The pain. The pain. The pain.

Artyom's body ached in such a way that his mind couldn't concentrate whenever he slept. Despite the efforts of the doctors and pain medicine, when they woke him up, he wanted to end it all. It was so tempting to ask for a suicide pill to ease his suffering and save the pre-war medicine for those who truly needed it. Yet, he remained in Elsa's bedroom, staying strong for her sake.

His sense of time had been lost as the days passed by. Those few glimpses, when he opened his eyes, only determined whether it was day or night. It was hardly a life as he quietly prayed that his wounds healed. What also did not help was the lack of knowledge of events after he was shot. They were able to repel Prince Hans' advance toward Arendelle; yet, he was curious to know if they were driven out of the country. The exhaustion in his soul had overtaken him as he returned to slumber. Though, this sleep felt different. He did not know why only that this would be different.

A dream came to him, where he was at Exhibition station, back at the Moscow Metro. The aura of his home reminded him of the days when the guards relaxed in their positions and his people were not afraid of leaving their shacks. People came and went, and he smiled at the teenagers of his age, who wanted to find their place in life. Children and their parents looking for goods at the markets had given him their respects due to his stepfather's position. Just seeing the station feeling happy was a rare occurrence and he enjoyed the atmosphere that came with it. As he walked the streets, his gut sensed that the scenery was unnaturally perfect.

The far side of the room changed everything when Artyom saw his father standing in the middle while people passed by. A middle-aged man stood tall in his Spartan Order uniform with a few strands of grey hair expressing his years and the stress as a Polis Ranger. His face was hardened by his time of service under Colonel Mel'nikov with the only hint of his youth being the sharp blue eyes. The veteran smiled at him as he gestured his hands for his son to come over. A flurry of emotions entered his heart as he barely had the strength to call him out. "Hunter?" Merely speaking his name had transformed the setting of this dream. The locals of the station disappeared into ashes, leaving behind two men.

They walked towards each other as the fallen soldier finally spoke. "It is good to see you again, Artyom. How have you been?"

His eyes began to let out tears as he jumped forward and grabbed ahold of him. One massive hug to greet the man who inspired him to become a Polis Ranger. "I miss you."

"So do I," Hunter answered as his hands wrapped around him to reciprocate the hug, "Come with me to the platform."

They walked through the empty station but the prince felt great comfort being in the company of the person who, unknowingly, was his father. It reminded him of the days when they huddled in the corner of the armory and he helped practice his shooting skills. He remembered every hour spent on the firing range, being guided by someone so experienced in the art of killing. Yet, it also allowed romanticized stories of his missions in the dark tunnels of the Metro - tales of heroism in rescuing poorly protected traders from bandits or defeating the hordes of mutants attempting to overrun a station. He still cherished those memories but the luster of glory and adventure was now lost on him since those days. Then Artyom thought about his departure from the station when he had just arrived. He made a promise to fight the Dark Ones with cold ruthless efficiency and failed to perform. "I am sorry that I failed."

He chuckled, taking the young man by surprise as they continued towards their destination by navigating through the walled-off rooms separated by a few steel doors. "No, I should be the one to say that. Don't tell Sukhoi this but I was the one in the wrong. You did something that none of us were able to do - understand."

"What are you talking about?"

"If it's hostile, you kill it. You remember those words when I gave you that revolver at Ostankino? I was so sure that was all that was needed to kill the Dark Ones at your station; yet, I was a fool to think they were merely simple monsters."

"Do not be so hard on yourself," The son comforted him as they walked through the empty hallways, "None of us knew what they were capable of. Even I was taken aback by the truth."

He shook his head as if shame had overtaken him. "My eyes didn't want to believe in the truth because it would complicate everything. If I was not so protective, you would still have a father."

"You do not know that. Perhaps the luck in our lives is genuinely terrible. Why are you so concerned about that particular past?"

