Anna smiled—soft, uncertain, but bright. “I’ll remember that. Goodbye, Professor Ivanova! See ya tomorrow!"
She stepped out into the glowing hallway, her heart fluttering between nervousness and anticipation. The last light of day stretched across the tiled floor, leading her toward the stairwell that wound up to the roof.
Up there, she knew, was the boy who always looked like he’d already seen the end of the world—and somehow, was still studying for it.
"I got this! I got this!" She muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs. "I'm going to talk to him! Just me and him! I will confess!"
Anna didn’t know when it had started, this strange fascination with Casimir Bielska. It had only grown over time, the way she would catch glimpses of him in the halls, or the way he never seemed to be in any hurry. But what captivated her most was the look he would give her when their eyes met—calm, yet knowing. In control. Beautiful. Like he saw straight through her.
Anna stepped out through the maintenance door and blinked at the light. The air felt clearer somehow, freer. She turned, scanning the wide expanse of the roof—gravel, vents, the rusted shapes of antennas. For a moment, she thought maybe Professor Ivanova had been wrong—maybe he wasn’t here today.
The rooftop was quiet—almost reverent. Wind brushed over the golden concrete like a living breath, cool and damp from the evening air. The sky above Wroc?aw was painted in soft orange and violet tones, the clouds smeared thinly across the horizon like strokes of oil paint as the sun set below the building.
"Wow!" Anna gasped.
From up here, the city sounded far away—traffic muted, the hum of life softened into something almost peaceful.
She stepped out further, her shoes clicking softly on the roof tiles. For a moment, she wasn’t sure where to look—then she saw him.
Casimir stood a few levels above her, on the upper section of the roof—near the solar panels that caught the sun’s last rays. He was still, his back straight, hands clasped neatly behind him, his grey blazer rippling slightly in the evening breeze. The orange light caught in his hair, making it shimmer like pale gold. His scarf—light, ash-gray—fluttered against the fading sky, as if caught between the day’s warmth and the night’s chill.
He looked impossibly composed, as if he had been standing there for hours, not out of boredom but out of a kind of quiet reverence. Watching the sun die seemed like a ritual for him—something he did not do for beauty, but for understanding.
Anna hesitated at first. She felt intrusive, stepping into his quiet world. But the wind tugged at her sleeve, urging her forward. She jogged lightly across the roof until she reached the base of the small iron ladder that led up to where he stood.
Casimir turned at the sound of her footsteps. His expression softened immediately, as though he had been expecting her all along.
“Anna,” he said, his voice low, calm, measured, like the end of a sentence that had taken years to find its words. “You found me.”
His tone wasn’t surprised—just faintly amused.
Anna stopped at the base of the ladder, catching her breath. “Professor Ivanova told me you’d be up here,” she said. “She said you… Study better on the roof. She recommended that we be study buddies!"
“You really came,” he said simply, his voice low but carried easily on the wind.
“You knew I was coming?” she asked, slightly out of breath.
Casimir chuckled. “I heard footsteps. And Professor Ivanova only sends one person up here.”
Anna blinked. “You knew she’d—?”
Casimir smiled faintly, his eyes narrowing with that almost otherworldly gentleness that made people unsure whether to trust him or fear him. “Did I?” He stepped closer to the edge and looked down at her, then extended a hand. “It’s slippery. Be careful.”
Anna hesitated only a second before reaching up. His hand was cool—soft but steady. He tightened his grip slightly as she climbed, and when she slipped on one of the metal rungs, he caught her by the wrist and pulled her up with surprising strength. Anna’s pulse fluttered as she climbed, her fingers curling around the cold metal. When she reached him, she slipped her hand into his, and his grip was warm—steady, deliberate. He lifted her easily, guiding her up onto the platform. For a brief moment, their eyes met, and she forgot entirely why she’d come.
For a moment, she was inches away from him—his face illuminated by the last golden light, his eyes pale and unreadable, and his scarf brushing against her cheek. The scent of him was clean, faintly like cedar and paper. Her heart stuttered. Anna's face reddened with blush.
