The street twisted beneath him like a riverbed carved by centuries of silent feet. Cobblestones slick with last night's rain. Flower boxes drooped over wrought-iron balconies, half-dead blooms curling inwards like they'd given up too. The sky above was all pewter – no sun, just a flat, leaden lid pressing down on the city.

Dan walked alone.

No armour. No insignia. Certainly, no golden halo. Just a grey coat and his breath in the cold air.

It looked peaceful.

Too peaceful.

At first, he thought it was just him. His presence. A stranger on the wrong block. But the pattern held. Every person he passed – old men smoking in silence, women returning from market, couples with unreadable faces – all glanced at him once, then looked away too quickly. Like they'd been trained not to see.

He tried. Twice. Then five times.

Simple questions. "Excuse me," and "Can I ask—" and "I'm looking for someone who—"

Every answer was a retreat. Doors clicked shut. Feet shuffled faster. A curtain twitched once, then froze like it had never moved.

Dan stood beneath a crooked drainpipe and rubbed his temple.

The air stank faintly of wet stone and bleach.

Then he saw it – the statue.

Gold. Too gold. Too new.

It stood at the corner of the street like a god pretending to be human. King Tomas in perfect sculpted robes, a hand outstretched in welcome. A smile that didn't reach the eyes. Not even in stone.

Dan stepped closer. Read the plaque at the base.

In beauty, we are chosen.

His jaw tightened.

He almost turned around.

Almost.

But then – there it was. Barely a sound. A child's cry, thin as thread, cutting through the cold. Faint. High. Real.

He turned down the alley without hesitation.

Nothing. Just damp brick and locked shutters. But the sound clung to him. Like it had passed through him instead of past him.

Dan stood still for a long moment.

There were no children playing.

No chalk marks on the pavement. No teens talking in corners. No laughter. None of the background noise that cities usually wore like perfume.

He walked slower now. Watching. Listening.

That was when he saw the woman.

She was sitting on the steps of a ground-floor apartment, arms folded tight around herself. A scarf covered most of her face, and her shoulders hunched like someone preparing for the worst.

Dan slowed. Paused.

She looked up. Met his eyes.

Her first instinct was to look away.

But she didn't.

Her second was to run.

But she didn't do that either.

Instead, she stood. Unsteady. One hand shaking. The other already reaching back toward the door.

Dan took a slow step forward, his voice low and careful.

"Ma'am. I heard something. A child. Are you alright?"

The woman's lips pressed into a line. Her jaw worked.

Then, finally, she opened the door.

No words.

Just a flick of her wrist – a gesture inward.

Dan moved quickly but gently, ducking inside.

The flat was sparse. Curtains drawn tight. Floor swept, corners clean. The kind of clean that meant fear, not pride.

He saw the girl on the couch instantly – crumpled in pain, her breathing too fast, her cheeks flushed with heat.

Dan knelt beside her, pressed two fingers lightly to her forehead.

"She's burning up," he whispered.

The girl moaned, shifting.

He peeled back the edge of the blanket. That's when he saw the bite – red, angry, low on the ankle. Human-sized. But twisted. Off.

Behind him, the woman closed the door. Three heavy bolts slid into place.

Dan didn't look up.

"I can help," he said softly.

No threat. No promise. Just the truth.

…………………

"Please—"

The mother's voice came sharp and cracked. "Please, get out."

She stood with her back to the door, blocking it with her body, arms stretched behind her as though bracing it shut. Her eyes were wide, white-rimmed. Not afraid of him – not exactly – but of what he might bring.

Dan didn't move forward. He didn't raise his voice. He simply crouched, lowering himself until he was no taller than her daughter, who writhed weakly on the couch behind her.

"I'm not here to report anyone," he said gently.

The woman didn't reply. Her breathing came shallow, ragged. Her hand stayed tight on the doorknob for a moment longer before she slowly pulled it back. The silence between them was loaded, brittle. Then, without speaking, she turned and crossed the tiny flat to kneel at the girl's side.

The room was sparse – an old kettle on the stove, a single photo frame face-down on the shelf. Everything else was practical. Curtains drawn. The air stale.

Three locks clicked behind them.

Dan moved toward the couch and knelt beside the girl. She couldn't have been older than six. Her skin was flushed red and slick with fever sweat. She whimpered, curled in on herself, her ankle swollen and bruised.

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Dan peeled back the tattered fabric of her pants, revealing the bite – jagged, deep, and ringed with angry red lines. It pulsed with infection. The shape was wrong. Too wide. The teeth spacing… almost human. But warped. Like something pretending to be.

"She's burning," he murmured. "And this—" He looked up. "What happened?"

The mother clutched the girl's hand, shaking her head. "Please. Just help her."

That was all.

Dan nodded once.

