The last traces of golden light faded from the sky as the clouds slowly closed overhead, sealing the world beneath a dull winter gray. The impossible warmth that had filled the air only moments ago drained away with it, and snow began to fall again, soft at first, then steady, drifting down over the ancient stones and the dark, steaming earth.
At the center of the stone circle, Sam lay on her back and stared upward.
For a while, she did not move. Her mind still could not catch up with what had happened. The road, the crash, the darkness, the falling souls, the angel baby, the Sun, the beam of golden light — all of it circled inside her thoughts without settling into anything that made sense. Snowflakes touched her cheeks and melted against her skin. The sensation was small and ordinary, and somehow that made everything worse.
She was alive.
Somehow.
But not as herself.
Her breath came in tiny, uneven pulls. Each one sounded too soft, too light, too fragile. Then the wind swept across the exposed stone, sharp and cutting, and the last of the golden warmth vanished completely. Cold crawled over her small body, slipped through the white bunny suit, and pressed into her limbs with quiet, patient cruelty.
Sam's body reacted before her thoughts did.
She needed to move.
She tried to sit up. It should have been easy. A basic motion. Something she could have done half-asleep after training, after work, after getting punched in the ribs until breathing hurt. Her muscles tightened by instinct, her body jerked forward, and for one brief second she lifted herself from the stone.
Then she fell straight back down.
Sam blinked.
That was not right.
She tried again, harder this time. Her stomach tensed, her shoulders pulled forward, and her tiny body strained to obey. But nothing worked the way it should have. Her muscles felt distant and weak, her balance was wrong, and her head felt far too heavy for her body. She lifted a little, wobbled, and flopped back against the stone with a soft, humiliating thump.
A small sound escaped her.
"Ah…?"
Sam froze.
That was not a word. Not really. Just a confused little noise, thin and soft and horribly babyish.
No.
Absolutely not.
She tried to curse, but her mouth refused to shape the word properly. Her tongue felt too clumsy. Her lips felt unfamiliar. Her throat was too small, too weak, too wrong. Panic rose fast and cold in her chest.
Her mind was still Sam. Her memories were Sam. Her anger, her fear, her stubbornness — all of that was still Sam.
But the body beneath her did not belong to him anymore.
It belonged to a baby.
A helpless, absurdly tiny baby girl in a bunny suit.
For a moment, the thought nearly swallowed her. She lay there breathing too fast, staring up at the gray sky while snow gathered on her hood and the long rabbit ears of her suit lay limp against the stone beside her head.
Then the wind bit into her again, and the cold cut through the panic.
Fine.
If sitting up normally did not work, she would do it another way.
Sam turned her head, clenched her tiny jaw, and forced herself to roll. Even that was harder than it should have been. Her limbs did not respond with the clean precision she expected. Her arms waved uselessly. Her legs kicked too late. Her balance made no sense. She rocked onto her side, slipped back, and tried again with a frustrated little grunt.
On the third attempt, she built momentum.
Left.
Right.
Left again.
Then she threw everything she had into the motion. Her body tipped over, rolled onto her stomach, and landed awkwardly. The moment she hit the ground, her head dropped forward and her forehead knocked against the stone.
Thud.
The floppy bunny ears fell over her face.
Sam went still.
For one long second, there was only silence.
Then, muffled beneath the hood, she whispered, "Ow…"
The word came out soft and clumsy, but it was a word.
Good.
Words were possible.
That mattered.
She shook the ears out of her face and lifted her head. Her vision swam for a moment. Below her, two tiny mittened hands pressed against the stone. She stared at them, feeling something cold and sick twist in her chest.
Small.
Round.
Useless-looking.
Not her hands.
She shoved the feeling down before it could grow.
Not now.
Panic later.
Move now.
Sam planted her mittened hands beneath her shoulders and pushed. Her arms trembled immediately. The effort was ridiculous. Pathetic. She had done thousands of push-ups in her old body. She had hit heavy bags until her knuckles split, lifted until her muscles shook, fought men twice her size and still forced herself back up.
Now lifting her chest from the ground felt like trying to bench-press a car.
Her elbows wobbled. Her shoulders shook. Her tiny body threatened to collapse.
Sam bared her teeth.
No.
She pushed harder.
Slowly, painfully, her chest rose from the stone. She dragged one knee forward, then the other, shifting her weight back in a clumsy, uneven motion until she was kneeling. Once she managed that, she stopped and breathed.
Her whole body shook.
Her arms felt weak. Her head felt too heavy. Cold air burned in her little lungs. But she was upright.
Barely.
That was something.
The cold pressed in again, reminding her that kneeling in the snow was not a long-term survival plan. Standing came next.
Sam looked down at her short legs and immediately hated them.
"Come on," she muttered.
The words came out soft, but clearer than before.
She planted one padded foot beneath her. Her leg shook. She pressed both hands against the stone, shifted her weight forward, and pushed. For a moment, nothing happened. Then her body rose an inch. Then another. Her other foot dragged under her, her knees wobbled violently, and when the wind hit her from the side, she almost toppled over.
Sam flung her arms out and caught herself by pure stubbornness.
Then, with one final shaking effort, she straightened.
And stood.
Not well. Not proudly. Not like a fighter rising from the mat beneath arena lights. More like a drunk toddler trying to survive an earthquake.
But she was standing.
A tiny breath rushed out of her, followed by a small victorious sound.
"Ha!"
It came out high, soft, and embarrassingly cute.
Sam frowned immediately.
"…no."
Even her victory noises had betrayed her.
Before she could fully process that nightmare, her gaze lifted, and she finally saw where she was.
The stone circle stood on a raised stretch of dark rock near the center of a small Arctic island. Twelve standing stones surrounded her, tall and ancient, their surfaces blackened by heat. They formed a rough ring around the circular slab beneath her feet, where old carvings lay half-hidden beneath steam, melted snow, and fresh flakes already beginning to settle.
