Chapter Text
It all started on two days in May and June, 1991.
Two separate events occurred, between two different gods from two different pantheons. In the former month, a woman with a laurel upon her head left a baby on the doorstep of Yuna and David Hollander's home. In the latter month, a woman with frost-adorned leaves in her hair left a baby inside Grigori and Irina Rozanov's house.
For the first family, the woman left a note with some information. It read:
This baby is named Shane. Within the blanket is something that you should give to him if one of these two conditions are met:
- If he begins to speak of fantastical monsters and you can tell he is telling the truth
- When he reaches his twelfth birthday
He will be devoted to something in his life; encourage him to achieve greatness, for it will come to him as if it is an old friend.
Do not attempt to find me.
The Hollanders took the child in and lovingly raised him.
For the second family, the woman just left a note with a name on it:
Ilya.
The Rozanov's took the child in and raised him. The mother, Irina, gave him a love so great it would be forever remembered. His father and brother loved him, but as time trickled through the ever-turning hourglass, that love became coarser and coarser until all that remained were jagged and sharp edges that rattled around in the glass.
Both found the ice.
Shane Hollander grew and grew, until he turned twelve and his parents sat him down to tell him about the letter and the item that was wrapped alongside him in his blanket that night, twelve years ago. Ilya Rozanov grew and grew, until he turned twelve. But, he had no letter, no gift, no item that remained of that fateful night twelve years ago—all he had was his mother's death.
The years continued to pass, until the two met in 2008, at the age of seventeen. From then on, they would make history in the MLH. However, not all was quiet on the North American continent between those years.
“Mom…” Shane skated up to Yuna, eyes darting between her and a tall man standing on the opposite side of the rink.
“What is it?” She had finally understood what the woman meant, all those years ago. Shane bloomed on the ice; he locked in on the sport in a way that Yuna had never seen anyone do. She was happy for him, that he could find something he so dearly loved and wanted to pursue, something he could devote himself to fully.
“That man,” Shane ducked his head down and crossed his arms, “does he… does he look off to you?”
Yuna felt a cold shiver go down her back. Her son had never said something like that before.
“Off in what way?” She asked, letting her weight fall on the side of the rink wall.
“Like,” Shane bit his lip, and Yuna flicked her eyes back up to see the man begin to make his way over to them slowly, as if he was walking through a knee-high snowdrift. Her hair stood up on her arms, “like he only has one eye.”
“If he begins to speak of fantastical monsters and you can tell he is telling the truth,” that’s what the letter had said. A man with one eye certainly seemed to fit that description, since she knew her son would not lie to her.
“Shane,” she started, and she noticed how he stood up straight at the tone of her voice, “let’s head home for now. You can tell me more at home.” She smiled and tried not to let her nerves show—her job was to get Shane home, safe and sound.
“Alright.” The way he said it made her feel warm, briefly chasing off the chill of fright. As she walked with him, she made sure not to glance in the direction of the tall man. She kept an eye out for him as Shane changed out of his skates, carefully watching the entrance and exit. By the time she was in the car and turning the key, the man had still not appeared.
Pulling out of the parking lot, she spotted a lumbering figure in the rearview mirror; it was only when she pulled onto the street that she felt the goosebumps disappear.
“Hey, Hollander,” Ilya called to him while they sat on a beach in Tampa. They were just sitting down, content to rest after the previous night and the emotional ups and downs they had.
“Yeah?” Shane replied, watching as the waves lapped at the sand, water splashing harder and harder with each hit.
“Did you…” Ilya paused, as if trying to find the words to say, “Did you see a very tall man at the bar yesterday?”
“Hmm?” Shane tried to think back, but there only seemed to be a blurry recollection of a tall, tall man in a hat sitting in the far corner of the bar. “Did he have a hat?”
“Yes,” Ilya seemed to let out a breath in relief, shoulders loosening. “Did you notice anything,” he grimaced, “off about him?”
Shane thinks, wanders down memory lane until he reaches an old, faded memory of himself at twelve, asking the same question. Of his mother and her seriousness, of the car speeding past that rink the next time he had time on the ice scheduled.
“The eye?” He asked, scrunching his hands in the sand. It was something he thought of, albeit not often and not by choice. Of tall men with one eye, of women with snake tails instead of legs, of creatures straight from some of the myths that his dad sat down and told him about. Of the thin, gold chain usually clasped to his travel bag with the golden wing charm looped onto it that he always made sure to have with him.
“Yes!” Ilya exclaimed, throwing a hand up in the air. “Wait,” he paused, turning his head to look at Shane, “how did you know the man had one eye? I did not say it was that…”
“You could say I’ve run into them before.” Shane shrugged his shoulders, looking off into the distance. It wasn’t something pleasant to think about, the times he needed to defend himself against something that could kill him. He moved off his arms, bringing his hands into his lap so he could fiddle with the chain wrapped around his wrist. The charm wasn’t worn, despite the years he rubbed his fingers over it in contemplation and stress.
“You have seen them before?” Ilya sounded a bit confused, “Do you know what they are?”
“Yeah,” Shane tried not to let any bitterness seep into his tone, but from the furrow of Ilya’s eyebrows, he wasn’t entirely successful. “They’re monsters. From mythology.” The charm grew a little warmer, as if it was trying to tell him something.
“Monsters? Like,” Ilya raised a hand and swiped it in the air, curling his fingers into claws. Shane laughed, settling into the sand.
“Yeah, like that. But actually deadly.”
“Oh, so me on the ice.” Ilya nodded his head, and Shane felt a lightness bubble up in his chest.
“Yeah. If only you exploded into gold dust every time you hit the boards.”
“Matches Boston’s colors, no?” The two shared a smile, but suddenly Shane stiffened up. A buzz started under his skin, warning of danger, of a fight, of something that he would either win or lose against. He turned his head to the side, ignoring Ilya’s concerned frown.
“Over there,” he suddenly said, fingers grasping his chain, “do you see it?”
“What?” Ilya turned his head, squinting his eyes in the direction Shane was looking. There, atop a faraway dune, was what looked to be a snake with a horn on its head.
“A snake,” Shane said, pulling his chain off and standing up, “should not be that visible from here.”
“No, it should not. It should also not have a horn on its head.” Ilya slowly stood up as well, eyes moving over to where Shane fiddled with his charm. He watched as Shane tossed it up in the air, his eyes widening as it changed into what seemed to be a long sword in midair.
Shane felt that familiar fear, the one that bubbled up whenever he needed to fight. He looked to his side—Ilya stood beside him. Suddenly, that fear sat next to a familiar bravery. With that fear and that bravery, he held onto his golden spatha and trekked across the heated sand.