Magic. My own magic. How could I have forgotten something so fundamental?
Memories are one thing—I understand forgetting places, faces, even my own past. But magic? It is a part of me, as vital as breath and blood. The realization unsettles me, but now I understand why. If I had been unconsciously releasing mana throughout my hibernation, I must have drained myself so thoroughly that my body could no longer absorb it. Not until I willed it back.
But now, I can feel it again. The mana flows through me, warm and familiar, strengthening my body with every breath. My senses are sharper, my limbs lighter. The sluggishness that once weighed me down is fading. Soon, I will be as I was before—perhaps even stronger.
The griffon had helped, too. Its meat had been rich, filling, and oddly satisfying, especially the way my flames had seared it from the inside. A natural blend of instinct and power. The thought brings a small, primal satisfaction.
I glance at the remains of the carcass, then at the frozen forest around me. I do not know what creatures might live here, nor if they would seek to claim my kill. But I do not intend to leave all of it behind.
With careful precision, I use my claws to cut away the remaining strips of meat, gathering enough to sustain me for a few more days. My gaze shifts to the griffon's hide, and an idea forms.
Using my talons, I peel away a section of its skin, keeping some of the feathers intact. Instead of wrapping the meat tightly, I bundle it loosely within the hide, allowing the cold air to touch it. If I let the chill seep in, it will slow decay. Another instinct, one I do not recall learning but trust nonetheless.
Once my meal is secured, I stretch my wings, shaking off the last remnants of stiffness. Below me, the snowy forest sprawls out in every direction, blanketed in white. The trees stand tall and ancient, their branches heavy with frost. But what catches my attention most is the river, its winding path cutting through the frozen landscape like a dark ribbon.
Rivers mean life.
If humanoids exist nearby, they will settle close to water. They always do.
I take off, beating my wings against the cold morning air. The wind rushes past me as I ascend, the snow-laden trees shrinking beneath me. The river winds ahead, curving through the valley, vanishing and reappearing between hills and clusters of evergreens.
For days, I follow its path.
Time slips past me, barely noticeable. The sun rises and falls, the moon watches from its quiet perch in the sky, and I continue on, gliding over the endless white expanse. I hunt when hunger gnaws at me, drink when thirst burns my throat, and rest when my wings grow heavy.
The river provides more than just direction—it brings prey.
A large ice bird is my first encounter. Its wings shimmer like glass, and the moment I strike, frost crackles along its body, as if the cold itself fights back. It struggles fiercely, nearly slipping from my grasp, but my flames melt through its icy defense. The meat is strange, chilled even after being cooked, but it satisfies.
Later, I spot a wind hawk riding the air currents, moving so swiftly I almost mistake it for a trick of the light. It takes three attempts to catch one, their speed proving greater than I anticipated, but when I finally do, I savor the victory. Its flesh is light, almost airy, and something about it makes my own wings feel lighter.
Other creatures cross my path as well—mysterious deer that move like shadows, their eyes glinting with eerie intelligence before vanishing into the trees. I see their tracks in the snow, sometimes fresh, sometimes half-buried by the wind. And then there are the small, snow-white rabbits with twisting black horns. They are swift, wary, and more dangerous than they seem. One tries to lunge at me when I corner it, its tiny horns aimed for my throat. Clever little thing.
I eat it all the same.
At night, I rest wherever the land allows. Some nights, I curl around the base of an ancient tree, letting my body mold into the earth, my tail tucked close for warmth. Other times, I settle in the treetops, balancing effortlessly among the thick branches, where the wind whispers through the needles and the world seems far below.
Once, I find a cave carved into the rocky side of a hill, its entrance lined with claw marks—some fresh, some old. A den. Something else lives here.
It doesn't for long.
A few snarls, a flare of my fire, and the previous occupants—strange wolf-like beasts with glowing blue eyes—scatter into the night. I do not pursue. I simply take what I need.
No matter where I sleep, the cold never truly reaches me.
A soft hum of mana lingers in my body, a steady warmth that keeps the frost from biting at my scales. I do not consciously summon it—it simply exists, radiating from within, as if my presence alone bends the elements to my will.
And there is something else.
I notice it first when I sleep curled at the base of a tree. The way the roots seem to shift beneath me, cradling my form ever so slightly. The way the earth, though frozen, seems… softer where I lay.
It is subtle, yet undeniable.
I am connected to the land in a way I cannot yet explain.
And with each passing day, that connection grows stronger.
Then, one morning, something changes.
The land slopes downward, gentle at first, then more noticeably as I follow the river. The air grows milder, and the snow, once thick and endless, begins to thin. At first, I do not realize it.
But as I fly lower, gliding just above the water, I see it clearly.
The trees here are different. Their trunks no longer sag beneath heavy frost, and their branches are fuller, stretching toward the sky as if waking from a long slumber. The river, too, has changed—wider, faster, its waters rushing with newfound energy.
There is more life here. More color.
I land briefly, pressing a claw into the damp earth. The cold still lingers, but it no longer dominates. The air carries a freshness I have not felt since I awoke, and the whisper of the trees seems louder, more vibrant.
I close my eyes, exhaling softly.
Something is changing.
And I am finally moving toward it.