“You!” The woman’s face was flushed and her clothing was torn as though she had escaped from the very middle of the fray. “Please, come help, my son —”
Anastasia nodded, beckoning the woman to show them the way. Mikhail and Anastasia followed her through the streets, past the carnage that had plunged the block into further desperation than it had been in not even twenty minutes ago.
There were bullet holes through almost every remaining window, glass was shattered, people were bleeding openly as they pushed for space inside to shelter themselves. Men ripped off their sleeves to bandage their children, and women were tearing out their underskirts to bandage their lovers.
They were in the middle of a war zone on the streets of St. Petersburg, her own family oblivious to what they had just started amongst the people.
They followed the woman for another block, Anastasia fighting to not stop at every person she saw to try and help until she disappeared into a small lean-to.
Anastasia followed inside blindly, not concerned that she might be considered a target if people didn’t understand her alliances. Mikhail ducked under the small door frame and followed her in.
It took a moment for Anastasia’s eyes to get used to the darkness, but once they did, she saw a young man lying on the ground, only a few years younger than Anastasia.
His face was dirty and his clothes were torn, but the lower half of his pant leg was sticking to his leg. The smell of blood was heavy in the air. He grimaced and stifled back a moan, sweat dripping down his forehead as he was in immense pain. Two other men sat on either side of him, gripping his arms and trying to keep him as still as possible.
“I can’t stitch it up,” the woman’s voice was panicked as she looked from her son to Anastasia. “Th-there’s a bullet in his leg.” Her eyes were wide as she shook with fright, the events of the afternoon catching up to her as she tried to keep her emotions at bay for her son.
“I… I can try to help,” Anastasia nodded, tugging up her sleeves slightly and kneeling next to the man.
“Anya,” Mikhail squatted next to her. The two of them found themselves echoing one another in movement and mannerism more and more with each passing moment. “You’ve never done this before…”
“It will work.” Anastasia nodded, needing to hear the words out loud. “I just have to picture it like I do everything else.”
Mikhail tensed. He believed that her magic could do it, but he had never seen her heal anyone with an injury like this before. She had saved his life once, yes, but that had happened when she wasn’t attempting to control her magic.
She wouldn’t hurt the man in any way — but if she couldn’t help and failed, he knew that it would take an emotional toll on her that would far outweigh any physical wound.
Mikhail sat silently and watched as Anastasia leaned over the man’s leg, her magic already sparking to life between her fingers, with no fear or hesitation in her eyes.
She was enraptured with her own process - he could see the confidence building in her eyes. The magic leaped from her hands to the man’s leg, wrapping it around it like a golden coil as it started to glow with a soft light that lit the entire room.
It spun around and around as if the wound were the center of a maypole, and the man’s expression relaxed as some of the tension left his body. The others in the room looked on in awe.
It happened so quickly that if Mikhail hadn’t been staring, he would’ve missed it. Suddenly, the fragment of a bullet shot up into the air, spinning around like a top before disseminating into sparks.
Anastasia let out a sudden gasp, jerking back as though she was shocked back into reality. Everyone looked down. The man’s leg was healed. Even the blood had been removed from his pant leg. Not only had she removed the bullet, but her magic had also mended the wound as if it had never happened.
The man looked up at her, meeting Anastasia’s face with a shocked look. It was almost as if he was looking upon a holy relic.
“Sankta Anastasia.”
22
Anastasia shook her head.
“Nyet,” she grabbed the man’s hands and gave him a warm smile. “There are nosanktashere. I just want to help.”
He grinned up at her before removing himself from her grasp and jumping up to his feet, letting out a whooping sound as his smile spread from ear to ear.
The young man turned and rushed over to his mother, whom he wrapped in a hug and began spinning around the small space. The woman was openly crying, hugging her son, and weeping her gratitude for Anastasia.
Mikhail’s hand was suddenly on Anastasia’s back, helping her to her feet as he stared at her with what seemed to be never-ending awe of her abilities.
“Shall we?” He grinned, his hand sliding into hers. She squeezed it and leaned into Mikhail’s side, enjoying the physical reminder of his support at her back.
“If he doesn’t realize that it was me, my father will know soon enough,” Anastasia nodded. “We can’t stay here. He’ll come looking for us… the safest place for everyone is if we’re in the Winter Palace.”
Mikhail’s brow furrowed as he turned around and gave a small wave of goodbye to the room before tugging Anastasia outside to finish their conversation.
