Experienced Well, here goes nothing. I’m not a new writer, since I posted one page of fanfic months ago, but I consider it part of the next page. ————————————————————— The wind was howling across a barren snowscape, whipping between jagged rocks and sheer cliffs dropping hundreds of feet. This was the place where a lone ghost thought would be it’s bitter grave. It was small, only having the most basic of shells, with several burn marks along each part, and a few sections were missing entirely. It zipped past a large snowdrift, small sparks trailing behind, before getting caught in the wind and whipped into the snow. The brutal cold kept the surface snow hard as ice, to the ghost’s dismay, as it bounces off of the top layer, leaving a web-like crack in its place, and yet another piece of shell wedged at the point of impact. It tumbled down the drift into a small crevasse, large icicles looming threateningly above, like the maw of some great beast, oppressively looming over its tiny, broken prey. The ghost slowly rises from the tuft of snow it landed in, lightly jolting side to side with each spark shooting out of it. Its eye was cracked and flickering, evidence of it’s ebbing light. Then, the echo; the roar of some unseen creature, followed by the chittering of several more, barely audible over the whipping wind. They were close. They’d been on the chase for weeks, only the desperate few who had little else to lose. It wouldn’t be long until they found the crevasse. The flickering light of the ghost turns to hide, flitting into an enclosed portion of the gap where the muddled light of the sun didn’t reach. The chittering was getting closer by the second. It had to continue, or risk getting ripped apart. The ghost rocketed off father down the cave, sensing the bones of centuries-old humans, preserved under the ice below, as well as one farther down. This is their only chance. They frantically jolted down a small tunnel, before coming to an opening into a larger room, a sheer drop below them. The cave looked wholly untouched by man, with icicles hanging tens of feet from the ceiling, and a monolithic ice spike jutting up from the center of the cavern floor. And impaled on that spike was a mummified, shriveled man, a tattered parka hanging from the frail corpse, the metal buckles and leather straps all but corroded away from hundreds of years in the cold. The ghost zips down to them, and with the little light they had left, scanned the body. They had light. They had a guardian. The ghost would scream if they could. The little light spared no time resurrecting the man, making use of the clothes still on him to mix with matterweave, making a functional, albeit basic, winter survival set, a fresh shade of white accented with blues and blacks to make a large jacket, the ends of which ending just below his knees. The man, freshly remade, sits against what was once his final resting place. Dazed and confused, he looks at the tiny machine in front of him, his heavy breathing fogging his helmet’s visor. “.....what just happened?” The man asked, almost demanded. His voice was sharp, and gritty, like a knife forced against a chalkboard. He was stunned, confused, and clearly defensive. The ghost, his ghost, began to hover closer to him, not saying a word. “Hey! Get the hell back! I don’t know what you are!” He yells out, now standing straight. His slim body was tensed, a primal instinct of danger sending him to action. Upon seeing the hostility, the ghost slightly lowered itself, backing away, before fading out in a small fizzle of light. Somehow he felt that it was still with him, just out of sight. It comforted him, for what reason, he didn’t know. The sound of skittering and rocks being overturned soon echoed into the chamber from the entrance above. “.....The hell was that?” He would soon learn the meaning of this comfort.