Chapter Text
UNDERGROUND CITY, COMMERCIAL SECTOR IN SECTION TWO | YEAR 836.
The sound wasn't new; it had been there for weeks, but it didn't linger. A tinkling sound that could intensify depending on the time of day, depending on the need.
The unpaved, stony paths of the subway carried echoes and held memories of every sound. This one was new, very particular to this side of the underground, where people preferred to move with the stealth of an abstract shadow.
That squeaking sound traveled through those streets, busy and crowded with hopeless people searching for a crumb of bread gnawed on the ground by rats.
The old man had a corner to practice his laments and beg for alms for hours. His gray hair and wrinkled eyes seemed resigned to the arbitrary and depressing landscape of each day.
The lady on the corner opened her shop as usual, lifting the tarpaulin that covered her entrance, thus indicating that the premises were open to all kinds of people.
She grumbled and snarled with every step she took, tidying the facade, gripping the broom with a force that turned her knuckles white, her apron worn thin, if it could even be called white. She focused her eyes on the floor, intent on exterminating the dust, but her ears were also on high alert. It was her ritual: she would turn her head from side to side and pretend not to hear, though she always paid more attention than she should.
Other homeless people, who looked much worse than the old man, no longer even bothered to ask for money or food, as if they had resigned themselves to dying and that their misery would end.
The children were still children, even underground, running wild, offspring of demanding and watchful mothers, some prostitutes, others old women with a fairly active life underground.
They passed in front of the old man, raising dust with each swift step, with that cheerful joy that was not easy to maintain in that unpleasant world, but nevertheless was worthy of admiration.
"Hey! Stop kicking up dust, you brainless bastards!" yelled the stout woman from the general store. "Insolent children, damned common folk. Those kids never stop causing trouble, but of course, they're the sons of whores, what do they know?"
His voice was lost amidst the reprimands and curses muttered under his breath by the grumpy grocer, closing the door of her shop with palpable annoyance, while the old man, with raised eyebrows, shook his head at her comical behavior; she might seem like the grumpiest woman in the subway, but she always ended up giving them support when they needed food.
—"Troublesome woman," the old man admitted aloud, his eyes still glued to the dirty door of the shop and the strange silence that filled the air in the morning.
He sighed in acceptance, a feeling that seeped into his rusty bones, and a cheerful voice tried to release a melody from his parched lips. His throat coughed with a dry sound, refining his hoarse voice. He looked up when he heard the wandering footsteps of a young man approaching from a distance, his straw hat being tossed about by the wind, but before it could fall, he caught it with his hand, quickening his pace toward the old man, adjusting the green scarf around his neck.
"Hey, it's good to see you!" I greeted the old man, who was looking apathetically at the lively arrival.
The man took a seat beside him, with the naturalness of claiming something that had become a habit over time, and as he began to speak, the old man known as Arisco kept his gaze on the ground, humming a tune that began when people started to walk by and stopped when lost souls no longer roamed those streets. He appreciated listening, though he would never admit it aloud; the boy who visited him shouldn't know. Despite all the unnecessary chatter and gossip, he was still a good fellow with informative intentions that made him feel less miserable.
“I thought he’d died on that rotten mattress,” the young man in the straw hat said, his voice quieter, though the old man had heard every word. “If he does die, I wonder who’ll be singing silly songs on this very corner. Some pathetic person, maybe, a damned opportunist. I swear I saw a few people placing bets on who would take your place when you fell into the bottomless pit.”
He snorted with disdain; the thought of it irritated him so much that he turned his gaze toward the horizon of the cobblestone avenue where the merchants' carts passed. He raised his hat to get a better look at the scene: the emaciated horses and the worn-out carts that would carry the few goods the underground had to offer, straight to the surface. If that wasn't more unjust, he didn't know what could be, watching each gallop with contempt.
"Those damned merchants, they're all idiots taking advantage of the less fortunate. I hope they rot," he spat at them. Arisco wrinkled his nose in disgust. "What? Don't look at me like that. You know very well I'm telling the truth. Those people are pig piss mixed with gold and diamonds."
"I'll pray they don't hear you," Arisco admitted with annoyance, without looking at him.
"I appreciate the effort, though I don't think it surpasses my grandmother's prayers." He relaxed beside her, running his fingers through his hair and smoothing it down the back of his neck. "She's truly passionate about praying. She prays for me day and night. She says I'm a cheeky little rascal with such a long tongue that one day it'll get me into trouble."
