The snow had stopped by morning, but a still gloom lingered over Athen, as if the city itself was holding its breath. The sky remained a dull gray sheet, pressing down on the brittle rooftops and silent alleys. A thick blanket of snow covered everything — rooftops, carts, the broken fences. It should have looked beautiful, but there was no warmth in this whiteness, only silence.
Unit 9 had gathered again in the inn's common room. The fireplace crackled softly, but its warmth didn't reach far. Most of them sat near it, wordless for a while.
Ashen leaned on the wooden frame of a frosted window, staring out. His reflection blurred with the snowy street beyond. His fingers tightened into a fist slowly, then relaxed.
Kerr sat cross-legged on the floor, sharpening his twin blades without speaking. Lin was beside him, hugging her knees and watching the fireplace. Elira stood with her back to the wall, arms crossed, eyes on the flickering flames. Reynar was sitting, chin resting on his hand, unusually quiet.
And Sera sat across from Ashen, watching him.
No one said anything for a long time. The silence was not heavy, but thoughtful.
Finally, Lin whispered, "He remembered all our names. Even our ranks. That boy..."
Elira responded, "He's been watching us. Not out of malice... but hope."
Ashen turned away from the window. "Hope, in people like us. But we didn't even notice him the first time."
Sera tilted her head. "You noticed him. That's why you followed."
Ashen's lips pressed into a thin line. "I was just... curious."
"Curiosity isn't a weakness," Elira said, walking to the window. "It's what lets us see what others don't."
Reynar finally spoke. "Still. That's no small thing he shared. He told us everything so openly. I thought poor folk were more... guarded."
Lin frowned. "Reynar."
"I'm not saying it to mock," he added quickly. "Just... I don't understand how people keep going when they have so little."
Ashen looked toward the back of the inn where the boy had disappeared after accepting some bread from Lin earlier. "They don't think about keeping on. They just do it. Like breathing."
Sera's eyes lowered. "He spoke of Athen as if it were a dream now. A city of light and harvest."
Kerr nodded. "I heard stories when I was younger. Athen was famous for its golden grain, wasn't it?"
Elira answered, "The breadbasket of the east. That's what they used to call it. One harvest could feed five cities."
Ashen stared at the floor, then slowly stepped away from the window. "Now even one family can't get enough."
A silence fell again.
"Did any of you see his hands?" Ashen asked quietly.
The group looked up at him.
"His fingers were cracked, some bleeding. Frostbitten. But he still ran barefoot outside. Like it was normal."
Lin drew in a breath.
"That boy," Ashen said, his voice firmer, "He's younger than me. And he's lived through more than most soldiers we've met. And still... he was smiling when we gave him that bread."
"Ashen," Sera said softly, watching his expression.
"I thought," he continued, almost to himself, "I thought I knew what it meant to suffer. To be alone. But he... he still talks about others. His mother. His neighbors. That old woman next door who can't stand. He's not just surviving for himself."
Elira walked over, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Ashen. You're not alone. Not anymore."
He glanced up, startled by the warmth in her voice.
Reynar rose and walked to the window himself. "I've never questioned the orders given to us. But... it's different when you see their eyes. Hear their voices."
Kerr stood, brushing snow from his sleeves. "I used to think being a soldier meant fighting things. Monsters. Rebels. But maybe it also means handing out bread with both hands. Not just swords."
Lin gave a quiet smile. "That's why people need to see us. Not just as warriors. But as something human."
Sera leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I've lived in the palace all my life. I read the reports, I heard the updates. They said Athen's supply was short, that help was being sent. I believed it. I trusted it."
She looked down, ashamed.
"But I never imagined this. Children chasing rats. Mothers skipping meals. People melting snow to drink."
No one said anything.
Ashen finally sat, slowly lowering himself beside the fire. His fingers stretched toward the warmth.
"Why did we come here?" he asked, not looking at anyone.
Elira answered, "To evacuate."
"To save lives," Kerr added.
"To protect," said Lin.
"Maybe," Ashen said, "But I think... I think we were meant to see this too. Not just the mission. But what's behind it."
Sera stood, walking slowly across the room. Her eyes moved over her team — and stopped on Ashen. "I thought I understood my people. But the moment we stepped into this city, I realized how blind I was."
Reynar glanced at her. "You're trying now. That matters."
"Trying won't bring back their food," she replied. "It won't bring back the boy's father."
Ashen met her eyes. "No, it won't. But it might help the next family. If you don't look away."
She nodded slowly, lips pressed tight. "I won't."
Kerr stretched his arms behind his head. "You know, I think this might be the first time we're not bickering."
Lin chuckled. "Because we're all thinking the same thing."
Reynar gave a faint smirk. "That this place changes you."
Elira added, "No... that these people change you."
The room grew quiet again.
A faint sound of feet on the stairs made them all turn. The boy was there again, standing shyly by the stairwell, holding a half-eaten piece of bread.
"You're all talking weirdly serious today," he said.
Ashen smiled faintly. "You've been listening?"
The boy shrugged. "The door wasn't shut. And you talk loud."
Lin waved him over. "Come sit near the fire. You'll get sick standing there."
The boy hesitated, then shuffled over, sitting beside Kerr.
Kerr passed him a thick coat. "Wear this for now."
"Thanks, mister."
Ashen looked at the boy closely. "Do you remember what Athen looked like in spring? Before everything?"
The boy's eyes lit up, just a little. "Yeah. Flowers grew on the fences. The ground used to be warm even at night. Farmers brought apples in crates. Red ones. So shiny you could see your nose in them."
"And now?" Sera asked, voice quiet.
"Now even the snow tastes better than the soup." The boy giggled, then looked guilty. "Sorry. That sounded bad."
"No," Ashen said. "It sounded true."
A long pause followed.
Outside, snow began to fall again. This time, slower. Not the heavy, desperate snow of the night before, but a soft and gentle descent. The flakes landed without sound, covering the broken roads and frozen fields like a lullaby.
Ashen stood again, watching it.
Sera walked to his side, folding her arms.
"He remembered the flowers," Ashen whispered.
"And the apples," she added.
He glanced sideways. "We won't forget either."
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded.
The snow kept falling.