The group pressed on for several hundred steps, the storm clawing at them but wasn't slowing their march. Emma’s gaze lifted when she caught something faint through the mist.. an elusive glow, no brighter than a flicker, like a mirage born from exhaustion. A pale blue light, so faint it seemed ready to vanish if she blinked too long. Her brows knitted. Illusion? She would have thought so, if not for the way Jett’s voice rose through the wind just then.

  “We’re getting close.”

  The certainty in her tone pierced the doubt that hung in Emma’s chest. Jett never slowed, her eyes fixed forward as the glow grew stronger with every step.

  Shapes began to take form through the snowy haze. First a silhouette, vague and unsteady, then clearer as they drew nearer. A flower.. tall, its petals curving outward in quiet defiance of the storm, its heart pulsing with that same blue radiance Emma had seen through the mist. The glow wasn’t harsh or blinding, but soft, steady, almost alive.

  The closer they came, the more Emma felt it, the air itself shifting. Comfort seeped into her bones, an unfamiliar stillness spreading across her body. The endless pounding of icy rain faded into nothingness. The storm, so vicious mere moments ago, seemed unable to touch this place. Even the ground beneath their feet felt different: firm, stable, untouched by the biting wet.

  Emma’s steps slowed, her unique white eyes flickering between the flower’s glow and the sky above. The sky was still the same pale, sickly blue-white as before, but here, beneath its oppressive canopy, the atmosphere had shifted entirely. No longer did the heavens feel like a crushing weight pressing them into the snow. No longer did every breath sting with frozen sharpness. The storm, the rain, the howling wind.. it had all stopped at the edge of this place, as though the flower itself commanded silence.

  Emma swallowed, the thought unspoken but pressing in her mind: It seems that we entered a protective zone.

  Her curiosity got the better of her. She hesitated, stepping a little behind the others, and turned back toward the path they had come from. She squinted. At first, all she saw was white mist and a dim trail swallowed by distance. But then she noticed it... an outline faint but unmistakable. A shimmering curve, translucent yet solid, like the surface of a bubble stretched over the air itself.

  Her heart skipped.

  Slowly, she leaned forward and pushed her head through the barrier.

  Instantly, the world outside struck her like a hammer.

  Pah...! pah...! pah.... !

  A violent rhythm of icy rain pelted her scalp, cold needles stabbing against her head with unrelenting force. She gasped and yanked her head back inside the barrier with a sharp wince, immediately bringing her hands up to rub at the sore spot. Her damp hair clung to her temples, strands dripping against her cheeks.

  “It… is a barrier,” she muttered under her breath, fingers still massaging her head as she walked quickly to catch up with the others. She frowned faintly, her lips pressing into a line. But… why does it feel like this rain doesn’t like me?

  ****

  The crunch of snow pressed beneath Emma’s boots as she made her way back, her breath trailing in soft wisps against the cold air as her steps slowed when she caught the sound of voices ahead. Liz’s tone, curious and slightly puzzled, drifted to her ears.

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  “Is this a forcefield created by the flower to protect itself from its own storm?”

  Emma tilted her head slightly as she moved closer. Liz’s emerald-green eyes shined faintly under the dim light. Her red hair, packed neatly into two buns, swayed gently as she looked toward Jett.

  Jett’s expression remained calm, thoughtful, the kind of calm that suggested she had seen and learnt more than her young face revealed. She nodded slightly, her long brown coat swaying against her thin frame as she took a measured step forward.

  “Partly yes,” Jett said softly, her pale gray eyes narrowing on the faint glow ahead. “But partly no.”

  She paused, the silence between her words almost heavy enough to press down on them. Her gaze drifted toward the distant sphere of light, where the vague silhouette of a flower shimmered faintly within, blurred and half-hidden like a ghostly image behind a thin veil.

  “For the yes... you are right. It is protecting itself from the storm,” she continued, her voice low and steady. Then she stopped again, her lips pressing together for a moment before parting. “But… it is not the one that caused this storm.”

  Jett lifted her chin, as she continued. “This storm is only the pre-effect. A warning sign. A mark that flowers like this are about to bloom.”

  Her steps carried her closer, boots sinking softly into the snow. The others, Ron, Emma, and Liz, followed naturally, their pace unconsciously falling in line with hers. Only Dan remained behind, his tall frame motionless, the long black coat trailing lightly in the calm wind. His sea-deep eyes stared at the light in the distance, unblinking, unreadable.

  Liz noticed. Without hesitation, she spun back, and marched toward him. Her hand grabbed the edge of his coat firmly. “Come along dimwit,” she whispered sharply. His indifference meant nothing to her; she tugged at him, dragging him along until his unwilling steps matched the group’s pace.

  The snow gave way to the quiet sound of their approach, all eyes fixed on the faintly glowing flower that seemed to breathe with each second.

  Jett’s voice rose again, calm but carrying weight. “The flower itself is a symbolization of its own personal reality,” she said, her gaze steady on the glowing sphere. Her words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning.

  “Since it exists outside of creation, destruction, and logic, like us higher-existing beings.”

  She turned her head slightly, her gray eyes glancing at each of them one by one, before a faint smile curved her lips as if mocking herself about what she was about to say,

  “Just like I was taught,” she began again, her voice steady though her smile wavered, “it is said that the Flower of Frost houses all possible, ideas and existences, both logical and illogical within it's personal reality. It is a groundless existence of its own, operating at a level beyond every possible layer of it's reality, abstraction, and meaning.”

  Her words sank into the silence around them, and by the time she finished, they had drawn close enough for the flower’s silhouette to sharpen. Within the glowing sphere, its faint form became clearer. At first, it was only the size of a small flower, almost fragile, almost forgettable. But even as they looked at it, the petals seemed to lengthen, its stem stretching faintly higher with each passing minute.

  Emma drew closer, her unique-white eyes reflecting the glow. She leaned closer to the flower,

  “The way you described it,” she said softly, her voice carrying faint warmth into the frost-laden air, “the flower seems like a great thing.” Her breath left her lips in a thin cloud as she tilted her head slightly, studying the faint lines of its petals. “But why… does it look and feel so insignificant?”

  The moment her words settled into the air, the flower stirred.

  The glow around it brightened. Its stem shivered, as though awakening. Slowly, carefully, it began to grow. Taller. Longer. Each movement was unhurried, deliberate, as if the flower was listening, responding to her very voice.

  Emma’s eyes widened faintly as she watched, the reflection of the glow flickering in them. The flower rose until its head hovered just above her, no longer small, no longer delicate. Taller than her now, if only by a little. Then, as if satisfied, it stopped.

  The glow dimmed to a steady pulse, breathing quietly in the air around them.

  Emma released a deep sigh, her lips curving down faintly. Outwardly, she masked it as nothing more than weariness, but inwardly, the sting lingered.

  Even the flower of frost mocks my height, she thought bitterly.

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