Unleashing the Alpha Within

Chapter Sixteen: Another Winter

Jason didn’t realize it was his birthday at first.

Not because he didn’t know the date—but because time had never really stayed still long enough in his life to matter in that way. Days were measured in cold, in hunger, in survival. Not in years.

It was Zian who said it, almost casually, while shaking snow off his coat near the door.

“You’re nine winters now, right?”

Jason paused.

“…I think so.”

Jake snorted softly from the fire. “That’s not the most confident answer for a kid with a whole extra year on him.”

Jason frowned slightly. “It doesn’t change anything.”

That made Zian glance over with a quiet look.

“It kind of does,” he said.

Jason didn’t understand that either, so he didn’t respond.

—

Winter had fully taken the forest by then.

Not like before.

Not like the early cold snaps or the first frost.

This was deep winter—the kind that settled into everything and refused to move. Snow piled high between the trees, thick enough that familiar paths disappeared under white silence. The stream had slowed at its edges, trapped in ice along the banks.

Even the forest felt further away.

But Jason wasn’t in it alone anymore.

Jake and Zian still came.

Not every day, but often enough that the shack never felt fully cut off. They left footprints in the snow that Jason learned to recognize before he even saw them.

Sometimes they brought food.

Sometimes wood.

Sometimes just news from the village that didn’t feel like it belonged to another world anymore.

And sometimes they brought nothing at all except themselves.

—

On the worst days of snow, Jason didn’t go outside.

Not because he couldn’t.

Because he didn’t need to.

One morning, after a night where the wind had pressed so hard against the shack it felt like it might shift the walls, Jason woke to find a basket already inside.

Fresh bread wrapped carefully.

Dried meat.

Warm cloth tucked around the edges to keep it from freezing too quickly.

There was no note.

There didn’t need to be.

Later that day, Jake showed up anyway, stomping snow off his boots before stepping inside.

“Told you,” he said, pointing at the basket. “Didn’t want you trying to walk through that mess out there.”

Jason looked at him.

“I can walk in snow.”

Zian, already kneeling to check the fire, gave a short laugh. “Sure. And we can let you freeze doing it.”

Jason frowned.

“I wouldn’t freeze.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like something someone says right before freezing.”

Jason didn’t have a response for that.

So he didn’t argue.

—

The shack had changed more than he noticed at first.

It wasn’t just stronger.

It was lived in.

There were places where things were kept now instead of scattered. Tools hung where Jake had insisted they should. A proper sleeping corner that held warmth longer than it used to. The fire burned steadier because Zian refused to let it be “good enough.”

And Jason… adjusted.

Slowly.

Without meaning to.

—

One evening, snow falling heavily outside, Jason sat near the fire while Jake and Zian worked on reinforcing the outer wall again.

Zian glanced at him. “You’ve been quiet today.”

Jason shrugged slightly. “It’s snowing.”

Jake smirked. “That’s not usually what makes you quiet.”

Jason looked at the fire.

“I’m thinking.”

That made both men pause slightly.

“…About what?” Zian asked.

Jason hesitated.

Then said, “It’s been a long time.”

Jake leaned back against the wall. “Yeah.”

Jason frowned slightly. “I used to be alone all the time.”

Zian nodded slowly. “You still were. Before we came.”

Jason didn’t answer immediately.

Then quietly:

“…Not like this.”

That silence was different.

Not empty.

Not tense.

Just… understanding settling in.

—

Outside, winter pressed against the shack, heavy and unrelenting.

But inside, the fire held.

The walls held.

And Jason—nine winters old, though it didn’t feel like something he could measure properly—sat in a place that no longer felt like survival alone.

He still remembered what it was like before.

He didn’t forget.

But for the first time, it didn’t feel like the only thing he had ever known.