Chapter Text
Notes 1
I guess I want to write something so I don't die from stress. And besides that, I'd like to think and imagine that out there, in that horrible, ruined world, there's still something worth breathing for.
It's been three months since my fight with Alesker. Three months since I stood him up in that parking lot, his eyes full of tears and me promising to report him if he ever came near me again. Three months since my life split in two: a before and after that lying man with the sad eyes.
A lot has happened. My sister's damn funeral happened. I buried her on a gray day, with snow falling on the coffin, my mother crying silently, and my father staring into nothing as if there was nothing left inside him. I didn't cry. I couldn't. My eyes were dry, my throat tight, and all I could think was that the last time I saw her, I screamed at her. I said horrible things. And now she was in a box, and I couldn't apologize.
After that, I moved away from the city where I met him. I left Russia's capital, those tall buildings, the streets full of people who didn't know me but looked at me the same way anyway. I went farther, to a small town near a forest. A place where no one knew my name or my story. A place where I could start over from scratch.
I quit my job. Packed my things in two suitcases. Said goodbye to Yesini, who hugged me tight and told me to take care of myself. "You're a good person, Ivan," he said. "Don't let some idiot make you believe otherwise." I nodded, wiped away a tear I didn't want to show, and left.
But it seems life wasn't going to give me another chance.
Weeks after settling into the town, the sun began to cool. Little by little. At first, it was barely noticeable: the days were less warm, the evenings came earlier, the shadows grew longer. Then it became obvious. The sun stopped warming this planet the way it used to. Many scientists wondered why. This wasn't supposed to happen. The sun was supposed to get hotter, expand, turn into a supernova millions of years from now. But the opposite happened.
Little by little, it started to cool.
The snow in this country grew heavier. Not only did it fall from the sky, but it accumulated, stayed, never melted. Roads disappeared beneath white blankets. Houses were covered up to their roofs. People started burning their furniture to avoid freezing to death.
But the snow wasn't the only problem.
There were also the Visitors.
Beings like us, like humans, but different. Taller. Paler. With eyes that glow in the dark like wolves'. They say they came from the center of the earth, that with the core growing cold, they rose to the surface looking for warmth. But the Visitors aren't just looking for warmth. They've brought more death. They kill for no reason, or for reasons we don't understand. They take people at night. Sometimes they return them the next day, but they're never the same. Their eyes are empty, and they sob when no one is watching.
Maybe I'm just writing this for someone to find next to my corpse. I don't mean to be pessimistic, but I've spent months watching the world fall apart, and I've learned that hope is a luxury we can no longer afford.
I stopped writing because of a noise. A knock outside. Dry. Muffled. As if something—or someone—had fallen against my cabin door.
I needed to see what happened I got ready to go out: I put on two sweaters, big boots, a scarf that covered me up to my nose. I grabbed a wooden stick just in case. I opened the door.
It was a girl.
A girl about fifteen years old, lying in the snow. She was wearing a sweater so thin it barely covered her frail body, her lips were blue, her hands bruised, her blonde hair covered in frost. She wasn't moving. For a second, I thought she was dead, but then I saw her chest rise and fall. Barely. Almost nothing.
I carried her as best I could and brought her inside my house.
I put her in the living room, in front of the fireplace. I spread some blankets on the floor and laid her there. I added more wood to the fire so the flames would burn stronger, hotter. The heat began to fill the room, and little by little, the trembling of her body calmed down.
I worried too much about her. I couldn't stop looking at her, wondering how someone so young could be outside in this cold, with the Visitors lurking in the night. Where were her parents? Had she escaped from somewhere? Had she been abandoned?
To stop tormenting myself, I decided to make some broth for when she woke up.
I washed the potatoes, cut them into small cubes. I soaked them with a few carrots. I also cut large pieces of pork, the ones I'd stored in the freezer weeks ago. I put everything in a large pot, added water, and turned on the stove.
The broth began to boil, filling the kitchen with a smell of home, of something hot, something that for a moment made me forget the cold.
I went back to the living room. The girl was still asleep, but she was no longer trembling. That was good. I brought another blanket, the thickest one I had, and put it over her.
Minutes passed. The broth was ready. I went to the kitchen, was getting out the bowls, when I heard a scream.
I ran.
She was awake. Sitting on the blankets, eyes wide open, looking around like a cornered animal. When her gaze found me, her face twisted into a grimace of hatred.
"What the hell did you do to me, you damn pervert?" she shouted, her voice high-pitched, trembling.
I stood still. I raised my hands in a calming gesture.
