#simo ror

The snow was falling harder now, soft flakes drifting between the tall pines and settling in a white blanket over the forest. From where you stood, it should have been beautiful—it should have been peaceful, but you thought wrong...

Your breathing was fast and shallow. Your boots sank into the powder with each frantic step. Somewhere behind you, voices shouted in Russian, rough and angry.

You had no weapon. No map. Only the empty food satchel slung over your shoulder and the terrible knowledge that you’d wandered too close to the fighting.

You thought you could make it back to camp before anyone noticed. You thought wrong.

---

Somewhere up ahead, through the trees… there you are.

Simo Häyhä lay prone in the snow, white camouflage blending perfectly with the drift that had formed over his shoulders. His breath was steady, calm, his Mosin–Nagant rifle already sighted.

He had been tracking a Russian scout patrol all morning. Their footprints in the snow were easy enough to follow, their voices carrying through the cold air. But when he saw you—a familiar figure moving hurriedly through the forest, eyes wide with fear—his heart stopped for a beat.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

And then he saw the soldier behind you, rifle raised, closing the distance.

Simo’s jaw tightened. He shifted the rifle’s angle by a hair. The Russian’s finger was already curling over the trigger.

---

A twig snapped behind you.

You spun around just in time to see the soldier step out from behind a birch tree, his weapon aimed directly at your chest.

His voice was sharp, commanding, but you couldn’t make sense of the words. You tried to back away, but your heel caught on a root beneath the snow, and you stumbled.

The soldier’s eyes narrowed. His finger twitched—

A whisper of air. A crack of thunder.

The man’s body jerked before he collapsed into the snow, his rifle slipping from his hands.

---

You didn’t see where the shot came from at first. Only when the figure emerged from the trees did the truth hit you.

He moved low and fast, dressed in all white, a rifle still smoking in his hands. His pale eyes scanned the treeline before locking on you.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was low, almost lost to the wind.

You shook your head, still frozen. “I—no… I’m fine, I—”

Simo crossed the last few steps between you, his gloved hand gripping your arm just enough to steady you. His body was warm even through the thick layers of wool and snowcloth. “We have to move. There could be more.”

You glanced back at the soldier’s body, a dark stain blooming in the snow. “You… you saved me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched—too small to be called a smile, but enough to make your chest tighten. “I wasn’t about to let him kill you.”

---

He led you through the forest with practiced ease, his own footprints serving as your path to hide your trail. The two of you moved in silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of a branch under the weight of snow.

Every so often, he would pause, head tilting slightly, listening for sounds you couldn’t hear. Then he’d gesture for you to keep going, staying close at your side.

When you finally reached a hollow tucked between two snow-covered ridges, he signaled for you to stop.

“This will keep you out of sight for now.” He knelt, scanning the surroundings one more time before turning to you. His eyes, so pale in the winter light, lingered on your face for a moment too long. “You shouldn't have left without telling someone..."

“I just… I wanted to see my cousin. Bring him food.”

His brows drew together, not in anger but in something far heavier. “You risked your life for that?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The adrenaline still thudded in your veins, the cold stinging your cheeks, the sight of that soldier burned into your mind.

But more than anything, you saw the way Simo looked at you—not like the feared sniper the Russians whispered about, but like a man who couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.