“Thanks,” she managed.
He nodded once, letting her go gently. “You’re welcome.
Casimir's hair glowed faintly in the light, strands fluttering, and for a second, he looked unreal—something drawn, not born.
The rooftop was like another world. The solar panels formed a kind of quiet courtyard, their glassy surfaces reflecting orange and violet light. Around the perimeter, a narrow balcony curved, bordered by a low ledge that overlooked the entire city. From up there, the world below looked both endless and small—spires and trams, distant streets, tiny silhouettes of people moving through their lives unaware of the two figures above them.
They stood together on the upper roof, now—a narrow platform surrounded by the silver frames of solar panels and a low balcony ledge. The view stretched across Wroc?aw’s rooftops, warm lights flickering on as dusk settled. The city looked alive and peaceful—like a painting that refused to fade.
Anna tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to keep her composure. “So…” she began awkwardly, “this is where you hide from everyone?”
Casimir gave a small, amused laugh. “Hide? No. Observe, maybe.” He turned back toward the city, eyes on the horizon. “People rarely look up. It’s peaceful here. You can almost believe the world is gentle from this height.”
Anna smiled faintly, stepping beside him. “That’s poetic.”
The wind moved between them again, carrying a soft rustle through his scarf. Anna looked at him quietly. There was something about the way he stood—his posture, the stillness, the control—that made him seem older than he was. Like he had seen too much and decided long ago that silence was the only proper response.
“So what are you studying up here?” she asked, feigning curiosity to hide her nerves.
Casimir glanced at her, then back to the skyline. “The same thing everyone studies, I suppose. The distance between what is and what could have been.”
She blinked. “That’s not a subject.”
“Then Philosophy,” he said softly.
Anna let out a small laugh. “You really are strange, you know that? You are very interesting."
“Really? I find you interesting, Anna.” He smiled, almost proudly.
She studied him for a moment—his calmness, his beauty that felt almost unreal. He wasn’t just handsome; he was composed in a way that made her feel clumsy for breathing too loudly. Every movement, every word, was deliberate. Even when he smiled, it looked like he was hiding the reason behind it.
The wind caught his scarf again, and the light dimmed into violet. For a moment, everything was still—the city, the sky, the two of them standing close but not touching.
Anna watched him quietly, the words caught in her throat. She wanted to ask who he really was, why he spoke like someone who had lived a thousand lives, and why he looked at the dying sun like it was a promise.
But instead, she said softly, “It’s beautiful up here.”
Casimir nodded. “It is.”
And for the first time, Anna thought she saw it too—the beauty in stillness, in sadness, in the way the day ends gently, never in a rush. She didn’t notice that he was watching her, that faint, knowing smile still on his face—like he already knew the next question she was going to ask.
They stood in silence for a moment, the air between them filled only by the hum of the city and the faint creak of the roof in the wind. Anna wanted to ask about The Forgotten Soldier, but she couldn’t—not yet. Something about the calmness of him, the peace he radiated, made her afraid to break it.
Instead, she said, “You come here a lot?”
“Every day,” he said. “When the light looks like this. It’s the only time I feel like I’m standing at the border between two worlds. The one that’s still breathing—and the one that’s already gone.”
Anna frowned, a shiver running through her. “That sounds… lonely.”
Casimir smiled without looking at her. “Everything worth knowing begins with loneliness.”
Before she could respond, he moved. Without warning, he stepped up onto the narrow ledge of the balcony.
“Casimir!” Anna gasped, her voice catching in panic. “What are you doing?!”
He didn’t answer at first. His boots clicked lightly against the stone, and he balanced there effortlessly, hands still clasped behind his back. The sunset glowed around him, the wind brushing his scarf out like a banner. He looked as though he were walking on the line between heaven and earth—weightless, untouchable.
“Casimir, please,” she said, her voice trembling. “Get down. You’ll fall!”
