His earliest memory was opening his eyes to a field of white.
As he laid there unmoved with only the soft sound of his breath for comfort, white was everything he could see. Little ball of white falling from the sky, gently landing on the ground, and sometimes, on his nose. The trees are coated in layers of white, almost always still, just like him. There, as he laid quietly, he can see little spirits dancing through the sky with grace, all in white.
Sometimes he can even see a white figure blinking in and out, blending in with all the whiteness of the field, who seems so far yet so close, and familiar. Sometimes he can even see the figure staring back at him, with eyes so white and dull. He can only stare back, but upon noticing him, the figure would just disappear, leaving him here alone in all this white.
Even as he learn that the white figure have colours that contrasted that white he first see him as, the memories of all those days lying in the snow blinded by white would never leave him.
His first visit was by a man with hair almost as white as the snow, if not for a few random streaks of gold. He wore a blue cloak over his attire, sword in hand and has a face of a warrior, of someone powerful. There was also a little girl by his side. Her hair was a gentle blond and she wore a grey coat over her white dress. The little girl clung to the man, worried with a hint of fear.
He remembered the two visitors coming up to him, first with surprise, and then understanding. The man smiled down at him, a smile that radiate warmth and familiarity.
The young nation remembered as he slowly stood up from the ground, the first time he had ever done so ever since he woke up. The snow felt soft against his feet as he took his first step towards the two visitors.
With each step closer, he can feel the connection pulling him towards the man. Without understanding how, he knew for certain that this man, and this girl too, were family. It was knowledge without reason, the same as how he knew that he was connected to the land.
The man grinned at him as he approached.
"What is your name little one?"
The child did not answer, but instead, his gaze was fixated on the figure that was floating above the man.
He wore clothes of black and grey, yet the child knew, he knew that the man in front of him was the same white figure that would visit him for all those times ago.
"Ah, I see you have notice the General," the familiar man said with a smile, "Child, this is General Winter. Just as you are the embodiment of the land, he is the embodiment of all the world's winter. He is going to be a great ally to you. Now, what name shall I give to you…"
That was the official first meeting between General Winter and the young nation that was soon named Russia. The first of many that will follow.
His name was Russia. It was bestowed to him by the man he met in the woods that day, his father. He liked the name, he was happy with the name. After all, Kievan Rus named him after his own name, and for that he was proud.
Kievan Rus was gentle and kind. He taught Russia all that he needed to know. How to fight, how to work and how to be a nation. He loved his father so very much.
But Kievan Rus was sad despite it all, and Russia did not like seeing his dear father looking so melancholic all the time.
When he enquired his father about it, Kievan Rus only smiled at him.
"I am sad because of the winter."
"The winter?" Russia asked, perplexed.
"Yes. I do not like how cold it is. Though I know summer would come eventually, but to see all land covered in white, to rarely see the vibrant of flowers in bloom, it all makes me very sad."
"Then can you tell General Winter to stop it?"
"No, I'm afraid I cannot."
"But why? Isn't he supposed to be our ally?"
Kievan Rus looked at him, eyes worn and old.
"The General is our greatest ally, yes. But we can't control him. He will not bend just because we do not wish for winter anymore. He is our ally, but he is also a great pain. A double-edge sword so to speak," Kievan smiled at him again and patted Russia softly on his head, "and you will be sure to remember this. For the eternal winter takes no side and only act according to his nature."
Russia can only nodded for he did not exactly understand the words of his father, but he did remember it.
Even as his family went and greet their newest member, a little girl with unruly blonde hair and sharp dull eyes, Russia remembered.
Even through all the pain, the battles for territory, Russia remembered.
Even as he watched his father closed his eyes for the last time and as he, Ukraine and Belarus mourned and cried, Russia remembered.
For how could he not, when whenever he looked behind, General Winter was always there, with eyes cold and apathetic, a constant reminder to him about the eternal nature of winter.
"Ivan," Russia said to the air, knowing General Winter would be able to hear it, "Ivan Braginsky. It is my human name now."
It was winter again. Little drops of snow danced through the cold air, ethereal and entrancing. A slight shift in the atmosphere and General Winter emerged, clad in armour of grey and black. Not white, never white.
The General looked at him uninterestingly.
"And this is important why?"
