The snow-covered peaks of northern Italy stretched endlessly beyond the window, the ndscape bnketed in an untouched sheet of white. Inside his grandmother’s cozy home, the scent of freshly baked bread and simmering broth filled the air, a stark contrast to the frozen world outside.

  Ezra sat by the crackling firepce, watching the fmes dance as warmth seeped into his bones. It was Quarantine month, a time when the world collectively paused, a tradition that had evolved from an old precaution into something more—something sacred. Cities slowed, businesses closed, and people retreated to their homes to rest, reflect, and reconnect. For Ezra, this year’s Quarantine felt different.

  His father had given him a small, wrapped box early in the month. "Something different for you this year," Seth had said, his rough hands ruffling Ezra’s hair before stepping back with a smirk.

  Ezra peeled away the paper and lifted the lid, his breath catching at the sight of a sleek microscope, its polished frame gleaming in the firelight. He ran his fingers over the fine-tuned adjustment knobs, the smooth gss slides waiting to reveal a world invisible to the naked eye.

  “A microscope?” Ezra looked up at his father, brow raised. “I thought you wanted me to do something hands-on.”

  Seth chuckled. “You think your hands are the only things that need training? You’ve spent so much time looking at the big picture, I figured it’s time you start looking at the small stuff, too.”

  Ezra turned back to the microscope, a curiosity stirring within him. He had never considered it before, but beneath the surface of everything—every object, every living thing—there was an entirely different world, hidden from view.

  Later that evening, he set up the microscope by the window, using a sample of snow as his first subject. Adjusting the focus, he peered inside. What he saw changed the way he looked at winter forever.

  The frozen world outside wasn’t just ice and cold—it was a universe of crystalline structures, each snowfke unique in its design. The details were breathtaking, symmetrical and fragile, like tiny blueprints of nature’s own artistry. It was chaos and order, all at once.

  “That’s life, kid,” his father said from behind him, watching over his shoulder. “Doesn’t look like much until you take a closer look.”

  Ezra leaned back, exhaling. He had spent his whole life studying the stars, the universe, the big things. But right here, in the tiniest frozen fragments of water, there was something just as profound.

  He hadn’t expected Quarantine to turn into a lesson in perspective.

  Despite the peaceful atmosphere inside, the reality of the mountain winter outside was harsh and unforgiving. Seth was determined to make sure his son could handle it.

  “You never know when you’ll need to survive in the cold,” his father said one morning, tossing him a thick coat. “Better to know now than figure it out when it’s too te.”

  Ezra wasn’t about to argue. His father had always believed that preparedness wasn’t just about survival—it was about self-reliance, about making sure when trouble came, you already had the answers.

  The first lesson was building a snow shelter.

  Seth led him out into the untouched snow and showed him how to carve out a snow cave, compacting the walls to insute against the wind. “Snow’s funny,” he expined as he dug. “Cold on the outside, but if you trap the right amount of air, it actually keeps warmth in. People freeze to death out here because they don’t understand how to use what’s around them.”

  Ezra crawled inside the small shelter, and to his surprise, it was noticeably warmer than the biting wind outside. It felt like a hidden sanctuary in the middle of a frozen wastend.

  Next was starting a fire in wet conditions.

  Seth handed him a small flint and steel. “Forget lighters and matches. What if you don’t have them?”

  Ezra gritted his teeth as he scraped the steel against the flint, sending sparks into a bundle of dry grass and birch bark. Again and again, until finally—a tiny ember caught. He cupped it, feeding it oxygen, until the small flicker of fme grew into something more.

  “Good,” Seth said with approval. “Fire’s easy when everything’s dry. The real test is knowing how to find fuel when everything’s wet.” He kicked at a log covered in snow, then pointed at the inside. “See that? Dry wood inside, even though the outside’s soaked. Always look deeper.”

  Ezra filed that lesson away, knowing it applied to more than just firewood.

  The st survival lesson was navigation in the snow.

  The mountains could be deceiving—everything looked the same, white stretching endlessly in every direction. Seth taught him how to find his way using natural ndmarks, the stars, and a simple compass.

  “The sun rises in the east, sets in the west,” his father reminded him. “If you ever get lost, take a deep breath. Think. The moment you panic, you’re already dead.”

  Ezra nodded, gripping the compass in his gloved hand. He felt the weight of his father’s words, the quiet certainty behind them.

  Their st night in the mountains, Ezra and his father stood outside, watching the sky stretch out above them. The stars glittered against the dark, unpolluted by city lights.

  Seth crossed his arms, exhaling into the cold air. “You know, when I was younger, I didn’t think much about the future. I just worked, got through the day. But that’s not enough, Ezra.”

  Ezra turned to him, waiting.

  “If you stay ready, you never have to get ready,” Seth continued. “That’s not just about survival—it’s about everything. Life doesn’t wait for you to prepare. It doesn’t care if you’re caught off guard. The only way to stay ahead is to always be ready. Stay prepared so you don’t have to scramble to get prepared.”

  Ezra nodded, thinking back to the lessons of the past few days. His father wasn’t just talking about snow shelters and fire-starting. He was talking about life itself.

  Better to be prepared. Better to have the answers before the questions even come.

  Ezra looked down at the microscope in his hands, then back at the vast sky above. The smallest things and the biggest things—both held mysteries waiting to be uncovered.

  And this winter?

  This winter, he had learned how to see both.

  The wind had shifted.

  Ezra felt it first as a whisper against his exposed cheeks, the way the light snowfall suddenly thickened into something heavier, more relentless. His father noticed it too. Seth stopped stacking firewood onto the sled, squinting at the sky with a look Ezra had come to recognize.

