The words hovered in front of Jin-Woo for a few seconds longer than they should have, stark and indifferent against the darkening sky. Then the interface vanished, leaving the world exactly as it had been, too normal for what had just been declared.
He stayed on the roof, hands resting loosely at his sides.
Snow began to fall.
At first, it was almost polite. Thin flakes drifting down without urgency, catching the last traces of sunset as they spun through the air. They settled on the roof tiles, on his sleeves, melting slowly instead of sticking.
Too slow.
Jin-Woo frowned slightly. Last time, it had come hard and fast, violent, suffocating, as if the world itself had been buried in a single breath. This felt… restrained.
He searched his memory, replaying that first hour over and over. The screams. The panic. The sudden drop in temperature that had shattered glass and frozen roads solid.
This wasn't that.
For a moment, doubt crept in. Had time distorted his memories? Had fear exaggerated them?
Or was something actually different?
The question lingered unanswered as the cold brushed his skin again, subtle but insistent. Jin-Woo exhaled and turned toward the hatch leading back inside. Whatever was coming, it wouldn't stay gentle for long.
Inside the house, the air cooled gradually. Not the brutal snap of freezing temperatures, just a steady decline, the kind that seeped into walls and corners if left unchecked. Jin-Woo shrugged out of his coat and leaned it over a chair, listening to the faint creaks of the building as it adjusted.
He sat at the table, elbows resting on the worn wood, and stared at nothing.
He could have warned them.
The thought came uninvited, heavy with old guilt. A message online. A post. A shout in the street. Something. Anything.
But he knew how it would have gone. Laughter. Dismissal. Accusations. Maybe a call to the authorities if he pushed too hard. Prophets were only welcome after the disaster, never before.
He wasn't going to carry that weight again.
Jin-Woo straightened, pushing the thought aside. Responsibility had limits. He had chosen where to draw his.
About thirty minutes passed.
The snow outside thickened, flakes growing denser, the light fading into a dull gray. Still not deadly. Still survivable for now.
Then came the knock.
It was sharp and sudden, cutting through the quiet like a crack of ice.
Jin-Woo froze.
His hand moved before his mind caught up, reaching for the axe leaning against the wall. He lifted it silently and stepped toward the door, each footfall measured. The knock came again, weaker this time.
He peered through the peephole.
A child stood on his porch.
A boy, maybe six or seven, face red and blotchy from crying, breath hitching as he shook in the cold. Snow clung to his hair and the shoulders of his too-thin jacket.
Jin-Woo opened the door.
The cold rushed in, along with the boy's sobs.
"M-my mom," the child stammered, words tumbling over each other. "She- she's hurt. There was a monster. It chased us."
Jin-Woo crouched slightly, bringing himself level with the boy. His voice stayed calm. "Slow down. Where is she?"
The boy pointed back toward the tree line, arm trembling. "There. In the woods."
Monsters didn't exist.
Not last time. Not ever.
Fear did strange things to children's imaginations. Jin-Woo glanced at the falling snow, then back at the boy. He ushered him inside, closing the door against the cold.
"Stay here," he said firmly but gently. "Warm up. Don't open the door for anyone."
The boy nodded frantically, clutching his sleeves.
Jin-Woo tightened his grip on the axe and stepped back outside.
The snow crunched under his boots as he moved quickly, following the direction the boy had pointed. The forest swallowed sound, branches creaking faintly as the wind threaded through them.
Then he heard it.
A scream, short, sharp, and cut off too suddenly.
Jin-Woo broke into a run.
He found her near the base of a large tree, body crumpled awkwardly against the roots. The bark behind her was cracked, splintered outward as if something heavy had struck it with force.
He dropped to one knee, checking her pulse.
Alive.
Breathing shallow, but steady.
No human had done this.
The realization barely had time to settle before a low growl rolled through the trees.
Jin-Woo turned.
It came at him without warning, a massive shape bursting from the shadows, white fur matted and bristling, breath steaming in thick clouds. At a glance, it looked like a bear. At a closer look, everything was wrong.
Its proportions were off. Too long. Too lean. Eyes too sharp, reflecting light with an unnatural clarity.
An Arctic Bear perhaps.
But not any that belonged in this country much less this forest, was this here because of the system he wondered.
Jin-Woo swung the axe on instinct.
The blade struck its open mouth with a metallic crack. The creature roared, jaws snapping shut around the axe head. The force nearly tore it from his hands as it reared back, muscles bunching under its hide.
Too strong.
The axe alone wouldn't do it.
In the space of a single breath, Jin-Woo made a decision.
He reached inward, not for heat like he once would have, but for stillness. For cold. He pushed it forward, not outward, focusing it into the steel of the axe.
The metal resisted at first, then accepted it.
Frost raced along the blade, crawling over the handle, locking the edge into something denser, heavier. The air around it snapped with sudden chill.
Jin-Woo yanked the axe free.
The bear recoiled, shaking its head, roaring in pain and confusion. Its breath came out in ragged clouds now, frost clinging to its teeth.
Jin-Woo didn't hesitate.
He stepped in and swung.
The enhanced blade carved through fur and flesh with a sound like splitting ice. The cut flashed white-blue for an instant before blood spilled out, dark and steaming as it hit the snow.
The creature staggered, a section of its chest crystallizing mid-motion. Cracks spiderwebbed across the frozen flesh.
Then it collapsed.
Part of its body shattered as it hit the ground, breaking apart like ice under too much weight.
Silence rushed in to fill the gap it left behind.
Jin-Woo stood there, chest rising and falling, axe held low. The bear didn't move.
It was dead.
A screen flickered into existence before his eyes.
[ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: FIRST KILL]
[Reward: 100 coins]
He stared at the words.
Coins?
No explanation followed. No guidance. No interface to tell him what they were for or how many he had.
The screen vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.
Jin-Woo looked down at the creature again, then back toward the unconscious woman. He wiped the frost from the axe blade and slid it into the snow beside him.
He lifted her carefully, adjusting his grip to avoid worsening her injuries. She was light enough to not be a burden.
He wouldn't let the child's mother die.
Not here.
Not like this.