"I just thought you might want to know." Russia replied while keeping his eyes on the falling snow. It was a beautiful scene. But cold, so cold. "It was the Tsar who gave me that name. It was after his. I felt so honoured. Ivan, it is a nice name, isn't it?"
No answer.
"What is your name, General?"
"I am the winter. I don't need a name."
"Of course you don't," Russia chuckled softly, "But wouldn't it be nice to have one? It brings you closer to the people. But you wouldn't know that, would you? Cause if you do, you wouldn't be so cold all the time."
"Is all of this just to complain?"
"Perhaps," Russia pulled his scarf closer, covering his nose, "Or maybe I just want to talk. It is just so lonely here watching the snow falls, no matter how pretty it looks."
Slight pause.
"Do you ever feel lonely General?"
No answer.
Russia glanced back. General Winter was gone. But the snow kept falling.
Drop by drop they fell, and drop by drop Russia watched.
"So cold…"
Out there was a field of sunflowers awaiting him, but in here the snow never stop, and the winter persisted.
Despite all of its harshness, winter was indeed his greatest ally.
The General have proved time and time again to be quite a valuable and strong line of defence of Russia from outside invaders. Though there were times the General was ineffective against their enemies, in which Russia would scream and yell at him, berating him for being so useless. He was supposed to be their trump card, their strongest defence. He was supposed to be invincible, for who can really stand up against the wrath of winter? Yet General Winter failed at times, and Russia hurts every time.
But more often than not, the General succeeded in defending their land, and winter did not seem so detestable then.
To see their enemies lay defeated under him, to see their blood mixed with the snow, to be able to destroy their hope in conquering his land, to be able to wipe off that confidence to think that they could actually invade him, it all made Russia felt glee inside.
It was always a red winter when his enemies invade him, but Russia cared not, he was winning.
Sweden thought he could attack Russia and get out alive and victorious. Russia thought it was almost cute.
Sure the might of the Swedish Empire was not something to dismiss over, and Russia knew that. But Sweden was idiotic when he decided to attack Russia. During winter. Winter in the 18th century was not known for being kind.
And when his entire field of vision was clouded with red, he couldn't help but laugh. Potlava was when he sealed the final nail in the coffin for the empire that Sweden so dearly cherish.
France arrived in 1812 with arrogance and a leader named Napoleon.
Though uncertain and slightly afraid, Russia trusted the General once again. The General did not disappoint.
France retreated from his land with countless losses and curses for vengeance.
It was red again, but Russia neither laugh nor cry. He just didn't care anymore.
And when Germany betrayed him, however inevitable it was, he enlisted General Winter for help again.
As the great, so-called German Empire laid at his feet, battered and bruised, Russia smirked and laughed.
"Do you honestly think you can invade me and expected to win? Especially during winter?"
Germany responded by sending him cold glares, "I may fail here, but I will return. And your land shall submitted to me."
Russia's grin grew ever wider.
"And how do you expected to win, foolish nation?" Russia chuckled, "You may have land, allies and resources. You may have a great leader. But so do I."
Russia crouched down and stared Germany right in the eye.
"And the thing is, little German, those are all you have. But I," Russia's eyes were cold, mocking, and filled with malice, there was a figure of some sort looming behind him, "I have the winter on my side."
It was Sunday, and it was bloody. Coupled in with the fact that it was winter, and this is shaping up to be one of Russia's worst day.
There were people everywhere. On the street, near the palace. Alive, rioting, or dead.
How did this even happen? Didn't Russia do all that he could? Did Russia not support and protect his people adequately? Why are they here? What did he do?
Russia breathe heavily, the cold air filling up his nostrils. He was standing on red snow, surrounded by empty corpses and a gun in his hand.
General Winter was there. General Winter was always there.
Russia did not once look the General in the eyes, his mind was filled with images of screaming people. His people. His people who were once alive, now nothing but dead bodies.
A headache was soon consuming Russia. He could not even felt the cold of winter, he was too occupied, too obsessed with the events that just occurred.
"Is this what you want?" The Generals' voice was deep and cold. Just like the winter.
Is this what he want? He wanted nothing more than to live in a warm place full of sunflowers. He never asked for this existence, for this event, and for the winter itself. Russia wanted to disappear, to not have to bear the burden of today. But he was a nation after all. And those desires he wanted were nothing but wishful dreams. And it is best to stomp out wishful dreams, lest you became consume by it.