He turned his head, calm as ever. “Fall? No. There’s nothing to fall into.”
“What are you talking about?”
He smiled faintly, stepping forward along the narrow edge. “Look down there, Anna. Isn’t it strange how beautiful it all looks when you’re just a little above it? All that chaos—tiny and harmless. The trams. The people. The lights. From here, everything seems perfect. Like a painting.”
Anna stood frozen, her hands clutched against her chest. “It’s scary.”
“It isn’t scary at all,” Casimir said softly. “It’s… freeing. This is the edge, you see. Between the earth and oblivion. Between what is and what might never be. Most people spend their lives running from it. I like to stand here and remember it’s real.”
He looked over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers—blue and soft and endless. “Don’t you like it up here?”
Anna swallowed. “I like it, but not— not like that.”
Casimir’s voice dropped, quieter. “The edge is beautiful, Anna. It’s where everything stops pretending to have meaning. You just see things as they are.”
He looked up again, to the fading sky. “Maybe this is the only place we’re ever truly honest—with ourselves, with the world. When we’re close enough to fall, but too curious to step back.”
Anna didn’t know whether to cry or smile. Something about his serenity unnerved her—the way he stood there, untouched by fear, like he’d already transcended it.
“Casimir,” she said softly, “please come down.”
He turned back toward her then, eyes shining faintly in the dusk. “You’re shaking,” he said.
“Of course I am,” she whispered. “You’re terrifying.”
He smiled. “Then that means I’m alive.”
And with that, he stepped down lightly from the ledge, landing beside her without a sound. The moment passed like a held breath released.
For a long second, neither spoke. Then Anna exhaled, half-laughing, half-angry. “You can’t just do things like that.”
“I do it every day,” Casimir said, amused.
“That doesn’t make it better.”
He looked at her, studying her expression. “You’re brave to come up here,” he said quietly. “Most people don’t. Maybe you like the edge too—you just don’t know it yet.”
Anna blushed again, not sure how to respond. His tone wasn’t teasing—it was gentle, sincere.
He turned toward the horizon once more, the last sunlight glancing across his face. “The edge of the world,” he murmured. “That’s what I call it.”
Anna followed his gaze. The city below shimmered in gold and violet, the rooftops stretching like ripples of light.
The wind had grown softer now—no longer sharp, but tender. The horizon had melted into amber and rose, the color of something half-remembered. Anna found herself standing beside him, unable to look away.
Casimir didn’t move or speak for a while. He just stood there with his hands in his coat pockets, looking out over the city as if it belonged to him—not in arrogance, but in understanding. He looked like someone who knew the world too well to be surprised by it anymore.
And somehow, that made Anna’s heart ache.
She was still recovering from what had just happened—his calmness on the ledge, the easy grace with which he walked the line between safety and oblivion. Her hands still trembled faintly, but her breath was steady again. Casimir turned to her, smiling faintly when he noticed.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“You’re pale,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be.”
Anna gave a nervous laugh. “You scared me to death.”
“I know,” Casimir replied gently. “And I’m sorry for that. I forget sometimes that not everyone likes the height.”
“You didn’t even blink,” she said, shaking her head. “Like you weren’t afraid at all.”
He shrugged, his expression almost serene. “Fear is just the body’s way of reminding you you’re still human. It’s not a curse. I just stopped listening to mine a long time ago.”
Anna tilted her head, curiosity outweighing her fear. “Stopped listening?”
Casimir smiled faintly. “When I realized most of what people call fear is only habit. The mind repeats what it’s been told until you believe it’s true. But fear is learned. It isn’t real.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Anna said.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But truth usually is.”
There was something in the way he said it—something patient, intimate, almost kind. He looked at her not like someone who wanted to impress her, but like someone who wanted to understand her. It disarmed her completely.
Anna glanced away, trying to keep her voice steady. “You talk like a philosopher.”
He chuckled softly. “That’s ironic, coming from Ivanova’s best student.”
