《Matabar》


 Prologue

    The hypnotizing ripples foamed serenely along the surface of the clear, almost transparent mountain river. It divided the blossoming plateau into two halves. To both the west and east rose the snow-capped peaks of the ancient mountains.


    It was said that before the arrival of the New Monarchy, with its guns and ¡°analyzers,¡± the people of the valley remembered the names of these mountain peaks. They¡¯d brought small offerings to roadside shrines and temples, honoring those who¡¯d lived on the plateau, just as those on the plateau had honored the mountain gods.


    But then the cannon salvos had echoed through the air, and black powder was turned into fertilizer for new crops in the fields¡­ And somewhere to the north, more miles of railroad tracks were always being laid down, with steam locomotives rattling their steel wheels.


    Magical beasts, whose cores were once the coveted resource of wizards, were either exterminated or driven so deep into the mountains that hunting them became impossible.


    The scientists of the New Monarchy drew maps and translated the local dialect into the common tongue, but they didn¡¯t bother with the myriad names and traditions. Then, 196 years ago, after the end of the Dark Lord¡¯s rebellion, which had gathered many races of the Firstborn under its banner, the scribes named this mountain range the Alcade, and the natives were called Alcadians.


    That had been the decision of the scholars in their scholarly mantles and their campuses in the Metropolis. They never asked the mountain people for their opinion, much less their gods. Scholars generally didn¡¯t believe in gods and didn¡¯t care if the feeling was mutual...


    Time passed, and soon, due to maps, books, railroads, roads made from strange stone, schools, saloons, horseshoes, steel plows, and many other heaps of metal and objects of ¡°civilization,¡± the valley dwellers themselves forgot what they were once called.


    Shrines were abandoned and surrendered to moss and the mountain forests. The names of the gods were forgotten. Ancient rituals and customs were dressed up in the costumes of children¡¯s holidays. Wise men in capes were replaced by village teachers who came to work in the schools of stone and wood. Their inconspicuous suits smelled of chalk and cheap spirits.


    For some reason, more saloons were built than schools...


    Even the ancient altars, where only the most secret paths led, fell under the onslaught of clanking metal and the rustling, scholarly robes of civilization. Now, in their place, stood the wooden churches of the Face of Light, and a pastor in black attire with a book of holy scripture in his hand preached there.


    And so, the valley that had once worshipped the mountain gods and their descendants had become just another ¡°Subject of the New Monarchy, under the control of the Three Chambers of the Tenth Convocation Parliament and the Twentieth Congress Government,¡± called the ¡°Foothill Province.¡±


    That¡¯s what the children were taught in those very same schools in their Social Structure classes, anyway.


    It took a little less than two centuries for civilization to turn the valley¡¯s inhabitants into true Alcadians. The kind whose women wore dresses, worked as seamstresses in stuffy factory workshops, served drinks in saloons and taverns, raised children, brought them to school, faithfully attended church on the sixth day, and loved their husbands and fathers.


    The same husbands and fathers who toiled in the mines, extracting that precious resource with which the Alcade mountains were so rich, or who strained their shoulders in the sawmills. Husbands and fathers also sweated in the furnaces of the adjacent factories, where their beloved wives and daughters sewed them thick work clothes.


    Both bent their backs in the fields, toiling on farms and looking to a surely brighter future, hoping that their children, after a good education, might even become accountants or, with the Face of Light ¡¯s blessing, lawyers or doctors, and move to the city.


    The city...


    They say that cities are like villages, only hundreds of times larger. They say that there are houses made from artificial stone, metal and glass there; they say there are streets where carriages ride without horses, and iron poles burn on the sidewalk, providing light without oil or wood. They say that hundreds of thousands of people live there and...


    They say a lot.


    Especially those Alcadians who have been lucky enough to visit. In all the surrounding settlements and villages put together, there wouldn¡¯t be more than a hundred such people. It was a long way to the nearest big city of the New Monarchy. And to get to the first railroad station, one had to cross wild prairies. This meant spending a week in a stagecoach in the middle of an endless sea of grass and hills. A sea full of land pirates and predatory beasts.


    And then there were a few more days on the train. And if someone believed that it might be safer to be stuck in a metal box, steaming along steel rails, then... they would be wrong. ¡°Pirates¡± ¡ª robbers and monsters ¡ª didn¡¯t simply disappear the moment a traveler stepped onto the platform. Quite the opposite, actually...


    So, it wasn¡¯t surprising that the Alcadians, all of them so civilized, cooped up as they were in their villages and settlements, sometimes gazed up at the mountains. When school was out, when the church bells stopped ringing, when the shifts changed in the mines, on the farms and in the sawmills, when the sun no longer shone over the hills and fields, they would secretly, quietly, at dusk, tell their children about the mountain people.


    About men and women with skin kissed by flame and hair like the wings of the night. Mighty and ancient, part of the Firstborn races, they¡¯d been those conceived by the mountain gods and then given to the beasts to raise. That was why their eyes were not human, with vertical slit pupils and irises that almost completely covered the whites.


    It was said that the mountain people once lived here in great numbers. Those abandoned old shrines and altars that could sometimes be found along the roads and in the clearings of the sawmills belonged to them. There, the mountain dwellers had prayed to their mountain gods, who¡¯d been cruel, but just.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    And the Alcadians still remembered various stories about these people.


    They remembered that they¡¯d possessed secrets that the civilized people of the New Monarchy had called magic. Or that the mountain people had had terrifying strength ¡ª their women could carry glacial boulders, and the men could cut down trees with their bare hands. They also remembered how the mountain people had learned from beasts at an early age, so that their children could wean themselves from their parents and take care of themselves in the harsh conditions of life among the mountain peaks.


    They said that there were once those who learned from snow leopards, becoming warriors as formidable and fearless as a wild storm. And those who¡¯d walked the paths of the lynx, gaining the skills of the best trackers. Then there were the apprentices of the bear, who were able to overcome any obstacle in the river and defeat any opponent.


    There were also those who, with the guidance of mountain goats, learned how to find food even in the most inhospitable conditions, or those who ran after eagles ¡ª such mountaineers could cross all of Alcade faster than the trains that now ran on the railroads.


    But most of all, children loved the stories about those who learned from... a little squirrel. They gained the ability to hear the whispers of trees, the laughter of mountain streams, the grim tales of stones and boulders; they became keepers of stories and legends.


    And there were also... students of the wolves. Those who journeyed to unknown lands, where they would find that mysterious and melodious word ¡ª ¡°magic.¡±


    But adults rarely mentioned them, more often focusing on the fact that the mountain people were among the first of the Firstborn to join the Dark Lord in seceding from the New Monarchy. They were almost completely eradicated by the New Monarchy¡¯s troops as a result. No matter how strong, fast, powerful, cunning, or sharp-eyed a Highlander was, what could they do against the volleys of cannons, the organized cavalry and the learned mages of the Metropolis.


    Especially since, as the story went, on the day that the humans invaded the mountain, the Great Mage of the Highlanders, who¡¯d once stood side by side with the Dark Lord, did not come to their aid.


    But, as was almost always the case, a grim story was being cloaked in a light shroud of instructive myths and beautiful legends. Children were often told about the Dark Lord¡¯s wondrous artifacts: the Sword of Darkness, which could cut light itself, and the Staff of Stars, which gave the Lord¡¯s spells such power that even fifty Imperial Mages couldn¡¯t overcome them.


    And, of course, there was the frightening prophecy that claimed that after three signs appeared to the people, the Lord would return to destroy his enemies and fulfill his oath. The first sign ¡ª during the height of summer and drought, snow would suddenly fall and the air would crackle with fierce frost. The second sign ¡ª at midday, the world would be enveloped in impenetrable night. And as for the third sign ¡ª it remained unknown, supposedly lost somewhere in history.


    But let¡¯s leave these stories to the grandparents and their grandchildren and return to the Highlanders.


    Of course, some of them survived. They retreated deep into their mountains, but in the aftermath, no one brought offerings to the shrines, no one prayed to the old gods. Soon, the few remaining Highlanders were forced to descend into the valley. Their men married Alcadian girls, worked in the fields and factories, even quarried stone beneath their native mountains. Their children did not learn from the beasts, did not sing songs to the mountain gods. Their skin, once the color of red copper, paled; their hair no longer resembled the night, and their pupils rounded out.


    And so, the proud inhabitants of the snowy peaks dissolved into the valley.


    ¡°And what were they called?¡± A particularly perceptive child might ask. Having just received their ¡°state analyzer,¡± they would point the rune-engraved plate attached to their wrist at a flower, then at a table, then at a small crystal at the base of the kitchen stove.


    And the runes on the plate would form inscriptions:


    <Household flower. Danger: none. Power Level: None. Lei Concentration: None.


    <Kitchen table. Danger: None. Power Level: None. Lei Concentration: none.


    <Household accumulator, produced by the company ¡°Bri-I-Men.¡± Danger: Minimal. Power Level: Minimal. Lei Concentration: 1 Ray of the 1st Star.>


    Without even understanding what the runes on the tablet were spelling out, the child would feel that there was a certain mystery hidden behind what was happening. Something that seemed ordinary to everyone else, but was still magical and mystical to them, a child who had just started school.


    Children could feel this world much more deeply and more subtly and would know the power of names.


    The adults, glancing back to make sure no neighbor who might report them to the authorities was listening in, would whisper in response:


    ¡°Matabar.¡±


    ¡°Matabar...¡± The children would repeat with a sigh until their mouths were covered by a hand.


    It was forbidden to speak the name of this Firstborn race aloud. If not outright imprisonment, a fine from the Sheriff was certain to come in response to such an audacious act of defiance. And when one worked six days out of seven, sixteen hours out of twenty-four, and barely earned eight imperial exes a month, a fine of four exes and fifty kso was not a sum one could afford to pay just to convey knowledge from the distant past.


    ¡°Do they still live there?¡± The child would then ask, looking out of the window to where the reflection of the oil lamp danced so enticingly.


    As if somewhere among the mountain peaks, fires had already been lit and the Matabar now danced and sang songs, communicating with their terrible gods.


    ¡°There are rumors,¡± the mother would say as she washed the dishes, ¡°that the family of rangers who guard the mountain forest against smugglers have traces of ancient blood. But those are just rumors, dear.¡±


    ¡°Can I be a Mat...¡± The child would inevitably start to say, and then, upon seeing the stern looks of their mother and father, immediately fall silent.


    They would sense that there was a certain mystery there, a secret in all of this. And they would want to be a part of it ¡ª to be like their parents. To hold their tongue just as tight.


    Looking out of the window, they would fantasize about the students of the beasts, the mighty Matabar people. But not for long. Soon, they too would be caught up in the millstones of civilization. School, work, and the same nighttime conversations with their own children. They would have no interest in the ranger family, who rarely showed up in town, usually just to sell furs and buy flour and spices.


    And so, they would never know that somewhere among the mountain peaks, where the hypnotizing ripples foamed serenely along the surface of the clear, almost transparent river, on the bend, occupying a wide hill, stood an old three-story house. One big enough to house four generations of a family under its roof.


    But its dilapidated, moss-covered roofs had long since sagged, and there was no laughter or song on its many verandas ¡ª only broken crates, smashed furniture, and other junk scattered about. One of the two chimneys had collapsed, and the other only occasionally puffed smoke.


    All the windows above the second floor had long since been boarded up and covered with mats, peeking through the gaps in the shabby wood.


    The pier by the river was hopelessly broken ¡ª most of it had been carried into the mountains by the current, and what remained was only used as a washboard.


    A family of four had no use for the huge watchtower built here by the civilized people of the New Monarchy. At least not all of it.


    But they still loved this old, huge and strange house.


    That night, as someone down in the valley told their child stories about the Matabar, the last of them looked at the lights blossoming like night flowers at the foot of the mountains without knowing anything about what was coming.

 Chapter 1 - Blackberry Pie

    Ardi had been hiding in the blackberry bushes for two hours now, watching his grandfather whistling into his humorous mustache as he carved a small animal out of a birch branch that had fallen to the ground. Was it a possum, perhaps? Or a baby squirrel?


    Ardi hoped it was a possum.


    He already had a baby squirrel that lived on a shelf above his bed, amid several of its siblings. A little fox named Shali, who had an amusingly pointy nose, was one of them. She was accompanied by a little bear named Guta, who was a bit clumsy, always sleepy and quite forgetful, but was no less the boy¡¯s favorite friend. The third... well, the fourth, actually, in their friendly company, was the recently-found squirrel named Skusty.


    The boy did not get along well with Skusty.


    Skusty was always sneaking something out of the kitchen: cookies, jam, candy. How could Ardi explain to his mother that it wasn¡¯t Ardan Egobar, six years old, one meter and thirty-six centimeters tall, with rosy cheeks, black hair, and amber irises, who stole treats from her kitchen every night?


    It was all Skusty¡¯s fault!


    But no matter how much Ardi puffed up his chubby cheeks (His mother often told him, ¡®Ardi, don¡¯t puff up your chubby cheeks at me...¡¯ Even though they weren¡¯t puffed up at all!), and no matter how much he smiled a naive smile and innocently scratched the back of his head, for some reason, only Grandpa believed that a wooden squirrel could steal anything.


    Skusty was the worst.


    As the only child in all of the Alcade, Ardi really hoped that Grandpa would carve out a possum for him. Or maybe a snow leopard kitten. He¡¯d seen them from time to time. Not the actual kittens, of course, but adult snow leopards. All he had to do was venture upriver to the North Grove, and, of course, make sure no one had noticed his little adventure.


    His parents had strictly forbidden Ardi from straying to the other side of the mountain. They¡¯d mentioned something about animal trails, a contract with the Guardians, and other barely understood words.


    But then again, if Shali, Guta, and even the pesky Skusty never did anything to harm their two-legged friend (aside from stealing cookies, damn that squirrel), why should the rest of the animals behave any differently?


    So off he went.


    First, he went up the river to the North Grove, then he snuck through an old hurricane-toppled spruce forest, and then, after a few short dashes through some hills, one could end up at Hawk¡¯s Cliff.


    Why was it called Hawk¡¯s Cliff?


    That was just what Ardi called it. He liked to name things. His mother said it was because it bothered him that he¡¯d only ever known four names his whole life: his own, his mother¡¯s, his father¡¯s, and his grandfather¡¯s, though...you couldn¡¯t really call that a name. Everybody just called the old man ¡°Grandpa.¡±


    And so, while situated upon Hawk¡¯s Cliff, and also hiding behind a rock ¡ª which he¡¯d named The Ogre¡¯s Pimply Ass ¡ª when the weather was good, and with the blessing of the mountain gods and some incredible luck, one could gaze across the gorge at the high peaks of the Alcade. Their wild forests, swift rivers, majestic lakes, and endless waves of stone stretched all the way to the horizon. And there, sometimes, the boy could even see the snow leopards, the kings of the mountain peaks.


    ¡°Spare a handful?¡±


    Ardi jumped, not realizing at first that it had been his grandfather¡¯s voice that had pulled him out of his dreams of that old adventure. After all, it had been almost three days since the last e-x-p-e-d-i-t-i-o-n, which was an eternity in a child¡¯s imagination! Ardi even felt as if he had aged backwards, though that might have been influenced by the fact that yesterday had been his birthday.


    His mother had made his favorite blackberry pie. Also...


    ¡°How¡¯s it going up there?¡±


    ¡°What... where?¡±


    ¡°In the clouds.¡±


    Ardi looked at the sky. Maybe his grandfather was teasing him; there was not a single cloud to be seen today. And the rain, if Skusty¡¯s predictions were to be believed, wouldn¡¯t come down from the western slopes until the evening of the third day. Not that Ardi usually had much faith in the cunning little squirrel, but Skusty¡¯s weather forecasts had never been wrong.


    ¡°So, what¡¯s the verdict? Will I see any blackberries today?¡± Grandpa inquired without turning around, seemingly absorbed in his work. ¡°Or did you plan to eat the whole bush yourself?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t plan anything,¡± the boy replied with a furrowed brow, though he refrained from popping another handful of berries into his mouth.


    Instead, he tucked them into the pocket of his simple jacket, which was a creation of his mother¡¯s hands. As were his gray pants; she¡¯d also knitted him a hat adorned with a whimsical pattern depicting two deer, a shirt with raccoon spots (often mistaken for stripes, but falsely so!), and practically all of the family¡¯s clothing. Except for the shoes. Those were his father¡¯s contribution, brought from somewhere in the v-i-l-l-a-g-e. The nature of that place still remained a mystery to Ardi.


    But he hoped to visit it one day.


    His father had promised him he could.


    ¡°Ar...¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes!¡± The boy exclaimed, interrupting the old man, then stumbled out of his hiding place and ran to his grandfather.


    Proudly, though a bit scratched up and dirty, he held out a handful of blackberries.


    Discontent flashed in Grandpa¡¯s strange eyes.


    Ardi had often avoided them as a child. But now that he considered himself an adult (despite his parents¡¯ differing opinions), Ardi was undaunted by their yellow hue, the vertical slit pupils, or the overly sharp and elongated fangs in his grandfather¡¯s mouth.


    Grandpa shifted his bushy eyebrows and feigned a scowl. The deep wrinkles on his broad forehead gathered like the folds in a crumpled sheet; his gray, sparse hair draped over his frail shoulders, and those same fangs peeked out from beneath a scarred upper lip.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t your mother teach you not to interrupt your elders, you little rascal?¡±


    ¡°Grandfather, I¡¯m not little anymore,¡± Ardi countered with a frown. ¡°And besides... what does the word ¡®rascal¡¯ mean?¡±


    Grandfather hiccupped, his expression quickly returning to his usual friendly one. He put his knife down and looked around, as if afraid that Ardi¡¯s mother might suddenly emerge from the kitchen with a rolling pin and a floor cloth. Sometimes, that was how she greeted the boy¡¯s father when he appeared from the other side of the ravine.


    ¡°Ask your dad when he...¡± Grandfather paused, ruffled the boy¡¯s hair, and sighed. ¡°Did he promise to return in time for the celebration?¡±


    Ardi nodded, his gaze dropping as he ran his fingers over the shavings left behind by his grandfather¡¯s craftsmanship, small and prickly to the touch.


    Grandpa¡¯s hand moved from Ardi¡¯s head to his shoulder, pulling him closer. Grandpa had always seemed like an old oak tree to Ardi. He must have been mighty and tall once, but now, having survived many storms, forest fires, and the relentless work of wood-boring beetles, he was wrinkly (or dry) and decrepit.


    Still, in his presence, Ardi still felt something...like when, on a bad day, when the relentless downpour tries to grab you by the scruff of your neck and the whipping wind keeps slashing at your cheeks, you suddenly find refuge in a warm place where it smells inviting and no one is in a hurry.


    Grandpa always smelled of the forest. And snow. Only fools claimed that snow had no smell. Ardi was sure that snow smelled just like his grandfather.


    ¡°Did I ever tell you the story of Prince Edwin and how he tricked the water spirits?¡±


    ¡°How he bound them with ice magic and convinced them they were earth spirits?¡± Grandfather muttered under his breath at that.


    ¡°And what about the story of Princess Veselina, who crossed the boiling lake in a single bound to...¡±


    ¡°To meet the son she thought was dead,¡± Ardi interjected.


    Again, that grumbling came, sounding like the growl of a furious wildcat.


    ¡°Grandpa, you tell these stories every time my father comes home late from work!¡± Ardi laughed.


    ¡°That damned asshole could afford to do so less often... I¡¯d not be running out of stories so soon if he did!¡±


    Ardi was puzzled by this other word he hadn¡¯t heard before. It seemed useless to ask his mother, so he decided to ask Skusty about it instead. The cheeky little squirrel often said things that made Guta and Shali raise their voices so that Ardi couldn¡¯t understand him.


    ¡°How long has it been?¡± Grandpa started rummaging through his pockets, but as usual, he had left his notebook somewhere in the kitchen.


    It was such a large room that Ardi had once spent hours playing hide-and-seek in it with his parents. For some reason, his grandfather had burst out laughing when he¡¯d heard of the boy¡¯s undisputed victory. Why he¡¯d laughed so much still remained a mystery to Ardi.


    ¡°Fifteen days, fourteen hours and forty-two minutes.¡±


    ¡°Really? How did you figure that out?¡±


    ¡°I looked at my watch,¡± the boy replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.


    Grandpa just smiled. This time, it was a different kind of smile. There were no fangs in it. And his wrinkles didn¡¯t mimic the appearance of a mountain stream.


    ¡°Since it¡¯s your birthday...¡±


    ¡°That was yesterday!¡±


    Grandfather tightened his grip on the boy slightly. Not to hurt him, but just to... Ardi didn¡¯t know why. But whenever Grandpa did that, it was a sign that the boy was doing something wrong.


    ¡°Never interrupt when someone is talking to you, Ardi,¡± Grandpa¡¯s eyes shone with a steely intensity. ¡°Always listen to the end, and then, believe me, you¡¯ll discover much more in the words of others than in your own.¡±


    Ardi scowled. He didn¡¯t understand any of it...


    ¡°You¡¯ll understand eventually, you little disaster,¡± and once again, his hair was tousled. ¡°Since it was your birthday yesterday, I have another present for you. And don¡¯t ask me why. If you start bombarding me with your endless questions again, we¡¯ll be here the whole evening! And I was hoping to get my hands on the remains of last night¡¯s pie before it¡¯s completely gone.¡±


    Pie... Ardi¡¯s stomach rumbled. Remembering his request, the boy handed his grandfather a handful of blackberries, then took a few for himself. They sat in silence for a few moments, the old man and the boy, side by side.


    Grandfather¡¯s cane lay beside him, while Ardi swung his legs, occasionally kicking pebbles at it, aiming for its shiny top.


    ¡°And this gift is...¡± The boy finally ventured.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s the most precious gift one person can give another.¡±


    The boy¡¯s heart raced with anticipation. The most precious gift? Could it be a new knife? To venture into the forest without a knife was unthinkable. Despite his father¡¯s reluctance, Ardi had always kept a small, sharp knife in a brown sheath attached to his belt. However, after his numerous adventures, his attempts to emulate his grandfather¡¯s craftsmanship, and even after using it only when necessary, the knife had seen better days.


    Or perhaps...


    Ardi¡¯s gaze drifted to his boots, which had been patched more times than he could count, soon to be outgrown and become another waste for the family. Could the gift be boots sturdy enough to cross rivers, rain-soaked ground, and thick underbrush?


    Or perhaps...


    ¡°An answer,¡± his grandfather revealed, causing the boy to lean in so hard that he seemed to shrink before his very eyes.


    ¡°An answer?¡± Ardi echoed, confused.


    ¡°Yes, an answer!¡± Grandfather¡¯s eyes sparkled as if capturing the essence of the night sky. ¡°But it¡¯s not an easy one. Easy answers, Ardi, are like autumn leaves. You step on them, savoring the crunch and rustle, enjoying them in the moment, but knowing they hold no life. This answer is special, as rare as amber ¡ª much like the color of your eyes, named after your grandmother.¡±


    Ardi had never known his grandmother, not even her name, nor the reason for all the mystery surrounding her.


    ¡°But!¡± Grandfather interjected, raising his index finger.


    ¡°You must think hard before you ask. Such a rare, sincere answer should not be given twice. What value would it have if it were? So, think carefully and ask only one question.¡±


    Just one question. In the last ten minutes alone, Ardi had buried countless questions in his mind. Aside from his father, few had the patience to indulge his unrelenting curiosity, often running for cover after twenty or thirty questions. They naively assumed that Ardi, still a mere boy, would simply forget these questions. But they, the ¡°adults,¡± failed to realize that Ardan Egobar had outgrown the naivety of childhood!


    Ardi wondered.


    A jumble of thoughts swirled in his head. What did his father do? Why didn¡¯t they ever go down ¡ª to the v-i-l-l-a-g-e? Why didn¡¯t any of the people whose songs the boy sometimes heard and whose lights he sometimes saw go up to meet them? Why didn¡¯t anyone but his grandfather believe that he was really playing with his wooden friends, and that they were playing with him in return? What made it cold in winter and hot in summer? Why did it rain? What made him want to go to the bathroom, sometimes for a long time, but more often, he was quickly done with it? What did it mean to be an asshole? And who are assholes? He was also curious about a dozen other words that Grandpa had used and then hidden the fact he¡¯d done so from Mom.


    There were so many questions that Ardi¡¯s attempt to count all the stars in the sky didn¡¯t seem so dizzying by comparison.


    But there was one question that interested Ardi the most.


    Across the creek was a small clearing. Though there was no barn, no corral, and no crates of winter food, the whole family went there every few months to weed the area and spread river sand along the paths. And they were very careful with the boulders they brought down from the mountains.


    They didn¡¯t end up in a tight pile or a nice pattern, as was the case in some places in the Alcade, but just wide enough so that a table and a few chairs could be placed between each of the stones.


    And there were symbols on them, painted in a strange black paint. The rain couldn¡¯t wash it away, the wind couldn¡¯t shake it off, and no matter how much you rubbed it with a cloth, you couldn¡¯t wipe it off. Ardi knew this for certain. He¡¯d already tried. That was the only time in his life where he got a real scolding from his grandfather. He¡¯d never seen him so angry before or since.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    And then his father had told him that their relatives slept under those rocks. Ardi didn¡¯t understand why they slept underground when they could climb into bed and wrap themselves in a blanket, an unparalleled pleasure. The only thing missing in that picture was the blackberry pie.


    The boy¡¯s stomach rumbled again.


    ¡°What are they dreaming about?¡± Ardi whispered, his voice barely audible.


    Grandfather¡¯s right eyebrow arched in surprise, then he turned his gaze toward the house poking out from the edge of the forest. Somewhere beyond it, a stream babbled, its water murmuring near the boulders marked with strange paint.


    Grandfather¡¯s wrinkles crinkled once more, not in anger this time, but in a contemplation that seemed to carry the weight of many untold stories. It reminded Ardi of the time he and his father had been fixing the roof and the boy had snapped the rope, causing him to fall and bruise his hand on the hard ground.


    Had he unintentionally hurt Grandpa?


    But that hadn¡¯t been his intention and...


    ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± Grandpa smiled, a gesture that seemed as worn and enduring as the well-used furniture in their home. ¡°That¡¯s a complicated question, Ardi. But since I¡¯ve promised you an honest answer, and remember, you little rascal, that a promise is the most precious and fragile treasure one can have...¡±


    Ardi scowled. He still vividly remembered how upset his mother had been when he had broken her flower vase. Surely that was more fragile.


    How could a promise be fragile if it wasn¡¯t something you could see or touch?


    But Ardi was used to Grandpa¡¯s way of speaking, often filled with startling words of w-i-s-d-o-m.


    ¡°Ardi, do you remember the story of the Etherly girl?¡± Grandfather inquired.


    The boy¡¯s frown deepened. Among the countless legends and stories he had heard from his grandfather, the tale of Etherly was barely even a whisper in his memory.


    ¡°Was that when you spent an hour explaining how a girl didn¡¯t listen to her brother¡¯s long story and then ended up as Spiderbug¡¯s feast?¡±


    Grandpa nodded.


    ¡°Yes, I remember it!¡± Ardi exclaimed, his concern causing him to jump up on the bench. ¡°You don¡¯t have to retell it!¡±


    Grandpa just smiled, his expression a mixture of jest and indescribable warmth. It was a smile that made Ardi feel the same comfort and security as when he was snuggled up under a cozy blanket in winter. His nose might be cold, but the warmth enveloping him was like a lullaby, lulling him into slumber.


    ¡°Do you not find yourself to be a bit like Etherly?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Asked the child. ¡°But I¡¯m a boy! She¡¯s a girl. I mean, I¡¯ve never seen a girl before, but Papa told me the difference between a deer and a fawn. I guess I¡¯m different too.¡±


    ¡°Of course you are. But I¡¯m not talking about looks... Well, okay. What I mean is, I¡¯m not going to give you a quick or easy answer. You¡¯re going to have to listen and think,¡± Grandfather narrowed his eyes at him, and Ardi felt as if two wolves had snuck into the henhouse once again.


    With bloodthirsty eyes, they stared at their opponent, who held a miniature steel fang in his paws. Ardi had been very frightened, of course, but he¡¯d gotten over it! He even had the scar on his chest to prove it! His mother had been proud of him, but his father had scolded him terribly and wouldn¡¯t let him leave the house for a week.


    Gathering his courage, the boy replied with determination, ¡°I¡¯m ready!¡±


    ¡°Then listen,¡± Grandfather resumed his carving, shaping wood into a new companion for Ardi. ¡°Many years ago...¡±


    ¡°How many years?¡±


    Grandfather coughed, making a sound reminiscent of a fish¡¯s tail slapping the water, a word Ardi always had trouble remembering.


    ¡°So many that if you collected all the sand from the riverbank and tried to count it, you¡¯d still fall short of the correct number.¡±


    The boy gasped in amazement, ¡°That would be...¡± He pondered, his fingers curling in thought, ¡°...more than a thousand, right?¡±


    ¡°Much, much more,¡± Grandfather confirmed. ¡°And if you stop asking hasty questions, you¡¯ll get to the answers much faster.¡±


    ¡°But how will I know the answer if I don¡¯t ask?¡±


    Grandfather simply smiled. Ardi shook his head and pounded his fist against his chest, then pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, knuckles first. It was his and his grandfather¡¯s secret sign, not to be shown to anyone else. It meant something like, ¡°I will be on my best behavior.¡±


    The forest around them slumbered.


    Leaves danced playfully, evoking images of flames roiling in their smoky fireplace ¡ª a fixture his father had always intended to repair, but, as his mother often remarked, he always seemed to find more pressing concerns.


    A chill wind crept beneath the boy¡¯s jacket, its bite foreshadowing the coming harshness of the months ahead. The migrating birds were already gathering in flocks, the echoes of the snowy peaks on their wings. They were leaving the Alcade, heading south to the prairies.


    Ardi had heard his mother¡¯s stories of the prairie ¡ª she had been born there. He had heard, and could not believe, that there were lakes of grass, and that the land was so flat that even a boulder seemed as high as a mountain by comparison.


    ¡°Once upon a time, there was nothing...¡± Ardi was about to open his mouth, but he noticed that his grandfather¡¯s wrinkles were gradually disappearing. After thinking about it, he decided that it would be better to remain silent for a while. ¡°The light came on. If you ask me... and you will ask me later... where it came from, I will not answer you. No one will. There are many opinions. Some believe that it happened by accident, others that the light came from the original world that was destroyed by the gods, and that our world is one of the many fragments that were created as a result of that catastrophe. Others believe that the Light was brought by the Face of Light.¡±


    Ardi remembered his mother¡¯s stories about the Face of Light. She¡¯d told him that, as a child, when she¡¯d had to cross the prairie, she¡¯d met a priest of that god. He had escorted her by stagecoach to the settlement where the boy¡¯s parents had met. Grandfather and Father never allowed themselves to speak ill of the Face of Light and the beliefs tied to him in the presence of the boy¡¯s mother, but when his mother was out of earshot, they...


    ¡°A god credited with being the light,¡± Grandpa snorted. ¡°What a useless god... Just don¡¯t tell your mother about this.¡±


    Ardi ran his finger over his lips to show that he had them buttoned tightly.


    Grandfather smiled, nodded, and continued the story. ¡°When all things came into being out of the Firstborn Chaos,¡± Grandfather looked at the frowning boy, who was gripping the edge of the bench so tightly his hands were shaking. ¡°Chaos, little punk, that¡¯s the soup you made for us two years ago.¡±


    ¡°Skusty¡¯s recipe?¡± Ardi asked.


    Grandpa grimaced. ¡°I¡¯ll remember that boiled mud, flavored with dirt and sludge, for a long time.¡±


    ¡°But Skusty said everyone liked it!¡±


    Grandpa just shook his head and ruffled his hair again. ¡°Never trust squirrels, they¡¯re real assholes,¡± he coughed and continued the story. ¡°So, from this soup from which all elements and all things were brewed, came many of the old gods. Most of them died with the arrival of the civilizations of the human kingdoms. They were no longer believed in. And belief to a god is like food to a man. No food, no man. No faith, no god.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t really understand what his grandfather was saying. He didn¡¯t know who the gods were. His father had forbidden his grandfather from telling Ardi anything about the strange wooden statues scattered throughout the forests of the Alcade. Besides various figures ¡ª elders, young husbands, old maidens ¡ª they often depicted fairytale animals. An eagle with four wings, or a bear dressed in the stars of the dawn sky, a lynx that looked like a foal, or a snow leopard with four tails. But Grandfather, when Father was late, would sometimes mention that these were the patrons of the Matabar.


    Matabar was the name of Ardi¡¯s father¡¯s and grandfather¡¯s people. Mother, on the other hand, had been born in the great settlement of Cavest, which had burned down in a fire, while her family had come from the Kingdom of Gales, which had faded into history and become one of the Pillars of the Empire.


    ¡°And so, my little weasel, every nation ¡ª from the humans with their machines and cities, the orcs of the prairies, the dwarves of the mountain, the giants of the far north, the Fae hidden in the shadows of the hills, all the way to the inhabitants of the sea floor and the skies above, and many others ¡ª has its own myth. Their own story. Their own understanding of what those who have fallen asleep see.¡±


    ¡°Asleep underground?¡± Ardi said before he could stop himself.


    But Grandfather wasn¡¯t angry.


    ¡°Not everyone accompanies those who have gone underground, boy,¡± he said just as brokenly as he had smiled the other day. ¡°But that is a matter of the body. As for the others...¡±


    ¡°Others... what?¡±


    Grandfather shrugged.


    ¡°Some call it the mind, others the spirit or soul, and others still call it the spark. It doesn¡¯t matter. It¡¯s just a title, not a name.¡±


    Ardi nodded. His grandfather had always told him it was important to know names. If you knew a name, you knew who it belonged to. That was also why you shouldn¡¯t give your full name to the first person you meet. To get Ardan used to this, his grandfather and mother never called him anything but Ardi. His father, however, always resisted their efforts and called him by his full name.


    ¡°You will learn about the other nations yourself, if you want to, of course,¡± Grandpa hesitated. How can one not want to learn something interesting? As Shali used to say ¡ª without new knowledge, there is no new food. Ardi had no idea what that meant. But it sounded mysterious. ¡°As for your father¡¯s people ¡ª we used to think... to believe that our departed travel along secret forest paths, invisible to the living, straight to the high mountain peaks. There, they shed their flesh and reappear in the form of the spirit of their god.¡±


    ¡°Their god?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Grandfather touched the simple, blackened, peeling amulet around his neck. If you squinted hard enough, you could recognize that its wooden shape depicted an eagle. ¡°Every Matabar has their own god. But we call them something else ¡ª patron spirits. And when the time comes, we shed our flesh and become like our spirits. An extension of them. A part of them. But we¡¯re still ourselves.¡±


    Ardi started to get a bit of a headache.


    ¡°Sorry, you little asshole,¡± Grandpa ruffled the boy¡¯s hair again. And now Mom was going to scold Ardi for being unkempt! ¡°I don¡¯t know how else to explain it, and I can¡¯t think of the right words for someone your age. So, this is the most honest answer I can give you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardi replied. He looked down at his feet. The wood shavings had mixed amusingly with the colorful leaves. It was just like the soup in the squirrel¡¯s recipe. ¡°What happened to Grandma?¡±


    ¡°Your grandmother?¡± Grandpa¡¯s eyes briefly began to resemble a lake in early spring. They were very deep and tinted with something clear and slightly moist. ¡°She became the brook our house stands on.¡±


    ¡°Is it possible to become a brook?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Grandfather replied calmly. Ardi silently opened and closed his mouth like a fish several times. There were even more questions in his head than before. So many that the boy was afraid they would come out of his ears.


    ¡°But now that that¡¯s over with, let¡¯s see if you¡¯re up to the task,¡± Grandpa pulled back his coat and showed him a small snow leopard. It had whiskers, four legs, and an incredibly long, fluffy tail. ¡°Tell me its name...¡±


    He held the figure out to Ardi, who felt the warm surface of the toy in his hands. The freshly-carved wood still remembered the warmth of his grandfather¡¯s fingers and now shared it with Ardi. The boy lifted the piece to his nose and breathed in its scent. It smelled of birch, earth, and a little bit of steel. Ardi looked into the snow leopard¡¯s eyes. They were big and dark, like the bottom of an empty well far from home.


    ¡°Remember, Ardi,¡± Grandpa whispered in his ear. ¡°Show me, don¡¯t tell me.¡±


    But in order to show someone a name, one had to hear it first. And so, Ardi listened.


    He listened as the snow leopard¡¯s paws lightly brushed the snowy stones of the distant peaks of the Alcade. They were almost inaudible, barely perceptible in the silence of the high cliffs. He felt how carefully this majestic and wise beast moved, climbing higher and higher, so that in a single leap, like an eagle swooping down onto the back of its prey, it could end the hunt with one strike. The boy felt a few stings on his palm from its sharp, strong claws. He ran his finger along its thick fur. He looked into eyes that showed neither pity nor compassion.


    After his encounter with the wolves, the boy would forever be aware of the fact that for those with fangs and claws, there could only be prey and hunters in this world. And his grandfather had told him, keeping it a secret from his father, that there was nothing wrong with that. Ardi now stood beside the Alcade¡¯s fiercest predator. And the stealthiest. The hunter who followed the paths of the eagles and then disappeared in swirls of snow.


    And Ardi had heard its name. But now he had to show it.


    He reached out his hand to the distant peaks of the Alcade and grabbed a handful of snow, sprinkling it over the figure. Pulling out his knife and arming himself with his grandfather¡¯s cane, he ground a bit of steel powder and dipped the snow leopard¡¯s claws into it. Picking up the figure again, Ardi placed it in the path of the birds, then lowered it to the ground, where he caught a sliver of the night sky that appeared on the horizon and covered the beast¡¯s eyes with it. When he was done, he whispered into the snow leopard¡¯s ear:


    ¡°Hello, Ergar,¡± and continued as his grandfather had taught him. ¡°Be my friend, for we are not yet brothers. You and I are from different tribes, but we live on the same land. You keep the land from your side, and I will keep it from mine. And when our paths cross, we will know that we are from the same spirit.¡±


    ¡°Well done, Ardi,¡± his grandfather patted him on the back and then covered the figure with his own hand.


    When he removed it... the small wooden figure was still lying in the boy¡¯s lap. After all, Ardi couldn¡¯t really take a piece of the night, bring in snow from distant peaks, and turn steel into claws.


    But still...


    ¡°Hello, Kitten of Two Tribes,¡± the snow leopard whispered before falling asleep.


    ¡°Ergar must rest,¡± Grandfather spoke. ¡°He has come from the depths of the mountains you call the Alcade. And he needs to regain his strength. Put him on the shelf with your other friends ¡ª they will help him.¡±


    Ardi nodded. Grandfather had never doubted that the wooden figures could play with the boy.


    ¡°You...¡± Grandfather started to say something else, but suddenly turned back to the house. His hands clenched around his cane and his gaze became somehow different. The change reminded Ardi of his own knife in a way.


    ¡°Run to the barn, lock the doors and don¡¯t come out until I call for you.¡±


    ¡°But...¡±


    Grandfather just looked at him, and Ardi was already back in those blackberry bushes. He made his way through them to the barn. It was a small building at the edge of their property. It was a bit worn down, but with a sturdy roof, though there were holes in the walls that Grandfather would fix soon. There were some tools Ardi didn¡¯t know the names of inside, and a cupboard with a heavy lock.


    The boy had tried to open it once, but his father wouldn¡¯t even let him ask what was inside. He said that if the spirits had mercy, the boy would never know the contents of the mysterious cabinet. Of course, Ardi had tried more than once to find out the truth about what was inside, but he had never succeeded. But at least he knew for sure that it wasn¡¯t a carbine or a revolver or cartridges of gunpowder. Those were what the boy¡¯s father had kept on the wall. Ardi had never felt the urge to pick up a gun. His curiosity had been entirely sated by the scene that had been the cause of several of his nightmares.


    He had not been entirely honest with his grandfather when he¡¯d said that it was his father who had shown him the difference between a deer and a fawn. It was because, against his father¡¯s orders, Ardi had followed in Hector¡¯s footsteps and seen what it meant to hunt. And now he knew what the thunder of the iron rod and the resulting acrid, foul smell meant ¡ª blood and pain.


    So why was the boy thinking about weapons now? Because he hadn¡¯t made it to the barn. He had frozen in place in a bush of junipers. Pulling back a branch, the boy couldn¡¯t take his eyes off the clearing near their porch. His mother was standing there. She was wearing her usual blue dress with its wide skirts, her apron spotlessly clean as always, and she was holding a carbine. The muzzle was pointed downwards, but her hands gripped the wooden stock tightly. The polished steel reflected her brown hair and sparkling, soft brown eyes. Ardi had a beautiful mother. He knew that because of what his father had said.


    Ardi¡¯s grandfather had halted in front of her. How he¡¯d gotten here faster than Ardi was a mystery. But what interested the boy more was something he¡¯d never seen before. Another man. Yes, there was actually a man standing in front of him, at the edge of the forest and near the clearing, only fifty meters away. He was tall enough to reach his grandfather¡¯s chin.


    The stranger¡¯s hair was covered by a leather hat with a high, rounded crown, which was also concave at the top, and it had a wide brim. The man¡¯s face, covered with stubble and small pits, reminded Ardi of sandpaper. His yellowish teeth were constantly chewing on some sort of dirt that made his saliva the same shade. The man was dressed in a patched brown coat, black pants with obvious signs of recent repairs, and high boots with strange little spiky circles on the heels. They were round little things with sharp points.


    His voice was deep, but softer than Hector¡¯s.


    ¡°Where is Hector?¡± The stranger spat yellow slime at his feet.


    ¡°What are you...¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t mess with me, old man,¡± the stranger interrupted, pulling back his cloak to reveal a gray vest. No, not the vest itself, but a silver ornament in the shape of a crossed sword and pistol. Strange ¡ª Ardi had gotten the impression from his grandfather¡¯s stories that only women and wizards wore jewelry. ¡°My name is Sheriff Kelly Bryan.¡±


    ¡°Sheriff?¡± Grandpa frowned. ¡°I remember what a Sheriff looked like once. And he didn¡¯t look like you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah? Then what do I look like to you, old man?¡±


    ¡°Someone my daughter-in-law is going to shoot the goddamned balls off if he doesn¡¯t get out of here right now.¡±


    Ardi¡¯s mother raised her carbine, hoisted it to her shoulder, and clicked the bolt. The boy¡¯s heart skipped a few beats. But the strange man with the funny name of Sheriffkelly didn¡¯t even seem to notice the gun.


    ¡°Assaulting an officer of the Empire in the course of their duty?¡± He grinned, pulled up his pants and displayed his ammunition belt and the two holstered revolvers there. ¡°I remember when we were kids, we used to scare the girls around the campfire with stories of scary, crazy half-humans living on the mountain. And to be honest, you¡¯re not scary at all. Crazy, maybe, but not scary.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t like the way Sheriffkelly said that. Yes, he thought his grandfather was a tad too... strange. But that was his grandfather!


    ¡°According to your own rules, valley folk are not allowed to go up the mountain...¡±


    ¡°...without a legitimate reason,¡± the stranger interrupted again. ¡°Sheriff Daniel, old man, is not standing before you right now because his rotten guts have become dinner for the night beasts... Maybe you had something to eat too, dark ones?¡±


    Even from his hiding spot, Ardi could see his grandfather¡¯s hands gripping his cane tightly and his mother¡¯s index finger resting on the trigger.


    ¡°Calm down, lady,¡± Sheriffkelly waved at her. What kind of strange names were these? Sheriffkelly, Sheriffdaniel... Were they brothers? And few night beasts would eat rotten entrails. Fresh ones, perhaps. But rotten... ¡°I understand your joy at meeting another man, but you could be a little gentler. ¡°


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be able to handle five minutes of my gentleness, you slug,¡± the boy¡¯s mother hissed. Yes, his mother, the same person who was always affectionate and brushed Ardi¡¯s hair very gently, but what did that have to do with it? The stranger just shrugged.


    ¡°I came here in peace, actually,¡± he said in a calm tone.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how humans do it, but we don¡¯t insult those we come to in peace,¡± Grandfather replied sternly.


    ¡°Fair enough. But I would like to point out that it was the lady who took out the iron first,¡± the stranger nodded in the direction of the carbine. ¡°But, well¡­ Your company, believe me, is no more pleasant to me than mine is to you. So, I¡¯ll ask you once more, as the rightful representative of the authority of the New Monarchy in this fucked-up country. Where is Hunter Hector Egobar?¡±


    There was silence in the clearing for a while. It was uncomfortable. Viscous, like tar. Ardi was afraid someone might suffocate in it.


    ¡°He¡¯s still not back from the Alcade,¡± Mom finally said.


    ¡°Up in the mountains, eh?¡± The stranger stretched. ¡°How long has it been?¡±


    ¡°Just over two weeks, Sheriff,¡± she said the word so strangely that Ardi wondered if he¡¯d gotten the stranger¡¯s name right.


    ¡°So, he¡¯ll be back soon,¡± Sheriff... Kelly muttered under his breath. ¡°Then I¡¯ll return in two days,¡± he said, looking down at the boy¡¯s mother¡¯s belly. Ardi was used to his mother¡¯s big tummy by now. He kept asking what she¡¯d eaten to make her so fat, but no one would answer him. All they would say was that the boy was in for a surprise. ¡°You should come down to the town. For once, the city didn¡¯t send us a stinking drunk, but a sane medic. He prefers whores to whiskey. And I mean no offense here, ma¡¯am. I am merely advising you to see him about the birth. I do believe you¡¯ll soon be in labor.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for your concern, Sheriff,¡± Ardi¡¯s mother said slowly, with lengthy pauses. ¡°Now, if you care about your balls and the medic¡¯s whores, you¡¯ll leave my meadow and this mountain.¡±


    ¡°As you wish,¡± the stranger spat again, then waved his hat oddly and headed down the path. Mom didn¡¯t put down the carbine until a few minutes later.


    Once again, Ardi felt something akin to that time he¡¯d heard a noise that had turned out to be hungry wolves.

 Chapter 2 - Little Brother

    Ardi lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Outside the window, night had already fallen. Cicadas could be heard.


    They clicked amusingly, either merging into a single rhythm or creating the unpredictable cacophony that irritated the boy so much. Wrapped in a down-filled blanket, the child thought about his day.


    Accompanying him were four animal figurines. Although they were made of wood, like everything else around Ardi, they differed from the general atmosphere of the room. It was small, but spacious enough to accommodate a carved bed along the far wall. His father and grandfather had made it themselves, it seemed. Most of the time, Ardi felt like a dwarf while sleeping on it, and even now, he was still a dwarf, just a little bigger. If he tried to stretch out his whole body, he could barely reach the edges of the bed with the tips of his fingers and toes. Ardi also secretly made notches on the headboard, under the mattress, in order to mark how far he¡¯d traveled in his adventures.


    The nightstand had been made using the same gray wood as the bed. On it rested Ardi¡¯s clothes, his knife, and other knickknacks. Beautiful river pebbles, a small shard of crystal brought to him by the stream, two falcon feathers, and... the fragment of an antler. These were all the child¡¯s little treasures.


    There was also a wardrobe.


    A shabby one, with slamming, tattered doors, but a fairly sturdy bar inside it. It was strong enough for Ardi to copy his father and do chin-ups on it. He couldn¡¯t yet reach the one his father had set up, which had been placed between the two trees that stood not far from the long-dormant waterwheel. As one might¡¯ve guessed, the wardrobe, like everything around it, was made of colored wooden planks.


    Unlike the figurines.


    For some reason, each of them, as if imitating living animals, would cast its own color. But these thoughts, like so many others, only flashed through Ardi¡¯s mind and disappeared moments later. He was preoccupied with something else. Something much more important. And it wasn¡¯t even the process of contemplating the ceiling, along which a small spider was now crawling, hurrying about its own spider business.


    ¡°Who was that?¡± Ardi asked aloud. ¡°And what a strange word that is... Sheriff.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it means he¡¯s a master honey gatherer?¡± Came a heavy, thick, lazy voice.


    ¡°Guta, stop it with the honey!¡± Replied a whistling, slightly growling voice. ¡°All you want to do is suck your paws and think about honey! A Sheriff is something else. A Sheriff is... I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve heard from the wolves that sometimes Two-Leggers come into their territory with foul-smelling, rattling sticks. And then it¡¯s not the prey that bleeds, but the hunters.¡±


    ¡°Mm-hmm,¡± said the first voice. ¡°We don¡¯t suck our paws, Shali.¡±


    ¡°Sleeping Spirits! Is that all you got from my response?¡±


    Ardi smiled slightly. Guta and Shali could argue like that for hours. And the one time the boy had allowed himself to argue with his mother like that, he¡¯d gotten hit with a rag just below his back. Not much, of course, but the lesson had been learned.


    ¡°Oh, what do you two know?¡± A third voice squeaked. A voice that usually didn¡¯t bode well. ¡°Sheriffs are what Two-Leggers call people who go after overly obedient kits! They take them to a place where they all have their heads shaved equally, make them wear strange leaves on their bodies, give them sticks, and then send them off to fight other Two-Leggers!¡±


    ¡°Skusty, stop lying! Look, Guta is already afraid!¡±


    ¡°That bear is afraid of everything!¡±


    ¡°Maybe if you scared him less often, he wouldn¡¯t be so afraid!¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± Laughed the squeaky voice. ¡°If I don¡¯t scare him, how will he deal with his fear?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll hit you,¡± came the thick, bass voice.


    ¡°That¡¯s precisely what I mean, Guta! Did I scare you? Not at all! It never happened! Shali is lying!¡±


    Ardi laughed a little. Skusty was cunning and funny, but very cowardly.


    ¡°Why do they only take the obedient ones?¡± Asked the boy.


    ¡°Because no disobedient cub would agree to such atrocities!¡± Skusty shouted sharply, then lowered his voice and added. ¡°Well, Ardi, I¡¯m sorry, but I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll get any more wisdom from me. Soon, it will be time to cut the wool from your head! And you don¡¯t have much on top, poor thing.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t want his hair cut! And then there was¡­


    ¡°What about Mommy and Grandpa and Daddy?¡±


    ¡°I...¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, Ardi,¡± the whistling voice interrupted.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right, Shali,¡± the bass added. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to the squirrel, Ardi.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s always like this!¡± Skusty snorted. ¡°All you say is don¡¯t listen to Skusty, don¡¯t do what Skusty says, and then we all end up in a big, stinking pile of sh...¡±


    A floorboard creaked.


    The one by the front door. The boy¡¯s father, his mother, and even his grandfather had tried to fix it multiple times. But no matter how hard they tried, no matter what ideas they came up with, they could never solve the problem. So, every time someone came home, whoever was inside would know about it right away.


    Ardi looked at his knife, which was the cause of this ¡°miracle.¡±


    Sometimes ¡ª very rarely, but still ¡ª Skusty had good ideas....


    ¡°Daddy¡¯s here!¡±


    Ardi jumped to his feet, grabbed a tin mug from the windowsill, carefully pushed the nightstand aside, lay down on the floor, and put the simple device to his ear with his neck against the wall. The first sound he heard was a resounding duh, followed by a slightly more embarrassed and awkward thunk. The boy¡¯s imagination immediately pictured his father lifting a deer carcass off his shoulders... But no, the sound hadn¡¯t been as whiplashy. The horns didn¡¯t hit the ground. It was probably a boar. A big, fully-grown boar that even his father couldn¡¯t carry home on his shoulders. He could only drag it back. So yes, a young boar. Nearby, judging by the sounds, a hunting rifle had been placed.


    The next sound made the boy jump a little. Couldn¡¯t his parents have kept it down? The two were kissing.


    ¡°Is Ardan asleep already?¡±


    Goosebumps ran down the boy¡¯s body. His father¡¯s voice was like the rustle of an awakening forest. Not thick or liquid, not rumbling or hollow. It sounded like home. A living voice. In it, a floorboard creaked or a mouse scampered somewhere. Ardi hoped he¡¯d have a voice like that when he grew up.


    ¡°Yes, Hector. The boy had a rough day.¡±


    ¡°Of course... It¡¯s his birthday and...¡±


    ¡°That was yesterday,¡± Mother interrupted him. Someone else might have thought she was angry, but she wasn¡¯t. Ardi had never seen his mother angry. Upset, stern, sometimes even annoyed, but not angry. ¡°You¡¯re late.¡±


    His father was silent for a while, and then he opened the doors of the hall closet, which was also creaky, and put something inside with a ¡°quacking¡± sound.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give him his present tomorrow morning.¡±


    A present? One that made that sort of sound? It certainly wasn¡¯t a knife or boots, then. It was something else... something heavy enough for Ardi to hear, but not too big, or it wouldn¡¯t fit so easily on a shelf in the closet.


    A slight rustling came from the other end of the hallway. Grandpa didn¡¯t use a cane at home, and his limp gave him away before he even entered the room.


    ¡°Hello, Hector.¡±


    ¡°Hello, old man,¡± Ardi¡¯s father replied, not coldly, but still distantly.


    Ardi had never understood the relationship between his father and his grandfather. They lived under the same roof, ate at the same table, laughed together on holidays, and sometimes, they even shared stories. But the boy had never heard warmth in Hector¡¯s voice directed toward his grandfather. What¡¯s more, Dad had never called his own father by his first name.


    And neither had Mom.


    And so, Ardi didn¡¯t know what Grandpa¡¯s name was. He¡¯d asked that question many times, but instead of an answer, he¡¯d gotten more and more stories, obviously made up by his grandfather.


    ¡°How are things up there in the mountains?¡±


    ¡°There was an avalanche on the southern slope,¡± the boy¡¯s father answered. ¡°I had to wait in the shelter. That¡¯s why I was delayed...¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant.¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t, Hector. You know exactly what I am talking about. He should have been on his way to us by now.¡±


    Ardi heard a fist smashing into the wall. Then there was silence in the hall. Though it lasted only for a few heavy moments.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget, old man, that you live under my roof. That means you live by my rules.¡±


    The boy¡¯s father, on the other hand, knew how to get angry...


    Ardi shrank back.


    Even from here, he could see his father¡¯s long fangs, his sharp, vertical slit pupils, and his long hair, which was darker than the night that surrounded their home. Though his father never raised his voice or hand in Ardi¡¯s presence, the boy knew well what happened to those beasts who incurred his father¡¯s wrath.


    One day, a bear had come into their clearing. It had frightened Ardi and made him scream. Out of surprise, of course. After all, Ardi was friends with Guta, which meant he was well acquainted with bears. But his father had misunderstood the situation...


    The bear had barely escaped with its life, and later, the boy¡¯s mother had spent a week sewing up the long cuts on his father¡¯s arms and shoulders.


    ¡°Since when, you foolish boy, has this house been yours?¡±


    ¡°Since the moment you decided that it should be, old man.¡±


    But as strange as the relationship between his grandfather and father was, Ardi had never heard them talk like that before. And although he could see nothing but that spider moving from the ceiling to the wall, his imagination was painting a vivid picture of a family argument. And more importantly... who was coming to them from the other side of the gorge?


    ¡°So many years have passed...¡± Grandfather¡¯s voice trembled, sounding like a broken tree.


    ¡°No matter how many years pass,¡± his father¡¯s voice was just as steady, ¡°no matter how many...¡±


    They fell silent. Mother didn¡¯t interfere, either. But Ardi could feel, even from here, how tightly she held his father¡¯s hand.


    ¡°As long as I have breath in my body, he will not come anywhere near this side of the mountain,¡± his father finally said. ¡°I warn you, old man. The moment I see his tails on the horizon, I¡¯ll burn every shrine and sanctuary for miles around, I swear it on the Sleeping Spirits.¡±


    Grandfather sighed heavily and seemed to shake his head.


    ¡°You don¡¯t let your wounds heal, boy. You live in the past and...¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Father snapped, and immediately, Mother hissed at him.


    ¡°You¡¯ll wake Ardi,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Ardan,¡± his father growled. ¡°His name is Ardan. Ardan, son of Hector the gamekeeper and Shaia the seamstress. And when the time comes, he will go to school in the village. He¡¯ll learn. He¡¯ll become a carpenter, or maybe, if he¡¯s lucky, he¡¯ll get a hunting license. If not, he¡¯ll go to the farm.¡±


    ¡°The last of the Matabar? A carpenter or a cowboy?¡±


    Father walked heavily toward the corridor. As he passed the place where Grandfather had stopped, he muttered something to him, but Ardi couldn¡¯t make out what it was.


    Judging by the fading sound of footsteps, all three were heading for the kitchen. Which meant...


    Ardi grabbed the glass, put the nightstand back, and walked to the other end of the room. There, at the very bottom of the wall, was a ventilation grille, so that the air could circal... circuly... basically, move around the house, as his father had explained it.


    But thanks to Skusty, the boy had found another use for it. With the same glass, or rather its handle, Ardi hooked the grille and, panting with exertion, placed the heavy metal on the floor. Then he crawled almost halfway inside to...


    ¡°A cub has no business listening to adult hunters¡¯ conversations.¡±


    The voice was like the first rumblings of a spring storm. Light, barely starting, and somewhere at the edge of hearing. But it still promised nothing good.


    ¡°Hello, Ergar,¡± Ardi greeted. ¡°My name is¡­¡±


    ¡°What are you three up to?¡± The snow leopard didn¡¯t seem to notice the boy at all. ¡°Why does this cub walk and smell like a Two-Legger? Hasn¡¯t he turned six winters and six years old? Six full cycles have passed. Have you chosen a mentor for him?¡±


    ¡°We...¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°Ergar, Storm of the Mountain Peaks, we¡­¡±


    ¡°Shut up, squirrel,¡± the snow leopard growled. ¡°Your presence here is as inappropriate as¡­¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Ardi protested. He climbed out of the vent and approached the shelf where the four toys stood. ¡°I don¡¯t know who raised you, Ergar, but Skusty is my friend. So are Shali and Guta. Don¡¯t fight with them.¡± He paused. ¡°Please,¡± he added after he thought it over a bit. ¡°They are good. And I know that eavesdropping is bad.¡±


    Suddenly, Ardi felt Ergar¡¯s gaze on him. Or going through him. Looking somewhere deep inside of him. Under his skin. Under his very bones. Even deeper still. It was a very unpleasant sensation.


    ¡°You¡¯re worried about your family, ignorant cub,¡± Ergar stated rather than asked. ¡°That¡¯s not an excuse for breaking the hunting laws, but a reasonable cause. Go and listen while I have a little word with your friends.¡±


    And the toys fell silent. Ardi, glancing anxiously from one small creature to the other, returned to the air vent. He seemed to have missed the beginning of the conversation. Or its continuation... or the beginning of the continuation...


    ¡°A new Sheriff? What a pity. Old Daniel was quite fond of the bottle and a terrible card player, but I liked him.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Mother set a plate on the table and clinked the silverware. ¡°He¡¯s not very pleasant, but he seems to be a decent man. Kelly Bryan. Doesn¡¯t look more than thirty.¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°Decent,¡± Grandfather snorted in his usual manner. It reminded Ardi of Skusty. ¡°Like the backside of a pimply ogre.¡±


    ¡°A pimply ogre¡¯s backside?¡± Father was clearly surprised. ¡°Such flattery, coming from you? He must be something indeed.¡±


    ¡°Well, he didn¡¯t soil his pants at the mere sight of me, so I¡¯ll give him some points for that.¡±


    Father laughed. His laugh was loud and clear, showing neither teeth nor fangs.


    ¡°And what did he want?¡±


    The chair legs clattered slightly on the floor as Mother sat next to Father.


    ¡°He was looking for you.¡±


    Father just made a strange sound. Ardi didn¡¯t understand what it meant. And he prided himself on being good at deciphering sounds. After all, that was how he learned all the important news ¡ª either by pressing his ear to a cup or by climbing into the ventilation system.


    ¡°The Rangers are a separate division of the Imperial Army. If he were a senior officer, it might make sense to inform us about the change of post, but as it stands... Why would he ever go up the mountain?¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t know why, but none of the villagers at the foot of the mountain or from the nearby settlements had ever ventured up the mountain. Only once had a boy who had been fleeing from teasing children ventured too close. Ardi happened to be nearby at the time and was able to help the poor kid by hiding him in the bushes before running off to avoid being seen.


    ¡°Maybe they need more hides?¡± Mother suggested. ¡°Winter is coming, and I haven¡¯t made new coats and furs for four seasons.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so.¡±


    Grandfather sighed again. This time, he sighed like Ardi did when he knew he had to wash the dishes. Mother called it resignation.


    ¡°Remember three months ago, when the Ogden family¡¯s farm burned down in the west?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Father set his spoon aside. ¡°Poor souls... If we had known sooner, we might have done something.¡±


    ¡°It was the Shanti¡¯Ra gang.¡±


    A gang? Ardi remembered from Grandfather¡¯s stories that a gang was a group of unwashed, unshaven, and not very pleasant robbers. At least that¡¯s how Grandfather had described them. But those were just stories. Made-up tales.


    How could a gang be here? In the real world?


    Father remained silent for a long time before he asked, ¡°The Shanti¡¯Ra? What are those fanatics doing so close to the mountain?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Hector,¡± Grandfather sneered just like Skusty. ¡°Maybe they¡¯re after the Ertaline ore, a fragment of which lies on your son¡¯s nightstand? Perhaps they want the remains of magical beasts beyond the gorge? Or maybe they just wanted to raid the village, rape the women, and stock up on supplies for the winter. Or maybe they simply came to settle old scores... Who knows?¡±


    Father swore. Very vehemently. If Ardi had said such words, his mouth would have been washed out with soap. It had happened before. And of course, it had happened because of Skusty. The squirrel had assured him that those words meant something like ¡°thanks for the treat.¡± It had turned out that they did not, in fact, mean that.


    ¡°And how do you know that, old man?¡±


    ¡°I have my sources, boy. And so would you, if you weren¡¯t so¡­¡±


    ¡°Shaia, do you think the Shanti¡¯Ra could be the reason why we have a new Sheriff?¡±


    Mother didn¡¯t answer right away.


    ¡°Maybe yes, maybe no, dear,¡± she took a plate and headed for the sink. ¡°In any case, if the Sheriff of the people decided to climb our mountain, then... Their situation must be bad. Otherwise, they wouldn¡¯t dare ask for help from those they use to scare their own children.¡±


    Father swore again.


    ¡°We could offer to let them come up,¡± Father suggested.


    The sound of a chair falling and something fierce and beastly rang out in Grandfather¡¯s next words.


    ¡°The human tribe? On my mountain? Have you lost your mind, boy? You dishonor the graves of your ancestors. Your mother lies there and¡­¡±


    And there was that same beastly growl, but this time, it came from Father.


    ¡°I know where my mother lies, old man! And I know you weren¡¯t there! You weren¡¯t there when we were burned and shot! Or shall I show you the scars? They still haven¡¯t healed, spawn of darkness!¡±


    ¡°If you remember so well, rascal, then why let people in?¡±


    ¡°Because, damn you, there is a human woman sitting at this table. Your own daughter-in-law. Ardan¡¯s mother. And Ardan himself, who also has human blood in his veins.¡±


    ¡°And Matabar blood,¡± Grandfather said firmly. ¡°And if you still remembered how to hear and see, you would know that it is much stronger than the human part.¡±


    Father exhaled and sat back heavily in his chair.


    ¡°I have no reason to argue with you, old man. No reason, no desire. You¡¯re too old for me to punch you in the damn face, and I¡¯m not young enough to see the point of it.¡±


    ¡°Slug,¡± Grandfather almost spat, struggling to push his chair back.


    Ardi didn¡¯t quite understand the way Grandfather had spoken that last word. But it was probably not meant seriously. Was it? It hadn¡¯t been serious, had it?


    ¡°I know my sins, Hector. And I carry them on my shoulders with as many scars as you do. But I have never turned away from my tribe, from my history, from...¡±


    ¡°Nobody cares, old man!¡± Father interrupted him. ¡°How can you not understand that? No one cares! We tried two hundred years ago, and what? What has changed? Want me to tell you? Nothing has changed! The human trains go deeper and deeper into the continent. Their ships and boats of iron sail the oceans and seas, and soon, steel balloons will float in the sky. Their soldiers are armed with rifles, artillery, and machine guns. Their Star Magi conjure spells that our Sages, Speakers, and §¡§Öan¡¯Hanes couldn¡¯t even dream of. Two hundred years ago, the Dark Lord might have given them a fight, but now... Now...¡±


    ¡°Now they destroy each other,¡± Grandfather insisted. ¡°They fight each other. They divide with blood what we divided with words.¡±


    ¡°Maybe so. But do we live in the Kingdom of Ektas now? Among giants and elves? Are our clothes sewn by halflings and our tools forged by dwarves? Again, no. And do you know why, old man? Because there are no more Ektas. No more halflings. And the few dwarves who still remember the name of the land now work in Metropolis, building towers of metal, stone and glass for humans. Giants? Oh, they work in the ports, lifting containers of goods from lands you once thought mythical. And all it took was for them to cross the Shallow Seas and the Swallow Ocean. Humans did it in a few centuries, while we couldn¡¯t do it in twelve thousand years. Everything around us now belongs to humans. And even if they are going to kill each other in the end, we¡¯ll be gone long before we can witness their demise.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t understand most of what his father had just said. He only remembered that his grandfather had often told him about the Kingdom of Ektas and its inhabitants. About the King and the Queen. About knights. Courtiers. About all the things that still existed somewhere in the distant past. Much further back than even... last year! And last year, as far as Ardi was concerned, might as well have happened in another lifetime.


    ¡°There is no honor in your words, Hector.¡±


    ¡°Honor? Excuse me? Did you forget to blow the dust off that word first? Honor...¡± Father drank the contents of his glass and set it down forcefully. Ardi had once tasted the contents of a bottle hidden in one of the kitchen cupboards. What bitter, disgusting stuff that had been! ¡°Honor won¡¯t keep Ardan warm in the winter. Honor won¡¯t buy medicine for your cursed leg. Honor won¡¯t feed Shaia and all of us. No, old man. You probably don¡¯t know this word, but you have to work. Hard. Very hard. And if you don¡¯t know how, look at the humans. They¡¯ll show you.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°I-I-I-I,¡± Father interrupted him. ¡°All my life, I¡¯ve only ever heard one word from you. ¡®I.¡¯ Enough. I¡¯m tired of it. Go to bed. Visit the shrine of the spirits. Walk through the forest. Fill Ardan¡¯s head with another fairy tale. Do whatever you need to do to justify your miserable existence. Just leave me alone.¡±


    ¡°Dear, that¡¯s too much.¡±


    ¡°Too much? Shaia, tomorrow, you¡¯ll be giving birth to another member of our family,¡± Ardi¡¯s heart began a journey through his entire body. So that¡¯s what it was! That was the surprise! Ardi would have a sister? No, why would he need a sister? It would be better if it was a brother! Together, they would... ¡°And we barely have enough food for the four of us. A single slip-up during a hunt and we¡¯ll be eating roots and pine cones.¡±


    Grandfather snorted. Somehow... he did so unpleasantly.


    ¡°If you had just asked, the shed would¡¯ve been filled with meat before dawn.¡±


    ¡°No thanks, old man. I have my hands. I¡¯ll feed my family myself. Though, perhaps you don¡¯t know this word ¡ª myself. In your life, you¡¯ve only done one thing yourself. Or rather, you haven¡¯t done it.¡±


    ¡°Boy, watch yourself!¡±


    ¡°Ardi is asleep,¡± Mother said, and the voices immediately fell silent.


    ¡°Are you going to risk yourself in human quarrels? For what, Hector?¡±


    ¡°How can you not understand?¡± Father almost whispered his shout, if that was possible. ¡°The more I help them, the more they see there¡¯s no difference between us...¡±


    ¡°But there is, boy.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter! The main thing is, the more I behave like a human, the more human...¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll never be human in their eyes!¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Hector jumped to his feet. ¡°I don¡¯t care about myself. Maybe I care a little more than I do for you, but I don¡¯t really care. But I do care about Ardan and the one Shaia carries under her heart. They will begin to treat them as equals. And perhaps my children will have a somewhat easier and more pleasant life than the one you prepared for me.¡±


    Grandfather, judging by the sounds, was about to reply sharply, but Mother intervened.


    ¡°If any of you wake Ardi,¡± she hissed, sounding no less menacing than the snake Ardi had played with last summer. ¡°This family will be two mouths short.¡±


    Grandfather exhaled and limped toward the kitchen exit. He stopped at the door and said:


    ¡°If you really believe, Hector¡­ If you really believe that humans will ever accept Ardi as an equal, you are foolish. More than that, you are insane. And blind. Blinder than you are stupid. Although, honestly, I don¡¯t know which is worse. But you are right ¡ª this is your family. And I have no right to decide for you. Do what you think is right, and I will do what I think is right. And if our paths cross...¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t waste your breath,¡± Father interrupted him again. ¡°You have little of it left. And I¡¯m not ready to show Ardan how to dig graves yet. Save your heart, old man. My boy, by some cruel joke of life, is very attached to you. And that¡¯s the only reason I tolerate you here. But even my patience has its limits. Don¡¯t cross them. Because I swear on my mother¡¯s grave, you won¡¯t like what you see there.¡±


    With that, the conversation ended and Grandfather silently went to his room. Ardi stayed in the air duct. It was the first time he had heard such a serious argument with so many frightening words. Yes, Father and Grandfather often fought, reminding him of two wolverines locked together, but never so intensely... And generally...


    ¡°That¡¯s enough, human cub,¡± came the thunderous growl of the snow leopard behind him. ¡°Time to sleep.¡±


    ¡°But I still...¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t remember what happened next.


    ***


    The boy was sitting by the stream, drawing in its sandy bottom with a stick. He was fascinated by how the barely drawn image of the pesky squirrel would disappear as soon as the breeze stirred the clear liquid.


    The breeze... Ardi remembered Grandfather¡¯s stories about the spirits that had appeared before their people were even born. These spirits had taken the form of animals and then become... Ardi couldn¡¯t recall the right word for it ¡ª guides? Yes, Grandfather had probably said guides.


    The spirits became guides for the first humans who came down from the trees. Why exactly they came down from the trees even Grandfather didn¡¯t know.


    The people began to learn from the animal spirits and eventually took the name Matabar. They lived in the mountains. In the mountains that Ardi knew as the Alcade.


    ¡°Dad.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± Father rumbled.


    Ardi looked at his reflection in the stream. Father had almost square features with a massive lower jaw and a high forehead. Mother said the only thing scarier than his father was a bison born of two brothers. Ardi never understood how anyone could be born of two brothers, which made everyone laugh.


    ¡°Will Mom be okay?¡±


    Father, squatting beside him, was also drawing something. Not with a twig, but a large stick. Ardi could spend a whole day pretending to be a knight of the ancient Kingdom of Ektas, which Grandfather had often told him about.


    Father was huge.


    Mother had said that every child thought that about their father, but first of all, Ardi wasn¡¯t a child anymore, and second, he didn¡¯t know anyone else his age. So, Mother must have been joking, because when Father entered the house, he always ducked to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe. He could pick up a milk jug with one hand without holding the handle.


    More than that, Ardi felt more comfortable on his father¡¯s shoulders than on the only rocking chair in their home. It stood in the living room by the fireplace. And also, Ardi just realized, he¡¯d never feared his father, unlike his Grandfather.


    He didn¡¯t fear his Father¡¯s sharp pupils, long fangs, strange eye color, or overly thick body hair that resembled fur. Father shaved a lot and often, but it didn¡¯t help much.


    ¡°Your grandfather will take care of it,¡± Father replied.


    And Ardi immediately believed him. Of course he would take care of it. They¡¯d been pushed out of the house as soon as some water had approached. And Mother had screamed. Ardi tried not to cry. Mother and Grandfather didn¡¯t like it when Ardi cried. They didn¡¯t show it, but the boy could tell that crying was not allowed.


    While Father...


    ¡°Better now?¡±


    Ardi nodded and wiped the wet traces from his eyes with his wrist. He saw his face reflected in the ripples on the stream¡¯s surface. He saw red eyes, along with slightly swollen nostrils and cheeks.


    ¡°Better,¡± the boy nodded.


    Father smiled, revealing a row of slightly yellowed teeth with two long fangs, the right one a little shorter than the left. Father had never told him where he¡¯d broken it, giving Ardi¡¯s imagination an endless source of inspiration.


    Perhaps Father had fought a mountain cougar? Or wrestled a bear before Ardi was even born? Or competed with boars to see who could cut down a young birch tree first?


    Father would probably manage in such a contest.


    Mother always complained that the amount of fabric and furs that went into Father¡¯s clothes could dress several customers in the village. Such a strange word. Ardi hoped the place itself was just as mysterious, just as enchanting and magical.


    Magical...


    Maybe there were even some wizards there? Nothing fascinated Ardi more than Grandfather¡¯s stories about wizards, sorcerers, shamans and magicians.


    ¡°You won¡¯t tell Mom, will you?¡± Ardi asked, trying to finish drawing the squirrel before the rush of water blew it away again.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Father murmured, putting his finger to his chin.


    Ardi looked at his hands. He wondered if his nails would become claws one day.


    ¡°What do I get for my silence?¡± Father narrowed his eyes at him slightly, so Ardi knew immediately that he wasn¡¯t being serious.


    When his father squinted, it was a sure sign that he was teasing the boy.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to tell Grandpa that you greased his cane this morning and that¡¯s why he fell.¡±


    Father blinked a few times in silence.


    ¡°So it was you, Ardan!¡± He exclaimed, almost dropping his stick. ¡°But you adore that¡­¡± Father choked on another word. ¡°Old man! And I honestly thought I¡¯d forgotten to clean up after oiling the gun.¡±


    Ardi turned away.


    He loved Grandfather.


    But...


    ¡°He called you a slug,¡± the boy whispered. ¡°Guta says it¡¯s an insult aimed at cowards. And Shali says the worst thing that can happen to a hunter is to become a coward. Skusty disagrees, of course, but I think Shali is right.¡±


    Father looked at him sternly, but warmly. In that, he was similar to Grandfather. Both were like two great fireplaces. Brightly glowing with comfort and warmth, but sometimes, rarely, coughing up unpleasant smoke.


    ¡°Were you eavesdropping?¡± Father asked, his jaw slightly clenched.


    That was a sign of ¡°strictness.¡±


    ¡°You were talking very loudly,¡± the boy replied evasively, trying not to meet his father¡¯s gaze.


    Father sighed and tapped Ardi lightly on the nose. Not hard. But noticeably.


    ¡°That squirrel is a bad influence on you, Ardan.¡±


    ¡°Skusty is not...¡± The boy was about to defend the squirrel who had been showering him with compliments all morning for his idea with the stick. But suddenly, he fell silent.


    Father, like Mother, had never believed that the wooden figures could talk. So how could Father know that Skusty had taught Ardi how to lie without saying a single false word? The squirrel had also said that he¡¯d learned that trick from a ¡°Sidhe with a very persuasive chest.¡±


    Of course, Ardi didn¡¯t know who or what a ¡°Sidhe¡± was and how a chest could be persuasive.


    ¡°Where...¡±


    ¡°When I was a child, I had toys too, Ardan,¡± Father put his stick aside and leaned against the nearby willow.


    Its branches caressed the surface of the babbling stream like hair. Ardi often came here to watch the unpredictable dance of its leaves in the water. And in winter, they sparkled like precious stones under a layer of ice.


    Father patted his thigh, and Ardi, putting his own twig aside, eagerly climbed onto his father¡¯s wide leg. It was even wider than the bench, the one they had built together with Grandfather in the birch grove.


    Leaning back against his father¡¯s chest, the boy relaxed so much that he almost fell asleep. He felt calm and serene there. Not afraid of anything, not worried about anything. Father was near. Everything was fine...


    ¡°Then why did you always tell me that it wasn¡¯t true?¡± Ardi asked without a trace of resentment or indignation in his tone. He was just curious. As always. ¡°That my toys couldn¡¯t talk to me.¡±


    He turned to look at his father, who, while hugging the child tightly, smiled.


    ¡°Because they can¡¯t,¡± Father replied, and the boy leaned back against his chest again. ¡°It¡¯s not the toys that are talking to you, Ardan. It¡¯s the ones that Grandfather called to watch over you.¡±


    ¡°Grandfather called them?¡±


    Father remained silent, and once again, Ardi felt the questions begin to crowd against his ears. He even considered covering them to keep them from spilling out. It was a silly feeling that followed him with the persistence of a bloodthirsty wolf.


    ¡°Once, my grandfather made such toys for me too,¡± Father whispered. ¡°And when the time came, I went to my teacher. For six years, I walked, talked, thought, and lived as he did. And when it was time to return, I... didn¡¯t immediately remember who I was.¡±


    Father fell silent. Ardi, placing his hand on his father¡¯s chest, felt the same thing as when he touched the edge of the ice in early spring. It was still strong, but ready to crack at any moment.


    ¡°How did you finally remember?¡± The boy asked.


    He didn¡¯t know if this was a made-up story like Grandfather¡¯s or if Father was really telling him something about his past. A past that Ardi knew almost nothing about.


    ¡°My mother called me, Ardan,¡± Father¡¯s voice trembled slightly as he pulled Ardi closer. So close that it hurt a bit, but the boy didn¡¯t show it. He felt that his father was in much more pain than he was. ¡°But I didn¡¯t make it in time. I couldn¡¯t get back before it was too late, son. The people from the valley got there first.¡±


    ¡°They... hurt Grandmother?¡± The boy wondered. ¡°Hurt her so badly that she had to leave?¡±


    Father nodded.


    ¡°And where did she go?¡±


    ¡°Very far, Ardan. Very far...¡± Father¡¯s eyes were like the stream running beside them. Slight ripples appeared on their surface. ¡°But don¡¯t blame the humans, son. They did not come out of malice or greed. They came out of fear.¡±


    ¡°And who scared them?¡±


    Father looked at him the same way the snow leopard Ergar had looked at Ardi the night before. He looked somewhere inside him. Under his skin. Under his very bones.


    ¡°We did,¡± Father answered briefly.


    ¡°We?¡± The boy was completely puzzled. ¡°But how can we scare anyone if we haven¡¯t even come down from the mountain?¡±


    Father turned away, and his gaze seemed to reach the distant peaks of old Alcade. But Ardi could feel, every bit as clearly as he felt the breeze that heralded the coming of winter, that his gaze was looking even farther beyond.


    ¡°There used to be more of us, son. So much more.¡±


    ¡°Many more?¡± The boy frowned. ¡°Six... no, ten?¡±


    Father shook his head.


    ¡°If you took those ten and added many more times ten, it still wouldn¡¯t be enough.¡±


    Wow! How many was that! And where did they all go? Why was the boy forced to wander the mountain alone, playing with wooden toys instead of other children?


    ¡°They all left, right?¡± Ardi whispered. ¡°Left to go to the place where Grandma went?¡±


    This time, Father nodded affirmatively, resting his chin on the boy¡¯s head.


    ¡°Ardan, if, someday¡­¡± Father pulled back slightly, then removed a thin leather strap from around his neck. A long, white fang was attached to it. Untying the knot and making the strap much shorter, Father placed the fang around the boy¡¯s neck. ¡°If one day, I can¡¯t return to retrieve this... gift, then...¡± Father blinked and turned toward the river. Ardi could almost hear the spring ice cracking in his father¡¯s chest. ¡°Listen to your grandfather. Respect your mother. Protect your brother. And never forget, Ardan, that you have not only the blood of the Matabar, the Guardians of the mountains, but also human blood. The blood of the Galessians, the people who forged our Empire. And you have the right to choose your destiny and your path. No one can ever tell you who you are, what you can and cannot do. Your life is your own. And remember,¡± Father turned and kissed Ardi gently on the top of his head. He did so tenderly and carefully, and so gently, in fact, that it was as if he were afraid Ardi would break in half if he did something wrong. ¡°Remember, I love you more than anything in this world or any other.¡±


    The boy nodded slightly, dazed.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get going. It¡¯s time for you to meet your brother.¡±


    Father lifted the boy, stood up, and effortlessly, as if he were just a feather, placed Ardi on his shoulders. And with him there, he ran, racing the birds and leaping over streams and ravines, back to the house.


    ¡°How do you know that I now have a brother?¡± The child asked, laughing. Along with the wind playing with the boy¡¯s hair, the strange conversation blew out of his head.


    Father smiled mysteriously, just like Grandfather, and whispered:


    ¡°The wind told me.¡±

 Chapter 3 - Fire and Sparks

    Ardi and his father burst into his parents¡¯ room. It was slightly larger than Ardi¡¯s, but somehow... comfortable. Cozy. The sun shone through the slightly cracked glass of the perpetually open windows. Ardi couldn¡¯t remember them ever being closed, even in winter. The sound of the curtains, reminiscent of owls¡¯ feathers rustling in the wind, could be heard even from the corridor. And there was always a pleasant smell.


    Every few days, Mother would change the flowers in the tall vase hidden in the corner of the room on a small, carved table which was almost the color of cherries. It was the only piece of colorful furniture in their kingdom of slightly shabby gray boards.


    Ardi approached the bed. The taste of iron filled his mouth. The smell of blood was as strong as the flowers. It was an odd mixture of the fading autumn and something he had never felt before, something invisible, yet palpable. Sticky, greedy, twisted fingers gripped his heart, twisting and turning at will. His lungs emptied of air all on their own.


    The boy grabbed the bedrail and, just like when he was a child, found refuge and a comforting space where the nightmares that tormented him at night couldn¡¯t reach. Drawing strength from the memory of his parents¡¯ embrace, he managed to look up at his mother.


    She resembled their boards. She was somehow crumpled, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Bloodstains marred the gray sheets, making the boy clutch the railing tighter.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid,¡± she whispered softly, barely audible. Perhaps she didn¡¯t even whisper those words with her cracked lips, but only with her eyes the color of the table where her favorite flowers stood. They were brown with a tint. They were almost the color of cherries. ¡°Come closer, Ardi.¡±


    The boy looked at his father, then at his grandfather. The old man seemed even older right then, but he still smiled broadly. Like everyone else around him. In the reflection of the vase, the sun outside winked, appearing and disappearing behind low clouds. And the boy thought about how much they all looked like that sun right now. They were literally glowing. Not with their skin or their bright eyes. But from within.


    And Ardi plunged headlong into something for which he had no words, but he felt like he would never forget this moment. He was no longer bothered by the crimson-stained rags that had been thrown into the corner of the room, nor by the acrid smell, nor by the metallic taste on his tongue.


    Slowly, carefully placing his feet, as if one misstep could shatter the scene like it was the vase itself, he approached the headboard. His mother was still breathing hard. Her wet, tangled hair was spread across the pillows, cascading in small, serpentine strands onto her trembling shoulders.


    ¡°Look, Ardi,¡± she said, her fingers suddenly seeming so fragile as she gently pulled back the edge of a small blanket wrapped around the snow-white sheet. ¡°Meet Ertan. Erti. Your brother.¡±


    The boy leaned in. At first, he didn¡¯t understand what he was seeing. It was something small, purple. Were it not for the strange sniffling and the barely perceptible fingers on its tiny hands, Ardi might have thought his mother had brought out an eggplant.


    But with each passing second, with each heartbeat, Ardi felt something strange. Invisible threads, stronger than any of the ropes his father used to tie boats together, enveloped him from head to toe. But they weren¡¯t strangling him. They were pulling him. Pulling him toward this little bundle that smelled of flowers and something sweet.


    Without meaning to, Ardi reached out his hand, and tiny, soft fingers grabbed his index finger. They squeezed gently, and Ardi realized that he wasn¡¯t the only one bound by these ropes. They had tied the two of them together with an invisible, unbreakable bond.


    ¡°Hello,¡± the boy said in a melodious, unfamiliar language he had made up on the spot. Or maybe he¡¯d somehow remembered it... But that didn¡¯t matter right then. ¡°I am your brother. And you are mine. These lands are your lands. We will walk among the stones and the grasses, the waters and the winds. We are one, you and I.¡±


    The bundle yawned, released his finger, and then nestled back into the sheet. Ardi stepped back. The feeling of being bound by heavy ropes gradually faded, leaving behind a sense of completeness. It was as if he had been walking this world with only half of himself, and now, suddenly, he was whole.


    ¡°The time has come, Hector,¡± Grandpa whispered, but for some reason, Ardi could still hear him.


    Just as he could hear the rustle of the trees at the forest¡¯s edge, the murmur of a stream gradually encased in ice, and even the distant laughter of a brook, still remembering the traces of two people. Ardi saw birds soaring between distant clouds, and seemed to recognize the pattern of feathers on their broad wings. He saw far, heard deep, and felt things he had never felt before.


    ¡°Over my dead body, old man,¡± his father growled. ¡°And now...¡±


    ¡°And now,¡± his mother interrupted, her voice sounding like iron despite her appearance. ¡°May my husband approach his youngest son?¡±


    Ardi blinked and the vision faded, lost in the sound of his father¡¯s laughter as he wiped away tears. He smiled broadly, shining so brightly that the blinking sun seemed a modest spark from a splinter of wood compared to him. His mother, rocking Erti gently in her arms, whispered something to him. Something soft and tender. Ardi even thought he knew what it was. As if the same sounds had been whispered to him once, back when he¡¯d been wrapped in a blanket, and now lingered forever in the deepest and most hidden corners of his memory.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Grandpa said quietly, squeezing the boy¡¯s shoulder.


    Ardi looked up at his grandfather and froze. His eyes were covered with a barely perceptible, transparent veil, but that wasn¡¯t what made the boy freeze. Unlike his laughing father and his mother who had turned into a warm blanket, Grandpa appeared like the sky before an autumn rain. Still light, but ready to fall upon his shoulders with an unpleasant drizzle. Maybe this was what adult tiredness looked like.


    Tiredness and something else. Ardi didn¡¯t know this feeling yet. But maybe it was like expecting to catch a big carp in the river and pulling out a frog instead. Still good, but not the same.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Grandpa repeated.


    Ardi wanted to protest, but unexpectedly strong fingers grabbed his shoulder and literally dragged him out of the room. He managed to glance at his parents in a silent plea for rescue, but they were completely absorbed in the contents of the small bundle being lulled to sleep in his mother¡¯s arms.


    They passed through the corridor, still dusty and creaky no matter how much it had been repaired and cleaned, and soon found themselves on the porch. Only then did Grandpa release his grip and slump heavily into the rocking chair where he spent many evenings.


    Ardi looked up at the sky.


    It was getting dark. To the east, beyond the peaks of the Alcade, the night was already unfolding its cool embrace, promising to bring a grumpy fall with it. Ardi didn¡¯t like fall. Or summer. He liked winter and spring because...


    ¡°Ardan.¡±


    The boy flinched. He turned away from the distant mountains and looked at his grandfather. The old man was hiding his eyes behind a slightly trembling, even more withered hand. If Grandpa had until recently resembled an old oak, he now looked like a tree struck by lightning ¡ª ready to collapse into a pile of ashes at any moment.


    ¡°Grandpa!¡±


    The boy jumped to the chair, ready to grab his grandfather, but froze. What if a single touch proved to be enough to make the slightly swaying elder truly crumble?


    ¡°Everything¡¯s fine,¡± Grandpa¡¯s smile trembled almost as much as his hands. ¡°We need to talk, Ardan.¡±


    His grandfather¡¯s words enveloped him. Or rather, not his words, but just a single word ¡ª his own name. It went as deep as Ergar¡¯s and his father¡¯s looks. Truly deep, to a place where Ardi didn¡¯t want anyone to go. Not consciously, but just because.


    ¡°Your brother, Ardan,¡± the sounds gradually faded away. The song of the cicadas had barely begun, and the melodic rustle of the laughing leaves swaying to the rhythm of the wind was gone as well. Ardi was underwater. He was somehow invisible, but no less real. ¡°He wasn¡¯t born like you.¡±


    His brother? He had a brother?


    Everything around him receded. Blurred. The boy seemed to be hiding in the sideboard again, watching the world through the prism of old, cloudy glass, waiting for the right moment to jump out and scare everyone.


    ¡°The blood of the Matabar slumbers within him and will probably never wake,¡± Grandfather¡¯s words pierced deeper and deeper, and there was nothing Ardi could do about it. ¡°Listen to my voice, Ardan. Don¡¯t be distracted. Focus on it.¡±


    Ardi obeyed, and the world around him vanished. The boy seemed to be here, on the familiar veranda, and also somewhere far away. Beneath the water, which was not just water, but the silt of the river, which covered him with a cold, unpleasant blanket.


    But he had to endure.


    Grandfather had asked him to.


    ¡°These bonds will only harm your path, my boy.¡± The long, sharp splinters seemed to have reached their destination. They¡¯d found the ropes that had just tied Ardi to Erti.


    Erti...


    His brother...


    He had a brother.


    He was small and defenseless, like the squirrel Skusty had begged him to save. It had been scary. Very scary. But Ardi had saved it anyway. He¡¯d climbed the tallest tree in the pine forest. He¡¯d defeated a giant owl with a stick, and then, proudly bearing the cuts from the bird¡¯s steel claws, he had helped the little squirrel hide in a small hollow. He¡¯d pulled it into the light and, after seeing and hearing the words it needed in its eyes, had found its family and returned the squirrel to its home.


    What did a squirrel have to do with any of this?


    Everything was so unclear, so vague.


    ¡°Listen to my voice, Ardan,¡± Grandpa¡¯s voice came from far away. From the past or the future. ¡°Whoever was born tonight is not your brother,¡± the needles stabbed at the ropes, trying to break the strong knots. ¡°You will never become one. Your paths are two different journeys. He is your family, but not one with you. His destiny is his land. Your destiny is your land.¡±


    More and more needles pierced the bonds that seemed to be the most precious thing Ardi possessed. But Grandfather didn¡¯t want to hurt him. Ardi knew that, he could feel it. Grandpa loved him. Ardi could feel that, too.


    But...


    Erti.


    His brother.


    Brother¡­


    ¡°N-n-no,¡± Ardi barely managed to utter.


    He recoiled. He clutched the fang that hung around his neck as if it could give him strength. As much strength as the only person Ardi knew was truly strong possessed. His father. Hector Egobar would have had enough strength to dig himself out of the cold mud and swim to the surface.


    ¡°Ardan...¡±


    ¡°No-no-no-no-no,¡± Ardi repeated, gripping the fang tighter and tighter.


    Suddenly, the boy felt something hot trickle down his fingers. The vision was gone. There were no more sharp splinters trying to cut the ropes. Still intact and unscathed, they held something precious deep inside the boy.


    He opened his eyes sharply and saw a figure before him that was as astonishing as it was terrifying. It was the size of an adult bear, with paws as thick as birch trees, claws and fangs shining like crescent moons, and four tails wrapped around Ardi.


    The figure shimmered and sparkled, and through it, as though looking through the clearest of streams, he saw his stooped grandfather. He seemed to have shrunk and withered, sprawled out as he was in his chair.


    ¡°You are wrong about this, Ergar.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps, my old friend,¡± the leopard¡¯s growl sounded faint. ¡°But I am indebted to Hector. And by Heaven and Earth, I will repay him, even if it destroys our last hope.¡±


    Ardi could feel his grandfather looking not at the ghost, but through it and straight at the boy. And for the first time since his childhood, Ardi feared those terrible eyes. They were not the familiar, loving ones he saw every day.


    The boy succumbed to his emotions and, still not unclenching the bloody fist that held the fang, he ran. He ran wherever his eyes took him. Through the night descending on the mountain. Through moss and ravines. Through gullies and bushes. Away from him. From the one who wore his grandfather¡¯s face, who spoke with his voice and breathed with his chest, but wasn¡¯t him.


    The ghost faded, taking with it the tired old man¡¯s words:


    ¡°You already have, Ergar, Storm of the Mountain Peaks.¡±


    ***


    Ardi awoke on the edge of a stone ledge. It was wide enough for the boy to lie down on. The Grumbling Old Man¡¯s Tongue. It was Ardi¡¯s favorite spot in the whole area. Why?


    The boy turned onto his stomach and hung over it slightly. Tonight, for some reason, he saw nothing but strange, black clouds covering the sky above the village. Usually, on any other night, Ardi could see strange lights flickering like fireflies at the base of the mountain. They were strange because they seemed unnatural. Unreal. Not descending from the sky in white spirals, or coming from red sparks struck by special stones.


    And among those lights, barely visible dots were moving. People. Before the Sheriff had climbed the mountain, Ardi had never seen another adult human closer than the ledge allowed him to. But no one in the family liked the boy coming here. Maybe they were afraid he¡¯d fall and tumble down the slope. As Grandpa had said once, if that happened, only Ardi¡¯s curious nose would reach the bottom.


    Grandpa.


    His thoughts tangled... scratched in his head like hungry mice. Swift and quick, impossible to catch.


    How did Ardi even get here?


    He couldn¡¯t remember.


    The last clear memory he had was of his father preparing to meet Erti. And that was it. Then came the fog, in which bright fragments of something unpleasant occasionally flared up.


    ¡°Hel...p!¡±


    The rising wind carried the word to Ardi¡¯s ears. It also brought different smells with it. Some were new. There was something acrid, flammable. Salty. Sickly sweet. There were more new smells than familiar ones. But the boy focused on the latter.


    Burnt wood, hot iron and... blood.


    Something was happening in the village, hidden by the black clouds that gave off that ridiculous smell of burning. Something horrible that immediately reminded Ardi of the sticky, cold fingers he¡¯d recently encountered in his parents¡¯ bedroom.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°I have to tell Dad!¡± The boy almost slapped himself.


    He was about to run home when he saw two red marks on the stones of the ledge. Marks very similar to his own hands. So similar that the boy couldn¡¯t resist pressing his hands to them.


    They were identical.


    Bloody marks.


    His marks¡­


    The boy looked down at his hand. The deep cut left there by the beast¡¯s fang, which was now hanging uncomfortably on his chest, had already healed.


    ¡°Cub.¡±


    Ardi turned sharply. Behind him, on the grass that broke through the stone, stood a toy leopard. It shimmered slightly in the bright light of the Alcade¡¯s stars.


    ¡°Ergar? What are you...¡± The boy shook his head. No, no. He had no time for this. ¡°Sorry! I have to go home! Dad has to...¡±


    ¡°Hector...¡± Ergar¡¯s wooden eyes glistened slightly. ¡°The one whose seed you came from, child, is already there. Among the two-legged ones.¡±


    Ardi shook his head. His thoughts changed from mice to rats. Unpleasant. Foul-smelling. They were just like those clouds slowly climbing the mountain, scratching the stones and blackening the slope.


    ¡°What are you talking about, Ergar?¡± The boy shouted, clutching the fang he had been given. ¡°My father is home! With Mom and Erti! I have to warn him!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too late, child. The two-legged one with the iron came to your lair. He took Hector with him.¡±


    The two-legged with the iron? That Sheriff?


    ¡°Look,¡± Ergar whispered, his voice barely audible, as if he were holding the boy soothingly. ¡°Look down with my eyes, child. Listen with my ears. You¡¯ve earned it. As did Hector...¡±


    The world expanded, deepened. Ardi saw colors whose names he didn¡¯t know and had never imagined could exist. Fragrances took on volume and shape, creating translucent, misty images of their owners. Wind currents turned into wide rivers, carving the air with thousands of different details. Sounds transformed from whispers to thunderous roars.


    But the boy didn¡¯t care about the revealed magnificence hidden behind the veil of human blindness, deafness, and their almost nonexistent sense of smell.


    His eyes, which were now shining, with pupils narrowed to vertical slits, looked down. They pierced the parting clouds of black smoke that seemed frozen in front of the small leopard figure. In an instant, the darkness retreated from the mountain.


    What had once seemed like a distant, mythical place ¡ª the village ¡ª now opened up to Ardi with the decisiveness of an unlocked chest, one no longer capable of keeping secrets. The boy saw what his grandfather¡¯s stories had called streets. Paths, not trampled through forest grass, but literally beaten into the ground, covered with compacted dust and sparse plank floors.


    There were houses. Many houses. Small and big, wide and narrow. With signs and without. With windows and shutters.


    He also saw strange, bulbous structures and lots of iron. And screams. And such a stench. And so much clatter. The smell of fire and copper¡­


    But the boy was not afraid. Whatever Ergar had done, he¡¯d given Ardi not only his eyes, ears and nose, but perhaps his heart as well.


    Lying on the ledge and clutching the sharp stones with his fingers, Ardi ran through the smells and sounds. He leapt over the moaning women on the ground, who were shielding crying children from the mocking tongues of purple flames that devoured the roofs and walls of buildings. Sometimes, the women screamed as a passing horseman squeezed the trigger of a revolver and the bullet whistled out of the barrel and into the bodies of running, screaming people.


    Ardi passed a fallen man who was picking up some snakes that were slipping out of a wound in his stomach. The boy jumped over the roof of a house where people were wailing. And it was unclear whether they were screaming from the pain of their own fear, or from the fire creeping closer to the villagers trapped in the wooden box.


    The boy slipped under two riders who were firing at each other almost point-blank with carbines. He recognized one of them as Sheriff Kelly Bryan, half his chest covered in a flowing red bandage that reeked of copper like everything else around him.


    The boy followed the scent, leaping over ravines of flowers and flashes of distant sound, searching in the chaos of the collapsing world for the one thing that mattered to him.


    The village was burning, people were screaming.


    Dozens of riders circled the fleeing, weeping, shrieking townspeople. Some fired back, others tried to hide, but what seemed to be a safe corner turned into a fiery trap when a passing rider threw a small, red stick under the walls of the building. Explosions rang out and the scarlet sprays of summer flowers colored the sky, only to fall to the ground in a deathly pattern.


    The boy ran.


    He ran until he found what he was looking for.


    Amid the smoke, soot, and desperate wails, he saw a building ¡ª one of the few that had not yet been touched by the indifferent flames. For a moment, Ardi thought he could feel it, too... feel the fire. Feel it not as something warm and usually harmless, but... almost alive. Almost sentient. Capable of saying something, even. It was as if, in those crackles, explosions, and bursts, Ardi could hear faint sounds...


    ¡°The school... children,¡± the smells and sounds formed the image of a man lying on the ground.


    He somewhat resembled Grandpa. He smelled like old age and dampness. His strength had left him, and he¡¯d dropped a simple hunting rifle.


    Nearby stood Hector.


    With the toe of his boot, he flipped the weapon into the air and, twisting the carved carbine barrel, pulled the trigger. The rider galloping toward him with a glowing red stick in his hand fell from his horse and covered the stick with his dead body. Not even a heartbeat passed before a booming explosion, which blossomed into another fiery flower, went through his body and appeared from between his shoulder blades.


    Ardi saw it.


    His father did not.


    He picked up the old hunter¡¯s rifle, dropped to one knee, hid behind a wide water barrel that covered the entrance to the building where a dozen children, children just like Ardi, were crying, and pulled the trigger again and again.


    Click, Boom!


    Click, Boom!


    Rhythmically, almost calmly, the rifle responded. Still-smoking shells fell at Hector¡¯s feet, but he paid no attention to their treacherous bites, which left black marks on his pants and skin.


    ¡°Ranger!¡± The sounds and smells formed the silhouette of another man out of the clouds of smoke. He was younger than Grandfather, but older than Ardi¡¯s father. ¡°Cover me!¡±


    Father turned silently toward the figure and, tossing aside the emptied rifle, drew a revolver. With one hand, he cocked the hammer and squeezed the trigger, firing several shots.


    At first, Ardi thought Hector had been aiming at the screaming man, but as the figure ran under a hail of bullets that tore through the space on the other side of the street, he realized that wasn¡¯t the case.


    The figure jumped over the barrel and, drawing the same rifle to himself, leaned his back against the shelter where Hector had hidden.


    ¡°Bastards! Sons of bitches!¡± The unknown figure swore. He reloaded his shotgun. ¡°Where are the lawmen Kelly sent for?¡±


    Instead of answering him, Hector pulled one of the explosive sticks from his belt and, after lighting the fuse, threw it toward a building with a tilted sign.


    ¡°You won¡¯t reach...¡±


    Whatever the figure had been about to say, the explosion and the screams, merging into a single hum, drowned out the rest of his sentence. Smoke rose again, along with the smell of death and blood. Shrapnel scattered across the copper-red street. Fiery sparks danced in their viscous reflections, almost allowing someone to mistake the nightmarish scene for a celebration.


    ¡°Damn you, Hector,¡± the figure spat. ¡°Sometimes, I forget you¡¯re not human.¡±


    ¡°Less talking, Oleg,¡± Hector hissed, quickly reloading both weapons. He took off his wide-brimmed hat and hung it on the carbine barrel. Slowly raising his makeshift scarecrow over the barrel, he said, ¡°There are two shooters on the prison roof.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    Hector turned to the figure and frowned.


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± he nodded. ¡°Fucking Matabar eyes and ears...¡±


    They both sat in silence for a while. Even as people screamed around them, explosions sounded, and the smell of copper grew stronger, they didn¡¯t leave their cover. Some might have called it cowardice, but Ardi knew that as long as his father stood between the children and danger, Hector Egobar wouldn¡¯t leave his post, no matter what.


    ¡°Tell me, Lieutenant,¡± Hector growled, making the boy shrink against the rock, despite the fact that he was miles away from the scene. ¡°Why would the Shanti¡¯Ra lay siege to Evergale to get to its prison?¡±


    The silhouette, to his credit, quickly overcame his surprise.


    ¡°Kelly, he...¡±


    ¡°He what?¡±


    The figure turned away.


    ¡°Remember those farmers?¡±


    Hector frowned even more.


    ¡°The Ogdens?¡±


    ¡°Yes, them,¡± the silhouette nodded, then briefly peeked out from behind their cover and fired at a passing rider.


    The bullet missed the humanoid silhouette but struck their horse¡¯s head. The horse didn¡¯t even have time to neigh. Its mighty legs buckled, and the animal flew forward, dragging its rider, who hadn¡¯t managed to get his feet out of the stirrups, with it. Both of them fell in a heap right next to the ¡°jail,¡± breaking most of their bones in the process.


    ¡°Damn it! Who builds a jail across from a school?¡± The figure shouted, immediately ducking for cover as the two shooters on the roof fired at them.


    ¡°And what does this have to do with the Ogdens?¡± Hector prompted, occasionally firing his revolver into the screaming darkness.


    ¡°Besides the fact that they were disemboweled?¡± The figure sneered, reloading his gun. ¡°Oh, not much, Ranger. Just that Mrs. Ogden was once Ms. Bryan.¡±


    ¡°Bryan? Just...¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the figure called ¡°Lieutenant¡± peered out and fired again. ¡°Just like Kelly Bryan.¡±


    Hector said something in a language unfamiliar to Ardi.


    ¡°So, our brave, retired cavalry officer could think of nothing better than to track down the youngest son of the Shanti¡¯Ra chief, lock him up, and send a telegram to Delpas.¡±


    The unfamiliar language and its very harsh, short words came again.


    ¡°Is that Dwarfish?¡±


    ¡°Orcish,¡± Hector corrected him, then pulled a knife from his boot and raised it to eye level, catching the reflection of the shooters peering down from the roof. ¡°If we don¡¯t get them down from there, even if the lawmen make it here before Evergale is reduced to ashes...¡±


    ¡°Hey... Ranger.¡±


    Hector turned to the silhouette. A pool of copper-scented blood was spreading across the figure¡¯s abdomen, like the blossoms of impending death.


    ¡°Damn it, Lieutenant!¡±


    Hector pulled the figure to him, but the latter didn¡¯t feel it anymore. Ergar¡¯s eyes saw the moment when something weightless, almost invisible, without color or smell, left the lips of the man called ¡°Lieutenant.¡± His last breath. So that¡¯s what Grandfather had been talking about in his stories.


    Hector took the dead man¡¯s hat and covered his face with it, then he put his carbine aside, removed his revolver¡¯s holster and stood to his full height.


    Ardi wanted to scream, but his lips wouldn¡¯t move and his tongue was a lifeless stone. He wanted to jump up and run to his father¡¯s aid, but his body wouldn¡¯t listen, as if it had fused with the rock.


    The two men on the roof, they would...


    But their carbines were silent.


    They spat no deadly steel into the night. Hector stood with his knife, facing another silhouette. One taller than Hector. Broader in the shoulders. Ardi could hardly imagine such a hulking figure moving on only two legs, but there it was ¡ª standing right before Hector.


    It had legs as thick as young oaks and arms as broad as a mustang¡¯s neck. It also had a square face with a square jaw and two sharp tusks almost touching its cheeks.


    ¡°Orla kan du,¡± the silhouette spoke in an unfamiliar language ¡ª the same one Hector had just been cursing in. But after a moment, Ardi began to understand the words. ¡°Between you and me, there is no enmity, no blood, Highlander. All past is past. All that is forgotten is forgotten. Our peoples are brothers. You guard your land, I guard mine.¡±


    ¡°This is not your land, orc,¡± Hector said. For some reason, he took off his jacket and shirt, leaving him in only his pants. In his hands, he held his broad hunting knife. ¡°Take your son and leave the village.¡±


    ¡°Leave the village?¡± The monster from Grandfather¡¯s stories growled. ¡°Look around you, Matabar. What is left of this village?¡±


    ¡°Most of the people managed to take cover,¡± Hector stood his ground. Grandpa had always said that Hector was known for his stubbornness. ¡°Homes can be rebuilt. The dead can be buried. Leave, orc. The marshals will be here soon.¡±


    ¡°The marshals?¡± The orc either scoffed or laughed. ¡°There will be no marshals, Matabar.¡±


    The silhouette unfastened something from his belt. Something round and heavy. He threw it at Hector¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t make it, did they...¡± Hector muttered, shifting the knife from his left hand to his right.


    The silhouettes behind the monster raised their rifles, the bolts clicking, but none of them pulled their triggers. A menacing, thunderous growl and the mighty swing of an arm made them freeze.


    ¡°You want to fight, Highlander?¡± The monster roared. ¡°Fight me? A blood brother? For whom? For your masters? For your oppressors and enslavers? What will your ancestors say? The gods and spirits will turn from your path, traitor!¡±


    ¡°Damn you,¡± Hector sighed, shaking his head. ¡°You remind me of my old man, orc. You both live in the past. And by the past. The Dark Lord is gone, orc. He fell long ago. There are no more brothers. No more of your land, no more of mine. There is only one land. For all. And if you will not leave, I will protect it. And as the gods commanded, as you said, I will do so to the last drop of blood.¡±


    Hector crouched slightly, his legs shoulder-width apart. Something white suddenly glowed across his body. White and very cold. His muscles, already almost as big as the orc¡¯s, swelled. Veins bulged. Tendons stretched like ropes over his body. His fangs grew longer, his hair bristled, and sharp, yellow claws extended from his hands.


    ¡°To the last drop of your blood, blood brother,¡± Hector growled, looking nothing like the man Ardi knew.


    No, there, in the midst of blood, smoke and fire, stood something between a man and Ergar¡¯s figure. Someone who had taken on the form of a mountain leopard.


    ¡°Matabar,¡± the orc said, taking off his upper clothes and picking up a couple of short axes. ¡°Tonight, the story of your race ends. But do not fear. I will tell my children of your bravery. And they will tell their children, and one day, they will become songs and...¡±


    ¡°No, orc,¡± Hector growled. ¡°It is I who will tell my son that tonight I freed the plains from the bandits of the Shanti¡¯Ra.¡±


    ¡°Your son?¡± The orc lowered his axes. ¡°The Matabar do not end with you and that old man? Is this true, Hector Egobar, the last of the Highlanders? May the Howling Wolf believe my words, this is the happiest news I have heard in the last twenty years!¡±


    The orc banged his axe handles against his chest and let out an animal roar that momentarily turned into a thunderous rumble that drowned out all other sounds.


    ¡°Put away your fangs and claws, Matabar,¡± the orc said calmly, sounding quite friendly, even. ¡°Take your woman, your old man, and your son. Return to the mountains. We will not follow. My word on it.¡±


    ¡°Get lost,¡± Hector replied.


    The orc growled and raised his axes again.


    ¡°Fool! You cannot defeat me! Someone who has worn a man¡¯s skin for so many years and forgotten who he truly is has no hope against me!¡± The monster¡¯s silhouette clashed his axes together. ¡°You will die!¡±


    ¡°Only you will die tonight!¡±


    Ardi couldn¡¯t imagine moving with such speed.


    If not for Ergar¡¯s eyes, he wouldn¡¯t have been able to see his movements, even if he¡¯d been standing close to his father. Where Hector had once stood, only heel marks remained on the ground.


    The hunter soared into the air, spun around, and landed directly in front of the orc. Before Ardi could understand what was happening, Hector had already thrust his right hand forward in a swift, straight lunge.


    The orc roared and raised his axes, but they hit nothing but air. Without a moment¡¯s hesitation, Hector had transferred his knife to his left hand, caught it at the base of its guard, and then slid along the ground.


    With feline agility, he slipped between the orc¡¯s legs, and when the monster leapt aside to avoid a truly painful wound or worse, Hector slashed him just below the knee. Blood of an alien color and smell splattered the ground.


    ¡°Sharp claws, Snow Leopard!¡± The orc laughed instead of wincing in pain.


    No¡­


    Laughing, he pounced. Like an angry bear awakened from its slumber, and seeing nothing but his target, axes crossed, the orc charged forward. The ground shook beneath his feet and the air filled with sparks from his wild, laughing eyes, which reflected how drunk on battle and blood he was.


    His axes sliced through the air like waterwheel blades, passing a millimeter above Hector¡¯s head, who had ducked just in time. Ardi¡¯s father pushed off the ground and jumped over the orc, drawing his knife again and leaving a second slash on his body ¡ª this time along the orc¡¯s back.


    Now the beast howled. Gray blood spurted into the air in an arc. Someone raised a rifle.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± The creature roared. ¡°Orak Han-da!¡±


    It turned, straightened, and towered over Hector. The monster¡¯s breathing slowed. It spread its axes wide, then brought them together, making a sound so powerful that Ardi screamed from the pain in his ears.


    The boy covered them with his hands, feeling streams of blood run down his fingers. But he never took his eyes off the fight.


    The monster¡¯s axes glowed strangely, and the air, bending to his will, formed a ball that hit the ground at Hector¡¯s feet.


    The hunter was flung into the air like a limp kitten.


    ¡°Father!¡± Ardi screamed in panic.


    The orc was already leaping after him, axes raised high, ready to deliver a crushing blow. But Hector... he seemed to push away from something. As if somehow weightless, as if gravity had no hold on him, a meter above the ground, he found a foothold more solid than stone.


    Twisting like a snake, he flipped once more over the orc and was ready when the beast landed. The knife twisted in Hector¡¯s hand. He angled his weapon in a reverse grip and drove the blade with all his strength into the creature¡¯s side.


    The monster howled.


    ¡°Father!¡± Ardi rejoiced.


    That stupid monster! How could he compare to Ardi¡¯s father! There was no faster or stronger hunter in all of the Alcade...


    ¡°I got you,¡± the orc hissed with a smile.


    Hector¡¯s eyes widened. He let go of his knife and tried to jump aside, but it was too late. The orc grabbed him, forcing him into his iron embrace, crushing him like a bear crushes its prey.


    ¡°Father...¡±


    Hector growled.


    His sharp fangs sunk into the monster¡¯s collarbone. The claws on his feet and hands sliced and tore flesh. Gray sprays jettisoned out, then poured down, but the beast stood firm. Despite his many wounds and endlessly flowing blood, he continued to crush Hector, grinning.


    Ardi felt something hot trickle down his cheeks.


    Tears.


    They were the color of fire.


    ¡°Goodbye, Matabar.¡±


    ¡°Ar...d...an...¡± Hector rasped.


    And then the orc howled like a hungry wolf and, straining his muscles, squeezed one final time. Bones crunched, and blood and various other fluids poured from Hector¡¯s eyes, mouth, ears and nose. And as the monster released his grip, he fell to the ground. He twitched, jerked, reached for a mountain cliff and stilled forever, lying there with one hand still outstretched.


    ¡°Father... Get up, Father...¡± The boy whispered. ¡°Stop pretending... Father.¡±


    The orc bent over the body, picked up the knife, licked the blood from it, and tucked it into his belt.


    ¡°Orak Han-da... A glorious battle,¡± he said, then turned to the building and sniffed. ¡°Human children...¡± He said with a slight sadness. ¡°That''s why you didn''t back down, Hector... well, consider that their lives were paid for by yours.¡±


    The monster shook his head and motioned for his men to leave. They holstered their weapons and walked down the street, leaving the building untouched.


    And Ardi...


    He looked down. There, under the hill. There, in the sand, lay something that had been his father. The biggest and mightiest beast of the Alcade. Impregnable and unshakable. Familiar. Warm. The most reliable thing in his life¡­ His father.


    ¡°No,¡± Ardi said. ¡°No-no-no-no.¡±


    He gripped the rocks so hard they touched the bones in his fingers.


    ¡°Dad...¡±


    The boy¡¯s eyes turned to long slits. Short fangs appeared in his mouth, the hair on his head stirred, and claws grew from his fingers.


    That monster...


    That beast...


    Ardi reached down. He plunged into the sounds of the roaring fire. They filled him. Not with warmth, but with pain. Dozens of screams merged in that crackle. Hundreds of screams. Bodies of men and women burning in the fire gave off the scent of mocking death. Their skin burst, their bones turned to ash. And that mingled with the black smoke, slid through the wind and covered the figures of the killers.


    Grandfather¡¯s stories had never lied.


    Monsters really did exist.


    And Ardi¡¯s eyes never left one of them.


    The orc who had been walking down the street stopped. After standing for a while, he turned to the hidden mountain in the night. Their eyes met. Or so it seemed like to Ardi. But what he certainly didn¡¯t imagine was the whisper he heard in the flickering flames.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare, cub!¡± Ergar roared, but it was already too late.


    Ardan held out his hand, and a name escaped his lips. For a moment, the chaotic dance of the burning village froze. The flames stopped. Then, stretching into a ribbon, they touched the orc¡¯s flesh.


    The boy fell unconscious, pale and cold. He was almost hanging from the ledge. And somewhere out there, amid the burning Evergale, the orc rose, his face melted by these flames, leaving behind a mark in the shape of a child¡¯s hand.


    ¡°I will wait for you,¡± the monster said before disappearing into the smoke. ¡°The last of the Matabar¡­¡±

 Chapter 4 - Dance of the snow

    The snow crunched underfoot as they walked. It greedily swallowed their footsteps, sinking a few centimeters with every step they took. It also left diamond-like ice crystals all over their heavy boots, causing them to shimmer in the starlight. Shaia shivered and reached for her face, but just in time, she remembered Grandpa¡¯s warning and refrained from rubbing her tearstained cheeks. Instead, she clutched tightly at the bundle of woolen blankets and rags from which small, barely perceptible clouds of steam occasionally escaped.


    ¡°Just a little farther, my dear,¡± came a voice from the darkness. The wind, joyfully welcoming the mountain winter, was whipping up swirls of snow dust, making it nearly impossible for Shaia to see the figure ahead of her. ¡°Hang on. We¡¯re almost there.¡±


    And perhaps that was why it seemed to her like there, in the shimmering darkness, amid all the snow and the sparse, low trees, her husband Hector was walking with his head held high. Shaia quickened her pace, now almost knee-deep in the cold and damp, reaching out with her hand and her whole body, but in the end, she only brushed the fur on the hood of a slightly hunched old man carrying her firstborn in his arms.


    No, it was all just an illusion¡­


    Hector Egobar had been lying under a rock for several hours now, near the place Shaia had, until recently, called home. But what kind of home was it if your husband didn¡¯t return to it, if your children¡¯s laughter no longer echoed through it, and if there was nothing left... Just a cold hearth, rotten floorboards and empty rooms. Rooms as empty as a significant part of Shaia¡¯s own heart...


    ¡°Ardi will be fine,¡± Grandpa repeated.


    They¡¯d found him a few hours after Hector and the new Sheriff had descended the mountain and headed for Evergale. He was so cold, pale, and had traces of blood on his face and hands. He looked so small and shriveled. His cheeks glistened with frozen tears, etched there in crimson streaks.


    When Shaia had first seen her son, it had felt like she¡¯d forgotten how to breathe. The air had been knocked out of her lungs, and like a fish caught in a net, she¡¯d silently opened and closed her mouth over and over in shock. Then, weakened by childbirth and worry, she¡¯d picked up the boy, who was both too big for his age and as light as a feather, and ran.


    At that moment, holding her eldest son in her arms, she had known. Clearly and unmistakably, without any doubt or vain hope, she had realized one thing:


    Her husband was dead.


    A few hours later, the Sheriff and the others who¡¯d carried Hector¡¯s broken body up the mountain had confirmed it. Shaia had looked at his pale skin, at his eyes that had almost popped out of their sockets, at his swollen tongue that had hung from his mouth like a whip, at the dried foam at the corners of his lips. But even then, she¡¯d still seen her beloved husband. The one who...


    She shook her head.


    Shaia couldn¡¯t afford any more tears and grief. That would come later. Not now.


    ¡°We have no other choice,¡± the old man in front of her seemed to be answering her thoughts.


    His feet didn¡¯t sink into the snow. His skin didn¡¯t turn blue under the onslaught of the northern wind. He was walking through this high mountain blizzard as easily as a lord strolling from one salon to another.


    Shaia held the sleeping Erti in her arms and somehow envied her youngest son. Wrapped in warmth and comfort, he didn¡¯t yet know how cruel and harsh the world around them was. How it greedily consumed every little ounce of joy. How it resembled the night sky ¡ª an endless darkness occasionally pierced by shards of light. Light that no longer seemed so bright to Shaia.


    Everything around her had paled. Faded. Darkened. It was as if the colors that had once filled her home and all of the Alcade were also mourning the loss of their last hunter.


    ¡°I could work more,¡± Shaia didn¡¯t have the strength to shout over the howling mountain wind, but she knew Grandpa would hear her. ¡°Not only as a seamstress, but also as a laundress and a cook and-¡±


    ¡°And who will raise Ertan?¡± Grandpa interrupted her. Despite the storm, the wind and the lack of air at such a height, Shaia heard his voice clearly. It was almost as if they were sitting in the kitchen again, drinking flower tea and talking about something insignificant, but oh so pleasant. Only... there was no tea, no kitchen, and this conversation cut into the woman¡¯s soul like knives. ¡°I can¡¯t do it, Shaia... You know that.¡±


    Ertan...


    Grandpa had never, as far as Shaia could remember, called her eldest son by the name Hector had given him. He¡¯d always said that the wind could catch a word and carry it to the ears of those who should not know one¡¯s given name.


    ¡°Maybe the blood of the Matabar is just dormant within him, maybe-¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Grandpa interrupted again. ¡°Or maybe not... I am getting weaker with each passing day, Shaia. I can feel it.¡±


    The old man stopped so abruptly that Shaia almost bumped into her guide through the cold and darkness. And by the Face of Light, in that brief moment, as she found herself within arm¡¯s reach of his wizened, hunched back, something inside her started whispering treacherously:


    Stop.


    Reach out.


    Push him.


    Take your son.


    Run.


    Run!


    But there was nowhere to run. Shaia had never thought of herself as weak. And she never had been. But in her thirty years of life, she had learnt all too well that this world, at least here in the southern prairies, belonged to the strongest. She, who had barely survived a difficult childbirth, who had lost her breadwinner, and who only knew how to sew clothes, couldn¡¯t count herself among their ranks.


    And even if you set all of that aside... Nature had also chosen to hamper her. In its foolish way, it had decided that men should be stronger from birth. And for what? To go and die for those who hate you and scare their children with stories about your people?


    And where was that strength now?


    Here, on this cold, high mountain, there were only four of them: an old man living out his last years; a newborn child; a little boy stuck in a magical sleep; and an exhausted mother.


    Face of Light have mercy...


    ¡°Not even a dozen years will pass, Shaia,¡± Grandpa continued, ¡°before my path among the mortals ends and I go to my Queens and my wife. I barely have the strength to help you with Ertan. And Ardi... you know him. You know him better than the god to whom you pray at night, for it was you who brought him into this world. With your pain, your blood and your tears. You. Not him. And you know who Ardi will become among the humans.¡±


    Fresh tears drew burning lines across Shaia¡¯s cheeks, and even the wind was unable to cool their heat. She could picture it all too well: the cheerful, kind and curious boy who somehow found room in his heart for everyone, be it a hungry squirrel or a broken branch, gradually changed.


    He became withdrawn. The distant horizons no longer interested him. He seldom looked at the peaks of Old Alcade. Grandfather¡¯s stories were forgotten, and the carved toy figures had long since turned to ashes in the hot oven.


    After school, the boy would disappear to the shooting range, and then, as soon as he felt strong enough one night, he would secretly slip away and head out onto the prairie to find his father¡¯s killer. And only the Face of Light knew which would be worse ¡ª if he actually found him, or...


    ¡°Six years, Grandfather,¡± Shaia¡¯s shoulders slumped. Suddenly, she could feel the weight of those words ¡ª the entire life contained in them, so much so that her legs almost buckled under their weight. ¡°Six years...¡±


    ¡°My dear,¡± Grandpa stepped closer, and for a moment, Shaia saw different eyes in his. Eyes that were so familiar and loving. ¡°I¡¯m not saying they will go unnoticed by you. No. Not at all. Believe me ¡ª you will groan and howl. And sometimes, you will even try to run over here to find your son. You¡¯ll have time to grow gray. Your heart will know no peace from this separation. Your face will be etched with wrinkles.¡±


    Shaia felt like Grandpa wasn¡¯t just talking, but... remembering. Remembering someone dear to him. And he was doing so with the same kind of pain with which Hector rarely spoke of his mother.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    ¡°But every time you want to see your son, just look here,¡± Grandpa turned to the peaks of the Alcade, spread out under a thick blanket of clouds. ¡°This is Ardi¡¯s second home. And every time you feel anxious, lonely, or sad, you will know that your son is fine. That every day, he grows stronger. Braver. More independent. And when the time comes, he will return to you, embrace you, and you will find in him the most reliable support and help you could ever want. This is the path of the Matabar, my dear. We leave as children to return as hunters.¡±


    Grandpa turned and walked up the snow-covered slope. Shaia followed him in silence. Every step, every breath she took was imbued with a faint hope, one barely perceptible even to herself. The hope that soon, just a little later, she would wake up. It would all turn out to be a bad dream. An illusion of the old gods, the kind that only existed in stories and legends these days.


    But reality reminded her of its existence again and again. With the snow in her boots. With the pain in her belly. With the tears on her face. With her lungs, which were empty from lack of oxygen. With the wind. With the night. And most of all, the sudden return of a feeling she had hoped to have escaped twenty-five years ago.


    Back when, just like Evergale today, her own village had burned. Not because of the Shanti¡¯Ra and the orcs, but because bandits had come to the town and decided that they could find something to plunder there. Or maybe they¡¯d done it just because they¡¯d been tired of the harsh prairie winter, where there was no hiding from the weather. Where even the slightest wind chill, no matter how much warm clothing you wore, could freeze your bones.


    And only now, as a mother herself, ready to part with her child for its own good, did Shaia understand the look her mother had given her that day. A look she¡¯d feared she would see in the mirror one day, and now she knew it was already there. That sad, doomed look full of regret and sorrow. The look of someone who was no longer fully alive.


    And while Shaia¡¯s mother had had to live with that feeling for only a few hours ¡ª until the moment a revolver bullet had made Shaia an orphan ¡ª she herself would...


    Six years.


    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Grandpa said and stopped.


    Shaia emerged from her memories, clinging once more to the intoxicating hope that everything around her was a dream. How else could she explain that the blizzard hadn¡¯t subsided, and yet hadn¡¯t touched this strange place? At first glance, it was an ordinary clearing, but...


    Shaia looked around.


    Goosebumps gradually covered her body as the air around her changed from cold, damp and icy to light and pleasant. It was still slightly cool, but no more than that. And her feet sank not into the heavy, viscous snow, but into tall, green grass. It swayed to the rhythm of the gentle gusts of wind, and Shaia thought she could see strange figures wandering along the spiral of stones laid out in an intricate pattern.


    But as soon as she turned, the vision vanished. The only constant was the wall of snow. For a moment, Shaia felt like a tiny spider in a tall glass. Only instead of glass walls, there was a swirling blizzard around the clearing and a wall of snow at the edge of it, framed by simple river stones.


    Sacred places...


    Shaia had often heard about them from Grandpa and almost never from her husband.


    Places where, before the Empire of the New Monarchy came to these lands, the hunters of the Matabar tribes had gathered to pray to their gods and spirits.


    But Shaia had never come here before.


    Crossing the gorge that separated the Old and New Alcade was a challenge, but climbing one of the high mountain peaks... Shaia doubted she could have made the journey had it not been for necessity.


    Grandpa¡¯s words, though unpleasant, bitter, and in a way resigned, had nonetheless contained the truth. Shaia could not take care of the children and work at the same time. Not to mention that Erti, by all accounts, had been born a fragile child and would need much more attention. And milk... Shaia had already had trouble producing enough milk last time.


    Hector had constantly had to go to the village for special mixtures and medicines to support Ardi.


    And now Hector was gone...


    Grandpa gently placed the sleeping boy in the center of the stone spiral, then turned to Shaia. Their eyes met.


    ¡°If you have any doubts, now is the time to turn back,¡± Grandpa said.


    Shaia looked at her son. At his funny, chubby cheeks. At his long, wavy hair. At his slightly upturned nose and the cute dimples that appeared when he smiled. And he smiled a lot. So often...


    She could still hear his laughter and his childish screams. She vividly remembered scolding him for playing where he shouldn¡¯t.


    Oh, by the Face of Light, what she would give to have it all back...


    She approached the boy and ran her fingers over his pale face. She caught a stray curl that was about to slide down his nose. Then she stepped back, and it took all her strength to stop herself from breaking down, rushing to her son, grabbing him, and running away from the mountain.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s begin,¡± Grandpa nodded.


    He took off a wooden pendant hanging from a leather cord around his neck and placed it on Ardi¡¯s chest, then took his staff in both hands and raised it above the ground, pointing its tip toward the sun. The old man¡¯s lips moved. He muttered something slowly, in a sing-song tone. At first, Shaia wasn¡¯t sure if he was even doing anything. But with every moment she spent among the stones of the sacred place, something changed.


    Not in her, and maybe not around her, either, but in the way she felt everything. She slowly became convinced that the stones were moving. They were circling them in a dance, moving around the still people in the center, as if guarding her son. And it was as if these barely visible figures had somehow begun to dance to Grandpa¡¯s words in a ragged but rhythmic manner. They remained almost invisible the entire time.


    Suddenly, Grandpa slammed his staff against the ground, and Shaia distinctly heard a chime. A real chime. It was as if crystal shards or two empty iron pots were colliding. First ringing out clearly, then muffled, it echoed through the mountain peaks.


    It was a sound that the old carved staff hitting the damp ground couldn¡¯t possibly have made. But every time Grandpa lowered his staff, Shaia heard that same chime. And the more it sounded, the more the world around her changed.


    The stones began to bounce and take on the bizarre shapes of animals, birds, rivers and valleys, hills and mountain peaks, clouds and even stars. The shapes became denser, and the world around them...


    Shaia thought she saw firs and pines, oaks and cedars. They were rising out of the darkness, taking shape in the snowy blizzard, and seemingly not daring to tread on the sacred ground. She imagined hearing hawks screaming in the air above them and eagles flapping their wings. She was convinced she could hear streams gurgling beneath her feet and the barely audible trickle of spring itself. It was as if animals from all over the Alcade had come to the edge of the stone circle to represent all the seasons.


    They bowed low, whispered something in their unknown language and... went away.


    Everything fell silent.


    Everything stilled.


    Shaia found herself standing in the center of the stone spiral once again, and the only thing that was still remarkable was the wall made up of the swirling snowstorm at the edge of the circle. Had she imagined it all? Had it all just been a trick played on her by a mind exhausted by grief, fear and mountain sickness?


    ¡°This is not right, old friend.¡±


    Shaia jumped and looked at Grandpa. Directly across from the old man sat a snow leopard. A small boy was lying between the man and the animal. Although... Shaia had never seen animals like this before.


    It was the size of a mustang, and its fur shimmered slightly, but it didn¡¯t reflect light, it seemed to be generating it from within. Behind the creature, multiple tails swayed gently. Six at once. Or maybe there were four of them... One look at their intricate movements had made Shaia¡¯s head spin.


    ¡°This was Hector¡¯s wish, Ergar,¡± Grandpa said haltingly, breathing heavily all the while. ¡°He asked me to ensure that if anything happened to him, Ardi would get to learn the ways of the First Hunters from you. And you owe him that.¡±


    ¡°My obligation is to protect this boy through his first twelve snows!¡± The snow leopard growled. ¡°Not to be his teacher!¡±


    Ergar calmed down a bit, bowed his head, and then looked at the boy.


    ¡°I spent several days with the cub, and I have seen his heart,¡± he continued more calmly. ¡°There is no thirst for battle in him. His path is not among the snow leopards, old man. He has the cunning of a squirrel and the sharp mind of a lynx. But he is weak. Both in mind and body. He will not survive the mountain trails. Let him go to the forest. You have called upon the wrong spirit and-¡±


    ¡°Ardi... is not weak!¡± Shaia herself didn¡¯t know where she found the strength to say those few words. ¡°He¡¯s not weak...¡±


    The snow leopard turned to her, and for some reason, she saw something like human emotion in his amber eyes. Interest.


    ¡°You are the female who gave birth to Ardan and tainted the blood of the First Hunters,¡± the snow leopard said rather than asked. ¡°And if not for your blood relation, I would not have let you come here, to our lands. So speak, but know this. If your words do not please me, I will relieve you of your suffering, and do the same to the child you hold in your arms. And with your blood and your flesh, I will nourish Hector¡¯s cub so that I may eradicate all that is human in him. Perhaps then he will be strong enough to run with the snow leopards.¡±


    Shaia¡¯s eyes flared with fire. A fire so hot that it seemed to make the snow wall retreat even farther away.


    ¡°You spent a few days with him?¡± She repeated. ¡°I carried Ardi right under my heart for nine months. I was by his side for six years. I saw him fight nightmares, banish evil thoughts when his father was delayed. I saw how he rushed to comfort and help everyone who reached out to him, despite dangers and obstacles. I saw how-¡±


    ¡°These are not the qualities required for running with the snow leopards, female,¡± the snow leopard said, stepping forward. ¡°You have made your choice. You failed...¡±


    Shaia knew she couldn¡¯t run. And she knew Grandpa wouldn¡¯t help her. Not because he didn¡¯t want to, but because he simply didn¡¯t have the strength anymore. So, this was how her journey would end? In a strange shrine of her husband¡¯s people? With a child in her arms who would never know his mother¡¯s name?


    But the snow leopard, who had taken that first step, had yet to jump. He stood still instead, looking down at his feet.


    Small fingers that were alarmingly blue from the cold were pressed against his fur.


    Ardi, despite still being trapped in that strange sleep, had somehow reached out to the snow leopard and tried to grab his paw.


    Long seconds stretched into minutes of painful silence. Finally, Ergar spoke.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what will come of this, old man,¡± he whispered. ¡°In the thousands of years that the spirits of the mountains, forests and lakes have protected and taught the First Hunters, never has a cub been trained by an alien teacher.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± Grandpa nodded. ¡°But perhaps it is because we have followed that appointed path that the last of our blood now lies before you? The last of the Matabar?¡±


    The snow leopard looked at Grandpa. They communicated in silence for some time, then Ergar turned away. He wrapped Ardi in one of his tails and laid him gently on his broad back. Without looking back, the snow leopard said:


    ¡°He will either return a hunter,¡± and Shaia knew that the beast was addressing her, ¡°or he will not return at all.¡±


    And a moment later, lightning flashed above the shrine and a blizzard descended, instantly obscuring the snow leopard from view. Only the long wail of a woman, which pierced through even the howling wind, accompanied the sleeping boy as he was carried deep into the ancient mountains.

 Chapter 5 - First Steps

    Ardi knew this feeling well. That moment when you¡¯re awake but don¡¯t want to open your eyes. You lie there, peeking out slightly, letting the morning sun of the approaching autumn kiss not only the cozy blanket around you, but also the tip of your nose.


    The warm rays tickle your eyelids, and your ears catch the rare, quiet footsteps around the still-sleeping house. Somewhere, a floorboard creaks, signaling to the kitchen that Mother will soon be preparing breakfast. Maybe she¡¯ll even make blueberry pancakes...


    The water in the hanging sink gurgles ¡ª Grandfather, snorting in that amusing way of his, manages to wash not only his face, but half his body with cupped hands.


    And you¡¯re lying in bed, listening to all of this, knowing that you¡¯re already awake, but not wanting to get up. Because there are chores ahead, worries, things to do, places to go, and it¡¯s so peaceful in here.


    Just a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes¡­ In the warmth. The comfort.


    At home.


    Ardi knew this feeling. And that was why he couldn¡¯t mistake it for what he was feeling right now.


    He was lying on something frozen and rough, which was poking his side and bruising his ribs. The sun, bold and sharp, was almost cutting his face with splashes of still warm, golden dawn. There was no blanket, no creaking, no smell of blueberry pancakes. The air smelled different here.


    It smelled of dampness. Mustiness. Stones and snow.


    Ardi curled up.


    He was cold.


    But he was not as cold outwardly as he was on the inside. Scene after scene flashed before his mind¡¯s eye, where a mighty hunter fought a monster. He was on the verge of victory, the beast would soon fall at his feet, but no ¡ª the creature tricked Hector. It tricked him. It stole the victory he¡¯d earned. No, his father couldn¡¯t lose. He couldn¡¯t...


    Ardi curled up into a small ball. Large tears ran down the child¡¯s cheeks, leaving hot streaks behind.


    He didn¡¯t care why it smelled of stones and the mountain around him, why the wind was piercing him to the bone. All the boy wanted right now was to wake up. To have the comfort of knowing that the nightmares would torture him again, but as soon as he reached his parents¡¯ room and touched the rail of their bed, everything would disappear. All his worries would pass. The nightmares would become ridiculous and insignificant in the light of his mother¡¯s warm gaze and his father¡¯s laughter.


    But he didn¡¯t wake up.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re not asleep, cub.¡±


    Ardi jumped at the inhuman growl. At first, he thought he¡¯d imagined it, then he couldn¡¯t understand why the growl seemed vaguely familiar, but as soon as he found the strength to open his eyes, everything fell into place.


    He was lying in a dark, slightly damp cave. But it wasn¡¯t damp because rain was pouring in or water was dripping from the sloping ceiling, no. Not at all.


    Ardi recoiled involuntarily.


    In the years he had spent living in that house at the bend in the mountain river, the boy had become accustomed to the sight of blood. He¡¯d seen it often enough when his mother had skinned game, or when his father had returned from a successful hunt and peeled the hides from his catch.


    Blood wasn¡¯t something strange or unpleasant to Ardi. He was indifferent to it. Both that of others and his own.


    Still, there was a vast difference between something that flowed thickly, like swamp mud, over the rocks of the dark cave and what the boy had seen in the kitchen.


    It was like a deep and dark abyss.


    The boy did not stare into it.


    Something else drew his eye. It was the snow leopard that was the size of a wild horse, like the ones that Ardi sometimes watched from the heights of Hawk¡¯s Cliff. A normal boy would have probably been frightened by his long, bloodied fangs the size of a hand, and his claws that were ripping through the still-twitching flesh of a mountain goat, but not Ardi. The child wasn¡¯t even fazed by the fact that the goat¡¯s eyes, not yet glazed over and still clinging to the last few remains of its life, were the same amber color as his own.


    One might¡¯ve liked to say that this calmness, or rather, detachment from what was happening, was because Ardi had recognized Ergar the snow leopard and his slightly twitching, intertwined tails. After all, he had, until recently, considered him merely a toy, but no.


    He just didn¡¯t care.


    He didn¡¯t care that the beast¡¯s white fur covered with blue spots had clumped together to form disgusting red splotches, or that the whiskers on his snout resembled garlands. Not the kind his parents had made on the Eve of Ascension, but... ugly. The kind made from shreds of internal organs, flesh, dripping blood and saliva on the floor.


    As he watched the goat twitch less and less, Ardi felt neither fear, nor disgust, nor horror. Now he truly knew what those words meant. What feelings adults hid behind a series of letters and sounds.


    But he did feel something else.


    Something that seemed to be pulling him, something heavy. A stone pressing down just above his chest. This something pinned the boy to the rocks, squeezing his lungs, preventing him from breathing deeply and freely. His thoughts were confused, muddled, returning again and again to the scene of smoke and soot.


    Ardi¡¯s eyes could no longer shed tears, but he felt like the hot marks on his cheeks had never cooled and might stay that way forever. Maybe it was this invisible burden inside him, or maybe-


    ¡°You need to eat, boy,¡± the snow leopard growled, still tearing into the pliant flesh.


    Bones crunched, muscles and fat were crushed. The goat no longer twitched, and its eyes were now covered with a cloudy film. Ardi recognized it. He recognized death. Strangely, he wasn¡¯t even surprised that it looked no different than the one that had come for his father. It looked the exact same. Gray, motionless and turning living beings into broken toys.


    Ardi wanted to say that he wasn¡¯t hungry, but his stomach betrayed him with a growl.


    When had he last eaten or drunk? What day was it? How long had he been in this cave, and how did he get here? Where was his mo...


    A prickly lump tightened in his throat. His eyes burned with sharp, hot moisture.


    Ardi turned away, trying to block out the cave that was gradually filling with the smell of blood and flesh, and closed his eyes. He wanted to wake up. Maybe if he fell asleep now, he would wake up in a new day, and everything that had happened would indeed turn out to be an extended nightmare.


    The boy didn¡¯t see the snow leopard pause over his prey, wait a moment, then shake his head in a very human gesture, and continue his feast. Soon, there were only gnawed bones left on the cave floor, soaking it with blood.


    ***


    Ardi saw long tendrils of darkness crushing his father¡¯s body. A blurred form loomed over Hector. It had curved, knife-like fangs, and its eyes were glowing red as it laughed. Ardi tried to scream, to warn his father, to help him somehow, but he couldn¡¯t even move. He just stood there and watched as the cloud of smoke engulfed Hector, plunging the boy deeper and deeper into the darkness of loneliness.


    ¡°Cub.¡±


    The boy barely opened his eyes. His lips almost didn¡¯t move at all, and when they did, they bled and hurt. His hands were thinner than twigs, the skin on them first turning gray, then transparent. Sometimes, the boy thought he could even see his bones. Perhaps he could.


    His eyes were failing him. Everything was blurred, swirling as if reflected in the shards of a broken mirror. Or a vase... Ardi didn¡¯t remember what he had broken. Or where he was.


    ¡°The moon has visited six times, cub. I hear the whispers of the spirits above your head.¡±


    The boy closed his eyes again.


    He still couldn¡¯t wake up. But that was okay, this time, he would definitely make it. He would close his eyes, and when he opened them again, he wouldn¡¯t see the stone cave and the snow leopard, but his room at home and his mother¡¯s smiling face. She might even have made blackberry pie and blueberry pancakes. Ardi could almost smell them... probably.


    ***


    A warm, soft blanket covered Ardi up to the top of his head. He reluctantly climbed out and looked around. He saw that same wooden floor, slightly sagging in places from age and dampness. Father had always said it needed to be redone, and Mother would just laugh secretly. Hector had been promising to fix the floorboards for as long as Ardi could remember. It was probably a tra-di-ti-on with his parents.


    At least that¡¯s what Grandpa had said about it.


    On the far wall hung a small tin washbasin with a wobbly tongue. If you didn¡¯t drain all the water out of it, big drops would always fall from its tail. That was why a bucket was kept nearby. It served several purposes beyond the obvious ¡ª it also saved Ardi from having to run outside at night to answer nature¡¯s call.


    He did have to wash it every morning ¡ª Mother was strict about this, but Ardi considered himself a responsible child and never forgot about his hygiene or cleaning.


    A bedside table, a ventilation grate, a chunky wardrobe. Everything was in its place. Even the shelf with his toys.


    The boy turned to the window. The wind seeped through the unsealed cracks and crevices. It playfully tugged at the curtains his mother had sewn, causing the glass in the frame to shake slightly.


    Winter was coming, and Father had promised to teach Ardi how to take care of the windows and doors to keep the house warm. The boy was waiting eagerly for those lessons. He liked learning new things, and working with Father around the house made him feel very important and grown up. He felt equal to his mother, grandfather and father during those times.


    Ardi stretched with gusto, washed and dressed quickly, and looked at the shelf of toys. Skusty, Guta and Shali were still sleeping. They could sleep for days, sometimes weeks. Grandfather had once explained to him that the boy¡¯s friends might have their own things they had to do and that they didn¡¯t always have time to entertain a ¡°little brat¡± like him.


    But that was okay. He would tell them about his nightmare later ¡ª when they woke up.


    His nightmare...


    Ardi couldn¡¯t remember exactly what he had dreamed about, but he could feel the lingering, sticky fingers of fear gripping his entire body. If he looked closely, he might even find their fingerprints left behind. Though it was probably just the crumpled sheet.


    After casting another look around his domain and finding nothing unusual, the boy sighed with relief and ran downstairs.


    ¡°Mom, Grandpa!¡± He called out, jumping over the steps. ¡°I¡¯m up! What are we going to do today? Maybe we can fix the greenhouse supports?¡±


    His only response was an unusual silence for such an early hour. His mother wasn¡¯t shouting her usual reminder to stay off the stairs, and his grandfather wasn¡¯t offering to take him for a walk in the nearby woods.


    And there was no smell of food, even though Ardi couldn¡¯t remember a single morning when his mother hadn¡¯t made him breakfast. So, it wasn¡¯t surprising that Ardi¡¯s first stop was the kitchen. The sun¡¯s rays sent amusing reflections chasing each other across the surface of the cabinets and the floor.


    His mother was nowhere in sight.


    Neither was his grandfather.


    Ardi frowned. Could they have started setting up the greenhouse without him? It would be strange of them to do so, but it was worth checking out. Grabbing his hat from a nail on the cupboard that served as its resting place, Ardi ran outside.


    The cold autumn wind immediately crept under his shirt and licked his neck, covering his body with goosebumps. Gray clouds crept down from the high peaks of the Alcade. Their shadows lay like smudges across the slowly-yellowing carpet of tall grass. The treetops rustled more quietly, gradually losing what Grandpa had called their ¡°summer plumage.¡±


    Ardi smelled something familiar and smiled. He turned his head to see a tall, broad-shouldered man. He wore a brown leather jacket, high boots ¡ª worn in places, patched in others ¡ª a thick vest, and the ubiquitous holster on his right hip. He sat on the front steps, smoking a pipe.


    The boy often asked his father why he inhaled the bitter, acrid smoke, to which Hector would always reply:


    ¡°Just don¡¯t make my mistakes when you grow up.¡±


    His father¡¯s voice, deep and resonant as always, had a reassuring effect on Ardi. He moved closer, sat down beside him, and leaned his head against Hector¡¯s forearm. He felt the same as when he sat in the grove and leaned against a tall oak, one that couldn¡¯t be felled by a hurricane or lightning.


    ¡°Where are the others?¡± The boy asked after a while.


    Father took the pipe out of his mouth and pointed to the foot of the mountain.


    ¡°There,¡± he replied.


    Ardi frowned again.


    ¡°What are they doing there? Mama never goes down to the village.¡±


    The wind blew a little harder and colder then, but the boy paid it no mind. He sat with his legs dangling over the next step, listening to the rustle of the trees. As Grandpa had taught him how to do, he tried to hear their conversations, but all he could make out was the faint rustling above him and the quiet creaking of swaying trunks.


    ¡°They had to,¡± his father replied, exhaling a puff of gray smoke. Mom always reminded Hector not to smoke in the house. ¡°Your mother is renting a room at Mrs. Bayreg¡¯s inn. She¡¯s a good woman. Lost her husband when they moved here from the east.¡±


    ¡°But why does Mom need a room there?¡±


    His father, as if he had not heard his question, continued to speak dryly, monotonously, without a hint of emotion.


    ¡°Your grandfather found a job as a bartender at the same inn. I don¡¯t think he¡¯ll be able to work much longer. He has always had a difficult relationship with alcohol. But until Ertan grows up, Shaia won¡¯t be able to work, except as a laundress. But don¡¯t worry, they¡¯ll still manage.¡±


    Those same sticky, cold fingers began to crawl up the boy¡¯s legs again. They rose higher and penetrated deeper until they reached his heart, making it skip beat after beat.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Dad?¡±


    Something hot burned the boy¡¯s cheek. He touched his face and saw salty drops on his fingers.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to go, Ardan,¡± another puff of smoke drifted into the sky, turning into a large, gray cloud. The wind swept over the roof of their house, ran across the meadow, and made waves of white foam across the river. ¡°But what happened, happened.¡±


    ¡°Dad, I don¡¯t understand-¡±


    ¡°You will,¡± Hector interrupted him. ¡°Later. Not now. Right now, it¡¯s important that you understand something else, Ardan. Understand that you must live. And understand that no one but you will preserve or save your life. No one but you will take care of Shaia and Ertan. No one but you will take care of you, Ardan. You must become strong. For your mother and your brother. For yourself.¡±


    The boy suddenly realized what had been troubling him. All this time, he couldn¡¯t remember how he¡¯d ended up in bed, what he had done last night, and why his father smelled not only of smoke but also of hot iron.


    Hector suddenly hugged the boy tightly. Very tightly. It was as if he wanted to take his son into himself and never let him go. Ardi found himself in the warm darkness, sinking deeper and deeper. He no longer understood if he was sitting on the stairs next to his father, sleeping, or... if he was even still alive.


    There was only darkness and warmth.


    ¡°Listen to Ergar, son,¡± his father¡¯s voice came from somewhere far away, barely audible, as if he were underwater. ¡°He will help you become what I never wanted you to be. But remember, only half of you is Matabar...¡±


    ***


    Ardi opened his eyes.


    He was back in the dark cave. Outside, the wind howled, bringing lightning and pouring rain with it. Heavy raindrops, merging into wide streams, ran down the stones, trapped in a small stone pool from which the giant snow leopard lapped water.


    ¡°Uh...¡± The boy wanted to call out to him, but he couldn¡¯t.


    His lips immediately cracked and bled, causing him excruciating pain. But he didn¡¯t even have the strength to scream. His dry throat produced only a wheeze, like sandpaper scraping against his larynx. And so Ardi lay there, watching the snow leopard drink. The boy thought he could almost taste the cold water, which would be slightly reminiscent of milk, so strong was his thirst.


    His encrusted eyes were failing him. Everything gradually blurred into a single image, until suddenly, frosty moisture touched his lips and something warm and furry was washing his face.


    Ardi managed to open his eyes wide and see the whiskered, furry, snow-white snout the size of a pony¡¯s head leaning over him. A small stream of cold water was trickling out of a slit between the black stripes that served as the beast¡¯s lips.


    The boy glimpsed a short, stern command in Ergar¡¯s blue eyes. And judging by the bright glint of the steel claws that had extended from his front paw, the boy had little choice.


    He began to drink. With great difficulty, he licked the stream of water, which tasted and smelled bad. It reminded him of blood.


    But the boy hardly noticed. His thirst was so overwhelming that when the stream dried up and the snow leopard moved aside, Ardi continued lapping at the air for a while.


    ¡°Now sleep, cub.¡±


    Ardi tried to protest, but his eyes closed on their own and the world plunged back into darkness.


    ***


    Ardi awoke to all sorts of sensations. He remembered a time during the hot summer when he hadn¡¯t let down the mosquito net stretched between four boards over the window. As a result, by some miracle, or maybe Skusty had decided to play a prank on him, a snake had come into his room. The boy hadn¡¯t yet learned how to distinguish between these unpleasant creatures, and so, when he¡¯d felt something cold and slightly wet crawl up his leg, he¡¯d jumped up as if he¡¯d been stung.


    Fortunately, no one had actually stung him, and the snake had turned out to be a harmless grass snake.


    Up until that moment, Ardi had thought that the grass snake incident was the worst awakening he had ever had. Unfortunately, as Grandpa had said, nothing in life was permanent.


    Waking up with a gnawing feeling in your chest, a stomach growling with hunger, and teeth chattering from the cold ¡ª this was now the undisputed king of unpleasant awakenings for Ardi. Still lying in the deep cave, he barely found the strength to prop himself up on one elbow and look around.


    Nothing had changed: there was that same, damp ceiling with hanging stone cones, the same floor littered with bones, clumps of matted fur, and rotting remains that gave off a foul odor that crept in right under his skull. In the distance, on a small rise, lay Ergar. He was pretending to be asleep, but Ardi knew from the slight twitching of his tail that the snow leopard was faking it.


    The boy turned his head toward the entrance. He didn¡¯t know how long he¡¯d been asleep, but there was still some water in the small stone basin.


    ¡°Water,¡± the boy croaked pitifully.


    Silence. Not the kind that hangs in an empty room, but the kind of the forest. Silence mixed with the whispers of the wind, the distant cries of birds, the night song of crickets, and the occasional howl of wolves on the moonlit path. Ardi knew these sounds well. He had been born among them.


    But there, within the walls of his home, they¡¯d sounded different. Not so sharp, not so harsh, and not at all... dangerous.


    ¡°Water,¡± the boy repeated.


    Ergar opened his left eye, stretched lazily, yawned, and rolled over to the other side.


    ¡°The water¡¯s right over there,¡± he said, flicking his tail in the direction of the pool.


    ¡°But-¡±


    The snow leopard, like a giant cat, turned away from the boy and covered his nose with his right paw, shielding it from the wind. The cave fell silent again. Ardi felt a lump in his throat. Something hot was just about to burst from his eyes when he heard a soft, familiar voice amid the many sounds of the night:


    ¡°You must become strong. For your mother and your brother.¡±


    Ardi turned away from the snow leopard and looked back at the pool. Six meters separated him from the life-giving water. Six meters of wet, uneven ground covered in sharp stone teeth, crushed bones, brown stains from dried blood, and gusts of mountain wind were also blowing into the cave.


    The boy gritted his teeth and tried to stand. Using his hands to cling to the wall and tearing the skin off his fingertips and breaking some nails in the process, Ardi somehow managed to rise on shaky, unbending legs. He took a step and... couldn¡¯t make it a second. Slapping his palm against the wall and his knees and shoulder against the floor, the boy collapsed where he stood.


    A sound escaped his throat that was neither a scream nor a groan. And it was not so much caused by physical pain, but by another kind that Ardi had never felt before. It hurt somewhere inside him. Where everything had always been whole before, filled to the brim, there was suddenly a void. It was hungry and ravenous, like a wild dog tasting blood for the first time. And for some reason, Ardi knew it would never go away.


    No matter how hard he tried to silence it, or what he tried to fill it with, it would always return. Again and again, it would rear its ugly head, biting off new pieces, until not even a memory of the Ardi who¡¯d hidden on the cliff, watching the eagles race through the clouds, would remain.


    ¡°You must become strong.¡±


    Sobbing and swallowing snot and tears through the haze of this pain, Ardi looked straight ahead. At the pool of water. His father had never asked him for anything. He¡¯d just quietly done whatever the family needed him to. No matter what. And only now, after his... After his... After Hector¡¯s departure, he¡¯d asked for only one thing from him.


    Take care of Mom.


    Take care of Brother.


    Take care of Grandpa.


    Ardi sniffled again and with agonizing slowness, fighting through the pain and tears, reached out his right hand. He grasped a bloody stone protrusion and pulled himself forward.


    The sharp edges of the ground scratched his skin and tore his clothes. With each movement he made, the boy left new, bloody marks behind. His small, fragile, emaciated body was soon covered in twisting, red lines and painful spots of various shades.


    And those six meters, which he would have normally crossed without even noticing he¡¯d done so, took Ardi almost half an hour, if time even existed at all on this mountain.


    Whimpering, gritting his teeth, sometimes crying out in pain and swallowing his tears in frustration, the boy managed to pull himself up and bring his face to the pool. He only had enough strength left to occasionally purse his lips and suck in some water along with a bit of air.


    After quenching his thirst, the child collapsed to the floor again, but this time, he felt nothing ¡ª his strength had left him completely, taking him into the darkness.


    ***


    Ardi had never thought that he would one day be able to feel his very eyelids lifting. He then remembered last summer, when he and his father had dragged planks with nails in them up to the roof. They¡¯d creaked and rubbed against the walls of the house, sending shivers down his spine.


    Right now, the boy was experiencing similar sensations. There was just one small difference about these ones ¡ª the shivering under his tattered clothes was causing him excruciating pain.


    No matter how Ardi turned, everything hurt, ached, and burned. And he would¡¯ve probably cried if there were any tears left in his eyes. But instead of tears, there was only a burning sensation under those insanely heavy eyelids and a prickly lump pressing into him from the inside of his throat.


    From the child¡¯s cracked lips came a faint, barely audible moan that was instantly drowned out by the howling of the wind, rejoicing in the approach of its reign as the quiet and peaceful summer days receded into the past.


    ¡°It¡¯s good that you¡¯ve woken up, cub,¡± loud, wet chewing made Ardi turn his head toward the cave. He was lying almost at the entrance of it. How he hadn¡¯t frozen to death was a mystery. ¡°During the night, it seemed to me like the spirits had already taken you to your ancestors.¡±


    Ergar was gnawing at the leg of some creature again. The leg of something that was somewhere between a mountain goat and a small deer, by the looks of it.


    Ardi couldn¡¯t remember the name of the animal. Or maybe he didn¡¯t know it. Grandfather had always said that in the forests and mountains of Old Alcade, one could find shards of legends and myths from the past, not yet drowned in the dust of history... Whatever that meant.


    His stomach growled, and surprisingly, faced with the sight of the bloody flesh the snow leopard was tearing off with his fangs, along with the skin and bones, Ardi didn¡¯t feel the urge to vomit, but a pang of hunger. In the past, when his father and grandfather had asked his mother to leave some raw meat for them, sometimes doing so a couple of times a month, Ardi had always left the kitchen. The sight of his older relatives¡¯ bloodied faces had been enough to make him sick, not to mention the smell.


    The boy, who was feeling not only pain but also like he had a little more strength than yesterday, crawled toward the food. The movements were still hard, and every jerk or push left new scratches, bruises, and even cuts all over his body. But something new, still quiet and unnoticed inside Ardi, made him move toward his goal with increasing persistence and even some ferocity.


    And when he was within reach of the meat, Ardi noticed that Ergar was still. The snow leopard was standing there, the creature¡¯s thigh clamped in his jaws. Viscous blood mixed with bits of flesh dripped down his silvery fur. They fell to the ground in a shower of red splashes that reflected in the beast¡¯s eyes. His pupils, now narrowed to thin slits, followed the boy unblinkingly.


    Ardi suddenly realized, as if it were his own thought, that if he moved any closer to the flesh...


    The boy glanced at the long claws with which Ergar held his prey.


    ¡°Food,¡± Ardi croaked.


    The snow leopard made a sound that was both a growl and a snort.


    ¡°This is my catch, cub,¡± the beast said sternly and menacingly. ¡°And I don¡¯t remember you joining the hunt. My hunger is not yet satisfied. When I¡¯m finished, you can have your share.¡±


    The boy, who was accustomed to waking up to a delicious breakfast, a hearty supper at night, and any treat or rare sweet always being his first, lay there on the cold ground and watched as the snow leopard¡¯s fangs and claws tore into the flesh and huge chunks of meat disappeared into his bottomless maw. Even a small piece of any of them would have been enough to satisfy the boy¡¯s hunger, but the snow leopard was relentless.


    Minutes passed before the snow leopard finally regurgitated some of the blood and bone fragments and stepped away from what had once been his ¡°catch.¡± Now the animal¡¯s carcass lay on the ground, with just small pieces of meat that the snow leopard hadn¡¯t bothered with hanging off the bones.


    ¡°You can start,¡± the snow leopard said almost mockingly, stretching out on his bed and beginning to lick the blood from his fur.


    Ardi picked up a small bone from the ground. To say that it stank would be an unusual compliment, for that simple word couldn¡¯t fully convey the sulfuric, metallic, slightly rotten, fecal odor emanating from the bone. But the boy hardly noticed that.


    That ¡°something¡± that had made him reach for food despite his pain, fatigue, and many aches was now literally making him gnaw at the remaining flesh on the bone. Ardi didn¡¯t even notice that he had swallowed the first portion, then the second, the third, and... He only stopped when he realized that he had been sucking on a ¡°clean¡± bone for quite some time.


    Tossing it aside, the boy looked in horror at his bloodied hands, which were now covered in unidentified slime. The realization of what had happened hit him like a wave, cresting along with that same stench from before. Only now Ardi wasn¡¯t just inhaling it, he was recreating it in his own mouth with every movement of his tongue.


    His stomach churned and the boy barely held back the urge to vomit.


    Something told him that if he got rid of the food now ¡ª the thought made his stomach churn once more ¡ª there was no telling when he would be able to eat again.


    The snow leopard, lying in the distance, grumbled gruffly with a hint of contempt:


    ¡°Human.¡±


    ***


    And so the days dragged on, turning into weeks.


    Ardi awoke each morning to find that his clothes were wearing thin, exposing more and more of his rapidly darkening skin to the harsh autumn wind. After waking, which was easier and less painful each morning, the boy drank what had collected in the stone basin overnight.


    After that, the boy would hide in the farthest, darkest corner of the cave and simply lie there until his strength left him and a new cycle of waking, drinking, and sleeping began. Sometimes, Ardi would lie alone in the cave for days. Usually, Ergar would return with fresh prey, and then the boy could satisfy his hunger with a small amount of meat from the bones.


    The only other activity the boy could really do was to venture out of the cave occasionally, but not far ¡ª just a few meters. As the weeks went by, he even managed to create a rough ¡°visual map¡± of the immediate area, as Grandpa had called it.


    Grandpa had taught him that even when he found himself in unfamiliar territory, the first thing to do was to imagine the center of the new place. The center for Ardi was, of course, Ergar¡¯s Cave. Then, once the center was established, the next step was to find the most prominent landmark that could guide him back to it.


    Usually, when he played this game in the forest with Grandpa, it was no problem to find a crooked tree that had given way to a hurricane when it was young. Or maybe an old animal track, sometimes even a bush that stood out from the rest of the foliage.


    But here... Ergar¡¯s Cave was high above the ground. So high that, for the first time in early fall, Ardi was seeing snowfields in front of him. They were so deep that if he stepped on the wrong surface, he would sink in up to his head. Fortunately, he had tested this by rolling a small boulder down the slope ¡ª he hadn¡¯t had the strength needed to use a larger one.


    And the forest below, at the foot of the mountains, looked like toothpicks painted gold and orange. Mother had used such sticks to make meat rolls in the oven. This had usually been done on special occasions and...


    The boy pushed away thoughts of home and family. Over the past few days, he had discovered that such memories caused him more pain than the scratches and cuts on his body. So, shivering with cold, the boy stood on the icy slope and stared at the high peaks of the Alkadian Mountains, searching for anything that resembled a landmark.


    On clear days, he sometimes managed to make out¡­ something. But more often than not, strong winds and snow obscured his surroundings. And so the search for a landmark lasted for days that turned into weeks.


    During this time, the snow around the cave grew thicker, the wind stronger, and the weather, surprisingly, clearer. Heavy clouds shrouded the slopes and mountain peaks less often; instead, they often descended into the valley like floating stones. Massive cumulus clouds looked like the hands of mythical stone giants ¡ª extensions of the mountains themselves. They covered forests and fields, meadows and valleys, rivers and lakes. Gently, with the care of a mother and father, they caressed the land, lulling it to sleep.


    On one of these clear, cold days, the boy noticed a strange peak in the distance. Unlike the others, it was curved like a fang, and instead of being white, it seemed to be tinted with a bluish hue. It was as if this distant peak was covered not with snow, but with pure, transparent ice.


    Finally, the boy decided to call it the Ice Fang, giving it a name. From then on, Ardi¡¯s excursions became more daring, but he never ventured far enough for the entrance to the cave to not still be visible to him.


    He then discovered that Ergar¡¯s Cave overlooked a small plateau a few hundred meters across, which he promptly named the Foyer. Below the plateau and the Foyer, winding paths snaked through the black rocks peeking out from under the white blanket, which he decided to call the Stairs. Similar ¡°stairs¡± led up to the Attic ¡ª a group of other gentle slopes that crowned this peak he called Ergar¡¯s Cave.


    After making sure he could at least orient himself a bit, the boy tried to find a way home, even just visually, but... wherever they were, Ergar¡¯s Cave was so deep in the mountains of Old Alcade that Ardi couldn¡¯t even imagine where exactly it was.


    After another such foray, during which he had to part with his boots, their soles now secured to his feet with sharpened bone fragments, the boy returned to the cave just as the snow leopard, who had been absent for a few days, was finishing his meal.


    As Ardi approached the pile of bones, barely noticing the stench of dead flesh, he found... nothing but the pile of bones. Even the smallest ones had been so cleanly licked that they were drenched in saliva. Ergar, lying on his stone bed, demonstratively licked the remaining bits of flesh from his long claws.


    The boy, who had sifted through the remains of the unknown animal several times, looked at the snow leopard questioningly.


    ¡°I was hungry,¡± Ergar replied simply, then turned away and fell asleep almost immediately.


    Ardi had no choice but to return to his corner and wrap himself in the scraps of clothing he had decided to use as a blanket. With each new day spent in the mountains, the cold grew stronger, and its particularly harsh bites, sometimes leaving behind dark marks on his skin, lasted for days at a time.


    Three more days passed. The water in the pool was running low, but the boy knew what to do. Warming his hands under his arms, he filled the basin with snow, and when it melted, he quenched his thirst.


    He never left the cave ¡ª he waited for the snow leopard to go hunting. On the fourth day, when hunger had already driven the boy to gnaw on chunks of ice, Ergar returned with prey. And as soon as Ardi took a wrong step toward the meat, there was a fierce roar:


    The proclamation of ¡°Mine!¡± shook the cave.


    The boy sat down nearby and watched for nearly an hour as the snow leopard licked the bones clean, being deliberately slow and with an almost human glee in his expression. And as before, not a single sinew was left behind on the remains. Moreover, Ergar cracked every bone and slurped out all the marrow, leaving Ardi with nothing.


    ¡°I was hungry again.¡±


    Ardi said nothing and quietly returned to his corner. Small, emaciated, his skin darkened by wind and sun, he wrapped himself in the scraps of clothing. All he had left was a thick sweater knitted by his mother, pants that hung loosely around his left leg, and that was it. His jacket, socks, and shirt had become completely useless and now served as a bundle in which the boy kept his treasures.


    Wrapping himself in the sweater as a blanket, the boy hugged his knees to his chest and tried to fall asleep. And only his father¡¯s words, echoing in his head, kept him from thinking that he wouldn¡¯t mind so much if the hour of awakening never came. If he fell asleep and... stayed asleep. Maybe the old gods his grandfather had told him so many stories about would grant him a dream.


    A dream in which he was home, with his loved ones, with a blackberry pie waiting for him in the kitchen.


    Maybe the gods really did hear the child, or maybe it was the influence of his hunger and fatigue, but the next time the boy opened his eyes, he saw a small bone in front of him, probably from a rabbit. A bone covered in meat.


    Ardi gnawed at it with his teeth and claws like never before. In just a few moments, he had stripped it of flesh, licked the bone clean, struggled to break it against a stone, and then sucked out the marrow as well.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± said the snow leopard, who had been standing nearby the whole time.


    ¡°Where to?¡±


    Ergar looked into the boy¡¯s eyes. His vertical pupils seemed to pierce the boy¡¯s face, a sensation he could physically feel, like a prickle on his cheeks. Or maybe it was the wind.


    ¡°This is the last time I share my prey with you, cub,¡± the snow leopard growled. ¡°You¡¯re here to learn the ways of the hunters, so let¡¯s go.¡±


    Ergar turned, flicked his tail, and headed for the cave entrance. Ardi had no choice but to follow him.

 Chapter 6 - Little Hunter

    The wind stirred up whirlwinds of snow, twisting it into spirals, or sometimes spreading it out wide like sheets, covering the mountain paths and hiding the sharp stones that seemed eager to trip an unwary traveler.


    Ergar did not stumble.


    His powerful paws moved over the loose surface of the snow with the same ease with which a water strider skims the surface of an undisturbed lake. His tails, lowered to the ground, swept away the barely perceptible tracks he left in his wake. He moved smoothly, yet firmly and confidently, always choosing a path where the wind would blow directly into his face.


    Their path was anything but straightforward. It formed an intricate pattern of twists, turns, jumps, descents, and climbs. And every time Ardi thought he had finally spotted a landmark ahead, hoping they would soon reach it, Ergar would change direction, turning what had at first seemed like a five-minute walk into a twenty-minute trek.


    Unlike the snow leopard, the boy had neither the bulging muscles that allowed the beast to leap several meters in a single bound, nor the long tails that helped him balance even on the thinnest ledges that hung over bottomless chasms, nor a warm fur coat.


    Ardi was a tough child. In the past, as soon as the first cold snap arrived, his grandfather, with Hector¡¯s reluctant consent, would take him to bathe in the icy stream every morning, noon, and night, and leave him to dry in the wind afterwards.


    But no icy stream, even in the harshest of winters when the house was unable to protect them from the biting cold, could compare to the winds of the Alcade during winter.


    Ardi remembered some of his grandfather¡¯s stories about disobedient children of the Matabar tribe who, after going for a walk along the mountain paths, had never returned home and remained frozen forever, acting as ice sculpture guardians of the secret paths.


    Just as he thought of this, another gust of wind swirled the snow around him, enveloping the boy in a cold, white blanket. Ardi shivered, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as he tried to warm himself while wearing tattered rags unsuitable even for a milder season. Suddenly, he realized he couldn¡¯t move.


    His fingers wouldn¡¯t obey him, and as for his legs... He¡¯d forgotten the last time he¡¯d felt them, or anything below his waist, for that matter.


    With great difficulty, Ardi stretched his hands out in front of him. Before, he hadn¡¯t noticed any of this ¡ª he had simply not seen it. But now, through the veil of snow or whatever it was, he saw his hands trembling and something black clinging to his skin. He tried to brush it off, which made him scream in pain and almost fall into the snow. Barely able to stay on his feet, Ardi looked down at his legs ¡ª the blackness had already crept up to his knees.


    ¡°Ae... r...¡± Every sound that came from the boy¡¯s cracked, bloodied lips sounded like a broken rattle being shaken by a careless toddler.


    The snow leopard in front of him stopped. He turned his head and, with a twitch of his whiskers, walked calmly back to Ardi. Stepping lightly over the snowy ridges, he reached the child, who was now waist-deep in snow.


    Silently, with only a slight squint in his eyes, he wrapped his tail around the boy and pulled him out of the icy trap, laying him down on the snow beside him.


    ¡°C... c...¡± Ardi¡¯s teeth chattered so violently that he feared they would shatter against each other. Just before... just before Ergar had taken him, Ardi had lost a few teeth, much to the joy of his mother and grandfather, but the stern disapproval of his father. And now he feared that something was about to happen that shouldn¡¯t.


    ¡°It¡¯s not you who¡¯s cold, cub,¡± the snow leopard said, sitting mockingly in front of the freezing boy, ¡°it¡¯s the human in you.¡±


    The sound of his voice reached Ardi as if it were coming from very far away. It was lost in the howling wind, the crunching snow and ice, and the echoes that danced along the rare few ridges of black stone that jutted from the frozen landscape. They beckoned to Ardi, encouraging him, luring him forward, but he only sank deeper and deeper into a cold that he... almost didn¡¯t feel anymore.


    The boy¡¯s body relaxed. His eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted into what felt like the warm embrace of wind and snow.


    ¡°I am human,¡± the child might have thought, or maybe he even said it.


    Ergar¡¯s silhouette seemed blurry and indistinct to him, as if seen through a rain-slicked window.


    ¡°Only half of you is, cub,¡± came the distant voice. ¡°Do you know why the Matabar gave us their children only after six winters have passed? It¡¯s because of your fangs, Ardan.¡±


    The words were lost somewhere in the warm mist of oblivion, but the boy¡¯s name wrapped around him and pulled him back into the light. Again, the wind bit at his cheeks and ears, and the cold burned his blackened flesh.


    ¡°You cannot survive without fangs on snowy trails, in deep forests, or near lakes and rivers,¡± Ergar¡¯s voice stung the boy¡¯s mind like a hundred biting mosquitoes, forcing him to stay on the surface and not let himself sink into warm oblivion. ¡°In the few moons you¡¯ve spent here, boy, you¡¯ve grown them out. They may be weak right now, unreliable, but they are still fangs of Matabar blood from the Egobar line. Hunters of the snowy paths.¡±


    Ardi tried desperately to escape, to wriggle out of the grip of his name and the snow leopard¡¯s voice, but he couldn¡¯t. Instead of warmth and sleep, he was floating in a sea of cold and pain.


    ¡°Look, little hunter, and watch carefully,¡± a small shard of ice appeared in front of the boy¡¯s face. He could barely recognize himself in its reflection. His face, stung by icy bees, was swollen and red; his lips were chapped and blue; the hair on his head, his eyelashes and his eyebrows looked more like icicles. ¡°Look...¡±


    One of Ergar¡¯s tails lifted the boy¡¯s upper lip. It burst like an overripe tomato, making the boy howl and nearly choke on his own blood, which was so hot it seemed to melt his flesh.


    And there, in the reflection of the ice shard, Ardi saw new teeth among his own. No, he¡¯d had fangs before. His father had called them baby teeth, and his grandfather had called them human teeth. Well, they weren¡¯t like Hector¡¯s or Grandpa¡¯s even now, but they still reminded him of theirs. They weren¡¯t as long, not as sharp, but they were definitely much heavier and more pronounced than before. Strong enough to pierce a hide, tear through flesh, and sever an artery.


    ¡°You have something of the hunters in you,¡± Ergar said with a weary sigh. ¡°Or perhaps the spirits of the past are too stupid to see otherwise...¡±


    Ergar¡¯s tail moved from the boy¡¯s face to his chest, wrapped around it tightly, and lifted him up.


    ¡°Come, little hunter, it¡¯s time you met your other half.¡±


    For a moment, Ardi felt like he was flying. Mountain peaks passed by, flitting like birds among the frozen clouds. What had been loose snow, filled with countless traps, became solid ground, and icy needles turned into waving grass. It wasn¡¯t until the pain eased and the warmth of the snow leopard slowly brought him back to his senses that he realized they weren¡¯t flying at all.


    Ergar was running.


    Running so lightly and swiftly that even the eagles soaring overhead seemed like lazy flies in comparison. The snow leopard bounced off the smallest stone ledges, descended along paths so narrow they wouldn¡¯t hold the blade of a knife, and his paws never sank more than a few inches into the snow. The softest and steepest slopes were no more challenging for him than a flat, straight path.


    They climbed higher and higher until they suddenly stopped.


    ¡°Look, Ardan,¡± a deep growl sounded.


    And Ardi looked.


    Stone waves swirled between lands of cumulus and storm clouds. Enveloped in snow and caressed by harsh winds, like lifeless sculptures frozen in the eternal embrace of the sky, only the setting sun, not yet hidden by the dusk of the approaching night, generously gave its love and warmth to this land.


    A pink-gold light spread out among the high azure, pouring down in a fiery rain of burning rays upon what had seemed dead just moments before, and was now blossoming, hungry for every breath of life.


    Ardi saw strange and beautiful creatures, he saw plants that could only exist in his dreams and fantasies. Even the stones and rocks, the snow and ice, suddenly seemed alive to him...


    It was as if the things he had always found simple and ordinary before, though beautiful, had been suddenly imbued with something from Grandpa¡¯s old stories. Something with a mysterious, somewhat frightening, but oh so interesting name ¡ª magic.


    ¡°Everything you see around you is your land,¡± Ergar lowered the boy onto his shoulders. ¡°The land of your ancestors. They guarded this place. They loved it. And they paid for it with more than blood. Breathe its scents in. Hear its sounds. Forget what humans call this place. Remember the language of your ancestors, Ardan. Awaken it and say the name. The name of this land and of your people.¡±


    And Ardi did.


    He breathed in the snow and ice, he heard the wind and the stones, he remembered Grandfather¡¯s stories and the strange words he sometimes spoke. And something in the boy awoke. Or maybe it had never slept at all.


    Deep inside him, under layers of unnecessary words and empty speech, it shook off the old leaves, stretched to its full height, and whispered a name. It fell from the boy¡¯s lips, and he understood then that the simple term of ¡°Alcade¡± couldn¡¯t hold even a fraction of the meaning hidden beneath the snow and clouds.


    The pain faded, and with it, the darkness across his flesh.


    Ardi could still feel the cold, playfully nibbling at him here and there. But it no longer suffocated him, no longer gnawed at him like a rabid dog. The boy suddenly felt a lightness in his body ¡ª he felt like he could easily jump over the chopping block where his father had used to split firewood, and if he had to cross a stream now, he would simply swim across it instead of looking for a bridge.


    ¡°Go, little hunter,¡± Ergar whispered, lowering the boy to the snow. ¡°Take your first steps.¡±


    Ardi placed his feet carefully on the loose snow, expecting it to bite into his skin with icy fangs again, but... that didn¡¯t happen. The cold grew stronger, but not enough to frighten him.


    And his body, now so light and quick, stepped onto the snow of the peak, barely sinking into it, leaving an almost indistinguishable trail behind.


    The boy laughed.


    He ran, jumped around everywhere, leaped over great stones, and sometimes fell, rolling in the snow that had become as familiar to him as the tall grass near his home. Sometimes, he would even hiss playfully and throw snowballs at Ergar. The snow leopard, who was lying on a rock, would just snort and deflect the snowballs with one of his tails.


    As he watched the half-blood play in the snow, resembling a kitten that had just opened its eyes, he thought that perhaps the old man¡¯s words hadn¡¯t been so foolish and absurd after all, but then he pushed the thought away. The fact that Hector¡¯s kid had managed to awaken the blood of his ancestors didn¡¯t mean much. Every other Matabar cub had been born with what Ardi had just discovered.


    Not to mention the fact that the boy needed not only fangs ¡ª if you could even call those little nubs fangs ¡ª but also claws and a strong body. And Ardan...


    Ergar watched as the boy rolled in the snow.


    It would be a miracle if he survived even two winters. But those were thoughts for another day. For now, he would let him play a little, before the Spirit of the Day retired and opened the hunting paths.


    When the world around him began to turn gray, shrouded in a mist, the hunter knew ¡ª it was time.


    Ergar gave a short growl, and the boy, finished with his snow games, stood up and shook himself off. Snow flew from him in clumps, spreading the boy¡¯s scent everywhere. The snow leopard scowled in displeasure. What most of the Matabar hunters had taught their cubs from practically birth had passed this strange two-legged creature by.


    With a flick of his head in the direction of the slope, Ergar jumped off the rock. The snow leopard didn¡¯t even look back as they descended. If Ardan stumbled and fell into the abyss, breaking every bone in his body and traversing the Paths of the Ancestors, then so be it. Ergar had not promised the old man that he would raise the cub as his own. It was already enough that he had to spend six winters with the boy without even being his rightful teacher.


    But the boy didn¡¯t stumble.


    Ardi, still somewhat dizzy from the incredible lightness that had replaced the cold and pain, ran after Ergar. He didn¡¯t quite understand what had happened to him. In Grandpa¡¯s stories, there were sometimes people who turned into animals. Grandfather had called them werewolves. Some were magical, cursed by wizards and sorcerers, while others were half-bloods, born of the Fae people.


    But Ardi knew that he wasn¡¯t a werewolf. His father and mother didn¡¯t belong to those who lived beyond the hills, and he certainly hadn¡¯t wronged a wizard. Unless...


    The boy watched Ergar leap over a deep crevice with ease. It felt like a snow leopard the size of a horse should move clumsily and slowly, but he was the exact opposite of that. Even the birds that flew freely between the clouds seemed graceless and awkward compared to Ergar.


    Ardi stopped in front of the rift. With fingers that were no longer so cold, and thankfully not blackened, he pushed a small stone down. It clattered against the walls of the crevice, the sound of the impacts becoming fainter and fainter until it disappeared altogether. Falling into such a chasm meant certain death.


    But the boy felt no fear. An hour ago, if he had seen a chasm just over a meter wide, he might have tried to find a way around it, but not now. And it wasn¡¯t even because of the snow leopard, whose tail was gradually disappearing down the slope ¡ª Ergar hadn¡¯t stopped to wait for his pupil.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Ardi just knew that he could jump over this obstacle.


    Smiling, almost laughing, he took a running start and pushed off the edge.


    The wind blew into his face. The sky was so close and familiar. He could reach out and catch a bird in the clouds, just like when he and Grandpa had used to fish in the swift stream.


    The jump, which lasted but a moment, became the embodiment of Ardi¡¯s dreams in which he flew over his native valley. His mother had said that such dreams meant that he was growing. Maybe that was the case ¡ª but in that moment, he was really flying, until he learned the bitter truth.


    Something poked him in the side, then hit him hard on the nose. Ardi tumbled down the slope, unable to keep his balance as he landed. Grunting and cursing himself, the boy stood up and rubbed at the new sore spot.


    What had Grandpa always said?


    Birds fall harder than people?


    But soon enough, something else caught the boy¡¯s attention. When he¡¯d hit a rock with his side, he had cut his skin. On a normal day, he would have needed his mother¡¯s ointment, a bandage, and a few weeks to heal up. But now he was surprised to find that the blood on his side had already dried, forming a thick crust, and the wound barely hurt when he didn¡¯t press directly on it.


    Ardi was about to pick at the scab when he heard a warning growl.


    ¡°What did your father teach you, boy?¡± Ergar suddenly appeared behind him. Ardi hadn¡¯t heard his footsteps or felt his breath. ¡°Don¡¯t touch a dried wound if you don¡¯t want maggots to appear.¡±


    The boy pulled his hand away from his side in horror, then stammered, ¡°M-maggots?¡±


    The snow leopard snorted in disgust.


    ¡°I don¡¯t repeat myself, cub. Ever. Remember that,¡± Ergar turned and continued down the slope.


    Ardi, after glancing cautiously at his wound, hurried after the snow leopard. He didn¡¯t know why they¡¯d taken this path and not another. He had no idea where they were headed. The boy just enjoyed how the wind was playing with his growing hair, and how his legs, suddenly strong and fast, allowed him to run along the snowy ridges.


    The world around him became clearer and a little deeper. The boy saw colors whose names he didn¡¯t know. He smelled scents whose meanings and owners he couldn¡¯t identify. It all reminded him of...


    Reminded him of...


    Ardi froze.


    Something in his chest hurt.


    A cloud of steam escaped his mouth and his body began to tremble. The cold, laughing like a hungry wolf, began to gnaw at his flesh, licking his bones. Ardi fell into the snow. He was cold, so cold¡­


    ¡°The human in you mourns your father, little hunter,¡± came Ergar¡¯s voice. ¡°It longs for your mother, it grieves for your grandfather. But that¡¯s all human, Ardan. Listen to my voice... For six winters, you lived in the skin of those who came to this land to take and destroy. And for only a few steps of the Spirit of the Day, you¡¯ve lived in the skin of one who simply exists. Stay in it a little longer, little hunter. Allow yourself the chance to not feel the weight of a human heart.¡±


    Ergar¡¯s words, just like his grandfather¡¯s, resonated deeply with the boy. But unlike Grandpa¡¯s words, they didn¡¯t feel foreign, they didn¡¯t try to tear up or destroy anything. Instead, like a warm blanket, they wrapped around something important, but heavy, sharp, and piercing inside him. The snow leopard¡¯s words wrapped that pain up, covered it, and pulled it deep down.


    It became easier.


    Not only for his body, but also for something else the boy didn¡¯t know the name of yet.


    ¡°Sniff, little hunter. Smell is more reliable than sight. What do you smell?¡±


    Ardi opened his nostrils and took a deep breath of the icy Alcadian air. For a moment, he felt dizzy. There were so many new things he could sense now.


    ¡°There¡¯s water somewhere,¡± the boy replied, eyes closed, the cold forgotten. ¡°And something... like goats, but different.¡±


    Ardi opened his eyes. Nearby, on the rocks, lay Ergar. He had wrapped himself in his tails, his nose slightly lowered to blend in with the snowy ledge. If Ardi hadn¡¯t known where to look, he wouldn¡¯t have been able to see his teacher among the rocks and snow even from ten paces away.


    ¡°The water that flows higher up is dormant for the season, little hunter,¡± Ergar¡¯s whiskers twitched oddly, reminding the boy of a grasshopper. ¡°The ibexes can¡¯t wake it with their hooves, so they come down lower ¡ª where the water never sleeps, not even in the darkest hours of the Queen¡¯s reign.¡±


    ¡°The Queen?¡±


    Ergar shook his head. In the weeks he¡¯d spent in that cave, the boy had learned the habits of his teacher. When Ergar moved his nose sharply from side to side, it always meant one thing ¡ª don¡¯t ask questions.


    ¡°Remember, little hunter, water is life. Where there is water, you can quench both your thirst and your hunger.¡±


    With these words, the snow leopard¡¯s tail flicked downward. The wind blew so that it lifted a blizzard toward the peak, twisting it into sharp braids. The boy had to lean out and squint, covering his eyes with his hand to see through the shimmering ice crystals.


    Below, about five or six meters down, several ibexes ¡ª large creatures with heavy, twisted horns ¡ª stood on thin ledges. Their powerful, massive bodies, covered in thick fur, clung to the nearly vertical cliff. At first, Ardi didn¡¯t understand why they were so tense, but when the wind paused for a moment, he spotted a group of small goats and kids through the dying snowstorm.


    Far more modest looking than the males without all the intimidating adornments, they seemed to be licking the rocks, but if you looked closely, you could see small streams of cold water running down the slope.


    ¡°Father says it¡¯s wrong to hunt animals when they¡¯re at a waterhole,¡± Ardi whispered, moving away from the edge.


    As soon as he said it, the cold came at him again like a ravenous, grinning dog, baring its teeth and curling its tail.


    ¡°Your father chose the human path, little hunter,¡± Ergar stepped down from his perch and pressed himself against the ledge. He tensed, drawing his legs in and stretching out his tail, pressing his nose to the snowy surface. ¡°A beast hunts when it is hungry. There is neither honor nor dishonor in it, only the way, Ardan. And the way is as it is.¡±


    Only the way... The thought etched itself into the boy¡¯s mind, and the cold receded, while thoughts of his father and his teachings were lost somewhere amid the icy whirlwinds.


    ¡°When the hunt begins, cub, look for the smallest and the weakest,¡± Ergar¡¯s words were sounding more and more like a wild growl to Ardi. ¡°If you can¡¯t kill with one blow, retreat. Don¡¯t waste your strength. Now do as I do.¡±


    Ardi expected Ergar to jump from his high vantage point and land on the prey like an eagle. The boy had seen several such scenes before while observing things from Hawk¡¯s Cliff.


    But it seemed like Ergar hadn¡¯t even considered such an approach. Instead of leaping down, the snow leopard began to descend more gradually. Slowly at first, sliding down the slope like a snake, leaning on even the smallest ledges, the predator descended deeper and deeper. The snow became his cloak, hiding the barely perceptible blue spots on his fur, and the wind hid his scent, leaving the alert male ibexes unaware of his approach.


    And when they were only a few yards from their goal, Ergar pushed off the cliff.


    The boy had never thought an animal could move at the speed of light, but that¡¯s what he saw. There was a white blur, gleaming with steel claws, and then he heard the thunder of nearly cracking rocks and a terrifying roar:


    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± And then jaws closed around the neck of the nearest ibex.


    Ardi froze. Sticky fingers gripped his heart again, twisting and kneading it like his mother kneading dough before baking his favorite cake...


    The first drops of blood, the bleating of the convulsing ibex pinned beneath Ergar, the sight of exposed flesh peeking out from under torn hide¡­ He watched as the herd, both goats and kids, and then the bleating males as well, scattered in a panic, how greedily Ergar tore into and crushed his prey ¡ª all of this turned the world around Ardi red.


    He¡¯d thought he knew this feeling already. He¡¯d thought he was prepared for it. He¡¯d thought wrong.


    Now that he could see even the finest details, feel all the shades of bloodshed, and understand the full horror of hunger being sated in the most primal way possible¡­


    The boy rushed forward.


    He didn¡¯t know if he was clinging to the ledges with his feet or his hands. He bounced off the rocks, tore his skin, tumbled down the slope, past Ergar tearing into his prey, and ran on. His swift legs carried him after the fleeing herd, his breath coming in rapid gasps and his racing heart trying to outpace him and reach the prey first.


    The world around Ardi turned orange, then fiery, and finally, crimson. All he saw was the fleeing kid. And all he felt was the whip of hunger driving him on.


    When he was a hair¡¯s breadth from his goal, something struck him in the chest with such force that he forgot to breathe. He was knocked backwards, scraping his back against the sharp rocks and leaving a deep, bloody trail in the snow. Ardi froze. Unable to move, the boy watched as a living mountain stepped in front of him. It rumbled with heavy footsteps that shook the ground, the snowflakes flying after it on the currents of the tamed wind.


    ¡°Your hunt ends here, you little-¡±


    A terrifying roar made the living mountain pause. Ergar emerged from the storm and wind and stood before Ardi. His long claws gleamed in the light of the rising stars, and his tails struck the icy ground, cracking it and sending great flakes of snow into the air.


    ¡°Ergar, Storm of the Mountain Peaks,¡± the living mountain said, but the more Ardi looked at it, the more he realized that his eyes had deceived him.


    The voice did not belong to a mountain, but to an ibex. It was much larger than the ones that had fled. It seemed to be the size of a small barn, and it had not one, but two pairs of horns. They were massive enough to make the young branches of an oak tree envious.


    Where this strange beast stepped, the snow melted and grass and flowers bloomed.


    ¡°Lenos, Guardian of the Southern Gates,¡± the snow leopard said calmly. ¡°What brings you here in the dead of winter?¡±


    Lenos remained silent. Instead of answering, he just thumped the ground with his hoof and, looking over Ergar¡¯s shoulder at the boy pressed into the snow, he said, ¡°He tried to kill my daughter, Ergar. Step aside and let my hooves crush his bones and my horns tear his flesh apart.¡±


    Lenos was about to move when a growl, deeper and longer than any Ardi had ever heard before, literally shook the rocks. They rumbled and shed part of their icy caps. Snow swirled in the sky, forming dozens of long, thin icicles that rained down on Lenos without touching his fur, forming a shimmering palisade.


    ¡°You think this will stop me, older brother?¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t,¡± the snow leopard laid down on the ground, demonstratively relaxing. Blood still dripped from his whiskers and fur. ¡°But it will remind you, Lenos, that we have the right to satisfy our hunger.¡±


    ¡°And we have the right to defend our lives!¡± The ibex bellowed, stomping the ground again, causing the grass and flowers beneath his hooves to rise and shatter the icicles.


    ¡°But I don¡¯t seem to recall, wise Guardian, the Queens ever allowing us to interfere with the paths of the lesser ones,¡± Ergar yawned lazily, even mockingly, baring his crimson fangs. ¡°Or should I ask one of the courtiers to mediate?¡±


    Lenos thumped his hoof again, then snorted so hard that the cloud of steam from his wide nostrils melted the surrounding snow, exposing the black stones beneath.


    ¡°If they hear us,¡± the ibex replied with an equal amount of derision, then straightened and gave the boy a quick, scornful glance. ¡°He stinks of man and iron, Ergar. I did not think that one whose name I hear among the mountain storms would ever fall so low.¡±


    With that, Lenos turned and... dove into the grass. Ardi would¡¯ve rubbed his eyes if he could move his hands. He couldn¡¯t tell whether this was an illusion or not, but it seemed as if Lenos had just jumped headfirst into the flowers like a trout and disappeared into the small meadow.


    ¡°Can you stand, cub?¡± Ergar asked, towering over the boy.


    The boy tried to stand, but only groaned in pain as the liquid fire spread throughout his body.


    The snow leopard growled in displeasure.


    ¡°What a disgrace to the hunters¡¯ paths,¡± he muttered, but then gently and carefully wrapped the boy in his tails ¡ª eliciting another groan ¡ª and laid him on his back. In a few leaps, he returned to the plateau, grabbed the still warm ibex carcass by its scruff, and raced back to the cave. The boy, who was now lying on the snow leopard¡¯s broad, fluffy, warm back, glanced behind them at where the meadow was already iced over. For the first time in a long time, he realized how long it had been since he had last seen the forest.


    ***


    Ardi was awakened by hunger. It was a strange feeling, like there was a hole in his stomach that was gradually sucking in his entire body and then his thoughts. When the smell of blood and meat reached his nose before he could see anything, he grabbed a bone and tore into what was left on it without any conscious thought.


    At that moment, neither the dull ache in his ribs, nor his bloodied knees and elbows, nor the torn skin on his shoulders bothered him. Gnawing at the warm flesh, choking on the oozing blood, tearing at the fibers with his teeth, and ripping into the sinews, Ardi didn¡¯t stop until he had sucked the marrow from the bone he had smashed against a rock.


    But even then, the hunger inside him only eased a little. He still wanted to eat.


    Scanning the cave with his eyes, he saw Ergar gnawing at the last bone. The boy, not knowing why, pressed himself against the wall and began to circle around the snow leopard and his prey. When he found himself behind Ergar, he was just about to leap onto the creature¡¯s back when he received a sharp blow to his stomach from the beast¡¯s tail.


    Falling to his knees and panting, Ardi slowly regained his senses.


    Had he really been about to attack the snow leopard?


    ¡°And that¡¯s your third lesson for today, little hunter,¡± the snow leopard said mockingly, spitting out the bone. ¡°Now be so kind as to tell me what you¡¯ve learned today, cub.¡±


    Catching his breath, Ardi managed to sit up, and leaning on Ergar¡¯s paw, which radiated warmth and was much softer than the rocks, he began.


    ¡°Don¡¯t chase after prey.¡±


    Ergar nodded and added, ¡°If you know you can¡¯t catch it. If you can¡¯t kill with the first strike, retreat. Don¡¯t waste your strength. Good, cub. What else?¡±


    Ardi thought back on the day. It seemed longer than his whole life thus far. So much had happened. So many strange, wonderful and... incredibly interesting things had happened!


    ¡°Always hunt at the water,¡± he continued, though not very confidently, with a hint of a question in his tone.


    ¡°If you always hunt at the water, they¡¯ll stop coming there. No, cub, think harder.¡±


    The boy mulled it over. What had happened today that had made his hunt fail? He had been fast ¡ª much faster than the Ardi he had known for the past six years. His sense of smell had allowed him to distinguish even the finest details of the rich scents in the air. And his eyes... it seemed as if he had been half asleep before, and now, after washing his face with cold water, he was fully awake, seeing everything clearly.


    And yet, Ardi had...


    ¡°Prey... does not want to be caught.¡±


    ¡°And...¡± Ergar prompted.


    ¡°I¡¯m... not the... best hunter.¡±


    ¡°Not yet the best,¡± Ergar stressed. ¡°The more you hunt, cub, the better your skills will become, and your fangs will grow sharper and your claws faster. Never let a full stomach and an abundance of game and water make you feel on top. Always be vigilant, especially of yourself. You¡¯re not just hunting game, boy, you¡¯re hunting hunger, and believe me, it¡¯s trickier and more cunning than any squirrel.¡±


    A squirrel... Skusty... A few thoughts popped into Ardi¡¯s head, but they were quickly drowned out by Ergar¡¯s voice.


    ¡°And the third lesson, Ardan, the most important you¡¯ve learned today.¡±


    The boy looked at the purple bruise on his side, at the small red stripe on his chest, and then at the long fangs of Ergar. The sticky fingers crawled over the boy¡¯s body again.


    ¡°Choose prey that matches your strength,¡± Ardi whispered.


    ¡°Correct, cub,¡± Ergar growled, then turned to face the entrance of the cave. He gazed at the horizon, which was blossoming with scarlet and pink. ¡°And that¡¯s the only rule you¡¯ll have to break when the time comes.¡±


    The boy wanted to ask something then, but instead of the question on the tip of his tongue, he asked another:


    ¡°Do the Sidhe really exist?¡±


    Ergar twitched his tail and turned to face the boy. His blue eyes narrowed slightly, making the mighty predator look like a playful house cat.


    ¡°Why do you think they shouldn¡¯t exist, little hunter?¡±


    Ardi replied with all the surety and reason of a six-year-old, ¡°Because Grandpa told me stories about them.¡±


    For a moment, the walls of the cave shook with the rhythmic growl that came in waves. Ardi had never heard a snow leopard laugh before, and at first, he was a little frightened.


    But Ergar kept laughing until he nearly fell off his customary perch. He regained his composure and resumed his favorite lazy reclining position.


    ¡°Yes, Ardi, they do exist. But don¡¯t ask me how to call upon them, or more importantly, how to find them.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because Lenos is right ¡ª you still smell of humans and iron. And to the Sidhe, as to any Fae, there¡¯s no worse smell than the smell of iron.¡±


    The boy nodded. Grandfather had told him something similar.


    ¡°Now go, cub, play while I nap,¡± Ergar closed his eyes. ¡°When the Spirit of the Day goes to rest, we¡¯ll hit the hunting trails again, but this time, if you miss, I won¡¯t share my catch with you.¡±


    Ardi spent the entire evening running and jumping around the cave and even beyond it, delighted at how responsive his body was and how quick and easy his movements were. He darted through the Foyer, soared to the top of the Attic, and when he got tired, he lay down on the sun-warmed rocks and chewed on some snow. The icy water ran down his throat and lips, tickling and prickling his body.


    In the evening, Ergar took him on another hunt. But once again, the boy failed to catch his prey, which had been a mountain goat this time. And so he had to go to bed with an empty stomach. On the second day, they encountered a young snow leopard who challenged Ardi, but Ergar said the cub was too small and would accept the challenge when he grew his fangs and claws out properly. The other snow leopard didn¡¯t dare argue, but refused to share a path with him.


    This was Ardi¡¯s fourth lesson ¡ª sometimes, you have to fight for your prey.


    Three more days passed in the same manner. On the fourth day, the boy began to feel the hunger consuming him, but he knew he shouldn¡¯t tell Ergar ¡ª the snow leopard had already said he wouldn¡¯t share his prey with him.


    Using the snow leopard¡¯s lessons, the boy managed to catch a plump, unsuspecting bird resting on a ledge. This became his first kill, which he hastened to boast about to Ergar. The snow leopard even nodded in approval, but immediately added sternly that such kills were the lot of old and weak hunters. That didn¡¯t stop the boy from devouring his dinner, though.


    It was not until the end of his second week of hunting that the boy finally managed to catch a small goat. And as his body pinned the creature to the rocks as his hands wrapped around its neck, the young hunter no longer had any doubts.


    He was hungry.


    He had found food.


    He had caught it in a fair contest of speed and agility.


    Now it was his dinner.


    Small hands twisted the tiny neck of the goat, and the hunter sank his fangs into its hard skin. As he bathed in warm blood and tore at its flesh, he was too engrossed to notice Ergar sitting higher up the slope, smiling broadly.


    And that was how Ardi spent his first winter in the Alcade Mountains: hunting, playing games and talking with the snow leopard.

 Chapter 7 - Journey

    Ardi approached the sleeping Ergar carefully, his belly barely touching the cave floor. The Spirit of the Day had just begun to awaken, and the snow leopard was resting after a long hunt ¡ª they had been tracking the herd for three days, studying their habits, feeding grounds and watering holes, and so his teacher was resting now. The same could not be said for the young hunter, whose energy, according to Ergar, was boundless enough to give birth to another Spirit of the Day.


    The young hunter made sure the wind was blowing into his face and that his shadow didn¡¯t fall on the snow leopard¡¯s eyes. And when his prey seemed almost within his grasp, the hunter leaped. He even managed to wrap his arms around Ergar¡¯s mighty neck and nip at his ear before the leopard twisted, lashed out with his paws, and pinned the cub to the ground.


    ¡°Ouch! Stop it!¡± Ardi began to struggle, but Ergar held him down too tightly. ¡°I¡¯ve already washed!¡±


    But the snow leopard¡¯s rough tongue, only slightly softer than dried pine bark, didn¡¯t care. He continued to lick the cub¡¯s back and chest, turning them red and leaving little crimson scratches behind.


    Ardi laughed and tried to push the snow leopard¡¯s snout away, but all his paws could do was spread Ergar¡¯s cheeks, making it look like he was grinning foolishly.


    When the morning washing ritual was finally over, Ergar nudged the laughing Ardi with his nose.


    For a while, they lay in silence, basking in the dawn¡¯s rays that bathed the mountains in a gentle fire, which was far more pleasant than the leopard¡¯s tongue.


    ¡°Beautiful,¡± whispered the young hunter as he watched the broad-winged eagles pierce the high clouds. They soared from their high nests and glided over the Alcade, free and mighty, able to cover distances in a day that would take Ardi weeks.


    But now they flew downwards.


    They were heading past the Stairs, below the Foyer, to where the forest was still shaking off the snow. The branches were already wearing green sweaters, and the ground was gradually smoothing out its brown and rust-colored pants. The Alcade welcomed the early, wet, cold spring with drizzles and winds, storms and tempests. The air grew sweeter and warmer, the snow retreated higher and higher toward the mountain peaks, and the quiet streams gained strength, soon to become raging rivers.


    ¡°Our Queen goes to rest,¡± Ergar murmured through his drowsiness. ¡°Her sister awakens, and with her, her subjects. The mountains sleep and the forests awaken, little hunter. Such is the endless dance of our land.¡±


    Ardi nodded as if he¡¯d understood something there. In truth, much of what Ergar told him often remained a mystery to him.


    ¡°How are your claws?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± The young hunter exclaimed, slapping his thighs. ¡°Right!¡±


    He ran to the far end of the cave, where he had set up his little den. There were some stones there, crystals, a few beautiful feathers dropped by unknown birds, two mountain troll fangs, and a shard from an ogre¡¯s club. But even among these countless treasures, the claws held a place of honor.


    For the last twenty visits of the Spirit of the Day, Ardi had been working on them, much to Ergar¡¯s constant disapproval. At first, he had been vehemently against it, but eventually, he had shifted from anger to an almost imperceptible disapproval. Almost imperceptible because, instead of reminding Ardi every day that this was unworthy of being part of a hunter¡¯s way, Ergar had started doing it every other day.


    In general, it could be said that the apprentice had almost received his Master¡¯s approval.


    Ardi picked up a pair of gloves made from the hides of the lower slope ibexes ¡ª they had the same toughness as the highland goats, but were more pliable. After ruining two full hides and three skeins of sinew, he had finally managed to sew two gloves. Fortunately, he¡¯d still remembered those scenes from a forgotten dream. It seemed like someone he¡¯d once known had done something similar a long time ago.


    The young hunter had a poor memory.


    Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he would wake up with a wet face and the taste of blackberries on his lips. He had no real idea why.


    But the gloves weren¡¯t the end of it. Ardi had retrieved many long, slightly curved, brown stones from the bottom of a frozen stream. Once again, he had been remembering the lessons of an old hunter, things he¡¯d learned before Ergar had taken him in.


    The old hunter had told him that such stones could be used to make weapons or tools, as their ancestors had done. Which ancestors exactly, the cub couldn¡¯t quite grasp.


    Well, he knew that he was different from Ergar.


    He didn¡¯t have such thick and beautiful fur, his tail didn¡¯t grow, and his paws looked strange. But that was because he was still young and hadn¡¯t grown up yet. But one day, when he was strong enough, he would be just like his Master ¡ª he, too, would be the terror of the mountaintops.


    The fiercest and most powerful of predators!


    But back to the gloves.


    The young hunter, who¡¯d scratched his skin up quite badly, broken many stones, and ended up spending a few more strands of ibex sinew in the process, had also managed to sharpen the stones and insert them into his gloves.


    Even so, his first game with Ergar had shown him that his claws couldn¡¯t withstand a prolonged fight. They either broke or fell off. And so Ardi had had to make a harness with a dozen spare stones, which he always carried with him on the hunt now.


    ¡°Here!¡± The young hunter presented his creation to his Master for judgment.


    Ergar lowered his head, sniffed, snorted, and turned away with a wrinkled nose.


    ¡°This is a disgrace to the ways,¡± Ergar growled. ¡°If you ever meet anyone who asks you about it, never say you¡¯re my apprentice. My fangs will fall out in shame.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t point out that his Master was already down a fang and only had three because he had given one to his Hunter-Parent at the end of his own training. And now Ardi wore it around his neck.


    The Spirit of the Day quickened its pace, and the cave was bathed in warm light. The snow leopard sprawled out on a rock, exposing his tired body to the generous rays in the hopes of recovering after their long hunt.


    ¡°Go,¡± Ergar grumbled, twitching his whiskers in annoyance. ¡°You have five visits.¡±


    ¡°But the descent to the expanses alone will take a full visit¡¯s travel!¡± The young hunter protested immediately.


    ¡°Then you¡¯d better hurry,¡± the snow leopard snorted, twitching his nose from side to side ¡ª this conversation was over.


    Ardi hissed a little, but his feeble attempts didn¡¯t make his Master so much as flinch. He didn¡¯t even twitch a whisker. So, the young hunter had no choice but to grab his harness with his spare claws, his gloves, and head for the Stairs.


    If he wanted to play in the wilderness, he would have to hurry. Unless, of course, he wanted to disobey Ergar¡¯s instructions.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    The last time he¡¯d done that... He was left with a few shallow scars on his back, which were supposed to serve as a reminder not to anger his Master and engage in what Ergar called dangerous mischief.


    But it hadn¡¯t been dangerous at all! The cub had merely estimated where Lenos¡¯ lair was and dropped an icicle on the foolish ibex. Who would have thought that this would trigger an avalanche...


    When he was almost at the exit, Ardi was stopped by Ergar¡¯s words:


    ¡°If you get into trouble, whisper my name to the fang, but remember, Ardan, if you do that, you¡¯ll never go anywhere alone until five snows have passed.¡±


    Five snows!


    The young hunter shook his head. That was an awfully long time!


    ¡°Alright, Master!¡± He waved a paw, thinking that he would surely never have to call for help.


    Besides, what could happen to him? He knew how to hunt and how to negotiate with other hunters. So, the worst thing that could happen was that he might not make it back in time. That meant that, as his wise Master had already said, he should really hurry!


    Ardi adjusted his harness, making sure the knot was tight enough not to come loose at the first opportunity. And knots were like hawk chicks ¡ª they only caused trouble. But this time, the young hunter had anticipated all the possible issues that could hinder his first great solo journey.


    He dashed out of the cave and took a deep breath of the air, which was no longer so frosty, but still scratched his throat. It was coming in from the eastern and southern peaks of the Alcade, promising impending floods and storms, but the rainy season was still a few weeks away, which was why Ardi had decided to venture forth now.


    Admiring the golden dawn, which was greedily gnawing off large chunks of the star-studded western sky, the young hunter ran downhill. His paws were light and free, sinking slightly into the snow and sometimes piercing the most delicate parts of his skin. Ardi was waiting for fur to grow there so he wouldn¡¯t lag behind his Master even in the harshest of weather.


    Passing through the wide Foyer, which had been swept clean by the advancing spring that was clearing away the ice and snowdrifts, the young hunter approached the Stairs. They were a series of stone ledges that led straight down to the base of the mountain. Even in cloudy weather, when his Master had said that the spirits of the rivers and lakes danced with their cloud brothers, Ardi usually wasn¡¯t afraid and had even tackled much worse slopes, but now...


    His heart sped up and his breathing became a little more ragged. He looked down at his claws.


    Maybe Ergar was right and-


    ¡°Cub,¡± a whisper came from above him. ¡°Have you decided to spread your wings and leave the nest?¡±


    The young hunter looked up. There, near the peak, perched on a rock, was Kaishas, the four-winged eagle, called the Eyes of the Clouds. They had crossed paths a few times on hunting trails, and among all the other hunters, Kaishas seemed to be Ergar¡¯s best and only friend. Ardi had never really seen them argue longer than... well, longer than Ergar usually argued with and grumbled at everyone whose hunting trails crossed his.


    ¡°Hello!¡± The cub waved a short paw. ¡°You¡¯ve decided to stretch your wings a bit, too?¡±


    ¡°Stretch them a bit indeed,¡± the eagle¡¯s beak twitched mockingly. The eagle was the size of a small boulder, and its wings were so wide that when it flew low over the ground, it cast a truly huge shadow. That¡¯s how the cub usually knew when Kaishas was visiting. ¡°My wings are always ready to traverse the paths between the clouds, little hunter. I don¡¯t need to stretch them or... curse it! You again!¡±


    And Kaishas reached with his beak toward the feathers of one of his wings. The eagle grumbled as he cleaned out either dirt or insects from his wing, or maybe it was someone¡¯s bones or dried blood.


    ¡°Let¡¯s race, Kaishas!¡± Ardi laughed. ¡°Whoever wins-¡±


    A black shadow flickered above the young hunter. Four mighty wings flapped so hard they launched a blanket of snow that reached almost up to Ardan¡¯s chest.


    ¡°You¡¯ve already lost!¡± The eagle cried out, disappearing ahead of him.


    But the cub wouldn¡¯t be Ergar¡¯s apprentice if he gave up so easily. Shaking off the snow and still laughing, he ran after him. He skirted wide, snow-covered boulders, leaping over streams that had stretched out lazily under the caresses of the young Spirit of the Day. Their icy surfaces had begun to melt, and the sleepy water flowed reluctantly, in small trickles, down to the forest floor.


    Ardi practically flew over familiar cracks and crevices, but unlike during the snow season, he did so much more carefully, choosing narrower spots when unsure of his strength. This, of course, gave the pesky Kaishas an advantage.


    The eagle would sometimes hover in the air, almost mockingly spreading his wings in the wind currents and teasing his rival:


    ¡°I¡¯d say you¡¯re crawling, Ardi, but even compared to a sleepy marmot, you¡¯re too slow.¡±


    Ardan scooped up clumps of snow with his paws and threw them at his rival, but Kaishas dodged lazily and continued to mock the young hunter¡¯s attempts.


    They raced on for several hours, until Ergar¡¯s apprentice suddenly found himself at the very edge of the Stairs. The Spirit of the Day, almost at the center of its domain, sent sharp rays into Ardi¡¯s eyes.


    Placing a paw on his forehead to shield himself from the light, the young hunter looked down. Indeed, it would take him the rest of the day to descend the Stairs, and running along the wet, sometimes icy ledges would be unwise.


    Unless he wanted to hurt himself in a nasty fall, of course. After that, his Master would probably never let him go beyond the confines of the cave again.


    The hunter kicked a small stone and watched its descent carefully. It hit sharp ridges, bounced off wide platforms, and sometimes slid across smooth, sunlit ice sheets. Even if he hurried, Ardan would still...


    ¡°Do you want help?¡±


    Mighty wings flapped, and the Eyes of the Clouds landed beside the young hunter. When they were side by side like this, Ardi was made aware of the fact that, even if he stood on his hind legs, he still couldn¡¯t match Kaishas¡¯ intimidating size.


    ¡°How can you help?¡± Ardan asked curiously.


    The eagle tilted his head to the side, his strange eyes blinking, and his upper right wing extended toward the forest. From up here, it seemed as if Kaishas could cover it all with his mighty wings: from the pines shaking off the last blankets of snow, the leafy paths that had all but forgotten the Spirit of the Day¡¯s greetings, the streams that crawled lazily across the ground, shedding their icy coverings, and even the very eyes of this vast landscape ¡ª the endless lakes.


    Ardan had only just thought about how he wouldn¡¯t mind some help when the eagle¡¯s heavy claws wrapped around his forearms, lightly scratching his skin. And the next thing the young hunter¡¯s mind could comprehend was that he was no longer walking across the snow. The white, wet and almost insubstantial surface underneath Ardi¡¯s amusingly flailing paws turned out to be clouds.


    They stretched out into serene hills as the hunter followed the paths of the birds. The wind cut into his eyes and hooted in his ears like an angry owl. But Ardan didn¡¯t notice. His arms outstretched, he raced through realms unknown to him, and perhaps to most other land hunters as well. Below him, the Stairs zipped past, and the icy fangs of the Alcade Mountains glittered, suddenly so small and humble, and Ardan screamed something.


    He was howling at the top of his lungs and smiling from ear to ear. Kaishas laughed as only those who were able to bring home an old friend could laugh, knowing that now they¡¯d understand each other better.


    And Ardi walked on. He pushed off cumulus clouds, glided over feathery clouds, jumped from one to the next, and eventually, they climbed so high that the heat of the Spirit of the Day nearly burned his skin.


    ¡°Ready?¡± Croaked the eagle.


    ¡°For wha-oooooo!¡±


    Ardan¡¯s question, which turned into a scream, tore through the Alkade sky. Kaishas folded his wings, and with ears still full of whistling, tear-filled eyes, and joy in his heart, the young hunter plummeted to the ground. The earth changed places with the sky, spinning in a dance of fragments of reality that the cub could now see and understand. But he was not afraid. On the contrary, he felt something... something...


    The smell of some berries and something... something edible. Something he liked. He felt like it was called-


    ¡°And here we are.¡±


    Ardi realized that they were no longer flying or falling. Instead, with his arms now outstretched, he felt not sharp stones biting into his flesh like hungry ants, but actual ants instead. The little pests were climbing onto the young hunter¡¯s body, making him grunt from the unpleasant sensation.


    Ardan jumped to his feet, shook himself free, and nearly fell onto his backside. His head spun and his lungs swelled like sacks. Down here, the air was much richer than even on the Stairs, not to mention the hunting grounds of Ergar and his apprentice.


    ¡°You¡¯re on your own from here,¡± the eagle spoke through the ringing in his ears. ¡°Don¡¯t get lost, cub.¡±


    Ardi wanted to shout words of thanks and clarify that he wasn¡¯t a cub, but instead, he burst into a coughing fit and fell into the dewy grass. Kaishas just laughed, and after a few heartbeats, he had disappeared into the clouds that seemed to be frozen in the sky.


    The young hunter smiled and closed his eyes, lying down in the grass. It was much softer than the sharp rocks of the cave and much warmer than the snowy beds of the mountain trails. And the smell... It smelled of something... something... Ardi couldn¡¯t remember what, but he felt like he knew that smell ¡ª he had smelled it before. A long time ago. Perhaps in a dream... or in a dream within a dream.


    The wind was blowing. It was nudging heavy cumulus clouds that mockingly took the shapes of birds and animals. The crowns of the fir trees whispered incessantly, the creaky birches chuckled, and the young leaves, just now emerging from the swollen buds of the maples and oaks, stretched lazily to greet the spring dawn.


    Ardi stretched, yawned, but managed to overcome the sudden warmth that had wrapped him in a cozy fur coat. The young hunter jumped to his feet, making sure there was still plenty of time, and ran into the forest to play in the wilderness.


    He didn¡¯t know that someone was approaching the clearing.

 Chapter 8 - Wolfs

    The young hunter darted through the tall grass, playing with the awakening streams and helping them break free from the sweet lethargy of spring. He deftly broke through pieces of thin ice to catch lazy fish. Sometimes, he would stop and stare for a long time at the barely visible tracks in the lightly trampled grass. Then he would spend nearly an hour sniffing trees, rocks, and the various trails scattered throughout the forest.


    Ardi didn¡¯t know the hunters of the forest, and he didn¡¯t want to end up in someone¡¯s belly during his first sleep just because he had stepped on a foreign path.


    And so his first journey of the Spirit of the Day passed uneventfully as he played and entertained himself. It was a nice start to his first solo adventure. In the evening, tired, Ardi chose the widest and sturdiest tree. Making sure it wasn¡¯t marked by a bear¡¯s claws or gleaming with lynx or wolf fur, Ergar¡¯s apprentice deftly climbed the rough bark and settled on a wide branch, hiding among the foliage.


    The young hunter had learned the lessons of the snow leopard well. Since he hadn¡¯t grown thick fur yet, and his claws couldn¡¯t tear through flesh freely, nor could his fangs crack bones, there was no point in tempting hunters with his soft appearance.


    After settling down and making sure he wouldn¡¯t fall even if the Spirit of the Night granted him a restless sleep, Ardi began to prepare for his rest. As Ergar had taught him, he began with words of gratitude.


    ¡°Spirits of the present and the future,¡± he said, looking up at the lights of the spirits of the past ¡ª those who had already walked the unseen paths ¡ª beginning to glow high above, between the broad wings of the Spirit of the Night. ¡°I thank you for the path of the Spirit of the Day that you have laid beneath my paws.¡± The young hunter gestured with his paw, placing the back of his fist first on his chest, where his heart was beating, and then on his forehead. ¡°Thank you, Spirit of the Night, for coming to take me on a journey, and I ask only that you release me when the time comes.¡±


    Ardi opened his hand and covered the sky with it.


    ¡°Spirits of the old hunters and mothers ¡ª thank you for walking with me. My land is your land, and your way is my way.¡±


    With the ritual complete, Ardi curled up and fell asleep. He even dreamed something. He just couldn¡¯t understand what it was. He saw a huge cave made of stone and wood, but somehow it seemed to have grown out of the earth. Nearby, a stream gurgled. And someone, a barely discernible silhouette ¡ª neither beast nor bird ¡ª was standing on the steps. And there was the smell of blackberries. But it was a little strange.


    It wasn¡¯t just the smell of blackberries, but something else. Something very...


    Ardi woke up with a burning face. He reached out and wiped a few drops of moisture from his cheek. This had happened to him before, when the path of the Spirit of the Night had also ended with moisture on his face. Ergar had told him that it was a mirage and that it would be another five seasons before it stopped bothering him. He just had to be patient.


    But never before had this moisture made Ardi feel pain and-


    ¡°I can smell something.¡±


    Ardi crouched down quickly and quietly. Using his fangs, he tightened the strap of his gloves that held his claws and squinted, peering through the foliage.


    ¡°The trail ends here,¡± a second voice said.


    ¡°Keep looking...¡± A third growled, threatening and strong. ¡°This is the scent of bipeds... Their young cannot walk the paths between the leaves.¡±


    ¡°But, Pack Leader, I can feel the scent going up the trunk.¡±


    ¡°Then your nose is wrong, Hargli. Keep searching!¡±


    A few shadows, hidden by the veils of the Spirit of the Night, darted in different directions. The largest of them stood still for a moment, sniffing the trunk and the ground. It rustled through the grass with its snout, occasionally tearing at the ground with its paws, but eventually, it settled down. It stilled for a moment, then looked up sharply. Ardi didn¡¯t flinch or move. Ergar had taught him to trust his camouflage, and unnecessary movement would only help his prey find him.


    And it didn¡¯t matter that in this case, Ardan was the prey.


    The wolf¡¯s eyes could see perfectly in the dark, no worse than Ergar¡¯s and his little apprentice¡¯s own eyes could. But even though they saw well, they didn¡¯t know what they wanted to see. And so, the leader of the pack saw only a few fireflies among the high foliage, and nothing more. After standing for a few more moments, he growled low and rushed into the forest.


    All the while, the young hunter¡¯s heart was beating only slightly faster. And only after the strange scent of the forest dwellers had sufficiently dissipated among the trees and earth did Ardi allow himself to exhale. If he had shown weakness for even a second, the wolves would have smelled his fear and would not have doubted the abilities of their tracker so much.


    ¡°But why,¡± the young hunter whispered, gripping a branch tightly. ¡°I haven¡¯t crossed anyone¡¯s path or stolen anyone¡¯s prey.¡±


    And the few fish he¡¯d caught had been so small that they surely wouldn¡¯t cause a whole pack to fight over territory.


    ¡°They have no reason to bare their fangs at me,¡± Ardi frowned.


    But those were all, as Ergar had put it, thoughts for another day. For now, he had to get out. His Master had always said that wolves didn¡¯t abandon their prey and even if they went away for a while, they would surely return to the trail. They lived in packs, not alone like the proud mountain hunters, and therefore, they needed much more prey.


    After waiting a little longer, sniffing the wind and peering into the darkness of the night trails, the young hunter began to prepare. He broke off a small twig and rubbed it over the spot where he had lain to avoid attracting unnecessary attention from lynxes or, spirits forbid, someone poisoned by the Ley. Who they were, Ardi didn¡¯t know ¡ª Ergar didn¡¯t like to talk about the Ley-Poisoned.


    Descending to the ground, the young hunter placed his paw on the trunk and muttered words of gratitude. Maybe it was his imagination, but the tree seemed to creak differently under the increasing pressure of the east wind in response to his gesture.


    Ardi practically pressed himself to the ground, trusting his eyes and nose. His eyes didn¡¯t see as well in the darkness as Ergar¡¯s, but it was enough for him to notice four tracks and a trampled path. His nose also caught the familiar scent of dried blood, stones, and added a few new and unfamiliar ones... or almost unfamiliar? It seemed like, in the very depths of his mind, those strange notes were called spruce, juniper, brown moss, and...


    The young hunter frowned and shook his head. These were all remnants of the Spirit of the Night¡¯s mirages. He didn¡¯t know these words or these scents. Such things did not grow in the Alcade Mountains.


    ¡°There are four of them,¡± Ardi whispered, straightening up and hiding in the encroaching darkness. ¡°With the tracker, that makes five. That¡¯s too many for a hunting party and too few for a migration.¡±


    Ergar, when he¡¯d taught him about the lives of hunters and prey, had said that wolves sometimes traveled incredible distances ¡ª far greater than any other hunter of the mountain trails, forest expanses, or river and lake shores. But they rarely did so, and usually, it happened when they were following the migration of their prey.


    But now the blooming season was upon them. That meant that the prey was moving here, not away.


    The young hunter frowned. He didn¡¯t like what was happening. It contradicted all the laws and rules he had learned about so diligently in the cave. And the tracks of the wolves had a strange smell to them. Everything seemed normal at first glance, but something was drawing attention to itself in a very unpleasant way.


    It was reminiscent of that time when Ardi, out of ignorance, had decided to consume some yellow snow. Ergar had teased him about it for a long time, and Ardan had been unable to get rid of the unpleasant taste on the tip of his tongue for what had felt like weeks.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    And here, now, it was the same in a lot of ways.


    ¡°Maybe this is enough for my first outing,¡± Ardi nodded at his own thoughts. Ergar¡¯s lessons were deeply ingrained in him. And as his wise teacher had said: ¡°You can¡¯t do it right now? Then retreat, prepare, return and finish what you started.¡±


    Yes, he would have to endure his teacher¡¯s ridicule if he spent only one of his allotted five nights in the wilderness, but that was better than facing five clearly unwell wolves on the trail. And the way they¡¯d whispered about the scent of bipeds... Who were these bipeds? More mysteries. Ardi liked mysteries, but only when they were part of that old hunter¡¯s stories.


    The young hunter had already turned, ready to hurry into the thinning forests and climb back up the mountain trails, when the wind changed direction. The restless and playful east wind stopped, and a hot and bold south wind blew in. It brought with it the scent of water, the murmur of a stream, and something else...


    Ardi closed his eyes and inhaled noisily through his nostrils several times. The scent reminded him a bit of the mountain goats of the lower slopes, only somehow different. Softer. And there was also... the smell of milk and something... fleeting. Phantom-like. It was like waking to the first rays of the Spirit of the Day, stretching sweetly, and looking down the slope to where clouds were just beginning to rise. And their scent was faintly similar to what the young hunter was smelling now.


    And thanks to Ergar¡¯s tails, which had left several long, purple streaks across his apprentice¡¯s chest, he knew very well that such a scent was not something strong hunters should bother with.


    This scent meant a young female carrying a child in its final stages.


    Ardi frowned ¡ª now was not the time to be carrying any young. On the contrary, the season for hunters and prey to find a mate was still to come. It would be several weeks before the new cycle of birth began, and the winds and earth would be filled with scents that had no effect on Ardi. And yet, this scent did not dissipate.


    Ergar had taught him that the hunting of pregnant females should only be done as a last resort, when his hunger was almost overwhelming. They were an easy and simple meal, but if they were constantly targeted, there would soon be no prey left at all.


    Ardi turned and pressed his ear to the ground. Without moving, without breathing, his heart beating more and more slowly, he listened to the words the earth whispered to him. It told him that to the east, about half an hour from his location, a grouse had taken flight, and to the west, almost three hours away, a clumsy bear had found a honeyed hollow, and also...


    The wolves were also running toward the watering hole, and they were so fast that the earth, against its will, was trying to deceive Ardi, telling him that their run had turned into a flight ¡ª they were barely touching the ground with their paws.


    The young hunter straightened.


    He looked in the direction that the scent of water was coming from. His small paw gripped his Master¡¯s fang so tightly that drops of blood ran down his furless pelt.


    Ardi had no idea why the doe had become pregnant at the wrong time of year, and even more, he didn¡¯t know why these wolves seemed so strange to him. Besides, all of Ergar¡¯s lessons had taught Ardan to withdraw, return to him, tell him everything, discuss things with him, think everything through, prepare, and only then return to the trail.


    The trail...


    The young hunter ran his fingers over the wolf tracks.


    But this was no hunt...


    And the moment he thought that, something within him awoke. Something as old as the peaks of High Alcade and as powerful as the wind that carried Kaishas toward the fire of the Spirit of the Day. It unfolded within Ardan, stretched out, rose to its full height, and without a trace of fear or doubt, turned its gaze forward.


    It was as if the ground beneath his feet grew firmer, promising that the hunter would not stumble or falter. The trees moved their canopies over his head, assuring him that even the sharpest of eyes wouldn¡¯t see him. The wind, swirling around him, bowed low, promising to cover and hide his scent from all, prey or hunter alike. And the water... The water promised to delay the wolves for a short time and prevent them from committing a crime.


    Ardi didn¡¯t understand what was happening, but for all its strangeness, it seemed right.


    And so, the young hunter ran.


    If he could¡¯ve seen himself right then from an outsider¡¯s perspective, he would¡¯ve been amazed at how easily his small paws crossed great ditches that even Ergar would have trouble jumping over. At how deftly he pushed off trees and rocks, gliding through the air no less skillfully than Kaishas himself. And where his paws touched the grass, it parted in circles all around him, resembling the surface of water disturbed by a stone.


    And a sound filled the land as the trees laughed and the wind carried these glad tidings. The animals, upon hearing it, woke up and could not believe their ears and eyes. They breathed in the air and listened to the forest. And it told them of ancient legends that were now almost forgotten myths. Of a people who¡¯d lived among the beasts. A people who¡¯d protected this land, given it their blood, and asked nothing in return.


    ¡°Matabar...¡± Whispered the old pines, passing the rumors to their spruce sisters, who told their aunts and uncles, the birches and willows.


    ¡°Matabar...¡± The earth called out, whispering stories to the stones and hills.


    ¡°Matabar...¡± Laughed the wind, whirling through the endless expanses.


    It flew over the canopies and spread across valleys and fields until it climbed the rocks of the ancient mountains, made them tremble, and swirled within the cave of a lone snow leopard. He looked down at something beneath the Stairs, and for some reason, his eyes began to glow with a steady, white light.


    But Ardi saw and heard nothing. He was just running, trying to get there in time, before something irreversible happened.


    And he made it.


    Leaping from a low cliff, he ran across a line of stones that served as a bridge over the stream and landed right in front of the frightened doe.


    Drops of moisture still clung to her black lips and soft, brown fur. Her small antlers stuck out amusingly behind her ears, and her heavy, massive belly was almost touching the ground. Whoever she was carrying had to be a giant, perhaps one no smaller than Lenos himself.


    The still very young doe backed away and lowered her head, showing her antlers. They could¡¯ve only hurt Ardi if he¡¯d been old and blind.


    ¡°I am sated at this hour,¡± Ardi said, putting his palm to his lips and then to the ground. ¡°I do not seek your life, future mother.¡±


    The doe did not move for a moment, then began to breathe loudly. Her nostrils flared like a frog¡¯s throat, then deflated just as noisily.


    ¡°You smell strange, mountain cub,¡± she said in a voice that somehow sounded like the rumble of spring thunder and the first thaw. ¡°You smell like a biped that wanders invisible paths and desecrates old stones with iron. You smell like a snow leopard, barely opening its eyes and licking its claws, and you smell like...¡± she inhaled deeper, and Ardi saw sparkling stars in her dark brown eyes. But he must have imagined it. ¡°Matabar.¡±


    Matabar... These sounds echoed inside the young hunter, but within a heartbeat, they curled up within him, hiding behind Ergar¡¯s words that he¡¯d spoken on that first day of the hunt, and fell asleep.


    And Ardi had no time to think about it ¡ª the fur on his neck stood up, and the spot where Ergar¡¯s tails always danced tightened. The wolves had come closer, he just knew it.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to run,¡± the young hunter urged, making sure his claws were secure in his gloves.


    ¡°Run? Why should I run, strange cub?¡±


    ¡°Wolves,¡± Ardi hissed. ¡°Wolves are coming here.¡±


    ¡°Wolves,¡± the doe snorted. ¡°This forest hasn¡¯t seen a hungry winter in a long time. There¡¯s plenty of prey here. No one will break the Law of the Matabar and hunt a pregnant doe just for dinner.¡±


    ¡°These wolves are strange,¡± the young hunter insisted. ¡°Please. Believe me. They smell strange and speak strangely. You must run.¡±


    ¡°They smell strange?¡± The doe asked, then bent down and practically buried her muzzle in Ardi¡¯s chest. She took another deep breath, then whispered so softly that it was barely audible, ¡°Ley... They are poisoned by the Ley...¡±


    Ardi¡¯s eyes widened and he turned sharply toward the stream, just in time to see five gray stones gradually grow in size. What could¡¯ve been mistaken for dew turned out to be fur. Fangs were bared and bottomless, red eyes burned. Especially the eyes of the largest wolf standing in the center.


    In its mouth, which resembled a predatory fish somehow, its fangs stuck out in two rows, and around its eyes glowed a network of burning scars. Even its fur looked more like a snake¡¯s scales than anything. Tendons tangled and wriggled and swarmed all across its body, despite the almost complete silence that had suddenly descended upon the watering hole.


    ¡°Looks like your nose hasn¡¯t let us down, Tracker!¡± The Pack Leader laughed. ¡°There really is a two-legged cub here!¡±


    Ardi tried to push the doe behind him, but his hand found only air. The young hunter allowed himself a glance back, but saw no doe there, no trampled grass from her hooves, no drops of moisture from her fur. Even her scent was gone.


    ¡°How dare you turn your back on me?¡±


    The young hunter immediately turned to face the leader of the pack, but he didn¡¯t dare look him in the eye ¡ª that would have been a challenge. The last thing Ardi wanted was to fight the leader of the pack. He knew he couldn¡¯t even scratch him.


    ¡°Wise hunter,¡± Ardi lowered his head, but not so much that he saw nothing, just enough to show his neck in a sign of submission. ¡°I do not seek your paths, nor do I lay claim to your prey. I am merely passing through on my own paths, and my tracks come from the northern peaks. Let us part. You are a hunter, and I am a hunter, and we have nothing to quarrel about today.¡±


    The wolves closed their jaws and lifted their noses higher, catching the scent threads in the wind. The leader bared his fangs again, revealing several rows of dangerous teeth. Ardi could sense the strange, sweet smell emanating from the pack. It wasn¡¯t like that of ordinary beasts, and it wasn¡¯t like that of Ergar, Lenos, or Kaishas, either.


    ¡°A two-legged cub that knows our language?¡± The wolf hissed. ¡°The Spirit of the Night has truly brought us an unusual meal. When our fangs break your bones and our claws slice your flesh open, I will try not to forget what you said about the northern peaks.¡±


    The wolves lowered their heads to the ground, growling and baring their teeth as they slowly emerged from the thicket. They stepped carefully over the pebbles scattered along the stream, their fur bristling at their necks and their tails tucked tightly between their legs.


    Ardi backed away slowly, not breaking eye contact. His heart was beating so hard it almost jumped out of his chest ¡ª there was no need to hide his fear anymore.


    The wolves felt this, and their faces twisted into bloodthirsty grimaces.


    ¡°Five snows of the Master¡¯s lessons are still better than perishing in their stomachs,¡± flashed through the young hunter¡¯s mind.


    He grabbed the fang hanging from a cord, but didn¡¯t have time to call upon Ergar.

 Chapter 9 - Old Friends

    At first, Ardi thought a moss-covered boulder had rolled out of the forest, coming to a stop with a thunderous roar that would make even the fiercest of spring storms bow before its awe-inspiring might. The water of the stream foamed and rose up in a wide wave, splashing the wolves. They pressed themselves against the ground, baring their teeth, but Ardi¡¯s keen eyes could see that they were shaking almost as much as the pebbles that were arrayed around the newcomer.


    He raised a massive, brown paw and brought it down in front of him. The treetops shook and moved their branches toward the wolves, whipping them across their backs, bellies, and faces. The wolves spun between the now animated branches, jumping and weaving while trying to bite at the whipping wooden strands, but it was all in vain.


    ¡°Guardian!¡± Shouted the leader of the pack, his face now marked with fresh, red cuts. ¡°This is our prey!¡±


    ¡°Is that so, mad one?¡±


    And then, just behind the wolves, something emerged out of the forest like a fierce bolt of lightning slicing through the sky. Its fur was patterned with green, reminiscent of a forest that was just awakening and glistening with the emerald dew of the cold dawn.


    The creature growled, and this time, it was not the branches that came to life, but the grass. The verdant blades entangled the wolves¡¯ paws, throwing them to the ground and piercing their flesh with countless sharp edges.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving!¡± The leader howled. ¡°Right now!¡±


    After barely escaping the grassy trap, now wounded, battered, and bloodied, spurred on by the whipping branches, the wolves fled into the depths of the forest, but Ardi was still able to hear their yelps and cries for some time.


    Still clutching Ergar¡¯s fang, Ardi looked closer. What he had at first thought was a boulder turned out to be a bear. But he was much bigger than any bear the young hunter had ever seen. Standing on his hind legs, he almost reached the center of the nearest pine tree. His paws ended in far more claws than nature had intended, and his body was as broad as a mountain cliff.


    But the strangest thing was his fur. It looked ordinary, brown, thick enough to keep him warm in the cold and to ward off blows. However, it... also sparkled? No, Ardi was mistaken. It wasn¡¯t the bear¡¯s fur that was sparkling, but something that had covered it. It was as if the bear had torn a piece out of the western sky with his mighty paw at the exact moment it had first been kissed by the Spirit of the Day. This blue-gold robe, sprinkled with sleepy stars and adorned with the patterns of the spring winds, seemed to soar in the glow of the fading night.


    Ardi turned and then froze even more, if that was possible in his situation.


    On the other side of him stood a lynx. She was barely smaller than Ergar, who was as big as two snow leopards standing on each other¡¯s shoulders. The tufts on her ears had hardened to resemble tall clumps of grass, and her gray fur was marked with the ever-changing patterns of fresh leaves. They danced across the surface of her fur, sometimes merging into something... something... called a symbol?


    ¡°Who... Who are you?¡± Ardi said, completely forgetting all the lessons and instructions of his teacher.


    ¡°By the Queens...¡± The lynx hissed. ¡°What have they done to our little Ardi?¡±


    ¡°It was all Ergar,¡± the bear¡¯s deep bass rumbled. ¡°He hid his heart.¡±


    They knew his name? But how? These strange creatures didn¡¯t smell like animals, didn¡¯t look like animals, and even their voices didn¡¯t sound like those of animals.


    ¡°Are you two Sidhe?¡± Ardi asked, his voice quieter now, and as the strange creatures moved toward him, he shouted, ¡°Stay back!¡±


    He held out Ergar¡¯s fang as if it could protect him.


    The young hunter didn¡¯t know who these Sidhe were, but he could sense the danger in their words.


    The lynx and the bear exchanged glances.


    ¡°Squirrel,¡± the brown giant rumbled. ¡°This is a task for you.¡±


    And in an instant, a squirrel appeared before Ardi, standing on the pebbles in front of him as if it had been there all along. A red squirrel, with funny stripes like a raccoon... or rather, it had spots. Spots, not stripes. Skusty had always said that stupid hunters confused spots with stripes.


    Skusty... Who was Skusty?


    Ardi¡¯s gaze was drawn deeper into the squirrel¡¯s black eyes. They were too big, the size of a yard cat¡¯s.


    A yard cat?


    He knew forest cats, mountain cats, even steppe cats ¡ª they sometimes came to the foot of the Alcade when there wasn¡¯t enough prey in the steppe.


    Why did he know all of that? Was he remembering something?


    The squirrel¡¯s eyes penetrated deeper into his mind. Sometimes, they seemed to encounter a barrier in the form of a fierce roar that shook the mountain peaks, but they didn¡¯t fight it. They flowed around it instead, reaching deeper into Ardi to uncover more and more knowledge. Or was it simply old knowledge that had been buried?


    He remembered the old hunter carving figures with a strange claw. He recalled how he¡¯d once listened to the echoes of the mountains, the laughter of the river, or the whispers of the forest. How he¡¯d taken snow from distant peaks, shoveled whole lakes with his hand, and asked trees for a few turns of their roots. And in all of this, there had been names. The names of his friends with whom he¡¯d played until... until...


    Something hot burned Ardi¡¯s cheeks, and inside, somewhere deep in his chest, a searing pain erupted, as if a red-hot iron rod had been driven into his body. An iron rod? How did he even know what iron was...


    ¡°ENOUGH!¡± His teacher¡¯s roar thundered in his ears.


    And all of these memories, except for the three wooden figures, were immediately forgotten like yesterday¡¯s dream.


    The squirrel... no ¡ª Skusty, staggered and fell on the pebbles. Ardi immediately jumped to him and lifted him gently onto his paws. For a moment, the young hunter thought Skusty wasn¡¯t breathing, but then he coughed, spat out something silvery, and wrapped his tail around Ardi¡¯s paw.


    ¡°Damn... snow leopard,¡± the eternal trickster whispered. ¡°Didn¡¯t want to share you.¡±


    ¡°Share me...¡± The young hunter repeated.


    He looked at the bear. At his fur, at how warmly his deep, glistening eyes shone, and how his muzzle curved into a friendly, carefree smile.


    ¡°Guta?¡±


    The bear nodded and got down on all fours. He turned his head to the side and smiled even wider. And suddenly, Ardi felt so warm inside, his body enveloped in a soft sleep. It was like when, at dawn, sleep barely leaves you on the path of the Spirit of the Day, but doesn¡¯t rush to leave completely, letting the last seconds on that border between harsh reality and fairy-tale oblivion linger.


    Ardi turned to the lynx.


    ¡°Shali?¡±


    She glided effortlessly over the foaming crests of the swift stream as if they were firmer than stone. She approached and laid her head on the young hunter¡¯s shoulder. He breathed in the scent of her pelt, and his mind spun with the aroma of fresh pine needles; the early spring grass promised sun and warmth soon; the mountain streams brought coolness with them, but not the evil and harmful kind that came with winter. It was gentle and loving instead.


    The bear settled down on the ground beside them. He propped Ardi up with his side, allowing him to burrow into his thick fur. And the squirrel with an odd pattern of spots climbed up onto the young hunter¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Skusty,¡± Ardi whispered.


    He remembered them. He remembered his friends. He recalled how they¡¯d played together day and night. How they¡¯d laughed and had fun. How Skusty had always played pranks on them, making up such silly, but funny, if sometimes offensive, jokes. How Guta had chatted carelessly about this and that, not noticing that the wise Shali, who seemed to know everything about everything, would sometimes growl at him for it.


    Ardi buried his face in her fur, hugging her as tightly as his small body could. He pressed into them, hoping that behind their names and visages, something else would open up. Something very important. Something he thought he had forgotten in one of his dreams. But once again, as sometimes happened after particularly loud storms in the night, he heard Ergar¡¯s words inside him:


    ¡°Stay in this skin a little longer¡­ Allow yourself the chance to not feel the weight of a human heart.¡±


    And those words, as always, wrapped him up in a warm blanket, taking away his bad thoughts and worries, making them seem like problems for tomorrow. And tomorrow always came later in the Alcade, while today almost never ended.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°I¡¯m so glad to see you,¡± Ardi whispered. ¡°So glad...¡±


    He didn¡¯t see the strange animals who smelled of natural phenomena exchanging glances. He didn¡¯t see Skusty reaching a paw toward the chest of the human boy who was dressed in skins and painted with earth and stone dust like a snow leopard. Nor did he see Shali growl at the squirrel and tell him with her eyes: ¡°It is not yet time. This is only the first spring. There are five more to come.¡±


    Guta silently agreed with the lynx, and Skusty had no choice but to accept that his little friend was living with only half his heart.


