The night hadn't changed much. Same snow. Same trees. Same cold.
I had.
I didn't realize it at first. At first, I just walked — mechanically. Away from the road, from people, from the smell of blood. The forest welcomed me back, and each step came easier than it should have for someone who had been trudging through snow for hours.
I only noticed when I stumbled.
My foot caught on a root sticking out from under the snow. I should've gone sprawling — full length. But my body reacted on its own: like it had been rehearsed hundreds of times, I shifted my weight, turned, stepped sideways and balanced myself. Smoothly. No jerk, no awkward flailing.
I froze.
Then I deliberately took another step — right onto the same root. My foot slipped, but in the same instant, my muscles adjusted the motion without asking permission. I almost glided over the snow, like on ice, and straightened up as if nothing had happened.
"Okay," I exhaled. "That's… new."
*You're finally no longer a burden to yourself,* the voice replied lazily. *Your body is doing what it was made to do.*
"What — hunt?" I asked.
*Survive.*
I kept walking, now consciously paying attention to myself.
Before, the forest was just background: trees, snow, a general picture. Now — it was a collection of details. I saw how sap glistened under the bark of a nearby pine. I could make out individual needles on a branch several meters away. On the snow — a barely visible track: tiny paw prints leading to a bush.
I crouched, ran my fingers along the trail. The snow was slightly pressed, barely disturbed. The animal's warmth hadn't fully faded.
"Recently," I murmured. "Ten minutes ago. Maybe fifteen."
*Five,* corrected the voice. *Look at the crystals. See how they've settled?*
I squinted. Sure enough — around the print, the snow was denser, the ice crystals slightly flattened. I didn't know how I knew what that meant. I just… knew.
"Great," I muttered. "Comes with a built-in forest manual."
I straightened and inhaled deeply.
The smells hit me like a wave.
Before, the forest had just smelled like "forest." A vague mix of pine, dampness, something else. Now, every component separated out. I could smell:
- sap — thick, bitter;
- damp moss under the snow — wet, heavy;
- old rot — somewhere deep, where a tree had long since fallen and decayed;
- animal fur — fox? wolf? — a faint trail nearby;
- and — my own scent: cold, sharp, with a faint metallic note.
I grimaced.
"I smell like a fridge full of knives," I muttered.
*You'll get used to it,* the voice chuckled. *At least now you can smell those who can't smell you.*
I stopped and listened.
Hearing, too, was no longer background noise. It layered. Wind in the branches — one layer. Snow crunching under my feet — another. Somewhere to the left — a soft knock: a branch hitting a trunk. Further away — a faint rustle: something small moving under the snow.
And beneath it all — a low, steady hum. As if the forest itself was breathing.
I realized I could count my own heartbeats. And someone else's.
I froze.
Somewhere ahead, between the trees, a heart was beating. Not fast — but strong. Not an animal. Human. Very far — but I could hear it.
Hunger stirred.
"No," I said automatically. "Not today."
*You don't even know who it is,* the voice said lazily. *Might be someone useful. Or someone who'll try to kill you. Either way — it's smart to know where they are.*
The logic was… unpleasantly sound.
I moved in that direction slowly, not getting too close. Just — testing how far I could hear. With each step, the sound became clearer. A heartbeat. Breathing. Footsteps. Quiet, careful.
I stopped when I realized that one more step might bring me face-to-face with them.
"That's enough," I told myself. "Experiment successful."
I turned and walked the other way.
Moving felt oddly good. My body seemed to rejoice in the exertion. I picked up speed. First — a light jog. Then — faster. The snow, which used to slow me down, barely hindered me now. My feet found footing on their own. I leapt over fallen trunks, weaved between trees — all without breathlessness or burning lungs.
The wind hit my face. My eyes didn't tear up. My muscles didn't ache.
I ran.
And for the first time in ages, I didn't feel heavy, clumsy, like a stranger in my own body.
*Like it?* the voice asked.
"I hate it," I answered honestly. "But yeah… damn it, I do."
I only slowed down when I realized I could've kept going for much longer. My breath was steady. My heart beat strong. No cramps. No missteps.
Endurance. Strength. Agility. I'd had all of it before — in theory. In potential I never developed. Now — it was as if someone had hit "level up to max."
I approached a nearby tree — thick, with rough bark — and placed my palm on the trunk. I squeezed.
The tree creaked.
I tightened my grip. The bark cracked under my fingers. Splinters dug into my palm. I squeezed harder — and suddenly a chunk of bark tore off like wet cardboard. I stood there, holding a heavy, damp piece I'd never have been able to pry off with a knife in my old life.
I looked at my hand.
The skin was paler, the joints sharper, the veins darker. My nails… weren't claws, no. But they were thicker, harder. I dragged them across the bark — they left a clean trail.
"Lovely," I muttered. "Just need a mirror to really ruin my mood."
*You're still clinging to the idea that monsters must be ugly,* the voice said. *Sometimes, a monster is just a person with no brakes.*
"I'm trying not to lose those brakes," I replied. "Thanks for the reminder."
I dropped the bark, brushed splinters off my hands, and sat on a fallen trunk. I needed to stop and… accept it. At least partially.
So.
I'm not human. Or not *only* human. Wendigo. A creature of legend. A predator. A spirit of hunger, if the old stories are true.
Facts:
I've become stronger. What once took effort is now easy.
I've become faster. Running through snow is like a light warm-up.
Endurance — nearly limitless. No usual fatigue.
Senses heightened. Vision, hearing, smell — all absurdly sharp.
