The sky, which for years had been a silent and gray executioner, now displayed a wound. The column of steam rising from the Cradle of Ashes was not just smoke; it was a colossal white scar tearing through the winter's villainy, a lance of heat that seemed to uphold the very horizon.
Mogu remained at the edge of the lagoon, panting.
The water bubbled with violent glee, and the vapor enveloped his body like a spiritual shroud. He felt the hide of the Snow Bear weigh on his shoulders, now moist and warm.
— It's as if my blood has turned to fire, Shal — Mogu whispered. — Each beat of my heart is a punch against the world's chest. I'm no longer the exile who shivered in fear, because if it depends on me, who will fear existing from today on is the winter.
The silver feline observed the immense release of mist they had created.
— The signal has been given, Bearer. You shouted to the world, and the world awoke.
Mogu sat on a heated rock, near the lagoon's edge, thoughtful.
— Will they come, Shal? — he asked, scanning the vast white expanse beyond the crater with his gaze. — Kessa, the others... will they see this great smoke signal as an invitation or a threat?
— When you light a bonfire in the darkest night, all forest eyes turn to you — the Guardian conceded, approaching with steps that made no sound. — The hungry will come for the warmth, but the predator will come for the light. Prepare yourself. Heat is a merciful invitation, but also a supreme challenge. You are offering life in a world accustomed to dying.
Mogu clenched his fists, the vapor moistening his face like tears.
— I don't want to be a challenge — Mogu retorted, the drama of his solitude overflowing in his words. — I want to be the sun they lost. I want them to look at this volcano and feel that hope hasn't frozen along the way.
— Leading is hard, Mogu — Shal'falah said, his speech becoming a guttural whisper. — The troop that rejected you will only continue if they can survive; the cold may have turned them into something you don't know. When they arrive, you will see desperate survivors. And desperation is a beast that bites the hand that feeds it.
Mogu closed his eyes. The sound of boiling water was the only natural music that mattered.
— Then I will be the master of that beast — he declared, with a confidence bordering on exaggeration. — If winter is cruel, I will be even harsher with it.
- - -
From a long distance, Kessa's tribe advanced with difficulty through the vast snow-covered landscape. They were little more than indistinct figures, mere traces of misery, echoing the suffering of hunger and intense cold.
Winter was no longer just a season; it had become a cruel tyrant that had robbed them of their energy reserves, strength, and worst of all, was beginning to erode their very determination to stay alive.
Kessa led the line, her feet cracked by ice feeling nothing anymore. Suddenly, a hoarse cry from the rear made everyone stop.
— Look! The world is on fire! — shouted one of the males, falling to his knees.
The troop raised their heavy heads. On the horizon, above the mountains they believed insurmountable, a column of smoke and vapor rose to the skies, so high it seemed to touch the stars the sun hid. It was magnificent and, at the same time, terrifying.
— What is that, Kessa? — asked a female, hugging her trembling offspring. — Is it the end of everything? Will the earth spit its rage upon us?
Kessa narrowed her eyes, trying to comprehend the vision. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She didn't see Mogu in that smoke; she saw a frightening mystery.
To her, it was an anomaly, a mist monster born from nothing.
— I don't know... — Kessa replied, her voice faltering with the drama of uncertainty. — It looks like the mountain is breathing, or perhaps winter has decided to melt!
— It's death! — another shouted in panic. — It's a volcano awakening to bury us in ashes!
Fear spread like a plague among them.
Some wanted to flee in the opposite direction, but to where?
Behind them lay only emptiness and starvation. Before them, there was that inexplicable sign, a mirage of power defying the logic of endless ice.
Kessa looked at the cadaverous faces of her troop. The despair was so deep it bordered on madness.
— Listen! — Kessa's voice echoed, full of afflicted authority. — If we stay here, the ice will devour us before the next moon. That signal... that smoke... may be our ruin, but it could also be the only warmth in this entire dead world. I'd rather die burned by the mountain's breath than turn into an ice statue in this forgotten valley!
— And if we perish, Kessa? — asked a male, one of the eldest.
— Then we'll die fighting against something we can see, not the wind! — she roared, pointing to the white column. — Follow the trail in the sky! If any life remains in this world, it's beneath that smoke!
The troop, driven by terror that transformed into a last spark of hope, began to walk. They didn't know they marched toward the brother they had expelled. To them, Mogu was a bitter memory, and that column of vapor was a divine enigma.