Chapter Text
Snow crunched under Ivan’s boots as he herded the kids across the frozen courtyard toward the campfire. Their laughter rang bright in the winter air, little bursts of warmth against the wind that sliced through the open base like it owned the place. A few flakes drifted down from the dark sky, catching the orange flicker of the fire up ahead.
“Stick together, tiny gremlins,” Ivan said, hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets. “If you get lost, I’m not going after you. I’ll just tell Hyuna you turned into snow sculptures.”
One of the kids—short, sharp-eyed, with a knack for running off—stuck out his tongue at him. Ivan reached down and gently tugged the hood over the boy’s head. “Yeah, yeah. Tongue’s gonna freeze that way. Then what? You’ll be the world’s saddest popsicle.”
They reached the campfire where the others were gathered. Luka sat cross-legged on an overturned crate, hands fluttering as he talked, snow haloing his dark hair. Dewey was fiddling with a half-melted can of beans skewered on a stick. Hyuna sat near the edge of the fire, posture straight, eyes sharp even in this relaxed moment. Mizi had her feet practically on top of the flames, humming some half-remembered tune. Till leaned against a post, quiet but attentive, and Isaac—Isaac was juggling something small and metallic, ignoring Hyuna’s side-eye entirely.
The kids immediately scattered to the side, pelting each other with snow in a makeshift warzone a safe distance from the fire. Ivan lingered at the edge, half in, half out, where he could hear the conversation and keep an eye on the chaos.
“…it’s not even that important of a map,” Luka was saying, voice low but animated. “But it’s gone. Just—poof. One minute it’s rolled up on my desk, next it’s a ghost.”
Dewey snorted. “Maybe it grew legs. Or Isaac took it. He’s a klepto.”
Isaac held up his hands, grinning. “I only steal things that matter.”
“Exactly,” Luka shot back.
Ivan sank onto a log, rubbing his gloved hands together to get some feeling back. The cold had already started its usual creeping trick—prickles along his wrists, a strange tightness in his throat that he pretended wasn’t there. He focused instead on Luka’s voice, on the warmth of the fire licking against one side of his face. It was almost comfortable.
“—maybe one of the kids found it,” Mizi suggested. “They’ve been sneaking everywhere lately.”
“I’ve told them not to,” Ivan muttered automatically, eyes scanning the little battlefield nearby. And just in time—two of the kids had decided the best game was to see who could get closest to the fire without touching it. Ivan was on his feet before Luka finished his sentence.
“Hey!” he barked, crossing the snow in long strides. The kids froze mid-creep toward the flames. “No. Absolutely not. Do you have any idea what happens if you fall in? You’ll roast like marshmallows. And you’re not even the good kind.”
They burst into giggles, scampering away. Ivan lingered a second, making sure they stayed back, then returned to the fire. Luka gave him a look—somewhere between amused and exasperated—but didn’t comment.
Hyuna was speaking now, voice cutting through the chatter. “We’re increasing patrol rotations. The weather’s making supply runs harder, and we can’t risk losing any routes. I’ll need volunteers for the early morning shifts.”
Groans went around the fire like a wave. Dewey threw his hands up dramatically. “Who even wakes up that early? The sun doesn’t.”
Till caught Ivan’s gaze across the flames. He signed a quick, small thing—You okay?—with a flick of his fingers. Ivan gave a half-hearted thumbs up in response. He wasn’t. The cold was biting through his layers in little invisible jaws, his wrists were itching fiercely beneath the gloves, and he could feel a familiar heat blooming under the skin there. But none of that mattered. What mattered was keeping everything moving.
Dewey cracked a joke about getting Luka’s ghost map to do patrols, and for a few minutes, the fire circle softened into laughter and teasing. Ivan found himself smiling despite the way his skin crawled. He leaned back, watching Luka gesture wildly, Hyuna’s subtle smiles she thought no one saw, Mizi mouthing off, Isaac trying to balance something on his nose. He didn’t realize how closely he was watching them until he was already moving again.
One of the smaller kids had decided to climb up a half-buried supply crate like it was a mountain. Ivan rose, crossed the space in a few quick steps, and scooped the child off before they toppled backward into the snow. “What’d I say about climbing random junk? You wanna break your neck before bedtime?”
The kid pouted. Ivan sighed and ruffled their hair. “Fine. But if you fall, you’re telling Hyuna yourself.”
He brought the kid back to the group and plopped down again, brushing snow off his sleeves. Dewey arched an eyebrow. “You’re like a watchdog.”
