Warmth.
At first, just... warmth. Thick, enveloping, as if I were floating in the blackest, calmest pitch. No arms, no legs, no body – just the sensation of heat and weightlessness. A dull thud somewhere far away: thump-thump, thump-thump. My heart? Or someone else's? Thoughts thick as molasses.
Nightmare... It was a nightmare, right? Moscow. Rain. Headlights. Vesna... Sorry... Just a bad dream. I'll wake up soon. Any moment now. Warmth... so good...
But then the warmth became... confining. Oppressive. Like walls closing in. The thudding sped up, pounding like a drumbeat of panic. And it began. Shoves. Powerful, relentless. I was squeezed, dragged forward and down into a narrow, resisting tunnel. Not pain – a terrifying, paralyzing pressure. I wanted to breathe, to scream – no way! Only blind, animal panic: GET OUT!
Cold.
Sharp, like a knife blow. Blinding light invaded through closed eyelids. Air – the first, searingly cold gulp – struck my lungs. And the world exploded... with my scream. Thin, shrill, infantile. Not my voice! Not my voice at all! But it was me.
Light cut my eyes. Shadows darted. Voices – loud, unfamiliar, drowning out my shriek – buzzed around me. Understand nothing... Sounds flowed in a stream – strange, guttural, hissing, sometimes melodic. Beautiful, like the song of an unknown bird, yet utterly alien. What language? Where am I? What are they saying?!
Strong hands scooped me up. Lifted me. A large face in shadow bent over me. A man. Dark hair, tied back. Grey eyes – sharp as steel, but now something... warm? Complex... glowed in them. His lips moved. Sounds flowed from his mouth – those same strange, beautiful, meaningless notes. I only caught the intonation: Warmth. Assurance. Protection. Father? The thought pierced the shock. Father... So... That Radiant One * hadn't lied? I... was reborn? Not joy. Not fear. Icy numbness. I – an infant. In an alien world. With a strange father, whose words were just music without a score. Something like "Blood...grace"?
Helplessness.
Life shrank to the primitive. Hunger – sharp, gnawing, forcing me to scream until something warm, smelling of milk and... woman, was pressed to my face. A floral scent, herbs. Mother? Her face – a blur of tenderness and sorrow. Her voice – a soft stream of those same alien sounds. I memorized sound combinations: "Si-ga-ta". Sleep – black, dreamless (except for... dots...), offering respite. Discomfort – wet swaddling, scratchy fabric, my own jerking little hands that wouldn't obey.
The world was a blurry smear. Light. Shadow. A carousel of faces bending over me. And always that stream of alien music. I caught sounds, tried linking them to actions, to objects. The man with grey eyes – "Rast". Smelled of metal, forest, sweat. Appeared rarely. His voice – clipped, hard. Other voices: "Nurse" (the one who changed me more often?), "Helm" (the one who stomped loudly and clanked with iron?).
I tried wiggling fingers. Awkwardly. Like controlling a puppet by radio with interference. Vision foggy, but colors – bright, garish. Outside the window – sharp spires, dark wood, stone. Colored glints from glass. Nothing like Moscow. Alien. Everything – alien. But... not scary yet. Still warm. Still lulled by that stream of sounds from Si-ga-ta.
Fire and Liquid.
One day Si-ga-ta wrapped me in a soft cloak embroidered with strange symbols and carried me outside. Cold air hit my face – I sneezed. We were in a courtyard. Huge, stone, like a fortress. In the middle – Rast. Cloakless. Simple shirt, boots. Face – stone. Focused.
Si-ga-ta whispered something, her voice trembling. She looked at Rast. He barked a short, hard sound in reply. Turned to the emptiness. Raised his hand. Palm up.
The world exploded.
First – mist gathered over his palm. Fast. Very fast. In a second – a sphere! Transparent, shimmering, the size of a pumpkin. Water! Purest water. Rippling. Rast smoothly moved his hand – the sphere floated through the air! Leaving a wet trail. Then – clenched his fist. Snap! Sphere gone, wet patch on the stones.
I froze. The adult mind inside screamed: Magic! Real! Not tricks! My heart hammered like mad. What next?
Rast raised his hand again. Smell of burning. A spark! Flared above his palm. Grew. Splashed! In a second – a sphere of fire! Fierce, alive, the size of my new head. Heat washed over me. Rast – a sharp thrust of his hand! BA-BOOM! The fireball slammed into a stone slab against the wall. Crack! Smoke. Charred mark. Sphere gone.
Gods... The thought flashed wildly. What world had I landed in? I stared at Rast. Horror and... greedy fascination burned inside. What else?
He turned around. Grey eyes bored into mine, wide open. On his face – something like... pride? Satisfaction? He approached. Si-ga-ta gave a little gasp but didn't pull back. Rast drew a small dagger from his belt. Sharp. Gleamed. A quick motion – snick! – across his own palm!
Si-ga-ta cried out. Rast just shook his head, not taking his eyes off me.
