Morning came.

  Mist pooled along the waterline in thin, ghostly strands, lifting as the first light touched it. Dew clung to every blade of grass while insects drifted through the cool air, trailing faint light that shimmered and faded like dying sparks.

  When the sun’s first beams sliced through the cracks in the cabin wall, Arion groaned awake from his hard-won rest. He stretched, joints popping in protest, then rolled out of bed and set to work. A quick swig from the leather waterskin, followed by light exercise—push-ups, pull-ups on a low branch, squats until his thighs burned.

  By the time sweat beaded across his skin, he cooled off with a bracing dip in the nearby spring.

  Another round of fish sizzled over the rekindled firepit—his new life: simple, brutal, and strangely steady.

  He was already forming a routine in this strange world. Oddly enough, he was accepting the new reality faster than he’d expected. A second chance. A blank slate. No deadlines. No superiors. Just him, the wilds, and whatever rules this place decided to throw at him next.

  …

  Morning meant more fish from the river and refilling the waterskin. Late morning to afternoon meant practice—pushing the strange force now humming through his veins.

  Seems like I’ve got the hang of basic water energy transfer: liquid to gas. Now let’s try dragging the temperature down. Ice is essential if I want to keep these fish fresh.

  He rolled his shoulders and stepped to the riverbank. Extending a hand over a small patch of water, he felt the energy stir— that faint electric hum of circulation flowing toward his palm.

  This time he inverted the process. Instead of feeding heat in, he pulled it out.

  Alright… Visualise the process.

  Energy surged from his core to his fingertips, the hum building. The water rippled—then hissed.

  A violent puff of steam erupted upward, nearly scalding his face.

  “Cold, you idiot! Not boiled,” he muttered, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist.

  He rested, shook out his hand, and tried again, narrowing his focus until the world narrowed to only the water’s surface. The current responded, rippling outward in uneven waves. For a heartbeat the surface shimmered, tiny crystals flashed like stars—then the reaction collapsed.

  The water stilled. A single pathetic droplet of ice clung to his knuckle before melting away.

  Steam hissed over his knuckles, sharp as nettles, the scent of mineral water and scorched skin twisting in the air.

  “One crystal… Fantastic.” His tone was desert-dry.

  He exhaled, shaking the stiffness from his fingers.

  There’s a delay—too much build-up before anything happens. Maybe the medium is fighting me?

  He leaned closer, studying the ripples reforming around his reflection.

  It’s there… the energy wants to settle, not spike. I’m missing the conversion key.

  With a tired grunt he stood. “Alright. We’ll call that… attempt number five.”

  The river gurgled back, unimpressed.

  …

  —— ? —— —— ? —— —— ? ——

  By mid-afternoon the count had climbed into double digits. Arion dragged a hand down his face.

  “Attempt number… ten.”

  Still, he extended his hand.

  This time he didn’t force it. He let the current’s rhythm sync with his breathing, eyes tracking the slow pulse of sunlight through the water.

  Steady now. Focus on transfer—don’t brute force it. Temperature is a slope, not a wall.

  Internal energy trickled down his arm, smooth and deliberate, no erratic spikes. The water rippled in answer, tension forming at the boundary layer.

  There… that’s it.

  He continued, slowly twisting his wrist, hand and fingers.

  The reaction was immediate.

  Surface tension shivered. Molecules slowed as he siphoned thermal energy away faster than equilibrium could fight back. Droplets froze mid-motion, crystallising in perfect concentric rings. A thin frost halo spread outward from his palm.

  The sound—the minute crackle of forming ice lattices—was strangely satisfying, like glass being born.

  He adjusted the flow, tracing the phase curve in his head.

  “Pressure drop stable… conduction gradient holding…”

  The water hardened from liquid to translucent solid, the air misting as condensation flashed into fog. A crisp crackle stitched through the quiet as ice raced across the surface.

  When it finished, a flawless sheet of clean ice sat where the water had been, edges still steaming faintly from the violent temperature drop.

  Arion grinned, fist bumping the air.

  “Experiment successful—finally! Surely that deserves an A+!”

  The frozen patch gleamed under the sunlight like a mirror forged by winter itself.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  He crouched beside it, admiring the precision of the transformation.

  “Entropy seems… bypassed?” He muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Local order imposed way too cleanly… that’s not how it should work.”

  The grin faltered for half a heartbeat.

  “…Wait. No. The ‘missing’ disorder has to go somewhere. This strange energy is too efficient. There’s a hidden cost here… I just can’t see it yet.”

