The pale moonlight stretched over the horizon as we made our way back to the old house. The horse I carried over my shoulders was easily three times my size, its bulk pressing down on me with every step. Behind me, Kan followed, carrying the little girl's remains bundled in a tightly wrapped piece of cloth. He held the bundle down his right hand, his usual lighthearted gait subdued.
"You still won't tell me how you took that apostle down?" Kan broke the silence, his voice casual as he swung a stick against the low branches we passed. The word 'apostle' hung in the air. There was nothing that could an apostle, those gifted by miracles, could easily wail down a whole army of us in a heartbeat... Yet... Were these just lies made by them? "I already told you, I don't know," I said, shifting the weight of the horse slightly as irritation crept into my voice. "And for the last time, stop doing that."
"Doing what?" Kan asked innocently, tapping another branch with a flick of his wrist.
"That!" I snapped, turning to glare at him.
"Oh, my apologies, Mr. Fun Police," he said with a grin, smacking the stick against the next branch with exaggerated gusto.
I exhaled sharply, gripping the horse tighter. "I swear, if it wasn't for this damn thing..."
The broken house came into view, its crumbling structure casting long shadows in the faint moonlight. Standing in front of the orphanage, Aloray waited, a lantern in one hand and a watering can in the other. His focus was on the small garden near the steps—a patch of color surrounded by makeshift gravestones. The flowers, vibrant and orderly, stood out starkly
"Oh, you're alive..." Aloray glanced up as we approached.
I dropped the horse to the ground with a heavy thud, ignoring the way the impact sent dust spiraling around us. "Why the hell didn't you tell us it was a chansin?" I said, my voice sharp. "I know you knew!"
Aloray didn't flinch. Before he could respond, Nakumi rushed out of the house, her small frame practically bounding down the steps. "Molshiva!" she yelled, grabbing the front of my shirt with both hands.
Kan was quick to step between us, one hand on my arm, his other holding the cloth bundle securely against his side.
"Seriously," Nakumi huffed, glaring up at me, her fists clenched. "You always come back just to stir trouble."
Aloray sighed and spat to the side, his movements deliberate. He reached for the cloth in Kan's hand, taking it gently. "It was a test," he said simply, picking up a shovel from the side of the garden. "To see if you could truly be our mas'va."
"Mas... what?" Kan raised an eyebrow, shifting the stick in his free hand.
"Means hunting master," Kimrol chimed in from the doorframe, her bag slung casually over her back. Her sharp eyes lingered on Aloray for a moment before she shifted her attention to me. "I'll leave you to handle 'em, Aloray. Got work to finish."
She flicked a piece of paper from between her fingers, and it shot through the air like a dart. I caught it an inch from my face, the movement more instinct than thought. By the time I looked up, Kimrol was gone, disappearing into the sky without a sound.
"Tch... flashy," I muttered, stuffing the paper into my pocket.
Kan grinned. "That the bill?"
I nodded as Aloray knelt by the garden, digging a small grave near the gravestones. The shovel's rhythmic scrape against the dirt broke the silence, steady and purposeful. With care, he placed the girl's remains into the freshly dug earth, then threw some seeds above the dirty cloth.
He murmured a blend of human and demon words, the sounds foreign yet melodic. The lantern's light flickered as he worked, throwing shifting shadows over his face.
Kan knelt beside him, his usual humor gone. "Why do you do it this way?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.
"My comrades deserve respect," he said firmly, patting the soil down with the back of the shovel. "Do you not bury your dead?" He didn't look up, and he didn't wait for an answer.
With a final pat of the dirt, Aloray stood, brushing his hands against his pants. His gaze shifted back to us, and a faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Follow me. It's time I showed you Bunker 53."
***
My boots crunched against the dirt, and this horse is getting annoying to move around with. Aloray walked ahead with a lantern, illuminating the forest around, every step was calculated, and we followed behind closely, last thing I wanted was a trap that explodes us.
Kan kept glancing at me, his expression asking questions I wasn't ready to answer. Nakumi trudged between us, gripping Kan's sleeve, as if afraid the darkness will snatch her away.
"So let me get this straight... You made humans and demons live together in that bunker? And nobody tried to kill the other?" I said, moving a branch as I stepped further.
"Yup, we're not mad like them, we didn't have to do some crazy ritual to lose our eyes," he said, raising the lantern a bit as she stopped, and we did, then he turned right. His words hit me like a slap, and before I could stop myself, my hand rose, fingers brushing the empty socket where my right eye should have been. I froze, my breath catching in my throat.
Who am I?
The thought was like a crude knife stabbing in my mind, Kikron's voice slithered into my thoughts.
You are a killer, doesn't this feel a bit too familiar?