They arrived at the platform where the railcars and trains would be. Hunter walked near the edge and turned around. "I was given a chance to speak with you one last time. It's hard to explain but time is short for both of us. This is our final farewell. Once I go, we will never see each other again until your time comes."

"What do you mean you're on limited time?" Artyom wondered as he approached him, "You just arrived."

"Yes but this is just a mere dream. Sooner or later, you will have to wake up. It's just that I have a lot of regrets that I failed as a father."

A train whistled its engines as it arrived at the station's platform and slowed down to a halt. A door opened to one of the cars with a white light blinding him from the inside. "What's this?"

"My departure," Hunter stated as he lowered his head at the situation, "Where I go, you cannot follow."

"As you said, this is just a dream. You don't have to go for us to talk about things. If you have to go, take me with you."

He raised his head, eyes widened with fear as he gripped his son's shoulders. "No! If you join me on this train, you will be joined with death. You have a lot to live for and a girl to cherish forever."

Someone walked out of the carriage doorway - a woman who seemed eerily familiar. "Alexei, time is running short. We cannot stay here any longer."

Artyom looked closely at the woman as memories flashed before his very eyes. His gaze was long and hard until tears came down his eyes and realized it was none other than his mother. The image of a fair maiden brunette in a pink jacket and blue jeans being eaten alive by rats and her screams still haunted him to this day. "Mom?"

"Hello, son. It has been a long time since we passed from this world. We just came to give your soul one last minute."

"Don't go, please," He begged of his dead parents, "There's so much to talk about."

She stepped off the train for a brief moment, the light no longer blinding him on the platform. Her hand reached out to his face and caressed his cheek. "It's okay, we'll have all the time in the future once your time passes. I bequeath you to live - for your father and me."

His parents stood together and held each other's hands. Hunter's face was saddened before speaking, "Artyom, raise your head high."

The young Polis Ranger did as his father commanded and looked at them with one long look.

"Our sacrifice was made for your happiness. Cherish every aspect of that as the longer you walk among the earth," He stated, "Give us one last hug before we go."

Seldom did he tremble but the weight of this goodbye was too much for him. So much to say in so little time. The heir of Imperial Russia hugged both of his parents in the only time they were seen together. His eyes slammed shut while crying out not to leave him. When he opened it, the dream faded from reality, sitting up in his bed trying to reach out to people who weren't even there. It was hard to tell if this was a mere dream or not, only that his parents said his final goodbyes.

He spent the next ten minutes trying to contemplate the meaning of his dream. Then the door to the bedroom was unlocked. Artyom turned to see his strange and familiar friend enter the room with his hands slipped into his pockets. "Khan?"

"You're awake," The Mongolian commented as he walked over to him by the bedside, "I managed to make a potion to help your wounds. It seems like your health has improved for the better but what has got you into tears?"

"It's personal," Minutes passed as the old man reached behind his back and produced a glass bottle that contained blue liquid, "What is it?"

"A healing potion," He answered as he pulled out the cork with his bare hand and passed it over to him, "Take this, it will help deal with your pain."

Artyom reluctantly accepted the strange drink as he took one final look before opening his mouth. "Bottoms up!" As he drank the whole bottle in a single sitting, his body reacted horribly to the bitter taste. His stomach instinctively wanted to regurgitate the mysterious contents out but Khan always had his best interests in mind. Once finished swallowing, the young man shuddered at the concoction coursing through his veins. "What did you put in this?" He wondered while stealing a glance at the few droplets that remained.

"It is a recipe that I must keep secret, even from you."

"You don't trust me?"

Rarely did he smile but this was one instance that he saw his expression take joy. "Telling you would make you convinced it's poison."

Now was the time to ask his questions about the events since he was wounded. "What happened while I was gone?"

"The enemy left," Answered Khan as he grabbed the bottle and walked over to the door, only to lean back on the wall beside it, "Everyone has been preparing for the upcoming holiday. Colonel Mel'nikov wanted me to tell you that once Christmas is over, they're going to give Prince Hans a visit."

