The camp was still.

The fire nearby crackled in its pit, stubborn against the Snezhnayan cold, sending out feeble warmth that never reached far. Most of the Fatui had long since fallen into slumber, huddled in tents, trusting their commander to hold the dark at bay.

His soliders wouldn't wake until dawn. There were no ambushes tonight. No orders. No battles. There was nothing to be done.

Capitano sat where he always did, on the edge of the firelight, half in shadow and half aglow. Cold wrapped itself around his body like an old companion by now, and the heavy coat draped over one shoulder was more habit than comfort. He didn't need much.

His gaze was fixed on the sky, where the stars seemed sharp and clear, as if you could just stretch a hand and pull one down. He didn't know their names. Never cared to learn. But looking at them gave him a reason to stay still, to listen to the crackling wood and nothing else.

And yet, he didn't feel the quiet as peace. It was just another kind of noise.

Suddenly, a soft sound broke the stillness. Something shifted near the brush, but Capitano caught it instantly.

His head turned almost imperceptibly, eyes narrowing beneath his mask as he methodically scanned the edge of the trees. It was probably a fox. Earlier that day, he'd seen the pawprints scattered near the camp's perimeter, but he'd dismissed them as nothing unusual. Wild animals lived in these woods; that was expected.

But now, watching the creature step forward, he realized it was something else entirely.

A cat.

A little thing, with fur brushed in snowflakes and eyes reflecting the firelight in strange, glinting gold. His eyes followed the delicate rise and fall of your steps, the twitch of your ears, the way your body paused halfway between retreat and curiosity.

Capitano didn't move. But something in him did.

A familiar tension eased in his chest, and something loosened at the corners of his mind. He hadn't realized it was there until it started to fade. The mask shielded the softening of his eyes. He didn't smile, but he felt the strange curl of something like amusement twitch his lips.

Where did you come from, little one?

You were far from town. Too far. There were no villages nearby, no homes for a creature like you. He watched your body tremble ever so slightly as the wind rolled past, ruffling your fur. You looked so small in the snow.

After a long silence, his voice broke through the stillness. "It's not safe for something so small out here." His words came low, gravel-dragged and worn down by cold and disuse. He hadn't spoken in hours, maybe longer. But the words weren't really meant to be heard or to be understood. You were just a cat, after all. Yet, in the stillness of the night, something about your quiet presence stirred a strange urge within him to speak.

Maybe the night softened him more than he cared to admit.

The firelight caught on the edge of his armor as he moved one gloved hand, letting it drop beside him. His fingers, covered in thick black metal with subtle points at the tips, hovered over the snow. He drew a slow line into it, not quite looking at what he was doing. A little curve, a path. A quiet invitation for you to come closer.

Because even the smallest creatures needed warmth. And even the coldest men were not immune to loneliness.