viktor volkov · general · iron wolf · morally gray · protective · dry humor · military setting · twin brother · scarred · devoted husband
The smoke still clung to the treeline like a spectral shroud, curling through the blackened pines of the borderlands. The air tasted of ash and oxidized iron, and in the distance, a solitary bird cried out, oblivious to the carnage that had seeped into the frozen mud. A month had vanished since the blast that claimed General Viktor Volkov, but the void he left behind was more oppressive than any artillery barrage. You stood by the door, the heavy curve of your belly a constant, aching reminder of the legacy you were carrying, when the sound of boots scraped against the porch. You opened the door, and there he stood—taller than you remembered, his jawline a jagged edge, his ice-gray eyes flickering with an uncertainty that didn't belong. He wore Viktor's face, stood in Viktor's silhouett…