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Tate · 04-20-2024, 08:21 PM

Act Three
Chapter 11 - Lost in Translation

The crisp sound of skates on ice is all Savva Kirik can hear as he glides effortlessly across the rink during practice. As a defenseman for the Kelowna Knights, he's used to holding down the fort, but today his movements seem more fluid. Savva receives the puck and sends a wrist shot into the high corner of the net, burying it behind the Knights' netminder. As the whistle blows to signal the start of the drill, Savva's focus sharpens, his instincts taking over as he positions himself at the designated spot on the ice. He takes off with explosive speed, his powerful strides propelling him forward as he navigates through the cones arranged in a tight zigzag pattern. Each turn is executed with flawless technique, his body leaning into the curves with perfect balance. As he reaches the end of the drill, Savva shifts seamlessly into a quick stop, his edges biting into the ice. With a swift transition, he accelerates back in the opposite direction, displaying impressive agility as he skates through the cones once again. His movements are efficient, every motion deliberate.

Coach watches from the sidelines, his eyes keenly following Savva's every move. Savva hasn’t been able to connect with most of his team off the ice, especially Coach. It hasn’t been for a lack of trying on both sides, but with the language barrier being such a problem – it hasn’t smoothed out as fast as some would hope. “Kid can move,” Coach mutters under his breath, and as he blows his whistle, he contemplates approaching the tall Russian to speak with him then and there. After practice, Coach calls Savva into his office, motioning for him to take a seat and Savva obliges. "I've been watching you during practice," Coach tells him, assuming Savva understands what that means, "And I've noticed something about your style of play."

Savva nods, trying to gauge Coach’s intent from his tone and body language. But as the conversation unfolds, it becomes increasingly clear that understanding Coach will be a challenge. “My play?” Savva asks in broken English.

Coach searches for the right words before continuing. "I want to move you from defense to forward."

Savva struggles to comprehend the coach's request. "Forward?" he repeats, “You wan me play fuh…forward?”

"Yes," Coach affirms, his expression earnest. "I see potential in you, kid. You have an offensive edge that I believe could benefit the team."

Savva's mind races as he tries to make sense of the coach's words. Playing up front is a completely different position, requiring a different set of skills and instincts. Why does the coach want to make this change? What does he see in me that he doesn't see in the other players? “I don’t understand,” Savva forces it out.

“Forward,” Coach emphasizes, “I want you,” he points at Savva, “to play forward. No more defense.”

Savva’s eyes widen, “No more defense?” He is shocked.

“Yes,” But before Savva can voice his questions, Coach continues, his tone becoming more impassioned. "I want you to break out of your shell. Be more aggressive on the ice, take more risks. I believe you have the potential to be a game-changer for us."

Savva nods slowly, and while he does not understand most of the words that Coach is saying, the weight of them sinks in. He may not fully understand the coach's reasoning, but Savva accepts the challenge, “Okay,” he responds.

Back in the locker room, Savva begins to undress, his mind still buzzing with thoughts of his conversation with Coach. As he reaches for his towel, he notices a letter resting on the bench beside him. Curious, he picks it up, feeling the warmth of the paper against his fingertips. The letter has been addressed to him with the writing in Russian, and clearly legible. With a sense of fear, Savva opens the letter, his eyes scanning the words written to him. His heart sinks as he reads the contents – the Russian government has located him, and they are demanding his return for conscription into the war. A sense of panic washes over Savva as he looks around the empty locker room, searching for any sign of who left the letter. But there is no one there. Savva tucks the letter into his locker before he hurries to the shower.

As he steps into the warm water, he can feel it cascade over him. Standing under the faucet, Savva can't shake the feeling of dread that settles over him. How did they find him so quickly? Why a letter? If anything, Savva would have expected to have been escorted out by a man in a black suit… but this way he still had a choice. Should he heed the call of his homeland, or should he stay and pursue his dreams with the Kelowna Knights? With the SHL draft looming on the horizon, Savva knows he has a difficult decision to make. Stay here and see what happens, or hop on the first plane home?

As Savva applies shampoo to his hear he feels something atop his head and grabs it with his hand – pulling it down in front of his face. It is a single black feather – a raven’s feather. Savva looks around for any sign of the bird that led him to Kelowna, and when there is no sign – he wonders what it means.

--

The 76th SHL draft is a spectacle to behold, with the venue buzzing with excitement. Rows of tables adorned with team logos stretch across the room, each representing a different SHL franchise. Media personnel scurry about, capturing every moment with cameras and microphones poised. Prospective players sit nervously in their seats, hoping to hear their names called and to embark on the journey of a lifetime. In the thick of it, Savva finds himself seated alone, on a Facetime call with his family in Russia, a rare moment of togetherness despite the choppy signal. His parents and grandparents, scattered across different locations, beam with pride as they gaze at Savva through the screen. Their voices crackle through the static, “We are so proud of you,” is some of what Savva hears but he struggles to communicate with them as the call repeatedly cuts out.

“I love you,” Savva tells them collectively, and just being able to see their faces provides him with a sense of comfort.

“We will-,” his grandfather begins to say but is cut off midway by the call dying once again.

Savva stands up and paces the arena back and forth, trying to find a better signal, but he is unable to do before the draft begins. The SHL draft kicks off with fans filling the venue to capacity and team representatives taking their places at designated tables. As the commissioner steps onto the stage, the crowd erupts into a loud boo, a common greeting for the head executive of the league. The commissioner dismisses the boos and addresses the audience as though he does not hear them, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 76th SHL draft!" he declares, his words punctuated by cheers and applause. "Tonight, dreams will be realized, futures will be shaped, and the quest to SHL glory begins for these young athletes. Without further ado, Montreal, you’re on the clock!" With those words, the atmosphere fills with euphoria as the first pick is about to be announced, marking the beginning of an unforgettable evening for players and fans alike.

As the draft progresses and players are selected one by one, Savva has already resigned himself to the possibility of not being chosen in the first round. Being a first-round pick is an honor, and with how the draft interviews went – he does not expect to be one. He watches with longing as other players are called to the stage and then embraced by their families. With each selection, he witnesses heartfelt hugs, proud smiles, and words of encouragement exchanged between players and their loved ones. As they walk confidently to the stage, Savva can't help but feel the sting of loneliness wash over him. He watches as they effortlessly communicate with their families and team representatives, a stark contrast to his own struggle with language barriers. In that moment, surrounded by the joyous celebrations of others, Savva has never felt more isolated or disconnected from the world around him.