Repairs to the castle and the town were underway but that was the least concerning matter on Elsa's mind. She stood out by the balcony and watched her people make preparations for Christmas while the weather continued to snow and build piles across the kingdom. This would be the first ever since their family stopped celebrating this with the rest of her people. Warm emotions ran through her like hot chocolate as she noticed the Imperial Russians set up an army of tents on the town's outskirts. There was still a war going on but life would be calm and her people safe for the time being.

The door behind her swung open as a concerned servant called out to her. "Your majesty, aren't you a little cold out there."

"I'm fine, Kai," Being the spirit of winter had its perks and she enjoyed it when she noticed it. Then she turned around and looked at him. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, it's just that I noticed you were out there while passing by. It is my duty to be concerned."

She smiled at his worry before making her way back inside as the head servant closed the door. The queen walked through the hallways and mentally thought about her family's preparations for Christmas. "How are the Christmas decorations?"

"They were damaged from the fighting. A cannonball managed to hit them and the tree. Everything else was surprisingly unharmed," He answered while keeping with her pace, "Fortunately, Colonel Klebnikov said he will help us out with that. He claims they still have decorations from before the war, whatever that means."

"Well, it means that we'll have a different Christmas than usual."

The duo arrived at the family room door before Kai brought up a subject to her attention. "While we were caring for the wounded, I have seen the local blacksmith interacting with Hans' mercenaries. It seems so odd that he knows much more about them than us."

"Are you suspicious of them?" Elsa wondered turning to the closest family servant as her hand reached for the door, "Is he dangerous enough to turn his back on us?"

"No, your majesty. Martin remains loyal to the crown as we speak. I just did think that we would have a hardy mercenary soldier under our noses."

She remembered that moment in time when Anna was separated from her before Artyom began to make his move to assist their lives. It made her smile before remarking on those memories. "We also did not know about a Russian prince who served as our farrier."

"That is true," He openly admitted before bowing his head, "I shall take my leave. More errands to deal with."

"I wish you the best."

The large man walked away from her side as Elsa opened the door and found her family inside. Olaf and her father were playing chess in the center of the room, sitting opposite each other on red couches. She was surprised to find her snowman still on his winning streak and troubling a concentration parent. Then her head looked to the left and saw mother and Anna going over some dresses laid out on the table.

Anna seemed embarrassed at the number of wear and tears she made to her clothes as the former queen of Arendelle expressed her exasperation. "These are all good dresses! How could you go through them like this? You're lucky that Gerda is not here to see all of this, it would give her a heart attack."

"I know," Answered her sister as she stole a glance at the pile of her high heel shoes that appeared to be snapped, "Part of me is thinking about fixing them all myself."

"It cannot be done. Patching them up with simple cloth would ruin their beauty."

Elsa giggled as she knew her sister's nature would cause this. "Wait until you see the ones encased in mud."

The princess stared at her with surprise. "I thought you wouldn't notice."

"You thought differently."

They all laughed before the former king interrupted their joy with his words. "It has been a long time since we celebrated Christmas together. Everyone in the town has their traditions except us. What are we to do after we ring the Jule bell?"

"I do not know," Answered the young queen as she walked over to her father's side of the table and sat beside him, "We have all been separated from each other for so long that we don't have any traditions."

The snowman in the room had joined the conversation. "A lot has happened before the family was brought together. Every one of you has an interesting experience and a story to tell. Maybe you could start with that?"

"That is not bad," Her father seemed interested in that idea as he moved a piece, "A lot has happened since our departure. Let's not forget, I am quite interested as to how Elsa and Artyom got along quite well to fall for each other."

"That too. Maybe you could invite him over? He probably has stories of his own worth telling."

"Maybe," Elsa wanted to entertain the notion but she remembered those moments when she took a glimpse into his past. There was much personal life that he may not be so willing to open his heart to, "We'll see."

