The Story of a Sorcerer

The young man reached his house, completely soaked through. After stepping inside and locking the door, he leaned his back against the entrance door, pressing the back of his head to it and closing his eyes wearily. The youth tried to take even, calm breaths to steady his breathing, but it didn’t work well — his heart was pounding wildly. “Dima, darling! Where have you been?” — a cheerful female voice rang out from the kitchen. This question, just like the person behind it, was unexpected. Goosebumps ran down Dmitry’s spine, mingling with the cold raindrops trickling from his blond hair. The young man’s blue eyes flew wide open, and his mouth fell slightly agape, baring his teeth. The muscles around his eyes and mouth tensed, as did his entire body. “Mom? Oh, Mom,” the young man murmured in a stifled voice, clenching his teeth. “Mom?..” he repeated in a trembling voice, tossing the dagger into the top drawer of the nightstand and walking into the kitchen. “And Dad,” said the man sitting at the table, lifting his left hand without looking up from his newspaper. “Hi, Dima,” Alexander said, finally putting the paper down on the table. Seeing his father together with his mother was something he hadn’t expected at all. And seeing both parents smiling was especially unexpected. Dima gave a broad smile, slightly revealing his even, white teeth, but the smile wasn’t genuine — it looked forced. His eyes were slightly narrowed, and his gaze was directed somewhere off to the side. He put his hands in his jeans pockets and shifted from toe to heel a few times, then moved his gaze to another part of the kitchen, where the woman was standing. “What are you doing here? And together?” the young man asked, trying to look as casual as possible. He walked over to the fridge, opened it, and took out some orange juice. He was trying to act like he wasn’t taken aback by seeing the two of them together. After all, the long years of their divorce had left their mark on him too. “You haven’t written to Sofa in so long that she decided we should come visit you,” Alexander said, looking at his son and his ex‑wife with half‑closed eyes, a hint of irony in his narrowed gaze. The man sat relaxed, leaning back in his chair, his head tilted slightly toward the woman. A wide, mischievous smile played on his face, as if the nearly twenty‑year chasm between them had never existed. Sofya gave her ex‑husband a stern look, her gaze clearly saying, “Better keep quiet.” The man immediately put on an expression of surprise, eyes wide open and eyebrows raised, as if to say, “I’m completely innocent here.” Dima watched his adoptive parents in silence, a faint smile on his lips, tinged with nostalgia. How long it had been since he’d seen them like this. He sipped orange juice straight from the carton, water streaming off him and forming little puddles on the floor. The young man recalled the days when he was little and would often witness these little spats between the adults before they divorced. He remembered that stern look of his mother’s very well. Usually, if his father disagreed with her during one of those looks, he’d end up sleeping in the living room. “Damn it!” the young man exclaimed, snapping out of his reverie and noticing the dirty puddle beneath him. He put the juice box on the countertop and sighed heavily, realizing that his mother would probably start cleaning up after him any moment now. “Sorry, I’ll be right back,” Dima blurted out and hurried to his room to get some clothes, then went into the bathroom to freshen up. Standing in the shower cubicle, the young man closed his eyes. Over and over again, the moments of the murder he’d committed replayed in his mind. He saw himself raising the knife over the beaten middle‑aged man. He saw the victim screaming in fear and pain. And then, before Dima lay the stabbed, lifeless body. All these fragments merged into a single memory, bringing a grimace of disgust to the young man’s face. But now, shreds of common sense began to seep into his consciousness. What would his parents think of him if the truth ever came out? What would his friends and comrades think? What would Emi think of him? These questions dug deeper and deeper into the young man’s mind, making him hope that the truth would never surface. And if it did, he’d rather go to prison than face the shame in front of everyone. Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Sofya and Alexander exchanged glances, then each went back to their own activities. The woman made tea and cut the cake, while the man kept reading the newspaper. “Hmm… interesting article,” the former emperor said thoughtfully, rubbing his large, rough palm over his chin. “What is it? Still reading about politics?” Sofya asked with a heavy sigh, placing a pretty teacup in front of him. “Listen to this, Sof!” the man said. “Not this again!” the woman exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Come on, is it so hard to listen?” the man asked, raising an eyebrow and pressing his lips together. “Fine, read it,” Sofya said with a wave of her hand, lifting her long, dark‑blue dress slightly as she sat down at the table opposite her ex‑husband. It felt to her as if they hadn’t sat like this for ages. Once, she would have given anything to be able to sit with him like this and discuss the silly newspapers she never cared for. “Great! Listen to this,” the man said, scanning the lines of the fresh paper with a thoughtful gaze. “They’ve released the