The cell was little more than a frozen tomb, steeped in thick shadows and a cold that seeped deep into the bones. Only a faint light broke the gloom, flickering weakly at the tip of one of Joás’s fingers. His body was exhausted, but his mind remained alert. Something wasn’t right. His muscles tensed as he felt a presence… eyes locked onto him.

  Beyond the bars, two red eyes flashed in the darkness, watching him with an inhuman focus. They weren’t the eyes of a beast… they were worse. Cold, sharp, unafraid of the dark or whatever lurked in it. Then, a silhouette emerged from the shadows: Luna.

  "You’ll get used to it." Her voice was calm, almost indifferent, but there was something sharp beneath it.

  Joás let out a dry, mocking laugh. With effort, he sat up and leaned his back against the icy wall.

  "Oh, sure. I’m sure I’ll love the decor and the cold." He scanned the cell with feigned enthusiasm before locking eyes with Luna. Sarcastically, he added, “Did you come to make sure I didn’t freeze to death? If so, maybe you could keep me company, warm me up… or at least get me a cozier place.”

  Luna sighed and crossed her arms.

  "You come with a savior’s attitude, but you’re still just a prisoner to us." She leaned slightly toward him, her eyes glowing with a dangerous intensity. "If you really want to survive here, you’d better stop playing around and start taking this seriously."

  Joás smirked, but there was a cold glint in his eyes.

  "Oh, I’m taking it seriously, Luna. What I don’t like is being treated like a caged animal."

  "And what did you expect?" Luna replied coldly, her gaze fixed on him. "We still don’t know what you are."

  Silence settled between them, as dense as the cold that filled the cell. Joás sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a mixture of resignation and mockery.

  "Then tell me… what’s my sentence? Are you going to dissect me? Experiment on me? Or just wait until I break after freezing down here? Though I doubt you’ll let me die… you need me more than you want to admit."

  A cold smile spread across his face as he stared at Luna.

  She watched him in silence for a moment, gauging him before speaking.

  "That depends on you. It’s true we won’t let you die… but that doesn’t mean you’ll live in comfort. Your fate is in your hands."

  Joás raised an eyebrow, amused.

  "Wow, what a generous offer."

  Luna ignored his sarcasm and stepped a little closer to the bars.

  "Marcus wants answers. So do the other leaders." Her voice was lower now, but firm. "If you cooperate, you might get something better than this frozen hole as a room."

  Joás looked at her in silence, his crooked smile hiding something more than mockery. Something sharp. Dangerous.

  "And if I don’t want to?"

  Luna didn’t even blink.

  "Then don’t complain when things happen to you that you couldn’t imagine even in your worst nightmares."

  The air in the cell seemed to grow heavier, denser. Her tone wasn’t an empty threat—it was a certainty. Joás let out a low, rough laugh, rubbing his wrists still marked by chains.

  "You never stop being cold…," he whispered, tilting his head. "And you say it with such confidence… I wonder how far you’d go."

  Luna didn’t flinch.

  "Far enough."

  Joás narrowed his eyes, evaluating her, letting the silence stretch between them like an invisible blade. Then, he sighed with feigned resignation.

  "I guess I don’t have many options, huh?" He slowly approached the bars, placing his hands on the freezing metal. "Fine. I’ll play… for now."

  Luna held his gaze, her red eyes glowing with a dark intensity, as if trying to read beyond his mask of arrogance.

  "Tomorrow they’ll come for you. You’d better be ready."

  She turned and left without waiting for a response. The door closed behind her with a hollow, metallic echo, leaving Joás in the shadows.

  His smile faded.

  "Answers, huh…?" he whispered to himself, a shadow of something darker in his voice. "Let’s see if they’re ready."

  The cold bit into the cell, but Joás barely felt it. There were far more troubling things on his mind. Lying down on the bed, he closed his eyes and prepared to rest.

  —

  “Wake up! Wake up!”

  Eliot jolted upright, his heart pounding. His breath came fast as he scanned the room with wide eyes, searching for the person—or whatever it was—that had woken him so abruptly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, little one. I didn’t mean to scare you,” said a calm female voice.

  Eliot turned his head and saw a woman standing beside the bed. Her expression was relaxed, a faint smile curving her lips.

  “Who are you?” he asked cautiously.

  “I’m Elira, leader of the engineers. Did Luna mention me?” she replied in a serene tone.

  The boy frowned, processing the information.

  “Oh, right… you’re the lady who’s going to ask me about my inventions and Joás, right? Luna mentioned that.”

  Elira raised an eyebrow and let out a small laugh.

  “‘Lady’? Well… I suppose it could be worse.”

  Eliot looked at her in innocent confusion.

  “But you are older than me.”

  Elira sighed with mock resignation.

