The plump copper kettle rattled its lid anxiously, releasing thick white steam, loudly announcing the completion of its mission. At its noise, a stout woman hurried in from the living room—her steps were slightly unsteady, and strands of gray peeked through the tightly gathered bun of her hair.

  Maria approached the stove and, before tending to the kettle, cast another worried glance through the small kitchen window, which overlooked the cramped courtyard and the stone fence entwined with wild rose vines. She squinted, her near-sighted eyes focusing on the fair-haired young man tending to the rose bushes—Maria still watched over him like an infant, though there were fewer and fewer reasons to do so.

  Seeing Alv in the yard seemed to put her at ease, and she returned to her tasks. But just as she finished pouring the boiling water into the teapot and reached for the window frame to call the young man, she noticed a stranger standing behind the gate.

  However, as soon as Maria stepped outside, she quickly recognized him, despite nearly a decade of separation and her failing eyesight. The moment she saw the visitor, her eyes welled up with tears, and she hurried to unlatch the gate, pulling the man into a tight embrace.

  – Jan, my boy! – she patted the visitor’s back, giving in to her tears entirely.

  – So many years!..

  – Yes, quite a few, Aunt Mari, – Jan agreed, slightly bowing into her embrace.

  – Come in! Come inside the house! – Maria finally came to her senses, stepping back to take a better look at the man.

  From the garden, Alv silently and attentively observed the unusual scene unfolding in the house. He did not step forward to greet the guest and had no intention of following him inside. But suddenly, Maria stopped, as if remembering him at the last moment, and beckoned him to come along.

  – Come, dear, – she said with motherly warmth.

  With one hand, she wiped away her tears, and with the other, just to be sure, she waved to Alv, still convinced that he struggled to understand ordinary speech.

  The guest standing at the doorstep also cast a curious glance at the fair-haired young man—and Alv didn’t like his gaze. But he said nothing about it. Partly because silence had long since become his habit, ever since the days in the sanatorium when his unfamiliar speech made people assume he was mad.

  Maria smiled warmly and led Jan into the living room. The weary man followed, noticeably limping, while stealing quick, scrutinizing glances past his old acquaintance at the furnishings of the room. These furtive manners did not escape Alv’s notice either, but he chose to head into the kitchen and busy himself with the tea set.

  – Alv, dear, would you be so kind as to bring us some tea?

  - I just brewed it... – Maria turned to him, but she quickly noticed that the young man had already anticipated her request.

  She sat at the table with her guest, but out of habit, her gaze still followed him to the kitchen, as if uneasily.

  – Who is he? – Jan asked once they were alone in the room.

  Maria snapped out of her daze, as if his voice had shaken her back to reality.

  – That’s Alv, – she smiled.

  – A good child. A little simple-minded, but a kind boy.

  – Your relative? – the man asked, also glancing toward the silent young man.

  – No, no! – Maria exclaimed.

  – I worked as a nurse at the hospital after the liberation. That boy ran right under a car and ended up with us.

  – He couldn’t speak, barely understood where he was, and we never found his family…

  – You took him in? – Jan realized.

  – Yes… When I left the hospital, I couldn’t leave him there, – Maria nodded sadly.

  – After Thomas died, I had no one left…

  The woman fell silent, as if something she did not wish to remember had come to mind. Then, changing the subject, she turned back to her guest.

  – But tell me, Jan, how are you? – she looked at him with concern.

  – So many years have passed, yet I recognized you right away, as if you had just been waiting for Thomas by the gate yesterday… – Maria said with a nostalgic note in her voice.

  – For a moment, I even thought he would come down from the second floor any second now… – she teared up again, hiding her eyes behind a lace handkerchief.

  – Well, as you can see – not great… – Jan replied, casting a sad glance at his injured leg.

  But he didn’t get the chance to continue, as Alv returned from the kitchen carrying tea and Maria’s leftover cookies from the day before.

  – Here, help yourself! – the hostess poured tea into the guest’s cup with warmth when Alv had set the tea set down.

  – Do you live in your family home, Jan? – she asked, placing a cookie on his saucer.

  – Why haven’t I seen you before?..

  – No, ma’am, – the man interrupted her.

  – The family home burned down during the war, – Jan explained reluctantly.

  – Didn’t you know? – he asked after an awkward pause.

  – No, dear… – Maria lowered her voice in sympathy.

  – As soon as word came of Thomas’ death, I left for Sweden to stay with my relatives, and I only returned after the liberation…

  – I see… – the guest shifted uncomfortably in his boots.

  – I only came back to these parts recently – thought maybe I could find work here.

  – You haven’t get settled, Jan? – the woman asked.

