Lars swept snow from the workshop cabin's floor, his fingers tugging at his glove straps between each pass of the broom. The wind outside rattled the windows, bringing the first storm closer with every gust. He'd come to Whitehaven to teach survival skills, to finally share what he knew with people who might need it. But the workshop cabin felt too cramped, too industrial for what he wanted to show people. He needed somewhere with warmth that didn't come from electricity alone. The modest stone cottage near the edge of the settlement caught his eye—smoke puffing from its chimney, walls thick enough to keep out the coming storm. Lars cleared the snow from around the arched doorway and arranged benches inside, close enough to the hearth that students could see his hands work. He set kindling by the fire, laid out rope for knot-tying, positioned a map on the table. Everything ready. His chest tightened as he stepped back and looked at the empty seats. The wind picked up outside, and he pulled at his glove straps again, wondering if anyone would brave the weather to learn from a man they barely knew.

Lars waited in the stone cottage until the light outside turned gray. The benches sat empty. The kindling he'd arranged by the fire remained untouched. He pulled at his glove straps and told himself people were busy, that the storm warnings had kept them away, that tomorrow would be different. But when he checked the weather monitor at the lodge, his chest tightened. The storm would hit in three hours, harder than the first warnings suggested. He looked at the twelve screens showing the other contestants—most were in cabins with thin walls, gaps under doors, no proper windbreaks. They didn't know. Lars pushed through the lodge door and grabbed the wooden weathervane from near the supply cabin, its arrow already spinning wild. He planted it outside the stone cottage where everyone could see it, then lit the hearth until smoke rose thick and visible. Within twenty minutes, Yuki arrived first, shivering. Then Mia and Owen, drawn by the smoke. Lars showed them how the weathervane's spin meant the wind would shift north, how to read the pressure drop in their ears, how to bank a fire that would last the night. His hands moved without hesitation as he demonstrated insulating gaps with packed snow. When the storm hit an hour later, all of them were inside structures that would hold. Lars watched the weathervane bend but not break, and he realized he'd stopped pulling at his gloves.

The next morning, Lars returned to the stone cottage and built up the fire. Word had spread overnight—he could see it in the way people walked past his door, slowing their steps, glancing inside. Three of them arrived before noon, asking different questions all at once. Mia wanted to learn emergency signals. Owen needed rope work for securing equipment. Yuki asked about reading animal tracks in snow. Lars felt his chest tighten as they all spoke over each other, their voices blending into noise. He pulled at his glove straps and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The wind picked up outside—another storm system moving in, maybe six hours away. He couldn't teach three skills at once, not properly. His hands shook as he reached for the rope coiled by the hearth. Then he stopped. He looked at each of them and said the words that felt like admitting failure: "I can only teach one thing at a time." Mia nodded first. "Signals then. The rest can wait." Owen and Yuki agreed, and Lars felt something shift in his chest. They weren't demanding everything—they were asking him to choose. He pulled the training dummy from outside and positioned it near the fire, showing them how to attach signal flags at different heights for different emergencies. His hands steadied as he worked. When the lesson ended, Owen asked when the next one would be. Lars said tomorrow, and meant it.