Naïve

Chapter 11

Russia 20 years ago

Yasha ran, his breaths ragged and shallow, forcing themselves out in panicked bursts as he darted through the maze of shadowed streets. The rain slashed down in icy sheets, soaking through his thin clothes and searing into his bones with a chill that matched the terror in his heart. The night cloaked him, swallowing him into its darkness and hiding him from the pursuers on his trail—but that same darkness gnawed at him, slipping its way into his muscles and slowing him with exhaustion.

Only a few weeks had passed since his life had shattered into pieces, yet the pain felt as fresh as it did that first night. Estrov—his home, the town where he'd laughed and played and known every face—had been obliterated. The streets he had once run down freely now ran with blood and dust, memories buried under rubble, his family and friends lost to violence he still couldn't fully grasp. Everyone he had ever known, every place that had given him a sense of belonging, was gone.

And now, he was alone, a nameless ghost fleeing from men who hunted him to bury the last trace of Estrov's truth.

His bare feet pounded against the wet pavement, slipping as he rounded a corner, barely catching himself before hitting the ground. The narrow alleys were alive with echoes—the shouts of his pursuers, the harsh barks of orders, and his own pounding heartbeat. Every step he took was a gamble, each alleyway he dashed through a reminder of how little he knew of the world outside the smoldering ashes of his past.

Yasha's heart hammered as he leapt over the wall, barely managing to land on his feet. The impact jarred his body, but he bit back a yelp, pressing himself against the wall and listening intently. Heavy footsteps pounded past on the other side, muffled voices and curses mixing with the rain as his pursuers continued down the alley. They hadn't noticed him slip away. Relief began to flood his veins, but it was fleeting.

A sharp, vicious bark ripped through the air. Yasha spun, eyes widening as a massive dog lunged toward him, its teeth bared, snapping inches from his arm. He stumbled back, his heel slipping on the wet ground as the dog strained against the heavy chain that bound it to a post. Even tethered, the beast was relentless, thrashing and barking, alerting anyone nearby to Yasha's presence.

"Zver, hush!" A voice called from the house, irritated but quiet, as if not wanting to disturb the rest of the household. A boy, slightly older than Yasha, emerged, his brows knit in frustration as he stepped toward the barking dog

Yasha froze, pressing harder against the cold stone wall, praying to be invisible, hoping the boy would be too sleepy to notice him.

The boy tugged on the dog's collar, muttering, "You're going to wake up Mum and Dad." But Zver's growls remained low and unyielding, his fierce eyes still fixed on Yasha's dark figure. Following the dog's line of sight, the boy's gaze landed on Yasha.

"Who are you?" he demanded, suspicion lacing his words as he stepped closer, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "What are you doing here?"

Yasha swallowed hard, his mouth dry and voice tight with fear, but he forced himself to speak. "I'm... running from some people. They're... they're chasing me."

The boy frowned "why?"

Yasha's voice cracked as he whispered, "I know something they're trying to hide... they killed my parents." His words trembled, raw with fear, desperation gleaming in his eyes as he looked at the boy, hoping he'd understand. "Please, they'll kill me."

The boy's gaze lingered, his expression unreadable, as he studied Yasha from head to toe. He didn't seem particularly sympathetic, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes, a flicker that suggested he was weighing the situation, maybe even seeing a hint of himself in Yasha.