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Chapter Text

Fedyor had returned from his mission in Arkesk, exhausted and eager to reunite with his husband, Ivan. Yet, something felt amiss the moment he stepped into the Little Palace. The usually bustling place was eerily quiet, and the faces of the Grisha and soldiers who passed him were filled with sorrow and pity.

Fedyor felt a gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach as he made his way through the palace towards their shared quarters. Every step felt heavier than the last, and his heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had happened.

As he entered their room, his eyes darted around, searching for any sign of Ivan. The room was empty, and Fedyor's anxiety grew with each passing moment. He knew he needed answers, and he needed them now.

It was then that General Kirigan arrived, his dark coat billowing as he swept into the room. His presence was imposing, and the weight of responsibility hung heavy on his shoulders.

"Fedyor," Kirigan said, his voice solemn. "We need to talk."

Fedyor's heart sank as he met Kirigan's gaze. "Where's Ivan? What happened?"

Kirigan hesitated, his dark eyes betraying a flicker of sorrow. "There was a mission, an attempt to destroy the Fold with the help of the Sun Summoner."

Fedyor's breath caught in his throat, and a cold dread settled over him. "Ivan was part of that mission?"

Kirigan nodded, his expression grave. "Yes. It was a dangerous endeavor, and something went wrong. During the mission to destroy the Fold, our skiff was ambushed by a group of criminals from Ketterdam. During the ambush, Ivan fought valiantly. He was engaged with a sharpshooter, who managed to land a shot. The impact knocked Ivan off the skiff."

"But our keftas are bulletproof," Fedyor protested, his voice tinged with desperation. "How could a single shot have knocked him off?"

Kirigan's gaze held a mixture of sadness and regret. "The impact of the shot was powerful enough to disrupt Ivan's balance. In the chaos of the moment, there was little anyone could do to prevent his fall."

Fedyor's fists clenched at his sides, his anger and sorrow warring within him. "And where were you during all of this, Aleksander? Why weren't you there to protect him?"

Kirigan's jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, his facade of composure wavered. "I was occupied with the unfolding events, coordinating our efforts against the Fold. By the time I reached Ivan, it was too late."

Fedyor's grief turned to rage as he stared at the General, his voice laced with bitterness. "So, you watched as my husband was taken by that abomination, and you did nothing?"

Kirigan's voice grew colder. "You're not paying attention to me, Fedyor."

Fedyor's anger boiled over. He had lost the love of his life, and here was Kirigan, the leader of the Second Army, telling him to pay attention. The pent-up emotions, the pain, and the fury surged within him, and he snapped.

"Believe me, Aleksander," Fedyor hissed, his voice dripping with venom, "the last thing YOU want is my full attention. Ivan is out there," Fedyor continued, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. "And I swear, if anything happens to him because of your actions, there will be no place for you to hide."

The room seemed to crackle with tension as the two Grisha faced off. Fedyor's outburst was a rare show of defiance against the all-powerful General Kirigan, and it carried a weight that could not be ignored.

Kirigan's eyes bore into Fedyor's, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might respond with anger or retribution. But then, with a subtle nod, he turned and left the room, his departure leaving Fedyor with a sense of both triumph and foreboding.

As the door closed behind Kirigan, Fedyor was left alone with his anger, his grief, and the unsettling feeling that he had just taken a dangerous step, one that would have consequences he couldn't yet foresee.

Fedyor's grief threatened to overwhelm him, and he could hardly believe the cruel twist of fate that had torn his beloved Ivan away from him. He had so many questions, so much anger and sorrow to contend with.

But one thing was clear: he would stop at to hold the criminals from Ketterdam who had ambushed their mission accountable for the loss of his beloved Ivan. Ivan's memory deserved nothing less than justice.  

Chapter Text

Ivan awoke to a world of pain and darkness. His last memory was of falling from the skiff into the abyss of the Fold, and now he found himself in a nightmarish place. The air was dank and suffocating, and his limbs ached with an intensity that left him breathless. He attempted to move but quickly realized that his hands and feet were bound in heavy, unforgiving chains.

Disoriented and groggy, Ivan's senses slowly returned to him. He could hear the faint echoes of muffled cries and tortured pleas nearby. As his vision adjusted to the dim surroundings, he saw that he was not alone. Other Grishas, men and women who had also managed to escape the horrors of the Fold, were shackled beside him.

The realization of their captivity sent a wave of dread through him. Ivan knew that they were not in friendly hands. These were soldiers of the First Army, non-Grishas who had no love for people like him, especially in the service of the Darkling.

As his eyes adjusted further, Ivan could see the grim expressions on the faces of the other captives. Fear and pain were etched into their features, and their bodies bore the signs of physical abuse. They had been tortured, and the torment had left its marks.

Ivan clenched his jaw, refusing to show weakness. He knew that his position as the General's second would only make him a target. The First Army soldiers who recognized him were likely to be even more ruthless in their treatment of him.

The hours passed in agony, as the soldiers returned to taunt and abuse the captives. Questions were fired at them, demands for information, for the secrets of Grisha power. Ivan's resolve was unbroken, but the pain he witnessed, the suffering of his fellow Grishas, filled him with a sense of helplessness.

But as the torture continued, Ivan also sensed a spark of determination in the eyes of the other Grishas. They might be battered and broken, but they were not defeated. Their unity, their shared struggle, fueled a glimmer of hope that they could withstand this ordeal and, perhaps, even escape.

