Chapter 5: An Obligation of Blood

The rescue came in the form of winter itself.

As Dmitry, Alysa, and Ryzhiy picked their way through the rubble of what had once been Baba Yaga's impossible apartment, the temperature plummeted. Frost spread across the broken walls in patterns too perfect to be natural, and the air filled with the scent of pine forests and old snow.

"Well," Ryzhiy muttered, his breath visible in the sudden cold, "this should be interesting."

The woman who materialized from the frost was tall and regal, with silver hair that moved like liquid mercury and eyes the color of winter dawn. She wore a coat that seemed to be woven from snowfall itself, and when she walked, her footsteps left patterns of ice that didn't melt.

"Dmitry Kozlov," she said, her voice carrying the authority of avalanches and the weight of centuries. "I am Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden. And you, child, have made quite the mess."

Alysa raised her fire extinguisher instinctively, but Dmitry put a restraining hand on her arm. "She's not an enemy," he said, though he didn't sound entirely certain. "Are you?"

"That depends entirely on what you choose to do next." Snegurochka picked her way delicately through the debris, frost spreading from her footsteps across the ruined floorboards. "Your little tantrum with the Black God has sent ripples through every magical community from here to the Arctic Circle. The balance is shifting, boy, and when the balance shifts, things break."

"Things are already broken," Dmitry said, gesturing at the destruction around them. "Chernobog wants to use me as some kind of key to free my grandmother and destroy the world. I'd say that qualifies as a broken situation."

"Indeed it does." The Snow Maiden paused before the portrait of Baba Yaga, studying the painted face with something that might have been sadness. "Your grandmother and I were not friends, exactly, but we understood each other. She kept the wild things in check, maintained the boundaries between worlds. Without her..."

"Without her, things like tonight happen," Dmitry finished grimly.

"Precisely. Which brings me to why I'm here." Snegurochka turned to face him fully, and Dmitry felt the weight of her ancient gaze. "The Council of Seasons has decided to act. We cannot allow Chernobog to succeed in his plans, but neither can we permit the Kozlov legacy to die with you."

"Council of Seasons?" Alysa asked, apparently deciding that frost-covered strangers were the least of their current problems.

"The four seasonal powers that maintain magical balance in this region," Ryzhiy explained, hopping onto a frost-covered beam. "Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. They're... well, think of them as middle management for the forces of nature."

"Crude but essentially accurate," Snegurochka said with what might have been amusement. "We have a proposition for you, heir of Baba Yaga. A quest, if you will."

Dmitry felt his stomach sink. In his experience, quests from legendary figures rarely ended well for anyone involved. "What kind of quest?"

"The kind that might actually save your grandmother." The Snow Maiden's words cut through the cold air like ice crystals. "Chernobog spoke truly—she is imprisoned, held in a cage made from her own power. But he lied about one crucial detail. The prison can be opened, but not from the outside. It requires someone with Kozlov blood to enter willingly and face what lies within."

"Enter where?" But even as Dmitry asked, he suspected he knew the answer.

"The Iron Forest," Snegurochka said, confirming his worst fears. "The heart of the old country, where magic runs so deep it has weight and substance. Your grandmother's prison lies at its center, guarded by trials that will test everything you are and everything you might become."

Alysa looked between them, her practical mind clearly struggling with the mythological implications. "Let me get this straight. You want him to voluntarily walk into some kind of magical death trap to rescue his grandmother, who may or may not want to be rescued, from a prison that an ancient god designed specifically to be inescapable."

"Also, the fate of magical balance across multiple dimensions hangs in the balance," Ryzhiy added helpfully. "Don't forget that part."

"That's..." Alysa paused, considering. "Actually, that's exactly the kind of stupidly heroic thing you'd do, isn't it?"

Dmitry found himself almost smiling despite everything. "You know me too well."

"Indeed she does," Snegurochka said, and there was approval in her voice. "Which is why she will be accompanying you."

"What?" Both Dmitry and Alysa spoke in unison.

