This had to be a joke. In the dim light, the exquisite bullet seemed as if it had been waiting there for a long time, its craftsmanship incredibly delicate, reflecting a dazzling golden glow onto Kasia. His eyes flicked over it, instantly drawn by its brilliance, unable to focus on anything else.
His steps slowed mechanically. Kasia set down his luggage, his mind numb and unable to think. There was no struggle inside him—it was as if his thoughts had been unified the moment he picked up the revolver. He bent down, picked up the bullet, and held it tightly in his broad palm. His heart thumped wildly as he walked forward, slipping the bullet into the pocket pressed against his body, where he also kept all the money for his imminent studies in Mano.
The icy bullet pressed against Kasia's burning skin, sending a shiver through him. The wind howling through the vent ahead, carrying ice and snow, didn't feel half as cold as the bullet.
Everyone else busied themselves with their own matters; Kasia's actions drew no attention.
The food cargo car was packed with people. Many hungry passengers clustered there, desperate for a morsel of food. Purchasing a ticket had already been the limit of their means. Perhaps most could last a meal or two more, but beyond that? No one could say.
Kasia walked out of the first few cargo cars under the gaze of countless wolfish eyes. The people standing on either side stirred restlessly. Agitation hung thick in the air of the car, the atmosphere stifling. Faces, lit by the dim gas lamps, took on a twisted, menacing look.
By late night, activity finally slowed. Exhausted bodies succumbed to fatigue, and everyone fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Outside, the train traversed a frozen wasteland; beneath the ice, vegetation was dead. Inside, the air was heavy and lifeless.
Kasia managed a brief, uneasy rest, though his highly alert mind woke instantly at any noise. He could not risk his precious, limited luggage being disturbed—he had no choice.
By late morning, sunlight had nearly reached noon. The vent was the only connection between the cargo car's world and the outside. Golden sunlight streamed in, casting a large, bright patch on the black steel floor, carrying a little warmth along with it.
But warmth solved nothing. More and more people crowded around the food cargo, and it seemed as though some had begun to snatch food from others, though Kasia had yet to witness it himself. Making the journey to buy food became ever more difficult.
By around three o'clock in the afternoon, Imperial Heavy Train conductors arrived to check tickets.
The door connecting the cargo car to the passenger car remained tightly locked, only operable from the passenger side.
That afternoon, everyone sat quietly in the cargo car, lost in their own thoughts, until the sudden clang of chains and hissing of steam announced that the thickened door was being forced open. Behind it stood six fully armed conductors, expressionless, cold, machine-like. They carried no firearms—only sharp thrusting swords and menacing iron rods.
Starting from the first cargo car, they demanded each passenger present their ticket stubs. Most had them; a few did not.
Begging for mercy or sympathy had no effect. According to the conductors, one either paid immediately or got thrown off the train. Disembarking meant certain death—the heavy train would not stop.
Some tried to run through the cars, but it was futile. The three layers of cargo were separated, and hiding in compartments offered no escape from the conductors' meticulous search. Some, desperate, handed over their last coins; others wailed, pleading for mercy, only to be violently thrown from the train under the terrified gazes of onlookers.
By the time the six conductors reached Kasia's cargo car, dusk was approaching. Those who had tried to hide had fled to the last few cars; anyone able to sit quietly now produced their ticket stubs voluntarily.
The conductors' icy gazes swept across the car, making one feel as if a predator were inspecting its prey. The atmosphere froze; pale faces exhaled misty breaths, dry throats unable to moisten. Everyone silently prayed for the six icebound enforcers to leave.
But fate rarely listens to prayers.
"Whose child is this?" The voice was devoid of emotion or inflection—loud, clear, mechanical.
All eyes turned.
The towering conductor held a coarse, black iron rod, its other end lifting the brim of a girl's hat, revealing a tender six- or seven-year-old face, delicate and finely featured, almost like a master's craft. Her pale golden hair, messy, was tucked inside her oversized gray coat. The coat, one-piece, nearly a meter tall on her small frame, swallowed her completely. With the hat lifted, the coat rose slightly, revealing her bare, pale feet to the cold cargo air.
Her eyes were as black as Kasia's sister's, the same endless darkness as the night sky. But this sky had no moon, no stars, no light—just the color of deathly silence, the hue of a world stripped of life.
"Whose child is this?" The iron voice repeated, leaving no room for denial.
"She's just a child…" a woman whispered from the shadows, her voice thin, like smoke that could vanish in an instant.
