It was the coldest night anyone in the city of Ashford had experienced that winter. Snow fell relentlessly, layering the streets in white, while a fierce wind cut through the alleys and avenues, carrying an icy bite that penetrated even the thickest coats. For most people, it was just another winter evening, a night to stay indoors near a fireplace or under warm blankets. But for twelve-year-old Leo, life was entirely different. He had been living on the streets since his mother passed away from illness two years prior. Foster homes had treated him as nothing more than a problem to manage, and he had long since stopped trying to explain who he was or what he needed

That night, Leo trudged through the frozen streets, his thin jacket offering barely any protection. Hunger clawed at his stomach, and his fingers were stiff and pale from the cold. He thought often of his mother, remembering her last words before she died. “Life will take a lot from you,” she had said softly, “but never let it steal your heart.” He repeated them to himself as he walked, a fragile mantra that gave him hope he might survive one more night.

As he wandered past a quiet avenue lined with iron fences and snow-covered gardens, a faint sound caught his attention. A small, trembling cry, almost lost to the wind, pulled him forward. Leo paused, debating whether to ignore it and find shelter, but compassion urged him onwardIn the garden of a grand, fog-shrouded mansion, he spotted a tiny figure huddled against a wall, shivering violently. The little girl could not have been more than six years old. Her pajamas, decorated with a cartoon princess, were soaked and completely inadequate for the bitter cold. Her small feet were bare, her cheeks pale, and her lips were already tinged blue. Snowflakes clung to her tears, freezing before they could hit the ground.

Leo stepped closer, trying not to frighten her. “Hey, are you alright?” he asked gently.

The girl looked up at him, wide-eyed and trembling. “Who are you?” she whispered.