Chapter 4: The First Test Grigory Volkov worked with rapid, practiced movements. His hands rubbed briskly against Dmitri’s arms, generating friction that failed to penetrate the deep cold radiating from Dmitri’s core. The intense warmth from the shack’s stove created a sharp contrast, emphasizing how thoroughly the internal components rejected the ambient heat. “Stay with me, Petrov,” Grigory murmured, though his focus was on the mechanics of survival, not empathy. “Your spirit companions are powerful, but they are poor engineers of the physical body.” Dmitri’s eyes were open, fixed on a dark, shadowed corner near the woodpile. He could see Grigory, the Cossack’s face a mask of focus, the human edges softened by the steam rising from their breathing. But the vision had not fully receded. The spectral eagle was gone, replaced by a much heavier presence. The bear guide, the massive, skeletal beast that had risen from the freezing water in the previous vision, was now occupying the corner. It was immensely silent, observing the scene with a predatory awareness that superseded simple curiosity. The bear looked like it was composed of sheer mass and shadow, its bone structure outlined by a faint, blue, internal light. The bear was not interfering with Grigory’s physical efforts, but its presence confirmed that Dmitri was still very much in the spirit world, superimposed over the mundane reality of the staging shack. Dmitri tried to speak again, to convey the urgency of the World Tree vision and the truth about the cosmetic fissure Grigory desired. He needed to warn the Cossack that he was committing cosmic treason, endangering reality itself. Only faint, painful noises escaped his mouth, raw and raspy from the sustained hypothermia. Grigory stopped rubbing one arm and moved to Dmitri’s chest, applying pressure near the newly installed iron ribs. “Don’t struggle. You’re working against the recovery.” “No,” Dmitri managed, the sound weak and choked. “Sealing. Must. Hold.” Grigory’s expression did not change. He continued the resuscitation efforts. “Your spirits are contradicting themselves. This always happens at the point of transition. They show you the horror to break your resolve, but the horror is the key. The seal is weakening the Empire, not protecting it.” He switched tactics, lifting Dmitri’s leg and beginning to rub the lower thigh. The movement instantly triggered a sharp, intense pain where the crystalline bone met his remaining flesh. Dmitri was forced to suppress a howl. The crystalline structure was rigid, brittle, and impossibly cold, acting as a massive heat sink that defied physical laws. The pain, however, was grounding. It focused the spiraling chaos in his mind. “That’s good,” Grigory said, misinterpreting the spasm of pain as a positive physical reaction. “A little life left in those parts.” “They adapted me,” Dmitri whispered, his breath shallow. “I’m a tool.” “Of course you are a tool,” Grigory agreed, standing up to fetch a thick, oil-soaked piece of leather. He began working the leather into a rudimentary sling for Dmitri’s injured hand. “The Geographical Society wanted a tool for mapping. The spirits wanted a tool for mediating. I need a tool for opening the way.” Grigory was completely unfazed by the idea of instrumentalizing another person. Dmitri could see the zealotry burned into Grigory’s hardened face, a terrifying mixture of faith and pragmatism. “We acquire the rest of the supplies today,” Grigory continued, speaking logistics over Dmitri’s suffering. “Mikhail is preparing the large sled for our equipment and for you. We need to cross the mainland and utilize the first thick sea ice flow toward the island. The timing is paramount.” Dmitri forced his gaze away from Grigory’s unfeeling focus and back toward the corner. The spectral bear moved, padding silently out of the shadows. It approached the stove, its massive head dipping down. A silent, internal roar resonated within Dmitri’s skull, bypassing his eardrums. It wasn't aggressive, but demanding. *Use the implements. Prove the worth.* The vision had been clear: the spirits had *given* him the tools, not just for survival, but for a purpose. The obsidian stone in his forehead, the iron ribs, the crystalline leg bone—they were not decorative artifacts. They were meant for function. Feeling the cold iron ribs restricting his shallow breathing, Dmitri attempted a small experiment. He focused his mental energy, not on resisting the shamanic presence, but on *activating* the newly imposed infrastructure. He targeted the crystalline bone in his lower leg. It was cold, brutally painful, and rigid. He mentally pulled at it, tried to make it more than just a piece of cosmic architecture jammed into his personal composition. Immediately, the external environment shifted. The spectral bear guide roared again, this time with approval. The mundane reality of the wooden shack, the smell of burnt oil and dog hair, and the sound of Grigory fastening the harness outside, snapped away. Dmitri was instantly transported, the shift so rapid it induced a nauseating physical lurch. He was no longer inert on a pile of furs. Dmitri stood on an endless, windswept white plain. The air was sterile, cold, and utterly silent. This was the metaphorical wilderness trial, a construct of the spirit guides designed to test the viability of his