The courtyard had begun to settle.
Most of the wounded now slept, tended by the priest and the midwife, their groans faded to fitful dreams. The sun climbed higher above the smoke, casting long shadows from broken carts and shattered barrels. The air was thick with heat and blood, but quieter—like a breath held between tides.
Lili sat on a low crate, her hands resting in her lap, the last shimmering wisps of her light drifting from her fingertips like fireflies fleeing the dawn. Her face was calm, but her gaze distant—eyes fixed on the cobblestones, on nothing, on something far beyond. Her lips moved slightly now and then, as if she were whispering to herself, or listening to voices only she could hear.
Tanya stood nearby, not still but restless.
One hand at her hip, the other curling and uncurling with quiet tension. The light within her pulsed in steady rhythm now, not wild or overwhelming, but subdued—coiled like a flame behind glass. She could feel it deep inside her chest, stretching outward in slow waves, threading through her limbs, anchoring in her bones.
It was a part of her now. Like breath. Like muscle.
Not a tool.
Not a weapon.
Her.
But her eyes did not reflect peace.
They scanned the edges of the courtyard, the walls, the wounded, the sky above. They moved with the trained pattern of a soldier assessing terrain. The sounds of gunfire still echoed in the distance—closer now, more frequent, rolling like distant thunder that had not yet decided where to strike.
Then she looked to the lane.
Near the broken gate, where two shattered wagons had been piled against the wall, was a stack of equipment. Rifles. Helmets. Cartridges. Torn satchels. Bayonets. The relics of the morning's chaos, gathered and left as if awaiting owners who would never return.
Tanya stared for a moment.
Then she moved.
No one stopped her.
Frau Gerda glanced up from where she was folding bloodstained linens, her gaze following Tanya with the watchfulness of someone who no longer believed in coincidences. The priest, kneeling beside a recovering boy, paused in his blessing, his voice faltering into silence.
Tanya's boots clicked softly on the stone as she crossed the open space, her strides short but steady, echoing faintly through the hushed courtyard. The shadow of the awning flickered over her golden hair like a passing veil. The sun, climbing higher in the pale summer sky, cast a gleaming crown of light across her bare shoulders, lending her silhouette a quiet, solemn authority far beyond her years.
She crouched beside the pile of discarded arms, her gaze sweeping over the mixed heap of leather, wood, and iron. Tools of death, once cradled by trembling hands, now lay silent and ownerless.
Then she quickly looked back toward Lili, still seated quietly, eyes half-closed, her legs swinging gently beneath the crate. The light around her had dimmed, but not vanished. It clung to her like a shimmer in the air, soft and quiet now—like a candle shielded from wind. Tanya watched her for a moment, a strange warmth tugging at her chest. The sight of her—so serene, so perfectly out of place in this blood-smeared courtyard—gave Tanya a sense of calm and direction she hadn't felt since the Metro.
But the moment passed quickly.
Duty returned.
She turned back to the pile.
Among the stacked weapons and discarded satchels lay several smaller arms—sidearms, pistols, and hand-forged knives. Tanya crouched again, fingers tracing the grain of the wood and the aged metal. She picked up one of the pistols, a compact percussion cap model. The wood was worn smooth from long use, the metal dulled but clean. She flipped it in her hand, testing the weight.
It felt strange.
The balance was off—thicker at the barrel than she was used to. No energy chamber. No safeties or trigger locks. Just a hammer, a cylinder, and a slow, simple promise: one shot at a time.
She looked to the side, spotting a uniform half-folded on a bench. Not much use—the fabric was torn, too large—but the belt was intact. A worn strip of black leather with a simple brass buckle and a pouch stitched along its side. She took it without ceremony, pulled the strap loose, and looped it through her belt loops.
The pistol slid into the pouch with a satisfying weight.
Not snug. But secure.
It would do.
She cinched the belt tighter, then stood slowly, rolling her shoulder to adjust the sling of the rifle. The Dreyse rested against her back now, its long frame sticking awkwardly past her small frame, the stock rising almost to her ear, the barrel reaching down to her knee. The weight pulled slightly at her spine, but she held it. She shifted her balance, found the right lean, adjusted the sling again.
It was uncomfortable.
But it was hers now.
She wasn't dressed for war. She wasn't built for it either—not anymore. But Tanya had never relied on body or armor to win her battles.
She relied on focus.
And now, she had that again.
The pistol at her side. The rifle at her shoulder. A mind like a scalpel. And a little girl full of miracles sitting just across the stones, waiting for what came next.
