A scream was heard, far away.
A man's… or a woman's… it could not be distinguished.
Then the sound of heavy steps and hooves, scraping on the ground.
Her mother raised her gaze, looked at Neva, and said in a tired voice:
"Quickly. Don't do anything stupid… hide."
But Neva did not move.
She was looking at the world before her, feeling as if it was calling her not as a child… but as something else.
As if the dead city itself was asking her for something.
Her mother gently grabbed her hand, pulled her, and ended the scene with a whisper:
"I will not leave you."
Neva slid behind her mother among the scattered rubble and fallen columns.
They entered a narrow gap between two cracked walls.
Dust and heavy ash, suffocating darkness. Their bodies barely fit.
Her mother held her shoulder tightly, and they whispered close to each other's ears:
"No sound… no breath… no movement."
And suddenly—
A step.
The ash above them trembled.
Another step.
The sound of iron scraping the ground, as if a soldier was dragging his boot.
The echo began to scratch the ruins with an evil build.
The sound of a weapon striking armor.
Silence. Then—
> "I know you are here…"
The voice was low, sticky with threat, not playing, but searching.
Neva swallowed her saliva, dry, as if she swallowed sand hot.
A minute passed.
No movement.
Then…
A kick.
The sound of rusted iron striking the wall, echoing like a slap at a funeral.
A metallic old door exploded a few meters away.
The silence was torn.
The soldier shouted again:
> "First… I'll cut your limbs… then ask you where you are."
Neva wanted to scream. To cry. To run.
But she froze.
Her mother's hand slid slowly to her side, trembling, but Neva felt her grasping it tightly.
Seconds passed.
The soldier's steps approached.
Every step like a hammer on the wall of her heart.
Three… two… one…
Her breaths became fog stuck in her mouth. The closer he came, the heavier.
Her eyes teared but she dared not blink.
Then—
A sound was heard. Violent.
The clinking of iron.
Something heavy lifted the soldier, then slammed him on the ground.
> "I know I saw you… don't hide… no one will save you."
Her mother slowly raised her hand, pointed to Neva:
(Do not move… whatever happens.)
The sound of a sword being drawn.
A blade screaming.
Another step… then it stopped.
Now he stood right behind the wall.
She could hear his breath.
She could hear the sound of him swallowing his saliva.
Neva's heartbeats were louder than anything else.
Silence.
Then… slowly…
A step backward.
Silence.
Another step.
Silence.
Then the final kick on a metallic door.
He cursed under his breath.
And then… disappeared.
Ten seconds passed.
Thirty.
A minute.
They did not move.
Finally, even her mother whispered, hoarse, as if afraid to speak to the dark:
> "Well done… my little one."
Neva closed her eyes and realized she had been holding her breath all this time.
Neva and her mother came out of the narrow stone opening,
like they were returning from a grave.
They breathed as if the air itself was life, not just hot ash and the remnants of screams.
The sky was still gray, heavy, weighing down on all heads, waiting for a new fall.
Their steps were trembling, trying not to make a sound.
But the entire city had become a trap.
And suddenly—
From the ruins of a collapsed house, the same soldier appeared.
His face dirty, his eyes filled with the hunger of a hunter.
He was searching for them.
> "Did you think you would escape?"
Neva instinctively pushed her mother behind her.
Mira held her too late.
The soldier stepped closer, his sword raised.
But—
A sharp cry cut the air!
A woman leapt between them, her thin sword raised, the sound of metal colliding with death itself.
Two other men appeared behind her, surrounding the soldier, as if they already knew his steps.
They began to fight him, enclosing him.
The woman did not even turn to Mira. She said with cold professionalism:
> "The queen cannot die in front of her daughter."
The soldier froze for a moment, then smiled crookedly, tasting the defeat as if savoring a flavor.
> "You… dogs of the palace?"
Then he retreated, disappeared silently among the ruins, delaying his death, but nothing more.
Silence returned, but not peace.
The ash still fell like snow.
The burned ground covered in black.
The alley seized again by a strange silence, as if the disappearance of the soldier was respected by the whole world.
Behind Mira, Neva was standing, protecting her.
But before her stood the three who had saved her.
The man who attacked the soldier at the last moment:
Huge body, thick beard, a scar marked on his left cheek.
In his eyes the gaze of one who had seen a thousand hells and was not feared by anything.
Beside him… the woman who stood like a shadow.
But Mira did not need more than a second to realize the truth.
It was the same woman who had begged her hours ago to save her child.
Her face now was hard as stone, her son no longer in her arms, only the fire of loss in her heart.
Mira's chest tightened. She whispered with a weak voice, as if catching the guilt from the air itself:
> "She is… my mother."
But the woman cut her with silence, without responding, only pulling her hand away.
The silence pierced Mira's heart like a dagger.
> (She saved me… but abandoned me. She chose survival over me… and yet, I am alive because of her.)
The scarred man spoke, his voice calm but carrying firmness:
> "The queen does not die in the alleys."
Then he turned to the woman, continuing with words that were not just words, but a heavy reminder:
> "Nor do the children of kings leave people behind them."
Mira trembled. The words entered her body like shards.
Her bones did not lessen, but her heart was burning.
The woman took a step forward, her voice cold:
> "My son is dead… but I will not leave your daughter."
Mira did not know how to look at her.
The guilt betrayed her, the tightness in her chest became unbearable.
But at that moment, Neva pulled her hand from her mother's, lightly, gently, but firmly.
It was like a slap.
She took two steps forward, standing beside the woman, looking at her mother with a gaze she had never seen before—a mixture of sadness, betrayal, and brokenness.
Mira opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
In the alley there were no tears, only ash.
Before anyone else spoke, Neva's small voice cut through:
> "Shall we walk now?"
The woman answered:
> "Yes, we must leave before they return."
For the first time, Mira walked behind them, not holding her daughter's hand.
The three who had saved them walked in front,
while behind them Mira followed, her steps heavy,
and Neva walked beside the woman, no longer holding her mother's hand.
The ash kept falling, the ruins swallowing the silence.
Every step echoed like a memory refusing to die.
Mira looked once more at her daughter, but the distance between them was no longer measured by steps,
it was measured by betrayal, by the moment she chose survival over another child.
The woman beside Neva did not look at her again.
Her face was carved from stone, carrying both death and life.
The scarred man walked as if the earth itself bent beneath his weight,
his eyes scanning every shadow,
his silence louder than the screams that had filled the city.
The other soldier, leaner, quieter, carried his sword with the calm of one who had killed too many to count.
Together they formed a shield that Mira could not pierce—
not with words, not with excuses.
The city behind them was dying,
but ahead of them stretched only more alleys, more ruins,
a path with no end,
and a silence heavier than war itself.
And in Neva's heart…
something had shifted forever.