[Bonfire: Lv.7]
[Radius: 52.8 meters]
[Temperature: 25°F]
[Experience: 220/240]
[Time Remaining: 600 minutes]
The warmth rolled out like a silent tide, enveloping the entire cave.
It was no longer warmth. There was heat.
The flames rose just slightly, maybe an inch, but they burned steadier, deeper. More golden than orange now. Like the core of a forge.
Around her, the change was undeniable. By now, the entire cave was covered in the bonfire's radius and warmth.
Although the total time they could maintain the fire has decreased, sacrificing one or two hours to save so many people was acceptable.
Even the ice clinging to the rocks near the entrance had begun to weep—beads of water forming, too slow to drip but there nonetheless.
Her hands trembled as she opened the panel again. Her heart was hammering, not from fear now, but sheer momentum.
She wasn't sure if it was just the heat or if her blood was finally flowing again, but her limbs moved more easily. She glanced at her status.
[Frostbite (High) → Moderate]
"Is it… getting warmer?"
"Did someone feed the fire?"
"It wasn't like this before—was it?"
Monica sat still at the fire's heart. Her eyes reflected the dancing light. She didn't answer them.
Monica slowly exhaled; she still had 120 EXP left. Enough for maybe one more upgrade.
But she didn't rush it.
She leaned back slightly, arms resting on her knees. Her body still hurt. Her stomach still growled. But her spirit?
Her spirit burned brighter than ever.
While Monica was still pondering her next move, the shift in atmosphere did not go unnoticed.
All around her, people stirred. First a few, then dozens.
The warmth that now flowed freely through the cavern was like a gentle shake on the shoulder after a long, cold sleep.
One by one, they began to wake up.
Old men wrapped in rags rubbed their eyes and blinked at the firelight, whispering prayers beneath their breath.
Children whimpered softly, not from fear but from confusion—many too young to remember what warmth even felt like.
Mothers clutched their babies tighter, stunned into silence as the bite of winter was replaced with something softer, gentler...
The cave, once hushed by despair, now buzzed with disbelief.
Footsteps shuffled closer. Murmurs began to rise.
And all eyes slowly turned toward the fire.
Toward Monica.
Her name wasn't called. No one shouted or pointed.
But it didn't have to be.
The change had begun the moment she touched the flames.
Everyone knew it, felt it in their bones like the first sunlight after a long storm.
Her mother was among the first to reach the front, pushing through the gathering crowd with a face taut in concern, but eyes sharp, searching.
"Monica…?"
Monica turned, her eyes locking with her mother's.
There was a flicker of confusion. Then something far deeper—hope laced with fear.
Behind her mother, a few others had gathered—some of the physically stronger residents, those who often helped manage the limited resources, or kept watch at the cave entrance.
They weren't leaders by title, but in desperate times, people followed strength, and strength often showed up in quiet responsibility.
Now, their gazes all held the same unspoken question.
"What did you do?"
The air was thick with tension.
Some of the older folks had dropped to their knees, hands folded in prayer. "A miracle," someone whispered. "The fire… God must've heard us."
"Or an angel," another breathed, glancing at Monica with a tremble in his lip. "She… she caused it."
Not all faces were filled with joy.
Some wore wariness, brows furrowed in silent fear of unknown demons.
But, among them were also a few who'd lived long enough or those who had heard rumors. Of humans with superpowers.
Their eyes gleamed with a mix of emotions.
Amazement.
Fear.
Desperation.
Worship.
But no one moved closer than the edge of the fire's reach.
They were waiting.
Waiting for Monica to speak.
Even the ones who knew better than to believe in gods—those few who knew something—kept their mouths shut.
No one wanted to be the fool who guessed wrong.
Monica's mother stepped forward first.
Her voice was low but steady. "Monica… this fire, did you…?"
Monica looked at her.
At her mother's frostbitten cheeks, her tired eyes, the way her fingers trembled not from cold now, but from something harder to name.
She wanted to lie. Or maybe she didn't. The words were on her tongue, caught between fear and responsibility.
But they were all watching her.
And deep down, a part of her already knew:
She couldn't hide anymore.
She drew in a breath—hot, dry air tinged with ash and renewal.
"I didn't just feed the fire," she said quietly.
The crowd leaned in, silent.
"I changed it."
Gasps rippled through them like wind in tall grass.
A woman clutched her scarf tighter. A boy's mouth fell open.
Somewhere in the back, a man muttered a blessing.
Monica stood now, rising slowly to her feet, the bonfire crackling softly at her back like a living thing.
Her silhouette, haloed by flame, made her look almost otherworldly.
"I don't know how," she admitted. "But… I think I've… awakened my superpowers."
When the words left Monica's lips—"I think I've awakened"—they hung in the air like a spark ready to catch flame.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. No one spoke.
Then… they did.
Eyes darted between one another, uncertain but alive—alive in a way that hadn't existed here for days.
People turned to those beside them, whispering in hushed voices that gradually grew.
"An awakener… I thought they were just rumors."
"She might be one of the blessed."
Even those too worn down to rise from the cold floor lifted their heads, the flicker of hope melting through the numbness in their eyes.
After everything they'd lost—after the hunting party vanished days ago without a trace—this was the first time anyone had dared to believe in something again.
The first time someone had given them a reason to.
A few weak cheers rose from the crowd—shaky, dry-throated, but real.
But most didn't cheer.
Not because they didn't want to—but because they couldn't.
Their bodies had long passed the point of celebration. They had no energy left to spend, not even on hope.
Instead, they acted.
Those who still had the strength to stand didn't waste time.
Almost immediately, several men and women began dragging over the crusted blocks of ice stored in the darker corners of the cave.
These weren't clean—they were chipped from frozen streams or dug from snow banks and kept in woven sacks or bundled cloth to melt slowly over time.
But now, they brought them forward eagerly, lining them near the fire to thaw faster.
Wooden pots, dented bowls, and even makeshift containers made from scrap plastic were placed near the bonfire.
One of the women, her face half-covered in old cloth, eyes sunken but sharp, began tearing apart a woven bag to use as a strainer for dirt and gravel.
Someone else—an older man with frostbitten fingers—held his trembling hands just over the fire, not for comfort, but to test it.
When he realized the warmth was real, steady, and didn't fade, he turned and gave a single nod. "The fire isn't dying out like before."
All around Monica, the ice began to melt. The scent of mineral-rich runoff filled the air.
Warm water.
For the first time in days, the idea of warm water—just warm—was enough to make grown men blink rapidly to hold back tears.
Usually, this was only possible when multiple bonfires that are larger than three meters high were built, but now only one bonfire was capable of doing it all.
Everyone felt amazed.
A few people started passing out what they could.
Cups made from folded tin, cracked wooden bowls, and a few broken thermos lids.
They handed the precious liquid, mixed with some dried bread chips, carefully to those who couldn't stand—elders, the injured, the sick.
Monica watched it all quietly, heart pounding.
Her mother stepped closer, gently touching Monica's shoulder.
Her voice was quiet, but fierce.
"You don't have to explain everything now," she said. "But if you're really awakened… You may be the only thing standing between us and the end."
Monica nodded once. The weight on her chest had doubled—but so had the fire inside her.
She turned back toward the flame, watching as the water began to simmer, the heat rippling wider than ever before.