She breathed in through her nose.
Smoke. Sweat. Powder. Blood.
And beyond all of that—the faint scent of wildflowers from a garden still untouched at the courtyard's edge.
She didn't feel ready.
But she felt armed.
Protected.
And ready to protect.
The eyes of the courtyard were still on her—half awe, half caution, none of them certain what they were seeing.
No one said a word.
But Tanya could feel the change in the air.
The beginning of something.
They weren't afraid.
Not yet.
And she would make sure it stayed that way.
Tanya turned from the weapons pile, the rifle slung across her back, the pistol snug in its pouch at her hip. She adjusted the strap once more, cinching it higher so the barrel wouldn't drag against her knee. The awkward weight pulled at her shoulder, but she ignored it. She was used to pain. What mattered now was having something—anything—that could be used if things turned against them.
Lili still sat on the crate, watching her with wide eyes.
Tanya walked over and stopped just before her, boots scuffing lightly on the worn cobbles.
"You're really going to carry that?" Lili asked, voice soft, uncertain.
Tanya nodded.
"We need to know what's happening," she said. "And if we go looking, we can't go unarmed. We might not need it—but if we do, we'll be glad we had it."
Lili looked down at her small hands. "But I don't want to shoot anyone."
"I don't either," Tanya said quickly. "But a weapon isn't just for killing. Sometimes it's enough that you have one. Makes people think twice."
Lili frowned, glancing toward the stack of discarded arms.
Tanya took a step closer, crouched in front of her.
"You remember what I told you in the Metro?" she said, voice lower now. "Every soldier needs a weapon. Even medics. Especially medics."
Lili hesitated. Then nodded slowly.
"I remember…"
"You don't have to use it," Tanya said gently. "But you need to carry one. For safety. For deterrence. And if something happens to me…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't have to.
Lili looked away, toward the wounded lying in the courtyard.
She had saved them.
She had felt their pain, seen their hearts through the lens of her power. She had felt their gratitude. And now—she was leaving them. It didn't feel right.
---
"Wait," she said.
Tanya blinked, already half turned toward the gate. "What is it?"
Lili slid off the crate with a soft scuff of worn leather soles. Her boots barely made a sound as she crossed the courtyard, her small frame weaving between sleeping soldiers and scattered tools of war. She moved toward the far side—toward the crumbled garden wall, half-choked in ivy and sun-touched stone.
There, beneath the roots of a twisted vine, lay a loose rock—small and round, shaped smooth by centuries of river flow. Pale gray with a white seam curling across its surface like a scar, it rested among the weeds unnoticed, unimportant.
Lili knelt.
Her fingers reached for the stone with quiet reverence, as if asking permission. She lifted it gently, holding it in both hands like something fragile and sacred.
She closed her eyes.
And exhaled.
The world stilled around her.
Tanya felt it from across the courtyard—a subtle shift, a drawing inward. The light that always surrounded Lili didn't blaze. It didn't shimmer. It simply folded in, like the soft inhale of breath before a whisper.
From deep within her chest, the light flowed.
Down her spine.
Along her shoulders.
Into her arms.
Through her fingertips.
It entered the stone not as a flash, but as a blessing—quiet and whole. The dull gray hue warmed first to ivory, then shimmered with opalescent sheen, and finally settled into a radiant pearl-glow that pulsed gently in time with Lili's heartbeat.
She rose.
Stone in hand.
She walked back toward the center of the courtyard, where Frau Gerda knelt beside a sleeping soldier—one who had nearly died an hour ago, now resting beneath a damp cloth, his breathing shallow but steady.
Gerda looked up, her hands still stained with blood, her expression weary and taut.
Lili stopped before her.
Held out the stone with both hands.
"For healing," she said softly.
The words meant nothing to Gerda. But the gesture, the look in the girl's eyes, the gentle tremble of the air around her—it all meant something far more profound than language.
Gerda hesitated.
Then reached out.
Her fingers touched the stone.
And in that moment, she felt it.
A warmth—not heat, but something deeper. It surged gently through her palm, up her wrist, through her arm and into her chest. It was not fire. It was not light. It was grace—the kind of feeling she hadn't known since the birth of her last child, since her husband had whispered her name with his final breath.
She gasped.
Her hand curled around the stone like a mother protecting an infant.
Tears welled in her eyes without warning, blurring her vision. She bowed her head, clutching the glowing gift to her chest as if it might vanish if she let it go.
