Time went on slowly, like ice creeping across a frozen pond.
While Neil and his family were talking and laughing, enjoying a rare day of rest in their warm and comfortable home, the world outside wasn't so kind.
The harsh winter landscape stretched endlessly, painted in shades of white and gray, unforgiving to those caught in its grasp.
James Sterling sat hunched on the driver's seat of his wagon, heavy shoulders bearing the weight of desperation.
The burden of his family's survival pressed down on him like the very sky itself, threatening to crush what remained of his hope. From time to time, he glanced back with worried eyes.
The wagon creaked and groaned under its load as the wheels carved deep ruts in the snow-packed path. Each bump and jolt sent fresh waves of concern through James as he listened for his daughter's breathing from behind him.
Anna, James's wife, sat in the wagon bed with their daughter cradled against her chest. She looked down at Olivia with eyes filled with a mother's fierce love and helpless terror.
The child's small hands were wrinkled and pale from the bitter cold, despite the thick blanket wrapped tightly around her fragile form.
Olivia's face had taken on an alarming pallor, her lips tinged with the faintest hint of blue that made Anna's heart clench with fear.
Beside her, Henry Sterling—James's father—and his wife, Catherine, sat close together with their grandson Noah.
The boy was bundled in all the clothing they could spare, pressed tightly between his grandparents for warmth.
Henry's weathered face was etched with lines of worry that seemed to have deepened over the past few days.
His eyes, usually bright with the wisdom of his years, now held the haunted look of a man who had seen too much hardship in too short a time.
Catherine pulled Noah closer, her arm wrapped protectively around him as she whispered soft encouragements, though her own voice trembled with fatigue.
Noah, barely older than Caspian, clutched his grandmother's sleeve. His wide eyes darted nervously between the endless white landscape and his sister's still form, understanding more than any child should about the gravity of their situation.
Seeing their distressed faces reflected in the fading daylight, James gripped the reins tighter, his knuckles white against the leather strips.
The cold bit through his gloves, but he barely felt it. His focus was entirely on the path ahead, searching the horizon for any sign of hope—anything that might lead his family to survival.
His eyes held a desperate mixture of determination and fear, the look of a man who had already lost too much and couldn't bear to lose any more.
The hours dragged with agonizing slowness. The ox pulling their wagon snorted clouds of vapor into the frigid air, its steady pace the only constant in their uncertain world.
James tried to maintain hope, remembering the warmth of Maya's smile during his last visit, the way her family had welcomed him with open arms and hearty meals. Surely they would help now, in this darkest hour.
As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and purple that seemed almost mockingly beautiful, James finally spotted familiar landmarks: the distinctive cluster of frost-covered pines, the peculiar rock formation shaped like a sleeping giant. These were markers he had passed countless times before on his regular visits to his sister.
Relief burst from him in a sigh, visible as a small cloud in the cold air. At least they wouldn't have to spend another night sleeping in the wilderness, huddled together for warmth while the wind howled.
Following the route etched into his memory, it didn't take long before the boundaries of Frostlake Village came into view through the gathering gloom.
But at the edge of the village, James pulled his wagon to an abrupt stop. The ox snorted and stamped, displeased at the sudden halt. The reins hung slack in his hands as he stared ahead in disbelief.
Henry climbed stiffly down from the wagon bed, his joints protesting the cold. Snow crunched under his boots as he made his way to his son's side. "What is it? Why did we stop?"
James raised a trembling hand, pointing. Henry followed his gaze—and froze.
Before them stood a solid stone wall, nearly two meters high, stretching across their familiar path like a barrier between worlds.
The stones were fitted with obvious skill, each block locked into place with purpose. Set into the middle were double wooden doors, each reinforced with iron bands, their presence sturdy and imposing in the dying light.
"Did you take the wrong route?" Henry asked quietly.
James shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on the wall. "No, Father. This is exactly the same path I've always taken. I could walk it blindfolded."
Henry's weathered face creased with deeper lines. "Then is this truly where Maya's family lives? It's nothing like I remember."
"It wasn't anything like this when I was here six months ago," James murmured. "There was just the old house. A few fences, nothing more. Not… this."
Henry studied the wall, his experienced eyes narrowing as he considered the craftsmanship. "Do you think they left? That new people moved in and built this?"
James ran a hand through his hair, exhaustion in every motion. "I don't know. But what do we do? Should we turn back? Try to reach one of the government shelters?"
Henry glanced toward the wagon. Anna's eyes met his, pleading silently, while Catherine held Noah closer against her side. Olivia lay limp in Anna's arms, her face pale as wax.
Henry's chest tightened. "No," he said firmly. "You can't expect Olivia to travel through the night in this condition. We'll call out. Whoever lives here—they must have shelter. Even one warm room is better than the cold."
James's jaw tightened. He thought of his daughter's shallow breaths, of the way her skin had turned frighteningly cool against his hand. He couldn't risk losing her. Not after coming this far.
He stepped closer to the doors, cupped his hands to his mouth, and shouted into the dusk. "Hello! Is anyone inside? Please—we need help!"
---
Inside the warm stone house that had become their fortress against winter's cruelty, Neil and his family watched the last light fade from the sky. The golden glow of their lanterns filled the lobby, chasing away the shadows.
Grandma Linnea glanced toward the ceiling windows fitted with iron trapdoors, noting how the light outside had shifted from the warm gold of afternoon to the deeper amber of evening.
"Oh, look how late it's gotten already," she said with mild surprise. "We should really start preparing dinner soon."
The others nodded in agreement, the lazy contentment of their rest day slowly giving way to the gentle rhythms of evening routine.
The women began moving toward the kitchen area, their movements unhurried and peaceful.
The men remained comfortably seated at the stone table, beginning to cut vegetables to help with the preparation, their knives creating a gentle rhythm against the cutting boards.
Neil and his cousins had joined them at the table, their earlier jokes and laughter continuing to fill the air with warmth and happiness.
But suddenly Lyra paused mid-sentence. Her head tilted slightly, like a bird listening for a distant sound. "Hey, did anyone else hear someone shouting outside?"
At her words, everyone fell silent, straining to listen. Sure enough, a distant voice could be heard calling from beyond their walls.
The adults exchanged meaningful glances. Grandpa Eldrin's expression grew serious. "Linnea," he called gravely.
Hearing the change in her husband's tone, Grandma Linnea emerged from the kitchen, immediately recognizing the gravity of the situation. Eldrin quickly explained about the voice they had heard.
His voice took on the authority of a man who had lived through many hard winters. "There's no need to panic, but we must be cautious.
Linnea, take the children and the women to the front room and wait there." He turned to his sons, his expression stern. "You three—get your armor and come with me. We need to see who's out there."
Kael, Rhys, and Anil nodded without hesitation, moving swiftly toward their rooms. Within minutes, they had returned to the lobby, their protective gear concealed beneath their regular clothes.
Eldrin moved toward the iron door with his three sons following close behind. As he prepared to step outside, he turned back to address the family. "Don't open this door unless we specifically ask for it. Do you understand?"
Linnea nodded solemnly, understanding the seriousness of the situation.
The sudden shift in atmosphere left Neil feeling bewildered and uncertain. He had never seen his family react with such caution to visitors before, and he wasn't sure what he should do.
As the men stepped outside and the iron door closed behind them with a heavy clang, Neil and the others inside pressed close to the window in the door, peering out anxiously into the gathering dusk to see what awaited beyond their protective walls.