"Run!"
The word came torn by agony, but to Nikolai it sounded like a thunderclap inside his mind. His legs reacted before his heart could understand. He ran.
The snow whipped his face like a thousand icy blades, slicing his skin with every gust of wind. The torch trembled in his hand—fragile, casting a flickering, shallow light that barely pierced the surrounding darkness. The horizon vanished into a white blur, indistinct, as if the world had turned into a single veil of ice and shadow.
Nothing—absolutely nothing—muffled the sound behind him.
The frantic clinking of metal against metal echoed like bells of despair, each impact vibrating in his chest like iron thunder. The dry scraping of blades tearing through flesh sliced the air, followed by moans that no longer sounded human—only distorted echoes of pain, drawn-out screams that seemed to blend with the storm itself.
His feet failed him. A misstep made him lose his balance, and he rolled through the soft snow, which quickly turned red. The cold was cutting, but what he saw before him froze him completely.
Just inches from his face lay a head. The eyes were still open, fixed on him as if accusing. There was despair there, stamped in a final moment that had become eternal. The mouth hung half-open, split; the forehead was cracked. Blood and brain matter still trickled down, painting the white ground as if the very snow wept for the dead.
Nikolai's stomach turned, but he had no time to breathe.
A deafening roar burst beside him—so close it made the world tremble.
"RAWWWWWWWWWWW!"
A colossal white bear, nearly nine feet tall, roared in spine-chilling fury. Its chest heaved, fur soaked in blood, every open wound glowing in the flickering light of the flames. It staggered but refused to fall. Pain was not enough to bring down that living wall.
Beside Nikolai, a fallen torch spat flames into the wind. The fire lit fragments of horror—the white of the snow and the viscous red of blood blending into a brutal symphony. But the same light that revealed death did not reveal the reaper. The enemy remained in the shadows, as if taking pleasure in tormenting before revealing itself.
Then came a roar—not of a bear, not of a man. It was a sound that tore at the soul. The scream sliced through the air like a blade and made the wounded bear roar back in defiance. The fire flickered, casting frantic shadows among the bodies scattered across the ground.
From the darkness, something broke through the edge of the light: a monstrous, scaly paw, as large as the bear that faced it. It came down, crushing bones beneath its weight. The air vibrated with the creature's hiss—a cold, venomous sound that scraped the mind before it even reached the ears.
Before the beast's full body could emerge, another bear appeared—smaller, with bluish fur but eyes blazing with fury. It charged without hesitation, plunging into the carnage. The snow trembled under its steps, as if even the earth sensed the inevitable collision.
Then the sky split open.
A bolt of lightning struck down, blinding everyone for an instant, hitting the unseen creature with an explosion that burned flesh and scattered embers. The scream that followed didn't sound like it came from anything alive. It was shrill and soul-rending—a wail of pain and hatred that forced everyone there to instinctively cover their ears.
"Kill it now!"
Two brown bears charged into the darkness ahead of Nikolai, but they vanished almost instantly, swallowed by the dying edge of the flame. A second later, they were hurled back into the light. Their massive bodies, each weighing tons, flew through the air like scraps of paper, thrown over the boy's head. The impact shook the ground, scattering snow and blood in every direction.
Another scream echoed in the distance, but the pain carried in that sound felt so close it made Nikolai's bones vibrate. More blood gushed out, sliding over the snow like dark rivers. The thick liquid flowed until it reached the flames, which began to weaken, swallowed by the red glow. The fire, once alive, now flickered faintly, smothered by the blood as if it had a will of its own.
Nikolai stood still. His legs no longer obeyed him. The cold soaking his pants betrayed an instinct stronger than courage—absolute fear. His tearful eyes were too tired to cry; the tears mixed with sweat and melted snow on his face. His teeth chattered in a frantic rhythm, producing a feeble, sorrowful sound, like broken bells ringing amid the carnage.
Slowly, the firelight faded. Each flame died as if swallowed by the very darkness that advanced without mercy. Until, finally, the child found himself surrounded by night.
And then the noise began.
At first, it was low, crawling like a distant whisper. Then it grew, multiplying, coming from all sides. It was the sound of something dragging, something scraping the ground, something breathing too deeply. It was everywhere. It was inside Nikolai's mind.
The boy shut his eyes and screamed.
Nikolai opened his eyes suddenly, his heart still racing. The first thing he saw was the wet, curious snout of his bear, so close he could feel the warmth of its breath on his skin. The gray bear's expression was one of concern, as if it had witnessed the echoes of the nightmare that had consumed him.
Nikolai reached out with a trembling hand, stroking the animal's head.
"Sorry… sometimes I remember things."
The bear only tilted its head but didn't seem to understand. In Nikolai's mind, however, a single word echoed—deep and instinctive:
PAIN.
Nikolai took a deep breath, swallowing hard.
"Yeah… I think so."
He turned his face toward the window, open to the breaking dawn. The pale light tinged the sky, slowly driving away the darkness. His body was soaked, his skin clinging to the sheets. The cold sweat made the bed feel like a damp grave.
"I think I'm gonna need a bath…"
He got up slowly, still feeling the heaviness in his muscles from the memory of the dream. He wasn't exactly sure where the bathroom was, but the night before he'd heard murmurs and laughter that gave him a clue.
