He took a step back, so slowly and carefully, as if he himself did not believe that he could move without upsetting the silence that already seemed alive. He did not blink, did not close his eyes, did not turn away, did not twitch to the side, and the voice inside him demanded a scream, but he did not allow himself a sound - he only watched, not knowing what exactly would happen in the next second.
Out of the golden light that flared up near the stone floor, outlines began to slowly grow - at first they were two rounded bodies, excessively smooth, with a dense surface reminiscent of armor, without a single crack or line, without relief. The color of their shells was improbably even, as if carved from gold or painted by hand. Two insects, bright, too pure, too symmetrical, with movements in which there was neither chaos nor swiftness. One of them rose above the floor in a short jerk, hung in the air and swayed slowly, as if it were held not by gravity, but by something else. The second began to circle at his feet, sliding along the floor in a perfect arc, without a sound, but with a palpable presence.
The Omega did not flinch, although something in his chest seemed to snap. He felt that this was not an attack, not a threat in the usual sense, but he could not determine what exactly he was dealing with. Everything in him tensed, everything inside was wary, even if his mind could not yet give away the reason.
Both creatures froze. The light intensified, at first softly, then abruptly, and went out almost immediately, as if someone had turned off a lamp from inside the stone. Before he could react, two women were already standing in place of the insects.
Both were young, this was immediately obvious, but it was not their age that attracted attention, but how different they were from each other. One with short hair cut almost exactly at the line of the jaw, with an open forehead and sharp eyes. The other with long hair, falling freely over her shoulders and back, the color almost identical to the light from which they came. The one in the linen dress looked simpler, but not more modest; the other in a dark shirt, cinched at the waist with a belt, seemed more confident, but not dominant.
He did not take a step back or come closer. He simply remained standing, trying to breathe evenly and not let fear steal his voice or the ability to perceive what was happening. He did not know who they were, why they had come, or whether they could cause harm, or how to respond to them. He did not know if it was allowed to speak at all in their presence.
The silence that hung between them was not dead. It breathed, like a living wall. And it was neither reliable nor protective. It simply stood between them.
The one with the short hair spoke. Her voice was neither soft nor hard. There was no intonation to cling to. It was even, as if measured in advance.
"Now you see us. We are no longer hiding."
He did not answer right away. He did not know if he had to answer, and he did not understand what language to speak to them in, not with words, but with what was between the lines. He stood, breathing, waiting. Not knowing what exactly he was waiting for.
The one who stood closer took a step forward. There was no attempt to intimidate in her gait. She moved as if the space before her was always meant to be hers, as if she were not violating boundaries, but only reminding them that they were conditional.
"We have not come to cause harm," she said. "We are not enemies. But our time is short. We cannot be here longer than we are allowed.
He felt a tremor run through his fingers. Not a strong one, but enough to understand that his body did not agree with his stillness. He did not know who gave them the right to be here. He did not know who allowed them to talk to him. He did not hear their footsteps. He did not feel their approach. He could not even guess when exactly the moment of their appearance began.
"He feels," the first one said again. "The same thing you feel."
He clenched his jaw. He did not like that they knew this. He did not know where they were so sure. He did not know what "he" they were talking about, although his heart already knew. He did not know how they could say such a thing. All he knew was that now everything inside began to shrink with anxiety, much deeper than the fear of the basement.
"It has already begun," the second one said.
He inhaled. Deeply. He evened out his breathing, although his throat was a little sore from the tension. He did not want to ask, but the words came out on their own. They were not loud, did not demand an answer. It was a question that was not motivated by interest, but by a need to understand what was happening.
"What started?"
They did not answer. And that silence felt like a heavy warning.
He straightened up slowly, without making any sudden movements, as if the internal tension that had been building up for too long had finally burst, not in the form of a scream, not in the form of panic, but in the form of a steady but intense irritation. He no longer wanted to be silent, he could not contain the feeling that he was being kept in a constant state of expectation, like an object in someone else's experiment, to whom it would never be explained what exactly was being measured.
"I'm tired," he said, not raising his voice, but each syllable was measured. He did not look at them as if they had saved him, and he did not speak as if asking for help. His gaze was direct, and there was no longer any submissiveness in it. Did food really affect a person that much? "You come, disappear, speak in fragments. If you want to say something, say it. Or leave. I no longer want to be part of a game in which I do not even know the rules."
There was no immediate answer. The girls looked at each other, and there was no hurry in their silence, only that strange understanding that comes from those who already knew that this was what they would hear. Perhaps they had been waiting for this flash.
He took a step back. Not because he was afraid, but because he felt the sound of the air change behind the door, as if something had stood up and moved behind the stone wall. He knew that rhythm. It was not fast, but precise. Several simultaneous pairs of feet. It was the night guard, the same in sound as in the dungeon.
The girls did not say a word. They retreated simultaneously, one step at a time. The golden light flashed again under their feet, not brightly, but enough to outline the boundaries between stone and air. The light slid along the walls, filled the corners with a soft glow, which immediately gathered into a single clot near the floor. Their figures began to shrink, change shape, and in that same second, before him were no longer women, but two beetles. One quickly walked along the wall and disappeared into a thin crack near the window, the second slid under the base of the closet and never returned.
He remained standing in the middle of the room. A premonition was pounding in his chest. The door swung open before he could take a breath. A woman entered - a guard, in armor, with a short weapon in her right hand. Two more stepped in behind her. Everyone was silent, their gazes precise. She took a step forward, without asking anyone's permission, and immediately ran her gaze over the entire room.
Her eyes lingered on him. She did not ask why he was standing, why he was tense. Her voice was calm, but there was no interest in it, no attempt to be gentle.
"What was that?"
He did not know what exactly she could hear. And so he answered quickly and clearly.
"I had a nightmare. I woke up and decided to chase it out loud. Nothing more."
The woman looked around the room again, her attention not lingering on details, but not missing anything. The air was clean, no longer carrying a trace of pheromones, no subtle golden glow. She didn't apologize for the intrusion. She didn't leave a farewell. She didn't tell him to rest.
She nodded to those standing behind her, turned and walked out.
The door didn't slam. But its closing sounded too final.
He walked over to the sofa and slowly sank down on it, threw back the pillow, straightened his back and lay down. The Omega looked at the ceiling and for several long minutes he simply lay there, feeling the heaviness growing inside the silence.
He closed his eyes, but sleep never came. Neither did the girls.