Ember's Sky

"Olya, my love," I whispered, clutching the phone in my left hand. The ward's fluorescent lights flickered on, humming like distant shells. Silence was heavy and ash-like.

"Sasha, stay strong," she said, her voice distant like a winter breeze. "But I can't pretend anymore. Our love is gone. I'm better off here. I've found someone who loves me."

The phone slipped from her hand, crashing to the floor.

A blade, merciless, plunged into my chest, slicing between two ribs and catching one on its way. The pain wasn't just from the cut; it felt like a crushing weight in my chest, rising up to my neck and choking my lungs until I gasped for air. The blade hit my heart, pinning it and leaving me unable to move.

Move! I commanded myself, but my body remained stapled to the bed. The high, faded-white ceiling began to ripple like Olya's summer dress.

My Olya, come back! The plaster dissolved, revealing a deep, spotless blue sky. Olya was there, delicate and fragile, dancing in its vastness. I tried to reach for her, but my body wouldn't move.

Don't fly so far, my Olya. I'm coming to you! But I lay heavy, my lungs empty, my heart devoid of blood. Pain pulsed through my entire body. I was a burning ember.

"Doctor," I heard.

"Shock only," a deep voice rumbled.

My body surrendered to the pain, slowly dissolving into endless silence. Something brushed my eyes, and Olya disappeared into the deep, pure blue.

---

A deep voice stirred me.

"What did I tell you?"

Grisha? Where was I? Then memories, like a suffocating avalanche, crashed down. I was a deserter, taken off the street to serve. The weakest in training, yet sent to the front lines. And then, a wound in my right arm. I must be alive; the machines beeped, their hum sharp in the sterile air, the antiseptic sting flooding my lungs. What was Grisha doing here? He was the strongest in the camp, a fitness trainer from Kharkiv, who lost his temper during training and disappeared after being brutally beaten by the soldiers. When he was tied to a tree and wounded, I asked for permission to give him some water. His face was shattered, and his body was wracked with pain.

My eyes fluttered open. Red and blue swirled into view, slowly coming into focus as the sterile details of the room became clear.

"Grisha!" I whispered. A tall man with piercing blue eyes sat beside my bed, waiting. "You're alive?"

"They don't send a man out there who might turn his gun," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"And what are you doing here?"

"Physical therapy for the wounded."

"My arm," I managed, the words sticking in my throat. "It's gone, Grisha."

"Gone, my ass," he scoffed. "It was a clean hit, barely a scratch."

"But the doctor said—"

"He knows nothing," Grisha said, his gaze steady. "Trust me. Didn't I promise to make you a man? My words still stand."

Yes, he did. For just a few sips of water, he gave me the strength to keep going. Don't lose your faith, don't lose your hope! His words still resonate with me.

"Grisha, she left me. Found another in Germany."

"You slaved for her love, but now, wounded and useless, she's found another fool."

The pain in my chest worsened. Grisha stood up, his large hand grabbing my injured upper arm. His hold caused a surge of pain that made me scream.

"Yell, Sasha. Release it. Then you'll be free," he said with unsettling sincerity, his scarred knuckles whitening. "I'll check on you later."

He left me there, adrift in the throbbing pain of my arm, without even the hollow comfort of his presence. I closed my eyes, trying to compose myself, to fool the pain into submission. A deep breath. Another. Slowly, it faded, replaced by a dull ache. But my chest? A persistent, slow burn.

I replayed my years with Olya. How did Grisha know my every effort was just a way to win her love? Was it that obvious, simply because I lacked an air of power? I might not have been a slab of muscle, but my ability for relentless, hard work was absolute.

He arrived in the evening, feeling happy.

"What do you know about my marriage? Just because I don't have muscles doesn't mean I'm incapable of working. I'm no weakling, I'm a hard worker."

"I know you're strong. Out of everyone at the training camp, you were the only one to stand up for me. You're one of the bravest and kindest men I've ever met. But you don't see your own worth. You bury yourself in work, trying to prove something that doesn't need proving. And now? You're suffering like an ordinary fool instead of facing the truth. What kind of person abandons the wounded? Don't you dare defend her to me."

His words not only eased the ache in my chest but also sparked a warmth that spread through me. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and with it, my spirit lifted. Warmth blossomed in my chest, replacing the ember's fade. For the first time, I saw it—not muscle, but the strength of a few drops of water. The strongest man I ever knew praised me, and I, in my profound blindness, had failed to see my own worth.

"Grisha, when do we start training? I need to build some muscle." 

The fluorescent panels hummed on, but the sky felt mine now.