Rain clings to her lashes. The wind wraps around her like fingers, urging her forward. The forest feels half-alive, breathing with ancient tension as Anastasya stands frozen beneath the shrine’s gate.
Across the clearing, the boy watches her.
He stands unnaturally still, his black hair dripping water, crimson-gold eyes glowing faintly even in the dimness. There’s something eerie about him, not dangerous, exactly, but unsettling, like a secret that shouldn’t be spoken aloud.
Boy: “I was wondering when you’d come.”
His voice isn’t loud, but it cuts through the rain. Calm. Certain. As if he’s been expecting her for years.
Anastasya: “Do I... know you?”
She doesn’t step back, though every instinct tells her to. The silence around them sharpens, like the shrine itself is listening.
Boy: “Not yet. But you will.”
He walks toward her slowly, boots squishing in the mud. When he’s close, she notices he doesn’t shiver despite being soaked. There’s a strange energy around him, a quiet wrongness that prickles her skin, though his gaze is almost... gentle.
Anastasya: “Why are you here? This place is abandoned.”
Boy: “Not to me. This is my home. I’m the shrine’s last resident. Or maybe... the shrine’s last prisoner.”
He looks up toward the roof, where rain cascades off the eaves. His smile fades.
Boy: “They dared you, didn’t they? The girls you were with.”
Anastasya stiffens. How does he know that?
Anastasya: “Are you spying on me?”
Boy: “No. But the shrine... whispers. It told me you'd be coming.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but something changes in the air, thicker, heavier. The storm rumbles as the boy steps closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
Boy: “The deity inside me has been asleep for a long time. But it stirred when you stepped through the gate.”
Anastasya: “Deity... inside you?”
Boy: “A curse. A soul not meant for this world. It was buried in me at birth, during the eclipse. It feeds off fate, and it’s chosen you.”
Anastasya’s breath catches. The pendant around her neck, a tiny Slavic charm for protection, burns against her skin.
Boy: “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to hurt you. I couldn’t... even if I wanted to.”
He brushes rain from his brow, the gold in his eyes glowing brighter now.
Boy: “You’re the only one who can contain it. The only one who can keep me from being consumed.”
Silence. Just the storm. Just them.
Anastasya: “This is insane…”
Boy: He smiles. “Maybe. But the shrine didn’t call you here for no reason. You’re here because something in you already knows this is your path.”
Thunder cracks.
She should run. She should call her friends, laugh it off, go home. But her feet won’t move. She’s not afraid of him, she’s afraid of how right it all feels.
And when the boy holds out his hand, not demanding, but waiting, Anastasya doesn’t take it. But she also doesn’t walk away.
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