In the quiet corner of the Nova in Veil hideout, the fire cracked low, casting soft shadows that danced across the stone walls. The room was modest with a plain wooden table, a few scattered cushions, and a blanket folded neatly in the corner. The air smelt of stew and burning wood.
Ilya sat by the hearth, ladling soup into two ceramic white bowls. She moved with careful purpose; every action was gentle and unrushed. Across the room, two children huddle together. It was the little boy and girl; he looked around nine and the girl looked around 7-8. The girl clung to a frayed cloth rabbit, its ear half torn from wear.
The boy, thin and sharp-eyed, kept his body in front of hers, protective and wary.
"I didn't season it much," Ilya said quietly, placing the bowls near the fire. "But it's warm, and there's bread if your stomach isn't too shy."
She didn't press them to come closer. Instead, she sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, opposite them, just leaving enough space between. Not too close, not too far. Just enough.
It's been days since they were rescued by Roy and his team, yet he kept their barriers up high. The last time he saw Roy was when he saved him, but that's it. He has been with this woman the whole time.
The boy eyed her like a cornered animal, muscles tight, gaze unmoving. Then he spoke, voice hard with suspicion.
"Why are you being nice?"
Ilya didn't answer right away. She poked gently at the fire with an iron rod, watching the sparks rise.
"Because someone once was… to me," she said at last. "When I didn't believe people could be to me."
The little girl got up and took a hesitant step forward, but the boy reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back. His eyes narrowed, but there was something brittle beneath the glare; not of defiance but guilt.
"It doesn't mean anything," he muttered. "Nice people can lie too."
His voice was quieter this time; it had less venom but more bitterness.
Ilya looked at him; her expression didn't falter. There was no pity in her gaze, just understanding.
"You're right to be careful," she said softly. "This world breaks people who trust easily, but how long are you going to go without trusting someone?"
From the folds of her shawl, she pulled out a small cloth bowl and placed it on the floor. Unwrapping it revealed a handful of dried apricots, mangos and two small honey candies. Simple luxuries from other continents, she set them down without hesitation near them.
"I was saving these for myself actually," she said. "But they won't taste as sweet alone."
She leaned back, letting the fire warm her hands. And then, softly, she began to hum.
A lullaby.
Old, wordless and familiar in a way only forgotten things are. The notes drifted gently through the air like falling snow.
The girl's grip on her rabbit loosened. She remembers that lullaby; her grandma used to hum it while she was doing something like knitting. Slowly, cautiously, the little girl shuffled toward the bowl. The boy's hand hovered over her shoulder, but this time, he didn't pull her back.
He watched as she sat beside the food, clutching the rabbit that their dad bought for her birthday in one hand and lifting a spoonful of fried fruit in it with the other. She took a bite.
He said nothing, just looking at her reaction to the food. The girl's face was not full of delight but just slightly calmer than before; the tension in his shoulders from the past few days eased, just barely.
The girl ate slowly at first, sneaking glances at Ilya between bites. When she had eaten enough, she then looked up, eyes wide and hesitant, and whispered to the boy.
"... It's good."
He didn't respond, only tightening his jaw. His eyes never left Ilya. She was still humming with her eyes half-closed, her spoon absently stirring her stew to cool it down.
Her voice was soft and steady, like a mother remembering a song from her own childhood.
When the girl reached for one of the honey candies, she paused and looked at her brother, for both his permission and to also see if he wanted one too. He didn't nod, but he didn't stop her. She placed the candy in her mouth like it was something sacred.
"You don't have to like me," Ilya said, her voice cutting gently through the atmosphere. "But you should eat. You can't fight the world on an empty stomach."
The boy flinched.
"I'm not weak," he said sharply.
"I didn't say you were."
He stood suddenly, fists clenched at his sides. "You think if you act nice, we'll forget everything you did in that room? You killed them all!"
The girl looked at him with worry, her small fingers tightening around the rabbit again.
Ilya finally met his eyes, really met them this time. Her gaze was calm, level and without judgement.
"No," she said. "I don't expect that from you."
That gave him a pause; he thought she was going to say the opposite and deny it all.
"I just want you to stay who you are; you don't have to trust us," she continued. "Even if it means you glare at me for a while longer."
She stood slowly and walked to the table, retrieving a folded blanket. She set it down near the fire, far enough to respect their distance.
"When you're ready for us, we'll be here. Waiting."
Then she turned, walked away from the fire and settled herself near the edge of the room, on the floor against the sofa.
The fire crackled quietly. The girl, now with her brother again, yawned and curled up beside him. The boy that was once standing had eventually sat down, the flickering light casting long shadows across his face.
The fire had burnt lower, casting the room in a soft amber glow when the door creaked open with a clumsy thud.
Roy stumbled through, one arm slung around the shoulders of a half-conscious Kieran, who was mumbling incoherently into the crook of his neck. Snow dusted their coats; it was barely October and it started snowing. Roy's boots left a wet trail across the floor as he dragged them both inside.
