The cold swallowed everything. It turned the rivers to glass and left the trees standing like lifeless bones, smothering the land beneath a shroud of ice. The elders told us what had happened. A rogue star had passed through the heavens, pulling Mother Earth from the sunlight’s grasp. Our world had not resisted. It had not fought to stay. It had simply drifted, surrendering us to the dark. We were left to fend for ourselves. The rivers, once teeming with life, lay frozen and still. The forests, once filled with the hum of creatures, went silent. And the land that had once given so freely had nothing left. Burning what little we had, we wrapped ourselves in layers of fur and huddled together like dying embers. The young ones stopped laughing, while the old ones stopped speaking, as every breath we took felt like the last. One night, as the fire burned low and hunger clawed at my ribs, I left the shelter. As the sky stretched vast and empty above me, I pressed my hands against the frozen ground. "You let this happen," I whispered, my breath curling in the air before vanishing into nothing. "You could have fought. You could have stayed. But you left us—“ The wind interrupted, and I clenched my jaw, forcing myself forward. If the Earth would not help, then I would find my own way. So I walked through the snow, searching. Then I heard it. A crack in the distance. My pulse quickened as I followed the sound and found a break in the river's frozen skin. Beneath the ice, dark water moved—fish! I dropped to my knees, breathless. It was impossible, but there it was. A little further on, my fingers brushed something buried in the frost. A root. A stubborn, twisted root—but it was alive. Traversing further through the swirling snow, I saw an elk. Its legs trembled as I watched it take shallow breaths. It was already dying, and I did not waste time considering my good fortune. I took what was given, whispering my thanks to the elk before taking its life. That night, my people ate. But the cold still chased us. The wind still howled, but it did not knock us from our feet. The land still felt empty, yet there was always just enough—just enough shelter, just enough food, and enough hope to keep us moving. And then it happened. We traveled to a place where the rivers ran free, weaving silver lines through dark stone. Where the trees stood thick and full, giving off their rich scent into the air. The land was different, but it was… home. That night, as we sat around the fire, I told the elder of our journey—of the hardships, the impossible moments of survival, and how I had fought against the land itself to keep us alive. She listened thoughtfully, silently, until I had said it all. Then she shook her head. "You think the Earth abandoned us," she said. "But it was never against us, Eira." I stiffened at the sound of my name. She met my gaze, her voice steady. "The Earth suffered, too. It lost its home, just as we did. But even in its grief, it carried us." I frowned. "Carried us?" "Did not the winds soften when you needed breath? The trees hold firm when you needed shelter? The rivers crack when you needed water? And when you desperately needed food enough to feed your people, did not an elk fall where you stood?" Her eyes did not waver. "Do you truly think that was your doing alone?" My stomach twisted at her words. I had been so sure we had survived because I had fought for it. Because I had refused to let the world take us. But what if we had not been fighting against the Earth? What if it had been guiding us all along? I rose to my feet. Without a word, I walked past the fire, beyond the edge of our camp. The wind stirred my hair, as I dropped to my knees and placed my hands on the earth. It was warm. Not the heat of fire or sunlight, but a deep, steady warmth, pulsing beneath my fingertips. A heartbeat. My throat closed. It had never abandoned us. It had been there. All this time. A sob broke from my lips at the realization, tears falling freely as I pressed my forehead to the ground. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice raw. "I thought you had left us. I thought you didn't care." My fingers curled into the dirt. "But you carried me." The wind stirred, soft as a sigh. I lifted my head to wipe my eyes, and as I did, my gaze drifted upward. And then—I saw them. Two stars. Before, there had only ever been one. A lone light in the endless dark. But now, another shone beside it. Twin points of gold, glowing against the blue sky. My breath caught. I had believed I was alone in my journey. That I had fought for every step, every breath, every moment of survival. But she had fought her way through the void, untethered and alone, searching for a new sun to anchor her. To anchor us. And she again had her anchor. And we had her.