Dobroslav burst from the facility gates into a city lost to fire and slaughter.
Orange flames licked the sky; screams and bestial roars echoed down the streets. Tall green goblins rampaged everywhere, tearing fleeing people apart.
"Someone help me!"
A young woman clutching a wailing infant stumbled toward him, a goblin sprinting right behind her.
"Please, save my baby!"
Dobroslav moved like lightning. One clean, powerful slash cleaved the goblin from collarbone to hip. Black blood sprayed; it collapsed mid-stride, dead before it hit the ground.
The woman froze, shaking, tears streaming.
Dobroslav sheathed his szabla and stepped close, voice calm and steady.
"You're safe now. Both of you."
He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder for a moment, meeting her eyes with quiet strength.
"Go. Find shelter. Lock the doors and wait for the army."
She clutched the child tighter, nodding through sobs.
"Thank you… thank you…"
She turned and ran.
Dobroslav watched her disappear around the corner, the faintest smile touching his lips (warm to any onlooker, cold to the calculating mind behind it).
'Good,' Bhalzar murmured, pleased. 'She owes you her life and her child's. Debts like that are useful. When the time comes she'll open any door you knock on, won't she?'
'Exactly,' Dobroslav answered silently, already walking deeper into the burning city. 'Favors are just chains with prettier names.'
'I see my blood hasn't thinned that much,' Bhalzar chuckled, rich and satisfied.
Dobroslav's lips curved slightly. 'When were you sealed in this amulet?'
'No one seals the great Bhalzar,' the ancestor answered, a brief pause hanging in the air. 'I sealed myself.'
Slash.
Another goblin lunged from a side alley. Dobroslav flicked his wrist; the head rolled away before the body realized it was dead.
"I never liked those Ashkenazi," he muttered, spitting on the twitching corpse.
'Good! Good!' Bhalzar's voice rang with dark delight.
Dobroslav ran on through the burning streets, closer to home with every stride.
Then the pain hit: sudden, blinding, a white-hot spike behind his eyes.
Sweat poured down his face.
"Argh—my head!" he groaned, stumbling.
'Quickly! Get home, lock the doors!' Bhalzar shouted, panic cracking his usual calm.
Dobroslav could barely hear him. The world blurred, legs turned to lead, but muscle memory dragged him the last hundred meters.
Key in lock. Door slammed. Bolts thrown.
Thud.
He hit the floor and knew nothing more.
Cold hit his skin first, crisp, alive.
Snow touched his lips, melted instantly.
A faint hum filled the air, like distant crystal bells.
'Dreaming?'
He drifted above a city of white stone and pale fire. Snow poured down, yet warmth pulsed from every surface, thick power that sank into his lungs with every breath.
Below, people walked untouched by winter: moon-pale hair, eyes glowing soft blue, long spiked ears. No one aged.
A dark mirror waited in the square.
He looked.
White hair. Ice-bright eyes. Sharp, elegant ears.
Him.
'That's… me?'
The reflection's smile cut straight to the bone.
Then memory struck like a glacier cracking.
His grandmother, barefoot and pregnant, racing through a screaming blizzard, hand locked with a demon lord. Ice arrows shattered behind them. Her laughter rang wild and free.
Ancient names froze and burned behind his eyes.
Power snapped awake inside his veins, cold and unstoppable.
Pain.
Everything went white.
He jolted awake on his apartment floor, cheek against cold floor, heart hammering.