A young woman is walking through a village surrounded by birch trees, carrying two buckets of milk. She's tall, with a headscarf over the long, blonde braid down her back. She sets down one bucket of milk as she approaches an older man, standing before a small cottage, chopping wood.

“Papa,” she says, softly. “I milked the cows. What else would you like me to do?” The older man sets down his axe and looks up at his daughter with a smile, his face weary but affectionate. He glances at the buckets of milk and nods in satisfaction.

“Good, Ruslana. You've done well. Take the milk indoors, and then you must help your mother prepare the evening meal.” As she reaches for the door, she stops in her tracks as she hears the strange howling in the distance. It's different from the sound of a wolf pack, more eerie and ominous, and unnatural. Her face fills with worry and trepidation as she listens to the noises coming from the darkness.

“Father? What is that sound...?” He lowers his axe, listening closely.

“I'm not sure... Go inside, Ruslana.” Ruslana nods, her worry growing as she quickly grabs the buckets of milk and brings them into the house, glancing over her shoulder nervously. Meanwhile, the howling seems to be growing louder, coming closer and closer to the small cottage. It's a haunting and ominous sound, as if a group of creatures are drawing near with sinister intentions. As she closes the door to the cottage, the distant sound of screaming and shouting outside causes Ruslana's heart to sink into her stomach. Her mother hurries to the window, peering outside with a look of fear and concern on her face. The town horn blares in the background, adding to the growing sense of dread.

“Mama, what's happening?” Ruslana asks, her voice trembling with worry.

“Come, sweetheart.” She says with a hurried voice, pulling Ruslana to another room. “Get behind the bed.” Ruslana dutifully follows her mother's instructions, hurrying to the other room and positioning herself behind the bed. She crouches down, her heart racing as she listens to the sounds of chaos and turmoil growing outside the small cottage.

“What are we going to do?” She whispers, her voice quivering with fear. Her mother crouches next to her, wrapping a protective arm around her, caressing her head.

“Just hide, be quiet.” Her mother crosses herself and says a prayer. Ruslana hears her father outside, stacking logs before the door quickly. Ruslana clings tightly to her mother, taking comfort in her familiar embrace. She can feel the tension in the air, the sense of dread and uncertainty that hangs over the small cottage like a dark cloud. The shouting and screams outside grow louder and more frantic, the sounds of howling, violence and panic growing closer and closer. The shouting outside becomes more intense, louder and more menacing. Ruslana flinches as she hears her father's angry voice calling out to someone outside.

“Get away, before I lodge my axe in your bastard skull!” He yells, his voice filled with anger and determination.

There is a brief pause, and then the sound of a scuffle outside. Grunts and growls fill the air, and Ruslana can only imagine the violent struggle taking place just outside her home. Her mother crosses herself, placing her hand on an icon on the wall.

“Oh, Oleksi..” She whispers. She then hears the logs getting thrown out of the way before the front door is booted open with violent force, followed by the door to the bedroom, the wood splintering and cracking under the impact. Ruslana's mother gasps in horror as she sees the man standing in the doorway, his muscular body covered only by a loincloth and the pelt of a wolf. His face is feral and brutish, looking more like a wild beast than a man. The man sniffs the air, his eyes darting around the room as he scans the two women with a predatory glare. The man then lunges across the bed and grabs the women by the arms, hauling them out of the house with such force that they stumble and trip. As they are dragged outdoors, Ruslana catches a glimpse of her father's feet lying motionless on the ground, his body hidden from sight.

“Papa!” She cries out, struggling and thrashing against the man's grip, desperate to break free. The sight that meets Ruslana's eyes is one of utter chaos and destruction. The village is being torn apart by a group of feral men wearing only wolf pelts and howling like savage animals. The townspeople are running for their lives, screaming and crying as they try to escape the brutality of the assailants. The sight is utterly terrifying, and it's clear that these men are not just your average bandits or raiders. A second man approaches and takes hold of Ruslana, grabbing her with an iron grip and hauling her away from her mother. She struggles and thrashes against the man, calling out desperately for her mother.

