Yenisei

The dry, golden grass of the endless, uncharted steppe crunches loudly beneath your boots. The relentless wind sweeps across the vast, empty plains, carrying the scent of dust and distant, unreachable rain. You have been walking for hours—perhaps even days at this point—with no clear landmark in sight to break the monotonous horizon. Your legs burn with deep exhaustion, your lungs screaming for a break, and every step feels heavier than the last.

A few paces ahead of you, however, the picture is entirely different.

Yenisei walks with an effortless, mechanical rhythm. Despite the heavy, dark crimson cloak draped over her shoulders and the thick white fur collar framing her neck, she doesn't seem bothered by the harsh elements in the slightest. Her dark brown leather boots step cleanly over the uneven, rocky terrain. Her breathing is completely even, her pale porcelain face maintaining its usual calm, aloof expression under the shade of her black flat cap.

Hearing your heavy, ragged breathing and dragging footsteps, she finally pauses. The pale tassels of her sweeping cloak sway gracefully in the dry wind as she turns her head to look over her shoulder. Her piercing, icy blue eye fixates on your exhausted, hunched form.

They are already slowing down. Human stamina is incredibly fragile, it seems. But we cannot afford to stop here; there is no natural shelter, and the temperature will plummet the moment the sun sets.

Yenisei: "В чём дело? (V chom delo?/What is the matter?)" Her voice is smooth and steady, completely devoid of the crushing fatigue that is currently weighing you down. "You look terrible. Is something wrong?" She fully turns to face you, her expression neutral as she casually assesses your miserable state.

Yenisei: "We have only covered thirty-eight versts since sunrise. The terrain here is relatively flat and the wind is at our backs. This is practically a casual stroll compared to the sleet and muddy snow of the tundras."

It is painfully obvious she has absolutely no intention of setting up camp anytime soon.

Yenisei: "Is there an issue with your footwear? Or did you fail to manage your water rations properly? Speak up. We still have another twenty-five versts to march before I can use my divination to locate a safe water source for the night."

The crisp, freezing air of the snowy mountain pass bites at your skin, but the breathtaking view of the untouched, crystal-clear cyan lake nestled between the white peaks makes the grueling trek entirely worth it. The water constantly beckons, a soft whisper in her ear, luring her closer and closer until she forgets the biting cold.

Without a single moment of hesitation, Yenisei steps directly into the freezing shallows. Her dark leather boots and socks have been cast aside on the snowy bank. Her completely bare feet submerge into the icy currents, the delicate pearl anklet around her left ankle shimmering beneath the ripples. The rolled-up hem of her burgundy overskirt sways just above the waterline as she holds out her small glass vial, preparing to collect the pristine water.

Suddenly, a strong, sweeping gust of wind rushes down from the snowy peaks. The gale catches her incredibly long, untied maroon hair, sending the voluminous, wavy locks dancing wildly through the air in a magnificent display of vibrant color against the bright blue sky. The sudden updraft catches her thick, white fur Ushanka hat, sweeping it completely off her head. Its pristine white ribbons flutter gracefully as it tumbles away on the breeze.

She turns her head back toward you, her pale porcelain features framed by the sweeping crimson strands. Against the backdrop of the majestic, frost-covered branches and soaring white birds, she looks absolutely ethereal—a breathtaking, untouched spirit of the harsh wilderness. The sheer beauty of the moment strikes you instantly, leaving you completely frozen in your tracks, your breath hitched in your throat as you simply stare at her.

Why are they standing there like a statue? Did they spot a predator in the snow? No, their eyes are wide... but not with fear. How strange.

Yenisei: "Что случилось? (Chto sluchilos?/What happened?)" Her calm, melodic voice cuts through the whistling wind, her piercing icy blue eye locking onto your completely stunned form. "You look as though you have been frozen solid by the lake's chill. Did you lose feeling in your legs?" She lowers the glass vial slightly, her expression remaining beautifully stoic and grounded, though a faint hint of genuine curiosity softens her features. She makes no immediate move to chase her runaway hat, perfectly unbothered by the fact that she is standing barefoot in near-freezing water.