“I prefer ‘overlord,’” Ivan shot back. But he didn’t deny it.
The fire cracked. Snow kept falling in soft, steady flakes. The night was cold, but for a while, surrounded by familiar voices and the warm pull of responsibility, it didn’t feel unbearable. Ivan sat there—half listening to Luka gripe about his missing map, half monitoring every too-close step the kids took—and didn’t notice how natural it had become to split his attention like that.
Somewhere deep down, though, beneath the jokes and the easy corrections, his lungs reminded him: the cold wasn’t going anywhere.
The snow fell in thick, lazy flakes, dusting the base in a soft, silent white. The kids squealed, darting across the open courtyard like tiny explosions of energy. Ivan stood at the edge, boots crunching on the fresh snow, hands stuffed into his coat pockets.
“Come on, Ivan!” one of the girls called, waving a mittened hand. “Throw a snowball!”
Ivan raised an eyebrow, forcing a grin. “Ah, no, no, I’m… uh… supervising. Yes. Very responsible supervision. Very… warm supervision.”
Inside, his chest already felt tight. Each inhale drew a slight sting through his skin, the prickling sensation crawling across his wrists and neck. He flexed his fingers subtly under his gloves, trying to scratch discreetly. He could already feel the hives forming under the layers.
The kids ignored his half-hearted tosses and sprinted ahead, snow spraying around them. Ivan forced a laugh, waving his arms dramatically as if he were about to charge into battle. “Watch your rebel leader demonstrate perfect snow avoidance!”
The quiet boy squinted at him. “Why aren’t you coming?”
Ivan leaned against a railing, feigning a heroic pose. “Because I am… exceedingly strategic. I am observing patterns, calculating trajectories. I am… basically doing math.”
The oldest girl tilted her head. “Math doesn’t need snow.”
“Ah,” Ivan said, snapping his fingers as if the girl had just revealed a secret. “But you see, it does! Very important snow math. The rebellion relies on it. Don’t you dare question the snow math.”
The kids laughed and ran off again, leaving Ivan alone with his thoughts. The cold gnawed more insistently now, crawling up his sleeves, across his chest, and down his neck. He could feel the familiar sting and redness under his coat.
I can’t do this, he thought, swallowing hard. I can’t… join them. Not like this.
He clenched his fists, trying to mask the discomfort with a showy gesture of throwing his arms wide. “Behold! The master of snow strategy!”
A snowball landed near his foot, and Ivan kicked it lightly. “Excellent technique!” he said, forcing a laugh. His breaths came a little faster, shallow, but he tilted his head and waved it off. No one could see how much this was affecting him — that was important.
A shadow fell across his periphery. Hyuna’s silhouette, tall and imposing against the snow-dappled light, made him straighten immediately.
“You’re not playing,” she said softly, voice carrying just enough to be heard over the kids.
Ivan smiled, smooth as always. “Of course I am! Strategically, from here. Very advanced position.”
Hyuna stepped closer, eyes scanning him critically. “Ivan… are you cold?”
He waved a hand. “Cold? Me? Absolutely not. I thrive in winter climates. It’s invigorating.”
Her gaze didn’t soften. “It doesn’t look like it.”
Ivan shifted, brushing his coat self-consciously. “Well… maybe a slight… tactical disadvantage. Nothing I can’t handle. Really. You know me. Totally fine.”
Hyuna’s expression softened slightly, but her eyes didn’t waver. “Has it always been like this?”
Ivan blinked, caught slightly off-guard. He tilted his head, forcing a grin. “Like what?”
“Your… reaction to cold,” she clarified. “Your skin… your breathing. This tightness.”
Ivan’s chest felt heavier. He laughed lightly, scratching the back of his neck under his scarf. “Oh! That. Pfft. Nothing to worry about. Just… overenthusiastic training, I guess. I push myself sometimes. You know me.”
Hyuna studied him for a long moment. “I do. I just… want to make sure you’re not overextending.”
Ivan waved dismissively, though his fingers twitched under his gloves. “Overextending? Me? Never. I am the model of restraint. Totally under control.”
A snowball whizzed past his shoulder, and he glanced at the kids, laughing as they continued to play. His chest tightened again. He inhaled quickly, grimacing inwardly. This is fine, he told himself. No one can see this. I’m fine.
The quiet boy wandered back toward him, small snowflakes clinging to his hair. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Ivan crouched down to the boy’s level, forcing a grin. “Absolutely. I am… the embodiment of winter. See? Not a shiver in sight.”