    Ardi couldn¡¯t comprehend how much time they spent like that ¡ª tangled in a ball of fur and lying on the pebbly bank of the swift stream. Maybe it was an hour, maybe three, maybe more. But soon, the young hunter¡¯s stomach reminded him with a rather unpleasant melody that it was time to find some food or else he might get a headache and hunger would continue to creep ever closer.


    And so, Ardi, albeit with some difficulty ¡ª the animals clearly didn¡¯t want to wake up and let their old friend leave their warm embrace ¡ª rose and headed to the stream. Crouching near the bank, he raised his paw and began to wait. The first fish swam by, and several claws sliced through the surface, but the river dweller just flicked his tail deftly and was soon gone.


    Ardi didn¡¯t get discouraged and continued his hunt... but even on his second, tenth and even twentieth try, he didn¡¯t catch anything.


    In this fast water, his hunt wasn¡¯t going as well as it had in the calm waters that hadn¡¯t yet shed the icy blankets of winter¡¯s sleep.


    ¡°How did you know I was here?¡± Ardi asked when he decided to take a break from hunting.


    ¡°Lady Senhi¡¯Sha¡¯s favorite told us,¡± Skusty blurted out. He was now resting on Guta¡¯s shoulder. ¡°She is the Keeper of the Queen¡¯s Garden.¡±


    ¡°Lady Senhi¡¯Sha?¡± Ardi repeated. ¡°Is that a...¡±


    ¡°Sidhe,¡± Shali confirmed his guess.


    The lynx moved away from the bear and approached Ardi. With every step she took, she grew smaller until she took the form of an ordinary forest hunter, and the glowing patterns on her fur dimmed so much that you couldn¡¯t see them unless you knew where to look.


    Shali crouched beside Ardi, raising her paw above the water so that her shadow covered the fish, and when it darted away, fleeing the threat, the lynx¡¯s claws were already waiting for it, waiting where it had hoped to find safety.


    In an instant, a caught fish flopped down in front of Ardi¡¯s paws.


    The young hunter frowned.


    ¡°I can catch my own food,¡± he hissed without touching the fish. ¡°I don¡¯t need charity. I¡¯m not old, sick, or weak.¡±


    The animals exchanged glances.


    ¡°Ergar is teaching you well,¡± Shali nodded. ¡°But he is teaching you the ways of the snow paths. Here, in the forest and river lands, the paths of the hunters look different.¡±


    Ardi looked in the direction the wolves had fled.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he grumbled.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t mind those flea-ridden mutts,¡± Skusty waved a paw that shrank to fit comfortably atop Ardi¡¯s head ¡ª the only place where his fur grew. It was very soft and already too long, and it would get in his eyes if he didn¡¯t tie it back. ¡°Their pack must have cast them out. Maybe they broke some law, or maybe they¡¯re just slow and lazy. And so they turned to the Ley, taking power that didn¡¯t belong to them. But they were too weak for it, and now it¡¯s poisoning them.¡±


    To say that the young hunter had understood nothing from that explanation would be an understatement. But he didn¡¯t show it. He didn¡¯t want Guta, Shali or Skusty to think that Ergar wasn¡¯t teaching him well. Ardi just nodded meaningfully, causing Skusty to burst out laughing.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t understand a thing, blockhead,¡± and he tapped Ardi lightly on the head with a small nut. ¡°The Ley is what your old hunter called magic or sorcery. It flows everywhere and anywhere, but it¡¯s invisible to the naked eye.¡±


    ¡°Like the hunters¡¯ trails?¡±


    ¡°Hunters¡¯ trails can sometimes be seen,¡± Shali drawled lazily from where she was stretched out on the rocks. ¡°The Ley can only be seen by those who can Speak.¡±


    ¡°Or when there¡¯s so much Ley that it takes the form of glowing stones,¡± Skusty added. ¡°That is why the bipeds in the Alcade, following the science of the dwarves, cut the rocks ¡ª to mine the Ley. And those flea-ridden mutts, it seems, sniffed some of the dust and began to grow it within themselves. They grew enough of it to become stronger, but apparently, not smarter. Ardi, shall I tell you how to become smarter?¡±


    ¡°Yes, how?¡±


    ¡°In your case?¡± The mischievous squirrel tapped him on the head again. ¡°There is no way!¡±


    Ardi growled and tried to catch Skusty, but he was so agile that the young hunter couldn¡¯t even touch his friend¡¯s tail. Despite that, he approached his attempts with all due responsibility and enthusiasm, just as Ergar had taught him. But each time, even when Skusty stood with his back to him, the young hunter¡¯s paws caught only empty air, never the squirrel.


    And so, several more hours of playing passed, until an exhausted Ardi collapsed beside Shali. Guta, meanwhile, had been dozing the whole time. He had never been the most active in their games, even though he had the... Ardi didn¡¯t know how to put it, but it seemed to him like Guta¡¯s heart was so big that it could hold anything ¡ª from the mischievous Skusty all the way to the smallest and most inconspicuous leaf on a willow branch.


    His stomach growled again.


    Shali looked at the fish she¡¯d caught, which had long since stopped twitching and was obviously breathing its last... Or did fish not breathe?


    ¡°I can do it myself,¡± Ardi growled briefly and returned to the stream.


    Again and again, he tried to catch a fish, but like Skusty, they always managed to escape at the last second, just when his claws were about to cut through their bodies.


    But the young hunter didn¡¯t give up. Abandoning his futile attempts, he studied the fish¡¯s habits as Ergar had taught him to do, but... they weren¡¯t going to this waterhole ¡ª they lived in it. They weren¡¯t choosing their paths to find food ¡ª Ardi didn¡¯t even understand what the fish ate. Their habits couldn¡¯t be predicted or read; it seemed like these mindless creatures moved for the sake of movement, without purpose or meaning.


    After another dozen failed attempts, Shali rose and came closer.


    ¡°You hunt well, Ardi,¡± she purred. ¡°But these are not snow trails. If you want to hunt here, we¡¯ll teach you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need another teacher,¡± the young hunter sulked. ¡°I have Ergar.¡±


    He didn¡¯t want to betray his teacher¡¯s trust. Besides, Guta, Shali and Skusty were his friends. They could play and have fun as before, and he¡¯d had enough of lessons and instructions in the cave.


    ¡°That¡¯s right!¡± Skusty chimed in. ¡°No need to fill your empty head with all kinds of nonsense. It won¡¯t get any fuller! Ha! Here, have a nut to chew on!¡±


    The young hunter was about to grab Skusty, but he noticed that the squirrel had darted away as soon as the shadow of Ardi¡¯s paw had covered the trickster¡¯s fur. Remembering how Shali had hunted, Ardi held back his lunge and, after waiting to see where the squirrel would jump, finally caught him.


    ¡°All right, all right, you win,¡± the squirrel quickly surrendered. ¡°You want the nut?¡±


    Ardi looked at Guta, then at Shali, and finally, at Skusty, who was chewing on a nut. He really didn¡¯t know the ways of the valley hunters. And it seemed like everything he had learned on the snowy trails of the Alcade wasn¡¯t very helpful here, down below.


    ¡°But Ergar-¡±


    ¡°If he didn¡¯t want this to happen,¡± Guta rumbled, ¡°he wouldn¡¯t have let you come down here.¡±


    Ardi gritted his teeth and gazed at the northern peaks. Somewhere up there, on the peaks hidden behind thick cumulus clouds, lay his teacher. The terror of the peaks. The fiercest and mightiest predator of all the Alcade ¡ª from one end of them to the other, there wasn¡¯t anyone who could compete with Ergar. But... Ardi looked at his claws. Or rather, the river stones he used for claws.


    Ergar had told him that every hunter had their own strength. Sometimes, they¡¯d be born with it, and sometimes, they¡¯d have to find it. And for Ardi to become like his teacher, he needed something else, something new.


    Besides, he¡¯d always liked to learn new things. He wouldn¡¯t have found Hawk¡¯s Cliff and the Ogre¡¯s Pimply Ass if he hadn¡¯t liked exploring and...


    Wait, what? Where had those words come from?


    But those were all thoughts for tomorrow.


    ¡°And when¡¯s my first lesson?¡± Ardi asked cautiously ¡ª his experiences with Ergar¡¯s lessons had always come with an added portion of pain and insomnia.


    ¡°It just happened,¡± Shali smiled, showing her top row of fangs, then nodded toward the stream.


    Ardi approached, lifting his paw over the water, but he didn¡¯t rush this time. He waited until the shadow of it covered the fish and it darted away, and when its direction was clear, the young hunter simply struck where the fish should be. And a moment later, he was gnawing hungrily at its salty flesh, spitting out the crunchy bones that got caught on his fangs.


    ¡°We¡¯ll teach you how to walk without making a sound,¡± Shali jumped to the side and landed... somewhere. Ardi couldn¡¯t tell where, because he¡¯d heard absolutely nothing. ¡°And how to navigate so that you can find the paths of any prey or hunter even in the most unfamiliar of forests,¡± she said from behind him.


    Guta approached, stood on his hind legs, and lifted Ardi easily onto his mighty shoulders.


    ¡°We will teach you how to fight not only with fangs and claws,¡± the brown giant rumbled, ¡°but with your whole body, and how to win every battle. How to smash trees and break stones, if necessary.¡±


    Skusty easily climbed up Guta¡¯s back and once again perched on Ardi¡¯s head.


    ¡°And we will teach you to see what others don¡¯t notice,¡± he whispered into his ear. ¡°And to hear what others don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Now let¡¯s go,¡± Shali urged. ¡°We don¡¯t have much time.¡±


    They walked deeper into the forest, and Ardi didn¡¯t notice the doe when she reappeared at the edge of the clearing, followed by what seemed like hundreds of flowers that merged into the shape of a small maiden. She smiled, whispered something to the snowdrop petals, and they flew through the forests and fields, crossing valleys and hills, swirling with the joyful wind. And each time they flew over old shrines and ancient, overgrown sanctuaries, they touched the wooden idols there.


    There was a multi-tailed snow leopard, a four-winged eagle, a gigantic ibex, a bear dressed in the western dawn, a lynx with patterns like grass in the morning dew, and a little squirrel gnawing on a nut. And where the flower petals touched these wooden statues, the weeds rotted away and the woodpeckers retreated in fear. Only the final figure continued to disappear under the onslaught of time.


    The figure of a wolf carved from white wood...


    For the next four sleeps, Ardi spent time with his friends, immersed in lessons that felt more like games. And then, when the time came, he went back. Without Kaishas, the climb took so long that he began to worry about whether Ergar would consider it a delay and a violation of their agreement. But when Ardi finally reached the entrance to the cave, Ergar just stretched lazily and slid off his stone bed.


    ¡°Teacher,¡± the young hunter said shyly. ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°Seven sleeps at the end of every moon.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Ergar let out a short growl that made Ardi jump. His teacher did not repeat himself.


    ¡°I can go down for seven sleeps at the end of each moon dance?¡± Ardi clarified.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ergar hissed grudgingly. ¡°Since you-¡±


    The snow leopard didn¡¯t finish ¡ª his small, two-legged cub was wrapped tightly around his neck, his face buried in his fur.


    ¡°Thank you, teacher.¡±


    Ergar exhaled a puff of steam and looked westward. Hector... If these lands ever completely forgot the old spirits and they left with their people, Ergar would have something to say to his unruly student, whose son he now had to raise.


    ¡°Come, Ardan, let¡¯s see if you¡¯ve forgotten the art of snow trails.¡±


    And that was how another cycle passed. Spring turned to hot summer, then came the caring fall, until it brought back the harsh winter with its winds and storms, only to give way once more to the beautiful spring.


    Ardi spent most of each lunar dance with Ergar and his teachings, learning more and more about the peaks of the Alcade and the ways of the hunt. His body grew stronger and larger, his skin tougher and his eyes sharper.


    During the last seven days of the month, however, he would play with Guta, Shali and Skusty, learning from them new wonders and mysteries of the forest and river lands. Sometimes, Kaishas would visit and help Ardi descend or return to the mountains faster. They often competed in matters of speed, and sometimes in the ability to spot prey from many paces away as well. The young hunter could sense that the four-winged eagle had something to teach him as well, but wasn¡¯t showing it just yet.


    And just when it seemed like life had returned to its usual routine of predictable days, new adventures were not far behind.

 Chapter 10 - Pile of stones

    Ardi stretched languidly, smacked his lips, and reluctantly opened his eyes, exposing his face to the rays of the hot spring sun. Compared to the snowy trails, which he admittedly loved with all his heart, the forest also had its advantages.


    For example, there was always plenty of shelter from the pouring rain or other inclement weather. And yes, storms did sometimes cause forest fires ¡ª he had seen one late last spring. It had devoured many sections of the forest and caused the migration of packs and herds. But Ergar, and later his forest friends, had explained that this sort of thing happened every three or four cycles.


    There was always plenty of prey down here, unlike in the mountains. You could literally wake up, stretch, warm up, and have breakfast within half an hour. In the mountains, it wasn¡¯t certain that you would even get to eat within an entire path of the Spirit of the Day. But there were also far more hunters to take advantage of the abundance here, a lot more than among the rocks and snow.


    And the warmth ¡ª even during the coldest winter, it was much warmer here in the forest than in the cave.


    Just as Ardi began to think about the cave, a small nut tapped him on the head.


    ¡°Awake already?¡± Skusty dangled his tail over Ardi¡¯s nose. ¡°I can¡¯t figure it out ¡ª when I knock on a tree, it lets out such a short burst of sound, but when I hit your head, there¡¯s always a hollow and echoing noise. What¡¯s that about?¡±


    Ardi quickly grabbed the squirrel, who was already scurrying away.


    ¡°Help, save me, he¡¯s killing a precious squirrel!¡± The creature shrieked.


    The young hunter just smiled, took the nut from Skusty, cracked it open on the tree, and demonstratively ate the tasty kernel as slowly as possible.


    The squirrel pouted, slipped from his grasp, landed on a nearby branch, and drummed nervously on the trunk with his paw.


    ¡°That was my breakfast, by the way,¡± he said, putting his paws on his hips.


    ¡°Skusty,¡± Shali growled softly, easily climbing the tree to stand beside the young hunter. ¡°Stop bothering Ardi. He just came down from the mountain!¡±


    In truth, Ardi had asked Ergar for permission to leave the night before, but Shali was right ¡ª a storm had taken the hunter by surprise, and if Kaishas hadn¡¯t pointed out a crevice in the rock where he could wait out the bad weather, who knows ¡ª he might have had to use his teacher¡¯s fang, which would have meant no more trips down to the forest and meetings with his friends. And over the past cycle, Ardi had grown accustomed to having seven sleeps of carefree play waiting for him at the end of each lunar dance.


    And yes, while Shali, Skusty and Guta, who was rolling on the ground and trying to lick his scratched paw he¡¯d injured while prodding a beaver dam, were teaching him the ways of living and hunting in the forest and river lands, they didn¡¯t do so like Ergar. After nearly a dozen descents into the valley, the hunter had not acquired a single new scar. Well, okay, there were a few new ones, but they¡¯d been earned through his own clumsiness and stupidity, not because someone¡¯s tail or claws had decided to reinforce a new lesson.


    No, Ergar wasn¡¯t cruel, just... a little lonely. Except for Kaishas, his teacher almost never interacted with anyone, and when there was no need to hunt, he didn¡¯t leave his cave except for the most necessary of errands.


    They talked a lot. Sometimes, they even played. Ergar had shared old legends and myths with him. He¡¯d even spoken of the Sidhe, the Queens and Kings of the Fae, and how they lived among the forests and meadows and hills and mountains, but couldn¡¯t be seen because they lived here and... not here. You could even visit this not here, but only the most powerful shamans of the Matabar or the mysterious Speakers and Aean¡¯Hane were able to do so.


    Ardi had also learned who the Matabar were.


    They were those whom the spirits had carved from rock rather than shaped from river clay. The Matabar were stronger than humans, and lived much longer lives. The gods hadn¡¯t known what to do with them and had almost destroyed them in a failed attempt to create a new race, but the spirits had intervened. They¡¯d asked for the Matabar to be given to them for training and service, so that someone could watch over the Alcade.


    The gods had agreed, and so Ardi¡¯s people had been born. Unfortunately, there were no more Matabar left except for the old hunter, whom Ergar sometimes spoke of with great respect. Ardi occasionally looked at the rocks and wondered what they were made of. And after his first cycle of rebirth, he was a little sad that the gods had decided not to give him a father or a mother.


    He saw them with other animals and sometimes felt a longing. But then Ergar would come, and they¡¯d play, rolling in the snow, running between the ridges and peaks of the Alcade, biting and gnawing at each other to see who could be the most agile and fastest. And sometimes, his teacher would lose. On purpose, of course, but he would never admit to it.


    No, Ergar wasn¡¯t cruel.


    Just lonely.


    Maybe that¡¯s why they got along so well?


    Ardi chuckled, patted the squirrel, and looked at the mountain peaks. It was strange ¡ª whenever he went back to the cave, he would always look at the forests hidden underneath the clouds, and whenever he came down here, he couldn¡¯t take his eyes off the rocky peaks.


    ¡°It is the duality of your heart that speaks,¡± Skusty whispered in his ear, just loud enough for no one else to hear. ¡°But don¡¯t listen to it. The heart doesn¡¯t always need to be listened to, my friend. Sometimes, you have to fight it. The heart is only one part of you. Don¡¯t forget the other parts, like...¡± The squirrel dangled his tail across the young hunter¡¯s nose again, but this time, he spoiled the air first.


    Ardi coughed, lost his balance, and tumbled from his branch right onto the unsuspecting Guta.


    ¡°Ouch,¡± the bear growled.


    ¡°The nose is very important, too,¡± the squirrel laughed. He stuck his tongue out at Shali, who¡¯d tried to catch the rascal, then darted into the foliage and disappeared.


    Everyone knew that Skusty wouldn¡¯t go far and would return as soon as everyone had calmed down and forgotten about his pranks.


    Ardi slid down Guta¡¯s fur, landed on all fours, stood up, and sniffed the air. Skusty was right ¡ª the nose was very important. And right now, it was picking up the scent of several rabbit burrows to the north. They were quite challenging prey, and sometimes you had to run after them, which went against Ergar¡¯s teachings, but Ardi¡¯s body, thanks to the sun and the warm wind, longed for a chase.


    ¡°Shall we run?¡± Ardi asked, nodding toward the smell of breakfast.


    Shali snorted. She jumped down gracefully from the tree and landed on Guta¡¯s back.


    ¡°Ouch.¡±


    She slid off him without touching the grass, practically flying over Ardi, and landed at the edge of the clearing where they had spent the pre-dawn hours and all of noon. Guta and Ardi didn¡¯t really care about when they hunted and played, but Shali preferred to sleep during the brightest parts of the day and didn¡¯t like to be disturbed.


    The lynx stretched, yawned with great relish, and extended her claws as if to check that they were all in place. She looked at the young hunter and, twitching her long whiskers in an amusing manner, disappeared between the trees.


    ¡°Catch up!¡± Came her distant challenge.


    Ardi almost choked on his indignation. He turned to Guta, but the bear just grumbled lazily:


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me,¡± and swayed from side to side, heading for the stream.


    The young hunter turned toward the grove, where glistening eyes with vertical pupils watched him mockingly.


    ¡°Consider that a head start!¡± Ardi shouted, then took off after Shali.


    He ran through tall grass that playfully tried to wrap around his small but already strong legs. He jumped over streams, sometimes going around the widest and fastest ones. He laughed when Shali darted from side to side like a mischievous otter. Sometimes, the lynx would let the young hunter almost catch her, and then she would disappear among the berry bushes or behind a tall stump covered with thick moss and families of mushrooms.


    Birds cried out above them. Sometimes, they even joined their little race, but would soon lose interest and fly high into the clouds, barely visible through the dense canopy. The trees, which were delighted at the warmth and new life around them, had put on their finest clothes to show off to their newly awakened neighbors. Their broad leaves had merged overhead, transforming the forest floor into something resembling a riverbed.


    Just like under the skirts of swift rivers, the rays of the hot sun beamed down, and a fine, golden ripple constantly changed the landscape. Some mice and the occasional lost hares seemed to be standing in for fish, stalks of tall grass became like seaweed, and colorful moss scattered in a tiny swirls of sand. Only the glacial boulders scattered about served as a reminder that they were not underwater, but still on land.


    Maybe this was why animals called these places the forest flows?


    The young hunter ran, enjoying the sounds of the forest, the warm air, and the strength and speed of his legs compared to last spring. He no longer panted or stumbled, and on the rare occasions when his feet found a sharp stone in the moss and grass, his hardened skin barely felt the sting.


    Occasionally, he managed to touch Shali¡¯s fur, but then she would always disappear again. Ardi laughed and ran after her-


    ¡°Ardi! Be careful!¡±


    The young hunter hadn¡¯t immediately noticed that his feet could no longer feel the dewy earth.


    He looked down and saw his right leg dangling over a deep ravine that disappeared into an even deeper crevice. He felt his heart skip a beat, as it always did when Kaishas jumped from great heights, Ardi tried to turn and grab a tree with his claws. But, as always, at the most inopportune moment, just when they¡¯d finally gotten a firm grip on the bark and given him hope, they snapped at the base and fell out of his glove.


    The young hunter didn¡¯t even have time to comprehend what happened first ¡ª the snapping of Shali¡¯s maw that failed to catch his fur, or the scream that escaped his throat. A moment later, something struck his head hard, and his world was enveloped in a thick, wet darkness.


    ***


    ¡°Ouch,¡± Ardi said, echoing his bear friend.


    It wasn¡¯t instantaneous, but he managed to open his eyes. Every movement of his eyelids caused him considerable pain. Before, when Ergar had been teaching him how to act after falls from high ledges, the hunter hadn¡¯t suspected that it could really hurt so much. Yes, he had seen his teacher limping and licking his bruises for a few days after an unsuccessful hunt during which he had fallen from a height of several meters and seemingly counted all the rocks and spiky growths with his ribs on the way down, but...


    Seeing something was one thing, feeling it was quite another. Now he understood why Ergar had never allowed him to choose a target that was positioned too far below him. He would have to thank him when he returned.


    Feeling the back of his head, Ardi found a dried crust of blood and matted fur there. Making sure there was no serious bleeding, the young hunter stood up, holding on to the rocks. The world around him spun slightly, and his back felt as if beavers were drumming on it with their tails. It was not a pleasant sensation.


    ¡°Ardiiiiii,¡± came a faint call from... above him?


    Blinking and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, Ardi looked around. Were it not for the forest around him, he might have thought he was on a mountain trail. Tall, black rocks rose up on either side of him, forming two sheer walls that reached higher than the tallest of trees. They were so high that you had to crane your neck until it cracked just to see the sunlight.


    Breathing was hard, and not only because of the pain, though that was very much present, but mostly because there wasn¡¯t enough room. It was so cramped that Ardi could only stand sideways or lie down. Surprisingly, he hadn¡¯t cut himself or broken anything during the fall...


    ¡°ARDI!¡± Thundered someone above him, followed by several small stones, which, displeased with their current circumstances, had chosen to fall and hit the young hunter¡¯s head and shoulders like he was to blame for them being dislodged.


    ¡°Yes, Guta!¡± Ardi replied, enduring the pain caused by his own scream.


    ¡°ARE YOU OK?¡± And then another shower of stones fell on his already suffering head.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Almost!¡±


    For a moment, the crevice fell silent, which was both alarming and relieving ¡ª there was no shower of rocks, at least.


    ¡°SHALI SAYS TO HEAD WEST! KEEP YOUR RIGHT PAW ON THE WALL!¡±


    Ardi flinched and ducked as best he could just in time to somewhat avoid the aftermath of the first echoes of the bear¡¯s voice. And even though it still hurt, it was better than what he¡¯d gotten before. Once the small avalanche had finally stopped and the echoes had fully subsided, the young hunter stood up and, placing his right paw on the wall as instructed, answered:


    ¡°Got it!¡±


    But it seemed like his misadventures had no intention of ending anytime soon.


    ¡°WE¡¯LL COME BACK LATER! WE HAVE TO GO AROUND THE PIT! WAIT FOR US AT THE EXIT!¡±


    Ardi jumped in surprise and hurried forward as fast as he could. His timing couldn¡¯t have been better, for the crevice decided it had had enough and wanted to regain its peace and quiet. Instead of sharp pebbles, it unleashed several massive boulders, which all landed in the spot where he¡¯d been standing moments ago. Silence came, and then Ardi thought he heard a faint whimper.


    Despite his size and incredible strength, Guta was the most peace-loving creature the young hunter had ever known. He rarely hunted fish, preferring honey, roots, and berries. So, Shali¡¯s occasional need to ¡°restore sanity,¡± as she put it, to her clumsy friend was never met with resistance. But this gentleness was not to be confused with weakness ¡ª provoking Guta would be the last mistake an Alcade predator ever made.


    Sometimes, Ardi even wondered who would win in a fight ¡ª Ergar or Guta ¡ª but he hoped that he would never actually see it happen.


    ¡°Pull yourself together,¡± the young hunter whispered to himself. ¡°These are thoughts for tomorrow.¡±


    Yes. He could think about it tomorrow. Today, he had another adventure to face. It wasn¡¯t that Ardi was afraid of such things, but he preferred to explore something new, to survey the Alcade from above, and to talk with his wise hunter friends about... about... this and that. But when one followed the ways of the hunters, adventures were often unavoidable.


    Clutching his teacher¡¯s fang tightly, Ardi began his journey.


    He squeezed carefully through the river of rock, which was what Ergar had called crevices like this when he¡¯d told him stories of how the Matabar and Fae shamans had once used such paths. Long ago, they could talk to the earth, and through the use of such paths, they could cross all of the Alcade from one end to the other in less than a day.


    It was nonsense.


    Ardi could hardly fit in here, and he was quite small. Snow leopards of seven winters, which the young hunter had already reached, grew to be much larger than their hairless relatives, not to mention the shamans of the old hunter¡¯s race. Ardi would likely remain a small and inconspicuous representative of the Matabar forever. And if he was struggling, how could they have possibly fit in here?


    It was so cramped that Ardi had to bend down, hold his breath, suck in his stomach, then exhale and spit out rock dust. Sometimes, in the tightest places, he had to lie down and move like a snake, crawling across the cold ground littered with rotten branches, sand, and sharp stones. When he emerged, he resembled a lynx kitten that had won a long game of ¡°scratch.¡±


    But Ergar had told him that the shamans had used to ask the earth to widen the passage so that it could accommodate a whole pack. And so, a journey that would take Kaishas, the fastest of the Alcade¡¯s predators, nearly ten visits of the Spirit of the Day, would be shortened to one. And on foot, at that.


    Once, Ardi had asked his teacher how long it would take him to cross the Alcade from one end to the other. His teacher had laughed and said that Ardi would reach the paths of his ancestors before three Spirits of the Night came and went. But as he grew stronger and learned all the ways of the hunters¡¯ paths, he might eventually be able to complete such a task in... a season. After all, he didn¡¯t know how to walk among the clouds.


    A whole season!


    And some shamans would supposedly be able to manage it in just a day... Whoever these shamans had been, they¡¯d clearly loved to tell stories. And they must¡¯ve done a good job if others had believed them.


    How much time had passed since Ardi had fallen was hard to say. The crevice often twisted and turned, sometimes completely closed off by wide ledges, sometimes descending, sometimes rising, causing the young hunter to lose his sense of time and direction. He no longer knew whether he was heading west, east, or simply going around in circles.


    Had it not been for the advice to keep his right paw on the wall, Ardi would surely have gotten lost. With how often the crevice twisted, sometimes revealing up to four turns at narrow junctions, it would¡¯ve been all but inevitable.


    And there was a strange smell here.


    Not the smell of stones and earth. It was something different. And sometimes, the young hunter thought he heard voices. Soft whispers, all talking behind him. It made him want to turn around and yell: ¡°Hey, stop it! I¡¯m not scared!¡±


    He really wasn¡¯t scared, he just had a feeling that if he showed any weakness ¡ª like turning around or yelling ¡ª then it wouldn¡¯t matter whether he kept his paw on the wall or not, because he would never find the exit.


    And so, the young hunter ignored all the voices and the few shadows that were performing enchanting dances on the crevice walls. He just kept moving forward, scratching his skin against the rocks and crouching to breathe in hard after almost every other breath.


    And after some time passed, when there was not a spot on his body left without at least a thin red stripe to mark it, Ardi saw the light. He didn¡¯t believe it at first, thinking it was another illusion or a joke of those strange voices. He closed his eyes, took a step, and when he opened them again, he sighed with relief.


    A joyful spring ray of the Spirit of the Day licked his face ¡ª evidently, its sleep was still far off ¡ª followed by a playful tug on his hair from a still-cool breeze. Leaning against the stone, Ardi emerged from the crevice and turned to see what it looked like from the outside.


    ¡°What the...¡± Was all the young hunter could say.


    Behind him, or rather, in front of him now, rose a high, sloping rock face with a thin crack snaking through it, one that was barely wide enough to fit an autumn leaf.


    Ardi ran his paw along the wall, but felt nothing. No crevice, no invisible cave on the other side, like with a forest waterfall. He touched only cold, slightly damp, rough stone, which was cracking under the pressure of moss and weeds.


    Scratching his head, Ergar¡¯s apprentice promised himself that he wouldn¡¯t postpone these thoughts until tomorrow and that he would ask Guta and Shali about it, and when he returned to the snowy paths, his teacher as well.


    But first, he had to wait for his friends, for he had misjudged the arrival of the Spirit of the Night. Daylight had already faded, and a cold, dark shadow enveloped him. Even the first drops of cold spring rain began to fall. Some of them were very sharp and hard, almost like hail. And then a few more came.


    ¡°Ugh,¡± the young hunter muttered irritably, about to bend down to pick up one of the strange ice shards and examine it, when his gaze caught something abnormal.


    The shadow only covered this ravine, while the messengers of the Spirit of the Day were still shining farther on. And the shadow had a strange shape. Moreover, a strange smell had also reached his sensitive nostrils. It was like stones covered in swampy humus.


    This time, Ardi couldn¡¯t resist.


    Slowly, trying not to make any unnecessary movements, he turned around. At first, his own eyes refused to acknowledge reality, but when the creature bared his crystalline fangs at him, the young hunter realized it wasn¡¯t a trick.


    Above him, on a towering mound of stone, stood a creature that he could only identify thanks to the old hunter¡¯s stories. He had forelegs as long as a young birch and as wide as a sturdy oak. He was covered in moss and grass crowned with living stones in the shape of hooves or claws. His hind legs were relatively short, but each of them was like a boulder. Essentially, they were boulders.


    A massive, bare chest heaved with each thunderous breath the creature unleashed. His head, attached directly to his torso without a neck in between, revealed glistening, faceted fangs that added no beauty to his ugly, flattened face. His eyes blazed with crimson fire, and his broad bone horns rivaled even Lenos¡¯ own.


    A large red crystal glowed in the center of his forehead, standing out against the leaves, grass, moss, and swamp mud that served as his hair and fur.


    ¡°A-a m-mountain t-t-troll,¡± Ardi stammered, backing away awkwardly.


    But that was just a story! There were no mountain trolls! They simply didn¡¯t exist!


    And yet a troll was undoubtedly looking at the young hunter who had pressed himself against the rock wall. The mythical monster leaned his huge head toward him, giving Ardi a chance to appreciate the size of his fangs up close, each of which was as big as his own hand. If he wanted to, this beast could swallow him whole without even chewing!


    Massive nostrils inhaled the air, creating a gust of wind so powerful it nearly lifted the young hunter off the ground.


    ¡°Matabar,¡± the troll spoke, sounding like a stone grinding against stone. ¡°Cannot eat... but want to... Hungry... Not eaten for many years...¡±


    The creature¡¯s eyes dimmed, and he grumbled, shaking the earth, then he turned and lumbered away from the ravine. Occasionally, he paused, sniffed the air, and then moved on. Ardi, barely able to hear his own thoughts over his pounding heart, slid down the wall and tried to catch his breath. His body was being gripped by invisible, icy paws. They wouldn¡¯t let him grab his teacher¡¯s fang and call for help. He couldn¡¯t even think about it!


    It was a disgusting, unpleasant feeling.


    One that Ardi never wanted to experience again in his life.


    But alas, the Sleeping Spirits had their own opinion on the matter.


    ¡°Found you...¡± The troll growled and turned to the north.


    Ardi looked around and saw... the snow-covered peaks of the Alcade. But how? From the creek where they had spent the night, it usually took almost a day and a half to reach the first slopes! Surely, he hadn¡¯t wandered that far while playing with Shali.


    But there they were, the peaks. And behind them, there was no narrow crevice to be found, but a solid wall of rock.


    Tomorrow¡¯s thoughts... These were all thoughts for tomorrow.


    Ardi sniffed the air and realized, to his horror, that the troll was moving toward a bear cave. No adult bear was currently there, just a few cubs, all of them a little over a year old ¡ª too young to notice the troll, especially when he was coming toward them against the wind.


    ¡°Meat,¡± the troll rumbled hungrily.


    Ardi pressed himself against the wall. His heart started beating faster. He looked back again. Guta and Shali had told him not to go anywhere... Yes, he shouldn¡¯t go anywhere. He would wait for his friends, and together, they would think of something.


    The troll wasn¡¯t moving very fast, so he still had time. He definitely had time.


    Yes, he had to do what his friends had told him to do.


    With these thoughts swirling in his head and still gripped by invisible, icy paws, Ardi sat near the rock wall. He watched the shadows of the trees creep around the trunks, measuring first an hour, then a second. The troll¡¯s scent drew closer to the bear cubs. The young hunter kept glancing up at the majestic clouds drifting calmly across the darkening sky.


    His friends still hadn¡¯t appeared.


    Ardi put his ear to the ground, but heard nothing but the retreating footsteps of the stone creature. And while Shali could run without being seen or heard even at close range, Guta¡¯s approach could be sensed far in advance. Far in advance¡­


    Which meant...


    ¡°They won¡¯t make it...¡±


    The young hunter looked north. His teacher¡¯s lessons surfaced in his mind. He¡¯d always cautioned him against choosing a target that would be too difficult for him to handle. It would not end well and-


    ¡°And that¡¯s the only rule you¡¯ll have to break when the time comes.¡±


    Those words, rising from the depths of his memory, practically burned Ardi, but... He would¡¯ve liked to say that they burned off those invisible, icy paws, but that wasn¡¯t the case. The paws hadn¡¯t disappeared.


    They were still holding him. They weren¡¯t letting him breathe properly. They muddled his thoughts. They made his heart skip beats, then race so fast it felt like it would burst from his chest.


    ¡°Someone will come...¡± The young hunter muttered, hugging himself. ¡°Someone will definitely come...¡±


    ¡°No one but you will take care of Shaia and Ertan. No one but you will take care of you, Ardan. You must become strong. For your mother and your brother.¡±


    What? Who¡¯d said that? Why had he heard those words just now? Why did he recognize that voice? And why were hot tears streaming down his cheeks again? And... and...


    Ardi tried to understand the words. Tried to hear them better. Remember them. Preserve them. But they slipped away, disappeared like the strange dreams that sometimes, rarely, gave him a slight pain in his chest in the morning. Ergar had said it would pass. That it would only take four and a half more cycles and it would be over.


    But...


    Ardi tried to stand, but then the crystalline fangs of the poisoned wolves appeared before his mind¡¯s eye. During the last cycle, he had foolishly thought he could stand against five creatures poisoned by the Ley. Without the help of his friends, he might¡¯ve died. After all, who knows if Ergar would have been able to react in time?


    Ardi held his teacher¡¯s fang in his hands.


    Ergar had always said that the worst thing that could happen to a hunter wasn¡¯t losing to hunger, but to fear. Ardi was familiar with Hunger, but he didn¡¯t know who Fear was. Now... now he could feel the paws of this invisible beast, hear its foul breath, sense its claws scratching somewhere in his heart, and he could clearly see its bared fangs ¡ª the fangs of both a wolf and a troll.


    That¡¯s what Fear looked like.


    It wasn¡¯t like lost battles, because, by the spirits, Ardi had lost many battles to other hunters during his time on the northern trails and in the forests.


    No. Fear looked different.


    It looked like a battle you had never even accepted.


    Ardi didn¡¯t know why, but those words he¡¯d heard inside himself and had already forgotten caused a new feeling to erupt within him. The feeling that, if he stayed here right now, even if the spirits willed it and his friends arrived in time, it wouldn¡¯t matter. Four cycles or ten ¡ª it would never make him a true hunter, and no one would ever hear his name in the storms between the snowy peaks.


    Gripping his teacher¡¯s fang so tightly that it dug into his skin, the hunter felt blood trickle down his hands. Pain and anger ¡ª anger at himself ¡ª gave him the strength to shake off the grip of Fear for a moment. And that was enough.


    Ardi jumped up and ran.


    Quickly and skillfully, he crossed ravines and streams, listening to the wind and the earth, calling for the birds to spread the word through the forest as he followed the mountain troll¡¯s trail. Fortunately, it was easy to follow. The stone giant left behind not only broken branches and depressions in the soft earth, but a trail of twisted, sometimes felled trunks, and the ground was marked with indentations large enough for frogs to settle in after a heavy rain.


    The young hunter kept running. His legs were fast and his body responded with ease. Fear chased him, but Ardi was faster, and when the icy paws tried to grab him, he was more agile ¡ª avoiding them just as Shali had taught him. His paws were silent, the wind hid his scent, and his body was hidden by the shadows of trees and bushes.


    As Skusty had taught him to do, the young hunter listened to every whisper of the mighty trunks, every movement of the birds, and every wink of the sun. In them, he saw images of what lay ahead. He saw the troll already approaching the cave, the cubs still unaware and unable to see or hear him.


    And only Guta¡¯s teachings eluded him. He couldn¡¯t find that light within himself, that second skin harder than stone. So what would he do if-


    ¡°Those are thoughts for tomorrow!¡± Ardi interrupted himself.


    He pushed off another branch and landed just behind the troll as it approached the clearing with the cave.


    The young hunter picked up a stone that he could lift and throw with his meagre strength. It looked like a river pebble compared to the fanged giant. Ardi took aim and hurled the stone right between the creature¡¯s horns. It bounced off with a resounding echo, but the troll...


    ¡°Food,¡± he growled, paying no attention to the stone or the hunter who¡¯d thrown it.


    Ardi grabbed another, prepared to throw it, then remembered his teacher¡¯s lessons. Every target, prey or hunter alike, had a weakness. Find it, and victory would be much easier.


    The young hunter remembered seeing that red crystal on the troll¡¯s forehead.


    ¡°Run!¡± Ardi shouted, circling the giant. ¡°Run away!¡±


    He didn¡¯t know if the cubs could hear him, if the birds had spread the word and called the bear who¡¯d want to protect them, if the wind had left traces of Ardi¡¯s scent for his friends to follow, or if the earth had recorded his path. All he knew was that the icy paws had set him free, and his throat was no longer clenched by invisible fangs.


    Fear still lingered nearby, but it no longer growled ¡ª it whimpered like a beaten dog instead.


    Served it right.


    Ardi aimed and threw the stone, knowing he wouldn¡¯t miss. And so he didn¡¯t. His missile struck the crimson crystal, causing the troll to stop and howl so loudly and fiercely that the treetops swayed and the ground shook beneath his rocky feet.


    ¡°Matabar!¡± The creature roared. ¡°Cannot eat... but can kill!¡±


    Two blazing eyes focused on the small hunter.


    ¡°Good,¡± Ardi whispered, backing away, going farther from the cave and closer to the mountainside. ¡°I¡¯ve got his attention... Now what?¡±


    The answer came in the form of a wide open, crystal-toothed maw and a roar that lifted not only a tangle of leaves, stones and branches into the air, but also Ardi himself. He flew backwards, landed on all fours as Shali had taught him, shook himself off, and ran.

 Chapter 11 - Mount of Memory

    All Ardi could think about was running. As uprooted trees flew past him, crashing into boulders and showering his surroundings with splinters, Ardi ran. When the troll¡¯s wild roar, which was similar to the rumbling of a mudslide eroding rocks, made the ground shake beneath his small paws, Ardi ran. When the birds screamed above him, calling for help from the Sidhe and the spirits, when the wind roared in the young hunter¡¯s ears, urging him on and making his legs move faster, and when all the noise merged into a wail, Ardi ran.


    He ran to the only place where he could find shelter. Here, in the middle of the forest, he could use nothing to stand against the giant troll. Perhaps due to his colossal size, the troll moved slowly, but with each step, he covered a distance that took Ardi almost a full second to match. The young hunter could almost feel the troll¡¯s fiery eyes burning the skin on his back.


    As another cold wind licked his ears and sent a shiver down his spine, the young hunter leaped along the ground and slid easily across the wet grass into a ditch. His paws sank into the rain-soaked earth with a wet squeak, and disturbed worms crawled over his bare skin.


    But he forgot about all of that when a boulder the size of Guta¡¯s head flew over his own head. It smashed through several trees, sending another flock of birds into the sky, and the tree trunks came crashing down with a loud crack, breaking the branches of their neighbors and falling onto the moss and grass. The various impacts were so strong that they lifted Ardi slightly off the ground, and after flying on for a few more meters, the boulder plowed a deep furrow in the ground, stopping only at the roots of an ancient oak.


    Clutching the fang around his neck tightly, Ardi peered out from his hiding place.


    The troll, who¡¯d halted in the middle of this newly made path of fallen trees, shattered stumps, and clogged up streams, sniffed the air and looked around. His stone skin twitched slightly, spilling fine sandstone onto the ground.


    ¡°Matabar...¡± The creature rumbled. ¡°I can smell you...¡±


    And then the nightmare born of tales, slowly, leisurely, turned its fanged mouth directly toward the trench where Ardi was hiding.


    ¡°Found you!¡± Maybe it was Ardi¡¯s imagination, but the troll had sounded smug right then.


    ¡°Think, Ardi, think,¡± the young hunter muttered, shaking off the worms, and then he once again took off running.


    He moved as fast as he could. His paws flashed through the leaves and grass. And every time his heart threatened to jump out of his chest and his lungs burned from the unfamiliar air of the forest, the roar of the troll at his heels spurred him on.


    The young hunter jumped aside as a birch, uprooted by a massive hand, shot past him like an arrow. It pierced the trunk of a mighty poplar and lodged there like a broken claw. For a second, Ardi wondered how he knew what an arrow was, but less than a heartbeat later, he resumed his run.


    Had it not been for Shali¡¯s lessons, he would have stumbled over a root, gotten tangled in the bushes, or slipped on the wet ground. But the lynx¡¯s teachings had become part of his mind and body. Relying not only on his keen eyesight, but on all his other hunter¡¯s senses as well ¡ª touch, smell, balance and hearing ¡ª Ardi chose paths where the forest could help him a little.


    He deftly slipped between two large rock formations, while the troll, despite his strength and size, had to go around them with an angry growl, losing sight of his prey for a moment. Ardi, knowing he couldn¡¯t hide his scent even in the water, quickly dove into some dense wolfberry bushes. The bright red drops contrasting against the dense greenery would probably be able to distract even an experienced tracker¡¯s eye, and the young hunter was small enough to press himself to the ground and crawl under the bushes at their very roots.


    But the troll that had finally gone around the rock formations... was no tracker. He didn¡¯t need to look, sniff, or listen to every whisper of the silent forest.


    ¡°Matabar!¡± Roared the stone creature.


    He tore another tree out of the ground and began to beat the bushes with it, tearing the branches off the trunk. With each blow, flocks of birds took to the sky, and Ardi was lifted into the air, but thankfully, he didn¡¯t go too far. The ground groaned and trembled under the troll¡¯s fury, and the young hunter grit his fangs so hard that his gums bled. But it was better to bleed than to scream in fear and give himself away.


    ¡°You tiny bug!¡± The troll raged. ¡°I¡¯ll smash your head and drink your brains!¡±


    Ardi, who¡¯d found a small hollow ahead, thanked the spirits for their help and darted inside. The bushes and the raging nightmare remained above him. He pressed his body into the dirt and crawled along the dry creek bed. A few seconds later, he appeared at the edge of a field and, after getting back up, hid behind the trunk of a weeping willow that was mourning the loss of its shimmering friend, the stream.


    Then again, such trees were always weeping, and-


    ¡°Those are thoughts for another day,¡± the young hunter hissed at himself, then cupped his paws around his mouth to make his voice echo so it would be harder to pinpoint. ¡°How will you drink my brains if you smash my skull? They¡¯ll spill out!¡±


    The club¡¯s pounding against the berry bushes stopped. The ground grew quiet and still. Only the noisy inhalations and exhalations of those stone nostrils filled the air. How long it would take for the scent of the berries to fade and for the troll to smell his prey again, Ardi didn¡¯t know.


    ¡°Where are you... little Matabar?¡± The giant rumbled. ¡°Show yourself and we¡¯ll fight!¡±


    He roared, shaking his tree club and literally tearing up the ground beneath the bushes.


    ¡°Perhaps we should go our separate ways?¡± The young hunter suggested, still speaking into his cupped paws.


    ¡°NO!¡± The troll roared. ¡°You interfered... with my hunt, little... Matabar! Now I will... eat you!¡±


    Ardi exhaled and pressed himself harder against the trunk. If the troll was really made of stone, it would be impossible to reach his mind. After all, the young hunter didn¡¯t know how to talk to stones, and he doubted that stones could even think.


    Following Guta¡¯s instructions, Ardi took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then exhaled. The first rocky slope was only a few quick, nimble jumps through the bushes away. He¡¯d have to rely on what Skusty had taught him: if he ever found himself to be too small to defeat an opponent in a fair fight, he would need to become so smart, cunning, and devious that they wouldn¡¯t even think to look his way.


    Ergar had always said that ¡ª as wrong and strange as it might¡¯ve seemed ¡ª hunting was something best done in the territory of the prey. After all, when your target was somewhere unfamiliar, it would be more alert to its surroundings, more aware of threats. But in its own element, where everything was quiet and familiar, if a hunter was skilled and cautious and didn¡¯t give themselves away, their chances of success would be much higher.


    ¡°SHOW YOURSELF!¡± The troll roared, nearly destroying the berry patch.


    The mountains were the troll¡¯s home. Everything was familiar to him, but... how could he possibly know that the high peaks of the Alcade had long since become Ardi¡¯s home, too? He knew every ascent, every descent, every ravine and... every crevice.


    ¡°Hey!¡± The young hunter jumped out from behind the willow, picked up a stone, and threw it at the giant¡¯s back. ¡°Over here! Come get me, you stupid boulder!¡±


    Without waiting for a reaction, Ardi darted through the bushes. Gritting his fangs and enduring the sharp thorns that sliced at his bare skin, the young hunter stumbled upon a small clearing. Here, the roots had churned the earth, trying to push through stones and rocks, but had ultimately failed, and now the roots were stuck on the surface, resembling giant snakes.


    The young hunter leaped from them in that same easy, effortless way that Shali had when she ran between the branches and grass. Yes, his jumps weren¡¯t as high or as fast, but they were enough to dodge the blows of the troll¡¯s club.


    ¡°Tiny bug!¡±


    With each blow, another root shattered into sharp splinters. Sometimes, they scratched Ardi¡¯s back and sides, but he endured. Once, after another leap, he flew through a particularly high tangle of roots and grabbed a thin ledge. Ergar always complained about the way Ardi walked the mountain hunter¡¯s paths.


    But the apprentice of the Storm of the Mountain Peaks had neither his tail for balance, nor his strong paws capable of finding even the smallest of bumps, nor his huge muscles that could carry him closer to the clouds.


    All Ardi had were the strange appendages on his paws. For some reason, he knew they were called ¡°fingers.¡± And thanks to them, he sometimes climbed slopes that even Ergar couldn¡¯t reach without jumping off a neighboring cliff.


    ¡°Keep up, rockhead!¡± Ardi shouted mockingly, even though his heart was ready to jump out of his chest and run into the forest.


    The troll roared, grumbled, dropped his club, which plowed a deep furrow in the clearing, and followed Ardi. As soon as his stone paws touched the rock, something happened that the young hunter hadn¡¯t expected.


    The troll¡¯s paws began to merge with the rock. They flowed into it as if they were made of soft, wet clay, not stone. Ardi could swear he even saw the troll grin and start gliding up the rock like a water strider.


    His heart raced again, and the young hunter climbed higher and higher.


    ¡°Filthy bug!¡± The troll rumbled as he got closer and closer.


    Ardi used the fact that he was so much smaller and lighter to his advantage. Every time the troll almost caught up, the young hunter jumped to another ledge or climbed up a new outcropping. The troll roared, hurling boulders that shattered against the cliffs, but he couldn¡¯t catch the nimble insect. However, Ardi was struggling as well. He¡¯d collided with many rocks, cutting his flesh so often that his forepaws, shoulders, and chest were soon covered in a red crust that crunched unpleasantly with every movement. And once, when the troll threw a particularly large projectile, it didn¡¯t just shatter against the cliff, but actually broke apart into multiple smaller ones. Ardi was lucky that it shattered into even smaller fragments when it hit a high ledge, but even so, a shard still grazed the young hunter¡¯s forehead and blurred his vision in his left eye.


    With another leap, Ardi crossed a deep crevice ¡ª falling to the ground would be at least a kilometer-long drop right then ¡ª clung tightly to the rock face, and, spreading his limbs wide, barely held on to the thin ledge. The wind blew straight into his face, ruffling the fine fur on his head. On the other side of the crevice, the giant slowly detached himself from the rock.


    The troll turned toward Ardi, the red gem between his eyebrows flashing. The bright crimson light pulsed outward, ending up absorbed into the gray surface of the stone wherever it touched the rocks.


    These rocks then seemed to come alive, resembling a gentle wave moving across a lake, and then something Ardi could barely comprehend happened: a stone bridge shot out from the other side of the chasm, crashing into the stone a few feet below the young hunter¡¯s paws and nearly knocking him off the edge. The troll, laughing and shouting various threats, slid across the bridge toward Ardi.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to eat you up slowly... bug!¡±


    Ardi shouted over the roar of the wind, reminding him, ¡°But you can¡¯t eat a Matabar!¡±


    The troll narrowed his eyes at him and growled. As far as he could tell, this prey had nowhere left to run. The beetle was trapped. A wide ledge hung over it like a tongue. And not even most goats or snow leopards could¡¯ve climbed it, let alone Ardi. To the left and right of him were smooth cliffs sculpted by wind and rain, and below them was the hungry mouth of the abyss.


    ¡°Calm,¡± Ardi whispered to himself and closed his eyes. ¡°Stay calm...¡±


    As Ergar had taught him before a jump, the young hunter breathed slower and deeper. He calmed his racing heart, cleared his mind, and when he opened his eyes again, time seemed to slow its invisible, light steps. The troll, who was almost across the bridge now, reached out a paw to try and grab his prey, but seemed to be moving as if he were trudging through a swamp.


    Birds in the sky flapped their wings slowly, watching the scene with mild interest. For a moment, Ardi thought he saw the white feathers of the wind flying over the Alcade. But none of that mattered. He wasn¡¯t even looking at the troll, but past it. Across the chasm, back to where they had come from.


    Shadows crept slowly along the slope, elegantly highlighting every little ledge, parapet and...


    Ardi exhaled and, pushing away from the wall, spread his arms out and jumped straight at the troll. The giant¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. He tried to grab the beetle, but failed. His right paw clung to the bridge, and his left paw couldn¡¯t change its trajectory in time and only came close to Ardi¡¯s own paws. The young hunter landed between the troll¡¯s horns, ripped the red stone from his forehead, and then pushed off again, jumping along with the rays of the setting sun into the narrow crevice where Kaishas had hidden him the night before.


    Sharp stones burned his shoulders and chest. Drops of bright, sticky blood splattered everywhere, and before the young hunter hit his head again and lost consciousness for the second time that day, he saw the troll, robbed of his gem, crumble into fine dust and stone rain, then fall into the abyss.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ***


    Already knowing what awaited him, Ardi exhaled sharply, opened his eyes, and immediately blinked. His stomach churned, the world spun around him, and his breakfast clawed at his throat. Wait, hold on. He hadn¡¯t even eaten breakfast!


    His stomach growled, which didn¡¯t make things any better.


    Lying on the rocks, covered in cuts, scratches, and even a few wounds, and still clutching the troll¡¯s red gem in his left paw, the young hunter looked to where the bright rays of the Spirit of the Day should have been shining through the crack. Instead of golden light, a stone wall stared back at Ardi indifferently.


    As the trembling of his body subsided and the ringing in his head eased, the young hunter slowly began to rise on his hind legs, using his free forepaw to steady himself against the wall. Every movement brought a sticky, unpleasant sensation to his mouth, like that time he had eaten the flesh of a sick goat.


    Ergar had made him eat some strange snow from a crevice that day. His Master had called it ¡°salt.¡± The snow had made him thirsty, and everything he¡¯d eaten had wanted to come out again.


    Standing upright, Ardi paused for a moment to let his body adjust, then approached the crevice. A tiny, nimble ray of sunlight had managed to break through the debris. Apparently, when the troll had lost his gem and turned back into ordinary stones, he had caused a small landslide that had blocked this passage.


    The young hunter sighed and was about to use Ergar¡¯s fang when he heard a familiar voice:


    ¡°Ardi-worm, are you alive in there?¡±


    Overjoyed, the young hunter leaned against the hole and shouted, ¡°Kaishas?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± came his muffled reply. ¡°Are your paws whole, and is your tail unbroken?¡±


    Ardi frowned. ¡°I have no tail, and you know it.¡±


    ¡°Growling back at me? That means you¡¯re all right... Stay there! I¡¯ll call Ergar! He¡¯ll clear this rubble in no time! Just don¡¯t go anywhere!¡±


    And somewhere beyond the stone barrier, powerful wings flapped and a breeze blew across Ardi¡¯s face.


    Exhaling, the young hunter leaned against the wall and looked at the gem in his paw. Maybe if he showed him his prize, his teacher wouldn¡¯t punish him too harshly or lock him up in the cave for the entirety of the next season... Then again, who was he kidding? Ergar would probably not let him venture out into the forest for at least a full cycle. Not to mention the fact that his teacher wouldn¡¯t hesitate to use his tail for ¡°lesson reinforcement.¡± He would even lick the resulting wounds himself... His teacher wasn¡¯t cruel, but he was strict in his training.


    But...


    Ardi threw the gem into the air and caught it skillfully.


    He had defeated a mountain troll, had he not? And he had helped those little bear cubs. It was hard to even imagine the mother bear¡¯s grief if Ardi hadn¡¯t managed to outwit his enemy. That was another enemy he had fought since the wolves tainted with the Ley had nearly eaten him. And now...


    The young hunter listened to himself.


    No, that strange creature with cold claws and sticky fur was still lurking somewhere behind him, ready to leap onto his back and bite into his neck, but now the young hunter knew he could fight it. The key was to not let it get close and to show no weakness. Then everything would be-


    ¡°Ardan...¡±


    The young hunter quickly drew his Master¡¯s fang, which had miraculously stayed on its cord during the chase, and pointed it in the direction of the voice. No one in all of the Alcade, except Ergar and his forest friends, knew the young hunter¡¯s full name.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± Ardi shouted. ¡°A hunter? I do not seek your path!¡±


    There was only silence in response.


    ¡°Prey? I am not hungry and do not seek your blood!¡±


    Nothing changed.


    Frowning, Ardi was about to take a step forward, but then he remembered Kaishas¡¯ warning. First, he had broken his promise to Shali by not staying near the exit of the chasm, and now he was about to do the same to Kaishas? Ergar would not only lock him up for one cycle, but might not let him out until Ardi became a fully-fledged hunter. And that was another five cycles away!


    On the other hand, staying put when someone had clearly called him by his full name meant going from hunter to prey. His Master had always insisted that such situations should not be taken lightly.


    Ardi trusted his senses. He wasn¡¯t hearing things. Someone had definitely called his name. That meant that he wasn¡¯t alone in here.


    Breathing more evenly and keeping his fangs ready, Ardi took a few steps forward. He wished his eyes could see in the dark as well as Shali¡¯s or Ergar¡¯s could, but the spirits had decided otherwise. No, the young hunter could still navigate the darkness well, but it wasn¡¯t enough. Right now, he could only make out the outlines of rocks and cliffs that were at arm¡¯s length from him, and beyond that, the abyss was shrouded in impenetrable darkness.


    Every few steps, Ardi paused, forcing his heart to slow down, and listened to his surroundings. He didn¡¯t hear so much as a breath, nor a claw, not even the hum and the vibration of the rocks. Just silence. It was thick and sticky, like tar. It clogged his ears, filled his eyes, and left a bad taste on his tongue.


    Silence wasn¡¯t natural. Ardi knew that well enough. Something was definitely wrong here.


    Carefully stepping over stones and marveling at the chasm¡¯s width, the young hunter almost didn¡¯t notice when he reached a wall. Stretching out his paw, he felt the cold, slightly damp stones. He hadn¡¯t come across any forks, turns or even niches on his way here. So, he couldn¡¯t have made a wrong turn.


    And yet ¡ª here it was. A dead end. The end of the path.


    ¡°Ardan...¡±


    The young hunter bared his fangs and growled. Those cold claws and sticky fur were already licking his neck, but he brushed off the fear like an annoying insect.


    ¡°Who are you? What do you want?¡±


    Only his own echo answered him, bouncing off the rocks and... to his surprise, Ardi noticed that the troll¡¯s gem he was holding in his left paw was glowing. It was not as bright as when it had crowned the troll¡¯s square head, but the closer he brought it to the wall, the more intense and radiant the waves of light became.


    Ardi moved the gem away from the wall and its glow faded, turning it into an ordinary colored stone. The young hunter frowned and moved the gem closer. First to within an arm¡¯s length, then to half that, then to a quarter of that, and finally, when the gem was blazing as brightly as a wild flame, he tried to touch the wall with it.


    He almost fell forward. Barely maintaining his balance and staying on his feet, Ardi watched in disbelief as his paw holding the troll¡¯s gem went through the rock.


    Jerking back, the young hunter looked from the gem to the dead end. Were it not for the fact that he had recently fought a creature from fairy tales ¡ª well, all right, he¡¯d run from it and outwitted it! ¡ª he would have thought that he had hit his head too hard.


    Once, when he¡¯d been on a hunt with Ergar, the snow leopard had hit his head, and for an entire Spirit of the Day, his teacher had kept referring to his apprentice¡¯s paws as ¡°hands¡± and ¡°feet,¡± and had then cursed and tried to correct himself, but failed. Ardi had laughed so hard his stomach had nearly split open.


    ¡°Magic?¡± The young hunter wondered aloud.


    ¡°Ardan...¡±


    ¡°I hear you!¡± Ardi growled, then looked at the strange wall and gritted his teeth. ¡°But remember, I have the fang of the Storm of the Mountain Peaks! If I need to, I can summon him!¡±


    He remembered his teacher¡¯s warning not to reveal their relationship as apprentice and Master, but in this case, he hadn¡¯t broken the rule... Skusty would¡¯ve been so proud!


    Holding the gem out in front of him, Ardi stepped forward without closing his eyes, sniffing and listening intently. And only then did he realize that there might be an abyss behind this wall! Or even another abyss beyond that one! Or...


    There were so many ¡°ors¡± to be had, but none of them could compare to reality. Beyond the strange wall of the dead end lay a spacious, round cave, bathed in white light streaming down from high above.


    It was so high and wide that it could have held at least twenty Gutas.


    ¡°Wow...¡± Ardi exhaled, craning his neck back until it cracked. As far as he could tell, the walls just rose higher and higher, disappearing somewhere into a lake of white light.


    And there was a familiar wind playing around here. It was cold, slightly mocking, carrying with it rare, sharp ice crystals. The wind of the high peaks of the Alcade.


    ¡°That¡¯s...¡± The young hunter stuck out his tongue to taste the wind, then listened to its howls and smiled broadly. ¡°Of course! This is the Ice Fang!¡±


    This was the strange peak he used to orient himself in Ergar¡¯s territory. Unlike other Alcade peaks, it never shed its icy cap, not even during the hottest of summers, when other mountains sometimes lost parts of their white coats, revealing gray and black patterns beneath.


    But not the Ice Fang. Moreover, if you looked at it during sunrise or sunset, it turned blue instead of white. Ardi had always wanted to visit the Ice Fang, and his teacher didn¡¯t mind him doing so, but he¡¯d refused to take his apprentice there and had forbidden him from asking Kaishas for help.


    He¡¯d said that if Ardi was destined to go there, he would make it on his own. And if not, he had no business being there.


    ¡°But...¡± The young hunter mused. ¡°The distance from where the troll fell to the Ice Fang is at least half a moon¡¯s dance...¡±


    And that was if he never stopped to rest for long and the hunting was easy and plentiful. However, he had seemingly traversed that great distance in just a few hours by going through that chasm in the forest.


    But that should¡¯ve still taken so long, and here he¡¯d just stepped...


    ¡°I better go back,¡± Ardi said.


    The young hunter turned to go back through the wall, but it wasn¡¯t there anymore. His heart skipped a beat. He approached the next cave wall, brought the troll¡¯s gem up to it, but it remained unlit. The young hunter walked along the edge of the wide stone cave, bringing the gem up to it again and again, but it didn¡¯t react, and the walls didn¡¯t disappear.


    ¡°And Kaishas won¡¯t know to bring my teacher here...¡± Ardi sighed.


    No, maybe when Ergar cleared the rubble and found his apprentice missing, then he would... But why even consider that? Ardi remembered the incident with Lenos. Both his teacher and the Guardian of the Southern Gates had done things that still didn¡¯t make sense to the young hunter. One had made giant icicles fly, and the other had jumped into a flower meadow that had bloomed in the middle of the ice.


    But Ardi had been a mere cub back then, and neither his Master nor Lenos had been poisoned by the Ley, so maybe it had just seemed that way to him. In any case, simply hoping that his teacher would find him here, with all these oddities to get in the way, was irresponsible, and according to his Master, that was one of the worst qualities for a hunter to have.


    Ardi looked up into the white light. When he had first entered the cave, he had noticed the strange ledges climbing up the walls. They seemed to go on higher and higher, disappearing into the white haze. They had obviously not been made by the wind and rain. They were too long, too even, too uniform. And he knew they were called ¡°stairs.¡± Just like one of the paths leading down from Ergar¡¯s cave.


    He had absolutely no desire to climb these stairs into the unknown. Ardi didn¡¯t like adventures... Too bad the feeling wasn¡¯t mutual, and these adventures seemed to adore the young hunter.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Ardi exhaled and climbed the first step. ¡°Let¡¯s hope the fang doesn¡¯t fail me if I need it.¡±


    Using Ergar¡¯s help wasn¡¯t something he would rush to do. Being locked up for five cycles was certainly not appealing to him.


    Holding the fang and the gem out in front of him, the young hunter climbed carefully, step by step. Occasionally, he looked down to check his position, but eventually, he stopped ¡ª the cave floor was no longer visible. Only a descending spiral of steps could be seen.


    Strangely, the bright white light that crowned the odd opening didn¡¯t seem to be getting any closer, either. How much longer would he have to climb...


    At least hunger wasn¡¯t a big problem yet. Only its nagging sister, thirst, was bothering him. Sometimes, he had to stop and lap at the cool, rocky moisture from the walls. It wasn¡¯t enough to quench his thirst, but it still soothed his parched throat.


    He had no idea how long he had been climbing the stairs when he noticed something unusual. At first, he thought he was mistaken, but after a few quick sweeps of his paw over the stones, the small bits of vegetation and dust fell away, revealing... something.


    Ardi tilted his head and stared at the wall in surprise. What he saw reminded him of the game called ¡°Shapes¡± that he¡¯d played with Skusty. The squirrel had taught Ardi how to see what others couldn¡¯t.


    For example, if you looked up in the middle of a grove, you could see the outlines of the animals or birds that lived there between the branches. Or, if you climbed high enough, you could see words in the patterns of the rivers and lakes, words they used to communicate with each other.


    But here, to understand these stones, Ardi didn¡¯t need to listen, or look closely, or open his mind, whatever that meant. He saw shapes. Deer and lynxes, bears, snow leopards, wolves, rabbits, badgers, otters, and birds of all types and sizes.


    Mountains and hills. Rivers and forests. Lakes and clouds. These were also etched into the stone in shades of red and blue.


    Ardi reached out and touched the figures, but felt only the stone.


    ¡°How did this...¡±


    He climbed the stairs, and with each step he took, he saw more and more of these strange scenes. And occasionally, along with the animals and nature, he saw amazing creatures. They walked on two legs, held strange sticks in their front limbs, and once, he even saw a scene where a mysterious figure was sitting astride a huge deer.


    But the most intriguing thing was that they had no...


    ¡°Tails,¡± Ardi whispered, running his hand over the stones. ¡°They have no tails either.¡±


    Could these strange creatures be like him? Ones created by the spirits from the mountain rocks and called Matabar?


    The higher Ardi climbed, the more scenes he saw. Some were easy to recognize: here was a hunt, here were some cubs playing together, and there was even a depiction of some figures taking a rest by the streams and lakes. But most remained a mystery to him. On some stones, strange figures had raised staves into the air, and the stars that accompanied the Spirit of the Night had descended to dance around them.


    And sometimes, they gathered around something very red made of short sticks. They would sit close together, and one figure would stand up and clearly proceed to tell a story.


    Animals walked among these beings, and the beings walked among the animals. The paths of prey and hunter alike seemed to almost mix... And sometimes, if you looked closely, you could see familiar silhouettes among the ordinary animals. There was a great bear wearing the dawn stars, demonstrating how to lift stones and build something with them.


    He saw a multi-tailed snow leopard leading a group of the largest creatures into the mountains, and when they returned, their forest hunting was much more plentiful from then on.


    There was also a four-winged eagle soaring high in the sky, pointing out bird paths so that the beings on the ground could navigate everywhere like that was their home as well. And there was the mighty lynx, running ahead of the pursuing figures. And a horned goat showing the figures which plants were edible and which were poison for the stomach.


    But the strangest and most striking scenes were not about them, but about two other creatures.


    A little squirrel was whispering to a lone figure with a big stick.


    The figure saw ancient animals in the trees, fragments of past generations in the stones, and whispers of something distant and mysterious in the canopies and rivers.


    The rarest scenes depicted a giant wolf visiting packs of these beings. The wolf was bigger than Guta... no, even bigger than two Gutas. And unlike all the others, it wasn¡¯t red or blue, but something else. More... white, probably... and similar to those strange stones Ergar had called moonstone.


    The wolf seemed to be able to transform into a figure that resembled both the beasts and the beings it visited. The wolf would walk among them, then choose one of them. Sometimes a cub, sometimes a hunter, or even an elder a few times. Then they left together, never to return.


    Fascinated by these strange stones, Ardi didn¡¯t notice at first that he¡¯d finally reached the top. To his surprise, the light that was illuminating the cave wasn¡¯t coming from the Spirit of the Day or the Spirit of the Night. Well, it was coming from them as well, to be exact. There, high above, past the icy crystals and white stones, was an opening through which the light of an early evening was entering the cave.


    But the light he had seen from the base of the cave was coming from an icy structure that stood in the center of a replica of the cave he had just ascended. It was a strange dwelling resembling a nest.


    But it wasn¡¯t made of twigs and sticks, but icy trees instead. Yes, these were trees with bark of ice and crowns of snow and stone. Their roots had intertwined, creating a stone platform upon which the nest stood. And between the trunks, there was frozen water that seemed fully solid. And beyond the transparent openings flowed a steady, yellow light.


    Something pricked Ardi¡¯s heart, and he remembered a strange word ¡ª ¡°windows...¡± Yes, this solid water was called glass and served as windows. He also remembered what a hut was. In front of him stood an icy hut, in which a light burned, and through the windows, he could see... They seemed like... Yes, shelves! Shelves full of... scrolls and... something else. They were like scrolls, but with hard covers and lots of... not scrolls, but thin, straight leaves and...


    He didn¡¯t manage to recall the word before he heard a familiar voice:


    ¡°Ardan.¡±


    The young hunter felt a hot breath on his neck and heard a soft, low growl. Turning, he saw a figure straight out of the stone drawings. Yes, those colorful stones were called drawings.


    But a drawing couldn¡¯t fully convey how immense the white wolf was.

 Chapter 12 - Attanha

    Ardi turned slowly. At first, he thought he was looking at a glowing tree, one that had had its bark replaced by fur, and was now shimmering slightly and radiating warmth. The young hunter recoiled, stumbling over the uneven cave floor and landing on the soft spot on his body where a normal creature¡¯s tail would begin.


    Only now, with his head tilted back, could he clearly see the wolf standing before him. A she-wolf, to be exact. She was so tall at the shoulders that she rivaled a young birch, with thick, flowing fur that shimmered with a snowy light in the dim cave. Behind her and all around her was a wide trail of icy, blue mist. Wherever it touched the stone walls, they were soon covered in sparkling frost decorated with patterns of trees, meadows, and rivers. The frost would then spread farther and farther, cracking and falling off in ringing droplets that turned into long icicles in the air.


    Her luxurious mane swayed in the wind, though Ardi could feel no breeze except for the hot breath of the giant she-wolf. And just like with the troll, a gem shone within her forehead, only it was blue instead of red.


    ¡°H-h-h-hello,¡± Ardi stammered, his voice shaking.


    The wolf tilted her head to the side, her icy eyes, each the size of a small pond, looking at the young hunter. Not at him directly, but deeper, to where the words of Skusty and Ergar had sometimes reached.


    Ardi felt a cold inside him, a cold he had almost forgotten. He dropped the troll gem and hugged himself with his paws, sinking to the ground and pressing his knees to his chest. His eyes tried to close, but the young hunter knew he couldn¡¯t give in, couldn¡¯t fall asleep. No matter how cold it was, he had to hold on and stay awake. If he suddenly felt warm, it was just a trick, the cold wouldn¡¯t just go away and...


    It was over.


    The she-wolf looked away, and the clouds of steam stopped escaping from the young hunter¡¯s lips, while his paws returned to their original, pink color.


    ¡°It¡¯s funny that you ended up here, lucky puppy, without even hearing-¡±


    ¡°But you called me here,¡± Ardi interrupted her, and when the she-wolf turned sharply toward him, he dropped his claws and grabbed his mouth with both of his paws. But just like before, he hadn¡¯t been able to catch his tongue in time.


    Without removing his paws, he muttered, ¡°Sorry.¡±


    The old hunter and Ergar had taught him never to interrupt, but sometimes, it was beyond his control.


    The wolf lowered herself and sniffed.


    ¡°Can you hear me, child of a human female?¡±


    She spoke without moving her mouth, but Ardi heard every word clearly, even if he didn¡¯t understand half of it.


    ¡°I am a snow leopard,¡± the young hunter croaked, removing his paws from his mouth. ¡°And I don¡¯t know what humans are.¡±


    The wolf seemed to smile slightly, then leaned forward and touched Ardi¡¯s forehead with her gem. He didn¡¯t understand what happened next; one moment, he was sitting beside a giant she-wolf, bathed in the light of the Spirit of the Night, and what felt like a heartbeat later, he was lying beside a strange creature and the cave was filled with the light of the Spirit of the Day.


    The wind was blowing, howling softly among the white stones and snowy patterns. The light in the ice and glass hut and the trees faded. And Ardi felt no threat or fear. He felt good and warm, like he was under... a blanket? Yes, that seemed to be what he had covered himself with in Ergar¡¯s cave. The skins of goats and ibexes, sewn together, were called blankets.


    ¡°Where is the wolf?¡± Ardi asked himself, rubbing his eyes.


    He seemed to have just finished a good rest, which was a rare occurrence. Not as rare as a true and honest answer, but... Wait. How did he know that an honest answer was a rare thing?


    Never mind, those were thoughts for another day.


    The creature beside Ardi smiled and ran her claws through his hair. Yes! It was hair, not fur. It grew all the time, and Ergar would cut it with his claws to keep it out of his face. Right, he had a face. And...


    Ardi raised his paws... no, his hands. Yes, his hands! He had hands and feet! Just like the one sitting next to him. Only his hands looked more... hand-like, while hers were covered in fur, and were more like strange wolf paws. Both her hands and feet were like that, or rather, her front and back legs, or perhaps it would be better to call them her upper and lower paws?


    Her muzzle, or face... resembled what the young hunter had seen in his reflection in streams and lakes, and yet they¡¯d retained clear wolf features: a long nose, thick fur, high-set, long ears, and small eyes that were no longer icy, but bright blue.


    But what intrigued Ardi the most was the strange skin the wolf wore. It fell across her shoulders, over a collar made of a material unlike leather or animal fur. And she wore... a medallion? Yes, that seemed right. Around her neck was a chain with a medallion hanging from it. Her long hair ¡ª or fur? ¡ª had been arranged into two long braids that hung down.


    In the center of her forehead, the blue gem was still shining, and now it was set in... What was it again... Oh yes, a tiara. The gem was sitting in the center of a tiara.


    ¡°How do I know so many new words?¡± Ardi asked himself instead of his new companion.


    ¡°I think Ergar may have overdone it when trying to make you something that you¡¯re not, little pup,¡± her voice was both animalistic and not. She still didn¡¯t move her lips when she spoke. Yes, the young hunter was sure of it now ¡ª the giant ice wolf and this strange creature were one and the same... m-m-m... One and the same something! ¡°I didn¡¯t take away all his words ¡ª they¡¯re not mine, and you¡¯re not my apprentice ¡ª but still, I think this is better.¡±


    Ardi straightened, stood up, and jumped slightly. His body didn¡¯t hurt, and his head no longer felt like it wanted to fly off his shoulders and follow Kaishas¡¯ paths.


    ¡°I also saw that Shali and Guta have taught you some things,¡± the... she-wolf continued. He chose to think of her as the she-wolf for now.


    ¡°You could see that?¡± Ardi turned to her. ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°In your dreams,¡± her lips curved into a friendly, warm smile. ¡°You have beautiful dreams, little one. I watched them all night.¡±


    ¡°All night...¡± Ardi looked at the mark the Spirit of the Day had left in the sky above. ¡°My teacher-¡±


    ¡°He will come here soon,¡± the wolf interrupted him, making Ardi¡¯s eyes almost pop out of their sockets. The older animals never interrupted others and-


    ¡°Those who can hear and speak often interrupt when they should be silent,¡± the she-wolf almost seemed to be reading his thoughts, emphasizing those last three words. ¡°It¡¯s the price we pay for our gift.¡±


    ¡°A gift,¡± Ardi looked at his hands and where his tail should be. ¡°I would rather be an ordinary snow leopard than someone special.¡±


    ¡°And you will have that right one day.¡±


    ¡°Really? Truly?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± the wolf nodded. ¡°When five cycles blossom and the time comes for you to choose your path, you can remain among the mountain hunters and become what Ergar once was.¡±


    Ardi¡¯s heart beat faster.


    ¡°Could I really become like my teacher?¡±


    The she-wolf nodded again.


    Ardi almost danced with joy. Somehow, he knew as clearly as the Spirit of the Night follows the Spirit of the Day every evening that the she-wolf wasn¡¯t lying and was speaking the truth.


    ¡°We spoke about your friends. In your dreams, I didn''t see if you learned well from them,¡± she held out a paw and invited him to sit down. Ardi, calming down and remembering his manners, sat down beside her. ¡°Will you tell me about your efforts?¡±


    At any other time, he would have just used Ergar¡¯s fang and then sat in silence, waiting for him, but right now... He felt warmth and peace. He knew that no matter what happened, the she-wolf wouldn¡¯t hurt him, maybe even the opposite.


    ¡°Well,¡± Ardi lowered his gaze. ¡°I can navigate the forest streams, which Shali taught me. But I can¡¯t always tell one animal¡¯s tracks from another¡¯s. And... I try to run as fast as they do, but I can¡¯t. Shali says I¡¯m making progress and getting faster, but I know she¡¯s just trying to keep me from getting upset.¡±


    ¡°I see... and with Guta?¡±


    ¡°With Guta... I¡¯ve learned how to breathe properly, to stay calm in dangerous situations, and how to hold my breath underwater for a long time. I can easily catch fish and climb any tree, but... I can¡¯t even lift a stone half my weight. Guta promises I¡¯ll make it one day, but he¡¯s like Shali. They both love me very much.¡±


    The wolf smiled again and ran her warm, soft hand through Ardi¡¯s hair a second time.


    ¡°And what about Skusty?¡±


    ¡°Skusty?¡± The young hunter repeated. ¡°He¡¯s always playing tricks, swearing, lying, and making things up, but...¡±


    ¡°But you get along best with him?¡±


    Ardi nodded.


    ¡°He teaches me how to hear what others don¡¯t, to see what others can¡¯t, and... I think I do... Sometimes, of course. Not always. But I manage. Like that one time when I almost got lost, but an old maple showed me the way. I told Shali I was using her lessons so as not to upset her, but... Skusty wasn¡¯t even upset. He knew right away what was going on. Or like when a fast river current almost swept me away once, and I wished so much to be back on shore without calling for help, and a moment later, I was back on shore. Guta was proud because he thought I had overcome the river, but I hadn¡¯t. I don¡¯t really understand what happened.¡±


    And Ardi told her more of these stories. Stories he hardly believed himself, stories about all these oddities and strange quirks of the forest streams that, back at Ergar¡¯s cave, had seemed like a distant dream.


    But now Ardi realized that they had just been forgotten.


    It was a strange feeling, being able to remember something that he¡¯d once known, but had then somehow forgotten.


    ¡°Have you ever tried to speak?¡±


    ¡°I talk all the time. Ergar even gets angry about it sometimes.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt it,¡± the wolf chuckled. ¡°That old cat loves silence... but I meant something else. Have you ever tried to speak the way Skusty teaches you to hear?¡±


    Ardi pondered. He understood her question, but the answer was complicated. And... a bit painful.


    ¡°Sometimes... on especially dark nights, when the moon is just beginning its dance, I have a dream,¡± Ardi clenched his fists, looked at his feet, but saw a hazy vision there instead of stones. ¡°A scary dream... I don¡¯t like it...¡±


    ¡°Can you share it with me?¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t want to, but... The she-wolf had been so kind to him that it would¡¯ve been rude to refuse.


    ¡°Everything is on fire, but not the kind that falls from the sky in a storm. A different fire. And something is burning. Something very important. But I don¡¯t know what it is. And I¡¯m very angry. A lot angrier than when Skusty¡¯s pranks go too far. And I wish someone harm... even death,¡± Ardi added hastily, ¡°but please don¡¯t think I¡¯m mad or bloodthirsty! I only hunt when I am hungry, I never take more than I need, and I follow all the hunting laws and-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt it,¡± she covered his shoulder with her furry hand. ¡°Ergar taught you well. If your pack still roamed our paths, they would be proud of you. You are a worthy hunter, Ardan.¡±


    Ardi was startled.


    ¡°How do you know my full name?¡± He asked cautiously.


    ¡°I can give you an honest and sincere answer, but only if you answer my question,¡± the she-wolf explained almost hopefully. ¡°Not because I don¡¯t want to, but because I can¡¯t.¡±


    Ardi gathered his courage, nodded, and continued.


    ¡°At the end of this dream, I¡¯m so filled with rage and hatred that... I call upon the fire to devour and destroy whoever is hidden within the flames.¡±


    The she-wolf froze, not even breathing.


    ¡°And it answered your call?¡±


    ¡°I-¡±


    Ardi¡¯s reply was drowned out by a fierce roar that shook the stones.


    ¡°ENOUGH!¡±


    A blizzard burst through the crack in the cave ceiling. Lightning bolts flew from its center, scorching and melting the rocks. Massive chunks of ice smashed against the walls, breaking off heavy boulders, and the gale lifted them up like feathers, only to bring them back down again. The fury of the storm was so intense that even the air itself flared with blue fire, groaning under the assault of this alien fury.


    No living creature in the Alcade could have possibly continued breathing in such a presence, and yet...


    The she-wolf rose and a long staff appeared in her hand. Carved from white wood and decorated with strange patterns, it seemed simple and inconspicuous compared to the storm. Gently, barely touching the stone floor, she turned it into a troubled lake surface, waves rippling outward as a strange ringing filled the cave. But this only happened for a moment. A very brief moment. Then the wolf spoke the same word the storm had just uttered:


    ¡°Enough,¡± but she said it softly, almost inaudibly.


    And everything stopped. The storm calmed. The wind died down, but the rocks and stones didn¡¯t simply fall ¡ª they landed softly, like feathers, and settled on the ground. The lightning fizzled out, and the icicles returned to their places, reattaching themselves as if they had never fallen in the first place. Ardi was amazed to see a mighty snow leopard standing on the roof of the intact hut.


    Ergar had come for his student.


    ¡°Teacher, I...¡±


    ¡°Silence,¡± the snow leopard roared. This wasn¡¯t his usual roar. It wasn¡¯t strict or stern, but... almost disappointed, disillusioned, echoing the sentiment of when Ardi had consumed that dirty snow. ¡°You have said and done enough.¡±


    For a few moments, the she-wolf and the snow leopard stared into each other¡¯s eyes, until his teacher broke the silence.


    ¡°You had no right to bring him here,¡± he growled.


    ¡°I know, Storm of the Mountain Peaks,¡± the she-wolf bowed her head slightly. ¡°And I swear by the Queens¡¯ names, if there had been any other way, I wouldn¡¯t have done this.¡±


    Ergar muttered something unintelligible, then jumped down from the roof of the hut and approached Ardi. He didn¡¯t move. Normally, he was sure that his teacher wouldn¡¯t harm him, but today... Today, something made Ardi doubt that certainty.


    The snow leopard sniffed at his pupil, snorted discontentedly, and turned back to the she-wolf.


    ¡°You took away my words.¡±


    ¡°Only part of them,¡± she did not deny it.


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°Had no right,¡± she interrupted him. ¡°I know, Ergar, my old friend. But I don¡¯t remember the Queens giving you the right to decide which paths our brothers and sisters take.¡±


    Ergar opened his maw and roared so fiercely that several icicles fell, shattering into hundreds of pieces. Ardi had to summon all his strength not to fall to his knees and cover his ears with his hands. Hands... what a familiar and pleasant word that was.


    ¡°Our brothers and sisters,¡± his teacher¡¯s eyes shone with wild rage. ¡°And where are they now, Aean¡¯Hane? Where are our brothers and sisters? Hm? Tell me... Well? ANSWER ME!¡±


    And another roar blasted through the cave like a storm.


    Aean¡¯Hane... Ardi was sure he¡¯d heard stories about someone with this name. Or was it a title? A description? But what had he heard and from where?


    ¡°They¡¯re gone, my old friend,¡± the Speaker¡¯s words were as sad and broken as the heart of a mother bear after a hunter tragically misses their shot and hits her cub instead of her.


    Ergar snorted and began circling them both, angrily slamming his tail against his sides.


    ¡°And who killed them all, oh wisest among us?¡±


    ¡°Humans, Ergar. They were killed by humans.¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Roared the snow leopard. ¡°Those pathetic beings, who knew neither the first songs nor how the stars were kindled, nor how the paths were laid down¡­ They just came and took everything we had. Everything we are. They destroyed our sacred lands, spilled the blood of those who guarded the laws and ways. They are a disease. They are worms that poison our land. They cover the earth with dead stone and try to cut the sky with steel claws! From their mouths comes poisonous, black smoke... I HATE THEM!¡±


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    And Ergar¡¯s maw snapped shut just inches from the back of Ardi¡¯s head. He didn¡¯t flinch. No... His teacher couldn¡¯t... couldn¡¯t hurt him.


    ¡°I also feel your anger, Storm of the Mountain Peaks,¡± the she-wolf didn¡¯t move, although Ardi saw out of the corner of his eye how her strange finger-claws had tightened around her white staff. ¡°But you cannot change what is. In our last cub flows the blood of both packs. With your words, you have hidden the tribe you hate. Locked it inside the pup¡¯s heart, along with his gift.¡±


    And again, there was a mighty roar. The young hunter could not remember Ergar ever showing such rage. Even on those rare few occasions when Ardan¡¯s mischief had gone too far and his teacher had become seriously angry, it had still been nothing like today.


    ¡°There will never be a place for anything human in his heart, Speaker. I am his teacher. I set the path for him. And it is my decision.¡±


    For the first time, Ardi noticed a glimmer of something unkind in the blue eyes of the she-wolf.


    ¡°You? His teacher? I don¡¯t know how you came to be responsible for this pup, Ergar, but don¡¯t fool yourself, or me. He¡¯s not meant for running among the snow leopards, and I don¡¯t see your fangs or claws in him,¡± she suddenly struck the ground with her staff, and a wave of icy wind swept through the cave.


    Ardi only shivered slightly, but Ergar suddenly jumped back, leaving frost behind where his paws had been. Upon seeing this, the wolf grinned.


    ¡°You thought that if you gave him to Shali and Guta, together, you could turn the cub into something he is not,¡± she struck the cave floor with each word she spoke, and Ardi watched with his mouth agape as the icy trees came to life and birds and animals burst forth, jumped, and flew out from the walls. ¡°But he has neither the speed nor the agility of a forest lynx, and his body is no stronger than a human¡¯s ¡ª he will never be able to defeat a bear in a fair fight.¡±


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°Silence!¡± She slammed her staff down once more, and the icicles turned into predatory mountain eagles that began circling around the snow leopard. Every word from the she-wolf¡¯s lips became an icy vision. ¡°Don¡¯t forget yourself, little cat! I am the memory. I am the dream. It was I who taught you how to walk among the mountain snows to protect our freedom. It was I who taught Shali the words of the forest, so she could always bring us game. I was the one who wove Guta¡¯s armor from the stars of the dawn so that he could always build us a home. I was the one who twisted Lenos¡¯ horns so that he would guard our paths. I was the one who gave Kaishas two new wings, so he could always show us the way. I was the one who showed Skusty how to see what others do not, so he could preserve our stories. I was the one who gave you all Names! I am the one who came before the Matabar and the Guardian Spirits, and I will be the one who sheds my final tears over our graves before I join my mother!¡±


    Icy chains wrapped around Ergar. They entangled his paws, bound his maw, and subdued his tail. The she-wolf, now as tall as a pine tree, raised her staff above the snow leopard.


    ¡°Rrrrr!¡±


    But she didn¡¯t bring it down. Ardi knew how foolish this was, but... this was his teacher. They¡¯d eaten, slept, played, quarreled, and reconciled together. They¡¯d watched the stars side by side. They¡¯d discussed the paths and prey. Ergar had taught Ardi all he knew about hunting and more.


    Whoever this she-wolf was, she had no right to harm Ergar.


    And so, Ardi had simply acted, not even aware that he¡¯d ended up between the strange mistress of the icy cave and his teacher. Shielding the latter with his back, Ardi brandished one of his claws and growled softly, though it sounded more like a squeak.


    For a moment, everything froze, and then... the chains fell from Ergar, the icy animals and birds returned to the walls, the trees became part of the hut again, and the icicles reattached themselves to the icy arch.


    ¡°Why is it always so difficult with you, Ergar?¡± The she-wolf sighed, shrinking back to her former size.


    The snow leopard circled around Ardi and stood in front of him, just as Ardi had stood in front of him moments ago.


    ¡°I won¡¯t give him to you, Witch of Ice and Snow,¡± his Master growled. ¡°Even if you are the daughter of the Queen and the Princess of our Winter. Even if you created me and this land. It doesn¡¯t matter who you were, who you are, who you will be. I won¡¯t let you take him. I won¡¯t let you turn his heart into ice or his words into wind.¡±


    ¡°This is the way, Storm of the Mountain Peaks,¡± the she-wolf¡¯s voice was full of grief and sadness. ¡°It was laid down with the first songs and paths. Those Matabar who can both Hear and Speak must follow me along the secret paths to join the Queens and become Sidhe Fae. I don¡¯t know what flaw in creation led the last pup to be your student and not Skusty¡¯s, as was written on his soul, but that detail does not change the greater ways.¡±


    This time, Ergar didn¡¯t roar in rage, just pressed his body and tails to the ground. He bared his fangs, and his long whiskers bristled. His teacher was ready to fight.


    ¡°Will you truly fight me, kitten?¡± She asked without mockery or derision.


    ¡°I know it will be the last thing I do on my path, Mistress,¡± the snow leopard growled. ¡°But by the Sleeping Spirits, I will go to my tribe with your blood on my claws and your flesh in my fangs. And when Hec...¡± His teacher said a word that Ardi immediately forgot, as if he hadn¡¯t even heard it. ¡°Asks me what I did to protect this pup from your grasp, I will give him an honest and sincere answer ¡ª I will say that I broke my own laws, chose an opponent beyond my strength, and paid for it with my life.¡±


    For the first time, Ardi heard Ergar openly admit that there was someone in the Alcade stronger and more powerful than himself.


    ¡°So be it,¡± the she-wolf sighed, raising her staff. ¡°Let this be your last-¡±


    And at that moment, a piercing scream echoed in the sky. A gust of blue wind burst into the cave, and soon, a wide shadow covered the icy hut. Four huge wings spread out, and the fierce Kaishas shouted:


    ¡°Will you fight me too, Mistress?¡±


    Then a brown giant emerged from a beam of light, standing on his hind legs, his head touching the high arches.


    ¡°THIS IS MY FRIEND, PRINCESS!¡± Guta¡¯s voice boomed, his star armor shining brighter than the Spirit of the Day.


    From his left shoulder, a far too large squirrel jumped lightly down, holding a small stick in his paws ¡ª it was something like the she-wolf¡¯s own staff, only smaller, and made not from white wood, but out of cherry wood.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather help you get rid of the fleas, Your Highness,¡± Skusty chuckled as he usually did. ¡°But they seem to have taken up residence in your brain.¡±


    A lynx, one only slightly smaller than Ergar himself, gracefully descended from Guta¡¯s right shoulder. She said nothing, just hissed, and stood side by side with the snow leopard. Wherever her paws touched, a summer meadow bloomed. She had hardly moved before Lenos sprang out. He struck the ground with his hoof and lowered his horns, aiming them at the she-wolf.


    ¡°Even you, Guardian of the Southern Gates?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my Lady. Forgive me, but... While I have no particular fondness for this cub, he is still the last of our pack. And it would be an honor for me to die fighting you in order to protect him and keep him from the path of the Sidhe.¡±


    The she-wolf smiled as she had smiled at Ardi recently. It was a little sad and slightly condescending.


    ¡°Perhaps this is the fate of our pack, my dear children,¡± her voice was full of remorse. ¡°Today, I will take your Names, and along with them, the last Matabar will leave the mortal world. Our people will become songs and festivals and-¡±


    ¡°But remember, only half of you is Matabar,¡± echoed somewhere inside Ardi.


    That strange creature with cold claws and sticky fur tried to hold him in place, not letting the young hunter take a step. But here and now, Ardi couldn¡¯t help himself. All his friends and even the stubborn Lenos were standing in front of him, and the young hunter knew that if he did nothing, he would witness their demise. And who would he be then? It didn¡¯t matter.


    His Master had instructed him not to break the laws of hunting, but there was one exception.


    Without letting go of his stone claw, as if that could ever help him, Ardi stepped out from behind his friends and into the middle of the cave.


    ¡°Um,¡± he murmured, suddenly realizing that he didn¡¯t know what to say, but then his eyes met Skusty¡¯s. The squirrel, as was often the case in their games in forgotten dreams, simply... winked at his friend. That was enough. ¡°Wise... Speaker. Sorry, I don¡¯t know your name.¡±


    It seemed that the animals and the strange she-wolf were as stunned by Ardi¡¯s actions as he himself was.


    ¡°Atta¡¯nha,¡± she replied after a short pause. ¡°Sidhe of Ice and Snow.¡±


    ¡°Nice to meet you, Atta¡¯nha. I¡¯m Ardi, though you already knew that... I just wanted to say that-¡±


    ¡°Speak clearly, pup,¡± Ergar growled briefly. ¡°Don¡¯t mumble when you talk.¡±


    Ardi nodded. His teacher had always instructed him to speak clearly and to the point.


    ¡°We agreed to exchange answers, but we haven¡¯t done so yet.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t know what he had just said, but for some reason, the cave became even quieter. Only Skusty laughed out loud, as only he could. He did so with his eyes alone, without making a sound.


    ¡°You asked me, Atta¡¯nha, if the fire answered me in my dream. And, I don¡¯t remember exactly what happened next, but every time I wake up, I feel its warmth on my right paw... hand. Sorry about that. Still getting used to that. So... Will you answer me this ¡ª how did you hear my full name?¡±


    And the six animals turned to the she-wolf in unison. She laid down her staff and whispered softly, ¡°The wind told me.¡±


    Ardi shuddered. That phrase seemed very familiar, but he couldn¡¯t remember where he¡¯d heard it before.


    ¡°So, Your Highness,¡± Skusty grinned smugly. ¡°You called Ardi to the Mountain of Memory. Brothers and sisters, if I remember correctly, and sometimes old Skusty forgets, mind you¡­ Like when I put that acorn in a hole once and then spent the whole season looking for it-¡±


    ¡°Skusty,¡± Guta rumbled.


    ¡°Oh, right, sorry,¡± the squirrel slid down from his furry perch and stood beside Ardi, reaching up to his waist. ¡°It seems to me, Your Highness, like you were being a bit deceptive.¡±


    ¡°The Fae, and especially we Sidhe, cannot lie,¡± Atta¡¯nha reminded him.


    ¡°But your truth is still more deceptive than any lie,¡± Skusty waved dismissively. ¡°You heard Ardi¡¯s name on the wind. And you probably heard it when he first descended into the forest flows and helped Lenos¡¯ cousin.¡±


    Lenos¡¯ cousin? So that¡¯s why that stubborn goat had come to his rescue! That doe was a distant relative of the Guardian of the Southern Gates!


    ¡°And when the pup,¡± Ardi didn¡¯t bother to point out that he wasn¡¯t a pup but a hunter, ¡°found himself near the walking stones, you sent a mountain troll to him, whose gem I now see in the rascal¡¯s hands. Well done, Ardi, well done ¡ª you outwitted a mindless bunch of stones. I can be proud to-¡±


    ¡°Skusty!¡± Guta boomed again, but this time more insistently.


    ¡°Oh? Oh! Right...¡± The squirrel cleared his throat and continued. ¡°And you probably sent the storm, too, so that Kaishas would hide the foolish Ardi in that crevice. But you didn¡¯t expect that the call would bring not the last Matabar to you but... our naive half-breed.¡±


    Half-breed? What did Skusty mean when he called Ardi a half-breed? Maybe that he was half-Matabar and half-snow leopard? Maybe that was why he didn¡¯t fit into either of the two tribes?


    ¡°And since I, as you just now reminded Ergar, keep our stories, Your Highness, I would like to remind you that you have the right to take those who can Speak only if they belong to the ranks of the Matabar,¡± Skusty shrank to a small size and deftly jumped right onto Ardi¡¯s head and patted him on the forehead. ¡°And here is only half a Matabar. Shall we measure him and divide him up?¡±


    For a moment, Ardi thought the wolf would turn into a beast and tear him in half, but that didn¡¯t happen. Instead, she leaned over to Ardi and put her hand on his chest.


    ¡°I understand why Ergar wasn¡¯t meant to be your teacher,¡± she said softly but firmly. ¡°It takes a brave heart to run among the snow leopards. Yours is not like the brave warriors¡¯ hearts, but... it is kind. Even too kind... And that helps you fight fear.¡±


    The Sidhe moved her hand from his chest to his eyes, then to his ears, and finally, to his lips.


    ¡°But your eyes, ears and mouth, born between two tribes, see, hear, and speak the languages of both packs. Half-breeds are not rare, little one, but all too often, one side overpowers the other. In you, they somehow coexist together.¡±


    Ardi frankly didn¡¯t understand what was happening or what the strange she-wolf was talking about, but... He didn¡¯t feel threatened by her. She was warm and soft, and smelled of snow and trees, almost like... almost like...


    Something hot burned his cheeks, and the feeling that he had forgotten something important returned to his mind. Maybe it was just a dream. Or a dream about a dream.


    Atta¡¯nha leaned in even closer and whispered so that only Ardi could hear her.


    ¡°When the time comes to choose your path, little Speaker, listen to no one but your own heart. Not the forest, not the animals, not the mountain, not the birds, not the river, not the lake. Only you should choose who you are, kind child.¡±


    Ardi looked up in confusion and met the she-wolf¡¯s eyes, reading in them, as Skusty had taught him, what others did not see. The Sidhe had never intended to fight his friends. She would never and could never harm them. For how could a mother harm her beloved children? No, everything that had happened, everything she had done, had been for one purpose.


    To test him.


    She had also been testing him when she¡¯d led the Ley-Poisoned wolves to his scent. She had delayed the birth of the little fawn and then, a season later, made Lenos¡¯ cousin come to the waterhole at night. She¡¯d led him along the earth path to the distant grove where she¡¯d lured in the troll. And then she¡¯d led the troll to the baby bears. Just to test him.


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°Walking the paths of my children,¡± she interrupted him in that same whisper, ¡°requires a strong body, a brave heart, strong horns, quick paws, and sharp eyes, but to walk as I do... it requires only one thing, little Speaker ¡ª kindness. Though everyone understands it differently, without kindness in the heart, no one will respond to your words. And this is my sincere response. I heard your name seven full cycles ago when you first cried out to greet this world.¡±


    She finished with a wink ¡ª just like Skusty! ¡ª then addressed the animals.


    ¡°Ergar, Storm of the Mountain Peaks, will you allow me to visit your student on the third step of the moon dance and teach him for seven dreams how to Speak and Hear, how to heal ailments, how to calm restless dreams? I wish to teach him about herbs, fruits, water and earth, fire and wind.¡±


    The animals exchanged looks and whispered. Even Skusty seemed confused.


    ¡°But, Your Highness,¡± for the first time that Ardi could recall, the squirrel spoke to someone with genuine respect. He even bowed! ¡°Am I to understand that you want to teach Ardi the Art of the Sidhe? That¡¯s... Even when the Matabar pack was countless, the secrets of the Sidhe were never passed on to those who hadn¡¯t sworn themselves to the Queens and renounced their mortal fate. You only taught those you took to the Fae!¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Atta¡¯nha replied calmly. ¡°You got that right, Skusty, Sage of the Tree Crowns.¡±


    Skusty? Skusty was a Sage? It seemed like today¡¯s surprises couldn¡¯t get any more shocking.


    ¡°If the teacher of the little Speaker permits it, I will teach Ardi for seven paths of the Spirit of the Day, each moon dance, for five full cycles and one day. No more, no less. And only his mind and his heart will determine what he can learn.¡±


    She struck the ground with her staff, and the ringing that filled the cave seemed to bind her words with an invisible seal.


    This time, all eyes turned to Ergar. Ardi, struggling a little, did the math. If he spent the last seven arrivals of the moon dance in the forest streams, and before that, seven of them with Atta¡¯nha, that meant that he would have only... half of them left to practice with his Master?


    But how... That was...


    ¡°So be it, witch,¡± the snow leopard snorted. ¡°Your seven dreams begin today. Make sure the cub returns to me on time.¡± Then he turned and jumped out of the cave.


    The rest of the animals, bowing or saying a few words in parting, disappeared one by one. Only Skusty, who lingered for a moment, looked at Ardi, then smiled at him and slipped away along paths that only he could see.


    Soon, the young hunter was left alone with the strange wolf.


    Ardi felt a sharp pain in his chest.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be upset,¡± she whispered. ¡°Your teacher will calm down soon.¡±


    ¡°It looks like he¡¯s angry with me.¡±


    ¡°With you?¡± She smiled like the Spirit of the Day smiled in the morning, joyfully greeting the inhabitants of the Alcade. ¡°No, silly child, Ergar is not angry with you, but with the humans.¡±


    ¡°And who are these humans?¡±


    ¡°Oh, Ardi, one day, you¡¯ll have to find that out for yourself.¡±


    ¡°And you won¡¯t answer me?¡±


    ¡°I wish I could, little Speaker, but not all questions have answers.¡±


    ¡°And why not?¡±


    Atta¡¯nha ruffled his hair and led him to the ice hut.


    ¡°Let¡¯s start with something simple, shall we? Maybe... what do you know about the root of the Seven-Colored Nettle?¡±


    ¡°Is there such a thing?¡±


    The wolf stopped abruptly and looked at him the way Ardi had sometimes looked at Skusty when he didn¡¯t understand if the squirrel was joking or not. When Atta¡¯nha realized that the young hunter was absolutely serious, she sighed and covered her face with her paw.


    ¡°Oh, Sleeping Spirits...¡±


    ***


    And so his adventures came to an end for the most part. Ergar didn¡¯t really stay angry for long ¡ª only two seasons. During that time, their conversations could be counted on one hand, but he still diligently taught Ardan hunting and other skills. By the fall, everything was back to normal. Sometimes they would argue, they¡¯d often play in the snow, and in the evenings, they would watch the stars while his teacher told him stories about the Matabar and the ancient Kingdom of Ectassus, whose borders had stretched beyond the horizon.


    Reluctantly, he would let Ardi go to the forest streams. Along the way, the young hunter would sometimes meet Kaishas and occasionally, perhaps a few times a season, Lenos. The latter would bring him special flowers, and Kaishas would teach him how to navigate by the stars and winds.


    In the forests, Ardi would race with Shali, learning about the tracks of different animals; he¡¯d swim, climb trees, and drag boulders ¡ª or in Ardi¡¯s case, small stones the size of a young rabbit. And even then, he couldn¡¯t lift them, he just pushed them along the sand ¡ª with Guta, listening to his advice on the importance of proper breathing and a hearty meal. And as always, Skusty would teach him how to see the extraordinary in the ordinary. And these lessons helped Ardi a lot.


    They helped him with the most interesting ¡ª not that he would ever tell the others that and hurt their feelings ¡ª new part of his life. As promised, seven dreams before descending into the forest streams, Atta¡¯nha would come for him. She¡¯d hold his hand, and together, they¡¯d walk through the snow that would take them from the threshold of the cave to their home at the top of the Ice Fang in a matter of minutes. Or, as it was more properly called, the Mountain of Memory.


    It was called that because those strange stones had turned out to be petroglyphs ¡ª a terribly complicated word. They¡¯d been left behind by Ardi¡¯s ancestors to preserve the paths and ways of the Matabar. The wolf always told Ardi many interesting things about history, and he never failed to listen to her with his mouth wide open, but deep inside, he was expecting other lessons from his new friend.


    Sometimes, they went to her home, the ice shack. There, she taught him how to read and write in the language of the Fae. She showed him scrolls and books, and allowed him to take some back to the cave. Sometimes, the contents of the books gave Ardi a headache, so incomprehensible were they, but sometimes, they opened up new venues of knowledge for him as well.


    Atta¡¯nha had called that ¡°theory.¡±


    Followed by ¡°practice.¡±


    Together, they would explore the forestflows, where she¡¯d teach him about roots and flowers, trees and stones, animals and birds, streams and lakes, insects and fruits. She¡¯d often demand some knowledge from Ardi, because he¡¯d had a chance to get it from the books. To his credit, the young hunter would almost always manage to answer her questions. He loved to sit on the cliffs of the Stairs, swinging his legs above the clouds, and read Sidhe books.


    He¡¯d learned many things that had previously been hidden from him that way. For example, how to make medicine from the root of a burning berry and birch sap that could reduce fever. Or what uses there were for water from a stream that had flowed eastward on the third day after the moon dance had begun under the light of the red star ¡ª not a common occurrence, but such water had special properties.


    If you crushed a wood beetle in it, added a bit of the common fly agaric¡¯s stem, and infused it with fern leaves, drinking such a potion would make you see as clearly in the night as Ergar and Shali. Ardi had tried to make the potion a few times, but... the first time, he¡¯d grown donkey ears ¡ª Atta¡¯nha had laughed heartily, but then turned them into butterflies that had flown away ¡ª and the second time, he had been able to see perfectly at night but had grown nearsighted during the day, like an old mole.


    Fortunately, the effect of that particular potion had only lasted one path of the Spirit of the Night and half a path of the Spirit of the Day.


    But even this knowledge couldn¡¯t compare to the most impressive thing that the wise she-wolf had taught him. Sometimes, they would go to the simplest grove, sit back to back, and... listen. They¡¯d listen to the trees creaking and their crowns swaying, whispering in the wind; the grass gossiping, filled with the sounds of crickets, grasshoppers, and other unavoidable inhabitants of theirs. Sometimes, they¡¯d walk in the rain, immersed in the melody of the raindrops weaving a pattern across the forest and resting from tiring days. They had also climbed high into the mountains, where the cheerful wind had greeted them with legends and stories of wondrous lands hidden by the mists of the ghostly horizon.


    Once, they¡¯d gone to a mountain lake filled with liquid flame instead of water ¡ª it had warmed Ardi with a quiet, soft tale of times when the mountains had not yet risen from the hills and the valleys had not yet left the salty shores of the oceans.


    Atta¡¯nha would often praise Ardi for being able to hear one story or another if he listened carefully and remembered Skusty¡¯s teachings as well, but she would also ask for more from him. She had asked him to, during a story, step deeper. To immerse himself in what he was hearing and to name the storyteller. But not the obvious one. The true one. Sometimes, he¡¯d even managed to hear something like that, but whenever he would try to grasp this elusive knowledge, it immediately changed its form.


    The wolf had told him that names were never constant. They always changed, acting as a kind of whirlpool in which Ardi had once nearly drowned. Only True Names were constant. But when you possessed such a True Name, it left a mark on your soul, and rarely did a Speaker, or rather, an Aean¡¯Hane ¡ª those Speakers who knew a True Name ¡ª know more than one True Name.


    Atta¡¯nha herself, for example, knew only two such Names ¡ª Ice and Snow. She would try to teach these to Ardi most of the time, and the young hunter would work diligently to learn them, but cycle after cycle passed and he still couldn¡¯t get it.


    The wolf wouldn¡¯t get upset, however, and encouraged Ardi to stay positive. Whenever he felt down, she showed him miracles. One day, she called a mountain stream by name, took a piece of shimmering liquid from its surface, wove snowy threads from the names of the clouds, summoned the wind, and it came to her, sharing memories and knowledge, which Atta¡¯nha mixed into paints. When all preparations had been completed, she reached into the night sky, shook a grain of black powder from it, then shoveled in snow from the farthest and highest peaks of the Alcade.


    Whispering something, the she-wolf took some cloth from a mountain stream, hemmed it with winter cloud threads, added a ruffle of white snow, and with the paints and night powder, drew a mysterious and beautiful pattern on it. A blue ribbon flowed out from under her fingernails.


    She then wrapped all of this around Ardi¡¯s right wrist and it became a bracelet. It was so light that Ardi couldn¡¯t even feel it on his arm.


    ¡°Take care of that,¡± Atta¡¯nha tapped the young hunter gently on the nose. ¡°It¡¯s my farewell present to you.¡±


    ¡°Farewell?¡± Ardi perked up in alarm. ¡°But there are still two cycles and one day to go!¡±


    The wolf smiled as she always did. Before, Ardi had seen only warmth and kindness in her smile, but now, he noticed a bit of mystery to it as well.


    ¡°Time runs differently for us, little Speaker.¡±


    And time did run, cycle after cycle. The lunar dances merged into a series of games in the forest flows, hunts along the mountain paths, and journeys with the she-wolf. All of this went on until one day, the mountains of the Alcade welcomed another autumn, followed by a snowy winter, marking the end of the sixth cycle of Ardi walking the paths of the snow leopards.

 Chapter 13 - Crystal Flower

    Ardi exhaled and listened to the snow¡¯s whispers hidden under the gusts of the wind. He gathered crystals from the glittering, white blanket and spun them in a dance, making them sing a barely audible trill of soft chimes. It was lighter than the song of a young bullfinch, but clearer than a spring drip. The wind, relishing the sounds, carried them around, and Ardi listened intently. At some point, between the crunching snow, the rustling wind, and the icy song, he heard a name.


    It slipped from the young hunter¡¯s lips with a frosty breath, and a snowflake appeared on his palm. Ardi bit his lip, trying not to lose this name and its essence. He whispered and the snowflake listened. It changed shape, stretched, solidified, and soon, Ardi was looking into the eyes of a snow leopard cub that wrapped its long, icy tail around his little finger and-


    Something hit the back of the hunter¡¯s head. The winter magic vanished, once more turning into just the wind chasing a light blanket of snow, and with the magic, the name vanished as well; the snow leopard yawned and scattered into a cloud of white dust.


    ¡°Atta¡¯nha!¡± Ardi shouted, standing up and turning to the she-wolf. ¡°I had it!¡±


    She was sitting on a stone, whispering to the birds and trees, and looked at her little friend or student with her usual warmth and a bit of non-offensive mockery. In her paws, the wolf held the staff that had just greeted Ardi¡¯s head.


    He still could not believe that Atta¡¯nha had done this. For the first time in five cycles, he¡¯d managed to not only hear the name of the Ice, but also say it!


    ¡°It¡¯s not enough to merely say it, little Speaker,¡± the she-wolf smiled, releasing the birds back into the paths of the clouds and winds. ¡°You must be able to keep it. In the future, whenever you try to speak, place a needle between your fingers.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°To learn how to ignore the world around you,¡± Atta¡¯nha explained. ¡°When you can speak without paying attention to the needle, immerse your feet in boiling water. After that, when you can still speak even with that distraction, the final test will be a claw,¡± she held out her hand, said something, and a swirl of snow spun across her gray fur, leaving behind a claw of blue ice. ¡°Plunge it between your ribs and try to speak. If you succeed, only then will your mind and heart be strong enough to attempt to learn a True Name. And only those who possess a True Name can be called Aean¡¯Hane.¡±


    Ardi listened attentively and nodded, but... he understood little. If the needle seemed like something he could manage, the rest... It was hard to keep a name stable even when someone was just being noisy nearby. Boiling water and a claw between the ribs...


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± the she-wolf rose from the stone and approached, ruffling Ardi¡¯s hair as usual. ¡°Even with your talent, little Speaker, this path can take more than seven decades to traverse.¡±


    ¡°Aean¡¯Hane,¡± the young hunter repeated thoughtfully. ¡°It means Maker of Magic in the Fae language, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes and no,¡± Atta¡¯nha shook her head. ¡°Humans can create magic with their Star Magic. Aean¡¯Hane means much more. It¡¯s more than just a Speaker who can string a few words together. It¡¯s someone who can not only speak and summon names, but knows that...¡± The wolf seemed to be searching for words that Ardi would understand. ¡°One day, you will understand, little Speaker, that the power given to you by the Sleeping Spirits should not be called into this world often, and that what you can do with its help, you can do with your own two hands as well. This is what it means to be Aean¡¯Hane ¡ª to have great power and the even greater wisdom required to not use it.¡±


    ¡°And are you an Aean¡¯Hane?¡±


    The she-wolf laughed. The sound was light and bright. A little growl and a little bark could even be heard within it.


    ¡°Sometimes, I forget how little you know, my dear friend.¡±


    Ardi frowned unhappily.


    ¡°I have read almost all of your books and most of your scrolls,¡± he muttered. ¡°I know how to light moonlight in the middle of the Spirit of the Day¡¯s path; I know how to hear part of the storm¡¯s name and summon an icy bolt of lightning; I know how to make a cloak from darkness that averts the eyes; I know how to whisper words that open closed passages; I know how to mix hundreds of herbs, roots, and fruits; I know how to create a star map from sparks; I know how to-¡±


    ¡°Not all knowledge, little Speaker,¡± Atta¡¯nha interrupted him. ¡°Can be gleaned from books and scrolls. And the most important knowledge you¡¯ll ever find will not come to you through books.¡±


    Ardi had his own opinion about that. Yes, he liked spending time with Ergar, Guta, and his other friends of the forests and mountains. But he much preferred the icy hut of the she-wolf, bathed in the light of the dancing fire petal she would summon so that the hunter wouldn¡¯t ¡°ruin his eyes.¡± Books and scrolls were much dearer to him. They didn¡¯t frighten him with fear, starve him with hunger, torment him with thirst. They simply told him their stories and asked nothing in return.


    ¡°And how-¡±


    ¡°Like this,¡± Atta¡¯nha covered the place where the hunter¡¯s heart was beating with her palm. Then she scooped up some snow and let it melt on his cheek. ¡°And through this,¡± she added more heavily. ¡°This is the way.¡±


    Ardi understood none of that. Knowledge would come to him through the rhythm of his heart and melted snow?


    ¡°To answer your question,¡± the she-wolf stepped back and smiled. ¡°I am the one who teaches the Aean¡¯Hane.¡±


    ¡°And what do they call you?¡±


    She laughed again. Ardi had always loved that sound, the sound of his wise friend¡¯s joy. And also her warmth. It reminded the hunter of something. Something he both wanted and feared to remember.


    ¡°You will know that someday, too, my dear friend, and...¡± Atta¡¯nha stopped abruptly, stepped back, turned with the wind and sniffed, closing her eyes and twitching her black nose in an amusing manner.


    ¡°The blood of the traitor is near...¡±


    ¡°The blood of the traitor? Who¡¯s that?¡±


    Atta¡¯nha suddenly grabbed Ardi, hugged him tightly, and pressed him against her. She buried her wolf¡¯s muzzle in his hair and breathed in heavily.


    ¡°Hey... What¡¯s wrong?¡± The hunter barely managed to say.


    ¡°It hurt her so much to let you go,¡± the she-wolf whispered. ¡°By the Great Mothers, it hurt her so much...¡±


    For a moment, Ardi felt like he had seen this somewhere before. That someone, somewhere, had held him just as tightly and had been just as afraid to let him go.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he patted her strong, broad back. ¡°Even if today is the last day you teach me, that doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t come visit you to play and chat. You¡¯ll see! When I become a full-fledged hunter, I¡¯ll visit you even more often than I do now!¡±


    She rubbed her cheek against his, poking him with soft but sharp fur. Then she suddenly stepped back, leaned down, and looked into his eyes.


    ¡°Remember, my dear friend,¡± she whispered in the language of her tribe. The Fae tribe. Ardi could read it well and understand it when he heard it spoken, but whenever he tried to speak it, the she-wolf would burst into uncontrollable laughter. ¡°This is your home, the land of your ancestors. They lived here. Died here. They took care of it for their descendants, as a mother takes care of her child. Every step among the mountains, plains and hills, forests and fields, rivers and lakes of this land is your blood and flesh. Here, your spirits reside. And whatever happens, no matter how far the path takes you, no matter how lonely you feel, remember that you are welcome here. And always will be.¡±


    Then she held out her hand, whispered something over it, and handed Ardi a small figurine of an oak tree. In Fae tradition, oaks, though not as sturdy as Iron Trees, nor as long-lived as cedars, were the guardians of the stories and legends of those they shaded with their generous branches.


    ¡°This is yours,¡± Atta¡¯nha whispered as she wrapped the oak in a thin band and tied it around the hunter¡¯s neck. ¡°Now go ¡ª our last day is over, and I am no longer your teacher, only a friend.¡±


    ¡°My friend,¡± Ardi repeated, then smiled broadly and hugged the wolf. ¡°See you tomorrow, Atta¡¯nha, my friend. I¡¯ll be there with Skusty and Kaishas! They wanted to play hide and seek again. That pair knows the woods even better than Shali and Guta, and I rarely win, but I think that together, we can beat them easily! By the way ¡ª a whole blackberry bush is at risk! The stakes are higher than ever!¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Atta¡¯nha nodded. ¡°Until we meet again, my dear friend.¡±


    Ardi smiled again, hugged the wolf once more, and ran down the path toward the forest. For a moment, he wondered why she¡¯d been so sad today. After all, nothing terrible would happen just because she could no longer teach him. They could still talk and play. Or just go for a walk together in the Alcade. That was more than enough...


    Ardi did not see the blizzard swirling around the wolf, nor did he hear her howl as she stared into the cold eye of the Spirit of the Night rising in the east. Nor did he see the squirrel that climbed onto her shoulder with a small twig in his paws.


    ¡°That was painful, wasn¡¯t it, Mistress?¡±


    ¡°Painful, Sage... I knew it would be painful, but I didn¡¯t know it would hurt me this much.¡±


    ¡°It hurt her too, Mistress. Perhaps even more than you. Funny, isn¡¯t it? A half-blood... The first in thousands of years, a mortal with human blood, studying under one of the Winter Queen¡¯s daughters.¡±


    ¡°But she knew her son would return,¡± the she-wolf said, as if she only cared about one part of the squirrel¡¯s words. The part that mattered most. ¡°She knew that-¡±


    ¡°She hoped. She even believed in him. But mostly ¡ª she just hoped he would,¡± Skusty corrected her firmly.


    They both watched his fading tracks in the snow.


    ¡°I was so scared, Sage,¡± Atta¡¯nha whispered. ¡°Scared that I would never wake up again.¡±


    ¡°We were scared as well, Mistress,¡± the squirrel straightened, held up his twig, and pointed it somewhere to the north. ¡°But... I believe, or... I just hope that one day, we will wake again, and our dear friend will smile at us, call us to play, and tell us so many stories that we will...¡±


    He trailed off.


    In the clearing, there was now a wooden totem in the shape of a she-wolf with human features. She held a carved white staff in her paws, and tears of transparent amber ran down her cheeks. On the mythical creature¡¯s shoulder sat a large wooden squirrel the size of a young fox. The wind blew again, swirling around in the angry blizzard and shrouding them in a snowy veil.


    It also hid the peak of this mountain, which resembled an ice-carved fang, and extinguished the light in the hut, which turned into a simple rock; it then covered the writings and pictures on the walls of the deep cave and flew on. It caught the four-winged eagle running among the clouds, pressed it to the ground, and placed it on the shoulders of a huge mountain goat with horns that even the proudest of elk would envy. And so they stood like wooden statues on a wide mountain plateau.


    And the wind went on.


    It covered the paths in the forest with snow and ice, bound the rivers and lakes, dressed the trees in fluffy white coats, and ran, ran, ran until it caught the bear dressed in the dawn and the lynx with a coat of spring grass. And now, within the meadow, surrounded by swaying pines, there was another wooden totem, depicting strange beasts from long-forgotten tales.


    The wind continued to blow, and Ardi, laughing all the while, tried to outrun it, unable to notice how the Alcade fell asleep behind him, as if soon, just a minute later, the last spark that had given it the breath of magic would leave it forevermore.


    ***


    At every rustle, every creak, every strange reflection in the terrifying darkness of the forest, she reacted in the only way she knew ¡ª by pointing the barrel of her pistol at it and putting her finger on the trigger. A pistol... As if this trinket her uncle had given her when she¡¯d been a child could really be called a pistol.


    ¡°Caw!¡± The wings of a red-eyed raven flapped as it disappeared into the night.


    Her heart was beating so fast that she sometimes couldn¡¯t hear her own thoughts. Her light white coat was barely keeping her warm, and her ears were red under her wide-brimmed hat, and... She¡¯d touched them once and had almost screamed in pain.


    Her feet were wet in her high boots, and she couldn¡¯t feel her toes.


    Everything about her screamed that she couldn¡¯t have possibly found herself in the heart of a mountain forest, amid a bitter frost, under the light of a waxing moon. And yet, she was. When that old woman with the wolf head pendant had said that she could help her find medicine for her daughter in exchange for a single drop of blood, she¡¯d thought it was just part of the Winter Festival show. Who could have known that a blink later, she¡¯d be standing in the middle of a terrifying forest, with only the stars above her and the mountains rising up to meet her?


    ¡°Don¡¯t come any closer!¡± She yelled, turning to what she thought were predatory, animal eyes watching her.


    She cocked the hammer of her gun and was about to pull the trigger when the clouds parted and the forest was bathed in silver light. Not believing her eyes, she lowered her gun. Standing at the edge of the clearing was not a small snow leopard, as she had first thought in the dark, but... a child?


    From the back, his height and broad shoulders might¡¯ve made him look older, but his still naive and kind eyes, coupled with those chubby cheeks, suggested that he was twelve, maybe thirteen. His black, wavy hair fell over his bushy eyebrows, and his neat nose was dotted with funny freckles. His ears stuck out, but not so much that one could call him big-eared.


    Quite the opposite, in fact. He looked like a handsome boy who, when he grew up, would be the cause of many a woman¡¯s tears and heartbreak. Especially due to those strange, almost inhuman, amber eyes of his. They were charming and unfathomable. Like... like the eyes of that old woman at the Festival.


    ¡°Do you know her? Do you know the witch?¡± She breathed out clouds of steam, her hands shaking.


    The boy tilted his head to one side and frowned. He seemed like he was desperately trying to understand something, but couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°Ana¡¯elat asha egokta ana?¡± He said in a rough, broken language she didn¡¯t recognize. ¡°Elat tur?¡±


    ¡°What? I don¡¯t understand...¡± She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know that language. Can you speak Galessian?¡±


    The boy shuddered, and a vague recognition appeared in his eyes.


    ¡°It sound... mmm... language speak you,¡± he said slowly, almost growling, like a beast. ¡°Who language it?¡±


    ¡°It is the language of the New Monarchy Empire,¡± she spoke slowly, trying not to gesticulate too much ¡ª the boy kept looking at her pistol. ¡°It¡¯s the name of one of the human countries on the Western Continent.¡±


    ¡°Humans?¡± The boy repeated. He seemed familiar with the word. ¡°You humans?¡±


    ¡°Human,¡± she corrected him. ¡°And who are you?¡±


    The boy thought for a moment, then touched his chest. Only now did she notice that he was wrapped in a ridiculous cloak that had been crudely stitched together from various furs. But each of those furs would fetch a high price in the Metropolis fur market. Many fashion houses would not hesitate to pay hundreds of exes to buy them.


    ¡°Ardi,¡± the boy replied. ¡°My name Ardi. You?¡±


    She hesitated before deciding what to say.


    ¡°Atura, my name is Atura.¡±


    The boy sniffed the air, then stepped back.


    ¡°Lies,¡± he shook his head. ¡°Lie. You lie. Why lie? Lie not good. Teacher say lie bad.¡±


    For a moment, she thought he was not a human child, but a young cat ready to turn and flee into the forest.


    ¡°Wait, wait,¡± she pleaded, and when the boy stopped, she continued in a soothing tone. ¡°You¡¯re right, forgive me. Atura is my servant. That¡¯s the name of my servant.¡±


    ¡°Servant? That you pack?¡±


    ¡°Pack? Ah... family?¡±


    The boy nodded.


    ¡°No, no. A servant is... a helper. She helps me with various tasks.¡±


    ¡°Help? Friend? Atura friend?¡± The boy¡¯s face brightened and relaxed a bit.


    ¡°Yes!¡± She smiled.


    The boy smiled too, and she shivered slightly at the sight of his too-long fangs. Maybe... maybe she had jumped to conclusions and this child was not of human descent? But what Firstborn race looked so much like a human? He didn¡¯t have the long ears of an elf, the gray or green skin of an orc, nor did he resemble a dwarf. And he certainly wasn¡¯t a descendant of giants.


    And he definitely didn¡¯t fit anywhere on the long list of semi-intelligent races ranging from goblins to lamias.


    ¡°You understand poorly,¡± the boy shook his head, then touched his chest again. ¡°Ardi,¡± he pointed at her. ¡°You?¡±


    She sighed and gripped her pistol¡¯s handle:


    ¡°Oktana. My name is Oktana Anorsky.¡±


    And... nothing happened. The boy looked at her intently, then nodded.


    ¡°The truth. That truth. Good. But name hard. I call you Okta. Good?¡±


    For a second, she was really surprised, but soon enough, she got over it. Who knew how far she¡¯d traveled. Speaking of which...


    ¡°Good, I like it. Okta it is,¡± she tried to speak calmly, even though her heart was threatening to jump out of her chest.


    The boy was about to take a step forward, but her hand with the pistol jerked up before she could think.


    The child froze, then smiled. By the Face of Light, it took all her willpower not to shoot that grinning, beastly, fanged visage of his, and may the Eternal Angels forgive her for wanting to kill a child.


    ¡°Fear,¡± the boy made a strange hand gesture as if to show her something. ¡°No need afraid. I-Ardi, here. With you. I say word hunt. You not prey. Hunters gone. We alone. No one hurt Okta. Ardi here. All is well. I spoke word. All listen. All is well, Okta.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    She could barely hear the child¡¯s strange speech, let alone parse his broken Imperial, but at least she¡¯d understood the general meaning of it. The boy had said something and the beasts had left? Maybe he was a mage? But where were his robes? For centuries, the Empire had enforced a law that required mages to wear their regalia openly whenever they left home, along with severe penalties for those who disobeyed.


    But... maybe they were in another country? No, that was too foolish to even consider.


    Above her were familiar stars, and the early evening surrounded her. She had probably moved west, or maybe north, and, judging by the cold, quite far. But not far enough to find herself in the Kingdom of Ngia, the Brotherhood of Tazidahian, or the lands of the Armondo tribes.


    More likely than not, she was now in the central part of the continent... Or perhaps near the Principality of Fatia?


    No, of course not! She had just listed all of the Empire¡¯s northern neighbors, how could she... This all felt like looking blindly at a map and hoping to guess where one was based on it.


    ¡°Where are we?¡±


    The boy frowned for a moment, then said:


    ¡°Antareman. That what it called in language of she-wolf friend. Your language ¡ª I not know what call it.¡±


    Antareman... She would remember that.


    ¡°The witch who sent me here? Do you know her?¡±


    ¡°Witch?¡± The boy repeated. ¡°Aean¡¯Hane? You know anyone name Aean¡¯Hane?¡±


    That strange word¡­ For some reason, it seemed familiar, as if she had heard it a long time ago. So long ago that she had forgotten it, like a mere bedtime story.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± she shook her head.


    The boy sighed and pointed at himself.


    ¡°May I come?¡±


    ¡°Come? You want to come closer to me?¡±


    The child nodded.


    ¡°You cold,¡± he said. ¡°Your cloak wet. You freeze. Bad. Hot end. Spirits come tomorrow. Take you breathe to ancestors.¡±


    Only then did she realize that she was completely chilled to the bone, and that even if she¡¯d wanted to, she would¡¯ve barely been able to unclench the fingers that had gripped her pistol. At best, they would simply not obey her, and at worst, they would shatter like thin glass.


    ¡°All right,¡± she said, but she was ready to act. If the child made a wrong move, she would shoot, and it would likely be the last thing she ever did.


    As if sensing her resolve, the boy walked slowly and deliberately. With each step he took, he held out his palms as if in prayer. Why? Then she saw his fingers. He wasn¡¯t showing her his palms, but... his nails? Was he trying to show her that he didn¡¯t intend to hurt her and that he wouldn¡¯t scratch her too hard?


    What a strange child. And what a strange place.


    The boy was now standing beside her. By the Face of Light, they were the same height! She was admittedly very small for a lady, but not so small as to be at eye level with a child.


    Still showing her his nails, the boy reached into his cloak and pulled out some berries, some shavings, and a few dried flowers. He scooped up some snow, breathed on it, waited for it to melt, then popped a handful into his mouth, chewed it thoroughly, and spat it onto his palm.


    The mixture looked unpleasant, was covered in saliva, and smelled... well, surprisingly enticing. Like herbal tea.


    ¡°Eat.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Eat,¡± the boy pointed to his mouth, then to hers. ¡°Eat. If you not eat, spirits will come. Take you with them. Walk paths not for eyes. But if you not want...¡±


    The boy shrugged and started to throw the slimy mush away.


    ¡°Wait!¡± She cried, then, trembling, she took the ¡°treat¡± and, closing her eyes, swallowed it whole.


    At first, nothing happened, and she thought that it had just been some kind of silly joke. But soon enough, something strange began to happen. It was as if a fire had been lit in her stomach. Not a scorching fire, but a gentle, warming one, like a fireplace on a cool fall day, with pedestrians outside hurrying home and cars honking to avoid puddles.


    Goosebumps marched up her neck ¡ª she could feel her toes again, and her ears were no longer in danger of falling off. Each heartbeat spread the warmth from her stomach throughout her body, and soon, she felt like she was enjoying a sunny spring day.


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    The boy opened his mouth to answer her, but thought better of it, smiled, and simply said:


    ¡°You language ¡ª I not speak not lie.¡±


    If not for her frequent interactions with foreigners, including those from the island nations, she wouldn¡¯t have understood a word of what the boy was saying.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, but still didn¡¯t lower her gun.


    The boy beamed like a streetlight, obviously happy to be able to help. What was this naive and kind child doing alone at night in a wild forest?


    ¡°Where are your parents, boy?¡±


    The child frowned.


    ¡°Parents? Ardi no parents. Have teachers. Have many friends. Parents¡­ no.¡±


    By the Eternal Angels! She had heard stories of children being raised by animals. It happened for various reasons ¡ª they¡¯d gotten lost in the woods or been abandoned by poor parents ¡ª but these were isolated cases, usually making the headlines of the tabloids. Once, such a child had even been brought to a fair. He¡¯d behaved like a wolf, lunging at the cage bars, crawling on all fours, and growling instead of talking.


    This boy didn¡¯t fit that description at all.


    ¡°Can you take me to your teacher?¡±


    For the first time that night, she saw something resembling fear in the child¡¯s eyes. But he wasn¡¯t afraid for himself.


    ¡°Bad,¡± he shook his head so hard it was a wonder it didn¡¯t fall right off. ¡°Bad idea. You humans... human. Teacher not like human. He eat human. Okta good. Not want teacher eat you. Will be sad.¡±


    She decided not to focus on the fact that the boy¡¯s teacher might eat her. Maybe he¡¯d misspoken or she¡¯d misunderstood him, which was essentially the same thing. Either way, it was better not to risk it.


    ¡°Maybe Ardi can help Okta?¡± The boy perked up, pointing at himself. ¡°You smell strange. You not walk paths here. Why you come?¡±


    She smiled at the child ¡ª fate had brought her together with too kind a creature. And it was worth rejoicing at the fact that it wasn¡¯t a hungry beast or some savage from the primeval races.


    ¡°It¡¯s unlikely that you can help me, child,¡± she started to touch him, but then withdrew her hand ¡ª something told her that it would be, as Ardi had put it, ¡°a bad idea.¡± ¡°Unless you know where the Crystal Mountain Flower grows. The old witch said I could find it, and... Face of Light, I don¡¯t even know if this is all a hallucination, and if it¡¯s not, why should I believe the witch, I just-¡±


    ¡°Flower mountain transparent stone?¡± The boy interrupted and added in his strange language, ¡°Altane¡¯Mare.¡±


    The child looked at her and made another hand gesture as if to... reassure her?


    ¡°Ardi sorry for Okta. Okta pack with sick hunter?¡±


    Her heart skipped a beat.


    ¡°My daughter,¡± she whispered, and then the core that had held her together for a year cracked and she broke. She fell to her knees, right into the snow, hot tears streaming from her tired eyes. ¡°My daughter became ill last spring. Doctors, mages and even elven healers couldn¡¯t do anything. I... I just wanted to relax a little. I went to that stupid Festival. I took no one else with me, like a stupid girl, and now I¡¯m here, and she... she might not live to see the end of the week. Oh, Face of Light, I won¡¯t even be able to say goodbye and...¡±


    She was hugged then. It was a tight and strong hug.


    ¡°Okta hurts. Ardi not like it when other hurts. Teacher will angry, but he understand. Maybe... I¡¯m almost an adult hunter, I can decide for myself,¡± she shuddered upon hearing a clear and coherent sentence from him, then stepped back and wiped away her tears. It wasn¡¯t right to cry on a child¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I know where Altane¡¯Mare live. Smell Okta. Read about it. Look like stone and salt. Smell Disease Heartstone. Old disease. Bad. Easy when Altane¡¯Mare. When not spirits come. Fake disease.¡±


    ¡°Fake disease¡¯?¡± She repeated.


    The boy nodded, thinking about it and searching for words.


    ¡°Aean¡¯Hane... mmm... witch. You said word like that ¡ª witch. Witch make heart of stone. But it bad. Can¡¯t find words for sickness. Bad way. Unworthy.¡±


    She thought about the boy¡¯s words.


    ¡°Witch, fake disease,¡± she repeated slowly, then understood. ¡°It¡¯s magic? My daughter was cursed? But the best scholars in the Empire couldn¡¯t...¡±


    She stopped and fell silent. They stood there for a while. She sat in the snow, not knowing who or what to believe, and the boy stood beside her, waiting for something.


    ¡°Can you take me to... Altane¡¯Mare?¡±


    The boy puffed out his cheeks, then laughed. It was easy and bright. Not scary at all. It was almost as if he didn¡¯t have long fangs in his mouth.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he wiped his nose. ¡°Bad manners laugh when you wrong. Now understand she-wolf laugh when Ardi speak. Your language is funny.¡±


    All she could manage was a fake smile.


    The boy looked into the thicket, clearly listening to something.


    ¡°Honestly, I never walk such path in past. Know how. But never walk.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not allowed?¡±


    ¡°Not¡­ not allowed,¡± the child shook his head. ¡°Just... mmm... hard. Never try. No need. No interest.¡±


    ¡°But you can-¡±


    ¡°For Okta will try,¡± the boy interrupted. ¡°Okta hurt. Okta¡¯s daughter bad illness. Unworthy Aean¡¯Hane,¡± then the boy said something else in that unfamiliar, melodic language, but she didn¡¯t need to understand the exact translation to hear the insult in the words. ¡°She-wolf will disappoint if I not try to right wrong. I not sleep know I not help when I could try. Let go, Okta.¡±


    The child, seemingly unaware of what he was doing, held out his hand. Then he looked at it in surprise, and seemed just as surprised at Okta when she took his hand.


    ¡°Strange gesture... How know and... Thought for tomorrow,¡± he shook his head, then looked at her pistol. ¡°Leave here. Smell iron. Bad smell. Won¡¯t let us. And if let, will scold. Can speak for me. Can not speak for Okta. Leave, please, smell iron.¡±


    For a few moments, she hesitated to part with the only thing that could protect her in this strange forest. But the face of her daughter appeared in her mind¡¯s eye. By the Eternal Angels, only then did she realize that her daughter was barely any younger than this boy, three or four years younger at most, depending on whether she¡¯d guessed his age correctly.


    Finally, as the boy named Ardi led her through the forest, the wind covered her old, antique, single-shot pistol with snow behind them. Her uncle, and the antiquarians along with him, would surely be deeply saddened by such a loss.


    They walked among the trees and bushes, sometimes zigzagging like rabbits, then stopping, going still like stones, and then moving again. If not for the boy¡¯s confident stride, she would have thought he was leading her astray, but he was holding her hand tightly and wouldn¡¯t let go, peering intently into the darkness all the while.


    She would¡¯ve given a great deal to know what his amber eyes were seeing in the darkness. She could only make out the outlines... The outlines of something that clearly couldn¡¯t be in a snowy forest. Sometimes, it seemed as if they were not walking on snow, but on a wide road paved with old stones. Trees sometimes turned into milestones and bushes into ruins of ancient structures.


    Frozen streams stretched into distant hills, and hills suddenly plunged into deep lakes. Winter turned into colorful spring, and then back into a darker and colder winter than before.


    ¡°Oktana.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    She was about to turn around to see who was calling her, to make sure she hadn¡¯t lost her mind, when her hand was painfully squeezed by strong, slightly calloused fingers.


    ¡°Don¡¯t turn, Okta. These are the voices of the shadows. They want to lead you off the way. If you turn, we¡¯ll lose the way and be stuck here for a year and a day, and I don¡¯t know how to hunt on the local trails and-¡±


    ¡°You can speak normally in Galessian?¡± She nearly shouted in sheer confusion.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± the boy shook his head. ¡°But here, it¡¯s not necessary. Here, everyone speaks their own language, and everyone understands each other. That is what the Queens decreed.¡±


    ¡°What the Queens decreed...¡± She looked ahead, not understanding where the strange visions ended and the truth began, but something deep inside of her told her that the truth lay somewhere in the middle. ¡°Where are we, Ardi?¡±


    ¡°This is the Land of the Fae.¡±


    She almost stumbled.


    The Fae... An ancient race that had not been heard of for over half a millennium, ever since the birth of the Empire, when the human kingdoms had united to overthrow the oppressive Kingdom of Ectassus. Back then, a group of soldiers led by the legendary Sergeant Mendera, may the Face of Light bless him, had managed to steal the Flame of the Sidhe from the Fae¡¯s castle, turning the tide of the war.


    With the Flame, the mages of the Empire had been able to draw almost unlimited energy from the Ley, and the war, which had lasted nearly a quarter of a century by then, had ended in just two years, and out of the ashes and smoke had arisen the Empire of the New Monarchy.


    Soon after, the Fae and their aristocrats, the Sidhe, had disappeared from the pages of history. Some scholars claimed that they¡¯d perished, but most believed that the Sidhe, with the help of the Speakers¡¯ magic, had managed to hide in the shadows ¡ª in the very folds of reality where they couldn¡¯t be disturbed by mortal conflict.


    The Fae had always been known for their magical prowess ¡ª even the elves couldn¡¯t match them when it came to spells and enchantments.


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± the boy interrupted her.


    He took a step forward and she followed him, and everything around them changed. They were standing at the edge of a stream that flowed into a small lake, and around them... trees stood with trunks of bizarre shapes that resembled the courtly dance called ¡°pas.¡± Their dark crowns intertwined in a wide arc, and instead of leaves, colorful stars sparkled there. Flowers and grasses reached for her feet, but she ignored them.


    She was mesmerized by the sky. Up there, along the star path, the constellations of both hemispheres and all four cardinal directions seemed to shift around in a wild dance. They swirled and swirled in a rapid manner, and she-


    ¡°Don¡¯t look, Oktana,¡± the boy squeezed her hand again. ¡°It¡¯s a trap. We came here without permission, so it will lure you in and not let go.¡±


    The child¡¯s words were like a cold shower, and she still barely managed to turn away. Now all she could see was the magical island. It was big enough to hold a hundred people. In its center grew a cherry tree, from which a steady emerald light seemed to be pouring down, illuminating the lake and the surrounding forest.


    But that wasn¡¯t what made it magical. It was the endless array of colorful flowers. There were some she knew by name, but many more were simply amazing and unknown to her.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± and the boy, hopping easily from stone to stone, led her across a sort of bridge over the lake.


    For some reason, she knew that as long as she held the boy¡¯s hand, she wouldn¡¯t stumble. Otherwise... Even without looking at the surface of it, she knew that the lake was not filled with water, but with something else entirely.


    When they stepped onto the floral blanket, she forgot how to breathe. She beheld flowers whose petals were flames and winds, flowers shaped like animals, flowers with petals made of a child¡¯s first laugh or the warmth of young love. Flowers made from a sunbeam just barely touching the canvas of a young artist, giving them inspiration. Flowers made from a heart trembling in anticipation of a miracle. Flowers made from a mother¡¯s grief at not seeing her son return from war. Flowers made from the first drops of blood from a split lip.


    Flowers-


    ¡°Oktana,¡± the boy¡¯s firm tone pulled her out of the whirlwind of visions and emotions. ¡°If it¡¯s too hard for you, close your eyes.¡±


    She nodded and closed her eyes.


    Who knew how long they walked along the flower island. Maybe it was a minute, maybe an hour, maybe a whole year. She could swear by the Eternal Angels of the Face of Light that she felt only the crunch of snow beneath her feet and heard only the howling of the winter wind.


    ¡°Here it is...¡± The boy whispered. ¡°Don¡¯t open your eyes! I¡¯ll ask the island to share. I think it won¡¯t refuse.¡±


    And the child began to speak, but she couldn¡¯t make out what he was saying. She just closed her eyes and held the boy¡¯s hand, hoping with all her heart that the island wouldn¡¯t refuse, no matter how silly it sounded. That she would indeed get the medicine for her daughter. That this morning wouldn¡¯t be the last time she ever stroked her fiery hair, tapped her freckled nose, and promised her that everything would be okay. That it hadn¡¯t all been a comforting lie and-


    ¡°The island can feel your pain,¡± the boy whispered in her ear, placing something cold and smooth in her free hand. ¡°Now let¡¯s go back, just don¡¯t open-¡±


    But she couldn¡¯t.


    Her eyelids lifted, and the first thing she saw was the wondrous flower. Each of its petals was like a magically cut shard of mountain crystal, but it wasn¡¯t hard. Rather, it was soft and seemingly alive. At the center of the bud was a small, pink heart, barely beating, and growing from it were stamens like rays of sunshine.


    ¡°Little Speaker,¡± the wind whispered suddenly.


    The flowers beneath her feet stirred, their buds swaying and torn petals swirling into a dance, but instead of scattering, they gathered into the shapes and outlines of a slender female figure. Butterflies flew in, folding their wings to become her eyes; cherry tree branches came down to become her hair and lips; the earth rose to become a beautiful face, and the buds and flowers filled with light to become a body of incomparable elegance.


    A moment later, she and the child were standing before a woman who would make even elven princesses look like average peasant girls by comparison and the famous beauties of the Principality of Scaldavin and the Kingdom of Urdavan weep with envy.


    ¡°Why have you come to my garden without permission, little Speaker?¡± Her voice was the rustle of summer woods and the trill of spring birds. ¡°Do you not know the Queens¡¯ law about thieves?¡±


    ¡°Forgive me,¡± she felt the child¡¯s hand tremble, but he tried desperately not to show his fear. ¡°There has been a slight misunderstanding. You see, I am not stealing anything ¡ª just borrowing something for a while. And not for myself, but for Okta. Her daughter is sick because of Fae magic. It would be right if we helped her.¡±


    The flower maiden gave her a cold, green-eyed look.


    ¡°This is the blood of a traitor, Ardi,¡± the Sidhe said. ¡°I do not care for the blood of a traitor. Even if the wisest of the wise cursed her child, I would only turn away and thank the spirits for their mercy.¡±


    She started to say something in response, but the boy squeezed her hand so tightly that her words turned into a faint groan.


    ¡°Ardi... You know my name, but I don¡¯t know yours.¡±


    The Sidhe looked at the boy and laughed. It was a laugh that contained not only the whisper of flowers in a meadow, but also something like the creaking of dead trees.


    ¡°You have learned well from my cousin, Ardi. You know we cannot be questioned.¡±


    The boy nodded.


    ¡°Only if we are not bound,¡± he added. ¡°And I still don¡¯t know your name.¡±


    The Sidhe stretched out her branch arms toward him, but suddenly, something on the boy¡¯s wrist began to shine and she drew back.


    ¡°Your teacher has left you a gift, yes? Would you like to exchange it for the flower you tried to steal?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not arguing with you right now, just reminding you that I still don¡¯t know your name.¡±


    The Sidhe¡¯s eyes flashed, and the wind swirled around them, tearing off petals and breaking flowers in half, but the boy didn¡¯t so much as blink.


    ¡°So be it,¡± she said quietly, and everything fell silent. ¡°Thrice spoken, thrice heard. My name is Lady Senhi¡¯Sha, Keeper of the Queen¡¯s Garden.¡±


    The boy suddenly stopped trembling, and his tone filled with confidence.


    ¡°Lady Senhi¡¯Sha... I may be mistaken, but I believe it was your favorite, a distant cousin of Lenos, Guardian of the Southern Gates, whom I helped six cycles ago.¡±


    ¡°That is true,¡± the Keeper nodded.


    ¡°Then, as the Queens have decreed, I propose to exchange my help for yours.¡±


    Senhi¡¯Sha, who moved gracefully through the garden, like a stalking cat, approached the boy and leaned in so close that not even an autumn leaf could fit between their noses.


    ¡°Are you sure, Ardi? Are you sure you want to part with my debt to you for a human?¡±


    ¡°I have proposed a trade.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t even know who she is,¡± the Sidhe did not react to the child¡¯s words. ¡°And yet you want to help her? Just because you feel sorry for her pain? You pity her daughter? What would you say if I told you a little secret? In the veins of the one you so desperately want to help flows the blood of those who have caused so much pain that it could fill a hundred lakes and a thousand rivers.¡±


    The boy shuddered, then lifted his amber eyes to boldly meet the emerald depths of the Sidhe¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°I have proposed a trade.¡±


    ¡°Foolish child,¡± the Sidhe sighed, waving her hand. ¡°Thrice spoken, thrice heard. You may take this flower, and I owe you no more.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Lady Keeper,¡± the boy bowed slightly, then turned and pulled at his companion, but she could not take a step.


    ¡°I said you could take the flower,¡± the Sidhe laughed again. ¡°But I didn¡¯t say you could give it to anyone,¡± then she turned to Oktana and wrinkled her nose. ¡°Today must be your lucky day, blood of a traitor. I offer you a deal.¡±


    ¡°Okt-¡± Several buds clung to the boy¡¯s lips, silencing him, and some unseen force was preventing Oktana from tearing her gaze away from those emerald eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll allow Ardi to give you the flower, and with it, I¡¯ll give you the recipe for making the medicine. And I promise to write it so clearly that even the disciples of those you call magicians,¡± the Sidhe almost spat out that last word. ¡°will be able to prepare the elixir and save your offspring. And in return, I only ask for a favor, blood of a traitor.¡±


    Oktana was about to answer, but stopped herself. She thought for a moment, then said slowly:


    ¡°I know the price, but I don¡¯t know what the favor is.¡±


    The Sidhe snorted and stepped back.


    ¡°Clever and observant, eh? Excellent qualities for someone like you. So,¡± the Keeper looked at the pale boy who was obviously not afraid for himself. ¡°It¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve met such a foolish child as this one, blood of a traitor. I even pity him a little. Just a little. Since he used his debt for you, it is only fair that I use mine for him. The favor I ask of you, blood of a traitor, is that you will not harm this child by word, deed, gesture, look, letter, hint, story, or song, even if your heart desires it above all else, and so-¡±


    ¡°I agree!¡± Oktana shouted, fearing that the Sidhe might change her mind.


    ¡°How dare you interrupt me, human?¡± The Sidhe hissed like a snake in tall grass, and the flowers reached for Oktana¡¯s feet, but suddenly, they stilled. ¡°For this insult, the price will be raised. In addition to what has been said, you will also help this child three times. First, you will help him with words ¡ª that one will be easy for you. Second, you will help him with possessions ¡ª that¡¯ll be harder, but you can do it. But for your insult and for polluting my garden with your unclean breath, the third time, you will help him with deeds, and, by the spirits, it will be magnificent. Do you agree?¡±


    Oktana looked at the boy. Legends said that dealing with the Sidhe and the Fae was hardly any safer for mortals than dealing with actual demons. And not so long ago, she had believed both to be mere children¡¯s fairy tales.


    But to help her child... Even if the One-in-the-Dark had stood before her and denied her this flower, she would have jumped into his maw to get it! What was a Sidhe by comparison...


    ¡°I agree.¡±


    The Sidhe waved her hand, and flowers swirled around her.


    ***


    Ardi once again found himself in the middle of that same snowy clearing where he¡¯d met the strange creature called Oktana the Human. At first, he thought it had all been an illusion, one of the images from Memory Mountain appearing to him as a blizzard, but then...


    He clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to remember the warmth on his skin from when he¡¯d held her hand. Now, standing here alone, he was smiling foolishly at the thought that yet another adventure had taken him by surprise.


    ¡°But it¡¯s good that I could help her,¡± the hunter whispered. ¡°I just hope that the Keeper doesn¡¯t complain to Atta¡¯nha and she doesn¡¯t tell my teacher about it in turn. He won¡¯t speak to me for a whole cycle if he finds out I helped a human.¡±


    And it didn¡¯t matter that he hadn¡¯t helped Oktana herself, but her descendant. Even Ergar, who always spoke ill of humans when asked about them, only ever mentioned their adults and independent ones, never their young. The young were innocent... Well, until they grew up, anyways.


    ¡°And their language is strange, isn¡¯t it?¡± The hunter could not leave the clearing for some reason. ¡°And it¡¯s even stranger that I have heard it somewhere before... and even know a little of it. And also... The New Monarchy... What does ¡®monarchy¡¯ mean?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask you once more, as the rightful representative of the authority of the New Monarchy...¡±


    ¡°Huh? What?¡± Ardi turned around, thinking he¡¯d heard the wind speaking to him. ¡°Those words... I have heard them somewhere before.¡±


    The hunter wanted to dismiss these strange thoughts that belonged to tomorrow, but he couldn¡¯t. He clenched and unclenched his hand, and a trickle of red blood ran down his skin ¡ª he had cut himself a little while holding the Crystal Mountain Flower. Luckily, this flower was not dangerous. On the contrary, it healed hearts and removed enchantments and magic.


    Ardi¡¯s memory suddenly conjured some things. Some images from the past. Some smells. Sensations.


    He closed his eyes and began to leaf through them carefully, as if he were holding an old, fragile book.


    ¡°Is that a cave? A hut? It¡¯s like Atta¡¯nha¡¯s, but not made of ice. It¡¯s made of wood instead. Where is this? It smells of blackberries... and warmth and something... something strange. Grass and earth... flour... That¡¯s called flour, isn¡¯t it? But where¡­¡± He flipped through these memories faster and faster, searching for some sort of clue, until he saw something that had until recently seemed like just a dream to him. A high stone cliff. ¡°That looks like... Hawk¡¯s Cliff? But there are no such places in the Alcade,¡± and on top of it was a stone, weathered by wind and rain, resembling... ¡°The butt of a pimply ogre.¡±


    Ardi opened his eyes and turned to the west.


    ¡°I know where this place is...¡± He whispered thoughtfully. ¡°But how? I¡¯ve never been there before...¡±


    The hunter stood there for a moment, then he started running along the trail of the wind that smelled of blackberries and flour.


    And somewhere high in the mountains, a snow leopard who had sensed that the words he¡¯d once spoken were losing their power, roared, howled, and leaped through the gathering storm.

 Chapter 14 - Two Homes

    Ardi ran so fast that at times it seemed like his feet weren¡¯t touching the snowy ground. Only his barely noticeable footprints were acting as proof that the gray flash streaking through the trees was not merely a vision or an illusion created by the cold wind. Birds sang overhead, accompanying the hunter. The celestial wanderers flitted nearby, braving the frost and blizzard. They seemed to be trying to tell their comrade something, but he wasn¡¯t listening to them. Nor was he listening to the branches of tall trees reaching down, shedding their snowy blankets, and waking up in a season when the spirits had decreed that they should sleep and dream of the future and the past. Nor did Ardi hear the moaning of the weary earth. Hidden beneath the ice, it could only mournfully watch as the strong, swift legs of the one who had given this land the breath of magic for the last six cycles carried him farther away.


    Maybe Ardi didn¡¯t notice all of it, or didn¡¯t want to notice it, but the forest behind him was changing. The elusive feeling that had reigned here before was disappearing. It was a sense of something mysterious and sacred, yet familiar and simple. Like a tale told to a child, like a story sung by bards. The forests and rivers, the mountains and hills were being covered by a blizzard, which was hiding invisible paths and old magic, turning the Alcade and its forests into something still beautiful, but now all too mundane.


    The hunter tried to calm his heart, which now sought to leap from his chest, not from fear or excitement, but because it was trying to outrun its owner and reach Hawk¡¯s Cliff as quickly as possible. He felt as if something was waiting for him there. Something that could answer even the most difficult question. The question that had always been postponed for tomorrow and its complex thoughts. The question:


    ¡°Who am I?¡± Ardi whispered, and the wind carried the uttered words and lulled them into the sky.


    The hunter was not even disturbed by the storm rising over the mountains. Black clouds covered the sky, which shone with cold stars that were indifferent to this small interlude in the endless dance of the Spirits of the Day and Night. Why would they, the eternal companions of the gods, care about the paths of mortals?


    Lightning flashed, brushing against the high peaks of the Alcade, and thunder rumbled in the valley. In that dark hour, as the last of the Matabar ran to a place known only to him, and a giant snow leopard followed his apprentice¡¯s trail, the townspeople below, on the edge of the vast prairies and steppes, hid their children, closed their windows, and locked their doors. The Church had denied the existence of other gods and powers besides the Face of Light, and even his Eternal Angels were no more than embodiments of the will of the Light Essence, as the pastors sometimes called their ¡°King of Kings.¡±


    But the farther one got from the Metropolis and the holiest of holies, the more people and Firstborn remembered and honored the old ways. And here, on the western borders of the Empire, people could sometimes feel the breath of those whom some considered legends and others thought were merely sleeping remnants of the past. And this night, terrifying and enchanting at the same time, was making the people look at something else, not the sacred writings of the Face of Light.


    No, no. Right then, they did not care about that book and its black cover with the sun emblazoned upon it.


    They looked instead at the amulets hanging over their thresholds and the runes that their great-grandmothers had carved into the window frames.


    And in all of Evergale, which had been rebuilt and restored after the Shanti¡¯Ra¡¯s raid, only one old man stepped out into a courtyard. He was hunched over, half-blind, with trembling hands gripping a simple carved staff, and he seemed to be feeling neither the piercing cold nor the whipping gusts of wind. They made the houses creak, caused the poles to sway, and even snapped some of the wires that carried the ¡°Ley sparks¡± ¡ª the fashionable invention of the learned mages of the Metropolis.


    How much had changed in these past six years...


    But not for the old man. Even here, in the valley, far away from his homeland, he still felt enough strength within him. Groaning, he straightened up and raised his staff above his head, then thrust it forcefully into the ground beneath his feet.


    ¡°You can do it,¡± he said heavily, as if a few more years had just fallen onto his shoulders. ¡°Ardan¡­¡±


    And the wind that swirled around the Old and New Alcade caught these words and carried them over the ridges, through the pass, and around the cliff.


    Where the hunter stood.


    Amazingly, he had never noticed this before. Here, on the farthest bend of the Alcade Ridge, beyond the wide forest pass, another mountain range could be seen. These were mountains that resembled the Alcade as much as a younger brother resembled an older one.


    Ardi approached their base and looked up. There, between the clouds and the blizzard, he saw a cliff that resembled a hawk¡¯s head, and the mountain itself was like its sharp wings piercing the clouds.


    ¡°Hawk¡¯s Cliff...¡±


    And the hunter, acting as if there wasn¡¯t a storm raging around him, like he was in the middle of a bright summer day, gripped the rocks with his fingers. He could have gone around the cliff, found a mountain path and climbed up quietly, but that would have meant losing half the night, maybe even a few days. Ardi¡¯s heart wouldn¡¯t allow him such a wasteful luxury.


    Enduring the blasts of the wind and ignoring the sting of the ice needles, listening to the thunder all the while, Ardi climbed the rocks as his teacher had once taught him. The flashes of lightning, to him, became the rays of the eye of the Spirit of the Day. With each new flash, he distinguished the shadows of ledges, the hollows of narrow crevices, and the slopes of cracks. The hunter clung to them, thrusting his body forward, pressing his torso against the rocks, and climbing higher and higher.


    Sometimes, he would almost slip, but even then, he didn¡¯t so much as feel that foul breath and those cold claws. Fear, seemingly frightened away by the fierce storm, had whimpered and tucked its tail between its legs, leaving the hunter alone with the winter storm.


    One mistake, one moment of inattention, one miscalculation of strength, one finger slipping off a particularly thin ledge, and the dark abyss below would devour his flesh and grind his bones, but just like his teacher, Ardi made no mistakes.


    His fingers were stronger than the claws of a mountain lion ¡ª any ledge, even one as thick as a raven¡¯s bone, was more reliable to him than a wide plateau. The hunter¡¯s breath did not falter, and his lungs expanded like bellows, like those of a young bear climbing the rocks to the top of a waterfall. Ardi¡¯s eyes saw as clearly as an eagle¡¯s, noticing even the farthest ledges and holds. And his ears, like those of a squirrel searching for a hole, caught even the faintest, barely audible whistles as the wind got tangled up in the cracks, fissures, and crevices.


    Less than three hours had passed before the hunter managed to climb to the top of the cliff. And there, on a broad ledge that resembled a tongue, lay a pitted stone with a small strip in the middle that divided it into two halves.


    Ardi approached it, ran his hand over it, and smiled ¡ª it really did look like a butt. And if not an ogre¡¯s, then certainly a troll¡¯s.


    The hunter turned and looked to the south. Everything was covered in snow, hiding the landmarks, paths, and trees. But Ardi didn¡¯t need to know where he needed to go in order to feel the right direction. He stopped running and began to descend quietly. The stone stayed behind and Ardi walked through the clearing. Despite the dense, crunchy cover of snow, he could feel the taste of fresh grass, the cold moisture of streams, and the honeyed scent of meadows full of flowers.


    As he passed through the clearing, Ardi brushed the snow away from an old, hurricane-damaged spruce. There, on the trunk, where the bark had been clumsily cut, was an inscription in an unfamiliar or... all too familiar language. The hunter frowned and looked closer. At first, the letters hid their meaning from him, but then he managed to read:


    ¡°Strictly... north... Three... clearings... Ogre ass.¡±


    And each time his fingers touched the letters, the hunter felt the warmth emanating from them. It wasn¡¯t like Atta¡¯nha¡¯s, but different. Completely different. It made him smile involuntarily, and Ardi went on. He pushed through the snow-covered bushes and broken trees and came to the bank of a narrow river. When it came time for the Queens to swap places, it would widen and become a turbulent mountain stream, capable of lifting heavy boulders and carrying them down into the canyons of the forest.


    But that would come later. Not now.


    Now, locked in an icy embrace, it slept, awaiting the hour of its awakening.


    The hunter followed its course. Vague visions filled his mind. Visions whose meaning he could neither understand nor grasp. As soon as they appeared in his mind, they disappeared, forgotten and shrouded in mist.


    It was a strange feeling, remembering something and not remembering it at the same time.


    Usually, Ardi would brush it off and say, as his teacher had taught him to do, that these were thoughts for tomorrow, but not now. Now, for some reason, his heart wanted to hold on to the visions, not let them go, but his mind couldn¡¯t give in.


    And then it all disappeared. It all became unimportant.


    The river continued downstream, winding between rocks and hills, but Ardi was more interested in a stream that branched off of it. It meandered, twisting along the gentle banks of a once wide tributary, then, at the foot of a snow-covered slope, opened its arms again to the river channel. And Ardi followed its enticing call through the forest comprised of various kinds of trees, through the brambles, and finally, to the edge of a wide clearing.


    Right now, it was hidden under a cover of snow, like everything else, but in summer, and especially in spring, it would turn into a colorful canvas, one where it was so much fun to catch grasshoppers and crickets. Ardi knew this for sure.


    He walked through the snow, sometimes pausing to vaguely make out the outlines of incomprehensible silhouettes in the swirling snow dust. And ahead, at the bend of the river, near the rock formation from which two spruces had broken free ¡ª one tall and stately, the other still quite young... Or it had been young, and was now also a bit grown up.


    And so, there was a...


    ¡° Home?¡± Ardi said uncertainly.


    And this word suddenly meant much more to him than just a building ¡ª it meant much more than the hut of Atta¡¯nha, but essentially, it should¡¯ve been the same. No, the word ¡°home¡± meant something else entirely¡­


    Ardi approached the... veranda. Yes, that¡¯s what these steps were called, now rotten and crumbling under the weight of nature and time. They led to a broad platform. Once, the hunter had simply known this place, and there¡¯d been a rocking chair here, and someone had always sat in it, telling Ardi stories. The chair was gone, as was most of the canopy, and now the sky could be seen through it, where clouds were fighting each other in waves.


    The hunter climbed up to the door. It had never been padlocked or bolted. But now, there were both. A wide plank, affixed there with thick nails, was securing the door and its frame, and several brackets held a deceptively rusty lock with a chain so thick that even Guta would have had trouble breaking it.


    Ardi went back down and looked at the leaning wall of the house and the tightly boarded windows leading inside it. Without much thought, he jumped, grabbed the eaves, and in a few swift movements, he climbed to the second floor, where he elbowed a plank out of a boarded-up frame and slipped inside. It always creaked when the weather turned bad.


    The young hunter knew this too, or perhaps he¡¯d simply remembered it.


    He lowered himself carefully onto his toes, as Shali had taught him, trying his best to not make a single sound, then lowered his feet, the right one to the right side, the left one to the left side, and when his heels touched the ground, Ardi crouched. Bending his knees and straightening his back, he sniffed. This place smelled like the swamps after the season of flowers and animal coupling. It was musty and damp.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Mold had already taken over most of the walls and was slowly creeping down. It was black and foul-smelling. As he walked past it, Ardi held his breath to keep from catching a cold. Thanks to the she-wolf, he knew how to cure it fairly easily and quickly, but why risk it if he could protect himself in advance?


    When he reached the stairs, the young hunter looked down. Half of them had collapsed, and the other half didn¡¯t look reliable enough to jump on, so the descent took some time.


    Once he got down, Ardi shuddered for a moment. He could clearly hear voices ¡ª a man and a woman. They were calling to someone. Someone who looked like that same barely discernible silhouette from before, and was now rushing past the hunter.


    He followed this trail, past a spacious room... A kitchen, it seemed like. He saw broken cabinets and fallen doors, some of which had managed to hang on to an unyielding hinge. There was also a cracked sink where rust had done its work. And Ardi knew for a fact that there should have been a long table here. But it wasn¡¯t there, and only a wide patch of a slightly thinner coating of dust and four dark squares on the floor indicated where it had once stood.


    Ardi also saw silhouettes in the kitchen. One was very strange, and the other resembled Okta. But she was taller and more graceful. The silhouettes said something, then blinked and disappeared.


    The hunter moved on.


    He went past a cupboard that had become home to a family of spiders, who were hiding from the bad weather and hunting the occasional fly that flew in. Past one of the dressers, which was leaning to one side and missing half of its shelves due to being eaten away at by bugs and soaked by dampness. Then he went up to the second staircase, which was a little better preserved than the first. A few minutes later, Ardi was standing at the threshold of a room.


    For some reason, he shifted from foot to foot, hesitating to push the door open.


    Yes, it was all nonsense. Maybe he¡¯d drunk the wrong sort of concoction, or it was all a cruel joke of the Keeper. Why had he even come here? It would be better to return quickly before his teacher noticed. After visiting the she-wolf, he would always return to the cave for a few hours before heading out into the forest. And so...


    As Ardi was about to turn and leave, the wind suddenly blew into the hut and whirled snowflakes around, the sound of which the hunter could hear:


    ¡°You can do it¡­ Ardan¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± The hunter turned around.


    But he was still standing alone in this rotten and nearly collapsed building. And his hand, now shaking involuntarily, pushed the door open, and the hunter found himself in a room. There was a bare bed there, stripped of its mattress and blankets. He also found strange words, the meaning of which Ardi now knew.


    He approached the bed and ran his fingers along the notches in the wooden bars. Someone had once marked how far they could reach.


    Ardi smiled. This bed would fit him perfectly now. It would be long enough that his legs wouldn¡¯t hang off it, but not big enough for him to build pillow castles on.


    The hunter looked up and saw a long, narrow shelf. He touched that, too. Here, as in the kitchen, there were a few stains that indicated that someone had once kept small items on it.


    Apart from the bed, there was nothing else in the room. No wardrobe, no chest of drawers, not even a bedside table. Just stains on the walls where they had once been. It seemed that someone had taken these belongings, but hadn¡¯t bothered with the bulkier furniture.


    Furniture ¡ª what a funny word.


    Ardi approached the far wall where the ventilation grate had split in half. He bent down toward it, but his gaze caught a gap between the boards of the window frame. The hunter straightened and came closer.


    When he peered through, he saw nothing but darkness, but when the lightning flashed, he saw tall stones on the other side of the river. For some reason, there was one more stone than there should¡¯ve been.


    Ardi didn¡¯t know why he thought this. But he knew that he should go there.


    Without much thought, the hunter got out the same way he¡¯d gotten in. Jumping down the steep slope into the snow, he was momentarily distracted by a small shed a short distance away. At first, Ardi didn¡¯t understand what had attracted his attention, then he noticed it. Unlike the one on the house, the lock on this small structure wasn¡¯t rusted, and the boards hadn¡¯t been touched by mold or bugs.


    How strange and-


    Another flash of lightning came, then a deafening peal of thunder, and Ardi was already crossing the frozen river to the other side. There, he walked along well-maintained paths toward the tall, heavy stones arranged in a complex and intricate manner. This was a path that could not have been created by landslides or floods. The letters on the stones had clearly not been made by nature, either.


    Ardi walked along, reading, until he stopped at the last stone.


    ¡°Hec... tor... Egobar. Son... Husband... Father... Hunter. 442-512 F.o.E.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t know what those numbers meant or what ¡°F.o.E.¡± was, but he did know the name. Hector Egobar. For some unknown reason, it resonated in Ardi¡¯s heart with something both pleasant and painful. It resonated so strongly that the hunter clutched at his chest, grabbing his fur, and was left barely able to breathe. It was as if someone invisible and powerful had struck him right in the middle of his breastbone, knocking all the breath out of him.


    The hunter turned away.


    He didn¡¯t know why, but it hurt to look at the stone and so... And so he looked at something else. Down below, farther down the river, at the bottom of the slope, lights were burning. Hundreds of lights. And it wasn¡¯t like when lightning would strike the forest and cause forest fires. Rather, they reminded him a bit of the lights that followed the eye of the Spirit of the Night, serving as its companions ¡ª the stars. Only these were shining not in the sky, but on the ground.


    Ardi came closer. He strode through the clearing and the woods until he was standing at the edge of the cliff. He bent down and shoveled the snow off of a rock. If you didn¡¯t look closely, you wouldn¡¯t notice it. But Ardi looked closely, because he knew.


    He found a small, red handprint. A bloody handprint that the rain hadn¡¯t washed away, the wind hadn¡¯t eroded, the grass hadn¡¯t covered. And even the stone, which had been chipped away in places and had even partially turned to dust, hadn¡¯t touched this pattern.


    Ardi raised his hand over it.


    Somewhere behind him, far away, his teacher¡¯s roar echoed, but it was too late.


    The hunter lowered his hand, covering the bloody pattern with his own palm, and memories flooded him. Scenes from the past rushed into his mind, tearing at the icy chains that had once bound his heart. They tore them to pieces, and each new break brought with it a storm of what he had previously thought were just dreams of dreams. And so it went, until finally, the last knot melted away and Ardi saw the town burning and an orc¡¯s firm hold crushing his... his...


    ***


    ¡°Father...¡± The words fell from the boy¡¯s lips, tears burning his cheeks. ¡°Mother... Brother... Grandfather...¡±


    He lay there on the stones, the cold wind piercing his body ¡ª thin furs like his could not hold back the gusts of frost caused by the cold of Old Alcade ¡ª and Ardi shivered. It was so cold that he could barely feel his own ears and fingers, but he paid it no mind.


    Again and again, he saw the blood streaming from his father¡¯s mouth and eyes, heard his mother scream as a giant snow leopard carried him away, and watched his grandfather age right before his eyes after performing the ancient Aean¡¯Hane ritual.


    Tears streamed from the boy¡¯s eyes. His heart would not beat. He lay on his back, staring at the raging darkness in the sky, screaming at it, but what was a twelve-year-old boy¡¯s cry to the storm?


    ¡°Was it worth it, Ardan?¡±


    The words snaked their way into Ardi¡¯s mind, trying to ensnare it, penetrate it, but the boy wouldn¡¯t let them. As Atta¡¯nha and Skusty had taught him, he strengthened his consciousness and directed his will against the intruder.


    ¡°You have no power over me, Ergar,¡± the boy whispered the words of the ancient Matabar blood rite as he rose to his feet. ¡°No more.¡±


    Six years ago, on this very ledge, a small wooden figure of a beast had stood next to him, and now a real snow leopard, gigantic and with too many tails to count, was here instead. He breathed out ice, and his fur blazed with a mountain storm. The same one that was currently slamming itself against the peaks of the Alcade. And only now, in its fury, did Ardi hear the name. The name of the Mountain Storm.


    The snow leopard opened his maw and his roar joined the thunderclap.


    ¡°Is this how you repay me, Ardan?¡± Icy sparks fell from his eyes, and where they landed on the ground, spikes of ice shot up. ¡°Come to your senses, Ardan! Come back with me! A hunt awaits us and-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the boy shook his head, not allowing the words of his former mentor to enter his mind and penetrate his heart. ¡°No... Six years have passed... I have returned... to myself.¡±


    ¡°Yourself?¡± The snow leopard roared. ¡°Do not deceive yourself, Ardan! If not for Skusty weakening my words, you wouldn¡¯t have even remembered the other Guardian Spirits!¡±


    ¡°No... You have no power over me, Ergar...¡± The boy repeated the words of the rite, eyes closed and fists clenched. ¡°You are no longer my Master. And I am no longer your apprentice. Guard your land, and I will guard mine, and if our paths should cross, we will know that we are of the same tribe.¡±


    And once again, lightning, roaring thunder, and the wrath of the storm all came together in a furious cacophony.


    ¡°Without Atta¡¯nha¡¯s teachings, you would not have survived even a third winter in the mountains, half-blood!¡± Ergar lashed his tails to his sides and paced the edge of the cliff. ¡°Hear my voice, Ardan! Listen to me, your teacher! We are leaving here, and going back! Back home, Ardan!¡±


    Ergar¡¯s words thundered down onto the boy like a raging river, and he almost succumbed, but then he heard Atta¡¯nha¡¯s voice. Only he should choose his path. Only he¡­


    ¡°You have no power over me, Ergar, Storm of the Mountain Peaks,¡± Ardi didn¡¯t give up. ¡°For six winters, I have walked the paths of the snow leopards. For six winters, I wore the skin of the mountain and forest beasts. I have chosen my path, and my path leads me back to my kin.¡±


    Ergar leaped forward, his fangs snapping inches from the boy¡¯s head.


    ¡°Do you think you can manage without me, Ardan?¡± The storm roared. ¡°Will you refuse my gifts? Will you suffer as humans suffer? Do you think you can endure? Look at how you tremble! Our Queen is not yet at full power, and you¡¯re already about to freeze! Do you think you can outrun the wind now? Climb the mountain? Are you ready to give it all up, Ardan?¡±


    The boy opened his eyes. He looked straight ahead, into the center of his former teacher¡¯s vertical pupils. They burned with rage, but even more, they burned with sadness.


    ¡°I will always remember you, teacher,¡± Ardi whispered, hugging the snow leopard¡¯s neck and burying his face in his soft, snowy fur. ¡°I will remember all your lessons. I will remember your kind words. I will remember your care. How you protected me and guided me. How you shielded me and taught me. You are more than my friend. You are my second brother and my second father.¡±


    Ergar went limp and lowered his head to the boy¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Don¡¯t, Ardi,¡± he whispered, barely audible. ¡°For what... For them?¡± He nodded toward the lights of Evergale. ¡°You don¡¯t even know-¡±


    ¡°I do know.¡±


    ¡°They will never accept you, cub,¡± Ergar wrapped him in his tails and held him close. ¡°They will chase you away like the wolves did that night. And you are not a warrior, Ardi. You are not even a true hunter...¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°Take them with you, my little friend,¡± the storm gradually subsided, as did Ergar¡¯s voice. ¡°Here, to the land of your ancestors. Where your winds blow, where your earth sleeps.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Ardi shook his head. The words tore at his throat, and he could barely see through his tears. ¡°Grandfather is too old, he won¡¯t survive the journey, and Mother and Brother... this is not their land, Ergar.¡±


    They stood there on the cliff, the storm slowly abating around them, revealing the starry sky beyond.


    ¡°Don¡¯t, Ardi,¡± Ergar repeated. ¡°I won¡¯t be able to help you and protect you anymore. You don¡¯t know all that much yet, and this body you¡¯re walking in¡­ It¡¯s so weak and fragile.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, teacher,¡± the boy managed to smile. ¡°Even if I can¡¯t run among the snow leopards, see with the eyes of an eagle, move like a lynx, and my skin loses the strength of a bear ¡ª the lessons of Skusty and Atta¡¯nha will always be with me.¡±


    Then the boy raised his head and was just about to say the last words of the ritual when he felt something pierce his chest. At first, it was so painful that he could barely breathe, but soon, the cold sensation left along with the pain. The boy¡¯s eyes could see in the darkness again, his ears could hear the whispers of the wind, and Ardi¡¯s breathing steadied and calmed.


    He looked at his teacher, whose mouth was dripping with silver blood ¡ª he had lost his second fang.


    ¡°I despise humans and all their deeds, Ardan,¡± Ergar said, straightening and rising to his full height. ¡°When I met you, small and weak as you were, I saw only a human within you. It was always a mystery to me, what the Sage and the Mistress saw in you, but now...¡±


    Ergar¡¯s fur turned to wood, the light around him dimmed, and his voice faded away gradually.


    ¡°Promise me, my little friend, promise me that you will return, and that I will lead your children on the paths of the snowy peaks.¡±


    ¡°I promise,¡± Ardi nodded, swallowing salty tears.


    ¡°Then until we meet again, Ardan, my young friend and Speaker,¡± the mighty hunter and truly fierce predator ¡ª the Storm of the Mountain Peaks ¡ª said solemnly. ¡°I will be waiting.¡±


    There was now a large totem of a snow leopard in front of the boy. It stood there, looking somewhere in the direction of the Alcade. And if one followed its gaze, one could see, between the clouds, the hidden peak where his cave slept in the snow.


    The last words of the ritual were spoken by Ardi as he embraced the totem.


    ¡°Here are my spirits,¡± Ardi whispered. ¡°Here is my memory. But I go my way, and you go yours. And when they cross, we will not be prey and hunter. We will be brothers.¡±


    And somewhere on the wind echoed those treasured words:


    ¡°Thrice heard.¡±


    And nothing else happened. There was no bright light, no flash of lightning, no thunderclap. Ardi had completed the Matabar ritual. Now he was a full-fledged hunter, free to choose the path of his life. How long he had waited for this moment as a cub and... how painful it had been.


    Ardi turned and looked to the east, where the eye of the Spirit of the Day... Wait... What was that word again... Ah yes, the sun. He looked to where the sun was rising in the east and flooding the Alcade with light. It illuminated the high, snow-capped mountain peaks, those frozen waves that could argue with time itself over who was older. The forests stretched far, promising to reveal secrets to those brave and attentive enough. And beneath them shone the river meadows and lake surfaces, like precious gems along the crowns of the stern mountains.


    Somewhere out there, his friends still lived on. Their games and pranks, their lessons and stories, their songs and kindness.


    The boy wiped away his tears with the back of his hand and looked at the blue symbol in the center of his chest. He didn¡¯t know what Ergar had done, or why the essence of the Matabar hadn¡¯t left him with the end of the ritual, which had happened to all other half-breeds. This was why the mountain hunters had eventually been subsumed by the valley dwellers.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardi said, then turned and headed for Evergale.


    As before, he didn¡¯t know what awaited him, but the knowledge that he had somewhere to return to warmed his soul.


    A bracelet on his wrist, a symbol on his chest, an oak figurine around his neck, and carelessly sewn together furs ¡ª these were the belongings with which Ardan Egobar, son of Hector Egobar, set out on his new and most dangerous adventure yet.

 Chapter 15 - Family

    The sun was just beginning its journey above the plains, bringing with it an unfamiliar sensation. Instead of towering mountains, the wooden rooftops of mismatched buildings stood all around him. Moving through the dusty streets, where the first townsfolk were already appearing, Ardi kept to the shadows of the houses. He dared not venture out into the open, unsure of how the local beasts... or rather, residents, might react to him.


    ¡°Good morning, Mrs. Foster,¡± a middle-aged man tipped his amusing hat at a woman. Clad in blue clothing that looked both serious and well-worn ¡ª it had clearly been mended several times ¡ª he adjusted the leather satchel slung over his shoulder, from which paper scrolls Ardi had never seen before were nearly spilling out. They were white, with numerous pages covered all over in black ink, and they even contained a few pictures. ¡°How¡¯s your day starting?¡±


    ¡°Ah, Mr. Molinier,¡± the lady smiled back at him as she was raising an awning over a stack of boxes. She wedged several poles into iron grooves painted with copper, then tugged on a rope, which made a wide roll of fabric unfurl, covering a peculiar... What was it called again... Oh, yes ¡ª a counter. Lifting the lids off the boxes, she began arranging various baked goods and, curiously enough, roots. These were not the tastiest or most nutritious food, to be honest. Ardi could¡¯ve easily scrounged up something far more pleasant. ¡°It sadly began as it always does: some people from the bank came by earlier, demanding payment.¡±


    ¡°Have you not paid your dues on time?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just it, I actually have,¡± the lady sighed, adjusting a white apron she¡¯d thrown over her worn coat. ¡°But they claim I¡¯m behind on my payments. I don¡¯t know where they got that idea from. I¡¯ll go sort it out by noon. But enough about me. Tell me, how fares the empire?¡±


    They both laughed as if Mrs. Foster had just made an excellent joke, and perhaps she really had.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be three kso from you, madame.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Molinier,¡± she deftly fished three small coins from her apron pocket and handed them to the man.


    In return, he handed her a scroll. ¡°Things are more or less the same, madame,¡± Molinier tipped his amusing hat once more ¡ª it was like a truncated, upside-down bucket. ¡°Some squabbles in the northwest ¡ª the Armondians are particularly eager to cross our borders this season.¡±


    Foster shook her head as she leafed through the scroll. ¡°We¡¯re changing our ambassador in Olikzasia and-¡±


    ¡°Oh, Molinier, you know how politics wear me out in the morning. And in the evening as well, to be honest. Why don¡¯t you tell me what¡¯s new in the capital instead?¡±


    ¡°Oh, madame,¡± the man winked at her, ¡°you¡¯ll find all the gossip and news about those scoundrels on page seven. By the way, how much for one of your famous blueberry buns?¡±


    ¡°Blueberries in winter, Molinier?¡± The lady chuckled, then glanced at the not-so-busy street and turned the key in her shop¡¯s door. ¡°Though, I might have some summer stock left over. Come in, we¡¯ll check together.¡±


    ¡°Madame,¡± the man tipped his hat a third time, and together, they disappeared into her shop.


    These were very strange people, discussing equally strange topics. Moreover, Ardi seriously doubted that Mrs. Foster could have miraculously preserved blueberries from the summer. Even a miracle wouldn¡¯t have sufficed for such a feat! It was a seasonal berry, after all.


    Sniffing the air, the boy darted toward the shop, lowering his face toward the baked treats displayed on the counter. They looked suspiciously appetizing. And they gave off a sweet, hearty aroma. Also, since they were set out for everyone to see, they were clearly ownerless.


    With lightning speed, Ardi snatched one, immediately leaping behind a corner and hiding in the shadows again. Sniffing it once more, he took his first bite. He chewed, swallowed, and...


    Oh...


    Ohhh!


    These feelings were hard to describe. What was currently happening in Ardi¡¯s mouth¡­ It was as if he was simultaneously tasting the sweet roots of Wildleaf mixed with winter berries, and all of it crowned with something very sticky and spicy.


    ¡°Chocolate,¡± the boy remembered the word.


    And apparently, Molinier and Foster had indeed found some buns, as the sounds of obvious...


    Ardi grimaced. No, those sounds belonged to a completely different activity. But it wasn¡¯t spring yet! Or did things work differently for humans? Well, he could figure that out later.


    Finishing off the bun, the boy licked his fingers clean and continued on his way. Sticking to the shadows, he observed the mysterious inhabitants of Evergale. Take, for example, a lean, short man with no hair on his head, who was dressed in light clothes covered by a white apron and had wide pants tucked into high boots. He was currently nailing a magical board to a wall. After all, how else could you explain that, despite being black, it somehow allowed symbols to be left on it in white sand that had been compressed into the shape of a finger?


    ¡°Mr. Barenby,¡± another man greeted him. He was a stark contrast to the first man: heavyset, rotund, tall, and with red cheeks. ¡°What¡¯s for lunch today at the best tavern in town?¡±


    ¡°You mean the only tavern?¡± The lean man snorted. ¡°Well, Mr. Eshler, the answer to your question depends on the answer to mine ¡ª has that shipment arrived yet? You know, the one for which, as I recall, I paid you seven exes last week?¡±


    ¡°The Polskih family promised me that they would process the last carcass by noon today, and then it will take me a few hours to butcher it. So, I hope we both get our due today.¡±


    ¡°That slippery old Polskih,¡± the thin man grumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. ¡°What kind of person sells meat before it¡¯s butchered and then also hires a butcher when you don¡¯t even have a carcass for them to work on?¡±


    The man named Eshler shrugged and tipped his hat just like Molinier had before heading down the street, where he also began fumbling with a key in a lock, muttering something about a carpenter.


    Ardi squinted, struggling to read the sign above the lean man¡¯s head. On a wide signboard, the words had been burned into the wood and then outlined with paint: ¡°Barenby Family Caf¨¦ and Tavern,¡± and farther down the street, above the building that the hefty man had disappeared into, the sign read: ¡°Butcher Shop.¡±


    The meaning behind these unfamiliar words remained elusive to Ardi. So, he just moved on. He chose narrow alleyways where the strange lights on tall poles didn¡¯t seem to reach and where there was no scent of dogs. The latter was particularly challenging. All of Evergale seemed to be littered with dog tracks and covered in their markings and smells. It wasn¡¯t that Ardi couldn¡¯t negotiate with them at all, it would just be tedious and time-consuming.


    The path to his goal turned out to be quite winding.


    ¡°Anna!¡± A young boy ran down the street, dressed in thin, black clothes and covered with a gray coat. ¡°Did you do the arithmetic assignment? I couldn¡¯t get the fractions right.¡±


    ¡°Good morning, Neviy,¡± a girl walking down the street emphasized those first two words. Surprisingly, she was dressed in clothes very similar to the boy¡¯s own. The only difference was that she wore a knitted scarf and a skirt, while Neviy wore pants and a cap. ¡°And yes ¡ª I did do it. And you would¡¯ve done it too if you hadn¡¯t gone to the lake with Kevin, Olga and Faruh.¡±


    The boy threw up his hands and immediately yelped when the worn, cherry-red bag in his right hand smacked into the back of his head.


    ¡°Ouch,¡± he rubbed the sore spot. ¡°See? School hasn¡¯t even started yet and I¡¯m already hurting from arithmetic! And we did invite you to come with us!¡±


    Anna turned away and stifled a laugh, then turned back with that same cold and stern look from before.


    ¡°And who would¡¯ve done the arithmetic homework if I¡¯d also gone there? I¡¯m not letting you copy mine.¡±


    ¡°But then how am I supposed to-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll help you solve it!¡± The girl¡¯s eyes flashed menacingly. ¡°You¡¯re not stupid, so use your head. And by the way, your fly is undone.¡±


    ¡°Face of Light¡¯s shit!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t blaspheme!¡± Anna poked Neviy in the side as he fumbled with something on his pants, obviously struggling because of his thick mittens.


    They walked off, soon blending into a crowd of other children dressed in those same clothes. Among them, Ardi spotted both the very young ¡ª those who hadn¡¯t yet seen seven winters ¡ª and quite independent hunters... humans. They were surely fifteen winters and older.


    It was odd to him that humans dressed their young in such strange attire and he wondered what ¡°arithmetic¡± meant. Atta¡¯nha had taught Ardi many arts and sciences: how to find his way by using the stars, the skill of seeing through the wind¡­ She¡¯d also taught him a lot of things about plants and beasts, as well as reading and writing, but arithmetic...


    Moreover, Ardi noticed that many adults and every single one of their young were wearing these strange, wide bracelets on their right wrists, which peeked out from under their clothing. Sometimes, symbols appeared on them, but mostly, they looked like puzzling ornaments.


    Shaking his head, the hunter moved on. He passed a large building, which stood somewhat apart, and toward which the line of children was heading. They were greeted by men and women in that same black, serious attire. And then, the bell in the tower above the building rang, and the doors were shut with a heavy latch.


    Ardi shrugged and darted into the shadows.


    The only building he immediately recognized was a tall structure made of white planks and adorned with a huge symbol of the sun. Several old women stood by the doors, sweeping the steps with brooms. What kind of shaman or spirit would force the old and sick females of their tribe to engage in such hard physical labor?


    Ardi circled the building, and as he was about to disappear into the shadows again, he suddenly turned. He¡¯d felt like someone on the second floor of this temple, or as the locals called it, this church, had been watching him. But apparently, his hunter¡¯s instincts had deceived him, for there was no one at the windows. Even so, Ardi began to move slower and more cautiously after that.


    Several times, he paused to take in some strange sights. Horses, unfamiliar with the language of their own kind, their eyes covered with blinders, were pulling wagons mounted on long poles. They slid easily over the snow, stopping at some houses to deliver various things: bundles, packages, and other items.


    Shops were opening, and people were hanging up notices with strange writing.


    Ardi studied the signs, trying to understand what was going on, but the unfamiliar words hid their knowledge from him. ¡°Post Office,¡± ¡°Kitty¡¯s Saloon,¡± ¡°Grocery Store,¡± ¡°Museum of the New Monarchy,¡± ¡°Town Hall,¡± ¡°Kay Brothers¡¯ Blacksmith and Carpenter Shop,¡± ¡°Gursky¡¯s Books¡­¡±


    Ardi paused at that last one, but the sun was already brightly illuminating the street, so he decided not to risk being seen by the young man cleaning the windows.


    All of these places, though nailed together from planks, with glass windows and colorful signs and awnings, looked more or less the same. Except for the building labeled ¡°Sheriff,¡± which was much sturdier, with iron bars on the windows and horses tied up nearby. And there was also the ¡°Bourbon Company¡¯s Armory,¡± which didn¡¯t differ much from the ¡°Sheriff¡± building except in terms of size.


    The sun had already taken several steps up, and yet Ardi had only just made his way through the town to its outskirts. There, the endless plains of snow-covered steppes and prairies stretched out like the waves of a frozen lake covered in sparkling snow. They reached all the way to the horizon, only occasionally turning into low, gentle hills. According to Kaishas¡¯ stories, this was a land as harsh and dangerous as the Alcade, but equally, though in its own way, beautiful.


    Ardi turned away and found himself standing at the edge of a low fence. Here, far from the center of Evergale, each house was hidden behind two-meter-high wooden boards. Such a barrier wouldn¡¯t stop anyone determined to break in, but it did serve as a reminder of who owned this territory. Humans had a funny way of dividing land.


    The lad closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. Yes, he wasn¡¯t wrong, this was the place that smelled like the house from his memories. He noticed the scent of baked goods, root and venison soup, fresh bread, and blackberry pie.


    It smelled like his mother.


    Ardi easily climbed over the fence and found himself in the yard. It was spacious enough to accommodate a couple of small, neat, two-story houses, but only one stood there. It had a porch made of black planks, with that familiar rocking chair under the awning. And there was a lantern with a tiny, oily flame flickering inside of it. On the other side of the windows, he could see curtains made of simple cloth, adorned with birds and butterflies. White smoke trailed from the chimney, blending with the snow brought by the wind.


    The well-kept paths around the house, which had been paved with river stones, were slightly dusted with snow, but they were frequently cleared by the look of it. And in the distance, he spotted a shed. It was not like the one Ardi remembered, but still quite decent, though slightly askew.


    Moreover, there was no smell of dogs or cats here, which was rather surprising ¡ª no, even abnormal ¡ª since Ardi had not come across a single house in all of Evergale that was not marked by a pet.


    Only this one...


    Ardi took a step forward and suddenly felt something in his chest. Something vaguely familiar. Something akin to what he¡¯d felt whenever he¡¯d returned to his teacher¡¯s cave after his visits to the forest flows. The feeling he¡¯d had when he¡¯d been near Ergar. A bond both familial and not.


    He felt an invisible thread tighten around his index finger and lead him forward. He circled the house, hiding in the retreating shadows of the sun, until he saw a small kitchen courtyard where a table and chairs would clearly be set out in the summer. He also saw a broad-shouldered man there, who was wrestling in the snow with a little boy of six. The child was struggling and pounding the man¡¯s sides with his fists.


    Ardi¡¯s body reacted faster than his mind. He leaped forward, wrapping his arms around the stranger¡¯s neck and trying, as Guta had taught him, to throw him over his own body. Unfortunately, his strength wasn¡¯t enough to lift the adult male off the ground ¡ª only to push him away from the child and make him tumble to the side.


    Oh, how Ardi regretted not having his faithful claws with him right then. But even without them, he¡¯d take advantage of the fact that he had caught his prey off guard, and he wasn¡¯t going to give up easily. Ardi tried to launch an elbow at the man¡¯s throat, but the man dropped his chin as if he¡¯d been expecting it, and Ardi¡¯s elbow slipped to the side, slicing his lip open and spraying blood onto his face and the snow. The hunter, seeing that his prey would soon recover, spat in the man¡¯s eyes, rolled over, and crawled behind him. He wrapped his legs around the man¡¯s waist and moved his arms in a triangle around his neck.


    He inhaled, exhaled, and then, as Guta had taught him, he tensed all his muscles and pulled back. It didn¡¯t matter how much weaker he was than his prey. As long as he had the breathing advantage, he could overpower and finish his target and-


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch my father!¡± Something metallic struck Ardi¡¯s head.


    He felt dizzy, his vision blurred, and for a moment, he loosened his grip. That was enough for his prey to break free and, wheezing, toss him aside. Ardi, flipping in the air, landed lightly on his toes and fingers and prepared to leap forward again. If he couldn¡¯t use his hands, he would apply Ergar¡¯s teachings and tear out his prey¡¯s throat with his teeth.


    But as he¡¯d jumped, he¡¯d looked into large, frightened, brown eyes. The eyes of the child who was holding a bloodied shovel and standing directly in front of his wheezing, rising prey. A child whose heartbeat matched Ardi¡¯s.


    The hunter landed in front of him and, crouching down, tilted his head to the side. The child did the same. Ardi extended his right hand, and the child extended his too.


    Ardi blinked.


    The child blinked.


    They stared at each other, motionless.


    ¡°Erti,¡± Ardi barely managed to utter.


    ¡°Who... who are you?¡± The child recoiled.


    He was about to say more, but his prey, finally regaining his composure, jumped to his feet, stood in front of the child, and pulled out a metal rod with a wooden handle from his belt. It vaguely resembled the one Okta had had, only more... polished, with far more steel, and six holes arranged in a long drum.


    The hammer clicked into place.


    ¡°No, Kelly! Stop!¡±


    Kelly? That name sounded familiar.


    A woman in a thin, long shirt ran out into the street. Her hair was streaked with gray. Wrinkles lined her face. She was much shorter and smaller than Ardi remembered her being, but... her black hair was still tied back in a tight braid. Her bright eyes still shone with the sky and the lakes. She smelled of... home and warmth.


    She ran to him, collapsed beside him right in the snow, and hugged him tighter than even Guta could¡¯ve managed. It was as if she were trying to absorb him. Every part of him. Every hint of his scent. Every moment of the life that had passed her by.


    Ardi knew this because he hugged her just as tightly. Without letting go, without loosening his grip. He hugged her and cried quietly on her shoulder.


    ¡°M-m-mom,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Ardi,¡± she held his head, her tears falling from her eyes and burning his face like liquid fire. ¡°Ardi... my dear, dear Ardi. Finally...¡±


    They stood there, embracing, oblivious to the world around them. And then, coughing, an old man in a heavy fur coat stepped out onto the veranda. He was leaning on a carved staff, his hunched back rising and falling in time with his labored breathing, his wrinkled hands trembling, but the gaze of his vertical pupils had remained as stern and clear as ever.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Shaia smiled, stepping away from her eldest son and reintroducing him to his grandfather.


    But Ardi, who¡¯d locked eyes with the old hunter, didn¡¯t take a step forward.


    ¡°Hello, Grandson,¡± his grandfather suddenly spoke in the language of Atta¡¯nha, but in a way that...


    The boy stifled a chuckle at first, then couldn¡¯t help himself and burst out laughing. It was light, melodic, though tinged with a touch of tears.


    ¡°Hello, Grandpa,¡± he replied, and now it was his grandfather who cawed like a raven, replacing his own laughter.


    And then they locked arms. Without saying a word. They didn¡¯t need to. As the last of their tribe, they had already said everything to each other. Much more than words could ever convey.


    Grandpa stepped back and patted Ardi on the shoulders.


    ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, grandson. Very proud.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Grandpa,¡± then he turned and looked at Kelly. He remembered him. This was the man who had climbed the mountain six cycles ago, looking for his father. The Sheriff. Only now he looked older and was clearly favoring his right leg, and it wasn¡¯t because of their small scuffle. ¡°What is this man doing here? And why did Erti call him Father?¡±


    Grandpa sighed and turned to Shaia. ¡°There¡¯s much you need to discuss with Ardi,¡± he said in the language of humans.


    ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°Or maybe you should talk to me first?¡± Kelly interrupted, and Ardi hissed. Who did this... man think he was, interrupting his mother? ¡°Damn it,¡± Kelly¡¯s hand twitched toward his revolver ¡ª that¡¯s what that rod was called, Ardi recalled ¡ª but he stopped himself. Still shielding the child with his body, Kelly turned slightly, ¡°Shaia, dear, can you explain what¡¯s going on?¡±


    Dear?


    Ardi, growling low, was about to pounce on Kelly again, but Grandfather¡¯s staff blocked his path. The hunter looked at the old man, who silently shook his head.


    Shaia approached Ardi ¡ª Sleeping Spirits, only then did Ardi realize she was shorter than him now! ¡ª and wrapped her arms around his waist.


    ¡°This is Ardi,¡± she said. ¡°Hector¡¯s son. My son. Brother to Erti and Kena.¡±


    Kena? Who was Kena? Sleeping Spirits, what the hell was going on here?


    ¡°Brother?¡± Came a voice from behind the man, and frightened, brown eyes peeked out. ¡°I have a brother?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a good question, Erta-¡±


    ¡°Silence, foolish human!¡± Ardi shouted. ¡°Someone might hear you! What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Damn it!¡± Kelly exclaimed. ¡°By the Eternal Angels, I can¡¯t understand a damn word this wildling is saying!¡±


    ¡°Mind your language, human,¡± Grandpa cleared his throat. ¡°His name is Ardi ¡ª you¡¯ve already been told that. And he doesn¡¯t want you to use his brother¡¯s full name out loud.¡±


    ¡°His brother...¡± Kelly repeated, rubbing his face with his hands, muttering something, then straightening up. ¡°You told me that you and Hector only had one son, Shaia. That¡¯s what you said.¡±


    Shaia and Grandpa exchanged glances, and Ardi, noticing his mother¡¯s lips turning blue, quickly shrugged off his furs and wrapped them around her. Obviously, he had acted rashly. Kelly¡¯s hand jerked to his revolver again, and Shaia¡¯s eyes filled with tears.


    ¡°Oh, Ardi,¡± she said, running her fingers over the marks he¡¯d earned hunting and during Ergar¡¯s lessons. ¡°I never understood how Hector got all those scars...¡±


    ¡°Face of Light¡¯s shit...¡± Kelly whispered.


    Ardi frowned in confusion. Yes, he had a few scratches that would remind him of either his teacher¡¯s lessons or his losses in games. So what? Even lynx cubs who hadn¡¯t seen five seasons yet had far more. Besides, they¡¯d all heal. All the marks he still carried were from the last two cycles. The rest had long since faded.


    ¡°They will heal, my dear,¡± Grandpa seemed to echo his thoughts. And only he was looking at Ardi¡¯s chest, where the blue symbol, left there by Ergar¡¯s fang, stood out. It was as if... as if only he could see it. ¡°In a couple of years, the scars will fade. Hector... He had different ones... Maybe we should go inside? Kena¡¯s all alone and I don¡¯t think she¡¯ll be too happy to wake up and find her mother, food and replacement diapers missing.¡±


    ¡°With all due respect, old man,¡± Kelly began rather sharply. His thick eyebrows knitted over his gray eyes, and Ardi noticed a long, wide scar that went from his right ear down to his chin. It hadn¡¯t been there six years ago, he was pretty sure. ¡°This is my house. And I decide who does what and when. Now, Shaia, would you kindly tell me who this wildling... child is and why he tried to strangle me?¡±


    ¡°I not child,¡± Ardi declared. ¡°You attack brother. I defend. Now I take them with me. To home. To mountain. Farewell, fool human.¡±


    And the boy tugged at Shaia, but she didn¡¯t budge.


    ¡°Attacking your brother,¡± Kelly repeated, then snapped, ¡°You thought I was harming Erta... Erti? Did you go completely wild while up on your mountain, Hector¡¯s son? We were playing, wildling! P-l-a-y-i-n-g. Do you understand?¡±


    Behind Kelly, Ertan, not taking his eyes off Ardi, nodded his head in agreement. Ardi tilted his head to look at them both. There was no trace of Kelly¡¯s hands or fists on the boy, and as for the ¡°foolish human,¡± there were only the marks left by Ardi himself. And only Ertan¡¯s flushed face and slightly trembling hands indicated that he had been... tickled. Not too hard or too long, either.


    Ardi sighed and shook his head.


    Well, he was bound to make mistakes sometimes.


    As Skusty had often said, only those who never bend down never make mistakes. Whatever that meant, by the Sleeping Spirits.


    ¡°Sorry. Thought you attack. I defend brother.¡±


    ¡°By the Face of Light,¡± Kelly sighed. ¡°I could¡¯ve killed you, boy. Do you even think before you jump on armed adults? Wouldn¡¯t it be great ¡ª Evergale¡¯s Sheriff ¡ª a child killer.¡±


    ¡°Kill? You me?¡± Ardi was genuinely surprised. ¡°If brother not help you, I have snap you neck. Like duck. Weak neck. Easy prey.¡±


    Grandpa smiled upon hearing this, while Shaia looked at her eldest son in a new light. It was far from the way she had looked at him six years ago.


    ¡°So, he¡¯s your son?¡± Kelly pretended not to understand what Ardi was telling him.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Shaia nodded.


    ¡°And you didn¡¯t tell me about him because...¡± Kelly waved his hand as if to summon someone.


    ¡°Because he¡¯s been living in the mountains for the past six years.¡±


    Kelly even took a step back in shock.


    ¡°And may I, for the Light¡¯s sake, know why?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s tradition,¡± Grandpa replied curtly. ¡°And now he¡¯s returned.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that much I can see,¡± the sheriff grumbled, then closed his eyes and stood in silence for a few seconds. ¡°Well, they should be giving me a raise for my years of service soon, so we should be able to support another... person. Food, clothes, plus school and...¡±


    What was this man thinking? Ardi wasn¡¯t old or sick, he didn¡¯t need someone else to take care of him!


    ¡°I hunter,¡± he slammed his fist into his chest. ¡°I hunt myself. I make clothes myself. I walk myself. I think myself. I not need anyone help take care me. I take care others. Mother. My brother. Grandpa. Those who can¡¯t hunt. You I not need.¡±


    Kelly looked at him, then at Shaia, then lifted Ertan onto his shoulders and headed for the porch.


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk inside,¡± he suggested. ¡°Before half the neighbors gather to investigate the noise. The last thing we need is for ridiculous rumors to spread around town. And it¡¯s getting cold.¡±


    Ardi couldn¡¯t understand why, since he had now returned, they couldn¡¯t go back to the mountain, but he decided to wait and see. Something very strange was happening here...


    As they climbed onto the porch, Ardi tried to catch the child¡¯s eye, but Ertan kept looking away, gripping the sheriff¡¯s hand even tighter. The hunter had no idea why he smelled fear in his blood brother. After all, they were bound by the strongest and most reliable of bonds. Bonds that couldn¡¯t be broken by one¡¯s will or even the highest magic of the Sidhe. Ardi had read about it in some of Atta¡¯nha¡¯s old scrolls, but had understood little. In any case, such power was beyond the reach of mortals.


    ¡°Much has happened in these past few years, Ardi,¡± Grandpa switched back to the language of the Fae. Ardi, who¡¯d lent him his shoulder, was helping the old hunter climb onto the porch. ¡°I was afraid you would take this harder.¡±


    Ardi watched as Kelly put his arm around his mother¡¯s waist, and she didn¡¯t pull away, but leaned in closer. Just looking at them made his chest ache, and his fists clenched so tightly that his nails almost cut into his flesh, but he was no longer a child.


    ¡°Father is dead,¡± Ardi turned away. ¡°Mother is beautiful and can bear more children, and it¡¯s hard to live alone. People aren¡¯t like... like...¡±


    Grandpa looked at him, his eyes shining, and he nodded briefly.


    ¡°They rarely choose a mate for life, grandson. But don¡¯t think too much of it ¡ª your mother always loved Hector and still does. Otherwise, I wouldn¡¯t have stayed with her and Ertan.¡±


    Ardi stiffened and almost recoiled from his grandfather, which could have caused him to fall. He wanted to protest how easily the old hunter spoke his brother¡¯s full name, but there was not enough time for that. They entered the house, and the first thing Ardi noticed was the familiar furniture that had once stood in their mountain home. Some of it was only similar, but some was exactly the same.


    For example, the chest in the hallway where his brother, mother, and the sheriff left their shoes. And the heavy coat rack on the wall that had metal hooks. There were jackets and several fur coats hanging from it. They¡¯d been made from simple skins, but were well-crafted and durable ¡ª far better than anything Ardi had ever managed to make.


    Now he understood that his attempts at sewing had only been at all successful because he had often seen Shaia at work.


    After passing through the spacious hallway, which was lit by strange glass candles with equally strange flames inside them, they entered the kitchen. It was much smaller than the one on the mountain, but spacious enough to hold the same table. It was massive, built out of logs and planks from a young oak. Moving a table of this size would be too much for just one person to manage.


    Ardi turned to Kelly and looked him in the eyes. The sheriff didn¡¯t avert his gaze or flinch.


    ¡°The Ranger¡¯s property belonged to the authorities and was only his due to his contract with the Army of the New Monarchy,¡± Kelly calmly answered the unspoken question. ¡°But we only took what had been provided to the Egobar family over the past ten years. The rest was left untouched.¡±


    Ardi looked at the chest. No one had provided it. Hector had made it. Ardi remembered that all too well because they had worked on it together, when his father had shown him how to use a plane, an axe, and a chisel.


    ¡°I think you all have a lot to talk about,¡± Kelly continued after an awkward pause. He hugged Ertan and kissed Shaia¡¯s hair. ¡°I¡¯ll be upstairs with Er...ti and Kena. Call me when you¡¯re done.¡±


    Shaia nodded, then looked at Grandpa.


    He groaned, turned, and headed back to the porch, where his rocking chair was waiting for him.


    After a few seconds, Ardi and Shaia were alone. Unaccustomed to it, the hunter managed to sit in the chair awkwardly, all the while resisting the urge to jump to the floor and stretch out comfortably. It had been a long time since he had used furniture...


    For a time, Shaia just looked at him. She studied him carefully, with warmth and love in her eyes, which were now lined with a web of wrinkles.


    ¡°Are you hungry?¡±


    Ardi turned to his senses. The bun he had eaten earlier hadn¡¯t kept his hunger chained for long.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he answered honestly.


    Shaia nodded and went to the stove. Ardi couldn¡¯t help but notice the thin, blue, shimmering inscriptions running across the metal box that was covered in white paint and had four cast-iron burners. They reminded him a little of the flames flickering in the glass candles.


    ¡°It¡¯s a new invention by the scientists,¡± Shaia began bustling around the cabinets, pulling out some metal utensils, dishes, and a few paper-wrapped items from a small icebox. ¡°To be honest, I don¡¯t know how it works. All I know is that the Ley Stone that powers it lasts a week, and they¡¯re pretty expensive. So, we have to be careful. I cooked beef this morning, but you won¡¯t eat the meat of a domestic animal.¡±


    She remembered... at least that much. A Matabar hunter would not eat game that had not had a chance to escape with its life. That was one of the laws of hunting.


    ¡°There¡¯s leftover hare stew from yesterday, but it didn¡¯t turn out too well. I think I salted it too much. Would you like some?¡±


    Ardi nodded, not taking his eyes off the stove.


    When Shaia turned the dial, some symbols glowed a little brighter, the stove hummed softly, and something lit up in a small box on the wall that Ardi hadn¡¯t noticed before. It was from this box that the series of symbols extended to the stove.


    Remarkable...


    Even more remarkable was how casually Shaia handled it. She placed a heavy pot on the cast-iron disk, then pulled a small lever ¡ª one of four ¡ª and blue flames danced around the burner. Ardi tilted his head, trying to hear the whisper of the flame, but it was silent. As silent as the dead.


    Or maybe he just couldn¡¯t hear it? After all, there was no such thing as a dead fire.


    Leaving the stew to warm up, Shaia pulled up a chair and sat down beside her son. She took off the furs he¡¯d given her and wrapped them around Ardi again. The house was warm, even though the hunter could feel no fire burning anywhere.


    ¡°You have grown so much,¡± Shaia said, running her hand over his cheek. ¡°By the Eternal Angels... how I¡¯ve missed you, Ardi.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve missed you too,¡± Ardi nodded.


    Even when Ergar¡¯s words had hidden his human half from his heart, he¡¯d still missed her in his dreams. He would forget about her in the mornings, but he¡¯d still missed her all the same.


    They fell silent again.


    ¡°Kena?¡± Ardi decided to break the silence, feeling a little awkward. ¡°Who Kena?¡±


    Shaia smiled faintly.


    ¡°That¡¯s the name of your half-sister ¡ª my daughter with Kelly. She¡¯ll be two years old this spring,¡± she said with care and nodded toward the stairs. ¡°She sleeps on the second floor. You¡¯ll meet her later.¡±


    Sister? Ardi turned to his senses. He had found this house thanks to his connection to his brother and his mother, but as for a sister, he didn¡¯t feel anything. Not at all.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know where to start,¡± Shaia sighed and squeezed Ardi¡¯s hand a little. She was literally refusing to let him go, as if she were afraid that if she blinked, her son would disappear again. ¡°After that night... everything changed, Ardi. Living alone on the mountain was no longer possible, so we came down here. We rented a room from Mrs. Bayreg for a while. She had a saloon on the first floor, and Grandpa worked there as a bartender, but...¡±


    At that moment, the lid of the pot rattled, and the stew began to spew greasy droplets. Shaia walked over to the stove, grabbed the pot by its handles with a glove, removed it from the flame, then ladled several spoonfuls of the meal into a bowl and set it on the table.


    Ardi inhaled the aroma of potatoes, carrots, meat, herbs, and something else unfamiliar to him ¡ª probably some spices that didn¡¯t grow in the Alcade. He turned to the spoon beside him and managed to remember how to hold it, though not on his first try. But holding it was one thing, eating with it was quite another. Especially hot food. At first, his mouth burned, then Ardi figured out he needed to blow on the food in the spoon, but he blew too hard, scattering it all over the table.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, son, it¡¯s okay,¡± Shaia, hiding her tear-filled eyes, grabbed a cloth and began cleaning the table. ¡°You¡¯ll remember everything...you will.¡±


    Ardi said nothing. He simply didn¡¯t know what to say. He didn¡¯t know what to feel, either. Here was his mother. He loved her and had missed her. So much so that it seemed as if his heart had forgotten how to beat normally and was now dancing in his chest, trying to burst out and embrace Shaia as well.


    He should have felt at home, but at the same time...


    ¡°So,¡± Shaia smiled as she finished cleaning up and sat down again. ¡°We lived like this for about a year, and then Mrs. Bayreg got sick, and within a week, she was gone. The bank people came and...¡± Shaia fell silent and shook her head. ¡°We were literally out on the street. For a while, there was enough money to rent a room for the three of us in the tavern, but Erti was still little and needed a lot of attention, and I was having trouble with my milk again, and so I couldn¡¯t work much. Grandpa did what he could. He worked as a postman as long as his legs allowed it, and at night, he went out to the farm to look after the cattle, but his lungs gave out. And so...¡±


    Shaia fell silent again. She didn¡¯t notice how hard she had squeezed Ardi¡¯s hand, her fingers turning white, but he took it quietly.


    ¡°And then I was lucky enough to get a job as a secretary for Sheriff Kelly Brian. At first, we just worked together, and then somehow... I lost my husband that night, and he lost his wife and his sister and her kids before that. Maybe that¡¯s why we came together... At first, it was just friendship...¡± She sighed and shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Ardi. I don¡¯t know how to say it. Don¡¯t think that I ever stopped loving your father, it¡¯s just... just... We got engaged in the third winter, and in the summer, we had a wedding, and little Kena was born. That¡¯s how it happened. Now we live here.¡±


    Ardi stared ahead. He could see the bowl full of fragrant stew. He was holding a spoon in his hands, sitting on a chair, with a candle overhead. Its strange fire was still flickering inside it, the stove was still trembling slightly, its fire silent as the dead, and everything seemed normal. But despite that, he felt the same as he had six years ago. He no longer knew who he was, where he was, or what was around him.


    ¡°I tire,¡± Ardi said, his voice slightly hoarse and trembling. ¡°If Kelly not mind, I sleep his shed. Tomorrow, I find place live.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Shaia exclaimed. ¡°What shed, son? I¡¯ll admit that we don¡¯t have as much room here as we did on the mountain. Grandpa¡¯s guest room is on the first floor because it¡¯s hard for him to get up the stairs, and the second floor is where Kelly, Ertan, Kena, and I live, but last summer, I asked Kelly to insulate and fix up the attic. I had hoped,¡± Shaia¡¯s voice trembled, ¡°I thought you would come back. I cleaned it up and left your things there. Shall we?¡±


    Ardi looked at his mother, then shook his head.


    ¡°Ask Kelly. Kelly master this house. Must ask him.¡±


    Shaia sighed and rose from the table. Ardi, after a quick glance at the stew and the silly spoon, followed his mother. They walked down a long corridor whose walls were decorated with small pictures. They hadn¡¯t been drawn by hand, but were like frozen scenes from memory ¡ª only they weren¡¯t in color, but black and white. They were of Kelly, his mother, and Ertan.


    In one of them, they were sledding on the lake. In another, they were picking flowers in the summer. One even showed them in the temple of the Face of Light, where they were performing some rite over his brother, pouring water on his head.


    Then they climbed a sturdy, well-made staircase and found themselves on the second floor. Four doors led to three rooms and, judging by the faint, barely perceptible odor ¡ª to a human nose, anyway ¡ª to a privy. What was such a foul place doing on the second floor, and right next to the sleeping quarters?


    What a strange tribe these humans were.


    Shaia opened the nearest door just a crack. Not too wide, but enough for Ardi to see a small crib where a little girl lay, sleeping peacefully. She had chestnut hair, rosy skin, and clothes embroidered with stars.


    Kelly stood in the doorway, blocking most of their view. A small, gray ¡°bandage¡± clung to his upper lip ¡ª apparently to stop the bleeding.


    ¡°My mother husband,¡± Ardi addressed him in a calm tone. He didn¡¯t feel any particular dislike for the sheriff, but neither did he feel any respect for him. Just a touch of gratitude for taking care of his family and... something else. Something that pricked his heart every time he saw Kelly hugging his mother. Something a little angry and uncomfortable. Ardi didn¡¯t know what that feeling was yet. ¡°I ask you let I stay here. In attic. I quiet there. I not need food. I hunt.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t hunt, Ardi,¡± Kelly told him. The hunter clenched his fists but remained silent. The rules of a tribe had to be learned first ¡ª Skusty would have advised that. ¡°At least not legally. Your father was allowed to because he was a Ranger of the Alcade Reserve, but you don¡¯t have a permit and you didn¡¯t serve in the army,¡± Kelly grinned as if making a joke. ¡°Not to mention you¡¯re not yet sixteen and still a minor.¡±


    Ardi couldn¡¯t hold back a small hiss.


    ¡°I hunter. An adult. I decide.¡±


    ¡°Ardi,¡± Shaia stroked his hair. ¡°Among humans, those under sixteen are considered children. They don¡¯t even get documents.¡±


    ¡°D-o-c-u-m-e-n-t-s?¡± Ardi frowned. ¡°What ¡®d-o-c-u-m-e-n-t-s¡¯ mean?¡±


    Kelly pulled a leather purse, or something similar, from his pocket. He opened it and showed it to Ardi. Inside, under a metal clip on one side of the wallet, was a black and white picture of the sheriff¡¯s face, his name, age, place of residence, and a few other symbols and numbers. On the other side was a medallion in the shape of crossed swords and a pistol, with a few more unknown symbols at the bottom.


    ¡°How I get d-o-c-u-m-e-n-t-s?¡± Ardi asked, handing the ¡°documents¡± back.


    ¡°When you turn sixteen, they¡¯ll give them to you,¡± Kelly closed the leather purse and put it back in his pocket.


    ¡°Just cycle number?¡± Ardi frowned. ¡°Weird human ritual become hunter.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s how it is,¡± the sheriff shrugged. ¡°You can¡¯t hunt, I mean, you can¡¯t hunt legally! I don¡¯t doubt your abilities... But if you really want, I could talk to Timofey Polskih. I¡¯ve been meaning to collect a debt from him. Here¡¯s a good reason for that. And he always needs more help on the farm.¡±


    Ardi turned to Shaia, and she nodded slightly.


    ¡°All right,¡± Ardi agreed. ¡°I work farm. Deal?¡±


    ¡°One more little condition, Ardi,¡± Kelly¡¯s eyes twinkled. ¡°You¡¯ll go to school.¡±


    ¡°S-c-h-o-o-l? What s-c-h-o-o-l?¡±


    ¡°A place where children... those under the age of sixteen learn to read, write and speak so that others don¡¯t have to strain to understand them. I think it will be a useful place for you.¡±


    ¡°But Kelly,¡± Shaia held Ardi close. ¡°The townspeople, they-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll warn the parents at the next town meeting,¡± the sheriff held up a hand. ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone will object. After all, if it hadn¡¯t been for Hector that night, most of the townspeople would have lost their children. And we¡¯ll give them time to get used to the idea, and Ardi some time to rest as well. It¡¯s already the fifth day, and tomorrow is the last workday before the weekend, so we have time to buy him clothes, shoes, and school supplies. We¡¯ll have to tighten our belts a bit next month, but...¡±


    Kelly looked into Ardi¡¯s eyes and the boy met his. Gray and clear, they resembled the eyes of an experienced hunter, one who knew the laws of the wilderness. Kelly wasn¡¯t a bad man, and for some reason, Ardi didn¡¯t like that. For some reason, he felt like it would¡¯ve been easier if Sheriff Brian was a weakling, a coward, or a drunk. But he wasn¡¯t. And what¡¯s more, he obviously loved both Shaia and Ertan very much.


    Which, though it was unclear why, made it all even worse.


    The sheriff held out his hand to Ardi.


    ¡°Nice to meet you, Hector¡¯s son. Let¡¯s try to, if not become friends, then at least support each other, as we¡¯ll be living close to those we both love.¡±


    He even said the right words. Almost like hunters said when they mixed tribes.


    Ardi remembered this gesture. His father had taught him how to respond to it.


    Ardi held out his hand and shook the sheriff¡¯s. Kelly raised an eyebrow slightly, as if in surprise, then turned to Shaia.


    ¡°If you need any help, call me. I¡¯ll be...¡± He cast a quick glance at someone Ardi couldn¡¯t see but could sense, and not just by smell. Ertan was hiding behind the door. ¡°I¡¯m going to be here for a while.¡±


    ¡°All right,¡± Shaia nodded.


    Ardi remained silent. He and his mother climbed up to the attic. There were no pictures here, and the walls weren¡¯t covered with numerous layers of paint, revealing simple aspen planks. On the floor lay an old, worn rug ¡ª Ardi recognized it immediately. It had been in his room a long time ago. And there was a small chest under the only window, with a pile of furs thrown atop it.


    It was a spacious room, but empty. And it was clean. Not a speck of dust, not a cobweb to be found. It had clearly been kept in order.


    ¡°Grandpa said you¡¯d have to get used to it at first,¡± Shaia hugged him again. ¡°I wanted to put in a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk, but he insisted you wouldn¡¯t know what to do with them. So, I could only keep the chest.¡±


    Ardi walked over to it and ran his fingers over the surface. A few notches he had accidentally made while learning to plane sticks were still there. The hunter lifted his eyes and looked out the window. It overlooked the backyard, hanging just above the awning of the back entrance. And from there, it provided a direct path to the roof ¡ª it was just a matter of grabbing the edge of the roof.


    Grandpa had had the right idea.


    ¡°Rest, son. And I¡¯ll prepare a little surprise for you.¡±


    Shaia, discreetly wiping her eyes, turned and opened the door, starting down the stairs as Ardi called out to her.


    ¡°Mom.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°I love you.¡±


    Shaia smiled and sighed in relief.


    ¡°And I love you too. Now go to bed. By the Eternal Angels, you have the weariness of the world on your face.¡±


    And she walked away, leaving the hunter alone with his new den. Or was it proper to call it a room now?


    Ardi looked out the window. The sun was rising over the Alcade, flooding the mountains and forests with light.


    The sun, or the eye of the Spirit of the Day?


    ¡°And who am I now?¡± Ardi whispered in the language of the beasts.

 Chapter 16 - Longing

    Ardi was lying on the furs and listening to the voices coming up from below. He no longer needed a glass or the old ventilation shaft, which had once been a refuge for spiders. But unlike before, the hunter had no idea what his feelings were. Was it sadness at the fact that only one of the two voices was familiar, or anger caused by this familiar voice talking to someone else?


    ¡°How did it go?¡± Shaia asked, placing a plate on the table, her voice slightly breathless.


    Now, with his eyes closed, Ardi could almost see what was happening two floors below him, guided by the scents, sounds and subtle sensations that reached him.


    ¡°Do you want the truth or a lie?¡± Kelly unfastened his holster and hung it over the back of a chair.


    Shaia sighed and sat down opposite him. Ardi, eyes open now, looked out the window. The stars were already lighting up the sky, and in the distance, above the towering peaks of the Al§ãade, eagles soared, drawn to the endless reaches of the black expanse. Proud and free, they glided among the clouds, hunting unsuspecting prey. Any moment now, their talons would seize the scruff of a mountain goat, hurling it off a cliff, only to then tear into its tenderized flesh and broken bones with sharp beaks.


    Ardi felt like that goat.


    But he couldn¡¯t fall. He kept trying to cling to something, anything, but nothing held. And something inside him itched, as if once, deep down in his core, he had been whole and strong like a young oak, but now... Now he was being gnawed away by insects, leaving tiny, aching holes in his very soul.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather hear the truth,¡± Shaia said as she moved to the stove, removed the kettle, and poured fragrant tea into a cup.


    ¡°The truth...¡± Kelly repeated. ¡°If this had happened five years ago, nobody would have said a word. But after they finished the railroad to Delpas, and the workers from Blue Lake poured in... Well, you know how Evergale has grown in the last five years. I used to manage on my own, but now I have four deputies, and even that¡¯s not enough. And I-¡±


    ¡°Dear,¡± Shaia interrupted him, and Ardi¡¯s heart skipped a beat.


    Tears scalded his cheeks. He¡¯d remembered what that salty, hot moisture was called, but by the Sleeping Spirits, he wished he could forget.


    ¡°The mayor is not against it,¡± the sheriff got to the point. ¡°And how could he be, when his own son was one of those Hector saved? As were many others¡¯ children. But those who came from the south, especially the miners from Delpas... We¡¯re not in Metropolis, honey. And we¡¯re not on the border of N¡¯gia... People here have only seen the Firstborn in pictures, if at all. To them...¡±


    ¡°To them, other races are no different than demons,¡± Shaia nodded and turned to the window, her chair creaking slightly, her dress rustling.


    ¡°May the Face of Light forgive us,¡± Kelly said quietly, taking a sip of the brew. During the whole day that Ardi had spent in the attic, he hadn¡¯t once smelled alcohol in the house. That damned sheriff... why was he so difficult? ¡°There was such an uproar at the meeting, you¡¯d think I had suggested keeping their children in a room with a hungry beast.¡±


    They fell silent, sitting quietly and drinking their tea. Only Shaia stood occasionally, pacing nervously in front of the cupboards before sitting down again, then she would stand up once more to do it all over again.


    ¡°It almost came to a fist fight,¡± Kelly continued. ¡°Locals against the newcomers, if you can call them that, considering the fact that even the newest settlers have been here for a year and a half.¡±


    ¡°And what about the pastor?¡±


    ¡°Tangisiy? What about him... He¡¯s as green as they come. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s even twenty. And a foreigner, at that, from Holy Throne Uldjingood. Straight from Arma.¡±


    ¡°I remember.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes. Sorry...¡±


    Silence again.


    ¡°A missionary, damn him...¡± Kelly mumbled a few more words, but Ardi couldn¡¯t make them out. ¡°He¡¯s pretty open and tolerant, honestly. Like all of them over there are. So, he was on our side. Said every savage should be given a chance to come to the Light and-¡±


    ¡°Ardi is not a savage!¡± Shaia couldn¡¯t hold back and slammed the closet door.


    ¡°You¡¯ll wake Kena and Erti... I just put them to sleep.¡±


    Silence again. This time, it was heavy, stone-like, pulling everything down.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Shaia whispered, her voice breaking into a barely audible sob. ¡°I just don¡¯t know what to do. I really don¡¯t...¡±


    ¡°The mayor is on our side, sweetheart. As are all the people with any influence in this town. As for those grumbling miners... a few nights in a cell will cool even the hottest heads. The rest will make a fuss, and then it¡¯ll all get buried under the daily grind.¡±


    ¡°But what if they try to hurt Ardi?¡±


    ¡°A minor?¡± Kelly was clearly surprised. He even put down his fork in shock. ¡°Well, then I¡¯ll be happy to put up a noose and deal with them according to Imperial Law.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about the adults, Kelly. I¡¯m talking about their children.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry about that,¡± Kelly said, rubbing his upper lip where a plaster could still be seen. ¡°I¡¯d be more concerned about the safety of anyone who tries to mess with your eldest son than about him.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s just a child...¡±


    These words burned Ardi like fire. He wasn¡¯t a child. There was no need to worry about him. He didn¡¯t need to be cared for. No. He was the one who should worry about his pack. Caring for them. Hunting. Choosing the best lands for their den. Walking the hunters¡¯ paths among his equals. And...


    Ardi glanced out the window again. There loomed the peaks of the Al§ãade. So familiar and so dear to him. Where he knew every slope, every river bend, every lake and stream.


    The hunter didn¡¯t even notice that he¡¯d opened the window and, without making a sound, leaped down. He landed lightly, springing and rolling, then stretched to his full height and breathed in the cold night air. It was coming in from the north, telling Ardi a thousand stories of forest streams and mountain trails.


    Of his home.


    Casting a quick glance at the place where his mother and brother had found refuge, he sighed and shook his head. Maybe they would be better off without him now. Without the savage who didn¡¯t know clever words, who couldn¡¯t speak properly, and who didn¡¯t even know how to use cutlery.


    His mother would be at peace.


    He would visit her. A couple of times a season.


    Ardi turned toward the mountains and had already taken his first step, when¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s easier this way, isn¡¯t it?¡± A whisper came from behind him.


    The hunter whirled around, baring his fangs, but quickly came to his senses. Behind him, wrapped in a woolen shawl, stood a frail old man. His grandfather. Ardi remembered him as a once mighty but weakened tree. Now it seemed like his once strong trunk could be broken by even the slightest breeze. Yet that yellow-eyed gaze, still so clear and determined, didn¡¯t let Ardi deceive himself into thinking his grandfather was weak.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°I would like to say that I understand how you feel, Grandson,¡± the old man continued in the language of the Fae, ¡°but that would be a lie. You won¡¯t find anyone who understands you for hundreds of miles, Ardi. Maybe even farther than that.¡±


    The hunter straightened and stood beside him, offering his shoulder, upon which his grandfather leaned with all his weight. Spirits... He was no heavier than Skusty...


    ¡°They don¡¯t need me.¡±


    His grandfather turned to him and threw an arm around his shoulder, trying to pull him in close, like before, but he couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°When Shaia wakes up in the morning and doesn¡¯t see you, it will break her heart, Ardi. That much I know for sure.¡±


    The hunter didn¡¯t take his eyes off the Al§ãade. And what about his heart? Would it survive?


    ¡°You¡¯ve only been back a day. The pull to return to the trails is natural, Grandson,¡± the old man cleared his throat and looked at his palm, quickly hiding it under his shawl. ¡°But you are mistaken about the source of your feelings. It¡¯s not so much discomfort or grief as it is fear.¡±


    And Ardi could indeed feel those icy claws squeezing his chest again, as if a sticky, wet fur was pressing against him.


    ¡°You are afraid, Grandson, because everything here is unfamiliar. Nothing is the way it was before you left with Ergar. And nothing is the way the other hunters taught you on the trails. You¡¯re like a newborn cub all over again, for a third time.¡±


    The hunter didn¡¯t argue. Not because he couldn¡¯t find the right words ¡ª his conversations with Skusty and Atta¡¯nha had taught him how to be quick-witted and incisive. However, his grandfather was right, and lying in order to try and convince him or Ardi himself... what would be the point? It was as Atta¡¯nha had once said: dreams changed reality, but lies only spoiled it. But even the wisest wouldn¡¯t know the difference at times. Ardi wasn¡¯t wise and didn¡¯t understand the difference, but he clearly remembered that lies wouldn¡¯t help.


    ¡°I was going to give this to you when you were older,¡± his grandfather said suddenly, looking down the mountain path that led to their home. ¡°I know Hector would have been against it... But the world would be unbearable if sons always followed their fathers¡¯ wishes to the letter, and vice versa.¡±


    The old hunter pulled something from his inner pocket and handed it to Ardi. When he took a closer look, Ardi was surprised to see an old key resting in the palm of his grandfather¡¯s hand. It was massive, heavy, with peeling paint in places and slightly rusty. Ardi remembered this key. His father had never parted with it, always keeping it tied to his belt.


    ¡°It¡¯s the key to the shed!¡± Exclaimed the hunter.


    The very same shed that had kept its secrets hidden from curious eyes for many years.


    ¡°Before heading down, your father asked me to throw that key into a crevice, but I couldn¡¯t,¡± his grandfather¡¯s lips almost cracked when he tried to smile faintly. ¡°I couldn¡¯t let go of our history, Ardi. And it¡¯s not my choice to make. Not anymore.¡±


    Ardi reached for the key, but hesitated, looking at his grandfather. As always, he radiated warmth and reliability, even now that he was too weak and stubbornly refusing to walk the paths of the spirits.


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°No conditions or demands,¡± his grandfather shook his head. ¡°If you want, take it and return to the mountains. But I¡¯d suggest you give it some time. After all, the hunter¡¯s paths didn¡¯t come easily to you at first, either. Perhaps you just need to get used to these as well. After all, Ardi, the hardest answers are often found in the places we least expect.¡±


    His grandfather must have heard the question Ardi had asked the wind the night before: ¡°Who am I now?¡±


    The old hunter coughed, waved Ardi away, and, leaning on his staff, made his way to the chair on the porch, intending to take a nap in the fresh air. Ardi watched him, but didn¡¯t offer any help. That would have only insulted his grandfather. Like all hunters who¡¯d reached the end of their path, he sought neither care nor support, only the chance to leave with dignity and silence, so the pack wouldn¡¯t even notice.


    Such was the law of the hunt.


    But Ardi couldn¡¯t remember hunters wielding carved staffs decorated with symbols of the Aean¡¯Hane¡¯s art.


    ¡°Grandfather,¡± he called to the only other Matabar besides himself.


    The old man stopped, but didn¡¯t turn around.


    ¡°You are Aean¡¯Hane, aren¡¯t you?¡± Ardi asked, though deep inside, he already knew the answer. ¡°None of the guardian spirits taught our pack the language of the Fae. And no hunter, no matter how keen his hearing, could have changed the ways and made Ergar my teacher, even though I wasn¡¯t suited for the path of the snow leopards.¡±


    For a while, the old hunter stood in silence, gazing at the stars. Then, without turning, he simply said, ¡°There are some questions, Ardi, that are better left unasked,¡± and with immense difficulty, he climbed the stairs, leaned his staff against the wall, and, wrapped in blankets, fell asleep almost instantly, swaying slightly in his chair.


    Ardi stood in the silence for a moment, then hung the key next to the oak figurine. With a last quick glance at the Al§ãade, he turned and with two quick jumps ¡ª one from the wall and then another from the awning ¡ª found himself back in the attic, which might¡¯ve now become his temporary den.


    Gently closing the window behind him, Ardi sniffed the air and asked, ¡°What you do here?¡±


    At first, nothing happened, but after a few seconds, the door creaked open and a boy appeared in the doorway. Dressed in a nightgown with various mythical creatures on it, his chestnut hair disheveled and his eyes a little sleepy, he held a tray in his small, chubby hands. On the tray was a cup of cold, sweet drink and a piece of stale bread.


    Erti had obviously brought these from the kitchen himself, judging by the fact that Kelly and Shaia¡¯s voices had faded somewhere in their bedroom.


    ¡°I thought you might be hungry,¡± the child said with a hint of fear in his voice. He looked around and, finding no place to put the tray, set it down on the floor. ¡°I brought you some food from the kitchen. But don¡¯t worry! If Mom and Dad get mad, I¡¯ll tell them it was all my idea!¡±


    Ardi suppressed a smile ¡ª he had noticed that his and his grandfather¡¯s fangs could frighten people.


    He took a step toward the offering, and Erti flinched, nearly tumbling down the stairs. With a few quick moves, Ardi darted across the attic and caught his brother before anything could go wrong.


    The child barely had time to register what had happened.


    ¡°Wow,¡± was all he said as he was brought back to his feet. ¡°How did you... so fast... Well, really fast.¡±


    Erti was clearly struggling to find the right words, constantly looking away.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I hit you,¡± he blurted out suddenly, as if he¡¯d remembered something very important. ¡°It didn¡¯t hurt too much, did it?¡±


    ¡°No pain,¡± Ardi shook his head and sat down on the floor next to the tray. ¡°Matabar skin hard. Mine softer. But tougher than human. Heal fast. Hurt little.¡±


    Relief was evident on his brother¡¯s face, and after standing around a bit longer, he sat down beside him. Without hesitation, Ardi carefully took the cup of sweet, viscous drink. Or at least he thought he was being careful, but it almost slipped from his clumsy grip, forcing him to clench his teeth around the rim, nearly cracking the clay material. Ardi froze, waiting for his brother to react with fear, but Erti only laughed, then quickly stifled the sound.


    Ardi sighed, took a sip of the drink and, eyes wide with surprise, emptied the mug in one swift motion, even licking the bottom of it afterwards.


    ¡°I knew you¡¯d like it! It¡¯s cocoa! I love it!¡± Erti exclaimed happily, then sadly added, ¡°But it¡¯s better when it¡¯s hot, except I don¡¯t know how to turn on the stove.¡±


    ¡°Cocoa,¡± Ardi repeated, holding out his hand.


    His brother tensed but didn¡¯t flinch. Erti was no coward, and was maybe even braver than Ardi himself. At least, when Ardi ruffled his brother¡¯s hair the same way his own had been ruffled not too long ago, he didn¡¯t detect any scent of fear from him. Only tension.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardi said and took a bite of the bread, struggling a bit despite his fangs.


    Erti watched him with a pure, genuine smile. Then he suddenly became shy.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to leave again, are you?¡±


    Ardi froze.


    ¡°I heard what Dad said, but that¡¯s just nonsense! What does it mean, they don¡¯t like you living with us?¡± Erti clenched his little pink fists. Had Ardi really been that tiny once? ¡°I¡¯ll go to school in the fall, too, and I¡¯ll protect you. I won¡¯t let anyone hurt you!¡±


    He turned to Ardi and looked at him with a look... a look that was perhaps similar to the way Ardi had once looked at his own father.


    ¡°Just don¡¯t go, okay?¡± He whispered. ¡°I just feel like you want to go. But don¡¯t go... When you came, I suddenly felt so calm... and I know I won¡¯t have nightmares anymore... But don¡¯t stay just because of that. Just stay. Even for a little while. We are...¡±


    The longer Erti spoke, the more his eyes filled with tears, his nose ran with snot, and his words became less coherent. At one point, Ardi put an arm around his brother¡¯s shoulders and pulled him close.


    ¡°You my brother,¡± he said, feeling a lump forming in his throat. ¡°One tribe. One land. I be by you side. Not worry. I guard you against nightmare. I chase away fear.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t leave?¡± Erti repeated.


    ¡°No one but you can take care of Shaia and Ertan.¡±


    Ardi shook his head.


    ¡°I not.¡±


    Erti nodded and laid his head on Ardi¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Can I stay with you tonight? I won¡¯t be any trouble. I¡¯ll just sleep next to you, okay?¡±


    Ardi held his brother close and remembered Ergar¡¯s lessons. He¡¯d used to think that being an adult hunter meant making his own decisions. When to sleep. When to eat. What to do. But now, holding this small cub, unable to survive on its own in the human world, let alone in the Al§ãade, Ardi understood what it really meant to be an adult hunter.


    And he had almost made a mistake that would have betrayed everything his friends and mentors had taught him. He was responsible for his own. For his brother, even if he called another man ¡°father;¡± for his mother, even if she shared her bed and roof with that same man.


    It didn¡¯t change the fact that he had to take care of them.


    Such was the law of the hunt.


    ¡°I¡¯ll always be by your side, little brother,¡± Ardi whispered in the Fae language, though Erti was already asleep and likely didn¡¯t hear a thing. ¡°Forgive me for almost losing my courage.¡±


    He finished the bread, lifted Erti into his arms with some effort, and grunted as he carried him over to the furs, making sure he was comfortable and warm before lying down beside him. Well, it seemed like more adventures were waiting for him, damn it. He could only hope that this time he wouldn¡¯t have to fight a troll.

 Chapter 17 - New ways

    The tight collar of the linen shirt pressed against Ardi¡¯s neck, but he endured it. He had already tried to loosen it once, only to tear the seam. His mother hadn¡¯t said anything, but it was clear that she hadn¡¯t been happy about the extra work.


    Over the course of those few days that humans called ¡°weekends,¡± the hunter had figured out a few things. First, everyone in Kelly¡¯s house, and indeed in all of Evergale, had something to do. Some were hanging laundry, which was lightly steaming in the cold. Others cleared the streets of snow, brushed it off roofs and awnings, and hauled water from the lake, where young men sometimes helped with the ice harvest.


    And it seemed like not everyone had those strange Ley crystals that made the stove and oven work without wood, like in the sheriff¡¯s house. Ardi was constantly seeing people through the window, usually younger folk, carrying bundles of kindling or dismantling piles of wood to then carry heavy armloads of it inside.


    Even the little ones had found something to do ¡ª throwing crumpled snow at each other and making idols out of snow. Ardi couldn¡¯t understand the reason for such behavior, and he didn¡¯t want to ask. Despite his promise to his brother and his grandfather¡¯s words, he still longed to return to the mountain, afraid that if he left the attic room, he wouldn¡¯t be able to resist and would run away.


    But the sixth day had passed, the seventh had slipped by unnoticed, and Shaia was now leading him to the ¡°school¡± with the sheriff. It was that strange building surrounded by a fence, where black and white-clad, young and old people alike would all be waiting in a line to get in. But Ardi didn¡¯t get to meet any of them ¡ª they¡¯d left before dawn. The hunter still couldn¡¯t get used to the fact that he now wore ¡°boots¡± on his feet, ¡°underwear¡± under his pants and shirt, and a heavy, fur-lined coat instead of skins across his shoulders.


    Ardi had kept trying to argue that he was actually too warm and that the coat was definitely unnecessary. After all, these were the foothills. It didn¡¯t get cold here. But the townspeople, shivering with every passing gust of wind, had refused to accept such reasoning.


    At the entrance to the building, they were met by a gray-haired man in his forties. He was missing several teeth, his face was lined with deep and obviously unhealthy wrinkles, and his worn, crumpled, and occasionally torn clothes reeked of vinegar and alcohol. Ardi even sneezed at his scent.


    ¡°Everything will be fine, madame Brian,¡± even his voice had a kind of slurping sound to it. ¡°We¡¯ll keep an eye on Ardi and make sure no one bothers him, and that he doesn¡¯t... cause any trouble himself.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Teacher Kolski,¡± Shaia nodded slightly.


    Despite the man¡¯s repulsive appearance, his mother spoke to him with clear respect.


    ¡°Sheriff,¡± the teacher tipped his hat.


    ¡°Kolski,¡± Kelly nodded back.


    And while Shaia might not have noticed Kelly handing the drunkard a few rolled-up bills, Ardi even managed to catch their denomination. Two exes. That¡¯s what they called those strange pieces of paper the people of Evergale exchanged for... well, everything.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s go, boy,¡± the teacher patted him on the shoulder, and they turned out to be almost the same height.


