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There are ten water stains marring the off-white ceiling in Bronya’s room at the Goethe Grand Hotel. She knows this because she’s spent the past two hours counting them over and over again instead of sleeping.
With a frustrated huff, Bronya turns on her side and stares at the peeling wall paint instead.
Twenty-eight hours. She has been awake for almost twenty-eight hours. Bronya’s body feels like it’s on the verge of shutting down, but her mind whirrs with a thousand questions about the orphanage, about her mother, about the Stellaron, about herself. She wonders what her life in the Underground was like, how different it must have been compared to her Overworld upbringing. It must have been hard, trying to survive here—but a part of Bronya wonders if it was also full of fondness, full of love, full of quiet comforts of geomarrow hearths.
Bronya sighs through her nose. Why doesn’t she remember anything? Why did Cocolia—her own mother—hide this from her? What truths lurk underneath the murky surface of her memories? What else does Bronya not know?
And what parts of her life were lies?
Bronya sits up and throws the thin beddings off her body. No, she immediately thinks, strapping on her boots. She can’t do this to herself. Not now. Or else she’ll go crazy trying to find answers to blanks she cannot fill.
She needs to go for a walk, clear her head.
And then maybe, finally, she’ll be able to fall asleep.
The rusty hinges on Bronya’s door creak in protest when she leaves, and the wooden floor squeaks under her weight as she walks down the hall. She wonders if the worn hallway rug is doing anything to dampen her footsteps, but when she hears the obscenely loud snores coming from Stelle’s bedroom, Bronya is confident she has nothing to worry about.
The Underworld is warm—it surprises Bronya every time. In hindsight, it’s a bit silly, actually. Of course it’d be warm; there are literal veins of geomarrow running through the entirety of the Underworld. But it’s a different kind of warmth compared to the surface. Up there, underneath the warmth of enhanced geomarrow heaters and lamps, underneath the warmth of orange candlelight and indoor oil lanterns, lurking in the corners of bureaucratic meetings, there is a lingering chill. Bronya feels it the most on quiet nights, when she does her rounds. It’s a beast trapped in a cage too small for its sheer size, thrashing and wailing as it desperately tries to break the lock, threatening to wash over Belobog in an unforgiving storm, threatening to swallow the last bastion of life on the planet.
Actually—no, it’s not a threat.
It’s a promise.
But here in the Underworld, there is a gentle warmth that kisses Bronya’s pale skin and settles deep inside of her bones. The quiet yet mutual understanding of a tight-knit community. A part of her wonders if this is what sunlight must have felt all those years past, back when their planet was still full of life and foliage. It’s a bit sad, Bronya thinks as she walks down the crooked cobbled path and turns a corner, to know that the warmest place on this planet will also be the first to fall.
Maybe that’s why they’re the only ones left.
Bronya clasps her hands behind her back and purses her lips together. She kicks a rock that’s in her path, and it skitters down the rest of the alleyway.
They shouldn’t have cut the Underworld off. What was the Overworld thinking? Is it not the duty of the supreme guardian to help her people? Are they not her people? After all, isn’t Bronya one of them?
…But can she even consider herself one of them if all the memories she holds of this place are crumbs dusting the empty corners of her mind?
Bronya sighs and lifts her head. She was supposed to clear her mind with this walk, not drown in it. She kicks another rock in her frustration, and it bounces down the path, subject to its fate.
Farther down the alleyway, a familiar purple cloak flutters in the wind as it rounds a corner.
Bronya pauses. Was that…Seele?
The Silvermane commander takes note of her surroundings. This part of Boulder Town is opposite of Natasha’s clinic. Maybe Seele is fetching supplies for the doctor? Bronya did overhear Natasha saying she’s running out of antibiotics for the wounded…maybe it wouldn’t hurt to help Seele search.
It’s a meager act of goodness, but it’s still the right thing to do.
Bronya quickens her pace and follows after Seele.
When she turns the corner, there is a lone door at the end of the short alleyway. Dim geomarrow light leaks through the dirty window, casting flickering shadows on the ground. Seele is nowhere to be found; probably inside, Bronya thinks.
Her lonely footsteps echo off the crowded walls of the alley. Bronya passes by dilapidated doors, and molding signs lean against the peeling walls. This probably used to be a shopping district—the ruined “General Store” sign she walks past supports the theory.
Bronya wonders what memories live here. She wonders if Seele has any of this place.
Bronya would love to know.
The door groans loudly in protest when she opens it. A few steps lead down into a small room that smells like wet dirt. Piles of dusty junk are shoved against the walls of the room to make space. Seele is crouched in the middle of the room, hovering over something Bronya cannot see. A vertical geomarrow lamp hangs precariously above her, a few of the copper wires peeking out of its worn rubber sheathe.
