Seren walks out of the customs of Talagi airports feeling like absolute shit. Spending more than twenty hours in transit would be enough to qualify as torture but no, she simply can’t catch a fucking break and mother nature went for a low blow. That’s right, the Brits are invading and letting their presence known every time she sneezes, which happens quite often with the plane’s air conditioning. That just throws the whole trip into the realm of cruel and unusual punishments..

Seren must take heart, now there is only a short drive to her father’s dacha through Arkhanglesk’s polar winter scene. Oh but wait, it’s night! That means she can’t see shit and the temperature reaches almost minus fifty.

All her grumblings die on her lips when she goes through customs to finally find her dad. At the end of the line he waits, carrying her favorite heavy coat and a smile bright enough to lighten her mood. She soon finds herself in his embrace without any conscious decision as if she were five again. Her dad Kyrill is a bear of a man, easily standing head and shoulder above her and she’s no dwarf herself. He smells of wood fire and cologne, a scent that brings back precious memories. A callused hand pats the back of her head with a delicate touch, as if she were a fragile kitten.

It just feels good.

She finally steps back and they take the measure of each other. Her father now has crow eyes and a receding hairline, and he is going to fat, but the hard fat of the retired prize fighter. There is a strength to him, a sense of indomitability that both comforted and infuriated her all her life.

“You look good Renka, tired, but good. I was worried that your mother’s fiery blood would leave you at the mercy of despair, but it looks like there is enough ice in your veins to help you stand straight.”

Seren winces. Dad is not known for his tact.

“Come, come, you must be tired. Let’s have hot tea at home, and Andrei gave me some Beluga caviar. Your favorite!”

Seren follows him out to their car and enjoys the ride along the Dvina to her family home. Kyrill speaks softly, telling her of her half-siblings, friends of the family, his work on the house. She slowly immerses herself back into Russian, a language she understands it without issue, but when the time to speak comes, words would slip from her mind. Sometimes, she would use the wrong case and see her dad flinch and still he would say nothing despite the pain in his eyes. The mistakes remind him that his daughter, his blood, is a foreigner.

Eventually they reach their destination, a two stories Dacha, old as sin yet constantly renovated. The lights streaming out of the windows makes her feel welcome despite the biting cold. Raisa opens the door to let them in, the wind buffeting her short blond hair.

“Hello Raya.” Seren smiles at the older woman.

“Raechka go back in, you will catch a cold!”

Torn between the desire to obey her husband and her duties as a host, Raisa compromises by keeping the door open while they rush inside.

It is the first time since she developed the paths that she sees the both of them. The paths are currently as white as it gets and the implication brings a smile to her face. Both her dad and his wife would never do a thing to arm her.

Seren drops her luggage and hugs Raisa without even removing her coat. The shorter woman melts in her embrace.

Siobhan had been a wild fire, a creature of passion and tension, always going somewhere, doing something and being excited.

That had not always been a good thing in a mother.

Even now, Seren suspects that some of her own personality may have been shaped as a defense mechanism against someone who could go from cuddly to snappish in the blink of an eye. The adult in her assumes that a large part of her parents love had been anchored in… Carnality.

Raisa is the complete opposite. A short if curvy woman, Raisa lives to make people comfortable. She cooks, she cleans, she decorates. By the power of her will, birthdays and parties get organized, the kids have a ride to where they need to go and all the paperwork gets done on time. Compared to the flaming train wreck that was Siobhan, this is positively relaxing.

Seren cannot blame her dad for remarrying.

No, really.

Raisa escapes the hug with wet eyes and apologies.

“I have hot chocolate ready, just the way you like it! Make yourself comfortable.” Then she trots to the kitchen.

A heavy hand lands on her shoulder; her father smiles warmly. In ages long past, Seren had resented Raisa although even as a rebellious teenager, she had realized that hurting the poor woman was like kicking a puppy. She had refrained, but Raisa had felt it. Under her naïve mien hides a deep understanding of interpersonal relations and enough sensitivity to tell. As an adult, she now does her best to keep the older woman happy. There will never be deep love between the two, but there is cordial affection for which her dad is grateful.

“Thank you Renka, now come! Let us sit near the fire, I have much to ask and I want to do it now, as tomorrow the little ones will have you for themselves. Hahahaha.”

An hour later she falls on her old bed, beyond exhausted but happy. It’s good to feel at home.

Seren stands in rapt fascination in a small fabric shop in the older part of Arhangelsk. The scissors slide smoothly across the fabric. Snip snip snip. And then again. Her little half brother Alexander pulls on her hand with all his weight, probably bored out of his mind. The two kids have had an exciting morning, but now they are just suffering through the afternoon shopping session, as she had years ago.

Snip snip snip.

So sharp is the blade, sliding effortlessly across the linen, as effortlessly, in fact, as Gwahin’s spear sliding in that Varog’s flesh. Smooth. Elegant.

Snip snip…

Why did it stop?

The seamstress is staring at her, brows furrowed in uncertainty. She stops for a second before shaking her head. The work resumes.

“This will make a nice scarf don’t you think, Renka?”

“Yes, it will.”

