Amid a snowstorm, two silhouettes struggled to make their way forward. A young woman — her face marked by hardship, betraying none of her youth — fought against the wind to advance. Cloaked in only a thin fur cape, she could barely withstand the cold. Each step was harder than the last, yet a child — still small, but energetic for his age — tugged at her arm with all his strength, urging her onward despite the numbness and exhaustion. Their goal was near. They had to hold on.

  They found refuge in a shallow cave, where dampness and cold made lighting a fire impossible. Deprived of warmth and desperate for the storm to subside, they huddled together, sharing what little body heat they could. In the icy quiet of the alcove, the wind howling around them, they finally succumbed to sleep, unsure if they would awaken again.

  ???

  After what seemed like an eternity, the young woman felt herself cradled, wrapped in a gentle warmth — so comforting, so soothing, she could never have imagined such a sensation in that place. She tried to open her eyes, but her vision was blurred, clouded by fatigue that overcame her once more.

  She sank back into unconsciousness.

  ???

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  When Cerena opened her eyes again, she found herself in an unfamiliar place. Unable to move, she feared the worst. But she was buried beneath a mountain of fur blankets, each thicker and warmer than the last. Their weight pressed down on her, yet she felt reassured. Slowly, she moved her hand, still stiff from the cold, and brushed against the fingers of someone else. To her right lay her son, Owen, dozing peacefully under the blankets. Tears of relief welled in her eyes. It no longer mattered where they were; they were alive, safe, and together. That was all that mattered.

  The door creaked softly. She turned toward the sound and saw a young man, barely older than herself, standing in the doorway with a jug in his hands. Their eyes met briefly before she moved instinctively, heart pounding.

  Suddenly sitting up, she drew her knees to her chest, fear and wariness etched on her face, and leaned protectively over her son.

  The young man, startled by her reaction, slowly set the jug down and raised his hands, palms forward, offering a reassuring smile.

  “You are safe. You suffered from hypothermia. I’ve brought you water and will let you rest.”

  Without waiting for a response, he stepped back and gently closed the door behind him.

  Cerena remained still for a few moments, her gaze fixed on the old wooden door. Then, gradually relaxing, she lay back down, holding her son close. She closed her eyes, determined to engrave the sensation in her memory.