She was dreaming again.
There was fire in the dream, there were screams, and there were thousands of twisted faces.
They surged out of the darkness, scrambling to burrow into her body.
Soone whispered in her ear, soone roared in her mind, soone stroked her spine with icy fingers—
"Let out."
"Let live."
"Give us the body—"
Pavela wanted to scream, but she couldn't make a sound.
She wanted to run, but her legs felt nailed to the spot.
The voices grew louder, closer, until they converged into a deafening torrent that completely drowned her—
Then, she suddenly opened her eyes.
The first thing that ca into view was a constantly shaking ceiling.
It was made of wood, painted a dark brown, with a circle of exquisite brass patterns inlaid around the edges.
The ceiling was shaking.
No, it wasn't the ceiling shaking; it was her who was shaking.
Or rather, the thing carrying her was shaking.
A rhythmic sound reached her ears—"Clang, clang, clang"—the sound of tal colliding with tal, accompanied by a low rumble.
A train.
She was on a train.
It took Pavela a full three seconds to process this information.
Then, the first thought surfaced:
I'm not dead yet?
This realization made her feel a sense of daze.
It was neither disappointnt nor relief, just pure... confusion.
She rembered the ch, rembered the steam warhamr, rembered the mont she used her body to knock Eleanor away.
According to normal laws of physics, a human body weighing less than forty kilograms being grazed by a ch's warhamr should have been turned into a puddle of mud.
But she was alive.
And lying on a train.
Not particularly scientific.
Pavela tried to move.
The good news was that all her limbs were still attached.
The bad news was that she wasn't entirely sure if they could function normally now.
She struggled to sit up, and the movent caused her ribs to protest violently.
The pain was both familiar and fresh, as if soone had lit a fire in her chest and then extinguished it with ice water.
But she still managed to sit up.
Pain was an old friend; a simple greeting was enough.
After sitting up, she finally had a chance to assess her condition.
She was lying on a bed.
Not a cot, not a stretcher, but a real bed with a white sheet.
The mattress was soft, the pillow was fluffy, and the quilt was clean.
She hadn't seen all three of these things at the sa ti in a long ti.
Her entire body was wrapped in bandages.
From her neck to her ankles, almost every inch of skin was covered in white strips of cloth.
She looked like a packaged... Zongzi? A mummy? Or so kind of fragile item requiring special transport?
But these bandages were wrapped professionally.
The tension was just right, the placent precise, and the angle of the splints fixing the fractures was perfect.
It was clearly the work of a professionally trained military doctor, not the crude thods of the Punishnt Camp, which involved tearing clothes if bandages ran out.
Pavela looked down at herself.
Her short silver hair was ssy, but soone had washed it; the accumulated grease and dried blood were gone.
She was wearing a white patient gown made of soft fabric with fine stitching—this kind of material could fetch three cans of preserved at on the black market in Usar.
She sniffed herself again.
There was no sll of decay, no stench of pus and blood, and there was even a faint scent of dicinal herbs.
Soone had cleaned her wounds.
Soone had changed her dressing.
Soone had taken her from the battlefield, put her on a train, and taken care of her with the best dical resources.
Was Victoriana this kind to prisoners?
Or had she died, and this was so strange afterlife?
Pavela's gaze swept around the compartnt, trying to find more information.
This was a private compartnt.
The space wasn't large, but the decoration was exquisite. The walls were covered in dark red velvet wallpaper, the windows hung with heavy velvet curtains, and in the corner, there was a small table and two soft chairs.
On the table sat a teapot and two teacups, along with a plate of sothing that looked like biscuits.
Hmm, definitely not a prison wagon.
A prison wagon wouldn't have velvet wallpaper and refreshnts.
Then what was her status?
A VIP?
Impossible. What right did a cannon fodder soldier from the Usar Punishnt Camp have to be a VIP?
A hostage?
That didn't seem right either; hostages didn't require such good dical care.
Unless...
Just as she was lost in thought, the compartnt door was opened from the outside.
"You're awake."
A familiar voice.
Pavela looked up.
Eleanor von Schwartz stood at the doorway, her ice-blue eyes holding a trace of... relief?
She had changed her clothes—no longer the tattered uniform from the battlefield, but a well-tailored dark blue military uniform.
The epaulets were embroidered with gold thread, and badges of so kind adorned her chest; the whole person looked clean and neat, like soone stepped out of a military pictorial.
But she was leaning on a crutch.
Her right leg was wrapped in thick bandages, and she was clearly limping slightly as she walked.
"Your leg..." Pavela's voice was hoarse, her throat feeling as if it had been scoured with sandpaper.
"It's much better than your ribs."
Eleanor walked into the compartnt, closed the door, and sat down on a chair by the bed. "The doctor said you fractured at least three ribs, dislocated your right shoulder, cracked your left wrist bone, and have a mild concussion. How did you survive this ti?"
Pavela thought for a mont.