The boy didn’t seem convinced but shrugged, turning back to the others. Ivan exhaled slowly, leaning against the railing again.
I can’t admit it, he thought. Not yet. Not to anyone. I can’t show weakness. Not here, not in front of them.
Still, watching the kids run and laugh, Ivan felt a pang — he wanted to join them, to throw snowballs, to feel the cold on his skin without the sting, without the hives. But he couldn’t. And he knew that hiding it, masking it with humor and bravado, was going to be harder the longer the snow fell.
Hyuna watched him quietly for a moment, then nodded slightly and walked back toward the building. “Keep an eye on yourself,” she said over her shoulder.
“I always do!” Ivan called, forcing cheer. Inside, though, his chest tightened with a mix of pride, frustration, and… longing.
The snow continued to fall, thick and relentless, and Ivan realized something quietly, painfully: the winter was no longer just a backdrop. It was a challenge he couldn’t ignore. And the more the kids played, the more he would have to pretend he could keep up, even as every flake reminded him of his limits.
—-
The sun was already low by the time Ivan wandered toward the training yard. The cold had grown sharp in the past few days, and the air nipped at his exposed skin like tiny needles. He had layered up more than usual—scarf, gloves, the thick rebellion-issued coat—but it was never quite enough. He inhaled slowly, the cold scraping down his throat like sandpaper.
The kids were there, huddled near one of the broken fences that marked the edge of camp. Arin stood apart from the others, watchful eyes following everything like a sentry. Sori was crouched down, prodding at the frost on the ground with a stick. Jin had managed to wedge himself halfway up the fence despite repeated warnings not to climb it. Noa trailed after Sori, murmuring softly to herself, while Kai was glued to Ivan’s side the moment he arrived, small hands clutching his coat.
“Alright,” Ivan said, clapping his gloved hands together once. “Time for some actual lessons, little gremlins.”
Jin immediately snorted. “We’re not gremlins.”
“You say that now,” Ivan drawled, moving toward the fence to drag Jin down. “But if you fall off this thing and break your leg, I’m not carrying you to Luka’s office.”
Jin dropped down with an exaggerated huff, brushing frost off his hands. “I wouldn’t fall.”
“Sure,” Ivan muttered. “You’re a natural-born acrobat. Now sit.”
They gathered around him in a loose semicircle. Arin hovered at the edge, arms folded tightly, but his sharp gaze didn’t miss a thing. Sori leaned forward, eyes gleaming like she was about to demand a thousand explanations. Noa sat cross-legged and quiet, looking up at Ivan with wide, trusting eyes. Kai pressed against Ivan’s arm and refused to budge.
“Okay,” Ivan said. “Let’s talk rebellion basics. This—” he gestured broadly at the sprawling, patchwork camp around them “—is home. People here are… messy. Loud. Kind of annoying. But they’re good. And they’re the reason you’re not stuck behind that stupid glass case anymore.”
Sori’s hand shot up before he’d even finished. “Why did they put us in the case?”
Ivan opened his mouth, then shut it. There were no real answers he could give that wouldn’t involve a hundred questions he wasn’t ready to field. “Because,” he finally said, “some people are idiots. Next question.”
Sori frowned but didn’t push. She had the energy of someone who liked testing limits, but she also seemed to respect when Ivan put a line down.
Noa raised a hand timidly. “What happens if we do something bad?”
Ivan arched an eyebrow. “Bad how?”
“Like… if Jin climbs the fence again,” Noa whispered.
“Hey!” Jin protested.
Ivan smirked. “Then Jin gets to do extra chores. And probably listen to Luka explain structural integrity for two hours.”
Sori cackled. Jin sulked. Arin’s lips twitched upward just slightly.
Ivan shifted his weight, feeling the cold seep through his boots. He was used to ignoring it, but today it gnawed more than usual. His throat felt tight, his fingers itched, and there was a familiar prickle at the base of his neck. He rubbed at it absently through his scarf.
Sori noticed. “Why do you do that?” she asked bluntly. “You always scratch.”
The question landed like a stone in his chest. He could brush it off. He usually did. But something about the way the kids were looking at him—Kai pressed close, Noa blinking up at him, Sori expectant, Arin attentive, Jin waiting for a sarcastic comeback—made him pause.
He crouched down so he was more on their level. “Because,” he said slowly, “my body doesn’t really like the cold.”
Sori tilted her head. “Like…your body hates cold? Like we hate celery? Your body thinks the cold is yucky?”
He huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Something like that. It makes my skin all bumpy, and sometimes it gets hard to breathe if I’m not careful.”
Noa’s face fell, and she reached for his gloved hand hesitantly. “Does it hurt?”
“Not like falling off a fence,” he said lightly. “It’s just… annoying. Sometimes bad. But I handle it.”
Arin’s sharp gaze softened, though he didn’t say anything. Kai squeezed Ivan’s arm tighter, his small brow furrowed like he was ready to fight the weather itself for Ivan’s sake.
“Is that why you wear all the stuff?” Jin asked, gesturing at Ivan’s layers.
“Yep,” Ivan said. “This coat is my armor. Without it, I’d turn into a miserable lump.”
Sori snorted. “You already kind of are.”
Ivan grinned. “Bold of you to say when I control who gets hot food tonight.”
That shut her up. Jin laughed loud enough that Arin shot him a look, and Noa covered her mouth, giggling quietly.
Ivan stood again, brushing the frost off his knees. “Alright, next up—another walk through the camp. I know we’ve gone through it like a million times but if you’re going to live here, you need to know where to run when you get lost. Which you will. Jin.”
“What?” Jin said, feigning innocence.
“You have ‘run off into a restricted area’ written all over you,” Ivan said.
As they started walking, Kai kept hold of Ivan’s coat. Arin walked slightly ahead, as if guarding the group. Sori darted around to point at things, rapid-firing questions Ivan mostly answered with dry, half-sarcastic explanations. Noa stuck close to Sori, nodding along to everything.
When they approached Luka’s office, Ivan slowed. The door was cracked open, papers stacked haphazardly inside. Luka himself was hunched over his desk, scratching notes onto a map that looked older than Ivan’s patience. He glanced up when he heard the group.
“Ah,” Luka said dryly. “The circus arrives.”
“Don’t be mean,” Sori said immediately, hands on hips.
Luka blinked at her, then at Ivan. “You’ve trained them well.”
“They came like this,” Ivan replied. “I’m just the unlucky babysitter.”
Luka gestured them in. The kids crowded around the table, fascinated by the maps. Jin reached out a hand, and Luka swatted it away without looking.
“No touching,” Luka said.
Jin scowled. Arin stood beside him, eyes scanning the lines and symbols like he was committing them to memory. Sori bombarded Luka with questions about the symbols. Noa whispered guesses under her breath, and Kai remained glued to Ivan’s leg.
Ivan leaned against the doorway, watching them. For the first time, he didn’t feel like he was just filling in because he couldn’t handle missions anymore. The kids were actually listening to him. Trusting him. It was weird… but not bad.
Luka caught his eye briefly and gave him a faint, knowing smirk before returning to his work. Ivan rolled his eyes but didn’t look away from the group.
Outside, the wind picked up. He felt it bite through his layers, and his throat prickled again. But surrounded by the noise of kids and the warm light of Luka’s office, it didn’t feel as sharp.
---
The sudden clang of the alarm echoed through the base, cutting through the afternoon’s quiet like a knife. Snow swirled violently against the walls, whipped by the wind that had picked up faster than anyone could have predicted. Ivan froze mid-step, Kai clutching his coat as if sensing the shift in mood before he could explain.
“What now?” Jin muttered, eyes darting between the flapping tarps and the gathering crowd of rebels.
“Move, everyone,” a voice called from down the corridor. Hyuna’s silhouette appeared briefly in the snow-streaked light, signaling urgency. “We need to relocate the children and essential equipment—storm’s picking up faster than anticipated!”
Ivan immediately went into motion, crouching so Kai could wrap himself closer around Ivan’s waist. “Listen up, team,” he said, voice calm but firm. “Arin, stay at the edge and watch for hazards. Sori, you’re on lookout duty with me. Jin, follow directions—no creative shortcuts, got it? Noa, hold my hand. We’ll keep you safe.”
The kids didn’t hesitate. Arin’s vigilant gaze swept the area while Sori practically bounced on her toes, ready for anything. Jin wrinkled his nose but followed, and Noa stayed tucked against Ivan’s side, trusting him implicitly. Kai’s grip on Ivan’s coat tightened every few seconds, protective yet reassuring.
They started moving quickly across the courtyard, Ivan leading them toward the secondary shelter the rebels had prepared for sudden relocations. Snow whipped into their faces, stinging cheeks and freezing exposed strands of hair. Ivan ignored the prickle that ran up his neck and along his wrists, focusing instead on the children, counting them as they went.