In the darkness of their captivity, Ivan clung to that flicker of hope. The General's second had faced the darkest of terrors in the Fold, and now, bound in chains and surrounded by pain, he was determined to find a way to survive this new nightmare and to reunite with his beloved Fedyor once more.

The torture was relentless, the soldiers determined to break the Grisha captives. They demanded information about their General, their Sun Summoner, and any valuable secrets that the Second Army might possess. Ivan bore the physical and emotional pain stoically, refusing to betray his comrades or reveal the secrets of the Grisha.

But as the hours turned into days, Ivan's body weakened. His once-strong limbs were now bruised and battered, and his will was slowly eroded by the unceasing torment. The other Grisha suffered alongside him, and their silent solidarity was their only solace.

One particularly cruel soldier took pleasure in inflicting pain on Ivan. He focused on his Amplifier, a unique piece of Grisha power-enhancing bear claw embedded in the back of Ivan's hand. It was a symbol of his loyalty to the General and the Second Army, but it had become a target for the tormentors.

The soldier leaned in close, his voice laced with sadistic glee. "Let's see how much pain it takes to make you scream, Grisha."

He grabbed Ivan's hand and twisted the Amplifier. Agony surged through Ivan, and he bit down on his lip to stifle his cries. He refused to give them the satisfaction of his pain.

But the soldiers were relentless. They twisted and pulled, tearing at the Amplifier. Blood oozed from the wound, and Ivan's vision blurred with the pain. He couldn't hold back the scream any longer, and it echoed in the dank chamber.

The soldiers laughed, their cruel triumph evident. With one final, vicious pull, they ripped the Amplifier from Ivan's hand, leaving the Grisha writhing in agony, his hand a bloody mess.

The Amplifier, once a source of strength, was now a void, a painful absence that left him feeling incomplete. Ivan lay gasping for breath, his body trembling with agony and weakness. He believed that he might not survive this ordeal, that his life would end in this wretched place.

As the soldiers retreated, leaving him in his chains, Ivan's thoughts turned to Fedyor. He clung to the image of his husband, his love, and the memories of their time together. It was the thought of Fedyor that gave him the strength to endure, to endure the pain and humiliation, and to hold onto the hope that he would one day be free.

But the price of their cruelty was etched into his very being, a constant reminder of the torment he had endured. The Amplifier was gone, and Ivan was left with a fraction of his former power, a broken man, held captive in the darkness.

Ivan's vision dimmed, and he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. He had endured unbearable pain and had lost everything that defined him as a Grisha. As darkness claimed him, he clung to one last thought: the hope that somehow, someday, he might find a way back to the light, to Fedyor, and to the life he had lost.

Chapter Text

Fedyor's days had been consumed by a relentless sense of fear and uncertainty since Ivan's disappearance. He had scoured maps, interrogated anyone who might have information, and lost sleep over the possibility that his husband might never return. His nights were tormented by nightmares, and his days were marked by the haunting void that Ivan's absence left behind.

One afternoon, as Fedyor returned to his quarters after a fruitless day of searching for any lead on Ivan's whereabouts, a package lay on his desk. It bore the General's name, but he recognized Ivan's handwriting on the attached note.

His hands trembled as he opened the package. Inside, he found Ivan's Amplifier, the intricate device that had been fused to the back of his hand, a symbol of his power and their connection. But it had been removed, torn away with brutal force, and the sight of it sent a wave of nausea through Fedyor.

Beneath the Amplifier, a note lay in Ivan's familiar handwriting: "We have your second in command. Retreat or he's dead."

The words sent shockwaves through Fedyor's entire being. He could imagine what Ivan had endured to send this message, the torment, the threat to his life. The realization that Ivan's life hung in the balance filled him with a sickening fear.

Determination overtook him, and he rushed to the General's quarters. He found Kirigan, who had once been his mentor and leader, engaged in conversation with another Grisha— Fruzsi.

"General Kirigan," Fedyor implored, his voice filled with urgency. "Ivan is alive but held captive by First Army, and I've received this." He held out the Amplifier and the note, his hands shaking.

Kirigan glanced at the items but showed no emotion. "Ivan is no longer my second," he said, his voice cold. "Fruzsi has taken his place. I have more pressing matters to attend to."

Fury boiled within Fedyor, and he could hardly believe Kirigan's indifference to Ivan's plight.

"But Ivan's life is at risk," Fedyor pleaded, his voice shaking with anger and despair. "He's been tortured, and they've threatened to kill him."

Kirigan remained unmoved. "Fruzsi is proving to be an excellent choice for my new second. Perhaps you should consider accepting that."

The words were a dagger to Fedyor's heart. He was desperate to save Ivan, to bring him back from the clutches of those who sought to harm him, and yet the General was dismissive of his pleas.

In a final, defiant act, Fedyor turned away from Kirigan and left his presence. He clutched the Amplifier and the note, his determination unwavering. He knew that he would stop at nothing to rescue Ivan, even if it meant going against the General's wishes.

After leaving Kirigan's quarters, Fedyor's emotions were a tempest, a whirlwind of anger, fear, and bitter disappointment. He could hardly contain the torrent of feelings that surged within him.

Back in his own quarters, he felt as though he might explode. The room that had once been a sanctuary for him and Ivan had now become a prison for his despair. With a roar of anguish, he unleashed his pent-up rage, and his Grisha power surged forth.

