would hear and rectify this glaring error. But the only response was my own echo, bouncing mockingly through the trees.

Standing frozen—not just in body, but in thought as well—I started to really feel the bite of the cold. My survival instincts flared up, urging me to seek warmth, clothing, anything resembling shelter. I ran, my direction chosen by nothing more than instinct, as if moving would somehow ward off the cold. The chill was relentless, though. It sank into my bones, my hands becoming stiff and awkward, as if they belonged to someone else. Teeth chattering uncontrollably, I staggered on, until at last, the river appeared. A ribbon of hope in the endless white—a chance that following its flow might lead me back to the world of warm people and heated rooms.

That's when the roar hit — loud as thunder, shaking the forest air. I spun around and saw it: a bear, or something that was supposed to be a bear. It was a towering monster covered in fur and rippling muscle, moving way faster than anything that size should. Its fur had a blue tint, and the whole thing felt straight out of a nightmare.

I ran as fast as I could, terror pushing me forward. There was the river and the bear-like thing on one side, and on the other, just cold and snow. The monster was closing in, tearing through the river like it was nothing. Desperation set in as I weighed my slim chances. Could I risk the river, or was that just trading one death for another?

But I didn't get to choose — something hit me like a truck, and suddenly I was spinning through the air. Then I crashed onto the icy ground. As my vision blurred and I started to black out, I could only watch as the bear-monster closed in, clearly winning this chase, ready to finish what it started.

Really, this is where my story should have ended — just another unknown guy meeting a cold, quiet end. That would have been simple, easy even. But apparently, life likes a twist, and somehow, I got one because I woke up.

Waking up felt different this round — I was in a warm place, with the comforting sounds of a fire and the smell of burning wood. But of course, there was a catch. My legs were out of commission, completely numb. Lying there in that cozy cabin, unable to move, I couldn't help but think about the harsh trade-off I'd just made: escaping death at the cost of my legs. And this was just the start of my problems...