Chapter 1: The Road To Moonacre
Chapter Text
The sunny Ravkan morning felt hollow to Aleksander. Any other day he might have found it a beautiful one, but the sun could do little to lift his spirits today as he quietly walked beside the hearse that bore his fathers body.
He died in the civil war that had been ravaging the country for years now. Too many lives lost, too many left behind.
Aleksander never thought he would be one of them. His father was strong, quick as lightning and smarter than he believed any general to be. Yet here he was, walking towards a graveyard to bury the man he had always looked up to.
The clatter of hooves and wheels on the cold cobblestone not enough to distract him as he sinks away in his own thoughts
His thoughts are absent as the coffin is lowered into the ground and the priest gives his father his last rites and his chest aches as he throws a rose on the coffin as a last goodbye, albeit, truth be told, they said goodbye to each other a long time ago. Yet his heart didn’t seem to have accepted that fact.
He watches as the gravekeepers close the hole shovel by shovel. He watches the gravestone when they are done and the hollow, aching feel in his chest only seems to grow the longer he looks at it.
He doesn’t register Ivan’s hand on his shoulder as a lump grows heavy in his throat.
Before he knows it, tears are rolling down his cheeks. The whole day he had not cried, but something about seeing the fresh grave and the neatly carved headstone broke something in him. Perhaps it was the realisation that he could no longer deny that his father was dead. That he was just another body on the ever growing pile that littered the Ravkan battlefields.
Just another life, given in vain.
Millions of thoughts went through Aleksander’s head as he walked the streets of Os Alta, thoughts of what he had wanted to say, things he wanted to do and old memories that stung like an old, infected wound. His legs carried him like they had a mind of their own as the buildings of the city seemed more dull than ever, their colors bleak in the sunlight and the joy that always buzzed through the streets now left him indifferent.
He barely noticed the fact that he was walking to the notary his father had written up his will with and briefly wondered what his father had left him.
The sound of a door slamming shut behind him pulled him out of his thoughts and he quickly observed he was in an office. The walls were mostly decorated by shelves filled with records, save for the occasional painting on display and towards the back of the room, there was a big desk with two seats in front of it and one behind it for whichever person happened to be working there.
“Mister Morozova, my condolences with the passing of your father,” a man whom he assumed to be the notary, spoke and Aleksander gave him a quiet ‘thanks’ as he and Ivan took the seats opposite of the man behind the desk.
“What has been left by him?” Ivan asked, knowing the boy next to him well enough to know that he did not want to speak up, lest he cry in front of someone else than himself.
“Not much I am afraid,” the notary spoke and Aleksander spotted pity on his face and for a second he wondered why. “The only thing he explicitly left you,” he said as he pulled out an old, leather bound book that Aleksander didn’t recognise, “is this book.”
“What about the house and all his other possessions he left here before he was taken to war?” Ivan’s voice sounded far away as he quietly took the book from the man across him.
Only a book. Why has he only left me a book? Was I not more important to him?
The thought raced through his mind as he somewhere far away heard Ivan argue with the notary.
“This can’t be all that was left to him!”
“The war takes its toll on everyone, mister Kaminsky. In the case of the deceased, he took to drinking I am afraid. If you ask me, he is lucky the man never sold the book. I am sorry, this is all I can give him."
The man paused for a second before he resumed. "Though, there might be a little light at the end of the tunnel here. Since mister Morozova is not of age yet, Baghra Morozova has taken it upon her to take you both in.”
“My mother? Ivan I haven’t seen her in years, much less spoken to her,” he said exasperated, “and now I am supposed to go live with her?” He paced around his room as he tried to take in the details of it one last time.
“Aleksander, if you had been of age I would happily have this conversation with you, but since that is not the case and I am your legal guardian, we are going.”
Aleksander let his shoulder fall at Ivan’s argument. Of course he was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it as he silently took up the old book again and let his fingers trace over the worn leather and suddenly he had the urge to throw it away, across the room, into a fire, it didn’t matter. Instead his fingers just seemed to tighten around the bound pages as the ache in his chest bubbled up again and tears were prickling in the corners of his eyes.
It was all he had left of him. He had been rich when he left, but the war had taken its toll on him and like many, he’d started drinking. And gambling.
From the results Aleksander could tell he had not been good at it, but he briefly wondered what it would have been like if he had gone with him.
Would he have died too? Or would he still be alive, still stand over a fresh grave, but haunted by the war?
Thoughts like this haunted him as he absent mindedly packed his bags.
He wouldn’t need much, a few changes of clothes, a couple of books and the dagger his father had gifted him on his tenth birthday, he could fit it all in one suitcase and it felt strange to him.
People like him traveled with at least two suitcases at all times. And if they were making a big move like this, it should undoubtedly be more.
But it wasn’t and it stung him.
For a moment he considered leaving the old book behind, sure of it that it would serve someone else better than him, but the thought was quickly gone when he reminded himself that it was his inheritance. It was the only thing he had left of the man he’d always looked up to.
“Where does she live these days?” he asked quietly, glancing at the man beside him.
“In the countryside I believe. What the locals have dubbed 'The Moonacre’.”
Aleksander made a noise of disgust. “The countryside? Couldn’t she at least have chosen a city to live in? I’d rather live in Ketterdam than the countryside,” he scorned.
“You wouldn’t survive a week in Ketterdam.”
“Still.”
“Stop being dramatic Aleksander and start using that brain of yours. That’s why you got it.”
He huffed at Ivan’s response but said nothing as he checked the contents of his case again.
“Listen, I want to stay here in Os Alta just as much as you do, but we have nowhere to stay. Going to your mother is our best move for now. And let’s get moving, our ride is waiting outside.”
The carriage ride was soothing as it softly bobbed up and down over the Os Altan stone streets and Aleksander gazed at the buildings slowly passing them. Buildings he would likely never see again.