Hunger — constant. Not "I want to eat," but background withdrawal. Especially near blood.
Mind — still mine. I still think, doubt, choose.
For now.
*You forgot one more thing,* the voice reminded me. *You don't freeze anymore.*
I paid attention to my body. Sure enough: I was sitting on a cold log, surrounded by snow and frost — but I felt… just slightly chilly. Not shivering. Not numb fingers. Just a light tingle.
"So I don't need winter clothes anymore," I muttered. "Savings."
*Summer will be worse,* the voice chuckled. *Cold is home. Heat is enemy.*
"Wonderful. Another perk."
I raised my hand, brought it to my face, and examined it carefully. The fingers — longer than I remembered. Joints — a bit sharper. Skin — almost translucent, with a bluish tint. I clenched my fist — muscles moved beneath the skin like steel cables.
I tried something I'd never done well before: a quick, precise motion. As a kid, I hated games where you had to catch falling objects or hit targets — I always missed. Now, I tossed a piece of bark into the air and tried to catch it mid-fall between two fingers.
Caught it.
No miss. Easy. As if I knew the trajectory ahead of time.
I did it again. And again. Every time — perfect.
"I hate this," I whispered. "I hate that it feels… good."
*You lived your whole life in a body that let you down,* the voice said calmly. *Awkward movements, constant fatigue, weakness. Now — it works. You feel control. Of course it feels good. Even if you hate the source.*
"You're the source?" I asked.
*The hunger is,* it corrected. *I am only its voice. You — are its body.*
"Comforting." I snorted.
I stood. Sitting and feeling sorry for myself wasn't getting me anywhere. I had to decide what's next.
The image of Nevermore Academy surfaced on its own. Stone walls. Black vines. That sign. And the feeling that something important was there. Not just a place — a waypoint.
"You showed me that," I said inwardly. "Why?"
*I showed what I saw in you,* the voice replied. *Your future — one of many. Your thoughts, your desires… you're drawn to them. To people. To strangers. To those who will never truly understand that you are not one of them.*
"Maybe there are others like me," I countered. "In Wednesday's world, there are non-humans everywhere — werewolves, vampires, sirens…"
*And not a single wendigo,* the voice said coldly. *Know why?*
I stayed silent.
*Because even among monsters, there are those that monsters fear.*
The words hung in the air like frost.
I exhaled slowly.
"Then I belong there even more," I said. "If even they are afraid — then maybe someone there knows what to do with me. Or at least… how to kill me, if it comes to that."
The voice laughed. Low and hollow.
*You really think someone could stop you if you truly wanted to feed?*
"I truly think that if I don't find someone who understands what I'm dealing with — I'll snap," I replied. "And I don't want that. Not for me. Not for those I might meet."
I remembered the man on the road. His pale face. Blood in the snow. My hand, rising to my lips.
I shuddered.
"I don't want that to become normal," I said quietly. "Even if my body already thinks it is."
*Your body is more honest than you,* the voice said. *It knows that without blood, you won't last long.*
"We'll see," I snapped. "Maybe there's something in between."
*Between human and monster?* it scoffed. *No. But go ahead, keep pretending you can balance.*
I stepped forward.
Now every step was conscious. I felt how my muscles worked, how my foot rolled through the snow, how my tendons flexed. My body was like a new, high-end machine I hadn't yet mastered — but already knew could do far more than I currently allowed.
I tested my speed — a short burst. The world blurred, trees became dark streaks. I stopped, and everything snapped back. No dizziness. No gasping.
I jumped — high, nearly a meter, caught onto a low branch, pulled myself up. My arms held the weight effortlessly. I dangled, swung, let go, landed softly, almost silently.
"Agility, strength, speed, endurance, senses," I listed aloud. "Full package. Cost — hunger and the risk of waking up over someone's corpse."
*Great deal,* the voice chuckled. *For the hunger.*
"Not so much for me," I replied. "But I don't have another choice."
I kept moving, trying not to think about how easy it would now be to sneak up on anything in these woods. How simple — to catch. How natural — to tear, to feed.
Hunger whispered. Suggested. Painted pictures.
I always answered the same:
"No."
Each time — a bit firmer.
The night slowly thinned. Somewhere in the east, the sky lightened — not pink, not golden, just less black. Gray. Dawn in a winter forest is always cold.
I stopped at the edge of the woods. Ahead, beyond the trees, a slope. And farther… somewhere out there, past hills and roads and other people's lives — was the academy I'd seen between worlds.
Nevermore.
The name now echoed in my mind like a challenge.
"All right," I said, looking at the graying sky. "New body, new hunger, and apparently a new world. Now I just need a place where I won't be killed on sight."
*Or where you won't kill them.* the voice reminded.
"That too." I agreed.
I clenched my fists, feeling the strength beneath my skin — strength I never asked for but now had. Strength that could be a weapon — or a leash, if I let it lead.
"I won't give you control," I said inwardly. "Not to you, not to the hunger. As long as I can say 'no,' I'm the one driving."
*And when you can't?* the voice asked gently.
I looked at my hands. At the forest. At the sky.
"Then…" I smiled grimly. "Then I hope someone's there to hit the brakes for me."
*Like a girl with braids who hates everyone equally?* it asked mockingly.
I smiled unexpectedly.
"Like her."
The forest sighed. The cold embraced me. The hunger lay in wait.
And I took the first conscious step toward a future where I was stronger, faster, more agile, more enduring than I'd ever dreamed.
And where every one of those strengths came with a single weakness:
If I ever broke — no one would escape in time.