  – I found a temporary place to stay, but no one wants to hire a cripple… – the man grimaced.

  – Oh, dear! – Maria exclaimed, her eyes welling up with tears again.

  The woman quickly rose and rushed to the secretary desk, pulling a few kroner from a hidden drawer before returning to the table.

  – Here, take this, – she pressed the banknotes into Jan’s hand.

  – Oh, auntie, really… – the guest hesitated, offering only a weak protest.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  – No, no! Take it! – she clasped his hand between her own.

  – You and Thomas were always inseparable, like brothers – he would have helped you now too, if he were still alive – Maria smiled sadly.

  – Thank you, madam, – Jan murmured, tucking the money into his inner pocket.

  – But won’t this leave you short? – he asked hesitantly, hinting at financial hardship.

  – No, no! Don’t worry, dear – Maria shook her head.

  – You know, my grandmother Anna was from a noble family – my relatives took me in during the war and still support me now, – she reassured him.

  – So you’re all alone here? – Jan asked with a note of concern.

  – Yes, just me and poor Alv… – Maria confirmed.

  She cast a warm glance at the young man, who had been silently listening to their conversation with a completely detached expression—like an infant unaware of words.

  – Does he remind you of Thomas? – Jan guessed.

  – A little…

  – No, he gives me a reason to keep going – because there’s no one else to care for him but me…

  ***

  The cramped, dimly lit tavern was especially crowded that evening. Spotting an old friend, Jan raised his hand in a beckoning gesture, catching his attention. The red-haired man waved back in greeting and made his way through the throng toward Jan’s corner.

  – I see you’ve got money today, – Sven remarked as he squeezed into the seat.

  – Yeah, charity… – Jan muttered reluctantly into his beer mug.

  – Could use some of that myself, – his drinking companion snorted, taking a sip from his own tankard.

  – Well, that’s unlikely… – Jan drawled. – I ran into the mother of an old friend…

  – But I’m your old friend! – Sven guffawed.

  – No, before the war, I had a buddy, Thomas…

  – Guess his folks didn’t get dragged through the mud like us, – Sven scoffed.

  He let out a contemptuous snort, raising only one brow—the other was gone, lost to the burns that marred half his face.

  – No, Thomas died back then… – Jan corrected him.

  – And the old hag sat out the whole occupation safe with her rich relatives in Sweden, – he suddenly spat bitterly.

  Sven shot him a hard look, then lowered his voice.

  – So she lives alone now?

  – No, – Jan shook his head, drowning his resentment in another gulp of beer.

  – Can you believe it? She took in some half-wit—kid doesn’t talk, doesn’t understand a thing…

  – Yeah, some folks get it all… – Sven agreed.

  – And guys like us, patriots who suffered for our country, get nothing, – Jan finished his thought with indignation.

  – But on the other hand… – Sven drawled, already tipsy.

  – What other hand?! – Jan snapped, draining the last of his beer in two gulps.

  – You said she lives alone… and has money… – Sven raised an eyebrow suggestively.

  For a brief moment, the tempting thought took hold of Jan’s drunken mind, but he quickly shoved it away with what little sense he had left.

  – And what good is money if we get caught?

  – If we don’t get caught… – Sven lowered his voice.

  – Maria recognized me today, even though it’s been ten years since we last met, – Jan waved him off.

  – That won’t be a problem if she never gets the chance to tell anyone, – his friend hinted.

  – What, you planning on getting yourself a warm cell and free meals in prison?

  – Come on, no one would even look for us, – Sven coaxed in a quiet, confident whisper.

  – Why’s that? – Jan remained skeptical.

  – You said it yourself—she’s got some madman living with her.

  – We bury him somewhere, and everyone will think he strangled the old hag and ran off…

  ***

  The future had terrified Alv—from the very moment he first opened his eyes on August’s examination table in an empty office. It had struck him with an unfamiliar world, filled with otherworldly things and magic.

  Awakening from centuries of slumber, losing all sense of time, Alv had every reason to doubt that the world before him was still Midgard*. Especially when he left the museum and found himself in an unfamiliar city, where buildings loomed higher than the fortress walls of his castle, and strange lights flickered on the spires of iron peaks.

  This strange world still filled his soul with countless questions, ones he could not answer on his own. Like the fireplace clock in the living room or the glowing magical spheres on the ceiling that lit up with the flick of a switch.

  Perhaps Maria, the mistress of the house, could have explained some of these mesmerizing mysteries. But Alv still feared speaking, even to her—despite the fact that it was through her kindness and patience that he had gradually begun to understand this unfamiliar language.

