The traffic in Tsargrad could drive anyone insane. But not Emin. He was immune to the stress, the endless jams, and the blaring horns. After everything he had endured, such things felt utterly trivial. He knew he would reach the airport on time, so he simply leaned back and listened to music — an opera by Verdi that Alex had given him. He could no longer stomach modern Western music, and most Scythian artists irritated him with their betrayal of principles. Verdi, at least, was long dead and politically neutral. Though Emin couldn't understand the words, he found solace in the soaring vocals and rich instrumentation.
Their escape from the Sarmatian mountains had been harrowing. They were alone, without allies, everything working against them. Returning to Lechia was impossible with police swarming the border, and crossing deeper into Borderland would have been suicidal. Nazi resistance groups still operated there despite the capitulation. Thankfully, they had Slobodan. Emin had contacted the sniper days earlier, asking for help. Slobodan had slipped into Borderland via Transylvania, first returning briefly to his homeland.
Danny had neutralised the driver sent to collect Ivo and take him to Stanislau. When the driver failed to respond, his comrades grew suspicious. They found Ivo's body and their man unconscious and bound. Enraged, the Nazis launched a manhunt, soon joined by Lechian police with dogs and helicopters. Fortunately, they searched in the wrong direction, assuming the fugitives had fled back to Lechia or toward White Scythia. They never suspected Slobodan was guiding the group deeper into the mountains.
It took several exhausting days to reach Transylvania. Alex was in a terrible state. The men took turns carrying her. She burned with fever they couldn't break. Kind locals eventually helped them, tended to Alex, and provided an old, battered car. The vehicle constantly stalled, forcing Danny to coax it back to life with every trick he knew. Eventually, they reached Yugoslavia. As soon as Alex was strong enough, they returned to the Scythe Empire.
Her reunion with her family was joyful, yet everyone noticed how much she had changed. She had grown quieter, more withdrawn. Emin knew he bore some responsibility for that transformation. He was searching for ways to bring her back to life when he received the most unexpected phone call of his life.
Volodja was alive.
He had called from Latium. He had survived the explosion but was badly injured. When he spotted the bomb, he had leapt from the third-floor window. The unidentified body in the ruins had belonged to one of Ivo's young guests. Loyal Scythes stationed in the area had found Volodja and cared for him in secret. Once he recovered enough, he contacted the Scythian Secret Services and learned what had happened — including the bloody trail his friends had left through the Sarmatians. No one had been able to reach them.
Volodja was coming home. He asked Emin to collect him from the airport.
Emin arrived early. He bought a coffee and waited at the arrivals gate. The flight from Constantinople landed on time. With the season being quiet, passengers trickled out slowly. Finally, he saw the familiar slender figure dressed in black. Volodja had lost weight and walked with a slight limp in his right leg. He carried nothing — no suitcase, no bag. Surprise flickered across his face as Emin strode forward, pulled him into a fierce embrace, and clapped him on the back, struggling to contain emotions he rarely allowed himself to feel.
They walked in silence to the car parked in the underground lot. After nearly a year in the West, Volodja felt strangely detached from ordinary life. Safety felt foreign. Only when they left the city and drove along the highway, passing the grand Union architecture of Tsargrad, did the tension finally ease from his shoulders. Emin turned down the radio, where classical music was playing softly.
"I haven't told Alex you're alive," Emin said. "I thought you should be the one to do it. She'll be overjoyed."
"Do you think I should? She needs to return to a normal life."
"Her life will never be the same again, nor will it be normal. Besides, if she ever discovered you were alive and I hadn't told her, she would never forgive me."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm telling you that you're an extremely lucky man, Volodja. I would gladly take your place, but she doesn't want me. She loves you."
"She loves me?"
"Your presumed death drove her to the edge. She killed fourteen Nazis with her own hands because of you. I saw it. If that isn't love, I don't know what is."
"I had no idea. She never said anything."
"She didn't dare. She knew your marriage was fake, part of the mission. Everything was supposed to stay professional. What she regretted most was never knowing whether you felt the same."
"Of course I liked her. I just never thought she was interested in me."
"That's what I told her."
"Where is she now?"
"With her parents in Tsargrad. I'll take you there."
"Have you told her how you feel?"
"I think she already knows. But she loves you."
They fell silent for the rest of the journey, each lost in his own thoughts. Volodja felt overwhelmed — nervous, excited, and unsure how to process the revelation. Emin kept his eyes on the road, trying to suppress the quiet jealousy and regret gnawing at him. He knew he should feel happy for them. Yet he couldn't quite manage it.
Alex had bought a charming wooden cottage just outside Tsargrad, nestled among pines and birches behind a low fence. In spring and summer, the garden was beautiful; now, blanketed in snow, it looked like something from a fairy tale. Emin stopped the car.
"It's quite enchanting, isn't it?" he said.
"Yes, it is. Aren't you coming in?"
"Not today. Maybe another time."
"What will you do now?"
"I haven't been in Tsargrad for years. I need time alone — time to remember what it means to live in peace among peaceful people. Tell Alex I'll be in touch."
They shook hands. Volodja stepped out, opened the gate, and crossed the yard. When he knocked, Alex appeared in the doorway. Emin couldn't see her face clearly, but the next moment she threw herself into Volodja's arms. They stood together in the crisp winter air, holding each other tightly, sharing warmth and the steady beat of their hearts.
As Emin watched, the sharp sting of regret and jealousy faded. In its place came a quiet, joyful sadness. For a moment, it seemed as though God's grace had descended upon that porch. A soft halo of light seemed to envelop the two figures, concentrating the divine energy of the universe upon them. The young couple stepped inside, and the door closed gently behind them.
Emin started the engine.
We are Scythes and God is with us.
In that moment, he felt his credo had never been truer.