A soldier walked into the castle's kitchen as they began to make their raid of its food. The servants had passed out bowls of soup for the wounded and anybody else who was using some of the rooms for their meeting with the various commanders and officers making their slight preparations for the next battle. Pavel knew that there was always a battle to be had but there was never enough time to get food in one's stomach. He walked in the hallway to appreciate the number of paintings and armored knights on their stands as he carried his empty soup bowl with him. No matter how much he visited the castle, there was always something magical about it.

He entered the door to the kitchen to find tired servants cooking and bringing food outside. These days have been painful on them and he didn't want to impose on their time. Yet, he was taken aback when a Polis Ranger was sitting on a stool and eating his share of soup on the counter in the center of the room. Uhlman turned his head and smiled at the communist officer, "Looks like I'm not the only one who liked the soup. Close the door before someone gets the same idea as the rest of us."

"You hungry as well?" Came his question as he closed the door on his way inside and noticed the pot to his far left. Pavel eagerly walked over to fulfill his natural appetite, "What do you think of the soup?"

"A tad bit salty than usual but it could be worse. It's been a long time since we have eaten chicken back in the army."

He grabbed the ladle and stirred the pot to collect as many dumplings and pieces of chicken before pouring its contents into his bowl. Then he walked over to the counter and sat across from his comrade in arms. "Imagine that. Twenty more years and we would have forgotten our taste buds the longer we lived in those tunnels. I'm glad we are finally out of there."

"There is still more to be done. You got people who are still trapped while others are politically motivated to have their station be the first ones out. Mutants aren't going to relent if we start leaving the Moscow Metro," The Ranger remarked as he took another spoonful of his soup. He straightened his back and stole a glance from him, "Colonel Mel'nikov is worried sick about Artyom. Any news on his health?"

"I don't know."

It was the truth. When they brought him into the castle and he heard the report about his injuries, the question of his survival was uncertain and when uncertainty was brought into question, it always involved death. His friend's life was hanging by a thread and it worried him on how he was going to contend with such a loss. There were few people that Pavel cared about. Then he heard Uhlman speak. "A communist should know better than to pray to god but maybe he's just as much as a socialist watching over our comrade while he rests. Lady luck tends to favor men like him."

"You are so confident in these dark moments. I envy you," The major ate a spoonful of his soup before bringing his spoon back into the bowl and playing with his utensil. A silver utensil swirling his food around while he pondered about the Russian prince in their midst, "How do you feel so confident about that?"

"What are we without humor in horror? It is human to try to brighten our spirits at the worst of times. Without that coping mechanism, the suffering would be greater in pain."

The door swung open as the two soldiers were taken aback by an old Arendellian servant standing in the doorway. She seemed displeased with her hands clenching on her uniform. "There you are? I was about to fetch seconds for everyone and here you are, eating everyone else's portion to yourselves."

"We just wanted seconds," Uhlman explained as he ate another spoonful, "The soup is good. Surely, you understand."

"I do but only the royals of Arendelle are allowed to raid the kitchen."

Pavel didn't want to antagonize her any further and so he sought to defuse the situation. "Let us finish our meal before we go."

"Oh no, you took seconds," The old woman expressed a great smile to the two men, "The price for that is to help us find a tree to cut down for Christmas."

"A Christmas tree, really?"

She nodded her head. "Yes, the largest we can find."

Less than half of the ships sent to Arendelle had returned to the harbor of the Southern Isles. What remained of the army has a ghost of its former shell as the worn soldiers and sailors alike expressed their horrors on their shoulders. No glory to be found, no riches to be had, and no crown to be taken.

The flagship entered the docks and dropped the anchor. Sailors eagerly brought the ramps off the edge of the ship as the survivors slowly made their way to land with Prince Hans at the head of the group. Much of the mercenaries he brought were left behind to fend for themselves. He doubted their chances of survival after that bloody affair. The Baron's bandits had it slightly better by understanding that practicality was the better part of valor. His household guards faired better albeit their honor was tarnished on the field of battle.

