The city lay in ruin, a quiet hum hanging in the air like the aftermath of a forgotten storm. The buildings, once proud and gleaming, were now skeletal figures, their walls crumbling and jagged, hollow windows staring out like tired, old men who had seen too much. Dust clung to the air as though it had been suspended there forever, refusing to settle. Hans walked through the debris-strewn street, his boots crunching over shards of glass and broken stones, each step echoing off the cracked pavement.

He had known this street once, back before the world turned grey, when sunlight still held warmth instead of the cold, indifferent light it now cast over the ruined city. The bakery on the corner had been his favorite—a small place with a window full of fresh bread and the smell of yeast drifting out into the air. Now, it was a blackened husk, a pile of charred bricks and ash. He stopped for a moment, staring at the spot where the window had been, his throat tightening. He hadn’t been back since the fighting ended.

"Funny," he muttered to himself, though the sound was swallowed by the silence, "it still smells like smoke."

A rustle from behind broke his reverie. Hans turned slowly, hand instinctively moving toward the sidearm that had become an extension of his body, even in peacetime. But it was only a girl, no more than twelve, emerging from the shadow of a bombed-out storefront. Her face was smudged with grime, eyes wide and cautious. She stared at him with a mixture of fear and curiosity, a feral wariness that came only from having lived through it all.

"You alone?" he asked.

She didn’t answer, just stared at him, clutching a dirty bundle to her chest. He could see her knuckles turning white around the cloth. Something in the way she looked at him—hollow, yet alive—made him drop his hand from the pistol.

Hans nodded at the bundle. "What’s in there?"

The girl took a step back, her eyes narrowing as if he had asked for her soul.

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"I’m not going to take it from you," he added, raising his hands in surrender. "Just… curious."

A silence settled between them, heavy and thick, punctuated only by the soft crackle of distant fires that had never quite burned out. Eventually, the girl lifted the bundle just enough for Hans to see. It was bread—old, hard bread, the kind that would break your teeth if you tried to bite into it. She must’ve scavenged it from somewhere nearby, maybe from one of the ruined homes that still held a ghost of what they once were.

Hans crouched down slowly, keeping his distance, but trying to make himself less threatening. "There’s an aid station a few blocks over. They’ll give you fresh food. Water, too."

The girl shook her head sharply, retreating further into the shadow.

He understood. Trust was a currency more valuable than bread now, and it was in short supply. He couldn’t blame her. How could anyone trust anyone else after what they had seen?

Hans stood, brushing the dust from his knees. "You don’t have to go," he said quietly. "But if you ever want to, it’s there."

He turned and continued walking, his pace slow, deliberate. He didn’t look back. He’d learned that lesson long ago—looking back only filled you with more ghosts than you could carry. The street opened up into what had once been the town square, now a wide expanse of rubble and dirt. A fountain still stood in the center, though its statue of some long-forgotten hero had been shattered, leaving only a jagged stump where the figure had once been. Hans remembered sitting by that fountain as a boy, watching the water spill from the hero’s sword into the basin below. It had seemed so grand back then. Now, it was just another broken thing in a world full of broken things.

He paused by the fountain, running a hand over the cold, cracked stone. The sound of footsteps echoed behind him, and Hans turned to see the girl again, her small figure silhouetted against the remains of the city. She stood there, watching him, the bundle of bread still clutched tightly in her arms.

Hans offered her a faint smile. It wasn’t much, just a slight twitch of his lips, but it was all he had left to give. "You’ll be alright," he said, though the words felt like a lie as soon as they left his mouth. Still, they seemed to hang in the air between them, fragile but unbroken.

For a moment, the girl’s eyes softened, just for a second, before she turned and disappeared back into the ruins. Hans watched her go, his heart heavy. He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t save anyone. The war had seen to that.

He stared at the ruins around him—the remnants of what had once been life. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed, its cry echoing through the hollow streets.

Hans sighed and began walking again.