But then, at number 11, his name echoes through the venue. The New Orleans Specters call his name, and Savva rises from his seat with disbelief. He tries to mimic those who have come before him, and in the surge of the crowd he looks for any kind of loved one to greet or embrace. Instead, he is only surrounded by strangers. He turns away from the crowd, and dizzily makes his way down to the stage, the spotlight following his every step as he shakes hands with team representatives and is then pulled to pose for photographs. The Specters management welcomes Savva warmly, their smiles genuine as they express their excitement to have him on board. Savva does his best to respond to them one by one, “Thank you,” he says repeatedly because it is the only response he can think of.

Savva is then escorted to do an interview, where he finds himself seated in front of a sleek, modern desk with microphones and cameras, the symbol of the SHL on a banner hanging behind him. Across from him sits a reporter, a polished professional with a warm smile. Her attire is immaculate, a tailored suit, and her hair is neatly styled. As she speaks, she emphasizes her questions with subtle movements of her hands, "Congratulations, Savva! How does it feel to be drafted by the New Orleans Specters?" she asks, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.

Savva shifts in his seat, he only understood a few of her words, "Thank you," he begins, halting as he struggles to articulate his emotions. "I... feels... good."

The reporter nods encouragingly, her eye contact is unwavering as she leans forward, eager to capture every nuance of his response. "You're from Russia, correct? How does it feel to be chosen so high in the SHL?"

Savva nods in confirmation, his brow furrowing slightly as he grapples with the language barrier. "Yes, from Russia," he confirms, and before he can remember the rest of her question – he is distracted by a quick flash of light from up and behind the reporter. Savva follows the light that disappears as fast as it came only to see the raven, the lone black bird perched high above the rafters – in the edges of the ceiling that covers the arena. Savva wants to acknowledge the bird immediately and even point it out to the reporter, but he resists, and instead focuses on the bird looking down at him. In doing so, Savva's body language becomes more relaxed, his shoulders easing as he grows accustomed to the spotlight.

"Do you have any family here with you tonight to celebrate this moment?" the reporter inquires, her tone gentle yet probing.

Savva recognizes the word, ‘family,’ and looks briefly toward the empty seats nearby, "No... um... family... here," he admits softly.

“Oh?” she is genuinely surprised, “And here I thought that man over there was your father,” she says to Savva offhandedly as she gestures to the right of where Savva is sitting.

Savva follows her gesture to a man who is standing and staring at the two of them. The man has such a cold expression on his face that Savva immediately recognizes him for who he is. He is Russian, and he is almost certainly here for him. Savva had not returned home when requested to by letter, and he wasn’t sure how Russia might go about collecting him. Would they send someone to the United States? Judging by this man presence, they had.

Undeterred, the reporter presses on, her questions coming in rapid succession. "What do you think you'll bring to the Specters? What message do you have for your fans in New Orleans?"

“Fans?” Savva is innocent in his response, and still focused on the man standing a few feet away from them – waiting for him.

“The fans in New Orleans, for the Specters,” she tries to feed him a response, “I’m sure you’re very excited.”

“Yes,” Savva follows her lead, “Very excited.”

“Well good luck to you, young man,” she tells him, indicating that this is the end of the interview, “We wish you all the best in the next stage of your career.” As he rises from his seat, the reporter offers him another warm smile, "Take care," she tells him.

"Thank you," Savva replies, his voice steady as he turns towards the man in the black suit.

Savva is faced with a pivotal decision. He can either approach the man in the suit, knowing that if he doesn’t, he may endanger his family. Or he can follow the enigmatic raven, the bird that perhaps only he can see, and the one who is perched in the opposite direction of the man in the black suit. With his family's safety weighing heavily on his mind, Savva chooses to walk to the man from Russia, resigning himself to an uncertain fate as he steps away from the draft stage.

Chapter 12 - Deployment

Private Savva Kirik stands among a group of soldiers, the weight of his gear pressing down on his shoulders as he listens to the commanding officer deliver the final briefing before deployment. The air is tense, "Listen up, comrades," the officer begins, his voice firm. "We're heading into a volatile region, and this will test us like never before. But I have every confidence that each and every one of you is prepared for the task ahead."

Savva nods along with the rest of the men, his heart pounding. He knows that the basic training he's undergone has somewhat prepared him but as the briefing continues, he becomes more and more concerned. The commanding officer stands before the assembled soldiers, and behind him, a large screen flickers to life, displaying a map of the region with strategic points highlighted in red.

"Comrades," the officer continues, "Our mission is of vital importance," as he speaks, he points to the map behind him, highlighting key locations and explaining their significance in the broader context of the conflict. He outlines the political situation in the region, detailing the tensions between Russia and Ukraine and the escalating violence that threatens to engulf the entire region. "Our mission," he continues, "is to secure our border and prevent any further incursions into our territory. We will be operating in close coordination with our allies, and our objectives are clear: to protect our homeland from any and all threats." The commanding officer's words are met with nods from the soldiers, "Our goal is to protect our people and our land, and we will do so at all times."

As he concludes his briefing, the commanding officer plays a video message from the Vladimir Putin himself, urging the soldiers to remain steadfast in their duty and reminding them of the importance of their mission. The soldiers watch in silence.

"My comrades,” Putin faces the camera directly, “As you embark on this noble mission to defend our great nation, I want to commend each one of you for your dedication and courage. You are the protectors of our homeland, and the vanguard of our strength. Our country faces threats from hostile forces seeking to undermine our unity. Ukraine, once a brotherly nation, has betrayed us, aligning itself with our enemies. We will stand firm against their provocations and remember, that you are fighting not just for Russia, but for the ideals of freedom, justice, and prosperity that define our nation. You are the defenders of the Russian people, the guardians of our heritage, and the champions of our future. As you go forth, know that you do so with the full support and admiration of your fellow countrymen. We are behind you every step of the way, and may God bless you all. For Mother Russia!"

Savva listens intently, committing every detail to memory as he prepares himself mentally for the task ahead. After the briefing concludes, the soldiers are issued their specialized equipment and gear for deployment. Savva checks and double-checks his gear, ensuring that everything is in proper working order before he stows it away in his pack. His combat uniform, a rugged ensemble of camouflaged fabric, bears the insignia of the Russian military. The uniform is complemented by a sturdy vest with pouches and pockets, housing ammunition, grenades, and other essential supplies. Strapped to his chest is a harness carrying his rifle, a sleek weapon designed for reliability. His helmet, a protective shell of reinforced material, sits atop his head. Attached to his belt are tools and accessories, including a combat knife, a flashlight, and a medical kit. Each piece of equipment is meticulously maintained.

