Intertwined Fates

© Ariana Bazhenova, 2025

ISBN 978-5-0065-7460-1

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Ariana Bazhenova. Intertwined Fates

«Deeply he felt love in his heart – it was like a wound – yet at the same time he felt that this wound had not been given him that he might wallow in it: This wound was to be a radiant blossom»

Hesse G. Siddhartha

All events and characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

Part 1. Flame

Chapter 1. Destination – Saint Petersburg

Cities grow like forests, like weeds. Petrograd did not grow. It was born finished and complete.

Petrograd is not acquainted with nature. It was the work of man. Nature makes mistakes and takes chances; it mixes its colors and knows little of straight lines. But Petrograd is the work of man who knows what he wants.

– Rand. We are the living. 1936

I immediately realized that this was a dream.

Leaning my forehead against the cold glass of the porthole, I watched the huge white wing of the plane cutting through the thick gray clouds.

«I wonder where we’re flying to?»

«What do you mean where, girl? To Moscow, of course!» I heard a voice in my ear.

I shuddered – apparently, I didn’t even notice how I said it out loud.

I continued to watch the sky, endlessly stretching before my eyes. And suddenly I saw a golden stripe on the horizon. It was expanding more and more, filling with amber colors. I squinted and suddenly realized what the stripe had turned into – a raging flame.

«A fire? Here, in the sky?» I shuddered in surprise and pressed myself into an uncomfortable chair, continuing to watch the phantasmagoric spectacle in fascination.

«Well, what are you surprised about?» – the voice next to my ear continued, as if it really was reading my thoughts directly, but for some reason I couldn’t turn my head and see who it belonged to. – After what happened to you, you can’t be surprised at anything at all.

I froze, trying to figure out how best to answer so as not to look stupid – after all, I didn’t understand at all what they were talking about.

– What happened to you? And you don’t remember? – the voice sounded even closer, getting into the very depths of the soul. – I can read minds – and so can you. Have you forgotten? I understand – a broken heart is a trauma worse than a concussion. Psychological trauma can completely cut off the path to memories.

– A broken heart? Psychological trauma? – I frowned, trying to remember at least something – but my head was foggy, as if the past had never existed at all.

I made a sharp jerk and… saw a young man in an elegant business suit. The firelight was already playing on his face, reflecting in her expressive brown eyes, looking at me from behind her glasses. The flames were playing on the thin gold frame and… on his ring on his ring finger.

I looked into his eyes and held my breath, feeling my heart pounding with horror.

– Forgive me… – I whispered with dry lips, as if I had known this man for a long time.

– You forgive me. If I hadn’t broken your heart, you would never have decided to leave St. Petersburg for Moscow – and it was your dream!

I closed my eyes, feeling hot tears rolling down my face. And I began to mentally pray to invisible forces that the plane would reach its destination, to a new life, faster than the fire and painful memories of the past would overtake me.

***

The plane’s landing gear touched the runway of Pulkovo Airport. A couple of minutes later, a huge sign on a bright board became visible in the window: «Welcome to St. Petersburg,» standing out sharply against the bright cloudless sky.

«I can’t believe I actually did it,» I whispered.

The day in St. Petersburg was just beginning – the clock showed exactly nine in the morning. But I had already been on my feet for a long time: the flight from Novosibirsk took four hours, and I got up early to have time to check my things, have breakfast with my family, and pet my old cat for the last time. Our journey to the airport was silent: everyone felt that attempts to dilute the silence with casual chatter were inappropriate, and very soon the plane would take their daughter away from her parents and carry her to the other end of the country.

I got off the plane and stepped into the labyrinth of wide glass corridors of the airport. It was as if my soul was under anesthesia. What should you feel when you take your first steps in a new city, where you moved all alone? Excitement from the sea of possibilities that open up before you? Or sticky fear, confusion and lack of support? I remembered the last hugs, the farewell to my parents five hours ago. «We are proud of you,» they said quietly. My father, who gave his life to military service, holding a high position in the regional administration, did not give vent to his emotions and looked at me with calm joy. My mother, usually an iron businesswoman, could not hold back, and hot tears streamed down her cheeks. «I will miss you,» I whispered back to them and went to board the plane. As soon as I turned away from them, tears streamed from my eyes, which I quickly wiped with my sleeve. I picked up my luggage, took the handles of a heavy suitcase with the bare necessities for the first time and went in search of a taxi that would take me to my new home – a small apartment on the outskirts. The airport was filled with an unusual noise and hum of many voices, crowds of people flashed before my eyes, and I, awkwardly making my way with my suitcase between the groups of meeting and arriving passengers, squeezed towards the exit, trying to find my taxi. When the yellow Ford was found in the buzzing hive of cars, I exhaled contentedly, preparing to finally enter a new city and a new life.