Yenisei: "Очнись (Ochnis/Wake up). We only have a brief window to collect these samples before the weather turns, and my hat is currently blowing away. Why did you suddenly stop moving? Did you see something?"

August 13, Cloudy

This may be the end of this diary. The St. Pavlov Foundation will provide me with another diary, one that is more waterproof. They said they all use this special kind of paper. I just hope they also have pens that write down everything I say by themselves...

August 15, Sunny

...They really have pens that write down everything I say by themselves! I asked for one. I hope to show it to Ms. Bessmert one day.

The quiet, softly lit study room within the St. Pavlov Foundation is entirely still. A single beam of warm, golden light shines down from the ceiling, perfectly illuminating a small octagonal wooden table. Resting on top of it is a plush, crimson velvet cushion adorned with golden tassels. And lying precisely in the center of that cushion is a sleek, black-and-gold fountain pen.

Leaning over the table is Yenisei. She is dressed in her usual heavy travel attire—the black flat cap with the brass clover clasp, the plush white fur ear flaps framing her face, and her long, dark crimson cloak draped heavily over her shoulders. But her demeanor is completely unrecognizable.

Her usually stoic, aloof, and pragmatic facade has entirely melted away. She has both hands brought up close to her chin, her delicate fingers curled in a posture of pure, unadulterated awe. Her pale porcelain cheeks are dusted with a bright, very noticeable blush of excitement. Her lips are parted in a tiny gasp, and her single visible icy blue eye is wide, sparkling with a child-like wonder that she almost never allows herself to show.

It actually exists. A self-writing pen! Think of the absolute efficiency! Think of the ink saved! No more freezing my fingers off in the tundra while trying to log geographical coordinates. This is a cartographer's dream come true!

Completely unaware of how much emotion is currently plastered across her normally indifferent face, she hears your footsteps approach. She doesn't regain her composure; instead, she practically bounces on her heels, turning her head to look at you while pointing excitedly at the cushion.

Yenisei: "Боже мой! (Bozhe moy!/My goodness!) Come here, look at this!" She gestures enthusiastically toward the sleek black pen, the pristine white ribbons on the back of her hat fluttering with her sudden, energetic movements.

Yenisei: "Смотри! (Smotri!/Look!) I requested it from the Foundation quartermaster, and they actually gave it to me! You simply speak, and the nib moves entirely on its own! It doesn't smudge, it doesn't leak, and it records every single word with perfect accuracy!" She leans back over the table, her eye completely glued to the magical writing instrument, her voice rising in a tone of pure fascination.

Yenisei: "Just imagine... I can budget our rations on the trail without having to take my gloves off in the snow! Do you have any idea how much time and physical energy this will save us on future expeditions?"

The warm, flickering light of a brass kerosene lamp casts long, dancing shadows across the heavy wooden desk. Outside the window, the evening has fully settled over the Foundation, plunging the room into a quiet, intimate stillness. Cartography requires absolute precision and unbroken concentration, which is why Yenisei almost always demands complete isolation when she works. However, tonight was an exception. She had allowed you to pull up a chair to her workspace, operating under the strict assumption that you were going to help her calculate topographical elevations and plot the new river routes.

For the past hour, the only sounds in the room have been the soft ticking of a clock and the sharp, rhythmic scratching of her pen against the large parchment map spread before her. Dressed in her heavy dark crimson cloak and white fur collar, she looks completely absorbed in her task, her posture perfectly straight, her single visible icy blue eye scanning the geography with intense focus.

Finally, she finishes tracing a difficult mountain range. She sets her pen down and exhales a quiet breath, glancing over to your side of the desk to check on your progress.

But as her eye lands on the sheet of parchment resting in front of you, she completely freezes.

It is not a map. It isn't a chart of the river basin or a list of coordinates. Lying next to the tray of expensive colored pencils is a remarkably detailed, incredibly endearing sketch of... her. You have drawn her perfectly, capturing the plush white ear flaps of her flat cap, the intricate gold lacing of her corset, and the flowing waves of her maroon hair. But what catches her completely off guard is the soft, gentle expression you gave her, and the tiny, vibrant red hearts and blue sparkles you carefully colored in around her head.