“Hey, brat!” Seele loudly calls out over her shoulder. Bronya jumps at the sudden voice. “I dunno what you thought you’d get out of this but—Bronya?” Seele turns around and knits her eyebrows together into an accusing look. “The hell are you doing here?”
“I was out for a walk and I saw you outside,” Bronya explains.
“So…you decided to follow me?”
“Yes, because I thought you were looking for supplies for Natasha. I wanted to help.”
Seele slow blinks. “You’re weird.”
Bronya bristles. “It’s not weird wanting to help someone.”
“No, but following someone in the middle of the night is.”
Embarrassment burns the tips of Bronya’s ears. She concedes to this argument with her silence.
“Anyways,” Seele waves her hand dismissively. “I’m good here.”
“Are you sure?” Bronya is already making her way down the steps and heading towards Seele. “I can help, if you need anything.”
“Hah?” Seele shoots an annoyed glare over her shoulder. “Are you deaf? I just said ‘I’m good here.’ Shouldn’t you be sleeping, anyways? You’ve been up all day.”
Bronya shifts her weight uncomfortably between her feet. “I can’t sleep,” she admits. Then under her breath, she adds, “I keep thinking about Mother and the orphanage.”
Seele softens, just a little bit. The look in her eyes melts, and she turns back to whatever she’s working on. “Well, if you’re going to be stubborn about it, go find the bag of fertilizer somewhere over there and bring it here.” She points to the wall of stuff on the left.
It’s an easy-enough task. Bronya immediately finds a sloppily clipped bag sitting sadly on the ground with “fertilizer” taped onto it. She lifts it with both arms, but she only lasts for a few seconds before she has to plop it back down again. A cloud of dust billows into the air, and Bronya waves it away with a cough.
Ugh, that should have been easier—without much sleep, her body must be reaching its limit now.
“What, too heavy?” The smugness in Seele’s voice aggravates Bronya. “I thought you Silvermanes would have done some weight training before. You know, to lug all that armor around.”
“We do,” Bronya says, voice clipped and soldier’s pride bruised. “It’s just been a long day.”
Seele laughs, but it’s not malicious. Just teasing. “Sure, sure. Just be sure to lift with your legs and not your back so you don’t pull a muscle.”
“…Thank you for the reminder,” Bronya mutters.
After gathering her strength, she tries again. Bronya crouches down and lifts the bag of fertilizer with both arms, making sure her legs carry the brunt of the weight. She waddles over to Seele and sets it on the ground. Bronya pats away some of the dirt lingering on her uniform, but most of it gets smeared on her white uniform. She frowns.
At least her mother isn’t here to chastise her.
“Cool, thanks.” Seele’s voice chases away the thought. She unclips the bag, reaches in, and takes out a scoopful of fertilizer. Now that Bronya is next to her, the Silvermane commander notices the four plants in front of Seele, their long stems and large leaves twisting around a trellis for support. Unripe tomatoes the size of Bronya’s fist hang from the vines, but there are a few beginning to ripen, tucked behind the leaves.
“I never took you for someone who likes gardening,” Bronya says.
Seele scoffs as she packs the fertilizer into the soil with a pair of oversized gloves. “I’m really not. This used to be a punishment when I was a kid.”
“A punishment?”
“Yeah. When Natasha took all the good kids out to eat downtown, I’d get left behind and do gardening duty. Eventually I got decent at not letting the plants die, and the chore just kinda stuck.” Seele shrugs. “I used to hate it, but now I don’t mind. We need to eat down here, and nutrients make healthy soldiers and healthy kids. As much as we don’t have the privilege to complain, I’d go insane if I had to eat Natasha’s gruel for every meal.” Seele shudders in horror.
“I…thought it wasn’t bad when I had it.”
“Please, that’s just your concussion talking.”
Bronya laughs for the first time that night.
.
.
“Do you like tomatoes?” Seele’s question comes suddenly after a moment of silence.
It throws Bronya off-guard. A part of her wonders if it’s a trick question, but the rational part of her thinks it’s probably because Seele can’t stand the awkward silence between them.
Bronya hums as she fills a bucket of water from the water spout jutting out of the wall. She actually hates tomatoes. When she was a kid, she’d pick all of them out of her food much to her mother’s chagrin. Even now, she actively avoids them.
But she doesn’t want to seem like a spoiled brat in Seele’s eyes.
“I think they’re alright,” she says neutrally. “What about you?”
“I hate them.”
“Oh.” Bronya feels silly for lying in the first place. “Really?”