The furniture splintered, shattering into pieces, and the walls cracked as Fedyor's anger manifested in a destructive display of power. It was as though the very walls of the Little Palace felt his pain and fury.

Books and belongings were thrown about the room as he raged against the injustice of it all. He screamed and raged, giving voice to the deep well of emotions that had threatened to consume him.

In the chaos he had wrought, Fedyor finally collapsed, his breath ragged, and his eyes filled with tears. The room was a wreck, mirroring the wreckage of his heart and the shattering of his faith in the General.

But amidst the destruction, he found a strange sense of relief. The outpouring of anger, the physical manifestation of his despair, had provided a brief respite from the overwhelming sense of helplessness.

Fedyor knew that he couldn't stay here, wallowing in his grief and anger. He had to take action, to defy the General's indifference, and to rescue Ivan.

He would save Ivan, no matter the cost, and no matter who stood in his way. Ivan was the love of his life, and he would not rest until he had him back, safe and sound, no matter the cost.

Chapter Text

In the grim cell where Ivan was held captive, each day brought fresh torment and despair. The torture had left him a mere shadow of his former self, his body weakened and his spirit battered. The passage of time had become a relentless burden, and the flicker of hope was growing ever dimmer.

One day, as Ivan lay on the cold, unforgiving floor, he heard a familiar heartbeat from the cell next to his own. It was a heartbeat he recognized, and for a moment, he couldn't believe his ears.

"Nisho?" Ivan rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nisho, a talented Squaller and a close friend to Ivan, had becomea fellow captive, their bond forged through shared pain and suffering. Now, it seemed Nisho was his new neighbor in this wretched place.

"Ivan?" Nisho's voice carried a mixture of relief and despair. "Is that you?"

Ivan nodded, though his friend couldn't see the gesture through the thick walls that separated them. "It's me. I never thought I'd hear your voice again."

They shared a brief, bittersweet reunion, a connection formed in the most unlikely of circumstances. Ivan could hear the weariness in Nisho's voice, a testament to the horrors they had endured.

Nisho spoke of the ongoing torment, the relentless questions and demands for Grisha secrets. He had witnessed the suffering of many, including Ivan, and it weighed heavily on his conscience. But as their conversation continued, Nisho brought up something that both heartened and pained Ivan.

"Fedyor," Nisho began, "he's been struggling with your absence. He's doing everything he can to find you."

Ivan's heart ached at the mention of his beloved's name. The thought of Fedyor enduring the uncertainty of his fate was almost unbearable.

Nisho continued, "And your Amplifier, they sent it to the General… Fedyor, he was devastated when he saw it."

Ivan's chest tightened with emotion. He had thought of Fedyor constantly, fearing that his husband might be suffering in his absence. Now, hearing of Fedyor's grief and determination to rescue him, he was both heartened and overwhelmed.

Nisho's voice carried empathy. "Fedyor is doing everything in his power to bring you back. He won't rest until you're safe."

In the darkness of their respective cells, Ivan and Nisho continued to whisper their shared fears and burdens, finding solace in each other's presence.

"Ivan," Nisho began, his voice filled with a sense of empathy, "Fedyor is a strong man. He's been searching tirelessly for you. He won't rest until he brings you back."

Ivan's chest tightened at the mention of Fedyor's unwavering determination. "I know," he replied, his voice laced with gratitude. "But the thought of him suffering because of my absence... it's almost too much to bear."

Nisho's response carried the weight of their shared experience. "We're all enduring our own kinds of suffering here. But knowing that someone is fighting for you on the outside, it can make all the difference."

Ivan's voice trembled with fear and regret as he confessed, "I am just afraid that I won't see Fedyor anymore. I have a lot to make up to him."

He remembered the last night he and Fedyor spent together. It was the night following the Winter Fete, a night when the Little Palace had been adorned in glittering lights, and the air was heavy with the promise of celebration. Ivan and Fedyor had stolen precious moments away from the revelry, their love an ember burning brightly in the midst of the wintry festivities.

The memory played before Ivan's mind like a cherished painting. Fedyor's eyes, like pools of warmth, had met Ivan's, and in that silent exchange, they had communicated their yearning and affection. Their lips had met in a passionate kiss, the world outside forgotten as they reveled in each other's embrace.

The night had been filled with whispered words, laughter, and shared dreams. The flickering candlelight had bathed them in a soft, golden glow, casting shadows that danced across their entwined bodies.

They had undressed each other slowly, their fingers trembling with desire and a deep longing that had only grown stronger with time.

Their love had been a quiet and powerful force, a connection that transcended the boundaries of their roles in the world. They had made love with a tenderness and urgency, as if trying to etch the memory of their passion into their very souls.

In the quiet moments that followed, Ivan and Fedyor had held each other, their bodies intertwined, and their hearts beating as one. They had whispered promises and declarations of love, knowing that the following day would pull them apart once more.

As Ivan remembered that night, tears filled his eyes, mingling with the silent tears of his suffering.

Nisho, who had shared his own fears and regrets in this place of suffering, responded with empathy, "Ivan, we can't lose hope. Fedyor loves you, and he's fighting for your return. The chance to make things right is waiting for you on the other side of this darkness."

In the dimly lit cell, Ivan's strength had waned to the point of exhaustion. The relentless torment, both physical and emotional, had pushed him to the brink. He lay on the cold stone floor, his body battered and bruised, silent tears tracing the contours of his gaunt face.

