Scene 1: The Wind's Promise
The sun had already risen above the mist-covered forest, and there was little time to waste. If they wanted to find the others and bring them back before sunset, they had to move now.
Yudhir had changed into the new clothes prepared for him after the Trizna. He wore a sleek greyish-white aviator jacket with a high collar and subtle patterns stitched along the cuffs, paired with a dark ash-grey shirt bearing the same Dragon emblem on the back that Avi and Varun now wore. Tapered trousers and sturdy sneaker boots completed the practical outfit, while his familiar chess-patterned scarf rested around his neck and his aviator-style glasses shimmered faintly with translucent glyphs over his eyes. The lighter colors and flowing scarf gave him a calm, almost weightless appearance that suited the nature of his wind power.
Yudhir decided that he and Otyr would venture together into the forest and make their way toward the Mansi village. Being someone who always preferred to keep a few cards in reserve, he opened the backpack they had brought from Pskov and began sorting through its contents. There was food, medicine, and several other supplies that could prove useful on their journey, but he carefully took only what would be enough for the two of them. The rest needed to remain at the camp in case the others returned. They could always come back for more.
Otyr quietly watched him as he packed, his small eyes following every movement. Yudhir noticed the boy's expression and understood what was troubling him. After everything that had happened during the night, Otyr had lost almost everyone he could rely on. Now Yudhir was the only person he had left, and the thought of losing him as well must have been constantly weighing on his mind.
Yudhir crouched beside him and gently ruffled his hair.
"Don't worry, Otyr. I'm not going anywhere."
The boy looked up at him, still uncertain.
The sight reminded Yudhir of himself when he had first arrived in this strange world.
At that time, he had no memories of who he had been before coming here. Even his memories of his original world existed only as vague feelings and fragments that he could never properly grasp. Like Avi, he had first encountered his dragon king father in a dreamlike state. It was there that the Dragon King Pavanindra had reminded him of his name—Vayudhir—and it was from that name that Yudhir had eventually come to be called simply Yudhir.
His father had also told him that he had brothers somewhere in this unfamiliar world, friends with whom he shared a bond he could not fully remember, and that he had to find them.
Yudhir had first appeared near the Velikiy Kamennyy Poyas—the Great Stone Girdle, the immense mountain range that divided the continent and stretched toward the eastern lands beyond Novgorod. He had arrived nearly three months before Avi, and during those first months he had deliberately avoided becoming attached to anyone. He wandered through forests and mountains, occasionally helping people he encountered along the way, though even that confused him.
Why was he helping strangers when he himself was the one who needed help?
He never found an answer.
Then, about a month ago, everything changed.
While travelling through the wilderness, Yudhir began hearing stories from travellers about a strange boy who possessed the ability to manipulate water. The description immediately caught his attention. His father had told him that his lost brothers possessed extraordinary powers, and Yudhir became convinced that this mysterious boy had to be one of them.
He set out to find him.
Instead, he found a girl being attacked by a Zhivava Wolverine.
The beast was unlike any ordinary wolverine. Its body was an unnatural mass of muscle and dense physical power, its bones magically reinforced to the point that ordinary attacks could barely damage them. It possessed immense stamina and aggression, while its berserker-like rage made it almost completely indifferent to pain. Even wounds that should have incapacitated it would rapidly heal through its powerful regenerative ability.
It was almost as though its entire body had been transformed into a weapon through the Poddelniki path.
The girl stood helpless before it.
Yudhir had no choice but to intervene.
He fought the creature with everything he had, launching one wind-based attack after another. Wind blades tore through the air, followed by concentrated wind orbs, yet none of them could stop the beast for long. Every serious wound he inflicted was slowly healed, allowing the wolverine to rise again and continue its relentless assault.
The battle dragged on until Yudhir began running out of ideas.
Then, in a moment of distraction, the beast closed the distance and struck him across the chest.
Pain exploded through his body as its claws left a deep wound.
Yudhir staggered, but he refused to fall.
Gathering the last of his strength, he launched a decisive counterattack and severed the creature's left front limb. The wolverine's regeneration immediately began repairing the damage, but something unexpected happened. Although the wound closed, the limb itself did not grow back, nor could it reattach itself.
Yet even that wasn't enough to make the creature retreat.
