It had been weeks since Nikolai last encountered another living soul in the cold, desolate, and snow-covered wasteland that had once been his home. The world, a frozen shell of its former self, lay under a thick blanket of snow. The air was sharp, biting with an icy cruelty that had long since driven most people into hiding. Nikolai had always preferred this solitude, finding peace in the silence of the mountains, where the relentless snow and the empty expanse offered him both isolation and a chance to survive.

But now, as his hands were roughly tied and he was thrown into a dark, cold room, he immediately regretted crossing paths with these raiders. They had deceived him—tricked him into a false sense of security before seizing him. He didn’t care much for what they intended to do. He had learned long ago not to waste time worrying over the actions of those who wanted to do him harm. Instead, his mind focused on a far more practical matter: his survival. His right hand already worked instinctively, fingers searching for the small pocketknife he had hidden in his back pocket. It was always there, tucked away for moments like this.

As Nikolai’s hand brushed the cold steel of the knife, a slight shift in the darkness caught his attention. He froze, stilling his breath. Something moved beside him, subtle yet unmistakable. The heavy silence of the room pressed down on him as he strained to sense whatever—whoever—was there. The raiders hadn’t been alone when they captured him. For a fleeting moment, his thoughts raced. Had someone else been thrown in here with him? Or was it simply a trick of the shadows in this oppressive darkness? His fingers tightened around the knife’s handle, his mind sharpening as he prepared for whatever might come next.