~ Powers of Nations: A Countryhumans Chronicle

▶Chapter:27◀

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3rd person pov:

Russia’s days of recovery were a complex blend of physical effort and emotional turmoil. He often retreated to the bathroom to change his bandages, managing his wounds with the care of someone who had grown all too familiar with the routine. His father,  closely supervised his physical recovery, a presence that was both supportive and oppressive.

Russia's walking had improved significantly, allowing him to make any physical effort, but it was still a challenge. Simple tasks like playing with his siblings or doing housework would tire him quickly. He often had to stop, catching his breath and resting before continuing. His medication regime was strict, aiding in the recovery of his asthma, but his trauma was an ever-present shadow, leaving him with nightmares about TR haunting him.

Kyrgyzstan,his sweet and loving little sister, often came to sleep with him, providing comfort during his nightmares. Her presence was a balm for his wounded soul, and he cherished these moments of sibling affection. Kazakhstan, on the other hand, was thrilled to have his big brother back. He had often been asked by their younger siblings where Russia was when they were at Mongolia's, and the memories of hearing Russia's screams from TR's torment never left him.

Soviet, however, harbored a dark secret. He had never told anyone about the photos TR had sent him of Russia. These images haunted him. He wanted to forget them but couldn’t. The burden of these memories weighed heavily on him, influencing his behavior towards Russia.

Despite the ongoing recovery, Soviet insisted on Russia exercising his wings. The sessions were grueling. Russia’s wings were still fragile, and the pain of movement was often unbearable. Kazakhstan was always there, training alongside him. His yellow wings had grown beautifully, and Russia was proud of him. Even though he was still in pain, Russia took on the role of a mentor, teaching Kazakhstan how to fly. The younger sibling’s enthusiasm was infectious, and it helped Russia push through his own suffering.

In a particularly challenging day, Russia and Kazakhstan were outside, practicing their flying. The sky was clear, the sun casting a warm glow over the training ground. Russia stretched his wings, feeling the familiar sting of pain shoot through them. He looked at Kazakhstan, who was eagerly flapping his wings, trying to gain lift.

“Just like that,” Russia encouraged, his voice strained but supportive. “Remember to keep your movements steady.”

Kazakhstan nodded, his face set with determination. He flapped harder, his wings catching the air. Slowly, he lifted off the ground, hovering a few feet in the air before landing unsteadily. Russia smiled despite the pain.

“That’s it! You’re getting better every day.”

Kazakhstan beamed at the praise, but his joy was short-lived as he saw Russia wince in pain. “Are you okay, brother?”

Russia nodded, though his wings trembled from the effort. “I’m fine. Let’s try again.”

The sessions continued, with Russia pushing through the agony to guide Kazakhstan. The younger sibling’s progress was remarkable, but each flap of Russia’s wings was a reminder of his own fragility. Despite the pain, he refused to give up. He had to be strong for his siblings, even if his body protested every movement.

After an especially grueling day of training, Russia found himself in the bathroom, changing his bandages. The bruises on his skin were stark reminders of Soviet’s harsh methods. He traced a particularly dark mark on his arm, a mix of anger and sadness washing over him. The trust between him and his father was fragile at best, shattered by Soviet’s relentless pressure.