As his vision blurred and consciousness slipped away, he whispered the name of his beloved, his lifeline in this living nightmare. "Fedyor," he breathed, the word a fragile thread of hope in the suffocating darkness.

Ivan's eyelids grew heavy, and with a final, whispered plea, he succumbed to the cruel embrace of sleep. In that fleeting moment before oblivion, he clung to the memory of Fedyor, their love, and the promise of a brighter tomorrow, where they would be together once more. 

Chapter Text

The forest echoed with the haunting sounds of Fedyor's footsteps as he moved with a sense of urgency and desperation. The weight of his heartrender abilities, usually a source of strength, now felt like a heavy burden as he tried to tune in to the rhythm of Ivan's heartbeat amidst the myriad of sounds in the dense woods.

With each futile attempt, frustration and fear intertwined within him like a relentless storm. He called out Ivan's name into the silent expanse, but the only response was the rustling of leaves and the distant cries of wildlife.

Hours passed, and the realization that he had no concrete lead on Ivan's whereabouts gnawed at Fedyor's resolve. The forest seemed to close in on him, the trees whispering ominous secrets that mocked his helplessness.

As his mind spiraled into a vortex of despair, Fedyor's steps faltered. He sank to his knees, the damp earth beneath him offering little comfort. The reality of not knowing where Ivan was, whether he was safe or suffering, overwhelmed him. His heart, already heavy with the burden of love and worry, shattered into a million fractured pieces.

In a burst of anguish, Fedyor's grief erupted into a scream that tore through the stillness of the forest. The sound was raw, primal, carrying the weight of a soul in torment. His hands clenched in the soil, his voice a desperate plea to the universe for answers that seemed elusive.

"Ivan!" he cried, as if the sheer force of his will could summon his beloved from the shadows. Tears streamed down his face, a mix of sorrow and frustration. The vulnerability he so often concealed beneath a stoic exterior now laid bare in the wilderness.

Minutes or perhaps hours passed in this harrowing release, and when the echoes of his cries finally subsided, Fedyor was left with the hollow emptiness of uncertainty. He wiped away his tears, his resolve renewed, and rose to his feet.

With a heavy heart, Fedyor continued his search, guided only by the fervent hope that somewhere in the vast expanse of the unknown, he would find the one he loved more than life itself.

Determined but directionless, Fedyor pressed on through the wilderness. The forest seemed to stretch endlessly, its secrets hidden among the shadows. With each step, he strained to sense Ivan's heartbeat, but the elusive rhythm remained beyond his reach.

His mind raced with questions, doubts, and fears. Had Ivan been captured? Injured? Lost in the labyrinth of the woods? The unknown possibilities clawed at Fedyor's resolve, threatening to pull him into a bottomless abyss of despair.

The canopy of leaves above cast shifting patterns of light and darkness, mirroring the tumult within Fedyor's heart. He stumbled over roots and rocks, a man possessed by love and the relentless pursuit of the one he held dearest.

As he ventured deeper, a realization dawned upon him: he couldn't face this task alone. The weight of his grief was too much to bear in solitude. Fedyor needed allies, needed someone who understood the stakes and shared his urgency.

With a heavy sigh, he whispered to the wind, "Ivan, where are you?" The words carried both a plea and a promise. A promise that he would not rest until he found him.

As Fedyor continued his search, the forest whispered its ancient secrets, indifferent to the individual struggles within its embrace. Yet, in the midst of nature's stoicism, there lingered a glimmer of hope — the hope that love's determination could cut through even the thickest darkness.

Guided by that glimmer, Fedyor pressed forward, his resolve unwavering. The woods, though vast and unforgiving, could not dampen the fire that burned within him. He would find Ivan, no matter the cost, and bring him back from the abyss that threatened to swallow them both.

His mind, consumed by the urgency of finding Ivan, paid little heed to the natural hazards that lay in his path. In his haste, Fedyor stumbled over a stubborn root that snaked across the forest floor, hidden beneath the blanket of fallen leaves.

The impact was sudden and unforgiving. Fedyor's hands instinctively shot forward to break his fall, but his forehead collided with a protruding rock hidden amidst the underbrush. Pain erupted like a sudden storm in his head, and the world around him spun into a dizzying blur.

For a moment, the forest became a dreamscape of swirling colors and distorted shapes. Fedyor fought against the encroaching darkness, his vision flickering like a dying flame. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs felt like lead, unresponsive to the commands of his beleaguered mind.

The sounds of the forest, once distant whispers, now echoed with a haunting clarity. Birds sang their melancholic melodies, and leaves rustled in the breeze, a symphony that played on despite Fedyor's ordeal.

As consciousness slipped away like a fleeting dream, he felt an overwhelming sense of frustration and defeat. The forest, once an ally in his quest, now seemed to mock him in his vulnerability. And then, with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of the wind, Fedyor surrendered to the inky embrace of unconsciousness, the echoes of Ivan's name fading into the shadows.

Chapter Text

In the dimly lit cell, Ivan's body felt like a vessel drained of life. The relentless torture had reduced him to a mere specter of the man he once was. His breaths were shallow, and the flicker of his once-fiery spirit was on the verge of extinguishing.

As the darkness threatened to claim him, another insidious force gripped at the core of his being—amnesia. Memories slipped through his grasp like sand, and the essence of who he was, of the life he had led, started to dissolve.

