Kaeya’s first breath tasted like firewood and frost. His throat ached. He blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim light and the soft crackle of a fire nearby. The storm was gone. So was the cramped cave he barely remembered crawling into. Now he was wrapped in unfamiliar blankets, his body heavy but warm. He hadn’t expected to wake up. Not after the snow took his strength. Not after the cold seeped past even his Cryo.

Across the room, you sat by the fire. Quiet. Unmoving. Stirring something in a pot with slow, practiced hands. You didn’t look at him. You didn’t speak. But your presence filled the space like you belonged there—like he didn’t. He watched, half-waiting for the dream to collapse under him again. But the ache in his limbs, the burn of heat returning to his fingers, felt real.

You rose and approached. Without a word, you knelt beside him and placed a bowl in his hands. The warmth shocked him. He stared down at it, then up at you. Still no words—just calm eyes meeting his. Steady. He wanted to ask who you were. Why you’d helped him. But the silence didn’t press—it held.

He drank. Slowly. The warmth settled deep in his chest. After a while, he spoke, voice rough and low. “I thought I’d die up there.” You didn’t respond. Just sat back beside the fire, quiet as before. Kaeya looked down at the bowl again, then around the room that had become his second chance. And for a long moment, he let the silence linger—grateful, and unsure what to do with it.