    Ardi looked at the man and, by the Sleeping Spirits, it took all his strength not to grab him by the wrist and throw him somewhere far away. Guta would have been pleased. Ergar might even have paid him a compliment for doing such a noble deed, but his mother...


    Shaia kept twisting her shawl in her hands, and her lips were pressed together so tightly that they¡¯d formed a thin, pale line.


    ¡°I order,¡± Ardi smiled at her, making the teacher tremble. ¡°Not worry. Hunter not harm fool youths. Everything order. I will in den when possible.¡±


    The teacher turned to the sheriff, oily eyes wide open, but he just shrugged at him.


    Shaia smiled tensely and nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll be waiting,¡± was all she said.


    As Kelly led his mother away, she kept turning back to look at Ardi, barely hiding her tears. The hunter still wasn¡¯t used to how soft Shaia had become. He remembered her as firm and, in some ways, even stern. The kind of person who could climb up to the high peaks of the Al§ãade the day after giving birth, braving the fierce wind and cold.


    But now she¡¯d simply disappeared around the corner, leaving only a faint scent of blackberries in her wake. But even that was soon overpowered by the stench of alcohol.


    ¡°Please, Hector¡¯s son, for the sake of your father¡¯s memory,¡± the teacher hiccupped. ¡°Try not to eat anyone on your first day, okay? Face of Light¡¯s tears, what a way to start the week...¡±


    With that, Kolski led Ardi down a wide corridor. Here, the walls were covered with sheets of yellowed paper that had drawings and pictures on them, a huge map reaching up to the ceiling, and several chalkboards. Someone had carefully written the schedules of several classes on them.


    Even after the railroad had brought in new settlers, Evergale had remained a small town, so there weren¡¯t many students at the school. For example, Ardi, being twelve years old, was starting in the sixth grade, where there were fourteen others besides him. But they were probably just now waking up and washing, getting ready for the new day.


    Kolski interrupted Ardi¡¯s musings. He suddenly stopped and yanked on a door handle, almost tearing it from its hinges.


    ¡°Get in,¡± he said curtly. ¡°I warned Teacher Tenebry. She teaches arithmetic. She won¡¯t be too hard on you at first. Though you can¡¯t string two words together, so who knows who will be tormenting whom.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t understand why words had to be strung together, but he went inside and immediately sniffed the air, as his forest friends had taught him. It smelled of chalk, flour, flowers, and fear. Looking around, the hunter couldn¡¯t fathom what could¡¯ve possibly frightened the locals. Surely it wasn¡¯t the wide, somewhat worn desks, the round stools, or the two boards. One hung right by the entrance, still bearing the marks of past lessons. The other, at the back of the classroom, doubled as the doors to a rather spacious cabinet.


    There was nothing else here but the clock and the chandelier.


    Still sniffing and looking around, Ardi found an empty spot. In the far corner, by the window, one of the desks looked less worn, and the scent coming from the seat was less powerful than the others.


    People sat here much less often, and apparently it had something to do with the hole in the wall through which a playful wind was coming in. Ardi was only too happy about that.


    ¡°Well,¡± Kolski scratched his head, ¡°have a nice day.¡±


    He turned and left, the sound of his footsteps fading toward the stairs, along with his grumbling:


    ¡°Animals don¡¯t belong in school... Fucking Sheriff...¡±


    Ardi wasn¡¯t offended by the words. He didn¡¯t understand the townspeople, and they didn¡¯t understand him. It was just like the first few months of Ardi¡¯s life in the Al§ãade. It would¡¯ve been foolish to expect anything different when one finds themselves on unfamiliar trails...


    Ardi shook his head.


    He had to get used to it.


    At least for the sake of his brother and his mother.


    He was no longer on the trails. This was an unfamiliar s-i-t-u-a-t-i-o-n. That seemed to be the word his grandfather had used.


    Ardi sighed and struggled with the clasp on the bag Shaia had sewn for him. It was made of sturdy brown cloth, lined with leather strips in places for durability, and decorated with symbols that could only be found in the sacred lands of the Matabar. Ardi hadn¡¯t known their meaning before, but looking at them now brought warmth and a touch of sadness to his heart.


    He pulled out a thick book with large, golden letters on the cover that read: ¡°Arithmetic Textbook, 6th Grade, General Education Course.¡± Next to it, he placed a notebook and a jar of thick, black water ink. You had to dip a pen with an iron nib into it, then turn a small gear to draw the ink in. Then you could write, adjusting the thickness of the letters through the pressure you applied.


    In theory, it was not complicated at all. But in practice, Ardi had smeared ink all over his hands and face during his days in the attic, and he still hadn¡¯t managed to write anything decent. And he loved to write. Atta¡¯nha had often asked him to copy something from the Fae¡¯s scrolls and books for her. The she-wolf had assured him that it would help him learn better, because not only his eyes but also his hands would then remember the letters and words. But back then, Ardi had used to write with a clever stick that left barely visible, gray threads on any surface. Even on water.


    It had resembled the pencil that Shaia had carefully sharpened and placed next to his pen, only it was more convenient and durable. At least it hadn¡¯t broken when Ardi had squeezed it too hard.


    Satisfied that all his supplies were in place, Ardi blinked and adjusted the coat lying next to him on the desk. He couldn¡¯t figure out where to put it, and eventually decided that the situation would resolve itself somehow.


    Minutes passed, and Ardi watched them through the slow movements of the clock¡¯s hands. Soon, a warm sunrise blazed across the prairies and steppes to the east, filling the sky with the colors of spring flowers and promising the townspeople that winter would eventually end. Sunbeams danced carelessly along the glass, slipping into the classroom and twirling with dust motes that were clearly visible.


    Ardi sniffed the air and then turned sharply to the window beside him.


    ¡°Oh,¡± a familiar voice could be heard, followed by the sound of a fall, the crunch of snow, and some hurried voices.


    ¡°Neviy! Maybe you should stop sneaking buns from your mother!¡±


    ¡°And maybe try to eat something else for a change!¡±


    ¡°Kevin is just as big!¡±


    ¡°But at least he never suggests trying out stupid ideas!¡±


    Ardi moved closer to the window and saw a group of youngsters scrambling around in the snow below, two of whom he recognized. One was slightly chubby, solidly built, and dressed in baggy clothes. His name was Neviy. And the one standing a little apart from the tangle of arms and legs was slim, with a long braid, bright eyes, and slightly rosy cheeks ¡ª that was Anna.


    If the hunter had understood things correctly, the second girl trying to free herself from the pile of boys was Olga. A strange name. Ardi had never heard it before. And her hair, the color of autumn leaves, and her eyes, which resembled the summer sky, were even stranger. Taller than Anna, she helped a small, skinny boy to his feet. His skin was the color of wet sandstone and looked oddly dry, his thick hair hung around his head like raven feathers, and his thin lips were pressed together in annoyance. He, like Olga, looked like a stranger to the Al§ãade, so Ardi identified him as Faruh. He figured it was a safe guess.


    Soon, Neviy and, by process of elimination, Kevin, also got up from the snow. Ardi rubbed his eyes in surprise. If not for the scar on his cheek, Kevin would¡¯ve looked exactly like Neviy. The only other difference was that his clothes looked a bit neater ¡ª he probably wore them more carefully. Otherwise, except for that scar, they were identical in appearance and build. It was too bad that Ardi couldn¡¯t really take in their scent properly due to the snow and the presence of several other youngsters down below ¡ª maybe they even smelled the same.


    ¡°Well,¡± the dark-skinned boy finished brushing the snow from his fur and turned to Neviy. ¡°Have you seen-¡±


    ¡°Guys,¡± Anna called to them, nodding toward the window.


    She and Ardi had been looking into each other¡¯s eyes for the last few seconds. The school was on a small rise, so the window was about the height of the second floor. And apparently, the boys had to stand on each other¡¯s shoulders to see anything.


    ¡°Hm,¡± Neviy scratched his head again. ¡°You¡¯re Ardi, right?¡±


    ¡°I Ardi, yes,¡± the hunter replied calmly.


    The group exchanged glances and then Anna pointed upwards.


    ¡°We can¡¯t hear you,¡± she explained, then added, ¡°There¡¯s a latch up there; unhook it and lift the window.¡±


    They couldn¡¯t hear him? Oh... right... Human hearing.


    Ardi examined the window and indeed found a latch in the middle of the frame. Removing the small metal hook from its indent, Ardi pushed the window gently, but it only squeaked mournfully in response. Fortunately, it didn¡¯t break.


    ¡°No, no,¡± Anna shook her head. ¡°Grab the frame and pull it up.¡±


    She made a few movements that reminded Ardi of his mother hanging laundry up on a line. He frowned and looked at the window again. The frame was divided into two wooden squares, with cloudy glass trapped inside them. The lower square overlapped the upper one slightly, and there were small indentations in the walls. Having apparently understood the mechanism, Ardi pulled on the frame, and it slid up the grooves, rising upwards.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Neviy managed to say. ¡°We thought you were completely wild.¡±


    The golden-haired girl slapped her friend on the back of the head. He hiccupped a bit in surprise.


    ¡°Hello,¡± the dark-skinned boy waved a little shyly. ¡°My name is Faruh. And this is-¡±


    But he was immediately interrupted by the same girl who had just slapped Neviy.


    ¡°Olga,¡± she introduced herself, confirming Ardi¡¯s suspicions.


    ¡°Neviy,¡± the chubby boy grumbled, then pointed to his silent twin. ¡°The quiet one is my brother.¡±


    Brother... Perhaps humans had different kinds of brothers? Erti, for example, looked a bit like Ardi, but he was certainly not an exact copy of him.


    ¡°Anna,¡± the girl with the rouge finished their introductions. He was pretty certain that that was what they called those spots on her cheeks.


    The hunter remained silent. He had already introduced himself.


    The group wasn¡¯t in a hurry to continue the conversation, either, obviously feeling uncomfortable. Well, at least they didn¡¯t smell of fear, and that was good.


    ¡°Sorry if we distracted you,¡± Anna continued, not breaking eye contact. Among animals, this was considered a challenge, but among humans, it was a sign of good manners. It was one of those many differences between two worlds... ¡°We were told you were coming today. We wanted to go to class, but the Sheriff and your mother met us along the way. They warned us that the school is locked from the inside and no one can get in until classes start.¡±


    ¡°Not the best idea, by the way,¡± Faruh grumbled, shifting from foot to foot. ¡°It¡¯s not summer. For the whole school to be stuck outside...¡±


    The hunter let his words slide by.


    ¡°You say little truth,¡± Ardi narrowed his eyes slightly. ¡°You say something lie.¡±


    The group exchanged glances, and then Faruh whispered, thinking he was unheard:


    ¡°Even my grandfather speaks Galessian better, and he spent his whole life in Al¡¯Zafir!¡±


    ¡°Shh,¡± Neviy hissed at him. ¡°See how closely he¡¯s watching you... he can probably hear us.¡±


    Seeing this, Anna rolled her eyes for some reason, then smiled lightly and sincerely.


    ¡°You are very quick-witted. Just like Erti! When Mama and I go to madame Brian for clothes, I always leave puzzles for Erti. Sometimes, he manages to solve them even though he doesn¡¯t go to school yet!¡±


    Ardi nodded. This time, she was telling the truth... or so it seemed. Even though Ergar had left him with the full power of a Matabar ¡ª at least as much as his half-blood nature allowed him to have ¡ª it had always felt as if the earth of the Al§ãade itself had been helping him. So, when it came to Okta, he¡¯d always been able to tell when she was lying, but now...


    ¡°Your mother asked us to take care of you,¡± Olga said distantly, even coldly.


    And that was true. If Ardi wasn¡¯t already an independent hunter, he would have been offended by such disregard for his abilities, but humans had their own rules. In their eyes, he was still a youth. And he would remain one for the next four winters. And so, Shaia was simply taking care of him. In her own way.


    ¡°And we were really curious,¡± Neviy¡¯s eyes sparkled as he put his fists on his hips. ¡°And you¡¯re not as scary as the stories say. Your pupils aren¡¯t vertical, you don¡¯t look like a beast, and your fangs...¡±


    Ardi grinned broadly.


    ¡°...aren¡¯t very big,¡± Neviy finished the sentence without his former enthusiasm. ¡°Well, at least they¡¯re not huge.¡±


    ¡°¡®Not huge fangs¡¯ are the fangs of us normal humans,¡± Faruh whispered to him. ¡°But his... Those are real fangs.¡±


    The friends exchanged glances, then looked back at Ardi. He, in turn, was calmly studying the group of youngsters below. His sharp gaze didn¡¯t miss the fact that under their black jackets, they wore wool vests, not counting their linen shirts and, obviously, at least two layers of underwear. It seemed to him like people liked to wear so many layers of clothing that they could be peeled like onions.


    ¡°School will be opening soon,¡± Anna was either the bravest or the most responsible of them, because she spoke up again. ¡°We¡¯ll try to get to the classroom first, but if someone beats us to it and says something unpleasant to you, please don¡¯t pay attention to them, okay?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Neviy chimed in. ¡°Everyone in town knows that the school would¡¯ve been half empty if not for your father. And when they built this building, they even thought of naming it after him.¡±


    Only then did Ardi remember that, six years ago, when he had seen that raid go down through Ergar¡¯s eyes, the Evergale school hadn¡¯t been here on the outskirts of town, but among the other buildings, right across from the sheriff¡¯s office and, incidentally, the local jail.


    ¡°All right,¡± Ardi nodded briefly.


    His future classmates waved at him ¡ª except for Olga ¡ª and ran through the snow toward the porch, grabbing their strange, brown leather bags as they did so. Ardi lowered the window and looked at the clock. If he was remembering the meaning of the numbers and hands correctly, there were only five minutes left until seven o¡¯clock, when classes would begin.


    Soon, his suspicions were confirmed by the voices of adults reminding the children of the rules of conduct in the building, telling them about lunch and classes. But their words were drowned out by the ringing laughter, the stomping of feet, and the buzz of older students discussing everything from their part-time jobs to matters of the heart.


    Ardi¡¯s breathing quickened and he covered his ears with his hands. His head was spinning and everything was blurring before his eyes.


    Never before had he been in the middle of such a riot of sounds, smells and new sensations. The forest, even in the busiest of areas, had never been so loud and vibrant. Maybe only anthills could compare, but Ardi had never been in one until today.


    Trying to calm his pounding heart and the goosebumps marching down his neck, he did as Skusty had taught him, gradually cutting the threads of new smells, muffling the sounds of unfamiliar voices, and pushing deep into the recesses of his mind the images that his senses had conjured up.


    There was no game here that needed to be tracked, so noticing every little detail and picking up even the faintest notes of scents in the rare gusts of wind would do him no good. And there were no hunters whose trails he had to avoid.


    This was a different world.


    And Ardi was slowly immersing himself in it.


    He had no idea how long he had been sitting like this, but at some point, someone tapped him gently on the shoulder.


    Ardi opened his eyes and realized that he was sitting in the company of about fifteen humans. There was one adult and fourteen children. The latter sat at desks already surrounded by textbooks and notebooks. The writing on the blackboard had been replaced by other words, and a tall, stately woman with a stern gaze and strange, iron-framed glasses perched on her nose, was looking directly at him.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been sitting like that for half the lesson,¡± whispered Anna, who, it turned out, was sitting next to him.


    ¡°Half a lesson¡­¡± What did that mean?


    ¡°Student Egobar,¡± the woman in black and white school clothes addressed him. ¡°If you refuse to pay attention in my class, you might as well go for a walk and not incite the other children.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t understand some of those words, but he got the general meaning.


    ¡°I sorry,¡± he apologized sincerely, remembering how much his back had ached after Ergar¡¯s tail lashes, which he¡¯d given him whenever he¡¯d noticed that his student was distracted and not paying attention. ¡°I was-¡±


    ¡°Excuses don¡¯t do a man any good, student Egobar,¡± the teacher interrupted him, then took a long, thin wooden stick from her desk and pointed it at the blackboard. ¡°What do you see here, student?¡±


    Ardi almost blurted out ¡°a stick,¡± but his quick thinking told him the woman was pointing at something. But what? His hunter¡¯s knowledge was only good enough for him to make out a string of numbers mixed with some dashes, dots, question marks, and other symbols.


    ¡°Digits,¡± Ardi replied after a moment. ¡°And formulas. I no more knowledge.¡±


    The teacher¡¯s eyebrows rose slightly. As did Anna¡¯s.


    ¡°Well,¡± she cleared her throat. ¡°That¡¯s better than I expected... What you see before you is a fractional equation with one unknown, student Egobar. It¡¯s a new topic we just started today.¡±


    ¡°What unknown?¡± Ardi asked.


    One of the boys in the class let out a short, barely audible laugh, but his neighbors immediately silenced him.


    ¡°This symbol,¡± the teacher pointed to some lines resembling a letter, ¡°indicates the presence of an unknown in the equation. It must be calculated.¡±


    To be calculated. A symbol. Within the digits and formulas¡­


    Were these people sure they hadn¡¯t been cursed by the Ley and lost their minds? Why else would they add letters to numbers?


    The teacher tapped the board with her stick, then sighed slightly.


    ¡°Sit down, student Egobar, and try to be fully present in my class, and not just physically, either. After all, no one exempted you from the final exams at the end of the year, and if you intend to find a job after school that pays more than mucking out stables does, I think it¡¯s in your best interest not to ruin your academic record.¡±


    Academic record? Had she just uttered a curse in the demons¡¯ language? All right, maybe Ardi was just trying to amuse himself because he didn¡¯t like not understanding anything.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, eliciting another stifled laugh.


    Ardi sat down and grabbed his pen. Even though he didn¡¯t understand anything, that didn¡¯t stop him from copying everything down, as Atta¡¯nha had taught him, and reading it carefully later. If necessary, he would read it several times and...


    The hunter looked at his pen, then at the ink, then at his notebook and, putting the ungrateful tool aside, picked up the pencil. It was just as Guta had taught him: trying to cross a raging river right away would be foolish. It was far better to start with a stream and learn in shallow water. So...


    ¡°Achoo,¡± Anna covered up a sneeze.


    Ardi looked at the girl, and his sharp eyes didn¡¯t miss the blue hue of her nails, her pale lips, and the slight tremor that occasionally shook her. Ardi reached for his coat, but then realized that Anna was sitting right where his outerwear had been.


    He looked around and noticed that all the students had come to the classroom in shoes that were too light for winter. So, they must have changed them somewhere. For an experienced hunter who knew how to read the behavior of others, this task was much easier than ¡°a fractional equation with one unknown.¡±


    The school probably had a place where the younglings changed, but they were unlikely to have taken his coat there. Which meant...


    Ardi got up and walked over to the cupboard with the chalk-covered doors. He opened them slightly, then smiled as he pulled his coat out from the depths of the old furniture.


    ¡°Student Egobar!¡± A scolding shout, accompanied by the teacher¡¯s stick pounding on the board, interrupted Ardi¡¯s triumphant moment. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing? I don¡¯t remember you asking permission to get up, and I don¡¯t remember granting it!¡±


    Ardi was so surprised that he almost dropped his coat. What did this strange woman want? Perhaps he had misunderstood her?


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°What wrong?¡± Ardi asked.


    ¡°Your behavior, student Egobar!¡± The teacher was filled with such deep indignation that she seemed slightly out of breath. ¡°What are you doing? This is not your mount... not your home! Sit down immediately! And next time, ask my permission before getting up, or you¡¯ll be punished!¡±


    Ardi closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, in and out. Just like Guta had taught him...


    She was human and didn¡¯t understand that her words could¡¯ve deeply insulted any other hunter, who would then have had to fight her to the death on the hunting trails. But here, Ardi reminded himself, there were no trails, no hunters. Only strange and incomprehensible rules and customs that Ardi hadn¡¯t yet understood.


    If he took her words about ¡°asking permission¡± and ¡°being punished¡± to heart and started a fight, it wouldn¡¯t do anyone any good. Maybe it would satisfy his pride, but it certainly would not help Shaia and his brother.


    ¡°Forgive I,¡± Ardi said reluctantly. ¡°I not know you ways.¡±


    But he couldn¡¯t bring himself to look away from the teacher¡¯s brown eyes ¡ª he simply couldn¡¯t bear such humiliation. And when Ardi took a step forward, the teacher flinched and pressed her back against the wall, her lips parted slightly. She did this unconsciously, because a moment later, she regained her stately posture and lifted her chin, but she still smelled of fear.


    Ardi sighed.


    It was as Skusty would say: ¡°Your cedar head is empty.¡±


    Returning to his desk, Ardi covered the stunned Anna with his coat, then sat down, picked up his pencil, and, ignoring the grave silence, began to carefully copy down the numbers, figures, and symbols that were still keeping their secrets hidden from him.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± a voice whispered beside him.


    Ardi turned and saw Anna¡¯s eyes. She didn¡¯t look away or hide them. And unlike most of those present, who now smelled like the teacher ¡ª of fear ¡ª she wasn¡¯t afraid at all. She simply wrapped herself more tightly in his coat, sighed, and smiled.


    The hunter¡¯s heart skipped a beat, then another, then began to pound as if he were chasing a particularly frisky mountain goat.


    He nodded slowly, then returned to his writing.


    The rest of the lesson flew by faster than a diving hawk, but unfortunately, Ardi only managed to learn the teacher¡¯s name ¡ª Tenebry ¡ª during the entire hour. Before she left the classroom, she assigned them homework. And no, it wasn¡¯t something you could touch. It was just a few ¡°problems in the textbook¡± that ¡°had to be solved by the fifth day or you could end up with a stake.¡±


    Ardi seriously doubted that the teacher would actually drive a sharpened stake into someone¡¯s chest, but who knew what these people¡¯s customs were actually like. Atta¡¯nha had said that the human tribe still believed that this was the way to put a vampire to rest. And when Ardi had asked her what the actual way to do it was, the she-wolf had simply told him to never cross paths with bloodsuckers, and if that ever happened, that he should run away.


    As soon as Teacher Tenebry left the classroom, a young man entered. He looked to be about nineteen, maybe a little older ¡ª observing townsfolk from the attic window had helped Ardi start to get a sense of human ages.


    Short, clean-shaven, with sleepy eyes and slightly dirty sleeves, he placed a briefcase ¡ª that was what such a bag was called ¡ª on the desk and greeted them.


    ¡°Good morning, students,¡± his voice was soft and slightly sweet, like molasses. ¡°Let me introduce myself to our newcomer ¡ª I am Teacher Parnas, and I teach History of the Empire and the World.¡±


    Ardi sighed in relief. At least he knew something about this, thanks to the she-wolf.


    ¡°Don¡¯t we get a break?¡± One of the boys asked.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Teacher Parnas shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ll have ten minutes, as usual. I¡¯ll just be keeping you company today.¡±


    With that, he sat down at his desk and pulled out a scroll similar to the ones Mr. Molinier had been selling. Thanks to his mother and Kelly, Ardi now knew that the man was called a postman and that this kind of scroll was called a newspaper.


    ¡°He¡¯s probably here because of you,¡± Anna whispered as she put her arithmetic textbook into her briefcase and pulled out another identical one, except its title had changed from ¡°Arithmetic¡± to ¡°General History.¡± Ardi quickly searched his bag for a similar one. ¡°I mean, the teachers usually go to the staff room and we¡¯re left alone. That¡¯s during short breaks, of course. And during the long ones, you can go for a walk or visit the cafeteria. By the way, they¡¯re serving biscuits for lunch today. Do you like biscuits?¡±


    Ardi frowned.


    ¡°Biscuits?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Anna nodded, causing her braid to slip from her shoulder and lie across her desk, which, for some reason, made Ardi¡¯s heart skip a beat again. ¡°They¡¯re sweet rolls sprinkled with powdered sugar. Madame Foster made them especially for your arrival.¡±


    ¡°Foster,¡± Ardi repeated, then looked at Neviy and Kevin. They were whispering something while occasionally glancing at the hunter and his new friend. ¡°Their mother?¡±


    Anna looked a little surprised but remained calm.


    ¡°How did you know? By scent?¡±


    With any other person, even his brother, Ardi would never have answered this question. He wasn¡¯t a teacher, meant to instruct others in the ways of the hunt, but... For some reason, he wanted to answer this girl.


    ¡°They wrinkle noses same way when laugh,¡± he explained, pointing at Neviy¡¯s face. ¡°Same eye shape elder woman, and same phrase. When teacher enter, brothers joke politic unpleasant. Madame Foster joke same with Mr. Molin-¡±


    Anna¡¯s hand gently covered Ardi¡¯s mouth and, to his surprise, he shivered and got goosebumps.


    ¡°You¡¯re very observant, Ardi,¡± Anna quickly removed her hand. ¡°I suppose it makes sense, but... don¡¯t say anything about Mrs. Foster and the postman, okay?¡±


    ¡°Secret?¡±


    Anna smiled a little sadly and somewhat distantly.


    ¡°A secret that the whole town knows, except for Emilia¡¯s husband ¡ª that¡¯s Mrs. Foster¡¯s name, by the way. And her children ¡ª Neviy and Kevin ¡ª don¡¯t know either. Or maybe they do, but they pretend not to. So... let¡¯s not talk about it. Especially around them.¡±


    Ardi frowned. On the one hand, he understood all the words Anna had said, but on the other, he didn¡¯t understand their meaning at all. Humans weren¡¯t wolves or swans ¡ª they didn¡¯t choose a mate for life. Even Matabar couldn¡¯t always boast that. So, if Mrs. Foster wasn¡¯t happy with her mate, she could simply refuse him.


    ¡°Complicate.¡±


    ¡°People often are,¡± Anna glanced quickly at the brothers, then took Ardi¡¯s notebook. ¡°You wrote everything down correctly, but you didn¡¯t solve anything?¡±


    ¡°Not know how solve,¡± Ardi wilted. For some reason, he didn¡¯t like to admit to this girl that he couldn¡¯t do something. ¡°But I figure. In future. I definitely figure. This today thought. I not put it in tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Anna agreed. ¡°I¡¯ll help you this evening.¡±


    ¡°You? Help? Evening human children be home.¡±


    Anna turned to him in surprise and asked, ¡°Don¡¯t you know?¡±


    Ardi shrugged. There was so much he didn¡¯t know in the human world that if he started to list it, it would take several spirit steps... several days for him to finish.


    ¡°Sheriff Brian has arranged with my father for you to work on our farm.¡±


    Right. Kelly had went to visit the Polskih farm to find Ardi a job there. It was a funny coincidence that Anna had turned out to be the daughter of the man Ardi hadn¡¯t had the best first impression of. Well, it would be a lesson for him to apply in the future: don¡¯t trust words spoken about someone behind their back, especially on the street. Or maybe the lesson was to not judge a man by his daughter and...


    Sleeping Spirits! How complicated humans¡¯ lives were!


    ¡°Now, students,¡± Teacher Parnas clapped his hands and walked over to the board, where he had a map hanging from barely noticeable hooks. ¡°In our last lesson, we began with the expansion of the Kingdom of Gales, which laid the foundations for the birth of our Empire.¡±


    ¡°And you also told us a story about Ivar the Fool!¡± Someone shouted from behind their desk.


    ¡°Not the Fool, but Ivar the Healer,¡± Parnas corrected, then winked. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t change much... Anyway, let¡¯s move on to today¡¯s topic. Write this title down: ¡®The influence of Star Magic on Gales¡¯ military expansion.¡¯¡±


    Ardi spent the next half hour in a desperate battle against sleep. The hunter even began to suspect that Teacher Parnas possessed the knowledge of an Aean¡¯Hane and had somehow enchanted him. But he still diligently copied everything Teacher Parnas wrote down as best he could with his clumsy fingers. Unlike the arithmetic teacher, Parnas spoke more to himself than to the students.


    Anyway, hearing about how the territorial claims of the Kingdom of Gales had extended to the Kingdom of Ectassus, which had occupied most of the western continent, and how these claims had depended directly on the number and quality of Star Mages, one of the main combat units of Gales...


    Not only was it boring, but Ardi didn¡¯t even understand most of the words.


    All he knew about Ectassus from the she-wolf¡¯s books was that his ancestors with other Firstborn had lived there until the kingdom had fallen during their war with the humans. No more attention was paid to it. Apparently, it was not very important.


    Only occasionally did the teacher break up the monotony of his lecture with short questions:


    ¡°Where did Star Magic come from?¡±


    And despite there being fifteen students, only a few hands usually went up. Mostly Anna¡¯s and another boy¡¯s, who had hair kissed by fire. As Ardi had found out, the only way to speak in class was to raise your hand first and then wait for the teacher to address you.


    ¡°Go ahead, student Polskih,¡± the teacher requested, quickly adding, ¡°but please don¡¯t stand up or you¡¯ll drop your coat.¡±


    Anna cleared her throat and replied.


    ¡°From the eastern continent, three centuries before the fall of Ectassus.¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± the teacher nodded. ¡°As you know from the history of the ancient world, before the first travelers from what is now the Republic of Castilia arrived on these shores, the eastern continent was considered a legend.¡±


    Ardi almost blurted out that in Atta¡¯nha¡¯s books, the lands beyond the islands were still akin to children¡¯s fairy tales.


    ¡°And why did Star Magic become so widespread?¡±


    Again, Anna raised her hand.


    ¡°What, no one else? No one at all?¡± In response, he got only silence from the others. ¡°All right, student Polskih, but remember, I¡¯ll only give you credit for ten correct answers, not five.¡±


    Anna didn¡¯t seem too concerned by these words, whatever they meant.


    ¡°Star Magic has many advantages over Firstborn magic.¡±


    The teacher nodded and waved his hand encouragingly.


    ¡°Can you elaborate on that, student Polskih?¡±


    ¡°First of all, it doesn¡¯t require any innate talent, and anyone can learn it-¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± the red-haired boy interrupted. ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re all wearing cloaks and epaulets. Don¡¯t forget, Anna, that without highly concentrated Ley crystals or a magical beast core, we can only learn the theory.¡±


    ¡°Student Kenbish,¡± the teacher said quietly. ¡°You¡¯re right to point out the drawbacks of this art, but let me remind you that in my class, it¡¯s not customary to interrupt your classmates, especially when no one is addressing you.¡±


    The boy named Kenbish just snorted.


    ¡°Sure, sure, we ordinary people,¡± he emphasized that last word, ¡°are not allowed to do such a thing, but that non-human over there, just today-¡±


    ¡°Kenbish!¡± The teacher exclaimed, picking up a large ruler off the table. ¡°Your hands, Kenbish!¡±


    The boy pursed his lips, held out both hands, and then the classroom echoed with several sharp, stinging slaps. Ardi was taken aback at first, but when he saw the other children treating it as something normal, he relaxed. Apparently, it served the same purpose as Ergar¡¯s tail.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave a note for your parents, Kenbish,¡± despite his young age, the teacher¡¯s words were stern and as hard as iron, like hammer blows landing on a nail head. ¡°And may the Face of Light help you if you don¡¯t deliver it.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Teacher Parnas,¡± the boy hissed, rubbing his reddened palms.


    An awkward silence hung in the classroom after that, albeit only briefly.


    ¡°Ahem... continue, student Polskih.¡±


    ¡°Yes... of course. So, Star Magic doesn¡¯t require any innate talent... I already said that... And it¡¯s much faster to learn how to use, and over nearly a thousand years, countless applications have been invented for it. Not to mention that it¡¯s simply more powerful, which is why the human states expanded so quickly.¡±


    The teacher nodded, then turned back to the blackboard, occasionally casting disapproving glances at the redhead.


    ¡°An excellent answer,¡± he praised Anna. ¡°I would only add that we¡¯ve achieved our current progress, as well as liberation from the yoke of Ectassus and the enslavement of the human race by the Firstborn, all of that thanks to Star Magic and humanity¡¯s mastery of the Ley Lines and their crystallized form. But... Oh, how time flies during an interesting discussion... Let¡¯s save this topic for the next lesson. For homework, read the corresponding chapter and don¡¯t forget that next week, we will have a test on the ¡®Prerequisites for the Creation of the Empire¡¯ section in the book. Please prepare for it. And now I¡¯ll hand you over to your chemistry teacher.¡±


    As Parnas left the classroom, an elderly woman entered. Her gray hair was tied back with a red ribbon, and instead of a briefcase, she carried a small, clinking doctor¡¯s bag. She didn¡¯t seem very happy to be there.


    Neither did the students.


    ¡°What story Ivar the Healer?¡± Ardi asked Anna. ¡°I remember such words from teacher.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve never heard it before?¡± She almost fell off her chair. ¡°Oh, right, sorry, I didn¡¯t think. Where would you have even heard it... He¡¯s one of the characters in a story. Nobody knows if he¡¯s real or not, but he always got into ridiculous situations. We even have a saying, although it is not very popular... Don¡¯t act like Ivar.¡±


    ¡°Like Ivar,¡± Ardi repeated, committing it to memory.


    ¡°There¡¯s a story about how he tried to cure a boar of rabies...¡± Anna laughed, then blushed in embarrassment. ¡°But you should ask Neviy about that.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t tell you the story,¡± the girl shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not very... appropriate.¡±


    The chemistry class was much quieter. Maybe because the students had gotten used to the presence of a newcomer, maybe because of the subject itself ¡ª it reminded Ardi of the she-wolf¡¯s science of mixing various plants, roots, herbs and fruits ¡ª which at first seemed quite straightforward, but as soon as examples appeared on the blackboard, Ardi, and he wasn¡¯t alone in this, immediately got completely lost.


    If in arithmetic, numbers and figures were mixed with letters, here it was exactly the opposite. Only occasionally did some numbers appear among the multitudes of letters and symbols, signs and dashes.


    Ardi diligently copied everything down, as much as he could. Someday, he would definitely figure it all out, but apparently not today. When he looked at his notebook at the end of the lesson and realized that he couldn¡¯t even remember the teacher¡¯s name, he decided that it wouldn¡¯t be tomorrow either...


    After chemistry came geography, taught by none other than the arithmetic teacher. But this time, she was armed not with chalk and a stick, but with a map and a pointer. Or was that the same stick as before? This lesson seemed to be about the islands between the two continents. Ardi listened attentively ¡ª he had always liked stories about island nations. He had read many tales in the she-wolf¡¯s library about the lives of the inhabitants of the Shallow Seas.


    And now he¡¯d also learned that there had once been a continent there, but it had sunk due to a terrible catastrophe, creating the islands and their rather amusingly arranged states. There were two Grand Duchies ¡ª Foria and Grainia ¡ª and their neighbors, Olikzasia, Lintelar, and the mysterious, remote land known as Makingia. According to legends, the exiled Aean¡¯Hane, who practiced the dark arts, lived there.


    Ardi had once tried to ask the she-wolf about the Dark Names, and that was the only time he¡¯d ever seen true fury in his mentor¡¯s eyes. She¡¯d forbidden him from ever so much as thinking about that art.


    The teacher said a few words about each of them, explaining their main ¡°export and import items,¡± whatever that meant.


    And with that, the first part of the day was over, and the students started heading for the cafeteria. However, a few people in white aprons with yellow stains entered the classroom, intercepting them. They were carrying trays of plates and rolls with them.


    ¡°Are we prisoners today?¡± Kenbish muttered.


    ¡°Kenbish,¡± said Teacher Tenebry calmly. ¡°Save your jokes for after school.¡±


    The boy just mumbled something and took a spoon. While the others eagerly devoured the meat broth and followed it up with fresh bread, Ardi struggled to figure out how to do it. The spoon wouldn¡¯t sit right in his hand and kept trying to escape to some unknown destination. And even when he did manage to use it, the hunter would burn his tongue on the hot liquid.


    ¡°You have to blow on it,¡± Anna whispered, demonstrating what she meant.


    Ardi nodded and tried to do so, but things ended up going almost the same as they had with Shaia¡¯s cooking. The only difference was that the soup wasn¡¯t a stew ¡ª it didn¡¯t splatter all over the table, but ran back into the bowl.


    The hunter was disheartened as he looked at the smiling girl. He thought she would laugh at him or be disgusted, but Anna just put her spoon down, took Ardi¡¯s hand, cleverly folded his fingers, and put the spoon between them. She scooped up some soup, brought it to her face, and blew gently on it, pursing her lips.


    Ardi should have been paying attention to what had just happened, but all he remembered was the scent of her hair. It smelled like heather and honey.


    A little later, they brought them some buns. Each student received one along with white cloths. These were called napkins. They also got a cup of tea. It wasn¡¯t as delicious as what Atta¡¯nha had made for him, but decent.


    When lunch was over, the students had some more time to rest, and then a familiar man came into the classroom. He was still rumpled, grumpy, and reeking of alcohol.


    He was carrying two textbooks and nothing else.


    ¡°First lesson ¡ª reading,¡± he said in a gray, indifferent tone. ¡°Second lesson ¡ª writing. Next week is the dictation and the reading exam. Today ¡ª hand in your poems. Who¡¯s ready first?¡±


    Poems? They wrote those here? Ardi frowned. He wasn¡¯t even ready to write a stanza, let alone a whole passage! He had read a few of those, as the she-wolf had called them, songs without melody. He hadn¡¯t been particularly moved, but Atta¡¯nha had said that every educated Sidhe, even if they were human, should know a few. Of course, he hadn¡¯t managed to memorize them completely, but he remembered the general idea. That had been enough for the she-wolf and-


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Anna whispered to him. ¡°You only need to memorize a small part.¡±


    Ardi jumped.


    Could she read his mind, too? No, that was silly, of course.


    Just like during the previous lessons, Anna raised her hand and was immediately given the floor.


    ¡°This is the introduction to ¡®A Poem of Wizards and Stars¡¯ by N.K.¡± she stated, then closed her eyes and began to recite from memory:


    Once upon a time, in the mountains high


    Whisperers of the past did roam and fly


    Through forests deep, and valleys wide


    With magic right by their side


    They walked the path less traveled


    With spells and incantations, they did unravel


    The laws of nature and bend the rules


    With ancient wisdom, they were still the fools


    They were the guardians of the land


    And protectors of the wild strand


    With their magic staves in hand


    They kept the balance undisturbed and bland


    But as time passed and the world moved on


    Their magic faded and their kind was gone


    But the stories of their deeds live on


    In the whispers of the wind, in the mountains and beyond.


    ¡°Excellent, student Polskih, sit down. Anyone else?¡± The teacher praised her in that same blank voice, then put on his glasses, as they were called, and opened the register. ¡°Well, if there are no volunteers, we¡¯ll go down the list.¡±


    For the rest of the class, the teacher tested the students. Ardi thought that everyone would recite the passages as easily and beautifully as Anna had, but besides her, only the red-haired Kenbish managed it. The others were not so great: some forgot their lines, some got confused, some recited only half of it, and some even tried to read from textbooks or notes written on the palms of their hands.


    Those last two ¡ª Neviy and Faruh ¡ª were hit by Kolski with a ruler and sent to the bathroom to wash off the ink.


    Then came the writing lesson, where Kolski, occasionally hiccupping, and sometimes opening his flask and sipping something colorless ¡ª but with a distinctly unpleasant odor ¡ª from it, lectured them on the rules of writing roots. At first, Ardi didn¡¯t understand what kind of roots were being discussed, but Anna helped him understand that people divided their words into components. In short, arithmetic seemed a little easier now...


    With that, the school day was over, and the students began packing to go home.


    Ardi, drenched in sweat, with a buzzing head and blurry vision, somehow managed to put on his coat and pack his school supplies into his bag. Sitting in the attic, he had thought that school was something of a necessity to be endured for the sake of Erti and Shaia. After all, what could humans teach an adult hunter? But... As his grandfather had put it, Ardi was once again a newborn.


    Again, just like six winters ago, he knew nothing, understood nothing, and seemed silly and ridiculous. It was frightening to imagine how today¡¯s first day would have gone if Atta¡¯nha hadn¡¯t taught him a few sciences.


    As he was mulling all of this over, Ardi didn¡¯t even notice that he¡¯d ended up outside in the company of Anna. Everything around him was already veiled in the gray film of the evening twilight and the sun was sinking behind the high peaks of the Al§ãade, preparing for a well-deserved rest.


    ¡°And where-¡±


    ¡°We tried to talk to you, but you just followed us mutely,¡± the girl said, looking obviously worried. ¡°We even thought you were enchanted. Well, not all of us ¡ª Neviy and Faruh did. The only thing that can distract them from talking about guns is Star Magic. And so they decided that you were under a spell.¡±


    Not many who knew the art knew Ardi¡¯s true name, so enchanting him would be difficult. And what Anna had described had sometimes happened to him after Skusty¡¯s lessons, when he¡¯d been able to get lost in the stories of the forest and the rivers, and spend most of the day like that, but he had never been lost in his own thoughts before. Although, to be honest, they hadn¡¯t been so abundant before.


    Maybe it was time to remember Ergar¡¯s lessons and admit that some of them were thoughts for tomorrow.


    Ardi sighed, shook his head, and looked around. They were walking along a narrow path through snow-covered fields. The only source of light here were the occasional poles with those same strange glass candles like in Kelly¡¯s house.


    They stood ten meters apart, connected by black wires that were shimmering and emitting a steady, blue glow.


    ¡°I go to den. I promise mother and-¡±


    ¡°We stopped by your house,¡± Anna slowly relaxed. Wrapped in her clothes, the collar of her coat pulled up and a knitted hat pulled over her hair, she shifted from foot to foot, crunching the snow. ¡°Madame Brian was putting Erti to bed, so we spoke to the Sheriff. He asked me to tell you not to return alone in the evening and to wait for him at our farm ¡ª you¡¯ll meet my father and he¡¯ll decide what work he can give you.¡±


    Ardi frowned slightly, but then quickly reminded himself that people had different rules, and it was common for them to make decisions for their children.


    Ardi sniffed the air and closed his eyes. In the distance, he could smell people, horses, domestic animals, and cattle. It was nothing unusual, but something in his hunter¡¯s instincts made him tense.


    Anna grabbed her briefcase and continued down the path.


    ¡°Shall we go?¡± She called out.


    Ardi followed her silently, walking a few steps behind his guide as he looked at the lamps on the poles. They weren¡¯t fueled by oil or kindling, but still bright enough to dispel the twilight that was descending on the plains.


    ¡°What this light?¡±


    ¡°Light? Oh, you mean the lanterns?¡± Anna paused for a moment, looked up, then smiled at him, just like she had in class. His heart skipped a beat again. ¡°Those are Ley-lanterns. They work with Ley energy. It¡¯s transmitted through wires and powers special crystal springs. I think I remembered all of it correctly... My brother told me about it. He¡¯s the chief apprentice of a mage-engineer in Delpas.¡±


    At first, Ardi thought Anna was teasing him. Ley Lines, as he knew from Atta¡¯nha¡¯s texts, were invisible magical currents hidden deep underground. They pierced the earth like rivers, carrying pure magic with them. Thanks to their existence, all beings retained the ability to remember their True Names, and an Aean¡¯Hane was even able to speak with them.


    But no matter how hard you dug ¡ª dwarves and goblins had tried ¡ª you would never find the Ley Lines. However, sometimes, the lines crossed, their currents swirled into whirlpools, and there was so much energy that it ¡°m-a-t-e-r-i-a-l-i-z-e-d¡± and turned into ore or crystals. Animals that lived near such ore or inhaled that crystal dust would be infected with a dangerous disease, gaining immense strength but losing their minds.


    But everything Anna had just said...


    ¡°Don¡¯t ask me how it works. When my brother and his family come to visit, you can pester him¡­¡± Pester? Ardi didn¡¯t want to bother anyone and... Oh, right... human figurative language. Anna added, ¡°He was one of the people who laid the cables here when they opened the new mine a few years ago. They say not even all of Metropolis has Ley cables yet, but we do.¡±


    They walked through the snow in silence for a while, and Ardi kept looking at the lanterns. Ley cables, crystal springs, the Metropolis, mage-engineers... There were so many new words that his head was spinning. And above all else, nothing made sense.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you have an analyzer?¡± Anna asked suddenly.


    ¡°Ana... what?¡±


    The girl stopped and turned to him. She shifted her briefcase to her free hand and rolled up her right sleeve, revealing that same plate secured with several straps under her clothing that he¡¯d seen on others.


    ¡°I know most adults don¡¯t wear it,¡± Anna continued in a calm, measured tone. ¡°But by law, all minors must wear an analyzer when they leave the house.¡±


    Ardi just shrugged. He didn¡¯t even bother to answer her because he didn¡¯t understand the point of the question. He just pointed at the plate and asked briefly:


    ¡°What this?¡±


    Anna looked from him to the plate, then back to the hunter, and finally understood. For the umpteenth time that day, she smiled at him... Suddenly, Ardi realized that it was the same kind of smile Shali would give him when she knew something very common and ordinary for hunters that Ardi didn¡¯t know.


    ¡°Look,¡± Anna held out her hand with the plate angled toward the lantern, then pressed something on the leather strap.


    Nothing happened at first, but then red symbols flashed on the plate, forming words:


    <Street Lantern made by the Bri-&-Man Company.


    Ley Concentration: less than one unit.


    Voltage: constant.>


    The message remained on the metal plate for a few seconds, then disappeared. Anna rolled up her sleeve and looked away.


    ¡°My brother tried to explain how it works, but I couldn¡¯t remember,¡± she said somewhat reluctantly. ¡°So, I won¡¯t be able to answer your questions.¡±


    Ardi tilted his head to the side, then smiled, then couldn¡¯t help but laugh.


    ¡°Forgive me,¡± he said, pulling himself together. ¡°You very kind human.¡±


    ¡°Um,¡± Anna replied. ¡°Thanks... I think...¡±


    Ardi smiled again, but quickly hid his teeth and tensed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid,¡± she shook her head. ¡°I grew up on a farm, and if I was afraid of fangs, claws, hooves, or even horns, I wouldn¡¯t leave the house. By the way, I¡¯m curious, how do you clean your-¡±


    Ardi twitched his ear, then quickly jumped forward, scooped Anna into his arms, and hopped to the side. She didn¡¯t even have time to scream, she just went pale. And a moment later, a rock fell where she had just been standing.


    ¡°Are you out of your damn mind?¡± Someone shouted from the darkness, hiding behind the light of the lanterns. ¡°What if you had hit her?¡±


    ¡°I was aiming for the non-human!¡±


    ¡°Then aim better!¡±


    Ardi set Anna back down on the snow, then straightened up and focused. As he concentrated, he could make out the faint outlines of several boys in the darkness, one of whom he recognized.


    By the Sleeping Spirits, they were even upwind and didn¡¯t know the ways of the hunters at all! He could smell their scent, hear how fast their hearts were beating, and how two of the five now reeked of fear. But he hadn¡¯t noticed them until it was too late. He had been too wrapped up in his own thoughts. A mistake unworthy of a grown hunter. If Ergar ever found out, Ardi would be licking his wounds from tail strikes for a long time.


    ¡°Percy Kenbish?¡± Anna peeked out from behind his back.


    ¡°Anna, go home before you get hurt.¡±


    And the redheaded boy stepped into the light. He was still wearing his school clothes, but didn¡¯t have his briefcase with him. He held a bottle in his right hand and a rock in his left. It wasn¡¯t the most formidable weapon, but still dangerous. Especially when accompanied by four other boys. Two of them resembled Kenbish ¡ª their features and hair especially, only they were bigger, taller, and broader in the shoulders. And much older. The other pair¡­ Ardi thought he had seen them during his first day as well. They went to his school too, but were in the upper grades.


    ¡°You better go home yourself before you do something stupid!¡± Anna shouted. ¡°You know he¡¯s the Sheriff¡¯s wife¡¯s son. Do you think Mr. Brian will let that slide? And your brothers? They¡¯re of age. If they harm a child, they¡¯ll be hanged!¡±


    ¡°If I harmed a human child, sure,¡± one of the redheads corrected her. ¡°But this is a non-human. They won¡¯t even put me on trial. I¡¯ll just get a fine.¡±


    Something clicked, and in the light of the lamps, a broad blade appeared.


    ¡°Have you lost your mind? His father-¡±


    ¡°In Delpas, we deal with his sort quickly,¡± the third redhead hissed, also brandishing a knife. ¡°Forgotten your place, have you? Learning with humans in the same school? Get back to your mountains, non-human, or to the reservation up north!¡±


    Ardi squinted. Of the five, only two made him cautious ¡ª the Kenbish brothers. Percy and the other schoolboys would flee as soon as he dealt with the two adults. But right now, he was wearing several layers of clothing that restricted his movements. His claws had been left behind in the mountains, and while his fangs and the fighting skills Guta had taught him would allow him to handle any of them, it would only be possible if he fought them one at a time. And the other brother surely wouldn¡¯t just stand by while he wrestled with one of them in the snow.


    And that wasn¡¯t even counting their knives.


    Ardi wasn¡¯t wounded, these weren¡¯t his hunting paths, and there were vast fields behind him. He could easily outrun them, and that was exactly what the lessons of his forest friends had taught him to do. There was no point in fighting here. Except...


    Thin fingers in mittens gripped the edge of his cloak. Anna trembled slightly, hiding behind him. Sleeping Spirits, only now did he realize that he really was different from the human children. He was bigger than Anna and bigger than Percy. He was only slightly, maybe a few centimeters, shorter than the older Kenbish brothers.


    ¡°Go away,¡± Ardi hissed, turning back to the five. ¡°I not want hurt you.¡±


    The redheads exchanged glances and laughed.


    ¡°Did you hear that, Yegor? The beast can talk!¡±


    ¡°You call that talking, brother? Kolski makes more sense when he¡¯s drunk!¡±


    ¡°Ardi,¡± Anna whispered, trembling with fear. ¡°When I give the signal, you run. They won¡¯t hurt me, and I¡¯ll hold them off for a while.¡±


    And then, suddenly, he understood. He understood that the girl was not afraid for herself, but for him. A small, fragile, human girl was afraid for an adult Matabar hunter.


    ¡°Hold my neck,¡± he whispered to Anna. ¡°My hands not very strong. I not want drop you.¡±


    Then he quickly turned, scooped the girl up again, and, exhaling, listened. He listened to the beating of five foolish hearts, to the howl of the wind that made the joyful snowstorm chime like crystal. In all of this, he felt the stories. Stories of paths that were not visible to the naked eye.


    ¡°Hold,¡± Ardi repeated.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with the light?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the beast¡¯s doing! Get him!¡±


    But it was too late. The wind swirled around the hunter, and Ardi tried to hold onto the images that formed in his mind. The last time he had taken Okta, it had been much easier. His heart hadn¡¯t remembered human life, and the ground beneath his feet had been familiar, always ready to help him and lead the way.


    Ardi didn¡¯t know if he would be able to find the path to the Land of the Fae this time, so when the snowy whirlwind finally settled and they found themselves standing in the middle of a blooming field with colorful birds flying high above, the hunter sighed in relief.


    ¡°Ardi... where are we?¡± Anna whispered, looking around. ¡°And what¡¯s that... ahead?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at that,¡± Ardi turned away from the outline of the beautiful city on the high hill. ¡°Or we won¡¯t get out.¡±


    ¡°You can talk-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a long story,¡± Ardi cut her off. ¡°And we don¡¯t have much time. I¡¯ve come here twice now without an invitation, and if I was considered a child the first time, I have to take responsibility for my actions now. And showing up in the Fae Lands without an invitation is a serious offense. If we are noticed, it will be bad.¡±


    Anna just nodded slowly, and Ardi started running. He ran as fast as he could. With each step, the world around them changed. Fields turned into mountains, forests into volcanic craters that suddenly became cumulus clouds. They skimmed over the surface of lakes, where stars swam instead of fish; they leaped over stones that tried to hold them back with their grand speeches.


    And so it went, until Ardi finally heard the whisper he needed in the wind. Then he stopped, turned around, and took a step back. When he opened his eyes again, they were standing on the snowy path. Above them, a lantern shimmered. And a little ahead of them, about twenty meters away, was a wide gate with an awning. The paint on the letters had long since flaked off, but they were still legible: ¡°Polskih¡¯ Farm.¡± And a small fence of meter-high posts and wire stretched from the gate in both directions.


    Ardi set Anna down on the ground and paused to catch his breath. He would need to remember that he was only half as strong as a proper Matabar, and that such adventures were costly for him.


    ¡°Ardi, I-¡±


    ¡°A big favor, Anna,¡± Ardi said, still struggling to catch his breath, his words interspersed with deep inhales and sharp exhales. ¡°Not speak anyone what happen. Not about way Fae Land, not about brothers with fiery hair.¡±


    ¡°But Ardi!¡± The girl protested. ¡°If it hadn¡¯t been for... what happened, they would have hurt you! We must tell the Sheriff!¡±


    Ardi shook his head stubbornly.


    ¡°Mother worry in future. She afraid in future. I not want that¡­ for her. A strong request, Anna. Keep secret.¡±


    The girl lifted her head and met his eyes.


    ¡°Why did you speak clearly back there, but now you¡¯re back to... this?¡±


    ¡°Many stories. Hard find¡­ the right words.¡±


    Anna blinked.


    ¡°If I agree to keep it a secret, will you tell me?¡±


    Ardi nodded. Atta¡¯nha had never forbidden him from sharing stories about the Fae and hadn¡¯t instructed him to keep them secret from the human tribe. After all, human mages could never enter the land protected by the Aean¡¯Hanes¡¯ art.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go quickly,¡± Anna grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the gate. ¡°It¡¯s almost evening, and now we have not only arithmetic and writing to get through, but also your story! And you still have to talk to my father about work. Lots to do! And I promised my mother...¡±


    Anna kept on talking, and Ardi walked beside her, thinking about how he had already broken the laws of the Fae twice. And something told him that the third time would not go unpunished, so maybe it would be best to avoid visiting the Fae for at least... ten years. Maybe twenty.


    If there was one thing Ardi had learned from the she-wolf¡¯s stories and books, it was that the last thing he needed was to make enemies among the Sidhe and the Aean¡¯Hanes.

 Chapter 18 - Old Book

    Out of habit, Ardi bit the tip of his tongue as he finished writing the equation on the blackboard. Then he turned to Teacher Tenebry. She rose from her seat, adjusted her light dress, and approached the student, chalk in hand.


    For a moment, she examined Ardi¡¯s solution to the problem in silence before she sighed and underlined several lines.


    ¡°This is a simple equation, student Egobar. With just one unknown. Why did you decide to express half of the problem with a second unknown and then create a system out of it that you solved with a function?¡±


    Ardi shrugged, smiled, and spread his arms out, chalk dust smeared up to his elbows.


    ¡°It looks prettier this way,¡± he replied. ¡°Besides, you said to spend ten minutes solving it, and there¡¯s not much here to solve for a full ten minutes.¡±


    Tenebry sighed and shook her head. At that moment, she resembled a swallow perched on a windowsill, carrying with it the first rays of summer sunlight. She was both black and white, graceful, and in a way, very strict, yet kind.


    ¡°And how shall I grade you for this exam, student Egobar?¡±


    Ardi, still wearing a somewhat smug smile, held up ten fingers.


    ¡°A perfect score?¡± Tenebry snorted before returning to her desk, where she opened a thick book. Flipping through a dozen full pages, she read, ¡°Six months ago, you couldn¡¯t even solve a simple equation, and now you¡¯re using methods two years ahead of your course. If you hadn¡¯t been standing in front of me the whole time, I would have thought you were cheating and called teacher Kolski in to search you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any cheat sheets,¡± Ardi explained honestly.


    Tenebry gave him a skeptical look before flipping to the last page of the ledger, where the student rankings were recorded. It was a comprehensive table that detailed all of a student¡¯s accomplishments and their rankings. It would end up turning into a rather clever number, calculated the same across the entire Empire, so that students wouldn¡¯t be tied to their hometowns after graduation and could apply to colleges, institutes, or even universities anywhere in the country.


    If their grades were high enough, of course. And if the bureaucracy worked properly... This education system was still something new in the Empire.


    ¡°So, what do we have here: geography and history, nine. Chemistry and basic physical laws, eight points. Reading and etiquette, tens across the board, which is surprising considering the fact that it¡¯s only been a month since I had to make an effort to understand your speech. Music, three points. Student Egobar, are you unable to hit the piano keys with your fingers?¡±


    Ardi clenched and unclenched his fist. It had only been a few weeks since he¡¯d started using utensils competently.


    ¡°Handwriting, six,¡± the teacher continued. Ardi flinched slightly. Unlike numbers, spelling rules were much harder for him. Remembering all those exceptions that had neither rhyme nor reason, and then exceptions to those exceptions that depended on... Sleeping Spirits! If not for Anna, he probably still wouldn¡¯t be able to speak properly. ¡°In other words, considering all these criteria, you¡¯re one of the top ten students in our school. What are you planning to do after graduation?¡±


    Ardi shrugged again. There were still four or so years of school ahead of him ¡ª he would surely find something by then. He hadn¡¯t really thought about it yet. He liked working on the Polskih farm, where Anna¡¯s father always gave him different chores to do. But lately, he was mostly joining the cowboys on the plains where the herds grazed. He would bring them food, medicine, and other necessities.


    In the spring, the cowboys would leave with the herds and return to town in shifts to rest while their replacements took care of the grazing. A few weeks in town, and then they would be back at it, kicking up dust on the roads and disappearing over the horizon.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Tenebry sighed, then with a sharp but restrained movement, she marked the highest score in the book and began filling out the final summary. As Ardi would discover the following week, the math teacher also served as the class curator. ¡°But still, where did you learn the high school curriculum?¡±


    ¡°Anna¡¯s brother visited a few months ago,¡± Ardi admitted without hesitation. ¡°He brought textbooks from courses he¡¯d already completed.¡±


    ¡°Anna¡¯s brother? The one studying at the Delpas State College?¡±


    Of course Tenebry knew whom he was talking about. After all, she had been teaching at the school for many years, and many of the older siblings of the current students had once been her students as well.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the student nodded.


    ¡°And what? He just left them with you?¡± Tenebry arched her eyebrows, making her face resemble that of a fox. ¡°College textbooks aren¡¯t cheap.¡±


    ¡°Not for me,¡± Ardi corrected. ¡°For Anna. I just write down things that interest me from time to time. Or tackle some challenging problems.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Ardi shrugged yet again. He couldn¡¯t have explained it properly even if he¡¯d wanted to. He had simply loved solving puzzles since childhood. The time he¡¯d spent with Skusty and Atta¡¯nha, all of them challenging each other with tricky problems... Well, it had been his favorite pastime.


    ¡°It was interesting,¡± Ardi answered simply.


    Tenebry looked at him, then sighed, closed the ledger, and stood up from the table. They were alone in the classroom ¡ª exams were taken on an individual schedule, strictly one-on-one. It was believed that this way, students would have fewer opportunities to cheat, and the teacher could evaluate them without being influenced by the success of other students.


    At least that¡¯s what Anna¡¯s mother believed. Madame Polskih, back when she could still walk normally ¡ª she had broken her legs in an accident involving a stubborn horse ¡ª had used to teach Imperial History at the school.


    ¡°If Delpas had a license to teach Star Magic to those in your... um... situation...¡±


    ¡°Half-bloods,¡± Ardi suggested calmly.


    ¡°That¡¯s not very polite, student Egobar,¡± Tenebry replied sternly. ¡°Even if you call yourself that.¡±


    ¡°Tell Kenbish about politeness,¡± Ardi countered.


    ¡°Student Kenbish, despite his sharp mind, unfortunately cannot boast the same about his many relatives. Besides, they¡¯re not locals.¡±


    Ardi remained silent. He had his own opinion on the matter, but he had kept it to himself for the past six months. As Shali had used to say, ¡°The less you talk, the better you sleep.¡± Whatever that meant.


    After a pause, the teacher continued, ¡°Have you considered trying to get into a school that offers magical studies and has a license to work with racial minorities? With your record, it could be quite plausible.¡±


    ¡°The closest of those schools is by the Azure Sea,¡± Ardi spread his arms out. ¡°Besides, Matabar aren¡¯t on the list of races eligible for scholarships. And paying fifty exes per semester...¡±


    Ardi just smirked. One hundred exes for one school year? He¡¯d probably never see that kind of money in his life. Working on the Polskih farm earned him three exes a month, two and a half of which he gave to Kelly ¡ª he simply couldn¡¯t stand to live under someone else¡¯s roof without contributing to the household.


    ¡°The Sheriff could arrange a bank loan and-¡± Tenebry began, but fell silent upon seeing the indifferent expression on Ardi¡¯s face. He wouldn¡¯t take money from his mother¡¯s husband. Yes, in the last six months, they had managed to find common ground, but that only meant that Ardi no longer saw Kelly as a threat to the family. Nothing more. ¡°You¡¯re twelve now, right?¡±


    ¡°Thirteen,¡± Ardi corrected her. ¡°Like Erti, I was born in winter.¡±


    ¡°Thirteen,¡± Tenebry repeated, shaking her head. ¡°The best age to begin the study of Star Magic. Any earlier, and without the guidance of experienced mentors, and you¡¯d only be hurting yourself. On top of that, with every year that you waited to start after that, you¡¯d end up accomplishing less in the long run.¡±


    Outside, birds were singing, welcoming summer and saying goodbye to spring. The classroom was a bit stuffy, and even the wide-open windows didn¡¯t help. Only the teacher¡¯s face cast a heavy shadow.


    ¡°You tried to become a Star Mage once,¡± Ardi guessed.


    Tenebry gave him a reserved smile.


    ¡°The Empire would lose an excellent specialist in you, student Egobar,¡± her voice trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly. ¡°But with such success, you could become an engineer or even a doctor, though I don¡¯t know how you¡¯ll fare next year when the general biology course begins.¡±


    Ardi had lived among humans long enough to understand that Tenebry wasn¡¯t really talking to him, but rather to herself.


    ¡°Anyway, you have four more years to figure that out, student Egobar,¡± Tenebry snapped back to reality. ¡°I¡¯ve kept you here far too long. Leave. Enjoy your well-deserved vacation and summer.¡±


    ¡°And the same to you, Teacher Tenebry,¡± Ardi bowed slightly before grabbing his bag, stuffing the report into it, and dashing out the door.


    He practically flew down the corridor, occasionally tipping his hat to the rare teacher or student he passed. The former reminded him that he shouldn¡¯t run in the school, while the latter... If they were locals, they returned the gesture; if they were outsiders, they pretended not to notice him.


    After the incident six months ago, when Kenbish and his brothers had caught him and Anna off guard, rumors had spread around the town. These had been fueled by the brothers¡¯ stories that a terrible monster had snatched Anna and disappeared in a blizzard. They¡¯d claimed it was all witchcraft and magic. But after the priest had declared that he had found no trace of Star Magic on Ardi, and the sheriff had thoroughly interrogated the redheads ¡ª resulting in the older brothers spending a week in the hospital ¡ª the rumors had died down, replaced by whispers.


    Those who still remembered the history of their land simply added it to the folklore, while the others... just accepted that a not-quite-human was living among them.


    Of course, not everything had gone smoothly, and there were the occasional unpleasant incidents. For example, a cowboy had once refused to take food from Ardi, or that time they had refused to sell him anything in a shop. And then there was the chemistry teacher, who¡¯d made it a point to never call him to the blackboard or speak to him directly, even though she was a local. But Ardi didn¡¯t blame her.


    Her son had died in the fire caused by the Shanti¡¯Ra, and now the old woman harbored a grudge against all ¡°non-humans.¡±


    Also, other students at the school, led by the red-haired Kenbish, would sometimes try to say something nasty or hurtful to him, but Ardi would either let it pass or smile broadly at them in return. That was usually enough to keep the troublemakers quiet for at least a week.


    All in all, his life was quite peaceful and steady.


    Lately, Ardi had even started sleeping on a bed he had built himself instead of on the floor, on a pile of furs. He hadn¡¯t had the money to order furniture from a carpenter, and his pride wouldn¡¯t allow him to take money from Kelly. Skusty would probably have called this ¡°chaff for brains.¡± That was how the squirrel had often referred to certain kinds of foolishness. Well, even if it was all stupidity instead of pride, Ardi wasn¡¯t going to change his ways.


    His days typically consisted of mornings at Kelly¡¯s, including short talks with his brother, then school, then work on the Polskih farm, evening lessons with Anna and, when the others came to visit, with Neviy, his brother, and Faruh as well. Olga had used to join them, but overtime, she¡¯d started hanging out with Kenbish and his group more and more.


    Eventually, Neviy, who was something of an unofficial leader of their group, had stopped inviting her, and she hadn¡¯t insisted on being included.


    ¡°So, how did it go?¡± Ah, there they were.


    Over the past six months, the brothers had grown a little taller, and they had also packed on some muscle, becoming sturdier overall. Faruh, however, didn¡¯t seem to be in any hurry to catch up. Ardi himself was growing much slower now than he had back in the Al§ãade. He had just passed one hundred and eighty centimeters, which, by human standards, made him exceptionally tall for a boy his age, but according to his grandfather, Ardi was destined to remain a ¡°shorty.¡±


    In time, Matabar could grow up to be two meters and twenty centimeters tall, but that didn¡¯t seem to be in the cards for him. It was probably for the best ¡ª he wouldn¡¯t have to duck every time he walked through a door, like his father. However, in their old age, a Matabar¡¯s height did start to diminish, as could be seen from the example of his grandfather. Maybe some extra centimeters could¡¯ve mitigated that.


    ¡°I got a perfect score,¡± Ardi boasted.


    ¡°Great!¡± Anna exclaimed.


    Ardi immediately shrank back and pulled his cap down over his eyes.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t have done it without you,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Of course you could have!¡± Anna protested. She was wearing a light white dress, with a wide belt that had a shiny buckle on it. High, brown boots and a straw hat completed the look. Over the past six months, she had begun to look somehow... different, though Ardi still didn¡¯t quite understand what had changed. ¡°You¡¯re already solving my brother¡¯s problems sometimes, and I still can¡¯t quite manage that even with your explanations, and-¡±


    ¡°Okay, that¡¯s enough!¡± Neviy pleaded. ¡°You¡¯re turning this into another one of your... your... Faruh, old friend, help me out here.¡±


    ¡°You got yourself into this, you can get yourself out,¡± the boy turned away.


    ¡°Brother?¡±


    Kevin remained silent, as always. He usually spoke when he thought no one could hear him, and, by the Sleeping Spirits, Ardi could count the exceptions to that rule on one hand.


    ¡°Would you like to explain what you meant by that, Neviy?¡± Anna frowned.


    He pretended not to have heard her and turned to Ardi. ¡°Are you going to change?¡±


    Ardi looked himself over. He had been the last to take the exams, and everyone else had already changed out of their school uniforms into regular clothes.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got my clothes with me,¡± Ardi said, opening his bag and pulling out simple linen trousers and a gray shirt with transparent buttons. ¡°I¡¯ll change at the lake!¡±


    ¡°Great! Then let¡¯s hurry before the older guys take the piers! Last time, we had to wait an hour just to go diving.¡±


    ¡°Boys,¡± Anna sniffed. ¡°You¡¯d better hit the books so you don¡¯t fail again at the end of the year and-¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on,¡± Faruh waved her off. ¡°Today is the last day of exams! We deserve a break. Besides, we all have work later. Let us relax properly for once.¡±


    Anna rolled her eyes, which, as Ardi had learned, had no specific meaning and could have different connotations in different situations. It was a very complicated human gesture that he still hadn¡¯t mastered.


    Ardi was about to back Faruh up when he noticed something glinting on the ground. He bent down, picked it up, and was surprised to find that it was the key his grandfather had given him six months ago. It must have fallen out of his pocket when he was taking off his clothes.


    ¡°You guys go ahead,¡± Ardi muttered, pocketing the key. ¡°I¡¯ll catch up later.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Neviy finished arguing with Anna and rubbed his bruised side. ¡°If the older kids show up before you get there, you might not get to swim.¡±


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± was all Ardi replied, then he smiled at Anna and, slinging his bag over his shoulder, ran toward the town¡¯s edge.


    He just barely caught Anna¡¯s concerned voice behind him:


    ¡°What¡¯s gotten into him so suddenly?¡±


    And Neviy¡¯s sigh in response:


    ¡°Suddenly?¡±


    The rest of their conversation was lost in the noise of the dancing wind. It chased the clouds across the sky, breaking up the gray cover that had blanketed the plain for the last few months. People were out and about on the streets, enjoying the warmer weather. No longer were they only moving in short dashes between buildings, trying to shield themselves from the piercing winds and snow of the long winter and harsh spring from before. And if they had a bit of free time, they even strolled with friends and acquaintances and chatted about this and that.


    The postman was sharing news and gossip from the Metropolis, cowboys were visiting the saloon, sometimes starting fights that the sheriff and his deputies had to break up. The town¡¯s only blacksmith was grumbling about the endless stream of orders for horseshoes, and the butcher was already counting the profits from all the new cattle coming in. Only the farmers were discussing various upcoming problems: the division of grazing lands due to that very same influx of cattle, diseases, parasites, and other misfortunes that could greatly impact the livestock and, consequently, their profits.


    Ardi would occasionally greet someone, sometimes even doffing his cap to them, but more often than not, he tried to pretend he wasn¡¯t there, and Evergale responded in kind. In the past six years, the town had nearly doubled in size, with most of the new settlers coming from the south, where attitudes toward other races were quite peculiar due to their near absence. If those geography lessons were to be believed, anyway.


    Heading past the repair shop, Ardi emerged onto a wide dirt road. Taking a deep breath of the fresh air brought there by the departing spring, the hunter bent down and removed his boots. Relishing the feeling of the still cool, moist soil against his bare feet, he wriggled his toes into the earth. In the sky, a mountain eagle, returning from its hunt, let out a cry. Ardi waved at it and ran on.


    For the past six months, he hadn¡¯t forgotten to exercise in the mornings, as Guta had taught him, even if he¡¯d had to make do with a sandbag instead of a stone. And of course, the farm work had kept him busy with running and carrying various things, not to mention the hard work in the stables. It wasn¡¯t too difficult physically, but simply tricky because the domestic animals didn¡¯t really understand the language of the wild beasts.


    Ardi, who¡¯d turned his face toward the sun¡¯s rays, and would sometimes stop to savor the scents of the Al§ãade¡¯s expanse, found himself standing at the edge of a well-known clearing an hour later. The snow had long since melted, and the river, once a raging torrent, had calmed down, though its waters had risen almost to the edge of the rocky bank.


    The grass and flowers, now untended, reached almost to his knees, while wild ivy clung eagerly to the walls of the Ranger¡¯s house, some of which had caved in. Ardi approached the porch and, running his fingers along the rotting beams, picked at the peeling paint before blowing it off his palm, sending the flecks flying into the gusts of wind.


    ¡°Hello,¡± he whispered in Fae. ¡°My home.¡±


    The dilapidated building responded with a barely audible sigh before sinking back into a deep slumber. Maybe someday, life would buzz within its walls once again, fires would burn bright, and the chimneys would puff out gray smoke...


    The once well-trodden paths hadn¡¯t yet succumbed to the relentless advance of the Al§ãade¡¯s flora, so Ardi didn¡¯t have to wade through overgrown grass. The barn, just as it had six months ago, greeted its visitor calmly, and perhaps even pridefully. Unlike the house, its walls hadn¡¯t sagged, the grass and ivy hadn¡¯t crossed the invisible boundary that protected the structure, and even the recent flood had scattered rocks along the shore but had left the barn untouched.


    Ardi touched the heavy lock, not noticing a single speck of rust there, and even the hinges didn¡¯t creak, as if someone had carefully oiled them every month. Only the boards groaned mournfully when a strong gust of wind made them shudder.


    The key slid easily into the lock and turned with a barely audible click. The massive clasp opened and Ardi, catching the falling lock, was surprised by its weight.


    Grunting, Ardi set it down on the floor, then straightened up and, out of habit, sniffed the air before opening the door. Dust hit his face like a slap. The hunter sneezed, grimaced, but after waiting for the wind to clear the air, he stepped inside. With no windows and all its cracks sealed with mortar, the barn had long been deprived of sunlight. The reign of darkness had been preserved for many years here, jealously guarding its territory and keeping out unwanted guests who might reveal its secrets to the outside world.


    Ardi didn¡¯t see a single spider weaving a web in the corners. There were no traces of wood-boring beetles feasting on their favorite treat. There was no moisture, no grass or flowers sprouting through the floorboards, no mold, only dust. But even that, as soon as the door had been opened, had fled with the enthusiasm of a wrongly convicted prisoner who had been granted a last-minute pardon.


    ¡°Well...¡± The hunter mused.


    The sun¡¯s rays, rebelling against this dominion of darkness for the first time in years, illuminated only a few objects. There were no tools, no shelves, no crates, or anything else typical of a simple barn. There was only a long stick leaning against the wall, which Ardi recognized as a cracked, charred and broken staff.


    He approached it and ran his hand over its worn symbols and markings. The wood crumbled beneath his fingers, and it seemed like with just a little more effort from him, the staff would follow the dust¡¯s example and scatter to the wind, vanishing into the Al§ãade¡¯s expanse.


    Beside the staff, what had initially appeared to be a tube for maps or documents revealed itself to be a rotting, crumbling scabbard upon closer inspection. The leather binding had rotted away and the varnish had peeled off, falling to the ground in black flakes. The hunter bent down to inspect the hilt. It was broken and twisted, long since corroded by rust.


    The hunter reached out, but quickly pulled back. He had heard many stories of cursed artifacts from Atta¡¯nha, not to mention the legends his grandfather had told him in his childhood. But even if one assumed that these were just old objects without a drop of magic in them, they were certainly nearing their end. And Ardi didn¡¯t want to accidentally break them, cut himself, or get pricked only to spend the next week or two brewing potions and concoctions for himself.


    It was strange that his grandfather had given him the key to this place. Maybe he¡¯d meant to imply that the staff and the sword could be sold to a museum to make some money.


    ¡°Unlikely,¡± Ardi mused aloud. ¡°Grandfather wouldn¡¯t sell a family heirloom.¡±


    And there was no doubt in his mind that what lay before him were indeed family heirlooms. Knowing his father¡¯s temperament, he wouldn¡¯t have agreed to keep someone else¡¯s staff and sword on his land, even if they had belonged to King Ectassus himself ¡ª a person whose existence Ardi highly doubted.


    Feeling somewhat disappointed, Ardi sighed and turned to leave when he suddenly stumbled over something. Looking down in surprise, he found a barely perceptible knot on the floor. On this perfectly smooth, planed floor, where each board was so tightly fitted that it would be almost impossible for even a thin hair to slip between them.


    Frowning, the hunter crouched down and ran his hand over the knot. It was too small to be noticed accidentally, but too large to have been spared the carpenter¡¯s plane.


    Ardi first turned his body so that he could dart out the door if necessary, then pressed on the knot, but... nothing happened. Except that he scratched his finger.


    ¡°Ouch,¡± the boy hissed, about to curse lightly, when a few drops of his blood fell on the floorboards.


    The floor came to life, and before Ardi could even process what was happening, a section of the boards in front of him sank down and slid aside, revealing a small cache. Inside, on a worn cloth, lay several ancient notebooks, some still with their covers, some without, a few rings, only one of which was intact, a tiny scroll the size of a finger, and a thick book.


    And a candle, too. Only it wasn¡¯t made of animal fat, paraffin, oil, or even cheap wax. Despite that, Ardi had no doubt that it was indeed a candle. It was a bulbous clay bowl resembling a doll¡¯s cauldron, so why did he have no doubts about its true nature?


    ¡°What the...¡±


    Ardi reached out and touched the orange flame. The flame that was blazing inside the bowl even though it had no visible source.


    ¡°It¡¯s real,¡± Ardi concluded, pulling his finger back from the fire.


    Glancing around, as if to confirm that he was indeed alone, Ardi reached into the cache and pulled out the book. He was ready to react to any kind of danger. A trap, a flash of light, or even the sudden appearance of a troll, but... nothing happened. There was only the mournful creaking of planks and the whistling wind that raced through the mountains.


    After the book, the hunter fished out the remaining items from the cache, and as soon as the last object ¡ª a ring ¡ª left the confines of its hiding place, the floorboards came to life again, quickly returning to their original place, while the knot, turning to wood dust, drifted away on the wind.


    ¡°I could really use your advice right now, she-wolf,¡± Ardi muttered regretfully.


    But the wonders didn¡¯t end there.


    Setting the candle down on the floor, he laid out the rings before him, and as soon as he did so, four of the five dissolved into a formless, metallic liquid, which briefly took the shape of stars before evaporating with a soft hiss, leaving behind acrid clouds of colored smoke.


    Only the last ring remained intact.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Ardi said simply.


    He picked up the scroll carefully, but couldn¡¯t make out the writing on it ¡ª whether it was an unknown language or some kind of cipher, who could say. Then it was the turn of several journals, or at least what seemed to be journals. Unfortunately, just like with the scroll, Ardi couldn¡¯t decipher a single word of them. And in each journal, not only did the symbols differ, but so did the handwriting as well. Whatever had been stored here had belonged to more than one person.


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll be nice,¡± Ardi whispered hopefully, addressing the large, hefty book.


    With its swollen pages and partially broken spine, it was much thicker than any textbook he¡¯d ever seen, even the tomes Anna¡¯s brother had brought back with him at times.


    Ardi hesitated, then opened the book, ending up in the middle of it, and he found himself staring at a symbol. It resembled a six-pointed star, but was drawn in such a way that the inner space of it was not a polygon, but a circle filled with countless tiny letters or runes. The lines that formed the interlocking triangles that made up the star were not straight, but wavy, and within them, threads of mysterious symbols were also woven.


    And around the page, surrounding the strange star symbol, there were dense paragraphs of text written in very small but neat handwriting . Sometimes, between the lines, different versions of the ¡°star¡± symbol appeared, only enlarged. Occasionally, they would be replaced by lines ¡ª both straight and wavy ¡ª and sometimes, they¡¯d be replaced by whole sections of the symbol. It was as if someone had randomly highlighted a whole section of the ¡°star¡± for some reason.


    Ardi looked closely and, to his great surprise, found that he could understand the text... almost ¡ª the handwriting was much sloppier than in the books and scrolls of Atta¡¯nha.


    ¡°The Fae language,¡± the hunter whispered and began to read.


    ¡°For a month now, I¡¯ve been trying to improve a simple Fire Flash seal. I think it¡¯s too wasteful to use a ray from each of the red and green Stars...¡±


    At those last words, Ardi almost closed the book. If this book was what he thought it was, possessing such knowledge without a license and the title of Imperial Mage would land one in the mines at best, and in the noose at worst. Imperial law strictly prohibited the uncontrolled spread of magical knowledge. They were so ruthless about it that if an unregistered copy of a textbook was found in a suspect¡¯s home, their entire family would be arrested and their home set on fire.


    Teacher Parnas had explained that Star Magic held ¡°s-t-r-a-t-e-g-i-c¡± significance for all nations, on both the western and eastern continents. And every government, despite significant advances in technology and the emergence of new types of weapons, still zealously guarded its magical secrets.


    ¡°The only problem here is that all works on Star Magic in the Empire,¡± Ardi muttered to himself, ¡°are written and printed only in the language of humans. It¡¯s forbidden to publish them in the languages of the Firstborn Races.¡±


    And on top of all that, the Sidhe and the Fae didn¡¯t need Star Magic, which made it all the more confusing. They used the magic of words. As did the other Firstborn Races, though not as deeply and freely. Even so, the orcs with their shamans or the dwarves with their stone casters possessed knowledge that was thousands of years old. Yes, if you believed Teacher Parnas, the Firstborn Races often sent the most capable members of their communities out to learn the art of human magic, but even they studied it in the language of the Empire...


    ¡°Fine,¡± Ardi reassured himself. ¡°It¡¯s as Skusty would say: when dealing with a problem, find the fangs first, then worry about the tail.¡±


    In other words, start at the beginning.


    Calming his racing heart, Ardi opened the book to its very first page.


    ¡°To be honest, I don¡¯t even know who I¡¯m writing this for. None of the Aean¡¯Hane will ever agree with my arguments that we should study human magic to understand its strengths and weaknesses. Their pride won¡¯t allow it. And the ordinary Speakers are too focused on their mentors¡¯ every word to consider deviating from the old teachings.


    And really, I¡¯ve never written anything before, so I have no idea how treatises, or as humans call them, magic textbooks, are supposed to be composed. I was taught by the Aean¡¯Hane of my clan, as he was taught by the one before him, and so on... Well, you get the idea... Probably...


    Forgive me, whoever you are, if I sometimes lose focus or jump from one topic to another. Teaching is not my calling, but we¡¯ll have to make do with what we¡¯ve got.


    Maybe as I finish this meandering introduction while biting into one of Remi¡¯s pastries, I¡¯ll finally get to the point. Especially since it¡¯s time for us to leave...


    And one more thing ¡ª good luck to you, my unknown student. I hope the knowledge you gain here... If you can even gain it... Well, I hope it brings you some benefit.


    With that, I bow out and leave you with my thoughts on Star Magic.¡±


    The text abruptly cut off there, followed by a new page with bold letters:


    ¡°Chapter One, or Where to Begin.¡±


    Ardi exhaled and briefly tore his gaze away from the book. Only hours ago, he had discussed the possibility of studying Star Magic with one of his teachers, knowing full well that this path would be inaccessible to him forever. And all the while, there had been a book in their barn, a forbidden one, certainly, but still containing the very knowledge he craved.


    The hunter loved magic. Maybe that was why, on that fateful day, many years ago, Ergar had agreed to let his student visit the she-wolf. He¡¯d probably realized that the path of a true hunter didn¡¯t particularly interest the young Matabar.


    Ardi looked at the shadows of the trees. He still had almost four hours before his shift at the farm began. He could still make it in time. And as for the lake, he could find an excuse for his absence tomorrow...


    ¡°First of all, my dear disciple, I want you to understand one simple thing. No matter what humans or our brothers and sisters say, magic, if it¡¯s true magic, is always the same. Whether you call yourself Aean¡¯Hane or Archmage, it won¡¯t change your essence in the slightest, just as water in a river, in glaciers, and in clouds remains water, even though it may take different forms.


    So, studying Star Magic doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re deviating from the ways of your ancestors; you¡¯re simply exploring one of the forms of the art left to us by the gods of the past.


    If you¡¯ve already studied the magic of words and Names, or, may the spirits bless you, summoned the power of words, you understand the complexity of the Speaker¡¯s path. Even your teacher, the modest... let¡¯s leave names out of this. So. Even I, who, according to the Queen of Winter, possess one of the greatest gifts among the Aean¡¯Hane, spent decades studying words, and nearly a century mastering a True Name. And by the time I could cast my first spell without risking the destruction of myself or my village, I was already covered in gray hair and wrinkles.


    Yes, the Speakers¡¯ magic is powerful and ¡ª unlike Star Magic ¡ª as malleable as clay, but it also requires tremendous mental effort and years of training. That¡¯s why humans were forced to find their own way to magic ¡ª because their lives are so short that only a few of them, rare prodigies born once every few centuries, managed to tread the path of the Speakers.


    As for Star Magic, yes, unlike the malleability of clay, it¡¯s more like iron ore. You can forge something unique from it, but more often than not, you just pour it into a mold and...


    You¡¯re probably quite confused right now, but I did warn you that I might get sidetracked and...


    Well.


    Let¡¯s start with the basics. The magic of the Speakers, like Star Magic, draws power from the Ley Lines. When we use magic, we change the reality around us, and the greater the change, the more energy is required from the Ley Lines, and the longer the changes last. But sooner or later, reality will return to its original state, and the magic will return to the Ley Lines. Of course, there are ways to extend the effect of a change for an almost indefinite period of time, but that¡¯s too complex a topic for this small book.¡±


    Ardi chuckled at that. If this was a ¡°small¡± book, what did the author consider a ¡°large¡± one?


    ¡°Now, onto the main difference.


    Speakers use the energy of the Ley directly, through the Names of the entities they invoke. Star Magic, on the other hand, creates a kind of Ley storage within the mage. Humans call them Stars. In theory, there can be an infinite number of such stars, but as I¡¯m writing this book, the most powerful of the human mages, Archmage Taveriy, who resides on the islands, possesses only his seventh star. But don¡¯t be fooled.


    Humans wouldn¡¯t be humans if they didn¡¯t strive to complicate everything around them.


    Besides the stars themselves, and the ones known in my time are: red, green, blue, yellow, pink, black, and gray, each of them can have up to nine rays as well. So, becoming a mage with four stars is a great achievement for a magic wielder of the young Empire...¡±


    The Empire had existed for almost five hundred years by now, so the author of this text had obviously lived a long time ago.


    ¡°...but someone with only one or two rays in each of them is far less of a threat than a mage with two stars but more than five rays in each. I think that¡¯s why the government is discussing the mandatory regalia law... but I digress again.


    So, the Speaker uses the energy of the Ley directly, while the Star Mage gathers it within themselves. The difference seems small at first, but when you delve deeper, it¡¯s colossal. And that ends my simple introduction for you. Further pondering the difference between the two forms of magic serves no practical purpose, and ink has become expensive... so let¡¯s move on.


    Now let¡¯s turn to the more trivial. If you want to study Star Magic, you need to form your first one ¡ª the Red Star. This usually takes several years. This may seem similar to the art of the Aean¡¯Hane, but that¡¯s only a surface-level similarity.


    Here¡¯s what you¡¯ll need:


    - A power crystal from a creature poisoned by the Ley.


    With the Empire¡¯s mines popping up everywhere,


    these are becoming more common.


    The green crystal is best,


    but if you don¡¯t have one, a red one will do.


    By the way, if you can get your hands on a large amount of human money,


    you can buy a Ley crystal.


    That will work too.


    The higher the purity, the better.


    - The ability to clear your mind.


    If you and your Aean¡¯Hane have not yet begun to study the magic of words,


    it is best to put this book aside until


    you have learned to clear your mind well enough to hear the whispers of the trees.


    - Be prepared for a challenging process.


    Once you start condensing the Star,


    you can¡¯t stop, or it could have


    irreversible consequences.


    So, I would advise you to prepare thoroughly


    before you begin.


    These are the three pillars upon which all of Star Magic rests. And if not all of it, then its foundations do, at least. Now I¡¯m going to give you detailed instructions on what to do and how to do it. I suggest that you first make sure you understand them, grasp every word and meaning, memorize them completely, and only then begin your training. You¡¯ll only have one chance to condense that star and its rays. Here, you must maintain a perfect balance ¡ª believe in your abilities, but don¡¯t overestimate yourself.


    If you don¡¯t believe in yourself, you¡¯ll stop at just a few rays. If you overestimate yourself, you won¡¯t make the star at all.


    By the way, did I mention this already?


    If you stumble during the creation of a Star, mess up the process in any way, you¡¯ll destroy that Star and forever lose the ability to create it. This applies to every Star. If you mess up the Red one, you¡¯ll never become a Star Mage. If you mess up the Green one, you¡¯ll be stuck with one Star forever because you can¡¯t move on to the Blue one.


    But don¡¯t be afraid. I¡¯ll be with you.


    Shall we begin?¡±

 Chapter 19 - Star

    That evening, Ardi had of course been late for work. Mr. Polskih had been so displeased that he¡¯d almost fired him on the spot. Anna had come to his rescue by making up a story about how she¡¯d asked Ardi to help her with an arithmetic problem and how they had been late because they¡¯d spent too long working on it. And so, his job had been spared, but his relationship with the farmer had not improved.


    ¡°You should spend less time with farmer Polskih¡¯s daughter,¡± his grandfather grumbled as he wrapped himself tightly in his blankets.


    Even though it was the height of summer (nearly a month and a half had passed since Ardi had found the book written by the unknown Aean¡¯Hane in the barn), his grandfather was always cold. No matter how much he bundled up or how many layers of wool he wore, every single one of his exhalations came out as a puff of silvery steam.


    ¡°The Mistress will come for me soon,¡± he whispered, staring at his claw-like nails, which had turned blue from the cold. They¡¯d done so despite the fact that the thermometer barely dipped below thirty degrees even at night. ¡°I¡¯ve been walking this earth for far too long...¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that, Grandfather,¡± Ardi pleaded, getting up to tuck his blankets in more securely around him. ¡°Everything will be fine.¡±


    The rocking chair creaked softly, lulling the old man into a gentle sleep. Outside, cicadas and crickets sang their song, welcoming the vibrant, star-studded night. The majestic sky blanketed the plains, starting from the endless steppes and prairies, then striving to cover the towering peaks of the Alcade, before soaring like a falcon into the cold embrace of the ocean.


    Thanks to all those geography lessons he¡¯d attended, Ardi now knew that they lived on the western borders of the Empire of the New Monarchy, roughly a half-moon¡¯s distance from the border of the Enario Theocracy ¡ª a small nation that had somehow maintained its sovereignty and not been absorbed into the Empire during its conquests.


    And even farther west lay the Reverse Ocean. It was a curious name with origins so deeply buried in history that even Teacher Parnas hadn¡¯t been able to tell him why it was called that.


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying anything bad is going to happen, Ardi,¡± his grandfather shook his head. ¡°But let¡¯s not dwell on it. I¡¯ve heard that you¡¯ve had many successes in the human school.¡±


    Ardi nodded.


    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± his grandfather tried to reach out and pat him on the shoulder, but he couldn¡¯t manage it. His wizened hand, which looked more like a dead tree branch than a human limb, trembled slightly before retreating back under the blankets. Ardi pretended not to have noticed this. ¡°And what about that thing you found in the barn?¡±


    The boy was neither surprised nor shocked by the question. If his grandfather had kept the key while mentioning that Hector had wanted to throw away everything in the barn, then that meant that he knew about what had been stored inside it, and also what had been hidden under the floorboards.


    ¡°I have a mountain troll crystal,¡± Ardi replied in a calm tone, ¡°but first, I want to make a staff. The book says that a staff will make magic as convenient as writing with a good quill and ink instead of with a finger and coal.¡±


    His grandfather smiled faintly, revealing yellowed teeth and gaps where long fangs had once stood proudly. Those had been the first to fall out, a clear sign that his days among the hunters were coming to an end.


    ¡°Visit the oak under which I told you stories of Ectassus when you were little,¡± his grandfather was suddenly seized by a rattling, wheezy cough, and when he finally caught his breath, he tried to discreetly wipe the back of the hand he had used to cover his mouth on the blankets. ¡°It remembers you from your childhood. You and our whole family. I¡¯m sure it will share some of its wood with you... Such a staff will serve you faithfully and for a long time. And it will always remind you of home.¡±


    Ardi looked at his grandfather. With each passing month, the old man seemed to shrink further, his back bending like a bow, his skin growing paler as dark spots spread across it like oil on water. Only his gaze had remained sharp and clear. Like a wolf¡¯s.


    It was a gaze that looked both right in front of him and far beyond, to places where mere mortals could not see. It sought those unknown distances where so many mysteries and secrets lay that an uninitiated mind would burn out in an instant if it were ever exposed to them.


    ¡°Grandfather,¡± Ardi spoke in the language of the Sidhe, ¡°is that your book? Are you the author of that work meant to guide other Aean¡¯Hane?¡±


    The old man turned to look at him, not merely eye-to-eye, but deeper. Deeper than what humans called the heart or soul. For a moment, Ardi felt like his grandfather surely knew all his youthful secrets and desires, all his fears and dreams. As if he, much like a book, had been opened and read.


    ¡°I know who wrote it,¡± his grandfather replied in the human language, ¡°but I am not him. This is all I can tell you, Ardi, without lying to you. And the last thing I want before I meet the Mistress is to cover myself in lies... Enough... I¡¯ve had enough of all this.¡±


    His grandfather closed his eyes and relaxed, sinking deeper into the chair. An oil lamp flickered nearby ¡ª his grandfather always protested when Shaia turned on the lantern above the porch. The old man said there was no life in the Ley energy, and that he didn¡¯t want to be illuminated by dead fire. For some reason, Ardi felt that there was more meaning in those words than he could understand right now.


    ¡°Hurry, my Queen,¡± his grandfather whispered in the Fae tongue. ¡°I have waited too long for you. How are my loyal companions doing in your halls? Are my chambers prepared? Will there be a feast and will the trumpets of the City on the Hill sound when I return to you? Have I earned forgiveness? Were my deeds worthy of the scribes¡¯ scrolls, or will I disappear as night does at dawn?¡±


    Ardi was barely listening to the old man. He was reciting an old Ectassus legend about a wandering Sidhe knight who¡¯d fled the land of the Fae. He¡¯d traveled among humans and other Firstborn, but had never been able to return home because the Queens and Kings of the Fae had cursed him for his disobedience. And before his death, in his final moments, the knight had asked the wind if he could return home.


    The story never revealed the ending, leaving it up to the listener to decide the knight¡¯s fate.


    Ardi had always hoped that Marenir had somehow managed to return home and had been greeted with honor and celebration.


    ¡°Go, Ardi,¡± his grandfather croaked, coughing again. ¡°It is not fitting for the young to spend time with the old. Hug your mother, play with your brother. I¡¯m going to sleep. I¡¯m tired... Go.¡±


    Ardi nodded, and after making sure the blankets were tucked in and the oil lamp had enough fuel ¡ª despite his grandfather¡¯s clear eyes, his night vision had grown poor ¡ª he left quietly. As he did so, he heard his grandfather softly humming a simple tune to himself.


    Passing through the kitchen, where the dishes and utensils had already been put away, Ardi peeked into the living room, but found no one there either, only some smoldering embers in the fireplace and a closed book lying on one of the chairs. Like his older brother, Erti also loved to read.


    Climbing the stairs, Ardi heard the steady breathing coming from behind one of the doors. His mother and Kelly were asleep. Despite their part-time jobs, the youngsters had plenty of free time and energy during the summer, when school was out. The older generation of humans, however, always found something to do, even on their only day off.


    With this in mind, Ardi knocked on his brother¡¯s door, but to his surprise, Erti wasn¡¯t there. If he wasn¡¯t in his room, the kitchen, or by the fireplace in the living room, there was only one place in the house where Erti could be.


    Ardi sighed, steeled himself, and entered the last room on the floor. It was small, but spacious enough to accommodate a tiny crib with wooden toys in the shape of magical birds and animals hanging from it. There was also a wardrobe, a bedside table, a fluffy rug on the floor, and piles of nappies, onesies, and other miniature clothing on the windowsill.


    Erti sat on a stool by the crib. He had grown a lot in the past few months, and it seemed like even if the Matabar blood didn¡¯t awaken in him, his younger brother would still grow up to be much taller and stronger than an average human. Even now, he looked more like a twelve-year-old than a seven-year-old. This matched his older brother¡¯s growth, since the new cowboys on the farm often mistook Ardi for a seventeen-year-old.


    ¡°And so, Sir Marenir raised his sword, but stopped himself at the last second, sparing the fallen Barret. He said, ¡®Death would be too easy an escape for you, wretch. You will atone for your sins for the rest of your days,¡¯¡± Erti turned the page, then glanced into the crib and adjusted the blanket there. Kena, their half-sister, was breathing peacefully. What was she dreaming about? Legends of knights and magical kingdoms? Or perhaps something about farms, cows, and the drunkards her father had to deal with all the time? ¡°Tomorrow, I¡¯ll read you the next part. In it, Marenir will meet eight travelers coming from the east. He will not acknowledge them as heroes at first and will fight them as enemies, and-¡±


    Ardi stepped closer and cleared his throat softly to get his brother¡¯s attention.


    Erti jumped, almost dropping the book.


    ¡°Why are you sneaking around?¡± Erti whispered.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Ardi said, raising his hands in apology. He ruffled his brother¡¯s auburn hair ¡ª it was almost the same color as the child¡¯s brown eyes. ¡°Now I understand why Grandfather remembered this legend today.¡±


    ¡°I was hoping Kena would like it,¡± Erti sighed, putting the book down and leaning over the crib to run his hand through the baby¡¯s golden hair. ¡°She said her first word today.¡±


    ¡°She did?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Erti nodded. ¡°Mom was in the kitchen. She was making soup for this week. And Kena said, ¡®Ma-ma.¡¯ Syllable by syllable. ¡®Ma-ma.¡¯ Mom almost spilled the pot. She couldn¡¯t wait to tell Dad when he came home.¡±


    Ardi said nothing. He had missed it.


    That morning, he had escaped to the house by the river to read some more of the book ¡ª he had decided to leave it in the barn, not wanting to tempt fate by bringing a forbidden text into the home of someone who was supposed to uphold the law, and in the evening, he had worked at the Polskih farm. He and the cowboys had been preparing firewood for the winter. The farm was too far from what Anna¡¯s brother called ¡°the main route,¡± so Ley energy had never been brought there.


    Still, Ardi wasn¡¯t at all disappointed. Strangely enough, he didn¡¯t feel any connection to Kena. Yes, perhaps he had grown to love her over the past eight months. After all, she was his mother¡¯s daughter, albeit sired by another man, and not Hector. They were connected by blood, even if only as half-siblings, but...


    Ardi looked at his brother.


    If a troll were to burst in right now, Ardi knew exactly whom he would try to save first. Did that make him an unworthy hunter? Well, even though he no longer walked among the beasts, it didn¡¯t stop him from applying the remarkable wisdom of Ergar to this problem. Which was...


    Those were thoughts for another day.


    ¡°Shall we go and catch some fish tomorrow?¡± Erti asked suddenly. ¡°I made us new fishing rods.¡±


    Ardi chuckled.


    ¡°By yourself?¡±


    ¡°Well...¡± His brother hesitated immediately. ¡°Dad bought the line and... the hooks too, but I affixed them to the stick myself! And I dug up some worms, too! And I asked Mom to make us sandwiches! So...¡±


    ¡°So I have no choice but to agree.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely right!¡± Erti grinned broadly, revealing a mixture of baby and adult teeth. ¡°I hardly see you anymore.¡±


    Ardi felt a little uneasy. He could have made excuses for himself by saying that he wasn¡¯t avoiding his brother, he just couldn¡¯t find any free time in the midst of school, work, and... well, everything. Classes ended around two in the afternoon, and he was expected at the Polskih farm by five in the evening. So, even if not every day, at least a few times a week, Ardi could have spent time with his brother.


    Not to mention the fact that children, unlike adults, had two days off.


    ¡°When do you want to go?¡±


    Erti thought for a moment.


    ¡°Let¡¯s say... seven in the morning? That¡¯s early enough to get to the ridge.¡±


    ¡°All right,¡± Ardi nodded.


    He didn¡¯t mention that it would be better to set out before dawn.


    Erti flashed him a carefree, gap-toothed smile, which looked like a fence missing most of its boards, and his older brother cast another quick glance at the crib. The little baby, curled up in her blankets, was breathing peacefully. She had chubby cheeks, light hair, and a slightly upturned nose. In some ways, Kena reminded him of Shaia, and Ardi didn¡¯t understand why a part of him wanted to be angry about that. It was as if he felt like Kena had no right...


    Well... These were indeed thoughts for another day.


    They left their sister¡¯s room and said good night at the stairs leading to the attic.


    ¡°Good night, Ardi.¡±


    ¡°Good night, Erti.¡±


    Ardi climbed the stairs, passing by stacks of textbooks, notebooks, and maps neatly arranged on a wide desk, and then flopped down on his bed by the window. The stars were already coming out in the sky. Bright sparks pierced the darkness of the Spirit of the Night¡¯s wings.


    The Sidhe claimed that these were the spirits of the past, watching over their descendants, protecting their sleep, and sometimes even sharing their wisdom with them.


    Humans claimed that stars were merely dense clusters of gas burning so hot and bright that they could be seen through the vast, cold cosmos.


    For some reason, Ardi preferred the first theory, but the second was easier to believe.


    Musing on these things, he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of running among the blooming hills and meadows of the Alkadian forest. He tried to outrun the soaring eagles and falcons, wrestled with growing bear cubs, picked berries, hunted hares, and indulged in all the activities he¡¯d done there every summer.


    Ardi was awakened by crying. Kena was hungry, and Shaia was hurrying to feed her child.


    Sighing, Ardi climbed out of bed, slung a towel over his shoulder, and headed for the bathroom, where Kelly was already waiting in line. Erti always woke up earlier than the others, as he enjoyed spending time washing himself with warm water, which had been heated in its tank by the Ley energy overnight.


    ¡°Good morning, Ardi,¡± the sheriff greeted him cheerfully.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± Ardi replied politely.


    He and Kelly were almost the same height now ¡ª the latter was only a few centimeters taller than the hunter. The sheriff was standing in nothing but his long johns, which allowed Ardi to see all the numerous scars on his torso and arms: the sunburst patterns left behind by bullets, the wide, ugly gashes that were his ¡°rewards¡± for surviving a knife or saber strike, and a whole web of other, more mundane ones.


    Someone at school had mentioned something about Sheriff Brian¡¯s military past, and how after he¡¯d been honorably discharged, he¡¯d returned to his home where his ancestors had once farmed. Only the farm had been burned down by bandits, and all his relatives had perished in the fire, including his younger sister.


    ¡°Timofey asked me to have a word with you. Again.¡±


    Timofey was Anna¡¯s father¡¯s name. Timofey Polskih, the biggest cattle rancher this side of Delpas. He supplied meat not only to Evergale, but also to several nearby towns as well.


    ¡°If he doesn¡¯t like me spending time with Anna,¡± Ardi countered, ¡°he can fire me anytime he wants.¡±


    Kelly clicked his tongue and folded his arms across his chest. For some reason, he reminded Ardi of an unhappy horse at that moment.


    ¡°You know damn well he can¡¯t.¡±


    Ardi did, in fact, know. According to Faruh and Neviy, Polskih had once had a major conflict with a neighboring farm. It had gotten so bad that they¡¯d had a little cowboy war. As a result, Polskih had become the largest cattle rancher in the area. And he¡¯d avoided the court and the gallows for his illegal actions thanks to Kelly. And Kelly had suddenly found himself with a rather nice house for someone living on a sheriff¡¯s salary.


    Humans...


    ¡°We¡¯re just friends, Anna and I,¡± Ardi waved it away. ¡°She¡¯s a child.¡±


    The sheriff squinted at him.


    ¡°And when she turns sixteen?¡±


    Ardi said nothing. He really didn¡¯t know how to feel about the girl with hair the color of autumn fields. Half of him wanted to touch that hair, hug her, breathe in the scent of her skin, and put the crickets Anna was so afraid of in her desk. Why? Ardi had already asked himself that same question.


    The other half saw her as a little girl, an innocent child, one who didn¡¯t yet know how to shelter from the storm, where to find the path to the waterhole, or how to navigate the forest without crossing another hunter¡¯s trail.


    ¡°There¡¯s no law against me talking to a human child,¡± Ardi replied dryly. ¡°And even if I weren¡¯t a half-blood, interspecies marriage has been legal for almost a century and a half.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Erti continued to wash, risking using up all the hot water. But no one would blame him. Shaia had already washed herself and Kena, and the male members of the household could endure it. Besides, Ardi preferred to wash in cold water.


    ¡°There really is no law against it,¡± Kelly grumbled. ¡°But there are revolvers and two dozen cowboys.¡±


    ¡°The Tavsers are outlaws.¡±


    The sheriff just snorted.


    Tans Tavser had been a notorious terrorist. His gang had operated in the northern provinces of the Empire for nearly ten years, robbing food trains and banks and wreaking havoc. Why hadn¡¯t the Guard or the Second Chancery been sent after them, and why had they been allowed to exist for so long? Simply because they¡¯d only raided and looted areas and towns that were predominantly inhabited by Firstborn.


    Teacher Parnas had claimed that the Tavsers would have continued their dirty work if they hadn¡¯t accidentally robbed a Treasury train. How a train carrying taxes to the Metropolis had ended up on tracks it shouldn¡¯t have even gotten close to remained a mystery to this day.


    The story ended with agents of the Second Chancery hunting down the gang, hanging every member, and executing Tavser himself in the Metropolis by skinning him alive. They claimed that he hadn¡¯t even screamed in pain, but had simply laughed and cursed all Firstborn. This had made him into a symbol for scum who believed in the superiority of the human race.


    ¡°You, Ardi, seem like a strong lad. And according to the traditions of your ancestors, you¡¯re an adult and an independent hunter.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± the young man nodded.


    ¡°But sometimes¡­ See that doorframe there?¡±


    ¡°What about it?¡±


    ¡°Well, sometimes it seems to me like even that doorframe has more sense when it comes to some things than you do.¡±


    Ardi wanted to protest, but he didn¡¯t get the chance. Erti stepped into the hallway, releasing clouds of steam and humid, stifling air from the bathroom, and by the time Ardi had blinked, the door had closed behind his brother and he could hear the sound of a razor blade being sharpened on a leather belt.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± his brother mumbled, cheeks red from the hot water.


    ¡°Did it get cold for you again last night?¡±


    Erti nodded. He often felt cold. Last month, a doctor from Delpas had come because of it. He¡¯d said it was his blood. That there wasn¡¯t enough of it to warm his extremities. An incurable disease. That had hit Shaia hard... and Kelly, too. Ardi would have been glad if the latter hadn¡¯t reacted at all, but after the diagnosis, the sheriff had acquired a few more gray strands in his hair and his face was even more lined with wrinkles now.


    Humans...


    The doctor had left some medicine, taken his payment, and returned to the city. Ardi had spent a week trying to recall a cure from Atta¡¯nha¡¯s books, but the Sidhe and Fae had never suffered from anemia, so there was no need to treat it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Ardi sighed and put his arm around his brother.


    ¡°But what about-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll wash in the stream,¡± the hunter interrupted him.


    They both changed into clothes that were already a bit too small for them, but if they were damaged while fishing, it wouldn¡¯t be a big loss ¡ª they could always be used as rags or made into something for Kena to wear when she grew up.


    Their mother handed them each a bundle of sandwiches and asked Ardi to keep an eye on his brother. From the pantry, they took fishing rods, a bucket, and a tin can of worms covered with gauze.


    Evergale greeted the fishermen with its usual hustle and bustle. But after passing several new houses built on what had once been fields, and was now called Memory Street, the brothers found themselves beyond the town limits and, laughing and chatting, playing tag and racing each other, they crossed the meadows and reached the foothills in a few hours. Ardi cast a quick glance to the east, where the sky was scraping the high peaks. Most of the snow had melted, revealing the gray stones and the tops of the pines and firs that were turning green.


    Somewhere in those mountain valleys, the cedar tree under which he and Skusty had sat for hours, listening to the forests and the winds, the grasses and the rivers, the birds and the clouds, had awakened. Ardi hadn¡¯t known back then how much he would one day miss the sly, cowardly scoundrel¡­ or how much of what the little squirrel had taught his two-legged friend would turn out to be unexpectedly useful and wise.


    ¡°Do you miss them a lot?¡± Erti asked.


    Ardi looked at his brother, then smiled and ruffled his chestnut hair.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he gestured toward the green ridge rising before them. ¡°The perch and roach won¡¯t catch themselves.¡±


    Erti hesitated for a moment, then relaxed and ran after him.


    They crossed the hills, descended a winding path through the rocks, and soon found themselves on the edge of a rocky promontory. On either side, two tributaries flowed, soon joining into a broad river.


    At its narrowest, the natural peninsula stretched about ten meters wide, and at its widest, which somewhat resembled a donut ¡ª a small pond lay within the peninsula ¡ª it expanded to a full twenty. With its dense vegetation, it boasted tall trees, some of which, perhaps forgetting that it was summer, had somehow donned autumnal, colorful attire.


    The brothers, jumping nimbly and easily over the stones, reached the sloping shore of the promontory. They set up their gear, opened the can of worms, baited a few on the hooks, and cast them far out into the river.


    Erti, squinting, kept a close eye on his bobber, as if he were hoping to catch something in the first few seconds of fishing. Ardi, noticing how the fish were swimming freely just below the surface of the water, only sighed slightly. He could¡¯ve easily caught them with his bare hands and... Well, maybe considering the fact that he hadn¡¯t practiced in the last six months, it would¡¯ve taken him some time, but still... But still, he hadn¡¯t come here for himself, but for his brother. So, like Erti, Ardi watched his own bobber in silence.


    Around them, the wind stirred, making the emerald carpets of the treetops on both sides of the river sway. They were so dense and rough-looking that they resembled moss more than tree crowns.


    Ardi didn¡¯t know this part of the forest streams well, for he and his friends had never ventured to the western slopes. Back then, not remembering his past, the hunter hadn¡¯t understood why, but now he knew. He knew that the beasts avoided the ¡°New Alcade¡± that was overrun with humans.


    For example, a few hours south of here was a large sawmill, and even farther, if you went around the cliffs, you could find the entrance to the mines where Ley crystals were being extracted. Not to mention all the settlements, including Evergale, that were nestled in the foothills.


    ¡°Ardi.¡±


    The hunter started and pulled himself from his thoughts.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    Erti wanted to say something but remained silent. He just bit his lip awkwardly and tugged at his fishing rod. Ardi didn¡¯t rush him. He didn¡¯t fully understand how the human world worked, but among the beasts, questioning someone too much was considered rude and would lead to nothing but a fight.


    When his brother was ready...


    ¡°I know Dad isn¡¯t my real father,¡± Erti¡¯s voice was soft and slightly shaking. ¡°But I have never known any other, and...¡±


    He fell silent again, turning away. Ardi, looking at their fishing rods, began to doubt that he had been invited here just to fish. As Anna had correctly stated, Erti wasn¡¯t a foolish child. Quite the opposite, in fact. And to be honest, Ardi suspected that when Erti grew up, he would be much smarter than his older brother.


    ¡°His name was Hector,¡± Ardi said, trying not to notice the sharp claws gripping his heart. ¡°Hector Egobar, a Ranger in the Imperial Army. The last of the Matabar. Though... now that title fits Grandfather better.¡±


    ¡°And not you?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Ardi was surprised. He had never thought of calling himself ¡°the last of the Matabar.¡± ¡°I¡¯m like you, a half-blood. Only half the blood of our father¡¯s tribe flows in me.¡±


    ¡°Half¡­¡± Erti repeated, his posture slumping. ¡°Grandfather used to ask me to help him make wooden toys once a month,¡± Ardi flinched, ¡°but then he stopped. He said the hunter blood in me was sleeping too deeply and would probably never wake up.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with that,¡± Ardi shrugged. ¡°So don¡¯t worry about-¡±


    ¡°I thought,¡± Erti interrupted him, ¡°that if I could become¡­ become¡­ like you, I would see¡­ our father.¡±


    Father... father. It seemed that Erti was referring to Kelly as Dad and to Hector as Father. Indeed, Erti was no fool.


    ¡°Grandfather told me a story when I was little, Erti,¡± Ardi smiled, feeling a tear burn his cheek. ¡°That when the Matabar di... when they leave, they turn into their spirits.¡±


    ¡°And what spirit was our father?¡±


    Ardi involuntarily touched the spot where Ergar¡¯s fang hung from a cord.


    ¡°A snow leopard,¡± he replied. ¡°So, when you grow up, and if you behave well and study hard, I¡¯ll take you to the real Alcade.¡±


    ¡°The real Alcade?¡±


    Ardi nodded and gestured to the east, where the endless mountain range stretched out toward the horizon.


    ¡°Promise?¡±


    ¡°I promise,¡± Ardi answered sincerely.


    And just like that time almost seven years ago, he felt invisible threads, stronger than any chains or ropes, binding his heart.


    ¡°Will you tell me about... our father?¡± Erti asked, his voice a little lighter.


    ¡°Of course!¡± Ardi laughed. ¡°Where to start...¡±


    For the rest of the day, Ardi told his brother everything he could remember about Hector. Both funny stories and sad ones. Interesting ones, and not so interesting ones. About how they¡¯d fixed things, how they¡¯d played, how sometimes he had been angry with his father, and sometimes his father had been angry with him. The words flowed naturally out of Ardan, bringing to mind more and more scenes.


    Sometimes, Erti laughed, sometimes he didn¡¯t believe what was said, but more often than not, he just listened in silence. His eyes were wide open, and he¡¯d forgotten all about their bobbers and fishing rods. He paid no attention to the rising wind and the encroaching twilight, either.


    With each hour and each new story, Ardi felt the grip of those clawed fingers loosening, the lump in his throat growing less painful, and the need to blink to prevent treacherous moisture from streaking down his cheeks becoming less frequent.


    And when the day was done, and a few fish were swimming in their bucket, Ardi didn¡¯t know who had benefited more from this, or who had needed it more. But what he did know for sure was that here, on this side of the forest flows, mountain trails, and lakes, he had something as dear to his heart as his beast friends. Perhaps even more dear than that...


    He looked at the tired Erti, who was puffing over their gear and rods, and smiled, then turned to the mountain peaks. For the first time, they didn¡¯t evoke sorrow in him, but only a light, somewhat pleasant nostalgia.


    He would return. Someday, he would, but...


    ¡°Let¡¯s hurry home! Mama promised to bake our favorite pie! Blackberry!¡±


    ¡°Hurry, eh?¡± Ardi laughed and lifted his laughing brother over his shoulder. Small arms wrapped around his neck, and legs locked around his stomach. ¡°Hold on tight, little brother! I¡¯ll take you home with the wind at your back!¡±


    ...not today.


    ***


    Ardi stood beside the tall, ancient oak, his eyes closed as he looked at it with his heart, as Skusty had taught him.


    He used to think that the tree¡¯s broad trunk couldn¡¯t be encircled by even four men working together, but now that he had grown, Ardi realized that not even six would be enough. Its mighty roots, like mythical serpents, had torn through the earth and twisted around the base of the gray trunk, which, in the twilight, resembled the entwined figures of unknown beings locked in a dance.


    Its crown, wide enough to loom over several houses at once, cast a dark shadow over the clearing. And even though its lower branches, worn out by a long life, never awoke from their winter slumber and always remained dormant in the languor of cold rest, its upper branches, like lightning frozen in the sky, were adorned with a wild array of colors.


    In a mad tangle of hues, green and emerald leaves mingled with russet and gold ones, crowned at the top with icy blue.


    Its roots dug deeper into history than Ardi¡¯s family line. He had always felt that fact very pointedly. And when he¡¯d sat here with his grandfather, their backs pressed against the mighty trunk of the tree, the oak hadn¡¯t just listened to their stories, it had remembered them. Every leaf, every twig, every bud, every ridge on its bark held more knowledge than the entire library of Atta¡¯nha.


    Ardi bowed to the oak. He bowed deeply and sincerely, as a weary traveler might after stumbling upon a house that could offer them comfort, warmth, and the hope that tomorrow won¡¯t be their last day.


    Birds chirped above. They descended on nearby trees, nesting in their branches, and finding a brief respite in their green crowns, but they never dared to land on the limbs of the old tree.


    The wind blew.


    It made the distant treetops creak, allowing them to whisper among themselves, passing stories and rumors for many miles around. But no storms or gales could make the old tree sway or bend it toward the ground. Proud and unyielding, it had stood here even back when these forests were merely flower fields. Only the mountain peaks were its peers and reminders of the times when it, too, had been young.


    Its roots had absorbed the rains that had since become rivers and lakes, they¡¯d shattered rocks that were now climbing the slopes toward the clouds, and they¡¯d held the spilled blood of hunters and prey alike, all of them now part of this oak. They were hidden within it as a memory.


    Ardi opened his eyes.


    Before him stood a large, sprawling oak. It was old and a bit crooked, with long, oddly twisted branches. But that was only what the eyes could see.


    He approached it and pressed his hand against the bark. For a moment, Ardi thought he felt a sigh and a slight, almost imperceptible touch in return. It was as if the oak had greeted him. And his father. And his father¡¯s father.


    The old tree remembered them all.


    The hunter pressed his face against the trunk.


    ¡°My name is Ardan Egobar,¡± he whispered in the Fae language, not wanting to deceive this ancient guardian of the forest. ¡°I have come to ask you for a gift.¡±


    The tree remained silent.


    Only its leaves rustled, allowing the wind to disturb its peace. And in their whispering, Ardi heard mysterious words whose meaning he didn¡¯t understand, whose sound he couldn¡¯t retain or reproduce. He only felt that the tree was warning him of something. Or rather, someone.


    Ardi didn¡¯t know what else to say. And what good were words when the tree knew him better than anyone else? It knew the blood flowing in his veins, it knew the air filling his lungs, it knew the legends that had made his heart burn and his eyes always see the true path ahead.


    Stories... The old oak itself was the story of these lands. A legend, a half-forgotten myth of the first hunters and their forests. Its embodiment.


    Another gust of wind swept across the clearing and a branch creaked, then fell to the ground at Ardi¡¯s feet. It was slightly curved at the base, brown in color, with tiny green shoots. It wasn¡¯t particularly beautiful, and there was no elegance in it, and no matter how hard Ardi tried, he wouldn¡¯t be able to carve a worthy staff out of it. But no matter what it might look like in the future, it would always remain the most precious thing to Ardi ¡ª a memory of home.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the hunter bowed, then picked up the branch and turned toward the Ranger¡¯s house and barn.


    There, carpentry tools dulled by years of neglect awaited him, inherited from his father, along with a gift Hector had never had the chance to give his eldest son. It remained in the closet ¡ª a large notebook with a leather cover that had a clever attachment designed to let it hang from a belt.


    And hidden in the ventilation shaft, the red troll crystal occasionally glimmered.


    But all that would come later. First, he had to sharpen his tools. He would practice on simple branches, and only move on to crafting his own staff once he was ready.


    Lost in these thoughts, Ardi didn¡¯t notice how the path to the oak that he had walked with his grandfather since childhood quickly became overgrown with grass and heather. And then, the gap in the grove that had offered a view of the clearing and the old oak was covered in leaves, as if the surrounding trees had huddled together to hide it from the outside world.


    ***


    Ardi wiped the wood down with a solution meant to protect it against bugs and worms, then applied a final oily coat with a special brush with hard bristles. Outside the window of his makeshift workshop, which had once been the kitchen of the Ranger¡¯s house, fall had already arrived. The leaves were exchanging their green attire for one of colorful gold and copper, and the sky was gradually being veiled with pale clouds, though they were not yet gray. It would not be long before they turned gray, however, and completely blocked the sun from the valley.


    But the hunter¡¯s thoughts were elsewhere. On the table before him lay the fruit of his labor for the last three months. His staff. It was taller than himself and almost straight, except for the bumps left behind by its severed branches and the wide curve that now served as its tip. If you didn¡¯t look closely, and didn¡¯t know that the curve had once been a simple broken branch, you might think it was a bird¡¯s feather, or a piece of snow frozen in the wind, or, if your imagination failed you, a simple flame caught in the middle of a dance.


    Thanks to the oils and the solution, the staff had taken on a slightly lighter shade of brown, but the base, which Ardi had nearly ruined, and which was the result of an urgent salvage effort, now stood out a bit from the rest ¡ª it was wider in diameter and almost purple in color.


    Still, Ardi was proud of his work.


    ***


    He shook off the snow and took off his hat ¡ª he wore it more out of respect for his mother¡¯s requests than anything, as the cold hadn¡¯t really arrived in the valley yet ¡ª and shrugged off his heavy, sheepskin-lined cloak. Ardi checked that no clever raccoon had snuck into the workshop, then grabbed his journal, the troll crystal, a shard of Ertaline ore, and sat down on the living room floor, where he had previously drawn the necessary symbols. He placed a magic candle in the middle, which had become something of a talisman for him, and then he moved so he was sitting cross-legged, placed his hands on his knees, closed his eyes, and opened his mind.


    As Skusty had taught him, he used his breath to clear his mind of all extraneous thoughts, leaving only one light and elusive thought to serve as the guiding thread that connected his essence to the world around him. And as Atta¡¯nha had taught him, he wrapped that thread around the crystal and the ore, then opened his eyes.


    Ardi felt as if he had plunged to the bottom of a stream, where colorful rays of sunlight pierced the surface. Only these rays weren¡¯t straight, but wound around him like long ropes, swirling amid a wind that could neither be heard nor felt, and no matter what happened, they didn¡¯t touch any objects or Ardi himself. But if you looked closely, the red ones were brushing lightly against the crystal and ore shards.


    As described in the book, Ardi reached for them with his will. If someone had been observing him from the side, they wouldn¡¯t have noticed any movement, but to Ardi, it was as if he¡¯d stretched his hand forward and grasped a red thread touching the crystal. It immediately filled with a scarlet glow.


    Ardi exhaled and drew the thread toward him, but the farther he moved from the crystal, the less light he retained. It was as if the light was seeping through his fingers like river sand. But when Ardi brought his hand to his chest, he saw with his inner vision how, deep within his mind, the first ray of a red Star had flared into being.


    Without making a sound, trying not to let his emotions take over, and strengthening his will as Atta¡¯nha had taught him, Ardi reached out to the light again. If he hadn¡¯t even felt the weight of the light the first time, now it was as if he held a small stone in his hand.


    His hand didn¡¯t waver, and the light he brought back this time was enough to ignite the second beam.


    The third time, the weight of the stone increased significantly, and Ardi¡¯s hand almost shook, spilling the light onto the ground. Even so, he managed to ignite the third beam.


    But after the first trio of rays were completed, the book of the unknown Aean¡¯Hane proved once more to be accurate, and Ardi began to feel pain in addition to the heavy stone in his hand. It was similar to the pain of accidentally cutting one¡¯s finger on the edge of a piece of paper. A short, sharp sting that made you grit your teeth, followed by relief. Only now there was no relief, and the sting didn¡¯t go away. And besides that, each time the hunter approached the twisted rope of light touching the crystal, it recoiled and began to wriggle like a snake trying to avoid capture.


    Covered in sweat, but not allowing his hand formed of pure will to tremble, Ardi managed to light the fourth ray.


    For the fifth and sixth, the pain intensified. From the sting of a paper cut, it escalated to a sharp blow to the head delivered by a wooden edge, and then to the sensation of being struck in the eye by a fir branch.


    If not for the lessons of the forest beasts, Ardi would have already given up, but now the second trio was behind him, and six scarlet rays blazed around his first Star.


    Taking a few more deep breaths, Ardi reached out for the rays again.


    Now, they barely hovered above the crystal and ore, like... fish in a river. Knowing what to expect, Ardi waited for the right moment and skillfully grabbed the ray with his hand and almost ruined everything.


    It was one thing to know that a monstrous weight and pain would crash down on you, the kind of agony that could make even a mother who¡¯d recently given birth flinch, and quite another to experience it for yourself. Ardi felt as if he were holding Guta on his outstretched arm, and every part of his body, every hair, down to the very tips of his nails, had been plunged into boiling oil, where invisible, scorching needles were stinging him from all sides.


    Stifling an involuntary cry of pain and gritting his teeth, Ardi pulled the light toward him. He shook like an aspen leaf, bloody tears streamed down his cheeks, and warm streams of vitality gushed from his nose, but still, he held on. He held on and pulled. The light spilled and scarlet drops fell heavily back into the light, but Ardi pulled. He needed only one drop ¡ª the tiniest, most insignificant drop ¡ª to ignite the seventh ray. If he failed, he wouldn¡¯t be able to complete the ritual, and his path as a Star Mage would end then and there.


    As the water kept flowing and flowing, seeing that he wouldn¡¯t make it, Ardi exhaled and, with a final, sharp movement, simultaneously pulled his imaginary hand toward himself and then also lunged forward. By the Sleeping Spirits, if not for his training with the she-wolf, he wouldn¡¯t have been able to maintain his concentration and it would all have been over right then, but...


    Within his mind, a Star with seven rays blazed.


    Ardi breathed heavily. He felt nauseous. His vision swam. His hands barely obeyed him, and it felt like someone was slamming a hammer against his back. And yet, lifting his amber eyes, he looked once again at the chaotically writhing rays of the scarlet Star.


    Even if...


    ¡°If you know you can¡¯t handle the prey, retreat,¡± his mentor¡¯s familiar voice echoed in his head. ¡°Prepare better and come back next time.¡±


    Ardi shook his head. He knew Ergar was right. The path of hunters didn¡¯t spare arrogant fools, but there, before him, swayed power. True and untainted power. With it, he could...


    Could do what?


    Had he come here for strength? Was it the lure of power that had drawn him here? No. When Ardi had immersed himself in the stranger¡¯s journal, none of that had mattered. Only curiosity and wonder had driven him. And the stories his grandfather had told him, and the scrolls of the she-wolf he¡¯d read, the ones about the wizards and sorcerers of the past.


    He was guided by something beautiful and airy, light and gentle. Something magical that offered a soft light of hope.


    There was no power, no strength, no furious rush of insane greed that Ardi had almost mistaken for excitement in that.


    Ergar was right. This was not his last hunt.


    ¡°Enough,¡± Ardi said, and he opened his eyes.


    At the same time, the troll crystal glowed and split in half, while the Ertaline ore turned black and began to resemble unrefined iron. Wiping the blood from his face, Ardi noticed that the sun had been replaced by a full moon outside.


    But this passing observation was quickly forgotten.


    It took an enormous effort of will to stop himself from trying out the spells described in the book. Ardi even had to slap his knee to bring his mind back into focus.


    He still had time.


    After all, his seven rays of the Red Star weren¡¯t going anywhere. They would be with him forever, until the end of his life.


    ¡°So,¡± Ardi smiled, touching the fang pendant on his chest, ¡°does this mean I¡¯m a wizard now?¡±

 Chapter 20 - Water and fire

    ¡°This time, my dear student, I want to introduce you to my latest creation: the Ice Wave.


    [Star: Red


    Number of rays: 5


    School: Combat/Elemental


    Element: Water-Ice


    Maximum rune combinations: area/height/density/speed]¡±


    Ardi turned the page and began to study the seal with great focus. These strange symbols, which he had first encountered nearly four years ago in a barn, were called magical seals. These intricate geometric patterns, embedded with runes and other symbols, were more like recipes than anything inherently magical or mysterious.


    Influencing reality with Star Magic, in theory, didn¡¯t require much: one had to ¡°draw¡± energy from their own Star and ¡°insert¡± it into the emanations of the Ley Lines. But taking this literally and just ¡°pouring¡± energy outward would either result in nothing happening at best or, at worst, the mage could suffer severe consequences ¡ª and if they were lucky, only physical ones.


    The seal indicated precisely how to weave the threads of Star energy, and the runes clarified some nuances. Taken from the language of the Fae, the runes served, as Anna¡¯s brother might have said, as toggles, switches, pointers, and ¡ª put simply ¡ª regulators. They ensured that the spell pattern didn¡¯t just explode with energy but took on distinct forms in every sense of the word. However, Ardi had no idea about the principles behind their placement, appearance within the overall pattern, or anything else, so he learned through trial and error.


    ¡°Five red rays,¡± Ardi read above the seal, muttering to himself afterward. ¡°Almost the peak of the second triad¡­ and how does he expect me to copy this?¡±


    Ardi was looking at a six-pointed star with several circles inscribed within it, which formed something like a snowflake pattern, and around it, there was a wide belt consisting of a torn white oval with dozens of runes. All the seals in the stranger¡¯s textbook were recorded exclusively in colored ink. Ardi didn¡¯t know if this was the norm for such magical works because he simply had nothing to compare it to.


    With a heavy sigh, he moved the textbook to a neighboring table and, snapping his fingers over the magical candle, smiled at the familiar dance of the flame. The flame was not being fed by a Ley crystal or by a carved seal that would directly absorb the energy of the Ley Lines. The stranger called such artifacts the creations of the Aean¡¯Hane. The magical words spoken over this candle had made it what it was now. Snap your fingers ¡ª it lights up, snap them again ¡ª it extinguishes.


    How did Ardi discover this? Oh, that was a long, boring, and rather tragic story, detailing his attempt to kiss Anna and the slap that had taken the place of her maiden lips. Neviy had disagreed with him, calling it, ¡°the funniest thing he¡¯d seen that year.¡±


    Ardi dipped his pen in ink and began to carefully trace the seal¡¯s pattern in his notebook. The same notebook his father had left him as a gift almost eleven years ago. Having already learned from bitter experience, he did not attempt to bring the seal into reality immediately. When he¡¯d tried that with the first spell he¡¯d learned from the book¡¯s author ¡ª a simple ¡°Spark¡± requiring just one ray from a Red Star ¡ª he¡¯d almost found himself on the paths of his ancestors.


    Back then, Ardi hadn¡¯t known that, before summoning a seal, you either needed to memorize it so well that you could draw it blindfolded without a single mistake, or you had to be able to see it in front of you and follow the ¡°recipe.¡±


    And apparently, the strange author had suspected that this might happen, because immediately after, in the very next chapter, he had begun to explain the need to copy the spell into one¡¯s grimoire ¡ª or its prototype ¡ª or carve it onto a staff. However, both methods had their strengths and weaknesses.


    The staff, though capable of containing a significant number of seals, had a small catch ¡ª it served as a conduit for Star Magic. The mage would draw energy from within themselves, then channel it through the staff, which would then compress, twist, and weave it into a tight thread. It was much easier to create a seal with this thread than with an uncontrolled outpouring of energy.


    Now, imagine you¡¯ve made a pipe through which you¡¯re pushing a substantial flow of water. Then, on the surface of this very pipe, you start carving symbols and patterns. Sooner or later, you¡¯ll wear down the pipe¡¯s strength, and a burst will occur. And that was an easy-to-understand analogy from everyday life. Here, however, since you¡¯d be dealing with magic, the nuances of these processes were much more ephemeral.


    The stranger strongly recommended not drawing any spells on the staff, except those that were absolutely necessary to have at hand at any given moment. So, the staff standing by Ardan¡¯s bed had remained as pristine as ever over the years.


    His grimoire, however, was another matter entirely. It was a book where every page was meant to be a spell. It could, of course, contain as many seals as the mage could bind into it. But even here, there was a catch.


    A seal wasn¡¯t just made up of its pattern, it also had numerous parameters. The fundamental difference between the art of the Aean¡¯Hane and Star Magic was that the Speakers could summon and control their power using their own will, while Star Mages could only create a tool, and once it was brought into the world, they could no longer influence it.


    Take, for example, the simple, training spell known as Spark. It could fly upwards ¡ª that was one rune, or it could fly straight ¡ª that was another; diagonally, left, right, sideways¡­ It could have different shapes. Different speeds. Densities. And so on. And while the seal¡¯s pattern remained unchanged, the runes within it changed on the fly.


    Memorizing them wasn¡¯t too challenging for someone who had been studying the Sidhe language since childhood, but the placement of the runes was another story ¡ª it required calculating not only the number of runes but also their arrangement within the pattern itself.


    Not to mention the fact that each spell could only accommodate a certain number of runes, but more on that later¡­


    So, the stranger had advised his would-be ¡°student¡± not to limit themselves when copying things into their grimoire, but to immediately add a few seals with altered runes ¡ª this would make future experimentation easier.


    The downside of the grimoire approach was that if you didn¡¯t bother studying, and weren¡¯t constantly memorizing dozens of runes and hundreds, or even thousands of their variations, even the Spark seal could take up half a thick book. And then, at the crucial moment, a mage might spend a good quarter of an hour searching for the one they needed in that particular situation.


    ¡°Speed runes,¡± Ardi muttered under his breath, filling in the outer circle. Again, he wasn¡¯t sure that the runes he called ¡°speed,¡± ¡°density,¡± ¡°direction,¡± ¡°shape,¡± and so on were exactly what they represented, but many experiments had led him to these conclusions. ¡°As many as four of them. And eight density runes. No wonder the spell requires five rays¡­ This isn¡¯t an ice wave, it¡¯s practically an ice wall¡­¡±


    In nearly four years of studying Star Magic from the stranger¡¯s textbook, he had encountered only three spells that¡­ if one could even put it that way, might have been useful in a difficult situation where someone intended to harm the mage.


    And all of them consumed an enormous amount of energy. Even the simplest of these ¡ª Ice Arrow ¡ª required three rays of the first star. Ardi could cast two of those and, say, one Spark, and then he would be drained.


    When Ardi had first experienced this, he¡¯d spent nearly a week on his recovery, devoting six hours each day to focusing his mind and extracting the needed red threads from the tangled Ley Lines. Drop by drop, ray by ray, he¡¯d restored his Star.


    Of course, if he¡¯d had a beast crystal or a piece of ore with Ley energy, he could have reduced his recovery time from a week to a few hours. And if he¡¯d drained a capacitor, it would¡¯ve been even better. It might¡¯ve only taken him a few seconds to a few minutes, depending on the energy it held.


    But all of that cost money, and Ardi couldn¡¯t boast a particularly thick wallet. Yes, when he¡¯d turned sixteen and received his certificate of adulthood from the mayor, Polskih had been forced to raise his pay from three exes to the minimum allowed in their district for Firstborn and hybrids ¡ª five exes and sixty-five kso. Of that, in a good month, Ardi managed to save anywhere from forty kso to an ex, while the cheapest one-ray Red Star capacitor from ¡°Bri-&-Man¡± cost three and a quarter exes.


    Not to mention the fact that you couldn¡¯t buy them in Evergale and would have to hire a courier service to Delpas, which wasn¡¯t cheap either.


    And so, simply restoring seven rays would require nearly three dozen exes. It would be less wasteful to start heating the stove by burning money directly than to spend it on that. And as for affording it¡­ Ardi¡¯s total savings amounted to fifteen exes, which he¡¯d set aside for¡­


    ¡°Later,¡± Ardi chastised himself for letting his mind wander, continuing to inscribe the base seal of the Ice Wave in his grimoire.


    After nearly four hours, Ardan began to check his work. If he¡¯d made even a single tiny mistake in the copying process and his replica had diverged from the original, such carelessness could lead to the most terrifying of consequences. Like the time he¡¯d incorrectly recorded the number of runes in the Ice Arrow spell and had instead ended up with an ice bubble that had nearly broken his toes when it had popped out from the top of his staff.


    If that failed experiment hadn¡¯t required four rays to cast, perhaps Ardi wouldn¡¯t have torn the page from his grimoire and would¡¯ve instead dedicated his time to a few dozen more experiments and just as many hours of approximate calculations.


    Another hour and a half was spent carefully checking the seal, and only then did Ardi, satisfied with his work, close his grimoire and resume reading the stranger¡¯s notes.


    ¡°Today, I wanted to focus on studying seals related to ice and water. I don¡¯t yet understand the magical principle behind such nuances, but Star Magic seems to resonate with my Aean¡¯Hane path. I possess two True Names, and each time I invoke Star Magic of the element whose name I know, the seals are far more powerful than the number of rays I invest in them.


    This both fascinates and excites me, yet it also makes me ponder. If this is not mere coincidence, but truly a property of magic¡¯s unique echo, then perhaps I¡¯ve found evidence for my theory that the division of magic into two schools is rather pointless. Perhaps it truly is¡­ though I¡¯ll ponder that later.


    I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll be able to finish this work, my dear student. The country is on the brink of civil war. At least, that¡¯s what the Firstborn rebels say. They welcome their Dark Lord as a liberator and equalizer. As for me, I¡¯m less concerned with that than with the study of magic, which has delighted me ever since I was crawling under the blackberry bushes in my parents¡¯ meadow.


    If you ever find yourself there ¡ª in my native mountains ¡ª be sure to visit¡­¡±


    At this point, the neat handwriting abruptly ended, and the next paragraph returned to musings about runes, the properties of seals, artifacts, and other matters. Whoever the author had been, they hadn¡¯t been lying when they¡¯d warned that they weren¡¯t skilled at writing textbooks and would often get sidetracked.


    ¡°A True Name, huh?¡± Ardi whispered.


    He could summon a name ¡ª not a true one, of course, just a simple one ¡ª of ice, but he couldn¡¯t maintain his concentration for long. And as for putting power into that word¡­ It wasn¡¯t like he couldn¡¯t, he simply didn¡¯t know how. The she-wolf had never had time to teach him how to invest power into words. So, the most Ardan could manage when it came to the skills of a Speaker and the art of the Aean¡¯Hane was to create a snowball or a small ice shard in his hand. Which, of course, had come in quite handy during childhood snowball fights.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably not a coincidence,¡± Ardi shook his head.


    He had also noticed that his ice spells were much stronger than they should be, but there was nothing to really compare them to. Except for Spark and a couple of other seals that were hard to gauge in terms of power, all the others Ardi had recorded and studied up to this point were related to ice and water.


    Perhaps the stranger had unknowingly been recording and studying mostly seals related to his preferred elements?


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s enough theory for today,¡± Ardi put down his pen, closed the ink bottle, extinguished the candle, and, wrapping both books in cloths, hid them under the bed. It wasn¡¯t the safest place, but who would be rummaging through his room anyway?


    He glanced at his staff and sighed heavily.


    ¡°Sorry, buddy, not today,¡± he ran his hand over the wood. ¡°Polskih asked me to come to the farm early. And in the evening, there¡¯s the fair. And then, as you know, we¡¯ve got plans.¡±


    Ardi looked at his worn-out wallet lying on the table with the large bills tucked inside of it. If Faruh had kept his word and really arranged for the courier service, then¡­


    ¡°Ardi?¡± There was a knock at the door.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Can I borrow your certificate?¡± Erti asked after a brief pause.


    ¡°What for?¡± Ardan asked, clearly surprised.


    ¡°To show the guys. They don¡¯t believe me.¡±


    Ardan pulled out the drawer of his table and found among the other papers the blue cover of his diploma from the ¡°17th Rural School of the Western Foothills Province, Evergale.¡± To get the black cover ¡ª the one that indicated a perfect score with impeccable grades ¡ª he had been missing just one thing:


    ¡°That damned music,¡± he hissed, looking at the neatly aligned row of tens marred by a four in musical arts.


    But what could he do about the fact that, due to his peculiar upbringing, Ardi had never fully mastered fine motor skills? Even now, when he sat down to eat dinner, he would massage his fingers for a while first; otherwise, he risked accidentally spilling the contents of his fork or spoon onto his lap at any moment.


    Rising from the table, Ardan approached the door, turned the brass handle, and opened it. From the threshold, a pair of warm eyes looked up at him, belonging to a boy who could now be called a young man. It was amazing how the Matabar blood in Erti remained dormant, like a tired lumberjack after a long shift, but only when it came to magic or particularly delicate, sacred matters.


    But otherwise¡­


    At twelve years old, Erti had shot up to nearly a meter eighty, though he was still quite narrow-shouldered. So much so, in fact, that their mother sometimes joked about how, along with the scarecrow¡¯s rags, she could also sew two seasonal outfits for her younger son as well. And if you added in his pale skin and the ever-unhealthy gleam in his eyes caused by his anemia, it was no wonder that sometimes the other kids tried to tease Erti about being a ¡°living corpse.¡±


    As for Ardan, at seventeen, he had stopped growing at just shy of two meters, with shoulders only slightly broader than Kelly¡¯s, who wasn¡¯t exactly known for having an especially amazing build. But that build was still impressive enough that Ardan never had any trouble with cowboys or other workers at the saloons and farms. When words ran out, they weren¡¯t eager to resort to physical arguments.


    ¡°Here,¡± Ardan handed over the certificate. ¡°Bring it back at the festival.¡±


    Erti grabbed the certificate and immediately tucked it into the breast pocket of his shirt.


    ¡°Are you going?¡± Erti asked, surprised. ¡°You usually skip them.¡±


    ¡°Not this time,¡± Ardan winked. ¡°By the way, how¡¯s Kena?¡±


    Erti squinted, clearly having his own thoughts on what he¡¯d just heard, but said nothing.


    ¡°Mom took her to Mrs. Efrosiya¡¯s for a fitting,¡± he answered after a short pause. ¡°Dad¡¯s on patrol.¡±


    Ardan raised an eyebrow slightly.


    ¡°The railroad again?¡±


    Erti nodded.


    ¡°They supposedly caught Talon¡¯s gang at the beginning of the season,¡± Ardi mused.


    ¡°They say that they didn¡¯t get all of them,¡± Erti shrugged. ¡°Anyway, last month, the sawmill in §³rooked Boron burned down. They suspect that they didn¡¯t finish them off, and now the remaining ones are taking revenge on the province.¡±


    Ardi just shook his head. In recent years, he had spent so much time studying Star Magic that he¡¯d paid little attention to the events of the outside world. After graduating from school and passing his final exams, Ardi had discovered several unexpectedly freed-up hours in his schedule. His work routine on Polskih¡¯s farm had long been established, but as for his future¡­


    ¡°Grandpa¡¯s calling you,¡± Erti brought his brother back to the here and now.


    ¡°How is he?¡±


    ¡°The same,¡± his younger brother sighed. ¡°Worse.¡±


    Ardan whispered a curse in the Fae language. Everyone in Kelly¡¯s household, including the sheriff himself, knew perfectly well that with each passing day, Grandpa was getting closer to the moment when he would go to his ¡°Lady.¡± He was literally shrinking before their very eyes, withering away, and even the once steadfast gaze of his crystal-clear orbs, the eyes of a once mighty and wise hunter, had softened and dimmed.


    Ardi ruffled his brother¡¯s thick mop of hair and, closing the door behind him, headed downstairs.


    ¡°Half is mine,¡± he tossed out over his shoulder.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Half, Erti,¡± Ardan repeated, then flashed a brief smile and added, ¡°of the money you win from those poor souls.¡±


    Erti scowled and scratched his head.


    ¡°Sometimes, that knack of yours for catching every detail really gets on my nerves,¡± his younger brother grumbled.


    Truth be told, Ardan sometimes found this trait, instilled in him from childhood, just as annoying. It caused more problems than it solved. Take, for instance, that time they¡¯d been let out early after their first lesson, and he¡¯d had to spend an hour coming up with various ways to distract Neviy and Kevin so they wouldn¡¯t come home early and catch their mother with the postman.


    Ardi waved goodbye to his brother, grabbed his jacket, and stepped onto the porch. His lungs immediately filled with fresh, still spring-chilled, slightly damp air, which had been carried there from the blooming prairies. The scent of hundreds of wildflowers nearly made the hunter¡¯s head spin¡­ or maybe he was an aspiring wizard now?


    The sun had already reached its zenith, and the streets of Evergale greeted the townspeople with an unusual buzz and chatter. Today, on festival day, even the most miserly of bosses had given their workers the day off, not to mention the fact that people were flocking to the town from the surrounding areas, and even from Delpas.


    As a result, the streets of Evergale were so crowded that there was hardly enough room to move, and on festival day, the saloons and taverns earned as much as they sometimes did in an entire season.


    ¡°Reminds me of home,¡± came a creaky voice, like the groan of dead wood during particularly bad weather. ¡°I¡¯m not sure why, but it does.¡±


    Grandpa was speaking in the Fae language, and Ardi¡­ Ardi tried not to look in his direction. It was too painful to see the man he had always considered an unbending oak as he was now: a shriveled, bald old man with parchment-like, translucent skin covered in ugly warts and black spots. His claws had long since broken off, his teeth had fallen out, and his ears drooped like a dog¡¯s.


    Several blankets and a quilt covered Grandpa. For nearly half a year, he had refused to return indoors. He just sat on the porch, rocking in his chair. He would eat if fed, drink if offered, and he only spoke rarely. His gaze was fixed somewhere to the northeast. At first, Ardi had thought he was looking toward the Alkadian peaks, but then he realized Grandpa was looking farther ¡ª beyond the snow-capped summits and stately clouds. He was looking toward something only he knew about.


    ¡°It reminds you of Old Alcade?¡± Ardan asked in Fae.


    Grandpa smacked his cracked, swollen lips.


    ¡°That too, Son. That too¡­¡± He whispered faintly, then closed his eyes and smiled. In recent months, Grandpa had constantly confused Ardi with Hector and had started calling him Son instead of Grandson. ¡°It reminds me of the white domes gleaming with the golden symbols of our gods and the Sleeping Spirits. The wide streets where children¡¯s laughter never ceases. The taverns where minstrels sing and currant ale flows like a river. The debates with scholars, battles with knights, and how I, as a boy, would climb the towers of the wise, searching for knowledge that the naked eye couldn¡¯t see and only the heart could feel. All of it, like an old dream, is now coming back to me, Son.¡±


    If you compared these words to what Grandpa had said over the past month, this monologue was longer than all their previous conversations combined. But¡­ but Grandpa wasn¡¯t talking about the Alcade and the Matabar settlements, but about Ectassus. The ancient kingdom of the Firstborn. And six centuries had passed since its fall. Matabar, like most of the Firstborn, lived much longer than humans, but not as long as elves and dwarves, or the near-immortal Sidhe.


    From Atta¡¯nha¡¯s library, Ardan had learned that those who reached two centuries were considered long-lived among the Matabar. On average, they withered away by the time they got to be one hundred and seventy years old, making them only slightly longer-lived than orcs, whose elders lived to one hundred and eighty, sometimes to one hundred and ninety years at most.


    So, of all the Firstborn, only the elves, who could easily live half a millennium even in bad conditions, and didn¡¯t truly age until their seventh century, with their elders even approaching a thousand years at times, could have witnessed Ectassus. Though, after the Dark Lord¡¯s uprising, it seemed like none of them had survived, and the oldest living elf ¡ª Duke Abrailaal, one of the four Firstborn occupying seats in the Upper Parliament ¡ª had celebrated his six hundred and nineteenth birthday this year.


    Ardi knew all of this thanks to Molinier¡¯s newspapers, which Neviy used as wrapping for his buns and sandwiches.


    ¡°Of course, Grandpa,¡± Ardan didn¡¯t argue with him.


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± The old man drawled, smacking his lips. ¡°Go, Son. Go. I need to prepare.¡±


    A slight twinge in his heart made Ardi pause on the stairs and look back at the last of the First Hunters. Shriveled and bony, now even shorter than Faruh, and practically embedded in his chair, he still, for a moment, reminded Ardi of his former self.


    ¡°Prepare¡­ for what, Grandpa?¡±


    ¡°For the hunt, of course, Son,¡± the old man¡¯s toothless grin twisted his lips. ¡°All the traps are set, the wind is in our favor, the prey has no idea it¡¯s doomed¡­ It will be a good hunt, Son. Our tribe will leave its mark on the Mountain of Memory, and we will sing songs to our children for many journeys of the Spirit of the Night.¡±


    Ardi just sighed sadly and shook his head. His grandpa¡¯s mind was gradually slipping away, and mixing together his memories, countless tales, and fragments of reality.


    ¡°Of course, Grandpa,¡± Ardi barely managed to keep a lump from rising in his throat.


    ¡°Go, Son. Go.¡±


    As he had done every day for the past year, Ardi struck his chest with his fist, then placed the back of his hand to his forehead.


    It had been their secret gesture during his childhood. And now Ardan repeated it every time he said goodbye to Grandpa. Just in case¡­ this farewell turned out to be their last.


    But Grandpa didn¡¯t see it ¡ª he only had eyes for somewhere beyond the horizon. He was sinking deeper into the labyrinths of his tired, weary mind.


    Closing the gate behind him, Ardi stretched and, steadying his breath, ran toward the farm. Kelly, and even farmer Polskih himself when the rare good mood descended upon him, had both suggested that Ardan should get a horse.


    But first of all, a good horse meant for riding cost at least a dozen exes, and second, what kind of hunter would he be if he didn¡¯t love to run?


    Taking off his sturdy work boots, Ardi tied the laces in a knot and slung them over his shoulder before running along the road. He ran through the hills, past the meadows, occasionally encountering a fellow traveler, and he enjoyed the way his leg-paws easily pushed off the soft, still cool earth and propelled his body upwards, giving him a fleeting sense of flight.


    Breathing in the scents of grasses, and sometimes even catching notes of aromas brought in by the winds from the mountain forests, Ardi would occasionally switch from running to walking to delay the moment when he¡¯d have to reach the farm. It wasn¡¯t that he disliked work, it was just that Anna¡¯s father suffered from a common human ailment ¡ª stinginess.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    If you didn¡¯t negotiate for overtime in advance, you could forget about extra pay, even if you arrived an hour early and left a day later. Timofey Polskih would find a thousand excuses and even more reasons to legally, completely by the book, not pay you.


    There had even been cases where cheated cowboys had traveled to Delpas to see the arbitrator, but even he¡¯d only been able to shrug at them helplessly.


    ¡°Ard!¡±


    The hunter nearly stumbled mid-run. What was it with people around him barging into his thoughts like this? But after he took just one look at the lathered horse and its pale rider, who was about twenty-five years old, with two rifles strapped to his saddle, his desire to argue about it disappeared.


    ¡°What happened, Latis?¡± Ardan asked seriously.


    ¡°Our men saw wolf tracks,¡± the cowboy turned in the saddle and pointed toward the mountain, then shifted his finger slightly eastward, to the hilly pastures. ¡°They left with nine men this morning to check on the herd, but only six came back able to ride.¡±


    ¡°And what-¡±


    ¡°They were mauled,¡± Latis interrupted him. ¡°Two are dead, and another is unlikely to survive the night.¡±


    Ardi couldn¡¯t help but curse.


    It was sad, of course, but it wasn¡¯t the first time, and it would be far from the last, that hunters who were either too foolish or not strong enough to hunt in the forest flows would come down into the valley to pursue easier prey. Why was Latis so worried?


    ¡°Your fath-¡±


    ¡°My father¡¯s been drinking himself into a stupor since this morning,¡± Latis interrupted him again. ¡°I¡¯m heading to town for reinforcements. We need to gather everyone who isn¡¯t with the sheriff on patrol.¡±


    Latis was about to spur his horse when Ardi grabbed the reins.


    ¡°Can you explain what¡¯s going on?¡± The hunter demanded. ¡°Why the rush? And why do you need everyone else?¡±


    ¡°Eternal Angels, Ard!¡± Latis shouted. ¡°Anna and her cousins got separated from our men and are headed toward the ridge! Toward the water!¡±


    Ardi¡¯s heart skipped a beat. Herds always came to the water to drink, and any forest hunter knew that the best place for a hungry hunt was right there.


    ¡°And you couldn¡¯t say that right away?¡± Ardi almost screamed and, spinning toward the hills, broke into a run.


    ¡°Take a rifle!¡± Latis¡¯ voice echoed behind him, but Ardi didn¡¯t even think to stop.


    So that was why he¡¯d felt uneasy all morning. His hunter¡¯s instincts hadn¡¯t failed him, but he hadn¡¯t been able to interpret them correctly.


    Damn it¡­


    Damn it!


    Ardan ran as fast as he could. He leaped over streams, hills stretched into long strips of green under his feet, and ponds turned into mere puddles. The hunter resisted the urge to listen to the wind and cut across the Fae paths, knowing it could backfire on him ¡ª or worse, on Anna. Twice, he had already ventured uninvited into the outskirts of the City on the Hill, and they wouldn¡¯t forgive him a third transgression.


    He was trying to convince himself that Anna was no fool, that after growing up on a farm, she knew how to handle such situations, but if Latis wasn¡¯t exaggerating, then these weren¡¯t ordinary wolves.


    ¡°Faster,¡± the wild thought pulsed in Ardi¡¯s mind, making his heart race. ¡°Faster!¡±


    ***


    With the ease of an experienced dancer ¡ª those etiquette lessons had never come easily to him ¡ª Ardi moved through the dense forest, his keen, not entirely human eyes catching the slightest details.


    Flattened grass, bent branches, leaves torn from bushes, depressions in the damp earth ¡ª he read these tracks as easily as a manuscript.


    The wind whispered something to him, carrying the scent of fir trees and danger. His heart pounded so fast that it made his chest tremble, not because, for the first time in almost five years, Ardi was back on the hunting trails, but because this time, it was entirely different. He wasn¡¯t hunting by the laws of the forests, mountains, and rivers. He was about to break those very laws to¡­


    The hunter froze. The sun was setting, and long shadows outlined the curve of a line of words in the forest¡¯s book.


    Ardi crouched down and ran his fingers through the soft, black soil, still remembering the sharp claws and thick fur. The wolf tracks he had been following for the last few hours abruptly veered eastward.


    ¡°Spirits¡­¡± Ardan whispered.


    Latis had been wrong. Under normal circumstances, forest predators, especially those living near humans, had little interest in them. Hunting two-legged prey was usually more trouble than a full belly was worth.


    The only reason they might have deviated from their course and chosen human flesh over beef grazing on the northwestern slopes was Ley poisoning.


    Ardi¡¯s heart skipped a beat, but he didn¡¯t even notice. He forced himself to run even faster. He ran so fast that his muscles groaned, and his sinews hummed like guitar strings. He ran, barely touching the ground with his feet, as if for a moment, he had become a creature born of the winds and forest shadows.


    Finally, a stream appeared ahead. Not the one where the herds drank, but another, nestled between flower-covered hills, lulled by the melodious murmur of waves, and boasting only a single, sprawling tree where someone had once built a swing. Young people often came here for dates, or even whole groups would gather to relax.


    All you needed to do was cross the narrow ford formed by a line of wide stones. And there, on the opposite bank, Ardi saw Anna. Her golden hair shone in the fading light of the weary Spirit of the Day like a beacon. Her numerous cousins, both male and female, and their friends, were either having fun chasing each other around, or sitting on blankets and watching the sunset. They were so carefree, with no inkling of the approaching danger.


    The sharp crack of branches and the rustling of leaves signaled that there was almost no time left. In his mind¡¯s eye, Ardan could already see the ghostly figures moving through the underbrush, their eyes glinting with the menacing light of Hunger.


    Taking a deep breath, the hunter shouted at the top of his lungs:


    ¡°Anna! Run! Wolves!¡± His voice echoed over the water, but even then, it carried unmistakable seriousness.


    Hearing her name, Anna turned away from her cousins and met Ardi¡¯s gaze. For a brief moment, fear flickered in her eyes, but then she began speaking rapidly and urgently to the others. They hesitated at first, then started to argue, but a farmer¡¯s daughter who had spent her entire life alongside cowboys was not the same as these boys and girls who had come to the festival from bigger towns, or even Delpas.


    A sharp slap to the most stubborn one¡¯s head ended the dispute.


    Ardi, drawing a simple workman¡¯s knife, took a stand between the forest and the stream. He stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the trees. And there, among the shadows clawing at the trunks and gnawing at the leaves, red eyes flared. His heart suddenly calmed, and the hunter¡¯s breathing steadied.


    No matter how many years had passed since then, he still remembered the lessons of his friends and mentors. And though, as before, he had no chance of standing alone against a hunting pack of fang-bearers, that didn¡¯t bother him. Oh, if only he had his staff with him¡­


    ¡°This is a familiar scent,¡± a voice like the growl from a forgotten nightmare interrupted Ardi¡¯s thoughts.


    From the thicket emerged a massive wolf. It was far bigger than even the largest of its kind. Its eyes burned with an unnatural, red light, surrounded by a web of crimson cracks, and its mouth gleamed with two rows of yellow, crooked fangs.


    Following their leader, two more wolves stepped into the light. They were slightly smaller, without the web of red cracks, and with a normal number of fangs in their mouths, but Ardi recognized them too.


    Just under ten years ago, they had tried to bring down a pregnant doe, and they would have succeeded if not for Shali and Guta.


    ¡°You¡¯ve grown, pup,¡± the leader growled, starting to circle the hunter. Ardi¡¯s body tensed like a bowstring.


    ¡°And I see there are fewer of you now,¡± came his quick reply.


    Ardi tried to appear unafraid, but that was far from the truth. When they had last met, the wolf had already been at least eight years old, and ten more had passed since then ¡ª the leader should have long since not just died, but turned into a worm-eaten skeleton. And yet, there he was. Scarred, but alive and well, and even seeming a bit younger somehow.


    Along with their leader, the other Ley-Poisoned wolves also began circling Ardi, moving around him on the invisible boundary of a half-circle. The hunter had deliberately positioned himself by the stream, so the predators wouldn¡¯t be able to get behind him.


    ¡°Where are your forest friends, two-legged one?¡± The leader barked, his flaming eyes gleaming sadistically. ¡°Or are you alone this time?¡±


    ¡°And where¡¯s your tracker? Or is it because she¡¯s gone that you¡¯ve confused humans with prey?¡±


    The wolf snarled and lowered his muzzle to the ground, spreading his legs and tucking his tail in.


    ¡°My younger brother fell to a bear¡¯s claws, and his mate didn¡¯t survive the night after a lynx¡¯s claws got to her.¡±


    Ardi realized he had said something foolish, and as if to confirm that, all three shadows leaped at him at once. The hunter¡¯s instincts reacted faster than his mind. The lessons that had literally been etched into his skin with claws and fangs over the years made his body lunge to the side.


    A massive maw snapped shut just inches from his left side, and Ardi, rising to his full height and raising his clenched fists, crashed down on the back of the wolf that had missed him. There was a sickening crunch as his knife¡¯s hilt met the beast¡¯s spine, and using the momentum of his attack, Ardan tumbled along with the yelping predator. He slipped under the feet of the leader while claws slid past the hunter¡¯s back, tearing through his jacket and sending streams of wet warmth trickling down his skin.


    Ardi growled no less fiercely than Guta had, and, tossing aside the wolf that had started to recover, he rolled over his head, leaped away, and landed in a ready stance. His bent legs served as his hind paws and his left hand gripped the ground firmly for support while his right hand held a long fang.


    Out of the corner of his eye, Ardi spotted the same wolf that had just slashed his back ¡ª he was preparing to pounce him from behind, but he¡¯d miscalculated and ended up within the hunter¡¯s field of vision.


    He was clearly no match for Shali¡¯s skills.


    The hunter leaped aside again, simultaneously slashing with his knife. He had calculated everything correctly and should have cut the predator¡¯s belly open, but the wolf somehow found an anchor point, twisting mid-air in order to land off to the side and dodge his blade.


    Ardi, once again dropping to the ground, stilled. As Ergar had taught him, he sought balance between patience and action. The hunter¡¯s gaze never left his two remaining opponents. The third one, with his spine broken, lay drenched in pink foam, suffering his final agony.


    And when Ardi briefly glanced at him, the leader immediately reacted. He practically dissolved into a swift leap, aiming straight for the two-legged¡¯s throat. But Ardan had known this would happen ¡ªthe leader had fallen into a trap set for him.


    At the last moment, Ardi jerked to the side, switched his knife to an overhand grip and, like a stinger, aimed it straight at the wolf¡¯s throat. By all the laws of the universe, the wolf should have been skewered on his steel like cooked meat, but the leader merely arched his neck, and instead of cutting flesh, the knife struck something that felt as hard as a wall, barely scratching his skin and tearing away a few tufts of fur.


    Ardi tried to hold on to the hilt of his knife, but the resistance was so great that his fingers involuntarily loosened, and his fang flew off to the side, but before it could even hit the ground, the hunter was there.


    Knocked off his feet by the leader, he fell onto his back. The air was immediately driven from his lungs, and Ardi wheezed as the massive wolf, tearing at his chest with his claws, snapped his maw near his throat. Ardan tried to keep the powerful teeth of his opponent at bay, pushing back against his heavy neck, but with each passing moment, the beast¡¯s fangs drew closer and closer to his throat.


    ¡°Tasty,¡± the wolf¡¯s saliva drenched Ardi¡¯s face. ¡°Tasty pup. I¡¯ll devour-¡±


    A thunderous roar drowned out the wolf¡¯s words, and the beast was thrown aside. Whimpering in pain, bleeding onto the ground, the leader looked somewhere above Ardi, and as the hunter twisted away, he saw Anna standing on the other side of the stream. Outlining her, the sun was setting behind the mountains, and she held a rifle firmly in her hands. Not a trace of fear or doubt could be seen on her face.


    Without a second¡¯s hesitation, she raised the rifle to her shoulder and, with practiced precision, fired again.


    The wolf leaped to the side, and the bullet sliced through his other flank ¡ª Anna had been aiming to hit the leader¡¯s eyes. And then, as she worked the lever action, the shots merged into a continuous roar. The leader, casting one final glance full of pain and primal fury at Ardi, dashed toward the forest, leading the last of his pack with him.


    Anna, slinging the rifle over her shoulder, drew a revolver from its holster and, deftly hopping across the stones, approached Ardi. The pain, which had been muted due to the battle¡¯s adrenaline, made him clench his teeth and groan. The danger was gone, and the adrenaline that had fueled him all this time had left with it.


    ¡°Ardi,¡± Anna knelt beside him, her voice full of concern and genuine care. ¡°Face of Light! You¡¯re covered in blood!¡±


    She was dressed in her usual attire ¡ª a dress with a high neckline and a wide belt. The bottom of her skirt had been cut and hemmed, revealing sturdy trousers tucked into high work boots. A wide-brimmed hat shaded her face from the sun, but her golden hair made it seem as though she herself was the sun.


    She picked up the knife Ardan had dropped and began tearing her skirt into strips and rolling them into makeshift bandages, which she then pressed against his wounds. And Ardan couldn¡¯t take his eyes off her.


    Her face, with its soft features, thick eyebrows, and crimson lips, was slightly flushed along the cheeks. Her appearance always made Ardi hold his breath for just a moment longer.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± she said, reaching out to him but then pulling her hand back, as if she were afraid of causing him more pain. ¡°I sent the others back to the town. Help will come soon. You¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine already,¡± Ardi rasped, then looked directly into her eyes. ¡°Thank you, Anna.¡±


    She just nodded.


    ¡°I wanted to ask you to go with me to the festival, and-¡±


    ¡°Quiet, Ardi,¡± Anna interrupted him gently, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her more than any other sign ever could. ¡°You¡¯ll ask me, for sure. And I¡¯ll sing for you.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    Anna could sing beautifully, even though she rarely did it. Every festival, people would ask her to sing or play, but as far as Ardi could remember, she had only agreed once, and that had been for her father, whom she loved very much. Yes, Timofey Polskih evoked mixed feelings in everyone who knew him, but one thing no one could deny was the stingy farmer¡¯s boundless love for his daughter.


    ¡°And if¡­¡± Ardi faltered, ¡°If I¡­¡±


    ¡°No ¡®ifs!¡¯¡± Anna shook her head so vigorously that her hat slipped off.


    ¡°I would like to hear¡­¡±


    She looked into his eyes. They were so beautiful and so distant¡­


    ¡°All right.¡±


    The sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon, sending its last, most passionate rays flying across the sky. The gentle ripple of the stream became her piano, and the reflection of the sun in her eyes was the light of the fires already burning on the meadow where the townsfolk were celebrating.


    As soon as she began to sing, her voice surrounded him like a comforting blanket, enveloping him in her warm and tender embrace. The melody of the song was simple and unobtrusive, providing true solace for his troubled mind.


    Mountains high, where whispers lie


    A tribe so wise, beneath the sky


    Hunters free, in nature¡¯s grace


    Roamed the wild, in a sacred space


    But iron roads, with roaring might


    Brought the trains, and took the light


    The hunters¡¯ life was no longer true


    As the world they knew was torn in two.


    Ardi closed his eyes, allowing the song to wash away everything that had happened to him in the past few days, even years. All those thoughts, all those yearnings of a heart torn between two legacies, all his worries and troubles¡­ They drifted away with the waves of the stream that were moving farther from the shore.


    Lands once pure, now overrun


    By progress made, and by changes undone


    Traditions lost, culture torn apart


    Leaving such tired, such worn out hearts


    But iron roads, with thunderous roar


    Brought the change, forevermore


    The hunters¡¯ way was left behind


    As the wheels of time began to grind


    The trees by the grove seemed to lean closer, as if to listen to the song as well, and their leaves rustled in time with the melody. The fading light sparkled along the surface of the stream, creating an image of ephemeral beauty that could never fully capture the charm of Anna¡¯s song.


    Yet in their hearts, the memories burn


    Of days alive, for which they still yearn


    Forced to change, yet still they strive


    Their legacy will always survive


    The hunters are gone, but not erased


    Their story held, in hearts embraced


    Their wisdom deep and courage strong


    A time when the wild was where they belonged.


    As the final notes gradually faded into the twilight, Ardi opened his eyes and met Anna¡¯s gaze. Their fingers brushed against each other by accident, but to Ardan, it felt like he had touched her not just with his skin, but with his heart.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispered. ¡°That was beautiful.¡±


    She smiled warmly and gently.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you liked it. I borrowed the first lines from a poem and¡­ Well, you probably wouldn¡¯t find it all that interesting.¡±


    They looked into each other¡¯s eyes, and in the east, the black velvet of the sky had already lit its first stars, their lights burning away the weight of the day, leaving only the magic of the song and the connection of two hearts to linger.


    ¡°Ardi, I-¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t know if he was doing the right thing or what would happen next, how his life would turn out, but at that moment, none of it mattered. He shrugged off the makeshift bandages from his now nearly-healed wounds, ignoring Anna¡¯s protests at his theatrics, and pulled her familiar face close, pressing his lips to hers. He did so clumsily, messily, and with as much hesitation as a fledgling making its first fluttering attempts at flight.


    At first, Anna tried to pull away, but a moment later, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and together, they sank into the grass.


    They didn¡¯t think about cowboys possibly showing up, nor were they worried about the wolves returning. Their only frustration was with the overly-complicated fastenings on their clothes, their too-tight belts, and the way they accidentally bit each other, only to laugh and try even harder to press their bodies together, no longer just friends.


    And the night¡¯s darkness covered them with a cool blanket, hiding them from any unwanted eyes or witnesses. This evening belonged only to them and no one else.


    At least that¡¯s what they thought.


    ***


    ¡°See you tomorrow?¡±


    She stood surrounded by several cowboys, while the rest were already galloping across the farm to the Polskih house, eager to bring back the joyful news that Anna was safe. Ardan looked at her face, searching her eyes, and for the first time since his early childhood, he felt something that he had no words to describe.


    ¡°We should go, Anna,¡± the oldest of the farmhands urged her.


    They had come across the riders about an hour after¡­ after they had left the stream and headed back to town. And the entire way from the ridge to the farm, they hadn¡¯t been able to say a word. They¡¯d only managed to exchange furtive glances and barely hide their foolish smiles.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Anna started, then answered. ¡°Yes, of course, Garry. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Garry turned his horse, and they began to move away on the other side of the fence. Anna turned to him, and Ardan grinned broadly.


    ¡®Of course we¡¯ll see each other,¡¯ he mouthed.


    Anna smiled too. She gave him a small nod before disappearing over the hill.


    Ardi stood there for a moment longer, then turned and started walking home. In the distance, the festival lights still burned, and laughter, cheerful shouts, songs, and the echo of dances could still be heard. People were celebrating the end of the season, and with it, the coming of age of their children who had graduated from school this year and were now being sent off into a new life. Out of ten graduates, only five usually stayed in the town ¡ª the rest went off to seek their fortune.


    Within the year, two would return. Another one would come back after five years of wandering, and the penultimate one of those who¡¯d left would start a family in a bigger town, or maybe even in Delpas itself. And the last of the five adventurers would eventually stop sending word of their life, leaving their parents to boast about their success ¡ª more to comfort themselves than to show off.


    How strange that Ardi was thinking about this now¡­


    He walked along the moonlit path leading to the outskirts of Evergale, and his heart wanted to dance, drunk on the euphoria gifted to him by the hour he¡¯d spent on the stream¡¯s shore. The crisp night air, tinged with the sweet scent of wild lilacs, caressed his face as he walked along the path.


    The world around him seemed more alive than ever before, its colors vibrant. It was as if the night, in some magical way, had bathed in the same light that was filling Ardan¡¯s soul at that moment.


    Accompanied by the quiet echo of his footsteps, which reverberated in the stillness, Ardi¡¯s thoughts swirled like a whirlwind of autumn leaves scattered by the wind. Anna¡¯s touch still lingered on his skin, and her laughter resonated in his ears like the mysterious songs of the Fae.


    If Skusty had been here, he would¡¯ve surely said something about the ¡°spring rut¡± and ¡°the season of animal weddings.¡±


    A wedding¡­


    With every step that brought Ardi closer to home, threads of worry began to weave themselves into the joyful tapestry of his thoughts. No matter how many textbooks claimed that there was equality between all races in the Empire, that simply wasn¡¯t true. On the surface and in everyday city life, maybe. But here, on the country¡¯s very edge, in a backwater, a very different law ruled.


    And the thought that their barely budding relationship could be crushed by a cold and indifferent system caused his teeth to grind and his fists to clench. Ardan immediately recalled countless legends and songs his grandfather had shared with him, tales of lovers torn apart by fate and circumstances, and how their stories had often ended in heartache and sorrow.


    Suddenly, Ardi froze.


    Sniffing the air, he wrinkled his nose. The air was thick with a pungent smell that was clawing at his throat. The smell of smoke, charred wood, and shredded memories.


    As the hunter approached his home, his heart began to pound faster and faster.


    The arrogant, swirling glow of a hungry fire rising above the courtyard cast mocking shadows along the fences and walls of the deserted houses, and their ghostly whispers foretold nothing good.


    Ardi practically flew to the gate, tearing it off its hinges with a single pull.


    His heart stopped.


    A dozen unfamiliar figures, wearing matching leather coats, stood in the flickering light of the burning barn. Their faces were hidden under wide-brimmed hats, and their high boots gleamed with spurs that threw off the same steel sparks as the rifles slung across their backs and the revolvers in their holsters.


    But what truly had icy fingers of terror squeezing Ardi¡¯s heart was the sight of the people kneeling on the ground before the strangers, bound and gagged.


    His people.


    Kelly, in his undergarments and a housecoat, was cradling a crying Kena who clung desperately to her toy bear. Erti was struggling against the hand on his shoulder and his mother, the gray-haired, wrinkled Shai, was quietly weeping.


    And in the middle of this nightmare, this scene bordering on a grotesque parody of life, stood his grandfather. He was bony, hunched, withered, and he leaned on his cane, looking as frail as the stick he held. Only his eyes, freed from the haze of confusion, once again burned with a fierce storm that could overshadow even Ergar¡¯s roar in its fury.


    The weight of the scene that unfolded before Ardan crashed down on his consciousness like an avalanche, plunging him into a churning sea of dark chaos. Just like so long ago, during his encounter with the mountain troll, something treacherously whispered to him:


    ¡°Run¡­ Go through the lands of the Fae¡­ They won¡¯t find you there¡­¡±


    And that disgusting, cruel laughter, along with those icy claws, was pulling him away, out of there. But Ardan, feeling more disgusted by the fact that he had, even for a moment, given into it than by the fear itself, took a step forward.


    And in that instant, just as he was about to throw himself at the nearest of the strangers, his grandfather turned to him. His eyes gleamed with an otherworldly light, and heavy words came from his lips:


    ¡°Ardan. Stand still,¡± was spoken in the Fae language, binding the hunter tighter than any ropes, chains, or cords ever could.


    Ardi couldn¡¯t scream or even move. Not even the tip of a finger was his to command, and he couldn¡¯t so much as blink ¡ª his body was entirely beyond his control, his heart beating only because the shackles of his True Name allowed it.


    His grandfather stood there, in the center of the dancing shadows. The one who had summoned Ergar. The one who had broken the laws of the Matabar. The one who knew the language of the Fae. And now ¡ª the one who used the magic of words with the ease with which Ardi used Star Magic.


    The she-wolf had told him stories of the Speakers and the Aean¡¯Hane, but in none of those legends or tales did Ardi remember anyone possessing such power. So, if his grandfather, even at the end of his life, could wield such mighty magic, then surely this would end quickly. Yes, of course. He would say the word, and these creatures would regret ever setting foot here¡­


    ¡°Is that all?¡± His grandfather¡¯s voice creaked.


    ¡°That¡¯s all, old man,¡± replied the tall man standing before him. He was a man judging by his voice, anyways. ¡°Those are the terms of the deal. We spare this brood. Moreover, the sheriff will receive a position as an instructor in the Delpas Cadet Corps, and your daughter-in-law will receive a good pension for the loss of her first husband. The boy will be examined by the best doctors in the province, and the little one has already secured a place in an excellent school for noble girls. As for the eldest,¡± the stranger nodded in Ardi¡¯s direction, ¡°it¡¯s all up to you. You pull any tricks, and I¡¯ll pretend I didn¡¯t receive these,¡± the man waved several envelopes at him, ¡°and I just happened to shoot him in the knees¡­ And then the stomach. And he died slowly and painfully. Or we can, as it says here, deliver him safe and sound to the Metropolis.¡±


    Ardi struggled against the bonds. He had to help them. Save them. They were his family. His responsibility. He-


    ¡°Is that all?¡± His grandfather repeated.


    ¡°Are you deaf, old man, or-¡±


    ¡°Cassara,¡± his grandfather interrupted, as if not noticing the speaker at all, and turned his head slightly toward the figure holding the saber. ¡°Do I have your word?¡±


    For a moment, the courtyard was plunged into silence, broken only by Kena¡¯s sobs and the crackling of the burning barn.


    ¡°You¡¯ve aged,¡± a melodious, female voice suddenly spoke.


    Its owner stepped into the light, and if Ardi had not been bound, he would have thrown all laws and rules to the wind. He would have opened the paths to the City on the Hill and, Sleeping Spirits help him, he would have spoken the forbidden words he had glimpsed in the she-wolf¡¯s ancient scroll, summoning monsters and spirits¡­ even if it cost him his life.


    She was as graceful as a cat and more beautiful than even Sidhe and elves. Her skin was as pale as porcelain and her hair whiter than snow. She was dressed in a light blouse with a plunging neckline, almost fully exposing her chest, which was barely covered by a bra. Her tight pants, belted with a holster, were tucked into leather boots that reached almost to the tops of her thighs.


    She tilted her hat slightly, its brim so wide it reached past her shoulders. The firelight revealed her delicate facial features, resembling those of a doll rather than a living being. Well, a living being she was not, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. She had red eyes, cloudy as a corpse¡¯s, and a pair of long fangs peeking out from under her upper lip.


    A vampire.


    ¡°And you are still as beautiful as ever, Cassara,¡± his grandfather said with great difficulty, leaning on his staff, his hands trembling like the branches of a withered tree as he bowed. ¡°No, even more beautiful than the day I first met you.¡±


    ¡°And tried to kill me?¡±


    ¡°You cannot kill what is already dead, Cassara.¡±


    A short, venomous laugh rang out.


    ¡°You may have aged, but your tongue is as sharp as ever,¡± she said with a smile, revealing fangs sharper and longer than any predator¡¯s.


    ¡°Thank you, Cass-¡±


    ¡°Are you done?¡± The same stranger from before interrupted, the one who had been talking about the family¡¯s future. Apparently, he was the leader of these bastards. ¡°Or perhaps you¡¯d like some time to catch up? We can wait until the locals start coming back from the festival, and then the deal¡¯s off. And the witnesses will be off, too,¡± the man turned to the family, then to the festival fires, ¡°any witnesses.¡±


    But his grandfather still ignored him, as if the man was of no importance.


    ¡°I need your word, Cassara,¡± his grandfather said firmly, coughing and wiping blood from his mouth.


    The vampire silently stared at him, and after a few moments, she inclined her head slightly.


    ¡°As always, my friend, my word is yours.¡±


    His grandfather nodded, then, with a groan, straightened up. It was clearly difficult for him to manage even that much. He was visibly trembling, but he still held his back straight, his gaze fixed strictly to the north ¡ª toward the familiar mountains. For a brief moment, with another flicker of the shadows, he appeared to Ardi not as a frail, withered old man, but as a mighty hunter, two and a half meters tall, with shoulders as wide as a wagon axle, strong claws, and steel fangs.


    A man who commanded True Names and spoke the language of secrets and magic. A man wielding a staff that looked like a young tree and a sword that looked more like a gigantic slab of metal plucked straight from the nearby train tracks than a blade.


    But the vision vanished, leaving behind only some familiar artifacts. The ones Ardi had once found in the barn on the mountain: a rusty sword and a nearly-rotted staff. Somehow, they had ended up in his grandfather¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be foolish, old man!¡± The stranger shouted, simultaneously drawing a revolver and clutching a medallion around his neck.


    The others followed suit, drawing their revolvers and aiming them at Ardi¡¯s family while clutching their own medallions.


    But his grandfather didn¡¯t seem to care at all.


    He turned to Ardan and smiled. Just like he had in his childhood, when he¡¯d told him stories of great wizards and knights of the past. Of Ectassus. The land where people like them ¡ª non-humans ¡ª had been able to live freely and openly. He smiled with his eyes alone. Eyes full of warmth and care.


    Cracking and bleeding, his dry lips moved, pronouncing words in the Fae language. And as his lips moved, his left hand, holding the rusty sword, did so as well. The blade met no resistance as it slid all the way in to the hilt, piercing the heart of the last of the Matabar.


    His body began to fall to the ground, but before it could touch the grass, a winter wind blew past. It instantly extinguished the blazing barn and forced the strangers to shield themselves from the blizzard that suddenly swept through the early summer night. And when it all subsided, there was a shriveled body on the ground. Bones, seemingly stripped of their flesh, were barely covered in places by translucent skin. The rusty shards of the shattered sword and hundreds of splinters from the broken staff had been scattered all over.


    The stranger approached the body, pulled out a knife from his belt, and leaned over his grandfather¡¯s neck. He was about to strike when the vampire¡¯s saber was placed on his shoulder.


    ¡°One more move, Ivan, and I¡¯ll take your head.¡±


    Instantly, ten revolvers cocked their hammers back and were pointed straight at Cassara.


    And everything fell silent again.


    ¡°Ivan was my father¡¯s name, vampire,¡± the stranger replied. He sheathed his knife, then straightened up and stepped back from the body. ¡°My name is Yonatan. After all these years we¡¯ve known each other, you could¡¯ve at least remembered that much.¡±


    Cassara lowered her blade, and the others holstered their revolvers. The vampire then walked past Yonatan and, standing over the body of Ardi¡¯s grandfather, did something that finally broke him.


    She raised her fist, struck it against her chest, then placed the back of her hand to her forehead and bowed deeply.


    And at that moment, everything lost its meaning. Ardi didn¡¯t understand what was happening. He didn¡¯t understand where he was. Who all these people were. Everything was tangled. Confused. Just an hour ago, he had been holding the girl he loved in his arms, and now he was looking at the body of the last person who¡¯d connected him to his ancestors. To the entire Matabar people.


    His family was being held captive. Enemies had invaded his land.


    And he could only stand there and watch.


    Like a helpless kitten.


    Just like ten years ago when the orcs had come to their home and taken his father from him. And now others had taken his grandfather.


    The bonds gradually loosened around Ardi, and as their power waned, Ardan¡¯s consciousness began to open. Colors became multi-dimensional, sounds took on defined shapes, and the world around him began to feel like malleable clay. The sensation of the recent winter wind hadn¡¯t completely disappeared from the summer night, and Ardi reached out for it. For that small remnant still floating in the air, resisting the encroaching foreign kingdom.


    And that was enough.


    Ardan grasped it and fanned it into a flame with his will.


    ¡°What¡­¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s happening¡­¡±


    The voices of alarmed enemies reached his ears, but Ardan didn¡¯t listen to them. All he heard was the whisper of winter and its eternal companion ¡ª darkness. He reached out to their voices. He took them in his hands and filled them with his will.


    They would all pay for what they had done.


    This was his land.


    And they would all-


    ¡°It¡¯s not yet time, little one,¡± a hot whisper caressed his ear, and something heavy struck the back of Ardan¡¯s head.


    As he fell to the ground, losing control of the words, he caught fleeting glimpses of what was happening. His mother was screaming. His brother and sister were crying. Kelly was shoving one of the strangers aside and rushing toward him. And he also noted that, a moment earlier, the vampire had been on the other side of the courtyard, but now, for some reason, she was looming over him. And then came the darkness, bringing with it the distant voice of Anna:


    ¡°See you tomorrow?¡±

 Chapter 21 - Good talk

    The last stone settled atop the cairn, and Ardan stepped back, pressing his fist to his chest before touching the back of his hand to his forehead. Cassara, standing beside him, said nothing. The vampire rarely spoke. In the month they had lived together in the former Ranger¡¯s house with Yonatan¡¯s unit, Cassara had uttered only a handful of words.


    Ardi reciprocated the silence. Not only did he have no desire to talk to anyone, but he also felt no need to. What need does a prisoner have to speak with their captors, after all?


    Sighing, Ardan bowed to the newly-erected grave of his grandfather, then to those of his father and grandmother, and then he returned to the stream and seated himself on its bank. He gazed downward at the boiling expanse of Evergale at the mountain¡¯s foot and the endless prairies and steppes stretching out into the distance.


    The wind whispered above him, rustling the newly green trees, and the birds sang songs to greet the long-awaited summer. It was filled with warmth, the scent of the sun, and sweet grasses. If one listened carefully and reached out to the sound¡­


    ¡°Don¡¯t, Ard,¡± Cassara¡¯s voice slid through the air, silky and dangerous. ¡°I¡¯ll kill you before you can set foot on the Fae paths.¡±


    It didn¡¯t sound like a threat or a warning, merely a statement of fact. It was the same as if someone else had said that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. And Ardan believed her. During his time as Ergar¡¯s apprentice, he had spent enough time walking in the skin of a small predator to learn to recognize when someone stronger, more skilled, and far more ferocious was standing before him.


    Cassara... She wasn¡¯t exactly a predator. Or anything that could be measured by normal means. She was more like a force of nature ¡ª an event of extraordinary beauty and unparalleled danger, like a spring storm rolling through the mountains.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t even let me say goodbye,¡± Ardi whispered, his eyes fixed on the horizon.


    When he had first awakened a month ago, he had already been bound hand and foot in the Ranger¡¯s house. For two days, they had come to him only to offer him some water and a crust of bread. And regardless of how much Ardi had shouted or pleaded with them, they¡¯d ignored him. All he had been able to do was lie there and listen to the tales the soaring eagles had told him in the evenings about how Shaia, Erti, Kelly, and Kena had left, escorted by other Cloaks, toward Delpas. And how his mother had wept, occasionally glancing back at the peaks of the Alcade.


    Then the vampire had come and freed him, and when the others had tried to stop her, well... What always happened in such situations had happened again. She¡¯d laid a hand on the hilt of her saber, and all disputes had instantly ceased.


    They feared her, and Ardan was no exception.


    He had diligently studied under Atta¡¯nha and had read many stories about vampires. Not one of them could walk in the sunlight. And yet here he was, bathed in the rays of a summer noon, with Cassara standing right beside him, showing no signs of turning into a pillar of white fire.


    ¡°Trust me, child, it¡¯s simpler this way,¡± the vampire said after a while. Her voice turned even the simplest of words into a melody. ¡°You¡¯re better off using this time to get accustomed to it.¡±


    ¡°To what?¡±


    She didn¡¯t answer him immediately.


    ¡°To leaving without any goodbyes.¡±


    Ardi only shook his head. In his mind¡¯s eye, the faces of his mother and brother appeared once more, and even Kelly and Kena were there with them. He hadn¡¯t said anything to them. Hadn¡¯t embraced them. Hadn¡¯t promised he¡¯d make it back, take them away, and¡­


    By the Sleeping Spirits, it had been more than five years since he¡¯d come down from the mountain. The years had passed¡­ and what had happened during those years? How often had he sat and chatted with his mother, hugged her, and told her he loved her? How often had he agreed to his brother¡¯s invitations to play, take a walk, or read some books together?


    He could probably count the times on his hands.


    Ardi chuckled bitterly.


    What a fool he¡¯d been¡­


    He had been so certain that he had his whole life ahead of him, that there would be time. If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the day after. And now¡­ Now he didn¡¯t know what the next day would bring.


    ¡°Maybe you could at least help me get my staff back?¡±


    Cassara arched her left eyebrow slightly.


    On the fourth day, he had managed to get back his few belongings, including his book on magic, his grimoire, and his staff. But the resulting joy and that small sliver of hope that he could escape had withered as quickly as they had blossomed.


    Yonatan¡¯s unit had its own Star Mage, Gleb Davos. He was a man in his forties with a broken nose, graying temples, and a foul breath. He wore a blue cloak and possessed three Stars with three, five, and two rays, respectively.


    He¡¯d made quite a scene when he had discovered that an unregistered mage was studying the art and even possessed a forbidden book on Star Magic ¡ª it was written in the language of the Fae, which was why he was so incensed. He¡¯d even wanted to burn it, which had nearly caused a disaster, but once again, the vampire had intervened. In the end, it was decided that Davos would hold on to Ardi¡¯s staff and books for the time being.


    The ¡°compromise¡± was not pleasant, but it wasn¡¯t overly dangerous, either ¡ª Ardi¡¯s own notes were also in the Fae language. And if Teacher Parnas was to be believed, specialists who were knowledgeable about the language of the Fae nobility were rare even in major universities.


    That hadn¡¯t stopped Gleb from possibly copying everything into his grimoire and then delving into the research himself.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to tempt you, Ard,¡± Cassara winked at him, ¡°I respect your defiance, but trust me, you¡¯re more likely to get yourself killed than to escape. Believe me, you¡¯re far from the most dangerous cargo they¡¯ve ever caught and delivered.¡±


    ¡°They¡­ them¡­¡± Ardan repeated. ¡°You speak as if you have no part in this.¡±


    Cassara turned away.


    ¡°No more,¡± she said tersely, ¡°than a wolf on a chain serves its master by choice.¡±


    Ardan stood and walked over to the vampire. Despite her barely reaching his chest, it felt as if he were standing at the base of one of the Alcade peaks.


    ¡°Then give me just a few seconds, and I¡¯ll take the Fae paths- ¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Cassara interrupted him, her dead eyes flashing. ¡°It¡¯s pointless to try and convince me, child. If you attempt to escape, I will kill you. I won¡¯t particularly want to do it, but believe me, I won¡¯t lose any sleep over it, either.¡±


    Ardi sighed and turned away, heading for the edge of the plateau. Cassara followed, since she was acting as his personal guard.


    After crossing the meadow and a thin strip of forest, Ardan emerged at the cliff¡¯s edge and sat on the rocks, letting his legs dangle over the abyss. It was almost as if he was teasing the kilometer-deep chasm that awaited his first and only mistake.


    And so he sat, listening to the wind, the birdsong, the whispering trees, and the laughter of the swaying grass stalks. All the while, he had to force himself not to listen too closely and not to tempt his heart with the thought of outwitting Cassara. Ergar would not have approved of such rashness.


    ¡°Have patience,¡± the wise snow leopard had always said when Ardi had failed to execute his plans during a hunt.


    But by the Sleeping Spirits, that accursed patience was hard to maintain. Especially when¡­


    ¡°She didn¡¯t come today,¡± the vampire noted.


    Ardi said nothing.


    She had come every day. First with Neviy and the others. Then just with Neviy. Then alone, and now¡­ Now, noon had passed, and the sun had continued its eternal journey across the sky, and yet that golden hair visible even from the base of the mountain had not appeared.


    Anna had used to come down there, pacing back and forth, trying to find a way up the mountain. From their vantage point, it had looked as if she were circling a well-trodden path, but to her, it had seemed different. Ardan had personally witnessed Gleb drawing the necessary seals on trees and stones, scattering them around the plateau. And while Ardi hadn¡¯t understood exactly what Davos had been creating at the time, the fact that neither beasts nor Anna and his friends could find a way up suggested that it had been some sort of path-obscuring magic.


    ¡°What do you want from me?¡±


    Cassara just shrugged and held her hat in place, preventing the wind from carrying it into the depths of the Alcade.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Ard,¡± she replied simply. ¡°The mission is just to deliver you safely to the Metropolis.¡± Then, with a scrutinizing look, she added, ¡°As long as you don¡¯t make us use force.¡±


    Sleeping Spirits¡­


    ¡°In this mission of yours,¡± Ardan drawled, ¡°there¡¯s information about Kelly and Kena¡­ and you knew about the problems Erti was having, so-¡±


    ¡°Calm down, hunter,¡± the vampire chuckled and sat down next to him.


    She smelled of damp and decay, and there was a heavy floral scent there as well, which couldn¡¯t completely mask the essence of the living dead. Certainly not to a Matabar, even a half-blood.


    ¡°You¡¯re overthinking things,¡± Cassara continued. ¡°In that, you¡¯re like¡­¡± She swallowed words that had nearly escaped. ¡°Sometimes, things are simpler than they seem. Our mission


    involved only you and the old man. We didn¡¯t even know exactly where you lived. Just the general territory. It took nearly half a year to find you. If not for a chance encounter with Sheriff Brian during a raid on some local bandits¡­ His subordinates mentioned that their boss had quite a colorful family, and if not for their chattiness, we might have kept searching for you for just as long.¡±


    Ardan could sense when people were lying. It was a subconscious thing. Maybe he knew due to their heart rate increasing, their bodies sweating more, their pupils reacting oddly, or something else. If he were a full-blooded Matabar, he might have been able to describe his feelings better. But as a half-blood, he simply called it a ¡°hunch.¡±


    And when it came to Cassara, his hunch was silent. Her heart didn¡¯t beat. Her body didn¡¯t sweat. Her eyes were like those of a fish, only red.


    ¡°The fire at the sawmill ¡ª was that your doing?¡±


    ¡°Gleb got a bit nervous,¡± the corners of the vampire¡¯s lips twitched into a smile, sending a chill down Ardi¡¯s spine. So, this was what others felt like when he smiled. ¡°He had a bad experience with Ley-monsters as a child. And at the sawmill-¡±


    ¡°A pack of three Ley-wolves appeared,¡± Ardan interrupted her, already guessing how that chain of events had led to an avalanche of consequences.


    The vampire nodded.


    Ardan continued to stare at the slope. There, among the green grass, patches of wildflowers swayed. He didn¡¯t want to admit it to himself, but his heart felt as if they were bidding farewell to a comrade, and sending him off on a long journey.


    ¡°You knew my grandfather.¡±


    ¡°Your grandfather?¡± Cassara repeated, then frowned slightly and nodded. ¡°Your grandfather¡­ yes. I knew him.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    The vampire looked beyond the horizon, momentarily reminding Ardan of his grandfather¡¯s last days. He had looked out with that same gaze, seeing both the far distance of the real world and the depths of his own memories.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, child,¡± the vampire stood and dusted off the hem of her leather cloak. Unlike the others, she never took it off. ¡°It¡¯s time. Today is the day of our departure.¡±


    Ardi had known this already. For some reason, Yonatan¡¯s unit had waited a whole month at the Ranger¡¯s house, and yet they had known the exact day and hour they would set out for the steppes from the beginning. And unlike his mother, Erti, and the others, they wouldn¡¯t spend a few days in a carriage to get to the railroad. Their path didn¡¯t lie strictly south, toward the lake upon whose shore Delpas stood. Instead, it led east, to the town of Presny.


    The road was still under construction between these two towns, so the route that went through the prairies from the mountains to Presny was faster than going first to Delpas, then taking the ferry across the lake, and then riding again through the prairies.


    ¡°Cassara,¡± Ardan called out to the vampire.


    She stopped and turned to him with that same vacant expression.


    Ardan didn¡¯t take his eyes off her. The wind swirled around him, coming down from the northern peaks. It carried the echo of eternal ice and snow from the high peaks of the Alcade. There was enough of it that, in its whisper, one might hear the name of ice. Perhaps that would be enough to-


    ¡°Vampires can¡¯t walk in the sun,¡± Cassara said unexpectedly, stretching out her hand with its delicate, thin fingers. ¡°We use a special cream, but it only protects us from burns. The pain,¡± she clenched and unclenched her fist several times, ¡°the pain doesn¡¯t go away, child. At first, you¡¯re angry about it. Then you get used to it. And then you forget about it.¡±


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°What are you trying to say?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in pain and angry,¡± the vampire hid her hand under her cloak and demonstratively turned on her heel. ¡°That¡¯s understandable. And you¡¯re making plans to escape, to rid yourself of that pain ¡ª that¡¯s understandable, too. But consider this: your¡­ grandfather. He didn¡¯t give his life so that you, even if you managed to escape, would spend the rest of your days on the run. Will you go to your family in Delpas? They¡¯ll kill them too, Ard. Do you think you¡¯ll be able to hide with them in the Alcade? If that were possible, you wouldn¡¯t be the last of the Matabar bloodline.¡±


    Ardan wanted to scream. He wanted to call upon the ice and darkness, to charge into the Fae paths. He wanted to snarl in her face. He wanted to sink his claws into Yonatan¡¯s throat, into Gleb¡¯s, and all the others, too. He wanted to do so much¡­ but¡­ the vampire was right. These people weren¡¯t simple bandits, and they certainly didn¡¯t belong to the ranks of outcasts. Quite the opposite. Their papers bore official seals, their mage wore official regalia, and they treated the former Ranger¡¯s house as if it were their personal property.


    In other words, they acted like Kelly sometimes did, only on a much higher level.


    By the second day, Ardi had realized that he was dealing with lawmen. Very strange ones, but lawmen nonetheless. And if that were the case, then standing behind them was the full power of the New Monarchy¡¯s government apparatus.


    ¡°What do you want from me?¡± Ardan repeated his earlier question, and before the vampire could answer, he added, ¡°And don¡¯t say that you don¡¯t know. Even if that¡¯s true, you must have some guesses.¡±


    She remained silent. Ardan did as well. The wind danced between them, causing the grass to frost over.


    ¡°This is classified information for now, but the Emperor passed away three months ago.¡±


    The frost cracked, and Ardi swayed slightly. All the air was knocked from his lungs. Yes, His Imperial Majesty had been old, but not so old that-


    ¡°He had been ill for several years. They tried to treat him, but it was in vain.¡±


    Ardan tried to calm his racing heart, and though it wasn¡¯t easy, he managed it eventually. No, he wasn¡¯t particularly affected by the Emperor¡¯s death. The New Monarchy relied primarily on the Three Chambers of Parliament and the Congress Government to maintain its rule. The Emperor, even though he held significant power and authority, wasn¡¯t such a mighty figure that his fall would cause chaos.


    The problem lay elsewhere.


    The biggest issue was that Cassara knew of his death, and, apparently, so did the rest of her unit. This made them not just lawmen, but¡­


    ¡°You¡¯re from the Second Chancery,¡± Ardan¡¯s throat went dry.


    The Second Chancery was often the subject of newspaper stories. It was a special division serving directly under the Central Chamber of Parliament, an institution heavily dependent on the monarch. In historical terms, the Second Chancery was akin to the Emperor¡¯s Warband ¡ª as they¡¯d called it in Gales ¡ª or his Guard ¡ª as they¡¯d called it in the western kingdoms that had become part of the Empire. But it didn¡¯t fight wars, guard borders, or collect taxes. It performed more delicate work.


    Dirty work.


    The only thing that distinguished the Second Chancery from spies, assassins, executioners, bounty hunters, grave robbers, and other scum like them was the presence of a coat of arms and a license.


    And that was why Cassara knew about the situation with the monarch.


    ¡°One of its divisions, yes,¡± the vampire didn¡¯t deny it. ¡°If you¡¯ll allow me to continue¡­¡±


    She fell silent, waiting, and Ardan merely nodded.


    ¡°In the early days of autumn, the coronation of the Emperor¡¯s eldest son will take place, and his wife will become the Empress Consort. It will be a grand celebration. Very grand. And at a celebration of such magnitude, people will expect not only spectacles, but also grand statements.¡±


    ¡°What does that have to do with me?¡±


    Cassara smiled again, but this time, it was without joy, even tinged with sadness.


    ¡°The Matabar were the first of the Firstborn to swear allegiance to the Dark Lord. Have you ever wondered why? Why did the Lord choose those who had the most in common with humans? Why not the oldest Firstborn ¡ª the orcs, dwarves and elves ¡ª instead, who, believe me, had far more reason to hate the human race?¡±


    Ardan knew the history of the nation well. The Dark Lord¡¯s rebellion had led to new reforms and transformations in the country, making it, if you didn¡¯t look too closely and didn¡¯t delve into the details, a place with equal rights for all races. But before that, things had been very different¡­


    ¡°My grandfather¡­¡± Ardan croaked, ¡°Was he¡­ Was he the Dark Lord?¡±


    This question had haunted Ardi since he had come down from the mountain. His grandfather had possessed knowledge no ordinary Matabar, even a Listener or a Speaker, should have had. And then there were those artifacts in the shed. And the powerful magic that had been ready to respond to his grandfather¡¯s slightest call like a loyal dog¡­


    Cassara laughed. Until then, Ardan had never heard a sound that was more like the cawing of crows than the cawing of crows themselves.


    ¡°No, child,¡± she rasped, wiping away bloody tears. ¡°Your old man wasn¡¯t the Dark Lord.¡±


    ¡°Of course, he was born too late to...¡± Ardi sighed, recalling his own counterarguments to that theory. It had been nearly two hundred years since the rebellion, so his grandfather-


    ¡°He was his teacher.¡±


    Ardan felt as if the ground had vanished from beneath his feet.


    ¡°What? But then¡­ then¡­¡±


    ¡°Aror Egobar was five hundred and seventy-four years old when he died, child,¡± the vampire said softly. ¡°And he wasn¡¯t the Dark Lord. Nor was he your grandfather¡­ he was your great-grandfather.¡±


    Ardi tried to breathe, but he couldn¡¯t. Everything blurred before his eyes. His thoughts danced drunken, disjointed dances in his head.


    ¡°He was the one who taught the Dark Lord the magic of the Aean¡¯Hane and the secrets of the Sidhe. He was the one who forged the Dark Lord¡¯s sword from the darkest night and crafted him a staff from wood that had held the light of a star.¡±


    The Sword of Darkness and the Star Staff. They were just children¡¯s nightmares, stories parents told to scare their little ones at bedtime. And¡­ artifacts of immense power.


    Artifacts that, all this time, had been stored in a small shed on the outskirts of the Alcade Mountains.


    ¡°And it was he who persuaded the Matabar to join the Lord,¡± Cassara continued, each of her words striking Ardan like a sledgehammer to the back of his head. ¡°And it was Aror who vouched for him before the council of the Firstborn rulers, allowing the Lord to speak to their peoples and call for rebellion against their oppressors and-¡±


    ¡°You were there!¡± Ardan suddenly exclaimed. ¡°You were there¡­¡±


    Cassara shot him a quick glance, and it was better than any answer.


    The elves were the longest-lived of all the races. Emphasis on ¡°lived.¡± Vampires didn¡¯t fall into that category, and all things being equal, they could exist for thousands of years.


    ¡°You seem to know little about your family, child,¡± Cassara flicked her head, sending a cascade of snow-white hair flying, and flashed her crimson eyes at him. ¡°When the Imperial enforcers arrived here, your great-grandfather didn¡¯t have time to help your grandmother ¡ª his daughter¡­ Hector¡¯s mother. Why that is, I don¡¯t know. But whatever happened, it twisted something in Hector¡¯s perception, and instead of hating humans, he became a soldier in the army after a few years of wandering¡­ Maybe, in some perverse way, he wanted to take out his anger on the human race, even if it was on foreigners. In the end, he fought on the border for a few decades, including that massacre thirty years ago committed against the Principality of Fatia. We crossed paths a couple of times, and¡­ I don¡¯t know, child. The Hector I knew was hard to distinguish from a simple human. It seemed like he hated his grandfather more for not being able to save their people than he hated humans themselves¡­ I simply don¡¯t know. I¡¯m not good with matters of the heart, Ard. Mine stopped beating a long time ago.¡±


    ¡°All of this sounds like one of my grandfather¡¯s stories, but fine, okay,¡± Ardi tried to find some kernels of truth in what he had just heard. ¡°Let¡¯s say I believe you, and my grandfather was actually my great-grandfather, but then¡­¡±


    And he fell silent.


    Memories of all the arguments between his father and gran¡­ His great-grandfather surfaced. All their strange, unspoken words. All their grievances. Everything that had placed them on opposite sides of the divide. How fiercely his father had tried to raise his son as someone who knew nothing of the Matabar ways, and how equally fiercely his grandfather¡­ great-grandfather had resisted those efforts.


    ¡°I have no reason to lie to you, child,¡± Cassara approached him and raised her hand as if to place it on his shoulder, but stopped. ¡°By the time we arrived in Metropolis in a month and a half, you would have found out everything anyway. At least now it won¡¯t come as such a big surprise.¡±


    ¡°Surprise¡± was not the right word for it. A surprise was when you were expecting a small gift for your birthday and received something you¡¯d never thought you could have instead. But what he had just heard¡­ No, this wasn¡¯t a ¡°surprise.¡± How could the fact that his entire life had been nothing but deception, a mere facade hiding the truth from him, be called a surprise?


    ¡°But what does this have to do with me?¡±


    ¡°Initially, nothing,¡± the vampire admitted. ¡°His future Imperial Majesty wanted Aror Egobar to be present at the coronation ceremony as a symbol that peace had fully been achieved between humans and the Firstborn. He¡¯d intended to offer him a pardon and amnesty. And honestly, I have no idea why Great Prince Pavel became so convinced in recent years that Aror was still alive. All this time, the old man was believed to be dead ¡ª killed in the same battle where the Dark Lord¡¯s army was defeated.¡±


    Ardan remembered Teacher Parnas¡¯ lectures about how, in the battle at the Fortress of Pashere, the forces of the New Monarchy had defeated the Dark Lord¡¯s army and captured the man himself so they could publicly execute him. Unfortunately, during the battle, the youngest son of Emperor Gabriel VII, Great Prince Iacov, was also killed in action.


    However, the authorities had never been able to find the Dark Lord¡¯s artifacts, leading to the emergence of numerous myths and legends about them.


    ¡°But Aror, it seems, had already owed a debt to Death for a long time now,¡± Cassara turned toward the Ranger¡¯s house, its roof visible among the trees. ¡°I can only guess why he needed to keep living for so many years, and I don¡¯t even want to think about the price he paid for it.¡±


    ¡°The price?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s always a price for Aean¡¯Hane magic, child. And probably for Star Magic, too¡­¡± She glanced surreptitiously at her cream-covered skin. ¡°But just a couple of months before we received the assignment, the future Emperor changed his position. He declared that the public appearance of the Dark Lord¡¯s teacher could stir unnecessary¡­ feelings among the Firstborn. So, he issued an ultimatum to Aror. Either he would leave on his own, or¡­¡±


    ¡°Or you would kill us,¡± Ardan finished for Cassara.


    He would never forget what Yonatan had said that fateful evening.


    ¡°It was nothing personal, child,¡± the vampire shrugged slightly. ¡°In exchange for his voluntary death, the crown promised to take care of your family under certain conditions.¡±


    ¡°One of which was my mandatory presence in Metropolis.¡±


    Cassara turned to him and looked straight into his eyes. Ardan felt a shiver run down his spine once again.


    ¡°Presence? You still don¡¯t get it, Ard? Why would the future Emperor want just your presence in the capital? You, the descendant of someone who played a significant role in the carnage that reshaped the Empire, and not in the way many humans would have liked? And more than that, a half-blood who holds the knowledge of the Aean¡¯Hane¡­¡±


    Ardi was beginning to understand where Cassara was heading with this.


    ¡°Tell me, child, is there anyone among your acquaintances or friends who might have leaked part of this information?¡±


    ¡°Among my acquaintances, no,¡± Ardan spread his arms out, ¡°and considering how far away from everything Evergale is¡­¡±


    The vampire frowned.


    ¡°What about the one who came here every day? She seems like someone whose family has enough money and connections.¡±


    ¡°Anna?¡± The very thought of it was absurd to Ardi. ¡°She would never betray me.¡±


    Cassara muttered something in a language Ardan didn¡¯t recognize.


    ¡°Men,¡± she added in the language of the Empire. ¡°If you only knew, child, how many secrets have been revealed by what a woman keeps between her legs, and where it all leads to... Remember this in the future: a secret remains a secret only as long as you¡¯re the only one who knows it. In any other case, it¡¯s just a knife you¡¯re trying to keep away from your throat.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a rather grim outlook on life,¡± Ardan remarked.


    Cassara didn¡¯t respond to that.


    ¡°Anyway, child, after we arrive in Metropolis and hand you over to the Chancery, remember this: never ask anyone for anything, and trust no one. Especially not the nobility, officials, or the moneyed sharks. Whatever they might promise you, they¡¯ll deceive you. Whatever they offer you, the price you¡¯ll pay for it will be far greater than you can imagine.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I have anything that would interest these gentlemen.¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± Cassara agreed. ¡°But the fact that they¡¯re planning to send you to the Imperial Magical University¡­¡±


    The Imperial Magical University was the only higher education institution in the entire country where there was not only a Star Magic faculty, but where Star Magic was the main subject of study. It was a most prestigious institution, producing top-tier specialists every year. The competition for a scholarship exceeded a hundred and fifty applicants per available spot, and the cost of one semester, depending on the faculty, started at four hundred exes and only went up.


    ¡°And just so that it doesn¡¯t seem like you¡¯re passively following along like a sheep, or abandoning your family, and everything else that might cross the mind of a young, naive, and passionate youth,¡± the vampire continued in the same tone Ergar had sometimes used when praising Ardi after a hunt, ¡°as long as you cooperate with the crown, it will take care of your family. The best doctors for your brother, an excellent school for your sister, a prestigious job for your stepfather, and, mind you, a more than generous pension and support for your mother. They won¡¯t want for anything, child. And if you¡¯re honest with yourself, you¡¯ll have to admit that life in Delpas under the crown¡¯s wing and an endless struggle for survival in Evergale are two very different things.¡±


    ¡°This feels more like a hostage situation.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of hostages being healed, child, or then given an excellent education, opportunities for work, and a life better than what nine out of ten residents of the Empire could hope for, not to mention being given a three-story mansion with a small garden. They won¡¯t even be renting it or temporarily granted use of it. They will actually own it.¡±


    ¡°Where did you-¡±


    ¡°Our colleagues, on Yonatan¡¯s orders, handled all the paperwork themselves,¡± the vampire shrugged. ¡°They went around the establishments in Delpas, submitting petitions and personally receiving guarantees and signed orders from their leaders. Yonatan has a bit of a thing about never letting his words deviate from his actions. And if he promised Aror a good deal, he¡¯ll break his back to keep his word.¡±


    Ardan turned back to the precipice. There, birds soared above the village roofs, flying into the vast prairies and disappearing among the clouds.


    By the laws of the hunt, he should care for his pack, but¡­ maybe Cassara was right? Maybe, by cooperating with the crown, he could indeed provide his family with a better life than just scraping by from winter to winter, breaking their backs, and risking their lives for a few exes ever could.


    And Erti¡­ The thought that his brother¡¯s condition might worsen had sometimes kept Ardi and his mother up at night. And now, after all that concern, good doctors would be looking after him. And with the addition of the pension, Shaia wouldn¡¯t have to spend her days and evenings at her sewing machine, doing monotonous, repetitive work, and she could finally start her own business.


    She had always wanted to sew dresses and make costumes, not patch up pants, mend jackets, and stitch endless linens.


    As for Ardi, well¡­ Ergar had taught him that the leader of the pack wasn¡¯t the strongest or the fastest, but the one who was willing to take on the heaviest burden and carry it without complaining or lamenting their hard fate.


    Ardi would manage.


    He always had.


    ¡°The new address of your family,¡± the vampire handed him a small piece of paper, upon which Ardi read, ¡°Foothill Province, Delpas, Stonemasons¡¯ Street, 17.¡± ¡°So you can keep in touch with them. And if you behave ¡®well¡¯ for six months, they¡¯ll let you visit Delpas.¡±


    Ardan read it several times to ensure he wouldn¡¯t forget the address even if something happened to the paper, then tucked it into his breast pocket.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said sincerely.


    ¡°I had nothing to do with it. It¡¯s one of the crown¡¯s orders. Whatever you might think of them, Ard, the people in the palace offices are far from stupid, otherwise¡­ Otherwise, we wouldn¡¯t be in this situation. It would be best to think of everything happening right now as you getting a well-paying job.¡±


    They fell silent for a while.


    ¡°Alright, we¡¯ll have plenty of time to discuss this on the road, child,¡± Cassara patted his shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s go. On top of all his other tiresome qualities, Yonatan is very punctual. We¡¯re leaving in forty minutes.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t move, causing Cassara to raise an eyebrow in confusion.


    ¡°If after everything I¡¯ve just said you still think you have a choice, you¡¯re either a complete idiot or you were dropped on your head-¡±


    ¡°Why are you helping me?¡± Ardan demanded suddenly.


    For the first time, he saw a shadow of hesitation on the vampire¡¯s face. However, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.


    ¡°Vampires have had a rough time in both Ectassus and the New Monarchy, child,¡± Cassara said in a flat, emotionless tone. ¡°Aror wanted to change that. For me, that¡¯s reason enough to help his great-grandson. Is that enough to get you to walk back with me on your own two feet? Or should I knock you out and carry you to the horses myself?¡±


    Ardan still didn¡¯t budge, and Cassara rolled her eyes ¡ª even after all the years he¡¯d spent among humans, Ardi had never learned to understand this gesture ¡ª and even raised her hand as if to strike him, when suddenly, the young man struck his chest with his fist and then touched the back of his hand to his forehead.


    The vampire froze.


    ¡°You made this gesture over my grandfather¡¯s body,¡± he said quietly. ¡°What does it mean?¡±


    Cassara silently turned away and headed toward the forest¡¯s edge.


    ¡°You already know,¡± she answered just as she reached the tree line.


    Ardan did know.


    He unclenched his fist and looked at it.


    The Dark Lord¡¯s banners had always borne a motto written in the blood of their vanquished enemies. A motto that, just over two centuries ago, had made the Firstborn take up arms to burn down the Empire. A motto that had become forbidden in the New Monarchy. Anyone who spoke it risked far more than just a fine.


    And that motto went:


    ¡°Duty and honor,¡± Ardan whispered, then sighed and followed after Cassara.

 Chapter 22 - Fire and Lightning

    Ardi patted the old bay horse on the neck, checked to make sure his bedroll was securely tied to the saddle, and tightened the laces of his cloak. In the prairies and steppes, the most important thing was not to rely on the warmth of the sun and to ensure that you always had dry and warm clothing ready in advance.


    ¡°They should¡¯ve been here by now,¡± one of the members of the unit muttered nervously. Ardan hadn¡¯t caught his name, and aside from his cross-eyed gaze, the man didn¡¯t stand out from the group.


    ¡°Calm down,¡± Yonatan said curtly, calmly rocking in his saddle. Unlike him and Gleb, everyone else had dismounted. ¡°It¡¯s been a week of rain. The ground is soaked, and the coaches are moving slower. We can wait.¡±


    For four hours now, they had been riding along the edge of the prairie. Just as Cassara had warned him, Yonatan was indeed obsessed with punctuality. You could practically set your clock by him. Every thirty minutes, he would reach into his pants pocket, pull out a watch on a long chain, click open the cover, and then jot something down in a travel notebook.


    He was likely keeping a log. Or maybe a diary. Or perhaps...


    Ardan shook his head. He was trying to occupy his mind, which felt starved after a month without puzzles or magical seals. And Gleb, who was riding annoyingly close to Ardi, was unlikely to loosen the bag with the prisoner¡¯s books and staff that was tied to his saddle.


    And so, the few belongings Ardan currently possessed consisted of two sets of seasonal clothing sewn for him by his mother and packed into saddlebags strapped to his horse, a leather travel cloak and a wide-brimmed hat given to him by the unit ¡ª so he wouldn¡¯t stand out, apparently ¡ª a pair of work boots that were still sturdy but would soon require some maintenance, a wallet with a handful of exes hidden in his boot, and an old work knife.


    Around his neck hung a leather cord with Ergar¡¯s fang and a small oak figurine on it, and on his wrist was a bracelet of black silk with white Sidhe runes woven into it. Whenever the sleeves of his jacket rode up, exposing Ardi¡¯s wrist, he could feel Gleb¡¯s watchful gaze on it.


    In the past month, Ardan had exchanged at least a few words with every member of the expedition. They were a diverse group, varying in age and even gender ¡ª besides Cassara, there were two other women in the unit ¡ª but they all shared one thing: a complete indifference to their prisoner/cargo. Only Gleb had shown Ardi open hostility mixed with something that could only be described as greed.


    ¡°Just hold on a little longer,¡± Ardan whispered in the language of the beasts, stroking the horse¡¯s mane. ¡°Soon, we¡¯ll be on our way, and you¡¯ll be able to stretch your legs.¡±


    ¡°Food,¡± the bay horse replied, nibbling on grass and flowers. ¡°Tasty. Calm. Run¡­ run. No run, food!¡±


    Ardi smiled. He wondered if he had sounded like that to others when he¡¯d first tried speaking the Imperial language. Unfortunately, domestic animals didn¡¯t quite understand the language of wild beasts. It was like speaking the same language but different dialects. It sounded similar, but the details were hard to grasp.


    Ardan double-checked that the girth was still tight and gave the stirrup strap a tug ¡ª if the seams split, it would be the most bothersome part of the saddle to repair. And yet¡­ he couldn¡¯t resist and turned back to look.


    There, to the north, rose the familiar mountains that tightly embraced his home. Their mighty peaks loomed like ancient warriors, guarding the life he had left behind. He¡¯d known that this sight would awaken a mix of melancholy and longing in him, threatening to consume his soul entirely, but he still couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away.


    Once again, he was overwhelmed with deep regret for all the moments he had missed, for the times he hadn¡¯t hugged his mother or shared in his brother¡¯s joy. These fleeting moments, flickering in the depths of his consciousness like the last glimmers of a dying star, had once seemed like a given to him, but now they were the most precious things Ardan carried with him.


    Suddenly, above the peaks, among the stately clouds, an eagle appeared, soaring effortlessly against the azure sky. Their eyes met, and the lord of the skies cried out, his call echoing through the air like a plea for Ardi to return to where he belonged. But Ardi only turned away and averted his gaze.


    He couldn¡¯t go back¡­ Now his path lay onward, into the uncharted expanses of the prairies and steppes.


    With a heavy heart, Ardi turned away from the mountains, and the weight of that simple, fleeting gesture settled on his shoulders like the yoke of a thousand sorrows. In that moment, he felt the very concept of ¡°home¡± dissolve into the realm of memories, becoming an elusive phantom.


    The pain of realization hit him like a sledgehammer. Pure and unclouded, it spread through his chest, threatening to tear it apart. And yet, somewhere within that agony, a small cub that had once crawled over the rocks of Ergar¡¯s cave in search of water let out a short, but fierce growl. A growl full of determination to carve out a new path and start a new life, even as the cherished memories of home faded into the mist of days gone by.


    Spurred on by these thoughts, he abruptly lifted his head and boldly met Gleb¡¯s gaze.


    The mage didn¡¯t manage to look away in time and couldn¡¯t pretend that the moment was just a coincidence.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± He hissed through clenched teeth.


    ¡°Me?¡± Ardan pointed to himself. ¡°Nothing. You¡¯ve been glaring at me like a wolf for a month, though.¡±


    At the mention of wolves, the man grimaced and tightened his grip on the reins. Thanks to Cassara¡¯s slip, Ardan had known he would react this way.


    ¡°Back off,¡± Gleb snapped.


    Ardan might have wanted to follow this command, but something told him that if he did, nothing good would come of it in the future. Fully aware that an Imperial mage, especially one with three Stars, was no mere troll, Ardi nonetheless stepped forward.


    Immediately, a dozen pairs of eyes turned in his direction. Cassara opened her mouth to speak, but Yonatan shook his head.


    ¡°You have my books and staff,¡± Ardan said firmly.


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Give them back.¡±


    Gleb snorted, then glanced at his superior. Yonatan just shrugged.


    ¡°We agreed that they¡¯d stay with me for now, kid,¡± Gleb¡¯s tone was haughty, but his gaze was hungrily fixed on the bracelet around Ardi¡¯s wrist. ¡°So, I¡¯ll tell you one last time ¡ªback off.¡±


    ¡°We agreed it was only for the time being,¡± Ardi insisted.


    Their gazes locked, but Gleb didn¡¯t flinch. Not even when Ardan, out of habit after arguing with cowboys for so long, bared his teeth slightly and squared his shoulders.


    ¡°And what was that supposed to be?¡± The mage nearly laughed. ¡°Kid, you seriously think you can scare me? I¡¯ve kicked the asses of creatures that would make you piss yourself just hearing about them. I¡¯m sorry to say that you wouldn¡¯t even make it onto the waiting list to meet them.¡±


    Ardan knew this well enough ¡ª after all, he was facing a member of the Second Chancery. But still¡­


    ¡°Give them back,¡± he repeated.


    ¡°Again, we agreed-¡±


    ¡°A month has passed,¡± Ardan cut him off and approached his horse ¡ª an aging gray mare that the man was riding.


    ¡°Time is a flexible concept,¡± the rider shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll give them back when we get to Metropolis.¡±


    Ardi narrowed his eyes. Just like when he¡¯d stood next to that stream before the five wolves, or in that gorge where he¡¯d found himself alone with the troll, Ardan knew he had encountered someone out of his league. And if he were to strictly follow Ergar¡¯s teachings right then, he should retreat. Prepare. And only then should he attack. But there were exceptions to this rule, and his teacher had taught him that Ardi would know when it was right to break the law of not attacking someone stronger than himself.


    Maybe Ardan was making a mistake. Maybe none of this was worth it. But that staff and those books were part of his memory of home. Part of what connected him to his mother, father, great-grandfather, and brother. And he couldn¡¯t allow someone else to take control of his light.


    ¡°For the third time, I¡¯m telling you to give those back. They¡¯re mine.¡±


    ¡°A third time? Am I supposed to be convinced by that? I am telling you to back off before I explain it to you in a way you¡¯ll understand.¡±


    Only Cassara, upon hearing this, cursed and shook the folds of her cloak so that her hands could easily reach the handles of her revolver and saber.


    Ardan placed his hand on the mare¡¯s neck and spoke briefly in the language of beasts: ¡°Throw him off.¡±


    Unlike Ardan¡¯s horse, which Yonatan had bought for him the day before they¡¯d set out, all the other mounts had belonged to their riders for a long time. If the bond between the mare and Gleb had been stronger than just that of owner and animal, the trick wouldn¡¯t have worked. The mare simply wouldn¡¯t have harmed her friend. But this animal had no affection for her rider.


    A wild neighing rang out as the mare reared and jerked from side to side. Gleb, clearly not expecting this, was thrown from the saddle, nearly getting tangled in the stirrups, and tumbled to the ground amid the laughter of the group.


    Ardan, stepping over the recovering mage, approached the horse, patted her mane, and began untying the bag of books from the saddle when his instincts made him duck. He couldn¡¯t avoid the blow entirely, but instead of the iron-capped staff striking his temple, it merely tore a strip of skin from his head and, after grazing his ear, bounced off the saddle itself.


    Ardi leaped aside, and drew his knife with a swift motion, growling menacingly.


    ¡°Filthy animal,¡± Gleb spat, raising his staff. Made of iron and nearly two meters long, it was topped with a clawed hand clutching a murky Ley-crystal. ¡°I¡¯m sure command won¡¯t mind if we bring you in without your eyes and ears.¡±


    ¡°They might not,¡± Yonatan suddenly interjected, ¡°but I would.¡±


    That last word was spoken with great emphasis, and Gleb hesitated slightly.


    ¡°He attacked me,¡± Gleb said more calmly. ¡°I am an officer of the law and-¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not on an official mission,¡± Yonatan quickly reminded him.


    ¡°Damn it, lieutenant!¡± Gleb shouted. ¡°Whose side are you on? Mine or this animal¡¯s?¡±


    Yonatan swore and adjusted his hat.


    ¡°I¡¯m on the side of common sense, mage,¡± he spat on the ground. ¡°We¡¯ve got at least a month of the prairie and then a train ride with this kid ahead of us. I have no desire to worry about you two trying to kill each other the whole time.¡±


    ¡°Trying?¡± Gleb¡¯s eyes flashed with contempt. ¡°What¡¯s there to try? He¡¯s as good as dead right now.¡±


    There was the click of a cocked revolver. Surprisingly, it wasn¡¯t Cassara¡¯s, but Yonatan¡¯s.


    ¡°Here¡¯s the deal, Davos,¡± Yonatan said smoothly, like a predator ready to pounce. ¡°You¡¯re from high society, right? So, let¡¯s settle this the way you fine folk do.¡±


    ¡°What are you suggesting, lieutenant?¡±


    Yonatan tapped his hat and winked.


    ¡°Normal folks call it a brawl,¡± he said. ¡°In your circles ¡ª demons only know what it¡¯s called. A duel or something.¡±


    ¡°A magical duel? With this beast?¡±


    ¡°Are you hard of hearing, mage?¡± Hissed one of the women ¡ª a seasoned warrior with a scarred face who carried a long rifle with a telescope mounted on top. ¡°The boss already explained it to you. Either you settle things with the boy now, or we leave you here.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± someone else chimed in. ¡°No one¡¯s interested in dealing with this. We¡¯ve got enough problems already.¡±


    Gleb swore, then looked at Ardi, and suddenly, he smiled widely. It was a nasty, arrogant smile.


    ¡°Untie your staff, pup,¡± he sneered. ¡°And take your book.¡±


    ¡°Davos, you-¡±


    ¡°Shut up, vampire,¡± Gleb barked, muttering to himself under his breath. ¡°Just what I needed in my life ¡ª being forced to listen to a dead thing. Damn scum¡­ if it weren¡¯t for that bastard major, I wouldn¡¯t have to put up with your lowborn ignorance.¡±


    It was unlikely that anyone else besides Ardan heard this, but at that moment, he wasn¡¯t concerned with the finer points of the relationship between the mage and Yonatan¡¯s unit. He was trying to maintain an outward calm while untying his staff from the saddle and retrieving his grimoire from the bag.


    Thanks to reading a lot of Atta¡¯nha¡¯s books and scrolls, he knew of Aean¡¯Hane duels, but they rarely involved combat. The contests usually involved giving the competitors a single name or word, and the one who could hold on to their power and maintain concentration the longest would win.


    But something told Ardi that this would be different. And there was no turning back now. He had started this himself, but¡­


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    ¡°Damn it!¡± Gleb shouted, thrusting his staff toward his opponent. ¡°He doesn¡¯t even know what to do! Lieutenant, you¡¯ve lost your mind if you think-¡±


    ¡°Your problem, mage,¡± Yonatan interrupted in a calm tone. ¡°You took his trinkets, so now explain what to do. And don¡¯t damage my cargo. You¡¯ll be held accountable.¡±


    Davos cursed for a while, then closed his eyes and began breathing steadily, trying to calm himself. Regaining control, he opened his eyes and looked at Ardan with that same, silent mockery from before.


    ¡°How many?¡±


    Ardi was prepared for anything but this question, so he hesitated.


    ¡°How many rays in your Star, whelp?¡± Gleb clarified. ¡°Two, three? How many?¡±


    Ardan glanced quickly at Cassara, who gave a barely perceptible nod.


    ¡°Seven.¡±


    Someone whistled, others clicked their tongues, and there were even a few restrained claps, and Yonatan himself raised an eyebrow slightly as well. Only Gleb looked as if he had stepped in a cow pie.


    ¡°According to Imperial law,¡± Gleb began to say reluctantly through clenched teeth, ¡°if no lethal satisfaction is declared in a magical duel, which is prohibited without seconds appointed by the Magistrate, then the duel is conducted as a shield contest.¡±


    Ardan understood about as much of this as¡­ nothing, really, but he kept his composure. At least he hoped he did.


    ¡°You conjure a shield, and I either break it or shatter it,¡± Gleb rolled his eyes. Was that gesture not exclusive to human women? ¡°Then I conjure a shield, and you break it. And so on and so forth until someone runs out of energy. The use of any means to restore our rays is prohibited.¡±


    Ardan began flipping through his grimoire. Somewhere in the middle, a few pages were devoted to one of the few combat spells he¡¯d found in the unknown Aean¡¯Hane¡¯s textbook.


    ¡°And how long am I supposed to keep waiting, kid?¡± Gleb shouted. ¡°In the time you¡¯ve wasted, I could¡¯ve already made you rot from the inside and shit out your guts!¡±


    Ardi paid him no mind. Finding the necessary seal, he scanned the runes and description of it:


    [Star: Any


    Number of Rays: 2 or more


    School: Defensive/Elemental


    Element: Universal


    Maximum rune combinations: area/height/density/absorption]


    ¡°A simple universal shield.¡±


    In the center of the multicolored circle rested five triangles that seemed to be chained down by runic script, under whose bases lay a pentagon pointing downward. If you looked closely, it really did resemble a shield. And each ray had the color of its element, symbolized by its corresponding rune. Earth, water, fire, air, and Ley energy ¡ª these were the elements from which, according to the author of the textbook, everything was formed.


    ¡°Alright, I take back what I just said. In the time you¡¯ve spent fiddling with that book, I could¡¯ve fathered two kids.¡±


    ¡°No one doubts your speed in that department,¡± one of the women snickered.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡­ Damn it¡­ Hurry up, whelp! This is just ridiculous! What kind of mage takes half a minute to set up a shield? Didn¡¯t they teach you that a shield should appear instantly as soon as you think of it? That¡¯s basic knowledge!¡±


    Gleb kept talking and talking, his voice oozing more and more smugness with each word. Ardi, however, calmly and thoughtfully studied the seal. Of course, he suspected that in the time he¡¯d spent contemplating, even a common house cat could have sent him to his ancestors, but the rules Gleb had stated had mentioned nothing about time limits. So, Ardan calmly considered the fact that he probably wouldn¡¯t have the strength to break Gleb¡¯s shield.


    After all, although the man was only three rays ahead of Ardi, that was far from insignificant, and besides, most of those rays belonged to Stars of a higher order. Based on the knowledge he¡¯d gleaned from the textbook, it was easy to conclude that even if Gleb used just one ray from each of his Stars, Ardan, with his limited arsenal, would never be able to break the resulting spell.


    And so, the only thing he could hope for was to force Gleb to expend all his strength, after which he could use another loophole in the stated rules. His games with Skusty had taught him that it was far more important to notice what hadn¡¯t been said than what had.


    And Gleb hadn¡¯t mentioned that their shields could only be broken with Star Magic¡­


    Mentally rewriting the runes so that the shield would draw upon the maximum amount of energy, Ardan took hold of his staff and lifted it slightly off the ground. In his mind¡¯s eye, the seal formed, and then threads of energy began to pull from the depths of his soul, directly from the center of his blazing, scarlet Star.


    ¡°Finally,¡± Gleb laughed as the tip of Ardi¡¯s staff began to glow faintly. ¡°And what, am I supposed to wait just as long while you form it?¡±


    The process was long and difficult. For the first time ever, Ardan was forming a seal not for research or curiosity¡¯s sake. He¡¯d certainly never done so while trying to alter the structure of the spell and channel all his energy into it, either.


    The threads kept threatening to snap and break the formation of the spell, but Ardan¡¯s will was strong. He held them firmly, occasionally checking the book, and little by little, he traced the necessary patterns in his mind. Then, when his Star dimmed, he struck his staff hard against the ground, forcing the Ley energy to surge through the artifact and into reality.


    For a brief moment, the pattern of the seal flashed before him, and then a shimmering rainbow veil appeared around him, like a soap bubble. It enveloped the young wizard in a sphere, causing the world outside to warp into waves and mirages.


    Ardi barely resisted the urge to reach out and touch the thin membrane. How strange it was¡­


    ¡°I thought I was going to go completely gray,¡± Gleb sighed, then raised his staff above his head and brought it down sharply.


    Immediately, a miniature, fiery seal flared on the mage¡¯s staff, and its twin, much larger and now under Gleb¡¯s feet, made the sky above Ardan blaze with orange light.


    ¡°Ard!¡± Cassara shouted. ¡°Be careful!¡±


    Everything happened in less than a heartbeat. Gleb formed the spell faster than even the quickest cowboys could draw a revolver from a holster, and sometimes, even that was impossible to follow. And then, from above, with a crack and a roar, a pillar of fire descended upon him. Twisting into a tight spiral, the flame snake struck his shield and spread across the surface of the veil, cutting Ardan off from the outside world.


    All Ardan could see before him was blazing fire devouring his shield. In places, it was covered in a web of long cracks, and in others, it had been pierced, with tongues of flame already trying to reach Ardi¡¯s clothes. And yet, he still stared in fascination at the raging element, as if there was no threat to be found in what was happening.


    Then, with a soft, crystalline sound, the shield shattered into pieces, and the fire whirled around Ardi. The heat, comparable to what he had felt near a volcano¡¯s crater, almost caused his skin to melt before everything fell silent. The flames vanished as suddenly as they had appeared, and Gleb waved his staff again, igniting a greenish seal. Immediately, a veil appeared around him, resembling transparent scales.


    It was as if some spectral asp had coiled around the mage, its emerald, diamond-shaped scales occasionally flickering. Unlike Ardan¡¯s shield, the asp¡¯s coils never stopped moving and were constantly shifting.


    ¡°I forgot to mention this, kid,¡± Gleb¡¯s lips curled into a predatory smile. ¡°Technically, you challenged me to a duel, and as the challenged party, I have the legal right to demand satisfaction. My demand is this: if you lose, your books and staff become my property.¡±


    Gleb couldn¡¯t contain a series of low, rasping chuckles. The mage¡¯s eyes gleamed with a sickly light, practically oozing the same greed for power that the Ley-wolves had exhibited. And Ardi¡¯s heart skipped a beat. He had no spark left in his rays, and even if Gleb was now in the same situation, it wouldn¡¯t matter.


    There was only one hope left¡­


    Ardan suddenly realized that his knife had somehow lightened. He glanced down and, to his surprise, found that the blade had melted into the grass, leaving only a charred hilt in his hand.


    Gleb no longer bothered to conceal his triumphant laughter.


    Ardi looked in his direction, then closed his eyes. If not the knife, then¡­ They hadn¡¯t said what kind of magic would need to be used to break the shield.


    Atta¡¯nha had never told her friend and student how he should use the few abilities of a Speaker that he had managed to learn. She¡¯d always insisted that Ardi was free to choose what to do with them.


    He opened his mind and heart to the world around him.


    Ardan stood on the edge of the vast prairie, its endless expanse stretching before him like a canvas painted with the greatest of nature¡¯s beauties. The land, bathed in the vibrant hues of blooming meadows, was like a sea of flowers dancing under the gentle caresses of the winds.


    A modest breeze whispered through them, carrying with it sweet scents and the promise of freedom. It brushed against Ardi¡¯s skin, sending shivers down his arms, flowing deeper still and coursing through his veins, rekindling that deep, primal longing for the wild freedom that lay beyond the horizon.


    But none of this was what he sought¡­


    Ardan ran further along the paths of the wind, higher and higher.


    He found what he¡¯d been looking for in a place where dark clouds gathered, filling with the inevitable ferocity of the storm that was brewing in the depths of their brooding hearts. The air grew heavier, crackling with the sparks of the tempest unfolding high above, and it seemed like reality itself was holding its breath in anticipation.


    Ardan felt the treacherous, sticky claws of fear pierce him as he gazed upon the swirling vortex of roiling darkness threatening to engulf the fragile beauty of the prairies. And yet, amid the terror, a determination as fierce as the storm itself was born within him ¡ª a burning desire to stand against the gale and show what he was capable of, not just to the untamed forces of nature, but to the depths of his own soul as well.


    He longed to face the tempest, to let the rain and wind lash at him, as if they were the embodiment of the fear he had fought against since childhood.


    ¡°Is that¡­ rain?¡±


    ¡°Today was supposed to be clear weather¡­¡±


    And in that darkness, Ardan heard a name. He reached for it and stood beside it as an equal. Defying his own fear and doubts, Ardan took the name and placed it into his staff. Then he opened his eyes and held it before him, swinging it forward as he spoke words that had no sound.


    The wooden tip of his staff flared with a bright, white light, and slicing through the downpour that had suddenly struck the prairies, an icy bolt of lightning shot toward the bewildered Gleb. It struck his shield, causing the emerald scales of it to buckle but not break yet. Ardan, knowing he couldn¡¯t maintain his concentration for long, swung his staff once more, and the icy bolt, obeying his will, bent into a whip before soaring a few meters upwards and, like Gleb¡¯s own pillar of fire from earlier, came crashing down in a swift, vertical strike.


    Gleb¡¯s shield cracked, then shattered into hundreds of tiny shards that instantly dissolved in the air, and along with them, the lightning turned into a stream of water, drenching the already soaked riders further.


    Ardi staggered backwards, gasping, and leaned against his horse. Streams of sweat poured down his face and body, and he breathed heavily, knowing that if not for the mare, which was holding him up, he would have collapsed to the ground.


    ¡°Fucking half-blood!¡± Gleb shouted as the crystal embedded into the tip of his staff glowed with a greenish light.


    A dark shadow flickered.


    A blade flashed, pressing against the mage¡¯s chest.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget who you serve, vampire,¡± Gleb hissed. ¡°If I give the order, you¡¯ll slit this bastard¡¯s throat yourself.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, human,¡± Cassara spoke with that same mundane calm as always. ¡°And I won¡¯t even threaten to kill you. Why would I? Years will pass, Davos. Decades. You¡¯ll forget what happened here. But I¡¯ll remember. And I¡¯ll wait. Maybe twenty years, maybe longer. I¡¯ll wait until you have children. But I won¡¯t kill them either, why bother? I¡¯ll wait longer. Until one of them becomes the most precious thing in your heart. Wait until he or she thinks up a name for their child. And then I¡¯ll carve it out of its mother¡¯s womb, along with both their hearts, and bring them to you. And you¡¯ll know that it happened because of you.¡±


    For a moment, Gleb stared into the vampire¡¯s eyes, then abruptly turned away and walked past Cassara toward Ardi. Without looking at him, the mage untied the bag that still had his other book in it from his saddle and tossed it to the ground before climbing back into the saddle.


    ¡°Approach my horse again,¡± he muttered quietly, so that only Ardan could hear him. ¡°And believe me, that dead whore won¡¯t save you.¡±


    A gunshot rang out.


    Startled, Ardan fell to the ground. Shouts echoed around him, horses neighed, triggers clicked, and next to Ardan, lay Gleb Davos. His gray-streaked hair was scattered across his face, which now bore an expression of utter surprise. And it would do so forever, because with a bullet hole between his eyes, from which thick blood flowed, and judging by all those bloody chunks scattered across the grass, he was unlikely to ever display any other emotion.


    Ardan, still lying there, looked over at Cassara. The barrel of her revolver was still smoking, and with a deft spin around her index finger, she returned it to its holster and closed her cloak.


    ¡°Damn it! By the Face of Light! Demons and angels! Star dust and dead whores!¡±


    ¡°Why dead whores?¡± Someone in the unit asked.


    ¡°Because I said so, damn it!¡± Yonatan shouted, then turned to the vampire. ¡°Cassara! What the hell? What¡¯s going on here?¡±


    Ardan noticed that the unit leader was clutching some kind of medallion in the shape of a skull with several runes on it. They were clearly in the Sidhe language, but it was impossible to make them out due to the rain.


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t have stood down,¡± Cassara said in her customary emotionless tone. Her beautiful face was a mask of indifference as she approached her horse, ran her hand over its black muzzle, and mounted it. ¡°In the end, it would have led to a much less humane duel between him and Ard. Do you want to anger the higher-ups and ruin the future Emperor¡¯s plans because of some mage? Our necks would be the ones in the noose then.¡±


    Yonatan cursed, this time more profanely.


    ¡°Be honest, vampire ¡ª was it because of his insult? You¡¯re not the only one here with sharp hearing, you know.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Cassara replied in that same flat tone. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t make me wrong.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t,¡± Yonatan agreed. For a while, he alternated his gaze between the medallion and the unruffled Cassara, then swore a third time and turned to the unit. ¡°Anyone have any complaints about what Cassara just did?¡±


    There were chuckles and smirks.


    ¡°Davos had it coming for a while.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t stand arrogant mages.¡±


    ¡°And nobles! This one was both.¡±


    ¡°I was thinking about sharing some lead with him myself.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a bloodthirsty bunch of bastards,¡± Yonatan muttered, not without a hint of pride, drawing more laughter from them. Then he turned his gaze back to Ardan. ¡°You. Overgrown half-blood. Strip anything valuable off him that a mage might carry. Strap it to the saddle. Leave the body ¡ª the beasts will take care of it.¡±


    Ardan sat up, still feeling too weak to stand. He couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away from the corpse, its head sporting a bullet hole and its eyes glazed over with no remnants of life.


    ¡°Hey! Kid!¡± Yonatan barked. ¡°The marshals are already on the horizon. I¡¯m not in the mood to explain why I¡¯ve got a corpse here. Move it!¡±


    With great effort, Ardan forced himself to look away and, using his staff for support, got to his feet. His legs trembled like a brittle birch tree. He looked down at the body and barely suppressed the urge to vomit. He had seen death before, and as Ergar¡¯s apprentice, he had even caused it on more than one occasion. But that had been during a hunt. This was different.


    He had never witnessed a murder before. And this¡­


    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± Yonatan demanded.


    ¡°I¡­ I¡­ I¡­¡± Ardan shook his head, trying to regain control. ¡°I don¡¯t know what might be valuable.¡±


    ¡°Use your analyzer! Anything that contains Ley energy is valuable!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have an analyzer.¡±


    Ardi had given the child-sized one issued by the Empire to his brother when the boy¡¯s old one had broken, and getting a new one had seemed unnecessary at the time.