"I think it's at the end of the hall…"
When he opened the door, silence reigned, broken only by spaced-out snores from other rooms. His wooden leg creaked, groaning as if complaining about the sudden change in temperature—the chill of dawn trying to impose itself against the warmth of his body.
"I need my tools…"
The phrase slipped out aloud, but it no longer sounded like madness. He wasn't talking to himself anymore. The gray one followed him, glued to every step like a magnet. For the first time in a long while, Nikolai had someone to hear his words.
"You… grew?"
The gray bear stared at him with that innocent gaze, but Nikolai could swear it was larger than the night before. Hard to say by how much, but the difference felt real.
"I think I'll need to start measuring you." He sighed, running his hand along the bear's snout. "But before that… we need to pick a name. Honestly, I don't want 'Gray' to be the final one. If we don't decide soon, that nickname's gonna stick."
Nikolai was still trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare that pulsed in his mind. Living alone had always spared him from having to explain his torment to anyone, but now it was different. There was an attentive eye by his side—an eye that didn't judge but watched him with care and concern.
"And about today…"
HUNGRY.
The word reverberated in his mind with an almost childlike force.
Nikolai chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"Yeah, I know. I'm hungry too." He paused, amused. "Come to think of it, it kind of makes sense that you've grown. You ate more than I did yesterday… and I'm known for eating a lot."
It was a blatant lie, but it sounded too funny not to say. The bear only watched him silently for a moment before rubbing against his leg like a giant cat seeking affection.
"Okay, okay… quick bath, then food."
It was the first time he'd seen the gray one react with genuine excitement. The animal let out an almost happy growl and bolted down the hallway, heading toward the end of the path. Nikolai couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. For the first time in years, his nightmare had dissipated so quickly.
"It's… really different from yesterday."
It was Nikolai's first reaction upon crossing the gate of the great hall. The previous night was still fresh in his memory, with all its pomp, abundance, and mystical beauty. Now, before his eyes, the same place seemed entirely different—cold, silent, stripped of its shine. The tables remained in the same spot but no longer held an aura of grandeur—just simplicity.
"Makes sense," he murmured to himself, running his fingers along the worn wooden edge. "You can't throw a feast every day."
There was food, but modest—almost austere. A white soup, salty and pleasant in flavor, though Nikolai didn't recognize it. Beside it sat tough meat and water in clay jugs. No wine, no succulent dishes. Just enough to survive.
Gray didn't seem pleased with the change. The bear stared at him with narrowed eyes, growling low, almost offended. Its snout nudged the bowl as if expecting more than what had been given.
"Sorry, buddy." Nikolai patted the rough, still-damp fur on his head. "But this… this feels a lot more like what I'm used to."
Soon, other youths began to enter through the gate. Voices gradually filled the space, benches scraping against the stone floor, but no one approached him. It was as if the previous night hadn't erased the years of isolation he carried on his back. Being a pariah wasn't undone in a single banquet.
"Good morning, sleepyhead… You just disappeared last night."
The light voice came from behind him.
Nikolai turned and saw Irina smiling, her cheeks rosy from the morning cold.
"Sorry, Irina… Ashen was tired."
"Ashen?" she asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. "So that's his name?"
"Not exactly." Nikolai looked away, awkward. "It's just… I haven't thought of another name yet."
Irina laughed and settled beside him, resting her elbows on the table.
"Where's Misha?" Nikolai asked, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere.
"Misha likes sleeping in beds," she answered easily. "She stayed in the room next door. I left the door open, but I think she wanted to rest a bit more."
Nikolai nodded silently, eyeing the steaming bowls in front of him.
"I see."
"Hey, guys!"
Suddenly, as if Irina were a beacon able to light up the dark lands where Nikolai hid, others began to gather around them.
"By Dazhbog, I thought I was going to drop dead from that damn cold water!"
Zoya arrived huffing, still rubbing her frozen arms. Irina let out a soft laugh before explaining: what Zoya had expected to be a hot spring bath was actually nothing more than a tank of ice-cold water.
"I was really dumb to jump in without checking the water."
"HAUAUHAUHA!" someone roared with laughter.
"How the hell was I supposed to know that thing's seasonal?!" Zoya shot back, indignant.
More laughter burst out, spreading through the group. For the first time since the previous night, the hall seemed warmed by genuine joy—simple and almost childlike.
But the light atmosphere shattered when the outer door creaked open.
"I see you're very happy, soldiers."
The voice that echoed through the hall cut the laughter like a blade.
"Let's see if you're still laughing by the end of the day."
The tone carried no charisma, not even warmth—only command. Pure, raw authority.
Nikolai was the first to realize who it was.
The man who entered had a rigid posture, a cold gaze, and the voice of someone who had buried many. But Nikolai recognized him for another reason: it was the man who always woke him up in the gulag, after Oleg had beaten him.
"Sir Alexei is my name."
The pause was brief but heavy enough to weigh on everyone there.
"Don't worry. By the end of the week, you'll have it memorized."
He laughed—a dry, joyless laugh that echoed more like a sentence than a joke.
*Dazhbog – Sun god and main deity of the North, he is the one who summons the morning sun for the northerners.