Chapter Text
The snow was endless that night. It fell in thick curtains, the kind that smothered the world into silence, as though Snezhnaya itself had drawn a blanket over its heart. The cold bit mercilessly at every inch of exposed skin, sharp and relentless. The Fatui thrived in such weather; they were born to it, raised among frozen rivers and endless tundra. But you were not Fatui. You weren’t even human—not exactly.
Your lungs ached with every breath, though you didn’t need to breathe in the same way mortals did. Still, the act was grounding. You clutched your cloak tighter, stumbling through knee-deep snow, your hunger a gnawing ache that had been growing for days. Blood. You needed blood, but not even beasts stirred in this storm. The endless white wasteland offered no prey, no shelter—only silence.
Your body was stronger than most. Your kind could survive wounds that would kill mortals instantly, could endure centuries if properly fed. But even vampires had limits. Without warmth, without sustenance, your body slowed, your limbs stiffened. And so, for the first time in longer than you could remember, you felt fear.
Your knees buckled. Snow met your cheek like a knife. A flicker of black danced at the edges of your vision. Perhaps this was how you would end—buried in the land of snow, forgotten.
But then—footsteps.
At first, you thought it was only your faltering mind playing tricks. But the crunch of boots grew nearer, deliberate against the silence. A shadow fell over you, sharp against the white storm.
“What a pathetic sight,” came a voice, smooth but laced with contempt.
You forced your eyes open. Standing above you was a boy—or no, not quite a boy, but not yet a man. His violet eyes gleamed under the stormlight, piercing and cold. His hat, wide-brimmed and dusted with snow, framed a face too composed for someone wandering a storm. He carried himself with an air of someone who chose to be here, as if the weather itself bowed to his will.
“You’re going to die out here,” he continued, voice flat, almost bored. “Though I suppose it’s no business of mine.”
You tried to speak, but only a weak rasp escaped your lips. The snowflakes stung your skin as if mocking you. You wanted to bare your fangs, to remind this stranger that you were not as helpless as you seemed. But even that small defiance was beyond your strength.
The boy crouched, studying you like one might study a strange insect. His expression didn’t soften, but his hand hesitated in the air before brushing the snow from your face. His fingers were warm. Mortal. Alive.
“Tch.” He clicked his tongue. “I can’t very well leave you here, can I? You’d haunt me, wouldn’t you?”
The next moments blurred. You felt the strange sensation of being lifted, his arm sliding beneath your knees and shoulders as he carried you as though you weighed nothing. He muttered curses at the snow, at you, at the universe, though his grip never faltered.
You woke later to the faint crackle of fire.
The storm’s howl had quieted, muffled now by walls. The warmth was disorienting; your body ached in protest at the sudden return of sensation. When your eyes fluttered open, you found yourself in a dim room, the firelight dancing across stone walls. It smelled faintly of iron, woodsmoke, and something unfamiliar—ozone, sharp and unsettling.
And there he was again.
The boy sat on a stool by the fire, his back to you. His hat lay on a nearby table, his short indigo hair tousled, strands catching the glow of the flames. He didn’t look at you when he spoke.
“Awake already? You recover quickly for someone who nearly froze to death.”
You shifted, trying to sit up, but your limbs trembled. He turned then, eyes narrowing as he studied your effort with detached amusement.
“I wouldn’t bother. You’re weak. Clearly useless in the snow. What were you even doing out there?”
You hesitated. The truth would be dangerous. A vampire had no place within the world, let alone somebody’s home. Unless you wanted to end up a specimen, a weapon, or worse.
“I was… traveling,” you murmured, voice hoarse.
“Traveling?” His laugh was sharp, humorless. “In the middle of a blizzard? You must either be an idiot or suicidal. Or both.”
You met his gaze, defiance flickering despite your exhaustion. “Why do you care? You could have left me.”
He tilted his head, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Maybe I should have. But I was bored. And you looked… interesting.”
There was something unnerving in the way he said it, as though he was dissecting you with his eyes alone.
“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly.
You gave it, hesitating only slightly.
“Hmm. Doesn’t suit you,” he muttered. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter. I’m Kunikuzushi.”
The name felt strange on your tongue when you repeated it softly. He watched your lips shape the syllables, his gaze sharp, assessing.
“Kunikuzushi…” you said again. “What were you doing out in the storm?”
His expression shuttered. “None of your concern.”
The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken questions. Finally, he rose, moving with the grace of someone who did not doubt himself for even a moment.
“You’ll stay here until you’re strong enough to walk without collapsing. Don’t mistake this for kindness. I expect nothing from you, and you should expect nothing from me. Understand?”