The golden beam had burned the snow away from the circle completely. Around her, the ground still steamed where exposed stone met the returning cold. Beyond the platform, the island sloped downward in uneven shelves of rock, moss, and frost. Farther out, dark water churned around the island's edge where the light had melted the surrounding ice.
Beyond that was white.
Endless white.
Ice stretched in every direction beneath the gray sky, broken only by faint shapes on the horizon. More islands, maybe. Or cliffs. Or nothing but shadows in the snow.
There were no houses.
No roads.
No lights.
No people.
No sound except the wind.
Sam stared as the truth settled over her.
This was not a park. This was not some countryside field. This was not even close to civilization.
This was nowhere.
She swallowed.
"…where the hell am I?"
The words came out quiet and thin, almost swallowed by the wind.
No answer came.
Of course no answer came.
Sam turned slowly in place, scanning the island again, searching for movement, smoke, footprints, anything that suggested she was not completely alone. There was nothing. Only snow, stone, water, ice, and a sky that looked like it had never cared about anything alive beneath it.
Then her body shivered.
At first, it was only a small tremble. Then another followed. Then another. The bunny suit helped, absurd as it looked. The thick white fabric covered her from neck to foot, the mittens protected her hands, and the padded feet kept the stone from biting directly into her skin. But it would not be enough forever.
Sam knew that immediately.
This was not ordinary cold. Not autumn cold. Not even a bad winter morning. This was the kind of cold that killed quietly. Patiently. One stolen breath at a time.
She rubbed one mitten across her stinging nose and forced herself to focus.
"Okay," she whispered. "Shelter. Need shelter."
The word steadied her.
Shelter was a problem.
Problems could be solved.
She was small. Weak. Alone. Possibly a baby. Definitely not in control of the situation.
But she was not dead.
That meant she still had options.
Sam turned carefully, fighting the strange weight of her head and the unreliable wobble of her legs. The standing stones loomed over her like giants, their dark surfaces scarred by age and heat. Up close, she could see carvings running along them — lines, circles, shapes that might have meant something once. Maybe they still did.
She did not care.
Ancient mysteries could wait.
Not freezing to death came first.
Then she saw the steps.
Behind her, four stone slabs rose from the edge of the circular platform, forming a rough staircase up toward a higher shelf of rock. Each step was massive compared to her current body, nearly reaching her belly. At the top of them, set into the dark stone, was a cave.
The opening yawned wide and black, large enough for an adult to walk through easily.
To Sam, it looked enormous.
It also looked like shelter.
Her heart jumped.
"There."
She took a step toward it.
Her body immediately betrayed her.
Her foot landed too close. Her weight shifted too far forward. Her arms flailed. For one terrifying second, she was sure she was going to face-plant into the stone again.
"Whoa—!"
She caught herself at the last moment, wobbling in place with both arms out and knees bent.
Sam breathed through her teeth.
"Okay. Walking is stupid now. Great."
She tried again, slower this time.
One step.
Balance.
Another step.
Balance.
Her legs were short, unsteady, and infuriatingly slow. Every movement felt delayed, like her mind was sending commands through a broken connection. Her center of gravity was wrong. Her stride was wrong. Even the way her head pulled her forward felt wrong.
It was humiliating.
It was also progress.
So she kept going.
By the time she reached the first step, she was breathing harder than she wanted to admit. Snow had begun to gather on her shoulders and hood. One floppy ear had fallen over her face again, and she shoved it back with an annoyed little motion.
The step rose in front of her like a wall.
Sam placed both mittened hands against it and stared.
"…you have got to be kidding me."
The stone did not lower itself out of sympathy.
Fine.
She pushed.
Her arms strained. Her padded feet slipped once against the lower stone, but she dug in and dragged one knee up over the edge. From there, she hauled the rest of her body forward in an ugly, inefficient scramble until she rolled onto the first step.
She lay there for half a second, breathing hard.
One down.
Three to go.
Sam lifted her head and glared at the remaining steps.
"I hate stairs."
Then she climbed.
The second step was worse. The third made her arms shake so badly she nearly slid back down. The fourth took everything. She pushed, kicked, dragged, and finally rolled over the top edge with a small, exhausted grunt.
For a moment, she stayed there on her stomach, cheek pressed to cold stone while snow fell around her and the wind tugged at the rabbit ears of her hood.
Her body trembled.
But the cave was close now.
Sam forced herself onto her hands and knees, then pushed herself upright again. Standing took longer this time. Her legs shook under her weight, but she managed it.
Barely.
The cave entrance stood only a short distance ahead, dark and silent. Up close, it looked even larger. Its mouth opened into the rock like a wound, shadows pooling inside so thickly that she could not see more than a few steps in.
Sam hesitated.
Shelter was good.
Dark caves in the middle of nowhere were less good.
Especially when she was currently the size of something that could be carried off by an ambitious bird.
She swallowed.
"…hello?"
Her voice slipped into the cave and vanished.
No answer.
She waited.
Only silence came back.
Sam shifted from one padded foot to the other.
"Is anyone there?"
Again, nothing.
She glanced behind her at the stone circle, the steaming crater, the endless ice beyond the island, and the snow falling harder now from the gray sky.
Then she looked back into the cave.
Right.
Dark cave it was.
"I'm Sam," she said, because apparently fear made her polite. "I'm, uh… not trying to trespass or anything. I just got thrown out of the Sun by a baby angel and landed here, so…"
She paused.
Even to her, that sounded insane.
"…yeah. I'm coming in."
Sam took one careful step toward the darkness.
Then another.
With the wind at her back and snow gathering behind her, she entered the cave.