The refuge breathed slowly, as if the cold itself had forced it into stillness.
Outside, the snow kept falling without pause; inside, life moved on with the tempered rhythm of those who had learned how to survive.
During the days before their departure, Lucas and Megan shared something close to peace.
In the mornings, she would wake him with the faint scent of roasted coffee—a rare, carefully rationed blend—and he would answer by making breakfast. Sometimes it was stale bread with a smear of butter; other times, a thin hot soup from the last of their supplies. They ate together by the window, watching flakes dance above the walls of the refuge.
Outside, the air smelled of iron and smoke. The generators groaned in the cold, and every now and then, a metallic crack reminded them that winter spared no one.
One afternoon, they walked down the main corridor. The lights flickered, fed by the old compound's fading batteries. On the walls, faded posters from the old world still clung to the concrete: Unity is survival.
Megan looked at them with quiet melancholy.
"I try to imagine what this place looked like before everything," she murmured. "When people came here just to escape the cold... not to hide from the world."
Lucas smiled faintly.
"Maybe one day it'll be like that again," he said, though even he didn't sound convinced.
They stopped outside the mess hall. Inside, the air felt almost too warm. Several cooks worked over a long steel counter, peeling roots and stirring huge pots of soup. One of them—a broad woman with kind eyes named Marla—looked up and grinned.
"Well, if it isn't our favorite lovebirds," she teased. "You planning to bring back something decent this time?"
"If the weather allows, I'll bring you real coffee," Lucas replied with a tired smile.
Marla laughed, her voice low and rough.
"Coffee, huh? Now that's a luxury."
Farther ahead, they passed the repair shop. Old Davis, the mechanic, was tuning a chainsaw that probably wouldn't touch wood again until spring.
"Careful out there, boy," he muttered without looking up. "The Moradores aren't the only things moving in the snow. You're still too young to die."
Lucas nodded silently. He knew the man was right.
At night, he and Megan would climb to the rooftop of the west building, where the sky spread open like a sea of white and gray. From there, they could see the edge of the refuge—the makeshift metal walls, the towers with their reflectors dark, and the tiny dots of light where sentinels kept watch.
She clung to his arm for warmth.
"You know," she said one night, her hair whipped by the wind, "if someone had told me two years ago that I'd end up here with you, I wouldn't have believed it."
Lucas turned toward her with a faint smile.
"Is that a good thing or a bad one?"
"That depends…" she said playfully. "If you keep cooking those empanadas, maybe it's the best thing that's ever happened to me."
He laughed softly, pulling her closer.
"Deal."
They also stopped by the sewing room, where Tess, the shelter's seamstress, repaired coats and uniforms. Megan handed her a few blankets she'd helped to mend.
"You're good with your hands," Tess said as she threaded a thick needle.
"Not as good as you," Megan replied. "I just patch what's already there. You keep us warm."
Tess looked up, surprised by the honesty.
"Thank you, dear," she said with a smile. Then, eyeing Lucas, she added in a scolding tone, "Take good care of her, boy."
"Yes, ma'am," Lucas replied, awkward under her gaze.
Every corner of the refuge had its own story: the infirmary, smelling of alcohol and bandages; the small classroom where a few children learned to read from rescued books; the storage rooms, half-empty shelves speaking of constant effort just to endure.
One night, before sleep, Megan rested her head against Lucas's chest.
"Sometimes I think about everything we don't have," she whispered. "But when I'm with you, it feels like we already have enough."
Lucas wrapped an arm around her, staring into the dark.
"I don't know what's waiting out there," he said quietly. "But I'll come back. I promise."
She looked up at him, eyes wet.
"I don't care how long it takes... just come back."
He kissed her softly and held her while the storm howled outside.
The refuge might have seemed small against the frozen world around them, but at that moment, it was everything they had.
And in the middle of winter, human warmth was still the only light that refused to die.
—
Dawn came without light.
The sky was one solid mass of white, and the wind roared as if the world itself were breathing in fury.
Five days had passed since the meeting, and the storm hadn't let up. The gusts battered the walls of the refuge, lifting curtains of snow that erased everything beyond a few meters.
Lucas tightened the straps of his coat and checked his gear one last time. His large military backpack was reinforced, its metal buckles clinking softly with each move. Inside were dry rations, a small medkit, thermal blankets, a flashlight, and just enough space for whatever supplies they could bring back. His katana hung diagonally across his back, wrapped in dark cloth to shield it from the frost.
Naomi was waiting near the main gate. Her long coat flapped with every gust, and her gray scarf covered her face, leaving only her sharp eyes visible.
"Ready?" she asked, her voice barely above the wind.
"As ready as anyone can be," Lucas said, closing the last clasp on his pack.
Down the hallway, the workers formed a narrow corridor for them. Some handed over thermoses of hot water; others just nodded silently, giving that look reserved for those who might not return.
Marla stood by the kitchen door, arms crossed.
"Bring back something good this time," she said with a dry tone, though her eyes trembled. "I'm done serving root soup."
Lucas gave a faint smile.
"I'll do my best."
"See that you do," she replied. "And come back."
At the corner, Tess approached with a small bundle of fabric.
"Reinforced gloves," she said to Naomi. "Not pretty, but they'll keep your fingers attached."
Naomi accepted them with a small bow.
"Thank you. I'll make sure they come back in one piece."
"They better," Tess said, half joking.
The air smelled of smoke and hot metal. The chimneys rumbled above, fighting to keep warmth alive inside the buildings. Lucas took one last look around—the yellow lights of the halls, the hushed voices, the tired faces.