Driven by its rage, the wolverine gathered whatever strength remained in its body and charged once more. Yudhir was badly injured and unable to move properly, and the beast seemed determined to tear one of his limbs apart in retaliation.
It lunged toward him.
Yudhir could do nothing but watch as its claws came closer to his head.
I'm finished.
The wolverine was barely an inch away when a powerful jet of water suddenly tore through the air.
BOOM!
The concentrated stream pierced straight through the beast's stomach.
The wolverine recoiled in shock, its attention momentarily broken. Yudhir seized the opening and struck it with a powerful wind-enhanced kick.
The creature was sent flying deep into the forest, disappearing among the trees.
Yudhir slowly turned toward the direction from which the water had come.
Standing there was a boy around his age.
The very boy he had been searching for.
Varun.
The girl later helped Yudhir bandage his wounds and thanked him before leaving. At the time, Yudhir didn't even know her name.
He would only learn much later that she was Alena.
Varun and Yudhir spoke about their dragon king fathers, their missing memories, and the strange circumstances that had brought them to this world. They realized that their goals were connected and decided that they would travel together to find the other Dragon Sons.
But Varun still had something he needed to take care of first.
They promised to meet again before parting ways.
Yudhir waited.
Varun never returned.
Instead, Yudhir eventually learned that the boy had been captured by Gabriel.
And everything that followed had led them to where they were now.
Yudhir's thoughts returned to the present.
He looked down at Otyr, who was still watching him.
This time, Yudhir gave him a reassuring smile and placed his hand on the boy's head.
"I promise you, Otyr. I'll stay with you until everything is alright again."
Otyr quietly nodded.
Once they were ready, Yudhir walked toward the carriage to prepare the Grivorns before leaving. As he approached them, his eyes fell upon the symbol on the middle Grivorn. The familiar mark immediately brought back the memory of Simargl.
For a moment, Yudhir simply stood there.
He slowly reached out and ran his hand across the creature's thick fur, the Grivorn remaining calm beneath his touch.
There was something strangely comforting about it.
After one final check of their supplies, Yudhir slung the backpack over his shoulder and looked toward the forest.
Beyond the enormous trees and layers of pale mist, the mountains rose in the distance. Somewhere beyond them lay Novgorod.
Yudhir tightened the straps of his backpack.
Then, with Otyr walking beside him, he stepped onto the forest path.
The two disappeared beneath the trees as the mist slowly swallowed the road ahead, leaving the camp and the safety of the carriage behind them.
Yudhir glanced once more toward the mountains rising beyond the forest, their distant peaks barely visible through the shifting mist. Somewhere beyond them lay Novgorod, but for now, the forest had swallowed the road and everything around it in a pale veil. With Otyr beside him, Yudhir stepped deeper between the trees until both of them disappeared into the mist.
Elsewhere, beyond the forest...
The mist slowly began to thin before Andry's eyes.
He had been struggling along a steep forest path for what felt like an eternity, climbing higher toward the mountains. The dense trees crowded around the narrow trail, their roots twisting through the earth and rocks, forcing him to carefully pick his way forward.
Just as the mist finally began to clear, a sudden sound came from somewhere between the trees.
Thud!
Something had fallen.
Andry immediately stopped and turned toward the sound.
He pushed through the undergrowth and found a boy lying beneath the enormous roots of an ancient pine. His clothes were torn, and scratches covered his arms and face. He looked exhausted, as though he had been running for a long time before his strength finally abandoned him.
Andry rushed toward him without hesitation and knelt beside the boy.
He placed a hand near the boy's chest, checking whether he was still breathing.
"Hey... can you hear me?"
For several seconds, there was no response.
Then the boy's eyes slowly opened.
He stared at Andry without saying a word. His expression was filled with fear and exhaustion, as though he was trying to determine whether the stranger standing before him was someone he could trust.
Finally, his trembling voice escaped.
"Are you... from Pskov?"
Andry's expression immediately changed.
"How do you know Pskov?"
The boy tried to push himself upright, but a sharp pain forced him back against the tree.
He took a shallow breath before finally answering.
"Icha... my name is Icha."