His tone was cold, but his actions betrayed him: the fire, the blanket draped over you, the faint smell of food lingering near the table.
You nodded faintly. “Understood.”
He studied you one last time, his violet eyes glinting like shards of amethyst, then turned back to the fire. You lay in silence, the warmth seeping slowly into your bones, your hunger gnawing quietly in the depths of your chest. You hadn’t meant to be saved. But perhaps fate had other plans. And perhaps this strange boy with storm-lit eyes would be far more dangerous to you than the cold ever was.
Slowly the warmth enveloped you as you drifted back into a deep slumber.
When you woke again, the fire had burned lower. Pale light crept in through a frosted window, catching the silver flecks of snow still clinging to the sill. The storm had passed, but the cold beyond the walls was just as merciless.
You shifted under the blanket. Your body felt better. Far from healed, but functional. Still sluggish, still weak with hunger. You reached instinctively for the source of heat in the room—and nearly recoiled when you realized you were not alone.
Kunikuzushi sat in the same place as before, but now his posture was sharper, his chin propped lazily on one hand as he regarded you with open scrutiny.
“You really do sleep like the dead,” he remarked.
The words made your stomach twist, though you kept your face carefully blank. “And you don’t?”
“I don’t waste my time.” He shrugged, rising in one smooth motion. “Come. You should eat.”
The word struck you harder than it should have. Eat. You wanted to laugh bitterly—if only he knew what you truly needed. But the smell of something faintly savory hung in the air, and your body reminded you how little strength you had left. So you sat up slowly, gathering the blanket tighter around yourself.
He moved to the table against the far wall, lifting a covered dish and setting it down with little ceremony. A bowl of broth, steam curling faintly into the air.
You stared at it, then back at him. “This is…?”
“Food,” he said dryly, as if the concept was foreign to you. “I doubt you’ll last long in Snezhnaya if you keep skipping meals.”
You wanted to retort, but your trembling hands betrayed you. You took the bowl, sipped carefully, letting the warmth seep into your chest. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. But it soothed the ache, at least for a while.
When you finally looked up, he was watching you again, arms crossed.
“…Thank you,” you said softly.
He snorted. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m not in the habit of feeding strays. But letting you collapse again would only make you my problem.”
“Stray?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow despite yourself.
His lips curved faintly, almost—almost—into a smirk. “What else should I call you? Wandering aimlessly, no direction, no plan. If you had one, you wouldn’t have ended up half-buried in the snow.”
Your pride bristled, “I have a—” you started to respond, a knock sounded at the door that cut you off.
Kunikuzushi’s gaze flicked to you, sharp and warning. In two strides he reached the door, opening it only a crack. You couldn’t hear much of the muffled exchange, but you caught words: report… Harbingers… Fatui… quarters.
Your stomach went cold. Fatui quarters?
The door shut again, and he turned back to you. You must not have hidden your unease well, because his expression shifted ever so slightly—mocking, but with a dangerous edge.
“Ah,” he said softly. “So you’ve realized.”
“…Realized what?” you asked, though your voice was strained.
“That you’re currently residing under the roof of the Fatui.” His eyes gleamed with amusement, like a cat toying with prey. “Not the best place for secrets, wouldn’t you agree?”
You forced your breathing steady. “Why?”
“Because secrets don’t stay buried here. Not for long.”
He crossed the room, closing the distance between you. He leaned down just enough that the firelight caught his eyes, making them glow unnaturally bright.
“So tell me, little stray,” he murmured, “what is it that you’re hiding?”
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself not to look away. The hunger in your chest burned, your fangs ached to pierce through flesh. But you couldn’t. Not here. Not now.
“…I’m not hiding anything,” you said evenly.
His gaze lingered a moment longer before he straightened, lips curling into a humorless smile. “Liar. But that’s fine. Everyone lies to survive.”
He turned back toward the fire, as though the matter bored him already. “Stay quiet, stay out of sight, and you might just make it out of here. Cause trouble, and the Fatui will devour you whole. And I…” He glanced over his shoulder, the smirk sharper now. “…I might let them.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. You clutched the blanket tighter, your heart pounding despite your best efforts to appear calm.
The Fatui. Of all the places to be taken, of all the people to owe a debt, fate had chosen this. You were caged now, surrounded by wolves. And yet the most dangerous one of them all was the boy who had pulled you from the snow.
You should have been afraid. You were. And yet—when he finally sat again, posture relaxed, attention turning back to the fire—you found yourself studying him despite everything.
There was cruelty in him, yes. But there was something else too, something that flickered at the edges of his sharp words, his deliberate detachment.
Curiosity.
And maybe—just maybe—that would be your only chance at surviving this.