Her cheeks went warm. “You noticed that?”
“Everyone notices,” Casimir said with a light smile. “But not everyone understands what it means. You’re not like them, Anna. You actually care about what words mean.”
She felt the air catch in her chest. “You sound like Professor Ivanova.”
“Ivanova is… remarkable,” he said. “But she’s old enough to have made peace with the world. You and I haven’t.”
Anna’s heart beat faster. There was something almost hypnotic about the way he spoke—soft, thoughtful, as though each sentence was born from a place of quiet certainty.
“I don’t think I’ll ever make peace with it,” she said.
Casimir smiled gently, turning toward her. “Then don’t. The world doesn’t deserve that kind of forgiveness.”
His eyes caught hers then—pale blue, but not cold. There was depth in them, a quiet sadness hidden behind the calm. For the first time, Anna wondered if his serenity was something learned through pain.
“You think too much,” he said, voice lowering slightly.
Anna laughed softly. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“True,” Casimir said, smiling. “But there’s a difference. You think to find the world’s meaning. I think to confirm it doesn’t have one.”
Anna blinked. “You don’t believe in meaning?”
He looked back toward the skyline. “Meaning is what people invent when they’re afraid to admit they’re small. But smallness isn’t bad. It’s honest.”
There was no arrogance in his tone—only a strange peace, a gentle acceptance that made her chest tighten.
“I think…” Anna said slowly, “I think that’s beautiful.”
Casimir turned slightly toward her, his scarf fluttering against his coat. “Then maybe you understand more than you think you do.”
Anna smiled, flustered. “Don’t say that. I’m supposed to be the student.”
He tilted his head. “A good student learns from everyone. Even from the lost.”
There was a pause. The way he said lost—it sounded so effortless, yet so heavy. She wanted to ask what he meant by it, but she was afraid of breaking the fragile quiet between them.
Instead, she said softly, “You’re not lost.”
Casimir smiled faintly. “Aren’t I?”
He stepped closer then, just slightly—close enough that she could see the outline of his eyes in the fading light, the faint shadows under them, the calm restraint in his posture. His presence was overwhelming without being forceful; he radiated a kind of still gravity that made her want to trust him without question.
“I think you’ve just been… hurt,” Anna said quietly.
Casimir’s smile wavered. “We all have.”
There was silence again—only the wind and the slow dimming of the sun. Casimir’s gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the last streaks of light were fading.
“Do you know what I like about sunsets?” he asked suddenly.
Anna shook her head.
“They never apologize for ending,” he said softly. “People could learn something from that.”
Anna watched him, her throat tightening. Every word he spoke felt both intimate and distant, as though he were letting her glimpse something sacred and unreachable. She felt drawn to him—not like a crush, but like gravity, a slow, gentle pull toward someone she didn’t yet understand.
He looked at her again, eyes thoughtful. “You’re kind,” he said simply.
“Not always,” she murmured.
“Yes, you are,” Casimir said. “That’s why people hurt you. Kind people make the world nervous.”
Her heart stumbled. “You talk like you know me.”
He smiled. “I notice things. That’s all.”
Anna couldn’t stop herself from smiling back. It was small, involuntary—like warmth slipping through cracks she didn’t know she had.
He stepped back toward the ledge, not climbing this time, just resting a hand against the railing. “If you ever need to think, or not think, you can come here,” he said. “No one else does. It’ll be our secret.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
He looked at her, and his expression softened into something almost affectionate. “Good. Then it’s settled.”
For a moment, the wind fell quiet. The last trace of sun disappeared, and the city below flickered to life—lights glowing like veins in the dark. Casimir turned, beginning to walk toward the exit. Anna followed, her pulse still unsteady.
She took a step closer, almost without realizing it — as though some invisible thread were pulling her forward, winding around her ribs, guiding her toward him. The wind moved between them, cool and electric, carrying the faint scent of rain and stone. Casimir didn’t move. He simply watched her, those pale eyes steady and unreadable, until she felt as if the rest of the world had fallen away.
