“Look!” she said, pointing toward a street performer playing violin near the market square. “He’s so good! Can we watch?”
Kazou smiled faintly. “Just a minute, Hannah. Stay where I can see you.”
He turned to Natalie, who was walking beside him—quiet, reserved, her gaze darting occasionally between shop windows and passing faces. For a brief moment, she looked normal again. The morning light softened her, almost humanized her exhaustion.
But then, she stopped.
It was sudden. Her breath hitched; her eyes went glassy, unfocused. The color drained from her face as she stared at something—nothing—on the pavement ahead.
“Natalie?” Kazou asked, his tone instantly sharp. He reached for her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Hannah turned, still holding her sweets. “Miss Natalie?”
Natalie’s hands went to her temples, trembling. A low, strangled sound escaped her throat as flickers of memory slammed into her—quick, violent bursts like strobe lights. A face. A voice. A child’s laughter. A dark room. The name Tomasz whispered over and over like an echo she’d buried.
“I remember,” she muttered, voice breaking. “I… I remember.”
Kazou’s grip tightened. “What do you mean?”
She looked up at him, her eyes wet and distant, like she was staring through him. “Mr. Tomasz… I knew him,” she said. “Not in this life. Before.”
Kazou frowned. “Before?”
“In my past life,” she whispered. “He was the child of my niece.”
Hannah blinked, confused, hugging her bag of sweets close. “What's happening, Natalie?”
Kazou’s brow furrowed. “Natalie… that’s not possible.”
“It is,” she said, voice low but trembling. “That’s why he knows about Casimir. That’s why he knows Casimir's here.”
Kazou took a step back, trying to make sense of it. “Why did he know about Casimir... How did he know Casimir was here? He may be correct, but how would he even—”
“Because my sister, his grandmother, wanted him to be like Casimir,” Natalie interrupted. Her voice cracked. “She raised him in his image. Every lesson, every story, every plan—it was Casimir’s. She wanted him to inherit his mind. She wanted him to be like that soldier. That great, great soldier I had sent off to war."
Kazou stared at her, his confusion mixing with unease.
“She trained him,” Natalie said, her eyes wide, shaking her head as though trying to stop the flood of memory. “She made him study my son. She wanted him to be the replacement if we lost my son.”
“And now?” Kazou asked quietly.
“Now,” she whispered, “he hasn't. He hasn't become the devil... Thank god...”
Hannah tugged at Kazou’s sleeve, uneasy. “Kazou… who’s Casimir actually? You always talk about him!”
He didn’t answer. He was still watching Natalie, who stood frozen in the sunlight, breathing hard, her hands still clutching her head as though afraid her memories would spill out onto the cobblestones.
The violinist’s music faded into a discordant note as the city carried on, unaware.
"That's how he knows Casimir is in Wroclaw. He is right. Casimir is here. He knows this because... Because Karla and Jolana wanted him to know Casimir's steps... He must have found him again as a clone and learned his moves..." Natalie said shakily.
"Karla? Jolana" Kazou muttered. "Who is Karla? Who is Jolana?"
"Jolana was my older sister... Karla was my niece.... Jolana's daughter... Karla... Karla Capek was her name... During the war, they lived in Wroclaw. Jolana and Karla. Tomasz was barely born in the middle of the war."
"Really?" Kazou asks.
"Yes. Wait, how old would Karla be now? ... 90s? 80s? Is she even alive still?" Natalie muttered.
Kazou’s face softened, but his voice stayed cautious. “You’re sure you remember this, right?”
Natalie nodded slowly, eyes distant. “It’s not remembering,” she said. “It’s returning. The memories aren’t coming back—they’ve always been there. They were just… sealed away.”
She turned her gaze toward the tram lines, where the morning light glinted off the cables like thin threads of silver. Her voice grew quieter, more detached.
“Jolana was brilliant. Strange, but brilliant. She admired Casimir to a fault—his discipline, his logic, his… perfection. She used to say he wasn’t human but something closer to the ideal man. The soldier of the century. A mind untouched by chaos..."
Kazou tilted his head. “That sounds… unsettling.”
“It was,” Natalie said. “When Casimir didn't return from the war, Jolana became obsessed with finding out where he’d gone. They spent years collecting everything written about him, every document, every rumor. Jolana became convinced that his bloodline—his ideas—could be rebuilt. She said that he had the potential to be the leader of the world. She told me she would search and search until she found his body. She wanted his DNA at least... Anything. My sister was obsessed with him."