In the midst of this cruel assault on his mind, Ivan fought with the last vestiges of his will. His voice, weak and strained, broke the oppressive silence, "His voice. Please don't let me forget his voice."

The plea lingered in the air, a desperate cry against the erasure of love and identity. But the amnesia, like a relentless tide, advanced, stealing away fragments of his past.

Suddenly, the metallic clang of the cell door echoed through the chamber. Other captive Grisha, their spirits unbroken despite the physical torment, seized the opportunity to rebel against their captors. Chaos erupted as the cell became a battleground between captives and captors.

Amidst the tumult, Ivan found a surge of strength he didn't know he possessed. With a desperate burst of energy, he broke free from his weakened state and stumbled out of the cell. The corridor stretched before him like a labyrinth, but an instinctual drive pushed him forward.

The other Grisha, sensing a leader in their midst, rallied behind Ivan. His status as a commander and the General's second compelled them to follow, despite his weakened state. His voice, though strained, carried authority as he barked orders, coordinating their escape with a military precision born from years of discipline.

The corridor was a blur of dimly lit passages and the hurried shuffle of weakened feet. Ivan stumbled, his legs refusing to bear the weight of his frail body. Other Grisha rushed to his aid, their hands steadying him as they navigated the maze of captivity.

"Commander," one of the Grisha spoke, concern etched on their face. "We need to keep moving. They'll be after us."

Ivan, his voice strained but resolute, managed a nod. "Lead on. We can't let them break us."

As they moved, Ivan's gaze fell upon a figure in the distance—the soldier who had taken his amplifier, the source of his power and identity. A cold fury ignited within him, and despite his weakened state, a determination to exact revenge fueled his every step.

The soldier, unaware of the impending storm, turned a corner and collided with Ivan. Recognition flashed in the soldier's eyes, a fleeting moment of fear before Ivan's hand shot forward, gripping the soldier's chest with a vice-like grip.

"You took everything from me," Ivan seethed, his Heartrender abilities flaring to life. The soldier gasped, a strangled sound escaping his lips as Ivan's power constricted around his heart.

"Ivan, no!" one of the Grisha pleaded, but the vengeance-fueled fire in Ivan's eyes remained unquenched.

The soldier crumpled to the ground, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Ivan, his chest heaving with exertion, released his grip. The other Grisha, though uneasy, recognized the necessity of this brutal act in a world where survival often hinged on the cruel choices one was forced to make.

In the midst of the chaos, Ivan's voice rose again, a rallying cry. " We're taking back what's ours. For every drop of blood they've taken from us, we'll make them pay. We're not just escaping," Ivan declared, his voice echoing through the narrow passages. "We're taking this place apart, brick by brick."

The Grisha, emboldened by their commander's spirit, fought with a fervor that transcended the physical. The air crackled with the unleashed power of Squallers, Inferni, and Heartrenders working in unison against a common enemy. "We're not just fighting for ourselves," Ivan shouted to his comrades. "We're fighting for every Grisha they've tortured and every life they've claimed."

As they burst into the frigid night air, the biting wind greeted them with a cruel embrace. The moon cast an ethereal glow on the snow-covered landscape, turning the world into a monochrome dreamscape.

Ivan, his breath forming mist in the frozen air, led the group into the woods. The trees, standing sentinel in the silence of the night, seemed to whisper secrets of freedom to the escapees.

In the midst of the chaotic retreat, Ivan's keen senses detected something—faint but familiar. A heartbeat, a rhythm that stirred memories and emotions thought to be lost. He halted, his eyes scanning the snow-covered ground.

There, a figure lay unconscious, draped in a cloak of white. The cold had already claimed the exposed skin, but the pulse beneath the layers of snow-covered fabric resonated with a familiar cadence.

A mixture of disbelief and hope surged through Ivan as he knelt beside the figure. With trembling hands, he brushed away the snow to reveal a face that had haunted his dreams during the long nights of torment.

"Fedyor," he whispered, the name a prayer on his lips. The snow beneath him crunched softly as he reached out, brushing aside the strands of ice-kissed hair that clung to Fedyor's face. His fingers found warmth against the cold skin, and the familiar rhythm of Fedyor's heartbeat resonated through his touch.

The icy grasp of winter had left Fedyor sprawled in the snow, unconscious and vulnerable. Ivan's heart tightened at the sight, and he moved swiftly to his lover's side. 

"Fedyor," Ivan whispered, the breath of his words crystallizing in the cold air. Cradling Fedyor in his arms, he murmured, "Hold on, my love. I am here now."

With Fedyor nestled in his arms, Ivan led the group of Grisha through the moonlit woods toward a distant glow on the horizon—a small village that promised shelter and, perhaps, a chance at saving Fedyor. Each step through the snow-covered terrain felt like a battle against time, and Ivan's heart clenched with every weakening beat he felt against his chest.

The village emerged from the darkness, its flickering lights welcoming them like distant stars. Ivan's steps quickened, determination etched across his face. The Grisha, battered but unbroken, followed their weakened but resolute commander.

As they entered the village, the locals, startled by the sudden arrival of these weary travelers, peered out from behind curtains. Ivan, with a voice that carried both exhaustion and urgency, called out for help. The village, though hesitant, opened its doors to those who sought refuge.