I clenched my jaw, forcing my fingers to fall away from my face. No. The words came out like a growl, but it didn't matter. Kikron's voice pressed harder, wrapping itself around my mind.
When the night befalls the butterfly's gaze, and the moon twists in three days. I'll emerge from my deep slumber.
Leave me the fuck alone... You are under my command you piece of shit....
The pull of Kikron's voice faded, but it wasn't gone. He was still there, lurking in my mind. But for now, I had control. For now...
I took a steadying breath, pushing the remnants of Kikron's influence away. When I finally let my hand fall back to my side, I couldn't help but glance at Kan. He didn't seem to notice anything. Nakumi was still clinging to him, her eyes wide and fearful, but she wasn't paying attention to me either.
"Almost there...," Aloray said, his voice cutting through the silence, not looking back.
I scanned the landscape. Nothing but broken stones and twisted trees, and a little hill filled with grass and dead leaves. If this was supposed to impress us, it wasn't working. The cracked stone walls leaned against each other like drunks after a bad fight, and a few rusted beams stuck out of the rubble. Vines crawled up the edges, trying to choke the last breath out of the place.
"This is it?" Kan tilted his head, one brow raised. "Looks like it's ready to give up."
"It's supposed to," Aloray replied, stepping toward the rubble. His hand brushed over the dirt-covered stone like he was greeting an old friend.
I folded my arms, watching. His fingers moved quickly, pinching a drop of blood, then he traced faint lines carved into the stone. Patterns—circles and marks—that looked familiar. His touch was precise, deliberate. Then he pressed down, once, twice, and twisted his hand like he was turning a key. The ground groaned beneath us, a deep rumble that made the air shudder. Kan stepped back, hand on his knife. Nakumi's eyes widened, her grip tightening on Kan's sleeve.
The stone slab in front of Aloray shifted, sliding aside like it weighed nothing. Beneath it, a staircase spiraled into darkness, faint light flickering from below. The air that rose to meet us was cool and damp, carrying the smell of earth and old metal.
"Heh... Displacement magic," I grinned. For what its worth, the boy knew his crafts.
"Still unimpressed?" Aloray asked, glancing at us with a smirk.
Kan opened his mouth to retort, but I stepped forward, peering into the stairwell. "Let's go."
The steps were narrow and smooth, worn down by the years. The faint hum of machinery vibrated through the walls. Nakumi clung to Kan as we descended, her breaths quick but steady, as if a fever has struck her. A place like this brings memories, the subtle echo of our steps reminded me of the times we came back after a hunt where they used me as a bait 8 years ago... When we reached the bottom, the air shifted. It was cooler, alive with sound and motion. I stopped mid-step, my eyes adjusting to the sight before us. A great hatch with the number '53' itched in black worn-out ink, grime and moss grew from corners and cracks. The great hatch opened up. We took a step back. Two kids emerged from the door, both armed with crude weapons—a sharpened spear and a crossbow pieced together from scraps. Their eyes were sharp, their postures defensive.
"It's me," Aloray said, lifting his right hand up, then showing his pinky finger. "They're with me, new recruits."
The two exchanged glances, then stepped aside, letting us pass, One of them muttered a signal—a series of soft clicks that echoed down the corridor.
"Guards?" I asked as we walked.
"You can never be too careful," Aloray replied.
the corridor opened into a great hall leveled by four pillars, its walls and ceiling reinforced with steel plates bolted together in uneven patches, Rows of lanterns placed at different broken light strips cast an old eerie glow, their hum blending with the steady whir of ventilation systems.
"This is the main hall" Aloray said, stepping aside to let us take a look.
The hall was a hive of movement. Children of various ages worked together in clusters, some carrying crates of supplies, others sharpening weapons or sorting materials at makeshift workbenches. The air smelled of metal, sweat, and the faint tang of oil. Around the edges of the hall, several doors led into separate corridors, each marked with painted symbols or crude signs, one door had a sign that said kitchen, with a bad drawing of an oven under it, the communal sign had a table, and the training room had a spear and a sword drawn under it.
"Over there," Aloray gestured to the left, catching our attention, "is the training area. Down that way," he pointed to a far door beside it, "is the fabrication room. The kitchen's on the right, and the communal room's at the back."
Kan craned his neck, trying to take everything in at once. "Just... how many of you are here?"
"Thirty-two," Aloray replied. "Welcome to Bunker 53, house of the abandoned." He continued, with a smug expression.
I whistled low. "Not bad for something that looks like it could collapse any second."
A human girl nearby shot me a glare. She couldn't have been older than thirteen, but the way she held the makeshift spear in her hand made it clear she knew how to use it. Her dark hair was cut short, and her green eyes tracked me like I was a prey.
