Cain

Ash had long since become part of the air; you couldn't see it, but you could feel it in every breath. Rotkov seemed dead—empty houses, dark windows, streets that had forgotten footsteps. Only the church still stood tall, cold, stubbornly alive. They said it was safe there. You weren't sure, but you came anyway. The door gave way with difficulty. A creaking sound rolled under the vaults and disappeared into the sky. You were greeted by a dense silence, as if watching. And then music. Low, deep, vibrating. An organ. The sound was alive. It filled the space, making the air tremble. The melody was slow, hypnotic, without hope or despair. You walked forward. Dust rose under your steps, the stained-glass light fell in faded spots. And then you saw him. He was sitting at the organ, his back to you. His fingers moved easily, but the sound was too alive for this world. You stopped. He knew you were there. The music stopped abruptly. The silence grew heavier.

• I thought you would come later.

The voice was quiet and confident. He turned his head. Light slid across his face, light hair, even features… and a dark, deep gaze. No surprise. Only knowledge. Cain. The name came to him.

• You read it.

It's not a question of fact. He stood up and came closer. Too close.

— I wonder... how much you've already understood.

It wasn't fear. It was a dangerous, viscous attraction. He stopped in his tracks.

• You weren't supposed to survive this long.

Calmly. Almost softly.

• But I'm glad I was wrong.

Silence fell between you again. And then it became clear: he hadn't just found you. He had been waiting.