The corridor remained silent.
Nika's footsteps echoed low, measured, absorbed by the walls as if the space itself refused to give them back
Lili followed one step behind.
Unhurried.
Unswerving.
The lights were few.
Just enough to trace outlines — closed doors, motionless tapestries, shadows stretching across the polished floor.
No voices.
No movement.
The Golden Breath, once full, now folded in on itself.
Like a body that learns, slowly, to breathe again after the blow.
Lili parted her lips.
"Ma'am, I—"
"No."
The word came low.
Without inflection.
Even so, final.
Nika did not turn.
Did not slow her pace.
"Tonight has already said all that needed saying."
Silence.
A few more steps.
"Withdraw, Lili."
A brief pause.
"I will go to my quarters."
The tone did not change.
But there was something in it that allowed no defiance.
"Do not allow anyone to disturb me."
Lili inclined her head.
"As you wish."
Her steps ceased.
Nika's continued.
Alone.
The corridor stretched ahead, quiet, obedient.
She moved forward without hesitation.
To the last door.
Discreet.
Closed.
Her hand rested on the handle.
For an instant only.
Then—
turned.
The chamber was silent.
City light entered through the tall windows, filtered into golden tones that spread across floor and walls like a distant reflection of something that no longer belonged to that place.
Below, the night still moved.
But there…
nothing reached her.
Nika advanced.
Unhurried.
Each step precise.
As if the space had been hers for far longer than it truly had.
She stopped by the window.
Sat on the ledge.
One leg drawn in, the other suspended over the void.
The golden pipe rested nearby.
She took it between her fingers.
The ember rekindled with a contained breath.
Smoke rose.
Slow.
Thick.
Forming shapes that could not sustain themselves.
Her eyes settled on the city.
On the lights.
On what had been built.
Nothing there remained as before.
Nothing.
And yet…
"Diana…"
The voice emerged low.
Almost lost in the air.
"Tell me… did I do what had to be done?"
Silence remained.
As answer.
As judgment.
Smoke wrapped her face for an instant, veiling her expression.
Her eyes closed.
Outside, gold, order, power.
Here, before, there had only been rotting wood, cracks, and fear.
The smoke caught between her lips and did not leave as before.
Her eyes stayed closed a moment longer than they should have, and the air failed in her chest as if something had shifted inside.
When she returned—
The blade was already pressed to her neck.
Cold. Steady.
Her body seized before it could react.
The voice came right behind.
Low.
Controlled.
"Entering without being called is already a mistake. Staying is usually the last."
The pressure of the blade increased just enough to enforce silence.
"So speak. Who are you… and why did you risk your life for it?"
The blade remained for a moment longer before withdrawing.
"Turn around."
The voice came low, firm, without any hurry.
The body obeyed slowly, each movement calculated, as if any mistake could be the last.
"I-I…" — the voice faltered before steadying, and she swallowed dry, feeling her throat lock — "sorry… I thought there was no one…"
She kept turning, avoiding any sudden gesture.
"I just came in to… to look for food… I haven't eaten for days…"
When she finished the movement, her eyes lifted last — and stopped.
The woman was there, still, watching.
The light from outside touched her face just enough to reveal light-green eyes with a warm tone, almost golden, fixed on her without any softness.
Golden hair fell in soft waves to her waist, contrasting almost unreal with the surroundings.
Nothing in her seemed to react.
Nothing in her seemed to hesitate.
Silence stretched as the gaze lowered slowly, traveling over the girl's body — dirty, torn clothes, a body too thin, disheveled dark hair, black eyes heavy with exhaustion.
The scrutiny was calm. Cold.
When her eyes returned to the girl's face, there was no visible judgment. Nor compassion.
"What is your name?"
The question came simple, direct.
The girl hesitated, air trapped in her chest.
"N-Nika…"
The name came out weak, breaking in the middle.
The silence that followed was no longer the same as before.
The woman kept her gaze on her for another moment, as if still weighing something that had not been said.
Then, without hurry, she drew the blade away and sheathed it with a precise motion.
A faint smile appeared, discreet, almost out of place in that setting.
"Forgive me… I did not mean to frighten you."
The shift was abrupt enough to confuse.
Nika remained still for a second, unsure how to react.
The woman was already moving.
She walked to the side wall, pulling away a loose board with familiarity.
From within, she took a small worn cloth bag and, after opening it, removed a piece of bread.
She returned and extended her hand.
"Take it."
Nika hesitated.
Her gaze flickered between the bread and the woman's face, as if still expecting some kind of trap.
Hunger won first.
She grabbed the food and began to eat too quickly, unable to restrain her own body.
The woman watched in silence for a moment before speaking:
"My name is Diana."
Her voice was calm, but carried a strange weight, as if each word were measured before being spoken
She stepped back a few paces and lit a candle fixed to the wall.
The flame wavered before steadying, spreading a warmer light through the room.
"I found the door open," she continued, without looking directly at Nika, "and for a moment I believed it was already too late."