  “I suppose you’re right, kid,” she joked before shaking her head. “Anyway, how about we talk in the lounge while we have something warm? This cold is killing me.”

  The boy hesitated for a moment, then nodded and followed Elira in silence. They walked down the hallway until they reached the lounge, a surprisingly warm and cozy space, very different from what Eliot was used to.

  Luna’s residence was a luxury in the midst of that frozen world. The walls were solid and well-insulated, the lighting was soft but pleasant, and everything was clean and orderly—almost unthinkable in a world where filth and chaos reigned. For Eliot, and probably for anyone in that icy hell, the place felt like it was from another world.

  “Wow…” the boy murmured without realizing, looking around the room.

  Elira noticed his awe and smiled.

  “Pretty, isn’t it? It’s rare to find a place like this in this mess, but Luna made sure it was a refuge… at least for some. I guess it suits her personality.”

  Eliot nodded silently, still amazed by the place. But something inside him didn’t quite settle.

  “Luna is a very cold woman… or at least that’s what I remember,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

  Elira gave a small smile before responding, her gaze drifting for a moment.

  “She may seem that way, but she’s not. Luna is much warmer and sweeter than she lets on. But in this world, if you don’t harden yourself, you end up lost.”

  Before Eliot could say anything else, the lounge door opened and three people entered. Two of them he already knew: Luna and Elian. But the third caught his attention immediately.

  She was a pale-skinned woman with long black hair and dark, intense eyes. Her features were delicate, with an exotic beauty that Eliot couldn’t help but notice.

  “Hey, Eliot! How are you?” Elian greeted him enthusiastically, plopping into one of the chairs with his usual energy.

  Luna, in her calmer tone, also spoke to him.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  Eliot nodded, still a little shy.

  “Yes, though… what surprised me most was how pretty your house is.”

  Luna tilted her head slightly in acknowledgment.

  “Thank you. I’m glad you feel comfortable here.”

  Elira, who had been observing the exchange, decided to speak.

  “We’re glad you’re more at ease, Eliot. We brought these two so you’d feel safe and see that we don’t want to hurt you. Oh, by the way,” she pointed at the woman with black hair, “this is Cristina. She’s part of my faction and you could say she’s my second-in-command.”

  Cristina smiled kindly, giving a small nod.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man.”

  Eliot felt a sudden warmth rise to his cheeks and, unable to help it, blushed. Stammering slightly, he returned the greeting with a slight nod.

  Elira, noticing his reaction, smiled with amusement before continuing.

  “Actually, she should be here with her husband, but… well, he stayed in the lab. He’s studying your interesting flashlight and other devices.”

  Eliot blinked, intrigued.

  “Studying them?”

  Cristina nodded.

  “Yes. Your invention made us quite curious.”

  The boy felt a small swell of pride in his chest. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.

  The sound of a notebook being flipped through broke the silence, pulling Eliot back to reality. In front of him, Elira was calmly writing before looking up and beginning to describe him aloud.

  “Boy, approximately eight years old, height 1.50 meters, slim build, black hair and eyes…” she paused briefly, observing him carefully. “A mole on his forehead… is that correct?”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  She offered him a gentle smile, awaiting his confirmation.

  Eliot nodded silently.

  Elira closed the notebook for a moment and gave him a calm look.

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions. Answer them calmly, alright? If at any point you feel uncomfortable, tell me and we’ll stop.”

  The boy nodded again, clutching his hands in his lap.

  “Alright, Eliot. Where are you from?”

  The child took a moment to respond, as if carefully choosing his words.

  “I come from the south…” —his voice was timid, almost trembling— “From a small camp where only my family lived. There were six of us… my mom, Leonor… my older brother, Arturo… then my other two siblings, the twins Luis and Laura… and my older sister, Antonella.”

  He paused, lowering his gaze.

  “We lived in some ruins… of a town. We made it our home.”

  Elira exchanged a quick glance with Cristina, who was still writing down every word in the notebook. Then, gently but firmly, she asked the next question.

  “Where is your family now, Eliot?”

  The boy tensed his shoulders. His small fists clenched tightly on his legs. For a few seconds, he didn’t respond. He just shook his head without lifting his eyes.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was broken, barely a whisper.

  “They’re not here anymore…”

  Elira watched as Eliot pressed his lips together, holding back tears. A heavy silence settled over the room.

  Cristina stopped writing.

  The conversation had just begun, but it had already touched a wound that would never fully heal.

  Luna, silently, placed a hand on little Eliot’s back—a subtle but comforting gesture. Everyone watched him with sorrow, feeling the weight of his loss reflected in his gaze.

  Elira sighed, feeling the tension in the air.

  “I’m sorry, Eliot,” she murmured sincerely before changing the subject. “Tell me… that lantern you made, I’ve heard it repels the walkers. Is that true?”