  It was the look of calcuted concern—not panic, not fear, but the realization that the situation had just changed.

  “Time to move,” Seth said, tightening his coat. “Storm’s coming in faster than I thought.”

  Ezra gnced around. The mountains, once clear and sharp against the horizon, were already blurring into a sheet of white.

  They were at least a half-hour from Nonna’s house.

  A shiver ran down his spine, but he nodded. No arguing. No wasting time.

  They had been out here long enough to know that hesitation could mean the difference between getting home or getting lost.

  Seth motioned for him to take the front of the sled while he pulled from behind. Ezra’s boots crunched against the thickening snow as they started moving. The wind howled louder, cutting through the trees, swirling around them with a force that was growing by the second.

  Within minutes, visibility plummeted.

  What had been a manageable snowfall was quickly turning into a full-blown whiteout.

  Ezra kept his eyes ahead, trying to spot familiar ndmarks, but the world was disappearing around them. The trail they had followed was gone, erased beneath the relentless flurry. He gnced back at his father, but Seth’s expression remained calm.

  Then, a strong gust smmed into them.

  Ezra stumbled, dropping to one knee as the wind howled like a living thing, carrying ice and snow with it. The sled lurched sideways, half-buried now.

  Seth let out a sharp breath, then made a decision.

  “We’re not making it back like this,” he said, his voice barely cutting through the wind. He gestured to a nearby ridge. “We need to dig in. Now.”

  Ezra hesitated, his breath coming faster.

  Dig in? That meant—

  His father crouched low, already clearing a space in the snow, his movements swift and practiced. Ezra swallowed the lump in his throat and followed, pushing aside his rising panic.

  Snow shelter. Insution. Survive first, worry ter.

  The next twenty minutes were a blur of shoveling, carving, packing snow into walls. Ezra followed his father’s instructions, working with the elements instead of against them.

  They built the shelter low and narrow, using their own body heat to trap warmth inside. The opening faced away from the wind, angled just enough to let in fresh air without exposing them to the full brunt of the storm.

  By the time they crawled inside, Ezra was shaking—not just from cold, but from adrenaline.

  The wind screamed outside, rattling through the trees, but inside the shelter, the world felt muted.

  Seth adjusted his gloves and let out a slow breath. “Good work.”

  Ezra exhaled, pressing his back against the curved wall. “Yeah, great. Fantastic. Love almost dying with you, Dad.”

  Seth chuckled, shaking the snow from his coat. “This is far from almost dying, kid. This is called being smart.”

  Ezra let out a breathless ugh, still catching up to the situation. “Smart would’ve been not getting caught in this.”

  Seth shrugged. “Storm came in fast.”

  Ezra gave him a ft look. “Weathermen exist.”

  His father smirked. “Yeah. And they’re wrong half the time.”

  Ezra sighed and pulled his knees to his chest. He could still feel the remnants of panic buzzing under his skin, but the shelter was surprisingly warm, the packed snow keeping the wind at bay. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing steadied.

  Seth studied him for a moment, then spoke again.

  “You ever wonder why people focus so much on pnning for everything?”

  Ezra frowned. “Isn’t that kind of the point? If you don’t pn, things go wrong.”

  “Sure,” Seth said, resting his forearm on his knee. “But things go wrong anyway.”

  Ezra didn’t have an argument for that.

  Seth continued. “People spend their lives trying to predict what’ll happen next, but the truth is, most of the time, pns don’t go the way you want them to.” He gestured to the shelter. “Case in point.”

  Ezra exhaled, still feeling the adrenaline in his fingertips. “So what’s the alternative? Just... wing it?”

  Seth shook his head. “No. You pn for yourself. Not the world.”

  Ezra tilted his head, intrigued now. “What do you mean?”

  Seth leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs out. “You can’t predict every storm, every problem, every failure. You can’t always see what’s coming. But you can understand your own strengths, your own limits, and how to adapt.”

  Ezra let that sink in.

  "You knew how to build a shelter," Seth continued. "You knew how to keep moving until it was time to stop. You knew how to handle yourself. That’s why we’re fine right now."

  Ezra nodded slowly.

  "You want to survive life?" Seth asked. "Forget pnning for everything. Instead, pn for yourself. Learn how to handle the unexpected. Learn how to adjust when things fall apart. That’s how you stay ahead."

  Ezra stared at the wall of packed snow in front of him.

  His father was right.

  For years, Ezra had thought success came from having the perfect pn, making the right moves at the right time. But pns fell apart. Life threw storms and setbacks without warning. The real key to survival wasn’t controlling the future—it was controlling yourself.

  The wind outside howled, but the lesson had already settled deep in his bones.

  By the time the storm calmed, the world outside had been reshaped—drifts of snow piled high, trees coated in white, a quiet so thick it felt like another world.

  They emerged from their shelter into a crisp, blue morning, the sun reflecting off the snow like gss.

  Ezra dusted off his coat, stretching stiff muscles. “Well. That was a great bonding experience.”

  Seth smirked. “Memorable, at least.”

  Ezra chuckled, but his mind was still turning over the lesson from the night before.

  They started the trek back toward Nonna’s house, their boots crunching through fresh snow.

  As they walked, Seth gave him a sideways gnce. “So. What’d you learn?”

  Ezra took a moment before answering.

  “Not to rely on weathermen.”

  Seth snorted. “Smartass.”

  Ezra smiled, then exhaled. “That I can’t pn for everything. But I can pn for myself.”

  Seth nodded, satisfied. “That’s the one.”

  They walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence, father and son, leaving their tracks in the untouched snow behind them.