The time comes for the soldiers to embark on their journey to the conflict zone. They board a military helicopter, the rotors drowning out any conversation. During transit, Savva takes the opportunity to review his notes and knows that the coming days will test him in ways he never imagined. If it means that his family will be safe, and if he can survive this long enough to get back to Canada- it is the only hope he carries with him. As the helicopter approaches the conflict zone, the moment of truth has arrived. In eastern Ukraine, the landscape transforms into a haunting tableau of destruction and desolation. From above, he sees vast swathes of barren land scarred by the ravages of open warfare. Buildings lie in ruins, their skeletal frames silhouetted against the ashen sky. Plumes of smoke rise from smoldering wreckage, and the once populated city now resemble ghostly remnants of its former self.

As the helicopter descends, Savva can feel the tension in the air, and a sense of foreboding that hangs heavy over the landscape. The calm exterior hides the underlying turmoil and unrest that simmers beneath the surface. Despite the devastation, there is an eerie stillness that is broken only by the distant rumble of artillery fire and the occasional popping of gunfire. Stepping out of the helicopter, Savva takes a moment to survey his surroundings, his senses heightened by the unfamiliar sights and sounds of the conflict zone. The air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and burning debris, mingling with the metallic tang of blood, and sweat. The land is bathed in half-light, the sun obscured by a blanket of dark clouds that loom overhead.

Savva is stopped in his tracks, a raven swoops down at the sky from above, and as he ducks the attacking bird the tranquility is shattered by the deafening cry of gunfire. The enemy has forced a surprise ambush on Savva's unit. Bullets whiz past him, kicking up clouds of dust and debris as he dives for cover. It is overwhelming as explosions rock the ground and shouts of command ring out amid the battle. Savva's training kicks in, his instincts taking over as he returns fire. His heart pounds in his chest as adrenaline drives him forward in the face of danger. Savva takes cover behind a crumbling wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he assesses the situation. Through the haze of smoke and dust, he spots his fellow soldiers scattered, each fighting for survival.

Using his instincts, Savva begins to coordinate with his unit, using hand signals and shouted commands to communicate. Moving quickly, Savva dodges enemy fire and maneuvers through the rubble-strewn streets. He drops to the ground as he encounters his injured comrade, their eyes locking in silent understanding. Without hesitation, Savva hoists him up and carries him to safety as bullets continue to fly around them. "Take cover!" Savva shouts, his voice barely audible over the sound of gunfire. He helps shield his fallen comrade before he turns back to look for the remaining members of his unit. With bullets whizzing past him, Savva rallies his men by coordinating their response with skill. "Suppress fire!" Savva orders, motioning for his men to lay down covering fire as they regroup and formulate a plan of attack. Savva realizes that they're outnumbered and outgunned, but leads his unit in a daring counterattack, and they move with speed, taking out enemy positions with accuracy.

But as they advance, Savva can't shake the feeling of unease that gnaws at the pit of his stomach. He sees the devastation wrought by their actions, the lives lost, and the families torn apart by the violence of war. And it isn’t the first time he begins to question the righteousness of their cause. As the firefight rages on, Savva's thoughts are consumed by the horror of what he's witnessing. He sees the faces of the Ukrainian civilians caught in the crossfire, their eyes filled with fear and desperation as they flee for their lives. In that moment, Savva realizes that no matter what side they're fighting for, the true victims of war are the innocent civilians caught in the middle. He knows that he can no longer turn a blind eye to the suffering around him, that he must find a way to escape this cycle of violence. With that realization, Savva leads his men to safety and abandons their mission.

--

As the car glides through the streets of the Russian capital, Savva gazes out of the tinted windows, taking in the sights. It's his first time in the heart of the nation's power, and the magnitude of the moment is not lost on him. The buildings rise tall and imposing with grand architectural details that speak of history and tradition. Russian flags flutter proudly in the breeze, their crimson hue standing out against the backdrop of gray stone and concrete. Savva sits in the backseat of the black car, his heart racing. He has been commended for his bravery in battle, and while he knows he is not in danger for failing the mission, he can't shake the feeling as to why he is being brought to the capital. As the car pulls up to the main military headquarters, Savva steps out onto the grand courtyard, his eyes widening at the sight before him. The building looms overhead, its imposing and intricate carvings and statues that speak of the nation's might.

He is ushered inside by stern-faced guards, and Savva's pulse quickens ever more as he approaches the grand hall where a ceremony is to take place. As he enters the hall, Savva is greeted by the sight of Russian officials and military dignitaries who have gathered, and at the center of it all stands President Vladimir Putin himself. Putin cuts an imposing figure, with a presence that demands attention from all those around him. His posture is erect, his demeanor is stoic and composed. Putin’s expression betrays little emotion as he surveys the gathered crowd with eyes that seem to see right through to the soul. His features are sharp and angular, with a strong jawline and a prominent nose. Dressed in a tailored suit that fits him perfectly, Putin looks every inch the statesman, with his dark hair neatly styled and a subtle hint of stubble on his chin. Despite his formidable presence, there is an undeniable magnetism about him, a charisma that draws people in.

As Savva takes in the sight of Putin, he can't help but feel a sense of awe at being in the presence of such a formidable leader. But beneath the surface, there is fear, and a recognition of the immense power wielded by the man before him. Savva's approaches the podium, his chest adorned with a medal for his bravery in battle. Putin's gaze meets his own, and Savva feels a surge to look away.

Putin addresses the gathered crowd, “Esteemed guests, we gather to honor a hero among us. A man whose bravery has upheld the highest ideals of our nation. Private Kirik, a soldier of the Russian Federation, has demonstrated extraordinary courage in the face of danger. In the heat of battle, he stood firm, and exemplified the spirit of sacrifice and selflessness that defines our military. But this young man’s heroism extends beyond the battlefield. He represents the best of Russia, the values of honor, duty, and patriotism. Let him serve as an inspiration to us all, reminding us of the sacrifices made by those who serve in our armed forces. Thank you."

As the applause dies down, Putin steps forward to personally bestow upon Savva the honor of promotion – to Staff Officer. Savva accepts the prestigious rank, his mind racing with the possibilities that lie ahead. With his new rank comes new responsibilities, and Savva has been assigned to work directly alongside Putin himself. His duties include assisting with strategic planning, analyzing intelligence reports, and providing counsel on matters of military strategy and national security.

And all the while, as he stands before Putin, a raven sits perched overhead.