Outside the car windows, high-rise buildings that were unfamiliar and unusual in their scale for me flew by, wide highways flashed by. I was no stranger to moving to a new city on my own. I had lived alone since I was seventeen: I went to study at a university in Novosibirsk. Perseverance, the ability to aim and achieve what I wanted, combined with flexibility, observation and strong intuition helped me to «put down roots» in the new soil without any problems, but only for four years.

I closed my eyes and plunged into sweet memories. The end of August, the warm, viscous honey light of the sun. I was standing on the porch of the dormitory with a suitcase in my hands and watching my parents’ car drive away, then I went in the door and climbed the narrow stairs to my room. A turquoise closet, sixteen square meters, one table, two closets and two bunk beds – and four first-year girls, so different in character, who had yet to get used to each other and learn to get along together. In the next room lived noisy boys – after a few months we became friends and were inseparable, spending evenings at each other’s, doing homework, cooking dinner in the shared kitchen with antediluvian stoves, chatting about life, supporting each other. Comfort did not mean much to us then, on the contrary, it was in these «Spartan» conditions that the strongest friendships were formed. We were all torn from our families, hometowns, immersed in a completely new environment and intensive study all day long – common trials brought us closer. Within the walls of the Novosibirsk University, surrounded by a spacious landscaped grove, in these ancient corridors to this day reigned the spirit of respect and the desire for knowledge. On the walls of the main corridor hung quotes from the Latin anthem of students – «Gaudeamus», carrying from antiquity the tradition of respect for knowledge and science. This city and the university existed in contrast: the slow and measured flow of life, cultural heritage, ancient architecture were amazingly combined with the stormy student life. For four years I gnawed at the granite of science, comprehended the basics and subtleties of psychology, worked hard to get myself all sorts of awards and increased scholarships. And at the same time I was learning life lessons: first love and the thrill of meeting his parents, my first job on weekends and between classes.

In my free time from studying, I did not disdain all sorts of work, so a tidy sum of money, earned by hard work for a bright future, flew with me to St. Petersburg. «I would have stayed there, but I need to move on, there is still so much interesting in the world. After all, I’m only twenty-one,» – this positive thought summed up all the bright years of my student life, I opened my eyes and again began to watch the landscapes of the new city.

I did not make it to the diploma ceremony in Novosibirsk. I defended my graduation thesis on mythology and archetypes in modern psychology with excitement before a strict committee. The topic is not the most common in the scientific academic environment of psychologists, but over the years of study I recognized that I was drawn to look deeper, behind the curtain of scientific experiments and theories. Knowledge of human psychology was not enough for me – I wanted to feel their character, motives, to foresee their actions. I found the answer in more ancient knowledge – mythology, where it was clearly visible what forces can move people, why they act in one way or another, and this has not changed for centuries – from the moment myths appeared to this day. That is why I used to sit late within the walls of the ancient university library, in the anthropology room, leafing through ancient works that shed light on the myths and secret knowledge of different peoples of the world. The committee accepted my work that day. But I didn’t share with anyone that I was increasingly drawn to studying magical practices that allow you to see and do much more. By the time I graduated, I had learned a lot from old publications about how magic works, but I couldn’t figure out how to apply this knowledge. I won’t lie – since childhood I noticed how my words and even thoughts almost immediately came true, and I understood that I had unusual abilities – for example, to sense the future and see prophetic dreams, but I still couldn’t control them, and for many years I drove them deep into the subconscious.

The way from the airport was long. The monotonous flickering of summer landscapes outside the window lulled me. I slightly closed my eyes, and childhood memories immediately appeared in my head as bright pictures.

– Mom, Dad! – I, who had celebrated my fifth birthday a couple of months ago, ran into the spacious living room, my eyes sparkling mischievously and tightening the elastic band on my long blond ponytail. – When will the snowstorm stop and there be sun? I want to walk with you!

– So cast a spell! – Mom shrugged jokingly. – That’s what I always do. Do you know how?

– How? – I tilted my head to the side with interest, looking at her with wide eyes.

She came up to me and squatted down, smiling broadly. I looked impatiently into her bright blue eyes, wanting to know how to drive away the snowstorm.

– Clench your fist. Imagine what you want: how brightly the sun shines, and you can walk and slide down the hill. And unclench your fist, as if sending your wish into the air. Like this, – she nodded contentedly, watching as I squeezed my little hand with all my might and squinted, imagining a bright sunny day.

Then I suddenly unclenched my fist. And after that, the sun shone in the sky for two weeks without a single cloud.

My parents taught me, either as a joke or seriously, small witchcraft pranks – and after about five years I began to foresee many things, and wishes spoken out loud often came true almost immediately.