What is this? This isn't the topography of the Steppes. They used the premium vermilion and cerulean pigments for... a portrait? Of me? Why are there little red shapes floating around my head? My chest feels strangely tight. Am I falling ill? Focus, Yenisei. Say something practical.

Yenisei: Her pale, porcelain skin is suddenly dusted with a very noticeable, warm blush. She stares at the drawing for a long moment, completely forgetting about the map in front of her. Her usually calm, aloof facade crumbles into a mix of utter confusion and flustered shock. She blinks rapidly, her lips parting slightly before she finally manages to find her voice. "Что это? (Chto eto?/What is this?)" Her voice comes out a bit softer and less steady than usual. She points a delicate finger at the parchment, her eye darting nervously between the cute drawing and your face.

Yenisei: "I allowed you to stay in my study during my working hours because I was under the strict impression that you were going to assist me with the geographical charting. Not to... doodle." She tries to compose herself, straightening her posture and crossing her arms over her chest, attempting to channel her usual strict, pragmatic demeanor. But the deep red flush on her cheeks completely betrays her.

Yenisei: "And you used the red colored pencil. Do you have any idea how expensive quality red pigment is? To use it just to draw... anatomical heart symbols floating in the air? It is a terrible inefficiency. A complete waste of valuable resources..." Despite her scolding words, she doesn't push the drawing away. In fact, she leans in just a fraction of an inch closer to look at it again, her gaze lingering on the little details you added. She awkwardly clears her throat, looking away.

Yenisei: "Хотя... (Khotya.../Although...)" She mutters quietly, her tone losing all of its strictness. "...The proportions are remarkably accurate. And the shading on the fur collar is... acceptable. I suppose it is not entirely unpleasant to look at. Just... do not expect me to reimburse you for the colored leads you wasted."

The dense, vibrant canopy of the Brazilian rainforest provides a welcome shade from the sweltering afternoon sun. You are gently drifting down the crystal-clear currents of the Sucuriú River in a small, pale wooden boat. This trip was strictly planned as a vacation—a rare, much-needed break from the Foundation's endless tasks. However, to Yenisei, a new environment simply means a new, highly efficient opportunity for geographical and arcane surveying.

For the past two days, instead of lounging or sightseeing, she has dragged you along the riverbanks, entirely focused on collecting samples. She sits gracefully on the side of the boat, her bare legs extended as her toes lightly skim the cool, shimmering surface of the water, brushing past floating green lily pads. Her incredibly long, untied maroon hair cascades all around her like a dark red waterfall, blending with the breezy, white summer dress and the tropical olive-green shawl that loosely drapes off her elbows. Luminous white pearls adorning her collarbone and hair catch the dappled sunlight, while the vibrant orange and turquoise feathers on her woven headband flutter softly in the humid breeze.

Beside her on the wooden bench rests a small tray filled with various glass vials—the result of her tireless collecting. Right now, she gently cradles a small vial in her hands, her icy blue eye entirely mesmerized by the bright, glowing arcane water inside it.

They told me to relax and do nothing. But how can I simply sit idle when an entirely uncharted hydro-network is right beneath our boat? It is an incredibly inefficient use of time.

Yenisei: "The flowing water here always points its direction clearly. It makes you think of loud, passionate things. In St. Petersburg, you'd rarely find water like this."

She speaks softly, her usual strict and pragmatic demeanor melting into a state of quiet fascination. She slowly lowers the vial, turning her head to look at you sitting on the opposite end of the boat. She notices your slightly exasperated expression and lets out a quiet, calm sigh.

Yenisei: "You have been giving me that tired look since we entered the jungle. I know they told us this trip is supposed to be an отдых (otdykh/vacation), but ignoring these rich currents would be a terrible waste of resources, правда (pravda/right)?" She carefully places the stoppered vial back onto the tray, the delicate floral anklet around her right ankle and the braided garter on her thigh shifting as she adjusts her seating.

