Anton_vishanovs_magma_ne_byagam_im_not_running_... -

"" he whispered. His voice was sandpaper and silk. " I’m not running. "

Ivan felt the familiar tremor in his hands—the instinct to turn away, to disappear into the fog where no one could see him fail. But then, a low, rhythmic thrumming began to vibrate through the soles of his feet. It was the pulse of the earth, steady and defiant. It sounded like a heartbeat. It sounded like the opening chords of a song he knew by heart. anton_vishanovs_magma_ne_byagam_im_not_running_...

Ivan didn't look like a hero. His boots were caked in dry mud, and his jacket was frayed at the cuffs. Behind him, the path led back to the safety of the shadows, to the easy silence of giving up. Ahead of him, the wind howled with the voices of those who had told him he was nothing. "" he whispered