CHAPTER VI: A new identity... ?

IIn the underground world of Russian syndicates, Sergei was not a man.. He was a rumor. A name spoken quietly in cigar–smoke–laced lounges, a whisper in the ears of crooked politicians. But unlike Rurik Dyavol Sokolov, who forged his empire from his own blood and bone, Sergei had inherited his position–passed down through silence and fear like a cursed heirloom.. 

He didn't care much for family. His wife was a brief chapter in a long book of power moves and his eldest son?

Alexei Sergeevich Baranov... Was a forgotten bookmark... 

Sergei had sent the boy abroad when he was barely eleven.. An elite university in Europe. Political grooming. Financial strategy. The kind of education one could only afford when they viewed their child not as a person, but as a future negotiation chip. He never once visited, never once called... In truth, it was exile disguised as opportunity..  Not once did he ask for a photograph after the boy turned twelve...

He was just another tool in Sergei's long game.. To become cultured, to gather western influence like medals pinned on a soldier's chest.. A future diplomat, a quiet son... 

Invisible... 

So, when the email came–short, cold, "Apologies, I won't be returning to Russia, I've had a last minute visa delay, I'll join Rurik directly in Volchya Zemlya."–Sergei didn't even question it... Why would he? His son was alive, useful 

And somewhere far away... 

Which was why, when Alexei's name appeared on the manifest for their little retreat, Sergei didn't question it.. Why would he? The island wasn't for family reunions... 

It was for business..

Volchya Zemlya.... 

Nestled in the sea like a discarded relic of war, the island was an enigma even among their ranks. Few knew who truly owned it. Fewer still had been invited there twice... 

Some whispered that it belonged to Sergei–a relic of his prime... 

Others, the older ones with deeper scars and longer memories, claimed it had always been Rurik's... A place without records, a place where ghosts outnumbered the living... 

There were no servants.. No guards. Only the sea, the stone and the men who arrived there with blood on their boots and silence in their mouths... 

Alexei Sergeevich Baranov was a forgotten prince of a kingdom that had never wanted him... 

In the quiet corners of London, he had lived without noise. Without friends. Without a fathers calls or a mother's name.. His Russian accent softened overtime, but never vanished.. His passport–though pristine–felt more like a leash then proof of belonging... 

He worked odd jobs, drank in silence, watched the ocean like it might answer him someday.. In the end, he was more myth than man.. Even in his own eyes... 

He never came back to Russia.

Not because he couldn't. But because the thought of returning to Sergei–the man who called him a tool before he even learned to write–made his heart twist inwards.. 

---

Alexei sat cross-legged on the apartment floor, surrounded by papers–some half torn letters, others just scraps filled with words he never spoke aloud. His fingers were smudged with ink, the kind that clung to to skin like guilt. He didn't bother washing it off. 

Outside, London was rain-streaked and restless. Inside, everything was still. 

He had lit a candle. Vanilla, soft and cheap. He didn't even like the smell, but it made the silence feel warmer. He pulled out a small, plastic container–pastry from the corner bakery. Two candles now. One for sweetness. One for farewell... 

On the table sat his laptop, open but untouched. The email to his father had already been sent. Nothing dramatic. Just a line about missing the trip. A subtle lie.. Easy to believe... 

He closed his eyes... 

‛If Sergei had ever tried to know me,’ he thought, he might've realized I hadn't looked lik‘e my childhood photo in years...’

He laughed softly at the absurdity of it... 

Then, the knock came. 

Not loud. Not impatient. Just... Certain.. 

When he opened the door, he already knew. 

Rurik didn't look surprised to see him. Nor did Alexei flinch.. 

"You're early.." Said Alexei

Rurik stepped in without a word. His presence was heavy, like snow on a rooftop. 

They didn't speak at first. 

Alexei stepped back to the candle and gestured. "You hungry da?" he asked, not expecting a response. "I bought two. Figured I should have a guest..."

Rurik didn't sit. He only watched. 

"You ever wonder what it's like to disappear?" Alexei murmured, voice soft. "Not die, not killed. Just.. Not exist anymore.. Quietly.."

Rurik's eyes narrowed. 

Alexei didn't mind silence. "I've lived here ten years. No one remembers my name unless I spell it out. That used to bother me. Now I think it's kind of poetic."

He turned towards the window. The candlelight flickered in his eyes. Making the blue look almost green.. And the scar that he got on an anonymous mission, the one that spread across his right eye–somehow made the raven look exquisite... 

"Do it clean." He said 

Rurik's gun was already out, but not raised. 

Alexei turned back to him. "You know.. I'm glad it's you..."

A pause. 

"Because you understand... Don't you?"

He gave a small, almost childlike smile.. The one that had been lost somewhere in the past thirty years of his life.. 

And then, he finally said it:

"Thank you..."

Rurik raised the gun and Alexei closed his eyes. 

The candle didn't flicker when the shot rang. 

Rurik didn't leave immediately though. He walked up to the opened laptop on the table. His fingers unconsciously ghosting over the books, the expired medicine and the cracked photo frame of a boy no one recognized anymore... 

He reached the laptop, his fingers hovering over the keys. 

Tae would find it two weeks later. The email, unsent, addressed to Sergei–full of excuses longing and a desperate attempt to be remembered. 

But what Tae didn't knew was that the email had been edited. Rewritten. Words carefully replaced, tone slightly shifted.

By Rurik. 

He left the draft open, knowing Tae would trace the same lines of desperation. That he'd believe what was meant to. That he'd become part of the story. 

And that no one would notice the body until long after Tae had already slipped into his name...