However, the calm of the city made soon way for the sandy roads of the countryside and it seemed like the charioteer made a point of going through every single hole in the road and drove over every bump he could find and soon both Aleksander and Ivan found themselves doing breathing exercises against the nausea.
Luckily, the longer they were in the carriage, the more Aleksander got used to the heavy swaying of the carriage, but Ivan seemed to be less lucky as he pulled out a bottle of pills and took a few out, swallowing them dry.
“I hate this,” he fumed quietly as he continued his exercises, not paying attention to Aleksander, who had taken to a little knife he always carried with him, flipping it over and over and making small moves in the constricted space.
He was able to entertain himself for a while like that, whilst Ivan seemed to recover from his motion sickness and had started to play with one of the strings on his red kefta to fend off the boredom.
But ultimately, the space was too small for proper practice and he put the knife back into its sheath as the landscape wobbled by.
Not finding anything better to do, Aleksander decided that sleep was the best option.
The bobbing of the carriage was soothing and quickly enough, he was drifting in and out of a dreamless sleep, though it wasn’t giving him any rest as the fields glided by in an ever repetitive motion, not changing much aside from the occasional roadside tree.
As he drifted in and out of the dream realm, his mind began to wander to other places.
Back to his old home in Os Alta, where he’d so often played hide and seek with his father, to the streets he’d roam when he wasn’t studying new techniques with him or Ivan, but ultimately his thoughts went back to the graveyard. To the freshly dug grave, the neatly cut headstone and the black casket in the ground.
The sting he’d felt earlier that day now clawed at his chest, as if it wanted to rip it open and escape from his body, making his throat feel impossibly tight. As if he might cry again any moment.
It hurt so badly and all he wanted to do was make it stop. Stop the pain, stop his father from going to the frontlines, stop the people who killed him. He wanted to stop it all. For the whole world to stop moving and let him grieve in peace.
With a sharp breath he opened his eyes and shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts from his mind as he turned his attention back to the window and the landscape that passed it.
The boring fields had made way for rolling green hills with the occasional flock of sheep and it made him jealous of the herders. To have little to no idea of what was going on with the war, or outside the fields where they herded their sheep. To have that peace of mind made him envious of them.
A few minutes later, the carriage came to a halt and Ivan stuck his head out of the little window to see why they’d stopped.
He could see something of a gate wall, but he could see no walls extending from it and muttered something about enduring the ride around it.
But just as he went to sit back in his seat, the door was yanked open and a figure dressed in bright browns and oranges darted in to grab Ivan by his Kefta, trying to drag him out of the carriage and with success as the man is too surprised to do much about it.
Not a moment after Ivan was half out of the carriage, another figure crawled over him into the small space, quickly making their way to Aleksander, who immediately pulled his knife out its sheath, but the other was faster, dodging the slash by using his movement to bury the knife into the wood of the carriage and was quick to secure their hold on his Kefta as they yanked him towards the open door.
But he wasn’t about to give in that easily as he made himself heavy, resisting the pulling moves from his assailant, though he quickly found out they were more experienced in this than he was as they landed a blow in his crotch, launching him up as they pulled him with them again.
Panicking, he decided to try and summon the shadows, to at least disoriënt them, but it was of no use. As he tried to call the familiar darkness, one of his hands was suddenly tangled in a very painful position, the pain making him grunt as he tried to work himself free.
“Morozova,” they hissed, as if his name were a profanity used by people trying to express their frustrations, before giving him another hard pull, nearly getting him out of the carriage until they suddenly cried in pain, letting go of him and falling back onto the dusty road.
Ivan was back in the carriage before Aleksander could blink twice, slamming the door shut as the carriage began to move again, leaving their assailants behind the gate and Aleksander silently hoped that was the last they would see of the bandits.
Chapter 2: The Morozova Residence
Chapter Text
The night had fallen over the valley by the time they reached the Morozova estate, both men were exhausted as they practically fell out of the carriage, finding just enough strength in their legs to support themselves, dragging what little baggage they had from the roof and made their way to the door, where Aleksander could make out a human figure in the doorway and he figured it was his mother, from what little his father had told him about her, she had the same flair for dramatics as him.
"How was your journey?" the woman asked when they were close enough to properly see her in the dim light of the house behind her.
"Long." answered Ivan, "but good."
Both men shared a look and Aleksander nodded in confirmation, deciding to say nothing of the attempted kidnapping as she motioned them to come inside.
In the salon burned a fire in the fireplace, which seemed to be the light they had seen from the doorway and a giant white dog in front of it, which perked up when it noticed the newcomers and growled deeply, its red eyes making the animal even more intimidating as both Ivan and Aleksander took a small step back at the sight of it.
"Don't worry, you are a Morozova. He won't hurt you," she said without looking back at them as she made her way to the adjacent hallway and they quickly followed, not feeling the need to stay in the same room with the dog for longer than necessary, as it was clear to the both of them that she had only spoken to Aleksander.
The hallway was long and the shadows seemed a sinister thing to the both of them as they followed the old woman, who, despite her confinements to a cane, kept quite the pace, seemingly not at all affected by the gaping darkness.
"Mister Kaminsky, your room is over there," she said as she stopped, pointing her cane into the night covered hallway, before she turned back to Aleksander. "Sasha, your room is over here."
It took Aleksander a second to realise she was addressing him and instantly, his thoughts were back in Os Alta, in the warm summer where he played outside with his father. He'd never called him Sasha. It was always Aleks, Al or his full name if he was in trouble, but never Sasha. He wondered why.
His mother led him up a small spiral stairway before stopping at a door half his size. The little foreroom smelled dusty, but he was too tired to think much of it.
"Here you go, I'll see you in the morning."
Her words weren't friendly, but they weren't entirely cold either and Aleksander was too tired to argue her tone like he would have if they'd arrived late in the afternoon, so he simply waited until she'd descended the stairs again before he let out a weary sigh.
At worst she'd given him a closet to sleep in, but despite all his father had told him about her -which wasn't much- she didn't seem like the person to let her own son sleep in that kind of environment.
