Snowfall

Midnight had passed, and Yaro hated that she was still waiting.

She had been standing at the edge of the small square under one of the gas lamps for hours. Thanks to her thick fur coat, she wasn’t cold—only the tip of her nose stung slightly from the chill; fresh white snowflakes clung to the fibres of her coat. For so late an hour, this part of the city was surprisingly lively. The doors of the two-story, timber-framed houses kept opening and closing as guests departed or arrived. Beyond the crisp scent of snow, the air was thick with tobacco smoke and the rich aroma of roasted meat.

She hadn’t been here in a long time, yet the memory had hardly faded over the years. The city was exactly as she remembered it. In every sense.

She decided to give up. He hadn’t come. For some reason, she wasn’t surprised.

She was just about to cross the square toward the small inn where she was staying when something moved in the corner of her vision. It moved quickly and with calculation—almost inhumanly so. She reached for the knife hidden in the inner pocket of her coat; if necessary, she wouldn’t hesitate.

“Yaroslava.”

The shadow was already standing before her. And he knew her name.

“Adriyan?” Though she had imagined this meeting many times before, she hadn’t expected it to affect her like this. The man was tall, just as she remembered—more than a head taller than her. He had broad shoulders and sharply defined features. His dense aura seemed to fill the space between them.

She hadn’t thought of Adriyan in a long time, but now every memory of the past came rushing back at once. The good and the bad alike. Suddenly, she felt like a little girl again—powerless and vulnerable.

“How long has it been—ten years, perhaps?” The man’s voice snapped her out of it. Right. She needed to focus; she was here for a reason.

“Eleven. A lot has happened since then.” Time hadn’t touched the man, however. A decade meant a great deal to mortals, but Adriyan was immortal—unchanging.

“Yes, no doubt about that. I’d be interested to hear what’s happened to you. I have a meeting tonight. But afterwards, if you’d like—”

"You're meeting me, Adriyan. " The confusion in the man's eyes was replaced by pure shock when the girl rolled up her coat sleeves and revealed the tattoos on her arms. His pale skin lost even more of its colour, his round, deep brown eyes scrutinising the girl as if they had never seen her before. "You..."

“I’ve come in the name of the Order. I’d like you to arrange a meeting with your clan's leader. You’re being given the opportunity to join the alliance.”

“Why did you join them?”

“I had no better option.” The sentence hung between them for a moment that felt like an eternity. “What do you say we take a walk?”

They set off along the city’s wide streets, the snow crunching under their feet—the only sound in the silence they carried with themselves. At last, the girl broke it. “By the way, I don’t use Yaroslava anymore—it’s too long. To most people, I’m just Yaro now.”

"Why do you work for them?" God, he wasn't going to drop the subject. Fine—if she played along, she might convince him about the negotiations. That was what mattered most now.

“After—well, after our paths parted, I went south. That’s where I began to study, and that’s where they found me. They asked me to join, and I did. That’s all. Please don’t go looking for trauma where there isn’t any.”

His hand closed around her arm—firm, unyielding, yet not quite forceful enough to be called cruel. Still, it held her in place. He turned her toward him, and suddenly there was no distance left to hide in. She couldn’t look away.

He leaned closer—too close—and when he spoke, his voice brushed against her ear, low and dangerous, almost intimate.

“Who said anything about trauma?”

Yaro’s heart began to race. Adriyan’s closeness drove the air from her lungs, leaving her struggling to draw in another breath. His scent filled her senses—musk, cedar, and fresh snow. Then it ended abruptly as Adriyan stepped back, rebuilding the distance he had just torn down between them. Good. After all, that wasn’t why she was here.

“I don’t want to waste any more time. I want a meeting with Odessa. I’d like to discuss the terms of your joining.”

“The terms, huh?” A faint edge crept into his voice. “What makes you think she’d join at all? Our clan is the largest among the undead. We practically rule the Crimson Highlands.”

“For now. I hope your clan is prepared for what happens if the Starwalkers break through the sea gates. None of us is a match for them—at least not alone. But together… we might still stand a chance.”

“You’re afraid of them.”

