Oleksandr walked through a village, his boots crunching softly over the cobbled path. The sun warmed his skin, a soft breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers and fresh earth. The stone and timber houses, worn by time yet sturdy, stood like guardians of the valley, their roofs covered in green moss. The gardens around them bloomed with color: roses, marigolds, and lavender swayed gently in the wind, their petals vibrant against the deep green of the surrounding meadows. A gentle wind stirred the tall grass, which swayed like the sea under the command of an invisible tide. Oleksandr paused beside a small stone well, running his hand along the cool, weathered surface. The water within reflected the cloudless sky, so clear it seemed to be a portal to another world, pristine and untouchable. He dipped his hand in, the coolness biting his skin pleasantly.
There was a strange familiarity about this place, a quiet perfection that pressed at his heart, though he could not place why. Everything was too calm, too perfect, as if the world had finally settled into a peace it had never known. Yet, as Oleksandr continued to walk through the serene village, a strange absence began to gnaw at the edges of his awareness. The air was alive with sound, the distant chirping of birds, the low clucking of unseen chickens, the constant hum of insects thriving in the summer warmth, but the world around him remained curiously empty. There were no animals, no villagers tending to their fields or walking the roads. Not a single soul stirred.
The gardens were lush, overflowing with life, but not a hand worked the soil. Doors stood ajar, as if someone had just passed through, but no footsteps echoed behind them. Everything looked lived in, yet no one was there. The absence wasn’t alarming, but it was unmistakable, an uncanny hollowness, like stepping into a painting that had forgotten its subjects.
His boots crunched softly on the sun-baked earth, the only tangible sound tethering him to the world. For a moment, he considered calling out, but the silence that wrapped around him felt so fragile, as though a single voice might shatter it.
Despite the stillness, nothing felt wrong. In fact, the quiet comforted him in its way, soothing the constant tension in his body. It was a place between places, as if he had stumbled into a moment suspended outside of time, a tranquil liminal space that asked for nothing and gave everything in return, except the presence of others.
He continued to walk, the sun high above casting long shadows that stretched lazily over the cobbled paths, his heart light despite the strange solitude. Dreams were like this, he thought. Neither here nor there, both familiar and foreign. And in this village, untouched by the world, he found himself content to simply exist, for however long this fleeting, ethereal moment lasted.
Suddenly, Oleksandr's calm was broken by a sound: soft, distant, but unmistakable. Children. Their high-pitched giggles and laughter echoed faintly through the air, carried on the breeze. He stopped, heart skipping, as he turned his head toward the source of the noise. It was so unexpected, so out of place in this quiet, empty village, that for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he had imagined it. But there it was again—bright, innocent laughter, as if children were playing just up ahead.
Without thinking, his feet moved. He followed the narrow dirt path that wound between the gardens, leading toward a gentle hill in the distance. The sound grew clearer, though still no figures appeared, only the invisible joy that seemed to spill over the landscape. It filled the emptiness in a strange, comforting way, pulling him onward. The path rose steeply, the village below beginning to shrink, while ahead the hill's crest loomed large. He quickened his pace, heart now curious, if not slightly unsettled by the dreamlike mystery of it all. His boots brushed through wild grass as he climbed, the sun warm on his back. The children's laughter felt nearer now, alive and bright, just beyond his reach.
As Oleksandr crested the hill, a serene scene unfolded before him. Nestled by the banks of a gentle river, a small cottage came into view, its quaint charm enhanced by the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves of a grand oak tree that stood sentinel nearby. The tree’s gnarled branches stretched wide, creating a natural canopy that sheltered the cottage from the world, its thick trunk twisted with age. The river sparkled as it meandered lazily past, its surface reflecting the clear blue sky above. The water flowed with a soft gurgle, mingling with the lingering sound of children's laughter that still danced in the air, teasing him with its presence.
As Oleksandr drew nearer to the cottage, a figure emerged around the side of the building, and his heart stopped for a moment. There she was. Savka. She wore a modest yet beautiful folk dress, its soft linen fabric gently hugging her form, cinched at the waist by an embroidered apron that emphasized her slender silhouette. A headscarf framed her delicate face, and her long black hair tumbled in a loose braid over her shoulder, its dark sheen glinting in the sunlight.