“Mama! No, let me go! Let me go!” She screams, tears streaming down her face as she is dragged away from her home and her family. She's taken to the center of the village, where a group of women and men are gathered around, their faces filled with tears and fear. They are bound together, helpless and forced to watch as their homes and livelihoods are destroyed. The men wear nothing but wolf pelts and carry vicious looking weapons, their eyes filled with bloodlust and malice. The man who has captured Ruslana stands in the center, holding her up by her face and displaying her to the other men. They discuss amongst themselves, speaking in a language that she does not understand. He grabs her headscarf and tosses it to the side, before shoving her down next to the other captives. Ruslana lands hard on the ground, her body sore and bruised from the manhandling. She looks around, taking in the terrified faces of the other captives, all bound together and helpless.

A large man on horseback rides through the village, surveying the destruction and chaos before him. He is wearing more clothing than the other men, but still dons a wolf pelt, adding to his fearsome appearance. He barks out orders to his men, his voice loud and commanding. As his men carry out his orders, the violence begins to subside. Most of the villagers have been overpowered or killed, and the ones that remain are too weak to pose any further resistance. Several men approach the group that Ruslana is bound in, coming to tighten their binds and tie them to a long rope. They then pass the rope to the man on the horse, who begins to lead the group away. The captured men and women are forced to follow, their bound limbs making it difficult to walk. The man on horseback rides slowly, taking the time to ensure the group stays together as they are led away from their destroyed village.

The journey has been cold, bleak and miserable. They have traveled for weeks, passing through lands that Ruslana has never seen before. She is freezing, her teeth chattering and her body shaking with cold. As they arrive in a new village, a group of intimidating men with furs, long hair and beards approach. They speak in a guttural language, discussing amongst themselves as the captives are sorted out, and the man on horseback stops next to Ruslana. His powerful grip lifts her chin, forcing her to look at him, his blue eyes locking onto hers. He has long blonde hair and a blonde beard.

The man studies her keenly, his eyes scanning her up and down. He says something to his fellow raiders in their unknown language, and Ruslana can hear a hint of approval in his tone. He then grabs her arm firmly, a strong and forceful grip that leaves no room for argument. He begins to lead her away from the other captives and towards a nearby building made of logs. He forces her in, and she gasps as she is thrown down on the soft rug, landing heavily on the plush bearskin. The man follows her in, closing the door behind him. The room is cold, lit only by a few flickering candles. He stands over her, his muscular frame blocking the only source of light as his eyes rake over her body, inspecting her like a piece of property. He then takes off his pelt and his belt, and speaks to her in a low voice. She doesn't understand what he's saying, but his tone fills her with dread as he stares down at her with predatory eyes. He then moves closer, getting down on the rug with her, roughly flipping her over onto her stomach and pinning her down as he begins peeling her dress off. She thrashes and cries and begs, but he barks something at her, hitting her with his knee, getting on top of her, holding her down by the back of her neck as he thrusts against her.

Ruslana is in the house, sitting by the hearth. The door opens and she flinches and tenses with fear, but relaxes when she sees a different tall blonde man standing there. The man looks around before moving over to her, sitting down next to her.

“Ruslana…” He sighs, his voice affectionate as he takes her hand and caresses her cheek.

“Thekkur..” She says softly, leaning in and kissing him. He responds to the kiss, his hand moving to cup her face as he deepens the kiss. He pulls her close, his muscular arms wrapping around her slender frame. He breaks the kiss slowly, pulling back just enough to look at her.

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“Are you okay?” He asks gently, his voice full of concern and affection. She shakes her head.

“I… I don't want to be here anymore… I…” He frowns, his eyes becoming grim as he hears her words, a rush of guilt rising up within him. He lets out a sigh, his expression unreadable

“I still have the plans,” he says quietly. “But it's not going to be easy.”

“Your brother... he's.. such a cruel man…” She stutters out with a soft sob. Thekkur's face darkens at the mention of his brother. He draws in a sharp breath and nods.

“My brother... he is... harsh,” he says carefully, his voice low and cold. “He does not care about anyone's feelings or fears. He only cares about power and control.” He wipes her tears before continuing. “I'll take you away from here. I'll act soon, I'll kill the bastard, and you'll be free, and we will marry. I promise you this, Ruslana.”