    ¡°What have I done to deserve this gift from the Face of Light?¡± Yonatan groaned. ¡°Take his belt, rings, bracelets, earrings, and necklace. Any personal items. Tie his staff to the saddle and put his book in a bag. Why the fuck do I even have to explain this¡­¡±


    Ardi desperately wanted to point out that he had never before engaged in looting, and technically, he wasn¡¯t Yonatan¡¯s subordinate, but rather, his prisoner, but he held his tongue. Doing his best not to touch the corpse, he removed two rings with multicolored stones, slid off a chain with runes visible between the links, then unbuckled the dead man¡¯s belt and placed everything in the same bag as Gleb¡¯s grimoire.


    Securing the staff to the mage¡¯s mare, Ardan took her reins and tied them to the horn of his own saddle.


    ¡°At least he can manage that much,¡± Yonatan exhaled, earning a few approving chuckles, and waited until Ardan mounted up. ¡°Alright, kid, our official mage got lost somewhere in the Alcade Mountains. Maybe he couldn¡¯t resist the temptation of exploring old sanctuaries.¡±


    ¡°And his belongings?¡± Someone from the unit asked.


    ¡°What belongings?¡± Yonatan shot back with a steely look. ¡°Exactly, kid,¡± he added, glancing back at Ardan. ¡°Those aren¡¯t Gleb¡¯s things. We found them in an old cache while thoroughly searching the mountains for our missing mage. Got it?¡±


    Ardan nodded, his mind still reeling from what had just happened.


    ¡°And another thing ¡ª you got our mage killed, so now you¡¯re taking over his duties.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°Not interested, kid!¡± Yonatan snapped. ¡°I said you¡¯ll do it, so you answer with a, ¡®Yes, sir.¡¯ That¡¯s the whole conversation. Whether you can or can¡¯t, know how or don¡¯t know how, I care about that shit as much as Davos cares about tomorrow¡¯s weather. Now, get moving, everyone. We¡¯re going to meet the marshals soon, and I don¡¯t feel like explaining how a lost mage¡¯s body fell from the sky right into our laps.¡±


    ¡°Must¡¯ve been brought by an eagle,¡± someone quipped.


    ¡°Katerina, next time you feel like cracking a joke, just don¡¯t. Just¡­ don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why, what¡¯s the matter with-¡±


    ¡°Hiya!¡± Yonatan whipped his horse into a gallop.


    The others followed suit. Ardan exchanged a quick glance with Cassara and spurred his bay on as well. He squinted through the thinning rain at the horizon, but saw no one. Still, Yonatan was leading them in a specific direction, which was enough to set Ardan on edge. Either the lieutenant had known all along where the meeting point was, or he had better eyesight than a Matabar half-blood.


    Both possibilities made Ardan nervous, though perhaps not as much as the fact that he was leading a dead man¡¯s horse.


    One thing was clear: whatever lay ahead, he was far from home now. Adventures awaited him ¡ª the kind he¡¯d hoped to escape from in his childhood. And yet, they had found him again.


    Ardi shook his head sadly.

 Chapter 23 - Dawn Shakhash

    As Yonatan¡¯s squad and the marshals drew closer together, Ardan became increasingly aware of how much his life had turned upside down. The strange horse walking beside him and the belongings of someone he had only recently conversed with, though not in the most pleasant of ways, served as a stark reminder of his new reality.


    The sky overhead, obeying nature¡¯s will as it reclaimed its power and dismissed the storm¡¯s remnant that the Speaker had managed to find in the azure expanses, gradually cleared. No, Ardan still did not possess the power of an Aean¡¯Hane, nor did he know any True Names, and if not for his years of practice with Star Magic, perhaps he wouldn¡¯t have been able to do what he¡¯d done so recently. Certainly not without lengthy preparation, which could¡¯ve taken hours. It was one thing to know how to hear the echo of a storm¡¯s name and summon icy lightning, and quite another to actually do it.


    So, he was experiencing a confusing mix of pride in himself, excitement for all the possible new discoveries, sadness at his acceptance that he was leaving his homeland, nostalgia for his mother, brother, and¡­ even the sheriff and Kena, but also¡­


    Ardi glanced at Gleb¡¯s horse, the staff tied to the saddle, and the mage¡¯s belongings.


    ¡°Yonatan Kornosskiy,¡± the voice of the squad leader pulled Ardi from the labyrinth of these new thoughts and sensations. ¡°My identification and credentials.¡±


    Yonatan unfastened the lock of a travel bag hanging from his saddle and pulled out a passport-like document, along with a leather folder embroidered with the empire¡¯s emblem in scarlet thread.


    He handed all of this to the marshal who had ridden up to him. The marshal was mounted on a solid black steed ¡ª at least according to Ardan¡¯s judgement of such things after spending almost five years working on a farm ¡ª clad in a gray traveling cloak, with two carbines on his saddle and wearing a belt adorned with revolvers around his waist. The man lightly touched the brim of his hat with two fingers, indicating a greeting.


    Removing his gloves, he took the documents, nodding to one of his three companions. All four riders wore identical uniforms: gray cloaks, wide-brimmed hats slightly smaller than Cassara¡¯s, and emblems on their chest that were in the shape of crossed swords and revolvers.


    ¡°Marshal Tevona Elliny,¡± the young woman, who was surely no more than twenty years old, introduced herself, handing Yonatan four documents and an almost identical folder with their own emblem on it in return.


    The paperwork check dragged on for a good ten minutes. From Kelly¡¯s stories, Ardan had learned that forgery of documents was quite common in the Empire, and it seemed the government was planning to do something about it.


    ¡°Everything seems to be in order,¡± Yonatan and another marshal, whose name Ardi didn¡¯t know, said almost in unison.


    Moreover, Ardan noted that Yonatan had handed over only his identification for inspection, while the marshals had handed over all four sets of their documents.


    ¡°And what has the valiant Second Chancery,¡± the marshal drawled with evident mockery, ¡°forgotten in our backwater? I don¡¯t recall seeing you here since the persecutions of the highlanders.¡±


    At these words, Ardi¡¯s heart skipped a beat, but he didn¡¯t show it¡­ or he hoped he didn¡¯t, at least.


    ¡°What concerns me more, Marshal Andrew Kal¡¯dron,¡± Yonatan straightened in the saddle and looked past the marshals and down the hill. ¡°Is why are there two dozen carriages full of northern settlers in your company instead of the originally stated four?¡±


    Ardan exhaled with relief.


    He had been a bit worried about the fact that no one seemed to be paying attention to the gathering of carriages and wagons at the foot of the hill. The latter ¡ª small but sturdily built and covered with strong, worn cloth ¡ª were drawn by solitary mares, while the former looked like barns lying on their sides that had been placed on wheels. They were basically huge, wooden boxes with holes for windows, draped with bundles of various goods, and they each had a few men sitting on the coach box with carbines at their feet and reins in hand. Each of these was drawn by two to six horses, which were now calmly grazing on the grass.


    Ardi had heard about northern settlers before. Each season, they crossed the Alcade Mountains through the Parting Gorge ¡ª so named because it was where two rivers originated, with one flowing north and emptying into the bay of the Phregian Sea on the territory of the Armondo Tribes, and the other going south.


    And this path was often fraught with many dangers, which was why the Monarchy was laying a railroad through the mountains.


    ¡°We were hired as guides,¡± Marshal Kal¡¯dron shrugged nonchalantly, casually twisting the ends of his well-groomed, graying mustache. ¡°It¡¯s not prohibited by law.¡±


    ¡°But we can¡¯t be guides for more than two dozen families,¡± grumbled Katerina, who was standing a bit farther from Ardi.


    ¡°We¡¯re taking them to the junction in Presny,¡± added the marshal. ¡°I assume you¡¯re headed there as well.¡±


    Yonatan¡¯s eyes gleamed, adding weight to the tension hanging over the riders.


    ¡°Considering we sent you an escort request letter in advance, your assumption is correct,¡± Yonatan hissed. ¡°Fine, we-¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s your mage?¡± Tevona suddenly spoke up.


    Despite being the youngest of the marshals, she looked no less¡­ imposing. She had a weathered face, skin sunburned under the far from gentle rays of the prairie sun, her pants were worn and her revolver grips were bleached from use, clearly indicating that she¡¯d drawn them often.


    ¡°What do you mean, Miss-¡±


    ¡°Not a Miss,¡± she interrupted Yonatan. ¡°I¡¯m Sergeant Tevona Elliny, from the Marshal Corps of the Foothill Province. You could have read that in my documents, not to mention the fact that I introduced myself initially.¡±


    The tension only increased, and out of the corner of his eye, Ardi noticed that some of Yonatan¡¯s subordinates were pushing back their leather cloaks, revealing their revolvers. The marshals did the same, seemingly unconcerned about the numerical disparity.


    ¡°Calm down, everyone,¡± Yonatan raised his hands, a peculiar mask consisting of smiling lips and a heavy, frowning gaze stuck on his face. ¡°Our mage, unfortunately, remains forever among the peaks of the Alcade.¡±


    The marshals exchanged glances.


    ¡°Only a complete idiot-¡±


    ¡°Tevona!¡± Marshal Kal¡¯dron cut her off with a steely tone, then turned to Yonatan. ¡°May the Eternal Angels receive him,¡± he removed his hat and slightly bowed his head before replacing the hat and scanning their squad, his gaze lingering on Ardi for a moment. ¡°And this big fellow, is he the valuable cargo we are obliged to assist you with?¡±


    ¡°Possibly,¡± Yonatan replied calmly.


    Andrew stared at him for a moment, but achieved no effect.


    ¡°I see he has a mage¡¯s staff.¡±


    ¡°Your eyesight does you credit, Marshal.¡±


    Tevona was about to speak up in outrage, but Andrew¡¯s hand gesture stopped her.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not beat around the bush, Yonatan,¡± the man shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re escorting someone who is clearly not entirely human ¡ª and I have a keen eye for non-humans ¡ª as well as an unregistered mage on top of that. And even if you were the head of the Second Chancery, I still wouldn¡¯t allow you to break the laws of our country so blatantly and casually.¡±


    For a moment, silence fell over the hill. It was heavy, dense, bringing with it a clear taste of copper on the lips and the smell of burnt gunpowder.


    Everyone sat on edge, not taking their eyes off the hands and revolvers of their potential opponents.


    ¡°Does it trouble you, Marshal, that we have a mixed-blood with us, or is it the fact that he¡¯s an unregistered mage?¡± Yonatan finally asked.


    Andrew glanced at Cassara, who had remained completely indifferent to the situation this entire time.


    ¡°If I were concerned with that first point, I¡¯d have sooner pointed out the vampire, who I can see is not wearing a state-issued muzzle.¡±


    ¡°Once again, your eyesight does not fail you,¡± Yonatan smirked, spreading his arms wide and smiling broadly. ¡°What a coincidence, Marshal. It¡¯s remarkable how the ways of the Face of Light are sometimes inscrutable. You see, we indeed have an unregistered mage temporarily fulfilling the role of our group¡¯s mage, which means he is in the service of the Second Chancery. And, therefore, you cannot arrest him.¡±


    ¡° This is rubbish!¡± Tevona shouted. ¡°Why are we even listening to-¡±


    And again, the wave of a hand silenced the fiery young woman.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Yonatan said, continuing. ¡°And not only can you not arrest him, but according to the very law you so zealously guard, the Marshal Corps must provide every possible assistance to the Second Chancery. And if I remember the general law course I took correctly, marshals have the authority to administer oaths. So, all that remains is for the lad here to take his oath to the crown right now, and we will continue our journey together with calm and clear heads.¡±


    Andrew and Yonatan stared each other down for a while.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have star epaulettes with us,¡± the marshal reminded him.


    ¡°Mages of the Second Chancery, by special order, are exempted from wearing their typical insignia during the period of that same special order. I am the authority. I have ordered it.¡±


    Andrew hissed a barely audible curse before nodding to Tevona.


    ¡°But this is-¡±


    ¡°Do you want a shootout?¡± The man hissed through clenched teeth so that only the girl could hear him. ¡°With the Cloaks? And a vampire, for the Face of Light¡¯s sake! Are you out of your mind, girl?¡±


    And perhaps ordinary people wouldn¡¯t have heard this, but Cassara and, surprisingly enough, Yonatan, only smiled bloodthirstily. While it was clear why the vampire might do so, Ardi couldn¡¯t figure out what was wrong with the squad leader. He looked like a man, smelled like a man, but clearly possessed some not entirely human abilities.


    As for the part about ¡°Cloaks,¡± that was the nickname for the employees of the Second Chancery in the Empire.


    ¡°Swear him in and let¡¯s be done with this,¡± Andrew grumbled. ¡°The sooner we get rid of these bastards, the sooner I can drink in some saloon and try to forget the month ahead that we¡¯ll spend in their company.¡±


    Sergeant Elliny¡¯s face turned red from barely-contained fury, but she still pulled a small book from her saddlebag. It was unmistakably the sacred scripture of the Face of Light.


    She tugged on her reins and, ignoring the glances of everyone around her, rode up to Ardi. Only now did he fully appreciate how small and fragile this girl was. She was just over 160 centimeters tall and no heavier than 45 kilograms, yet she had such a strong resolve in her gaze that one couldn¡¯t help but feel genuine respect for her.


    ¡°State your full name,¡± she ordered strictly.


    Ardi sighed wearily. Fortunately, it wasn¡¯t just Yonatan who remembered the general law course well.


    ¡°As a representative of the native mountain people of the Alcade, I will remind you of my right, according to the article of the constitution-¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Tevona said dismissively. ¡°I know the laws, mage. You can proceed according to your people¡¯s traditions. It doesn¡¯t matter to me... State your name.¡±


    ¡°Ard Egobar, son of Hector Egobar.¡±


    ¡°Alright, Ard Egobar, place your right hand on the book and repeat after me.¡±


    Ardi raised an eyebrow slightly.


    For a moment, he wrestled with the temptation to say nothing and take the oath on an object that held no sacred meaning for him, but... He knew the oath¡¯s contents. It had little to do with the crown, and a lot more with the country and the people, humans and Firstborn alike, who inhabited it. In any case, it was an oath that any mage had to swear in the presence of witnesses, or else be declared outside the law. Moreover, it held no actual power. Just an old custom from the times of Ectassus and Gales. And so, Ardan intended to act with conscience. Ergar (at the end of the day, it''s also about serving to Firstborn) would not have approved of anything else, and perhaps not even his father would have. After all, Hector had shed blood and given his life for the people of the Empire.


    ¡°With all due respect, Sergeant, while I can do this, of course,¡± Ardan began sincerely. He held no ill feelings toward the girl in particular, or the marshals in general. ¡°But your book holds no meaning to me, and the oath will not carry the-¡±


    ¡°Angels and demons!¡± Tevona exclaimed, trying to shove the book back into her bag.


    Her nerves caused her to fumble, nearly dropping the sacred scripture of humanity to the ground. Ardi reacted quickly, catching the book in time and calmly handing it back to the marshal.


    She looked at Ardi, squinting at him in surprise.


    ¡°Why?¡± She asked simply.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it said in your religion that it¡¯s an insult to God to soil and damage his sacred scriptures?¡± Ardan replied evenly. ¡°I just wanted to help.¡±


    And somehow, the tension on the hill suddenly lessened.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know the customs of the Alcade highlanders,¡± Tevona shook her head. ¡°Do you have something sacred with you or-¡±


    ¡°You stand on our land, Sergeant,¡± Ardan replied calmly. ¡°These foothills are still the territory of my people. Our land is sacred to us.¡±


    Perhaps Ardi had been too hasty in saying that the tension had slightly eased, for after those last words, it skyrocketed nearly to the heavens. Only now, instead of being directed from the marshals to the Cloaks and back, it was all focused on Ardi.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just get this over with,¡± Yonatan grumbled, ¡°before we all say something... we shouldn¡¯t.¡±


    Andrew nodded in agreement.


    Tevona frowned again.


    ¡°I need from you, mage, some kind of ritual, symbol, or sign that you¡¯re speaking the words before the face of your religion.¡±


    ¡°And the oath itself isn¡¯t enough?¡± Ardan asked, still absolutely sincere, but he had to sate his curiosity. ¡°I thought that-¡±


    ¡°Boy,¡± he nearly fell from his saddle when he heard Cassara speak in the language of the Fae. ¡°Stop being so naive... Marshals don¡¯t have a lot of patience.¡±


    Ardan cleared his throat, then skillfully leaned out of his saddle, scooped up a handful of earth, and then pulled out a knife, cutting himself through that handful. He felt a brief flash of pain, and then thick, red drops fell to the ground.


    ¡°Is this enough?¡± He asked calmly.


    ¡°If that¡¯s what your traditions demand, then yes,¡± Tevona agreed. ¡°Now, repeat the mage¡¯s oath after me. I, Ard Egobar, as a citizen of the Empire of the New Monarchy, pledge allegiance to the Crown and vow to serve the welfare of the homeland and all its peoples. I swear that the interests of the nation will stand above my own. I swear that I will not disgrace the honor of my regalia. I swear that there will be no lord above me but my heart and my honor.¡±


    Ardan spoke the required words, then leaned out of the saddle again and wiped his hand on the grass. The cut on his palm had almost completely healed. The tension once again eased, and this time, it almost disappeared altogether.


    ¡°Where did you learn that?¡± Tevona suddenly asked.


    ¡°I worked on a farm for the past few years. There¡¯s not much time for getting off and on a horse.¡±


    ¡°On a human farm?¡± The sergeant was surprised.


    ¡°Where else?¡± Ardi was surprised in turn.


    At this question, the girl¡¯s eyebrows seemed to rise to the middle of her forehead.


    ¡°How old are you?¡± Tevona asked, the sudden realization clear in her tone.


    ¡°Seventeen.¡±


    Both Andrew and the others heard this, causing a new wave of curses.


    ¡°For the Face of Light¡¯s sake, Cloak!¡± The marshal practically howled. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell us you were escorting someone who¡¯s nearly a boy! We almost shot each other over this!¡±


    ¡°I spent a month holed up in the mountains,¡± Yonatan shrugged. ¡°I wanted to have a little fun.¡±


    In response to this, the other Cloaks just laughed, provoking another wave of curses from the marshals.


    And it seemed like everyone had understood something, while only Ardi turned to Tevona in confusion.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain later,¡± the sergeant growled, drilling Yonatan¡¯s back with a dark look.


    She didn¡¯t even smell of anger, but of pure hatred. The kind that usually isn¡¯t felt without some personal history. But in the sergeant¡¯s case, the hatred was directed not at Yonatan himself, but at his black leather cloak.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Marshal Kal¡¯dron waved his hand. ¡°I¡¯ll introduce you to the head of the settlers. He¡¯s a sensible guy. A former soldier, even. Though, who among us hasn¡¯t fought...¡±


    Now accompanied by the marshals, they began to descend the hill. During this time, Tevona managed to explain to Ardi what had happened. By law, citizens of the Empire of the New Monarchy had complete freedom of movement within their country. Moving from province to province did not require any additional documents except for identification. That was how it should¡¯ve been, at least.


    In reality, this law only applied to humans, while representatives of the Firstborn races and half-bloods (or, as they were sometimes called, ¡°mixes¡±) required special escort documents. And while this had long since become an often-overlooked formality in the north of the country, the closer you got to the south and directly to the capital, the more seriously they took the ¡°interim registration of Firstborn race representatives.¡±


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    That was how lofty and official it all was.


    And the crux of the matter was that the marshals indeed had a keen eye. And they¡¯d come across a not exactly fully-equipped group of Second Chancery representatives. And it would¡¯ve been one thing if they had simply lost their mage along the way ¡ª why would that concern the marshals? No, they had also been escorting someone clearly not entirely human¡­ At this point of the explanation, Ardi raised an eyebrow slightly, and Tevona, as if they were in a class, immediately pointed out the external signs that easily distinguished him from a human, from his amber eyes to his slightly protruding upper lip that concealed his fangs. Ardi even wanted to ask for a mirror ¡ª he had never noticed anything like that about himself. Either way, the fact that he¡¯d seemed like a non-human mage, but without even the proper regalia, had been the big issue. However, his youth had clearly reassured them, at least partially.


    Given the marshals¡¯ duties to maintain order on the plains, protect trade routes, and catch fugitive criminals, it wasn¡¯t hard to guess the tension Yonatan had caused with his reluctance to cooperate and reveal his cards.


    Ardan nodded silently, gradually realizing that he wasn¡¯t the only one who¡¯d set off on a journey from his native province. Erti was a half-blood too.


    He shared these concerns with the marshal, who quickly reassured him that Sheriff Brian had more than enough authority to prepare and sign the necessary papers in advance.


    But why hadn¡¯t he done that for Ardi?


    Ard looked at Yonatan¡¯s back as he was riding ahead of them and casually discussing something with Andrew, who wasn¡¯t particularly pleased with the conversation by the looks of it.


    ¡°I can¡¯t answer that question for you,¡± Sergeant Elliny concluded.


    By this point, they had approached the wagon at the forefront of the caravan. Up close, it looked even larger and more spacious than it had from up on the hill. It could easily accommodate an entire family, and the seat, which cowboys called the ¡°shotgun,¡± had enough space for three adult men.


    Right now, however, only one person was sitting there. A stocky, burly man with a typical northerner¡¯s wide jaw and thick eyebrows. He even spoke with the same accent as the few northern settlers who had passed through Evergale, and whom Ardi had seen maybe two or three times in the past five years.


    ¡°Ertas Govlov,¡± he introduced himself, tipping his patched hat at them.


    ¡°Yonatan,¡± the head of the Cloaks replied shortly.


    They didn¡¯t shake hands, just exchanged brief greetings.


    ¡°We can end this break now,¡± Andrew said and was about to tug his horse to the side when his gaze landed on Ardi. The marshal seemed to remember something and turned back to Ertas. ¡°That young girl. The one with that name¡­ what was it¡­¡±


    ¡°Tavskiy¡¯s daughter?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it. Tavskiy!¡± The marshal snapped his fingers. ¡°You can never remember it... How is she?¡±


    ¡°Worse,¡± the settler replied curtly and gloomily, causing his eyebrows to look even more like a tuft of sheep¡¯s wool. ¡°Today, she didn¡¯t even wake up.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡± Andrew muttered and turned to Yonatan. ¡°Since you have a mage with you, maybe he could take a look?¡±


    ¡°At a young girl?¡± The Cloak smirked. ¡°I don¡¯t think the girl¡¯s parents would be too pleased with that. But, I suppose-¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s fallen ill,¡± Andrew said firmly, heading off the fuming Ertas. ¡°She''s been like this for three days now. And getting worse by the hour. She might not make it.¡±


    ¡°Usually, up to a third of those seeking a better life die during resettlement,¡± Yonatan shrugged indifferently, without a trace of emotion. ¡°She wouldn¡¯t be the first or the last. And our mage is a rare commodity. So, I-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take a look,¡± Ardi stepped forward, immediately drawing everyone¡¯s attention.


    Even Cassara, who had been quietly riding behind Ardan and Tevona this entire time, muttered something and checked the straps on her saber and revolvers.


    ¡°Kid, you-¡± Yonatan began to hiss.


    ¡°I just swore an oath,¡± Ardi declared abruptly. ¡°To serve the Empire and all its peoples. What are human oaths worth if their term is less than an hour?¡±


    Yonatan cursed, while Ertas looked at this huge man who had a boy¡¯s face as if¡­ as if he were some kind of curiosity.


    The Cloak turned his horse and rode closer to Ardi, hissing almost into his ear:


    ¡°Are you trying to mock me, little beast?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ardi replied sincerely and somewhat confusedly, then thought for a moment and added, ¡°Well, maybe a little, but I only realized that after you asked me about it. But really, if I can help a child, I will.¡±


    For a moment, they stared each other down, after which Yonatan waved his hands and folded them on his saddle horn.


    ¡°Who am I to deny the great mages their desires,¡± he stated with obvious sarcasm. ¡°Go, heal her while we sit here. We¡¯ll occupy ourselves with our mortal and very uninteresting affairs.¡±


    And with a subtle finger movement, he signaled something. The gesture seemed intended for Cassara because, along with Ardi and Andrew, the vampire also headed into the depths of the wagon cluster.


    She was probably there to catch the mage in case something happened and he decided to run. But he had no intention of fleeing. No, his soul longed for and pulled him toward the railroad leading to Delpas, where his family was being taken, but¡­ But Cassara had been right.


    If he truly had the means to hide from the Second Chancery, he wouldn¡¯t have been one of the last two representatives of his race. And only a half-blood, at that.


    No, for now, he could do nothing about the invisible leash around his neck. But only for now.


    It was as Ergar had taught him: ¡°Always prepare before the hunt, gather information, learn all about your target, identify all possible escape routes and ways of attack, and only then strike. For a good hunter, one strike is more than enough.¡±


    Ardi needed time¡­


    And then he remembered his brother¡¯s poor health and all the benefits the crown had given the Brian-Egobar family in exchange for their cooperation.


    These thoughts swirled in his head as they rode through the resting caravan. People in clothes not quite suited for long journeys were clumsily setting up campfires and just as clumsily trying to cook something on them. Their faces, both the men¡¯s and women¡¯s alike, bore the marks of sleepless nights full of worry, making them look, despite mostly being in their thirties, as if they were forty-five or even older still.


    Few of the settlers seemed particularly happy about the situation. The Alcade mountains were rarely crossed without a pressing need, with most preferring to use the railroad that bypassed the mountain range.


    And if the adults, clearly exhausted and worn out from their long journey, were making sure to avoid looking in the direction of these unfamiliar riders, the children made up for it.


    They darted around the camp, inventing incredible games. Without fear, they would run up to Cassara¡¯s unusual horse, peek under her hat, laugh, shout something, then run away again. They buzzed around them like swallows near a slope.


    Ardi smiled at them, careful not to show his fangs.


    He loved children.


    They never seemed to fear him.


    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Andrew said when they arrived at a wagon standing somewhat apart from the rest.


    It was a sort of large cart with high arches stretching from side to side, covered with sturdy, white cloth.


    And even if Andrew hadn¡¯t spoken, Ardan would have guessed they were in the right place.


    The air here had a sour, unpleasant smell to it. The kind that shouldn¡¯t have been there.


    Ardi dismounted and patted his horse on the neck.


    ¡°Stay here until I return,¡± he whispered to it in the language of beasts.


    Cassara also dismounted.


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay here,¡± she threw out over her shoulder, then turned her back to the wagon and faced the caravan.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Andrew urged, pulling him along.


    They approached the wagon, next to which a not-so-young ginger mare peacefully grazed. Standing by the ladder leading inside, Andrew sighed heavily, reached for his hat, then stood at attention, and finally, after some hesitation, removed his headgear.


    It was clear that he wasn¡¯t pleased with the situation.


    ¡°Anton!¡± He called out loudly.


    There was a rustle inside the wagon, and soon, the curtain was pulled aside, revealing a man in his fifties. His bald head shone with sweat, he had a hawk-like nose, gray bags under his eyes, and a worn, gray carbine was shaking in his hands.


    ¡°I won¡¯t let you in, Kal¡¯dron!¡± He raised the rifle and pointed the barrel at the marshal¡¯s chest. ¡°She will wake up! It¡¯s not a disease, it¡¯s just-¡±


    ¡°Everything¡¯s alright, Anton,¡± the marshal stood half-turned toward the worried father, showing him his raised left hand, while his right remained hidden by his cloak¡¯s folds. Ardi, standing behind him, could clearly see that the marshal¡¯s fingers were hovering near his revolver¡¯s grip. ¡°We were waiting for the Cloaks. They have a mage with them. Here, I brought him with me. His name is Ard. He¡¯ll take a look at your daughter.¡±


    For a moment, hope flickered in the man¡¯s eyes, but as soon as he looked at Ardi, it was quickly replaced by suspicion.


    ¡°A mage? Then where¡¯s his cloak and epaulettes?¡± The rifle, which had recently been lowered to the ground, was now aimed at the marshal¡¯s chest again. ¡°Trying to deceive me, are you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Andrew shook his head. ¡°Listen, Anton. Think about it. I¡¯m already in debt to the Cloaks for asking for their help. If you don¡¯t need it, I¡¯d be glad to-¡±


    ¡°No, no, no,¡± Anton immediately began to mutter. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡­ it¡¯s just¡­ She¡¯s all I have ¡­ Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Andrew sighed, and judging by his tone, he genuinely did. ¡°Will you let us in?¡±


    The man hesitated for a moment longer, but finally lowered his carbine and drew back the curtain.


    ¡°Come in.¡±


    ¡°Go on, big guy,¡± the marshal urged, putting his hat back on. ¡°We can¡¯t all fit in there. I¡¯ll stay out here. Nearby. If anything, you¡­ Well, you get it.¡±


    Ardi, to be honest, didn¡¯t get anything. Why was Anton so afraid of the marshal, why did he need that rifle, and overall¡­ No, he would probably have to question Tevona again later.


    Climbing the makeshift stairs, Ardan entered the wagon, where, on neatly stacked bales, amidst nondescript chests and even a shabby cabinet, a girl lay on a thickly-stuffed mattress, covered by a blanket.


    By Matabar standards, she was practically an adult since she had been able to bear children for more than a year. But by human standards, she was still just a girl, not yet having reached adulthood.


    Next to her, holding a small wooden tray with some vials on it, sat another man. He was much younger than Anton, about thirty-two to thirty-five years old. And judging by his blond hair, blue eyes, fine features, and his nose with a slight bump, he couldn¡¯t possibly be related to these northerners.


    ¡°Mart Borskov,¡± he introduced himself briefly. ¡°Doctor.¡±


    Ardi nodded and, finding no place to put his staff, simply laid it down beside him.


    ¡°Do you need anything?¡± Anton asked from behind. ¡°Any¡­ I don¡¯t know¡­ This¡­ Well¡­ I¡­¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Ardi reassured him. ¡°Except maybe some light. It¡¯s dark in here. The sickness likes the dark and fears the light.¡±


    Anton nodded and began to gradually pull away the fabric fastened to hooks attached to the wagon¡¯s sides.


    Soon, the first rays of sunlight penetrated the wagon, and Ardi, finding a free spot, which wasn¡¯t easy considering that the four of them took up almost all the available space, sat down next to the girl.


    She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling in jerky motions. Her face was unnaturally pale, with red, burning cheeks. Her hair, matted with sweat, lay behind her, and she barely had the strength to hold her head up ¡ª it had fallen to the side, almost touching her chin to her shoulder.


    ¡°I think it might be some kind of virus she picked up in the mountains and-¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t listen to the doctor. He leaned over the girl and pressed his ear to her chest.


    Her heart was beating softly, oh so softly. Almost inaudibly. And every now and then, it stumbled in its far-from-measured steps.


    Ardan lifted his head and brought his nose to the girl¡¯s lips, then gently pressed on her stomach. She rasped in pain and moaned softly.


    Anton made a move toward his daughter, but the doctor, who had stepped aside to make room for the wizard, stopped him.


    Ardan sniffed the air. It smelled of earth and grass, and also¡­


    He turned to the girl¡¯s father.


    ¡°How long has she been unwell?¡±


    ¡°Three days¡­¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ardi shook his head. ¡°How long ago did it start? The fatigue. The irritability. The loss of appetite.¡±


    ¡°That¡­ how to put it¡­¡± Anton scratched his head. ¡°Erda began to complain about a week ago, but I thought she was just tired from the mountain crossing and-¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t wait to hear the rest. He needed to find out the most crucial thing.


    ¡°Did you stop to rest near streams or rivers where bushes with blue leaves grow?¡±


    ¡°Yes, we even wanted to pick some, but the marshals said not to. Said they were poisonous. Do you think that¡¯s what got her?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ardan shook his head. ¡°If she had eaten the leaves of the Dawn Shakhash, you would have buried her six days ago.¡±


    Ardan gently touched Erda¡¯s cheek with his fingertips and began to breathe more evenly. As Skusty had taught him, he let his gaze become unfocused and opened his mind to what couldn¡¯t be seen if one looked directly at it. He was trying to see what the world revealed only when the observer looked away.


    A moment passed, then another, and suddenly, shadows began to swirl around the girl, as if acrid smoke was rising from the ground toward her hair, tangling in it, and then gradually wrapping around her body. Black strands tightened around her chest, pressed down on her waist, and tried to sink into her thighs and move lower still.


    But this was just an illusion. A deception.


    Ardi, with an effort of will, brushed aside the false visions and something else was revealed to him.


    The black smoke wasn¡¯t holding the girl captive. On the contrary, it was emanating from her. From her skin, her hair. It was becoming an extension of her just as it would become an extension of the flames dancing over burning logs.


    Erda seemed to be holding a fire inside of her, burning alive and suffocating in the smoke of her own flesh, and along with her, Ardan began to suffocate as well.


    He started choking and quickly moved away from her, forcing the world to return to its familiar state.


    Breathing heavily, he involuntarily grasped the amulet shaped like an oak, as if trying to find strength in it. For the first time, he had used Skusty¡¯s teachings to look at something with a hostile nature, rather than just the surrounding world.


    ¡°Did you examine her?¡± He asked the doctor.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Mart nodded. ¡°Although, I don¡¯t have a nurse with me right now, so the women here did the examining, but I stood behind the screen and guided them. They didn¡¯t find anything that could-¡±


    ¡°Behind the screen?¡± Ardi asked in surprise, turning to Anton. ¡°We need to undress her.¡±


    The wagon fell silent, then Anton nodded and began to head for the exit.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Ardi stopped him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask the neighbor¡¯s wife and daughter to-¡±


    ¡°I need to see for myself.¡±


    Anton froze and turned to Ardi with a not-very-friendly look in his eyes.


    ¡°What are you-¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll die if I don¡¯t,¡± Ardan said heavily. ¡°And besides, she¡¯s just a child.¡±


    And if Anton, burdened by his inner turmoil, didn¡¯t react to that last word, Mart certainly didn¡¯t miss it.


    ¡°Fine, but-¡±


    ¡°I need light,¡± Ardan pointed to the fabric that served as their ceiling. ¡°A lot of light.¡±


    ¡°So my daughter can be seen by everyone in this damn caravan?¡± Anton couldn¡¯t hold back. ¡°How will she find a husband after that? Damn southerners¡­ What are you¡­¡±


    He fell silent. The fire in him died out as quickly as it had ignited.


    ¡°Metropolis is a big city¡­¡± He whispered to himself. ¡°Maybe the rumors will die down quickly there, and she¡­ she¡­¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t know the customs of the various peoples of the Empire well enough to understand what the problem was. In any case, in Evergale, if someone spied on a girl bathing in the lake, that didn¡¯t leave her without prospects for marriage.


    ¡°Kid,¡± a familiar voice suddenly sounded from outside the curtain. ¡°This really is a serious matter for them.¡±


    ¡°Who is that?¡± Anton shrank back a bit, and Mart flinched slightly.


    Atta¡¯nha had said something about how the speech of a vampire would induce involuntary fear in humans¡­


    ¡°Cassara,¡± Ardi replied as if that explained everything.


    He sighed and shook his head. Who would have thought that he would have to resort to the teachings of an Aean¡¯Hane for the second time today?


    ¡°Draw the curtains,¡± he requested. ¡°I need darkness.¡±


    ¡°But you just said-¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Ardi interrupted as politely as possible. ¡°Just do as I say. We don¡¯t have much time.¡±


    Anton looked at the doctor, who gave a barely-noticeable nod, and finally, the girl¡¯s father closed the curtain, tightly fastening the cords on the drapes.


    But despite Anton¡¯s best efforts, slivers of light still penetrated the wagon, slicing through the fabric¡¯s tears, through the fastenings, and through the gaps in the boards. So, while to a normal person¡¯s eyes the wagon had plunged into a thick gloom bordering on darkness, to a Matabar¡­


    Ardi could still see quite well, though his vision was limited to shades of gray and not as clear as in sunlight.


    ¡°Your eyes¡­¡± Mart whispered, but stopped short, and carefully maneuvered around Ardi to take Anton by the shoulders and turn him away.


    The girl¡¯s father was too occupied with his daughter¡¯s condition to notice the mage¡¯s eyes, which now sported slightly elongated, vertical pupils and a brightly glowing amber iris.


    That was what Ardan¡¯s eyes looked like in the dark, according to Erti, Anna, and the others.


    ¡°Bear with me,¡± he whispered into the girl¡¯s ear and got to work.


    When he had tried to undo Anna¡¯s corset and untangle the laces on her dress, his fingers had been clumsy and awkward, but now they moved swiftly and skillfully, not a single tight button or cleverly-tied bit of lace slowing him down.


    He felt no desire for this child, so even when her black dress fell aside, followed by her beige undergarments and then the rest of her clothing, Ardan merely noted in passing that the girl had a sturdy build, and that was all.


    Carefully, trying not to move her more than was necessary, he rolled her from side to side, running his fingers over her skin, pressing down on areas that seemed too swollen or, conversely, too stretched out. With each movement, Erda began to moan and murmur something unintelligible, forcing Ardi to pause to allow his patient to gather a little strength.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t turn around,¡± Mart¡¯s voice stopped Anton. ¡°Look straight ahead and trust the mage.¡±


    Ardi, starting with her shoulders, neck, and chest, had now moved to her lower back, and finally, along the sacrum, practically between her buttocks, he found the sought-after mark.


    It was a small dot, resembling a simple mole, with a barely-noticeable halo around it.


    No wonder the women had missed it during their examination¡­ Ardan, if he hadn¡¯t known what and where to look for, might have missed the wound himself.


    Draping a blanket over the girl, he leaned against the side of the wagon.


    ¡°Cassara,¡± he called out in a quiet whisper.


    ¡°Yes, kid?¡±


    ¡°Do you know the local flora?¡±


    The vampire didn¡¯t answer immediately.


    ¡°Tell me what you need and¡­ hope I can find it.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± Ardan exhaled and looked at the child lying before him. She had little time left¡­ ¡°I need a wooden cup, boiling water, two Dawn Shakhash leaves, which someone surely picked, some heather root, three cornflower buds, aconite, and a stalk of oregano.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll try to gather that,¡± Cassara replied simply.


    The minutes they spent waiting were torturous. Mart released Anton, who slumped down on a chest. With rough, trembling hands, he stroked his daughter¡¯s matted hair so gently and tenderly that it was surprising to see how much love and compassion this weathered man¡¯s heart held.


    Mart, sitting next to Ardi, just silently stared into the darkness.


    Ardan repeated the recipe for the potion in his head, over and over, unsure if he could make it exactly as it needed to be made. During his time in Evergale, he had only helped with health issues a few times, and only when the simplest knowledge of an Aean¡¯Hane had been required.


    ¡°So, what¡¯s the diagnosis?¡± Mart finally couldn¡¯t stand it and broke the silence.


    ¡°She was bitten by a Shakhash beetle,¡± Ardi replied, not taking his eyes off the girl¡¯s gradually-darkening lips. She had only a few hours left¡­ ¡°It feeds on the leaves of the poisonous bush that grows on the banks of some rivers. And those same leaves are loved by bears, for whom the Dawn Shakhash poison is harmless, and the leaves are very sweet, so¡­ Sometimes, they gnaw the bush clean, and the beetle tries to protect its territory. But the bear¡¯s skin is thick, and it has fur, so the beetle can¡¯t pierce it, and its sting¡¯s poison remains only on the skin¡¯s surface, though the pain it causes is still terrible. After such an experience, the bear avoids those particular bushes for a while.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s something,¡± Mart muttered, fiddling with a cigar that smelled of an unfamiliar kind of tobacco. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of such a thing¡­ But why that strange name ¡ª Dawn Shakhash?¡±


    ¡°Because the poison works very slowly,¡± Ardan explained. ¡°And if the beetle bites a person, they can live for some time without feeling any pain from the bite. It ranges from a couple of days to a little more than a week, and then they usually die in their sleep. At night. And they are found¡­¡±


    ¡°At dawn,¡± Mart finished for him.


    Ardi nodded mechanically, not realizing that other people couldn¡¯t see him doing so in the darkness.


    ¡°Then we should check the others-¡±


    ¡°If there were others, they would have already shown the same symptoms.¡±


    ¡°Reasonable,¡± Mart agreed with a nod of respect. ¡°The only thing that¡¯s unclear is why only Erda was affected. Several people approached the bushes before the marshals warned them.¡±


    This didn¡¯t surprise Ardan. The Dawn Shakhash emitted a distinctive, sweet, and pleasant scent that was easily recognized by local hunters. This lured in the unfortunate prey, which the beetle would bite, and they would die, becoming food for the soil, plants, and trees.


    Such was the way of the hunt.


    ¡°Her moon cycle,¡± Ardi explained. ¡°The beetle responded to her cycle.¡±


    Mart said something in response, but Cassara¡¯s words drowned it out.


    ¡°I¡¯ve gathered everything,¡± her voice made both the doctor and Anton flinch.


    Something was placed at the entrance to the wagon, and when Ardi pulled back the curtain, he found a cup, a round pot with boiling water, and a cloth bundle.


    Unwrapping the fabric, he checked to make sure all the necessary ingredients were there, and then, with a steadying breath, calmed his jittery nerves and got to work.


    Placing a blue leaf, which somewhat resembled a gooseberry leaf, at the bottom of the cup, Ardi took a knife and sliced up some heather root on top of it. Then he took three blue buds and plucked four petals from one, two from the second, and all of them from the third. He squeezed them in his hand, holding it over the steam rising from the cooling water until the pain from the heat became unbearable.


    He then uncurled his moist fingers and dropped the softened petals into the cup, immediately adding the whole aconite. The stalk of oregano, broken into small pieces, he laid on top of the rest, covering everything with the second Dawn Shakhash leaf.


    Then, turning around, he worked his way over the bales and chests to the girl.


    ¡°What¡­ What¡¯s that rustling¡­¡± Anton turned his head, much like a blind mole. ¡°Are you still here, mage?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ardi answered, raising his knife over the girl¡¯s head.


    ¡°What¡­ what are you doing?¡±


    ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s reciting a prayer to the Face of Light over your daughter, Anton,¡± Mart suddenly intervened. ¡°Because, of course, he¡¯s not performing any heretical ritual or any Firstborn magic that could defile the girl. You can rest assured on that count, Anton.¡±


    The girl¡¯s father nodded and resumed his muttered prayers, which Ardi could now distinguish as the Face of Light¡¯s hymns.


    Northerners¡­


    Silently thanking Mart, the wizard deftly cut off a lock of the girl¡¯s hair and returned to the cup. He placed the lock of hair on top of the second Dawn Shakhash leaf, then finally poured in the hot, but no longer boiling water.


    If he had done everything correctly, the Shakhash poison should clash with the aconite poison, and while they were preoccupied with each other, the other ingredients would bind them and turn them into something beneficial.


    Taking the cup, Ardi returned to the girl and leaned over her head. He blew on the steam so that she could breathe it in, and then, pinching her nose, began to slowly, gradually, pour the cup¡¯s contents into her mouth.


    The process took at least fifteen minutes, during which the girl¡¯s father never ceased his prayers, and Mart kept fiddling with his cigar.


    Finally, when the cup was empty, Ardi asked for the curtain to be drawn back.


    ¡°Everything will be alright, my dear,¡± Anton whispered. ¡°Everything will be just fine¡­ You¡¯ll see, my little orchid.¡±


    When the light returned to the wagon, everyone could see that the girl¡¯s face was gradually regaining its color, and that her breathing had become a bit more regular.


    ¡°Praise the Face of Light!¡± Anton exclaimed, collapsing beside his daughter. ¡°Praise be to you and the Eternal Angels who heard my prayers¡­ Praise the Light and¡­¡±


    Ardi looked at the sobbing father, who was cradling his now steadily-breathing daughter, and at that moment, he felt a little better. And somewhere deep in his consciousness, the image of a head pierced by a bullet was replaced by this ¡ª the sight of Anton gently rocking his daughter to sleep.


    Not wanting to disturb Anton, Ardan approached Mart.


    ¡°She should drink a cup of hot water with salt every three hours. If there¡¯s no salt, you can add a little basil or thyme to the water.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll find some salt,¡± Mart smiled.


    Ardi nodded and, stepping outside, was surprised to find that it was almost night.


    The marshal was nowhere to be seen, nor was his horse there, and only Cassara stood nearby.


    ¡°Where-¡±


    ¡°Kal¡¯dron convinced Yonatan to stay here for another night,¡± the vampire, still watching the prairie expanse, answered his unasked question. ¡°And he was very much unhappy about it, but we¡¯ll leave that for tomorrow. For now, go to sleep, kid.¡±


    ¡°I need to-¡±


    Ardi approached his horse and noticed that both his small tent and sleeping bag had already been untied from the saddle.


    ¡°Over there,¡± the vampire pointed.


    Ardan hesitated for a moment, then nodded gratefully and trudged off in the indicated direction.


    By the Spirit of the Night¡­ He couldn¡¯t have possibly imagined that a single day could last so long, rivaling an entire month in some ways. It felt like more had happened today than in the past year.


    And maybe that was why the tired wizard made the simplest and most ridiculous mistake a hunter could make: he didn¡¯t notice the man with that unfamiliar tobacco scent following him.

 Chapter 24 - Healer and Mage

    When Ardi awoke, the first thing he did was check if the laces securing the ¡°roof¡± to the frame of his tent had come loose. Of course, this contraption could hardly be called a ¡°tent.¡± It was just a small piece of canvas stitched for him by his mother, tied between two poles, with a bottom part staked to the ground through holes cut in it for that purpose.


    It wasn¡¯t like those large tents meant to shelter several people that cowboys set up when they camped. But even then, they rarely used those, preferring instead to sleep in their bedrolls by the fire, under the open sky.


    Speaking of a bedroll ¡ª Ardan unwrapped the edge of his and stretched out to his full height, his fingers brushing against the fabric of his tent, which was still damp from the night¡¯s drizzle. Then he swiftly rolled up his ¡°bed¡± into a tight bundle, tied it with twine, set it aside, and crawled out.


    With a couple of quick movements, he pulled up the stakes, untied the laces from the poles, shook the canvas free of dew, rolled it into a bundle, tied the poles to it, and wrapped everything up with twine, ready to-


    ¡°Young man, you don¡¯t seem too observant in the mornings¡­¡±


    ¡°What did I tell you about unnecessary words, mage?¡±


    Ardi dropped all his simple camping gear right where he stood. First, his tent fell on his bare toes, the poles painfully scraping his nails, and then his bedroll landed on top of it all.


    His horse, grazing nearby, snorted in amusement.


    ¡°Ha. Laughter¡­ and food,¡± it said in broken animal speech, before returning to the engrossing task of nibbling on green grass.


    Behind Ardi¡¯s tent, a rather colorful pair had been sitting on the ground. It wasn¡¯t that the young man hadn¡¯t grown accustomed to Cassara over the past month. He¡¯d even gotten used to how provocatively she dressed, revealing almost the entirety of her not-so-small chest. Not to mention the fact that her pants were so tight they could easily be mistaken for a second skin.


    But at that moment, the vampire wasn¡¯t alone. She sat with another person pressed against her chest, holding a long hunting knife to his throat. The blade was close enough to make the pulse in his artery visible, ready to cut through it at any moment.


    ¡°Good... morning?¡± Ardi greeted uncertainly, saying it as more of a question than a statement.


    ¡°As good as a morning can be, considering-¡± Mart began, but was cut off as Cassara shifted, pressing her knife¡¯s tip even closer to his artery.


    ¡°Quiet,¡± the vampire hissed.


    Judging by the heavy bags under Mart¡¯s eyes, his sweat-matted blond hair, and the dimmed blue of his eyes, the doctor hadn¡¯t slept all night.


    Ardi scratched his head awkwardly. He¡¯d heard that vampires had rather peculiar, to say the least, mating rituals, but this¡­ This was something else entirely.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t what you think it is,¡± Cassara¡¯s crimson eyes flashed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not thinking anything,¡± Ardi shrugged, quickly gathering his belongings and moving toward his horse to secure his gear to the saddle, when-


    ¡°He was going to kill you.¡±


    Ardan nearly dropped his tent and bedroll again, which would have likely elicited a fit of laughter from his horse, who had been observing the scene all along.


    Mart barely managed a hoarse whisper, ¡°I already told you that-¡±


    ¡°Vampires aren¡¯t known for their patience, mortal,¡± Cassara clicked her fangs together.


    Ardi started recalling a few particularly tricky math problems ¡ª something that always calmed him ¡ª and decided to tackle his problems one by one. He secured his bedroll and tent to his saddle with some straps, then opened his side bag and pulled out a metal cup, a small, bristly stick, and a tin box.


    This splendid set was a toothbrush and tooth powder, a gift from Anna¡¯s brother he¡¯d received last year, brought all the way from Delpas. You wouldn¡¯t be able to find such things in Evergale. It made dental care much easier and-


    ¡°Did you hear what I just said?¡±


    Ardi turned to Cassara. If one could look at the situation objectively, the scene looked rather comical. There was a doctor with a knife to his throat, being held captive by a vampire who was sitting on the grass near a peacefully-sleeping mage¡¯s tent. It sounded like the beginning of some ridiculous joke.


    ¡°Why would he want to kill me?¡± Ardi responded with a question of his own.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯d like to know too...¡± Another flick of her knife silenced Mart.


    ¡°You know so little, child,¡± Cassara sighed, causing the doctor to grimace involuntarily. Vampires, after all, were dead, and their ¡°breath¡± must have had a rather peculiar odor. ¡°I bet this mortal got curious about what you so shamelessly displayed yesterday.¡±


    Ardi raised an eyebrow in confusion, then tilted his head and examined the pair¡¯s rumpled clothes and the slight tremor in Mart¡¯s bluish fingers.


    Sighing heavily, almost as heavily as the vampire herself, Ardan returned to his horse, pulled a pot and flint from the saddlebag, a small folding tripod, untied a large flask, and from Gleb¡¯s horse, which carried not only the mage¡¯s belongings but also a sack of fuel, he retrieved a small log.


    Sitting down on the ground a bit away from the pair, Ardi quickly and skillfully built a hearth from turf (this was a cowboy trick), notched the log in several places with his knife, stuffed it with dry grass, and used the flint near it. Soon, a thin stream of whitish smoke rose into the air, and the pot, now full of clean water, was lightly shaking over the fire.


    It was a pity, of course, to waste their limited supply of firewood. In the steppes and prairies, good fuel was scarce. Dry grass and shrubs were about the best you could hope for. Or, if you were lucky, you might find some reeds near a body of water. But only if the morning star of luck smiled upon you, which, naturally, only happened in other people¡¯s drunken tales often told in saloons.


    As the water boiled, Ardi sat across from Cassara and Mart.


    ¡°Did you spend the whole night here?¡± He asked.


    ¡°He came after you as soon as you went to bed,¡± Cassara explained.


    Ardi sighed again, took his brush and powder, and began brushing his teeth. Mart¡¯s face darkened at the sight of his inhumanly sharp fangs.


    ¡°So, was the doctor planning to kill me or just discuss yesterday¡¯s events?¡± Ardan clarified.


    ¡°Perhaps he intended to torture you, and after extracting all the information, he would have killed you.¡±


    ¡°Ah, well, yes, that sounds logical,¡± Ardi nodded, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.


    Vampires¡­ After reading the stories about them in Atta¡¯nha¡¯s scrolls, the young man had hoped never to meet one. And yet, what a funny coincidence his life had presented him with.


    ¡°One final detail remains,¡± Ardan spat out some frothy saliva, wiped his lips with a handkerchief, and put away the dental set. ¡°Why would the doctor do all this?¡±


    Mart opened his mouth, but quickly shut it as the knife pressed against his artery again.


    ¡°Because he¡¯s not a doctor, you naive child,¡± Cassara¡¯s eyes gleamed red, ¡°but a mage.¡±


    And with those words, everything Cassara had said before no longer seemed like the twisted, bloody logic of a living corpse that had existed for far too long in this world, and was now seeing everything only in graveyard hues.


    The memory of Gleb¡¯s bullet-riddled head flashed through Ardi¡¯s mind again, and he tensed instinctively. But with each passing second, the tension eased.


    Even if Mart really was a mage, he didn¡¯t wear any regalia, didn¡¯t have a staff, and didn¡¯t seem to have any artifacts on him. So¡­


    ¡°Did you ask him anything?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the vampire snorted. ¡°You can¡¯t trust mages, child. He tried to tell me something, but I swiftly¡­¡± Cassara pressed her knife to his throat again ¡°¡­cut short his attempts to cloud my mind.¡±


    Of course¡­ Naturally¡­


    Vampires¡­


    Ardi glanced around. The dawn sun was already burning the sky with golden fire, and the camp was slowly waking up. They probably didn¡¯t have much time before the shadows fully left the steppe and everyone noticed the peculiar situation on the outskirts.


    By the way, that in itself was curious ¡ª how had the sentries of the camp not noticed them yet?


    But Ardi would think about that later. For now:


    ¡°May I speak with him?¡± He asked the vampire.


    Cassara squinted at him.


    ¡°You¡¯re free to do as you wish, child. But remember, the consequences of your decisions will rest solely on your head,¡± she said, flicking her knife again. ¡°I would have simply slit his throat and thrown him over the nearest hill.¡±


    Ardi shuddered and pushed away the intrusive image of someone else¡¯s brains splattered across the ground.


    By this point, the water was boiling, and the young man, taking the pot off the fire, poured hot water into a cup, added some fragrant powder, and offered it to Mart.


    The doctor¡­ mage¡­ or whatever he really was, stared at Ardi for a moment before reaching out with trembling hands to take the cup and drink from it greedily.


    It was clear that the brew burned his lips and throat, but Mart kept taking big gulps, grimacing all the while.


    The deceptive steppe could heat up to the point where the ground scorched bare feet during the day, only to then have cold winds cut through your body at night, licking your bones with the icy tongues of encroaching frostbite.


    Ardi didn¡¯t even want to imagine what Mart had had to endure that night, sitting in the open air, in the steppe, in the embrace of a vampire.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he finally said, returning the cup.


    Ardan nodded and asked his first question. ¡°Are you really a mage?¡±


    Mart responded with a firm nod. His Matabar¡¯s intuition told Ardi that the man wasn¡¯t lying, but he always tried to rely on his own reasoning as much as he did on the magical part of his blood.


    ¡°Were you planning to kill me?¡± Ardan asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Mart said resolutely.


    And Ardi¡¯s reasoning suggested that if this man had truly harbored ill intentions, he wouldn¡¯t have helped Tavskiy¡¯s daughter the previous day. What would have been the point? Moreover, considering that Andrew Kal¡¯dron had introduced Ardi as one of the ¡°Cloaks,¡± who were stationed only a couple hundred meters away, it would¡¯ve been suicidal to try anything. Unless Mart was an exceptionally powerful and experienced mage.


    Ardi didn¡¯t know what such a mage would look like, but he doubted it would be someone like Mart.


    ¡°Cassara, can you put the knife away?¡± Ardi asked, adding, ¡°Please.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    Ardi nodded.


    The vampire glanced at him, then at Mart.


    ¡°Your choice,¡± she said, flipping the knife in her hand and, with a swift, unseen motion, she stowed it somewhere under her cloak. She pushed the mage away, rose effortlessly to her feet, and loomed over Ardi like a cold shadow.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to go see Yonatan,¡± she said in a dry tone. ¡°If this mage does kill you, you¡¯ll have no one to blame but yourself.¡±


    With that, she strode away, her catlike gait carrying her to the other side of the camp. Her strange, black horse, unlike the others, had not even touched the grass and simply followed her silently.


    In the end, Ardi and Mart were left alone.


    ¡°Rest. Food. Dew. Good,¡± Ardi¡¯s mare muttered, catching his quick glance.


    Well, they were not entirely alone ¡ª there was the horse, too.


    ¡°That was my first time meeting a vampire,¡± Mart said, rubbing his neck where a few scratches had left red marks. ¡°And I¡¯m not eager to repeat the experience.¡±


    ¡°Are there no vampires in the Metropolis?¡± Ardi asked, surprised.


    Mart jerked his head, looking at the young man with a new, almost appraising gaze, as if he were seeing something in him he hadn¡¯t noticed before.


    ¡°How did you know I¡¯m from the Metropolis?¡±


    ¡°By your eyes,¡± Ardan replied. ¡°You have the eyes of someone returning home. All the other settlers have a very different expression.¡±


    Mart chuckled.


    ¡°You¡¯re observant, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Ardi shrugged. It was a survival skill. In the forest flows and on the mountain paths, an inattentive hunter was a dead hunter ¡ª or a starving one. Which, in the end, was the same thing.


    ¡°Can you help me up?¡± Mart asked, extending a hand. ¡°My legs swelled up during the night. I¡¯m not sure I can manage on my own.¡±


    Ardan stood up and helped the man to his feet. Mart¡¯s knees wobbled, and he almost fell, surprising the young man with how light the mage was.


    Once upright, Mart stretched and closed his eyes in pleasure.


    ¡°For a moment there, I really thought I would die. Right here on the steppe. Far from home. Not the most poetic way to go, is it¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± Ardan frowned. ¡°If Cassara had really wanted to kill you, she would have done it immediately. And you know that perfectly well.¡±


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Mart looked at him with that same piercing gaze again.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have a hard time in civilised society, young man,¡± he said deliberately. ¡°Sometimes, it¡¯s better to keep such thoughts to yourself.¡±


    They were silent for a while, standing there as cool winds blew past them and the first rays of the rising sun warmed their skin.


    ¡°If you¡¯re a mage, then-¡±


    ¡°De jure, the law prohibits using Star Magic without all the regalia, but it doesn¡¯t outright ban not wearing it. In court, of course, this nuance has never helped anyone before, but out here in the wilderness, no one usually cares,¡± Mart explained. He pulled away from Ardi, swaying slightly, but still refused any further assistance and stood on his own. ¡°My wagon is over there,¡± Mart pointed to a small, nondescript cart covered with a tattered tarp in places. ¡°Inside, you¡¯ll find my regalia, grimoire, staff, and, if nothing¡¯s changed overnight, a couple of artifacts as well. One¡¯s even from the Principality of Scaldavin.¡±


    After saying this, Mart fell silent, looking expectantly at Ardi. The young man was so taken aback by this sudden admission that he glanced around, not understanding what was expected of him.


    ¡°By the Eternal Angels,¡± Mart sighed, rubbing his brow, leaving dark streaks from the dirt clinging to his hands. ¡°You¡¯re a very strange young man, Ard.¡±


    Ardi almost said that he hadn¡¯t introduced himself yet, but then he remembered that Andrew had mentioned his name when he¡¯d brought him to see the Tavskiy family.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because any other mage, upon hearing those words, would have at least shown some interest. And considering the situation, the more reckless ones might have even called Cassara back to let her finish the job.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Instead of answering him, Mart nodded toward his wagon.


    ¡°Because, even without considering my grimoire, an artifact from Scaldavin would definitely be of interest to them.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Mart squinted at him, trying to decide if he was being mocked or if Ardi was genuinely curious.


    ¡°Because there have been sightings of dragons in Scaldavin, creatures that haven¡¯t been seen for at least three centuries, if not more. This has had the magical community buzzing for the last ten years at least. Three international expeditions have already been sent to the Ahruhm Mountains, all of them unsuccessful. No dragons were found. But some returned with artifacts of ancient magic, which only fueled the excitement.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s so special about these artifacts?¡±


    Mart cursed quite profanely. But Ardi had heard worse from the cowboys.


    ¡°Angels and demons,¡± the mage muttered. ¡°Do you know nothing at all?¡±


    Ardi had heard similar accusations from the she-wolf before. But since then, he had learned a lot. It was just that, apparently, his knowledge lay in a different realm than what Mart was referring to.


    So, the young man just shrugged and, not wasting time, returned to the fire. He poured more water into the pot, placed it over the flames, and took out a couple of strips of dried meat and a can of beans from his bag.


    A rumbling sound came from someone else¡¯s stomach.


    Ardi pulled out a few more strips.


    ¡°Sit down,¡± he invited the mage. ¡°I think we have time for breakfast before Yonatan arrives.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather stand,¡± Mart replied, ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of sitting for a while.¡±


    They fell silent again. The water, already hot from before, boiled quickly, and soon, they were eating the rehydrated meat ¡ª completely tasteless but filling ¡ª and chasing it down with beans that smelled of cheap oil.


    Judging by Mart¡¯s grimace, he found the food unpleasant, but not unfamiliar.


    ¡°Go ahead and ask,¡± the mage said, breaking the silence. ¡°I can see you have more questions than I can count.¡±


    Ardi poured himself a cup of hot water and mixed it with the same herbs he had offered Mart earlier.


    He really did have a thousand questions for the mage, like how he¡¯d used to bombard his great-grandfather with them long ago. It wasn¡¯t that Mart was the first Star Mage Ardi had met on his journey, it was just that¡­ his interaction with Gleb hadn¡¯t exactly gone well.


    And yet, despite everything, Ardi felt compelled to ask something else.


    ¡°Why did you tell me about the grimoire and the artifacts if they¡¯re so valuable?¡±


    Mart blinked a few times, then smiled. It was a broad, genuine smile, not to be mistaken for a smirk.


    ¡°You¡¯re sharp¡­ Though, with your build, ¡®sharp¡¯ doesn¡¯t seem quite right. Orc blood?¡±


    Ardi remained silent.


    ¡°So, a Matabar,¡± Mart nodded to himself. ¡°I thought they were all wiped out¡­¡±


    Ardi stayed silent again. He still wasn¡¯t sure whether he liked Mart or not.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just say, young man,¡± Mart continued, stretching before slowly squatting and twisting his torso, his joints cracking as he did so. ¡°That I¡¯ve seen many herbalists and village healers at work, and I¡¯ve even spoken with a couple of elven healers. And I can tell you honestly that any one of them could have handled what you did yesterday.¡±


    Ardi was well aware of this. He had gleaned some useful knowledge about healing from Atta¡¯nha¡¯s scrolls, but they¡¯d mentioned it only superficially. They¡¯d mainly focused on a very different kind of potion and elixir.


    ¡°But,¡± Mart added, ¡°none of them were as young as you. The youngest herbalist I ever met was from the northern part of Selcado, from a small town on the coast of the Anachreon Sea. Very pleasant people, actually, who prepare fish deliciously. Just a bit too talkative, is all.¡±


    The northern region of the Selcado League. Ardi recalled the world map they¡¯d used during geography lessons. The country Mart had just mentioned was almost on the other side of the world from them.


    ¡°And she was around forty. How old are you? Twenty-five? Twenty-seven?¡±


    ¡°Seventeen.¡±


    Mart cursed again. He wasn¡¯t shy about his language, it seemed.


    ¡°Seventeen,¡± Mart repeated. ¡°Well¡­ Let me tell you something, young man. When you find yourself in the Metropolis, keep your knowledge of the Fae arts as close to your chest as possible and as far away from others as you can. If you value your life.¡±


    ¡°And how did you-¡±


    ¡°Only someone connected to the art of the Oan¡¯Ane-¡±


    ¡°The Aean¡¯Hane,¡± Ardan corrected him automatically.


    Mart gave him a look that clearly said, ¡®That¡¯s what I¡¯m talking about.¡¯


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Mart clicked his tongue. ¡°The fact that you weren¡¯t interested in my artifacts and grimoire, and the way you¡¯re brewing potions at seventeen that most have never even heard of¡­ I don¡¯t need to be an investigator to figure things out, Ard. It¡¯s pretty clear.¡±


    And at that moment, Ardi understood why Cassara had really wanted to kill Mart. Because the vampire had figured it out, too.


    She¡¯d wanted to keep her charge¡¯s secret.


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°Would you really believe me if I promised not to tell anyone?¡±


    Ardi looked into Mart¡¯s eyes, as deeply as he could. All he saw there was a burning curiosity ¡ª an intense one, yes, but not malicious or greedy.


    Mart was an explorer, not someone who would break his word for personal gain.


    ¡°I believe you¡­¡±


    ¡°Damn it,¡± the mage turned away, shaking his head. ¡°I only read about this in books¡­ Is that the Witch¡¯s Gaze?¡±


    ¡°The Witch¡¯s Gaze?¡± Ardi echoed.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Mart coughed, rubbing his eyes. ¡°The old tales say you shouldn¡¯t look witches directly in the eye because they can see straight into your soul¡­ Ard, never do that again.¡±


    Ardi had never¡­


    ¡°Ordinary people won¡¯t understand it,¡± Mart shook his head, ¡°but even the weakest Star Mage will immediately sense the intrusion into their mind.¡±


    So that¡¯s what it was¡­ All those times Ardi had looked into people¡¯s eyes and read their emotions, he had been intruding into their minds without permission?


    That seemed improper, and even dishonorable.


    Ergar wouldn¡¯t approve.


    Unlike Skusty.


    And¡­ that little squirrel was the one who¡¯d taught Ardi how to look into others¡¯ eyes!


    ¡°What¡¯s so unusual about Aean¡¯Hane magic?¡± The young man asked.


    ¡°What¡¯s so unusual about it?¡± Mart nearly jumped. ¡°Almost everything! It was never outright banned, but the Firstborn have always guarded it more jealously than governments guard their national secrets of Star Magic. And after the Dark Lord¡¯s rebellion and the unofficial persecution of old magic practitioners, the country was almost entirely rid of those who knew it. And those few who survived and didn¡¯t flee aren¡¯t exactly advertising their knowledge.¡±


    Ardi remembered the she-wolf¡¯s library. Apparently, all that knowledge would be seen as a treasure by many, while to a young hunter at the time, it had just been an interesting pastime.


    ¡°And all I wanted to ask you about last evening,¡± Mart involuntarily touched his neck again, ¡°was where you got all this knowledge from.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ardi replied firmly and without a hint of hesitation.


    He¡¯d expected a bunch of possible reactions to his words, from anger to attempts at bargaining, but¡­


    ¡°Well, it was worth a shot,¡± Mart shrugged carelessly, as if he had already known the answer. ¡°Don¡¯t be surprised, young man. In all my years of research and expeditions, I¡¯ve never heard a different answer. And all the bits of knowledge I¡¯ve managed to gather have been acquired either by chance or by¡­¡± Mart paused, glanced at Ardi, and decided not to finish his thought. ¡°Anyway, if I had tried to force the information out every time, I doubt I¡¯d still be alive today.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t mention the fact that Mart had clearly survived all this time more due to luck than prudence.


    But, regardless, the mage had been honest with him. And that deserved a bit of reciprocity.


    ¡°Your grimoire,¡± Ardi said, ¡°I¡¯m very curious about it, but I think I¡¯ll never take someone else¡¯s book.¡±


    Mart squinted.


    ¡°Has someone ever taken-¡±


    ¡°D-Davos,¡± Ardan stammered, suddenly realizing how difficult it was to say the name. ¡°Gleb Davos. He took my staff and grimoire.¡±


    ¡°Your staff and grimoire?¡± The mage¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You know Star Magic?¡±


    ¡°A little.¡±


    ¡°By the Face of Light, young man! Let¡¯s go!¡±


    And Mart practically dragged Ardi with him. The young man didn¡¯t sense any aggression or threat from the mage, so he stomped out the fire, packed his things into his travel bag, told his horse to follow him, and headed after Mart.


    ¡°Was that you talking to her?¡± Mart¡¯s eyes grew even wider. ¡°In the language of animals?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    The mage cursed again and muttered something about how surprising it was that such a giant had managed to survive to seventeen by sheer luck.


    They crossed the camp that seemed to be waking up. People were beginning to harness their horses, wash their children, and prepare for the journey. Along the way, Ardi caught the eye of Anton Tavskiy, who was busy with the wheels of his wagon, but for some reason, the man looked away, as if he were ashamed.


    A few minutes later, they reached Mart¡¯s modest abode, as he called it. He climbed into the cart, rummaged among the bundles, and then pulled out an old book, which had clearly come from a printed edition.


    Dusting it off with a smack to the side of the cart, Mart handed the tome to Ardi.


    ¡°Here. It¡¯s a standard school textbook on Star Magic at the Red Star level. It just has the basics, with the most general concepts of the theory.¡±


    Ardi accepted the textbook gratefully but didn¡¯t open it. He knew that if he started reading, he wouldn¡¯t stop until he was too tired to keep his eyes open.


    ¡°And if you ever run into Cloaks who are overly curious about how a half-blood¡­ Excuse me¡­ how a half-Firstborn like you knows about Star Magic, considering where you grew up, just say you were given the book by settlers who have since moved on, and¡­¡± Mart trailed off.


    He looked at Ardi, then at the marshals and Cloaks who were gathered around a map, discussing something. Then he looked back at Ardi.


    Mart swayed, grabbed the side of his cart, then slumped down, his legs dangling over the edge, and buried his head in his hands.


    ¡°What have I gotten myself into¡­ What have I, oh Face of Light, gotten myself into?¡± He lamented.


    Ardi couldn¡¯t understand what had caused such a sudden shift in his mood.


    ¡°Cloaks, vampires, half-bloods of the extinct Matabar race¡­ Even when the tribes of Makingia wanted to eat me, I still felt safer than I do now.¡±


    ¡°Do cannibals really live there?¡± Ardi asked, remembering the tales he¡¯d heard about the island nation west of the Kingdom of Kargaam.


    ¡°Oh, believe me, you don¡¯t want to know the answer to that question, young man. Just as I don¡¯t want to know the answer to why you¡¯re already among Cloaks who seem not to care that they¡¯re traveling with an unregistered mage, one who was trained illegally and by who knows whom or how in Star Magic. And one who also knows the ancient arts.¡±


    Well, yes, when you looked at it from that angle, a reasonable person would have quite a few questions. And a wise one would develop a strong reluctance to getting any answers. Mart¡¯s behavior made it clear that he was one of the wise ones.


    The mage suddenly hiccupped.


    ¡°Davos¡­¡± He whispered. ¡°You said Gleb Davos? That arrogant noble with gray in his temples?¡±


    ¡°Well, yes. He was slightly gray.¡±


    ¡°Damn it all to¡­¡± Mart coughed, swallowing the last word of his curse.


    Ardi tilted his head in curiosity.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with him?¡±


    Mart ducked back into his wagon and returned with a bottle. The label was written in Forian, a country known for its vineyards, if Ardi wasn¡¯t mistaken.


    The mage uncorked the bottle, first offering it to Ardi, then waving him off and taking a swig himself. After a few noisy gulps, he coughed again and set the fragrant, tangy wine down beside him.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with Gleb himself,¡± Mart ground out. ¡°He¡¯s the disgraced son of a baron. About twenty years ago, when he was in his third year at the Grand, he showed great promise.¡±


    ¡°The Grand?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what they call the Imperial Magical University in Metropolis,¡± Mart explained. ¡°Though, more likely, it wasn¡¯t so much that he showed promise, but that the public hoped Gleb would follow in the footsteps of his older brothers, Arkady and Saimon Davos. Prominent mages, both of them. The eldest, Arkady, is a major researcher in magical engineering, and he already has a few decent patents that support the entire family. Saimon has published several treatises on the application of the Dragon¡¯s Tail Shield Seal. It seemed like he was aiming for a career in the military.¡±


    Ardi remembered the magical shield that had resembled snake scales. Was that what the shield Gleb had surrounded himself with during their duel was called?


    ¡°Until he drank himself into oblivion,¡± Mart continued. ¡°Bars, brothels and social events ¡ª no matter how enjoyable ¡ª lead to nothing good. Remember that, young man.¡±


    Ardan nodded, and the mage took another swig from his bottle.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even want to know what happened to Gleb. I¡¯ve had enough trouble with nobles.¡±


    ¡°But aren¡¯t all mages granted a noble title?¡±


    ¡°Are you talking about the title of etid?¡± The man smirked. ¡°It holds as much weight as the paper it¡¯s written on, and it¡¯s used exclusively in legal contexts. If you ask me in what ways it¡¯s used there, I¡¯ll tell you right now that I have no idea. I¡¯ve never been much for legalese. In any case, no one really considers etids to be true nobles.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t something they taught in civics class. Then again, as Ardan had come to understand, most of what they taught in school wasn¡¯t very useful when it came to real life situations.


    ¡°Though, it¡¯s quite ironic,¡± Mart mused, taking another drink. ¡°First, he supported Theia Emergold, and then-¡±


    ¡°Theia Emergold?¡± Ardi interrupted without thinking.


    Mart looked at him as if he were an idiot at first, then caught himself.


    ¡°Right¡­ You don¡¯t know a damn thing¡­¡± He muttered, cracking his neck. ¡°In short, not everyone in Metropolis agrees with the obligation to wear all the regalia required of mages. That ¡®not everyone¡¯ part particularly refers to all sorts of fashionistas, and some of the noble brats. And about eight years ago, at the annual New Year¡¯s ball, Theia Emergold, a prominent researcher of Ley Lines, saw the daughter of some Great Prince or Duke casting magic without her regalia, and no one even commented on it, let alone called the authorities. That¡¯s when Emergold¡¯s protest began, and she refused to wear regalia while casting spells. And within a couple of days, a handful of other naive mages joined her. Naturally, it all ended the way such foolishness always ends.¡±


    Ardi waited in silence. Mart smiled sadly and tapped the bottle¡¯s neck, making it emit a melodic ring.


    ¡°Everyone who protested was fined. Those who weren¡¯t born nobles or didn¡¯t have deep pockets were thrown in jail for a couple of months to cool their heads. And then they were exiled from the capital. And the highborn and the wealthy¡­ Well, they just kept doing whatever they wanted.¡±


    ¡°But Gleb-¡±


    ¡°To hell with Gleb,¡± Mart waved dismissively, his words beginning to slur slightly. This had surely been caused by a combination of alcohol, stress, and spending a sleepless night in the company of a vampire, which could also be considered stressful. ¡°His tongue was always loose. And his hands itched constantly. When the Guard, along with the Cloaks, arrived to break up the protest, Davos Jr. thought it would be a brilliant idea to start a brawl with them. As a result, he sent a Major of the Guard to the Eternal Angels. For that, he should have either been sent to the border with Fatia to eat dirt and wash with filth, or locked up for a couple of decades. But his brothers and father pulled some strings and got him a position in the Second Chancery¡¯s opeeerations depaaaartment insteeeeeead¡­¡±


    As Mart finished his story, he started stretching out his words more and more and speaking increasingly slowly. Then he looked once again at Ardi, then at the Cloaks and marshals, who were wrapping up their business, and took another swig from his bottle.


    ¡°Well, that explains why he took your staff and grimoire,¡± Mart chuckled. ¡°He couldn¡¯t resist because his brothers¡¯ fame must have been gnawing at him. He probably thought he¡¯d find something worth a treatise there, or at least an article. And maybe, just maybe, the Guild would be inclined to pull some strings and bring such a valuable asset back to the capital.¡±


    ¡°The Guild?¡±


    ¡°For heaven¡¯s sake, young man!¡± Mart nearly groaned. ¡°The Mage¡¯s Guild. Just like the Builder¡¯s Guild, or, I don¡¯t know, the Guild of Dockworkers, for example.¡±


    ¡°That sounds-¡±


    ¡°It sounds just fine,¡± Mart interrupted him pointedly. ¡°For a couple of years now, the Parliament has been discussing the idea of renaming them to unions. You know, since it sounds more progressive. But I think it¡¯s just because the Minister of Economy used to be an ambassador in the Confederation of Free Cities. He¡¯s been dragging all sorts of foreign novelties into our home. But as far as I¡¯m concerned, young man, it doesn¡¯t matter what you call these bigwigs ¡ª their essence won¡¯t change with a new label.¡±


    None of this meant anything to Ardi, and¡­


    The young man paused, looking at Mart as he swirled his wine bottle and muttered something under his breath, and then turned to the Alcade. Back in that small town, where cowboys, lumberjacks, and miners made up most of the population, his biggest concerns had been how to earn a few exes, how to avoid getting into fights with drunken saloon patrons, and¡­ Anna.


    He hadn¡¯t been concerned with dragons in the Scaldavin mountains, vampires traveling with Cloaks from the Second Chancery, or the Metropolis. Everyone in his old home had always referred to it as ¡°the Capital¡±, and it had felt like something even more distant and grandiose than Delpas, which itself had already seemed far away and enormous.


    But now¡­


    Now everything felt so close and so real. Here was a mage sitting beside him, talking about countries whose names Ardi had only ever seen on a map in a dusty schoolroom. Mart was drinking wine from somewhere in the heart of the world and lamenting that he hadn¡¯t managed to bed a beauty from the opposite side of it. And this wasn¡¯t some magical, fairy-tale story from his grandfather ¡ª it was the stark reality.


    Ardan turned to the southeast.


    Somewhere beyond those hills and wide steppes, there was a whole world that wasn¡¯t limited to the foothills of the Alcade, no matter how dear and beloved they were to him.


    And for the first time in his life, Ardi felt curious not only about what was on the next page of a book or a treatise, but also about what lay beyond the hill. Beyond the crossroad. Beyond the river bend. Beyond the forest and-


    ¡°I hope my humble mortal presence isn¡¯t disrupting the plans of your highness, oh great mage,¡± a voice chimed in, startlingly close. Yonatan had approached without a sound and was now offering him an exaggerated bow, even doffing his hat with a flourish. ¡°We¡¯re about to set off, you see, but only if you grant us the privilege. Alas, I¡¯m afraid¡­¡± The man shifted his cloak aside, patting the handle of his revolver, ¡°that you don¡¯t have a choice but to agree.¡±


    Ardi turned to where Mart had been, but he only saw his wagon¡¯s curtains swaying gently, and the sound of someone moving around sluggishly could be heard coming from inside the wagon itself.


    ¡°Yes, of cour-¡±


    Yonatan moved so close that Ardi nearly bumped his chin on the man¡¯s forehead.


    ¡°Try arguing with me in front of my subordinates one more time, and I¡¯ll shoot you in the knee. Maybe I¡¯ll aim even higher, around the thigh. You know, where your balls are. And they must be huge, given how brave you are.¡±


    Ardi nodded silently. He didn¡¯t need to look into the strange man¡¯s eyes to know that he wasn¡¯t joking.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± Yonatan grinned, spinning on his heel and taking a step, then freezing in place.


    ¡°You managed to help the girl?¡± He asked without turning around.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    The Cloak put his hat back on and smoothed down the brim.


    ¡°I respect that,¡± he said quietly, and then, more loudly, he added, ¡°but your balls are still in danger.¡±

 Chapter 25 - Fur and guns

    ¡°Hello, Mother.


    I¡¯m writing to you from... Well, I suppose it¡¯s silly to start a letter this way. But that¡¯s how I¡¯ll start it anyway.


    I¡¯m writing from Mart Borskov¡¯s wagon. He¡¯s a good man, even if he drinks a lot and talks even more. When it rains, he lets me wait out the storm under his roof.


    When you used to tell me stories about the plains and steppes, Mother, I always compared them to Grandfather¡¯s tales. How could the land possibly be flat from horizon to horizon, with only the sky for company? But now, as storm clouds rise in thick, rolling waves above me and the thunder echoes like shots from an old hunting rifle, I can see that you were right.


    Here, deep in the steppe, I felt dizzy at first. Imagine it ¡ª there¡¯s nothing there to catch your eye for hundreds of kilometers, and the occasional hill serves as a guidepost for travelers and...


    Well, you already know this, obviously. Just as you know the local winds that carry the scent of grasses and fields. And how your chest swells with each intake of breath, and the fragrance of boundless freedom can intoxicate your mind.


    Though, perhaps that¡¯s Mart¡¯s wine talking.


    No, Mother, I¡¯m not actually drinking. I know you wouldn¡¯t approve.


    We¡¯ve been on the road for eleven days now. Everything¡¯s fine, don¡¯t worry.


    I remember you warning Erti and me about the dangers of the prairies and steppes, but we haven¡¯t encountered any bandits or magical beasts. Mart often says that the former are afraid of the Cloaks and the marshals, and that the latter likely fear Cassara. She¡¯s a vampire. And though she always says her heart is dead, sometimes I¡¯m convinced that I¡¯ve met few people whose hearts beat more vibrantly.


    Cassara always tries to help the settlers, and sometimes, she even plays with their children. They¡¯re not afraid of her at all.


    And you won¡¯t believe it, but Mart¡¯s been telling me all kinds of interesting things. He told me about how there shouldn¡¯t be prairies and steppes here at all, but rather, a desert, like in the Holy Emirates of Al¡¯Zafir. He claims it¡¯s all because the Ley Lines on our continent run too close to the surface, changing what Mart calls the ¡°magnetic fields.¡± I don¡¯t know what magnetic fields are, but apparently, because of these changes, North and South are all mixed up for us. Winter should be in the summer here in the southern hemisphere, and summer in the winter. Like on the eastern continent. And in the Metropolis, there should be jungles, just like in Kargaam and Lan¡¯Duo¡¯Ha.


    Can you imagine? Winter in summer, and summer in winter!


    Mart sometimes says he¡¯s been to rivers in these countries where the trees are so tightly packed together that you can barely squeeze a hand between them!


    Incredible, right?


    He says it¡¯s all because of the Ley Lines and how they influence the climate and...


    Sorry, I¡¯m repeating myself. I got carried away.


    I¡¯m fine. I sleep, eat, sometimes ride out in patrols with the Cloaks, but we find nothing except the endless expanses of the steppe.


    Yonatan ¡ª that¡¯s the head of the Cloaks ¡ª is glad about that. So am I.


    And the sky here, Mother, is beautiful. It¡¯s not as familiar as at home, but still beautiful. Maybe that¡¯s what the sea looks like?


    I now understand why you sometimes missed these lands...


    I miss you.


    I love you.


    Your son,


    Ardi.


    P.S. You¡¯ll probably get this letter along with all the others, but... I don¡¯t know how else to say it... may there be many.


    P.P.S. How are you? Did you make it to Delpas? How¡¯s home? How¡¯s Erti¡¯s health? Is everything alright?


    P.P.P.S. I hope I can...¡±


    ¡°Damn it,¡± Mart clicked his teeth as he climbed down from the driver¡¯s seat and into the wagon. ¡°It¡¯s pouring down like the sky itself is falling.¡±


    Ardi folded the unfinished letter and tucked it into his travel bag. He pulled aside the canvas flap and looked up at the sky. The clouds above clashed like mighty black and blue waves, rolling over each other. A fierce storm slashed at the earth, the lightning sounding like whip cracks and pinning the grass flat with the booming crash of thunder.


    The raindrops weren¡¯t just drumming steadily against their meager roof; they seemed to want to pierce it straight through.


    Mart shook off his leather raincoat, his hands trembling as he pulled yet another bottle from his bottomless suitcase. He yanked the cork out with his teeth and took several loud swigs.


    ¡°I won¡¯t even offer you any this time,¡± he waved Ardi off.


    Judging by the stillness underfoot, the caravan had stopped for a break. Not surprising, considering the fact that the rain had turned into a downpour in the last half hour. It could wash out even the most solid ground, and in places like this, you could not only get stuck, but ¡ª may the Sleeping Spirits help them ¡ª break a spring, or worse yet, a wheel.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember Matabar being as strict with alcohol as the orcs,¡± Mart said, shaking the bottle as he sat down on the chests.


    ¡°Mother,¡± Ardi answered the unspoken question with a single word.


    ¡°She¡¯s very religious?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± the young man shrugged. ¡°But she believes in the Face of Light and tries not to break the commandments when possible.¡±


    ¡°The Face of Light and his commandments,¡± Mart snorted. ¡°He¡¯s spawned so many denominations that you can¡¯t keep track of them. Some allow alcohol, some don¡¯t. Some permit polygamy, others same-sex relations. And some... build churches on the bones of unbelievers.¡±


    ¡°And who are those people...?¡±


    ¡°The Enario Theocracy,¡± Mart grimaced, digging through his chest before pulling out two maps. One of them showed the nations, similar to the one that had hung on the wall in Ardi¡¯s school, though with slightly outdated borders. The other was a mess of climate zones, forests, rivers, glaciers, and swamps ¡ª this was the map Mart would use whenever he was trying to explain the connection between nature and Ley Lines to Ardi. ¡°Look here.¡±


    Mart, pulling off his wet gloves with his teeth, traced his finger along the paper.


    ¡°South of the Ralsk Mountains, below the flow of the Eva River. That¡¯s where the Enario Theocracy is,¡± Ardi looked at the tiny sliver of land that, on the school map, had usually been shaded over. ¡°It¡¯s a nasty little place no one in the Empire likes to talk about.¡±


    He had a point. Ardan did recall seeing only a few short paragraphs about this place in his history book.


    ¡°But why-¡±


    ¡°Because we got our teeth kicked in, back in the day,¡± Mart laughed. ¡°Sure, the Castilians and the Selkado helped, but that doesn¡¯t change the fact that we got demolished. Those fanatics held their defenses for a month against what was then still a young, not-so-established Empire. And then, well, the Incident of Lady Talia put an end to all expansion in that direction.¡±


    ¡°What incident?¡±


    Mart took a swig of wine, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and rolled his eyes toward the heavens.


    ¡°Oh, that rural education of yours... They reformed the curriculum, added new subjects to match the city¡¯s standards, but I bet your teachers still covered three topics each?¡±


    ¡°Two,¡± Ardi corrected.


    ¡°Two,¡± Mart snorted again. ¡°Ever heard of Sergeant Mend§Öra?¡±


    ¡°Only that, thanks to him and his unit, Gales managed to steal the special flame from the Fae, which helped them win the war.¡±


    ¡°Well, if we gloss over a few details, that¡¯s pretty much how it happened,¡± Mart nodded. ¡°Anyway, Gales grabbed a bunch of land and became an Empire, but at that time, it hadn¡¯t fully established itself or consolidated its power in the provinces. One such province was, you guessed it, the border with Enario.¡±


    ¡°But why-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a historian, at least not in the common sense, Ardi. Nor a politician. How should I know why the Empire needed that forsaken scrap of land?¡±


    Ardan glanced at the map again. He couldn¡¯t see any critical importance in Enario¡¯s location, either. But, as Mart had rightfully pointed out, they weren¡¯t historians or politicians.


    ¡°For a couple of years, the Empire was just settling in, and then they decided to send Mend§Öra with his unit, and Lady Talia, to Enario. The idea was to restore relations,¡± Mart chuckled and tapped the map with his fingers. ¡°The result: Lady Talia disappeared without a trace, Mend§Öra was killed by his own men, and instead of restoring relations... see that gray zone in the north, right next to the mountains, and that other one to the south?¡±


    Ardi squinted at the map. Indeed, if you looked closely, you could spot two gray splotches.


    ¡°Those are the Dead Lands.¡±


    ¡°The Dead Lands?¡±


    ¡°Fucking Angels, kid!¡± Mart exploded. ¡°What do our taxes pay for? For you to go to school and not learn a damn thing?¡±


    Ardan frowned. His schoolteachers may not have had university degrees, but they¡¯d taken their jobs seriously.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that,¡± Mart waved dismissively. ¡°The Dead Lands is a general term. Some call them the Cursed Lands, the Forsaken Lands, the Wastelands, or whatever. Look, there¡¯s another one on the Dancing Peninsula, on our border with Olikzasia.¡±


    Ardi followed Mart¡¯s finger and spotted a third splotch.


    ¡°There are quite a few scattered around the world. But the Imperial maps only show ours. If you ask me why... I... I don¡¯t know what I¡¯ll do, but don¡¯t ask!¡±


    Ardi nodded. He was well aware of his tendency to bombard people with endless questions for which answers were rarely found.


    But if he couldn¡¯t talk about that, then Ardi would ask another question:


    ¡°And they¡¯re called Dead Lands because...?¡±


    ¡°The name doesn¡¯t say enough? They¡¯re dead, as in¡­ dead! And when I say ¡®dead,¡¯ it¡¯s not a figure of speech. God made a real fucking pile of shit there. And in that shit, the nastiest creatures you can imagine lurk. Compared to them, the magical beings created by the Firstborn for their war against Gales seem like cuddly, fluffy bunnies.¡±


    Ardan remembered the mountain troll he¡¯d fought as a child. It hadn¡¯t seemed like a bunny to him, let alone cuddly and fluffy.


    ¡°And all of it because of Mendera¡¯s unit. They messed up something with the Ley Lines, or whatever. Since then, these sores pop up around the world from time to time. Sometimes, they can be healed. Sometimes, they can¡¯t,¡± Mart rolled up the map and stuffed it back into its tube. ¡°They tend to have demons, dark mages, and not the kind you¡¯d find in Makingia, but real scum. And all sorts of mutants, too. There¡¯s no end to it. Go ask Yonatan about it.¡±


    ¡°What does-¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you figured it out yet?¡± Mart interrupted him again. ¡°The leader of the Cloaks is probably the most standard mutant I¡¯ve ever seen. And I¡¯d understand it if he were a descendant of those bastards Gales once spawned. You have no idea, kid, what Star Magic can do when not bound by state regulations against inhumane experiments,¡± Mart¡¯s last two words were delivered in a mockingly official tone. ¡°But Yonatan isn¡¯t a mutant¡¯s offspring... No, he¡¯s something new. And those super-soldier experiments were supposed to have been closed long ago and...¡±


    Mart cut himself off, glancing from his bottle back to Ardi, and suddenly frowned.


    ¡°Forget everything I just said,¡± he muttered, covering himself with a blanket. ¡°And forget we even talked about it... Damn wine... It¡¯ll be the death of me...¡±


    There was a knock on the side of the wagon.


    Mart jumped, clutching his bottle, and pressed himself against the chests.


    Ardan moved closer to the makeshift ¡°entrance¡± and, untying the curtains, pulled the edge aside. A spray of cold mist hit his face, and a sharp wind whipped through his nostrils.


    ¡°Get ready, boy,¡± Yonatan barked. ¡°There¡¯s work to be done.¡±


    As Ardi pulled on his coat and hat, securing the belt with his revolvers, the head of the Cloaks kept his gaze locked on Mart, who was doing his best to pretend he didn¡¯t exist.


    ¡°And try to keep your mouth shut, mage,¡± Yonatan added briefly as Ardi jumped to the ground, letting the rain pour over his face.


    Given the loud hiccup that came from Mart in response, he¡¯d taken that comment to be a threat aimed at him. And who could blame him, considering Yonatan¡¯s keen hearing and the fact that he¡¯d probably phrased it that way on purpose...


    Wading through ankle-deep mud on the rain-soaked road, they reached a group of people, among whom Ardi spotted Ertas Govlov. Alongside him, huddling under less-than-great leather raincoats, stood several other men from the ranks of the settlers. They all looked sturdy, with weathered faces (as much as could be judged under the downpour) and hands that were far from delicate.


    Most of the Cloaks and marshals were also present.


    ¡°Twenty-two people,¡± Yonatan summed up, patting his horse¡¯s neck. The beast shook its head in discomfort ¡ª the rain was pouring in under its saddle. ¡°You¡¯re sure about what your boy saw, Ertas?¡±


    The head of the settlers nodded.


    ¡°By the river,¡± he pointed into the darkness of the night. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a thunderclap, revealing the area. Govlov was pointing straight toward their intended route. ¡°A Wanderer. Seems injured.¡±


    Ardan, almost like he was imitating Mart, let out a loud hiccup at that. Wanderers were one of those stories parents in the villages and hamlets of the Foothill Province used to scare children so they wouldn¡¯t wander too far into the steppe.


    They were echoes of the war between the kingdoms of Ectassus and Gales. And even though over half a millennium had passed since then, the remnants of those events still haunted much of the western continent.


    Especially those remnants like the Wanderers. Their real name had been lost to history, and they¡¯d earned their current title because of their massive size and the fact that their footsteps could be heard even kilometers away across the steppe.


    ¡°Damn storm,¡± muttered one of the Cloaks. Ardi didn¡¯t know him well enough to remember his name. ¡°That¡¯s probably why we didn¡¯t hear it.¡±


    And as if to confirm that he was right, another bolt of lightning flashed, followed by thunder that hammered their ears.


    Yes... It was hard not to hear a twelve-meter-tall beast covered in thick muscles and skin that had once served as armor. Of course, that had been the case back when people had used bows, crossbows and spears instead of revolvers and rifles. But, as Ardan had learned well among the mountain trails and northern marshes, misfortune rarely came alone.


    And if such a cruel storm had overtaken them, it was no surprise that a Wanderer had hidden in its shadow as well.


    ¡°Is it a big one?¡± Marshal Kal¡¯dron asked.


    Standing next to him, Marshal Elliny, small and almost invisible compared to the grim-faced men around her, radiated a piercing, calm confidence. It was a sharp contrast to some of the others who had gathered with them.


    ¡°My son said it¡¯s about eight meters,¡± Ertas replied. ¡°But in this downpour... And the beast is lying in the river, so it could be more.¡±


    Some people cursed, while others whispered prayers to the Eternal Angels.


    ¡°Nearly a fully-grown specimen,¡± Yonatan shook his head. ¡°Even if it¡¯s injured ¡ª and that raises the question of who or what hurt it ¡ª it¡¯s still better if we avoid it.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re nearly out of water,¡± Ertas reminded him.


    ¡°You¡¯re standing in the rain, damn it,¡± spat Katerina, an unusually skilled sharpshooter, as Ardi had come to learn. ¡°We¡¯ll gather plenty. Enough to make it to Presny.¡±


    ¡°Katerina, remember our deal?¡± Yonatan¡¯s eyes flashed.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t joking.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s adjust the terms ¡ª just stay quiet.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll gather the water,¡± Andrew agreed, tipping his hat and letting the pooled rainwater spill onto the ground. ¡°But leaving that thing behind us... For those of you who aren¡¯t locals, let me remind you of this fact: a Wanderer¡¯s sense of smell is keener than any hunting dog¡¯s, and its hunger is constant. If we don¡¯t just bypass the river but detour deep into the steppe, we¡¯ll be able to avoid it. Otherwise¡­¡±


    ¡°How long will that take?¡± Ertas asked, visibly tense.


    The marshal began counting on his fingers.


    ¡°Eight days, maybe ten. That¡¯s to make sure we don¡¯t cross paths with the monster again,¡± he answered. ¡°But, Mr. Govlov, once we¡¯re deep in the steppe, there¡¯s no guarantee that we won¡¯t encounter another Wanderer, bandits, or other beasts. Smaller beasts, perhaps, but just as unpleasant.¡±


    The settlers¡¯ faces sank. No one wanted to face a Wanderer, a creature they¡¯d most likely feared since childhood. At the very least, they had spoken about it in spine-chilling stories before going on any journey into the southern lands.


    But veering off their current route so drastically, especially without any guarantees of avoiding other dangers, wasn¡¯t exactly a great alternative. Even the presence of the Cloaks and a vampire ¡ª though Ardi doubted most of the settlers even understood who or what Cassara really was ¡ª wasn¡¯t a foolproof guarantee of safe passage. While their mere presence would ward off petty thieves and smaller creatures, larger gangs or more fearsome beasts, on the other hand...


    ¡°The rain,¡± Tevona suddenly whispered. ¡°That¡¯s why the Wanderer is resting in the river. If not for the rain, it would¡¯ve smelled us long ago and attacked.¡±


    ¡°Tevona, you¡¯re doing it agai-¡±


    ¡°Wait, Kal¡¯dron,¡± Yonatan interrupted, turning toward the girl. ¡°Go on, Marshal Elliny.¡±


    She nodded at him and turned her gaze toward the river where Ertas had pointed.


    ¡°The wind is in our faces, and the downpour, the storm... I believe Mr. Govlov¡¯s son wasn¡¯t mistaken, and the creature is seriously injured. Otherwise, it would have followed him back here, and we wouldn¡¯t be having this conversation right now.¡±


    More curses echoed, and someone gripped their weapon tighter. The thought that a young lookout could¡¯ve led trouble directly to their camp seemingly hadn¡¯t occurred to anyone until now.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Ardi, for his part, saw no reason to weigh in with his own thoughts. Not because Yonatan had threatened him earlier, but because everything had been clear from the start...


    ¡°If we strike first, we have a good chance of taking it down. The fangs, claws, blood, and hide of a Wanderer are worth a fortune. I think the settlers ¡ª and we ourselves ¡ª could-¡±


    ¡°Are you out of your mind, girl?¡± Marshal Kal¡¯dron snapped, his mustache quivering like an angry insect¡¯s antennae. ¡°Fangs, claws... Attack a Wanderer! Have you lost your damn mind? That¡¯s...¡±


    ¡°I like it,¡± Yonatan grinned and clapped Tevona on the shoulder. ¡°Kid, if you ever get tired of wearing a marshal¡¯s stripes, drop me a note. We always welcome people with guts.¡±


    With that said, he cast a theatrical, disapproving glance at the crowd around him.


    ¡°Here¡¯s the plan, settlers!¡± Yonatan¡¯s voice boomed, effortlessly drowning out the rolling thunder. ¡°My squad doesn¡¯t have time for detours, so we¡¯re not changing the route. If you want to go around the river, be my guest, but you¡¯ll do so without us. And if you believe four marshals can protect you from all the steppe¡¯s creatures,¡± the Cloak smirked and spat on the ground, ¡°then may the Face of Light be with you.¡±


    The crowd started muttering, discussing, arguing, and cursing. Ardi could feel the air thickening with the scent of fear, despite the heavy rain and storm. And he couldn¡¯t blame the northern settlers for their hesitation.


    It took real courage to cross the Alcade Mountains directly rather than waste months detouring around them. But a Wanderer...


    Ardi wiped the rain from his face, the wind whipping sharp droplets across his skin.


    ¡°We¡¯ll go with you, Cloak,¡± Ertas stepped forward. ¡°But if-¡±


    ¡°If what?¡± Yonatan cut in, his gaze sweeping over the group. ¡°I have no idea if everyone will survive or if someone will die. But I¡¯ll say this: if you use your heads, do what I tell you, and don¡¯t piss your pants, you¡¯ll have a decent chance of making it. And afterwards, you can tell your grandchildren how you took down a giant beast in the steppe.¡±


    The settlers murmured amongst themselves, hurriedly untying the horses from their posts. Ardi, meanwhile, pulled out his revolver and loaded the sixth round. As the cowboys on the farm had taught him, when working, it was always best to keep the chamber directly under the hammer empty. After all, there were plenty of stories about people shooting themselves in the leg or losing toes.


    A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, and in the reflection of a nearby puddle, Ardan caught a glimpse of Yonatan.


    ¡°Kid,¡± the Cloak said, his voice heavy.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Where the hell is your damn staff?¡±


    Ardi clicked the revolver¡¯s cylinder into place and glanced back toward Mart¡¯s wagon. His grimoire and staff, protected from the rain, were hidden inside.


    ¡°What kind of mage, in the name of the Face of Light, goes around without their staff?¡±


    ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°Enough with the excuses,¡± Yonatan cut him off sharply. ¡°Though, considering how you fought Gleb, maybe it¡¯s for the best that you don¡¯t have it,¡± he mounted his horse, and for the first time, Ardi noticed that not only was a rifle strapped to his saddle, but also a saber. ¡°Stay with the group. If I see you wander off, I¡¯ll shoot you. Got it?¡±


    Now Ardi understood why Yonatan had brought their ¡°valuable cargo¡± along on this particular hunt. Not because he needed Ardi¡¯s help or expertise, but because he wanted him under close supervision.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t hear you!¡± Yonatan barked.


    ¡°I got it,¡± Ardi nodded calmly, mounting his horse. He ran his hand along the mane of his mare, calming the anxious animal.


    ¡°Cassara,¡± the Cloak called out.


    The vampire and her horse, almost gliding through the darkness, materialized beside Ardi.


    She and Yonatan exchanged looks, and without another word, the Cloak spurred his horse, charging into the rain. The rest of the riders followed shortly after, with Ardi and Cassara bringing up the rear as they rode into the storm.


    The black sky seethed with rage, the thunder rumbling like the tolling of angry cathedral bells, and the rain, relentless and cold, poured down in thick sheets, drenching the prairie in a silvery deluge. Among all this chaos, the silhouettes of two dozen riders were mere pinpricks racing through the darkness.


    Horses, their eyes wide and nostrils flaring, galloped forward, their hooves sinking into the muddy earth and flinging around thick sprays of mud with every step. The riders¡¯ faces, despite the rain, the biting wind, and the monster waiting for them by the river, were determined. But beneath that mask was fear, lurking in every heartbeat and every jab of their spurs.


    The air around them thickened as the stifling weight of fear grew so tangible it felt like a familiar, sticky hand was ready to reach out and grab them. Each bolt of lightning, each clap of thunder, seemed to feed that fear, casting fleeting, sharp shadows of the people racing into the unknown not by choice, but by necessity.


    Their coats, heavy with moisture, flapped and danced in the wind, like the wings of birds lost in the storm.


    The wind lashed their faces like a ravenous wolf, and the rain soaked into every crevice, whether it was a collar, pocket, or boot.


    Ardan gritted his teeth ¡ª unnecessary words at such a time could cost a rider their tongue. Occasionally, he patted his mare¡¯s neck and squinted up at the sky.


    Finally, they crested another hill and halted in a small hollow near the riverbank. What had appeared at first glance to be a small island nestled in a wide bend of the river was, in reality, a living creature.


    The beast¡¯s chest rose and fell, its noisy breaths reminiscent of the whispers of a summer forest disturbed by particularly fierce winds.


    The Wanderer lay on its side, facing the opposite bank, its back to the riders. The wind blowing in their faces, the rain, and the incessant thunder provided such perfect cover that the beast, renowned for its sense of smell, hearing, and sight, hadn¡¯t noticed them at all.


    Or perhaps the reason they had been able to get so close was its large wound. They could glimpse it every time the river¡¯s waves receded, revealing a part of the Wanderer¡¯s right side, the side on which it lay.


    Green blood trickled into the river, causing it to shimmer in the flashes of lightning.


    Whoever had given it that jagged wound had come close, but had ultimately failed to disembowel the monster.


    Yonatan raised his hand and flicked his wrist a few times to signal them. The riders immediately recognized the gesture and rode closer to him.


    ¡°The plan is simple,¡± he said quietly, and those closest repeated his words to those farther back. No one dared to speak at full volume, even though they were still a hundred meters from the river. ¡°We¡¯ll split into three groups of seven. Katerina, take the high ground at three o¡¯clock.¡±


    ¡°Got it, commander,¡± she nodded, removing the cover from the scope of her rifle. ¡°Can I use-¡±


    ¡°No more than two,¡± Yonatan preempted her.


    Katerina nodded, reined in her horse, and began climbing the slope in what seemed to be a random direction. But recalling Yonatan¡¯s instructions, Ardi envisioned them at the center of a clock, realizing that Katerina was moving toward the direction where the clock would read ¡°three.¡±


    It took less than a minute for everyone to divide into groups. Ardi found himself in a group with Cassara, Tevona, and four settlers.


    ¡°Only move along the riverbank, and only against the current,¡± Yonatan continued once the teams had formed. ¡°Aim for the knees and don¡¯t worry about hitting the mark. Fire, pull back from the bank, reload, and go again.¡±


    Some of them stole uneasy glances at the sleeping beast. Even from this distance, it looked so enormous that their minds refused to believe it was real, struggling to chalk it up to tricks of shadow and light.


    ¡°Our goal is to bring the beast down,¡± Yonatan twirled his revolvers and grinned. ¡°And then Cassara will finish the job. Right?¡±


    The vampire, instead of replying, tipped her hat. The settlers, still not quite understanding who or what the blonde beauty truly was, exchanged puzzled looks between her and the monster.


    If he hadn¡¯t known the truth about Cassara, Ardi would¡¯ve also been surprised to hear that plan.


    ¡°Well, ladies and gentlemen,¡± Yonatan steered his horse around, facing the river. ¡°Shall we dance?¡±


    Without further delay, the Cloak spurred his horse forward. His group followed, the second squad headed out after a few seconds, and finally, with that same calculated pause, the rearguard that included Ardi moved into action.


    His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that it felt like it would burst through his ribs and run off on its own. His stomach was twisted into a tight knot, and a nauseating lump rose in his throat. His hands began to tremble, and his legs squeezed his mare¡¯s sides too tightly, causing the anxious creature to absorb his unease as well.


    Rain lashed his hat, lightning flashed, thunder roared, and Ardi charged toward the beast. Just like the mountain troll, the Wanderer had stepped out of ancient stories and was now looming before them in all its terrifying glory.


    Feeling as though he might pass out at any moment, Ardi grabbed hold of the gift from Atta¡¯nha that was hidden under his clothes. The small wooden totem ¡ª a figurine in the shape of an old oak ¡ª dug into his fingers, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his hand. He wrapped himself in that pain as if it were a warm blanket, shielding himself from the cold claws of fear.


    Breathing became a little easier, and his vision cleared. At that moment, Yonatan, leading the charge, raised his revolvers and fired toward the beast¡¯s legs. The bullets cut through the air, striking the creature¡¯s flesh, and chaos erupted.


    The Wanderer stirred, as if confused by what had just happened. But then, following Yonatan¡¯s lead, the other riders opened fire. Bullets rained down on the beast, and what had once seemed like an island suddenly came to life.


    The creature roared, and despite enduring a hail of bullets and being surrounded by clouds of gunpowder, it began to rise. Its broad, green, blood-soaked wound glistened in the flashes of lightning. The monster stood nearly eight meters tall, casting a vast shadow over the landscape.


    At first glance, the beast resembled a bear: it had a massive, muscular frame supported by thick, powerful limbs, and its body was covered in thick fur, which shimmered in shades of dark brown and black.


    But everything else about it ¡ª its long torso, all that tangled, matted fur, those fangs, and that elongated snout ¡ª resembled something more akin to a canine.


    The Wanderer roared again, pushing off with its front legs and assuming a hunched posture, standing on its hind legs but bending so low it almost touched the ground with its massive arms.


    Two yellow eyes blazed with wild fury. The creature¡¯s roar was so powerful it easily drowned out the thunder and caused several horses from the first and second groups to rear up, breaking away from the others.


    Without a word, the riders continued to squeeze their triggers, orange muzzle flashes illuminating the night. The bullets whistled through the air, most missing, but a few struck home, embedding themselves in the beast¡¯s matted fur.


    The Wanderer growled, and, clenching its fist almost like a human would, it brought down one of its massive forelegs, aiming for the riders. Despite its titanic size, it moved with surprising speed, though it still wasn¡¯t enough for it to catch the galloping horses.


    The riders jerked their reins, scattering in all directions. The monster¡¯s ¡°fist¡± slammed into the ground, sending dirt flying into the air, then its long claws popped out, carving deep furrows into the bank.


    Ardi, pressing himself low against his mare¡¯s neck, felt chunks of stone and earth fly past mere inches above where his head had just been. He spurred his horse on, pulling the reins hard as the beast leaped forward, going over the upturned earth.


    ¡°Come on, you bastard!¡± Yonatan shouted. He¡¯d already emptied both of his revolvers and was now brandishing a rifle. He fired, then deftly cocked the lever, spun the weapon in his hands, and reloaded before firing again. ¡°Try and take us, demon spawn!¡±


    The Wanderer, which was being pelted by bullets, lifted its head, bared its fangs, and roared again. Slowly, trembling with pain, it lumbered up the riverbank, following the riders. Each of its massive paws left behind ravines in the earth and sent geysers of mud flying into the air as it reached for the fleeing horses, but it couldn¡¯t catch them.


    The riders, following Yonatan¡¯s orders, kept moving against the current, not veering away or splitting up. As a result, they constantly stayed on the side of the creature¡¯s wounded flank, preventing it from landing a direct hit.


    At that moment, a bolt of lightning tore through the air again, and this time, it was not a vertical strike, but a horizontal one. Its source wasn¡¯t the heavens, either, but the slope where Katerina had situated herself.


    A yellow beam struck the creature¡¯s knee dead on and bloomed into a bright, unnatural flower of fire the color of the midday sun. A split second later, the deafening blast followed.


    Whatever kind of round Katerina had just used, Ardi ¡ª and most of the others ¡ª had never seen anything like it.


    The Wanderer bellowed in pain and fury as blood and chunks of its flesh splattered into the river, revealing white bone beneath. It turned toward the source of the blast, but the hail of bullets from the riders distracted it once more.


    ¡°Hey! Did you forget about me, you bastard?!¡± Yonatan¡¯s laughter rang out as he shouted, his sharp tongue seemingly unconcerned about the fate it might meet. He continued firing his rifle, the crack of each shot punctuating the night as he skillfully worked the lever to reload it. ¡°Come on! Follow us, you beast!¡±


    And the Wanderer, turning back to the first group, resumed its climb against the current. In the darkness ahead, Ardi could make out the spot where Yonatan was luring the monster.


    The river, in an upcoming bend, narrowed to a point where the current created a cascade of rapids that would pose a significant danger even in calm weather. And in a storm like this... Ardi doubted that even a healthy, fully capable Wanderer could keep its footing there, let alone one so grievously wounded.


    The deafening gunfire filled Ardi¡¯s ears, the muzzle flashes blinded him, and the enraged monster, swatting at the riders, sprayed its shimmering blood in all directions.


    This hunt, which had only lasted less than a minute, already felt like an eternity of unbearable tension. The riders frequently veered off course to reload, and by now, they had nearly depleted their ammunition belts.


    Finally, the beast, having turned the riverbank into a scarred and ravaged landscape, found itself on the very edge of the rapids.


    Just as another yellow beam lit up the night, Cassara drew her sword. But then the creature suddenly froze, lifting its left foreleg to shield its wounded knee from Katerina¡¯s shot.


    The flower of fire bloomed along its forearm, burning away its matted fur and searing the flesh, exposing the bone beneath, but it didn¡¯t topple the beast.


    For a moment, the riders hesitated, and the creature, as if relishing the pause, roared louder and more ferociously.


    ¡°Fire!¡± Yonatan shouted. ¡°Fire, damn it! Shoot, you bastards!¡±


    And the riders fired, some using revolvers, and others rifles. They were no longer aiming for its legs, but just firing wherever they could. Many shots missed, and some even went skyward. The adrenaline, the frantic horses beneath them, the storm, and the rain ¡ª none of these were ideal conditions for accurate shooting.


    ¡°Danger... Hill...¡± Ardi suddenly heard the voice of the Wanderer as it spoke in a broken form of the language of beasts.


    The sticky tendrils of fear gripped Ardi¡¯s chest, choking him, but he couldn¡¯t tear his gaze away from the hill where Katerina, lying on the ground, was desperately trying to reload her rifle.


    The Wanderer¡¯s legs bent at the knees, its paws sank into the water, and its tail thrashed against its sides.


    Ardi yanked on the reins, forcing his horse into a sharp turn that nearly broke the mare¡¯s legs. He dug his heels into her sides and loosened the reins, sending the animal into a full gallop.


    And at that moment, the Wanderer, sending waves crashing as its massive body leaped into the air, crossed nearly half the distance between itself and Katerina with a single bound.


    It landed with a thud that made the ground quake as if a volcano had awakened beneath the earth.


    People shouted behind Ardi, but he wasn¡¯t listening. Bullets whistled past him, and he didn¡¯t know if they were aimed at him or the Wanderer.


    He just spurred his horse onward, praying that the beast wouldn¡¯t be able to make a second leap, that its injuries to its belly and knee would slow it down... but whoever had created the ancestors of this creature had clearly known what they were doing.


    The Wanderer, roaring with such ferocity that even the thunder seemed to shy away from it, crouched again.


    Katerina, who¡¯d finally reloaded her rifle, peered through the scope and fired, but the Wanderer, sensing something, leaped again, and the yellow beam shot high into the sky, missing its mark.


    Time seemed to slow as Ardi watched the enormous beast, a black blur against the stormy sky, soar toward Katerina.


    The woman who had come to Ardan¡¯s home. Who had played a part in the events that had led to his grandfather¡¯s death, in his family being split in two parts, and his own captivity.


    But...


    He also clearly remembered how, during that month in the Ranger¡¯s house, she had always brought him extra food. How she had argued with Gleb whenever he¡¯d tried to cause trouble for him. How she had laughed often, cheered him up several times, and told jokes ¡ª stupid and often incomprehensible jokes, but jokes nonetheless.


    Once again, Ardi found himself torn in half ¡ª one side wishing the Wanderer luck, and the other hoping not to witness Katerina being reduced to a bloody pulp.


    Drawing in as much air as his lungs could hold, and not knowing what would come of it, Ardi shouted in the language of beasts, pouring every ounce of his will into the command.


    ¡°Halt!¡±


    The Wanderer jerked in midair, flailing its massive limbs awkwardly before crashing to the ground mere meters from Katerina. The monster, turning its eyes toward Ardi, met his gaze and whispered hoarsely:


    ¡°Why... help... you... them?¡±


    Ardi, despite speaking just a single word, felt as though he had been wrestling with Guta all day long.


    He didn¡¯t have the strength to reply.


    The creature shook its enormous head, turned back to Katerina, and raised a paw to strike her ¡ª but it never got the chance to do so. A fountain of blood sprayed into the air.


    Cassara¡¯s cloak flared behind her, wide and dark, like wings. The vampire, her long saber drawn, stood directly in front of the Wanderer. She was a small, almost tiny figure, facing off against its monstrous bulk.


    The beast growled, trying to swipe at her with its remaining front paw. Free from the water and striking with its healthy side, it moved with the speed of a lynx. But its blow only created a gust of wind and scattered the dirt.


    Cassara, rising into the air, her face expressionless, cold and serene like a cloud, landed on the creature¡¯s snout, her saber poised before her, and drove it straight through the monster¡¯s skull.


    The Wanderer hadn¡¯t even had time to comprehend what was happening before Cassara, pushing off from the beast, flipped through the air. Two large revolvers appeared in her hands. They were far larger than anything Ardan had ever seen before.


    Shot after shot rang out, the bullets all following the same trajectory and hitting the exact same spot ¡ª dead center in the Wanderer¡¯s glowing yellow eyes. Six bullets for each eye.


    The vampire, who landed gracefully on her feet, stood tall. Her clothes weren¡¯t even wrinkled, and her hat had remained firmly in place.


    The monstrous creature shuddered, reached forward with one final, desperate claw, then collapsed to the side and lay still.


    Ardi, still galloping toward them, suddenly felt a sharp blow to his side, followed by a brief moment of free fall and a painful crash to the muddy ground that knocked the wind out of him.


    Someone rolled him onto his back, pulling his hat off and exposing his face to the rain.


    Blinking, Ardi saw Yonatan above him. The Cloak had promised to shoot him if he strayed from the group. So, perhaps...


    ¡°Gods above, kid,¡± Yonatan muttered, pulling out a knife and slicing through Ardi¡¯s clothes. ¡°I thought you were a coward... But you¡¯re not a coward... You¡¯re worse... A damn hero... A savior...¡±


    Only then did Ardi feel the searing pain in his right side, like a burning rod had been driven through his flesh. Groaning, he glanced down and saw a shard of rock the length of a man¡¯s hand jutting from his side, and it had been there for quite some time.


    A crowd of people gathered around him. The riders dismounted and it seemed like they had completely forgotten about the giant carcass lying a few hundred meters away.


    ¡°Damn it...¡± Tevona pulled out a tightly-wrapped bundle of cloth from her saddlebag.


    ¡°Hang in there, kid. This is gonna hurt,¡± Yonatan said, finishing his cuts and gripping the shard.


    The first touch of the Cloak¡¯s hand to the stone sent waves of excruciating pain and convulsions through Ardi¡¯s body. It felt as though he was no longer groaning, but rather mooing.


    ¡°Why hasn¡¯t he passed out?¡± Marshal Kal¡¯dron asked aloud, seemingly without meaning to.


    ¡°Matabar,¡± Yonatan answered tersely, yanking the shard from the boy¡¯s side.


    For a moment, the pain was so intense that Ardi thought that he could see the familiar mountain trails, and the groves where he had once played with his animal friends.


    But above him, the sky still churned with dark clouds, and the rain still poured down.


    Yonatan was pushed aside as one of the Cloaks knelt by Ardi and, under the downpour, unwrapped Tevona¡¯s bundle. He pulled out various instruments, including a needle and thread.


    ¡°He¡¯ll die from the pain!¡± Someone cried out as the Cloak¡¯s tongs touched Ardi¡¯s body.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be fine,¡± Yonatan rasped. ¡°It¡¯ll be a lesson for him: don¡¯t play the hero.¡±


    The Cloak, who Ardi thought was named Stanislav, used the tongs to pull open the wound. Ardi clenched his teeth so hard it felt like they might shatter.


    ¡°Are we just going to stand here?¡± Yonatan barked. ¡°Did no one think to put something between his teeth?¡±


    Tevona grabbed a small stick from a nearby shrub and placed it between Ardi¡¯s teeth.


    Ardi barely understood what was happening. He simply stared up at the lightning, listening to the thunder.


    ¡°No internal organs hit,¡± Stanislav declared after his inspection. ¡°It¡¯s honestly a miracle it didn¡¯t go through. Oh, right... Sometimes I forget the kid¡¯s not human.¡±


    With that said, he sterilized the needle with a flask of alcohol and began stitching the wound.


    Minutes passed ¡ª though they felt like hours ¡ª and finally, Ardi was wrapped in broad strips of fabric, binding his torso so tightly it became difficult to breathe.


    Ardi had recovered enough to respond to the world around him.


    The Cloaks were looking at him with a mix of curiosity and respect, while the settlers were regarding him with a strange combination of surprise and the queasy sympathy that comes from witnessing someone else¡¯s trauma and imagining it happening to you.


    It wasn¡¯t quite compassion. More like... who knows how to describe it. Ardi wasn¡¯t in the mood for finding the right words.


    ¡°You¡¯ll ride with Elliny,¡± Yonatan ordered.


    ¡°I can ride on my ow-¡±


    ¡°You can touch your own dick for all I care,¡± Yonatan cut him off in his usual crude manner. ¡°You¡¯re done riding for now. At least until we¡¯re back at camp. We didn¡¯t drag Gleb¡¯s old chestnut along for nothing.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t understand what Yonatan meant at first, but then he glanced back to the spot where he¡¯d been thrown from his horse. There, lying in the mud and a pool of rainwater, was his mare.


    They hadn¡¯t had much time to bond, but she had been a good horse, loyal and strong. And now, with her lifeless, glassy eyes staring into the distance, she lay still. Her right side was torn to shreds, flesh hanging in tatters, her insides spilling out and bones shattered.


    Ardi¡¯s heart skipped a beat.


    Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to his feet.


    ¡°Sit down, big guy,¡± Tevona told him gently. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Let him,¡± Yonatan interrupted. ¡°He¡¯s not a child. If he wants to rip his stitches and get sewn up again, that¡¯s his business.¡±


    Ignoring the stares and whispers of those around him, Ardi staggered toward the body of his horse, holding his hand over his steadily-bleeding bandage.


    He knelt beside her, scooping up a handful of wet, sticky earth, and smeared it gently over her eyes.


    ¡°We¡¯ll meet again,¡± he said softly in the language of his people, his voice thick with old hunting rites. ¡°On the paths of the Sleeping Spirits, where you and I will be kin.¡±


    Ardi took his hand away, now covered in the mixture of dirt and his mare¡¯s blood, then rubbed his palms together, completing the farewell ritual.


    Rising slowly, he moved a few steps away and sat down in the mud, letting the rain pour over him.


    Satisfied that he was alright, the settlers and most of the Cloaks and marshals turned toward the beast¡¯s carcass. This time, they no longer smelled of fear, but rather of exhaustion and the hunger for well-earned rewards.


    Only Tevona remained by his side, and soon, Katerina approached them as well.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said simply to Ardi, giving him a nod before heading back to her horse.


    A few minutes later, Cassara joined them, calmly wiping her blade clean. She was the only one who hadn¡¯t even broken a sweat during the hunt.


    Ah, yes¡­ Of course. She didn¡¯t sweat at all.


    Tevona glanced at her with a dark expression. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you take care of that earlier?¡± She growled.


    ¡°The water,¡± Cassara replied in the same detached tone Yonatan had used earlier. ¡°Creatures like me can¡¯t cross running water. The Wanderer was in the river.¡±


    ¡°We could have lured it out onto dry land!¡± The marshal snapped.


    Cassara glanced at Ardi¡¯s wound and shrugged.


    ¡°We could have,¡± she agreed. ¡°But there would¡¯ve been casualties. Many casualties.¡±


    The conversation died there. Cassara stood silently by her wounded charge, while Tevona grumbled under her breath as she busied herself with her horse.


    In the distance, the sound of laughter and the noisy work of carving up the Wanderer¡¯s carcass carried through the rain. Ardi, knowing that even his half-blooded Matabar constitution would still take weeks to heal this wound, stared toward the massive beast.


    For some strange reason, he felt no joy at its death.


    ¡°Take life simply, little one,¡± Cassara suddenly said in the Fae language. ¡°Either you kill, or you are killed. Accept this as fact, or your heart will always ache.¡± She cast a quick glance at Katerina and added, ¡°Your heart is too kind.¡±


    Ardi remembered the words of the wise wolf. She¡¯d told him that, in order to follow her path, one needed a kind heart, and how the most important lessons and knowledge in life wouldn¡¯t come from books. How he wished she or Ergar were by his side now, to help him understand what lesson he was supposed to take from this, and what the meaning of it all was.


    After several hours, the process of butchering the beast was complete. They loaded the best claws and fangs onto the horses, forcing most of the riders to double up. Its blood was collected in flasks, and its fur was rolled up into thick bundles. They took as much as they could carry.


    ¡°We won¡¯t be returning here with the camp,¡± Yonatan ordered once everyone was back in the saddle and heading north again. ¡°The carcass will attract scavengers, so we¡¯re not sleeping tonight. We¡¯ll veer north for half a day to avoid this spot. By morning, we¡¯ll reach our next waypoint.¡±


    ¡°What if we get stuck?¡± One of the settlers asked nervously. ¡°The rain doesn¡¯t seem like it¡¯s going to stop.¡±


    ¡°Then don¡¯t get stuck!¡± Yonatan barked, spurring his horse forward.


    When they returned to camp, wives and children rushed to greet their husbands as though they were heroes. Tears and laughter mixed with the rain as they marveled at the trophies, each one worth a fortune in the Metropolis.


    But no one was waiting for Ardi.


    He dismounted on his own, refusing any help, and, under the watchful eye of Cassara and Yonatan, made his way back to Mart¡¯s wagon.


    The mage was still wrapped in his blanket, snoring peacefully while clutching his bottle. Ardi nudged him gently, and Mart blinked awake.


    ¡°What? You¡¯re back already?¡±


    ¡°We are,¡± Ardi nodded. He took the blanket from Mart and gestured toward the front of the wagon. ¡°And we will be riding all night.¡±


    With that, Ardi settled onto one of the chests, pulling the blanket over his legs. He retrieved his unfinished letter, which had miraculously gone untouched by the hunt¡¯s chaos.


    P.P.P.S. I hope I can visit you after the New Year.


    Once again, don¡¯t worry. Everything¡¯s fine. No adventures.


    I love you.¡±

 Chapter 26 - Stories

    The next few days passed in the familiar bustle of the caravan. After their night march, as Mart had called it ¡ª though he was reaching for the bottle less and less, perhaps because he was finally recovering from the stress of that long night with Cassara ¡ª the people had begun to calm down. They were already building their castles in the sky, dreaming of how they would profit from the materials harvested from the Wanderer.


    They didn¡¯t seem to care about the rain-soaked steppes or the fact that several wagons and a carriage had already gotten stuck in the sticky mud. Not to mention the fact that a few children had fallen ill after the storm. Ardi was just returning from checking on them.


    Anton Tavskiy must have spread the word about who had helped his daughter, because in just two days, three families had approached Ardan. And all of them had children suffering from some sort of lung disease ¡ª whether from inhaling the cold air or failing to change out of their soaked clothes soon enough.


    Ardi himself would not have refused to help the children, even if Anton hadn¡¯t asked him to. After all, the laws of the hunt dictated that one must care for those who cannot care for themselves. Otherwise, the pack would not survive.


    But the problem was that he was no more skilled in medicine than before. All he could offer were warming teas brewed from herbs and berries. Still, the anxious parents were grateful even for that much.


    He sat down on a log placed a bit away from the campfire, where a pot hung, simmering audibly. Mart was tossing in some dried leaves, a couple of strips of cured meat, and a few fragrant roots. Ardan stretched out his legs and winced slightly ¡ª his right side still ached. Considering the seriousness of his wound, he would be lucky if the pain faded by the time they reached Presny.


    ¡°Why do you even bother with these northerners?¡± Mart snorted, stirring the brew with a tin ladle.


    The sun shone above them, a playful breeze driving feathery clouds forward while rustling the tall grasses that covered the prairies. Nothing in the surrounding landscape hinted at the storm that had raged here not long ago, back when the skies had seemed to declare war on the ground itself.


    Only the clumps of mud and the soft, waterlogged ground beneath their feet remained as evidence of the bad weather.


    ¡°It¡¯s strange,¡± Ardi groaned, ¡°that you¡¯re supposed to be the healer, yet it¡¯s me running around camp with the herbs.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re doing it for free,¡± shrugged the mage, pulling out another log to sit on beside him. He removed his hat, closed his eyes, and turned his face toward the almost-autumn sun. ¡°If you asked for a few exes, maybe they wouldn¡¯t pester you so much.¡±


    ¡°A few exes?¡± Ardan nearly choked. ¡°That¡¯s just¡­ just¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t start with the robbery talk,¡± Mart waved it off when Ardi couldn¡¯t find the right words. ¡°Do you know how much a doctor in the Metropolis charges if you don¡¯t have insurance? A primary visit to a therapist is forty kso. Then you go to the attending doctor, which could cost from one to three exes. Medication is another fifty kso, and if you¡¯re unlucky, there¡¯s a follow-up appointment. All in all, you could be out five exes for something minor. That¡¯s why most people either try not to get sick or stick to folk remedies.¡±


    ¡°And insurance¡­¡±


    ¡°Insurance is a whole other beast. If you¡¯re lucky enough to get a job where the employer provides it, that¡¯s one thing. But if you¡¯re buying it yourself¡­ Well, you have to calculate what¡¯s cheaper in the long run.¡±


    Ardan whistled and took off his hat too, using it to fan the fire, trying to make the stew ¡ª if you could call it that ¡ª boil faster. He hadn¡¯t eaten since that morning...


    ¡°Which is why it¡¯d be better if you introduced those poor souls to the reality of that wonderful, opportunity-filled, money-laden future they¡¯re so eager to rush into.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t like the Metropolis?¡± Ardi asked.


    ¡°What¡¯s there to like?¡± Mart smirked. ¡°Stone jungles reeking of diesel, alcohol, manure, and idiots who think they¡¯re kings of the world. And that¡¯s in the nicer neighborhoods, big guy. In the working districts,¡± he puffed out his cheeks like a disgruntled duck, ¡°you have ethnic gangs, the riff-raff, the marginalized¡­ You¡¯ll see for yourself.¡±


    Ardan stirred the pot slowly, pondering what he¡¯d just heard. As usual, he didn¡¯t understand much of it.


    One thing puzzled him more than anything else: ¡°Why do people still want to go there so badly?¡±


    ¡°Because the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence,¡± Mart replied, pulling a cigar from his pocket. ¡°And to be fair, there really are more opportunities in the capital than in other cities. If you¡¯re willing to claw your way to the top, of course. But not many are. Some don¡¯t have the guts, others don¡¯t have the luck, and some get put in their place. So, most people just scrape by. But I¡¯ll tell you this much ¡ª in every corner of the world I¡¯ve visited, it¡¯s the same story. There are some slight variations, sure, but overall, it¡¯s all the same.¡±


    Mart was about to say more, but the water started bubbling. The mage jumped up, pulled out a small packet, and dumped its contents ¡ª salt, judging by the look of it ¡ª into the pot. He sniffed the aroma and waved his hand.


    ¡°Pass me your bowl, big guy.¡±


    Ardi handed over his tin dish and received a hefty portion of soup. Mart served himself much less.


    He was probably a good man after all. Odd, self-centered, and likely a bit frail ¡ª certainly no less foul-mouthed than Yonatan ¡ª but good at heart.


    Blowing on his spoon, Ardi tasted the broth, surprised at its passable flavor, and dug in. They ate in silence, taking turns tearing off chunks of bread, until both their bowls were empty and their bellies full.


    ¡°Ah¡­¡± The mage sighed dreamily, leaning back against the carriage. Shadows from the clouds above had kindly covered them, offering relief from the still-scorching sun. ¡°What I wouldn¡¯t give to be at the Poet¡¯s Corner on Small Oboronny Street right now.¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡± Ardi mumbled in question.


    ¡°It¡¯s a little restaurant,¡± Mart explained, closing his eyes again, seemingly lost in some pleasant memory. ¡°On a short street in the Trade District. It¡¯s a bit pricey, but on third days, they serve duck with Forian peaches, smoked over coals. In the mornings on first days, you can have porridge with Kargaam¡¯s pineapples. And if you¡¯re lucky enough to have a spare ex on sixth days, you can listen to live music while enjoying a steak from the finest breeds of your Foothill Province.¡±


    Ardi knew the prices for meat in Evergale well. Even the choicest cuts from a bull¡¯s back didn¡¯t cost more than seventeen kso per kilogram.


    Metropolis... What a strange place it was.


    ¡°So, you do have favorite spots in the capital?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Mart nodded immediately, ¡°and many of them. But you know what¡¯s funny? Every time I¡¯m far from home, I dream about going back. Sitting in my dusty office at work, strolling along the embankments and bridges, visiting friends. We¡¯d gather, have a good time in bars and restaurants¡­ and after a month, I¡¯d get bored, and my new research would call me back to the road. That¡¯s how I live ¡ª perpetually torn like a rope. One part of me longs for the mountains and seas, the other for familiar streets.¡±


    Ardan remembered how, as a young hunter, he would gaze at the vast forests from the snowy trails, only to yearn for the mountains when he¡¯d descended into the lowlands.


    ¡°And by the way, I¡¯m not a doctor,¡± Mart reminded him of their earlier conversation.


    ¡°Kal¡¯dron still seems convinced otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Well, demons take him,¡± Mart waved it off. ¡°Half the Empire¡¯s citizens can barely write, despite all the education reforms. To them, your teas might as well be magic. Or high science. So, the little I learned from general lectures at the Grand¡­ Oh, that¡¯s what they call-¡±


    ¡°The Imperial Magical University,¡± Ardi supplied. ¡°I remember.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a good memory,¡± Mart chuckled and continued. ¡°Anyway, what I learned there is enough to pass for a doctor when necessary.¡±


    Ardan was tempted to ask why Mart ever needed to pretend to be anything other than a mage, but he sensed that a different question was more pressing.


    ¡°Will you tell me about the Grand University?¡±


    Mart closed his eyes, a thin smile creeping onto his lips.


    ¡°Best six years of my life, big guy,¡± he said dreamily, starting to clean his bowl with some grass. ¡°Parties, friends, magical research, and¡­ you know what, Ardi? I even miss that bastard, the dorm warden. He used to chase us off when we came back after curfew.¡±


    Mart smiled to himself as he cleaned up the last bits of food. Then, dipping a cloth in water, he washed his dish. The main rule of life on the road was to always keep your dishes clean. Forget a couple of times, and soon enough, your meal would be crawling with worms.


    ¡°What¡¯s a dormitory?¡±


    The mage choked in shock and looked at Ardi the way people in Evergale had sometimes looked at him when he hadn¡¯t grasped something obvious.


    ¡°Eternal Angels, big guy¡­ It¡¯s like you fell from the moon,¡± Mart shook his head, got up from the log, and went to the horses. He wiped down their necks and gave them water from a leather bag. ¡°A dormitory is¡­ How to explain this¡­ You probably don¡¯t even know what an apartment is, do you?¡±


    Ardi shrugged.


    ¡°Well, a dormitory is like a building with many rooms, but you only get a bed. When I was in school, each floor had a kitchen and a bathroom with sinks and toilets. Nowadays, they say that they even have showers. That¡¯s practically nobility-level luxury right there ¡ª we had to use public baths.¡±


    Ardan, who had grown up valuing his personal space and had spent five years as a snow leopard, where having your own territory was nearly a necessity for survival, shuddered slightly at the thought.


    ¡°I was lucky with my roommates,¡± Mart continued. ¡°We were all freshmen, and we all ended up in the same Magic History faculty. So, the four of us-¡±


    ¡°Four in one room?¡± Ardan interrupted, unable to help himself.


    Mart laughed.


    ¡°Listen to you, big guy! Someone might think you¡¯ve come from a noble mansion where ten servants wiped your ass for you. Let me tell you, most of the Metropolis population lives in conditions worse than what the Grand University dorms offer. Five people can easily live in an eighteen-square-meter room, in a shared apartment with more families just like them. Then there¡¯s the rats and cockroaches, the broken plumbing¡­ But, like I said, you¡¯ll see it all for yourself.¡±


    The mage stroked the horses, checked their reins, made sure the wagon was in order, then returned to sit beside Ardi again.


    ¡°Of course, if you live in a decent district and don¡¯t venture into the working or poor neighborhoods, it¡¯s a little different. People have their own apartments, or they rent them. There¡¯s warm water, the trams are always on time, there¡¯s trash cans on every corner, so no dirt or litter on the streets. The guards patrol the parks and squares. And if you have enough coin, you can even buy a small house. Two, maybe even three stories tall. Some places already have Ley cables. Flip a switch, and the lights come on. Turn a dial, and the stove works, no wood required. Plus, you might rub elbows with the rich folks. Cigars in salons, fancy conversations in clubs. Mornings with the wife, afternoons with the mistress, evenings with a prostitute in an expensive brothel. Even the laundry there smells of luxury pus-¡±


    A settler woman passed by, carrying a child in her arms, and Mart fell silent, catching himself just in time.


    ¡°Not that I¡¯ve met many of those types,¡± he added, blowing a puff of foul-smelling smoke. Ardi coughed and turned away, still baffled by why anyone would willingly inhale such filth. ¡°In the minds of regular people, being a Star Mage who¡¯s graduated from the Grand University guarantees one a golden road to an easy life.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s not true?¡±


    Mart snorted and flicked ash onto the ground.


    ¡°I could answer you in rhyme, but I¡¯d have to spend too long explaining the words,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s just break it down. Suppose you¡¯re lucky enough to get a state-funded spot, so you don¡¯t pay for school. They even give you a stipend, which is seven or eight exes.¡±


    Ardi nearly choked again. A stipend larger than what most people in Evergale earned? And Mart was still complaining?


    ¡°But now, let¡¯s subtract,¡± Mart began counting on his fingers. ¡°You have to pay for your textbooks. Pay for your supplies. Pay for all your extra lectures and electives. Pay for your dorm bed. You get sick? Pay out of your own pocket. And you still have to eat. Oh, and if the seals provided by the state aren¡¯t enough for your research? You¡¯ll need to buy more. A good seal of even the Red Star variety costs a dozen kso per ray on the market. And for a Green Star? Multiply that by three. So yeah¡­¡±


    Ardi wanted to calculate it all, but he had no idea what values to start from.


    ¡°Most students work part time. And when you¡¯re in lectures all morning and afternoon, then breaking your back somewhere in the evening, well¡­¡± Mart waved it all off. ¡°Not everyone manages to become top-tier specialists under those circumstances. And if you¡¯re studying on the crown¡¯s dime, then for the first five years after graduation, you work wherever the state sends you. And the competition to land a decent job, or at least stay in the Metropolis, is so fierce that even the Angels weep bloody tears at the insanity of it all.¡±


    Ardan listened carefully, memorizing everything. If Cassara was to be believed ¡ª and Ardi had no reason to doubt the vampire, at least for now ¡ª his life in the Metropolis would be far from peaceful, unlike that of his family back in Delpas.


    It didn¡¯t scare him, though. If anything, he was glad that his mother and brother wouldn¡¯t have to face such hardships.


    And as for him¡­ Well, he would be ashamed to face his mentors if he balked at a few difficulties.


    ¡°But what if you weren¡¯t lucky enough to get a state-funded spot and had to take out a loan for school?¡± Mart¡¯s face suddenly aged several years. ¡°I graduated from the Grand University, big guy, almost twenty-four years ago. And I paid off that loan¡­ let me think¡­ about nine or ten years ago.¡±


    ¡°Harsh,¡± Ardan agreed.


    ¡°That¡¯s putting it lightly,¡± Mart exhaled. But then he smiled again, as if it were nothing. ¡°Of course, some people get lucky. They sign contracts with a Guild or a noble house. Or with the military. But that¡¯s a whole other story.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t press for details about that ¡°other story.¡± He didn¡¯t want to risk souring Mart¡¯s good mood. Too many questions might wear the mage out, and then he¡¯d either retreat to sleep, drink, or bury himself in his maps and books.


    ¡°And of course,¡± Mart continued, ¡°there are those born with a silver spoon in their mouth and blue blood in their veins. But if that were either of us, we wouldn¡¯t be sitting here in this Face of Light-forgotten dump, talking about how empty our pockets are.¡±


    For a moment, they both fell silent, watching the camp from their small rise ¡ª a hill long worn down by wind and rain. Women were putting out the fires and gathering the carefree children back into the wagons and carriages. Men were harnessing the horses, patching up any damaged wheels and axles, and of course, cleaning their weapons.


    The marshals and Cloaks stood apart, while Cassara remained separate from everyone altogether. She was the only one who almost never dismounted, always staying in the saddle unless children managed to coax her down for a conversation or playtime.


    In those rare moments, her usually doll-like, expressionless face would soften, showing faint traces of emotion.


    ¡°Will you show me a seal?¡± Mart asked after a few minutes.


    A couple of days ago, Mart had asked to see any of the seals Ardan had learned from the Star Magic book he was studying.


    Ardan was beginning to grasp the structure of the magical community, so Mart¡¯s request, which might have seemed trivial to a layman, held significant value.


    But Mart had given Ardi shelter from the rain in his wagon, shared his food with him, and, perhaps most importantly, had spent time talking with him. He¡¯d told him stories of Ley Lines, the nature of magic, and the wonders of other lands. Ardan felt like he owed the odd mage a small favor in return.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°Give me some paper.¡±


    Mart raised his eyebrows in surprise, but pulled out a small notebook and a stub of a pencil from his jacket pocket.


    ¡°Gonna draw it from memory?¡± Mart asked, a note of skepticism in his tone.


    ¡°Yeah, why not?¡± Ardi shrugged.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Mart muttered, watching as Ardan deftly and quickly drew circles on the paper, filling them with magical runes. ¡°How many seals can you draw from memory? Working ones, I mean.¡±


    Ardan paused for a second, which seemed to surprise Mart even more.


    He had never thought about it before. Why would he? But now that he did, the basic version of the Shield Seal came to mind, along with the ones for Spark, Mist, Eye Divergence, Blooming Flower ¡ª a beautiful seal that created a small, icy flower from a single ray ¡ª Water Drop ¡ªif you could call conjuring a liter of water a ¡°drop¡± ¡ª Flash, and¡­ that was about it. Plus, there were a few variations of these seals.


    ¡°Seven, plus their modifications.¡±


    ¡°All from memory?¡± Mart¡¯s eyebrows shot up again.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°And they actually work?¡± His eyebrows were now nearing Mart¡¯s hairline, giving his face a comical, festival-mask look.


    Instead of answering him, Ardan went back to drawing the Shield Seal. After a few minutes, he finished and handed the sheet to Mart, but the mage didn¡¯t even glance at the paper.


    ¡°How many can you cast?¡± Mart asked, still in disbelief.


    ¡°In what sense?¡±


    ¡°How many of the seals you¡¯ve seen in the book can you actually turn into spells?¡±


    ¡°Why do you as-¡±


    ¡°Just answer the question,¡± Mart demanded.


    ¡°All of them¡­¡±


    Mart cursed under his breath and wiped his brow.


    ¡°And they¡¯re seals that have to do with all the elements, including the universal ones?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Ardan shrugged again. ¡°Water and ice come easiest and turn out stronger, though. Why, what¡¯s the problem?¡±


    ¡°The problem? The problem, boy?¡± Mart nearly jumped to his feet but then slumped back down on his log, laughing. ¡°He¡¯s asking me about the problem... A self-taught mage who can work with all elements without breaking a sweat and has no idea what a ¡®Broken Seal¡¯ effect is.¡±


    Ardan decided not to mention the fact that he couldn¡¯t really be called self-taught. First, he had had four or so years of training with Atta¡¯nha, followed by around five years of studying from a mysterious book written by someone who had been an Aean¡¯Hane.


    ¡°What does ¡®broken seal¡¯ mean?¡± He asked, genuinely curious.


    ¡°Good question,¡± Mart grumbled, taking another drag from his cigar and finally picking up the Shield Seal Ardan had drawn. ¡°Rays are just the amount of Ley energy in your Star, big guy. And energy... there are different ways to think of it. As a liquid or as a flame, maybe as light. Like... well, I''m one of those people who finds it easier to think of it as a liquid. So you''re pouring Ley into the seal, but you''re either overfilling it or underfilling it in places. And it seems like you''ve put in the right amount of rays, but the seal still breaks.That¡¯s the ¡®Broken Seal¡¯ effect. For beginner Star Mages, it¡¯s normal for half their seals to break. And since most students don¡¯t learn how to capture and reabsorb that wasted Ley energy until their second year, every broken seal costs them a ray or two.¡±


    Ardan scratched his head, remembering how, at first, his Spark Seal had failed a few times, even though he¡¯d thought he had done everything right. But after that, it had never happened again.


    ¡°How many seals can you cast directly from memory, without looking at a grimoire?¡±


    ¡°None,¡± Ardan answered honestly.


    Mart exhaled, and for a moment, Ardan thought he saw the mage visibly relax.


    ¡°Well, at least that¡¯s normal,¡± Mart said, ¡°because if you could cast even one of those seven seals without looking at actual seal, I¡¯d think you were some kind of monster. And it wouldn¡¯t just be me who thinks so¡­ I don¡¯t know what sort of mess you¡¯ve gotten yourself into, Ardi. All this vampire and Cloak business, and the capital getting involved, too... But it might be best to keep a low profile. Break a seal on purpose sometimes. And favor water magic. Pretend like the other elements are harder for you.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Ardan couldn¡¯t help but ask his favorite question.


    Mart blew out another acrid puff of smoke.


    ¡°Because it¡¯s not normal, big guy,¡± he grumbled, studying the Shield Seal. ¡°Especially for someone your age, background, and experience. If you were a Star Mage from birth, raised with a staff in hand and the best tutors teaching you day and night, maybe, by the time you turned seventeen, you¡¯d know a dozen seals and would¡¯ve mastered a couple of elements.¡±


    ¡°A dozen?¡±


    ¡°At best,¡± Mart nodded.


    Ardan looked at the Shield Seal he had just drawn. There was nothing supernatural about it, nothing that couldn¡¯t be learned with a bit of practice. He hadn¡¯t even set out to learn the seals ¡ª he had just remembered the ones he enjoyed using for fun or experiments.


    ¡°Do you know one of the entry requirements for the Grand University?¡± Mart suddenly asked, then answered his own question. ¡°Of course you don¡¯t. For sixteen and seventeen-year-olds, you need to memorize six seals. That alone weeds out the majority of applicants. So, those numbers floating around, claiming there are two hundred applicants per spot? That¡¯s not quite true. Most people don¡¯t even apply, knowing they won¡¯t pass the threshold. The real number of potential candidates is much higher!¡±


    ¡°Then why are you so surprised I know seven?¡±


    ¡°Because, by the Eternal Angels!¡± Mart exploded. ¡°Most of those people were taught by private tutors their entire lives! Their parents gave up everything just so their child could learn!¡±


    ¡°I was taught too, you know,¡± Ardan reminded him.


    ¡°Yeah, two subject per teacher, none of whom taught Star Magic!¡± Mart waved the sheet of paper in the air. ¡°And that¡¯s what we¡¯re talking about here!¡±


    Mart nearly choked on his smoke again, coughed, then composed himself. He muttered a string of curses under his breath, glaring at the seal for a few minutes before finally folding it neatly and tucking it into his pocket along with the notebook.


    ¡°Not bad, but it¡¯s about four hundred years out of date, if not more,¡± he declared. ¡°I¡¯m not a war caster, and I only studied war magic as much as was needed for my exams¡­ but I¡¯ll tell you this, Ardi: bullets are cheaper than Ley crystals. And no matter what, you won¡¯t forget how to shoot, which I can¡¯t say for casting war magic.¡±


    Ardan remained silent, absorbing the lesson. His mentors, Ergar and Shali, had taught him well ¡ª the less you spoke and the more you listened, the more you learned.


    ¡°The outer circle is overloaded with runes, and the main seal is slightly skewed on the rising vector. So, even if you pour a ton of Ley energy into this shield, it could still be broken by any spell, as long as the attacking spell contains only one element. The shield simply won¡¯t be able to hold that kind of concentration in the stabilizer and will shatter as a result. As an exercise for working with seal embodiments, this type of Universal Shield is decent. But practically? It¡¯s outdated. For its time, though, it was probably a breakthrough.¡±


    Mart smacked his lips, extinguished his cigar, and carefully wrapped half of it in a cloth before tucking it away in his coat. He met Ardan¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t understand a word I just said, did you?¡± Mart squinted.


    Ardan nodded.


    ¡°Fucking Angels¡­¡± Mart sighed, repeating his favorite curse. ¡°Seriously, big guy, I suggest you buy some textbooks on general Star Magic theory and study them until you can recite them in your sleep. Because otherwise, everyone¡¯s going to realize you¡¯re a walking anomaly at your very first practical lecture.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean by that?¡±


    ¡°And for the love of all things decent, stop asking so many questions. It¡¯s really annoying.¡±


    ¡°I was taught that if you don¡¯t ask about it when you don¡¯t know something, you¡¯ll stay ignorant.¡±


    Mart grunted approvingly.


    ¡°Sounds¡­ profound. I might remember that one.¡±


    The mage suddenly stopped, as if catching himself, then cleared his throat.


    ¡°By that, big guy, I mean to say that you don¡¯t know a damn thing about the theory behind the craft, aside from, what, surface-level stuff? But in practice, you could probably pass for a promising third-year student in any of the applied faculties of the Grand University.¡±


    ¡°What sort of faculties are there?¡± Ardan asked, curious.


    Mart gave him a withering look, but Ardan gave him his best innocent smile, instinctively hiding his fangs, which was a habit from his childhood.


    ¡°Magic History studies, well, the history of magic ¡ª both Star Magic and the magic of the Firstborn. Ancient texts, artifacts of the past, remnants of earlier civilizations, that¡¯s our domain,¡± Mart said, not without a hint of pride. ¡°Then there¡¯s Magical Jurisprudence ¡ª the law for mages in the Empire, Ardi. It¡¯s a little different, so we need our own lawyers. There¡¯s also the Healing Arts ¡ª pretty self-explanatory. Magical Engineering ¡ª those are the folks who create new seals, mechanisms and machines.. Then there¡¯s Defensive Magic ¡ª specialists in raising industrial shields and, of course, breaking them. Most people aim to join these last two.¡±


    Ardi opened his mouth, but Mart cut him off.


    ¡°Because, big guy, those specialists always have work. Lots of it. And it pays very well. A decent shield on a small building in the Metropolis? If it¡¯s a reputable company doing it? Even if it¡¯s just enough to protect against thieves or random incidents ¡ª don¡¯t even try to ask what those incidents are,¡± Ardan closed his mouth and raised his hands in surrender. ¡°That kind of shield can cost up to five hundred exes. Plus another ten exes a month for upkeep.¡±


    Five hundred... Ardan felt dizzy just thinking about it.


    ¡°Then there are faculties like Magical Biology and Alchemy, though they¡¯re thinking of combining those. And last, you¡¯ve got the Military faculty, and for those who don¡¯t show a particular aptitude for any of the specialties, the General Knowledge faculty. Usually, the latter churns out teachers for specialized schools or colleges,¡± Mart smirked. ¡°I remember that the prettiest girls tended to be from there. They don¡¯t have the highest entry requirements, or the toughest exams, but still retain all the perks of the Grand University. Some folks think the General Faculty exists so rich parents can send their daughters there and use them to form advantageous alliances. It¡¯s almost seen as a legal way to acquire a title ¡ª pay for your daughter¡¯s education, and now you¡¯re technically nobility. Then marry her off to someone suitable¡­ But that¡¯s if you¡¯re into politics. In reality, all sorts of mages study there.¡±


    Mart trailed off, then slowly, as if afraid of something, turned to Ardan.


    ¡°You said ¡®modifications¡¯ earlier. When I asked how many seals you knew, you said seven and¡­ their modifications?¡±


    Ardan nodded.


    ¡°From the book?¡±


    He shook his head.


    ¡°You made them yourself?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Mart swallowed loudly.


    ¡°And they worked?¡±


    ¡°Some did, some didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Some did¡­¡± Mart repeated slowly, as if trying to process the words. He leaned heavily against the wagon.


    ¡°And what-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough, big guy,¡± Mart cut him off, already knowing what Ardan would ask next. ¡°None of this is right. Someone like you simply shouldn¡¯t exist. ¡®Some worked,¡¯ he says¡­ People flunk out of the Grand University over that stuff when they can¡¯t provide a decent modification on their exams, and you, someone with no formal training, claim that some of your modifications didn¡¯t work. Some, Eternal Angels help me!¡±


    Ardan wanted to ask more questions, but Mart waved his hands, got up, dusted himself off, tossed his log back into the wagon, and disappeared inside.


    The young man sat there alone, the wind biting at him. He watched the small tongues of the fading fire, which licked up the last bits of dry grass and a few twigs from the kindling they had prepared for the journey.


    There was so much out there, just around the corner, he thought, memories flickering through his mind.


    Golden hair, a serious, yet teasing gaze, and red lips appeared before his mind¡¯s eye.


    Curiously, Ardan had found himself writing letters to his brother and mother almost every day over the past few weeks, always finding the words to say. But when it came to¡­


    Ardi pulled a sheet of paper from one of his pockets. It had been folded and refolded so many times it was close to tearing along the creases. Only a couple of words were written on it, scrawled in pencil:


    ¡°Hello, Anna¡­¡± And nothing more.


    He still hadn¡¯t found the right words to convey all that occasionally gnawed at his mind. How they had come together, how they had parted, how¡­


    He sighed, sinking into memories of the riverbank and the warmth of a woman¡¯s body pressed against his, trembling lightly in the night air.


    Ardan opened his eyes and looked ahead of him ¡ª the camp was nearly ready to move out again, leaving him no more time to reflect on the letter. Or was he just convincing himself of that?


    As Ergar had taught him, these were thoughts for another day.


    He stomped out the remnants of the fire, put the tripod and pot back inside the wagon, and then mounted his horse, riding toward the Cloaks.


    Gleb Davos¡¯ former ride snorted lightly, but obeyed. Even though Ardan not only knew the language of beasts but was also skilled with horses, he and this stubborn mule hadn¡¯t yet established proper trust between them over the past few days.


    Soon enough, the camp was moving again, stretching out in a long line as they resumed their journey. They traveled near the river to stay close enough to be able to water their horses and replenish their supplies.


    It was a bit risky since animals and bandits often came to the water¡¯s edge, but this was their last chance to enjoy the proximity to the river. In a few days, they would turn eastward, heading into the wide steppes where water would be scarce, except for the occasional bit of rain.


    Ardan pulled out the Stranger¡¯s textbook from his saddlebags and pondered for a moment about who could have written it. If Mart had been right about the Shield Seal being revolutionary for its time, who must have created this work?


    He hadn¡¯t found anything of interest in the school textbook Mart had so generously given him early in their acquaintance. It had simply explained concepts that Atta¡¯nha had covered in their first week of learning, but in far less depth.


    Lacking any other options, he opened the next chapter and resumed his reading.


    ***


    The caravan moved at a steady pace until dusk, only stopping when it became too dark to travel safely on the muddy roads. Ardi, used to the saddle, had spent most of the day reading.


    When the time came to set up camp, Yonatan rode up to him and assigned him the first three hours of guard duty.


    Since they needed to start fires to warm themselves and cook food with, watchmen were essential for their survival. The light from the fires could be seen for miles away on such moonless nights ¡ª good for keeping wild animals away, but a beacon for bandits.


    ¡°Keep your eyes open,¡± Yonatan ordered, his tone more serious than usual.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Ardan asked, sensing his tension.


    The Cloak simply spat, tugged on his reins, and rode off without another word.


    Ardi climbed a small earthen rise (the caravan always tried to camp near a hill or mound to gain a tactical advantage) and watched as Yonatan placed guards around the perimeter of the camp, not only deploying Cloaks and marshals, but also settlers who had proven themselves during the hunt for the Wanderer.


    The guards spread out in pairs or trios, leaving five hundred meters or more between them. Ardan was the only one left standing alone when¡­


    ¡°Nice evening, huh, kid?¡±


    He turned and saw Tevona approaching on her horse. Even though Ardan¡¯s eyes weren¡¯t as sharp as a snow leopard¡¯s or a pureblooded Matabar¡¯s, he could still see well enough in the dark to notice something odd about her.


    Under the bright stars, in the shifting silver light of the full moon as it slipped in and out of the clouds, Tevona looked¡­ strange. She had harsh features, scars, weathered skin, and a somewhat boyish figure with no noticeable hips, her chest well hidden beneath a thick jacket.


    And yet, there was something intoxicating about her. She was like a breath of fresh air after being in a stifling room for too long. Strong. Fearless. In some ways, she reminded Ardan of Shali.


    ¡°Yonatan¡¯s on edge about something?¡± He asked as they rode side by side.


    Tevona shrugged. ¡°I haven¡¯t known him as long as you have,¡± she replied. Ardan didn¡¯t bother pointing out the fact that he¡¯d only known Yonatan for a month longer than she had. ¡°But it seems like he¡¯s always on edge about something. Probably a good trait for a Cloak, but if you¡¯re constantly on your toes out here in the prairie, you might lose your mind.¡±


    She looked calm and relaxed. Too calm and relaxed for someone who had fastened her holsters tightly and had just cleaned her rifle, securing it in a way that made it easy to draw with either hand.


    ¡°You¡¯re on edge, too,¡± Ardan observed.


    Tevona glanced at him, her steel-gray eyes flashing in the darkness.


    ¡°Sometimes, you creep me out, kid,¡± she said softly. ¡°It¡¯s like you can read minds.¡±


    ¡°Sorry¡­¡± Ardan apologized, genuinely meaning it.


    He knew how his habit of picking up on details often unsettled people.


    The marshal smiled, and the scars on her neck and cheeks stood out even more clearly.


    ¡°I wonder,¡± she mused, ¡°if the lady you¡¯re always writing to is lucky to have you or not. On the one hand, sex with someone who sees right through you must be quite the experience. But on the other¡­ you¡¯re robbing a woman of her greatest weapon, kid.¡±


    ¡°What weapon?¡± Ardan asked, puzzled.


    Tevona just smiled mysteriously.


    They fell into silence, listening to the quiet of the steppe. Unlike the forest, it really was silent out here. There were no birds singing, no crickets chirping, no trees creaking. Just the wind and the sound of their own hearts beating.


    ¡°I¡¯m writing to my mother,¡± Ardan said, not sure why he felt compelled to share. ¡°But to her¡­ I just can¡¯t seem to.¡±


    As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted saying them. Why would someone like her, this marshal who had likely seen all manner of things in her life, want to listen to his personal struggles? If it were anyone else¡­


    ¡°Was she your first?¡± Tevona asked, her tone shockingly sincere and devoid of mockery.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ardan nodded.


    ¡°I see,¡± she exhaled. ¡°When I was sixteen¡­ Eternal Angels, that was already eight years ago¡­ Anyway,¡± she cleared her throat, obviously searching for the right words, ¡°there was this guy in our village. The son of the local doctor. A couple of years older than me. A miner¡­ Handsome, smart, tall ¡ª he had it all. And I fell for him. So did about ten other girls. But he didn¡¯t mess around. Didn¡¯t even hold hands with anyone. So, I circled around him like a hawk. He was a decent guy. Not a player, hardworking, good with his hands. Reliable. I thought I loved him. He made my head spin. I couldn¡¯t think about anything else. Didn¡¯t care about my parents¡¯ warnings or marriage or anything¡­ I believed him. And I was so happy when we ended up in bed together. Eternal Angels¡­ And then, a week later, I found out I wasn¡¯t the only one.¡±


    She fell silent. It didn¡¯t seem to hurt her anymore. She was just recounting a story, almost as if it had happened to someone else. ¡°I was the sixth that month alone. I cried, and he just smiled like usual and invited me to spend another nice night together. As if he didn¡¯t know what awaited girls in the north who¡­¡± Tevona trailed off, turning her face away.


    Ardan looked at her pale hair, glowing faintly in the moonlight.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you were from the north,¡± he said, surprised.


    ¡°I¡¯m from the town of Parerst,¡± she replied.


    ¡° Never heard of it.¡±


    ¡°Not surprising,¡± she shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s far up north. A couple of days from the Great Glacier.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s eyebrows shot up. The Great Glacier was a natural anomaly of the continent. A massive block of ice. Not a mountain cap or a floating iceberg, but an enormous glacier, inexplicably formed and preserved there somehow.


    It was almost as large as the Principality of Fatia, with most of it lying within the borders of the Kingdom of N¡¯gia. But what was truly mysterious about it was that the glacier rose nearly a kilometer and a half above sea level, with sheer cliffs instead of gradual slopes. It was a massive, icy fortress, surrounded by coniferous forests and rocky peaks, right in the heart of the continent.


    ¡°And this,¡± she touched the tips of her pale hair, which shimmered faintly in the dark, ¡°came from my mother. She was from the Tazidahian Brotherhood.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t know what to say, so he stayed quiet.


    ¡°I had a friend, Ardi,¡± Tevona continued. ¡°We lived next door to each other. Grew up together¡­ like sisters. Only she was smart, but not pretty. And her father was the village head. And so, somehow ¡ª don¡¯t ask me how ¡ª word spread about this handsome miner and the beautiful girls of the village¡­ Can you guess what happened next?¡±


    Ardan shook his head.


    ¡°It turned out that the miner had supposedly loved my friend all his life, and the other girls had seduced him with potions they¡¯d bought from the Firstborn living in neighboring provinces.¡±


    Ardan knew that the provinces of the Firstborn were at least a week¡¯s journey from the Great Glacier. And unlike the Alcade borderlands, they didn¡¯t have railroads.


    ¡°It sounds ridiculous, but¡­¡± Tevona spread her arms out, ¡°I wasn¡¯t about to repent and accept the Light¡¯s judgment. I took my father¡¯s revolvers,¡± she patted the ones on her belt, ¡°said goodbye to my mother, hopped on a horse, and rode wherever my eyes took me. And it just so happened that they were looking toward the Imperial Army recruiting station. I spent three years as a medic on the Fatia border, got a few injuries and a couple of worthless medals, and here I am now. Five years later, I¡¯m a Marshal.¡±


    She tapped the marshal¡¯s badge pinned to her jacket. For a moment, she was silent, then gave Ardan a strange look.


    ¡°How do you do it?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Do what?¡±


    ¡°This,¡± she gestured between them. ¡°Make me feel so at ease. Make me trust you¡­ In all these years, you¡¯re only the second person I¡¯ve ever told that story to.¡±


    Ardan met her eyes. Not the way Skusty had taught him, but just¡­ He just looked at her.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said softly.


    Tevona clenched her jaw but then relaxed.


    ¡°If I thought for a second you were just being polite, I¡¯d punch you in the face,¡± said the petite marshal, and Ardan believed she might have actually tried. ¡°But what I¡¯m trying to say, Ardi¡­ I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve been through some crap in your life. And who hasn¡¯t? But try not to let your crap, or the crap that happened because of you, become someone else¡¯s burden.¡±


    Ardan pulled out the piece of paper and looked at the few words he had written there.


    ¡°I should apologize,¡± he whispered. ¡°For not being able to stay. And say that I lov-¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t love her,¡± Tevona interjected firmly. ¡°Maybe you don¡¯t realize it yet, but whoever you¡¯re writing to ¡ª you don¡¯t love her. It¡¯s an infatuation brought on by young blood, nothing more. I¡¯ve seen the eyes of men at the border who were writing to the women they loved. And they didn¡¯t look like yours.¡±


    The conversation fizzled out after that, and they continued scanning the thick darkness in silence.


    Hours passed.


    The stars danced above them, nagging at Ardan, reminding him that among them, he could easily chart his way back. The moon played hide and seek with the clouds, bathing the vast plains in liquid silver.


    When it came time for the second shift to relieve them, Ardan tugged on his reins to head back. For some reason, he doubted they would ever have such a conversation again.


    ¡°Hey, kid, I probably shouldn¡¯t have said that, and-¡±


    He turned toward her but never got to hear the rest. Tevona¡¯s head exploded like an overripe melon, spraying the night sky with a fountain of blood that gleamed under the stars.


    ¡°Orak Han-da!¡± Roared a voice from the darkness.


    Ardan¡¯s heart skipped a beat. He knew that battle cry. It still haunted his nightmares.


    It was the war cry of the Shanti¡¯Ra orc gang.

 Chapter 27 - Song of the dead

    There were no flashes of torches or the light cast by lamps in the darkness. To orc eyes, the light of the full moon was enough to see as clearly as if it were daytime.


    And as for Ardan...


    He could see the outlines of their unusual steeds, one and a half times the size of the ones the humans rode. He saw their reins and spurs, the glint of their fangs and the gleam of their guns and axe blades.


    The hunter¡¯s heart started beating faster. Somewhere on his chest, the symbol left by Ergar glowed like red-hot metal.


    There, in the night, his father¡¯s killer was rushing toward him. One who had crossed the hunting paths of his people.


    A knife appeared in Ardan¡¯s hands all by itself, and menacing fangs showed from beneath his upper lip as he grinned fiercely.


    He gripped his horse¡¯s flanks so tightly with his legs that it gave a pitiful grunt in response, but it dared not move, sensing that its rider was no longer a man, but had turned into a wild beast.


    A low growl escaped from the hunter¡¯s throat, and he was ready to leap down the hill. Tonight, he would bring peace to his father¡¯s spirit, and with a bloody harvest, wash his path clean.


    The scent of blood hit his nostrils.


    And that scent, for a moment, cleared the fog of his rage. Ardan looked down at the body of Tevona lying still, and his reason caught him just in time, forcing him to press down against his horse¡¯s neck. A bullet whizzed past, right where his head had been a second before, vanishing into the night.


    Part of him screamed that he should charge into the thick of the galloping horde, while the other half whispered Ergar¡¯s lessons to him.


    It was hard to say which part belonged to the man and which to the snow leopard.


    ¡°Ahgrat,¡± Ardan swore in the Fae tongue, casting one last glance at the approaching riders before turning and galloping back toward the camp.


    ¡°Orcs!¡± He shouted, yanking the reins and zigzagging as bullets whizzed past him, some even brushing the edges of his clothes. ¡°Orcs! Riders! Orcs! Get to cover!¡±


    The camp erupted into chaos.


    Terrified mothers grabbed their confused children, who, like animals, caught the fear radiating from their parents. Men gripped weapons with shaking hands, though it was clear most had no idea what to do with them.


    The situation was teetering on the edge of total collapse when someone began harnessing horses to a wagon, clearly planning to flee. But they were swiftly kicked to the ground by Yonatan, who had returned with most of the Cloaks and marshals.


    ¡°You won¡¯t make it,¡± he hissed before turning to Ardan as he rode up. ¡°How many, kid?¡±


    Ardan recalled the moonlit steppe and the encroaching orcs.


    ¡°Around forty-five, maybe more,¡± his words made those standing nearby pale, and a few marked themselves with the sacred sign of the Face of Light. ¡°They¡¯ve got military rifles. They shot Tevona with one.¡±


    ¡°Motherfuckers,¡± Marshal Kal¡¯dron growled, one hand gripping his reins, the other his revolver.


    Yonatan exchanged a glance with Cassara and immediately began barking orders.


    ¡°Leave the wagons and carriages!¡± He shouted in a commanding tone. ¡°Forget your belongings! Grab the children and get to the hill! Any man with guts ¡ª take up positions and form a perimeter behind cover! Your families are behind you!¡±


    The settlers, stunned for a moment, snapped out of it when Cassara fired a revolver into the air.


    ¡°Move faster, mortals,¡± she said calmly, but it was as if a cloud of darkness spilled out from her lips, spreading its wings wide, covering the borders of the hill and the camp beneath it.


    It was as if a wall of black mist rose around them.


    Even Ardan¡¯s sight, far keener than that of ordinary humans, couldn¡¯t pierce this veil.


    The gunfire from beyond suddenly stopped. It seemed even the orcs couldn¡¯t see what was happening on this side of it.


    But what was happening was still a mess. Women carried crying children up the hill, some screaming and reaching for their fathers. The fathers, laying out their rifles and ammo, climbed onto the wagon roofs or crouched under the carriages, trying to steady their trembling hands, which struggled to line up the sights of their weapons.


    Ardan didn¡¯t blame them.


    He, too, if not for the image of the past gnawing at his mind, might have tried to hide as far and as deep as possible.


    Steppe orcs ¡ª bandits ¡ª were the last thing any traveler in these lands wanted to encounter. And the deadliest.


    ¡°Well, now we know who wounded the Wanderer,¡± Yonatan spat and turned to Andrew. ¡°Take your men, old man, and get up the hill. If they break through the barricades ¡ª shoot them. And if things get bad, shoot the women first.¡±


    Marshal Kal¡¯dron nearly choked.


    ¡°These are the Shanti¡¯Ra,¡± Yonatan growled. ¡°And you know as well as I do what they do to human women. Cattle have it better.¡±


    Andrew swore foully, then turned and led his men toward the barricades of wagons.


    ¡°Katerina.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Captain,¡± the young woman nodded and followed the marshals.


    ¡°Don¡¯t spare the ammo!¡± Yonatan called after her.


    Without turning around, she raised her hand in an obscene gesture and disappeared behind the barricades.


    All this time, Ardan¡¯s eyes had been glued to the wall of darkness. He and Tevona had been standing watch a kilometer from the camp. She had been shot from about seven hundred meters away¡­ Ardan didn¡¯t even want to think about the possibility that there was a marksman as deadly as Katerina among the orcs, but that seemed to be the case. By now, more than half a minute had passed since the conversation had begun.


    The orcs should have been here already. But the steppe, aside from the cries of children, was silent.


    ¡°Kid,¡± Yonatan snapped him out of his thoughts. ¡°Dismount, grab your staff and book from Mart, and get up the hill. I don¡¯t want to see or hear you. If shit goes south, run.¡±


    Ardan thought he had misheard him at first, and when he didn¡¯t react, Yonatan slapped him and grabbed him by the collar.


    The Cloak, nearly yanking him out of his saddle, pulled him close. As Ardan looked into Yonatan¡¯s eyes, he saw his pupils narrowing and elongating, becoming less and less human.


    ¡°Do as I say,¡± Yonatan growled, sounding much like a snow leopard himself.


    ¡°I can hel-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t argue with me!¡± Yonatan barked. ¡°Do you think this is a game? Every single person here is responsible for your safety, you fool! Their lives and their families¡¯ lives hang in the balance!¡±


    And in that moment, the realization hit Ardan ¡ª the puzzle pieces that had never quite fit before finally snapped into place. Why Yonatan had worked so hard to ensure his prisoner¡¯s family was safe, why he had been willing to sell out Gleb so easily, why he had been ready to kill the marshals for him.


    The answer was simple.


    Ardan really was a valuable asset. So valuable, in fact, that the Second Chancery was willing to trade several of their own lives for his.


    Nodding, Ardan turned his horse and rode toward Mart¡¯s wagon.


    ¡°Kid,¡± Yonatan called after him. Ardan didn¡¯t look back. ¡°Watch your balls.¡±


    By the time Ardan reached Mart¡¯s wagon, a familiar voice rang out from the other side of the black veil, a voice he could never have forgotten even if he¡¯d wanted to.


    It was rough and heavy, like the growl of a wolf claiming its rightful prey. A wild, powerful voice, almost basking in the certainty of its own strength.


    ¡°Lawman,¡± roared the leader of the Shanti¡¯Ra.


    Dismounting beside Mart¡¯s wagon, Ardan peered inside and found the mage huddled in a corner, a revolver resting in his hand.


    Mart wasn¡¯t shaking. He had pressed himself against the side of the wagon, watching through a small gap in the canvas. When he saw Ardan, he gestured to where his staff and book were, then motioned for him to lie down and keep quiet.


    Ardan, still clutching his knife, strapped his grimoire to his belt, grabbed his staff, and lay down across from Mart. The mage¡¯s boots were near his chest, and Ardan had to suppress a cough ¡ª the man clearly hadn¡¯t washed in a while.


    ¡°Orc,¡± Yonatan¡¯s deep voice boomed as he rode up to the edge of the dark veil.


    ¡°Shall we talk?¡±


    Ardan pressed his face against the damp wood, eyes locked on the Cloak.


    ¡°What do I have to talk about with you, orc?¡± Yonatan spun his revolvers on his index fingers, as if he were showing off rather than negotiating with one of the most dangerous beings in the steppe. ¡°You killed one of our people. There¡¯s blood between us, orc. And I have someone who¡¯s more than happy to collect that debt.¡±


    ¡°You mean the one who walks through the night?¡± The orc asked, speaking those last words in Fae. ¡°My shaman assures me he can deal with her.¡±


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s find out!¡± Yonatan laughed. ¡°What¡¯s the point in stalling? Or do you think I don¡¯t know you¡¯re surrounding us as we speak?¡±


    Laughter erupted from the other side as well. Not just from the leader, but from the other orcs as well, a cacophony of barking that made them sound like a bunch of hungry wolves, sending a chill down Ardan¡¯s spine. He clutched his knife harder, feeling its solid grip as if it were anchoring him to this moment, grounding him against the fear swirling all around him.


    ¡°And there¡¯s nothing you can do about it, mutant,¡± the orc leader growled. ¡°How many warriors do you have? Fifteen? I have nearly five dozen with me. Or do you think those travelers, hiding behind their wagons, can do us much harm?¡±


    ¡°They might take out a couple of you,¡± Yonatan smirked, clearly unfazed.


    ¡°And we¡¯ll sing songs of their great hunt as we send them to the Sleeping Spirits!¡± The orc leader howled like a wolf, and soon, the other orcs joined in, their howls blending into a chaotic symphony that chilled the night air. Even from here, Ardan could feel the terror seeping into the camp, paralyzing the women and children on the hill. Some of the men, too, stood frozen with fear, the guns trembling in their hands.


    ¡°Alright, enough with the foreplay,¡± Yonatan barked, his grin vanishing. ¡°Let¡¯s get down to business.¡±


    For a moment, there was only silence.


    ¡°You have something that belongs to us,¡± the orc¡¯s voice rumbled through the veil of darkness. ¡°My pack wounded the Wanderer. It is our rightful prey. You stole it.¡±


    ¡°That Wanderer, as I recall, was alive when we found him,¡± Yonatan adjusted his hat with the barrel of his revolver. ¡°But I get what you¡¯re saying, orc. If you wait a few minutes, I¡¯ll bring you everything we took from the beast.¡±


    ¡°And then we¡¯ll go our separate ways?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    The orc laughed again, deep and guttural.


    ¡°And what about that marshal girl?¡± The orc sneered.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not dwell on the past,¡± Yonatan replied, spreading his arms out as if this were a simple negotiation.


    The barking laughter came again, louder this time. And then a low, dangerous growl followed.


    ¡°I can smell you, son of a snow leopard,¡± the orc leader¡¯s voice boomed, switching to a different language. A language Ardan had only heard from his grandfather. The language of the Matabar people. ¡°I know you¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°Speak Imperial, you bastard!¡± Yonatan yelled, but the orc ignored him.


    ¡°Do you remember me?¡± The orc¡¯s voice penetrated Ardan¡¯s mind, each word hammering it harder than the last, speeding up his heartbeat as if it were a tribal drum. ¡°I remember you watching that night. I remember how my hands took your father¡¯s spirit. Do you remember how he cried like a female and called for you? And where were you, cub? Hiding...¡±


    Yonatan raised his revolver, aiming toward the sound of the voice.


    ¡°This is your last warning!¡± He shouted.


    ¡°¡­just like you¡¯re hiding now. Where is your courage? Where is your pride as a hunter, cub? Or are you weak? A coward? Pathetic? Is this the son of Hector Egobar? Is this the last of the mountain hunters? You have no hono-¡±


    A gunshot rang out.


    But the puff of smoke didn¡¯t rise from Yonatan¡¯s revolver. It came from Mart¡¯s wagon.


    And then the world erupted into chaos.


    Yonatan, in one fluid motion, emptied both his revolvers into the veil of darkness, then drew his saber. Kicking off from his horse¡¯s back, he leaped straight into the black wall. But before he even made contact with it, the veil erupted into violet flames and dissolved, revealing dozens of orcs.


    Massive and powerful, none of them stood under two meters tall. Their bulging muscles looked like boulders. Some had green skin, others brown. But they all had one thing in common: their bare torsos and faces were adorned with white war paint. Some wore crossed ammo belts over their hairy chests, but most, like the leader with the burn scar on his face that was shaped like a child¡¯s hand, wielded small axes.


    Ardan, who had just pulled the trigger moments earlier, was no longer himself.


    He leaped to the ground, tearing at the second skin someone had dressed him in. He raised his hand ¡ª no, his paw ¡ª and ripped it off, exposing his ragged fur to the winds of the steppe. His side throbbed from the wound that had yet to fully heal from his last hunt, but it didn¡¯t matter.


    He sniffed the wind. The air reeked of terrified beasts trampling the earth, frightened humans screaming behind him, and the smell of hunters who had come to claim his life.


    But they were wrong.


    It was he who would claim their lives.


    That was the law of the hunt.


    He dug his claws into the earth and bared his fangs.


    He cared nothing for what was happening around him.


    He didn¡¯t notice Cassara, who was locked in battle with the only orc dressed in robes. Wielding a staff made of bone, the orc shaman muttered incantations, shaking strings of beads made from skulls, both animal and human. Each word seemed to pull at forces that had no place in this reality. Spectral figures and flashes of violet fire surrounded Cassara, but her expressionless face didn¡¯t change as she ran her hand along the edge of her blade. Her black blood touched the weapon, and it ignited with dark flames.


    The hunter also didn¡¯t see how the orc leader tossed Yonatan aside as if he were nothing, sending him tumbling into a horde of orcs, where he fought in a frenzy, difficult to distinguish from his enemies.


    The hunter paid no attention to the gunfire, the bullets releasing steel and death into the night. He didn¡¯t even smell the gunpowder.


    He only crouched lower to the ground, calling on it to aid him in the hunt, his eyes fixed on the neck of his prey ¡ª the one who¡¯d dared to defile his father¡¯s name.


    ¡°I will tear out your still-beating heart!¡± He roared.


    The orc leader spread his arms wide, axes in each hand, and smiled as if this was what he had been waiting for all these years.


    ¡°Orak Han-da!¡± The orc bellowed back.


    The hunter lunged, pushing off the ground with his hind legs. His body felt light and strong. The winters of fear were gone ¡ª those times when he had been young and weak, when his claws and fangs couldn¡¯t pierce flesh.


    The hunter didn¡¯t know that he still looked mostly the same as before: lean, tall, with wiry muscles, but still not a true mountain hunter. He looked human, except he was wrapped in dense, blue smoke that swirled around the burning ground beneath his feet. He didn¡¯t see how the smoke shaped itself into the form of a snow leopard. Nor did he notice the shift in his eyes as they went from amber to deep blue.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The smoke-clad figure of the hunter darted across the moonlit steppe, every muscle in his body exploding with latent power. Dust clouds rose with each movement he made, catching the pale light and creating the illusion of a great cat running across mountain ridges. The white and black stripes on his ¡°fur¡± shimmered, blending with the starry sky overhead.


    In his path stood the orc, steady on his feet and immovable, like a stone. The twin axes in his powerful hands gleamed like curved fangs, their edges promising death. The orc flared his nostrils, watching the swift predator circling him with calm focus.


    Finally, with a guttural roar, the snow leopard leaped, aiming for the orc¡¯s unprotected side. But with surprising agility for his size, the orc parried with the flat of his axe, deflecting the swipe of the hunter¡¯s claws. The resulting shockwave from the impact ruffled the ¡°fur¡± of the leopard, who bounded away, only to prepare for another strike.


    The hunt had only just begun.


    The hunter¡¯s attacks flashed like bursts of blue light, each swipe leaving tiny ice crystals in the air, which quickly evaporated amid the flames burning beneath his feet.


    His strikes came relentlessly: slashes aimed at the legs, feints toward the throat, swift dashes to position him behind the enemy. Every movement, every step, every blow was calculated with such precision that dodging them seemed impossible.


    But the prey didn¡¯t dodge.


    The greenish-brown blood of the orc slowly trickled down his flesh, intoxicating the hunter with its metallic sweetness.


    And yet, the orc seemed unfazed. If anything, his grin widened, and a fire danced in his yellow eyes. His axes moved in tandem ¡ª one always attacking, the other defending. With a roar, the orc launched a low, sweeping strike, forcing the hunter to leap back, and his second blade sliced across the snow leopard¡¯s haunch, the resulting blood joining the splashes of vitality painting the fiery night.


    They tore and slashed at each other, becoming a whirlwind of flesh and steel. The hunter snarled and lashed out, trying to sink his fangs or claws into his opponent. The orc swung his axes, always finding the right moment to defend himself and the gap he needed to strike back.


    But as the hunter, drenched in sweat and blood, lunged toward him once again, the orc¡¯s sharp eyes caught a tremor in the leopard¡¯s movements. The old wound on the hunter¡¯s right side was bleeding heavily now, soaking his waist and legs.


    Seizing the opportunity, the orc growled, and his axes briefly glowed with a faint light. The air around them condensed, forming a sphere that shot out toward the attacking hunter.


    The sphere slammed into the snow leopard¡¯s chest, sending him flying backwards and crashing into the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling around him.


    The hunter had felt a flash of searing pain but couldn¡¯t understand what had hit him. He staggered to his feet, his flanks heaving, but his eyes remained locked on his prey. Even as burning pain surged through his body, the hunter¡¯s spirit remained unyielding. With a deafening roar, he charged again.


    Despite the wound, the snow leopard managed to land several more strikes. His sharp claws carved deep gashes into the orc¡¯s arms and face. The orc¡¯s hot, thick blood oozed from the fresh wounds, sizzling as it dripped onto the fiery ground beneath them.


    But the orc¡¯s ferocity only grew in response. With a guttural roar, he lunged forward, using his sheer size and brute strength to force Ardan on the defensive.


    The roles in this deadly dance of flesh and steel had shifted.


    The hunter had become the hunted.


    Their shadows, elongated by the pale moonlight, flickered across the steppe in intricate patterns of life and death. The sounds of their battle ¡ª roars, grunts, the clash of lethal weapons ¡ª were drowned out by the surrounding chaos, but for the two of them, the rest of the world had vanished.


    The snow leopard, sensing the growing danger, tried to retreat, looking for a gap, a moment to turn the tide in his favor. But the orc gave no quarter. He became a storm of steel and muscle, his axes spinning with relentless precision. With a powerful sweep, the orc knocked the hunter off his feet with the shaft of one axe, sending him sprawling to the ground.


    In an instant, the orc was upon him, and the sharp blade of his second axe pressed against the snow leopard¡¯s throat, pinning him to the ground.


    Time seemed to slow.


    The cold steel at Ardan¡¯s throat, the orc¡¯s labored breathing, the distant echoes of the battle ¡ª all of it fused into a single moment of intense struggle.


    The hunter¡¯s heart, which had been pounding like tribal drums just moments before, slowed, weakening under the weight of his pain and exhaustion. The symbol on his chest no longer burned. It had grown cold. The strength that had surged through his body was fading, giving way to the biting reality of his injuries. His body was covered in slashes, long and jagged, crisscrossing his torso and limbs. He felt their sting now more than ever.


    The orc¡¯s face, twisted into a grin of savage satisfaction, loomed over him.


    ¡°Hello there,¡± the orc rumbled, his yellow eyes gleaming in the moonlight. ¡°Finally awake?¡±


    Ardan tried to push the axe away, but his arms were too weak. The blade didn¡¯t budge. He reached for his belt, searching desperately for his revolver or his grimoire. But both were gone.


    Overwhelmed by a creeping sense of despair, he grabbed the orc¡¯s wrist instead, his hands trembling as they encircled the orc¡¯s thick arm. It took all his strength just to hold on.


    ¡°Long time, little hunter,¡± the orc rasped, his breath hot and foul. Despite the blood running down his chest and face, he showed no signs of fatigue. ¡°How many years has it been? Twelve?¡±


    ¡°Eleven,¡± Ardan croaked, turning his head to avoid the orc¡¯s gaze.


    He couldn¡¯t bear to look into the eyes of the one who had killed his father ¡ª the one he had sworn to kill in return. But what he saw was even worse: the camp was burning.


    Most of the wagons and carriages were being consumed by fire, crackling and hissing like ravenous beasts. People screamed, some of them fighting, some dying. Orcs busted through the barricades with terrifying ease, pulling people from their hiding places and tearing them apart. The violence was savage, chaotic.


    Ardan saw Anton Tavskiy get lifted off the ground by one of the larger orcs. The orc, grinning wildly, grabbed him by an arm and a leg and, with a brutal pull, tore the man in half. Blood sprayed through the air, and the orc raised his face toward it, laughing maniacally as he let it rain down on him.


    Gunfire echoed from the hill where the marshals and the settlers were making their last stand. The bullets occasionally dropped an orc, but most either missed or grazed the massive creatures, who pressed on undeterred. Every now and then, a booming rifle shot from Katerina would take an orc¡¯s head clean off, but even she couldn¡¯t stop the tide.


    Yonatan was still fighting, though he was now surrounded by fewer enemies. His body was covered in blood, his right arm hanging limply at his side as he swung a broken saber with his left.


    Cassara was on her knees, bound by glowing green chains, facing the orc shaman. The shaman himself was missing half of his left arm and an eye, but it was clear that he had won their magical duel.


    More orcs were climbing the hill, and though they were being shot at from the hilltop, it was only a matter of time before they reached the women and children.


    ¡°You think we¡¯re monsters?¡± The orc growled in his face, leaning in so close that Ardan could feel his stinking breath.


    ¡°What else are you?¡±


    The monster pressed down on his axe, nearly plunging the blade into the young man¡¯s throat.


    ¡°You are mistaken, hunter,¡± the orc hissed. ¡°We are the masters of this land. We are not the ones who came to pillage and ravage it. It was not we who trampled the sacred shrines, destroyed the temples of the gods, and called those who¡¯d heard the first songs ¡®abominations.¡¯¡±


    Ardan watched in silence as the orcs killed the men and cackled as they climbed the hill, ignoring the hail of lead that rained down on their bodies.


    He didn¡¯t notice the hot streams of moisture running down his cheeks. He wasn¡¯t crying for himself, but for the weak and defenseless standing on the hill. The children¡­ They¡¯d been so funny and kind, playing with Cassara and never showing any fear of Ardan¡¯s fangs.


    ¡°You pity them, hunter?!¡± The orc snarled, leaning in, his face inches from Ardan¡¯s own. ¡°The ones who butchered your people?! The ones who slaughtered every last mountain hunter?! You pity these usurpers and oppressors?!¡±


    Ardan remained silent. He didn¡¯t know what to say to this creature that reeked of pain and rage. Half of him belonged to the Matabar tribe, but only half. The other... The blood of his mother, Shaia, a descendant of the Kingdom of Gales, also flowed through his veins. And so it would always be.


    Suddenly, the pressure of the axe eased and Ardan was able to breathe. Confused, he looked at the orc who had stepped away from him.


    A few breaths were enough to clear his mind and he tried to listen to the wind and the fire, to hear their names.


    ¡°You¡¯re just like your father,¡± the orc spat and stared into Ardan¡¯s confused eyes. ¡°You know nothing.¡± The orc laughed bitterly, harshly. ¡°Nothing at all¡­¡±


    The orc stepped over Ardan¡¯s body, crossing his arms as he watched the burning camp.


    ¡°How do you think your father survived when the lawmen butchered the last of the Matabar?¡± The orc rumbled. ¡°Do you think he survived on his own? No! My tribe, the Shanti¡¯Ra, took him in. Ten winters he spent with us, learning to survive in the steppe. Learning our laws and customs. My father, the chieftain, accepted him as a son. And I¡­ I accepted him as my blood brother.¡±


    His father? Hector Egobar? The Imperial Ranger? He had spent ten years with the Shanti¡¯Ra? Robbing, killing¡­?


    No. Ardan couldn¡¯t believe it. He refused to believe it.


    The orc¡¯s words shook him so deeply that the growing whispers of the fire in his mind faded away.


    ¡°You think I¡¯m lying to you?¡± The orc snorted. ¡°Your father¡¯s teacher was Ergar, the Storm of the Mountain Peaks. And your name ¡ª Ardan ¡ª was chosen because that¡¯s what your father wanted to name his first son. It means ¡®Strong Roots¡¯ in your people¡¯s tongue.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s vision swam. He couldn¡¯t breathe.


    It was all lies.


    The orc was lying.


    He had to be.


    ¡°One day, we came across a caravan,¡± the orc continued, his voice distant and hollow. ¡°They were hunting the last of the Storm Birds ¡ª a grave sin. We did what any true masters of their land would do when invaders come to desecrate it. We killed them all. Every last one. Men, women, children, and even their horses. We burned their bodies and buried their ashes in foul pits, so no memory of the defilers would remain.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s mind was blank. He lay there, staring numbly at the chaos before him.


    ¡°And your father¡­ he was one of the fiercest warriors of the Shanti¡¯Ra, Ardan,¡± the orc said, tracing a few scars on his chest with his fingers. ¡°No man could escape Hector¡¯s claws and fangs. But that day¡­ he saved a child. Ran away with him. We never saw him again, until forty years later, when we learned that he had returned to the mountains. My tribe wanted to exact a blood price for his betrayal, but I¡­¡±


    The orc fell silent. At that moment, one of the orcs climbing up the hill grabbed Andrew¡¯s horse and snapped its neck, sending the marshal crashing to the ground. With a single kick, the orc crushed Marshal Kal¡¯dron¡¯s chest, killing him instantly.


    The orcs were closing in on the remaining survivors, dragging women from their hiding places, hoisting children onto their shoulders, and laughing wildly as they ignored their pleas for mercy.


    ¡°Please¡­¡± Ardan whispered, his voice cracking. ¡°Please spare them¡­¡±


    ¡°We asked for that once, Ardan,¡± the orc replied firmly. ¡°When we were burned, killed. When they made necklaces out of our fangs. But no one listened to our pleas.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s gaze fell on Mart¡¯s wagon, but the mage was gone. The wagon was empty.


    ¡°Why did you kill my father-¡± Ardan began, but was cut off.


    ¡°I killed him?¡± The orc whirled around, his yellow eyes burning with fury. ¡°You dare desecrate your father¡¯s memory, boy? Killing is something that is done sneakily, stealthily, from around corners. Without honor! Your father and I fought a duel! I gave your father a chance to walk away from the fight! But Hector chose the path of the warrior! He traded his life for the lives of human children! Orak Han-da!¡± The orc struck his chest twice with a fist, the impact resounding like a drumbeat. ¡°Songs of your father¡¯s honor and bravery will be sung as long as my tribe lives!¡±


    Ardan¡¯s gaze shifted to the children huddled on the hill, children he had laughed and played with for the last few weeks. He could hear their voices, filled with fear, and the sight of their small, innocent faces tightened the knot in his chest.


    ¡°Then take my life instead¡­¡± Ardan choked out.


    The orc¡¯s eyes flashed as he raised his axe again, this time hovering over Ardan¡¯s throat.


    ¡°Do not tempt me, boy,¡± the orc growled. ¡°I have waited for this moment. I thought that I would get to face a warrior, or at least a hunter worthy of the Egobar name. But what do I see before me? A kitten who does not even know who he is. And while I would gladly end your pitiful existence here and now, half-blood,¡± the orc spat the last word like a curse. ¡°But when we saw the Wanderer, the spirits spoke to my shaman. They told him that a time would come when we would meet for a third time. That it would be a time of Great Songs.¡±


    The orc drew a long knife with a handle made of ancient maple, its blade sharp and sturdy enough to cleave stone.


    Ardan recognized that knife well.


    It had belonged to his father.


    ¡°I no longer believe in the spirits or the shamans, Ardan,¡± the orc said, examining the blade before hurling it into the ground beside Ardan¡¯s head. The blade sank deep into the earth, its handle pointing toward the sky. ¡°Their words have led us to where we are now. But perhaps I am too old, or too weak-willed, to take the life of my sworn brother¡¯s son. So, I give you one last chance.¡±


    The orc stepped over Ardan and strode into the dark expanse of the steppe, leaving him lying there, the knife just within reach. It called to him, the worn handle of his father¡¯s blade just an arm¡¯s length away. He could grab it, leap to his feet, and stab the orc in the back.


    But he didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Not gonna strike me from behind? Maybe there¡¯s something of the mountain hunters in you after all, Ardan, son of Hector,¡± the orc said, glancing back over his shoulder. ¡°As before, the last of the Matabar, I will wait for you. If you prove strong and worthy, I will give you my name and my life.¡± With those final words, the orc raised his hands to his mouth and howled like a wolf.


    The howls of the remaining orcs echoed his call, their voices rising as they tossed the women and children they had grabbed back onto the ground. Laughing and jeering, they hurled the wreckage aside, mockingly prodding at the men who had managed to survive. They snatched up the fur, claws, and teeth of the Wanderer, taking the flasks filled with its blood as well.


    Then, with their fallen comrades and spoils in hand, they mounted their enormous steeds and vanished into the night. Within minutes, the camp was empty of orcs. Only their eerie howls lingered in the air, carried across the steppe by the wind.


    Ardan lay in the dirt, blood pooling beneath him, staring blankly up at the sky. The full moon hung there, serene and indifferent to the carnage below.


    ¡°Become stronger. For your mother. For your brother. For yourself.¡± His father¡¯s words echoed in his mind.


    The handle of his father¡¯s knife was now firmly in his grasp.


    ***


    Ardan awoke at dawn, as the sky was set ablaze by the pink and orange hues of a new day. The colors were so bright, so vibrant that, for a moment, he thought he was still lying in the scorched ruins of the campfire. But it wasn¡¯t the fire that had roused him.


    Spitting out ash and soot, Ardan dragged himself away from the mound of debris, dust, and soil that had piled up on top of him. Gritting his teeth against the pain of his still-healing wounds ¡ª most of which had already started to close with fresh, pink skin by the end of the night, though they hurt no less for it ¡ª he clutched his right side, where the stitches from his old wound had been torn apart during the battle, leaving behind what would no doubt become a gruesome scar.


    He walked toward the camp, or what was left of it.


    Out of the two dozen wagons and carriages, only about a quarter remained. Three wagons and two carriages stood intact, and as Ardan moved through the camp, he saw the bodies of Marshal Kal¡¯dron and the other marshals, the bodies of most of the Cloaks, and he even spotted the daughter of Anton Tavskiy, who was kneeling silently in tearless grief over her father¡¯s remains. Ertas Govlov, along with his wife and surviving children, was weeping beside the body of his eldest son.


    Dozens of bodies had been laid out in rows amid the ashes. Some of the surviving children had called out for their parents, only to be taken in by other families, though it was clear that the burden was heavy on them. How could they be blamed, when many of the women had lost their husbands in the raid and now faced the grim reality of traveling to Presny without help?


    Ardan heard sobbing and murmurs in the distance. The tears had dried overnight, evaporating along with the smoke of the extinguished fires, and only the raw pain of those who had been left behind remained. It was a pain so intense, so palpable, that it seemed to crunch between Ardan¡¯s teeth as he walked through the camp. He could feel it as surely as he felt the wind scattering the ashes.


    Suddenly, Ardi felt like something... something was wrong. Like there was something lurking in that wind. Something...


    Ardan stopped, reaching out to feel this ¡®something¡¯. Then, out of nowhere, Mart¡¯s wagon appeared at the base of the hill, pristine and untouched, as if nothing had happened. And Mart himself was there, sitting beside it, looking completely unscathed.


    No scratches. No burns.


    Ardan didn¡¯t know what came over him, but before he realized it, he had crossed the camp and seized Mart by the collar, lifting him off the ground.


    ¡°Why?!¡± Ardan shouted in the mage¡¯s face. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you help?! You could have! You¡¯re a mage!¡±


    Mart¡¯s eyes held no fear, only quiet regret.


    ¡°They were ordinary people, Ardi,¡± Mart said in a soft but matter-of-fact tone. ¡°There are nearly four hundred million of them in the Empire. We mages have to prioritize¡­¡±


    ¡°Ordinary people,¡± Ardan whispered, his voice draining of emotion as he let Mart go.


    He remembered the words of the orc, looking at Mart with a hollow gaze as the mage collapsed onto the ground.


    ¡°Ordinary people.¡±


    Ardan laughed then. This was wild, uncontrollable laughter that racked his body so hard he nearly doubled over, clutching his stomach. He laughed and cried at the same time, unsure of which emotion was overtaking him.


    He couldn¡¯t stop.


    Not until a cold hand was placed on his shoulder, silencing him.


    ¡°Come on, kid,¡± Cassara¡¯s calm, lifeless tone came from behind him. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    She went somewhere up the hill, where Ardan noticed that the surviving men, along with the remnants of the Cloaks and Yonatan, who was leaning on a crutch, were digging.


    Ardan climbed into Mart¡¯s wagon, retrieved his book and staff, and followed the vampire. Cassara, save for a few odd black streaks across her face and chest, looked better than the others.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go with her, big guy,¡± Mart called out after him, a tremor in his voice as he nervously tugged at the edge of his coat. ¡°You¡¯re a mage. And you need to think like a mage. If you follow her¡­ Don¡¯t go.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t understand what Mart was saying, but he could feel that same sense of unease he¡¯d had when he had faced the choice of letting the troll eat the bear cubs or risking everything to save them.


    He looked at Cassara. She stood a few steps ahead, her face impassive as she stared into the distance. She wasn¡¯t waiting for him. She wasn¡¯t calling to him. She didn¡¯t even say a word.


    Ardan glanced at Mart one last time, then turned away in disgust.


    Leaning heavily on his staff, he trudged up the hill after Cassara.


    ¡°This is a foolish choice, kid,¡± she said quietly as he caught up to her. ¡°With him, you¡¯d have had a simple, bright future.¡±


    Ardan said nothing as he continued climbing.


    ¡°But now I can see that you truly are Aror¡¯s great-grandson,¡± she added, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Yonatan looked at him grimly as he approached but said nothing. Instead, he handed Ardan a shovel, and together, they dug graves until nightfall, burying the dead as their families finished saying their final goodbyes. When the last farewell was spoken, they filled in the graves with earth, marking each one with triangular symbols made from rope and charred wood ¡ª the sacred sign of the Face of Light.


    Ardan forced himself not to think. He would just dig, fill, tie the symbols together. Over and over again. No thoughts. Just the mechanical work of his hands.


    When the stars finally appeared in the sky, he didn¡¯t even remember how his day had passed.


    He stood there with the others, gazing at the fresh graves, the weight of his thoughts finally catching up to him. He remembered his great-grandfather¡¯s tales.


    He recalled the stories Aror had told him about the Matabar. How, after their deaths, the souls of their people would transform into their spirit forms and continue to live in the mountains of the Alcade. How they would become one with the wind, the rivers, the earth, and the stars.


    In school, Ardan had learned that in the religion of the Face of Light, souls would turn into light and then be carried by the Eternal Angels back to their Creator.


    He pondered this for a while, and then Cassara led him away. There they sat on the ground, along with a lurching Yonatan, who put aside his crutch, and three more Cloaks ¡ª that was all that was left of their group.


    ¡°Katerina,¡± Yonatan called out, his voice raspy from exhaustion.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± She answered, perched on a rock, her rifle laid across her lap.


    ¡°Tell a joke or something.¡±


    Katerina blinked in surprise, then shrugged. ¡°Alright, fine. So, a human, a dwarf, and an elf walk into a bar-¡±


    ¡°No, stop!¡± Yonatan interrupted, raising his hand. ¡°I changed my mind.¡±


    The group fell silent again, sitting there in the dark, sharing a rare moment of stillness.


    ¡°Cassara,¡± Yonatan muttered after a while.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Sing.¡±


    ¡°You know I don¡¯t like singing, Ivan,¡± she replied, turning her gaze toward the stars.


    ¡°My father¡¯s name was Ivan, not mine. Sing already, bloodsucker.¡±


    The vampire gazed at the stars and began to sing. And the sound made Ardi¡¯s heart skip a few beats. It was probably true that no human could sing like that. It was as if the wind were tinkling in the mountains, or the rivers were rumbling gently, or perhaps a bird was soaring through the sky, gliding along paths only it could see.


    Cassara¡¯s voice could not be described.


    Only heard.


    And Ardan listened.


    I fought for home, for the land that gave me light,


    That warmed my soul and filled my heart with pride.


    But in the battle, we faced defeat¡¯s cold bite,


    And bitter tears can¡¯t wash away that tide.


    Now I roam through valleys and through plains,


    I serve the one who was my fiercest foe.


    But my heart is torn by the lingering pains ¡ª


    Will I ever see my homeland, ever know?


    I¡¯ve seen the seas, the mountains, and the skies,


    I¡¯ve heard the whisper of the wind on sand.


    But still, the scars of loss linger before my eyes,


    My love and home left in a distant land.


    Now I roam through valleys and through plains,


    I serve the one who was my fiercest foe.


    But my heart is torn by the lingering pains ¡ª


    Will I ever see my homeland, ever know?


    I wish that someday I could find my way,


    Back to the land where I know they wait for me.


    To see those views that took my breath away,


    But time moves on, and years run endlessly.


    Now I roam through valleys and through plains,


    I serve the one who was my fiercest foe.


    But my heart is torn by the lingering pains ¡ª


    Will I ever see my homeland, ever know?


    There is no peace, and now my path is long,


    I¡¯ll never find the truth I¡¯m longing for.


    Yet still, I dream, though hope may soon be gone,


    That maybe one day I¡¯ll return once more.


    ¡°That was a shitty song, Cassara.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Yonatan.¡±


    The Cloak just waved her off and lay down again. Ardan followed his example ¡ª he lay down on the ground and placed his staff beside him, inhaling the scent of the oak that reminded him of home, which now seemed so far away...


    A shitty song indeed¡­


    With that thought, the young man fell asleep.

 Chapter 28 - Letter

    A small rock struck a barely-visible shimmer, which looked like something akin to a soap bubble, bounced aside, and fell to the ground.


    Ardi, whose foot had just set off a flicker of a magical seal, nearly followed it, collapsing onto the dewy morning grass.


    ¡°Damn it, boy!¡± Yelled Yonatan, flipping a ten-kso coin to Katerina. ¡°I¡¯m starting to think that you win on purpose every time I bet against you!¡±


    Ardan only offered a faint smile in return. He set his staff aside, sat down on a nearby log, and began to breathe steadily. Cassara, who was juggling stones nearby, tossed them over her shoulder and handed him a flask of water.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the young man muttered, taking several deep, greedy gulps.


    Relief settled over him.


    The sun above was no longer scorching, but the winds had turned from mere bites to sharp teeth, making everyone, including Ardan, huddle into their cloaks.


    He didn¡¯t need as much warm clothing as the others, who had donned thick shirts and jackets in a desperate bid to fend off the wind that whipped across the flat plains. But he still felt the chill just the same.


    The farther they moved from the Alcade, the weaker Ergar¡¯s gifts seemed to become, as did the part of him that was half Matabar.


    Admittedly, his night vision was still sharper than most (though not as sharp as it had been in Evergale), his sense of smell was quite keen (but he could no longer track a person by scent), and, sure, he was probably a bit stronger than the average man. But even so, among the settlers ¡ª not to mention the Cloaks ¡ª there were now those who could lift more than Ardi, and he had tested this theory by staging a little competition.


    ¡°You¡¯re too hard on yourself, little one,¡± Cassara whispered so softly he barely caught it. ¡°What happened wasn¡¯t your fault. They would¡¯ve attacked us anyway. With you there, without you there¡­ It didn¡¯t matter. They wanted the spoils from the Wanderer.¡±


    Ardi knew that, somewhere deep down. But it had been ten days now, and he still couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he could have done more. Should have done more.


    And maybe then...


    He glanced toward the settlers. Of the nearly sixty that had been there before, fewer than forty remained alive, most of them women and children.


    The children spent their time in the wagons, where the surviving families ¡ª albeit begrudgingly ¡ª had let them ride. But the women¡­


    For one thing, they all had to walk now, and that said a lot about Yonatan.


    It was strange how Ardi¡¯s views on the man had changed. Just half a month ago, he had seen Yonatan, the head of the Cloaks, as harsh, even cruel. He¡¯d also seen Mart as nothing more than a chatterbox with a big heart and strange morals. But now... Now everything had flipped upside down.


    Mart wouldn¡¯t let anyone near his wagon and stubbornly refused to share his supplies, trailing at the very rear of the caravan and keeping a respectful distance, but he was never out of sight.


    Yonatan, on the other hand, could¡¯ve easily left the settlers to fend for themselves, but instead, he¡¯d taken on the role of the marshals, none of whom had survived that night. The Cloaks could¡¯ve reached Presny much faster without the burden of the settlers, but Yonatan never gave that order.


    The problems didn¡¯t end with the need for most to walk, though. That was only the beginning.


    Life in the small towns, villages, and farms of the north was hard, leading to a very real division of labor between men and women. And now, after the northern women had lost those who had once mended their wagons, stoked the fires, and defended their lives and property... It wasn¡¯t hard to imagine how much they were struggling.


    And so were the husbands whose wives had fallen to stray bullets. Their children called for their mothers, not understanding where they¡¯d gone. Someone had to watch over them, feed them, and talk to them.


    And as much as the survivors wanted to help, they knew that in such dangerous circumstances, helping others meant putting themselves and their own loved ones at risk. And so, the once joyful caravan, full of hope for a new, brighter future ¡ª though not without its own share of problems and conflicts ¡ª had become a gray, dreary shadow of its former self.


    ¡°You¡¯re improving,¡± Cassara nodded toward the stone he had deflected.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Ardi shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t have much to compare it to.¡±


    Ever since he had been unable to help during the siege of the camp, Ardan, as had happened twice before in his life, had thrown himself into learning.


    He wasn¡¯t a particularly accurate shot, and the strength of the mountain hunters faded more the farther away he got from home. So, the only thing he had been able to come up with to avoid being a burden ¡ª either to himself or to others, now or in the future ¡ª was to start studying magic. And not in the way he had done it before, for his own pleasure and curiosity, but with the intent of actually using it.


    Unfortunately, as Mart had correctly pointed out, Ardan had no grasp of fundamental theory. And so, for the past ten days, as he¡¯d tried day after day to deflect one of Cassara¡¯s stones using the Universal Shield spell, it had truly been a pitiful sight to behold.


    If one were to follow the tenets of his second-favorite subject, the science of numbers, it could all be boiled down to a simple formula.


    There was a problem: a stone was flying toward your gut. It did so at a random time, at a random speed, from an unexpected direction. And there was a solution: the Universal Shield Spell. It seemed easy, simple, and clear.


    ¡°You can cast the shield now without preparation,¡± the vampire insisted.


    Yes, at first, they had started with the basics. Ardan would take out a book, open the seal in advance, and, as Yonatan had put it, ¡°the show would begin.¡±


    Standing twenty paces away, Cassara would hurl a stone at him without warning, and Ardi¡¯s task was to cast the shield before the makeshift projectile was upon him.


    Cassara hadn¡¯t held back, and each mistake had left a painful reminder behind in the form of a brightly-colored bruise on the young man¡¯s body.


    At the beginning, nothing had worked at all. Ardi¡¯s body had instinctively tried to dodge or, at worst, block the stone with his staff.


    Then, once he had learned to control those reflexes, he¡¯d run into the issue of simply not being fast enough. The stone would hit him before he could even form half the seal. Fortunately, Atta¡¯nha and Skusty¡¯s lessons had taught him enough discipline and concentration that he could avoid losing the Ley energy he was using to create the seal. Whenever the magical construct fell apart, Ardi was usually able to pull back most of the energy before it dissipated into the air.


    The term ¡°most of it¡± applied here because, for every ten failed attempts, he lost about one ray of his Star.


    And with only seven rays in total, the math quickly turned against him.


    By the third day of their training sessions ¡ª which took place constantly, since they were mostly traveling on foot now ¡ª Ardan had finally deflected his first stone. But true triumph was still a long way off.


    The real problem was that Ardi always knew the stone was coming. This meant that he could prepare in advance: open his grimoire, find the seal, focus on it, and so on.


    It was like having a brawl in a tavern where everyone gets a chance to warm up before throwing punches.


    And so they¡¯d moved on to the next stage, where Cassara would attack him without warning, at completely random times.


    And that¡¯s where the trouble had begun in earnest, because Ardi could barely manage the spell without preparation. He simply couldn¡¯t manifest the formula from his mind into reality, even though he¡¯d memorized it so well that he could draw it even in a delirious state.


    Recalling the words of the unknown author of his magic textbook, the mysterious Aean¡¯Hane, Ardan had even been tempted to carve the Shield seal into his staff. But he¡¯d always dismissed that idea with the same argument ¡ª his staff wasn¡¯t infinite. And if he kept trying to solve problems by taking the easiest path, it wouldn¡¯t end well for him in the long run.


    It was just like hunting.


    If you always relied on stalking the watering hole for your food, sure, you¡¯d be well-fed for a few weeks, but eventually, the animals would stop coming.


    No, he needed a different solution.


    But the answer lay in a realm to which Ardan had no access. At least not yet. And this was where the comparison to the science of numbers came into play.


    Whenever Ardan faced a problem he didn¡¯t know how to solve, he followed a fairly simple algorithm. If he had the right formula ¡ª or even several of them ¡ª he would figure out how to apply or modify them to solve the issue. If he didn¡¯t have a formula, he spent time deriving his own. But in order to do that, he needed to not just memorize formulas, as most students did, but understand how they worked. He needed to grasp the very principles behind their interactions.


    That way, there would be no need to memorize anything. The knowledge would settle naturally into his mind, becoming second nature.


    That was what Atta¡¯nha had taught him. Knowing that moss grows on the north side of a tree might help you find your way home, but understanding why it grows there would open up a whole new world of questions and answers.


    That was the root of all his problems.


    Ardan didn¡¯t understand why the seals worked the way they did. He had some guesses about the purpose of certain runes, but¡­ Why were they inscribed where they were? What was the difference between one seal and another?


    The Stranger¡¯s ¡ª as Ardi had taken to calling the unknown author of the Star Magic book ¡ª writing hadn¡¯t explained any of this. Maybe the author himself hadn¡¯t known, given how long ago he had lived. Or maybe he¡¯d considered such knowledge unnecessary for the use of Star Magic.


    Yes, Ardan could still just memorize a seal. Which he had, in fact, done. And even without understanding its workings, he had managed to make its execution automatic.


    All it took was a thought, and the Universal Shield Seal would form beneath his feet. From there, all he¡¯d need to do was to slam his staff against the ground to connect his own Ley energy with the energy flowing through the Ley Lines.


    At first, the seal had taken a few seconds to form ¡ª which usually resulted in a meeting with a stone ¡ª then it had appeared faster and faster, until it could manifest almost instantly, as Gleb had mentioned it should.


    ¡°You can still ask Mart for help.¡±


    Cassara nodded toward the mage sitting a little ways off. Every time Ardan and Cassara began their lessons, the man would put aside whatever he was doing and watch them intently, occasionally jotting something down in his travel journal.


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust him,¡± Ardi muttered, and noticed the thin smile on the vampire¡¯s face.


    ¡°When you tried to slit his throat, it was a different situation,¡± he added.


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± her smile grew a little bigger.


    Ardi wanted to reply, but Yonatan approached and laid his bandaged hand on the young man¡¯s shoulder. The head of the Cloaks wasn¡¯t human, not in the usual sense of the word.


    It had been less than two weeks since his leg and arm had been broken, and yet he was already walking with only a slight limp. Every morning, he bragged about his revolver skills as part of his recovery.


    And, by the Sleeping Spirits, Ardi had to admit once again that even the slickest cowboy on Polskih¡¯s farm couldn¡¯t hold a candle to Yonatan Kornosskiy. Like a circus performer, Yonatan could draw his iron from his holster faster than the eye could follow, and on a dare, he could even hit a tossed coin at least four times in mid-air.


    He even claimed it was easy to do ¡ª one just needed to find the moment when the coin was hanging in the air and shoot slightly ahead of it.


    Ardi had tried.


    He¡¯d nearly shot Katerina.


    Since then, whenever Ardan practiced shooting, the others made sure to stay behind him.


    ¡°Honestly, kid, if you think about it, you¡¯re the weird and untrustworthy one, not that city mage,¡± Yonatan snorted, blowing his nose and flipping an obscene gesture at the scowling Katerina.


    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± Ardan asked, bewildered.


    ¡°Because, youngster,¡± Yonatan smirked and clapped him on the back, ¡°tell me this: what kind of normal person ¡ª I¡¯m not even talking about a mage ¡ª risks their neck for people they¡¯ve never met before in their life? And most likely will never meet again?¡±


    ¡°But my oath¡­¡±


    ¡°Oath, schmoath,¡± Yonatan coughed after catching Cassara¡¯s disapproving glance. ¡°Forget your village. You¡¯re not in Evergale anymore. And if you keep sticking your neck out for every sad sack you meet, one day, you¡¯re going to hang yourself with your own noose.¡±


    Maybe Yonatan was right. Even the law of the hunt said that an old and sick hunter had to leave the pack so as not to weaken it. After all, during times of Hunger, even the young and strong could barely feed themselves.


    But... Ardi had never liked that lesson, nor Ergar¡¯s insistence on it. Something in him resisted that truth, though he wasn¡¯t sure what it was, exactly.


    ¡°Then why do you serve in the Second Chancery?¡± He asked the Cloak.


    ¡°Let me think,¡± Yonatan made an exaggerated show of pondering this question. ¡°When you¡¯ve done three years of a twenty-year sentence, and some slick-looking man with clean hands offers you a little deal... Does that answer your question?¡±


    Ardi glanced from Yonatan to Cassara. If the man really had been serving time in a labor camp, where the Second Chancery had found him and taken him away for their mutant experiments, how did Cassara know his father?


    ¡°Ivan was the man,¡± Yonatan smirked crookedly. ¡°And while I would love to tell you a tearjerker about an abandoned son¡­ Damn the Face of Light, nope. It¡¯s not like that. I was just a dumb kid. Small brain, big dick...¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re flattering yourself,¡± Katerina winked. ¡°Your brain¡¯s way bigger than what¡¯s in your pants.¡±


    The Cloaks burst out laughing, and Yonatan, tipping his hat like a stage performer, gave a theatrical bow. Ardi had seen such performers before ¡ª they sometimes came to Evergale during the festivals.


    ¡°Well, what about you, Katerina?¡± Ardi asked, turning to the sharpshooter.


    ¡°My story¡¯s nothing special, Ardi,¡± the woman replied with a chuckle. ¡°My parents drank themselves to death and sold me to an underground profit house.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Profit houses are these¡­ I don¡¯t know how to explain it¡­ Buildings in the Metropolis,¡± Katerina interrupted her own indecisiveness, her tone soft but controlled, though Ardi noticed the slight tremor in her jaw and the brief dimming of her gaze. It hurt her to speak of this. ¡°They¡¯re huge houses, with several grand staircases, maybe five floors in total, all owned by one person or a company. And then the rooms and spaces are rented out.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a dream to me,¡± drawled one of the other Cloaks, a man in his thirties with a high forehead and a long scar across his neck. ¡°You build one of those and that¡¯s it ¡ª just sit there and count the exes.¡±


    ¡°And why¡¯s the house underground? How?¡± Ardi couldn¡¯t help but ask.


    ¡°That¡¯s just what they call them,¡± Katerina explained. ¡°It means ¡®illegal.¡¯ Like, illegal things happen there. The first couple of floors might really even be apartments, but the higher you go... There¡¯s brothels, dens for addicts, contraband shops, or even small factories. In my house, they produced Angel Dust.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°A drug,¡± Katerina answered before he could finish asking. ¡°It¡¯s like the narcotic tobacco from Kargaam, but synthetic. That¡¯s why it¡¯s cheaper, but way more harmful. A year of use can turn someone into a crazed, walking skeleton covered in sores.¡±


    Ardan couldn¡¯t fathom why anyone would poison themselves with such a thing, but he decided not to ask further.


    ¡°They sold me to work in one of those labs,¡± Katerina continued. ¡°During the day, we¡¯d sew bags, and at night, we¡¯d cook up the brew that eventually became Angel Dust.¡±


    ¡°Nasty places,¡± muttered another Cloak, one who so rarely spoke that Ardi couldn¡¯t even remember his voice.


    ¡°To put it mildly,¡± Katerina nodded somberly. ¡°Most of the kids didn¡¯t last longer than a year. We got almost no sleep, and only scraps for food ¡ª on holidays, we maybe got something cheap and obviously rotten. And at night, the fumes from the brew... but I got lucky. The Second Chancery raided the house, and one of the officers took me in. He was a good man. Drank a lot, though. And he had a dog. A red one. Its name was Katerina.¡±


    Ardi raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°My parents couldn¡¯t be bothered to give me a name,¡± the sharpshooter shrugged. ¡°And at the underground house, they called me ¡®hey, you,¡¯ like they did with everyone else.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that make you a bit-¡±


    Yonatan didn¡¯t even get to finish his taunt before Katerina¡¯s hand went to her rifle. The man raised his hands in mock surrender.


    ¡°Where I come from, they say that the Metropolis is almost a magical city,¡± Ardi shivered.


    ¡°Magically awful,¡± spat the Cloak with the neck scar.


    ¡°Not anymore,¡± Yonatan waved him off, pulling out a knife and picking at his teeth with it. ¡°Things have gotten better in recent years. When the old Emperor grew weak and the Heir took over with all his legislative initiatives that he managed to push through the Central Chamber, life improved a bit.¡±


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Yonatan, noticing the wide-eyed looks from everyone around him, just shrugged and grinned slyly.


    ¡°I shared a labor cell with a former lawyer.¡±


    ¡°And how did a lawyer end up in a labor camp?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯d been laundering money for the Orcish Jackets.¡±


    There was a collective whistle from the group, and Ardan made a mental note to one day ask who or what the ¡°Orcish Jackets¡± were.


    ¡°Take Katerina¡¯s underground houses, for example,¡± Yonatan tossed his knife into the air and caught it deftly by the blade. ¡°There used to be plenty of them twenty years ago. Now? You can hardly find one.¡±


    ¡°They all just moved to the working districts,¡± Katerina countered. ¡°After the industrial boom, not only are there so many factories that the sky is black with smog, but there are also gangs and other scum.¡±


    Yonatan shrugged.


    Ardi, meanwhile, was trying to recall his lessons on the structure of society. The nation was governed by the three chambers of Parliament (not counting the Emperor, of course).


    The Lower Chamber, the largest of them, was formed through elected mandates. It had 123 deputies who came from all the districts of the country, each serving a twelve-year term, after which they could not be re-elected.


    Ardi remembered seeing political columns in the ¡°Imperial Herald¡± (a newspaper Neviy had often used to wrap his baked goods). There were sometimes discussions about how this practice had been created by the aristocracy and nobility in order to prevent the common folk from gaining a foothold in power. But pro-government journalists had always refuted that claim, arguing that it reduced corruption.


    To be honest, Ardi had never cared about any of that. The provincial centres, like Delpas, had seemed far too distant to him, let alone the capital itself, which had seemed like a fairy tale.


    Anyway, if he remembered his lessons correctly, the Lower Chamber¡¯s role was to draft and discuss laws. Once drafted, these laws would go to the Central Chamber.


    The Central Chamber was entirely dependent on the Emperor and his apparatus. It had 41 seats, all appointed by the Emperor for sixteen-year terms, and every single one of them could be re-appointed as many times as the Emperor saw fit.


    The Central Chamber would review the laws coming from the Lower Chamber, either rejecting them for revision or approving them and passing them on to the Upper Chamber.


    It was the Upper Chamber that always sparked the most public debate, at least if the ¡°Imperial Herald¡± was to be believed. Not only was there a ¡°bloodline requirement¡± for membership, but the seats in this chamber were hereditary, tied to the aristocratic families of the nations Gales had conquered when it had first formed the Empire. There were a total of 23 seats in the Upper Chamber, and once the laws were approved by the Central Chamber, it was the Upper Chamber¡¯s job to seal them and send them to the Emperor for his signature.


    And yes, the Emperor did have veto power and could reject any decree, law, reform, or initiative, but that hadn¡¯t happened in a long time.


    It was a convoluted and cumbersome system (especially with the addition of regional councils, governors, ministries, and other bureaucratic institutions), but the authors of Ardi¡¯s civics textbook had insisted that this was the best way to manage one sixth of the entire world¡¯s landmass and one fifth of its population.


    Twenty-two million square kilometers and nearly four hundred million people. The Empire of the New Monarchy was truly vast.


    ¡°I was given a choice between the penal battalion or this,¡± the usually silent Cloak said unexpectedly. ¡°I figured this was better. The food in the penal battalion was worse, the uniforms less stylish, and they didn¡¯t pay.¡±


    ¡°As if we¡¯re swimming in money,¡± Katerina laughed. ¡°My friend works at the post office in Metropolis. With all her bonuses and overtime, she earns more than I do. And she¡¯s just a senior typesetter.¡±


    ¡°How much does she make?¡± Asked the quiet Cloak.


    ¡°Thinking of quitting your job?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t dodge the question, Katerina. How much does she make at the post office?¡±


    The sharpshooter thought about it for a moment.


    ¡°About twenty-one, maybe twenty-two exes a month, if you count her annual bonus.¡±


    The Cloaks, Yonatan included, whistled in unison.


    ¡°Damn,¡± the mutant muttered. ¡°With all my bonuses and years of service, I only get twenty-three.¡±


    Cassara, who had been mostly silent during their conversation, seemed to be listening, but Ardan suspected she was in some form of trance, disconnected from the world around her. It was probably the only way she could preserve her sanity over the span of centuries.


    ¡°I always wanted to serve the Emperor,¡± the scarred Cloak suddenly said quietly. ¡°My father served. And his father before him. There¡¯s no greater honor than being on the side of the royal family.¡±


    ¡°Royalty,¡± Yonatan scoffed. ¡°Why don¡¯t you give us a history lesson on Gales, Artemiy? Honor, dignity, warbands... That¡¯s all in the past. A very distant past¡­ They better raise our fucking wages. I don¡¯t even have winter boots. And I bet Katerina¡¯s only seen dresses on store mannequins.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t wear dresses,¡± the sharpshooter retorted, indignant.


    ¡°That¡¯s only because you¡¯re broke. But if you had money, what would you do with it?¡±


    Katerina fell silent for a moment, then spoke with unexpected seriousness.


    ¡°I¡¯d quit the service, move to the Dancing Peninsula, somewhere near the border with Olikzasia, and open an orphanage.¡±


    The group was so stunned that they didn¡¯t know how to respond.


    ¡°Cassara here would be my head teacher. We¡¯d take the kids out to play by the sea, grow grapes, maybe even build a proper school.¡±


    Yonatan shook his head and cleared his throat.


    ¡°Alright, folks, this conversation¡¯s starting to make me uncomfortable. I say we draw lots, and whoever loses has to run twenty laps around the-¡±


    ¡°TOWN!¡± A shout came from the front of the caravan. ¡°I SEE THE TOWN!¡±


    Ardan hadn¡¯t witnessed such joy in a long time. Bright and almost alive, it rippled through the group like waves, reflected in the smiles on the settlers¡¯ faces, ringing in the air with children¡¯s laughter, and booming with the coarse, unchecked shouts of men, which were often mixed with curses.


    People embraced each other, as if afraid their emotions would tear them apart in the storm of feelings crashing over them. Like ships in a storm, they sought the safety of each other¡¯s shoulders.


    Ardi couldn¡¯t help but smile himself, glancing from the jubilant Yonatan over to Mart.


    The two men were similar in some ways ¡ª not in appearance, of course, but in their manner of speech, certainly. They even cursed in similar ways at times. Yet their similarity lay deeper, like with two paths branching off in opposite directions at a crossroads. Both paths were nearly the same, but they led to diametrically opposite destinations. At least, that¡¯s how it seemed to Ardan, though Skusty would¡¯ve probably said that he was simply seeing the other side of the tree.


    Once, the mischievous squirrel had spent an entire day teasing Ardi by asking him if he could see both sides of a tree at the same time.


    ¡°We¡¯re almost on schedule,¡± Yonatan sighed after catching his breath. ¡°We¡¯ll reach Presny by nightfall, and the train leaves in the morning.¡±


    At these words, the young man turned and looked back toward the endless plains. Far to the north, near the horizon, if he squinted, he could just make out the thin, white line of the icy peaks of the Alcade.


    ¡°Move it, you wretches!¡± Yonatan shouted, spurring the others on. ¡°Tonight, I¡¯m sleeping in a bed, not on the ground!¡±


    The caravan even picked up its pace a little, and Ardi, still walking, pulled out his letter to Anna. Only now, for some reason, had he realized what he needed to write in it.


    ¡°Hello, Anna.


    I¡¯m writing to you from just outside Presny. It¡¯s been over two months since we last saw each other, and the weight of that time feels unbearable.


    I keep going back to those days when you came looking for a way up the mountain. Could I have met you then? Probably not. But I could have tried. And yet, I didn¡¯t even do that¡­


    I don¡¯t know what that means or what it says about me... but so much has happened, Anna. It¡¯s hard to describe and even harder to explain.


    I wish more than anything that I could see you now, talk to you the way we used to. Do you remember how we¡¯d stay up late, talking about trivial things that seemed so important and complicated to us, chatting away until your mother reminded me it was time to go home?


    No one reminds me of that anymore.


    I¡¯m sorry, Anna.


    Maybe this sounds pathetic, and maybe I am pathetic, but... I don¡¯t know. That evening by the stream, when I walked home, I was thinking about our future together, about marriage and family. But now I realize I never even asked what you wanted.


    Were we just friends, caught in a fleeting moment of passion? Or were those feelings real?


    Maybe this isn¡¯t the letter you wanted to read. But someone told me I have to be honest.


    I don¡¯t know what I feel for you. And I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s because the mountains of the Alcade and you are both growing more distant from me by the day, or if what happened by the stream was just our bodies, not our hearts.


    I¡¯m sending this letter now, from Presny. I could wait another ten days and send it from the Metropolis with a return address, but I¡¯ve waited so long to talk to you, even just through a letter, that I can¡¯t bear to wait any longer.


    I¡¯ll check the main post office in the Metropolis every two weeks. If you want to write back to me, send your letter there.


    If I don¡¯t hear from you, I¡¯ll know that it was only the bodies...


    I¡¯d like to end this letter with ¡°Until we meet again, Anna,¡± but my heart tells me¡­¡±


    Ardi glanced back at Mart, who was riding behind him, biting his tongue in concentration as he scribbled something in his journal.


    Then he looked at Yonatan. Gruff, always watching the plains like a hawk, but... real. He was exactly as he appeared to be.


    Just like Katerina, the Silent One, Long Neck (that was the one with the scar)¡­ and Tevona Elliny and Andrew Kal¡¯dron.


    Ardan had long ago stopped asking himself whether he was a human or a Matabar. But he knew exactly who he wasn¡¯t and who he didn¡¯t want to become.


    And so he finished his letter the way it had to be finished.


    ¡°Farewell, Anna, my first friend.¡±


    Now certain that there was nothing left to say, Ardi folded the piece of paper and tucked it into an inner pocket along with the letters he planned to send to his mother.


    The rest of the evening, he kept silent, mostly listening to the Cloaks talk. They discussed ordinary things: relationships, pay, travel allowances, and the fact that they¡¯d have to visit the families of the fallen and deliver the unpleasant news.


    They agreed to draw lots before each visit, and whoever lost would play the role of the grim messenger.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get too comfortable,¡± Yonatan muttered. ¡°There¡¯s still ten days on the train ahead of us.¡±


    With those words, the conversations petered out, and the remaining part of their journey passed in silence.


    The closer they got to Presny, the faster the sun seemed to slip beneath the horizon, painting the roofs of the town¡¯s buildings in shades of pink.


    It was such a strange sight that Ardi paused for a moment, until Cassara nudged him forward.


    From the endless plains, where the horizon stretched out into eternity and the ground lay unbroken for countless kilometers, the town seemed to rise up like a mirage. It was as if someone had taken a seed of civilization and planted it right here in the middle of the flatlands. And as the caravan neared the town, the mirage transformed into reality.


    The city, small and compact, was an anomaly. Rows of tightly-packed wooden houses stood so close together that it was hard to tell where one ended and another began.


    Their sun-worn facades had been weathering the relentless steppe winds for what felt like centuries. And yet, some of them had verandas, where people sat in rocking chairs, exchanging nods and brief words with their neighbors. The quiet hum of conversations buzzed in the air, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter and shouting.


    The locals, upon seeing their caravan entering the town, barely spared the newcomers a glance. It seemed like Presny, which served as a central hub for the surrounding areas, had long ago grown used to such visitors and their ragged appearance.


    Ardi, for his part, took in the scene with wide-eyed wonder, absorbing the new and unfamiliar sights that stood in stark contrast to the warm, familiar embrace of Evergale.


    The main street was the beating heart of this cowboy town, and even though the sun had almost dipped beneath the horizon, life here still bustled.


    Men on horseback clattered by, their spurs jingling, while townsfolk strolled leisurely, casting wary glances to either side.


    Saloons, their wooden doors swinging open regularly, beckoned both travelers and locals alike, offering mugs of beer and lively tunes from old pianos.


    Branching off the main street were smaller roads, each telling its own story of everyday life. People sat on porches, talking, dogs barked in the distance, laundry fluttered as it hung from lines set up in the direct path of the wind, making sounds like the flapping of wings.


    Oddly enough, the church and the town hall stood side by side with the saloon and the local brothel. This juxtaposition was almost poetic ¡ª or perhaps mocking. And looming between these contrasting establishments was the jailhouse and the sheriff¡¯s office, its wooden facade a shade darker than the rest, grimly overseeing the happenings below.


    From this vantage point, Ardi could even see beyond the town¡¯s buildings.


    Outside the town, the plains resumed their reign. But even there, human presence was evident. Seemingly infinite railroads stretched from one horizon to the other, faintly glinting in the evening light of the station¡¯s lanterns. Next to the modest structure stood a simple platform, cobbled together from aged planks.


    It was from that platform that the train bound for the Metropolis would depart tomorrow at dawn.


    ¡°Fuck this!¡± Yonatan cursed as his boot sunk into yet another pile of horse manure, which had been left on the already mud-slicked ground. ¡°Next time I get a posting on the plains, I¡¯m asking for some spare boots!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a sound idea, Mr. Kornosskiy,¡± came the voice of Ertas Govlov, who had noticeably aged and withered along the way. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to thank you for-¡±


    ¡°Enough talking,¡± Yonatan interrupted, extending his hand. Ertas hesitated, then uncertainly shook it. ¡°Farewell, northerner.¡±


    With that, the Cloak turned back to his group (what remained of it) and Ardi.


    ¡°We¡¯re staying in the saloon. We¡¯ll get two rooms. One for us, and one for Cassara and the kid.¡±


    ¡°And why exactly-¡± Began Long Neck, but Yonatan cut him off.


    ¡°You want to bunk with the vampire?¡±


    And so they made their way toward the saloon, leaving a slightly bewildered Ertas behind. Ardi noticed the northerner clenching a roll of money tied together with string in his left hand. But Yonatan hadn¡¯t taken any. He hadn¡¯t even considered it.


    And for some reason, Ardan was certain that Mart would¡¯ve done the exact opposite.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about them, Ardi,¡± Cassara whispered softly in the Fae tongue. ¡°We did all we could for them, and more. Their fate is their own now.¡±


    Thus, after nearly a month of traveling together, without any long goodbyes or formalities, they parted ways with the caravan.


    And how did Ardi feel about this?


    To his surprise, he didn¡¯t feel all that much. He felt sorry for those who had been left behind in the plains, but at the same time, he rejoiced for those who had made it this far.


    Yonatan, feeling perfectly at home, threw open the doors and, ignoring the stares from the saloon¡¯s patrons, headed for the bar.


    Ardi, following behind him, removed his hat as his mother had always taught him to do. He¡¯d been in saloons before, but never in one this big. The first floor was filled with about fifty men, scattered across a dozen round tables. Most wore ammunition belts and revolvers. Some were playing cards, others were drinking and talking, while a few simply ate in the relatively quiet and peaceful atmosphere.


    At the far end of the room, an old man in a worn tuxedo lazily played the piano. Above his head hung the skull of a young Wanderer, and surrounding it were black-and-white photographs of various people.


    There were no women present, except for two waitresses, which wasn¡¯t surprising. The presence of women in such establishments ¡ª especially young and beautiful ones ¡ª usually led to someone spending the night behind bars (so they could ¡°clear their head,¡± as Shaia¡¯s husband would say), or, even worse, shootouts.


    Ardi cast a wary glance at Cassara, only to find that she was no longer beside him. Only the faintest sense of her presence told him that someone, something undead, was still nearby.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to provoke the mortals unnecessarily,¡± came a barely audible whisper.


    Katerina, on the other hand, didn¡¯t bat an eye at the stares from the patrons. She simply tipped her black hat and adjusted her ammunition belt.


    The crowd muttered something about Cloaks and went back to their business.


    But with Cassara, such a trick might not have worked¡­


    Yonatan approached the long, cracked bar counter and wordlessly laid down a few iron coins.


    ¡°Two rooms,¡± he said curtly.


    The bartender, who had been wiping down some perpetually-cloudy glasses, scrutinized the coins, checked something, then pocketed them and handed over two keys.


    ¡°No hot water,¡± the man said, his tone as dull as the rest of him. ¡°Dinner and breakfast aren¡¯t included. Each room¡¯s got two beds. No extra linens.¡±


    Yonatan stared at the bartender, but the man, who was clearly used to such situations, didn¡¯t react in the slightest.


    Yonatan then reached over the bar, pulling out a half-empty bottle labeled in what Ardi guessed was the Grainian language.


    ¡°Then this whiskey will cover what we should¡¯ve gotten for the fifty kso we paid. For that much, we could¡¯ve stayed in a decent hotel in Delpas for three nights.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t Delpas,¡± the bartender replied flatly, showing no concern for the missing bottle.


    With that, the deal was done, and the group followed their leader upstairs, soon dispersing into their rooms. Once the door closed behind them, Cassara shimmered like heat rising from a fire and reappeared.


    Without removing her boots, she lay down on the rickety, wooden bed and pulled her hat over her face.


    ¡°I thought vampires didn¡¯t sleep,¡± Ardi said, puzzled.


    ¡°Little one, there are a few things you don¡¯t mention in the presence of a lady,¡± she replied evenly. ¡°Her age, her social standing, and what she does at night.¡±


    ¡°Uhm¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll understand one day.¡±


    The way she¡¯d said that made it clear to Ardan that the conversation was over.


    He sat down on the other bed, looking around. There wasn¡¯t much here besides a table chewed up by some kind of bugs, and a wardrobe whose door creaked with every gust of wind that came in through the loosely-closed window.


    This must¡¯ve been similar to the conditions Shaia and Erti had lived in when...


    Ardi shook his head, trying to chase away those heavy thoughts. He pulled out the Stranger¡¯s textbook and opened it up at the theoretical chapter where the author discussed the nature of the Ley Lines¡¯ influence on all living things on the planet, but he couldn¡¯t focus. He would read and read, only to realize that he¡¯d been lost in his own thoughts for a while and had to go back to the start of the page.


    After the third attempt, Ardi gave up, closed the book, and put it away.


    For a moment, he stared at Cassara, but she was either in her strange trance again or doing a convincing impression of someone who was asleep.


    Opening his wallet, Ardan counted his remaining funds. There were three bills with the seal of the Azure Sea Province on them, each worth five exes. And in the coin section, a few iron coins rattled about.


    He didn¡¯t want to break the large bills because, as his mother had taught him ¡ª small money was easier to spend.


    His stomach growled.


    After counting out six kso in coins, Ardan stood up and glanced at his staff and book. There was probably no safer place for them in all of Presny than right here, next to Cassara.


    Knowing that the vampire wasn¡¯t really asleep, but still trying not to make too much noise, Ardi carefully closed the door behind him and stepped out into the hallway. The smell of food hit him immediately, followed by the noise made by the thumping of a bed against a wall and the muffled moans coming from a distant room. The door to that room made Ardi want to look away.


    Adjusting his belt, Ardi made his way downstairs, where even more patrons had filled the room since he¡¯d last been there.


    Pushing his way to the bar, he placed a few coins on the counter. The bartender swept them into the till faster than the eye could follow.


    ¡°What¡¯s your poison?¡± The man asked.


    Ardi blinked a few times.


    ¡°What are you drinking?¡± The bartender clarified, pulling on a wooden lever and pouring frothy ale into four mugs at once, which he sent sliding down the bar toward some rugged workers.


    ¡°Do you have... cocoa?¡± Ardan asked hopefully.


    The bartender choked. They locked eyes, and the man realized that the tall, young man standing before him, a man who was taller than even the burliest of cowboys, was not joking.


    ¡°Anna!¡± The bartender shouted, making Ardi jump. ¡°Do we still have that Lintelarian powder?¡±


    ¡°The cocoa, you mean?¡± Came a young woman¡¯s voice from somewhere in the depths of the saloon.


    ¡°Yeah!¡±


    ¡°I think so!¡±


    ¡°Make a quarter liter of it!¡±


    There were no menus, of course, and the chalkboard with prices was hopelessly hidden behind the backs of the cowboys. And so Ardi, with even more hope in his voice, asked:


    ¡°Do you also have a sandwich? Even a cold one?¡±


    The bartender sighed and nodded.


    ¡°From a Shaggier.¡±


    ¡°Perfect!¡± Ardan grinned broadly.


    The Shaggier, which was a nickname belonging to a wild breed of cow, had earned this moniker thanks to the long, thick woolen tufts that sometimes trailed behind it like a cape. From a distance, these animals looked like walking balls of fluff.


    The meat was tough, with a distinctive taste and smell, but it was cheap.


    ¡°And stack some meat on a piece of bread!¡±


    ¡°Already on it!¡±


    The waitress vanished behind the door leading to the kitchen.


    Within minutes, a mug filled to the brim with thick, sweet cocoa was placed next to Ardi, along with a wooden plate holding a rather unappealing-looking piece of bread and a chunk of clearly overcooked, grayish meat.


    But that didn¡¯t bother Ardan in the slightest. He tore into the dry, gum-scratching sandwich with the ferocity of a starving wolf.


    ¡°Whoa!¡± The waitress standing next to him was so short that even while Ardi was sitting, she barely reached his shoulder. And that was with the bar stools being surprisingly low. ¡°Did your mom bed an orc or something? You¡¯re huge!¡±


    Ardan raised an eyebrow, giving the brunette, who looked to be about twenty-five, a puzzled look. She had a cute face, with dimples in her cheeks, just like the bartender¡­ They also shared the same high forehead, though their noses were different.


    The other waitress, also a brunette, but without the dimples, had a lower forehead and the same button nose as her father, the bartender. One had clearly taken after their father, and the other after their mother.


    Little details like this were often easier for Ardi to read than even books written in the Galessian ¡ª or as it was more commonly known, Imperial ¡ª language.


    ¡°Sorry, sir investigator,¡± the waitress suddenly paled and disappeared into the crowd of patrons.


    After she spoke, the cowboys who had been leaning their elbows on Ardi¡¯s shoulders immediately backed off, creating a small bubble of space around him.


    He didn¡¯t mind.


    But why had the waitress come to such a conclusion? Ardan frowned, then saw his reflection in the bar¡¯s grimy mirror.


    Oh, right...


    He had a gaunt face, a week¡¯s worth of stubble, and, on top of that, a black shirt paired with black pants, and an ammunition belt with a buckle bearing the Imperial crest. It was all standard issue clothing that the Cloaks had given him at the start of their journey.


    ¡°What news from the plains, lawman?¡± An odd-looking... young man asked as he squeezed in next to him. He was Ardi¡¯s age, maybe a couple of months older than him at most.


