Their footsteps on the wet tiles made a faint creaking sound, as if the ground beneath them could no longer bear the weight of humans.
The thick fog covering the streets of Nirvana seemed at this hour like cracked skin, heavy and sick, as if the city were slowly dying… without witnesses, without a sky, without a single candle to light its end.
Seria said, with her deep voice that seemed to come from a place farther than this world: "We must hurry… before those sleepless eyes notice us."
Maela replied, tightening her grip on a wet grey booklet: "Even if we carry the temple's seal… some hearts fear neither light nor fire. Fear died long ago."
Neria shook her head, staring into the corners like someone expecting a stab from the walls themselves: "Wisdom does not mean retreat… but knowing when to plant the light, and when to carry it in silence."
They continued walking slowly, with Leora in their midst, her eyes fixed on the ground, the sky, and the faces… as if she were searching for something unseen, unheard, and incomprehensible.
The city around them was not asleep… but hiding.
Doors nailed shut, windows shaded with torn blankets, and the air saturated with a foul humidity carrying the smells of iron and burnt leather.
No sound of carriages, no cries, only the rasping of the wind scraping against the remnants of metal signs.
On the sidewalks, crushed souls.
Drunkards whispering words with no language, bodies lying down as if practicing death slowly, and women nursing children without tears or warmth.
In this city, even tears were a luxury.
Neria said in a displeased tone: "What light could possibly grow in this ruin?… These are not shadows, but an abyss."
Seria replied, without turning: "And who needs the light more than those who were swallowed by darkness?"
But before she could finish, Leora stopped suddenly.
"Wait…"
Her tone was different. It held no question, only certainty. She pointed to a side alley, from which muffled laughter emerged, suspicious whispers, and something that resembled… digging.
They approached cautiously.
In that alley, a few vagabonds gathered around a body, laughing, racing with their hands, like children during a holiday… but a holiday for the hungry.
"Hey, grab his hand, there might be a ring!" "Check the inner pocket, the hidden ones always carry something." "How much do you think a dead boy's pants are worth?" "No wallet?! Pathetic, even after death."
Then they laughed.
A raspy laugh, like rotting coughs, followed by the sound of tearing fabric.
A silent rip of worn cloth being forcibly stripped.
The sound of a button being torn off.
A zipper being pulled.
Cloth being shredded.
Flesh revealed.
Neria gasped audibly and stepped back.
Maela said, looking away:
"Leora… we're not guards. Tomorrow there's a family waiting for our help, sick people we send medicine and faith to… we can't scatter our efforts for a corpse in an alley."
But Leora didn't move.
"If we leave him now… he'll stay here, alone. No one will bury him."
Silence.
The vagabonds noticed the girls' presence. One of them spat on the ground and said with a mocking smile:
"Here they come, the girls of the Light. No swords… but their words cut."
Another laughed and said: "Let's leave the corpse, or we'll disappear like they say about those who touch their robes."
And they withdrew, one by one, into the shadows.
The city returned to silence, but this silence was heavier and uglier than before.
Leora stepped forward slowly and knelt in the mud.
Her left hand sank into the filth as she touched the ground beside the body.
There was a boy.
A boy who didn't look asleep… but defeated.
His body was nothing but a map of scars, skin stretched over bones.
His ribs jutted out unnaturally, one hand was twisted, and one leg was wounded down to the bone.
On his chest, a deep hollow, as if something had been forcibly ripped out… a core? Or a heart?.
His face… a face that no longer knew childhood.
The eyes of a child forced to witness what should never be seen.
And his mouth, half-open, as if he said something no one heard.
Leora placed her hand on his chest… then closed her eyes.
She murmured.
A whisper that was not a prayer as much as it was a plea.
A fleeting, silent supplication, from a heart that no longer believed in salvation, yet hadn't stopped trying.
Then something faint lit up.
A pale glow, a tiny point of light emerged from her palm, illuminating only a few centimeters… but it seemed to pierce through the whole night.
