As I look at this whole situation, I don't know which is weirder. The fact that there is almost nothing left at the crash site or the fact that there is a child lying on the ice in a tunic in minus 30 Celsius.

There was no time to think, however, if she was in a tunic in this kind of cold it was scary to imagine what was happening to her now. Freezing to death is the most tragic and at the same time the most frequent death in our region.

I have to act fast. The first thing I do is lift the kid off the cold ice. Walking around I find her pulse is weak, but she's alive. Panic clouds my eyes but I see that she's breathing. I throw my backpack on the ice and the pick falls out onto the crystal-clear ice. I spread my jacket on the floor and lay the girl down. I've never pulled a jacket off so fast in my life. Wrapped her up in the parka like a cocoon. And then the cold brought me back to my senses. Piercing cold, like I'm in the heart of an ice queen. Even though I have a robe, it doesn't do much for the cold. I've only taken off my jacket on two occasions, when I was in a building and warm and when I was robbed. But it was so long ago that I can hardly remember the details. But you can't forget the emotion so easily.

This whole situation looks suspicious. There's absolutely nothing wrong here. The crash isn't on the trade line, there's nothing left of the transport but unidentifiable wreckage, the girl is unconscious and in a tunic. Who wears a tunic? What temperature is it supposed to be in a vehicle??? And it's even more disturbing. This kind of luxury could only be afforded by the wealthy or very powerful individuals. I certainly shouldn't get involved. I need to leave, and I need to leave now. I can smell flesh burning. I look away from the girl. Charred body parts lie between the metal, creating a rather dystopian picture.

The black and red mess is a real explosion. Doesn't exactly look like a natural death. The stones were as dark as night because of the blood and debris. But no identifying marks. What are you trying to tell me, goddess? With every breath I take here, the icy air with the taste of metal and blood pushes into my lungs. And even though I'm used to blood, it's not the most pleasant thing to see. And when you think about it, I never got a proper look at the girl.

I walk back to this icy oasis with only my robe. The baby is still lying in my windbreaker wrapped like a cocoon in my jacket. My chest thermometer reads minus 35 degrees. The temperature seems to be dropping again. There's a symbol lying next to the girl. I wish I didn't recognize it. Two wings enclosed in a small ring shaped like a brooch. It's the sign of the church. I used to belong to. White hair, white skin, white eyelashes. It's not from the cold. It's the blessing of the goddess. This child is in great danger. She was probably being transported in the church's canteen. And there was an altercation between the church and who? Who would try to infringe on the church. Only the most horrible outcomes of events pop into my head. But it's only now that I realize the real question. I've already intervened, which means I'm already a participant in these events. I don't think a child can survive long in an icy wasteland. But I'm an apostate. And I am forbidden to have any contact whatsoever with church officials. It's a capital offense. Anyway, the jacket will keep her alive. Someone will come for her, won't they? I could claim the goddess led me to save the child and I've done my duty and run away before she wakes up. But to leave a child in the snow with nothing. Goddess, how dare I even think such a thing. Isn't it my duty as a priest to save people and guide them to the truth? Oh, and I've seen what's happened to transportation. The sos signal just doesn't work if it's smashed into a pile.

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Meanwhile, my arms and legs are starting to swell with cold, the rising wind fluttering the end of my robe from side to side. The girl still won't wake up. And maybe it's for the best. After all, the sight of a burning mess of body parts is not a good sight for a child. It sounds creepy, but their burning bodies keep me from freezing to death in one renegade robe. Kirk giving out in a hurry lies neatly beside the sacred symbol. It was probably given to a girl. A symbol of protection from the church and a symbol of death for all those who oppose it. I hope it was given to a girl in honor of the first occasion. If I were to take it, it would do both good and harm. And yet it does not belong to me, so it is not for me to decide the fate of this object.

Lifting this lovely cocoon given to me by the goddess is probably the only good decision I've ever made in my entire life. To save a life. Picking up an old windbreaker. And throwing it over me. This little princess deserves to live as much as anyone. The goddess has entrusted the life of this child to me. Perhaps we should go into town. Perhaps that's where they'll look for her. Besides, I was running low on food. That's why I came down to look for the city in the first place.And the thermometer keeps showing me more and more pesuchal. The temperature keeps dropping. Even with good equipment in minus 40 it's already very difficult and I'm in one robe and a windbreaker with a child in my arms. I guess I'd better get back to that room. I didn't think I'd be back there so soon. My body is at its limit, the wind and the frost are getting to me. I'm moving much slower with the baby in my arms. It seems that this staircase is endless, an endless corridor. A familiar room flashes ahead. The same drawers, the same radio, which is now silent. The door creaks open and there's a sigh. Trevor, you made it. I didn't get back until late afternoon. Dead tired. Putting the baby on that sleeping bag. Well, look, buddy, at least someone's sleeping in the bag instead of on top of it. It's freezing cold. I'm looking at the crates. You can't even light them on fire, they're covered in ice. The same oil lamp near the floor gives off beautiful rays as the light is now falling on it. The wall behind has become much more interesting and lighter but there is no one to admire the games of the sun. I decided to venture out, I am terribly thirsty. I have my pickaxe with me, even in this state I will not forget it anywhere. I'm so tired my legs won't listen to me. It took me a lot of effort to just stand up, but my thirst will not wait. I take the cauldron and carefully shovel the snow by the door without touching it. I take out my leftover dry fuel and a lighter. The pickaxe goes in. A couple of swings and one of the crates turns into an improvised stand for the cauldron.The room became a little warmer the flames shimmered beautifully in this cold and frost covered space. The sound of boiling water was soothing, and the steam rising to my face melted the snowflakes stuck between my eyelashes. I hear a quiet sniffle. The girl's breathing has normalized. I keep referring to her as a kid. She certainly has a name. When she wakes up, I'll ask her. Although I have no idea how I'm going to explain all this. Taking a small ladle, I carefully drink the boiling water. The wind has died down and all I can hear is the crackle of frost and the sniffling of the baby. I transfer the boiling water into a small thermos. It is broken, so I carefully close it and hope that it will not spill again. I fold my hands in the pose of prayer in the usual manner. Suddenly I hear something rustling behind me. She's awake.