It took me the rest of the morning to construct the snow cone.

In one sense, it was much like building an igloo, except I filled the inside as well and expanded the structure upward as high it would go while taking pains to keep it stable.

I packed the snow as densely as possible and smoothed down the sides in the hopes that they would eventually ice over. I did one more thing, too: scratching deep lines in a large bone, I shoved it into the center of the cone. If I ever ran across my landmark again, the markings on the bone would tell me when I’d built it.

When I was done, I stepped back and tilted my head back to study my creation. The conical-shaped spire rose high over my head and would be visible from a long way off.

Too bad I can’t make them in anything other than white.

The color would make the cone harder to spot from a distance, but there was no helping that. The constantly falling snow would hide any coloring I added.

Satisfied, I’d done everything I could, I picked up the ropes of my sled and resumed my journey across the tundra.

~~~

I spent the next few hours navigating by my landmark. I kept it squarely in my rear and paused frequently to recheck its position. When the snow cone had all but disappeared over the horizon, I stopped and constructed the next one.

It wasn’t a perfect way of navigating by any means, but it was a darn sight better than what I had been doing.

By nightfall, I’d constructed three cones, and the next morning when I rose, I began anew. While I worked on my first landmark of the day, I reflected on the previous day. By my reckoning, it had marked the start of my second month in the tundra.

And it had been a dark day indeed.

Just recalling it was unpleasant. I shuddered, remembering the grim fatalism that had gripped me. I’d never experienced hopelessness like that before. Such overwhelming despair. I had felt cast adrift, without purpose or means to alter my fate.

I glanced up at the half-built snow cone. In the end, the landmarks might prove worthless. The tundra could simply be too large to map. No, not worthless. Insufficient, perhaps, but not worthless.

Today, with my mind unclouded by despair, I grasped something else too. The act of creating the snow cones was as equally important as their navigational value. Building them gave me a vital measure of control.

“Control what you can,” I murmured, recalling the words I’d spoken to myself weeks ago.

It was the small things that would keep me going, I realized. The bigger picture might very well be outside my control, but the small things… those were the things I needed to focus on.

If I wasn’t careful, despair would creep up unseen and swallow me whole again. It was a deceptive beast. Ruthless. Cunning.

And I couldn’t afford to lose hope, not again.

I had to start believing again. Believing I would get out of the sector and prepare for that day. I couldn’t go on just surviving.

If I wanted to escape the icy tundra, I had to be methodical, careful, and resolute. If it took months, then so be it; I would still escape.

But I wouldn’t if I let despair drown me again.

Focus on the small things, Michael.

Train. Advance. Grow.

I might be stuck on the tundra for now, but that didn’t mean I had to waste the passing days. In some ways, this sector could be an even better training ground than the scorching dunes.

And it was high time I took advantage of that.

~~~

In the coming weeks, I kept myself busy.

I made sure my days were full, be it through building landmarks, crafting, or hunting game. My proficiency at constructing the snow cones increased, and after countless iterations, I was able to produce them sturdier and taller, ensuring they were visible from miles off.

While not trekking across the snow, I worked on my gear, stitching and restitching my winter suit and improving it in whatever manner I could think of. One evening, I hit upon the idea of lining the furs with bone splinters and, when I was done, received a surprising message from the Adjudicator.

You have modified a winter fur suit, transforming it into a set of winter bone-hide armor. This light armor set reduces the physical damage you sustain by 10% but, due to its crude construction, penalizes your Magic and Dexterity by: 70%.

A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth—the first in what felt like weeks. I had armor again! In light of the unlooked-for benefit, the equipment’s penalties did not bother me, and I donned it without hesitation.

You have equipped a set of winter bone-hide armor. Your rank 6 light armor skill has reduced the penalties incurred to 40%. Current armor modifiers: -13 Dexterity, -4 Magic, +10% damage reduction, and +5 sneaking.

Last but not least, I changed the way I fought.

My skirmishes against the tundra’s denizens became less a rush to kill and more a dance. Even weighed down by the bone armor, with my buffs cast, I was nimbler than most of my foes. Drawing out the battles, I took the time to train my skills and forwent one-shot kills. Instead, I dodged, parried, slashed, and riposted.

I closely scrutinized each encounter too. Replaying the battles in my mind, I assessed the results of every exchange and actively sought to better my blade work beyond the Game-gifted rewards I earned in each fight.

The improvements were startling.

My skills in dodging, shortswords, two weapon fighting, and light armor all advanced steadily. I honed my mind skills as much as I did my physical ones too.

During particularly monotonous stretches of hiking, I removed bits of my protective gear and chain-cast chi heal to mend the resulting weather damage. Then I meditated to recover my lost psi and repeated the entire process again.

I even attempted using chi heal in battle. The spell was not a combat one and had a long casting time, but with steady practice, I improved my control enough that I was able to hold my concentration between dodges and strikes and successfully cast the spell. Some of the time, anyway.

