Dawn arrived shrouded in mist, and with it came the difficult decision that had to be made. The boys, though safe for now, had to be relocated. In the command hall of the village, the Aunt gathered with the King, Kaela, and the senior tutors to reach a final verdict.
"We cannot keep them here," the Aunt said firmly. "The village is a sacred and hidden place. No man, save for the promised or the fathers of our warriors, may dwell within it."
"And as much as it pains us," added the King, gazing at the holographic map of the kingdom's shelters, "they'll be safer in a closely monitored environment. Security protocols at the orphanages are already being reinforced."
Yuli, who had remained silent until then, finally spoke up:
"Will I be able to visit them? To check on how they're doing?"
The Aunt gave a gentle nod.
"When it's safe, yes. Some will be sent to allied orphanages, where we still have infiltrated agents. They'll be well cared for."
The moment of farewell was silent and heart-wrenching. Though still young, the children could sense something important was happening. Some asked if they had done something wrong. Others clung to their caretakers with tear-filled eyes.
One of the smallest boys threw his arms around Yuli.
"Will you come back for us?"
"Of course I will," she answered, her voice trembling. "Whenever I can, I'll be there for you."
The tutors escorted them to the transports. One by one, the boys boarded, carrying with them what little memories they could keep, cloth dolls, drawings, hand-made trinkets given by their sisters.
As the vehicles disappeared into the forest, silence fell over the village like a veil.
"Do you think they'll hate us for this?" Sol asked, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
"They might not understand it now," Kaela replied, "but one day… they'll know it was out of love. To protect them."
That night, the village was quieter than ever before. The girls who had chosen to stay trained with renewed intensity, their bodies taut, their eyes resolute. Some wept in silence, mourning their brothers. Others wrote letters they weren't sure they'd ever be able to deliver.
Yuli sat atop the hill, staring at the starlit sky with little Sira in her arms. In her chest, a promise burned like embers: if her sister still lived, if those children ever crossed her path again, she would protect them, with everything she had.
Because she had come to understand that the battle wasn't only fought with weapons or drills.
The real battle lived in the heart.
And she did not intend to lose it.
That night, someone dreamed. A cold dream, numb fingers, a storm, a beam falling on a girl. "Sister… sister…" a voice whispered through the frost. Someone slept, wearing Yuli's face. In murmurs, they repeated:
"I know you're not dead. I can feel it."