⚠️ WARNING ⚠️The following content may mention events tied toWorld War II 🕯️, including references to theJewish Holocaust, as well as situations involvingpost-traumatic stress 🧠💥. The author does not intendto create shock value or trivialize these topics.Everything here is fiction 📘. Reader discretionis advised 👀.
✍️ AUTHOR'S NOTE ✍️Guys, sorry for barely posting anything these lasttwo weeks 😅📉. I was dying with exams 📝🔥, but Ifinally finished the semester 🙌✨. I pulled theclassic "save everything in one week" move 🎯⏳ andthen just waited for my grades like it was a seasonfinale 💣👀.Thanks for your patience 🙏💛. From now on I'll postchapters more often 🚀✨… at least until the nextsemester starts in March 📅😎.
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A soft voice rose in the dim light of memory,
sparking a faint glow in the middle of the dark.
They were fragments of the past — the kind that
awaken when a mother's love crosses time and
returns as the same lullaby sung before sleep.
In fields of flowers,
in fields of clouds,
in fields of suns,
in fields of love…
In cherished fields,
in bunny fields,
in children's fields —
there you are.
Sleep, my little one,
sleep, my tiny light.
My heart,
let's go to those fields…
Danaé
opened her eyes, waking with that sharp
pain only old memories can bring.
The echo of the forgotten song tightened her
chest, and for a moment she struggled to breathe.
She sat up slowly. As she moved, the burn from the
lesions left by the lightning flared again.
Getting dressed without pain felt like touching
open wounds. Every piece of clothing brushed
against tender spots, and still, she clenched
her teeth and stayed silent.
When she finally stood up, she slipped on her
shoes with painful clumsiness and headed
down the stairs.
In the kitchen, Nuriel and Adelaida were busy
preparing her meal, grinding everything with
care, following the special diet she needed.
When they saw her walk in on her own, they froze.
They hadn't expected to see her standing, awake,
or even dressed. They were about to bring her
the mash upstairs.
But Danaé, as if nothing had happened, simply
said, "Good morning, guys. What's for breakfast?
I want bread with jam."
Danaé wasn't a resentful girl.
When she looked at Nuriel during breakfast,
the only thing she said was, "So you can use
lightning, huh? Well… I'm surprised. Oh my God,
I can't believe I'm saying this, but my chest
hurts because of you."
She made her way to the table slowly, her stiff
steps revealing the echo of the impact still
vibrating through her body.
She sat down carefully, let out a long breath,
and spread jam on the bread Adelaida had just
prepared, its sweet smell clashing with the
tension thickening the room.
The silence at the table mirrored Adelaida's
contained fury — an air so heavy it made even
breakfast uncomfortable.
"Look, Adelaida, I know you're mad at Nuriel,
but I'm going to ask you not to keep acting like
that, okay? I'm not hurt… it just stung really bad.
I'm fine now, so don't make that face."
Adelaida nodded quietly.
"All right, Danaé," she replied calmly.
Danaé finished eating fast and stood up with a
fake burst of energy, like her body was still
complaining on the inside.
"All right, all right… I'm going to check my cacao crops.
Honestly, I completely forgot about them, and you know
I can't live without chocolate. So you two stay here,
okay?"
"See you later, Nuriel. See you later, Adelaida."
But a faint worry slipped into her voice, something even
the forest air — fresh and vivid — couldn't quite hide.
She didn't hold a grudge, but her heart still ached,
as if the wound ran deeper than any physical blow.
Yet she didn't head to the cacao fields.
Instead, she walked south, dragging thoughts she
didn't want to face, toward the lake ringed with
flowers, where the water shimmered softly, as if
nothing in the world could hurt her.
She wanted to bathe, unwind, laugh, loosen up a bit,
and let the breeze clear her mind.
But she couldn't.
"Why do I feel so alone?" she thought.
It was perhaps the first time she had ever
tasted true loneliness.
Meanwhile, back at the cabin, the silence Danaé
left behind felt heavy, almost uncomfortable.
Nuriel slipped on his work cap with an automatic
gesture, like someone trying to stay busy to avoid
thinking too much.
"All right, I have to work, Adelaida. I'm heading
out. Thanks for the food."
"Wait," she said, "I'm coming with you. I don't want
to stay here washing dishes. It's not fun anymore…
I'm bored. I read all the books, and now I don't
know what to do."
She crossed her arms and let out a long sigh — the
kind born when loneliness tightens its grip.
