"Thank you..." Ema breathed, her voice trembling as she pressed against his chest. "Viktor."
It was just a name, but in her mouth, it sounded like a prayer. Viktor didn't react immediately. For a moment, he just stood there, solid as a rock against which the surf breaks, and then he slowly raised his hand. His palms, rough and calloused, began to stroke her hair. It was a clumsy but immensely tender movement that seemed to last an eternity. Time stopped; there were no Architects, no Friedrich, no nightmares. Only the warmth of the fire and the beating of his heart.
When Ema finally pulled away and looked up at him, her eyes glistened with unspoken questions. She opened her mouth to say something—perhaps she wanted to ask about the dream, perhaps she wanted to confess what she felt—but Viktor was faster.
With a stone face, he literally shoved a roasted sausage into her open mouth.
Ema's eyes went wide, taken aback by a gesture that was lightyears away from the romance of movies. But Viktor merely nodded toward the folding mesh chair by the fire.
Ema took a bite.
The greasy, salty, and slightly smoky taste of meat flooded her mouth. It was so ordinary. So earthly. Fat ran down her chin, the hot bite burned her tongue, but it was the best food she had ever had. Suddenly, she wasn't a fugitive. The taste catapulted her back to her childhood—she saw flashes of memories that hadn't been erased. Family gatherings at the cabin, the laughter of an uncle who didn't know how to start a fire, and above all, the Walpurgis Night bonfire. That feeling of safety, where her only worry was not dropping her sausage into the ashes.
She smiled at Viktor gratefully and sank into the chair. She felt her strength returning with every bite.
Viktor watched her through the flames. There was a strange shadow in his eyes. He had words on his tongue—heavy, important words. But seeing how ravenously she ate, how her cheeks were smeared with soot, and how her hands had finally stopped shaking, he swallowed them. Not now, he thought. She's been through enough. I'll let her have this moment of peace.
The rest of the evening passed in a bubble of feigned normality. They talked about nonsense—about the proper way to whittle a stick, about the stars shining through the clouds. As if they were just two people who had decided to camp out in the middle of nowhere.
But the tension between them was growing. It was as palpable as electricity before a storm.
At one point, their gazes met, and the silence stretched out. Ema felt the magnetism. She stood up, walked over to him, and leaned in with determination. She wanted to kiss him. She needed to seal it.
But Viktor's hand shot out and caught her wrist. It wasn't rough, but it was uncompromising.
"No, Ema," he said hoarsely, a hint of distance in his eyes. "You shouldn't..."
Ema froze. She felt the sting of rejection pierce her heart. "Is it because of her?" she blurted out without thinking. "Because of that woman with the blue hair?"
Viktor flinched. The surprise on his face was a clear answer, even though he remained silent. Ema saw him close off, his gaze becoming impenetrable. For your own good, it screamed from him.
"Why?" Ema asked, her voice hardening with defiance. She yanked her hand from his grip. "Why did you save me? For the second time! Don't tell me you don't care about me. Who are you, really?"
Viktor looked at her with a profound, agonizing honesty. "I can't tell you anything, Ema. Every word I give you now could alter your path. And I... I am not who you think I am. I am no hero."
Ema stared at him for a moment. Anger mingled with sorrow in her eyes. "If I am to choose my own path," she said quietly, "then I don't want to regret the things I didn't do."
Suddenly, her eyes widened, and she looked in horror at something behind him, into the dark forest. "Oh my God, what is that?!"
Viktor, an instinctive warrior, spun around immediately, his muscles tensed for an attack. It took only a second. Ema stepped up to him, rose on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his mouth. It was a quick kiss, desperate and salty with tears. The kiss of a thief stealing something that had been denied to them.
When Viktor turned back, Ema was already stepping away from him. She wore a triumphant but sad smile on her face. She spun on her heel and headed for the van without a word.
Viktor remained standing there. He watched her disappear into the dark of the metal box, his fingers absently brushing over his lips.
The air beside him rippled. From the cold mist, a figure formed. Blue hair cascaded around a face that was beautiful, but translucent as moonlight. Nora. She looked at him with infinite pity, as if she understood every scar on his soul.
Viktor did not return her gaze. He bowed his head and, without a word, walked away from the fire, deep into the shadows of the forest, where he could be alone with his demons.
