Chapter 16: Children’s Minds

The fire crackled softly, and the girl nibbled on the last bit of her bread crust. Beside her, the boy sat still and quiet, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees. His eyes flicked to Roy now and then, uncertain. The girl tugged gently at the boy’s sleeve.

“I’m still hungry…” she whispered.

The boy blinked, then glanced at her. Her cheeks are faintly hollow, her eyes wide but tired. Without a word, he picked up his half-eaten bread and handed it to her. His hands were small, but the motion was practised and was done without any hesitation.

The girl frowned. “But…”

“Just eat," he said, voice low but not harsh.

She hesitated, then obeyed. He turned his face away and folded his arms again, jaw clenched against the quiet rumble in his own stomach.

Roy, still seated at the table with his head resting on his left arm, cracked open an eye. He’d caught the exchange and the little rumble from the boy.

“Are you still hungry?” he said, his voice rough from fatigue but steady.

The boy turned to him sharply. “No thanks.”

The words were quick, like a passive reflex.

A moment later, a traitorous growl erupted from his stomach, loud and echoing in the quiet room like a tiger.

Rin’s ears flushed red instantly, arms clamping around his legs, tightening hard around him to strangle the sound back into silence. The girl froze mid-bite, her eyes wide open.

Roy sat up fully, brow raised. “Huh,” he said lightly, pushing up from the table. “Could’ve sworn I just heard a dying bear in here.”

Rin stared at the floor.

Roy dusted off his sleeves and stretched, bones popping. “Come on,” he said, already walking toward the kitchen. “You two, get up and follow me.”

The children hesitated for only a second. Then the girl rose quickly, following close behind. The boy stood slower, wariness etched into every line of his thin frame, but he followed.

They stepped through the beaded curtain into the kitchen, where the soft sound of water splashing against ceramic filled the room. Ilya stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, hands in soapy water as she scrubbed the used bowls with practised care.

She glanced over her shoulders, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you here?”

The children were waiting outside the kitchen when Roy gave them a hazy wave to come inside. “They’re still hungry,” he said. “So I’m making them something.”

Ilya looked between him and the children, then turned back to the sink. “Alright. Don’t make a mess then.”

Roy was already opening a cupboard. “Sure. Sure.”

He grabbed a pan from the rack and set it on the stovetop with a soft clink, then pulled out a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth from the pantry corner. He brought it to the counter, unwrapped it, and began slicing it into rough squares, not too perfect, but even enough.

“Old trick from when I was younger,” he said absently to no one in particular. “Fast and simple, and it fills your stomach enough to quiet it down.”

He poured a very small portion of oil into the pan and set it over the flame. The oil shimmered faintly as he added the bread squares, letting them sizzle gently as the heat caught. He worked in silence for a moment, the only sounds being the soft bubbling of the oil and Ilya’s steady washing.

The boy was standing behind him, carefully watching him cook, not with suspicion this time, but with the quiet curiosity of someone who had rarely seen someone cook for others without asking for something in return.

Roy sprinkled in a mix of spices from a small wooden box. Dried herbs, crushed red pepper, and a pinch of something golden. Then he reached into a jar and added a generous handful of chopped coriander, the leaves fresh and aromatic. He began to shake the pan gently, tilting and turning it in smooth motions, coating the bread evenly.

The girl leant forward a little, her nose twitching at the scent.

“I don’t know if it’ll be as good as Ilya’s soup,” Roy said as he stirred, “but I promise it won’t taste like burnt potatoes, though.”

“I heard that,” Ilya said mildly from the sink, without turning.

Roy smirked. “You were supposed to.”

He worked with surprising ease, focused but relaxed. Eventually, he turned off the flame and began dividing the now-golden bread bites into plastic bowls. Four portions, each warm and crisp, with a sprinkle of salt and herbs on top. A smaller fifth one sat off to the side.

“For Kieran,” Roy said, noticing the children’s glance. “He’ll wake up eventually and complain that no one saved him anything. Might as well stay ahead.”

Right before he was about to hand the two bowls to the kids, he stopped right in front of their outstretched hands.

“And who am I giving this to?”

The boy and girl looked at each other, wondering if they should tell him their names. The little girl went first.

“My name is Mella,” she said quietly, but adorably.

'As soon as she said that, but in a less adorable way,' the boy said. “My name is Rin.”

He was happy with their answer, and so Roy handed one bowl to Mella, one to Rin, and another to Ilya, who took it without comment but with a faint glint of amusement in her eye, and kept the last for himself.

Rin stared down at the food for a moment. The scent was rich and warm, and his stomach gave another protesting gurgle. Still, he glanced at Roy warily.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” he said. “Are you not hungry?”

Roy raised an eyebrow as he blew on a piece. “You really think I’d go to all this effort just to watch you eat it?”

Rin said nothing. Mella was already trying hers. She took a tentative bite, then blinked.

“…It’s good,” she whispered, surprised.

Rin picked up a piece. Took a bite.

His eyes widened just slightly. Then he looked down quickly, hiding the reaction. “It’s… okay,” he mumbled.

Roy grinned, lifting a piece to his mouth. “That’s the most enthusiastic review I’ve had in weeks.”

They stood or sat where they could in the kitchen. Ilya leaned against the counter, Roy perched on a stool, and the kids sat on the warm stone floor. Bowls in laps, eating slowly but steadily. The tension that had thickened around Rin since their arrival seemed to lessen, little by little, like ice left in sunlit air.

Roy didn’t push conversation. Neither did Ilya. The silence wasn’t awkward, just quiet and was meant to be lived in.

For the time, that was enough.

After a few minutes, Ilya straightened, setting her empty bowl on the counter.

“There’s still a lot to wash,” she said, her tone more an announcement than a complaint.

Roy looked over. “Want help?”

“No,” she replied calmly, already dipping her hands back into the water. “You’ll just get in the way.”

Roy shrugged, taking another bite. “Ow. I’m deeply wounded.”

“You’ll live. Get over it.”

Mella giggled again, and this time, it wasn’t so hesitant. Rin gave her a look, but it wasn’t sharp. More… soft around the edges. Confused, maybe, by her comfort.

Roy’s eyes lingered on Rin for a moment longer on the way the boy still sat with one leg half-tensed, like he was ready to bolt at the slightest noise, but now with food in his hand and less steel in his spine.

He didn’t know exactly what had happened to the two before they stumbled into Nova’s walls, but he didn’t need the details. Not tonight. Sometimes just eating together was enough to say. 

I see you. You’re here. You matter.

Roy finished his bowl and placed it beside the sink. “I’m taking that as a pretty good win right here,” he said to no one in particular, stretching his arms again. “Now, if no one stops me, I’m collapsing somewhere soft and not getting up for at least ten hours.”

“You’ll get five,” Ilya said flatly.

“Cruel.”

He walked out with a low groan, muttering something about finding a bed that wasn’t already claimed by Kieran’s snoring corpse. Mella giggled again, quieter this time, as she chewed another piece of bread.

Ilya didn’t say anything else; he just kept washing dishes, the gentle rhythm of water and ceramic steady as the fading firelight.

Rin glanced at her once.

Then down at his empty bowl.

Then, very quietly, he said, “Thank you.”

Ilya didn’t turn around. But her voice was soft when she answered.

“You’re welcome.”

And in the warmth of the kitchen, beneath the dim orange glow of the lantern, the silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was safe.