“Do you trust me, Anna?”
His voice was quiet — too quiet — yet it sank into her chest like a whisper meant for the bones. Each syllable felt fragile, but weighted with something vast and perilous, like standing at the mouth of a cave and hearing the wind speak your name back to you.
She hesitated. Her heart thudded painfully, the sound filling the space between them.
“Yes,” she breathed, before she could think, before she could stop the word from escaping her lips.
Of course, she trusted him... Of course. Why wouldn't she trust him? Why wouldn't she trust that beautiful face?
It left her mouth like a confession. And the moment it did, Casimir’s expression softened — but not in relief. It was something else. Something knowing. His smile curved like a blade glinting in half-light — beautiful, but sharp enough to draw blood if touched the wrong way.
“Good,” he murmured. “Then come here.”
Anna’s pulse quickened, a dizzy flutter beneath her skin. She wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to, only that she couldn’t refuse. Her body moved before her mind caught up — one step, then another — until her hand was in his. His fingers were cool against hers, impossibly smooth, as though they’d never known warmth or callus. The contact sent a current through her, and she swallowed hard, afraid that if she spoke, her voice would break.
Casimir’s gaze softened again — that disarming calm, that almost divine poise that made her feel small and seen at the same time.
“Would you dance with me?” he asked, voice low, velvety. It was such an innocent question, and yet it didn’t feel innocent at all.
Anna blinked, lips parting in surprise. Dance? Here? The word felt out of place, almost absurd — and yet, the air around them seemed to hum in anticipation. The sky was bleeding into twilight, the world below fading to shadow, and in that strange hour between light and night, she felt like anything was possible.
“Yes,” she said, the sound trembling out of her like a secret.
Casimir’s smile deepened — not wide, but precise, like it was measured to perfection. Then, without breaking eye contact, he stepped backward up onto the balcony ledge.
Anna’s breath caught. The narrow strip of concrete beneath his feet looked impossibly thin, the drop beneath it infinite. The wind tugged at his scarf, pulling it sideways like a living thing, and for a heartbeat, he looked less like a boy and more like a vision — poised, untouchable, half-made of sky.
He extended his hand toward her. “Come.”
She shook her head instinctively. “Casimir— you’ll fall.”
“I won’t,” he said simply, the words soft but sure. “Do you trust me? Don't you want to dance with me?"
Her chest ached. Every rational thought screamed at her to step back, but reason had no voice here. There was only him — his eyes, his tone, the quiet certainty that made her want to believe.
“Yes,” she whispered again.
“Then take my hand.”
The wind lifted her hair as if urging her forward. Slowly, trembling, Anna reached for him. Their fingers met — his touch cold but steady — and in one smooth motion, he drew her up onto the ledge beside him.
Their faces were inches apart now, the setting sun haloing his profile in amber light.
He looked ethereal up close — the sharp lines of his jaw softened by the glow, his eyes reflecting both heaven and abyss. “See?” he murmured. “You’re safe.”
Anna didn’t answer. Her throat was tight, her heartbeat deafening. The world below felt impossibly distant, but the warmth of his hand, the calm in his voice — it made her believe, if only for this moment, that maybe safety could exist on the edge of the world.
The world lurched beneath her. For a split second, her balance faltered — but Casimir’s hand tightened around hers, anchoring her.
The world below them blurred into a soft watercolor haze — the lights of the city, the fading sky, the dying warmth of sunset all dissolving into one continuous glow. Anna felt like she was dreaming. The soft scrape of her shoes on the ledge, the wind brushing against her skin, the steady, deliberate way Casimir held her — every sensation existed at once and yet not at all.
“Careful,” he murmured as she stumbled slightly, his hand tightening around hers. His grip was gentle, but unyielding — a reminder that he was in control. “You have to let go of the fear, Anna. Trust your balance. Trust me.”
She nodded, breathless, barely able to form words. “I’m trying.”
