CHAPTER 91: THE SNOW AND THE DEVIL

Midnight had fallen over Novostav. The cold wind howled between the narrow wooden houses, and the village slept under a blanket of snow. Inside a small cottage, lit only by the soft glow of a dying fireplace, Ivan sat at the edge of a creaky wooden bed. The room was simple—a table, a chair, a stack of folded blankets—but his heart was anything but.

He had tried to sleep. He had laid down, pulled the thick blanket over himself, closed his eyes, and counted the slow ticks of the clock on the wall. But nothing helped. His body was still. His mind was not. It kept running in circles, chasing memories he wished he could silence.

He remembered the way Lydia used to tuck her feet under his when she was cold, the way she whispered his name when she thought he was asleep.

Lydia. Her name stayed in his chest like a whisper he couldn’t get rid of. He missed her. Not just her smile, or her touch—he missed the feeling of being beside her. He missed the quiet moments, like when she would rest her head on his chest, or the way her eyelashes fluttered in her sleep.

He missed her laugh. How it was soft and sudden, the kind that made everything else feel far away. And he missed the way she looked at him like he was someone good. Like he was worth loving. Like he wasn’t a monster. Like she saw something in him that even he couldn’t find.

Even now, the memory of her eyes could stop his breath.

She always smelled like roses. That gentle, familiar scent was still with him somehow, lingering in his coat, in his dreams, in the silence of the room.

He sighed deeply, rubbed his face, and stood up. His boots hit the wooden floor softly. He picked up his coat from the back of the chair and put it on. Then, without a sound, he left the cottage.

The night outside was freezing. His breath formed white clouds in the air. Snow crunched under his boots as he walked aimlessly. The cold bit into his skin, but he didn’t stop. Maybe walking would make his body tired enough to sleep. Maybe the wind would freeze the ache in his heart.

He passed the well. The houses. A dark barn. Then he saw it.

A small, quiet house at the edge of the cliff. He stopped.

That was where Ruslan’s mother lived.

Ivan stood there for a while, not moving. He could almost see her silhouette behind the window, lit by a faint candle. An old woman who believed her son died a hero. Someone who still smiled when she heard his name.

He remembered years ago, in Velinsk, when he and Ruslan were still young. Ruslan had told him about his mother. How his father had left. How he had nothing, and how he swore to become something. Ivan had felt close to him then. Like they were the same. Like they were both fighting to be more than what the world called them.

But now?

Ivan felt nothing.

He turned back and walked away.

---

The next morning, the sun rose quietly over the cliffs of Novostav. Ivan and Nikolai were already on horseback, dressed for battle. The wind was harsh, and snow blew around them like dust in a storm.

They reached the mountain path—the only way to the village. It was narrow and steep, the drop on one side deadly. They hid behind a wall of jagged rocks, waiting.

Time passed.

The sun rose higher. Then started to fall.

The cold crept in under their armor. Fingers stiffened. Ivan’s breath fogged his helmet. Every muscle in his body was alert.

Hours turned slowly. Noon passed. The wind grew stronger.

Then Nikolai spotted them.

Six riders. Slowly making their way up the path.

"It’s them. They are here," he whispered. "Ruslan’s in the middle. He brought five men. It’s two against six."

Ivan didn’t respond. He was already pulling out his bow.

The riders moved cautiously. The path was steep and icy. Any wrong step could send them falling.

Ruslan frowned. Something didn’t feel right.

"Stop," he said. "Something’s off."

Just then, an arrow flew through the air.

It struck one of the men in the front. The man screamed and tumbled off his horse, down into the sharp rocks below.

Ruslan didn’t flinch. He only smirked.

"He’s here," he muttered.

Another arrow flew, hitting a second man in the shoulder. He fell with a cry.

"Dismount!" Ruslan barked.

All of them jumped off their horses, weapons drawn.

Ivan threw his bow aside and pulled out his sword.

Nikolai did the same.

They charged.

