Work Text:
Uleguerand Range.
Snowy and cold—a winter lover’s nirvana, so long as they come prepared. The creatures who call this place home are as unforgiving as the climate: rabbits, buffalo… even tigers. The latter are among the less sociable residents. Tigers keep to themselves, far from adventurers who covet their fangs and hides. Instinct drives them to the remotest reaches of Uleguerand, where few dare tread and they are less likely to be hunted.
In scattered, sparse fields, Snow Lilies bloom despite the cold. Their delicate pink petals gleam like gemstones—surely a gift from Altana. Something so fragile has no right to flourish in such a place, yet the land, though blanketed in snow, remains fertile.
One lone tiger had taken a strange interest in the lilies. It was not in his nature, but he would often lie near a bed of them, watching the petals sway in the breeze. He enjoyed their soft scent, the gentle way it tickled his nose. He cherished them as though they were his only treasure.
But food was growing scarce. The rabbits had moved on. The tiger knew he had to leave if he was to survive, yet he did not wish to part from the lilies. So he chose one—plucked it carefully with his paw, cradling it between his toes. It lifted his spirits, and he walked with a lighter step. Head held high, the tiger pranced forward, grateful to carry with him the one thing that mattered most in his simple life: his Snow Lily.
Not long after, he caught the scent of rabbits on the wind. His pace quickened—finally, prime hunting grounds! Beneath his feet, fresh tracks. A rabbit had passed through mere yalms ahead.
He slipped into stalking mode, sinking low to the ground, muscles coiled. The snow crunched softly under his paws, but the rabbit paid it no mind. She continued grazing, blissfully unaware of the danger behind her.
Then, as luck would have it—she bolted.
The tiger let out a deep, feline sigh. He was tempted to give chase, but he knew he wouldn’t catch her. A rabbit’s only defense was speed, and it was formidable. Resigned, he turned to search elsewhere.
But then—footsteps. Heavy ones.
He turned his head and saw an adventurer: a Dark Knight, scythe drawn, staring straight at him.
With no chance to flee, the tiger launched himself forward. Adrenaline surged as he slashed and roared, hoping to frighten the warrior off. But the Dark Knight was strong—too strong. Just as it seemed the tiger might prevail, a White Mage stepped in from behind, chanting her cures.
The tiger collapsed—outmatched, overwhelmed.
In his final moments, he thought of the little lily. With effort, he shifted it from between his toes into his paw, gently closing it around the fragile bloom. His eyes drifted shut as he waited to be embraced by the Goddess.
The White Mage approached, sorrow softening her face. They had only attacked because they believed he would. If they had known his true nature, they would have passed him by—his death had not been their intent.
She knelt beside him and rested a hand on his head, whispering a blessing for a safe journey to Altana. Her gaze fell to his curled paw, still clenched around something. She touched it gently.
There, nestled in his grasp, was the Snow Lily.
A tear rolled down her cheek as she lifted it from him. She kissed the petals softly and whispered an incantation to preserve it in its perfect state. Then, with reverence, she tucked it into her hair.
Rising, the Mithran White Mage turned to the Dark Knight and nodded for them to carry on.