With a sad smile, she added, "When you're with
someone, even the ordinary feels easier. But ever
since Kamei-san and Jack left… I didn't think
it would hit me this hard."
Her eyes dropped for a moment, as if she were searching
the ground for the right words.
"And, honestly, I never imagined I'd miss Kamei-san.
I guess it's time to spend time with you, don't you think?"
Nuriel smiled faintly, a subtle but genuine expression,
as if that small gesture eased a weight he also carried.
"Then come on. Let's go. I'll give you a cap too."
They both stepped out toward the workshop, the fresh air
hitting their faces, and picked up the tools: two axes
and a sharp machete.
The forest greeted them with the smell of wet earth
and living wood.
Nuriel started felling the first tree, right next to
the cabin. He tied a rope leading toward the hill,
making sure it would fall in that direction.
One firm, precise cut, and the tree gave way with a
deep crack. The thud reverberated through the ground,
and the trunk lay at the foot of the hill.
But something strange happened.
The cut's scar began to cover itself with new bark,
as if it were healing on its own, as if the forest
responded to the damage with impossible speed.
"That tree will grow back in two weeks," he said.
"All right," Adelaida replied. "I'll take the machete.
Let's cut the branches first."
And so, under the relentless sun, the rhythm of their
tools marked the passage of time.
Amidst the dry thuds and the scent of fresh sap,
Adelaida thought silently:
"I'm still upset with him for what he did to Danaé,
but I know Nuriel, and I know he wouldn't do it
maliciously."
"What keeps him so restless?"
"When it comes to Nuriel, I only talk about life,
about how our parents used to entertain us.
We never touched other topics."
"He likes books, the absurd theories he shared
when we were young… but nothing else."
She glanced at Nuriel, a mix of tenderness and doubt.
"I think it's time to ask him. I really am his sister now."
"Several years have passed since back then.
Maybe that's the cause of his unrest,"
thought Adelaida, as Nuriel continued cutting,
almost crying by habit with every swing of the axe.
The sound of falling branches blended with the wind,
until she finally spoke.
"Nuriel, this might make you uncomfortable,"
she said.
The young man paused for a moment.
With a tired voice, he answered,
"Well, yes, it might make me uncomfortable.
But uncomfortable questions help you think about
what to do next. Tell me, are you tired from work?"
"No," Adelaida shook her head. "It's not that.
It's about you."
Nuriel froze, axe suspended. He barely turned
his face, bewildered.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
She inhaled deeply. Her voice was steady, though
careful.
"Nuriel, I've only known you since we left
Buchenwald. I don't know anything about you,
or your parents, or how you got there,
though I know your origin is Jewish."
The silence that followed weighed heavily.
Nuriel stared at her and murmured,
"Why do you want to know that?"
"Because I think it's time to understand you.
Talking about what happened could heal your soul,
free what you don't let yourself feel.
Don't you think so?"
Nuriel's response was immediate, sharp as a slash from
his axe.
"You don't need to know any of that, Adelaida.
Neither you nor Danaé. You don't need to know
what your people did, or what they did to us."
She stepped back, but didn't retreat completely.
"Well, I know a few things," she admitted, "what
Dr. Wilhelm told me… just fragments. But I can
bear it. Please, don't you want to tell me how you
ended up in Auschwitz?"
The axe dropped to the ground.
Nuriel's eyes hardened.
"Don't ever mention that name again. I swear,
Adelaida, you can blame me all you want in
front of Danaé, but that has nothing to do with it."
His voice grew almost into a roar:
"One thing doesn't relate to the other. And don't
ever mention the Gate of Hell again. Got it?"
Adelaida stayed still, her heart hammering
in her chest.
Then she put the machete down.
"All right, Nuriel. I'll step back."
The young man clenched his fists.
His breathing came heavy, angry.
"Adelaida," she said softly, "I told you long
ago: I don't want to be a savior, nor pretend
to redeem myself for what my people did."
Her eyes welled up, but her voice did not shake.
"Here, there are no peoples or ideologies.
It's just you and me. And it hurts that you don't
trust me, that you don't think I also deserve
to know the truth."
Nuriel snorted sharply, like a bull holding back
its fury. He let himself fall onto a freshly cut log
and lowered his gaze.
"Do you really want to know how I got there?" he asked.
His voice came out rough, as if dragged from somewhere far away.
"Do you really want to know, Adelaida? That badly?"
