anastasia morozova has been on the run for centuries. running from her brother, her mother, the people who hunt her for simply being gifted and powerful. she's moved from place to place, never staying anywhere for more than a few years, lest anyone...
Those were words a mother never wanted to hear, never wanted to even think. She hated the words as they left her companion's mouth, but she knew they were true. Truer than her hopes for her son.
"What do I do?" The mother, still young in age but mature far beyond her years, spoke with a grave voice. "How do I fix this? I will protect him, try to teach him the difference between right and wrong, but what if I fail? How do I...weaken him?" She asked.
Her companion, a powerful Inferni who had never strayed from her side, frowned. "There is a legend—merely a theory, at that—that speaks of someone who can summon the sun's power. That person would have power that is directly opposite to your son's. I believe that another child could possess this power. Another of yours." He seemed hesitant to let the words leave his mouth, but his tone was steady and even.
The mother mirrored his frown. "Another child? My son already embodies my own power, magnified infinitely. How would another child of mine possibly have the ability to summon the sun?"
The idea was preposterous. It seemed impossible, but the truth and raw belief in his voice was compelling.
"Someone to be his equal and his foil, someone who could do what he can do, but in reverse. It could happen." He said, but there was something hidden between his words, something like an offer. "At the very least, however, even if the child wasn't blessed with his exact abilities, he or she could still rival him and be better."
She considered his suggestion, one that felt more like a proposal. After a few minutes of silence, she met his eyes. "Who would be the father?"
Her companion smiled. "I would be glad to assist, if you'd like."
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The mother, sweating and exhausted but utterly and completely overjoyed, gazed down at her child. A healthy, beautiful baby girl, with sharp Ravkan features, soulful dark eyes, and a shock of icy blonde hair.
She had her father's face shape and hair, but she shared her eyes with her mother—and brother.
"My darling girl," the mother exhaled, more of a sigh than words.
"Anastasia Morozova, you will bring greatness. You will be everything that Ravka needs. Someone who can bridge the gap between Grisha and humans, and bring peace to our country."
⚜︎
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Panic and fear gripped Anastasia like a pair of strong, forceful hands around her throat. Pain shot up her legs, but she knew she couldn't stop.
The day had been ordinary. Wholly ordinary. It had begun with the two Morozova siblings training with their mother, something they did every single day except for special occasions. They had a routine, and even when her brother had his outbursts, that routine was practically a religion to their small family.
But something had gone wrong. Her brother had lost control and let loose a wave of darkness that seemed to ripple and breathe with life, and that darkness had been drawn to her with a magnetic force.
Like calls to like, she'd thought, a delighted laugh falling from her lips.
Her brother hadn't liked that. He wanted to be the powerful one. How could his sister, decades younger than him, have more control over his abilities than he did? How could she draw in his power?
His face had grown pinched, dark eyes furious, and before Anastasia knew it, he was sending another wave of gloom, this one as sharp as a knife, towards her, giving her no time to react.
She'd barely dodged it, which only infuriated him more.
With a cry of rage, her brother had thrown up a flood of shadows that reached hundreds of feet above their heads.
And then the darkness was gone. Sucked right into Anastasia, all of it.
Their mother had ushered them inside, to opposite sides of the small house they occupied. She had known that something had gone utterly wrong—besides her oldest child's outburst and the fact that he'd tried to murder his sister.
As Anastasia huddled in the corner of the room she'd shared with her mother later that night, she listened intently to the sounds of trouble that came from the woods surrounding the cabin.
Shouting, curses, and chanting. Witch! Demon! Hell-spawn!
There was a reason her mother had kept her children hidden for so long, despite their roots in Os Alta, and her mother had spoken those words into Anastasia's ear from the moment she was old enough to understand.
Their kind—Grisha—were not held in high regard in Ravka. They were hated, persecuted, killed for possessing strange and rare abilities.
Her mother had given her explicit instructions on what to do if anyone ever found out their secret: run, and don't stop running until there was no one for hundreds of miles that knew who she was.
So, at the first sound of fists banging on their front door, Anastasia did what her mother had trained her to do—she drew the shadows out from within her, cloaked herself in darkness, and climbed out the window.
She ran. From her brother's fury, from the people that wanted her dead.