— You're more of a gossip than the lady across the street — Arisco blurted out with brutal sincerity that left the young man indignant — it doesn't surprise me that your grandmother is begging for mercy on your soul.
"That's offensive," he alluded. "I'm a natural informant."
— You're sticking your ear where it doesn't belong, it's very different.
"I don't see the difference," he shrugged, indifferent.
— And you won't believe it until someone sticks that tongue of yours in pig piss.
The young man was ready to continue when a cart sped past, its horseshoes stained with mud and explosive footsteps that muddied his clothes; his hat was filled with mud, making him frown when he noticed that his mouth was covered with the same brown liquid that he assured, was not just water and dirt.
Without further ado, he ran the palm of his hand over his chin, wiping the filth off his angry face, spitting out the remains he felt on his palate.
Arisco, however, remained unperturbed, his trousers accustomed to being covered in mud.
— Do you see what I mean? — He tilted his head, humiliated.
— It's nothing new.
— Of course not — I whispered — It's the same old shit.
Silence took hold of his foolishness, and he left the song that an old man was humming to his imagination as background noise, while the informant looked in detail at everyone who passed by, at the happy sacrifices who left coins, at the drug addicts and alcoholics who wandered aimlessly.
They all had that tired, hopeless look, sad, dark-circled eyes, and hoarse, dry voices. It was disconcerting.
— Can I tell you something? — I say suddenly.
"I don't think I can stop you, even if I tried," he continued, humming.
"Normally it would bother me, but, well." He suddenly straightened up animatedly, as if he were about to reveal the biggest secret on earth. "Remember the bully from sector two? The protégé Kenny abandoned a long time ago."
"You're talking about the criminal who uses the same maneuvering gear as the military police. I'd have to be blind not to see him flying between buildings like a caged sparrow," Arisco remarked, nodding slowly. "What's up with him? I haven't seen him with his gang of leeches in ages. Especially that redhead girl who kept begging me to teach her to sing—a total sewer rat with a shrill voice. Maybe they're paying her more to stop singing."
Arisco hinted, his hand resting on his chin, thoughtfully touching his sharply stubble that extended along his jaw.
— Yes, well — I gestured energetically with both hands — Their robberies seem to have become more stealthy in recent months; the military police must be drowning in their own shit seeing how accurate that gang of criminals can be.
Arisco crossed his arms; he'd noticed it too. That girl, Isabel, usually wandered around until late, flirting with anyone who was kind to her, getting into trouble quite often. In contrast, the two men protected her as if she were their little sister. The short, black-haired one commanded the most respect with his killer's face, and it was no wonder; the guy could kill with his eyes closed. Arisco had seen it from a safe distance on several occasions.
I stare at the ceiling of the underground city, that dark, sandy ceiling I hated seeing every day. Usually, that young thug and his companions would cause a ruckus early in the morning, jumping between shards and escaping the useless people they called authorities. I glance down the street, as if recalling all the times I'd seen the same pattern over the past few years.
"They finally found Cedric's body. Thrown into a fifteen-meter pit with another of his men in a state of decomposition in the northern sector. It gave off a horrible smell," he recalled, frowning. "That's the only way they found them, and if you ask me, it seemed like a pretty efficient job. Someone must have harbored hatred for him to leave it like that."
The young man took his straw hat, cleaning the mud embedded in it, shaking it calmly; there was nothing more he could do.
— By the way — I point out, my attention drawn to his hat, being meticulous — are they letting you sleep at night now?
Arisco raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at the young informant. The old man's arms went from rigid to relaxed, his jaw softened, and his expression was lost between the bowl with a few coins and a loaf of bread he had on the floor.
"They've been quieter for weeks now," he murmured, his eyes narrowing. "They still cry and wake everyone up two blocks away with the shouting they make, but much less."
I explain, yawning, that for months a new noise had been present in the area. For the first few weeks, the entire neighborhood was awakened almost every morning by two synchronized cries that echoed through the alleyways.
A few months ago, Arisco's dark circles almost reached his jaw, and everyone was asking the same question: who is the stupid one who kept two babies?
There were rumors, of course, but while everyone wanted to keep their mouths shut, nothing good would come from being damn snitches.
— It's strange, my grandmother says that some prostitute must have had bad luck — she put the straw hat back in place with a natural movement of her arm towards her head, closing her eyes — or that some child was abandoned by his mother and two brothers.
