He remained. He narrowed his eyes against the gale...the wind a familiar, hateful enemy. This wasn't a test of power. It was a test of will.
And in that, he was unrivaled.
The blizzard existed as something alive. A predator made of ice and wind. It shrieked in Alvian's ears...a high wail vibrating through his bones, trying to scour thought itself from his mind. Cold seeped through his standard-issue gear like poison working into flesh. His fingers became numb, clumsy things. Toes too. The [Frostbite] debuff wasn't just some game mechanic. He felt the stiffness creeping into joints, the slight lag when muscles protested against brutal temperature.
Most students would have panicked if stripped of power and thrown into this maelstrom. Running blindly, searching for shelter, burning precious energy and body heat until collapse came and snow buried them. They were gamers. Accustomed to overcoming challenges with stats and skills.
Alvian was different. A survivor. He had endured worse.
He dropped into a low crouch immediately. Back to the wind. Smallest possible profile. Panic meant death. The first rule: assess, don't act. His breathing slowed into steady rhythm. Conserving energy. Fighting the body's instinct to shiver violently.
Find Anna. That was the objective. The simulation provided no map. No quest marker. Only a name. A test of perception. He scanned the near-zero visibility, eyes narrowed to slits. He wasn't looking for a person. He was looking for signs. Evidence of passage.
Future knowledge of game mechanics? Useless here. But past-life knowledge of real-world survival—that was an SSS-Rank talent in its own right. He observed snow flow. How it drifted and piled. Wind came from the northwest. Any natural shelter would be on the leeward side. An overhang, a cave, a ravine.
He began moving. Not with speed. With grim, plodding purpose. One hand stayed on the cliff's rock face, using it as guide. Feet shuffling to test ground before committing full weight. One misstep on this icy path meant a quick fall. Fatal. Into white abyss below.
The [Frostbite] stacks climbed.
[Frostbite stacks: 4/10. Dexterity and movement speed reduced by 22%.]
He ignored it. Pain was a signal. Not a barrier. Ten minutes of torturous progress passed before he saw it. A faint disruption in the otherwise uniform snow blanket. Shallow depressions. Already half-filled by storm. Footprints. Small ones. Heading downwards off the main path toward a dark shape barely visible through swirling snow—jagged rocks that could conceal entrance to small cave or shelter.
He followed the trail. Body coiled like a spring. This could be a trap. Den for some virtual mountain predator designed to weed out the unwary. He unslung the small pack from his back. Numb fingers fumbled with the clasp. Inside: a flare, small medkit, canteen of water already half-frozen, flint and steel, and a sturdy ten-inch survival knife. He drew the knife. Cold steel felt familiar. Comforting weight in his hand.
The rock formation loomed ahead. He found what he was looking for—a dark, narrow fissure just wide enough for a person to squeeze through. Faint orange light emanated from within. Flickering. Casting dancing shadows on snow. A fire.
He entered cautiously. Knife ready. The narrow passage opened into a small natural cave, no larger than his shed back at the academy. There, huddled by a small sputtering fire, sat a young girl. She couldn't have been more than twelve. Face pale and smudged with soot. Eyes wide with fear. Wrapped in a thin, worn blanket. In her hands, clutched like a holy relic, was a small hand-carved wooden charm. Shaped like a bird.
This was Anna.
She flinched when he entered. Scrambling backwards until her back hit cold stone wall. Breath coming in ragged, panicked clouds.
"Who are you? Stay back!" Her voice trembled but held defiance.
Alvian sheathed his knife. Held empty hands up. Universal gesture of peace. "I'm here to help," he said. Voice low and calm. Careful not to startle her further. "I'm from the mountain rescue patrol. We were looking for you." A simple lie. Believable.
Mention of rescue drained the fight from her. Tension in her small shoulders slumped. Wide, fearful eyes filled with tears of relief. "My father… Klaus… he told me to wait here," she whispered. "He went to get help, but he hasn't come back."
Alvian's gaze swept the cave. Pathetic shelter. Fire built from a few meager branches. Already burning low. Steady drip of melting snow came from a crack in the ceiling, threatening to extinguish flames. Cold from stone floor radiated upwards. Wind howled through unseen cracks in rock. Stealing what little warmth the fire provided. They were sheltered from direct blizzard. But they were still in a freezer.
[Objective Updated: Protect the civilian asset, Anna, from the elements.]
[Anna's Status: Suffering from [Moderate Hypothermia]. Vitality slowly decreasing.]
[Time until critical hypothermia: 18 minutes.]
He had found her. The real test had just begun. This cave wasn't shelter. It was a tomb. The clock ticked faster than ever. He had to fight the storm itself with nothing but a basic survival kit and whatever this cold stone prison contained. He looked at the sputtering fire. Then at the girl shivering despite her blanket. Face already taking on a bluish tint. Cold, familiar dread tightened around his heart...ghost of a memory. Another little sister he'd failed to protect.
"No," he whispered. The word came out as solemn vow. "Not again."
His pack dropped to the floor with heavy thud. Mind already deconstructing the problem into cold, logical tasks. Expression hardened into a mask of pure resolve. Unyielding. The blizzard wanted them dead.
He was about to show it what a true survivor looked like.