Pavel Groznov
Chilling Tales: The Revel Collection

**The Birth of Kolvan**

*"Woe to him who builds a town with blood and founds a city on iniquity!"* (Habakkuk 2:12).

– Avvakum Petrov (1620–1682), archpriest, leader and ideologist of the Old Believers, writer.

**Harold’s Forbidden Love**

In the ancient, faded yet still mighty castle of Elsinore, a forgotten, sorrowful tale lingers. Here, within these walls—once silent witnesses to the tragedy of Prince Hamlet, immortalized by Shakespeare’s pen—another legend unfolded. A legend of forbidden love, a sister’s sacrifice, and the miraculous birth of the fair land of Kolvan.

Harold, a prince of royal blood, had always felt like an outsider amidst courtly intrigues. His true passion lay in the world of art and literature; he spent hours in the castle library, finding solace in the quiet wisdom of books. Behind his cold façade of indifference hid a soul yearning for true beauty and profound understanding.

One day, during a solitary walk through the royal gardens, fate brought him face to face with Nils, a young artist from the Guild of Saint Luke. Nils’ free spirit and fiery nature, reflected in his vivid paintings, ignited a long-smoldering flame in Harold’s heart. For the first time, he felt truly seen—not as a high-ranking noble, but as a man. Their friendship quietly deepened into affection, then into a forbidden love that blossomed despite all dangers.

They met in secret, savoring every stolen moment, yet the shadow of discovery loomed over them. Their hidden trysts continued for months, filled with trembling anticipation and fear. The scent of blooming roses mingled with their perfumes, dizzying their senses, while their touches sent shivers through their bodies. One moonlit night, as they met in a secluded corner of the castle, their hearts beat as one—as if sensing impending doom. Suddenly, the night’s silence was shattered by the creak of a door, and the shadow of a guard fell upon them like a death sentence. Their eyes met, filled with terror and despair. Their secret was out.

News of the prince’s forbidden love spread like poison ivy, creeping through every corridor of the castle. Whispers echoed from the stables to the throne room. Harold’s world crumbled.

**Incest**

King Valdemar IV Estridesen of Denmark sat in his gloomy study, clutching his head. His heart was like a shattered mirror, reflecting pain and despair. His beloved daughter, Princess Astrid, had sacrificed her honor to save her brother, falsely confessing to incest. She claimed she had spent that fateful night with Harold, pretending in the dark to be a servant—thus providing him an alibi. If she had been with him, he could not have been with a man, sparing him accusations of sodomy. But the king knew the truth: his son was guilty of loving another man, a grave sin and crime in those times.

Valdemar closed his eyes, trying to steady his racing heart. How could he choose between his children? On one hand, Astrid—his tender, selfless daughter—deserved justice and protection. Her sacrifice was so immense that even the thought of it brought unbearable pain. On the other, Prince Harold, heir to the throne, the future of the kingdom. If the truth came out, it would spell disaster for the Estridesen dynasty, which Valdemar had sworn to protect.

The king lifted his head, his gaze falling upon the portraits of his ancestors lining the walls. Their stern faces seemed to condemn his weakness. The tormented father made his decision: he would choose bloodline over happiness. The weight of this choice crushed him.

When the heralds, with drumbeats echoing, read the decree in the square, the crowd fell into stunned silence. People listened with frozen faces; many wept.

*"Poor Astrid,"* whispered a young girl, clutching a flower to her chest. *"She was always so kind to us common folk."*

*"And her father… may the Lord forgive him,"* muttered an old man, crossing himself. *"He always shielded us from the jarls’ tyranny. And now… they say he accused his own daughter to save his son. I can’t believe King Valdemar would do such a thing…"* His voice broke, and he fell silent.

Instead of anger or protest, the crowd was overcome with grief. People knelt, praying for Astrid and for God to enlighten her father.