“Almost there,” he said, breath visible in quick puffs. “Don’t let go of me, or I swear I’ll make Jin carry everyone’s gear—starting with his own backpack.”
Jin groaned dramatically, flinging snow off his coat. “That’s not fair! I can’t carry all of it!”
“You won’t have to,” Ivan replied. “But I will make you carry your own ego if you complain again.”
Sori laughed despite the wind, ducking under a low beam as they moved. “This is like a real-life mission!” she shouted. “We’re like spies!”
Ivan smiled faintly, even as he felt a sharper itch along his wrists and a tightness in his chest. “Exactly,” he said. “Except nobody told me spies get frostbite.”
Arin silently pointed toward a patch of ice ahead. Without a word, Ivan signaled for everyone to slow. He crouched low, dragging Jin aside, and gently guided Noa over the slick patch. Kai clung closer, almost folding into him for warmth and protection.
They reached the edge of the secondary shelter—an old, reinforced building just outside the main base. Rebels were already moving crates inside, carrying food, blankets, and spare clothing. The door hung open, letting in a gust of freezing air. Ivan ushered the kids inside, brushing snow from their coats and gloves.
Once inside, he dropped down onto one knee so he could meet their eyes. “Alright. You made it. Everyone accounted for?”
The kids nodded, though Jin gave a mock salute, and Sori puffed her chest out like she’d conquered the storm herself. Arin’s silent gaze swept the room. Noa’s delicate fingers clutched Ivan’s sleeve, and Kai still refused to let go.
“Good. Stay close,” Ivan said. “This place isn’t as fun as the yard, but it’s warmer. And safe.” He paused, noticing the subtle redness creeping along his wrists and the slight difficulty in his breathing. He ignored it, hoping the kids wouldn’t notice.
But Sori had already tilted her head. “Ivan… your hands.”
Ivan glanced down quickly. “It’s fine. Just cold,” he said too quickly, tugging his gloves higher.
“No,” Sori insisted, stepping closer. “We saw your skin yesterday. Don’t hide it from us. Tell us like you did before.”
A brief tension settled over him. He wanted to brush it off, make a joke. But the kids—Kai especially, still pressed against his side, and Noa, eyes wide—were looking at him with quiet trust. He took a shallow breath and held up his gloved hands. “Alright,” he said. “It’s the cold again. Makes my skin all bumpy and itchy. Sometimes it hurts. And I have to be careful or it gets worse. That’s why I don’t play in the snow for too long. I’m okay. Really.”
They absorbed this without fear. Arin nodded silently, as though he had cataloged the information. Sori grinned, clearly fascinated by the “superpower” aspect. Jin made a low whistle. “Super itchy powers! Cool!”
Noa tilted her head, delicate brow furrowed. “Will you be okay?”
Ivan smiled softly, ruffling her hair. “I’ll be fine. You’re all safe now, and that’s what matters. I’ve got you.”
Just then, a rebel scout burst in through the side door, red-cheeked and breathing heavily. “Hyuna sent me—storm’s picking up faster than we thought. Secondary shelter won’t hold for long. We need to move again, now.”
Jin groaned, flopping dramatically against the wall. “We just got in here!”
Sori bounced on her toes, ready for anything. “We can do it! Come on!”
Ivan exhaled, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Okay. One step at a time. Stay calm, stay together.” He turned to the kids. “Listen up. Arin, Sori, Jin—help me lead the line. Noa, Kai, you stay right here with me. We move fast, but we move smart. Understood?”
“Yes!” they shouted in unison.
The scout gestured toward a convoy of small transport sleds outside. Ivan led the group toward them, counting heads, correcting missteps, helping Noa and Kai onto the sled first. Sori and Jin ran ahead, making exaggerated leaps to test the snow, but Ivan stayed close, always a hand ready, a watchful eye scanning the skies.
The wind picked up again, flurries of snow stinging their faces. Ivan kept moving, ignoring the prickling on his wrists and the tightness in his chest. He could feel it—the cold threatening to slow him—but the kids were here, counting on him, and that was stronger than any frost.
By the time they reached the sleds, everyone was accounted for, and Ivan allowed himself a brief glance at the kids’ faces: flushed, smiling, even in the midst of chaos. He swallowed a dry laugh.
“See?” he said, hands braced on the sled. “We’re all okay. You can thank my super careful, super itchy powers for that.”
Kai pressed against him again. “Good powers,” he whispered.
Ivan smiled, letting himself feel a little of the warmth behind the chill. For now, at least, he could manage the snow, the storm, and the kids. And that… was enough.