He lifted his gaze with a half‑bitter smile, almost boyish,
like someone joking so they won't break.
"You're so dramatic sometimes…" he muttered.
Adelaida watched him with anguish.
"I want to understand you," she said, her voice trembling.
"This time I really want to. We finally have the chance…
Kamei‑san and Jack aren't here, and Dánae is who knows where.
I don't even know where that cacao field she mentions is."
"But please, tell me… I want to know who my brother was,
and where he came from."
Nuriel stared at her without blinking,
as if measuring how much remembering would hurt.
Then he spoke, calmer now:
"Sit down, Adelaida. What I'm about to tell you…
covers five years of my life before I met you.
If my memory doesn't fail me."
She nodded, and he began, taking a deep breath:
"I lived in Poland with my father.
He was a banker, and my mother worked at the local library.
I had two twin sisters.
One day, out of nowhere, they told us we were filth.
Garbage to Europe."
"And they dragged us to a corner of the city,
where they packed whole families into a single block.
I shared a room with more than twenty people.
My father was almost never around.
He said he did whatever was needed so we could eat."
"I never knew where he got the money…
and I never asked."
"My mother didn't eat.
My father didn't either.
The only ones who ate were my sisters and me.
And that went on for almost two years.
I don't know exactly how long."
"I only remember the hunger."
His gaze drifted away, as if seeing another child in his place.
"Kids fought over a piece of bread.
Adults yelled at us if we had a bowl of soup.
We hid potatoes inside our coats.
There were people who killed for a potato."
They confined an entire people there,
your nation, Adelaida… the German nation.
They locked almost all of Poland in ghettos.
We were in the Warsaw ghetto.
Some were sent elsewhere, though we only heard rumors.
One day my father came with some papers.
He was excited. He said we were going to work in a factory.
And we did, for a few months.
That's when we started hearing things.
Rumors that Warsaw was being moved to a place called Treblinka.
I heard it in a conversation between my mother and father:
they said we would be sent to work.
Some doubted we would really work for the Nazi government.
Others swore we would be sent to build new cities
with our own labor. No one knew the truth.
And now I understand what "working" really meant.
I never saw Treblinka.
I only heard about other camps scattered across
Poland and Germany.
But soon, everything changed.
We had a life, at least a stable one.
We were no longer beaten.
We worked for the German army.
Until one day, without any warning, it ended.
We were ordered onto a train.
They said we were going to another place.
They took us, without explanation, to what you know
as Auschwitz. The entrance read:
"Work will set you free."
Now I know what it really meant.
It was a lie, Adelaida.
I watched carefully as they moved me to Germany,
and all I could think was:
"Yes, work was going to set us free."
Because technically, it was…
the only way to escape that cursed place.
I was there, and I survived thanks to many people.
A lady selling cigarettes.
Several mothers hiding their daughters
under the stools.
An old man who needed poetry.
And above all, because my father
was the only one trying to help me.
He smuggled food to me —or so they said.
A woman swore he did, yet that food almost never reached me.
I don't know… I don't know… I don't know…
Only crumbs ever got to me.
They killed the old man.
They killed the woman too.
The women who slipped me bread or a bit of water
were found dead the next morning.
I don't know what was wrong with the soldiers,
but they killed them for no reason at all.
"Don't think their shots were simple, Adelaida,"
Nuriel said. "Their bodies fell like they were just meat.
Nothing more. No one protested. No one did anything."
The only thing you could expect in that place
was death. There was no other way out.
They tried to fool me.
They said that if we held on a little longer,
we would achieve something.
But we couldn't.
We simply couldn't.
"What do you think, Adelaida?
That the soldiers killed them just like that?"
They whipped them. They stomped on them.
They dragged them to ditches.
They shot them in the neck.
They killed us with dogs.
They hung us like we were cockroaches.
And even then… we were stupid enough to believe
life was still worth living in that hell.
After a long time, I worked on a walkway.
That's where I met a French girl
named Élodie.
That was the moment Adelaida paid attention.
She had heard that name before,
but it was the first time Nuriel mentioned it.
"Élodie was… she was the woman I loved.
I loved her.
I loved her with all my heart.
I was a stupid fourteen-year-old, maybe,
but my love for her was real."
"Okay?" Nuriel said, his voice trembling.
"She was twenty‑one, but that didn't matter.
I got into the medical block because of her.
Élodie saved my life."
