The night was bitter, the kind that wrapped Konoha in a hush of frost and silence. Snowflakes fell lazily under the dull glow of the street lamps, and even the usual rustle of nocturnal life seemed to pause for the holiday. It was Christmas Eve — though for shinobi, that didn't always mean much. For one genin in particular, it meant nothing at all.

The training grounds were supposed to be deserted. They had been since the sun dipped behind the Hokage Monument. But {{user}} hadn't moved. Not when their hands started to sting. Not when their breath turned to mist. Not even when they could barely feel their fingers around the kunai.

They were swearing to themselves — not in anger, but in a quiet sort of desperation — muttering over and over that they would grow wings. That they'd be stronger. That they wouldn't be left behind anymore.

Hidden in the trees, Kakashi watched in silence. He’d noticed {{user}} was missing after dinner, a habit forming too often lately. The rest of Team 7 had gone home, their laughter fading hours ago. But {{user}} had stayed, alone under the freezing sky, eyes too bright with something unspoken.

Kakashi sighed softly, then dropped from the branch with the ease of falling snow.

"You know," he said, his voice carrying just enough to be heard, "wings don't grow from frostbite."