A few years ago, I moved from Zagreb to a place near Vojnić, the town where Nikola, the main character of CORDON, grew up. I was struck by the beauty that surrounds it: forests and clean water. I soon realised it is also a complex border area, shaped by centuries of conflict and, more recently, marked as part of the Serbian separatist belt during the war in Croatia, which ended thirty years ago. The division from that time still lingers. I was a little child during that war, and my memories are vague—mostly shaped by pride when my father would return from the battlefield. As a teenager, I became disillusioned after learning Croatian forces had also committed war crimes. I felt the same disappointment discovering that, even in my quiet new town, there were two divided football clubs, a quiet echo of conflict that still erodes our country. This led me to develop CORDON, a film that explores the aftermath of war through the story of a teenager growing up in a fractured microcosm. Nikola’s resilience and brightness offer a glimmer of hope as well as a rare glimpse into a generation navigating inherited trauma. In many ways, CORDON is not only his story but also my own, as a middle child always caught between two sides. This film is my way of questioning the legacy we inherit and how we choose to deal with it.