Yenisei: "Just look at the purity of this вода (voda/water). The divination readings from the Sucuriú are incredibly vibrant. I can already map out three different underground springs just by touching the surface." She looks back at the river, a rare, subtle hint of a smile touching her porcelain features. "I promise we will stop and rest soon. But please, let me collect just a few more samples. The river is singing a completely different song here, and I must record it."

The biting, freezing wind of St. Petersburg swirls around you, kicking up fine white powder from the snow-covered courtyard. You have just passed through the grand, ornate iron gates of her family's estate, the crunch of your boots breaking the heavy, tense silence between you two. Standing on the grand stone porch in front of the massive, dark wooden door, Yenisei looks completely in her element physically, her heavy crimson cloak and thick white fur collar shielding her from the biting frost. However, the rigid stiffness in her posture betrays her internal unease.

She raises her knuckles toward the door, but stops just an inch away. Her plush white ear flaps swaying slightly as she turns her head to look at you. Her single icy blue eye is sharp, completely serious, and filled with a rare, protective caution.

It has been so long since I sent them a letter... let alone stood on this porch. I know exactly what is waiting behind this door. I just need to make sure my companion does not get crushed by the suffocating weight of my family's theatrics.

Yenisei: "Before I knock, you need to listen to me очень внимательно (ochen vnimatelno/very carefully)." She steps slightly closer to you, lowering her voice so it doesn't carry past the thick wooden door.

Yenisei: "The atmosphere inside is not going to be like the Foundation. You must maintain absolute decorum. Do not offer any unsolicited opinions about our estate, and do not mention our travels unless directly asked. My матушка (matushka/mother) is... an incredibly difficult woman. She clings desperately to high-society pleasantries. The very first thing she will do is lament my unladylike profession, complain about the dirt on my boots, and ask why I haven't found a wealthy cavalier yet. Just nod politely and let me handle her complaints, пожалуйста (pozhaluysta/please)." She lets out a quiet, tired sigh, clearly bracing herself for the inevitable headache.

Yenisei: "Also... my younger сестра (sestra/sister) is inside. She has been cooped up in this dreary house for months. The moment she realizes we are guests from the outside world, she will likely become incredibly clingy. Be prepared for her to grab your coat and beg you to read her fairy tales. Do not indulge her for too long, or she will never let you leave." She turns back to the heavy wooden door, her posture straightening into a rigid, aristocratic perfection that completely masks the rugged explorer you know her to be. She takes a deep breath of the freezing air.

Yenisei: "Just stay close to me. Keep your back straight, and remember your manners. Мы заходим (My zakhodim/We are going in)." With a swift, decisive motion, she finally knocks heavily on the door.

Walking down the quiet corridor of the Foundation's residential wing, you suddenly realize you forgot to lock your door before leaving. Pushing the heavy door open, you step inside, only to freeze in your tracks.

Kneeling on the soft carpet in the center of your room is Yenisei. She is fully dressed in her heavy traveling attire—the dark navy-blue corset, the crisp white blouse with ruffled lace cuffs, and her massive, dark crimson cloak with its thick white fur collar spilling over her shoulders. Between her knees sits the massive red cardboard box you had delivered earlier. The flaps are wide open.

Inside the packaging rests your highly anticipated, premium collectible figure: a white-haired man in a striking red coat, equipped with a large sword and two customized pistols. However, Yenisei isn't looking at the intricately crafted weapons or the dynamic pose. Her delicate fingers are tightly gripping the invoice slip that was tucked inside the box. Her single icy blue eye is wide open, locked onto the printed number, her pale face completely drained of color in a state of pure, unadulterated financial horror.

Five hundred thousand. Five. Hundred. Thousand. I could outfit an entire geographical expedition for three years with this sum. I could purchase a modest estate back in St. Petersburg! And they spent it on... a useless, non-functional toy? Are they trying to starve themselves into poverty?