She danced with him, a delicate waltz on the edge of oblivion, and she felt beautiful. She felt weightless.
“You’re doing well,” he said softly, his tone that of an approving teacher, a kind lover, a god speaking to a fragile thing. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? This feeling — when the ground feels so far away, and all that’s left is the air holding you up.”
Anna couldn’t look down. The drop beneath her was infinite — but when she met his eyes again, she found herself steady. His gaze anchored her. The cold in his irises was not cruel, but it was endless.
“I feel like I’m flying,” she whispered.
Casimir smiled faintly. “That’s because you are. Most people never understand how light they really are until they step close enough to fall.”
The words sent a strange chill down her spine. He said it so calmly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushed her cheek, fingers trailing down until they rested beneath her chin, tilting her face up.
“You’re afraid of falling,” he said, almost fondly. “But the truth is… the world is always falling, Anna. Every second. The sky, the air, the stars. You’re only choosing to fall with it.”
“I don’t want to fall,” she said softly.
“You already are,” Casimir replied. “But that’s not a bad thing.”
The wind caught his scarf, sending it fluttering around them like a banner. Anna thought he looked ethereal — like something unearthly, half-real, half-born from a dream. His voice was low, almost hypnotic.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“I do,” she said again, without hesitation this time.
His smile deepened, eyes softening as if he pitied her. “Then dance with me a little longer.”
He stepped backward, still on the narrow ledge, pulling her gently along. Anna hesitated — her heart hammering — but he steadied her with the same ease he’d had from the beginning. She clung to him, terrified and elated all at once. The air roared in her ears, but his voice cut through it like a melody:
“You see? You can do it. The edge isn’t dangerous — it’s honest.”
Anna couldn’t tell if she was trembling from the wind or from him. Every word he spoke drew her deeper, every look he gave told her that he saw something in her no one else did. He made her feel singular — chosen — as if she was the only soul alive who could stand beside him here, at the edge of everything.
Casimir stopped, turning her in a slow circle beneath his arm. Her hair brushed his shoulder as he whispered, “You don’t have to be afraid of being small. The world is smaller than you think.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely a breath.
He looked out over the horizon — the sinking sun reflected in his eyes, like two mirrors burning gold. “People think the world is endless,” he said. “But it ends right here. At the edge. Beyond this… there’s only silence. It’s where truth lives. And people fear that.”
Anna felt something deep in her chest — a shiver of awe, of longing. “You sound like you’ve been here before.”
“I have,” Casimir said quietly. “Many times.”
He looked back at her then — really looked. The kind of gaze that saw everything. The kind that promised safety while quietly taking it away.
“Stay here a little longer,” he said. “With me.”
And she did.
Without realizing it, Anna leaned closer, her fingers tightening around his hand. The world below had vanished. The noise, the cold, the danger — all gone. Only Casimir remained. His voice, his presence, the calm cadence of his breathing.
“We’re dancing on the edge,” Casimir murmured, his voice almost playful. “Isn’t that exciting?”
Anna’s breath caught. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her body moved with him, instinctively following his lead as they glided along the rooftop. The wind tousled her hair, but she didn’t care. She was lost in the rhythm of their movement, her body swaying with his, as if they were the only two people alive.
And then, without warning, Casimir’s eyes flickered to the side, a coldness creeping into his gaze. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear.
“You trust me, don’t you, Anna?” he asked, his voice dripping with sweetness, but there was something dangerous underneath it. Something that sent a shiver down her spine.
She nodded before she even realized what she was doing, her thoughts clouded by his presence, his charm.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I trust you.”
He smiled again, this time with an edge to it. His fingers tightened around hers.
She thought she saw something flicker in his expression — something almost sad — but it vanished as quickly as it came. He smiled again, that beautiful, measured smile, and whispered:
“See, Anna? You belong here, too. Between the earth and oblivion.”
And as the last light of day faded into dusk, Anna realized she didn’t know where the roof ended anymore — or where Casimir began.
