The bustling streets of Kyiv, alive with the sounds of daily life, seemed to fade for Oleg Ivanovich, a successful businessman, as a child’s voice cut through the clamor.
A young boy, Nazar, perhaps ten years old, stood before him, ragged but with eyes that held an extraordinary calmness. Nazar claimed he could help Oleg’s daughter, Solomiya, who had been bedridden for three years after a devastating car accident.
Oleg, desperate after countless failed medical attempts, initially reacted with anger, but a spark of hope ignited within him.
Despite his logical mind screaming “deception,” he agreed to take Nazar home, threatening him with dire consequences if he was lying.
Upon their arrival at Oleg’s luxurious home in Koncha-Zaspa, the servants were astonished. Nazar, unperturbed, walked directly to Solomiya’s room.
Solomiya, her face etched with bitterness despite her beauty, watched him with skepticism.
Nazar, after a long gaze, spoke, “Your body is not evil, Solomiya. You are afraid. This fear hits you like a chain.”
He then extended his hand. Hesitantly, Solomiya placed her hand in his. A profound silence enveloped the room as Nazar closed his eyes, holding her hand.
Then, with a gasp, Solomiya began to stir. Her toes curled, her calves tensed, and with incredible effort, she rose from her chair.
She stood, trembling, tears streaming down her face, for the first time in three years.
Oleg rushed to embrace his daughter, overwhelmed with joy.
But when he looked up, Nazar was gone. Surveillance cameras showed the boy walking into the thick Kyiv fog, vanishing without a trace.
Bewildered and anxious, Oleg immediately ordered the boy’s image to be circulated and hired the best private detective to find him.
Despite Solomiya’s miraculous recovery, an unsettling feeling lingered. Nazar’s parting smile and the mystery surrounding him gave Oleg a sense of unease.
Three days later, the detective returned, visibly shaken. He revealed that a boy resembling Nazar, named Nazar Kravets, had been declared de.ad five years prior in Cherkasy after a flood.
The body was never found. This news deepened the mystery surrounding the boy. Oleg spent a sleepless night, haunted by Nazar’s words, “You have fear,” and his unsettling smile.
Nazar reappeared in the garden that night, his face brighter, his eyes darker.
He told Oleg, “It’s not over yet. This is just the beginning. There’s more.”
He spoke of needing to perform “five miracles” before he had to leave again. He left as mysteriously as he arrived, disappearing into the fog.
Oleg was left to ponder Nazar’s cryptic words, “Don’t be a sinner. Look there, where the strongest fear is for hope.”
Solomiya, though physically healed, began to exhibit strange behavior.
She spoke of “Taras” and “others” and the opening of “doors” with each miracle Nazar performed.
The detective’s subsequent discovery of another inexplicable recovery in Vinnytsia—a boy who had suddenly spoken and walked after years of disability—confirmed Oleg’s chilling intuition: Nazar was performing his miracles.
He traced a path from Kyiv to Vinnytsia, suspecting further miracles in Chernivtsi, Odesa, and Kharkiv.
That night, a chilling voice echoed in Oleg’s mind. He saw a tall, hooded silhouette in his garden, its black, bottomless eyes staring directly at him.
The next morning, a note appeared, “Four, two lost. The fifth is you. You are the doors. Don’t let him reach the end, otherwise he won’t turn around on his own.”
Frantically, Oleg searched his past business dealings. Ten years prior, he had overseen a project to renovate a children’s shelter in Cherkasy—the very one affected by the flood.
To cut costs and meet deadlines, he had approved the use of cheap materials. The building collapsed, ki.lling five children, including Nazar.
The truth hit Oleg with devastating force: his guilt was the “fifth door.”
The phone rang, his secretary announcing Nazar’s arrival.
Nazar stood in the hall, his eyes now burdened with an ancient sorrow, a scar etched on his face. He handed Oleg a paper with a single phrase: “It’s all over here.”
The address was for the abandoned village near Cherkasy, the site of the collapsed shelter. Nazar explained that Oleg could “kill” or “subordinate” the doors, and if he didn’t, “those behind them will come here. Up to you. To Solomiya.”
Nazar then left, leaving Oleg with the choice.
Oleg drove to Cherkasy. At the ruined shelter, Nazar stood holding a child’s doll.
Oleg, overcome with guilt, fell to his knees and confessed his sin aloud, begging for forgiveness. From the darkness of the ruined basement, five spectral children emerged—the victims of his negligence. They did not show anger, but a profound understanding. “We checked,” one whispered. “Don’t take revenge. Truth.”
Oleg took the doll, vowing to dedicate his life to atonement. Nazar, his eyes shining with a faint golden light, confirmed Oleg’s role as “the doors” and urged him to close them.
A blinding light erupted, and when Oleg opened his eyes, Nazar and the children were gone. In their place was a circle of white stone, and a small green sprout pushed through the cracked concrete. Nazar reappeared on the road, free, with only one more door left. Oleg returned to Kyiv, the weight of his guilt lessened, but a new anxiety settled in: what of Nazar’s final door?
Solomiya, now truly healed, spoke of Nazar and the “others” being “free.”
Oleg returned to Kyiv, finding solace in Solomiya’s understanding. He established “The Light of Truth,” a fund for children harmed by corporate negligence, dedicating his life to atonement.
He felt the whispering wind carry the names of the children: Taras, Olena, Maxim, Sofia, Marta, and Nazar. They were free. And so, finally, was he.
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