Iron shrieked when it fell, then silence—only the blizzard remained to tell the story. The wreck of the sky‑balloon lay half‑buried in snowdrifts, its brass ribs jutting like the bones of some fallen leviathan. Two men crawled out from beneath the wreckage; smoke and steam rose around them in wreaths. Kapkan’s left arm bled through torn leather, while Glaz, his goggles cracked, checked the horizon through tinted lenses that now served no purpose.

They didn’t speak at first. Words turned to ice before leaving the mouth. Instead, they moved—Kapkan stripping copper tubing, Glaz salvaging the fabric to make shelter. The rhythm between them returned as naturally as heartbeat; they had survived worse, yet never this alone.

By night, they huddled beneath the canvas remains of their vessel. The wind screamed through the pine valley, rattling metal fragments like chimes of mourning. Beneath the single flicker of an oil flame, Glaz’s hands shook badly—from cold or exhaustion, Kapkan couldn’t tell. He reached across, wordless, steadying them. That touch, small and bare in such a wasteland, burned brighter than the lamp.

Hours stretched. The storm thickened until even their breath turned opaque. Glaz watched the shadows rest along the curve of Kapkan’s jaw, the frost gathering at his eyelashes. He remembered painting faces once, long before war—the way light softened scars into something almost beautiful.

Kapkan noticed the stare and looked back, expression unreadable behind frost‑streaked lashes. For a long moment, the wilderness disappeared, replaced by that taut silence that precedes confession. He didn’t speak; he never needed to. His grip on Glaz’s shoulder said enough—We stay alive. Together.

When dawn finally cracked the frozen line of the Earth, the wreck steamed faintly under pale sun. The storm had passed, leaving only endless white and two dark figures ascending the ridge, bound by instinct, duty, and something unnamed but sharper than frostbite.

Behind them, the balloon carcass sank deeper into powder, vanishing like a dream drowned in snow. Ahead, the wilderness waited—merciless, magnificent, and indifferent to their vows. Yet their footprints carved twin paths onward, stubborn proof that warmth still existed beneath iron discipline.