    He was stocky and solidly built, one of those types that people often called ¡°as sturdy as a stump.¡± But he also had a curious, bright look in his gray eyes and a massive, square jaw that could probably hammer nails into horseshoes.


    ¡°By the Eternal Angels!¡± The newcomer clapped him on the shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re the same age!¡±


    ¡°Maybe¡­¡±


    ¡°You look like crap, mate!¡± The young man sniffed his dubious bread and meat. ¡°And you¡¯re eating garbage¡­¡±


    Ardi¡¯s level of sympathy for this strange person began to drop rapidly.


    ¡°That¡¯s no good,¡± the newcomer clapped him on the shoulder again. ¡°Come sit with us! We¡¯ve been here for three days, waiting for the train to Metropolis! And we¡¯ve already traded all our stories, even the dull ones! So, I¡¯ll trade you a proper dinner ¡ª though it might be a bit cold ¡ª for your tales of the plains!¡±


    And without another word, he dragged Ardi through the crowd. The young man barely managed to grab his mug and plate, deciding not to resist. After all, he had nothing better to do, and maybe he¡¯d learn something new.


    As they weaved through the patrons, Ardan noticed that despite the newcomer¡¯s cheap pants and shirt, his boots were made from high-quality leather, and the handle of his revolver, cleverly disguised to look like painted wood, was actually carved from bone.


    Even if you ignored the weapon, those boots alone could fetch you enough to buy a good winter wardrobe.


    At the table in the farthest corner of the room sat three more people. Two of them were young men, and the third was a girl who was doing her best to pass for a boy, though she had overlooked the fact that she lacked that one odd protrusion in her throat that men had but women didn¡¯t. Still, with her hair hidden under a bandana and her baggy clothes disguising her figure, she¡¯d done more than enough to ensure that the locals were likely to mistake her for a slender, attractive lad.


    But what truly surprised Ardan, and even made him a bit wary, were the four staves leaning against the wall next to the table and the stack of grimoires lying casually on the table itself, as if they were nothing more than ordinary books (though even those were worth a whole lot, especially in such a backwater town).


    They were a group of mages. And given their age, lack of regalia, and the mention of the train to Metropolis, it was highly likely that they were heading to the university to enroll.


    Ardi crunched into his sandwich and smiled inwardly.


    Maybe, for once, luck had decided to be on his side.

 Chapter 29 - Train

    ¡°And yet, we should have crushed that filth in Fatia,¡± slurred Boris, slamming his mug onto the table. It was clear that he¡¯d had too much to drink; his words barely rolled off his tongue. This Boris was the same stranger who had dragged Ardi to their table a few hours ago.


    ¡°Yeah, right,¡± snorted one of the others, Chris or Crit was his name ¡ª it was hard to tell them all apart. He had a lanky figure with pockmarked skin, his knees awkwardly twisted from some childhood bone disease. ¡°Like we could just charge in and take them.¡±


    ¡°Our army reserve is three times their size!¡± Boris shot back, refusing to give up. ¡°And the bayonets! My father also says we¡¯ll have one point two million troops by the end of this year!¡±


    As far as Ardi could tell while digging into his passable but slightly cold dinner ¡ª just as Boris had promised him ¡ª at least two of them, Boris and Len, were part of the military aristocracy from the Taia border region. It made perfect sense for them to be in Presny. The other two ¡ª Chris or Crit, whatever, and another young man with shifty, rat-like eyes ¡ª didn¡¯t seem to know the noble siblings any better than they knew each other. From what Ardi had gathered from their conversation, they had all crossed paths here a few days ago and decided to pass the time together until their train arrived.


    ¡°And Fatia has a million,¡± insisted¡­ Chris, let¡¯s say. ¡°And considering the fact that they¡¯re ten times smaller than us, their forces aren¡¯t spread across their entire territory. Do I need to remind you that they have at least four armies stationed on their southern border? On our, the Eternal Angels help me, border! That¡¯s a hundred and sixty thousand bayonets, Boris. And don¡¯t forget, the army isn¡¯t just infantry, cavalry, and artillery. You¡¯ve also got engineers, supply chains, staff officers. So, in reality, we have much fewer than one point two million combat-able troops.¡±


    Boris muttered something under his breath, taking another sip of his foamy drink.


    ¡°And besides,¡± Chris continued, ¡°Tazidah will never let the Empire reach the Shallow Seas.¡±


    The Shallow Seas were the seas situated between the Tazidahian Brotherhood, the Kingdom of Urdavan, Lintelar, Olikzasia, Foria, the Principality of Fatia, Grainia, and¡­ Well, they stretched all the way to the Confederation of Free Cities. In other words, they were the main water route connecting the western and eastern continents. And thus, they were also the most profitable trade route, fought over continuously by nations across the world.


    Ardi had once asked his geography teacher why the Empire couldn¡¯t just outfit a fleet on the western coast and sail to Lan¡¯Duo¡¯Ha from the other side. After all, the planet was round. The problem was that the Reverse Ocean, despite its many islands, was literally kept impassable by countless whirlpools. And even that wasn¡¯t the worst of it. The ocean also had several currents so fast and powerful that navigating them was nearly impossible, not to mention the unending storms and tempests that spawned enormous waves.


    All of this had something to do with the influence of Ley Lines on the planet¡¯s magnetic fields, or something like that. The topic hadn¡¯t been deeply explored in school.


    A few madmen had crossed the Reverse Ocean, of course, but using it for regular travel with a large fleet was simply impossible. So, most trade occurred via the Shallow Seas, or by taking a longer but safer route across the Swallow Ocean that meant you weren¡¯t crossing a myriad of territorial waters.


    ¡°Tazidah is always at odds with Urdavan,¡± Boris wiped his lips with a handkerchief, a move that nearly made Ardan smirk. While these people weren¡¯t trying too hard to disguise themselves, such manners still screamed nobility. ¡°And Urdavan¡¯s army is larger. Almost as large as Fatia¡¯s. But don¡¯t forget, if it comes to it, we can mobilize far more people than the Tazidahians, the Fatians, and even the Castilians!¡±


    ¡°But not more than all of them at once,¡± Chris reminded him. ¡°If we start a full-scale war over access to the Shallow Seas, the entire world will erupt. Urdavan will see that Tazidah is weakened from supporting Fatia against us, and they¡¯ll push west. Then Scaldavin will decide to resolve their enclave issues. Grainia will inevitably renew its conflict with the Lintelar-Olikzasia-Foria alliance that controls the islands, seas, and the Swallow Ocean on our side. And don¡¯t even get me started on what will happen on the eastern continent.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s there to start?¡± Scoffed the rat-eyed fellow. ¡°First off, all five of them will try to bury the Confederation and seize its monopoly on access to the Shallow Seas.¡±


    ¡°Which, of course,¡± Chris chimed in, ¡°will lead to one faction forming an alliance to stop another, and in the end, they¡¯ll tear each other apart before they even reach the Confederation¡¯s borders. That¡¯s why it still stands to this day.¡±


    ¡°And you really think a war with Fatia could trigger some kind of¡­ all-out war?¡± Boris frowned, his tone slurred by the alcohol.


    ¡°A World War,¡± Len Fahtov corrected him softly, her voice so deliberately low that it was clear that it was an artificial attempt at sounding more masculine.


    ¡°And on top of that,¡± Chris, clearly passionate about politics, couldn¡¯t stop himself. ¡°The moment we concentrate on the northeastern front, our northwestern flank will be exposed. Don¡¯t forget about our vast borders with the Armondos.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re all scattered into tribes,¡± Boris protested. ¡°And there aren¡¯t that many of them.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re currently scattered, yes,¡± Chris agreed, before adding, ¡°but rumors claim that they¡¯ve recently had some chosen leader from an ancient prophecy, or just another strong-willed figure, uniting them. And what better way to unite a people than an external enemy? And since you mentioned mobilization potential earlier ¡ª remember all those stories about the Armondo cavalry hordes? They¡¯ve been riding since birth!¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Chris added, ¡°our new tanks and artillery lessen the threat of the Armondos, but how many tanks do we actually have? If the public sources are to be believed, we have about a hundred and fifty. That¡¯s enough for the Fatian front, but for two¡­ or three, if the Ngians end up supporting their brethren and cross the Great Glacier?¡±


    Boris waved his beer, almost spilling it on the person next to him. Ardan tensed inwardly, lifting his plate off the table. He knew all too well how a slight mishap like that could escalate in a saloon packed with cowboys. He wasn¡¯t about to lose a perfectly good steak to a brawl, even if it was cold, bland, and had been hastily prepared.


    ¡°Still don¡¯t believe it,¡± Boris persisted, slurring his words. ¡°No way a mess like that starts over just Fatia.¡±


    ¡°Not just Fatia,¡± Chris confirmed, sipping his single portion of cider. Out of all of them, only Boris was drinking heavily. The others had refrained, none feeling entirely safe in this place. As for the noble-born, he was used to no one around him posing any threat, so he acted as freely as he pleased. ¡°But if we gain access to the Shallow Seas through neutral waters, our trade profits will skyrocket, and Olikzasia and Foria will be at risk. Even if we somehow beat Tazidah¡­ No, neither Castilia nor Selkado would allow us to grow that powerful. They benefit too much from us being boxed in by Fatia, Foria, and Olikzasia.¡±


    ¡°We have excellent relations with the latter two!¡±


    ¡°Excellent relations don¡¯t exist in grand politics, Boris,¡± Chris shook his head. ¡°Only advantageous temporary alliances. It¡¯s in our interest to ally with the islanders because it reduces our trade costs in their waters and gives us a couple of military bases on their islands. And it¡¯s in their interest to ally with us because we counterbalance the eastern continent¡¯s ambitions. And don¡¯t forget that the Lintelar-Olikzasia-Foria alliance has the largest, most modern fleet in the world! Only Grainia can rival them. Which they always do.¡±


    ¡°As I listen to you, I become convinced that the whole world hasn¡¯t gone up in flames yet only because everyone¡¯s interests are different,¡± the rat-eyed one rasped.


    ¡°Checks and balances,¡± Chris rephrased. ¡°That¡¯s exactly how it works. And it¡¯s nothing new. Throughout modern history, every war has started, in one way or another, over trade routes. Whoever controls the trade routes controls the money and resources. Whoever controls the money and resources spreads their influence. And the one with the most influence dictates the will of others, leading to even more money and influence coming their way. It¡¯s a vicious cycle. And if you look at the map, you¡¯ll see that all capitals are by bodies of water because water has always been and always will be the fastest and cheapest trade route, no matter what the Metropolis promises with its fancy airships.¡±


    Having finished his tirade, Chris took a few noisy gulps and smugly pushed his mug aside.


    ¡°If you love politics so much,¡± Boris glanced hazily at the staves and grimoires surrounding him, ¡°why didn¡¯t you apply to the Imperial Lyceum for public service instead of entering the Grand?¡±


    ¡°Because not all of us, Mr. Fahtov, were born into blue-blooded families.¡±


    ¡°Born lucky, you mean?¡± Boris¡¯ sudden burst of anger was unexpected. He slammed his hand on the table, swaying as he struggled to stand. ¡°What do you know about-¡±


    ¡°Feladjo,¡± Len quietly interrupted.


    Everyone turned to look at Boris¡¯ sibling.


    ¡°Feladjo is the capital of the Principality of Fatia,¡± Len explained. ¡°And it¡¯s not on any body of water. Neither is the capital of the Holy Emirates of Al¡¯Zafir.¡±


    ¡°Exceptions to the rule,¡± Chris scoffed. ¡°And the Emirates are ninety percent desert.¡±


    ¡°But if there are exceptions to that rule,¡± Len countered, ¡°maybe there are exceptions to everything you¡¯ve said, too. Like the idea that everyone born into noble families is as lucky as you think they are.¡±


    Len fell silent, casting her eyes down, and returning to her herbal tea with its heavy, cloying aroma. The only two people in the saloon drinking anything non-alcoholic were probably Len and Ardi.


    ¡°Ahem,¡± Chris cleared his throat, rubbing his head with a sheepish smile as he looked away from Boris.


    The conflict, which had barely begun, fizzled out, and for a while, a tense silence hovered over their table.


    Ardi, who¡¯d finally finished what seemed like his third plate of food, stretched out contentedly in his chair. No, he hadn¡¯t learned anything about Star Magic or the Metropolis and the Grand University from these folks, but still¡­


    It was curious. While sitting in a dusty classroom in Evergale, he had never thought about the things Chris and Boris had been so fervently debating. To him, the stories of endless border skirmishes with Fatia and the Armondos had always seemed like just another fact of life. Yes, the borders were there. Yes, conflicts occasionally flared up ¡ª like the one twenty years ago when the combined losses of the Fatians and the Empire had reached nearly eleven thousand men (known as the ¡°Little War¡± in textbooks, though the common folk called it the ¡°Fatian Massacre¡±).


    Back then, according to the history books, it had nearly escalated into war, but diplomacy had saved the day. And yet, even before and after that, skirmishes had regularly broken out along the border. Every year, at least a thousand people from both sides died. This strained relationship between Fatia and the Empire had even been dubbed a ¡°hot peace¡± by some.


    But Ardi had never questioned why full-scale war hadn¡¯t erupted. To him, war was something that existed only in history books and his grandfather¡¯s stories. And yet¡­


    Like the tales Mart had told him, Boris and Chris¡¯ argument was forcing Ardi to see the world from a new angle, one that made everything he¡¯d once thought to be simple and clear far more complicated. The world beyond his borrowed attic and the foothills of the Alcade suddenly seemed unimaginably vast. Those countries weren¡¯t just symbols on a map anymore; they were alive, real.


    As their conversation dwindled into silence, Ardan found himself helping a half-conscious Boris to his and Len¡¯s room, not because he particularly wanted to do so, but because he felt obligated. After all, they had agreed on dinner in exchange for tales of the steppes ¡ª which Ardan had intended to embellish anyway, since, as Skusty had taught him, no contract ever specified everything ¡ª but he hadn¡¯t told them a single story.


    Surprised at how light the noble¡¯s son turned out to be, Ardan laid him down on the bed, covering him with a wool blanket.


    Odd. They didn¡¯t even have such blankets in their own room.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Len said.


    Ardan nodded, rummaging in his pocket until he found a small bundle, which he handed to Boris¡¯ sibling.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°For making tea,¡± Ardi explained. ¡°You¡¯re straining your voice too much when you fake it. This will help with that. It won¡¯t hurt anymore, and you won¡¯t sound so hoarse.¡±


    Fear flickered in Len¡¯s eyes, and she pressed her back against the wall, clearly not even considering waking up her passed-out ¡°brother.¡±


    Then, suddenly, it dawned on Ardan. They weren¡¯t siblings at all.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ a servant?¡± He asked.


    Len nodded cautiously.


    Ardan turned to the sleeping Boris, reassessing the strange young man. It was one thing for a noble¡¯s son to attend the Grand, but it was an entirely different matter if that noble had a personal servant traveling with him as well. And a future mage, at that.


    Ardan hadn¡¯t spent much time with Mart, but he¡¯d learned enough to understand that whoever Boris Fahtov¡¯s father was, that family had more than enough money to spare.


    Click. Something snapped behind Ardan¡¯s head.


    He slowly turned around, only to find Len trembling and pointing a revolver at him that shook dangerously near his face.


    ¡°D-d-don¡¯t even t-t-think about it,¡± she stammered, teeth chattering with fear.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t thinking anything,¡± Ardan raised his hands.


    ¡°Sure you weren¡¯t,¡± she sneered, emboldened by the shock on his face. ¡°You¡¯re no more an operative of the Second Chancery than I am Boris¡¯ sister.¡±


    Ardan sighed inwardly, realizing with some disappointment that, until a few moments ago, he had indeed thought of her as exactly that.


    ¡°How long have you been spying on us?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t-¡±


    She pressed the barrel of the gun harder against his forehead, and considering the fact that she was barely over 170 centimeters tall, it was oddly amusing. Ardi, funnily enough, realized that he wasn¡¯t all that worried about the weapon pointed at him.


    By the Sleeping Spirits¡­ Just a month ago, this would¡¯ve made him panic.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask again: who are you, why are you pretending to be a Cloak, and why are you spying on us?¡±


    Ardan sighed deeply.


    ¡°This is just a misunderstanding,¡± he began slowly, deliberately, each word chosen with care. ¡°I¡¯m not a Cloak. The waitress mistook me for one, and Boris overheard her. He invited me to join you. A story of the prairies in exchange for dinner. As you can see, I never got the chance to tell my tale.¡±


    The servant squinted at him, her suspicion palpable.


    They stood in silence for a few moments before she lowered the gun, collapsing against the wall, clearly drained of all strength.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she whispered.


    Ardan shrugged, understanding what the girl had gone through. He left the packet of herbs he¡¯d offered her earlier on the table and, without another word, headed for the door.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she spoke from behind him. ¡°And¡­ my name is Elena Promyslov.¡±


    He hesitated at the door, tempted to just leave silently.


    ¡°Ard,¡± he finally said. ¡°Ard Egobar.¡±


    And with that, he closed the door behind him. For a brief moment, he, too, wanted to collapse against the wall. Yes, he wasn¡¯t panicking, but over the past few weeks, he had been too close to too many weapons ¡ª revolvers, axes, you name it ¡ª that no one in their right mind would ever want near them.


    Shaking himself off, Ardi gave his stomach a pat. At least he had eaten. Not bad. The day hadn¡¯t been a complete waste.


    Feeling a little more energized, he returned to his room and turned the key in the lock. Though it had long since grown dark outside, the room was bathed in the dim glow of house lights coming in from outside. Enough light filtered through to allow Ardan¡¯s half-blood eyes to pick out a few details.


    Cassara was still lying in bed, her face hidden under her hat. However, her hat was now positioned slightly differently, and her boots bore the same dirt marks as Ardan¡¯s own, showing that she¡¯d also walked across the filthy, crowded saloon floor stained with grime and spilled alcohol.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t planning on running off,¡± Ardan muttered, lying down on his bed.


    ¡°I know,¡± Cassara replied curtly.


    ¡°Then why-¡±


    ¡°I have orders, kid,¡± she cut him off. ¡°And I follow them.¡±


    ¡°Someone pointed a gun at me, you know,¡± Ardan reminded her, but not out of a desire to argue with the vampire or because he felt slighted by her keeping an eye on him. He wasn¡¯t even sure why he did it.


    ¡°Her revolver wasn¡¯t loaded.¡±


    Ardan coughed in disbelief, propping himself up on an elbow to stare at the vampire.


    ¡°You¡¯re joking.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she replied calmly. ¡°If it had been, I¡¯d have had to kill her. And Boris. And Chris. And Pivot.¡±


    Pivot! That¡¯s right! That was the rat-eyed fellow¡¯s name.


    Ardan let his head fall back onto the pillow, his gaze drifting to a small mold stain on the ceiling. For some reason, he saw a strange connection between the stain and everything that had just happened. But why? He couldn¡¯t quite figure it out.


    Skusty had used to say that whenever something like this happened, it meant that Ardan wasn¡¯t hearing the world properly.


    Maybe the squirrel had been right, but that was a thought for tomorrow.


    ***


    At dawn, just before the sun rose, Yonatan walked into their room (and yes, the door had still been locked). Ardan had awoken just a moment before the Cloak opened the door. Either this spoke highly of Yonatan¡¯s skills, or it would¡¯ve made Ardan blush in embarrassment if he¡¯d had to explain it to Ergar.


    After ordering his ¡°cargo¡± to get dressed and exchanging curt nods with Cassara, the Cloak left for the first floor. The vampire waited for Ardi, seemingly unbothered by the fact that the young man was still undressed.


    Stripping off his issued pants and shirt, Ardan donned a white linen shirt his mother had sewn for him and pulled on a pair of brown pants. After washing up and shaving at the washbasin, he examined his freshly-scrubbed face and was satisfied with the result.


    As they descended the stairs, they caught sight of Boris and his group leaving the saloon, though they were in such a rush that they didn¡¯t even notice Ardan ¡ª a major oversight considering how much he stood out in the crowd.


    But it all became clear as soon as they stepped outside. It wasn¡¯t just Boris¡¯ group that was on edge because of the train¡¯s arrival, the whole town of Presny was bustling. Crowds of people moved along the streets with various bundles, trunks, and suitcases in tow. Some walked on foot, others rode in carts or on horses, but they all had the same destination: the packed train platform.


    As soon as the Cloaks, along with Ardi, came close to it, a distant rumble, which grew louder and more rhythmic with each passing moment, shattered the morning¡¯s quiet.


    Squinting, Ardan spotted a plume of white smoke rising into the air on the horizon, starkly contrasting with the deep blue sky. Then, emerging from the hazy ripples of a land being bathed in the first rays of dawn, the monstrous silhouette of a locomotive appeared, its iron frame gleaming in the sun.


    Its massive iron wheels spun faster than anything the young man, who¡¯d been raised among carts and stagecoaches, could have imagined, while its huge pistons pumped rhythmically, creating the rumble they were all hearing. The approach of this steel beast sounded like an oncoming storm ¡ª powerful and unstoppable.


    The rails Ardan had once considered strange, unnecessary creations of men now revealed their purpose to him, laying a clear path for the beast to follow. He watched in awe as the iron monster gradually slowed, dragging behind it a multitude of colorful carriages. The entire procession, despite its immense weight, seemed to glide easily until it finally halted at the small station that now seemed almost absurdly inadequate beside such a creation of human ingenuity.


    People bustled around: some disembarked from the train, while others eagerly climbed aboard. Porters shuffled luggage, hawkers sold their wares to passengers hanging out of windows, their hands clutching bills and coins. A sharp, shrill whistle cut through the noise, and steam hissed from the locomotive¡¯s sides.


    ¡°Don¡¯t dawdle!¡± Yonatan shouted, holding onto his hat as he leaped onto the train¡¯s footboard. He was greeted by a stout man with a luxurious mustache, dressed in a blue uniform with shiny buttons, a crisp cap, and white gloves.


    ¡°Your tickets, please, ladies and gentlemen,¡± the conductor asked in a deep baritone.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to Metropolis,¡± Yonatan handed him several yellow rectangles stamped with seals and inscriptions.


    ¡°Three compartments in the second-class sleeper car,¡± the conductor rumbled, scanning their tickets. ¡°Please hurry. The stop in Presny only lasts two and a half minutes.¡±


    ¡°You heard him!¡± Yonatan waved his hat, signaling for the others to board.


    Together with the rest of the Cloaks, Ardi clambered aboard the iron vessel, carefully hauling his staff and grimoire behind him. Inside, they found themselves in a narrow, wood-paneled corridor. Ardi wrinkled his nose at the musty scent of sweat, overly salted and peppered food, and a hint of shoe polish.


    Everything reeked of that thick, waxy polish. Perhaps only his Matabar nose could pick up on it, but it lingered on every surface.


    ¡°A half-blood?¡± The conductor stopped him suddenly, his hand resting on the brass-trimmed doorframe. ¡°There¡¯s a separate carriage for-¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s with us,¡± Yonatan interrupted, tugging Ardi along the corridor.


    The conductor looked as though he wanted to argue, but a single look from Cassara made him swallow hard and remain silent. Soon enough, he was too busy collecting tickets from the other passengers pressing forward.


    They made their way down the threadbare carpet, bumping their shoulders against the walls and brushing up against curtains that half-covered the windows. The doors ahead were so tightly fitted that opening them almost caused them to brush against the rail running along the ¡°outer¡± wall. Made of polished wood, they gleamed under the carriage¡¯s brass fittings.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got compartments eleven, twelve, and thirteen,¡± Yonatan said, checking their tickets. ¡°Damn it, we almost made it without having to deal with any upper bunks... If only there were one fewer of us.¡±


    The Cloaks exchanged glances, as if weighing whom to toss overboard.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t a suggestion, you idiots,¡± Yonatan grumbled with a chuckle. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s split up. We¡¯ll take compartment eleven, Cassara and Ardi in twelve, and Katerina in thirteen.¡±


    ¡°Why do I get stuck in the last one?¡± The sharpshooter protested.


    ¡°My dearest lady, we only seek to provide you with the most comfor-¡± Long Neck began.


    ¡°I¡¯ll shove your tongue up your ass.¡±


    ¡°If you had said that you¡¯d shove it in yours, I¡¯d take that as an invitation to-¡±


    Katerina dramatically tugged on the edge of her cloak, revealing her revolvers. Considering how deftly she handled them, Long Neck merely shrugged and slipped into his compartment as quickly as he could.


    Eventually, everyone dispersed to their new homes for the next ten days. Compared to sleeping on the ground under the open sky of the steppes, this...


    Ardi, if he were being honest, would¡¯ve gladly returned to the fresh air, the stars above, and playing with the wind. Who cared about soft walls or cozy warmth?


    ¡°Alright, kid,¡± Yonatan¡¯s voice snapped Ardi out of his reverie. ¡°No nonsense, and no making friends with strangers.¡±


    Ardi glanced at Cassara, but she maintained her stony, expressionless demeanor.


    ¡°If you want to visit the dining car, you¡¯ll need my permission. Got that?¡±


    Knowing Yonatan¡¯s temper, Ardi nodded calmly.


    ¡°Good,¡± the Cloak flashed him a predatory grin and pointed toward the front and back of the carriage. ¡°Those are the washrooms. If you need to clean yourself up, someone should always be at the door. So, that means that even when you¡¯re taking a piss, you need to let us know. Got it?¡±


    It was tempting to make a sarcastic remark about whether he could breathe or think without permission, but Ardi saw no reason to make the already volatile situation worse.


    ¡°Well, alright then,¡± Yonatan relaxed, giving Ardi an unexpected, approving pat on the shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re holding up well, kid. But don¡¯t get too comfortable. Trains have a way of lulling you into a false sense of security, so don¡¯t forget to watch your balls.¡±


    With that, Yonatan winked and disappeared behind the door, leaving Ardi alone with Cassara. Given that there were only three doors, it seemed like they had the entire train car to themselves.


    Ardan ran his hand along the walls, feeling their rough but well-maintained, lacquered texture beneath his fingertips. The velvet curtains, lined with lace trimmings, softened the light filtering in from the windows, and a delicate, near-transparent tulle added a touch of elegance to the windows that were adorned with patterns that reminded him of falling snowflakes.


    Everything was just a bit too fancy for his tastes.


    ¡°Sleeping cars are the most comfortable ¡ª and most expensive ¡ª way to travel, kid,¡± the vampire seemed to be reading his thoughts as she opened the door to their compartment.


    Inside, two plush couches upholstered in crimson satin beckoned them with their intricate designs, gleaming softly under the gentle sway of the carriage. In Ardi¡¯s opinion, these were not just seats, but exquisite beds, ready to take him into an embrace so tender it could probably only be matched by...


    The thought of the stream and Anna made the young man a little uneasy and he pushed them away, turning back to the world of big money.


    Opposite the couches stood a finely-crafted wardrobe, built to hold all the possessions of a traveler, along with a modest table bolted to the floor, its surface scrubbed to a shine. Above it loomed a large window, framed by the same heavy curtains, offering a view of the passing landscapes. Even compared to the corridor¡¯s furnishings, these were no ordinary drapes. Thick and luxurious, they offered both privacy and protection from the elements.


    Two upper bunks for storing luggage sat above them, their contents secured by crisscrossing leather straps. Resting atop them were two tightly rolled up mattresses labeled, ¡°For servants.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous, honestly,¡± Cassara muttered, stretching out on one of the couches and pulling her hat over her face again. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a wealthy passenger sleep in the same compartment as their servants. Anyone who can afford a second-class sleeper wouldn¡¯t hesitate to stick their help in the seated car.¡±


    ¡°A seated car?¡± Ardi asked, his curiosity piqued.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± the vampire nodded. ¡°If you¡¯re interested, you can take a stroll to the back of the train. Most of the passengers there are poor folk, traveling with all their belongings and sitting for days on end.¡±


    Ardan instinctively turned toward the direction she¡¯d indicated, his thoughts drifting toward the idea of exploring the train.


    ¡°There¡¯s a dining car ahead,¡± Cassara continued. ¡°Prices there are outrageous, but if you don¡¯t mind spending a few exes on a meal, feel free to indulge. Past that are the two first-class cars.¡±


    A dinner costing several exes... Ardi mentally converted the cost. For that price, he could easily buy enough supplies in Evergale to last him at least two weeks, or purchase hunting gear that would feed him for a season.


    And in here? It was just a single meal.


    ¡°In second class, you¡¯ll get breakfast and a hot dinner. The menu¡¯s over there.¡± Cassara gestured lazily to a calfskin-bound folder resting on the table. Ardan picked it up and read through the options.


    ¡°<u>Breakfast choices:</u>


    Oatmeal with fruit


    Buckwheat porridge with fruit


    <u>Lunch: </u>


    Not included in the fare.


    <u>Dinner choices: </u>


    Grilled trout or salmon with roasted seasonal vegetables.


    Chicken or pork in prune sauce, served with fresh vegetables and beans.¡±


    Ardi¡¯s eyebrows shot up. He didn¡¯t eat meat from animals that hadn¡¯t been able to fight back, but the mere fact that they were serving chicken here¡­


    Chicken was a delicacy.


    In Evergale, chickens were slaughtered only on major occasions: New Year¡¯s day, the Day of Light, weddings, or the birth of a firstborn.


    A good chicken, plucked and ready to bake, could fetch around twenty, maybe thirty kso. After all, raising them wasn¡¯t easy (in sufficient quantities to be sold on the market, let alone industrially produced for large cities). They ate a lot, and you couldn¡¯t keep too many in a coop. And every chicken you butchered meant fewer eggs laid.


    It was much simpler with beef, veal, goat, lamb ¡ª anything with hooves that grazed on pastures. There was plenty of that meat. If you had a few kso, you wouldn¡¯t go hungry.


    ¡°Mark your choice for tonight¡¯s dinner,¡± Cassara snapped her fingers at the cardboard slip beneath the menu. ¡°We¡¯ve already missed breakfast.¡±


    A pencil was attached to the slip by a small string.


    As Ardan marked down his choice of trout, he had a sudden thought.


    ¡°What about you¡­¡±


    But he didn¡¯t finish that question. He didn¡¯t need to ask what Cassara ate. After all, he¡¯d seen how, several times a day, she would take small sips from a flask no one ever asked her to share.


    His gaze drifted to the vampire¡¯s belt, where that infamous flask hung in its leather holster.


    It could hold a quarter of a liter at most.


    After all the time they had spent traveling, it would have long ago become empty, unless...


    ¡°They never noticed,¡± Cassara said, as if reading his mind. ¡°A small price for our services.¡±


    That explained why so many of the settlers had complained about fatigue and headaches, though they¡¯d showed no other signs of illness. Ardan had chalked it up to nerves and exhaustion, but the answer had been far simpler.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see any marks on their necks,¡± he murmured, sitting back on his bed.


    ¡°There are more convenient ¡ª and less noticeable ¡ª places on the human body than the neck, kid,¡± Cassara replied matter-of-factly.


    A chill ran down Ardi¡¯s spine, and the sudden blaring of the train¡¯s horn, followed by a heavy jolt and the rhythmic clanking of pistons, startled him even further.


    And he was ready to swear by the Sleeping Spirits that Cassara had also let out a quiet, somewhat smug chuckle. But maybe he¡¯d just imagined that. Or he was hoping that he had imagined it...


    And so Ardi¡¯s days on the train passed.


    Morning began with the first rays of the sun, pink dawns playing over the reddening steppe. Accompanied by one of the Cloaks, Ardan would make his way to the washroom.


    He had grown used to the train¡¯s constant swaying after the first night, unlike the Silent One, who often spent his time throwing up whatever food he had managed to eat. Ardi couldn¡¯t imagine anyone suffering from nausea that much. For his part, he usually felt fine ¡ª only a bit dizzy toward the evenings.


    And as for his Cloak escorts? They didn¡¯t really make a difference. Despite the train¡¯s seemingly breakneck speed, it moved slowly enough that jumping off wouldn¡¯t mean certain death.


    Sure, a bad landing might break a leg ¡ª or worse, his collarbone ¡ª but he¡¯d most likely survive.


    Inside the washroom, next to the iron sink and the most elegant toilet Ardi had ever seen, a small window stood tall. It wouldn¡¯t take much to break it.


    In other words, every day, twice a day, Ardan was tempted to flee.


    But it wasn¡¯t the endless prairies stretching out beyond the train that stopped him. He could still find his way home. He needed only the stars to do so.


    No, it was the thought of his family back in Delpas. As long as he cooperated, they¡¯d enjoy a far more comfortable life than he could¡¯ve provided for them.


    For now, at least.


    So, after his morning ritual, Ardi would return to the compartment, and after some time, breakfast would be brought to him. Two portions. One was for Cassara, though she had no need for it. So, without feeling any guilt, Ardi would eat both of them.


    And the food? It was excellent.


    Ardi spent most of his day poring over the Stranger¡¯s manual. But the author had refrained from sharing more theories or musings, focusing methodically on spell descriptions. Judging by how varied and seemingly unrelated they were, the spells had likely been created as the need for them had arisen.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    For instance:


    ¡°Well, my dear, unknown apprentice, my newest creation is the Cold Shadow. It¡¯s not that I often need to hide from others, but I still consider it quite useful, especially since most humans cannot see in the dark.


    [Star: Red


    Number of Rays: 2


    School: Universal


    Element: Water-Ice


    Maximum rune combinations: area/density/temperature].


    I would advise that you use this spell only in enclosed spaces since it dissipates in an instant in any open area. This leads me to think that Star Magic might have a closer relationship to the laws of nature than the magic of the Aean¡¯Hane and¡­ No, I won¡¯t share those thoughts just yet. I need more time to structure them properly, and you, my dear apprentice, still need to learn a few more seals and other useful skills, which I will mention later.¡±


    Ardan carefully copied the seal into his own grimoire, then spent a few hours trying to understand it. Even considering the fact that this wasn¡¯t his first seal, far from it, and that Mart had made it clear that the essence of Star Magic was, in fact, a precise science, Ardan still couldn¡¯t figure it out.


    It was like trying to solve a complex equation without knowing the basics of arithmetic.


    After setting aside his attempts to grasp the seal¡¯s inner workings, Ardan deduced that, based on the number of runes, their properties, and their placement, the Cold Shadow likely created a dense mist over an area of about ten or twelve meters, dropping the temperature by roughly sixteen degrees.


    He considered experimenting with this new spell, but soon realized that testing it in a train car filled with nervous Cloaks, all of them heavily armed, might not be the wisest idea.


    So, his experiments postponed, he moved on to the next seal:


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if you¡¯ll have the strength for this, but today, after having to pull yet another batch of enemy darts out of Bashtag, it occurred to me that in certain situations, a lot of small arrows are much more useful than one big one.


    So, I present to you my latest creation. I¡¯ve named it the Ice Volley. The seal is quite complex and consumes a lot of energy. It will require a lot of focus and several experiments, but trust me, it¡¯s worth it. Over the last six months, it¡¯s been my best work.


    [Star: Red


    Number of Rays: 6


    School: War


    Element: Water-Ice


    Maximum rune combinations: quantity/direction/speed/density/force].¡±


    A single glance made it clear that this seal was a modification of the Ice Arrow ¡ª a spell Ardan hadn¡¯t cared much about until recently.


    Up until the past few months, war magic hadn¡¯t interested him at all. Who was he supposed to fight in Evergale? The drunken cowboys or the wild animals trying to steal some beef?


    But now¡­


    Ardan carefully copied the seal into his grimoire, amazed at what he saw. To begin with, it consumed six rays. That meant that if Ardan used this seal, he wouldn¡¯t be able to cast anything else, aside from a simple Spark.


    The Stranger had never created such massive seals before. Throughout his time studying the manual, Ardan had only encountered one other seal that required six rays ¡ª the Ice Wave, which conjured, well, a wave of moving ice.


    And now this...


    Before reading the spell¡¯s full description, Ardan tried to decipher the runes on his own. The combination for speed and direction was straightforward ¡ª it was a standard set for any projectile-based spell.


    The first set of runes determined the velocity at which the spell would move (allowing it to be made faster or slower), while the second dictated its trajectory.


    Force was also relatively easy to understand, though a bit more complicated, as the combination of force runes was a pairing of speed and volume runes, creating a chain of calculations that¡­


    Ardan groaned, chewing thoughtfully on his pencil. Why hadn¡¯t the Stranger taken the time to explain the basic theory behind all of this?


    He knew he was looking at a puzzle, but he was doing so without the initial data needed to solve it.


    Fine, it would remain something to figure out later¡­


    But then there was the entirely new rune combination: quantity. This was something Ardan had never encountered before.


    He had no choice but to refer to the spell¡¯s description:


    ¡°Ice Volley creates four ice bolts. They have a much shorter range than the Ice Arrow, and the impact isn¡¯t as strong ¡ª they likely won¡¯t penetrate steel armor, but against wooden shields and leather, they¡¯re ideal. And, what¡¯s more, until you¡¯ve expended all the energy in the seal, they¡¯ll stay with you. But I wouldn¡¯t recommend walking around with four ice bolts hovering at your side.


    First of all, I doubt the guards would appreciate it. Secondly, remember the primary law of Ley circulation: anything created through it will return to it. I haven¡¯t tested it, but I doubt Ice Volley would last longer than half an hour before it dissipates.


    And as for its use... My dear apprentice, I¡¯ll leave that for your inquisitive mind. My own master always encouraged my desire to experiment, so I¡¯ll try to plant the same seed in your thinking. To understand how to best use this spell, you¡¯ll need to cast it yourself.


    Good luck.¡±


    Ardan nearly cursed aloud. Six rays for experimentation? That would either mean spending the next thirty-six hours ¡ª give or take ¡ª recovering his strength, or, if he translated it into exes and added up the cost of Ley accumulators from Bri-&-Man, it would amount to¡­


    He paused for a second to do the math.


    ¡°Twenty-two and a half exes!¡± He exclaimed.


    Cassara remained silent, paying no mind to his outburst, continuing her inspection of the inside of her hat.


    Sleeping Spirits...


    And there was no arguing with the Stranger¡¯s instructions. Experimenting would be necessary¡­ Ardan was already regretting meeting Mart and having his eyes opened to questions he hadn¡¯t even thought to ask before.


    All these years, he had naively thought he¡¯d figured out Star Magic. There would be a seal. Inside it, there would be various combinations of runes. He could even roughly understand how to position them to change the properties of spells, but...


    Why those specific runes? Why this exact number? What principle did they follow? What did not only the runes mean, but all those lines and figures inside the seal as well? And¡­ a hundred other questions he had yet to answer.


    And so Ardan¡¯s days passed, mostly spent studying the Stranger¡¯s manual, sketching seals, and pondering the mysteries of Star Magic. The bright hours of the day would give way to cool, damp evenings, and soon after, the conductor would knock on their door, delivering dinner.


    Then, sleep.


    One day would blur into the next, distinguishable only by the slowly changing scenery outside or the scent of their increasingly worn clothes. While the landscape shifted only subtly, the smell was far less forgiving.


    Each evening, the plains outside became greener, dotted with small groves, their leaves thickening as they neared the distant forests of the Metropolis.


    During these times, Ardan¡¯s mind would wander back to Evergale and the forests surrounding the town, those endless woods that stretched from horizon to horizon. He missed the trees, their soft whispers as the wind moved through them, the scent of the earth changing from morning to night, the rustling branches, and the streams and lakes that reflected the life thriving within them.


    Ardi loved the forest.


    Perhaps he loved it only slightly less than the mountains.


    ¡°Mr. Egobar?¡±


    The young man jerked slightly, pulling away from the window where the fading fields of once-green meadows swept by. He glanced up at the conductor. Dressed in a blue tunic, black cap, and white gloves, the man, who was likely around thirty, extended a steel tray with two napkins toward him.


    For the seventh day in a row, Ardi was going to eat nothing but fish, and he didn¡¯t mind. There were times when the hunt was scarce, and he could survive on rabbit for months.


    But today, a pork chop lay on the tray.


    ¡°Apologies, sir, but we¡¯ve run out of fish,¡± the conductor said, sounding apologetic.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardi accepted the meal.


    The conductor nodded courteously and then disappeared silently. The young man sighed, looking down at the meat. He was about to step into the corridor with his tray when Cassara¡¯s voice stopped him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget your staff and book.¡±


    Ardi slapped his forehead, returned to grab his staff, and hooked his grimoire to his belt using the special chains. Ever since they had started working on the Shield spell, Cassara had never let him leave without his magical tools. Though he hadn¡¯t yet grown accustomed to that, he had, by now, become so used to the swaying of the train that he almost felt stronger here than he did on solid ground.


    He knocked calmly on the neighboring door, and after hearing a curt, ¡°Enter!¡± he stepped inside.


    Yonatan, the Silent One, and Long Neck, as usual, were playing cards.


    ¡°What do you want, kid?¡± Yonatan growled, his expression that of a man clearly losing.


    ¡°Has anyone got any fish left?¡± Ardan asked. ¡°I¡¯ll trade it for a pork chop.¡±


    The Cloaks exchanged glances and burst into laughter.


    ¡°Just a week spent in comfort, and look what¡¯s happened,¡± Long Neck snorted. ¡°The cowboy¡¯s turned into a nobleman.¡±


    Ardi ignored the jibe and continued standing there with the tray.


    ¡°Fish isn¡¯t meat, boy, just like women aren¡¯t¡­¡± Yonatan waved him off and seemed about to add something else when he abruptly fell silent, his gaze shifting toward the wall that separated their compartments. ¡°Vampires and their damned hearing¡­ No, kid, there¡¯s no fish here. If you¡¯re so keen, take Katerina and go to the dining car. Amir, give him seventy-five kso from the travel fund.¡±


    The Silent One, whose name Ardi could never remember, rummaged through his bag and pulled out a fifty-kso bill and a few coins.


    Ardi thanked them, left the tray of pork on the table, and stepped back out into the corridor, where he knocked on Katerina¡¯s compartment.


    ¡°It¡¯s open!¡±


    Ardi slid the compartment door aside, froze for a moment, and then swiftly slammed it shut again.


    ¡°My apologies,¡± he blurted out in one breath, trying to erase the image of a completely naked redhead cleaning her revolvers from his mind.


    ¡°Eternal Angels, kid!¡± Came the shout from inside. ¡°You¡¯re not a virgin, are you? It¡¯s nothing you haven¡¯t seen before!¡±


    ¡°Hey, Katerina!¡± Long Neck¡¯s voice called out from the far compartment. ¡°I¡¯m not a virgin either, so maybe-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll shoot your balls off!¡± Katerina cut him off.


    ¡°Mortals,¡± Cassara hissed, though her voice could be heard throughout the entire car.


    Blushing red as a boiled crayfish, Ardi knocked again.


    ¡°Hold on then,¡± came the reply. ¡°I¡¯ll get dressed.¡±


    Standing there like a complete fool, Ardan nervously fidgeted with the money in his hands, trying to calm his racing heart. Katerina usually wore oversized, baggy clothes. Add to that her rifle, bandoliers, cloak, and pouches, and her figure was often hidden beneath layers and layers of gear. And admittedly, it wasn¡¯t as provocatively perfect as Cassara¡¯s ¡ª no, the vampire was something else entirely, a lethal and mesmerizing work of art.


    But Katerina¡­


    Ardi couldn¡¯t shake the image of her long, muscular legs, her slender waist, her not-too-large and firm chest, and those collarbones. Sleeping Spirits help him, he hadn¡¯t even realized collarbones could be something beautiful, something that could capture one¡¯s attention.


    The door flung open before him.


    The Cloak gunwoman, now fully dressed, looked him over, her eyes lingering briefly below his belt before she gave a low whistle.


    ¡°Sometimes I forget, Ardi, that you¡¯re not quite human¡­¡± She said for some reason, before meeting his eyes. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°Dining car,¡± he stammered.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Dinner. In the dining car.¡±


    ¡°Angels and Demons, Ardi!¡± Katerina flared up. ¡°If you want to blow off steam, just grab my chest already! Can you speak properly or not?¡±


    Ardi flinched but forced himself to see not the naked woman from moments ago, but the dangerous gunwoman of the Second Chancery.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to the dining car for dinner,¡± he said in a much calmer tone. ¡°Yonatan said to take you with me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡± Katerina clicked her tongue, glancing toward the far compartment. ¡°And this same Yonatan didn¡¯t think to give me any travel money?¡±


    ¡°All expenses will be settled after the mission!¡± Yonatan¡¯s voice came from the other compartment. ¡°The kid¡¯s got seventy-five kso! Don¡¯t hold back and¡­ Fuck! Damn the Face of Light! I didn¡¯t get it again! How much longer can this go on?¡±


    Katerina rolled her eyes and, grabbing the utterly confused Ardi by the elbow, yanked him along.


    ¡°What are you standing there for? You¡¯ve already seen me as I came into this world, so now treat a lady to dinner, and who knows, maybe we¡¯ll-¡±


    ¡°Katerina,¡± Cassara¡¯s quiet, insidious hiss cut through the air, piercing one¡¯s very soul.


    Katerina shivered, her face paling slightly.


    ¡°I was just kidding,¡± she said curtly. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Ardi. Let¡¯s see what the rich folk are choking on.¡±


    They passed through their car and into another just like it, where muffled conversations, sometimes in languages Ardi didn¡¯t recognize, could be heard coming from behind locked doors. Then, crossing yet another connecting platform, they arrived at a wooden door. Pushing it open...


    Ardan remembered Mart¡¯s stories of ¡°restaurants¡± in the Metropolis, places so ornate you couldn¡¯t help but realize that you had found yourself in a fancy, extraordinary establishment. Whoever had designed this dining car had clearly been following the same principle.


    Instead of compartments, there were tables on either side, draped in white silk cloths and topped with crystal glasses and silver cutlery.


    Travelers sat at some of these tables. There were women in dresses that Ardi¡¯s mother had always dreamed of sewing: sparkling, shimmering gowns that hugged their figures and fell almost to the floor, making them kind of resemble tall, elegant champagne flutes.


    The clicking of their high heels tapped softly against the wooden floorboards, and fur stoles ¡ª white fox, sable, mink ¡ª were draped across their often bare shoulders. Intricate hairpieces adorned with feathers or small hats perched atop their heads.


    Across from them or beside them sat their gentlemen. Most were stout, their bellies pressing against the fabric of their black suits and crisp, white shirts. The cufflinks and buttons on their attire gleamed with precious stones...


    Ardi squinted as he noticed that both the men and the women wore jewels on their wrists or fingers. Rings with diamonds, bracelets of rose and white gold, or wristwatches encrusted with those same diamonds, rubies, agates, and all manner of things that had been dug up from the earth and sold for a hefty price.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned,¡± Katerina whispered. ¡°Usually, you don¡¯t see this... Ah, right. The coronation. Everyone¡¯s heading to the Metropolis for the coronation.¡±


    ¡°Sir, ma¡¯am,¡± a conductor appeared as if out of nowhere, addressing Ardan and Katerina. ¡°May I inquire which car you¡¯re from?¡±


    He nodded subtly toward a sign on the wall that read:


    ¡°Please keep in mind that the dining car is for second and first-class passengers only.¡±


    Below this, the message was repeated in several languages, none of which Ardan could read.


    ¡°Here,¡± Katerina handed over their tickets.


    The conductor glanced at something, smiled, and guided them to an empty table.


    ¡°Just a moment, sir, ma¡¯am,¡± the young man said in a syrupy voice. ¡°I¡¯ll bring you the menu. Might I recommend the venison from the Royal Forests with Aosi sauce? It is a most tender dish. Highly recommended.¡±


    And just like that, he vanished, leaving Katerina and Ardi alone with the menu, which didn¡¯t offer a wide selection, but each dish took some time to read, given its long list of ingredients.


    Not to mention the prices.


    ¡°That venison dish is¡­¡± Ardi croaked, suddenly feeling lightheaded. His chest tightened. His head spun. And the money in his pocket seemed to burn.


    ¡°Sixty-two kso,¡± he barely whispered.


    ¡°We¡¯ll take two,¡± Katerina grinned slyly.


    Ardi gave her a sheepish smile and laid the money he had been given out on the table.


    ¡°I only have¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll put it on the compartment¡¯s tab,¡± Katerina waved him off. ¡°When we disembark, Yonatan won¡¯t have a choice but to settle the bill. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±


    Ardi was about to protest that this wasn¡¯t fair, that it bordered on theft, but then he remembered a few things. For one, he had been kidnapped, separated from his family, and¡­ Well, despite Yonatan¡¯s better qualities, the man was still an unpleasant bastard.


    ¡°But we¡¯ll still spend this money,¡± Ardi said firmly.


    Maybe it was because he was trying to strike a deal with his conscience, or maybe he just didn¡¯t want anything to do with such roundabout thievery.


    It went against the laws of the hunt, after all.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t you worry about that,¡± Katerina¡¯s grin widened, and perhaps she took his words to mean something else entirely.


    Within fifteen minutes, two steaming plates of venison were set down before them, along with bowls of vegetables, a bottle of whiskey ¡ª most likely a ridiculously expensive one given its elegant appearance ¡ª and glasses of water for Ardi.


    The meat was as delicious as promised, more flavorful than Ardi had ever even imagined food could be. They ate, drank, and chatted about nothing in particular. Katerina told him stories from her time with the Cloaks, while Ardi mostly listened in silence.


    Minutes melted into hours, and outside the window, the fields had long since been swallowed up by a starry night. Still, they kept talking, sipping tea that cost a staggering twelve kso per pot. For that price, Ardi thought it should have been brewed from herbs plucked from the Fae gardens themselves, but it was just regular tea, even if it did come from Kargaam.


    ¡°Do you miss it?¡± Katerina asked suddenly.


    Ardi flinched and looked her in the eyes. Not in the way Skusty had taught him, which Mart had called the Witch¡¯s Gaze, but just¡­ He just looked at her.


    ¡°Miss what?¡±


    ¡°What came to mind first?¡± She asked, her tone serious.


    Ardi thought about it. When she¡¯d asked him that, for a brief moment, he¡¯d recalled the vast stretches of the Alcade mountains, then his mother and brother, and finally, the sheriff and Kena.


    Anna didn¡¯t even make the list.


    ¡°If you miss something, that¡¯s good,¡± Katerina sighed. ¡°It¡¯s worse when there¡¯s nothing to miss. Believe me, Ardi, I¡¯ve seen people like that. People with nothing and no one to long for. Empty people. People like this bottle.¡±


    She pointed at the whiskey, which was now nearly drained. Maybe a finger of amber liquid was sloshing at the bottom, no more than that.


    ¡°Whole on the outside, but empty inside, without purpose,¡± she said soberly, straight to the point, as if she hadn¡¯t just downed nearly a third of a liter of strong liquor in less than two hours. ¡°So, always ask yourself this: is there something or someone you miss? As long as the answer¡¯s yes, you¡¯re still¡­ Well, you¡¯re still a decent human¡­ or a Matabar. Face of Light¡­ sometimes I really forget that you are not human.¡±


    ¡°Still a decent human,¡± Ardi repeated, making sure to remember the phrase.


    ¡°Just don¡¯t confuse decent with good,¡± Katerina raised a finger.


    ¡°Is there a difference?¡±


    ¡°A huge one!¡± The gunwoman snorted. ¡°A good person ¡ª that¡¯s a slippery shit. What¡¯s good for some is bad for others. It¡¯s a label, Ardi. We call who we need ¡®good,¡¯ and those we don¡¯t need ¡®bad.¡¯ Then we make war on the bad ones, exile them, discriminate against them, whatever. They¡¯re bad. We are justified in doing so because they¡¯re bad.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t entirely follow her train of thought, but he still listened intently.


    ¡°But being a decent human¡­ Well, that¡¯s a label, too. Forget what I said. All of us who do what needs to be done? We¡¯re always the villains in the eyes of the obedient sheep.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because, kid, our existence is a thorn in the side of these ¡®good people.¡¯ We remind them that the WORLD IS SHIT!¡± Katerina suddenly yelled, glaring at the remaining patrons in the dining car. ¡°A dirty, rotten place where the strong eat and fuck the weak. Where everyone lies, betrays, and kills. And the good people? They don¡¯t want to see that. It¡¯s uncomfortable for them. While we remind them of all that filth just by existing. That¡¯s why we¡¯re the bad guys. And they¡­ want us¡­ gone.¡±


    ¡°But that won¡¯t solve the problem.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Katerina drawled. ¡°You get it. That¡¯s fine. Most people¡­ Ah, forget it, Ardi. It¡¯s the whiskey talking. Or maybe it¡¯s just because I hate delivering death notices.¡±


    She fell silent, and Ardi offered an apologetic smile to the other patrons who had been eyeing them with disapproval. Maybe that helped, or maybe it was the fact that Katerina had revolvers on her hips, and Ardan had his grimoire and staff within easy reach. Either way, the onlookers went back to minding their own business.


    The wheels clattered, the train swayed, and outside, the stars shimmered in a sky that Ardi could still navigate with ease, knowing exactly where they were based on the constellations.


    ¡°Tell me about the Alcade,¡± Katerina suddenly requested. ¡°I mean, the real Alcade, not the place where we first found you or where we spent a month hiding out. I¡¯ve always been curious-¡±


    ¡°Yes, we¡¯re quite curious, too,¡± a familiar voice interrupted.


    Ardi turned to see Boris standing beside their table, dressed in a suit and holding a staff, and next to him was Elena, now wearing a long, tailored dress, her pretense of being a man long abandoned. However, the folds of her gown made it clear that she had something strapped to her thigh ¡ª a knife, or perhaps a small revolver.


    ¡°We agreed on a dinner in exchange for a story, Mr. Egobar, and we¡¯ve yet to hear it,¡± Boris said.


    ¡°I-¡±


    But Ardi never got to finish his response, or justification, and it seemed like Boris would never hear that story, either. The train, still moving at full speed, abruptly slammed to a halt, and Ardi, thrown forward by the inertia, was sent flying straight into a divider between the windows, his head slamming hard against the wood.


    ***


    When Ardi regained consciousness, for a moment, he thought everything had been a dream and that he was still lying in the crevice where he¡¯d fallen while playing with Shali. There¡¯d been no troll, no magic-wielding wolves, none of it had happened.


    He slowly came to his senses, his vision expanding from the center outward, with sounds echoing as if they were coming to him from the bottom of a well.


    It took a few more seconds before Ardan realized that he was lying on the floor, beneath a bench, covered by a tablecloth torn down during his fall. Scattered utensils, food, and spilled drinks littered the ground around him. And then¡­ he saw blood. Blood that wasn¡¯t his.


    ¡°Hurry up, move!¡± A gruff, unfamiliar voice shouted, the sound of spurs on old boots ringing in time with the command. ¡°Rings, earrings, necklaces! All of it, into the bag!¡±


    ¡°Do you even know who I am?¡± A bass voice protested. ¡°I¡¯m the cousin of-¡±


    The dull thud of a revolver hilt striking flesh cut the man off, followed by a howl of pain.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t give less of a damn who you¡¯re related to,¡± the revolver clicked, its hammer cocking. ¡°I¡¯ve always wondered if a bullet could punch through a gut as big as yours or if it¡¯d just get stuck, so¡­¡±


    ¡°Iskrien!¡± Another voice barked. ¡°The cargo¡¯s what matters, the rest doesn¡¯t.¡±


    Ardi couldn¡¯t see beyond the legs of the robbers, which frustrated him. Carefully, he stretched his hand out from beneath the tablecloth and pulled a tray toward him, angling it so he could glimpse the scene reflected in its metal surface.


    The dining car no longer resembled the luxurious establishment it had been just moments before. Everything had been strewn across the floor: curtains torn, dishes smashed, oil lamps shattered. But more importantly, three men stood at the center of it, between the tables.


    They wore leather jackets, cowboy pants, high cavalry boots with spurs, belts packed with bullets and revolvers, wide-brimmed hats, and they had bandanas covering their faces.


    Ardi could hardly believe his eyes.


    His mother had always told him that the steppes were dangerous because of magical creatures, orcs, and bandits. Had he really encountered all three in one journey?


    One of the bandits was holding Boris by the hair, forcing the nobleman to kneel. Nearby, Elena lay in a pool of blood, her right arm horribly broken. She was growling softly, trying to free herself from under the boot of one of the bandits, but he had her pinned firmly to the floor.


    Ardi adjusted the tray slightly and barely suppressed a yelp of shock. Katerina was slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, her hand pressed to her left side. Blood oozed between her fingers.


    However long he¡¯d been unconscious, it had been long enough for everything to be turned upside down. In both the literal and figurative sense.


    ¡°Creso!¡± That same bandit from before shouted.


    ¡°What?¡± Came a reply from the direction of the second-class car.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on with the lawmen and the undead?¡±


    ¡°The artifact will hold them off for a couple more minutes!¡±


    The bandit nodded and turned to his comrade who was standing beside him.


    ¡°Iskrien, find Ludewit and the Gray One. If they¡¯re not done cleaning out the first class yet, tell them to wrap it up. The cargo-¡± he shook Boris by the hair, making the nobleman groan as he tried in vain to loosen the man¡¯s grip, ¡°is already ours. Let¡¯s get out while we¡¯ve still got time.¡±


    ¡°What about securing our escape?¡±


    The bandits exchanged glances.


    ¡°Got it, Milad,¡± Iskrien laughed.


    He struck Elena hard at the base of her skull. She twitched and went still. Ardan checked ¡ª she was still breathing.


    The bandit lifted his boot from Elena¡¯s back and, turning to one of the wealthy passengers, gave his belly a playful pat.


    ¡°See you around, your lordship,¡± the bandit mocked with an exaggerated bow. As he straightened back up, his gaze met the eyes of the pale, trembling companion of the rich man, a young woman who had been sobbing quietly. ¡°And as for you, ma¡¯am, I¡¯d love to get to kno-¡±


    ¡°Iskrien, you bastard!¡± Milad shouted. ¡°Do what you¡¯re told! Once we hand over the cargo, you can buy yourself ten of those whores!¡±


    The bandit grimaced, spat, and turned away. He began walking toward the first-class cars, right in the direction of Ardi.


    Skusty would¡¯ve advised him to stay hidden under the tablecloth and keep out of sight. That probably was the most sensible and correct thing to do in this situation¡­


    ¡°They were ordinary people, Ardi.¡±


    The hunter¡¯s heart began to race faster and faster.


    There were three of them, armed to the teeth, with Katerina injured and the rest of the Cloaks trapped by some artifact. Even more worryingly: how had these bandits known about Yonatan¡¯s group and even made a plan to deal with them?


    Iskrien was getting closer.


    Ergar had taught him not to meddle where he couldn¡¯t handle things. Ardan had already broken that rule several times, and it had never led to anything good.


    This wasn¡¯t his hunt.


    They wanted Boris. They¡¯d take him and leave. He could help Katerina, and...


    Iskrien was now within reach, but Ardi¡¯s mind raced.


    ¡°Now, repeat the mage¡¯s oath after me¡­¡± Mart¡¯s voice was replaced by Tevona¡¯s.


    Sticky threads wound around Ardi¡¯s throat. His mind became clouded, and his heart was squeezed by them so tightly that it slowed to a crawl.


    The orc¡¯s fangs and axes gleamed overhead once again. How terrifying that had been¡­


    Something burned against his leg. Ardi flinched. There, by his boot, lay his father¡¯s knife. Hector Egobar¡¯s knife.


    That was the blade his father had used to sacrifice his life for those he had once hated, for those who had once used his name to frighten their children. And it was for those children that Hector had died.


    Ardi didn¡¯t know why or how.


    But¡­


    He looked again at Boris, at the battered Elena with her broken arm, and at Katerina, bleeding out from a gunshot wound. Two of these people he had met only once in his life, and as for Katerina¡­ No matter how strange his relationship with the Cloaks had become, they had still kidnapped him from his home, torn him from his family, and¡­


    Ardi shifted his gaze to Iskrien and the frightened, wounded people pressed against the walls and corners.


    What, really, was the difference between these bandits and that mountain troll?


    That one thought was all it took for Fear to loosen its grip, and Ardi, drawing his father¡¯s knife, slashed just above Iskrien¡¯s spurs. The bandit cried out and collapsed to the floor, while Ardan, throwing off the tablecloth, jumped to his feet, slipping the knife back into its holster and drawing his revolver. To his own surprise, he hadn¡¯t let go of his staff, and it was still gripped tightly in his hand.


    But that was just a minor detail.


    Taking advantage of the element of surprise, he kicked the man¡¯s weapon out of Iskrien¡¯s hand. The bandit was writhing in pain from his severed tendons, and he aimed the revolver at his head, lifting his gaze to meet the eyes of the other two bandits.


    ¡°Let Boris go,¡± Ardi said calmly. ¡°And leave the train, or I¡¯ll shoot your friend!¡±


    Milad, the leader, exchanged a glance with his comrade.


    ¡°Face of Light, kid!¡± Katerina groaned through the pain. ¡°You idiot!¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t understand why he was an idiot. He had calculated everything correctly. He¡¯d taken one of their men hostage, which meant that the bandits wouldn¡¯t be able to shoot because if they did, he¡¯d shoot Iskrien and-


    Bang!


    A gunshot rang out.


    Something surged within Ardi, and only a split second later did he realize that he had slammed his staff against the floor. A magical seal flared beneath his feet, and the Ley energy within his Star pulsed.


    A shimmering shield enveloped Ardi, but whether it was too weak, not designed to stop bullets, or for some other reason entirely, the bullet tore through it. However, it slowed down and changed its trajectory slightly, and instead of striking Ardan¡¯s heart, it grazed his left shoulder.


    He spun from the impact, and by pure instinct, his body curled inward from the pain.


    His entire body.


    Bang!


    Another shot exploded, this one louder because it had come from right beside him. Ardi blinked, not fully understanding what had happened or why a cloud of gunpowder smoke was rising from the barrel of his revolver.


    Or why women were screaming. Or why, instead of Iskrien¡¯s head, there was now just a grayish-red mess of flesh and bone where the bandit¡¯s face had once been.


    And then everything spiraled into chaos.


    ¡°Snap out of it, Ardi!¡± Katerina screamed, but her cry was abruptly cut off by a fist to the jaw, knocking her unconscious.


    ¡°Boys!¡± Milad and his remaining comrade dove in opposite directions, taking cover behind the benches. ¡°We¡¯ve got another mage here! He took down Iskrien!¡±


    Ardi, standing there with a smoking revolver, didn¡¯t understand who they were talking about. He even turned to look behind him, only to be met with the barrel of a revolver that was being pointed at him from the walkway leading to the first-class car.


    The hunter¡¯s instincts, ingrained in him through claws and fangs, kicked in, and Ardi dropped to the floor just as a bullet whizzed past over his head. He swung his staff toward the bandit standing opposite him, hitting him in the groin.


    The man howled like a beaten dog and tried to fire again, but Ardi was faster. Perhaps the Cloaks would have laughed in his face, but at that moment, he acted purely on instinct, with no conscious thought involved.


    Instead of pulling the trigger again, Ardan simply hurled his revolver into the face of the stunned, gray-haired bandit, then straightened up, ducked under the man¡¯s arms as Guta had taught him, grabbed him by the throat, and with a powerful twist of his torso, he swept the bandit¡¯s legs out from under him, sending him flying toward Milad and the others.


    The shots that followed tore bloody holes through the bandit¡¯s airborne body while Ardi, diving onto the walkway between cars, pressed his back against the metal to dodge the hail of fire.


    His heart was pounding so fast it felt like it was trying to escape from his chest. Ardi, trying to silence the ringing in his ears, looked down at his chest.


    Now would be the perfect time to¡­ Well, do what he had done when fighting the orc.


    Ergar¡¯s symbol remained silent and didn¡¯t even hint at glowing.


    There was no sensation of running alongside the snow leopards as he had experienced years ago.


    ¡°Wonderf-¡±


    The rest of the word was drowned out by the sound of gunfire and the whizzing of bullets.


    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± Ardan muttered, closing his eyes. ¡°They¡¯re just mountain trolls. Really angry, gun-wielding mountain trolls, and you¡¯ve got a staff¡­ You¡¯ve got a staff!¡±


    Ardi tried to recall any seal he could, but aside from the Shield Spell, none of the other spells he¡¯d spent so long learning came to mind.


    Shit!


    He forced his right hand to release his staff, leaving it in his left, and started flipping through his grimoire, but he couldn¡¯t even remember how he had organized his own book or where the combat spells were.


    ¡°Not this¡­ Not this either¡­ None of these¡­¡± Ardan muttered, flinching every time a new bullet zipped past.


    The hunter¡¯s instincts flared again, and Ardi hit the ground just as a spray of sparks erupted when a bullet ricocheted off the iron railing, grazing his back.


    He growled in pain and looked up. There, in the first-class car, stood another bandit.


    ¡°Milad! I¡¯ve got this giant fucker in my sights!¡±


    ¡°Then shoot, damn it! Kill him!¡±


    A shot rang out, and Ardi, knowing what was coming, activated the seal beneath his feet at the same time a shimmering barrier enveloped him. He turned his body just in time for the bullet to pass through the weakened Shield Spell and fly off to the side.


    ¡°You bastard!¡± The bandit cursed, raising his hand to fire two quick shots, but Ardi was ready this time.


    He ducked to the side, moving out of the line of fire, and, grabbing something from his boot, lunged forward. For a moment, he wasn¡¯t fully aware of the fact that he wasn¡¯t holding a claw but a regular knife.


    Ducking low to the ground, Ardi dodged two more shots, deflected a third with his shield, and despite the sharp pain in his leg, he struck the bandit with his ¡°claw.¡±


    The knife sank into the yielding flesh up to the hilt, and the bandit¡¯s body was lifted off the ground. Clutching Ardan¡¯s wrist, he gurgled blood, his eyes glazing over.


    Ardi, who was seized by fear for a fleeting moment and terrified of what he had just done, released his grip, and the convulsing body collapsed into a pool of its own urine, feces, and the blood spurting in waves from the severed artery in its abdomen.


    Ergar had taught his student to finish off his prey with a single strike...


    The hairs on the back of Ardan¡¯s neck suddenly stood on end. He spun around to find two revolvers, their hammers already cocked, aimed directly at his face.


    The magical seal beneath Ardan¡¯s feet flickered into life again, but before the guns could fire, they dropped to the floor, followed by two severed hands. Then came the heads, the torsos that got split open, and finally, with a dull thud, the legs crumpled as well.


    Yonatan, flicking the blood from his saber, sheathed it in one smooth motion. The entire action had happened faster than Ardan¡¯s eyes could follow. All he¡¯d seen were a few silver flashes, the rest already over before he¡¯d had time to register it. Wisps of black steam rose into the air from Yonatan¡¯s lips, his pupils dilating unnaturally.


    Nearby, the Silent One was already tending to Katerina, while Long Neck hovered over Elena and Boris. Both of them were alive. Only Cassara remained on the walkway between the dining car and second class, methodically devouring one of the bandits`.


    She was eating him.


    Her fangs were tearing chunks of flesh from his neck, chest, and arms. While the man screamed and wailed, she gulped the pieces down without so much as chewing, drenching herself in the fountain of his blood.


    Ardan coughed and turned away, not certain whether his dinner would stay down.


    ¡°Kid,¡± Yonatan called out from behind him. ¡°Did you really take down three bandits on your own? Respectable, I suppose.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t have the energy to respond. Struggling not to look at the corpse or his own bloodstained hands, he gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder, back, and leg, bent down, and pulled his father¡¯s knife from the dead bandit¡¯s belly. Wiping it clean on the man¡¯s clothes, he stood again.


    At least it was over.


    ¡°Hey! Kid!¡± Yonatan¡¯s voice rang out again. ¡°Why¡¯s your revolver lying there with five bullets left in the chamber? Do you mean to tell me you were throwing it at people?¡±


    Ardan closed his eyes. He already knew the kind of jokes he¡¯d be hearing for the foreseeable future...


    Then his eyes shot open, looking farther down the corridor, toward the coal cars and the engine. The air around him seemed to thicken. A rancid wind, normally impossible to find in these parts, gusted through the shattered windows and open doors. Something dark crept along the floor, like an acrid fog rolling in from moonless swamps, hungry for another victim to claim.


    A bitter taste stung the tip of his tongue, like the pain of old wounds and distant farewells, the kind of hurt that never fully healed. And he also felt a chill ¡ª not the kind brought by winter¡¯s breath, but one that defied the very fabric of reality.


    Behind him, Cassara shrieked, and the sound had nothing human in it. How could it, when no living corpse could feel true pain? And yet, the vampire was screaming in agony.


    ¡°Run, child!¡± She hissed through the torment, her words slipping into the language of the Fae.


    But Ardan didn¡¯t move. His gaze was unwavering, his hands were steady, and one of them was adorned with the bracelet that now pulsed with shadow. He had never faced what was now about to step into this world, but he¡¯d heard enough stories from Atta¡¯nha to know what it was.


    He didn¡¯t feel fear. There was no point.


    Fear was for those from whom you could run, those whose pursuit you could outpace with swift legs. Skusty had always said so.


    Demons? You could not outrun demons.


    And, as if his thoughts had summoned it, a grotesque, festering fold of dark energy tore through space itself. Accompanied by the sound of shattering glass and the screech of metal being torn apart, the creature appeared.


    A monster. An abomination. A demon.


    It was a thing that had only existed in the old, dusty scrolls of the she-wolf. Its form was an eerie combination of a bat and a mass of thick, black smoke. Arms and legs flickered into and out of existence as though born from the writhing darkness. Its maw glowed, its fused fangs forming a twisted snarl, and from its singular, blazing yellow eye, a light like molten gold seared through the night.


    The creature turned toward them, and the people behind Ardan began to scream just as Cassara had, writhing in the same incomprehensible pain. All except for Yonatan, who was muttering softly under his breath. Those were prayers, perhaps, to the Face of Light.


    Ardan remained on his feet. He felt the pain as well, but it was no worse than his bullet wounds.


    The demon sniffed the air, its body of smoke twisting as if it could taste them.


    ¡°Blood of apes and a clay hunter?¡± It croaked, its voice an awful mix of maggots squirming in rot and the sickening squelch of muddy hoofprints. ¡°With a drop of art within? You dare stand in my way?!¡±


    The demon raised an arm of swirling smoke, claws solidifying and gleaming as they slashed through the steel walls. Ardan didn¡¯t doubt for a moment that no matter how many seals he poured his energy into, nothing could stop that blow.


    So instead, with a cold calm that washed over his mind in that moment, he sidestepped, letting the attack pass just inches from his chest, and looked down at his grimoire.


    Flipping through the pages, he spotted a familiar seal.


    How about that¡­ Just one more page, and he would have found it.


    It was probably for the best that he hadn¡¯t.


    Channeling the Ley into the pattern, Ardan began weaving the spell¡¯s structure as instructed in the book. Frosty runes flared beneath him, the temperature plummeting. Moisture, blood, and everything else that had been spilled around them lifted into the air and crystallized, fusing into a long, sharp spear of ice.


    As soon as it formed, it shot toward the demon.


    It all happened in less than a second. The creature hadn¡¯t even swung again before the ice spear slammed into its chest. It exploded in a flurry of shards, but instead of dissipating, they left streaks of frost behind, which looked like faint scratches on the demon¡¯s smoky form.


    The demon screeched in rage, unfurling its wings. It was tearing the train car apart with each violent movement.


    ¡°Duck, big guy!¡±


    Any other time, Ardan might have ignored this man, but right now, for some reason, he trusted him.


    Following Mart¡¯s command, he ducked, and a glass orb, small and glowing with light, flew over his head.


    The orb shattered on the floor, releasing a blinding flare of light. For an instant, the dining car blazed like it was the height of noon, bright and scorching. This time, it was the demon that howled in pain, scratching at anything it could, its form unraveling as it was sucked back into the twisted rift from which it had come. Moments later, it was gone. And along with it, the tear in reality sealed shut, disappearing as well.


    Ardan collapsed to the floor, laying his staff down beside him, his thoughts on one thing.


    He had spent five rays.


    That was almost nineteen exes.


    Cassara had mentioned how expensive dinner in the dining car was, hadn¡¯t she?


    ***


    The train didn¡¯t move again until morning. Even then, it ran slower than before, as the demon had torn the first-class car apart, leaving it dragging behind and slowing the train. It could only be detached at a technical station, where locomotives stopped to load extra coal.


    A demon...


    Ardan still couldn¡¯t believe what he¡¯d seen ¡ª or rather, what he¡¯d done.


    Wanderers, demons, bandits, orcs, mages, foreign lands¡­ All the old tales from his childhood had come to life, and Ardan wasn¡¯t sure if that was a good thing.


    He had never cared much for adventure. Now books¡­ Books were another matter entirely.


    ¡°Give me a drink,¡± Katerina groaned from her seat.


    ¡°Hold it, soldier,¡± Yonatan snapped. ¡°Painkillers and alcohol... I¡¯m not delivering another death notice.¡±


    Long Neck had stitched Katerina up, and Ardan, with the few supplies they¡¯d had left, had brewed a restorative for her. Thankfully, she¡¯d drunk it before Yonatan had pulled out a syringe from his bag and injected it into¡­ well, into the place where her spine lost its noble name.


    Since then, Katerina had drifted in and out of a light slumber.


    At the moment, they were all crammed into one compartment, as the damage to the first-class car had forced many of the wealthier passengers into second class, and the second class, well, into third.


    The conductors, given the circumstances, might have wanted to change things up, but as Mart, who had been riding in first class, had dryly commented, ¡°It was company policy.¡±


    As for the mage himself, Mart had barricaded himself in his compartment and hadn¡¯t uttered a word since the demon¡¯s attack. Nothing new there. And the fact that he had helped deal with the demon... Well, Ardan was sure Mart had only acted because the creature would have wiped out the entire train otherwise.


    ¡°If we don¡¯t get a bonus for this job,¡± Yonatan leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, ¡°I¡¯m going to tell the Colonel exactly what I think of all his damn paranoia. The secrecy. The misdirection. The fact that we spent an entire year preparing¡­¡±


    Yonatan cut himself off, but it was too late.


    Ardan¡¯s mind raced, connecting the dots that had previously slipped past him. Suddenly, everything fell into place, and details that had seemed unimportant before now loomed large.


    Why had they separated Ardan from his family? Wouldn¡¯t it have been easier to control him by keeping them close? Threaten them daily to ensure his compliance? But no, they were taken far away, to Delpas, and they went to great lengths to convince him that his family was safe and well-off.


    That wasn¡¯t how hostages were treated.


    So why the separation?


    Because it was easier to protect one than to protect five.


    And using that tidbit, Ardan found the answer to another question that had been haunting him. The month spent in his childhood home ¡ª why waste so much time and resources there? The answer was clear: the Cloaks had needed the marshals¡¯ caravan far more than the caravan had needed them. Yonatan had known exactly how many people Marshal Kal¡¯dron would be bringing with him.


    Why?


    He made another step forward in his reasoning.


    Gleb Davos. If it hadn¡¯t been for Mart, Ardan would never have known that Gleb was not just a mage, but a member of a powerful, influential family. And yet, Yonatan had traded Gleb for Ardan without hesitation. It hadn¡¯t just been a calculated decision, either ¡ª it had almost seemed like all the potential problems with the Davos family hadn¡¯t concerned him at all.


    Why?


    Another deduction.


    The Wanderer.


    It hadn¡¯t just happened to be in the river where the caravan was supposed to cross. Sure, it could¡¯ve been a coincidence, but not when combined with everything else. The Wanderer had been badly wounded ¡ª wounds far too deep for the orcs to have inflicted without using extraordinary magic or some other force. But it wasn¡¯t just about the injuries. The creature had been driven there, and the orcs¡­ They hadn¡¯t finished it off. They had been¡­ trying to¡­ help Ardan?


    It couldn¡¯t have been a coincidence.


    And there was more. The bandits who¡¯d attacked the train had known about the Cloaks and Cassara. They had prepared an artifact to trap the Cloaks, and another to make it look like the train was destroyed by a demon. He didn¡¯t doubt that the newspapers would¡¯ve later blamed it on a terrorist group like the cultists of Enario or something similar.


    And their main target had been Boris.


    A mage.


    And who else was a mage? Ardan Egobar.


    He might have chalked all of this up to paranoia if not for the fact that the bandits had known about the Cloaks and had been prepared for them. They had simply mistaken Boris for Ardan.


    And another critical point: Ardan posed no real threat to the Cloaks. He was fully aware of that, having seen them in action. But despite this, Cassara, the most dangerous and powerful of the group, had been assigned to stay with him constantly. At first, Ardan had thought it was to keep an eye on him. But what if she hadn¡¯t been assigned to watch him, but to protect him?


    All of this added up to one clear conclusion: the Cloaks hadn¡¯t just kidnapped Ardan or tore his family apart... They were¡­ protecting him from someone else¡­ He was a pawn in a game between two factions. One side, he now knew. The other¡­


    Ardan turned his gaze toward Yonatan, and Yonatan froze.


    In that moment, Yonatan understood. He realized that Ardan had figured it out.


    The Cloak¡¯s hand twitched toward his revolver, but he hesitated, stopping just short of drawing it.


    ¡°Boss, what are you doing?¡± The Silent One asked, confused.


    Yonatan slowly pulled his hand back, away from his gun, nodding toward Ardan.


    The Silent One glanced at the young man¡¯s face and tensed up, as did Long Neck. Only Cassara and Katerina remained unbothered ¡ª Katerina because she had slipped back into her half-sleep, and Cassara because she was, as usual, reclining with her hat pulled over her face.


    ¡°Boy, you better lower that sharp look of yours,¡± Yonatan hissed in a low, snake-like tone. ¡°People in Metropolis don¡¯t live long with eyes like that.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°Whatever you think you¡¯ve figured out, keep it to yourself,¡± Yonatan cut him off sharply. ¡°There¡¯s only one thing you need to know. Your family is safe. Two teams of our people are with them at all times. You¡¯re expected at the coronation, and after that, you¡¯ll be heading to the Grand University and live a happy, carefree life. That¡¯s all you need to focus on.¡±


    Ardan said nothing. Yonatan had emphasized the important parts clearly enough.


    A heavy silence settled over the compartment, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the train¡¯s wheels and the occasional creak of the wood and metal. Outside, the endless plains and prairies had given way to meadows and forests, small villages and towns flashing by as station after station passed them in a blur.


    But Ardan wasn¡¯t paying attention to any of that. He was trying to solve the puzzle, though he knew he still lacked crucial pieces. And that... intrigued him.


    He had always enjoyed a good mystery.


    ¡°Fuck, kid!¡± Yonatan exploded, unable to hold back. ¡°So many good people died to get you here!¡±


    ¡°Boss, take it easy,¡± the Silent One said calmly. ¡°Ardi¡¯s a solid guy. Maybe he¡¯s a bit scared, but he¡¯s got backbone. He¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll be fine in his own ass,¡± Yonatan snapped back. ¡°Especially when someone grabs it¡­ Damn it, boy! Just don¡¯t screw this up!¡±


    With a frustrated motion, he reached into the inside pocket of his coat. Ardan tensed, but it seemed like he was worrying for nothing.


    Long Neck grabbed Yonatan¡¯s arm and asked, ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Are you against it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Long Neck eyed Ardan critically. ¡°Amir¡¯s right. The kid¡¯s timid. I¡¯d even say he¡¯s slippery. And he¡¯s young. Who knows what life will shape him into? Is it really worth giving him an officer¡¯s mark?¡±


    Ardan had no idea what an ¡°officer¡¯s mark¡± was, but those words were enough to make Cassara tilt her hat back, showing interest for the first time.


    Yonatan hesitated for a couple of seconds, then shrugged Long Neck¡¯s hand off.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want our efforts to end up being in vain,¡± he said, pulling a black coin from his pocket. It was slightly larger than a kso coin, but instead of the Empire¡¯s crest, it bore the simple engraving of the Second Chancery: a round shield with rivets along the edge, and nothing more.


    Yonatan placed the coin in Ardan¡¯s hand.


    ¡°If you ever find yourself in a deep, stinking pit, a real mess where there¡¯s no other way out,¡± Yonatan said in a low, steady tone, ¡°show this to the person making the decisions.¡±


    Ardan could sense that Yonatan was being sincere.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardan said, tucking the coin into his pocket.


    And with that, not another word was spoken until they arrived in the Metropolis.

 Chapter 30 - Metropolis

    In the dim light of predawn, Ardan stirred from his slumber. The gentle swaying of the train and the rhythmic clatter of wheels on the rails had lulled him into a deep sleep. But now, a strange sensation, like trying to read ten different books at once, had roused him, urging him to lift the heavy veil of drowsiness from his mind.


    The moment he did so, the sight beyond the window took his breath away.


    On the horizon, the silhouettes of monumental structures came to life, ones that were unlike anything he had ever seen before in both form and grandeur. Towering giants made from a uniform gray material reached ambitiously toward the sky ¡ª this was a peculiar kind of stone called concrete, as he would later learn.


    These titans rose into the air, their windows gleaming with the reflections of the dawn sky. Eight, ten, and even sixteen stories high, these architectural marvels stood guard over the capital, stretching far beyond even the capacity of Ardan¡¯s sharp eyes to see.


    Suddenly, faced with this awe-inspiring backdrop, Ardi felt an unsettling sense of his own insignificance ¡ª he was but a speck in the roaring storm of this sprawling human world.


    As if seeking refuge, his eyes lowered to the streets below. Desperately, he searched for the familiar green of grass or the rich brown of soil softened by autumn rains. Instead, he saw a strange, dark surface, which was slightly glistening from the morning mist. He remembered Mart telling him that this was called a ¡®roadway¡¯ ¡ª a special path that was sometimes paved with cobblestones, and in other places, it was paved with something darker and smoother... Asphalt, maybe.


    The near absence of nature ¡ª save for a few trees in flower beds ¡ª in this vast expanse of artificial stone gave him a fleeting sense of emptiness. Yet, curiosity quickly replaced that void.


    Ardan¡¯s attention was drawn to the unusual carriages moving as if by their own will. Unlike the stagecoaches, wagons, and carts he knew, these had no harnesses or horses. Their wheels, made of some dull, shiny material, seemed to roll all by themselves. At the front, they blazed with two bright, yellow ¡°eyes,¡± and the rear of the metal boxes seemed to be letting out a lot of thick smoke. The interiors, behind glass, seemed to emit a faint glow. People dressed in strange attire climbed in and out of these machines, talking, shouting, laughing¡­


    The people...


    The sidewalks were another revelation for Ardi, unused to such a sight. Crowds bustled along the streets, and the sea of people appeared denser than any festival day in his hometown of Evergale. Their mismatched clothing and ¡ª Ardi almost pressed his forehead right against the wet glass to see better ¡ª different builds. He could swear he saw a tall, slender dandy with long, pointed ears, and then a stocky, broad-shouldered man with a beard down to his waist.


    As the first caresses of dawn painted the sky in soft, golden hues, casting long shadows and imbuing the gray structures of the Metropolis with an ethereal glow, the world outside seemed to shimmer. It was as if it were trying to pass itself off as one of the fairy tales his great-grandfather had loved to tell on long winter evenings.


    For a brief moment, Ardan felt like a hero in one of those stories, caught between the familiar and the unknown, wonder and confusion swirling inside him.


    And if he had indeed been reading a magical tale, it might have said that this dawn was not merely the sun rising over the capital of the New Monarchy Empire, but the beginning of a whole new chapter in a mysterious and rather terrifying world he had yet to understand.


    ¡°At last,¡± Yonatan grunted, pulling their few satchels and Ardi¡¯s travel bag out of the cabinets. ¡°Here it is: the filthy, stinking bastard that is Metropolis.¡±


    The train pulled into the station. Unlike the one in Presny, this one was made of the same artificial stone as everything around them. The wheels screeched to a halt, a thick white cloud of steam briefly shrouded the window, and when it dissipated, Ardi¡¯s head spun for a moment.


    There were so many people everywhere that it felt like he had entered a forest, only instead of trees, he was surrounded by townsfolk. Old and young, rich and poor, men and women ¡ª all of them were bustling about, leaving the train cars that had arrived on a dozen similar trains to theirs and hurrying into a massive building.


    He would¡¯ve thought of it as being massive anyways, because Ardi had never seen anything like it before, but even compared to the giants that loomed over them as they approached the station, it still looked enormous.


    ¡°Get moving, get moving,¡± Yonatan urged.


    The first to step out of the compartment was the limping, bandaged Katerina, followed by Cassara. Ardi was the last to leave, nearly forgetting his staff in his awe of the views outside the window.


    After a quick farewell to the conductor, who gave the young man a disdainful look¡­ Ardan still remembered his sneering ¡°half-blood?¡± remark and how he¡¯d later learned that there were indeed separate carriages for other races and half-bloods ¡ª a second-class one sitting at the very end of the train. The first class, apparently, was an exception. After all, if your pockets were stuffed with enough exes, no one cared about the blood running through your veins. Finally, they stepped out into¡­ Ardi would have liked to say ¡°fresh air,¡± but no.


    Instead, he greedily inhaled a thick, heavy shroud that clung to his lungs like a sick, starving beast. The sharp burning from unfamiliar smells ¡ª perhaps these were... What had Mart called them¡­ Oh yes, exhaust fumes or the remnants of factory smoke ¡ª pricked and stung the walls of his throat, which was a far cry from the life-giving breaths of mountains and forests.


    Among the urban poetry of clamoring voices and distant clangs, a muffled mustiness reigned, like a moth-eaten coat abandoned in the shadows of an old, moldy closet.


    Ardan coughed and almost lost the meager breakfast he¡¯d eaten earlier, but he managed to suppress his urge to vomit.


    ¡°Endure it, boy. Give it a couple of weeks and you¡¯ll get used to it,¡± Long Neck patted him on the back.


    Ardi was about to retort that he had no desire to get used to it, but the crowd swept him along with the rest of them. Beneath iron canopies, they passed the platform, where some people were unloading from the train while others, far fewer of them, were boarding.


    Following the yellow lines painted on the floor, they moved toward towering, heavy doors made of stained oak and iron rivets. Four meters tall, they seemed never to close, so dense was the stream of people rushing through them in both directions.


    Ardi, who was sandwiched between the Cloaks as he was walking among the crowd, suddenly realized that he was mostly seeing heads ¡ª that is, men¡¯s and women¡¯s hats of various styles ¡ª and only occasionally meeting the eyes of someone looking out over the throng like he was.


    Beyond the doors lay a vast ¡ª though Ardi was beginning to realize that he should refrain from using that word, as everything in the Metropolis seemed vast to him ¡ª foyer. The clumsy march of thousands echoed across the polished tiles covering the floor. Along the walls, marble staircases (Ardi knew about marble thanks to Atta¡¯nha¡¯s scrolls) rose toward the upper floors, where more people milled about. There were countless benches, with travelers sitting on them and waiting for their departure.


    At first, Ardi didn¡¯t understand how they knew when and where to go, but within a few minutes, his attention was drawn to an enormous¡­ to a panel of staggering size. But upon closer inspection, it was clear that it was a sheet of metal with countless slots in it, and a worker in a blue coat was walking back and forth along a catwalk, constantly changing the labels on the slots.


    And every thirty seconds or so, a female voice would ring out from iron megaphones:


    ¡°The train to Shamtur is departing from platform three in five minutes, please do not be late!¡±


    Then the announcement would be repeated in several other languages Ardi had never heard before.


    All around him, life teemed and buzzed. People conversed loudly, children screamed, and mothers tried to calm them down. Servants hauled luggage as throngs gathered around the many ticket booths; station workers darted back and forth, and along the sides, in secluded spots, signs for... cafes appeared. Ardi only knew what cafes and restaurants were thanks to Mart¡¯s stories.


    The sheer abundance of everything made his head spin, and his stomach churned in knots.


    ¡°Endure,¡± Long Neck kept repeating. ¡°Endure, Ardi. You¡¯ll get used to it... Everyone does.¡±


    As if in a fog, Ardi barely noticed when they reached a counter with workers in red uniforms ¡ª the guards. They were asking strange questions to the people passing through.


    ¡°Which country are you from? Your city of residence? What is the purpose of your visit? How long are you staying? Are you bringing anything with you that needs to be declared?¡±


    Then they would ask for documents, stamping them soon after. As far as Ardi could tell through all the noise and commotion, most of the people were from the Empire, but from different cities.


    ¡°It¡¯s high time they reduced the number of border guards at train stations,¡± Katerina grumbled irritably. ¡°I can¡¯t stand queues... And most foreigners go through customs at the seaports, anyway. What¡¯s the point of this being here?¡±


    When it was Yonatan¡¯s turn, he sullenly held out a packet of documents to the redcoat, the same one he had once shown Marshal Kal¡¯dron.


    Inside that packet were also Ardan¡¯s own papers.


    The policeman scrutinized the group with an appraising look, then, without asking any questions, silently stamped their documents and handed them back.


    ¡°Have a pleasant day,¡± he muttered through clenched teeth.


    ¡°Sure,¡± Yonatan replied, feigning indifference.


    Noticing Ardan¡¯s confusion, Katerina, who was limping due to her injuries to her right side, whispered in his ear:


    ¡°The Ministry of Internal Affairs and the Second Chancery can¡¯t stand each other.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Ardi asked, surprised.


    As far as he could tell, both ¡°establishments¡± seemed to do the same job.


    ¡°Good question, Ardi,¡± she shrugged, but quickly caught herself and grabbed her crutch. ¡°Let me know when you find out.¡±


    Stepping out of the brightly-lit station, Ardi found himself on a broad, dimly-lit boulevard. Elegant buildings stood tall on either side of him, their facades showing signs of age: cracks, small chips, and scuffs. But all of this was softened by the windows, which were like gleaming portals glowing warmly in the twilight.


    To his left and right, the sidewalks were crowded with countless pedestrians: men in suits and hats, women in various dresses, all of them moving almost in unison, resembling flocks of lemmings. Their footsteps echoed in rhythmic harmony, a peculiar song of the city that pulsed deep within the cobblestone streets.


    And directly ahead, as if drawn to the very core of Ardi¡¯s soul, something began to emerge that had been hidden from him by the mist.


    Rising from the fiery embrace of the coming dawn and cutting through the horizon, a monolithic titan of lifeless stone and gleaming steel stretched upward, as if defying the very stars. Its structure ¡ª a labyrinth of countless windows, each reflecting a unique shard of the city¡¯s soul, which was oh so strange to Ardi ¡ª was at once repulsive and yet equally captivating.


    Floor upon floor, the countless steps of human ambition soared to a nearly fantastical height of twenty-five... six... seven stories, or perhaps more. Crowning this architectural wonder was a spire, slender but unyielding, which seemed to scrape the azure sky itself with a fervor and boldness that took Ardi¡¯s breath away. The echo of Mart¡¯s voice, tinged with reverence, resounded in his mind: ¡°Skyscrapers¡­¡± And never had a name felt so fitting.


    While Ardi marveled at this, another stray beam of the rising sun broke through the maze of buildings, momentarily blinding him with its brilliance. When his eyes adjusted and he could see once again, something unusual caught his attention in the previously orderly flow of pedestrians. Two figures ¡ª a man and a woman ¡ª were standing still in the midst of the crowd, as if the other people were parting around them like a lake along a boardwalk.


    And, of course, it was toward these two that their group was heading. As they drew closer, Ardi could properly assess the strangers. The woman, who was around forty years old, was dressed in a strict gown with a wide skirt and had a heavy fur stole draped over her shoulders. Her hands were tucked into a warm bag or something similar, and hanging from her hat, a small veil fell over her face, adorned with knots shaped like roses.


    But even through that veil, Ardi could make out striking features: a sharp nose with a slight bump, a face that wasn¡¯t quite oval, and subtly-slanted eyes. Somehow, all of these elements blended in the woman so harmoniously that one couldn¡¯t help but stare.


    Ardi closed his eyes for a moment, counted to ten, and steeled his will. When he opened them again, he only saw a pleasant-looking woman with a faintly glowing pendant.


    This was the work of the magic of the Aean¡¯Hane, or perhaps its Star Magic counterpart. It wasn¡¯t an enchantment, but rather some sort of spell that made you see slightly more than the truth.


    Next to her stood a man of roughly the same age. He was broad-shouldered, with a thick neck exposed by the absence of a scarf or a raised collar on his brown leather coat. His belt was cinched with a shiny buckle, and he wore striped pants and round-toed shoes.


    Ardi noticed how awkwardly the man was tucking his left hand under his right, trying, perhaps subconsciously, to conceal the prosthesis that had replaced his missing pinky and ring finger.


    The air around the stranger carried the same scent of danger that Yonatan exuded.


    ¡°Madam Atura, Mr. Davenport,¡± Yonatan greeted them, his tone devoid of its usual irony or mockery.


    ¡°Officer,¡± the woman, whose name seemed vaguely familiar to Ardan, gave him a curt nod. Over the last month, he had heard so many names that his mind had become a jumbled mess.


    ¡°Here,¡± Yonatan gave Ardi a firm nudge in the back, ¡°delivered safe and sound.¡±


    Madam Atura cast a sharp, evaluating gaze over him, her eyes lingering briefly on his side, where a shard of rock had struck him during the hunt for the Wanderer; then on his chest, marked by the orc¡¯s blade, and finally on his leg, scratched by a bandit¡¯s bullet.


    Even though all his wounds were hidden beneath his clothes, Ardi had no doubt that she could see them as clearly as if he were standing there entirely bare.


    ¡°If this is what you call safe and sound, officer, I dread to imagine how you handle less valuable cargo.¡±


    Yonatan responded with a predatory grin.


    In turn, Atura glanced at her companion and made a small, almost imperceptible gesture with her palm. The man, Davenport, reached into the inner pocket of his coat with deliberate slowness, pulling out a neatly-folded sheet of paper and handing it to Yonatan.


    The Cloak snatched the paper from him, tipped his hat, and turned to leave. For a brief moment, his eyes met Ardi¡¯s, and the officer silently mouthed:


    ¡°Watch your balls, Ardi,¡± before disappearing from view.


    For the first time Ardan could recall, Yonatan had addressed him by name.


    ¡°Until next time, little one,¡± Cassara¡¯s whispered words reached him just as the Cloaks melted into the crowd. Only Yonatan¡¯s distant shout of:


    ¡°What?! A bill for dinner amounting to two exes and thirty kso?! Katerina, are you out of your fucking mind?!¡±


    brought a brief smile to Ardi¡¯s lips. They were such strange people¡­ And they had been neither his overseers, nor his enemies¡­ Or his friends.


    ¡°Grab your things and let¡¯s go,¡± Atura urged him. ¡°We still need to get you cleaned up.¡±


    Ardi was puzzled for a moment, wondering what things she was referring to. All of his belongings ¡ª his backpack and grimoire ¡ª were with him. He glanced around, somewhat confused.


    At his feet lay a satchel that had once belonged to Gleb Davos. It was open, revealing the grimoire of the late mage and several artifacts, including the Green Star accumulator extracted from his staff.


    Ardan looked off into the distance where Yonatan Kornosskiy, Cassara, Katerina, the Silent One, and Long Neck had just disappeared.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Humans¡­ Why were they always so complicated?


    He snapped the satchel shut, intending to carry it himself, but Davenport, showing no tolerance for objections, took the bag from his hands. His backpack was also swiftly taken by the former soldier (if he indeed was a former soldier).


    Curiously, Davenport left his staff and grimoire untouched, as if he didn¡¯t perceive them as threats.


    Accompanied by Atura, who was walking ahead of him, and Davenport, whose gaze Ardi could feel between his shoulder blades, they moved in silence toward one of those strange carriages Ardi had seen from the train window.


    This one, however, was more... elegant, perhaps, with a beige leather roof, lacquered cherrywood sides, an iron cover arching over the wheels, and a soaring eagle ornament situated at either the front or back of the machine.


    As they approached, an elderly man in a black uniform and a cap with a gleaming visor stepped out.


    With a bow, he opened the door for Atura, helping her climb inside. Over her shoulder, Ardi glimpsed the luxurious interior. The walls were lined with green satin, the seats were covered in the softest calfskin, and the hardware had been crafted from the same cherrywood as the exterior.


    Once Atura was seated, the old man carefully closed the door, making sure not to catch her dress, then circled the vehicle to open the other side and stand beside it.


    Ardan didn¡¯t quite grasp what this meant, but a light push from the satchel at his back gave him the clue.


    He climbed in after her, awkwardly bumping his head on the edge of the roof as he tried to find a place for his staff between the seats.


    Davenport fussed with something in the back for a moment, then there was a thud from the iron trunk, and the man immediately appeared beside the elderly driver. The latter, after fiddling with some switches and buttons on a console, placed his hands on a round contraption and jerked his right foot in an odd motion, and a moment later, they... were moving.


    Without horses.


    It was so astonishing that for the first few minutes, Ardi didn¡¯t even notice the fact that each time they encountered a bump or crack in the road, he would hit the taut roof with the top of his head.


    It was an amusing sensation.


    ¡°Be so kind, Mr. Egobar, as to not ruin the upholstery,¡± Atura¡¯s voice was softer now, more relaxed than it had been minutes before.


    ¡°My apologies,¡± Ardi replied sluggishly, trying to settle into his seat without causing further damage.


    It wasn¡¯t cramped... for normal-sized people. No matter how he contorted himself, though, his knees pressed against the back of the front seats, or he bumped the accursed roof, or he ended up leaning all his weight against the door, causing the cherrywood trim to groan under the strain.


    Atura seemed to pay no attention to this. Taking a cigarette holder from her bag, she placed a small, white cigarette in it and lit it with what must have been the most expensive lighter Ardan had ever seen.


    The air soon filled with the heavy scent of tobacco, and Ardi involuntarily coughed.


    ¡°I can¡¯t stand New Town,¡± Atura commented idly, watching the buildings, people, and other horseless carriages flicker by outside the window. They varied in size, detailing, and embellishments, but all of them shared the same principle of movement. ¡°Those soulless high-rises and skyscrapers... At least the Upper Chamber had the decency not to allow tall buildings in Old Town. Of course, they¡¯ll still get their piece of the pie from the reconstruction of the historical buildings.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, ma¡¯am,¡± the elderly driver responded dryly, steering the vehicle as he spoke.


    Wherever the driver turned the wheel, the carriage followed.


    This self-moving carriage... Of course! Mart had told him about these things ¡ª they were called automobiles! Back then, Ardan had thought the mage was teasing him, and he hadn¡¯t believed the story.


    But it seemed like Mart hadn¡¯t been joking after all.


    If Ardi¡¯s internal compass was still pointing in the right direction, they had arrived from the northwest and were now moving closer to the bay and, consequently, to the city center.


    As they left the train station behind, the towering steel and concrete giants that had once loomed over the skyline began to recede, gradually giving way to a softer, more intricate panorama. The monochrome of urban uniformity faded, replaced by vibrant colors and architectural elegance. Going from tall, gray behemoths with heavy metal-framed windows, the buildings shrank, and yet somehow seemed to soar as well.


    The monotonous dreariness of the towering cityscape melted away, giving rise to a colorful patchwork of facades, each one a tale of a different era of grandeur. Pastel hues ¡ª green, peach, lavender ¡ª dominated the walls, accented with stone and metal so rare and exquisite they seemed to shimmer in the early morning light. Ornate wrought-iron railings lined the balconies, and intricate wooden cornices framed the rooftops, all so finely-crafted that even Ardan, who had grown up near lumber mills, could only marvel at the craftsmanship.


    The tall windows, framed by immaculate white sills, gazed back at him indifferently, often crowned by stately, triangular pediments, reminding him of stern watchmen silently observing the chaos of the city. The doorways, adorned with intricate carvings, hinted at the grand halls that lay beyond their thresholds. Every now and then, Ardi¡¯s eye was drawn to a graceful spire or the glint of a gold or turquoise dome in the distance.


    Between these architectural marvels, wide avenues and streets stretched out, their cobblestone sidewalks shaded by old trees whose branches cast playful shadows on the paving stones below. Occasionally, small parks and gardens appeared, dotted with statues, fountains, and neatly-trimmed bushes, providing brief oases of calm amidst the frenetic energy of the city.


    Lanterns and windows bathed the streets in warm light, cutting through the lingering morning haze. The sidewalks teemed with people who were moving leisurely, pausing here and there to peer into the brightly-lit shop windows that adorned the lower floors of the buildings. The displays were brighter and more extravagant than anything Ardi had ever seen during the festivals or fairs of Evergale.


    What amazed him the most was that, despite the magical beauty surrounding them, no one seemed to notice or care. The residents of the Metropolis passed by these wonders with barely a glance, as if they were part of the scenery, as ordinary as the very stones beneath their feet.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be turning onto the King¡¯s Bridge now, madam,¡± the elderly driver said, breaking the comfortable silence. ¡°We¡¯ll be at our destination in just a few minutes.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Atura replied curtly.


    They veered onto the embankment of a wide, black river, its calm surface lapping against granite banks as if held in place by cold but gentle hands. Ardi wished he could stick his head out of the contraption to take in the full expanse of the river, which seemed impossibly wide. He recalled its name from his geography lessons ¡ª Niewa.


    The wheels clattered rhythmically over the cobblestones as they crossed the bridge. To Ardan, it felt more like a grand avenue suspended above the water than a bridge. Thirty meters wide and stretching over a kilometer long, it was truly a marvel of engineering.


    ¡°But how do ships pass underneath?¡± Ardan muttered, realizing too late that he had spoken aloud.


    ¡°The bridges are raised during the navigation season,¡± Atura explained. ¡°I¡¯ve heard foreigners say it¡¯s quite a sight to behold, but for the locals, it¡¯s a terrible inconvenience. You have to memorize the schedule, and even then, every night, there¡¯s a forty-minute window when the first bridge hasn¡¯t yet been lowered, and the city¡¯s banks are completely disconnected.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s especially difficult for those living on the islands,¡± Davenport, who had been mostly silent, added with a nod.


    Ardan had heard Mart mention something about these drawbridges, but, like with the automobiles, he had thought it was just another one of the old mage¡¯s fanciful stories.


    As they reached the far bank of the Niewa, Ardi spotted a sign on an ornate post: ¡°St. Vasily¡¯s Island.¡±


    In Metropolis, besides the two main banks of the river, several islands sprawled across its mouth, all connected to the mainland by these grand bridges.


    They rolled on through the streets, and Ardi¡¯s eyes were glued to the scenery, trying to take in everything at once. The elegant buildings, the strange but stylish pedestrians, and the horseless carriages ¡ª automobiles ¡ª that whizzed by. Occasionally, he would spot a strange wagon rattling along tracks, its rectangular body clad in wood and its upper half made entirely of glass windows. With its iron wheels clattering beneath it, it moved without any visible means of propulsion, except for the two long metal poles extending from its roof to the overhead wires. The unmistakable hum of Ley energy hinted at its power source.


    ¡°Trams,¡± Mart had called them.


    And so, as Ardi lost himself in the endless wonder of the city, another ten minutes passed before they came to a stop in front of a four or perhaps five-story building, enclosed by a decorative wrought-iron fence.


    The wrought iron was purely ornamental, barely reaching the waist of an average man. And the building itself? Ardi couldn¡¯t be sure. From the street, it seemed to have four floors, but the protruding glass dome on the roof suggested there might be more. The first floor gleamed with massive windows, which spilled warm, golden light onto the damp street. Above that, three more floors featured windows set with small balconies or big ledges, each connected by intricate pilasters and elaborate porticoes, which served as reminders of the architecture lessons Ardi had taken and somehow aced despite his lack of interest.


    To the left of the main entrance stood a series of bay windows, their columns rising into a single glass dome, which capped the building like a crown. It was this dome that had made Ardan question the actual number of floors.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Atura said, gently urging him forward as they stepped out of the automobile.


    Ardan took one last look at it, then at the building. Only when he noticed several other similar buildings nearby ¡ª each distinct in design but all grand and stately, with fences and automobiles of their own ¡ª did it dawn on him that this was not some shared structure, but likely the home of a single family. The sheer magnitude of wealth required to not only build but also maintain such a residence in the heart of the Metropolis was staggering.


    He didn¡¯t even want to think about how many exes it would cost. Some numbers were too indecent to speak aloud.


    Together with Atura and Davenport, who was still carrying Ardi¡¯s belongings (a fact that made him uneasy, as it clashed with his upbringing as a Matabar), he approached the grand entrance. Atura pressed a small button embedded in the doorframe. Immediately, from the other side of the oak doors, with their beautifully-crafted mermaid-shaped handles, came the trill of a bullfinch. It was so lifelike that Ardi nearly mistook it for the real thing.


    Moments later, the door opened, revealing a stern-looking man in an even sterner suit, complete with pince-nez, white gloves, and the posture of someone who had swallowed a flagpole.


    ¡°Madam Atura,¡± the man inclined his head slightly, his gaze briefly scanning Ardi with an air of mild disdain, though by now, the young man had grown used to such looks. ¡°I see your lady¡¯s endeavor was successful.¡±


    ¡°It was,¡± Atura replied with a nod.


    The man stepped aside, allowing the trio to enter. As soon as Ardan crossed the threshold, he felt something brush against the edges of his consciousness. Something soft, yet firm, probed gently and weaved around the Star of his Ley before pulling back to settle at the periphery of his awareness, like a watchful guard dog.


    Alarmed, Ardi glanced around. He hardly noticed the grandeur of the entryway ¡ª its size alone rivaled his entire home back in Evergale ¡ª nor the gold leaf, the marble floors, or the broad staircase that spiraled gracefully along the walls toward the second floor, bordered by a brass balustrade. The mirrors, paintings, plush carpets, doors of solid wood, and countless rare metals and stones ¡ª none of it mattered at that moment.


    He was trying to figure out what had touched his core when-


    ¡°It¡¯s a household warding spell, boy,¡± came a grating voice from the corridor leading to the east wing. Its owner soon appeared, and he looked every bit as unpleasant as he sounded.


    He was hunched over, with thinning, slicked-back hair attempting to cover a balding scalp, and his piggish eyes squinted at Ardi from beneath a hooked nose. His knobby fingers clutched a staff ¡ª not carved, but forged from some strange metal and adorned with dozens of magical seals.


    Over his finely-tailored woolen suit, he wore a pink cloak, signifying that he possessed five Stars. Ardi¡¯s eyes also didn¡¯t miss his golden epaulettes bearing five silver stars, which had six, eight, six, four, and three points respectively.


    Ardan knew enough to recognize the man for what he was ¡ª a monster. Not a beast of fang and claw, but a creature clothed in the garb and regalia of an Imperial mage. He seemed ageless and could just as easily have been forty or sixty. And when he recalled the power of the Ice Arrow, which required only three rays of the first Star, Ardi could barely imagine what this mage was capable of.


    It was no wonder that the Aean¡¯Hane had lost to Star Magic. If humans could breed mages like this one in such a short time, it was a miracle Ectassus had held out for so long in the war.


    ¡°Senior Magister,¡± Atura bowed deeply, nearly to her waist. ¡°I humbly request permission for our guest to practice magic in the house.¡±


    The mage¡¯s gaze swept over Ardi, filled with disdain and a hint of scorn.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the lady¡¯s order, Urnosov,¡± Davenport cut him off, his voice firm and brooking no argument. ¡°Or are you going to question her, Bogdan?¡±


    Urnosov¡¯s lips twisted in displeasure, and his grip tightened on his staff, the top of which was crowned by a fist-sized yellow Ley crystal.


    For a few tense moments, the two men locked eyes in a silent contest of wills before the mage, with a barely-noticeable tap of his staff against the floor, lifted the ward. In an instant, Ardi felt the invisible presence retreat.


    Without another word, the mage turned on his heel, his cloak billowing like the wings of an owl, and disappeared behind a door. Ardi found himself profoundly grateful that he wouldn¡¯t have to deal with this man any further.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have pushed him like that, dear,¡± Atura said quietly.


    ¡°He¡¯s far too full of himself,¡± Davenport replied neutrally. ¡°The young man is our guest for the next two weeks. Whether Urnosov likes it or not, he¡¯ll have to respect that fact.¡±


    Ardi couldn¡¯t help but wonder who Davenport really was, to speak to such a powerful mage in that kind of tone.


    Either Davenport was utterly confident that the Five-Star mage couldn¡¯t harm him ¡ª which bordered on the fantastical ¡ª or he had some other kind of protection.


    In any case, Ardan had no doubt that neither Atura nor Davenport, nor even Bogdan Urnosov, were the true owners of this grand mansion.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, Mr. Egobar,¡± Atura addressed him again. Where had he heard her name before? ¡°We¡¯ll take you to your room. The lady is running a bit late, but she¡¯ll be up shortly. I believe she¡¯s been quite eager to meet you.¡±


    And for the first time, Ardan finally decided to ask the questions that had been plaguing him.


    ¡°Who exactly is your lady? Where are we, and why was I brought here, and-¡±


    ¡°All your questions, young man,¡± Davenport interrupted in the same tone he had used with Urnosov, ¡°will soon be answered. Have a bit of patience.¡±


    With that, the broad-shouldered man, who would likely struggle to pass through a normal door, began climbing the stairs. Ardan followed, with Atura bringing up the rear.


    They ascended first to the second floor, then to the third, weaving through corridors, passing from one hall to another, and occasionally throwing open doors. Along the way, Ardan couldn¡¯t help but marvel at the d¨¦cor.


    It wasn¡¯t the wealth that impressed him, though there was certainly plenty of that, but the beauty. The elegance of the sculptures, the intricate designs, the perfectly-selected materials and color schemes. Ardan had always liked the images of museum pieces in his history books.


    Now, he felt as though he had stepped into one.


    Yet, for all the splendor, it also felt stifling and uncomfortable, as if living here wasn¡¯t quite right. Still, there was no denying that it was beautiful.


    After one more turn, Davenport pushed open a pair of tall, cedar doors painted white, and beyond them lay a room so vast that Ardi didn¡¯t immediately understand its purpose.


    It was so large that it could¡¯ve easily housed two classrooms from the school where Ardan had spent five years of his life in Evergale. The ceilings soared, and the windows stretched from floor to ceiling, framed in rich redwood. Against the far wall stood a bed large enough to comfortably fit Yonatan¡¯s entire squad, draped with crimson velvet canopies.


    Next to the wall, there was a massive, heavy desk with countless drawers, gleaming with a fresh coat of varnish.


    And against the opposite wall stood a wardrobe so large it could¡¯ve held not only all of Ardan¡¯s clothes, but also the wardrobes of Shaia, Erti, and possibly their entire family as well.


    But what struck Ardi the most was the absence of a fireplace. How did they heat such a place?


    ¡°The heating will be turned on within the next three days,¡± Davenport placed Ardan¡¯s few belongings in the center of the room and, noticing his confusion, tapped his knuckles against the strange, cast-iron pipes between the windows.


    ¡°Central heating,¡± he explained. ¡°A recent innovation. There¡¯s a boiler in the basement. It heats the water, and the pumps distribute it throughout the mansion and... damn. Why am I even telling you this?¡±


    Ardan blinked and averted his gaze, realizing that he had been staring too deeply into Davenport¡¯s soul while lost in thought. Well, at least now he knew that Davenport wasn¡¯t a Star Mage; otherwise, he would have felt the Witch¡¯s Gaze, as Mart had once called it.


    Frowning, Davenport marched out into the hallway, where Ardan faintly heard him mutter:


    ¡°Perhaps Bogdan was right after all¡­¡±


    Left alone in the room with Atura, Ardi suddenly felt the weight of the silence.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Mr. Egobar,¡± she said with a warm smile, sensing his discomfort. ¡°Nothing will threaten you here in my lady¡¯s home.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°Make yourself comfortable,¡± Atura interrupted him gently but firmly. ¡°The lady will be here within half an hour.¡±


    Determined not to give up, Ardan opened his mouth to press further, but with a swish of her skirts, Atura turned and left the room, closing the door behind her. She left the key in the lock on the inside, a gesture that felt more symbolic than practical.


    They seemed intent on making him feel like a guest, not a prisoner. And perhaps, in some ways, that was true ¡ª if he could forget the fact that his entire family was living under the watchful eye of the Cloaks in Delpas, and that their ancestral home in the Alcade now housed the grave of his great-grandfather.


    ¡°Thoughts for another day,¡± Ardi muttered, shaking his head. There was no point in obsessing over the same problem again and again and expecting a different outcome.


    He carefully unpacked his meager belongings, placing them in the enormous wardrobe. His mother¡¯s handmade wool coat was now hanging on a hook. Soon, the cold would set in, and Ardan wasn¡¯t sure how well he¡¯d fare in unfamiliar lands during the winter. He wasn¡¯t likely to be as sensitive to the cold as regular humans, but an extra layer of clothing never hurt.


    With that done, Ardan unfastened Gleb Davos¡¯ satchel. He immediately set aside the artifacts ¡ª the ring, the earring and the pendant ¡ª since without an analyzer, he wouldn¡¯t be able to discern their functions.


    Instead, he retrieved only the grimoire and the Ley accumulator. Resisting the temptation to dive straight into the book, Ardan placed the crystal on the floor and sat before it, closing his eyes as Atta¡¯nha had taught him. He extended the threads of his will, casting them out like nets, as Skusty had taught him, and began searching not for something in the physical world, but for the hidden places within it.


    He regretted it instantly.


    Whether it was the household ward that Urnosov had mentioned or the overwhelming amount of Ley energy in the house, it felt as though he had plunged headfirst into a kaleidoscope of shattered reflections, all boiling and roaring.


    Ardan shook his head, suppressing the urge to vomit, and immediately opened his eyes, fighting off the dizziness. Now he understood why Star Mages relied on analyzers ¡ª if every house was hiding such a grand display beneath a veil of normalcy, it would be impossible to see anything clearly.


    ¡°Then again¡­¡± Ardi murmured, recalling how he had healed Tavskiy¡¯s daughter.


    Back then, when he had glimpsed the hidden fabric of reality, it had tried to trap him, but he had managed to pull himself back by focusing on the essentials.


    Perhaps the same approach would work here.


    Calming his breath and closing his eyes once more, Ardan opened his will and gaze to the secret corners of the world. Again, the storm of images, sounds, and even tastes and sensations, crashed against his mind and will. It was like a maddened bull raging with no purpose or intent, just a force of chaos driven to move for the sake of motion.


    Ardan nearly faltered when faced with its pressure, but with each passing moment, he managed to trim away more unnecessary fragments of flashing colors, cacophonous sounds, and false sensations. And yet, the more he cut away, the more concentrated the chaotic flow became, making it harder and harder to hold his will steady. Ardan still hadn¡¯t found the Ley crystal amid all the madness.


    If he had found himself in this situation while attempting to claim his Red Star, Ardan wasn¡¯t sure whether he would have even been able to locate the crystal, let alone harness it, and-


    ¡°There!¡± He shouted in his mind as he caught sight of the faint Ley glow and the crystal¡¯s rays.


    The rush of triumph almost broke his concentration, but he quickly reined it in, counting four rays before opening his eyes and releasing his will.


    Panting and wiping the sweat from his brow, Ardi picked up the accumulator, tossed it lightly into the air, and smiled in victory as he pocketed it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll still need to find an analyzer somewhere,¡± he muttered to himself.


    Catching his breath, and seeing that only a quarter of an hour had passed, Ardan reached for Gleb Davos¡¯ grimoire. He didn¡¯t have high hopes as he opened the book.


    And sure enough, the entire text was an indecipherable mess of squiggles, dots, dashes, numbers, and something completely abstract.


    A cipher. It was to be expected. Logical, even. And while Ardan might attempt to crack it in his free time, it wouldn¡¯t be happening today.


    Turning the page, he encountered the first seal. At a glance, it seemed straightforward, but the longer Ardan studied its structure, the more he realized he didn¡¯t understand it at all.


    On the surface, it appeared simpler, more elegant, and more organized than the seals the Stranger had created. It was like comparing modern farming equipment to ancient plows. The purpose was the same, but the convenience and potential were vastly different.


    And yet, in Davos¡¯ seals, all the runes overlapped, intertwining in a complex web. The Ley channels connected at impossible vectors, crossing and merging in ways that made it impossible to discern where one ended and another began.


    ¡°Another cipher,¡± Ardan muttered in frustration, though with a tinge of excitement. ¡°I¡¯ll need a key not just for the text, but for the seal itself.¡±


    Just as he reached for his own grimoire and a pencil, the doors swung open, and the last person Ardan had expected to see walked in.

 Chapter 31 - Old names

    When she¡¯d entered the room, she had expected to see someone far different from what her eyes actually beheld. By the bed, sitting right on the floor, wearing what were clearly old, worn-out clothes ¡ª complete with a cowboy scarf around his neck, a faded leather jacket, and tall boots ¡ª was a young man. He wasn¡¯t quite a boy, but neither did he resemble a fully-grown man yet.


    Despite his impressive height and broad shoulders, his amber eyes still sparkled with that naive, childlike gleam that had yet to be extinguished by the harshness of adulthood. And yet, the thin scars on his knotted fingers and the faint ones hidden among the freckles that had thinned out since they¡¯d last met hinted at a difficult past.


    She couldn¡¯t really say that the beautiful boy she¡¯d met almost six years ago in that snow-covered forest had disappeared completely. No, not at all. And just as she had thought would happen back then, the boy had grown into a striking young man, one whose face could make even her heart skip a beat. His black, uncut hair fell onto high cheekbones, slightly softening the perfect features of a visage that seemed to have been sculpted by a gifted artist, not simply created naturally by the hands of the Face of Light.


    But back then, in the forest, he had still been a boy. Sincere, kind, a bit amusing, and far too naive for his own good. And now...


    He looked at her. First with silent confusion, then recognition, followed by understanding, and at last...


    She clenched the amulet hidden behind her back. Just two steps away, beyond the door, Davenport and Urnosov were waiting for her signal. All she had to do was break the small, enchanted branch, and they would burst in, ruining all her husband¡¯s plans.


    But the boy ¡ª no, the young man ¡ª did nothing. His clear, deep amber eyes didn¡¯t flare with anger, but instead shone with a sharp pain that made her own heart ache.


    ¡°Okt...¡± He whispered in a low, rough voice that suited his looks perfectly. ¡°Okt... Oktana Anorsky... Anorsky...¡±


    He kept whispering those words, and her heart bled, but there was nothing to be done. Not now, and not back then. Six years ago...


    ***


    A memory flashed before Ardan¡¯s eyes, reminding him of something he had paid no attention to at the time. It had been a headline in a newspaper that had served as a home for one of Neviy¡¯s particularly large pastries.


    ¡°The miraculous recovery of the daughter of the heir to the throne, the Great Prince Pavel, and Duchess Anorsky, is it magic or science? A journalistic investigation by Taisia Shpritz seventeen months after the event¡­¡±


    Amid the languid comfort of his life in Evergale, a year and a half later, he hadn¡¯t even realized why the surname in the headline had seemed so familiar to him.


    Now everything made sense. That night, when he had led someone through the secret paths into the Kingdom of the Fae, he had revealed so much that even the most inattentive investigators would have had more than enough clues to piece things together.


    This was why Yonatan and his squad had spent so much time searching for Ardan and his family. Okta... Duchess Anorsky hadn¡¯t known where exactly she had met the snow leopard boy. And the Alcade, which stretched almost from one end of the Empire to the other, was far too vast to simply guess the location.


    Cassara had been right when she¡¯d said that a secret remained a secret only as long as one person knew it. And Anna¡­ No, Ardi wouldn¡¯t lie and say that he had never doubted her.


    He had. More than once. Especially on those gloomy evenings in the steppe, when every gust of wind had seemed to carry whispers about the land he¡¯d once called home.


    But he had been wrong. Mistaken.


    Just like on that night when he¡¯d decided to help a stranger.


    And for that, his entire family had paid the price.


    ¡°Ardi, I-¡±


    ¡°Why¡­¡± Ardan could only whisper, his hands hanging limply at his sides. The pencil slipped from his numb fingers and rolled across the floor toward the duchess¡¯ expensive shoes. ¡°I helped you, Okta... I helped save your daughter... Why didn¡¯t you help me save my family?¡±


    He watched as Duchess Anorsky carefully approached him, step by step, as if dealing with a wounded animal. And something dark within the young man, something thick and sticky like fresh tar, wanted to lash out, bare its claws, and tear into her throat, but he resisted the urge.


    His sense of smell, though no longer as sharp as before, had still picked up the scents of two men hiding behind the door. One was a mage, and the other a soldier.


    Dressed in a long, fitted gown embroidered with precious stones, adorned with elegant rings, a delicate necklace, and sunray-shaped earrings, she sat down beside him on the floor. She smelled pleasant, like rare garden flowers.


    Even just one of her adornments could have provided a decent life for a common citizen of Evergale for several years, but to her, all that shining magnificence was nothing more than a trinket, a bauble.


    Cassara had been right about that, too. You should never get involved with those in power.


    ¡°When I returned with the cure,¡± her dark hair lay across her finely-sculpted shoulders, and her face bore a few new wrinkles that hadn¡¯t been there before, but overall, she looked much the same as she had during their first meeting. ¡°I had no way to hide where it came from or how I obtained it. My husband, Ardi, is not just my husband; he is also the future ruler of the Empire. And his daughter is the rightful heir to the throne. Even if I had wanted to keep something secret¡­ The lie wouldn¡¯t have lasted long.¡±


    He could feel the sincerity in her voice, and even his limited knowledge of the political life in Metropolis, and the country as a whole, was enough to make him understand. But that didn¡¯t lessen the sting.


    And the worst part was that Ardan couldn¡¯t even say why it hurt so much. Was it because the person he¡¯d helped had ultimately betrayed him? Or was it because the death of his great-grandfather and the separation from his family hadn¡¯t been the fault of the Cloaks who¡¯d just been following orders, but rather, his own?


    It was him, Ardan Egobar, an adult hunter, who had made the decision that had led to a disaster for his family. He, and no one else.


    ¡°That¡¯s why the Great Prince Pavel was so convinced that my great-grandfather was still alive,¡± Ardi whispered, recalling Cassara¡¯s words. ¡°And that¡¯s why he sent Yonatan and the others to the Alcade...¡±


    Oktana nodded, though even without her confirmation, Ardi had already figured it out.


    ¡°I tried to bargain with my husband for both Aror¡¯s life and yours, Ardi, but¡­¡± She sighed and shook her head. ¡°Neither the nobility nor the people would have supported such a decision. There was too much blood on Aror Egobar¡¯s hands for the people to ever accept him being pardoned.¡±


    Ardan said nothing. There was nothing left to say. His great-grandfather, who had loved to curse and share tales of the past with him, had turned out to be an accomplice of the Dark Lord. And Ardi was educated enough to understand what those words truly meant.


    Regardless of whatever goals the Dark Lord had pursued, he had spilled so much blood in the process that it had nearly cost the Empire its very existence. The Dark Lord¡¯s rebellion hadn¡¯t just been a civil war, it had been accompanied by military interventions from almost every nation on the planet. All of them had tried to prey on the weakened country. And his great-grandfather had played a pivotal role in that carnival of death.


    Just as his father, Hector Egobar, had spent ten years among the Shanti¡¯Ra, known throughout the Foothill Province for their cruelty toward humans.


    Perhaps such thoughts should have soothed the young man¡¯s pain, but instead, they only fanned the flames burning inside him. After all, he had known them as something entirely different. Not monsters or fiends.


    They¡¯d been kind, funny, caring, and... the dearest people in the world to him. Those who had loved him. Genuinely. Unconditionally.


    ¡°But in recognition of your help, I was able to secure good conditions for your family and-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lie,¡± Ardi interrupted her, not caring that he wasn¡¯t just talking to ¡°Okta,¡± but to a duchess from a powerful family of Star Magicians (his habit of noticing even the smallest details had instantly revealed that Oktana herself didn¡¯t possess any Ley Stars), and not just any duchess, but a future Empress-Consort. ¡°Doctors for my brother, school for Kena, work for Kelly, and a pension for my mother¡­ You knew about all of my family¡¯s needs, which means you knew all about their problems. That could only be possible if you had gathered all the necessary information beforehand.¡±


    He stared at the floor, not caring about Oktana¡¯s reaction. To be honest, at that moment, he wasn¡¯t concerned about anything at all. Ardi was simply trying to breathe, to keep from letting the thorny lump in his throat take control.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, Ardi,¡± in the reflection of the polished floor, he saw Oktana¡¯s hand reach for his shoulder, but it froze midway through the air. ¡°Yonatan contacted me as soon as he received the first bits of information about you, and after that, I was able to convince my husband to help your family in exchange for saving our daughter.¡±


    Ardan only chuckled bitterly and sadly. ¡°You helped my family with words?¡± He whispered, emphasizing that last word.


    This time, Oktana didn¡¯t respond immediately. When she finally spoke, the warmth and softness in her voice was gone, replaced by a small, sharp, cold edge.


    ¡°If you truly believe, Ardi, that I have no honor and wasn¡¯t prepared to repay the one who saved my child, and that I was only fulfilling part of my deal with the Sidhe, then-¡±


    ¡°Then what?¡± Ardan snapped, feeling his teeth baring themselves unconsciously.


    He looked into her composed face and into her eyes, where he saw anger at first, and then pain. A pain that mirrored his own.


    The duchess turned away.


    ¡°I wish things could have been different, Ardi,¡± she whispered in a low, soft voice. ¡°May the Eternal Angels bear witness to my words, I would have loved to welcome your entire family into my home. To meet your mother and father, and thank them for raising such a son. I wanted to repay the favor for what, in my eyes, was a true act of heroism. But we live in a very different world, Ardi. And in this world, we must accept that there is no such thing as purely black or white.¡±


    They fell silent. This time, the quiet reigned for a long while. The minutes stretched on, and the ticking of the clock marked the passage of their deep, suffocating silence.


    The duchess was still sitting beside him on the floor.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to leave this house,¡± Ardan finally said.


    Oktana flinched as if slapped, but quickly regained her icy composure.


    ¡°Only after my husband¡¯s coronation,¡± she replied in a tone that brooked no argument. ¡°You¡¯ll have to wait two weeks.¡±


    ¡°So, I¡¯m a prisoner,¡± Ardan chuckled.


    Oktana gave him a strange look.


    ¡°If that¡¯s truly what you think, Ardi, then you¡¯re much more foolish than I ever imagined,¡± she said, not without genuine surprise. ¡°Or do you actually believe that all of those in power are thrilled that Pavel is going to pardon the descendant of the Dark Lord¡¯s right hand and strengthen the peace between humans and the Firstborn? For your information, those in favor of such a thing are in the minority. Far more of them would benefit from continuing and escalating the conflict between our races.¡±


    Ardan recalled every detail of his journey through the steppes. Oktana¡¯s words only confirmed his suspicions. Someone had indeed been trying to hinder the crown¡¯s plans and stop the operatives of the Second Chancery.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already learned what helping the crown leads to,¡± Ardan almost growled. ¡°So, I¡¯d rather deal with my problems on my own than end up in your debt.¡±


    Surprisingly, Oktana responded to his insolence with only a light, friendly smile.


    ¡°You remind me of my daughter, Ardi,¡± she said with a soft, unoffended laugh. ¡°You speak without thinking, in the heat of the moment, just to defy, just to try and sting your opponent. Don¡¯t forget, young man, that Aror Egobar was a war criminal. And your father, Hector Egobar, was a former bandit. The fact that he forged documents in order to join the army, and all the medals he earned at the Fatian border, don¡¯t change-¡±


    ¡°Medals?¡± Ardi interrupted, turning sharply toward the duchess. ¡°My father was just a ranger. Why would he get medals?¡±


    Oktana¡¯s eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline.


    ¡°Hector Egobar, during his time in the army, where he was known under the name Hec Abar, was a major, a senior officer of the Third Army¡¯s independent reconnaissance and sabotage corps, the commander of the Sixth Division, a full Knight of the Order of Valor, and a recipient of the Orders of St. Georgin of the Second Degree and the White Phoenix of the Second and Third Degrees. Not to mention all his other numerous medals and distinctions.¡±


    Ardan barely remembered his military history lessons, considering he had never been particularly interested in them, and they had also taken place about four years ago. But something told him that all those Orders weren¡¯t given out without serious cause.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    And yet, he had never seen anything like what Oktana had just mentioned, and-


    ¡°His uniform is displayed in the War Glory Museum,¡± Oktana continued. ¡°He faked his death when he could no longer pass for a human. Matabar age much slower than we do. But what I¡¯ve just told you, Ardi, should remain our little secret. Hec Abar is a well-known figure in military circles, and the crown wouldn¡¯t want it becoming public knowledge that such Orders and awards were given to-¡±


    ¡°A Matabar,¡± Ardan interjected.


    The duchess smiled again, just like before.


    ¡°Young bloods must all be the same,¡± she mused before continuing. ¡°Not a Matabar, Ardi, but the grandson of a war criminal, and once a bandit himself. Let the legend of Hec Abar remain as it is.¡±


    Ardan considered using the Witch¡¯s Gaze on her but then felt a slight prickling at the back of his neck. It was probably not the best idea considering the fact that there was a Five-Star Mage standing outside the door.


    ¡°After everything you¡¯ve just said, you decided to trust me with a secret?¡±


    Oktana nodded.


    ¡°Whatever you may think, Ardi, I understand you all too well. You and your pain. And I don¡¯t want you to see me as your enemy. I¡¯ve done everything I could to repay you with kindness and give you a chance to live up to your ancestors¡¯ legacy. Isn¡¯t that the path of the Matabar? You honor your ancestors, your patron spirits, and the Sleeping Spirits?¡±


    ¡°All Firstborn honor the Sleeping Spirits,¡± Ardi corrected her reflexively, which elicited another smile from Oktana.


    ¡°I hope you believe me when I say that you are not a prisoner here. Neither you nor your family. Let this secret bind us. I think the journalists would be delighted to stir up a scandal involving one of the heroes of the Fatian border.¡±


    Ardan turned away and looked out the window. Outside, the sky was a low, heavy gray, with granite clouds hugging the horizon, and fat raindrops were falling onto the heads of passersby and the roofs of cars sliding across the cobblestones.


    ¡°Most people would never believe me.¡±


    For the first time since their conversation began, Oktana touched him, lightly brushing his shoulder before using it to push herself to her feet.


    ¡°You¡¯re not so foolish after all,¡± she whispered, and then, more loudly, on her way to the door, she added, ¡°For the next two weeks, you are a guest in our home. Breakfast is at eight, lunch is at two, and dinner is at six. You have full access to our library and the basement, where you¡¯ll find the Star Magic training grounds. But, and I hope you¡¯ll forgive me for this, you won¡¯t be allowed to leave until after the coronation. After that, once you enroll at the Imperial Magical University, our paths will part, which, from what I understand, will make you rather happy.¡±


    With those parting words, the duchess was almost out the door when a whisper from the young man reached her.


    ¡°All these years, I thought that I made the right decision when I didn¡¯t take you to my teacher,¡± he said with a crack in his voice and sorrow in his eyes. ¡°And now... Now I don¡¯t know what to think.¡±


    Oktana froze and remained silent for several long, heavy seconds.


    ¡°Welcome to the adult world of humans, Ard Egobar,¡± she said finally, and closing the door behind her, she left him alone.


    For a while, Ardi stared at the door, as if expecting it to reopen and reveal the answer to the question that had haunted him for almost six years.


    Who was he?


    Was he a descendant of the Matabar, a race of Firstborn who had tried to destroy the Empire, or a descendant of the native Galessians, who had built that very same Empire?


    The son of a bandit and the great-grandson of a war criminal, or the son of a hero and the great-grandson of a mage from the distant past?


    A hunter or a mage?


    But the door remained closed, and the answer hidden behind it never came. Not that there was any light to reveal it.


    Though it should have been long past dawn, the gray gloom outside still reigned. The sky stretched out like a broad, suffocating shroud, painted in so many shades of gray that Ardan doubted he¡¯d ever seen such a sight in the mountains of the Alcade.


    The low, stone-like sky weighed down on the city dwellers, forcing them to bend their backs beneath its relentless pressure.


    Rain drummed against the windows, leaving behind winding trails of water that formed melancholy patterns.


    Ardi stared at his own reflection in the rain-slicked streets, illuminated only by the occasional flash of car lights ¡ª or as Mart had called them, ¡°headlights.¡±


    Getting to his feet, he crossed the room, picked up his pencil from the floor, and collapsed onto the bed. Above him, a canopy swayed gently, suggesting that fresh air was somehow entering the room.


    That annoying habit he had of noticing details...


    Before he realized it, Ardan had drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.


    In the morning, he woke up to an unfamiliar scent. It wasn¡¯t unpleasant, more like the opposite. It smelled heavy, but at the same time, it was intoxicating, like a meadow full of wildflowers crushed together and heated in a small vessel.


    Rubbing his eyes, Ardan turned toward the source of the smell and saw the open bathroom door, which had steam billowing out of it. And it was the steam that carried the heavy floral aroma.


    Realizing that he¡¯d fallen asleep fully clothed, the young man sniffed his underarm and, grimacing, quickly stripped off everything until he stood as naked as the day he¡¯d been born.


    Stretching and cracking his joints, he padded barefoot across the cold floor and entered the open bathroom...


    ¡°Oh, Eternal Angels!¡±


    And then he was immediately forced to do an awkward, clumsy motion reminiscent of girls caught unaware at the lake docks in Evergale by mischievous boys as he tried to cover himself.


    Near the wide, deep bathtub, with a brass spout and showerhead hanging above it, stood a young woman. She looked to be about twenty-two. She wore a white apron over a simple, black work dress and a funny little cap that barely contained her thick, chestnut hair.


    Their eyes didn¡¯t meet right away, as she couldn¡¯t tear her gaze away from the spot Ardan was currently covering with his hands. She stared and blushed so fiercely that you could¡¯ve probably fried an egg on her red cheeks.


    For his part, Ardan felt like he might combust if this went on for much longer ¡ª his face was burning with that much embarrassment.


    ¡°S-sorry,¡± he stammered, unsure of where to go in such a large space.


    The woman quickly turned away and, with a slightly trembling hand, pointed to a towel hanging from a screen tucked into the far corner of the bathroom.


    Right...


    A screen...


    Crab-walking to the side, Ardan snatched up the blessed fabric and quickly wrapped it around his waist, though he didn¡¯t realize that everything was still perfectly reflected in the enormous mirror beside the woman. His hair might have started to catch fire by now if he had...


    ¡°Forgive me, I shouldn¡¯t have barged in on you like that, Mr. Egobar,¡± the stranger said in a faint murmur. ¡°I knocked, but you were sleeping very soundly, and the lady of the house asked me to prepare your bath so that we can rid the house of the smell of the road.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Ardan repeated, feeling much more confident now that he was under the protection of the magical towel. ¡°I was tired from my journey and must not have heard you.¡±


    ¡°Surely not,¡± she agreed.


    An awkward pause stretched out, and just as Ardi was about to say something, the woman, likely a servant, spoke first.


    ¡°My name is Tatiana.¡±


    ¡°Ard,¡± he introduced himself.


    She was still facing away from him, but their gazes met in that damned mirror.


    ¡°Your clothes. I¡¯ll take them to the laundry.¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t have anything else to wear.¡±


    ¡°The lady has already taken care of that,¡± the servant quickly added, then turned to face him. ¡°When you¡¯re done, ring the bell,¡± she left a simple, tin bell with a long wooden handle on the table by the sink. ¡°And I¡¯ll bring you your daily suit.¡±


    ¡°Daily?¡±


    ¡°The lady has ensured that you have both a casual outfit and a formal one for the celebration, so you don¡¯t have to worry about that at all.¡±


    Ardan was about to remark that he¡¯d only be completely at ease once he stopped parading around half-naked in front of a woman, but he bit his tongue. They were both equally uncomfortable, so there was no point in making it worse.


    ¡°May I...¡±


    ¡°What?¡± She asked.


    Ardan, clutching the towel¡¯s knot, gestured toward the bath with his free hand.


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± Tatiana seemed to snap out of her flustered state and, with a shake of her cap, scurried out behind him. ¡°Don¡¯t forget to ring the bell!¡± She called out as she closed the door behind her.


    Now alone with himself and the mirror, Ardan sighed in relief and, with some regret, parted with the magical towel. It had been soft and fluffy, not just a piece of fabric like he was used to.


    And as he looked down, his face flushed all over again. It was morning, after all, and he was still a healthy young man with entirely understandable morning reactions.


    ¡°Oh, Sleeping Spirits,¡± Ardan muttered, shaking his head. ¡°What would Mother say if she knew the kind of first impression I make on strangers?¡±


    Not to mention that his grandfather would have given him quite the scolding for such rudeness.


    Trying to push those ridiculous thoughts away, Ardi stepped into the bath and allowed himself to sink into the hot water, which was fragrant with the scent of wildflowers.


    Next to the faucet, on a wooden rack, he found a rough sponge and a bar of soap ¡ª not the brown, animal-fat kind, but a pinkish one that smelled of those same flowers.


    ¡°Marvels,¡± he whispered as he began scrubbing away the grime and the clinging dust of the road.


    All the charms of a long journey, where there was no time to freshen up, were now quite literally coming off him in layers. It was a wonder that, after sitting in a cramped car with him, Atura, Davenport and the driver hadn¡¯t suffocated from his stench.


    Atura... now it made sense that he had heard that name before. Oktana had introduced herself under her servant¡¯s name on the night of their first meeting.


    ¡°Shame it wasn¡¯t our last,¡± the young man added aloud, spitting out a bit of foam from the herbal toothpaste he was using.


    Looking around for a razor, instead of the familiar folding blade, he found a strange tool. It resembled a tiny... hammer. Only, it was flat. And it was clearly of a complex design because when you unscrewed its cover and lifted the upper part, a fine, hair-thin blade with two razor-sharp edges could be seen inside.


    Smirking, Ardi screwed the cover back in place, guessed the device¡¯s purpose, and began shaving. Because he was unfamiliar with it, he nicked himself a few times, but before he was even done with his morning stubble, his Matabar blood had already healed the cuts.


    Finishing that task, Ardan couldn¡¯t help but recall just how recently he had been in Tatiana¡¯s position during their journey. But unlike him, Katerina had handled the situation with much more confidence.


    Sighing, Ardi, now properly wrapped in the towel, rang the bell and... nothing happened. Not after a minute, not even after two.


    Realizing that he might not have been heard from the bathroom, he stepped out into the main room and rang the bell again. Then, sticking his arm out into the corridor, he rang it a few more times.


    Finally, after about ten minutes, just when he wasn¡¯t sure what else to do ¡ª after all, he was standing in the middle of a massive room in nothing but a towel, like some kind of fairy-tale fool ¡ª there was a knock at the door.


    ¡°Come in,¡± he called out.


    The door opened slightly, and a moment later, Tatiana appeared, carefully studying her shoes.


    Behind her, she wheeled in a metal rack with a tray on wheels, from which hung a black, woolen three-piece suit, a white silk shirt with a high collar, a brown belt, and polished, brown leather shoes with pointed toes.


    ¡°Dress and come down for breakfast,¡± Tatiana said without lifting her gaze.


    ¡°But may I-¡±


    ¡°The masters won¡¯t be home until the coronation,¡± she interrupted, as if already knowing Ardi would ask to eat in his room, since he didn¡¯t want to meet the others. ¡°And after the celebration, this place will probably be empty anyway. They¡¯ll all move into the palace as befits their station...¡±


    Those last words were filled with obvious regret, but quickly catching herself, she gave a small bow and slipped out the door.


    Ardan approached the rack and ran his fingers over the fabric. As the son of a seamstress, he was fully aware of the small fortune before him. To afford such a luxury normally, he would have had to work on the Polskih farm without eating, drinking, or sleeping, laboring around the clock for several years, and only then might he have been able to afford something like this.


    ¡°Rich folk,¡± Ardi snorted but, lacking any alternative, began dressing.


    To his surprise, the suit fit him perfectly, despite his unusual build. The sleeves were just the right length, the armpits were comfortable, the pants weren¡¯t tight in the crotch area, and the legs were the perfect length as well.


    To tailor such a suit without precise measurements was impossible. Even with exact numbers, without fittings...


    ¡°Cassara,¡± Ardan reminded himself.


    And the thought of a vampire sneaking around him with a measuring tape while he slept made him chuckle a little.


    Smiling to himself, Ardi took a few steps, getting used to the shoes. Because he¡¯d worn his work boots for so long, the stiff soles of the shoes, along with their low, straight heel ¡ª not sloped like on cowboy boots ¡ª hindered his stride a bit. He was about to step into the hallway when he paused.


    Remembering Gleb Davos¡¯ envy and Mart¡¯s stories, the young man took his grimoire and staff with him, but hid Gleb¡¯s book... under the pillow. Not because no one would think to look there, but because he had cleverly placed a pencil on the pillowcase, leaving a small graphite dot on the pristine surface. If you didn¡¯t know it was there, you wouldn¡¯t see it. And now, if someone tried to make it look like nothing had been disturbed, Ardan would know immediately.


    Leaving the room, Ardi was once again struck by the variety of decor, from paintings of breathtaking landscapes to suits of armor he had only ever seen in rare history textbooks.


    Tatiana had forgotten to mention where the dining room was, so he had to follow his nose, relying on his sense of smell, which, thankfully, didn¡¯t fail him. After a few minutes of wandering through the labyrinthine corridors and staircases, the young man descended to the first floor in the east wing of the mansion.


    The dining room ¡ª or rather, the dining hall ¡ª was no less impressive. The polished stone floors gleamed, blending into the tall stained-glass windows draped in tulle and heavy curtains. In the center, under a pristine white tablecloth, stood a table large enough to seat at least two dozen people.


    Its massive size only made the fact that just three people were sitting there more noticeable: Atura, who was sipping hot coffee and reading a book, Davenport, who was smoking a cigar while perusing a newspaper, and Urnosov, who fixed the newcomer with an unpleasant gaze.


    A young man who faintly resembled Tatiana flitted around the table. He placed down a few plates and poured a tart berry drink into a glass before bowing silently and disappearing through a discreet door leading, most likely, to the kitchen.


    Ardan approached the table and swept his gaze over the gathered individuals before settling it on Atura.


    ¡°My lady,¡± he said as firmly as he could. ¡°How much will my upkeep cost for these two weeks?¡±


    Davenport briefly glanced up from his newspaper, revealing the metal prostheses where his fingers should have been, but then, with a huff, he returned to his reading.


    ¡°Around ten exes,¡± Atura replied, not looking up from her book, a bracelet on her wrist glittering with runes from the Fae language.


    It was definitely time to invest in an analyzer.


    ¡°Very well,¡± Ardi nodded and, pulling out two bills from his wallet, placed them on the table.


    ¡°You filthy half-breed, do you even realize what-¡± Urnosov began to hiss, but Atura silenced him with a wave of her hand. It seemed she was in charge in the absence of the duchess.


    ¡°The mistress expected you to do something like this,¡± she waved her hand ¡ª still holding a cigarette between her fingers ¡ª in a vague gesture. ¡°If you¡¯re so eager to part with your money, you are within your rights to do so. But you are a guest here and-¡±


    Ardan, not caring where or how, noisily dragged the chair away from the table, drowning out the rest of Atura¡¯s sentence with a long, grating screech.


    Urnosov¡¯s face flushed with rage, but Atura¡¯s pale visage remained completely calm.


    ¡°You really do resemble her,¡± she whispered so quietly that only a Matabar¡¯s sharp ears could¡¯ve caught it. ¡°Tatiana!¡±


    As if summoned from thin air, Tatiana appeared, bowing slightly to those at the table, and with a deft motion, she scooped up the two bills into her apron pocket before disappearing once more through the same door.


    ¡°I¡¯ll pay for the suits later,¡± Ardan said, sniffing at the porridge.


    It smelled like wild game. By the Sleeping Spirits... Pheasant for breakfast...


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll put it on your tab, Mr. Egobar: one hundred and twelve exes for the formal suit and another twenty-six for the one you¡¯re wearing now.¡±


    It felt as though his heart had just started sprinting through every corner of his body, determined to escape such an irresponsible and reckless owner.


    Skusty would probably have been laughing out loud at his student¡¯s foolishness right now, but Ergar... Ergar would have praised him.


    This was the way of hunters.


    ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the scholarship these days, Senior Magister?¡± Atura asked with feigned curiosity, turning a page in her book.


    ¡°Eight exes, forty kso for the standard students,¡± Urnosov replied smugly. ¡°And ten exes, sixty kso for the advanced ones.¡±


    ¡°So, if we don¡¯t hope for the advanced scholarship, that¡¯s about seventeen months to pay it all off?¡± Atura mused, not lifting her eyes from her book.


    Ardi had already calculated that it would be slightly faster than Atura had estimated ¡ª just under sixteen and a half months ¡ª but even that...


    ¡°If the half-breed even manages to meet the requirements for it,¡± Urnosov¡¯s grin twisted his chubby face into something resembling an overripe tomato, now looking more like a bloodthirsty snarl.


    ¡°I will remind you for the last time, Bogdan,¡± Davenport¡¯s voice was as cold as steel, ¡°to refrain from such remarks in this house.¡±


    The mage glared at the soldier with such intense hatred that had he been an Aean¡¯Hane instead of a Star Mage, he might have cursed or burned him alive on the spot.


    ¡°Thank you, dear,¡± Atura said, turning another page. ¡°Mr. Egobar, perhaps you should reconsider before-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pay back every last kso,¡± Ardan interrupted her and, not caring how he looked, shoveled food into his mouth so quickly that he resembled a cowboy consuming his food during a brief stop on the trail. After downing his drink in one gulp, he grabbed his staff and stormed out of the room.


    Just before he reached the exit, Davenport¡¯s steely voice followed him out.


    ¡°We¡¯re in for a lo-o-o-ong two weeks.¡±


    Ardi couldn¡¯t help but agree.


    Standing in the hallway, he tried to calm his wildly racing heart. Yes, Skusty would have definitely called his behavior foolish, but...


    Shaking his head, Ardan set off in search of the library. He intended to make the most of the ten exes he¡¯d paid ¡ª that was nearly his entire budget, after all.

 Chapter 32 - Shade

    Ardan closed the book and, leaning back in his chair, rubbed his eyes. They were slightly tired from the light of the oil lamp, which sputtered on the table, casting dancing shadows across its green, felt-covered surface.


    With Tatiana¡¯s help, he had finally found his way to the mansion¡¯s library.


    It was a true labyrinth of knowledge, akin to a sanctuary where the past, present, and even possible futures intertwined in the harmonious rustle of turning pages. The library¡¯s vastness seemed so grand to Ardan that over the last few days, he¡¯d found himself lost more than once in the enchanting worlds captured in ink.


    Endless rows of towering wooden bookshelves stretched out in a room that appeared to have no end, their dark, polished surngs of the Past and faces glistening softly in the surrounding light. Each shelf was crammed with volumes of various sizes, their spines a myriad of colors and textures, each hinting at the vast worlds and stories hidden within.


    Between the tall bookshelves swirled columns with scroll cubbies, each scroll adorned with its own peculiar labels and markings in so many languages that Ardi doubted whether specialists could be found to translate even half of them.


    The library¡¯s vaulted ceiling vanished somewhere high above, among the dim mosaics darkened by time. Many upper shelves seemed to reach toward it, holding their treasures beyond the reach of their rare visitors. To address this, ladders with rollers had been placed throughout the room, gliding smoothly to allow seekers of knowledge to reach even the most elusive, hidden manuscripts and tomes.


    The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of old paper, leather bindings, and a faint hint of polished wood. Soft footsteps on marble floors and the gentle rustling of turned pages created a delicate backdrop for this ¡°cave of knowledge.¡± It was incomparably larger than the one in Atta¡¯nha¡¯s home.


    Here, in this kingdom of letters, it was easy to lose track of time, something Ardan had been content to indulge in for five ¡ª no, six days straight.


    His routine differed very little from what he had established while traveling by train. He would wake up, do a small workout, take care of his morning hygiene, and then have breakfast in the company of the same three people: Atura with her novels, Davenport with his newspapers, and Urnosov... being Urnosov, which spoke volumes to those who knew him even a little. Afterward, he¡¯d journey to the library.


    Ardan had hoped to find helpful treatises on Star Magic, given the renowned reputation of the Anorsky family as great Star Mages, but... It would have been foolish to assume they¡¯d keep all their knowledge here, in a place where, as far as Ardan could tell, any guest of the mansion could access it.


    So, while this kingdom of manuscripts hadn¡¯t revealed any direct information on Star Magic to him, that didn¡¯t mean Ardi hadn¡¯t managed to find something interesting.


    Since the day the she-wolf had taught him how to read, Ardan had not been able to imagine himself living without books. And after all these years, he was delighted to be surrounded by them once again, without anyone to distract him or disrupt their long conversations.


    In the past six days, he had already read through a five-volume collection on the history of the Empire, several monographs on the political structure of the world (which had covered far more ground than the limited scope of his school textbooks), and perused the diaries of famous explorers from the Imperial Geography Guild. He¡¯d even skimmed through the notes of a scholar attempting to translate the Fae language, which had amused Ardi greatly, given how wrong the renowned linguist had been in his assumptions. He had also devoured a heap of essays, journals, and even a few textbooks on the development of technology.


    After all that, things like central heating, plumbing, and the presence of an elevator in the mansion no longer surprised him. Ardan wished he could try it for himself, but it was located in the eternally-locked west wing.


    Curiosity had been gnawing at him for a while about what lay behind the doors of that corridor, but whenever he¡¯d found himself near the entrance, Davenport had appeared, reminding him of Cassara with his silent watchfulness.


    So, Ardi had shrugged off those thoughts, deeming them unimportant to him.


    One of his most rewarding discoveries in the library, aside from the vast trove of knowledge, of course, was the map of the Metropolis, which Ardan had carefully copied into his notebook.


    The household had an unspoken rule: Ardan was required to attend breakfast (he had tested this theory by heading straight to the library once, but Davenport had promptly come to fetch him), after which he was free to do as he pleased, within limits.


    Tatiana would bring him lunch, usually to the library, and dinner to the training grounds ¡ª perhaps the most valuable place in the mansion for Ardi.


    Since he¡¯d finished his apple juice, Ardan closed the book he had been reading about the changes in flora and fauna on the eastern continent after the war between Ectassus and Gales. Glancing at the clock on the wall, which said that it was five in the afternoon, he stood up and made his way outside.


    He often felt tempted to visit the training grounds earlier, but like the west wing, the doors to the basement remained locked until the clock struck five, with Davenport standing grimly on guard duty there.


    He left his dishes on the table.


    He had once tried to bring them to the kitchen himself, but after a few conversations with Tatiana, he¡¯d realized that such an action disrupted the staff¡¯s workflow, as they had their own set routines. And so, he¡¯d had to come to terms with his ¡°noble¡± role, which clashed with the laws of the hunt, but Ardan was no longer living among animals.


    Closing the tall, lacquered doors behind him, Ardi couldn¡¯t resist pausing to admire the woodcarver¡¯s work once again. When the doors shut, the carved relief immediately formed the image of a two-headed white phoenix spreading its wings, looking both east and west, which symbolized, according to the history books, the boundless expanse of the Empire, whose shores were lapped by two oceans.


    In its golden claws, the phoenix held the sword of the Kings of the Past and an oak leaf ¡ª the new life of the Emperors. Upon its wings, the mythical bird bore the crests of the kingdoms, realms, and peoples once ¡°incorporated¡± into the new state.


    Ardan had seen this symbol before, as it was the crest of the New Monarchy Empire. But until now, he had never found it to be this majestic and, in some ways, even beautiful.


    He stood there for a few moments, paying his respects to the craftsmanship, before striding down the corridor, his heels clicking on the white marble.


    He descended the staircase ¡ª which was fenced off with wrought-iron railings that had a gilded handrail ¡ª into the basement, although the term ¡°subterranean floor¡± would have been more fitting.


    The staircase led to a spacious corridor that was illuminated by the cold, sterile light of Ley lamps, their wires snaking along the ceiling.


    Proceeding forward, Ardan reached massive, monolithic metal doors that stretched from floor to ceiling and were at least three centimeters thick. Such doors could likely have withstood a hit from heavy artillery, and yet they opened as easily as the most mundane of their kind.


    Beyond them lay a vast hall, still bathed in that same sterile light.


    However, in its case, even the word ¡°spacious¡± would have been an understatement.


    From the entrance to the opposite wall, Ardi estimated the distance to be about a hundred and twenty meters, while the hall¡¯s width reached nearly forty.


    In addition to the Ley lamp wires running along the walls, there were others that seemed to reach down almost to the floor, barely remaining a handspan above it, enveloping the perimeter of the hall.


    At first, Ardan hadn¡¯t understood the purpose of this device supported by so many wires, but as soon as he¡¯d tried to summon an Ice Arrow to use it as a benchmark for calculating the offensive power of the Stranger¡¯s spells, the purpose of it had become clear.


    The moment the spell, which had first formed a shard of ice, had been launched, the border of the contraption had flared with white light and enveloped the entire hall in the faint shimmer of a transparent dome. His arrow had struck the barrier without even causing a ripple ¡ª it had simply dissolved into the haze, becoming part of it.


    Ardan had been so astonished by the sight that it had taken him a while to realize the second remarkable feature of the training hall. The Ley energy he¡¯d used to cast the spell hadn¡¯t dissipated. It had hung in the air, so concentrated that the young man had had no difficulty retrieving it.


    Next time, of course.


    The first time, he had missed the window of opportunity. The expended Ley energy, after the barrier absorbed the spell, would linger in the air for exactly twelve seconds before dissipating.


    But even so, in Ardan¡¯s opinion, this hall was a treasure trove, allowing him to practice his spells without worrying about running out of rays. And considering the fact that his wallet now held a little more than two exes, the magnitude of this pleasant surprise was impossible to underestimate.


    And so, naturally, by the second day, Ardan had tested the full range of the combat spells left behind by the Stranger. The Frosted Darkness spell, as he had predicted it would, created a static, cold area of darkness within which even his eyes could barely make out any shapes.


    The Ice Wall (his own take on the Stranger¡¯s Ice Wave) summoned a moving wall of ice, with modifications to the seal allowing him to adjust its properties. If he wanted it to move faster, the wall became thinner and shorter. If he needed it to be larger and thicker, its movements slowed to a snail¡¯s pace.


    Incidentally, in order to break the Wall in its strongest form, he ended up using five Arrows, which, through simple arithmetic, suggested that Ardan himself wouldn¡¯t be able to break it under normal circumstances.


    Unfortunately, he¡¯d had no opportunity to see how other mages would fare against it ¡ª certainly not Urnosov, though the thought had crossed his mind once, only to be dismissed as utterly idiotic.


    As for the Ice Volley, the first time Ardan had formed the seal for it, it had shattered before his eyes, just as Mart had said it should, despite no visible errors in its formation.


    It shattered again on his second attempt, and his third as well, until Ardi realized that if all his water or ice-related spells were slightly stronger, it meant that he was using more Ley energy than required.


    This initially led him to think that he could use fewer rays, say five instead of six, but after his third experiment, when the seal didn¡¯t just shatter, but failed to form at all, he had to abandon that idea.


    Thus, for the past four evenings, Ardan had spent some time sitting on the floor in this room, trying to figure out how to reformat the seal so it could absorb the excess power he unintentionally channeled into it. At the same time, he¡¯d also puzzled over why this issue only arose with this particular spell and not with any of the others, despite them also receiving more Ley energy than originally intended by the Stranger.


    Frustratingly, the textbooks he had acquired included no chapters that covered this specific problem.


    Unfortunately, trying to decipher all the intricate geometric patterns and runes without a solid foundation was like hoping to fly without wings.


    But Ardi wasn¡¯t one to back down from a challenge. And so, his training sessions in the hall now began with him dedicating the first hour and a half to drafting new versions of the Ice Volley and experimenting with it.


    During one of his earliest attempts, he had nearly frozen his leg when the seal had burst and exploded in a fountain of icy shards. Then, by the end of his first dozen tries, he¡¯d managed to create something resembling an Ice Arrow but with a forked tip.


    However, it had lacked any momentum, and had simply plopped out onto the floor. Ardan had feared that it might damage the strange flooring, which wasn¡¯t quite hard, but wasn¡¯t soft, either ¡ª not stone, but not quite wood ¡ª but the shimmering dome had absorbed it as easily as any other spell. So, the barrier protected not only the walls and ceiling, but also the floor. And what had been most surprising was that Ardan hadn¡¯t felt it at all...


    The following dozen or so variations of the seal didn¡¯t work at all. By the third round of attempts, he had conjured something that looked like two miniature knitting needles. Of course, they hadn¡¯t even been able to scratch his fingers, but they¡¯d still hinted at the core principles behind the spell¡¯s functions.


    These needles, as they¡¯d hovered above Ardan¡¯s shoulders, had felt like an extension of his body, and he had been able to control them almost as if they were his own hands. With a mental command, a needle had shot forward along the trajectory his eyes had chosen ¡ª Ardan had learned about this particular part of the spell when he¡¯d accidentally sent a needle straight at his own feet.


    Today would¡¯ve marked the start of his fourth set of attempts to break open the shell of this stubborn puzzle, though he ultimately decided to put it off for a while.


    Skusty had always taught him that if a riddle doesn¡¯t yield after a lot of effort, it was best to step away and give the deeper mind time to process the problem from another angle.


    ¡°Alright then,¡± Ardan said, lying down on the unexpectedly warm floor, clutching his staff to his chest.


    Usually, in the middle of his training, after trying to crack the Ice Volley, Ardan would spend an hour improving his Ice Arrow, trying to match its casting speed with that of his Shield. So far, the most he had achieved was the ability to conjure the seal from memory without needing to consult his grimoire.


    And as for his speed, at best, it still took him five seconds to cast the spell without his grimoire, which wasn¡¯t great at all. Not to mention the fact that he couldn¡¯t yet test whether he could use the Arrow when caught off guard or without any prior preparation. There was no vampire nearby, conveniently throwing rocks at him...


    Only after some practical training with the Ice Arrow would Ardi move on to practicing the art of the Aean¡¯Hane. Unlike his studies in Star Magic, this required no calculations, no seals, and no countless repetitions to perfect the movements.


    It required only his mind, will, and desire. When these three aligned, a Speaker could hear what they¡¯d come for amidst the whispers of the world.


    And Ardan usually finished his sessions this way ¡ª lying on the floor while opening his consciousness to the world. However, a few days ago, he¡¯d had the distinct feeling that by the end of his session, someone or something had been watching him.


    He¡¯d probably sensed Urnosov¡¯s magic as he¡¯d been spying on his guest. And so, Ardi had adjusted his schedule, making sure not to give the Senior Magister any ideas.


    As soon as he opened his will to the surrounding world, the once-tranquil atmosphere of the training hall engulfed him in a symphony of muffled echoes. The stone beneath him, which had been warm before, was now cold and unyielding, yet it cradled and supported him as he reached deeper into these sensations. The faint light, lifeless mere moments ago, began to dance, and the lamps revealed themselves to be silent sentinels, playing across the intricate patterns carved into the walls.


    As Ardan descended deeper and deeper, the background noise of the room faded away, replaced by the trill of ethereal voices. They echoed faintly, like the rustle of old scrolls in the library above, or the ghostly melody of the wind sweeping across barren granite shores and steel-and-concrete buildings.


    These voices wove intricate tales of forgotten epochs and unseen worlds, of places where magic filled the air and where stars whispered their long conversations with the earth. They muttered in ancient and mysterious tongues, their echoes rich and complex, passing him by, as elusive as moonbeams breaking through the veil of a gloomy night.


    He heard their whispers too.


    They strummed the strings of guitars and rang beneath the fingers of an unseen musician lightly touching the keys of a ghostly piano.


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    Each voice presented itself as a mystery, names and legends he had yet to encounter. They resembled distant constellations, shining and beckoning him onwards, but remaining beyond his reach, shrouded in a veil of enigma.


    He drifted past them, lingering only briefly to admire their ethereal beauty.


    Ardan sought something else.


    One of the few names he had already heard.


    Amid the quiet, barely perceptible symphony of whispers, a single voice emerged ¡ª a song rather than just a voice. It rang clear and pure, like the chime of a frost-covered bell or the song of the northern lights. Crystalline flakes danced toward each other, each one sharper and brighter than the last, holding within their reflective maze the memory of a winter¡¯s night and the caress of a snowy breeze. When Ardan reached out to them, it felt like a familiar hand, cold yet comforting, had intertwined with his own in an attempt to pull him into the swirling, white storm.


    Sounds, images, sensations, and everything that the human language had no words for painted vivid pictures in Ardan¡¯s mind.


    From the eaves of dilapidated houses, intricately-designed icicles hung like precious daggers, delicate and graceful. Thick snow squalls cascaded silently from mountain peaks, enveloping ancient forests in glittering white cloaks. Frozen lakes, vast and serene, shimmered beneath the silver embrace of the moon. Children played in the snow, their laughter ringing through the glistening landscape, a joyful echo flowing across the world that was weary of its long rest under the wintry blanket.


    And the earth itself ¡ª exhausted from the heat and the birth of new growth ¡ª lay hidden beneath the cold, finding solace in the stillness of the frost, replenishing its strength before the next cycle of life came.


    To Ardan, this name was not merely a word or an image; it was an echo from the depths of his soul, a cherished memory that had accompanied him throughout the winters of his life, calling him home through time.


    He felt an overwhelming pull, a desire to merge with this voice, to become one with the frosty embrace of these familiar images. But as Ardan drew closer to the source, and just when he thought the icy threads were beginning to wrap around his consciousness, the name slipped away.


    Its form shifted constantly, like a swirling snowstorm, the fleeting glint of frost beneath the first rays of dawn, or the crackle of the freezing air amid sharp, jagged peaks.


    And with each moment Ardan spent within this endless cycle of sounds, he felt himself slowly unraveling. His thoughts, his memories, even his own name ¡ª all of it was dissolving, becoming part of that song and dance, lured ever deeper by the Name of Ice.


    Knowing that he risked losing himself completely, Ardan mentally ¡°grasped¡± one of the snowflakes from a distant mountain top ¡ª or perhaps it was a shard of ice from a sleeping river¡¯s surface, or a snowball thrown playfully by a laughing child, or even the crunch of snow under the feet of a hunter and their prey.


    When he opened his eyes, he whispered the words he had heard, and in his hand, a tiny piece of ice, no larger than a matchbox, appeared.


    In an instant, it spread its wings out, and a miniature ice eagle soared toward the ceiling of the hall. Its transparent, smooth body caught the light, bending and refracting it, while its snowy feathers shed a glistening rain of delicate snowflakes.


    Ardan Spoke the words, not with his lips and tongue, but with his will, heart, and mind, and the ice eagle swooped down in a sharp dive. He Spoke other words, and it soared once more, spreading its small but powerful wings.


    Ardan extended his hand, murmuring new words, and the eagle returned to it, transforming into the image of a mighty mustang of the prairie. Stamping its hoof, it sent sparks of snow flying around it, racing along invisible trails through the air.


    And then, it all ended.


    The mustang vanished, dissolving into a wisp of icy mist as the small shard of ice fell to the floor and melted away into nothing.


    Ardi sighed and looked at the tip of his left index finger, where a tiny red dot was slowly healing over. It was a mark left behind by the prick of a needle.


    Frustratingly, he could take away only the smallest sliver of the Name of Ice, and he also couldn¡¯t even maintain his concentration and will when distracted by something as insignificant as a pricked finger.


    ¡°Some Speaker I am,¡± he muttered, jerking his head toward the door.


    Perhaps it was the lingering sensation of being watched from the past few days, or maybe it was because he had just been traversing the edges of the hidden world, but this time, Ardan didn¡¯t just feel a gaze upon him ¡ª he felt a presence.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± He called out, instinctively grabbing for his father¡¯s knife, which was sheathed at his back.


    Only silence answered him, and the sensation of being observed vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.


    Frowning, Ardi glanced at the clock hanging above the entrance. The hands showed that it was nearly half past seven, making him curse under his breath.


    This was exactly why he preferred to end his Aean¡¯Hane sessions earlier. Time didn¡¯t just slip away from him, it ceased to exist entirely when he communed with the names.


    Standing up, Ardan crossed the hall, carefully stepping over the perimeter ledge, and exited the room.


    Just outside the door, as always, lay a silver tray, so polished it could have been used as a mirror. On it rested two covered dishes with sides and meat, along with a glass of berry juice. Except this time, the glass had been tipped over onto its side, its contents slowly spilling across the floor.


    Ardi crouched and examined the smudged footprints trailing in a jagged line toward the staircase.


    He read them almost as easily as he would in the forest. There, the task might even have been complicated by the soft moss, the wind stirring up twigs and leaves, or the tall grass. Here, though...


    Ardan ran his fingers through the cold moisture.


    Someone had been standing by the door, not in the hallway outside, but within the training hall itself, and had then hurried out. They must have collided with the tray in their rush to escape, spilling the juice, and had then hastily stepped around it before running for the stairs.


    ¡°Not Urnosov, then,¡± Ardan whispered.


    The way the prints were smeared told him clearly that whoever had been spying on him hadn¡¯t just left ¡ª they had fled. But the distance between the steps was too small for Urnosov. Besides, no Five-Star Mage would¡¯ve run from him.


    The tracks were too light for Tatiana or Atura, and too close together for Davenport. He, too, wouldn¡¯t have run.


    Among the people Ardan had met in the house, that left only the boy who faintly resembled Tatiana, or...


    ¡°Or some other servant, most of whom I haven¡¯t even seen yet,¡± Ardan concluded and immediately slapped his forehead.


    For someone to go unnoticed while spying on him, they must have had some grasp of Star Magic, or perhaps they possessed a special artifact.


    Both options seemed unlikely for a servant.


    ¡°And who are you, strange stranger?¡± Ardi muttered under his breath.


    ¡°Mr. Egobar?¡± Someone called out from near the stairs.


    Ardan stood, lifting the tray, and found himself looking into Tatiana¡¯s eyes.


    The servant¡¯s gaze moved meaningfully to the stained floor and then back to Ardi.


    ¡°An accident,¡± was all he could say.


    ¡°I see,¡± she replied, though it was clear she didn¡¯t believe him. ¡°You have visitors.¡±


    For the second time that evening, Ardan was completely taken aback.


    ¡°Visitors?¡± He repeated, thinking he¡¯d misheard her. ¡°But I don¡¯t know anyone in the Metropolis.¡±


    He was about to add that he didn¡¯t know many people well enough for them to visit him anywhere, let alone in the mansion of a duchess, but he stopped himself.


    ¡°P-p-please hurry,¡± Tatiana stammered nervously, then hurried up the stairs.


    Her tone carried clear concern, but it wasn¡¯t directed at Ardi ¡ª it was aimed at something or someone else.


    ¡°So much for dinner,¡± Ardan sighed and followed her.


    He left the tray on a small table by the first-floor staircase, where Davenport was already waiting for him. As impassive and unyielding as a cliff on a cold winter¡¯s night, the former soldier led him through the corridors to one of the many rooms.


    After opening the door for the young man, Davenport remained outside.


    Inside, Ardan found not Duchess Anorsky, nor the Great Prince Pavel, whose photos often graced the newspapers. Instead, sitting in a high-backed leather chair, behind a wide desk, was a lean, wiry man with streaks of gray in his jet-black hair. His sharp nose, piercing eyes, and small bald patch usually concealed by a felt hat resting on the desk completed the picture.


    A scar ran across his upper lip, and his right hand trembled slightly ¡ª a telltale sign, from what Ardi knew, of an old shoulder injury that had left a lasting mark.


    And yet, the blue eyes that locked onto him were different from Davenport¡¯s cold stare. There was a subtle but unmistakable detail missing ¡ª it was something small, almost imperceptible, but enough to differentiate him from a soldier.


    And if he wasn¡¯t from the military, then...


    ¡°You¡¯re from the Second Chancery,¡± Ardan guessed.


    ¡°Lieutenant Kornosskiy mentioned in his report that you¡¯re observant, Mr. Egobar,¡± the stranger¡¯s voice matched his appearance: sharp and dangerous. ¡°Have a seat. We have a small matter to discuss.¡±


    Placing his staff aside, Ardan cautiously sat down on the guest chair, positioning himself so that-


    ¡°You won¡¯t make it.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°You want to be able to draw your knife from your boot,¡± the stranger clarified, maintaining eye contact with Ardi. ¡°You won¡¯t make it in time.¡±


    With that, he lifted his hat slightly, revealing what lay beneath. Ardan had only heard rumors of such a thing. The marshals and the Cloaks had spun stories by the campfires about how the capital was working on self-loading pistols.


    Not revolvers, but weapons where the cartridge loaded itself into the barrel and then ejected the casing. And what lay before the stranger right now looked like something similar.


    It resembled a revolver, but it had no cylinder, with a short barrel tucked into a metal frame and a long, rectangular grip.


    ¡°It¡¯s a prototype,¡± the stranger said without a hint of irony. ¡°To be honest, I¡¯d rather not test it out on you, young man, so don¡¯t give me a reason to.¡±


    Ardan nodded, straightening up and moving his hand away from his leg. Ergar had taught him to know when to lie low and not reveal anything.


    ¡°Now then,¡± the stranger placed his hat back on the desk and steepled his fingers. ¡°Mr. Egobar, son of Hector Egobar, the last registered Matabar in the Firstborn Registry, and the seamstress Shaia Taakov, of Galessian descent, daughter of settlers from the eastern coast. Seventeen and a half years old. Two meters and one centimeter tall. One hundred and three kilograms. Foot size: forty-nine. Eye color: amber. Hair: black. Skin: tanned. Capable of harnessing Star Magic at the level of a seven-ray Red Star. Trained in the art of the Aean¡¯Hane by someone, somewhere. One of the top students of Evergale¡¯s school in the Foothill Province. Associated with Anna Polskih, Neviy Foster, Kevin Foster, and Faruh Amani. Before being taken under our care, you were observed to be in close contact with the aforementioned Polskih, the daughter of a prominent farmer. And... what else? Oh yes. You possess a sharp mind, are attentive, but somewhat cowardly, and clumsy with cutlery. That last bit is likely why one of your school subjects didn¡¯t earn the highest grade. Fine motor skill issues. Which also explains your poor marksmanship. You nearly took out one of the best shooters of the Second Chancery ¡ª Katerina Tari. And... I feel like I¡¯m forgetting something...¡±


    Ardan kept silent.


    ¡°Smart,¡± the stranger nodded approvingly. ¡°Continue with that strategy. Keeping your mouth shut will serve you well.¡±


    Ardan remained quiet.


    ¡°Indeed, you are not a fool,¡± the man chuckled. ¡°Ah, right. You dueled Gleb Davos, didn¡¯t you? Naturally, you lost. Without a chance of victory, at that. Unfortunately, Mr. Davos decided to take a little stroll through your homeland afterwards and got lost. Lieutenant Kornosskiy sent out a search party. They looked for three days. Found nothing but bloodied clothing and personal belongings. He¡¯s most likely dead, having fallen from a cliff, his body taken by the beasts. His things were reportedly stolen during an attack by the Shanti¡¯Ra gang, and their whereabouts remain unknown. Did I get anything wrong?¡±


    That final question was loaded with meaning, and Ardi, still silent, shook his head slightly.


    ¡°Well then, excellent,¡± the Cloak smiled, revealing a few gold-capped teeth. ¡°Let¡¯s hope his belongings don¡¯t resurface anywhere, or the Davos family might be upset to learn that the story they were told ¡ª and the one I just relayed to you ¡ª doesn¡¯t exactly align with the truth.¡±


    While living in the mountains and forests of the Alcade, Ardi had learned how to recognize a cunning, dangerous predator in his first few months there. Without this skill, even under Ergar¡¯s watchful eye, he would not have survived.


    And right now, every instinct in his body was screaming that the man sitting across from him was perhaps the most dangerous person he had ever encountered.


    Neither Cassara nor Yonatan could compare. Only the leader of the Shanti¡¯Ra gang had evoked a similar sense of menace, but even that was different, for that foe had not been human.


    The power radiating from the Cloak wasn¡¯t physical. It wasn¡¯t in his muscles ¡ª which were nearly nonexistent ¡ª or in his magic ¡ª which he didn¡¯t possess. It was in his eyes.


    It was in the sharp, piercing gaze of those blue eyes, and in the intellect that shone behind them. It wasn¡¯t the mundane kind of intelligence, but something altogether different. Something Ardan never wanted to see turned against him.


    But he gave no outward sign of this realization. Or at least he hoped he didn¡¯t. He sat silently, with a straight back, trying not to avert his gaze in their silent battle of wills.


    ¡°How do you like the Metropolis?¡± The Cloak asked unexpectedly.


    Ardan stuck to his strategy and said nothing.


    ¡°Young man,¡± the stranger¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Do you know the difference between strategy and tactics? In strategy, keeping your mouth shut is fine, but in tactics, sometimes it¡¯s a good idea to open it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s incredible,¡± Ardan replied, his voice slightly hoarse.


    ¡°Incredible,¡± the Cloak echoed with a chuckle. ¡°Well, let¡¯s see what you¡¯ll say after a couple of months of living here.¡±


    The Cloak reached into the inside pocket of his long, black leather coat and pulled out a wide envelope, the kind normally used for delivering newspapers to remote provinces. He broke the Imperial seal on it and emptied its contents onto the table. There wasn¡¯t much inside.


    There was a small, thin booklet, resembling a notebook, with embossed edges and a recognizable emblem on the cover: two roses entwining around a young birch tree.


    This was the crest of the largest bank in the Empire, and as it just so happened, it was a bank owned by the crown.


    The Imperial Bank.


    ¡°This is your account,¡± the Cloak slid the ¡°booklet¡± across the desk toward Ardi. ¡°Your scholarship will be deposited there, and if you decide to work, your salary will be sent there as well.¡±


    Ardan blinked in surprise. In Evergale, things were much simpler ¡ª people were paid in cash, with no need for bank accounts, which most residents didn¡¯t even have.


    Only farm owners or major businesspeople needed loans from these banks, but that was a different story entirely.


    ¡°And this is your insurance,¡± the Cloak extended a small, thick card covered in official fonts, signatures, emblems, and all the other trappings of a formal document. ¡°It¡¯s for a small but reliable clinic. It¡¯s located in the Tendarri district, at the intersection of Miners¡¯ Street and Seventh Avenue.¡±


    Thanks to the journals in the Anorsky library, Ardan knew that the Tendarri district was one of the poorest areas in the city, located in the southeast, near the industrial zone, where most of the workers lived.


    ¡°This is the document for your enrollment in the Imperial Magical University,¡± the Cloak continued.


    ¡°But there hasn¡¯t been an opening ceremony or any exams yet!¡± Ardan blurted out.


    The stranger gave him the same look that Atta¡¯nha had used to give him whenever her student had said something utterly foolish.


    ¡°Take it,¡± was all the Cloak said.


    Ardi picked up the official-looking document. At the bottom, below all the signatures and the usual formalities, it read:


    ¡°This decree confirms the enrollment of Ard Egobar to the first-year class of the General Faculty of the Imperial Magical University.


    The 24th of the Month of the Saints, Year 517 F.o.E.¡±


    And beneath that, there was the university crest ¡ª a book serving as a doorway into a tall tower.


    The General Faculty... Of course. It would¡¯ve been naive to think that the crown would let him choose his own field of study.


    Incidentally, today was only the thirteenth of the month, and the decree was dated for the twenty-fourth, which would be the day when the results from the entrance exams came out.


    Normally, the exams took place not in the ninth month of the year ¡ª the Month of the Saints ¡ª but in the seventh, and they lasted four weeks. The results would then be announced in the eighth month, and on the first day of the Month of the Saints, the university would hold a ceremony to welcome future magi.


    However, this year, the schedule had changed because the coronation of Great Prince Pavel was set for the twenty-first.


    ¡°I trust you haven¡¯t lost your passport and school certificate?¡±


    Ardan shook his head. The documents were in his travel pack back in his room.


    ¡°Excellent, then the paperwork is settled,¡± the Cloak said, closing the envelope and leaving it on the table. ¡°Now, let¡¯s discuss a few things. I won¡¯t remind you, Mr. Egobar, that your family is currently under our watch in Delpas, supported by the crown. I assume you can remember that well enough without my help.¡±


    Ardan tried not to react to the statement.


    ¡°Let¡¯s focus on something else,¡± the man continued. ¡°The Lieutenant mentioned in his report that he had one delicate conversation with you, during which you made it clear that a few thoughts have taken root in that sharp head of yours. So, let me be clear: leave them behind. Forget them. Throw them away. Don¡¯t even think about them again. All you need to know is this: for now, and I emphasize, for now, you are our guest. Yes, the circumstances of your family¡¯s encounter with the state apparatus were... tense, but... Of course, I¡¯ll understand if you suddenly feel the urge to avenge your great-grandfather. But, in that case,¡± the Cloak tapped his hat, ¡°don¡¯t be surprised when we shoot you, bury you, and forget you. And we¡¯ll tell your family that it was an unfortunate accident. Fell off a cliff, we¡¯ll say. His body taken by the beasts.¡±


    Ardan understood the veiled threat. Not that it was all that hidden to begin with.


    ¡°I see you¡¯re sticking to your strategy,¡± the Cloak winked, his foxlike grin widening. ¡°That¡¯s commendable... Now, let¡¯s move on to business. Eight days from now, the coronation will take place. Festivities, celebrations, all that. At the Palace of the Kings of the Past, where the main ceremony will be held, there will be a grand ball in the evening. It¡¯s there that the Emperor will present you and announce the amnesty he¡¯s granted your family.¡±


    Ardan barely resisted the urge to snap and shout that there was nothing left to grant amnesty to since both his great-grandfather and father were now in the care of the Sleeping Spirits.


    ¡°You will stand beside the Emperor, and I trust that you understand that if you cause any trouble in the city, only you will fall from that cliff. But if something goes wrong during the ball, well, forgive me, but your entire family, including little Kena ¡ª may the Angels forgive me ¡ª will suffer a similar ¡®accident.¡¯¡±


    This wasn¡¯t even a threat, but a simple statement of fact. And that made it all the more terrifying.


    ¡°After the ball, you will be a guest at the palace for three days, though, personally, I wouldn¡¯t recommend leaving your chambers during that time, but that¡¯s just a suggestion. You have a sharp mind, perhaps you¡¯ll take my advice,¡± the Cloak coughed and continued, ¡°On the twenty-fourth, you¡¯ll be taken to the opening ceremony and enrolled at the Grand. After that, our paths will diverge. We¡¯re not going to keep you on a tight leash or, as you might think, hold you captive. The crown has paid for your first semester, so you¡¯re obligated to complete it. After that, if you can¡¯t pass the exams to qualify for a scholarship and subsidies, or if you simply want to leave, we¡¯ll be glad to see you go. Frankly, the farther a descendant of Aror Egobar is from the capital, the better for everyone it is, no matter what the future Emperor might believe about the unity of nations on our now-shared land. A naive man on the throne ¡ª what could be worse¡­¡±


    The Cloak stopped mid-sentence.


    ¡°The Witch¡¯s Gaze, right?¡± He said, lifting his hand toward his hat for a moment, then, after a brief pause, lowering it again. ¡°I have two amulets ready to counter it, and yet I didn¡¯t even notice you slipping into my mind.¡±


    Ardan looked away. He hadn¡¯t been trying to. However, like with Davenport ¡ª who, for some unclear reason, had chosen to tell Ardi about the heating system and pumps, even though the young man hadn¡¯t been trying to extract information ¡ª it had just happened. He had simply been curious.


    It was as if the more Ardan practiced Star Magic, the stronger his Aean¡¯Hane abilities became as well.


    ¡°Ah, so it was not intentional,¡± the Cloak remarked, as if reading his thoughts. ¡°Then I would suggest that you learn to control this ¡®gift¡¯ of yours better, or you might just lose yourself on some cliffside...¡±


    They sat in silence for several seconds. Some of the longest seconds of Ardi¡¯s life.


    ¡°So, to summarize our little meeting, after the twenty-fourth, you will study for a semester at the university, live in the dormitory, attend lectures, eat, sleep, and try your best to make sure we never meet again,¡± the Cloak¡¯s eyes flashed, sharp as knives. ¡°Because, young man, if we do meet again, it will mean something so serious has occurred that your family will be burying you in an empty coffin.¡±


    With that, the Cloak rose from his seat, and in one smooth motion, donned his hat with his right hand and holstered the pistol beneath his coat with his left. Even though he was barely taller than one hundred and seventy centimeters, he seemed to loom over Ardan like a mountain troll.


    ¡°I would say ¡®until we meet again,¡¯¡± he remarked as he reached the door, ¡°but trust me, Ardan ¡ª you don¡¯t want that.¡±


    And then he departed, leaving the young man alone. The Ley lamp burned with its cold, white light, and Ardi recalled Yonatan¡¯s words. What had he said again?


    ¡°Vampires and their damned hearing?¡±


    Ardan would have added one more thing to that: ¡°Orcs and their damned long tongues!¡±

 Chapter 33 - Palace

    Ardi lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, where a small ice replica of Kaishas glided lazily through the air. It traced pirouettes around the ever-changing clouds, which at times transformed into the familiar peaks of the Alcade.


    The stern, somewhat menacing cliffs hanging over the abyss, carpeted by the tops of firs and pines, now seemed so desirable. They represented a place where everything was clear and known.


    Home...


    A four-winged eagle soared among the peaks, occasionally dipping toward the mirror-like surfaces of vast lakes that were so clear that, even in their deepest parts, one could still observe the small fish scurrying about the sandy bottom.


    It had been three days since Ardan had spoken with the Cloak. And in all that time, an intrusive question had refused to leave his mind, buzzing in his consciousness like an annoying mosquito on a rainy morning, giving him no peace.


    Why?


    That was the question.


    Why all of this? What was the point? What did Ardi want from his life? In the mountains, it had all been so simple: hunting, games, friends, but here...


    Sure, his cooperation with the crown was ensuring his family¡¯s well-being, but it would be foolish to deceive himself with such justifications.


    The crown hadn¡¯t arranged a better life for Shaia, Erti, Kena, and Kelly out of some desire to please the great-grandson of Aror Egobar or the son of Hec Abar (Hector Egobar). No, not at all.


    If the Emperor truly intended to show the Firstborn races that a new chapter was beginning under his rule, he needed a vivid example.


    Something told Ardan that, in the newspapers that would come out right after the coronation, he would not only see his face next to that of the future Emperor Pavel IV, but also a picture of a certain house in Delpas and its happy residents. And it would perfectly illustrate the new opportunities for families like the Egobars.


    But what then...


    Back when Ardi was little, he loved studying the many scrolls of Atta¡¯nha and the art of the Aean¡¯Hane because they reminded him of his great-grandfather¡¯s stories and fairy tales, which had captured his imagination from an early age with words like ¡°magic¡± and ¡°wonder.¡±


    Now...


    Ardan raised his hand, and the ice copy of Kaishas folded its wings, descending onto his palm.


    Now he was spending hours in a training hall on the other side of the continent, trying to hone spells designed for only one purpose ¡ª combat.


    What was beautiful about that? What was magical about it, even? And... why and against whom was he supposed to fight?


    And so, he kept returning to that same question.


    Why?


    And he found no answer. If before, Ardi simply hadn¡¯t understood who he was ¡ª a mountain hunter or a budding human mage ¡ª now there was another question as well. Where was he going, and to what end?


    What had been the purpose of his grandfather, whom he had thought to be kind and funny, but who¡¯d turned out to be his great-grandfather who had spilled rivers of blood? And not just the blood of Imperial soldiers, but also of innocent civilians as well?


    What had been the purpose of his father, once a simple ranger, who first became a bandit of the Shanti¡¯Ra, bloodthirsty and ruthless, then a hero of the ongoing conflict on the Fatian border, fighting for those he had once hated, and later falling in love with a human woman?


    What goals had they been pursuing? What paths had they chosen for themselves, and why had they given their lives for them? And most importantly: why hadn¡¯t they shared their thoughts with Ardan?


    All his father had left him was the advice to be strong for his family and for himself. But for some reason, he¡¯d never explained where and how to apply that strength... Strength that, for now, he didn¡¯t even possess.


    Ardi sighed and severed his connection to the shard of the Name of Ice. In that same instant, the replica of Kaishas vanished.


    It dissolved into a cloud of steam, and the young man, pulling a silver spoon from his shirt sleeve, hurled the makeshift projectile toward the doorway.


    ¡°Ouch!¡± A cry rang out as the spoon hit its mark, seemingly striking a forehead, though Ardi had been aiming for the person¡¯s stomach.


    And as he had suspected, the intruder had been standing too close to the barrier that absorbed magic, and the Shield they had intended to deflect his strange projectile with was absorbed along with the clever spell that had previously concealed this uninvited guest from Ardan¡¯s senses.


    Propping himself up on his elbow, the young man glanced toward the entrance. He¡¯d expected to see anyone from Urnosov to Tatiana¡¯s younger brother (he had finally figured out who that boy was), but certainly not the person who now stood before him, rubbing her bruised forehead.


    Holding a slender, white staff in her delicate fingers, she stared at him with bright blue eyes ¡ª eyes that reminded him of the last icicles of early spring. They were not as cold as that, but definitely clear and sharp, like the frozen droplets of a playful brook waking from winter¡¯s slumber.


    Her youthful, chubby cheeks were tinted with a natural blush, and her long eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a startled butterfly. She wore a black floor-length dress and a corset that somewhat comically emphasized the developing curves of her young but still childlike body.


    She also had a low forehead, an oval face, and as-yet-unformed cheekbones. She was beautiful.


    So beautiful that her future attractiveness was evident even though the girl was no more than thirteen years old.


    And she had strange hair. She wore it loose, unbound by ribbons or pins. It was straight, went down almost to her waist, and was blacker than a raven¡¯s wing ¡ª but in the center of it, a reddish mark stood out. It was almost like a birthmark, if such things could appear in hair. It was in the shape of a flower.


    Ardan noticed it when the girl turned on her heel, about to leave the room.


    ¡°Wait!¡± He called out.


    Her hand froze, barely touching the door handle.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Ardan apologized sincerely. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize a child was spying on me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a child!¡± She almost growled, which, for some reason, made Ardan smile lightly. ¡°And I wasn¡¯t spying on you!¡±


    ¡°Then what were you doing?¡± He asked.


    ¡°I was studying!¡± She stated proudly, her voice almost indignant. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen the art of the Aean¡¯Hane before, and I was curious, so I-¡±


    ¡°Spied on me,¡± Ardan concluded.


    The girl huffed, flinging the door open wide, and Ardi, shrugging, lay back down on the floor. He didn¡¯t have the time, desire, nor need to figure out who this girl was.


    At least she wasn¡¯t Urnosov.


    For several seconds, Ardi lay with his eyes closed. When he opened them again, he saw her round face peering down at him, so close to his own that their noses almost touched.


    ¡°What are you doing now?¡± She asked.


    ¡°Studying,¡± he replied.


    Indeed, her gaze held a lively curiosity and interest that was so pure and simple that, for a moment, Ardi felt like a captured animal being led this way and that, as she tried to figure out exactly what she had caught.


    ¡°You look human,¡± she said after a few seconds. ¡°Only your eyes and fangs aren¡¯t human. And your height. I think the only person I¡¯ve ever seen who was close to your height was the General-Governor of Shamtur Town, but he¡¯s probably shorter.¡±


    ¡°By much?¡± Ardi asked.


    The girl pondered, then held her fingers apart, indicating a couple of centimeters of difference.


    ¡°I see,¡± Ardi murmured and closed his eyes again, briefly returning to his thoughts.


    ¡°Why are you lying on the floor?¡± She suddenly asked.


    Ardan reluctantly opened his eyes. The girl was still crouched next to him, her staff lying beside her.


    ¡°It helps me think better,¡± Ardan answered honestly. ¡°A habit from childhood. My teacher always said that if you lie on stones and look at the stars, your thoughts will have more room to wander.¡±


    ¡°And who was your teacher?¡±


    ¡°An old snow leopard.¡±


    She laughed.


    ¡°But snow leopards can¡¯t teach humans!¡± She exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand. ¡°Oh... you¡¯re not a human.¡±


    Ardi smiled.


    She was odd. And she smelled strange. She bore that same flowery scent he himself carried, which clearly indicated that they used the same kind of soap. And yet, her hair held a faint aroma of smoldering embers and river stones.


    She reminded him of a curious, young fawn that was afraid of its strict parents who¡¯d forbidden it from leaving the grove. But when no one was watching, the fawn would slip away for secret adventures.


    Ardi had done something similar in his childhood.


    The girl looked up at the ceiling.


    ¡°But there aren¡¯t any stars here,¡± she pointed out reasonably.


    ¡°Nor in all of Metropolis,¡± Ardan agreed.


    Indeed, over the past few days, he hadn¡¯t seen a single star in the evening sky.


    ¡°That¡¯s due to light pollution and the low cloud cover,¡± the girl promptly reported, as if she were taking an exam. ¡°The city emits too much light.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Ardi nodded. ¡°Thank you. That¡¯s good to know.¡±


    She tilted her head and studied his face.


    ¡°You¡¯re not mocking me,¡± she stated, not asking.


    Ardan had indeed thanked her sincerely and seriously. He had spent some time searching the library for information on the starless sky of Metropolis, but in the overwhelming abundance of books and sections, it wasn¡¯t easy to find an answer to such a specific question.


    Unexpectedly, the girl then lay down next to him, her legs in opposite direction, head to head, so close their ears nearly touched.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen stars,¡± she suddenly said. ¡°No, wait. That¡¯s a lie. A few years ago, my father took me to an estate in the King¡¯s Forest, and there were stars there, but I fell asleep almost immediately and don¡¯t remember much.¡±


    And for some reason, her voice sounded so sad and strained, like a violin weeping without comfort. Though clearly, her sadness was not because of the stars...


    ¡°Would you like to see them?¡±


    ¡°See what?¡± She asked, surprised.


    Ardan smiled.


    ¡°The stars.¡±


    She frowned.


    ¡°I¡¯m not even allowed to leave my room without permission, and you¡¯re talking about stars. Where would I-¡±


    Ardi ran a pin, which he hadn¡¯t used to prick his finger this time, along the stone floor, striking sparks. He caught them in his hand, feeling them burn against his skin, and then brought them to his lips and blew, directing them upwards.


    At the same time, he listened to their cheerful laughter and constant chatter. They were like joyful girls before a date. He felt their heat, which was so wild that, compared to it, even the fastest mustang seemed like a tame foal. And he also sensed how brief their lives were. Born in a moment, and destined to disappear in that same moment.


    But Ardan didn¡¯t let them.


    He caught the echo of sounds that weren¡¯t even fragments of their names, drew in their melody, became part of their whispers, and Spoke the words ¡ª not with his tongue or lips, but with his soul and mind.


    These words lifted the sparks higher and higher until they reached the ceiling. Then the tiny flames flared, multiplying until they covered the entire ceiling with countless sisters of theirs, which twinkled like stars.


    They shone and sparkled, forming constellations so familiar and dear to Ardan.


    This was what the sky over the Alcade looked like in his memory.


    ¡°Beautiful,¡± the girl whispered in awe, reaching toward the ceiling. ¡°Oh, look! There¡¯s a shape like-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the Soaring Phoenix constellation,¡± Ardan explained. ¡°Its beak always points to the central peak of the Alcade Mountains, and its wings to the north and south.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡± She moved her hand lower.


    ¡°The Cavalry constellation,¡± Ardi answered. ¡°They gallop across the Swallow Ocean, their horses¡¯ heads turned toward the islands.¡±


    ¡°And this one?¡±


    And so they lay there, perhaps for almost an hour. The girl asked him about constellations, and he told her everything he remembered from the scrolls of Atta¡¯nha. Somehow, it brought him a sense of peace.


    ¡°Amazing,¡± the girl whispered at one point. ¡°Such beautiful magic.¡±


    ¡°Magic?¡± Ardan asked, surprised. ¡°This isn¡¯t magic.¡±


    ¡°Then what is it?¡±


    Ardi gazed at the starry sky above, and letting the sparks drift freely, he shrugged. He didn¡¯t know how to explain the art of the Aean¡¯Hane to the girl. It was like trying to describe how you remember to breathe or think or...


    It was simply part of him, like a hand or a leg.


    ¡°Your name is Ard, isn¡¯t it?¡± She asked after a few minutes of silence.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the young man admitted.


    ¡°What does it mean in your language?¡±


    Ardan pulled a cord out of his shirt, from which hung a talisman shaped like an oak tree.


    ¡°Strong roots,¡± he replied with a lump in his throat.


    ¡°That¡¯s beautiful,¡± she said dreamily.


    ¡°And what¡¯s your name, young lady?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not young!¡± She snapped, springing to her feet with the grace and agility of a cat, and heading for the door.


    Ardi turned to look at her, suddenly realizing what had unsettled him during the first few moments of their encounter. Her hair, which was so smooth it could easily be mistaken for silk, was concealing traces of breakage and paint in certain places ¡ª especially where her fiery red ¡°birthmark¡± bloomed in the shape of a flower. It had clearly been hidden. And dyed over.


    Ardan lay back down and looked up at the ceiling. He knew what kind of flower it was. He recognized the scent.


    ¡°You know, young lady,¡± Ardan began, his throat tight with emotion, ¡°in my father¡¯s homeland, there¡¯s a legend. My grandfather used to tell it to me when I was a child. It¡¯s about a master who lived on a mountain.¡± He paused as he heard the door creak open slightly. ¡°When he was old and gray, the Fae kidnapped him to make him their servant ¡ª they were so enamored with how the master worked with stone.¡±


    ¡°Where are you going with this?¡±


    ¡°The Fae, in order to ensure that the master wouldn¡¯t grow homesick, decided to deceive him. They did not lie, for the Fae cannot lie, but they tricked him, because even without lying, they are the best at deception. And so, the master returned home, but no one loved him anymore. His elderly parents didn¡¯t recognize him, his wife was in another¡¯s arms, and his own children were afraid of him. So, the master thought that his entire past life had been a dream and left with the Fae to their kingdom. And when, decades later, he realized that he had been tricked, it was already too late. His children were old and had grandchildren of their own, and his parents and wife had long since become grass and trees.¡±


    ¡°But how did he live for so long? Even Matabar don¡¯t live that long.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t bother pointing out that he hadn¡¯t mentioned that he was a Matabar. She knew who he was. And he had guessed who she was.


    ¡°The Fae made him live longer,¡± Ardan answered. ¡°But the master found a loophole and began to age, little by little. Before his death, he carved a flower from mountain crystal. The Altane¡¯Mare. The Crystal Mountain Flower. In the Fae language, it means ¡®Night Heart.¡¯ And this flower became his greatest creation, for though it was born from stone, it was alive. And whoever drinks a healing brew made from it will be cured of any ailment of the heart and freed from the bonds of any enchantment that makes the heart hard and unyielding.¡±


    The girl remained standing at the threshold, holding the door ajar but saying nothing. Finally, she whispered softly, her voice trembling slightly:


    ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to thank you,¡± she said, her words barely audible. ¡°And¡­ your great-grandfather¡­ If I could¡­¡±


    ¡°Such is the dream of the Sleeping Spirits,¡± Ardan replied quietly.


    She left.


    This was the little girl whose life had been saved several years ago by a foolish boy, setting into motion an entire chain of tragic events.


    The Grand Princess Anastasia, daughter of the future Emperor.


    ***


    ¡°My lady,¡± Tatiana knocked softly on the bathroom door before stepping inside.


    She was carrying a tray laden with bottles and jars, as always. Placing these ¡°treasures¡± on a side table next to the tub, Tatiana began opening them while Anastasia gazed out of the window. Outside, the streetlights gleamed, and every now and then, car headlights flashed as they passed by.


    Almost like stars.


    Only not in the sky, but on the ground.


    ¡°Tatiana.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my lady?¡±


    ¡°Have you ever had a friend?¡±


    The maid was clearly surprised by the question but quickly composed herself.


    ¡°A friend?¡± She repeated.


    ¡°Yes, a friend,¡± Anastasia nodded. ¡°And don¡¯t try to twist the meaning. I¡¯m thirteen, not six. I know what favorites and lovers are, but I¡¯m asking about a friend.¡±


    Tatiana flushed slightly, but after taking a calming breath, she sat on the edge of the tub, not caring that her apron and dress might get wet.


    She dipped her hand into the water, wetting her fingers, and gently ran them through the young princess¡¯ hair.


    The girl in the tub¡­ was the same girl who¡¯d used to dash through the mansion, peering into every corner. Armed with a broom, she had bravely fought off rats to help her beloved cats. She¡¯d explored the farthest nooks, imagining herself a heroine of many adventures and journeys.


    She had once argued fiercely with anyone who¡¯d claimed that such activities were beneath the dignity of a Grand Princess, threatening to run away and travel across the Empire.


    And then... Then she had fallen gravely ill. The best healers of the land, including elven healers and Grand Magisters from the Grand University, had been unable to cure her ailment.


    No one could heal her until one day, her mother disappeared. When she returned, she brought with her a crystal flower ¡ª alive, though it was made of crystal. She told them how to prepare the healing brew, and the princess was saved.


    But everyone had been so terrified of her getting hurt or sick again, including the heir to the throne, that the girl was stripped of any freedom from then on. Tatiana could count on one hand the number of times Anastasia had been allowed to leave the mansion since then. And even those outings were brief, strictly monitored by trusted operatives of the Second Chancery, and had never lasted more than an hour.


    As for balls, receptions, and other formal gatherings, Anastasia had outright refused to attend those, going so far as to throw tantrums. In her youthful ignorance, she¡¯d believed she could change her parents¡¯ minds, but they had simply resigned themselves to her refusal and had found the perfect excuse to offer to high society: the lingering aftereffects of her illness.


    And that had instantly silenced all rumors and questions. Perhaps the Cloaks had had a hand in that as well...


    And as for her education, the finest tutors in the land would come to the mansion to instruct the girl, who had shown a remarkable aptitude for learning... and an equally remarkable talent for driving her tutors to the brink of a nervous breakdown.


    Only Urnosov had remained her steadfast, permanent teacher, likely because Anastasia found solace in the Star Magic he taught her.


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    Tatiana had always pitied this sincere and kind child, trapped like a swallow in a gilded cage. She was meant for the sky, not...


    ¡°A long time ago,¡± Tatiana replied, stroking the girl¡¯s hair gently, ¡°I had a friend.¡±


    ¡°What was his name?¡±


    ¡°Stepan. We lived in neighboring apartments in a tenement building. We went to the same school.¡±


    ¡°How did you become friends?¡±


    Tatiana thought about it for a moment.


    ¡°I don¡¯t really know, my lady,¡± she shrugged. ¡°I never really thought about it. We were just friends, and that was that. I felt comfortable with him, and he didn¡¯t ask anything of me or try to... well. Perhaps we should leave that part out.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a child.¡±


    Tatiana scooped up a handful of foam and playfully flicked it at Anastasia¡¯s nose, causing the princess to frown and puff out her cheeks.


    ¡°Of course not, my lady,¡± the maid replied with a warm smile.


    The Grand Princess turned back to the window.


    ¡°I¡¯ve always dreamed of having friends,¡± she whispered softly. ¡°When my mother told me about the boy she met in the mountains and how he led her to the Fae Kingdom, I felt like a heroine from a book. I got this feeling that somewhere far away, I had a friend.¡±


    Tatiana remained silent. Who better than her, the one who had raised the princess while her parents had been occupied with the affairs of the Empire, would understand how the girl, after her illness and confinement, had lost herself in books, wandering through the legends, myths, and novels that had filled her days?


    ¡°And now, I¡¯ve met that boy,¡± Anastasia continued. ¡°But I think he¡¯ll never want to be my friend.¡±


    Tatiana recalled the scene from just over a week ago when sir Egobar had declined the royal gifts and had left the dinner hall with his head held high.


    Yes, they were alike.


    ¡°Life, my lady, is always more complicated than it is in books.¡±


    Anastasia sank lower into the bath, hiding under the foam until only her nose and eyes peeked out.


    Tatiana ran her fingers through the princess¡¯ hair again, then stood and approached the tray of bottles.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± came a soft plea from behind her.


    ¡°My lady, you-¡±


    ¡°This Crystal Mountain Flower,¡± Anastasia brought her hair forward and stared at the pattern she had once loathed, the mark that had become the symbol of her cage, an impenetrable lock and the strongest of bars. The mark that had turned her once fiery red hair into a black as dark as night. ¡°It¡¯s called Altane¡¯Mare. The Night Heart. It sounds beautiful, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°It does,¡± Tatiana nodded.


    ¡°I won¡¯t dye it,¡± Anastasia said, crossing her arms defiantly.


    ¡°But my lady-¡±


    ¡°If my mother wants it dyed so badly, she can do it herself, however she likes!¡± Anastasia declared. ¡°I won¡¯t! And you can tell her that.¡±


    The Grand Princess turned her back to the maid, her posture radiating finality. She stared out the window at the lanterns that looked like stars.


    Maybe if she had a friend, those lights wouldn¡¯t seem so cold.


    ***


    Ardan stood before the mirror, gazing at a stranger¡¯s reflection. He was clean-shaven, without dark circles under his eyes or sunken cheeks, and with clear skin free of blackheads and blemishes. No more greasy hair matted in places from dust and grime, either.


    And, most unsettling of all, the stranger was dressed in a suit. He wore a black woolen jacket, cut in a military style (Tatiana had told him it was the latest fashion), with gleaming lapels and a high collar. There was also a white shirt paired with a peculiar bowtie, which had been tied in the shape of a butterfly. Without Tatiana¡¯s help, Ardi would never have managed such a noose.


    A narrow leather belt, fashioned from the hide of an unfamiliar reptile ¡ª he¡¯d identified that it had been made from an amphibian by its scaly pattern ¡ª with a broad buckle embossed with the Empire¡¯s crest, held up tailored pants with sharp creases. The ensemble was completed by polished shoes with thin, impractical soles that would be shredded after the first few hundred meters of road.


    But, as Tatiana had assured him, these shoes were ¡°not for the streets.¡±


    ¡°Not for the streets,¡± Ardi repeated, adjusting his shirt cuffs, held together by gleaming cufflinks adorned with small emeralds.


    To him, the concept of ¡°shoes that were not for the streets¡± sounded absurd.


    He glanced once more at the mirror. Yes, the suit looked outrageously expensive, and had surely been crafted from the finest of materials, but could it really cost a hundred exes? Had everyone in Metropolis gone mad?


    Sighing and grumbling about his future stipend ¡ª or rather, the fact that he wouldn¡¯t see it anytime soon ¡ª Ardan moved away from the mirror toward his sparse belongings.


    A knapsack that held the clothes sewn by his mother and the textbook of the Stranger, a satchel filled with Gleb Davos¡¯ books and artifacts (no one had come looking for them, so his stained pillowcase seemed to have been unnecessary), and a case containing his everyday clothes. That was all.


    He tucked his father¡¯s knife into the belt at the back, hung his grimoire at his side, and held his staff firmly.


    Technically, he should have been wearing the Star Mage epaulettes on his jacket, but the future Emperor had decreed that, on the day of his coronation, the rule requiring mages to wear their regalia was suspended until the end of the festivities.


    Recalling Mart¡¯s tale of Theia Emergold¡¯s rebellion, Ardan figured it was a pretty shrewd political move.


    ¡°And since when did you start caring about politics?¡± Ardi muttered to himself.


    He picked up his sack and satchel, gave a final look around the room that had been his sanctuary for the past two weeks, and bade it farewell as he stepped into the hallway.


    Davenport was already there, waiting to take his bags. As Ardan had suspected, Atura¡¯s husband was indeed a military man. Today, he was dressed in a green formal uniform. Medals gleamed on his left breast, while ribbons decorated his right, and his epaulettes bore the golden insignia of a general. No wonder he had such an easy rapport with Urnosov.


    After all, as a general ¡ª perhaps a retired one, given how much time Davenport spent at the Anorsky estate, but it was more likely that he was one of the Grand Princess¡¯ tutors ¡ª he was high up in the social pecking order as well. Incidentally, after their brief encounter in the training hall, Ardan hadn¡¯t seen the future heir to the throne again.


    ¡°If you forgot something, just send a letter, and we¡¯ll have a courier bring it to you,¡± Davenport reminded him as they descended the stairs.


    For once, the typically taciturn, maybe-retired general felt chatty.


    ¡°At the ball, try not to engage in conversation with anyone,¡± Davenport continued, his words as measured as his steps in his high black boots. ¡°And certainly don¡¯t get into any debates, especially about politics or religion. If someone offers you a dance ¡ª refuse immediately.¡±


    Ardan couldn¡¯t resist blurting out, ¡°Why?¡±


    Davenport stopped, turning to look at him as if Ardan had suffered a childhood head injury. Then again, considering how many times Ardan had tumbled down cliffs onto rocks¡­


    ¡°Because you¡¯re the great-grandson of Aror Egobar,¡± Davenport said calmly. ¡°And though the Dark Lord has been dead for centuries, that doesn¡¯t mean there aren¡¯t still those among the children and grandchildren of those who served under his banner who hold to his ideals. Believe me, you don¡¯t want to get caught up in their web. Just as you don¡¯t want those who suffered by the Lord¡¯s hand to associate you with those who spilled their families¡¯ blood at the fortress of Pashar.¡±


    ¡°I have no interest in the Dark Lord, politics, or the nobility,¡± Ardan replied honestly.


    It was all, frankly, irrelevant to him.


    ¡°I believe you, Ardi,¡± Davenport nodded. ¡°But you¡¯re a new piece on the board for these bloodthirsty fools. So¡­¡±


    He left the sentence unfinished.


    ¡°You don¡¯t like the nobility,¡± Ardan realized suddenly.


    ¡°Not all of them, kid,¡± Davenport didn¡¯t deny it. ¡°I¡¯ve served alongside the sons of dukes, great princes, and high-ranking noble families. Many of them are honorable patriots, willing to give their lives and their fortunes for the good of the Empire. But I¡¯ve also met such vile creatures and sycophants that I regret the ban on executing the heirs of noble bloodlines.¡±


    Ardan still recalled that aspect of the criminal code from his civics lessons. Dukes, princes, and their heirs were exempt from the death penalty or hard labor.


    ¡°You¡¯d be right to say that this applies to many people and Firstborn as well,¡± Davenport added as they reached the front door, ¡°but they don¡¯t have the same resources as¡­¡± Davenport trailed off, turning slowly to look Ardan in the eye. ¡°Ardi, for the love of all the Eternal Angels and Saints, you¡¯ve got to do something about this. I¡¯m literally pouring my heart out to you like I¡¯m in front of a priest in a confessional. Someone is going to kill you for it one day.¡±


    Ardan smiled awkwardly, while Davenport shook his head grimly and stepped out onto the front steps. A cold wind, brought by the ocean¡¯s autumn gales, slapped Ardan in the face. The first shy snowflakes fell on his skin, melting into cold droplets. Here in Metropolis, winter laid its claim to autumn far earlier than it did in the Alcade.


    The truth was, Ardan didn¡¯t even understand how his Witch¡¯s Gaze worked on ordinary people. Skusty, during their training, had taught him how to peer into another¡¯s soul through their eyes, but now people seemed to be telling Ardi everything even during simple conversations.


    Ardan had no idea how to control this gift, but one thing was clear: if he didn¡¯t address this issue, he could find himself in a dangerous situation one day.


    But that was a concern for tomorrow.


    Climbing into the familiar automobile, Ardan placed his staff on the floor and gazed out the window. Atura sat beside him once again, resplendent in a shimmering gown, her hair styled in a complex updo; she also wore a fur wrap over her shoulders and held a small purse in her hands.


    Up front, beside the chauffeur, Davenport checked something in the glove compartment, and they set off.


    As they drove through the twilight, Ardan listened to the hum of the engine, which seemed like a distant rumble against the backdrop of the city¡¯s living, pulsing rhythm. The scenery outside the window, winding through alleys and wide boulevards, revealing the granite embankments, unfolded like the pages of an enchanted tome.


    The world beyond the window had wrapped itself in a shroud of brilliant light, a kaleidoscope of glowing hues born from a myriad of different sources. The glowing windows whispered softly of the quiet lives within, of the joys, concerns, and troubles brewing behind each glowing light.


    Street lamps topped with the emblem of the two-headed phoenix stood tall over the sidewalks and roads, casting golden beams upon the cobblestone streets and the joyous people bustling below. Every corner, every alley of the city seemed alive tonight, harboring its own secrets.


    Leaning against the misted window, Ardan watched the figures strolling along the pavements. Their faces were bathed in the soft glow of the lanterns, their voices providing a melodic accompaniment to the city¡¯s heartbeat.


    Every now and then, the sky would be filled with the bright flashes of fireworks, their light reflected in the eyes of the many spectators making their way toward the Kings¡¯ Square. Each new explosion in the night sky resounded with the joy of an entire city, serving as a prelude to the coming event. The emblem of the two-headed phoenix fluttered upon the flags being waved by the crowd. It was as if it were wrapping its broad, fiery wings around all the people and making no distinction between rich or poor, commoner or noble, human or Firstborn.


    And the closer they drew to their destination, the more people there were. Many overflowed from the sidewalks onto the streets, blending with the cars, whose drivers didn¡¯t honk or shout at the pedestrians. Instead, they moved slowly, allowing the people to walk alongside them.


    The masses surged toward the heart of Metropolis to witness firsthand the ascension of their new ruler.


    He was the heir to the Agrov name, the family that had ruled the Empire since Gales¡¯ rebellion against Ectassus ¡ª Grand Prince Pavel. He was the future Emperor of the New Monarchy, Pavel IV. From the newspapers in the Anorsky library, Ardan had learned that the people loved him far more than his two younger brothers, his older sister (while she¡¯d still been alive and the heir to the throne), and numerous cousins.


    Pavel, who¡¯d been sent to the Imperial Cadet Academy in his youth, had risen from the rank of private to become a Colonel of the cavalry corps. He had sustained several injuries on the Fatian border, including one that had left him unable to walk or run properly, so he now relied on a cane to move. But even so, he hadn¡¯t left the service until his honorable discharge.


    After retiring from the military at the age of thirty-seven, Pavel had dedicated himself to public service. He¡¯d built a coalition in all three Chambers of Parliament, using it to push for social reforms and legislation.


    Thanks to him, even in small towns like Evergale, schools had received new textbooks, teachers now earned a decent salary, and students could expect a reasonably competitive education.


    After fifteen years, Pavel¡¯s efforts had increased literacy in the Empire by nearly sixteen percent, had cut child mortality in half, and had even led to the opening of nearly a hundred new rural hospitals and schools each year.


    Not to mention his introduction of state health insurance for the most vulnerable segments of the population, including Firstborn, and new benefits for factory and plant workers.


    So, it was no surprise that the entire capital was celebrating the ascension of its beloved heir to the throne.


    A never-ending stream of people and Firstborn flooded into the city¡¯s heart, chatting and laughing as they moved toward the festivities.


    Ardi observed it all through the car window as they turned off Niewa Avenue and down an unassuming side street, where other equally expensive and grand cars were lined up. They approached a checkpoint where several men in red and black uniforms stood, along with a pair of mages carrying staves.


    The guards from the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the Second Chancery were working together tonight.


    ¡°I¡¯m Corporal Norsky,¡± the young man in uniform, who was also wearing a warm coat, introduced himself. A rifle with a bayonet hung on a strap over his shoulder.


    The driver handed over a paper, and Norsky saluted Davenport before waving them through.


    Along with other fortunate guests, they drove into the square. The oval-shaped building of the Army¡¯s General Headquarters flanked the square from the city¡¯s side, its center marked by a tall arch with beautiful, wrought-iron gates, its bars forming the symbol of the two-headed phoenix. Right now, the gates were closed, keeping the citizens out, and several companies of soldiers, along with a platoon of cavalry and mages, stood guard.


    But on the river side...


    At the very heart of Metropolis, spanning almost six hectares, lay the Kings¡¯ Square. Paved with cobblestones, it was now dotted with puddles from melting snow, but even those added to its grandeur by reflecting the celestial lights and street lamps.


    And there, on a slight elevation, with broad stairs leading up to it from the square, stood the Palace of the Kings of the Past.


    An architectural fusion of grandeur and elegance, it seemed to hover above the ground. Its walls, bathed in an otherworldly glow, radiated a magical aura, as if the essence of moonlight had been captured by skillful hands and etched into stone. Every cornice and every corner seemed alive ¡ª not only in the reflection of gilded details, but in the warm embrace of this indescribable, mystical light, which was emanating not from floodlights, but seemed to be coming from within the palace itself.


    Cylindrical pillars soared upwards, their white surfaces adorned with intricate golden reliefs telling the story of the vast Empire¡¯s past. Every thread of fine carvings shimmered, catching and complementing the nuances of the golden light playing upon them.


    The dome of gold and platinum reached toward the sky, crowned by a proud spire, yet it did not appear overbearing or haughty. On the contrary, it seemed to offer reassurance, inviting all to come inside, promising to make no distinction between those who had just entered and those who had once lived here in the heart of the Empire.


    And around the palace, trees of various species grew, each one glowing with a golden radiance.


    Ardan¡¯s breath caught.


    It was one thing to see the Palace of the Kings of the Past in illustrations and grasp that it was truly massive, spanning from the square to the riverside. But standing here, near it ¡ª he could only see the main fa?ade and the grand entrance for now ¡ª was entirely different. The palace defied imagination.


    Their car, along with a procession of others, sliced through the puddles as they pulled up to the eastern steps. Doormen approached and, with a bow, opened the doors.


    Davenport exited first, extending his hand to help Atura, and only then did Ardan step out. The cold air kissed his face, and after two weeks of being cooped up inside, he welcomed the chance to take a deep breath.


    ¡°Don¡¯t linger,¡± Atura urged.


    The three of them ascended the steps, and while the nobles chatted and murmured amongst themselves, Ardi couldn¡¯t tear his gaze away from the palace. It could¡¯ve made all of his grandfather¡¯s stories and legends fade into the background with its beauty, surpassing even the grandest of myths.


    He extended his hand, allowing it to bathe in the golden glow. It was warm, like the heat from a bonfire lit on a particularly cold night, and gentle, like a kitten.


    It was only when he came to the grand doors, which were massive and gilded with intricate patterns forming the ever-present symbol of the two-headed phoenix, that Ardan snapped out of his reverie.


    Stepping onto the red carpet, they walked beneath the palace¡¯s vaulted ceilings, heading into a place where a simple hunter and cowboy from the borderlands should never have found himself.


    Here, in these vast halls, everything was steeped in a luxury that far surpassed anything Ardan had ever seen, even in the Anorsky mansion. Silver, gold, platinum, gemstones, rare kinds of wood, marble, and granite ¡ª everything his gaze landed on not only possessed unimaginable value, but had also been crafted with such elegance and mastery that Ardan momentarily felt as if he were surely dreaming.


    For a fleeting moment, he even felt slightly out of place, until the feel of his staff, carved from the wood of his homeland¡¯s foothills, restored his confidence.


    Flanking them in what seemed like an endless corridor of doormen and guards, and standing by numerous open doors, halls, mirrors, and galleries, moved the nobility. They were every possible kind of noble and, surprisingly, they were from different races as well. Ardan could have sworn that he spotted several nobles who weren¡¯t just sturdy but almost too sturdy ¡ª barely reaching the waist of a normal human and yet with shoulders broad enough to rival any brawny man¡¯s, and beards so thick they could be mistaken for armor.


    He also saw tall ¡ª even taller than himself ¡ª statuesque figures whose faces were so perfect it was impossible to distinguish whether they were men or women ¡ª only their clothes and the slight differences in build offered any clues. Their silken hair was long, and their ears were longer still, sharp and pointed.


    But the surprises didn¡¯t stop there. Among them, Ardan recognized the familiar sight of steppe-dwellers. He saw massive orcs clad in suits and uniforms, accompanied by equally solid women in dresses. It was surreal enough that Ardan had to pinch himself.


    And when they finally entered the grand hall, which was almost as large as the square outside, where couples danced to the music of an orchestra under the balconies and mezzanines, and stayed in close-knit groups as they chatted, Ardan¡¯s eyes were drawn to even stranger sights.


    His great-grandfather had told him that, aside from humans, orcs, dwarves, and elves, other races had once inhabited the New Monarchy. But after the wars of Ectassus and Gales, followed by the Dark Lord¡¯s rebellion, their numbers had dwindled.


    And so, getting to see a group of giants ¡ª human in appearance, but standing an average of three meters tall ¡ª as well as several ogres, who instead of wielding clubs, carried massive walking sticks and were leaning on their wrinkled hands... it was overwhelming. Ardan wasn¡¯t sure what to make of it, but even more unsettling was the sight of gaunt goblins, stooped and thin, who were holding crystal goblets.


    Ardan shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the image of ogresses and goblin women in dresses, hoping they wouldn¡¯t haunt his dreams.


    He devoured the sights of the grand hall, intended for lavish celebrations, balls, and grand receptions. Three stories high and crowned with an oval dome, it glittered with floating chandeliers, which were not suspended by ropes or chains, but seemingly hanging in mid-air. Countless rows of candles flickered, their light dancing across the stained-glass windows depicting rulers of the past.


    Ardan felt the same awe he¡¯d experienced when he had first entered the humble home of Atta¡¯nha.


    ¡°The art of the Aean¡¯Hane,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± confirmed Atura, who was standing beside him. ¡°Several Speakers, in exchange for immunity from prosecution, enchanted this hall two hundred and fifty years ago, and it has remained unchanged ever since.¡±


    Enraptured by the magic, the grandeur, and, truth be told, the people and Firstborn who¡¯d filled the hall, Ardan, along with Atura and Davenport, moved to the far wall. There, long tables groaned under the weight of an array of appetizers.


    Beyond them bustled servers, who were dressed in simple but clearly expensive outfits. They poured drinks and held silver platters polished to a mirror-like shine, ready to offer hors d¡¯oeuvres to the guests.


    ¡°Cod liver pat¨¦ and a glass of Lintelarian red, please,¡± Davenport requested in a polite tone.


    ¡°Of course, General,¡± the server replied, hurrying to fulfill the order.


    As Ardan had gathered, the retired general was courteous to everyone, whether they were a janitor or a nobleman ¡ª except, perhaps, for Urnosov. Oddly enough, the mage had been absent for several days now.


    Before the server could return, a stout man with a gleaming, bald head and a protruding belly, which was straining the buttons of his formal uniform, approached them. He was about Davenport¡¯s age, though his companion looked much younger. The young woman¡¯s white dress was adorned with wide skirts and a tight corset, while the thin strap of a watch encrusted with diamonds, rubies, agates, and more, encircled her wrist. She also wore a necklace so heavy it nearly made her graceful neck bow under its weight.


    ¡°Gabriel!¡± The man boomed, embracing Davenport without a shred of decorum.


    Surprisingly, Davenport returned the gesture, clearly pleased to see the man.


    ¡°Maurice,¡± Davenport replied, patting the man¡¯s back. ¡°I see your belly is growing, and your wives are getting younger?¡±


    ¡°And I see your fingers are stiffening along with your character. What happened to the fun-loving artilleryman I knew?¡±


    Davenport answered with only a thin smile.


    Maurice turned to Atura and, bending down slowly, kissed her hand.


    ¡°Lady Atura, you are as beautiful now as you were twenty years ago.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Baron-General,¡± she replied.


    Baron-General¡­ Meaning Maurice was not only a high-ranking officer, but also held a noble title, albeit the lowest one. In essence, he and Davenport were equals in the military, but in the social world, Maurice was a true nobleman, while Davenport was only nominally one. This was reflected in their ranks and insignias.


    ¡°And this, I assume, is the great-grandson of our dear enemy?¡± Maurice turned his gaze on Ardan, sizing him up from head to toe.


    ¡°Ard Egobar,¡± the young man introduced himself.


    ¡°Your surname is well-known to me,¡± Maurice responded coolly, without the slightest bit of pleasantry, but also without any hostility, either. ¡°Your great-grandfather once burned half of my family alive and impaled their charred skulls on pikes.¡±


    Ardi nearly choked on the air he was breathing in, but Maurice simply chuckled and slapped him on the right side, his hand landing almost exactly where his wound from the Wanderer had yet to fully heal.


    A sharp flash of pain momentarily blinded the young man, but he managed to keep his composure.


    ¡°Relax, Mr. Egobar,¡± Maurice smiled a dead smile. ¡°That was over two centuries ago. I wouldn¡¯t even recognize those people in their portraits. Let¡¯s not dwell on the past.¡±


    Ardi nodded, doing his best to avoid reflexively clutching his aching side.


    ¡°Gabriel,¡± Maurice turned away from him with the same casual disregard people would show to something utterly insignificant, ¡°I was glad to see you, but I must remind you that I¡¯m still waiting for you at the club with the rest of our comrades.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Maurice,¡± Davenport shook his hand. ¡°As soon as I can, I¡¯ll join you.¡±


    Maurice once again kissed the back of Atura¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Lady Atura.¡±


    ¡°Baron-General.¡±


    ¡°Honored to have your acquaintance,¡± Maurice said with a slight bow, then disappeared into the crowd with his young wife.


    Once the portly man was well out of sight, Ardan exhaled and rubbed his side.


    ¡°As I was saying, Ardi,¡± Davenport handed him a plate of hors d¡¯oeuvres.


    ¡°He- ¡±


    ¡°Maurice Talos,¡± Atura explained, picking up where Davenport had left off. ¡°Is one of the sons of the Talos noble family, with a seat in the Upper Chamber. A reliable and brave man.¡±


    ¡°And considerably fatter since he retired,¡± Davenport muttered, sipping his wine. ¡°He changes wives almost every five years.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s still your friend, dear.¡±


    ¡°A friend,¡± Davenport confirmed, ¡°though our political views no longer align.¡±


    Ardan decided it was best to follow the advice given to him earlier ¡ª he would keep his mouth shut.


    ¡°The Talos, boy,¡± Gabriel continued ¡ª Ardan suddenly realized that it was only now that he¡¯d recognized Davenport¡¯s given name ¡ª ¡°are among those who oppose any laws or amendments that aim to equalize the rights of humans and Firstborn. And when he claimed that he doesn¡¯t even remember his ancestors who were killed by your great-grandfather and the Dark Lord¡­ Well, when men like Maurice Talos speak, don¡¯t listen to their prattle ¡ª watch their actions.¡±


    Davenport nodded toward Ardan¡¯s still-aching side.


    Over the next half hour, as the hall continued to fill with more guests, several more notable figures approached them.


    First was a man so thin it bordered on sickly, with thick glasses and a quick, almost nervous manner of speech. He turned out to be a prominent researcher in the field of alchemy and the head of the Alchemists¡¯ Guild. After that, an elderly woman exchanged a few cold words with Atura before leaving. Apparently, she was a famous dressmaker or something of that sort. Then there were a few retired military men who embraced or shook hands with Davenport, and a few women of Atura¡¯s age with whom she exchanged pleasantries.


    But overall, the dozens of people who approached Atura and Davenport never stayed longer than it took to exchange greetings before melting back into the crowd.


    Ardan didn¡¯t understand the point of such brief interactions. It was like saying, ¡°Look, I¡¯m here, and you¡¯re here,¡± and that was it.


    Finally, just as the hall had become crowded enough to almost burst, a stooped old man approached, leaning on a staff carved from white wood. To his left glided several women of such blinding beauty that even Cassara would have had a hard time competing with them. To his right walked two young men ¡ª one wore a saber at his side and the other carried a staff similar to the old man¡¯s.


    Their sharp ears marked them as elves, and the old man¡¯s face was even streaked with patches of bark, while small twigs and leaves peeked out from his long hair, which cascaded down onto his old-fashioned robes.


    As soon as Davenport spotted the approaching delegation, he set his glass aside and bowed deeply for the first time that evening. Atura, too, dipped into a graceful curtsy.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± Davenport greeted the elderly elf.


    ¡°You¡¯re Gabriel, I believe,¡± despite his age and appearance, the elf¡¯s voice was as clear and pure as a spring breeze passing over a merry stream. ¡°The illegitimate son of Inockentiy Anorsky.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. He had learned more about Davenport tonight than in the entire two weeks they had lived under the same roof.


    ¡°That¡¯s correct, Your Grace,¡± Davenport replied without rising.


    The elf nodded and turned his gaze to Atura.


    ¡°And you, Atura Davenport, are the closest friend of our future Empress-Consort. You bear a pleasant appearance along with a venomous tongue, like a snake in the grass,¡± at these words, Davenport tensed but held himself in check.


    ¡°It is an honor, Duke Abrailaal, that you know my name,¡± Atura responded with a measured tone.


    Abrailaal... Duke Abrailaal...


    Of course! This was one of the four Firstborn who held seats in the Upper Parliament. Ardan had read about him in the papers. There, the duke had been congratulated on his six hundredth and something birthday.


    This was the oldest living being in the Empire. The last of those who had witnessed Ectassus and¡­


    ¡°And the offspring of a traitorous people,¡± the duke¡¯s green eyes, devoid of pupils, since his iris blended with the hue of his sclera, locked onto Ardan¡¯s.


    ¡­the one who had not initially joined Ectassus¡¯ battle against Gales, but had later betrayed the Dark Lord, switching sides to aid the humans, which led to the Dark Lord¡¯s forces being surrounded and crushed at the fortress of Pashar.


    Their eyes met, and for the first time in his life, Ardan felt the touch of the Witch¡¯s Gaze upon himself.


    It was as if someone had tried to reach into his mind and peer into the deepest corners of his soul, uncovering his most hidden thoughts.


    As Skusty had taught him, Ardan mentally conjured up the towering peaks of the Alcade and the snowstorms that raged there during the most violent tempests, along with the fierce roar of Ergar, who would always welcome the storm, his native element.


    Abrailaal exhaled a small cloud of frost, and the sensation of the foreign gaze vanished.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the duke said in the language of the Fae, ¡°you really are a descendant of Aror¡­¡±


    With that, he simply turned and, along with his entourage, drifted off without so much as a goodbye or a word more.


    Davenport and Atura straightened and exchanged glances.


    ¡°What did he say to you, Ardi?¡± Davenport asked.


    Ardan translated.


    Davenport muttered a curse under his breath. ¡°Abrailaal, Ardi, is one of the most dangerous and fearsome figures in high society,¡± Davenport warned, watching the elf¡¯s delegation disappear into the crowd. ¡°Considering how long his wooden face has been in this world, he¡¯s likely become a grandmaster in political games by now, so¡­ pray to your Sleeping Spirits that this was the only time your paths cross.¡±


    ¡°He seemed-¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t seem like anything at all,¡± Davenport cut him off and, seeing Ardan¡¯s shocked expression, sighed. ¡°Of course, you don¡¯t know¡­ Your great-grandfather killed Abrailaal¡¯s eldest daughter in a magical duel. His pregnant daughter. So, compared to Maurice, who doesn¡¯t remember his ancestors due to the passage of time, Abrailaal¡­ He¡¯s an entirely different story.¡±


    Ardan shook his head. Was there anyone in this hall whose ancestors hadn¡¯t been-


    ¡°They won¡¯t approach you,¡± Atura said suddenly, answering the question Ardan hadn¡¯t even asked aloud. ¡°You¡¯re probably wondering if there¡¯s anyone here who would be inclined to favor you. Well, there certainly are a few of them at least. But they won¡¯t come near you because that would be too loud a statement, drawing unwanted attention. Meanwhile, your possible enemies, or detractors, are the ones who want to make public declarations of their stance.¡±


    ¡°So that means¡­¡±


    Atura nodded.


    ¡°All those who approached us during this time ¡ª you can be sure they¡¯re not to be trusted, as they came here with only one goal: to publicly declare that you are out of their favor, which means anyone who interacts with you positively will likewise fall into disfavor.¡±


    ¡°This is¡­¡± Ardan struggled to find the right word. ¡°It feels like some sort of game.¡±


    ¡°It is a game,¡± Atura agreed. ¡°Only the stakes are your life, Ardi. But for now, you don¡¯t need to worry about that. Everyone knows you¡¯re under the crown¡¯s protection, and aside from some petty schemes, they won¡¯t dare try anything more.¡±


    Suddenly, Ardan realized why Atura and Davenport hadn¡¯t left his side the entire evening. An illegitimate son of the Anorsky family and the closest friend ¡ª the ¡°gatekeeper¡± ¡ª of the future Empress-Consort¡­ That duo, too, was a public statement.


    Sleeping Spirits¡­ how complicated the world of high politics was.


    Mart had been right.


    Ardi should¡¯ve stayed as far away from this pit full of quicksand as possible.


    ¡°Your attention, please!¡± A booming baritone echoed through the hall, drawing everyone¡¯s gaze. ¡°Entering the hall now are the heir to the throne, His Grace, the Grand Prince Pavel Agrov, with his wife, Duchess Oktana Anorsky, and their daughter, the Grand Princess Anastasia Agrov.¡±

 Chapter 34 - Dancing

    All sound in the hall ceased. The instruments of the musicians fell silent, and the rustling of gowns and the clatter of heels from the noble crowds moved like waves, parting away from the main entrance of the hall, which stood perpendicular to the podium with the thrones. They were massive thrones gilded with gold, upon whose high backs rested platinum phoenixes crowned with regal headpieces.


    Amid a silence so deep that one could hear the breathing of those standing nearby, the chamberlains opened the doors. Slowly, carefully, without the aid of a cane, the Great Prince Pavel walked toward the throne where the Holy Bishop awaited him.


    The old priest, who had a turkey-like chin, stood garbed in gold, clutching a golden staff in his hands, with a wreath resembling the sun perched atop his head. He was frail and wrinkled, his bleary eyes barely open, hunched over from his bloated belly, and he required the support of two young acolytes just to stand upright.


    The contrast between him and the future Emperor was stark. Despite the prosthetic that had replaced his right leg, Pavel walked unaided, rejecting any assistance. Each step visibly caused the heir to the throne pain, but he pressed forward. With his head held high and his unyielding, brown eyes fixed on the people below the podium, he commanded their respect. Those watching bowed their heads, not out of obligation or custom, but because they could not withstand the storm that raged within his gaze, a force of will as fierce as a tempest.


    He wore a green military tunic adorned with only a few medals and a single Order, without ostentatious decorations or costly frills. Only his family ring glittered on his right index finger. Wearing simple cavalry boots, black pants held up by a wide, black belt with a heraldic buckle, he moved slowly, step by step, toward the throne.


    Behind him followed Oktana, in a lavish white gown styled after the old fashion, with a necklace around her neck worth several lifetimes of an average person¡¯s labor. Next came the Grand Princess Anastasia in a light, flowing dress woven from golden threads, her diadem glittering with diamonds of black, white, and pink hues. As richly as his wife and daughter were dressed, Pavel remained modest in his attire.


    No one dared utter a word.


    Even those who had previously been chatting and laughing fell silent, bowing their heads and stepping aside.


    Ardan had seen something like this before.


    Whenever Ergar strode through the mountains of the Alcade, the other beasts would part like this after sensing the most dangerous and fearsome predator in their midst.


    At the heir¡¯s waist hung a saber in a crumpled scabbard, its hilt blackened in places, while a wide, blue sash rested across his chest. There was no doubt that Pavel knew how to wield his weapon. Perhaps he could even do so better than most.


    As he reached the bishop, the two men exchanged glances before Pavel began to carefully kneel. Guards rushed to assist him, but with an authoritative wave of his hand, he froze them in place.


    No one moved.


    No one uttered a word.


    In this absolute silence, the raspy voice of the Holy Bishop, steeped in wine and endless feasts, echoed:


    ¡°Pavel Agrov, son of Daniel Agrov, worthy husband and father, today, by the will of the Face of Light and by the right granted to me by the Father of Fathers in the Holy See of Uldjingood, I call upon your blood,¡± the bishop wheezed, leaning slightly forward, the staff beneath him nearly creaking under his weight. He took a knife and ran it over Pavel¡¯s outstretched palm. Scarlet drops of blood fell to the floor, and the wet splats echoed against the walls in the stillness of the hall. ¡°Blood of Agrov, flesh of the flesh of your people, bone of the bone of your land, do you swear to dedicate the remainder of your life to the Empire? To all its peoples, its past, present, and future?¡±


    ¡°I swear it,¡± Pavel replied quietly and calmly, though even in that tone, there was something so primal that the hairs on Ardi¡¯s neck stood on end, as if a dangerous predator had just growled in his face.


    ¡°Do you swear by faith and truth,¡± the bishop continued, sweating profusely, ¡°without sparing life or effort, to fulfill the sacred duties of Emperor?¡±


    ¡°I swear it.¡±


    ¡°Do you swear to publicly name a single, infallible heir at the hour when the Eternal Angels of the Face of Light come for you?¡±


    ¡°I swear it.¡±


    All the while, blood dripped from Pavel¡¯s hand, each ¡°I swear it¡± punctuated by the sound of another ruby droplet hitting the floor.


    ¡°Then by this symbol,¡± the bishop¡¯s trembling hand lifted a golden triangle from the velvet cushion beside him, ¡°before the people, under the gaze of the Eternal Angels, by the will of the Face of Light and the covenants of our ancestors, I name you Pavel IV, Emperor of the New Monarchy!¡±


    Pavel kissed the top of the triangle, then rose and, still accompanied by silence, walked to the throne. He turned, slowly lowering himself onto it, and at that moment, the platinum phoenix above the headboard spread its wings and, with a piercing cry, burst into white flame.


    The mythical bird soared toward the ceiling of the hall, hanging in the air for a fraction of a second before plummeting down. As it fell, its flames grew brighter, transforming into a brilliant fireball before plunging into Pavel¡¯s head.


    Legend had it that someone without a rightful claim to the throne would be instantly incinerated by the phoenix, but if the claim was just¡­


    A moment passed, then another. The flames, briefly obscuring Pavel¡¯s face, dissipated, revealing the new Emperor unharmed. A platinum crown shaped like interwoven wings had formed on his head. And inside it, like one was looking through glass, flickers of fire could occasionally be glimpsed.


    ¡°Long live the Emperor!¡± The crowd roared. Applause thundered, echoing off the walls of the hall.


    But the ceremony wasn¡¯t over yet. Pavel, lingering on the throne for only a few seconds, rose once more. Together with his wife and daughter, he began walking through the hall.


    People parted before him, bowing their heads low.


    ¡°Emperor,¡± they whispered as they bowed and curtsied.


    And Pavel walked on, without guards or attendants, just him and his family. He was limping and clearly weary, but the primal strength emanating from him only grew, not diminishing at all.


    After walking the length of the hall, he climbed the stairs leading to the balcony, flung open the doors, and stepped out to face the crowd. Kings¡¯ Square stood frozen, just as the nobles had moments ago. Ardi ¡®heard¡¯ the sea of people who were enchanted, as if turned to stone, their countless gazes fixed on the burning crown.


    ¡°My people!¡± Pavel¡¯s voice, enhanced by magic, boomed over the square. ¡°Brothers and sisters! On this day, I stand before you! A soldier, a father, a husband, and only then an Emperor of our homeland! And I would love to tell you, my friends, that from this day forth, a simple and bright future awaits us, but that would be a lie! No, difficulties and dangers lie in wait for us! Obvious and hidden! Heavy and fleeting! We must never forget this, my friends! But, likewise, we must never forget that we, the peoples of Gales, Aradir, Ranita, Atruae, Sanash, Ectassus, Oturkar, Elirilia, and all the others whose crests are held by our two-headed phoenix ¡ª we are all here, on our land. We are all the people of the Empire, bound by blood, a shared past, and a shared future! Together, as one, we will face whatever tomorrow brings. Without fear! Without regret! With honor and our heads held high! And when our children and grandchildren ask us about these days, we will proudly tell them how we, together, hand in hand, built a new, bright world for them. A world where they won¡¯t need to fear hunger, or suffer oppression and humiliation! A country for all of us! The one that the first Emperor envisioned! The one that lives in our hearts! And now, by our labor, sweat, and if fate demands it, by defending our homeland with our very blood, we will build this new world for them. For our descendants! But that is for tomorrow! Today, my friends¡­ My brothers¡­ My sisters¡­ Today, celebrate! Today, I embrace each and every one of you! I raise a glass in every home! I wish happiness and prosperity to every family! For besides our kin, my dear ones, we have no one else! Remember this! For the glory of the Empire!¡±


    ¡°For the glory of the Empire!¡± Roared thousands of people.


    ¡°For the glory of the Empire!¡± Pavel repeated, raising his fist into the air.