"Kiearn, you absolute lightweight," Toy muttered under his breath, half exasperated. "You know you can't handle anything stronger than cider. So what do you do? Order something that smells like varnish and hits like a war hammer.
Kieran groaned, then hiccupped. "You said… only live once…" he slurred.
"I was quoting a bartender, not suggesting you try to outdrink a person who can't drink."
Roy adjusted his grip, nearly dropping Kieran altogether as they passed the threshold. His free hand fumbled behind him to push the door closed.
He kicked it instead.
Ilya stood up from her place by the sofa as they entered, quiet but swift. Her eyes flicked over the both of them; she assessed them and noticed both of them were drunk.
"Welcome home," she said simply.
Kieran lifted his head at the sound of her voice. His eyes barely opened, glassy and red-rimmed. "Il'yaaa," he mumbled with a crooked grin. "You… got more bigger than usual…"
She just accepted his message, as she knew that when Kieran was drunk, whatever popped into his head would be said. She then looked over at Roy.
"Ilya," Roy grunted. "Can you open the door on the left? I'm dumping this idiot in the spare room before he throws up on my jacket."
She nodded, already moving ahead, her bare feet silent against the stone floor. With practised ease, she pushed open the heavy wooden door, revealing a dim, quiet bedroom with a single bed and folded quilt at the foot.
The children have been using it to sleep for the past few days, even though they were wary about everything. Mainly the boy.
Roy stepped through, careful not to knock Kieran's head on the frame, though the thought visibly crossed his mind.
"He's heavier than he looks," Roy muttered.
He eased Kieran down onto the bed, rolling him into a semi-stable position on his side.
Kiearn mumbled something about, "Overthrowing gravity like him," and immediately began snoring.
Roy sighed, straightening his back with a wince. "Next time, I'm bringing a wheelbarrow for this prick."
He returned to find Ilya standing in the doorway, watching quietly.
"Thanks," he said, brushing snow off his sleeves. "Didn't mean to crash in like a mess."
Her expression softened just slightly. "It's not crashing if you belong here."
Roy didn't answer.
But the way his shoulders dropped and the way his gaze lingered on the sleeping Kieran, then the faint firelight beyond, said everything he didn't say.
Ilya caught his eye as he stepped past her. She raised her thumb to her mouth, a silent gesture implying water.
Roy gave a small nod, too tired to speak now.
He walked slowly out into the living room, shrugging off his coat on the way. The fire still crackled low in the hearth. The scent of stew lingered faintly in the air.
The two children were still seated near the fire, the girl now nibbling on a crust of bread as her drowsiness went away when she heard all of the commotion with a blanket on top of them. The scent of stew lingered faintly in the air.
Roy said nothing. He walked past them, past the bowls, and dropped down on the wooden table with a heavy sigh. He rested his forehead on the cool wood and let out a quiet groan, the weight of the evening finally catching up with him.
Footsteps whispered in behind him. Ilya placed a plastic cup of water near his elbow.
He reached for it without lifting his head, murmuring a quiet, "Thanks."
He took a sip, then glanced at her rubbing one eye.
"You look tired. Where are the others?" he asked.
She didn't answer the first question but answered the second. "Marrow went out to eat, as there was nothing really to eat here, so I made stew for the children."
Ilya moved to sit nearby, not too close; her posture relaxed. "Marrow left an hour ago."
Roy made a soft noise of acknowledgement, more grunt than word. "And Thatch?"
"Still in the forge. Said he wasn't coming out until he made something cook."
Roy gave a small snort into his cup. "He's going to blow himself up again."
"He sweats this time; it's safe though."
"He always says that, and he always comes back darker than the night."
A flicker of quiet amusement passed between them. The girl giggled softly, surprising even herself. Roy didn't look up, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Then his fingers tapped the side of the cup, thoughtful now. "What about Lys?"
"She is just chilling inside her room, doing homework."
Roy sighed. "Don't mention that…"
The fire popped. The room softened, and for a moment everything settled. The drunkard who passed out in the next room, the guarded boy watching silently, the tired leader nursing being nursed by a woman with very curly hair.
A fragile, borrowed peace. The kind you don't question in case it vanishes.
Roy took another sip of water, trying not to groan as the chair creaked beneath him. His lower back throbbed due to Kieran's fully grown body slung over his shoulder.
Ilya stood silently for a moment, then rose without a word. She gathered the empty bowls from the children's meal, her movements fluid and precise. The soft clink of the ceramic bowls was the only sound as she turned and disappeared into the kitchen, the beaded curtain rustling gently behind her.
That left just Roy… and the kids together in that living room. He lifted his head slightly.
The boy and girl sat across the room, both staring at him like he was some foreign creature. Not hostile, not afraid of it, but just curious as to what it is going to do. The boy's posture remained guarded, arms slightly tensed as if expecting the need to act. The girl hugged the rabbit plush, her eyes wide but calm like an owl.