The door of the room opened smoothly and to his surprise, it led to a spacious bedroom.
The ceiling was decorated with stars that reflected the night sky and the walls were richly decorated with lush forests, grasslands and animals he recognised as living amplifiers. Some of them dead, some of them alive, others mythical, speculated to even exist.
Against one of the walls there was a bed he was sure he could easily fit himself on at least three times and at its end there was a fainting couch, made of darkened oak and grey velvet fabric.
Without much thought for the rest of the room, he put his suitcase on the couch and popped the locks open.
And there was the book again, silently staring at him. Daring to be touched again.
The worn leather felt strange under his fingers now that he wasn't overcome by grief or anger. Instead, he felt a sense of -what was it?- sadness? Longing or belonging? Whatever it was, he couldn't give it a name as he sat down on the edge of the bed with it.
The first pages of the book were blank, like most of the books he lended from the library back home.
The third page was the one that yielded its first real text and Aleksander could recognize the handwriting of his father anywhere.
For my son, if I don't live to teach him everything he has to know from these pages. The words stung like a dagger in his chest and he could feel tears well up in his eyes as his vision got blurry, but he was quick to wipe the tears away as he turned to the next page where he was surprised to find a photo of both his father and his mother together.
His father was putting a kiss on his mother's temple as she smiled widely, her then black hair tied in an intricate braid and she looked to be leaning into it. Fully enjoying the moment.
They looked happy and for a few long moments, Aleksander felt jealous that he never knew them like that. That they never shared that happiness when he had been in the world. That he'd never have a childhood where both his parents had been present. And happy.
He quickly flipped the page where he found the first technique to summon the shadows and the small note his father made next to it tugged on his heartstrings.
The next two techniques had the same little notes next to them. Inked words telling him he had mastered it, his father silently telling him how proud he was and as he reads on, he sinks further and further into his own thoughts.
"Papa, papa! Look!" Aleksander ran over the grass in the backyard as fast as his legs could carry him, careful not to trip and make the small puff of black smoke in his hands disappear.
"What is it Al?" his father's voice was warm and friendly as he knelt down in front of his son, amused by his enthusiasm.
"Look!" he said excitedly as he pushed the small puff up to the man in front of him.
"Well well, my little boy can summon the shadows now huh?" he'd said as he ruffled Aleksander's hair, making both of them laugh.
"Will you help me?" he'd asked, still full of wonder.
As he read on, the memories changed from the time he spent with his father to how hard he'd worked to master the tricks and abilities described on the pages, but as he kept on turning the pages, fewer and fewer techniques had his fathers notes next to them.
Some of them he had mastered, but some were entirely new to him.
He realised it was because he went to the frontlines as Aleksander remembered practicing one of them alone in the empty house, feeling frustrated and angry when he couldn't get it right and the loneliness of not having someone to calm him, to tell him he was making progress and that he would get there eventually.
Of course Ivan had been there, but it was not the same.
They'd written each other over the months that he had been at the front, hiding the gambling from the paper, though his drinking habits had sometimes shined through. He'd told his father off a in a couple of letters, but it seemed to have had little use.
Tears welled up again as he turned the pages, both reminiscing old memories and feeling the guilt of never having been able to practice all that was written on the pages with him.
His fingers trembled every so slightly as he turned each page, from the rage against the war that took his father's life, from the emptiness he felt in his absence.
Then the book suddenly ended, the last few pages ripped out, like his father had been ripped from his life. It felt poetic and heavily ironic at the same time and he couldn't help the sinking feeling that set in. The feeling that he wanted to fall back into the sheets under him and disappear in them, never to return.
He decided it best to put the book away and get some sleep, not that he thought he would get much of it. Ever since his father left he'd had trouble sleeping, and he doubted this night would be any different, but he'd resigned himself to it as he put the book back in his suitcase and got his nightwear out of it.
A star fell from the ceiling and as his eyes followed it, he was surprised to see its timing line exactly to a star he could see falling from his bedroom window.
Funny, he thought to himself, though he doubted that it would happen again as he got under the covers and sleep took him quickly.
There was a soft seabreeze tickling his skin, the cold, wet stone of a cliff underneath his feet, a pair of soft hands holding his, as if to reassure him and angry faces he did not recognise.
He could not see the face of the person who was holding him, their features blurred and when they spoke, their voice unrecognisable, words melting into each other, yet he understood them perfectly.
He needed to get away, far from where he stood now, with a familiar pain in his chest, the hands letting go of him, not expecting to ever feel them again.
Aleksander woke up panting from the dream, as if he had been running for miles on end. His lungs were burning and it took him a great deal of effort to slow down his own breath, the images of the dream still clear in his mind.
Or were they from the past? A vision from what happend and would likely happen again if the fates would have their way?
He didn't know and he didn't want to think about it as he dragged his still tired body out of bed, wondering how he still had the energy for it as the images from the night were burned into the back of his mind.
It was only after he went looking for his clothes that he noticed a glass of cold milk on his bedside, the cold still evident on the glass as a few droplets made their way down. Beside it was a little gingerbread cookie in the shape of a star and Aleksander wondered who put it there.
He was certainly not a heavy sleeper and the idea of someone coming this close to him when he was so vulnerable unnerved him more than he wanted to admit to himself, but he saw no harm in consuming it. Given the likelihood that it was probably one of his mothers servants that put it there.
The thought made him smile. He didn't hold it likely that his mother would have asked one of them to give him something and the fact that they did anyway warmed his heart in a way that felt like it had been forever ago.
When both the milk and the gingerbread were gone, he turned back to look where he'd dropped his clothing the evening before, which were laying where he left them, or at least in close vicinity of where they had been.
The chair in which he had dropped them now bore a deep black Kefta, embroidery of the same color with hints of silver stretched over the fabric like dark tentacles while his own clothes laid neatly folded on the little table beside it.
