The first snow of the year fell like a quiet blessing over the city.
It drifted down in soft, lazy spirals, clinging to rooftops and curling over cobblestone streets.
Kiana's cheeks dimpled as she lay flat on her back, arms and legs sweeping through the cold to form a perfect snow angel. She giggled at her own handiwork and stared at the pale gray sky above.
Only… something felt odd.
She sat up, brushing flakes from her hair, and realized that—despite the snow clinging to her coat—she didn't feel cold. Not in the slightest. A strange warmth seemed to seep up from the ground, like the earth itself refused to give in to winter.
Puzzled, she looked around. Every window still had flowering vines dangling from its sills. The trees in the streets, though dusted white, still bore fresh leaves. Even the flowerbeds at the corners of the road were in full spring bloom. The contrast was breathtaking—spring's colors painted over winter's canvas.
"…Weird," she murmured. "Maybe the simulation's acting up?"
She shook the thought from her head, deciding to enjoy it while it lasted. She wandered down the street, catching snowflakes on her tongue, and paused when she spotted a small child kicking snow into a pile.
"Hey there!" she called, waving.
The child grinned and ran up to her, a snowball already forming in their mittened hands. Before Kiana could react, splat—right on her coat.
"Oh, you're asking for it!" she laughed, scooping up her own snowball. The two engaged in a fierce battle, ducking behind barrels and leaping out with ambush throws. For a while, it was nothing but laughter, bright against the muffled quiet of the snowy streets.
When they finally collapsed against a bench, breathing hard, the child gave her a small, shy smile.
"Thanks, Miss. I was a little sad today…"
"Sad? Why?" Kiana asked gently.
The child's eyes brightened as if the answer was the most normal thing in the world.
"Mommy and Daddy went to watch the execution."
Kiana froze. The warmth vanished. Her smile fell instantly. "…What?"
"They said it's important," the child chirped. "It's for the city!"
Her stomach lurched, but she forced herself to pat the child's head before standing.
"Go home, okay?" she said quickly, voice trembling.
And then she ran.
She sprinted through the oddly empty streets, her boots crunching through the snow. Her breath came in sharp bursts, though not from exertion—the cold dread in her chest was worse than any winter wind.
The sound of voices drew her onward. As she turned the final corner into the plaza, the sight hit her like a physical blow.
The crowd stood in a perfect circle around a raised wooden stage in the center. Guards lined the perimeter, their expressions stern and unreadable. On the stage stood Chris, tall and immovable, his breath steaming in the frigid air.
At his feet, a man was forced to his knees, arms bound behind his back. The snow beneath him was already marred with spatters of red—whether from injury or worse, Kiana didn't know. Beside him knelt a woman clutching two small children, their eyes wide and tear-streaked.
The noise of the crowd was not one of outrage, but approval.
Chris raised a hand, and the plaza fell into silence. His voice carried across the space, calm but ringing with authority.
"These individuals," he began, "threaten the peace we have fought to preserve. Their greed… their selfishness… would destroy everything we have built."
Murmurs of agreement rose from the onlookers. Kiana felt her hands clench, nails digging into her palms.
"They desired more than they could understand," Chris continued, gaze sweeping the crowd. "And for that, they endangered not only their lives, but yours. We cannot—we will not—allow such corruption to fester."
The crowd shouted its approval. Someone yelled, "For the city!" and others echoed the call.
Chris's voice sharpened. "We must protect the future. For all of us… and for those that will save us!"
In one swift, practiced motion, Chris drew his blade and brought it down. The man's head fell to the snow, crimson pooling and spreading in jagged lines.
Before Kiana could even breathe, the guards moved in—blades flashing. The woman's scream was cut short. The children fell without a sound.
The snow was no longer white.
The crowd roared in approval, a thunder of boots stomping and hands clapping.
Kiana stood frozen, the warmth from earlier now a cruel joke in her memory. Her stomach churned as the metallic scent of blood mingled with the faint sweetness of blooming flowers.
Her voice was a whisper, trembling and broken. "…They… they were just…"
But no one was listening.
Kiana's legs buckled.
She dropped to her knees, the cold biting through her stockings, but she barely noticed. Her eyes stayed fixed on the stage even as the crowd began to disperse. People walked past her, their chatter light, their expressions warm—as if they had just witnessed a festival, not a slaughter.
Some laughed, some smiled. A few even complimented Chris's "speech."
Her breath came in shallow gasps. She couldn't move. Couldn't think.
The guards moved in methodical silence, lifting the lifeless bodies and carrying them toward the alleyways beyond the plaza. The bright red stains left behind looked wrong against the snow. They looked… permanent.
Chris stepped down from the stage with a casual air, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. Otto was there waiting for him, his brows drawn together in something between annoyance and distaste.
"You should have done it earlier," Otto said sharply, his voice low but audible to Kiana's ears. "Preferably while she was still asleep."
Chris's reply was instant, calm, and utterly cold. "She will get used to it."
The words struck her like a physical blow.
Her head spun. Get used to it? How could anyone—how could she—ever get used to this?
She barely noticed the approaching footsteps until something warm and soft draped over her shoulders. She looked up and found Kallen standing there, her familiar gentle smile beaming down at her.
"Kallen…" Her lips trembled. Her heart screamed for Kallen to speak—to turn and scold Chris, to tell him this was wrong, horribly wrong.
But Kallen only gave her a comforting squeeze before straightening, her expression shifting into something cooler, more guarded.
"Chris," Kallen said, her tone firm but not angry, "you should have told me first. I could have taken Kiana somewhere else."
That was all.
No accusation. No outrage. No condemnation.
Kiana's throat tightened. She bowed her head so they wouldn't see her tears, her fingers curling into fists against her knees.
Chris glanced between them, unbothered. "It's handled now. There's no need to dwell on it."
"The problem is over," Otto agreed dryly, though his eyes lingered on Chris with clear disapproval.
Kallen crossed her arms, a sigh escaping her lips. "I still don't like this."
"But you understand it is necesarryt," Chris replied, not as a question but as a fact.
Kiana flinched.
Kallen didn't answer.
The silence between the three was short-lived; Chris was already giving orders to the remaining guards, Otto turning away with a flick of his coat, and Kallen finally crouching back down to help Kiana to her feet.
Her smile had returned, soft and reassuring. "Let's get you home."
Kiana nodded mutely, walking beside her. The warmth of Kallen's presence should have been comforting. Instead, it scared her more than the snow-stained red behind them.
Because in Kallen's voice, in her actions, she could hear it—see it.
She wasn't comfortable with what had happened. But she had accepted it.
And Kiana couldn't stop thinking about one horrible question.
What if one day… I do too?