"If I had kept working outside,
I wouldn't have lasted another month.
I survived because of my Italian and Polish features."
"Despite the hatred toward the Germans, my height kept me
out of the gas chambers. That's right, Adelaida. The gas chambers.
I'll tell you again: Zyklon B. That filth killed almost all of my people.
And not just us. They killed Italians, Poles, French, English."
"Do you want to know what it was like?" Nuriel whispered.
"I was close to one. It was a chamber where they threw
compressed powder, killing everyone as if they were pressure cookers.
A silent death, no screams, no fire. Just the sound of
metal closing over the soul. You could hear people dying.
And they didn't die fast, Adelaida. They died slow. Very slow."
"I was in the medical block. There were only aberrations there.
Shadows of what people once were. That's when I learned
my sisters had been taken there. And my mother too.
They didn't take me because… I don't know. You understand?
I don't know. I don't even know how they selected them."
Nuriel began panting. His voice broke between anger
and relief. And suddenly he shouted, as if the air itself
betrayed him:
"I thought the Germans had hearts… but it's not true!
It's not true!"
They raped Élodie.
They took her to the warehouses every day.
They violated her as if she were an object.
She didn't ask for that. She was just a student.
A girl brought into that hell simply because they wanted to.
They saw her with "impure" features,
and that was enough.
The same happened to Dr. Weill.
They were innocent people, Adelaida.
They only worked in a clinic.
They taught me everything:
to sew, to stay silent,
to understand what was "important."
Adelaida watched him, stunned.
It was the first time she had seen Nuriel so furious.
The forest seemed to react to his rage.
The sun began to fade.
The clouds darkened,
as if nature itself was listening to his pain.
The undergrowth lost its color, turning a dark green, almost rotten.
Then Nuriel kept talking, his voice rougher than before.
"You don't know what happened to all of them, Adelaida.
You don't know. You don't know.
All those people died for nothing.
They made us work without rest.
Nothing was ever enough for you."
"For your people," he said bitterly.
"People like your father.
People wearing that same uniform."
"They whipped us, they shot us,
they didn't even spare the children.
You judged Galton so much, didn't you?
Remember? The idiot we carried
across Greenland."
"Let me tell you something," Nuriel roared.
Galton is a thousand times better
than every German in Auschwitz.
At least he showed some mercy.
Those Germans didn't."
"They looked at us like rats.
They had no compassion, not even for girls.
None, Adelaida."
"They were potwory… cholerni potwory," he spat.
"They slaughtered us all.
And the worst… the worst of all," he murmured,
"is that Élodie didn't even get
a final bullet. Not even that."
"For them, that was 'dignified.'
But no. It wasn't enough."
"Élodie… according to Dr. Weill,
this time she resisted.
She tried to refuse that man.
And… she… was dragged
by her hair into the yard."
"I was by the window, sorting supplies.
We could see everything.
We saw her fight.
Try to break free. She couldn't.
She couldn't."
"She ended up on her knees.
Waiting.
She already knew what was coming.
She waited for the bullet.
But she wasn't that lucky."
"No sé kto był tym nieszczęsnym gnojem
(quién fue el infeliz)… that damned bastard…
ten cholerny skurwysyn…"
Nuriel clenched his teeth, shaking.
Adelaida watched him, afraid to even blink.
"Nie mam pojęcia, który skurwysyn wpadł
na pomysł, żeby przyprowadzić psy.
(No tengo idea de quién fue el hijo de puta
que pensó en traer perros)… to eat her alive."
"Élodie nie umarła w godzinę… ani w dwie.
Krwawiła całą popołudniową ciszę,
jakby jej życie wyciekało razem
z ostatnim światłem dnia."
"Jej ciało leżało tam, porzucone, zimne,
jak coś, co już nie należy do świata.
Nikt jej nie pochował. Nikt nawet nie drgnął."
"Przyszedł tylko ten, który zbierał ciała,
i przeciągnął ją jak kawałek szmaty
na stertę zwęglonych zwłok…
na kupę niczego, na popiół wspomnień."
"Ona nie miała nikogo. Jej matka już była martwa.
Jej ojciec też.
Została sama… zupełnie sama."
Élodie didn't die in an hour, nor in two.
It took the whole afternoon for her
to bleed out. Her body was left there,
discarded. No one buried her. No one
moved a finger.
Only the man who collected bodies
showed up, dragging her away toward
a pile of corpses. Charred bodies.