Scene 2: A Lullaby for the Lost
Andry's eyes remained fixed on the boy beneath the roots of the enormous pine. Up close, he could see just how young he was—around Ruslan's age when he had been little, perhaps no older than ten. His clothes were torn in several places, and scratches ran across his arms, face, and legs, but what caught Andry's attention most was the clothing itself. It was unlike anything worn in Pskov.
The boy wore the distinctive layered attire of the Selkup, one of the three peoples of the Three River Circle. A long, weather-worn tunic formed the base of his clothing, layered beneath a fur-lined collar and secured at the waist by a broad belt. Soft boots covered his feet, built for travelling through the rugged mountain forests, while narrow strips of coloured fabric hung from the edges of his sleeves and lower garment, their woven patterns still visible despite the dirt and tears. Muted shades of ochre, cream, brown, and faded blue formed the foundation of his clothing, with thin red and blue ribbons adding small touches of color. Geometric patterns were woven into the fabric rather than simply painted upon it, giving the garments a sense of craftsmanship passed down through generations. Among those patterns, Andry noticed a familiar symbol—a subtle arrangement of three flowing lines, worked into the boy's belt and ribbons. The Three-River Mark. Even here, in the mountains, the covenant of the Circle was present.
Andry leaned closer.
"Hey... can you hear me?"
The boy slowly opened his eyes.
For several seconds, he simply stared at Andry. His expression remained wary, almost frightened, as though he were trying to decide whether the stranger kneeling before him could be trusted.
Then, in a quiet voice, he finally asked,
"Are you... from Pskov?"
Andry's expression changed.
"How do you know Pskov?"
The boy tried to sit up, but pain shot through his body and forced him back against the tree. Andry immediately placed a hand against his shoulder to keep him from straining himself.
"Don't move too quickly. You're injured."
The boy looked at him again.
"Icha..."
He paused, gathering what little strength he had.
"My name is Icha."
Andry waited.
The boy said nothing more.
For a moment, Andry wondered whether he had even understood the question.
"You're from one of the Three River Circle tribes, aren't you?"
Icha gave a small nod.
"Which one?"
"Selkup."
Andry nodded slowly.
"Alright, Icha. What happened to you?"
Silence.
Icha looked down at his torn clothes, then toward the mountain behind him. His lips moved, but only a few broken words came out.
"Village... wrong."
Andry frowned.
"Your village?"
Another nod.
"People... strange."
"Strange how?"
Icha struggled to explain. He spoke only a few words at a time, often stopping midway as though the right words were difficult to find. Andry had to piece together the story from fragments.
His people had begun acting strangely. Some of them had become violent, as though something had taken control of them. Icha and several others had fought back against the possessed ones, trying to protect those who were still themselves. They had managed to hold them off for a while, but eventually they began losing ground.
Then the survivors had made a decision.
They sent Icha down the mountain.
"Help... other tribes," Icha finally managed.
Andry stared at him.
"You came here alone?"
Icha nodded.
"How long have you been travelling?"
The boy didn't answer.
Perhaps he didn't know.
Or perhaps he simply didn't have enough words to explain.
Andry exhaled quietly. It had taken so long just to understand what had happened that he almost felt as though they were speaking different languages. Yet somehow, through the boy's gestures, fragments of sentences, and frightened expressions, he had managed to understand the most important part.
Icha needed help.
Andry looked toward the mountain.
"Alright. I'll help you."
Icha raised his eyes.
"Can you take me to your village?"
The boy hesitated before slowly nodding.
"Then lead the way."
Icha carefully pushed himself upright. Andry offered him a hand, and after a moment of hesitation, the boy accepted it.
Together, they began moving deeper along the mountain path.
It wasn't a proper road. In fact, Andry would never have noticed it on his own. The trail was narrow and almost completely concealed beneath roots, moss, and low branches, winding between the trees before gradually climbing higher along the mountain.
"This path?"
Icha nodded.
"Does anyone else know about it?"
Another shake of his head.
"Not even your tribe?"
Icha shook his head again.
Andry raised an eyebrow.
"So it's your secret trail."
A small nod.
"Useful."
That was all the response he received.
Andry almost smiled.
As they continued climbing, he found himself looking at the boy again.
Something about Icha's quietness felt strangely familiar.
It reminded him of Ruslan.
