The chill of winter is unforgiving. A bitter cold that has all of Jiwoo’s extremities numb and his skin pallid, nearly blue. His once rosy lips have gone purple. The healthy, plush fat of an omega has long left his body.

Jiwoo didn’t intend for this to happen, clearly. He’s merely an omega that got caught in the terrible crossfire, the afterthought of an alpha’s greed. His pack had been absolutely overrun, completely pillaged. Pups were snatched to join the ranks of the other pack, omegas raped before slaughter, alphas killed mercilessly. He is relieved he didn’t see too much of the carnage, his father had urged him to flee.

And flee he did.

Until he couldn’t feel his soles anymore. Until his calves burned and his lungs felt as though they were on fire.

That was weeks ago. Jiwoo hasn’t the slightest idea as to how he has survived this long. Maybe sheer willpower, or perhaps the fact he’s stayed huddled up in this cave, unmoving, preserving all the warmth and energy that he could. But this will be his tomb. Jiwoo knows that; He’s going to die here.

His fire has fizzled out. Jiwoo blankly stares at the last few embers of it, at the charred remains of his makeshift source of warmth. The cave he has called a home will become cold in no time at all. His clothing is basically in tatters at this point and he’s littered with cuts and small sores. He won’t stand a chance once the chill sets in and he doesn’t have the energy to gather more firewood.

The omega sniffles once, then manoeuvres his body so he’s lying flat on the stone floor. The day is still young, sun high in the sky, but the rays of it are absolutely useless when it comes to a winter as harsh as this. Now he’s on an icy cold rock, and he’s going to die on it.

Jiwoo blinks tiredly a few times, then allows his eyes to shut so he can rest them. He’s so malnourished it makes him dizzy. He just wants to sleep.