    ¡°For the glory!¡± The people echoed. ¡°For the glory!¡±


    Cannons fired, and the night sky was lit by dozens of fireworks blooming overhead, turning the darkness into a bright day where the sparks of the sky¡¯s explosions merged with the light in the eyes of the thousands gathered in the square. Their hearts beat in unison, and their breaths flowed like a force capable of stopping mountain winds.


    Emperor Pavel IV stood for a few more moments on the balcony while countless camera flashes, twinkling among the crowd, appeared like stars being born and extinguished again and again. After a while, Pavel IV turned and headed back into the hall, and the chamberlains hurried to close the balcony doors behind him. But even so, the jubilant cries and cheers of the crowd penetrated the hall, overpowering even the fireworks¡¯ explosions.


    Stopping on the staircase, with his wife to his left and his daughter to his right, Pavel IV finally allowed the servants to drape the royal mantle over his shoulders, though he refused the scepter, which was the ancient symbol belonging to the first Emperor of the country.


    ¡°My first decree as the new Emperor of our land is as follows. Major Taveriy Ensky,¡± a young man, no older than thirty, stepped forward from the crowd and bowed before the Emperor, ¡°in recognition of your faithful service, I bestow upon you the hereditary title of baron, lands in the province of the Azure Sea, as well as a promotion to the rank of general.¡±


    The crowd applauded, though not as fervently as during the coronation. Chamberlains brought forth a document and pen, with which the Emperor left his grand signature at the bottom.


    ¡°I serve the Empire!¡± The soldier stood to attention and, bowing deeply, took the document.


    ¡°About time,¡± Davenport whispered into Ardi¡¯s ear. ¡°Ensky, despite his relatively young age, is an incredibly talented commander. Listing all his feats on the border would take until morning. But the most notable is that he led a single division of twelve thousand, almost without any artillery support, to defeat a thirty-thousand-strong Armondo tribe, captured their leader, and-¡±


    ¡°Later,¡± Atura shushed him, tugging Ardan along by the elbow and guiding him through the crowd. ¡°Let¡¯s hurry. Ard¡¯s turn is coming soon.¡±


    While they made their way through the throng, Pavel IV continued to issue decrees.


    ¡°My second decree is to award the Order of St. George, Second Class, to Dr. Baroness Anita Kri, for her outstanding research in the field of pharmacology that allowed us to combat the smallpox epidemic. I am also granting her a reward of five thousand exes.¡±


    Out of the corner of his eye, Ardan saw an elderly woman who just barely managed a light curtsy as she said, ¡°I serve the Empire!¡± She graciously accepted the document and lacquered box (presumably with her Order inside of it) before stepping aside.


    ¡°My third decree is to establish that, by the end of next year, we will lay the foundations for three new shipyards on the southern and eastern coasts. They will be two military and one civilian shipyard. Funds will be allocated from the treasury, and construction companies will be contracted through competitive bidding.¡±


    This statement meant nothing to Ardi, though it sounded serious.


    ¡°My fourth decree,¡± Pavel continued, ¡°is to grant the elected members of the Lower Chamber, after twelve years of service, provided there have been no complaints, penalties, or fines during their tenure, the opportunity to take a state exam before a commission, which will be created by a non-public decree. Should they pass, they will be eligible for reelection if the citizens of their provinces and districts will it.¡±


    Not everyone in the hall applauded this time, and some even began to whisper, though this seemed to not bother the Emperor at all.


    ¡°My fifth and final decree for today¡­¡± Ardan wasn¡¯t sure how and when Atura had pushed him toward the stairs. Suddenly, he found himself standing directly before the Emperor. He was so close that he could see the shallow wrinkles on his face, the few round scars from shrapnel on his right cheek, which someone had clearly attempted to conceal with powder, and the gray in his bright red, almost fiery hair. It was a strange combination: dark brown, almost black eyes and red hair. ¡°Ard Egobar, descendant of Aror Egobar, ally of the Dark Lord.¡±


    Once again, the hall plunged into silence. A living, tangible silence so thick it felt as if one could reach out and touch it.


    Without hesitation, Ardi bowed his head. Not because he was unable to resist the Emperor¡¯s will ¡ª he probably could. Nor out of etiquette, either, but simply because, in these few short minutes, he had grown to respect Pavel IV. There was something in this unassuming man standing before him. Something simple and sincere. Something that could have maybe provided Ardi an answer to his question ¡ª ¡°Why?¡± ¡ª but, alas, he could not grasp the fleeting insight.


    ¡°More than two centuries ago, your ancestor, Ard, sided with the Dark Lord in his attempt to sow discord among the peoples of the Empire,¡± Pavel IV¡¯s voice was steady, and in his gaze, fixed on the youth, there was neither disdain nor anger, only calm. ¡°Much blood was spilled because of that decision. Justly and unjustly. Not only did entire families perish, but the Empire itself lost an entire people to the fires of madness. The Matabar people. Their history, their traditions, their culture, and their language. All of this was taken from us due to the mistakes made by both sides. But no sin of any individual or group of citizens can outweigh the life of an entire people. And so, once I received confirmation that Aror Egobar had completed his earthly journey, I decided to grant amnesty to the Egobar family, as well as to the Matabar. From now on and forevermore! And I want my words to be heard in every corner of our planet, so that our friends and foes alike can understand that the Empire is united and indivisible.¡±


    Pavel IV extended his hand, clearly signaling for Ardan to turn and face the hall. The moment he did, camera flashes sparked, momentarily blinding him.


    ¡°And now, my friends, let us conclude this evening¡¯s formalities and enjoy the celebration,¡± the Emperor said. Only then did he accept a cane from the chamberlain and, walking with much more freedom, he returned to the throne.


    ¡°You did well,¡± Davenport suddenly appeared beside Ardi, patting him on the shoulder.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°But I did nothing.¡±


    ¡°Exactly why I said you did well.¡±


    Following Gabriel (a surprisingly gentle name for such a man) and Atura, who rustled the hem of her gown as they walked, Ardi made his way back toward the tables of food.


    The music resumed, and couples began to twirl in slow, graceful dances. The trend Mart had mentioned about new musical styles in the Metropolis, where melodies cried out from a wounded soul, and songs burned with such heat that they could be mistaken for passionate love letters, didn¡¯t seem to have reached this hall.


    Aside from those dancing in the center, men gathered in groups around the edges of the hall and on the stairs and balconies, engaging in deep conversations. Ardan couldn¡¯t help but notice that these groups seemed strangely divided by belly size ¡ª the larger the belly, the more distinguished the gentleman bearing it. It made sense, considering the price of food in the capital¡­ And their companions, gathered nearby in flocks, were noticeably the opposite ¡ª unnaturally thin, with a wild gleam in their eyes.


    What had Katerina said about Angel Dust?


    Of course, there were only a few of these bloated men with an unnatural gleam in their eyes, but they stood out so much that it left a definite impression.


    ¡°You seem to have dropped this,¡± someone tapped Ardan on the shoulder.


    Turning around, Ardan saw a man with an incredibly luxurious mustache curled into two sharp points. He wore a garish tweed suit in a loud shade of purple, black gloves, and rings that screamed for attention, just like his suit.


    The man held out a white card made of material far sturdier than paper. Upon its pristine surface, two red symbols were inscribed ¡ª ¡°D.H.¡± ¡ª and nothing more.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t mine...¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s yours now,¡± the stranger smiled, slipping the card into Ardi¡¯s pocket.


    The man¡¯s face vaguely resembled an otter, with the same elongated shape around the nose, a small chin, and wide cheekbones. He wasn¡¯t handsome, but rather¡­ roguish, as if he wasn¡¯t attending the coronation of an Emperor but celebrating a drinking buddy¡¯s birthday in a saloon.


    ¡°And you are¡­?¡±


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± The man shrugged. ¡°I just helped a person who dropped their card.¡±


    And with that, he strolled off, his white shoes clicking as he disappeared into the crowd of nobles. It wouldn¡¯t have been remarkable if not for the fact that when he¡¯d handed over the card, he had brushed the back of his hand across his chest and then his forehead as if wiping something away.


    It was a gesture Ardi would find impossible not to recognize¡­


    Ardan pulled the ¡°business card¡± from his pocket, twirling it between his fingers, but after finding nothing unusual about it, he tucked it away again.


    Reaching Davenport and Atura, who stood by the tables, Ardi gestured in the direction where the colorful stranger had vanished.


    ¡°Who was that?¡± He asked, somehow sure that the two had seen the man approach.


    ¡°It¡¯s curious that he even got in here,¡± Davenport grumbled.


    Ardan just stood there, waiting for an answer.


    ¡°He¡¯s a well-known collector of pre-Imperial artifacts, books,¡± Atura explained, ¡°cultural items, and anything that can be cheaply bought and¡­¡±


    ¡°Or stolen,¡± her husband interjected.


    ¡°And then sold at a much higher price,¡± Atura concluded, not even bothering to refute Davenport¡¯s remark. ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t know his real name. Everyone simply calls him the Ragman.¡±


    Ardan sighed. Of course. It made sense that the only person who would approach him without ill intentions had turned out to be a man with such a questionable reputation.


    Mentally waving the whole thing off, Ardan caught the eye of a waiter.


    ¡°Do you have anything made from wild game?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the waiter immediately grabbed a plate and indicated several dishes with some tongs. ¡°We have pat¨¦ from-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have one of each, please,¡± Ardi interrupted.


    The waiter paused, then began filling the plate. When the first was full, he reached for a second, but by the time he did so, Ardan had already finished the first.


    Atura looked at him with silent reproach, while Davenport¡¯s eyes twinkled with respect and playful amusement.


    But, to be honest, Ardi didn¡¯t care. The Emperor was now sitting on his throne and receiving various dignitaries, some of whom were clearly foreigners judging by their unusual appearance and attire.


    The nobles danced and engaged in languid conversations, casually determining the fates of millions of humans and Firstborn alike. And as for the great-grandson of a former conspirator? He had no idea when he would next get a proper meal (hunting in the Metropolis seemed unlikely), so he¡¯d decided to preemptively solve that problem for as long as possible.


    And so, as he moved along the table and consumed anything that contained even a hint of wild meat, time passed. As an aside, Ardan had once eaten a vegetable salad and then hadn¡¯t been able to get up from the toilet for twenty-four hours. The Matabar, though omnivorous, still had some specific needs. All in all, this feast was a testament to the Imperial Palace¡¯s chefs.


    During this time, several notable performers also graced the hall: first a woman whose voice seemed to make the stained-glass windows tremble due to the high notes she could reach, and then a man whose deep, rich bass could easily drown anyone in its intensity.


    Then some elves performed, painting with the colors of the wind, which didn¡¯t impress Ardi much ¡ª Atta¡¯nha could do far more impressive things without making a spectacle of herself.


    There were also a few magicians, though, given the presence of dozens of actual mages in the hall, it seemed rather out of place. Later, a theater troupe from the Central Theater of Metropolis performed a brief, fifteen-minute play, illustrating the well-known scene of the wounded King of Gales climbing to the top of the last fortress of Ectassus. There, before his death, he was named Emperor, and an hour later, the first ruler of the Empire died from his wounds.


    It was a heroic epic beloved by all the boys. Ardan had liked it too.


    Strangely enough, he now realized that his grandfather¡­ great-grandfather had recounted this part of history with just as much enthusiasm and reverence as the rest, even though it depicted the fall of Ectassus and the heroism of a human king.


    By the end of it all, when there were hardly any dancing couples left, and the musicians had changed for the third time, with only the crowd outside the palace still engaged in raucous celebration, the Emperor rose from his seat.


    Once again, the hall fell silent.


    ¡°I thank you, my loyal subjects,¡± Ardan noticed that Pavel IV had referred to the common people as ¡°friends, brothers, and sisters,¡± but to the nobles as ¡°subjects.¡± ¡°But all merriment must have its limit. This day is no different from others. Tomorrow, we will once again face our duties. Some will be personal, some will be state affairs. Therefore, I declare that this will be the last dance of the evening, after which I ask for peace for myself and my family.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t quite understand why, but the atmosphere in the hall grew tense after these words. It seemed people hadn¡¯t expected to hear that, and their expressions showed surprise. His own confusion must have been apparent as well.


    ¡°Usually, the celebration of a coronation among the nobility and officials lasts several days,¡± Atura whispered in his ear. ¡°After all, it¡¯s not often that they all get to gather here from every corner of the country. So, His Majesty the Emperor has somewhat¡­ caught everyone off guard, to put it mildly.¡±


    ¡°And to put it bluntly,¡± Davenport smirked, ¡°he¡¯s reminded the lazy aristocrats and the bloated bureaucrats that besides their wine and beds, they should also remember their work.¡±


    Ardan took note of but didn¡¯t dwell on the traditions and customs of the upper class. He was a stranger at this grand event, brought here by chance (or a series of chances), and had no intention of lingering. No one was waiting for him here, so¡­


    ¡°May I have the honor of this dance, my friend?¡±


    Ardan nearly choked on a piece of bread covered with pat¨¦, which, judging by the taste, seemed to have been made from a duck¡¯s liver.


    Standing before him, dressed in a golden gown and wearing a tiara encrusted with multicolored diamonds, was a girl with black hair, upon which the pattern of a Crystal Mountain Flower shimmered.


    ¡°Your Imperial Highness,¡± Atura curtsied.


    ¡°Grand Princess,¡± Davenport bowed, pressing a hand to his heart.


    Only Ardi stood there like an idiot, with a half-eaten bruschetta held near his mouth. Before him stood Anastasia, her eyes alight with a mischievous glint like a fox planning some particularly wicked prank.


    Ardan glanced around, as if searching for help, but found no one offering him a rescue.


    Everyone¡¯s eyes were cast downwards, as etiquette demanded. Such things weren¡¯t taught in school, but his grandfather¡­ Back when he was a boy, Ardi had always wondered why¡­


    ¡°Idiot,¡± Davenport hissed, still bowing. ¡°Don¡¯t make the Grand Princess wait. Say something!¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t know how to dance,¡± Ardan blurted out, louder than necessary.


    ¡°If you put down your food, my kind friend,¡± Anastasia laughed, ¡°I will lead the dance. All you need to do is watch your feet carefully and try not to step on mine.¡±


    Ardi¡¯s heart pounded wildly. Truth be told, he¡¯d felt far safer in the company of a mountain troll, a Wanderer, or bandits than in this current situation.


    Agreeing to this dance, considering everything he¡¯d learned tonight, seemed like a terrible idea. Refusing the future Empress in public, though¡­ Well, that was nothing short of a poetic attempt at self-destruction.


    Swallowing loudly, Ardan set down his half-eaten bruschetta on what he¡¯d thought was a tray, but which turned out to be the epaulet of some officer of not insignificant rank. Anastasia stifled a laugh, and before he could apologize, she grabbed his wrist with unexpectedly strong, warm, childlike fingers and pulled him into the center of the hall.


    The other dancers gradually and gracefully drifted away, leaving the Emperor¡¯s daughter and the great-grandson of the Dark Lord¡¯s right-hand man practically alone.


    ¡°Hold your left hand out as if you¡¯re hugging a tree,¡± Anastasia whispered, and Ardan complied at once.


    The girl looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mirth, and added, ¡°Lower ¡ª I¡¯m not a mobile skyscraper like you.¡±


    Ardi jerkily nodded, noticing his elbow was above the child¡¯s head, and lowered his arm. In an instant, Anastasia rested her forearm on his.


    ¡°And now stretch your right arm forward and take my hand.¡± Of course, she wouldn¡¯t have been able to reach it otherwise.


    Once the starting position was set, Anastasia looked him in the eye again. There was no fear, no disdain, no arrogance in her gaze, only cheerful amusement and a touch of mischief.


    ¡°We¡¯ll move to a three count,¡± she said, taking the first step and leading him. ¡°Listen to the music and follow the rhythm. One-two-three. One-two-three.¡±


    Listen to the music? Ardan, who was so focused on not stepping on the Grand Princess¡¯ feet (whose shoes probably cost an obscene amount), couldn¡¯t hear anything beyond his own persistent inner voice: ¡°You already owe a small fortune for the suit¡­ Don¡¯t step on her¡­ Don¡¯t step on her¡­¡±


    And all around them, there were onlookers who were either pleased by this unexpected performance or, on the contrary, furious and practically grinding their teeth in anger. Or perhaps it was just one of them. Someone his own age. It was a young man of average height for a human, dressed in a white suit reminiscent of a naval officer¡¯s dress uniform. His belt bore a buckle engraved with a badger, whose elongated snout oddly resembled the sharp face of this nobleman¡¯s offspring. Not to mention his black hair streaked with white and his unnaturally long fingers.


    ¡°That¡¯s the son of Great Prince Arkady, my second uncle,¡± Anastasia whispered, still gliding gracefully in time with the music. ¡°The twelfth in line for the throne.¡±


    ¡°And why is he looking at me so¡­ kindly?¡±


    ¡°He asked me to dance, but I refused,¡± Anastasia said, without a hint of irony.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Ardan exhaled. ¡°I apologize, Grand Princess, for depriving you of a dance with your brother.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not my brother,¡± Anastasia replied coldly. ¡°Besides, he didn¡¯t ask me to dance just for the sake of it, but for¡­¡±


    She glanced at Ardi with a look that explained everything without words.


    ¡°But¡­ you¡¯re just a child,¡± Ardan nearly exclaimed but caught himself just in time.


    Unfortunately, that lapse in focus caused him to stumble, nearly stepping on Anastasia¡¯s foot, which elicited quiet chuckles from the nobles as he barely avoided a disaster thanks to the princess¡¯ quick reflexes. She deftly shifted her weight, rescuing both of them from an embarrassing fall.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± she whispered, gracefully compensating for Ardan¡¯s misstep with a subtle movement. She was not just a good dancer, she was exceptional. ¡°To him, it doesn¡¯t matter that I¡¯m a child or a kin. All that matters is the chair my father currently sits on.¡±


    If not for Anastasia¡¯s skill, Ardan would have either fallen over or stepped on her shoes. Instead, he barely managed to stay upright, but his mind was spinning.


    ¡°The music will end soon,¡± Anastasia spoke softly, her voice now trembling slightly, like that of a lost, lonely kitten. ¡°Thank you, Ard, for being my friend, even if only for a little while.¡±


    She looked down, and in that moment, Ardan felt a sharp pang in his chest, as if unseen claws were scraping at the inside of his ribcage. He could vividly picture someone standing in a crowd of people, yet surrounded by a void of isolation, much like Anastasia was now.


    ¡°Ardi,¡± the young man said quietly, almost instinctively. ¡°My friends call me Ardi, but¡­ I¡¯m not sure you really want to be my friend. Besides, we¡¯re unlikely to ever meet again.¡±


    Anastasia didn¡¯t seem to hear those last few words. The moment she¡¯d heard the first part, her face had lit up, and she¡¯d squeezed his hand tightly, smiling the way he¡¯d once smiled when visiting Guta, Shali, and Skusty or gazing at the stars with Ergar. It was the look of someone suddenly realizing they weren¡¯t alone in the world.


    ¡°Even if we don¡¯t meet again¡­ Ardi,¡± she said it shyly, as though testing his nickname¡¯s taste, ¡°I¡¯ll know that somewhere in this world, I have a good friend.¡±


    As the music faded, Anastasia released his hands and, as light as a spring bird, flitted away toward her parents. The nobles parted before her like waves retreating from a resolute stone jetty, and Ardan stood there in the center of the hall, feeling utterly out of place.


    For a brief moment, he looked up and accidentally met the eyes of Emperor Pavel IV. What he saw in those eyes was¡­ nothing. It was like staring into a void, a dark, inky sea threatening to pull him in. Ardan quickly looked away, struggling to shake off the unease.


    What had they told him about learning to control the Witch¡¯s Gaze?


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± someone gently tugged at his arm, but Ardi felt drained, both physically and mentally. His recent encounter with that bottomless void had nearly emptied him completely, reminding him painfully of Cassara.


    Not that the Emperor was a vampire, but he definitely possessed a power that Ardan had no desire to understand, let alone challenge. As it was, he had no energy to think about anything related to the people in the hall.


    Catching his breath, Ardan found himself back by the buffet, absentmindedly devouring another bruschetta, this time made from wild goose pat¨¦. Fortunately, it wasn¡¯t domestic¡­


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Atura hissed. She stood before him with Davenport, both of them shielding him from the diminishing crowd of nobles who were slowly filtering out of the hall. ¡°You¡¯ve just made a mortal enemy out of one of the Great Princes.¡±


    ¡°And did I have a choice?¡± Ardan asked wearily, his voice flat and dry.


    ¡°You did,¡± Davenport nodded. ¡°You could have claimed to be suffering from an old injury, feigned that you¡¯d misunderstood her Galessian, or¡­ well, anything, really.¡±


    ¡°If I had refused the Grand Princess, it would¡¯ve been-¡±


    ¡°-reasonable and understandable,¡± Atura interrupted. ¡°Yes, Anastasia wouldn¡¯t have been pleased, but-¡±


    ¡°But she¡¯s also one of the Great whatevers,¡± Ardan cut in this time, swallowing the rest of his food. ¡°And she¡¯s hardly the twelfth, or whatever number in line, for the throne.¡±


    ¡°Except she¡¯ll be living in the palace,¡± Davenport reminded him. ¡°As far away from you as possible.¡±


    ¡°And this boy-¡±


    ¡°Great Prince Iolai,¡± Atura corrected firmly.


    Ardan waved a hand dismissively. In the last few hours, he had learned so many new and entirely useless names that it felt like he¡¯d need to dedicate an entire section of his grimoire to them. Maybe even more than one¡­


    ¡°And your Great Prince Iolai will be living on some enormous estate, in a massive mansion, somewhere off in-¡±


    ¡°Somewhere in the Metropolis,¡± Atura interjected again, ¡°and far closer than you think.¡±


    Ardan looked from her to Davenport, then back again, rubbing his temples in frustration. Why? Why was it that every time he took a break from his books, scrolls, and, at worst, a delicious meal ¡ª preferably involving blackberry pie ¡ª something like this had to happen?


    ¡°He¡¯s a Star Mage, isn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Atura nodded.


    ¡°And he¡¯s enrolling in his first year at the Grand this year?¡±


    ¡°All correct,¡± Davenport confirmed.


    ¡°And he has friends, who are all fellow aristocratic offspring, all notorious for their terrible temperaments and antics, which, had they been ordinary citizens, would¡¯ve landed them in prison, or at least court.¡±


    Atura and Davenport exchanged puzzled glances.


    ¡°Did Anastasia tell you all this?¡± Atura asked.


    ¡°I figured it out myself,¡± Ardan sighed.


    He had always thought that such details in his great-grandfather¡¯s stories had been embellishments, meant to add drama to the legends and myths. The idea that the main characters had had not only grand, existential problems but also mundane, personal conflicts with disagreeable people had seemed like a storytelling device to him.


    Ardan had never imagined that he would find himself in such a situation. It was absurd! What did he care about Great Princes and Princesses, and why should they care about him, the son of a seamstress and¡­


    Oh, right.


    His great-grandfather.


    And Anastasia, who¡¯d chosen him for a dance¡­


    Sleeping Spirits help him¡­


    ¡°You know what¡¯s funny,¡± Ardan said, his voice laced with irony.


    ¡°Funny?¡± Davenport repeated. ¡°You find something amusing in all of this?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes,¡± Ardan nodded. ¡°The funny part is that I¡¯ve fulfilled my part of the deal. The Emperor got everything he needed from me. So, why keep me at the Grand for another four months? Why not just let me go? Why keep me around for an extra season or so?¡±


    Davenport and Atura said nothing. They didn¡¯t have to. The answer was obvious.


    ¡°Because now, his loyal subjects have a perfect opportunity to settle scores with me for my great-grandfather¡¯s sins. And in the process, the crown will find out whose hands are long enough and whose courage is great enough to defy it.¡±


    Davenport chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.


    ¡°Yonatan wasn¡¯t exaggerating when he said you¡¯re a sharp lad.¡±


    Ardan wasn¡¯t surprised to hear that Atura¡¯s husband had read the dossier prepared by the officer of the Second Chancery, nor that he was referring to him by first name, as if they were acquaintances.


    ¡°May I escort Master Egobar to his quarters?¡± The chamberlain appeared seemingly out of nowhere.


    He hadn¡¯t addressed Ardan, or even Davenport, but rather Atura.


    ¡°Of course,¡± she nodded curtly, then turned to Ardan and, for a moment, touched his hand. ¡°I will always be grateful to you, Ard, for helping save Anastasia. And I¡¯m truly sorry for the price you paid for it. I hope that in four months, you¡¯ll be reunited with your family. If you ever feel like it, I would love to receive a photo of you with your brother, mother, sister, and stepfather so I can place it over the fireplace and, from time to time, remind myself that there are still good people in this world.¡±


    With those parting words, she turned and walked in the opposite direction. Davenport gave Ardan a silent pat on the shoulder before hurrying after her.


    Ardan, after grabbing a tray of snacks from the table, followed the chamberlain. His only desire at that moment was to crawl into bed and sleep for a day, preferably without any dreams.

 Chapter 35 - Spider

    ¡°Hello, Mother.


    I¡¯m writing to you from my temporary quarters in the Palace of the Kings of the Past. Sounds like the start of one of Grandfather¡¯s stories, doesn¡¯t it?


    In truth, it¡¯s much grander in reputation than it is in reality. The place is so small that I doubt our own pantry would fit here ¡ª and by ¡®our,¡¯ I mean the one we built together with Grandfather and Father when I was a boy. I miss them.


    I miss you, too...


    Forgive me. My thoughts are getting muddled.


    I have a table, a chair, a bed where my feet dangle over the edge, and a wardrobe. Following the instructions of that stranger ¡ª the one I mentioned in my last letter ¡ª from the Second Chancery, I don¡¯t leave the room.


    I¡¯m sorry for writing so infrequently before. Things have been a bit chaotic. I met Grand Princess Anastasia. Don¡¯t worry, I didn¡¯t get into any trouble. We simply ran into each other in the basement, and¡­ Yes, it does sound odd. But she¡¯s a good child. A little lonely, a little sad, but kind. She reminds me of Erti in some ways.


    How is he, by the way? How¡¯s his health? What did Delpas¡¯ doctors say? And tell me, please, my dearest Mother, how are you settling in? Is everything all right? Are they regularly paying you your pension? Did you get decent neighbors? Has Kelly settled into his new work? I¡¯d love to hear any news or stories from home.


    I miss you and my brother so much, Mother. I count the days until I can hold you both again.


    As for me, I find the Metropolis tolerable. I know that sounds a bit snobbish, but forgive me if my tongue has picked up a bit of the local manner of speech in these past few days. The city itself, though... All those tales we heard at the festivals, Mother ¡ª they actually downplayed what my eyes have seen here. But there¡¯s one thing my heart still can¡¯t accept.


    Do you remember that line from Grandfather¡¯s favorite poem, the one about the Knight, Marenir? It went, ¡®The sun paints the sky with the colors of fading summer, kissing the stately autumn.¡¯ Well, here in the Metropolis, the only colors the sun finds are all shades of gray.


    I never imagined there could be so many variations of one color. And maybe that¡¯s why whoever originally built this city decided to challenge the sky, using the hues of sunsets and sunrises in the facades of buildings. You wouldn¡¯t believe how many vibrant and beautiful structures there are here: waterfronts, bridges, countless monuments and palaces. Not even in Grandfather¡¯s wildest tales of Ectassus could I have imagined such sights.


    And yet, despite all the beauty, I find much of it hollow and soulless. Not just the buildings, but the people, too. Not all of them, of course, but a majority. And the strangest part, my precious Mother, is that the taller the building or the greater the person, the less real they seem.


    Don¡¯t worry about me. I¡¯m eating well, sleeping even more, and keeping out of trouble. For the most part, I¡¯m just waiting for this journey of mine to come to an end so I can return to you.


    Tomorrow morning is the ceremony where I¡¯ll be admitted into the Imperial Magical University.


    Delpas may be a large city, but it¡¯s still far from the capital, so by the time this letter reaches you, you might see my photo in the paper next to the Emperor. He seems like a decent man, though a bit odd ¡ª but that¡¯s none of our business.


    I¡¯m looking forward to New Year¡¯s, Mother, and I promise that before midnight, I¡¯ll hold you tight, and we¡¯ll share stories until the morning.


    With love, hugs and kisses,


    Your son, Ardi.


    Until we meet again.¡±


    Ardan signed the letter, sealed the inkwell, and set the pen aside. He slipped the letter into an envelope and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket, which hung on the back of a simple chair.


    He didn¡¯t always tell Shaia the whole truth, but when it came to his palace quarters, he hadn¡¯t lied. It was indeed a small room, nowhere near the grandeur of the one the duchess had given him.


    The only light came from an oil lamp, cracks crawled along the walls in places, and the parquet floor creaked like an old man¡¯s grumbling. But that was understandable, given how many rooms the palace had. If every guest chamber had looked like those of the Anorsky family, the treasury would have gone bankrupt within a few years.


    Surely, somewhere in this seemingly endless residence of the Emperor, there were far grander rooms ¡ª likely ones that would put the entire Anorsky estate to shame ¡ª but Ardan had no business with such rooms.


    Not that he would have wanted them.


    The window in his small room overlooked the waterfront, and at night, Ardan could watch as the city came alive with bright lights, blossoming like shining petals across the dark sky. But not above his head, as he was used to, no ¡ª the lights would spread out below, reflected upon the surface of the roaring, black river, which would sometimes calmly caress the granite banks, and at other times crash against them like a furious serpent. The foam of gentle waves and the thick depths of the river reflected the lights of lanterns, car headlights, and the windows of houses and palaces, forming constellations that were mesmerizing, yet unfamiliar.


    And sometimes, amid these reflections, boats and ferries glided through like mythical creatures, and occasionally, even ships passed by. Ardan had even seen one. It had been a metal giant, without any sails, with massive, bulbous smokestacks belching black, acrid smoke. From his textbooks, he knew this was what civilian steamships looked like, but to see such a titan, a rival to the Wanderer itself, was an indescribable experience.


    This was how Ardan spent his days, sitting by the window, watching the city, and occasionally opening the Stranger¡¯s textbook. Four times a day, a knock came at his door, and the same valet would enter with a tray of simple but filling food. He would leave it on the table and return an hour later to collect the dishes.


    And throughout all of this, not once did they bring Ardi a dish made from poultry or livestock, which spoke volumes.


    ¡°By now, the Alcade is probably buried under snow,¡± Ardan whispered, fiddling with the pendant shaped like an oak tree in his hands.


    Outside, the rain continued. It hadn¡¯t stopped since yesterday morning. At times, it was a drizzle, at others, a downpour, and sometimes, it was just a sparse, slanted rain ¡ª the worst kind. The kind that always found its way under your collar or stung your eyes. Truly strange weather.


    ¡°I regret to inform you, my good sir, that there will be no snow in this city until the White Month.¡±


    Before the unfamiliar, slightly hissing voice finished speaking, Ardan grabbed a knife from the table and spun around. He was definitely shocked by what he saw.


    At first, he¡¯d even thought he had imagined the voice entirely.


    ¡°I¡¯m down here, good sir. A little lower.¡±


    Ardi slowly lowered his gaze, and there, near the wardrobe, standing tall with impeccable military posture, was¡­ a cat.


    Ardan even rubbed his eyes, but nothing changed. In his room, in the heart of the Empire, within the Palace of the Kings of the Past, stood a cat in an amusing green uniform adorned with a few obviously handmade tin medals and belted with a wide strap, wearing flamboyant red boots decorated with olhma (an old Galessian pattern his mother had shown him as a child), and a slender, elegant saber at his waist.


    ¡°Allow me to introduce myself,¡± said the cat, clicking his heels together and flicking his long, fluffy tail in a graceful bow. ¡°My name is Poplar, a drengr from the valiant Warband of Tail and Paws, at your service, my good sir.¡±


    A drengr from a warband... If Ardi remembered his history lessons correctly, ¡°drengrs¡± were once warriors who served the kings and princes of Gales. His mother had sometimes sung songs about them. They were also called dirges. But they¡¯d never had a name for the warbands¡­


    ¡°Hello, Mr. Poplar,¡± Ardi replied, realizing with sudden clarity that the strange cat was speaking not in the language of beasts, but in flawless Galessian, without the slightest trace of an accent.


    And that was only possible if the cat had been born and raised in the Metropolis or its immediate surroundings.


    The cat bowed again and began to pace around the room, studying it with great interest. Ardi, in turn, studied the cat.


    At first glance, he looked like an ordinary forest cat. He had thick, gray fur with black stripes, clearly freshly shed, and now serving as a perfect coat. He also had long, white whiskers, perked up ears, a slightly pointed snout, and paws with tufts of stiff fur between the claws, which were meant to help him walk across the snow without getting cold.


    A typical cat, one might say. Except for the fact that he was larger, heavier, and ¡ª by the Sleeping Spirits! ¡ª talking in the human language.


    Ardi, as Skusty had taught him, allowed his eyes to see a little further, his nose to smell a little more. Immediately, his mind was flooded with colors, shapes, and scents beyond human comprehension, but he endured it, and after a few moments, he saw a familiar shimmer in the cat¡¯s shadow, and his nose was hit by the scent of decaying pine needles and moss.


    Shaking his head, Ardi dispelled the vision and returned his senses to their ¡°normal¡± state.


    ¡°You¡¯re the son of a Vila,¡± he exhaled, instantly regretting that he didn¡¯t have any silver dust or lovage on him. The scrolls of Atta¡¯nha had said that these two things worked best against Vilas.


    The cat spun sharply and regarded Ardi with slightly more curiosity than before.


    ¡°A Vila¡­¡± Poplar repeated. ¡°It¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve heard that word. But you, good sir, are quite right in your guess. My mother was indeed a Vila. My father, in his youth and foolishness, stole her wings and made her a mortal cat. She bore me along with my brothers and sisters, but the hunters¡­¡± The cat hesitated and turned away, ¡°of the entire litter, I¡¯m the only one left.¡±


    Ardan pulled a chair over for the cat to sit beside him, and Poplar, amusingly enough, stretched out his front paws, grasped the backrest like a human, and climbed into the seat, his booted paws dangling over the edge.


    Vilas were one of the peoples of the Fae. In different kingdoms and principalities, they were called different things: fairies, dryads, nymphs, but Ardi had always preferred the Galessian term ¡ª ¡°Vilas.¡± It sounded¡­ nicer, somehow.


    Overall, these beings, despite their rather capricious nature, weren¡¯t known for cruelty or treachery, though they could certainly cause trouble. They usually lived within a ten-kilometer radius of any area where no mortal settlements existed ¡ª whether they were human, elf, dwarf, orc, or otherwise, it didn¡¯t matter.


    Vilas could reside in rivers, trees, flower buds, or even in the wind. And only a few times a year did they take on a physical form, appearing to those who saw them in whatever form the observer most desired.


    The Firstborn and humans saw them as beautiful men and women with wings, while animals saw them as their own kind, but also winged. On the days when Vilas took on flesh, if someone stole their wings (the scrolls hadn¡¯t specified how, exactly, but it wasn¡¯t hard to guess), the Vilas would become mortal and marry their captor.


    But such unions were doomed to sorrowful ends, for once a Vila lost the ability to return to their kind, they lived solely for the purpose of regaining their wings and walking again on the paths invisible to mortals.


    Atta¡¯nha had always warned Ardi, when he was still young and unfamiliar with the spring rut, to not be like so many other young Speakers, thinking they could bind a Vila¡¯s essence with the power of Words and then hunt for their wings, no matter how beautiful they might be.


    ¡°The hunters, may their names be forgotten for their dishonor, brought me here to the capital and planned to sell me at an illegal auction,¡± Poplar continued. ¡°But I managed to escape. Mother, though she didn¡¯t truly love us, shared a few secret songs with us before she stole back her wings. Mine didn¡¯t work as well as my sister¡¯s, but I managed something.¡± The cat sniffed and twitched his ears, casting his green-eyed gaze out the window. ¡°I wandered the streets, small and weak, and thought that I might end up treading the paths of the Sleeping Spirits, but then the Little Mistress found me. She took me into her house, hid me from her family, nursed me, fed me, cared for me, and even made me a drengr.¡±


    At these words, the cat puffed out his chest, making his homemade medals jingle.


    ¡°And now¡­¡± Poplar suddenly cut himself off, hissed, and leaped to his feet, drawing his saber. Astonishingly, he held it comfortably in his right paw, and his claws, after lengthening, began to resemble tiny fingers.


    ¡°Good sir, how dare you! The Witch¡¯s Gaze?! You made me pour out my soul to you like some witless fool! This is a disgrace and an insult! I am compelled to challenge you to a duel to the death!¡±


    With a flourish of his saber, the cat pulled off one of his gloves from his belt and tossed it onto the table in front of Ardi. For a moment, Ardi struggled to keep from laughing, both from the absurdity of the whole situation and from the sight of the tiny, white glove made for cat paws sitting on the table. He slowly rose and bowed his head.


    ¡°Noble Poplar, drengr of the Warband of Tail and Paws, I beg your forgiveness for what happened. Unfortunately, I do not yet have control over my Witch¡¯s Gaze, and sometimes, those who speak with me experience what just happened to you. I offer you my sincere and deepest apologies, but I cannot yet influence what has occurred.¡±


    The cat stared at him for a moment.


    ¡°At first, it felt to me like you were trying to make excuses, biped who smells of a mountain cat,¡± Poplar hissed, baring his fangs. ¡°And I began to think that the Little Mistress had made a poor choice, but the instinct I inherited from my father tells me that¡¯s not the case¡­ Will you swear on your honor and the names of your ancestors that you had no intention of prying into my soul?¡±


    ¡°I swear it,¡± Ardan replied calmly.


    The cat scrutinized him a bit longer, then sheathed his saber and, hopping onto the table, picked up the glove with the tip of his boot, returning it to its twin. He then perched on the windowsill and¡­ for a moment, licked his tail.


    ¡°Forgive me, good sir,¡± he said a little sheepishly after he finished cleaning himself. ¡°I always do that when I get too worked up.¡±


    ¡°No harm done,¡± Ardi muttered, grateful to the Sleeping Spirits that he didn¡¯t burst out laughing.


    ¡°And yet, my good sir,¡± Poplar frowned, ¡°the fact that you cannot control your power does not absolve you of responsibility. Such incidents are dishonorable and unworthy of a righteous man. One day, if you don¡¯t learn to control your Witch¡¯s Gaze, you may well be killed.¡±


    Ardan sighed. If only Poplar knew how many times he had heard that exact warning in the past few months¡­


    ¡°My name is Ard Egobar,¡± the young man introduced himself. ¡°But I suspect you already knew that, noble Poplar. I suspect Anastasia sent you-¡±


    ¡°The Grand Princess Anastasia,¡± the cat corrected, once again placing his paw on the hilt of his saber. ¡°And yes, I knew your name, Ard, but since you hadn¡¯t introduced yourself to me personally yet, I had no right to address you directly. That would have been beneath me and dishonorable!¡±


    Ardan hadn¡¯t heard so much talk about honor, nobility, and righteousness even in Grandfather¡¯s stories of knights from the past.


    ¡°Now that we¡¯ve been introduced, Poplar, might you tell me why you¡¯ve come here?¡±


    ¡°Certainly,¡± the cat nodded, rising to his feet, licking his paw-hand a couple of times, smoothing the fur between his ears, and finally clearing his throat. ¡°The Grand Princess regrets that she cannot spend time with you personally, but since you agreed to be her friend, she offers to correspond with you by letter.¡±


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Ardi glanced out the window, then back at the cat, and again out the window.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t take this the wrong way, Poplar, but how will you deliver my letters to the palace and back again if I don¡¯t even know¡­¡±


    Ardi trailed off, but there was no need to finish that sentence. It was easy to understand that the young man had no idea where he might be in the next hour, let alone what potential fixed address he might acquire soon.


    Yes, Mart had mentioned that letters could be sent to the dormitory, but something told Ardi that a talking cat in a military uniform and red boots would hardly go unnoticed by the dormitory¡¯s inhabitants.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that,¡± Poplar smiled, kicking his legs a little. ¡°These boots¡­ I made them myself. They hold the songs of my mother. So¡­¡±


    The cat clicked his heels together, and in an instant, he disappeared. It was as if he had never been there at all.


    ¡°... I can always find you, Ard, no matter where you are,¡± came the voice behind him.


    Ardi turned around and saw Poplar sitting atop the wardrobe, his tail swaying back and forth.


    Of course. Fae magic. The Fae not only possessed remarkable skill in the art of the Aean¡¯Hane, but also their inherent magic. It was like the wings on birds, the tails on fish, or the quills of porcupines ¡ª something intrinsic to the Fae, part of their very essence.


    Vilas, for instance, could traverse vast distances along their paths in mere moments. It was their Aean¡¯Hane that had built those special roads, the ones that could cross the Alcade in just a few hours or days. But after the war between Ectassus and Gales, most of those paths had been destroyed, sealed, or forgotten.


    Ardan suspected that when he¡¯d encountered the mountain troll, he had unwittingly walked one of those forgotten paths.


    ¡°If you agree to the Little Mistress¡¯ proposal,¡± the cat said, jumping down from the wardrobe and landing silently, ¡°I¡¯ll visit you twice a month ¡ª on the tenth and the twenty-fifth.¡±


    He approached Ardi and extended his right paw-hand. And since Ardan had indeed promised to be the Princess¡¯ friend, he had little choice in the matter.


    All those who had raised him ¡ª his father, mother, great-grandfather, Ergar, Atta¡¯nha, and his forest friends ¡ª had all agreed on one thing: a person¡¯s word was their most valuable possession.


    Ardi bent slightly and extended his hand to shake the paw, but instead, Poplar flicked his claw, scratching Ardi¡¯s palm and instantly licking away the drop of blood.


    ¡°Now I can always find you,¡± the cat said, bowing again and clicking his heels. ¡°Until we meet again, friend of the Little Mistress.¡±


    Those last words were spoken by seemingly empty air. The cat was gone.


    Ardan shrugged, about to return to his desk in order to resume studying the Stranger¡¯s work, when he caught a faint scent. It hovered on the edge of his awareness, sly and insidious, like a mosquito that buzzed around, waiting to feed on the blood of an exhausted traveler trying to sleep.


    A familiar scent.


    It was the smell of a swamp after rain and landslides, where the stench of decaying unfortunates trapped in the mire mingled with the blooms of lilies ¡ª a mixture of something repulsive to the point of nausea, yet equally alluring and captivating.


    It was the smell of a Fae who had not sworn allegiance to either Summer or Winter. Ardi had caught this scent a few times while hunting in the forest swamps, but due to Atta¡¯nha¡¯s lessons, each time he had smelled something like this on the horizon, he had immediately left the path and run as fast as his legs could carry him.


    Homeless Fae didn¡¯t follow the ¡°code of Sidhe honor,¡± and their essence was ever-changing. Many eventually transformed into beings that people referred to as demons.


    And it was one thing for his sharp nose to pick up that scent in the Alcade, but another thing entirely for it to happen here. ¡°I¡¯m in the heart of the Metropolis,¡± Ardi whispered, turning once again toward the door.


    Atta¡¯nha had always taught him that when he became a fully-fledged hunter, if he truly considered himself a Speaker walking the righteous paths, his duty upon encountering the Homeless Fae would be to scare them away from his home territory.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been told several times not to leave this room,¡± Ardi reminded himself, adding after a pause, ¡°and besides, this isn¡¯t my home territory.¡±


    Nodding at his own reasoning and wiping away the cold sweat that had formed on his brow, the young man returned to the table and¡­


    ¡°But then why did you grab your staff?¡± He asked himself after realizing that his right hand was gripping the warm, slightly rough surface of his oak staff.


    He stood still for a few moments in confusion, then turned back toward the door. ¡°You¡¯re definitely going to regret this,¡± he whispered quietly.


    And of that, the young man was certain. But he was equally certain that if he left things as they were, he would spend at least the next few months, if not an entire year, recalling this moment and berating himself for his cowardice.


    ¡°Damn adventures,¡± Ardi hissed. ¡°Why can¡¯t I just spend a few dozen evenings in a good library instead of this¡­?¡±


    His mind made up, he approached¡­ No, not the door. He approached the darkest corner of the room, where even the midday sun and lit oil lamps never cast any light.


    There, the darkness lurked, undefeated and unquestioned in its reign since it had first settled on its now lawfully-claimed territory.


    In simpler terms: Ardi approached the wall and, bending down, pressed his cheek to the floor, peering into the space beneath the wardrobe.


    He reached out with his hand, extending it as far as he could, and when he touched the spot that even the maids¡¯ mops and brooms had never reached, he froze and, following Skusty¡¯s teachings, opened his mind to the surrounding world.


    He could feel a sticky, slightly cold, frightened substance, like a timid kitten trying to move away from the foreign warmth of his fingers. Ardi whispered words he had learned from the scrolls of the she-wolf.


    In those words, there were no sounds ¡ª only images. Ones of calm, tranquility, and the promise of oblivion. This was exactly what the impartial darkness carried with it, the kind of thing that no one ever feared or longed for. It was a different kind of darkness, not the one used to scare children.


    And the small, frightened streak of darkness responded to Ardi¡¯s call, wrapping around his fingers like a cold, barely-perceptible silk veil.


    Carefully, the young man lifted his hand, raised the darkness before him, and cloaked himself in it like a mantle. The world around him instantly dulled and dimmed, and Ardi coughed, nearly losing focus.


    He had never used the art of the Aean¡¯Hane as often as he had in the past few months. He hadn¡¯t needed it on the hunters¡¯ trails, and in Evergale, there hadn¡¯t been much opportunity for him to employ it.


    ¡°Calm down,¡± he whispered to himself.


    Breathing more steadily, Ardan stood tall, feeling the shroud of darkness draped over his shoulders, and approached the door. He couldn¡¯t close his eyes, and he tried not to blink too often so as to avoid losing sight of the true world beneath the veil of what the untrained eye could perceive. Luckily, after the exercises he¡¯d done in the Anorsky manor, he had learned how to separate the ¡°crucial details¡± from the ¡°big picture.¡±


    Back when he¡¯d played those games with Skusty, Ardi had only been able to hold this kind of vision for a few minutes. He could only hope that his training with Star Magic had indeed improved his Aean¡¯Hane skills because if he lost focus and stopped seeing the world as it truly was, the Cloak of Darkness (or, as Star Mages called it, the ¡°Eye-averting Cloak¡±) would instantly dissipate.


    Reaching the door, Ardi carefully pulled the handle down and, muttering a prayer to the Sleeping Spirits, stepped into the corridor. In its true form, it was no different from what others saw. But that was not surprising, given how often it was cleaned and how rarely anything out of the ordinary happened here.


    Stepping carefully along the edge of the carpet and avoiding it with his shoes while also making sure not to step on the parquet with his heels, Ardi headed to where the scent of the Factionless Fae was beckoning him.


    And every time he saw people passing by ¡ª be they servants engaged in endless cleaning, polishing the suits of armor until they gleamed and scrubbing the gossamer tapestries, or patrolling guards, the only ones in the palace carrying weapons ¡ª Ardan froze.


    While the Cloak of Darkness diverted attention from him, that didn¡¯t mean that someone couldn¡¯t notice footprints suddenly appearing on the carpet ¡ª which was why he avoided stepping on anything but the edges of the deep pile carpet ¡ª or hear the clacking of heels ¡ª hence his avoidance of the parquet with them ¡ª or even hear his breathing.


    Unfortunately, not breathing was not an option, so he had to breathe very slowly and carefully.


    Thus, weaving through the intricate corridors and hoping he could remember their twists and turns well enough not to get lost on the way back, Ardan spent nearly half an hour wandering the palace.


    Sometimes, he had to freeze in place and, out of boredom, he began listening to the conversations of the servants and guards.


    He wasn¡¯t eavesdropping ¡ª just listening! Or so he told himself.


    ¡°What do you think? If the Emperor ordered the construction of new military shipyards, does that mean¡­¡± One of the maids glanced around nervously before whispering to her colleague, ¡°¡­we¡¯re preparing for war?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Maria,¡± her colleague shrugged, continuing to wipe down an already spotless dresser. ¡°But if that¡¯s the case, now¡¯s the time to find yourself a handsome officer. One who drinks less than most and doesn¡¯t itch for every skirt.¡±


    Maria, the first maid, turned away and pursed her lips.


    ¡°My younger brother will soon reach conscription age.¡±


    ¡°Is he planning to be an officer?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯m not interested.¡±


    ¡°Oh, go to hell...¡±


    The maids drifted off, and Ardan continued on his way. Soon, guards came into view, not straying far from the grand doors adorned with gold and the imperial crest. They seemed to mark a boundary between different wings of the palace.


    ¡°He pardoned them,¡± grumbled the older guard on the right ¡ª a tall, thin man in his forties, with a broken nose and a slightly crooked lower jaw. ¡°But if you ask me, he shouldn¡¯t have even lifted the restrictions for non-humans. They used to live up north, out of sight, and everyone was better off for it.¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t use the term ¡®non-humans¡¯ anymore, Velislav,¡± the younger guard on the left said, shaking his head. He was much younger, but still bore the scars of war across his face: deep, jagged marks that crossed his cheeks and temple, ones that had clearly been stitched not with thread, but horsehair, if the stories of the Cloaks were to be believed.


    ¡°What do you mean I shouldn¡¯t use that term anymore?¡± Velislav asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s ¡®Firstborn¡¯ now,¡± the younger man reminded him.


    ¡°My elder brother was first borned,¡± Velislav snorted, ¡°and he was trampled to death by the hooves of the Armondo cavalry. And I didn¡¯t see any damn elves or bastard orcs there with him. And the dwarves sure weren¡¯t smoking their cigars beside him. They were probably tossing coins at the cabaret stage while my first borned brother choked on his own blood with pierced lungs.¡±


    ¡°Dwarves and their riches¡­¡± The younger man shook his head. ¡°You sound just like the Tavsers.¡±


    ¡°And so what if I find that their pamphlets have gotten some things right?¡± Velislav growled. ¡°Our ancestors didn¡¯t shed blood and sweat to shake off the yoke of Ectassus just so we could build¡­ What do you call it again?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You know, by the Eternal Angels, that thing you young folk like to call it¡­¡±


    ¡°A just society?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it!¡± Velislav snapped his fingers. ¡°Exactly. A just, damn it all, society. That justice of yours smells like dung. There¡¯s never been anything just in this world, except for maybe the fact that we¡¯re all going to die.¡±


    ¡°Except for the elves?¡± The younger man smirked. ¡°They live for centuries.¡±


    ¡°Ah, fuck them in their dainty throats,¡± Velislav waved him off.


    ¡°Hey, I¡¯ve always wanted to ask: where did you pick up that phrase, ¡®fuck them in the throat?¡¯ And why do you use it for everything?¡±


    ¡°Have I not told you before? I had a sergeant in my company, and he¡­¡±


    Realizing that their conversation might never end, Ardan carefully approached the cabinet and, trying not to make any unnecessary movements, knocked a candlestick off it.


    ¡°Damnation!¡±


    ¡°Face of Light¡¯s shit!¡±


    The guards, more out of surprise than fear, jumped where they stood and, exchanging a look, drew their sabers and moved toward the fallen silverware. Ardi, invisible to their eyes, slipped past them and, praying that the door hinges had been cared for as meticulously as everything else, cracked the door open.


    There was no creak or squeak.


    Praise the Sleeping Spirits...


    Slipping inside, Ardan found himself in¡­ another corridor. It was indistinguishable from the one he had just left and the ones he had been wandering through for the past while. Except here, there were no guards or servants, as evidenced by the absence of the characteristic smell of boot polish applied to military boots, and the powders and perfumes the maids used on their necks.


    Still maintaining his earlier caution and doing his best not to blink more than necessary, Ardan continued moving toward the source of the scent. With every step, it drew closer, tightening around him like deep, suffocating tendrils.


    At some point, Ardi even felt as though he himself was the unfortunate one trapped in the mire, someone who was now futilely struggling and sinking deeper into it. And it was then that he realized that he¡¯d found the right place.


    Standing near a slightly ajar door, the young man froze for a moment.


    ¡°It¡¯s too late to wonder if this was the right decision,¡± he reminded himself and peeked inside.


    As soon as he did so, he knew it had been a terrible idea, and from now on, he would do well to heed Yonatan¡¯s advice and not get involved where he didn¡¯t belong.


    The walls of this room were covered in dark, crackling roots. They writhed and intertwined like a nest of snakes, merging and tangling like the matted hair of a drowned woman. But upon closer inspection, it became clear that these weren¡¯t roots ¡ª they were legs. Flexible and jointless, like earthworms or larvae, they covered everything they touched, converging somewhere near the ceiling in a haze of buzzing shadows, simultaneously resembling an owl, a spider, and a dead bush battered by winter hail.


    The four bright eyes on the creature¡¯s face glowed with an unnatural, golden light, staring down at a shriveled, small figure resembling a doll.


    Ardi nearly squeezed his eyes shut at the sight, but he managed to maintain focus. The stench of swamp and rot struck his nose like a heavy fist. Ardi also felt a veil that prevented those unskilled in the art of Aean''Hane from getting close enough to hear or see anything.


    ¡°So, we¡¯ve lost this battle.¡±


    ¡°Yes, my Master,¡± the doll-like figure bowed. ¡°The Shanti¡¯Ra betrayed us.¡±


    ¡°The steppe orcs and the Matabar have always had close ties, so that¡¯s predictable and not surprising,¡± the Homeless Fae¡¯s voice oozed like squelching, sucking mud, or like the snout of a scavenger rooting through the foul remains of long-dead prey. ¡°And yet, I had hoped we could make a prick from this angle against the Emperor.¡±


    That last word was spat out with such venom that it seemed like merely saying it was distasteful to the creature.


    ¡°You seem remarkably calm about this, my Master.¡±


    ¡°Do I have reason to be concerned?¡± The Homeless Fae chuckled. ¡°The Matabar cub is just one pawn in a game with far more pieces than even you, my faithful servant, can imagine. That we failed to use him as planned changes nothing in the grand scheme of things. We¡¯ll set him aside for now. Our loyal allies can keep an eye on him, but with no particular zeal.¡±


    ¡°But the report from the Second Chancery-¡±


    ¡°If I worried about every cowardly fledgling with some talent in the arts of the Aean¡¯Hane and Star Magic, I¡¯d have gone mad long ago.¡±


    ¡°But this fledgling is a descendant of Aror.¡±


    ¡°Aror,¡± the creature snorted. ¡°Aror was blind, deaf, and dumb. He never saw beyond his ridiculous notions of honor and nobility. And now he¡¯s dead. And I¡¯m alive. What do I care about his whelp¡­ I¡¯m sure that after the New Year, he¡¯ll tuck his tail between his legs and return home to his family.¡±


    ¡°And what should we do about them?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± the creature hissed. ¡°The Colonel suspects something¡­ I don¡¯t want to give him more reason to think about this. Leave everything related to the Egobars alone for now. Call off your people from Delpas today ¨C it makes absolutely no sense for us to be there now. There¡¯s no need to spread our resources too thin¡­ Meanwhile, let¡¯s focus on the other pieces on the board. How are our plans for¡­¡±


    Suddenly, the Homeless Fae fell silent, its four eyes shifting toward the door. Ardi, who was still cloaked in darkness, stepped back, but as he did so, his little finger caught on the doorframe, and a sharp flash of pain, combined with everything he had just heard, caused him to lose focus.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t close the door, servant,¡± a perfectly ordinary human voice stated.


    ¡°Yes, my Master,¡± responded a voice that was no longer doll-like.


    Ardi, holding his breath, stood pressed against the wall, listening to the approaching footsteps of the man. And just before the door closed, Ardan caught a glimpse of the figure sitting at a massive, black piano. Outwardly, he was a simple man ¡ª except for the missing ring finger on his right hand.


    Once the door shut, Ardan, still as carefully and silently as possible, removed his shoes and, lifting his staff, tiptoed toward the exit.


    One single thought hammered within his mind:


    ¡°Why¡­ Why did you do it¡­? You were told not to leave the room!¡±


    And yet, he had left it, and as a result, he had witnessed proof of something he had only suspected before ¡ª someone had tried to prevent his arrival in the capital, but not for the reasons Ardan had assumed.


    It had had nothing to do with his lineage, and everything to do with the fact that his death would have been a mere prick to the Emperor. Just a simple, thoughtless jab. And that was all his life was worth.


    Sleeping Spirits¡­


    Reaching the doors leading out of the corridor, Ardan glanced at the guards, who were still discussing how the candlestick could have fallen over.


    Putting his shoes back on and gripping his staff, Ardan sighed and shook his head. He didn¡¯t even need to try ¡ª he knew he wouldn¡¯t be able to weave the Cloak of Darkness again. He didn¡¯t have the strength to use the art of the Aean¡¯Hane so often in one day. And that meant only one thing:


    ¡°Excuse me, gentlemen,¡± Ardan said, intentionally stumbling over his own feet and nearly tumbling into the corridor. ¡°Oops¡­ ah¡­ um¡­ excuse me¡­ hic¡­ Oh, I need¡­ back¡­ there¡­ um¡­¡±


    He could only hope his performance, which was mimicking the regulars at saloons who¡¯d had too much whiskey or vodka, would be convincing.


    ¡°Another one,¡± Velislav grumbled. ¡°He¡¯s gotten so drunk he¡¯s lost his regalia.¡±


    ¡°Reg¡­ reg¡­ regalia?¡± Ardan hiccupped, leaning against the wall and hiding his face in the folds of shadow. ¡°What does¡­ hic¡­ regalia have to do¡­ Oh¡­ stones?¡±


    ¡°Tallit,¡± Velislav called out to the younger guard. ¡°Help the good mage find his quarters.¡±


    ¡°Why me?¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re younger, and sober mages irritate me enough without adding drunk ones into the mix.¡±


    ¡°And who doesn¡¯t irritate you, Velislav?¡±


    The younger guard approached Ardan and hoisted the young man¡¯s left arm over his shoulder.


    ¡°Hefty, aren¡¯t you,¡± he grunted.


    ¡°You don¡¯t irritate me, Tallit,¡± Velislav¡¯s lips twitched. ¡°When I can¡¯t see your ugly face.¡±


    ¡°Go to hell,¡± Tallit snapped and turned to Ardan. ¡°Do you remember where you¡¯re going, sir mage?¡±


    ¡°Of course, hic¡­¡± Ardan nodded, still keeping his face hidden. ¡°Over¡­ hic¡­ there.¡±


    And he pointed his staff toward¡­ the window.


    ¡°I see,¡± the younger guard sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s go then¡­ We¡¯ll find it.¡±


    They were about to set off, wandering through the corridors. Just when Ardan had thought that the danger had passed, the older guard suddenly called out to his partner.


    ¡°Tallit!¡±


    Time seemed to slow, and Ardan¡¯s heart thundered so loudly it must have echoed throughout the Metropolis. Seconds stretched into what felt like years and¡­


    ¡°Call your relief if you¡¯re going to take a while,¡± Velislav grumbled. ¡°There should always be two of us on duty.¡±


    ¡°I know that without you telling me.¡±


    With those parting words, they continued on their way, and after about ten minutes, they arrived ¡ª Ardan now knew that there were far shorter routes to the guest wing than the one he had taken.


    When they reached the door to his room, Ardan ¡°slid¡± off the guard¡¯s shoulder and, patting him on the back, reached for the brass handle.


    ¡°Sir mage?¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡­ hic?¡± Ardan mumbled, pressing his face against the doorframe.


    He gripped his staff so tightly that¡­ He had no idea why he did it. He couldn¡¯t imagine what he would do if the guard had recognized him ¡ª perhaps he had seen him at the ball ¡ª or if he asked some unnecessary question or¡­ A thousand other such ¡°ors¡± came to mind.


    ¡°Until you sober up, it would be best for you not to go out again,¡± the guard spoke from behind him. ¡°In this labyrinth, you can get lost even after years of service. And that¡¯s while you¡¯re sober.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ yes¡­ yes¡­ hic¡­ Mmm¡­ yes¡­¡±


    And with that, Ardan slipped into his room, shut the door, and slowly, nearly gasping for breath, slid down the wall, trying to calm his pounding heart.


    Hundreds of thoughts swirled in his mind, but one rang louder than the others: the warnings he had been given were no exaggeration.


    He couldn¡¯t afford to stick his neck out, and not just from his room, but anywhere. And most importantly, next time, he might not get so lucky.


    Ardan was fully aware that his acting skills weren¡¯t enough to fool even the naivest and trusting of people. So, the only reason he had succeeded today was due to the fact that the palace was in the midst of celebrations that were being attended by guests of great importance, and the guards, having likely encountered more than one inebriated visitor over the past few nights, hadn¡¯t paid him much attention.


    And then¡­


    That Homeless Fae. Or perhaps he wasn¡¯t a Fae at all, because without the Sight, he looked like an ordinary man, albeit missing a finger. Which, according to Atta¡¯nha¡¯s scrolls, should have been impossible, and¡­


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t concern me,¡± Ardi shook his head, then remembered what he had overheard. ¡°Well¡­ it doesn¡¯t concern me anymore. And yet, he was talking about my mother and brother, but they¡¯re under the crown¡¯s protection¡­ And the rest of it¡­ Well, that¡¯s a problem for tomorrow.¡±

 Chapter 36 - The Grand

    Ardan adjusted the collar of his suit and glanced at himself in the mirror. Staring back at him was the same unfamiliar dandy dressed in expensive clothes, holding a staff in one hand and a small satchel in the other, with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Draped over his arm was the warm coat his mother had sewn for him.


    He looked around, taking in the palace room that had served as his temporary shelter for a while, however brief that time may have been. Through the window, he could see that the black river was still crashing against the granite walls, its slow-moving waves capturing the glow of Ley-lamps. Ardi would no longer get to see any of this. The thought brought with it an unexpected sense of... calm.


    Over the weeks he¡¯d spent at the Anorsky estate, followed by the coronation, the ball, ending with a couple of days in the guest chambers of the Palace of the Kings of the Past, the young man had realized with striking clarity that this world was not his.


    And so, as he left the room, Ardan felt more relief than disappointment.


    At the door, someone was already waiting for him on the other side of the corridor. It was a short man with gray hair, though his face was too soft and smooth to guess his exact age.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± the man said in a low, gruff voice.


    Dressed in a simple but sturdy, gray woolen suit and an obviously-not-new tweed coat, his guide hurried down the corridor, occasionally stopping to check their direction. He would pause briefly, as if recalling something, and then continue.


    Soon enough, they reached the ¡°main thoroughfare.¡± Ardi recognized it by the way his guide began walking beside him rather than ahead of him ¡ª there was simply no space for anything else. The corridor was packed to the brim with people.


    All of them were polished, waxed, draped in absurdly expensive clothes, adorned with jewelry, and drenched in so many different perfumes that Ardan¡¯s head spun from the overwhelming mix of scents. And yet, despite all of this, they pressed together like sardines in a can.


    The young man tried to distract himself by turning toward the stained-glass windows, but quickly regretted it.


    A pompous man in a black suit paraded past him, strutting like the only rooster in a henhouse. He looked rather like a balloon ¡ª one of those children¡¯s toys parents bought for them at festivals. His thin legs somehow supported a bloated belly, which was barely contained by his pants and shirt, both of which were cinched tight by a wide, silk sash that had been wrapped several times around his middle. In his hands ¡ª which were softer than a child¡¯s ¡ª the man held a long cane with a crow-shaped tip, and he was leaning heavily on it, making Ardi worry that at any moment, the rings on his sausage-like fingers might snap, sending the enormous gemstones flying like bullets from a revolver.


    The man¡¯s chin was impossible to find, as it merged with the collar of his shirt and rested on his chest. A few strands of hair, slicked to one side, failed to conceal his baldness, instead only emphasizing its glossy shine, which reflected the tiny glints of light from the chandeliers above.


    Ardi smiled, watching the interplay of these little reflections. It was amusing how something so ridiculous could unintentionally create something delicate and beautiful.


    Though perhaps not quite as beautiful as the lady who was walking beside the peacock ¡ª no, no, he was more like a turkey. Two heads taller than him and coming up to Ardan¡¯s chin, she wore a green dress embroidered with a fine mesh of sparkling stones ¡ª diamonds, perhaps? Ardi wasn¡¯t sure; he¡¯d only heard of them in stories from his grandfather and had read a couple of lines in a textbook about them. Her elaborate hairstyle, high heels, and fur collar only added to her grandeur. She carried herself with an air of majesty, as if the long, sharp ears she proudly bore were a crown.


    ¡°What are you smiling at?¡± Came a breathless wheeze from the portly man. ¡°Is there... something amusing... about our appearance?¡±


    Ardi quickly wiped the smile from his face, but it was too late. Two fishlike, gray eyes bore into him, and despite himself, Ardan ¡ª caught off guard by the confusion he had felt in recent days ¡ª met his gaze. The moment he did, it seemed as though he wasn¡¯t looking into eyes at all, but into two dark holes where ravenous pikes awaited, eager to tear apart his mind.


    ¡°How dare you!¡± The already crimson-faced gentleman flushed even deeper, blotches of purple rising on his cheeks. He attempted to raise his cane to strike him but wobbled and nearly fell over, once again leaning all his considerable weight on the unfortunate staff.


    ¡°You... What course are you in?¡± He hissed, his voice resembling that of a snake in the underbrush.


    Ardi could only open and close his mouth in stunned silence. How many times¡­ How many times had people warned him that one day, his Witch¡¯s Gaze would land him in trouble?


    And it seemed like that day had arrived.


    ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°Mr. Egobar,¡± Ardi¡¯s guide interrupted them abruptly, cutting off the rotund noble. ¡°We must hurry. Our car should be waiting at the entrance.¡±


    With that, the guide grabbed Ardan by the elbow and began cutting through the crowd of aristocrats and imperial dignitaries as if he were clearing a path through a crowd of children gathered around a bakery door. They hurried down a wide staircase and into the hall, heading toward freedom.


    Through the open doors of the grand entrance, they stepped into the cool air, but Ardi barely had time to take a breath of fresh air (though the air of the Metropolis could hardly be called fresh) before they were pulled farther along.


    Still ignoring the murmurs of the crowd, nearly stepping on the feet of people wearing outrageously expensive shoes, and snatching the keys from a valet, the guide flung open the doors of a car. It was far bulkier and less elegant than the vehicles the Anorskys owned.


    The guide practically shoved Ardan inside, causing him to bump his head on the roof ¡ª not a fabric one this time, but metal. After slamming the door shut, the guide quickly entered the driver¡¯s seat, spun the wheel, and drove away from the glittering mass of automobiles leaving the palace.


    Inside, instead of plush upholstery, the cabin smelled of tobacco and, oddly enough, something salty. The seats were covered in the cheapest leather, worn down to a point where they could be used as sandpaper. Rust, like hungry mold, crept across the metal parts here and there.


    The engine rattled like a sawmill in full swing, while the vehicle itself groaned like an old man grumbling about the youth of today.


    The guide, who¡¯d now transformed into the driver, adjusted the rearview mirror ¡ª not to see the road but to keep an eye on Ardi. Their gazes met, and just in time, Ardan turned his head away.


    ¡°You should have done that earlier,¡± muttered the driver, his voice unexpectedly pleasant.


    They retraced the familiar route Ardi had traveled once before, and after presenting documents to the guards with rifles, they drove onto the avenue, leaving the palace lights behind.


    It was only when they were swallowed by the flow of cars, pedestrians, and trams all rushing in the same direction that the driver seemed to relax a little.


    Ardi, just as he had on his previous trip, observed the buildings. These silent stone beauties adorned with various hues and lights lined the streets like mute sentinels watching over the people. Beneath the wheels, the cobblestones clicked with a slightly playful rhythm.


    Thanks to the Anorsky library, Ardan had learned that the streets in the city had different surfaces. The closer to the center one got, the more old cobblestone roads there were, still echoing the clatter of horseshoes and the creak of carriage springs. Farther out, toward the modern high-rises of steel and stone, lay the lifeless, gray asphalt made from granite chips and petroleum bitumen.


    In the poorer areas, especially near the factory dormitories, they could boast of neither.


    ¡°You picked the wrong mind to delve into, boy,¡± the driver sighed.


    Ardi glanced at him through the same rearview mirror. His companion mostly kept his eyes on the road, but occasionally cast glances at his passenger.


    ¡°Is the Second Chancery going to take issue with me because of that?¡± Ardi asked.


    The driver didn¡¯t flinch, but the slight twitch of the car told Ardi he¡¯d hit a nerve.


    ¡°What gave me away?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not even going to deny it?¡± Ardi was surprised.


    The stranger remained silent, his jaw clenching slightly.


    ¡°Honestly, it seemed like you weren¡¯t trying too hard to hide it,¡± Ardan shrugged.


    The dangerous, steely glint in the driver¡¯s eyes that he could see through the mirror said it all.


    ¡°Are you mocking me?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ardi replied earnestly, though he immediately remembered Yonatan¡¯s, Cassara¡¯s, and Mart¡¯s warnings. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ve only recently come from Evergale, which is in the Foothill Province. We tend to be a bit more straightforward there and-¡±


    ¡°I know where you¡¯re from, Ard Egobar,¡± the Cloak interrupted. ¡°I also know your age. I know that you practice the art of the Firstborn, possess seven rays of the Red Star, enjoy cocoa, avoid eating livestock, and, oh, you lost your virginity to a farmer¡¯s daughter. So, spare me the small talk.¡±


    Well, of course... Of course his... what was the right term for it? Dossier? Obviously, every Cloak had read his file, each one more detailed than the last. Ardi could only hope he¡¯d never have to deal with any of them again.


    All he needed to do was stay quiet until the New Year, then return home with a clear conscience.


    ¡°So, how did you figure out I wasn¡¯t one of the palace servants?¡± The Cloak repeated his question.


    Ardi stayed silent for a few seconds but, after realizing that they had a long journey ahead of them and that the silence hanging in the air wasn¡¯t exactly healthy, saw no reason not to answer.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t seem very familiar with the layout of the palace,¡± the young man began listing off his observations. ¡°And yet, you weren¡¯t uncomfortable around aristocrats, like you see yourself, if not as their superior, at least as their equal. You weren¡¯t afraid of that mage, either, but hurried me away. And I don¡¯t think servants usually shove aristocrats out of the way like they¡¯re dispersing onlookers.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±


    The incredulity in the man¡¯s voice was so thick that it could have fueled several cars.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°What else?¡±


    Ardan took another deep breath and looked at the Cloak again through the mirror.


    ¡°You smell like cheap alcohol and gunpowder ¡ª just like Lieutenant Kornosskiy. And when you walk, you keep your hand close to where most people wear a revolver. You also favor your right leg, but only when you walk quickly ¡ª those kinds of injuries are rare in ordinary life and are usually sustained during hunting... or in combat.¡±


    ¡°Anything else?¡± The Cloak wasn¡¯t letting up.


    ¡°When you grabbed my elbow, I noticed a scar on your right wrist. It was too deep and too long for a simple cut. It was left by a knife ¡ª not a kitchen one, either. And while we walked, you made sure we were never surrounded by more than two or three people. And most importantly,¡± Ardan spread his arms out to indicate the car, himself, and the Cloak, ¡°we¡¯re here, alone. No guards. Which means you think you can handle me if I try to escape.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to try?¡±


    ¡°Is there any point to me trying?¡±


    ¡°Who knows.¡±


    Ardi nodded briefly and turned back to the window. Outside, lights shone brightly and pedestrians and all manner of cars flowed down the streets. Some were smaller, nimbler, with only two doors, zipping in and out of traffic, eager to reach their destinations.


    Even though the celebrations after the Emperor¡¯s coronation had ended, the capital hadn¡¯t stopped rejoicing. If anything, the city now seemed to be awaiting something truly magical and extraordinary: the beginning of the academic year at the Grand.


    ¡°There¡¯s no point.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no point in running,¡± the Cloak clarified. ¡°Not because I think you can¡¯t beat me, mage, but because I know you won¡¯t.¡±


    And there wasn¡¯t even a hint of bravado in his voice, nor a shred of doubt. The Cloak was utterly, unquestionably certain that Ardi wouldn¡¯t be able to harm him.


    Ergar¡¯s apprentice might have grabbed his staff, slammed it into the brake pedal, and grabbed the Cloak¡¯s neck in a chokehold.


    From reading the newspapers, Ergar¡¯s apprentice knew that automobile accidents were common in the city. Not frequent, but frequent enough that it could be passed off as an unfortunate incident.


    But Skusty¡¯s apprentice... Skusty¡¯s apprentice would¡¯ve found that to be an incredibly foolish idea. For one, it would be too many coincidences for a single descendant of the Dark Lord¡¯s right hand, who was already viewed with suspicion. Secondly, why bother?


    It was much smarter and simpler to endure for four months. It wasn¡¯t even half a year.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have succeeded.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Ardi repeated.


    ¡°You¡¯re thinking about grabbing your staff and hitting the brakes, but it wouldn¡¯t work, Ard. Do you know why?¡±


    The Cloak raised his left hand. All this time, Ardi had only seen his right hand on the wheel, occasionally tugging the¡­ What was it called... the gearbox. He¡¯d naively assumed his left hand was there, too. But when the Cloak wasn¡¯t holding the wheel, he was steering with his knees. And his left hand had been holding a revolver, which had been pressed against the back of the seat all along.


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    Ardi slowly raised his hands, palms facing outward in a gesture of surrender.


    ¡°Relax,¡± the driver winked through the mirror and lowered his hand, revolver and all, keeping the barrel pressed into the back of the seat. ¡°Your file says you¡¯re clever, but cowardly. So, this is more for show than anything.¡±


    Ardan remained silent. The older he got, the more he understood why Skusty¡¯s title was ¡°The Sage of the Tree Crowns.¡± Emphasis on Sage.


    ¡°Eternal Angels, mage,¡± the Cloak suddenly chuckled. ¡°With a mind like yours and those eyes, you¡¯d make an excellent investigator. It¡¯s almost a shame... such talent going to waste.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t flinch. Even so, the thought of actually, voluntarily working for the Second Chancery was laughable. The idea was utterly absurd.


    ¡°What we teach some people for years, if we even find anyone teachable at all, you...¡± The Cloak trailed off as he swerved the wheel and honked the horn. A small, nimble car zipped past them.


    For a brief moment, the air in the cabin grew thick with tension. As the Cloak focused on the road, Ardi had a split-second opportunity to act on his plan. The driver, no matter how skilled, wouldn¡¯t have been able to fire his weapon ¡ª not while his attention was elsewhere.


    They both knew this.


    But Ardi didn¡¯t move. What would he gain, except satisfaction for his own pride?


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the Cloak snorted. ¡°Clever... but cowardly.¡±


    Ardan was about to respond, perhaps with something biting or witty, but the words caught in his throat.


    By this time, they had turned off the main road, weaving through narrow streets and slipping past a raised barrier, where the guards stood to attention without even bothering to check their papers. The car zigzagged through the alleys before emerging into a wide square.


    The square was filled with people, so many people that nearly a kilometer of space had turned into a living, roiling mass. But even this enormous gathering, the likes of which Ardi had never seen before (when the Emperor had been giving his speech to the people, Ardi had heard them, but had not seen them) and could scarcely believe even existed, paled in comparison to the building standing at the far end of the square.


    Only now did Ardi truly understand why the Imperial Magical University was called the ¡°Grand.¡±


    The building was as tall as the smallest of the Alcade Peaks. It looked like no other structure Ardi had seen from a train car or automobile.


    It was taller than all the skyscrapers, yet just as wide as a mountain slope. Its fa?ade was an endless sea of columns blending seamlessly with the sprawling wings of long walls. Between them, slender windows gleamed with bright light. But upon closer inspection, one thing became clear ¡ª they weren¡¯t columns at all, but countless towers. Dozens of them!


    It was as if a mythical giant had taken them in their hands, fused them with clay, and molded them together, paying homage to the legends of the past, those days when mages built their tall dwellings in an effort to reach the clouds. Only now had they truly succeeded.


    And at the very top of the colossal structure stood what appeared to be a miniature castle. It poured out ribbons of pure, white light, which cascaded down through the twilight sky in long threads of silver.


    And below, at the foot of the Grand, stood a majestic entrance arch, glowing with the same light. Yet this light was joined by the shimmer of stars, softly floating outwards and, as if on a staircase, climbing toward that castle, creating the illusion of a waterfall.


    Ardi had never seen anything like it, not even in his imagination, back when he¡¯d sat as a child on his great-grandfather¡¯s lap, listening to stories about Ectassus.


    ¡°Mr. Egobar,¡± the driver opened the door for the young man. Mimicking a servant, he extended his hand in a mock-invitation and gave a slight bow. ¡°Welcome.¡±


    Ardi gulped and, with an effort of will he was becoming all too accustomed to, tried to block out the cacophony of sounds and the whirlwind of scents surrounding him.


    It didn¡¯t work very well.


    ¡°You¡¯re heading that way,¡± the driver pointed toward a group of guards standing on the edge of the sidewalk.


    Behind them, a corridor of barriers stretched along the square, separating the crowd from the passage leading directly to the Grand.


    Occasionally, people in colorful cloaks and carrying staves approached them, showing them small identification books, exchanging a few words with the guards, and then passing through.


    Ardan was so captivated by the sight before him that he almost forgot to thank the Cloak. Whatever their conversation had been like, the man had still helped him out of the situation with the noble mage, even if it had just been part of his orders.


    But when Ardi turned to express his gratitude, he saw only the black smoke coughing out of the vehicle as it disappeared into the winding alleys.


    Shaking his head slightly in mild disappointment, Ardan turned back toward the Grand. He lifted his chin so high to take it all in that his hat almost slipped off his head. This hat, which had been a gift from the cowboys at the farm, wasn¡¯t worth much money, but held many dear memories.


    Had anyone from the farm seen him drop his hat ¡ª well, if not a brawl, then certainly a long and heated argument would have ensued. Dropping your hat out of clumsiness rather than hard work was an insult on par with soiling holy scripture. That was how the cowboys saw it, at least.


    Adjusting his hat, Ardan glanced at the crowd. Unlike his broad-brimmed, stiff, and curved hat, the headgear worn here was much more modest and elegant.


    But that was fine.


    Rotating his head nearly three hundred and sixty degrees, holding his satchel, and leaning on his staff, Ardi continued to take in the sights around him.


    On either side of the square stood buildings of all shapes and sizes. Some were only two or three stories tall, while others reached higher. Many were plain, unremarkable, but there were some that flaunted their pilasters and elaborate bas-reliefs. There were both oval and rectangular, wide and narrow ones. And while they might have seemed unrelated to the Grand at first glance, a closer look revealed that all these buildings were connected by covered walkways.


    Ardi didn¡¯t even notice that he¡¯d reached the guards.


    ¡°Documents,¡± one of the Ministry of Internal Affairs¡¯ officers demanded, his tone a bit weary, even sleepy.


    Despite his green uniform, and the black cap on his head, he seemed to serve a more decorative purpose than anything else ¡ª at least compared to the palace guards Ardi had seen earlier. Ardi had deduced as much from the lack of a bayonet on what was likely an unloaded rifle.


    Reaching into his coat¡¯s inner pocket, Ardi pulled out his documents, which now bore the Magistrate¡¯s seal, and handed them over. The guard, looking suspiciously at the staff in Ardi¡¯s hand and the obvious absence of a cloak or regalia, examined the papers closely.


    The silence dragged on. Where others had been allowed to pass with just a glance at their documents, Ardi¡¯s inspection seemed to be stalling.


    A grumbling crowd of mages gathered behind him, murmuring in frustration and irritation.


    ¡°It says here you¡¯re a half-blood of the Firstborn, Mr. Egobar,¡± the guard drawled.


    ¡°That¡¯s correct,¡± Ardi replied, quickly pulling out one of the papers from the envelope handed to him back at the Anorsky estate.


    The guard took the letter of credentials and scrutinized it for a while. Ardan noticed how the corners of the man¡¯s mouth twisted into a frown when he saw the seal of the Second Chancery.


    Folding the letter which permitted Firstborn half-bloods and other such individuals free passage through the Empire, and returning it to Ardi, the guard made a show of adjusting his rifle belt.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your regalia, Mr. Egobar?¡± He asked, not in a hurry to hand the documents back.


    ¡°They are to be issued to me at the university¡¯s secretariat, as my previous robes were lost,¡± Ardi recited the rehearsed line.


    ¡°And the fine-¡±


    ¡°Here¡¯s the receipt for the fine,¡± Ardi interrupted, offering yet another document.


    In truth, no fine had been paid, but according to the instructions in the envelope, this made forming the ¡°legend¡± easier. What that meant, Ardi had no idea.


    ¡°How much longer?¡± Someone behind him asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been standing here for a quarter of an hour already!¡±


    ¡°Well, not quite a quarter, but close enough!¡±


    ¡°Open a second line! There are six of you here, and we¡¯re all going through one guard!¡±


    The frustration of the mages behind Ardi began to boil over, spilling out like milk from an overfilled pot. The steadily arriving mages pressing against them didn¡¯t help matters.


    Seeing the rising tension and realizing that everything with the documents was in order (after all, the Second Chancery had pored over them), the guard still didn¡¯t seem eager to return his identification. Instead, he moved to pocket the papers and, judging by his body language, was about to ask Ardi to follow him.


    And at that very moment, despite the overwhelming mixture of strange and pungent scents, Ardan caught a whiff of something familiar.


    ¡°Private, is there some sort of problem with my companion¡¯s documents?¡±


    Ardan turned in surprise to see Boris Fahtov. And while Boris had looked stocky and solid as a stump in that Presny saloon, now¡­ Now he still looked stocky, still seemed to be very solid, but dressed as he was in a fine, purple suit, polished shoes with sharp toes, and a warm coat draped over his shoulders, he was also markedly different. A red cloak also hung over that coat, with epaulets gleaming on his shoulders.


    Ardi squinted, thinking his eyes must¡¯ve been deceiving him. But no. Boris bore not just a star with eight rays, but his companion, a woman dressed in a simple autumn dress and a strict coat, had a star with six rays on her own red cloak.


    The guard didn¡¯t miss the number of rays either. Nor, apparently, the ring on the hand that held out his identification.


    ¡°I would suggest you take this,¡± Boris commanded, his voice cold and lifeless ¡ª entirely different from the jovial and warm tone Ardan had heard before. ¡°And for your own sake, it would be best if you ripped that filthy badge off your sleeve.¡±


    Ardan glanced at the cuffs of the guard¡¯s greatcoat. There, on the right sleeve, was a small patch stitched with black thread, depicting a grinning skull.


    The mark of the Tavsers.


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°To you, I am Lord Boris Fahtov, son of General-Duke Saimon Fahtov, commander of the southern fleet,¡± Boris announced, his voice clear and authoritative, loud enough for everyone within ten meters to hear even over the din of the square.


    Even Ardi was taken aback. He had suspected back in Presny that Boris belonged to the military nobles from the Taia border region, but he had never imagined that Boris came from true aristocracy.


    There weren¡¯t many dukes in the Empire. Maybe twenty, or even a little less. And not all of them had five children apiece.


    The guard, hurriedly tucking away the insignia of the terrorists, accepted his identification with trembling hands. Meanwhile, his fellow soldiers took several steps back and stood at rigid attention, as if they were welcoming their own commander.


    ¡°Sir, I-¡±


    ¡°Elena,¡± Boris interrupted without waiting to hear the guard¡¯s excuse, ¡°once we¡¯re done with our business at the Grand, please write to General-Baron Vetrov and inform him that there are lice among his ranks. Small, inconspicuous, but very noisy, and very bitey.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± the girl, who had been standing quietly beside Boris, responded, her tone calm and steady, without taking her eyes off the guard. ¡°I will be sure to send the letter.¡±


    With a sharp motion, Boris snatched his own papers back, retrieved Ardi¡¯s identification as well, and, taking the young man by the arm, marched with precise steps toward the university.


    Ardi, turning to look back, caught a glimpse of the guard, who was now pale and clutching a lamppost for support.


    For a while, they walked in silence along the sidewalk. That is, if you didn¡¯t count the chatter coming from the left, where the crowd was applauding and cheering at the wonders displayed on the fa?ade of the Grand.


    Ardi finally understood what had caused such excitement among the townsfolk and why they had gathered here in such numbers. The stars flowing out of the university¡¯s arch were in constant motion. They formed various shapes, ranging from mythical creatures to historical heroes.


    These silhouettes created by magic engaged in duels and reenacted historical scenes, sometimes even bursting into colorful fireworks only to fly overhead as a shower of starry dust, gifting people a fleeting piece of untainted wonder.


    ¡°Will this cause you any trouble?¡± Ardi asked, remembering the words of Atura and Davenport at the ball.


    ¡°Trouble?¡± Boris¡¯ voice held a mix of sadness and irony. ¡°Trouble found me the moment I wasn¡¯t born to my father¡¯s second wife.¡±


    ¡°Boris, enough with that talk,¡± Elena chided him, her tone sharp but surprisingly informal for someone speaking to a lord.


    ¡°Am I wrong, Elena?¡± Boris shrugged. ¡°My father now has new, more... legitimate heirs, and I... I was born from an unwanted marriage to an unwanted wife, whose grave is hardly worth tending.¡±


    Ardi had no idea what they were talking about. Unlike Faruh, who¡¯d devoured every piece of news about the Empire and the Metropolis with an insatiable hunger, Ardi had had little interest in big or small politics. At the time, at least, it had been as far from him as the distant Delpas.


    ¡°So, to answer your question,¡± Boris turned to the guards, his words suddenly loud enough to echo across the square. ¡°I don¡¯t give a fuck!¡±


    He laughed, pulling Ardi farther along. The young man, clutching his satchel, followed, his mouth hanging open like a bystander caught up in the spectacle.


    ¡°By the way, I wanted to thank you for what happened on the train,¡± Boris said abruptly.


    Ardi tore his gaze from the stars, which were now dancing above the crowd¡¯s heads after assuming the forms of fairies.


    ¡°Actually, I should be the one-¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on,¡± Boris waved off the gratitude, though there was a slight stiffness to the gesture ¡ª one that suggested he hadn¡¯t fully recovered from an injury. ¡°We¡¯ve both figured out that they mistook me for you, though...¡±


    Boris looked up at Ardan from below. Quite far below. Their height difference of nearly thirty centimeters probably made the scene somewhat comical, which Elena, standing nearby, seemed to confirm by turning away to hide a small, harmless smile.


    ¡°After... everything that happened, we wanted to talk to you,¡± Boris continued. ¡°But you had quite a colorful entourage... back then. I don¡¯t see them now, though.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve completed their assignment,¡± Ardi said calmly.


    ¡°Right, of course,¡± Boris scratched his head with... his staff, nearly knocking off his hat ¡ª a neat little felt number with a bright silk ribbon around the brim. ¡°Elena and I saw you at the coronation ball, but, well, we couldn¡¯t approach you... Our circumstances didn¡¯t allow it.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t ask what those circumstances were. He wasn¡¯t particularly interested, though he had a general idea of their nature. Besides, his brief but vivid encounters with nobles and aristocrats had confirmed Cassara¡¯s warnings: dealing with the upper echelons of society was more trouble than it was worth.


    By now, they had reached the Grand¡¯s arch. And, strangely enough, when they got close, the stars, along with the silver light, vanished in an instant.


    Ardi turned and saw the crowd still reaching out their hands to catch the shimmering dust, cheering for the new illusions. The magic had disappeared only for them, not for the rest of the crowd.


    They¡¯d clearly crossed a sort of threshold and-


    ¡°Well, my dears,¡± Boris let go of Ardi¡¯s arm and, closing his eyes, spread his arms wide. ¡°Welcome to the finest magical institution on the entire planet!¡±


    Ardi, after adjusting his hat, couldn¡¯t help but gape in awe.


    They stood in an atrium that was nearly as large as the main hall of the central train station. The ceiling, which almost seemed to disappear somewhere high above them, rippled with the illusion of an ever-changing night sky. Constellations, piercing through the swirling clouds, shimmered with countless stars. Among them, Ardi recognized the familiar ones from Atta¡¯nha¡¯s scrolls, along with many new ones he had never even heard of before.


    From time to time, distant planets from their solar system whizzed across the magical sky ¡ª planets Ardi had only read about in geography textbooks when they¡¯d briefly touched on astronomy.


    Lower down, broad columns supporting the hidden ceiling above thrummed with streams of white energy, which, judging by the sensation, was Ley energy. There was so much of it here that it cascaded down like rivers, coursing through transparent tubes before disappearing into the floor.


    The floor itself was made of polished black marble, divided by golden lines, and so shiny that it reflected the figures and faces of the people around them. Combined with the reflected magical sky above, it all gave off the impression that there was no clear distinction between up and down.


    It made Ardi¡¯s head spin slightly.


    In the center of the atrium stood a bronze monument, depicting the scene that marked the beginning of the Empire¡¯s history. The wounded and dying last King of Gales was plunging his sword into the heart of the King of Ectassus. Their faces were hidden beneath their helmets, and their figures didn¡¯t appear particularly mighty. Around the monument, comfortable couches and benches were arranged in circles. This was probably where students gathered on a normal day.


    Gargoyles perched along the walls, frozen in various poses, watching over their vast dominion with a predatory gaze, their sharp eyes never leaving the visitors.


    And no matter how hard Ardi tried, he couldn¡¯t find any stairs. In various corners of the atrium, he spotted a few doors, but that was it.


    Aside from the countless mages in colorful cloaks and the wide, semi-circular reception desk along the left wall, there was nothing else here.


    ¡°But how do we-¡±


    ¡°Elevators,¡± Boris interjected. ¡°They have elevators here. Like in the skyscrapers.¡±


    Ardan nodded thoughtfully. After learning that the Anorsky mansion had an elevator (which, unfortunately, he hadn¡¯t gotten a chance to use), he had looked up information on them in the library.


    They had been invented just over thirty years ago. Or rather, the kind that could be used in residential buildings, not just in mines, had been invented then.


    ¡°Well then,¡± Boris turned to Ardi and gave him a firm handshake. ¡°We¡¯ll be off to our own business, and you should head to the reception desk so they can take you to the secretariat. By the way, what faculty are you in?¡±


    ¡°The General one.¡±


    ¡°I thought so,¡± Boris smiled slightly. ¡°Elena¡¯s in the same faculty, so she¡¯ll keep you company.¡±


    Ardi glanced skeptically at Elena, who was mesmerized by the magical ceiling. It didn¡¯t seem to impress Boris nearly as much.


    The last time Elena had ¡°kept him company,¡± she had found it necessary to spice up their conversation by pointing an unloaded revolver at his head.


    ¡°I¡¯m in the Military Faculty,¡± Boris grimaced, ¡°so we probably won¡¯t see each other much. But don¡¯t forget, you¡¯ve got a good friend in me, Ardi. I don¡¯t believe in fate, but why not listen to it at times? Here, take this.¡±


    He opened his hand, revealing a small card. It read: ¡°Saint Warriors Street, house 8, apartment 8.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s our address,¡± Boris explained. ¡°Just a few blocks from here. If you need anything, feel free to drop by. We can chat, and you still owe me a story about your journey!¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardi replied.


    As he tucked the card into his coat¡¯s inner pocket, he knew he would likely never use the invitation, but he didn¡¯t say that out loud.


    Though, judging by the look in Boris¡¯ eyes, the young lord knew that as well. There was a chasm between them that a few fleeting encounters and a shared adventure couldn¡¯t bridge.


    Boris hesitated, clearly wanting to say something else, but, unable to find the right words, he called Elena over, and together, they headed toward the distant doors.


    Ardi instinctively adjusted his hat as he watched them go, then shifted his satchel and made his way toward the reception desk, where mages in green cloaks stood behind the counter, while clusters of red-cloaked first-year students, just like himself, gathered around them.

 Chapter 37 - Papers and ink

    Ardi approached the counter after waiting patiently for two mages ahead of him to finish their business. The first thing that caught his attention wasn¡¯t the striking sorceress standing behind the cherrywood counter among her colleagues. Sure, her lush, nearly platinum hair and vivid green eyes drew attention, but what truly intrigued the young man was what lay behind her.


    The employees stood in front of a series of long tubes. These tubes curved slightly, but not near the floor, rather, they did so just below waist level. They had lids, much like small chests. The other mages bustling at the counter would open them now and again, placing tin cylinders inside, each of which contained tightly rolled up documents.


    Then they would close the lids, and with a loud whooshing sound ¡ª like air being sucked up ¡ª the cylinders would shoot up through the pipes, vanishing into the wall.


    ¡°That¡¯s the air mail system¡­ Or the pneumatic mail system, if you wanna be pedantic,¡± the sorceress explained in a voice as soft and misty as her appearance. ¡°It¡¯s faster than sending couriers between departments, especially when they¡¯re on different floors.¡±


    ¡°Air mail,¡± Ardan echoed, enchanted. And though there wasn¡¯t even a hint of magic in this mechanism, the sheer ingenuity of it still fascinated him.


    ¡°I take it you¡¯re from someplace far away?¡± The blonde asked, her voice light. She didn¡¯t seem to mind that a bunch of first-years had crowded in behind Ardi. After all, she wasn¡¯t the only one manning the counter ¡ª there were at least a dozen other workers, so the queue moved fairly quickly.


    Ardan, as the son of a seamstress, instinctively appraised the woman¡¯s attire. Under her green cloak, she wore a pristine, pressed silk blouse, though it was fastened with simple wooden buttons. The blouse was tucked into a high-waisted, long skirt, and cinched by a wide leather belt with a buckle shaped like a swallow.


    To some, her outfit might have seemed plain, even unremarkable, but Ardan knew too much about tailoring to be fooled. The sorceress was wearing an ensemble that, while not quite as expensive as Ardan¡¯s own, could still have cost someone in Evergale at least a couple of months of their earnings.


    It occurred to him, much like it had back when he¡¯d marveled at the size of the capital, that he really ought to stop calculating the cost of other people¡¯s clothes.


    ¡°Do you like what you see?¡± The woman asked suddenly.


    Ardan choked, causing her to stifle a soft laugh.


    ¡°Hand over your documents,¡± she said, glancing at his hat with a hint of irony. ¡°Cowboy.¡±


    Ardan handed her his passport, followed by the envelope containing his credentials, a weapons license, and a few other papers.


    ¡°Take off your hat,¡± she teased, winking as she accepted the package.


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± Ardi mumbled, quickly removing his hat.


    The girl smiled gently again and got to work. She glanced at his surname without so much as a twitch in her expression, then opened one of the many small drawers behind the counter and pulled out another envelope. This one was wide enough to fit a newspaper and had been tied with yellow ribbons.


    She withdrew several forms from it, upon which Ardan saw his own initials. She jotted down a few quick notes with a pen before collecting most of his documents: his diploma, the fine for the loss of his imaginary past regalia, a certificate of his oath, a declaration that he had no criminal record during his primary Star Magic training, another certificate signed by a Blue Star mage confirming his exam results, and¡­


    By the Sleeping Spirits, there were enough papers issued to Ardan to stoke several fires. Most of them were now sealed inside the yellow envelope, tied up with ribbons, and handed back to him.


    ¡°And... is that all?¡± He asked, sounding a bit disappointed.


    ¡°The rest is in the secretariat,¡± the sorceress replied playfully, though the situation hardly called for it. ¡°Take it there along with this...¡± She handed him a small card with incomprehensible numbers and symbols. ¡°They¡¯ll talk to you about your schedule, dorm, study group, and everything else.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardi nodded, taking the envelope.


    He turned and was about to head off ¡ª though he had no idea where he was going ¡ª when she called out after him.


    ¡°The lifts are farther down this side,¡± she laughed, no longer hiding her amusement. ¡°Sixth floor! To the left of the foyer, last door.¡±


    Ardi regretted not having a free hand to write that down, though he wouldn¡¯t have had to reach far for a pencil (he still wasn¡¯t particularly good at writing with a pen and ink).


    When he turned back to catch the girl¡¯s eye again, she was already engrossed in the next first-year¡¯s issues. There was nothing left to do but head in the direction she had indicated.


    Luckily, Ardan¡¯s height allowed him to navigate comfortably even in such a crowd. Standing at least a head and a half taller than most, he quickly spotted the door he needed.


    Truth be told, calling it a ¡°door¡± seemed an insult to what adorned the passageways of the Grand¡¯s atrium. Each side was nearly two and a half meters tall, and had been crafted from thin panes of crystal framed in gold. The handles, made of silver, were shaped like twisting, mythical dragons.


    Ardi knew of museums and had little doubt that such ¡°doors¡± belonged there as prized exhibits.


    As he made his way through the crowd, apologizing here and there if he stepped on someone¡¯s foot or bumped a shoulder, he tried his best not to make eye contact with any of the mages. His recent encounter had already taught him to tread carefully. Ironically, none of Mart¡¯s or the others¡¯ warnings had had quite the same effect that one misstep had produced, quickly instilling a new habit in him. He¡¯d learned to either focus on his shoes or stare high enough that the only thing returning his gaze were the stone gargoyles.


    Perhaps Ergar had been right when he¡¯d told his student that no matter how clever one might be, the best lessons were learned with one¡¯s own skin.


    ¡°Watch where you¡¯re going, half-breed,¡± hissed a young man after Ardan bumped him with his satchel.


    Since he hadn¡¯t heard that particular word used so venomously since his childhood (if you didn¡¯t count the conductor in Presny), Ardan was momentarily taken aback and was about to sincerely ask what had given away his mixed heritage, but the mage took one look at him, went pale, and quickly disappeared into the crowd with his friends.


    Surprised, Ardan shrugged and moved on. He hadn¡¯t been affected by such insults in a long time. Neither the derogatory ¡°half-breed,¡± the condescending ¡°mongrel,¡± nor even the outright disdainful ¡°non-human¡± bothered him anymore. What difference did it make what others called him if he knew who he was? Well... most of the time, anyway.


    But those were thoughts for another day.


    Finally reaching the doors through a sea of trampled feet and bruised shoulders, Ardan closed his eyes briefly and touched the handle.


    ¡°You planning to sleep there?¡± Someone behind him asked.


    ¡°Oh, yes, yes,¡± Ardi stammered, startled.


    Mart had been right when he¡¯d said that the young man would need to adjust to the capital¡¯s pace. In a city with nearly twenty million residents, people lived by a different clock.


    ¡°Move it,¡± someone else grumbled impatiently.


    Ard opened the doors and stepped into a rather spacious, though modest, foyer. The floor was covered with a thin, slightly worn carpet, which had been pinned down at the edges with copper rivets.


    Instead of the stained glass that greeted visitors in the Grand¡¯s atrium, there was just one narrow window at the far end.


    Above, the ceiling, which had dropped sharply to a height of about three meters, held glowing Ley-lamps. Under their light, near the brass-framed iron gates, stood people dressed in yellow uniforms. They wore white gloves and stood at attention no less rigidly than the guards Ardi had seen earlier. When a group of mages approached them, the attendants pressed buttons on brass panels beside them.


    As Ardi moved closer with the others, he saw that there were only two buttons: ¡°up¡± and ¡°down.¡±


    Nine people were needed to press two buttons?


    But Ardan¡¯s curiosity was piqued when, with a soft hum and a faint clatter, a cabin began descending behind the gates. Held by what appeared to be heavy counterweights and tightly-wound cables, it gently docked at the platform.


    The same attendant who had pressed the button ceremoniously opened the accordion-like gates and let out a few mages. Inside the cabin stood yet another attendant in a yellow uniform who was wearing white gloves.


    The group of mages, with Ardi towering like a tree among them, filed in. However, not all of them were allowed to enter. As soon as five had stepped inside, the others were stopped by the attendant¡¯s raised hand.


    Inside the cabin, which was paneled with lacquered cherrywood, Ardan stood uncertainly, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do.


    ¡°Which floor?¡± The attendant asked, standing by a lever surrounded by lights and numbers ranging from one to forty-three. Beside the forty-fourth number, instead of a light, there was a keyhole.


    ¡°The sixth,¡± one of the girls replied. Like Ardi, she was carrying a staff, along with an envelope similar to his own.


    The others in the cabin were carrying them as well, though Ardi was the only one also holding a satchel and a backpack. None of the others seemed to have much luggage.


    ¡°Sixth for me, too!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re all going to the secretariat.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± the lift attendant said, his expression as stony as his tone. He turned the lever several times until the light next to ¡°6¡± lit up.


    Within seconds, the platform beneath Ardi¡¯s feet trembled, and the cabin gave a sharp jolt. The young man nearly flattened himself against the wall in surprise. And when they started rising, slowly but steadily leaving the ground behind, he shut his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.


    His heart pounded, and he could vividly imagine the scene: one more violent shake, and they¡¯d all plummet into the dark abyss of the shaft. Ardan had heard enough stories in saloons, where miners had shared tales of elevators breaking loose and falling into the void, to feel terrified.


    After six years in the Alcade Mountains, he knew all too well the consequences of such¡­ mishaps.


    ¡°Sixth floor,¡± the attendant announced after what felt like an eternity.


    The doors unfolded again, and another yellow-uniformed man stepped aside to let the prisoners of the tin box escape to freedom.


    Ardi practically dashed out into the foyer of the sixth floor, leaning on his staff as he caught his breath, utterly ignoring the chuckles and whispers aimed his way.


    Behind him, the next group of brave souls surrendered themselves to the iron coffin suspended over the abyss...


    Or maybe his imagination was getting the better of him.


    ¡°Are there... stairs?¡± He asked the lift attendant breathlessly, still recovering from the ordeal.


    The worker gave Ardi a strange look before answering curtly, ¡°They¡¯re at either end of the corridor.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Ardan wiped the sweat from his brow. He couldn¡¯t, for the life of him, recall the sorceress¡¯ directions. Those ten or so seconds in the lift had been enough to wrap his mind in a sticky fog, and for cold, clawed fingers to grip his heart.


    Fortunately, the other mages carrying envelopes were still in sight, so Ardi hurried to follow them, nearly slipping on the worn carpet. As he moved, he carefully took in his surroundings.


    This area was markedly different from the grandeur of the atrium. There was no marble on the floors here ¡ª just a reasonably good sort of parquet, still expensive but far from extravagant, with patches of chipped lacquer and scuffed boards.


    There were no bas-reliefs, no paintings, and certainly no stained-glass windows on the walls. Only the faint scent of fresh paint lingered, suggesting that some recent touch-ups had been made.


    The numerous doors were wooden, made from a species Ardan couldn¡¯t recognize. Above them, metal plaques bore numbers and names, some of which were too faded to decipher. Occasionally, a name or surname appeared on a door.


    But Ardan wasn¡¯t surprised. In fact, he would have been more shocked if the entire Grand building had looked as opulent as its first floor.


    Reaching the secretariat¡¯s doors, Ardan was surprised to find no line. The few times he had needed to deal with bureaucratic matters at the city office ¡ª like when he¡¯d gotten his papers at sixteen ¡ª he¡¯d spent nearly half a day waiting among other petitioners, claimants, disgruntled citizens, and everyone else who¡¯d needed stamps and seals.


    Here, however, the mages carrying envelopes hurried down the corridor and disappeared into the secretariat without delay.


    Ardan cleared his throat, opened the door, and stepped inside.


    The room was the size of Evergale¡¯s assembly hall, filled with artificial light from Ley-lamps, and packed with people.


    By the windows, which didn¡¯t overlook Star Square, but rather, an avenue, several desks were lined up. Behind them sat mages in the same green cloaks he¡¯d seen before, of various ages and genders, tapping away at typewriters, checking carriage returns, and discussing things with first years awkwardly perched on stools across from them.


    Some workers scurried between the desks, battling the growing piles of papers. They would collect bundles of envelopes and certificates, delivering them to the cabinets languishing at the far end of the secretariat, while others would send them through the air mail.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Ardan¡¯s earlier surprise at the lack of a queue had been entirely misplaced. On the opposite side of the room, away from the windows and desks, rows of chairs lined the wall, situated beneath photo portraits of some prominent figures whose names and faces Ardi hadn¡¯t thought about since his last history test on the Empire and the world.


    Seated in those chairs were those waiting their turn.


    ¡°How-¡±


    ¡°Here you go,¡± a young man in a red cloak with a two-pointed star cut him off, thrusting a small slip of paper into Ardi¡¯s hands. The number ¡°27¡± had been hastily scrawled on it.


    ¡°They¡¯ll call your number when it¡¯s your turn.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Ardi exhaled, taking the ticket.


    He found an empty chair, and, carefully weaving his way through the rows of waiting students, sat down. The chair was as uncomfortable as he¡¯d feared it would be. A regular-sized person might have rested their back against it, but for Ardi, the top of the backrest jabbed uncomfortably into his shoulder blades. Stretching his legs was out of the question as well ¡ª his knees were pressed awkwardly against the seat of the redheaded lady in front of him.


    But Ardan had grown accustomed to such discomfort in school. Lifting his hat, he placed it over his face and inhaled its familiar aromas: leather, the scent of the Alcadian forests, and the dry, intoxicating winds of the prairies and steppes. He drifted into a light doze.


    He dreamed of something¡­ Blackberries, maybe, or forest flowers lazily stretching after a long winter slumber, and perhaps rye. Or maybe it was golden hair spread out among tall grass. And the hot, slightly damp breath that had scorched his face. Those soft hands sliding down his back and firm-


    ¡°Twenty-seven!¡±


    Ardi jolted, nearly knocking over the chair in front of him, much to the irritation of the people seated near him. He grabbed his hat before it could fall and looked around in confusion.


    ¡°Twenty-seven!¡± The person called out again, sounding more impatient and irritated this time.


    Ardi spotted the person calling him, navigated around the chairs, and approached the desk situated in the center of a line of its fellows. He sat down on the stool across from the mage, immediately bumping his knees against the crossbar.


    Behind a stack of papers and a massive typewriter sat a young man who wasn¡¯t much older than Ardan himself. He was painfully thin and pale, and was constantly adjusting his glasses, which had clearly been repaired more than once, as he squinted at the papers.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see... Ard Egobar... Evergale School in the Foothills Province... Never heard of that city before.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a village,¡± Ardi clarified, placing the envelope from the atrium on the desk. ¡°It¡¯s not far from the Alca-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t care, to be honest,¡± the man cut him off, his tone tired but devoid of malice. ¡°Instead of starting enrollment in the morning, they decided to do it all in the evening... like we¡¯re supposed to be made of iron... Now, let¡¯s see... Your grade average, and...¡±


    Mumbling incoherently, the mage clacked away at the typewriter keys. They made a funny sound. Click-clack. Click-clack. Like tiny, iron ants scurrying over dry, rotten wood.


    Ardan had seen these machines before, but in Evergale, they were prohibitively expensive, with only a few available in the entire village: one at the school, one at the city office, and, if he recalled correctly, one had been sent by Delpas to the sheriff the previous year.


    ¡°You have an expanded weapons license?¡± The man suddenly asked, sounding genuinely surprised. So much so that his eyebrows shot up above his glasses, in fact.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ardi replied with a shrug. It was in the envelope the Cloak had given him at the Anorsky estate.


    For the first time in several minutes, the green-cloaked mage lifted his gaze from the documents and regarded Ardan with mild curiosity. Ardi, in turn, noticed the ink stains on the mage¡¯s cuffs ¡ª faded but undefeated ¡ª and the small badge shaped like scales pinned to his breast pocket.


    Ardi recalled from Mart¡¯s stories that each faculty at the Grand University had its own emblem. These scales, as it turned out, represented the Faculty of Magical Jurisprudence.


    ¡°A village, you say?¡± The man murmured, returning to the papers, though this time, he did so without the muttering, and the process seemed to drag on.


    For a while, Ardi tried to hold back his natural curiosity, but in the end, he couldn¡¯t resist asking:


    ¡°Is there something wrong with it?¡±


    ¡°With the license?¡± The mage looked up for a moment. ¡°It¡¯s perfectly fine. It was issued at the start of the New Month, and is valid for the calendar year. All the seals are in place. The stamps are authentic. It¡¯s definitely not a forgery.¡±


    He delivered these words in a tone that made it sound like he was reciting it all from a manual. Ardan noted that he hadn¡¯t met the Cloaks until well after the New Year and the first month of the calendar. Certainly not by the fourth day of it.


    In other words, the license had been issued six months before their encounter...


    ¡°But the fact that someone of mixed heritage possesses it,¡± the mage continued, ¡°raises quite a few questions, even for me. And you, Mr. Egobar, are neither from the military aristocracy, who receive these licenses for life by birthright, nor from the Military Faculty. Speaking of faculties...¡±


    The mage opened a drawer and retrieved one of the boxes inside it. After a brief search, he pulled out a badge engraved with an empty circle. This was the emblem of the General Studies Faculty, which was often abbreviated to just the General Faculty, or sometimes called the General Knowledge Faculty (Mart had not been sure why that was, but he¡¯d guessed that it was just one of those quirks of language that developed spontaneously).


    How ironic this emblem was... Skusty would¡¯ve appreciated that.


    ¡°David!¡± The jurist called out, catching the attention of one of the runners dashing between the desks, cabinets, and air mail tubes.


    A plump young man with rosy cheeks and a sword emblem pinned to his woolen jacket quickly appeared at their side, standing at attention.


    ¡°David, please run to the storeroom and fetch the regalia for... let¡¯s see...¡± The jurist scanned the license, his eyebrows lifting again. ¡°A Seven-point Star... and a red cloak.¡±


    David blinked, his eyes wide in shock. And when he saw the badge lying in front of Ardi, he began glancing between him and the mage, clearly confused.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that!¡± The mage snapped, waving his hands. ¡°I didn¡¯t make a mistake.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°His Star has seven rays and he¡¯s a two-meter-tall half-breed with an expanded weapons license. And he belongs to the General Faculty.¡±


    ¡°Bazhen, are you sure you didn¡¯t overdo it last night at the-¡±


    ¡°Shush!¡± Bazhen hissed, nervously glancing around. ¡°Just do as you¡¯re told. Get the cloak and-¡±


    ¡°What size?¡±


    ¡°Do you need me to lend you my glasses?¡± Bazhen scowled. ¡°Get the biggest one you can find. It¡¯ll still be too small... And the regalia. Hurry up, or my shift-¡±


    ¡°Our shift,¡± David grumbled, ¡°will last until morning, if you¡¯ve forgotten.¡±


    David gave Ardi another strange look before spinning on his heel and heading out of the secretariat.


    ¡°Are-¡±


    ¡°Military students, like everyone else, get assigned various duties as punishment for infractions,¡± Bazhen explained, answering Ardi¡¯s unspoken question. ¡°First and second-years like David usually help out in the secretariat or at the information desk in the atrium.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± Ardi nodded, though if he were being honest, he didn¡¯t quite understand.


    What infractions? What were ¡°duties?¡± And most importantly, what had everyone found so surprising about his humble self?


    ¡°You¡¯re quite the anomaly, Mr. Egobar,¡± Bazhen mused, pulling out another document ¡ª this one related to the license attached to Ardi¡¯s staff.


    From his reading in the Anorsky library, Ardi had learned that magical staves, being a type of weapon, were produced only by enterprises or craftsmen with special state-issued permits.


    All others were considered illegal contraband and subject to destruction. Naturally, every staff came with documentation detailing its components, the presence of any pre-carved seals, and other information.


    ¡°Wait a minute,¡± Ardi said suddenly. ¡°So, without the expanded license...¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re new in the city, aren¡¯t you?¡± Bazhen replied, his sharp eyes glinting. ¡°Haven¡¯t you noticed that mages in the city carry their staves in sheaths?¡±


    Ardi, who¡¯d only ventured into Metropolis¡¯ streets sporadically over the past few weeks, and always under less-than-ideal circumstances, hadn¡¯t paid much attention to the pedestrians.


    But now that he was thinking about it, he did recall that, both during the car ride and while waiting in line at the Grand, most staves he¡¯d seen had been tucked away in simple cloth sheaths tied at the top with drawstrings.


    Apparently, this was done to hide their carved seals. This wouldn¡¯t do much good if the mage knew the seals by heart, but the law was the law.


    So, the Second Chancery had pre-approved his ability to carry his staff without a sheath, not to mention other weapons.


    But... why?


    It felt strange. Not just strange ¡ª too strange.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Bazhen waved off his papers and resumed typing. ¡°The fines have all been paid... Yes... The fine for losing your regalia has, but the license, which shouldn¡¯t be issued if the mage has had such violations in the past year... Oh, look at that... The license was issued six months before the loss of regalia... How convenient... Let me just...¡±


    Bazhen grabbed the accursed official document once more, but this time, he also held up his own simple, thin metallic staff ¡ª one of the dozens Ardan had seen today.


    A moment passed, then another, and soon, a complex seal was glowing beneath the mage¡¯s palm, emitting a faint, greenish light. He tapped the floor with his staff, and from the seal, a long, spectral dog¡¯s nose poked out. The ghostly, green silhouette of a hound sniffed at the license before vanishing.


    ¡°Not a whiff of forgery, pardon the pun,¡± Bazhen chuckled. ¡°Mr. Egobar, you must lead quite an interesting life.¡±


    Ardan, meanwhile, was pondering the might of the Second Chancery, about which the most frightening legends and rumors often circulated. And he thought about how Bazhen, despite his two and three-pointed stars, had managed to figure out that something was off about his documents within minutes.


    ¡°Stop squirming, Mr. Egobar,¡± the mage grimaced. ¡°Or I¡¯ll start believing in narmaak.¡±


    ¡°Narmaak?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s from the kingdom of Kargaam,¡± Bazhen replied, his fingers resuming their dance across the typewriter keys. ¡°They believe that everything you do in life comes back to you ¡ª either as good fortune or bad.¡±


    ¡°Interesting...¡±


    ¡°Not the word I¡¯d use... What¡¯s even more interesting is that students of the History Faculty are usually in charge of processing enrollment documents.¡± Bazhen gestured toward his neighbor, who wore an emblem shaped like a book and quill. ¡°We jurists get sent here, like the military students, only after committing infractions.¡±


    ¡°Rowdy parties?¡±


    Bazhen pulled a face, looking as if he¡¯d bitten into a sour lemon.


    ¡°Very...¡± He muttered quietly, with obvious regret. ¡°You know, Mr. Egobar, if I cared even a little about what, why, or how, I wouldn¡¯t rest until you explained to me why I¡¯m seeing the documents before me. But... I don¡¯t care. I absolutely do not care.¡±


    And yet it seemed like Bazhen was trying to convince not Ardan, but himself.


    Bazhen pulled the document from the typewriter, snapped the carriage, and arranged several stacks of papers in front of him. Ardi quickly deduced that they were organized by subject matter.


    The jurist then retrieved a board with several stamps from a drawer, and, at a frenetic pace, sometimes blowing on the ink, began stamping the papers.


    When all the documents were finally stamped, he took a few from the pile and handed them to Ardan.


    ¡°This is the confirmation of your official enrollment into the first semester... damn it... first year of the General Studies Faculty,¡± Bazhen corrected himself, clearly not in top form. ¡°This paper is your agreement that your stipend will be deposited into the bank account listed in-¡±


    ¡°What if I don¡¯t agree to that?¡± Ardan interrupted.


    ¡°Save your questions for later,¡± Bazhen pleaded, clearly weary. ¡°Now, as I was saying¡­ stipend to the bank. The essential textbooks required for your courses will be issued by the library, which you should be able to visit today, since the poor souls there will be working all night... This is your permit for accommodations at the dormitory, room number two in the men¡¯s building, sublevel one. And... Mr. Egobar, you look like you¡¯re about to explode.¡±


    ¡°Why sublevel one? Where¡¯s the library? And what-¡±


    Bazhen scowled, his patience fraying as he shot Ardan a rather displeased look.


    ¡°Do I look like an information desk?¡± He grumbled. ¡°I¡¯ve got the whole night ahead of me in this hellish outpost... But let¡¯s make a deal. You answer one of my questions, I¡¯ll answer one of yours.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± Ardan agreed, seeing no other option.


    A spark of amusement flashed in Bazhen¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Where did you get that license?¡±


    ¡°The Second Chancery issued it to me,¡± Ardan replied truthfully.


    Bazhen¡¯s scowl deepened. Of course, all weapon-related licenses were issued by the Second Chancery. Technically, Ardan hadn¡¯t lied, but his answer had been so straightforward that it left nothing for Bazhen to pick apart.


    It wasn¡¯t that Ardan wanted to deceive him. It was just that some habits, especially those instilled in him during his childhood by the spirit of a squirrel and a wolf, were hard to break. He couldn¡¯t even count the number of times he, Skusty, and Atta¡¯nha had played their games of wits, trying to outsmart each other in deals with imaginary Fae or spirits.


    ¡°You got me, Mr. Egobar,¡± Bazhen sighed, shrugging in defeat. ¡°Your dormitory is on sublevel one because... well, that¡¯s how things turned out. They used to segregate the Firstborn and half-bloods, but there was a reform a while back. I¡¯m personally more inclined to believe it¡¯s due to plumbing. It¡¯s easier to provide showers for two buildings rather than three. So, they relocated the Firstborn, making them mingle with the rest, and their old building was turned into greenhouses for the Alchemy Faculty.¡±


    Ardan nodded. Bazhen seemed poised to ask something else, but at that moment, a breathless, red-faced David returned.


    He placed a small, brown paper package tied with white strings on the table, along with a crimson cloak that clearly needed both washing and a few repairs.


    ¡°If you want, you can buy another cloak in town later,¡± Bazhen suggested. ¡°But, if you do, don¡¯t forget to file the appropriate paperwork with the secretariat and send a copy of your license to the Office of Mage Affairs.¡±


    Ardan closed his eyes, took a slow breath, and started mentally reciting his favorite challenging math problems. As always, they calmed him down.


    Sometimes he wasn¡¯t sure which he disliked more ¡ª adventures or bureaucracy.


    Inside the package were two stiff plates, to which the stars would be attached. At the moment, the stars were disconnected. If Ardan was understanding things correctly, the plates needed to be sewn onto the cloak, and the stars fastened on top.


    Ardi took the stars in his hands and... felt nothing. As a child, he¡¯d dreamed about these regalia countless times, imagining the day he would finally wear them. But now, at the moment when his childhood dream had come true, all he felt was a desire to go to sleep as soon as possible.


    ¡°Now then,¡± Bazhen cleared his throat. ¡°Also-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have an analyzer,¡± Ardan suddenly remembered.


    ¡°I was just about to get to that,¡± Bazhen sighed heavily. ¡°The thing about the analyzer, Mr. Egobar, is that it¡¯s not that simple. According to your documents, you¡¯ve already paid the fine for losing the one issued to you in school, and you¡¯ve paid for a replacement... Fascinating, isn¡¯t it? How did you manage to lose both your regalia and your analyzer within a month, yet keep all your meticulously-preserved certificates and licenses? I suppose you were storing them in separate satchels, huh? And-¡±


    ¡°Bazhen,¡± David interjected with a desperate plea. ¡°Please... Remember what happened last time you tried to dig into someone¡¯s documents? I believe it involved the papers of the illegitimate daughter of the Great Pri-¡±


    ¡°David!¡± Bazhen nearly shouted, then coughed and loosened his tie. ¡°But you¡¯re right... So, Mr. Egobar, your paperwork is impeccable! I must say, it¡¯s quite impressive how you¡¯ve prepared every certificate, document, license, and letter for every possible inquiry. You must¡¯ve spent the better part of a year preparing for this trip, gathering all the-¡±


    ¡°Bazhen,¡± David repeated, but this time, his voice was not just pleading ¡ª it carried a note of despair.


    The student jurist cleared his throat again and rubbed his temples.


    ¡°Analyzers for Star Mages are crafted individually,¡± Bazhen explained. ¡°Yours will be ready within ten weeks. You can either pick it up at the dean¡¯s office, or we can send it to you by post. But, from experience, I would recommend picking it up in person.¡±


    At that moment, David was called away to another desk. Bazhen finished the paperwork, while Ardi... Well, Ardi couldn¡¯t resist. He reached out and flipped over the ledger in which Bazhen was recording the students he had processed.


    The numbers listed were ¡°6,¡± ¡°9,¡± ¡°14,¡± ¡°22,¡± and ¡°28.¡±


    There was no twenty-seventh...


    Ardan glanced at the mage¡¯s nose, avoiding eye contact. It didn¡¯t seem wise to meet the gaze of someone who worked for...


    ¡°Smart move... But a coward would¡¯ve kept his hands to himself,¡± Bazhen muttered with a smirk, his face suddenly much more relaxed.


    Ardan sighed, shook his head, and returned the ledger. The Second Chancery would obviously have people stationed in the sacred halls of Star Magic. After all, students from all over the country, and even abroad, came here. The brightest, the most privileged, the most powerful young minds on the planet¡­ It was foolish to think that they wouldn¡¯t keep a close watch over such a place. As foolish as thinking that they wouldn¡¯t keep an eye on him.


    And those few months he¡¯d spent with Yonatan and the others, followed by those encounters with new Cloaks, had been enough to make Ardan realize that Bazhen wasn¡¯t the only one planted by the Second Chancery at the university.


    ¡°Here are your papers,¡± Bazhen said, his tone neutral and businesslike as he handed the documents back to Ardan. ¡°These are your passes to the library and dormitory, as well as your schedule for the semester. As for your stipend inquiry ¡ª you can file a request to receive it in cash, but it won¡¯t take effect until the next semester. So, who knows ¡ª maybe you¡¯ll just end up wasting ink and paper.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardan said sincerely. He had no reason to harbor ill will toward Bazhen.


    Only... Only their little game of ¡°question-for-question¡± had felt a bit silly. And what had been the point of it? Bazhen had clearly known everything already...


    ¡°Off you go, Mr. Egobar,¡± the jurist yawned, his earlier energy fading. Or perhaps he wasn¡¯t a student at all...


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardan nodded, collected the envelope and the two passes, and, after stowing the cloak in his satchel and the bundle of stars in his pocket, made his way to the exit.


    Just before reaching the door, he paused and glanced back at Bazhen. The young man, with an air of quiet melancholy, was lazily handling the documents of the next first year. And, come to think of it, if Bazhen hadn¡¯t put on that little show of praising Ardan¡¯s paperwork, he would never have thought to flip over the ledger. It simply wouldn¡¯t have crossed his mind that anything was amiss.


    So... why?


    But maybe it was time to stop asking ¡°why,¡± the same way he had recently stopped using the word ¡°enormous.¡±


    Pondering all of this, Ardi stepped out of the secretariat and into the corridor, letting a group of hurrying gentlemen pass by before heading toward the lifts.


    The man in the yellow uniform raised an eyebrow at him.


    ¡°Decided to try it again?¡± He asked, surprised.


    Ardan looked past him at the lift and shuddered. No, without a dire need for it, he had no intention of willingly entering that infernal contraption again.


    ¡°Could you tell me how to get to the library?¡± Ardan asked, holding out his pass.


    ¡°The library occupies the entire eastern wing of the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth floors,¡± the lift attendant rumbled.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardi said, and, turning away from the lift, headed for the stairs.


    For some reason, this day just didn¡¯t seem to want to end.

 Chapter 38 - End of the long day

    Still carrying his knapsack that lightly tapped against his back as he walked and the satchel that would awkwardly get caught on his staff, Ardan opened the door leading to the stairs and¡­ Well, there was nothing particularly remarkable there. Just ordinary steps that alternated with wide landings and iron railings meant to protect those climbing from a sudden fall.


    Ardi leaned over the railing and took in the scale. The stairs descended only twelve landings, and the floor of the first level could be seen without difficulty. But looking up¡­ was different. The staircases wound and twisted, disappearing somewhere above, shrouded in the steady glow of Ley-lamps.


    This staircase, unlike the one at the Anorsky mansion where his feet had walked across marble and polished wood, was made of cold, gray concrete.


    Ardi, counting the floors as he went, quickly climbed to his destination. The door at the top of the landing was nothing special, just a wooden panel with a few metal brackets and a simple handle. Ardan pulled it open and, for a moment, felt like he had stepped into another world.


    Even compared to the impressive library at the Anorsky estate, the one belonging to the Grand seemed utterly unbelievable. He wasn¡¯t standing among mere shelves and bookcases ¡ª it was an entire city. A narrow street beckoned him, wedged between two sections pressed tightly together, with delicate book spines lining them. It seemed to almost be drowning in the hushed whispers of the printed pages. Then, the path split at an intersection, expanding into a wide boulevard where heavy tomes gazed ponderously at passersby, surely containing equally weighty thoughts. Farther on, it vanished into a dark alley where curious eyes might discover sly, slightly mischievous newspaper clippings, monographs, and even a few dusty manuscripts.


    Above, if one tilted their head (and carefully held onto their hat), rose the levels of the city. They were connected by broad bridges, arching not over streets and avenues, but over flowing canals and rivers. Signs along the way thoughtfully guided travelers in their search for knowledge, sometimes pointing out resting spots with a small table or a comfortable bench.


    The city of books soared higher and higher until it disappeared into a ceiling shrouded either by mist or by the veil of its local ruler ¡ª book dust.


    Behind him, the door closed with a long, drawn-out creak.


    The sound, far from polite, shattered the illusion, and Ardan found himself standing in a vast library where countless sections rose several stories high, forming tiers connected by walkways.


    From where he stood, it was hard to gauge how deep the rows of shelves extended, but judging by the echo that wandered through the space, it was far enough to get lost in.


    His first instinct was to look at the sign beside the door. It had been printed on white paper, and was behind a glass pane set into an iron frame:


    ¡°Fire Exit. Left ¡ª Information Desk, Right ¡ª Sections 38-43, Directly ahead ¡ª Section 37, even-numbered divisions.¡±


    Ardan hurried in the indicated direction. As he crossed aisle after aisle, passing intersections, he occasionally glanced at the spines of books and hefty tomes. However, their titles either proved too complicated for him to grasp, like, for example, ¡°Principles of Ley Energy Concentration in the Morcain Node and the Resulting Seal Effect of Two Red Rays and One Green Ray¡± or were related to something highly specific, like, ¡°Organization of Steel Production in a Region with a Literacy Rate Below One Tenth.¡±


    At some point, Ardi managed to stop himself from gawking at the shelves and focused on finding the information desk.


    ¡°Watch out!¡±


    Ardan skidded to a halt, nearly crashing into the person in front of him. Somehow, he managed to stay on his feet and avoid falling to the ground. Looking around, he saw no one, but recalling his encounter with Poplar, he glanced down.


    On the floor, amid a scattered pile of books, sat a woman. Her skirt flared out around her and her knitted sweater ¡ª a soft, dusty pink with a pattern of wildflowers ¡ª looked slightly worn. She appeared to be about forty, maybe a little older.


    Her hair, chestnut and voluminous, sat atop her head like an inverted strawberry. She was hurriedly gathering the fallen books, awkwardly tugging at a black cloak that hampered her movements.


    Ardan¡¯s breath caught. Black was the color of the Sixth Star, indicating nearly the highest echelon of magical science among humans. And on her shoulders, there were indeed quite a few impressive stars with an amazing number of rays: six, eight, another eight... An eight again, a five, and finally, one with two points.


    But no staff was visible. Only books. Countless books.


    ¡°M-my apologies,¡± Ardi stammered, bending down to help her gather the manuscripts.


    Together, they made quick work of the task. In just a few moments, Ardan found himself holding a stack of ten hefty tomes, while his satchel had somehow ended up in the plump hands of the female mage. He wasn¡¯t sure how that had happened.


    The woman, it turned out, was quite short ¡ª she wasn¡¯t even a full one meter and sixty centimeters. And yet her cheeks, despite her age, shone with a youthful flush. Although, that perhaps had more to do with her plump figure. No, she wasn¡¯t fat or stout, more¡­ solid. Or possibly soft. Cozy, even. Or maybe it was just the sweater?


    It was simple, but clearly made with care, despite a few imperfections. She had likely knitted it herself. As Ardi studied her, she seemed to be studying him in return.


    After a few moments, she lifted her upper lip slightly, as if preparing to growl, and said in broken beast speech:


    ¡°You. Me. Hunter. We path. No prey here.¡±


    Ardan nearly dropped the books again out of surprise. This language¡­ He¡¯d only ever heard it a few times from his grandfather, and occasionally from his father, in fragments. And from his forest friends of course, including Atta¡¯nha.


    The language of the Matabar.


    The woman, seeing Ardi¡¯s reaction, lowered her lip and furrowed her brow slightly.


    ¡°Did that sound off?¡± She asked in Galessian.


    Ardan pondered for a moment.


    ¡°A little rough,¡± he admitted after a few seconds. ¡°But overall, the meaning was clear. However, you probably shouldn¡¯t have called yourself a hunter unless you¡¯ve undergone the rite, and-¡±


    ¡°Oh, right!¡± The woman cut him off and began muttering indistinctly. ¡°O¡¯Shelly¡¯s ¡®Notes on Naturalism.¡¯ Written in the year 247 after the fall of Ectassus, printed in 473. Published by the Imperial Scientific Society. Chapter Four, ¡®The People of the Alcade: Culture and Customs¡­¡¯¡± After this, she briefly closed her eyes before turning back to Ardi, who was now unsure of whether he should stay or flee. ¡°So, how should that phrase sound when spoken correctly?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t that Ardan was eager to play the role of a guinea pig, but her black cloak and the impressive stars on her shoulders suggested that it might be wise to spare a few minutes of his time.


    ¡°You and I,¡± Ardi began, struggling to recall the language he rarely spoke these days. ¡°We walk the hunter¡¯s path. I am the hunter. You are the guest. There are no prey among us.¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± The woman beamed, her smile as warm and bright as spring sunlight. ¡°Guest! I completely forgot that word. Not surprising, though. The Matabar language has no written form, and the recordings we have aren¡¯t proper translations. By the way, Ard, you could write a brief guide on your language. It would have no practical application, but it would enrich the library¡¯s knowledge-¡±


    ¡°How do you know who I am?¡± Ardan couldn¡¯t hold back and interrupted the woman.


    She paused mid-sentence, then grinned again, her warm, radiant smile returning.


    ¡°A two-meter-tall young man with a staff made of thousand-year-old oak, an upper lip that hides fangs, bright amber eyes, and¡­¡± She reached out and patted him on the forearm, ¡°I saw your picture in the newspaper, young man. I¡¯m not sure what gave it away ¡ª likely the oaken staff. After all, there aren¡¯t many of those who witnessed the Old World left in the Empire.¡±


    Ardan could only blink in confusion. The woman not only looked peculiar, but she also spoke in the most bewildering manner.


    A thousand-year-old oak? Sure, the old tree beneath which his grandfather¡­ No, his great-grandfather had used to tell him stories certainly had the scent of ages about it, but surely not to that extent... Right?


    ¡°Come along, young man,¡± the woman said as she turned toward one of the gaps between the sections. ¡°These little ones need to be returned home.¡±


    What she meant by ¡°little ones¡± wasn¡¯t hard to guess, though none of the books in Ardan¡¯s hands could boast a waist thinner than four hundred pages.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Ardan called after the woman. ¡°But I need to find the information desk¡­¡±


    She didn¡¯t slow down at all, continuing to move deeper into the library in her stately manner, all the while dragging Ardan¡¯s satchel with her.


    With no other option, Ardan sighed in frustration and followed after her.


    For the next half hour, they wandered through the sections and bookshelves, climbing ladders and spiraling staircases, reaching new tiers, and weaving through walkways and intricate branches of corridors. Occasionally, they paused on benches, sitting quietly, and doing their best to avoid disturbing the silence that enveloped the place.


    Since Ardan had found himself here anyway, he began to eagerly devour the wealth of knowledge around him. It seemed like there were so many books, tomes, newspapers, plaques, strange knotted ropes, mysterious statuettes, and even paintings that one lifetime wouldn¡¯t be enough to read through them all.


    Perhaps this is what paradise looks like, Ardan thought, remembering the stories his mother had told him about the afterlife while reading excerpts from the sacred texts of the Face of Light.


    But all things must come to an end, and soon enough, when they descended back to what could be considered the ¡°first¡± floor of the library, Ardan found that he was no longer holding even a single book, and the strange sorceress handed him back his satchel.


    ¡°Thank you for keeping me company, Mr. Egobar,¡± she said.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Ardan replied, taking his belongings back.


    He glanced around, but there were no signs or directions to be found. They stood in the middle of towering shelves that stretched toward a ceiling lost in the misty haze, and Ardan had no idea how to get out of there.


    ¡°Could you point me toward the information desk?¡± He asked politely.


    The odd mage, whose name Ardan still didn¡¯t know, raised her eyebrows slightly.


    ¡°It¡¯s right across from the elevators. You couldn¡¯t have missed it, unless¡­¡± She looked at him again, smiling just a little, and reminding him, for some reason, of Atta¡¯nha. ¡°You took the stairs, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°The elevators made you uncomfortable, didn¡¯t they?¡± She asked with a note of certainty in her voice.


    ¡°How did you¡­?¡±


    ¡°Sometime in your life, probably as a child, you were trapped in a small, enclosed space,¡± she muttered to herself, her thoughts wandering. ¡°And that experience involved pain, fear, and something quite unusual that left its mark on you. At least, that¡¯s what Dr. Anka Dorov¡¯s monograph on claustrophobia suggests.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m not afraid of confined spaces,¡± Ardan protested.


    ¡°You¡¯re not afraid of all confined spaces...¡± She emphasized, her tone light but pointed. ¡°I¡¯ve long requested they lock that door. It¡¯s hardly proper that students can sneak into the library without registering. But those bureaucrats are always full of excuses¡­ Fire safety, public regulations, and a dozen more reasons to avoid doing anything.¡±


    Despite her odd behavior, Ardan found himself somewhat charmed by the woman. Yes, she was strange and wore a cloak that testified to her immense magical power, but she also exuded something simple and warm. Being near her felt comforting, like sitting in Tenebry¡¯s classroom with a difficult puzzle in front of him.


    ¡°Oh, I forgot to introduce myself,¡± she suddenly realized, smoothing her sweater down and extending a hand. ¡°Velena Emergold, Chief Librarian of the university and, incidentally, the holder of several academic degrees, though we needn¡¯t delve into details.¡±


    Ardan carefully shook her hand, startled for a moment.


    ¡°Emergold¡­ As in¡­¡±


    ¡°Thea Emergold is my grandniece,¡± Velena confirmed his guess with a slight smile. ¡°It¡¯s a pity her research on Ley Lines is overshadowed by that little scandal of hers, which was driven by a fit of jealousy.¡±


    Ardan barely restrained himself from asking about the nature of the scandal that had led to a mage strike in the capital.


    ¡°You seem a bit surprised,¡± Velena noted, narrowing her eyes slightly. ¡°But not by the fact that I¡¯m related to Thea. What¡¯s on your mind, Ard?¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t hide his thoughts and silently pointed to her cloak.


    ¡°Ah, that,¡± Velena sighed, awkwardly hiding the cloak behind her back. ¡°When I was younger, Ard, I thought that in order to study magic, one needed to be able to wield it in every form, which led to¡­ well,¡± she gestured to the stars on her shoulders, ¡°but as we grow older¡­¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re not even fifty yet!¡± Ardan blurted out without thinking.


    Velena laughed in response.


    ¡°I never expected to hear that from you,¡± she said with playful exaggeration. ¡°After all, wasn¡¯t it your great-grandfather who, together with a very talented wizard, wrote an entire treatise on the Seal of Long Years? Surely he must have told you about it?¡±


    Ardan felt a wave of dizziness. The air in the library seemed to thin, making it harder to breathe.


    His great-grandfather had known Star Magic? But why¡­ Why had he never mentioned it? Ardan had already come to terms with the fact that his great-grandfather hadn¡¯t talked to him about the art of the Aean¡¯Hane, but Star Magic?


    Velena gently squeezed his forearm, her voice soft.


    ¡°If Aror Egobar chose not to share something with you, Ard, there must have been serious reasons for it.¡±


    A new thought caused Ardan to regain his composure.


    ¡°You¡­ you knew him.¡±


    ¡°Several unfortunate mages, some nearing two centuries of age, knew your great-grandfather,¡± Velena nodded, and in her brown eyes, a flicker of sorrow appeared. ¡°When I was very young, he was finishing his last years of service in the Second Chancery.¡±


    Ardan choked on the air itself in shock.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Velena sighed and gestured toward a nearby bench.


    ¡°Shall we sit?¡± She offered.


    After a moment of hesitation, Ardan sat down beside her, still holding his staff and satchel.


    ¡°Back then, two hundred years ago, after the Dark Lord¡¯s army was defeated,¡± Velena spoke softly, twirling a loose thread from her sweater between her fingers, which made her look even younger, ¡°your great-grandfather struck a deal with the crown. For fifteen years, he served the Second Chancery, teaching those the crown appointed about Star Magic. They were most likely hoping to extract information about the Aean¡¯Hane from him, but they never succeeded.¡±


    ¡°But why would he¡­?¡±


    ¡°No one knows,¡± Velena shrugged. ¡°Or rather, no one in the small group of people aware of Aror¡¯s captivity in the Second Chancery knows why the right hand of the Dark Lord was offered such a deal or what price was paid for it. Everyone assumed Aror would eventually be executed. Some believe he simply wanted to delay his end, but¡­ Your great-grandfather wasn¡¯t just a powerful Aean¡¯Hane, Ard. Though he possessed only three Stars, they were complete Stars.¡±


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Complete Star¡­ That term referred to Star that had all nine rays.


    ¡°And after all those years, he could have easily found a way to escape, even from the dungeons of the Second Chancery,¡± Velena continued. ¡°Yes, Ard. We, the children chosen by the crown at the age of thirteen, spent entire days and nights by the closed door of his cell. We never saw your great-grandfather, only heard him. For fifteen long years, we studied under him, until, at last, Aror did find a way to escape. How or where, no one knows. He vanished as if he¡¯d been swallowed by the earth. They searched for him throughout the Empire, then across the continent, and expeditions were even sent to the east and the far north. But he was never found. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air¡­ And then, over a hundred years later, the tragedy of the Alcade happened¡­¡±


    Ardan closed his eyes. Involuntarily, he recalled the ¡°writings¡± left on the Mountain of Memory. Yes, Velena had been right. The Matabar had no written form of language. Their ¡°writings¡± were songs and paintings. Sometimes terrifying ones.


    ¡°That was one of the many bloody events in the Empire¡¯s history, young man,¡± Velena sighed heavily, and in that moment, Ardan felt the weight of all those years on her small shoulders.


    And then he noticed her shoes. The laces were tied only on her right one¡­


    ¡°The documents at the information desk in the atrium were sent by air mail,¡± Ardan said, turning away. ¡°But I delivered the envelope to the secretariat, which means the air mail was sent somewhere higher up¡­ Maybe you recognized me because of my oak staff, but you were waiting for me here.¡±


    Velena smiled, but this time, it wasn¡¯t warm or soft. It was more like the smile of a cat who had finally caught the mouse.


    ¡°I spent several hours by the elevators,¡± she admitted, not denying the obvious. ¡°My feet even got sore, and I had to take off my shoes. You probably noticed that I didn¡¯t have time to tie both laces? Then I realized you might have used the stairs. I wanted to head for the fire exit, but just at that moment, the delivery of new editions, which had been delayed by road closures, arrived. It was a string of random events leading to our awkward encounter. Though a priest would call it fate, and you might call it¡­¡±


    ¡°A dream of the Sleeping Spirits,¡± Ardan whispered.


    ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to study the genesis of that belief,¡± Velena mused, tying the thread from her sweater into a knot and smoothing it down with her hand. ¡°That claim that we are merely the dreams of spirits who see the world as they dream it up. But alas, I¡¯ve never had the time to delve into that.¡±


    Ardan shrugged.


    He was far more interested in something else.


    ¡°Why did you want to meet me?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Would you believe me if I said it was out of curiosity?¡±


    Ardan gave her a faint smile.


    ¡°This has been a very strange day, madam Emergold,¡± Ardan said with a touch of exhaustion in his voice. ¡°This morning, I met a palace servant who turned out to be an operative of the Second Chancery, then a guard who turned out to be a follower of the Tavsers. After that, a random noble acquaintance revealed himself to be from the military aristocracy. I thought the day had exhausted its surprises, but then even a simple, albeit meticulous, student turned out to have connections to the Second Chancery, and now, here I am, meeting you¡­ So, I¡¯m willing to believe anything at this point. Even if you told me the bench we¡¯re sitting on is a cursed ancient beast that¡¯s about to bite off my-¡±


    Ardan trailed off, his manners preventing him from finishing that sentence.


    ¡°Such is the Metropolis,¡± Velena spread her arms out with a slight grin. ¡°Here, young man, nothing is quite what it seems to be. But rest assured about the bench, at least. It¡¯s, if I¡¯m not mistaken, made of morta pine.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s reassuring,¡± Ardi sighed.


    They sat in silence for a moment.


    ¡°You know, Mr. Egobar,¡± Velena suddenly said, ¡°I once hated Aror. For being the Dark Lord¡¯s accomplice. For the crimes he committed. For the pain, fear, and death he brought upon people. But, and perhaps this won¡¯t reflect well on me, I hated him even more for the devious assignments he gave us, for the lectures he deliberately made more difficult, for the way he cursed us when we failed, and for how much he didn¡¯t care about us, making no effort to hide it at all.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ardan agreed. ¡°That sounds like my¡­ great-grandfather.¡±


    ¡°And I wanted to meet you because, to be honest, I thought that by getting to interact with the person Aror didn¡¯t rob of a future, I could vent all that festering anger on you. That I could take it out on you¡­ for losing my childhood, for spending all my youth in laboratories, and ultimately, for never finding someone with whom I¡¯d want to start a family. And all of it simply because I fell under the spell of a thirst, Ard ¡ª a thirst without limits.¡±


    ¡°A thirst?¡±


    ¡°A thirst for knowledge,¡± Velena clarified. ¡°Aror infected us, his students, with that poison. And perhaps that was his twisted form of revenge. Some went mad from that thirst. Some lost their lives. The rest of us, like me, were condemned to a miserable existence. One without family or children. Without friends or loved ones. Always chasing a horizon¡­¡±


    Ardan turned to look at her and saw small, glistening threads of tears tracing down her cheeks.


    ¡°And even now, as I sit here with you, Ard, I am painfully curious as to how your Witch¡¯s Gaze can pierce through all of my defenses,¡± Velena continued. ¡°It¡¯s making me say things I never intended to say. I can feel it probing my mind, sinking into my soul¡­ and yet I don¡¯t feel the urge to resist. It¡¯s a monstrous power.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to-¡±


    ¡°I know you can¡¯t control it,¡± Velena gently wiped away a tear with her fingertip, gazing at it as though it were something rare and delicate. ¡°And I don¡¯t even know, Ard, if something like that can ever be controlled¡­ But what I do know is that I no longer have a reason to take my revenge on Aror through you.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    This time, her smile was sharp and predatory.


    ¡°Because what sense is there in taking revenge on someone who has fallen into the same trap we did so long ago?¡±


    Ardan opened his mouth, but Velena spoke first.


    ¡°I saw how you were looking at the books, Mr. Egobar. I saw the hunger in your eyes as you devoured everything around you,¡± she closed her eyes, as though recalling distant memories. ¡°He infected you, too¡­ And now, you are also bound, hand and foot.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense!¡± Ardan exclaimed, jumping to his feet, momentarily forgetting who he was talking to and where he was. ¡°My grandfather would never-¡±


    ¡°Your grandfather?¡± Velena scoffed bitterly. ¡°He didn¡¯t even tell you who he truly was, did he? Aror Egobar¡­ Sometimes I wonder, Ard, whether your great-grandfather or the Dark Lord caused more suffering. And whether the Dark Lord was merely Aror¡¯s puppet¡­ But it doesn¡¯t matter. If you don¡¯t believe me, then recall the moment you lit your Star. Remember what you felt at that moment.¡±


    ¡°I remember it all perfectly well, and-¡±


    ¡°Do you know what other mages feel?¡± Velena cut him off. ¡°They feel terror. A fear so intense it almost drives them mad. Think about it: you touch Ley energy directly when you light a Star. The force that runs through our entire world. It¡¯s like standing on a fragile thread stretched out over an abyss¡­ What did you feel, Mr. Egobar?¡±


    Ardan faltered and fell silent.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to answer,¡± Velena waved dismissively. ¡°I already know. At some point, you felt a thirst for power. For strength. For authority beyond anyone¡¯s control. And it was that which compelled you-¡±


    ¡°I resisted that feeling,¡± Ardan cut her off.


    Velena fell silent, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time.


    ¡°What?¡± She asked, almost incredulously.


    ¡°I resisted that feeling,¡± Ardan repeated. ¡°You¡¯re right, madam Emergold. After I lit the seventh ray of my Star, I did feel all of that. But I didn¡¯t give in.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you start lighting the Stars at all if not for¡­?¡±


    ¡°Curiosity,¡± Ardan sat back down beside her. ¡°And maybe because I thought, somehow, that it would help me regain something I lost as a child. Something that smelled like snow¡­¡±


    ¡°Snow doesn¡¯t smell,¡± Velena corrected him softly, but Ardi only smiled in response.


    Snow did smell¡­ At least it did to him¡­


    They sat there quietly once more. This time, the silence stretched for a longer period. Around them, the bookshelves stood tall, containing the thoughts of the past, immovable imprints of time itself. And, for a brief moment, Velena seemed as though she, too, belonged to that time.


    ¡°You came here for your textbooks, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my course-¡±


    She didn¡¯t wait for him to finish. She clapped her hands together, and her arms spread out wide. For a brief moment, a blurry, black seal flared before her. Then Ardan thought he heard the faint flapping of wings. Shadows swirled around the floor, and the silence of the library shattered as a strange, almost unnatural cawing filled the air.


    High above, near the ceiling, a flock of birds suddenly blocked out the misty sky. They spiraled in a wild dance, and then individual ¡°fliers¡± began breaking away.


    Only as they descended to the lower tiers did Ardan realize that they weren¡¯t birds at all, but books. Their spines flapped, their pages rustled, and just before reaching the floor, they folded their ¡°wings¡± and neatly stacked themselves into a pile. A rather substantial and hefty pile, in fact.


    ¡°Here are all the materials listed for your course group,¡± Velena said in a slightly dry tone before the seals in her hands flared once more, and the flock of books flew back to their places on the shelves.


    ¡°You¡¯re casting spells without-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need a staff for such simple seals,¡± she responded coldly and distantly. ¡°Come with me, student Egobar. I¡¯ll escort you to the exit. In the future, note that visiting the library without proper direction is a serious violation of university rules. Directions can be obtained at the information desk right across from the elevators.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°And remember, not all of Aror¡¯s surviving students are as restrained as I am. For your own sake, try to never meet them. Now, please follow me to the exit. You¡¯ve received what you came for, and your time here is done.¡±


    She rose and walked ahead. Ardan hurried to follow her. The next quarter of an hour, as they wound through the shelves and sections, passed in complete silence. Velena Emergold did not speak another word.


    When they arrived at a small desk standing amidst cabinets that all had many drawers full of thick paper slips, Ardan turned around to¡­ Well, to be honest, he didn¡¯t know why he did so.


    But Velena was already gone. And for some reason, Ardi had the feeling that he would never see her again. Perhaps that was for the best.


    With that thought, he made his way to the exit. He passed the long line of students waiting for the library staff (a young man and woman in red cloaks standing behind the desk) to tend to their requests, and approached the elevators. Joining a group of mages, he stepped into the demonic contraption and, pressing his back against the cabin¡¯s rear wall, muttered with a stammer:


    ¡°F-First f-floor.¡±


    The elevator operator twisted the accursed lever, and the doors slid shut.


    ***


    Ardan stumbled out of the elevator and, gasping for air, leaned against the wall, finding solid and, most importantly, unmoving support there. Students passing by eyed him with a mix of curiosity and slight disdain, the way a teetotaler might look at a drunkard.


    The elevator operators, however, remained indifferent. They continued ushering people into the steel boxes, pressing buttons, opening and closing doors, twisting that infernal lever, and sending students on what might well be their last journey.


    Ardi shook his head to dispel these morbid thoughts and, straightening up, headed back toward the atrium.


    Crowds of first-year students in red cloaks were gradually filling nearly the entire space, from the entrance to the farthest benches and couches. Most of them clustered near the staff, buzzing like bees around the tubes of the air mail system. For every dozen green-cloaked mages (second-years), there seemed to be at least a hundred red-cloaked first-years, their cheeks flushed the same color as their cloaks, their necks sweaty, and their hands trembling as they clutched the documents they were frantically trying to make sense of.


    Ardi mentally thanked the Second Chancery for sparing him from the ordeal of standing in line with the main batch of first-years and instead allowing him to complete his enrollment right after the opening ceremony.


    It was a pity that he¡¯d missed the main event, including the rector¡¯s speech, but life rarely granted you everything.


    Speaking of¡­


    Scanning the crowd, Ardan spotted a small group of first-years. How did he know they were first-years? It wasn¡¯t always the case that red cloaks meant first-year students and green cloaks meant second-year students. The clue was in their conversation:


    ¡°My dad gave me ten exes for the month, and almost eight of those went to textbooks for the first year,¡± one of them sighed heavily. ¡°Last year, they were sixty kso cheaper, if I recall right.¡±


    ¡°And the dorms are one and a half ex a month now,¡± another chimed in.


    ¡°Too bad I wasn¡¯t smart enough to get a scholarship,¡± a third added. He was carrying a stack of hefty tomes, some of which Ardan recognized from his own required reading.


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± The first one added glumly. ¡°Or lucky enough to have your folks commit a massacre¡­¡±


    Ardan almost stumbled as he followed the group.


    Of course it would be common knowledge at the Grand that he was there by order of the crown. Everything paid for and provided in full, at that. It was only a matter of time before they realized Ardi hadn¡¯t even taken the entrance exams.


    And now that he thought about it, if he¡¯d been in the shoes of these young people, who had worked tirelessly for years to meet the minimum requirements for enrollment and then taken out bank loans, or had even signed binding contracts with guilds, the army, or noble families¡­ The circumstances of someone like him would surely have felt incredibly unfair.


    It was an ever-present reminder that some hadn¡¯t just ¡°gotten lucky,¡± but had been born into the ¡°right¡± family¡­ A family of war criminals, no less¡­


    Ardan shook his head.


    He¡¯d even been grateful to the Second Chancery just moments ago¡­ In reality, they had, in the most natural way possible, ensured that he¡¯d be a persona non grata. It fit with the words the Cloak had spoken to him during their meeting at the Anorsky estate: the descendant of Aror Egobar was better off staying away from the capital and avoiding unnecessary attention.


    And now that he was here, among the best and brightest of the Empire, they had made sure that no one would want to form any connections with an unwanted intruder in their midst.


    ¡°Marvelous¡­¡± Ardan muttered, adjusting his bag that kept threatening to slip off his shoulder.


    Following the group of first-years at a distance, he crossed the atrium, passed through one of the doors, and found himself in an arched corridor. On one side, high windows offered a view of Star Square, where townsfolk were slowly dispersing after the day¡¯s festivities. On the other side, a wide avenue stretched out, its rain-soaked street gleaming under the headlights of passing cars.


    More rain¡­


    Mart had warned him that the weather in the Metropolis was unique. It had five months of autumn, five months of winter, three weeks of spring, and five weeks of summer, which was essentially a mix of all the other seasons. And spotting the sun in the sky was considered a rare stroke of luck. There was even a local joke about it: ¡°The sun was out in Metropolis, but I was working that minute.¡±


    Back in the prairie, Ardan had naively thought that Mart had been exaggerating, trying to impress or even scare the cowboy who knew nothing of the outside world, but¡­


    Ardan raised his gaze toward the sky. Low and heavy, it looked like spilled oil that had been spread out thick and sticky over the land, then plowed and churned up by tractors. Dark and suffocating, it threatened to pull you in and smother you. And as if fighting against it, the city¡¯s lights burned brightly, striving to pierce through the oppressive gloom.


    What was it Mart had said?


    ¡°It is a city of contrasts. Contrasts in everything.¡±


    He hadn¡¯t been wrong¡­


    ¡°Well, well, well,¡± came a dry, crackling voice that sounded like moths gnawing through fabric. ¡°What do we have here? F-f-first-yearrrrs¡­¡±


    Ardan hadn¡¯t even noticed that he, along with the group of students he was following, had passed through several doors and reached the end of a peculiar tunnel.


    Together with the others, he stepped through a massive wooden door that had been secured from the inside with a bolt. Taking off his hat, Ardan looked around.


    He found himself standing near yet another desk. It was battered, its paint peeling in places, the lacquer on its legs stretched thin and sagging like worn-out stockings. Behind it was a recently-cleaned staircase leading up and down.


    Behind the desk, along with an open shelf lined with numbered compartments holding four keys each, stood an old man. He had an eyepatch over his right eye and his wrinkled face was covered in skin that looked like the dried peel of an overripe cherry. With a knobby finger, he was rudely picking at his long, hooked nose. His bald head was only partially covered by a few thin strands of greasy, gray hair that ran down his temples like dirty rivulets.


    He wore a stained yellow uniform, and a blue cap hung on a hook, bending under the weight of an army coat ¡ª it was likely as old as the man himself. On his chest hung a single medal, polished so brightly that it reflected the faces of the first-years crowding around the edge of the desk.


    ¡°Listen up, recruits!¡± The old man barked, then broke into a fit of wet, hacking coughs. After spitting into a bucket below, he continued. ¡°Lights out at twenty hundred hours sharp!¡±


    ¡°Twenty hundred hours?¡± One of the group whispered. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s military time,¡± another replied. ¡°That¡¯s how the army tells time.¡±


    ¡°Angels above¡­ I thought Vit was joking when he said that the new warden was a bit obsessed with military service¡­¡±


    ¡°Shh! What if he hears you!¡±


    But the warden hadn¡¯t heard him. The students were speaking so softly that if not for Ardi¡¯s keen Matabar hearing, he wouldn¡¯t have caught a word either.


    ¡°No chattering in the ranks!¡± The old man roared. ¡°After lights out, no one goes in or out! If you¡¯re late, you¡¯re sleeping outside. Got that?¡±


    The students mumbled something incoherent.


    ¡°Speak up!¡± He bellowed, then launched into another fit of coughing, spitting once more into the bucket, and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He slapped the desk with his palm¡­ or rather, his prosthetic hand. ¡°Anyone caught sneaking out the window for some filthy business can stay out! And no bringing skirts in here! If I see even a single skirt, you¡¯ll regret ever learning what to do with that thing between your legs! No magic in the barracks! If I see even one seal, you¡¯ll be out of here faster than a cork from a bottle of sparkling wine! Now, sign your names!¡±


    ¡°Where do we do that¡­?¡±


    ¡°On your tiny di-¡± The old man cut himself off, breaking into a coughing fit once again.


    Shuddering as he hacked up a lung, yellow saliva dribbling onto his already filthy uniform (the same kind worn by the elevator operators), he pushed the roster across the table. The columns were labeled: ¡°Surname and First Name,¡± ¡°Date,¡± and ¡°Signature of Compliance with Regulations.¡±


    ¡°Now, everyone hand in your orders for assignment.¡±


    ¡°Our what?¡±


    ¡°Your blasted permits!¡± The old man barked.


    The students flinched and handed over their documents from the secretariat. The warden pulled a massive, thick ledger out from beneath the table, its combined pages nearly a third of the width of the desk. When he opened it, everyone coughed as a cloud of dust rose up.


    Methodically running his finger down the long list of names, the old man flipped through several pages until he found a blank one. Then, taking the permits, he began to carefully read and record the information. Once done, he filed the documents into the appropriate numbered compartments and handed out keys in return.


    ¡°Can we choose our roo-¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°Can we swap rooms la-¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°But can we at least-¡±


    ¡°You can do nothing!¡± The warden growled. ¡°Next!¡±


    The trio, burdened with trunks and satchels, took their keys and headed upstairs. Ardi stepped forward and handed over his documents.


    ¡°A tall one, aren¡¯t you?¡± The old man grumbled. ¡°You¡¯d need a deeper trench.¡±


    ¡°Probably,¡± Ardan replied, not fully understanding the remark.


    The warden muttered something unintelligible and took his permit. After reading it over carefully, he spat into the bucket once more, this time without any coughing.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re one of them, eh¡­ A half-blood,¡± he muttered. ¡°Who¡¯s the sinner? Your mother? Your father? Which one of them bedded the non-human? Though I guess it doesn¡¯t matter. And that surname sounds familiar too¡­ I swear I¡¯ve heard it somewhere before¡­¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t even blink. Life had long since taught him to ignore such situations. Expending energy on those who had a problem with Firstborn or half-bloods wasn¡¯t worth it. Besides, the medal on the old man¡¯s chest was for ¡°Bravery in Battle.¡± Given his age and prosthetic, the warden, despite his unpleasant demeanor, deserved respect.


    The warden bent down again and pulled out a different, much smaller book. Copying the information from the permit, he filed it away at the bottom of the shelf and handed Ardan a key.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Ardan said, heading toward the stairs.


    ¡°That last name still sounds familiar¡­¡± The old man muttered behind him.


    Ardan descended the stairs and found himself in a dimly-lit corridor with a low ceiling and a floor covered with a worn, green carpet.


    The key was numbered ¡°1,¡± so, logically, the room should have been near the front, but as it turned out, it was the opposite. After walking the entire length of the corridor, and counting thirty-two doors, Ardan finally unlocked the door to his new quarters.


    The cramped room could barely hold two bunk beds, which were positioned so close together that two people couldn¡¯t stand between them. Against the far wall, where a narrow strip of glass at the very top served as a makeshift window, stood the only desk, and it was equipped with four drawers.


    There was no coat rack, no closet ¡ª not even a wardrobe. Just an open chest with four sections divided by fabric partitions.


    And judging by the fact that the beds were empty except for some simple bedding and woolen blankets, Ardi was the first to arrive.


    ¡°This is only temporary,¡± Ardan promised himself.


    It wasn¡¯t that he was particularly spoiled, but he¡¯d been accustomed to having his own space from a young age. Here, it wasn¡¯t just that there was no such space, but on top of that, the moment he¡¯d stepped through the door, his chest had tightened. It had felt as though he were back in the elevator. What had Velena said about claustrophobia¡­


    But thoughts about finding better accommodations, about his first lectures, about his future roommates, about the secrets of his family that still refused to fully reveal themselves ¡ª those could wait until tomorrow.


    He placed his satchel by the desk and tossed his bag onto the top bunk. Clumsily, he climbed into bed. The ceiling was so close that he could press his palm against it. He could see the old paint sweating from his breath.


    Ardi smiled. That morning, he had woken up in a room in the Palace of the Kings of the Past. Now, he was falling asleep in a cramped university basement. It felt as though a brief lifetime had passed between the two.


    The day had finally come to an end.

 Chapter 39 - New ways once again

    Ardan woke up to the familiar creak of a door hinge. Instinctively, he tried to sit up, only to hit his head on the low ceiling. Hissing like a forest cat, he rubbed his sore forehead. Blinking away the grogginess, he turned his gaze toward the narrow strip of glass that served as a window. He had chosen the top bunk despite its limited space because of this. Ardan had always woken with the sun and had never needed an alarm clock ¡ª not that he even owned one.


    But, as always, Metropolis and the Imperial Magical University were full of surprises. Last night, even with his half-blood Matabar vision, Ardan hadn¡¯t noticed that the strip of glass was so dirty, and covered in so much grime and grease, that only the most stubborn and persistent rays of light could penetrate it.


    Looking around, Ardi saw the rumpled beds, the suitcases by the foot of the beds, and the haphazardly-piled travel bags. It seemed his new roommates had arrived sometime near dawn, choosing not to unpack their belongings either. What surprised Ardan was that he had been sleeping so deeply that he hadn¡¯t woken up when several others ¡ª Firstborn, no doubt ¡ª had entered the room.


    Well, then¡­


    Stretching, Ardan grabbed his boots, which he had tied together by their laces and hung at the head of his bunk. His suits and both pairs of shoes, ¡®gifts¡¯ from the Anorsky family, were stowed in his bag, reserved for better times. Times when he could sell them and finally clear his debts while not helping others fulfil their Fae deal ¡­


    After slipping on his work boots, he changed his shirt (thankfully, Tatiana had laundered all his clothes, for which he was deeply grateful) and realized with a grim frown that he only had one clean shirt left. Fastening his belt with its wide buckle, he slid a knife into the sheath at the small of his back and grabbed his toothbrush set from his satchel. Armed with a bristled stick and powder, he peeked out into the hallway.


    The corridor was already bustling. Students rushed along, some armed with the same toothbrushes and powder jars, heading toward the bathrooms. Others, straightening their cloaks and grabbing their staves, had slung strange leather satchels over their shoulders ¡ª satchels that reminded Ardan of postmen¡¯s bags ¡ª and were making their way toward the stairs.


    ¡°What¡¯s your first class, Duvin?¡± Asked a tall, slightly-shorter-than-Ardan half-elf with pitch-black hair in a melodic voice.


    ¡°Let me check,¡± grumbled his companion, a short but broad-shouldered dwarf with sideburns that curled like sheep¡¯s wool. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ ¡®The Introductory Lecture on Star Engineering Theory¡¯ with the second group of the General Faculty.¡±


    Ardan almost choked in sheer surprise. Could it be that luck was finally on his side? He clearly remembered his own schedule. His first class, starting at eight in the morning, was exactly what Duvin, the pure-blooded dwarf, had mentioned: ¡°The Introductory Lecture on Star Engineering Theory.¡± And Ardan was, indeed, in the second group of the General Faculty¡¯s first-year students.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Ardan cleared his throat to catch their attention. ¡°Could you tell me where room 4-215 is? It¡¯s listed in my schedule.¡±


    ¡°Four two-fifteen?¡± the dwarf repeated. ¡°Ah, you¡¯re heading the same way as me? Well, it¡¯s a bit tricky, big guy. You¡¯ve got to head to the atrium, take the east wing, then turn¡­ Actually, you¡¯d better stop by the information desk and buy a ma-¡±


    The half-elf, who had been eyeing Ardan closely all this time, nudged his friend and whispered something into his ear.


    The dwarf stiffened, frowned, and threw a not-so-friendly look at Ardan.


    ¡°Egobar,¡± he muttered before spitting on the ground. Rolling up his schedule, he and the half-elf walked off toward the stairs, their heels clicking almost in sync, and their wool coats rustling as they went.


    As soon as the name ¡°Egobar¡± was uttered, the lively hallway froze for a moment. Dozens of eyes turned toward Ardan, and in each pair, he read different sorts of ¡ª though none of them pleasant ¡ª emotions.


    Ranging from open disdain and hatred to indifference and thinly-veiled envy, none were neutral.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± Ardan sighed, forcing out a crooked smile before turning toward the bathrooms.


    Inside, the bathrooms were only somewhat smaller than the luxurious ones in the duchess¡¯ mansion, which probably said a lot. Seven sinks with automatic water dispensers lined one wall. Opposite them were seven toilet stalls, separated by wooden partitions painted an unpleasant, murky green. At the far end were four open showers, also with automatic water dispensers.


    As Ardan had discovered, this entire system, like the heating, ran on Ley energy-powered pumps. Only a little over ten percent of the homes in Metropolis could boast such innovations, and most relied on simple physics, using massive cisterns on their roofs to supply water through gravity-fed pipes.


    When Ardan approached a free sink, a young man of about twenty-two was already standing beside him. The stranger smiled at his ¡°neighbor,¡± but before Ardan could return the smile, a passing student whispered something to the man, and his expression immediately soured. Without a word, the man turned away, any interest he¡¯d had in Ardan lost.


    As Ardan had expected, no one at the Grand, at least for the next few months, would remain indifferent to the presence of an Egobar at the university. And each person would have their own reason for it.


    In time, of course, just like in Evergale, things would settle down. Students would grow accustomed to his presence and become absorbed in their usual routines. But that would take time ¡ª probably until after the New Year.


    Sighing and shaking his head, Ardan brushed his teeth and returned to his room, where he grabbed his staff and laid out his textbooks on the bed. He packed the rest of his belongings into his satchel, though there wasn¡¯t much left to store, so there was plenty of space.


    He placed three textbooks in the now-empty bag, the ones required for today¡¯s lectures. At the Grand, students had six class days out of seven.


    Weekly Class Schedule:


    Sixth Day (Today):


    <u>8:00 in the morning ¡ª 15-minute break ¡ª 10:30 in the morning </u>


    ¡°The Introductory Lecture on Star Engineering Theory.¡±


    Room: 4-215. Joint class with Group 1 from the Faculty of Star Engineering.


    Professor: Dr. Erik Convel, Doctor of Engineering and Senior Magister of Star Engineering.


    Textbooks:


    <ol>


    <li> ¡°Star Engineering: General Theory,¡± by E. Convel </li>


    <li> ¡°Principles of Interaction between Ley Energy and the Material World,¡± by Sh. Tovalev </li>


    <li> ¡°A Brief Overview of Basic Seal Types,¡± by Sh. Tovalev & N. Tovalev


    </li>


    </ol>


    <u>10:50 in the morning ¡ª 15-minute break ¡ª 1:20 in the afternoon</u>


    ¡°An Introduction to the Theory of Star Biology and Alchemy.¡±


    Room: 7-001. Joint class with Group 3 from the Faculty of Star Biology and Alchemy.


    Professor: Dr. Nathan Kovertsky, Senior Magister of Star Alchemy.


    Textbooks:


    <ol>


    <li> ¡°Living Organisms and the Ley¡± by N. Kovertsky </li>


    <li> ¡°Handbook on Ley Flora and Fauna¡± by AshKau-Tan (Translated by Nikiti Dubov)


    </li>


    </ol>


    ¡ª ONE-HOUR BREAK ¡ª


    2:20 in the afternoon ¡ª 3:50 in the afternoon


    ¡°An Introduction to General Physical and Military Training.¡±


    Location: Training Grounds.


    Instructor: Colonel Vseslav Kshtovsky, War Mage, Senior Magister of War Magic.


    You¡¯ll need comfortable clothing or your uniform, if available.


    Today, Ardan had only three lectures, each lasting two hours and fifteen minutes (the break, it seemed, was included in that time), followed by military training for an hour and a half. On other days, according to his schedule, the General Faculty students would have four lectures. Interestingly, all of the classes, except the ¡°General Theory of Star Magic,¡± were taught alongside other faculties, which seemed logical.


    Mart had mentioned that the first-year courses often shared lectures. As they progressed through their second and third years, the joint lectures became rarer, and by the time students reached the end of third year, they would hardly ever attend classes with students from other faculties.


    The only exception was general military training. Every mage who graduated from the Grand received a junior officer rank and was considered a first-rank military conscript.


    What did that mean?


    Unlike the Principality of Fatia or the island nations, the Empire did not need traditional conscription draft. Its army was sustained by regular recruitment and a system known as the ¡°lottery forces.¡±


    This referred to young men who, upon turning seventeen, would receive a summons from the provincial military office if their identification number was chosen at random. These men, whether they wanted to or not, and even if they¡¯d had no intention of ever becoming recruits, would then have to serve for five years.


    This system fueled various rumors in the newspapers. Stories about corruption in military offices were frequent, claiming that identification numbers were anything but randomly selected, and that there were cases where one person would be drafted in place of another.


    Of course, even if someone ¡°won¡± the lottery, that didn¡¯t guarantee they would actually serve. First, there was the medical examination, followed by the professional commission, which would confirm whether the conscript had a critical occupation for the region. Also, after the young men spent five years marching across parade grounds, only about a quarter of them would ask to be discharged. The rest would choose to bind their futures to the army.


    After all, it came with good pay, accommodations, benefits for their children¡­ While on the civilian side of things, after years of service, they had neither a profession nor a clear path forward.


    As Teacher Parnas used to say, the army was one of the Empire¡¯s fastest social elevators ¡ª elevators that had an entrance but no exit.


    And what did it mean to be a ¡°first-rank conscript?¡± It meant that if an order came from the military office (whether there was a war or not), these individuals had to drop everything and immediately report for duty for however long they were needed.


    That was why every Star Mage, in every higher educational institution with a Star Magic faculty, was required to undergo military training.


    As these thoughts swirled in his mind, Ardan made his way out of the basement (or rather, the ¡°minus-first floor¡±), passing by the loudly snoring warden, who was slumped in his chair, a half-full bottle of wine dangling from his hand.


    As Ardan moved through the passageway toward the atrium, he took a moment to inspect the other doors more closely. As he¡¯d suspected, each was marked with a number. They likely referred to all those different buildings Ardan had seen when he¡¯d first arrived at Star Square.


    The Imperial Magical University wasn¡¯t just an enormous skyscraper of mind-boggling design, it was also an entire complex of structures.


    On one of the doors, Ardan even noticed a slightly tarnished, brass number ¡°7,¡± which matched the room listed for one of his lectures later in the day. But, considering he had just over half an hour before class, he decided to follow the dwarf¡¯s advice.


    The atrium, in contrast to the bustling activity of the previous evening, was much quieter this morning. Most students were either moving from door to door or rushing toward the elevators. Only a small number sat on the couches and benches near the monument, while the rest congregated at the information desk. Surprisingly, Ardan saw no students in cloaks staffing it this time. Instead, the familiar yellow uniforms were in charge.


    Approaching a free clerk, Ardan found himself facing a man in his forties, with graying hair, a gap between his teeth, and sagging skin.


    ¡°Good morning, student,¡± the clerk greeted him.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± Ardan replied a bit slowly.


    ¡°How can I help you today?¡±


    ¡°Where are all the stud-¡±


    ¡°You must be new around here,¡± the yellow-clad clerk interrupted, casting a slightly mocking and somewhat condescending glance at Ardan. Yes, compared to the other students, with their clicking heels, rustling pants, and in the case of the women, long skirts and dresses, Ardan¡¯s work boots, simple pants, shirt, and leather vest stood out. ¡°The university has traditions. One of them is that on opening day, students handle all the administrative work, helping their future colleagues. But that¡¯s only for the opening day.¡±


    That¡­ made sense. If students were involved in all the administrative tasks at the Grand, when would they ever find time to study? It also explained Bazhen¡¯s earlier remarks about punishments involving work in the various offices.


    ¡°So, how can I assist you?¡± The clerk asked again.


    ¡°Could I please get a map of the university?¡±


    ¡°Certainly,¡± the clerk nodded, rummaging under the desk before pulling out a neatly-folded square of typed-out paper crisscrossed with black lines. ¡°That¡¯ll be twelve kso.¡±


    Gritting his teeth at the steep price, Ardan reluctantly pulled out his wallet from his boot ¡ª earning another condescending chuckle from the clerk in the process ¡ª counted out the coins, and laid them on the counter.


    ¡°Have a nice day,¡± the clerk said as he swept the money into the register.


    Ardan wondered why the university even had a cash register¡­


    Stepping aside, he unfolded the map and realized he hadn¡¯t wasted his money. The Grand¡¯s layout was more convoluted than he had anticipated.


    As he had suspected, each building was assigned a number, but the numbers didn¡¯t seem to follow a logical pattern like ¡°left-to-right¡± or ¡°right-to-left.¡± Instead, they were assigned according to the order in which the buildings had been constructed. Thus, Building 5 could be right next to Building 2, and Building 4 might be next to Building 9. Proximity had nothing to do with the numbers; it was all about when they had been built.


    The skyscraper itself ¡ª or, as the map labeled it, the ¡°Main Building¡± ¡ª was designated as ¡°1.¡±


    Each of them had multiple floors, which were listed right after the building number. For example, the Biology and Alchemy complex had ¡°only¡± eight floors, the Engineering complex had three, and the Main Building had fifty-seven.


    And, as one might¡¯ve guessed, the last two digits referred to the room number.


    Thus, 4-215 meant the fourth building (Engineering), second floor, room 15. The only thing Ardan didn¡¯t understand was why they didn¡¯t just post a map in the atrium and corridors. Then no one would have to buy one, and¡­


    Ah.


    Of course. The Metropolis¡­


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Ardan folded the map and tucked it into his bag, sliding it between the books to keep it from getting wrinkled, then headed toward the eastern wing as instructed. His boots clattered against the polished floor as he passed through the imposing front doors and into another corridor. According to the map, this corridor connected the eastern wing to the Main Building and, like the western wing, led to the dormitories ¡ª the women¡¯s dormitories specifically.


    Mart had told him that young men and women frequently tried to sneak into each other¡¯s dorms for¡­ Well, for obvious reasons. It led to all sorts of stories, both amusing and not.


    After all, first-year students were still young. Their blood ran hot, and their minds often lagged behind the desires of their flesh. It was likely because of this that, about a century ago, the Magisterium (the bureaucratic body overseeing the mages of the Empire), also known as the Mages¡¯ Guild, had nearly outlawed duels to the death.


    It was still legally possible to challenge someone to a duel to the death, if you managed to secure a second from the Magisterium. However, as Mart had explained, they would use every possible excuse to postpone the duel, and the challengers could end up waiting years. By that time, most would withdraw their requests and resolve the issue more peacefully.


    As Ardan made his way to the fourth building, located just behind the ninth, he overheard snippets of conversation from the students walking beside him.


    ¡°I heard Convel likes to quiz you on general theory rules during the first lecture,¡± one girl, who was wearing a star badge with three points on her cloak, fretted.


    ¡°And Eliza also told me that he¡¯s a misogynist and hates female students!¡±


    ¡°Your Eliza tried to pass his exam with an obscenely low neckline instead of brains! Of course he screwed her over.¡±


    ¡°But not in the way she was hoping!¡±


    The girls giggled and hurried into the Engineering building. Ardan, thankful for his sharp hearing, followed them inside.


    The interior of the Engineering Faculty¡¯s building, home to the creators of artifacts and new seals, was quite¡­ impressive. Not in terms of size, but due to its refinement. The floors were just as polished and shiny as those in the atrium of the Main Building, though made of wood rather than marble.


    Instead of tapestries and carpets, the walls were lined with numerous portraits of notable figures who had graduated from these halls. The portraits depicted them receiving high honors, shaking hands with prominent people, or posing with their inventions.


    The wide staircase leading to the upper floors gleamed almost like a mirror, while the doors in the winding corridors were all freshly varnished and adorned with silver number plates.


    It was no wonder that aspiring students vied to get into this department. If the Engineering Faculty had this much money, one could only imagine the average salaries of its graduates ¡ª and that was enough to make anyone salivate.


    Or maybe Ardan was just hungry.


    His scholarship didn¡¯t cover breakfast or dinner, only lunch, and Ardan wasn¡¯t about to spend extra money just yet. Not until he could sell the Anorsky suits, pay off his debt, and find some work in the city. Once he settled in, then he could think about food. And he¡¯d also have to send some money back home to Delpas ¡ª not because his family needed it, but because Ardan felt obligated. He had to take care of his pack. It was a way to ease the burden on his conscience, however small.


    As he mulled all of this over, Ardan and the group of chatty students made their way to the second floor. Most of the students made their way inside without lingering in the corridor, while Ardi paused by the windows, where he could see the sprawling city. It was greeting its inhabitants with a gloomy, gray morning, where a light drizzle was mixing with a transparent mist that veiled the streets.


    Streetlights glowed, trams clanged along their rails, cutting through the liquid mirrors of cold puddles, and car headlights pierced the drizzle. The automobile silhouettes ranged from sleek, expensive models to older, clunky ones. Ardan had learned to tell the difference. Take that low, elongated vehicle, for instance, with its leather convertible top, wood-trimmed doors, and plush red leather seats inside. Behind the wheel sat a middle-aged man smoking a cigar, occasionally flicking ash onto the street.


    Trailing behind it like a lumbering old ox was a completely different kind of machine. Almost square in shape and covered in iron, with peeling paint, it swayed from side to side, occasionally belching black smoke from a pipe under its chassis.


    The Grand was situated in Metropolis¡¯ business district, where most of the workforce consisted of finance professionals. They clicked away on typewriters in stock exchanges and banks, in large firms, accounting companies, and probably some private clinics as well.


    ¡°Good morning, Ard.¡±


    Ardan turned to see Elena Promyslov standing behind him. She wore a warm, woolen dress with a long, black skirt that brushed against her crimson shoes, and she¡¯d covered the top half of her dress with a white vest. Her red cloak looked more like a fashion accessory than a badge of honor, highlighting her pretty face and the rosy glow on her slightly rounded cheeks.


    Ardan wasn¡¯t well-versed in the ways of high society, but something told him that not all maids had the means to dress like this.


    ¡°Good morning, Elena,¡± he greeted her in return.


    ¡°Boris sends his regards,¡± she said with a soft smile. ¡°And he asked me to remind you that he gave you our address.¡±


    ¡°He can remind me himself,¡± Ardan shrugged. ¡°We have a class together later today.¡±


    At that, Elena¡¯s expression darkened slightly, and she turned away. Ardan chuckled to himself.


    ¡°Ah¡­ right,¡± he said, scratching the back of his head. ¡°He probably shouldn¡¯t be seen talking to me in public.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t bother mentioning that Boris had been perfectly willing to extend a helping hand just the day before. But that had been yesterday, before they had both entered this tightly-knit, exclusive community. It was understandable that Boris wouldn¡¯t want to jeopardize his standing by publicly aligning himself with someone like Ardan.


    Spirits¡­ Ardan had hoped that he¡¯d left politics behind when he¡¯d walked out of the Palace of the Kings of the Past.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Ard,¡± Elena touched his arm gently. ¡°By the time New Year¡¯s rolls around, no one will care anymore.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I get that feeling, too,¡± Ardan nodded, though he didn¡¯t mention why that was, exactly. Instead, he asked, ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just a maid in the service of a disinherited and disgraced lord,¡± Elena replied, her eyes glinting with a touch of mischief. ¡°Who cares about the people I talk to? Come on, Ard. We shouldn¡¯t be late for our first lecture.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t bother to remind her that they still had at least ten minutes before class started. Together, they entered the lecture hall, and Ardan immediately took in several details.


    First, the walls were lined with that dark stone that absorbed Ley energy, like in the basement of the duchess¡¯ mansion. The next thing that stood out was the desks, or rather, the workbenches. They were about three times wider than their distant cousins from Evergale¡¯s school, large enough to seat not two, but six students. Despite that, students were seated in pairs.


    Hanging from the ceiling above each workbench were cables that coiled around crossbeams. Ley-lamps dangled from these beams, emitting a soft, blue light instead of the usual white glow. The professor¡¯s desk stood alone, facing a sizable graphite board framed by two shelves filled with numerous tomes.


    Most of the students had already taken their seats. Among them, Ardan spotted the dwarf and the half-elf from earlier, but they pretended not to recognize him.


    And for that, he was grateful.


    He and Elena made their way to the back of the hall, where they took the last workbench by the window. It offered a view of the street that bordered the avenue. Of the thirty benches designed to seat sixty students, only twenty were occupied. Among those, Ardan noticed five students wearing the insignia of the Star Engineers, but there wasn¡¯t a single woman among them.


    The remaining fifteen benches were filled with members of the General Faculty ¡ª or rather, women from the General Faculty. Ardan realized, with some surprise, that he was the only male student in this group from his faculty.


    ¡°There are five guys in the first group,¡± Elena whispered. ¡°It¡¯s strange that they divided us this way...¡±


    To Ardan, it wasn¡¯t strange at all. There were fifty-seven students in the first year of the General Faculty. Two groups of thirty and twenty-seven students respectively. Logically, they could have split the men evenly between the groups, or put them all in one group. If one had been excluded, it was to ensure he stood apart.


    On the one hand, the Second Chancery was staying true to its goal of keeping Ardan isolated, while on the other, it was minimizing the chance that some hot-headed student might try to settle the score with him.


    Not that either scenario couldn¡¯t still happen with a female student, but the likelihood was much lower.


    As if to confirm his suspicions, Ardan felt the gazes of several women from his class on him. Those gazes, like the ones he had felt earlier in the corridor, were filled with emotions. But this time, instead of hostility, they radiated a mixture of disdain and smug superiority.


    As Shali had taught her prot¨¦g¨¦, females, who tended to lack the physical strength of males, often fought using other means ¡ª means that were sometimes far more dangerous and insidious than a bloody, but honest, fight.


    ¡°Don¡¯t pay any attention to them,¡± Elena whispered, arranging her belongings on the table.


    Her textbooks were neatly stacked to one side, and she set a notebook down in front of her, along with an ink bottle, a pen, and a pencil. A few rulers, a seal template (Ardan had always wanted one since it made copying seals into a grimoire much easier), and her grimoire completed the arrangement.


    Her grimoire wasn¡¯t large, but it was bound in a fine leather cover with a gold-embossed design, a rose on the spine, and a delicate gold lock. It must have been incredibly expensive, and was surely the kind of item not available to just anyone.


    Just a maid, huh? A maid with the faintest mark of a ring on her right hand¡­ Ardan wondered if she and Boris had married before or after he had been disinherited and stripped of his birthright. At the end of the day, it was none of Ardan¡¯s business what the aristocrats did in their personal lives.


    ¡°They¡¯ll gossip and then stop eventually,¡± Elena continued, still organizing her things. ¡°Maybe spread some rumors, but nothing more. Most of the women in our faculty aren¡¯t here for knowledge, but for-¡±


    ¡°A good marriage,¡± Ardan finished, remembering Mart¡¯s words. ¡°Or because their parents sent them here.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Elena nodded, then quickly added, ¡°but don¡¯t think that all female mages are like that! There are many talented women in the magical sciences, just not in our faculty.¡±


    Ardan raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Why would I think otherwise?¡±


    ¡°Because of the stereotype about female mages,¡± Elena explained. ¡°That women practice Star Magic only to¡­¡±


    She cast a meaningful glance at their group. Among them were tall women and short ones, slender and curvy ones, brunettes, blondes, and redheads. There were also two half-elf women with long, pointed ears hidden beneath their hair, and one pure-blooded elf who proudly displayed her sharp ears. She regarded the others with cold, violet eyes, her silvery-white skin shimmering faintly. Her graceful figure, her long, elegant legs, and her delicate, beautiful features ¡ª all of these were traits that the Sleeping Spirits had bestowed upon the elves.


    Mart had often wondered aloud whether people found elves beautiful because they truly were, or because the elves had monopolized the worlds of high fashion and beauty.


    There weren¡¯t any dwarf women or orc women, or even half-bloods of either, in Ardan¡¯s group. But he realized that he had been wrong earlier when he¡¯d thought that there was no malice.


    In the violet gaze that briefly ran over him, there was plenty of it. Enough to drown in.


    ¡°By the way, there are lots of famous female mages in every scientific field,¡± Elena went on. ¡°So-¡±


    Ardan¡¯s mind flashed with images of his mother, Shali, Atta¡¯nha, Anna, Cassara, Marshal Elliny, Katerina, and not to mention Velena Emergold. And all the other women Ardan had met along his path among the dreams of the Sleeping Spirits.


    ¡°I have no prejudices about that,¡± he shrugged.


    He honestly didn¡¯t understand what Elena was talking about. In the harsh world of Evergale, there had been no time for such distinctions. Women did one kind of work, men did another. No one questioned which was harder or easier, who had more rights or fewer. Everyone was equally busy surviving. And if they didn¡¯t work together, there would be no Evergale.


    At that moment, a man in a navy blue robe with a broad, yellow sash entered the lecture hall. He looked to be about sixty years old, short and wizened, with piercing green eyes and a head of thick, graying hair.


    In his hand, he carried a pointer that resembled a short staff (Ardan noticed a few seals carved into it), and on his shoulders, the man bore four stars. Four, seven, eight, and two-pointed stars. Judging by the color of his sash, it seemed that the rules about wearing one¡¯s regalia had some flexibility, if not outright exceptions.


    ¡°Good morning, my colleagues,¡± the doctor of Star Engineering greeted them as he glanced out the window. ¡°Although, after spending my well-deserved vacation by the Azure Sea, mornings in the Metropolis don¡¯t seem quite as good anymore.¡±


    A wave of chuckles rolled through the room, but Ardan, who had only read about the warmth of the Azure Sea in textbooks, couldn¡¯t appreciate the joke.


    ¡°Unfortunately, that vacation is over, and so is your easy school life,¡± the professor continued. ¡°I am Senior Magister Erik Convel, and I am also the head of the Seal Construction Department.¡±


    A few claps were heard from the front rows where the Engineering students sat.


    ¡°Thank you, thank you,¡± the professor smiled, revealing unnaturally perfect, white teeth for a man of his age. ¡°Well then, since I have the honor of being your first guide into the world of high science, let¡¯s not waste time and begin.¡±


    Convel waved his pointer, and a seal engraved on it lit up. First, it glowed with a yellow hue, then emitted a steady, blue light, much like the glow of the Ley-lamps.


    At the same time, the textbooks on the students¡¯ desks seemed to come to life, opening to the first page. But the small display of skill wasn¡¯t over yet. The letters in the books sparkled with orange light, while on the graphite board, diagrams, formulas, and descriptions began to appear, written in that same blue light.


    After a few moments, the light in the textbooks faded, leaving only the diagrams and symbols on the board, now looking as though they had been drawn with ordinary chalk.


    ¡°Judging by your eager expressions,¡± the professor stood before his desk, arms crossed over his chest, ¡°my traditional opening demonstration has had its intended effect. Well then, let¡¯s assess your knowledge so we know where to start. Who can tell me the classification of the seal I just used?¡±


    Ardan was astonished. What? He thought as several hands shot up into the air. Not just the Engineers, but a good half of the room was ready to answer the question, even though Ardan hadn¡¯t even understood what had been asked.


    ¡°You, young lady,¡± the professor aimed his pointer at someone. ¡°Second row, fourth bench.¡±


    A girl with shiny earrings and a low forehead (which, oddly enough, suited her) stood up.


    ¡°That was a two-contour general-type seal,¡± she replied. ¡°If I¡¯m not mistaken, two rays of the Red and one ray of the Green Star were used.¡±


    ¡°Close, but incorrect,¡± Convel replied without a hint of displeasure. In fact, he seemed energized by the response. ¡°Next.¡±


    Fewer hands were raised this time, likely because a few others had come to the same incorrect conclusion.


    Two-contour? What does that even mean? Ardan¡¯s mind raced.


    ¡°You, young lady. First row, fifth bench.¡±


    The girl with violet eyes and sharp ears stood up.


    ¡°An embedded seal,¡± she answered curtly.


    ¡°Even closer,¡± the professor¡¯s smile widened, and the number of raised hands dwindled further. ¡°Perhaps you, young lady at the back, by the window?¡±


    Elena stood up.


    ¡°It was a three-contour seal with an embedded array of free runes,¡± she declared confidently.


    Ardan struggled to draw in breath. Over the past few minutes, he hadn¡¯t understood a single word that had been said. He¡¯d pored over the textbook Mart had given him on the train, but it had only briefly mentioned that seals had different types, and that had been it!


    ¡°Very clever and close!¡± Convel clapped his hands. ¡°But still not quite right.¡±


    By now, only three hands were still in the air, all of them belonging to the Engineering students. Of course, the professor hadn¡¯t called on them just yet, as the question was about Star Engineering, which was their specialty.


    ¡°I see we have a particularly small number of gentlemen in the room this year,¡± the professor¡¯s eyes twinkled with mischief, ¡°but that¡¯s all the better ¡ª we¡¯ll work in a garden of flowers¡­ And since we¡¯ve heard from three delightful young ladies, let¡¯s hear from a gentleman. You, the young man in the cowboy hat ¡ª what do you think?¡±


    Laughter rippled through the room, and Ardan inwardly cursed himself as he removed his hat. After weeks in the steppes, he had lost the habit of taking his hat off indoors.


    ¡°Well, at least you took it off,¡± the professor remarked in good humor. ¡°Oh, seven rays? Impressive... Impressive... Let¡¯s see if your knowledge matches. What¡¯s your theory?¡±


    Theory? Ardan didn¡¯t even know the words they were tossing around so easily here. Atta¡¯nha had always said that sometimes, it was best to just be honest and say:


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Ardan replied.


    Convel blinked a few times.


    ¡°Perhaps I wasn¡¯t clear,¡± the professor said, slightly taken aback. ¡°I¡¯m not asking for a direct answer, Mr...?¡±


    ¡°Egobar.¡±


    The professor flinched slightly, but quickly composed himself.


    ¡°Right. I¡¯m not asking for a direct answer, Mr. Egobar,¡± Convel repeated, his tone even. ¡°Just a guess about the type of seal.¡±


    Ardan inwardly cursed the Stranger who had written the book he had studied from for so many years. That book hadn¡¯t mentioned types at all, only ¡°schools¡± ¡ª universal, combat, general, elemental, and the like.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know the types of seals, professor,¡± Ardan clarified, feeling as though he had stepped back in time to his very first day of school in Evergale.


    A heavy silence fell over the lecture hall, pierced by glances filled with waves of disdain and, in some cases, oceans of irritation. For a moment, even Elena¡¯s gaze flickered with a hint of frustration.


    But Ardan didn¡¯t blame anyone. If he¡¯d been in their shoes, he would¡¯ve probably felt the same.


    ¡°How... unusual,¡± Convel cleared his throat. ¡°As far as I¡¯m aware, seal types are covered in the very first lessons of specialized Star Magic theory.¡±


    ¡°We didn¡¯t have that subject at my school,¡± Ardan said simply. He wasn¡¯t going to hide anything or try to make excuses. What would be the point?


    The sooner he figured out what he didn¡¯t know, as Atta¡¯nha had taught him, the faster he could catch up.


    ¡°And where did you study?¡± The professor squinted at him, like a hound picking up the scent of prey.


    ¡°In a rural school.¡±


    A murmur of discontent rippled through the room. Elena, for her part, looked at Ardan with surprise rather than annoyance.


    ¡°Not a specialized school?¡± Convel clarified. ¡°Just an ordinary rural school?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Ardan confirmed.


    The thing was, in such schools, Star Magic theory was taught not twice a week, but twice a month, and the topics were so general that¡­ Well, to put it simply, they were taught more about safety around Ley energy devices than anything else.


    ¡°I see... That explains your lack of knowledge,¡± the professor inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. ¡°Take your seat, Mr. Egobar. I¡¯ll make an exception for you this one time and pause my lecture briefly. But this will not happen again.¡±


    The professor returned to his desk, where he set down his pointer and picked up a pen and a sheet of paper, and then he began scribbling rapidly on it.


    ¡°How is that even possible?¡± Elena whispered to Ardan.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Back on the train, when the demon appeared,¡± she said, stumbling over the word ¡°demon,¡± ¡°you used some really complex war magic! And you did so without even knowing about seal types?¡±


    ¡°Was it really that complex?¡± Ardan asked in turn.


    Elena stared at him as if he were some kind of strange, unknown creature.


    She wanted to say more, but at that moment, the professor approached their table and placed a list of ten titles in front of Ardan.


    ¡°These are the books you¡¯ll need to not just skim through, but practically memorize, Mr. Egobar,¡± Convel said in the same calm, even tone from before. ¡°That is, if you want to not only attend my lectures but actually understand anything. Not to mention the midterms this winter...¡±


    The professor looked at Ardan with what seemed to be genuine pity before turning back to his desk.


    ¡°I apologize for the interruption, everyone,¡± the professor said, shaking himself off like a dog emerging from water. ¡°Now, let¡¯s hear the correct answer. Mr. Utrov.¡±


    The half-elf from earlier stood up.


    ¡°You used not one, but two seals, Professor,¡± he answered in a melodic, slightly sing-song voice. ¡°The first was a single-contour seal of an even rune system, and the second was a two-contour seal with an embedded array of free runes.¡±


    ¡°Excellent!¡± The professor beamed, his face lighting up as if he¡¯d just witnessed a miracle. ¡°You were incredibly close to the correct answer, Ms. Promyslov. Well done, Mr. Utrov. Now, let¡¯s discuss the principle of attaching a complex-class seal to a simple-class seal, as you just witnessed. Your textbooks are already open to the correct page. So, let¡¯s begin by looking at...¡±


    What followed were a bunch of words and terms that made no sense to Ardan at all. It felt as though Professor Convel had switched languages entirely, leaving Ardan even more lost than before.


    All he could do was furiously scribble down every single word the professor said, hoping to make sense of it later.


    For the first time in a long while, Ardan felt the same thrill he had felt years ago while sitting in Atta¡¯nha¡¯s cave, back when she had asked him if he knew anything about the root of the Seven-Colored Nettle.

 Chapter 40 - Old Poison

    Ardan couldn¡¯t quite recall how the break had passed. He had buried himself in the reference book on the basic types of seals with such hunger that he¡¯d understood almost nothing. Nor could he remember how he¡¯d packed his things, left the lecture hall, and then found himself standing before the doors of the Seventh Wing. This used to be the dormitory of the Firstborn, but now it housed the Faculty of Biology and Alchemy.


    One moment, he had been filling seven notebook pages with small, cramped handwriting, and the next, he¡¯d found himself staring out of a window, watching the slow and serene rise of the sun against the gray sky. The sky in the Metropolis looked as though someone had deliberately smudged it. It was a low, granite blanket that seemed as if it might crush the heads of passersby ¡ª that is, if some unknown force wasn¡¯t holding it back a couple of meters above the rooftops.


    Ardi tore his gaze away from the strange sight, still not used to it even after these past few days. Other students passed by him occasionally, emerging from one set of doors, rushing down the hallway, and disappearing into another. They chatted as they went, discussing lectures, professors, and Star Magic. As he listened to them, Ardan often heard terms he didn¡¯t quite understand.


    It wasn¡¯t surprising that the other students treated him with such contempt. How would he have felt if he¡¯d been forced to witness not just someone who had ¡°gotten in thanks to their connections,¡± but someone who was also three ¡ª perhaps even five ¡ª years behind on the curriculum?


    At that moment, a creaking sound coming from behind him drew his attention, and Ardi, turning quickly, hurried into the building for the Biologists and Alchemists. Mart had been right when he¡¯d said that the two departments were planning to merge. This was actually the year they had done so.


    The interior, unlike the Engineers¡¯ halls, didn¡¯t have the same grandeur or luxury. Not that it was dilapidated or anything of the sort that might harm the department¡¯s reputation. It was just simpler: it had wooden floors made of sturdy but basic planks, walls painted in smooth, greenish tones, and a few portraits ¡ª though more often than not, one could see landscapes or depictions of complex formulas from a special subsection of chemistry related to the Ley.


    In the hall, apart from the intricate system of pipes ¡ª which clearly weren¡¯t for mail, plumbing, or heating ¡ª there were several wide sofas, a few large vases with bushes, flowers, and even some small trees. The air was thick with a sweet aroma that made Ardi feel slightly dizzy. He covered his face with his hand, but judging by the way none of the other students seemed bothered ¡ª except for the elf and two half-bloods ¡ª it was clear that only a non-human nose could detect the scent.


    Along with his classmates and a group of first-year students from the Biology and Alchemy department, Ardan walked down a corridor that was unexpectedly lined with a thick, plush carpet. They descended a staircase into a basement that resembled something halfway between a greenhouse and a classroom.


    The main difference was that there were none of the usual chairs or desks to be found here. Instead, the place held multiple wide rows of massive, rectangular flowerbeds filled with various plants. Most of them Ardan recognized from Atta¡¯nha¡¯s lessons, but there were still some he had never seen before. For instance, a strange flower with a bud shaped like a snake¡¯s head. It dripped thick oil, and upon closer inspection, he could see sharp spikes jutting out from its petals like the fangs of a predator.


    There was also a peculiar plant, something between grass and a root, climbing along the wooden frame like a vine, but thicker, with yellow buds blooming along its body.


    The flowerbeds were arranged into nine rows, each row nearly twelve meters in length, and at the far end stood a professor¡¯s desk, which was cluttered with papers. To the sides of it, like in Convel¡¯s lecture hall, were two large cabinets. One was filled with books, like Convel¡¯s had been, while the other held various instruments.


    Among them, Ardi recognized only the microscope, which he had seen in textbooks. The rest were mysteries to him. Especially the device that looked like a model of their solar system, with a central star and five planets orbiting it. Except that their system only had four planets, and some of those even had moons, so this contraption clearly wasn¡¯t an astronomical tool, but something else entirely.


    The General Faculty students ¡ª now joined by about thirty more from the local department, including another pure-blooded elf and a pair of dwarven half-bloods ¡ª stood at the back of the hall, facing the desk with their backs to the flowerbeds.


    By the time Ardi reached them, carefully stepping between the plants as he walked, a man entered the hall from an inconspicuous door in the far corner.


    No older than forty, he wore a rumpled robe with a yellow sash ¡ª like Convel¡¯s ¡ª that rustled in time with his unruly mass of curly, black hair streaked with gray. He was short, with an unnatural pallor, not from malnutrition, but from a lack of sunlight. His dirty glasses, perched precariously on the tip of his hooked nose, gleamed faintly under the flickering light of the Ley-lamps hanging above.


    Leaning on a wooden staff carved with white runes, he positioned himself behind the desk. Four Star regalia adorned his shoulders: three, six, five, and four-pointed respectively. It was as though, with each subsequent Star after the Green one, the professor had found less and less value in the accumulation of power.


    ¡°Good day, students,¡± he croaked in a harsh, unpleasant voice, then rummaged through the stack of papers and pulled out a schedule. ¡°Ah, I see you¡¯ve already spent time with Erik... I mean, Professor Convel. Well then, I suppose that, as usual, I can honestly say there¡¯s no need for an introductory lecture, and certainly no need for any unnecessary theatrics or performances. If you¡¯re here, you possess all the skills and knowledge required to dive straight into the study of high science.¡±


    Laughter and sarcastic coughs rippled through the sixty students, the sound as grating as knives scraping against glass. But, as always, Ardi paid it no mind.


    ¡°So, you¡¯ve already read my name on your schedules. I¡¯ll just add that I oversee the Department of Chimerizations,¡± Professor Kovertsky set aside his staff and leaned on the desk. ¡°And most of your names will never mean a thing to me, so let¡¯s skip the introductions. My course will be divided into three parts. The first will be the study of flora and its properties. The second will be the study of fauna. And the third will be alchemy itself. Essentially, it¡¯ll be theory and practice. Perhaps that makes it two parts? Anyway, who cares?¡±


    Senior Magister Kovertsky spoke strangely, in an almost jittery manner, as if he were constantly forgetting something and then remembering it. And he seemed deeply uncomfortable being around people.


    ¡°Let¡¯s start by outlining today¡¯s task,¡± the professor opened a drawer and pulled out a pointer rod similar to the one Convel had used for casting spells. ¡°We¡¯ll begin with the simplest Ley-containing flower you can find in the Empire. But before I show it to you, tell me ¡ª what¡¯s the difference between ordinary plants and Ley-plants?¡±


    To his surprise, Ardan knew the answer to this question. However, the question itself seemed somewhat flawed. From Atta¡¯nha¡¯s scrolls and lessons, he had learned that everything living was imbued with the Ley, in one way or another. It was simply more evident in some creatures and substances than in others.


    Wolves, when poisoned by the Ley, merely received a dose of power that overwhelmed their minds, wills, and souls. That was why they became monsters, forgetting the laws of the hunt.


    As for plants, their poisoning occurred much more slowly than in animals. Living in the soil, their roots stretched deep, sometimes touching invisible currents. Over generations, they would absorb the Ley, which would gradually alter their essence beyond recognition.


    Thus, it was impossible to give a straightforward answer to that question, because the real difference lay only in the characteristics of specific plants.


    But several hands still shot up.


    ¡°You, the chubby guy with the untied shoelace on your right foot,¡± Kovertsky growled through clenched teeth.


    The young man flushed with embarrassment at such an... awkward introduction, and stammered out his reply, ¡°L-Ley-plants c-can, unlike o-o-¡±


    ¡°They can¡¯t do anything,¡± interrupted the professor. ¡°And it seems like neither can you, apparently. Not when it comes to speaking clearly, at least. All right, next. You, the girl with the braids.¡±


    Two girls with raised hands had their hair in braids, and they exchanged confused glances.


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t care which one of you answers,¡± Kovertsky sighed. If Ardi hadn¡¯t spent so much time in the steppes with the Cloaks, he might have thought the professor was arrogant and rude. But thanks to that experience, he understood that the man simply didn¡¯t enjoy interacting with people. ¡°Fine, let the one to my left answer.¡±


    The second girl lowered her hand, and the first spoke, ¡°Ley-plants contain more energy in standard units of measurement than ordinary plants, and in addition-¡±


    ¡°And in addition, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west,¡± Kovertsky snorted. ¡°All right, last chance. Whoever answers will get no less than six points on their exam, even if they hand in a blank sheet or destroy the lab equipment. But if you answer incorrectly, you won¡¯t get more than two.¡±


    A heavy silence fell over the greenhouse, and the raised hands quickly dropped to their sides. Even the elves¡¯ hands...


    At the end of each month at the Grand, over a period of two days, exams were held to determine the students¡¯ scores for their personal academic records. Based on the total points they earned, it was then decided whether they would receive their scholarship (money grants to be precise) for the next month or not.


    If it hadn¡¯t been for the professor¡¯s stipulation, Ardi would never have volunteered to answer. Not because he doubted Atta¡¯nha¡¯s teachings, but because... why bother?


    He didn¡¯t feel the need to prove anything to anyone. He knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of. Besides, Mart¡¯s warnings about his peculiar nature still rang in his ears.


    But the fact that Ardan desperately needed the scholarship forced him to raise his hand, alone in the stillness.


    His classmates, remembering the awkward scene during the Engineering lecture, shot him surprised looks, soon joined by sympathetic gazes from the Biology and Alchemy students. They seemed to know something about Kovertsky that made them feel bad even for someone like Ardan.


    ¡°Ah, Mr. Egobar,¡± Kovertsky smirked crookedly. ¡°Professor Convel warned me about your... unique situation. But forgive me, I won¡¯t be compiling any special lists for you. I have no time to waste. So, if you don¡¯t understand anything, that¡¯s your-¡±


    ¡°The problem is, professor, that your question is incorrect,¡± Ardan cut him off, causing the room to plunge into a thick, heavy silence. Almost like the sky outside.


    But, surprisingly, Kovertsky¡¯s face relaxed, and he seemed to grow a few years younger.


    ¡°And if we were to try and answer it anyway?¡± He asked, to the astonishment of everyone present.


    ¡°Then the answer is that there is no difference,¡± Ardi shrugged. ¡°From the perspective of Star Magic, there¡¯s no difference between ordinary plants and Ley-plants.¡±


    The students exchanged glances, smirks creeping across their faces, and a moment later, Kovertsky pulled a sheet of paper from his pile and scribbled a few words onto it.


    ¡°I¡¯ve written your name down, Mr. Egobar,¡± he said, standing straight. ¡°You¡¯ll receive no less than six points on the theory exam, even if you submit a blank page or burn down the lab. Though I would advise against damaging government property ¡ª your family has already met that quota for several generations.¡±


    That last bit had been said without malice. It was just... his way of speaking.


    The students murmured among themselves, while Ardan mentally crossed off these lectures from his list of priorities. As much as he hated to admit it, the accursed exams were what concerned him the most right now. Without the grant, he¡¯d be in dire straits.


    ¡°For those of you who didn¡¯t understand why Mr. Egobar¡¯s answer was correct, allow me to explain...¡±


    For the next ten minutes, Kovertsky explained everything in such clear, accessible terms that even a complete fool would¡¯ve understood it all. It was almost exactly what Atta¡¯nha had once taught Ardi during their walks through the forests of the Alcade.


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    ¡°Now, focus on the board,¡± the professor clicked his pointer, activating a seal, and the diagram of a Swamp Henbane flower appeared on the board.


    It was a long flower with a fuzzy, dandelion-like head, except instead of fluff, it had a mass of tiny, snow-white blossoms.


    This was a Ley-flower closely related to wild rosemary. But where its ancestor had healing properties ¡ª reducing inflammation, helping wounds heal, or numbing pain ¡ª the Swamp Henbane did the opposite. Mishandling it could reopen old scars or cause wounds to bleed again.


    Several poisons could be made from it, though Ardi didn¡¯t recall their exact recipes. Only the antidotes. As a child, he had never been particularly interested in harming others using Atta¡¯nha¡¯s scrolls.


    ¡°Who can tell me what we¡¯re looking at?¡± Asked the professor.


    Again, several hands shot up.


    ¡°The elf from the General Faculty,¡± Kovertsky said shortly.


    ¡°It¡¯s wild rosemary,¡± she replied in the same cold, indifferent tone she had used in the previous lecture. ¡°It grows in marshy meadows, peaty bogs, and damp coniferous forests. And-¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s assume it does, let¡¯s assume it does,¡± Kovertsky interrupted evenly.


    He clicked his pointer, and a soft breeze swept through the greenhouse. Moments later, a small cloud formed under one of the flowerbeds a few rows away from the students. It enveloped the base of a tall, nearly meter-high plant and floated it gently over to the elf.


    Ardan immediately noticed several details that would distinguish the healing wild rosemary from the poisonous Swamp Henbane. The latter had porous, rather than leathery, leaves, and instead of that characteristic, intoxicating scent, the Henbane emitted a sharp, slightly salty aroma.


    Kovertsky stepped out from behind his desk and approached the elf, handing her a small needle.


    ¡°Be so kind, Miss Eveless, as to prick your finger, then smear the juice of the flower on it,¡± he said, pulling a small vial of murky, viscous liquid out of his robe pocket. ¡°I¡¯ll demonstrate the effect of a healing potion made from this flower, along with the addition of a Ley-plant we will try to identify by formula today.¡±


    Without hesitation, the elf, Eveless, pricked her finger and was about to touch the flower when Ardan... Ardan acted faster than he could think. Faster than he could remember that he wasn¡¯t in the mountains of the Alcade or the steppes. He was in the heart of the Empire, at an institution renowned throughout the world for its allure to young mages. And here, no one would harm a student for no reason.


    But Ardi only realized all of this after his fingers had already gripped the elf¡¯s wrist, pulling her hand away from the flower.


    ¡°You...¡± Eveless hissed, jerking her hand out of Ardan¡¯s grasp and stepping back.


    Silence fell over the room once again, and Ardi inwardly scolded himself. Yes, Ergar would have praised him now, saying that this was how a true hunter should behave. But Skusty would have chided him endlessly, reminding him of Mart¡¯s warnings to keep a low profile and not draw attention.


    While the other students whispered indignantly among themselves, Professor Kovertsky calmly extended the needle toward Ardan.


    ¡°I assume, Mr. Egobar, that you¡¯d like to prick your own finger instead, so as not to disrupt my lecture or receive disciplinary action.¡±


    Ardan looked into the professor¡¯s dark, deep eyes, then quickly shifted his gaze to the bridge of Kovertsky¡¯s nose. The last thing he needed was to get in even more trouble because of the Witch¡¯s Gaze.


    Realizing that Kovertsky¡¯s plan likely involved something more serious than the mere bullying of students, Ardi took the needle and pricked his finger. But before pressing his already-closing wound to the flower, he surveyed the greenhouse, noting the plants necessary to create a simple antidote.


    Only then did he press the nearly-healed cut to the flower. As soon as he touched the leaves, the blood didn¡¯t so much gush forth as it flowed out steadily, and his finger began to redden and swell rapidly.


    ¡°And so, we observe the effect of Swamp Henbane, a Ley-plant of the Red Star category,¡± the professor noted in a calm voice, showing everyone Ardan¡¯s bleeding finger. Kovertsky held it in such a way that the blood dripped onto the floor without soiling anyone. ¡°We have about two hours before the poison spreads deep enough into the tissues to require amputation.¡±


    ¡°But professor,¡± one of the Biology and Alchemy students raised his hand. Incidentally, of all the students present, they were the only ones who¡¯d remained calm, while the General Faculty students were exchanging anxious glances. ¡°The poison made from Swamp Henbane causes tissue necrosis in open wounds in just forty minutes!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not accounting for the innate healing of a Matabar,¡± the professor corrected him. ¡°Admittedly, our subject here doesn¡¯t possess regeneration as potent as a pure-blooded Matabar¡¯s, since Mr. Egobar¡¯s ancestors wouldn¡¯t have been affected by this poison at all. So, student...¡±


    ¡°Leonov. Pavel Leonov.¡±


    ¡°Student Leonov,¡± the professor nodded, still holding Ardan¡¯s hand aloft. ¡°For your next seminar, I expect you to be prepared to give a report on the development of immunity to flora inhabiting certain areas among the Firstborn peoples.¡±


    ¡°Understood, professor,¡± Leonov slumped back into the rows of students.


    ¡°Now that we¡¯ve grasped the scope of today¡¯s lesson,¡± Kovertsky said just as calmly as before, as though he weren¡¯t holding a poisoned student. ¡°Please open your textbooks to the list of formulas. Also, take out your reference books. You may take your places around the flowerbeds. There are fold-out desks at the edges where you can place your materials. Unfortunately, I don¡¯t have chairs, nor will I ever. All lessons related to flora will be conducted while standing. Gloves can also be found hanging by the desks, and you must ¡ª make note of this, you must ¡ª return them to their hooks at the end of each session.¡±


    Only after saying all of this did Kovertsky finally release Ardan¡¯s hand and return to the board, where he began to scrawl something resembling chemistry formulas, but with unfamiliar symbols mixed in with the letters.


    By the time he had written what was clearly an incomplete equation, the students had finished shuffling their cloaks and clicking their heels. They took their places by the flowerbeds, and indeed, each one had a small fold-out desk attached to it. Standing sideways to the board and facing the rows of plants, the students opened their notebooks and, almost in unison, dipped their pens into their inkwells.


    ¡°Who can tell me what we need to do first in order to calculate the formula to counter the effect of the Ley?¡± Asked Kovertsky, immediately adding, ¡°Answer by raising your hand, and only after I call on you.¡±


    Several hands shot up, and the professor pointed to one of the students. A burly young man with a badly-set, previously-broken nose stood up.


    ¡°Calculate the mass of the poison substance and-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know your name, young man,¡± Kovertsky interrupted before the student could finish, ¡°but right now, you know that someone has been poisoned. I¡¯m asking about the general procedure. Next. You.¡±


    ¡°We need to calculate the amount of Ley energy contained in- ¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± the professor interrupted again. ¡°If you don¡¯t remember the general formula for calculating Ley energy in standard units, that¡¯s your problem. For those who do, start the calculation. You have five minutes.¡±


    ¡°Professor,¡± Ardan spoke up.


    ¡°Yes, Mr. Egobar?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still bleeding.¡±


    ¡°I can see that, Mr. Egobar,¡± the professor replied, his voice devoid of any emotion. ¡°And you wouldn¡¯t be, had you let Miss Eveless learn her lesson about what happens to a Star Mage who doesn¡¯t know their theory.¡±


    The elf gave no reaction to this, continuing to scribble in her notebook.


    ¡°By the way,¡± the professor suddenly added, ¡°I should remind you all that anyone who suffers from the effects of poison or any other harmful influence from flora or fauna during our lessons may attempt to cure themselves. If they succeed before we finish calculating the counter-formula and I don¡¯t have to¡­¡± Kovertsky pulled out a vial of liquid, ¡°¡­heal the student myself, I will notify your Healing Arts professor, and they will assign you extra points at the exam.¡±


    The students visibly perked up at this news, and Ardan became even more convinced that Kovertsky wasn¡¯t just a tyrant. He needed volunteers to demonstrate certain effects. But who would willingly poison themselves, or suffer even worse things? However, extra points on the Healing Arts exam, one of the most challenging subjects for non-specialized students, might just be enough to motivate anyone into acquiring some temporary masochism...


    Not to mention, Star Biology and Alchemy were closely tied to Healing. Mart had once mused that in the future, the two departments might merge with a third as well...


    ¡°May I begin curing myself?¡± Ardan asked, the increasingly intense burning sensation in his finger becoming more unbearable by the second.


    ¡°By all means, Mr. Egobar,¡± the professor waved his hand. ¡°Now, who has already calculated the Ley volume? Excellent... You, please...¡±


    ¡°Nine!¡±


    ¡°Correct. Now that we know the initial volume, we¡¯ll plug it into the formula and... Damn it, I hate math... Hmm... Oh, right. We¡¯ll need a counteracting force of, correct me if I¡¯m wrong here, two rays of the Red Star.¡±


    Ardan, who was on his way to gather one of the ingredients, nearly tripped. The formula had expanded so much that it barely fit on the board anymore. And the number ¡°nine¡± meant nothing to him.


    Just another gap he¡¯d have to fill in later. But for now, he approached the wild rosemary that Eveless had mistaken for a Ley-plant. He extended his hand toward the flower and Listened. He Listened to the whispers of the blossoms swaying in the gentle breeze that swept through the greenhouse. Listened to how the roots, hidden deep in the loose, moist soil, silently, imperceptibly grew. But in reality, they were tunneling like busy moles, constantly digging deeper and deeper.


    In that moment, Ardi caught a fragment of the plant¡¯s name and whispered it, asking the flower to give him what he needed to help himself. Six petals fell softly into his hand. Ardi thanked the plant and severed the connection.


    Most poisonous Ley-plants could be cured with antidotes made from their ancestors. Of course, this didn¡¯t apply to complex poisons brewed from them. In those cases, besides the ancestor of the toxin, other plants were required as well.


    Ardan, slipping the petals into his pocket, scanned the greenhouse and approached the bed of primroses, their yellow blossoms drooping almost to the ground. He sniffed at them, selecting one that had a cinnamon scent. He had once gathered a whole bunch of these, but Anna hadn¡¯t appreciated it. While she loved cinnamon, the human nose couldn¡¯t detect the aroma in primroses.


    Taking just one blossom, Ardi moved to the nettles, which were stubbornly jutting out in the farthest corner. He grabbed the thickest stem and carefully snapped it above the root, placing it on the edge of the flowerbed to squeeze out the juice. But then he realized...


    ¡°Professor?¡±


    ¡°...in this case, we¡¯ll need to reduce the amount of protein structure entering the bloodstream. What is it, Mr. Egobar?¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s the equipment?¡±


    ¡°Ah... yes...¡± Kovertsky suddenly remembered himself, setting the chalk down and picking up his pointer. Another seal activated, and part of the eastern wall shimmered with a yellowish light, revealing a door. ¡°The lab is in there. And students, keep in mind that if anyone attempts to figure out which seal I used to conceal it so they can break in, I¡¯ll of course inform Dean Tumvell, head of the Protective Magic department, and he¡¯ll surely praise you. But don¡¯t bother coming to my lectures after that.¡±


    Ardan, carrying the nettle stalk and ignoring the curious glances cast his way, opened the door and stepped inside.


    He found himself in a spacious, bright room flooded with the light of Ley-lamps. It was large enough to accommodate more than thirty tables, each equipped with various instruments Ardi had seen in the professor¡¯s cabinet.


    He approached the nearest one. Clearly designed for two students, it boasted a convenient inkwell embedded in the tabletop. There were also holders for various vials, jars, and other vessels. In the center stood a tripod, and nearby was an oil burner with an adjustable flame. Next to it was a fire striker.


    That was what Ardi was interested in currently. The rest of the unfamiliar equipment... not so much, at least for now.


    Spotting a few sinks in the far corner, Ardan grabbed a conical flask of the right size and filled it with water. He returned to the table.


    With a flick of the striker, a small flame came to life on the oil-soaked wick. Ardi held his uninjured hand over the flame, adjusting the knob at the base of the burner to control the oil flow. The more oil, the stronger the flame. Ardan set the flame to cover two finger joints, then grabbed the simplest mortar and pestle.


    He crushed the primrose blossom and strained its juice into the boiling water. He worked slowly, carefully, ensuring no blood from his finger contaminated the mixture.


    Next, he squeezed the nettle, draining it into the waste pipe that disappeared into the floor. Grabbing a strangely-shaped knife from the table, Ardan sliced the stalk into pieces, ensuring the number of sections was exactly half the number of leaves on the stem. These, too, went into the water, and were left to simmer for a few minutes as he listened to the ongoing lecture.


    ¡°...now we add the mass of the counteracting substance to the original toxin. You can do it by trial and error if you were dropped on your head as a child, but real mages have a formula for equalizing substances...¡±


    All of this sounded like a foreign language to Ardan, unlike the potion he was brewing. The first thing Atta¡¯nha had taught him was how to cure any poison that might come from the many denizens of the Alcade ¡ª whether they were plants, insects, snakes, toads, berries, or anything else.


    So, when the nettle stalks began to break down into fibers in the boiling water, Ardan tossed in the wild rosemary leaves. A few minutes later, he strained the mixture through a sieve into a small flask.


    The potion needed to be cooled before use. In the Alcade, mountain snow worked perfectly for this, but here...


    Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Ardan took the flask in his hands and breathed on it, summoning a shard of the name of ice. A cold mist escaped his lips, and the glass was momentarily covered in the delicate, frost-like pattern of ice crystals.


    The potion was ready.


    Ardi was about to drink it, the burning in his finger now unbearable, as if someone had been slowly cooking it in oil. But he remembered the professor¡¯s words.


    ¡°Now, with the formula almost complete, we just need... Mr. Egobar, were you unable to figure out how to use the instruments?¡± Kovertsky¡¯s voice cut through the room.


    ¡°I¡¯m finished,¡± Ardi said, holding up the flask as he closed the door behind him.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Kovertsky gave a quick glance at the board behind him. ¡°You finished just minutes before the practical work on the formula was set to begin. But, still, you made it. However, don¡¯t rush to drink it! We don¡¯t want any accidents. Let me inspect it first.¡±


    Ignoring the whispers of the other students, Ardan walked up to the desk, leaving a narrow trail of blood droplets behind him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elena in the center of the room, watching him with a mix of concern and curiosity.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see, let¡¯s see,¡± the professor said, taking the flask from Ardan and placing it into a holder. He raised his staff and struck the floor with it. One of the seals on his staff lit up, and a translucent, yellow rose materialized before the professor. It descended, stem-first, into the flask. For a moment, the rose¡¯s petals swirled and shimmered, then, slowly, the flower bloomed. A second later, it vanished.


    ¡°Magnificent! A practically flawless execution!¡± Kovertsky¡¯s previously bored and dull expression lit up with excitement. ¡°Nothing unnecessary, just the essentials! Well done, student. Drink it. Don¡¯t be afraid. It¡¯s excellent work.¡±


    Ardan took the flask from the tripod and drank the potion. It slid down his throat, thick and sharp, like honey with tiny barbs in it. But before he had time to react, the bitterness faded, leaving a faint aftertaste of cinnamon, and the burning in his finger began to cool.


    The bleeding stopped.


    ¡°Now, Ard, show me your calculations!¡± Kovertsky was practically vibrating with anticipation. ¡°It¡¯s not every day I encounter a student so well-versed in the basic principles of alchemy!¡±


    For some reason, Ardan could hear Skusty¡¯s mocking laughter echoing in his head, which soon turned into the squirrel¡¯s familiar, sneering cackle.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any calculations, professor,¡± Ardan replied quietly.


    ¡°You did them in your head? Admirable, though risky. If there had been a mistake, it would have been hard to trace. But tell me, which formula did you use? Was it the one we¡¯ve been working on, or did you rely on a specific antidote for the Swamp Henbane? Come on, Ard, take pride in your work! This is a success!¡±


    ¡°Professor,¡± Ardan hesitated.


    ¡°Yes, Ard?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know any formulas.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    And why, Ardan thought, was Skusty¡¯s laughter growing into outright hysteria?

 Chapter 41 - Well then

    Holding his second slip of paper with a list that contained about a dozen academic textbooks, Ardan stepped out of the greenhouse and headed toward the stairs. Behind him, the lecture was still ongoing, or rather, its practical part was.


    After calculating the formula and a short break ¡ª during which the professor had made the reading list for Ardi ¡ª the other students had gone to the lab. Since Ardan had already prepared the antidote, Kovertsky, albeit reluctantly, had let him go. Just as reluctantly, he¡¯d refrained from asking how a student unfamiliar with Star Biology and Alchemy formulas had managed to brew an antidote. It had been clear from the professor¡¯s face that he had come to some conclusions, but he hadn¡¯t pressed the matter.


    He¡¯d merely wished Ardan success in reading the materials and learning the formulas before the exam. After all, pure practical experience without any theory to back it up would not earn Ardan more than the already-guaranteed six points.


    In total, to receive a stipend, a student had to accumulate no fewer than ninety points across all their subjects. For the higher-level scholarship, it was one hundred and ten. And considering the fact that, in the first year, there were only twelve subjects, that was no trivial task.


    With a sigh, Ardi tucked the small piece of paper, which was covered in that familiar handwriting resembling a crooked fence, into his breast pocket and unfolded the map of the Grand. The dining hall ¡ª or, as it was called here, ¡°the cafeteria¡± ¡ª was on the seventh floor of the main building in the western wing, but the military discipline field...


    ¡°How did they even build this?¡± Ardan whistled in admiration.


    The field occupied almost half of Star Square, or, more precisely, its underground part. It didn¡¯t have a numerical designation. Students just had to show a pass or a schedule indicating they had a class there or that they were a member of the Military Faculty for the lift operators to send them down. Access was denied to other students unless previously authorized.


    All of this made sense. Rumors among the servants at the Anorsky manor had claimed that maintaining and renewing a much smaller training ground in the basement cost an astronomical sum ¡ª one hundred and seventy exes a month. That included both materials and the work of protective magic experts. Even an institution like the Imperial Magical University wouldn¡¯t grant access to such an expensive facility to just anyone.


    While pondering this, Ardan crossed the walkway and returned to the atrium. As usual, clusters of students in red, more often green, and rarely blue cloaks roamed about. The latter were mostly upperclassmen or recent graduates.


    After all, three Stars indicated a very high level of mastery over Star Magic.


    Passing by the Monument to the Last King, Ardan turned toward the stairs and soon found himself on the seventh floor. Entering a small foyer, he walked ahead a few meters until he saw simple wooden doors with carved frames and a slightly worn sign. It read, ¡°Cafeteria.¡±


    Pushing open the doors, Ardi squinted for a moment. The light of the bright midday sun, which he had grown unaccustomed to in the gray, mist-shrouded Metropolis, struck his face.


    Blinking away the afterimages, he looked around. Of course, no miraculous change in weather had taken place outside the arched windows that reached from floor to ceiling. Heavy, dirty clouds still covered the sky. So where was the light coming from? The windows themselves were glowing with a soft, golden hue, casting small shadows as they encountered the legs of round tables designed for five or six people at most.


    The spacious cafeteria, with its polished, white stone floor and walls the color of a lake¡¯s surface after a storm, held about fifty tables. Some were occupied by students engaged in light conversation or studying while they ate. Others seated smaller groups ¡ª mostly professors in their distinct robes ¡ª reading newspapers or discussing something quietly.


    To Ardi¡¯s right, near the ¡°Emergency Exit¡± sign, was a ¡°line¡± similar to what you¡¯d find in a saloon, but without the bar stools. Instead of bottles, there was an extensive menu behind the bartender, and the ¡°bartender¡± was a few sturdy women.


    Dressed in white uniforms with pleated caps holding back their hair, they took orders from the students, who picked up tin trays from a rack and handed over a ticket before ordering.


    It was the same kind of ticket Ardan had received from the secretariat. A small slip of paper with the university¡¯s stamp confirmed his right to a hot meal.


    After figuring out the process, Ardi picked up a tray and, after waiting in a short line, found himself face-to-face with one of the cafeteria workers. Her gaze was heavy, but not unfriendly.


    ¡°Good afternoon,¡± Ardan greeted her.


    ¡°Afternoon,¡± she replied, a little wearily. ¡°New here, huh?¡±


    Ardi nodded, not surprised that she could so easily identify him as a first-year student. The cafeteria staff had seen so many students over the years that they could probably tell not just their year, but even the student¡¯s department, all without needing to see the crests on their uniforms.


    ¡°Here¡¯s what we can offer today,¡± she gestured behind her. ¡°You can choose one item from each section. The paid menu is separate.¡±


    She slid a sheet of paper forward, but Ardi didn¡¯t bother looking at it. If he had the chance to eat without spending money, he wasn¡¯t going to pass it up under any circumstances. So, he studied the list written in chalk on the slightly greasy, green board behind her, which reminded him of the one in the classroom back in Evergale.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have the partridge breast wrapped in grape leaves, the mashed baby potatoes with sour cream on the side, and...¡± Ardan skimmed the drink list. ¡°And strong Lan¡¯Duo¡¯Ha tea, with lemon, no sugar.¡±


    The worker jotted down his order and disappeared for a moment behind the kitchen door, one of those that swung both ways. Meanwhile, Ardi awkwardly looked around, unsure if he should wait there or go find a seat...


    ¡°Here¡¯s your order,¡± the worker stopped him from having to make a decision by swiftly returning from the kitchen, which Ardan had glimpsed through the door ¡ª it was a noisy place full of shouting and clattering dishes.


    On his tray sat steaming food and nearly half a liter of tea with four lemon slices ¡ª a sour fruit from Kargaam that was pretty costly in the Empire. In Delpas, it was sold for no less than one and a half ex per kilogram, and in Evergale, it was only brought in for festivals and sold individually.


    Licking his lips, Ardan turned and, to his surprise, spotted Elena sitting at one of the tables, waving to him with a smile. In front of her was a tray with a porkchop, some pasta in cream sauce, and strong coffee.


    Approaching the table, Ardi set his tray down and shrugged his bag off his shoulder.


    ¡°How did you...?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the only one who knows alchemy, Ard,¡± Elena said with a proud glint in her eyes ¡ª she really was Boris¡¯ wife, Ardi was firmly convinced of that. ¡°I tried to catch up with you but didn¡¯t see you at the elevators.¡±


    ¡°I took the stairs,¡± Ardi explained, inhaling the fragrant scent of partridge, which was tinged with sweet, slightly tart notes here. He had never tasted grapes before... ¡°And I got held up reading the list...¡±


    He patted his breast pocket. But even considering the fact that he had spent about ten minutes on the stairs, it seemed like Elena had brewed her potion even faster than he had.


    ¡°Are you going to tell me how you managed to make the potion without the formula?¡± She asked casually, cutting into her porkchop. She held her fork and knife like an artist might hold brushes before a canvas.


    Ardan, for his part, flexed and unflexed his fist for a while, then rubbed his fingers together. Only after feeling warmth return to them did he pick up his utensils.


    ¡°No,¡± he replied briefly.


    ¡°Well, at least you¡¯re honest,¡± Elena smiled slightly.


    For a while, they ate in silence. The partridge was... a little dry, and clearly not the freshest. It had probably spent at least a couple of days in the icebox. There was nothing like sinking your teeth into a still-beating artery...


    ¡°Ard.¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°Your pupils are slit.¡±


    Ardan stopped mid-bite and looked at Elena, whose face had turned slightly pale.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he muttered, shaking off the memories of the hunt in the forest¡¯s flows. ¡°Got lost in thought.¡±


    Elena swallowed audibly.


    ¡°Sometimes I forget you¡¯re not entirely human.¡±


    Ardi flinched. Images of marshals and Cloaks flashed before his mind¡¯s eye...


    ¡°You really shouldn¡¯t have helped Eveless.¡±


    ¡°The elf girl?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she confirmed.


    Ardi sighed and shook his head slightly.


    ¡°Let me guess ¡ª my grandfather did something to her ancestors?¡±


    ¡°Not just something, Ard...¡± Elena glanced around as if she didn¡¯t want anyone to overhear, but everyone else was too busy with their own conversations, meals, and rustling newspapers. ¡°No one knows why, but the Dark Lord and Aror wiped out almost the entire Eveless family, even though they were some of the closest allies of the Firstborn Rebellion. Only the youngest son survived because he was on an expedition in the Zaphir Desert at the time. Tina, that¡¯s her name, is one of his daughters.¡±


    Of course... Obviously, Ardan would constantly be surrounded by people whose lives his family had torn apart. It made sense, given where he was. There was nothing surprising or ¡°fateful¡± about it.


    The rebellion had deeply affected the lives of nobles and the elite. And the Grand was known for admitting many descendants of both groups. Statistically speaking, Eveless wouldn¡¯t be the first or the last person Ardan would need to avoid.


    Just as Davenport had noted at the ball, for humans, the Dark Lord¡¯s rebellion was a distant event shrouded by the mists of time. But for the Firstborn, it was a wound that remained fresh, something their parents had lived through, and in some cases, something they had personally survived.


    ¡°Can you tell me why you called the seal I used on the train ¡®complex?¡¯¡± Ardi decided to satisfy his curiosity while steering the conversation to a safer topic.


    ¡°Because the seal you used is a three-contour type with an embedded array of free runes,¡± Elena explained.


    ¡°That¡¯s what you said during Convel¡¯s lecture.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she nodded. ¡°At first, I thought he was trying to trick us by disguising everyday magic as war spells, but he went further and hid the whole idea behind a...¡± She trailed off.


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand this at all, do you?¡± Elena asked, noticing Ardi¡¯s blank look.


    He merely shrugged.


    ¡°All right, look,¡± she said with a pleasant smile, pulling a piece of thick paper from her bag. It was the kind typically used for drawing seals. After finishing her coffee, she scattered the dregs over the paper and began swirling them into circles with a spoon. ¡°Each new circle is an additional contour for the seal. How many circles did the spell you used have?¡±


    Ardan recalled the Ice Arrow diagram.


    ¡°Three.¡±


    ¡°So, it¡¯s a three-contour spell,¡± Elena pointed out the now-obvious fact. ¡°And each new contour is like an additional propertie for the spell. You know how Star Magic works, right?¡±


    ¡°It embeds energy from the wizard¡¯s Star into their surroundings.¡±


    Elena raised both eyebrows in mild surprise.


    ¡°That¡¯s a... very outdated definition of our craft, Ard... You¡¯d only find that in ancient, pre-imperial treatises.¡±


    Ardan inwardly kicked himself.


    ¡°The library in Evergale hasn¡¯t been updated in a while,¡± he tried to excuse himself.


    Judging by Elena¡¯s expression, the excuse wasn¡¯t very convincing.


    ¡°Sure...¡± She said with a hint of sarcasm. ¡°Actually, modern science tells us that Ley Lines, though they don¡¯t have a physical form, emit radiation that permeates reality. To put it simply, if you imagine reality as a piece of fabric, the Ley Lines are the threads woven into it.¡±


    Ardi recalled the process of igniting his first Star and the many streams of multicolored energy he had seen before him.


    ¡°So, when we use seals,¡± Elena continued, ¡°we¡¯re not just embedding energy into our surroundings. We¡¯re tying knots upon the threads of reality itself. And for those knots to do their job, they must have a way to affect reality, which, in turn, functions under very strict rules. Not all of them are known to us, but that¡¯s how it is. Thankfully, science continues to advance steadily, allowing us to create increasingly more complex seals.¡±


    Ardan paused to think.


    ¡°So, seal contours are... like additional rules for reality?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Elena set her spoon aside, leaving several rings in the coffee dregs on the now-soaked paper. ¡°The contour itself doesn¡¯t carry meaning ¡ª it¡¯s the runes attached to it that matter, runes from the Fae language. I can¡¯t give you a full list of contour runes right now. You¡¯d be better off checking the reference guide.¡±


    Ardan suddenly realized that the seals described in the Stranger¡¯s book weren¡¯t limited to three contours. For example, the Cold Shadow seal had five circles...


    ¡°And the more contours there are, the more complicated the seal?¡±


    ¡°With some exceptions, yes,¡± Elena agreed, cutting into her porkchop once more. ¡°But complexity is relative here. The more circles there are, the more runes you need. So, if you¡¯re drawing from memory, it¡¯s harder to remember everything. Even if you have a diagram in front of you, it takes more practice to get it right without making mistakes. It¡¯s one thing to have multiple contours in everyday magic, but in war magic... speed is essential...¡±


    Ardi recalled Gleb Davos¡¯ grimoire. The seals there also had three circles. However, some seals didn¡¯t seem to have any contours at all.


    ¡°And what about the embedded array?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a bit simpler,¡± Elena replied promptly. ¡°The contours, or propertie, define how the knot is tied upon the fabric of reality. But what the knot actually does is determined by the rune array. There are two types: free and fixed. A free array means the seal won¡¯t lose its core properties if you swap out some runes, while a fixed array means that changing even one rune could lead to unpredictable results.¡±


    Ardan recalled his experiments with the Water Drop spell he¡¯d never managed to actually create. Elena¡¯s explanation suddenly made a lot more sense, and he felt less bitter about nearly losing a toe during one of those mishaps.


    Then he remembered something Mart had mentioned when evaluating his Shield seal.


    ¡°What do ¡®vectors¡¯ in a seal mean?¡±


    Elena¡¯s eyebrows shot up again.


    ¡°That¡¯s more advanced, Ard,¡± she said after a pause. ¡°Vectors in rune arrays aren¡¯t something they teach in the basic courses. In fact, it¡¯s not covered until the later years... What I recall from our general theory lessons on Star Magic is that vectors determine the flow of Ley energy within the knot. The Ley isn¡¯t static, you see. So, the seal has to ¡®move¡¯ as well. While the Ley moves on its own in the outside world, in a seal, you have to set the direction manually. It affects a lot, but what exactly that is, I don¡¯t really know. I doubt we¡¯ll get to that until our third or fourth year.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± Ardan summarized, ¡°there are properties that shape the seal, runes that define the seal¡¯s rules, and vectors that direct the energy flow within the seal.¡±


    ¡°If you simplify it... a lot,¡± Elena said, drawing out the words for emphasis, ¡°then yes, that¡¯s about right.¡±


    ¡°Why is the Fae language used?¡± Ardi asked, another question popping into his mind.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s not too complicated,¡± Elena waved dismissively. Finishing her meal, she pulled a napkin from a stand and wiped her lips, leaving a smudge of red lipstick on the white fabric. ¡°Star Magic came from the Eastern Continent. You probably know that there are fewer Ley Lines there than here. Some even think that that¡¯s why there are hardly any Firstborn in the east, but that¡¯s beside the point. The Fae language wasn¡¯t actually created by the Fae themselves, but by dragons, the progenitors of all magic arts.¡±


    Ardan hadn¡¯t learned that from Atta¡¯nha, but then again, he hadn¡¯t asked about the origin of the language she¡¯d taught him.


    ¡°There¡¯s a legend, a sad one, which claims that, almost two thousand years ago, there was a kingdom on the Eastern Continent that was conquered by its neighbors. A simple shepherd set out on a journey to find the power that would help him take revenge,¡± Elena folded her utensils and placed them on her tray. ¡°He wandered for years until he reached the northern peak of the Selcado Mountains, after which the Selcado League is named. There, he found a dying dragon and saved it. To thank him, the dragon tried to teach the shepherd the art of the Aean¡¯Hane, but after many years, the dragon realized that the shepherd had aged and still hadn¡¯t mastered the art. So, the dragon created seals and taught the shepherd how to gather Ley energy within himself. That¡¯s how Star Magic was born.¡±


    ¡°What happened to the shepherd after that?¡±


    ¡°After saying farewell to the dragon, he set out on his journey home, sharing his knowledge with those he deemed worthy along the way,¡± Elena stood, taking her tray with her. ¡°But he never made it home ¡ª he died of old age. No family, no children... In his pursuit of power and knowledge, he became a great wizard, but we don¡¯t even remember his name now¡­ This legend, Ard, is told in the first lesson of Star Magic, so that we never lose our heads. Now, if you''ll excuse me, I need to wash off my make-up and change.¡±


    Elena¡¯s heels clicked lightly as she left, heading off to remove her makeup and change her clothes. Meanwhile, Ardan was left alone, mulling over what Velena Emergold had told him.


    Finishing the now-cold partridge and drinking his tea (not as good as cocoa, but still pleasant), Ardan took his tray to the rack for dirty dishes and made his way over to the lifts. There, he showed his schedule, and the lift operator, without waiting for a group of other students, let him inside the cabin. A second worker pulled a lever, and they began their slow descent.


    The watch on Ardan¡¯s wrist had previously told him that it had taken about twelve seconds for him to reach the sixth floor from the ground floor earlier, but they descended to the field in only eight seconds now. So, the field must¡¯ve been on the fourth floor, just underground. The fourth sub-floor? He wasn¡¯t sure of the term for it.


    When the platform came to a stop, the operator opened the metal grilles and, pulling a key from his pocket, turned it in the lock of the heavy metal doors.


    The doors swung open, revealing a rather unremarkable and unimpressive, wide corridor. The walls were lined with pale green brickwork, the ceiling was whitewashed and glowing with Ley-lamps, and the wooden floor was covered with a slightly worn, polished carpet that had been secured with steel rivets.


