When Atlas came back to consciousness, he felt a sense of calm. The stars wheeled overhead. The moon was a faint blur. His memories were a tightly bound tangle of thoughts, but he had found a thread he could pull on.
He rolled over onto his left shoulder when he heard the yeti grunt as it was flying through the air. A crystalline claw crashed into the snow next to him, bursting through the ice underneath to spray frigid water across both of them.
Atlas jumped to his feet, shivering. He vaulted backward. Pain flared in every limb and bone. He gritted his teeth. With effort, he kept his knees bent, his arms low to the ground.
The yeti’s feet crunched against the ground as it lifted its claws from snow. It moved slowly through the ice toward Atlas. From a low angle, its teeth looked like shards of broken glass. Its jaw hung slightly open. Bone-white tusks jutted from under its nostrils.
Atlas’s fingers twitched. He felt something smooth in his right hand. He curled his fingers around it—the hilt of a blade. He looked down and saw a dagger glimmering in his grip. Symbols like constellations were etched into its edges. Different patterns flickered between them, but he couldn’t decipher what they meant. A window appeared in the bottom right of his vision.
“Skill Unlocked: Lunar Dagger. Conjure an ethereal blade from moonlight. This ability deals bonus damage against spirits of certain types, including water, spectral, and shadow. This ability is weaker against spirits of certain types, including solar, aether, aurora, and radiant. Lunar Dagger is effective against magical barriers. In full-moon environments, Lunar Dagger gains an area-of-effect glow, revealing enemies who are cloaked, shrouded, or masked.”
The yeti tilted its head in surprise and eyed the dagger. It took a step forward, baring its teeth. Ice water drenched its mane.
For a few seconds, they stared at each other. The yeti, in mute anger. Atlas, in scattered focus.
The yeti swiped, muscles bulging like gnarled roots.
Atlas had no time to measure the distance between them. He leapt forward—into the swipe—blindly putting his faith in the advice of a half-frayed memory. He was too close now to dodge by ducking. He could smell the creature’s breath. Swamp water and rotting wood.
The yeti’s claws glistened under the moon.
Atlas leaned forward, desperate to close the gap even a half-second sooner.
Switching the dagger to his left hand in mid-air, he thrust it backward, eyes shut. A jolt shot through his left elbow as he struck something solid—but it felt too hard to be flesh.
He landed in the snow with a thud and drew two ragged breaths. Did he miss? Had the yeti landed its blow? He glanced down, expecting to see his stomach gutted open, but there was nothing. His cloak and tunic fluttered in the wind. The fabric of his pants felt dry and coarse against his skin.
He wiped snowflakes from his eyes and searched frantically to find his Health bar. It hadn’t changed—he had one-third of his Health left. The yeti’s shoulder tackle alone had almost cost him his life. If its claws had even grazed him, he was certain he would have died.
When Atlas turned around, the yeti was on the ground. Its limp claws clutched at the back of its neck. Dark blue smoke poured out from between its fingers.
A window popped open.
“You have defeated a stage 2 crystal-claw yeti. Spirits will drop loot and experience after they are defeated. Some spirits can be tamed and turned into familiars.”
Loot? Like items? He didn’t have the energy to ask for more details.
The yeti vanished in a puff of blue vapor. Tiny silver and gold orbs hovered where its body had just been.
Atlas smiled faintly. Even if he couldn’t make it out of this tundra, he had achieved this one small victory.
A second window slid into view.
“Level Up: You have reached level 2. Leveling will increase your base stats and allow you to unlock new abilities.”
Atlas was too tired to read the changes to his attributes. He lay in the snow as unconsciousness slowly crept up on him. He could find a campfire or shelter when he woke. Darkness ate away at the edges of his vision. The wind cradled his senses. He was cold beyond shivering. Cold beyond exhaustion.
As his vision faded, a third window materialized.
“Warning: Your Stamina and Warmth are dangerously low. You must find shelter and rest immediately.”