"I don't see why you're surprised," he frowned, his wrinkles deepening. "People here are the devil himself. Even so, I don't think those babies are alone. Maybe they're just two idiots who slept together, and nine months later the consequences came out."
"Be that as it may, this pigsty has more rats to feed, and the ones it already has as residents are starving to death." He got up from the floor, standing up nimbly, dusting his pants, and shaking off everything. "Someone should use more methods to avoid creating more problems."
Arisco crossed his arms again, his gaze twisted and his lips pressed tightly together.
"It's not our right to judge other people's lives," I retorted. "After all, you could be next."
— What? — I stammered — Me?! Are you out of your mind?!
"I exclaimed, offended and embarrassed, causing a lopsided smile to appear on the old man's face."
— You're right, you're so clueless you couldn't even win a woman over if you tried — said Arisco, shrugging his shoulders, watching the boy cross his arms with a wrinkled nose.
"Shut your mouth," he asked without malice, but with pure annoyance that was reflected in his pursed lips.
The old man, however, let his tantrum end, without any hurry, beyond continuing to admire the pleasant landscape, satisfied with his bitter reasoning.
That silence was cut like a knife by a whistle with which those inhabitants were already deeply accustomed. It wasn't something that alarmed them, although those with more cautious ears looked curiously upwards, observing as much as their tired eyes could see in the gloom of the underground.
Iron cables that cleaved through the wind, letting criminals escape like fleeting, stormy gusts of air. Police officers with refined seams and a royal emblem close to their hearts, which meant nothing to people born into poverty.
The old grocer opened her window with a dirty rag in her hand and hesitant eyes that darted around in search of the source of that noise so symbolic of trouble.
Arisco felt it too, along with his young companion who had already emerged from the existential trance he had fallen into.
The roofs creaked, some tiles broke, scattered pieces of pottery crashed against the cracked floor, some people protected their heads, no roof was too strong to go jumping from roof to roof like a stray cat.
"It's him," I murmured through gritted teeth, one corner of my mouth instinctively lifting.
The gas made them shoot out like projectiles that changed course at will; they had control of their direction, they knew their terrain, and their hooks reacted to the movement that their hands subtly controlled.
A low level allowed them to synchronize more effectively and connect their hooks to the walls of ruined premises or houses, flying between buildings and structures that were doubtfully still standing.
Their course was well-directed, though the redhead was distracted when she saw they were entering familiar territory, commercial areas they had recently preferred to avoid. Even so, her excitement seemed palpable in the emerald eyes that scanned the carts and street stalls from above.
His blond friend noticed the same thing, but in greater detail, in order to avoid stumbling and to make sound decisions when operating the three-dimensional machine.
The lower rooftops forced them to walk across them in long strides and quickly take to the air. Danger understood this strategy well when it came to being pursued: never stay too long in one place where you could be easily caught and have the upper hand on your escape routes.
That trio of intrepid individuals wore dark cloaks that made them look like shadows in the sky, swift birds, or nocturnal creatures in a hurry.
"Finally, the bastard and his gang of cretins show themselves," the boy said amusedly, making Arisco nod, who didn't intend to take his eyes off the targets that the military police couldn't reach and were miles behind.
For Levi, touching the ground on those short missions was dangerous, although sometimes necessary if you wanted to avoid bridges or collapses that spoiled the way. He and his companions jumped over people or objects that obstructed their path, running at high speed down the avenue where Arisco was a spectator of that deliberate spectacle of corruption and liberating act from the oppression that was breathed in the underground.
Isabel saw him, without stopping running, smiled showing her teeth and waving her hand.
Arisco raised both of his eyebrows in surprise; it was disconcerting to see her in those situations, escaping from her life.
The military police, still in pursuit, seemed determined not to give up, particularly that day. Isabel spotted a cart and jumped onto it, finding sacks of what looked like old, hard onions. Without hesitation, she turned to the police and ferociously threw the contents of the sack to the ground. The onions rolled toward them, tripping the most distracted members of the group.
Isabel's victorious smile crossed her face as Furlan grabbed the cape and roughly led her back to the path.
—What did we say about distractions?— Furlan emphasized, shaking his head at Isabel, who laughed nonchalantly.
"We have to admit," I leaped onto a nearby rooftop, both of us following Levi's exact movements as he ran ahead of us, "it was a pretty accurate solution."
Both of them spun around quickly, where a hook grazed their feet.