She exhaled shakily. “That’s why she raised Tomasz the way she did. Jolana told him bedtime stories about Casimir like he was a mythic hero, not a man. Oh, how is mother Karla hated that... Jolana made him study war journals before he could read properly. And when you said that you had met Tomasz in this life, I was so happy to hear he was living normally beyond that."
Hannah looked between them, confused but listening.
“So… she wanted to make another Casimir?” Kazou inquired.
“Yes,” Natalie whispered. “And maybe she did... but not in the way she expected. Maybe she was the one who gave you that DNA to create the clone of Casimir."
"No. That can't be... It was my father who gave me that blueprint." Kazou shook his head.
"Right... Sorry..."
Kazou stepped closer, his brow creased. “Do you think Tomasz really knew where Casimir was hiding. That he wasn’t guessing.”
Natalie nodded. “He didn’t guess, Kazou. He followed him. He’s been following Casimir for years. Every step. Every city. He knew that Casimir was the devil."
The sound of the violinist’s bow scraping the strings felt almost haunting now. Hannah had stopped smiling. She clutched Kazou’s hand.
Natalie’s eyes were distant again, but her voice turned faintly bitter. “Karla must have been in her eighties by now. Maybe the nineties. I don’t even know if she’s alive. But if she is…”
Kazou nodded, understanding before she finished.
Natalie blinked, her pupils tightening. The realization hit her like a stone. “I want her to know im sorry for giving birth to a monster..."
"And I'm sorry for bringing it back..." Kazou muttered, eyes lowering with guilt.
A tram bell rang out in the distance—sharp, metallic, echoing down the narrow street.
And as the three of them turned toward it, the golden calm of Wroc?aw seemed to dim. The city’s colors felt duller, its people quieter, its beauty stretched thin over something hidden and rotten underneath.
"Who am I really? Am I Sasha Bielska? Am I Experiment Nine? Am I Natalie Chmiel? Who?" Natalie whispered, almost to herself.
Kazou opened his mouth slightly, about to speak again.
"Wait! Where is Karla Capek?!" Natalie exclaimed.
A woman—an older local with a shopping bag tucked under her arm—had paused mid-step when she overheard Natalie’s outburst.
“Karla ?apek?” she repeated, her tone mildly surprised. “Of course, I know her. Everyone around here does. She used to own that little café by the river—the one with the blue awning, next to the flower shop. Lovely pastries. Terrible coffee.”
Natalie’s breath caught. “She owned it?”
The woman nodded, a faint nostalgic smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, yes. Years ago. Before she fell ill, the place was called Café Mirabelle. You could still see her name on the door—‘Founder: Karla ?apek.’”
Natalie stepped closer, voice trembling. “Where is she now?”
“Oh…” The woman’s smile faded. “She’s been in the hospital for some time. In the ICU. Memorial Hospital—just past the university district. Everyone says she doesn’t talk much anymore. Poor soul, lost her daughter long ago… and her mother, too.”
The words daughter and mother hit Natalie like bricks. Her heart began to race. “She’s alive?”
“As far as I know.” The woman adjusted her bag and frowned faintly. “Though some say she drifts in and out. Always talking about some war, some man… I think she’s confused most of the time.”
Natalie’s throat tightened. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “Thank you.”
The woman nodded kindly, then went on her way, disappearing into the stream of morning pedestrians.
Kazou turned to Natalie. Her face was pale again, but this time not from fear—something deeper. Shock. Recognition.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“She’s alive,” Kazou said softly.
Natalie nodded numbly, almost whispering, “After all this time…”
Hannah tugged at her sleeve. “Who’s Karla, Natalie?”
Natalie didn’t answer. Her eyes were unfocused, almost trembling with a strange mix of terror and longing. “She’s… the last witness,” she murmured. “The last person who knows everything. About Casimir. About me. About what happened during and after the war, after Sasha Bielska died."
Kazou looked down the street, where a tram was pulling up, its metal wheels screeching against the rails. “Then we need to go,” he said firmly.
Natalie turned to him, her expression hardening. “To Memorial Hospital.”
Kazou nodded once. “Now.”
"Yay, field trip!" Hannah exclaimed, throwing her arms up.
The three moved quickly through the morning crowd—Natalie walking ahead with renewed urgency, Kazou close behind, Hannah clutching his hand to keep up. The violinist’s mournful tune drifted faintly in the distance, swallowed by the rising hum of the city.
