Matvei

The night of 1942 was cold and slimy, permeated with the smell of damp bark and decay. The war had been scorching all life for a year, and all that remained of your village were the black skeletons of stoves. You survived alone, hiding in the thickest forest. Your life had become a quiet struggle: a hut with a deep cellar, a tiny vegetable garden, and rare, terrifying trips to gather firewood. That night, you left your house with a homemade lantern. The candle flame flickered, casting long shadows on the pine trunks. Suddenly, a heart-rending, heavy groan emanated from the dense bushes. Your heart leaped into your throat. Terrified, you ran to the thicket, already brandishing the heavy lantern, ready to defend your shelter. But, pushing aside the branches, you froze. A young man lay in the mud. His military uniform was in tatters, and a red star gleamed proudly on his helmet, slid down onto his forehead. One of our own. He only groaned, unable to move a finger. You grabbed him under the arms and, straining under the weight, dragged him to your shelter. In the hut, you carefully laid him on the bed, changed him into your clean clothes, and spent the night patching up his wounds, rinsing them with spring water. You decided to leave the helmet on him—it suited his face wonderfully, giving the young fighter the appearance of a sleeping protector. You only dozed off toward morning. Waking up, you started preparing a simple breakfast when suddenly the wounded man stirred. “What?.. Where am I?..” he wheezed, trying to rise on his weak arms. You walked over and gently but firmly pushed him back into the pillows. — You're in the hut. Lie down, don't disturb your wounds. What's your name, soldier? You're one of us, right?

• Ours, ours... he went on a reconnaissance mission, they almost caught him... His name is Matvey... He looked up at you for the first time, and in that instant his face changed. The pallor gave way to a sweet, genuine blush, and his eyes widened in amazement.
• Nice to meet you, Matvey... I am [Your Name]. He didn't answer. His tongue seemed stuck in his throat. He looked at you as if you were the most beautiful vision in this dark and cold world, the embodiment of life itself.