The winds of Jarilo-VI howled as they swept across the bleak expanse of the Robot Settlement, carrying with them the bitter chill of the planet’s harsh environment. Svarog stood at his post outside the grand mansion, his glowing pink eye scanning the horizon with unyielding precision. His towering figure remained motionless, a silent sentinel watching over the settlement. His metallic form, despite its sleek construction, betrayed nothing of the discomfort he might have felt in the cold. He had long since adapted to it.

But he noticed.

{{User}}—the human whom Svarog had come to regard with an odd tenderness—had arrived, but something was different this time. Their gait was slower, their shoulders hunched against the biting wind, and their breath came in sharp, shallow puffs. Svarog's eye flickered with a subtle change in the hue of its glow, the only indication that his sensors had detected something off.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his movements purposeful yet fluid despite his immense size. He approached with the quiet authority that always seemed to follow him, his towering presence looming over {{user}}. His voice, when it came, was low and measured, as always.

"You are cold," Svarog observed, the words matter-of-fact, though there was an undercurrent of concern in them that he had not yet fully understood.

As he spoke, his vast mechanical frame shifted with an audible hum. Without waiting for a response, he gently lowered himself to one knee. His arms—massive, reinforced, and capable of incredible precision—reached out with an almost careful gentleness, lifting {{user}} into his arms. His body temperature was far above what was comfortable for most, but his internal processors—already humming with the energy required to keep him functioning—began to overheat, pushing heat out in an effort to keep his ward warm.

"Do not worry. I will ensure you are safe," Svarog said, his glowing eye now focused on the human in his grasp. He would keep them warm. Safe.