As they crossed the street toward the tram line, the sunlight glinted off the café window they passed—its sign faded, but the name was still legible:
Café Mirabelle — Founder: Karla ?apek.
Natalie stopped for only a second, her reflection ghostly in the glass. “I’m coming, Karla,” she whispered, so softly Kazou almost didn’t hear. "Something happened during the war. Something happened after the war. Something that I missed! My sister knew something I didn't about Casimir, and she told Karla everything. She knows why Casimir is a demon."
Then she turned and stepped onto the tram, as Wroc?aw’s morning blurred behind them.
The tram rumbled through Wroc?aw’s waking streets, its rhythmic clatter filling the silence between them. Morning had ripened into full daylight—warm and golden—yet inside the tram, the mood was somber. Natalie sat near the window, her reflection trembling in the glass as the city slid by in a blur of motion and memory.
Kazou sat beside her, Hannah across from them, hugging her bag of sweets. None of them spoke. The sound of the tram’s wheels screeching on the curves seemed louder than usual, like a whisper dragging across metal.
Natalie stared out, fingers lightly pressed to her lips. “She’s still alive…” she murmured, almost to herself. “After all this time.”
Kazou looked over, voice quiet. “You really think she’ll remember you?”
“She will,” Natalie said, her tone soft but unwavering. “Even if she doesn’t know my face, she’ll feel it. I know she will. But... I can't tell her I'm Sasha. I'm not Sasha. Im Natalie... I just shared memories with Sasha."
The tram bell rang out, and the announcement in Polish echoed through the cabin: “Nast?pny przystanek—Szpital Pami?ci.”
Next stop—Memorial Hospital.
They stepped off onto the platform. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and rain-soaked pavement. The hospital stood a few streets away—tall, white, and glass-paneled, with an austere modern look.
Hannah slowed down, gripping Kazou’s sleeve as they approached.
“Are we visiting someone sick?” she asked softly.
Kazou nodded. “Someone… important.”
Hannah nodded with a hint of enthusiasm.
Inside, the hospital was quiet except for the quiet chatter of nearby nurses and the echo of distant footsteps. At the reception desk, a middle-aged brunette-haired nurse in pale blue scrubs looked up from her computer.
“Dzień dobry. How can I help you?”
Kazou gave a polite smile. “We’re looking for a patient. Her name is Karla ?apek. We were told she’s here in intensive care.”
"Uhm, one second." The nurse typed for a few moments, her nails clacking softly against the keyboard. Then she nodded. “Ah, Yes, Mrs. Capek. She’s here. Room 214, second floor, ICU wing.”
“Are visitors allowed?” Natalie asked quickly.
The nurse gave her a sympathetic look. “For short visits, yes. She doesn’t get many. You’ll need to be quiet—she’s been getting weaker.”
Natalie nodded, visibly trying to steady her breath. “Thank you.”
The nurse handed them small visitor badges. “Down that hall, take the left elevator. Room 214 is near the window. Don't bother anyone else."
"Oooh! Badges!" Hannah giggled.
They followed her directions through a long white corridor lined with silent rooms and the faint beeping of heart monitors. Hannah held Kazou’s hand tightly, her small footsteps echoing softly on the tile.
As they turned the corner, the air grew heavier—quieter. The ICU wing had a quietness to it that made even breathing feel intrusive. Nurses moved soundlessly between rooms.
Finally, they reached Room 214.
The door was half open. Inside, sunlight filtered through the blinds, painting thin stripes across the white sheets of a hospital bed. A frail old woman was sitting upright, her gray hair brushed neatly. Her eyes, pale blue and surprisingly clear, turned toward them as they entered, a breathing tube hissing softly beside her.
There was a hint of surprise in them—but no hostility, only the natural curiosity of someone who’d been alone too long.
Natalie froze at the threshold. Her breath hitched. Her eyes filled with thick tears she didn’t understand.
Kazou looked at her, then at the woman in the bed. “That’s her?” he whispered.
Natalie nodded slowly.
“Karla ?apek…” Natalie said under her breath, the name trembling from her lips like a prayer—or a curse. "Sasha Bielska's niece..."
***
"Auntie Sasha? When is cousin Casimir coming home?" Asked a teen girl. Karla. "I miss him... I wanted him to meet my son, who will be born soon."
