Even when hiding in the alley Matvei could still smell the sweat and smoke. There were probably hundreds of people in the plaza that day, which was a good thing. It would have been awful to protest the murder of his father alone.

    The cloudy day didn't help his mood--although it was always cloudy in Themnor and he was always moody. Today was special, though. It had been two months since the murder of Cassius Kuzmich, the vice president of Themnor, and he still had to hold in his rage every time he thought about it.

    People were marching towards the presidential house, and he had an almost perfect plan: sneaking into the crowd when the next batch of people joined. Almost.

    Matvei saw his reflection on a dirty puddle of rainwater. He looked too elegant with his clean-cut blonde hair and the youthful face of a little nineteen-year-old soldier. He needed to be invisible, to look like another peasant. Matvei couldn't rely on the number of the people in the plaza to make him unrecognizable, so he took out a small black dagger and pinched his already scarred ring finger. The pitch black blood started to drip, tainting the water at his feet. The blood he glided over his forehead and eyes was warm and thick, and he smeared it over his face like he did every time he has to put on his military uniform, but less tidy.

    A group of people walked by the alley. Perfect.

    "Just in time," Matvei sighed, covered his mouth with a cloth and raised his hood on. He destroyed the reflection of the good boy into hundreds of dark water drops splashing onto his heavy boots. He advanced with the silence of a shadow, lowering his face every time someone dared to put an eye on him.

    Baldric Maksimov's mansion was surrounded by high ironed fences keeping the animal away from the defenseless, the roaring crowd from the daunted president. Matvei cursed him under his breath, he was sure the damned president wasn't even in his mansion but at his secret office at the eastern Kemdrov Fort.

    He saw big clouds of black smoke over the president's house. Dartenik's smoke was harmless but annoying; it was no wonder why Themnor's skies were in constant turmoil.

    The young soldier didn't stand out from the protesting mob. Most of them had their blood-like paint on their face like he had. They all shouted, clapping and singing a rhyming song about corruption. When someone offered him a blue flag with his father's name on it he knew his words were meant to be heard, he knew he belonged to the revolting crowd.

    "Juztehid!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, "Juztehid! Juztehid!"

    Soon, the whole crowd chanted the same word over and over. Justice for Cassius Kuzmich, they pleaded. Matvei's hair glued to his forehead and neck, his grip on the flag's stick made his fingers loose color. Matvei waved his flag and the flag responded, moving with the cold wind and cutting the grey skies in a blue haze.

    He shouted until he coughed after every word he said. He wished death upon the one who killed his father. Those twisting thoughts confirmed him he was no longer a little soldier boy, but rather a bloody riot of his own.

    Matvei widened his eyes, dazed, he suddenly felt the seething blood rushing through his veins, his heart throbbing in a fast pace. He tightened his fists and bit his tongue, hoping the pain would numb whatever his body was about to do. He knew what was coming, but it was too late to try and control it.

    It came out of his hands as strong as a lightning, but as black as a starless night. He even heard the sounds of thunder along with people's screams quickly turn into a high pitch hum in his ears. All the windows broke, the explosion of shattered glass fell onto big figures coming out of the iron gates. Everything seemed to be spinning around but somehow he found the strength to chant even louder.

    The mob was being pushed behind by the guards' shields. Matvei felt the pressure of people pulling him, the smoke of fire burning his eyes. The guards raised one hand. Their power came in waves, like dark ink floating in the air above the mob until they couldn't see a thing.

    Then, the sound of shooting guns.

    Chaos. His back was elbowed and jostled, his feet were stepped on. He started loping towards the alleyway, still stunned because of what happened. He was able to get out of the smoky sea until it was nothing but a grey mist branching out and covering all the lanes and streets near the plaza.

    His eyes focused on an elder woman falling on her knees, next to her a guard pointing a rifle to her head. Matvei gathered the little courage he had left and threw himself at him. Both fell to the ground with a loud thud.

    The guard was just as strong at Matvei. He tasted his bitter blood, the consequence of a punch he received on his jaw. Matvei had the guard's neck between the flagpole and the stoned street. He stood on top of him until the woman got up. She glanced at him before running away, while her glossy eyes said what her voice couldn't. Matvei nodded at her as she trotted into the dark smoke.

    He jumped to his feet when he spotted at least eight guards coming for him. Someone grabbed his hand and pulled him. With his heart and blood in his throat, Matvei jogged to the alley and saw the guards running by.

    "What do you want?" He hissed and spat the blood from his mouth.

    "I came for you, Kuzmich."

    Matvei darted his eyes behind him and raised his brow. Ruslan Mayhalov smiled and shrugged. He had both of his hands behind his back, his posture straight, his chin up and his sparkling eyes painted with a black clean line that crossed his face. Ruslan was exactly what Matvei should to be, a young obedient zoldat.

    "Why?" He asked hastily.

    "Well, it's not like you should be guarding Themnor's perimeters or anything... oh wait, you should be," he said with an over haughtily tone, characteristic of the high-rank soldiers of Themnor. Matvei groaned, Ruslan groaned dramatically to mock him. "Listen, my father told me Prazynter Baldric was looking for us two."

    Matvei groaned again and rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to run away. He wished to be bad mannered and impolite, but his parents taught him well. He had to be a good citizen, and like a good citizen, he had to reply when the president called.

    "I know what you are thinking, Kuzmich..."

    "Probably," Matvei replied, uninterested, keeping his eye on the empty street. What once had been a fiery insurgency now remained quiet like a graveyard with nothing but ashes and distant echoes. The smoke had almost evaporated, leaving the whole plaza like a dull, hazy picture.

    "You are cursing Baldric in all languages you know..."

    "Idet letraat syn e..." He muttered smugly.