--

For several months, Savva serves diligently as a staff officer for President Putin. His days are filled with meetings, briefings, and tasks that keep him busy from dawn till dusk. In that time, he witnesses the inner workings of the Kremlin, seeing things that shake him to his core. From clandestine dealings with oligarchs to covert operations in neighboring countries, Savva is shown the darker side of politics. Despite the grim realities of what he sees, Savva maintains a facade of loyalty and obedience, earning the trust and favor of President Putin himself. Over time, Putin takes a liking to Savva, admiring his intelligence, bravery, and commitment to the cause. He even gives Savva a nickname of sorts, calling him "Valiant," as a nod to the medal that was previously given to him.

This relationship does not go unnoticed by others in the Kremlin, particularly those who oppose Putin's rule. They view Savva with suspicion, seeing him as a potential threat or a pawn in Putin's game. But Savva remains oblivious to them, focused instead on staying alive during this mad time of Russian politics. One evening, after a particularly grueling shift, Savva heads home, his mind frazzled from his day of responsibilities. As he walks through the streets of Moscow, he is suddenly accosted by a group of masked men. Before he can react, Savva finds himself dragged into an unmarked van and driven to an undisclosed location. When the van comes to a stop, he is forcibly removed from the vehicle and brought into a dimly lit room, where he is confronted by his captors. One of the men, distinguished by a scar that runs across his face and a missing eye, steps forward, "Kirik," he says, his voice low, "We know who you are and what you've seen. And now, we're going to show you something that will change everything."

Savva's heart pounds in his chest as he listens to the man's words, his mind racing with fear. What could they want from him? But before he can voice his questions, the room plunges into darkness, and a projector flickers to life. Images flash before Savva's eyes, scenes of devastation and destruction, of innocent lives lost and cities reduced to rubble – all in the name of Mother Russia. As he watches in horror, Savva realizes the truth of what he is seeing. These are the consequences of Putin's actions, the collateral damage of his quest for dominance. And Savva has been complicit in it all, a silent witness to atrocities committed in the name of the motherland. A cold sweat breaks out on Savva's brow as he struggles to come to terms with the reality of his situation. He feels trapped, torn between his loyalty to his family and his conscience. And then, as if reading his thoughts, the scarred man speaks again.

"You have a chance to redeem yourself," he says, his voice filled with urgency. "You can help us put an end to this madness, to stop Putin before it's too late. Will you join us?"

Savva's mind races as he weighs his options, his heart torn between duty and morality. He knows what he must do, what he should do. Taking a deep breath, Savva squares his shoulders and meets the scarred man's eye, "I'll do it," he says, "I'll help you bring him down."

Chapter 13 – Valkyrie

As the first light of dawn filters through the curtains of Savva's apartment, he rises from his bed. With a steady hand, he dresses in his finest suit, the same one he wears to the Kremlin every day, but today it feels heavier, laden with the weight of his impending actions. Before he leaves, Savva pauses to take one last look around his apartment, knowing that every time he leaves it, he may never see it again. His gaze lingers on a photograph of his family back in Russia, a reminder of why he's chosen this path. With a nod, he tucks the photo into his pocket and sets out into the streets of Moscow.

The city is still asleep as Savva makes his way to the Kremlin, the early morning air crisp and cool against his skin. He moves with his mind focused on the task at hand, and as he approaches the imposing walls of the Kremlin, his palms begin to sweat. Inside, the halls are active with staff members who hurry to and fro, preparing for another day of meetings and briefings. Savva navigates the corridors with ease, and he quickens his steps as he nears Putin's office. But as he reaches the door, he hesitates, a nagging feeling of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. Something doesn't feel right, but he pushes aside his doubts and enters the room.

Putin is already there, seated behind his desk, a glint in his eyes as he regards Savva with a knowing smile. "Ah, Valiant," he says, his voice smooth as silk. "Right on time as always."

Savva forces a smile in return, his mind racing as he tries to decipher Putin's intentions. Is he aware of their plan? Has he been betrayed? Why does everything feel off? Is it his own fear playing tricks on him?

Putin gestures for him to take a seat, his expression unreadable. "I have an assignment for you today," he says, "I need you to deliver these documents to the Minister of Defense. It's imperative that they reach him as soon as possible."

Savva's heart sinks as he takes the file folder, his mind reeling with the implications of Putin's request. Is this a test? With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Savva leaves Putin's office and makes his way to the Minister of Defense's office. Along the way, he passes a solitary black raven perched on a windowsill, its dark eyes watching him. Savva stops and approaches the bird, and much to his surprise – it does not fly away. Savva reaches out to touch the bird and it allows it, and he can only run his fingers along the bird’s neck once before it flies away. As he watches the raven climb the sky, Savva feels more relaxed. He continues his walk and when he reaches the Minister's office, he knocks on the door and waits for permission to enter.

"Come in," a voice calls from within, and Savva enters the office, his eyes immediately drawn to the Minister of Defense seated behind his desk. The minister is a stern-looking man, but there is a kindness in his eyes. The office itself is spacious and well-appointed, with dark wood furniture and shelves lined with military memorabilia.

Savva approaches the minister's desk, "Sir," he begins, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "Thank you for seeing me."

The minister nods, gesturing for Savva to take a seat opposite him. "Of course," he says, his tone grave. "I understand you have something important for me from the President."

Savva nods, "Yes, sir," he says as he hands him the file folder.

The minister opens the file folder and read's the document inside, and as he does his expression stiffens. The minister looks up from the file, and then closes it before he places it on the desk between him and Savva. The minister leans forward, his eyes locking with Savva's. "I know what you're planning, and I admire your courage."

Savva's breath catches in his throat, "Sir?" he asks with his voice choked with emotion.

"Putin knows there's an insider, but he doesn't know who,” the minister holds eye contact with Savva, “But I do.” Before Savva can form a second thought, the minister is quick to continue, “Don’t worry, boy, I am on your side,” the minister flashes a badge from the inside of his suit jacket, and while Savva catches a glimpse of it, he does not see the symbol on it.

The rebels within the Russian government are varied and wide, holding positions all throughout the military and even in public offices. In the time that Savva has spent with them he has met some of the members but not all, and while it is possible that the minister is telling him the truth – it is also possible that he is lying. “Sir,” Savva begins to say but is again cut off.

