Scene 1 :  A drop in forest 

After reaching the edge of the forest, Avikarh was finally able to see the city. The Fortress city situated at the confluence of two rivers, which wrap around the city like natural defenses. The rivers are calm and wide, their banks dotted with reeds, willow trees, and wooden docks where small fishing boats bob in the water. The surrounding countryside is a mix of rolling hills, meadows, and dense forests of pine, birch, and oak, offering timber, game, and foraging opportunities. To the south, there is a vast expanse of freshwater, lies just beyond the horizon. The lake serves as a critical waterway for fishing and trade. The landscape exudes a serene beauty but carries an air of vigilance, as Pskov has long been a bastion against many incursions. But the front gate of the city looks like it has been surrounded by the military troops bearing the flag of the Novgorod.

When Avikarh and Ruslan approach the city gates, Novgorodian pike-men stand arrayed in azure tabards, each emblazoned with the gleaming silver fish. Their shields reflect the morning light, the fish motif appearing to swim across the surface with every shift of their stance. Flags snap in the breeze, the silver-on-blue gonfalon casting wavering reflections on the placid rivers at the city’s feet. This emblem not only identifies them as Novgorod’s troops but also serves as a constant reminder of the city’s lifeblood—its rivers, its trade, and its unbroken bond with the waters that sustain it.

They crouched in the shadow of wind-swept highland grass, the forest’s edge at their backs. From this vantage, the city of Pskov lay below like a jewel in a moat, its walls bristling with spears and banners—the silver fish of Novgorod glinting on every tabard and standard.

Ruslan pressed his back against a mossy boulder, eyes narrow. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? All those rivers winding around us…”

Avikarh’s gaze stayed on the front gate, where pike-men stood motionless as stone. “Beautiful… until you ruin it with an occupying army.” He drew a shaky breath. “We need to find Mr. Dovmont and free your city. But how do we get inside?”

Ruslan’s finger traced the outer walls. “There is a back entrance, through the old catacombs beneath the eastern rampart…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But it’s guarded by Simargl.”

A chill ran down Avikarh’s spine. “The guardian of the catacombs,” he said, tasting the word. “No one who’s challenged it has ever returned.”

Ruslan’s eyes flickered with panic. “Then we should—”

Avikarh cut him off, voice low and firm: “—defeat the guardian and slip inside. It’s our only chance.”

For a heartbeat, Ruslan stared at him as if seeing a stranger. The wind tugged at his cloak, and he swallowed hard. “Are you out of your mind? We’ll die down there. Isn’t there another way?”

Avikarh’s calm face betrayed nothing, but in his eyes, the dragon’s fire waited—coiled and ready.

“Not if we fight smart,” he said, voice barely above the breeze. “Tell me everything you know about Simargl.”

Ruslan swallowed and nodded, the weight of their task settling in. Above them, Novgorod’s banners fluttered in the afternoon light—silent witnesses to the danger that lay ahead.

A sudden wind sliced through the forested ridge—sharp, unnatural.

"Wait... this wind," Avikarh muttered, his instincts prickling.

CRACK!

From above—movement.
Not the rustle of leaves. Not a falling twig.

It was a drop.

BOOM!

Something slammed onto Avikarh's back like a meteor, a blur of bark, claws, and teeth. The sheer force bent his knees.

“Ghh—!”

Ruslan flinched. “Avikarh!”

“BACK—NOW!”

With a precise snap-kick, Avikarh launched Ruslan backward just as the creature lunged for his neck. His boots dug into the soil, arms raised instinctively to block.

But this wasn't a man.

It was twisted—half-tree, half-beast. A humanoid shape with knotted limbs like warped oak branches, sinews creaking, face draped in moss and gnarled bark. Its eyes glowed like sap-lit embers—hungry, intelligent, feral.

"It’s fast... heavier than it looks."

Avikarh gritted his teeth as claws scraped against his forearm, searing pain blooming.

No time to draw a blade. No time to think.

"Then I’ll use what’s always with me."

He shut his eyes.

A chill surged from his core—deep, ancient, divine.

His breath fogged.

Fssshkk!

Ice raced down his arm like a living serpent—spiraling, layering, locking.

SNAP. SHINK. SCHLACK.

His forearm bloomed into a translucent gauntlet of jagged frost, inscribed with glowing dragonic runes. It pulsed with the might of his god-father.

CLANG!

He deflected the next claw strike with the icy bracer. Sparks. Frost dust. A crack in the earth beneath his heel.

"Let’s see if you can bleed," Avikarh hissed.

Meanwhile—

Ruslan rolled through the underbrush, cloak snagging on a root. He turned just in time to see the creature whip around, its eyes locking onto him now.

“Crap—!”

It leapt like a predator. Claws open, teeth bared.

Think—fast!

Ruslan’s hand darted inside his tunic. He grabbed the rune-blade—his father’s. Still untested.

"Please work..."

He fed it a surge of mana.

FLASH!

The blade glowed azure—sigils dancing across its edge.

“HEY, UGLY!”

He threw it mid-lunge.

BOOM!

The dagger struck the beast square in the jaw—a blast of force erupting like a thunderclap. The creature spun mid-air and was hurled sideways toward—

Avikarh.

"Mine," Avikarh muttered, charging forward in a blur.

