The rain had long stopped, but the streets still wept.Each puddle mirrored the shattered lights of a ruined city — broken fragments of a dream no one remembered dreaming.The sky was bruised purple, thick clouds hanging low like a heavy shroud over the remnants of a war-torn world.
Rafael Ralfs Kashtanov moved quietly through the wet ruins.Tall and rigid, his black military coat swept behind him, gold emblems catching the faintest glimmers of dying light. His crimson scarf trailed like a banner soaked in blood, fluttering weakly in the cold wind.
His boots splashed without hesitation through the filth and broken glass, remnants of a city long forgotten by hope.His eyes — once vibrant green — were now dull, tired, empty. They scanned the wreckage not for enemies or threats, but for meaning. A meaning that had long since slipped away.
There was none.
He hadn't slept in days. Perhaps years. Maybe never.The deep, dark circles beneath his eyes were like trenches, hiding ghosts he never buried, memories he tried to drown in violence and silence.
"Freedom always demands blood," he muttered under his breath, voice rough as ash."The only question is — whose?"
Behind him, the military compound burned fiercely, smoke billowing into the sky.The bodies still lay warm. Some had begged for mercy, others screamed in desperation.One had laughed. She died last.
Rafael felt no guilt. No regret.He felt nothing.
He walked like a man without a soul — not because he lost it, but because he had traded it long ago for something far more dangerous: clarity.
The war had taken everything from him.But he had taken something in return.
An ancient artifact pulsed quietly in his coat pocket — a shard of magic older than any empire.It burned against his chest like a truth too heavy to deny.
And yet, despite it all, he felt nothing.
The silence was shattered by a voice behind him.
"You're not even going to look back?"
Rafael stopped.
A boy no older than seventeen, half his face burned raw and red, stood trembling among the bodies.Still breathing. Still naïve.
Rafael turned just enough to speak, his expression unreadable.
"No one worth looking at is back there."
The boy stepped forward, voice trembling but desperate.
"They were your comrades!"
Rafael smiled — but it was cold and empty.
"So was pain. I outlived that too."
Like smoke blown by the wind, he vanished into the night.
The city swallowed him whole.Only silence remained.
Deep beneath the scars, a thought surfaced:
What if freedom… isn't worth the price?
Rafael already knew the answer.And he no longer cared.
He walked on, letting the screams of the burning compound fade into a distant memory — faint, like the smell of blood after rain.
The sky above darkened further, bruised and heavy, as distant artillery rumbled like dying thunder.
He didn't look back.
The city no longer mattered.Not the ruins. Not the people. Not even the war.
He moved like a man untethered — not from guilt, but from a purpose that had long since rotted into something colder.
After hours of walking, he reached the edge of a lifeless forest.The trees stood like burnt bones, stripped bare of leaves and meaning.Beside a shallow stream, he stopped.
He knelt and washed his hands.
The blood ran slowly, clinging stubbornly to his palms.
His reflection stared back at him — hollow eyes, a face gaunt with silence.A monster? A martyr?He no longer cared to know.
Then — footsteps.
He didn't turn.
"Most people try harder to be quiet," he said flatly.
A calm, female voice answered, edged with frost:
"And you think I'm like most people?"
He rose slowly, not startled or threatened, just aware.
She stood a few paces away, at the forest's edge.White cloak, silver eyes, hair like ash.She didn't belong here. And yet somehow, she did.
Rafael studied her silently.No weapon. No insignia. Just presence — steady and sharp.
He didn't ask who she was. He already knew.
"What do you want?" he asked instead.
She tilted her head, curious.
"To remind you," she said softly, "that once, you cared."
He scoffed."That must've been a long time ago."
Her gaze didn't waver.
"It was yesterday."
The words struck him harder than he expected.His chest tightened.
He turned away.
"You're wasting your time," he muttered.
She stepped closer.
"No. You are. Killing everything won't bring freedom. It only replaces one cage with another."
He looked at her — really looked.
"Maybe. But at least in this one, I hold the key."
A heavy silence stretched between them.
Then the sky groaned — not thunder, but engines.
In the distance, black drones rose over the hills, sweeping toward them like vultures.
She looked up. So did he.
"They found you," she said simply.
Rafael nodded.
"Let them come."
She looked at him not with fear or pity, but with something stranger.
Expectation.
"You're going to fight?" she asked.
He tightened his scarf, stepping away from the stream.
"No," he said.
"I'm going to finish what I started."
As the first drone screamed overhead, he was already gone — a shadow moving toward the storm.
Rafael moved through the shadows with the ease of a ghost.Every step was measured, every breath controlled.The drones above scanned the ruins with mechanical precision, but none could catch what was already gone.
The cold wind bit through his coat, but he welcomed the chill.Pain was a reminder he was still alive — or at least still fighting.
Ahead, the remains of an old watchtower loomed like a skeleton against the darkening sky.He slipped inside, silence swallowing the place like a shroud.
From the depths of his pocket, the artifact pulsed softly — a heartbeat in the dark.Its ancient power hummed through his veins, urging him onward.
A soft sound reached his ears — footsteps again, but lighter this time.He turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
"Finally found you," the woman's voice whispered from the shadows.
She stepped forward — closer this time, her silver eyes glinting in the faint moonlight."You're running out of time, Rafael."
He didn't respond. Instead, he pulled the crimson scarf tighter around his neck.
"Why do you chase me?" he asked coldly."Why not let me disappear?"
She smiled, but it wasn't warm.
"Because you're more than a ghost to me. You're a question I can't stop asking."
Rafael's gaze hardened.
"Questions don't save lives."
"No," she said softly. "But sometimes, they remind us why we fight to live."
A tense silence hung between them.
Then, without warning, the ground trembled beneath their feet.
The drones had found the tower.
Rafael's hand brushed the artifact, feeling its fiery pulse spike like a warning.
"We don't have much time," he said.
She nodded, drawing a slender blade that shimmered with an otherworldly light.
"Then let's remind them why some ghosts should never be hunted."
The first shots rang out like thunder, breaking the night's silence.Rafael moved with lethal precision, every movement honed by years of war.His boots barely made a sound as he struck from the shadows, dismantling the drones' ground forces with ruthless efficiency.
The artifact in his pocket flared, filling him with a surge of power that made his limbs feel both lighter and stronger.The magic was wild and unpredictable — ancient and dangerous.
The woman watched silently, her blade flashing, cutting down anyone who got too close.
They fought side by side — two ghosts in a world that wanted them dead.
But even as the drones fell, more poured in from the sky.The battle was far from over.
Between bursts of gunfire and flashes of light, Rafael caught her eye.
"What's your name?" he asked breathlessly.
She hesitated, then replied:
"Liora."
He nodded.
"Then, Liora… if I die tonight, remember — freedom isn't given. It's taken."
She smiled grimly.
"I know."
Together, they fought on — shadows against a world determined to erase them.
And somewhere deep inside Rafael, a spark he thought long dead flickered to life.