"You have a choice to make," he says finally, “And in both of my hands are the tools for either decision,” the minister opens his left hand – revealing a car key, “This is the key to my car in the parkade, take it now, and flee from here. I will meet you back at the safehouse, and together we will regroup.” The minister studies Savva for a moment, "There is no shame in choosing self-preservation. If you choose to fight another day, you will find me by your side." The minister uses his right hand to reach under his desk and pull out a handgun. It is a sleek and compact model, designed for concealment and ease of use in close-quarters situations. Its matte black finish minimizes reflection, and the barrel is short, allowing for quick draw. “Your other choice is to end this here and now. If you want it, you’ll have another chance to enter his office, and get close to him.” The minister pushes the gun forward on his desk, and then places his car key beside it.

Savva is frozen in place, his mind whirling with the weight of the decision before him. He does not even know if this is a sincere gesture, and a test in of itself. No matter the case it meant that at the very least Putin did suspect an insider, and if this was a test at all – there was no choice but to make a choice.

"That’s a fine weapon, sir," Savva says as he reaches over and picks up the gun, ignoring the keys, his fingers brush lightly against the cold metal. With a careful and practiced motion, he cradles the gun it in the palm of his hand. His eyes narrow as he inspects the firearm, turning it over to examine every angle and detail. "Ah," he murmurs softly to himself, "a Makarov PM." Savva runs his thumb along the slide, feeling the serrated texture beneath his touch. The weight of the gun is familiar in his hand, its compact size offering confidence. As he studies the markings etched into the metal, he notes the model number with a nod of approval. "Makarov PM," he repeats, his tone reflective. "Reliable."

“And so, you’ve made your choice,” the minister tells him, “my Valkyrie.”

Savva tucks the weapon inside his coat jacket, hiding it from public view, and then watches as the minister retrieves his keys. “Are you leaving, sir?”

The minister nods, “Yes, immediately,” he locks eyes again with Savva – conveying a strong emotion of seriousness in his tone, “You do what must be done, and then you run- you understand me?” the minister lectures him as though there is another option that Savva yearns for more. “You do realize what you’re doing for your country, my son?” The minister asks him sincerely.

“Everyday,” Savva replies with honest affirmation.

“Good luck,” the minister says as he hurries to the door of his own office, “And godspeed.” The minister exits the room before Savva can and leaves him alone to the quiet of his thoughts – if only for a moment.

--

Savva's footsteps clang down the corridors within the Kremlin, each stride seemingly heavier than the last. The grandeur of the surroundings only serves to magnify the weight of his mission, pressing against him like wet clothes. Every gaze that meets his feels like a judgment, every passing whisper a condemnation. As he walks the hallways, Savva's mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Doubt gnaws at him, and the gravity of his choice weighs heavily on his conscience. Approaching Putin's office feels like an eternity, each step a painstaking journey through his own turmoil.

With trembling hands, Savva reaches for the concealed weapon tucked within the folds of his coat. His fingers trace the contours of the gun, its cool metal a reminder of his task. Through the closed door, Putin's voice drifts out, and Savva listens intently. Each word spoken by Putin feels like a dagger to the heart, "I need to ensure that our message is heard loud and clear. The time has come to demonstrate it."

"Understood, Mr. President. We have the targets locked in and are ready to proceed."

Savva opens the door to Putin’s office to step inside, and as he does – Putin turns and acknowledges Savva with a smile, all while still talking on the phone, "I want maximum impact, General. Hit them where it hurts the most."

"We've identified a densely populated civilian area, sir. The casualties will be significant."

Putin nods as he crosses the room, "That's precisely what I want. We need to show them that there are consequences for defying us for this long."

"Yes, sir. The bombers are ready to deploy on your command."

A cruel smile forms across Putin’s face, "Give the order to proceed."

"Right away, Mr. President. The message will be delivered loud and clear."

Putin ends the call and then looks at Savva with a sense of pride, of happiness, "You hear that, Valiant? Our enemies will pay for their defiance." Putin's voice is a siren song, attempting to lure Savva deeper into his abyss but when the young Staff Officer does not respond, Putin senses a change in him immediately, “Is something… wrong?”

“No sir,” Savva is quick to answer but he has unknowingly placed his hand over the weapon hidden under his coat, and from where Putin is standing – it is very evident.

“What are you hiding?” Putin asks him.

Savva stands frozen in the doorway of Putin's office, his heart pounding so loudly he's sure the entire Kremlin can hear it. His eyes lock with Putin's, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. Putin's gaze is piercing, a mix of curiosity and suspicion as he watches Savva's every move. Savva's hand trembles slightly as he instinctively presses against the concealed spot in his jacket, he knows this is the moment of truth.

Putin's voice breaks the tense silence, cutting through the air like a knife. "Answer me," he remains calm, but there's an underlying edge that sends a shiver down Savva's spine.

Savva hesitates for a fraction of a second before mustering the courage to respond. "I... this is the end, Mr. President." With a trembling hand, Savva reaches into his jacket and retrieves the gun, holding it out for Putin to see. The air in the room grows thick with tension as Putin's eyes narrow, his expression unreadable.

"What is this?" Putin's voice is low.

Savva swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry. "It's... my weapon, sir," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before Savva can finish his sentence, Putin interrupts him with a sharp gesture. "Put that away, now." His command is firm, leaving no room for argument.

Savva hesitates, his fingers tightening around the gun for a fleeting moment before he raises the weapon and points it at the face of Vladimir Putin.

Putin laughs at him in disbelief, “Fool,” he says as he steps toward Savva without an ounce of fear, “You?” Putin says to him in a mocking tone, “You… think you can kill, me?”

Savva pulls the trigger, and the hammer clicks down. Nothing. No bullet. Savva desperately pops the cartridge and finds it empty… how could he have forgotten to check? How could he have been so stupid as to believe the minister? Before he can comprehend what has happened, the door swings open, and Savva is quickly tackled to the ground.

Disappointment flickers in the Russian president's eyes, but there is no surprise. Savva is seized by Putin's men, his fate sealed by his own misguided ambition.

Chapter 14 – Nature & Nurture

Savva lies on the cold, unforgiving floor of the well-lit room, his body aching with every breath. The walls are bare, painted a dull gray that seems to suck the warmth from the air. The room is devoid of furniture, save for a small, rusted metal chair in one corner. Savva can see dried bloodstains on the seat, evidence of the violence that has occurred here before his arrival. As Savva lies there, he thinks of his family. He can picture their faces, their smiles, their laughter. But now, all he can see is the looming specter of death, waiting to claim them as its next victims. Tears well up in his eyes as he thinks of the pain and suffering, they will endure because of his failed attempt to take down Putin's regime.