“Yup. Hate ‘em. They need a lot of light to grow, so it’s a pain. We need to check on the lights pretty often to make sure they don’t short-circuit from being on all the time.” Seele gestures to the lamp hanging above her head. “Also, I think they gotta weird texture. Kind of mushy. But I still eat them because we got nothin’ else down here, so.”
Bronya shuts off the running water. She watches droplets fall into the bucket below with a plick—plick—plick.
“What kind of food do you like, then?” She asks.
Seele’s answer is immediate. “Potatoes. I like them because you can make anything with them. Mash ‘em, bake ‘em, fry ‘em if you got enough oil. Plus they’re tasty, too. We actually used to grow a bunch of potatoes in the orphanage basement because that was the only place that had enough room. They’d be ready to harvest within…a month, I think? Unlike the tomatoes. They take two.”
Bronya nods. Most of Belobog’s crops had been genetically modified over the years to at least yield a bimonthly harvest to sustain the population while also maintaining the integrity of the soil. It seems like the Overworld shared some of its agricultural resources with the Underworld before they were cut off.
But right now, the only crop Bronya sees are tomatoes.
“Where are the potatoes, now?” she asks.
Seele doesn’t answer right away. Her shoulders rise then fall with a sigh, and she stares at the plants she’s tending to.
Plick—plick—plick.
“Back in Rivet Town. We couldn’t move the plants over here because the Fragmentum destroyed basically everything including the entrance to the basement. If there were a few crops surviving down there, getting to it would be too much of a risk. Even if we did clear the way, we don’t know what’s down there, and we don’t know what we’d let loose into the Underworld. Especially because there are a few folks still hiding out there. So it’s just better to keep it sealed, for now. At least, that’s what Oleg said.”
Plick—plick—plick.
“Isn’t that kind of ironic?” Seele adds. Her tone is flat, but there is a caustic bitterness sharpening the edge of her words.
“I’m…sorry to hear that,” Bronya says quietly.
Seele just shrugs. “It is what it is, I guess. We just gotta keep moving forward.”
Plick—plick…
“Well,” Bronya starts, “once we put an end to the spread of Fragmentum, I’ll see if we can send supplies again to the Underworld. Like food and clean water. And slowly reopen our borders to the people we left behind.”
Plick…
Seele laughs. It’s more of an exhale of amusement, really. A part of Bronya wonders what a smart quip will slip past Seele’s lips this time and braces herself.
Instead, Seele just says a very genuine, “Thanks.”
Plick…
Bronya smiles softly.
Plick.
“You’re welcome.”
.
.
A random thought comes to Bronya as she watches Seele scoop water from the bucket with a pitcher onto the tomatoes.
“Was this a shopping district?” she asks.
“Apparently. I wasn’t around when it was still active; I spent most of my time at Rivet Town.”
Oh, right. Bronya hums in thought and nods. The weight of her head feels too heavy for her neck to support—her fatigue is really getting to her now. She finds a dirty chair leaning against one of the walls and sits on the edge of the seat. She digs her elbow into her knee and holds her head in the palm of her hand, watching.
“But,” Seele starts, “I do know there used to be an old couple that worked here.”
“Really?” Bronya’s voice comes out in a slur. Or she thinks it comes out in a slur. It’s a little hard for her to tell. Her brain feels like mush.
“Mhm. They ran the old general store outside. Natasha would buy us stuff from there, sometimes. They had homemade carrot cake. It was pretty good, actually. I liked it a lot. They both passed away a long time ago, but damn, I still think about that cake.”
“Maybe one day you can try recreating it,” Bronya suggests, “once everything is over.” Then, quietly under her breath, she adds, “Together, if you want.”
“Maybe. That…sounds kind of nice.” Seele smiles. It isn’t the derisive smirk or the confident grin she’s worn before; this one is tiny, barely tugging on the corners of her lips. A genuine show of warm nostalgia that feels like soft sunlight dappling on skin.
Bronya’s heart flutters.
Pretty.
.
.
.
.
.
“Hey.”
Light shaking rouses Bronya from shallow slumber. She opens her eyes and her bleary vision takes time to adjust to the light. Seele crouches in front of her so that they’re eye-level.
Bronya swears there’s a faint shimmer of red in Seele’s eyes. Like the way butterfly scales catch the light. But that’s probably her imagination.
“You good?” Seele asks. Her eyebrows are knitted together with a thread of concern.
Bronya sleepily nods. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I fell asleep.”
“It’s cool. It’s been a long couple of days,” Seele says. “I’m done working on the plants, though. Can you stand?”
Bronya nods again. Quietly, she stands and Seele rises with her, holding on to her upper arm to support her.
Seele doesn’t let go even when Bronya is steady on her feet.
“Alright, come on.” With a gentle yet firm grasp on Bronya’s arm, Seele guides her up the stairs and out of the makeshift garden.