Not the Ruslan who could argue with him for hours, nor the sharp-tongued younger brother who would immediately point out every reckless decision Andry had made. Andry remembered a much smaller Ruslan, from years ago, when the boy had barely spoken more than a handful of words at a time.
Back then, when their father was busy working at the shop, Ostap and Andry had often taken care of him together.
They had fed him, watched over him, carried him when he became tired, and sometimes simply sat beside him while he quietly played.
Those memories brought a faint warmth to Andry's chest.
For the first time since leaving the camp, some of the tension inside him loosened.
But only for a moment.
His thoughts returned to what had happened.
He had been reckless.
He had run after that strange glowing bird without thinking about what might happen to the others. His decision had put everyone at the camp in danger, and now the others were scattered somewhere inside that cursed mist.
Andry knew Ruslan would have a lot to say about that.
He could already imagine his younger brother's expression.
You ran after a glowing creature into an unknown forest... alone?
Andry almost sighed.
"Ruslan is going to grill me alive."
Icha glanced back at him.
"What?"
Andry blinked.
"Nothing."
He looked ahead again, but his smile faded.
His heart had been troubled for days.
First there had been Chief Mikhail, the man who had saved him. Andry had rushed back toward Pskov because his family was in danger, carrying the fear that he might arrive too late. Then came the battle, the destruction, and the desperate struggle to protect the city.
They had survived.
Dragon Fury had helped save Pskov.
But survival had not erased everything that had happened.
Andry remembered Ostap.
His older brother had been controlled, turned against them, and eventually transformed into that hideous tree-like form that had nearly devastated Pskov.
Andry's fingers tightened slightly.
He had always carried one terrible thought inside him.
What if I had gone with Ostap that day?
Perhaps Ostap would never have disappeared.
Perhaps he would never have been captured.
Perhaps he would never have become that monster.
He knew it wasn't fair to blame himself, but fear did not care about fairness.
The fear had begun the moment Ostap went missing, and every tragedy that followed seemed to feed it.
Then he lost Mikhail.
A mentor-like figure.
Someone he had trusted.
And then Domna—a woman who had been like both a sister and a mother to him.
For a while, it had seemed as though he might lose his entire family.
His father.
His two brothers.
One after another.
Only the arrival of Dragon Fury had prevented that nightmare from becoming reality.
And then Alena had been kidnapped.
That had been different.
Andry had felt something inside him break at the thought of losing another person he loved.
He didn't want to lose anyone else.
Not again.
His thoughts slowly drifted toward his mother.
For a moment, the mountain disappeared from his mind, replaced by a memory from a much quieter time.
A familiar melody.
His mother's lullaby.
The tune came back to him so naturally that before he realized it, his lips had begun moving.
He hummed softly.
Icha looked back.
Andry continued humming, the melody growing a little clearer as they climbed.
The boy stared at him curiously.
Andry noticed.
"What?"
Icha shook his head.
Andry smiled faintly.
"It's an old song."
He continued humming and, after a few moments, began softly singing the lullaby his mother had once sung to him.
The sound travelled gently through the trees.
For once, there was no battle cry, no command, no clash of weapons, and no desperate shouting.
Only the quiet voice of a brother remembering home.
Icha continued watching him as they crossed the hidden trail, apparently intrigued by the unfamiliar melody.
Andry glanced back.
Far behind them, the enormous forest stretched beneath the foothills of the mountain, almost completely swallowed by the heavy fog. The mist rolled between the trees in thick layers, obscuring the path they had travelled and everything beyond it.
His eyes drifted farther.
Beyond the forest, beyond the foothills, lay the vast region between the two rivers.
And somewhere beyond that landscape were the people he had left behind.
Andry looked forward again.
Icha was already walking ahead, following the secret trail deeper into the mountains.
Andry followed him.
Neither of them spoke.
Above them, the fog began to climb higher.
It slowly settled over the mountains, swallowing the peaks one by one as the two continued deeper into the hidden path.
Scene 3: Shoes to Fill
Andry's gaze drifted beyond the forest, toward the vast territory lying between the two rivers.
The territory of the Khanty.
Far away from the mountain trail, on the other side of the dense forest, another member of the group had already reached the edge of that very land.
Elsewhere...
Ruslan pushed his way through the fog, following the faint glow of the white bear that had appeared before him.
