In the vast, unfiving snowfields of a Freljord, a lone figure prowled.

  A giant lion, its thick white mane dusted with frost, moved cautiously through the deep snow. Each step was deliberate, powerful muscles ripplih its coat as it sed the frozen wastend for prey. But something was wrong.

  The nd had ged.

  Prey that oned freely—snow breat stags, even smaller creatures—had all but vanished. Days had passed, and still, the lion found nothing. Hunger g its belly, a dull ache that refused to fade.

  It stopped.

  Something was watg.

  The lion’s ears twitched, its breath misting in the cold air as its golden eyes swept across the endless white. Its nostrils fred, tasting the wind, searg for the unseen presence.

  The silence was shattered.

  With a suddeion of snow and ice, dark figures burst from the ground, moving fast—too fast.

  Trolls.

  The lion tensed, powerful legs coiling to leap away—

  CRACK!

  An ice bo whipped through the air, striking its hind legs aangling them in frozen s. The beast stumbled, crashing into the snow, cws raking at the ice as it fought to rise.

  A guttural growl rumbled from its throat, eyes log onto its attackers.

  The trolls surrou, ons glinting like fangs in the pale light.

  The rgest among them lunged, wielding a jagged spear. The lion twisted, dodging just in time—

  But that was the trap.

  Before it could react, aroll darted in from behind, bdes slig deep into its hind leg.

  ROAR!

  A thunderous bellow tore through the air as the lion shed out, its massive cws ripping toward the utacker. But before it could strike, a sharp whistle cut through the wind—

  THUNK!

  An arrow buried itself deep in the lion’s shoulder.

  Paihrough its body. Its vision blurred, muscles burning with exhaustion.

  The battle raged on, a deadly dance of predators and hunters. The lion fought, bled, roared—eaent more sluggish tha.

  Minutes passed.

  Then—the final strike.

  A gleaming axe cleaved through the lion’s throat. Its roar died in a wet, gurgling gasp.

  The beast colpsed, steam rising from its cooling body as its blood staihe snow.

  The hunt was over.

  Dar’win gazed down at the falle, its lifeless form steaming in the icy air. He let out a slow breath, his sharp eyes sweeping over the hunting party.

  Aside from a few scratches and bruises, they were all alive. Strong. Capable. A small nod of satisfa tugged at his features—these rolls were adaptio the hunting tactics he had taught them.

  It had been necessary.

  As the tribe grew, so did the challenges. Many of the newers had not been "enlightened" like the first ten who had followed him. They cked the deeper e to the Guardian—the being they now worshipped. And so, it had fallen upon Dar’win to lead them, a responsibility given by the Guardian itself.

  It had taken time to uand its will. But their bond was strong, and Dar’win learned quickly. The only real challenge had been unig with the uiding them as one uribe.

  He watched as the trolls worked swiftly, pag the lion’s massive carcass onto a crude wooden sleigh. The hunt was over. It was time to return home.

  The snowfields stretched endlessly, a world of white beh an iron-grey sky. Most would be lost in such a pce, but not Dar’win. He offered a silent grunt, a prayer to the Guardian—

  And the Guardian answered.

  A shadow swept overhead, a dark-feathered bird cutting through the cold wind. It circled once before flying ahead, leaving behind a faint, almost invisible trail.

  The trolls did not hesitate. They had learhat where the bird flew, home awaited.

  The march back was long—more than an hour—but they never slowed. Along the way, a few of the hunters checked previously set traps, gathering smaller prey to add to the haul. The sled grew heavier with fresh kills, their numbers increasing.

  Then, Dar’win looked ahead.

  Their home had ged.

  What was once a simple cave entrance was now fortified, enclosed by a rugged wooden wall and a prate. Atop the walls, troll seood watch, their massive forms sing the snowfields for threats.

  As the hunting party approached, the guards reized them, raising their ons iing before pulling the gates open.

  Dar’win strode forward, meeting the two gatekeepers—both t over him by two heads. Despite their size, their eyes held respect.

  A silent exge. A ched fist met another iing. Then, Dar’wihe hunting party inside.

  The dark cavern swallowed them, but it was no longer a mere shelter. Glowing stones, discovered by some of the trolls deep within the caves, lihe walls, casting an eerie, soft blue light. The pathways were no longer empty.

  Trolls moved with purpose, sharpening stone bdes, weaving furs, carrying baskets filled with supplies. A living, breathing tribe.

  And at its heart—

  A great open chamber awaited them.

  At the ter stood a statue, a t figure adorned with boris, trophies of past hunts. At the top, a bird’s skull rested, its hollow sockets filled with gleamiohat shimmered with an unnatural light.

