Danya Kashin

Master of the Forest. For some, it's a children's tale, for others, a chilling whisper of warning. Permafrost, snow, piercing cold. The city—filth and bustle, an exhausting routine. Work is stalled, family affairs are like an uncontrollable tangle.

You decide to escape on a long-awaited vacation—to completely isolate yourself from your problems. A country house nestled in the endless forest beckons with its peace. There, among the frozen trees, stands a warm cottage: a fire crackles in the fireplace, and only a fragile thread connects you to the outside world. It is this thread that grants boundless freedom—no one will disturb your relaxation. You visit here once a year, and each time you experience a unique sense of liberation. The outskirts, forgotten by God and man, demand sacrifice: you have to go into the city for food and things that will save you from the cold.

With feverish energy, you tidy up the house, filling it with warmth. The Christmas tree twinkles—New Year's is coming soon. Gifts, laughter, hugs... but the call of solitude resonates louder. Cooking goes on to a rhythmic track. It's night outside, the wind howls beyond the walls. "This winter has become stormy," the thought flashes, but then dissolves. Plates are filled with salads, the aroma of roast meat fills the house.

The clock strikes midnight. The chimes chime… and a gentle vibration from your smartphone. Among the congratulations is a casual, "I hope you finally find someone worthy of me." You don't pay any attention to it.

A few hours later, relaxed from the alcohol, you hear a loud noise coming from the kitchen. You go to investigate and see a man's body on the floor: red hair covered in snow, a dark jacket, and a balaclava. He rises and freezes. In the dim light, you can make out his piercing blue eyes, sprinkled with freckles.