After the morning training ended, the air still carried the faint scent of evaporated sweat. The ground of the training field had been repeatedly trampled, the top layer of dust pressed firm, with occasional footprints of varying depth still visible. Sunlight filtered through the clouds, not harsh, yet it bleached the ground pale.
Iosef stood at the edge of the field, his breathing already steady again. His clothes clung slightly to his body, damp but not enough to hinder movement. He had just finished his final set. Around him, soldiers gradually dispersed—some went to get water, others simply sat down on the ground.
"Commander."
A voice called from behind.
Iosef turned.
The messenger stood upright, his voice not loud, but clear.
"There's a notice from above. Please go to the office to confirm."
Iosef gave a slight nod, asking no further questions. He removed his gloves, placed them casually on a nearby rack, then walked toward the office building.
The corridor was quiet. Footsteps fell against the floor, producing an even echo. The walls were gray-white, and light slanted in from a window at the far end, stretching a long, thin shadow.
He pushed the door open.
There was nothing extra inside the office. A desk. A chair. Several documents neatly placed at the center of the table.
The officer in charge sat behind the desk without standing. He merely lifted his eyes, glanced at Iosef, then pushed a document forward.
The paper slid across the surface, making a faint friction sound.
"Routine duty."
His tone was flat.
Iosef stepped forward and glanced down.
Only a few pages. Clean. Edges neat, no creases.
He opened it.
Orphanage visit.
The text was clear, with no additional explanation.
Every year, the military arranged for officers to conduct social visits. The process was standardized within the system—time, location, records, all fixed.
Nothing complicated.
Just a visit.
Registration.
Observation.
Iosef's gaze rested on the page for a few seconds.
Then he closed it.
"Understood."
He said.
The officer nodded, saying nothing more.
Iosef picked up the document and turned to leave.
The door closed behind him.
The corridor felt slightly cooler than inside. The sky outside was gray—not fully overcast, but the light had dimmed.
Wind swept across the training field in the distance, lifting fine dust.
The flag swayed lightly on its pole.
Fabric brushed, producing a faint sound.
Iosef walked toward the garage.
Inside, it was dim. Light slanted in from the entrance, forming a bright patch on the ground. Vehicles were parked in neat rows, their surfaces slightly dusty but fully functional.
He walked to his car.
Reached out.
Pulled the door open.
The metal hinge gave a soft click.
He sat inside.
The seat sank slightly with a muted compression sound.
Key in.
Turn.
The engine started.
A low vibration spread through the frame.
The steering wheel trembled faintly in his hands, steady in rhythm.
He pressed the accelerator.
The car moved forward slowly.
The light outside the garage grew brighter.
Tires rolled over the ground, producing a continuous, low friction sound.
The vehicle exited the military zone.
The iron gate closed slowly behind him.
The road stretched toward the edge of the city.
At first, it was wide, with orderly buildings on both sides—straight walls, uniform colors, evenly spaced windows.
He kept driving.
The buildings grew shorter.
The gaps widened.
Some walls appeared old, no longer uniform in color.
Roadside railings showed peeling paint.
Signs had faded.
The steering wheel shifted slightly in his hands.
The car followed the road's subtle curves.
The sound beneath the tires changed with the surface—
sometimes smooth rolling,
sometimes rough with faint grit.
Air slipped through the window gap.
Dry.
Cool.
Iosef's gaze remained forward.
Occasionally flicking to the rearview mirror.
Then back to the road.
The edge of the city gradually emerged.
Buildings became sparse.
More low houses appeared.
Iron fences.
Old brick walls.
Scattered piles of debris.
The road narrowed.
Speed naturally dropped.
The orphanage stood at the end of a narrow street.
Not long.
Walls on both sides worn.
The ground uneven.
As the car entered, the tires jolted lightly.
The car came to a slow stop.
The gate was not tall.
Paint had peeled away in places, exposing the dark metal beneath.
Inside was a small courtyard.
The ground was cleanly swept.
Several trees stood in the corners.
Not thick.
Not dense.
But neatly trimmed.
Iosef stepped out.
The door closed.
The sound seemed slightly louder in the quiet street.
A few children were running in the yard.
Light footsteps.
Soft tapping against the ground.
A ball rolled unevenly.
Someone chased it.
Kicked it back.
It hit a wall corner.
Bounced back.
Laughter rose intermittently.
Not loud.
But clear.
The air carried the scent of soil.
And leaves.
Iosef stood at the entrance, watching for a moment.
