The light from a lantern made Aedona stir. She turned over in her bed, blinking her eyes open and shut a few times—-this was followed by Aedona rubbing her eyes. The six year old girl pushed her blanket aside as she gripped her plush bear tightly.

    She swung her legs over the end of the bed, letting her feet touch the floor. She stood. Then she tipped toed across the cold, wood floor.

     Pyotr, who was nine, was sitting down, lantern lit beside him, skimming through some book he must've gotten from a shopkeeper earlier that day. He seemed so engrossed and enthralled in his reading that he didn't even notice his younger sister making her way toward him, stuffed bear in hand.

     "Petey," young Aedona began to call out to her brother. "What are you reading?"

    Pyotr looked up, slamming the book shut and almost blowing out the light from the lantern. "I told you not to call me that!"

    Aedona sat down beside her older brother, snuggling up against him. "Why not?" She began to inquire. "You call me Donnie all the time."

    Pyotr inhaled. "Would you rather that I didn't call you that? That I just call you Aedona?"

     Aedona shook her head. "No! I like it."

    "Well," Pyotr began saying to his younger sister, "I'll call you Donnie… and you'll refrain from calling me Petey."

     Aedona giggled. "Whatever you say, Petey."

     Pyotr rolled his eyes.

     Aedona reached forward with one hand, pushing her small fingers between the pages of the book, opening to the page Pyotr had bookmarked.

     "No," Pyotr began, closing the book again. "You can't see this."

     Aedona pouted. "Why not?"

     Pyotr huffed. "You're young… too young to see this stuff."

    "I am not too young!" Aedona shouted.

     From the room nextdoor, Pyotr and Aedona's mother—-Inga Stavayeva-—hollered, "Go to bed!", which startled both of the children.

     Aedona looked back at Pyotr. She batted her eyelashes at him. "Please… I wanna see."

    Pyotr raised an eyebrow. "Do I have your word you promise you won't get scared?"

     Aedona nodded. She held up her right hand. "I, Aedona Agafonova Stavayeva, promise to not get scared by whatever's in that book." She put her hand down, smiling a little.

    Pyotr inhaled-—he held it; then he exhaled. "Okay." He opened the book to the page he had bookmarked.

    "Razzhigatel 'voyny?" Aedona asked as she read the text on the page.

     "Da," Pyotr said in response. He tapped his finger on the page. "This is Amvrosiy Kryvichyn… the Warmonger." He wetted his lips. "Legend has it that he died during the Anglo-Russian war… and ever since then, his ghost has haunted those on the battlefield. He's got big horns and sharp teeth meant for devouring his prey. He prowls amongst the fallen, waiting for the right time to strike…" Pyotr lurched forward, making his sister gasp and move backward. "Legend also has it that he looks… that he watches… He preys on young girls… just like you."

     Aedona's eyes were wide as she stayed silent.

    "So, you better sleep with one eye open tonight," Pyotr told his young sister. He shrugged. "The Warmonger might just snatch you up in your sleep."

     Aedona shuttered before her gaze trailed over to an image on the page.

    It was a sketch of a young man who's bangs laid across his forehead gently. His was dressed up in a soldiers uniform with a musket on his back and a knife in his hand.

    Aedona placed her finger on the drawing. She tapped it a couple of times, which got Pyotr's attention. "Is that him?"

    "The Warmonger?" Pyotr began, his eyes falling upon the sketch.

    Aedona nodded. "Is it?"

    "I guess so," Pyotr said in response. "Though he doesn't seem to have the horns I recall him having." He scratched his head.

   Aedona giggled a little as she continued to stare at the drawing.

    "What are you laughing about?" Pyotr questioned his younger sister. It clicked in his mind. "Uh oh."

    "He's pretty…" Aedona said, softly.

    "The Warmonger isn't pretty! He's a menace! He's a monster! He's an elusive phantom. He's a bloodthirsty killer!" Pyotr exclaimed.

     Aedona giggled some more. "Well, I still think he's pretty."

    "Whatever." Pyotr rolled his eyes and closed the book. He blew out the light in the lantern before looking his younger sister dead in the eyes. "I believe it's far past your bedtime."

   ─┉─¡! • !¡─┉─

     Aedona spent the next few years reading up on all she could about the Warmonger-—something about the Warmonger was just so fascinating to her. She was seventeen and a half now.   

     She spent her free time sketching the Warmonger. She had a whole wall in her home dedicated to him.

    The Warmonger wasn't bloodthirsty-—that she knew. The Warmonger was simply aiding their empire in disastrous skirmishes.

     Aedona positioned her head on her hand as she reclined, letting the quill dance upon the parchment laid out in front of her.

     Recently, a boy named Ivan had asked for her hand in marriage.

     Ivan was one of the most desirable men in her village-—many girls fawned over him.

     Aedona was well aware how the other girls her age in the village would kill for the chance to marry Ivan.

    Aedona turned him down though. She could still remember the look of pure disappointment on his face when she said no.

     "I have a husband," Aedona had impulsively said, to which Ivan questioned. "His name is Amvrosiy," Aedona had said the Warmonger's name. "Amvrosiy Kryvichyn."

     Her actions then had sparked a rumor amongst the teenagers in the village that Aedona was indeed married to the Warmonger.

     Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing to Aedona.

    She drug the quill along, hashing out the last bit of her design.

    Hearts sparkled upon the page, all framing the words 'Mrs. Aedona Kryvichyn'.

    She grinned a little.

    "What are we smiling at?" Pyotr's voice pulled his sister out of her daze.

     Aedona slammed the book shut. "Nothing." She looked up to her brother. "Do you need something?"

    "I just thought I'd tell you I'm enlisting…" Pyotr told her.

     Aedona's heart sank. "Why?"

     Pyotr shrugged. "I wanna defend my country." Then he lowered his voice. "Plus, that way if I serve, maybe I'll get lucky enough to fight in a war… if I fight in a war, I can hunt the damn Warmonger for sport."

   Aedona stood. "I'll go with."

   "Why?" Pyotr asked. "They're not gonna take you. You know that."

    "I'm not going to fight, Pyotr," Aedona began to tell her brother. "The military could always use more nurses… and you know very well I've been studying up."

─┉─¡! • !¡─┉─

    The soft sounds of singing slowly eased Aedona back into consciousness.

     Aedona blinked her eyes open-—her migraine raged. She tilted her head over.

     The soft singing stopped.

      Kryvichyn looked over, her golden eyes locking with Aedona's. "Good. You're awake."