  I'll need to research this phenomenon more if I want to continue experimenting.

  “Now then, I can’t be casting spells without names. Blasphemous!”

  He rubbed his chin, squinting in mock concentration.

  “You… shall be called…”

  A dramatic pause.

  “Frost Snap!”

  He chuckled to himself, utterly satisfied with both the result and the name.

  —— ? —— —— ? —— —— ? ——

  Satisfied with his spell naming, Arion went on to drill Frost Snap until the motion lived in his bones. No room for lag. No hesitation in combat.

  I think I’m getting close. It’s a fairly simple reaction and transfer—shouldn’t take long to master.

  “Frost Snap—a flick of the wrist and—”

  In that exact moment a shadow glided across the sun, bursting through the air and slamming into the river like a living missile. A wave surged outward in a miniature tsunami.

  “—Snap!”

  Arion’s magic collided with the sudden flood. With too little energy poured into the spell, the reaction didn’t birth ice—it birthed snow, enveloping him completely like a man who had volunteered to become a snowman.

  “Arg!…Damnit! That’s it!—”

  As soon as he clawed enough snow from his face, his rage evaporated, body locking rigid at what he saw.

  There, half-submerged in the river, something large stirred.

  Only when it lifted its head did the full horror register.

  A long, narrow head—bronze beak glinting wet and razor-sharp in the light. Scales ran up its neck like living plate armour, each ridge flashing gold as river water poured off in sheets. The body beneath was lean, corded with muscle, half-feathered, half-scaled, steam rolling from its skin where cold river met unnatural heat.

  It stood nearly three metres at the shoulder, wings spanning close to ten. Bronze and dripping feathers clung to a frame built for lethal speed, not bulk. The neck added another metre of reach, giving every movement a predatory sway.

  Then the wings spread—broad, double-jointed, every feather edged like a blade. Sunlight turned the tips white-hot. Muscles and skin breathed vapour as the sun evaporated the water, the air around it shimmering with heat.

  In a blink it rose, landing hard on the bank. Talons bit deep into the mud. Amber eyes burned into him. For a heartbeat it simply watched, cocking its head—slow, silent—deciding whether he was worth the effort.

  What the hell—

  Ah, yes. Local wildlife. Completely forgot. Well, it was only a matter of time.

  His right foot lifted half an inch off the ground in a slow retreat. The creature saw it as an invitation.

  “Ha…, nice chicken?” Hands up—universal sign for please don’t eat me.

  SCREEEEAA!

  The predatory screech split the air, signalling the hunt. And Arion, unfortunately, was today’s prey.

  It tore forward, wings slicing the wind, moving at impossible speed. Arion snatched his spear, raising it just before collision—then dodged on pure adrenaline, body moving before thought could catch up.

  The long, razor-sharp beak speared for his neck. He was already beside it. Scraping along its flank, he saw his opening and drove the spear home, trying to bury it anywhere vulnerable.

  The DIY weapon shuddered. Fibre split. Wood splintered and snapped against scales and thick feathers.

  “Crap!”

  Wincing, he dropped, rolled. No time to mourn his broken fishing companion. He rose, turned—and just before he fled—

  “Wait, what the hell am I doing?”

  He spun on his heel. The creature was already adjusting, barrelling toward him again.

  “Hey, asshole—” he snarled.

  Arion raised his right hand. Internal energy hummed through his arm, reacting with the surrounding currents. Temperature plummeted. Ice crystals formed.

  The spell he had practiced numerous times on the river's water—only this time aimed at something alive.

  “Frost Snap!”

  The words acted like a trigger. Pure whiteness bloomed in front of him in a heartbeat—dirt, grass, airborne droplets flash-froze.

  Timing and range were perfect. The creature, still coated in river water, became a flawless conductor.

  The freeze came unnaturally fast. Veins of ice raced upward at terrifying speed, encasing scales and feathers alike.

  Crk-crk-crk!

  Anything wet—from the bottom up—was at the mercy of his temperature transfer. Heat ripped away faster than Earth physics allowed. The air cracked. The creature’s exterior froze solid within seconds.

  Soundless. Merciless. Absolute.

  Before Arion could bask in smug victory, he threw himself sideways as the oversized chicken ice sculpture continued its momentum, barrelling straight through where he had stood.

  A wet slip. A heavy THUMP.

  Arion stood, turned, and stared at the fallen sculpture, already analysing.

