Point of View: Frost Bear
The cold was never an enemy.
Since the day I was born, ice, snow, and cutting winds had been part of my existence. In Rasganorte, there is no true shelter, no lasting rest. The world is white, vast, and merciless—and only the strong survive.
We, the Frost Bears, wandered in small tribes, following prey, fighting among ourselves when food grew scarce.
I was the largest in my tribe.
Not by much. But enough.
My strength commanded respect. My roar forced even other adult males to retreat. That was why they followed me—not because they understood me, but because instinct demanded it.
I thought like a beast.
I lived like a beast.
Until that day.
The storm struck without warning. The wind howled in fury, and the snow turned into blades. We had been tracking a massive prey—a horned creature covered in gray fur, larger than any we had hunted before. Hunger drove us forward, even as the cold became unbearable.
The battle was brutal.
Claws. Fangs. Hot blood staining the snow.
The beast died… but I should have died as well.
Its horns pierced my side, and I felt my strength draining away with my blood.
But I did not want to die.
My tribe abandoned me, believing I was already dead.
I dragged myself across the snow. I do not remember how long. Only the pain. The cold. The darkness trying to swallow me whole.
Eventually, I found a cave. Inside, against all logic in the middle of the frozen wasteland, a small tree grew. Upon it hung a single glowing fruit.
I ate it without hesitation.
And then… something changed.
My cultivation advanced, and the Ascension began.
I do not know how I survived.
But the world stopped being mere sensation.
For the first time, I thought.
I stood up.
I was healed. Origin Energy flowed through my body, sealing wounds, strengthening muscles, hardening bones. And then I gained a skill:
[Frost Armor: A layer of ice protects your body.]
I returned to my tribe.
The other bears stepped back in fear. When I roared, they obeyed submissively.
That was the first day I felt a different kind of hunger.
Not hunger for flesh.
Hunger for power.
I began imposing order—not with words, but with actions. I defeated the leaders of nearby tribes. I did not kill them. I forced them to follow me. Strength was the only language they understood.
One by one, the groups gathered under my rule.
Origin Energy responded to me more easily now. I could gather it, shape it, coat my body in white armor at will. Every battle made me stronger. Every victory fed my hunger.
And then, just as Rasganorte began to unite beneath my shadow, the world changed again.
The Abominations appeared.