There was only one thing I never learned from them – love. At first, I thought that love was something that was earned through merit, and seeing disappointment in their eyes because of the fours in the diary, I began to bring only fives, and then – more and more victories in Olympiads. But even this stopped saving me – and I was losing ground, not understanding why another excellent mark could not guarantee their love and acceptance.

– I just opened and read your letter, which you asked me to send to your friend in another city, – the formidable figure of my mother hung over me, sitting on the sofa with my head down. – What are you thinking about? What passion for music, what boys? At your age, you should be thinking about studying. You should be ashamed of yourself!

My father stood next to me and nodded silently. At that moment, they were both against me. Everything inside was seething with anger. I was vulnerable. I trusted my mother with a request – and she unceremoniously opened my personal letter for a friend, full of girlish experiences and secrets, and shamed me for who I am. How can I devote more time to studying if I already study all day? – Where are you going to hang out with your friends? You are ungrateful! We have done so much for you! Don’t try to ask us to buy you something or help you anymore! – Mom would shout resentfully when I asked her to let me go to a cafe with my friends.

And I tried to understand. Honestly. All seventeen years. But neither the beginnings of magical abilities nor common sense could explain to me how to get my parents’ love, how to relax in their presence. Success at school, certificates, medals and scholarships no longer saved me.

Did my parents love me? Judging by their words – yes. But this love suffocated, burned, plunged into tears, demanded in return to give up myself, my freedom. Something inside told me that love can be felt differently. It must be something warm, unobtrusive, sparkling and warming, supporting in difficult times.

– How strange. I want love, but I’m afraid. Maybe now, when I’m already seventeen, I’ll be able to run away to another city, meet my loved one there? I’ll be able to forget about what was happening at home, and everything will be different in my family! – I said to my reflection with a sad smile, looking at myself in the mirror in my parents’ apartment before stepping out the door with my suitcase and leaving for a dorm in Novosibirsk.

…The car suddenly jumped on a bump. I opened my bleary eyes, looking out the window in confusion. Endless green fields gave way to dense rows of brick buildings. We stopped at one of their entrances, and the driver cheerfully turned to me:

– We’ve arrived!

I nodded to him, got out of the car, took my suitcase and looked around. A square of a yard, enclosed in high brick walls of houses, a new playground. Mothers with strollers stroll leisurely along the sidewalks, older children play in the sandbox, old ladies chat about something on the benches. Even though it was not like what I imagined when I moved to St. Petersburg – I could not see Palace Square or English Embankment from my window. Well, a quiet area on the outskirts is a great place to get used to a new city.

Having dragged my suitcase into the small apartment that was to become my new home, I exhaled tiredly and sank down onto the wide sofa. Bright rays of bright sun unceremoniously penetrated the apartment through the windows – at this time in St. Petersburg there was an abnormal heat. I quickly looked around the daylit dwelling – a studio with a small, modest kitchen, a glass table in the corner, a wide sofa and a wardrobe. That’s all I might need for the first time.

I slid off the couch and opened my suitcase in search of a towel and shower gel – I wanted to wash off the traces of a long and tiring journey. But then I discovered a lot of unnecessary things – a couple of books on psychology, a jewelry box… Obviously, I was packing in a hurry. Right after defending my diploma, I came home and started packing my suitcase, and a couple of days later I flew to St. Petersburg – I couldn’t wait to start working for a large IT company and build a bright and successful life, leaving gloomy Siberia behind. Six months before graduating from university, like most students, I was faced with the ugly truth: the labor market does not wait with open arms, and it is completely unclear where to go without experience. The naive ideas that a career will somehow start on its own, which calm you down at the intoxicating moment of admission, completely dissipate by the day of graduation. After graduating from the psychology department, I clearly understood that I wanted to continue working with people, and was determined to leave Siberia in search of a more interesting life. Fortunately, an advert for an internship at one of the St. Petersburg IT companies came across on the university website in time – and I immediately took advantage of the chance and applied.

…I climbed into the shower, letting the cool streams of water wash away the fatigue after a long flight and the unexpectedly tiring St. Petersburg heat. You need to get used to it. In just a couple of days, a job at a large IT company awaited me, a pure humanities student. With a diploma from the psychology department in hand, I could only do an internship in the marketing and advertising department – and this interested me. I couldn’t wait to find myself among smart and inventive people working on new technologies.

Although the world of complex formulas and technologies was inaccessible to me, I was always desperately drawn to this environment. Almost all my school friends were studying to be programmers, engineers, designers, and I envied them whitely, realizing that they would be doing important work for humanity in their offices and laboratories. I thought that I, a humanities student, had no way into their world, a mysterious world – also magical in its own way. But as soon as I saw the logo of the IT corporation where I was supposed to work, a premonition awoke inside me – someone was already waiting for me there, and I had to go quickly.

But who could it be?