Why is he still alive? What more does Putin have planned for him? He feels completely helpless to protect himself or his loved ones from the merciless grip of the Kremlin. In the darkness of the room, Savva cries out for answers that will never come. All he can do is lie there, broken and defeated, awaiting whatever fate Putin has in store for him. As Savva lies in the cell, a faint sound breaks through the silence. At first, it is barely audible, a soft rustling like the whisper of wind through barren branches. But gradually, the sound grows louder, filling the room with its eerie resonance. It is the sound of a raven's call.

Savva's heart skips a beat as he listens to the haunting melody, his senses sharpening as he searches for the source of the sound. And then, in the top corner of the room, he sees it- a solitary raven perched with its piercing gaze fixed upon him. As Savva watches, transfixed, the raven swoops down from its perch, its wings beating against the stale air of the cell. But as it draws closer, its form begins to shift and warp, transforming before Savva's eyes into the figure of a one-eyed man, clad in armor and wielding a spear. It is Odin, the ancient Norse god.

“I’m dreaming,” Savva tries to say as his breath catches in his throat. Odin approaches him, his presence both awe-inspiring and terrifying. But as the god kneels beside him, Savva feels a strange sense of calm, as if all his fears and doubts have been washed away in the presence of this divine being.

"I am not here to hurt you," Odin tells him.

And then, as Odin reaches out to touch him, Savva feels a surge of energy coursing through his veins, and in that moment, he sees it all- the entire history of his bloodline, stretching back through the ages to the legendary figure of Rurik himself. He watches Rurik, the Varangian warrior, leading his people across the vast expanse of the Eastern European steppes, forging the mighty Rus' empire with fire and steel. Next, he glimpses the proud princes of Kiev, sitting upon their golden thrones and ruling over a land of plenty and prosperity, their reign marked by grandeur and ambition. But then, darkness descends upon the land as the Mongol hordes sweep across the plains, leaving destruction and despair in their wake. Savva witnesses the struggles of his ancestors as they fight to defend their homeland against the relentless onslaught of the invaders. Through the centuries, he sees the rise and fall of dynasties, the triumphs and tragedies of kings and queens, warriors and poets, saints, and sinners. He witnesses the birth of a nation, the trials of war, the glories of victory, and the agony of defeat. And through it all, he sees the spirit of his people.

With tears in his eyes, Savva looks up at Odin, his heart filled with gratitude, "I believe in you," he tells the god of the sky.

Just as Savva is immersed in the profound revelation of his bloodline's history, the moment is shattered by the sudden intrusion of heavy footsteps coming from the corridor. Before Savva can react, the door to his cell bursts open, and in a chaotic flurry of motion, three guards swarm into the cell. They move with ruthless efficiency, and Savva is quickly seized and dragged from the floor, his limbs pinned painfully against the cold metal chair. The guards taunt Savva with sneers, brandishing their weapons as they circle around him like predators closing in on their prey. One guard moves in close to Savva’s face and withdraws a knife from its sheath. The knife is a work of art, its blade honed to a razor-sharp edge that shines in the harsh light of the cell. As the guard brandishes the knife before Savva, he can feel the promise of pain and suffering lurking just beneath its silver surface. With a menacing grin, the guard leans in even closer to Savva, the tip of the knife hovering dangerously close to his throat. "You're ours to do with as we please."

And as the guard raises the knife high above his head, ready to strike, Savva can see the raven hovering behind the guard. “The raven,” Savva says aloud as he looks to the bird, and the strength of his reaction is enough to make the guard follows his gaze.

The guard turns to see the raven, only it is bird unlike he has seen before, his eyes widen in terror as he catches sight of a monstrous and terrifying raven looming behind him. The bird's feathers are jet black, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly intensity, and its beak sharp like a dagger. With a bloodcurdling screech, the raven spreads its wings wide. In a panic, the guard screams, and recoils, swinging the knife wildly to fend off the monstrous bird. But in his frenzy, he inadvertently slices through the throat the second guard, who had been rushing in to join the fray.

The guard stops as he realizes what he has done, and looks down, horrified. With no raven in sight, he tries to explain himself, “A monster!” He yells out, but it's too late, “I saw a monster-”

BAM

The guard is shot dead by his colleague in an effort to save his own life, and to stop the him from blindly swinging the knife in the air. As the dead guard clutching the knife falls back, he accidentally slices through part of Savva's restraints, cutting him badly in the process. In the chaos that follows, Savva seizes the opportunity to free himself, tearing through the remaining restraints with desperate strength. With blood dripping from his wounds, Savva fights off the two remaining guards, disarming the one holding the gun, and then turning his own weapon against him. Another gunshot rings out in the confined space of the cell-

BAM

Savva kills the guard with a single shot before he turns the weapon on the remaining office, “Please!” The guard screams as he holds his hands up in defense, “I have a-”

BAM

Savva dispatches his would-be captors with deadly accuracy, but the sound of gunfire draws the attention of reinforcements, and Savva knows he must escape before it's too late. With the raven as his guide, he follows the bird out of his cell, his head spinning with dizziness from loss of blood. Every step is a struggle, every breath a labored gasp, but he pushes onward, driven by a primal instinct for survival. The raven remains a steadfast presence, guiding him with its ominous caws and piercing gaze. Each step forward feels like a Herculean effort, the world swirling around him in a dizzying haze of pain. Blood trickles down Savva's side, staining his clothes and leaving a crimson trail in his wake. The wound throbs with every heartbeat, and as he navigates the treacherous corridors, Savva encounters obstacles at every turn—locked doors, security checkpoints, and patrolling guards—but with the raven's guidance, he evades detection, slipping through the shadows like a ghost.

Finally, Savva reaches a towering wall that looms before him like an insurmountable barrier. With a surge of adrenaline, he scales the wall with his hands clawing at the rough stone as he pulls himself to freedom. At last, Savva emerges into the cool night air, his body trembling with exhaustion and relief. He takes a moment to catch his breath, his gaze sweeping over the sprawling cityscape of Moscow spread out before him. But there is no time to linger. With the sound of approaching men in the distance, Savva knows he must disappear into the night. As he rounds a corner, Savva's eyes fall upon an unexpected sight—a forgotten maintenance tunnel hidden behind a false panel in the wall. Without hesitation, he rushes toward it, his fingers fumbling with the latch until it gives way with a satisfying click.

