Perspective of Orin
Wednesday, 26th October 1949
"And where will you go?" she asked.
I looked down, twiddling my thumbs, eyes fixed on my coffee cup as the steam rose and vanished. I began stirring it absentmindedly, the teaspoon clinking softly against the ceramic — a slow, sonorous rhythm. The coffee shop was closed. It was late.
She pulled out the wooden chair across from me, the scrape echoing in the stillness, and sat down. Her eyes met mine again, quietly demanding an answer.
"I want to trace my roots. To do that, I have to learn about the war first. So... probably Vatanna. It's the main country, after all. That big library's there."
"Vathanna?" she repeated, drawing out the name like it left a bitter taste.
Then, thoughtfully:
"If you really want answers, Vathanna's high risk, high reward. You'll find the truth — but you'll also be in more danger than here in Valdora. And that means you'll meet more people like Joacheim. Maybe not as evil... but just as willing to hurt others. Maybe even people like us, who can use The Requiem."
I raised the cup to my lips, hesitated a second, then sipped.
"Damn, it's hot!" I exclaimed, flinching.
"I did tell you."
"When?!"
"Kkh—" She pressed her fingers to her mouth, a stifled laugh bubbling through. "I told you with my eyes, dummy."
"Hey! That's not funny. If I burned my lips, how would I eat anything?"
"You could eat ice cream," she grinned. "That'll make it better."
"I'll throw this coffee on you."
"And I'll blow it right back at you."
If I'm being honest... I could get used to this — living with Ilya and her grandpa. The warmth. The stillness. The feeling that nothing had to happen.
But at some point, we all have to leave the things we love behind.
Even if what we're leaving is our own peace.
The next day, I said goodbye to Ilya and her grandfather, and made my way to the train station.