— As if that would solve our problems — he clarified irritably, rising with the help of his maneuvering equipment, followed by Isabel and her natural fondness for the disaster he had left in the commercial sector.
Elevated several meters above the ground, the redhead turned her gaze forward, with Levi's lethal figure as the pillar of the formation, focused on what rose on her horizon and not on absurd cloaks that had been left behind her.
—At least we got what we needed, didn't we, boss?!— Isabel squealed excitedly, her eyes sparkling as she saw the loot placed in a thick sack that Levi held tightly beneath his cloak.
The dark-haired man glanced down for a few seconds; the robbery was still unsolved. Considering the grand escape, the price had been low. He'd think about it later, and returned his gaze to the front with his usual stoicism.
"Focus," Levi ordered, to which Isabel and Furlan nodded.
The trio smoothly pivoted on the next pillar supporting the foundations of the underground city, the rigging hooks digging into the earth of the walls with a force that enabled them to perform that difficult maneuver in such a narrow space between the ground and the column.
The military police tried to replicate the action, when the guidance of some was lost between face and ground, crashing into each other, or causing their cables to become entangled.
Isabel turned around, a mischievous laugh escaping her lips. They had lost them, which, in her mind, meant returning to the lair. Her eyes focused on the earthen surface of the clandestine world. She dared to touch it with her fingertips; it was as far as the gas could propel her. She plummeted for a few seconds before her cables lifted her back into the air.
UNDERGROUND CITY | SECTOR TWO | YEAR 836
Hange always listened; she heard people whistling catchy tunes, whispering rhythmically, or leaving in annoyance. The underground became a graveyard, holding echoes and songs on the wind; that, combined with the sound of worn strings on a mournful guitar and the flickering light of flashlights in the thick darkness of the interconnected caves, like a network of sewers.
Hange sometimes reflected on it; the dark caverns of different sectors forced her to transcend the existential plane, and the silence compelled her to be with herself. Some people could not bear that solitude; she had learned in recent months to live with it and inhabit it peacefully, like the inhabitants born among the ashes of a place heartless in essence.
Finding sunlight was harder than she thought; she had returned to the place where she fell a few times before she was five months pregnant, yet it was not enough energy, she still lacked vitality, something more that would not make her feel miserable or extinguish the sparkle in her eyes.
She had explored those caves a few times, finding organisms that thrived amidst their deep, dark mist. Some even emitted their own light, among them poisonous fungi that had become lethal and glowing in order to coexist in such a hostile environment. Their glow was peculiar; a single fungus barely illuminated a small fragment of its own shadow, while finding many more had led her to discover clusters of the same species sharing their light until they covered an entire cavern.
Now, he saw the moss that remained stuck to one of the walls on the facade of the shelter; Levi cleaned it whenever it reappeared, and boy, was he persistent, both of them were.
If she was being honest, Levi could also be a biological microorganism from the underground.
I wanted to find a way to eliminate the moss completely; humidity was its trigger, and that most likely wouldn't go away. But perhaps if I found a way to create a liquid powerful enough for its rapid elimination, perhaps that would calm it down and the fungus would stop spreading on the wall.
A small finger reached towards the sticky green moss, Hange gently stopped Helios's small hand, who was frowning at not being able to satisfy his curiosity.
The little baby let out a gurgle of resignation as Hange moved further away from the wall, leaving her out of reach of Helios, who protested in his mother's arms, until Hange brought him closer to her, while the baby stretched his arms out towards the moss.
— Cute, isn't it? — She rocked the baby in her arms, swaying it up and down, Hange, looking into Helios's eyes, which wavered between his mother and the moss, until the brunette settled the baby on her hip — If you eat it, your father will surely wash your mouth out with soap.
Helios watched her laugh absentmindedly, her bright eyes hidden behind her glasses, and the smile that flooded his mother's expressive face, reaching from ear to ear.
Hange looked down at Helios, running her hand through her eldest son's tousled black hair. The baby approached with purpose, raising his hands to touch the lenses of her glasses with his tiny, soft hands that then lowered to brush against his mother's cheeks. Hange leaned closer to her baby, pressing her forehead to his, who peered through the lenses, letting out a happy gurgle that soon transformed into a loud, familiar laugh, though with the high-pitched quality of a baby just a few months old.
Hange paused to trace that melodious symphony in her head; it exuded madness and joy at the same time.
— Ha, this will definitely annoy your father — I murmured playfully to Helios, taking his little hand with particular care.
