Tina swallowed. “Have you… heard of this book before?”
Natalie didn’t answer right away. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, but Tina noticed how tightly her fingers pressed against each other — blood nearly drained from her knuckles.
Then, finally, Natalie nodded. Slowly.
Her eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but in recognition — like someone spotting a ghost they’d tried for years to forget.
Tina’s breath caught in her throat. “So you have?”
Natalie’s gaze drifted back toward the cover. “I think so,” she said softly, almost to herself. “It’s… hard to explain. It feels familiar. Like a dream I’ve already had.”
Tina leaned in, her curiosity edging toward unease. “Is that why you looked so uneasy a moment ago?” she asked quietly.
Natalie’s lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Then she gave a hesitant shrug. “Maybe,” she murmured. “Something about it just… hurts to look at.”
The answer only deepened Tina’s confusion. She folded her arms, then looked down at the book again — the cracked spine, the faded text, the strange, dry feel of the pages. “I’m trying to find out where it came from,” she said finally. “And why does it keep showing up?”
Natalie tilted her head slightly. “Keeps showing up?”
“Yeah.” Tina glanced at the screen, then back at Natalie. “My friend Marcin says he and another friend found it in library before... then his friend read it and just collapsed... Then my friend Anna—” Her voice caught on the name.
Natalie looked at her, concerned. “Anna?”
Tina nodded slowly, her expression tightening. “First, my other friend fainted after reading it. Just… collapsed. No warning. ” Her eyes darkened. “Then, when Anna tried to figure out why he fainted, she died. They said it was suicide, but I don’t believe that. She had the book in her purse when they found her.”
For a moment, there was only silence. The faint hum of the old ceiling fan filled the space between them.
Natalie’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it. The words came out barely above a whisper.
Tina smiled faintly — a small, fragile thing — and then, for reasons she didn’t understand, she felt her face grow warm. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she quickly looked down at the keyboard, pretending to adjust her sleeve.
What was that? Why was she blushing? She didn’t even know this girl. Not really.
But Natalie’s quiet voice had a kind of gravity to it — gentle, understanding, the sort that made Tina feel strangely seen.
Tina dared a glance back up. Natalie was still watching her, her blue-gray eyes unreadable — calm, but carrying something heavy behind them.
And then, without knowing why she asked it, Tina said, “Do you… know someone named Casimir Bielska?”
The air seemed to collapse around them.
Natalie froze. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. Her face darkened in an instant, the color draining as her pupils dilated — wide, unblinking. The name hung there between them like smoke, impossible to wave away.
Tina’s heart began to pound. “You… do know him, don’t you?”
Natalie’s breath hitched. She looked down, her fingers curling into fists in her lap. For a moment, it seemed like she might deny it. But instead, her voice trembled when she spoke:
“…Where did you hear that name?”
Tina felt her pulse quicken. “He's my friend,” she whispered. “He's the one who collapsed after reading this book.”
Natalie stared at her. Her lips parted again, but this time no sound emerged — only a long, trembling silence, her expression halfway between disbelief and horror.
The computer screen beside them flickered, its glow catching Natalie’s face in pale light.
Natalie’s breathing grew shallow. For a moment, she didn’t seem to hear anything — not the faint hum of the computers, not the squeak of a librarian’s cart moving somewhere down the aisle, not even the sound of her own heartbeat. Just that name, ringing in her skull like a bell.
Casimir.
Her lips trembled, but she said nothing.
Tina, sensing the shift, leaned forward slightly. “Are you… okay?”
Natalie blinked — one, slow, disoriented blink — and then looked down, trying to steady her breath. “You said… he’s your friend?”
Tina nodded, cautiously. “Yeah. Well — sort of. He doesn’t really talk to people much. But I’ve known him since last semester. He’s quiet, polite, and smart. Everyone loves him, and…” she hesitated, smiling faintly, “…He's just an incredibly perfect young man.”
Natalie’s hands gripped her knees.
Quiet. Polite. Smart.
