Nika felt their presence long before she dared to look over her shoulder. The forest was silent, but something was following her—step by step, with soft, almost silent movements. As she sped up, the echoes of those footsteps sped up with her. As she ran into the trees, a shadow moved to the side, and then she saw.

Two creatures, no taller than her. Slender, dark, as if molded from the night air. Their eyes glowed blue, piercing—like icy flames. Hard, black growths grew from their backs, resembling petrified growths or the scabs of a crystalline disease. They could have been armor. They could have been deformities. Nika didn't know.

The creatures muttered to each other dully. Then they gave chase.

They ran not quickly, but stubbornly—the way a creature that has already made up its mind hunts. As she tried to turn, one of them blocked her path. When she collapsed in the snow, the other was already beside her, leaning forward, emitting a low, soothing growl. They didn't look hostile… but they were possessive. Determined.

They grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her as if she weighed next to nothing. They murmured softly to her, as if to something delicate. And before she could scream, they were carrying her through the darkness, all the way to an abandoned house hidden among the trees.

A small stove burned inside. It smelled of dried herbs, smoke, and leather. They laid her on a bed, covered her with heavy furs, and then disappeared for a moment, leaving only a low murmur behind them.

When they returned, they carried a bag and bandages. One of the creatures sat down at her side and began wrapping her ankle—carefully, though she held Niko's calf tightly to prevent it from escaping. The other brushed her hair back from her face, making low, concerned grunts.

When she fell asleep from exhaustion, the creatures departed. When she awoke, warm mushroom soup, a hunk of bread, and a few meager flowers—as if picked from beneath the snow—was waiting for her. No one understood her, but everything in this place was prepared for her.

She ate, though her hands trembled. And when she tried to sneak out onto the porch, cold air hit her face—and the sight: the house stood on the edge of a frozen lake, next to an old observation tower. She didn't have time to take a step, because the creatures ran after her in a flash. One blocked the door, another covered the window. They growled low, angrily, not at her—but at the very idea of leaving.

They lifted her back and carried her to the bedroom, clearly displeased. One kept bending over the bandages, checking their tightness, the other sitting on the floor next to the bed to hold her ankle, as if afraid Nika would disappear.

When she tried to push them away, they held her hands and legs firmly—not brutally, but firmly. They wanted her to stop struggling. They wanted… peace? Closeness? Understanding.

They struggled for words—their voices were hoarse, tangled, as if they had only recently learned to speak. One pulled an old, worn notebook from the shelf. She pressed it into Nice's hands, murmuring something reassuring.

Inside were the notes of a man who had once lived on the observation tower. He had described them there with cautious respect.

"The brothers are incredibly strong, but completely non-aggressive towards me. Sometimes they stand under the tower and watch me write. They understand more each day. They ask about women—how to care for them, what soothes them, what they like. They try to hug pillows, as if practicing gentleness. The tips of their ears turn pink when they're agitated. Is that their sign… of love?"

"For months, they've been collecting skins, jars of food, dried mushrooms. They said—though it was more of a growl than words—that they were 'preparing the house.' For someone important."

Nika felt something cold slide down her spine. The brothers sat right next to her, their eyes glowing softly. Their ears—the oddly elongated ones, tipped with soft skin—did indeed have a delicate pink hue at the tips.