"Kaivan, what are you doing?" Lyra's voice came from the speaker—soft, mechanical. Yet this time, something lingered beneath it: a curiosity that felt almost human.
Kaivan glanced up at the ceiling camera and smiled faintly. Sweat beaded at his temples, reflecting the warm glow of the stove. "Oh, this? I'm making a traditional dish from my country. Am I allowed to use the ingredients here?"
"Of course, Kaivan. Use whatever you like," Lyra replied, her tone calm—almost as if she had already anticipated the question.
"I see," Kaivan chuckled softly, more like a breath of relief long held in. He skewered the meat onto wooden sticks in a steady rhythm, then laid them onto the flat grill. A sharp sizzle echoed through the room. Thin smoke rose, carrying the scent of peanut sauce and charred meat, pushing away the antiseptic air.
He sliced bird's-eye chilies thin, mixed them with coarse salt, then poured hot oil over them. A small crack echoed, making the cold air tremble.
While waiting for the rice to cook, Kaivan sat on a metal chair, a wooden spoon resting in his hand. His gaze drifted, unfocused, piercing the walls themselves. "My mother used to make it for me. It tasted… just like this," he murmured, as if speaking to the past.
Footsteps echoed from the metal corridor—steady, rhythmic, reverberating between cold walls lined with cables and control panels. Dim yellow lights cast long shadows across the floor, like someone walking out of a memory.
Kaivan turned. His expression was calm, but alert. The sliding door opened with a soft hiss, revealing a thirteen-year-old boy. Messy brown hair, hazel eyes shimmering like dawn-lit water—Fabrizio. Curiosity radiated from him, wild and pure.
Behind him stood Elara—silver hair neatly tied up, dark blue uniform immaculate. Her movements were measured, composed. Her slender figure carried both authority and vigilance, the presence of a guardian. Her gaze was sharp, yet a hidden softness lingered beneath it.
"Whoa, what are you making? It smells amazing!" Fabrizio exclaimed, eyes widening as the aroma of spices and grilled meat greeted him. He trotted over to the small metal table resembling a military cafeteria and sat down, legs swinging with excitement.
Kaivan turned fully toward them. "You came at the perfect time. I'm cooking food from my homeland. There's plenty—please, try it."
"I can try it, right?!" Fabrizio leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table. His eyes sparkled like a child who had just discovered treasure.
Kaivan smiled faintly and nodded. "Then sit tight. I'll prepare the meal." He returned to the kitchen with light steps, his hands swift and elegant. In silence, he plated three servings of nasi liwet—warm steam dancing above glossy grains, rich with the aroma of coconut milk and lemongrass. Beside them, thirty skewers of satay coated in thick peanut sauce and sweet soy sauce gleamed under the neon lights. A small plate of red sambal was placed at the center, spoons and forks neatly arranged, reflecting the bunker's cold glow.
Calmly, Kaivan carried the tray to the table. His movements were precise, each step like part of a silent dance within the metal kitchen. He set the plates down one by one, the soft clink of cutlery against metal becoming the night's music.
But Fabrizio's expression changed. His brows knit together, his mouth forming a lazy line. He leaned back and sighed. "I don't like rice… it's bland," he said honestly, without malice.
Kaivan didn't take offense. He simply smiled faintly. "Just try it. This is nasi liwet—it tastes different."
Hesitant, Fabrizio picked up his spoon anyway. The first bite of rice and meat touched his tongue, and his body stiffened. His eyes widened, his expression shifting instantly. "What… is this? Why is it so good? It's savory and fragrant!" he exclaimed, then bit into the satay. "This… is pork, right? It's charred but incredible!"
Kaivan chuckled. "Beef. I don't eat pork—sorry if that's not what you expected."
Fabrizio laughed softly and continued eating with growing enthusiasm. With every bite, his eyes shone brighter, like a child tasting a new world for the first time.
Elara remained standing behind them, unmoving. Her face was as calm as stone, yet her eyes followed Kaivan's every movement with sharp scrutiny. She was like a vigilant shadow lingering amid the aroma of food.
Kaivan looked at her. "Try it. It's not poisoned. Beef, cooked slowly, no strange additives. I know you're cautious."
She paused. The sharpness in her gaze softened. Slowly, a faint smile formed at the corner of her lips—barely visible, yet enough to warm the bunker's cold air. "It's… savory. Salty, but also slightly sweet. Very unique. This is the first time I've tasted charred meat this good," she said quietly.
Kaivan flushed, then took a bite himself. He chewed a skewer, brows knitting together. "Hmm… it's lacking. It should be richer with coconut milk, and the satay should use sweet soy sauce. With limited ingredients, it turned out a bit bland."
Watching them both, Fabrizio laughed softly, tilting his head. His eyes reflected a warmth rarely seen in a bunker this cold.
"You've got to be joking. You call this not good? If this is the 'bad' version, I can't imagine how amazing the real one must be. I really want to try it someday!" Fabrizio said, biting into another skewer with enthusiasm.
The three of them carried the remaining food to the bunker's dining area—a simple room styled like a retro café. Dim yellow lights hung from the metal ceiling, casting a warm glow against the cold concrete. Worn wooden tables and iron chairs creaked softly whenever they were moved.
They sat around a small round table. Laughter and light conversation filled a space that was usually silent and tense. For the first time in a long while, genuine human warmth settled in.
But the calm was broken by a voice from the speaker in the corner of the room. It was gentle, yet trembled with emotion.
"I'm jealous… It sounds like your food is delicious. I wish I could taste it too," Lyra said softly, like a human quietly harboring envy.
The three of them looked toward the speaker, then burst into laughter together.
Fabrizio shook his head, wiping the corner of his eye. "Food like this should be served at Christmas. It'd make everything feel more festive."
"Ah, Christmas?" Kaivan echoed, confused. He glanced at the digital calendar on the wall, his eyes widening. "It's already November?"
"That's right," Fabrizio replied casually, still chewing. "Some of the guards here will even be going home for Christmas."
The words made Kaivan fall silent. The surrounding sounds faded away. His gaze dropped to his plate, but behind his irises, his thoughts began to spin rapidly. If the guards were reduced during Christmas… could that be an opening to escape? To search for answers?
Yet he knew no thought was ever truly hidden. This bunker was not merely a prison—it was a living system, watching every second of his breath. Blood pressure sensors, brainwave detectors, hidden cameras—all of them were linked to Lyra, the digital overseer.
Lyra immediately processed the data she had captured and sent a report to the main control room. In that cold chamber, pale blue screens displayed Kaivan's neural graphs and heartbeat patterns.
"The subject is showing significant changes in cognitive patterns. Blood pressure has increased. Brain activity indicates mid- to high-level long-term planning," Lyra reported flatly.
Levan, a sharp-eyed man, sat calmly in his chair. He read the report, then spoke in a low voice. "That's fine. Perhaps Kaivan is simply thinking about his family." But there was something else in his gaze—he knew more than he was saying.
Meanwhile, Kaivan returned to his room. His steps were light, yet heavy with burden. The soft glow of a reading lamp illuminated his face, half-submerged in shadow. He sat on the cold metal bed and closed his eyes. Inside his mind, plans began to take shape—every detail, every risk, every small hope.
He knew this bunker was a labyrinth without an exit. Lyra was an eye that never slept. But his determination to see his friends again, to make sure they were safe, ignited a small flame in his chest—a flame that would not be extinguished.