'Let's go,' she told herself. 'One step at a time. I'll do this. For them.'
And so, with the faint taste of winter fruit still on her tongue and the weight of three hundred people's lives pressing on her back, she moved toward the firewood.
As Monica stepped forward, a strange but comforting warmth began to spread from her stomach.
It started small, like a soft fire deep inside her, then slowly moved through her chest, her arms, her legs—flowing through her frozen limbs like melted sunlight.
She let out a shaky breath. It's working…
She blinked in surprise, clenching and unclenching her fists.
"What… is this feeling?" she whispered to herself.
Her fingers, which had been stiff and numb moments ago, started to tingle with returning feeling. Her legs no longer felt like blocks of ice, and she could move without dragging her feet.
The winter fruits were small—no bigger than a walnut—but the effect was immediate. It was nothing like normal food.
The energy she felt now was like she had just eaten a huge plate of meat after having starved for days. But even better—it wasn't just food. It was power.
She didn't understand all the details yet, but from the new memories in her head, she knew this wasn't something ordinary. These winter fruits were special. Rare.
They didn't just stop hunger. They carried a strange kind of energy—almost magical.
This energy didn't just restore strength; it helped the body heal faster, move faster, and even grow stronger.
In this world, people used fruits like these not just to survive but to grow in power—to 'cultivate', they called it.
It all made sense now—why her mother had insisted she eat them. "No wonder Mom saved them till the end," Monica thought.
She felt her body wake up with every step. The cold was still there, but it wasn't biting into her bones anymore.
Her legs moved more easily. Her arms stopped shaking.
From the memories, Monica could remember eating the winter fruits many times.
However, eating them right after coming to a new world while starving was clearly a new feeling to her.
The firewood was stacked near the cave entrance— not much, just some dry twigs, broken branches, and a few heavy logs.
These are what's left from what the hunting team gathered before they left. Most of it was already used up, but what was left could help keep the fire alive for a little longer.
People turned their heads as she passed them. Their eyes followed her—silent, empty, tired.
Some of them looked curious. Others looked quietly jealous.
But no one said a word. They had all heard her mother's voice earlier. No one dared to step forward.
Even the few stronger-looking men only stared at the fruits in her hands a moment longer before turning away. They knew they couldn't do what she could, not in their condition.
Just because the world is different, and the rules that govern the world are also different from Earth.
The current world is full of crises.
The crisis is not only caused by the special species called the cold beast.
There are also climate and all kinds of unheard-of things.
In this world, there is only winter, no other four seasons.
And the winter temperature here is far more terrible than that on Earth.
According to Monica's unprofessional estimation, the temperature at night is at least minus 70 degrees, and normal humans can't survive at all.
What's more outrageous is that it's even colder during the day than at night.
Not to mention the day, even ordinary people will be frozen to death if they don't have the means to keep warm, a closed space, and a bonfire during the night.
Fortunately, the daytime is only eight hours, so humans are almost always active at night, which is why hunters take advantage of the night to practice martial arts or go hunting.
Because of being affected by the endless winter and snow for centuries, just like the cold beasts, the trees in this world are stronger, larger, heavier, and grow faster than what she remembered from the earth.
Only hunters with strong strength can cut the trees and bring them back to the camp.
She reached the pile of firewood and crouched down, testing her grip on one of the logs.
It was heavy—really heavy—but her body didn't collapse under the weight like she feared. Her arms held steady, her legs firm. That strange warmth inside her gave her just enough energy to lift it.
"This… this really is different," Monica thought, eyes wide as she balanced the heavy log in her arms. Her breath came out in small white clouds as she slowly lowered it near the fire.
Soon, flashes of memories began to resurface in her mind—training sessions with her mother, practicing strikes and breathing techniques behind their old shelter, lifting stones, running through knee-deep snow, learning how to survive in this endless winter.
She knew now why she was able to move with this strength. Why didn't her body collapse under the weight like before? Why did her blood feel warmer than the frozen world around her?
Think about it… People are the product of their environment.
In such a harsh and unforgiving world, evolution wasn't a choice—it was the only way to survive. If the people here hadn't changed, hadn't adapted… they would've all frozen long ago.
Here, even the most ordinary person with basic development potential could become something beyond human. With proper training and food—especially food like the winter fruits and cold beast meat—they could lift weights heavier than full-grown trees.
According to the memories from her new body, Monica had already been training for years under her mother's strict guidance. Her strength wasn't a fluke.
She was almost ready to become a hunter herself.
With a rough estimate, she could tell—her body now was at least ten times stronger than what she remembered from Earth. Maybe more. Her muscles felt denser, her balance sharper, and her senses more aware of everything around her.
And still… her mother had given her the fruits.
Not herself. Not the elders. Not the few men left who could barely walk.
"Why?" she thought. "Mom is even stronger than I am... She could've done this."
But then she understood. It wasn't just about who was stronger. It was about passing the torch. Survival wasn't just about muscles—it was about choosing who could carry hope forward. Her mother trusted her with that.
Monica took a deep breath, calmed her heart, and got to work.
One by one, she carried the heavy firewood back to the fire. Her arms burned with every trip, her legs trembling under the weight, but she didn't stop.
The twigs crackled softly as she laid them down. The thick logs, which are not much longer than two meters, hissed and steamed as they touched the glowing embers. Smoke rose gently, and the fire flickered, then caught again.
Not a big flame, just two meters high. Not strong.
But enough.
Enough to push the cold back a little. Enough to give the others a few more hours of warmth. Enough to let hope breathe just a little longer.
Behind her, people stirred.
Some sat up straighter. Others shuffled closer to the heat. There were still no loud voices, but soft murmurs passed through the group—tired voices, but with a bit more life in them than before.
Monica stood by the fire, chest rising and falling. She was sweating now, despite the freezing air. The chill still pressed around them like a hungry beast, but it no longer sank into her bones.
Her legs ached. Her arms trembled. But she was still standing.
She turned to look for her mother.
She was sitting quietly against the cave wall, wrapped in the worn leather skin, her eyes closed. Her lips moved softly—maybe in prayer, or maybe just whispering thanks to a world that didn't always show mercy.
And her brother… he was asleep again, but this time, curled closer to the fire. His face looked calmer. The tightness in his brow had eased, and his lips were no longer blue.
Monica stared at the fire for a long moment, then looked down at her hands. They were still shaking—not from weakness this time.
From something else.
Her heart was racing, not from fear, but from…. Possibility.
Then, something blinked in the corner of her vision.
And then, right in front of her—floating in the air like some kind of futuristic projection—a faint blue screen appeared, hovering silently.