  She gave him a faint smile, trying to lighten the mood.

  Eliot blinked a few times before nodding.

  “Yes…” —his voice was still fragile, but he tried to respond— “The lantern emits a light frequency that affects their vision and makes them see an illusion… It’s a mechanism based on how they perceive their surroundings, making them believe they’re seeing a large burst of fire above them.”

  As he spoke, his tone became firmer, more confident, as if he could lose himself in the explanation and forget the pain for a moment.

  “It works with a system that harnesses flames to generate a pulsating light. Although, curiously, it only responds to Joás’s flames…” he continued, gesturing with his hands. “They’re strange, almost like they’re alive. That quality makes them incredibly powerful. At first, it was just a theory, but then I discovered that…”

  He paused. His eyes darkened with melancholy.

  “The idea came from my brother, Arturo. He was a true inventor… his mind was brilliant…”

  His voice cracked on the last sentence.

  Elira watched him in silence, not interrupting. In that moment, she understood that the lantern was not just an invention. It was a memory, proof that somehow, his family still lived through him.

  “I’m sorry, Eliot, we didn’t mean to make you recall painful memories…” Cristina apologized with a melancholic smile, trying to ease the child’s sadness.

  Eliot shook his head and replied calmly:

  “It’s okay. It’s something I have to leave behind… I have to keep moving forward.”

  Elira nodded and, returning to a serious and curious tone, continued with the next question:

  “How do you know Joás? You never mentioned him being part of your family. What connection do you have with him?”

  Her question sparked curiosity among everyone in the room. Joás was an enigma in every sense, and any information about him was valuable.

  Eliot looked her directly in the eyes before replying with serenity:

  “It’s true, Joás isn’t part of my family… at least, not directly.”

  Elian frowned and asked with interest:

  “Not directly? What do you mean?”

  Eliot nodded and explained:

  “Joás was… adopted, so to speak. Or that’s what my mom told me. He arrived at our camp about seven months ago, when she and my older brothers, Arturo and Luis, found him.”

  Silence took hold of the room. Everyone looked at each other, surprised by the revelation.

  Elira narrowed her eyes, surprise giving way to a growing unease.

  “They found him?” —her voice turned graver— “Where exactly?”

  Eliot nodded slowly, his expression darkening.

  “Yes… I don’t know much, but my mother and brothers found him on one of their expeditions to the frozen wasteland. They said he was inside a building… but never explained what kind of place it was. It seemed like they preferred not to talk about it much.”

  Silence slipped over the room like a cold shroud. The shadows from the fireplace flickered on the walls.

  “Joás didn’t know anything about the world when he arrived,” Eliot continued, his voice barely a whisper. “It was as if… he was born that very day. He didn’t remember who he was, or where he came from. His eyes were empty, as if his mind was a bottomless abyss.”

  He stopped, pressing his lips together, before adding in a darker tone:

  “Over time, we tried to explain things to him… but the truth is, we don’t fully understand what happened to the world ourselves. We only know the world fell into this endless winter, that horrifying creatures rule it from the shadows… and that humanity is on the brink of being wiped out. That’s what we told Joás.”

  The fire crackled in the darkness, casting dancing shadows over their faces. No one spoke. Every answer Eliot gave only fueled the uncertainty, like embers stirred by the wind.

  Elira broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper beneath the crackling flames:

  “So you don’t know anything about Joás? Not where his power comes from… or how he controls it?”

  Eliot nodded slowly, his gaze lost in the fire.

  “We didn’t know anything about him,” he murmured. “He didn’t even remember his own name. My mother named him after a book that said ‘Joás’ means ‘fire of Yahweh.’”

  He paused. His lips curved into a slight smile, but it wasn’t joyful—it was nostalgic, tinged with something else… something unsettling.

  “The first time he showed his ability… it was like it wasn’t strange to him. As if fire had always been a part of him. We saw it rise from his hands, burn in his eyes… and for a moment, we felt something else, something we couldn’t understand, looking at us through those flames.”

  Eliot let out a short, hollow laugh.

  “My brother Artur and my sister Luisa tried to study Joás’s fire, convinced there had to be an explanation. We grew closer to him, he became our trusted brother. We didn’t see him as a monster…”

  Suddenly, his face darkened. His skin paled, and his eyes reflected something deeper than fear: the memory of a latent, inescapable horror.

  “But that day had to come…” he whispered, and his voice trembled like glass about to shatter.

  The fire crackled louder, as if reacting to his words. And in the thick air of the night, the shadow of an unspeakable memory seemed to rise with the flames.

  “What day, Eliot?” Elira asked with a mix of curiosity and urgency.