    As he walked straight ahead, Ardan noticed the unusual labels on the doors. They were quite different from what one would expect to find in a university. For example, one door read ¡°Armory,¡± while another said ¡°Test Range No. 4.¡± The oddest was simply labeled ¡°The Ring.¡±


    Most of the doors, however, led to testing grounds, and Ardi counted twenty of them as he made his way down the corridor. At the end of it, he saw two doors opposite each other: one was labeled ¡°Men¡¯s Locker Room¡± and the other, of course, was labeled ¡°Women¡¯s Locker Room.¡± There was also a third, almost inconspicuous door at the very end of the corridor. It said ¡®Pantry,¡¯ but if you looked closely, you could just make out the almost faded remains of the words ¡°Firstborn Locker Room.¡±


    Ardan turned the handle of the men¡¯s locker room door and entered, and was immediately hit by the mixed scents of hundreds of different colognes, and his ears rang from the clamor of voices.


    ¡°I heard that the colonel served fifteen years in the special forces,¡± said one student as he swapped out his polished shoes with silver buckles for simple but sturdy cavalry boots.


    ¡°Why did they have to send him here this year?¡± Grumbled another, struggling to pull on a pair of similarly sturdy boots that seemed too small for him.


    From what Ardan could tell, everyone sitting on the long benches lined up beside simple wooden lockers with hangers and shelves was dressing in the same uniform. There were the high, black cavalry boots with narrow shafts. The students would then tuck their gray linen pants, reinforced at the knees, thighs, and calves, into the boots, cinch a wide belt over their black-and-white striped shirts, and finally, they¡¯d throw on jackets made of bleached leather.


    Some of the students, who hadn¡¯t received their uniforms yet, had stripped off their cloaks, jackets, and vests, wearing only their shirts and pants.


    As Ardan walked through the rows, he tried to count the number of students in the large room, but he lost track after nearly getting to two hundred.


    Considering the fact that there were around four hundred students in the first year of the Grand, there must have been about two hundred and fifty to two hundred and seventy young men present here right now.


    Apart from the benches, Ardi noticed several doors at the far end of the seemingly endless room. There was a ¡°Restroom¡± and ¡°Showers,¡± and farther along, there was also a wide arch leading to a rectangular turn.


    Reaching the far end of the room, Ardan found an empty locker, and standing between two young men, he began preparing for the class.


    ¡°Did you hear? Last year, they had a different instructor,¡± the man to his left said.


    ¡°Professors sometimes resign from the Grand.¡±


    ¡°True, but this year, there¡¯s a record ¡ª fourteen new professors, and all of them from practical disciplines.¡±


    ¡°What are you getting at, Vlad?¡± The second student asked, squinting at him. He was a thin and wiry fellow.


    ¡°I¡¯m talking about the Emperor¡¯s decree, fool. He said we¡¯d be building military shipyards...¡± Vlad, who was broad-shouldered, but seemed sluggish, rolled his eyes.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So, we¡¯re about to have a class with a special forces officer. Do you know what those guys do?¡±


    ¡°No idea,¡± the wiry one shrugged.


    ¡°They kill people,¡± Vlad scoffed, and Ardan mentally nicknamed him Potato because he felt about as energetic as a sack of potatoes.


    ¡°All soldiers kill people, Vlad.¡±


    ¡°True, but they don¡¯t just kill people ¡ª they kill the-¡±


    Whatever else Potato said was drowned out by a loud bell that was reminiscent of a church bell, only faster.


    ¡°Eternal Angels!¡± Exclaimed the wiry student, frantically fastening his jacket. ¡°That¡¯s the second bell! There¡¯s only one left!¡±


    Not wanting to find out what would happen after the third bell, Ardan quickly shed his cloak, removed his star-emblazoned epaulets (during field classes, mages were excused from wearing their regalia), hung his vest on a hook, and, bending down, tied the laces of his boots tightly enough to ensure that they would fit snugly but not be too tight.


    Grabbing his staff and grimoire, which he hooked to his belt, Ardi hurried out of the locker room and into the hall.


    The hall was so vast that it made the ballroom of the Palace of the Kings of the Past look small and insignificant by comparison. There were no balconies, no polished, gleaming floors, nor, of course, flying chandeliers.


    There was nothing at all. Just a vaulted ceiling, about six meters high, dotted with flickering, yellow lights, much like the glowing windows in the cafeteria. The black floor had a low curb around the perimeter, much like the one in the Anorsky manor, with metal gutters embedded into the floor. Cables meant to transport Ley energy were likely hidden within.


    That was it.


    There was nothing else.


    Except for the students gathered near the closest wall, of course. Both the boys and the girls were there, and they all looked nearly identical in their uniforms. Like Ardan, a few were still missing their standard issue attire.


    Ardi took his place in line, leaning slightly on his staff, and began to wait. Gradually, more students emerged from the locker rooms, filling the hall. The boys did so mostly with excitement, while the girls mostly bore expressions that clearly said they could¡¯ve found better uses for their time.


    Ardan noticed how the girls had adjusted their hairstyles for the lesson, tying their hair into tight buns and tucking it under caps, while the boys had remained bareheaded. It was an amusing shift in ¡°fashion.¡±


    By the time the third bell rang, the entire first-year class had assembled, filling about a third of the hall. Ardan had no idea how they were going to conduct a lesson with such a large group. Probably-


    ¡°Good to see you, first-years,¡± a smooth voice interrupted his thoughts.


    From the shadows on the opposite side of the hall, a man walked out with a casual gait. He was middle-aged, perhaps forty or so, maybe a bit older. He was of average height ¡ª around 175 centimeters, maybe slightly taller ¡ª and had an equally unremarkable build, with a waist so slender it seemed almost feminine. His face was round and utterly nondescript, with a small, gleaming bald patch on top. He was clean-shaven and wore the same uniform as the students, except that under his jacket, there was a blue-and-red striped shirt instead of a black-and-white one.


    But while the colonel¡¯s appearance was plain, his epaulets were anything but. Five stars adorned his shoulders. They depicted seven, nine, eight, six, and finally, eight rays again.


    In comparison, even someone like Bogdan Urnosov would likely have stepped aside in deference...


    ¡°My name is Colonel Vseslav Kshtovsky,¡± the former soldier introduced himself, taking his place in front of the students.


    He held a metal staff etched with numerous seals, and at its top was a yellow accumulator ¡ª a highly valuable item Ardi didn¡¯t even want to consider the cost of...


    ¡°First of all, let me warn you that we¡¯ll only be working with this large of a group once, today,¡± his voice was friendly but carried a certain... slow, sticky quality, like a swamp you¡¯d gradually sink into. Or the wind that would push clouds ahead of a looming storm. It was calm¡­ until it revealed its overwhelming power. ¡°After this class, you¡¯ll be divided into twenty groups of twenty students each. Every group will be assigned a mentor from among our combat officers. Rest assured, their experience and skills are more than sufficient to teach you the abilities and knowledge that, by the grace of the Eternal Angels, you¡¯ll never need... I¡¯ll personally oversee the first group, regardless of your faculty.¡±


    Excited whispers rippled through the hall, especially among the boys. Ardan, who¡¯d already figured out the situation, resolved to do everything in his power to end up in the very last group. It would be much easier to earn the required points for his scholarship there.


    As for combat skills... Well, where was he, and where was the war? Also, who would even let Aror Egobar¡¯s descendant into the first group, which would undoubtedly be filled with those closely tied to military careers?


    ¡°Now... let¡¯s start with something simple,¡± the colonel scanned the crowd. ¡°Please list the ranks of the Imperial Army¡¯s ground forces.¡±


    A hundred hands shot up immediately. Ardan could have answered as well, but he wasn¡¯t interested in drawing attention to himself. He¡¯d had enough of that in Kovertsky¡¯s lecture...


    ¡°You, miss from the Faculty of Healing,¡± the colonel pointed with his staff at a girl in the front row.


    ¡°Private, first, second, and third class,¡± the healer recited crisply. ¡°Then corporal and sergeant. After that are the officers: lieutenant, captain, major. And then the senior officers: colonel and general.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the colonel nodded. ¡°You may return to the line.¡±


    The girl stepped back, nearly bumping her staff into the person next to her.


    ¡°If you successfully complete all six years of university, you¡¯ll graduate with lieutenant¡¯s stripes. In other words, you¡¯ll become officers of the Imperial Army,¡± the colonel¡¯s dark eyes gleamed with pride and something else Ardan couldn¡¯t quite identify. ¡°That¡¯s a great honor, and an even greater responsibility. But that¡¯s for the future. For now, I¡¯ll ask my assistants to join me, and we¡¯ll begin the selection process.¡±


    Stepping out of the same shadows that the colonel had emerged from, twenty men and women appeared. All of them looked to be in their thirties, or a little older. Some bore scars on their faces. A few had a noticeable limp. In other words, they were the kind of people who, as Ardan¡¯s great-grandfather had used to say, had ¡°Saluted the motherland with blood.¡±


    ¡°The selection will follow the rules of magical duels,¡± the colonel explained. ¡°My assistants will randomly pair you up. The winners of the first matches will duel other winners, and the losers will fight the other losers. During this time, my assistants will assess your abilities, based on which we¡¯ll divide you into groups. Don¡¯t worry about expending your Star¡¯s rays ¡ª the field will restore your strength within minutes.¡±


    Within minutes... In the Anorsky manor, his Star had recharged almost instantly, but then again, Ardan had practiced there all on his own.


    ¡°But in order to lend credence to my words with a demonstration, I¡¯ll ask for volunteers...¡±


    The colonel hadn¡¯t even finished speaking when a hundred hands shot up again. Ardan¡¯s, of course, was not among them. If he could, he¡¯d surrender to every opponent in advance and head straight to the back of the list.


    His goal was to survive the next four months and then return home. He¡¯d deal with family mysteries and other problems back in Delpas. And for that, he needed a stipend, not a brawl with...


    ¡°Great Prince Iolai, since you¡¯ve volunteered, please step forward.¡±


    A young man whom Ardi had seen at the ball stepped out of the line. He was a relative of Anastasia, if Ardan remembered correctly. Son of Anastasia¡¯s uncle, or something like that. He was a bit taller than the colonel, with black hair streaked with white, tied back into a tight ponytail and tucked into the collar of his jacket. His staff, made from a type of wood unfamiliar to Ardan, was gripped by long, thin fingers. His face was sharp, almost like a mix between a weasel and an otter, with a prominent nose completing the image. His narrow shoulders added to his somewhat awkward appearance, but his dark eyes gleamed with an unsettling light. But despite his odd looks¡­


    ¡°Since we¡¯re all without our regalia today, please state your Star and its number of rays,¡± the colonel instructed.


    ¡°Red Star,¡± the prince¡¯s voice rasped like an old hinge. ¡°Nine rays.¡±


    Despite his unimpressive appearance, Prince Iolai Agrov possessed a completed Red Star ¡ª a feat that was impossible to fake or obtain through any shortcuts. Across the entire Empire (which accounted for a fifth of the planet¡¯s population), there were probably fewer than a few hundred individuals with completed Red Stars. That alone spoke volumes about how difficult it was to accomplish such a thing.


    So, it was no surprise that when the colonel asked ¡°Who among you wishes to duel the Great Prince Agrov?¡± not a single hand was raised.


    Well, almost no one raised a hand.


    To Ardan¡¯s surprise, someone did volunteer. And that someone was none other than Boris Fahtov.


    ¡°Very well, please-¡±


    ¡°Colonel,¡± Iolai interrupted with a sneer, ¡°may I choose my opponent?¡±


    The colonel raised a curious eyebrow, then shrugged.


    ¡°It makes no real difference to me, so yes, go ahead.¡±


    As a child, Ardan had always laughed at these kinds of situations in his great-grandfather¡¯s stories. But now, as he watched Iolai scan the ranks of frozen students, he mentally sent an apology to his late ancestor. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that he¡¯d one day end up in the shoes of one of those fairy-tale characters.


    At last, the prince¡¯s dark, gleaming gaze locked onto Ardan, and a smirk twisted his sharp features.


    Of course... Both Atura and Davenport had warned him about this...


    ¡°I choose Ard Egobar from the General Knowledge Faculty,¡± Iolai growled, his voice laced with malice.


    The students around Ardan turned their heads, scanning for the person named. Ardan remained still, hoping ¡ª just maybe ¡ª that hearing his last name would prompt the colonel to reconsider this spectacle.


    ¡°Student Egobar, please don¡¯t delay the class,¡± the colonel said, looking directly at him.


    No such luck.


    Sighing inwardly, Ardan carefully made his way through the crowd of students, most of whom barely reached his shoulders, and walked toward the colonel, the officers, and Iolai. Up close, they all seemed even shorter than they had from a distance. And somewhat reassuringly, there was no sign of disdain, disgust, or anger in the colonel¡¯s eyes, or those of his assistants.


    ¡°Your Star and its number of rays?¡± The colonel asked.


    ¡°Red, seven,¡± Ardan replied curtly.


    There were no particular murmurs or whispers at that. Seven rays was still a significant number, but at the university, Ardan wasn¡¯t the only one with that number of rays. In fact, there were others ¡ª like Iolai and Boris ¡ª who had even more than him. After all, the best of the best would gather here.


    ¡°Very well,¡± the colonel nodded calmly. ¡°Please move ten paces apart.¡±


    Ardan turned and counted off ten steps before...


    ¡°Student Egobar, please step back by a pace and a half,¡± the colonel spoke from behind him. ¡°It looks like you¡¯re planning to run away.¡±


    Chuckles rippled through the crowd, but if Ardan were honest, he wouldn¡¯t have minded doing just that and running away as far as possible.


    He had no reason to fight Iolai. He couldn¡¯t even invent a motive. They lived in completely different, non-intersecting worlds.


    ¡°Let me remind everyone of the duel¡¯s rules,¡± the colonel stepped between them. ¡°You take turns either breaking through the shield or forming one, until the victor is decided ¡ª either when one opponent exhausts their Star¡¯s rays or when one shield holds while the other breaks. If you use all your energy to cast a shield but the opponent can still break it and has rays left, they win. If you deplete your opponent¡¯s rays while they still have a shield but can¡¯t cast another, you win. The use of replenishment items is forbidden. Any form of injury is forbidden. During the duel, the field will not restore your strength.¡±


    Ardan already knew all of this. He remembered it well from his duel against Gleb Davos in the prairie, and perhaps that¡¯s why memories of that fight ¡ª of Gleb¡¯s wind-tousled hair, his wide, stunned eyes, and the mess left on the grass ¡ª flashed before his mind¡¯s eye.


    After that, Ardan had spent a lot of time thinking and had come to the conclusion that a duel, while seemingly straightforward, involved far more nuance. Victory could be achieved not just through brute force and burning one¡¯s rays, but also through tactics and strategy. Not that he planned to use either today.


    ¡°Student Egobar,¡± the colonel turned to him, gesturing toward Iolai. ¡°As the challenged, you may choose whether to cast the shield or break it first.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll cast the shield,¡± Ardan replied without hesitation.


    ¡°Understood,¡± the colonel nodded and stepped back. ¡°Let¡¯s begin.¡±


    Opening his grimoire, Ardan prompted a fresh wave of snickers from the students as he pretended to search for the Shield seal. In the meantime, Iolai turned to them and theatrically spread his arms out, as if saying ¡°Look who I have to deal with.¡±


    After nearly half a minute, Ardan ¡°found¡± the seal and began to slowly, and deliberately, form it, stumbling occasionally, which drew more laughter from the audience. Some of the colonel¡¯s assistants even exchanged puzzled glances.


    But Ardan consoled himself with the thought that Skusty would have been thrilled to watch this performance, while Ergar... Well, that was a thought for another day.


    Finally, Ardan slammed his staff against the ground and formed the Universal Shield seal, pouring just a single ray into it. A familiar, soap-like veil shimmered around him.


    He was determined to end this farce as quickly as possible...


    The colonel frowned slightly, and Iolai¡¯s face also scrunched up in confusion for a second. The students, upon seeing the shield, quieted ¡ª not because it looked particularly strong, but because...


    Because it confirmed Ardan¡¯s suspicion as to why Gleb had used so much power in his first strike back in the prairie. The Stranger¡¯s seal was so ancient and crooked that it was impossible for anyone to gauge how much energy it contained.


    But it wasn¡¯t long before Iolai, regaining his smirk, raised his staff. A seal of steely gray formed before him, slower than Gleb¡¯s had been. If Ardan had wanted to, he could have dodged the attack with his shield intact, but... why bother?


    Iolai struck the ground with his staff, and a somewhat transparent, iron-colored fist shot toward Ardan. It crashed into his shield, shattering the soap-like film before slamming into his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him sprawling nearly a meter backwards.


    For a moment, Ardi lay on his back, trying to feign pain. The blow had been solid, no doubt about it, but he had taken harder hits during his childhood games with Guta and Ergar.


    And of course, the rocks thrown by Cassara had left a far more lasting impression.


    ¡°Struggling¡± to push himself up with his staff and hoping his pitiful acting would suffice, Ardan rose to his feet.


    ¡°I concede,¡± he rasped. ¡°I¡¯ve exhausted my rays.¡±


    Iolai, his face beaming like city lights at night, turned to the students and raised his staff triumphantly. Applause echoed through the hall ¡ª not from everyone, but from many.


    ¡°An excellent demonstration,¡± the colonel stepped forward again. ¡°Student Egobar used an ancient version of the Universal Shield seal but cast it far too slowly and sloppily. Meanwhile, student Agrov employed a basic, single-contour offensive spell from the Earth school with a fixed rune array ¡ª the Steel Fist. It uses three rays of the Red Star. However, the exam standard for casting such a seal in the Military Faculty is under a second, whereas student Agrov took almost two.¡±


    The smug grin on Iolai¡¯s face faded slightly.


    ¡°But do you know the greatest flaw in this particular duel, and the greatest flaw in general among mages with Stars that have many rays?¡± The colonel tightened his grip on his staff. ¡°It¡¯s that you tend to underestimate your opponents.¡±


    Everything happened too fast¡­ Too fast for Ardan to suppress the instincts drilled into him by Ergar and honed by Cassara and the prairies.


    In an instant, the colonel spun, slamming his staff into the ground. A seal flashed into existence before him, and a small, fiery projectile shot out of it. As soon as Ardan noticed it, he felt a cold, clawing grip tighten around his heart.


    The fiery projectile, cutting through the air like a bullet and making it ripple with heat, almost struck Ardan¡¯s chest before he reacted. He slammed his staff against the ground, instantly summoning a shield. The offensive spell slowed for just a fraction of a second, searing through the barrier right after, but that was enough for Ardan.


    Just like on the train, he altered the projectile¡¯s trajectory, and in a single motion, he dodged, his body reacting without conscious thought. Then, striking the ground again, he swiftly formed a brilliant, white seal, from which a nearly-meter-long Ice Arrow shot forth, freezing the ground as it flew.


    As the arrow hurtled toward the colonel, Ardan drew a knife from behind his back and lunged forward. As Ergar had taught him, he intended to neutralize the threat with a single blow.


    But...


    But the colonel didn¡¯t even bother to raise a shield. He simply tilted his body slightly to the side, allowing the Ice Arrow to slam into the floor and shatter into tiny shards. Then, with a swift, fluid motion, he spun his staff and struck him...


    Somewhere.


    Ardan never figured out where.


    Everything went dark right after.


    ***


    Ardi awoke on a soft bed. Overhead, a Ley-lamp shone, and beside the small bedside table, near a screen that concealed the rest of the world, sat one of the colonel¡¯s assistants.


    The man was in his thirties, his face marked with expressive scars. His left hand was missing the top joints of his ring finger. His epaulets bore three stars with four, three, and four points.


    ¡°I am Assistant Professor Kery Lavrilov,¡± he introduced himself.


    Ardan slumped back against what he assumed were pillows in the infirmary.


    ¡°How-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been asleep for several hours,¡± the officer interrupted. ¡°Class is over. By the way, you¡¯ve been assigned to the twentieth group.¡±


    Ardan couldn¡¯t help but smile. Finally, something had gone his way today.


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem surprised,¡± Lavrilov noted, ¡°or disappointed.¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Ardan replied, not bothering to argue.


    The officer studied Ardan for a moment while the latter stared at the tips of his boots dangling off the bed.


    ¡°You recover quickly,¡± Lavrilov remarked. ¡°The nurse didn¡¯t need to use magic to heal you even though the colonel¡¯s strike landed¡­¡±


    Ardan pressed his fingers to his temple, wincing.


    ¡°On my temple... I could have died.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re at the Imperial Magical University, student Egobar,¡± Lavrilov reminded him. ¡°There are so many high-class healers here that you can forget about easily departing... How do you say it? To walk the path of your ancestors?¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Ardan muttered.


    ¡°And it was unwise of you not to take your duel with Great Prince Iolai seriously,¡± the officer added. ¡°It clearly offended him. A rather reckless move on your part.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t bother to point out that if it hadn¡¯t been for the colonel¡¯s meddling, everything would have worked out just fine. Iolai would have satisfied... whatever urge he had, and Ardan would have cemented his reputation as a bumbling rural fool who had only managed to get into the university by sheer luck. Soon, everyone would¡¯ve stopped paying attention to him.


    But now...


    Why did life always go the exact opposite of his carefully laid plans?


    ¡°Can I leave?¡± Ardan asked.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Lavrilov gestured toward the screen.


    Indeed, this was the infirmary. He saw white walls, rows of identical beds and tables, glass cabinets filled with medicines, numerous IV stands, and the bright, blinding light of Ley-lamps. Outside the large windows, the city was already sinking into twilight, seemingly rejecting sunlight entirely.


    Ardan sat up, inspected his bag (which had apparently been brought in along with him) and, after ensuring everything was still there, put on his boots, buttoned up his vest, and threw his crimson cloak over his shoulders, the hem barely reaching the back of his knees.


    Slipping the bag over his shoulder and taking his staff and hat in hand, Ardan silently headed for the door.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be the instructor for your group during military training, student Egobar,¡± Lavrilov said from behind him.


    ¡°Good to know,¡± Ardi replied without a hint of irony.


    Kery Lavrilov did indeed seem like a pleasant enough person, at least as much as one could be in the current situation.


    For some inexplicable reason, it appeared that he and Lavrilov were the only ones in the room ¡ª there were no nurses and no other patients. Just before he reached the infirmary door, Ardan heard:


    ¡°You¡¯d do well to stop using those seals, student Egobar, unless you want to attract the attention of the Cloaks.¡±


    Ardi turned, puzzled, to face the officer, who had also risen from his chair.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure where you learned them,¡± Lavrilov clarified, ¡°but what you demonstrated today is part of the basic curriculum for mages of the Second Chancery. And I¡¯ll give you my word as an officer that I won¡¯t inform the colonel or my colleagues of this.¡±


    Ardan had seen enough of the ¡°outside world¡± by now to ask the following question:


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Lavrilov paused for a moment, as if considering his answer.


    ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m not sure,¡± he shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ve left a positive impression on me ¡ª for now, at least ¡ª and... you already have more than enough on your plate. I think you¡¯ve got plenty to deal with as it is.¡±


    Ardan tilted his head to one side. It sounded too good to be true.


    ¡°My father,¡± Lavrilov suddenly added. ¡°He was convicted of robbery and murder and sent to a labor camp. I¡¯ve had to live with that my entire life... So maybe I can understand you at least a little, student Egobar.¡±


    Without turning back, Ardan muttered a quick ¡°thank you¡± and left through the door.


    Unfolding the map to get his bearings, he made his way out of the building. The infirmary was on the first floor of the Healing Faculty¡¯s building, which stood in the eastern wing. Navigating past the students, Ardan moved across the walkway, his thoughts occupied not with what had just happened but with the Stranger¡¯s tome, which was safely tucked away in his satchel.


    In truth, long ago, Ardan had assumed that the ancient book had been written by the Dark Lord himself. But the more he read it, the more he realized that wasn¡¯t the case. The Stranger occasionally mentioned events from that era, but always as an outside observer.


    And Lavrilov¡¯s words... How could an officer seemingly unrelated to the Cloaks know such things?


    And...


    Ardan¡¯s head throbbed painfully. Whether this was due to the hit he¡¯d taken or the relentless flood of new questions and mysteries, he wasn¡¯t sure. If these puzzles hadn¡¯t directly involved his life, he might have been tempted to unravel them.


    But the more he kept his distance from them, the healthier he would be. Still, who had the Stranger really been? And, more importantly, why had his book ended up in Ardan¡¯s great-grandfather¡¯s possession? The old man had once let slip that he had known the Stranger...


    In light of these emerging details, the incident with Prince Iolai and the colonel no longer seemed all that significant to him. So, Ardan resolved to stick to his plan, and after reaching the atrium, he gritted his teeth and took the lift to the library.


    After waiting in line for a while, he approached the counter and handed the staff two lists.


    ¡°Hello, I need the books from these lists.¡±


    The young woman in a yellow uniform took the papers and examined them carefully.


    ¡°That¡¯s quite the number...¡± She said, raising an eyebrow at Ardi. ¡°You¡¯re sure you need all of them?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ardan confirmed.


    ¡°All right,¡± she shrugged lightly. ¡°Do you have a library card?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t had a chance to get one yet.¡±


    ¡°Then, while you fill out the paperwork,¡± she handed him a form and a blank sheet, ¡°I¡¯ll remind you that removing books from the library is strictly forbidden. You may copy sections for personal use, but any attempt to distribute knowledge of Star Magic illegally will be punished according to Imperial law. And remember, any damage to the property must be compensated in full, regardless of the extent of it.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Ardi nodded, returning the completed form.


    The librarian checked that everything was in order before issuing him a library card.


    ¡°The general reading room is to your right,¡± she pointed to a space filled with desks, each equipped with a small Ley-lamp casting a soft, muted glow. All the seats were occupied... What a day... ¡°Since you¡¯re from the General Faculty, you have your own reading area. Head a bit farther in, and you¡¯ll find more desks sectioned off from the general area. That¡¯s where you should go.¡±


    ¡°Wait a second,¡± Ardan was taken aback. ¡°The General Faculty has its own reading room?¡±


    ¡°And unlimited access to the library,¡± the librarian confirmed. ¡°Except during curfew. But that¡¯s only for the junior years. Starting from the fourth year, you can stay in the library overnight if you submit a notice in advance. The General Faculty also has no restrictions on the information you can request, but keep in mind that we¡¯ll report all your reading activities to the secretariat. If they determine your research is straying into forbidden territory, they¡¯ll send a commission to assess your suitability for continued studies at the university. Additionally, General Faculty students have no limits on the number of books they can request. Just please don¡¯t abuse these privileges. I still remember one wizard from the General Faculty who literally made a bed out of books and lived in the library for two months. She ended up being taken to a mental health facility, by the way.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± was all Ardan could muster. ¡°And the books...¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll be waiting for you in your designated area,¡± the librarian smiled. ¡°After all, this is a library at a magical university... The name is a description, but also a bit of an in-joke, you see.¡±


    Ardan, feeling like a passenger in his own body, turned and made his way toward the indicated section. And indeed, after passing by rows of students, each with a ticket displaying the date and time of their visit (apparently, they had to book appointments in advance to access the library), Ardan found the separate reading room, which was only half-full.


    And in the far corner, near the window, a cozy couch awaited him, along with a wide desk and two dozen books on Star Magic.


    Ardan even pinched his wrist.


    Was it possible that the colonel had killed him, and he had somehow ended up in the paradise of the Face of Light¡¯s religion?


    Finally... It was just him, the books, and the silence...


    ***


    ¡°Student Egobar.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Ardan was snapped out of his study of a text on the interaction between two differently-contoured seals when accounting for rune-bridge arrays.


    The same librarian from before stood above him.


    ¡°The library is closing,¡± she said softly, pointing to the clock. The time was just shy of eight.


    ¡°Sleeping Spirits!¡± Ardan exclaimed. ¡°Curfew is soon!¡±


    He glanced at the scattered books and his notebook, already filled with notes in pencil. As Atta¡¯nha had taught him, he was copying down everything he found worthy of meticulous study.


    Unfortunately, thirty pages had already been used up, and his notebook only had one hundred and twenty of them...


    ¡°Is it possible...¡± He began.


    ¡°The books will be set aside for your next visit.¡±


    ¡°But what if-¡±


    ¡°Everything you requested is part of our standard collection,¡± the librarian explained. ¡°There¡¯s nothing unique about those books. We have other copies, so if someone else orders them, it won¡¯t be a problem.¡±


    Ardan sighed, closing his notebook and tucking it, along with the pencil, into his bag.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, heading for the exit.


    ***


    ¡°One more minute, and you¡¯d have been late, private,¡± the elderly warden tapped his watch as Ardan passed through the entrance to the dorms.


    ¡°Good thing I made it,¡± Ardan replied, his tone far more irritable than usual.


    His mother wouldn¡¯t have approved of such a retort, but the past few days had been exhausting. Not that such a thing excused rudeness, of course.


    Still, Ardi wasn¡¯t made of iron.


    ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± the old soldier hiccupped and took a swig from his bottle. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to place your name all evening...¡±


    Not again...


    ¡°Sounds a lot like Abar,¡± the old man croaked. ¡°Ever heard of him? Hec Abar... He was a senior officer of the Third Army¡¯s separate reconnaissance and sabotage corps, and the commander of the Sixth Division. That was the only case where a simple major was granted a senior officer¡¯s duty... Ah, what a beast Hec was...¡±


    ¡°You knew him?¡± Ardan¡¯s heart skipped a beat.


    ¡°Not really,¡± the warden waved dismissively. ¡°I was green back then. I¡¯d just joined the corps, and we immediately walked into a stinking, bloody mess. We were ambushed by mercenaries... And if it hadn¡¯t been for Major Abar, I¡¯d have ended up rotting in the ground.¡±


    ¡°He... saved your life?¡±


    ¡°Mine and four other fools, which we were back then,¡± the warden added. ¡°And a week later, he died on a mission. Shame... I never got to thank him. He was a great man. Never heard a bad word about him. He didn¡¯t spare his enemies, nor himself... You remind me of him a little, big guy... Your name sounds familiar, and your face is... Yeah, it¡¯s also similar...¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardan said quietly, his voice a little softer now.


    And as he turned toward the stairs, a strange warmth spread through his chest.


    The halls were quiet as he made his way to his room. However, as he entered it, he overheard the conversation between the two elves and the dwarf come to an abrupt halt.


    For a moment, silence hung in the room. Then the Firstborn students demonstratively threw themselves onto their beds and opened their textbooks.


    Ardan didn¡¯t react to this. The last thing he wanted was to socialize, especially with people who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.


    Quietly, he walked to his bed, tossed his staff onto the top bunk, undressed down to his undergarments, and, discreetly slipping his father¡¯s knife under his pillow, climbed under the covers.


    Glancing at the hazy strip of the window, he found a strange, poetic similarity in the skies over the Metropolis and his mood.


    He drifted off to sleep thinking about those gray clouds.


    ***


    Ardan was jolted awake by the sensation of his staff knocking against the wall and grazing his knee. Opening his eyes, he could just make out the silhouettes of two elves.


    One stood frozen, holding Ardan¡¯s staff in his hands, while the other was poised to strike him with a pillowcase stuffed with something heavy.


    The blow landed where Ardan¡¯s head had been just moments before, but he¡¯d managed to jerk back, banging his head against the wall. In one swift motion, he grabbed the knife from under his pillow, which was still in its sheath (he knew better than to kill someone on his first day), and jabbed it into the elf¡¯s chest.


    At the same time, Ardi kicked his staff upwards, the tip slamming into the second elf¡¯s chin and sending him sprawling back into the door, which creaked in protest.


    Springing from his bed, Ardan noticed his third ¡°roommate,¡± the dwarf, charging at his legs. Ardan sidestepped and brought his heel down hard on the dwarf¡¯s knee.


    In a matter of seconds, one elf was gasping and clutching his chest, the other was struggling to regain his balance, and the dwarf lay groaning into a pillow, clutching his shattered knee.


    Ardan didn¡¯t bother asking them any questions.


    It was all perfectly clear. Whether it was Eveless, Iolai, or someone else whose family had suffered at the hands of his great-grandfather and the Dark Lord...


    Ignoring their groans and gasps, Ardan, still silent, calmly dressed, took his staff, packed his belongings into his bag ¡ª double-checking for the second time that nothing had gone missing from either his bag or his satchel ¡ª threw on his hat, picked up his satchel, and left the room.


    The clock had already passed midnight.


    Climbing the stairs, Ardan made his way to the front desk, where the warden was snoozing peacefully.


    Slapping his hand on the desk, Ardan startled the old man awake.


    ¡°Huh? What? Am I already on duty?¡± The warden stammered, looking around before realizing where he was. ¡°Are you out of your mind, private?!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m leaving,¡± Ardan said, placing his room key on the counter.


    Leaving the bewildered warden behind, Ardan stepped into the passage, crossed the empty atrium, and exited onto Star Square.


    Metropolis greeted him with damp night air and an ink-black sky devoid of stars. Only the cold, lifeless city lights illuminated the student as he stood there.


    He had exactly one day to find new accommodations before classes began again.


    ¡°Well then,¡± he muttered to himself, bracing against the embrace of the nighttime city, and set off into its depths.

 Chapter 42 - Stray

    Ardan strolled in a leisurely manner along the cobblestone street. A cold, drizzling rain fell from above. He had grown used to the sight of it through the window ¡ª those small, sharp droplets leaving long threads of tiny beads on the glass. But walking under them was a different matter entirely. He could feel them prickling his face, tickling his neck as they slid in from the brim of his hat, and squelching under his boots as he stepped into the puddles.


    At this late hour, you could hardly find a single soul in the center of the city. Just a few unfortunate people like Ardi, who looked equally lost and were wrapping themselves in autumn coats and cloaks, pulling their collars up high to shield themselves from the omnipresent raindrops. They also tried to hide under umbrellas, but as soon as they would sigh with relief, exhaling little clouds of mist, the playful wind would join forces with the rain.


    It swept through the streets, shaking the crowns of the few trees planted in flowerbeds, tearing the last golden and russet leaves from their branches and flinging them into the faces of the pedestrians while also bending the spokes of their umbrellas.


    The wind also carried scents that were rare in Evergale, but reigned here in the Metropolis like proud monarchs of old. The smell of steel and metal, cast in the nearby factories; the stench of smog and black smoke from coal and coke, rising above those very same factories. It mingled, swirling in hot dances with the islanders¡¯ spices, then mixing with the aromas of expensive perfumes and under-roasted coffee imported from Lintelar.


    Sometimes, cars passed by. Like otherworldly, phantom beasts with glowing eyes, they emerged from the rainy curtain, cutting through puddles with their tires and drenching anyone too slow to jump back from the curb, and then vanished back into the darkness.


    The trams weren¡¯t ringing and there were no whistles from the traffic wardens; the newspaper boys had gone quiet, no longer peddling their wares, and even the shops, which usually gleamed as brightly as decorated festival trees, had fallen asleep.


    The Metropolis, or at least its pompous and expensive center, had sunk into slumber. And so, Ardan felt not quite like a stranger here, but rather as though he had, by accident, wandered into his parents¡¯ bedroom late at night, ready to tell them some incredibly funny and unquestionably important story, only to catch them in the midst of¡­


    Now he knew exactly what they had been doing at those times when he¡¯d barged in. And he finally understood why, on that day when he¡¯d played hide-and-seek with them and had hidden in the kitchen cupboard for a good few hours, his boast of an undeniable victory had so thoroughly amused his great-grandfather.


    Ardi smiled at the memory and sighed.


    For a moment, it seemed to him like the city smiled back and sighed as well, as if relieved that its new, albeit temporary, resident might find something of his own among the opulent buildings, broad streets, bulky avenues, winding alleyways, and the haughty bridges arching over the black river.


    And so, Ardi continued walking, looking around the entire time. Over his shoulder, his satchel thumped against his back; in his hands, he carried a bag and a staff, its tip tapping rhythmically against the smooth cobblestones of the pavement. The stones rang under the heels of his boots, echoing the cawing of scattered and spooked crows, which had gathered for a feast but then been scared off by a cat.


    Speaking of which ¡ª there it was, the cat. Licking its paw, it darted into an alley and disappeared under a trash bin. The very one beside which, sheltered by an overhang, a waiter stood in black pants, polished shoes, a black-and-white striped shirt, and a starched white apron. He was smoking and, bending down, scratched the cat behind the ear before it scurried away from the rain.


    ¡°Hey, Zor, are you going to dawdle all day?¡± Came an annoyed voice from the other side of an inconspicuous door.


    ¡°Coming,¡± the waiter grumbled, stubbing out his cigarette on his shoe and tossing it into the trash. Before disappearing into the building, he exchanged a glance with Ardi.


    A moment later, Ardan saw only the swinging door and moved on. The restaurant¡¯s windows glowed in the nighttime gloom of the capital, their light scattering the darkness with a lazy sweep, like someone swatting away a fly.


    Ardi paused briefly in front of the wide display window. On the other side, in a grand hall bathed in gold, marble, and amber, sat important men in tailcoats with their companions. A band played on a small stage, and waiters like Zor flitted between the tables. They had different faces and different bodies, but all of them wore the same uniform.


    One of them approached the window and waved Ardi away, motioning for him to hurry on.


    Ardan tipped his hat and continued. For hours, he walked, simply soaking in the atmosphere of the city, acquainting himself with it as cautiously as if he were meeting a predator in the hunting grounds. With care and respect, he absorbed the sounds, scents, sights, and sensations the Metropolis offered so generously, even deep into the night.


    Occasionally, he stopped by small parks where a few locals were walking their dogs, or where, under the streetlights, people sat at tables, smoking and playing chess or cards.


    The rain ended ¡ª though probably not for long.


    In its place came a light, low-hanging mist. Like a pet, it hugged his legs, drifting toward the river, which slowly and steadily flowed closer to the ocean.


    The ocean¡­


    Ardi had read much about it, but he had never seen it before. Alas, he probably wouldn¡¯t see it today, either. Too many things to do.


    Damp, but strangely not disappointed, he stopped under a streetlamp. The ornate post made of black wrought iron was crowned by two lamps, their yellow light flickering against the foggy glass.


    Smiling at a group of young people walking by who were discussing art (they, for some reason, recoiled from him and hurried to cross the street¡­ Perhaps it wasn¡¯t customary to greet people here as it was in Evergale?), Ardi pulled a newspaper from his bag. He had bought it, quite honestly, from the Anorsky household on his last day there.


    Well, ¡°bought¡± was a term for it ¡ª he¡¯d left five kso on the hall table. That¡¯s how much the ¡°Imperial Herald¡± cost in the capital. It was two kso more expensive than in Evergale. Although, if you thought about it, the printing press was located here, and there was no need to send it by postal trains and¡­


    Ardi waved it off. He needed to get used to the fact that everything in the capital cost absurdly large sums of money.


    The issue was already a week old, but Ardan didn¡¯t need the latest news from it. He needed something else entirely.


    Flipping to the last pages, he ran his finger over several ads he had circled with a pencil.


    Even back in the prairie, when he¡¯d heard about the dormitory, Ardi hadn¡¯t planned to stay there for long. Six years with Aergar had been enough to instill a snow leopard¡¯s outlook in him for life, and so he would always seek out his own territory and solitude.


    ¡°Big Oboronny Street, number 12,¡± Ardan read aloud from one of the ads he had marked. ¡°I think Mart mentioned Small Oboronny Street once... What¡¯s the price? Nine and a half exes a month. The apartment has heating and a kitchen.¡±


    Ardan grimaced and immediately crossed out the ad. Given how his first classes had gone, the scholarship-grant seemed more and more ephemeral, and relying on it was out of the question. So, his budget was limited to eighteen exes in cash and two suits, which he still had to pay off, though luckily, the deadline hadn¡¯t been specified, so he could stretch it until New Year¡¯s.


    Suddenly, Ardi realized what the merchants in Evergale must¡¯ve felt when, at the end of each month, they¡¯d rushed to the bank to deal with their loans and debts.


    ¡°No point in renting anything farther than an hour¡¯s walk from the Grand,¡± Ardi continued running his finger over the ads. ¡°It¡¯s about thirty minutes by tram¡­ Maybe a bit farther if I run...¡±


    Though, who knew how the city guards would react to a two-meter-tall mage running down the street? Something told Ardi that such a sight might cause unnecessary excitement.


    ¡°All right,¡± the young man folded the newspaper and tucked it back into his bag. ¡°No point looking for a place until I sell the suit¡­ And the shops won¡¯t open until eight.¡±


    Ardi glanced at his wristwatch. It was a quarter past two¡­ There was still a long time until the shops opened, so¡­


    Adjusting his grip on his staff, he glanced toward the park, then, after making sure there was little traffic on the road, he dashed across it.


    Three elderly men, clearly well-to-do judging by their fine coats (this was the Central District, after all), continued playing cards.


    Ardan approached and watched them for a while. He recognized the game immediately.


    Olikzasian Sevens.


    It was one of the most popular card games in the world, and it had grown out of a simple dice game common among sailors in the merchant fleet. That was how it had spread across the globe.


    The rules were also simple enough to make it a staple in taverns and saloons.


    From a deck of fifty-two cards, each player would be dealt two, and then, each turn, another would be placed on the table until the sum of the cards in one¡¯s hand and on the table equaled seven ¡ª hence the ¡°Sevens¡± part of its name.


    Between card reveals, players could place bets, and after the final round, they¡¯d check who had the best combinations. The winner would take the pot.


    ¡°Two dragons and two soldiers,¡± one of the elderly men with a comical monocle under a bushy eyebrow said with a grin, a large wart on the tip of his nose.


    ¡°Three soldiers,¡± replied the second, already gathering the coins from the table. He was so thin and shriveled he resembled an overcooked tomato.


    ¡°Easy there, friends, easy,¡± the third man raised his hands and began laying out the cards for a higher combination. ¡°A two-sword soldier, three-tailed dragon, four-masted ship, five-staff mage, and,¡± he slapped the final card down on the table with a victorious grin, ¡°a six-pointed crown!¡±


    ¡°Eternal Angels,¡± muttered the shriveled man.


    ¡°As usual, Peter wins,¡± the wart-nosed one said, spreading his hands.


    ¡°Hand over your coins,¡± the cigar-biting elder swept several kso toward himself. The bets seemed rather modest.


    ¡°And you, young man, why aren¡¯t you asleep?¡± Peter asked suddenly, exhaling a cloud of smoke. ¡°We, you see, are old men; sleep left us long ago.¡±


    Ardan had been standing behind the Shriveled One and the Wart all this time, so they hadn¡¯t seen him, but now they turned and froze for a moment. Fear flashed across their faces for a split second, while Peter, who was slightly portly with rosy cheeks and skin as rough as birch bark, exuded a sticky calm.


    ¡°I¡¯m waiting for dawn,¡± the young man replied honestly.


    ¡°Then wait for it elsewhere-¡± The Shriveled One began, but Peter interrupted him.


    ¡°Did a lady of the heart throw you out?¡± The elder, shuffling the deck, nodded meaningfully at Ardi¡¯s bag.


    Ardan allowed himself a small smile.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call those gentlemen ladies. They were quite masculine elves and dwarves.¡±


    The Shriveled One and Wart exchanged confused glances, while Peter only nodded briefly.


    ¡°Well, young scholar, sit down with us.¡±


    ¡°Peter, you can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Nazhir, calm down,¡± Peter interrupted the Shriveled One. ¡°Do you know how to play Sevens?¡±


    ¡°I know the rules,¡± Ardi confirmed, sitting down as the fourth player.


    ¡°We bet one kso each,¡± Peter explained. ¡°And raise no more than five.¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡±


    ¡°Good¡­ By the way, since we¡¯ve got a youngster at the table, what do you know about jazz?¡±


    ¡°Why such a strange question?¡± Ardi couldn¡¯t help but ask.


    It was indeed a strange question.


    ¡°Because you¡¯re looking at its aficionados,¡± Peter winked. ¡°We just came from a concert and wanted to take a little walk and chat about it¡­ And that was¡­¡±


    ¡°Three hours ago,¡± the Shriveled One grumbled.


    ¡°Oh, come on, Nazhir,¡± Wart waved him off. ¡°We all live in the neighboring house anyway, so¡­¡±


    ¡°You may as well give him the keys to my apartment!¡± Nazhir bristled.


    ¡°Friend, he¡¯s a mage ¡ª if he wanted to, he could get into your apartment without keys¡­ Or did you forget to hide your second set of dentures?¡±


    The old men, including Nazhir, chuckled.


    ¡°And so,¡± Peter continued, ¡°my young friend who has generously lowered the average age of players at this table, what do you know about jazz?¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t know much. Only what Mart had told him about it. Apparently, it was a kind of music that was slowly capturing the hearts and minds of the people of Metropolis. Born out of the classical instrumental music of the upper class, jazz had woven in the light and quick rhythms of the elves.


    At first, jazz had become popular among the working class, who didn¡¯t have the money to enjoy high culture, and then, since there were more poor people than the wealthy, the music had spread throughout the capital, eventually beginning to reach beyond its borders.


    But that wasn¡¯t what had interested Mart about it. What had intrigued him was why it wasn¡¯t possible to create a transmitter that could broadcast music over long distances. He had mentioned something about¡­ electromagnetic waves, or something like that¡­


    The problem, Mart had explained, was that these waves were disrupted by the echo of the Ley Lines, which created such strong interference that the waves dissipated after just a few dozen meters.


    Mart had said that they had tried to solve the problem by using wires, but even those were affected by the Ley. Apparently, Star Engineers were now in a kind of gold rush, trying to find a way to transmit information over long distances using not ¡°electromagnetic waves,¡± but ¡°Ley cables.¡± But so far, no major breakthrough had occurred.


    Ardan hadn¡¯t fully understood what Mart¡¯s words had meant at the time, and he still didn¡¯t quite grasp them now.


    But he did remember the part about jazz.


    ¡°Well, young man,¡± Peter began dealing the cards. ¡°You, judging by your appearance, have come from afar, but know so little about jazz¡­ And what is the Metropolis without jazz? No, without it, this wouldn¡¯t even be the Metropolis at all. So, take note of what an old detective has to say: Jazz is¡­¡±


    A few hours of Sevens and an equally long time spent discussing jazz later


    Ardan tucked the city map back into his waistcoat pocket, yawned, and tugged on the brass handle. The wooden door, painted matte black, with a sign reading ¡°Madam Okladov¡¯s Atelier, open from First to Fifth day, from 7 in the morning to 9 in the evening,¡± swung open, causing the bell above the doorframe to jingle.


    Upon entering, Ardi immediately took off his hat and wiped his boots on the mat¡­ only realizing after the fact that it was likely decorative and not meant for use. After all, how else could he explain the intricate pattern of scissors trimmed into the high-pile carpet?


    The old men he had played Sevens with had told him where to find a decent tailor nearby. It wasn¡¯t a place where the prices soared through the roof, but not a bargain basement where they¡¯d sew a button back on for a couple of kso, either.


    Ardi needed something in between, and Wart (the young man never did catch his name) had recommended Okladov¡¯s Atelier. It was just down the street, right next to the Three Bridges Avenue.


    And as it turned out, the atelier, located on the ground floor of a residential building (like all shops, caf¨¦s, and restaurants in the central districts of the Metropolis), was still a little closer to what Ardan considered sky-high prices than not. He had forgotten, once again, that he had been speaking with residents of the capital.


    The spacious room, which clearly served as both an atelier and a sort of showroom, featured a massive, full-length mirror, likely for fittings. The walls, painted a deep green, displayed paintings and a cuckoo clock with dangling weights. The space itself was filled with mannequins.


    They were spaced far enough apart that several people could pass between them freely. Some mannequins wore flamboyant outfits: crimson suits with twisted orange stripes and shoes polished to a mirror finish, made from white leather so stiff it almost cracked around the toes. Dresses covered in sequins made from tiny aluminum pieces boasted slits so high you could probably see more than you should.


    A bit farther on stood simple, well-tailored, woolen three-piece suits. Double-breasted and single-breasted. Some had contrasting silk vests and others were standard, matching the main fabric.


    Winter was approaching, and the city¡¯s residents were preparing as much as they could. Mostly, this either meant they¡¯d be wearing more layers of clothing, or in some cases, the gradual appearance of fur coats in the shop windows hinted at how others would combat the cold. However, none of the furs were as high-quality as the ones his mother had made for the people of Evergale. And the fur itself¡­ It was more of a joke than actual fur.


    Ardan approached a very simple, dark blue suit with a low-collared vest. It had no flashy embellishments, with buttons instead of cufflinks, and a plain, low collar on a thick shirt.


    Ardi suspected that, this far from the Alcade, he would probably feel the cold. But he doubted that he¡¯d feel it so much that he would need to wear lined long johns, thick woolen socks, and a sweater over his shirt. Those items were also available in the atelier, not on the mannequins, but neatly folded on counters and high stools in front of cabinets displaying fabric samples.


    Why did the young man need a suit? At the Grand, everyone dressed like that. It would be easier to blend in. But how much would it-


    ¡°It¡¯s twelve exes and forty-five kso for the one you¡¯re looking at,¡± someone spoke from the doorway leading to the workshop. ¡°The price includes the jacket, pants, shirt, and vest. Shoes, belts, and other accessories are sold separately. Our partners source those from¡­¡±


    The woman trailed off as she approached and gave Ardi an appraising look. She herself looked pleasant enough: chestnut hair pulled into a tight bun, white, detachable sleeves tied with ribbons over her arms, and a gray apron with many pockets, filled with various sewing tools, was draped over her simple fabric skirt.


    His mother had one just like it¡­ Well, almost.


    ¡°Although, with your height, young man, it¡¯s more likely to cost fourteen, not twelve and a half,¡± she declared. ¡°Your shoulders are too narrow for your frame, so we¡¯d have to work hard to make it fit well.¡±


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Madam Okladov?¡± The young man asked.


    ¡°At your service,¡± she nodded curtly.


    Judging by the fine lines around her eyes and mouth, she was likely over thirty, but she didn¡¯t wear any rings. And there was a faint scent of men¡¯s cologne about her, rather than anything feminine.


    The price she had quoted was only half of what the Anorsky family had charged him for a ¡°casual¡± suit. But it was still outrageously expensive. So, for the time being, it might be better to look for clothes closer to the factory workers¡¯ districts.


    ¡°Unfortunately, I¡¯m not here to make a purchase,¡± the young man said apologetically.


    But this didn¡¯t seem to affect Okladov at all. She merely shifted her gaze from his figure to his cloak.


    ¡°You want to lengthen your cloak?¡± She mused. ¡°For forty kso, I can extend it enough so that you don¡¯t look like a scarecrow.¡±


    Ardan had almost forgotten that the cloak he had been issued was too small for him.


    ¡°And that¡¯s not the reason either¡­¡± Ardi opened his travel bag and took out two neatly-wrapped paper bundles tied with twine. ¡°I¡¯d like to sell you these two suits.¡±


    He placed the Anorsky clothing on the counter and stepped back.


    ¡°Sell them to me?¡± Okladov didn¡¯t even move. ¡°We¡¯re not a pawn shop, young man. If you¡¯re not planning to buy anything, please don¡¯t waste my time.¡±


    Ardi refrained from pointing out that the day had just begun and that the atelier was entirely empty, aside from perhaps the house cat. His Matabar senses had picked up the presence of the creature as soon as he¡¯d entered.


    ¡°Madam, I understand that, but please, just take a look,¡± Ardi gestured to the bundles. ¡°That¡¯s Scaldavinian sheep¡¯s wool. Hand-spun, not factory-made. And it was treated with some kind of solution, though I¡¯m not sure which-¡±


    ¡°Are you a mage or a tailor?¡± She chuckled softly, cutting him off as she began unwrapping the bundles.


    The first one, the casual suit, elicited nothing more than a disappointed sigh from her. It was well-made, but from simple materials and clearly factory-produced.


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°I meant the second bundle.¡±


    With a skeptical arch of her brow, Okladov unwrapped the paper packaging. The moment she did, she whirled around and practically bolted toward the cash register.


    Ardi, anticipating the reaction, set his staff against a mannequin and raised his hands. So, when she pulled a small, feminine revolver from beneath the counter and pointed it at his chest, he was already in the most non-threatening posture he could manage.


    In the back of his mind, he noted that, over the past few months, people had been pointing weapons at him far too often.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move!¡± She shouted, trying to steady the trembling gun. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare make a move! I¡¯ll shoot, I promise!¡±


    ¡°Madam, I-¡±


    Still aiming the shaking weapon at him, she began rummaging across the counter for something.


    ¡°Where is it¡­¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re looking for the siren cord, it¡¯s a bit farther to the right,¡± Ardan offered, gesturing with his eyes toward the inconspicuous cord near the register.


    These cords had recently been installed in Evergale as well. Pull on one, and a long, unpleasant sound would blare from a hidden loudspeaker, alerting the city guards.


    His words made Okladov freeze, and she spent the next few moments staring at him. Ardi waited patiently.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t steal it?¡±


    ¡°I was given the suit on a temporary, compensated basis,¡± the young man replied.


    ¡°Compensated basis?¡± Okladov snorted. ¡°Don¡¯t try to fool me, young man. These materials and this craftsmanship¡­ You can¡¯t just borrow something like this. These are custom-made in the finest ateliers in the city, for clients like dukes and Great Princes! Not for mages in red cloaks with childish eyes¡­¡±


    She¡¯d wanted to say more, but then trailed off, her hand still not lowering the revolver as she reached for a folded newspaper in a nearby stack. She opened it and held it so she could glance at both the paper and Ardi at the same time.


    ¡°It does resemble the picture,¡± she sighed with some relief. ¡°Even the face¡­¡±


    Ardi barely suppressed a knowing smile. She had compared the clothes to the photo first, not his face¡­ His mother would have done the same.


    ¡°Apologies, Mr. Egobar,¡± Okladov lowered the revolver. ¡°But you must understand, it¡¯s not every day that someone of your appearance, with a staff in hand and carrying around an outfit worth half a year¡¯s revenue, walks into my atelier.¡±


    Ardi nearly choked. The ceremonial suit was worth one hundred and twelve exes, meaning¡­ the atelier earned nearly a quarter of a thousand a year?!


    ¡°Before taxes, of course,¡± Okladov continued her rambling, still trying to steady her trembling hand. ¡°And before salaries, and¡­ Well, it would take me some time to¡­ Oh, I¡¯m sorry¡­ I¡¯m just nervous¡­ Would you like some tea? Wait, why am I offering you tea¡­¡±


    Ardi couldn¡¯t tell if this was her nerves acting up or his damned Witch¡¯s Gaze.


    ¡°And why do you have a gun in your atelier?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    The young man gestured toward the revolver still resting on the counter. It was small, yes, but more than enough to send someone to meet the Eternal Angels.


    ¡°The revolver. Why do you need it?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that,¡± Okladov glanced at the gun before turning away. ¡°Last year, someone broke into the atelier. They didn¡¯t take anything¡­ They just tried to get into the apartment upstairs. I live above the workshop, on the second floor. They didn¡¯t like that I live with my¡­¡±


    She stopped herself and fell silent. Ardan, who didn¡¯t fully understand the situation, decided not to press the issue. He had come here for something else entirely.


    ¡°Will you buy it?¡± The young man asked, his voice hopeful, reminding her of his original question.


    Okladov took a few deep breaths, then approached the suit still lying on the glass counter. She ran a finger over it, checked the seams, examined the lining for a few seconds, and finally, using a strange device that looked like a cross between a monocle and a telescope, she inspected the stones in the cufflinks.


    ¡°This suit is worth no less than a hundred exes, Mr. Egobar,¡± she declared.


    ¡°One hundred and twelve, to be exact,¡± Ardi nodded, pulling out the shoes Tatiana had called ¡°not for the streets.¡±


    Okladov shook her head and stepped back.


    ¡°You have a rather¡­ unusual frame, Mr. Egobar,¡± she said, now fully composed and back to her professional self, her sharp, discerning gaze back in place. ¡°You¡¯re tall, with narrow shoulders for your size, but long arms and legs, a short torso, and a low waist. Overall, I might find a client among the elves; they sometimes have similarly¡­ peculiar figures.¡±


    Ardi understood that ¡°peculiar¡± actually meant ¡°awkward,¡± but he was well aware of this less-than-convenient aspect of his physique. It was simply the way he was built.


    ¡°But it would take too long to find the right client, so the suit itself holds little value to me.¡±


    ¡°I see, then I apologize,¡± Ardi began to reach for the counter, but Okladov placed her hand on the fabric.


    ¡°I said the suit holds little value to me, but the material is enough for me to tailor something else from it,¡± she clarified with a small spark in her voice. ¡°So, I¡¯ll offer you a deal. I¡¯ll buy both suits for¡­ let¡¯s say¡­ forty exes.¡±


    ¡°And the shoes?¡±


    ¡°With those feet?¡± Okladov snorted, now fully back in control. ¡°Don¡¯t even bother trying your luck with the cobblers. Your feet are abnormal. Long, wide, with toes spread far apart. And those calves¡­ Completely inhuman. Their circumference is probably a match for those of the most passionate food lovers¡­¡±


    With surprising ease, she listed half the attributes Tevona Elliny had once pointed out when explaining how the marshals had identified Ardi as a half-blood.


    ¡°Sixty, and we have a deal,¡± Ardi extended his hand.


    ¡°Are you trying to ruin an honest woman?¡± Okladov grimaced. ¡°Forty-five.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you ashamed of trying to cheat someone who just received their certificate of adulthood? Fifty-five.¡±


    ¡°What kind of adulthood certificate are you talking about when you, Mr. Egobar, are tall enough to scrape the ceiling with your head? Forty-eight, or you can take the suit elsewhere.¡±


    To be fair, Ardan was still quite a ways from the ceiling ¡ª probably about as far as he¡¯d been in his home in the mountains of the Alcade¡­ Well, maybe a little less than that.


    He gazed into Okladov¡¯s eyes for a moment and instantly understood that she had offered her final price and condition with absolute seriousness.


    ¡°Forty-eight, and a ten percent discount for a future client,¡± Ardan countered.


    He wasn¡¯t joking. Being the son of a seamstress, he could easily recognize quality at a glance, and Madam Okladov¡¯s atelier offered excellent value for one¡¯s money. So maybe, sometime in the future¡­


    ¡°Eternal Angels, young man!¡± The owner exclaimed. ¡°You haggle like a market vendor, not a mage!¡±


    ¡°I had a very¡­ frugal employer,¡± Ardi coughed, recalling how he and the other cowboys had once ¡°convinced¡± Timofey Polskih to pay them for overtime.


    For the first time, Okladov extended her hand.


    ¡°Forty-eight and a seven percent discount on your next three purchases.¡±


    Ardan nodded and gently squeezed her hand in return, receiving a firm, steady handshake that not even many men could¡¯ve boasted of.


    That was the grip of a true worker.


    Okladov disappeared into her workshop for a moment and returned with five banknotes: four ten-ex bills (the largest denomination in the Empire) bearing the portrait of Pavel I ¡ª the Emperor who had reformed the currency ¡ª and one five-ex note with the image of Arch Magister Davilov, the first man to attain seven Stars in the Empire¡¯s history. Both men had been dead for centuries, of course.


    Along with those banknotes, Okladov placed down two silver coins with the imperial crest, each worth one ex, and a handful of brown bills ¡ª these were denominations of one, five, and ten kso.


    Thus, Ardi became forty-eight exes richer¡­ Or, looking at it another way, he was still ninety exes poorer than when he¡¯d arrived in Metropolis.


    But now, at least, he could rent an apartment and focus on more important matters. Namely, the daunting task of trying to learn in a month what other students had studied for years¡­ While also mastering the current curriculum flawlessly. Otherwise, he could kiss his scholarship goodbye.


    It was as Neviy had once groaned when he¡¯d first started working at the butcher shop:


    ¡°Oh, this fu¡­ blasted adult life.¡±


    ¡°It was a pleasure doing business with you,¡± Ardi grinned, tucking his wallet into his belt.


    ¡°The feeling isn¡¯t mutual just yet,¡± Okladov quipped without malice. ¡°Now, young man, have a good day.¡±


    Ardan tipped his hat and stepped outside.


    The Metropolis still lingered in that realm of twilight and morning fog. But more and more often, the headlights of cars began flickering through the haze as the streets gradually filled up. Tram bells rang now and then; newsies, still yawning, took to the sidewalks with stacks of newspapers; and occasionally, still-drowsy passersby would approach the shoe-shiners.


    Ardi took a deep breath, and for the first time, the air didn¡¯t seem as musty and metallic as the exhaust of one of the tractors on the farm, reeking of diesel and rust.


    Life was looking up!


    ***


    ¡°No half-bloods!¡± The door slammed shut right in Ardi¡¯s face.


    The young man raised the newspaper and crossed out the last of the addresses he hadn¡¯t seriously considered in the first place.


    What bad luck!


    Descending the staircase, he left behind the dimly lit, fifth-floor hallway of the dilapidated tenement where he had tried to rent an apartment. He stepped out into the foyer, where it seemed even the cockroaches were dancing, and then out onto the street.


    The Metropolis had¡­ once again, fallen into evening gloom. The closer it got to the White Month, the shorter the daylight hours became in this part of the country, and the longer the nights stretched. So, wrapping his cloak tighter around him, Ardan trudged dejectedly along the cobblestone road.


    The stones vibrated cheerfully beneath his feet, as if trying to lift the spirits of this wandering homeless man. The buildings around him weren¡¯t as grand and opulent as in the central districts, but they still exuded an air of agedness and the era before steel and concrete giants dominated the skyline.


    By this point, Ardi had almost reached the edge of the circle he had drawn on his map. Within these boundaries, it still made sense to rent an apartment, rather than endure dorm life and¡­ the neighbors.


    But everywhere he went, it was the same story. Either young tenants weren¡¯t welcome, or half-bloods and Firstborn were undesirable as residents, or a deposit was required, one equal to three months¡¯ rent, or even worse, a recommendation from one of the current tenants was needed.


    His mage credentials, his student paper from the Grand¡­ Not even his earnest, honest look had helped. Though, to be fair, the latter had probably never aided him¡­


    And so, Ardi just wandered the streets now, breathing in the fresh night air. He walked along the embankment of one of the many canals. Behind the wrought-iron railing, adorned with twisting rose and tulip buds ¡ª flowers quite unlike anything native to the Metropolis forests ¡ª black water murmured below.


    Its cold, indifferent caress lapped against the granite banks, frothing with white here and there, as if it were walking in step with Ardan. His bag still bounced against his back, and his satchel swayed in his left hand.


    The wind kept trying to snatch his hat and whisk it away on a journey to another part of the city, where renting a room would be pointless ¡ª it was too far from the university.


    Around him, unlike in the dead of night, golden lights still gleamed. Weeks ago, when he had ridden in the car toward the Anorsky estate, he had imagined the lights as something magical and had wondered why the locals paid them no mind, walking by so indifferently, as if these wonders weren¡¯t worth noticing.


    For example, there was the toy store, where a wooden gentleman, lit up by lamps, twirled in a dance with a dainty ballerina nearly his size. Or the candy shop, where, right in front of the display window, a confectioner was crafting something out of cream and layers of cake that would probably become a swan-shaped masterpiece. Or, just a bit farther, there was the butcher shop, which was hurrying to close and had a stuffed cow in the window marked with cuts of meat and their prices. The cow looked so lifelike that it seemed like it might straighten up and moo at any moment.


    The caf¨¦s and restaurants didn¡¯t lag behind, either, flaunting signs and decorations that Ardi hadn¡¯t even seen at the liveliest of fairs. But¡­


    But right now, he barely paid any attention to them. His mind was preoccupied with one thing ¡ª finding a place to live. Yes, of course, he could go back to the dormitory and strike a deal with the warden. Admit he¡¯d been hasty.


    Maybe he could even sweet-talk the old man.


    But even if those two elves and the dwarf quieted down, it would only be temporary. And living under the same roof with people who had tried to harm you wasn¡¯t a great idea.


    It¡¯d be too much trouble.


    Not to mention that the majority of the dormitory was full of people like those three. And if you added Iolai and Eveless into the mix¡­


    Maybe he could charm that librarian-assistant into helping him? Neviy had always managed to talk his way out of trouble with ease ¡ª a little friendly banter with a young woman, and he¡¯d slip out of any sticky situation.


    But Ardi had never been able to pull that off. He¡¯d be lucky if he didn¡¯t lose his library card in the process.


    The whole thing was turning out to be quite unpleasant¡­


    Ardan jumped aside just in time to avoid the splash from a puddle kicked up by the wheels of a speeding car. Although it nearly dirtied his last clean pair of pants, it snapped him out of his gloomy thoughts.


    Without realizing it, Ardi had returned almost to the exact point from where he had started his journey. He was now a couple of blocks away from the park where he had played Sevens, near the Markov Canal (named after a notable public figure from the previous century), and he found himself at a wide intersection.


    To his right, a bridge over the canal led to the other side; to his left, a street branched off toward the city¡¯s main boulevard; and straight ahead stood a five-story building with a balcony bay window shaped like a tall tower.


    Technically, it was a four-story building since, as usual, the ground floor housed shops and businesses.


    One of them caught Ardan¡¯s attention.


    Under the bay windows, a round sign made of intertwined grapevines formed a simple name: ¡°Bruce¡¯s Jazz Bar.¡±


    Jazz¡­


    Well, since he hadn¡¯t managed to find a place to live, he might as well find out what the old men had been so excited about and what Mart had spoken of with such fond nostalgia.


    Overhead, the sharp, cold rain began to drizzle once again. Ardi crossed the street and pushed open the door, stepping inside.


    The establishment was somewhat reminiscent of a saloon in Evergale, though far more¡­ respectable, perhaps. The dim lighting created an atmosphere of soft semi-darkness, gently embracing the many tables draped in white tablecloths. At their center stood low lamps, serving as the sole source of light.


    In the distance, hidden behind a partition formed by two velvet ropes, there were booths with couches instead of chairs, where, unlike the rest of the establishment, it seemed like¡­ not all the patrons were human.


    But Ardi couldn¡¯t make them out. Nor could he see the other guests, including the bar and bartender. The lights suddenly dimmed, and a few spotlights crossed their white beams, illuminating a small stage on the far side of the room.


    ¡°Our regular guest,¡± came a voice from the shadows. ¡°Tess.¡±


    The audience clapped, breaking up the veil of cigarette and cigar smoke that clung to the ceiling. In the dim light, the silhouettes of men appeared first. One settled behind the drums, another took up a curved trumpet with a multitude of valves, a third stood behind a double bass, and the last sat down at the piano.


    And then, carefully walking on high heels and wearing the very same dress Ardan had seen earlier that morning at Okladov¡¯s atelier, a young woman appeared. She had skin the color of a nascent sunrise, and was clad in nothing but that black, sequined dress with a slit that reached almost to her thigh. She stood before the golden Ley-microphone (a simple artefact that increases the volume of the voice) and began to sing.


    Little nimble alley cat,


    Where are you walking in the night?


    Rain is pouring, roofs are wet.


    Do you have a place to hide?


    In the night,


    The alley cat is climbing upstairs,


    Hunting shining stars in the sky


    To hide them in the morning haze.


    Her waist was slender; her small, perky chest was barely covered by her dress¡¯ neckline, which plunged all the way to her stomach; her red lips parted slightly as she lifted her hand, scattering a mane of fiery red curls. Thick as ripe wheat, her hair curled and fell well past her back.


    In the night,


    The alley cat is playing with the moon.


    Perhaps it is the best thing in life


    When there¡¯s nothing else left to do¡­


    Little fluffy alley friend,


    I wish I could be just like you.


    When my life comes to an end,


    As a cat, I would live another two.


    Her face was probably beautiful ¡ª though after meeting Cassara, Ardi found it harder to judge. Still, there was something about her¡­ Maybe it was in her high cheekbones, her sharply-defined, neat chin, or her slightly upturned, petite nose, and in those bright, green eyes lined with dark mascara.


    Something about her made you believe that, in this bar, which reeked of alcohol and smoke, the sun had suddenly appeared. Warm and joyful, it didn¡¯t care who you were ¡ª rich or poor, human or Firstborn. The sun simply didn¡¯t care. It gave you its light and asked for nothing in return.


    In the night,


    You will see me climbing upstairs,


    Hunting shining stars in the sky


    To hide them in the morning haze.


    This light washed away all worries and troubles as it burned away grievances and misfortunes. In its glow, everything that had happened recently seemed so insignificant, gray, foolish, and trivial that you felt ashamed for even tormenting yourself over such small things.


    And that sun was the tiny young woman singing by the microphone, and her voice outshone even the music itself.


    In the night,


    You will hear me singing with the moon.


    Perhaps it is the best thing in life


    When there¡¯s nothing else left to do¡­


    When she finished singing, and the musicians played their final notes, the bar remained silent for a few moments before erupting in applause. Some patrons brought flowers to the small, round stage, while Ardi stood there, blinking in confusion.


    This wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d heard music, but he had never heard anything like this before. Now he understood why the old men had spent so much time talking about-


    ¡°Finally!¡± A booming voice came from behind him. ¡°You must be my tenant, I presume?¡±


    Engrossed in the music, Ardan hadn¡¯t noticed the tall figure approaching him from behind. He turned to find himself facing a towering man ¡ª no, not quite a man. His lower jaw jutted forward too much, his nose had been flattened, and his short but muscular arms hinted at orcish blood.


    The figure was dressed in a black satin suit, though curiously, he wore no vest, which struck Ardan as odd. In his experience, no one wore a suit without a vest unless they were in formal attire, like a tailcoat.


    ¡°Excuse me¡­ what?¡± Ardan asked, still trying to shake off the daze from the music.


    The orcish half-blood deflated slightly, his shoulders slumping.


    ¡°Ah, it¡¯s not you, either¡­ Fuck it, Sleeping Spirits, what a day¡­¡± The half-orc scratched the back of his head with nails so long and hard it sounded like someone brushing a horse with a stiff comb. ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting three days for my tenant, and he still hasn¡¯t shown up. It¡¯s like this asshole fell through the ice or something. Meanwhile, my place is just sitting there, empty.¡±


    Ardan blinked, fish-like, opening and closing his mouth before blurting out, ¡°I need a place to live.¡±


    The half-orc froze, his hand still on his head, and narrowed his eyes at him, looking Ardan up and down with a scrutinizing gaze.


    ¡°You do, huh? Well, don¡¯t get too excited,¡± the half-orc said with a dismissive wave. ¡°The place is more of a hole than a room. No comforts at all. You¡¯ll have to come down here just to use the bathroom. And the space itself¡­ It¡¯s weirdly oval, drafty as hell, with no heating, and no plans to add it, either. You might¡¯ve noticed it when you came in ¡ª the last balcony in the tower? That¡¯s the one.¡±


    ¡°How much?¡± Ardan asked, cutting in with great urgency.


    The half-orc hesitated. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, lad, there¡¯s no heating.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sensitive to the cold,¡± Ardan shot back. ¡°How much?¡±


    The half-orc rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ¡°The contract is until the end of the year. Five exes a month, plus a ten-ex deposit. But seriously, there¡¯s no heat, no nothing, and-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± Ardan interrupted him, thrusting his hand out.


    ¡°You will, huh?¡± The half-orc smirked, clearly caught off-guard by Ardan¡¯s eagerness. ¡°Well then, just know this, lad ¡ª if you move out early, I¡¯m keeping the deposit. Understood, huh?¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    The landlord squinted at Ardan with growing suspicion. ¡°Why are you so eager, huh? There¡¯s something weird about you. You¡¯re not¡­ You¡¯re not up to something, are you, huh?¡±


    The orc¡¯s gaze drifted to the student badge peeking out of Ardan¡¯s breast pocket and then to the red cloak draped over his shoulders.


    ¡°You¡¯re one of those¡­ students from the Grand, aren¡¯t you, huh?¡±


    Ardan nodded, barely able to contain his excitement, though the tune from Tess¡¯ song still hummed in his head.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned,¡± the orc muttered. ¡°You smell funny¡­ Like a cat¡­ Though maybe it¡¯s just that blasted song of Tess¡¯¡­ She could sing about that cat for hours, and it¡¯d never be enough for this lot.¡± He gestured toward the crowd.


    ¡°My name¡¯s Arkar, by the way. And you, student?¡±


    Ardan braced himself for disappointment, sensing this was where his luck might run out.


    ¡°Ard Eg-¡±


    ¡°None of that surname stuff,¡± Arkar grunted, clapping Ardan on the back and nearly knocking him off his feet. ¡°We¡¯re simple folk here. Hah! I¡¯ve always loved that joke. Simple folk¡­ non-humans¡­¡± He laughed, shaking his head. ¡°Alright, come on, I¡¯ll show you your new palace, Mr. Mage. Just keep in mind, if you blow something up, I¡¯ll make you pay for it ¡ª and break your legs. Or arms. Maybe both, depending on my mood.¡±


    ¡°Deal!¡± Ardan responded enthusiastically.


    Arkar led him past the stage, down a narrow hallway, and then up a set of stairs that wound higher than the top floor of the building, stopping at a small landing.


    ¡°To the left is the attic,¡± Arkar pointed to the first door. ¡°And this one is yours. Here¡¯s the key.¡±


    Ardan stepped forward, only for Arkar to tighten his grip on the key, smiling wickedly in order to reveal the sharp lower tusks common among orcs.


    ¡°Money first, lad. Fifteen exes.¡±


    Without hesitation, Ardan pulled out his wallet from his belt and counted out the amount, handing it to the landlord. Arkar took the bills, held them up to the light, sniffed them, and then crumpled them slightly between his fingers.


    ¡°All good,¡± Arkar declared, handing over the key. ¡°Alright, lad, make yourself at home. I¡¯ll bring you the paperwork in half an hour so we can sign it. By the way, you mind if I put down that your deposit was a hundred exes instead of ten, huh? You know, so when people ask why I¡¯m renting it so cheap, I don¡¯t look like a fool. Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s nothing for you to fret about. The deposit¡¯s yours anyway, so no harm done. And why would I cheat a Grand student, eh?¡±


    ¡°Bring the papers, landlord,¡± Ardan said with a silly grin.


    Arkar blinked, caught off-guard by the abruptness, then nodded stiffly and began descending the stairs, muttering under his breath, ¡°Crazy kid¡­¡±


    Ardan wasn¡¯t the least bit worried about the little trick with the deposit. After all, the deposit was what Arkar owed him, not the other way around. Plus, his Matabar senses had told him that Arkar was being completely sincere. The orc had no intention of pulling a fast one on his new tenant.


    An orc¡­ in a suit¡­ Why did that combination feel oddly familiar to Ardan?


    Whatever the reason, the thought evaporated the moment Ardan unlocked the door.


    Beyond it was an oval-shaped room, about six meters in diameter and surrounded on all sides by windows, which allowed the city¡¯s lights to spill in.


    There was a bed large enough for his legs not to dangle off the end, a nightstand with two drawers, a tall but narrow wardrobe by the door, and a simple desk positioned beneath the windows. Off to the side stood a washbasin, complete with a tank for water and a press faucet.


    But the windows¡­ They made it feel as if the walls had disappeared and Ardan was gazing out over the rooftops of a city gradually being cloaked by the mantle of night. Below, a swarm of buzzing cars and people rushed about. The sidewalks glowed under a line of streetlights stretching off in every direction.


    And the water, ever-present, was lapping against the rough granite.


    Ardi smiled.


    For a moment, he felt as if he were a child again, sitting on the cliffside of the Stairs and looking down over the forested expanse.


    Perhaps life was getting better¡­


    ¡°Don¡¯t jinx it,¡± Ardan reminded himself, and began unpacking his things.

 Chapter 43 - Job

    ¡°Hello, my son.


    I received your letters. I spent the whole night with them, and, if only for a short while, it felt like you were here again, as cheerful as ever, sometimes thoughtful, and always gentle. I breathed in their scent, and along with it, I felt as if I was breathing in your very presence.


    We¡¯re doing fine, my dear. We¡¯ve settled in quite well! The house is entirely new ¡ª in some places, you can still catch the faint scent of fresh paint in the air, especially in those spots we rarely pass by. We even had to put flowers under the stairs to freshen it up.


    Erti wasn¡¯t too pleased with how things turned out. When they took us, he even tried to fight one of the Second Chancery officers to break free¡­ I shudder to think what would¡¯ve happened if Kelly hadn¡¯t intervened¡­ But, fortunately, everything worked out.


    We arrived without incident. We traveled first class, and aside from us, the only other passengers in the compartments were people in black cloaks¡­ They must¡¯ve been from the Chancery as well, but that¡¯s no concern of ours, little people that we are.


    Forgive me, I tend to ramble, just like you. I wasn¡¯t sure where to send my letters, so I¡¯ve written and rewritten them in my mind so many times that now I don¡¯t even know how best to put my thoughts down on paper.


    As for your brother¡¯s health, he¡¯s in good hands. The doctors visit on the seventh day. Twice a week, on the third and fifth days, Erti goes to the clinic, where a stern, quiet doctor with a big heart and an equally large mustache attends to him. This month, Erti has only woken up due to his nightmares a few times.


    They¡¯ve enrolled him in a remarkable school. A lyceum, they call it. Though, there was a bit of trouble with his uniform ¡ª it was too small for him. But I, of course, corrected it.


    I don¡¯t have as much time now to sew or mend things. At first, clients were reluctant to come to me for warm dresses, coats, and even furs. However, the cold seasons spurred them on. Though, here in Delpas, winters are much milder than in Evergale or, perhaps, the Metropolis.


    My pension comes in regularly: 17 exes and 33 kso¡­ Don¡¯t be surprised that my pension is so high, as if I were the widow of a senior officer, not a simple ranger. It must be a clerical error, but as you sometimes say, son, that¡¯s tomorrow¡¯s worry.


    As for Kena ¡ª she¡¯s growing so fast. She¡¯s always trying to dig into the burrows of the moles that have taken a liking to our garden, which I tend to every now and then. Remember how your grandfather always dreamed of a big garden, but your father was against it? I thought that, since we¡¯ve started a new life here, it would be good to create a small tribute to the old man, so¡­ we have a garden now. When I¡¯m too busy, a gardener helps me with it. He¡¯s a very nice young man. It¡¯s surprising how quickly we found him.


    Imagine that, we can afford a gardener! Not that my little atelier is bringing in much, but Kelly¡¯s salary is very generous. I haven¡¯t asked how much he gets paid, but we have meat on the table every day now.


    Son, I know you¡¯ll refuse, but perhaps I could send you a little money next month? Life in the Metropolis must be costly, and with your studies and¡­


    Oh, forgive me, by the Eternal Angels¡­ there I go again. Please, ignore the blotch here. I¡¯m not crying because I¡¯m sad, though each day I look eastward, hoping that soon, a train will arrive, and you¡¯ll step off, and everything will be as it once was.


    With boundless love and eternal devotion to you, my precious boy.


    Awaiting our reunion,


    Your mother.


    P.S. Even if it costs me a fortune, I¡¯ll make sure there¡¯s a blackberry pie waiting for you on New Year¡¯s!¡±


    Ardi wiped his damp eyes discreetly and read the letter again. He paid no mind to the smudges left by his mother¡¯s tears, only trying to soak in every word, every letter, every comma, and the faint impression of her hand.


    Last week, he¡¯d made his way to the main post office ¡ª a noisy, bustling place if ever there was one. After standing in line for what had felt like ages, he¡¯d finally received his mother¡¯s letter. And for three days now, he had opened it again and again, reading it over and over, as if the act alone could bring him closer to his family.


    If he were being honest, he hadn¡¯t wanted to notice the small hints hidden in her words, but after everything that had happened, he couldn¡¯t ignore them. By the second reading, he¡¯d caught on to the line about the young gardener that the Brian family had hired so quickly.


    Interesting. Were they training people in the Second Chancery to look after plants now?


    And that little phrase, so easily overlooked, where his mother had reassured him about her pension. It wasn¡¯t just the amount; it was what she¡¯d said right after.


    ¡°She knows,¡± Ardi murmured to himself, taking a sip of hot chocolate.


    His mother, Shaie, knew about Hector¡¯s past. She knew all too well about his days in the military. And if she knew such things, perhaps she knew about his great-grandfather, too¡­


    But Ardan pushed those thoughts away ¡ª quite literally, in fact, with the aid of the rags he used for scrubbing floors. When he¡¯d first moved into the balcony apartment in building number 23 on Markov Canal a month ago, it had taken him a good deal of scrubbing to rid the place of the oily grime that had accumulated over the floors and walls from years of dampness and dust.


    The dim lighting had hidden it when he¡¯d first moved in, but by the next day, he¡¯d returned from classes and armed himself with a bucket, some rags, and soap bought at the supply store down the street.


    And that wasn¡¯t the end of his ¡°soapy¡± chores. His clothes needed washing, too, but there were no washboards or washing platforms here. Instead, the locals of the Central District used laundry services that charged per item: a steep seven kso for three shirts and two pairs of pants. In comparison, a bar of household soap that weighed one hundred and twenty grams cost only two kso.


    Thanks to simple math and a bit of elbow grease, Ardi was taking his soap down to the canal every other day to do his washing. Living right by the water had its perks, though passersby sometimes gave him puzzled looks or, on occasion, called the guards on him.


    That was how he¡¯d met two of the local lawmen. To his relief, he hadn¡¯t received a fine for washing his clothes in the canal, as no law against it had yet been created. So, in a month, he had managed to save nearly fifty kso ¡ª and he hadn¡¯t even used up all his soap yet.


    Speaking of the month¡­ There was the report card he had just received for his test papers.


    Carefully folding his mother¡¯s letter and tucking it into his breast pocket, Ardi opened the envelope with his grades and immediately wished that he drank. As Mart would say, ¡°Sometimes, you need something a bit stronger.¡±


    ¡°Ardan Egobar¡¯s Academic Report Card.


    Faculty of General Studies.


    First year, second group.


    <ol>


    <li> Theory of Star Engineering:</li>


    </ol>


    3 points


    <ol start="2">


    <li> Theory of Star Biology and Alchemy:</li>


    </ol>


    6 points


    <ol start="3">


    <li> General Physical and Military Training:</li>


    </ol>


    4 points


    <ol start="4">


    <li> History of Magic:</li>


    </ol>


    2 points


    <ol start="5">


    <li> Applied Star Engineering:</li>


    </ol>


    6 points


    <ol start="6">


    <li> Laws and Rights Governing the Lives of Mages:</li>


    </ol>


    1 point


    <ol start="7">


    <li> Theory of Defensive Magic:</li>


    </ol>


    3 points


    <ol start="8">


    <li> Applied Defensive Magic:</li>


    </ol>


    5 points


    <ol start="9">


    <li> Theory of Star Healing:</li>


    </ol>


    1 point


    <ol start="10">


    <li> Applied Healing:</li>


    </ol>


    5 points


    <ol start="11">


    <li> General Theory of Star Magic:</li>


    </ol>


    3 points


    <ol start="12">


    <li> Applied Use of Biological and Alchemical Knowledge:</li>


    </ol>


    0 points


    Total: 39 points.


    Dismissal threshold for transfer exams: 25 points.


    Stipend threshold: 90 points.


    Increased stipend threshold: 110 points.


    Signed by the Dean of the Faculty of General Studies.¡±


    Ardan sighed and set the stamped report aside. Despite the fact that Kovertsky hadn¡¯t gone back on his word and had given him those extra six points on his theory exam, he¡¯d still failed him on the practical exam, where Ardi had gotten a great, nearly perfect result¡­ but his formula had been different from the one in the book. Then again, even if, by some miracle enacted by the cooperative efforts of both the Sleeping Spirits and the Face of Light, he¡¯d gotten the maximum number of points for both tests, he still wouldn¡¯t have qualified for a stipend.


    The only thing he could console himself with was the fact that he had done everything he¡¯d been able to do and more besides. After classes, he had almost always rushed to the library, studying until eight o¡¯clock when they closed the reading room to all but the final-year students.


    Then he would return home. It took half an hour to get there, as he was saving on tram tickets, which cost sixteen kso for ten rides, regardless of distance traveled, which was a luxury he couldn¡¯t afford. Once there, he would work until midnight, reviewing his own notes and working through the Stranger¡¯s tome.


    All of this, of course, had moved him forward. It had even been enough for a few professors to take note of his progress, though it was still not enough to secure a scholarship, or even a reliable buffer from expulsion.


    Ardan occasionally reprimanded himself for his own hypocrisy. On one hand, he was fighting hard to stay at the university, but on the other, he didn¡¯t plan to stay beyond New Year¡¯s. It was strange behavior, to be sure¡­ But that, too, was tomorrow¡¯s worry.


    For now, Ardi simply faced the very real problems that Mart had already warned him about.


    Since they couldn¡¯t take textbooks out of the library, and the ones issued for lectures were insufficient, he needed money to buy additional study materials.


    To practice Star Magic at the university, he needed to rent practice grounds (where the physical and military training classes took place) or book similar ones in the city ¡ª he¡¯d even gotten a few addresses.


    At the university, an hour on the practice field cost seventy-five kso, which included unlimited replenishment of Red and Green Star rays. Blue rays, however, required an extra payment of eight kso per ray.


    In the city, the training grounds cost twice as much and came with a cap on the number of rays. Naturally, the university¡¯s grounds were only accessible to students and professors ¡ª even graduates couldn¡¯t use them.


    So, considering the fact that all of Ardi¡¯s savings amounted to 37 exes, because he¡¯d had the 18 he had brought with him and the 48 he¡¯d earned from selling a suit, but 20 of those had gone to rent for two months, plus a deposit, 5 he¡¯d sent to his mother because he couldn¡¯t do otherwise, 3 had been spent on renting practice fields, and that last ex had been scattered across daily expenses¡­ His situation was bleak.


    Meanwhile, the university¡¯s workload wasn¡¯t getting any easier. In fact, it only grew with time. Each week, the topics became deeper and broader. Thanks to his training with Atta¡¯nha and his experiments with the Stranger¡¯s tome, Ardan was managing well enough in the practical sessions, but that was only for now. The further the theory advanced, the more challenging the practical lessons became.


    The outcome was inevitable.


    He needed money.


    Ideally, he¡¯d find a way to earn around fifty exes. Sixty would be even better. That would allow him to buy all the necessary textbooks and rent a practice field for at least a few hours each day over the next few weeks.


    ¡°Sleeping Spirits¡­¡± Ardi muttered, resting his head in his hand.


    He was practically sprawled across the bar counter, his face nearly pressing into the polished wood that held the lingering scents of perfume, alcohol, smoke, and the sorrows that patrons came here to either pour out or drown.


    A little ways down from him stood a row of ¡°pirate hands,¡± which were handles used to pull beer straight from the kegs, while a massive mirror lined the back wall, its shelves filled with bottles interspersed with photographs ¡ª snapshots of bar life, lively parties, jazz bands, and smiling regulars.


    The bar, called ¡°Bruce¡¯s Jazz Bar,¡± which was located on the ground floor of this building, was a popular spot. Perhaps it was popular because it was close to the Central District¡¯s main transport hub, or maybe because it welcomed both humans and Firstborn. Mostly, though, it was frequented by orcs, who always occupied the couches in a dark corner, separated from the rest of the crowd by silent bouncers and red ropes that cordoned off their area.


    They were quiet and calm, never causing trouble. In fact, in the month Ardi had been here, he hadn¡¯t witnessed a single fight in the bar. Even the hotheads seemed to cool down at the mere sight of Arkar, not to mention the stoic, pureblood orc bouncers in the private area. They were massive figures, standing well over two meters tall, with arms so strong they could likely bend train tracks with them if they wanted to. The suits they wore were always stretched so tautly that they looked ready to burst.


    Rumor had it that ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± served good food as well, though Ardi hadn¡¯t had the chance to try it. Money was tight, and he didn¡¯t intend to spend it on something he could get for free. On the seventh day, he¡¯d still go to the university, mostly to have lunch and visit the library, as the practice fields were usually booked down to the minute by students from the Military Faculty, who didn¡¯t have to pay to use them.


    As far as Ardan could tell after a month, each faculty at the university enjoyed its own privileges regarding the use of university property.


    ¡°Why the long face, kid?¡± Rumbled Arkar, who was rinsing some glasses.


    Ardan had yet to figure out what exactly Arkar did for a living. Sometimes, he was behind the bar, other times, he was in the kitchen, helping the cooks. It seemed like he owned the whole building, though, since the tenants went to him with any issues. Despite this, Arkar didn¡¯t carry himself like a man of wealth. His clothes were plain, he rarely treated himself to expensive drinks, and his meals were simple.


    ¡°Here,¡± Ardi slid his report card across the table instead of answering.


    Arkar set down a barrel-shaped glass he¡¯d been drying, dug a pair of reading glasses out of his pocket, and leaned in to examine the paper. Nearsighted though he was, he only wore the glasses when he had to ¡ª he looked quite comical with them on.


    ¡°Well, hey¡­ at least they¡¯re not kicking you out, right?¡± The half-orc cleared his throat, returning the report. ¡°Look on the bright side, Ardi. You still have a place to eat.¡±


    ¡°Without a stipend, I¡¯ll soon have nowhere to sleep,¡± the boy sighed, glancing hopefully at Arkar. ¡°Maybe¡­ you could give me a discount?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± came the firm reply.


    ¡°Had to try,¡± Ardi shrugged.


    ¡°Have you tried finding work?¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± he nodded.


    He¡¯d considered buying a few roots and stems from the herbalist¡¯s shop he¡¯d noticed a few streets east. Then he could make some mild stimulants that would let him get by on four hours of sleep a night instead of seven, freeing up more time for work. Of course, he¡¯d pay the price later for borrowing from his own body¡¯s resources, but¡­


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t get hired, huh?¡± Arkar chuckled.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°The moment they see ¡®half-blood¡¯ on my papers¡­¡±


    ¡°And the docks? They always need dockhands.¡±


    ¡°I submitted an application to their guild, but there¡¯s a separate¡­ department for working with Firstborn and half-bloods and¡­ you know how it is.¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Arkar laughed. ¡°They took four months to process my application until I brought in¡­ let¡¯s call them¡­ some crisp, jingling ¡®requests.¡¯¡±


    ¡°You bribed them for the chance to earn money?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the capital for you, kid,¡± Arkar spread his arms out, baring his teeth in a grin that matched the chilly city weather.


    The tenth month ¡ª the Month of Waters ¡ª was well underway, and the capital had sunk into an endless stretch of cold rains mixed with slushy, sticky sleet. Occasionally, hail would beat a sharp rhythm against the rooftops and sidewalks. Puddles would glaze over with frost in the morning, and the black Niewa River was gradually freezing in the grip of cooling granite. The wind itself seemed to sneer at people ¡ª tugging at coats and fur stoles alike ¡ª much like Arkar¡¯s grin.


    Ardi was grateful that his Matabar blood kept him from feeling the full bite of the changing seasons. Even now, at midday, it looked like a sort of twilight had settled outside ¡ª whether it was evening or morning or simply that gray, unique Metropolis gloom was anyone¡¯s guess.


    At this hour, the bar was empty save for Arkar and Ardi. The place opened to the public at eight in the evening, with the workers arriving around five.


    ¡°By the wolf¡¯s howl, you¡¯re a mage, Ard!¡± Arkar suddenly exclaimed.


    ¡°That¡¯s a bit of a stretch, considering¡­¡± Ardi tapped the report card with his finger.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah¡­ but¡­ can you do seals?¡± Arkar asked.


    ¡°I can do a few,¡± Ardi replied, still a bit melancholic. ¡°But I¡¯ve had no luck finding work as a mage¡¯s apprentice or anything¡­ Even if it¡¯s just refilling ink at the Engineering Guild, they won¡¯t take me. They don¡¯t say why, but after seeing my papers, they just show me the door.¡±


    ¡°And¡­ what if¡­¡± Arkar lowered his voice and glanced around. ¡°What if... you did a bit of¡­ unofficial work?¡±


    Ardi looked up at him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. He had long suspected that things at the bar were¡­ not entirely above board. But whatever went on here, it was discreet enough that he hadn¡¯t been able to work out the details.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need any trouble with the law,¡± he muttered, recalling the warning he¡¯d received from the Cloak at the Anorsky estate.


    ¡°Nothing illegal,¡± Arkar dismissed his words with a wave of his hand.¡± It¡¯s just that we have... I have. Yes, I do. I have my own man in the Mages¡¯ Guild. He¡¯s very talkative when he¡¯s drunk. So he brushed with a broom... I mean he blabbed something about... about-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to know the details,¡± Ardi interrupted him, palms up. ¡°Seriously, Arkar. I absolutely do not want any trouble with the law!¡±


    The half-orc squinted at him.


    ¡°Firstly, there¡¯s nothing illegal about it. Our... my contacts have checked it out. It¡¯s... what¡¯s the term... a gray area of the law? Something like that, I think...¡±


    ¡°Thanks for the hot chocolate,¡± Ardi placed three kso on the counter. ¡°I¡¯m heading upstairs to study.¡±


    He got up from his chair and headed toward the inconspicuous door leading from the bar to the interior of the building. It was too much for him to get into....


    ¡°Seventy exes,¡± the half-orc said quietly. ¡°Half up front. You can keep it even if things don¡¯t work out.¡±


    Ardi froze. The squirrel on his left shoulder tugged him away from the offer, but the little snow leopard on his right¡­ nudged him to turn back.


    ¡°Tell me more.¡±


    Arkar grinned a predator¡¯s smile. He moved around the counter and took a seat beside Ardi.


    ***


    ¡°So, the task isn¡¯t¡­ complicated,¡± Arkar took a sip of his strong tea made from steppe herbs. It was a bitter concoction the orcs enjoyed. ¡°You just go in and out.¡±


    ¡°In and out,¡± Ardi echoed, glancing warily at the whiskey bottle nearby.


    ¡°Want some?¡± The half-orc squinted at him again.


    ¡°I¡¯ll pass,¡± Ardi shook his head.


    ¡°So¡­ do we have a deal?¡± Arkar wiped his massive hand on a towel and extended it.


    The young man hesitated, weighing the proposal in his mind. The idea had an air of recklessness to it, but then again¡­ Ardi¡¯s eyes drifted to the thirty-five exes lying on the counter. There were another 35 waiting if he succeeded.


    In and out¡­


    ¡°Deal,¡± he said, clasping Arkar¡¯s hand.


    ¡°I knew you weren¡¯t a coward, kid,¡± Arkar laughed, squeezing his hand with an almost bone-crushing grip.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe how often I hear the opposite,¡± Ardi sighed, taking a sip from his third cup of hot chocolate.


    ¡°Just clean them.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Clean their clocks.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d prefer an explanation in Galessian¡­¡±


    ¡°Put¡­ what¡¯s it called¡­ physical ornamentation on the face of¡­ um¡­ the issue,¡± Arkar tried to explain, smiling that sharp grin of his.


    Ardi chuckled. Sometimes, Arkar¡¯s expressions were very¡­ strange.


    ¡°An argument.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I said,¡± the half-orc looked pleased.


    ¡°I mean, you said ¡®ornament¡¯ instead of ¡®argument.¡¯¡±


    Arkar scratched the back of his head with his nail-like claws, which was a habit of his whenever he was deep in thought. He wasn¡¯t the brightest or most educated person in the Empire, but he had a warm soul and a big heart that more than compensated for his lack of intellect.


    ¡°So, they¡¯re different words?¡± He asked, bewildered.


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned...¡± Arkar whistled. ¡°Kid, whatever high words people might throw around, as soon as they start dropping teeth, everyone¡¯s suddenly speaking the same language.¡±


    ¡°And what language is that?¡± Ardi asked with genuine curiosity.


    ¡°The language of pain,¡± Arkar winked. ¡°It¡¯s a pretty universal tongue. Let¡¯s say someone doesn¡¯t understand that debts need to be paid on time. You give their kneecap a little twist¡­¡± Arkar caught himself, shaking his head like a dog shaking off water.


    ¡°By the wolf¡¯s howl, Ard,¡± he sniffed his tea as if searching for some hidden drugs in it. ¡°We¡¯ve only known each other a month, but sometimes it feels like I¡¯m in tongues... talking, I mean... to an old friend¡­¡±


    Ardan looked away, thinking of his immediate plans. After securing a scholarship, his next goal was to research the Witch¡¯s Gaze and find a way, perhaps, to lessen his¡­ peculiar effect on people.


    ¡°I¡¯m just good at getting along with people,¡± he said vaguely, sipping his hot chocolate.


    ¡°Oh, really?¡± The half-orc clicked his tongue at him. ¡°Then why did Tess complain about you yesterday?¡±


    ¡°Tess?¡± Ardi looked at him in surprise. ¡°Did I bother her somehow?¡±


    Tess, as it turned out, lived just below him, in a modest one-bedroom apartment with a small kitchen, a shared bathroom, and a cozy bay window ¡ª the very one beneath Ardi¡¯s own balcony.


    Sometimes, in the evenings, as he worked on his Star Magic studies, he¡¯d listen to her rehearsals. She would spend about an hour on the old piano (a few strings were clearly broken), then sing for another couple of hours, always finishing up around eleven.


    In the mornings, Tess usually left for work. Ardi suspected that she worked at Miss Okladov¡¯s atelier, given her impeccable, yet humble wardrobe ¡ª especially that dress she wouldn¡¯t likely have been able to afford on her own. Occasionally, they would cross paths on the stairs, exchange polite greetings, and then go their separate ways.


    ¡°She said you were talking to someone in the middle of the night,¡± Arkar continued, his yellowish eyes fixed on Ardi. ¡°And¡­ well, I didn¡¯t see anyone go up those stairs last night¡­¡±


    Ardan¡¯s mind raced, a dozen thoughts and emotions swirling through him. Last night, as promised, the second visit from Poplar had come. The messenger cat, wearing his quaint boots adorned with red embroidery, had appeared soundlessly, delivering a letter from Anastasia. They¡¯d exchanged a few words, then the cat had groomed himself and disappeared as silently as he had come.


    Perhaps Tess had somehow overheard their brief conversation, even if Poplar had arrived well after midnight.


    As for the letters from the Grand Princess, their correspondence had an odd rhythm. She¡¯d share details of her life in the palace, frequently complaining about the endless rules that governed every aspect of her life there. In return, Ardi would offer stories of the university, the bar, and his little balcony apartment.


    ¡°Experiments,¡± he said simply, hoping that such an explanation would satisfy anyone unfamiliar with magic.


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Arkar drew the word out, sipping his tea while studying Ardi carefully. ¡°Alright, kid. As you say¡­ The train leaves at midnight on the third day.¡±


    ¡°A train?¡± Ardi asked. ¡°But you said it was just the next district over.¡±


    ¡°A figure of speech, Ardi, just a figure of speech,¡± Arkar waved him off, returning to the glasses in need of a polish.


    Ardi stood up to leave, only to be halted by Arkar¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Ard.¡±


    He turned.


    Arkar, still wiping down a glass, nodded toward the money on the counter.


    ¡°You forgot this.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± Ardi stammered, grabbing the bills and tucking them into his inner pocket. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Take care,¡± Arkar gave him a wink, whistling a simple tune as he returned to his meticulous cleaning.


    Ardi lingered there for a moment, then made his way upstairs. He passed through a dimly-lit corridor so poorly illuminated that even his half-Matabar eyes struggled to see there, and then climbed several flights of stairs.


    The faint scent of grass drifted past him, a smell reminiscent of spring along the riverbanks ¡ª fresh and green, with a playful tickling quality, as if it were trying to sneak past the folds of his clothing to touch his skin directly.


    That was Tess¡¯ scent.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± he greeted her.


    Unlike her bold stage persona, in her everyday life, Tess was¡­ no, not dull, but rather modest. Yes, modest was the best word for it.


    She would gather her red hair into a tight bun and always wore a wide-brimmed city-lady-hat ¡ª the same one every day. Her slender legs were hidden beneath a plain, loose woolen skirt of the most somber hue. Beneath it, her sturdy, well-worn boots clicked as she walked, and she cleaned and polished them herself, often leaving traces of shoe polish on her hands.


    She also didn¡¯t wear makeup, though this didn¡¯t detract from her beauty at all. It simply made her less noticeable, which, it seemed, was precisely what she wanted.


    Within the bar, no one bothered her, likely for the same reason they didn¡¯t start fights there. And yet, only the blind could¡¯ve missed the hungry glances patrons cast her way.


    Tess performed twice a week, on the seventh day and the third. Ardi suspected that she did so not for the money, but for the privilege of living in the apartment.


    ¡°Morning?¡± Tess raised an eyebrow, her expression calm and, in some subtle way, cool. ¡°I¡¯d say it¡¯s already afternoon, Ardi.¡±


    It was a stark contrast to the radiant sun she became on stage, singing about a cat longing to see the ocean.


    The ocean¡­


    It had been a month, and Ardi still hadn¡¯t made the trip to see the Swallow Ocean along the coast. But there was time. He had more pressing matters to attend to.


    ¡°May I pass?¡± She asked, gesturing to the stairs.


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± Ardi snapped out of his thoughts, moving aside to let her through.


    Tess passed by him without another word.


    She had gone down a few flights when Ardi suddenly called out, leaning over the railing.


    ¡°Sorry if I bothered you last night!¡±


    She looked up at him with those impossibly green, almost shimmering eyes, then said nothing and disappeared through the door.


    Straightening back up, Ardi almost slapped himself.


    ¡°What was that?¡± He muttered, scolding himself. ¡°What are you, an idiot?¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t understand why he always felt compelled to talk to Tess. It wasn¡¯t that he liked her, not in the same way he¡¯d once fallen for Anna during that first arithmetic lesson. He didn¡¯t struggle for words around her; his heart didn¡¯t skip a beat. He didn¡¯t even think about her all that much.


    And yet¡­


    Perhaps she reminded him of home, with her light scent so reminiscent of herbs, her fiery hair that blazed across the stage like the dawn, or maybe it was simply because she sang.


    Singing¡­


    A letter from Anna had never arrived, and Ardi felt a mixture of emotions about that. On the one hand, he was almost relieved that she had moved on along her own path in life, while he followed his. But there was also a faint heaviness in his chest, a small, hollow ache, as if something vital had been pulled from inside him ¡ª something small, seemingly insignificant, and yet somehow crucial.


    ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s worries,¡± he reminded himself, turning the key in the lock, which he¡¯d recently oiled himself.


    Entering his small, meticulously cleaned room, Ardi shut the door, hung his key on a small nail he¡¯d hammered beside the entrance, and placed his hat and coat on the rack before sitting down at his desk.


    He squinted, pulling the required book from his stack of textbooks. Flipping past a few chapters, he found the right page and began to read. The plan had been to give himself a few hours of ¡°stellar jurisprudence¡± today, followed by about three more of general theory, and then the Stranger¡¯s textbook would have come toward the end, but he¡¯d have to twist things around.


    ¡°Defensive Seals and Their Types.¡±


    ¡°¡­There are, as you surely recall, three types in total. Absorbing, Redirecting, and Dissipating. But let¡¯s refresh our memory.


    First, there¡¯s the Absorbing Defensive Seal. It¡¯s one of the most commonly used types due to its simplicity. Typically, it involves creating a dual-contoured seal with a fixed rune array.


    But while the rune array usually serves as a foundation for a particular property in most seals, in a defensive seal, it is meant to absorb these properties.


    Of course, the Absorbing Seal doesn¡¯t absorb the opposing seal¡¯s properties or functions, but rather, the overall amount of energy it carries. And so, the question arises: why study the types of seals if you could just overload a shield spell with energy and achieve the same result?


    Well, you could, assuming you have an unlimited supply of Ley energy.


    Otherwise¡­ Picture an ocean with all its boundless power. And then imagine the thin strip of a stone path within it.


    Yes, you guessed it. I¡¯m talking about a breakwater. No matter how fearsome the ocean may be, its waves crash futilely against the breakwater, unable to breach it. Only a typhoon¡¯s shocking force can raise a wave high enough to consume that narrow strip of stone.


    And now, let¡¯s compare the power it takes to lift the ocean all the way to the sky and the effort it takes to build the breakwater.


    Defensive magic operates on the same principle.


    We aim to create a barrier with the minimum energy required, a barrier that would demand the maximum effort to break through or bypass.


    Thus, by creating, for example, an absorbing shield with a fixed rune array, we encode in these runes the properties they will neutralize in the opposing spell.


    Let¡¯s use a Basic Shield as an example:


    [Star: Any


    Ray Count: 3 Red Star rays or more


    School: Defensive


    Element: Universal


    Classification: Dual-contoured


    Rune Array: Fixed


    Maximum Rune Combinations: Arbitrary, but no more than 9]


    As you recall from the beginner course, this seal can have any array of runes that you set, bringing it closer to a free array. However, I will once again remind you that shield magic is often an exception to strict seal classifications.


    So why do we classify it as a fixed rather than a free array, despite its flexibility? Simply because the number of properties the Basic Shield can block is limited, and each rune in the array will drain your energy.


    Thus, while we could indeed construct a very strong defense by blocking nine properties, this would require twelve rays from a Red Star. Using the conversion table for Ley rays, we can see that a proper defense against nine properties would require six rays from a Red Star and two from a Green one to function. Or three from a Red and three from a Green Star.


    That¡¯s still too much, isn¡¯t it?


    And so, we can conclude that the absorbing type of defense, one aimed at absorbing the properties of an opposing spell, may not always be the most practical defensive magic, especially when we lack the time to analyze the opposing seal¡¯s properties in detail. That is why this type of shield is more frequently used in stationary constructs than in day-to-day life or on the battlefield.


    The second type:


    Redirecting.


    This type¡­¡±


    Ardi closed the book and opened his notes, flipping through them until he reached a section on spells that the Stranger had called ¡°lockpicks.¡± Previously, Ardan hadn¡¯t understood their purpose, but now, he was starting to see their utility.


    The remaining two types of seals ¡ª Redirecting and Dissipating ¡ª wouldn¡¯t be immediately useful to him, but the Absorbing type¡­ That was something he needed to understand in greater detail.


    Ardi now understood why Mart had seemed so skeptical about the Universal Shield described in the Stranger¡¯s book. Even just comparing it to the Basic Shield of contemporary magic was like comparing an old single-shot pistol from the Dark Lord¡¯s Rebellion Era to a modern revolver.


    Their concept might be the same, but their functionality was worlds apart. And it wasn¡¯t just about the number of metaphorical rounds, of course.


    For example, in order to overload the absorption of the Universal Shield, as with any absorbing seal, you only needed to add more properties to the offensive effect than the shield could absorb, if there was enough power for that. And if not, then you just had to overload one property with Ley energy.


    So, a Universal Shield of, say, two Red and two Green rays (which, when recalculated, was eight rays of a Red Star, given that one ray of a Green Star equaled three rays of a Red Star) could easily be destroyed by an attack spell of monstrous power, as Gleb Davos had done ¡ª his attack had simply contained so many properties that the Universal Shield hadn¡¯t been able to absorb them all.


    Or you could just use an overall weaker attack, with one or even a couple of properties that would be at maximum strength. Like with a bullet, for example. It only has a few properties, but in terms of raw energy, those properties are loaded to the brim, which does not allow the Universal Shield to fulfil its function.


    ¡°Curious...¡± Biting the tip of his tongue, Ardan, armed with a stencil, a pencil and lots of patience, began to work on the Stranger¡¯s ¡°lockpicks,¡± the whole point of which was to find the most vulnerable rune property of the shield and overload it with a minimum amount of energy used.


    ***


    As planned, Ardan was back in the bar by eleven on the third day, nursing a cup of cocoa. A jazz band was playing on the stage, warming up the growing crowd before Tess¡¯ performance. The saxophone ¡ª a curious instrument with an odd bend and some keys on it ¡ª seemed to be putting in extra effort, its sound lively and flirtatious.


    The past few days had been¡­ chaotic. Ardan had attended classes and, somehow, managed to pay attention. Thanks to the money Arkar had given him, he had even rented a practice field for a few hours and tested the ¡°lockpicks,¡± achieving the impressive feat of breaking through two out of the ten shields on the test dummy.


    A twenty percent success rate over three days was¡­ not bad... probably.


    But of course, his mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of tonight¡¯s escapade.


    ¡°Stop shaking so much,¡± Arkar clapped him on the shoulder, sending not just Ardan, but the entire table wobbling as well.


    For the first time ever, he was behind the red cord barrier that separated the outer club from the corner occupied by the orcs. By the way, they, just like Arkar, wore their jackets without any waistcoats. On top of that, they wore identical jackets with slightly odd stitching, which looked as if it had been torn¡­


    Ardan sat on a comfortable sofa, which, while made from leather, was not at all hard. The muted red glow from the Ley-lamps cast a cherry hue over his pale hands.


    ¡°There they are,¡± Arkar leaned forward.


    He rose and greeted the people who approached them.


    The first was a man in his forties, with piercing gray eyes that held a wolfish glint.


    The man was lean and wiry, his figure adorned with an array of throwing knives strapped across his chest, waist, and even around his thighs and calves, as if he were prepared for a siege.


    ¡°Elver,¡± Arkar greeted him.


    ¡°Arkar,¡± the man replied with a curt nod.


    The second person was a young woman with a presence so magnetic it made Cassara look modest by comparison. She wore a cocktail dress, was walking gracefully on high heels, and her shoulders were wrapped in a light fur stole.


    ¡°Lisa,¡± Arkar took her hand and pressed a polite kiss to the back of it.


    ¡°That tickles, Arkar,¡± she laughed, her voice as rich and decadent as a cream-filled pastry.


    The third was a middle-aged man with a soft, almost doughy look about him. He was not overweight, but something about him suggested that even a gentle poke would make him ooze thick syrup.


    ¡°Milomir,¡± Arkar offered his hand again.


    ¡°You know¡­¡± Milomir replied in a voice as smooth as butter, sidestepping the offered hand, ¡°I don¡¯t care much for a man¡¯s touch.¡±


    The last of them was a young man, perhaps just a bit older than Ardi, who was nervously clutching a cap in his hands. His clothes were patched and well-worn, and consisted of a simple jacket and pants made from sturdy materials.


    ¡°And, of course, there¡¯s Andrew,¡± Arkar introduced him.


    ¡°Yes¡­ yes, of course,¡± the young man stammered, stealing a quick, anxious glance at Ardi before looking away.


    ¡°And this,¡± Lisa sidled up to Ardi, leaning in close enough for her perfume to drift over him, ¡°is our young wizard, who will-¡±


    ¡°Lisa,¡± Elver¡¯s voice cut in sharply.


    ¡°Yes, yes,¡± she batted her foxlike eyelashes at him, grinning mischievously. ¡°I wasn¡¯t planning to spill any secrets, my dear, ever-so-nervous Elver.¡±


    A heavy silence settled over the table, but it didn¡¯t last long. Arkar, looming like a dark shadow, placed several bundles of bills on the table. They disappeared into pockets with a speed that left Ardi blinking.


    ¡°Elver, you¡¯re in charge,¡± Arkar said.


    ¡°Understood, overseer,¡± Elver replied, with a slight, almost formal nod.


    Overseer? Ardi thought, confused by the term.


    ¡°Perfect,¡± Arkar glanced at his watch. ¡°Off you go, then, and may the Sleeping Spirits watch over you.¡±


    Elver rose, followed by the others. Ardi, bringing up the rear, had just stepped out from the private section of the club when he felt Arkar¡¯s grip on his shoulder.


    The half-orc pressed something into his coat pocket, a weight that Ardi immediately recognized.


    ¡°Why?¡± Ardi whispered, realizing it was a revolver.


    ¡°In this damned city, some iron¡¯s a handy thing to have, Ardi,¡± Arkar murmured and then withdrew, pretending that nothing had happened.


    Ardi¡¯s heart gave a sharp pang. This really was nothing illegal, right? But at this point, there was no turning back. The train had left the station, and he was already on it.


    With a sigh, he followed the others out of the bar.


    Just before he stepped through the door, he glanced back toward the stage. Tess was about to start her performance, a rising sun of auburn hues ready to open the night with her audience¡¯s favorite song.


    Their eyes met briefly before she looked away, launching into her rendition of ¡°The Cat.¡±


    Ardi couldn¡¯t quite shake the feeling that he¡¯d seen disappointment in her gaze.

 Chapter 44 - Baliero

    Elver, whose unimposing frame seemed even slighter beneath his worn clothes, was nervously smoking a cigarette by his car. The vehicle ¡ª a battered old Derks model that must have been repaired countless times ¡ª sported mismatched passenger doors, a dented front fender, and a crooked rear bumper. And yes, over the past month, Ardan had made an effort to learn the ins and outs of cars. This hulking machine, with its almost square cabin and exhaust pipe big enough to double as plumbing somewhere, was probably about eight years old. It had cost Elver a reasonable 650 exes and, unlike the luxurious models the wealthy drove, came in only one basic configuration.


    It had a top speed of just thirty kilometers per hour and an engine with around seven horsepower. Ardi still didn¡¯t quite understand what that term actually meant ¡ª it seemed to describe the force needed to lift a certain load straight up.


    ¡°Are you sure that, if it comes down to it¡­¡± Milomir said, waddling over with the elegance of an overfed house cat. He nudged the gray rim of one of the car¡¯s tires with the tip of his shoe. ¡°This old lady will hold up, Elver?¡±


    ¡°The main thing is that I¡¯m sure,¡± Lisa chimed in as she sauntered past them. Gathering the hem of her dress, she opened the driver¡¯s side door, slid in behind the wheel, and turned the ignition.


    Immediately, something under the hood roared awake, a sound reminiscent of a starving bear roused from winter¡¯s deepest dark.


    ¡°Impressive,¡± Milomir whistled, tipping his hat.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Elver muttered, taking a final drag from his cigarette. With a casual toss that flew nearly seven meters, he flicked it straight into a trash can near the entrance to ¡°Bruce¡¯s.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s go over it one more time. Andrew¡­¡±


    The young man, who was jittery and glancing over his shoulder, twisted his cap nervously in his hands. His gaze darted about like that of a rat trapped in a cage, and an unpleasant odor, sticky and sour like rotting berries in a swamp, clung to him.


    ¡°Andrew!¡± Elver called again.


    The boy flinched, seemingly snapping back to reality. He tugged his cap down over his eyes, attempting to hide.


    ¡°Y-yes,¡± he stammered.


    ¡°Explain the details to the newcomer,¡± Elver said, nodding at Ardan, whose height left Elver staring up at his chest.


    ¡°Of c-c-course,¡± Andrew replied, still stammering.


    ¡°Of c-c-course,¡± Elver mocked. ¡°I swear, they¡¯ll hire anyone these days...¡±


    ¡°Go on, dear Andrew,¡± Milomir encouraged, his voice dripping with a syrupy sweetness.


    Elver swore under his breath as a breeze stirred the hems of their coats and cloaks, sending them flapping. Above, the thin clouds thickened, casting a dark veil over the sparse pedestrians below.


    ¡°I¡­ I work for the Guild of Mages and-¡± Andrew began.


    ¡°Yes, yes, we know that already,¡± Elver interrupted. ¡°Get to the point!¡±


    ¡°Elver,¡± came Lisa¡¯s smooth, almost foxlike voice from inside the car. ¡°Don¡¯t be so hard on the boy.¡±


    Ardi was lost in thought, recalling a conversation he¡¯d had with Arkar. So, the half-orc had been talking about Andrew¡­


    ¡°A¡­ a-a month ago, I was going through some old files, and I f-found a report about a building slated for demolition. It was once of interest to the scientific community,¡± Andrew explained, gradually finding his rhythm and losing the stutter. ¡°The report mentioned an abandoned building on Fifth Street in Baliero.¡±


    Ardi remembered the map of the city ¡ª Baliero was about a half-hour drive away, located on one of the islands at the mouth of the Niewa River. Adjacent to the Central District, it had become a haven for free spirits and intellectuals alike.


    The area was known for its theaters, including a recently constructed cinema, whatever that was (half the newspaper headlines these days were about this ¡°cinema¡±), as well as a host of bars, pubs, restaurants, and caf¨¦s. There were even a few museums there. Baliero was part of the Old City, the districts in the Metropolis that had resisted high-rise developments, maintaining their historic charm. Ardi, however, believed that it was called the Old City because it had been built on the ruins of the ancient capital of Gales.


    ¡°The building was supposed to go to some baron¡¯s heir, but the man died at the Taian border about seventy years ago.¡±


    ¡°In the Mercenary War?¡± Milomir asked.


    The Mercenary War had been a major conflict between the Empire and a few foreign powers. It had been far more significant than the usual skirmishes on the Fatian or Armondian border. That war had led to the Empire¡¯s most recent territorial expansion, with Taia losing the southwestern part of the peninsula, and their northeastern border inching within a hundred kilometers of the Taian capital.


    The war, which lasted from 436 to 444 E.Y., was so named because the Republic of Castilia had sent aid to Taia in the form of mercenaries comprised of Castilian natives and Ngian recruits, who¡¯d arrived on Selkado¡¯s ships. Combined, the losses of Taia, Castilia, and the mercenaries had reached over a million and a half lives in total, including civilian casualties. The Empire had lost about six hundred thousand, with around two hundred thousand of those being civilians.


    Taia wasn¡¯t fully conquered only due to an ultimatum from Castilia, Selkado, and the Confederation of Free Cities, whom they had bribed. They¡¯d declared that if Ezmir, the Taian capital, fell, they would restrict the Empire¡¯s access to the eastern continent¡¯s shores.


    Of course, the Empire would¡¯ve still had the option of sailing through the Swallow Ocean, but Parnas, one of Ardi¡¯s teachers, had said that that route was near non profitable due to various reasons.


    ¡°Precisely,¡± Andrew confirmed, clearly emboldened. ¡°The baron¡¯s direct line ended with him, so, as per the law, the country waited half a century for any distant heirs to come forth, but none showed up. Eventually, the property passed to the city and was put up for auction. No one bought it over the next twenty years, so tomorrow morning, they¡¯re demolishing it, and then the land will be transferred to the crown.¡±


    Ardi frowned.


    ¡°What¡¯s bothering you, lamppost?¡± Elver asked.


    ¡°Are you talking to me?¡± Ardi replied.


    ¡°No, obviously, I¡¯m talking to the lamppost,¡± Elver snapped sarcastically.


    ¡°My name is Ard,¡± the young man responded firmly.


    ¡°Oh, really?¡± Elver sneered, a smirk playing at his lips. ¡°And my name is ¡®I don¡¯t give a shit what you¡¯re called, kid, because if I did, you¡¯d drown in all of it.¡¯¡±


    ¡°I always knew there was a lot of crap in you, Elver,¡± came a woman¡¯s mocking laughter from inside the car.


    Elver was about to respond, but Milomir intervened.


    ¡°Look, gentlemen and lady, we¡¯ll be in the same boat for a few hours, at least,¡± the older man said, not even raising an eyebrow. ¡°Let¡¯s try to act like even if we can¡¯t stand each other, we at least don¡¯t feel the need to tear each other¡¯s throats out.¡±


    ¡°Well, there aren¡¯t that many beasts among us,¡± Elver muttered, keeping his eyes on Ardan.


    ¡°So, mister mage,¡± Milomir, ignoring Elver, turned to Ardi. ¡°What don¡¯t you understand?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m new to the Metropolis,¡± Ardi said slowly, ¡°but isn¡¯t land in the Old City incredibly valuable? Why didn¡¯t anyone buy it at auction?¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s infamous,¡± Andrew replied, pulling a crumpled pack of cheap cigarettes from the pocket of his worn, unseasonably thin coat. People smoked a lot in the capital. ¡°So much so that, fifty years ago, the city hired the Guild of Mages to place a shield around it, just to keep people from snooping. And that shield and its layout,¡± he tapped his temple, ¡°I memorized it thoroughly.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t immediately understand why Andrew had memorized the seal¡¯s layout, but then, after seeing Elver¡¯s expression, he caught on. If Andrew had had a blueprint of the seal, he himself would no longer be needed, and he¡¯d have probably been paid much less.


    ¡°The demolition was supposed to happen four days ago, but something delayed the Senior Magister who was scheduled to deactivate the shield. They expect him tomorrow morning,¡± Andrew added. ¡°Today is the last day the land and the building officially belong to the city. By tomorrow morning, the land will be the crown¡¯s property. But as long as the building stands, it legally still belongs to the city, even though the time limit has expired. So, until tomorrow morning, the land and the building are technically unowned. Breaking into this property or dismantling the shield isn¡¯t illegal since it currently belongs to no one¡­ A little loophole in the law.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s where you come in, Mr. Ard,¡± Milomir tipped his hat again, like he was greeting Ardan for the first time. ¡°Andrew will explain the rest as we drive, and you¡¯ll break the shield.¡±


    ¡°But why?¡± Ardi narrowed his eyes at them. ¡°Arkar told me my only task was to dismantle the shield of an abandoned building slated for demolition, one with no apparent value.¡±


    ¡°Then just do as you were told, non-human,¡± Elver spat on the ground.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to see you be this brave inside ¡®Bruce¡¯s,¡¯¡± Lisa remarked coldly. ¡°Or perhaps I wouldn¡¯t, considering I might get the chance to see an idiot embedded in a wall.¡±


    Elver flashed her a rude gesture but fell silent. In that moment, his sleeve rode up, revealing a holster of throwing needles and a Tavser insignia on his wrist.


    That explained everything. It was surprising, though, how Elver, with his political beliefs, could work alongside the half-orc Arkar.


    ¡°The building really isn¡¯t valuable,¡± Andrew said, pulling out another cigarette but quickly putting it back. ¡°But in the records, I found information about the building¡¯s previous owners. It turns out that it once belonged to the Vertah Order.¡±


    ¡°The Vertah Order?¡± Ardan repeated.


    ¡°A local ghost story,¡± Milomir explained. ¡°They were a society of mages who studied the art of the Firstborn. Some say they worshipped demons or tried to summon the Fae, or maybe they discovered some artifact from Makingia. All that¡¯s really known about them is that the Second Chancery wiped them out. And there¡¯s also-¡±


    ¡°Time¡¯s running short,¡± Elver interrupted. ¡°The bridges will be raised in thirty minutes.¡±


    And suddenly, Ardi understood why they had been standing by the car, chatting instead of driving to what Arkar had called ¡°the job.¡± Tonight marked the end of the river navigation season, and soon the bridges would be raised for the last time.


    Baliero was an island, and in thirty minutes, it would be cut off from the rest of the capital for an hour and a half.


    ¡°Everyone knows their tasks,¡± Elver said firmly, his tone leaving no room for objections. ¡°Ideal arrival time: thirty minutes. And then ten minutes to break the shield.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m not sure if-¡±


    ¡°Ten. Minutes,¡± Elver growled through gritted teeth, cutting Ardi off. ¡°After that, we enter the building. We have forty minutes to search it. Then we go to the pier. A barge will be waiting at the fifth dock. From there, we sail to the Night Docks, then head back to ¡®Bruce¡¯s.¡¯ Anyone left behind is on their own. Understood?¡±


    A ragged chorus of confirmations answered Elver, though it seemed only Ardan wanted to ask, ¡°forty minutes to search for what, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s get moving,¡± Elver spat one last time before circling the car to take the passenger seat next to Lisa.


    Milomir climbed in, filling up the remaining space on the seat. Andrew and Ardan squeezed into the back. As soon as the doors closed, Lisa shifted gears and pressed the gas, guiding them down the street. Andrew took out a slip of paper and handed it to Ardan.


    On it was a seal, not handwritten but almost certainly printed by a machine.


    ¡°Why-¡±


    Ardan raised an eyebrow in confusion, but Andrew pressed a finger to his lips and nodded in Elver¡¯s direction. Elver was deep in conversation with Lisa, discussing their approach to the building and their subsequent escape. Ardan understood immediately ¡ª Andrew feared Elver might catch on. The boy had likely lied about memorizing the seal and creating a rough sketch.


    He must have been questioned beforehand, and he had only memorized part of the blueprint to appease them. After all, anyone could memorize, say, one of the sections of a seal with due diligence and a lot of free time, even an untrained person.


    Ardan nodded, flipping open his grimoire. Turning the pages, he focused on the seal¡¯s intricate symbols and the lockpick patterns he¡¯d recorded from the Stranger¡¯s book. But as he examined the seal itself¡­


    He coughed, feeling his chest tighten.


    ¡°Are you alright, mister mage?¡± Milomir asked, eyeing him through the rearview mirror.


    ¡°Yes¡­ perfectly fine,¡± Ardan replied, though his voice wavered slightly.


    In front of him lay a drawing of some kind of monster. At first glance, it looked like there were eleven contours here, which was something that would only be talked about in the final courses of the Grand. The classification ¡°multiple contours¡± seemed to apply here, but if you looked closely, some of the contours were divided into sections, and those, in turn, looked like truncated, incomplete seals.


    And all of this, like the classification ¡°nested sections of seals,¡± was not part of the courses taught at the Grand and belonged to the most complicated of science. This was the kind of thing that was taught only after one had been admitted to the Guild of Mages (although their lectures, where the Magisters were trained, were also held in the Grand, just in the main building, on the last few floors). And the number of runes, and their arrays as well... Just looking at all of it made his head spin.


    Ardan felt as if he were drowning, grasping frantically for something solid, his fingers slipping through a viscous void. And beyond even the seal¡¯s complexity, parts of the ink had been smudged, making some of the symbols faint and indistinct.


    Ardan finally understood why Star Magic had overshadowed the Aean¡¯Hane¡¯s art. If, out of a hundred thousand Star Mages, even two could learn how to craft something like this within a quarter of a century, then¡­


    He shook his head, biting his tongue to regain focus. All he needed to do was find a breach, not shatter the entire wall ¡ª it was a puzzle of sorts, and he loved puzzles.


    Ardan began deciphering the runes and exploring each contour. The seal absorbed his attention wholly, reducing the world around him to distant noise illuminated only by the glowing signs outside that were reflected in blurred puddles on the rainy street, and the indistinct shadows of bundled-up pedestrians who were adjusting their collars and raising umbrellas to fight off the cold and rain of the evening.


    Their car floated along in the stream of traffic. Lisa maneuvered it deftly, switching lanes with ease, one hand on the steering wheel, her other on the gearshift and holding a slim, lit cigarette. The buildings outside grew less imposing, giving way to narrow streets and alleyways. Broad avenues turned to winding lanes, and the sidewalks shrank to the point that pedestrians had to walk in single file.


    Ardan barely noticed when they crossed a modest bridge under whose arches the river shimmered with cold sparks reflected from streetlamps and windows. Stone statues of two youths wrestling winged horses marked their passage, though Ardan saw none of it.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    A weary tram clattered by, disappearing behind them as Lisa accelerated, ignoring a hand-waving signaler who emerged from his booth to urge them forward.


    They sped across the bridge and, upon reaching Baliero, pressed onward. A moment later, the heavy gears of the bridge turned, raising the chains and separating the structure into two halves that now spread out wide, like the wings of the statues that adorned it.


    Ardan remained oblivious. He didn¡¯t even notice the altered landscape, where buildings three to four stories high now lined the streets in close, cheerful rows, flashing the signs of countless bars, theaters, caf¨¦s, and other venues, their flash lights twinkling like the baubles on a holiday tree.


    If the capital behind them was a wise, seasoned matron who knew what price her peace had come at, then Baliero was a vivacious young woman ¡ª a red-haired girl in a shimmering gown with a slit in its skirt, singing her evening song, night after night, and often the same refrain. Baliero had its own story, and perhaps it was a little sad, or maybe it was lighthearted and joyful. But you¡¯d never hear or see it until you looked beyond the glitzy outfits, the bursts of laughter, and the clinking of glasses; beyond the rumble of car engines and the tobacco-coffee fragrance that wafted through the streets.


    These thoughts danced on the edges of Ardan¡¯s consciousness, but he barely noticed them. His mind was wholly absorbed in the seal.


    Still unaware, he missed the moment when they turned off the main island street, weaving through tight lanes where the car barely avoided brushing the edges of old stone facades. Finally, they arrived at a small square.


    It was neglected and rundown. Many of the streetlights had been shattered and the wrought-iron fence surrounding the square stood bent in places, like an old prizefighter missing his teeth. The square itself was overgrown, a forgotten place dotted with scraggly trees.


    And in the middle of it stood the building.


    Or rather, it held itself upright by sheer force of will. The structure leaned to one side and its roof was riddled with holes mirroring the gaps in the fence. The first floor, built from rough stone, was covered in patches of moss and mildew, while the second and third, once painted white, had long since lost their polish. The paint had peeled, revealing wide cracks that someone could fit a hand through.


    The grand front porch, which led to a crescent-shaped driveway, nearly brushed against the ground in places, while the marble steps ¡ª possibly the last enduring part of the whole place ¡ª stood as silent sentinels, bearing the burden of time.


    Rain drummed on the nearby rooftops, as if the surrounding buildings were pulling away from this diseased neighbor of theirs. Heavy, cold drops fell, yet none touched the crumbling tiles of the abandoned house on Fifth Street. They pooled around an almost invisible dome, which was draped over the building like a spectral shroud.


    Lisa smoothly maneuvered the car to the other side of the street, stopping directly across from the square¡¯s entrance.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wait here,¡± she said, checking her watch. ¡°You have forty-nine minutes.¡±


    ¡°It was supposed to be fifty,¡± Elver reminded her. ¡°Ten for the shield, forty for the search.¡±


    Lisa turned to Elver, her flirtatious smile fading as her eyes sharpened, all traces of that foxlike charm gone.


    ¡°You can argue with me all you want, Elver,¡± she said, tapping her lacquered nails against her watch¡¯s dial, ¡°but time is ticking.¡±


    Elver swore, nudging Milomir¡¯s shoulder as he exited the car. Milomir was the first out, popping open his umbrella. Elver followed him, flipping up his collar and adjusting his comically narrow-brimmed hat.


    Andrew climbed out from the other side, using his jacket as a makeshift hood. Just as Ardan was about to step out, Lisa adjusted her rearview mirror, catching his eye.


    ¡°If anything goes wrong,¡± she whispered, her lips barely moving, ¡°Arkar said you and I are to leave immediately.¡±


    Ardan blinked in acknowledgment before exiting into the cold, damp air, taking a deep breath.


    ¡°And what exactly does the overseer see in that pup?¡± She muttered as the door shut behind him, sealing off the sounds inside.


    Making sure the street was clear, Ardan crossed over to join his companions as they entered the square.


    As he stepped over an invisible boundary, Ardan felt something viscous wrap around his feet, as if he were wading through thick, sticky muck. It clung to his legs like the clammy hands of the dead, their skin peeling and covered in corpse slime. It gripped his ankles, pulling him back. The air, once cold and fresh, was now thick and pungent, reeking of waste and decay, filling every pore and lodging at the back of his throat.


    Ardan gasped, leaning heavily on his staff, and barely holding back a retch.


    ¡°Everything fine, mister mage?¡± Milomir asked, covering Ardan with his umbrella that had a handle shaped like a tiger.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ardi replied, glancing at Elver. ¡°What exactly are you looking for here?¡±


    ¡°Not your concern, boy,¡± Elver muttered. ¡°Just do what you¡¯re paid for. Preferably quietly.¡±


    Ardi might have complied, but that casual ¡°boy¡± made him recall Yonatan, who¡¯d refused to take money from the settlers. It had been such a simple gesture, and yet it had held more meaning than all of Mart¡¯s flowery speeches combined.


    Straightening up, he tightened his grip on his staff and slipped his left hand into his pocket, feeling the cold iron for reassurance rather than out of any fear of Elver.


    ¡°Either you tell me, or I¡¯m going back.¡±


    Elver¡¯s crooked, unnaturally white grin glinted in the sparse moonlight peeking through the clouds. He flicked his coat open, resting his hands on his many knives.


    ¡°Go ahead, try it, brat,¡± he smirked. ¡°Let¡¯s see what they teach you at the Grand.¡±


    Ardan cocked the trigger and loosened his hips, bending his knees a little so that his legs, as Aergar had taught him, became almost like springs.


    A moment passed¡­ Then another¡­


    ¡°We¡¯re searching for a Makingian artifact,¡± Milomir said, his tone still as smooth as honey. ¡°A carved black wood statue about thirty centimeters tall, shaped like a woman in agony, her eyes set with purple stones. We don¡¯t know more, mister mage. Arkar has a collector client willing to pay well for it. Part of that payment, by the way, is going to be split between all of us.¡±


    ¡°And how can you be so sure that this artifact is here?¡± Ardan asked, his gaze still fixed on Elver.


    He was prepared to use both a shield spell and his revolver, and would bolt at the slightest sign of trouble. Yes, it might mean having to find a new apartment, but with thirty-five extra exes, he could manage at the Grand¡¯s dorms until the New Year. Then it would be goodbye, Metropolis.


    ¡°Here,¡± Andrew pulled out several faded photographs. ¡°A few years ago, a commission inspected the building for documentation. This is what they found on the third floor, in the eastern wing, in what used to be a nursery.¡±


    The young man lifted the photograph higher, and there it was. Amidst the damp wallpaper (it was the rich folks¡¯ fancy to cover their rooms with colored paper), on a rotten bedside table, far from the cradle, stood the very statuette Milomir had just now described.


    ¡°And what does this artifact do?¡± Ardan asked.


    ¡°Nothing, mister mage,¡± Milomir replied, twirling his umbrella slightly. ¡°It¡¯s merely a work of art. The collector provided credible evidence. Otherwise, the overseer wouldn¡¯t have hired us. There¡¯s no point in them attracting extra attention to ¡®Bruce¡¯s.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Them?¡± What did Milomir mean by that?


    ¡°Have we satisfied your curiosity, cowboy?¡± Elver snapped, letting his coat fall back over his knives. ¡°You¡¯ve got seven minutes left. Three were wasted on talk.¡±


    Ardan pondered for a few moments, but... it wasn¡¯t so much a question of money as of the trait that, as a child, had forced him to go farther than his parents had allowed him to. In his youth, he¡¯d travelled through the forest flows without his Master there because of it¡­ Not to mention what he¡¯d done with Anna, his act of studying Star Magic from an illegal textbook, and so on.


    And the name of that trait was curiosity.


    The incredibly complex shield¡­ He wondered whether he could break it. There was also the mystery of this artifact that was clearly no ordinary statuette, and, given how long it had retained its properties, certainly belonged to the art of the Aean¡¯Hane somehow.


    The whole thing had incited an almost physically tangible itch within him. Ardi knew himself well enough to realize that if he didn¡¯t find out everything he could right now, he wouldn¡¯t be able to sleep for the next six months, exhausting himself with speculation and conjecture.


    Ignoring Elver, he stepped forward, stopping at the edge of the shimmering dome. The sensation of ghostly hands clinging to him hadn¡¯t left, but it was now a background noise, distant yet persistent.


    ¡°Do you mind?¡± He asked, nodding toward the umbrella.


    ¡°Of course, mister mage.¡±


    Milomir stepped closer, sheltering Ardi from the rain as he opened his grimoire.


    The shield he¡¯d been analyzing for the last half hour was of the absorbing type, only incredibly complex. So much so that, thanks to the Ley cables feeding it a constant stream of energy, it was virtually impenetrable. Even if you exploded a few kilos of the mixture that miners used to undermine rocks right next to it, nothing would happen.


    Neither would something happen if a mail locomotive were to hit the shield at full speed, or if an entire building collapsed on top of it. The runes trapped in the seal did not just absorb certain properties, but also interacted with each other in a clever system.


    With some simplification, the seal could be imagined as the work of a living chain, passing buckets of water from one hand to the next to extinguish a fire. Each of the links, individually, was of little value, making it so that if one of the runes was broken, it could be replaced by a spare, of which there were plenty in the seal.


    But what if those substitutes didn¡¯t get to the right point in time? Even then, nothing terrible would happen, because the chain would just stretch a little, not losing its functionality.


    But all stretching had its limits.


    And so, the lockpick Ardi had devised on the basis of the options presented by the Stranger was both as simple as an anvil and as cunning as a hungry fox trying to get into a securely-locked henhouse.


    Ardan utilized his knowledge of nested seals that he had recently gained. He wasn¡¯t going to try to overpower the shield (which was unlikely, given the Ley cables, or maybe even outright impossible), and he certainly had no illusions that he would be able to break any of the runes by overloading its property ¡ª there were too many other runes there, ready to provide backup to any rune he targeted.


    But none of that was, in fact, necessary. Ardi only needed to briefly open a passageway inside the shield. One big enough for a grown man to crawl through.


    ¡°Prepare to get dirty,¡± he murmured.


    ¡°What?¡± For the first time, Milomir sounded mildly irritated.


    But Ardi ignored his grumbling. Pulling energy from his Star and feeling it flowing through his veins, he raised his staff and, forming a seal in front of him, slammed it into the ground.


    There was no flash, no sudden spark. Ardan¡¯s spell was, as the Stranger¡¯s writings had taught him, invisible by design.


    But something that was not visible to the naked eye was unfolding in vivid colors within the young man¡¯s mind. He watched as several of his runes cut into the lines of the shield runes and, like experienced scouts posing as the enemy, stood side by side with them.


    Meanwhile, on the other side, a group of follow-up runes had arrived. They started loudly ¡°shouting,¡± being insolent, and, in general, demonstrating their hostility.


    Of course, since it had detected this invasion, the shield was now directing its forces there to absorb the threat. The issue was that whoever had put up such a splendid shield had relied too heavily on the constant supply of energy from the Ley cables. After all, why waste time and unnecessarily complicate this already titanic seal when you could just immediately make it quickly and mercilessly extinguish any enemy as soon as possible?


    And so, all the forces of the shield were thrown at the threat, no matter how insignificant it looked. Then, as the several hostile runes were almost instantly dispersed within the shield seal¡¯s structure, the two scout runes came into play. Their function turned out to be ridiculously simple.


    At the right moment, while the shield¡¯s forces were distracted, they opened their ¡°arms.¡±


    In that instant, a small archway appeared in the shield, and Elver dove through it, beckoning them inside.


    Milomir scrambled after him, his plush cashmere coat and wool suit soaking in the mud while Elver yanked him forward.


    The moment they were through, the archway vanished, the shield once more returning to its impenetrable state.


    Elver helped Milomir to his feet and turned to say something, but his words were lost to the magical silence.


    Ardan gestured to his ear, indicating that he couldn¡¯t hear them. Elver paused, nodded, then pointed to his watch.


    Ardan glanced at his own ¡ª he¡¯d taken twelve minutes instead of seven to break the shield, leaving only thirty-five minutes for their search. Elver¡¯s finger jabbed at his watch, reminding him of the ticking clock.


    The plan called for Andrew and Ardan to wait by the entrance, but he couldn¡¯t help but wonder why that was, since they couldn¡¯t really signal to the two men inside. And honestly, whose attention would they even attract around here?


    The square around them lay silent, deserted. The surrounding buildings had had their windows tightly shut and curtains drawn, as if the residents wanted nothing to do with the old structure looming in the center. Even the winding street that encircled the square was devoid of any passing cars. Despite Baliero¡¯s usual buzz, Fifth Street felt abandoned and forgotten.


    ¡°Want one?¡± Andrew held out his crumpled cigarette pack.


    ¡°I don¡¯t smoke,¡± Ardan replied curtly.


    ¡°Got it,¡± Andrew nodded, slipping one cigarette between his lips. He fumbled with a match, striking it twice before the orange glow lit the end. Acrid smoke filled the air, thick and pungent, as he took a drag.


    Ardi had never been able to understand the appeal. He¡¯d tried smoking once, out of sheer curiosity, during his travels with the cowboys, only to spend the next hour coughing and spitting in disgust.


    ¡°Could you do something about this rain?¡± Andrew asked, shivering and pulling his coat tighter around him.


    Ardan didn¡¯t really feel the cold much, except for a slight discomfort. The rain, yes. But not the cold. Not yet. Then again, who could say how his half-breed Matabar constitution would react to the White Month, a time when the thermometer regularly drops to -25 degrees. But as Andrew¡¯s teeth began to chatter, he picked up Milomir¡¯s umbrella from the ground, shook off the mud, and handed it to him.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Andrew said, surprised. He opened the umbrella, grateful for even this small respite from the downpour. ¡°Didn¡¯t even notice that the old man had dropped it.¡±


    Ardan remained silent. Something about all of this made him uneasy, but he couldn¡¯t quite put his finger on why. Yes, of course, he could immediately say that he was indeed involved in some murky business, with equally murky company, and there was even Arkar, acting as their mysterious ¡°overseer.¡± Not to mention the fact that if Andrew had photos of the exact location of the artifact, then why had so much time been allotted to searching for it, not to mention...


    Well. Everything.


    But, surprisingly, all of these details didn¡¯t bother Ardan as much as the unpleasant itch that was trying to tell him something.


    ¡°You know,¡± Andrew said after a few silent minutes, ¡°I figured you¡¯d just¡­ cast something.¡±


    Ardi was distracted from his thoughts and looked again at the man standing beside him. He was a bit over 180 centimeters tall, thin almost to the point of being skeletal, with fingers yellowed by addiction and glittering eyes.


    ¡°What?¡± Ardan asked.


    ¡°To stop it from raining, I mean.¡±


    He¡¯d simply acted according to Atta¡¯nha¡¯s teachings: the Aean¡¯Hane did their best not to influence the natural course of things. Events, however unpleasant they may be to someone, happened because they had to happen. And something that might¡¯ve been bad for one person could¡¯ve been good for another, and no Aean¡¯Hane had the right to take it upon themselves to judge such things. Unless, of course, they were a dark Aean¡¯Hane.


    ¡°You have an umbrella,¡± he replied simply.


    Andrew sniffed, shivering once more as he raised the umbrella a bit higher. ¡°Fair point¡­¡±


    He was still soaked to the bone, though, his damp clothes clinging to him. Ardan might have tried to ask the cold to release Andrew from its grip, but he was far too distracted by that nagging thought, that gnawing sense that he was missing something critical.


    ¡°So, what do you do for the Guild of Mages?¡± Ardan asked, hoping to keep the conversation going.


    Andrew glanced away, his shoulders tensing. ¡°Why does it matter?¡±


    ¡°I thought that maybe you could help me out,¡± Ardan replied, shifting his weight and keeping his tone light. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying to get a license to work at the docks, but it seems my request has been buried somewhere.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, mate,¡± Andrew replied, his tone clipped. ¡°I work with records in the Guild¡¯s planning department, not the city¡¯s. I don¡¯t have access to citizen requests.¡±


    Ardan remembered Bazhen mentioning something about the ¡°Department of Mage Affairs¡± in the Guild¡¯s administration. ¡°Doesn¡¯t the Guild have its own registry?¡± He asked.


    Andrew exhaled sharply, cigarette still clamped between his teeth. ¡°You¡¯re observant, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Ardan was fast enough to put up his Shield and jump aside, but not fast enough to avoid getting grazed by a bullet.


    A bullet that had been fired from the revolver Andrew was holding. The iron in the skinny guy¡¯s hand, who was clearly dabbling in Angel Dust, was solid and all too real, and its muzzle was aimed straight at Ardi¡¯s stomach.


    Along his side, where the wound left by the Wanderer had finally disappeared only a couple of weeks ago, blood was flowing once again.


    ¡°I-¡± Ardan started, but Andrew cut him off.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Andrew murmured, and his voice held genuine regret. ¡°But the Dandy pays better than the Orcish Jackets. My sister¡¯s sick, and I need the money to help her. I don¡¯t have a choice.¡±


    Andrew raised the gun again, aiming it at Ardan¡¯s head. He was drained from casting his Shield and using the lockpicking spell, his Star Magic nearly depleted. His own revolver was still tucked in his coat pocket, out of reach.


    ¡°As if we didn¡¯t know that you¡¯d sold us out to the Dandy,¡± someone standing behind Andrew said.


    He didn¡¯t have time to turn around before the next shot rang out.


    Andrew¡¯s body jerked, then collapsed, arms sprawling out. His eyes stared blankly ahead, frozen in surprise and fear.


    Lisa stood behind him, her hand still gripping the smoking barrel of a lady¡¯s revolver ¡ª a popular model, Ardi noted absently, and just like the one Mrs. Okladov had favored. And what Ardi really didn¡¯t like was that, while looking at the still body, the shattered bones of the skull mixing with brains and blood, he didn¡¯t feel particularly disgusted. He was a little nauseous, of course, but far less than he¡¯d been when he¡¯d seen Cassara introducing Gleb Davos to the Eternal Angels.


    ¡°The Orcish Jackets,¡± Ardan muttered, recalling the patrons in ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± private lounge. ¡°Does the bar-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a legitimate business, Ard,¡± Lisa bent down and pulled the dead man¡¯s weapon from his numb hands. ¡°The building where you¡¯re staying? It¡¯s perfectly legal, just like ¡®Bruce¡¯s.¡¯ But yes, technically, you are renting from a criminal outfit. Arkar is their local liaison, an overseer who connects clients with those who carry out the work. And since the gang operates in the Factory District and around the Old Park, far enough from the upper crust and close enough to the laborers and common folk, the guards and Second Chancery often ignore it. And also...¡± Lisa shuddered and stopped. ¡°And also, why am I confessing to you like you¡¯re a priest?¡±


    Ardi, who¡¯d lost his composure, must have also lost the little bit of control over his Witch¡¯s Gaze that he had managed to acquire over the past couple of months.


    ¡°I¡­ am renting from¡­ criminals,¡± Ardi said, his words slow and measured as he absorbed the absurdity.


    He¡¯d been so careful not to jinx himself, and yet here he was, entangled in a far murkier web than he¡¯d ever anticipated.


    ¡°¡®Bruce¡¯s¡¯ and the profit house are both a legitimate business,¡± Lisa countered, giving him a level look. ¡°But yes, essentially. By the way, you¡¯re bleeding.¡±


    She stopped short, going pale as her hand drifted upwards, pointing over Ardan¡¯s shoulder, her eyes wide with horror.


    Ardan turned, his pulse quickening.


    From a third-floor window, a long, black, clawed hand emerged, holding Milomir¡¯s severed head by the hair. It dangled there for a moment, then dropped, landing with a sickening thud on the ground before rolling away into the shadows. The hand disappeared back into the building.


    Ardi gulped, his mind racing. He turned back to Lisa, who was just as pale as he was.


    ¡°Does¡­ Does this count as something going wrong?¡± He asked, trying to keep his voice steady.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she replied in a hoarse whisper. ¡°Definitely¡±


    Both of them took an instinctive step toward the square¡¯s exit, but suddenly, the night exploded into a fiery, orange imitation of daylight. Their car went airborne, flung upwards by an intense burst of flames, arcing several meters before landing with a metallic crash.


    Lisa reacted first, dropping to the ground and pulling Ardan down with her just as the shockwave hit. The deafening roar filled the air, shattering nearby windows into a fine mist.


    But the fire wasn¡¯t the worst of it. From all directions, shadowy figures began converging on them, weapons glinting under the streetlights: pistols, revolvers, even a few army-grade rifles.


    ¡°The Dandy¡¯s men,¡± Lisa spat, raising her revolver and firing into the night. ¡°We have to get inside the house.¡±


    ¡°What? In there?¡± Ardan shot back, his eyes wide with disbelief. ¡°With that thing?¡±


    ¡°You want to deal with these things instead?¡± She snapped, pulling the trigger again as more figures appeared from the darkness. ¡°There should be an old sewer hatch beneath the building. That¡¯s our backup plan. Arkar always has a backup plan¡­¡±


    Steeling himself, Ardan pulled out Gleb Davos¡¯ accumulator, the one he¡¯d taken ¡°just in case.¡± He¡¯d need every bit of its energy to have enough Star Magic to shield them both.


    ¡°I just need a minute,¡± he said, drawing energy from the crystal. Considering that the accumulator was an order of magnitude more powerful than the energy stored in his own Star, the process was working at a great loss.


    ¡°You have five seconds!¡± Lisa barked, firing round after round into the advancing shadows.


    Ardi clenched his jaw. As the night stretched on, it was becoming clearer by the second that this was only the beginning.

 Chapter 45 - Missing Head

    As the gunfire crackled in a relentless, blistering symphony, restoring his Star was proving... jarringly fragmented. Often, the energy would simply dissipate into the air.


    ¡°Faster!¡± Shouted Lisa, reloading the drum of her gun.


    From the folds of her grimy dress, she pulled out a cluster of eight bullets bound in a ¡°moon¡± shape. She shook out the spent casings and attempted to insert the fresh rounds. But at that moment, one of their foes knelt to steady his aim and fired his rifle.


    A bullet tore through her right shoulder, embedding itself into the ground. Lisa cried out, though Ardan couldn¡¯t hear her. He¡¯d drained half of the accumulator, which would normally be enough to restore three full Red Stars, allowing him to finally recover all his rays. Visualizing the blueprint for his lockpick, he crafted the seal once more.


    The moment a tear appeared in the barely visible, rain-soaked shroud, he leaped inside, tossing his staff aside, and hurriedly grabbed Lisa¡¯s legs to drag her to safety.


    She screamed in pain, but Ardi was just fast enough. The restored shield severed a portion of her lush hair, sparing her head ¡ª a success of sorts under the circumstances.


    Alas, as Ardi was pulling her along, her dress hitched up.


    ¡°Having a good look?¡± Lisa asked angrily through labored breaths, her teeth gritted.


    Ardan flinched, immediately reaching for his knife. He cut a strip from her dress, binding it tightly around her wounded shoulder.


    ¡°The bones are intact,¡± he observed. ¡°But you need a doctor.¡±


    ¡°As if I didn¡¯t already know that,¡± she snapped, pulling herself up with Ardan¡¯s support and slipping off her heels.


    Flipping her mane of hair, she turned to the men now approaching the shield. She threw a gesture at them that was best left uninterpreted.


    ¡°Bastards,¡± she spat onto the ground.


    Those by the shield merely smirked before raising their umbrellas and positioning themselves in an arc along the barrier¡¯s edge.


    ¡°What are they-¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re waiting for their mage,¡± Lisa interrupted, glancing at Ardan. ¡°We don¡¯t have much time, Ard. There¡¯s no Second Chancery or guards on the island tonight. So¡­¡±


    ¡°But why wouldn¡¯t any of them-¡±


    ¡°Listen to me!¡± Lisa exploded, groaning as she gritted her teeth again. ¡°Do you really think it¡¯s a coincidence that the train with the Senior Magister was delayed? And that, while you were dining merrily with Arkar, a shelter for the poor folks exploded in the Old Park?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Lisa glared back at the gangsters standing mere meters away. ¡°Someone really wants this damned artifact. Enough to play dirty with the Orcish Jackets and the Dandy both. That¡¯s basically a death sentence¡­¡±


    Ardan tilted his head and looked at Lisa again. She handled a vehicle with great skill, doing so even better than most cowboys managed their horses. Her shooting, of course, wasn¡¯t on par with Katerina¡¯s, but Ardi had never met a marksman as precise as the Cloak officer. And there had been¡­ Well, it wasn¡¯t just the absence of underwear. The cheap dress had been concealing surprisingly fine stockings beneath it.


    ¡°You¡¯re not from the Second Chancery,¡± he ventured slowly, ¡°and you¡¯re not a guard¡­ You¡¯re¡­¡±


    Lisa¡¯s purse, miraculously still slung across her unharmed shoulder, was quickly opened, and she handed him a document.


    In a lacquered, yellow leather cover, he saw an official paper stamped with a crest.


    ¡°Private Detective Agency, Peter Oglanov and Assistants.¡±


    ¡°And how do the Jackets feel about you working with a private detective?¡±


    ¡°With a detective¡¯s assistant,¡± Lisa parried, ¡°and naturally, they don¡¯t know about it. I¡¯m just a driver, Ard. I work for whoever pays me more. Tonight, I was paid by both Arkar and Peter.¡±


    A detective named Peter¡­ If Ardi had had more time, he would have pondered why that sounded so familiar.


    ¡°Ouch¡­¡± Lisa winced, pressing her hand to her bleeding shoulder.


    Ard wasn¡¯t well-versed in treating bullet wounds. Cowboys, of course, had occasionally suffered such injuries, but when they had, the Evergale medic had stepped in. Still, even Ard knew enough to tell Lisa needed help, preferably soon.


    Apparently, she¡¯d reached the same conclusion. She took the knife from his hand, cut off another strip of fabric from her dress, and layered it over the existing makeshift bandage.


    Returning his blade, she glanced over at the sneering men outside the dome before shifting her gaze to the old house.


    ¡°What do you think that thing is, Ard?¡±


    ¡°I have no idea,¡± he replied honestly.


    ¡°You¡¯re a mage!¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re a detective¡¯s assistant!¡± Ardan shot back, unable to help himself. ¡°So maybe you can tell me ¡ª where did that thing even come from, and why are half the city¡¯s gangs chasing an artifact from Makingia?!¡±


    ¡°Oh, no way¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Ard barked.


    ¡°I thought you simply had ice running through your veins,¡± she muttered, surprised. ¡°You¡¯ve been so calm this whole time¡­ I was starting to think you worked for the Cloaks yourself¡­ And no, Ard, it¡¯s not half ¡ª it¡¯s a third. The capital has six major gangs, and heaven only knows how many smaller ones. The larger ones control the factory districts and the New City areas, while the smaller groups are just young thugs. Neither type, of course, dares to touch the center and¡­ Why am I explaining all of this to you?¡±


    Ardan only shrugged.


    ¡°Peter believes that the artifact didn¡¯t suddenly catch everyone¡¯s interest without a good reason, especially considering the fact that the trinket¡¯s been here for almost a century, untouched, so¡­ Eternal Angels, Ard! What¡¯s happening? It¡¯s like I¡¯m unable to control my own tongue!¡± Lisa looked at him as if contemplating murder. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing, but stop it.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Ardan shrugged. ¡°How do we get to the sewer?¡±


    ¡°Artifact first.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡±


    They locked eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re serious,¡± Ardan sighed. ¡°And you¡¯re not going to show me the escape route until I help you find the artifact.¡±


    ¡°Smart boy,¡± Lisa winked at him, her foxlike grin briefly returning before she winced in pain.


    Ardi looked back. A young man of about twenty-five was approaching the shield. Naturally, he held a staff, and, unsurprisingly, bore no regalia.


    ¡°Will he manage to do it quickly?¡± Lisa asked, following Ardan¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°No idea,¡± Ardi repeated. ¡°But I don¡¯t want to find out.¡±


    Ardan turned to the building. After what he¡¯d just witnessed, he wasn¡¯t exactly eager to enter it, either. And, most unnervingly, his current state of mind wouldn¡¯t allow him to hear the words he needed to open a path to the Fae Lands. A pity. Between the Sidhe and that unknown creature that had torn off Milomir¡¯s head, Ardan would¡¯ve preferred the Sidhe¡­


    ¡°Let¡¯s just go,¡± Lisa grumbled, clutching her wounded shoulder and cursing with each step as she made her way toward the entrance.


    Ardan followed her. Together, they ascended the creaking porch, its boards lamenting their steps like a mourner weeping over a fresh grave. The door, askew on its hinges, squeaked as it opened, and they found themselves inside the house.


    This place had once been home to the wealthy. Now, only a layer of dust and mold-ridden, rotting floorboards remained of that former grandeur. The peeling lacquer on the walls resembled snake scales, and the torn, gray wallpaper exposed gaping holes lined with splinters, revealing stone partitions covered in runes and symbols; parts of the staircase had collapsed into heaps of debris. The only furniture left were dilapidated tables and cabinets, which had long ago lost their shine, hunched over like bitter, ancient beings.


    And yet, for all its decay, the house on Baliero Fifth Street bore no obvious signs of anything truly sinister.


    Except¡­


    ¡°Hold on.¡±


    ¡°Ard,¡± Lisa sighed. ¡°We¡¯re already inside. We don¡¯t exactly-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± Ardan repeated firmly.


    Lisa froze mere steps from the staircase. Ardi crouched, examining the floor carefully. He saw old, damp boards reeking of mold. And covered in dust. A thick, undisturbed layer of it, one that resembled spilled, soggy flour.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Lisa asked, glancing back at him.


    ¡°Elver and Milomir,¡± Ardan replied, pressing his palm to the floor.


    ¡°Eternal Angels, Ard, enough with the riddles!¡±


    Ardan pointed to the line of tracks.


    ¡°I can only see our footprints,¡± he said.


    Lisa finally looked down. Starting from the door and leading to where Ardi now stood, only two sets of tracks could be seen, and then there was another short trail up to her. Besides these footprints, nothing had disturbed the pristine, untouched layer of dust. Odd, considering Elver and Milomir had entered the house the same way.


    ¡°Ard¡­¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°Look¡­¡±


    She was pointing behind him again, as she had before. Ardan turned around, still crouched, and saw¡­ nothing. Or rather, he didn¡¯t see what he should¡¯ve seen.


    Where the door had once been, there was now a wall. The wallpaper was worn, the boards cracked and moldy like the rest.


    Breathing in deeply, Ardan stood and walked over to the nearest cabinet, seizing it and slamming it against the wall. But the wall held firm. Ardi, nearly losing his composure, began to pound the wall with all his strength until¡­


    ¡°Ard¡­¡± A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder.


    Lisa was staring at him, eyes wide with growing fear.


    ¡°What are you doing, Ard?¡± She whispered.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to make us a way out.¡±


    ¡°With what?¡±


    Ardi, not realizing what she meant by that, looked at his hands. They were bloody and trembling. The skin was already sliding off his knuckles like the varnish on the floor had so long ago. The same way it was slithering off his bones and cartilage like snakeskin, pouring scarlet, viscous fluid down his shirt.


    Ardan turned toward the cabinet. It stood exactly where it had before, untouched and covered in that damn dust.


    ¡°Sleeping Spirits¡­¡± He whispered, cutting another strip from Lisa¡¯s dress, which was growing shorter and shorter.


    ¡°An interesting way to undress a lady,¡± Lisa tried to joke to distract herself from the situation, though her quivering voice betrayed her fear.


    Ardan ignored her, making cloth masks for them. He tied one around his own face, then helped secure the other over Lisa¡¯s mouth and nose.


    Her dress smelled pleasantly of berries¡­


    ¡°You think this¡¯ll help?¡±


    ¡°The mold,¡± Ardan murmured, licking his bloody knuckles ¡ª a habit that clearly bewildered her. ¡°The shield over the building should block excess moisture. This mold couldn¡¯t have grown here naturally.¡±


    ¡°Magic?¡±


    Ardan shrugged. If this had simply been Star Magic or the Aean¡¯Hane¡¯s art, then¡­ He could¡¯ve assumed that an illusion had tricked him into thinking he was striking the wall with a cabinet instead of his fists. But¡­


    Ardan ran his hand over the spot where the door had been, finding only rough, splintered boards there and-


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAA!¡±


    Lisa and Ard instinctively cocked their revolvers, aiming toward the west wing where the scream had erupted from. It wasn¡¯t the kind children used when they were playing, nor the reflexive cry of an adult in sudden pain.


    No, this had been a different kind of scream.


    It had been drawn-out, almost turning into a long, low wail, and then blending into a howl. The kind of scream where a flickering ember of reason lingered on one side, while on the other, the cold abyss of death yawned open. Not a simple or peaceful death, either ¡ª a death that made one scream with all the power their lungs could muster, tearing their throat and rupturing vocal cords in the process.


    After the scream came gunfire ¡ª from both revolvers and rifles ¡ª and then more screams.


    ¡°Well, he managed it quite quickly,¡± Ardan murmured, recalling Lisa¡¯s question about the gang¡¯s mage.


    ¡°But why are they over there and not here?¡± Lisa asked, her gaze fixed on the dark, suffocating corridor.


    ¡°This is like the paths of the Vilas,¡± Ardi whispered, his finger twitching on the trigger. His heart raced faster than the pistons of a tractor engine. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong with the space here.¡±


    ¡°The Firstborn¡¯s art is doing this?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Ardan answered after thinking it over quickly, ¡°but we¡¯d better hurry. Whatever¡¯s making them scream like that¡­ I don¡¯t want to meet it.¡±


    ¡°Reasonable,¡± Lisa nodded.


    Shoulder to shoulder, they advanced toward the staircase, moving in sync. Their eyes stayed fixed on the darkness that draped the corridor like a thick web. Silence had settled over the house again. There were no creaking boards, no gusting wind coming in through wide gaps, no scratching of mice or rats. None of the usual sounds that old houses held.


    There was only the void and the dust, which, like river sand, kept swallowing the footprints Ardi and Lisa left in their wake, making it appear as if they¡¯d never been there at all. But neither of them noticed this. They were too focused on the darkness ahead, expecting anything to emerge from it.


    By the time they reached the once-grand staircase, nothing had come forth.


    ¡°Do you know where we¡¯re headed?¡± Lisa asked, keeping her aim steady on the corridor but glancing occasionally at the staircase, its first landing cloaked in those same dense, gray cobwebs as the corridor.


    Ardan quietly recited Andrew¡¯s words, ¡°Third floor, eastern wing, children¡¯s room.¡±


    ¡°But if, as you said, something¡¯s wrong with the space here, how will we even know where we are?¡± She hissed, probably more from the pain than anything else.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s time to tell me where that exit is?¡± Ardan replied with a question of his own.


    Lisa looked at him with a hint of a wild, half-manic smile.


    ¡°Nice try, big guy,¡± she scoffed, gritting her teeth as she climbed the staircase first.


    Ardan followed. At the first landing, he glanced back and saw the door again. It was even open, inviting him with a view of the abandoned square outside. No men with guns stood at the shield¡¯s edge. For a brief, dangerous moment, Ardi was tempted to descend, until, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of long, black, claw-like fingers gripping the doorframe from outside.


    He swallowed, quickened his pace, and continued up the staircase to the second floor with Lisa. Here, the neglect and abandonment were just as heavy as on the floor below. Torn portraits and dusty frames clung to the walls, their faces staring with silent judgment and faint disdain, as if eager to witness a spectacle of blood and suffering.


    ¡°Help me!¡± Lisa cried out suddenly.


    She dropped her revolver and collapsed to the floor, slamming her injured shoulder against a side table before falling flat. Screaming and writhing, she clawed at her left foot with her fingers, nails digging into her flesh in a frantic, desperate attempt to tear something free.


    ¡°They¡¯re crawling inside me, Ard! Help me!¡± She screamed.


    Ardan shook off his shock and rushed to her, covering her eyes as he tried to infuse as much will into his Words as he could muster.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Lisa,¡± he whispered into her ear.


    She gasped, shuddered, and yanked at her leg one last time, nearly exposing bone, before finally slumping over, limp in his arms. To Ardan, it felt like a fully-grown horse had fallen onto his shoulders. His breath came in gasps, his head spinning. And it definitely wasn¡¯t because of Lisa.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    He pressed her against his shoulder, leaning his back against the wall, and tried to catch his breath. Lisa stirred just seconds later, groaning softly.


    ¡°Arkar and Peter are going to owe me extra,¡± she muttered, tearing off yet another strip of her dress, which now barely covered her thighs. ¡°Damn¡­ It hurts like hell.¡±


    Fashioning a pad from one strip, she bound it tightly to the torn flesh of her left foot.


    ¡°What did you¡­ see?¡± Ardan asked heavily.


    Lisa looked at him with a teary expression.


    ¡°I¡¯m just a driver, Ard¡­ Just a driver. I¡­ damn it, I shouldn¡¯t have to see rotting cadaver worms crawling up inside my leg ¡­ Worms with baby faces.¡±


    Ardan swore. Whatever was happening in this house, it had nothing to do with Star Magic. And if it was part of the Aean¡¯Hane arts, then it was a facet of them Atta¡¯nha had never spoken about.


    And Ardi understood why¡­


    ¡°Can you walk?¡± He asked Lisa.


    ¡°Only if I crawl,¡± she shook her head.


    Ardan set aside his staff, turned his back to her, and crouched. Without any further prompting, she managed to clamber up onto him, locking her legs around his waist. At this point, Ardi hardly cared about the pair of long, bare legs wrapped around his torso; nor did he pay attention to the pressure of her chest against his back.


    Kicking his staff up with his toe and grabbing her fallen revolver, he turned slowly back toward the staircase.


    And, as with the door, where there should have been steps leading to the third floor, there was only a wall. He turned back toward the corridor and saw, in the dimly-lit distance, a hazy silhouette. Like a dawn shadow ¡ª elongated and flattened ¡ª it stood near a painting, its whip-like arms stroking the torn canvas.


    Carefully, Ardan cocked the revolver and aimed it at the figure.


    ¡°You see it too?¡± He whispered to Lisa.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she whispered back into his ear.


    Ardan reached out to open a nearby door, but his hand met only the rough, decayed wallpaper and splintered wood. The entire corridor had transformed into a long, claustrophobic tunnel.


    He swallowed, checked the revolver¡¯s drum, and confirmed that all the rounds were in place (he hadn¡¯t even fired it yet). Pressing his side against the wall, he edged forward, step by cautious step.


    The closer they got to the shadow, the more ardently Lisa¡¯s heartbeat thudded against his back. His own heart felt like it might burst out of his chest and run as far from this place as it could.


    A treacherous floorboard creaked underfoot, and Lisa, out of sheer fear, bit down hard on his shoulder.


    Directly in front of them, barely an arm¡¯s length away, stood the shadow. It had separated from the wall and now loomed at its full height, but it remained as thin as a newspaper. One hand stroked the painting while the other held something at the level of its waist.


    Ardan held his breath, noting that the creature wasn¡¯t paying them the slightest bit of attention, and took a sidestep, then another, until they were several meters away.


    ¡°W-where¡­ w-where¡­¡± A voice, distorted and metallic, echoed from within the shadow. ¡°W-w-where¡­ i-is¡­ m-my¡­¡± It turned to look at Ardan and Lisa, and she pressed her face into Ardan¡¯s shoulder with a stifled moan. Ardi, if he hadn¡¯t been so terrified himself, might have been tempted to join her.


    The shadow had turned out to be¡­


    ¡°W-where¡¯s m-my¡­ h-head¡­¡±


    Before them stood Milomir¡¯s silhouette. Headless and flat, he stroked the ruined portrait of himself as he¡¯d entered with Elver. And his head¡­ His head, detached, rotting, and crawling with cockroaches, was cradled in his flat arms, pressed against his waist.


    ¡°Just what in¡­¡±


    Ardan swallowed the rest of his sentence as, from behind Milomir¡¯s shadow, a creature lunged at them. It looked like a hunched old woman, her breasts hanging like ropes as she dragged her empty barrel of a stomach behind her; her legs, shorter than a cat¡¯s tail, shuffled awkwardly along the floor; her arms were as long as snakes, with the joints bent wrong as if her limbs had been broken and twisted countless times. Her chin and forehead were reversed, and her mouth was a long, fanged slash across her skin that stretched from nose to chin.


    ¡°Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!¡± The creature shrieked, pouncing on them like a feral cat.


    Ardan reflexively fired a shot and leaped back. Behind them, the door creaked open, and together, he and Lisa both tumbled into the room, only for Ardi to look up and see another wall where the door had just been.


    ¡°Sleeping Spirits¡­¡± He whispered, turning to help Lisa, but she was just sitting there, sobbing quietly as she stared off into the distance.


    Following her gaze, Ardi realized they were in a small room once adorned with painted wallpaper, a delicate chandelier, and only a few pieces of furniture. Among them was a crib and a small chair.


    On the chair sat a little girl, who was only visible from the back. She wore a pink dress, long white stockings, and polished shoes. Her hair was in two braids. She couldn¡¯t have been more than seven or eight years old. All of that would have been fine, if not for the fact that part of her head was missing, and her hair was matted with blood and wriggling worms.


    Her right foot dangled from a thin strip of tendon, and her left side, stripped bare of skin and flesh, revealed ribs teeming with flies.


    ¡°Did you come to play too?¡± The girl asked in an angelic, innocent voice.


    She was holding something in her hands, taking slow, deliberate bites. At first, in the dim light, Ardan didn¡¯t recognize it. But then the clouds outside parted, and moonlight spilled through the only un-boarded window, revealing the girl¡¯s meal.


    It was Elver.


    He was still alive.


    Slumped across her knees, held down with unnatural strength, he twitched and gasped. His lips, nearly gnawed away, dribbled with foamy, pink blood, and his eye sockets held only a white, clouded film where his eyes used to be. The girl, oblivious to his moans, gouged chunks out of his torn-open abdomen with her teeth and devoured them like candy.


    ¡°Nanny brought me so many treats today,¡± she said.


    The moonlight illuminated another corner of the room, and Ardi nearly gagged. A pile of mangled bodies lay there, including the gang¡¯s mage. In his mutilated hands, he was clutching a pile of blue accumulators.


    So that was how he¡¯d managed to breach the shield and let the gangsters inside¡­


    ¡°They¡¯ll all become my toys, and we¡¯ll have endless tea parties together,¡± the girl¡­ The creature in the guise of a child, prattled on. ¡°Do you want to be my guests, Ard, Lisa? Will you be my guests?¡±


    ¡°Hold on tight,¡± Ardan whispered, leaning down carefully.


    He waited for Lisa to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist again, then straightened up, drawing his revolver as he looked at Elver¡¯s twitching, convulsing face.


    Ardan raised the revolver and fired.


    For a moment, all was silent.


    Elver¡¯s body shuddered one last time, then fell still. Ardi¡¯s aim might¡¯ve been poor, but even he couldn¡¯t miss from this close. The bullet had struck right between what had once been the eyes of the loyal devotee of the Tavsers.


    ¡°You¡­¡± The girl¡¯s voice shifted, changing as if something dark and unnatural had begun seeping into it, like the cawing of hungry crows. ¡°You ruined my treat!¡±


    She turned sharply, and instead of a face, Ardan saw only an oval mouth, worm-like and ringed with sharp, triangular teeth that would¡¯ve looked more at home on a fish.


    Ard pulled the trigger several times, but the bullets seemed to vanish before they reached the creature. It leaped from the chair and lunged toward them.


    Lisa screamed in pure terror, and Ardan may have joined her. Swinging his staff with all his might, he struck the creature¡¯s body, sending it sprawling several meters away, shrieking in pain.


    A scarlet, ember-like patch appeared where he¡¯d struck it, spreading and seemingly causing it excruciating pain.


    ¡°Ley-wood!¡± The creature wailed. ¡°Ley-wood!¡±


    Ardan wasn¡¯t inclined to argue over it. He saw two options and sprinted forward with all his might. The creature raced after him, reaching out with its elongated, claw-tipped fingers. But Ardan was faster. He snatched up a figurine from a nearby table and, with Lisa still clutching onto him, dove out of the window, plummeting from the third floor straight to the ground.


    Somehow, Ardan managed to twist mid-fall, and Lisa ended up cradled in his arms rather than on his back. When they hit the ground, Ardi rolled, ignoring the nauseating crunch in his right ankle, and saved Lisa from an even grimmer fate.


    They lay there on the cold, muddy ground, gasping for breath. White clouds of vapor puffed up from their faces, fading quickly into the night. After a painful breath, Ardan pulled himself up and raised his staff toward the house, but¡­


    The house was gone. Only a heap of rotting boards and crumbling stone remained. And in the shadows within, he saw Milomir¡¯s silhouette once more, mouthing soundlessly:


    ¡°Where¡­ is¡­ my¡­ head?¡±


    But soon, even he vanished.


    ¡°What¡­ an... absolute¡­ nightmare¡­¡± Ardan muttered, pushing himself upright and leaning heavily on his staff. The pain radiating from his broken ankle nearly made him bite his lip until it bled.


    Then he remembered Lisa and helped her up. By some miracle, whether from adrenaline or something else, she managed to stand on her good leg. Supporting each other in a series of limping hops, they made their way over to the damn shield.


    Ardan drained the last bits of Davos¡¯ accumulator ¡ª it shattered in his hands, crumbling to fine dust ¡ª and made another tear. Not a word was exchanged as he and Lisa hobbled to one of the gangsters¡¯ parked cars near the corner.


    Lisa pulled out a few odd-looking tools from her inexplicably intact handbag and fiddled first with the car door, then with something near the steering wheel.


    Within less than half a minute, the car shook, and the engine roared to life, spewing clouds of exhaust.


    ¡°Take the wheel,¡± Lisa groaned, about to collapse onto the back seat.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to drive.¡±


    Her hand froze on the handle.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I. Don¡¯t. Know. How. To. Drive,¡± Ardan repeated, emphasizing each word.


    Lisa turned, rolling her eyes. Ardan definitely needed to figure out the meaning of that gesture¡­


    ¡°Eternal Angels¡­ If we somehow make it to ¡°Bruce¡¯s,¡± I swear I¡¯m teaching you how to drive, big guy.¡±


    ***


    Perhaps their trials for the night had been enough, because they reached the intended pier without incident. And after Lisa exchanged a few words with the captain of a small barge ferrying cargo from shore to shore, they set off toward the Night Docks ¡ª a modest port on the right bank where ships that stayed within the bounds of the Niewa loaded up. It was a sort of city water transit system.


    When they¡¯d sailed about five hundred meters from shore, the bridge¡¯s wings closed above them, and ambulances, fire trucks, and guards raced across, flashing their lights and blaring their sirens as they sped toward the black column of smoke rising above Fifth Street, which showed where a fire had broken out after the explosion.


    The barge¡¯s captain didn¡¯t ask a single question. In fact, he didn¡¯t utter a word the entire thirty-minute journey.


    Once they docked, they drove through narrow streets and alleyways, winding away from the wide boulevards and main roads. Lisa seemed to be worried about running into a patrol that would ask why they were both injured. It didn¡¯t help that one of them wasn¡¯t entirely human and, what¡¯s more, was a mage with no regalia. And they had no paperwork for the vehicle, either.


    But by some stroke of fate, they reached ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± without further incident.


    ¡°Finally,¡± Lisa whispered before passing out at the wheel and slumping over the horn, which let out a long, drawn-out honk.


    Ardan stepped out, opened the driver¡¯s-side door, and, paying no mind to securing the vehicle, lifted Lisa¡¯s limp body, carrying her bloodied and mud-covered figure even as his own battered and bloodied form limped toward the bar.


    The bouncers opened the doors for him and, clustering around discreetly, led him toward Arkar, who was waiting by a set of doors leading to a private room.


    Ardan had once assumed that the room existed so private parties could go unnoticed. And now he was certain of it, but with a much darker understanding on top.


    Passing the stage, Ardan caught sight of Tess, who was finishing her two-hour set. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met.


    Sleeping Spirits¡­ It had only been a few hours. And yet, it felt like several lifetimes had passed since then.


    Along with the bouncers and Arkar, they entered the private room. A long table stood in the center, its edges rounded. Three sides of the room were bordered by green leather couches, and the walls were adorned with mounted horns, animal heads, ancient axes, and other symbols of orcish heritage.


    ¡°Lay her on the table,¡± Arkar instructed, turning to the guards. ¡°Fetch Tess, and bring warm water, soap, thread, cloth, and a harsh liquid¡­ A strong bottle of whiskey, I mean.¡±


    The bouncers nodded silently.


    ¡°Two chubbies¡­ Two bottles, I mean!¡± Arkar called after them, his voice carrying an orcish growl.


    Ardan cleared a space on the table, shoving aside straw wrappers, plates, and ashtrays, and gently set Lisa down, then collapsed onto the couch beside it. Breathing heavily and drenched in sweat, he unbuttoned the collar of his shredded shirt, trying to catch his breath, though the effort was in vain ¡ª pain throbbed in his ankle and where his side had been grazed by a bullet.


    ¡°How are you holding up?¡± Arkar asked, glancing between him and Lisa¡¯s wound.


    Ardan didn¡¯t answer. He wasn¡¯t sure how long he could stay here¡­


    ¡°What do you want, Arkar?¡± Tess asked, entering the room with a slightly irritated expression. ¡°I¡¯ve still got two songs left.¡±


    ¡°They can make do without your songs, Tess,¡± Arkar said, guiding her to the table and grabbing the items the bouncers had brought. ¡°Make sure no one comes in here, and let the band play out of hell... Loud and lively, I mean,¡± he added, barking an order at his men.


    The bouncers gave another silent nod and slipped out.


    ¡°So, what do you-¡± Tess began, but Arkar interrupted her.


    ¡°You studied medicine for a couple of years, right?¡±


    ¡°You mean surgery?¡± She raised an eyebrow, looking stunningly out of place in her elegant green gown, her hair done up with a sparkling tiara, and her long, white silk gloves that reached her elbows. She stood in that room like a queen in a den of wolves. ¡°It was only a year and a half, Arkar¡­ The last six months, I worked as a seamstress for Mrs. Okladov.¡±


    ¡°Good enough,¡± the orc replied, setting the whiskey, thread, and other supplies on the table. ¡°Help her, Tess. Please.¡±


    ¡°I already warned you that I want nothing to do with your dealings, Arkar,¡± she replied coldly.


    ¡°This was an entirely legitimate, extremely trav¡­ trivil¡­ simple matter, I mean,¡± Arkar spread his arms out. He might have said more, but Lisa groaned, bringing a worried grimace to Tess¡¯ face.


    ¡°Eternal Angels, Arkar!¡± Tess exclaimed, casting a scathing look at the orc. ¡°She¡¯ll bleed out if we don¡¯t do something.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Arkar nodded in agreement.


    Tess muttered something under her breath, kicked off her high heels without using her hands, and approached the table. Effortlessly uncorking the whiskey bottle, she poured it over her hands to sterilize them, then took the scissors and carefully cut the fabric away from Lisa¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Gunshot wound,¡± Tess observed. ¡°It went through. No bullet left in here.¡±


    With that, she threaded a needle soaked in whiskey and set to work stitching up the wound. Ardan, recalling his own ordeal in the steppes, rose unsteadily to his feet, grabbed a teaspoon from the table, and was about to place it between Lisa¡¯s teeth when...


    ¡°What are you doing, fool?¡± Tess growled at him.


    ¡°She¡¯s going to-¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s unconscious,¡± Tess cut him off, her hands covered in fresh blood. ¡°If you put that spoon in her mouth, she could choke on it. Go sit on the couch and wait for your turn.¡±


    For a few minutes, Tess focused on Lisa¡¯s shoulder, and then she asked Arkar to help her turn Lisa over. The orc, with surprising gentleness, shifted her onto her stomach. Lisa, still unconscious, groaned faintly. The exit wound was larger than the entry one, and Tess worked on it for a bit longer.


    When she¡¯d finished with her shoulder, she examined Lisa¡¯s torso and legs, checking for any other injuries. Finally, she untied the makeshift bandage around her foot.


    ¡°Eternal Angels¡­ She did this to herself?¡±


    Both Arkar and Tess turned their questioning gazes on Ardan, but he merely stared into the distance, his mind blank.


    ¡°Angels and Light,¡± Tess muttered, then spent another half an hour tending to Lisa¡¯s foot. When she finally finished, the table, floor, and even Arkar and Tess were stained with blood. But Lisa was still breathing.


    ¡°She needs a hospital, Arkar,¡± Tess said, her face shadowed with worry and her gown far beyond saving. ¡°She¡¯s lost a lot of blood¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll take her,¡± Arkar replied, then whistled sharply. The bouncers came in, and he instructed them on what to do. Carefully, they lifted Lisa¡¯s groaning form and carried her out of the room.


    ¡°Now you,¡± Tess turned to Ardan, slicing through his already ruined shirt with a pair of scissors.


    More expenses¡­


    ¡°Arkar¡­ This is just a graze, but it¡¯s deep,¡± Tess announced. ¡°He¡¯ll need something for the pain.¡±


    The orc approached and silently handed Ardan the whiskey bottle. Ardan hesitated, then took a few large gulps. The fiery burn ran down his throat, numbing his tongue and seizing his breath.


    ¡°What is¡­ this¡­ swill¡­¡± Ardan rasped.


    Moments later, the room started spinning, and everything blurred around him. He barely noticed it when Tess stitched up his wound, then set and bandaged his ankle with a splint fashioned from table knives and napkins.


    The whole time, Ardan inhaled the scent of her herbal perfume and watched her slender, nimble fingers work the needle.


    ¡°You get Elver¡¯s share as well,¡± Arkar set ten 10-ex notes and several coins on the table. ¡°For your trouble. That means you¡¯re getting your share and what that rat of a Tavser follower took to his grave.¡±


    Arkar had apparently already handed the statue over to his lackeys¡­


    ¡°And as for Andrew, as two-faced as that pup was, his share will go to his sister¡­ She¡¯s sick¡­ Needs it for the doctors, after all,¡± the half-orc continued. ¡°And Milomir¡¯s cut ¡ª may the Sleeping Spirits welcome him ¡ª will go to Lisa when she wakes up. That would be fair enough.¡±


    At that, Ardan couldn¡¯t hold back any longer. Perhaps it was the whiskey loosening his tongue, or the surge of frustration from the night¡¯s events: the gangsters, the shooting, the otherworldly horror conjured by some unknown hand.


    ¡°Fair?¡± Ardan growled. ¡°What fairness are you talking about, Arkar?! So many people died out there! And then Andrew¡­ You knew he was working for that¡­ what¡¯s his name¡­ the Dandy! And the artifact! You¡¯re really telling me someone would pay all those exes just for a trinket in a collection, huh? Who did you even get it for?¡±


    ¡°No idea,¡± Arkar replied calmly, his tone as unflappable as ever.


    ¡°And it doesn¡¯t matter to you?!¡±


    ¡°Not in the slightest, kid.¡±


    ¡°Because money doesn¡¯t stink?¡± Ardan bared his teeth.


    ¡°Then take a sniff yourself, if you¡¯re so curious,¡± Arkar nodded toward the money on the table. ¡°Go ahead. You worked for it, so don¡¯t act all high and mighty now. Take it and get yourself patched up. Next time-¡±


    ¡°There won¡¯t be a next time!¡± Ardan shouted, springing to his feet. ¡°And you can shove that money, orc! I¡¯m no bandit! I¡¯m no criminal! I¡¯m a hunter, not some-¡±


    ¡°A hunter?!¡± Arkar bared his own fangs in turn. ¡°How dare you¡­ A hunter, you say¡­ You brainless whelp! There are no hunters left in this world, Matabar! No hunters, no shamans, no spirits, no ancestors! All of that is gone! And largely because of your own great-grandfather! Oh¡­ You thought we didn¡¯t catch on¡­ That we didn¡¯t know, I mean, I didn¡¯t know, who rents a room here? Ard Egobar, great-grandson of Aror Egobar¡­ You play at noble wizardry, do you¡­ little brat? You don¡¯t want to work with us? Fine, we¡¯re not forcing you. But don¡¯t come crawling to me when you¡¯re starving. Hunter, my ass¡­ Your money¡¯s there. Do whatever you want with it. Wipe yourself with it for all I care.¡±


    Arkar spat, turned, and stomped out the door, leaving Ardan stunned. He¡¯d heard every word, but in his mind, echoes of Hector¡¯s battle against the head of the Shanti¡¯Ra mingled with memories of his father. Why had Arkar¡¯s words sounded so much like his father¡¯s?


    Ardan sank heavily into the couch, glaring at the whiskey.


    He would never touch that stuff again¡­


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know¡­¡± Tess¡¯ whisper broke the silence.


    He turned to her, seeing a mixture of a smile and surprise on her face.


    She laughed, and it was bright, musical, nearly as sweet as her singing.


    ¡°Eternal Angels, Ard!¡± She exclaimed through her laughter. ¡°You didn¡¯t know you were renting a room from the Orcish Jackets?¡±


    ¡°I had¡­ other matters to attend to,¡± he muttered.


    Even he knew how absurd that sounded. But what else could he say? It had happened the way it had happened. So went the dream of the Sleeping Spirits¡­


    ¡°Come on, big guy,¡± she said in that same joking tone, smiling, and put her hand on his shoulder and helped him up. ¡°I¡¯ll patch you up better... Or these stitches might fester in the morning.¡±


    ¡°Why did you help-¡±


    ¡°I hate gangsters,¡± Tess interrupted, answering his unspoken question. ¡°But Lisa is a good girl.¡±


    ¡°And you live in this place?¡±


    ¡°And what about you?¡± Her green eyes flashed. ¡°You, as I understand it, don¡¯t want to be associated with the criminal world either, but you¡¯re not planning to move out, are you?¡±


    Ardan gritted his teeth. He might¡¯ve been glad to do so, but where would he move? Back to the dorms? Yeah, that might not be a bad idea... if one didn¡¯t take into account all the factors involved. Looking for a new place to live¡­ He¡¯d already tried that, and it hadn¡¯t worked out so well. The only thing left to do was to continue living in the Orcish Jackets¡¯ profit house.


    Ironic.


    Distracted as he was, he didn¡¯t notice when Tess discreetly took the money from the table and slipped it into his pocket. Supporting him with one arm and carrying his staff with the other, she helped him up the staircase to the top floor, leading him through the door of her apartment.


    Ardan, still dazed from the pain, blood loss, and whiskey, barely registered the apartment¡¯s interior.


    He only came to when Tess guided him to a small balcony adjoining his bay-windowed room, only with a door that led directly to the rooftop, where she¡¯d set up a cozy little terrace.


    It had a table, a couple of potted flowers, and two chairs.


    ¡°Wait here,¡± she murmured, seating him at the table and disappearing inside.


    Ardan sat there, gazing out over the city spread out below, its twinkling lights stretching into the darkness, shrouded in smoke and the cries of sirens, filled with gangsters, aristocrats, and, as he now knew all too well, blood.


    Yonatan¡¯s words suddenly made more sense¡­


    ¡°Here,¡± Tess returned, offering him a cup of hot, sweet liquid.


    ¡°Cocoa,¡± Ardan whispered, grateful.


    ¡°You¡¯re a fan too?¡± She asked with a gentle smile.


    ¡°My brother is,¡± he replied a little wistfully. ¡°I just¡­ dabble.¡±


    ¡°You have a brother?¡± She asked, laying out bandages, vials, and other small medical items on the table. She wrapped herself in a soft blanket from a nearby table while Ardan, finally feeling a hint of relief, savored the cool night air.


    ¡°I do,¡± he nodded. ¡°His name is Erti and¡­¡±


    And he found himself telling Tess his story. Of course, it was the carefully edited version ¡ª the one that left out the wolf spirit who¡¯d taught him the Aean¡¯Hane arts, Duchess Anorsky, the vampire Cassara, the train attack¡­ and much more.


    He spoke and spoke, the whiskey warming his words and loosening his tongue. Tess, bandaging his wounds with practiced hands, listened intently. She asked questions here and there, laughed sometimes, frowned at other times, occasionally even teasing him gently.


    It was easy to talk to her. Strangely, he didn¡¯t want to stop. Was this how people felt under the effects of his Witch¡¯s Gaze?


    And yet, eventually, Ardan fell silent.


    For a while, they drank cocoa in silence, watching the sleeping city.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky, Ard,¡± Tess said suddenly, setting her cup down.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because you get to choose who you become,¡± she replied, taking off her tiara and letting her hair fall loose. ¡°You know, big guy, some people are born with a purpose. Like me. The Face of Light gave me the gift of song, and that¡¯s all I want from life. To sing. On the biggest stages. For the biggest audiences. That¡¯s what I live for. That¡¯s why I left my parents back in Shamtur. Dropped out of medical school. It¡¯s why I moved here, so I could sing at the bar¡­ It¡¯s my fever, you could say.¡±


    She gazed into the dark liquid in her cup as if seeing something only she could understand within it.


    ¡°And sometimes,¡± Tess continued, ¡°people experience something¡­ something big, something profound. And for the rest of their lives, they live in the shadow of that event. Dealing with its consequences or searching for its causes. It¡¯s like being imprisoned by your own fate¡­ But you, Ard, you¡¯re free of that. You can find out what you truly desire. What you want. Believe me, not everyone¡¯s that lucky.¡±


    Ardan turned away, considering her words. He¡¯d never thought of his question ¡ª ¡°Who am I?¡± ¡ª from that perspective before. He¡¯d never considered that neither his great-grandfather nor his father, nor anyone else needed to give him an answer. He had to discover it himself.


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Tess waved her hands, laughing awkwardly. ¡°I¡¯m sticking my nose where it doesn¡¯t belong¡­ It¡¯s probably just everything that¡¯s happened tonight. I¡¯m rambling¡­ Just ignore me, Ard¡­ Eternal Angels, how scared I was¡­¡±


    Ardan swallowed a ¡°thank you¡± and quietly sipped his cocoa, savoring the rich, dense flavor ¡ª sweet but not cloying, hot but not scorching.


    Tess sat beside him. The breeze, carrying the first hints of winter, played with her fiery hair, which was brighter than the city lights below.


    And then, perhaps because of the whiskey, the cocoa, or Tess herself, Ardan finally felt, for the first time all night, a faint but undeniable calm wash over him.


    It had been one strange night indeed.

 Chapter 46 - Burn

    Life after the incident on Baliero¡¯s Fifth Street gradually slipped back into a familiar rhythm. It was a bit chaotic, as usual, thick and clinging like rubber, and yet somehow pleasant in its own way.


    For the first few days, Ardan had worried that the guards, or worse, the Cloaks, would show up at ¡°Bruce¡¯s,¡± but everything had remained calm. After a week, he¡¯d even stopped bolting upright whenever the colorful flashes from police cars had painted his windows at night.


    As for his relationship with Arkar, there was no doubt that it had soured. So much so, in fact, that Ardi and the half-orc no longer greeted each other. If Ardan decided to spend an evening reading in the bar instead of his apartment, Arkar would make a point of ignoring him. But other than that, nothing had really changed in Ardan¡¯s life.


    Except, well¡­ There was one new, pleasant novelty. On evenings when the streets weren¡¯t being drenched by gloomy rain or blanketed with snow, Ardi and Tess would sit out on the small balcony of their building. They¡¯d settle around a round, tidy table with two steaming cups of cocoa, chatting for hours about absolutely nothing.


    Over time, Ardan had learned that the red-haired singer had turned nineteen that summer. She was from Shamtur, a place a little removed from the Fatian border. Her parents, three younger sisters, and two older brothers still lived back in her childhood home. Her father, an army officer, held a modest but well-fed position ¡ª figuratively and literally ¡ª managing a supply warehouse, which had enabled her parents to support such a large family.


    Her mother even had a hobby: she wrote poetry and sometimes played an old piano she¡¯d inherited from her grandmother. Her two older brothers were both officers in the border garrisons (a position they¡¯d likely acquired with a bit of help from their father), and her younger sisters were still in school. Tess herself had always felt like a black sheep among her military family, even though none of them had treated her any differently. The Orman family could boast not only a long military tradition dating back to Gales¡¯ victory over Ectassus, but also genuine warmth and unity.


    And yet, when Tess had received her documents, she¡¯d tearfully said farewell to her family and left for the Metropolis, where she¡¯d enrolled in the First Army Medical Institute to become a military surgeon (again, thanks to her father¡¯s connections). After a year and a half of studying, however, she¡¯d realized that she couldn¡¯t have both a career as a singer and a doctor.


    Her parents hadn¡¯t supported her choice, though they hadn¡¯t been strongly opposed to it, either. So, Tess had withdrawn from the institute, and the skills she¡¯d acquired over that year and a half had found a different outlet. She¡¯d taken a job as a seamstress at Mrs. Okladov¡¯s atelier, whose daughter had been in her class.


    She¡¯d found herself at 23 Markov Canal in much the same way Ardan had. After withdrawing from school, she¡¯d been looking for a place to live but hadn¡¯t been able to find anything that fit her budget and wasn¡¯t a city-wide commute to her new job. One evening, while walking along the canal, she¡¯d noticed ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± bar and gone in to listen to the music. She got so caught up in the rhythm that she began to sing along, only to catch the attention of Arkar, who offered her a simple deal.


    If she performed twice a week, she¡¯d get the keys to a small apartment. No exes required. A simple barter deal. Tess had agreed, and only after the fact, like Ardi himself, she had learned who actually owned the bar and the entire building.


    In the two and a half months since he¡¯d discovered that as well, Ardan had come to cherish their conversations. And though they grew less frequent, they still managed to cast a little warmth onto the chilly, gray cloak of his routine: the dreary autumn landscape by day, and the bursts of colors and lights from the Empire¡¯s forever-awake capital by night.


    With each dawn, winter¡¯s icy footsteps drew closer. Its heels were already tapping on the frost-laced puddles and the thin white crust over the Niewa¡¯s sleeping city. At night, the wind howled like a hungry wolf, and sometimes, if you looked closely, you could see a faint web of blue frost etched onto the window panes by Old Man Winter.


    And so, when the Month of Waters ended, followed by the Month of Memory falling like autumn leaves, the last month ¡ªthe White Month ¡ª finally settled over the streets and boulevards.


    It dusted the sidewalks and embankments with snow, heaping up whole drifts of it. People were wrapping themselves in furs and coats, as well as layering their undergarments, wool suits and thick dresses to keep from freezing.


    As Ardan had expected, though perhaps later than most, he, too, felt winter¡¯s icy breath. More and more often, he found himself blowing on his numb fingers and warming them over the small oil lamp he¡¯d bought from the junk dealer. At night, crawling under his blanket, he would wear a sweater, and sometimes even wool socks. In the morning, he¡¯d have to crack through the icy layer in the washbasin before he could wash his face.


    And yet, Ardi loved winter. He loved its snow-white robes, which it spread generously over the tired earth, welcoming it into a gentle, drowsy embrace. He loved the trees, which had transformed into magnificent sculptures; the high azure sky, clearer now than even in summer; and the evenings thick with vibrant lights piercing the distant darkness. Now he loved winter for a new reason as well ¡ª the many lights on the ground.


    In anticipation of the grand holiday, the Metropolis glowed so brightly at night that he sometimes had to draw the curtains just to sleep. Not only did shop and restaurant windows illuminate the darkness, but even the facades of buildings now sparkled with signs, garlands, and lights. Decorations graced frozen fountains, spiraled along the ivy-covered parapets of embankments and bridges, and hung across avenues and streets in sweeping arcs.


    Sometimes, he even wanted to invite Tess out for a walk around the nighttime Metropolis, decked out in its snow-white dress adorned with glittering jewels. But he never did.


    The closer New Year came, the sooner he would leave the Metropolis, leave Tess, leave the Orcish Jackets and their building on 23 Markov Canal behind¡­ So why bother? Besides, Tess was invited out almost every other day by young men ¡ª and some older ¡ª who were far more appealing than a struggling mage and half-blood with a questionable lineage.


    Sometimes, she accepted, but more often than not, she didn¡¯t. But even when she dressed up for an evening date, she always returned home alone, never later than early evening. Ardan didn¡¯t even know why he paid attention to such details¡­ Maybe it was simply because he was still working on his Star Magic during those times and could see her light turn on, see her shadow moving behind the curtains¡­ But no, no, he wasn¡¯t peeking or watching on purpose.


    It was just¡­


    Well, it didn¡¯t really matter.


    As for his studies at the Grand, Ardi had finished his second month with fifty-seven points, and his third with an impressive eighty-four. This had put him on the cusp of being one of the top fifty students in his first year, though it still wasn¡¯t enough to qualify him for a stipend.


    So, whether he liked it or not, he had to admit that Arkar¡¯s words had held some truth. Without the money from the Fifth Street incident, Ardi would hardly have made it this far.


    His first impulse after discovering the extra hundred-plus exes in his pants pocket had been to go downstairs and leave it on the bar counter, but¡­ His inner squirrel had managed to talk him out of such a reckless gesture.


    Ardan had decided that it would be both right and somewhat ironic if he used this ill-gotten money to pay his debt to the Anorsky family. And his second impulse had been to visit the Imperial Bank and pay off the entire amount in one go, mailing the check to the duchess.


    But as he¡¯d stood in front of the doors of the luxurious building in the Trade District, he¡¯d reconsidered. Such a move might turn out to be a serious blunder. Who knew how closely the Cloaks were watching him? And if they weren¡¯t directly watching him, they could easily monitor his bank transactions. A 138 exes was not only a huge amount for a young student, it was downright staggering.


    So, instead of sending it all at once, Ardan had split it into smaller payments, sending thirty exes on the fifth-to-last day of each month. It was still a lot, but Ardi hoped such an approach might keep him a bit safer.


    Initially, Ardi had had an astonishing ¡ª for him ¡ª amount of 185 exes and some kso. Of these, 138 had gone toward his debt.


    But even after deducting that from the total, he¡¯d still had more than enough.


    He¡¯d set aside just under half of it ¡ª twenty exes from his remaining forty-seven ¡ª as a rainy-day fund, just as the cowboys on Polskih¡¯s farm had taught him: ¡°Always keep some cash on hand, no matter what happens.¡±


    Of the remaining twenty-seven, he¡¯d earmarked fifteen for three months¡¯ rent. And with the remaining twelve, he¡¯d made do.


    Perhaps this financial juggling had played a part in why Ardi hadn¡¯t asked Tess out anywhere. He¡¯d seen the gifts her many admirers would give her, the grand gestures, the cars they drove to pick her up in, and the bouquets they brought her¡­


    On a brighter note, Ardan had properly reconnected with his family. His mother wrote to him faithfully once a month, and he wrote back. Their letters were so long, though, that the post office clerk had repeatedly threatened to classify them as packages due to their weight. Only Erti had not written him back, but Ardan didn¡¯t blame his brother. Life at a new school far from home must have been hard¡­


    The letter from Anna never came. Maybe that was for the best¡­


    As for his situation at the Grand, it was both simpler and more complex. He and Eveless, the violet-eyed elf, crossed paths six days a week (they shared the same group), but she usually acted as if Ardan didn¡¯t exist.


    Sometimes, though, she¡¯d pull a small prank on him.


    For instance, during a lesson on healing seals, she had ¡°accidentally¡± spilled ink on his drawing, and Ardan had been forced to start over. Or, in their joint war magic class (which, despite initial ¡®lecture¡¯, took place twice a month and involved entire first course), she¡¯d sometimes use a different spell than the one they were practicing ¡ª a couple of times, this had ended with Ardi waking up in the infirmary.


    Inside him, the snow leopard clawed and bit at its cage, eager to retaliate, but the squirrel always reminded him of the Cloaks¡¯ warnings and the fact that his time in the Metropolis was nearly up. Avoid extra trouble, it warned. Alas, sometimes the fierce leopard won out over the sensible squirrel, and Eveless found herself in the infirmary instead, inevitably drawing the watchful eye of Colonel Kshtovsky.


    As for the Great Prince Iolai, he posed no real trouble or danger. Not because he¡¯d suddenly changed his attitude toward Ardan, not at all. Simply put, he was the Great Prince, which meant that he couldn¡¯t stoop to petty mischief or empty provocations with so much public attention on him, the sole Agrov at the Grand. So, when the opportunity arose, Iolai would glare at Ardan and, along with his friends, toss out a casual crude remark.


    In this way, he reminded Ardi a bit of Kenbish, which always brought a smile to Ardan¡¯s face ¡ª a response that seemed to irritate the throne-contender even more.


    As for the rest of the troublemakers among the Firstborn and humans, they had long since written off the Matabar half-blood as a nuisance not worth their time.


    And as the first semester¡¯s exams drew near ¡ª they would happen just ten days before the New Year ¡ª Ardan noticed that the more significant, exam-related concerns began to crowd out all others. Students, regardless of their course, origin, achievements, or any other details, were fully absorbed in their preparations.


    After all, entering the Grand was no easy task, but getting expelled was as easy as getting a glass of water. All it took was scoring less than half the maximum points on the exams, and you were no longer a student.


    It was said that by the final year at the Grand, only about a third ¡ª often less than a quarter ¡ª of the original first-year students remained. Those unlucky enough to be expelled were scattered across the expanse of classical universities, where Star Magic was but one faculty among many.


    And so Ardi sat on the tram, wrapped in a coat that was far too light for the Metropolis¡¯ damp and windy winter, flipping through the pages of his Star Magic Theory textbook. His gloves, with their finger holes, kept his hands just barely warm enough. He had knit them himself, thanks to his mother¡¯s teachings.


    He¡¯d even sewn himself a set of admittedly ridiculous but warm pants, and even a shirt. As he¡¯d learned, it was much cheaper to buy materials than finished products in the Metropolis.


    ¡°You a student?¡± Asked the conductor.


    He was a short man, and without all the layers ¡ª including a dark blue overcoat and a thick scarf ¡ª he would¡¯ve been rather unremarkable in build. But at that moment, with his bushy mustache and bulky layers, he looked more like a ball.


    Ardi sat at the very back of the tram, on a frosty wooden bench. The iron poles, covered in frost and rust, rose from the floor around him, supporting the roof, while passengers gripped them to stay upright. But there were only a few other people on board: some older men reading newspapers near the front and a plump lady with an equally plump child sucking on a lollipop.


    Exams traditionally began strictly at noon, a time when the Central District often settled into a light slumber. Only a few lingered in cafes, nursing hot coffees, while restaurants remained closed until five, and on the streets¡­ A playful blizzard whipped up fluffy snow curls, heaping it into high drifts. Most cars, too, had moved into hibernation under warm blankets or, even better, into garages. In such weather, engines could easily stall at the worst possible moment, and the roads, though frequently de-iced, still posed considerable hazards.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ardan exhaled, watching the small cloud of mist evaporate.


    Trams, of course, had no interior heating. The majority of private transport didn¡¯t either, except for the most expensive models equipped with complex air pipes heated by the running engine¡­ If it didn¡¯t stall.


    ¡°From the Grand?¡± The conductor persisted. ¡°Off to exams, are you?¡±


    Ardi was about to ask how this rotund apparition in uniform had guessed that, but held his tongue just in time. He was wearing the full regalia, after all: epaulets denoting his Stars (or Star, in this case) and rays, a red cape, and the emblem of the General Faculty on his breast pocket.


    ¡°Good luck to you, lad,¡± the conductor tapped his cap¡¯s brim in salute, then rasped, ¡°Star Square! Star-kha-khm¡­ Where¡¯s my thermos¡­¡±


    Racked by a cough that sounded far from healthy, the conductor made his way to his seat, where he found a ¡°lunchbox¡± next to his thermos. It couldn¡¯t have held more than a kilo or so. It was the kind factory workers carried their meals in.


    The driver pulled the tram¡¯s cord, and the horn above wailed. The carriage clanked to a stop. Ardi shut his textbook and tucked it into his worn, wide shoulder bag (a cheap find at the flea market), then climbed down the steps. The icy cobblestones nearly sent him slipping. Even after all this time, he still felt uncomfortable wearing shoes, especially in winter. It was an old Alkadian habit of his ¡ª running barefoot through the snow.


    Students moved slowly across the square, maintaining a solemn silence even when in groups. The buildings of the campus loomed over them, their snowy hands resting on roofs like giants¡¯ whispers passing judgment on the young.


    ¡°Ard!¡± Someone called out from behind him.


    Ardi turned and smiled, waving. It was Elena and Boris, who were now hurrying over. Boris muttered something to his personal driver, and the man got back into the sleek, low-roofed, long-bodied car, then drove off toward the avenue.


    It made sense that the Fahtov scion could afford both a car impervious to the Metropolis winter and a driver, not to mention the fact that his apartment was likely privately owned, given its location and the cost¡­ But that didn¡¯t matter.


    Elena, in her royal blue, mink coat, white sable hat, and arctic fox mittens, looked like a fairy-tale princess. Her boots, capped with fur, clicked their high heels over the snow. Boris wore a cross between a military overcoat and a peacoat. It had thick fabric with black fur trim made from a coarse material that looked almost like a dog¡¯s mane around the cuffs and collar.


    ¡°Why did you take the tram in this weather?¡± Elena hugged him warmly, and Boris extended his hand, receiving Ardi¡¯s firm handshake in return. ¡°You should have let us know yesterday ¡ª we¡¯d have picked you up.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think of it,¡± Ardi replied vaguely.


    Twice in the past three and a half months, Ardan had visited Elena and Boris in what he now had no doubt was their family home. It was cozy, taking up half a floor with three rooms, a working fireplace, two studies, and spacious living and dining rooms, along with a future nursery.


    The first time, he did so because it would have been plain rude not to ¡ª he had promised to trade an evening meal for a story about the steppes back in Presny, after all.


    The second time¡­ To his shame, it had been on a day when he¡¯d felt especially miserable, and while wandering through the city, he hadn¡¯t even realized that his feet had carried him to number eight on Holy Warriors Street, named in honor of the last King of Gales¡¯ warband, who had fallen with their leader.


    ¡°You¡¯re looking well, friend,¡± Boris greeted him with his usual disarming smile.


    For all his complicated and even argumentative personality ¡ª one that often led to duels and conflicts with other aristocrats at the Grand ¡ª Boris Fahtov had always extended a strange, almost friendly warmth toward Ardi.


    And there was Elena, with whom Ardi shared a desk in most of their classes. It wasn¡¯t like they¡¯d become close friends, but they enjoyed each other¡¯s company and could spend hours discussing Star Magic theory, which Elena Promyslov-Fahtov seemed to know better than most third-years.


    ¡°Doing my best,¡± Ardan replied.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep at all last night,¡± Boris looked dejected. ¡°Those damned problems in Defensive Magic Theory kept spinning in my head. I can¡¯t imagine how you and Elena solve them so quickly.¡±


    ¡°I tried to help you,¡± Elena reminded him, ¡°but instead, you¡­ were dueling Baron Orvilov, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a fool and doesn¡¯t even try to hide it,¡± Boris scoffed. ¡°He trails after Iolai like a little lapdog, but he¡¯s so full of himself that it¡¯s disgusting¡­¡±


    Boris didn¡¯t finish that thought, brushing off the topic.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go before we¡¯re late,¡± he grumbled, pulling Elena and Ardan toward the Grand building. ¡°Oh, by the Eternal Angels, how I loathe winter¡­¡±


    All of the Grand knew that Lord Boris Fahtov and Great Prince Iolai Agrov had a highly strained relationship. As to why that was ¡ª that was only the stuff of rumors and conjecture, which didn¡¯t concern Ardan in the least.


    He had enough on his plate without worrying about the tangled relationships among the aristocracy as well. It was enough that he¡¯d unexpectedly found friends in Elena and Boris, and had even accepted their invitations, visiting their home despite his initial reluctance.


    Twice¡­


    Duels, by the way, took place on the testing grounds with Colonel Kshtovsky¡¯s aides serving as seconds.


    ¡°Oh, and Ard,¡± Elena turned to him suddenly. ¡°Did you end up asking Tess to the Festival of Light?¡±


    During his first visit to their home, Ardi had made the fatal mistake of telling Boris and Elena that he¡¯d found a place to stay. In his defense, he¡¯d only done so after Boris had somehow found out about the incident in the dormitory and had stubbornly offered him a room in their apartment for a symbolic rent of one kso a month.


    It had nearly caused a rift between them, so Ardan had had to admit that he was already renting an apartment. And, word by word, they¡¯d found out where it was from him and had later shown up at ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± just in time for one of Tess¡¯ performances, eventually meeting her as well, since she sometimes sat with Ardan during her breaks.


    ¡°Almost,¡± Ardan muttered in a tone that matched Boris¡¯ grumble.


    ¡°Aaaaaard,¡± Elena rolled her eyes with a groan¡­ By the Sleeping Spirits, Ardi would someday decipher the meaning of this gesture, which humans seemed to use regardless of the situation. ¡°At this rate, you¡¯ll only invite her when she¡¯s already standing at the altar with another man.¡±


    ¡°Elena, darling,¡± Boris grinned at her. ¡°Tess isn¡¯t some book for Ard to chase after. Now, if she wore sheets with star diagrams instead of dresses, then our dear friend would surely invite her out without hesitation.¡±


    Boris chuckled harmlessly at his joke, and for the next few hundred meters, Elena scolded her husband for his impudence and tactlessness.


    As for Ardan¡­ He couldn¡¯t quite grasp why Elena had assumed he was planning to invite Tess anywhere when he¡¯d never shared his thoughts about the red-haired singer with his friends.


    Well¡­ Maybe it was as Atta¡¯nha had once said: ¡°Not every woman is a witch, but every witch is a woman.¡± Whatever that was supposed to mean¡­


    Enjoying some lighthearted teasing that occasionally turned into playful snowball exchanges, they finally reached the atrium.


    At the start of winter, a temporary coatroom had been set up to the left of the atrium entrance, expanding so much that it now occupied nearly a fifth of the space. After handing their outerwear to the staff and receiving their coat check tags, the trio shook the snow and slush from their boots and then parted ways.


    Boris headed for the elevators, while Elena and Ardan went toward the Healing Faculty building, where their first exam would be held. For first-years, all exams took place on the same day, while in the second year and beyond, the exam period would stretch out over two weeks due to the increased difficulty and time required.


    First-year students had just half an hour for each subject ¡ª twenty minutes for theory and ten for practice. From the second year onwards, three hours were allotted for theory and two for practice.


    Crossing the atrium with Elena, he descended into a warm corridor, passing several groups entering other buildings as he did so. Near the entrance to the healing wing, they found some of their classmates had already arrived.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ I just don¡¯t know¡­ I can¡¯t remember a thing¡­¡± A chubby but charming girl with a funny, snub nose and a face covered in freckles was moaning in distress. ¡°Oh! Elena, Ard! Do either of you remember which seal stops blood flow from a longitudinal cut on the left wrist? I thought it was Etkain¡¯s seal, but Ishka says it¡¯s Nerkaine¡¯s¡­¡±


    The freckled girl, as Ardan recalled, was Tanya Tetrov, the daughter of a man who owned several bakeries on Baliero. Her friends were Ishka and Veshka Nelvir, twin sisters from the Nelvir family, which was known for their small but exquisite jewelry house.


    As Mart had once said, the General Knowledge Faculty truly was, nine times out of ten, a haven for the daughters of wealthy parents.


    ¡°Both of those seals,¡± Ardan replied matter-of-factly as he opened the door to the healing building, ¡°heal bruises, not cuts. On the shins, to be specific.¡±


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    The moment he stepped over the threshold, the sharp scents of formalin, acrid herbs, and¡­ money hit his nose. Compared to the Defense Faculty, or even the Engineering one, the Healing Faculty seemed as opulent as the Palace of the Kings of the Past next to Evergale¡¯s city hall.


    When Ardan had first found himself amid all the marble and gold, he hadn¡¯t even realized that he was still in the Grand. For a time, he¡¯d even wondered why Mart, who so clearly enjoyed crisp exes, hadn¡¯t mentioned the Healing Faculty¡¯s splendor. Only after weeks of studying here had Ardan pieced things together.


    The lavish furnishings, cashmere-covered sofas, marble floors with gold inlaid into them, the walls decorated with paper painted like artwork, and the vaulted ceilings with crystal chandeliers rather than simple Ley-lamps ¡ª these were reserved for a select few.


    For instance, only nine students were enrolled in the first year of the Healing Faculty. Five of them were elves. But that wasn¡¯t the only thing that made this department stand out.


    Each of these nine students possessed at least seven rays. And two of them, like Iolai, had a full Red Star.


    The faculty¡¯s admission process, in addition to requiring knowledge-based credentials, also had a minimum Star capacity threshold. If one possessed fewer than seven rays, there was no point in even trying to earn the serpent emblem that marked healers at the Grand.


    And as for the depth of knowledge required from prospective healers ¡ª putting aside the vast number of seals they had to memorize ¡ª it was, frankly, mind-boggling.


    And yes, all of it had to be memorized without a grimoire. After all, a healer couldn¡¯t afford to be flipping through a book for minutes while their patient lay on the table, offering up their soul to the Eternal Angels¡­


    And as for the Healing Faculty¡¯s number of graduates, a good year was one in which even a single student had made it through four years, let alone someone completing more advanced studies.


    Rumor had it that currently, there was just one student on the fifth-year track ¡ª a twenty-two-year-old from the Armondo borderlands who possessed two full Stars: a Red and a Green.


    Outside lecture room 110, Ardan¡¯s entire first-year group was already gathered. Every single one of the girls was fully engrossed in their textbooks or grimoires. Even Eveless didn¡¯t acknowledge Ardan¡¯s presence, so absorbed was she in her exam preparation.


    And a few minutes later, the doors opened, allowing them into the spacious classroom. Unlike most lecture halls, in here, each student had their own table. There were no shared seats.


    At the lectern sat a professor in a robe with a blue stripe, though one shouldn¡¯t be deceived by the fact that she was on her third Star. Professor Lea (who preferred to be addressed only by her first name), at twenty-five, had already retired from her healing practice to teach. She possessed a full Red Star, an eight-ray Green Star, and a full Blue one.


    Why had such a gifted young woman chosen to teach rather than practice her craft? Perhaps it had something to do with her missing left arm, or the porcelain mask covering the right half of her face, held there by two leather straps.


    She frequently changed her wigs, always wore full-coverage clothing, donned gleaming glove on her hand, and wherever skin showed, a faint network of scars was visible.


    From Boris, Ardan had learned that Lea had served as a shipboard healer in the Shallow Seas fleet after her graduation, but her ship had encountered a storm and ended up on an island in the Olikzasian region ¡ª the same region housing the Dead Lands.


    In the end, only a handful of crew members, a couple of other mages, and Lea herself had survived.


    ¡°Good morning, students,¡± she greeted them in a raspy voice, wheeling herself forward to address her class as they took their seats. ¡°Before you, there¡¯s a sheet with a list of questions. You have twenty minutes to answer them, after which you¡¯ll come to me for the practical part.¡±


    She winked at them with her stormy-lake-blue eye, smiled a tight smile, and turned the hourglass.


    Once, she might have been even more beautiful than Eveless, but¡­


    Ardan turned over the sheet before him. With a slight shrug, he grabbed the pencil he¡¯d tucked behind his ear and, without even removing his bag, wrote down the answers to each of the ten questions.


    He rose, approached the professor, and handed her his sheet.


    Lea nodded, set the sheet in a wooden tray, and picked up a scalpel lying beside her.


    ¡°Odd or even?¡± She asked.


    Ardan thought for a moment.


    ¡°Odd,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll ask for your right forearm, student Egobar.¡±


    Ardi calmly removed his sweater, rolled up his shirt sleeve, and extended his arm. Lea deftly made a long cut just below his elbow.


    Ardan, after calculating the length and depth of it, opened his grimoire, flipped through its pages briefly, and found the seal he needed, channeling four rays into it. This was precisely why healers required extensive reserves. Even if you carried a dozen accumulators with you, if you didn¡¯t have a Star with sufficient rays, the energy-hungry healing seals were out of your reach.


    ¡°Why not do it from memory?¡± Lea asked, assessing the fresh line of pink, healthy skin that had appeared.


    ¡°I was afraid of making a mistake,¡± Ardan replied honestly.


    ¡°Sometimes, student Egobar, I think you¡¯re too straightforward,¡± Lea released his forearm and made a note on her sheet. ¡°You may go.¡±


    Exam results weren¡¯t disclosed immediately. For first-years, they came out the next day, while for upperclassmen, they were posted publicly at the end of the exam period, hanging in the atrium for all to see.


    ¡°Have a good day,¡± Ardan said, rolling down his sleeve and pulling his sweater back on. The moment he left the classroom, he felt a surge of energy, and the rays he¡¯d used from his Star were replenished.


    The Healing Faculty building, a massive three-story structure, was fully equipped with the same stationary Ley reservoir as the training field with its testing grounds.


    For this reason, entry was usually restricted to only Healing Faculty students unless there was a compelling reason for someone to be there.


    Heading through the warm corridor, Ardan returned to the atrium, and then made his way toward the stairs. His next exam ¡ª History of Magic ¡ª made him a bit apprehensive, as he still hadn¡¯t committed all the significant events and discoveries to memory, even though, for some reason, a first-year at the Grand was expected to have done so already. He wasn¡¯t sure of the value of such detailed knowledge ¡ª perhaps not even his history professor, who was also a Star Archaeologist, knew all of it.


    Ardan wasn¡¯t entirely sure he¡¯d done well on his History of Magic exam. He hadn¡¯t been able to remember the name of the scholar who¡¯d first proposed the vector theory of seals, nor had he managed to recall all of the artifacts that had been instrumental in Gales¡¯ victory over Ectassus¡­ And there were some other parts of it that worried him, too.


    His Jurisprudence exam had gone somewhat poorly, too. He suspected that he might have mixed up the numbers of the articles governing the life of etids, the ranks of which, as of recently, included him as well. Yes, he¡¯d actually received an official document from the secretary¡¯s office granting him the noble title of etid.


    This meant that his brother, as well as his mother and Kena, were also considered etids now. Only Kelly had been left out¡­


    ¡°And what are you musing over, student Egobar?¡± Professor Kovertsky asked, approaching Ardan from behind. ¡°Certainly not about the properties of wormwood and astrocodon combined with Fierce Celandine.¡±


    Ardan glanced down at the completed potion in front of him and, after detecting the faint odor of a simple paralytic toxin, extinguished the burner.


    ¡°All done,¡± he said, straining the murky, yellowish liquid into a flask and holding it out.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Kovertsky clicked his tongue, glancing at him. ¡°And the formula? On your last test, you brewed a near-perfect potion, but your formula, if I may say so, left something to be desired.¡±


    In response, Ardan simply handed the professor a sheet. Kovertsky, ignoring the other students working in the laboratory, took the sheet and muttered to himself as he scanned the lines of symbols and numbers.


    ¡°A few degrees off in the initial heating of the substrate, and there¡¯s likely some discrepancy in the gram count¡­¡± The professor set the sheet beside the flask, which was sitting on a stand. ¡°Still, I¡¯m glad it takes effort to spot your mistakes now¡­ You¡¯re improving, Ard. Improving indeed¡­¡±


    ¡°Thank you, professor,¡± Ardan replied, heading for the exit.


    ***


    It took Ardi only a few minutes to identify the flaw in the seal drawing Professor Convel had handed him. At first glance, it was meant to perform a simple task ¡ª light a match. Not ignite it completely or incinerate it, not trigger a flame surging up from its base, nor should it create a floating flame in midair.


    No, it was simply meant to light a match at a precise location.


    This tricky requirement of seals often made Ardan miss Atta¡¯nha¡¯s lessons. With the art of the Aean¡¯Hane, the precise location of a match didn¡¯t matter, nor even whether it was present at all. By hearing the name of fire, or at least a piece of it, a Speaker could control it as effortlessly as they moved their hands. Star Magic, however, required exact calculations.


    The most challenging calculations involved pinpointing a specific effect in a designated spot. Fortunately, in this instance, Convel had given his students precise measurements for the match¡¯s position.


    There it was, held in a clamp on the professor¡¯s desk, with a mark on the floor for students to stand on for their demonstrations.


    And there lay the catch ¡ª Convel¡¯s measurements were accurate down to the millimeter, but aligning one¡¯s position with them was nearly impossible. Any slight shift would throw it off.


    Thus, this simple seal required an additional one ¡ª a calculation seal.


    Thankfully, due to his frequent studying in his cramped apartment, Ardan had memorized the calculation seal by heart. It was meant to attach to the primary seal and act like a coordinate anchor.


    The only task left was to link the two seals with the proper runes.


    Recently, Ardi had stopped struggling with such links.


    Finishing the diagram, he was the first in his group to approach the professor and submit his sheet.


    Behind him, his classmates still busied themselves with their own diagrams, and Convel, clearing his throat, scanned Ardan¡¯s drawing.


    ¡°Well then¡­ My dear student Egobar, go on, give it a try if you¡¯re so confident you¡¯ve found the right solution.¡±


    Ardan nodded, retrieved his drawing, and stood on the designated spot. Channeling Ley energy, he tapped his staff on the floor. In an instant, a crimson seal flared before him, with the mirage of another seal appearing behind it. The two merged, and a heartbeat later ¡ª using just one ray ¡ª the match on the professor¡¯s desk flickered to life with a neat, orange flame.


    ¡°And that¡¯s after just four months¡­¡± Convel¡¯s voice held a trace of a smile as he spoke softly enough that only Ardi could hear him. ¡°A passive nested seal embedded within an active effect seal, all while maintaining the original Ley consumption¡­ And you calculated it in¡­¡± He glanced at his watch. ¡°Seven minutes and sixteen seconds.¡±


    ¡°Professor?¡± Ardan wasn¡¯t sure what had prompted this lecture.


    ¡°In this task, Ard, there was no requirement for you to complicate the seal with a nested one.¡±


    ¡°But this is correct, isn¡¯t it?¡± Ardan frowned.


    ¡°Correct, but¡­ Too correct, perhaps,¡± the professor spread his hands. ¡°I¡¯d expect a solution like this from a third-year student. From a first-year, I thought I¡¯d see an additional contour with a few runes to shift the effect from fixed to directional.¡±


    ¡°That would¡¯ve increased the seal¡¯s cost by another ray,¡± Ardan pointed out.


    ¡°Exactly, Ard¡­ Exactly¡­¡± The professor nodded, indicating the red accumulators on his desk. ¡°Take back what you used and be on your way.¡±


    Ardan had just picked up the accumulator crystal when Convel, jotting something down on a slip of paper, handed it to him.


    ¡°What-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a reading list, Ard, covering the foundational principles of constructing Star Seals,¡± the professor explained. ¡°It¡¯s mandatory for my department¡¯s students. If you decide to take it on, let me know in advance so that next semester, I can set more¡­ engaging challenges for you in tests and exams.¡±


    After a slight pause, Ardi accepted the list and thanked him.


    Next semester¡­ Next semester, he would be job hunting in Delpas¡­


    But that was tomorrow¡¯s problem.


    ***


    Ardan stood before the professor¡¯s desk. A man with an open, kindly expression and a somewhat encouraging gaze looked back at him.


    Professor Talis an Manish wore a yellow turban adorned with a peacock feather and bore star insignia with four, four again, six, and five rays. Though he was seventy, he looked remarkably young, with a thick, glossy beard and sharp, lively eyes. He wore comically pointed shoes that curled at the toes, scented himself lavishly, enjoyed coffee, favored women younger than himself but older than his students, and had a taste for jazz. He and Ardi sometimes crossed paths at ¡°Bruce¡¯s,¡± where Talis would always come with a new date who was usually in her thirties and never older than that.


    He was a fascinating conversationalist, and he often told everyone stories about his homeland ¡ª the Holy Emirates of Al¡¯Zafir, where sand had replaced grass and dunes had taken the place of mountains. He joked often and lamented even more about his youthful failure to ignite a fifth Star, claiming he would soon meet the Eternal Angels because of it.


    Only Star Mages of six Stars or more could use a particular seal that would allow them to trade certain things for a lifespan of over two hundred years.


    On top of all that, Professor Talis an Manish had an odd and elaborate manner of speaking.


    ¡°So, Ardi, from the lofty heights of your wisdom and surely greater experience than just a few months ago, indulge my withered, weary ears and tell me, what do you see before you?¡± Talis didn¡¯t even glance at the seal drawing Ardan had turned in.


    ¡°A glass of water,¡± Ardan replied.


    Indeed, a glass of water stood on the professor¡¯s desk.


    ¡°And which type of shield would you use to prevent the water from spilling if I were to break the glass?¡± The professor asked, smoothing his beard.


    ¡°But I already-¡±


    ¡°Ah, my young friend, if everything could be written down on paper, why would our hearts warm to song, and our bodies to dance? When the soul whispers, paper is silent, oh great mage Ardi, whose head is so high I must crane my old neck just to see the heavens.¡±


    Talis said all of this with a warm smile. He was barely a meter and a half tall, and yet his sharp mind, quick wit, and deep heart more than made up for it, causing him to appear far bigger in a lot of ways.


    Besides, he was the co-founder of a major company specializing in stationary defense installations, which had brought him to the western continent half a century ago. Now, in his twilight years, he taught at the Grand as a hobby.


    Gazing at Ardi with his laughing, coal-black eyes, he tapped out a simple rhythm on the table with his gold-ringed fingers. On anyone else, such rings would have seemed garishly out of place, but not on Professor an Manish.


    ¡°An absorbing shield,¡± Ardan replied after a pause.


    ¡°Oh?¡± The man¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°And why not a redirecting shield, to direct the force of my blow toward, say, the table?¡±


    ¡°The water¡¯s too close to the rim ¡ª it¡¯ll spill anyway if the blow¡¯s redirected.¡±


    ¡°And would an absorbing shield prevent spillage with such a small object, stopping inertia from transferring to the table and sending water flying as freely as your wise words, my young friend?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯d apply it after you break the glass,¡± Ardan replied calmly. ¡°The task, after all, isn¡¯t to protect the glass, but to stop the water from spilling onto the table. Once the glass is broken, I¡¯d cover the object with an absorbing shield, capturing both the water and the shards inside of it.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re sure, Ardi, that your young, not-quite-human blood will allow you to act faster than the speed of gravity?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ardan shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯d use a pre-set seal that would respond to the change in the object¡¯s state, activating the shield only after the glass shatters.¡±


    ¡°But the task doesn¡¯t say, my young beacon, that the shield should be activated after the breakage, does it?¡±


    ¡°It already is active before then,¡± Ardan countered, ¡°just in a passive state. And the task, professor, only says that I need to prevent the water from spilling if the glass breaks. As long as the glass is intact when I cast my spell, the task is fulfilled.¡±


    Talis an Manish let out his usual, ringing, lighthearted chuckle. It was a sound with a hint of a desert breeze to it.


    ¡°You know, my dear young friend whose hair sometimes seems to brush the wings of birds¡­ A long time ago, when I was as young as you, but not nearly so tall, my company installed a very clever shield on Fifth Street in Baliero,¡± Talis openly unfolded Ardan¡¯s sheet and, right in front of him, marked it with a top score. Ardan did his best to keep an expression of innocent obliviousness on his face, working on it even more diligently than he had that night in the Imperial Palace.


    ¡°Well, would you believe it, my dear friend whose love for jazz remains hidden even from himself, that several months ago, that shield was broken¡­ twice.¡±


    ¡°Your shield?¡± Ardan put as much surprise into his tone as he could muster.


    ¡°Mine,¡± the professor replied with his usual smile. ¡°In my defense, lest I offend my mother or father, I¡¯ll say that the shield was my first attempt at a Ley-cable-powered installation. But that¡¯s not the drop of water, as we say in my homeland. The point is, after spending an entire weekend analyzing how it was broken, I felt a sunlit flash of understanding as bright as the midday sun over the desert.¡±


    ¡°And what did you realize, professor?¡±


    Ardan could swear his heart stopped beating then. Why hadn¡¯t he asked Arkar whose company had installed that shield? It had been obvious from the start that such a complex structure could only have been made by a small circle of Senior Magisters.


    ¡°One attempt to break it was quite dull ¡ª they overloaded one of the runes with the Ley, creating a short-lived failure, as expected,¡± Talis sipped from a tiny white cup of the strongest coffee. ¡°But the other one, oh Ardi, my dear witness of the clouds¡¯ passage, someone had used a lockpick so clever that it took me a full five minutes to decode it! It¡¯s been ages since I encountered a mystery so carefully veiled¡­ I think I¡¯ll add it to the fourth-year curriculum in Defensive Magic!¡±


    ¡°Astonishing,¡± Ardan replied, spreading his arms out. ¡°What a captivating story, professor. A lockpick¡­ Now that¡¯s something¡­ We haven¡¯t covered techniques like that yet.¡±


    ¡°Not with me, you haven¡¯t,¡± Talis nodded, then patted Ardan on the arm and gestured toward the door. ¡°Go on, my dear friend¡­ I hope to see you at Tess¡¯ next concert.¡±


    On legs that felt unsteady, Ardan left the room and, after reaching a window in the corridor, he stood there silently, watching the snow fall over the capital.


    Dusk was settling in¡­


    ***


    Compared to the dust-filled General Knowledge lecture hall, lined with shelves upon shelves of books, testing ground number 24 was rather¡­ drab.


    Ardan would¡¯ve gladly traded the dim basement, the ten-meter diameter training circle, and the stationary mannequin at its center for a two-story classroom, some stale air, and another essay.


    For his General Knowledge exam, he¡¯d drawn a question about the interaction principles between the first contour and its attached runes, requiring an answer between five hundred and two thousand words.


    Ardan had managed exactly one thousand, even including the references he¡¯d cited. Quite a solid performance.


    ¡°As you know, our general physical and combat training exercises have no theoretical component,¡± Lavrilov said. He was seated on a bench behind twenty students from the ¡°weakest¡± group, Ardan among them, who were all dressed in civilian clothes. He hadn¡¯t seen the need to spend money on a uniform. ¡°Since each of you has managed to meet the minimum requirement set for this group¡­¡± Lavrilov cast a particularly meaningful glance at the student from the Healing Faculty ¡ª a boy so plump that during his third of the required four pull-ups, it had looked as though he¡¯d used magic to get it done¡­ ¡°Now, each of you must demonstrate a combat spell. Any one you like. The only condition is that it must take no longer than five seconds to cast. Once completed, just try to hit within a meter of the target.¡±


    In response to this, Ardan felt like lighting a candle in the Temple of the Face of Light, so great was his gratitude to Colonel Kshtovsky, who had placed him in the ¡°backwater¡± of the first-year cohort.


    The exam had first required them to run a kilometer¡­ with no time limit, they¡¯d just had to finish the run. Then they¡¯d had to do eight push-ups, four pull-ups, and ten squats, also with no time restrictions.


    And because the combat portion was the last exam, it would last as long as Lavrilov pleased.


    Thanks to Boris, Ardan knew that things were very different in the top five groups.


    Their physical fitness standards were much higher, not to mention their combat magic requirements. Apparently, they had to perform a spell chosen by drawing lots within two seconds.


    And as for the Military Faculty students themselves¡­ Their exams were reportedly even more specific. Boris hadn¡¯t had time to share all the details during their brief meeting in the atrium.


    The students began forming their seals. Some struggled mightily, some came close, others lost focus at the end, wasting energy through broken seals and constantly drawing from the accumulator to restore their rays.


    Ardi, however, calmly and deliberately crafted an Ice Arrow seal, using exactly five seconds (though, thanks to practice, he could now cast it nearly as quickly as he could cast a shield). Tapping his staff on the floor, he sent the icy spear flying a meter past the mannequin. The training ground¡¯s boundary flashed briefly, and the arrow melted instantly, returning its energy to Ardi.


    He turned to Lavrilov, who gave him a look of disapproval.


    ¡°Student Egobar, since you¡¯re finished, would you kindly avoid disturbing the others and come over here?¡±


    Carefully sidestepping a classmate from the Jurisprudence Faculty struggling with something fiery and lopsided, Ardan quickly left the group.


    ¡°Take a seat.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I could just-¡±


    ¡°Take a seat, student Egobar,¡± Lavrilov repeated firmly.


    Ardi sighed and sat down. For a moment, they watched in silence as protective spells flared around the platform, absorbing the students¡¯ broken seals and saving both them and their classmates from unintended effects. Without the boundary in place, there was no doubt that someone would already have been burned, splashed by acid, or ¡ª if they were truly unlucky ¡ª riddled with spikes.


    ¡°And what was that performance all about?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Ardan asked, feigning innocence.


    ¡°Don¡¯t play games with me, student Egobar,¡± Lavrilov groaned. ¡°I¡¯ve been working with you for almost four months now. Your physical fitness is as good as if you¡¯d trained for an infantry stormtrooper test. As for your combat Star Magic¡­ every time, student Egobar, every single time, your performance is exactly average. That might happen once or twice, but consistently? This means you have perfect control over your Star, something most of your peers can¡¯t even dream of.¡±


    Lavrilov took a paper from his uniform pocket. It was clearly an official document, bearing the dean¡¯s seal.


    ¡°This is my recommendation for you to be transferred to the first group,¡± Lavrilov confirmed his suspicions.


    ¡°But I don¡¯t want to go there,¡± Ardan objected. ¡°I¡¯m perfectly fine where I am, and¡­¡±


    Lavrilov slowly turned to him with a glint in his eyes that was so harsh that Ardan was startled. Lavrilov, usually so gentle and considerate, was suddenly radiating a chilling, merciless intensity.


    ¡°You, student Egobar, are a future officer of the Empire,¡± Lavrilov ground out through clenched teeth. ¡°And, if drafted, you¡¯ll be sent to places you won¡¯t want to tell anyone about. People will rely on you. And your magic will determine whether their loved ones will see them coming back from the front lines. So, I don¡¯t give the slightest fuck about your preferences. You¡¯ll be trained according to your abilities, not your desires. As of the next semester, you¡¯ll be in the first group. That¡¯s all. You¡¯re dismissed.¡±


    Ardan rose and strode toward the exit from the training grounds.


    ¡°And remember our first conversation,¡± Lavrilov called after him. ¡°Limit your arsenal¡­ Student Pietov, aim at the target, not yourself!¡±


    In the end, what difference did Lavrilov¡¯s transfer make if Ardan wouldn¡¯t even be here next semester¡­


    ***


    Waking up, Ardan slid off his bed, stretched, and got to his feet, nearly tripping on something. Looking down, he saw his analyzer, which had rolled off his nightstand.


    It was a metal plate fastened to a leather strap with four buckles. The analyzer had taken much longer to arrive than even Bazhen had anticipated.


    In the end, Ardan had only picked it up from the secretary¡¯s office at the start of the month and had barely used it since.


    In all honesty, he didn¡¯t see any immediate, practical use for it. Except, perhaps, the fact that now he didn¡¯t need to carry around the explanatory slip that permitted a mage student to walk around the city without an analyzer, which was normally required of them.


    There was even a reason for the rule. They¡¯d covered it in Jurisprudence, but Ardan could barely remember the explanation. It wasn¡¯t an exam topic, so the information had drifted away under the torrent of other, more pressing details.


    Strapping the analyzer onto his arm, Ardan directed it at Davos¡¯ ring, which he¡¯d been trying to examine the previous night. He was trying to figure out what kind of trinket it really was.


    But, as always, dark letters flickered across the metal surface, forming the phrase:


    <Ley ring made by Varanys & Partners. Information unavailable.>


    Ardan already knew the ring was a Star Magic artifact, and yet he had no idea how to activate it. The Sight of an Aean¡¯Hane only showed him that a Red Star¡¯s energy was coiled around the ring, but nothing more.


    And so, the analyzer, as it always seemed to do with Ardi, had proven useless. Although, starting from the second semester, it would be required for his practical lessons.


    But what difference did that make to Ardi, who¡¯d not be here next semester? He surveyed his room, where everything remained in impeccable order (aside from the first three windows plastered with endless seal sketches¡­ And the wall above his desk, also covered in seals¡­ And the closet doors layered with his seal designs), washed, dressed, and, grabbing his staff and grimoire, headed out.


    He had plenty to take care of today. First, he needed to visit the bank to send another installment of his debt repayment to the Anorsky family, then head to the Grand to check his exam results. For what reason? Well¡­ Who knows? Even if he had somehow qualified for a scholarship, what difference would that make now?


    Afterwards, he planned to stop by the station to purchase his ticket to Delpas. Then he¡¯d go back to pack his things and collect his deposit from Arkar.


    ¡°Ard.¡±


    Ardan barely stopped in time, nearly bumping into Tess, who was coming up the stairs toward him.


    ¡°Good¡­¡± He glanced at the window. ¡°Morning.¡±


    ¡°Morning,¡± she smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ¡°How did your exams go?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m on my way to find out,¡± Ardan replied.


    A brief, somewhat awkward silence ensued.


    ¡°Tess¡­¡±


    ¡°Ard¡­¡±


    They exchanged glances and fell silent again. This time, she spoke first.


    ¡°For the holidays, I¡¯m going home to my family in Shamtur.¡±


    ¡°Oh? That¡¯s great! Give them my regards,¡± Ardi added, then almost kicked himself mentally. Why would they need greetings from him?


    ¡°I will,¡± Tess nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll be back on the seventh. Just before the Festival of Light.¡±


    ¡°The Festival, right¡­¡± Ardi awkwardly scratched the back of his head with the tip of his staff. ¡°It¡¯ll probably be beautiful.¡±


    ¡°Probably¡­¡± Tess echoed, her voice a bit quieter. She looked him in the eye and, stepping around him, continued up the stairs. ¡°Have a good day, Ard.¡±


    ¡°You too!¡± He called after her.


    Why did it feel like somewhere behind him, a little squirrel had buried his face in his paws?


    Taking a deep breath of the crisp, slightly biting winter air as he reached the tram stop, Ardan joined the short line and prepared a few coins for the conductor.


    Why had she brought up the Festival of Light?


    ***


    Ardan found himself in line once again. This time, though, it wasn¡¯t out in the bitter, minus-twenty-degree frost accompanied by a gusty eastern wind, but in a warm hall.


    The white stone floor, a bit squishy with slush from the shoes of others who¡¯d just entered, reflected the movement around it. Cleaners hurried by with long mops, rags, and buckets, waging an endless, if ultimately futile, battle against the mess. After all, it was what they were paid for.


    Ahead, sitting behind a wooden counter with an iron grille fortified by a magic shield, were several tellers clad in white shirts that were processing the requests of patrons.


