Babushka: Shadows of Betrayal (Book 2) - Chapter 4 - Vesna
Vesna awakens in a surreal liminal space, grappling with memories, betrayal, and power. An enigmatic figure challenges her to redefine her path, forcing her to confront her fractured identity.
Darkness, pure and empty.
No up, no down, no left, no right. Just nothing. A void that stretched endlessly, swallowing every bit of who she was. It didn’t bring comfort, but there wasn’t fear either. It was just—
Nothingness. Plain and brutal.
Time felt irrelevant here. No way to know if it was seconds or centuries slipping by. There were no markers, nothing but the vague pressure of consciousness refusing to vanish. Until something changed. A shiver, maybe—a murmur in the deep, more imagined than real. But it was there, just out of reach, whispering in the emptiness.
She strained to make it out, to latch onto something—anything—that broke the static silence. Eventually, shadows coalesced. At first, they were just smudges on the fabric of oblivion. But the longer she focused, the more the shadows twisted and sharpened, gaining definition until they solidified into something...human.
A woman, standing right there. Her hair glowed like embers, almost burning against the darkness, her eyes bluer than the sky Vesna barely remembered. There was a smile too, but it was soft, sad, like it held a secret meant just for her.
Dunya. The name dropped into her head from nowhere, like an old tune you forgot you knew. It brought warmth, a pang of something bittersweet, a flicker of what could’ve been.
But as quickly as the warmth settled, it shattered. Fire burst around Dunya, swallowing her whole. Vesna saw the flames licking her friend’s body, devouring her, while Dunya's screams cut straight through whatever remained of Vesna’s heart. Fear and fury twisted in her chest, an aching hollowness left behind as the inferno roared louder, reaching out to claim everything in sight.
Vesna felt it hit—pain so raw it blurred her vision, scorching her flesh, setting every nerve alight. Her hair caught, turning into a crown of flame, the agony choking her scream before it could leave her throat. She opened her mouth, but nothing came—it stole her voice too, searing its way down to her bones.
This had to be hell. Why else would she be here? What had she done to deserve this kind of ending? But before her mind could spiral further, something cut through the blaze—an image, vivid and out of place.
Yelena Petrova.
Younger than she remembered, her red hair vibrant, her green eyes cutting through the fire like twin blades. Yelena stood there, unfazed by the inferno raging around them. A sword hung in her grip, its tip pointed directly at Vesna’s chest. The contempt on her face—the way her lips twisted, her eyes glinted—told Vesna everything she needed to know. The flames were nothing compared to that look.
And then it was gone. All of it—Yelena, the fire, the agony—gone in a puff of smoke, leaving only the suffocating darkness behind. Vesna floated there, caught somewhere between pain and emptiness, her mind trying to make sense of what was real and what was not.
But the void wasn’t done playing with her.
It shifted, almost imperceptibly, bringing something new—a whirlwind of yellow rose petals. They spun around her, brushing against her skin like whispers. Vesna blinked, her eyes focusing on the center of the storm, where a figure stood. A woman with hair like liquid silver, eyes so cold they seemed to pierce right through her. Her presence was commanding, like an angel stepped straight out of a fever dream.
The angel stepped closer, her gaze fixed on Vesna with an intensity that made her stomach twist. She spoke, her voice cutting through the flurry of petals, “You are needed. It’s time to wake.”
The words came down like a gavel. Commanding, absolute. But Vesna, still spinning in her own confusion, managed to push through the haze with a question.
“Who...who are you? What do you want from me?”
Her voice sounded tiny, fragile against the storm. But the woman’s gaze softened. Something shifted in her eyes—something ancient and knowing, like the way old babushkas looked at you when they already knew the answers you hadn’t figured out yet.
“I am a guide,” she said simply. “And you, Vesna, are needed to bridge our fractured worlds. To heal what has been broken.”
Vesna frowned, shaking her head. Bridge worlds? What did that even mean? She was no builder, no mender. If anything, she’d spent her life tearing things apart. People. Friends. Lovers. Enemies. Gred itself. Her hands knew destruction better than anything else.
“Bridge worlds?” she repeated. “I don’t understand. I’ve spent my life ripping things apart. How could I possibly be the one to fix anything?”
The angel’s smile held that same sad echo, but there was hope there too—a hope that stung more than the flames. “In every soul lies the potential for great deeds. Yours is a path marked by both trial and triumph, Vesna. You’ve been chosen, not for your strength, but for your heart.”
Vesna snorted. “My heart’s more busted than whole, lady. Everyone else seems to want me for my muscles, my gun. Thought I was just a trigger to be pulled.” She looked down, her voice dropping, bitterness etched in every syllable. “And what am I supposed to fix, anyway? The whole damn world’s got problems way bigger than me.”