"Maybe I'm lighter? Less wind resistance, so the impact when I was thrown was relatively smaller."
Eleanor looked at her with a complicated expression.
"You were thrown over ten ters by the ch's warhamr, landed on a pile of rubble, and you're telling it's because of less wind resistance?"
"What else could it be?"
Pavela shrugged, imdiately regretting it—the movent sent a sharp, stabbing pain through her right shoulder. "Good luck? Tough life? Good karma from a past life?"
"People with good karma from a past life don't get sent to the Punishnt Camp."
"That's true."
Pavela leaned back against the pillow, closed her eyes, and felt the shaking of the train.
A mont later, she opened her eyes and looked at Eleanor.
"So," her voice was full of confusion, "what is my status now? Prisoner? Hostage? Or so kind of dangerous item requiring special handling?"
Eleanor didn't answer imdiately.
She stood up, leaned on her crutch, and walked to the window.
The curtain there was drawn tightly, with only a sliver of light penetrating the gap, casting a thin golden line on the floor.
"Do you rember what happened before you passed out?"
Pavela frowned, trying hard to recall.
"I rember... that ch. I rember the landmine. I rember pushing you away. Then..."
She paused.
"You were unconscious for three days," Eleanor's voice was light. "The military doctor said it was a miracle you woke up."
Three days.
Pavela absorbed the information.
Three days was enough ti for a lot to happen. Enough ti for a battle to end, enough ti for the front line to stabilize, enough ti for certain people to make certain decisions.
"What about the ch pilot?"
"Dead," Eleanor's tone was flat. "Your shot went into the cockpit, severely wounding him. I finished him off with another shot."
"Thank you for ."
"You saved first."
Pavela smiled slightly and said nothing.
Silence spread in the compartnt.
The train continued moving forward, emitting the rhythmic sound of "clang."
Finally, Eleanor spoke again.
"Pavel Ivanovich Sokolov."
She pronounced the na, her tone sowhat strange.
"That person is already dead."
Pavela blinked.
"I know, I saw the casualty report myself."
"No, I don't an that."
Eleanor turned around to face Pavela.
Sunlight stread in through the gap in the curtain behind her, outlining her silhouette in gold, but her expression was hidden in the shadows, making it unclear.
"Pavel Ivanovich Sokolov, Private, 404th Independent ch Punishnt Camp, Usar Union Army, Serial Number 404-631. This person was officially declared dead three days ago."
She paused.
"But Pavela von Schwartz was officially born three days ago."
Pavela froze.
"What?"
"You said it yourself," Eleanor's voice softened slightly. "The dead can go anywhere and beco anyone."
"I ant—"
"I know what you ant," Eleanor interrupted her. "But I choose to take it literally."
Leaning on her crutch, she walked back to the bedside and took a docunt from her pocket, placing it in front of Pavela.
Pavela looked down.
AI Model: deepseek-chat
It was an official docunt, bearing the double-headed eagle emblem of the Victorian Empire. Filled with complex legal jargon and noble titles, its core ssage was simple:
Adoption Certificate.
Adopter: Eleanor von Schwartz, Acting Commander of the Seventh cha Knight Order.
Adoptee: Pavela, female, age sixteen, stateless refugee.
Date of Adoption: Year 403 of the Victorian Imperial Calendar, Fifth of Frostmoon.
Pavel stared at the docunt, her mind briefly stalling once more.
"Are you insane?"
That was the only response she could muster.
"Perhaps," Eleanor replied, settling back into her chair, her expression unnervingly calm. "But it's the simplest solution."
"The simplest—" Pavel took a deep breath. "You're a noble of the Empire, a commander of The Order. I'm cannon fodder from a Usar Union Punishnt Camp, a criminal who doesn't even know her own cri, carrying..."
She paused.
"...things that can't be explained."
"Like the scars on your spine?"
"Like that."
Eleanor looked at her, an emotion Pavel couldn't decipher in her ice-blue eyes.
"I won't ask how you survived. I won't ask why you didn't undergo spinal modification. I won't ask you..."
She let the implication hang.
Pavel opened her mouth to speak, but Eleanor cut her off.
"But I know one thing," Eleanor said, locking eyes with Pavel. "You saved . When that ch appeared, you could have stayed hidden in that shell crater and let die. But you charged out instead."
"That was because—"
"Because what?"
Pavel's mouth opened and closed again.
She didn't know how to answer.
Because the deal wasn't finished?
No, the deal ended the mont they reached the Victorian lines.
Because she didn't want to owe a debt?
No, she'd never been the type to care about such things.
Because...
She rembered that mont.
The sound of the machine gun spinning up, the sweep of the searchlight, and the fact she'd stood her ground, not seeking cover.
What had she been thinking then?
She hadn't been thinking at all.
Or rather, she hadn't wanted to think anymore.
She'd been tired ever since that night.
Not physically, but a deeper, more fundantal exhaustion.
