The world narrowed to a suffocating, sticky heat. There was no air, only a heavy, red mist that smelled of burnt sugar and ozone. Ema couldn't move. Her legs felt like lead, her hands pinned to an invisible wall.
Friedrich materialized before her. But it wasn't the gallant nobleman from the greenhouse. His face was melting like wax, his features collapsing into a mask of pure madness.
"We could have had everything, Ema!" he roared, his voice sounding like metal scraping against metal. He lunged at her. His manicured hands, which only hours ago had gently held a teacup, now dug into the neckline of her wedding dress.
Riiiip! The sound of tearing silk pierced the silence like a gunshot.
Friedrich tore the fabric from her body with animalistic fury, using both hands as if trying to reach something hidden deep beneath her skin. His smile was twisted into a grotesque grimace; no love burned in his eyes, only cold, calculating greed.
"Why did you betray me?" he hissed into her face, his breath reeking of rot. "We would have been the perfect husband and wife. Your power... my guidance... But you had to run away. You had to ruin it!"
Ema wanted to scream, but not a single sound escaped her throat. She felt icy drops falling onto her—they weren't tears, but condensed fear running down her exposed skin. Oddly enough, it cooled her. Relief in hell.
Friedrich leaned in. His fingers elongated, his nails turning into thin, surgical needles. "We can't do this the easy way anymore. The extraction is going to hurt, my dear. It will hurt so much you'll even forget your own name."
He was already reaching for her heart. She could already feel the tip of that pain.
And then came a sound. A deep, booming hum, like the universe itself drawing a breath.
Friedrich froze. His twisted smile turned to ice. Something caught him. It wasn't a hand. It was a force. Somewhere in the distance, in the darkness behind his back, a chasm opened. A giant, insatiable vortex that began sucking reality into itself.
"No! NO!" Friedrich shrieked, but it was in vain. The force tore him away from Ema. His body stretched like rubber, his fingers let go of her dress, and he flew, helpless as a ragdoll, straight into the maw of nothingness.
And there, in that darkness, two massive, golden eyes lit up.
Gasp.
Ema's eyes snapped open with a jerk. Her chest heaved in a frantic rhythm, as if she had just run a marathon. Something wet and cold slid from her forehead—a washcloth, which hit the floor with a quiet smack.
She was in the van. The smell of old upholstery and diesel was everywhere.
She sat up, but her head spun so violently she had to close her eyes. She quickly ran her hands over her body. No torn silk. She was wearing coarse, warm clothes—some men's flannel shirt and loose sweatpants. But when her hand slipped lower, beneath the fabric, she felt delicate lace. Her underwear remained. The bridal one. The contrast between the rough cotton and the luxurious lingerie Hanna had chosen for her triggered a wave of nausea. It was a reminder of how close she had come to becoming Friedrich's trophy.
"I need to get out," she whispered.
She tried to stand. Her legs buckled like wet noodles, and she fell hard onto her knees. Damn it. She took a wheezing breath, grabbed the edge of a small built-in table, and pulled herself up with all her might.
The click of the handle sounded like a gunshot in the silence. The side door opened with a creak.
Damp, warm air hit her face. It was dusk outside, the sky the color of a bruise, but it wasn't raining. The humidity, however, was omnipresent, hanging in the air and clinging to her skin.
And there, a few meters from the car, a campfire burned.
Viktor stood beside it.
He wore a simple black t-shirt and black pants. But what struck Ema the most were his feet. He was barefoot. His toes were buried in the dirt and grass, as if he needed to feel the earth beneath him.
In his hand, he held a stick whittled to a point. Three sausages were sizzling on it, dripping fat into the flames with a hiss. Viktor was just pulling one of them off, focused, calm, completely ordinary.
Ema took a step. Then another. She walked toward him slowly, like a sleepwalker. A tornado of emotions raged in her head. The fear of Friedrich, the confusion of the escape, the headache... and then, amidst that chaos, a new feeling began to take root.
Was Viktor real? Wasn't he just another illusion? Another test?
Viktor raised his head. His golden eyes met hers. There was no threat in them, no manipulation. Just a calm, slightly tired look. The corner of his mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. He held out his hand to her, the one holding the hot, savory sausage.
The gesture was so absurdly normal that it hurt.
Ema walked up to him. She ignored the sausage. She didn't see the food. She saw him.
Without a single word, she stepped up to him, buried her fingers into his black t-shirt, and pressed herself against him with the full weight of her body. She buried her face in his chest, right where his heart beat beneath the fabric. Steadily, rhythmically, truly.
It wasn't the embrace of lovers who hadn't seen each other for a week. It wasn't even the embrace of friends. It was a drowning person grabbing a rock in the middle of a stormy ocean. It was the gesture of someone who hadn't found a single solid anchor in the entire universe—until now.
Viktor froze. His hand holding the sausage hung suspended in the air. He was taken aback, perhaps even a little embarrassed. For a moment, he just stood there, motionless as a statue, while Ema melted into him, as if she wanted to hide inside his ribcage.
Then a sob tore from her throat. One, a second, and then she began to cry. It wasn't a cry of sorrow, but of pure, raw relief.
Viktor exhaled slowly. He lowered the hand with the food and wrapped his other, free arm around her. He pulled her tightly against him. His palm was hot and rough.
And in that moment, the world changed.
From Viktor's bare feet, a soft, pulsing light began to spread through the grass. The blades of grass glowed with neon blue and green, as if the veins of the planet had awakened underground. The luminescence spread in circles further and further into the dark.
And then the ground began to rise. Not the dirt, but the light. Hundreds, thousands of tiny fireflies began to float up from the grass. They rose upwards in a quiet, hypnotic dance, wrapping around the two of them like a living vortex of stars.
Viktor looked up. He watched the swarm rise toward the dark sky, mingling with the smoke from the fire. Thousands of tiny lights reflected in his eyes.
Then he lowered his gaze back to Ema, who was still trembling in his arms. Something in his expression softened. That hard, hunter's look vanished.
He smiled gently. "Welcome back to reality, Ema," he whispered into her hair.