The city had changed.
Not in its walls or streets, but in the way it looked at her.
Arhelia felt it with every step. In the silences that stretched just a second longer than normal. In conversations that paused when she passed. In the glances that didn't know whether to bow, smile, or look away.
She was still walking with her cane, her body fragile, but no one saw only a wounded girl anymore.
They saw the one who had survived.
—Bah… they look at you like you're a living statue —said Lada, walking beside her with hands in her pockets, swinging carelessly—. Relax, Arhe. If they don't stare today, they'll stare tomorrow. That's how it works, okay?
Arhelia let out a small laugh.
With everyone else, she was quiet. Measured. Even tyrannical, according to rumors.
With Lada, no.
—I don't like it —she whispered—. Before, I just… walked.
—Before, you hadn't broken a monster in public —Lada replied, winking—. Now you're elite. And the elite don't walk… they are watched.
The Russian accent slipped through every word, dragging the r's, hardening the consonants. Lada spoke like she lived: without asking permission.
They moved through a wide square where ancient statues rose. Non-human gods, impossible figures, stone wings and ageless faces. Some held weapons, others books, others simply gazed at the horizon with an expression of eternal judgment.
—Look at that one —said Lada, pointing to a cracked statue—. They say it blessed children.
—Looks like it would tear your soul out —muttered Arhelia.
—Exactly. The best ones always seem kind until they're not.
They continued walking among stalls, laughter, arguments, and daily life. Lada greeted half the city: merchants, musicians, women from brothels, bored guards. Some hugged her, others offered invisible drinks in the air.
—You're still the same —said Arhelia.
—Of course —Lada replied—. If I stop being me, what's left?
They paused for a moment under the shadow of a fallen statue.
Lada turned serious.
—Listen to me, Arhe —she said, without smiling—. Now that you're on top… you can't behave like before. Everything you do weighs. Everything you say is used. If you laugh, you provoke. If you stay silent, you threaten.
Arhelia tightened her grip on the cane.
—I didn't ask for this.
—No one asks for power —Lada said softly—. But once you have it, you better learn to dance with it… or it crushes you.
For a moment, Arhelia rested her forehead on her friend's shoulder.
Lada said nothing.
They hugged.
A brief, firm, sincere hug.
Like two people who know the world doesn't offer many refuges… and one of them is each other.
—Let's go —Lada broke the moment—. I'll introduce you to two idiots I like. And then… we drink.
—Drink? —Arhelia raised an eyebrow—. I can barely walk.
—Truwca cures everything —Lada declared—. Or at least makes you not care.
— — —
The bar was full of smoke, music, and laughter. Dark wood, worn tables, bottles lined up like crooked soldiers.
Lada's friends were there.
One was tall, easy-smiling, with tired eyes. The other shorter, broad, with fighter's hands and a booming laugh.
Four came in.
Four drank.
Truwca ran like liquid fire. Lada sang northern songs. Arhelia laughed more than she had in months. The world became light, blurry, possible.
—To the one who doesn't break! —shouted Lada, raising her bottle.
—To the one who breaks others! —someone responded.
The night dissolved in music, alcohol, and promises no one intended to keep.
— — —
The next morning, the bar was burning.
Flames devoured the wood. People screamed. Smoke covered the street like a shroud.
Three left the group.
Arhelia.
Lada.
And one more.
The fourth did not.
His body lay on the ground, stiff.
Head crushed against the stone.
No weapon.
No witnesses.
No one could say when it happened.
Or how.
Or who.
The city watched in silence.
And Arhelia, cane in hand and the smell of smoke still clinging to her clothes, understood something essential:
The party was over.
And the world doesn't always ask for explanations when it collects its price.