new state. The sky overhead was the incandescent blue vortex from the dismemberment vision, but stabilized, no longer threatening to dissolve his components. Energy flowed from the sky directly into his transformed body parts, replenishing a power source he hadn't known he possessed. He still wore the heavy, saturated uniform coat, but the water had evaporated, instantly freezing the fabric into a stiff, useless shell. He could feel the cold deeply, but it no longer threatened hypothermia. The crystalline leg bone transmitted the arctic temperature directly into his nervous system, integrating it as part of his operational baseline. The silence was abruptly broken by a deep, guttural sound, a sound of hunger and coordination. From three distinct points on the horizon, dark shapes emerged, moving with impossible speed across the smooth white expanse. They were spirit-wolves, larger than any biological canine, their coats the color of packed snow mixed with ash, their eyes glowing orange. They moved like shadows across the light, predatory and intent on collapse. This was the test. Survival of his new self against the imposed opposition. Dmitri had always been an academic, a theorist, a man who relied on logbooks and geographical calculations. His training involved diplomatic dinners and archived research, not combat against metaphysical predators. The only fight he’d experienced recently was the internal war against the very initiation process. The shamanic knowledge, though forcefully installed, was immediately accessible. The voices, usually chaotic and oppressive, filtered through the obsidian stone and organized themselves into concise tactical instructions. *They seek the weak point. Target the core.* The wolves closed the distance quickly. Dmitri knew running was futile. Their speed was supernatural. The only option was to use the tools. He focused again on the crystalline bone in his lower right leg. He needed mobility, and the pain when Grigory touched it had confirmed its power. When he tried to shift his balance, the bone resisted the movement, functioning as a dead weight, a monument to the spirit-surgery. *The iron enforces the structure. The crystal commands the environment.* Dmitri took a deep, forced breath. The air seared his lungs only negligibly, prevented from causing catastrophic tissue damage by the iron rib cage that expanded and compressed with a faint, metallic groan. This was the cost of his new life: constant, low-level internal noise. As the first wolf leaped, aiming for his throat, Dmitri pushed the energy from the sky vortex downward, consciously attempting to flood the crystalline bone with the cosmic light. The response was instantaneous and violent. The area around his right foot exploded with super-chilled energy. A circle of ice spontaneously materialized on the plain, radiating outward in a perfect, temporary perimeter. The leading spirit-wolf hit the edge of the perimeter and was instantly encapsulated, frozen mid-leap. Its spectral form hardened into brittle, orange-lit ice, crashing silently onto the ground in a thousand pieces. Dmitri staggered backward, the physical exertion of channeling the raw energy draining him. The crystalline bone felt like it was on fire—a cold, devastating burn that was the spiritual equivalent of maximum effort. The remaining two wolves stopped, momentarily confused by the sudden vaporization of their packmate. They began circling, their paws making no sound on the eternal snow. They had adapted, recognizing the specific nature of the defense. He did not waste the moment of respite. The voices instructed him to address the internal resistance. His body, his meat-vessel, was fighting the operation. The human element was still trying to reject the cosmic hardware. He focused on the iron ribs. They chafed, they groaned, they were cold. They were the physical protection against the overwhelming force of the vision. He tried to draw power from them, to access the strength the spirits had installed. Nothing happened. The ribs were passive, inert reinforcement. *Reinforcement. Not offense.* The second wolf broke the circle and charged low, aiming for the femoral artery in his unmodified left leg. Dmitri knew he couldn't generate the perimeter again fast enough. The cost of the first energy burst had been too high. He needed a simpler, more immediate reaction. He needed to move, to dodge, but his muscles were still lethargic, weak from the physical crisis. The voices shifted from instruction to command, filtered through the cold obsidian stone. *Will the strength. Engage the focus.