In the royal chambers, a tense silence reigned, broken only by the murmurs of priests. Physicians hovered over the pale king, bleeding him of his "black blood," believing they could master the monarch’s fate. An unspoken mourning fell over the kingdom—all classes drowned in genuine sorrow.

* *The White Swan’s Exile**

The *White Swan*, once a proud beauty of the seas, now disfigured and renamed the *Lost Soul*, drifted aimlessly in the open ocean. King Valdemar, watching it vanish into the mist, felt an icy hand clutch his heart. He had sacrificed his daughter Astrid to preserve the dynasty, turning her into a symbol of royal "justice."

The riches loaded onto the ship could not fill the void in his soul. He remembered her childhood smile, her tender embraces, her devoted gaze… and realized he had condemned her to a terrible fate at the mercy of the ruthless sea. The thought gnawed at him like a beast tearing at his flesh.

He had hoped one day to atone and bring his beloved daughter home—but deep down, he knew it was a futile dream.

**Kolvan**

The *Lost Soul*, like a wounded bird, cut heavily through the waves. Its holds were filled not only with flour and salted meat but treasures that shone brighter than the sun. Valdemar, stern and unyielding, could not send his daughter into exile empty-handed. Among the riches were coins like tears of the sun and moon, gemstones burning like frozen stars, fabrics soft as clouds, and furs holding the warmth of wild beasts. But the most precious cargo was books whispering ancient wisdom and spices whose scents told of distant lands.

When the *Lost Soul* finally reached an unfamiliar shore, Astrid stepped onto the land as if reborn. She cast off the chains of her name, becoming Sophia, and began anew like a blank page. The treasures from Denmark became seeds of the future. She helped the islanders build sturdy homes, taught them crafts, and breathed life into trade. Her kindness was like warm sunlight, her justice unshakable as stone. Soon, the people, moved by her spirit, crowned her their queen.

On a hill overlooking the sea, a city rose—its walls of stone, its people’s hearts full of light. Under Sophia’s wise rule, it flourished like a spring garden. Word of her spread like a bird, reaching even Denmark, where the name of the once-beloved princess was rarely spoken.

**Darkness Over Elsinore**

In ancient Elsinore, where Baltic waves whispered of forgotten battles and kings, old Valdemar IV Estridesen drew his last breath. With his daughter’s name on his lips, he gasped: *"Astrid… I pray the torments of Hell awaiting me surpass the agony of knowing what I did to you…"* And with those words, the king passed away.

The throne, so often stained with ancestors’ blood, embraced Prince Harold. Though his eyes burned with resolve, doubt lurked in his soul like a ghost.

At his coronation stood Nils, his lover and newly appointed chancellor. A smile played on his lips, but behind it lay a hunger for power—like a beast ready to devour its prey.

News of Sophia’s thriving kingdom—a woman Harold knew only as an exile—awakened greed in Nils. His cunning mind saw an opportunity to expand his influence.

*"My king,"* Nils said, bowing before Harold, his voice smooth as silk but sharp as daggers, *"we cannot ignore the call of the Holy Father. In 1193, Pope Celestine III blessed the Northern Crusades, commanding us to convert the pagans. Livonia is defiled by their presence, and Kolvan—their stronghold—must fall. This is our sacred duty, blessed by the Pope himself."*

Harold, torn by doubt, finally yielded. He could not resist Nils’ pressure, backed by papal authority and his own thirst to prove his piety to Christendom.

But Nils, ever perceptive, knew a hidden truth: Queen Sophia and Princess Astrid were one and the same. This secret became his weapon, for a reunion between brother and sister threatened to unravel his carefully woven schemes.

*"I must lead this campaign myself,"* Nils whispered, staring at his reflection in a silver goblet. *"My presence will inspire the troops and ensure victory."* But in his heart, another voice spoke—cold and ruthless: *"I must conquer Kolvan and destroy Astrid-Sophia. This wild land will be my stepping stone to absolute power over Denmark. Nothing will stop me."*

Thus, war—fueled by greed and lies—cast its shadow over two kingdoms and two hearts divided by betrayal.