"Your child?" The gaze fell like a predator on its captured prey.
"No, no, no…" The woman's back broke into cold sweat, her breath rapid, her face turning pale and blue. She turned away, unable to look. Weak and shivering, she began to cry helplessly.
"Open the door." No one in the car stirred.
The conductors mechanically drew key cards from their packs, inserted them into slots by the cargo doors. Steam hissed from the connections. With one lever pulled, the cargo door could be opened.
"Nor, come here." In the glare of dozens of anxious eyes, Kasia froze, standing with immense effort, speaking the few words that required all his courage.
The conductors did not pull the lever. Six cold, piercing eyes followed each step Kasia took.
To him, those eyes were twelve dark, endless barrels, ready to fire steel bullets at any moment, capable of shredding his fragile body. Yet nothing violent occurred. Their gazes were like giants looking down on helpless ants, like wolves toying with trapped prey. Every step Kasia took demanded immense effort and courage; regret surged within him like a spring in violent motion.
"I… fell asleep… and didn't watch over my sister." Kasia spoke carefully, showing his ticket to the conductors, then crouched in front of the girl to check her pockets.
Her eyes were void, blankly staring at this stranger named Kasia.
"Nor, where's your ticket?"
Of course, there was nothing. Anyone could see that.
"Seems the stub's lost. Look, here's mine… but Nor's ticket…" Kasia swore he had never felt his mind dull or his heart ache like this before. Though he had given up hope early, seeing her empty pocket in reality still sent a chill through him.
"One hundred catties, two thousand two hundred sanctums." The cold words made Kasia shiver; the last warmth of his body disappeared, leaving only a pounding heart. How could a six- or seven-year-old girl weigh that much? Yet the weight of the words behind them was undeniable. He wanted to argue, but the courage caught in his throat.
The coins in his hand, still warm from him, were snatched by a gloved, rigid hand, leaving no trace of heat.
The conductors' polished shoes clanked on the steel plates. The sound drowned in the wind whistling through the vent, and still Kasia could not summon the strength to rise.
He was filled with regret and fear, longing to cry and scream, a gentle soul accustomed to sunshine and sorrow at the sight of a moth crashing against a window. He saw himself as a weak coward and forced himself to appear strong and resolute as a mask.
He stayed crouched until his legs went numb. Somewhere behind him, screams pierced the air; anyone attempting to resist had been thrown off the train.
No one dared light the gas lamps that night. Only the silvery moonlight through the vent illuminated the cargo car.
Kasia sighed, chest heavy with mixed emotions. Regret and gloom could not be shaken.
By dawn, he had not slept. Beneath him lay his precious luggage; in his arms, a strangely heavy girl. She wore Kasia's spare thick clothes; her little feet were encased in makeshift shoes. She slept soundly in the arms of a stranger.
Her eyes remained tightly closed. Even by noon, she had not stirred. Long lashes quivered with her soft murmurs. Her breathing was deep, like a black whale tearing through ocean currents, every exhale using all her strength.
Kasia observed her calm, sleeping face, thinking of his sister far away at the border. Lilia, too, must be bundled up against the cold, huddled by the stove, unwilling to wake. Soon, she would head to school in the small town.
The girl stirred. Light returned to Kasia's eyes.
She finally opened her eyes, black as night, yet now carrying a glimmer of light.
"What's your name?" Kasia's voice was gentle, soft as he thought of his own sister, calm and soothing though not magnetic.
"Nor." A faint voice, sleepy and muffled, replied. She shifted to a more comfortable position and closed her eyes again.
Kasia opened his mouth, hesitated, then fell silent, unable to ask further.
By afternoon, Kasia carried his luggage with one hand and held Nor's hand with the other, moving carefully through the increasingly crowded cargo cars. The air thickened with agitation; one spark could ignite everything.
Some were cautious now; the hungry wolves' eyes no longer shone with fury but insatiable greed.
The heavy train showed no sign of stopping. Emotions fermented in the dim cars.
Kasia returned, face grim. Nor sat beside him, nibbling bread with warm water. Leaning against the cargo walls, he had stored enough food for the next few days in his luggage. He did not wish to return to those cars; the gazes of those who remained seemed to assess him like prey. He closed his eyes to rest, yet his mind remained filled with the twisted, hungry faces he had seen.
In the dark corner of the cargo car, at the faint sound of metal clinking, Kasia shivered, loading the brass-cased bullet into the revolver's cylinder.