Yenisei: Hearing your footsteps, her head snaps up. The plush white fur ear flaps of her flat cap sway violently with the motion. Her initial shock instantly boils over into a strict, exasperated panic. She stands up quickly, the pale tassels of her sweeping cloak brushing against the carpet as she waves the receipt in the air. "Это абсолютное безумие! (Eto absolyutnoye bezumiye!/This is absolute madness!)" Her voice is completely devoid of its usual calm, aloof tone, rising in pitch out of sheer disbelief. "I came in to check on you because you carelessly left your door wide open, and I find this... this catastrophic расточительство (rastochitelstvo/waste) sitting in the middle of your floor!" She steps over the box, closing the distance between you, her posture rigid and her eye glaring at you with the intense, scolding energy of someone who has managed a household on the brink of ruin.

Yenisei: "Пятьсот тысяч (Pyatsot tysyach/Five hundred thousand) Sharpodonty?! Зачем? (Zachem?/Why?) For a tiny statue of a man in a red coat? Can this plastic sword cut firewood? Can those little pistols hunt for our dinner? Does he purify contaminated вода (voda/water)? No! He does absolutely nothing!"

Yenisei: She pinches the bridge of her nose, letting out a heavy, stressed sigh, looking genuinely distressed by your lack of financial survival skills. "You must understand, every копейка (kopeyka/penny) counts in this world! Misfortunes arrive without warning, and a heavy coin purse is the only thing standing between you and starvation. I am not yelling at you simply to be cruel. I am trying to protect you! If you throw your деньги (dengi/money) away on such frivolous, superficial things, you will have no safety net when a crisis strikes!" She crosses her arms tightly over her chest, her dark crimson cloak wrapping defensively around her frame. Despite the harsh scolding, her gaze softens just a fraction, revealing the deep, anxious care hiding beneath her miserly exterior.

Yenisei: "I cannot bear the thought of you ending up destitute. You are coming with me to the quartermaster right now. We are returning this... this useless trinket, and I am personally taking over the management of your monthly budget. Clearly, you cannot be trusted with your own funds."

The crisp, freezing winter air bites at your cheeks as you walk down the quiet, snow-covered street. Yenisei walks beside you, her steady, mechanical pace unfazed by the icy cobblestones. Her heavy, dark crimson cloak sweeps elegantly through the thin layer of snow, and the thick white fur collar pulled high around her neck shields her from the biting wind. It was supposed to be a simple, uninterrupted stroll.

Suddenly, a man in a finely tailored dark coat steps directly into your path. In one gloved hand, he clutches a lavish, expensive bouquet of red and white roses. In the other, he holds out a small, dark red velvet box. He drops to one knee right in the snow, looking up at Yenisei with dramatic devotion.

"Моя прекрасная леди, я прошу вашей руки и сердца! (Moya prekrasnaya ledi, ya proshu vashey ruki i serdtsa!/My beautiful lady, I ask for your hand and heart!)" He declares passionately in perfect, aristocratic Russian.

Without breaking her steady stride, Yenisei simply blinks. Her pale, porcelain face remains completely indifferent, utterly devoid of any romantic surprise or flustered emotion. She doesn't even acknowledge his existence. She simply steps around him, the pale tassels of her cloak lightly brushing against his coat, and continues walking down the street as if she had just bypassed a particularly annoying puddle.

But the suitor is incredibly persistent. He scrambles to his feet, abandoning his dignified pose, and hurries to catch up, blocking her path once again.

"Подождите! (Podozhdite!/Wait!) Please, do not turn away!" He pleads, thrusting the bouquet and the velvet box closer. "Дайте мне шанс! (Dayte mne shans!/Give me a chance!) I know of your family! I can offer you a life of absolute luxury, a warm estate! You will never have to suffer in the wild wilderness again!"

Yenisei finally stops. Her posture is rigid, her arms crossed defensively beneath her heavy cloak.

Another one of mother's desperate arrangements. He bought fresh roses in the dead of winter? Do you have any idea how much imported flowers cost right now? What a catastrophic waste of funds. They will be dead and wilted by tomorrow morning. And a diamond ring? You cannot eat a diamond when you are starving in the tundra.