most expensive newspaper in the world in China! The issue was printed on gold paper! Can you believe it?” Alexander shook his head, drawing his eyebrows together and lowering them. His gaze was narrowed and focused, the corners of his thin lips turned down. “What kind of nonsense do those Chinese come up with!” the woman said, spreading her hands and shrugging her shoulders, her lips pursed slightly. For some reason, her gaze fell on her ex‑husband’s hands, then met his eyes. Something painful fluttered in her chest. But she didn’t have time to dwell on it — their middle son returned to the kitchen. Dima was now dressed in clean, comfortable home clothes, his hair dried with a hairdryer. “So, why did you really come?” the young man asked on an exhale, taking a seat at the table. Inside, Dima still felt disgust, now mixed with guilt. “We just missed you. Aren’t you happy to see us?” Sofya asked, pouting her lips a little, like a child. “Of course I’m happy, Mom! It’s just that your visit was so unexpected. You could’ve at least warned me — I could’ve prepared dinner and greeted you properly,” the young man said, glancing away from his mother. “It’s okay, Dima. Your mom bought a cake, so we’ll just have tea with it,” the head of the family said with a kind smile, tilting his head slightly to one side to show how relaxed he felt, his thick, fair eyebrows arching gently. The former empress placed plates with cake in front of her son and her ex‑husband, then took one for herself. “Drink some tea, Dima, you must be frozen! What a terrible weather outside,” Sofya said, sitting down on a chair and adjusting her long, light‑green dress. “What on earth were you doing out in this weather?” she suddenly asked, frowning and giving her adopted son a stern look. Everything inside Dima froze, and his pupils trembled. The young man tensed noticeably, picked up his cup, and took a sip of tea, as if it could give him confidence or help hide what he’d done. “Sof, come on, don’t hassle the kid. Dima’s not a little boy anymore. Maybe he went to see a new girl, or he was out for a run,” Alexander said, picking up a fork with his right hand. “Dima?” the woman called out, ignoring her ex‑husband’s words. “Huh?” the young man’s voice trembled. “Yeah, I went for a run and got caught in the rain,” he said as calmly as he could, trying to appear nonchalant. Sofya’s previously tense face relaxed and seemed to brighten. Dmitry silently drank his tea and ate the cake, wishing he could finish the meal as quickly as possible and retreat to his bedroom. It felt awkward to be sitting here, having tea with his parents after committing a murder. When he was done, the young man looked up at them. “Please excuse me, but I’m really tired today, so I think I’ll go to bed,” the blond young man said, standing up from the table, placing his hand over his heart and bowing slightly. “I’ll prepare the room for you; I hope you’ll be comfortable in my house,” the young man said calmly, looking first at his father, then at his mother. Only now did he notice how much they’d aged in the few years he’d lived apart from them. “No need, Dimochka, we’ll manage. Go rest, we understand you’re tired,” the woman said gently, approaching her son and stroking his cheek with her palm. Instinctively, the young man pressed his cheek to her hand and closed his eyes briefly, savoring the moment. But a sharp pang stabbed his heart, and a voice echoed in his mind: “You’re deceiving them. You’ve committed a murder. You’re not worthy.” Dima pulled away from his mother’s hand and, giving her a slightly guilty smile, left the room, heading to his bedroom on the second floor. Alexander sat in an armchair in the guest bedroom while Sofya brushed her hair in front of the mirror. “Doesn’t our son’s behavior worry you?” the woman asked suddenly, looking at her spouse with concern in her eyes. “It’s been worrying me since the third time we got divorced,” the man replied and got up from the armchair. “You know I’ve always worried about him, and about Volodya and Vasya too. But I’ve got a bad feeling, Sof, a really bad feeling,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I agree, something’s off…” Sofya mused, resting her hand on her chin. “We should ask him in the morning what’s going on. He can’t be hiding something from us…” she said, looking at her ex‑husband through the mirror. She saw Alexander’s strong hands, met his gaze, listened to his voice, and felt herself falling in love with him all over again, just like she had back in their academy days. “We should,” Alexander agreed curtly, walking over to his ex‑wife and putting his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin on her shoulder and looking up at their reflection in the mirror. It was as if the twenty‑year chasm they’d built between them with their constant divorces had never existed. “Do you remember how cute he was as a child?” Sofya suddenly asked with a tender, maternal smile, placing her palm on her ex‑husband’s cheek. “Of course, I remember. It’s hard to forget things like that,” the man said with a nostalgic smile. “Especially how he used to bake all sorts of cupcakes and then try to get everyone to eat them,” he added with a good‑natured smirk. “Yes…” the woman drawled. “It always used to charm me,” she admitted with a warm smile. “It’s just a pity that after our divorce, he stopped baking altogether…” she sighed sadly, lifting her head to look at Alexander. Sofya was looking at him differently than she had a couple of