The coat felt soft yet sturdy beneath his fingers, and the silver slivers glinstered in the morning sun as he moved them across the fabric. It had clearly been made by someone who was more skilled with fabrics than any seamsters he met in Os Alta and judging by the state of the coat, someone had either recently made it, or taken good care of it for all of the years it hadn't been worn.
His own clothes looked somewhat pitiful in comparison, but the dark Kefta seemed far too strange to actually wear. None of the people he'd seen in passing on his way to the villa wore them, nor did they wear the black that covered the fabric of this one.
He smiled at it. As if there would ever be a time where he could openly display his status like this. To not be shunned and chased away for simply being who he was.
No, he could not wear something like that. Maybe when old wounds had healed a little more and the past seemed more like a grotesque painting than a haunting demon breathing down his neck.
Descending down the stairs, he was not pleased with all the dust that seemed to have gathered on its steps and as he looked at the walls he realised the house was far older than he had noticed when they arrived. He silently wondered if his mother had suffered the brunt of the war as well, forcing her to dismiss most of the staff.
Of course he also knew the estate had been in his family for nearly seven generations now, but seeing the cracks in the walls and the pale, scaled off wood of the window frames made it all the clearer that the house was not aging very well.
Which stood in contrast with what he always heard from his father.
He'd always told him his mother was meticulous when it came to the care for the house, always repairing cracks in the walls and repainting window frames when they showed visible wear.
Though they had been young then, and her later years clearly confined her to a cane, he would not be surprised if she'd still try and maintain the house the same way she had in the past.
As he walked through the salon from the previous night, he noticed the fire was still burning in its hearth, though to his relief, the dog was nowhere to be seen.
In the hall his mother was waiting for him, both exchanging 'good moring's before she motioned him to the dining hall where Ivan had already started his breakfast as the two joined him at the table.
One of the servants put a well filled plate in front of him and even though it smelt better than anything the cooks in Os Alta had ever put before him and the sight of it made his stomach growl, but Aleksander felt no desire to touch any of it.
Though he knew that if he did not eat now, he would collapse halfway through the day. Something he had learned the hard way.
As he picked away at his breakfast, he could hear the house and the nature around it come to life and he wondered what secrets it held for him to discover.
Secrets he soon discovered would have to wait as his mother called him and Ivan for a tour of the house. As they passed several corridors and hallways, most of them were pointed off limits, though to his relief the library was freely available for both of them.
Rain clattered on the windows of the Morozova residence as Aleksander slowly made his way between the large shelves, his own footsteps inaudible on the carpet that adorned the pathways as the leather of his new book sat strangely insistend on his fingertips.
He'd planned on putting it somewhere on these shelves, hoping it would give him less of a feeling of guilt, but now the book seemed to be all he could concentrate on. The worn spines of the books in the library simply glided by under his free hand as he tried to find the correct section to put the book under, but unlike the libraries back in Os Alta, this one seemed to have no categorisation to it. fiction and non fiction stood together like they had always been meant to be there and genres seemed to be of little importance to whomever had put the books on their shelves.
He couldn't imagine it being his mother, given her meticulous care of the house and the gardens around it when she was younger and the only books his father seemed to have been interested in were not ones he could find among the shelves so far.
Giving up the search for the order in the chaos, Aleksander settled in one of the windowsills as the rain and the cold that came from the glass surprisingly fitted his mood. Empty, grey and cold.
Not feeling up for reliving his childhood memories another time, he quickly flipped the pages to where he thought he'd left off with his studies.
As he read on, he played with a wisp of shadows between his fingers, the feel of it comforting him in the fact that not everything had changed. That no matter what happend, some things would always stay the same.
The technique he was studying before he suddenly had to leave everything behind was a complicated one, but if he could get it right, he would be able to see places he could never travel without ever having to leave the place that bound him.
The technique relied on another one that Aleksander had mastered years ago and although he knew he was a little out of practice with it, with a little brushing up, that problem would be solved in no time at all.
But that would be a task for another day as he wistfully stared out of the window, wondering what more there was on this plot of land in the middle of nowhere.
Chapter 3: The Sun, The Shadows And The Amplifiers
Chapter Text
Over the hour that Aleksander had studied the book with summoning techniques, the rain had started to pour even harder out of the sky and he could barely see the flower beds that laid not that far from the walls he hid himself in.
Slipping out of the window sill he searched the shelves for something he wanted to read, but he was unsuccessful until the glimmer of a spine caught his eye. It had no title and no illustration to indicate its topic and it intrigued Aleksander all the more.
Fishing it out between the other, tightly packed books, he discovered that the color of it changed as he moved it around. From black to silver and the faintest hint of something golden in between the phases of the colors.
Intrigued by the mysterious cover, Aleksander took the book back to his previous reading spot. Upon opening the book however, he couldn't find a single word inked onto the pages and neither were there any illustrations to look at. Flipping through the pages he could find no indication there had once been ink on the papers. Perhaps the librarian had misaccounted a notebook for a piece of fiction and he wouldn't blame them, whomever they were.
He looked out of the window again, the rain still pouring mercilessly out of the sky in thick droplets, but the grey haze that hung over the land earlier had mostly cleared up and the bright yellows and oranges of the forest canopy nearby drew his attention, momentarily forgetting about the book in his lap. He could swear he heard a faint voice in his head, beckoning him to come to the trees.
Aleksander scoffed at himself for the silly notion. Adventure had never been for him, much preferring the quiet of a study and piles of books for days.
Turning his attention back to the empty, bound pages in his lap he flipped through it again, foolishly hoping either text or illustrations would have appeared in the time that it had been closed. The texture of the paper felt strange under his fingers and he traced over the pages as he took in the feeling of them.
At his touch, a watercolour bloomed onto the page, depicting the valley from above with the bright orange and yellow forest canopy and the lush greens of the fields that resided in the valley, before suddenly moving back to the beginning of its own volition, startling Aleksander.
Shaking off the initial shock, he moved his fingers over the empty pages and another illustration bloomed to life. This one depicted a dark beach, only lit by the full moon that graced the heavens and two figures, walking along the water line.
