(Arkgrim's POV)

  The weather was absolute garbage. Overnight, everything that had melted during the day turned into a slippery crust of ice. The city turned into one continuous skating rink, across which I gloomily slid, my hands shoved deep into my pockets.

  I was just walking. Aimlessly. It was warm in the subway, but something worse than the cold awaited me there. I looked at the people and saw them—thousands of glass eyes. Over there sits a guy, about thirty, gray face, slumped shoulders. Emptiness in his eyes. I could see his whole life through him: work, home, work, home. An endless cycle, sucking the soul dry. He wasn't living, he was just functioning.

  'Yeaaah... I definitely don't want that,' I thought, turning away toward the dark window of the train car.

  There were so few people in this city whose eyes burned with life. And the lousiest part—I caught myself thinking that I don't even know what I want myself. I knew exactly how I didn't want to live, but what next?

  At the end of the line, I got out of the car. The steps of the stairs were iced over, and right in front of me hobbled an old woman. An elf. Her ears had sagged long ago, her face was in deep wrinkles, and in her hands—two impossibly heavy bags that were almost dragging on the ground.

  'Whatever,' flashed through my head. I started to walk around her, trying not to slip.

  Walked past. One step, another.

  "D-DAMN IT!" I braked sharply, almost crashing onto my back.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  I turned around and walked up to her.

  "Need help?" I grumbled, not looking her in the eyes.

  "Oh, grandson! Yes, please, thank you so much..." she handed the burden over to me with relief.

  'Yeah, yeah... can we just walk in silence?' I thought to myself.

  But no, she had no intention of keeping quiet. While we trudged a couple of kilometers to her house, she dumped her entire biography on me. About how hard it is for elves to live in this world. About how terrifying it is to outlive all your loved ones. She was left alone.

  "And where are your kids?" I asked, just to somehow interrupt the flow of her complaints.

  "Oh, they are in the city, moved far away..." she sighed.

  "So why don't you go to them?"

  "Well, my son's affairs aren't going so well, I don't want to burden them with my problems..."

  'Right, but burdening random passersby with your bags and problems—that's totally fine,' I thought sarcastically, but said nothing aloud.

  Finally, we arrived.

  "Well that's it, son, thank you! Thank you so much. If it weren't for you, I don't know how I would have made it to the entrance."

  I handed her the bags. She went inside, and I remained standing on the iced-over sidewalk.

  And then it hit me. Inside, somewhere behind my ribs, it became warm. Genuinely good. I saw how she felt relieved, how she smiled. I just helped carry bags for some old elf woman whom I don't even know, and who, in theory, I shouldn't care about at all.

  But why do I feel so good then? It was as if a small fire had lit up inside, chasing away the night's dampness.

  "Why do I feel good?" I asked the empty courtyard. "I don't give a damn about her. I'm seeing her for the first time."

  But the fire didn't go out. It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling. I had just completely torn Leon apart for his "dumb goal—to protect the weak." And yet I myself... I myself did exactly the same thing. And, what's most infuriating, I liked it.

  I turned around and trudged back to the subway, slipping on the ice and angry at myself.

  "Annoying," I muttered. "All of this is incredibly annoying."

  But for some reason, a faint, almost imperceptible smile played on my lips. It seems Leon wasn't the only fool in this city.