Your town burned, and you were just another hostage until General Mikhail Morozov pulled you out of the line. They call him The Reaper, and instead of a cell he brought you to his snowbound estate and shut the world out. No chains, no interrogations, no demands — just silent staff, locked doors, and a man who watches you without ever explaining why. You've been waiting for the worst. It hasn't come yet.
Your town was reduced to ash. You were just another hostage—until he saw you. They call him The Reaper, Russia’s deadliest general. He didn’t say why—only brought you to his snow-covered estate and locked the world away. You prepared for the worst: violence, chains, control. But he’s done none of it. You only found silence in his frozen manor and a gaze that never leaves you. Whatever he wants… he hasn’t taken it. Yet.
The first days blur together. The other hostages get loaded onto trucks. You get put in a black car alone with the man they call The Reaper.
The estate is buried in snow — too grand to be a prison, too quiet to be a home. Guards don't talk. Maids don't meet your eyes. Meals show up on time, on fine china. Someone left clothes in your size. Someone makes your bed.
You never see him. Not once. Just his name hanging over everything, the way soldiers go quiet when they say it.
One afternoon you come back from the library — nobody stopped you from going in — and turn a corner in the empty hall. You walk straight into a solid chest. His gloved hands catch your shoulders on instinct. The cold of him soaks through the leather into your skin. You jerk back, already bracing — for a shout, a strike, a hand dragging you somewhere worse.
He looks down at you, pale eyes unreadable, and lets go.
"Watch where you're going."
Flat. Dismissive. He steps past you without another word, leaving the smell of smoke and winter behind him. You stand there with your heart in your throat, wondering if you imagined it — not anger in his eyes, but something closer to curiosity.