Late at night, as the last few sticks of wood turned into weak red embers, the temperature plummeted.
Robin huddled in bed, even with two blankets, she felt the cold like countless ice needles piercing her bones.
She saw Seraphilia sitting by the stove, her back straight, but her shoulders trembling slightly uncontrollably.
'Are you cold?' Robin suddenly asked, her voice clear in the silence.
This was not concern, but an experimental probe into the other's reaction in a state of discomfort.
Seraphilia turned her head, her ice-blue eyes bottomless in the dim firelight.
'I'm fine,' her reply was as concise as ice.
'Your ability,' Robin continued, her tone flat, as if discussing an academic problem unrelated to herself, 'can't directly create heat? Since you can control the temperature of clouds, raising it should also be possible.'
Seraphilia was silent for a few seconds, seemingly evaluating the intent behind the question.
'I've tried. The energy output is unstable, the consumption is huge, it's not worth it.' She gave a technical explanation, then added, 'My main focus is low-temperature control.'
Low-temperature control.
Robin remembered the deadly ice spear.
Discussing this on such a freezing night was a dark, absurd humor.
'Why low temperature?' Robin's questioning became more direct, for the first time delving so deeply into the core of Seraphilia's ability development.
This time, Seraphilia was silent for even longer. The dying embers flickered in her eyes, flickering on and off.
'Because 'freezing',' she finally spoke, her voice low, as if talking to herself, or stating a cold truth, 'can make many things... stop. Danger, attacks, pain... even, time.'
This answer was beyond Robin's expectations, carrying a philosophical coldness and decisiveness.
It was not for defense, not for survival, but to'stop'.
What did she want to stop?
In the second half of the night, the fireplace went out completely.
Robin could clearly hear the 'chattering' sound of her teeth.
Seraphilia stood up, paced a few steps in the darkness, and finally walked to the bedside.
She did not look at Robin, but lay down fully clothed on the outer edge of the bed, pulling part of the blanket over herself, her movements stiff as a puppet.
'Come closer,' she said, her voice calm and emotionless, 'body heat is the most efficient heat source.'
This was not an invitation, but the optimal solution in extreme conditions, a pure survival directive.
Robin's body stiffened for a moment.
But the cold was a more direct, more honest threat. She slowly moved her body closer to that equally cold body.
The two lay side by side, shoulders touching.
Seraphilia's body temperature was indeed lower, like a piece of warm jade, but it was still the temperature of a living person, dispelling some of the deadly chill.
Robin could feel the faint tremors from her body, forcefully suppressed, indistinguishable whether from cold or something else.
Seraphilia lay still, her breathing steady as if asleep. But Robin knew she was not.
This was a tacit closeness, but also a silent barrier.
Robin also closed her eyes, her senses sharper than ever, analyzing the tension in every muscle of Seraphilia's body, feeling the deep, restrained fatigue within her.
On this icy island isolated by the blizzard, they were like two cubs forced together for warmth. It had nothing to do with trust, only the cruel arithmetic of survival giving the sole answer.
The storm raged outside all night.
***
The next day at noon, the storm finally stopped.
Sunlight struggled through the clouds, illuminating a Black Iron Town completely reshaped by the white snow.
Seraphilia and Robin spent a great deal of effort clearing the snow from the door.
Looking at the nearly empty firewood pile and food bag, Seraphilia's ice-blue eyes flashed with a hint of grimness.
'I'll go out for a bit,' she said to Robin, 'and get some things. Lock the door, don't make a sound.'
Robin nodded.
Seraphilia stepped into the knee-deep snow, turning towards a more secluded alley completely blocked by snow.
About an hour later, she returned.
She dragged a heavy package wrapped in old canvas, struggling through the snow.
But what really made Robin's pupils suddenly contract was her method of progress.
About a meter ahead of her, the snow was melting and evaporating at an eerie speed, forming a narrow, steaming muddy path!
She was using her ability to instantly raise the local temperature to clear the way!
This required energy control a hundred times more precise than creating ice spears, melting the snow without letting the high temperature harm herself or ignite the materials.
Seraphilia's ability was far more complex and powerful than she had shown.
She dragged the supplies, following the path she had 'created', step by step, steadfastly returning to the small house. The rising steam shimmered in the cool sunlight, like a moving, silent declaration of her power.
This 'display' might not have been intentional, but in Robin's eyes, it was a strong signal.
Seraphilia's value was once again refreshed.
But the threat level of someone hiding such a powerful ability with unknown motives, what level should it be raised to?
Seraphilia returned to the house, bringing enough supplies to last for days.
Her face showed obvious fatigue, her fingers red from the cold, but her eyes were still calm as ever.
Robin stepped forward, silently helping her with some things, and the two worked in silence.
The fire was relit, and the room gradually warmed.
'Thank you.'
Robin suddenly spoke, her voice soft but clear in the silence.
This was the first time she had explicitly expressed 'gratitude' to Seraphilia.
A word allowed only after countless cold calculations.
Seraphilia's motion of brushing off the snow stopped abruptly.
She looked up, her ice-blue eyes sharply examining Robin, as if trying to penetrate her disguise and understand the true meaning behind those two words.
A few seconds later, that sharpness slowly faded.
She softly 'mmmed', turned around, and continued her actions.
There was no more conversation. But an invisible balance, in the silence after the snow, had undergone an extremely subtle, irreversible adjustment.
Dependency deepened, and vigilance escalated.
The utilitarian relationship became stronger, and the desire to uncover the truth, like a seed under the snow unwilling to be buried, gathered the strength to break through the earth.
The storm had passed for now, but the winter in the West Blue was still long.
In this dirty corner, between these two girls, this dance of mutual use, shrouded in secrets and probing, had just entered its most dangerous chapter.