Ivan clashed first with one of Ruslan’s men. The man was fast, but Ivan was faster. Their swords met with sharp sounds. Ivan parried once, twice, then plunged his blade straight into the man’s chest. The man collapsed.

Then came Ruslan.

Their swords clashed.

The wind howled around them.

Ruslan grinned. "Do you remember the first time you killed someone, Ivan?" he asked, his voice thick with mockery.

Ivan didn’t answer. He tightened his grip on the sword.

"You were so scared," Ruslan said. "You acted like it haunted you. But I know the truth. It felt good, didn’t it? You liked it. Just like I did. Because no matter how hard you pretend... you’re still just a child born of filth."

Ivan blinked.

His chest tightened.

For a second, he faltered.

That second was enough.

Ruslan struck him across the face. Ivan stumbled, falling hard onto the ice.

Ruslan stood over him, sword raised.

"You can never change what you are," he growled. "You will always be a monster."

But as he moved to stab him, Ivan kicked up sharply, knocking Ruslan off balance.

He rolled, grabbed his sword, and rose to his feet.

He didn’t hesitate.

He drove the blade into Ruslan’s side.

Ruslan’s eyes widened. His breath caught.

Then slowly, he staggered backward.

The edge of the cliff met his heel.

And he fell.

Into the cold, dark sea below.

Ivan stood still, sword in hand, chest rising and falling.

Nikolai appeared beside him, blood on his clothes, his own sword dripping.

"It’s over," he said, putting a hand on Ivan’s shoulder.

Ivan didn’t answer.

He kept staring at the waves below.

"I’m not sure it is."

The wind screamed across the cliff, but all Ivan could hear was the beating of his own heart.

Ivan still kept staring for a while. His eyes stayed locked on the dark, restless sea below. The wind tugged at his coat. Snowflakes clung to his lashes, but he didn’t blink. His sword was still in his hand, his knuckles white around the hilt.

Beside him, Nikolai said nothing. He waited quietly, catching his breath, blood still dripping from his blade.

Then Ivan finally spoke, his voice low.

"I’m not convinced."

Nikolai looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Ivan’s jaw tightened. "He’s clever. Ruslan never comes without a second plan. He always leaves a way out."

"You stabbed him. He fell," Nikolai said, frowning.

"I know what I saw," Ivan said. "But I also know him."

A long silence passed between them. The wind howled again.

"Then what do you want to do?" Nikolai asked quietly.

Ivan turned his head, eyes still sharp. "We go down. We check for ourselves. I need to see his body. With my own eyes."

Nikolai hesitated for only a second, then gave a slow nod. "Alright."

They turned to begin the climb down. But before they could take a step, something behind them caught Nikolai’s eye.

He frowned. "Wait."

Ivan stopped. "What is it?"

"Look," Nikolai said, pointing.

The horses.

Still standing at the edge of the path where Ruslan and his men had left them.

One, two, three... four...

Five.

Five horses.

Ivan’s brow furrowed. "That’s strange. There were six riders."

They both turned slowly, glancing back at the narrow trail where the battle had taken place. The bodies of Ruslan’s men lay still, some fallen into the snow, others slumped where they’d landed.

Nikolai began to count out loud, his voice suddenly tense.

"One... two... three..."

He stepped forward, brushing past a pile of scattered gear.

"Four."

That was it.

Four bodies.

Ivan’s eyes darkened.

"The one I shot in the shoulder," he said under his breath. "He’s gone."

The two men stood frozen.

The wind picked up, louder now, almost like a scream.

Then Nikolai muttered, "He’s alive... and he ran."

Ivan’s face hardened. His heart started to pound again.

He looked toward the tree line, the narrow trail leading back into the mountains. The fresh snow would have covered any tracks by now. Whoever it was... was already long gone.

"He’s going to warn someone," Ivan said quietly. "Or worse... he’s going to finish what Ruslan started."

Nikolai turned to him. "What do we do?"

Ivan’s hand gripped his sword tighter.

"We find him."