* Dmitri slammed his conscious will against the weakness. His human body screamed in protest, but the new components offered a way to bypass biological limits. The energy flow from the sky vortex increased, pouring through the stone in his forehead. The surge was electric, painful, and glorious. It didn't just give him strength; it momentarily altered his perception of time. As the wolf lunged, Dmitri experienced the world slowing to a crawl. He didn't move faster; the environment simply yielded to his new, accelerated awareness. He lowered his left shoulder slightly, anticipating the angle of the attack, and brought his right foot forward, executing a calculated, sudden pivot. The rigid, heavy crystalline bone acted as a perfect anchor. He let the wolf hurtle past him, a blur of ash and orange light. As the wolf passed, Dmitri lunged with his right hand, grasping the thick scruff of the wolf’s spiritual neck. He had no physical strength, but the crystalline light pouring into his body allowed him to connect with the spirit-mass of the beast. He yanked severely. The spirit-wolf, disoriented by the unexpected physical connection, lost its coordinated movement. It spun wildly, its large body slamming against the ground. Dmitri did not hesitate. The wisdom of the spirits had replaced his instinct. He crushed his right hand—the contact point—into the wolf’s scruff, channeling the internal cold from his crystalline leg bone up through his torso and out his fingertips. The effect was not spectacular, like the perimeter explosion, but surgical. The wolf began to smoke, fine white vapor rising from its ash-colored hide. It whined, a sound like scraping stones. The cold spread rapidly through its spectral composition, and within seconds, the beast dissolved into vapor, dissipating entirely on the white plain. Dmitri collapsed to his knees, utterly spent. The power was intoxicating but carried a near-catastrophic physical expense. The third wolf, perhaps smarter than the others, regarded the disappearing vapor and then fixed its gaze on Dmitri. It did not charge. It backed away slowly, melting into the horizon. The test was over. The spectral bear reappeared, not charging from the shadows, but simply existing ten feet away. It lowered its head, touching the tip of its massive muzzle to the ground in a gesture of acknowledgment. The silent roar in Dmitri’s skull shifted into a series of images: traversing vast distances, unshakable focus, and enduring the pain. The icy white plain began to crumble into sharp, geometric pieces. Dmitri found himself immediately back in the Lavrentiya shack, lying on the furs. The transition was so abrupt it caused a wave of vertigo. His breath was ragged, his body trembling, not from cold, but from the spiritual expenditure. He was still weak, but a profound change had occurred. The lethargy, the semi-catatonic state imposed by the spirit crisis, had lifted. He could move his limbs, and the cold radiating from the crystalline bone was no longer a disabling shock, but a manageable constant. The resistance to the new organs had weakened. His spirit had integrated the tools through fire. The spirit bear was gone. In its place, the physical Grigory stood over him, holding a small pouch of tobacco and staring with mild curiosity. “You shifted, Petrov,” Grigory noted, checking the knot on the leather sling he had been preparing. “For a moment, I thought the convulsions were returning. No matter. The color is coming back to your lips.” “I’m functional,” Dmitri gasped, testing his ability to push himself up. He succeeded, sitting upright for the first time in two days. The effort cost him a searing headache, originating from the obsidian stone, but he remained conscious. “Good,” Grigory said, his tone purely logistical. “I require a functional academic, not a hysterical invalid. We are behind schedule. The ice is unpredictable this year.” Dmitri looked at the Cossack with a frightening new clarity. The animal guides had shown him Grigory’s purpose—the destruction of the cosmic order. The Cossack was a fanatic, believing he was saving the Empire, but only seeing the immediate goal, not the ancient horror. The fear of the Cossack was still present, but overlaid by a powerful, detached spiritual urgency. Dmitri was no longer guided by personal vengeance or scientific mandate. He was acting as the vessel for the spirit guides, a guardian designed to maintain the seal. His immediate focus shifted entirely to physical recovery and concealment. Grigory must not know the true extent of the spiritual integration, or the severity of the test he had just undergone. The Cossack saw him only as a tool for opening the seal. Dmitri must be a tool for preventing it. “I require assistance outside,” Dmitri said, his voice stronger now, though still hoarse. The pain from the crystalline bone and the iron ribs was constant—a persistent, internal hum—but no longer debilitating. “I need to document the final approach.” Grigory gave a short, cynical laugh. “Always the paperwork. Fine. Pretend you are still an academic scientist. It will keep the handlers in good humor.” Grigory helped Dmitri to his feet. The strain on his system was immense, but the crystalline bone supported his weight without fracture. He placed his left arm firmly over Grigory’s shoulder. The forced physical contact with the Cossack was a sharp intrusion into his new equilibrium. Dmitri examined Grigory up close, not just with his eyes, but with the new, enhanced sensitivity of the obsidian stone. Subtly, he could perceive the edges of the spirit world touching the man—not the noble, protective spirit animals surrounding Dmitri, but something colder, more distant, less defined. Grigory was drawing power from the imprisoned entity, mistaking its promises for salvation. The Cossack’s intent felt like raw, jagged ice, desperate and pure. They stepped out of the suffocating heat of the shack and into the brutal cold of Lavrentiya. The small settlement was clustered around the river mouth, a collection of rough log structures and piles of gear. The air was sharp, filled with the scent of