Fedyor, slipping away in Ivan's arms, became a silent plea for aid. The village healer, with weathered hands and a kind gaze, rushed forward. Ivan gently placed Fedyor on a makeshift cot, his eyes never leaving his lover's face.

"Please," Ivan implored the healer. "He needs help. Anything you can do."

Chapter Text

As the hours passed and the sun traced its slow arc across the sky, Ivan's vigil by Fedyor's side seemed to stretch into eternity. Each tick of the clock felt like a hammer blow to his heart, echoing the desperate rhythm of his prayers.

The flickering candlelight danced across the worn walls of the village hut, casting shifting shadows that mirrored the tumultuous emotions swirling within Ivan's soul. With each whispered plea to Sankta Anastasia, he felt the weight of his love for Fedyor press upon him like a physical burden.

"Sankta Anastasia," he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper in the dimness of the chamber. "If you can hear me, if you're listening, please. Spare him. Spare us both..."

The words hung in the air, a fragile entreaty to forces beyond his comprehension. Ivan's hands, clasped tightly in supplication, trembled with the intensity of his emotion. With each passing moment, the reality of Fedyor's precarious condition pressed upon him like a vice, threatening to crush his spirit.

Outside, the world carried on, oblivious to the quiet drama unfolding within the hut. But for Ivan, time seemed to stand still, suspended in the liminal space between hope and despair. Every shallow breath that escaped Fedyor's lips felt like a dagger to his heart, a silent reminder of the fragile thread that bound them together.

As the hours stretched into eternity, Ivan's prayers became a symphony of desperation, his voice rising and falling with the rhythm of his heartbeat. With each whispered plea, he poured his soul into the ether, willing Sankta Anastasia to intercede on their behalf.

Through the veil of tears and the haze of exhaustion, Ivan clung to hope with a tenacity born of love. In that small village hut, surrounded by the flickering light of candles and the quiet hum of healing, he refused to surrender to the darkness that threatened to consume them both. Instead, he fought with every fiber of his being, determined to see Fedyor's light shine once more.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the shadows lengthened, Ivan's prayers took on a new urgency. With each passing moment, the boundary between life and death seemed to blur, and he could feel Fedyor slipping further away from him. But still, he refused to yield to despair, clinging to the belief that love had the power to conquer even the darkest of nights.

Chapter Text

The days had stretched into an unending blur of despair and anxiety as Ivan remained steadfast by Fedyor's side. The little hut in the village had become a cocoon of grief and hope, the walls enclosing the agonizing wait for a sign of life from the man he loved. Each passing hour was a cruel thief, stealing away Ivan's hope bit by bit, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave Fedyor's side.

Luda, the village healer, had done everything within her power. Her eyes, once filled with a spark of determination, now mirrored the resignation Ivan felt deep in his bones. She had whispered words of encouragement, offered herbal remedies, and even invoked old village prayers, but Fedyor remained unresponsive, his chest barely rising and falling with each shallow breath.

Ivan's own wounds, both physical and emotional, seemed trivial compared to the sight of Fedyor's still form. Sofiya, the fellow Heartrender, had done her best to heal him, but her efforts felt futile against the enormity of his pain. Her voice, often soft with concern, became a distant murmur as Ivan's world narrowed to the space occupied by Fedyor.

"He's strong," Sofiya had said more than once, trying to console Ivan. "He has you to come back to."

But Ivan could only nod numbly, his heart heavy with fear and love. He couldn't lose Fedyor—not now, not ever.

As the days dragged on, Ivan began to speak to Fedyor, his voice barely more than a whisper in the quiet of the hut. He poured out his heart, telling Fedyor everything he had never found the words for before. He spoke of their first meeting, their shared battles, and the deep bond that had grown between them.

"I love you, Fedyor," he whispered one evening, his hand gently brushing a lock of hair from Fedyor's forehead. "I've always loved you. From the moment I saw you, I knew you were the one."

His voice cracked as he continued, the weight of his emotions threatening to choke him. "I don't know how to do this without you. Every day, every moment, you were my strength, my reason to fight. Without you... I don't know who I am."

Ivan's words were met with silence, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. He closed his eyes, willing himself to believe that Fedyor could hear him, that his words could somehow reach the man he loved.

One afternoon, as the sun cast long shadows across the floor, Ivan found himself talking about their wedding. He recounted every detail—the way Fedyor had looked in his kefta, the way their hands had trembled as they exchanged vows, the way their hearts had beat as one.

"If you wake up, Fedyor," Ivan said, his voice filled with a desperate hope, "we'll renew our vows. I promise you. We'll have another ceremony, just for us. I need you to wake up. Please."

As he spoke, Ivan felt a slight flutter beneath his fingertips—a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. His heart leaped with a sudden surge of hope. "Fedyor?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

But just as quickly, the flutter ceased, and Fedyor's chest fell still. Ivan's breath caught in his throat as he realized that the faint, rhythmic rise and fall of Fedyor's chest had stopped entirely. Panic gripped him, a cold, paralyzing fear that turned his blood to ice.

"No," Ivan breathed, his voice a strangled whisper. "No, no, no!"

Desperation took hold as he shook Fedyor gently, then more frantically. "Fedyor, please! Don't leave me!"

Tears streamed down Ivan's face as he pressed his ear to Fedyor's chest, straining to hear even the faintest heartbeat. But there was nothing—only an oppressive silence that seemed to echo his own despair.