This definitely gave him hope in the race he was waging against Levi since Helios and Thiel were showing traces of personality and making their physical characteristics of both parents more pleasantly known.
Even with this newly discovered information, she was still losing when it came to dominant genes.
Injustices of natureHange thought to herself as she gazed into Thiel's eyes, or rather, as Helios was the spitting image of his father. She appreciated significant details like the hazel color that had once shone in his pupils, that brown that softened Levi's gray over the weeks, leaving something closer to a light hazel that enhanced his mother's metallic, almost lunatic gleam. Thiel's development was different, of course. He had his unruly brown hair that would fluff up every now and then and grow quickly. His features were softer, and although his complexion was fair, it lacked the pallor that Levi and Helios possessed, though his irises radiated Levi's bluish-gray tones with a perfectly replicated sharpness.
Thiel, who seemed to hear his mother's thoughts, shifted on her back, settling into the shawl Hange was carrying him in, resting his cheek on his mother's shoulder with no intention of opening his eyes or observing his surroundings, beyond being seen and remembering that he was still there.
Helios looked back, watching Thiel sleep, patting his disheveled hair to elicit a reaction from his twin brother.
The calm and patience with which Thiel handled things sometimes took her out of her comfort zone, though she appreciated his composure in situations that easily upset Helios. Sometimes she felt that Thiel just wanted to rest and observe the world, and she still wasn't convinced it had all been worth it for so little. Hange watched the baby on her shoulder; a thin drool trickled down her blouse, while one corner of her lip lifted gracefully.
— Too much Levi — He tilted his head, tickling Thiel with his hair — Someone got their father's nice character — he said ironically — although I hope without the grumpy cat humor that that short, grumpy man has.
Thiel yawned, paying no attention to the comment, and nestled his face in the crook of Hange's neck.
The door to the lair, which had been left ajar, creaked, catching Hange's attention. She adjusted her glasses sharply, noticing the breeze that arrived with the low, orange light filtered through the brown walls of the dark underground chamber. It was that time of day when the oil lamps were not yet lit and the torches remained unlit until the sun had completely set.
Hange had noticed the involuntary curfew that those in the underground had ingrained in their system, when everyone retreats to their respective burrows and the sound of murmurs is constant before the total fall of the dense darkness.
I gaze out at all the exits and entrances that led from the lair and passed through low bridges or alleyways that only someone familiar with the terrain would be able to distinguish, that only a few knew how to get lost in their own labyrinth
Hange found it disconcerting; there was so little movement in that area that the chirping of crickets could be easily heard, a neighbor playing the guitar in the middle of the afternoon, and the footsteps of shadows that Hange could never quite see.
Helios took advantage of the calm to sneeze, with that baby-like gentleness, when a moth flew past his head, easily what Hange called the butterflies of the place, which did not share vibrant colors, but felt like they belonged and were beautiful in the place where they lived.
Very soon the night people would come out, those whom Hange likened to owls and bats; others, beyond going out to hunt in small numbers, used the night as their spite for living or for simple fun of despicable acts.
She sighed heavily; it was still difficult for her to adapt, everything had been difficult.
Helios seemed to notice the change in atmosphere along with the change in Hange's expression, who had been staring blankly at some random point on the street.
A wooden box fell from its place, causing Hange to turn towards one of the dark bridges that was right next to the lair, as if someone had remained watching until they simply couldn't find any way to introduce themselves.
Pieces of hair stuck out above the box, noticing someone's bare feet behind it.
Hange took a step forward cautiously; this required not to frighten the shadows that the underground sometimes allowed her to see. She knelt on the ground with her babies held tightly to her, and a pair of green eyes peered out curiously above her.
"So, you're the little girl watching me from afar?" She approached slowly, placing Helios on her lap, while Thiel, awakened by the movement of her back, opened his eyes, peeking over Hange's shoulder. "I'm Hange, that's my name."
The girl, still hidden, clutched the box, letting her fingers show, while Hange waited patiently to see if she decided to approach.
The silence persisted, as Helios put all his effort into copying his mother's neutrality and not frightening his visitor.
"And who are you?" he blurted out, almost in a whisper. The words reached the girl's ears, and she, looking shrewdly at Helios, blinked repeatedly.
— Rue
Hange thought she had imagined it, when the little girl emerged from the shadows and gradually approached Hange.