In her arms, she cradled a chubby tow-headed infant, the baby’s small hands clutching at her dress, giggling in delight. Her laughter joined that of the children, warm and inviting, as she sank down into the soft grass beneath the oak tree, its shade creating a perfect spot for play. Trailing behind her were three little boys, their hair, long, wild and unkempt, the same shade of sun-kissed platinum, all under the age of five. They tumbled over each other, shrieking with joy as they chased one another in a whirlwind of energy. Their laughter rang like music, a joyful chorus that danced through the air, filling the space around Oleksandr with an intoxicating sense of life and light.
Savka's voice, soft and melodic, floated through the air as she spoke to the boys in Russian.
“Be careful now, my little warriors,” she instructed gently, her tone laced with affection. “Watch where you’re running!” Her words danced in the breeze, wrapping around Oleksandr like a warm embrace. With a tender smile, she pulled down the neckline of her dress, revealing her soft, nurturing side as she prepared to breastfeed the infant nestled against her hip. The moment was beautiful, a picture of maternal grace that resonated deep within him. As she cradled the baby close, the world around them felt even more vibrant, a testament to the simple yet profound joys of life.
Meanwhile, the little boys continued their playful skirmish. They ran in circles, their bare feet kicking up tufts of grass, each wielding little hand-carved wooden swords with exaggerated bravado. The swords were imperfect, made by small hands, yet they swung them with fierce determination, shouting playfully as they fought imaginary battles against each other.
One boy, with hair tousled like sunlit wheat, lunged dramatically at another, who sidestepped just in time, causing them both to erupt in a fit of giggles. Their innocent brawling was a chaotic dance of childhood, a whirlwind of energy that made Oleksandr’s heart swell with warmth.
Just as Oleksandr prepared to hurry down the hill, an inexplicable urgency coursing through him, he felt an abrupt resistance: a sudden, invisible barrier that knocked the breath from his lungs. It was as if he had crashed into a solid wall, the force of it sending him sprawling onto the ground with a grunt. The world spun for a moment, disorienting and surreal, as he lay there, confusion flooding his mind.
His heart raced, the laughter of the children and Savka’s gentle presence lingering just beyond the barrier. He blinked, trying to gather his thoughts, the warmth of the sun now feeling distant against the cold shock of reality.
He looked around in bewilderment. What was this strange boundary? This barrier felt like a cruel reminder that he could not simply step into the life he yearned for. Frustration bubbled within him, mixed with a sense of loss as he strained to reach out toward the scene that had filled him with such warmth just moments ago.
“Savka!” He called out, his voice echoing against the barrier, but it felt hollow in the stillness. The laughter continued, bright and carefree, yet he was locked away, a spectator to a world that felt painfully close yet utterly unattainable. Oleksandr scrambled to his feet, disoriented, and placed his hands against the invisible barrier. The cool, smooth surface beneath his fingers felt surreal, as if an infinite wall of glass had sprung up, preventing him from reaching the cottage and the family he longed to join. He pressed against it, his heart racing, but the barrier was solid and unyielding, a force of pure, unbreakable energy that pushed back against him. Frustration coursed through him as he searched for a way through, realizing he was trapped in this strange liminal space, a spectator to the life that felt just out of reach.
Fueled by desperation, Oleksandr began punching the barrier with all his might, his fists striking the invisible wall as if it were made of glass. Pain shot through his knuckles with each impact, the familiar sting only igniting his fury. But then, through the haze of his anger, he noticed something strange: a crackle began to form, spiderweb-like fractures spreading across the barrier with every hit. Despite the sharp pain and the blood that oozed from his cut knuckles, he pressed on, relentless and determined. Still, the family remained blissfully unaware of his struggle, their laughter ringing out like a cruel mockery of his isolation. The sight of Savka and the children playing just beyond his reach only deepened his frustration, but he refused to relent, willing to shatter whatever force kept him from them, no matter the cost.
