Aftermath Plans || Amerus / Rusame

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟

Trigger warnings at the end of the chapter, for those who don't want to get spoiled for them. For those who want to check it, scroll/slide to the author's notes section.

───────༺༻───────

It was around five pm and the streets of Moscow already felt the chilling temperature get even colder on their skin. Came with the wind was the first snowfall of the week, nothing that exciting, but a messenger of the winter finally taking mercy on them.
Winter taking mercy meant nothing however-winter would stop and from it, humanity would rise; the Russian folk always looked for the heaviness of a cold deity upon them-whether it was the soul of the winter itself or someone even colder than that.
You can never truly hate something you were born at, the cold was like that. Both the gentle hold of a mother and the harsh reality of war. It was the very same thing that taught children how to walk and then took their legs away when they grew older. The very same thing that taught children how to love peace and taught them how to kill their lovers by their own hands a few decades later.

Skin burning bites but a peaceful longing-that's what cold was. A contradiction, but a fitting one, if there ever was one. Act of a single second mercy before making everything worse. The warnings of a flood, foreshocks of an earthquake. The act of a man surrendering himself at the hands of fate knowing he has the utmost chance to perish.
But this kind loved the thrill. Maybe that's why they either perished or thrived the best.
Although now, the thrill felt the furthest away from thriving, since the man before him was the personification of cold.

"What is this, Volodslav Parfenovich?"

December 18th 1965, Moscow

His mister's voice was colder than the december snow, he knew because it sent him a shiver no cold would. The dark had already started to settle in by then, so the brightest thing lighting the room was the street lights close to where the mansion was. And regarding the question-he couldn't find it in himself to answer, from the tone.

"What did I want from you?"

The dossier hitting the table sounded louder than any gun blaring. The man in question turned his looks at the thick, disappointing piece of document on the table. He had to gulp to keep his composure.

"Answer me."

"Sir.." he cleared his throat. "We-"

"Look me in the eyes, Volodslav Parfenovich."

The man raised his head and looked at his superior's sage eyes.
Volodslav Parfenovich Garinkoresh was a relatively normal-ranking officer in Soviet Union's selected army, not to mention being close to the man's family because of his late father. His father had been one of the Chief Marshals working among the mighty Soviet Union. He had been working with him during the eastern front of the second great war, even having the honor to become Marshal of the Soviet Union before his death. After a power like that, of which to be expected the same or even beyond from his sons, the reality had been shattering-especially on Volodslav's part, but more on that later.

Since the mighty Soviet Union had the utmost respect for his comrades in battle, he had made sure their children were respected and looked after, no matter their age. After all, the best way to raise new loyal soldiers was to honor and glorify them, along with the members of their families. Giving the children a purpose, the fathers to fight. And since his father had practically given his all, Volodslav was trusted enough to get in contact with sir Soviet Union himself whenever he needed to. Living with his brother, sisters and his mother would have been impossible otherwise.

So Volodslav Parfenovich, even if he had indirectly taken their father away from them, always had the utmost respect for the Soviet Union. He had always counted himself as one of the luckiest men in the union, like nothing can touch nor harm him like this.