The apparition had never spoken to him. It had simply moved ahead through the mist, appearing and disappearing between the trees as though it knew exactly where it was going. Ruslan had followed without knowing where it would lead him, trusting the strange instinct that told him there was a reason he had been drawn after it.
Eventually, the trees began to thin.
The sound of rushing water reached his ears.
Ruslan slowed.
Through the shifting fog, he finally saw the Pskova River, one of the two rivers whose meeting lay near Pskov.
The river stretched before him, cold and dark beneath the pale light of dawn. Fog still lingered heavily across its surface, concealing the opposite bank and making it almost impossible to tell where the river ended and the land began. A single wrong step along the bank could send someone stumbling into the water, and with the mist so thick, finding the way back would be nearly impossible.
Ruslan looked behind him.
The glowing bear was gone.
He turned back toward the river.
For a moment, he wondered whether he had been foolish to follow it.
Then he looked across the water.
If it brought me here...
There had to be a reason.
Otyr had told them about the territories belonging to the different tribes of the Three River Circle. Ruslan remembered the information clearly.
This was Khanty territory.
So perhaps the apparition had deliberately guided him here.
Perhaps it wanted him to enter the territory of the River Wardens.
Ruslan exhaled and looked at the river again.
It was barely sunrise.
The first rays of sunlight had begun to emerge through the distant haze, but the fog remained stubbornly thick. Only a faint portion of the sunlight managed to pierce through it, scattering across the river's surface as thin, shimmering silver threads.
Ruslan rubbed his hands together.
"That's going to be cold."
He was preparing himself to enter the water when something caught his attention near the riverbank.
A small boat.
It rested partially against the shore, its wooden body damp from the morning mist.
Ruslan approached it cautiously and inspected it for a moment.
"Maybe this belongs to the Circle."
It was certainly better than swimming across.
He stepped into the boat and pushed away from the bank.
The current immediately began carrying him toward the opposite side.
Ruslan used the oar to keep the small boat steady, occasionally glancing toward the fog that surrounded him. The river seemed strangely quiet apart from the gentle sound of water against the wooden hull.
Then—
Something moved within the mist.
Ruslan stopped rowing.
At first, he thought it was another trick of the fog.
Then he heard the sound of water splashing.
Someone was in the river.
His eyes widened.
"Someone's drowning!"
Ruslan immediately turned the boat toward the figure.
The current was carrying the person closer, but it was also pulling them farther downstream. Ruslan leaned over the side and reached out as far as he could.
"Hold on!"
His hand caught the person's arm.
Ruslan grabbed them firmly and pulled with all his strength, dragging the figure toward the boat. It took several attempts before he managed to lift them high enough to pull them aboard.
The person collapsed inside the boat.
Ruslan quickly checked them.
Then he froze.
It was a girl.
She was around the same age as Otyr, perhaps no older than ten. Her clothes were soaked completely through, but even beneath the water and mud, Ruslan could recognize the distinctive attire of the Khanty, one of the three peoples of the Three River Circle. She wore a long, heavy outer coat with a broad hood, layered over a woolen tunic and fitted trousers, with leggings disappearing into high, fur-lined boots. A decorated belt remained fastened around her waist despite the struggle in the river, carrying several small practical pouches and objects used for life along the waterways. The garments were made from weathered fabric, leather, and fur, their deep river-grey, faded blue, brown, and white tones blending naturally with the cold landscape around her. Small touches of red and turquoise embroidery decorated the edges of her clothing, while woven geometric patterns ran along her sleeves and belt.
Among those patterns, Ruslan noticed a familiar symbol—the Three-River Mark. Three flowing lines worked subtly into the girl's belt, identifying her not only as Khanty but also as a member of the Three River Circle.
Ruslan immediately looked toward the opposite bank.
They were close.
He grabbed the oar again and began rowing with renewed urgency.
Once he finally reached the other side, Ruslan pulled the boat onto the bank and carefully carried the unconscious girl onto dry ground.
She was freezing.
Ruslan knelt beside her and placed his hands near her body.
A faint warmth began to spread from his palms.
His Ember Zhivava flickered to life.
He controlled the heat carefully, warming her without overwhelming her already weakened body. The faint glow of Zhivava illuminated the fog around them as Ruslan continued until the girl's trembling gradually began to subside.
