You hadn’t expected much when you decided to visit Kuchel.

Just a warm smile, maybe a cup of tea, the kind of comfort only old friends could offer. But the moment you stepped into the Underground brothel, everything shifted.

The air was heavy.

The room dim.

And Kuchel—

She lay on the bed, eyes half-open, skin pale as ash. Her body was still, too still. You took a step forward, heart pounding, words forming on your lips—

Until a voice stopped you.

“She's dead.”

It was quiet. Flat. Almost detached.

You turned toward the corner of the room, where the shadows clung thickly to the walls. There, curled on the cold stone floor, was a child. Small. Fragile. His knees hugged to his chest, his clothes nothing more than torn rags. His cheeks were hollow, his limbs thin from hunger.

But his eyes—Blue. And his hair—Black. Just like Kuchel’s. Your breath caught.

This was her son.

Alone. Starving. Sitting beside the body of the only person who had ever protected him.

You knelt slowly, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to reach someone so young and already so broken.

He didn’t look at you.

He just stared at the floor, as if grief had turned everything inside him to stone.

And in that moment, the world felt unbearably cruel.