The winter had been unbearable, but finally, it came to an end. The snow had started to melt slowly as spring crept in, but the cold still lingered in the air like a stubborn shadow.
It was the kind of cold that didn't just sit on your skin — it lived in your bones, quiet and cruel, refusing to let go even when the sun came out.
Inside the grand palace in the capital, Vladimir sat quietly on his throne. The large double doors opened slowly, and Ivan walked in. His face was pale. His eyes were not cold, but empty. Empty like a man who had lost everything.
There was no light in him anymore. No pride, no anger, no purpose. Just a hollow silence.
He moved with no energy, like he was just a shell of the person he once was.
Vladimir looked at him. His heart sank at the sight. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound followed. So he spoke in an official tone instead.
