A foggy Sunday morning rose over the village of Berezovka like a faded watercolor painting. The leaves of birch trees murmured softly as the wind swept through them, while the windows of an old house with a blue door remained dark. Yet, today Arkady Petrovich awoke earlier than the roosters. A nightmare had stirred him: standing on the edge of a cliff while his granddaughter, Alisa, called to him from thick mist below. Her voice trembled like a string shaken by the wind. Opening his eyes, his heart pounded fiercely, as if trying to escape his chest. “Something bad will happen…” he whispered, staring at the cracked wallpaper in his room.
In the adjacent room, separated by a thin wall, 24-year-old Alisa was still asleep. Her glittery boots left carelessly by the door were reminders of last night’s date with Maksim — her fiancé-to-be. Arkady Petrovich had raised Alisa himself after her mother, Vera, vanished as if swept away by a storm. He taught her to read stars, prepare wild raspberry jam, and believe light could be found even in the darkest forest. Now, the young woman was preparing to move to the city, stirring a bitter loneliness in his soul. Under her bed, a chest held savings reserved for Alisa’s new apartment. Yet imagining those bills forming a permanent divide between them was painfully difficult.
“Maybe you could move in with us, Grandpa?” Alisa asked weekly, wrapping her arms around his neck. “We have a spacious apartment, and Maksim adores you!”
“No, my dear,” the old man shook his head, concealing trembling hands. “My roots are here. The city is not for me.”
Still, unease clung to him today. While Alisa slept, Arkady Petrovich chopped wood, started the stove, and baked an apple casserole — her favorite dish. The scent of cinnamon and warm dough filled the house, but he paused by the window. Resting on the sill lay a faded medallion — a gift from Vera, her mother. “Nonsense,” he thought, pocketing the talisman. “It’s no time to stir up the past.”
“Wow!” Alisa burst into the kitchen wearing a pink robe, her tangled braids falling on her shoulders. “Grandpa, you’re like a magician! A wave of your hand, and breakfast is ready!”
She embraced him tightly, and he felt her heartbeat syncing with his own.
After their meal, they departed in a 1990s rusty Zhiguli, its metal shell resembling a turtle carapace. Wrapped in a scarf, Alisa soon dozed off, resting her head on his shoulder. “Just like back then…” Arkady Petrovich recalled twelve years ago when he carried her home from the hospital after she endured pneumonia. That night he had prayed, clasping her warm hands throughout.
Suddenly — a jolt! The vehicle lurched abruptly, as if struck by a wounded deer. Behind them, a black Gelandewagen crashed into their rear. Three masked men sprang out. Though faces were concealed, their eyes shone coldly like knife blades.
“Get out, old man!” the leader rasped, yanking open the door.
Frozen, Arkady Petrovich caught sight in the rearview mirror of one assailant dragging Alisa by her hair.
“Where is the money?!” the man barked, gripping the old man’s collar. “You were at the bank yesterday to collect it!”
“What money? I’m only on a pension…”
“Don’t lie!” A fist hit his cheekbone. Blood filled his mouth.
Alisa screamed as strangers gripped her wrist. One thief unzipped her jacket, then—
He froze. His eyes widened, as though he had encountered a ghost.
“What’s this?” he whispered, pointing at her chest.
Underneath her sweater dangled a moon-shaped medallion—identical to the one worn around the neck of the bandit himself.
“What?” Alisa asked fearfully, trying to cover her chest.
“An amulet!” the man shrieked, recoiling. “Where did you get this?!”
Taking advantage of the confusion, Arkady Petrovich broke free and ran toward the middle of the road. Raising his hands skyward, he shouted for help:
“Help! They’re going to kill us!”
Fortunately, a white Ford appeared abruptly around the bend. The driver slammed the brakes hard, forcing the bandits to curse and rush back to their vehicle. The last sounds the old man heard were screeching tires and the leader’s threat:
“We’re leaving! But we will return!”
That evening in Alisa’s apartment, Maksim poured tea, attempting to calm the tremble in her hands.
“We have to report this to the police,” he insisted.
“But why was he scared of my amulet?” Alisa squeezed the pendant tightly. “This can’t be a coincidence…”
The next morning news announced the arrest of three bandits near the train station. Alisa jumped up from the couch as the leader’s face flashed on the screen — tall man with a cheek scar. On his chest, beneath an unbuttoned shirt, gleamed a lunar medallion.
“That’s him!” she cried. “Grandpa, that’s him!”
Determined to uncover the truth, Alisa visited orphanage No.12, where it turned out the thief, Daniil Sokolov, had grown up. The institution’s corridors smelled of old paint and childhood fears.
“The boy was abandoned at the maternity hospital,” the headmistress explained, leafing through yellowed records. “His mother rejected him after birth. She was imprisoned for theft… Her name was Vera. Last name Sokolova.”
Alisa felt a chill. “Vera Sokolova… my mother.”
“And this amulet?” she asked, her voice trembling, showing her pendant.
“Oh, I don’t recall exactly…” the woman sighed. “But I remember she carried a moon chain. It was confiscated when she was arrested, although she begged to leave it for her son…”
Flying home, a mix of dread and hope filled Alisa’s thoughts: “Daniil is my brother. Grandpa knew.”
She cornered Arkady Petrovich in the kitchen, demanding answers:
“Tell me the truth! Why did you hide that I have a brother?”
The old man sank into a chair, as though crushed under a heavy weight. His eyes darkened like ripe blueberries.
“Your mother…” he began, struggling for words. “She was light until her soul darkened. Eighteen years ago, she was sent to prison for robbing a jewelry store. There she gave birth to Daniil… But I thought he died! He was sent to the orphanage, and Vera…” his voice broke. “She died of tuberculosis when you were five. Before dying, she wrote a letter: ‘Forgive me, Alisa. I left you the amulet—it will protect you from the darkness.’”
Overwhelmed, Alisa sank to her knees, clutching the medallion to her chest. Everything fell into place: why her mother wore the symbol, why her grandfather feared city streets, why he fought to shield her from harm.
“What about Daniil?” she whispered.
“He followed your mother’s path,” Arkady Petrovich said bitterly, smiling faintly. “This is his third sentence… Don’t look for him, dear. It’s hopeless.”
Yet Alisa ignored him. The next day, she visited the detention center. Behind the glass sat Daniil — thin, shadows lurking in his eyes, but with the same eye shape as hers.
“You… you’re my brother,” she breathed, reaching toward the barrier.
He turned away, but Alisa noticed his fingers clutch the medallion.
“Mother asked me to tell you,” she whispered, “that she loved you both. And she asked… for forgiveness.”
Daniil stayed silent. However, as she left, she heard a faint voice:
“Tell Grandpa… thank him for saving her back then.”
Years ago, Arkady Petrovich had rescued Vera from a criminal lord’s clutches, but she returned to her old lifestyle. This sacrifice saved Alisa, yet not Daniil.
Now Alisa lives in a house outside the city, near Arkady Petrovich’s land. Together, they plant potatoes, and in the evenings, he tells stories about lunar amulets to his grandson — Alisa and Maksim’s child. Sometimes there’s a knock at the door. It’s Daniil. Released from prison, he works as a carpenter and is learning to forgive himself.
In Alisa’s jewelry box rest two medallions — lunar and solar. One from her mother, the other from her brother. Whenever she touches them, a chill runs along her skin. Not from fear, but from hope.
Key Takeaway: Even in the deepest shadows of the soul, light remains. One simply needs to reach out.
This tale reveals how love, resilience, and mysterious connections can protect and unite even in the darkest times, reminding us that hope endures beyond adversity.