The ground rumbled. The tent fabric shook. Her spine knew what came next. Saki huddled small in the corner of the cot. Knees drawn up. Just curled tight. Counting. Only in her head. (...Nineteen.) She murmured it inside. How many nights had passed since Walter came? She counted on her fingers. That alone kept her tethered to herself. —BOOM! The air shattered. A sound that split the ears. The tent ballooned, held. But. From far off. Screams. Soldiers shouting. Weapons clashing. Running footsteps. Roars of fury. "Enemy attack!" Someone's voice tore the night apart. The second shell slammed the ground. BOOOOOM! The earth shuddered. One of the tent stakes snapped and flew. Saki lifted her face. But she didn't move. Not that she couldn't. She just had no reason left. The iron chain swayed. Burn marks still on it. The slave brand on her neck pulsed faintly. She was close enough to run. (The chain's broken.) Some part of her mind understood that. But Saki kept her knees drawn tight. Outside, flames were rising. Through the tent cloth, red light stained Saki's cheeks. The smell of smoke. The smell of gunpowder. The smell of blood. She knew it. She'd breathed it in too many times. (...I have to count.) But her fingers wouldn't move. No one was looking at Saki. Soldiers ran past clutching weapons. No one needed her here anymore. Saki stood up. Before she knew it. Her legs moved on their own. But there was no reason. She wasn't trying to run. She just stood. She stepped out of the tent. Outside, everything was fire. The sky should have been night. It was dyed orange and red. Hot wind toyed with her hair. Her skin prickled and stung. On the ground, fallen soldiers. Motionless bodies scattered everywhere. Corpses. The word surfaced in her mind. But no emotion stirred. Just things. Her feet carried her forward. Not toward anywhere. In the distance, the clash of blades. Someone shouting. A voice giving orders. And there—he was. Walter Gräfe. Short black hair. Bony frame. Cold gray eyes, now just a little sharper. He was leading a handful of soldiers. Trying to hold back the enemy advance. Saki just watched his back. Sword raised. The man who gave orders. The center of control that had bound her here. The next moment. The sound of air tearing. BOOOOOOOM!!! A shell landed. Close. So close. The blast. Earth and stone erupted. Soldiers' bodies flew, slammed down. Walter's back—burst. No. It looked like it burst. His body crashed to the ground. Motionless. The smoke cleared. Walter was down. Red spreading from his chest. His arm bent the wrong way. Those calm gray eyes no longer opened. Saki watched it. Without a single blink. Her heart didn't leap. Not once. (The one who gave orders is gone.) That fact alone settled quietly into her mind. No weight to it. Like dropping a stone into water. Just that. Nothing more. She looked away from Walter. She looked up at the sky. Smoke hung thick. No stars visible. She was free. The chain was broken. No one to give orders. She could run. But. Her legs wouldn't move. (Run where?) The question surfaced in her mind. But no answer came. For what? For whom? (Dagan...) She rolled the name around in her mouth. Bandit leader. Hook-claw prosthetic. The man who had violated her. Nothing came. No hatred. No rage. Just a string of sounds. (Madame Vespa.) The Mansion Under the Moon. The woman in the black dress. The one who sold her to the army. She tried to remember. But it was hazy. The face surfaced. But no feeling came with it. Revenge. That had been what held her up. But now—it was ash. Saki slowly sank to her knees. The ground was slush with mud and blood. She knelt beside a corpse. It felt so natural. Far easier than standing. How terrifying that was. She no longer had the function to feel it. (My name is...) Her lips moved. Her voice scraped out, swallowed by smoke. Saki. Was that even a word that meant her? It felt impossibly distant. The flames drew closer. The tent roared and blazed. Hot. Her skin burned with pain. Still, Saki didn't move. She couldn't find a reason to run. A reason to live. A reason to die. Both equally far away. Ash fell from the sky. Like black snow. Settling on Saki's shoulders. Her hair. Piling up. And—she was smiling. Her facial muscles moved the way they'd been taught. Slightly lowered outer brows. Upturned mouth corners. A natural smile. Not smiling because she was scared. Not to flatter. She'd simply forgotten how to make any other face. How long did she stay like that? The flames were dying down. Just before dawn. The sky still gray. Smoke lingering like a cityscape. Footsteps. Multiple. Many footsteps crunching through rubble. Drawing closer. The surviving soldiers. They picked their way past corpses. Roaming the camp's ruins. "Hey." One of them stopped. A woman kneeling in ash. Staring up at the sky. Smiling. The soldier looked confused for a moment. "...She's alive." He called another soldier over. Several men gathered. Surrounding Saki. Saki turned her face toward them. Still smiling. Seeing that smile, the soldiers' expressions softened. "Ah, good." Relief in his voice. "Glad you made it." Saki's body already knew what those words meant. Made it—meaning she could be used again. As a tool. Saki slowly rose to her feet. The motion of brushing mud from her knees came naturally. Still smiling. She looked around at the soldiers. To survive. That alone moved her body. She knew this wasn't her own choice. But—she couldn't stop it anymore. In the ash-covered ruins, Saki's smile alone was fixed in place. Terribly beautiful. She couldn't cry. Couldn't rage. Even her reason to not stand was ash now. Only the automatic reflex of survival kept moving her. Like a doll.