The Last White Queen

Restless, the Arctic was with its ice split by dark waters. Eva, an old polar bear, limped around on the thinning floes; she had enormous paws, but every step was a pain. For years, she ruled over this frozen world, but the ice melted faster each season, running away like sand through her claws. She could no longer depend on the solid, hard ground that had been her lifeline.

Hunger gnawed at her inside, relentless as the biting wind. A body, once powerful, now seemed heavy, with limbs slumping in exhaustion. Her muscles ached in every part of her, and each step was a new dragging into desperation she had not known before. She didn't have an option, though; she needed food, and quickly.

After hours of searching, Eva caught a faint scent of a seal across the broken ice. With newfound resolve, she pressed on, carefully navigating thin layers that could break beneath her. She crept forward step by step with eyes fixed on the crack far away, where a seal might come up to breathe.

But the ice was not to be trusted anymore. She broke under it with a sharp crack, tumbling her into the icy ocean's water. The black, icy water closed over her head, pulling her down into its darkness. She clawed with all her might, thrashing against the weight of the frigid water. Her thick fur offered scant warmth, and the cold tore into her like needles.

Her survival instincts took over, and she had to fight to move forward, using what little strength remained in her muscles to paddle. She strained with each stroke, pushing her body to its limits, and then came up for air, again and again. She realized the ice patch was further away than she remembered and drifted even more. She found herself completely alone, surrounded by endless dark water.

Eva's body felt numb. Powerful legs began to kick; each time weaker than the last. But yet, she struggled and attempted to swim as if battling this unseen sea that wished to drown her, a mind grasping for something that she had ever known—that of survival. She swam towards that piece of floating ice till each and every breath became shallow and every kick slower, reaching it at last.

She dug her claws into the ice, pulling herself up with all the energy she had left. Her paws shook as she pulled her weight onto the floe, her sodden fur stiff in the icy wind. Lying there, her heart pounding, her body heavy with exhaustion. But she was not safe yet; this ice sheet was drifting and she had no way of knowing if it would hold.

The frozen landscape was now odd, full of holes and cracks where smooth ice once stretched uninterrupted. Long swims became impossible to avoid and the seals pushed further north to find stable ice. To Eva, every mile of land felt a mile further away than the last; each hunt was a risk.

She drifted on the ice for days, her energy sapped and her hunger clawing at her insides. There weren't any seals in sight; the sea grew darker and more vast with each passing day. Eva tried to rest but couldn't sleep because of fear. She knew she needed to find some solid ground sooner or starve.

One morning when the horizon was faintly glowing, she saw something strange out there—a ship. She moved slowly, cutting the ice like a shadow. Her instinct was to shun it, but desperation drove her forward. Maybe it would bring her closer to land, closer to safety.

With her last ounce of strength, she began to paddle toward the boat. Her limbs screamed in protest as she moved, each motion an impossible task. The ice clutched at her, pulling her down, but she pushed forward, a primordial will to survive urging her on.

Onboard, there was a group of scientists who saw the bear. The biologist among them happened to be a woman, who had spent years of her life studying polar bears. She immediately knew something was wrong. She knew about polar bears forced by the melting ice to swim longer distances, but when she saw it with her own eyes, it broke her heart. She thought of that old, worn-out bear and felt her heart ache with a kind of sadness and urgency.

She climbed down, ignoring the warnings from her crew, and approached Eva, taking care not to slip on the ice. Eva stopped and looked at her as she approached. She felt that the woman's intentions were peaceful. As the scientist drew closer, she stretched out a hand, and her eyes met Eva's. In that moment, a silent understanding passed between them: they were both part of a world that was slipping away.

She spoke softly, but she knew she would not be understood, not by Eva. In this instant, however, this woman's presence brought an unusual sense of calm. Despite her fragile body, she allowed herself to give in, a small reprieve in the presence of this stranger who understood her suffering.

As she lay there, her body heavy with exhaustion, Eva let her eyes close, the sounds of the woman's voice and crackling ice around them slowly blending into a lullaby. Her breaths grew slower, softer. The woman stayed by her side, feeling the weight of Eva's silent farewell. When Eva's breathing finally stopped, she bowed her head, feeling a grief so profound that it froze her in place.

They go back to the vessel, and everybody, of course, took pictures with their cameras. The crew realized that Eva was no ordinary polar bear, but rather an icon of change within the Arctic's face, once an untamed landscape that now appeared frail in the light of a warming world.

As the ship disappeared in the distance, the biologist cast a look back toward the fading horizon. Endless water stretched across her field of vision, and the ice above began to thicken at the horizon. She knew that the life and death of Eva was part of a much larger tragedy-a tale of a species being driven out of its house and a warning of what would soon become if the humans failed to act on time. The spirit of Eva seemed to linger in the icy wind-a reminder of the Arctic as it once was.

The last ice floe finally broke and was carried out, taking with it the spirit of the Last White Queen, whose strength and spirit would live on through the story of a melting world.