Employing telekinesis in battle became second nature too. Constantly blinking and two-stepping while fighting, I became adept at repositioning and striking at my foes from above and even when airborne.

I didn’t ignore my telepathy either. I fought as many battles with only my astral daggers as I did with my shortswords and learned to strike my targets with pinpoint accuracy from afar.

I even managed to train insight and deception by using ventro and facial disguises repeatedly in battle. Thieving was harder to raise. I lacked the proper materials for it and only managed to fashion the crudest of traps. Nonetheless, I managed to raise the skill by a few points.

My overall player level was the only aspect that did not advance significantly. The tundra beasts were nearly the same level as me, and the experience I gained from fighting them, even after dozens of battles, was negligible.

More weeks went by, and little about my situation changed.

Day in and day out, I built snow cones, refined my armor, and trained in battle. Small things. But they kept the madness at bay.

Loneliness ate at me constantly. And despair too. They had not been vanquished after all, only beaten back for a time. Still, I soldiered onwards, resisting every attempt of the tundra to crush my spirit.

My second month ended and my third began. Once more, my skill gains slowed. Although, I suspected it was more because I had surpassed what my foes could teach me than due to any lack on my part. I kept up my training, though. Some of my skills had reached rank nine, and it was only a matter of time before they crossed over to the next tier.

The many weeks spent wandering had also convinced me of the tundra’s immensity. Despite having built hundreds of snow cones, I’d yet to encounter one after I left it behind. The implications of that were frightening, and I shied away from considering them too carefully.

Still, I did not waver from the commitment I’d made to myself. I remained determined to find a way out of the sector. No matter what.

Then, in my fourth month on the tundra, something extraordinary happened.

~~~

The day started like any other.

After munching through my usual breakfast, I scored a mark on the bone stick that I used both as a walking staff and a means to track the passing days. Today was day one hundred and three.

What should we do today, Michael?

Why the same thing we do every day, friend: march across the tundra.

Chuckling, I rose to my feet. After months of being starved of company, I’d taken to talking to myself more. Perhaps, it was a sign of incipient madness, but I no longer cared. It was better than laying down and letting despair overtake me.

Gathering my belongings, I loaded up the sled. Like all my other possessions, it, too, had undergone multiple upgrades in the passing weeks. Now, the sled sported handlebars, side rails, spikes, and even a top cage to keep the scavengers away.

Without further ceremony, I orientated myself using my latest landmark and got moving.

Even though the sled had grown heavier in the intervening time, pulling it had become effortless. Since first making the bone sled, I’d gained four more levels—disgustingly few, I know—and each time I’d invested the attribute points in Strength. Now, it sat at rank ten.

It’s probably time to stop investing in Strength, I mused. But what should I invest in next? Frostbite was no longer an issue, so more Constitution was not necessary. Back to increasing Mind, I think.

Turning my attention inwards, I opened my player profile. Reviewing my improvements was one of the few spots of brightness in my otherwise bleak existence and it had become the favorite part of my day. Every morning, I scrutinized each Game message, relishing every skill gain, no matter how small.

Alrighty, let’s see how I did yesterday.

Player Profile (Partial): Michael

Level: 119. Rank: 11. Current Health: 100%.

Attributes

Strength: 10. Constitution: 14. Dexterity: 22 (33)*. Perception: 25. Mind: 60. Magic: 7 (10)*. Faith: 0.

* denotes attributes affected by items.

Skills

Dodging: 96. Sneaking: 89. Shortswords: 98. Two weapon fighting: 80. Light armor: 81. Thieving: 61.

Chi: 77. Meditation: 101. Telekinesis: 73. Telepathy: 76.

Insight: 98. Deception: 96.

Well, well.

Meditation had reached tier three! Dodging, sneaking, insight, and deception weren’t far behind either. Now, if only there was somewhere to buy abilities here, I thought wistfully. Imagine what I could—

AHH-WOOOOOOOO.

I froze. That sound… I had not heard its like on the tundra before.

AhhhooOOOOOoowhoooo

A second howl cut through the tundra, and my head jerked to the left, the direction it had come from. Am I imagining this?

A third howl answered the first two.

A fourth followed, then a fifth.

My head whipped around, tracking each sound eagerly. It can’t be. I must be—

It doesn’t matter if you’re hallucinating or not! Answer the call!

Craning my head back, I howled.

The sound was long and mournful and went on and on. Once I started, I couldn’t seem to stop. I poured everything of myself into the call, giving vent to my desolation, despair, loneliness… and hope.

Desperate hope.

The other howls cut-off.

I ran down, my voice hoarse, and waited in dreadful anticipation. If hope had betrayed me… I wasn’t sure I could go on.

A shape appeared through the falling snow. Then a second. And then another until finally, padding soft-footed and silent, the entire pack surrounded me.

My eyes widening in shock, I turned about in a slow circle to study the beasts. My ears had not deceived me. There were wolves on the tundra.

And they had answered my call.