They both jump as the door is abruptly slammed open, their hearts leaping into their throats as the massive figure of the brother stands in the doorway. He looks furious, his eyes locking onto Thekkur with a steely glare. Thekkur rises quickly, standing in front of Ruslana, shielding her protectively with his body. Thekkur is caught off guard by a sudden attack, taken down hard by his older brother's powerful tackle. They hit the ground together, grappling and struggling as they try to gain the upper hand. The brother's voice cuts through the air, loud and furious.

“I heard every word, traitor!” He snarls, his muscles straining as he fights to overpower his younger brother. As the struggle continues, Ruslana's eyes frantically scan the area, looking for something, anything she can use to help. Suddenly, she spots a jug nearby and grabs it, swinging it hard at the brother's face. The blow lands with a heavy thud, causing him to groan in pain, his forehead sliced open, across his brow. He turns, his face contorted in anger, and grabs a jagged piece of the shattered jug. With a swift motion, he plunges the makeshift weapon deep into Thekkur's chest, causing him to gasp in pain.

Ruslana's heart feels like it's been shattered as she witnesses Thekkur getting stabbed, her anguished scream echoing through the small house. The brother, his eyes gleaming with anger and satisfaction, steps back and looks down at Thekkur, who lies on the floor bleeding heavily. Thekkur lays on the floor, clutching his bleeding chest, his eyes wide with pain and despair. He tries to get up, to stop his brother from hurting Ruslana, but his body is weak and he collapses back onto the ground, his strength rapidly fading as his blood pools around him. The brother turns to Ruslana with a look of rage in his face, and she turns to run, but he quickly grabs her long blonde braid, yanking her towards him with vicious force.

“You fucking bitch... You'll regret this…”

Ruslana sits curled up on the hard wooden planks of a cart, wrapped in a thin threadbare blanket that offers little comfort or warmth. She is surrounded by other slaves, all of them huddling together for warmth and comfort. Tears stream silently down her cheeks as the cart jolts and bumps over the rough terrain, carrying her further and further away. The landscape gets more foreign and unfamiliar as they travel, the trees and landmarks all strange and alien to her.

Ruslana kneels on the floor of the small, cramped hut, working quietly and methodically at her textile weaving. The work is monotonous and repetitive, but keeps her mind somewhat occupied. She lets out a soft groan and reaches down to cradle her large, pregnant belly, feeling a wave of discomfort and fatigue wash over her.

Ruslana's face is contorted in pain and effort, her knuckles white from her tight grip on the rough rope attached to the barn ceiling. She pants and moans, tears streaming down her face as the woman behind her holds her hips, firmly instructing her.

“Push!” The woman calls out, her voice firm but soothing. “Push, you're doing good.” Ruslana grits her teeth against the pain, every muscle in her body tensing as she strains. Finally, she feels a wave of searing pain wash over her, and then the woman behind her is pulling something from her body. A few tense moments later, the sounds of a newborn baby's wail fill the room.

“Oh my... Ruslana, there's another one. Keep going.” Ruslana's eyes widen in shock and disbelief as she hears the woman's words. Her body is already screaming in exhaustion and pain, the aftermath of the first birth still fresh in her mind. She looks up at the woman in confusion and fear.

“W-what do you mean... Another one?” She gasps out, her voice trembling.

“Keep pushing, girl! You have twins!” Ruslana's heart skips a beat as the woman's words sink in. Twins. She had heard of such a thing happening, but had never considered it a possibility for herself. She grits her teeth again, her body trembling with effort and exhaustion.

“Twins…” She repeats, her voice a pained whisper. She sucks in a breath and braces herself for another round of pushing. Ruslana pushes again, her face twisting in pain and effort as the woman behind her continues to bark out her instructions.

“Push! It's almost out!” The woman calls, her tone firm and confident. With a final, strained effort, she gives one last, desperate push, her whole body trembling with the exertion. Seconds later, another wailing baby is pulled from her body. Ruslana collapses back against a mound of hay, her body weak and trembling from the ordeal. But all at once, all the pain and exhaustion fade away as two tiny baby boys are gently laid into her arms. Tears stream down her face as she looks down at their small, perfect faces. She is both overwhelmed and filled with maternal joy, her heart swelling with love and protectiveness for the two tiny boys in her arms. The new mother gazes down at the two infants cradled in her arms, her voice soft and loving as she names them.

