The knife was cold in her hands. It wasn't meant for someone like her—too long, too heavy. Her tiny fingers could barely wrap around the grip, but still… she held it.
Because he told her to.
Because he hadn't left her behind.
Because her parents had, even if they hadn't meant to.
---
The man who gave her the knife—the Sergeant, they called him—was already walking again, his steps echoing across the shattered marble floor of the food market. He didn't look back to see if she followed.
He didn't need to.
Lili forced her legs to move. One step. Then another.
Behind her, the market groaned as structural damage finally began to collapse a section of the upper ceiling. The sunlight above vanished completely. All that remained was the flicker of torchlight and the blue-white glow of strange light-stones strapped to the soldiers' helmets.
---
She was handed a uniform—a faded green tunic, several sizes too big, and a child-sized gas mask taken from the corpse of a boy no older than her.
They didn't ask her name.
They didn't ask if she was okay.
They just moved.
---
The squad was small. Seven men total, all hardened in different ways. Their armor was old, chipped and burned, but their movements were tight. Efficient. Every corner swept. Every silence respected.
Only two of them seemed to notice Lili as more than dead weight.
One, the Corporal, gave her a piece of dried fruit and a wink when the Sergeant wasn't looking.
The other, a towering man with a heavy weapon strapped to his chest, gave her a nod and let her walk near him. She decided to name him Big-Quiet.
The others didn't speak much.
Or maybe they did. But it was hard to hear anything over the weight of what had just happened.
---
They moved through the side streets, sticking to shadows, away from where the infected were now swarming like ants through the heart of Mikri Poli. In the distance, Lili could still hear them:
The laughter.
The crying.
The wet, tearing sounds.
The horrible song.
"Join our song, sing along…"
She covered her ears.
The Sergeant saw her.
He didn't stop walking.
But he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
> She hears it too, his eyes said.
---
They reached the Metro entrance—a side access point hidden behind an old maintenance station. It had been half-buried in the garden walls, meant for engineers and underground workers. The main gates were overrun.
This one, they could control.
The Sergeant gave hand signals.
The Riflemen moved.
The door was opened. Quietly.
They entered.
---
The tunnels were cold.
Damp.
Dark.
But Lili… felt something else down there.
Something deep.
Something ancient.
Not evil—not like what was above.
But heavy. Waiting.
---
The Sergeant dropped into the tunnel last, sealing the hatch behind him.
The world above was gone.
And in its place… silence.
Only the hum of broken lights. The drip of water.
And the sound of their boots on stone.
---
"From here on," the Sergeant said, voice low through his rebreather, "you stay in the middle. Don't talk unless asked. Don't wander. And whatever you hear... you don't follow it."
He turned his head just enough to look at her.
> "You survive, girl. That's an order."
Lili nodded.
She didn't cry.
She didn't even blink.
She just gripped the knife tighter and followed them into the dark.
---
The tunnels stretched for miles.
Ancient and mostly forgotten, the Mikri Poli Metro Network had once been a marvel of design—smooth stone walls, luminous ceiling bands, and soft hums of gliding trains ferrying families between districts and gardens.
Now, it was a tomb.
Cold. Dusty. Empty.
But it was safe.
For now.
---
The squad moved methodically, checking every corridor, sealing side passages, placing sensors and proximity traps as they went. Lili followed quietly, her small boots padding against the grime-covered tiles.
Eventually, they found an abandoned terminal—a large, circular platform with benches, kiosks, and a small maintenance office. The lights were dead, but the ceiling hadn't collapsed, and the tunnels beyond were mostly intact.
It was enough.
They began to set up camp.
---
The Sergeant issued orders with sharp gestures.
The Corporal activated a portable vox-relay, but it only spat static.
One of the Riflemen—Shorty, as Lili called him—began welding shut the access points.
The Medic silently cleaned and patched the squad's wounds.
Big-Quiet hauled crates of salvaged gear into corners, his huge hands careful around Lili.
No one questioned why she was still there.
No one told her to leave.
She sat on a crate, clutching her knife, her gas mask resting on her lap.
---
Hours passed.
The cold seeped in.
The air was heavy, but dry.
Lili's body ached. Her feet were blistered. Her arms sore. Her eyes burning.
But she didn't cry.
Not until she saw something—a small patch of soil near a cracked support beam, where long-forgotten decorative plants had once been rooted.
Now, it was barren.
Empty.
She stared at it for a long time.
Then reached into her pocket.
She pulled out the crushed, wilted white flowers she had carried all the way from the park.
Her hands shook as she gently buried them in the dust.
She whispered something.
A prayer.