He did not know who they were, he could only hope they weren't his parents.
The next page showed two large animals, A white raven and a black unicorn.
Aleksander was taken aback by the color switch, wondering what had caused them to lose their signature colors, his fingers touching the illustration ever so carefully as if he were afraid the ink would bleed.
As he turned page after page, he came to the realization that the book wasn't going to give him any words. He had to figure it out himself.
Then, on one page, two people appeared, their backs turned to him as they each looked upon a respective parts of the valley. A dark haired boy over the forest, and a red head girl over the fields and Aleksander felt the strange sense that he knew them somehow and upon closer inspection, he recognized the girl.
Maria Merryweather. A sun summoner.
Then the boy... Could it be? If the girl was indeed whom he thought she was, then the boy had to be Robin de Noir.
The next few pages depicted them moving throughout the valley, yet their faces remained obscured from him, either because they weren't facing the painter or because of some element that obscured his view of them.
At last they came to a cliff side, one that felt vaguely familiar to Aleksander, but he could not remember where as the thought scratched at his memories.
On the cliff itself were the two animals again, the raven and the unicorn. And despite having seen them earlier in the book, he was still taken aback by their inverted colors.
In between the two creatures stood what he assumed was a woman, her hair as white as the moon that surrounded her, the rest of her features obscured by the bright light, her dress seeming to dance around her in the sea breeze.
The next picture showed an open hand, presenting a bracelet made, from what looked like the horn of the unicorn, a shimmering opal inserted in its middle. The other hand held a necklace, clearly made from bones and Aleksander wouldn't be surprised if they were from the raven. And this one too, had an opal laid at its core.
Amplifiers.
As the thought crossed his mind, the soft tug from earlier pulled on his heart again. Yearning to be under the colorful leaves of the forest.
Tucking both books under his arm, Aleksander decided to go back to his room and unpack what little he'd managed to take with him from Os Alta.
Home.
It stung him to think about it again, the place he had left behind in exchange for this, this crumbling thing that was supposed to be his family home. At least back in the city he had a few friends, here he had no one.
He thought of writing them, explaining why he'd suddenly left the city and perhaps that he wasn't coming back.
At least, not within any reasonable timeframe and the sound of his footsteps reverberating in the empty hallways served only to enlarge that feeling.
The room was unchanged when he entered, much to his relief. The greens of the painted forest and fields gave him some peace of mind, but the hollow heaviness that had gotten a hold of him didn't leave.
Popping the suitcase open again, he moved the clothes into one of the dressers, not caring much if they were sorted and folded correctly before moving on to the small stack of books he'd managed to fit in.
Maybe he could go back somewhere in the next month, get the rest of his possessions moved.
Not that he had much in the first place, since most of the furniture in the house was his father's, but there was a lingering feeling of ownership over the things in his old bedroom. The books that lined the walls and the shelves that held them, the lamps on the sides of his bed and so there were a million more things he wanted to save from the auctioneers hands.
The few books he'd managed to stash in with his clothes got a place on the desk, the window above it looking out over the fields of the valley and in the distance, the canopy of the forest, once again beckoning him.
"This place is driving me insane," he muttered as he turned to take a look at the room in a way he hadn't before.
The many animals that populated the greenery on the walls seemed to look at something he couldn't see, or worse, some seemed to look at him, no matter where in the room he stood.
Had they been doing that since he got here? If they had, he'd been too tired to notice.
The rest of the trinkets in the suitcase were moved to anew place quicker than Aleksander would have liked and found himself staring at the ceiling as he laid on the giant bed.
Above him, the stars still faintly shone against the bright grey clouds now that it had finally stopped raining.
It took a while for Aleksander to notice, but as soon as he did, he shot up, remembering one of the techniques he'd seen in his father's book. If the weather kept favorable long enough, he maybe would even have enough time to squeeze in another trick he wanted to master.
Once down stairs again, he found the halls eerily quiet. No sound that indicated in any way that the house was inhabited by living beings and it made him long for Os Alta. For the long, cobbled roads, the children that were always running from place to place, screaming with laughter; And of course his friends. What had transpired in the city while he had been so abruptly forced to leave?
Part of him wanted to know as the sickly grey walls suddenly seemed to close themselves in on him and part of him didn't. The latter simply wanting him to disappear in an endless void where he could simply float and be far from misery. To be in a place where the war didn't exist and neither the rest of the world.
The outside air was somewhat chilly, but it wasn't unpleasant to Aleksander as he looked for a dry spot to put the book up. The rhythmic falling of water droplets showing how recent the rain had truly stopped.
Eventually he found one under a small back and after some figuring, he had the book in a position it both stood and kept on the right page before stepping back and starting on the older technique.
It took a few tries to get it right again and Aleksander was surprised on how far he'd actually slipped back in his practice, but once he was confident that he had the technique under control again, he turned his attention to the instructions on the pages.
The first few steps were simple enough that he mastered them without much trouble, the shadows only occasionally exploding in his face or ricocheting around the garden before disappearing to where they came from.
The rest of the technique was complicated enough that after about an hour of trail and error, Aleksander decided he'd done enough studying for the day as the sun started to break through the heavy clouds.
The warmth of the bleak rays gave some comfort from the cold air around him, the hollow feeling that had been in his chest since he arrived dissolving a bit as he soaked the heat up.
Somewhere behind him came the sound of something tapping towards him, but he paid it no mind, some part of his imagination drifting back to Os Alta and his friends. To the gardens they'd spent hours in, perfecting their techniques, helping each other and of course there was the dog one of them owned. Aleksander could never remember its name and had always called them 'pupper', 'buddy' or 'darling' the latter of which the rest of his friends always laughed at, but he couldn't be bothered by it. If he were honest, it was their fault for giving it a name so ridiculous that he couldn't remember it.
He was ripped out of his fantasy when a wet nose pressed up against his hand and to his surprise it was his mother's dog. Its red eyes still intimidated him, but unlike the night they arrived, the dog didn't seem to be all that malicious as it backed away to pick up a stick.
