Ivan Petrov, a thin-faced Russian teenager with quick hands and anxious eyes, hunches over his radio equipment, tapping out Morse code to the distant convoy ships. Each tap echoes in the stillness, the only warmth in the room coming from the ancient stove flickering with embers. The cold seeps into his bones, and above, the sky remains an endless, starless abyss.

Ivan rests his forehead against the frosted glass, watching the aurora dance. Suddenly, his radio crackles—not with static, but with melodic tones, like a song from another world. He blinks in disbelief as the lights overhead pulse in tandem with the strange music, as if the aurora itself is speaking to him. "Is someone there? If you can hear me, please respond," he whispers into the microphone, his voice trembling with hope and fear.

Ivan[/@ch_1] begins to decipher.] Night after night, Ivan returns to the radio room, learning to interpret the aurora’s luminous signals as though they are messages just for him. He jots notes in his weathered journal, sketching the shapes and humming the tunes. He begins to talk openly into the darkness, sharing stories of his family, fears, and dreams, feeling a gentle warmth whenever the aurora responds with a ripple of light. "You’re guiding us, aren’t you? You’re not just a light, you’re a friend," he says, voice soft, as the aurora glows brighter in reply.

The ship’s captain, Captain Sokolov, a grizzled man with a weather-beaten coat, bursts into the radio room. "Petrov! What are you doing? The convoy’s lost—can you get through to the others?" Ivan, with trembling fingers, relays the aurora’s signals, instructing the fleet to follow the brilliant green arc overhead. The crew watches in amazement as the lights seem to steer them away from disaster, weaving safely through the ice.

Captain Sokolov clasps Ivan’s shoulder, his gruffness softened by gratitude. "You saved us, lad. I don’t know how, but you did," Ivan glances skyward, eyes shining. The aurora fades, but he senses its presence still, a silent promise above the awakening world.

Ivan[/@ch_1] stands at the rail, clutching his journal and gazing at the horizon where the aurora once danced.] He whispers a final thanks to the sky, heart full with the knowledge that, in the darkest winter, a friendship as strange and luminous as the northern lights can guide lost souls home. "I’ll never forget you, my friend," he murmurs, as the Arctic wind carries his words into the morning light.