    Ruslan ignored Matvei's multilingual profanities and continued in a low voice, "I brought you a uniform coat," Ruslan handed him the long black coat and continued, "A letter from Dawarsah's Queen has arrived."

    Matvei frowned, Dawarsah's queen wrote to the president only on special occasions. He wondered what could be so serious that she had to seek Themnor's Armed Forces help. He grabbed the coat off his hands and began to put it on.

    "Motive?"

    "No idea."

    "Where is Baldric?" He was done buttoning and he noticed the coat's sleeves were too long for him, and the cape that was supposed to end above his knees reached his calves.

    "It's mine," Ruslan explained, a smile peeking out at the end of his lips, "Right now he is a meeting with my father at the eastern Kemdrov Fort."

    "I knew it," Matvei said grudgingly.

    "You thought he would be in his mansion with that angry mob ready to maim him if he stepped out?"

    Matvei narrowed his eyes, "Maybe he cared about what his people wanted to say."

    "He is afraid of his people."

    "No," Matvei placed his hand on the alley's wall and leaned to see the Mansion. The windows were as broken as they were five minutes before. He had to learn to control his power... or his temper... maybe both, "He is afraid of what his people can do."

    Ruslan sighed. Matvei was used to his actions of disapproval. He wiped the blood off his face with the cloth that had previously disguised him.

    "I saw the last five minutes of the riot," he began to say, and then continued like he was asking to a little kid, "Zoldat Kuzmich, did you see the one who broke the windows?"

    Matvei swallowed nervously, "No."

    Ruslan shook his head, "We have to be wary, people with that much power can be dangerous."

    "I know."

✧✧✧

    The paintings of his father had been torn apart; the edges were ripped. Someone had wanted it to take him off the walls. When he was alive, Matvei would have punched them but now he would have done it himself. He couldn't bear having him on every street, a dead man's eyes watching every step he made. Nobody could take the posters off. They seemed to have been fused with the city's walls, prevailing as a reminder that you can't trust anyone, not even your best friend.

    "I apologize for interrupting the riot," Ruslan said once they were far from the city center.

    "The riot was already finished when you came."

    "Then I'm sorry for interrupting you so that you came to see what Baldric wanted." Matvei let no emotions show on his face. He remained quiet, looking at the big barriers surrounding the republic at the distance. The sun peered between the clouds and the walls, its rays making Matvei's eyes water.

    "Just accept the damn apology, Matvei."

    "I accept the damn apology, Ruslan... Now do you feel better about yourself?"

    "You know..." He began to say, and if Matvei was used to Ruslan's actions of disapproval, Ruslan was just as used to Matvei's unbridled tongue. "If we weren't friends I would've punched you in the face."

    "You are late, someone already did it for you," Matvei pointed at the dry blood at the corners of his mouth. He let out a hint of a smile, the first one in days.

    They kept walking to the Kemdrov Fort, the grass brushing against their boots when they jutted into the open field, leaving the main city of Themnor behind. At least ten soldiers guarded the entrance of the Fort, one of them looked at Matvei from head to toe, and the young soldier glowered at him defying his snobbish stare.

    "Names," he asked with a rough and dry voice.

    "Ruslan Mayhalov, Matvei Kuzmich."

    The old soldier widened his eyes and nodded, opening the gates, not without glancing at Matvei once again. He knew he didn't look exactly like the son of the vice president with his hair all ruffled, his coat disheveled and blood all over his face, and a satisfactory grin grew on his lips when the soldier muttered a small, quiet, "Sorry."

    They went up the narrow circle stairs to Baldric's office. Ruslan lifted his fist to knock when the door opened. Viktor Mayhalov opened his eyes in surprise and smiled.

    "Son," he nodded to Ruslan. His best friend was an exact copy of his father with his dark, confident eyes and poised smile, "Matvei..."

    Viktor Mayhalov placed his hand on his shoulder, opened his mouth but words didn't come out. Matvei understood, Viktor had been a great friend of the Kuzmich family for a long time.

    "Ruslan, I'll see you once you are done here, we need to talk about the investigation."

    Matvei frowned and directed his view to Ruslan.

    "Yes, father."

    Mister Mayhalov smiled to both of them and made his way down the stairs. Before Matvei could ask Ruslan what he was talking about, his friend opened the door completely.

    Matvei straightened his back and placed his hands behind his back.

    "Here you..." Baldric started talking, his bright eyes scrutinizing Matvei, who bit his lip and advanced with strong steps towards the president. "...Are."

    "Rough day at work," Ruslan came to his friend's rescue.

    Baldric had held both of his hands above his wooden desk. The light above his head--Ilumdya's light glimmering inside three crystal spheres--illuminated craggy features that were lined by his raven black hair and a cheesy smile.

    "Razban mor aldez, prazynter Maksimov," Matvei said in all seriousness. His body tense, his face flushing in rage. He thanked the guard who punched him, now the dry blood could hide his red face.

    "Do not apologize, Matvei," Baldric seemed amused, "The formality is not needed. I have known you since you were a child... Your father was a very good friend of mine. May he rest in peace."

    Matvei nodded and pursed his lips.

    Baldric said something else, but Matvei couldn't hear anything, a voice in his head kept repeating itself: be a good citizen, a young obedient zoldat, be a good citizen, be a good citizen...

    But it was too hard for him, and almost painful to keep quiet. After all, the one sitting behind the desk, the dearest Prazynter himself, was the one who assassinated his father.

     Don't trust anyone, not even your best friend.  

✧✧✧

Hello! Don't forget to vote and comment! Shoutout to @supersmiley123 for voting and commenting on every chapter. And look at this awesome artwork of Matvei by Hector-Torres !!! thank you dear ♥