With the wagging of its tail and the way it seemed to present the wet branch, it almost seemed like they wanted to play.
With the book forgotten behind him, Aleksander slowly reached for the stick and to his surprise, the dog let go of it as soon as he pulled back, the wet bark feeling weird against his skin and without thinking much of it, threw the stick somewhere in the garden, the dog disappearing after it as he did.
He smiled as he watched the white blur race over the dulled grass and paved pathways. However much things seemed to have changed, there was little he could say to deny the joy that ran through him in that moment as he watched the dog excitedly bounce back to him.
How long he stayed outside to play with it, Aleksander didn't know, but by the time he went back inside, his arm hurt from the amount of times he'd thrown the stick and he felt happier than he could have imagined since he left the city.
With the book tucked under his arm he made his way back to his room, occasionally petting the dog who seemed to insist on accompanying him.
"I say we try and find a kitchen somewhere, get something to eat," Aleksander muttered to himself more than anyone else but the soft bark that sounded next to him said otherwise.
"You probably intimidate the poor cook into giving you a nice bone, don't you?" he laughed before rounding the corner, the hallways still as quiet as when he first went out to practice; Though they felt less empty now that his mother's dog was keeping him company.
Chapter 4: Dogs And Gingerbread
Notes:
Well well, it has taken me quite some time, but here is a new chapter! Hope y'all enjoy!
Chapter Text
The kitchen was, to Aleksander's surprise, close to the room his mother had given him and cautiously he stuck his head around the door post, half expecting to have a kitchen utensil thrown in his direction as soon as the staff there noticed him while the dog walked right past him with a wagging tail.
The space was brightly lit by the light form the outside, despite the clouds that still hung above the estate and the colorful pots, pans and cloths that laid around everywhere gave the room a lighthearted feel that seemed to be absent in the rest of the house.
Aleksander let his fingers glide over the tiled counter as he slowly walked further into the kitchen, still expecting someone to pop up and scream at him to leave as he observed the mountain of dishes that stuck out of the sink and the seemingly exploded flour bag where someone was clearly trying to bake a cake.
And now that he looked a little better, the entirety of the kitchen looked like it had exploded somewhere in someway, yet that didn't take away from the cheeriness of the room.
He was rudely pulled out of his thought when across the kitchen, a tower of pots and pans collapsed and the sound of swearing profusely erupted from next to it, making him momentarily freeze, his mind telling him to get out now that he was not yet getting yelled at and getting things thrown his way but seeing the dog walkover to whomever was swearing up a storm withheld him from it. Besides, he was still hungry.
When the swearing finally stopped, a young man dressed in the same gaudy red as some of the pans emerged from a corner Aleksander had been unable to see from his position and he was surprised to see he didn't look much older than him, though between Grisha it was always hard to tell.
"Afternoon," he greeted Aleksander, starting to pick up some of the pots and pans that had fallen over and put them in a spot he couldn't see, pointing at them as if he were scolding a child before turning back.
"Sorry about that," he said sheepishly, "they seem to have a mind of their own sometimes.”
His gaze followed the young man as he moved through the kitchen, mumbling as he passed one mess after the other before he finally seemed to notice the dog that had been attentively following him and with affectionate annoyance gave him a large bone which he immediately stormed off with.
"So what's your fancy?"
"Sorry?"
The man chuckled. "Do you want something to eat?"
"Yes please. If you have something available," he quickly added, "if not that is fine too."
But the man shook his head as he returned to the half finished cake batter.
"You came here because you were looking for food, no? Besides, be a shame of the cookies in the cupboard if no one ate them."
"Thanks..."
And as said, Aleksander found a tin of gingerbread cookies. The same ones he'd found by his bedside that morning, but before he could inquire about it, the young man asked him a question.
"So, what brings you to the valley? Vacation? Business?"
"Family," he answered shortly, feeling the sting he'd felt by his father's grave crop up again as he took a bite out of one of the cookies, placing the tin back in its designated spot.
He glanced back at the man who now nearly had a complete cake that slid into the oven.
Had he taken that long to answer or was the man just really that fast?
"Anyhow, where are my manners? I am Fedyor," he said, wiping his hands on a cloth that was still miraculously clean.
Aleksander gave Fedyor his name as he briefly looked at the door, somewhere expecting the dog to come back through to demand more snacks, which did not go unnoticed by Fedyor.
"If you're looking for Ghost, that dog won't return until he's had enough of that bone," he chuckled, grabbing something from the windowsill close to where Aleksander had taken to sit down.
"Ghost?"
"Yeah, don't ask me why. People have tried to give him a different names, but Ghost is the only one he responds to."
They continued to talk as Fedyor kept moving through the kitchen to make a dish Aleksander didn't know the name of and he found out that Fedyor was one of the few people the dog didn't seem to mind, and joked that it was most likely because he worked in the kitchen.
But the fun was interrupted by Ivan, who stuck his head around the door frame to call Aleksander.
"It's time for training. To the court yard."
"Sir yes sir," Aleksander playfully mocked him, but Ivan simply rolled his eyes, before he disappeared from the doorway.
"You know, you're always welcome here in the kitchen if you're looking for company, or snacks," Fedyor said with a wink as Aleksander almost disappeared out of the door and gave him a thankful smile before quickly making his way to the front gardens.
The air outside was still damp, but in the time he had been inside the temperature seemed to have gone up.
The place Ivan had chosen to train was a simple stone circle with half overgrown flowerbeds around it.
“I suppose we'll pick up where we left off last week?” he said as he loosely held his arms up in a defensive stance and Ivan simply nodded.
"Take care with your right hook, it's predictable."
"Noted."
Without warning Ivan landed his first blow, which was quickly followed by a second, which Aleksander managed to block. The next few hits he all blocked successfully, but he couldn't find an opening in Ivan's defense to get a hit in himself.