Or maybe just a hope.
And then—
Her chest glowed.
---
It wasn't bright.
Just a pulse.
A breath of warm, soft light—like a heartbeat made visible.
The Sergeant saw it. Froze. His eyes narrowed.
The others looked too—silent, wary.
But the light didn't grow.
It simply faded again.
As if acknowledging that it wasn't time yet.
Lili blinked, wiped her eyes, and looked up at them.
> "I just wanted them to grow again."
No one spoke.
Then the Sergeant turned away.
> "We move again in six hours. Rest."
---
That night, as the others slept in their corners, wrapped in blankets and silence, Lili sat beside the buried flowers.
And when no one was looking, the soil above them began to glow faintly.
Just enough to warm the dark.
---
Three days had passed since Mikri Poli fell.
The tunnels were cold and quiet now. No more distant laughter, no more screams. Just the steady drip of condensation and the rhythmic hum of old ventilation fans deep in the earth.
The squad had moved deeper into the Metro system, sealing off three tunnels behind them with charges and welded debris. They'd set up camp in a wide station chamber with benches, vending units, and a defunct maintenance hub. The lights were long dead—but now, the space glowed with a gentle silver-blue hue.
Lili's lightstones.
She had made three so far. Small, fragile things that hovered near the floor or were taped to support beams. They glowed like night stars. The soldiers didn't speak of them. But they also didn't touch them. Not without permission.
---
Lili sat cross-legged on an old bench, wrapped in a too-big uniform coat, her feet tucked beneath her.
She was tired. Not like sleepy-tired. It was deeper.
Her chest ached with a strange hollowness—not pain, but a weight. The kind that came after using her light. She'd done it twice the night before. Once to calm a soldier's fever, and once when the Heavy—Garr, she had learned—had sliced open his hand while fortifying a barricade.
The second healing had made her dizzy. Her fingers went numb. Her thoughts fuzzed at the edges. She'd felt the light in her chest flicker—not fade, just... dim.
She was down to 38 LCU now. Though she didn't know the number, she could feel it. Like a nearly empty cup sloshing with a little warmth at the bottom.
---
Across the chamber, the Sergeant stood watching her.
He leaned against the wall near the old vending machine, arms crossed, helmet at his feet. The others were sleeping or cleaning weapons.
He hadn't said a word since yesterday.
But Lili could feel it.
The way his eyes followed her when she moved. The way he didn't stop the others from taking her food portions. The way he made sure she had a place to sleep—furthest from the coldest wall, closest to the lightstones.
He hadn't thanked her.
Not for the stones.
Not for the healing.
Not even for saving Garr.
But that was fine.
He was the Sergeant.
That was just his way.
---
Lili stood slowly, knees aching. She walked over to the nearest lightstone—one nestled between two crates—and knelt beside it.
She pressed her fingers gently to the surface.
It felt cool, like smooth glass. The glow pulsed in response to her touch. A familiar wave passed through her chest—a connection.
She closed her eyes.
Breathed.
Focused.
And gave it a little more.
> -5 LCU.
The lightstone brightened, just slightly.
---
"You're going to drain yourself," a voice said quietly.
She opened her eyes.
The Sergeant stood a few paces away, arms still crossed.
She didn't answer.
"I've seen psykers push themselves past the limit," he said. "They burn out. They die. Or worse—they survive as something else."
Lili looked up at him.
"I know how much I have left."
He raised a brow.
"Do you?"
She nodded.
"Thirty-three," she said softly.
That gave him pause.
He stared at her for a moment, eyes narrowing—then nodded.
"All right. Then conserve it. We don't know how long we're down here."
---
He turned to go, but paused.
"I'm having the Medic check everyone's joints. Garr's fever's holding, but the Corporal's got a cough."
"I can help."
"Only if they need it. Only if it's worth the cost."
Lili looked at her lightstone again.
"I'll decide that," she whispered.
He didn't argue.
Just walked away.
---
And in the corner of the station, the light flickered gently.
Alive.
Resilient.
Small.
But growing.
---
---
Night didn't mean much underground.
There were no stars. No moon. Just time measured in rations, shifts, and the low hum of ancient, forgotten machinery buried beneath the surface of Achios.
But the squad still treated it like night. A routine. A way to stay sane.
The lights dimmed. Helmets came off. Weapons were cleaned in silence. A few quietly chewed on nutrient bars or drank recycled water. No one spoke unless necessary.
Except one of the Riflemen—the one Lili called "Shorty."
He was small for a soldier, younger too. He had a smooth face under his helmet, and his voice wasn't as rough as the others. He never called her "the girl" like the Sergeant did. He just nodded when she walked by or tapped his fingers against his knee in a little rhythm, like music only he could hear.
