YAGA | ✓

THREE

•••

THE JOURNEY BACK to his house was agonisingly long, despite half the village being on his tail. The moment his horse, a magnificent black steed he'd lovingly named Ivko, drew to a halt, Dimitri slipped off his saddle and opened the door, an almost laughable act, given the rubble all around them. He could've easily slipped through the holes in the masonry, but he did not, ever the traditionalist. As he ran towards the dining room, his family's faces peered down from portraits, eyes like the cosmos.

Impenetrable. Dense. Unforgiving.

Sorenovs did not have stars in their eyes.

The door to the dining room was ajar, light from the fireplace leaking into the hallway as if nothing had happened. As if death didn't hang in the air that it had warmed, as if the house didn't reek of ruination. A chair leg was in the doorway, keeping it propped open enough for Dimitri to slip into the room without pushing the handle. Truth be told, he wasn't sure whether he would've been able to manage it, or whether he would've just stood outside, waiting in silence for a sign.

"Majko?"

His voice trembled.

Feet tripping clumsily on the broken floorboards, he made his way to the figure in front of the fireplace, the black waves of his mother's hair covering her face as her fingers reached out to the heat of the flames. When she raised her head weakly to meet his eyes, Dimitri saw the dark bruises on her neck, ugly purple against Yelena's golden skin.

She was alive. Barely.

Her consciousness was fading away rapidly, mouth slightly open as she managed to a few words out.

"Kill her. Promise me."

After all that Dimitri had done for Yaga, after all that he'd done to overlook the wickedness brewing inside of her, even as he tried his best to keep her sane, it was a fruitless effort. His mother had always called her a bad seed, and as he looked at Yelena's limp form, he couldn't help thinking that it was true, as much as he'd tried to deny it.

"I promise--" his voice broke. "I promise."

Dimitri stared at his mother's chest, watched it rise and fall, each breath keeping her alive for a little bit longer. He couldn't leave her alone - but what good had he done, even at her side? He'd been so reluctant to hurt Yaga that he'd let his own mother fall prey to her.

How could he have been so stupid?

But even so, Dimitri couldn't find it within himself to hate Yaga as much as he should. It was all so sudden - he recalled how they'd teased each other on the way home, how she'd laughed as he held out his hand, how--

It didn't matter anymore.

Nothing mattered anymore, apart from finding her.

•••

IF HER HOUSE TURNED OUT EMPTY, there was only one place that Yaga could be. And it had, according to the young boy that had approached Dimitri on a chestnut mare, damp from the downpour that frozen them both to the bone, so he was on his way to his final destination - the forest. More specifically, to the river, which crossed over the whole area from the outskirts of Salovo all the way into the heart of the forest. Now, illuminated in the silvery moonlight as Dimitri drew to a halt, it truly was black.

Chernovoda, they called it. Blackwater.

These were the depths that sailors drowned in, with amber-haired rusalkas crooning on the rocks to seize them and drag them into a watery grave.