The wind had begun to rise, carrying with it the scent of rain and the distant murmur of the city below. The sky was painted in bruised gold and gray, the last light of evening catching in Casimir’s hair as he stood on the ledge, one hand still clasping Anna’s.
“You’re so graceful, Anna,” he murmured, his voice a silken thread brushing against her ear. “You’ve always been so graceful. So delicate.”
She felt her breath catch. His words sank into her like warmth, like belonging — the kind of tenderness she’d never known how to receive. Her pulse trembled, fragile as candlelight. She wanted this moment to last — the closeness, the quiet — suspended above the world where no one could touch them.
But something shifted in him.
It was small at first — a change in the way his lips curved, the faint glint behind his eyes. The beauty didn’t leave his face, but it deepened into something sharper, colder.
The air between them grew thin.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, voice low, coaxing. “I’ll catch you. I promise.”
Anna blinked. “Catch me?” she asked softly, but her voice was barely there — lost in the wind.
Casimir didn’t answer. He only looked at her — that serene, unreadable expression she had never been able to name. His hand tightened around hers just slightly, just enough to make her feel anchored, yet weightless.
The city lights flickered far below like a thousand souls stirring in their sleep. Somewhere, a bell chimed the hour. The sound echoed up the walls of the old academy and seemed to dissolve into the dusk.
Anna’s thoughts blurred. The world felt unreal, as if painted on glass. Her heartbeat was the only sound left inside her skull.
She wanted to ask him what he meant. She wanted to say, Why does it sound more like goodbye?
But instead she smiled — a fragile, dazed smile — and whispered, “I trust you.”
Casimir’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked almost sorrowful. Almost human.
Then came the silence.
The wind rose, curling her hair into the air. Her shoes pressed against the edge of something unseen. The night opened up before her like a door.
And then—
A soundless beat. A rush of air. The world is tilting.
Anna’s mind flooded with color — gold, white, blue.
The sky was so close now.
She thought she was still dancing.
She thought she heard music, faint and celestial.
And in that vastness, she laughed, tears spilling free as light spun around her.
“Mama,” she whispered into the wind, her voice breaking into the hum of the world. “Look… I’m flying! Look at me! Haha!”
The city below exhaled. A tram bell rang in the distance.
For a heartbeat, it still felt like dancing.
The air swirled around her like silk, weightless and unreal, the sky rushing up to meet her in slow motion.
Then something broke.
The rhythm, the illusion, the trance — shattered.
The world tilted. The silence screamed.
“Casimir?”
Her voice was small, lost in the wind. She looked up — and the ledge was gone. Only the boy, framed by a bleeding sunset, still stood above.
“Casimir!” she cried, the word tearing out of her like a wound. Her mind fractured between disbelief and terror — she didn’t understand, she didn’t want to understand.
His face hovered above her — serene, distant, haloed in fading light.
“Casimir, please—!”
Her words dissolved into the wind. Her breath caught, her chest hollowed. The music she thought she’d heard moments ago became the roar of air, the breaking of her world.
And then — nothing.
Only the echo.
A soundless absence that swallowed everything she was.
The roof was silent again.
Casimir stood at the edge, motionless. The night had turned violet. His eyes reflected nothing. The city lights blinked below, dim and unaware. And for a long moment, he simply watched the horizon — expression unreadable, eyes soft with something like grief, or love, or both.
He raised a hand and brushed his thumb over his palm, as though feeling where her hand had been. His fingers trembled just once — then steadied.
A faint smile touched his lips.
It wasn’t joy. It wasn’t sorrow. It was something more frightening — the peace of a man who had accepted the inevitable.
Then he stepped back from the edge, his shadow slipping into the dark, leaving behind only the sound of distant sirens rising from below. He closed his eyes and whispered her name, not in grief, but in completion.
In the quiet aftermath, he realized he hadn’t lost her—he had set her free from gravity itself.
One step closer to the end of the world. One step toward fulfilling his mother's wish.
Were you expecting that twist?