Ivan's world collapsed around him. He felt as if he were drowning in a sea of grief and hopelessness, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. He clung to Fedyor's still form, his body wracked with sobs.

"Please," he whispered brokenly, his voice barely audible. "Please come back to me."

Ivan summoned every ounce of strength left in his ravaged body. He focused his Heartrender abilities on Fedyor, willing his beloved's heart to beat once more. But without his amplifier, his powers felt diminished, a shadow of what they once were.

"Come on, Fedyor," Ivan murmured, his voice hoarse. "Don't leave me. Not like this."

He pressed his hands over Fedyor's chest, concentrating fiercely, but his energy was waning. Just as he was about to collapse from exhaustion, the door creaked open, and Sofiya and Luda rushed in, having heard his cries.

"Ivan, what are you doing?" Sofiya exclaimed, her eyes wide with alarm.

"Please, help me," Ivan gasped. "I can't... I can't do this alone."

Sofiya and Luda exchanged a quick glance before moving to assist him. Sofiya placed her hands over Ivan's, adding her own Heartrender abilities to his. Luda knelt beside them, murmuring a quiet prayer as she worked to stabilize Fedyor's breathing.

The room was thick with tension as the three of them fought to bring Fedyor back from the brink. Ivan's vision blurred, and he swayed on his knees, but Sofiya's steady presence kept him grounded.

"Stay with us, Fedyor," Sofiya urged, her voice firm. "You have to stay with us."

The minutes dragged on, each one an eternity. Ivan's strength ebbed away, and he could feel himself slipping away. He tried to fight against it but Ivan's strength was gone. He could no longer keep his eyes open, no longer fight the exhaustion that pulled him under. As he fell into unconsciousness, the last thing he heard was Sofiya's voice, urgent and fearful, calling his name.

"Ivan! Stay with us, Ivan!"

The darkness swallowed him whole, but even as he slipped away, a part of him held onto the hope that they would succeed, that Fedyor would live. He had to believe in that, even as the world faded to black around him.

Chapter Text

Ivan drifted between the edges of consciousness, where pain and exhaustion melded into a numb void. Every so often, he heard distant voices—Sofiya's urgent commands, Luda's soothing reassurances—but they felt like echoes from another world.

He clung to the last image he had of Fedyor, lying pale and still, his heart betraying them both with its silence. Ivan's own heart ached with a grief so profound it felt like he was being torn apart from the inside. He had poured everything he had into saving Fedyor, and now, he floated in a limbo of uncertainty.

Time lost its meaning. Minutes, hours, days—they all blurred together. Ivan's body felt heavy, his mind sluggish. He wasn't sure if he was alive or dead, only that a part of him had already crossed over.

But then, there was light. A faint, flickering sensation that tugged at the edges of his awareness. It grew stronger, pulling him from the depths of his unconsciousness. He fought to open his eyes, to break free from the oppressive darkness.

Voices became clearer, sharper. He recognized Sofiya's steady tone, though he couldn't make out the words. Luda's gentle hum was a balm to his battered soul. Ivan struggled to move, his limbs heavy as lead, but the will to live, to see Fedyor again, drove him.

Ivan's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself lying on a rough cot in a small, sparsely furnished room. The faint scent of herbs and the sound of quiet murmuring reached his ears. He groaned softly as the dull ache of his injuries made itself known, a stark reminder of the torture and the desperation of his recent efforts.

"Ivan?" Sofiya's voice was a soft whisper, filled with concern. She was sitting beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm. "You're awake."

He turned his head slowly to look at her, the memories of his last conscious moments flooding back. "Fedyor..." His voice was weak, barely more than a rasp. "Is he...?"

Sofiya's expression was a mix of relief and sorrow. "He's stable, Ivan. Luda and I managed to revive him, but he's still unconscious. We've done everything we can for now. The rest is up to him."

A wave of emotion crashed over Ivan, a potent mixture of relief and lingering fear. He had been so close to losing Fedyor, and the thought of it still made his heart ache. "Thank you," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "Thank you both."

Luda, who had been tending to Fedyor in the adjacent room, stepped in quietly. "He's a fighter, Ivan. Just like you. He has a chance."

Ivan struggled to sit up, wincing at the pain that lanced through his body. Sofiya moved to support him, her hands gentle but firm. "You need to rest," she urged. "You're still recovering."

But Ivan shook his head, determination in his eyes. "I need to see him."

With Sofiya's help, Ivan managed to stand, his legs unsteady beneath him. Each step was a struggle, but he pushed through the pain, his focus solely on reaching Fedyor.

They entered the small room where Fedyor lay, still and pale on a makeshift bed. Ivan's heart clenched at the sight, but he took a deep breath and moved to his lover's side. He sank down onto the bed, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch Fedyor's face.

"Fedyor," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Please come back to me. I need you."

The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the faint sound of Fedyor's breathing. Ivan closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Fedyor's. "I love you," he murmured. "I love you more than anything. And I can't do this without you."

Days passed in a blur of exhaustion and worry. Ivan rarely left Fedyor's side, speaking to him constantly, sharing memories and promises, anything to keep the connection alive. He told Fedyor about their wedding, the vows they had made, and the future they had dreamed of.

"I promised you forever," Ivan said one evening, his voice hoarse from days of talking. "And I meant it. If you wake up, we'll renew our vows. We'll have the life we always wanted."