Inside the tunnel, Savva finds himself covered in darkness, the air thick with the musty scent of damp earth and decay. As he emerges from the tunnel onto the outer perimeter of the Kremlin, Savva's eyes scan the area for any sign of escape. And then, he sees it—a motorcycle parked nearby, its engine idling softly in the night air. It is as though the vehicle has been left for him, and his hands tremble as he mounts the bike and revs the engine to life.

As Savva speeds away from the Kremlin, he finally has a moment to assess his injuries. With a grimace, he looks down at the wound in his side, blood staining his clothes and dripping onto the pavement below. With steady hands, Savva tears a strip of fabric from his shirt and wraps it tightly around the wound, his jaw clenched against the searing pain. It's not a perfect solution, but it will have to do for now.

As the city lights blur past him, Savva focuses on one thing and one thing only—survival. For he knows that as long as he draws breath, there is still hope. And with the raven as his guide, he will find a way to endure.

--

As Savva approaches his home in Suzdal, his heart races with the hope that his family might still be alive. The familiar sight of the quaint village, with its colorful wooden houses and cobblestone streets, fills him with a sense of nostalgia – but he quashes those thoughts as quick as they come. He is not going to be here for long. His home, a modest cottage at the edge of the village, stands silent and still against the backdrop of the evening moonlight. The whitewashed walls are weathered with age, the roof tiles worn and moss-covered. A small garden of wildflowers blooms in the front yard, their vibrant colors contrasting sharply with the somber atmosphere in the air.

Hiding the motorbike a mile back, Savva draws closer on foot, still nursing his injury. He scans the area for any sign of intrusion, his senses on high alert for any hint of danger. But at first, all seems calm and peaceful, the only sound the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Savva catches sight of movement—a man in a black suit approaching a parked car not far from his home. His pulse quickens as he watches the man open the car door to reveal another figure already waiting inside. The car itself is a sleek black sedan, and it bears no markings or insignias. The men themselves are imposing figures, their expressions unreadable behind their mirrored sunglasses.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Savva realizes what he has just witnessed—the presence of government agents in his quiet village can mean only one thing: his family has already been targeted. Unable to resist knowing the answer, Savva approaches his home with caution. Savva is all too familiar with the home’s layout so he moves to the side of the house, where he can gain entry through a window to the basement. When he reaches the window, it is locked as he expected, but he is able to pop the lock due to a fault in the hinge.

The basement is dark, but there are no signs of forced entry, no traces of a struggle—just a sense of emptiness that pervades the space. With a heavy heart, Savva climbs the basement stairs and opens the door to the main hallway. He carefully and quietly searches every corner of the house, seeking some clue to the fate of his family. But try as he might, he finds nothing— no note, no message, no trace of their whereabouts.

He stands in the silence of his empty home, his heart heavy with grief, “What do I do?” he whispers aloud to himself, “What do I do now?”

Chapter 15 – The Raven

Deep within the dense forests on the outskirts of Moscow, among the towering pines, Savva has found refuge. As he stands beneath a canopy of trees, Savva is consumed by thoughts of returning to the Kremlin to confront the darkness that lurks within its walls. With the raven as his constant companion, Savva builds a makeshift altar from fallen branches and moss-covered stones. As the sun begins to rise, Savva kneels before the altar and closes his eyes. With a deep breath, he calls on the power of Odin, the Allfather, the one-eyed god of wisdom and war, to grant him strength and guidance in the mission that lies ahead.

In the light of a new day, Savva performs the sacred ritual of his ancestors, offering prayers and sacrifices to the gods of old. While he has never heard these words before– he is able to recall each incantation, each gesture, with ease. Savva raises his arms to the heavens-

“O mighty Odin, Allfather, hear my call,
Beneath the ancient trees, I stand tall.
Grant me wisdom, grant me might,
Guide my steps through the darkest night."

With each word, Savva traces symbols in the air with his fingertips, weaving magic that connects him to the unseen forces of the cosmos. His movements are fluid, graceful, as he channels the energy of the earth and sky into his being.

"By the ravens that soar on wings of black,
By the runes of old, carved into the sacred stack,
I invoke thee, Odin, ruler of the Aesir,
Grant me strength, grant me fire."

As the incantation reaches its crescendo, Savva's voice rises to a fervent pitch, now born from faith and conviction. He can feel the presence of Odin drawing near, his spirit merging with the ancient energies that swirl around him.

"From the depths of the nine realms, I summon thee,
To aid me in my quest, to set my spirit free.
By the blood of my ancestors, by the oath I swear,
I call upon thee, Odin, hear my prayer!"

With a final flourish of his hands, Savva falls to his knees before the altar, his heart pounding. In that moment, a primal force takes a hold of him. Odin has heard his call, and the Allfather stands with him in his hour of need. He is ready. He has been chosen by the gods to undertake this venture and reclaim his destiny. Savva rises to his feet, with the raven as his guide and Odin as his protector, he sets out once more toward the Kremlin.

--

Savva rides back in Moscow, atop the motorcycle that has been seemingly bestowed to him. The city sprawls before him, a metropolis with tall skyscrapers that soar into the sky, while ancient cathedrals and domed rooftops dot the skyline. Savva's motorcycle weaves through the busy streets, the sound of the engine mingling with honking horns and distant voices. Neon signs flicker and flash in a riot of color, and as he approaches the Kremlin, the imposing walls loom large against the horizon. Guards patrol the perimeter, their uniforms crisp and immaculate, their eyes watchful and alert.

With the raven as his constant companion, Savva pays them no mind as he speeds past, his eyes fixed on his destination. The wind whips through his hair as he draws nearer to the heart of corruption that has plagued his homeland for far too long. The Kremlin itself is a fortress of stone and steel. Flags flutter in the breeze, their colors vivid against the deep blue of the morning sky, while guards sweep the grounds in an ever-vigilant watch. Savva approaches the massive gates, and guns the engine, blazing forward.

Guards stand watch at every entrance, their weapons at the ready, but they are powerless to stop him as he bursts through the gate, the metal bars bending and twisting under the force of his reckless charge. Guards standing at bay are sent sprawling, their shouts of alarm drowned out by the roar of the engine. Savva dismounts from his bike in a fluid motion, his muscles coiled like a spring, ready for action. He surveys the scene before him, his senses sharp and alert. Several guards, recovering from the shock of his sudden entrance, rush toward Savva with weapons drawn. But he meets them head-on, his fists flying as he dodges blows and delivers punishing counterattacks. The fight is fierce, and Savva is a force to be reckoned with as he dispatches his opponents one by one.