"Lira, take the horse to the kitchen" Aloray said. Lira didn't reply, she just tightened her grip on the spear, holstered it, and began grabbing the horse by its leg
"Lass you ca-"
she yanked the horse off my back with force, letting it fall on the ground as I almost fell off by the uneven floor. Before I could retaliate she picked up the horse on her back, and walked into the kitchen area. "...What the..." I muttered.
"Charming," Kan said.
"She's earned the right to be," Aloray grinned, talking a walk towards the fabrication room. "Follow me. "
The room smelled of oil and heated metal, its workbenches cluttered with tools and half-finished weapons. Children worked methodically, their hands steady as they pieced together crossbows, blades, and traps from salvaged materials.
But one little moss head caught my gaze, her fingers, tainted by sweat and oil, deftly assembled a bear trap, a little capsule hid under the pressure plate, hard to see. It was a little bag of water, and a little bag of black blood next to it, fuse them together and boom, you get fireworks. The girl didn't look up as we entered, her green eyes fixed on her work.
"That's Keyo," Aloray said.
I stepped closer, inspecting the explosive bear-trap she was assembling.
"You don't talk much, do you?" I asked.
Keyo glanced at me briefly, her shoulders immediately tensed before she returned back to work. As if she was startled by my face... Do I look that scary?
Kan smirked, leaning against the doorway. "Looks like you two would get along."
"Come on, let me show you where that horse went," Aloray said, walking outside.
The kitchen was small but lively, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold concrete of the corridors. Older children tended to bubbling pots and spits, while younger ones carried plates and cleaned dishes, there was at least 5 of them working diligently, their ages couldn't have been lower than 8 and more than 15. The smell of roasting meat filled the air, rich and savory.
Kan sniffed dramatically. "Smells like dinner."
"Smells like horse," I corrected.
Lira appeared from behind a counter, her sleeves rolled up and her face flushed from the heat. She didn't say anything, and brushed quickly through Kan, almost saying 'if you don't move out of my way. I will cook you next.'
"What's her problem...," Kan muttered, stepping aside as she passed with a slight frown.
***
Aloray opened a door that led into a long room lined with rows of bunk beds, their frames cobbled together from salvaged wood and metal. Thin, patched-up mattresses lay atop them, with bundles of blankets and personal belongings tucked neatly at the foot of each bed.
"This is where you'll sleep," Aloray said, looking at us, then back at Nakumi,
A few children were sitting on their bunks, sewing patches onto their clothes or repairing gear. I saw a boy, barely ten, threading a needle through the torn sleeve of his jacket with careful concentration. It really feels like home... We used to sew our clothes after each battle. Wool was scarce, so I used some blood magic. And unsurprisingly, the kids here help each other
"Don't y'all get cold down here?" Kan asked, glancing at the thin blankets.
"We don't complain," Aloray replied. "Complaining doesn't put food in our mouths or keep the Shtiknok Scholars off our backs."
Kan picked up a half-finished carving sitting on one of the bunks—a small wooden figure of what looked like a fox. "Not bad," he said, setting it back down.
"We make do," I muttered, my gaze lingering on the organized chaos of the room. It was a stark reminder of how resourceful desperation could make someone.
One of the children comes to report to Aloray quickly, "Dinner's ready," she says, before Aloray nods.
"Come," he said with a grin, "its dinner's time."
The sound of clinking plates and murmured conversation filled the hall as the children settled into their meal. The air, thick with the smell of roasted horse meat and simmering vegetables, carried an almost comforting warmth. I never saw in my wildest dreams a scene like this before. Humans and demons just at one table. I am surprised these kids didn't try to murder each other by now, or blame the other, or any combination of the two. Kan was in the middle of recounting an exaggerated tale of the hunt, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. The younger kids laughed, their forks paused mid-air as they hung on every word.
"And I tell you, Hiko was toasted," Kan said, leaning forward, "Half his body was munched out, no legs, and half of his side was eaten out"
"psh, that's light work," I interrupted, my voice dry, "I was saving your sorry ass after all."
Kan grinned, tossing a scrap of bread my way. "Details, details."
The children burst into laughter, and for a brief moment, I could see our bunker 8 years ago... It felt all so familiar, the laughs, the noise, the smell of a good hunt. Kan's eyes wandered to a corner of the room, where a pile of different broken equipment and trash in boxes. His expression shifted—just a flicker of something unguarded—and then he stood.
"Oh, what's this?" He asked, pulling a dusty acoustic guitar from the clutter. Its wood was battered, the varnish chipped, but it was intact. His fingers brushed over the strings, testing them. The sound that emerged was thin but familiar. Good enough.
"Didn't know you could play," Aloray said.
Kan shrugged, his grin sliding back into place. "Well, it's been a while. Let's see if I remember how."