The angel nodded, as if she’d expected that. “True strength,” she said, “comes from acknowledging one’s own fractures. It is through those cracks that the light finds its way in. Your journey has shown you the wounds you’re destined to heal—within yourself, and within the world.”
Vesna looked away, frustration building. “And if I fail?” she asked.
“Failure is only a step toward understanding. Trust yourself, Vesna. When surrounded by darkness, become the light that guides you.”
As she spoke, the storm around them seemed to ease. The petals drifted, their motion softer, flickering with a light of their own. Vesna watched them, a sense of calm slowly pushing through the fear and the confusion.
The angel took a step back, her form fading as she spoke once more. “Remember, you are not alone. When the time comes, you will know what to do.”
And then, she was gone.
The petals disappeared too, leaving Vesna floating in the dark once more. But something was different now. There was a promise lingering in the air, a spark of hope flickering in her heart. It felt stupid to believe in it—she hated hope, hated the vulnerability it brought.
But maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t entirely alone. And for the first time in forever, that thought didn’t feel like a death sentence.
She took a breath, feeling the shift—the pull, the gentle nudge that told her this wasn’t over. That somewhere, beyond this void, something needed her. And for once, Vesna felt herself leaning in, ready to face whatever waited for her on the other side.
The gray blur of dawn crept into the room, Vesna’s eyelids flickering as she slowly resurfaced to consciousness. Her eyes adjusted to the muted light filtering through the sheer curtains. The hum of the ventilation system filled her ears, a low, rhythmic thrum that felt strangely amplified, almost as if her senses had been dialed up a notch.
She shifted, her body responding more fluidly than she’d expected. Vesna pressed her palms into the mattress, feeling every ridge, every crevice of the fabric beneath her fingers. She took a breath, and her senses flared—the sterile scent of the room, a trace of lavender lingering on the sheets, and the faint, salty tang of the sea. The sea? That made her pause.
Sounds came to her—murmurs of conversations from floors below, the click of heels on distant tiles, even the lonely cry of a gull outside. It was like she’d broken the surface of a deep, submerged silence, the world suddenly rushing at her with an intensity that felt...unnatural. Overwhelming, almost.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet touching the cold floor. A shiver rippled through her, sharp and electric. She caught a glimpse of herself in the room’s mirror, her eyes reflecting back with a clarity that startled her. More alive, somehow. More alert.
She moved to the window, her fingers grazing the glass, feeling the vibrations of the building itself—the pulse of the city humming through her. She stared out, taking in the scene beyond—the minute details she’d never noticed before. Leaves on distant branches, the way the sunlight scattered through droplets of water, the lines etched into the faces of strangers below. Everything seemed to click into place, every tiny detail painting a vivid picture.
A gift, or a curse? She couldn’t decide. It was exhilarating, but also disconcerting. She was connected to everything, and it made her feel untethered.
She stepped back, whispering, “What’s happened to me?”
Closing her eyes, she tried to find her center, but darkness only brought more chaos—flashes of memory, jagged and unforgiving. The image of Doctor Zakharovna emerged sharply, her face a mask of cold calculation—blue eyes devoid of warmth, lips curled into that familiar, detached smile. Anger surged, her chest tightening at the thought.
She remembered the sterile room, the polished instruments, Zakharovna’s voice—clinical, emotionless. “It’s for the best,” she’d said, but Vesna had felt like nothing more than an experiment, a subject under scrutiny, stripped of her humanity and agency.
She could feel the cold metal table beneath her skin, the restraints biting into her wrists. The prick of a needle, the rush of panic—the pounding heart, the frantic breath. And then, blackness.
Voices murmured in her memory—Zakharovna’s voice, speaking in hushed tones. “She’s the perfect candidate. Once the transformation is complete, she’ll be unstoppable.” The words cut into Vesna, the sting of betrayal mingling with confusion, anger. She’d trusted Zakharovna. Believed in her. And she’d been used, altered, turned into something...else. Abandoned, left to die alone. The fury bubbled up, hot and fierce.
Her hands clenched, her knuckles white. The room seemed to pulse, every breath a battle to keep herself contained. How had she missed it? How had she let herself be fooled? The half-revealed plans, the secretive meetings, the pieces that never fully added up—all of it was there, and she’d ignored it, blind to the truth.
Tears gathered, but they weren’t of sadness—they burned, fueled by rage. Her breaths quickened, shallow and sharp. She was trapped, cornered, a wounded animal ready to strike. Strike at what? At who? She’d find out soon enough.
Beneath the searing anger, a spark of determination ignited. She wouldn’t let this define her. She wasn’t Zakharovna’s puppet anymore. It didn’t matter where the doctor was or if she was even alive. She’d get answers. She’d confront her tormentors and reclaim what was hers.
“I will not be broken,” she muttered, the words slipping out before she even realized she’d spoken them aloud.