"The trials of the Iron Forest are not meant to be faced alone. Your grandmother understood this—she had companions when she first walked that path, allies who helped her become what she was meant to be. You will need the same."

"I'm not magical," Alysa protested. "I'm just a bartender with a chemistry degree. What possible help could I be against mythological trials?"

"You'd be surprised what chemistry can accomplish in a place where the laws of physics are more like... suggestions," Ryzhiy said thoughtfully. "And frankly, most magical trials are really just elaborate personality tests with potentially fatal consequences."

Snegurochka moved to the shattered window, looking out over the gray city that stretched below them. "The choice is yours, Dmitry Kozlov. Accept the quest, gather your allies, and venture into the Iron Forest to face whatever trials await. Or remain here, hiding among mortals while the magical world tears itself apart around you."

"Some choice," Dmitry muttered.

"The best choices rarely are." The Snow Maiden turned back to him, and for a moment, her perfect composure slipped, revealing something almost human underneath. "Your grandmother saved my life once, long ago. I owe her a debt, and debts among the seasonal powers are not lightly set aside. I will provide what aid I can, but the path itself you must walk alone."

"Not alone," Alysa said firmly, stepping up beside Dmitry. "If he's going, I'm going. Someone has to keep him from making decisions based purely on magical family drama."

"And I suppose I'm invited as well?" Ryzhiy asked with resigned amusement.

"You're a living portal and a walking encyclopedia of magical lore," Dmitry pointed out. "Of course you're invited. Besides, someone needs to provide running commentary on how we're all about to die horribly."

"My specialty," the ferret agreed.

Snegurochka watched this exchange with something that might have been approval. "Very well. The three of you will depart tomorrow night, when the veil between worlds is thinnest. I will open the way to the Iron Forest, but once you enter, you will be beyond my ability to aid directly."

She began to fade, frost swirling around her like a personal blizzard. "One final warning, heir of Baba Yaga. The trials you will face are not random obstacles. They are reflections of your own nature, magnified and given form. Face them honestly, or they will consume you."

"Wait," Dmitry called out as she became translucent. "You said Chernobog lied about something crucial. If the prison can be opened from within, why hasn't my grandmother escaped already?"

The Snow Maiden's smile was sharp as winter wind. "Because, dear boy, she's not the one who's truly imprisoned. The cage that holds her is powered by something else entirely—something that has been feeding on her strength for six years, growing stronger with every passing day."

She was almost gone now, just a whisper of frost and fading voice. "When you free her, you'll discover what your grandmother has been protecting the world from all this time. And then you'll understand why Chernobog wants you to open that cage so desperately."

With that, she vanished, leaving only the scent of winter pine and a room suddenly, startlingly warm.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment. Finally, Alysa cleared her throat.

"So," she said conversationally. "Magical death trap quest to save your grandmother from an impossible prison that's actually designed to keep something else locked up, which an ancient god of darkness desperately wants us to release. Tomorrow night."

"That's about the size of it," Dmitry agreed.

"Right." She picked up a shard of broken mirror from the debris, examining her reflection in its fractured surface. "I'm going to need to call in sick to work. And probably write a will. Do you think standard legal documents cover death by mythological trial?"

"I doubt it," Ryzhiy said. "Though I'm sure we could find a supernatural lawyer if you're really concerned about the paperwork."

Dmitry moved to his grandmother's portrait, studying the painted eyes that seemed to follow his movement. Somewhere out there, beyond the veil of ordinary reality, she was waiting. Trapped, suffering, watching helplessly as the magical world she'd spent her life protecting crumbled around her absence.

And tomorrow night, he would walk into whatever hell the Iron Forest had prepared for him to bring her home.

"Grandmother," he said softly to the painted face, "I hope you're proud of the mess your legacy has made. Because ready or not, I'm coming to get you."

The portrait's painted smile seemed to grow slightly wider, as if somewhere in the space between worlds, Baba Yaga had heard him and approved.

Outside the broken window, storm clouds gathered on the horizon, crackling with unnatural lightning. The magical world was holding its breath, waiting to see what the heir of legends would choose to become.

Tomorrow, they would have their answer.