After a while, her eyes slowly opened.
She stared at the unfamiliar figure kneeling beside her.
Her voice was weak.
"Who... are you?"
Ruslan looked at her.
For the first time since entering the fog, he felt that perhaps he had finally found someone who could tell him what was happening in this strange territory.
He gave her a reassuring look.
"I'm Ruslan."
He paused.
"Ruslan... from Pskov."
The girl slowly opened her eyes.
For a few moments, she simply stared at Ruslan without saying anything. Her breathing had steadied, and the warmth of the Ember Zhivava had chased away the worst of the cold, but the suspicion in her eyes remained.
Ruslan noticed it immediately.
She was watching him carefully.
Not with the simple curiosity of a child meeting someone new, but with the guarded expression of someone who was trying to determine whether the person standing before her was a friend—or another threat.
Ruslan couldn't blame her.
He had already recognized her clothing as that of the Khanty, one of the peoples belonging to the Three River Circle. She was clearly from somewhere nearby, yet she had nearly drowned while fleeing through the river. Whatever had happened to her, it had frightened her badly.
Ruslan crouched a little so that he wasn't towering over her.
"What's your name?"
The girl immediately looked away.
She didn't answer.
Ruslan blinked.
"It's alright. You don't have to be afraid of me."
That only made her glance back at him suspiciously.
Ruslan sighed quietly.
This isn't working.
He had faced monsters, strange creatures, mysterious Zhivava, and even battles that could have cost him his life.
Yet somehow, talking to a frightened little girl was proving much harder.
He scratched his cheek awkwardly.
Usually, he was the younger one.
Ostap had always been the one looking after him. Andry had done the same. Even Avi had begun treating him like a little brother after they met.
But now...
Ruslan looked at the girl.
For the first time, he was the older one.
He suddenly remembered how things had been when he was very young.
Whenever he missed his mother, he would cry.
And cry.
And cry.
Ostap would sit beside him patiently until he finally came up with one of his little bargains.
"If you stop crying, I'll buy you your favorite Pechonye Yabloki."
Baked apples.
That was enough to make little Ruslan wipe his tears.
And Andry had his own way of making deals.
During their mock battles, whenever Ruslan helped him defeat Ostap, Andry would promise him a plate of warm Syrniki afterward.
Sweet cheese cakes.
Back then, Ruslan had never thought much about those promises.
They had simply been what his brothers did.
Now, looking at the frightened girl in front of him, he finally understood.
Ostap and Andry had known that sometimes a child didn't need a complicated explanation.
Sometimes they just needed something they could believe in.
Ruslan smiled faintly.
"Alright. Let's make a deal."
The girl looked back at him.
"A deal?"
"Yeah."
He held up one finger.
"If you tell me your name, I'll help you."
She stared at him.
Her expression clearly said that she wasn't convinced.
Ruslan waited.
He didn't pressure her.
After several long moments, the girl finally lowered her gaze.
"...Nay."
Ruslan's expression softened.
"Nay."
He smiled.
"Alright, Nay. I'll help you."
For the first time, some of the tension in her face eased.
Ruslan then sat down beside the riverbank and explained everything that had happened.
He told her about Otyr.
How he and his friends had found the frightened boy wandering through the forest.
How Otyr had told them about his village and the strange things happening there.
How they had rescued him and brought him back to their camp.
And how Ruslan had eventually followed the mysterious white bear through the forest until he reached the Pskova River.
Nay listened quietly.
But the moment Ruslan mentioned Otyr's name, something changed in her expression.
"Otyr...?"
"Yeah."
"You... know Otyr?"
Ruslan nodded.
"We rescued him."
The girl's shoulders relaxed slightly.
"Otyr... talked about you?"
"Not exactly about you," Ruslan replied, thinking for a moment. "But he mentioned his friends."
Nay stared at him for several seconds.
Then she quietly said,
"I'm one of them."
Ruslan's eyes widened slightly.
"Nay..."
He remembered now.
The name.
Otyr had mentioned it.
He had been frightened and exhausted when they found him, but he had still spoken about the friends he had left behind.
Ruslan smiled.
"So you're Nay."
She nodded.
"I... can trust you a little."
Ruslan raised an eyebrow.
"Only a little?"
