As Victor walked away, the sharp click of his boots against the marble floor created a cold, rhythmic pulse. But before he reached the heavy oak doors, he stopped dead in his tracks. From behind him came a sound that Victor Pritov never expected to hear in his lifetime.
It was the sound of Marcos sobbing.
This wasn't a quiet whimper; it was the gut-wrenching cry of a defeated titan. Marcos sat hunched over, clutching the baby to his chest as tears streamed down his face, splashing into the glass of wine he still held. The man who had once spilled the blood of thousands without blinking was now breaking down like a child at the thought of his beloved's fate.
Marcos: (Through choked sobs) "I'm terrified, Victor! I'm terrified that if I walk into that room and she takes her last breath at that exact moment... how will I live? How will I ever look this child in the eye?"
Victor stood still, his back still turned. His jaw tightened. He realized that Marcos's tears weren't just a sign of weakness; they were the manifestation of a soul on fire.
Victor: (In a low, steady voice) "Tears won't wash away your sins, Marcos. If you don't go today, this sobbing will be your only companion for the rest of your life. Let Alia see, at the very least, that the man for whom she rebelled against the King of Russia was not a coward."
Marcos wiped his eyes with a trembling hand and kissed the baby's forehead. His tears hadn't fully stopped, but he was forcing himself to find a center. He realized that Victor's brutal insults were the only thing that could have jolted him out of his paralysis.
He stood up on shaky legs, the baby still gripping his shirt tightly. Marcos looked at Victor's silhouette and spoke with a raw finality:
Marcos: "Take me to her. I'll go. Even if she dies, I want her last memory to be my face not the hum of those machines."
Victor finally turned around. There was no pity in his eyes, but there was a flicker of grim respect. He gestured to his guards to ready the car. In the midst of the freezing Russian wind, two sworn enemies began their journey toward the woman who held both their lives in her silent, still hands.The atmosphere inside the secret medical unit was no longer deathly silent; instead, it was charged with a demonic tension. As Victor and Marcos stood behind the glass observation window, the ground seemed to vanish beneath their feet.
Alia was sitting up in the center of the room, but she was unrecognizable. Her once-gentle eyes were now burning with a murderous frenzy. The most horrifying sight was her restraints—heavy iron chains were locked around both of her wrists, bolting her to the stone walls.
Three maids stood trembling in the corner, paralyzed by fear, while two doctors observed her from a safe distance. Alia's white gown was stained and disheveled, her hair a wild, tangled mess.
She looked at the doctors and began to let out a hollow, psychotic laugh. It wasn't a sound of joy; it was a signal of pure destruction.
Alia: (Whispering through her laughter) "You think I'm still sleeping? No... I am awake. I will tear the hearts out of everyone. Victor... Marcos... I will kill you all with my own hands!"
One of the doctors turned toward Victor, his voice shaking.
Doctor: "Lord Victor, she has emerged from the coma, but her mind has spiraled into a state of severe 'Psychosis.' She has lost the ability to distinguish reality from her nightmares. She believes she is a predator and tries to attack anyone who nears her. We were forced to use the chains for everyone's safety."
Suddenly, Alia's gaze snapped toward the door. The moment she spotted Victor and Marcos, her laughter died. her pupils dilated into tiny pinpricks of rage. She lunged forward, the chains rattling violently against the wall, a sound that echoed like a death knell through the room.
Alia: (Screaming) "There they are! The demons have arrived! Release me! I want to wash my anklets in their blood!"
Marcos stood frozen, clutching the baby. The woman before him wasn't even a shadow of the Alia he knew. For the first time, Victor's eyes showed a mixture of genuine guilt and raw terror. He realized his "shock therapy" had indeed woken her body, but it had shattered her soul into a thousand jagged pieces.Alia's madness transcended into a realm of pure horror. She bit her own lip with such force that crimson blood began to trickle down her chin. her eyes rolled back, revealing only the haunting whites of her sockets. Suddenly, she began to speak in a tongue that made Victor's blood run cold—it wasn't modern Russian, but Old Church Slavonic (Ancient Russian), a language lost to the centuries.
The veins in her neck strained as she chanted in a voice that no longer sounded human; it was deep, guttural, and supernatural.
Alia: (Muttering in Ancient Russian) "Krov' za krov'... Dusha za dushu..." (Blood for blood... A soul for a soul...)
She strained against the iron chains with every ounce of her strength. Her wrists were torn and bleeding, yet she seemed completely indifferent to the pain. Suddenly, she let out a long, soul-shattering scream—"Ahhhhhh...". It was a sound filled with more primal fury than agony.