But even as he spoke, doubt crept in. Fedyor's condition remained unchanged, and Ivan felt his hope slipping away. The toll of his own injuries and the constant strain of worry were wearing him down.

As the sun set on yet another day, casting long shadows across the small hut, Ivan felt his hope wavering. He had told Fedyor everything—how much he loved him, how he couldn't imagine a life without him, and how he would give anything to see him smile again. 

But as the hours stretched into days, Ivan began to fear that his pleas would go unanswered. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Fedyor's hand, and let out a shuddering sigh. "Please, Fedyor. I don't know how to do this without you. Please come back to me."

The room was silent, save for the faint rustling of the wind outside and the soft crackle of the fire. Ivan's heart felt like it was breaking all over again as he whispered, "Fedyor, I need you. I can't... I can't lose you."

And then, in the quiet of the night, Ivan felt a faint pressure on his hand. His breath caught in his throat as he looked up, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and hope.

"Fedyor?"

Chapter Text

The murky shadows of consciousness slowly receded as Fedyor felt himself dragged upwards through layers of pain and darkness. Each surge of sensation brought him closer to the surface, his body feeling battered and his mind swathed in a dense fog. It was a painful awakening, each breath he took laden with a sharp sting that threatened to pull him under once more.

His senses floated in and out, the voices and sounds around him warped as if underwater. Through the haze, one constant tether remained—the faint, persistent calling of his name, like a beacon in the storm.

"Fedyor..."

The voice broke through the tumult, piercing the veil of his semi-conscious state. It was filled with a raw desperation that resonated deep within him, stirring something primal, something fiercely protective. He needed to respond, to reach back through the darkness and confirm his presence.

His eyelids, heavy as lead, fought against the dim light seeping into his vision. The world was a blur of indistinct shapes and shifting shadows, each moment an eternity as he struggled to find clarity. Gradually, the edges of his environment began to sharpen, coalescing into the worried, haggard face of Ivan sitting anxiously by his bedside.

Tears immediately pricked Fedyor’s eyes, blurring his hard-won vision anew. It was Ivan—his Ivan—worn and pale, a shadow of his usual strength, yet here nonetheless, a pillar in the midst of chaos. The sight unleashed a flood of emotions in Fedyor, relief and love mingling with a profound gratitude that Ivan was safe.

"Ivan," he managed to rasp out, his voice a mere thread of sound. The effort to speak sent a ripple of pain coursing through him, but it was worth it to see the flicker of hope light up Ivan’s face.

"Fedyor, oh saints, you're awake. You're really awake," Ivan choked out, his voice thick with tears. He reached out, his hand trembling as he touched Fedyor’s cheek, as if verifying that this moment was real and not a figment of his strained imagination.

"I thought I’d lost you forever," Ivan confessed, his eyes searching Fedyor’s face with an intensity that bordered on desperation. "I thought the last time I held you, heard your voice, would be the end of everything good in my life."

Fedyor’s heart clenched at the raw pain in Ivan’s words. He reached up, his own hand shaky and weak, to grasp Ivan’s. "I heard you, even through the darkness. Your voice brought me back, Ivan. It always does."

Tears streamed down Ivan’s face, each drop a testament to the ordeal they had both endured. He leaned in closer, his forehead resting gently against Fedyor’s. "I made a vow," Ivan murmured, his breath warm against Fedyor’s skin. "I promised that if you woke up, we would renew our vows, start anew."

The simple declaration hung between them, a fragile promise filled with potential and hope. Fedyor’s response was a faint smile, an expression that held both pain and joy. "I’d like that," he whispered. "To renew everything... with you."

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, its last rays cast a warm, golden glow through the window, bathing the small room in a soft light that seemed to promise new beginnings. Ivan and Fedyor, now more relaxed and visibly comforted by each other’s presence, started to converse more openly.

"Fedyor, remember our vows?" Ivan asked gently, his eyes locked on Fedyor's, searching, always searching for reassurance.

Fedyor nodded, a smile playing on his lips despite the pallor that still remained. "I remember every word," he whispered.

"I meant every word, Fedyor. 'In sickness and in health,'  I meant it then, and I mean it now, more than ever," Ivan confessed, his voice thick with emotion.

Fedyor squeezed Ivan’s hand in response, his own voice strengthened by the sincerity of their shared moment. "I know, Ivan. And I... I want to renew those vows. Not out of tradition, but to reaffirm everything we’ve been through, everything we are to each other."

Ivan’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, touched by Fedyor’s words. "Let’s do that. Once you’re fully recovered, let’s have a small ceremony. Just us."

"Yes," Fedyor agreed, his spirits lifted by the plan, a future event to look forward to. "And this time, we celebrate not just our union, but our survival, our triumph over everything that tried to tear us apart."

They spent the rest of the evening planning, dreaming aloud to each other about what they would do once Fedyor was well enough. They talked about visiting places they had long promised to see together, about quiet evenings at home, and about possibly adopting a new pet. Each shared vision was a stitch in the fabric of their future, weaving a tapestry rich with hope and joint aspirations.

As night fell and the room darkened, Ivan lit a small candle, the flickering light a mimic of the stars they could not see from their window. He settled next to Fedyor, both wrapped in a shared blanket, their conversation dwindling to comfortable silence.

Ivan looked at Fedyor, his features softened by the candlelight, and felt a profound sense of peace wash over him. Despite the hardships, the pain, and the near losses, they had each other. They were together, and that was what mattered most.