Her hair, wavy and disheveled, fell over her shoulders like a golden waterfall, her face seemed to have a little soot on it, and her clothes lacked real value, being nothing more than simple blankets sewn with difficulty.
"Hi, Rue," she greeted softly, smiling sincerely. Hange took her firstborn's chubby arm, gently rocking it from side to side. "This is Helios, and the sleepy one behind me is Thiel," she ventured, looking at the little girl with kind eyes. "They are..."
— They're beautiful — she interrupted, to which Hange laughed, indeed, as restrained as she could.
"I think so," I said, looking at my children as Helios struggled to get down, kicking his feet without Hange's permission. "I think she likes you."
Saying that, the girl took a few steps towards the light, where Helios was curiously extending his arms. Rue tilted her head, her movements seeming cautious, and raised a hand towards Helios's, who held her little finger as if it were a handshake, making Rue laugh.
— Why did you have two? — I asked innocently, still lost among the baby's movements.
— Two is good, it's not too much and not too little, it's just two — the brunette stated, making Rue open her eyes wide, pondering Hange's words.
— Is two good?
— I don't see why not — Hange glanced at Rue, who had let go of Helios's finger and was watching the woman in front of her intently, giving her a lopsided smile, which Hange returned.
Thiel, observing what little he could, with his brown locks falling over his forehead, suddenly turned around when he heard the noise of someone coming, which neither Hange nor Rue had noticed.
— Rue!
The scream broke the friendly gaze that Hange had achieved with the girl, who shuddered upon hearing her name said in that way.
Hange turned her gaze towards the horizon of the bridge, observing a blonde girl in a revealing dress with a plunging neckline calling to her from a doorway; she was approaching unsteadily, with a silly smile on her lips.
— Rue, don't bother… — The woman, years older than Hange, ordered, trying to keep the ground from moving so much in her eyes, stopping on a barrel to lean back, before she could cross the bridge — the people.
Hange, almost immediately, sat up, settling Helios in her arms, while the baby bounced with curiosity, although Thiel seemed to move restlessly on Hange's back.
"Nice to meet you, are you Rue's mother?" Hange asked cheerfully.
"What…?" He squinted, adjusting his eyes to the light, bringing his hand to his furrowed brow as he grumbled. "Listen, I didn't…" he complained, closing his eyes tightly and sighing. "Ugh! Fine, I don't want any trouble. Just, come here, Rue, come here."
The girl, before observing with a disappointment too old for such a young face and walking towards the blonde girl, raised her gaze until she met Hange's hazel eyes, perceived her bewilderment, showing stillness when simply she raised her arm to say goodbye.
"Goodbye," was the last thing he said, before walking towards the woman and taking her hand, while chatting about nonsense.
Hange also raised Helios's little hand, as they watched her leave through the alley, the baby tilting his head, confused by what he was seeing, until he turned his face towards his mother, who kept watching as the landscape swallowed up that girl and her mother.
Hange sighed, before returning to the present, her children, the lair, her circumstances, she kept her eyes on the ground until she turned completely around and still with her head down she took the first step, stopping abruptly when she noticed that she would bump into someone, she raised her gaze a little until she found the arms crossed over the chest of that individual that firm and intimidating posture that denoted a certain frustration or a natural state of stoicism.
Their eyes met with that concentration that only they possessed, understanding each other even without saying a word; the hazelnut brown found the bluish gray, each scanning the situation.
— Levi — Hange whispered, as he continued to observe her closely.
A babble from Helios, which sounded more shrill than usual, made them both look down, and Levi stopped his son's hand before he put it to his mouth.
"Don't even think about it," Levi said, watching Helios, taking him by the arms of Hange with a natural movement, before turning around and walking towards the door of the lair.
Thus, Hange remained frozen, along with Thiel, who settled himself in the shawl as if reproaching her for following him. Hange turned to look at Thiel with a knowing smile.
"Don't take his side," she told her youngest son, adjusting the cord of her shawl and taking long strides to follow Levi from where she had been paralyzed.
Thiel, from the overhang, blinked in confusion as he and his mother climbed the stairs to the lair. He let his head fall back a little. The rocky ceiling, the smoke from various chimneys, the lack of light, and in the middle of it all, a wooden door closed behind Hange and Thiel. That slam of the door remained combined with the collective sound of the last traces of noise before the city darkened into the night that couldn't be seen from there. Unwary, calm, persevering, and in the middle of all that chaos, something continued to form with patience and care; that ended up being the underground.