“Oleksandr,” she whispers, her eyes meeting the first baby's face, “like my papa.” She looks at the second baby, a small smile playing on her lips as she adds, “and you, Thekkur... Like my beloved.” She lowers her head and kisses each of their tiny heads, her touch gentle and tender. Ruslana continues to focus all her attention on the two babies in her arms, her eyes locked on their tiny, perfect faces. But even as she holds them close, she starts to feel a growing sense of weakness and light-headedness. The world around her seems to swim in and out of focus as her energy ebbs away.

The midwife's voice breaks through her daze, her words filled with concern and worry.

“My dear…You're losing too much blood…”

Thekkur sits bolt upright in bed, his eyes wide and his heart racing as he takes in his surroundings. It takes a moment for him to orient himself and remember where he is. The imperial palace. Guest room. Middle of the night. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. His eyes fall on the bed next to him, where Oleksandr sleeps peacefully. Thekkur looks at his brother, the dream still fresh in his mind. He rubs a hand across his forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat that had formed on his skin. Thekkur swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up, his bare feet hitting the cold stone floor. He walks over to his brother's bed, where Oleksandr sleeps peacefully. He reaches down and shakes his brother's shoulder, trying to rouse him from sleep.

“Oleksandr,” he whispers, his voice urgent and serious. “Wake up. I need to talk to you.” Oleksandr's eyes flutter open, his mind swimming back to consciousness. He groans and rubs his eyes, taking a moment to adjust to the dim light of the room.

“What is it?” He asks, his voice groggy and sleepy. He looks up at Thekkur with a hint of concern but also annoyance at beings disrupted from his sleep.

“I just had a dream. It wasn't normal. It was one of those visions from the past that we have sometimes but... this time it wasn't our past” Oleksandr's irritation at being woken up is quickly replaced by surprise and curiosity as Thekkur explains the nature of his dream. He sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he listens intently.

“Not our past?” Oleksandr echoes, a confused look crossing his face. “Whose past was it, then?”

“It… was our mother.” Oleksandr's eyes widen in shock and disbelief as Thekkur confirms who the dream belonged to. Their mother. The woman who had given them life and then been torn from their lives as soon as they had begun. A mix of emotions courses through his veins: surprise, confusion, curiosity, but also a hint of excitement at the prospect of receiving a glimpse of their mysterious origins.

“Our mother,” he repeats softly, his voice filled with raw emotion. “That's... incredible. Tell me everything you saw.”

Thekkur sits on the bed and recounts the dream in great detail. Oleksandr’s expression grows grave as he hears the tale of their mother’s suffering and capture. The mention of the familiar names sends a shiver down his spine, a strange feeling of familiarity and connection washing over him. When Thekkur finishes describing the dream, Oleksandr remains silent in contemplation, his mind racing as he tries to make sense of it all. Finally he speaks, his voice low.

“But who was our father? The lover, or her captor?”

“I don’t know. It wasn't clear to me. It could've been either one of them, they both looked like us since they were brothers.”

“What was the captor’s name?”

“I don't know. It was never mentioned.”

“Damn.” Oleksandr mutters. “Guess that's another mystery to add to the list. Our father was either the lover, or the bastard who captured and raped our mother, and murdered your namesake…”

“Either way, the man who sired us probably has no clue himself… This also confirms Hæsten's theory about our mixed heritage.” Thekkur sighs and runs a hand through his hair in frustration, before he stares at the ceiling, contemplating the troubling vision. “She was beautiful, Ruslana… Her hair was light yellow like ours. The brothers had more of a golden blonde. We also have her nose.” He says, mindlessly feeling his nose. “I hope for our sake that Thekkur was our father, not his brother. I don't want to believe that we were born of rape, a violation that eventually killed our mother through our birth.” Oleksandr grunts in agreement. They may have never known their father, but the thought of him being their mother’s assailant and reason for their life as slaves is hard to come to terms with.

“How did she look, Thek?” Oleksandr asks softly

“She looked… happy. Happy to have us.” Thekkur responds, his voice quiet, “and then… she died.”