"Aleksander, pay attention," Ivan said as he quickly jabbed the young man against his jaw, "at this rate anyone else would've beat you to pulp already."
"We both know I am far too pretty for that."
"Your attempted kidnappers seemed to have different ideas about that."
He grimaced at the implication, dodging a hook and narrowly avoided another jab that came right after.
They continued to spar with Ivan occasionally reminding Aleksander of how he should use his techniques and to keep his head in the game if he doesn't want to get beaten up.
When Fedyor called them inside for the last meal of the day, both of them were exhausted and Aleksander's mind drifted back to the mysterious book from the library.
He wonders why there are no words on the pages. If it was meant to be a picture book to tell their children their love story.
Though, from what he had seen, the book contained only that of Robin and Maria. Why his mother would keep it any way was beyond him, or maybe she'd simply forgotten the book existed.
They ate in silence and while Aleksander felt like he hadn't had a proper meal in ages, he had little appetite for the food in front of him.
When he finally dismissed himself from the table, he was surprised to see Ghost following him and he couldn't resist to scratch the dog behind its ears as he walked to his room.
As they stopped before the bedroom door Ghost gently nudged his hand with his wet nose and despite the unnatural look of his red eyes, he somehow managed to give Aleksander a pleading look.
He chuckled as he opened the door, giving way for Ghost to go first.
"Come on, get in."
The dog happily trotted into the room and made itself home before the hearth where a fire had been lit against the cold of the night.
Aleksander picked up the mysterious book from his desk and let himself fall into one of the seats near the fireplace.
The next page showed a flurry of what he supposed was the artist's attempt at rendering shadow and sunlight dancing together. The golden reflecting of the black and the black swallowing the golden whole.
It was only when he took a better look at the colors that he realized both Robin and Maria had been drawn in their opposite colors and he wondered if the amplifiers had some how switched their summoning abilities, but he dismissed the thought as soon as it popped up. Even with all that was happening in the world, that was a thought he could definitely pin on a wild fantasy.
Then the paintings switched perspective, no longer showing Robin and Maria, but instead what he assumed to be Robin's family. Despite the earlier depiction of what Aleksander assumed to be their love story, the faces of his relatives were not painted with happy expressions.
Half of the faces had no expressions at all and the ones that did looked either angry or frightened. The next one had the intertwined hands of the two lovers in the middle as the families seemed to be coming closer and closer.
More and more faces appeared angry rather than afraid and Aleksander wondered what had incited them to this as the were pictured to be separating the two lovers, closing in on Maria.
The last two pages were the only pages that contained any words and in flowy calligraphy there was written: If by the blood moon things have not been resolved, sun and shadow will be all this valley knows.
The fire danced angrily in the hearth as a particular hard gust of wind pulled over the chimney, making Ghost look at the flames and then at him, his red eyes making him look ominous as the fire reflected in them.
"What does it mean?" Aleksander wondered aloud as Ghost put his head in his lap, the weight of it comforting to him as he absentmindedly stroked the fur on its head. "I'd ask you, but you're just a dog," he chuckled, moving to get ready for the night, even if his mind was racing with all kinds of questions and sleep seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind.
Once under the covers, Ghost didn't wait for an invitation and jumped up to nestle himself at Aleksander's side, making the young man chuckle.
"Alright, alright," he said as he wrapped an arm around him, "I'll keep you company."
With his face buried into Ghost's fur, he didn't have the time to be surprised by how fast he fell asleep, dreams whisking him away as soon as he closed his eyes
Chapter 5: The Moonacre
Summary:
Aleksander gets to know the Moonacre, and makes some new friends
Notes:
I am severly out of practice with writing, so if you spot any mistakes or odd sentence flows, I apologise
Chapter Text
When Aleksander woke up, the sun was streaming through the large windows near the now smoldering fire and the strong scent of dog fur flooded his nostrils as he slowly woke up.
The sun heated his cheeks, but only succeeded in keeping him tethering on the edge between waking and sleeping. The sounds of birds whistling just outside the windows fading in and out of his ears.
Beside him Ghost stirred awake, immediately turning to lick Aleksander's face, properly waking him up as he tried to get the wet muscle away from his face.
"Good morning to you too," he giggled, pushing the mass of white fur to the side as he tried to get up only to immediately collapse back into the mattress from how blissfully relaxed he was. A feeling he barely remembered having.
His eyes fell half shut as the warmth of the sun kept him in that soft, languid feeling as he tried to will himself to get up.
Stumbling through the motions of getting himself dressed, his eyes caught the deep black Kefta again, stopping him dead in his tracks as he became once again mesmerized with the black and silver stitching that curled around one another.
Part of him wanted to put it on, to see how he might've looked in a different world. A world where he would never have to hide what he was.
The other part recoiled at the idea of ever exposing himself like that. The mortifying fear from when some of the people he thought his friends tried to kill him.
He could feel his shadows fringe into existence like frilling fabric as the nauseating anxiety of the memory overtook him.
He was lucky to have found the people that were currently his friends, that hadn't rejected him for what he was or what he could do and he tried to focus on all the fun he'd had with them, but the image of a glinting knife and a menacing smile was hard to shake.
A knock on the door of his room startled him out of the downward spiral and he quickly buttoned up the last of his white dress shirt before opening the door, behind which he found Ivan.
"Your mother is waiting for you in the stables," he said, holding up a pair of sandwiches Aleksander suspected Fedyor had made. As much as he liked Ivan, the man would burn water given half the chance.
"Does she know I never learned to ride a horse?" he said as he took the paper bag from him.
"I told her but she asked for you to come anyway."
"Great..."
He pulled a face and opened the bag to inspect the contents, the rough smell of brown bread and meat rising up from it. "Guess I won't have the time to eat these in peace," he said to no one but himself as he pushed past Ivan.
Down the hall he was joined by Ghost as it proudly trotted next to him, only shortly parting with him once they passed the kitchen for what Aleksander assumed a slice of the ham that Fedyor had put between his sandwiches.