"Nothing," I said, trying to make my voice as soft as possible. "I promise. I just found you passed out in the snow and brought you to my house. I didn't do anything to you. I'm sorry for scaring you."
She stared at me, searching my eyes for some sign of a lie. Her lips pressed together, her hands clutching the blankets. But she said nothing.
"You can have something to eat," I said, lowering my voice. "If you want, of course."
"I don't know if I can trust you," she said, sitting up more calmly. "What did you make to eat?"
She tilted her head as she asked, and despite everything, despite the fear and distrust, I found her somewhat endearing. I let out an involuntary little laugh.
"I made broth," I said. "If you want, I'll bring you some."
"Yes, please," she replied, this time in a shyer tone.
"Okay. I'll bring it right now."
I went to the kitchen, served a steaming deep bowl, and brought it to her. She grabbed it with trembling hands and began to eat as if she hadn't tasted food in days, weeks. She burned her lips but didn't stop, slurping the broth, biting into the potatoes and meat with an urgency that broke my heart.
I stayed quiet, watching her. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye and moved away a bit on the blankets, as if suddenly realizing we were too close. I eased the discomfort by asking her name.
"What's your name, little one?" I said, with a gentle smile.
"My name is Anika," she replied, in a defiant tone. "And don't call me little one, because I'm not."
"Alright, Anika," I said, letting out another smile. "My name is Ivan."
She nodded, her mouth full of broth.
"So tell me," I continued, carefully. "What happened to your parents?"
Her face changed. Her jaw tightened, her eyes grew moist. She swallowed the bite with difficulty.
"I ran away from home," she said, in a low voice. "I doubt they even noticed I left. They never really cared about me anyway."
Tears threatened to fall, but she held them back. She wiped them away with the back of her hand and kept eating, as if talking about it took away her appetite.
I didn't press. I just sat down next to her, on the floor, and kept her company in silence while outside the cold continued to fall.
---
Notes 2
It's been two months since I found Anika.
Life lately has gotten harder. After all, the sun is still cooling more. Each day that passes, the temperature drops a little more, as if someone is slowly turning the world's thermostat dial toward "off." The snow falls much, much more. Sometimes it doesn't stop for entire days, and when it clears, the ground is so covered I can barely get out the door.
I try to calm Anika so she won't be scared. She's a brave girl, I know, but she's also a child. I've seen her look out the window when the snow rises, clench her teeth when the wind howls, curl up under the blankets when she hears noises at night. I pretend not to see it, pretend everything is fine, because if she sees me scared, she'll be twice as scared.
Food is also starting to run low. Along with the firewood that keeps us alive on these freezing days. Gas, internet, and water no longer come. The pipes froze weeks ago. Now we heat snow on the wood stove to have water for drinking and cooking. We do everything with firewood: cook, heat the house, melt the ice.
So getting more firewood is also a priority.
A few days ago, I told her I had to go to the forest to look for food and cut trees. Something in her face changed: she looked more scared than usual. But it was obvious. After all, she's still somewhat aggressive and distant, but I know deep down she's grown fond of me. I see it in the way she sets my plate before her own, how she stays awake waiting for me when I go out, how her shoulders relax when I come home.
"No, Ivan," she said, her voice trying to sound firm but breaking at the end. "I have to go with you. I won't let you go to that forest alone."
"No," I replied, shaking my head. "That would be irresponsible of me to let you come along. I promise you, everything will be fine. Besides, I'll take the ax to defend myself."
"Okay," she said, and although her voice wavered, she knew I had to come back to take care of her.
I left my house. The snow fell relentlessly, blurring my vision. I was wearing five sweaters over my clothes and still the cold seeped into my bones. Not to mention the snow on the ground reached my knees. Considering I'm quite tall, this was worrying.
I let out a big sigh and walked slowly down that path that smelled of death.
When I reached the forest, I started cutting wood. Chop, chop echoed the ax hitting the trunks. The movement was warming me up, which was better than the constant cold. My thoughts consumed me as I worked: Vera, Alesker, the lie, my sister's death, everything spinning in my head like a macabre Ferris wheel.
A voice pulled me out of them.
"Fear not the storm, let the ice embrace you..."
I stopped cutting wood. I looked around. The forest was empty, or so it seemed. The snowstorm made everything harder to see. The white trees were barely distinguishable from the background, and the wind blew in spirals that lifted snow from the ground.
"There's a light for the lost and the meek, pain and fear are easily forgotten when you surrender to the earth's floor..."
I turned around.
A figure appeared behind me.
