066. Shattered Hope

In the surface world, Nadezhda encountered something that shook the foundations of her understanding—freedom of speech. Beyond the barriers of language and culture, she discovered a society where every individual had the right to voice their thoughts without fear of persecution or silencing. It was a revelation. The very idea seemed foreign, yet tantalizing. And it wasn’t just a distant concept; it became real to her through her meetings with Litsi and Ullirth. Their acceptance, their kindness, planted a fragile hope within her—perhaps there was a place where even the vorshks, creatures so despised, could be understood. Perhaps there was a community that wouldn’t see them as monsters, but as beings capable of more.
That hope had grown within her, nourished by each encounter on the surface. Yet, the weight of her duty—the horrific task of abducting innocent humans—burdened her more with each passing day. The realization that some humans possessed not just the courage but also the strength to fight back unsettled her deeply. They weren’t helpless prey; they were warriors, capable of facing creatures like her. And that frightened her in ways she wasn’t ready to admit. The encounters on the surface had opened her eyes, igniting her conscience, whispering to her that something was wrong, terribly wrong.
Weary of the life she had been forced to lead, and shaken by these newfound truths, Nadezhda came to a decision. No longer would she merely follow orders. No longer could she bear the weight of her father’s tyranny. She had to confront him—before all the vorshks, no less. It wasn’t just an act of rebellion; it was an act of liberation. This would be her stand, her moment to finally speak the words she had been too afraid to say. The journey from Paris to Karabash was filled with preparation, every step bringing her closer to the moment when she would face her father and her people, ready for whatever consequences lay ahead.
Nadezhda had long dreamt of introducing democracy to her people—a radical idea for the vorshk, but one she believed could change everything. Her vision was bold: to enlighten her father and the entire nation, showing them that no king could rule without the will of his subjects. She yearned to give her people something they had never known—freedom. The right to speak their minds without fear, to believe in something greater than survival, to choose their own destinies, and decide what was best for their lives. She saw a future where the vorshks, no longer shackled by old, oppressive ways, could finally flourish. It wasn’t just hope—it was a calling.
As the journey wore on, her thoughts sharpened. She rehearsed the words she would say, the arguments she would make, bracing herself for rejection. Nadezhda’s mission was clear: she needed to persuade the vorshks to remain in the subterranean realm. They had already defied nature by surviving as long as they had—there was no need for further bloodshed. She was certain Bogdan, with his unmatched intellect, could find a way to restore their reproductive abilities without sacrificing the innocent lives of humans. There had to be another way.
In her heart, Nadezhda believed Davorko and the people would rally behind her. The immortality they now endured, the endless suffering that came with it—these were the heavy consequences of her father’s twisted obsession. If Gnevomir stood in her way, if he clung to his tyrannical reign, she would face him without hesitation. She would even use force if it came to that. After all, if one vorshk could sacrifice others in pursuit of his own ambition, then the people had the right to sacrifice him for the greater good. Nadezhda would bring about that reckoning, no matter the cost.
Her resolve was unshakable, solid as forged steel. But when the harsh reality of her kingdom’s destruction hit her like a tidal wave, that steely determination began to crack. The obliteration of everything she had ever known turned her purpose into something darker, something driven by pain and fury. Her intentions, once noble, twisted into a thirst for vengeance.
And then, across the chasm, she saw Jalu—alone, standing like a shadow against the carnage. Her heart, already a storm of rage, erupted. The desire for retribution surged, a fire she could no longer control. She wanted to punish humanity for what they had taken from her, to unleash her wrath upon them all. The pain in her chest was unbearable, a hollow ache that nothing but destruction could fill. She was ready to raze the world until someone—anyone—ended her misery.
The girl had decimated almost an entire army in her rampage. Bullets were useless against her; she knew she was far superior to human abilities, and that knowledge had once filled her with unshakable confidence. Yet, the longer she remained on the surface and interacted with its people, the more her conscience began to stir. Pity crept into her heart—something she’d felt when she fought Pierre. But when she faced Jalu, her mind was consumed by rage, blinding her completely.
Jalu’s victory over Nadezhda shattered her once-unshakable confidence. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she tasted fear—the fear of death. She was certain her life would end at his hands. Yet, against all reason, Jalu showed her mercy. The unexpected compassion left her stunned, especially coming from a human who had seen her true form. Despite the agony coursing through him, Jalu still managed to banter with her, his jesting words a sharp contrast to the brutality of their encounter.
Nadezhda was overwhelmed with shame and guilt for having hurt someone as kind as Jalu. His grief over losing his father mirrored the pain she felt when her mother was taken from her. In that moment, she felt an unexpected connection to him, a shared sorrow that cut deep. For the first time, she felt like an ordinary girl—helpless, powerless, trapped in a situation with no escape. That was the source of her earlier panic. She would rather face death than live with the weight of regret and sorrow, believing that Jalu deserved to live far more than she did.