He sat back down, cradling the guitar with a care that didn't quite match his usual bravado. His fingers worked the tuning pegs, tightening the strings until they hummed softly. The children watched in silence, their plates momentarily forgotten.
Kan strummed a few chords, his movements hesitant at first, then more assured. The sound filled the hall, weaving its way between the cracks in the walls and the spaces between breaths. It wasn't perfect, and it didn't need to be.
"Thought you were going to lighten the mood," I muttered, leaning back in my chair.
"Patience, oh wise one," Kan sarcastically replied with a smirk, though his gaze stayed fixed on the guitar. He plucked a few more notes, settling into a melody.
His fingers moved over the strings, tentative at first, plucking out a melody that seemed to pull the air taut around us. The instrument wasn't perfect, but it didn't matter. The sound was raw, unpolished, and carried with it something deeper than words could reach.
And then he began to sing.
[Verse 1]
Down these concrete steps we go
Where the lights flicker dim and low
Mother clutched our photographs so tight
As sirens pierce the dying light
In this basement made of fear
We count the footsteps drawing near
Kan's voice was steady, but there was a weight behind it that made the words linger in the air, thick and heavy. The children sat frozen, their plates untouched, as if afraid any movement might break the spell of his voice. Nakumi leaned forward, her crimson eyes fixed on Kan, her small hands gripping the edge of the table like she was trying to hold herself together.
Kan's fingers moved with a careful precision, working the chords on the guitar like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. He didn't look at anyone, didn't need to.
[Chorus]
And we wait, and we wait
While the world above disintegrates
Paper flowers on the wall
Watch us as the empires fall
Oh, my love, don't let go
Of the stories that we used to know
It wasn't noticeable at first, but I could feel it, like a slight crack in a foundation, something fragile fighting not to break. Kan's hands faltered for a moment, but then he steadied himself, pulling the melody back together.
[Verse 2]
Yesterday's bread has turned to stone
Names are carved in walls of bone
Little sister counts to ten
Praying we'll see sky again
Through the cracks, the dust seeps in
Covering all that we have been
Kan's head lowered slightly as he played, his silver hair casting a shadow over his face. His breath grew shallow, the words a little harder to get out.
Aloray folded his arms as his green eyes were focused on Kan, he was mesmerized, I could feel the weight of the kids gazes as they look at each other a bit, before looking back at Kan. His voice softened again as he moved into the chorus once more.
[Chorus]
And we wait, and we wait
While the world above disintegrates
Paper flowers on the wall
Watch us as the empires fall
Oh, my love, don't let go
Of the stories that we used to know
This time, it was different. As Kan reached the chorus, a tear slipped down his cheek, catching the dim light from the lanterns above. He didn't falter in the song, didn't miss a beat, but I saw it, and he knew.
[Bridge]
Remember how we danced in spring?
Before the birds forgot to sing
Before they turned our homes to ash
Before our neighbors' final gasp
Now we whisper lullabies
To keep the screaming from our minds
[Verse 3]
And we wait, and we danced,
In spring, before the birds forgot to sing
Before they turned our homes to ash
Before our neighbors' final gasp
Maybe somewhere seeds still grow
Above this tomb we've come to know
[Outro]
And if we make it through this night
If morning breaks with gentle light
I'll plant a garden in your name
Where concrete flowers bloom again
Where concrete flowers bloom again
Where concrete flowers bloom again
The last note hung in the air like a breath held too long, trembling before it finally faded into silence. Kan lowered the guitar, his fingers resting lightly on the strings, his head still bowed. For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't speak. He just let the quiet stretch between us.
"Well," he said after a beat, his voice hoarse. "Guess I'm not as rusty as I thought."
The children murmured their approval, though the applause was subdued. Their smiles were softer, but the weight of the song still lingered.
"You wrote that?" Lira asked, raising an eyebrow.
Kan shrugged, his usual smile befell his face, his hand brushing the worn frame of the guitar. "Just something I came up with a long time ago haha."
But I could see it in his eyes, the way they flicked toward me. That song wasn't just some memory. It was a wound he hadn't touched in years, one that was still open.
Nakumi tilted her head, her voice soft. "Sad...," she pouts, as she looks up at me with a frown.
Kan left the guitar aside, as he walks by her letting out a dry laugh, ruffling her hair in an awkward attempt to deflect. "Life's sad, kid. Best thing you can do is sing through it."
He leaned back in his chair as if everything had gone back to normal. But I saw the way his hands trembled, the way his thumb traced invisible chords against the edge of the table.
The song, the tear, the hollow smile... Kan never got past Bunker 21. And for if there is anything I am afraid of... It would be that he knows the truth behind before that incident...