It is snowing and the sun is starting to rise, warm sun rays fall on Viktor’s face through pine trees covered in snow. Artur, a tall man with a big build and broad shoulders, has a thick beard and eyes of a soft emerald hue, shimmering with kindness. He looks towards his 12-year-old son Viktor.

  {Artur is a form of the classic name Arthur. In Old Welsh, its meaning “bear king”}

  Artur picks up Viktor as he is playing in the snow.

  “Viktor, let’s go back inside. You’ll catch a fever if you keep playing in the snow.”

  Viktor smiles and hugs his father, and Artur takes him inside the house.

  Viktor’s mother, Sasha, stands in the soft morning light filtering through the kitchen window. Her silhouette is framed by the golden hues of dawn. Strands of her chestnut hair escape from her loose bun, framing her face with a gentle, lived-in beauty.

  “Breakfast is ready,” Sasha says.

  As Sasha places the final touches on breakfast, Artur and Viktor enter the kitchen, drawn by the inviting aromas. She greets them with a radiant smile.

  “I made your favorite dish today, honey,” Sasha says.

  Hearing this, Viktor smiles. He is a shy kid and doesn’t talk much.

  Artur takes his place at the head of the table, his presence both strong and gentle, while Viktor and Sasha sit on both sides.

  Sasha starts to serve the hot cheese pancakes.

  “Please spread some sour cream and raspberry jam on the pancakes,” asks Viktor. He loves the sweet and tangy flavor.

  As they finish eating breakfast, Sasha heads to the barn to milk the cows. Viktor runs behind his mother to help.

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  Artur also starts preparing to head for work; he is a lumberjack.

  He grabs his coat, and suddenly he hears screams coming from outside. Artur’s heart clenches. They were Sasha’s.

  Without hesitation, he grabs his axe and heads outside. The distant crowing of a rooster and Sasha’s silhouette against the sun catch his eye. She struggles in the grasp of three men—strangers with eyes like shadows and wearing dark cloaks. Viktor is crying in pain because of a wound on his right eye.

  Artur’s pulse roars in his ears. He charges, the axe an extension of his rage. The men turn, startled.

  “Let her go!” Artur’s voice cracks, the axe raised high.

  One of the men, a shadowy figure with an air of cold authority, draws a knife. Artur swings his axe with primal force. The blade connects with the man’s arm, sending the arm flying and blood staining the snow.

  The other two men, momentarily stunned by Artur’s strength, exchange anxious glances. The one holding Sasha, with a cruel smirk, slits her throat.

  “Protect Viktor,” Sasha’s last words are a desperate plea.

  The second man, his face obscured by a hood, turns to Artur with a chilling calm. “Where’s the old man?”

  Artur’s heart pounds with grief and rage. His voice trembles, raw and defiant. “You’ll get nothing from me”

  The second man’s eyes narrow, revealing a cold resolve. “If you don’t tell us where he is, we’ll make sure your son suffers too.”

  Artur’s rage surges, each breath a battle against the pain. “I won’t let you touch him.”

  The man’s expression remains unyielding.

  Filled with rage, Artur charges at the second man. He swung his axe aiming for the man’s heart.

  he tried to block the attack with his blade but the axe breaks the blade and lodged into the man’s chest. The forest absorbed his dying gasp

  Artur, fighting through his own pain, growls, “You think you can tear apart everything I love and walk away?”

  The third man, the most imposing of the trio, sneaks and slashes Artur. “Enough talk. If you’re not going to cooperate, just die.”

  Artur charges at the third man with all his strength, his axe swinging in a desperate arc. The man meets his blow with a parry, their weapons clashing with a harsh clang. Artur’s injured knee slows him down, but he presses on, fueled by a primal need to protect.

  The third man slashes at Artur, the blade slicing through his flesh. Each strike is met with Artur’s unyielding fury, each bruise a testament to his love. He catches the man’s blade with his bare hands, the metal biting into his flesh, and he twists the wrist, disarming him. Artur’s fists rain down with a savage intensity, breaking every facial bone, until the man lies dead in the snow.

  Artur’s strength begins to fade. His chest burns, vision blurs, each breath a struggle, as he crawls towards Sasha.

  He nestles closer to Sasha and turns to Viktor. His breathing is ragged, each gasp a struggle. He rips his shirt to make a bandage and ties it on Viktor’s wounded right eye, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re going to be okay, Viktor,” he says, forcing a smile.

  Viktor’s sobs mix with the cold wind. “But, mama and you—”

  “don’t worry son, mama’s just resting and I’ll be right here. You have to be brave for me son. I love you, Viktor... You need to go to the grandpa’s house, tell him what happened.”

  “Just go,” Artur says with a tremor in his voice, though it is filled with desperate resolve

  As Viktor trudges down the snow-covered road, Artur’s strength wanes. He looks towards Sasha, her body lying in the snow, a lifeless silhouette against the white blanket. Artur’s blood-soaked fingers brush against her cold cheek, tears mingling with the snow as he cradles her.

  “I kept my promise,” Artur whispers through his pain, his voice breaking. “Forgive me. I tried.”

  His breaths grow shallower, each one a struggle. As his vision darkens, he feels a deep, wrenching sorrow. *If only I were healthy. If only I could move faster. I could have saved you.

  With a final, shuddering breath, Artur lies beside Sasha, his breaths growing fainter as he clings to the last remnants of life. The snow continues to fall, blanketing the scene in a chilling silence.

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