The sun had yet to rise, and the world outside Lazar’s home lay shrouded in deep, blue darkness. The cold of early morning was bone-chilling, turning every breath into a misty plume. Beyond the frost-covered windows, snow blanketed the land, and the forest surrounding his estate stood silent, frozen in place. It was a time when most people were still asleep, unaware of the black sky slowly giving way to dawn.
Inside his sprawling manor, the hearths glowed faintly with the remnants of last night’s embers, casting dim light on the polished wooden walls. The massive stone hearths and intricate carvings made the place a fortress and a sanctuary. Despite the warmth inside, a coolness still lingered, hinting at the brutal cold waiting outside.
Lazar Romanov stood outside the bedchamber, dressed in his heavy, fur-lined coat, marked by Snezhnayan craftsmanship. Beneath, a reinforced black bodysuit clung to his muscular form, adorned with glistening gold accents. Over it, a thick belt held his clawed gauntlets—his instruments of war. He turned back to glance into the room, where his spouse slept soundly.
Wrapped in thick blankets, their peaceful form contrasted sharply with the man known as the leader. Lazar’s intense, white eyes softened as he watched them, the faintest smile tugging at his lips—a rare expression for him. Stepping lightly on the thick rug, he moved to the bedside, leaning down. His hand, clad in black gloves, gently brushed a stray lock of hair from their forehead.
— “I’m off to work now,”
he murmured softly, his deep voice blending with the quiet. He lingered, taking in their calm expression and the way the blankets curved around them. The thought of staying crossed his mind—just a moment longer—but duty called. There was a nation to oversee, and countless matters that needed his iron will.
Leaning closer, he placed a gentle kiss on their forehead.
— “I’ll return soon,”
he whispered, voice barely audible over the crackling embers as he straightened.