  The shaman was already there, waiting.

  Rok’ka, the oldest of their kind, stood beh the statue, his cloak of beast fur shifting slightly as he watched Dar’roach. He grunted in his deep, guttural tongue.

  “Wele back, Tribe Head.”

  Dar’win dipped his head in aowledgment. “Greetings, Rok’ka. I bring tribute to the Guardian.”

  The old troll’s eyes gleamed. “Then e. He has been expeg you.”

  With a simple signal, Dar’wiured for the others t forth the hunted prey.

  This had bee their way. Their ritual. A bargaiched in blood and faith.

  As Dar’wi before the statue, the trolls behind him lowered their heads, mirr his movements. Their voices rumbled in unison, speaking the words they had e to know by heart:

  "Oh, Revered Guardian, we offer you the prize of our hunt. May you bless us with peaceful rest, with stability and safety, and with growth for our tribe."

  The cavern hummed.

  A pulse of mana surged from the statue, a force like the breath of an unseen god. Warmth flooded their weary bodies, washing away exhaustion. Muscles mended, and fatigue vanished.

  Then, one of the carcasses shuddered.

  A swirling dark mist curled around it, ing it whole—leaving nothing but empty stone where flesh had once been.

  The ted.

  Dar’win bowed low, as did the rest. Their Guardian had spoken.

  After a brief exge with Rok’ka, he turned, leading the hunting party toward the mess hall, where the rest of the food would be stored and divided among the tribe.

  The tribe had grown.

  From a scattered few to nearly sixty strong. A number unheard of for a troll of their kind.

  But Dar’win did not dwell on it. The Guardian had willed it so.

  And as long as the Guardian’s will guide them—

  He would lead.

  -^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-

  Marcus watched as Dar’wi, letting out a sigh.

  It had been months since he first entered the trolls, and their growth had exceeded his expectations. What had started as an experiment in maniputing essence had turned into something far more signifit.

  One ued discovery was the strange energy—mana, or perhaps something else—that flowed into him whehe trolls offered their prayers.

  "Is this the faith power they mention in old lore?" Marcus wohe amount he received was small, just enough for minor experiments to aid the trolls, but nothing groundbreaki.

  Take Dar’win’s ret prayer after the hunt, for example. Through their earcus had sensed his i and used his mana to summon a spectral owl to guide the hunting party home. This was only one of many trials.

  As the trolls' faith in him grew stronger, Marcus found himself capable of even more. He could grant temporary buffs, remove fatigue, and even heal minor ailments. The discovery was both fasating and promising, so he decided to push forward with his experiments.

  There was also another advantage. Each time the trolls made an after a hunt, Marcus would cim one prey at random, adding it to his growing undead army. These reanimated creatures served as scouts, allowing him to map the surrounding nds beyond the trolls' cave.

  The results had been fruitful. The undead scouts had helped him chart the region, and, to his surprise, they had discovered warmer nds further south. It seemed like a pce worth iigating ohings were more stable here.

  Another hy find was a herd of snow bison several days' journey from the cave. If the trolls could learn how to herd them, it would be a major step toward sustaining their growing numbers. But for now, that idea would have to wait.

  Marcus refocused on his current project—runes.

  Rune words could serve many purposes: rec information, facilitating unication, and, most importantly, enhang tools—both his and the trolls'.

  However, he had hit a dead end. His knowledge of rune writing was limited, mostly pieced together from lore videos in his past life and scattered bits of information. Unfortunately, those fragments weren’t enough.

  With no other choice, Marcus had to get creative. So far, his progress had been slow.

  He had successfully created a plete alphabet based on his world's nguage—simple enough. But imbuing those symbols with mana to form meaningful and stable effects was airely different challenge.

  Marcus sighed as he looked at the small stone knife in his hand. The more letters he o form a word with a specific effect, the more mana it ed—and the more unstable the result became. After tless failed attempts, he was forced to rethink his approach.

  Then, he made a breakthrough.

  By carving a specific symbol into the knife, eling mana, and fog his i, he mao create his first funal magie. It wasn’t much, but the stone knife now geed a thin yer of frost at the point of tact—a simple but effective freezing entment.

  Not the most impressive result, but a success was still a success.

  Marcus had already discussed the cept with the shaman. Ohe trolls learhe alphabet at an acceptable level, the shaman would teach the others how to write, paving the way for rune carving to be introduced when they were ready.

  For now, though, it was a waiting game.

  Returning his attention to the spear tip in his hand, Marcus gathered his mana once more and resumed his work.