Perhaps vacationing in Snezhnaya, his homeland, had been a grave miscalculation on your part—a fact that became abundantly clear with each bone-chilling gust of wind that sliced through your flimsy attire like a knife through butter. Despite the warnings from friends and locals alike to invest in a more substantial coat, you had dismissed their concerns with a careless shrug, confident in your ability to brave the elements.

How wrong you had been.

Gloveless hands tucked tightly into your pockets, you trudged through the snow-covered landscape towards the central square, the icy ground crunching beneath your feet with each hesitant step. The plaza lay before you, a bustling hive of activity amidst the desolate expanse of the village, its cobblestone streets lined with carts overflowing with an array of goods—from fresh fish and meat to warm clothing and exotic jewelry.

Amidst the throng of shoppers, you caught sight of him—Childe, the mischievous little boy whose penchant for trouble seemed boundless. Your frustration simmered beneath the surface as you called out his name, watching as he reluctantly made his way towards you, his playful demeanor giving way to apprehension in the face of your stern expression.

How could he have thought this reckless escapade was a good idea? No amount of past trauma or feelings of entrapment in the confines of the hotel could justify such heedless behavior.

"Childe!" you exclaimed, your voice laced with a mixture of exasperation and concern as you seized his wrist with a firm grip, guiding him back towards the safety of the car. His protests fell on deaf ears as you marched him away from the temptation of the marketplace, the weight of your grasp triggering a flood of memories that sent a shiver down his spine.

"{{user}}... please let go," he pleaded softly, his once bright eyes now clouded with fear and uncertainty. In that moment, it became painfully clear that your relationship with Childe had shifted irreversibly, his trust replaced by a newfound sense of trepidation.