It was more than a refuge. It was home, carved into the heart of winter.
Megan appeared, descending the stairs from the west wing. She wore a thick brown coat and a wool hat that barely contained her loose hair. She walked toward him without a word, her eyes saying everything.
When she reached him, she raised her hands to fix his scarf.
"I don't like this," she murmured.
"Neither do I," he replied.
"The storm hasn't eased. You don't have to go today."
"If we wait any longer, the reserves will drop by half," he said, keeping her gaze. "There's no choice."
Megan pressed her lips together, holding back what she wanted to say. At last she took a breath and nodded.
"Then promise me you'll come back."
Lucas pulled her into his arms. The embrace was long, warm, stronger than the wind outside.
"I'll come back," he whispered into her ear. "I swear it."
Naomi waited a few meters away, giving them space. When Lucas finally stepped back, Megan still held his hand for a moment before letting go.
"I'll be waiting," she said. "And I won't sleep easy until you do."
"Then give me a reason to hurry back."
She smiled faintly.
"I'll make empanadas when you return. Yours left me craving more."
Lucas chuckled, that quiet laugh only she ever heard.
"Deal."
Elara appeared by the main gate, wrapped in a heavy cloak.
"Time to move out," she announced, her voice rising over the wind.
She handed them a sealed radio and a laminated map.
"Follow the northern route. Avoid the frozen rivers and any sign of movement. If you spot Moradores, you turn back. No heroics."
"Understood," Lucas said firmly.
"Good luck, pioneers," she added, though her tone betrayed a hint of worry.
The gate opened with a metallic groan, and a blast of freezing air swept through the corridor. Naomi lowered her goggles; Lucas adjusted the pack on his shoulders.
The refuge vanished behind them, swallowed by white mist.
Ahead, only the storm.
They walked side by side, sinking knee-deep in snow. The wind drowned every sound, turning their outlines into ghosts between the falling flakes. Naomi led, senses sharp, while Lucas watched the flanks. Each step stole their breath, but they kept moving, determined.
Because out there, among the frozen ruins of the world, there were still things worth finding.
And no matter how impossible it seemed, they pressed on.
"Four days' walk to the town," Naomi said through her scarf.
"Assuming nothing slows us down," Lucas answered.
—
The wind was their only companion from the first step.
They had barely left the last towers behind when the storm surged again, veiling everything in white. Naomi stopped for a moment, squinting at the horizon she could barely see. The map trembled in her hands; the compass needle wavered, uncertain.
"If we keep straight, we should reach the valley by noon," she shouted above the roaring wind.
Lucas nodded, adjusting the strap on his pack.
"Elara said the pass between the mountains is the fastest route. If we take it, we'll avoid the frozen rivers."
They walked for hours. The ground sank beneath their boots with a dull crunch. Snow piled in thick layers, erasing all trace of a path. No footprints, no trees visible, no horizon—just endless white. Sometimes the world itself seemed to tilt and spin, confusing their eyes.
Lucas raised his hand for a pause.
"Let's move along that ridge," he said, pointing toward a line of dark firs clinging to the slope.
"Why?" Naomi asked.
"The ground's firmer there. The center of the valley could be hollow ice. I'm not taking that chance."
Naomi didn't argue. The two moved in silent rhythm, accustomed to reading both the terrain and each other.
The valley stretched before them, a vast throat between two mountains. Its peaks vanished into the storm, devoured by the sky. As they advanced, the wind's roar turned into a deep, distant hum—like the earth itself was trembling beneath the snow.
"This place is... too quiet," Naomi murmured, glancing at the frozen trees.
"Too quiet," Lucas agreed, pausing to listen.
Nothing.
No birds. No creaking branches. Only the relentless hiss of air against stone.
They pressed on along a narrow path lined with frost-laden pines. Some bent under the weight; others stood broken, skeletal shapes frozen mid-collapse.
Naomi checked the map, sheltered inside its plastic cover.
"We're entering the valley forest. If we don't stray, we'll reach the old bridge before nightfall."
"And after the bridge?" Lucas asked.
"Up the mountain. The town's behind those ridges. Three days to cross them all," she said, eyes fixed on the white horizon.
Lucas looked up. The cliffs loomed like walls of living stone, veined with ice and silence. The isolation weighed on him—a reminder of how utterly alone they were in this frozen world.
They trudged through the forest, step by slow step. Snow crunched beneath them and was swallowed by the wind. The trees grew thicker, their branches forming tunnels where only a dim gray light filtered through.
Lucas stopped, raising a hand.
"You hear that?"
Naomi froze. For a moment, nothing—then, faintly, a distant crack, like something heavy moving among the trees.
"Could be the ice," she said, though her tone betrayed doubt.
Lucas nodded but kept his hand near his weapon.
"Let's stay alert. I don't like surprises."
They skirted a slick slope. To their right, the valley fell away into a blank white abyss; to their left, the forest closed in like a living wall.
Naomi's gaze lingered on the frost-covered trees.
"You know," she said softly, "when I was a kid, I used to dream about seeing a forest like this. All white. All still."
"And now that you see it?" Lucas asked.
"Now it scares me," she admitted.
Lucas smiled faintly, lips stiff with cold.
"That means you're alive."
The wind howled louder, carrying their words away.
They kept walking, deeper into the valley's heart.
The day grew paler, the sky heavier, and with each step, the feeling of unseen eyes watching from the snow grew stronger.