Saints Day (Grishaverse)

Saints Day (Prolouge)

(this ain't the main character this is just that cool thing Leigh Bardugo does where it starts with a random pov. It's pretty short, sorry)

Antoly Sokolov was not susceptible to flights of fancy, but tonight his town looked beautiful enough for even pragmatic Antoly to shed a tear over.

The altars were all finished, incense burning and leaning against their walls, cloth of deep scarlet and royal blue woven for his and Stazi’s shirts, impeccable and pressed by Antoly’s mother with painstaking fingers, determined her boys would be in their best for Saints Day.

Approaching the altar to Sankta Alina in the dim heat of the room, the boy knelt on a mat of soft weave, taking a shaky breath.
Antoly had never really been one to pray, despite his mother's desperate attempts to turn her eldest to religion, but he said one to the Istorii Sankt’ya in the afternoon of that day, with the burnished gold of the sun only just dipping past the skyline, leaving a trail of vibrant colors in her wake.

Sankta Alina of the Fold, I ask you may the light shine upon my home on day of saints, and protect my family.

Antoly's family were one of the oldest rooted in the village, and they were grateful for the blessings granted to them by the Lantsov line’s palace being so close to their village, but the young King Nikolai could only do so much for his family, only so much for Antoly's father, who worsened by the day.

The door burst open and Antoly turned to see Stazi, with his new shirt already stained at the collar by hot cocoa.
Stazi was Antoly's younger brother by five years, and at age four he was already quite the demanding child.
“Mother says it's time to go to the festival.” Stazi’s voice had always been irritatingly sing-song to Anton, as his sticky little fingers grasped Antoly's door knob which was just a little too high.
Antoly rose to his feet and a sigh came from his lips.
“Coming.”
----
The fireworks were sparkling beacons high in the sky, bursts of scarlet and royal blue hovering over heads with little pops that sent children laughing and chasing the wisps of coloured smoke, Stazi jumping and almost burning his hand in a shower of sparks.

Antoly watched from the side, leaning on a food cart serving waffles and blini, absentmindedly talking to the big kids about things he didn't understand.

“And Fjerda could attack any day, while King Nikolai attends parties at Duke Kirigin’s!” Enya, a daughter of one of the vendors lounging on the benches slurs and Antoly frowned, too nervous to disagree.
He glanced at his cousin Aleksi, who was disapprovingly looking down.
“King Nikolai is a good man.” Alexsi looked down at Enya fiercely, his eyes flashing. “You would deny him your loyalty after all he's done?”
Enya spat onto the cobblestone tiles, her features twisted into disdain.
“He's a bastard.”
Antoly slipped away as the disagreement broke out, twisting his round hands.
Is this what everyone thought of their king?
This is why the big kids scared Antoly.
He weaved through the crowd, nervous he would see Enya or any of the others in the faces of the anonymous crowd, rowdy and laughing.

The next firework was loaded, the village square alight under the shadow of the palace for the first time, shining on ecstatic faces of men and women beneath the sky.

That was when the first bang split the air.

It took a split-second for the flames to burst out like tendrils, unfurling and roaring like a starving beast that was due to feed. It took another for the people of Os Alta to realize this was not a firework.
Smoke filled Antoly's lungs, forcing the nine year old to keep over, heaving.
The glint of metal up above, the glassy flash of a window, under the stars sent children scrambling behind their parents as the next bomb hit the square, throwing the revelers onto the pavement with violent force, blood and horrible gore going up in flames as agonizing cries flooded the area.

It had sent the iron statue in the square, and the children who were previously dancing around it, climbing on the arms with their delicate hands, to the floor, the resounding crunch not a sound Antoly could stomach as his sticky eyes struggled to survey his beautiful village, obliterated in flames.

Somewhere, sometime Antoly could feel himself feeling backward, the harsh singe of the flames on his skin, licking at him like they wanted to consume him alive.

Don't. He wanted to scream. It hurts.

And where was Stazi and Mother?
Ringing pulsed in his ears as he tried to lift his head but it fell again, a brief glimpse of the bloody carnage enough to send him fainting.

“Stazi!” Antoly screamed, voice turning hoarse as his head collided with the cobblestone, sending stars dancing over his eyes, luring him into the trickery of sleep, the myth of peace that had been whispered lies from the beginning.

He could not see Stazi.

Antoly could not see much, eyes obscured with blood and ash, but the darkness that was making everything fuzzy dissipated as the sight in front of him returned.
Do not look at it. Antoly told himself, flinching away at the bodies and rubble.

He was too afraid he would see his own family.
“You missed one.” The sharp, gravelly voice cut Antoly out of it, tears streaming down his cheeks.

A Kerch looking woman knelt in front of him and Antoly thought she was as beautiful as a saint, and it stopped the tears for maybe she was here to save him from this, tell him it was a dream.

He was ready to throw himself into someone's arms.

But all she did was smile, revealing a mouth of needle sharp teeth dripping with blood.

“Run back to your demon king, little one. Tell him what you saw and see if the fox can escape this trap.”

She raised a hand to her lips and she saw her nails were tongues of flame, the very same that had razed his home to the ashes it became.

Antoly screamed louder than he had in his entire life, and as he was running he could still hear her laugh, as burning as brimstone.