He closed his eyes and let the warning fade from his thoughts. He was too weary to think about navigating this world. He wanted to go back to where he was before all this. For a moment, he could even feel it—the calm simplicity of his previous life. The warmth of a place he could call home. He imagined there must have been a hearth where Mirael and he had lived. He could hear a fire crackling in his memories so clearly, he was certain he must have drifted off to sleep in front of one countless times.
Master Mirael’s voice echoed faintly in the distance.
“Get up, Atlas.”
He didn’t want to. The snow was soft and warm, and with his eyes closed, he didn’t have to look at the Oracle’s glaring windows. He could drift off to sleep and lose himself in his memory of Darkmire Woods. It might not have been much safer, but at least he wasn’t alone there.
The details of the forest were vivid in his imagination. He could see it as clearly as the tundra in front of him. The largest of the ancient spruces and great oaks cast shadows that stretched for miles. Their trunks were as strong as any mountain, with roots that reached deep into the ground to drench themselves in molten rock. The fen near the village was a patchwork of half-frozen pools glowing gently in the dark. The forest itself was alive, croaking ancient rhythms through moonless stretches of night.
“Come on, get up,” Mirael urged. “You can’t fall asleep here.”
He didn’t want to listen. She was his teacher, after all; not listening felt natural.
“Get up off the ice, you’re going to die!”
Atlas’s eyes snapped open, the urgency in Mirael’s voice pulling him out of his stupor. Multiple warning windows flashed before him. Judging by his depleting Warmth meter, he only had a few minutes to survive.
He turned to his bed of snow and felt its soft, powdered texture. He considered lying back down for a moment.
“Don’t even think about it,” he heard Mirael say. “You’re going to survive your quest.”
He forced himself to get up, his vision blurry and his head throbbing. He swayed, the world tilting beneath him, but he managed to keep his footing by focusing on the silver and golden orbs hovering over the loot the yeti had left behind.
“You said loot, right?” he asked out loud. “Spirits drop items, then? Can they help me survive?”
“You must explore the world to learn more about the items it contains.”
“Great, thank you. Very helpful.”
If Atlas had any chance of surviving, it was in one of those items. He clenched his teeth and took his first step forward. He dug his fingers into his traveler’s cloak. The cold bit through his hands. He nearly stumbled as he attempted a second step.
“Why does everything feel so heavy?”
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A window popped up with an orange bar that showed his Stamina dwindling from a lack of Warmth. He noticed his Max Health had gone up when he had leveled up, from 60 to 70.
He staggered toward the loot. His head felt heavy and fogged by the dull thumping of his own footsteps. He studied the landscape to distract himself from the pain. There were trees around the tundra with leaves that grew in matte shades of turquoise and violet. Pools of frozen water reflected the pale sky, still as glass. Fog rolled slowly across the ground, carrying the faint scent of a bayou wind.
His knees buckled when he came to the loot. He estimated he had two or three minutes left to survive. If there was nothing in the loot to grant him Warmth, it was all over. Even if he survived, was this how his life would play out? Racing from one point of his quest to another, constantly threading the seconds between life and death? What would it be like if he made it to the end of his journey? He imagined the emperor in front of him, clad in shadow, dripping fire from his blade.
A window popped up.
“Status Effect: Permafrost. Your Warmth has dropped below 20 for an extended period of time. You are suffering from severe physical impairment. All physical attributes including Dexterity and Vitality have been significantly reduced. Any healing you receive will be reduced to 10% effectiveness until your Warmth returns to above 50. Your vision and hearing are significantly reduced. Prolonged exposure to Permafrost can cause permanent damage.”
He tasted acid on his tongue and could barely feel his fingers. One moment, he couldn’t feel the cold at all, and the next, it hit him in waves, boring into his bones.
He scrambled across the snow to close the remaining distance to the loot. The ground felt hollow, ready to split at the seams and swallow him whole.
Atlas reached for the first item, a rough-hewn fur coat with tufts of silver hair coming out of its edges. A pale mist clung to its surface. His frostbitten fingers felt brittle against the item. He was certain some of his nails had peeled off.