pine smoke, seal grease, and the distinct ammonia smell of the dog camp. Dmitri inhaled slowly, testing his lungs under the iron reinforcement. The deep breath did not burn; it stabilized. The tools were working. Grigory led him toward the area where Mikhail, the handler, was preparing the larger sled. The air was filled with barking. A large pack of powerful, heavily built Chukchi sled dogs was chained nearby, agitated but controlled. The noise of forty large dogs was overpowering, but the new clarity in Dmitri’s mind allowed him to filter it, separating the sound into manageable components. Mikhail and two young men were lashing a truly massive wooden sled to three teams of dogs, a line of nine animals per team, thirty-six dogs in total. This was not a quick courier run; this was an expedition-scale effort, heavily laden with gear and foodstuffs. “Petrov is revived,” Grigory announced to Mikhail. “He needs to sit, but he is recovering strength.” Mikhail, a short, solidly built man with deep-set eyes, regarded Dmitri with open skepticism. The locals were not unfamiliar with shamans and their strange illnesses, but they typically viewed Russian officials suffering from them as liabilities. “That is good, Grigory Volkov,” Mikhail responded, speaking in heavily accented Russian. “But the ice is not easy. We cannot afford another day’s delay.” “We will not delay again,” Grigory promised. Grigory settled Dmitri temporarily on a stack of furs near the staging area. Dmitri leaned back, allowing the weakness to register only enough to appear fragile. He consciously maintained the facade of the recovering academic, still mildly dazed, while internally cataloging the scene. He watched Grigory interact with Mikhail, paying attention to the gear being loaded. He noticed the excessive quantity of hard liquor and certain specialized tools—long, heavy iron stakes, thick ropes, and several sealed crates that Grigory handled with unusual reverence. Grigory approached the logistics with a focused intensity that made the spiritual mission an extension of military planning. He was not mystical; he was executing a plan, believing the cosmos favored his intent. The whispers in Dmitri’s head, now permanent residents, began interpreting the subtle shifts in the spirit world around the logistics. *The iron spikes are consecrated. They are not for anchorage. They are for penetration.* The messages were clear: Grigory intended to use the physical tools to assist the metaphysical opening, driven by the entity’s promises of salvation for the Russian Empire. This cosmic horror, trapped for centuries, was adept at appealing to the desires of the broken, the lost, and the zealous. Dmitri needed more information, specifically about the route and the obstacles. He required precision. “Grigory,” Dmitri called out, trying to sound weak but demanding, retaining the last vestiges of his St. Petersburg authority. “I must know the projected velocity for the inland crossing. Also, the ice depth readings. The Society requires a record of the geophysics.” Grigory rolled his eyes dramatically, much to Mikhail’s amusement, but approached the sitting Dmitri. He produced a heavily annotated map, drawn on thick, oilskin material. “This is not St. Petersburg, Petrov. We follow the river course, then cross the mainland plateau, and then the coastal ice toward the island. Speed relies entirely on the dogs and the whims of the wind.” Grigory traced the route with a thick, calloused finger. “This section,” he indicated a heavily shaded area near a frozen inlet, “can be treacherous. Thin ice covered by heavy snow. That is where we will require the full effort of the teams.” Dmitri scanned the map intensely. He was no longer just plotting coordinates; he was mapping the spiritual terrain, overlaying the vision of the shattered World Tree onto the regional topography. The area of treacherous ice Grigory pointed to—the weak point—was precisely where the spectral wolves had appeared in his vision. The spiritual test had been a preview of the physical danger. The spirits communicated the message instantly, transmitted through the obsidian stone. *The threat is localized. The weakness will be exposed in the physical journey.* The crystalline bone pulsed slightly, a measured, insistent rhythm, emphasizing the route. The new organs were informing him of the physical realities of the journey, adapting his former scientific focus into a geo-spiritual awareness. If he was to stop Grigory, he needed to be fully operational before they reached that dangerous section of the ice. Every minute spent recovering now was critical. The immediate challenge was regaining physical strength while maintaining the illusion of incapacitation. He gave the map back to Grigory. “Sufficient. Now, the question of heat. I must maintain core temperature, or I will be useless. Do you have a specialized warmer for the trip?” Grigory frowned. “We have furs and heated stones for the foot boxes. Nothing more. We are moving quickly.” Dmitri recognized a small, crucial opportunity. The spirits had corrected him earlier: the iron ribs and crystalline bones were essential for survival in the super-cold, but they were also generating the death-cold, preventing his tissues from warming naturally. He needed to find a bridge between the spiritual components and the biological engine. “The