  Cristina tried to intervene, aware of the weight of the question, but before she could, Luna stopped her with a slight shake of her head. They couldn’t silence him. Everyone needed to know the truth, even if it meant making a child relive his worst nightmare.

  Eliot lowered his gaze. His face turned somber, as if wrapped in darkness. His lips trembled before speaking the next words, soaked in horror:

  “That damned day…”

  The air seemed to grow heavier, and the fire crackled as if it responded to his distress.

  “We looked to the horizon… and there they were. A pack of Jotuns stood atop the hill that protected our camp. But the worst part wasn’t them… it was the figure standing before them.”

  Eliot swallowed hard. His voice trembled.

  “A man… or something pretending to be one. His skin was pale, so lifeless it seemed it had never known life. His hair was white as snow, and his eyes… cold, empty, like death itself.”

  He paused, breathing unevenly.

  “No one could speak. No one could move. Only the sound of the wind, heavy and oppressive. Then, I heard it… his voice. He didn’t shout, didn’t command with rage. No. He spoke with disappointment, as if he expected something… as if we weren’t enough.

  ‘He is not here,’ he whispered.

  And then… he raised his hand.”

  Eliot clenched his jaw. His eyes filled with terror.

  “The Jotuns… those massive beasts… charged at us like hunting dogs. They rushed us, panic and fear consuming everyone.”

  His voice broke. He brought his hands to his head, shutting his eyes tightly, as if trying to erase the images his own mind projected.

  “My mother grabbed our hands… Antonella and me. We ran. But when I looked back… I saw my brothers… Artur leading the others… taking positions to defend the camp…”

  He stopped. His shoulders shook.

  “My mother… ordered us to run to the shelter. To wait there… that they would come for us…”

  A sob escaped his throat. But Eliot couldn’t continue. His whole body shook with the weight of that memory.

  And in the faint firelight, his tears seemed to reflect the flames of that hell that had once consumed everything he loved. The silence in the room was absolute. No one knew what to say. Eliot’s words, every sentence, felt like a real nightmare—a lingering echo of terror in his mind. The child’s story had not only revealed a tragedy, but something unprecedented.

  Elira, Cristina, and Elian remained silent, trapped by the gravity of the moment. None knew how to offer comfort under the weight of that confession. Only Luna approached the boy, wrapping him in a strong and warm embrace. Eliot, unable to hold on any longer, collapsed in her arms, clinging to her desperately, as if afraid that letting go would bring the horrors of his past back to devour him.

  Elira, still processing what she had just heard, felt a wave of dizziness rush through her body. Her legs weakened, and before losing herself in the chaos of her thoughts, she let a question slip, her voice filled with disbelief:

  “Jotuns… being led by a man? Taking orders? This makes no sense… Not even Jotuns can move in groups without tearing each other apart. They’re wild, territorial, ruthless beasts… And now you’re telling me they moved like a pack, like someone’s soldiers…”

  She ran her hands through her hair, trying to make sense of the inconceivable.

  Luna looked at her coldly before turning to Elian.

  “Take him to my room. Let him rest.”

  Her tone allowed no argument. The questioning was over. Eliot had relived enough horror for one night.

  Elian nodded immediately and, without another word, gently took the child, guiding him out of the room. The boy didn’t resist; his body seemed hollow, consumed by the memories that tormented him.

  When the door closed behind them, only Elira, Cristina, and Luna remained. No one spoke. The weight of what they had just heard hung over them like a dark, dense shadow, leaving a chill in the air.

  “What did we just hear?” Cristina whispered, her voice barely audible and full of disbelief. Her eyes moved between her companions, searching for answers none of them had.

  “I don’t know…” Elira finally said after a tense silence, “but whatever it is, it’s not something we can ignore. We have to inform the other faction leaders and the council.”

  Luna nodded gravely. But as the three of them began to rise, a sharp knock at the door stopped them cold. They looked at each other, tense. A second knock, louder this time.

  The door creaked open, and a group of Ice Guard and scouts entered. Their faces showed urgency, but also… unease.

  “Commander Luna,” one of them said firmly, though tension underlined his voice, “you must come immediately. Something is very wrong in the interrogation room.”

  A chill ran down Luna’s spine. For a moment, no one moved.

  “What happened?” she asked, feeling a dark premonition take hold in her chest.

  The guards glanced at each other, unsure, until the group leader spoke:

  “We’re not entirely sure… only that Mr. Maelis and Mr. Magnar have urgently requested your presence. The prisoner, Joás, refuses to cooperate and is apparently on the verge of being beaten to death. He said he would only speak with you.”

  For a moment, the silence in the room became suffocating. Luna felt a knot in her stomach. She couldn’t afford to ignore the situation.

  Without wasting another second, she stood and quickly left the room, heading toward the interrogation chamber to regain control of the situation.