  “The Frost Snap spell seems highly effective paired with wet surfaces, that’s for sure. But without moisture it would most likely produce slower and less effective results.”

  He made a mental note on his successful field test, but then winced. A deep ache flared through his chest, like something inside him had been briefly burnt out.

  He felt his internal energy waver—he knew he had already spent too much on freezing such a large mass.

  Better head back and rest. Better safe than sorry.

  …

  While making his way toward the heavier treeline he heard cracks—bursts of liquid and gurgling. A shiver raced down his spine. Every instinct screamed run, but he turned anyway.

  The chicken sculpture was shattering back to life. More enraged than hunting, it barrelled toward him unrelentingly.

  Tired, he hit the dirt, barely dodging the talons.

  In that split second he glimpsed it—still frozen in places, heavily bleeding, parts of its body torn open by its own violent thawing. It looked like something that should already be dead.

  It came at him without care, wanting only to take him with it. Arion scrambled up. Seeing the fight spiralling, he bolted toward the thicker forest where the creature would struggle to manoeuvre.

  But it was fast. Even in its ruined state it swung half-destroyed limbs at a tree—just missing him but blasting a huge chunk of bark and wood into the air.

  Arion was launched skyward, gaining decent air time before smashing into another trunk nearby.

  “Guuuhuu-gahh!” The impact drove every scrap of air from his lungs.

  He slid down, winded but frantic, and kept moving. He just wanted away from this twisted ice abomination.

  Sprinting again, he noticed something worse—silence. In the middle of the nightmare the quiet was almost unbearable.

  It didn’t last.

  Sound exploded. Something huge slammed into the ground ahead, shaking the trees. Arion stumbled back, hands shielding his eyes from dust and ice shards. Through the chaos he saw it: two murderous glowing eyes staring back.

  The dust settled. The forest stilled.

  Drained and exhausted, both of them stood face to face.

  But Arion noticed something—a sliver of glitter, a faint gleam inside one of the open wounds. The same orb he had found in the fish, only larger.

  With almost no options left, he had to gamble.

  The world slowed.

  Arion read the creature’s movement first.

  The wings. Duck—then go for the orb.

  And that was exactly what he did.

  Dropping low, the damaged but still razor-sharp wings sliced the air above him, missing by inches yet shredding the trees behind.

  This was his opening—his one chance. No real offensive magic left, so he improvised or died.

  He poured the last drops of internal energy into his right arm, letting it react with the surrounding air exactly as Frost Snap demanded.

  But this time it was different.

  Work. Please work. Come on!

  Ice crystals formed. The air chilled sharply—but this time he froze his own arm. Wincing through the pain, he shaped his hand and fingers into a rigid point—a spearhand.

  Now reinforced with solid ice, he had crafted the perfect weapon. With everything happening in one fluid motion there was no delay, no time for the creature to react.

  With all his remaining strength he sent his arm forward, twisting his hips and turning his body into a human spring. From foot to fingertip he became a living piston.

  Ice met flesh. He drove the spearhand straight into the wound where the orb gleamed.

  A sudden wail tore through the forest. The creature stumbled backward.

  Yanking his arm free, Arion retreated, unsure if it was enough.

  After a few tense heartbeats the creature went silent. Blood stopped flowing. Cracking sounds followed—then an explosion of glass and glittering dust.

  With a final twitch the creature crashed down. No movement. Just silence and one adrenaline-drunk heartbeat.

  Pulse spiking, breath ragged, Arion stood trembling. Then, with a long sigh of relief, exhaustion finally claimed him. He slid down a nearby tree and collapsed onto the soft mossy floor.

  His right arm twitched; frost still clung to the skin like frostbite.

  “Now… stay… dead… goddamn chicken.”

  —— ? —— —— ? —— —— ? ——

  Frost Snap

  Thermodynamics

  Description:

  My internal energy clamps a point; external energy drains heat from the medium.

  Moisture crystallises instantly.

  On Earth, this requires cryogenics (liquid nitrogen).

  Here, this new energy accelerates cooling so rapidly that entropy feels bypassed—local order imposed with ridiculous efficiency.

  But that can't be right, there has to be something else going on.

  Science:

  Phase transition water → ice at unnatural rate;

  External energy acts as an energy sink that Earth physics lacks.

  In Layman Terms:

  I rip the heat out of anything near me until it flash-freezes.

  It’s clean, quick, and makes things shatter like glass—great for ice cubes, terrible for pretty much everything else.

  Maxim:

  “One wrong step is all it takes.”