On the other side of the glass, Victor's face turned deathly pale. Having studied ancient Russian history, he knew this dialect only surfaced when the subconscious tapped into deep, ancestral trauma or genetic memory.
Victor: (Whispering) "Where did she learn this language? This isn't just a mental breakdown... it's as if she's been transported to another era!"
Alia bit her lip again and began to stomp her feet—still adorned with those diamond anklets—against the floor, as if performing an ancient war dance. The rhythmic jingling of the anklets combined with the clashing of the chains created a hellish symphony.
Marcos instinctively shielded the baby with one hand. Hearing Alia's terrifying screams, the infant began to wail in distress. But instead of being calmed by her child's cry, Alia grew even more violent. She began to thrash her body against the very chains that bound her.
Alia: (Screaming again) "Ahhhhh! No one will survive today! I will drown this palace in blood!"
The doctors, clutching sedatives, were too terrified to approach her. A strange, invisible heat seemed to radiate from her body. She continued to hiss curses in that ancient tongue, and every word felt like a direct indictment of the sins committed by Victor's ancestors.The temperature in the room seemed to drop to sub-zero the moment that name left her lips. Alia raised her chained hand toward Victor, a demonic smirk playing on her blood-stained lips.
Alia: (In a deep, gravelly voice) "Alexander... hmm..."
Victor froze like a statue at the doorway, stunned. His heart skipped a beat. 'Alexander'—it wasn't just a name. It was the name of his direct ancestor who had ruled a dark Russian empire centuries ago. Portraits in the private family archives showed Alexander Pritov as a mirror image of Victor—the same sharp jawline, the same cold, merciless eyes.
Victor: (Whispering) "How does she know that name? It exists nowhere outside our secret family records!"
But the truth was far more terrifying. As the doctors analyzed Alia's DNA and brain maps, they had discovered an impossible connection. Alia's ancestors belonged to the same ancient Russian royal lineage that had been betrayed by Alexander centuries ago.
Victor realized the truth—Alia and he were two sides of the same blood-soaked history. Just as Alexander had chained his lover centuries ago, Victor was doing the exact same thing today. Alia's subconscious had unlocked a door to 'Genetic Memory.' She no longer saw the man she loved; she saw the tyrant Alexander who had enslaved her bloodline.
Alia: (Straining against the chains to reach him) "Alexander... have you returned? Have you bound me in iron chains once again? I did not forgive you then, and I will not forgive you now! Blood... I want blood!"
Marcos began to tremble beside him. He realized this wasn't mere insanity. It was a centuries-old vendetta awakened within Alia's very marrow.
Marcos: "Victor! What is she saying? Are you Alexander? Is Alia the daughter of that cursed lineage?"
Victor couldn't find his voice. He watched as Alia's pupils remained fixed and dilated. He took a slow step toward her, his mind blurring. In that moment, he felt less like Victor Pritov and more like the ancient Alexander. History was coming full circle, fueled by blood and iron. In the midst of her terrifying ancient persona, a sudden and bizarre change came over Alia. Her eyes, which had been filled with a murderous frenzy, clouded over for a moment. With her chained hands, she began to awkwardly rub her nose—a gesture Victor knew all too well.
This was a habit Alia had whenever she felt profoundly helpless or was lost in a deep trance, much like a small child does in their sleep. Her sudden transition to calmness and this mundane, human behavior made the atmosphere even more surreal and eerie.
Alia: (In a faint, muffled voice while rubbing her nose) "Alexander... my nose itches. These chains are so heavy... I can't breathe."
The deep, supernatural resonance of her voice had vanished, replaced by a soft, vulnerable tone. The blood that had trickled from her lips had dried, staining her chin. She stared at Victor with wide, innocent eyes, as if she had momentarily forgotten her ancient rage and returned to reality.
Marcos: (In disbelief) "Victor, look! Is she recovering? Does she recognize us now?"
Victor gripped the door handle tightly, his heart pounding with an unknown fear. He couldn't tell if this was the real Alia returning or a new, deceptive move by that ancient entity.
Victor: (Glancing at the doctor) "What is happening? Why is she doing this?"
Doctor: (In a low whisper) "Sir, her mind is oscillating between centuries-old memories and the present. This act of rubbing her nose is a signal from her current persona—Alia. She might be subconsciously reaching out for your help."
Alia rubbed her nose again, and a single tear rolled down the corner of her eye. She extended her chained hand toward Victor.
Alia: "Alexander... will you still not grant me freedom today? Am I nothing more than your prisoner?"
Victor could no longer restrain himself. Despite Marcos's warning, he pushed open the glass door and stepped into the room. He had no way of knowing if Alia's vulnerability was genuine or a calculated blueprint from the past, designed to lure "Alexander" close enough to destroy him