Back then.

Shortly before the change.

Vix.

She was alone, helpless, unable to take care of herself. This girl had no chance of getting through without someone else and all Vix was left with was taking slow breaths.

“Okay.” She straightened her shoulders. She had to be the stronger one. “What's your name?”

“Mireille,” the little one returned.

“Okay, Mireille. Can you tell me what happened and what you were doing here in the first place?”

Briefly, the girl looked at her wordlessly before she pulled her nose back and made a sound of agreement. “I always pick up Papa. So he doesn't have to walk home alone.” She lowered her head. “But when I arrived, that's when they asked him and others to join ... to blow up the mine. Papa said they had no place in the world without a mine. And that's when they shot them all.”

Reluctantly, Vix pressed her lips together. They had guns. Real, actual guns. And yet they had chosen to drown a small child rather than just shoot it.

It was cruel, outlandish, and yet the image behind it formed. Without that damned mine, there would be no more work in this place. They would have to be let go. They would lead normal lives and regain some health. No one would be sent to this place anymore.

Freedom was within reach.

But some had been afraid of it, long before this violent idea. An agreement would probably have been impossible, and yet Vix believed that a simple conversation would have helped.

A solution could be found for everything.

The sudden pull on her jumper woke her from her thoughts. Mireille's small hand had clawed firmly into her fabric. Her big eyes sparkled wetly under the dim glow of the lamps. The rain had soaked her to the bone, her hair clung to her skin and her voice barely covered the pattering of the rain. “Are we going to die?”

Instantly, Vix closed her hands around the child's face. The ground beneath her legs smacked. The wetness made everything within reach muddy. “No. No, we won't. We'll go to my place where my mother-“

She faltered.

She had come up before her mother had arrived home. The riot had started before the shift change and the chances of anyone going home were zero.

Either her mother had joined those people or she had resisted.

Vix swallowed before her shoulders slumped.

Maybe her mother had also hidden or run away. Not everything had to happen merely on two sides.

So she eased away from Mireille's face and jumped up. “We'll go to my place and wait there for my mother if she's not home yet. She'll know what we're going to do next.”

Mireille's reply was a curt nod. A hint of agreement that slowly brought her to her feet. Vix gave her a thin smile, a bit of affection and hope they both needed. “You don't have to worry-“

“There you plagues are!” Resus' voice abruptly cut off her encouragement. His heavy footsteps sounded distinctly damp in the background and when Vix glanced to the side, he seemed little more than three feet away.

In his hand rested a shovel he must have picked up, and his nostrils quivered noticeably. “So much trouble for two abominations like you. Had better days.”

The worker's uniform – an ugly grey overall – strained as his muscles twitched under the fabric and he took another step towards them both.

Barely noticeably, Vix's hand felt for Mireille's. It seemed to take ages, with her heart thundering hammer-heavy against her chest, for her to sense cold, damp skin beneath her fingertips.

Then, all at once, she grabbed hold and ran.

Mireille's body was swept along by the sudden momentum and her squeals chased a tremor down Vix's spine that only made her run faster. For a moment it didn't matter if Mireille could follow or flew after her. It was completely irrelevant whether the girl could breathe enough air or was in danger of suffocating under the rush.

They had to escape in order to survive.

It was the only thing that mattered.

The trees chased past them like shadows in the darkness. Vix's breath hung leaden in her lungs, and every step threatened to slip.

Resus, who stayed close behind them, refused to be confused. His panting overpowered her every thought, and the rush behind drove her on and on.

Down to the lake, its bright colour inviting.

“Come here!”

The unknown voice that had spoken to her before resurfaced in her mind like a beckoning call and, though it seemed like rescue, her body faltered. Her feet wanted to stop, slipped, and before she could hold on, she crashed to the ground along with Mireille.

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The little girl splashed into the mud beside her before coughing and gasping for air. Vix did the same. Her lungs were on fire, every breath stung, and her lips trembled.

The cold of the rain slowly filtered through to her, making each moment a little more sluggish than before.

Resus came to a halt a few feet in front of them. His heavy boots didn't slip and balance seemed to be on his side too.

Mireille's hand still firmly in her grip, Vix's eyes chased over the surroundings. But nothing was helpful. Behind them lay the lake, before them rose the mighty body of Resus, and all that surrounded them was half-rotted forest.

“End of the road, cripple.” He swung the shovel in his hands; would smash their skulls in and that was it.

Vix's body automatically crawled back inch by inch. Mireille's hand slipped between her fingers as she did so, and it felt like a strange fever dream as the little girl scrambled to her feet and held out her shaking arms.

“Stop it!” She tried to put all the power into her quivering voice. “We won't say anything.”

Vix froze in place. This little girl had summoned all her courage to save her, while in her mind there was only flight.

But it was useless.

Resus wouldn't listen. He paid no attention to Mireille's words and didn't even bat an eye as he lashed out. The shovel crashed against Mireille's temple in the same breath.

Her head jerked to the side as the dull metallic sound suffocated in the background of the rain. Her tiny body collapsed like a house of cards.

Vix's breath caught as she watched her body lie motionless.

“Come.” Again the voice demanded from her. “You must hurry.”

