Chapter 10

{Igor's POV}

It's been a whole year since I first opened my eyes, and the first thing I saw was Papa. Me and my brother, Artom, just knew—right then and there—that he was ours. He was our Papa. Didn't matter that he looked nothing like us, or that we looked nothing like him. Something inside just clicked. And I think it did for him too. He looked at us like he already loved us. No questions, no doubts. Just... Papa.

He always told us we were different. Bigger, stronger than others of our kind. He said we were something special, and I believed him. I still do. I took pride in it. Maybe too much pride.

Artom and I, we compete a lot. Bets, dares, challenges—anything to outdo each other and earn Papa's praise. Most of it's harmless, but I admit there was one time I went too far. I called Artom a "dumb idiot" when he couldn't memorize some Russian words. Stupid thing to say. He's not dumb. He's just different.

Artom's more brawn than brain, sure. He's the kind of bird who'd bash through a locked door instead of trying the handle. But he's strong—so much stronger than me. I'm more of the thinker. I like to think of myself as intellectual, maybe even wise. But back then, I let that pride blind me.

Papa saw us fighting and sat us down. He told us something I'll never forget:

"Family means we protect each other. We cover each other's weaknesses. We're not alone anymore—we're a team."

I carry that with me every day. I know Papa and Artom have my back, and they know I've got theirs. That's what matters.

The first year passed like a calm breeze. The Undead—Papa's word for the rotting ones—weren't anything special. They avoided our home. Maybe they sensed Papa's power, or maybe it was the forest protecting us. Either way, life was peaceful.

Well... until winter.

The first time I saw snow, I thought it was pretty. Little white flakes falling from the sky, like feathers from a pillow fight. Then I realized it was cold. Really cold! I don't understand how Papa and Artom acted like it was nothing. I mean, freezing! Wings don't come with thermal insulation!

Papa spent most days clearing snow from the roof so it wouldn't collapse. I learned the word "snow" from him that week. Thank you, Papa. Another word for my growing vocabulary.

Food was no issue. We had enough stored to last through the season. Still, me and Artom started learning to hunt. Papa didn't want us to at first. He said we were too young. But we begged and reasoned with him. We wanted to help.

So he taught us.

We started small. Picking up fish after Papa zapped them with his mist magic. He told us the magic helped us grow stronger, though I'm still not sure how. Maybe the meat absorbs the magic? Maybe it's just Papa being mysterious.

Either way, hunting became a routine. Me and Artom got pretty good at it. Papa even let us go solo a few times—though he was always nearby, just in case.

Then came the big promise.

"You'll both get a gift. A real power. One year from now. Just keep eating meat."

Best motivation ever. Meat every day? Sign me up. Power in a year? Even better. I hoped mine would be something amazing. Maybe I'd get a human body like Papa's. With hands and fingers and legs! Imagine the possibilities. Even better, maybe I'd keep my wings. A human body with wings! That would be incredible!

So we waited.

{One Year Later}

{Nikolai's POV}

Two years.

It's been two fucking years since I woke up in this cursed forest, and somehow, life's turned into a weird domestic fairytale. No powerful zombies comming to kill us at night lately, or any strange occurance. Just me, two talking birds, and a suspiciously quiet forest.

You'd think we'd leave by now, right? Try to find civilization. See another human face. But no, one might think that we are soo stupid. They don't don't know what incidents that occurred that made use to decide that we are much safer here that trying to escape the forest.

Three months ago, I made that mistake. With me being too curious to further explore the forest.

We were running low on fresh meat, so I took the boys past our usual hunting grounds. About three kilometers out. That's when we saw it.

ROAR!

A fucking giant flying lizard, a dragon.

No, not just a dragon. An undead dragon.

It flew like it owned the sky, ignoring the sun like it wasn't supposed to matter. Wasn't the Undead supposed to hate sunlight? Apparently not this one. And it could breathe fire. Fucking fire. While undead.

If I hadn't run like hell, and if Artom and Igor couldn't fly, we'd be ash right now.

So yeah, laugh all you want. Call me paranoid. I don't care. If staying in this cabin keeps me and my boys safe, I'll be a hermit for life.

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Lately, things have been peaceful. Maybe too peaceful. Days blur together. We hunt. We train. I teach the boys new words. I make sure they know what family means.

Raising them wasn't easy. They're smart, yeah, but they bicker like hell. Still, I've managed to teach them to rely on each other. To be better than what this world would wants them to be.

And if I'm being very honest... Artom and Igor...they look like monsters and that is a fact. Where on earth would you find two intelligent Ravens, the size of a dog and could speak Russian. But one thing is for certain, if they call them monsters... I will hurt them. But disregarding that, they have grown soo much. I remember the time when I had to chew a piece of meat and feed them. They made made that cute chirping sounds and melts my heart with happiness.

[COUGH!]

Oh, right. You.

The voice in my head hasn't shut up in two years. I've learned to tune it out most days. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it just makes snarky comments. I've named it "Mr. Creepy Voice." It hates that.

"Artom! Igor! Go sleep, it's already midnight!"

Raising kids... it's a full-time job. Discipline, patience, guidance. And being a role model. I never thought I'd be that guy.

I scratched the now-thick goatee on my chin. My passive ability, ORCISH PHYSIQUE, was really kicking in. I looked way older than sixteen—probably early-twenties. Looking at my physique, I'm quite proud of it. Muscles rippling with strength and a manly chest with hair. My time training and exercising really paid well.

Yawn.

Well I have gotten rid of the zombies coming to our territory and it is now time for bed.

"Good night," I called.

"Good night, Papa!" they both responded.

I laid on the bed and pulled the deer skin blanket I made a month ago, it did not look elegant since I have no experience with making blankets from, but it did provide warmth and that was enough, so I closed my eyes and sleep took me.

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"PAPA! LOOK!"

Their voices tore through the morning silence. Artom being loud? Not surprising. Igor being loud this early? That's what got me out of bed.

"Papa! Look! Look! We changed!"

Changed?

Still groggy, I rubbed my eyes and stumbled out of bed. "What happened? Did you break something?"

"No! Look! Look at us!"

And then I saw them.

Two kids. Naked. Standing proudly in front of me. Pale skin, sharp blue eyes, dark hair. Identical. Like twins.

I blinked. This was not making any sense to him.

"Artom? Igor?"

They grinned.

And my heart stopped for a moment.

To be continued...

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Author's Note: Thank you all so much for sticking with this story! I'm thrilled you've joined me on this weird, dark, bloody, sometimes hilarious journey. Feel free to leave comments, reviews, or Power Stones—every bit helps. Tell me what you liked, or what you'd like to see next. See you in Chapter 11!