He didn't know what was burning in those stoves, only that they saved his and his brother's lives.

On that day, an "angel" he would never forget in his lifetime, and a genuine "sun" came to the ward.

The wind and snow were blocked outside, leaving only the gentle sound of the stove inside.

The moment the door opened, it was as if light and warmth surged in simultaneously.

Leading the way was a girl in a white cloak, holding bundles of thick blankets, her blue hair like a river under the night sky.

Her eyes were gentle, yet they seemed like the only light in the snowy night.

She was Miss Emily.

Beside her, a young man in a black cloak entered the ward.

He didn't speak, just nodded slightly to signal the soldiers behind him to bring in a large box of medicine and a new fire-backed stove.

This was the Red Tide Lord, Louis.

Two nobles walked shoulder to shoulder into this room filled with the smell of mold and blood, without a hint of hesitation or disdain.

They were not figures in dreams, nor were they standing atop a high tower looking down on their fate; they personally stepped into their despair.

Emily knelt down, walked past each sickbed, and personally covered the children with blankets.

She asked softly, "Are you cold?" "Hang on a bit longer, you'll be better soon."

Every word was not loud, yet like a flame that could pierce through wind and snow, gentle and real.

And Louis also stood between the sickbeds, not looking down from above, but rolling up his sleeves, manually unscrewing medicine bottles, and bending down to check the stove's temperature, carefully confirming each corner met the standard.

His expression remained calm, yet it wasn't the cold indifference seen in the eyes of nobility.

When he reached a little girl trembling from a high fever, seeing the instinctive fear in her eyes, he merely bent down slightly and said softly, "Don't be afraid, I'm here."

His tone was gentle, voice not high, yet it coaxed the girl to unconsciously reach out her small hand and tightly hold his fingertip.

He didn't pull back, simply squatted naturally, sitting with her for a moment.

When it was Noon's turn, Emily knelt down and covered him with a blanket that was new, carrying a scalding warmth and the scent of herbs.

Someone whispered in his ear, "She is Miss Emily, the mistress of the Red Tide."

In an instant, he remembered his mother's face and recalled his brother's hand gripping his sleeve tightly during a fever...

But now, someone held onto him.

Not a god, nor a legend, but a smiling, kneeling, personally delivering medicine and blankets big sister.

She had no wings, yet was brighter than any holy icon under a snowy night.

Emily patted his hand and smiled, saying, "Hold on until spring, you'll get better."

Noon opened his mouth, but could not utter a single word; he just tightly held onto the blanket's corner as if it wasn't just a piece of cloth, but a ray of light that could pull him from the dark night.

He choked up, gazing at Emily, and also at Louis not far standing beside her.

At that moment, he finally understood: she was the holy maiden of the winter night, he was the sun igniting this darkness.

They truly saw him as a person, regarded his weed-like life as one worth saving.

In that moment, he etched the faces of these two people deeply into his heart.

That night, Noon dreamt he was draped in a Red Tide cloak, holding his brother's hand, walking in the snowy night.

In his dream, he said, "We will survive. When I grow up, I want to become a Red Tide Knight."

He wasn't a noble, had no lineage, nor much intelligence.

But on this winter night, he received the true dignity and hope belonging to humans.

Not only Noon, but in this frozen winter, the names of the two masters of the Red Tide Territory were no longer just names, but had become hope itself.

Refugees knelt in the snow praying, whispering, "Sun of the Red Tide, grant us a night of warm wind."

People thus called Louis Calvin—Sun of the Northern Territory.

Not a king, not a god, but a sun that couldn't be extinguished in the night, able to burn in the snow and ice.

And for Emily, the most circulated saying was, "She is the holy maiden who would weep in the snowy night, the second mother to the children."

Women secretly wove white cloaks for her, saying they would give them to the Holy Maiden in the snow.

Children drew her likeness on the walls of shelters: a woman gently leaning down, holding a blanket in her arms, a halo behind her.

Beside the stove, someone told the children stories: "A beautiful holy maiden walked in the snow, fearless of dirt, cold, or illness, bringing medicine and the scent of spring."

The elders said, "They are the saviors of the Northern Territory."

However, not all people of the Northern Territory were so fortunate.

Not everyone had a lord named Louis Calvin, and not every city was like the Red Tide Territory, with warm geothermal heat, an inexhaustible fire-backed turtle...

Outside of the Red Tide was true hell.

Food shortages had become complete. Many minor nobles started slaughtering the sick and prisoners, and it was said some were drying "human jerky" in basements.

On the streets and alleys, crowds gathered around burning corpses for warmth quietly gnawed on bones, fearing they would wake the guards of the nobles.

The heating system collapsed, everything was thrown into the fire, and there were even elders self-immolating just to secure a night's flame for their families.

Medical treatment? That was already a foreign term.

Epidemics were out of control, with no doctors or medicines, and unburied corpses piled in alleys, wells, and in front of church doors, the stench unbearable.

Yet some refugees would deliberately get close to the piles of corpses for warmth.

Instead of protectors, the nobles and army became predators of food.

The relief grain from the Governor's Mansion was seized, while the castle behind high walls was brightly lit, outside was a ghostly icy pit.

The most terrifying thing was the collapse of humanity.

Many nobles simply sealed doors and abandoned manors, giving up the people, even driving all city residents southward, leaving only empty cities and snow.

Some took the family's last batch of grain and fled at night, abandoning their post; citizens awakened the next day only to find footprints left in the snow, not even managing to hear a shout.

The most despairing were the news coming from those "extreme lands."

Some noble personally led troops to slaughter refugees just to save firewood and medicine.

In some cities, citizens had begun to cannibalize each other, and what burned in the fires were not wood, but family flags embossed with gold emblems.

This was the true portrayal of most territories in the Northern Territory this winter.

The mortality rate from freezing exceeded forty percent, riots spread, epidemics ravaged, and order collapsed.

In comparison, the Red Tide Territory was like a lone fire rising from the snow, not particularly bright, but the only one that hadn't been extinguished.

The gates of the Red Tide never closed, the Red Tide dining hall never ceased its fires, the Red Tide medical tents never halted.

Even on the coldest, stormiest nights of winter, there was still smoke from the "Warm Soup Station" rising in the sky.

Night-patrol knights wrapped in red cloaks walked past the refugee camps, while on the distant high towers, the flag with a red background and golden sun continued to flutter.

But regardless, as time slowly passed, this cold and long winter finally came to an end.

The snow began to melt, the permafrost cracked, and buds stirred on withered branches.

When the first sunlight shone upon all of the Northern Territory, no one cheered; they simply watched quietly, watching for a very long time.

Some knelt in the snow, lightly resting their heads on the ground, as if bidding farewell to those who had passed, or like welcoming a long-lost hope.

In this most despairing year for the Northern Territory, they once believed spring wouldn't return.

But it did.

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