  Yet Alv had always been a clever young man, and in time, the silence, peace, and serenity of Maria’s home gave him the chance to process what had happened and come to some terrifying conclusions. He had not been cast into the cold realm of Hel after death, nor would Odin have accepted him, for his was not a warrior’s death.

  More than that, each Sunday, as he listened to the prayers in the nearby cathedral where Maria unfailingly took him, Alv became more certain—the old gods were dead. And he could not ask answers from Maria’s new god, for he did not know how to serve or praise him.

  But even without such clear answers, Alv was beginning, little by little, to feel alive again—though he would never again dare call himself human. And yet, working alone in the quiet garden, far from ticking clocks, dazzling chandeliers, and the muted hum of the radio, he felt at peace.

  His new life—one without hunts, battles, or betrayals—seemed far preferable to the halls of Valhalla.

  The entrance gate creaked softly behind him, and Alv turned at the sound, surprised by the unusual number of visitors that evening. But he never got the chance to make out the silhouette of the mysterious intruder—something hard and heavy struck the back of his head before he could react.

  The red-haired man let an empty bottle slip from his fingers, the very one he had used to stun the boy, and for good measure, he brought the garden spade down several more times.

  - What do you have over there? - Jan hissed, creeping along the wall to avoid being seen from the windows.

  - All clear! - Sven assured him, flushed with excitement as he discarded the bloodied weapon.

  For a brief moment, as the Leaf of Idras restored life to his broken body, Alv’s mind clouded. Suspended between life and death, visions of the past swirled before him—his pursuers, his murderers, the terror of his final breath, the agony of betrayal. They burned and multiplied in his soul, until, in the heightened clarity of his returning consciousness, they condensed into rage.

  Rage at the cruel cycle that had repeated over and over, as though his fate had been predetermined—his life snatched away again and again, with no chance of escape.

  Alv sat in the garden, hugging his knees to his chest, seeking shelter from the brutal world beneath the fragrant boughs of wild roses and the embrace of night.

  Then, faint sobs from inside the house reached his ears. And he remembered the woman who had become a second mother to him.

  The fair-haired youth was already on his feet before he even decided what he was going to do—or perhaps his very existence dictated what must be done. He entered the house through the kitchen, just as the uninvited guests had, moving carefully, silently, like a ghost of bygone times. Which, in a way, he was.

  Peering into the living room through the doorway, Alv took in the scene: the mess left by the men’s rummaging, a tall stranger gripping the household’s kitchen cleaver, and Maria, curled up in the armchair, sobbing. He didn’t immediately see Jan, who was emptying the drawers of the buffet. But that didn’t matter.

  Under the askew glow of the lampshade, something flashed in Alv’s hand too—a short blade. Yet unlike the two drunken soldiers, he was no stranger to holding another’s life at arm’s length, nor did he fear for his own.

  Moving with spectral silence, he stepped out of the kitchen and approached Sven from behind. Only Maria saw him in time, her anxious gaze betraying his presence—but it was too late to save the man.

  Sven jerked around, swinging his weapon in panic, but his blade barely grazed Alv, who skillfully ducked beneath the clumsy attack. In the next breath, the youth plunged his knife straight into the man’s heart.

  Sven’s massive frame staggered and collapsed, knocking over the lamp. Its glow cast an unflattering light on Alv’s bare arms, where silver threads writhed in his blood, weaving the wound shut.

  Two sharp intakes of breath filled the room, but Alv had long grown indifferent to the revulsion and fear of others.

  What did unsettle his remaining opponent, however, was not just his unnatural resilience—but how effortlessly he had dispatched Sven.

  Panic overtook Jan. He bolted for the front door, desperate to escape, but failed—Alv’s thrown knife struck him in the back, sending him crashing to the floor just as he reached for the lock.

  The man was already on his knees, fumbling at the door in a feeble attempt to flee. But Alv’s soundless steps caught up with him in an instant.

  - No, Alv, don’t! - Maria’s anguished cry rang out.

  But he had already moved. Retrieving his knife, he slit Jan’s throat. Silence fell over the room, deep as a grave.

  - You are far too kind, Maria, - the fair-haired youth remarked, turning to her.

  ***

  The cold morning light slowly crept over the horizon, its timid rays illuminating the two figures seated on the porch—a silver-haired woman wrapped in a warm shawl and a fair-haired youth, his clothes stained with dirt and dried blood. They sat in silence, gazing at the wild rose bushes, though their thoughts were far from the fragrant blossoms.

  Maria was troubled by the uncertain future.

  Alv was haunted by his ever-repeating past—one he had once again been forced to bury beneath the freshly planted roses.

  deviantart