He awoke to the sound of wind screaming against wooden walls.
The world had changed.
Gone was the familiar comfort of his cramped apartment. Now, he lay on a hard wooden floor, wrapped in a thin, moth-eaten blanket. His breath came out in clouds, and the cold gnawed at his bones like hungry teeth.
The air was thick with frost, heavy and still. The scent of old timber and frozen dust filled his nostrils.
The hut was small.
Four creaking walls of rough-hewn planks, a single window with a frostbitten view, and a crooked door bolted shut from the inside.
It looked handmade, like something put together in desperation.
There was no explanation.
No message.
No welcome.
Only the wind.
Then came the shimmer.
In the corner of his eye, a faint flicker.
A whisper in text formed in midair, as if carved by ancient, unseen hands:
"If warmth is your desire, then perhaps a fire would be wise.
In this frozen tomb, seek that which resists the cold.
Search, wander, scrape—lest the frost claim your breath forevermore."
Caleb swallowed.
His lips were already cracking.
Instinct took over.
He scanned the room, hands numb but moving. In the corner, half-hidden beneath a tattered cloth, he found a small pile of chopped wood. Next to it, a rusted firestarter—flint and steel. A small metal canteen lay beside them, dented but intact, and cold to the touch. Inside, the water was frozen solid.
Then he found jerky.
Three strips.
Tough but edible.
And leaning near the corner—an axe.
Its edge chipped, but the handle was solid.
A gift from whoever had built this place.
Or maybe a cruel joke.
He didn't care.
He set to work.
It took ten tries.
Then fifteen.
Then, finally, a spark caught in a nest of bark and old cloth.
The flame was small.
But it lived.
Caleb curled beside it, cradling the axe like it was a lifeline.
Outside, the wind howled.
But inside, for now, he had fire.
End of 2nd chapter.