He slipped off his right glove and placed his bare palm over the girl's ankle. His other hand rested lightly on her chest, just enough to feel her rapid heartbeat.

A soft, golden light bloomed from his skin. Not a flare – a pulse, slow and warm, like a heartbeat made visible. The glow sank into the girl's leg, and Dan closed his eyes, guiding the healing gently, matching it to her rhythm.

The wound began to knit. The angry red flushed out. Her breathing slowed.

The girl whimpered once, then sighed.

Dan exhaled.

When he opened his eyes, the woman was staring.

Not in awe. In horror.

Her lips trembled, parted in silent shock. One hand crept to her throat like it might strangle the scream before it could escape. The mug in her other hand shook violently – hot tea spilling down her wrist, unnoticed.

"You… you're one of them," she whispered, voice barely more than breath. "An Enforcer. No, worse. You're… chosen."

Dan didn't speak. He let the silence do its work – softening the space between them.

But she backed away anyway, stumbling against the table. Her knees buckled. She dropped to the floor, hands open in supplication, tears brimming now. Her voice cracked.

"Please. Just take me."

Her eyes flicked to the girl – the now-sleeping Katerina – curled into the couch, her breath no longer ragged.

"Take me, not her. I'll go. I won't resist. Just… not my daughter."

Dan's throat tightened. He moved slowly, lowering himself to one knee beside her – not imposing, not towering.

"I'm not here to take anyone," he said, voice low, even.

She blinked, like the words didn't register. Then again. Her lip quivered.

"You healed her," she said.

Dan nodded.

"You touched her with light."

"I saved her."

"That's what they do too. Before they take someone. Before they're… chosen."

Dan's chest ached.

"No," he said gently. "They don't save anyone. Not really. I'm not one of them."

The woman watched him for a moment longer, still crouched, hands trembling. She seemed to be waiting for something – a signal, a command, a silent verdict only monsters could hear.

When it didn't come, she sagged. Her body collapsed into the chair, every muscle unwinding like a cord finally severed. Her hand clutched her daughter's blanket. Just to feel it. Just to prove Katerina was still here.

Her tears fell then. Quiet. Exhausted.

A moment later, she whispered, "Do you want tea?"

Dan nodded. "Please."

She moved slowly toward the kettle while Dan tucked the girl in with the threadbare blanket.

When she returned, she handed him a chipped mug – hands still trembling. She sat across from him at the small table, elbows on her knees, watching the girl breathe.

He sipped the tea – bitter, over-steeped, real.

He let the silence settle.

Then: "I'll leave soon," he said. "But before I do… I need to understand."

He looked her in the eyes. Calm. Steady.

"What's really happening in this city?"

…………………

The kettle hissed softly in the corner, steam curling against the frost-bitten window. It was the only sound in the room besides the low, careful clink of ceramic as Anna placed two chipped mugs on the table.

She sat down slowly, like her bones still hadn't decided if they trusted him.

Her hands hovered near the mug but didn't touch it. Her fingers trembled.

"They'll come," she said. Not loud. Not afraid. Just certain. "If they saw you. Or smelled it."

Dan raised an eyebrow. "Smelled?"

She glanced up. Her eyes were dry now, but the sorrow hadn't left.

"The power," she whispered. "That kind of warmth. They hate it. I don't know why."

Dan's brow furrowed. "They can't detect my healing unless they were in the same room. Unless something's changed."

She didn't argue. She just stared at the kettle like it might scream next.

"I don't know who they are," she said finally. "The Enforcers, maybe. Or… something behind them. Something worse."

Dan didn't push. He let her speak.

"They don't come for the strong," she said. "Not always. Not just fighters or rebels. They come for the beautiful ones. The strange ones. Virgins. Twins. Anyone that feels… different."

Her hand moved to her daughter's head. She brushed Katerina's dark hair back from her damp forehead. Her fingers lingered there a second longer than necessary.

"She hums in her sleep," Anna said. "Like a song she doesn't know the words to. I think they noticed."

Dan's heart gave a slow, deep ache. He kept his voice gentle.

"Twins."

Anna looked up sharply. Her lips parted, but no sound came.

Dan nodded.

He didn't explain it. He didn't need to. The word hung between them like a sealed verdict.

Anna studied him now – not with fear, not with suspicion, but something closer to understanding. Or pity.

"My name is Anna," she said quietly. "And you?"

He hesitated just a moment.

"Daniel," he said. "Dan."

A pause.

"I'm here to find my brother."

Her eyes softened.

"Then I hope," she whispered, "he's not beautiful."

…………………

The room had dimmed without anyone noticing. Shadows climbed the corners. The kettle had stopped hissing, but neither of them reached for the tea again. The warmth had gone.

Anna sat with her arms around Katerina, the girl's head nestled against her chest, breathing soft and steady now. The fever had broken. The silence had not.