The words felt foreign, wrong — like describing a fire as gentle, or a wound as beautiful.
She exhaled, barely audible. “He… collapsed, you said?”
Tina nodded again. “He was reading this book — The Forgotten Soldier. He didn’t even make it halfway through. Just looked at a page and fell backward. We thought it was a seizure, but my friend and I think it was from shock.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Natalie’s throat closed up. Her voice was barely a whisper. “And after that?”
“He spent time out of school. Then Anna died.”
The weight of it settled between them like fog.
Natalie looked at the cover again — the uneven lettering, the faint symbol embossed into the paper’s spine. Her mind spiraled backward: to the letters, to the night Ten was shot, to the way Casimir’s eyes glimmered when he said her name like a hymn.
Her heart thudded painfully.
Tina was watching her carefully now, confused but worried. “You… you do know him, don’t you?”
Natalie’s jaw tensed. Her lips trembled as if she wanted to say something — to warn her — but the words refused to come.
Finally, she said quietly, “You shouldn’t be looking into this.”
Tina blinked. “What?”
Natalie turned her gaze toward the dusty window, where the gray winter light fell over the wooden floor.
“This book. Him. Any of it. If you value your life — stop asking questions.”
Tina frowned, the rational part of her rebelling. “But I can’t just—”
Natalie looked at her again — and this time, there was nothing soft in her eyes. Only grief, and something like fear.
“You don’t understand. Once you start trying to find the truth about Casimir Bielska… he finds you.”
Tina’s pulse skipped.
The clock ticked once, sharply.
And just then, from the far end of the library, a book fell from one of the shelves — loud, sudden, echoing. Both of them turned at once.
A heavy silence followed.
Natalie’s expression darkened as she slowly stood. “I have to go.”
Tina rose too, voice trembling. “Wait—”
But Natalie was already walking toward the exit, her coat catching the faint breeze from an open window as she passed.
Tina stood frozen, her heart racing, the Forgotten Soldier lying between the two empty chairs — open to a page she didn’t remember turning to.
On the yellowed paper, a line was scrawled in a faint, uneven hand:
“Don’t say his name,” the old ones say.
“Don’t speak it, don’t pretend.
Because the soldier’s name is gone—
And now, he has no end.”
Tina felt her throat tighten.
The computer screens dimmed as the library lights flickered.
Outside, the sky darkened — sudden, heavy, like the air before a storm.
Tina clutched The Forgotten Soldier against her chest as she hurried through the quiet, echoing corridor of Wroc?aw University’s library wing. The pale light from the high windows spilled in long bands across the floor, catching Natalie’s hair as she walked briskly ahead — fast, almost like she wanted to disappear before Tina could ask again.
“Hey—wait!” Tina’s voice bounced faintly against the marble. She jogged forward, her bag thumping at her side until she finally caught up. “How do you know Casimir?”
Natalie stopped. Slowly, she turned, her expression unreadable under the thin strip of sunlight cutting across her face. Her eyes — the kind of eyes that seemed older than the rest of her — flickered faintly, searching Tina’s. For a moment, she looked like she might say something real. Then she exhaled softly and shook her head.
“I don’t,” Natalie said quietly. “Not really.”
There was something in reality that made Tina hesitate. Something unsaid. Something heavy.
She blinked. “Oh… okay.”
Natalie gave a faint nod, and the two of them started walking side by side down the long hallway. Their footsteps echoed in the stillness, the kind of quiet that only universities have after sunset — full of dust and ghosts and the soft hum of forgotten lectures. Tina felt her pulse still racing, but she didn’t want the conversation to die there.
“So,” she began, forcing a nervous laugh, “uh, this might sound weird, but… would you mind hanging out in my dorm for a bit? I could use some company. I—I mean, it’s been a weird day. And you just… seem nice.”
Natalie looked over at her — cautious, but not cold. Her expression softened just enough to be human again. “You live on campus?”
“Yeah. Building C. It’s not far.”
A pause. Natalie’s gaze drifted toward the old windows at the end of the hall — light trembling through dust particles like slow snowfall. Then she looked back. “Alright,” she said softly. “Just for a bit.”