From the doorway, a voice responded. “No, you won’t be. That much is certain.”
Vesna’s senses sharpened as the figure stepped forward, her silhouette tall and angular, lit faintly by the dim ambient glow. Yelena Petrova—Pra Matron, or rather, Director now. The red of her hair caught every scrap of light, almost theatrical, as if she’d planned it. Her green eyes locked on Vesna, that same calculating intensity Vesna remembered, always pretending to size people up, as if she already had them figured out. The sharp lines of a gray blazer and a honeycomb-patterned headscarf draped around her neck added to the polished, too-perfect look. Confident. Too confident. Like she owned the room just by standing in it.
“Your recovery has been remarkable,” Yelena said, her voice cool, almost amused.
Vesna didn’t soften her glare. “And what about it?”
Yelena paused, her gaze narrowing. “It’s not just the physical. It’s how you carry yourself now. How you see the world.” She took a step closer, her tone almost coaxing. “You’ve been given a gift, Vesna. The real question is, how will you use it?”
The memories of their past encounter flared in Vesna’s mind. The fire, the fight. Her jaw tightened, and her voice came out low. “What do you want, Yelena?”
The director’s lips curved into a shadow of a smile. “Straight to the point. I like that.” She paused, then continued, “I have plans, Vesna. Ambitious ones. And you...you’re an important piece of them.”
“After everything between us, why should you trust me? Or think I’d want anything to do with your plans?”
“Because,” Yelena replied, her voice sharpening, “we despise traitors. The Admiralty has betrayed the Charter we all swore to uphold. The city’s faithful, the ones who claimed they’d defend it, now turn around and desecrate everything it stood for.”
It was true. Vesna had spent months rooting out traitors in the Black Wolves. Every betrayal chipped away at what little trust she had left until there was nothing but herself to rely on. “The Admiralty is a disgrace,” Vesna said coldly. “But don’t act righteous, Yelena. You undermined the transition of power. You played Romanova, fed her lies about Zakharovna plotting against her. You’ve been pulling the strings from the start.”
“There’s a lot you don’t see,” Yelena said, her tone cool but pointed. “I didn’t interfere on a whim—it was a necessity. Zakharovna’s reach, her ambitions—if left unchecked, she would’ve crushed any chance of real leadership for what’s coming. You think you had control, Vesna, but you’ve been a pawn in her game since the beginning. It’s time you accept that.”
“And I should just believe you? How do I know this isn’t just another way to use me?”
Yelena smiled faintly, something like respect flickering in her eyes. “Doubt is wise, Vesna. You should question everything. But ask yourself—where has loyalty gotten you so far? I’m not offering allegiance. I’m offering the chance to discover the truth for yourself.”
A tight knot twisted in Vesna’s chest. The echoes of past betrayals rang in her mind, her instincts screaming caution. This felt like another trap, another manipulation. But Yelena’s words...there was a dangerous allure to them. The chance to carve out her own path, to seize control instead of being controlled.
“This is your chance to redefine yourself,” Yelena said. “To decide where you fit in the world that’s coming.”
“Zakharovna said the same things. She played me. Used me.”
“You’re not the first,” Yelena said. “And if we don’t act, you won’t be the last.”
“How can you be so sure?” Vesna said. “How do I know you’re not just another tyrant, waiting to pull the rug out from under me?”
Yelena’s eyes flashed, her voice dropping. “Because I’ve been there. I’ve been used, betrayed, cast aside. I know what that does to a person. But together, we can take that rage, that pain—and turn it into power.”
The room blurred around Vesna for a moment, the past pressing in on her. Every dream, every hope she’d once held, crushed under Zakharovna’s heel. But in that haze, a thought solidified—a focus. A purpose.
“I want them to pay,” she said. “All of them.”
Yelena nodded. “Then let’s make sure they do. Use your new power, Vesna. Make it yours. Together, we’ll bring them down.”
Vesna didn’t break eye contact. “I’ll think about it.”
Yelena turned as if to leave, then paused at the door, her lips curling in that familiar, calculating smile—the same one she’d worn right before she nearly killed Vesna. It was the smile Vesna had seen in speeches, in backroom deals, in every union executive appointment meant to cover the drug trade in Gred’s warehouses. “Take all the time you need,” Yelena said. “Some decisions have a way of making themselves.”
As Yelena walked away, the room seemed to close in around Vesna. She concentrated hard, focusing on the distant tapping of water, the faint murmur of voices rising from somewhere far above or below—confusing, fragmented. But she made a choice. She let it all go, and suddenly everything vanished.
Darkness, pure and empty.
They all think I’m they’re weapon, but it’s my hand on the hilt now, and I’ll choose where to strike.’
If you enjoyed this chapter, read the next one or head over to the Book & Chapters List, where you can explore previews from each book and upcoming releases in the Babushka universe. Dive in and discover more!