Nay immediately looked away.
"Yes."
A tiny smile appeared on Ruslan's face.
"Fair enough."
She wasn't ready to trust him completely.
And honestly, Ruslan thought that was probably a good thing.
But there was something else that bothered him.
"Your village..." he began carefully. "Is it affected by the same thing as Otyr's?"
Nay's expression darkened.
She nodded.
"The people... they started acting strange."
Her fingers tightened around the edge of her wet clothing.
"They chased me. I had to run."
"And your tribe's head?"
Nay shook her head.
"Missing."
Ruslan's expression became serious.
Just like Otyr's village.
The strange phenomenon wasn't limited to one tribe.
It had reached the Khanty as well.
Whatever was happening in the Three River Circle was spreading—or had already spread much farther than they realized.
Ruslan looked toward the forest on the opposite bank.
He had come searching for answers.
Now he knew there was something much bigger hiding behind the disappearances, the strange Zhivava, and the voices speaking of winter.
He needed to reach the bottom of it.
But first...
He looked at Nay.
"How do I prove that you can trust me?"
Nay finally looked at him.
After thinking for a moment, she answered,
"My weapon."
"Your weapon?"
"I left it in the village."
Ruslan nodded slowly.
"Alright."
"And..." She hesitated before continuing. "You have to help me tie up the others."
Ruslan blinked.
"All of them?"
Nay nodded firmly.
"If you can bring my weapon back... and help me tie them up, then I'll trust you."
For a moment, Ruslan simply stared at her.
Then he smiled.
"Deal."
He reached over and gently ruffled her hair.
Nay stiffened.
Ruslan paused.
For some reason, the gesture felt strangely familiar.
He suddenly remembered Avi doing the same thing to him.
That realization made him smile.
So this is what Big Bro Avi feels like...
Taking care of someone younger.
Having someone depend on you.
Ruslan couldn't help but wonder how Avi had felt all those times when he looked after them.
Nay brushed his hand away and stood up.
"Come."
She began marching toward the forest.
Ruslan chuckled and stood.
"Wait for me."
Nay kept walking.
But after a few steps, she glanced over her shoulder.
Ruslan noticed.
He smiled.
She quickly looked forward again.
A few moments later, she looked back once more.
Ruslan laughed.
Nay stopped.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Why are you laughing?"
"Because you keep looking back."
"I am not!"
"You just did it again."
Nay's cheeks reddened.
"I was only checking!"
"Checking what?"
"To see if you were following me."
Ruslan's grin widened.
"Of course I'm following you."
She narrowed her eyes.
"I'm checking if you pulled any tricks."
That made Ruslan laugh even harder.
Nay's face became even redder.
"Don't laugh!"
"I can't help it."
"You're annoying!"
Ruslan wiped the corner of his eye.
"Alright, alright. I'll stop."
Nay continued marching ahead, still visibly fuming.
Ruslan followed behind her, smiling.
For a moment, the strange terror surrounding the forest seemed a little farther away.
Then he glanced back.
Across the river, the forest disappeared beneath the thick fog. The trees stood like dark silhouettes behind the veil, their shapes fading deeper and deeper into the mist.
Ruslan's smile slowly faded.
I wonder where everyone is...
Avi.
Varun.
Yudhir.
Andry.
Taras.
Boris.
His thoughts lingered on them for a moment.
But Ruslan knew they were strong.
They had survived everything that had happened in Pskov. They had faced things none of them could have imagined before this journey.
They would find their way back.
And if things became truly dangerous...
Ruslan trusted that he could rely on his big brother Avi.
He turned forward again.
Big Bro Avi would probably tell me not to worry so much.
Then another thought came to him.
And Big Bro Varun...
Ruslan chuckled.
Varun would probably be having the time of his life if he knew about all these mysteries.
The strange villages.
The mysterious Zhivava.
The white bear.
The fog.
The missing people.
He could already imagine Varun's excitement.
Ruslan shook his head.
"Focus."
Nay was already several steps ahead.
He hurried after her.
The forest around them was unfamiliar, and without her guidance, he could easily lose his way.
So he followed Nay closely.
This time, he wasn't merely following a mysterious trail.
He was following someone who had finally given him a little bit of trust.
And Ruslan intended to keep his side of the deal.