A tall man. Much taller than me, definitely. With a black hat that didn't move in the wind—in fact, nothing about him seemed affected by the weather. A black trench coat that touched the snow, but it wasn't wet. A navy blue sweater underneath. And his face... his face was a mystery. He had a mist covering his features completely, a dense fog that didn't move with the wind, as if it were part of him.
"I spy, I spy with my little eye," the creature said, mocking me as it slowly approached, "a human who is scared."
"Stay back," I said, trying to sound intimidating as I raised the ax. "I have a weapon."
"Wonderful," it replied, its voice distorting into something darker, deeper. "That would be much more fun, Ivan."
I froze. Not from the cold. From the way it said my name. As if it knew me. As if it had been looking for me.
Before I could react, it lunged at me. I tried to hit it with the edge of the ax, but it dodged with impossible speed. It grabbed my hands, right where I was holding the weapon, and threw it far away. One of its hands—cold, icy, bony—took hold of my waist. The other grabbed one of my hands. It pulled me close, pressed my body against its own.
I felt its body emanate cold. Not the cold of snow or wind. A deeper, more ancient cold. A cold that smelled of damp earth and grave.
For some strange reason, I could see its teeth. White as snow, forming a twisted smile beneath that fog.
"Who would've thought," it whispered. "You're alone again, with no way out. Isn't that right, Ivan?"
I tried to break free, but its grip was like iron.
"You're at my mercy," it said. "At her mercy. How amusing, don't you think?"
And before I could protest, it started to dance.
It pulled me, spun me, moved me as if I were as light as a feather. Its body moved in ways that weren't human, its steps left marks in the snow that didn't fill back in. It began to sing again, with that voice that alternated between sweet and terrifying.
"Tra-la-la-la!" it sang while jerking me around. "Chop some wood for the fire! Come with me to the forest, come with me to play!"
It held me with horrible strength. It pulled me everywhere with its strange dance, and that song chilled my blood. I was terrified. Maybe this was its twisted way of playing before killing me. Maybe I'd end up here, in this forest, turned into another pile of bones covered in snow.
But then, suddenly, it let me go.
It stood still in front of me. It looked at me—or so I thought, because I couldn't see its eyes beneath the fog—and its white teeth were hidden again.
"Ivan," it said, and its voice was no longer singsong or mocking. It was grave. A warning. "Take care of the warmth in your house. Because if I feel a cold home, I will come for you. And I will kill you."
It leaned in a little, as if about to tell me a secret.
"Tonight, I will pay you a visit. So watch yourself."
Before I could say anything, it threw the ax at me. It fell at my feet with a dull thud. And when I looked up, it was gone. Only trees, snow, and the echo of its laughter fading into the wind remained.
I went home confused. I found food, a frozen deer in the snow, and grabbed it without thinking. I didn't tell Anika anything about what happened in the forest. I just stayed silent while I thawed the meat, made dinner, sat with her in front of the fire.
She was already going through too much to pile more worry on her.
But I was worried.
Very worried.
Because something about that being, the way it moved, its voice, how it said my name... felt strangely familiar. As if I'd seen it before. As if somewhere, sometime, I had known that thing that was now threatening to return.
Outside, the wind howled. Night was falling. And I could only wait, sitting in front of the fireplace with the ax in my lap, for that thing to arrive.
Wait.
As always.
-----
Night fell with a cold worse than the morning's. The wind battered the windows with cruel insistence, as if trying to shatter the glass and force its way inside. Anika was sleeping in my bed — I gave it to her, because I wasn't about to let a child sleep on the couch while I rested comfortably. She has most of the blankets in this house, and I have the rest, the oldest ones, the ones that don't provide as much warmth but still do the job.
I truly worried about that girl. She was my only reason to keep going. To get up every morning, to search for food, to cut wood, to keep the fire burning. She was all I had left in this broken world. Maybe, if God exists and this all ends someday, maybe I'll adopt her as my daughter. I would really like that. I'd like to think there's a future where she calls me dad.
I added more wood to the fireplace. The fire grew, crackled, and the house felt warmer. Without a doubt, we wouldn't freeze to death today.
I sat down in the armchair, the ax at my side, and stared at the flames. My thoughts wandered, as they always do now. I remembered my apartment in the city, the warmth of the heating, the nights watching movies alone before all of this happened. I remembered Yesinia, his wide smile, his generously poured drinks. I wondered if he was still alive, if his bar was still standing, if I'd ever see him again.
And then I heard the knocks.
Knock, knock, knock.