He didn't move.
His gaze swept slowly across the yard.
The director came out quickly.
Steps slightly hurried, yet deliberately slowed.
Clothes clean.
Cuffs neatly arranged.
He stopped at the entrance.
Gave a simple greeting.
"Welcome."
His voice was low.
Iosef nodded.
Registration was quick.
Pages turned.
Pen moved across paper.
Leaving clear writing.
The director guided him around.
Dormitory.
The door opened with a faint wooden creak.
Inside was orderly.
Beds lined closely.
Blankets folded sharply.
Dining hall.
A faint trace of food lingered in the air.
Tables and chairs arranged neatly.
Small classroom.
Uncleaned chalk marks still faintly visible on the board.
The place wasn't spacious.
But well maintained.
The director spoke softly throughout.
His tone carried caution.
His hands occasionally adjusted his clothes.
Then dropped again.
The visit ended.
He paused.
"Would you like to see the children?"
Iosef did not refuse.
More children had gathered in the yard now.
Some crouching.
Some standing.
Lines drawn on the ground.
Crooked.
Someone nudged one with their foot.
The air mixed with soil and leaves.
Sunlight broke through the clouds.
Brighter than before.
Iosef stood aside.
He didn't approach.
Just remained there.
Watching.
Then—
a voice came from the crowd.
Clear.
"Wait."
Not loud.
But enough to make a few people stop.
Some shifted aside.
A gap formed.
Iosef's gaze followed it.
And he saw her.
A girl stood in the middle.
A white dress.
Old.
Edges slightly worn.
But clean.
No stains.
Sunlight fell on her.
Sliding down her shoulders.
Resting on the hem.
She bent down.
Naturally.
Knees slightly bent.
Center of gravity lowered.
One hand reached out.
Fingers touched the ball.
Dust clung lightly to her fingertips.
She picked it up.
No pause.
Then straightened.
Her hair swayed slightly.
A few strands fell along her cheek.
Then slipped back.
Children gathered around her.
Some tugged at her sleeve.
The fabric shifted slightly.
Voices overlapped.
She listened.
Smiling.
Lightly.
Unforced.
The corners of her lips lifted.
Her eyes curved slightly.
Calm.
Like light.
Iosef stood there.
Still.
His gaze fixed.
His breathing steady.
But slower.
The yard remained lively.
The ball was kicked again.
Rolled.
Stopped.
Someone ran after it.
Footsteps approached.
Then faded.
She looked up.
Her gaze swept toward the edge of the yard.
Paused.
As if noticing something.
Then she walked over.
Slow steps.
Light.
The ground made soft sounds.
A few children followed.
Messy footsteps.
Talking as they moved.
She stopped in front of him.
Looked up at his uniform.
Her gaze lingered for a moment.
Then shifted away.
She smiled.
"Are you here to help?"
Her voice was soft.
Iosef didn't answer immediately.
His gaze rested on her face.
A second.
Then—
"Routine visit."
She seemed to think about the phrase.
Her brows moved slightly.
Then she nodded.
"Then you can play with us too."
She glanced back at the yard.
Then looked at him again.
And held out her hand.
Naturally.
Without hesitation.
Her hand stayed between them.
Not far.
Wind moved through the yard.
Leaves rustled.
Iosef looked down.
At that hand.
Clean fingers.
A bit of dust at the tips.
Palm open.
Relaxed.
His hand did not rise immediately.
A brief pause.
Then slowly—
it lifted.
Moved through the air.
The distance shortened.
Fingertips touched first.
Light contact.
Then palms met.
Warm.
Her hand was warm.
In contrast to his.
The contact lasted only a moment.
But was clear.
The children immediately cheered.
Voices grew louder.
Someone grabbed his sleeve.
The fabric pulled.
Someone ran forward.
Someone turned back.
He was pulled into the group.
His steps were carried along.
No longer steady.
Direction constantly shifting.
Someone kicked the ball toward him.
It rolled closer.
He lifted his foot instinctively.
Stopped it.
Then kicked it back.
No pause.
The children chased it.
Laughter continuous.
Sunlight filled the yard.
Brighter now.
Shadows moved across the ground.
Wind passed through the branches.
Iosef stood among them.
His movements began to match the rhythm.
No longer delayed.
The expression on his face slowly changed.
Slight.
Almost imperceptible.
But real.
That day—
many in the yard remembered one image.
The officer known as "Reaper."
Standing among the children.
Smiling—
for the first time.
And that—
was his first meeting with Elena.