Frostbite

I. Beneath the Ashen Sky (unfinished)

He reached into his bag, a seemingly bottomless expanse of clutter. His movements were methodical and coordinated, sorting through disarray. To anyone looking inside, it may seem like a mess of random oddities and miscellany, but there was an orderliness to it—a control in seeming chaos. After a moment, the thumb of his glove brushed something smooth and his hand paused. He held it firmly in his grasp and pulled it out. It was a dark, round, flat object with one side smooth while the other pitted and scratched.

He stood there for a moment, thinking. Pulling down his mask, revealing his face, he took a deep breath. The air was frigid, each breath escaping his lips like a plume of chilled smoke, swirling and drifting before vanishing into the icy stillness. The warmth of his breath and body seemed to be the only warmth for miles among the snowy landscape. The land was blanketed in a frozen white sheet, peppered with trees, their trunks leaning in all directions, twisted and broken by the weight of the endless winter. Some stood splintered, split apart by the cold, their jagged remains reaching like skeletal hands toward the ashen sky. They seemed to beg for a heaven that didn't have the mercy to take them. It felt like God had paid no mind to them, that they were forgotten.

The figure didn't either. The thought of their desolation didn't cross his mind—not what they once were, nor what they had endured. This was just the way it was now. A place of death. Pure silence uninterrupted by animals, and even the wind. They were non-existent. This is a place where no creatures are welcome, where even the hardiest of life couldn't persist.

As he rose to his feet, the sound of his boots crunching through the thick snow broke the cold silence. He popped the lid on the small round object and revealed a dial. It spun and swerved like a lost bird in a storm, its erratic movements desperately searching for "home." Once it had stopped for a moment, he looked back up into the distance, the seemingly endless snowy expanse stretching as far as the eye could see, only broken by the sight of the mangled, disfigured trees.

He closed the compass and slipped it into one of the many pockets on his vest. Turning, he caught a glimpse of the blinding sun breaking through the gnarled remnants of the forgotten forest. The trees stood like weary sentinels, their bark peeling away like ancient parchment, dark and flat against the vibrant white of the landscape. He lifted his goggles, squinting against the harsh light, a flicker of unease stirring within him. It wasn't warm, everything was too frozen for it to make much of a difference. The frost nipped at his face as he examined the horizon. Time wasn't slipping away yet, but there was never truly enough of it, and the day wouldn't wait for him. He wasn't sure how much farther he had to go, but he hoped he'd reach his destination soon. The thought of dusk sent a chill down his spine.

After a moment he gave a nod, the urgency of his deliveries anchoring him. He crouched to recheck his pack, ensuring the fragile cargo was secure. Satisfied, he grabbed one strap and swung it onto his back, hooking the other over his opposite shoulder. Pulling his mask back up and tugging his goggles down, he felt the bite of the cold settle around him. With a steadying breath, he set his sights westward and continued his trek.