Nepenthe • Something that can make you forget grief or suffering.
Never feeling like they belonged was a feeling that Lissa Dragomir lived with, even with her family and life long best friend, although they aided in that feeling not being so strong...
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The training yard at St. Jude rang with the dull crack of wooden stakes and the sharp cadence of commands bouncing off the stone walls. Frost clung to the packed earth, the cold air rolling down from the Pyrenees and settling into lungs already burning from exertion.
"Break," the instructor called at last.
Six boys dropped their stances almost in unison. Some collapsed where they stood; others staggered toward the low stone wall that bordered the yard, tugging gloves off with clumsy, tired fingers. Water bottles were passed around, shoulders slumping as they caught their breath.
Nikolai Belikov sat with his back to the wall, knees drawn up, forearms resting loosely on them. He was one of the youngest in the group, smaller than most, but no one questioned his place there. He trained hard—hard enough that instructors watched him closely, and his peers treated him with a careful sort of respect.
There were things everyone at St. Jude knew. They knew who Dimitri Belikov was, and they knew who Nikolai was in relation to him. No one ever said it outright. Not around Nikolai. Some things were understood well enough in silence.
Tomas Novak sprawled onto his back with a groan. "If we do one more sweep drill, I'm faking an injury."
"You'd still get dragged up," Luka Petrov said, uncorking his water skin. "Then you'd be doing push-ups for trying to get yourself dismissed early."
Mateo Ionescu snorted while rubbing his arms. "Worth it just to see your face."
For a moment, the conversation drifted, safe and familiar. Nikolai listened, quiet as ever. He usually stayed that way—observant, careful. The other boys knew better than to push him, everyone did. And after a moment, he spoke "What do you know about Dimitri Belikov?"
The reaction was immediate—not surprise, but awareness. A subtle shift. No one gasped. No one laughed. They all knew who Dimitri Belikov was, and more importantly they all knew who Nikolai was. Tomas glanced at him, then quickly away, as if checking some invisible boundary. "I mean... everyone knows him."
"Yeah," Luka said, more subdued now. "Six Molnija marks. That's... that's history-book stuff." the way he spoke showed that he was trying not to freak out and fanboy about Dimitri Belikov. "Six Strigoi. Confirmed. Guardians don't even argue about it."
Erik Varga, who had been silent until now, added, "And he lost a charge."
The words landed heavier than any strike.
Nikolai's jaw tightened instantly. He looked up, blue eyes sharp. "Reports say he wasn't on duty that day."