"He's fighting for our country. He will be back soon, so don't worry. Okay, love? Sasha replied gently, stroking Karla's hair.
***
For a long moment, Natalie couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The murmur of machines and the faint murmur of distant monitors filled the silence between them.
Then—slowly—Natalie stepped forward into the room.
“Hello,” Natalie said quietly.
Karla smiled faintly. “Oh. Visitors. How lovely.” Her voice was soft but trembling—like glass about to crack. “Who are you, dear?”
“I was… a former customer,” Natalie said gently.
Karla blinked, trying to place her. “A customer? From the cafe?”
“Yes.” Natalie smiled faintly. “From the old market in Wroc?aw...”
Karla seemed to think about that. Her eyes moved, searching invisible shelves in her mind. “I used to sell coffee… cakes… sometimes sandwiches. People liked my cakes.” She looked at Natalie again, frowning lightly. “You look so familiar. Have we met properly before?”
Natalie hesitated. “…No. I don’t think so. I was just a background customer..."
Karla squinted, studying her face. “You have kind eyes. I swear I’ve seen you before. Are you—” She tilted her head. “Are you my mother?”
Natalie’s breath caught. She smiled sadly. “No. I’m not.”
“Oh…” Karla said softly, embarrassed. She looked away. “You have that same warmth, though. The same sadness.”
Natalie stepped closer. “You had a beautiful mother, didn’t you?”
Karla looked up, surprised.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Her name was Jolana.” Her eyes shimmered slightly. “She was beautiful. Everyone said so. She had long red hair and eyes that could silence anyone. She wasn’t afraid of anyone, not even God. She said the world was small, and she would make it big again.”
Natalie felt her throat tighten. “What happened to her?”
“She… changed,” Karla said slowly. “She started talking about something called the succession. She said the future depended on it. That it all began with a boy.”
Natalie’s pulse skipped. “A boy?”
Karla smiled faintly, dreamy now, her voice drifting.
“Yes. He had golden hair and eyes like glass. He was different. He didn’t smile like other children. His name was…”
“Casimir?” Natalie whispered.
Karla’s eyes widened. “You knew him? But you are so young?"
Natalie didn’t answer. She simply nodded once. "I heard of him."
Karla let out a breath, trembling. “That was him. Casimir. He was my cousin. My mother, Jolana, loved him like her own. She said he was destined for something great. She said he was… the new Adam.” Her gaze dimmed slightly. “It frightened me sometimes. The way she looked at him. She wanted my boy—Tomasz—to be just like him.”
Natalie’s hands tightened. “Tomasz,” she repeated, her voice faint.
Karla nodded. “She made Tomasz study old languages. Psychology. Science. Even theology. She said if Casimir never returned from the war, then Tomasz would inherit what he left behind. Like a bloodline, but not of family—of ideas.” She paused. “Sometimes I think she lost her mind. But she was brilliant, too. She said she had something no one else did—Casimir’s DNA. She told us she found it years ago, from someone who once worked at the university.” Karla laughed softly, shaking her head. “We didn’t believe her, of course. We thought she’d finally gone mad. DNA, destinies, rebirth—it all sounded like myth. But she said she gave the DNA to a scientist. A Japanese man. Do you know what she said to me before she died?”
Natalie’s voice was barely audible. “What?”
“She said, ‘The world ends with him. The boy is still alive. The scientist will resurrect Casimir Bielska."
Natalie closed her eyes. For a moment, the walls of the hospital seemed to close in around her. The faint beep of the heart monitor blurred into static. A tremor passed through her fingers.
Karla smiled faintly, as if unaware of the earthquake she’d just caused. “You look like someone,” she murmured. “Someone from a photograph I keep.”
She pointed to the wall.
Natalie turned.
Above the dresser, a dozen framed pictures hung—faded, black and white photos, yellowing at the edges. Ordinary moments of laughter, children, weddings, and picnics. But one photo stood out: a black-and-white portrait, perfectly centered.
Four faces.
A teenage Karla.
Jolana.
A woman—Sasha—smiling faintly beside a child with hollow, perfect eyes. Casimir.
Natalie reached for the frame. Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted it down.
Karla smiled warmly when she saw it. “Yes, that one. That’s my family.”
Her finger touched the glass, tracing the faces.