"Of course," Russia grinned madly, albeit with clear sadness reflected in his eyes, "We do not want children that can't play nice after all."
He looked down to the corpses around him. Bad children. That's all they were. Bad ungrateful children who could not appreciate all that he gave them.
Russia lifted his head to the sky and watched the snow fall. A storm was brewing on the horizon, right in his land, and Russia would be glad to just get out alive.
He spotted her running madly through the forest. No doubt to escape the murder scene of her family. Russia wanted to do the same, but he had a job to do. He had to make sure none of the Romanovs survived, even if they were a helpless young girl.
"This is all for a better Russia," he reassured himself, "I must do what I must."
It was a mantra he recited ever since he received this mission. He must believe in it, and fulfil it. The future of Russia hanged in the balance after all. But still, he found himself doubting his own forced beliefs.
The girl fell, and Russia made his presence known.
Young Anastasia lit up at the face of an old friend, only for frowns and wide, horrified eyes to appear once she realised what he was holding.
She begged him to let her go. She cried and pleaded.
But when her cries was answered by the cold feeling of a gun pressed to her forehead, did she tried her best to smile and asked him to make it quick, for she wanted to see her family again.
"Oh, and I forgive you Mr Russia. I hope you're happy."
As Anastasia closed her eyes for the last time, he breathe in – all for a better Russia - and pulled the trigger.
Red blood spilled as body hit snow, and young Anastasia Romanov was no more. Imperial Russia was no more.
Russia stood up and stared at the deceased princess, a mixed of emotion swirled inside him, starnge yet empty.
This was the correct thing to do, wasn't it? All for a better Russia after all. But did he really have to kill Anastasia? She did nothing wrong aside from being a Romanov. But he must kill her because that was what his boss and his people wanted him to, and as the people's will is his will, how could he go against such a request?
But then, shouldn't he be happy? His people wanted this, he should feel happy. Or angry, or sad, anything. Anything aside from this empty void inside his heart.
And then General Winter appeared.
"Come to mock me, aren't you?" Russia's voice was trembling.
Silence.
"What? Aren't you going to say anything? Say t-that what I did was wrong, that little Stasia did not deserve to die? That I was a monster in doing so?" Russia turned around to stare at General Winter's dull eyes, "Say something damnit!"
Russia felt the tears threatened to slip down his cheeks.
"I am not one to judge."
Russia erupted in laughter. And General Winter would have to lie to say that the laugh did not unnerve him at all.
"Of course you're not. You're not here to judge at all. You are just winter, and the winter takes no side and only act according to his nature and all. Of course you're not here to judge me and my actions."
The laughter continued, and his voice was breaking.
"But I am a monster. Stasia was an innocent angel, and I was the demon that killed her. Look at this snow! Your snow, it is red with her blood. And it is all my doing, all mine, all mine, all… mine…"
There was no laughter now, only the sound of wind howling in the cold air. Russia knelt down next to Anastasia and began cradling her gently in his arms. Words of sorry flew from the Russian to the former princess in gentle whispers.
General Winter did nothing but watch as the winter became heavier. Though it is not visible, the General could feel and smell the scent of blood and occasional tears mixed in with the atmosphere.
"Is this what you wanted?" The General asked and Russia turned to face him.
"What I wanted? No. I wanted nothing than for Stasia and her siblings to live a happy life. For all my people to live a happy life. This is not what I wanted." Russia's face darkened, "But… this is what Russia and its people wanted. And for the sake of a better Russia, I will do what I must."
Strangely enough, Russia had no problem in believing those words in that moment.
Winter raged on, and the bloods continued to spill.
"They called it the Cold War."
General looked at the source of the statement. Russia was wearing his usual attire, yet there was something different, something off, perhaps even wrong. Since the death of the young Romanov girl, the personification of Russia changed. He seemed to age decades since the death, his eyes seemed tired and old, yet sometimes displaying a strange madness. Russia had started becoming more uncaring. He did not complain about winter as often as before, and General Winter doubt he even really notice when the seasons change. The end of the world would have come and passed and Russia would most likely not care.
Changes often invite conflict. This time in the form of a blond, spectacled superpower. General Winter rarely visited America, preferring his northern brother's residence over his. But from what he had gathered about the young nation's personality, he can tell that this conflict is not going be quelled anytime soon.