Heaps of nothing. She had no one.
Her mother was already dead.
Nuriel tried to breathe. He was losing
the strength to stay on his feet.
Her father had died too. The only one
she had left was Dr. Weill. And all
she ever wanted was to be a nurse.
She had no idea how she ended up
in that hell. "I used to be someone
normal, Adelaida. I had a family, a
home, furniture… I don't know when
they started saying we weren't people."
"I don't understand what happened.
My whole life collapsed. And Dr.
Weill knew it. He wanted to save me.
He told me Buchenwald was my
only chance."
"He didn't want to see me in
Auschwitz. I understood when he
said: 'I don't want to see you in
this place ever again'." Months later,
a recommendation letter sent me there.
I stayed in Buchenwald only a few
months. They assigned me as medical
support. I don't know what I did to end
up later in the weapons block. Nuriel
clenched his fists.
"I don't know where they planned to
send me. It was something called
'Dora' or whatever." That was when
Galton got me out of there. And that
was when I met you.
"The only thing I asked for was
to die." Adelaida looked at him
in silence. She hadn't expected
that reaction. She hadn't expected
so much rage held in.
Nuriel's fingers were blackened.
His eyes were sunken, his gaze
lost. He stared at the horizon and
murmured: "I don't hate you,
Adelaida."
"You're the first German I ever
met. Because those people, the ones
from the camps… they weren't
people. They were demons.
Demons in uniform."
"And you know what's worse?"
"The worst part of Auschwitz
wasn't dying. I think dying was
actually the best thing."
"The worst part was believing
you could leave."
"Having that rotten hope.
That disgusting hope."
"The only way to leave
Auschwitz was by dying."
Nuriel lifted his gaze.
"So, yes, Adelaida…
I don't know what they told you about the camps.
But listen."
"The camps were the Tartar festival.
They killed us for fun. For hunger. For cold.
They played with us. And all of Europe…
did nothing. Nothing, Adelaida.
They just watched the show. A circus built
with bodies. An infernal performance."
"And the worst part?
Then they come and tell me I'm chosen.
Me? Really? And all those people…
didn't matter? No one else was worthy?
Why didn't God do anything for my father,
my mother, my sisters? He let us die.
He didn't stop the hatred. Didn't lift a finger.
Nothing."
Nuriel looked at Adelaida and said,
"You don't know how much I hate the Germans.
You don't know how much I hate your people.
You have no idea how much I hate them."
"Only you… You're the only one I don't hate.
I don't even see you as German.
I see you as my sister. And your family too."
"But Germany…"
Nuriel started walking toward the cabin,
and whispered, as if closing a cycle:
"Your people… you have no idea how much I wish
for their deaths."
Nuriel walked in the direction of the cabin.
Adelaida couldn't think. She didn't know
how to react. She was speechless.
Only one memory came to mind:
the time her father had returned temporarily
for a holiday. He wanted to spend time with his daughters
before the war began.
Then Adelaida had asked,
"Dad?"
"What's wrong, little one?"
"Why do we have to drive these people out?
Why do we have to expel the Jews?
I mean… I don't know… are they bad?"
Her father answered calmly,
"No, little one. They're bad. They're the scum of Germany.
These people have no class, no respect, nothing."
"They're the problem of this country.
But thanks to what we do, we'll finally
get them out of here."
"And we'll be able to expel all the Jews from Europe.
Or at least, that's the idea."
"But that's just a concept.
First, we have to get them out of Germany."
"Although honestly, I believe we can.
That trash will be gone soon."
Adelaida let the tears fall as she remembered
her father's words. And he had only added,
"Everything is for your good, my little girls.
All of this is for your good."
Adelaida brought a hand to her mouth
and whispered, "It's not true… Dad…
don't tell me you really said that.
Don't tell me that…"
She covered her mouth with her hand, trembling.
"No, Dad… don't tell me that…
How many people did you kill?"
Adelaida stayed alone, leaning against the trunk.
The silence of the forest wrapped around her.
Meanwhile, Dánae was by the lake.
Her mind drifted as she played with a stone.
"My God… God, can you hear me?
I think you're the only one I can talk to.
Please… let Jack and Kamei-san be safe."
"Bring them back safely, please…
And I ask you… I ask you…
don't make me miss them so much.
Amen."
When Dánae finished her prayer,
she looked up at the sky and whispered,
"I wonder… what heaven is like.
I wonder if my parents are there."