“Of the Order? Don’t make me laugh.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Adriyan might reach for her again—but in the end, he pulled his hand back.

“Not the Order. Them. The Starwalkers. What happened?”

"Nothing happened. Only a fool wouldn't be afraid of them. I hope Odessa Lombardi isn't a fool, and I sincerely hope you aren't either."

Something flashed across the man's face—anger, perhaps, but it was hard to tell in the dim light of the street lamps. Just as the wet glint in the girl's eyes could have been anything, especially in this snowfall. A quiet, resigned sigh escaped the man's lips.

“As you said, Odessa isn’t a fool. Even if she agrees, she won’t give up her people or her resources for free. She’ll demand a high price—one you may not be able to afford.”

“Why do you care?”

“Whether we join? Well, I am a member of the clan—and, incidentally, one of its heirs.”

“No. Why do you care about the price.”

Was she imagining it, or was Adriyan actually worried about her? No—that seemed unlikely. Back then, he had left her behind without hesitation. Not even for a moment had he wavered, abandoning her at the city gates in the middle of the night. It had been winter then, too—perhaps even harsher than this.

Coming here had been a mistake. This whole meeting was pointless. She stopped in the middle of the road and turned to face him.

“Maybe you’re right. Now that we’ve spoken, I see it too. We’d only be going in circles, and I won’t expose my unit to the whims of your queen. I’m sorry for wasting your time. Good night.” With that, she turned and started back down the road.

“Yaroslava. Wait.”

She didn’t know why she stopped. And yet she couldn’t keep walking—couldn’t just leave this behind. How could he still have this effect on her, uttering her name almost in a whisper with that deep, steady voice? Slowly, she turned back, taking a step toward him. Her words came out quietly, as if she were praying:

“What am I waiting for? You’re right, Adriyan—you probably couldn’t offer anything we’d find acceptable. We belong to two different worlds. Remember?”

At that, the man lowered his gaze, his shoulders sinking. His face twisted into something pained, as if the words themselves had struck him.

Silence followed. Painful, frozen, unmoving.

“Farewell, Adriyan.”

Now it was truly over. The mission, and everything between them. She never wanted to come back here again. She’d been a fool to think otherwise. But the man caught up to her quickly.

“Fine. I’ll arrange the meeting for you. I’ll speak on your behalf. On one condition.”

“You’re setting conditions?”

For the first time that evening, anger flared in Yaro—anger, and a trace of humiliation. Somewhere deep down, she knew they would need Odessa Lombardi and her clan. And she knew that help would not come cheap.

“Alright. Let’s hear it.”

“A chance. From you. Let me earn back your trust.”

The air suddenly felt so heavy she wasn’t sure it was worth breathing.

“You had your chance, Adriyan—and you left me alone. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be human in these lands?”

The words came sharp, almost spat out with the force of her anger.

“You wouldn’t have been any safer with me—believe me. I only wanted to protect you from what was waiting for you there.”

Yaro didn’t know when the space between them had vanished, or when he had taken her free, cold hand in his. They were so close. Too close. She lifted her gaze, while Adriyan lowered his head slightly. Their noses nearly brushed. Too close.

Yaro thought of that old kiss. Of her fourteen-year-old self. Of what that soft, fleeting kiss had meant to her—of the way he had kissed her back.

And then let go of her hand at the city gate.

“I’m not a child anymore, Adriyan.”

A faint, pained smile touched his lips. Slowly, he raised his hand—this time without hesitation—and his fingers brushed gently along the line of her cheek.

Yaro knew she shouldn’t—

—but their lips met anyway. The kiss was fierce, charged with anticipation. She gave herself to the moment completely—his taste, his scent, his closeness filling every part of her. Her fingers clutched at his coat, as if the ground itself might give way beneath her.

It wasn’t desire that burned strongest within her. It was the absence. The absence of all those lost years.

When they finally parted, their foreheads still rested together. Their breath mingled in the frozen night air.

“No… you’re not.”

Yaro didn’t smile. But she didn’t step back either.

“One chance,” she said at last. “Just one. In return, I expect your help.”

The snow kept falling around them, as if the city itself silently agreed.