Once outside, he was greeted with the sight of his mother standing between two tacked up horses.
"Come," she said curtly as she handed him the reigns to one of the horses, "it's about time I showed you the rest of the estate."
"Mother, I am sure Ivan already told you, but I do not know how to ride a horse," Aleksander said with gritted teeth as the image of him falling off the back of the animal as he tried to mount it flashed through his mind.
"Nonsense. Every Morozova knows how to ride one. And if you don't get it yet, just keep steady on their back and you'll grasp it quickly enough."
Her tone left little room for arguement and he decided he was not up for a debate with the woman who he was going to be living with for the forseeable future.
Mustering what little courage he could find, he slung himself into the sadle, finding the animal under him to be surprisingly stable and urged it after his mother's horse.
On the way to the town further down the valley Aleksander noticed that despite his anxieties, it did indeed get easier as the went along the halfcobbled road. Ghost joining their side as Aleksander found that moving along with the horse under him greatly improved his stability. As long as he didn't move to much anyway.
The first thing he noticed when they arrived in the town were the brightly colored Kefta's worn by the townsfolk. Back in Os Alta he'd only ever see them on high ranking officials, and even then they were only worn on certain occassions. Yet here people used them as everyday clothing.
But even here he did not spot a single black Kefta.
Next to him, Baghra explained what the town meant for the valley, though he was only half paying attention as he tried to come to terms with the fact that people could openly be their fullest and truest selves here.
Seemingly indifferent to, or perhaps uncaring about, his mental state, she took him through the fields that brodered the forest.
Once again Aleksander felt an inexplicable tug to explore that which laid under the bright canopy of leaves.
With his curiosity getting the better of him, he slowly turned his horse towards the tree line, but his mother was quick to stop him.
"By the Saints, where do you think you're going?" she scolded, grabbing his reigns as she spoke.
"Didn't you say that the forest is part of this valley? Does that not mean that it is also ours?" He asked, puzzled by his mother's reaction.
"Tell that to those Redwoods that inhabit those trees. They have claimed those woods as their own ever since they demanded of us that Maria give up her power. Of course never mentioning that they never planned to make Robin do the same. All so they could just stay in power. Thieves and liars, the lot of them."
"Oh," was all he could muster as he threw one last look towards the treeline before Baghra led his horse away.
Only once back in the town did she return his reigns to him, telling him she was planning to return to the manor. Yet Aleksander had other plans.
"I think I'll stay a bit longer," he said, his eyes fixed on a group of people he guessed to be around his own age playing some sort of a ball game, "but I'll be back before sundown," he promised her.
With a sigh and a curt nod, Baghra agreed and quickly drove her horse in the direction of the manor. Though Ghost did not follow her, instead he looked up at Aleksander with an expecting look; As if to ask: where are we going now?
Feeling a lot less sure about his horseriding skills without his mother by his side, he dismounted his horse and took it by the reigns as he walked over to where the small group was playing.
The trio noticed him before he had the chance to tie the reigns to a nearby fence post and walked over to greet him.
A girl with sunbronzed skin and long, flowing, black hair seemed to be the most confident of the three as she introduced herself as Zoya, and explaining that the girl in the blue and orange Kefta was Marie, who was full of energy as she greeted him from a distance and the one in Fabrikator purple was named David, who timidly gave him a polite headbow.
Aleksander introduced himself as well, though purposefully omitting the fact that he was the person who had recently moved into the manor and instead redirected the conversation back to the game they had been playing before he'd come over.
It was a game they liked to call 'Hot coals' and he quickly discovered that it was a combination of Keep Away —thanks to the contribution of Ghost— and Don't Let It Fall.
As they played, none of them saw the treeline coming closer and closer, far too focussed on the ball and the dog that was trying to steal it.
Only when David just missed the ball, causing it to land in the forest, did reality seem to come back to them.
Seeing no one make a move, Aleksander quickly moved to search for the ball from under the trees, where the sounds of the nearby town quickly fell silent. Somewhere behind him he heard Ghost trotting after him when the odd feeling in his chest rose up once more, trying to pull him deeper into the woods.
He tried to ignore the feeling as he kept looking for the ball and for Ghost who had clearly followed him. To his relief, he found the ball laying a few feet further away from him underneath an old oak tree, and quickly picked it up, more than ready to return to the open field where they'd been playing.
But he could not shake the thought of moving futher into the forest, to try and find what more the Moonacre could possibly offer him.
He was quickly pulled back to reality however when Ghost wet nose nudged at his hands in an attempt to wrestle the ball from him.
Laughing at the dogs attempts, he pretended to throw the ball and watched Ghost run after it as he slowly walked after him.
Neither of them noticing the pair of piercing eyes that stared at them from above in the old oak tree.
As the sun touched his skin again, he found the other three staring at him with dumbfounded expressions on their faces and threw the ball to Zoya.
"What?"
"Did no one tell you not to go into those woods? That is Redwood territory," Zoya half whispered, as if she were afraid of getting him caught.
"It was just a ball. I’m sure they won't mind us picking up our toys out of their back yard," he chuckled, scratching Ghost behind his ears as the dog watched the ball like a hawk.
"Maybe that was the case once upon a time," Zoya sighed and shook head, "but now they'll attack you as soon as they catch someone setting foot over the tree line... Either way, we should probably move away from here, make sure that doesn't happen again."
Aleksander spent the rest of the afternoon with Zoya, David and Marie, learning that David wanted to move away from the Moonacre to Ketterdam to open his own shop and sell his inventions, that Zoya wanted to become a sailor and businessowner, promising to help David start up his shop when they'd land in Kerch and that Marie wanted to become a librarian in Os Alta.
He also told them of his dreams to become a wealthy merchant like his father had been before he was send off to the battle front.
As the sun slowly began to fall, Aleksander said his goodbyes to the trio and got on his horse, slowly driving it back into the direction of the manor, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that told him to go explore the woods now that it was certain that no one was looking.