In the bitter Siberian winter of 1918, amidst the ruthless clashes between the White and Red Armies in the heart of the Russian Civil War, a lone figure huddled in a frostbitten trench. His weary face bore the strain of constant vigilance, haunted by the chilling echoes of artillery in the distance. As the biting cold gnawed at his breath, he sought solace, he did the sign of the cross with a shiver before muttering in a trembling voice.

"О Боже... this cold pierces the soul..." He wrapped himself tighter in a thick winter coat, yearning for even a slither of warmth