Forged and Forsaken [Nikolai Lantsov II]

~ Chapter One ~

I needed some serotonin so I decided I would give y'all a chapter! Drop all the comments and I mean all the comments, I love to see them. 

Also the art this week is probably my fav Sturmhond art of allllll time - let me know if you can see it or not cause it's not showing up on my end when I publish the chapters. :(

Also, this chapter was too long and I had to split it in half. Look out sometime later this week for the second part and follow me for updates! 

xoxo, let's get to reading. 

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Note: If you haven't read my Blood of Beyovina chapter / don't remember that myth go re-read that chapter (or the After section of T&T for the short version). 

"Does it always have to be so blasted hot here?"

The statement is accompanied by a round of grumbling from the assembled crew, none of whom look at home in the heat. They're all dressed in light cotton tunics, better for the weather of the Novyi Zem than their traditional Ravkan garb, but sweat still dots their brows. Their faces flushed from the heat even inside the shadowy depths of the covered cart.

Inwardly the Prince agrees, this country seems to get worse every time he visits. Even the forest they're traveling through seems to be withering under the sun's rays, the leaves wilted and colorless in the summer heat.

But they have a job to do. Once they're done escorting this ridiculous merchant to port the rest of the crew can complain as much as they want. He took this job for them after all. The pay is good and there's been far too much murmuring about their 'side trips', the ones that benefit Ravka but don't bring in the same kind of coin. The missions are usually tolerated by his crew, but recently some of the newer members have been growing restless with their lack of profits. The Prince is just glad he only brought half a dozen of his best fighters for this job, otherwise, he might have had a full-on mutiny.

And now they're complaining about a little heat.

Ingrates.

Even Toyla, usually so stoic, looks as though he could snap at a moment's notice. He swats at one of the flies that has come to seek refuge in the shade of the caravans, eyeing his captain suspiciously, "Perhaps if you let us bring Ena-"

"Absolutely not," Nikolai snaps, his words too sharp for the mere suggestion.

Ena, the crew's newest Squaller. She can't be more than fourteen, with autumn red hair and freckles that dusted over her cheeks and arms. Far too much like her.

The true similarities end with their powers. The rest is all in his head. The girls only bear a passing resemblance to one another, but whenever he glimpses Ena from the corner of his eyes an eerie feeling of familiarity creeps over him.

Nikolai clears his throat slightly, pretending not to notice the look that Tamar and Toyla exchange. It's almost been four months since she left, he shouldn't still be riled by the merest implication of her. He needs his wits with him, especially traveling through this forest.

Dom dukhov, the locals called it. The home of spirits.

He's never believed in spirits, or gods, or Saints. He believes in influence and those who know how to wield it. You can twist anything into a fantastical myth with the right words.

No, more likely some Zemeni thieves have taken up residence in these woods. Should be no problem for his crew, but better to be alert. Never be taken unawares.