Tina smiled — maybe a little too brightly — and they kept walking.
The air felt different now. Something unspoken hummed between them: Tina’s nervous curiosity, Natalie’s quiet reluctance, the faint sound of the world still turning outside. Two strangers bound, for reasons neither of them yet understood, by the same strange name
— Casimir Bielska.
The dormitory was small, but it had that warm cluttered feeling of a place that was lived in — books piled under the desk lamp, a tangle of highlighters on the blanket, and a faint smell of instant ramen that never really went away. Outside, Wroc?aw’s evening rain tapped lightly against the window, streaking the glass with silver lines.
Tina lay upside down on her bed, her legs thrown over the mattress and her head hanging toward the floor, flipping through her biology notes. “Mitochondria,” she mumbled, squinting. “Powerhouse of the cell, my ass…”
Across from her, Natalie sat at the small desk by the window, tracing her finger along the rim of a mug. She’d been quieter lately — but not distant. In the few weeks since they’d met, she’d become something constant in Tina’s world: soft-spoken, kind, always listening. Still, there was something unreadable in her, a silence that seemed to belong to someone who’d seen too much.
Tina stretched and let her book drop over her face. “Hey, Nat?”
“Hm?”
“What are you really doing in Wroc?aw?” Tina tilted her head just enough to see her friend. “You never told me.”
Natalie hesitated. The rain filled the pause. Then, very quietly, she said, “I’m looking for someone.”
Tina blinked. “Who?”
“Casimir.”
That name — the one that seemed to haunt the city lately — dropped between them like a stone. Tina sat up properly now, her ponytail falling over her shoulder. “Casimir? Wait—Casimir Bielska?”
Natalie nodded once.
“Well…” Tina rubbed her arm, uncertain how to say it. “You know he’s… he’s in this dorm too, right? I mean, if you want, I could take you to—”
“No!”
The word came out too sharp, slicing through the air. Natalie’s eyes widened, as if she hadn’t meant to shout. For a moment, all Tina could do was stare.
“Alright,” Tina said softly, backing off. “Alright, I won’t.”
The rain outside thickened. A few seconds of silence passed before a sudden knock broke it.
Tok tok.
“Come in!” Tina called, her tone bouncing back to her usual brightness.
The door opened, and Marcin stepped inside — a plastic bag in his hand, filled with snacks and two bottles of soda. His dark hair was damp from the rain, and his expression carried the usual mix of boredom and affection that came with being Tina’s closest friend.
“Brought you brain fuel,” he said, holding up the bag.
Tina grinned, still upside down. “Oiiii, Marcin! You’re a lifesaver!” She twisted halfway on the bed and waved. “This is Natalie! A friend I made!”
Marcin looked at the girl by the desk. For a moment, his cheerful expression faltered. Natalie stood slowly, polite but wary, her hands folded in front of her. Something about her face — the eyes, the stillness — made him pause. She looked a lot like Casimir. Enough to make his stomach tighten.
“Tina, you've been so strange since... Oh! Uh… hey,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “Marcin. Nice to meet you.”
“Natalie,” she replied quietly.
He handed Tina the snacks and sat down on the edge of her desk. “So, what’re you two up to? Studying?”
Tina tore open a bag of chips. “Kind of. Oh! Natalie wants to see Casimir.”
Marcin blinked. “She does?” He turned toward Natalie. “Why?”
Natalie’s gaze darkened. “I don’t,” she said.
Tina frowned, confused. “But you said you were looking for—”
“I don’t want to see him,” Natalie repeated, her voice firm now, almost trembling.
The air in the small dorm seemed to change — heavier somehow, as if her words carried more than what they meant. Marcin looked between them, caught in the strange undercurrent, while outside, thunder rolled faintly in the distance.
Tina glanced down at her hands. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain.
Natalie stared out the window, her reflection faint against the storm, and for a fleeting second, she almost looked like someone else — someone who might have known Casimir all too well.