Tonight, he was on watch with her.
---
She sat beside a softly glowing lightstone near the sealed maintenance hatch. Her knees were tucked to her chest, the heavy uniform coat draped around her like a blanket. The knife was still at her side.
Shorty sat on a crate nearby, cleaning his lasrifle for the third time that night.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, not looking up.
Lili shook her head.
"Bad dreams?"
"No," she said quietly. "Just… everything."
That made him pause. He set the rifle down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Yeah," he said. "Same."
---
They sat in silence for a while. The only sound was the occasional hiss of steam far down the tunnel.
Then Shorty glanced over.
"You know... back before this posting, I served on a frost world. Snow everywhere. Ice storms, week-long nights. You'd go outside, and the wind would try to skin your face off."
He chuckled softly.
"God, I hated that place. But at least it wasn't full of laughing corpses."
Lili didn't smile, but she didn't look away either.
"What was it called?" she asked.
"Hothra-7. Nothing there but frost cows and frozen mud."
"Did you have... family?"
"Back then?" He rubbed his face. "Yeah. A sister. Little thing. About your size."
Lili looked down.
"What happened to her?"
He was quiet.
Then: "Same thing that happened to everything."
---
The lightstone between them pulsed gently. Its glow warmed the air just enough to see their faces clearly. Lili's features were soft in the glow—dirt-smudged, but radiant. Like a candle that had never gone out.
"You're too small for this," he muttered. "Too young."
"I didn't choose it," she said.
"I know." He reached into his jacket and pulled out something—a tiny, cloth flower. Frayed, worn. He turned it in his fingers for a moment, then offered it to her.
"She made this. My sister. Told me to carry it into battle so I wouldn't get shot."
Lili stared at it.
"I'm not your sister."
"No," he said. "But I think she would've liked you."
---
She took the flower gently and tucked it into her coat pocket.
"Thank you."
He nodded.
Then stood.
"Get some sleep, Lightbearer."
And walked off into the dark.
---
She sat for a while longer, fingers gently pressing the cloth flower against her heart. Her lightstone glowed quietly beside her.
And for the first time in days, she smiled.
***
The tunnels were always cold.
Not freezing—but that kind of bone-deep chill that crept in when silence got too long. The men had stopped checking their chronos days ago. Time blurred. Ration packs tasted the same. The lamps glowed the same. The dark never changed.
But something else did.
Lili was crouched near the far corner of the station chamber—her coat wrapped tightly around her, her boots half-off, her breath faintly misting the air. She had dragged two crates near one of the walls, scraped a shallow patch of earth loose from a cracked pipe seam, and spread what few seeds she'd managed to find in her coat pocket and in an old vending unit.
A small pile of soil. A little composted rations. A clean water flask she'd hidden away.
It wasn't much.
But it was enough.
---
She placed a lightstone on the soil.
It pulsed faintly—like a heartbeat.
Then she placed her hands in the dirt, her knees pressing into the cold floor, and closed her eyes.
The light in her chest responded. Slowly, gently. No surge. No flash.
Just warmth.
She focused—not just on the seeds, but on the memory.
The memory of the park.
Of sunshine on her cheeks.
Of flowers in her mother's hands.
Of strawberries picked with laughter.
> "Grow," she whispered.
> "Please… grow."
---
The lightstone brightened.
A soft glow spread into the soil—like moonlight through water.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A sprout.
Small. Green. Fragile.
Another followed.
And another.
Tiny leaves unfurled, trembling in the faint warmth of the lightstone.
Lili exhaled softly, tears welling unbidden. She pressed her palms deeper, and the glow strengthened.
> -3 LCU.
The sprouts became stems. Leaves expanded. Roots reached into the broken soil and found it clean, warm, ready.
They grew faster now.
---
A voice from behind: "What the hell…"
One of the Riflemen—Crackshot, maybe—stood near the barricade. He'd seen the glow.
He stared.
Lili didn't notice him.
She was too busy smiling.
---
Half an hour later, the others noticed the smell.
Not rot. Not rust. Not metal.
But green.
Earth.
Hope.
---
By the time the Sergeant came to check on the noise, there were six small plants growing in the corner—two of them strawberry vines, two basil herbs, and the last two unknown sprouts from vending machine seed packets.
Each one glowed faintly in the stone's halo.
Each one breathed life back into the stale air.
---
He stood there for a long time.
Said nothing.
Then finally muttered, "So she's a damn farmer too."
He didn't smile.
But he didn't look away, either.