He walked back to his home with his head lowered in shame. What was he to do? This was the final act of the plan but now it had been overturned. His family would be returning from their vacation and he couldn't simply hide the fact that he was waging a war behind their backs. Father's fury would be great and terrible; especially, the fact that he was managing the kingdom's coffers while they were away. Was he to sulk alone as the inevitable happens? Perhaps he could fund another army while there was still time? Yet, the element of surprise would no longer be available against a prepared enemy.

Prince Hans thought back to the events that happened amid that battle. When his army arrived to deal with that camp of Arendellians, he would have his way and capture Princess Anna, who was among their number. Such a prisoner would be too important for the opposition to risk her life but it was all prevented by the timely arrival of the imperial cavalry of the Russian Empire. Part of him pondered about that moment of courage from his enemy as he remembered a familiar face - Artyom was the one who led the charge.

Anger and bitterness took hold of his heart as he clenched his hands into fists. None of this would have happened if he died in the Caspian Sea along with the others. The Baron spoke of their departure but he did not believe they would survive long enough to journey back to Arendelle. He should have studied the man more closely than consider him just a close friend to the queen. That conversation in the tent made his emotions worse knowing that Elsa spoke of this moment.

Artyom would find him but the question was what he could do to face this mere peasant from a backwater of a world.

The crown prince of Imperial Russia revealed his recovery by walking on his lonesome outside of the castle. Servants and soldiers alike were taken aback that he was standing among them but he assured them that he would be fine from now on. Artyom stepped outside of the castle in his dirtied uniform that was accompanied by his plash palatka and a beret of the Spetsnaz. They were his treasured clothes for the sentimental value they carried. The former represents the tiring journey to Novosibirsk and the latter his induction into the Order but the beret had never truly been worn since Colonel Mel'nikov passed it on to him.

His boots crushed the snow as the two Arendellian guards standing beneath the gateway recognized him. Heads nodded out of respect as he returned the same gesture before leaving the confines of the castle to see the snow-covered kingdom take over. He smiled at the beautiful sight before him as he made his way over to the town's square, where the locals were shoveling snow to make space for everyone. It was nothing like winter in Moscow, where a hard winter meant more maintenance problems for the engineering crews. He would have stood there forever but the cold freezing winds made it quite clear he was not well-dressed for the weather.

Someone approached with his familiar and trusty reindeer. The acquaintance recognized him as he waved his hand in the air and smiled. "You're awake! People said you'd be in bed for the rest of the month."

"I suppose I should be lucky that I am up and awake at this time," Artyom admitted as he grabbed the edges of his plash palatka and wrapped them around his body. It was surprisingly warm despite his inadequate clothing, "What's up, Kristoff? People look a bit more busy than usual."

"It's Christmas, friend. The air is cold, the food is hot, and family is waiting to spend time together. Do you have any plans?"

He thought about it. Artyom remembered when the young boys would form small groups to mimic the military choirs of old. Then he would come back to Sukhoi's little hovel of a house to share a few songs. "It's not much but it mostly involves music."

"Ah, you would fit right in with people in this town. You have no idea how much people spend time singing in their downtime when they're alone," Kristoff assured him as he stole a glance from his belongings in the sled that was carried by Sven, "I got a guitar here, do you know how to play?"

"You'd offer me your guitar?"

The ice harvester walked over to the sled and brandish the musical instrument. "Everyone has a right to use it so long as they know how to play."

"Truly?" Artyom stole a glance from it as memories of his lonely times with Hunter helped him practice on the few years when he could visit on Christmas. It was the only other skill he taught him that didn't involve firearms, "Thank you."

"Hitch a ride in the seat, I got to bring Sven in the barn."

The Polis Ranger grabbed the guitar and took his place in the wooden seat as the sled shuffled in the snow, he thought about a song that fitting to the upcoming holiday. It was ancient but he didn't mind it. Surely, someone would appreciate the tune. Then his fingers reached the strings and began to play.