Atlas awoke in a bed of snow with only a cream tunic, dark pants, worn-out boots, and a traveler’s cloak. He sat up and looked across the vast expanse of the icy tundra. There was no sun, but a blue moon lit the world around him in a dreamlike glow. An aurora stretched across the horizon. Sheets of snow spiraled underneath it, billowing like cobwebs.

He couldn’t remember who he was or how he had arrived here. His head throbbed when he tried to piece together his memories. He brushed frost from his cloak and held it tighter around his shoulders. The air smelled like cypress and reeds. Fog drifted low over the ground, curling between skeletal trees and twisted branches.

He realized how strange it was that he couldn’t remember the details of his life, but he knew certain things to be true. He had no memory of ever looking into a mirror, yet he knew he had silver hair, gray eyes, and gaunt features. He couldn’t remember ever stepping into a library, but he was certain he had spent much of his life in one. He could recall the scent of aged leather and cedar shelves so vividly, he might have breathed it in a moment ago. In fact, he was certain that a library was the last place he had just been before waking up here.

He tried to push past the haze in his mind. He remembered he was supposed to be on a quest. Some kind of mission. He felt a pulse of excitement. Perhaps he was meant to explore a new world—that would explain why he had awoken in this barren and unrecognizable world. Or maybe he was meant for something simpler. A quest to collect wood from exotic trees or water from a far-away river. He could imagine living a quiet, uncomplicated life, tucked away between a fireplace and a stack of old books.

His vision shimmered, and then a light blue window materialized in front of him. Did the world always have windows?

“Quest: Learn the secret of alchemy and slay the Conqueror by the Sea. The Ashen Empire is consuming your universe and the Emperor has slain your master. You have been summoned to Lunaria for a chance to save your universe and avenge your master.”

He blinked, then reread the message.

“Not what I expected, but maybe I can take my time and explore what all this means.”

“Warning: Without food, water, and shelter, you will die in a few hours.”

He stared silently at the window.

The wind picked up, sending his teeth chattering. He felt a soft rush in his ears as he thought about what to do next. There was no sign of civilization. No other footprints to suggest that someone had stranded him here. How long had he been asleep? Did he have a home? And what was Lunaria?

“Who am I?” he asked out loud.

“Atlas Noctrya. You are a level one Alchemist.”

“Can you tell me more about myself?”

A window titled Primary Attributes opened, listing two dozen labels in four categories: Mind, Body, Magic, and Worldly. Most of the attributes like Strength, Dexterity, and Luck were in the single-digit range, though a few stood out. Intellect: 11. Cosmic: 10. Destiny: 12.

He could vaguely recall someone teaching him about attributes and abilities. It had to be the master the first prompt had alluded to. If he thought about it enough, he could remember slivers of his past. There was a quiet cobblestone town near a beach. A school made of weathered stone and a teacher with dark green hair and olive eyes. If he listened closely, he could hear the roar of the sea. The crooning of ocean birds.

He couldn’t remember his master, or who the Emperor was, but he felt sorrow when he thought about them. It was the aching of an old scar, meticulously smoothed over by someone’s hands, but not yet forgotten.

“Who are you?”

“The Oracle.”

It wasn’t a helpful answer, but the name sounded familiar.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“You must explore the world to unlock its details.”

Another window appeared right after—a three-dimensional map he could immerse himself in. The majority of it was covered in cascading fog, but he could see the shape of the terrain around him. Farther north, there was a cliff that dropped off to a lake.

When Atlas looked in that direction, he saw the faint outline of something dark and jagged near the horizon. It looked like a structure, but he didn’t think it could be—it was too large. He also spotted an outcrop of rocks that tapered off into a ledge. It seemed like a good vantage point to survey the landscape. He realized he was likely on a plateau.

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A new prompt opened up as he was deciding what to do next.

“Status Effect: Frostbite. You have been in the cold for too long and your Warmth has dropped below 50. While you are afflicted with Frostbite, physical attributes like Strength and Dexterity will be reduced. Stamina will recover at half its normal rate. At zero Warmth, death will take you.”

The phrase “death will take you” sent his panic soaring. His hands and feet stiffened. The cold had turned his death into a living thing. A winter beast, born of frostbite and chattering teeth.

Another window opened.

“Status Effect: Gnawing Hunger. You have not eaten for an extended period of time. Your Satiety has dropped below 50. While you are afflicted with Gnawing Hunger, physical attributes like Vitality will be reduced. Mental attributes like Focus and Intellect will be reduced. At zero Satiety, your Health will begin to deteriorate.”