"I wasn't aware it was a war," the General replied.
Russia chuckled, "It's not, America just like to call it such, so that he can play hero again and defeat the "villain". How utterly idiotic. And Cold War? America just have such a nice humour, don't you think General?"
General Winter did not reply, but continued to observe Russia further. He can see the madness showing up in Russia's eyes. It only ever show up when Russia talked about his conflict with America. The General did not know how to feel about this. It was certainly a change from the usual apathy, but still it felt strange.
"Aren't you worry?"
Russia perked up at him, "Worry about what?"
"That the American might win this conflict."
And Russia laughed. The first time since they had that conversation in the bloody wood.
"What is there to worry about?" Russia grinned madly, "America is an idiot. Why should I worry? His head is full of naïve ideas of being a hero. His capitalist system is a backwards system, a system of failure. Such a young country, how could he ever understand the pain of war and the way my system could protect and help so many people?" He started walking towards the door.
"Just you wait, General, I will stomped out this conflict within the year, America and his ideals will not last." He stopped suddenly as he reached the front of the door. Russia turned his head back and looked at General Winter.
"Besides, I have you. I have the winter. There is no way that I could lose even if that little American decided to abandon all pretence of diplomacy and invade me head on. Right?"
General Winter remained silence. Russia just smiled and walked out of the room.
The conflict did not end within the year, it persisted for decades more. And in 1991, the Soviet Union collapsed as Russia was shot by those he trusted the most. Red flags were torn down throughout the street. It was yet another red winter, though this time by another mean other than blood.
And when Russia woke once again, carrying that same apathy as before as he stared at the all the redness and the winter snow, General Winter couldn't help but miss the days of conflict, for although it was primarily a strange madness and malice, at least Russia was displaying some form of emotions. It was unnerving to see Russia so apathetic.
General Winter spared one last look at the uncaring nation, and disappeared into the winter air.
Russia stared outside the window. It was snowing again, how utterly unsurprising. He knew that it was pointless, he knew that no one would even come, yet he still couldn't help but gaze out through the distance, hoping for someone, or even something to show up to join him.
It was his birthday after all.
Russia didn't know why he did all of this.
He sent out invitation knowing no one would agree to come.
He baked a cake knowing no one would come (it was sitting there in his fridge, untouched and cold).
It was his birthday, and he was alone.
Well, not exactly.
He could feel the air shifted as General Winter appeared behind him. General Winter came bearing no gifts nor wishes, for why should he? The General cared for little aside from his own affairs, yet he was always there whenever Russia looked or asked for him. But despite that, he rarely talk.
"Stop being so cold all the time," Russia said sadly, "if it wasn't so cold, perhaps the others would come to celebrate my birthday. Then we can eat the cake I baked and make fun of little America together. And after that we can visit the sunflowers. I'm sure it would be great."
General Winter did not reply.
It was a routine of some sort.
A little routine involving Russia talking or lamenting about his problems, or about winter, or about how his next birthday will be full of sunshine and friends, all the while General Winter remained a faithful listener.
And as the sun resigned its throne on the sky, the General would simply disappear again, leaving Russia to stare out the window at the snow and wishing, hoping, that summer would come soon, for he was simply tired of the cold.
No one really knew how it had happened. One minute there was peace, then the apocalypse. One minute there was silence, then the deafening sound of nuclear bombs explosion, leaving an aftermath of death and reduced earth into a barren wasteland.
Russia couldn't remembered exactly what had happened, even though he knew he played a part in this cataclysmic event somehow, he was simply too damaged and greatly affected by the impact of the nuclear explosion. The explosion which wiped out most of his land and people, the explosion which left Russia laying on the snow, unable to move.
Russia had lived a long life as many other nations did, encountering many life and death situation. Moments which seemed like the end for him always turned out alright. But this time, this time he knew that his time has come. Russia knew he would die, and the question of whether he would wake up again or not hanged there in silence.
Russia inhaled deeply and sighed, watching the snow fell into the ground. White clouded his vision again as Russia tried to lift his hand up, but he was not able to. His body hurts and felt heavy.
And then General Winter appeared beside him.
Russia was not surprised, he was expecting the General to come. After all, this might be the last time they would ever exist together, even someone with so little emotion like the General would not be so heartless as to not say goodbye. They have been through a lot, General Winter and him.
