The room was dark and silent, the stove fire long extinguished, with only a faint light from the window outlining blurry contours.
She groped her way to the bed, about to lie down, but her hand touched something warm in the darkness—it was Robin's hand.
Robin was not asleep. In the darkness, she accurately grasped Seraphilia's cold hand and gently pulled her.
Seraphilia sat down, fatigue surging like a tide, almost wanting to fall asleep immediately.
But she felt Robin also sit up, that familiar breath close at hand.
'Turn around,' Robin's voice was soft, with a hint of hoarseness from just waking up, but it carried a firmness that could not be refused.
Seraphilia was a bit puzzled but still turned slightly, her back to Robin.
The next moment, a pair of cool but soft hands, carrying a faint familiar soap scent, landed on her shoulders.
Her fingertips, with a mix of awkwardness and determination, began to massage her tense and stiff shoulder and neck muscles.
Seraphilia's body suddenly stiffened, her ice-blue eyes widening in surprise in the darkness.
She had not expected such an action.
'Don't move,' Robin's voice was close to her ear, her warm breath brushing against her earlobe. 'Your shoulders... are as hard as a rock.'
The technique was far from professional, even a bit clumsy, with the hesitation and uncertainty of a beginner.
But the force of the pressure and the effort to find the sore spots were like a warm stream, seeping through the skin into Seraphilia's limbs, almost frozen with fatigue.
The jolts from the sea during the day, the dust of the training ground, the weight of the communication equipment on her shoulders, and the constant mental pressure... all gradually loosened and dissolved under this awkward massage, pulling her away from the high-pressure military life.
She didn't know when Robin had noticed her shoulder and neck strain, nor where she had learned this.
But this sudden, silent concern struck her heart more directly than any promotion or praise.
Seraphilia closed her eyes, letting those hands move on her shoulders.
Her tense back slowly relaxed, and she felt a long-lost, complete peace.
After a while, Robin's hands stopped.
Then, Seraphilia felt that familiar, gentle force tug at the small piece of cloth at the back of her waist again.
This time, as the corner of her clothes was grasped, what surged in Seraphilia's heart was no longer just a sense of being relied upon, but a heavier, warmer connection.
She knew that every step she took forward, every silver coin, every bit of food she brought back, every fatigue and danger she experienced, was all felt and supported by the person behind her through this invisible piece of cloth.
This piece of cloth was her only tie to the world.
She lay down slowly, her back to Robin.
Robin did not let go of the cloth but instead rested her forehead lightly against Seraphilia's back, as if listening to her heartbeat.
In the silence, there was only the sound of their intertwined, gradually steady breaths, and the occasional whisper of the sea breeze outside the window.
Sera... Seraphilia,' Robin's voice came muffled from behind, tinged with a hint of lingering drowsiness.
'Mmm?' Seraphilia responded softly, her voice unusually gentle.
'Next time... don't bring cookies. Too sweet.'
Seraphilia paused, then realized she was talking about the sugar-frosted cookies she had brought back during the last festival.
Her ice-blue eyes curved slightly in the darkness, and the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile.
'Okay,' she replied softly.
'And... Robin's voice lowered a bit more, as if confirming something.
'Mmm?'
'Congratulations... on your promotion.'
That softly spoken congratulation, though almost lost in the night, Seraphilia heard it clearly.
That belated yet sincere congratulation rippled through her heart.
She did not turn around but reached back and gently covered Robin's hand that was holding her cloth.
The two hands overlapped, one with the calluses from years of training and holding a sword, the other slender but no longer fragile, filled with resilience.
'Go to sleep,' Seraphilia said.
The force on the cloth tightened slightly in response.
Outside the window, the night sky over Black Iron Town was still deep, dotted with stars.
From the direction of the Navy Base came the faint sound of a bugle signaling the change of guard, reminding Seraphilia of her daytime identity.
But in this unassuming little house, after sharing the silver coins from the promotion, the stew smuggled from the cafeteria, the awkward massage, and a softly whispered congratulation, the two girls, amidst the intertwined fatigue and warmth of the late night, once again confirmed each other's existence through that small piece of connected cloth.
Seraphilia's 'cloud ladder' was steadily built in the military camp, and Robin was the direction she would always return to, no matter how high she climbed or how tired she was.
Though light, that piece of cloth held all her weight and meaning.
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