She raised her face and said in a voice that barely escaped her throat:
"He's alive. On the verge of leaving… his breaths too weak to hear… and his core is beginning to fade."
Seria approached, removed her white scarf without a word, and wrapped it around Reis's arm.
Maela did the same, then Neria.
Leora covered his face, then lifted him in her arms.
She trembled.
He was painfully light… as if she were carrying the remnants of a life, not a body.
But she tightened her grip around him and raised her eyes:
"He will not die here."
Seria said calmly:
"We won't let him become just another corpse in the mud."
And they walked.
Four girls in white clothes, swallowed by darkness, their feet sinking into the thickened mud, carrying something that looked like a child… or what was left of a human shape.
His body was wrapped in white scarves, but the blood and dirt quickly seeped into the fabric, staining it with the color of a wound that would not heal.
In Leora's arms, he remained still… light in an unnatural way, as if she was carrying not a body, but an old defeat wearing human skin.
The fog clung to their eyelashes, crept into their mouths, and lashed at their faces as if the whole world was trying to extinguish that small light that had flared for a moment from Reis's chest… as if it was something that had no right to exist here.
Leora stepped forward silently, but inside, she was boiling.
Her body trembled not only from the cold, but from the horror of what she saw…
From the weight of the truth on her shoulders.
From a fear she couldn't name… but had felt the moment she touched Reis's chest.
Every step rang on the ground like a funeral bell.
As if they were walking behind the dead… or ahead of him.
The street wasn't completely empty.
At a crossroads, a man emerged from one corner, drunk, holding a cracked bottle, looked at them with a half-closed eye, then spat to the side and muttered:
"Light-mad… even the corpses, they take with them."
And silence stretched, as if the whole city had heard what he said… then the man pulled himself back into the shadows, afraid he'd be erased just for speaking.
On the second floor of one building, a woman opened a tattered grey curtain, blinked twice upon seeing the girls, then closed the window silently… and with a prayer left unspoken.
The people here knew.
Followers of the Temple of Light touch only what has been chosen…
And if they choose something, the heavens move, even if they seem silent.
But among the watching eyes, and hidden alleys, the city wasn't just observing… it was testing itself.
It was measuring the courage of these girls…
And asking itself: Is there still something worth saving?
And in the heart of that circle, Leora moved forward.
The child in her arms didn't stir, but his breaths—if they still existed—were lighter than the wind.
She felt a cold thread run along her neck, then down her spine… was this his life? Or his nearing end?
Neria spoke in a whisper, looking at Reis's face covered by the scarf:
"Is he one of the children kidnapped by some slaver?"
Maela replied, her voice low as if ashamed to speak:
"or maybe… one of those children sold by their parents for food money?"
Seria tightened her cloak over her shoulders and answered slowly:
"It doesn't matter who he is… what matters is that he's not dead yet."
Her tone was sharp. Final.
The scene continued as it was.
Steps on stagnant water, white fabric stained with brown and black patches, and a dimmed body carried by arms that still believed in light, despite everything.
They approached the western edge of the district, where the alleys began to widen, the smell of rot started to fade, and the poles of artificial light—those foggy lamps connected to the central grid—began to cast a pale grey glow over the road.
In this place, the city seemed to acknowledge their presence…
Even if it didn't welcome it.
A dead child could have been left to rot. But now, in their embrace, he reminded everyone that someone still refused to abandon what was meant to be forgotten.
Leora, at this moment, didn't think of consequences.
She didn't think whether he would live or whether he deserved to be saved.
She didn't think of the origin of the wounds on his body, nor whether his soul was entirely human.
She simply felt his body calling her, and she couldn't turn away.
When she reached the start of the stone bridge that separates the poor district from the noble quarters and the temple, she stopped for a moment.
She looked behind her.
There was no one, but she felt something watching.
Neria said, her tone tense:
"Darkness swallows even the steps. Let's move on."
They continued walking, their eyes fixed on a distant light…
The temple's light.
And in Leora's heart, a pulse… weak, but not dead.