*Under Cover of Night**

Under the cloak of darkness, while the townsfolk slept, the treacherous Nils unleashed his army upon Kolvan. Flames lit the sky; screams of terror and the clash of steel filled the once-peaceful streets. Though caught off guard, Kolvan fought fiercely—but the odds were hopeless.

Amid the chaos, surrounded by loyal guards, Sophia battled with desperate fury. Each sword stroke echoed the pain in her heart as she witnessed her people’s slaughter. Yet even in this darkest hour, she did not lose hope.

*"We must break through!"* she cried, dodging a treacherous blow. *"All is not lost!"*

A few loyal warriors carved a path through enemy ranks. Seizing the moment, the queen fled with her defenders into the night.

The pursuit was relentless, but the cover of darkness and knowledge of secret marshland trails allowed them to escape. Wounded but unbroken, they vanished into the dense forests, leaving behind a burning Kolvan.

Hope flickered in the warrior queen’s heart like a lamp before an icon. The battle was lost, but the war was not over. As long as she lived, Kolvan had a chance.

**Flight to Novgorod**

Astrid—now Sophia—fled the burning Kolvan with only a loyal page and two brave squires. They headed east, toward Slavic lands, seeking refuge. The journey was grueling: scorching heat gave way to torrential rains, turning roads to mud. They fought wild beasts and bandits alike. Hunger and exhaustion tested their resolve, but Sophia refused to yield. In her heart burned the determination to reclaim her kingdom.

After weeks of wandering, when hope had nearly faded, they reached Novgorod the Great. The city’s golden domes gleamed in the sun, its mighty walls radiated strength, and its bustling streets spoke of prosperity. News of Kolvan’s fall and Danish treachery had already spread.

When Sophia stood before Prince Alexander Nevsky—a wise and just ruler famed for his victories—she was received with royal honors.

*"Tell me what happened,"* he said, his voice steady.

Tears streamed down Sophia’s cheeks as she recounted the betrayal, the slaughter, and her desperate escape—but her voice never wavered.

Alexander offered his aid. *"Kolvan’s fall is not just your tragedy—it is a threat to us all. The Danes will not stop until they dominate these lands. We must strike back."*

Hope filled Sophia’s heart. In Alexander’s eyes, she saw not only compassion but the same resolve burning within her. In distant Novgorod, she found the strength and allies to reclaim what was lost.

**Meanwhile, in Kolvan…**

Nils, drunk on apparent victory, feasted in the captured palace. Wine flowed, but beneath the revelry festered rage. The kingdom’s treasures were missing. Sophia had vanished. His fury grew into obsession.

*"Find her! Turn over every stone!"* he roared. But the search was futile.

Declaring a forced conversion of the local tribes, Nils sparked rebellion. The people, devoted to their ancient gods, saw this as sacrilege.

The final outrage came when Danes desecrated a sacred oak grove during the summer solstice. Blood stained holy ground; screams mixed with the crack of breaking branches. This blasphemy united Kolvan’s scattered tribes—once envious of its wealth—against their common enemy.

**The Palace Coup**

While Sophia sought refuge in Novgorod, Nils plotted in Denmark. His position was precarious. Without Sophia or the treasures, his ambitions teetered on collapse.

*"Harold must be overthrown,"* he mused. *"Only then will my victory be complete."*

Using spies and bribes, he revived old rumors of Harold’s incest and sodomy. The people, remembering past scandals, grew restless. Nils painted Harold as a weak, sinful ruler unworthy of the throne.

Discontent erupted into open rebellion. Nobles, manipulated by Nils, staged a coup. Harold barely escaped Elsinore.

*"All is lost,"* he thought, galloping away. *"Nils has won."*

But then, loyal vassals revealed the truth: *"Sophia is your sister Astrid. Nils deceived you. He craves power and will stop at nothing."*

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