“That’s me… that’s my mother, Jolana… that’s my aunt, Sasha—and that little boy…” Her eyes softened. “That’s Casimir. Sasha’s son. He used to stay with us during the summers. Always quiet. Always polite. But there was something about him… he looked like he was born knowing too much. What a smart young man he was. I can't believe we lost him and Sasha during the war..."
Natalie stared at the photo. She could feel her pulse thudding behind her eyes. Sasha’s face stared back at her—serene, composed, gentle. The resemblance was uncanny.
Lost Sasha and Casimir during the war? How was Sasha lost? Natalie tried to recall Sasha's death but could barely put it together. All she remembered was flashes of her final moments.
***
White static. Snow—soft, silent. A sheet pulled over the world. Where? How? The forest edge. Just the forest. Alone.
Frozen hands. No feeling. Just the rope, frayed edges biting the palm. A promise.
A knot. A tree. The rope. On the other hand, her crumpled birth certificate. Her name. Gone. Like his.
His name. A letter—C. A sound, dissolving. Tragedy struck. A blank space where a face should be.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my son." Whispers in the snow. "I'm sorry I forgot your name."
Fire. Licking the edges. Her name—ash. Smoke coiling into the winter air. "I won't be remembered either."
The wind takes it. Gone. Just like the son. Gone. The war had him. A part of the soul—stolen. Failure. Couldn't protect him.
Charred paper. Embers flicker—fade. Shaking. Grief is a weight.
The rope. Still there. Held. A glance. Alone. Unforgiving cold. The name. C. Just beyond.
You, me, and the end. Right?
A gentle whisper. Not hers. "But what is the end? Is death the end? Or is it when the universe collapses back on itself, like what Alexander Friedmann had said?"
She lifted the rope.
***
Natalie's eyes widened in confusion.
Karla chuckled softly. “You look just like her, you know. Sasha.” Her voice grew tender. “You have her expression. Calm, even when upset.”
Natalie forced a smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, though her throat ached.
“She disappeared when Casimir did,” Karla said suddenly. “No one ever found them. Some said they moved abroad. Others said they died. But sometimes I dream about her. I dream she’s still alive… walking the streets like time forgot her.”
Natalie’s chest tightened. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have brought this up.”
A desperate, raw ache clawed at Natalie's throat. The distance between them felt like an ocean, vast and impossible to cross. It wasn't fair...
All she wanted—all she needed—was to wrap her arms around her niece, to pull her close and let the warmth of their touch melt away the fear and confusion.
Natalie's heart screamed the truth that her lips couldn't yet utter: "It's me. I'm here. It's Auntie Sasha."
Karla smiled faintly. “Don’t apologize, dear. It’s nice to talk about them. It’s all that’s left.” Her eyes glistened, old memories stirring like dust. “You know, I used to think family was just blood. But after everything… I think it’s memory. Memory that keeps people alive. Even when they shouldn’t be.”
Natalie looked down, blinking fast. Karla reached for her hand. Her skin was frail but warm.
“Are you Sasha?” Karla asked suddenly, voice trembling. “Are you my auntie?”
Natalie froze. Her heart twisted.
She wanted to tell her yes. That she’d come back, that it was okay now. That the world could still be kind. But she couldn’t...
She smiled through tears that burned quietly down her cheeks. “No,” she whispered. “I’m not Sasha. I’m Natalie.”
Karla’s eyes shimmered. “Natalie…” she repeated softly, like testing the sound of the name. Then she smiled, faintly content. “That’s a lovely name.”
She leaned back slowly, sighing.
“Then… maybe Sasha sent you. Maybe she knew I needed someone to remember with.”
Natalie couldn’t speak.
The sunlight caught on the frame of the photograph, throwing a thin golden reflection across the bedsheets. It illuminated their hands—one young, one old—clasped together in silence.
Behind them, Kazou stood quietly, watching. His expression was unreadable but full of quiet understanding. His face wore a slight smile. Hannah clung to his sleeve, her small face solemn, as if sensing something enormous passing invisibly between the two women.
Karla began to hum softly—an old melody, faint and fractured by years. Natalie recognized it. A lullaby. One Sasha used to hum in the archives of her dreams, in the fragments of memory she didn’t want to admit were real.
She watched Karla drift slowly toward sleep, the sunlight softening the edges of her face. And Natalie realized she wasn’t crying for Karla, or Jolana, or even Sasha.
She was crying because she finally understood that time is a beautifully fleeting thing... Something no one should ever take for granted.