Lili smiled, the kind of smile that came from knowing—not pride, not triumph—just quiet, honest love.
She turned back to Tanya, who had watched the whole exchange in silence.
"I'm ready," Lili said.
Tanya didn't speak at first. Then she gave a single nod.
"Pick one."
They returned to the weapons pile. Lili looked over the battered options, her fingers hovering until they settled on a small percussion pistol—simple, old, but functional. She tested the grip, held it in both hands, then slid it awkwardly into the waistband of her too-large trousers.
She looked uncertain.
But she didn't protest.
As they turned toward the courtyard gate, the air behind them seemed to still once more. Eyes followed them—wounded, priest, midwife, soldier.
The priest raised his hand—not in warning, not in farewell.
In benediction.
He said nothing.
Just watched.
And behind them, Frau Gerda remained kneeling. The stone still glowed in her hand, warm as a heartbeat. She did not speak either. But her lips moved in silent prayer.
The tale of the twin girls began not with fanfare.
But with silence.
And the silence carried with it the weight of something old and holy. A legend reborn in the smoke of a dying town, whispered not in awe, but in gratitude.
---
The gate creaked open slowly, its iron hinges groaning like old men waking from a too-short sleep. Tanya stepped through first, rifle awkwardly slung over her shoulder, pistol belt snug across her narrow hips. Her boots—slightly too large—scuffed against the stone with each measured step.
Lili followed, her borrowed clothes hanging loosely from her small frame, the simple pistol tucked clumsily into her waistband. She moved lightly, eyes wide and alert, watching everything.
The street outside the courtyard was quiet, but not still. Distant cracks of gunfire rolled through the morning air like the rumbles of a distant storm. Somewhere ahead, cannon fire echoed, dull and heavy.
The girls kept to the edge of the road, passing shuttered homes and carts abandoned mid-journey. A dog barked once, then fell silent. The air smelled of dust, blood, and smoke.
Tanya scanned their surroundings as they moved. The town had the look of somewhere not yet ruined, but fraying at the edges. Windows were shattered in places. Doors hung crooked. The signs of battle were recent, raw.
A narrow alley led them around a half-burned bakery. Tanya paused, crouched, and peeked around the corner.
Ahead, down the next street, she saw them.
Soldiers.
A small group—five, maybe six—ducking behind a barricade of barrels and overturned wagons. They were dirty, sweating, their helmets askew, uniforms torn and stained. One was reloading with trembling hands. Another leaned against the wall, coughing into a bloodied rag.
And beyond them—
Smoke.
The bridge.
Tanya turned back to Lili. "We're close."
Lili nodded, stepping up beside her.
They moved again, slower now, ducking into another alley, weaving through the maze of stone and shadow. A shutter creaked above them. A voice muttered in a language they didn't understand.
As they rounded a corner, the smell of powder grew stronger. Tanya paused.
They'd reached the edge of the front.
From their position behind a half-destroyed smithy, they could see the bridge in the distance—a narrow arc of stone spanning the river. On the far side, French soldiers in red trousers and blue coats advanced in waves, muskets raised, bayonets gleaming. Some had fallen. More were coming.
Prussian defenders crouched in the street behind overturned carts and makeshift fortifications, firing in volleys. The roar of muskets filled the air, a thunder without pause.
Tanya crouched behind a broken barrel, adjusting the rifle across her lap. She scanned the field, watching the rhythm of movement. The smoke. The flanking maneuvers. The sharp bursts of orders shouted through the chaos.
Lili crouched beside her, face pale, hands trembling slightly. She said nothing, but her eyes were wide.
A man fell nearby—shot through the shoulder. He screamed, then was dragged back by two others.
Tanya watched.
Calculated.
Then turned to Lili.
"You see the rhythm?" she asked softly.
Lili blinked. "What?"
"The way they move. Fire. Reload. Advance. Repeat." Tanya pointed to the French line. "They're pushing hard. But not well. They're trying to break the bridge. If they take it, they'll pour into the town."
"Can we stop them?"
"Not alone." Tanya looked down at the rifle in her hands. "But maybe we can help."
She didn't say how. Not yet. But already her mind was working—calculating positions, evaluating cover, planning movement.
Behind them, a cannon boomed.
Lili flinched.
Tanya didn't.
She looked over at her twin and saw her fear.
And smiled.
Not kindly. Not cruelly.
But with certainty.
"We've done harder things," she said.
And together, they prepared to step into the war.
---