tea forced down my throat earlier was effective, if unpleasant,” Dmitri stated, his mind racing. “A constant intake of warm liquid is required. I need a means to heat small quantities of water quickly while on the sled.” Grigory waved dismissively at Mikhail. “Find the explorer a small field boiler and make sure he is supplied with fuel. He is an expensive tool; we must maintain him.” While Grigory supervised the final loading, Dmitri watched Mikhail search the piles of gear. Mikhail returned with a small, dented copper kettle and a tin of paraffin fuel, dropping them next to Dmitri’s furs. This was exactly what Dmtri needed. He could use the simple technology to stabilize his internal temperature and recover strength, hiding the fact that he was fighting the super-cold generated by the components themselves. The spirits had given him the ability to survive the arctic cold; now he was learning how to adapt the human body to the spirit’s demands. He picked up the kettle. It was cold steel. He gripped it with his gloved hands, forcing attention away from the subtle internal humming. He began the mental process of mapping his internal state, the process he had resisted throughout the entire voyage. He traced the pathways: The Obsidian Stone: The interface for receiving and organizing spirit-knowledge and channeling cosmic energy. It provided clarity, speed, and strategic direction, but caused acute pain with heavy use. The Crystalline Bone: The core energy generation and discharge point. It controlled ice and cold, acting as an anchor in the spiritual world, but it induced profound hypothermia and rigidity in the physical body when passive. The Iron Ribs: Passive reinforcement, protecting the vital organs from the stress of spiritual transport and physical trauma. They were also sound amplifiers, transmitting the cosmic whispers and the frantic rhythm of the modified heart. Dmitri needed to connect the output of the crystalline bone—the super-cold—to something that could absorb or counteract it, allowing his physical body to function normally. He tried the kettle. He closed his eyes, focusing intently on the iron ribs, asking them to facilitate a transfer. No response. The ribs were mute reinforcement. He moved his focus to the crystalline bone in his lower leg. He forced the inherent cold outward, directing the flow toward the copper kettle resting in his lap. The transfer was subtle, but immediate. He didn't generate a spectacular freeze like he had with the wolf. Instead, the kettle grew intensely, intensely cold, far colder than the ambient temperature of negative thirty degrees. It began to frost instantly, the copper turning white. Dmitri felt a strange relief. The internal pressure of the death-cold lessened slightly. The crystalline bone was acting as an emotional and spiritual capacitor, and the extreme cold was a byproduct. By venting the cold, he was stabilizing his internal condition. This meant the constant battle against hypothermia was only necessary if he let the energy pool inside him. He had found his manual regulation valve. He opened his eyes. The kettle was thick with white ice crystals. He shoved it quickly into a storage bag before Grigory noticed. “All set, Petrov,” Grigory announced, returning to the sled. “We are ready to depart. Get yourself situated.” Dmitri pushed himself up easily, needing only minimal assistance from Grigory. The subtle venting of cold had restored a significant portion of his original strength. His human determination was returning, now armed with the tools of the spirits. He was a guardian, designated by the ancient Thule spirits and the animal guides, and his mission was to stop the zealot riding beside him. Dmitri settled onto the furs in the central position of the large cargo sled. The sled was built for endurance, with high runners and deep boxes packed with gear. The dogs strained against their harnesses, eager to run. Grigory took his position at the back, steadying the sled, while Mikhail grabbed the lead lines. “Lavrentiya is now behind us,” Grigory called out, his voice already sharp with excitement. “Next stop, the place where the world broke.” Mikhail whistled sharply. The dog teams surged forward, instantly pulling the heavily weighted sled up to speed. The runners crunched loudly over the frozen snow and ice. Dmitri leaned back, feeling the pull of the dogs, the immediate sense of speed and momentum. His survival depended on his ability to blend his old life with the new. He focused on the rhythm of the wooden sled against the snow, a physical anchor, while simultaneously focusing on the rhythmic, almost melodic drone of the metallic whispers in his skull, the constant reminder of his purpose. He was no longer just Dmitri Petrov, the broken explorer. He was the vessel, the barrier, the instrument of the deep earth. Grigory looked forward, his profile sharp against the vast, unrelenting white of the Chukchi landscape. He was completely unaware of the spiritual war raging ten feet away on the sled, believing his tool was finally operational and ready to serve his blind faith. Dmitri vowed to use the renewed mobility and strength to sabotage Grigory’s mission. He had passed the first test. He would not fail the second. The large dogsled, carrying the zealot and the reluctant shaman, moved swiftly inland toward the frozen territory.