Fyodor was fourteen when he first realized something was wrong with him. He had grown up in a devout household, where faith guided every aspect of life. His family believed in God, in love, in righteousness. But that belief did not extend to him. Not anymore.

It started with something small. His cat, a creature he had cherished since childhood, lay curled up in his arms one evening. He had stroked its fur absentmindedly, feeling its warmth, when suddenly, it went limp. Its body stilled, lifeless. Fyodor’s breath caught in his throat. He shook it gently, whispered its name. But the cat was gone.

His older brother had seen everything. Before Fyodor could even process what had happened, his brother ran to tell their parents. And from that moment on, everything changed.

He was no longer their son. No longer their brother. He was something else—something unnatural. They refused to touch him, to look at him with anything but disgust. They told him over and over again that he was a monster, that God had turned His back on him. The words carved into him like knives, deeper each time.

Then, the unthinkable happened. He had not meant to. He swore he had not meant to. But one accidental touch—one fleeting moment—and his parents collapsed before his eyes, lifeless like the cat before them.

Fyodor could hardly breathe. His hands shook as he backed away from their unmoving bodies. His mind screamed at him to wake up, that this wasn’t real. But it was.

He was alone now. Truly alone. Except for his brother.

For a short time, his brother stayed. But fear lingered in his eyes whenever he looked at Fyodor. And then, just like the others, his brother, too, fell victim to him.

Fyodor no longer cried. He no longer called out for help. Who would answer? Who could?

The house was silent. Empty.

And then—

A knock at the door.

A sound so simple, yet it sent a shiver down his spine. Someone was there. Someone had come.

But who?

And why?