“Can I wear this?” he asked the Oracle. The wind howled—or was that a wolf?
“Item: Frosthide Mantle. Craft four Frosthide Mantles together to create: Spirit Yeti’s Embrace. This item increases Max Warmth, Max Stamina—”
“Useless.” He stopped reading. He didn’t have the strength to fight three more yetis, let alone the time.
Crystalline shapes sprouted at his periphery. Their leaves were long and jagged, rippling in the wind. The aurora under the moon looked like a fractured rainbow, throwing patches of differently colored lights across the landscape. The whole world vibrated—or was he hallucinating?
“Status Effect: Frostbound Delirium: Your mental faculties are significantly impaired. Your vision is distorted. Hallucinations will appear around you. Warning: prolonged exposure may permanently damage secondary attributes such as Sanity. Warning: decreased Sanity makes it easier for spirits to attack you through astral planes, dreamscapes, phantasias, and other ethereal realms.”
He reached for the next item while his Warmth meter ticked lower.
“Useless,” he muttered again, barely bothering to read the description for an ice pick that could be used as a temporary weapon.
“I’m going to die.” A well of frustration cut through his numbness. Even if he didn’t get to see his quest through to the end—he wanted to live. He wanted to see more of the universe and more of the path the Oracle had laid out for him. He flung away a glistening nail that could be used to craft a set of crystal claws.
He heard a voice in the wind.
“Blue and blue, the moon which falls, who and who does the Moon Witch call?”
Atlas turned onto his back and looked to the sky. The blue moon hovered so close he thought he could reach out and sweep the arc of its crescent. He raised his arms, fingers splayed, ready to try it.
“Her magic streams in gleams of white, your broken dreams she feasts at night.”
The voice was barely audible. He couldn’t tell if it was in his head or coming from the moon. It wasn’t Mirael’s voice, but it sounded eerily familiar. It lingered at the edge of his hearing, haunting and distant.
“Beneath the lake where shadows break, the Moon Witch waits for those awake.”
He looked around for the voice, but found no sign of anyone in the tundra.
He forced his attention back to the items.
“Is that it?” he said aloud, feeling through the snow. He took a deep breath. He closed all of the warning windows. He didn’t want to look at the Oracle’s screens. If he was about to die, he wanted it to be while staring at the moon.
He regretted his decision almost immediately. The moon was so large it took up half the sky, and it was falling to the ground. A mouth gaped wide and a forked tongue flicked toward him. Craters twisted into hollow eyes. The air grew thick and heavy, pressing against his chest.
Atlas scrambled backward through the snow. His fingers grazed against something glass. There was one more item, its silver orb nearly invisible in the snow.
He grabbed it—a small glass bottle with a silvery liquid inside. He took off the stopper and downed it without reading the description. Either it was some kind of healing potion that would keep him alive for a few extra minutes, or he was going to die any second now anyway.
He doubled over, heaving in terror. Was he hallucinating that the moon was about to eat him? Or was that the kind of spirit attack the Oracle was trying to warn him about?
He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, waiting for some kind of painful sensation, but nothing came in the seconds that followed.
Moon Witch—where had he heard the term before? The name tugged on a memory buried deep.
A full minute passed before he opened his eyes.
He rubbed his jaw, trying to calm himself. His fingers moved freely. Water dripped from the sleeves of his traveler’s cloak.
He wiped cold sweat from the back of his neck as he looked up. He braced himself, but the moon had returned to its place in the sky. The world was no longer vibrating. The darkness in his vision receded.
He could finally feel his face. His chest felt flushed with heat. Sensation slowly returned to his legs.
“What did I drink?”
“Item: Frost Spirit’s Draught: A potion commonly dropped by low-level frost spirits. Wraps the user in radiant heat for a brief period of time, scaling with Vitality and Endurance. Gradually restores 20 Stamina over time. Cures frost status effects such as Frigid Chains, Polar Whispers, and Frostbound Delirium. Does not cure severe frost effects such as Eternal Cold or Icebound Agony.”