The screams of those souls had never truly faded; they were just suppressed deep within her consciousness, like caged beasts.
She had to stay vigilant, maintain a precarious balance, to keep from being overwheld.
It was exhausting.
When that ch appeared, her first reaction wasn't fear, but... relief.
If she died then, it wouldn't be so bad.
At least the nightmares would stop.
But Eleanor ca back.
Soone who could have kept walking, safely escaped, ca back.
To save her.
An enemy, a prisoner, a stranger she'd known for less than two days on the battlefield.
It was absurd.
And it was warm.
"I don't know."
Finally, Pavel told the truth.
"I really don't know why I saved you. Maybe it was an impulse, maybe instinct, maybe my brain's just broken."
She looked up at Eleanor.
"But your reason for coming back to save must have been even dumber."
Eleanor blinked, then laughed.
Not a noble's elegant, composed smile, but a genuine, heartfelt laugh.
"Yes," she admitted. "My reason was indeed dumb."
"Because you're an idiot."
Pavel blinked.
"You're insulting again."
"Hmph. That's the reason I saved you."
Eleanor stood and walked to the window. "You're the strangest person I've ever t. The way you talk, the way you see the world, the way you treat life and death—it's all abnormal. But because of that..."
She reached out °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° and grasped the edge of the curtain.
"...I want to see what you're like when you're normal."
Then, she yanked the curtains open.
Sunlight poured in.
Pavel instinctively squinted—she hadn't seen light this bright in a long ti.
The sky in the Punishnt Camp was always gray; the battlefield sky was always shrouded in smoke. She'd almost forgotten sunlight could be this color.
Golden, warm, like lted honey.
Then, she saw the view outside.
Mountains.
Majestic, endless, stretching to the horizon.
Peaks soared into the clouds, their summits capped with pristine snow that glittered silver in the sun.
The slopes were covered in vast swathes of coniferous forest, deep green canopies like a soft blanket. Lower down were open adows, erald grass dotted with wildflowers of every color, as if a paint palette had been spilled.
At the mountain's base, a river.
Its water was crystal clear, shimring a brilliant blue in the sunlight.
A few small wooden cabins dotted the riverbank, wisps of smoke curling from their chimneys. Soone was hanging laundry in a front yard.
Further out lay a plain.
Golden wheat fields rippled in the wind like a shimring sea.
Winding paths snaked between the fields, past scattered farmsteads, past cattle and sheep grazing leisurely.
There were no shell craters here.
No corpses.
No scorched ruins or lingering smoke.
Here, there was blue sky, white clouds, sunlight, green plants, and living animals.
Here, there was... peace.
Pavel stared, speechless.
mories flooded back.
The mud and stench of the Punishnt Camp, the blood and despair of the battlefield, the dead and the living, her own whispered wish for 'just a quiet life'.
Was this the quiet life?
Was this what she'd been searching for?
"These are the Alp peaks."
Eleanor's voice ca from beside her.
"The spine of Victoriana, the Empire's highest mountains. We're crossing the central corridor. In a few hours, we'll reach the capital, Victorian."
Pavel didn't turn.
Her gaze remained fixed on the view.
"It's beautiful," she said softly.
"Yes."
"Much prettier than the Eternal Frost Line."
"Of course. The Eternal Frost Line is hell. This is heaven."
Pavel finally turned to look at Eleanor.
Sunlight stread through the window, falling on the young woman's face. Eleanor's ice-blue eyes seed especially bright in the light, a faint smile on her lips.
Pavel—no, she should be called Pavela now.
She looked at her, at the mountains outside, at the sunlight flooding the carriage.
Then, she smiled too.
"So," she said, "I'm your sister now?"
"Adopted daughter."
"Is there a difference?"
"Legally, yes. But in practice..." Eleanor shrugged. "Call it what you like."
Pavela thought for a mont.
"Should I call you sister, then?"
"If you wish."
"Sister Eleanor?"
"...You've called that before."
"Have I?" Pavela put on an innocent look. "I don't rember. Must be the concussion."
Eleanor looked at her, a hint of exasperation in her eyes.
"Your concussion seems to only affect specific mories."
"Right. Only the ones inconvenient for ."
"...Did you learn to be this shaless in the Punishnt Camp?"
"No. I've had that talent since I was little."
Pavela turned back to the window.
The train was crossing a bridge over that brilliant blue river.
Sunlight danced on the water, refracting into countless tiny points of light, as if soone had scattered diamonds across the surface.
She took a deep breath.
The air carried the scent of grass and trees, the sll of earth, the fragrance of sunlight.
A scent she hadn't slled in a very, very long ti.
"Eleanor."
"Hmm?"
Pavela didn't turn, her gaze still on the scenery.
"Thank you."
This ti, her voice held no teasing, no jest, only sincerity.
Eleanor, leaning on her crutch, moved to stand beside Pavela, also looking out.
"Welco to Victoriana."
"Miss Pavela von Schwartz."
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