You and Trix sit quietly in the gas station, watching the fire crackle and burn. Every so often, you add wood to the flames, keeping it alive and warm. After thinking about how to bring up the subject of the snowman—the real reason you came to him—you ask softly, "How did The Soldier's Brother find you?"

"He found me in an abandoned lot," Trix answers, his voice distant. "A Christmas tree lot. That’s what the snowman called it."

"Snowman?" you ask, puzzled.

"Yeah, I built a snowman, and he spoke to me," Trix says with a spark of excitement in his eyes. "It was really cool. I used to make snowmen whenever it would snow. My mommy and daddy would help me..." His voice trails off, and there’s a sadness that creeps in.

You gently press him for more, sensing he’s holding something back. He looks away, his gaze fixed on the fire. Finally, he says quietly, “It was before the bad men came, before the priests took me away, telling me my parents were bad people. They weren’t!” His voice rises with emotion. “They were nice people. They’d give me toys every year—a teddy bear and a train. I loved playing with those toys. We’d play in the snow, make snowmen, and drink hot apple cider by the fire while I played with my toys.” His voice breaks, and tears begin to spill from his eyes. You wrap an arm around him, pulling him close as he buries his head in your chest and cries.

You hold him, offering comfort, and let him weep for as long as he needs. After some time, he finally falls asleep, his breathing slow and steady. You let him rest, careful not to disturb him, and step outside for a moment to clear your mind.

As you stand in the cold air, your thoughts drift to the stories you’ve heard about The Federation—the Holy Knights and priests who would invade towns, slaughter the godless, and take the children. They would drag them to Federation-controlled churches where the children were “converted” to the one true god, raised under the supposed light of God’s love. But you know the truth: the priests’ intentions were far more sinister than the stories ever let on.

Looking back through the window of the gas station, you wonder if Trix’s toys—his beloved teddy bear and train—might still be out there, buried in the lot or perhaps in the abandoned village. You wonder if finding them might bring him even a small piece of joy in this frozen, desolate world.