A foggy Sunday morning rose over the village of Beryozovka, like a blurred watercolor painting. The birch leaves whispered in the gusts of wind, and in the windows of the old house with the blue door, no light was yet shining. But today Arkady Petrovich woke earlier than the roosters. He had dreamt a nightmare: he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and down below, in the thick fog, his granddaughter Alisa was calling him. Her voice trembled like a string in the wind. The old man opened his eyes; his heart pounded as if it were trying to break free from his chest. “Something is going to happen…” he whispered, staring at the cracked wallpaper on the wall.
In the next room, behind a thin wall, 24-year-old Alisa was still asleep. Her glittery boots, tossed by the door, were a reminder of yesterday’s date with Maksim — her future husband. Arkady Petrovich had raised his granddaughter himself after her mother, Vera, disappeared from their lives as if carried away by a storm. He had taught Alisa to read by the stars, to cook jam from wild raspberries, and to believe that even in the darkest forest, there was always a clearing of light. Now the girl was preparing to move to the city, and his soul boiled with the bitterness of loneliness. In the trunk under his bed lay his savings — money for Alisa’s apartment. But how painful it was to imagine that those banknotes would separate them forever…
— Maybe you’ll move in with us, Grandpa? — Alisa asked him every week, hugging his neck. — Our apartment is spacious, and Maksim adores you!
— No, my little one, — the old man shook his head, hiding the tremor in his hands. — My roots are in this land. The city isn’t for me.
But today, the anxiety wouldn’t let him go. While Alisa slept, Arkady Petrovich chopped wood, lit the stove, and baked an apple pudding — her favorite dish. The smell of cinnamon and warm dough filled the house, but suddenly he stopped by the window. On the windowsill lay a tarnished locket — a gift from Vera, Alisa’s mother. “Nonsense,” he thought, slipping the amulet into his pocket. “Now is not the time to stir up the past.”
— Wow! — Alisa flew into the kitchen in her pink robe, her messy braids falling onto her shoulders. — Grandpa, you’re like a magician! Just wave your hand — and breakfast is ready!
She hugged him, and the old man felt her heartbeat echo his own.
After breakfast, they set off in the rusty ’90s Zhiguli, its body like a turtle’s shell. Alisa, wrapped in her scarf, fell asleep with her head on her grandfather’s shoulder. “Just like then…” Arkady Petrovich remembered how twelve years ago he had driven her home from the hospital when she was sick with pneumonia. That night he had prayed without rest, holding her burning little hands.
Suddenly — a crash! The car jolted like a wounded deer. A black Gelandewagen rammed them from behind, and three men jumped out. Their faces were hidden by masks, but their eyes were cold as knife blades.
— Out, old man! — the leader growled, flinging the door open.
Arkady Petrovich froze. In the rearview mirror, he saw one of the bandits grab Alisa by the hair.
— Where’s the money?! — the man barked, shaking the old man by the collar. — Yesterday at the bank you were there for it!
— What money? I was just collecting my pension…
— Don’t lie! — A blow landed on his cheekbone. The old man tasted blood.
Alisa screamed as foreign fingers dug into her wrist. One of the attackers pulled open her jacket zipper and then… froze. His eyes widened as if he’d seen a ghost.
— That… what is that you have? — he whispered, pointing at Alisa’s chest.
Around her neck, under her sweater, gleamed a crescent-moon medallion — exactly like the one around the bandit’s own neck.
— What? — Alisa stammered, trying to cover herself.
— The amulet! — the man shrieked, recoiling. — Where did you get it?!
Arkady Petrovich used the moment of confusion to break free and ran into the middle of the road. Throwing his hands to the sky, he shouted:
— Help! They’re going to kill us!
Luckily, a white Ford appeared from around the bend. The driver slammed the brakes, and the bandits, cursing, rushed back to their car. The last thing the old man heard was the screech of tires and the leader’s shout:
— We’re leaving! But we’ll be back!
That evening, in Alisa’s apartment, Maksim poured tea, trying to calm the tremor in her hands.
— We have to report this to the police, — he insisted.
— But why was he afraid of my amulet? — Alisa clenched the pendant in her palm. — That can’t be a coincidence…
The next morning, the news reported that three robbers had been arrested near the train station. Alisa jumped up from the couch when the leader’s face flashed on the screen — a tall man with a scar on his cheek. On his chest, under his open shirt, glimmered a crescent-moon medallion.
— That’s him! — she screamed. — Grandpa, that’s him!
Determined to solve the mystery, Alisa went to Orphanage No. 12, where, as it turned out, the robber — Daniil Sokolov — had grown up. The institution’s doors smelled of old paint and children’s fear.
— The boy was abandoned in the maternity ward, — the headmistress explained, leafing through yellowed records. — His mother gave him up right after birth. They say she was in jail for theft… Her name was Vera. Last name — Sokolova.
Alisa went cold. “Vera Sokolova… My mother.”
— And this amulet? — she asked with a trembling voice, showing her locket.
— Oh, I don’t quite remember… — the woman sighed. — But I do recall she had a chain with a moon on it. They took it during her arrest, but she begged them to leave it for her son…
Alisa flew home on wings of horror and hope. One thought kept echoing: “Daniil is my brother. Grandpa knew.”
— Tell me the truth! — she demanded, cornering Arkady Petrovich in the kitchen. — Why did you hide that I had a brother?!
The old man sank into a chair, as if cut down. His eyes darkened like two blueberries.
— Your mother… — he began, choosing his words with difficulty. — She was light until her soul turned dark. Eighteen years ago, she was jailed for robbing a jewelry store. In prison, she gave birth to Daniil… But I thought he had died! He was taken to the orphanage, and Vera… — His voice broke. — She died of tuberculosis when you were five. Before her death, she wrote a letter: “Forgive me, Alisa. I left you the amulet — it will protect you from darkness.”
Alisa collapsed to her knees, pressing the locket to her chest. Now everything made sense: why her mother wore that symbol, why her grandfather feared the city streets, why he was so desperate to protect her from misfortune.
— And Daniil? — she whispered.
— He chose his mother’s path, — Arkady Petrovich sighed bitterly. — He’s already serving his third sentence… Don’t look for him, my girl. It’s hopeless.
But Alisa didn’t listen. The next day she went to the detention center. Behind the glass sat Daniil — thin, shadows in his eyes, but with the same almond-shaped gaze as hers.
— You… you’re my brother, — she breathed, pressing her hand to the glass.
He turned away, but Alisa saw his fingers clutch the amulet.
— Mother asked me to tell you, — she whispered, — that she loved you both. And she asked… for forgiveness.
Daniil said nothing. But as she was leaving, she heard a whisper:
— Tell Grandpa… thank you for saving her that time.
It turned out that many years ago Arkady Petrovich had ransomed Vera from a crime boss, but she returned to her old life. That saved Alisa — but not Daniil.
Today, Alisa lives in her own house outside the city. Next door is Arkady Petrovich’s plot. Together they plant potatoes, and in the evenings the old man reads fairy tales about lunar amulets to Alisa’s little son, born from her and Maksim’s love. Sometimes there’s a knock at the door. It’s Daniil. He has been released, works as a carpenter, and is learning to forgive himself.
And in Alisa’s jewelry box lie two medallions — the moon and the sun. One from her mother, the other from her brother. And every time she touches them, goosebumps run down her skin. Not from fear. From hope.
Because even in the darkest corners of the soul, there is always light. One only needs to reach out to it.