(Note: In the original text, the paragraph describing the landscape of Haná is duplicated with slightly different wording. I have merged them into one smooth paragraph in the translation below to maintain flow).
The morning was quiet. Viktor barely spoke to her. He brewed coffee, packed their things, and they set off.
"Where are we going?" Ema asked as she watched the passing landscape. "You'll see." "What about the von Rieses? Will they come after us?" "You don't need to worry. They are... occupied elsewhere right now."
When they got off the highway, the landscape changed. The hills and forests faded into the background, and the endless plain of Haná opened up before them. It was as if someone had taken the world and ironed it perfectly flat. Yellow fields of rapeseed and green expanses of grain stretched all the way to the horizon, where the hot air shimmered. The sun beat down more intensely here, glaring through the van's windshield and making Ema squint.
It was a different world. Open, unobstructed, with no shadows to hide in.
Olomouc welcomed them with a bustle that Ema had almost forgotten. They drove past historic buildings and parks, where baroque columns cast sharp shadows on the cobblestones. There were students everywhere. Sitting on benches, eating ice cream, laughing, some reading textbooks on the grass. The air smelled of coffee and carelessness.
Ema watched them through the glass like an alien species. How can they be so calm? she thought. They're worrying about exams and crushes. I'm worrying whether someone is going to rip my soul out of my body.
Viktor parked the van on a side street, a short distance from the massive historic building of Palacký University. The engine died, and silence flooded the cabin.
Without a word, Viktor opened his door and jumped out into the heat. He walked around the vehicle and slid the side door open with a clatter. Ema watched as he leaned inside and began rummaging through a pile of gear, crates, and the blanket she had been sleeping under just a few hours ago. It took a while; she heard the clinking of metal and the rustle of fabric, as if he were looking for something carefully hidden right at the bottom.
Finally, he straightened up, holding a black, elegant leather backpack in his hand.
He didn't get back behind the wheel. Instead, he sat down on the metal threshold of the open van door, dangled his legs over the sidewalk, and rested his elbows on his knees. He placed the backpack next to him. The corner of a large, A3-sized envelope peeked out of its unzipped front pocket.
"Come here," he nodded to her.
Ema climbed out of the van and stood before him. Viktor looked tired in the harsh sunlight, but when he raised his head, he wore a calm, encouraging smile.
"I have a favor to ask you," he tapped the backpack. "A big one."
Ema looked at him questioningly. "What is it?"
"There's an envelope in the front pocket. I need you to deliver it to Dean Hradil. You must hand it to him personally. No one else."
Ema frowned and gripped the strap of the backpack he handed her. It was heavy and smelled of leather. "Why don't you go?" she asked suspiciously. "Why are you sending me in there alone?"
Viktor leaned his back against the door frame and casually ran a hand through his hair. "Because I'm still waiting for someone here," he said, checking his watch out of the corner of his eye. "I have a meeting here and I need to handle both things at once. If you go in, you'll save us a lot of time."
He smiled at her again—that rare, boyish smile of his that always disarmed her. "Will you do it for me, Ema? Please."
Ema hesitated for a moment. Something in his voice, in the way he sat there on the threshold of the van like a vagabond, made her trust him. "Alright," she nodded finally. "But you'll wait here, right?"
Ema slung the backpack over her shoulder. She turned and began walking toward the university building.
After five steps, she stopped and looked back. Viktor was still sitting there on the threshold, one leg stretched out, watching her. When he saw her turn, he gave her a slight nod, urging her to keep going.
She walked another ten meters. She looked back again. He was still there. Now just a black silhouette in the glare of the sun, a motionless point in the flowing crowd of students.
She reached the heavy wooden doors of the university. She turned around one last time. Viktor was sitting in the exact same spot, leaning against the car, looking in her direction. Ema took a deep breath, pressed the handle, and stepped into the cool shadow of the building. The doors closed behind her with a heavy thud.
In that second, Viktor's smile vanished, as if someone had flipped a switch.
He slowly buried his face in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. A quiet, shaky exhale tore from his throat. It wasn't just exhaustion. It was pure frustration.
He sat there on the threshold of the van, in the middle of a cheerful student city, looking like the loneliest man in the world.