The flame briefly reflected in her eyes.
"It is not safe to wander alone. Not anymore."
Nika slowed as she ate, until she stopped completely, still holding the bread.
Her gaze fixed on her.
Diana noticed.
Lifted her eyes.
"Where are your parents?"
The question came direct, but without harshness.
Nika swallowed with difficulty.
"T-they died…"
The silence that followed was not empty.
Diana held her gaze for a moment before replying, lower:
"I'm sorry."
There was no excess in those words.
No comfort. Only truth.
Diana passed by her and moved to the back of the room.
She pulled the rug aside with a firm motion, revealing the trapdoor hidden beneath the wood.
She knelt and opened it carefully.
Her gaze went down first.
Attentive.
Checking.
Only after a moment did the tension in her shoulders ease slightly.
Inside, the two children remained hidden, quiet, breathing low.
Safe.
She closed the trapdoor with the same care and put the rug back in place, as if nothing there should be noticed.
She finished adjusting it, ensuring nothing betrayed what lay beneath, and only then turned her gaze back to Nika.
She remained silent for a moment before speaking:
"How old are you?"
The question came calm, without softness.
Nika hesitated, still holding the bread.
"F-fifteen…"
Diana held her gaze.
"Fifteen."
She repeated, low.
"A dangerous age… for times like these."
Nika held the gaze, even with the tension evident.
Diana noticed.
"But I see this is not unfamiliar to you."
Silence remained between them.
"These are not days made for children."
The sentence came simple.
Without forced weight.
Nika did not answer.
Diana tilted her head slightly.
"You do not disagree."
It was not a question.
Her gaze drifted for an instant, as if searching for something beyond that place.
"It is curious."
A brief pause.
"Everything that was built with such effort… unraveled with ease."
Her eyes returned to Nika.
"We spoke of freedom. Of order. Of choice."
A faint silence.
"And yet… none of it remained."
Her voice did not change.
"It took little for the world to return to what it has always been."
She held the gaze.
"As if it had never ceased to belong to something greater."
A pause.
"Perhaps we simply forgot."
Diana remained silent for a moment, as if letting her own words settle.
Then she moved to one of the chairs, pulling it without hurry before sitting.
Her gaze returned to Nika.
Firm.
Present.
"Sit."
A brief gesture indicated the space in front.
"Unless I am taking your time."
The pause was short, almost imperceptible.
"It has been some time… since I had someone to speak with."
Her voice carried no lightness.
It was a statement.
"After they appeared…" — she continued, resting her arm lightly on the chair — "what remained was struggle."
Her eyes did not drift.
"Surviving became enough."
Silence.
"And, with time… even that becomes lonely."
She tilted her head slightly, observing Nika more closely.
"Conversations like this… have become rare."
There was no explicit invitation.
But neither was there refusal.
Nika took a moment before moving, as if still expecting that to change.
Even so, she approached and sat, keeping her body tense, ready to react.
Silence remained for a few seconds.
She held the gaze.
"Why… didn't you kill me?"
The question came out steadier than the rest of her.
A pause.
"I've seen children die for less. For entering houses… for trying to take food."
Her gaze did not yield.
"Why was it different with me?"
Diana leaned her head back slightly against the chair, without looking away.
"As you can see… there are two children under this roof."
Her voice remained calm.
"Neither of them was born from me."
A brief silence.
"And yet, they are my responsibility."
Her gaze remained firm.
"I fight so they can grow without needing to steal… or kill… to keep living."
Nika absorbed the words in silence, but did not look away.
"And if you die?"
The question came direct.
"If you fall fighting… they will be next."
The air grew heavier between them.
"They will have no one."
Diana watched her for a moment.
Then, a faint smile appeared.
Small. Contained.
"You are right."
She stood. Without hurry.
Walked to Nika and stopped before her.
Her gaze lowered just enough to take her in fully.
"Nika."
The name came firm.
"If something happens to me… I hope you will take care of them."
Silence fell again, denser.
Nika frowned slightly, not hiding her disbelief.
"How can you trust someone you just met?"
Diana did not hesitate.
"Trust does not depend on time."
A brief pause.
"It requires perception."
Her eyes fixed on Nika's.
Firm.
Certain.
"And I do not often make mistakes when I observe someone."
Nika held the gaze.
Without retreating.
Without answer.
But something there… remained.
Silence stretched.
Then, for an instant, her gaze faltered—
not enough to break the tension,
only enough to notice the flame beside her.
The candle flickered.
Small.
Resisting.
Smoke rose in a thin thread…
unstable…
almost disappearing into the air.
Smoke rose.
Slow.
Thick.
Different.
Nika's eyes opened.
The gold of the city returned first.
Then the silence.
But it was not the same.
Her hand still held the pipe.
Too tight.
As if she had forgotten to let it go.
Air came in at once.
Controlled.
And, for a brief instant…
she simply watched the smoke unravel into the air.