Three dry knocks on the wooden door. My body tensed. I grabbed the ax with both hands and approached slowly, making as little noise as possible. I looked through the peephole.
It was him.
There he stood, beneath the storm, with his black hat and his trench coat that didn't get wet. He had a cigarette in his mouth, the orange ember faintly illuminating the lower part of his face. I could see his bottom teeth, white as the snow falling relentlessly onto his shoulders. I couldn't see his top teeth well, hidden behind that fog that covered his face.
He began to speak, and his voice cut through the wood as if it were nothing.
"Well," he said, exhaling a cloud of white smoke that mixed with the wind. "I sense there's fire in your house. A glimmer of hope in this hostile world. I wonder... why do you keep clinging to this world, Ivan?"
He paused. He took a drag from the cigarette. The ember glowed brighter.
"You're alone. And it's always been that way, hasn't it? Do you really think that girl will stay with you when things return to normal? She'll leave. Like everyone, Ivan. And you'll be left alone."
His words struck something inside me, something I thought I had buried under layers of routine and survival. Because it was true. No one had ever loved me enough to stay. My sister left forever. My parents are far away, and the bond broke years ago. Alesker... Alesker was just a lie in the shape of a man.
I thought of you. Again. Damn it, Alesker, I hate you and yet you still pop into my head when I least expect it. I remembered your sad eyes, your trembling hands, your broken voice asking for another chance in that parking lot. I told you to leave, that if you came back I'd report you, but now, with the world falling apart, what does that even matter anymore?
Tears escaped me. Fast, hot, rolling down my frozen cheeks. And he saw them. I knew he saw them, because his laughter cut through the door like a knife. A mocking, cruel laugh that made me feel small and foolish.
"You see?" he said, stubbing out the cigarette against the wooden door. "Why cling to this world if no one wants you in it? Put out that fire and let me in. Let's end this, Ivan."
"How do you know my name?" I asked, and my voice trembled. But it didn't matter. In fact, nothing that thing said mattered, because deep in my heart I knew there were people who had loved me. My sister, before we grew apart. Yesini, who hugged me before I left. Anika, who waits for me every night with a trust I don't deserve.
"Death whispers it," he replied, placing a hand on the door. "I think you're her favorite. Just as you're mine."
"Enough of these strange riddles," I said, and this time my voice came out firmer, more tired. "Tell me how you know my name. I'm sick of this."
There was a silence. The wind howled. And then...
"Tell me something, Ivan," he said, and his voice changed. It became softer, more familiar. Almost human. "Did you really forget me so quickly? I thought you hated me enough to keep me in your head for a good long while."
My heart stopped. My lips trembled. The words wouldn't come.
"Alesker," I whispered, and the name tasted like poison and longing all at once.
My eyes widened. I tried to see beyond the fog, to find some feature that would confirm what I already knew. But I only saw the silhouette, the hat, the trench coat. And yet, I recognized him. In the way he tilted his head, in the cadence of his words, in the way he said my name.
"You really do remember me," he said, and there was something almost tender in his voice, almost sad. "How lovely. Ahhh... I wish I could have you in my arms again, Ivan."
He tossed the cigarette into the snow. The ember went out instantly, swallowed by the infinite cold.
"I hope the snow falls more and more," he continued, "so that fire goes out. And when that happens, Ivan... we'll be together again."
I felt nauseous. A horrible dizziness that blurred my vision. It really was him. That's why his voice had sounded so familiar in the forest. That's why his way of moving, of mocking, of singing... everything about him felt known.
It was Alesker.
He had become a Visitor.
Without another word, he turned around. His black trench coat billowed in the wind, and he disappeared into the storm. The snow swallowed him in seconds, erasing his tracks, as if he had never been there.
I stayed leaning against the door, trembling. The tears kept falling, and I couldn't stop them. I cried for him. For what he was. For what he had become. For what we could never be.
But at the same time, something inside me hardened.
No. I wasn't going to let that idiot into this house. I wasn't going to let him kill me and leave Anika alone. She depends on me. She needs me to live. She is my reason, my hope, my everything in this frozen hell.
I would fight for her. I would keep the fire burning even if I had to burn all the furniture, all the doors, everything I own. I wouldn't let it go out.
Never again.
I went back to the armchair. I sat in front of the fireplace, the ax in my lap and my eyes fixed on the flames. Anika was still sleeping in my bed, unaware of it all, and I silently promised that she would stay that way. That she would never know what was out there. That she would never be afraid as long as I was here.
Clinging to the warmth of that house, I waited for dawn.