THWACK!

He caught the beast mid-flight by the neck, lifted it overhead, and—

SLAMMED IT INTO A TREE.

CRACK—!

The trunk shattered, bark raining like shrapnel.

Still, the monster roared. Blood oozed from its mouth, but it pushed off the trunk and came flying again.

Avikarh didn’t move. His ice gauntlet shifted—runic lines glowing brighter.

He raised his fist, low and steady, like the eye of a storm.

And then—he struck.

“Fall.”

BOOOOOM!!!

The ground exploded beneath them. Ice magic surged outward in a frozen shockwave, carving a shallow crater into the forest floor. Trees quaked. The beast’s eyes rolled back.

It didn’t move again.

The dust settled.

Ruslan stumbled forward, his chest heaving. “I-Is it… dead?”

Avikarh didn’t answer right away. He was staring into the crater, the last mist of ice magic swirling from his fist.

“It’s breathing,” he finally said. “Barely.”

They stood at the edge of the hole, staring down at the half-man, half-monster.

Ruslan wiped blood from his cheek. “What… was that thing?”

Avikarh’s eyes narrowed. “A guardian? A test? Or a warning.”

His icy gauntlet began to melt, water dripping from his fingertips.

Somewhere in the stillness of the forest, a hawk cried.

This battle was over.
But it was only the first page of something far greater.

The creature lay still, moss matting its hair like sorrow wreathed in green.
Ruslan’s breath caught—once, his brother’s laughter had filled these woods, echoing like birdcalls at dawn.

“…Ostap?” His voice cracked, brittle as frozen wood.

Avikarh’s heart pounded. “What do you mean, Ruslan?”

Ruslan staggered forward, kneeling beside the beast. He pressed a trembling hand to its bark-like cheek, as if a brother’s warmth still pulsed beneath that twisted skin.

Memories flooded him. Ostap, the older boy, teaching him to fish by the river. Their shared secrets whispered beneath summer stars. The pride in Ostap’s eyes when Ruslan took his first bow at the shooting range. And now… this.

“What—what happened to you?” Ruslan’s words trembled into a sob. Highlights of their past flashed in his mind: Ostap’s protective arm around him when the village celebrated harvest. The gentle way he praised Ruslan’s sketches of dragons. How he tucked a stray strand behind Ruslan’s ear on cold winter mornings.

Now those memories felt like shards of ice in Ruslan’s chest. He covered his face, shoulders shaking with silent agony.

Avikarh didn’t hesitate. He knelt, gently pulling Ruslan into a tight embrace. Rustling leaves whispered around them, as though the forest itself mourned.

“I’m so sorry,” Avikarh’s voice was soft but urgent. “I wish I could—”

Ruslan buried his face into Avikarh’s shoulder, tears soaking the fabric. “He… he was my hero. He was everything.”

Avikarh squeezed him, his own throat tight. “We’ll find a cure. I swear it.”
Could I really keep that promise? he thought, uncertainty gnawing at his resolve. Yet he squared his shoulders and added, “I don’t know how… but I will do everything in my power.”

Ruslan choked out a sob. “I keep seeing his face—before the curse. So bright. So alive.”

Avikarh closed his eyes, feeling a deep uneasiness settle in his chest—he wanted to unleash fury, but his spirit remained as still as a glassy pond, reflecting nothing but sorrow. A single tear traced down Avikarh’s cheek.

Ruslan’s wails broke the hush as he climbed to his feet, kneeling to cradle Ostap’s head. “Big bro… look at him… my brother… my friend…”

Avikarh lifted Ruslan’s chin with gentle fingers. “I know. I know… but he’s still in there. We have to believe that.”

Ruslan nodded, voice quivering: “He used to tell me, ‘No one stands alone.’ I believed him… I believed him until now.”

The forest shadows stretched long, casting the beast in half-light. Ruslan reached out, brushing a fingertip along Ostap’s jaw—feeling the coldness of moss and bark where warm skin used to be.

“Why?” Ruslan whispered to the sky. “Why couldn’t I save you?”

Avikarh knelt beside him, sliding a hand under Ruslan’s chin to steady his gaze. “You will save him. Together.”

Ruslan inhaled shakily, wiping his cheeks. “I…I’ll do anything.” He folded himself around Ostap’s body, rocking gently. “Anything to see you smile again, brother.”

Avikarh stood slowly, his heart heavy but determination burning. “Let me carry him.”

Ruslan looked up, tears still glistening, and managed a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he whispered.

From his belt, Ruslan drew out a length of silvery chain, each link etched with complex sigils that pulsed faintly. He looped it around Ostap’s limbs, the runes glowing bright as they formed a gentle but unbreakable bind. “My father made this,” Ruslan explained, voice trembling. “It’s powerful enough to hold him steady.”

Ostap’s monstrous form stirred once, weakly, but the magical chain held firm.

Avikarh knelt and carefully hoisted Ostap onto his broad back, shifting him like a heavy cloak. The moss-laden limbs felt impossibly heavy—laden with despair and hope alike.

Ruslan walked close behind, steadying himself against Avikarh’s cloak.

They set off toward the backside of the fortress, each step echoing with unspoken vows. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows that stretched ahead of them—two brothers and a friend bound by promise and purpose.