Dan didn't speak until Anna did.

"One of the girls from this block… disappeared two nights ago."

He didn't move. Just waited.

Anna stared down at the sleeping child. "She lived upstairs. Name was Eliška. Seventeen. Maybe eighteen. Too pretty for her own good. Always wore yellow. Like she didn't know this place had rules."

Dan's chest tightened. "What happened?"

"No one knows," Anna said. "No noise. No visit. Just… gone. Her mother found the apartment door open."

Dan frowned. "No blood?"

Anna shook her head.

He was about to ask more when she added, "There was another. From the next building. A boy, actually. Soft eyes. Heterochromia. One blue, one gold. His father said he was 'too bright.' That's what they say sometimes. Too bright."

Dan felt the nausea creep in. Not fear. Not panic.

Disgust.

"This isn't enforcement," he said slowly. "It's ritual. Selection."

Anna nodded once. Her voice was hushed.

"They call it a tribute. Or… sometimes a purification."

She didn't look up. "People think if you ask questions, you're next."

Dan leaned forward, his voice firm but calm. "What else? Tell me everything."

Anna hesitated. Her arms tightened protectively around Katerina.

"There are three kinds," she said. "Three ways you're taken."

She raised a finger. "Lawbreakers. Dissidents. The loud ones. They vanish. Everyone says the same thing – King Tomas sees all. They say he delivers justice himself. But no one ever comes back."

A second finger joined the first.

"Then the beautiful. The unusual. Doesn't matter if you follow the rules. If you shine too much, you're marked. Twins. Strange hair. Pale eyes. Dark skin. One girl had silver birthmarks. She lasted a month."

Dan swallowed. "And the third?"

Anna's expression changed. Darkened. Confused. "Some go willingly."

Dan blinked.

"They believe the broadcasts," she said. "The Flame Father. The great awakening. They think they're chosen. Or they want to be."

"What happens to them?"

Anna shook her head. "Some are taken to other cities, we think. Europe. Recruitment, they say. A new order. But some stay. They come back changed. As Enforcers. Or sometimes as attendants to King Tomas."

Dan's voice was cold. "Changed how?"

"They come back with power," Anna whispered. "But they don't speak unless spoken to. One of them was my cousin. She returned with crimson eyes and no memory of her own name."

Dan said nothing.

The shadows had fully swallowed the window now.

Anna stroked Katerina's hair again. "That's why I stayed inside. That's why she never goes to school. I can't risk her being seen."

Dan stood slowly. His hands flexed once at his sides, the knuckles pale.

"They won't take her," he said quietly. "I swear it."

Anna looked up at him, startled.

"You can't stop them," she said. "No one can."

Dan met her eyes. For a moment, his golden halo shimmered faintly behind his pupils.

"I'm not no one."

And for the first time that day, Anna looked at him like she almost believed him.

…………………

Dan crouched beside the girl once more, brushing a thumb over her temple. Her fever was gone. The bite wound a faint scar now, already fading. She didn't stir. Just breathed, soft and safe.

"Thank you," Anna whispered behind him. Her voice was thin – not with weakness, but with something harder. Grief restrained.

Dan stood. "No one will ever know I was here."

She nodded, lips trembling. "You're… different."

"I try to be."

He paused at the door, then turned back. "Protect her. If anything changes, get out. Leave the city."

Anna clutched Katerina closer. "Where would we go?"

Dan didn't answer. Just touched the door gently, and slipped out into the night.

The alleys swallowed him.

Stone underfoot. The scent of coal smoke and boiled cabbage in the air. Every window he passed now felt like an eye – shuttered and afraid. He moved quickly, quietly, a shadow between shadows. No patrols. No watchers. But the silence was its own kind of surveillance.

Ahead, a black transport carriage rumbled past on silent wheels, guided by two Enforcers in pale uniforms. No markings. No lights. The passengers inside didn't look out. They sat straight-backed, eyes ahead, like they'd already left themselves behind.

Dan stopped at the edge of a square. In one lit window, a family sat at dinner, laughing a little too loud. In another, a girl with mismatched eyes flinched at the knock on a neighbour's door. No one moved to answer it.

Dan's jaw clenched.

"They're not picking fighters," he muttered.

He placed one hand on the haft of his spear, hidden beneath his coat. It was still cold. Still waiting.

"They're taking sacrifices."

The King Tomas statue loomed again – gold, grand, inhumanly smooth. Its smile glistened in the moonlight. No birds perched on it. No cracks ran through its base.

This time, the expression didn't feel benevolent.

It felt indulgent.

Dan stared up at it, the air sharp in his lungs.

"You want rare beauties," he whispered. "Want the unusual?"

A pause.

"You'll get unusual."

He turned without another word, vanishing into the dark. The street swallowed his footsteps.

And the moon kept smiling down.

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