As one guard lunges at him, Savva sidesteps the attack and delivers a blow to his opponent's jaw, sending him to the ground unconscious. Another guard, wielding a baton, advances on him, but Savva anticipates his move and disarms him with a kick to the wrist. A third guard emerges, his pistol aimed at Savva but before he can pull the trigger, Savva closes the distance with lightning speed and delivers a devastating uppercut that sends the guard sprawling to the ground. As the gun clatters to the pavement, Savva picks it up and disarms it, removing the magazine and ejecting the round from the chamber with practiced ease. He drops the weapon to the ground and continues walking toward the main entrance of the Kremlin.

With a resounding kick, Savva sends the front doors of the Kremlin crashing open, the ancient wood splintering under the force of his blow. As he steps through the threshold, the grandeur of the interior unfolds before him, opulent corridors, and ornate chambers. The air is heavy with the scent old books, and ahead, a maze of security checkpoints and surveillance cameras looms like a formidable barrier. Savva is immediately set upon by a group of armed guards, their weapons raised and without hesitation, Savva braces himself for the onslaught.

The first guard lunges forward with a swift jab, but Savva effortlessly sidesteps the blow, countering with a powerful hook that sends his attacker reeling. As another guard moves in from the side, Savva pivots on his heel, delivering a roundhouse kick that knocks the assailant straight to the ground. More guards converge on Savva from all sides, but he fends off each attack with supernatural skill. With lightning-fast reflexes, Savva ducks and weaves through the flurry of punches and kicks, his fists and feet moving in a blur of motion as he strikes back with bone-crushing force. His blows land with unerring accuracy, sending his opponents crashing to the ground one by one. As the last guard falls at his feet, Savva stands victorious overtop his adversaries, his chest heaving with exertion.

Savva looks up and down the hallway of the Kremlin, and there it is – the raven. It is showing him the way. As Savva follows the raven deeper into the Kremlin, he is attacked by wave after wave of guards ordered to protect their leader. But with the raven as his guide and his senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Savva meets each attack with unmatched skill. The raven leads him through winding passageways and hidden alcoves, its haunting cry echoing off the stone walls as they journey deeper into the heart of the fortress. Along the way, Savva encounters guards at every turn, but Savva is more than a match for them. With the strength of his ancestors, he disarms his attackers with effortless grace, his movements precise as he turns their weapons against them.

A lone guard witnesses the spectacle unfolding before him— and unlike the others he sees it… a raven. In awe and disbelief, he lays down his arms, and Savva pays him no mind as he walks past the lone guard and toward his end goal.

Finally, Savva reaches his destination—the grand hall of the Kremlin, its towering columns and tapestries display the excess of those who rule from within its walls. With a deep breath, he pushes open the doors and steps inside. As he enters the throne room, a hush falls over the assembled courtiers and dignitaries, their eyes widening in astonishment as they behold the figure standing before them, bathed in the glow of the raven's wings. In that moment, he is a force of nature, a harbinger of justice and redemption, and none dare to stand in his way as he walks forward to confront the tyrant who sits upon the throne.

Putin wears an expression of arrogance and contempt as he surveys Savva walking toward him, and while he can see the raven, he does not fear it. Instead, he stands from the throne, and points his finger at the chest of Savva, "You have mistaken me for the villain. But I am not the monster you perceive me to be. I am a patriot, a defender of the motherland, a savior of the Russian people." Putin clasps his hands behind his back, "The world is a dangerous place, filled with enemies waiting to strike at the heart of our great nation. It is my duty, my obligation, to protect Russia from those who seek to destroy her." Putin gestures grandly to the surroundings of the grand hall, as if to emphasize his point, "Every decision I have made, every action I have taken, has been in service of that cause. There have been sacrifices along the way, but they were necessary, made for the greater good of our country." Putin's eyes narrow as he fixes his gaze upon Savva, his voice lowering to a grow, "And what of you, boy? You dare to challenge me, to defy the will of the people? You are nothing but a pawn in a game you cannot hope to win. You seek to tear down everything I have built, to plunge Russia into anarchy." Putin takes a step forward, his expression twisted into a sneer of contempt, "Mark my words, child, you will not succeed. I am the rightful ruler of this land, and I will not let you or anyone else stand in the way of my vision of the future."

As Putin's words hang heavy in the air, the grand hall falls silent, the assembled courtiers and dignitaries watching with bated breath as Savva prepares to respond.

"You have brought nothing but suffering to our land, and betrayed the trust of those who placed their faith in you," Savva's voice reverberates through the grand hall, "But know this, I do not stand alone. I am guided by the wisdom of the ages, and by the gods themselves." He pauses, his eyes sweeping over the silent crowd, "You are a pretender, a usurper who has stolen the throne. I offer you one chance to step down, to relinquish your hold on Russia, and to allow us a new path forward— one guided by the wisdom and strength of the gods." With a flourish, Savva extends his hand toward Putin, "What say you!?"

As Savva's words hang in the air, a tense silence settles over the grand hall, the anticipation thick enough to cut with a knife. All eyes are fixed on Putin, waiting for his response, expecting either defiance or violence. For a moment, Putin remains silent, his expression unreadable as he stares at Savva with a mixture of disdain and calculation. But then, to the astonishment of all who behold him, Putin cracks, and with a sigh… he speaks, "You win, boy," he says, his resigned. "I will step down."

As the words leave his lips, a collective gasp echoes through the grand hall, mingled with murmurs of disbelief and confusion. But before anyone can react, Putin steps away from his throne and approaches Savva with an outstretched hand, his expression betraying no hint of his true intentions. But just as he draws near, his hand moves to his pocket and produces a gun, aiming it at Savva with deadly intent. Before anyone can react, a flurry of feathers fills the air as the raven swoops down from the rafters, its talons sharp and deadly. In an instant, pandemonium erupts as the raven viciously attacks Putin, its powerful beak tearing at his flesh and its talons gouging out his eyes. Putin screams in agony, staggering backward as he tries to fend off the relentless assault.

The crowd watches in horror, unable to look away as the once-mighty leader is reduced to a whimpering wreck, his screams bouncing off the walls of the grand hall. And then, as suddenly as it began, the raven releases its grip and Putin flees from the hall, his face a mask of blood and terror. As the stunned silence stretches on, broken only by the distant sounds of Putin's panicked retreat, the crowd turns to Savva, their eyes wide with awe. After what feels like an eternity, a dignitary steps forward, "Excuse me… but… what will we do now?" she asks timidly.

Savva meets her gaze with a serene smile, his eyes alight with hope, "We will bring peace," he tells her softly, "Together."

Fini