Raisa nods nervously and hugs Seren’s younger half brother Ivan tighter. Seren must remember that her resting bitch face becomes intimidating when she thinks about killing stuff. Better not alarm her family, they don’t need this right now.

Now relaxed, the seamstress keeps working. She is an old woman with gray hairs and a skin damaged by years of harsh winters and poor skin care. Raisa and her gossip and complain as is their wont, about the weather, old age and young people leaving the city. From time to time they stop to look at her but Seren is not interested in the conversation, not to mention that long sentences tire her out. It’s alright, with the paths, she is never bored.

As they reach the car ten minutes later, Raisa’s phone rings and when she hangs up, she looks ecstatic.

“Oh Renka, your old teacher Vassily is at the Dacha, he has come to visit!”

Seren finishes fastening her armor. Vassily is a believer, so it’s a real, old school leather and plate armor, not the fancy high tech stuff. The blade is also heavier than her foil, or even the true steel blade she used. Dull so as to prevent serious injuries, it will still make itself felt on one’s ribs. Seren would know, she has been at the receiving end more than a few times.

The man himself is still smiling condescendingly. At fifty, he is perhaps not quite as fast as he used to be, but he makes it up with technique, experience and a large dose of ruthlessness.

He has no idea.

Vassily is practically unbeaten in his field. Olympians have tested themselves against him and found their skills wanting. The only reason why he is not a gold medalist is his disdain for sport competition. Brushing your opponent with a flexible blade is no victory. He claimed so many times that fencing is and should be a matter of life and death, one’s fate balanced on the edge of a blade.

To him, she is just that green recruit who only practiced fencing as a sport. How could the American girl understand what it means to put your life on the line?

Again, he has no idea.

As take position, Seren ignores the snow under her feet and the cheers from her family. The paths redeploy.

Vanquish, dominate, cast down.

The future opens itself to her like an eager lover.

Is that cheating? No, it is not. As Vassily repeated enough times: Two people, swords and armor, those are the only rules. The world is not fair, why should she restrain herself when he is bigger, stronger and more experienced?

Most of the paths are dark but that does not stop her. All that matters is a single possibility. What makes her hesitate is the complexity. There is no way to defeat him in less than fifteen moves. That is an enormous amount for a duel.

Even with her power it will be a close call, as expected of her mentor.

Seren leans forward into her blade and a flicker of doubt crosses Vassily’s expression.

They both rush forward at the same time. Seren shifts right and deflects a horizontal cut, the immediately goes on the offensive, thrusting twice before ending on a vertical strike to deflect Vassily’s counter attack. He bull rushes her, trying to overwhelm her with powerful and precise strike. Seren dances around, parrying and deflecting with conservative moves and never leaving an opening. As Vassily thrusts, Seren bats his sword aside, dives and hits up and forward, forcing him back. She is already on him, pressing him from all side but focusing on quick and precise strikes towards the armor’s weak point. Vassily finds himself trapped in her rhythm of speed and precision. After a few more quick exchanges he manages a guard lock and pushes her back.

Her feel slip in the ice.

There is a glint of triumph in his eyes as his bade strikes down and left.

It is fortunate, that Vassily’s mix of ruthlessness and arrogance makes him so predictable.

Seren recovers from her false slip, and let the weapon strike her heavily armored shoulder, adding momentum to her horizontal swipe. A full body move that will lead her wide opened.

Not that it would matter.

Her own sword catches Vassily’s helmet with a thundering noise of clashing metal. Overextended, the man is sent reeling, rotating in the air before crashing on the ground.

For a second, nobody says anything then the small assembly erupts in cheers. The enthusiastic screams of the kids mixed with loud exclamations from both adults. Even Vassily is laughing, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“Hahahaha Renka, you make me so proud! Oh, oh I have underestimated you! I have sold the pelt before killing the bear eh? Hahaha”

Smiling, but still quite smug, Seren offers a hand to her old mentor. There is a knowing smile on his lips when he pulls her close, close enough to speak without being heard.

“Out of all my students, I never expected you to be the blooded one. We will practice later, yes? There are things I want to show you.”

The kids reach them an instant later.

“Renka that was so cool!” Alexander jumps up and down

“Renka do you think you could kill a dragon?”

Seren hugs Ivan, too wary to answer that specific question. Both children look at her with blind hero worship in their little blue eyes and she only wishes the adults were the same. Their worry is obvious, barely concealed behind fake smiles. That’s the thing though, it is concern for her.

“Are you alright daughter?”

“Dad… Should you not be concerned for poor Vassily?”

“Hah! The old man can use the reminder that my daughter is formidable! Although.. Perhaps you would consider staying a bit longer after Christmas? It is safe here.”

“Thanks dad but I will be ok… I promise.”

Her father lets the lie slide. What he doesn’t know and that she has realized is that nowhere is safe for her, not since this the attacks started. One day or another, something will find her and it will be her family that pays the price. She will rest here, then go back and face it with her… Her friends. Yuki, Nathan, even Sarah and the twins, and that strange woman Gwahin. Yes, she will face it and protect them. What happened to Milo will not happen to others.

“I will be fine Dad.”