She would die. Death would wrap its icy claws around her and if she had to choose an option, she was going to believe that the voice offered a better alternative than a shovel.

It was a decision that overcame her and became so deeply embedded that a sob escaped her.

Dying had never been on the plan.

And yet Vix pushed herself into a crouch. With one hand, she wiped her burning eyes. Her muscles tensed.

Every nerve in her screamed.

And it reached beyond her lips as she rushed at Resus.

He noted her fighting spirit with a grin before lunging with his shovel. He was ready to rip her head from her shoulders, yet noticed a moment too late when Vix threw herself to the ground to grab Mireille and turn around.

She didn't look back, didn't bother to take one last look over her shoulder. Instead, her legs carried her to the edge of the lake.

She jumped.

Bright yellow enveloped her in its arms, warming her so pleasantly she thought she had ended up on a beautiful summer's day. The breath in her throat escaped with pleasure before she opened her eyes and noticed her hazy surroundings.

Everything within reach was just as yellow as she had expected. It was hard to see her hand in front of her eyes, and Mireille's presence no longer clung to her body.

She herself was dragged down. On and on. The seconds remained endless, bringing her to the ground where sand nestled against her shoes. Around her, the stone shone – similar to metal.

At the same time, the colour of the water changed with each blink. The yellow grew darker, seeking a heavenly blue that played magically with her hair. Tiny pearls of glaring white played around her body, eliciting a laugh.

A breath under water.

Hastily, she grabbed her throat, but she was indeed breathing. There was no liquid filling her. Only warmth and security in the arms of something unknown.

“Are ... we superheroes now?”

The slightly distorted voice of another made Vix whirl around, only to look at Mireille's deformed form. Her hair waved ghostly in the water and her clothes had turned white. She seemed to fade at some corners as she slid sharp claws through the water.

“I think it's more like we're cursed,” Vix brought over with a smile.

“Oh...” Mireille's head lowered. “Superheroes are cooler.”

“Then let's be superheroes. We already look special. We just need cool weapons and equipment and-“

“Like that?” Mireille didn't let her finish before turning away and turning around moments later with an iron bar. Unbidden, she rammed the iron into the glittering stone that made up the walls, and as a gasp escaped Vix, the shine seemed to spill over onto the bar.

“What's happening?” She blinked several times.

“I don't know,” Mireille replied. “But a voice told me we could be superheroes like that.”

“With what superpower?”

“You can control water.”

The iron deformed, remaining unadorned, yet radiating more resistance – almost like platinum.

Intrigued by the sight, she reached for the bar, pulling it out of the wall with force, only to discover a crystal tip. The iron bar had become a spear. A real weapon whose power she couldn't estimate.

At least not until Mireille also put her hands on the bar and gave Vix an excited look.

“We can win!” Her joy made her voice terribly high. “And then everything will be fine.”

“We could scare the hell out of them!” confirmed Vix, but met with a curt headshake from Mireille.

“We'll have to make them go away. Just like they took down Papa.”

Vix swallowed. Mireille had seen it. It had escaped her before, though it had been obvious. Mireille had been there when her father had been shot.

The gleam in her eyes, the joy on her face – her hope was revenge. A feeling so simple, so engaging, that Vix clutched the spear tighter.

“This is no way to resolve conflicts, Mireille.” She moved closer to the girl. “First, we need to talk.”

“Papa talked too,” she returned. “It didn't do any good.” She rested her forehead against Vix's to look deeper into her eyes. “This village and this mine ... they're evil. And we're superheroes. We have to do something.”

Without further ado, Vix pulled her head back. She wanted to disagree, wanted to squeeze sense into that child's mind, but all that faced her was the bottom of the lake.

The ground, which was now easier to see because the brightness no longer stung her eyes and the murky water seemed clearer.

The abyss on which six lifeless bodies stretched towards the surface – weighted down with cement blocks.

Three men.

One woman.

Her mother.

Vix's throat tightened in the same breath as she recognised the lifeless form of her only hope. Her mother's dark hair rested lazily in the water and while her body wanted to swim upwards, the stone held her captive in the depths.

She seemed to have been dead for a while.

Unable to call her name, to call for her, to move away from the spear, Vix remained stuck on the sight. A second longer than necessary before she turned back to Mireille.

Crying underwater was impossible – at least it felt that way – and the pain crushing her chest elicited hasty breaths.

Mireille didn't ask. She simply waited. Silently. Obediently. Like the perfect child, while Vix thought she was suffocating and yet just couldn't stop gasping for air. Her body twitched, twisted, resisted every feeling that wanted to flood her.

She had wanted to see the outside world with her mother. Not everything was like this place.

Loving hands were waiting out there.

Hands that would welcome her when this mine, this goddamned village, had rotted away.

She would show Mireille.

The good parts, once they had put all this behind them. Once the grief had risen and faded.

Somewhere behind that strangely uncomfortable feeling of heat that settled so heavily in Vix that she gripped the spear even tighter.

“Let's be superheroes.” She had to be strong. Just a little while longer. “The bad guys have to go.”

And then they would see the brighter side.

Warm days and smiling people. All together with Mireille. The girl whose eyes shone in the face of revenge as if it were Christmas.

Laced with hope.

In a world of the hopeless.