He stared speechlessly at the empty bottle in his hand. Had he gotten incredibly lucky, or was the world designed this way? To the best of his knowledge, this challenge was crafted by some all-knowing being called the Oracle, and it was made to pit him against something called the Ashen Empire. There had to be some semblance of fairness in the Oracle’s designs, didn’t there? Some chance that he might fulfill his quest, no matter how impossible it sounded, and slay an emperor that consumed universes?
“Can I take the rest of these items with me?”
“Items can be stored in whatever inventory slots you currently have equipped.”
“Inventory slots?”
The Oracle gave no answer. It didn’t seem to like sharing any context beyond what it deemed necessary or earned.
Atlas reached into his traveler’s cloak and felt around the inside. When he dug into a pocket, a screen appeared, showing him he had four inventory slots and a carrying capacity of half his body weight.
Experimentally, he tried shoving the Frosthide Mantle into his traveler’s cloak. The item seemed to dissolve as it went inside, its weight disappearing every second. When it was gone entirely, an image of the mantle appeared in one of his inventory slots, with a number in the lower right corner indicating he only had one.
“Will multiple items of the same kind take up new slots?”
“Multiple items of the same type will not take up additional slots.”
“Can I put anything in here if my carrying capacity is high enough? A bed? A house?”
“Any item can be placed inside your inventory, provided you can physically pull or push it there. Your carrying capacity scales with Strength and Endurance, with a multiplier based on the quality of the gear you’re using to store items.”
“Hmm… that makes sense I guess.”
He picked up all the loot the yeti had left behind, including the ice pick, and then without wasting an extra second, he hauled himself up and began walking toward the ledge in the distance. He needed a vantage point to see more of the landscape. What had the Oracle called him—a traveler? There had to be others like him. Maybe he could find an encampment of sorts. It wouldn’t be long before his Warmth started to seep away again.
His legs burned as he went. Even with his Stamina recovering as he trudged through the snow, it consistently hovered around 10. He needed rest. He needed to sleep. Could there be an inn somewhere nearby? He looked around at the desolate landscape. There was no telling when he’d next find a proper bed to sleep in.
Atlas pulled himself out of his revelry and opened up a window to review the attributes that had changed when he leveled up. The minor boost in stats like Vitality and Strength would do little to help him survive a clean blow from a yeti. His Dexterity had shot up from 9 to 12. Was that because he had fought with a dagger? Other attributes that improved more than average included Constitution, Wisdom, Element, Faith, and Destiny.
He was already a fourth of the way to level three.
“What’s giving me experience?” he asked.
“Surviving harsh environments can grant passive experience. Experience granted from environments will scale with the level of the environment, and may not grant any experience at all if a traveler is leveled too high.”
“Why did some attributes not change at all?”
“Not all attributes change upon leveling up. The attributes that increase will depend on how the experience was gained.”
“Interesting,” he said aloud. “So not all experience is equal?”
He walked on, occasionally returning to the thought of a warm meal in a tavern and sleeping peacefully by a blazing hearth. His stomach grumbled. His Satiety bar appeared, now whittling down past 10. Attributes like Constitution and Endurance took a penalty, slowing his Stamina recovery.
“This world is too complex,” Atlas said, speaking partly to the Oracle and partly to himself. “There’s no simple elixir for happiness and health around here?”
Another window appeared, indicating he was approaching a source of heat. He rubbed his hands together, relief flooding through his senses.
“I’m not complaining, but how is that possible? I’m not close to a campfire.” As he scanned the area around him, he found where the source of heat was coming from. A girl holding a torch of violet flame was trudging down a snowy slope toward him. Once she was halfway down, a boy appeared at the top of the slope, shouting something obscene over his shoulder as he slid down a column of ice. Despite his shouting, he had a lopsided grin that seemed out of place in the tundra. He swayed and held his arms out as he walked.
A minute later, Atlas heard a skittering sound, like needles tapping against ice.