❄
15 years ago
Winter in Verkhoyansk did not arrive gently.
It conquered.
The sky that morning was a pale silver sheet, stretched endlessly above a world carved from frost. Snow lay thick upon the earth, undisturbed except for the shallow footprints of families who had gathered near the frozen river for a small winter picnic. Smoke curled lazily from portable stoves. Laughter rang through the crisp air. Someone poured hot tea into metal cups; someone else struggled to light a stubborn flame.
Irina's parents were among them — wrapped in heavy coats.
Irina was eight—small and luminous against the endless white. Her face was prettily round, cheeks flushed rose by the cold, lashes dark against reddish pale winter skin. Large almond-shaped black eyes shone with restless curiosity beneath those long lashes. Auburn curls spilled from beneath her wool cap, catching stray snowflakes like copper threads of fire. She wore a deep blue coat trimmed with fur, mittens too large for her hands, and red boots bright as berries against the snow.
Her boots left small, determined imprints in the snow as she wandered beyond the laughter of adults.
Her parents and their friends busied themselves at the picnic clearing — unwrapping food, pouring tea from thermoses, arranging bread and fish on enamel plates. The hiss of a portable stove mingled with cheerful conversation. Someone told a story. Someone laughed too loudly. Steam rose from cups like ghosts escaping into the brittle air.
Her mother called multiple times, distracted but loving:
"Don't go too far!"
Irina nodded without turning.
The river had already captured her.
---
It lay vast and pale before her, disguised beneath a smooth crust of ice and fresh snowfall. The surface shimmered faintly under the weak winter light, as though a secret pulse moved beneath it. The world around her seemed to grow quieter with every step she took closer.
The wind thinned.
The air thickened.
Even the distant laughter behind her began to fade.
The river was not loud. It did not roar or rush. It whispered. It breathed. Beneath the frozen ceiling, dark water flowed in slow, ancient currents — patient and endless.
Irina crouched.
The ice near the bank was thin enough to show shadows moving below — soft, shifting ribbons of darkness.
She removed one glove and placed her bare palm against it.
Her small, pink fingers touched the ice.
It was cold.
The chill spread into her skin — sharp but strange. She smiled.
She felt like she was pressing her palm against something alive — something aware.
The ice hummed faintly beneath her touch. Or perhaps it was only her imagination.
She leaned further.
Curiosity is great until it becomes gravity.
A thin spiderweb crack formed beneath her hand.
She frowned.
Another crack followed.
A sharper sound this time — like glass under strain.
She did not have time to scream.
The river opened its mouth.
And swallowed her whole.
-
-
-
Snow exploded upward. Ice shards scattered like broken stars. The white sky vanished, replaced by dark, endless blue.
The water closed above her head with a muffled finality.
The cold struck her like knives.
she knew she was in danger — that this was death.
Darkness pressed closer.
The water grew heavier.
Colder.
Cold water bit her like sharp needles against her skin. The river tightened its grip, wrapping around her small limbs, dragging her deeper into its quiet, endless blue.
Her vision blurred.
Irina's body drifted downward, her auburn hair spreading around her face like dark silk in ink-blue water. Tiny crystals of broken ice floated around her, spinning lazily, catching fragments of light.
Above her, the fractured surface gleamed faintly, impossibly far.
Now the cold devoured her almost as if stopping her heart.
Her clothes grew heavy. Her limbs paralysed. The current beneath the ice tugged at her gently, as though guiding her deeper into its quiet, hidden corridors.
Her heartbeat echoed inside her ears.
Thump—
Thump—
The darkness thickened.
The water turned from blue to nearly black.
This was how the river claimed things as it's .
---
Suddenly,
The current shifted.
Not violently.
Not abruptly.
But as though something had entered the water.
A presence.
The cold paused.
Irina turned her head slowly.
Through the drifting snow of ice particles, she saw him.
---
He did not swim.
He hovered.
Tall and impossibly still, as though the river itself bowed around him.
His skin was pale — extremely pale, luminous, like moonlight reflecting off untouched snow.His features were carved with unnatural precision, beautiful in a way that felt untouched by humanity.
Long white hair flowed around him, weightless and endless, drifting like ribbons of frost through the water. Each strand shimmered faintly, reflecting invisible light. It did not tangle. It did not sink.
His garments were long and flowing, white as untouched snowfields, embroidered with subtle silver threads that caught the dim light and scattered it like distant stars. The fabric floated around him in slow, regal movements, as though it obeyed a different set of laws.
And his eyes—
Clear.
Icy.
Piercing as frozen glass.
They were clearer than glacier ice.
Sharp.
Ancient.
Bottomless.
He looked at her not with surprise — but recognition.
He moved closer without disturbing the water.
The cold deepened for a heartbeat.
Then he inhaled.
Slowly.
Deeply.
The water around Irina shifted.
The biting frost dissolved.
Warmth bloomed outward from him like invisible sunlight.
The freezing river softened, turning gentle around her small body. The deadly chill vanished, drawn into him as though he had breathed winter itself into his lungs.
His pale fingers reached toward her — not touching, merely hovering near her cheek.
And then he spoke.
His voice did not travel through air.
It traveled through her.
Soft. Echoing.
> "You are not meant to freeze, little one."
The words wrapped around her like a blanket woven from snow.
She realized something else.
She was breathing.
Not gasping.
Not drowning.
Breathing.
The water filled her lungs like air, light and effortless. Oxygen flowed through her as naturally as if she stood beneath the open sky.
Her fear melted.
Her body stopped sinking.
He studied her carefully, white hair drifting like living frost.
For a moment — something almost tender flickered in his gaze.
> "you are mine and I won't let you die ," he murmured.
The warmth expanded further.
The river no longer felt like a grave.
It felt like an embrace.
---
Above the surface, chaos erupted.
Her mother screamed.
Men rushed forward, breaking ice, plunging arms into the dark water.
"Find her!"
"She fell through!"
But when one rescuer finally reached near the broken edge—
He froze.
The water was not freezing.
It was warm.
Unnaturally warm.
Steam rose faintly from the opening in the ice.
The rescuer plunged his arm into the dark opening.
But he was shocked to find out the warm water beneath.
He pushed deeper, bewildered, his skin unbitten by frost. His hand found fabric. A small arm.
He pulled.
Irina emerged from the river not stiff, not blue, not lifeless—
But serene.
Her cheeks were faintly flushed. Her lips were soft pink. No shiver shook her small body. The snow surrounding the broken ice had melted into a wide, perfect circle, revealing dark earth beneath — impossible in such merciless cold.
The rescuer took her to her family.
Her mother collapsed beside her, sobbing, gathering her into trembling arms.
Irina coughed once.
Opened her eyes.
And whispered faintly—
"He said I'm not meant to freeze."
The adults assumed delirium.
Shock.
Trauma.
But beneath the re-forming ice, far below the surface where the river returned to its silent flow—
The warmth faded.
The cold reclaimed its throne.
And in the deep, endless blue—
A tall figure of frost exhaled slowly.
The water around him crystallized once more.
Winter returned to its rightful temperature.
And he was watching.
Waiting.
Until today...
To be continued...❄