Red. Scarlet. Well up on the pale skin. A drop. Should fall... Didn't fall. Halted. Then... crawled back! Drop by drop, thread by thread, sucked back into the cut! Skin sealing shut, like on fast rewind. A moment later – only a pink line. It paled. Vanished. Clean palm. Just a tiny red drop on the dagger.
Rast sheathed the blade. Raised the clean palm. Touched my forehead. The touch – hot, solid. He spoke again. Those same alien, guttural sounds. But now I caught a familiar combination: "Krat". And another, repeated: something like "Bloodgrace". He looked into my eyes very seriously. Spoke of something important. About the red? About power? About me? His tone was like a gong strike: weighty, full of meaning I couldn't grasp. He spoke a longer phrase, ending it firmly: "Krat Bloodgrace."
He leaned down. Lips – firm, warm – touched my forehead. Smelled of iron and smoke. Then straightened, nodded to Si-ga-ta, and walked away. Footsteps echoed dully on the stone.
I lay stunned. Red... Liquid... Control... Magic? Bloodgrace... A name? My surname? What hell, Radiant One? What hell have you thrown me into? Bitterness rose in my throat. But then, a timid, treacherous thought: Or maybe... heaven? Power. A father, mighty, but... caring? A mother, gentle. Warmth. Safety. Maybe... a chance? Maybe... happiness?
Three black dots. Like eyes. The smell of rot. Sweetish, heavy. Filling my lungs. Can't breathe. Darkness inside. Cold cardboard under my fingers. Open... open... Finger reaching for the lid...
I woke up. Sharply. From the smell of rot and cold cardboard. My heart pounded like a bird in a cage. Where am I? Dim light. Familiar room. High ceiling with wooden beams. I was in my bed. Not an infant. Body... bigger. Stronger. Five years. Passed like a strange, warm dream.
I am Krat. Krat Bloodgrace. I know. I'm used to the name. Used to the body. Almost.
Language... Now I understand. As if a veil had lifted. Those alien, beautiful sounds formed words, words formed sentences, sentences formed meaning. "Eat." "Sleep." "Mama." "Papa." "Come here!" "No!" (a very useful word). "Magic." "Blood." Blood. And Bloodgrace? Or Bloody Grace? The surname. My surname. The realization came later, when I overheard servants talking about "House Bloodgrace," about "blood magic." Then I remembered that scene in the courtyard. Father. His palm. Blood obeying his will. My destiny? Writing... Those squiggles on the parchments in Rast's study – still a mystery. Like Chinese to me. Alien. But the sounds... the sounds were mine now.
Life? Strange. Carefree? Perhaps. Learning... everything. To walk (steadily), to run (sometimes falling), to talk (almost without mistakes now). Exploring the manor – vast, dark, gothic, but... home. There are servants. Nurse (Nurse) is hardly needed anymore. Helmgard, captain of the guard. Stern, but nods to me respectfully. To me. Respectfully. Unfamiliar.
Mother (Sigata) is tender. Smells of herbs and sadness, but smiles more often. Father (Rast)... distant. Busy with manor affairs, magic, something important. But when he comes - he looks appraisingly. Sometimes asks something. Tests. Is the power growing in you, son? Speaks little, but when he speaks - everyone listens.
And there is... a Surprise. I'm not blind. Mother... changed. Became slower. Hand often on her belly. A child. A new child. Brother? Sister? A strange feeling. Jealousy? Curiosity? I'm still a child in their eyes... but inside – twenty-four years of longing and loss. Who would come into this strange, magical world?
Violette.
She entered the world loudly. Noise. Mother's cries (this time - of pain). Bustle. Then - silence. Father came to my room. Face... uncharacteristically soft. Tired, but without the usual sternness. Eyes glowed with something deep.
— Krat. Come. Your sister.
He took my hand (his palm still hot and solid) and led me to Mother's chambers. She lay pale but smiling. In her arms – a tiny bundle. A little face peeked out. Red, wrinkled, eyes closed.
— Violette, — Mother whispered, looking at me. — Your sister, Krat. Violette Bloodgrace.
Father drew me closer. Carefully lifted my hand. Brought my index finger to the infant's tiny palm. Small, weak fingers reflexively curled around mine. Warmth. Fragility. Incredible fragility. Like a baby bird.
Inside, everything clenched. Sister. Vesna... Violette... An echo of past pain mixed with a new, aching tenderness. I looked at this tiny creature, defenseless and trusting. At her clenched fists. At my finger in her grasp.
No one will touch you, flashed through my mind with iron clarity, like a vow to myself. Not gods, not men, not the curses of this world. I will give you a happy life. I will protect you. I swear by the Bloodgrace blood. I swear.
Father placed his large hand over our joined fingers – mine and Violette's. Heavy, solid palm. Hot. Like a seal. Like a promise of strength given for protection.
I stood, looking at my sister's sleeping face, feeling her grip and the weight of my father's hand. Warmth spread through my chest. Hope? Love? Something new and fragile, breaking through the old pain.
And somewhere deep in memory, like miasma from a forgotten grave, the smell of rot began to bloom. Quietly. Inexorably.
*The Radiant One - that's what Krat/Kai decided to call the god