Vasilisa's eyes fluttered open, and she was met with the strange sight of stone walls, the air

  heavy with the scent of incense and the distant hum of sacred chants. She was in a dungeon, cold

  and unfamiliar, but something about it made her skin prickle with an eerie sense of permanence.

  As her vision cleared, she saw him.

  The cat—but not the mangled, one-eyed creature she had known. No, now it stood before her in

  a form that was both stunning and unnerving. A man, tall and ethereal, with white hair that

  glistened like silver and eyes that shimmered between black and void. His features were sharp,

  but not in a cruel way—beautiful, in a way that suggested he was something older than time

  itself, and something far beyond her understanding.

  "I am Koschei," he spoke, his voice low, resonant, and filled with a timeless authority. "I am

  the messenger who travels between worlds to bring the next queen after the death of the

  former one."

  Vasilisa barely had time to process his words when the weight of her situation fully sank in. Her

  body, though bruised, healed, and her mind raced to catch up with the sudden shift. She had been

  transported to a new realm, a world filled with shadows and gods.

  "You died," Koschei continued, his gaze unwavering, his voice carrying the weight of a

  promise. "But you are alive again. You were chosen. You are the vessel now."

  Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the depth of his words. "Vessel?" she asked, her voice

  hoarse.

  Before he could respond, the cold stone beneath her gave way to a soft, warm hand. The touch of

  a woman, a helper of the temple, whose eyes were kind but filled with pity. Vasilisa's limbs were

  stiff, but she was gently helped to her feet and dressed in rich silks that contrasted sharply with

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  the cold, barren surroundings. The helper was silent, but there was a sense of urgency in her

  movements as she guided Vasilisa through the winding halls.

  The cat, or rather Koschei, walked behind them, his presence casting an intimidating aura that

  made the air around them crackle. They arrived in a chamber—a grand, lavish throne room—

  where the king awaited.

  Tsar Radomir Volkov, ruler of this strange realm, sat upon his throne. The air around him

  buzzed with power, an oppressive weight of authority that Vasilisa could feel in her very bones.

  He was impossibly handsome, his eyes a cold, calculating gray, but his presence radiated a

  cruelty that matched the legends. He was a king in every sense, and yet something about him felt

  like a trap.

  As Vasilisa stepped forward, she was reminded of her own powerless position—how she had

  been pulled into this world to fulfill an ancient, cursed role. She was the Vessel, the one who

  would give birth to the children of this king, but not just any children. She was the one who

  would bear the next king's heir. The fate of an entire realm rested in her body.

  Koschei's voice rang in her mind again. "In this world, the first man was born powerless and

  alone. So the gods sent him a vessel—someone who would give birth to his power, his

  strength, his dignity. But only a boy can carry that power. A girl has no blessing."

  Her thoughts spun, and the cold chill of fear gripped her heart as she realized the full weight of

  her purpose. She was here to give birth to the next ruler, but it would not be her child to claim.

  She was a tool, a body to be used.

  Then, the king spoke, his voice a sharp contrast to Koschei's ethereal tone. "You are the

  Vessel," Tsar Radomir said, his eyes scanning her, assessing her worth, "You will bear the

  child that will carry my power into the future."