The abandoned alleyway greets them, then says its farewells as they head towards the Goethe Grand Hotel.
Seele never lets go.
…Her hand is warm.
.
.
.
For the most part, they walk in silence, but Bronya doesn’t mind. Unlike before, this silence is comfortable, wanted. A quiet understanding that they appreciate each other’s company, even if neither of them say it out loud.
Bronya doesn’t think about the orphanage, or her mother, or her own forgotten past. Instead, she thinks about ma and pa shops open for business, and she thinks about children sprinting down the alleys to play their games. She thinks of a kind grandmother turning a wooden sign to “open” before unlocking the doors, and she thinks of a hunched grandfather passing miners bundled meals for their lunch. She thinks of soot-streaked faces laughing, their smiles following the laugh lines etched onto their skin.
And somewhere off in the distance, in a mess hall lit by flickering geomarrow lanterns and candlelight, Bronya thinks of roasted tomato soup, baked potatoes, freshly-made carrot cake, and the girl beside her that loves them all.
.
.
.
“Alright, we’re here,” Seele announces. Bronya lifts her heavy gaze and, indeed, they are in front of the hotel. “You think you can make it up to your room alright?”
Bronya just nods. “I think so.” She slips away from Seele’s grasp, and her warmth lingers like a ghost. “Thank you for walking me back.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s better knowing you're safe in your room. I think it beats potentially passing out in the middle of the roads out here.”
Bronya chuckles tiredly. “Of course. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Mhm, see you.”
With a slight bow of her head, more out of habit than anything, Bronya turns and shuffles off towards the entry.
“Bronya?” Seele calls out.
The Silvermane commander pauses and looks over her shoulder. “Yes?”
Seele scratches the back of her neck. “I know you mentioned it a while ago, about why you can’t sleep. Because you keep thinking about your mom and what happened at the orphanage.”
Bronya blinks. She wonders where Seele is going with this. “Yes, that is correct.”
“I don’t know what kind of thoughts you’ve had all night, but you don’t need to worry about that right now. Because you don’t know the whole picture. So I think stressing over answers you don’t know, trying to figure out what’s the truth—those are things that will come, eventually. So you shouldn’t lose sleep over it.” Seele crosses her arms and stares Bronya dead in the eye, fiery purples meeting steely gray; and inevitably, Bronya melts under her gaze, touched by the blunt form of compassion Seele only shows when she cares about something deeply.
“Thank you.” Bronya smiles and reaches out for Seele’s hand. Seele eyes widen slightly, surprised, before she slowly meets her halfway. She holds Bronya’s hand gently and tenderly, a grasp that betrays the snide comments and her menacing prowess on the battlefield, a grasp that makes Bronya wonder if this is how Seele holds delicate bundles of harvest.
Her heart flutters. She wants to learn more about Seele—and maybe, one day, Seele can learn more about her, too.
The other girl smiles softly. In the light of warm geomarrow lanterns, Seele is the prettiest thing Bronya has ever seen.
And the prettiest girl quietly says, “You’re welcome.”
.
.
.
Bronya finds her way back to her room and collapses onto her bed.
Fatigue drapes over her like a weighted blanket. Sleep finds her easily and blesses her with a dreamless night.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Bronya wakes to the smell of food in her room.
She groans and rubs the sleep out of her eyes. Her body still feels heavy and tired, but much better compared to last night. It takes a lot of effort, but Bronya manages to push herself up to sit at the edge of the bed, stifling a yawn with her hand.
On the bedside is a plate with two slices of toast, each topped with roasted tomato slices, broiled mozzarella cheese, a sprinkle of salt, and cracked black pepper.
Bronya frowns softly to herself. Tomatoes…
A piece of paper is tucked underneath the plate. She reaches for the note and reads it.
Found a tomato ready for harvest this morning. Enjoy.
-S
Bronya smiles. Something warm and fragile blooms in her chest, and she fondly glances at the tomato toast, noting the steam still rolling off the food.
Well, if Seele made it, then it’d be rude to not eat it…
Bronya puts the note aside and grabs the plate. Carefully, she picks up a slice and takes a bite. The tomato is juicy and sweet; soft from being roasted, but not uncomfortably mushy. It’s contrasted by the salty stretch of cheese she pulls from her mouth, the salt coaxing the flavors out. The pepper gives a bit of heat, but not enough for it to burn; as Bronya takes another bite, she thinks it adds a hint of complexity with such a simple ensemble.
Before she knows it, Bronya finishes her food. All she’s left with is an empty plate and a full stomach.
Tomatoes weren’t as bad as she remembered, in all honesty. They tasted quite delicious, actually.
But then again, it’s probably because Seele grew them.