New friends? Mentors? Or love?

I got out of the shower, wrapped my long blond hair in a towel and sat down at the table in the corner of the room that served as a kitchen, dining room and bedroom at the same time. I pulled a cup of invigorating mint tea closer, looked out the window at the quiet courtyard and tried to collect my thoughts. But they stubbornly returned to the recent past, which I so wanted to leave behind, and thought that the wings of the plane would reliably carry me away from it.

Since my youth, I was able to foresee certain events. So at the age of seventeen, I already saw in my dreams and clearly imagined what my first love would look like, and one glance and a couple of phrases between us at the university were enough for us to recognize each other’s souls without a doubt. My foresight did not fail me a few months ago either. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, calming my aching heart. On that winter day, the sun was shining especially brightly, we were chatting with a young man who had already become a groom, and laughing heartily, but even then I clearly knew that this was our last conversation. I looked into his expressive blue eyes behind the glasses, listened to his low voice, and my heart was filled to the brim with light sadness from the realization of the inevitable.

A few days later he wrote to me that he had decided to break up, because «I have more ambition than he does,» and he had no intention of moving to St. Petersburg with me.

That evening I slid down the wall, sobbing loudly and desperately trying to pinch myself to wake up and understand that it was a dream again, and not even a prophetic one. I lit a cigarette right there, sitting on the floor and not finding the strength to even go to the window. The remaining months before flying to the «city of angels,» I lay in bed, practically without getting up, watching the heroes of the next TV series with a dull gaze.

And then I made an effort, defended my diploma, packed my things and flew away to meet a new life. Maybe happiness awaits me here, in this gloomy city?

***

I tried not to pay attention to the power that allows me to sense many things and fulfill small desires with the power of thought. My parents passed on to me everything they knew. I also learned a lot from the old books in the university library.

But I really lacked a wise mentor who would help and teach me how to manage this power. During my youth, I had several strange episodes. People immersed in various spiritual teachings and practices showed great interest in me, but they only wanted to talk – no one offered me their mentorship, no one took on the task of teaching me. Once I worked part-time on weekends in a bakery, and I had the chance to work side by side with an elderly woman, cheerful beyond her years. In her cunning eyes, framed by wrinkles, a mischievous sparkle danced – she definitely knew more than others. She had a complicated history – according to her, she came from an old Indian family and had shamans and healers among her ancestors, but the growth of cities spares no one, and her parents left their native settlement, cutting off their and her path to secret knowledge. But the woman did not give up – the stories of her grandmother were deeply imprinted in her memory, and then from the right books and from like-minded people, she managed to collect information on how to control her power bit by bit.

One day, we went out for lunch together. Suddenly, she grabbed my wrist and nodded towards the open door of the warehouse, where no one could hear us. Her high voice and gesture were clearly impatient.

– We need to talk. Literally five minutes, – she blurted out

I nodded carefully, and we entered a dim room filled with boxes. She turned to me, and her dark eyes sparkled with strange energy and impatience. I looked at her with interest, trying to maintain composure and a polite smile on my face.

– I saw how they treat you, – she blurted out with poorly concealed anger. I understood – she was talking about the incident when my boss, who was not particularly smart, was passionately teaching me how to live, and I, as always, listened silently so as not to get into a conflict and do everything my way again. – You are a special, strong person. I have only met two people like you in my life, and I have had a long life.

I thoughtfully lowered my gaze, waiting for him to continue. The fact that they called me special caused mixed emotions. Probably, «special», «chosen» are beautiful epithets for Hollywood blockbusters, but in life it feels different. You are simply different, and if you do not learn to manage your features and strength, then you will live a senseless life, trying to avoid yourself.

– Only I see and feel that you do not know your strength at all and do not know how to manage it, you suppress the fire inside, trying to be like everyone else. It’s a pity that you obviously weren’t taught how to work with energy and magical practices in your time, otherwise you would now be more confident and would be twisting reality as you please, – she shook her head. – Now you will have to study it on your own, but you will cope. You have a lot of power, and people will always be drawn to you as a source to pump it out of you. You need to learn how to use your energy… to kill in order to protect yourself.

Interest flashed in my gaze. Despite the fact that her words could sound strange and even frightening, I understood what she was talking about. A lot of people have always been drawn to me, and I quickly became exhausted from their attention, so I learned to become «invisible» on an energetic level – usually I went into my thoughts and ceased to exist here and now, and they stopped touching me.

– I was younger than you when I killed you with my energy for the first time, I just smeared you on the wall. I was eighteen then. And you are already nineteen. Learn, the sooner the better! – She nodded again in confirmation of her words, looked me straight in the eye and pulled me towards the exit.

This episode now, two years later, was still vivid in my memory. According to her, I had to find my own way into the world of magical power. But how to do it?