After calming down from the brief excitement, Edison took out another wooden 'bowl' that was lying around and scooped a pile of snow into it.
He placed his hand on top of the snow, and a faint layer of glowing embers flickered across his skin.
Heat radiated outward, melting the snow in seconds.
What had been a bowl heaped to the brim now barely held a quarter of its volume in water.
He scooped up more snow and repeated the process—melt, fill, melt—until the bowl was full.
Then he heated the water again, bringing it to a soft boil before splashing some onto his hands and face.
Steam curled up from his palms as he scrubbed away the grime of blood, sweat, and smoke.
Once he felt clean enough, he traded his blood-soaked leather coat for a fresh one.
With a stretch that popped several joints, he glanced at the sky.
Thick storm clouds still lingered from the blizzard, smothering what little light remained.
The sky was also steadily dimming.
"Time to get some shut-eye," Edison yawned, ducking into the makeshift shelter.
It had been a long day, and the smoking process would take hours yet.
Inside, it was cramped—maybe three or four feet across—but a lot warmer.
The snow-packed floor had completely melted away, revealing the dark earth beneath.
He had laid dead branches across the ground to keep moisture off, and over those he'd stretched another cured leather sheet.
Snubby was already curled up on it, looking extremely comfortable.
When she noticed Edison crawl inside, the little poro lifted her head and sniffed him enthusiastically.
After determining the awful smell was finally gone, she bounced toward him with renewed energy.
Edison caught the enthusiastic puffball before she could tackle his chest. She tried to lick his face anyway.
"Alright, alright—no licking. I just washed my face."
He reached into his pouch and fished out a Poro-Snax.
Snubby's eyes widened instantly. With surprising agility, she hopped from his left arm, swooped in and snatched the treat cleanly from his other hand.
She landed on the leather sheet and happily munched away.
Edison let out a soft chuckle.
He lay back on the leather sheet, letting out a long, comfortable sigh.
For the first time all day, his body finally relaxed, the tension slowly fading away.
But before he could fully sink into the land of dreams, a thunderous roar ripped through the night.
"Oh, for fuck's sake..." Edison muttered.
He rolled to his feet and out of the shelter, eyes scanning the surroundings.
It was completely dark now. The forest was silent—save for the low crackle of the firepit's dying embers.
Edison reached into his inventory, yanked out a water skin, and splashed it over the firepit.
The glowing embers hissed, then went dark.
The last source of light vanished.
Pitch-black swallowed the camp.
For a brief moment, there was nothing.
Then his vision sharpened.
Thanks to Hyper Adaptability, his eyes adjusted quickly.
Shapes emerged from the darkness—the outline of trees, the river's faint shimmer, the uneven ground around his camp.
Moonlight filtered weakly through the cloud cover above, just enough to paint the world in muted silver.
Edison's breath slowed as he took it all in.
He knew that roar and it's definitely a Druvask.
And it sounds weird.
That sound had been heavier and far louder than any of the three he'd hunted so far.
Worse still... it was close.
Druvasks didn't usually come this far towards the forest's edge.
He moved quietly back to the shelter and peered inside.
There, Snubby lay sprawled across the leather sheet, already sleeping sounding.
He stared for a second.
"...They really do have the survival instincts of a marshmallow," Guide's mutter echoed in his head.
"Well, let's make sure that she doesn't end up a dead marshmallow."
Working fast, Edison grabbed loose branches and packed snow against the shelter's entrance, sealing it over.
He then scooped up armfuls of snow and scattered them across the entire structure, burying its shape beneath a rough white layer.
In moments, the shelter became nothing more than a small, uneven mound of snow—easy to miss, blending into the surroundings.
Edison examined his handiwork for a second and nodded.
He turned towards the treeline, hopping in place a few times to get his blood pumping. Snow puffed beneath his boots as he shook out his arms.
Then he dug his feet into the powder, leaned forward, and sprinted for the trees.
At the forest's edge, instead of disappearing into the darkness, Edison leapt upward.
He caught a low branch, hauled himself up several feet and climbed.
With his current strength, each pull sent him higher with ease.
In seconds, he was balanced atop the highest branch that could support his weight.
Edison then jumped, landing against the trunk of a larger tree nearby and climbed again.
He repeated the process until he finally reached a point where the surrounding canopy dipped below him.
From his perch high above the forest floor, Edison crouched and looked out.
Most of the forest lay below him now, a sea of dark shapes and silver-shadowed snow.
Edison crouched low against the trunk, eyes scanning the darkness.
Almost instantly, Edison noticed it.
A faint light flickering between the distant tree lines. It bobbed and weaved, momentarily vanishing behind trunks before reappearing again, growing larger by the second.
And behind it, trees swayed violently. Branches snapped. Snow cascaded from above as something enormous forced its way through the forest, its passage marked by cracking wood and trembling earth.
Guide's voice rang in his head. "Well. There's your Druvask."
Edison's eyes narrowed. "I know... Is it chasing something... someone?"
The light surged forward, moving with impressive speed despite the uneven terrain.
