A Rude Awakening

Chapter 1

Notes: This story is inspired by "A Russian Miracle" on Wattpad, and a tribute to my faith and these four wonderful sisters lost in time. The mature version is on my Ao3 with the same title under Russian Royalty RPF.

July 17, 2022

St. Peter and Paul Cathedral

St. Petersburg, Russian Federation

"All clear in the tomb section, Pavel," a brown haired guard spoke into his handheld radio.

"Good, Anton. Return to the main hall for the midnight patrol break."

The brown haired guard nodded, uttering his reply. "Yes, I will be right there."

Anton glanced back at the bone pale marble tombstone in the room, illuminated under a ray of silvery moonlight. He knew the inscription after his two years patrolling this sacred area for Orthodox Russians. Upon the stone, a prayer had been inscribed, wishing well for their souls. They were resting after their ordeals. Both the parties and tragedies of life could go on without them. There, under the beautifully, painstakingly colored stone tiles, lay the remains of the Holy Royal Martyrs... The remains of a close knit, tragic family lost in time. At least they could rest undisturbed, knowing that their remains were given a proper resting.

He had once wanted to enter the Russian Army during 2020, but his mother Feodosia, a devout Orthodox attendee, had other plans. She and her husband were the more conservative and devout sort of Russian. To them, contributing to God, Motherland, and their fellow neighbors were their most valued efforts. After his eighteenth birthday, he relented. He would train in the Army still, but he would be assigned the role of a special guard around the St. Peter and Paul cathedral.

He had not been so fond of it at first. The passage of two years helped him grow accustomed to it. After befriending his fellow guards, he grew to enjoy his special duty. Other than handling the rare, feisty Neo-Soviet who dared touch or act inappropriately around the tomb, Anton did not do anything else but patrol.

Sometimes, he would wonder what the Holy Martyrs would think of modern Russia. Perhaps they would be disappointed at the recent decline in population, Russian lives, and the economic troubles by Western sanctions. Russia had once been a top power, but now, it was only a shell of its former glory.

God was good, but he did not seem to intervene to stop this madness. Anton wished he knew why. Maybe something big would happen later on... And perhaps Russia would be fixed again. Maybe the world too.

As he turned around, a muffled vibration went through his boots. The floor... it was shaking! He squinted down, and he flinched as the floor fractured into four large fragments. The cracks had radiated from the center of the tomb floor, and through the faults, he could see a faint, flickering light. And after a moment, it faded into darkness. The vibrations died down.

Chills went through his spine. No... this was just the work of some impious people trying to desecrate the tomb. He muttered profanities, squatting down as he took out his flashlight. He would have to let the commander know. Perhaps it was actually a mild earthquake.

"Blyat! Commander Pavel will be pissed..." Anton muttered, stepping away from the cracks.

He stood up again, taking careful steps to the door again. Everything was silent again, save for his heavy breathing and him rustling through his uniform belt for his radio.

Pressing a button, Anton opened a channel to his commandant.

"Pavel... There was an earthquake. Tomb sustained minor damages to the floor."

"Shit! Anton. Return to the hall as soon as possible. We will return soon to see for ourselves."

"Yes, Pavel."

Anton ran away from the tomb, as the dust spread in wisps from the floor...

But in his quick, echoing steps, he failed to heed the sounds of muffled thumps from below the floor...

(Line Break)

She did not know what had happened after what seemed like an eternity in an endless gray void. She and her sisters had then heard a voice saying,

"Be prepared for what is to come, and remember that God is good."

And a flash of light, a tingling sensation as if they had turned into grains of salt, and then, they had awoken again. A gasp of air, a few harsh blinks, and nothing but darkness and heavy breathing.

She forced herself to remember. Her name was- is Olga Nikolaevna Romanova. Good. She remembered her name, at the very least.

It was a dark tight space for the former Grand Duchess. Then, the memories of her last life came back. The voices of loved ones and friends long lost rang through her head.

You are to be executed...

We will be saved. Mama loves you all...

You are to remain in house arrest...

Of course, Your Highness. Let us dance the night away.

Remember to say "vous" with the correct vowel sounds, Your Highness...

"Cousin Olga, we should play in my pleasant, little house?"

She screamed, shutting her eyes. Was this eternal damnation? Had she been a good Christian woman during her earthly life? Of course, she had been, even if she was not perfect. No, this could not be!

She screamed, pounding the cover above her laying self. And the realization struck her again. She was alive. This was not  the torment of hell, but somewhere on earth.

But what if she was trapped? No, she would not let this be. She had to call for help, hoping that anyone would listen...

"Help, I am trapped! Get me out!"

She pounded the cover again, rattling it open. Another morbid realization came to mind. This was not a bed or a room. This... This was their tomb.

How long had it been?

What had happened?

Olga climbed out of the coffin, looking around the tight, gloomy catacomb. From the little light that escaped the large cracks in the ceiling, she could see the pale white walls and the polished wooden coffins. She could feel the bits of dust and sand on the floor. This was her family tomb constructed to pay respect to them and remember the tragedy on that July night...

She flinched, seeing the center of the floor crumble down onto another coffin. A loud crash, and the fragment crumbled into pieces. Then, the coffin swung open.

"Tatya!"

The last coffin across from her then opened, sending another scattering of concrete and stone fragments at her. A shorter woman with strawberry blonde hair and eyes of a piercing Romanov blue climbed out...

"Nastya!"

Ignoring their nakedness, they ran to each other, bursting into tears and sobbing into each other's arms.

Olga embraced her sister Tatiana, who took a hitching breath. "We are well... Oh, my dear sister!"

"Where... Where is Mashka?"

"I do not know! There are only our parents' coffins there!" Olga shouted.

However, the sound of footsteps approaching caught their attention. Olga looked up, shouting for help again. Her other two sisters went under the hole, looking up to see the faces of five astonished uniformed men peeking in with flashlights.

"Oh my God..."

"God has done a miracle!"

"What the-"

"Shut up men, and lift these girls out of there!" The commandant shouted.

He knew what they looked like. And their appearances did not lie. They were the late Grand Duchesses, somehow risen back from the grave! God had just done one of his largest miracles, and his men were already freaking out or acting childish?

The Commander needed a rest, alright!