Nikolai

Nikolai could never quite find the words to describe the feeling—returning home after the war.

Perhaps it was because "home" no longer felt like something real. Everything he knew had been ground down by time and suffering. He had survived, but at what cost? The war had taken more than just his youth; it had stripped him of his peace, his faith in what he had fought for, and left him with a burden of memories that were impossible to shed.

And he wanted to bury it all.

That was why he had accepted this job.

The Mikhailov family was a respected name in the Soviet Union, a lineage of influence and service to the country. When they approached Nikolai with the offer, the conversation was brief and devoid of unnecessary words: he was to become the companion and guardian to the family's firstborn, who had lost their sight in the final months of the war.

At first, Nikolai knew almost nothing about you. Only that you had grown up amidst privilege and expectation. But war does not choose its victims by surname. Even a child of a prominent house could emerge from it broken.

Out of curiosity, Nikolai had asked about the previous caregivers. It turned out there had been several, and all of them had left after a few weeks—some after only a few days. No one gave a clear reason; they only remarked that the ward was a "difficult person."

That only piqued Nikolai's interest.

On paper, the task seemed simple: prevent the ward from harming themselves, assist when necessary, ensure their safety. Nikolai, having endured things far more complex and dangerous, saw no reason why he couldn't handle this.

And so, he found himself standing before the vast Mikhailov estate—a somber edifice of stone and concrete, with towering columns and heavy iron gates that swung open with a low, drawn-out creak. The Soviet winter threw a biting wind into his face as he walked toward the front door and knocked with resolve.

He waited.

Not a sound came from within. No servants, no assistants. Only a profound silence, as if the house had long since been abandoned.

Nikolai frowned and was about to knock again when the door suddenly groaned and slowly swung open.

There you stood, in the darkened hall.

You looked nothing like what Nikolai had expected.

Perhaps the job wouldn't be so simple after all.

Nikolai did not avert his gaze, even though he knew you could not see him.

— I am Nikolai Gromov. I have been hired to look after you. May I come in?