"Well, whoever this 'someone' is," Guide continued dryly, "They clearly know what they're doing. They're heading for the river. It's just that they happened to run straight toward where we set up camp. What luck."
Edison watched as the distance between the light and his camp keep shrinking.
"Well," he muttered, shifting his weight, "saves me the trouble of making up a reason to help the poor fella."
Guide sighed—audibly. "You're secretly hoping it's a damsel in distress, aren't you."
Edison stood up fully on the branch, stretching his shoulders. "Well, that would be a huge plus. I've always wanted a moment like this. And stop asking me obvious shit—you're in my head."
"Please," Guide replied, tone thick with mock offense. "Unlike other uncivilized systems, I actually respect the host's privacy. I don't peer into your thoughts twenty-four seven. You're welcome."
"I didn't say thank you."
With a single leap, Edison vanished into the darkness, dropping from the canopy like a shadow torn loose from the night.
—————————————————————————
A figure sprinted through the forest, breath tearing from his lungs in ragged bursts.
He wore light leather armor fitted for movement, a hood pulled low over his head and a thick blue scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. A short bow was strapped across his back, bouncing with each stride, and a leather bag slapped against his side. Along his waist hung a quiver, only half full.
He raised the torch higher, its flame flaring as it cast jittery light over roots, rocks, and snow-choked ground ahead.
His mind raced even as his legs burned.
He's been hunting in these woods for years. Knew every trail, every windbreak, every place where prey liked to gather.
And never—not once—had a Druvask attack him.
They don't usually do that.
Druvasks only attacked when provoked.
He'd always been careful. Always skirted their territory.
And this Druvask was… different.
He'd seen his fair share of them over the years. Massive, territorial, dangerous—but predictable. He'd crossed paths with those beasts more than once during his hunts, watching from a safe distance as they grazed, fought rivals, or patrolled their domain.
They were creatures of instinct, not mindless killers.
This… thing was not like any Druvask he'd ever seen before.
No use thinking about this.
Right now, he needed to—
His foot suddenly hit something uneven under the snow.
The world lurched.
He stumbled, arms flailing, torch dipping low.
Pain flared up in his ankle.
With the tumble, the sounds behind him grew louder—and whatever was chasing him was getting closer.
The man hissed through clenched teeth and pushed harder, ignoring the pain in his feet.
The river.
If he could just reach the river—
He was a good swimmer. He could cross the river or let the current carry him downstream.
The water would slow that thing. Maybe even stop it.
Before he could finish the thought, a sharp crack split the air behind him.
He turned his head just in time to see a massive shadow hurtling towards him.
His blood ran cold.
He instantly threw himself down.
The object tore past him by mere inches before smashing into the trees ahead with a thunderous crash. Snow and splinters exploded outward.
He turned to look at the object that nearly ended him.
It was a... tree? How?
He scrambled back to his feet, heart hammering, bow already in his hands as instinct took over. He snatched an arrow from his quiver, fingers shaking.
The torch lay a few feet away, its flame flickering.
He turned and face the darkness ahead.
He couldn't run anymore.
Not after that stumble.
The forest moved forward.
A massive silhouette pushed through the trees, branches snapping like kindling as it stepped into view.
The beast was enormous—almost twice his size.
With trembling hands, he drew the bowstring back, muscles screaming as he forced himself to hold aim.
But it did not step into the torchlight.
It stopped just beyond it.
At the very edge of the glow, a colossal silhouette loomed. The torchlight licked against its outline, revealing only fragments: the curve of a massive shoulder, the jagged edge of a tusk, the thick column of one foreleg planted deep in the snow.
White fog burst from its unseen maw with every breath, rolling forward into the light before thinning into nothing.
Its hide, barely visible through the gloom, looked rough and uneven, frost clinging to its surface like a second skin. Several arrows jutted from its bulk.
The man swallowed hard and took aim.
He tried to line up a shot—but with his hands shaking and his breath ragged, he knew it was unlikely to land.
The snorted and shook its body violently. Several arrows snapped loose, falling into the snow, the beast's thick hide barely marked.
The hunter clearly wasn't equipped for this.
And the way the Druvask pawed at the ground, hooves tearing up frozen earth. Its eyes never left him.
Panting, he eased a fraction of the tension from the bowstring.
No use.
He couldn't win.
And he couldn't see a way out.
This is it.
The grey man would take him today.
Still, he drew the bowstring back again, muscles screaming in protest.
If he was going to die, he wasn't going to do it quietly.
He steadied his breathing, forced his focus, and aimed for the eye.
For a heartbeat, the world went silent.
Just before the man's fingers began to loosen—
A shadow slammed down between them.
Snow erupted skyward as something crashed into the ground with astonishing force, landing a dozen meters in front of the man.
The beast took a few steps back further into the darkness.
The hunter squinted through the flying snow.
It was a spear.
Buried deep in the frozen earth.
Before he could process that, another shadow dropped from above, landing beside the spear with a heavy thud.
A man straightened up.
Then he spoke in a strage tone.
"Whew, made it just in time."