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After what felt like an eternity of relentless pounding, Oleksandr's fist finally broke through the barrier, shattering the shimmering surface like glass. His hands were slick with his blood, crimson staining his skin as he kicked at the hole, widening it enough for him to slip through. As he stepped into the enchanting scene, Savka looked up, her expression shifting from surprise to pure joy, her eyes lighting up with tenderness. She stood, momentarily frozen, as if he had just materialized from the air itself.
Wiping the blood from his hands onto his pants, Oleksandr jogged over to her, heart pounding not just from exertion but from the overwhelming relief of being so close to her once more. The laughter of the children surrounded him, their joy intertwining with the warmth radiating from Savka, drawing him into their world, a sanctuary he had fought so fiercely to enter. Oleksandr met Savka’s gaze, his heart swelling with emotion as he cupped her face in his hands. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss that spoke of all the longing and desperation he had felt. Time seemed to pause around them, the laughter of the children fading into a distant echo as they melted into one another.
When he finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, he wrapped his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body against his. His gaze fell to the baby nestled between them, innocent and serene, a perfect symbol of their bond.
Just then, the little boys paused their game, their eyes widening in delight as they rushed toward him. "Papa! Papa!" They cried, their voices a chorus of joy that filled the air. Oleksandr's heart swelled with warmth and pride as he knelt down to embrace the three little boys, their joyous laughter ringing in his ears. He scooped them up effortlessly, their small bodies feeling weightless in his strong arms. The boys clung to him, their giggles bubbling over as he spun them around, their delighted shrieks echoing in the sunlit air.
“Papa! Play swords with us!” They demanded in a chorus of innocent enthusiasm, their little wooden swords clutched tightly in their tiny fists, gleaming like trophies in the sunlight. Their faces were a picture of excitement, eyes sparkling with the kind of joy that only children could embody.
With a grin, Oleksandr set them down, letting them wriggle and wrestle against him, their playful energy infectious. He laughed, his heart full, knowing that this moment was what he had longed for, a sense of belonging and the unbreakable bond of family.
“Alright, my brave little warriors,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “let’s see what you’ve got!” The boys cheered, raising their wooden swords high, ready for their game. He chuckles and sets them down, casting a grin towards Savka, before looking back down at them. "Alright, come on, then." One of them gives him a little wooden sword, looking more like a dagger in his massive hand. Oleksandr laughed heartily as he engaged in their mock battles, wielding the small wooden sword with exaggerated flair. He moved with the grace of a seasoned warrior, albeit at a pace that ensured the boys could keep up without getting hurt. Each swing and parry was a dramatic flourish, every movement infused with a playful spirit that made the game all the more thrilling.
“En garde!” He declared dramatically, raising the wooden sword as if it were a mighty weapon, ready to face his tiny opponents. The boys erupted in cheers, their eyes wide with excitement as they slashed and poked at him, giggling uncontrollably as they aimed their feeble attacks. With each strike, Oleksandr feigned dramatic losses, stumbling back with a mock expression of shock and pain. “Oh, you brave knights have bested me!” He exclaimed, falling to his knees dramatically, clutching his chest in mock defeat. They squealed with delight, running at him with all their might, jumping onto him in a glorious heap. He laughed heartily, his spirit soaring, but as he hit the ground, a strange stillness enveloped the scene.
The laughter faded away, replaced by an eerie silence. He opened his eyes, blinking in disbelief. The vibrant world he had just been part of had vanished; the cottage stood empty before him, the lush fields stretching out like a painting, devoid of life. The little boys, Savka, the joyful chaos—they were all gone, leaving him alone in the quiet, the only sound now was the gentle hum of insects, a stark contrast to the joyful chaos that had filled the air moments before. He pushed himself up, scanning the surroundings, desperately searching for any sign of them.