---
That night, the squad sat in a slightly warmer tunnel, sharing silence with the plants.
And Lili slept near her little garden, curled around the lightstone like a cat in sunlight.
***
Day 6 – Cracks in the Silence
The garden was growing.
Tiny sprouts had become leaves. The strawberry vines had begun climbing the support beams, tiny green fruits forming along their stems like promises not yet fulfilled. The herbs smelled faintly of life. It wasn't much. But it was something.
Lili sat cross-legged in front of the plants, humming as she gently patted the soil with her hands. Her lightstones glowed softly around her like fireflies. Her small face was focused, tongue sticking slightly out in concentration. She liked this work. It made her feel useful—like she was helping.
Behind her, the soldiers sat in silence.
The Corporal fiddled with the battered radio unit. Crackling static filled the chamber like ghostly whispers. Then—suddenly—a voice broke through.
"...Sector Seven is holding, but we're down to half strength. Reinforcements diverted. Repeat: outer ring breached. Final line collapsing in District Twelve."
A pause.
"May the Emperor see us through the night."
The radio hissed again.
The Sergeant said nothing, just stared at the wall, arms folded.
The others shifted uneasily.
Lili's head turned slightly, brow furrowed. She glanced at them. Then back to her plants.
Day 7 – What Are They Listening To?
That morning, Lili woke up curled in the crook of an old metal bench, her arms wrapped around her jacket like a blanket. Her body ached. Her eyes were dry.
The garden was still glowing.
She smiled at it.
Then, slowly, she walked toward the group huddled around the radio. She didn't say anything—just sat on the floor nearby, hugging her knees. Her hair was messy. Her cheeks pale.
None of the men told her to leave.
One of the riflemen—Crackshot—shifted and opened a small space in the circle. Lili slid in without a word, curling against his side.
The Corporal gave her a look, but didn't protest.
Then the radio sparked again.
"Achios Capital reporting moderate pushback. Enemy activity increased along all inner defensive walls. We are holding... but casualties are severe. No aid expected."
Lili's small fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve.
She didn't understand all of it.
But she could feel the sadness in the air.
Day 8 – Sleepless
That night, Lili couldn't sleep. She curled up near the garden, but the cold of the floor kept waking her.
She tried to move closer to the lightstone, but the corner was too cramped.
She stood, quietly padding across the room, not wanting to bother anyone.
She meant to just find a softer spot.
Instead, she ended up next to Garr—the Heavy.
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then, in a whisper: "Can I... Can I sleep here?"
The big man blinked down at her. His scarred face was unreadable beneath the low light.
Then he nodded once and patted his thigh.
Lili curled up slowly, resting her head against his massive leg. She felt warm.
Safe.
The Sergeant watched from the shadows.
Said nothing.
But his eyes lingered.
Day 9 – Questions
That day, Lili began asking things.
First softly. Then more.
"What's a lasrifle?"
"Why do you call the big guy 'Garr'?"
"Do you think flowers can hear music?"
The squad answered slowly at first. Then with smirks. Then with stories.
Shorty told her about frost cows on Hothra-7.
The Corporal showed her the inside of a ration box and explained what used to be food.
Garr let her touch his las-cannon mount and called it "Bertha."
Even the Medic—Arlen—gave her an old patch from his medkit. "For your garden," he said.
And then she asked the Sergeant.
"Why don't you ever smile?"
He looked at her for a long moment.
"Because I don't have anything to smile about."
She nodded solemnly.
"Maybe I'll give you something one day."
Day 10 – The First Strawberry
The garden had bloomed.
One of the vines had grown fast, fed by light and care, and now a small red berry hung from its stem like a treasure. It wasn't big. It wasn't perfect. But it was real.
Lili picked it carefully, carried it to the center of the room, and held it out.
"For everyone."
They stared at her.
Crackshot was the first to laugh—soft, not mocking. "Split it seven ways?"
"No," Garr said. "She gets it."
Lili bit into it with wide eyes.
Then broke off a tiny piece and handed it to the Sergeant.
He hesitated.
Then took it.
Didn't smile.
But didn't frown, either.
That Same Night – The Radio Breaks the Silence
The radio came to life again.
"To all stations... enemy force has pulled back from the capital defensive line. Casualty rates unsustainable. Unknown disruption in plague command structure. We... we have airspace again. I repeat—we have airspace."
Silence.
Then:
"Achios still stands."
No one spoke.
Lili stood between them, eyes wide.
"Does that mean... the planet's okay?"
The Sergeant looked at her.
Then nodded.
"It means we're not dead yet."
And for the first time since they came underground...
They slept easier.