Hania sat on the cool metal railing and watched the colourful procession sweep through the town. The night was damp, smelling of distant rain and dust. At the head of the procession walked a man in a black frock-coat, with a hat so high it almost snagged the street lamps with it. Carts with colourful paintings trailed just behind him, and bright flames jingled from one side window by a girl with hair dyed blue. Seventeen-year-old Hania felt a shudder pass under her skin - the same shudder that wakes up on the brink of something completely new. For a week, everyone in the town had been whispering about the Nightfire Circus. Apparently it appeared suddenly, as if it had sprung from the ground, and with equally sudden silence disappeared, leaving a trail of ash and unfinished stories in its wake. No one knew where the artists were coming from with their bizarre props and dazzling displays. That evening they finally set up a huge, dark blue tent. Hania, less interested in the tricks themselves than in the atmosphere, decided to sneak out of the house and see everything with her own eyes. A crowd was already gathering around. Tickets were only sold for old coins, which someone must have dug up somewhere in the woods or found in dusty trunks in the attic. Hania, not having any silverware, stood to the side and watched snippets of conversation. The fire, the lights, the music - it all created a specific, pulsating rhythm. Once most of the spectators had gone inside, Hania sat alone by the barrel and pulled out a sketchbook. The dancer's fire reflected in her eyes and the silhouettes of the artists tempted her to translate them onto paper. Then she heard a quiet voice. - Would you like to see the circus from the inside, without a ticket? Next to her stood a boy, perhaps a little older than her, with a face hidden under the shadow of a hood. Hania hesitated, but curiosity won out. She nodded her head. The boy led her backstage, dodging guards and winding corridors made of mirrors. Each step deeper into the tent was like an immersion into another reality: the air thickened with scents and the light split into a thousand shades. For a moment, Hania felt as if she had crossed an invisible boundary, after which nothing could ever be the same again. Inside, between the glitter masks and graffiti instruments, the circus director, the same one in the black frock coat, was waiting for them. His eyes were unusually dark, as if reflecting everything that had happened and could still happen. - 'We don't let everyone see the real circus,' he said quietly. - 'But I see you have something we're looking for. Before Hania had time to ask anything, the director handed her an old card with a mysterious sign on it. - One thing I want: for you to join our last show of the night. Without rehearsing beforehand. Hania felt her head spinning. The director's words echoed and the world around her seemed less and less stable. She had a choice - take a step into the unknown, into the glare of the spotlights and the stares of thousands of spectators, or run away before the stage lit up. Before she had time to respond, the chime sounded and the heavy curtain lifted, letting in the last ray of light. Behind it, the arena awaited - and something Hania had not expected at all.