He has been there when Russia first woke up. The elusive white figure prancing around the sky, seemingly almost always watching the young nation.
He had been there when Kievan Rus died, but Russia was unable to detect any hint of emotion from the General. Did he feel sadness at an old friend's death? Will he now? For him? Russia did not know.
He had been there through Russia's highs and lows. Through victories and invasions. Through joyous enlightenment and bloody revolutions. Through his loneliness and happiness. It seems like whenever Russia asked, called or looked behind, General Winter was always there, silently watching with eyes dull and uncaring.
Russia both hated and liked the General. He has his use, but Russia wasn't sure whether all those cold and lonely winters were enough to trade for those victories. But Russia admitted a strange feeling of gladness for General Winter's existence. Winter was slightly more bearable when there was someone to blame.
Their relationship was a strange and distant one. Russia often screamed, berated or talked to the General, who chose to remain mostly silent. It was a distant relationship, but it was also quite a close one. Russia knew the General was there when he first opened his eyes, and was somewhat happy to know that the General would still be there as Russia approached his demise.
General Winter looked at Russia, his expression unreadable, "You're dying."
The General was blindingly white to Russia's eyes. He smiled bitterly at the General, "Yes. I am dying. Another bother of a host is going to disappear, wouldn't you be happy?"
"I do not feel any joy from your passing."
Russia attempted to chuckled, "Of course, you don't feel anything."
Silence passed between them as the winter raged on.
"I will die, but you won't, will you?"
"I am the winter, I will not die. Even when the world comes to an end, coldness will be the only thing that remains, winter will be the only thing that remains. For winter is eternal after all."
Russia stared blankly at General Winter.
"Will you wake up again?" the General asked.
"I do not know," replied Russia sadly, "perhaps I won't. Or perhaps my people will survive this calamity. Perhaps the Russian lineages will live on. Perhaps the Russian identity will survive. Only then will I wake once again. But for now, I do not know."
He could feel the fatigue slowly taking over, white vision slowly turned to black and he felt colder than ever. It was snowing all around, little ball of white falling, dancing in a harmonious symphony. He was going to miss the sight. It was quite beautiful after all. And entrancing. Haunting.
A slight shift in the air as the wind grew ever so strong. His time was coming.
"Thank you."
General Winter looked at Russia.
"Thank you for what?"
"Just thank you. There is nothing more to it." A brief silence, then Russia continued, "I hated your coldness and your cruel weather, but I supposed it was fun. I think Kievan Rus would agree."
A snowdrop fell on his nose.
"General Winter?"
"Yes?"
"Will you…," Russia started, "If I were to wake up again somehow. If I were to survive, will you still be there?"
"Yes. I will still be there."
"I see," Russia whispered, for his strength had now left him, "that's good then, that's good…"
Russia struggled to keep his eyes opened, he wanted to see, even though his vision was no more, "At least… I will have someone….someone familiar to wake up to….No matter…no matter…how cold…they….are…." Russia struggled to put on a smile, a bitter smile, "Thank you…." And his eyes succumb to the pressure. His heart beat no more and everything was still, aside from the howling of the winter air.
General Winter stared solemnly at Russia, who was now laying still with an almost peaceful expression. The General disappeared for a moment, only to return with a sunflower, Russia's favourite, and laid it by the former nation's side.
General Winter stayed with Russia till dusk. Once the sky turned black, the General made his exit. He still had work to do after all. For he is the winter, and winter is eternal.
Sparing one last look at Russia, the General disappeared into the winter snow, the memories of a child who dreamed of sunflowers that he met so many centuries ago resurfaced in his mind and continued to stay there, a silent memento of a time long passed, and a promise for tomorrow.
Fin.
A/N: So thus concluded my first entry for my "Reflection at the end of the world" series (title in the working)
It's basically one shots of characters reflecting upon either their own history or their relationships with other nations/beings or both, all the while the world is ending.
I already have plans for a Poland, a Spain and a Prussia fics to be coming whenever I can actually manage to finish them. More will be coming. You may request a character, though I will ultimately decide their fates
So that's that. I hoped you enjoyed my pathetic fics and feel free to criticize me on any grammatical errors, any OOC moments or any historical facts. And see you in the next fic. ^^