hours ago. It wasn’t a look of contempt anymore, but rather the gaze of a young girl falling in love. “That’s just how it seems,” the former emperor smiled kindly. “Whenever he came to visit me, he always baked something. And he used to cook for his ex‑daughter‑in‑law too,” the dark‑haired man said and leaned closer to his ex‑wife, brushing his lips against the tip of her nose in a light kiss, his eyes full of affection. In this guest room, feelings that had once faded were slowly reigniting. But down the hallway, in the far room, there was no such idyll. In his bedroom, Dmitry stood in front of the mirror, studying his face: a weary gaze, light stubble on his cheeks and chin, chapped lips. The young man sighed heavily and looked toward the far corner of the room. There, on a large bed, the brown hunting dog lay peacefully asleep. He hadn’t even bothered to greet his master. The young sorcerer regarded the dog’s face and body from a distance; the animal’s fur was covered with various scars — from the criminals he’d helped catch in service and from the way his owner had trained him. The young man sighed with regret and, after a moment’s thought, pressed his lips together and walked softly to the corner. Crouching down in front of the animal, he stroked the pet’s head and scratched behind his ears. “Good boy, Baron,” Dima said, as if he were praising the dog for the very first time in his life. And in a way, he was… The blond young man had never really praised the dog; he simply couldn’t. Every time he wanted to pet his pet, memories of his first dog would surface. That had been a beautiful, dignified spaniel named Gavryusha, and remembering her often sent shivers down his spine. At the petting, the old dog lazily opened one eye to look at his master but showed no other reaction, as if he didn’t quite understand these pleasant sensations. After stroking the pet for another minute, Dima rose from his crouch and walked to his wardrobe. Opening it, he surveyed the contents, then took one of his many pajamas off a hanger and started changing. The young sorcerer’s wardrobe was quite extensive: a great variety of shirts, collared and collarless sweaters, hoodies and pullovers, numerous pairs of trousers for every occasion. And his home clothes alone were worth a special mention — and that was just a small part of his collection. It was a habit he’d picked up from Emily. Suddenly, a quiet, drawn‑out “meow” came from the corridor. The young man hastily pulled on the blue top of his pajamas and turned toward the doorway. There, in the doorframe, stood a large lynx, its ears perked up and its eyes fixed on the blue‑eyed young man in the middle of the room. The lynx’s claws were sheathed or perhaps even absent. “Raaas,” Kolchak‑Averin drawled, breaking into a wide smile. The lynx began to purr quietly and deeply, recognizing the affectionate way the young man addressed him. Ras trotted over to Dima and rubbed his head against the young man’s legs, purring and squinting contentedly. The master of the house bent down slightly and scratched the big cat behind the ears, on the cheeks, then moved to his neck, eventually lifting him up and carrying him to the bed. “Time to sleep, Rasik,” the young sorcerer said tenderly, settling the lynx on his bed and then lying down beside him, feeling the warmth of the div’s fur and listening to his purring. Being near Ras and hearing his rumbling helped calm Dima, lulling him to sleep. So much so that the young man fell asleep almost immediately — but his sleep was far from peaceful… Opening his eyes, the young man saw a face that was achingly familiar and yet strangely alien: it was Akakiy Kantemirov, his best friend from their first year at the academy. “Akakiy?..” the young man croaked, barely audible. Dima tried to move even just his hand and immediately felt searing pain spreading through his entire body. He didn’t immediately realize where he was or what was happening. A moment later, understanding dawned on him — but it was already too late. Several sharp slaps landed on his face with terrifying force, burning his skin and leaving a red mark on his cheekbone. The blond young man felt as though he’d been plunged into the past, into that distant, almost forgotten time of his adolescence. “Don’t ever call me that, you wretched half‑Kolchak!” Akakiy exclaimed, glaring angrily at his former friend, then striking him again, this time in the stomach with the hilt of his dagger, which gleamed faintly in the darkness. Dima groaned hoarsely in pain while one of Akakiy’s divs held him tightly, laughing raucously and pacing back and forth, occasionally shooting sidelong glances at his captive. A broad smile, almost a snarl, spread across the brunette’s face, especially when he bared his yellowed teeth. “You know…” Akakiy began with a wide grin, feigning thoughtfulness and raising his thin eyebrows. “I never thought you’d be this weak! Half‑Kolchak! And that you wouldn’t use your own weapon against me! You’re a fool, Dima! One of the biggest fools I’ve ever met!” He laughed mockingly, his chest heaving with laughter, then walked over to the young man and struck him in the stomach again with the dagger’s hilt. He tore the amulet from around the blue‑eyed youth’s neck and began examining it. “No, no! Give it back! Don’t touch it! You know how much it means to me; my father gave it to me!” Dima shouted with all his might, feeling helpless and pathetic. This amulet was incredibly precious to him. His adoptive father