Chapter 1 - Blood on Snow

  The morning sun spilled gold over the snow-den pines, setting the world abze with winter’s quiet beauty. Viktor ughed as he flopped onto his back, arms and legs sweeping wide to carve a snow angel. His breath fogged in the crisp air; cheeks flushed pink with cold.

  "Look! A whole army of angels!" he called, gesturing to his messy creations.

  Artur leaned against a tree, watching his son with a smile that softened the hard lines of his face. The years had been kind to him—broad shoulders still thick with muscle, emerald eyes still bright—but the old injury in his knees ached in the cold, a constant reminder of battles long past.

  {Artur is a form of the cssic name Arthur. In Old Welsh, its meaning “bear king”}

  "Enough angels," Artur grunted. He scooped Viktor up under one arm, ignoring the boy’s squirming.

  "Inside. Before you turn into an icicle."

  Viktor giggled, kicking snow at his father’s boots. "But I’m not cold!"

  "Liar." Artur ruffled his hair. "Your nose is redder than jam."

  Artur smirked, carrying him back toward the cabin nestled among the trees. Inside, the scent of fresh bread and melted cheese filled the air.

  Sasha stood at the hearth, her chestnut curls piled messily atop her head, humming as she flipped cheese pancakes. She gnced over her shoulder, eyes crinkling.

  "Took you long enough," she teased. "I was about to send a search party."

  Artur dumped Viktor onto a stool by the fire. "Bme the general of the snow angels."

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  Golden pancakes drizzled with sour cream and raspberry jam. Viktor hesitated for only a moment before digging in, savouring the sweet, tangy fvour.

  Sasha chuckled. “You eat like you haven’t had food in days.”

  Artur ruffled Viktor’s hair as he took a seat beside him. “That’s because he pys like a madman in the snow all morning.”

  Sasha pressing extra pancakes onto Viktor’s pte, Artur stealing bites when she wasn’t looking, Viktor giggling through sticky mouthfuls of raspberry jam. For a moment, the world was perfect.

  Sasha stretched as she cleared the ptes. "To the barn, little bear. Those cows won’t milk themselves."

  Viktor scrambled after her, pausing only to grab his tiny wooden pail.

  Artur watched them go, then turned to his work gear. His axe—the old one, not the splitting tool—hung by the door. He ran a thumb over the notched bde.

  Why today? he wondered. Why does it feel like the air itself is holding its breath?

  The first scream shattered everything.

  Artur froze. Sasha’s voice. Outside.

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  The barn was warm with the scent of hay and animals. Viktor clutched his pail as Sasha’s skilled hands worked, streams of milk ringing against the metal.

  "Can I try?" Viktor asked.

  Sasha ughed. "When your hands are bigger than a squirrel’s."

  The crow’s cry came first—harsh, jagged. Then the barn door exploded inward.

  Three figures stood silhouetted against the snow, cloaked in shadows that clung unnaturally to their forms. The leader stepped forward; his face hidden beneath a deep hood.

  "Where is Kaavi?"

  Sasha shoved Viktor behind her. "Get out of my barn."

  The second figure moved—too fast—grabbing Sasha by the hair. The third seized Viktor, a dagger fshing toward his face—

  THUNK.

  An axe buried itself in the attacker’s skull.

  Artur stood in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes wild. "Run, Viktor!"

  “Mama!” Viktor’s scream tore from his throat, his feet moving before his mind could catch up. Then he stumbled, pain blooming across his face. A deep gash over his right eye blurred his vision with blood.

  Chaos erupted.

  The other two men, momentarily stunned by Artur’s strength, exchange anxious gnces. The one holding Sasha, with a cruel smirk, slits her throat.

  “Protect Viktor,” Sasha’s st words, a desperate plea...

  Artur met them bare-handed, his movements slowed by his bad knees but fuelled by primal rage.

  The hooded man swung a curved bde. Artur dodged left—his knees screamed—and took the cut across his ribs instead of his throat.

  He grabbed the man’s wrist, then drove his forehead into the man’s nose. Crunch.

  Their leader moved like smoke, his dagger finding Artur’s thigh, his shoulder.

  “Enough talk,” the final man sneered. “If you won’t cooperate, you die.”

  Artur willed his body to move. The pain was irrelevant. His family was everything.

  With a desperate lunge, he caught the man’s wrist before another strike could nd. He twisted, bones snapping under his grip. The attacker screamed, his knife falling to the snow. Artur wasted no time. A fist to the throat silenced the cry. Another to the temple sent him reeling. Artur grabbed him by the colr, smming his skull against a nearby pilr with a sickening crack. Artur’s fists rain down with a savage intensity, breaking every facial bone, until the man lies dead in the snow.

  Silence.

  Artur turned, breath ragged, body trembling. Sasha y in the snow, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Viktor knelt beside her, sobbing.

  Pain finally crashed over him like a wave. His knees buckled, his vision darkening due to the blood loss. But he forced himself forward, crawling to his wife.

  "Viktor?" she whispered.

  "Safe," Artur, pressing his forehead to hers.

  Her hand found his.

  Then, she was gone...

  Viktor sobbed, clutching his face. Blood seeped between his fingers—a vicious cut from eyebrow to cheekbone, just missing the eye.

  Artur’s strength begins to fade. His chest burns, vision blurs, each breath a struggle, as he crawls towards Viktor.

  His breathing is ragged, each gasp a struggle. With shaking hands, he tore a strip from his shirt, pressing it to Viktor’s wound. The boy flinched, his emerald eyes wide with terror.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Artur rasped, forcing a smile.

  Viktor’s voice broke. “But Mama—and you—”

  Artur swallowed his grief. “Mama’s just resting. And I’ll be right here.” He pced a trembling hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “Listen to me, son. You have to go. Find your grandfather. Tell him what happened.”

  Viktor shook his head violently. “No, I’m not leaving you!”

  Artur coughed, a dark stain spreading across the snow beneath him. He had no time. He gripped Viktor’s arm, voice low but firm. “You must.”

  Artur pressed his pendant into Viktor’s palm. "Go."

  A long pause. Then, reluctantly, Viktor nodded. He wiped his tears and turned, stumbling into the forest, disappearing into the snowfall.

  Artur exhaled, the strength in his limbs fading. He turned to Sasha, brushing a bloodied hand against her cheek.

  Her skin was cold.

  “I kept my promise,” Artur whispers through his pain, his voice breaking. “Forgive me. I tried.”

  His breaths grow shallower, each one a struggle. As his vision darkens, he feels a deep, wrenching sorrow.

  **If only I were healthy. If only I could move faster. I could have saved you. **

  With a final, shuddering breath, Artur lies beside Sasha, his breaths growing fainter as he clings to the st remnants of life. The snow continues to fall, bnketing the scene in a chilling silence.