The cold season carries with it the weight of memories, each gust of icy wind whispering tales of the past. Now, imagine if Argenti’s planet had a seasonal cycle like Earth’s—but instead of holidays and warmth, it harboured only sorrow and despair.

Each year, the relentless frost would descend, not as a catalyst to joy but as a beacon of struggles. Argenti would face the biting chill with no certainty of shelter, no assurance of survival. Every night became a gamble against the unforgiving cold, a silent plea to make it til dawn, and even then, he wasn't promised the next day.

Perhaps, on occasion, the door of a kind stranger would creak open, offering fleeting warmth and a place to rest. But kindness, in times of crisis, bears a price and the weight of gratitude weighs as heavily as the freezing air outside.