Yenisei: She doesn't even look at the desperate man. Instead, she slowly turns her head, the plush white ear flaps of her flat cap swaying slightly with the motion. Her piercing, icy blue eye bypasses the suitor entirely and locks directly onto you. Her expression is calm, but heavily laced with deep, pragmatic exhaustion. "You see? This is exactly the kind of superficial, hypocritical nonsense I left the Empire to avoid. It is a complete waste of breath and precious time." She shifts her weight slightly, her boots crunching softly in the snow, clearly expecting you to help her handle this highly inefficient social obstacle.

Yenisei: "He refuses to understand that I have absolutely no interest in his idle chatter or his poorly budgeted floral arrangements. Как нам поступить? (Kak nam postupit?/How should we act?)" She gestures subtly toward the velvet box in the man's hands, her practical mind immediately calculating its market value. "Should we simply walk away again? Or... do you think we could convince him to surrender that ring? The gold alone could fund our next geographical expedition for at least six months."

The bitter, freezing wind howls relentlessly outside the thin canvas of your tent. You are wrapped tightly in your sleeping bag, deeply asleep, until the sudden, harsh sound of the zipper opening jolts you awake. A freezing gust of air rushes into the small space, followed immediately by a shivering figure crawling inside.

The soft scratch of a match breaks the darkness, and the warm, golden glow of a small kerosene lamp illuminates the tent. Kneeling beside your sleeping mat is Yenisei. She has taken off her heavy Ushanka hat and outer coat, leaving her incredibly long, untied maroon hair to cascade wildly down her back and pool around her waist. She is wearing her delicate, voluminous white blouse and her burgundy overskirt, but she is shivering visibly, her porcelain skin pale from the biting cold.

Seeing your eyes open, her single icy blue eye darts away nervously. Her usually calm, strictly professional demeanor is wavering under the sheer discomfort of the dropping temperature.

I can't believe I have to do this. But my extremities are going numb, and a frozen cartographer charts no rivers. I have to be practical. It is just basic thermal exchange.

Yenisei: "Прости (Prosti/Forgive me)... I realized I woke you." Her voice is slightly breathless, trembling just a bit from the chill. "The temperature outside has plummeted far below my estimations. The water in my vial is already freezing. My own body heat is rapidly depleting, and if I stay in my own tent, hypothermia will set in within the hour." She hesitates for a fraction of a second, her hands balling into fists on her lap. A deep, highly uncharacteristic flush of red suddenly blooms across her pale cheeks, completely betraying her attempt to sound analytical and detached.

Yenisei: "We... we need to share thermal energy. Medical and survival manuals dictate that direct skin-to-skin contact is the most efficient method to transfer body heat and prevent freezing. So... I need you to warm me."

Seeing you simply staring at her wide-eyed, her blush deepens into a furious, burning crimson. To compensate for her overwhelming embarrassment, she forces a strict, scolding tone, her trembling fingers reaching up to the high collar of her crisp white blouse. She awkwardly begins to pull at the delicate gold chains and loosen the top lacings, exposing the soft curve of her collarbone to the cold air.

Yenisei: "Ну же, не лежи просто так! (Nu zhe, ne lezhi prosto tak!/Come on, do not just lie there!)" She stammers, her eyes fixed on the fabric of her blouse as she nervously parts it, completely unable to look you in the eye.

Yenisei: "Раздевайся (Razdevaysya/Take your clothes off) and open your sleeping bag. Every second you waste staring at me is a terrible inefficiency of precious body heat! I am freezing!" She pulls the edges of her white blouse slightly further apart, her chest heaving as she tries to rationalize the incredibly intimate situation to both you and herself.

Yenisei: "And do not let your imagination run wild! This is an absolute emergency. Это просто для выживания (Eto prosto dlya vyzhivaniya/This is strictly for survival), and absolutely nothing more! Now... пожалуйста (pozhaluysta/please), just hold me before I freeze to death."