The morning light had not fully unfolded.
The horizon was only a faint layer of gray-white.
The air was cool.
The window was half open.
A thin stream of cold air slipped in through the gap,
clinging to the floor,
then slowly spreading upward.
The room was quiet.
No footsteps.
No voices.
Only the faint sound of fabric brushing.
Elena was already awake.
She did not stay in bed for long.
When the blanket was lifted, it made a soft sound.
Her movements were slow.
Unhurried.
When her feet touched the floor,
it was slightly cold.
Her toes curled subtly,
then quickly relaxed.
The room was small.
The furniture was simple.
A bed.
A table.
A wardrobe.
Nothing unnecessary.
The curtains were light-colored.
The light that passed through them was softened,
falling onto the floor
as a gentle glow.
She walked to the window
and pulled the curtain open a little more.
More light entered,
falling onto her shoulders.
Her hair was illuminated,
its color appearing lighter.
She did not linger.
She turned and left the room.
The hallway was quiet.
Her footsteps were soft.
No echoes.
The air carried a slight chill,
and the faint scent of old wood.
She entered the kitchen.
It was not large,
but very clean.
The countertop had been wiped spotless.
No grease.
No clutter.
Every utensil was in its place.
She reached out and lit the fire.
The flame rose
with a soft sound.
A blue glow clung to the bottom of the pot,
slowly stabilizing.
Water was poured in.
The surface rippled,
reflecting the light from outside.
She stood there,
fingers resting on the edge of the counter.
No extra movement.
Just waiting.
The water began to heat.
Fine bubbles rose from the bottom.
The sound gradually increased.
The air began to change temperature.
Her breathing remained steady.
Unchanged.
Dr. Silas stepped out of his room.
His footsteps were quick.
No pause.
His clothes were already neat.
Not a single wrinkle.
His gaze did not linger in the kitchen.
Just a brief glance,
then he walked to the dining table.
A chair was pulled out
with a faint scraping sound.
He sat down.
No words.
Elena brought breakfast over.
Her movements were steady.
The plate touched the table
without a sound.
She stood for a second,
then stepped back.
Dr. Silas began to eat.
Quick movements.
No pauses.
No unnecessary actions.
Only the faint clinking of utensils remained in the air.
In a short time,
he stood up.
The chair was pushed back into place,
precise.
No misalignment.
He picked up his coat
and walked toward the door.
No turning back.
The door opened.
Cold air rushed in for a moment,
then it closed.
The sound was light.
His footsteps quickly faded outside.
The house returned to silence.
Elena stood by the table.
She glanced at it,
then began to clean up.
The dishes were picked up.
Water was turned on.
The flow was steady.
Her hands moved in the water,
skilled.
No pauses.
The kitchen slowly returned to order.
She dressed simply.
Plain fabric.
No decoration.
Her sleeves were slightly rolled up,
revealing her wrists.
Her movements were light,
as if repeating something done countless times.
The house had a yard.
A corner of it could be seen from the kitchen window.
The ground was even.
A few trees were planted along the edges.
Their leaves were not dense,
but neatly trimmed.
No one was in the yard.
No sound.
Only the wind occasionally passed,
gently moving the leaves.
There was no one else in the house.
No servants.
The space was large,
yet felt empty.
Sounds dispersed easily.
Nothing lingered.
After finishing the kitchen,
she walked into the hallway.
Each room door was closed.
She opened them one by one,
took a brief look,
then closed them again.
Her movements were natural,
as if confirming something.
Her mother had left when she was young.
It did not leave behind noise.
Only an empty space.
For a time, the house had fallen into disorder.
Things piled up.
Dust covered everything.
No arrangement.
No order.
After she grew up,
she began to handle these things.
Little by little.
Slowly restoring everything.
Tables were wiped clean.
Floors were cleared.
Items returned to their places.
Only then did the house become livable again.
Her movements did not stop.
Sweeping.
Wiping.
Organizing.
Every motion was steady.
No haste.
No hesitation.
The sunlight gradually brightened.
It shone in through the windows,
moving across the floor.
Shadows shifted.
Time flowed slowly through the house.
When all the chores were finished,
she stopped.
Standing in the middle of the hallway,
her breathing grew slightly heavier,
then quickly returned to normal.
The morning became quiet.
Nothing urgent remained.
She returned to her room.
Put on a coat.
Her movements were light,
silent.
She picked up the prepared items
and placed them into a bag.
The bag was small,
containing simple things.
She stepped out of the house.
The gate opened
with a faint metallic sound.
The street was quiet.
Few people.
Her pace was steady,
walking along the roadside.
Her shadow stretched long under the sunlight.
During her free time,
she often visited orphanages.
She played with the children.
Gave them the things she brought.
Her movements were natural.
No intention.
No pause.
The children gathered around her.
Their voices were light.
Laughter filled the air,
along with footsteps.
She bent down,
handing things to them.
Her fingers brushed lightly against theirs.
She smiled.
Not exaggerated.
Just a simple curve.
Time passed within those sounds.
Uninterrupted.
Uncompressed.
The afternoon light softened.
She left the orphanage
and walked home.
Her pace remained steady.
Neither faster nor slower.
By evening,
the sky began to darken.
The light inside the house dimmed.
She turned on the lights.
They were steady,
covering the table.
She began preparing for the night.
Her movements remained practiced.
No pauses.
Sometimes Dr. Silas would return.
Sometimes he would not.
Sometimes the door would open.
Sometimes it would remain untouched all night.
She did not change her rhythm.
Everything proceeded in order.
Night slowly fell.
The house returned to silence.
——
Classified document.
The paper was pressed flat on the table.
No curling edges.
The title was clear:
Substantive Investigation Report on the White Swan Project.
The text was neatly arranged.
No embellishment.
To prove his theory,
Silas had, since early on,
conducted various human experiments on his own daughter.
Records were arranged page after page.
Without interruption.
Time was marked in the corners.
No omissions.
The room was cold.
No change in temperature.
Finally,
Silas transplanted the White Swan's wings into Elena.
The text stopped at that line.
No emotion.
Only record.
Ironically,
Elena's healing ability awakened afterward.
The wording did not change.
Still flat.
Silas labeled it a failure,
because healing abilities held less research value than combat abilities.
The sentences were tightly arranged.
Without pause.
Medical treatment could simply be left to institutions.
The page was turned.
The sound was light.
Silas had no way out.
He could only present Elena, as a representative,
to the upper levels of the state.
The handwriting remained clear.
No corrections.
With this result,
Silas's status within the nation gradually rose.
The record continued downward.
No spacing.
Eventually becoming part of the Ability User Military Program.
Using Silas's experimental methods,
a large number of ability users awakened.
The document ended on the final page.
No conclusion.
No evaluation.
Only facts.
The room was quiet.
The pages were no longer turned.
Light rested on the table.
Unchanged.
After reading the report,
Iosef fell into deep thought.