He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the notification. He placed a hand on his stomach and felt it clench. He was equal parts anxious, cold, and starving.

He realized he could close windows or make them open with his thoughts alone. Before he could study the map more closely, a third status notification opened up.

“Status Effect: Dehydrated. You have not drunk water for an extended period of time. Your Hydration—”

“How many things do I need to worry about?” Atlas asked, exasperated.

A new window materialized with 40 different meters and labels. Each one had a different gradient color scheme. He closed the view quickly, overwhelmed by all the different ways he had to keep himself alive.

He pulled himself up, but a pang of hunger made him double over. He wiped snowflakes from his eyes, then resolved to head toward the ledge farther north. He might be able to find other travelers, or if he was lucky, a campfire with someone willing to share food. His mouth watered at the thought of a meal.

Atlas didn’t know which memory it came from, but he knew exactly what a bustling tavern smelled like. He licked his lips, imagining golden ale and a bowl of warm poultry stew. He imagined himself going upstairs after the meal and washing himself with a cake of soap. Then he’d change into a warm set of clothes and sleep easily, saving his worries about survival, emperors, and revenge for another day.

Before he could head off toward the ledge, an eerie, unsettling sound filled the air. The faint scrape of claws against ice. He felt his breath go shallow. Dread curled through him.

A broad-shouldered creature with dense white fur emerged over the bend of a snowbank. It was at least twice Atlas’s height and had arms that stretched across the full length of its body. Its face was a mix of primal features. Bestial eyes glowed a molten blue. A gaping maw promised serrated teeth.

“What is that?!” Atlas sputtered. He couldn’t hide the desperation in his voice. He stumbled backward, his vision swimming from fear and adrenaline.

A window popped up in the bottom right corner of his vision, as if the Oracle knew not to bother him in the minutes before violence.

“Spirit Identified: Stage 1 crystal-claw yeti. These hostile and territorial frost spirits tend to appear in tribes around barren, icy landscapes. In later evolutions, their claws gain the ability to drain Warmth and Vitality from anything near them.”

“It evolves?!”

It took a moment for the yeti to notice Atlas. It locked its eyes on him, and then tilted its head, as if considering something. It began to walk toward him. Slowly at first, and then faster.

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FIGHT IT?!” Atlas screamed.

The yeti broke into a run. Its footsteps thundered. Pale claws ripped through ice in wide, sweeping arcs. Gnarled feet sent snow flying in every direction.

“You have no abilities or weapons equipped. Your only option is melee,” a window replied.

“Melee what? My skull against its claws?”

The yeti swiped with both arms. Atlas threw himself backward with a sharp gasp, realizing he was more agile than he expected. Still, the claws only missed by an arm’s length, crashing into snow and frost with a deafening screech.

The yeti slashed with its left arm. Atlas dodged, his voice cracking as he cursed at the creature. Snow squelched underneath his feet. His Stamina bar appeared in the top right of his vision. He watched it rapidly deplete as he ducked swipe after swipe. His legs burned. If the yeti was getting tired, it wasn’t showing. The creature lurched from side to side, heaving between haymakers. A deep breath revealed teeth like faded bones.

Finally, it dug its claws into the ground and hauled itself forward. Atlas, having gotten used to the rhythm of the swipes, wasn’t expecting the head-on attack.

The creature’s shoulder hit him square in the chest. Atlas flew backward, reeling from the blow. His Health bar flashed in the top right of his vision, a chunk of it gone. He squinted, trying to spot the yeti through the rose tint of the world, but his vision began to darken. He stared at the sky as the yeti approached, regretting ever waking up. Fear sweat dripped from his brow. He could hear his heart in his chest.

“I’m sorry, Mirael,” he whispered to the sky.

That was his master’s name—Mirael. He wasn’t sure why he could remember it suddenly. He tried to picture her, but could only see her green hair and olive eyes.

“I’ve been awake for a few minutes and I’m already dying of hunger, thirst, and cold—and getting mauled by some yeti.”

The creature’s towering frame loomed closer. Its hulking silhouette cut dark lines against the snow. Crusted ice clung to its matted fur. Its breath steamed in the air, rising like smoke.

Atlas felt a deep sense of sadness. He didn’t know his master anymore, didn’t owe her anything, but he knew that he had let her down somehow. He tried to push the feeling away, but it lingered. He vaguely recalled promising to her that he wouldn’t fail on his quest, and yet, here he was, sprawled out in the shadow of death.

Regret knotted in his chest, mingling with the dull ache of his stomach. He braced himself for the pain of the final blow. As he squeezed his fists, his vision began dissolving into a memory.