The bitter cold of a northern Finnish January morning cut through the pre-dawn darkness like a knife. At minus thirty-seven degrees Celsius, the air itself seemed frozen, each breath transforming instantly into crystalline clouds that hung motionless before dissipating. In this profound stillness, even sound behaved differently—traveling farther, sharper, more distinct. The crunch of boots on snow could be heard from half a kilometer away, the crack of freezing tree bark echoed like gunshots across the valley, and the whispered prayers of a solitary woman carried clearly across the frozen expanse of Lake Kaltio.