-
Oleksandr stirs slightly, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. He looks over to see Savka laying next to him, her slender body curled up, the blankets barely covering her naked form. He carefully pulls the blanket over her, shielding her from the night air. He pulls her close to him, her body soft and cold against him, as he wraps an arm around her waist. He gently caresses her soft tummy, the feel of her smooth skin against his rough, calloused fingers soothing him. He can't help but think about the dream he just had, a strange mix of joy and sorrow. He traces little circles around her bellybutton with his fingers. It was at the tips of his fingers, so close yet so far. He needed it, just as much as he needed air. He would have it, even if it was the last thing he would do. His fate was in his hands, it always has been. There, for him to reach out and grab.
He just had to break down the invisible wall, even if he got blood on his hands. His own blood.
Oleksandr's jaw clenched, the very thought of her being sent off to marry another man sending a flare of anger and jealousy through him.
"Not while I live," he mutters to himself through clenched teeth, "absolutely not." The very thought of her belonging to another man, sharing her life, her bed, her laughter and her tears, was simply unacceptable to him. The love he felt for her was deep, consuming, almost obsessive. Oleksandr pulls her even closer to him, his body practically enveloping hers. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her scent, trying to chase away the anger and jealousy that is coursing through him.
Savka murmurs softly in her sleep, her body shifting against his, her soft, cute sounds barely more than a whisper. Oleksandr holds her tighter, his anger subsiding in the face of her delicate sleep, and a wave of adoration washes over him. In this moment, she looks so innocent and vulnerable that the thought of her marrying anyone other than him makes him want to vomit. Yet, despite her peaceful repose, she held a power over him, one he couldn’t deny. He gazed down at her, torn between the ferocity of his warrior's heart and the sudden tenderness that had overtaken him.
I am a man and have never surrendered to a warrior, how come in front of her I surrender? I come back from all my battles victorious, yet in front of her eyes, I am defeated.
How could such a harmless, fragile being wield such power? It was as if she had cast a spell on him, and no amount of strength or skill could break it. But deep within, Oleksandr knew it wasn’t magic. It was love—fierce, consuming, and inescapable. The very emotion Thekkur had once told him about, the one Oleksandr swore he could never feel.
He remembers the dream of his brother. Thekkur, in his calm, knowing way, had spoken of living and loving once more, but Oleksandr had denied the very idea. Not him. Love was for others, for men less hardened by hatred and despair, for those whose hearts were untouched by the scars of loss. But now, as he looked down at his lover's sleeping form, he realized how deeply he had been wrong. Her delicate features, softened by sleep, were ethereal, lashes fluttering faintly against her pale cheeks, her lips parted slightly in steady breath. She was everything he hadn’t known he needed. She was his weakness.
You are my weakness, my only weakness, and I would lay down my sword and shield at your command.
The love Thekkur had spoken of was no longer a foreign thing. It was a flame burning inside him, fierce and unquenchable. The love he had once dismissed as weakness had now consumed him entirely. Savka was his Achilles' heel, and there was no escaping it. He was enthralled by her completely.
"You’ve made a fool of me, kotik," he whispered, his voice rough with affection. "Captured my heart, my soul—and I cannot even think to fight it."
His hand slid gently through her hair, the motion slow and reverent, as though she were made of the finest porcelain, something far too precious to ever harm. And as he carefully layed back down beside her, ensuring not to disturb her rest, he stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts racing. He had faced assassins with a bounty on his head, evaded capture by his enemies, survived battles where death was certain. Oleksandr had never been bested, always a force to be reckoned with. And yet, here he was, lying beside this small, fragile maiden, utterly captured and defeated by the very thing he once swore he was immune to.
It's almost shameful how ironic it is, he thought, his lips twitching into a wry, gap-toothed smirk. To be brought to my knees by someone so small.
He turned his head slightly, his gaze settling once more on Savka’s peaceful form. She stirred slightly, turning her head to his touch, and Oleksandr held his breath, watching as she nuzzled her head against his hand like a kitten seeking affection. His heart ached with such intensity that it felt like a physical pain.
"My dear, how you've stolen my very breath," he whispered, unable to tear his gaze away from her. "I’ve lost myself completely to you."
(My illustration: Princess Vidosavka)
image [https://i.imgur.com/8nebXsm.jpeg]