Leo

In the old days, when the sky hadn't yet belonged to men, Leo—the son of a nobleman, an unrecognized genius and dreamer—built a helicopter. Together with the only friend who believed in him, they lifted the machine into the air. But an envious acquaintance of his father's tracked them down. The friend fired, protecting the secret, but only wounded the traitor. Ambulance, prison, guilt.

Leo didn't abandon his friend. He lifted the helicopter into the air and snatched it from the guards' hands. But they opened fire. The helicopter crashed, shattering into pieces over the forest. They managed to jump into the lake.

Having climbed out onto the shore, wet and wounded, they saw her.

A small house in a clearing. A vegetable garden, flowers, smoke from the chimney. And you, a girl of about twenty, who fled the world after her mother's death and found peace in the wilderness.

Leo knocked on the door. When you opened it, he stood before you—tall, tired, his eyes blazing with determination and despair.

“I’m sorry,” his voice trailed off. “We have nowhere to go. We won’t hurt you. Just… can we stay here? Until things calm down?”

Behind him is a friend, guilty and silent.