The bear came out of the fog like a ghost, its soaked fur clinging to its frame, eyes locked on the boat. It wasn’t growling. Wasn’t drifting. It swam straight for them with purpose, cutting through the frigid water like it had something urgent to say.
Elias gripped the railing, heart pounding, torn between awe and alarm. Polar bears didn’t act like this. They hunted. They wandered. But this one—this one was different. It wasn’t curious. It was signaling. Almost… pleading. And whatever it wanted, it had crossed miles of open sea to say it.
The bear let out a low, rumbling growl—not angry, but deep and strange, like a call muffled by distance. Then it turned and began to swim away—casting a glance back at them—as if it needed them to follow. As if time was running out. And Elias knew in his gut: whatever they found out there, it wouldn’t be simple.