⚔️Serberia

Struck by the warmth of a cloudless night, Baldur drifted into a peaceful sleep, wrapped tightly in a dark, starry blanket. The already quiet streets were deserted, the lights in the ornate windows extinguished, and a ringing silence enveloped the humble dwellings. Only the occasional sounds of forest creatures broke the nocturnal stillness. But two people that evening were not inclined to sleep, nor did they wish to see the setting sun, which heralded the end of this eventful day. However, the diligent celestial light had long been replaced by its mysterious lunar counterpart, casting gentle, blue-tinged reflections on the calm waters of a small pond. Ilva sat on the edge of a bench, still clutching a bouquet of wildflowers that Ren had picked the day before. Not as impressive as a gift from Raymond, but still a very pleasant present. Her appearance was now enhanced by sparkling sapphire earrings, like young stars shimmering in the celestial twilight. She had tried to argue with her brother about acquiring such an expensive souvenir, but in the end, she couldn't resist Cecilia's creation. Renold, still exhilarated by the successful surprise he had orchestrated, strolled around the pond, occasionally tossing small pebbles that playfully skipped across the dark water. Tired of this activity, the young man soon joined his sister and sat down on the bench beside her. Ilva rested her head on his shoulder, and together they watched the cloudless sky, occasionally counting the falling stars. Renold tried to recall the details of the first conscious celebration, which was barely able to penetrate the hardened layers of childhood memory. Again and again, he returned to the lavishly set table, sitting next to his parents, with little Ilva in his mother's arms. But today, it seemed as if fortune had smiled upon him: as if figures awakened from a long slumber, the origins of his mind granted him a continuation of one of the rare memories of a life that he and his sister had been forever deprived of. *A loud knock on the door struck their ears, creating a sense of unexpected anxiety: little Ilva burst into loud sobs, and Renold, frightened, clung to his mother's leg.* *"Who else... Stay here," his father's voice clearly conveyed stern undertones.* *Rising from his seat, he hurried to open the door for the uninvited guest, and Renold was finally able to get a good look at him. His father was tall (though perhaps it only seemed that way due to the difference in size compared to the small child), broad-shouldered, and slightly stout. This, combined with his otherwise imposing physique and the thin, light-colored hair that brushed his shoulders, made him resemble a wild polar bear or Baron Gungnir. Except that he was significantly younger than the latter and could not boast a bushy beard or thick eyebrows.* *Muttering something angrily, his father soon disappeared from the living room.* *"Ren, come on," his mother said urgently, hurrying into the depths of their spacious home, and the boy followed her at a brisk pace.* *They passed through several richly, but not extravagantly, furnished rooms, climbed the staircase (which was a great effort for Ren), turned left, and came to a high door made of dark wood. His mother took the baby, wrapped in a blanket, and with her free hand, turned the knob, letting them into a new room. For some reason, this place differed drastically from the rest of the house: mainly, by the complete absence of windows and any ordinary interior items, furniture, or household utensils. If it weren't for the gleaming cleanliness and neatness with which the room was arranged, one might think it was some forgotten storage room.* *Renold looked around in surprise: he had never been here before. Two walls on either side of the door were hung with various heraldic banners and symbols in a language unknown to him. Certain signs, for some reason, evoked associations with something ancient and long forgotten; he couldn't explain why. On the opposite wall was a painting of a shining sword against a crystal-clear sky; it was badly torn, as if someone had angrily slashed it with a sword. Directly below it was a long, rectangular box made of light-colored wood, with two long-extinguished candles on its lid.* *Gently placing his daughter on an old, but high-quality carpet made of bright red fabric, his mother casually blew out the candles and unlocked the strange box, taking out a dark-wrapped object.* *"Ren, watch Me..." his mother's voice, suddenly serious, was drowned out by the sounds of heated voices coming from downstairs. The young man looked up and met her resolute gaze, her eyes a cold, icy blue. Holding the cloth-covered object firmly in her hand, his mother confidently left the room, her fiery hair swirling behind her, and closed the door.* *The entire space around was instantly enveloped in darkness and silence: only the occasional sound of little Ilva's diligent snuffling could be heard. The minutes stretched on like hours, and Ren's heart was increasingly filled with fear. He wanted to open the cursed door, but he firmly decided to obey his mother and not leave his younger sister. So they spent an unknown amount of time, until the sound of hurried footsteps was heard on the other side of the room. A pillar of bright daylight struck Ren in the eyes, but after blinking a few times, he was able to breathe a sigh of relief: his parents were perfectly fine. Of course, the boy couldn't pay attention to the trickle of blood profusely flowing from his father's nose, his badly bruised eye, and the crimson puddle that had gathered under the hastily bandaged object in his mother's hands.* *"It's okay," his father said, nodding to his son as he took the crying Ilva again. "Let's go."* *They reached the parents' bedroom along the now-familiar path. During all this time, his mother had not uttered a word, which was very strange for her. After placing his daughter in the cradle and telling Ren to wait for their return again, his parents clicked the lock and left them alone. At that moment, the boy rushed to the door and pressed his ear against it, carefully listening to the conversations taking place outside.* *"Damn it! Do you even realize what will happen to us now?!" his father raged.* *"Otherwise, you would have been killed," his mother replied with the same coldness, seemingly hurrying to pack things. *"Even so. At least you would be alive."* *"As if they wouldn't come after us after you." the woman said indifferently.* *"Understand, this is my personal matter," his father insisted. "Neither you nor the children have anything to do with it..."* *"Liar. Your business? You got involved in this because of your slutty sister, and you dragged your family into it. Was it worth it...?"* *Renold heard the distinct sound of a palm hitting skin; his mother's voice abruptly stopped.* *"She was a hundred, no, a thousand times better than you," his father hissed through his teeth. "Every time I see those damned cold eyes, I remember what I lost through my own stupidity. At least Ren takes after me. Yes, Ren..."* "Ren, Ren, what are you doing, are you asleep?" a loud voice startled him awake. "Ah, what? Oh, sorry, Il," the young man yawned loudly and stretched properly. They were back in the night village, surrounded by silence and tranquility. "I heard that Baron is leaving with Gulveig today," Ilva said suddenly. "I hope that means he won't give us any more stupid tasks. I don't want to go... there... again." "Me neither," Renold agreed. "But let's think about the good things. Even if something happens, at least we'll be together, right?" "Perhaps," his sister said with a smile. "And as long as we're together, I'll somehow endure it."