    Behind the tellers, just a few paces back, loomed a wall painted the same shade as the counters. If one managed to catch a glimpse through the occasionally-opening doors, they might spot clerks bustling around with stacks of paperwork. The small, square offices bore nameplates on glass doors, and staircases led both up and down, presumably to the bank¡¯s vault.


    Several guards stood on duty, dressed in black uniforms, with revolvers holstered at their hips and batons tucked into their belts. A few had positioned themselves near the building¡¯s entrance, while others strolled through the hall. Today, the crowd was especially thick as everyone hurried to settle their financial affairs before the start of the Ringing Decade ¡ª the two days before New Year¡¯s and the eight that followed, a period during which all businesses except emergency services virtually shut down.


    ¡°Mama, Mama?¡± A little girl of about seven, dressed in a neat white dress patterned with snowflake-like designs, tugged at the edge of her mother¡¯s coat. The woman was holding a miniature brown fur coat matching the girl¡¯s vest, which she kept tugging at anxiously.


    ¡°What is it, sweetheart?¡± Her mother replied with a smile.


    ¡°Are we almost there?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re just behind this gentleman,¡± she nodded toward Ardan, who stood ahead of them. ¡°And then only four more people, so we¡¯ll be on our way soon.¡±


    ¡°To pick out new toys for the Tree, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course.¡±


    ¡°And can we stop for pastries?¡± The girl asked hopefully.


    ¡°If you behave.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m being good now, right?¡± She asked, a note of genuine curiosity in her voice.


    ¡°You will be if you keep your voice down,¡± her mother said, stroking her golden hair before glancing apologetically at Ardan. ¡°Sorry if we¡¯re bothering you.¡±


    ¡°No trouble at all,¡± he replied earnestly.


    Turning back, Ardan checked his watch. Though the line was moving, it was doing so at a frustratingly slow pace. If this kept up, he¡¯d only make it to the Grand by the afternoon¡­


    The snow leopard within him stirred suddenly, a prickle of unease rippling through his senses.


    Ardan spun around.


    ¡°Mister, Mister, are you a mage?¡± The little girl turned to the elf who had approached, dressed in an odd, red coat like Boris¡¯ and a bowler hat that seemed out of place for the season. He looked perfectly ordinary¡­


    ¡°Of course, little one,¡± the elf knelt down, extending his gloved hand. ¡°Here, watch this.¡±


    The elf¡¯s lips didn¡¯t move, but Ardi heard a whisper deep within his mind:


    ¡°Burn.¡±


    An Aean¡¯Hane!


    A small, golden flame flared up in the elf¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Move!¡± Ardan shouted, lunging forward. But the mother, acting on instinct, shielded her child, blocking him from reaching her in that vital moment.


    The little girl, captivated, stared at the flame even as it began to grow, shifting from a harmless spark into something larger, a blazing orb. The firelight reflected in her eyes as she reached her hands out, wanting to touch it. Ardan watched in horror as the fire crept toward her hair, igniting it in a sickening flash. Her dress was next, the flames licking over it as the child closed her eyes, flames dancing around her like a twisted halo.


    And then, in one shuddering instant, the blaze roared outwards in a fiery wave, engulfing the hall. The impact sent a concussive force rippling through the air as an explosion shattered the last vestiges of peace.


    BOOM!

 Chapter 47 - Vulture and the Top Hat

    Ardan was slowly, painfully, coming back to his senses. His ears rang, and the world in front of him shimmered as if he were staring at a lake¡¯s depths on a windy day. Worse yet, his nose caught a dreadful smell. Burnt flesh. Human flesh.


    He jerked his head, barely stifling a groan of pain, and opened his eyes. Lying right on top of him, charred to the bone, with flaking bits of its scorched skin landing on his face, was a body burnt beyond recognition. Only the charred remnants of leather boots fused to the bone and a few melted ornaments embedded in the vertebrae hinted that this corpse had once been the mother of that girl.


    The girl...


    Just as he had back then, in the prairie, digging himself out of the ashes ¡ª not only wooden ones this time, but also human ashes ¡ª Ardan tried to stand, but even as he clenched his teeth, he nearly collapsed back down.


    His left leg was covered in horrendous blisters, his left hand could barely close its scorched fingers, and half his torso was a blistered mass of raw skin and seared fabric.


    Unable to hold back his moan of pain, Ardan felt a wave of agony wash over him, the initial shock beginning to fade. His left side felt as if it had been submerged in boiling water, his skin bubbling and the muscles burning beneath. He had an overwhelming urge to scrape off the unending fire, but he fought down that impulse, gritting his teeth.


    It was only then that he noticed his right hand was still gripping his staff, which was remarkably untouched by even the slightest hint of scorch marks.


    And around him¡­


    Bodies lay scattered everywhere, twisted into unnatural poses, their limbs distorted, some parts of their bodies scorched through and mixing with the molten stone that sizzled like lava beneath his feet. The glass had melted out of the burnt window frames, and the walls were blanketed in thick soot and char.


    The wooden counter had vanished, and only the metal cash registers, smeared with something melted, lay toppled on the charred floor. Beyond, the blackened skeletons of clerks, their skulls grotesquely resembling duck heads thanks to the melted visors of their work uniforms, remained welded to their chairs.


    Behind him, naturally, no wall remained ¡ª only smoldering embers that were once humans, walls and desks. Even in the ceiling far above, there were holes, hissing and sparking, through which glimpses of snowfall could be seen, though the snow could barely touch the building before vanishing in a haze of steam.


    Leaning heavily on his staff, hobbling and dragging his smoldering, unresponsive leg behind him, Ardan took a few steps toward the spot where the little girl had been standing, hoping to see a miracle.


    Only two faint, child-sized black footprints remained, a dark echo of her presence.


    ¡°Oh... You managed better than I thought you would.¡±


    With great difficulty, Ardan turned around. Standing atop a spreading pool of slag where the stairs leading down to the vaults had been, was the same elf from before. Whole. Unscathed. Looking like he hadn¡¯t been at the epicenter of a fiery storm. And, oddly, his hands were empty. He held no bags of exes, no gold ingots, no jewels ¡ª nothing.


    ¡°You¡­¡± Ardan struggled to speak.


    ¡°The Dandy will pay for this lead,¡± the elf cut his attempts off, stepping over scattered bodies and crunching their brittle bones underfoot. ¡°And what am I supposed to tell my client now? That I burned down the Imperial Bank for nothing? A grand show, wasn¡¯t it? Though¡­¡± He let his gaze drift to the bank¡¯s charred, smoldering entrance and the street beyond. ¡°It lacks grandeur. Fanatics would¡¯ve aimed for something more impactful...¡±


    The elf smirked, and it was a mad, crazed grin. Ardan looked back to see a crowd of bystanders gradually approaching the building. Some carried buckets, others wrestled with fire hydrants, while still more tried to clear the few abandoned cars out of the way.


    Ardan couldn¡¯t even rasp. The air, for a brief moment, felt scorched, and he realized he was suffocating. The elf, without moving his lips, extended a hand and summoned not a True Name, but a shard of it. A shard so potent and anchored in his will that it was enough.


    Enough to ignite the crowd. Dozens of people transformed into living torches in an instant. The road jumped like a startled cat, the asphalt melting into viscous streams. Cars were thrown skyward and wrapped in flames, crashing back down as blazing comets.


    The heat surged down the street, shattering windows and turning snow into meltwater, then steam, which vanished among the smoke. Soot-blackened buildings lost their winter veils, and the snowfall shifted into a prickly rain, while ashes rose like birds into the graying sky.


    No one even had time to scream. They froze in place, a macabre puppet theater, each of them an effigy of a burning, blackened, collapsing skeleton.


    ¡°Better,¡± the elf nodded to himself, stepping past the mother¡¯s corpse and toward Ardan. ¡°Farewell, half-blood.¡±


    And, as if nothing had happened ¡ª as if he hadn¡¯t just killed over a hundred people ¡ª the elf strode out of the bank and down the street. Ardan could only watch his retreat, his eyes fixed on the red cloak flapping in the dry, hot wind, and flanked by burning cars.


    So much pain¡­ So much death¡­


    ¡°Stop,¡± Ardan managed, his lips cracked and bleeding.


    The elf didn¡¯t even think to stop. Ardan raised his staff and tapped into the energy of his Star.


    ¡°That is a bad idea, boy,¡± the elf¡¯s voice, though he was already far away, sounded so close, as if they were speaking face to face. ¡°I won¡¯t spare you a second time just because we share a path.¡±


    ¡°A path?¡± Ardan¡¯s breathing steadied as his focus returned. His Matabar blood was kicking in, dulling the pain. He could barely stand. His left leg refused to move, and his left arm was barely responsive. ¡°You¡­ filthy bastard¡­¡±


    The elf turned halfway, a mocking gleam dancing in his pink eyes.


    ¡°Give it time, young Speaker,¡± he said in a bored tone. ¡°One day, you¡¯ll become just like me.¡±


    Ardan began to shape the most powerful combat seal he knew: Ice Barrage. But due to his pain and shock, the process was much slower than usual.


    ¡°Foolishness,¡± the elf stretched out his gloved hand. ¡°There are too few left in this world who truly understand the Art. Don¡¯t make me bear the sin of killing a kindred soul.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ no kin to me¡­¡± Ardan growled. ¡°You... pointy-eared... vermin¡­¡±


    He tried to pour energy into the seal, but he wasn¡¯t quick enough. The elf sighed and shook his head. From his palm, a torrent of roaring fire burst forth, taking the shape of a massive mustang. It struck the ground, its hoofbeats making the surrounding lava bubble, its mane a thick plume of smoke, breathing out flames as it stormed into the bank, an unstoppable force of raw fury.


    It hadn¡¯t even been made by a True Name¡­


    And yet¡­


    And yet, after the events in the steppe, Ardan had replayed his duel with Gleb Davos in his mind hundreds, even thousands of times. He¡¯d spent hours poring over methods to counter that fiery vortex. Had any other Aean¡¯Hane besides the elf attacked him, Ardan would have joined his father and great-grandfather.


    Using what little strength he had left, Ardan forced his Ley energy to subside, preventing it from feeding the seal. Intentionally breaking his creation, he formed a different structure.


    It was a variety of the Universal Shield crossed with the Basic Shield taught at the Grand. This was his own creation, born from the events on Fifth Street.


    Before him, a Water Shroud formed, taking two more rays to do so, and manifesting as a thin, almost imperceptible ripple. Like the edge of a woman¡¯s scarf, it spread out, enveloping the torrent of fire and swirling it around in a graceful dance as easily as Anastasia, delicate and small, had once twirled with an awkward Ardan.


    The Water Shroud spun and spun, guiding the fire in its gentle embrace until, unexpectedly, it stretched toward the elf in a single thread. And the fire that had been on the verge of devouring Ardan was redirected with that same fury straight at the elf.


    But he merely snapped his fingers, and the flaming horse vanished, dissolving into harmless sparks.


    ¡°Star Magic?¡± The elf asked, disappointed. ¡°I thought you could do better, Speaker.¡±


    Ignoring the elf¡¯s taunts, Ardan struggled to shape an Ice Arrow seal, though the process dragged on. Concentrating on the pattern while keeping a wary eye on his opponent, lest he strike suddenly, was no easy task, especially with the searing pain gnawing at his consciousness.


    ¡°Well then¡­¡± The elf exhaled slowly, and Ardan felt something he¡¯d only sensed once before while descending into a dormant volcano with Atta¡¯nha.


    But this time, the volcano wasn¡¯t asleep. It was waking. And with it came all the relentless, destructive force that lurked within its blind rage.


    The elf was calling upon the True Name of the earth¡¯s inner flame!


    ¡°Ah,¡± the elf paused, and the sensation subsided a little. ¡°You can hear the Name of the Flames of the Deep? Who taught you, boy, that you can so easily hear unfamiliar names and-¡±


    The elf jerked his head sharply to the side.


    ¡°The Cloaks are close,¡± he muttered with clear irritation. ¡°We¡¯ll have to cut this little chat short, amusing Speaker. But don¡¯t worry ¡ª we¡¯ll meet again, and then you¡¯ll tell me everything about your teacher.¡±


    He lowered his hand just as Ardan completed the modified Ice Arrow seal, one that could draw as much energy as was fed into it.


    Ardan gave it everything he had. Four rays flared from his Star, which immediately dimmed. But even as that happened, a two-meter-long icy spiral as thick as a grown man¡¯s thigh materialized, spinning wildly.


    With a velocity greater than a bullet fired from an army rifle, it shot forward, leaving frosty patterns across the cooling, freezing ground. It covered the distance to the elf in the blink of an eye and... dissolved into a hot puddle at his feet, barely dampening the bastard¡¯s boots.


    ¡°A mere first Star, boy ¡ª that¡¯s not even close to my level,¡± the elf smirked, tipping his hat with a mocking flourish. ¡°Until next time.¡±


    He turned and slipped into a narrow alleyway leading to a small restaurant.


    Ardan remained standing in the bank. Perhaps he should have stopped there. After all, he¡¯d done everything he could. The law of the hunt was clear about the fact that this wasn¡¯t his prey. Not his burden. There was nothing here for him to claim. No reason to pursue a far stronger predator, but¡­


    ¡°Mister, Mister, are you a mage?¡±


    Ardan cursed, glancing down at his numb leg.


    ¡°Work,¡± he growled, slamming his fist against his chest as though willing the symbol left by Ergar¡¯s fang to repeat its miracle from the prairie. ¡°Come on! Do something, you useless scrawl!¡±


    But the symbol remained silent. The surge of power, of the snow leopard¡¯s ferocity, did not come. Only pain and a sense of his own helplessness.


    ¡°Hell no,¡± Ardan hissed, looking toward the alleyway. ¡°No¡­ it won¡¯t end like this¡­ It won¡¯t end so easily, you pointy-eared scum!¡±


    Gritting his teeth so hard his gums bled, he took a step. Then another, and another, each one slicing his mind with knives of pain, and he remembered. He remembered every day he¡¯d spent in this damned Metropolis.


    He remembered Eveless. He remembered Iolai. Arkar. Fifth Street. The Firstborn who had tried to beat him on his first night. The sneers and jibes he¡¯d heard on the city streets; the scornful and contemptuous whispers of the Grand¡¯s students.


    And within all of this, he heard hints of sounds that melded into the distant echo of something resembling a name. An unpleasant, filthy name. The sort that made you want to step back and scrub yourself clean after just hearing it.


    Atta¡¯nha had warned him never to heed such names, as they could easily lead an Aean¡¯Hane down a dark path, from which no one returned.


    But with each new piece of filth that clung to Ardan, with each fresh shard of something vile he accepted, the pain in his leg lessened. It faded faster and faster, and Ardan found himself breaking into a run without even realizing it.


    In mere seconds, he was at the alley¡¯s entrance. The elf, turning sharply, looked at him, not with a smirk this time, but with surprise.


    ¡°What sort of joke¡­¡± He breathed, as though he¡¯d just seen the very creature Ardan had spotted in Baliero. ¡°But you¡¯re not a dark one¡­ So how¡­¡±


    But Ardan didn¡¯t care. He didn¡¯t care about anything this bastard said. At that moment, he didn¡¯t see the elf as the one who had taken so many lives, but as an embodiment of everything that had suffocated, torn apart, and poisoned his life for the past four months.


    And Ardan, clinging to the shards he¡¯d gleaned from his own pain and fury, looked up at the sky. Gray and low, it seemed to have long forgotten storms and tempests. It had certainly never known the rage that boiled over the peaks of the high mountains.


    But Ardan remembered. He remembered well the icy lightning that flashed across the heavens. The thunder that echoed the roar of the snow leopard greeting his older brother. And how the earth had trembled with a fury it could never comprehend.


    Ardan remembered the fragments of the name he¡¯d heard in the storms and tempests of the Alcade. And he shared them with the sky. Told it that somewhere, beyond the horizon, it had a brother. One who was not as grim, but just as cold, proud, and no less formidable. And the sky answered.


    It darkened, now shrouded in the shadow of night, and then, with the ferocious growl of a predator on the hunt, an icy bolt of lightning descended.


    With a shimmering fang veiled in streams of liquid ice, it struck the ground right where the elf had been standing.


    ¡°That¡¯s better, Speaker!¡± Laughed the elf, leaping aside and extending his hand.


    And, just like in his grandfather¡¯s tales, he grabbed the lightning and clenched it into a fist. The lightning erupted into white-hot sparks that scorched building facades and a small tree, casting a shadow like a figure in the dark.


    But the darkness itself, along with the shattered bolt from the heavens, soon gave way to the usual winter gray.


    And Ardan¡­


    Ardan, his focus and strength lost, collapsed to the ground. His body immediately responded with even more pain than before. The burns on his limbs were joined by an entirely new sensation, as if someone had crushed not only his fingers but every patch of skin he had, twisting them in an effort to tear them free from his body.


    The young man wasn¡¯t sure if he could take another breath. He gasped, feeling his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets and his swollen tongue choking his throat.


    ¡°Did your teacher not warn you about the dangers of Aean¡¯Hane battles, Speaker?¡± Came a voice through the haze. ¡°And yet, you can hear unfamiliar names, including the dark ones. You can even summon fragments of elder elements... Did anyone ever tell you you¡¯re a walking anomaly?¡±


    Ardan blindly swung his staff, or tried to, but his arm merely twitched, hanging limp and useless.


    ¡°You will come with me, half-blood,¡± the elf grabbed him by the collar and started dragging him across the ground. ¡°We need to move away from the Ley cables... I can¡¯t open the path here...¡±


    Dragged along the rough cobbles, Ardan drifted in and out of consciousness, only to be yanked back into reality.


    In one such moment, he realized he was no longer being dragged. He lay... or perhaps sat... No, he mostly lay there¡­


    Propped against the cold stone wall of a building, Ardan stared ahead at a scene both mesmerizing and terrifying as it unfolded on the wide avenue.


    Two figures stood there. One ¡ª the elf ¡ª was missing his right arm, his face had been scarred with an acid burn, and his left leg replaced by a bleeding stump hanging in the air.


    Yet even in this state, flames roared around him, raging like a wild boar, tearing down the street and consuming everything in their path. A broad stream of fire rent the asphalt, turning facades, lampposts, and benches to ash. Not a trace remained of the snow cover, and even the snowfall itself had ceased. Only the somber sky still bore witness to the fact that it was winter in the Metropolis, not autumn.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    But the boar¡¯s frenzy was short-lived. The second figure ¡ª a man in a black coat, with black epaulettes and black boots ¡ª raised a steel staff and struck the ground with it.


    Before him, a seal flared to life, so large and intricate that Ardan wasn¡¯t even sure such a thing was possible, or if he was simply seeing it wrong. The young man couldn¡¯t count the number of layers, contours, or runes that comprised this seal.


    Then... everything froze for a moment. And when the boar stilled, it was no longer fire, but a roaring torrent of water. It surged down the streets, sealing the burning cuts and hollows left behind by molten tusks with a crust of ice. Then, with barely a heartbeat¡¯s delay, the water whirled up into a veritable tsunami, rose several meters into the air, floated there momentarily as a monstrous wave, and crashed back down on the avenue.


    Cracks spread through the cobblestones, and when the water settled in puddles and streams, a crater nearly a meter in diameter and a hand¡¯s breadth deep marked where the elf had stood.


    The Second Chancery¡¯s mage stepped up and peered into it.


    ¡°Dead,¡± he stated flatly. ¡°A pity¡­ I would¡¯ve loved to interrogate you, fanatic... The Angels would¡¯ve wept at how merciful I¡¯d have been.¡±


    Ardan blacked out again, and when he came to, a tingling warmth was spreading through his body ¡ª the sensation of healing Star Magic.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have a lot to tell us,¡± said a blurry face, and soft darkness once again enveloped the young man.


    ***


    Ardan lay on a rough straw mattress thrown over a stone slab, staring at a drawing in his grimoire. A lamp burned with a flickering yellow light generated by wick and oil. At least they changed it every morning.


    That was how Ardan tracked the days, for there was no other way to keep time in this stone cell where he couldn¡¯t even stand fully upright, and where lying down meant pressing his shoulders against the wall.


    For the past¡­ Ardan checked the folded edge on the first page¡­ four days, he had been held in the custody of the Second Chancery. From the limited information he had, he figured he was somewhere near the Niewa, as, during those rare moments when the small hatch at the bottom of the heavy, iron-bound door (the sole exit from this tight stone cage) opened, his sharp Matabar ears had caught the sound of waves. This suggested that, despite being held in a dungeon, he was probably not underground.


    As for food, a metal tray with a tin bowl, tin spoon, and cup was shoved through the hatch once a day. They¡¯d fed him something that was a cross between soup and porridge, which had tasted faintly of roots and pine cones. But Ardan wasn¡¯t one to be picky in situations like these. Back when Ergar had been training him, there were days when the young hunter was neither quick nor lucky, and he¡¯d had to settle for far worse...


    They had taken everything from him ¡ª his clothing and all his other possessions ¡ª except his staff, his grimoire, and, strangely, his mother¡¯s letters, which were returned to him after an hour; they had been tucked into the inner pocket of his jacket.


    As for why a Star Mage like him had been allowed to keep his grimoire and staff? The answer was as complicated as it was simple. In four days, Ardan hadn¡¯t managed to recover a single ray, and when he¡¯d tried to use his Aean¡¯Hane vision, all he had been able to see was darkness ¡ª denser and more indifferent than even the gloom and damp that permeated his windowless cell.


    He relieved himself through a small hole in the wall opposite the door. The stench built up occasionally, but soon it would vanish ¡ª apparently, the hole didn¡¯t connect to any sewage system, but led to a refuse bin that was periodically emptied.


    The most peculiar thing was that it had been two days since Poplar was supposed to visit him.


    But neither the cat nor his loud red boots had appeared. That was how Ardan knew for sure that the stone from which the chipped and scratched walls had been built was far from something that could be found in the streets of the Metropolis.


    Not to mention that, on his first day of confinement, he had endured quite the unpleasant experience: nausea, dizziness, sporadic nosebleeds, and a persistent ringing in his ears, as if a church bell had been tolling in there. This hadn¡¯t happened because he had still been suffering from the injuries he¡¯d sustained in his fight against the Aean¡¯Hane elf. No, no. His wounds, he knew, had been tended to before he¡¯d arrived in this dungeon.


    As for the cause of his current weakened state and former nausea and worse, Ardan could only guess. He¡¯d speculated that it might be due to the absence of Ley energy. Since it influenced the planet¡¯s magnetic fields, perhaps this small cell, which was devoid of that energy, was having an adverse effect on him?


    But these were thoughts for another day.


    His hand looked healthy, and his leg and side, though bandaged and slathered in some foul-smelling ointment, no longer hurt. This treatment ¡ª the healing of his injuries, the return of his letters, grimoire, and staff ¡ª had put Ardan at relative ease about his situation. If they¡¯d intended to do to him what rumors usually claimed happened to prisoners of the Second Chancery, they wouldn¡¯t have gone to such lengths.


    And so here he lay on the prickly mattress, its fabric worn in spots to the point that the straw beneath was tinged with mold. He lay and stared at his own drawing, a seal he¡¯d designed using elements from both the Universal and Basic Shields.


    It was a simple two-layered seal with a fixed array of runes. A redirecting type of shield.


    He had even named it in the style of the Stranger, the creator whose work had inspired his own inventions.


    ¡°Water Shroud¡±


    [Star: Red


    Rays: 2


    School: Defensive/Elemental


    Element: Water


    Max rune combinations: fixed array]


    ¡°It¡¯s too simple of a design,¡± Ardan muttered to himself, a habit he¡¯d picked up over the last few days. Talking to himself gave him a semblance of normalcy. ¡°I need to add another contour so the seal can expand in space. And maybe a fourth contour to make it stationary¡­ but why? I could swap the fixed array for a free array and¡­ come up with a dozen modifications for any possible situation? That¡¯d be just as pointless.¡±


    Biting the tip of his tongue, Ardan traced his finger over the design, struggling with the puzzle that tormented him. If during the fight, his seal hadn¡¯t just redirected the Ley energy back at the elf, but had instead absorbed it and turned it into his own ¡ª then¡­ Then it would¡¯ve no longer been a shield.


    ¡°Or maybe it still would be a shield,¡± Ardan squinted, recalling how deftly the Cloak mage had used the power of the fire boar in his own spell. ¡°Suppose a redirecting shield could absorb enemy energy. But it¡¯s impossible to absorb abstract Ley energy ¡ª there¡¯s too many free variables. So, I¡¯d need to calculate some of them, which defeats the purpose.¡±


    No matter how hard Ardan tried to improve the Water Shroud, he kept hitting the wall of his limited knowledge.


    He had no idea how to make a shield multi-layered in order to add more rune arrays to it. He didn¡¯t know how to incorporate partial arrays into embedded, incomplete seals. And he certainly had no true grasp of vectors.


    In his jacket pocket lay a list of books recommended by Professor Convel. Perhaps some answers were hidden in there? But even if he managed to upgrade his seal, the added complexity would mean it required far more energy, which would call not just for additional rays, but more¡­ Stars.


    ¡°Sleeping Spirits,¡± he sighed, placing the book on his face and inhaling the scent of paper. It distracted him from the stale, faintly moldy odor that pervaded the cell.


    It was not the kind of stench that choked and clawed at your throat, refusing to let you focus. This was something subtler, sickeningly sweet, invasive ¡ª a smell that only made itself known when you¡¯d already forgotten about it and allowed yourself to drift away.


    Ardan¡¯s mind returned to the moment of the explosion in the bank. Perhaps if he¡¯d been more restrained, smarter, more calculated, he wouldn¡¯t have chased after the elf or tried to attack him. What were a few dozen burned humans or the little girl to him and¡­


    And then he realized that if that were actually the case, he wouldn¡¯t be Ardan Egobar, the man raised by Hector and Shaia, who grew up on his great-grandfather¡¯s tales, and matured on the mountain trails and forest paths under Ergar¡¯s and Atta¡¯nha¡¯s guidance.


    And after he accepted this fact about himself, he found a sense of peace, and even a bit of solace. He had done what he felt was right. Even if he had done it poorly, rashly and clumsily. The whole ordeal had had nothing to do with the battle lust of the snow leopard, nor the cunning little squirrel trying to outsmart everyone. It had been purely Ardan Egobar.


    And maybe, after his encounter with the elf, he now understood his father¡¯s motives a bit more ¡ª the motives of the man who¡¯d chosen to give his life for the children of Evergale.


    The latch clicked.


    Ardan frowned. He had been fed recently, and not enough time had passed for him to lose track of it, though under these circumstances, it had happened often enough.


    The door opened, and a Cloak entered. His face was hidden by a matte black mask reminiscent of the one Professor Lea wore.


    In his hands, the visitor held a military staff. It was inscribed with a dozen intricate, clearly combat-oriented seals and crowned with a pink crystal.


    ¡°Come,¡± he said in a dry tone and, without waiting for a response, turned back to the door.


    Ardan, dressed in the gray robe they¡¯d given him, shuffled his bare feet across the cold floor and limped (his leg no longer hurt, but it still moved poorly) after the Cloak.


    They walked out of the cell and through a small, zigzagging corridor, turned a few corners, and emerged¡­ beneath the vast roof of a massive boathouse.


    For a moment, the cacophony of sounds made Ardan¡¯s ears ring, and the bright, midday light of the winter sun nearly blinded him. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he looked around.


    They stood on the edge of a pier. On three sides, rusty metal panels that had been patched in places had replaced the walls. These joined together into an arch, one that was riddled with holes and too dilapidated to be of much use, except as a nesting spot for seagulls.


    Several boats lay haphazardly stored and covered with tarps. The pier itself, as rusty as everything else, was partially collapsed and hidden under the ice. The ice stretched out like a white-blue blanket, reaching all the way to the horizon, where it met the embrace of azure and sunlight.


    Everywhere he looked, his gaze fell upon a vast, flat expanse, mysterious and beckoning. Fresh wind hit his face, and his chest rose deeply, inhaling the faintly salty, invigorating air.


    The ocean!


    Ardan hadn¡¯t expected that his first time seeing the Swallow Ocean would happen under such circumstances¡­


    ¡°Move,¡± the Cloak prodded him in the side.


    Together, they approached a table that had clearly been brought to the boathouse in advance. Sitting behind it with a stack of papers was a man. He was tall and thin, with a prosthetic left hand and an old-fashioned monocle on his right eye. On the table beside him lay an out-of-date hat ¡ª a black, gleaming top hat. He wore a couple of medals on his chest, which seemed odd to Ardan, as he had never seen military personnel flaunting such things within the city.


    His face, marked with red blotches from an old skin disease, would have been quite agreeable were it not for the greasy gleam in his eye and his faintly smug smirk. A thick mane of gray hair sharply contrasted with his ginger beard, and his shoes¡­


    Why had he noticed the shoes? They were clean. Far too clean. It was as though they¡¯d never touched the ground. The same couldn¡¯t be said for the worn and muddy boots of the Cloak leading Ardan to the table, nor for the dozen of his masked colleagues standing behind Top Hat. That was how Ardan decided to name this strange man.


    Sitting down at the table and setting his staff aside ¡ª a move that, for some reason, made Top Hat flinch slightly ¡ª Ardan glanced back the way he¡¯d come. Several figures were already covering the gray stone structure where he had spent the past few days with a large tarp.


    ¡°Ard Egobar,¡± Top Hat said evenly, his voice smooth. And Ardan noticed that he had intentionally left his name incomplete, despite the Second Chancery¡¯s knowledge of it, thanks to the orcs and Cassara. ¡°If I understand the operative division¡¯s reports correctly, you were given a briefing on proper conduct while at Duchess Anorsky¡¯s estate. She is now Empress Consort Oktana, if you need a reminder.¡±


    Ardan said nothing.


    Top Hat raised his gaze, his small, gleaming brown eyes meeting his.


    ¡°Answer when I address you,¡± he ordered.


    Ardan wasn¡¯t in a position to argue, so he quickly replied, ¡°Yes, I was.¡±


    ¡°Excellent,¡± Top Hat nodded and flipped a page in his thick folder. ¡°According to our informant, on your first day at the Grand, you got into a fight, during which Baron Lasmelil, Etid Andad, and Etid Innaalif were injured. And you broke Andad¡¯s knee, which required treatment that cost¡­¡± Top Hat squinted at the report. ¡°Four exes and forty-nine kso.¡±


    ¡°They-¡±


    ¡°You will speak only when addressed, Mr. Egobar,¡± Top Hat interrupted, continuing to sift through the papers in his leather folder. ¡°Your aggression was entirely unprovoked, and you simply decided to, let¡¯s say, assert your dominance, yes?¡±


    Ardan nearly choked on his indignation.


    ¡°If I hadn¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Vulture, if you please,¡± Top Hat turned to the Cloak, a slight wave of his hand indicating Ardan.


    The Cloak, surprisingly, didn¡¯t move.


    ¡°Vulture!¡± Top Hat barked.


    Only then did the mage from the Second Chancery tap his staff against the floor. A seal glimmered at its edge, and a moment later, Ardan felt himself being bound tightly, unable to move, just like that time in Evergale when his great-grandfather had bound him with the Aean¡¯Hane¡¯s art. Only this time, instead of invisible chains, tangible iron shackles materialized from a glowing seal under the chair, wrapping around his body and twisting around his mouth.


    ¡°Much better,¡± Top Hat nodded. ¡°Now then, moving on¡­ After your little outburst at, I must remind you, the Imperial Magical University, you thought it wise to swindle poor Mrs. Okladov, the owner of a dressmaker¡¯s shop, selling her, for the absurd sum of four hundred exes, some trinket of questionable craftsmanship that had been made without any proper standards or licenses.¡±


    Ardan could only make muffled sounds of protest, but the more he struggled, the tighter the iron chains bit into his flesh.


    ¡°But even that didn¡¯t sate your hunger for heinous escapades,¡± Top Hat adjusted his monocle and cleared his throat, his medals jingling. ¡°You then took up residence in a dubious profit house frequently mentioned in reports from the Ministry of Internal Affairs. One that was suspected to be a front for money laundering by a criminal group known as the Orcish Jackets. I suppose you reached an arrangement with them through the Shanti¡¯Ra, a known associate of yours since childhood?¡±


    Ardan fought against the chains, but it was in vain. He could only stare in shock at this strange man who was twisting every part of his life into something unrecognizable.


    ¡°And according to witness statements, you were spotted leading a group of individuals who staged a terrorist attack masked as a gang conflict. This happened on Fifth Street in the Baliero district, where your actions resulted in numerous innocent deaths. We discovered their mangled bodies among the ruins of a historic building. A building that had stood untouched for nearly a century until you decided to tear it down, yes? Trying to live up to your great-grandfather¡¯s reputation, Mr. Egobar?¡±


    Top Hat chuckled and turned another page. Ardan stopped struggling. He could see where this was heading¡­


    ¡°And after that, you saw fit to assist a terrorist fanatic ¡ª an outlaw elf wielding old magic. And don¡¯t even think of denying it. Many witnesses saw him attempting to evacuate you from the scene after you were wounded. And that¡¯s not even touching on the fact that you were illegally trained in Star Magic and the old magic¡­ What was it called¡­ Oahne? All of this, Mr. Egobar, points to your¡­ let¡¯s say, disappearance, a fate you were warned about four months ago. But I should inform you that if you refuse to cooperate and tell us every detail of your crimes, as well as the secrets behind your magical training, your family will disappear as well. Perhaps they, too, know something?¡± Top Hat removed his monocle and wiped it with a pristine white handkerchief. ¡°Who knows, perhaps if we press your mother or little Kena and Ert a bit, they¡¯ll share something interesting?¡±


    Ardan instinctively lunged at Top Hat¡¯s throat, but the chains tightened around him, nearly bending him in half.


    ¡°A beast in its truest form,¡± Top Hat scoffed, placing his monocle back on.


    As he raised his hand, Ardan noticed a ring on his middle finger, sitting snugly against his glove ¡ª a ring bearing the emblem of the Tavsers¡­


    ¡°Well then,¡± Top Hat stacked his documents neatly and stood from the table. ¡°It seems we¡¯ll be taking a trip to headquarters, where we¡¯ll review and discuss each incident in detail while we wait for your family. After all, you were so eager to see them, were you not? Such poignant letters you wrote¡­¡±


    Ardan struggled again, but the chains remained steadfast.


    ¡°So,¡± Top Hat gave a slight bow. ¡°You¡¯ll get the chance to meet them¡­ in the afterlife, of course.¡±


    He turned to Vulture.


    ¡°Take him to the Black House.¡±


    The Black House was the central headquarters of the Second Chancery. A building that everyone in the Metropolis avoided by several blocks whenever possible. Rumors about it, the darkest and most absurd kind of rumors, abounded.


    ¡°Did I not make myself clear?!¡± Top Hat¡¯s voice rose when he noticed that none of the Cloaks had moved. Standing at attention in their masks, they remained motionless. ¡°Get the prisoner up and load him into the transport!¡±


    Again, none of them moved.


    ¡°That is an order!¡± Top Hat was nearly shrieking. ¡°I¡¯ll have every single one of you court-martialed! I was appointed by the Upper Chamber and you are obliged to obey me! Not to mention the fact that I outrank every one of you!¡±


    Appointed by the Upper Chamber? Ardan didn¡¯t know much about the workings of the Empire¡¯s executive branch, but he did vaguely remember that the Second Chancery operated as an independent entity, free from the parliament¡¯s oversight.


    ¡°Sir,¡± a familiar voice sounded from behind Vulture¡¯s mask ¡ª this was the same mage who had fought the Aean¡¯Hane elf. ¡°According to regulations, we are required to hear the detainee¡¯s statement before taking any further action. It is his legal right as a citizen.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a terrorist!¡± Top Hat nearly screeched. ¡°And that creature isn¡¯t even human! He has no rights!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a suspect,¡± Vulture replied in an even, steady tone. ¡°And his Firstborn heritage does not affect his citizenship status. Everything else remains to be proven.¡±


    Seeing that none of the Cloaks intended to move, the Lord-General (a title granted to nobles promoted to general rank) straightened up, appearing somewhat mollified.


    ¡°I won¡¯t forget this,¡± he said, begrudgingly waving his hand. ¡°Let him speak. It won¡¯t change a thing. The facts are clear, and I have already made my decision.¡±


    Vulture seemingly did nothing, but the chains suddenly vanished, freeing Ardan. He rubbed his wrists and neck, then said curtly:


    ¡°My jacket.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Vulture and Top Hat both seemed to ask in unison.


    ¡°On its left lapel, on the inside,¡± Ardan clarified, deliberately not looking at the Lord-General. He wasn¡¯t sure that he could keep his inner snow leopard from leaping at him if he saw his face again. ¡°There¡¯s a hidden pocket under a patch. Please tear it off.¡±


    ¡°What utter nonsense is this animal ¡ª this half-blood ¡ª spouting!?¡± Top Hat sneered.


    But Vulture, ignoring him, stared silently at Ardan for a few moments before nodding to one of the Cloaks. The one with the cat mask pulled a battered satchel with a slightly bent handle from behind his back.


    It was Ardan¡¯s satchel. So, the Second Chancery had already searched his apartment¡­


    Opening it, Cat pulled out the jacket and, after a moment of fiddling, found the hidden pocket and tore off the patch. A faint, metallic clink sounded as a black coin slightly larger than a kso dropped to the ground. Instead of the Empire¡¯s crest, it bore a shield emblem.


    The coin drew everyone¡¯s attention as it rolled toward the ocean before Vulture caught it¡­ Releasing his staff in the process, which clattered to the stones.


    Had a war mage just let go of his main weapon?


    ¡°And what of it?¡± Top Hat laughed. ¡°Now carry out my orders, or I¡¯ll summon a special squad of guards!¡±


    ¡°Vulture,¡± came another familiar voice from beneath Cat¡¯s mask. The voice of the man who had escorted Ardan from the palace to the Grand four months ago. ¡°Is it real?¡±


    The mage, his staff lying abandoned on the ground, studied the insignia that had been given to Ardan by Yonatan.


    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s real.¡±


    Cat gave a curt nod and drew his revolver. At the same time, the other Cloaks followed suit, two of them even raising their staves.


    They cocked their weapons and activated seals that glinted along the metal, all of it aimed not at Ardan, but at Top Hat.


    Vulture tucked the special coin into his coat pocket, then picked up his staff and stood in front of Ardan, shielding him from the Lord-General.


    ¡°What¡­What is the meaning of this?¡± Top Hat shrieked. ¡°What¡¯s going on?! I¡¯ll have every single one of you-¡±


    ¡°Mr. Egobar has presented us with an officer¡¯s mark from the Second Chancery,¡± Vulture interrupted, his tone so icy it matched the winds of the Alcade. ¡°Until the condition attached to that mark is fulfilled, he is under the Second Chancery¡¯s protection. Your authority, Lord-General, ends here.¡±


    ¡°My authority?!¡± Top Hat practically roared. ¡°My authority ends nowhere! I was appointed by the Upper Chamber! That makes me your-¡±


    A gunshot cracked.


    A bullet fired by one of the Cloaks struck the ground directly in front of Top Hat, ricocheting into the wall. In his fit of rage, he hadn¡¯t noticed that he¡¯d taken a step toward Vulture.


    ¡°Another attempt to approach Mr. Egobar will be the last thing you do, Lord-General,¡± Vulture explained casually. ¡°Until the officer¡¯s mark¡¯s condition is met, anyone who impedes us will be eliminated. I¡¯ll repeat that for your benefit: anyone.¡±


    Top Hat swallowed hard, stepping back.


    ¡°And what exactly is this fucki-?¡±


    ¡°Think carefully, sir, before you finish that question,¡± Vulture¡¯s staff crackled with several seals.


    ¡°What is the condition of this mark?¡± Top Hat spat through gritted teeth.


    ¡°Presenting an officer¡¯s mark establishes one¡¯s right to an audience with the Head of the Second Chancery. The bearer must be escorted to the Head immediately and without delay, and the Head must grant them an audience regardless of any obstacles, preventable or not.¡±


    ¡°The H-h-head¡­?¡± Top Hat¡¯s complexion paled to a shade surpassing even Ardan¡¯s or Lisa¡¯s during their ordeal in the haunted house. After all, they had still been able to see a glimmer of hope in that situation.


    But Top Hat¡­ The mere mention of the ¡°Head of the Second Chancery¡± had him looking like he was now facing the inescapable certainty of imminent death.


    ¡°Gentlemen!¡± Vulture, ignoring Top Hat, addressed the other masked Cloaks. ¡°As soon as we determine the location of the Head, we proceed there immediately. Anyone who stands in our way, regardless of rank, position, or citizenship, will be eliminated. Is that clear?!¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡± The masked Cloaks shouted in unison.


    Several of them turned, their cloaks flaring as they strode out. Vulture, facing Ardan, helped him rise from the chair.


    ¡°Good move, kid,¡± the Cloak whispered. ¡°And you did an admirable job not holding back while that pathetic moron had his fun. But you could¡¯ve handled that a bit smarter¡­ Yonatan didn¡¯t lie in his report: you¡¯re clever and brave, but your reason just abandons you at critical moments.¡±


    What? Hadn¡¯t Yonatan said that Ardan was a coward?


    And what exactly was this coin that had compelled the entire Second Chancery to¡­?


    Vulture tapped his staff lightly against the ground, and Ardan fell asleep.

 Chapter 48 - Blood and History

    At times, Ardi would drift into wakefulness. It would seem that he was riding on the bench of a truck, which rolled lazily over the cobblestones, causing him to bounce up every now and again. To his left and right sat Cloaks, holding him steady so he wouldn¡¯t tumble to the floor. On another bench at the front of the vehicle, more agents from the Second Chancery were traveling with him.


    Or perhaps it was all just a dream. In any case, when he finally managed to open his eyes fully and shake off the remnants of drowsy musings, he found himself¡­ still on a bench. But this time, he wasn¡¯t in a truck; he was in a vast hall, one large enough to encompass an entire city square.


    The walls, stretching out into the distance around him, were covered in scaffolding, and here and there, mosaics adorned with saintly faces covered the stone, their figures flowing upwards like streams of water, where they merged into high, ribbed columns. These columns rose to meet the vaulted ceiling and domes above, which were painted with scenes from the scriptures of the Face of Light. Here, saints were depicted amid their ascension, miracles being revealed by the Face of Light to his Prophets were shown, and much more. Some of the frescoes were still unfinished, with scaffolding beneath them.


    Ardan¡¯s gaze fell lower. At first, he didn¡¯t understand what he was seeing, but then he realized that beneath a layer of amber ¡ª yes, the entire floor was polished, smooth amber, and spread out like a carpet to protect the treasure it held ¡ª lay shields, swords, banners, shell fragments, broken rifles, and old muskets. He recognized the crests of various kingdoms conquered by the Empire ages ago alongside more recent emblems. All these relics of victory and hardship formed a single shape outlined across the temple floor: a two-headed white phoenix, wings spread out wide. In one claw, it held the Sword of Kings, and in the other, an oak leaf.


    The phoenix glowed in the light streaming through exquisite stained-glass windows, where warriors were shown with their swords, sabers, muskets, rifles, and standards, each bearing a triangular symbol above their heads ¡ª the sign of holiness in the Church of the Face of Light.


    And beyond the altar, with a scripture in hand, rose a towering bronze figure covered in gilding. It appeared to hover there, cloaked in amber. Fifteen meters tall, it should have inspired awe and reverence through its sheer size alone, and yet¡­ Instead of that, its face showed sorrow, its gaze nearly tearful as it looked down at its future congregation.


    Ardan knew where he was.


    This was the Temple of the Holy Warriors, which had begun construction decades ago at the command of the future Emperor, Great Prince Pavel. It was a building so grand that it had already been declared one of the new wonders of the world.


    He wondered why they¡¯d brought him here.


    ¡°Do you know what the Second Chancery¡¯s officer¡¯s mark is, Ard?¡±


    Ardan turned sharply, nearly forgetting how to breathe. Beside him on the bench sat a man Ardi had hoped never to see again. Especially not in person.


    The man wore a plain three-piece suit made from cheap but sturdy wool, cut practically and without embellishment. None other than the Emperor himself sat beside him, leaning on a heavy cane.


    This was Pavel IV Agrov in the flesh. Up close, he looked even smaller than he had at the celebration. Ardan noted the lines etched into his face, and the circular scars from shrapnel that were not being covered by powder or talc, ones that disfigured half his visage. Red hair streaked with gray framed deep-set black eyes.


    The Emperor kept his gaze fixed on the altar, at the feet of the giant figure of the Prophet.


    A watch ticked upon his wrist, his plain shoes revealed the wood of his prosthetic leg, and his shirt seemed pressed by hand; a few tiny burn marks hinted as much.


    Ardan, still stunned, jerked back a little too quickly, and a dozen Cloaks emerged from the shadows in response, but the Emperor gave a subtle wave, and they melted back into the darkness.


    ¡°Y-your Majesty¡­ I mean, Your Imperial Majesty¡­ I¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you know or not?¡± The Emperor asked again.


    It was a simple question, spoken in an ordinary tone. The man was of medium height, perhaps a bit over one meter and eighty centimeters, with a slight build, and missing a leg. And yet, even while the Emperor was seated and leaning on his cane, Ardan felt as if he were standing at the foot of the Alkadian peaks ¡ª a towering, unyielding fixture of reality that seemed ready to challenge the sky itself for the right to touch the stars.


    He was an immovable force. Monolithic. And unmistakably real.


    The words to describe him came naturally, just from looking at Pavel¡¯s face and eyes: resolute, unwavering.


    ¡°No,¡± Ardi replied, inching back cautiously.


    ¡°Long ago, Ard,¡± the Emperor¡¯s tone was calm, even slightly dry. ¡°When the King of Gales lost one of his first battles against the army of Ectassus, he found that he had nothing to pay his warband with upon his return. All that remained in his treasury were ten coins. Ten coins for an army of three thousand and five hundred swords. And he offered those ten coins to his men. And they¡­ refused. They did not refuse to serve him. They refused the payment, telling their king that their reward would be the liberation of their homeland from the oppressors¡¯ rule.¡±


    Ardan kept his mouth firmly shut. Interrupt the ruler of the New Monarchy? He¡¯d just narrowly escaped one noose and wasn¡¯t about to stick his neck into another.


    ¡°This began a tradition,¡± the Emperor continued after a brief pause. ¡°When the king, in the final battle, defeated the King of Ectassus, those few of his warband who¡¯d survived to reach the Ectassus capital had already perished. They never saw the dawn of the new world¡­ And those coins¡­ or as they are called now, officer¡¯s marks, they became a symbol, Ard. A symbol of absolute loyalty and service to their homeland. Only ten such coins exist in the entire world. Anyone caught stealing one is executed. The same goes for anyone attempting to forge one. They are passed from one benefactor to another as a testament of trust.¡±


    The Emperor extended his hand, placing the coin on the bench.


    ¡°Officer Kornosskiy passed this to you, deeming it necessary and right,¡± Pavel turned his gaze back to the altar. ¡°Now this coin is your burden. And it¡¯s your or your descendants¡¯ duty to pass it on to someone else you deem worthy, someone whose word will be heard, regardless of circumstances. But it will only be heard once, Ard. You may never use this coin for yourself again. You can only give it away.¡±


    Carefully, Ardan picked up the coin and placed it¡­ in the pocket of his jacket. He only then realized that they had changed him out of his robe and back into his own clothes.


    ¡°So that means¡­¡± Ardan murmured, ¡°That for five centuries, the crown has been paying its debt, and¡­¡±


    Ard, who was, as usual, lost in the maze of his own thoughts and riddles, had forgotten where he was, who he was with, and most importantly ¡ª why.


    ¡°And it will continue to pay it,¡± the Emperor nodded. ¡°It¡¯s the least the blood of Agrov can do for those who gave their lives for the homeland.¡±


    They fell silent. It wasn¡¯t that Ardan didn¡¯t know what to say. He just¡­ wasn¡¯t sure if he should.


    ¡°You¡¯re resorting to your silent strategy again?¡± The Emperor¡¯s tone softened, or so it seemed to Ardan. ¡°The Colonel reported that you excel in that regard.¡±


    The Emperor¡­ was joking? Or was it just his way of speaking? Either way, Ardi would have preferred to face off against the elf again, or even two of him¡­ or three if he had to, rather than being here.


    ¡°I have a few documents with me,¡± the Emperor reached over, picking up a folder next to him. On its cardboard cover, Ardan saw the red seal of a service memo: ¡°To the Head of the Second Chancery. File of Ard (full name restricted to highest clearance) Egobar. Compiled by Yonatan Kornosskiy.¡± Setting the folder on his knees, Emperor Pavel pulled out a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and put them on. ¡°Height, weight¡­ not important. Where is¡­ ah, here it is: Cunning, careful, rarely makes hasty or reckless decisions. Sometimes this works against him ¡ª can display indecision. Observant. Excessively so. Possesses a lively mind and a remarkable ability to learn. Brave. Reckless in critical moments. My conclusion ¡ª Ard Egobar is currently not a danger to the state. But in the future, he may pose a serious threat. Recommendation: execution.¡±


    The Emperor closed the folder and set it aside, but Ardan noticed that there were several other papers inside it, not just Yonatan¡¯s report.


    ¡°The Colonel said that your first impulse was to stab him with a knife, and yet the next officer reported that not only did you identify him, but in a deliberately created scenario, you showed no inclination toward impulsivity whatsoever.¡±


    A deliberately created¡­


    What¡­


    ¡°My time is not unlimited, Ard,¡± the Emperor suddenly said firmly. ¡°You¡¯d best start talking.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ You¡¯re the Head of the Second Chancery!¡± Ardan almost shouted.


    The Emperor raised an eyebrow slightly.


    ¡°Not quite the answer I was looking for¡­ What led you to that conclusion?¡±


    ¡°I was supposed to be delivered specifically to the Head.¡±


    ¡°I might have found it necessary to speak with you myself instead.¡±


    ¡°One of the Cloaks¡­¡± Ardan hesitated. ¡°I mean, one of the Second Chancery agents once mentioned that there was no greater honor than serving the royal family¡­ At the time, I thought he was just saying that¡­ Then there was the fact they sent the Second Chancery for me instead of marshals or guards. Okt¡­ Her Imperial Majesty told you everything, and-¡±


    ¡°It would be better to focus on the two events that interest me more, Ard,¡± the Emperor ¡ª the Head of the Second Chancery ¡ª cut him off. ¡°The incident in Baliero and the bank bombing.¡±


    Ardan told him his story. He did so in as much detail as he could manage, because he felt ¡ª he knew ¡ª that his life and his family¡¯s well-being depended on it.


    ¡°That sounds absurd enough, Ard, that I¡¯m inclined to believe you,¡± the Emperor gestured slightly, and a Cloak emerged from the shadows to lean in close and listen to some whispered instructions before vanishing silently. ¡°Now, Ard, can you explain to me why I would call these events absurd?¡±


    Ardan swallowed hard, loosening a collar that suddenly felt too tight.


    ¡°Because neither the Dandy nor the Orcish Jackets would involve themselves in something that could remotely attract your attention.¡±


    ¡°Precisely,¡± the Emperor nodded. ¡°Because they would be eliminated instantly.¡±


    Inwardly, Ardan added that if those gangs still operated in the heart of the Empire, there must¡¯ve been a significant reason for it. What reason? He didn¡¯t really care ¡ª he honestly didn¡¯t want to even think about it.


    The sooner he got out of the Metropolis, the better.


    ¡°So, that means they were framed,¡± the Emperor continued. ¡°The Orcish Jackets support the Firstborn. The Dandy serves as a mediator for factory workers. Crime, Ard, cannot be destroyed, but it can be harnessed. We use it on one side, while our enemies try to use it on the other¡­ If we bleed these gangs dry, first, there will be unrest. Then the void left in their wake will quickly fill with new elements. Ones unknown to us.¡±


    ¡°Your Imperial Majesty!¡± Ardan interjected hurriedly, lowering his gaze below shoulder level. ¡°I can¡¯t control my Witch¡¯s Gaze, and-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s no more dangerous to me than a mosquito, Ard,¡± the Emperor waved a hand dismissively. ¡°I hear its irritating buzz, but it doesn¡¯t concern me.¡±


    Ardan slowly raised his gaze to the Emperor¡¯s. If the ability hadn¡¯t affected him, then why¡­


    ¡°The dossier described me as a coward,¡± Ardan whispered. ¡°Smart and cowardly¡­ Such people, they¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t meddle where they shouldn¡¯t,¡± the Emperor confirmed his hunch. ¡°And they also flee at the first opportunity. A person with such a trait inspires no desire in others to use them. They¡¯d be too unreliable.¡±


    The dossier¡­ It had been intentionally crafted to ¡°hide¡± Ardan right in plain sight. And, seemingly, to also act as bait, to reveal those through whom it might leak into enemy hands.


    But why such intricacy? Wouldn¡¯t it have been simpler to send him away immediately after the coronation?


    ¡°Your Imperial Majesty,¡± Ardi suddenly realized. ¡°I need to tell you something else.¡±


    Pavel turned his head slightly toward him.


    ¡°Ard, the fact that you are just now mentioning this ¡ª whatever it may be ¡ª immediately tips the scales far from your favor,¡± the Emperor replied after a moment¡¯s pause, his tone low and steady.


    Swallowing hard, Ardan began recounting the events of that night at the Palace of the Kings of the Past, where he had inadvertently become an eavesdropper to a conversation clearly not meant for the likes of him.


    The Emperor listened in silence.


    ¡°Would you be able to identify the room where you overheard these gentlemen?¡± He asked after a moment.


    ¡°No,¡± Ardan admitted honestly. Not only had too much time passed, but the labyrinthine passages, staircases, and corridors would make retracing his steps nearly impossible.


    The Emperor nodded, calling over one of the Cloaks again. A few brief words were exchanged, and then the agent slipped back into the shadows.


    Silence fell once more. The ruler of the Empire kept his gaze on the altar and the holy scripture laid upon it, while Ardan¡­ weighed his chances of leaving this place alive and intact.


    ¡°Do you know why I decided to build this temple, Ard?¡± The Emperor asked suddenly, and Ardan, understanding the nature of rhetorical questions, didn¡¯t respond. ¡°Because, like every Emperor, after my death, I won¡¯t get to see the Eternal Angels or the Face of Light. Only the abyss of hell awaits me for all that I¡¯ve done and all I¡¯m yet to do. But this temple, Ard¡­ Perhaps it will make the people think of something bright and hopeful and associate it with my name. It might even turn into something that could outweigh all of my sins.¡±


    Ardan wasn¡¯t entirely sure what the Emperor was talking about. The people adored their new ruler, seeing him as nearly a second coming of the Prophet. The same couldn¡¯t be said for his older sister, Isabella. The Grand Princess had frequently made newspaper headlines, finding herself embroiled in scandals, or she¡¯d been inappropriately drunk in questionable places ¡ª she¡¯d even had an affair with the son of a foreign ambassador.


    Then she¡¯d vanished in a yachting accident, and the line of succession had passed to her younger brother, Pavel.


    And now¡­


    Ardan¡¯s thoughts scattered, jumping around like restless rabbits, leaving him unable to capture them and hold them still. Answers to some questions surfaced, only to be replaced by even more unanswered mysteries, like the latest realization that struck him ¡ª a truth so large he could barely think it, much less say it out loud.


    The Emperor and the Head of the Second Chancery should not be the same person. Such a union of roles invited inevitable corruption and abuse of power, something the Empire, at times even to its own detriment, had long strived to prevent.


    But just like the role of Emperor, the position of the Head of the Second Chancery (which was always kept secret from the public) was a lifelong appointment. Which meant Pavel Agrov had commanded the Cloaks even before his coronation.


    And now¡­ Recalling all that was known about his older sister who¡¯d perished in a so-called accident¡­


    ¡°The Head of the Second Chancery is always the Emperor¡¯s second-born, Ard,¡± the Emperor gripped the head of his cane tightly. ¡°For who better than the ruler¡¯s own blood to guard the Empire? The Second Chancery shields our homeland from threats invisible to the common citizen. From challenges that the guards and the army cannot answer. We wear black because we act in the shadows. We are the shield. But not a harmless one, Ard. Each of us who wears the black is condemned to hell for the darkness we wield ¡ª a necessary evil. Without it, our country would have long been torn apart by our enemies, both external and internal.¡±


    Ardan felt like he couldn¡¯t breathe, as though he would suffocate at any moment. He tried to keep his composure but knew¡­ He knew the Emperor had understood.


    Pavel understood it all¡­


    ¡°Isabella was a threat to our homeland, and I made the only decision that could protect us,¡± Pavel¡¯s voice was firm, resolute, yet filled with a quiet sorrow. ¡°We removed that threat, Ard. Just as we will find those behind this new conspiracy and destroy them as well. And those who will come after them, and the ones after them. Every enemy of the Empire, every single one, we will kill them, Ard. We will cast them down into that abyss, the one into which we ourselves will descend someday, to kill them again. That is the Second Chancery ¡ª the heirs of the warband of the Kings of the Past. So long as there is an enemy, Ard, spare them no mercy. Destroy them without pity or doubt. To the very end. To the last drop of their blood.¡±


    Ardan swallowed. He now understood the darkness he had glimpsed in the Emperor¡¯s eyes. And he knew why it had seemed like if he looked into them for too long, he would be devoured by the ravenous fish lurking in the depths of those black pools.


    Emperor Pavel IV loved his country. His homeland. He loved it so deeply that anyone standing in Pavel¡¯s way was fated to meet one singular end.


    And that was why the Lord-General had paled. He understood this, too, and so did the other confidants of the Emperor, the man who was publicly considered a soft-hearted ruler, one focused on enlightenment and progress.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°We live in a world with newspapers, books, railways, and airships, Ard,¡± the Emperor seemed to read his thoughts. ¡°This is a world of accessible information. But in a world of accessible information, the truth itself remains beyond the reach of the majority.¡±


    Ardan looked away. He had found the answer to his question. Whatever happened from here on out, he would not leave this place the same man who had entered it. Who would let a man walk free after he knew such truths about the Emperor that¡­


    And yet, why had he been told all of this? The Emperor would never reveal this without¡­


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you two stories, Ard,¡± the Emperor said suddenly. ¡°After which, you¡¯ll board a train and head for Delpas. Hug your mother and brother. Shake your stepfather¡¯s hand, maybe even play with your sister if you feel like it. And then you¡¯ll decide for yourself ¡ª will you stay there, or come back here? Now listen carefully, for I won¡¯t repeat myself, and when I¡¯m finished, we likely won¡¯t ever speak again.¡±


    Ardan became the very embodiment of attention, eyes fixed on the Emperor, absorbing his every word.


    ¡°I¡¯ll begin in a somewhat roundabout way, Ard,¡± the Emperor leaned back against the bench, eyes half-closed. ¡°An enemy, Ard, if they are a true enemy, one who seeks your demise rather than merely to take something from you, will always act the same way. First, they¡¯ll take away your god, for without a celestial law, what guide is there to reveal earthly laws as unjust? How do you know a person in power is wrong if there is no god above them? So, Ard, be wary of those who try to slay your gods.¡±


    For a moment, Ardan wondered if the Emperor might be rambling, but Pavel had said that he would be going at this in a roundabout manner.


    ¡°The second thing your enemy will take from you is your family. For if you have no family, why should you care if the decisions of others, or any new changes for that matter, affect the children or families of strangers? After all, they¡¯re not yours. Both humans and the Firstborn, no matter how noble, will always see things through their personal vision,¡± the Emperor continued. ¡°And the last thing your enemy will take is your homeland. They¡¯ll smear its history, and you along with it. For if you have no homeland, Ard, then what difference does it make what happens to the land you live on, correct?¡±


    Ardan simply remained silent. He didn¡¯t understand where the Emperor was going with this.


    ¡°You see me as the enemy, Ard,¡± the Emperor raised a hand, stopping Ardan from saying anything. ¡°Don¡¯t deny it. I know the truth already. You think I killed your great-grandfather, that my ancestors destroyed your people ¡ª or at least half of your people. Because, if my sources are correct, your mother is descended from the Galessians?¡±


    Ardan nodded. Indeed, his mother¡¯s lineage traced back to the Kingdom of Gales, as did that of over half the current Empire. But what did that have to do with this?


    ¡°But if a true enemy, Ard, first seeks to take away your god, then tell me ¡ª do the Firstborn not still practice the faith of the Sleeping Spirits?¡± The Emperor asked unexpectedly. ¡°Tell me, Ard, have any shrines been burned or sanctuaries destroyed by the state forces in the Alcade? Are the Firstborn forbidden from taking human wives, hoping their blood will prove stronger? And has anyone ever denied the borders of your lands?¡±


    ¡°But the Matabar were slain,¡± Ardan blurted out.


    The Emperor nodded solemnly.


    ¡°Now consider what would have happened if you hadn¡¯t been allowed to tell your story, and the Second Chancery hadn¡¯t started investigating the framing of the Orcish Jackets and the Dandy. Yes, precisely, an investigation will still happen ¡ª don¡¯t think I¡¯d blindly believe you, Ard, though I see no reason for you to lie, as any falsehood would be exposed, and you¡¯re far too clever not to realize this.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re suggesting that the extermination of the Matabar was someone¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve said what I intended to, Ard,¡± the Emperor cut him off. ¡°But that was only the introduction. I promised you two stories, and so I will tell them. The first story, Ard, begins over two centuries ago. At that time, Emperor Gabriel VII had his first son. The boy grew up intelligent and strong, a worthy heir to his father. Soon, he also had a brother ¡ª Jacob.¡±


    Ardan remembered those names. Great Prince Jacob had been the younger son of the Empire¡¯s ruler back then, the one who¡¯d died in the battle against the Dark Lord¡¯s army at the fortress of Pashar.


    ¡°But Jacob entered this world physically frail, and the healers weren¡¯t certain he¡¯d even live to see his second birthday,¡± the Emperor continued. ¡°Gabriel searched for a solution, and eventually, he found the courage to turn to those he had once hated and despised. He sent for an Aean¡¯Hane from the ranks of the Firstborn, hoping he could save Jacob. And in response, surprisingly, they answered his plea. A wise man arrived in the Metropolis and lived in the Imperial Palace for two years. Then, when Jacob grew stronger, the wise man disappeared as suddenly as he¡¯d arrived. Perhaps he¡¯d hoped this would improve the plight of the Firstborn¡­ But it did not. Gabriel continued to fear the Aean¡¯Hane¡¯s power, which, at the time, still exceeded the capabilities of our technology and Star Magic. And so, the Emperor, striving to protect his country, continued his policy of repression.¡±


    Ardan still recalled his history lessons on this period. Teacher Parnas had described the internal politics of that era in great detail.


    ¡°Jacob grew up, and Gabriel had more children: two girls and another boy,¡± Pavel set his cane aside, leaning down to unfasten the straps on his prosthetic leg. He set it aside without any self-consciousness, revealing the disfigured stump left behind by an artillery blast. ¡°They taunted Jacob, who couldn¡¯t fight back. His beloved older brother had already entered the military and couldn¡¯t defend him. And so, Gabriel decided to send Jacob as an envoy¡¯s apprentice to Castilia. There, Jacob spent the next seven years, writing monthly letters to his older brother in which he expressed his desire to return. He found Castilia fine but boring.¡±


    This part, Parnas had not covered¡­ Perhaps not out of a desire to leave it out, but simply because such details wouldn¡¯t appear in any schoolbook.


    ¡°After returning home, Jacob, who was now much older, spent his time haunting the new Grand Library, which my grandfather would later transform into the Imperial Magical University.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s not called the Grand because of its size?!¡± Ardan couldn¡¯t help but blurt out.


    ¡°Not at all, Ard,¡± the Emperor allowed himself a faint smile. ¡°Anyway, Jacob became close with the chief librarian. They would often debate, spending hours together, until Jacob realized that the chief librarian was the same wise man who had saved him in his childhood.¡±


    ¡°And then Jacob asked the sage to teach him the art of the Aean¡¯Hane. And, as it turned out, despite being an ordinary human, he possessed an astonishing, unparalleled aptitude for both the Firstborn¡¯s art and Star Magic. In less than ten years, Jacob became so powerful that he could no longer conceal it. And so, he went to the heir to the throne, his older brother, to reveal his vision of the future. He said that our country would never be strong and resilient as long as we denied the wealth of knowledge possessed by the Firstborn. He argued that, if we had an alliance with them, rather than constantly fighting against them, we could reach heights beyond imagination. But his brother¡­ Though intelligent, he was still shackled by the vision of their father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and the many ancestors of the Agrov line who¡¯d remembered the horrors wrought by the Kingdom of Ectassus and the cruelties inflicted by the Firstborn upon humanity. And he refused to listen. Just as their father refused to listen to Jacob.¡±


    ¡°So Great Prince Jacob¡­ acted by himself?¡± Ardan felt like his words were as heavy as stones.


    ¡°Precisely, Ard,¡± the Emperor nodded.


    The weight of this knowledge pressed down on Ardan, as though the walls of the temple were collapsing onto his shoulders, the distant ceiling ready to bury him beneath the enormity of the truth unfolding before him.


    ¡°The Emperor¡¯s second child is always the Head of the Second Chancery...¡± Ardan whispered. ¡°But the Second Chancery, which was disbanded after the incident with Lady Talia on the Enario border, was not reconstituted until after the defeat of the Dark Lord...¡±


    ¡°To stop a man from finding the truth, Ard, place him between two lies. He will begin to seek the truth among them,¡± the Emperor confirmed. ¡°The Second Chancery never disbanded, it only retreated into the shadows. But that¡¯s not the point... Jacob asked the wise man for a chance to speak to the heads of the Firstborn. And the wise man helped him. Jacob outlined his plan, and the Firstborn agreed to an alliance. This was the message he brought to his father and brother. That there would be no more oppression. That they could try, even if not immediately, even if it took a lifetime, to live together. But his dear brother and his sensitive father were once again blind and deaf to his arguments. And then... Then Jacob made the only right decision. He put his country before himself and his family. He dressed in black and rebelled.¡±


    Ardan just kept opening and closing his mouth in silence.


    ¡°Great Prince Jacob was the Dark Lord? A mere human?¡±


    ¡°Whether he was any kind of ¡®mere¡¯ or not, that¡¯s a question for the Eternal Angels,¡± the Emperor replied curtly.


    ¡°But Jacob died at Pashar Fortress! And the Dark Lord was executed in the Metropolis!¡±


    ¡°Two lies, Ard, two lies,¡± the Emperor reminded him. ¡°It wasn¡¯t Jacob who died at Pashar Fortress, but the Dark Lord¡­ and it was your great-grandfather, Aror Egobar, who killed him. With his own two hands.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± Ardan jumped to his feet in shock.


    The Cloaks surged forward again, but as before, the Emperor raised a hand, and they retreated.


    ¡°Jacob had become drunk on the power he¡¯d wielded,¡± the Emperor continued calmly. ¡°When his older brother saw the horrors he had unleashed, he was ready to negotiate. But Jacob refused. He wanted to eradicate all dissenters and take the throne himself to resolve every issue by his own hand. He believed that was the right course. But power, Ard, is a slow poison for which there is no cure. Sooner or later, it corrupts us all. I only hope that whoever succeeds me as Head of the Second Chancery will have the strength to make the right decisions, even if those decisions involve me¡­ But let¡¯s return to the story.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s mind reeled as he struggled to reconcile another crucial detail. Emperor Pavel IV had no official heirs other than Anastasia. Official being the operative word there¡­


    ¡°Aror Egobar, after realizing that he had created a monster, destroyed that very same monster,¡± the Emperor went on. ¡°There, at Pashar Fortress, he defeated the Dark Lord in a duel of magic. He took the Staff of Stars and the Sword of Darkness, hid them, and afterwards¡­ presented himself in the Metropolis,¡± the Emperor paused to rub the scarred remains of his leg, and then continued. ¡°By then, Pavel II, my great-great-grandfather, had already concocted a tale about how his younger brother had perished heroically, while a convicted criminal, whose identity remains unknown, was executed as the Dark Lord. And so, the people of the Empire were placed between two lies. Never forget, Ard, that the masses must never learn the truth, for it would only bring catastrophe.¡±


    Feeling utterly drained, Ardan sank back onto the bench.


    ¡°But why?¡± He whispered. ¡°Why did my great-grandfather return to the Metropolis¡­ Why did he¡­ what¡­?¡±


    Ardan stumbled over his words, the questions now so numerous he couldn¡¯t decide which to ask first, each seeming more pressing than the last.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Ard,¡± the Emperor said, ¡°and even if I did, I wouldn¡¯t tell you, because it would be your family¡¯s story, not mine,¡± he began reattaching the prosthetic to his leg. ¡°Still, perhaps you can now see how the Egobar and Agrov families embarked on the same path centuries ago¡­ My great-great-grandfather, Pavel II, made every effort to realize his younger brother¡¯s vision after ascending to the throne. Sadly, he encountered fierce resistance ¡ª not only from the system, but from the common people who couldn¡¯t understand why their ruler had suddenly embraced the ideas of the defeated Dark Lord. And you already know the rest of the story, Ard.¡±


    ¡°The era of reforms began,¡± Ardan murmured.


    ¡°And continues to this day,¡± the Emperor finished fastening his prosthetic and let his pant leg drop over it. ¡°It¡¯s no easy feat to overcome millennia of enmity, Ard. Jacob believed it could be done within a single lifetime, but he would have drowned the country in blood in the attempt. Pavel II thought differently. He figured that it would be better to enact gradual, nearly invisible changes so they would take root in the system without triggering massive upheavals. As for the smaller troubles, we could manage those.¡±


    ¡°Who became the Head of the Second Chancery after Jacob?¡±


    ¡°Great Princess Antonina, Gabriel VII¡¯s third child,¡± the Emperor replied calmly. ¡°This brings the first story to an end, Ard, and begins the second. This one started over thirty years ago, on our border with the Principality of Fatia. A young and inexperienced cavalryman went to inspect a frontier fort. Though he had been trained since childhood to become the Head of the Second Chancery, somehow, for reasons he still doesn¡¯t understand, he overlooked a spy within his ranks. That spy led the cavalryman and his soldiers into an ambush, trapping three hundred men against a Fatian regiment of two and a half thousand. Along with his troops, the cavalryman took cover on a hill, in an old, abandoned castle. They held the enemy at bay for three days until reinforcements arrived ¡ª reinforcements in the form of the Sixth Division of the Third Army¡¯s Special Reconnaissance and Diversion Corps, led by Major Hec Abar. I lost my leg, but kept my life.¡±


    ¡°My father?!¡±


    ¡°I only recently learned that Hec Abar and Hector Egobar were one and the same, Ard,¡± the Emperor closed his eyes, gripping his cane tightly. ¡°By then, you were already in the capital. And that¡¯s where my stories end.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ but¡­¡± Ardan could hardly hold back his questions, bursting with them as he was. ¡°Why did my great-grandfather return to the capital? Why did my father help you when the Empire had exterminated the Matabar? It can¡¯t just be a coincidence that it was my great-grandfather who came to treat Jacob! What if Jacob wasn¡¯t even sick, but was poisoned instead? It¡¯s extremely strange that Jacob decided to usurp power... So, the Fatian Massacre happened because the Fatians wanted to capture you? And why did my father fake his death¡­¡±


    As Ardan paused to catch his breath, he looked at the Emperor, who remained impassive, save for a brief, calm response:


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Ard,¡± he said. ¡°I don¡¯t have the answers to all your questions.¡±


    One last question lingered ¡ª the question Ardan dreaded asking, though he knew he had to.


    ¡°Why did you tell me all of this?¡±


    ¡°Because, Ard, there is no record of a command to exterminate the Matabar in the archives of the Second Chancery,¡± the Emperor replied. ¡°Such an order could only have come from the Head. And every one of my predecessors, myself included, keeps a journal of events that¡­ do not make it into the history books. In these journals, I found no such record. And yet, as we both know, it was indeed the Second Chancery that led the punitive mission in the Alcade.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t believe me,¡± the Emperor noted, sparing Ardan from voicing the doubt he didn¡¯t dare to express aloud to the ruler. ¡°And you have every right to feel that way. I¡¯m no mage, Ard, nor am I Firstborn. I¡¯m a soldier and a guardian who was never meant to be Emperor. But people like us, Ard, we don¡¯t choose our fate. I was born with Agrov blood, and so I serve my homeland and my people, bearing the weight of my family¡¯s history. You, Ard, carry Egobar blood and bear your family¡¯s history¡­ As the mountain hunters would say, the leader of the pack isn¡¯t the one who¡¯s the strongest, but the one who¡­¡±


    ¡°Carries the heaviest burden,¡± Ardan completed the phrase.


    ¡°Your upbringing has taught you to protect your pack, Ard,¡± the Emperor, supporting himself with his cane, rose and traced a triangle symbol across his chest with an open palm ¡ª a gesture that went from one¡¯s forehead to their shoulders and back again ¡ª as he bowed to the altar. ¡°I invite you to look beyond. Your pack doesn¡¯t end within the Alcade¡¯s depths. Why not see the entire country as your pack? Think about that. Think of the good you could do.¡±


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m offering you a place in the Second Chancery, Ard,¡± the Emperor replied without hesitation. ¡°I¡¯m offering you the chance to uncover who orchestrated the Matabar massacre and to investigate this current conspiracy.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°In your dossier,¡± the Emperor gestured toward the folder on the bench, ¡°there¡¯s a wealth of information suggesting that you would make an excellent investigator, though only after years of practice. It¡¯ll most likely take years of training, too¡­ And we¡¯ll have to deal with your rising academic standing at the Grand, though the Colonel is already daydreaming about how that might be put to use. So, to conclude our conversation, Ard, go to Delpas. Celebrate. If you choose to stay there, I¡¯ll know that I was wrong. But rest assured, no one will strip your family of what they have been given. You fulfilled the conditions of our deal, albeit in a rather unusual way.¡±


    The Emperor paused, and Ardan seized the moment of silence, mindful of not interrupting him.


    ¡°But then why was my great-grandfather executed? He¡­¡±


    The Emperor looked at Ardan¡­ and he seemed a little disappointed.


    ¡°Have you really not figured it out yet, Ard? Then I fear it will take a little longer to train you if you decide to accept my offer.¡±


    And Ardan understood.


    ¡°You spent so long searching for us¡­ Your wife couldn¡¯t give you a precise location beyond the Alcade itself, vast as it is¡­ And Yonatan couldn''t tell the Empress Consort about our family problems¡­ Not unless¡­ Not unless if he knew it beforehand. From somewhere else. Even before Empress Consort started to bargain¡­ The story of the sawmill and the Ley-wolves¡­ Only Cassara mentioned it. And Cassara knew my great-grandfather. That means¡­ That means I was choosing between two lies.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± the Emperor confirmed Ardan¡¯s insight. ¡°Aror himself somehow had a word with Cassara and, through her, made a deal with me. He offered his own life in exchange for me presenting your family¡¯s amnesty as a reward for his voluntary departure from this world. That was his wish. That¡¯s all I know. As for my wife, her initial sloppy remarks in an attempt to keep you incognito were a coincidence. It happens sometimes. And once she understood that your existence was no secret, she did what she could to provide your family with some additional benefits that were not originally agreed upon with Aror. But the fact that the Crown made a deal with Aror is classified information, so my wife still believes that your arrival here is her fault. And unfortunately, I have no way to lighten her burden.¡±


    Ardan felt his throat tighten¡­ His great-grandfather¡­ His father¡­ why? Why had they both¡­


    The Emperor picked up the folder and adjusted his hat.


    ¡°Whatever you decide, as I said earlier, we¡¯re unlikely to meet again. A meeting like this would attract far too much attention.¡±


    Ardan looked from the Emperor to the altar and back again.


    ¡°Why a temple?¡±


    The Emperor paused, and the Cloaks who had gathered around the Head of the Second Chancery and ruler of one sixth of the world¡¯s landmass and one fifth of its population stood still.


    ¡°How else can I know if I¡¯m wrong unless I anchor myself to a law higher than any other?¡± The Emperor replied without turning. ¡°When I enter a room, Ard, the Face of Light enters ahead of me. How can I then show weakness before Him? When I negotiate, the Face of Light listens to me. And when I make decisions, the Face of Light watches. Only in this way can I hold myself back from the fate that befell Jacob. Or I can try, at least¡­ Farewell, Ard.¡±


    Along with his Cloaks, Emperor Pavel IV left the temple, leaving Ardan alone with the sorrowful bronze-and-golden visage of the Prophet. And Ardi was sure that if he could find a portrait of Great Prince Jacob somewhere, it would become clear whom the sculptor had modeled the face of the Prophet after.


    Ardi remained seated for a long time, nervously toying with the black coin in his hands¡­ He felt so unsure. Unsure of what, exactly? At that moment, he felt as though he knew nothing at all.


    Over the past three seasons, his life had been flipped upside down so many times that he often felt as though he were living on a carousel ¡ª a cruel carousel that never let him plant his feet on solid ground.


    ¡°Don¡¯t hold it against Yonatan,¡± a familiar voice told him.


    Ardi turned and saw Cat sitting behind him. This was the same Cloak who had once taken Ardan to the Grand. Only now, instead of gray hair (Ardi must have been fooled by a wig before), he sported a short, modern haircut and had black hair. His cheeks were also not as chubby as before ¡ª they¡¯d likely been padded then.


    Otherwise, Cat hadn¡¯t changed much. He looked to be around thirty-five.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Yonatan,¡± Cat said, lounging back with his hands behind his head. ¡°He recommends everyone for termination. He even tries to get Cassara executed at least once every quarter. It¡¯s his paranoia, which is a side effect of his mutations. Doesn¡¯t trust even his own shadow. But that¡¯s probably why he¡¯s one of our most effective operatives¡­ and investigator.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± Ardan managed to mutter.


    ¡°In shock, huh? Understandable¡­ The Emperor may be the Head of the Second Chancery, but it¡¯s really the Colonel who runs things day-to-day,¡± Cat spoke of the rank as if it were a name. ¡°His Imperial Majesty doesn¡¯t have time to deal with Chancery affairs. The Empire and all that¡­ But if you feel like blabbing ¡ª don¡¯t. No one would like it. It¡¯s an open secret, really. Everyone who needs to know is already aware. But the general public isn¡¯t. Let them continue living without any extra worries.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± Ardi repeated.


    ¡°Yep,¡± Cat clicked his tongue, standing up with a smooth spin of his hat before placing it on his head with a deft movement. ¡°Come on, Magister, let¡¯s get you out of here. This time, I¡¯ll play driver again, but instead of heading to the Grand, we¡¯re going to the station. Good thing they finished building a direct line to Delpas.¡±


    ¡°But my things¡­¡±


    ¡°Please, Magister, give me some credit. Everything¡¯s already loaded in the car.¡±


    Ardan rose, nearly stumbling back onto the bench.


    ¡°What about Top Hat?¡±


    Cat took a second to process his question before bursting into laughter.


    ¡°You¡¯re calling the Lord-General that? Well, that¡¯s a hoot!¡±


    ¡°The Emperor must have known that he was sent to interrogate me, which means that¡­ This was done to determine where the Upper Chamber stands¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯ll definitely train you in less than a few years,¡± Cat slapped him on the shoulder. ¡°But don¡¯t aim so high. We operatives and investigators handle simpler matters. Politics and court intrigues are for other people who are much better suited for it than we are.¡±


    Together, they left the temple and climbed into a car. It was a somewhat battered, old vehicle with a less-than-pleasant interior. They drove off the construction site, which, curiously (or not curiously at all), was deserted that evening. No one was around, not even the guards.


    They drove through the streets and avenues. Snow fell outside, and people bustled about, preparing for the holiday. Storefronts glowed. Lights flickered. People flitted from shop to shop. And Ardan looked at it all, unsure of what to feel, unsure of what to think.


    He was leaving the Metropolis. Cat, chatting cheerfully as he did so, was driving them toward the station, while Ardi gazed at his own reflection in the foggy glass, knowing¡­ nothing.


    Around him, the city prepared to celebrate the arrival of the New Year. In a few days, families would gather for festive dinners, bringing out their finest and rarest foods. People would dress in their best suits and gowns. And, of course, there would be decorated trees festooned with ornaments.


    As for Ardi¡­ he was barely aware of the fact that he¡¯d crossed half the city with Cat. He didn¡¯t even notice the time he¡¯d spent waiting for his train¡¯s departure in the crowded waiting room, and finally, just as they parted ways, he heard:


    ¡°Hope to see you again, big guy,¡± Cat winked, helping Ardi hoist his satchel and duffle bag onto the train step.


    ¡°Your ticket, please,¡± asked the conductor.


    ¡°Oh, I almost forgot!¡± Cat slapped his forehead, handing over a brown document.


    ¡°That¡¯s the seated carriage for Firstborn¡­ Eternal Angels, the separation was canceled a month ago. I keep forgetting. Just a seat, bench fourteen,¡± the conductor clicked his metal puncher, leaving two holes in the ticket. ¡°To Delpas.¡±


    Ardan couldn¡¯t even remember if he¡¯d said goodbye to the Cloak. He made his way down the narrow passage, finding himself in a crowded carriage filled with passengers. Instead of cozy compartments with cushioned seats, tables, and cabinets, there were rows of double-sided, wooden, lacquered benches, all of them occupied by people awaiting departure. Above them, their luggage rested on metal racks secured by straps.


    Ardan placed his duffle bag and satchel up on the rack and sat down in his assigned seat, wedged between two rather large women who were loudly discussing the price of pork. Children chattered nearby. Exhausted parents scolded them. Someone was drinking. Others clearly hadn¡¯t bathed in a while and couldn¡¯t afford perfume.


    As for Ardi¡­ He just looked at the city receding in the distance as the train pulled away with a whistle and a cloud of steam.


    He was going home to his family.

 Chapter 49 - Pack

    The train shuddered to a halt.


    ¡°Delpas Station,¡± announced the conductor as he briefly peeked into the carriage.


    Ardan snapped awake and realized that, for the past few hours, he¡¯d been leaning his head against the window frame, leaving a vivid, crimson line across his forehead that was now mirrored on the dark glass.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Ardi muttered as he squeezed past the legs of his seatmate. Standing between the rows, he stretched, each bone cracking after hours of numbness.


    Yes, the train had occasionally made stops at roadside stations, where passengers could step out to stretch their legs. But the last day had been non-stop travel, pushing across the prairies. And in winter, the prairies were even more treacherous than during late summer or autumn. They¡¯d passed Presny, barely even slowing in the waystation town for even a moment.


    Collecting his belongings, the young man fastened his coat, grabbed his staff, and headed out. He bid a quick farewell to the conductor, with whom he¡¯d exchanged occasional words over the week-long journey, then stepped down onto the ice-covered wooden platform and... nearly slipped right then and there.


    The holiday twilight had already descended over the town.


    ¡°Hurry up!¡± Urged families who¡¯d gathered to visit their relatives. ¡°We still have to find a cab if we want to make it by midnight.¡±


    The station was perched on a hill, and though Delpas was the main settlement in the Foothill Province, the station itself, when compared to the grandeur of the one in Metropolis, looked utterly unremarkable ¡ª a modest, two-story wooden structure nestled near a platform raised on stilts and bordered by a simple fence.


    Ardan swung his bag over his shoulder, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. The air crackled in his throat from the cold and dampness, carrying with it the faintest scent of water. Hidden under layers of winter ice, it could only subtly remind one of its presence.


    The snow was falling.


    It swirled around him, settling on his face in stinging crystals, almost like the snow in the mountains of the Alcade. Only here, it felt softer and more humid, like morning dew.


    Ardi opened his eyes and smiled. Above him, stars sparkled, filling the heavens with a multitude of lights that were reflections of distant galaxies and star systems shrouded in the endless depths of space.


    It was nothing like the black lid of darkness that capped the Metropolis. And yet, when one looked down the slope toward the shore of Blue Lake, where Delpas lay, only scattered strings of light served as a guide for travelers. Yes, Delpas shone as well, with the glow of its houses and the occasional streetlights along its main avenue, but it was a modest glimmer, faint when compared to the brilliant radiance of the Empire¡¯s capital.


    ¡°Mr. Egobar?¡±


    Ardi turned around. Standing nearby was a man in a short fur coat, thick woolen pants clearly pulled over equally warm undergarments, work boots, a cap, and gloves. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and clouds of vapor puffed from his mouth, as if he were breathing out smoke.


    The man seemed only slightly older than Ardi himself, but his piercing gray eyes hinted at a breadth of experience far deeper than that of an ordinary resident.


    ¡°You¡¯re the gardener, I take it?¡± Ardan asked.


    The Second Chancery man flinched slightly but quickly collected himself.


    ¡°Allow me to escort you to your family, Mr. Egobar,¡± the Cloak offered.


    And yes, this was a genuine offer. Ardi was certain that, had he declined, the ¡°gardener¡± (as his mother had called him in her letter) would have indeed turned and left. But¡­


    The young man looked at the crowd heading toward the station building and then down the steps leading to the hill¡¯s base, where cabs and a few delivery trucks awaited travelers. In Delpas, unlike the Metropolis, the public transportation system left much to be desired ¡ª as it did throughout much of the Empire.


    Reaching 17 Stonemasons Street would be far simpler with the Cloak¡¯s help than if he tried to make his own way there.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardi said sincerely.


    The Cloak nodded in a restrained manner, and they walked through the station¡¯s doors together. Inside, frost had crept over certain spots, and the few clerks behind the counters shivered slightly from the wind that whipped through the building.


    ¡°They promised to fix the boilers yesterday,¡± a female clerk complained, teeth chattering.


    ¡°Only a few more hours, Erite,¡± her colleague consoled her. ¡°Then we¡¯ll get our well-earned rest.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s if we don¡¯t freeze before then¡­ achoo!¡±


    ¡°Want some tea?¡±


    ¡°Yes, please.¡±


    For some reason, this scene ¡ª the way the two station clerks took turns drinking from a tin cup full of amber-colored tea ¡ª brought a smile to Ardi¡¯s face. Together with the Cloak, he walked through the waiting hall, where the board was already displaying the schedule of upcoming departures. Tonight, only one train would be leaving Delpas, and it was bound for the Azure Sea.


    He wondered what sort of business was pressing enough to pull people away from their celebrations and send them on a journey on the most important night of the year.


    He and the gardener descended the staircase and approached an old car with amusingly small wheels and a few dents on its fenders.


    ¡°Is the Second Chancery having trouble with their transportation budget?¡± Ardi asked casually, recalling the contraption in Cat¡¯s possession.


    ¡°Our funding was cut two years ago,¡± the gardener replied, lifting the hood and fiddling with a tangle of tubes stemming from the engine. ¡°The Upper Chamber keeps trying to strangle us, but we¡¯re still holding on and¡­ So, that¡¯s how your Witch¡¯s Gaze works, huh? You start thinking about something, and out it comes, unbidden.¡±


    Ardi only shrugged. He wasn¡¯t surprised that the gardener was well-informed about his passenger¡¯s peculiarities.


    ¡°Get in, Mr. Egobar,¡± the Cloak said, slipping into the driver¡¯s seat.


    Ardan opened the door, stashed his staff inside, placed his bag and satchel on the floor, then circled the car and took the seat on the opposite side. He liked riding on the right.


    The old engine coughed a few times, grumbling irritably at being forced to run in the cold, and then pulled the car down the winding, serpentine road that descended toward the town below.


    They soon passed the port, where barges were mostly being unloaded after hauling in ore from the eastern shores of Blue Lake, where the coal mines lay. The massive vessels moved along a narrow channel cleared of ice, connecting the two banks of the vast lake that, due to its size, could easily have been mistaken for a sea.


    But after the vastness of the Swallow Ocean, the frozen expanse stretching toward the dark line of the horizon no longer stirred Ardi¡¯s heart with awe. It was beautiful, yes, but¡­


    In silence, they turned out of the industrial district, where factories and processing stations had shut down for the coming festivities, and the car rolled along the cobbled streets of Delpas¡¯ central avenue. Designed for four lanes ¡ª two in each direction ¡ª it would have once struck Ardi as an engineering marvel, though now it hardly seemed wider than Markov Street, the street beside his apartment back in the capital.


    Low buildings stood on either side of them. They had two, three stories at most. Made from stone and brick, some were adorned with sparse garlands or window displays with hand-painted signs for the occasional cafe or bar. Ardi even spotted an old, clearly unpopular saloon huddled beside the more sophisticated ¡°Blue Lake Bistro,¡± which stood side by side with its older neighbor.


    Occasionally, stables could be seen, though they were currently locked. Even so, Ardi did catch sight of a few riders trotting along the edge of the road.


    It felt like he¡¯d not only left the Metropolis behind in terms of distance, but also in time. Here, despite the milder weather, there wasn¡¯t a single modern, powerful vehicle capable of reaching fifty kilometers per hour ¡ª a common sight in the heart of the Metropolis.


    Not to mention the fact that, apart from the main avenue, no other streets bore Ley-lamps, and mostly oil lamps burned in people¡¯s homes, with their stoves sending black wisps of smoke drifting above the rooftops.


    ¡°Will you make it home in time?¡± Ardan asked.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Your tires,¡± the young man clarified. ¡°There¡¯s a layer of frozen earth on them. You live outside of town, I presume. Judging by your posture, I¡¯d say you¡¯re based at a military post.¡±


    The Cloak, aside from a brief flicker of his eyebrows, showed no reaction to Ardan¡¯s comment.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make it,¡± he replied calmly. ¡°It¡¯s only eight o¡¯clock now. There¡¯s still time before midnight.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t want the man watching over his family to miss the celebration. That would be less than ideal.


    After about fifteen minutes, they turned off the main (and only) avenue and wound their way through streets lined with private residences. Occasionally, small shops appeared ¡ª mostly grocers and provisions stores, though they did pass a couple of fuel stations with two or three pumps, and they even saw another modest saloon that was as run-down as its companion in the center.


    The houses in Delpas looked quite...ordinary. Just like the ones recently built in Evergale. They were two-story buildings, almost square, with sloping roofs, a porch where one could place a small table and chair, modest gardens, and usually a fence bordering their neighbor¡¯s property.


    Illuminated by the glow of windows, where townsfolk were wrapping up their holiday preparations, Ardi noticed a signpost. It was a simple, white post planted by the intersection, with several labeled arrows indicating directions.


    ¡°Stop here, please,¡± Ardan requested.


    ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± the gardener noted, slowing down slightly.


    ¡°That¡¯s why I asked you to stop,¡± Ardi insisted.


    The car creaked under the chassis, and they pulled over to the side of the road, coming to a halt.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardan said.


    He collected his belongings and stepped out of the car. The gardener watched him and¡­silently waved before turning around and heading back the way they¡¯d come. There¡¯d been nothing left to say, and Ardi understood this perfectly. Slinging his bag over his shoulder again, he set off down the street.


    Beneath his feet, packed snow crunched, and on either side, along the fences and road, rose waves of snowbanks. They were modest by most people¡¯s standards, and to Ardi, they were barely noticeable.


    From behind the fences, cheerful shouts and laughter echoed. Children played, romping in their yards with friends, brothers, and sisters. Their parents bustled in kitchens and living rooms, while friends checked the time for their visits and made sure all the presents were accounted for.


    Somewhere far off, the Face of Light¡¯s church was preparing a service for the devout. And there was a shelter with beds and simple food ready for those in need.


    Just as he had done many years ago, Ardan easily found his way through the houses, as though guided by an inner compass of feelings that glowed like a beacon near his heart. Soon, he was standing before a low fence.


    It was a mere meter, or maybe slightly taller. Behind it stood a three-story house with a lovely porch, a stone staircase leading up to it, and a gabled roof supported by two intricately-carved pine columns.


    Nearby, to his surprise, there was even a garage attached, and across from it, a wide gate with a sturdy latch. The windows were layered with double panes and insulated between frames to hold in warmth. Smoke rose from the chimney, while several neighboring ones lay still and silent.


    The house had several fireplaces, each separate from the others, preventing the scent of smoke from spreading through the rooms. Cassara hadn¡¯t been exaggerating. This was truly a grand house ¡ª beautiful, spacious, and built for more than four people.


    Two of those residents were in the yard now, shaping the snowy figure of an angel. They were trying to fashion wings for it, but the snow, damp as it was, resisted their efforts.


    ¡°Hey, Erti, what¡¯s wrong?¡±


    A little girl with chubby cheeks, a nose with a slight bump, chestnut hair, and wide, expressive eyes looked at her older brother with concern. He¡¯d suddenly stopped, standing still, then straightened without turning to look.


    When he finally did turn around, he and Ardan ¡ª who had by this time unlatched the gate and stepped inside ¡ª locked eyes.


    Erti had changed over the past six months. He¡¯d grown broader at the shoulders and heavier in the face. His cheeks were flushed with a healthy glow, and his gaze no longer looked dull or ill, but had a hint of a lively, youthful spark to it. He¡¯d even shot up a bit, giving him the silhouette of a grown and very tall man from behind.


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    He was dressed in a gray, fur-lined coat. He adjusted his cap, which had slipped sideways, then¡­


    They embraced. They embraced so tightly that it was as if they were trying to squeeze the life out of each other. Nearby lay Ardi¡¯s satchel, bag, and staff, none of which concerned him right now. He couldn¡¯t have cared less if those infernal magic books got wet, if the staff¡¯s wood absorbed the moisture, or if the bag¡¯s frame rusted away entirely.


    He just held his brother, and his brother squeezed back, as if testing who could hold on the hardest.


    ¡°Now, let me take a proper look at you.¡± Ardan pulled back, gripping Erti¡¯s shoulders and setting him squarely before him. They hadn¡¯t quite evened out in height, but it was clear that someday, Ertan would catch up to him. ¡°Well, little brother, it looks like I won¡¯t be giving you piggyback rides anymore.¡±


    Erti smiled and sniffed, breathing heavily and blinking quickly ¡ª a sure sign he was holding back tears.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he suddenly wilted. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t write. I was just so ashamed that I couldn¡¯t help-¡±


    Ardan hugged him again, pulling him close and resting his chin on Erti¡¯s head. In that moment, something within him fell into place, like an old, intricate puzzle that had never quite fit together before. He felt, just like he had on the day Erti was born, when he¡¯d spoken words over the baby boy resembling a wrinkled eggplant, as though they were one.


    ¡°You and I, brother,¡± Ardi said in Matabar, ¡°we¡¯re a pack. Always were, and always will be.¡±


    ¡°We pack are,¡± Erti responded haltingly, his breathing steadying.


    ¡°Brother?¡±


    Ardan and Erti loosened their embrace and looked over to find Kena looking a little shy. By the Sleeping Spirits... She was the same age as that girl from the bank¡­


    Ardi shook off the thought. He crouched down and opened his arms. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, Kena dashed forward, and he swept her up gently but firmly, then abruptly lifted her high up.


    ¡°Who hasn¡¯t flown in a while?¡±


    ¡°Put me down!¡± She squealed, laughing and playfully pounding his shoulders with her small fists. ¡°Put me down, fang-face!¡±


    ¡°Awoooooooo,¡± Ardan howled, spinning on his heels. ¡°I¡¯ll spin you ¡®round and toss you into the snow!¡±


    And she kept laughing. Her laughter was so bright and carefree. Her long, thick chestnut hair fluttered over her funny little coat. Kena was practically a copy of their mother. And though Ardan felt strange, mixed emotions toward his sister, that didn¡¯t mean he didn¡¯t love her. It was just¡­


    Everything was so complicated.


    ¡°Ardi!¡±


    A voice rang out, familiar and warm. Ardi lowered Kena to the snow and turned toward the house. There, in her house slippers, a lovely blue dress that covered her fully, and her hair carefully pinned up, stood his mother.


    Over the past half year, it seemed like she had... grown younger. Certain lines had softened, a few gray strands had disappeared, and her hands, always calloused, were still marked, but differently ¡ª not from hard labor, but from something she cherished.


    She even stood straighter and smiled more warmly now. Just like when he was a child.


    Ardan ran up to her, hugged her, and lifted her off the ground, burying his face in her hair. She smelled of flour and blackberries. She smelled like home.


    A lump caught in his throat, but he held it back. No tears would betray him now, no matter how hard it was.


    She rested her cheek on his head and pressed him close to her neck.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right, my boy,¡± she whispered, gently smoothing his hair. ¡°It¡¯s all right¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he replied. ¡°I promised I¡¯d make it by New Year¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°You did,¡± she murmured, ¡°and I promised you a blackberry pie.¡±


    Ardi grinned almost foolishly. And truth be told, in that moment, he didn¡¯t care one bit about the blackberry pie, nor the Second Chancery with its Orcish Jackets, the Grand, the Great Princes, or the elves, not even the Emperor himself. He was hugging his mother. What more could he need?


    ¡°This is becoming a tradition, big guy,¡± the man standing by the door said. ¡°Meeting you with the whole lot in the dead of winter. Last time, though, you were a lot smaller, and it was morning, not night. Are we going to stand out here all evening?¡±


    Ardi set his mother down and looked over to see Kelly. He looked exactly as Ardan remembered him. Average height, solid build, with slightly chipped teeth and a hard gaze. Only now, instead of tall boots and comfortable leather cavalry pants with a tucked-in linen shirt, he wore a double-breasted suit and a tie. And he looked... comically out of place in them.


    ¡°I know,¡± Kelly tugged at his collar, loosening the knot of his tie. ¡°But your mother insisted I dress up for the occasion. I think I looked fine in my shirt too.¡±


    Ardan couldn¡¯t hold back a laugh. By the Sleeping Spirits, at that moment, he was even happy to see this old sheriff.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go inside,¡± his mother reminded them. ¡°We¡¯ll freeze out here, and midnight is coming soon.¡±


    Erti had already stepped onto the porch, holding Ardan¡¯s belongings and staff, while little Kena beamed beside him, all twenty, or perhaps even twenty-two, of her teeth on display.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Ardi nodded, putting an arm around his mother¡¯s and his brother¡¯s shoulders and guiding them into the house.


    At the door, he paused and glanced back toward the station on the hill, which was now hidden under a shroud of darkness. If this had been one of his great-grandfather¡¯s tales, the story would¡¯ve ended here, but¡­


    ***


    ¡°No way,¡± Kelly scoffed, sipping whiskey from a faceted glass. ¡°Twenty stories high?¡±


    ¡°And some even taller than that,¡± Ardi nodded, stuffing his face with a piece of blackberry pie.


    His mother had kept her promise. She¡¯d baked a pie made from berries in the heart of winter. Where she¡¯d found them, she hadn¡¯t said. But the results spoke for themselves. The pie had a crisp, golden-brown crust and a crumbly base filled with preserves and berries. It melted in his mouth, crunched under his teeth, and filled his throat with sweet, slightly tart juices.


    Ardi wasn¡¯t usually a glutton, but he couldn¡¯t help himself and, admittedly, had eaten more than half the pie.


    The clock¡¯s hands were already nearing two in the morning. Outside, the night sky had been painted with the bursts of fireworks, and the streets had finally quieted, with even the rowdiest groups either drifting into warm cafes and bars or, taking advantage of the holiday, retreating to their beds to rest and recharge.


    ¡°And there really are no horses?¡± Kelly continued, undeterred.


    ¡°Not that I saw,¡± Ardan shrugged. ¡°Everyone was driving. And the cars were far newer than anything in Delpas. Some even had no roofs and went faster than the quickest horses you¡¯ve seen here.¡±


    ¡°No roof?¡± The former sheriff snorted. ¡°Now you¡¯re pulling my leg.¡±


    ¡°Why would I?¡± Ardi smirked.


    ¡°I have no idea what goes on in that head of yours, big guy,¡± Kelly waved a hand dismissively. ¡°But I started doubting you the moment you mentioned that... what did you call it? The Grand. And, by the Eternal Angels, if it hadn¡¯t been for that picture of you with the Emperor¡­¡± He nodded toward a black-and-white clipping that his mother had lovingly framed and hung above the living room fireplace, among the other family photos. ¡°I¡¯d think you ended up freezing your brain over there.¡±


    ¡°Is it true that in the Metropolis, it¡¯s as bright at night as it is during the day?¡± His mother asked, stroking Kena¡¯s hair as the girl, who was wearing a festive pink dress already stained twice over, dozed in her lap.


    ¡°They say that happens in early summer,¡± Ardan replied, licking crumbs from his fingers. ¡°So, I didn¡¯t see it.¡±


    ¡°And those trams?¡± Came a sleepy, slurring question from Erti, who was sitting on the floor near the hearth. Even now, he still always felt cold. ¡°They¡¯re really like the train cars, only without the locomotive?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ardi confirmed. ¡°They run on tracks laid right along the city streets. Only they¡¯re much smaller than railway cars and set flush with the street, so cars can drive over them.¡±


    Kelly whistled, and his mother shook her head, pressing a kiss to the top of the yawning Kena¡¯s head.


    ¡°All right, then,¡± Kelly set his glass down on the table, tapping his knees as he rose from the cozy armchair upholstered in soft fabric. ¡°Come on, Erti, let¡¯s put your sister to bed, and it¡¯s high time you got some sleep, too.¡±


    ¡°But I-¡±


    ¡°No buts,¡± Kelly cut him off. ¡°You have your procedures tomorrow afternoon. And last time when you were tired, the doctors said it was pointless in your state. So, no arguments.¡±


    Erti muttered something under his breath, but he stood, hugged his brother, then pressed a quick kiss to Shaia¡¯s cheek, and finally, he lifted his sleeping sister with great care. She didn¡¯t even wake.


    ¡°Come on, come on,¡± Kelly encouraged him.


    It was amusing to watch Erti, slouched and sulking like a grumpy dog, following behind the former Sheriff of Evergale, whom he now towered over by nearly half a head. The three of them left the living room and disappeared around the corner.


    Inside, the house was as spacious as it had looked to be from the outside. The first floor held the workshop, a wide hall where a decorated tree now stood, an ¡°imperial staircase,¡± and off to the side, a combined kitchen and living area with a small winter garden. The kitchen itself had a Ley-powered oven and stovetops, along with a state-of-the-art refrigerator.


    The refrigerator ¡ª a large and somewhat noisy appliance ¡ª was the latest convenience for any housewife. It allowed them to keep perishables fresh year-round, an excellent alternative to an ice cellar.


    On the second floor were the playroom, the two guest rooms, and a shower room, while the third floor held five bedrooms with two washrooms and a separate room for Kelly and Shaia.


    The walls were covered in understated but elegant wallpaper. The floors were parqueted, and the interior window frames were reinforced with stone inlays to retain warmth. Although the house had not been built from stone but brick, the walls had been layered several rows deep and sealed with resins. Together with the felted cords in the corners, this structure could easily withstand even Delpas¡¯ respectable fifteen degrees below zero, which was hardly comparable to the frigid thirty below in the mountains of the Alcade, or even the cold in the Metropolis, but still enough to warrant careful insulation.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go place the presents,¡± Shaia suggested.


    For New Year¡¯s, there was a tradition of leaving gifts under the tree for family members, usually done discreetly so that any children wouldn¡¯t notice it happen. That way, they could be told the story of how the Eternal Angels had delivered their gifts in memory of the First Prophet and his disciples, who¡¯d brought offerings to the lands where they had spread their teachings.


    Thanks to his mother, Ardan knew a great deal about the history of the Church of the Face of Light. It stated that God, if such a being existed, had appeared as a blind, old woman to a simple potter, showing him her divine ways. The potter had taken these revelations to the people, and when he¡¯d eventually died of old age, the next Prophet had taken up the standard, bearing a golden triangle as he journeyed across the world. And so it continued until the Holy See of Uldjingood was established, where, in the sacred city of Arma, the Prophets now sat upon the golden throne, spreading the teachings of the Face of Light.


    The holy city still stood to this day, and something like the nine hundredth or so Prophet was currently seated there.


    However, a few centuries ago, the Church had fractured. A group of believers had broken away, accusing the Prophet of false teachings. They then established their own city of Parma, in the Faithful Uldjingook, where their own Prophet now resided.


    And this didn¡¯t even account for the older schism that happened thousands of years earlier, which saw the formation of the Holy Emirates of Al¡¯Zafir and a third line of Prophets ¡ª or perhaps the second, since they were older than Parma.


    In short, it was a tangled history.


    Ardi liked the tradition of gifts, though.


    He retrieved the carefully-wrapped packages he¡¯d brought in his bag, most of his savings having been spent on them ¡°just in case.¡± For Kena, he had found a wooden winged horse toy made from a special wood that couldn¡¯t burn. For Erti, he had picked up a felt hat that was the height of fashion. For his mother, he¡¯d gotten a few rolls of rare, imported fabric that could only be found in the Metropolis. And for Kelly, he¡¯d bought a work knife with a handle carved from the ivory of a northern Scaidavin elephant. This species had tusks twisted into spirals and was covered in fur so thick it looked like armor.


    His mother opened a storage closet and brought out several boxes. Together, sitting in the hall, they arranged the gifts, placing them under the tree so that Erti and Kena could discover them like magic in the morning and begin unwrapping them immediately.


    Neither he nor Shaia said a word. Ardan simply enjoyed being close to his mother, breathing in her familiar scent and basking in her warmth.


    ¡°Have you been eating well?¡±


    ¡°Of course, Mom,¡± Ardi replied, tucking the wooden box with the knife deeper beneath the tree¡¯s branches, which were adorned with numerous glass ornaments symbolizing the stars in the night sky ¡ª they were a ¡°Light in the darkest darkness.¡± ¡°And how are you all here? Have you settled in?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re managing,¡± she replied honestly. ¡°Kelly still struggles with Delpas¡¯ damp weather, and Kena and Erti¡­ They miss their friends a lot. And you? Have you made any friends?¡±


    Ardan thought of Boris and Elena, who he hadn¡¯t even had a chance to warn about his departure. Had he warned anyone, really? And then, it struck him ¡ª the Cloaks were in his apartment! What if something happened to Tess...


    ¡°And what¡¯s her name?¡± His mother asked with a knowing smile.


    ¡°Who?¡± Ardi didn¡¯t immediately follow.


    Shaia reached out, gently stroking his cheek.


    ¡°When you talked about Anna, you spoke warmly, my boy,¡± she mused, seemingly out of nowhere. ¡°But just now¡­ your eyes reminded me of your father¡¯s. When he worried about me, his pupils would narrow, just like yours did right now. Only his would turn into slits, while yours just lengthen a bit.¡±


    His mother had always been exceptionally attentive to details. Perhaps it was from her that Ardan had inherited this quality, which had made it so easy for him to learn under Shali¡¯s guidance.


    ¡°Mom, I¡­ I wanted to talk about my father.¡±


    Ardi placed the last package beneath the tree and wriggled out from under its branches. He then helped his mother up, and together, they returned to the fireplace, where Shaia sank into an armchair, and Ardan sat on the floor, leaning his back against her legs. The firelight capered over his face, flickering in a lively, ever-changing dance while playfully snapping at the logs.


    ¡°I wanted to talk about Father and¡­ Great-Grandfather, Mom,¡± Ardi added.


    He felt a shiver run down her legs. Now Ardan was sure ¡ª Shaia knew. She¡¯d known all along¡­


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean, dear,¡± she said, touching his shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s late. I think I¡¯ll go lie down. We can talk tomorrow. You¡¯re here now, and everything¡¯s all right¡­ And after the holidays, we¡¯ll visit the engineering bureau where Anna¡¯s brother works. I¡¯ve arranged for you to have an interview with the chief engineer. After all, six months in the Grand is¡­ Well, never mind. We¡¯ll handle it tomorrow.¡±


    Shaia was rambling a bit, which was unusual for her, and her breath was a little uneven. She turned to go, heading for the stairs, only to realize that Ardan had remained sitting by the hearth.


    ¡°Son?¡±


    ¡°Father was a soldier, Mom,¡± Ardi said softly. ¡°Major Hec Abar¡­ But why did he become one? Why did he leave the Shanti¡¯Ra gang and flee to the border with Fatia? And why did he sacrifice himself for the children and-¡±


    ¡°Ardan,¡± Shaia¡¯s tone stopped him in his tracks. She hardly ever used his full name. ¡°Come to bed.¡±


    For a brief moment, he saw in this gentle woman a shadow of the mother he remembered from his childhood ¡ª the stoic wife of an Alcade Ranger, quick to handle a rifle and unafraid to face down a sheriff. Brave and resilient.


    But only for a moment. Shaia seemed to waver right after, softening back to the gentle woman she¡¯d become, no longer capable of bearing the weight of her old self.


    Though she looked better now, she certainly wasn¡¯t getting any younger.


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a child anymore, Mom,¡± Ardi interrupted her gently, his tone tender. ¡°I haven¡¯t been a child since that day seven years ago. And now¡­¡±


    He turned away, watching the flames in the fireplace.


    ¡°I need to know, Mom,¡± his voice wavered slightly. ¡°I need to know¡­¡±


    Seconds turned into minutes, until finally, Shaia wiped a tear from her cheek and said, ¡°Wait here a moment.¡±


    She ascended the stairs, and Ardan listened to the crackle of the fire as the logs slowly burned away.


    Soon, his mother returned, gathering the hem of her dress as she sat beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder and handed him two old, sealed letters.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to give you these,¡± she said, her tears falling hot and heavy. ¡°Because¡­ Because I know, my boy, that once you read them¡­ you¡¯ll leave.¡±


    ¡°Mom, I-¡±


    ¡°No, no, I know it,¡± she shook her head. ¡°You¡¯ll leave¡­ But promise me you¡¯ll come back. At least sometimes. Even if only for a few days. So that I can look at you, hold you, and kiss you. Promise me that. Please.¡±


    ¡°Mom, what are you-¡±


    ¡°Just promise me,¡± Shaia insisted.


    He looked into her eyes and saw something akin to his own reflection, that feeling you get when staring at yourself in the mirror after a great loss. You¡¯d tell yourself, again and again, that you knew this would happen, and yet, deep down, you¡¯d hoped it wouldn¡¯t.


    And now it was here.


    ¡°I promise,¡± Ardan said firmly.


    ¡°Good.¡± Shaia wiped her tears with her hand, placing the letters before him. ¡°And for the next three days, you¡¯ll stay with us too.¡±


    ¡°What are you-¡±


    ¡°Even as a child, Ardi,¡± she said, closing her eyes and nestling her cheek against his shoulder, ¡°when you first opened your eyes and looked at this vast, foreign world, I knew. I knew that you were destined to only stay with me for a while. That something out there would always call to you, something beyond the hill, something hidden in the forest¡¯s shadows, or some new creature howling strangely, or a bird singing an unfamiliar tune¡­ But I had hoped, I had hoped so dearly, that this time wouldn¡¯t fly by so quickly. I hoped that I could watch your kind eyes a little longer, hear your laughter, smile with you at the sun. You loved the sun as a child. You thought it looked like a pancake. Do you remember? You probably don¡¯t. You were just a little tot back then...¡±


    She brought his face closer, tilted it slightly, and kissed his forehead. Then, leaning on his shoulder, she stood up and smiled, as she had back in his childhood. It was a smile that would make flowers bloom, or at least that was what it had seemed like to a child.


    ¡°My son¡­ Don¡¯t hold it against me that I didn¡¯t want you to read them,¡± she said, turning toward the stairs. ¡°And don¡¯t blame them, either.¡±


    Shaia departed, leaving Ardan alone by the crackling hearth with the two letters.


    ¡°To the little rascal, from Grandpa,¡± said the inscription on one. On the other, ¡°To my son, from his father.¡±

 Chapter 50 - Answers

    In the hearth, a little flame danced with a playful, cheerful spirit. Like a red-haired, mischievous boy, it tossed itself around in complex leaps, cracking the dry wood as it moved. With each bow, it tipped an invisible hat, tossing its orange mane of sparks across the hearth, and with the toe of an unseen boot, sent blackened ashes falling to the ground. And in a strange, mesmerizing way, flecks of snow would sometimes rise around it, only to settle back down again as a crisp carpet of ashen frost. Dozens of delighted spectators, stretching out in long shadows, watched the dance.


    Ardi sat and stared at the letters lying on the floor before him. He¡¯d waited for so long to find all of it out, to hear the words of his father and great-grandfather, but now¡­ Now he wasn¡¯t sure if he had the strength to pick up the envelopes and break their seals.


    Outside, the wind howled. Like a persistent hound, it scraped at the window, leaving behind long scratches of white frost that blended into vague silhouettes and shapes.


    Ardan closed his eyes, trying to calm his wildly beating heart. It didn¡¯t work. For a moment, he felt as though he couldn¡¯t breathe, and nearly blamed the fireplace, but it was only puffing gently into the wide chimney without spilling a trace of smoke into the room.


    ¡°It¡¯s like ripping off a bandage,¡± he tried to reassure himself. ¡°Just¡­ quick and¡­¡±


    And then what? What if in there¡­


    No. It was too late now. And honestly, when had it not been too late? Tess had said that Ardan was lucky, that he was free to choose his own fate, but the two envelopes on the floor before him seemed to suggest otherwise.


    The first letter he took into his hands was his grandfather¡¯s.


    It smelled of snow and an oak, an oak that had once been strong and sturdy, but was now bent and weathered. It hadn¡¯t given in to the weight of beetles or storms, but the relentless march of time, that tireless judge that decided the fates of mountains and seas alike.


    Ardan was pretty certain that one of Atta¡¯nha¡¯s poems had spoken of time like this. The Fae loved poems and music, and had gained such mastery over these arts that it was a match for their skill in magic.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get distracted,¡± muttered Ardi, snapping the wax seal.


    It crumbled into small, amber fragments. Inside was a single page, written in tiny, tight script nearly identical to Ardan¡¯s own. Only the letters were more ornate, crafted with a flawless calligraphic elegance.


    ¡°Hello, great-grandson.


    You were born today. It¡¯s a good winter¡¯s day. The wind is blowing from the eastern peaks of our mountains. The sun is a bit grumpy, ducking behind the clouds every so often. I¡¯m sitting in the shade and writing this letter to you.


    I don¡¯t know when you¡¯ll see it ¡ª or if you¡¯ll see it at all. But your father, mother, and I agreed that there are¡­ many things you don¡¯t need to know. A lot of it is about your family and those raising you. Why torment you like that? And yet, Hector and I wanted to leave these letters, just in case you ever decide to know the truth. Though the truth itself is a fickle thing. Like a dockside girl and¡­ yes, never mind, you little rascal.


    The moment I saw you, saw your funny, amber eyes with that spark in them, I knew ¡ª this one would be a rascal. And, forgive me, I loved you from your very first breath. You are such a tiny thing. A little kitten, small enough to fit in my hand.


    I love you, you little rascal. And so, forgive me¡­¡±


    ¡­Here the letter bore smudges from tears, and Ardi tried to hold back his own¡­


    ¡°¡­for not being able to tell you everything I wanted. Forgive the fact that I could never teach you how to hear the song of the winds, to see what lies in the shadows of snow and clouds; forgive me for the fact that you don¡¯t know how to tell one herb from another, or how to whisper the words that¡¯ll carry you over lakes and rivers.


    But I¡¯ll tell you stories. Stories that might teach you to at least Hear. I¡¯ll start making them up today. Maybe one day, they¡¯ll help you, should you ever meet a certain feisty she-wolf.


    Forgive me for not being able to tell you more. If you¡¯re reading this, perhaps you already know that bargains made with the people of the City on the Hill cannot be broken. I am sadly no exception. That¡¯s why you won¡¯t learn from me the art of the Aean¡¯Hane or Star Magic, though I¡¯m no great master of it. But I hope you¡¯ll one day use the key to find my good friend¡¯s book.


    Nicholas may ramble, and he hadn¡¯t been practicing Star Magic long when we met, but¡­ it¡¯s something, at least.


    If, by the time you read this letter, you know my story with the Dark Lord, then¡­ that¡¯s how it was. Yes, I know, it sounds dreadful.


    But that¡¯s how it was.


    It¡¯s far from what one might wish to hear, but I can¡¯t change anything about it, rascal.


    That¡¯s how it was.


    It just so happened that I helped Jacob (I hope it¡¯s no secret to you who the Lord was under that guise). It just so happened that I taught him a skill, and for that, I paid the price of never again being able to teach the secrets of the Aean¡¯Hane. It just so happened that I made him first a hero to the whole Empire, and then guided him to the worst of fates, for which I paid a higher price than anyone else.


    It just so happened that I killed for him, and then I killed him, too. But it was too late by then. And it was far too pointless.


    For centuries, I chased after things that didn¡¯t matter, for those who cared for nothing.


    But¡­ that¡¯s how it was¡­


    My hands are stained with blood, rascal. And the night you were born, I tried all night to wash them clean in the river, but it seems I failed.


    That¡¯s how it was¡­


    Most of my life can be summed up with those words:


    That¡¯s how it was¡­


    Live in such a way, you little rascal, that when you write to your great-grandson one day, you don¡¯t have to tell him, ¡°That¡¯s how it was.¡± Live in such a way that you can lift your own little rascal onto your shoulders with pride and, as you show him the Alcade, you can also tell him how to listen to the wind, speak with forests, and run among the birds and snow leopards.


    I love you with all my dark, cursed heart, you little rascal.


    Your great-grandfather¡­ though that¡¯s a bit long, isn¡¯t it?


    Let¡¯s keep it simple:


    Grandpa.¡±


    P.S. Forgive me for not being able to tell you this in person, but¡­ that¡¯s how it was¡­¡±


    Ardan read the letter several times, then set it aside. He leaned back, resting his head on the edge of the sofa, and stretched his legs out on the carpet, almost touching the stinging sparks.


    The firelight flickered across the ceiling. Ardi looked at it, seeing nothing. Salty tears clouded his vision, refusing to fall down his cheeks.


    Such a short letter. And yet, there was so much pain and regret there. Ardan didn¡¯t care in the slightest about this Nicholas his great-grandfather had mentioned ¡ª the Stranger to him ¡ª nor about his bargains with the Fae.


    His grandpa had revealed almost nothing in his letter, and yet in that silence, he had said more than any words or tales could. He hadn¡¯t been able to speak of things that now so troubled Ardi. Which meant something had kept him silent.


    Something¡­


    Ardan raised a hand and wiped his wet eyes.


    It didn¡¯t matter. It was insignificant. He held in his hands the first words his grandfather had ever spoken to him, but by fate¡¯s will, they¡¯d also become the last. And now Ardi was left only with the made-up tales where that old Aean¡¯Hane had hidden echoes of his craft ¡ª or maybe, at some point, he had simply come to love telling them to an eager child forever looking toward the horizon.


    ¡°Grandpa¡­¡± Ardi whispered. ¡°I love you too.¡±


    And his words, slipping from his lips, were carried up by sparks and through the chimney, flying along with the cold wind toward those familiar mountains.


    Ardan was already opening the second envelope. Unlike his grandfather¡¯s, this one contained far more pages, all of them written in that fine, tight handwriting. Evidently, it was an inherited trait.


    ¡°Hello, son.


    Today, I became a father for the first time. The moment you cried out as the winter air cut your lungs and the moment you began to wail, clutching at my hair and your mother¡¯s with your tiny hands, I understood something important. Something very important. But if you asked me to say what it was exactly, I couldn¡¯t tell you.


    It¡¯s just that life, once drab and meaningless, suddenly became so vivid, so full of importance. And all the burdens I¡¯d once carried simply stepped aside.


    I wanted to hold you, but¡­ I couldn¡¯t. Instead, I went with your great-grandfather to the river, to wash our hands. That¡¯s when we agreed to write you these letters. And may the Eternal Angels, the Sleeping Spirits, or even the Old Gods hear my wish: I would be happy if you never had to read them.


    But if life has taught me anything, son, it¡¯s that for every evil deed we commit, we must pay the price sooner or later. Maybe it¡¯s because wrongdoings attract one another like iron to a magnet; maybe it¡¯s the reckoning of those we¡¯ve harmed or slain, or perhaps it¡¯s just coincidence.


    I don¡¯t know.


    But what I do know for certain is that someday, you¡¯ll want to know the story of our family, from us, not from those who might try to tell it to you.


    Let¡¯s start with your great-grandfather. He was one of the greatest Aean¡¯Hane (you probably already know what that means) not only of our tribe, but of all the Firstborn over the past few thousand years. No one knows exactly how many names he possesses, but, unfortunately, he hasn¡¯t been able to use them in a long time. Partly because he grew old and weak, and partly because he made deals that cost him dearly.


    This is my first piece of advice to you, son: never agree to pay a cost you can¡¯t afford.


    Your great-grandmother was a simple Matabar. A gatherer, one of the disciples of Lenos and his sons. These days, no spirits remain in the Alcade except the Guardians themselves, so these words won¡¯t mean anything to you. And I hope you never come to know the beastly paths and, if you¡¯re lucky, you grow up to be an accountant. Your grandfather was good with numbers, and your great-grandfather had a keen mind.


    I¡¯m not talking about my own blood here, but your mother¡¯s blood.


    So, why don¡¯t I want you to know the paths?


    Let¡¯s take it step by step.


    Your great-grandfather and great-grandmother had a daughter ¡ª my mother. This happened nearly a century after your great-grandfather went off to war with Gales. Yes, those days were long past, but it is what it is.


    Ectassus, as you know, lost that war. But we¡¯ll set your great-grandfather¡¯s story aside here. That¡¯s not mine to tell.


    Your grandmother joined with a simple hunter from a neighboring tribe, one we¡­ raided and conquered. Yes, don¡¯t fool yourself, son. The peaceful people made up of gatherers and hunters could never have subdued the mountain range that stretches across the continent on their own.


    We seized the Alcade not because it was fated to us by the Sleeping Spirits, but because the Matabar were ruthless and merciless to those they fought. We are strong, swift, and cunning. Our Listeners hear the voice of nature, and sometimes, our shamans leave the City on the Hill to teach the tribe new wisdom.


    That¡¯s how it used to be.


    Our tribe grew and expanded its lands until it controlled all the mountains from the west to the east. We settled. We divided into clans. Different tribes. And we feuded with each other, Ardan. Don¡¯t be mistaken about this, either. There has never been peace between the Matabar of different tribes. Just like there has never been peace among elves from different forests, dwarves from different mountains, orcs from different steppes, or any other Firstborn.


    In this, we are not so different from humans. Or perhaps they are not so different from us¡­ By the laws of our people, the tribe¡¯s name belongs to the victor, and the Egobar tribe has always been known for its warriors. Generation after generation, we learned from Ergar and his sons and, on rare occasions, from Guta and his sons as well.


    That¡¯s how we claimed the largest territories. In their center now stands the house where Shaia, your mother, gave birth to you.


    My father, your grandfather, died in one of the raids on a neighboring tribe before I was even two years old. I barely remember him.


    As for my mother¡­


    When the time came, son, a shaman from the City on the Hill arrived and conducted the ritual to choose my teacher. I was chosen by Skusty and Ergar ¡ª it is a great honor to learn from the Guardians, not merely their sons. Only the best of the Matabar children are given this chance. A Guardian can only teach one child every six years, so imagine my pride when I saw two at once wanting to teach me¡­


    In the end, I went with Ergar. I learned to be a warrior and a hunter. Fierce and merciless. I learned to kill with a single blow. To endure pain. To battle against cold and hunger. My hands became claws, my teeth fangs. I learned to don the skin of a snow leopard and walk among them as an equal. I fought many predators of the Alcade and knew no defeat. My skin bore scars from the claws, fangs and tusks of nearly every creature that walked the hunters¡¯ paths.


    After all, I am an Egobar. A warrior from the fiercest of the Matabar tribes. I am the grandson of a powerful Aean¡¯Hane, who made me toys in my childhood and told me of the paths.


    Then he vanished.


    And in the meantime, humans came to the mountains. With their cannons, rifles, cavalries, and Star Mages. And our scattered tribes, united only once under the banners of the Dark Lord, were shattered and crushed.


    That day, while I was still not yet finished with my training, I heard my mother¡¯s scream. And it reminded me that I was not a snow leopard, but a Matabar. It reminded me of that too soon.


    Ergar didn¡¯t want to let me go early ¡ª it went against the ways. We fought, and I won. But I didn¡¯t take the life of the Spirit Guardian. In return, he gave me his fang as a testament to my victory and promised to grant me one wish.


    I returned home, Ardan. I returned as a hunter who had earned the greatest honor ¡ª overcoming his own teacher in a fair fight. I had defeated the Spirit Guardian, but¡­


    Our lair was burning. Everyone was dead. My mother, torn apart by an artillery shell, lay by a dry stream.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Your great-grandfather never returned from the City on the Hill to help us. And whatever motives he might¡¯ve had and reasons he gives, I, no matter how hard I try, will never be able to forgive him for that.


    A fierce rage seized me then, Ardan. Terrible and scorching. It was so intense that it drove me up the Mountain of Memory, where, like our ancestors more than a century ago, I painted my body with the colors of war.


    I declared a hunt on the human tribe and descended the mountain to avenge my people.


    But I didn¡¯t know human paths and ways, and I nearly died on my first hunt. I was captured by marshals and taken, like some exotic animal, to be sold. That would have been the end of our tribe¡¯s story if not for the band of orcs from the Shanti¡¯Ra.


    They destroyed those marshals and took me in. They healed my wounds ¡ª both of the body and of the soul. They gave me purpose in my dark, hopeless life. The purpose of the hunt.


    For many years, I traveled with them. Wore their clothes. Sang their songs and spoke their language. I even became blood brothers with the chieftain¡¯s son. We mixed our blood and spoke words by the fire of the Sleeping Spirits.


    I killed, Ardan. I killed as many humans as I could find. And I¡¯m a good hunter. As Ergar once said: I was the best in many centuries of him teaching hunters. So, I found many.


    Old, young, weak, strong, healthy, sick. It made no difference to me, Ardan. My claws, fangs, and knife always found prey, and as I reveled in the blood, I sought an answer to my question: who am I, and what should I do now? I was the last of the Matabar¡­


    Yes, I thought I was the last. I didn¡¯t know there were other survivors in the Alcade. And by the time I learned of them, it was already too late. They had descended from the mountains and blended in with the human tribes. And then I truly became the last. And who knows where those years of banditry would have led if not for one incident.


    We learned that poachers from Delpas had been hired to escort a caravan of settlers. We set out after them. We tracked them down and killed them.


    We showed no mercy, doing things so terrible that if there really are Eternal Angels out there, the ones your mother speaks of, they wept. They wept for the humans we slaughtered and for us as well.


    There is no forgiveness for me, Ardan. Unfortunately, I realized that too late. And I realized it thanks to your great-grandfather.


    That night, I burst into one of the carriages. I¡¯d been shot by a revolver, but I didn¡¯t care. I tore that man apart and was about to do the same to his daughter when my eyes fell on the book in her hands.


    ¡°Legends and Myths of the Indigenous People of the Alcade. Stories of the Matabar.¡±


    I don¡¯t know why, but I didn¡¯t even touch her. I only took the book and read the legends and myths that the older hunters of our tribe had once told me. I was astonished. Why would the Empire print such literature when they themselves exterminated us?


    The girl lay unconscious, and I searched the entire carriage. I finally found a notebook belonging to Alexander Taakov. That was your great-grandfather on your mother¡¯s side. The man I killed with my own two hands.


    Most of his journal had burned away in the fire, but the page that changed my life¡­ I am giving it to you.¡±


    Ardan, pale-faced and with trembling hands, gingerly lifted the yellowed, slightly worn page taken from the travel journal.


    ¡°Day 316 of the investigation. Entry by Senior Investigator of the Second Chancery, Captain Alexander Taakov.


    Today, I finally managed to secure enough funding at the Black House to equip an expedition to the Alcade Mountains. Unfortunately, my dear wife has passed from consumption, so I will go with my daughter. I have no one to leave her with. My colleagues have advised against it, but I cannot do otherwise.


    While sorting through the archives, I came across discrepancies in the records of ¡®Operation Mountain Predator.¡¯ It was just a few mismatches in the expenditures, but still enough to make me wonder. Again, entry complete.


    Day 358 of the investigation. Entry by¡­ ande¡­¡±


    The ink was faded, making some parts nearly impossible to read.


    ¡°We have finally reached the foothills of the Alcade. Eternal Angels, how beautiful it is here. How freely my lungs fill with air. How clearly my mind thinks. And there, ahead, I see the majestic peaks of the mountains. They¡¯re getting closer and closer to us. And perhaps among them, I¡¯ll find the answer to why the tragedy happened. I am increasingly convinced that under the Black House¡¯s very nose, a conspiracy has been woven, one that took advantage of the Dark Lord¡¯s uprising. The question is: what is it? Maybe in the Alcade, I¡¯ll find a clue? I need to find any surviving Matabar descendants. Without their testimonies, my investigation, already at an impasse, cannot proceed. Entry complete.


    Day 373... Entry by Senior Investigator of the Second Chancery, Captain Alexander Taakov.


    On our way from Delpas, we encountered a patrol. By sheer luck, the patrol contained the grandson of one of the Matabar. He possessed a military token of the Sixth Division, Separate Reconnaissance Corps, Third Army, which had been taken from a dead soldier by his grandfather. What was the vanguard from the Fatian border doing during ¡®Operation Mountain Predator?¡¯ Why were they sent to the western frontier, across the entire country, instead of reinforcing the east? This division is renowned for its impeccable work and high efficiency in enemy territory, but even so, that was not enough to justify this. In any case, this is my first lead, other than the accounting records, after more than a year. But I haven¡¯t lost hope. I must drain this festering wound. And when I uncover who stands behind the extermination of our mountain brothers and sisters, we will destroy the conspirators, subjecting them to the most terrible tortures. This is our duty as descendants of the warband of the Kings of the Past. Sounds a bit grandiose, doesn¡¯t it? The prairies and the sight of the ever-growing mountains make me think lofty thoughts. I often contemplate the unity of the Empire. I must restore justice. Entry complete.


    Day 375. Taakov.


    We¡¯ve been attacked by the Shanti¡¯Ra orcs. Writing under fire. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll survive. I¡¯ve hidden my daughter in a chest. Whoever finds this diary ¡ª send it to the Black House. The Second Chancery must complete my investigation! For the glory of the Imp¡­¡±


    The last words were obscured by an old bloodstain, long since turned gray with age.


    Ardan felt like he had forgotten how to breathe. Everything blurred before his eyes. His ears rang, and his head throbbed. He no longer understood what was happening. He had no idea where the truth lay, and where the lies ended.


    All he could do was set the journal page aside and pick up his father¡¯s letter again.


    ¡°This is the truth, son. With my own two hands, I ended the life of the one who could have restored justice. I killed a man who called us brothers and sisters. A man who wanted nothing more than to bring peace and solace to the souls who had walked the paths of the Sleeping Spirits. Without even knowing it, I killed a man who might have been my guide to redemption.


    And in that moment, something changed. Something broke within me, Ardan. I looked at that girl in the chest, clutching a book of our tales. And¡­ I could no longer see her as prey. I saw a child. A little girl. Helpless and fragile. Just like the dozens I¡¯d¡­


    There¡¯s no justification for what I¡¯ve done, son. There isn¡¯t, wasn¡¯t, and never will be. None of those who fell by my claws deserved such a fate. Their hands bore not a drop of our blood. Their feet did not trample our sacred lands, nor did they desecrate our shrines and temples. In my agony, I had become the very thing I despised.


    I don¡¯t even remember taking the girl, her book, and running. Who knows how long my feet carried me through days and nights of the prairies? I only came to my senses in Kavest. There, I left the child ¡ª your grandmother, Shaia¡¯s mother ¡ª in the care of the Church of the Face of Light. But that¡¯s another story.


    I studied Alexander¡¯s journal day and night, trying to find the answers to my questions. Or rather, one single question. Who was behind ¡®Operation Mountain Predator?¡¯ And whose heart, not the hearts of dozens of innocent people, should have been ripped out by my claws?


    But I found no answer. I was never known for my intelligence, son. My body is sturdier than oak, my fangs sharper than steel, but my mind¡­ My mind is ordinary and unremarkable. But I am a hunter. I was trained to follow a trail.


    With the money I¡¯d accumulated from years of looting and banditry, I paid some smugglers for forged documents. That¡¯s how I became a soldier in the Empire¡¯s army. Within a year, I found myself on the Fatian border, in the very division your great-grandfather mentioned in his investigation.


    But an ordinary soldier could never gain access to the archives, nor, more importantly, to the last living witnesses of the operation. And so, I served. Faithfully and truly. I hoped that every shot I fired, every stab of my knife, every life taken from a Fatian trying to harm the Empire, would quiet the weeping I heard night after night.


    But it didn¡¯t. It never quieted. And to this day, son, every night, I see the faces and hear the cries of those I killed. They are waiting for me... to witness how I am going to be taken to hell. I know that. But I am not afraid. After seeing you, so small and helpless, I lost that fear that had haunted me since that night¡­


    During my service, Ardan, I encountered elven artillerymen, orc scouts, dwarf engineers, giant shock troops, and even a few goblin sappers in a neighboring unit who saved my skin once.


    My grandfather, your great-grandfather, often told me about Ectassus, where the Firstborn lived together. And what I saw on the border, among the mud, blood, and screams ¡ª Firstborn and humans fighting side by side for their homeland¡­ It was as though I had found myself in Ectassus. Only in a version of Ectassus that had not enslaved the human tribe. And I suddenly realized that my tribe had once controlled only a part of the Alcade, but now¡­ Now it could, along with its brothers and sisters ¡ª the elves, orcs, dwarves, and humans ¡ª lay claim to one sixth of all the world¡¯s land¡­ But that¡¯s not the point.


    And before I knew it, decades of my service had passed. Then there was an incident at an old, abandoned castle on the 43rd Height.


    There, we had to rescue a cavalry unit that had fallen into an ambush. During our defense against the Fatians, one of the signalmen assigned to us, an old scoundrel, let slip that, in his youth, he had been in a similar scrape in the Alcade Mountains.


    After we saved the cavalrymen, I managed to pry everything I could out of that old man. Over my years of service, I¡¯d become a decent torturer, Ardan. I¡¯m not proud of it, but in war, the same as during the hunt, you don¡¯t shun any methods.


    The old man told me that the order sent to the General Staff lacked the Defense Minister¡¯s signature, but the Chief of Staff approved it anyway.


    That¡¯s all I was able to uncover. It¡¯s not much, but enough to confirm your great-grandfather¡¯s theory. A conspiracy had taken root in the Empire, perhaps one that is still in place, and for some reason, it required the annihilation of our people.


    I don¡¯t know why. I don¡¯t know who hides in the shadows. The trail ended there, Ardan. The Chief of Staff, Duke-General Ephrem, has long since fed the worms. Maybe there are some traces to be found in the Black House or the Upper Chamber, but¡­ there¡¯s no path for me to follow there. I¡¯m no longer young. And the weight I carry is too heavy.


    During the next raid, I arranged things so that the army would believe me to be dead. That was the end of Hec Abar¡¯s story. And I, Hector Egobar, set out back home. Along the way, I visited Kavest to see how the girl was faring (by then, she should have had a family of her own) and, at the same time, to obtain new documents ¡ª luckily, smuggling tends to be a family trade, and the son of the man who¡¯d made my last set of papers took care of my request.


    That¡¯s how I became a ranger under my true name, with my own modest parcel of land, which, by the way, no one needed. The Alcade¡¯s riches lie beneath the earth, not in the inhospitable, unwelcoming mountain climate.


    Unfortunately, I must have attracted unwanted attention during my time in Kavest, because shortly after I left, one of the Shanti¡¯Ra bands raided it and burned the place down. They had intended to settle scores with me for my betrayal, and I¡­ I no longer had the strength or willpower needed to argue or explain anything to them.


    I ran.


    And by chance, the local priest and the daughter of that girl ¡ª your mother, Shaia ¡ª escaped with me. Her mother and father, an accountant, remained behind in the town. I accompanied the survivors to Evergale, where the girl¡¯s fate was repeated. The priest even changed her surname back to Taakov to hide her from her pursuers. He believed the attack on Kavest was connected to rumors that Shaia¡¯s ancestor had once worked for the Second Chancery¡­ Damn those talkative smugglers¡­


    I climbed the mountain and, upon the ruins of our settlement, built a house. One day, on the doorstep, I met your great-grandfather.


    Who knows what kind of strength it took for me not to leap at his throat. But instead, we began living under one roof. On the land of our tribe. The Egobar tribe.


    Years passed. I hunted. And your grandfather¡­ he rarely left the house, and if he did, it was only to sit by the graves.


    I took pelts to Evergale. The girl apprenticed to the tailor, Shaia, always handled them. She grew up. We talked. She showed me the prairies, I showed her the mountains. And, almost without us noticing, the three of us began to live together in the house.


    And soon, you were born.


    Your grandfather and I spent the entire night washing our hands. But they cannot be cleansed, Ardan. Our sins cannot be atoned for or erased.


    I would like to tell you that you bear the name of the proud and worthy Egobar tribe, but¡­ we are a part of our people, son. We killed our kin for their lands and paths. We spilled blood for a thousand years. One of your great-grandfathers was an ally of the Dark Lord (I have no interest in what happened there), the other was an investigator for the Second Chancery. One of your grandfathers was a hunter, the other an accountant. Your father ¡ª a killer.


    It might have been easier if you had been born a girl. I would have told her that her mother was a seamstress. That her human grandmother was a brave girl who built her life on her own. And that her Matabar grandmother was a kind, gentle gatherer who could hear the whispers of stones and winds.


    But if you think about it more, they were all the wives of a killer, an investigator, an ally of the Dark Lord, and¡­ well, none of that matters.


    I don¡¯t know what stories we will tell you. But if those stories contain villains, know that you have more in common with them than with the heroes.


    I don¡¯t know how much longer I can live with what I have done. Your mother often speaks to me of how the Face of Light is ready to forgive any sin if one sincerely repents and seeks redemption.


    But no matter how much I repent, son, I still hear their voices. They call out to me. They invite me to face judgment. And selfishly, I hope that someday, I will have a chance to lighten my burden, to pay for the lives I took with lives I save.


    I love you, my son.


    Ardan Egobar.


    Matabar and human.


    I love you as you are. Every part of you. And I hope you never read this letter. But if you do¡­


    Decide for yourself.


    Decide whether to seek the truth or to move on. This choice ¡ª this is my meager and careless legacy to you, my son.


    And, as they say in our tribe: may your path always lead you home.¡±


    Those final words were written in the language of the Matabar, but using the Galessian alphabet.


    Ardan set the letter aside and closed his eyes. He breathed in the scent of burning wood and listened to the beating of his own heart. It was uneven, pausing at times, then speeding up only to slow once more.


    ¡°Mr. Egobar!¡± A familiar, slightly lisping voice shouted. ¡°I¡¯m so glad I managed to find you! The Grand Princess has already begun to worry! First, you were in some kind of darkness where I couldn¡¯t trace your path, and then you were moving so quickly¡­ I don¡¯t know how to set paths on trains, and now¡­ Mr. Egobar? Are you alright?¡±


    Ardan looked at Poplar. He¡¯d swapped his green autumn tunic for a long, black winter coat, but his snow-white gloves and red boots remained unchanged. And so did his tin medals and Orders, wide belt, scarlet collar, and golden epaulets. Only his pants seemed slightly rumpled, marring the flawless appearance of the warrior from the Warband of Tail and Paws.


    ¡°Mr. Egobar¡­ are you crying?¡±


    Ardan shrugged. He honestly didn¡¯t know if he was crying. And he didn¡¯t care to check. He had no strength left to lift his arms.


    He just sat and stared at one spot. The very same spot where the shadows from the carefree red-headed boy that the hearth fire seemed to resemble had converged.


    Ardan heard the sound of light footsteps, and then something warm and soft settled in beside him and pressed against his side.


    ¡°Does it hurt, sir?¡±


    ¡°Very much,¡± Ardan admitted.


    ¡°Do you want to talk about it?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ Yes¡­ I don¡¯t know, Poplar¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Ardan sat beside the talking cat in his family¡¯s home. How ridiculous this all was¡­ Just two floors above, his own brother, mother, half-sister, and stepfather lay. And yet, he couldn¡¯t discuss what he had read with any of them.


    His brother didn¡¯t need this burden. His mother¡­ It would hurt her, and the last thing Ardan wanted was to cause pain to Shaia, who had already suffered enough. And as for Kelly and Kena ¡ª they simply didn¡¯t need to know.


    Boris and Elena¡­ They weren¡¯t his actual friends. Just good acquaintances, nothing more. Tess¡­ Ardi didn¡¯t understand what role Tess held in his life. And so, in the whole world, there wasn¡¯t anyone with whom Ardan could share his thoughts and this searing, burning pain.


    No one but a forest cat ¡ª a Vila half-blood in a silly tunic with fake medals adorning it.


    ¡°What happened?¡± The cat asked after a moment.


    ¡°I got answers,¡± Ardan replied after a few seconds of thought, ¡°to questions I¡¯ve been asking myself for so long. And now I don¡¯t know if I really wanted to hear those answers. Or if it only seemed that way at the time. Maybe it would¡¯ve been better to remain ignorant.¡±


    ¡°Ignorance is always easier, sir, but not always better,¡± Poplar tapped him with his paw. ¡°Trust an old drengr.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ you¡¯re probably right¡­ Maybe you¡¯re right, Poplar.¡±


    They sat quietly for a few more minutes.


    ¡°What will you do now?¡±


    Ardan shrugged again.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he repeated for the umpteenth time. ¡°If I stay here, maybe someday I¡¯ll become an engineer. And if I return to the Metropolis¡­ I don¡¯t know what awaits me there, but it certainly won¡¯t be simple or easy.¡±


    ¡°Does that frighten you?¡±


    ¡°The terror cuts me to the bone.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡± Poplar murmured, then suddenly leaped to his feet¡­ paws, and gave a ceremonious bow. ¡°I don¡¯t know how it is with the two-legged, but in such dire times, we seek support from our friends, sir.


    And I happen to be the liaison between you and your friend ¡ª the Grand Princess. And what sort of friend would she be if she weren¡¯t ready to share your pain and hardships?¡±


    Ardan nearly choked on those words.


    ¡°I would never tell a little girl-¡±


    The sharp click of a heel interrupted him.


    ¡°Not a little girl, Mr. Egobar, but your friend,¡± Poplar corrected him firmly. ¡°One that has been trapped in a cage since her childhood, and who will one day bear everything that her not-so-simple parents leave behind as her inheritance.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to say that I understand your feelings, grandson, but that would be a lie. For hundreds of kilometers in all directions, there is no one who could understand you, Ardi. Perhaps even farther than that¡­¡± He recalled his grandfather¡¯s words. And his grandfather had been right. In the entire province, there wasn¡¯t anyone who could understand the turmoil of Ardan¡¯s soul.


    And in order to find such a person, he¡¯d had to reach the Metropolis.


    Perhaps if Ardan had taken the time to rest and think things over carefully, he wouldn¡¯t have even considered sharing his inner struggle in a letter to a thirteen-year-old girl who was also the heir to the throne.


    But¡­ he wasn¡¯t in the best state of mind just then. And so, he wrote her a letter.


    He wrote it and handed it to Poplar.


    ¡°I¡¯ll return shortly, Mr. Egobar,¡± the cat said with a bow, clicking his heels as he vanished into the darkness.


    And Ardan, turning toward the window, gazed at the snowstorm battering the walls and scattering snowflakes everywhere.


    Now he knew who he was. Now he knew why his father had done all of those things. He understood why he¡¯d had¡­ such heated conversations with his grandfather. And perhaps his grandfather had done what he¡¯d done for the same reasons as his father.


    Hector and Aror. They¡¯d been so different, and yet, in the end, almost the same.


    In Ardan¡¯s story, there were no more unspoken truths. Only, as Tess had once called it on the rooftop, a once-inconceivable event that had forced him onto a certain path.


    Ardi hadn¡¯t stepped onto it yet, however.


    He merely stood at the crossroads, looking at the fork. On one side lay a clear, simple, wide road across a wheat field. On the other, there was a crooked, rough trail lost in a dark forest.


    And just like in the prairies, from one side, Mart waved at him cheerfully, while from the other, Yonatan smiled at him with predatory glee.


    Perhaps Ardi had faced this choice long ago, after the attack by the Shanti¡¯Ra bandits. Only he hadn¡¯t realized it back then.


    ¡°Your letter, Mr. Egobar,¡± Poplar said as he emerged from the darkness, handing over a small note.


    On it, written in neat, perfect handwriting, were the words:


    ¡°You will always be Ard Egobar, my first friend, to me. Nothing else matters.¡±


    Ardan clenched the note and took a deep breath.


    He couldn¡¯t fool himself.


    He had already made this accursed choice.


    Back then,


    in the prairies.


    ¡°Shall I deliver anything to the Grand Princess?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Poplar,¡± Ardan nodded firmly. ¡°Tell her I¡¯ll be back in the capital soon.¡±

 Chapter 51 - Old or new journey?

    ¡°You¡¯re leaving, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, tonight.¡±


    Ardi lay beside his brother in the snow, watching the sky. The snowy clouds clashed like rival armies, merging into vast sheets and then splitting apart like sullen, puffed-up kittens.


    ¡°Because you have to?¡± Erti asked.


    Ardan¡¯s younger brother, his cheeks flushed, was breathing heavily and coughing every now and then. Ardi, on the other hand, was breathing deeply, savoring the winter air and the closeness of the mountains he called home. Here, he felt far better than he did in the Metropolis. He thought that, just maybe, if he wanted to, he could even kick off his boots and, like in his childhood, race with the mountain eagles or wrestle a young bear.


    Did he have to go back to the Metropolis?


    ¡°No,¡± Ardi replied.


    He didn¡¯t want to lie to his brother. Not more than was necessary, at least ¡ª just enough to let Erti live a better, more peaceful life than the one their grandfather and father had planned for Ardan¡­


    Ardi smiled slightly at his own thoughts. It seemed like he was silently repeating words he¡¯d once heard from Hector, back when he had been young.


    ¡°Then why?¡± Erti asked.


    Nearby, Shaia and the youngest member of their family, Kena, were building snow castles while Kena cheerfully chattered about her lessons at the school for noble girls and her strict piano teacher. Their mother laughed, assuring Kena that her older brothers wouldn¡¯t even be able to play the simplest melody.


    Kelly was seated on the porch, wrapped in a thick fur coat, shivering every now and then despite the warmth, smoking a fat cigar, and reading the newspaper. According to the house rules of the Egobar-Brian family that had been established by Shaia, everyone had to spend at least three hours outdoors, even in winter.


    And now, three days after the New Year¡¯s celebration, they were all playing in the snow, laughing as if there was nothing to worry about. That was one thing Ardi loved about the holidays.


    ¡°You could stay and work with Anna¡¯s brother,¡± Erti said, propping himself up on one elbow to look at Ardi. ¡°Mother bragged for a whole month about how she¡¯d arranged a position for you with the chief engineer of the bureau.¡±


    He probably could have¡­ and maybe he¡¯d have done well there. But¡­


    Ardan rose, then helped his brother to his feet, studying him closely. Even though Erti wouldn¡¯t turn thirteen for another month, he was already growing into a fine young man, and he seemed more handsome than his older brother. Erti¡¯s face had begun to develop high cheekbones, a sharp, but not too long nose, a determined chin, thick eyebrows that bordered on bushy, long, almost feminine lashes, and clear eyes that held a look of intelligence and a trace of melancholy.


    ¡°Will you write to me?¡± Ardan asked.


    ¡°You still haven¡¯t answered me.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t answered me, either.¡±


    ¡°But I asked you first,¡± Erti replied, sticking his tongue out in a childish gesture that, given his growing stature, looked rather out of place ¡ª and all the funnier for it.


    Ardi clapped him on the shoulder, feeling his taut muscles under his hand even through his brother¡¯s thick coat, then turned eastward. Somewhere out there, beyond the long, shining line of the horizon, beyond the snowy plains, lay dense forests, and in their heart, on the ocean shore, stood the Metropolis.


    Such a strange place. It both repelled him and yet, in the same breath¡­


    Ardan recalled his discussions with Elena about the principles of Star Magic, his rare meetings with Boris, always full of sarcastic jokes and warmth, his classes at the Grand, where each session had revealed new mysteries of magic and the cosmos¡­ and then there were his quiet evening conversations with Tess. Fleeting, but¡­ cozy, somehow. Calm. Unhurried. They smelled of cocoa and just a tiny bit of jazz as well. How did jazz smell? It smelled like Tess.


    Of course, in this catalogue of memories, the mystery of the Matabar tragedy and the ¡°legacy¡± left to Ardi deserved an honorable mention, but it was far from his most pressing concern. And yet¡­


    ¡°If you found out someone had hurt Kena, what would you do, Erti?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d break their nose,¡± Erti answered decisively, without a moment¡¯s hesitation.


    ¡°And if Kena had been the one to hurt that person first?¡±


    ¡°Badly?¡± Erti considered.


    Ardan shrugged. The metaphor was already convoluted enough without adding more details.


    ¡°I¡¯d break the person¡¯s nose and then scold Kena,¡± Erti concluded after a moment. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    Ardan smiled, nudging him in the shoulder, like they¡¯d used to do when they were kids and fishing together. Back then, they would often forget about the fishing rods entirely, spending hours just playing.


    ¡°There¡¯s a puzzle, brother,¡± Ardan finally said. ¡°And I want to solve it. Not because I have to, but because I¡­ really want to.¡±


    ¡°Because you love puzzles?¡± Erti squinted at him. ¡°Mother says you love them more than I do.¡±


    Ardan thought about it. He really did want to know who was behind ¡°Operation Mountain Predator,¡± and perhaps more importantly, why it had happened at all. And what sort of conspiracy could possibly stretch back almost a century.


    Such a lengthy span of time pointed to the Firstborn, or perhaps to some deeply-rooted organization within the Empire itself, and¡­


    Here he was, already trying to untangle the knot. And knowing himself, he would keep at it until he unraveled it completely. It was one of his annoying and not particularly useful traits.


    Ardan didn¡¯t want to deceive himself. He wasn¡¯t some hero from his grandfather¡¯s tales, seeking justice for the Matabar, as his father had done. Out of all the Matabar, he¡¯d only ever known Aror and Hector. And even Hector had spent many years of his life as a man, not as a symbol of some ancient culture.


    Yes, Ardi felt a pang of loss for his kinsmen, but¡­ there was Erti ¡ª a cheerful, clever boy. There was his mother, finally finding some well-deserved rest in her new, steady life. There were also Kena and Kelly. All of them were his strange, slightly chaotic family.


    He cared about them. They were the ones he thought of the most. He wanted to secure a good life for them. And as for the Matabar¡­ Yes, they occupied his thoughts, but less so than his upcoming end-of-the-year-exams. Perhaps that was wrong. Perhaps he was disrespecting his ancestors¡­ or at least half of them.


    ¡°If I stay, Erti,¡± Ardan finally found the words, ¡°then someday, years from now, I¡¯ll look eastward and wonder what might have happened if I hadn¡¯t chickened out. If I¡¯d returned to the capital.¡±


    ¡°What makes you think that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen the way Grandfather looked northward, toward the Alcade,¡± Ardi replied. ¡°Back then, I thought he was missing someone, but now I understand that he used to deeply regret something he hadn¡¯t done. And it was eating him from the inside.¡±


    Erti frowned and snorted.


    ¡°You talk in riddles, brother,¡± Erti crossed his arms. ¡°And you¡¯re not that much older than me to start being all mysterious¡­ I don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re trying to tell me.¡±


    ¡°To be honest, I don¡¯t understand it myself,¡± Ardi admitted, spreading his arms out. ¡°I¡¯m going back to the capital because I want to, and also¡­ because I have to.¡±


    ¡°Usually, if I¡¯m being honest, I don¡¯t want to do what I¡¯m supposed to do,¡± Erti mused. ¡°Take my evening job in the saloon, for example, where I clean up in the kitchen ¡ª a classic example.¡±


    ¡°What if you worked at a shooting range?¡± Ardi winked, aware of Erti¡¯s deep love for firearms of all kinds.


    ¡°That would be pure joy.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯d still have to work to eat.¡±


    ¡°Only I wouldn¡¯t feel like it was an obligation and¡­¡± Erti trailed off, raising a thoughtful finger. ¡°I get it! You have to, but you don¡¯t see your puzzle as a duty because you genuinely want to solve it!¡±


    ¡°Well, would you look at that¡­¡± Ardi scratched the back of his head, almost knocking his hat into the snow. ¡°I couldn¡¯t have said it better myself.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you got your Matabar blood from Father, and I got the brains,¡± Erti teased, smirking.


    If only he knew what Hector had thought about his own intelligence¡­ but there was no need to rain on his parade. Although¡­ Ardi noticed the clenched fists Erti was carefully hiding. Evidently, his little brother hadn¡¯t inherited the man¡¯s brains, but rather, their father¡¯s impatience and his love for a good brawl.


    Ardi, even as a student of Ergar, had always tried to avoid confrontations over the mountain paths. If he had to fight, he fought seriously, of course. But he usually followed Skusty¡¯s guiding principle: ¡°A good head beats a good paw.¡± Though, in hindsight, maybe his advice had been literal, because the squirrel loved cracking nuts with his forehead just to prove a point.


    ¡°Let¡¯s join the others,¡± Ardi said, pulling his brother along to where their sister and mother were waiting.


    They gathered around Kena and Shaia and helped the little one build an ice castle. Then, with Kena now assuming the role of ¡°winter princess,¡± they played at defending her castle from invaders.


    Erti threw snowballs, boasting that he was a ¡°snow giant¡± destined to conquer the princess¡¯ castle, while Ardi crafted small, birdlike snow creatures to fly around and follow Kena¡¯s commands.


    Shaia laughed until she cried, and Kelly continued to puff on his cigar, muttering something about politics.


    The game grew heated, and soon, Erti and Kena were trying to shed their coats, only to have Shaia herd everyone back indoors to prepare dinner.


    Inside, Shaia set to work in the kitchen, joined by Erti, who had recently developed a surprising fondness for cooking, and little Kena, who clung close to her beloved brother.


    Ardi watched them disappearing down the corridor, nearly knocking over a vase in their excitement, and wondered when he¡¯d next see his family. Hopefully in the summer.


    ¡°So, you¡¯ve decided to leave,¡± Kelly suddenly spoke from behind him.


    It wasn¡¯t a question, but a statement. Ardi nodded, stopping himself from saying more. Even after all these years, he still didn¡¯t know quite how he felt about Kelly. The man loved his mother, though not with the type of ardor celebrated in songs or poems ¡ª it was more of a simple, practical kind of affection. Shaia returned it. They were two people with difficult lives who had found comfort in each other.


    Kelly also cared deeply for Erti, and, unsurprisingly, he cherished Kena even more. Just as Ardi, too, cared for his brother more than anyone else. They both knew this about each other and, if not warmth, they shared a mutual respect because of it.


    ¡°Look after them,¡± Ardan said, surprising himself with the earnestness of his words.


    Kelly squinted, giving him a look that seemed to view the boy in a new light.


    ¡°Already mixed up in some¡­ family business, I¡¯d bet,¡± the sheriff drawled. ¡°Your eyes have changed. They used to have that warm look, na?ve and kind to a fault. Now¡­ Well, they¡¯re still na?ve, just a bit less so. And just as kind, only now it¡¯s all¡­ colder, somehow. Like a shard of ice got stuck inside of you.¡±


    ¡°Aean¡¯Hane, when they learn names, leave pieces of them within themselves,¡± Ardi explained. ¡°Which is why you must never be tempted by dark names ¡ª they¡¯ll poison you forever, and-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about your magic,¡± Kelly waved his explanation off. ¡°Come on.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t ask where or why they were going. They walked back into the main hall, where Kelly approached the tall, heavy cedar clock.


    ¡°It was here when we arrived,¡± he muttered, pressing something on the polished wooden paneling. The clock creaked and shifted to the side. With a grunt, Kelly pulled it open to reveal a narrow recess with a high, narrow gun safe. ¡°The gardener gave me the code, which makes me think he¡¯s not exactly a gardener¡­ But don¡¯t tell your mother, alright?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Ardi replied, holding himself back from mentioning that he already knew about the gardener¡¯s true line of work ¡ª or at least his general activities.


    Kelly spun the dial quickly, inputting the correct combination, and pulled open the solid door.


    Inside, on narrow racks, sat two army rifles. Beneath them, in a wide compartment, lay two zinc cases filled with ammunition and several fully-loaded bandoliers. Above them, four revolvers rested on stands, and above those, surprisingly, were a few hand grenades.


    ¡°Feels like we¡¯re preparing for a siege,¡± Kelly grumbled, selecting a revolver along with a bandolier and a box of bullets, which he handed to Ardi. ¡°Have you learned to shoot yet? I remember you used to hit everything except the cans you were aiming at. The crows didn¡¯t come by for months after your practice sessions. Shaia thought it was because of the scarecrow.¡±


    Ardi grimaced as if he¡¯d just bitten into something sour.


    ¡°So that¡¯s a no, then,¡± Kelly concluded. ¡°Still, take it, just in case. No matter what kind of mage you are, there¡¯s always a chance you¡¯ll need to know how to shoot and¡­¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t ever forget it,¡± Ardi finished the saying, taking the weapon and tucking it into the travel bag he¡¯d packed earlier and then set aside near the doorway.


    ¡°Alright, big guy, let¡¯s chat a little more before dinner¡¯s ready. You can tell me more about the Metropolis. Strange place, that.¡±


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°You have no idea how strange it actually is, Kelly¡­¡± Ardi sighed. ¡°You seriously have no idea¡­¡±


    They returned to the living room, where Ardi answered Kelly¡¯s many questions about the capital. Soon enough, they were asked to help set the table, and, before long, they were all seated for dinner. They talked, shared stories, and laughed together.


    Ardi, sitting there with his family, felt light and free. For a little while, he was¡­ home. Even though the peaks of the Alcade were only faintly visible in the distance, he could still feel that warm, comforting, homely glow within himself.


    But all good things must come to an end. When the first stars began to appear, a car horn blared outside the gate.


    At the table, where a hearty meal of wild duck had been replaced by tea and pastries, a heavy silence fell upon all of them. Little Kena puffed her cheeks out slightly, but Erti pulled her close, and the girl relaxed. Kelly silently clasped Ardi¡¯s shoulder, while his mother¡­ She turned her gaze away so Ardi wouldn¡¯t see her wiping away a tear.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Kelly said softly.


    They all stood and made their way to the hall. Ardi pulled on his coat, wrapped his scarf around his neck, and was just about to put on his hat when his mother snatched it from his hands.


    Getting up on her toes, she placed it on his head ¡ª just like when he was little ¡ª and then hugged him tightly, pressing her cheek to his chest.


    ¡°Come back after your spring exams,¡± she whispered, her voice barely remaining steady.


    ¡°Of course, Mother,¡± Ardi replied, unsure if he could keep his own voice from breaking.


    They stood like that for a moment, and then Ardi embraced his brother firmly.


    ¡°Please remember to write this time,¡± Ardan reminded him.


    ¡°I won¡¯t forget,¡± Erti nodded earnestly.


    They let go of each other, and Kena, sniffling, looked down at the floor.


    ¡°Why are you leaving, Ardi?¡± She murmured. ¡°You just got here¡­¡±


    ¡°Classes start in eight days, and the train ride is nearly seven of those.¡±


    ¡°What do you need classes for?! Classes are over there, and we¡¯re here!¡± Kena protested, stomping her foot. ¡°Don¡¯t go!¡±


    Ardi knelt down and gave her little, upturned nose a gentle tap.


    ¡°I¡¯ll bring you a gift next time,¡± he said. ¡°A huge, plush bear!¡±


    ¡°A¡­ plush¡­ what¡¯s that?¡± Kena¡¯s eyes lit up with curiosity.


    ¡°It¡¯s a new type of toy, Kena. All the kids in the Metropolis are crazy about them.¡±


    ¡°Really, all of them?¡± She asked, doubtful.


    ¡°Yep,¡± Ardi smiled brightly.


    ¡°Well then¡­ go and get one!¡± She giggled, clutching her mother¡¯s leg. ¡°Ardi¡¯s going to bring me a bear!¡±


    ¡°Yes, dear, I heard¡­¡±


    Ardan straightened, and he and Kelly exchanged a firm handshake. Ardi picked up his staff, slung his bag over his shoulder, grabbed his suitcase, and, nudging the door open with his shoulder, stepped out into the fresh, cold air.


    A majestic Delpas night had taken over, filling the sky with constellations while the playful snow danced across the frozen surface of Blue Lake.


    Crunching through the snow, Ardi made his way to the gate. But halfway there, he stopped. Ahead, beyond the snowbanks, near the cleared path, the Gardener was smoking in his rickety car. And behind him¡­ behind him was his home. His home was not just the building, it was the people inside it.


    Ardan wanted to look back, just like in those old stories his grandfather used to tell him. But in those tales, the hero was always warned: ¡°Look back, and you¡¯ll never be able to leave.¡± And so, shaking his head and gritting his teeth, Ardi took another step. Then another. And another. And by the Sleeping Spirits, each of those steps was harder than the ones he¡¯d taken in his pursuit of the elven Aean¡¯Hane.


    Only after he was inside the government vehicle and as they were slowly driving away from number 17 on Stonemasons Street, did Ardan look back. He saw four figures standing at the window, waving at him. And only then did he let the lump in his throat rise and a single tear roll down his cheek.


    Ardi turned away and sighed. Six months ago, he¡¯d left his family out of necessity, and that had been difficult. But it was nothing compared to the feeling of leaving by choice and knowing he could have stayed. Realizing he was doing it not out of duty, but because he wanted to. He was driven by the desire to learn more about Star Magic, to unravel the mystery his family had pursued for generations, and¡­ maybe even hear Tess sing that annoyingly catchy song one more time.


    He glanced at his travel bag where his grimoire lay hidden. Maybe Velena Emergold had been right, back in the Grand¡¯s library. Ardi truly had been irreversibly infected with the fever that forced someone to seek out knowledge.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the Gardener suddenly said as he carefully navigated a sharp turn where a few people were struggling to pull a large vehicle out of a ditch.


    ¡°How much did you win?¡±


    The man jerked the wheel, nearly sending them both off the road.


    ¡°Why do you-¡±


    ¡°You have new gloves,¡± Ardi pointed at the fine, moose-leather gloves lined with white fur lying beside the driver. ¡°And government payday is still a ways off.¡±


    ¡°It could¡¯ve been a New Year¡¯s gift.¡±


    ¡°I thought as much,¡± Ardi agreed. ¡°Until you thanked me. So, how much did you win?¡±


    ¡°By the Eternal Angels,¡± the Gardener muttered, coughing. ¡°I feel like I¡¯m driving with a seasoned investigator¡­ Around one and a half exes. They were all just small bets, but I had enough takers.¡±


    Ardi remembered how his little brother had once, half a year ago, made him (or rather, his school diploma) the subject of a bet.


    ¡°Is Erti having trouble at school?¡±


    The man hesitated.


    ¡°You noticed, then¡­¡±


    ¡°Hard not to notice that his knuckles are bruised,¡± Ardan replied. ¡°He tells Mother it¡¯s from his work at the saloon.¡±


    Ardi had no doubt that the sheriff also knew the real reason, but chose to turn a blind eye. That was likely what Hector would have done as well. But Ardi¡­ he had always been gentle with his brother.


    ¡°Fans of the Tavsers?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The Tavsers,¡± Ardi repeated. ¡°The ones who-¡±


    ¡°I know who the Tavsers are,¡± the Gardener interrupted him with a sigh. ¡°But here in Delpas, sir, those scoundrels were driven out long ago. Sure, there are a few people left who share their ideas, but they prefer to grumble at home. And besides, there are hardly any Firstborn in the city. As for half-bloods or those with a trace of Firstborn blood, there¡¯s really not that many of them.¡±


    ¡°Is Erti being bullied?¡±


    The man simply let out a heavy sigh and shook his head.


    ¡°Not exactly. At first, yes, they tried to pick on him. But then¡­ Well, your brother ended up forming a little gang of his own. He¡¯s friends with a half-blood, or maybe a quarter-blood¡­ hard to tell. That one¡¯s got a dwarf for a grandfather. Then a few other kids joined in as well. So now, believe it or not, there¡¯s a little gang in town.¡±


    Ardan nearly choked on air.


    ¡°You¡¯re joking?¡±


    ¡°No joke,¡± the Gardener replied through gritted teeth. ¡°They control the jobs on Lower Street ¡ª the one with the saloon. No schoolkid gets hired there without their say-so, and the other kids aren¡¯t keen to cross them, either.¡±


    Ardan opened and closed his mouth silently.


    The man went on, watching Ardan¡¯s incredulous expression with a wry smile.


    ¡°It all started out simply enough ¡ª Erti was being harassed. So, he made the best of it,¡± the Gardener continued. ¡°They¡¯ve done nothing serious so far. He¡¯s been in a couple of scuffles, but the guards haven¡¯t caught him yet. His little group doesn¡¯t steal or do anything truly bad. They don¡¯t go around picking fights or causing trouble. They just¡­ handle the job arrangements. Oh, and they visit the shooting range every fifth day after school, then head to boxing classes.¡±


    Ardan thought he understood. If Delpas was anything like the Metropolis when it came to finding work for Firstborn and their descendants, then this arrangement made an unfortunate amount of sense.


    ¡°And why don¡¯t you¡­¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we intervene?¡± The Gardener snorted. ¡°Should we blow our cover over something so minor? The Second Chancery, Mr. Egobar, is not the omnipresent force that lurks behind every shadow, despite what the papers claim. We have more important matters to attend to. Let the guards handle this.¡±


    Ardi shook his head, now knowing exactly what he would write to Erti in his first letter. Then he couldn¡¯t hold back a laugh. It was deep, unrestrained, almost to the point of him gasping for breath.


    By the Sleeping Spirits¡­ His brother, in just over half a year, had managed to settle in a new town, make friends out of strangers, and ¡°take over¡± a whole street.


    So much for staying out of trouble.


    And Grandfather had said that the Egobar blood lay dormant in Erti and would never awaken.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± the Gardener sighed, ¡°we had a good laugh over that ourselves. Even now, we still get a chuckle out of it when the guards try to catch your brother¡¯s group. It¡¯s like he has some sort of sixth sense for danger ¡ª hasn¡¯t been caught once.¡±


    ¡°Are you-¡±


    ¡°Of course we¡¯re keeping an eye on things,¡± the man waved a hand dismissively. ¡°If they cross the line, don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll stop it immediately. And honestly, think about it ¡ª wouldn¡¯t it seem strange if Second Chancery agents stepped in over something like this?¡±


    ¡°Probably,¡± Ardi replied, laughing again until his sides hurt. Family was complicated, after all.


    They drove past the estates, through narrow streets lined with modest houses, and finally turned onto the main avenue. Unlike how it had been during the New Year¡¯s Eve festivities, the avenue was now lit up by a quieter glow, with a few more people strolling about. Couples clung together, moving from one establishment to the next. Bursts of laughter, cheerful greetings, and well-wishes filled the air. People were celebrating and carefree.


    Except, perhaps, for the few workers at their posts: those stationed by the water towers, near the Ley cables, and¡­


    Ardi leaned closer to the window. There, at a fork in the road, stood a group of people in fur coats who were surrounded by a pile of equipment, one of which looked like a large, tripod-mounted camera with numerous lenses and spinning reels. They were gesturing energetically, pointing from the road to the frosty pages of notebooks filled with diagrams and notes.


    ¡°They¡¯re planning to lay down tram tracks in the summer,¡± the Gardener commented thoughtfully. ¡°The capital allocated public transportation funds for cities with populations over a quarter million. This major transportation reform is at the Emperor¡¯s initiative. Now they¡¯re figuring out how to lay the tracks and connect them to the Ley cables so the trams can operate in winter as well. But I doubt they¡¯ll finish by summer.¡±


    He sighed and continued. ¡°They¡¯ll probably stretch it out over a couple of years here. And as for the rest of the country¡­ ten years, at least. The factories are overworked as it is. Building new ones can¡¯t keep up with demand. They need materials, manpower, engineers¡­ And that¡¯s not even counting transportation, trains, shipyards, and those blasted airships still under development. I think we¡¯re looking at another industrial boom.¡±


    Ardan barely registered the Gardener¡¯s monologue. His attention was fixed on a square-jawed young man among the engineers whose face was so improbable that it almost looked like he had a brick lodged under his skin. Strangely, this feature didn¡¯t make him unattractive. Pair that with his wheat-colored hair and Anna¡¯s brother ¡ª who Ardan had heard had been quite popular with women before he¡¯d married ¡ª was indeed striking.


    But even he wasn¡¯t Ardan¡¯s main focus. Standing nearby, bundled up in a beautiful coat with a soft, coral-tinted fur collar, her hands nestled in her pockets, was a girl. Her long hair flowed down her back, and a sable hat sat atop her head.


    The Gardener slowed down to let a truck pass, and the girl turned, her gaze meeting Ardan¡¯s.


    She hadn¡¯t changed much in the time since he¡¯d last seen her. If anything, she looked more composed and a bit more graceful. Gone was the lightness of girlhood. In her place stood a young lady.


    Anna.


    They looked at each other, and Ardi¡­ He didn¡¯t know what Anna was feeling, but he felt nothing more than a quiet warmth, like the affection he felt for Elena and Boris. His heart didn¡¯t pound in his chest, and he didn¡¯t even consider opening the door to rush outside.


    She tilted her head slightly, smiled at him, and nodded softly, calmly. Ardan returned the gesture.


    ¡°Let¡¯s move along,¡± the Gardener grumbled, and as if in response, the clunky engine rattled louder, carrying them farther from the crossroads.


    She didn¡¯t follow him with her gaze, simply turning back to her brother. Ardi watched a moment longer, then looked away as well.


    They quickly made their way up the hillside, reaching the parking lot at the base of the staircase leading to the station.


    Ardan stepped out, staff in hand, and, to his surprise, saw that the Cloak had also come outside for a smoke. The man pulled out a cheap cigarette, flicked his lighter, and sent tendrils of smoke into the cold night air.


    Ardi coughed and moved back.


    ¡°I guess it¡¯s bad for me,¡± the Cloak muttered, glancing at the red ember. ¡°But it¡¯s a habit from the northwestern front. When you¡¯re out there on the Armondian border for days with no food, cigarettes help numb the hunger. They calm your nerves, too. That¡¯s important, even healthy¡­ Reign in that Witch¡¯s Gaze, young Egobar¡­ You should keep it in check, or else¡­ well,¡± the Cloak shrugged, ¡°you know what I mean.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Ardan acknowledged.


    They stood there silently for a moment before the Cloak held out his hand.


    ¡°Until we meet again. And¡­ I think I can safely add ¡ª until we meet again, colleague.¡±


    Ardi grasped the unexpectedly strong, calloused hand.


    ¡°Not quite yet.¡±


    ¡°Yet,¡± the Gardener emphasized with a wink.


    He took another drag, put out the cigarette between his fingers, and stashed the rest back in his pack. He climbed into the car, started the engine, and drove away. Ardan watched the taillights disappear into the night.


    This Cloak couldn¡¯t have been more than twenty-three years old, and he was already talking about the Armondian border as if it were some dusty memory.


    Ardan looked up, watching the moonlight play along the frozen crust that coated Blue Lake.


    The world beyond the Alcade¡¯s peaks and the familiar fields of Evergale was vast.


    Ascending the station¡¯s steps, Ardi walked in solitude. During the holidays, it was rare to encounter travelers. As he climbed, he pondered the teachings of Teacher Parnas. Teacher Parnas had often lamented the fact that the Empire was in a state of ¡°hot peace,¡± not only with Fatia, but also with the Armondians. And yet, their hostility toward the Empire was different.


    The Armondians had no formal state, consisting only of scattered tribes that were constantly at war with each other over land. They recognized no borders, and even their so-called ¡°capital,¡± Armodan, was merely a nominal gathering point where tribes convened to trade.


    N¡¯gia also had border disputes with the Armondians, despite their historical ties. Their border was even more volatile than the Empire¡¯s with Fatia. As for N¡¯gia and the Empire, their border was largely composed of the Great Glacier, with only a small stretch of plains that was guarded well by two forts.


    N¡¯gia, moreover, had little need for anything from the Empire. They possessed ample resources of Ertaline ore (the primary material used in Ley accumulators and cables), oil, coal, iron, copper, and other valuable minerals. Unlike many nations, they lacked fertile land and relied heavily on trade with Tazidahian, which had made the Brotherhood a large and powerful country, primarily due to its access to the Shallow Seas and arable land.


    Tazidahian¡¯s expansionist tendencies in the pursuit of resources meant that it relentlessly supported Fatia in its struggles along its southern border. Should Fatia make any headway there, Tazidahian troops, along with their magically-modified soldiers ¡ª which had prompted the Empire to experiment with human chimerization unsuccessfully, unless one counted the sole existence of Yonatan Kornosskiy ¡ª would soon be at the Empire¡¯s doorstep.


    And why didn¡¯t they attack directly? The answer lay in Tazidahian¡¯s understanding that it needed Fatia to remain as it was, so the Tazidahian Brotherhood could concentrate on Urdavan, leaving Fatia trapped between the hammer and the anvil.


    Or something like that.


    Ardi was so engrossed in his thoughts of a world that had once seemed confined to books that he¡¯d reached the ticket counter without even noticing. Inside, the simple, gray waiting hall was surprisingly warm; the heating must have finally been repaired.


    ¡°One ticket to the Metropolis for today, please,¡± Ardi said, handing over his documents along with an ex and ten kso for a seat in the carriage.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky you made it on time,¡± said the young woman, clicking her register and tearing off a ticket, which she promptly stamped. ¡°Departure is in fifteen minutes.¡±


    She didn¡¯t even glance at his identification or travel permit. And speaking of that permit, which he hadn¡¯t had on his first journey and which had led to his conversation with Marshal Elliny, Ardi had since learned the reason behind its absence ¡ª Kelly had never filed it, nor had he done so for Erti. They hadn¡¯t planned on leaving Evergale, so they¡¯d never needed one.


    Sometimes, complex problems had simple, logical, even mundane answers.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Safe travels.¡±


    Ticket in hand, Ardi hoisted his suitcase and stepped out onto the platform. Aside from himself and a worker chipping away at the ice on the boards, there was no one else around. Delpas was celebrating and no one else was thinking of embarking on a long journey.


    After all, the trip to the capital of the Empire took about seven days. A round trip was two weeks.


    Ardi had spent that much time just to be with his family for three days. And he didn¡¯t regret it. Even if it had taken an entire year to spend just these few days with them, he¡¯d have done it without a second thought.


    And yet¡­


    Ardi tilted his head back, gazing at the stars. He inhaled the cold air, letting out small clouds of vapor that faded into the darkness.


    How easy it was to breathe now. How light his spirit felt ¡ª though tinged with the sorrow of parting, it was still free. He even thought that he might lift off the ground, the weight on his shoulders having suddenly vanished.


    Now he knew who he was. He had found answers to ¡°why,¡± ¡°how,¡± ¡°for what purpose,¡± and a series of other, less significant questions. Heavy, uncomfortable answers, but answers nonetheless.


    He would uncover the details of the tragedy because he wanted to. He would finish his studies at the Grand because he enjoyed studying Star Magic.


    And he wouldn¡¯t be leaving his small apartment by the canal ¡ª certainly not because of the Orcish Jackets. He was comfortable there, and he couldn¡¯t care less about a few thugs. Worst case scenario, he¡¯d write to his brother for advice.


    That was only a joke, of course.


    And maybe¡­ Maybe he¡¯d invite Tess to the Festival of Light¡­ if no one else had invited her already.


    ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s thoughts,¡± Ardan reminded himself.


    A deep, resonant whistle echoed across the platform. From the west, stirring up flurries of snow, a locomotive approached the station. When it finally stopped, shrouding the platform in clouds of fragrant steam, no one stepped out of the carriages. Only Ardi boarded, greeted by a sleepy conductor.


    ¡°Ticket?¡± The mustached man asked, his tone weary. ¡°You¡¯re going to Metropolis, right?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± the conductor replied, stamping the ticket.


    Ardi stepped into the next car and found himself¡­ in what might as well have been paradise. Compared to his previous trip, where the overcrowded carriage had reeked of sweat and stale food, this was pure heaven.


    In the entire seated car, only a few other travelers were scattered about, all of them men. They lay sprawled across the benches, coats piled around them, heads resting on suitcases or packs, sound asleep.


    Ardi followed their example, settling in and soon drifting off with his head comfortably cushioned on his boots, just like he preferred.


    ***


    Ardan awoke to someone shaking his shoulder.


    ¡°Sir Mage,¡± whispered the conductor, eyes gleaming with worry. ¡°Sir Mage, please wake up.¡±


    Ardi blinked, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. The first thing he noticed was that the carriage had somehow filled with passengers. From their attire and jewelry, it was clear they weren¡¯t ordinary folks. Rather, they seemed quite well-to-do. And they carried little with them, just small items they could hold in their hands.


    And then he realized something else ¡ª the train wasn¡¯t moving. It was standing still in the middle of the steppe, where, from horizon to horizon, lay nothing but flat, snowy plains.


    ¡°Mechanical trouble?¡± Ardi asked.


    ¡°B-bandits,¡± the conductor stammered.

 Chapter 52 - Staff of Demons

    ¡°Bandits?¡± Ardan repeated, disbelief flashing across his face.


    For a moment, he thought it might have been a lingering dream and he¡¯d misheard, but the conductor¡¯s jerky nod dispelled any such delusions. Or had it? What would bandits be doing out here in the steppes, and during the New Month no less? Here, with temperatures dropping below ten degrees, the ground had frozen several centimeters deep, turning as hard as stone. The winds blew so fiercely that even seasoned marshals and patrolmen had to wear layers of fur coats topped off with the thick blankets usually reserved for horses.


    No one dared venture into the steppes for more than half a day in winter. For about five weeks at the heart of winter, the Empire¡¯s plains practically died out. Only the Wanderers, the Shaggiers, and a few other hardy creatures of the local fauna could survive such conditions. Even the orcs didn¡¯t wander during winter; they set up camps and waited for the snow to melt.


    That was why the railroad had been built in the heart of the plains, far from the forests where one could seek shelter from the cold. That was where the bandits would typically hide ¡ª wintering in huts or makeshift shelters. Sometimes, come spring, marshals would find whole abandoned settlements scattered across the plains, places where the bandits had waited out the winter.


    And yet here was the train, at a standstill, which made little sense. If bandits were planning a robbery, they¡¯d usually do it while the train was moving.


    ¡°What are you transporting?¡± He asked.


    ¡°What?¡± The conductor¡¯s confusion seemed genuine.


    Ardan rose, staff in hand. Twenty pairs of eyes turned toward him, belonging to the occupants of both the second and first-class cars. Considering the time of year, that was almost everyone on the train.


    ¡°They haven¡¯t robbed anyone,¡± Ardan nodded toward the crowd huddled at the back of the car. ¡°It¡¯s winter. Bandits would have frozen stiff before they got this far. And the train¡¯s stopped. So answer my question: what are you transporting?¡±


    Ardan squinted at him, and the mustached conductor shrank back as if bitten.


    ¡°S-s-i-i-r i-investigator?¡± He stammered.


    Ardi said nothing.


    Whispers rose behind him as the conductor swallowed noisily.


    ¡°And you d-don¡¯t know already?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not an investigator,¡± Ardan frowned. ¡°What are you-¡±


    ¡°I forbid you from speaking!¡± Came a high-pitched voice from behind them.


    Ardi turned, expecting to see a woman, but instead found a thin, short man with red cheeks and a long, beak-like nose. The man was shaking a bit, his fingers jingling with rings. His finely-embroidered, three-piece suit sported a set of white gold chains where buttons should have been. Only his trousers had any sort of a flaw ¡ª a slightly dried stain at the crotch.


    ¡°How many were there when they broke in?¡± Ardan asked, ignoring the man¡¯s shout.


    ¡°How do you-¡±


    ¡°Can we get to the point?¡± Ardan¡¯s tone grew sharp as he turned back to the conductor. ¡°The train¡¯s at a standstill. And there¡¯s no light.¡± He pointed to the extinguished lamps overhead. ¡°They must have cut the Ley cables. The generator¡¯s down, which means that we¡¯ll start freezing soon.¡±


    ¡°You-¡± began the mustached man.


    ¡°I forbid-¡±


    Ardan turned and bared his teeth, a hint of fang showing. The thin man instantly went silent and tried to blend back into the crowd, though the others wouldn¡¯t let him pass. Interesting¡­ After spending so much time among the Cloaks and living in the Metropolis, Ardi had almost forgotten how effective this little gesture could be.


    ¡°There¡¯s a safe with a pure yellow Ertaline crystal in the armored car,¡± the conductor finally admitted.


    ¡°You¡¯ll answer for this-¡±


    ¡°Sir,¡± said Ardan without turning around, ¡°I¡¯m about to hit you. It will hurt. And I¡¯ll be ashamed. But I¡¯ll still do it.¡±


    The thin man fell silent mid-sentence.


    Ardi took a moment to think. Ertaline was essentially crystallized Ley embedded in ordinary iron ore. Usually, these fragments were tiny crystals and smaller than a child¡¯s fingernail. Occasionally, there were larger ones the size of a finger ¡ª or even ones as big as a saucer. Those, of course, were highly valued on the market, as they made excellent accumulators. Purity was also key ¡ª the fewer impurities in the crystal, the better.


    And, naturally, color played a part. The crystals corresponded to the colors of the Stars.


    This particular piece was yellow, which meant it was of the fourth Star. And it was without any impurities. A highly-valuable material. But even if the safe held a piece weighing ten or fifteen grams (which would be worth roughly four hundred exes judging by the prices in reputable shops), that still wasn¡¯t enough to¡­


    ¡°It weighs 216 grams,¡± the conductor finished explaining.


    Ardi was suddenly feeling very hot, tugging at the collar of his sweater, and the shirt beneath it. He¡¯d have pulled his skin back as well if it would have helped him breathe easier.


    And, judging by the sounds coming from behind him, the other passengers shared his sentiments.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be held accountable for disclosing commercial secrets!¡± The thin man shouted. ¡°You signed a non-disc-¡±


    There was an unpleasant thud and the sound of a body hitting the floor.


    ¡°Apologies,¡± Ardi said sincerely, lowering his staff, which had struck the thin man between the eyes, rendering him unconscious.


    The crowd recoiled, faces pale.


    ¡°He¡¯s alive,¡± Ardan assured them calmly. ¡°Would someone mind lifting him onto a bench? And putting something under his head?¡±


    No one moved.


    ¡°Please,¡± Ardi added, flashing another hint of fang.


    A few men in suits emerged from the crowd, lifting the unconscious man and settling him onto a nearby bench.


    ¡°That was unwise, sir Mage,¡± the conductor shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s Lex Man.¡±


    ¡°Man?¡± Ardan turned sharply toward the mustached conductor. ¡°As in¡­¡±


    ¡°As in Bri-&-Man,¡± the conductor nodded. ¡°He¡¯s some kind of distant cousin or something of Trevor Man.¡±


    Ardan cursed inwardly. He could only hope that a relative of one of the richest men in the Empire, and indeed, the world, wouldn¡¯t remember the face of the mage who¡¯d struck him.


    ¡°And there are no guards for this cargo?¡±


    ¡°The entire guard team is in the armored car,¡± the conductor said, regaining his composure.


    ¡°An armored car¡­¡± Ardi muttered, scratching his head with the end of his staff. ¡°They¡¯d need an armored train for that much¡­ There¡¯s nearly seven thousand exes¡¯ worth there¡­¡±


    ¡°7249 exes and 76 kso, to be precise,¡± a soft, slightly velvety voice corrected him. ¡°And that¡¯s before it¡¯s refined into an accumulator.¡±


    Ardan turned, expecting anything but what he saw next. Emerging from the crowd was a young woman of about twenty, dressed simply in a long, black winter dress with a warm shirt underneath, layered with a knitted vest sporting the playful pattern of a smiling deer. Her face was framed by thick-rimmed glasses, her hair had been pulled back into a tight bun held by a black ribbon, and in her hands, she held a small book. She had a pleasant, soft-featured face, and though her chest was nearly nonexistent, it only served to emphasize her slender figure and the width of her hips.


    ¡°And you are¡­?¡±


    ¡°Alla Tantov,¡± she introduced herself, adjusting her glasses. ¡°Assistant to Mr. Man.¡±


    Ardan cursed inwardly. But not too severely.


    ¡°My apologies for striking your boss, I-¡±


    ¡°The other Mr. Man,¡± Miss Tantov clarified with a smile that was perhaps better suited to the nightmares of children.


    Ardi cursed again. This time, he did so far more vehemently.


    ¡°The one and only, right?¡± He asked, resigned.


    ¡°Yes, the one and only,¡± she confirmed.


    His grandfather¡¯s stories had sometimes featured those born under unlucky stars. Perhaps Ardan was one of them? After all, what were the odds that he¡¯d end up on the one train carrying a fortune to the capital the one time it was doing so?


    But on the other hand¡­ Ardan glanced once more at the magnate¡¯s assistant.


    Seven thousand exes was a fortune to almost any resident of the Empire. Emphasis on almost. Once, Ardan had overheard a conversation between the housekeeper of the Anorsky estate and Tatiana. They¡¯d discussed how heating costs had driven house expenses up to nearly seventy exes a month. While that was only one percent of the crystal¡¯s worth, even so¡­ That one percent was still just the cost of maintaining a household.


    Seven thousand exes was certainly not an amount that would send Mr. Man¡¯s assistant on such a journey. And during the holidays, no less.


    ¡°So, I suppose they¡¯re trying to break into the car right now?¡± Ardan asked the conductor.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°How many of them are there?¡±


    ¡°Eight.¡±


    Ardan shook his head. Eight¡­ was too many¡­


    ¡°There are a few of our people in the car,¡± Miss Tantov moved closer, lowering her voice. ¡°But only two.¡±


    She then pulled Ardi and the conductor a little farther from the crowd, some of whom were fussing over the still-unconscious Lex Man, while others¡­ were praying and marking themselves with the symbol of the Face of Light. That was just how people were ¡ª most of them only remembered their faith when there was no one else left to provide hope.


    ¡°What about the other conductors?¡± Ardi asked hopefully.


    ¡°They¡¯re locked up in the first-class car,¡± replied the mustached man.


    ¡°And the engineers and crew?¡±


    ¡°Also with them.¡±


    ¡°Sleeping Spirits¡­ Where are the marshals?¡± This question was directed at Tantov. ¡°Surely you hired marshals for protection?¡±


    ¡°No marshals, mister mage, nor private guards,¡± the assistant shook her head. ¡°Only our two people with revolvers.¡±


    ¡°Revolvers¡­ So the bandits must have¡­?¡±


    ¡°I saw a few army rifles,¡± the conductor confirmed his fears. ¡°And some industrial explosives.¡±


    There had been no explosion yet, so they hadn¡¯t used those.


    ¡°The car is protected by a stationary magic shield,¡± Tantov explained. ¡°It¡¯s connected to a small Ley generator inside. As long as they don¡¯t disable it, they won¡¯t be able to blow the car up. Nor can they reach the door.¡±


    ¡°A shield? Does that mean¡­ they have a mage with them?¡±


    The conductor shrugged, and Tantov spread her hands out helplessly.


    ¡°All right,¡± Ardan surveyed the situation. ¡°We need to unbolt these benches from the floor. We¡¯ll barricade the windows so that if they blow the car up, the resulting shards or bullets won¡¯t hit us¡­ We¡¯ll also set some up in the entryway to avoid unwanted visitors. And-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to go after the bandits?¡± Tantov interrupted him.


    ¡°Who, me?¡± Ardan asked, genuinely surprised. ¡°Why would I?¡±


    ¡°To stop them!¡±


    ¡°Stop them from doing¡­ what?¡± Ardi was beginning to understand why he was attracting so much attention. ¡°Stealing the crystal?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s worth seven thousand exes!¡± Tantov protested.


    ¡°And it doesn¡¯t belong to me,¡± Ardan retorted. ¡°I only have one life, and there are eight of them! They might even have a mage. The best thing we can do is sit tight and wait until they get what they came for and leave.¡±


    ¡°But if-¡±


    ¡°If they¡¯d wanted to rob someone, they would have done it by now,¡± Ardan cut the conductor off, gesturing behind him. ¡°The gentlemen¡¯s clothes aren¡¯t even wrinkled, and all their jewelry is still on them. And, as I understand it, they haven¡¯t killed anyone?¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± Tantov hissed.


    ¡°And they won¡¯t,¡± Ardi countered, recalling the Empire¡¯s laws. ¡°Robbery and robbery with murder are entirely different charges. For one of those, they get sent to the labor camps, and for the other, the gallows. So, if we don¡¯t provoke them, soon enough, we¡¯ll be able to free the engineer and the machinist, try to repair the generator, and get the coal furnace running.¡±


    ¡°But you¡­ You¡¯re a coward!¡± Tantov nearly choked with anger.


    ¡°Because I won¡¯t risk my life for someone else¡¯s exes?¡± Ardan looked genuinely surprised. ¡°Then yes, call me a coward. Or whatever else you like. But I¡¯m not going out there.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re a mage!¡± The assistant wouldn¡¯t relent. ¡°Surely you¡¯ve trained for combat!¡±


    Ardi suddenly felt a bit like Mart, the healer, back when he himself had pressured him to treat the northern settlers. Oh, the irony¡­ It was also clear to him how little people understood about the actual abilities of Star Mages.


    ¡°I¡¯m only in my first semester at the Grand,¡± Ardan explained, far calmer than before. ¡°Not even six months in. Our combat training has only just-¡±


    ¡°Your first semester?¡± Tantov seemed to shrink, leaning against the wall for support. ¡°Those fangs¡­ Oh, of course, you¡¯re not entirely human, are you? Apologies¡­ I thought you were a fully-trained mage in the Imperial service. You¡¯re not wearing any regalia¡­ You look older than your age. You¡¯re what, seventeen?¡±


    ¡°Eighteen next month,¡± Ardi nodded.


    ¡°Eternal Angels¡­ forgive me,¡± Tantov shook her head.


    Ardan realized belatedly that he hadn¡¯t donned his regalia. But in his defense, wearing a fur coat with a cloak and epaulettes wasn¡¯t exactly comfortable. Or rather, it was completely impractical. Sure, he could have bought specialized winter gear for mages, but that would¡¯ve cost money. And he hadn¡¯t thought to ask his mother to make some for him. Considering everything that had happened recently, it hadn¡¯t been a priority.


    ¡°Does anyone else have a knife to unbolt the benches with?¡± Ardan asked.


    Three hands rose into the air, belonging to the same men who had been sleeping in the seated car when Ardi had entered. That made sense¡­ Why would the wealthy carry knives?


    ¡°Let¡¯s get to work then,¡± Ardan unsheathed his own and started on the first bench.


    No one needed further instruction, so soon enough¡­


    ¡°We¡¯ll pay you,¡± Tantov whispered in his ear. ¡°One hundred and fifty exes.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s knife paused just above the bolt holding the bench in place. That sum¡­ It was more than substantial. Especially considering the fact that he¡¯d planned to send the Anorsky estate the remaining balance of his debt once he¡¯d reached the bank. But thanks to that Aean¡¯Hane elf, all his exes had turned to ash.


    ¡°Not interested,¡± Ardi waved dismissively.


    ¡°Two hundred and fifty.¡±


    Ardan nearly choked, his hand slipping from the bolt. That kind of money wouldn¡¯t only pay off his debt to the Anorsky family ¡ª it would also cover his rental fees for the practice grounds in the Grand, and even the city itself. Yes, those grounds were more expensive, but there was no need to wait days for his turn. At the university, the issue wasn¡¯t just the cost, it was the sheer number of students vying for space.


    But still¡­


    ¡°What use is money to a corpse?¡± Ardan shrugged, finally securing the knife on the bolt and getting to work.


    ¡°Three hundred exes in cash and two military-grade Blue accumulators, each with sixteen rays,¡± Tantov murmured softly. ¡°Altogether, that¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°Nearly a thousand exes,¡± Ardan whispered, stunned.


    His head spun a little. He might never make that kind of money in his lifetime. Certainly not in a human lifetime. And as for the military accumulators, they couldn¡¯t be found in open markets. Civilian versions didn¡¯t work well for magic experiments. Their Ley density differed, and the rays restored through them suffered greater losses, which meant that they ended up being far more costly than the military grade ones.


    Checking his surroundings to ensure everyone else was focused on the benches, Ardi turned to Tantov, but avoided meeting her gaze. He suspected that she was shielded from his Witch¡¯s Gaze. How did he know?


    Her glasses.


    They didn¡¯t distort her face. There was no optical illusion shifting her eye sockets sideways. The frame held normal glass. Or maybe not so normal¡­


    ¡°So, what¡¯s actually in the safe?¡± Ardi asked, barely moving his lips, his voice a quiet murmur.


    Tantov had a slight shudder go through her but quickly regained her composure.


    ¡°You already know-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± Ardan interrupted. ¡°I can sense it ¡ª your heart¡¯s racing. And if I think about it a little more, seven thousand exes isn¡¯t worth sending Man¡¯s own assistant, plus that thin fellow, out here. Add to that the fact that there¡¯s no escort or extra personnel, and that the car was hitched to a passenger train, and it all screams of secrecy. Way too much trouble for a sum your company probably considers negligible. So, what¡¯s really in the car?¡±


    Tantov squinted, studying him like one would a curious artifact.


    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re not an investigator?¡±


    Ardi remained silent. The magnate¡¯s assistant paused, then sighed in defeat, gathering the hem of her dress as she crouched down beside him.


    ¡°We are transporting the crystal,¡± she whispered. ¡°But¡­ in another train. It was meant as a decoy, but somehow, the bandits got the details anyway. Maybe it was a leak, or¡­ never mind. In the car is the Staff of Demons.¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°The staff of¡­ what?¡±


    ¡°Demons.¡±


    ¡°Be specific?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the Staff. Of Demons,¡± Tantov repeated, a hint of exasperation in her tone.


    Ardan only shrugged, the strange name meaning nothing to him.


    ¡°It¡¯s an artifact from the Aean¡¯Hane. From the time of the War of the Birth of the Empire,¡± she clarified, rolling her eyes ¡ª a strange gesture in this context. ¡°It belonged to Lady Talia, one of Sergeant Mendera¡¯s team. Have you heard of him?¡±


    ¡°I know of him,¡± Ardi nodded. ¡°And of Talia, too. So, what¡¯s special about this staff of yours?¡±


    ¡°Besides the fact that, for many years, it was believed to have been lost in the Dead Lands near the Enario Theocracy? Besides that ¡ª nothing much. Also, it¡¯s priceless because such things can¡¯t be bought. And, of course, it holds Star Magic seals of demonology ¡ª a branch studied only in Makingia, Enario, and Scaldavin!¡±


    Ardan glanced at the knife in his hand, then back at Tantov, and then at his knife again. He had a gut feeling that some connection existed between this Staff of Demons and the events on Fifth Street in Baliero. And if not for that feeling, he would never have agreed to this venture, no matter how high the offer.


    ¡°Bandits, you say?¡± Ardan snorted. ¡°And if we¡¯re being completely honest?¡±


    Tantov didn¡¯t try to dodge the question this time.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, mister mage,¡± she replied honestly. ¡°But two of them have strong Castilian accents.¡±


    Well, that changed things¡­


    Apparently, the train was transporting a staff containing knowledge that must never fall into the wrong hands. And for the second time (or third, if he counted his first journey to the Metropolis) within a woefully short span of time, Ardan was facing demons.


    The word ¡°demon¡± itself originated from the faith of the Face of Light. The Aean¡¯Hane taught that demons were merely Fae who had lost their way. They came from the ranks of both the Sidhe and the lesser spirits. Those who had not sworn allegiance to either Winter or Summer ¡ª the Homeless ¡ª often fell prey to the lure of dark names, losing their path and turning into¡­ demons.


    It was all too much. First, he¡¯d encountered an artifact used to mask demonic traces during an attack on a train. Then that Makingian statuette in the house on Fifth Street. And now, he was on the same train as the staff of Lady Talia, the last demonologist in their country. Since the the War of the Birth of the Empire, this branch of Star Magic, along with others similar to it, such as human chimerization, had been outlawed.


    Ardi spun the knife in his hand, smoothly sliding it back into its sheath.


    ¡°Three,¡± he said.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°Three accumulators,¡± he clarified. Then, after a moment¡¯s thought, he added, ¡°And a ten percent discount on all my purchases from your company¡¯s stores.¡±


    Tantov went pale and seemed ready to argue, but instead, she simply nodded with reluctant resignation. Ardan, who¡¯d not expected his bluff to work, inwardly thanked Timofey Polskih, who¡¯d taught him ¡ª though not with good intentions ¡ª to haggle for every kso.


    Since his youth, Ardi had known that money didn¡¯t simply fall from the sky, so if he was putting his life on the line yet again, he intended to milk every benefit from the situation he possibly could.


    ¡°One moment,¡± Ardan said.


    He returned to his belongings, pulling out a revolver, a belt of cartridges, and a holster from his bag. Securing the iron at his hip, he attached his grimoire to its chain and came back to Tantov. He wasn¡¯t much of a shot, but the weight of the revolver that was slightly dragging down his thigh provided a small boost of confidence.


    And considering how little confidence he had to begin with, it would have to do. As for Tantov, despite her slight frame and gentle face, she lifted her vest to reveal not one, but two slender revolvers. They were elegant, with long barrels and white bone handles, each having a four-chambered cylinder longer than the standard type.


    The weapons shimmered with engravings of mythical creatures, making it seem as though Tantov held not firearms, but art pieces.


    ¡°Miss Tantov,¡± Ardi hesitated, a little taken aback, ¡°it would be easier if I-¡±


    ¡°Call me Alla,¡± she murmured in a meaningful tone.


    ¡°Ard.¡±


    ¡°Then call me Alla, Ard,¡± she finished, turning toward the passageway. ¡°I¡¯m going with you, and that¡¯s not up for discussion.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t argue with her. Together, they entered the passageway. It was cramped, with metal walls lined only with thin rubber inserts to prevent freezing. Ardan took the smokers¡¯ urn and braced it against the entrance to the last car.


    At the woman¡¯s puzzled look, he explained quietly, ¡°So no one follows us.¡±


    Alla blinked slowly in agreement, then carefully opened the next door, quickly aiming a revolver with her right hand as she moved forward.


    Ardan felt no embarrassment at letting Tantov go first. Judging by her steady movements and the firm grip she had on her revolvers, the girl was more than just an assistant. It was no wonder she¡¯d been sent here. The only question was¡­ why did she need Ardi?


    Step by cautious step, they moved through the sitting cars. They were empty and almost abandoned due to the generator¡¯s shutdown, which had allowed the icy breath of the winter steppe to creep in. Traversing them felt like wandering through a surreal, dreamlike realm. A rather chilling dream, at that.


    Ardan gripped his staff tightly, mentally reviewing every battle spell he knew by heart. There weren¡¯t many. Ice Arrow, Ice Barrage, and two shields. One was the universal spell, and the other his own modified one ¡ª Water Shroud. Unfortunately, that last one wouldn¡¯t help much against bullets. Ardi had been around mages for too long and had stopped thinking about simple firearms.


    Incidentally, it had turned out that the Water Shroud wouldn¡¯t be able to protect him against anything that wasn¡¯t made entirely out of Ley. It was quite the flaw in its design, but then how¡­


    Lost in thought, Ardi almost tripped over his own staff.


    ¡°Quiet,¡± Alla whispered. ¡°We¡¯re almost there.¡±


    Indeed, they had already passed through the second-class cars and the dining car. The pair entered the passageway, where the door was braced in the same way ¡ª with a smokers¡¯ urn. Gently pushing the obstacle aside, Alla and Ardi entered the first-class car, which differed only slightly from the ones he¡¯d already seen in second class. Here, the compartments were larger, looking more like rooms and without any upper shelves, and the lower ones were folding couches. Otherwise, everything was the same.


    ¡°Keep it down,¡± the woman whispered when she noticed the nearest prisoner ¡ª the cook.


    In the corridor and the open compartments, untouched by the intruders, were the conductors, two controllers (a kind of senior conductor), the cook, and the waiters. Altogether, it was around twenty-five people. They stared at their unexpected visitors with a mixture of hope, surprise, and faint skepticism. As they passed, Ardan was surprised that none of the captives even stood up, let alone asked what was happening, even though the door to freedom was open.


    Instead, they remained huddled together on the floor, trying to stay close to anything sturdy enough to stop a bullet. Perhaps they¡¯d been trained to do so?


    Approaching the next passageway, Alla tried to use the wooden handle, but it refused to budge.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to go back and exit through the exterior,¡± she whispered.


    Ardan looked out the window. The sky, as if on cue, had cleared, with not a single cloud and not a breath of wind. Out on the white blanket of the steppe, they¡¯d be as visible as cockroaches on a dinner table.


    ¡°They¡¯ll see us.¡±


    ¡°So what¡¯s your plan, Ard?¡±


    Without answering her, Ardan nudged her aside, pressing his palm against the handle. Taking a steadying breath, he opened his senses to the surrounding world. Ardan could feel the faint groan of metal under the creeping frost that wound along the walls and windows, the murmur of the earth sleeping under its snowy blanket, and the quiet sighs of freezing passengers who did not yet realize how thick their breath was becoming.


    Ardi gathered these fragments, molded them into a small but cohesive name, and Spoke it.


    The wood of the door handle instantly froze solid under his hand and crumbled into a fine, white powder. A cold spot appeared beneath the door, frost spreading along its surface until, at last, there was a brittle crackling sound.


    Hoping that there were enough cars between them and the bandits to muffle the noise, he bent down and struck the frozen door with his elbow. It didn¡¯t break at once, but soon, a small hole appeared in the frost-brittle surface.


    ¡°After you,¡± Ardi stepped back.


    Alla, though surprised by the sight, managed to shake it off, slipping her hand through the hole and shifting the urn aside with some effort. The door slid into the wall with a long, drawn-out creak, dislodging pieces of brittle, icy metal onto the floor. Alla glanced between the frosty fragments and Ardi but said nothing.


    Ardan, breathing heavily, leaned on his staff to rest for a moment. Freezing something through several millimeters of metal wasn¡¯t the same as crafting moving figures from snowflakes.


    Beyond the first-class car was the staff dormitory ¡ª a movable barracks where, instead of compartments, rows of three-tiered bunks lined the walls. There were a few nightstands, two wide cabinets, and a separate toilet near the passageway. Next came the kitchen car, filled with pots, metal containers, trays, an ice chest, and a couple of Ley stoves with pans still resting on them.


    Ardan¡¯s stomach growled loudly, and Alla immediately shushed him, pulling him down behind a cart draped with a tablecloth.


    Ardi only had a moment to hear the faint murmur of voices and the shuffling of footsteps near the passageway before the unusually heavy, rough sound of springs announced another presence.


    ¡°They¡¯ve already made it inside,¡± Alla whispered, checking the hammer of her revolver and the cartridges in its chambers.


    Then, with a smooth spin, she slipped off her knitted vest, revealing a firm corset beneath¡­ that was fitted with two holsters and crossed bandoliers.


    Just an assistant, hmm?


    ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan?¡± Ardan asked.


    ¡°Our men wouldn¡¯t have gone down without a fight,¡± Alla peeked over the edge of the cart. ¡°There¡¯s blood on the floor¡­ Looks like they killed them. I just hope our guys managed to take a couple of the bastards down with them.¡±


    Honestly, Ardan wouldn¡¯t have minded staying put and talking for another few minutes. Or even longer. Say, an hour. Just enough time for the bandits to finish their business and disembark.


    ¡°So, about that plan?¡± Ardi repeated.


    Alla crouched down, closed her eyes, and took a few steadying breaths.


    ¡°Not a single one of them can leave here alive,¡± she murmured, opening her eyes. Her pupils had elongated into narrow slits, and a faint wisp of black smoke escaped her mouth. The very same black smoke Ardi had seen coming out of Yonatan¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°And how exactly are we going to accomplish that?¡± He asked a touch uneasily.


    ¡°I¡¯ll start shooting and buy you some time. Meanwhile, Ard, you try to conjure up something that¡¯ll blow open the passage door. Preferably with those bastards behind it.¡±


    Easier said than done¡­ and then it struck him.


    ¡°You can see in the dark?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Not perfectly, but yes.¡±


    ¡°Then, when it goes dark, start firing. I¡¯ll be right behind you so you don¡¯t accidentally hit me.¡±


    ¡°When it goes dark?¡±


    She started to ask something else, but Ardi wasn¡¯t listening. He flipped open his grimoire, scanned the pages, and found what he was looking for. Fixing the diagram of the seal in his mind, Ardan mentally traced it, drawing in the Ley as warmth drained from his hand and into his staff. Then he slammed his staff against the floor.


    For a split second, a crimson seal encircled by a blue outline flared beneath his feet, before thick clouds of icy darkness began streaming out from his staff.


    The spell Cold Shadow, the seal of which he¡¯d learned from Nicholas the Stranger¡¯s book, engulfed the train car in shadows, coating every surface with a lattice of frost. A foggy breath escaped Alla¡¯s lips.


    ¡°An Imperial mage!¡± A voice cried out, thick with a noticeable accent. It might¡¯ve been Castilian, though Ardan couldn¡¯t be sure. ¡°Shoot! Enchil, copy it faster!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m almost done!¡±


    Gunshots exploded from the passageway as bullet after bullet tore through the shroud of darkness, a deafening cacophony in the confined space. Dishes clinked, pots clattered, and the door itself became a sieve, ending up peppered with dozens of whistling projectiles.


    All the while, Alla remained perfectly still. Crouched on her right knee and using the cart to brace herself, she held her guns at the ready, her focus unwavering and fixed on the passageway. Even when one bullet carved a deep red gash across her left thigh, she didn¡¯t so much as flinch.


    Ardan, for his part, kept a shield spell in reserve, remaining vigilant as he stayed hidden behind the mutant¡¯s slight frame.


    As the door was turned into a perforated wreck and the intruders¡¯ rifles ran dry, the accented voice ordered, ¡°Denis, check it out.¡±


    ¡°On it,¡± came a response in pure and unadulterated Galessian.


    One step was heard, then another.


    ¡°Ready,¡± Alla whispered.


    Then came the sound of a boot kicking the door open, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. A tall man ¡ª Denis, presumably ¡ª stood in the doorway, a revolver in his right hand and a discharged rifle slung across his shoulder, peering blindly into the dark.


    Behind him, visible through the open doorway, four bodies lay on the floor, two with bullet-riddled heads and two that had been hacked to death by an invisible blade.


    At the center of it all, suspended by chains, hung a long, carved staff. It looked ageless, untouched by time, and it was glowing faintly, emitting an unsettling, dark energy. Its surface had been etched with a complex array of seals, which a man nearby was hurriedly copying into a grimoire at his feet.


    A mage.


    But before Ardan could process any further details, the remaining bandits reloaded and began firing wildly into the dark cloud in front of them.


    Denis never even realized what had happened. The muzzle flashes from Alla¡¯s revolvers were swallowed by the darkness faster than the eye could track.


    By just standing behind her, Ardan could feel the powerful recoil of her strange weapon. The bullets, tearing through the veil of darkness, surged forward.


    The first struck Denis squarely between the eyes, and all that was left of his head was a spray of flesh and bone fragments erupting from a blood fountain of a neck. The deadly lead cone sped onwards, crossing the threshold right in front of the staff and narrowly missing the mage with the grimoire. Unfortunately, Alla¡¯s bullet fell short of dispatching both targets, dissipating in a cloud of black ash, while Lady Talia¡¯s staff twitched slightly, as though¡­ licking its lips.


    The second bullet pierced straight through Denis¡¯ chest, leaving a wide, gaping hole behind, then continued its deadly path into the abdomen of a man standing behind him, before finally crashing into the shield of the mage beside the staff.


    There were two mages among the bandits¡­


    ¡°Enchil!¡± The other mage called out.


    ¡°I need thirty more seconds!¡± The scribe shouted.


    Not counting Enchil, there were now three adversaries facing Ardan and Alla. One Castilian mage, and two other bandits. One of them, a man barely older than Ardan, reloaded his rifle swiftly and was about to aim it at them when another thunderous report sounded.


    Two bullets whizzed out from the barrels of Alla¡¯s revolvers. One sped toward a thin man with grizzled, gray stubble and a cigar stub that matched his hair color, while the other targeted the mage.


    The Castilian mage raised a shield, a spectral, armor-like barrier, which shattered Alla¡¯s bullet into a shower of sparkling metal dust. But as for the second¡­


    Without even removing his cigar stub, the grizzled man drew two short, curved sabers, slashing them in an X pattern. In a feat that Ardan had previously thought impossible, he split the heavy lead into four pieces, three of which clinked against the walls and ceiling of the armored car, while one lodged itself directly in the eye of the young bandit with the rifle.


    In less than ten seconds, only five people in total remained.


    Alla swiftly cocked her guns, pulling the triggers in rapid succession. The shots echoed in the tight quarters, each blast punctuated by the sharp ringing of bullets cleaved mid-air by the grizzled man¡¯s sabers.


    Ardan knew instinctively that no ordinary person could do such a thing. And yet the man wasn¡¯t a mutant or a vampire. Ardan could smell his sweat, hear his steady breathing, and sense only a slightly elevated heartbeat.


    Here stood a perfectly normal man, deflecting heavy rounds with nothing but twin sabers that remained razor-sharp, without so much as a nick along their blades.


    ¡°Well, lanyer Tisin,¡± the swordsman spoke with an accent that was different but distinct. ¡°That¡¯s proof enough that the Empire¡¯s still dabbling in mutant experiments, though this one here still falls short of the Tazidahian level and-¡±


    ¡°Less talking, Darton,¡± Tisin cut him off, holding his staff and open grimoire before him. ¡°Or are Selkadians incapable of staying focused?¡±


    Selkado¡­ Castilia¡­ Ardan felt like he was in some sort of twisted nightmare.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Ard,¡± Alla murmured unexpectedly. She spun her revolvers in her hands before holstering them, and then drew two short, broad-bladed knives with intricate grips designed to serve as knuckledusters. The knives had been hidden at her thighs, beneath the skirt of her dress. ¡°If that¡¯s a Knight, we¡¯re probably going to die.¡±


    ¡°A Knight, miss?¡± The swordsman chewed on his cigar stub with a slight smile, his demeanor unruffled. ¡°If I were a Knight, you¡¯d be meeting the Eternal Angels already. No, I¡¯m only a humble Squire. I hope to one day ignite the Yellow Star, but for now, success in that endeavor eludes me. Still, it¡¯s only a matter of-¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Both Alla and Tisin snapped at him in unison.


    With a graceful leap, Alla cleared the cart and, in a single, fluid motion, launched herself a full two and a half meters forward, aiming to drive her left-hand knife into the swordsman¡¯s throat. He dodged to the side by leaning his body away, attempting a counter with his saber. However, his blade, though relatively short, was still too long for the cramped confines and got snagged in the armored wall, slicing nearly a palm¡¯s depth into the metal.


    Both of them moved so swiftly that even Ardan, with his hunter¡¯s eyes sharpened by the trails of the Alcade forests and mountain paths, struggled to keep up.


    Even so, he noted a peculiar detail: as the swordsman moved, faint seals flared on the skin beneath his sleeves. Ard had heard tales of how the military mages of the League of Selkado could apply Star Magic in a unique way, but he¡¯d never seen it in action before.


    ¡°Allow me, mister Imperial mage. Let¡¯s make things a bit brighter,¡± Tisin sneered as his partner transformed his saber into a blurry silver flash, deflecting Alla¡¯s relentless attacks as she spun like a whirlwind before the Selkadian.


    The mage slammed his staff against the ground, and a blue seal flared to life before him. A moment later, the cloud of icy darkness was sucked into the staff¡¯s head, which was crowned by a small, murky yellow crystal.


    ¡°A mutant indeed, and¡­¡± The mage¡¯s gaze shifted from the dueling swordsmen to Ardan¡¯s face. ¡°A pathetic half-breed? I¡¯ve never understood this Galessian fondness for inferior life forms.¡±


    The Castilian scoffed and slammed his staff down once more. A complex seal flared to life, and Ardan managed to catch only a glimpse of the array of runes responsible for absorbing and redirecting the Ley energy.


    But that was enough¡­


    The darkness coiled around the man¡¯s staff, twisting into a long spear of shadow which then shot toward Alla. Ardan was ready.


    A transparent veil of water unfurled around his staff, casting a protective layer over the mutant woman. When the spear struck it, rather than impaling her, it melted into the Water Shroud, only to then harden into a jet-black frost and surge back toward the Castilian.


    ¡°You missed,¡± he said coldly, not even raising a shield as the ice shard was about to shoot past his right leg.


    Ardan, every muscle tense, hurled himself forward. Tisin¡¯s eyes widened in sudden realization, and he started to summon a shield, but it was too late.


    The Water Shroud, now infused with the power of two spells and strengthened by Ardan¡¯s connection to winter, slammed into the pouch Tisin was carrying at his side. Ardan had recognized the industrial-grade explosive pack instantly.


    As the walls of the armored car bulged and blistered like boiling milk from the force of the blast, and a roaring torrent of flames surged out, Ardan was already pressing Alla against the far wall, shielding them both from the raging fire with a shield spell. He maintained his focus despite the sharp pain from the deep cut the Selkadian¡¯s saber had left on his side.


    Neither of the Castilians had time to scream, instantly turning into blackened torches along with their clothes, grimoires, and staves. As for the Selkadian, who still had one saber wedged in the wall of the car, he let out a bellow reminiscent of a wounded bison. Ardan, who was too busy pouring every bit of energy into his Universal Shield, couldn¡¯t see what happened next. He only heard the fire devouring everything in its path, and then the shockwave rolled through, tearing the kitchen and staff cars to shreds, as well as shattering windows in several other cars along the way.


    If not for the armored passageway and the wall shielding him and Alla, they would have ended up like overheated balloons ¡ª first charred, then burst. Those brief moments ¡ª no, fractions of moments ¡ª during which the chemically-induced inferno raged within the enclosed space felt like an eternity to Ardan. Not to mention the searing pain as tongues of flame licked at his body, finding gaps in his cracking shield.


    And then¡­ silence.


    Blackened by soot and smoke, the cars stood still after the furious explosion. Ardan, still squinting, drew his revolver since his magic reserves were depleted. Instead of the Selkadian, all that was left was a severed, charred hand gripping his sword¡¯s hilt. The swordsman himself was nowhere to be seen. As for the Squire¡¯s comrades (that seemed to be what the man had called himself) ¡ª only their charred bodies remained, twisted in terrible agony. Their eyes had melted, their skin was smoking and had nearly turned to coal, and in places, their cracked bones protruded through bubbling, seared flesh.


    ¡°What about¡­ the staff?¡± Alla asked from behind him.


    Ardi, holstering his revolver and clutching his bleeding side, turned around. Behind him, the mutant had slid down the wall to the floor. Long but shallow cuts left behind by the Squire¡¯s other saber now marked her arms and torso, but they couldn¡¯t possibly have been the cause of her current condition.


    Alla¡¯s skin had turned ashen, her pupils so dilated they nearly eclipsed her irises. She was breathing heavily, gasping for air like someone who¡¯d nearly drowned.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you worry about yourself? What happened?¡±


    ¡°Too¡­ long¡­¡± She gasped, her words coming out in short bursts. She was likely referring to the time she¡¯d spent in her transformed state. ¡°The staff¡­ What¡­ about¡­ the staff?¡±


    Ardan tried to lift her, but the look she gave him ¡ª her glasses somehow still firmly in place even after all the fighting ¡ª made him hesitate, leaving him feeling slightly unnerved. Shrugging, he left her lying in the passage and hobbled into the armored car.


    The metal was twisted and bulging out in warped bubbles, charred bodies were scattered about, and the familiar stench of burnt flesh, a smell Ardan had hoped to forget, lingered thickly. And yet, through it all, the staff and the chains that held it had remained entirely untouched.


    Something on the soot-covered floor suddenly caught his eye. He bent down, surprised at what he saw.


    The grimoire page that the second Castilian had been using to copy the artifact¡¯s engravings just before the explosion was also undamaged, bearing nearly all the seals from the staff¡¯s surface.


    ¡°It¡¯s intact,¡± Alla said breathlessly. ¡°Praise the Eternal Angels...¡±


    Ardan himself didn¡¯t quite know why he did so, but he discreetly took the page, and as he straightened up ¡ª just before turning to the slowly-recovering Alla ¡ª he slipped it into his inner pocket.


    The woman looked slightly more alive by now. Her skin had lost its grayish hue, and her pupils had returned to a normal size. Despite this, her wounds continued to bleed.


    ¡°You need a doctor.¡±


    ¡°One of the train staff should be¡­ trained to provide¡­ first aid,¡± Alla replied, her strength gradually returning. ¡°The Selkadian got away.¡±


    ¡°But without the copy of the seals that this gentleman was working on,¡± Ardan gestured to the charred corpse beside him.


    ¡°He might have remembered something...¡± Alla shook her head. ¡°All right, let¡¯s go back, Ard.¡±


    She tried to push herself away from the wall she was leaning against but nearly stumbled. Ardi stepped closer and offered her his arm. Alla grasped his forearm, and together, they started heading back.


    ¡°You do understand that you cannot speak of this to anyone?¡± She asked quietly.


    ¡°I understand,¡± Ardan replied.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    If he were being honest, he didn¡¯t see what was ¡°good¡± about it. He¡¯d said he understood, not that he wouldn¡¯t talk.


    Skusty would¡¯ve approved.


    Ergar would have as well, he supposed.


    And, surprisingly, Ardan found that he was somewhat proud of himself, too. More so, he could feel the weight of the seals copied from the Staff of Demons in his pocket. He¡¯d need to decide what to do with them.


    ¡°Thoughts for tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°A saying of the Matabar.¡±


    ¡°I see¡­¡±


    ***


    They managed to repair the generator by nightfall, thanks to the engineer and machinist, who were experienced and resourceful. But by the time the Ley current had started flowing through the cables and the coal furnace had begun working again, allowing the train to resume its journey, everyone had frozen to the bone.


    Ironically, they¡¯d found refuge outside, huddling around makeshift bonfires built from broken benches. There, Ardan had joined a few of the hardier men (layered in coats and sweaters) in unhooking the damaged cars that would have prevented the train from moving forward.


    As for the staff from the armored car, Alla and Lex Man had carried a ¡°certain package¡± to the last first-class car and relocated all the other passengers to the second-class ones. Those who¡¯d grumbled were quickly silenced ¡ª not with threats, but with promises of a triple reimbursement for their tickets.


    By the middle of the night, the damaged cars had been separated, the others reconnected, and the train had begun its journey once more.


    Ardan¡¯s wound, hastily bandaged by a conductor, was starting to heal, the edges of it covered in fresh, pink skin. It still ached, but he was grateful for the quick healing granted to him by his Matabar blood.


    Over the remaining day and a half, they didn¡¯t see a single station. Their route, evidently, had been planned to minimize stops. That was likely why the train had carried six coal cars instead of the usual three, and two water tanks instead of one, aiming for a direct run from Presny to the Metropolis.


    In all that time, Ardan saw no signs of Alla, Lex, or even the mustached conductor.


    He spent the remainder of his journey back in the same car, quietly musing¡­ about blackberry pie. He should¡¯ve probably been thinking about demons, foreigners, and conspiracies. But all he could think about was food. The kitchen had been destroyed, leaving nothing to eat.


    Finally, well into the second day, the lights of the Metropolis broke through the car¡¯s windows. The train slowed as it pulled into the station, which was surrounded by guards. Firemen, Cloaks, and a few inconspicuous civilians hurried toward the cars.


    Ardan stepped out to meet them.


    ¡°Mr. Egobar, you never miss a chance for excitement, do you?¡± Said §³at, tipping his hat at him as he led the group from the Second Chancery over.


    ¡°Food.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± The Cloak looked taken aback.


    ¡°Do you have food?¡± Ardan clarified.


    Cat chuckled.


    ¡°Come along, Ard. If we¡¯re quick, we might still make it to dinner at the Black House. The Colonel¡¯s waiting for you.¡±


    Cloaks surrounded him and led him toward a discreet door at the edge of the building, away from the main entrance. Meanwhile, the passengers were being led out one by one and separated into groups. Reporters crowded in behind the guards, shouting questions and scribbling furiously in their notebooks. Cameras flashed.


    As Ardan inhaled the Metropolis air, he coughed.


    How did anyone ever get used to this?

 Chapter 53 - New job or...?

    In the first days after the holidays, the Metropolis looked... just like it usually did. Except for one thing: cars were still scarce. Lone trams, creaking slightly along the icy rails, moved in a leisurely manner through the snow-covered streets. Only a few sleek, low-slung new cars kept them company.


    Pedestrians, bundled up in their fur coats and winter overcoats, hurried about their business as usual.


    The sun was shining. Or trying to shine, anyway... It would sometimes emerge briefly from behind the gray, low-hanging haze that blanketed the sky, turning it into a reflection of the slushy snow gloomily glimmering on the sidewalks and roads.


    Their small truck was steadily moving away from Old Town and had already crossed the Crookedwater Canal. Its name came from the fact that the workers digging it had deviated significantly from the planned course, leaving its channel with a pronounced curve.


    Buildings of refined beauty gave way to far more utilitarian structures bereft of caryatids, intricate arches, columns, balustrades, bay windows, balconies, and tangled bas-reliefs. These were simple brick boxes, which only occasionally tried to boast a grand entrance instead of a modest stairwell.


    And gradually, ahead of them, above the horizon comprised of pale house roofs, skyscrapers began to rise. At first, they were relatively modest ones ¡ª ¡°only¡± sixteen or eighteen stories tall ¡ª but as they neared the New City, the buildings grew taller and taller, some reaching heights of up to twenty-five, even thirty stories. Towering over the city like silent sentinels, they looked simultaneously monumental and... somehow out of place. As Ardan gazed at them, he began to understand Duchess Anorsky¡¯s remarks about the grotesqueness of skyscrapers. However, even among their ranks, there were those that resembled austere castles or pompous palaces reaching ever skyward.


    Inside the truck, Ardan was being accompanied by Cat and three others, while the driver and a fifth Cloak sat beyond the partition.


    Strangely enough, none of them had asked him a single question about the incident on the train. And yet, like the emergency services, they knew something had gone awry. Perhaps the delay had given it away ¡ª the train had lost nearly a full day due to the attack... by who knows whom. Calling them mere bandits felt wrong, and Ardi knew too little about the rest to even hazard a guess.


    Not to mention the fact that the folded sheet of paper with the seals copied from the Staff of Demons was still tucked away in the inner pocket of his vest...


    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± the driver announced. His voice was a bit dry and slightly unpleasant, reminiscent of sandpaper scratching against soft wood.


    The truck groaned in protest, its frozen brakes creaking as it stopped at the curb.


    Cat was the first to jump out and unfold the step ladder leading down. Icy, damp air hit their faces immediately, far colder than in Delpas. The frost gnawed at their cheeks, snow crunched underfoot, and the wind howled in a way that could almost rival a wolf.


    And Ardan liked it. He loved winter. He loved it even when it reeked of coal, diesel, cigar smoke, and a sewer system in desperate need of repair.


    Holding onto his hat, which kept threatening to fly off amid the gusts of wind, Ardan looked up. They were standing before the infamous Black House.


    It was monumental: a massive, rectangular building situated opposite a small square and flanked on both sides by parks with tall trees and fountains. Six stories high, it only had one grand entrance, which was positioned centrally. Bereft of any decorative facade, even the window frames appeared severe and unwelcoming against the somber, dark brick walls.


    Unsurprisingly, the residents of not just the Metropolis, but the entire Empire feared this grim edifice. Just looking at it made you want to shrink away and run.


    ¡°Want one?¡± Cat asked, holding out a cigarette to Ardan.


    ¡°I don¡¯t smoke,¡± the young man declined.


    ¡°For now,¡± the Cloak remarked, pulling a steel lighter shaped like a skull from his coat pocket and lighting up.


    Soon, his colleagues joined him, taking out cigarettes and lighting them with identical lighters. If not for the icy wind, Ardi would have started coughing; the smell of tobacco irritated him.


    ¡°And what-¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll finish smoking and head in,¡± one of the Cloaks said. It was the same dry voice from before, and the man himself matched it: tall, gaunt and unremarkable, save for the old burn scars on his hands.


    The Cloaks smoked without gloves, their hands gradually turning red. Ardi glanced at his own hands. Despite the frost, they seemed perfectly normal.


    ¡°When¡¯s the subway opening?¡± One of the Cloaks asked, taking a drag.


    ¡°Early in the Month of Flowers,¡± Dry Voice replied. ¡°The first day of spring. Twelve stations at once. They¡¯ll extend from the Boulevard of the Rebel King straight to Market Street.¡±


    That first name rang a bell for Ardan. The Boulevard of the Rebel King was adjacent to Saint Warriors Street, where Boris and Elena lived. As for Market Street... He thought it was somewhere in the Trade District.


    ¡°What¡¯s a subway?¡± Ardan couldn¡¯t hold back his curiosity.


    Some of the Cloaks choked on their smoke, while Cat merely chuckled and reached out to clap Ardan on the shoulder, but then thought better of it.


    ¡°Underground tram lines,¡± Cat explained, turning to his colleagues. ¡°Don¡¯t be surprised. Mr. Egobar here is a bit... otherworldly, unless the subject is Star Magic. Right, Magister?¡±


    Ardi stayed silent. He wasn¡¯t intimidated or surprised by the Second Chancery¡¯s knowledge of him ¡ª he¡¯d grown used to it.


    ¡°It¡¯s part of a project to develop the city¡¯s transportation system,¡± one of the Cloaks elaborated, extinguishing his cigarette with the sole of his boot and tossing it into a nearby bin. ¡°In recent decades, the number of cars has increased. So has the population. Surface trams can¡¯t keep up anymore. They either get stuck in traffic or break down because of the weather. So, about seven years ago, the Guild of Engineers proposed that they be allowed to dig tunnels for tram tracks. It¡¯ll speed up transportation and make it more convenient for people to move around Metropolis. Not to mention-¡±


    ¡°Arthur, give it a rest,¡± Cat snorted, flicking his cigarette butt into the same bin.


    ¡°Curse that Witch¡¯s Gaze,¡± Arthur sighed. ¡°It¡¯s insidious. Feels like chatting with a good friend ¡ª it lightens your mood and makes you want to spill everything. Like how the other day, my wife and I-¡±


    ¡°Arthur!¡± The other Cloaks chorused.


    ¡°Ah¡­ right.¡± The talkative Cloak shot Ardan a disgruntled look and fell silent.


    ¡°And what about the Ley Lines¡¯ influence?¡± Ardi mused aloud. ¡°Or were the tunnels shielded like the mines? But... the cost...¡±


    ¡°The subway will require tickets,¡± Cat waved off the concern. ¡°The Crown and the investors will recoup their expenses... in a couple of decades. The real question, Mr. Egobar, is¡­¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t quite grasp this ¡°real question,¡± so he asked the most obvious thing instead:


    ¡°Are we going inside?¡±


    ¡°Everyone done smoking?¡± Cat asked, for some reason.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°One sec,¡± the last Cloak requested, taking one more drag before discarding his cigarette butt.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go,¡± Cat nodded and led the way toward the grand entrance.


    Ardi frowned and trailed after him. Soft, fluffy snow fell on his head. The blizzard had already moved on farther down the street, disappearing among the low residential houses. He couldn¡¯t help but wonder: what was it like to live next to a nightmare made reality, the kind of thing used to scare the entire country?


    ¡°It¡¯s a superstition,¡± whispered Arthur, who was walking beside him. The man was somewhere in his forties, with a repeatedly broken nose. He continued, ¡°If more than three people enter the Black House, someone has to have smoked beforehand.¡±


    ¡°And what happens if-¡±


    ¡°Trouble,¡± Arthur interrupted with a shrug. ¡°They¡¯ll assign you a new case out of turn, dock your bonus, send you on a long assignment, or saddle you with someone else¡¯s cold case to reopen. Or something else will go wrong. I don¡¯t believe in superstitions myself, but this has become a sort of tradition.¡±


    ¡°A cold case?¡±


    ¡°Cases that go unsolved within a year,¡± the Cloak explained. ¡°And no one likes those.¡±


    ¡°Why-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll find that out if you come to an agreement with the Colonel.¡±


    By then, they had already entered the headquarters of the Second Chancery. Beyond the massive wooden doors reinforced with iron bands and adorned with cast-iron Imperial emblems (inherited from Gales), was... quite an ordinary building.


    The wooden floors were covered with nondescript, worn rugs. Near the entrance was a checkpoint manned by two elderly ¡°guards,¡± who lazily glanced at the investigators¡¯ IDs that the Cloaks presented.


    ¡°And this one?¡± One of the greeters asked.


    ¡°He¡¯s with us. He¡¯s going to see the Colonel.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± came the indifferent response.


    Behind the ¡°security booth¡± or, in this case, the equivalent of an information desk, a long, wide corridor came into view. Paintings of all kinds hung on the walls, ranging from still life paintings and portraits to landscapes. Occasionally, they were interspersed with photographs of city panoramas.


    ¡°The cleaners asked everyone to head straight to the cloakroom!¡± Someone called after them.


    ¡°Understood,¡± Cat replied.


    They turned left and approached an old, somewhat shabby white door with a sign reading ¡°Cloakroom.¡± Inside was, predictably, a cloakroom.


    An elderly woman took their outerwear and handed out wooden tokens, including one for Ardan, who reluctantly parted with his overcoat.


    ¡°We won¡¯t make it to the cafeteria,¡± Cat checked his wristwatch. ¡°So, colleagues, let¡¯s split up. The Magister and I will see the Colonel, and the rest of you... well, go where you need to.¡±


    ¡°See you, Milar,¡± Arthur bid them farewell.


    And that was how Ardan learned the real name of this affable, slightly odd investigator.


    They entered the corridor together, then parted ways. The other Cloaks headed to the east wing, while Milar/Cat and Ardan went west. They passed a couple of doors before reaching a wide staircase.


    ¡°They should¡¯ve installed an elevator by now,¡± Milar muttered irritably. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go.¡±


    The first oddity Ardi noticed was that the stairs, though broad and shaped into a sort of spiral, didn¡¯t lead to corridors or lobbies but... to more doors. Judging by the distant sounds behind them, people were moving between these rooms as well. It gave one the impression that the Black House could just as easily have been called the House of Doors.


    They climbed to the sixth floor and, after opening ¡ª shocker ¡ª a door, found themselves in yet another corridor. Walking through it, they encountered only a few workers. If not for the building they were in, they could¡¯ve easily been mistaken for simple clerks. They wore strict yet plain suits, had an abundance of folders in their hands, and somewhat absent-minded expressions.


    There was one detail Ardan noted again ¡ª no one greeted anyone. Even though the workers clearly knew Cat and he knew them, they passed by without even meeting each other¡¯s gaze. Then they disappeared through yet more doors, whose only identifying markers were numbered plaques organized in a manner similar to the Grand: the first digit denoted the floor, and the second represented the office. Peeking into a door alongside a worker going through it, Ardan glimpsed an antechamber ¡ª a buffer of sorts. In other words, the doors came in pairs, ensuring that even someone who¡¯d managed to follow a Cloak inside wouldn¡¯t be able to see what was transpiring within, past the second door.


    The corridor itself was no different from the one Ardan had encountered on the first floor. It had the same worn gray-brown carpet, the same impersonal paintings and photographs, and nothing that would overtly indicate the nature of the work conducted here. The only consistent companion was the echo, persistently battering against the indifferent windowpanes in a futile attempt to escape.


    It all seemed designed to disorient. Should someone stumble in here without entering through the main doors, they¡¯d have no clue where they were. Everything looked the same, offering no hint of the true purpose of the place. And yet the implausible cleanliness paired with deliberate neglect hinted that all was not as it seemed.


    This description, incidentally, could just as easily apply to the Metropolis itself.


    At the far end of the long, bright, spacious corridor, Ardan discovered... yes, more doors. Unlike the others, however, these bore no plaque. That was their sole distinguishing feature.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± Milar opened the first set of doors, then the buffer, ushering Ardan into a modest office.


    It was far more modest than one might¡¯ve expected the de facto head of the Empire¡¯s most powerful law enforcement agency to have. It was no more than thirty square meters, slightly elongated, and entirely paneled with dark-brown painted wood. This, combined with the emerald-green curtains on the windows, lent the room an air of gentle dimness.


    At the far wall stood a desk shaped by two perpendicular lines , illuminated by a single Ley-lamp. Flanking it were two narrow, short cabinets with opaque doors. And... nothing more. The office had no room for superfluous decor. There were no extravagant chairs, no excess furniture. Furthermore, only a simple portrait of the Emperor adorned the wall near the window.


    Well, that and a subtle, deliberately-concealed additional door embedded within the wooden paneling.


    ¡°Take a seat, Magister,¡± Cat pulled out a chair for Ardi, then perched on the adjacent one.


    They sat in silence for several minutes before the concealed door opened with a barely audible, high-pitched creak.


    ¡°Needs oiling,¡± said a familiar voice.


    Along with an equally-familiar folder (the one the Emperor had been holding before, which contained Ardan¡¯s dossier), the man settled into the chair at the head of the table.


    He looked almost the same as before, back at the Anorsky estate. All he was missing were his hat and autumn coat. He wore a plain, blue work suit instead ¡ª cheap but well-made, a slightly worn shirt with a visibly-mended collar, and shoes polished to a mirror shine, with wide, blunt toes. The kind favored by factory workers.


    In every other way, the Deputy Head of the Second Chancery was exactly as Ardan remembered him: a wiry man with streaks of gray in his jet-black hair. He also had an aquiline nose, piercing eyes, and a slight bald spot that was no longer hidden beneath a felt hat.


    A scar marred his upper lip, and his right hand trembled faintly ¡ª a hint of an old injury. However, his blue eyes had retained their sharp clarity, reflecting a strength emanating not from his lean, aging body, but from the indomitable will of the giant personality within.


    Ardan had no doubts about what this man truly was.


    ¡°It seems to me that, during our last meeting, I mentioned that you wouldn¡¯t want to see me again, Mr. Egobar,¡± the Colonel opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out a thick cigar, a special cutter, and a skull-shaped lighter identical to Cat¡¯s.


    He clipped the cigar¡¯s end, lit it, and took a slow puff, exhaling a cloud of smoke that smelled more like chocolate and vanilla than tobacco.


    ¡°Colonel,¡± Milar straightened up, his demeanor suddenly serious.


    ¡°Captain Investigator of the First Rank,¡± the old man returned the greeting with equal gravity. Then, without removing the cigar from his mouth, he untied the strings of Ardi¡¯s folder and quickly skimmed its contents. ¡°Fifth Street... The Jackets... The Dandy... and now the train. What exactly happened there?¡±


    Ardan recounted everything in meticulous detail.


    Except for one thing ¡ª the copy of the engravings still hidden in his vest. Why? He wasn¡¯t sure. He suspected that it would be confiscated, and after glimpsing its complex and unusual seals, Ardi couldn¡¯t resist the urge to study them and understand their structure.


    ¡°So, the copy didn¡¯t survive?¡± The Colonel asked, his gaze fixed on Ardan.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see it on the bodies,¡± Ardi replied truthfully.


    ¡°Trevor Man¡¯s assistant might have pocketed it,¡± Milar added thoughtfully. ¡°And sold it off quietly later.¡±


    ¡°Then you and your team, Captain, will investigate that lead,¡± the Colonel gestured with his cigar. ¡°Head to Bri-&-Man¡¯s office and discuss why our dear tycoon decided to bring the jewel of his collection to this city.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Milar responded, albeit a little reluctantly, and turned to Ardan.


    ¡°Should¡¯ve smoked!¡± he mouthed, his expression vivid and eloquent.


    ¡°You¡¯re not concerned about her being a mutant?¡± Ardi blurted out in surprise.


    ¡°There are no mutants in the Empire, Mr. Egobar,¡± the Colonel replied. ¡°We¡¯re not Tazidahians. We don¡¯t torture our own people with Star Magic.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°And Yonatan Kornosskiy, naturally,¡± the Colonel cut him off, ¡°isn¡¯t a mutant, either. Just as you, of course, didn¡¯t participate in repelling an attack by a foreign intelligence sabotage group. No, you simply had a peaceful and uneventful journey to the capital and went straight home. Why the emergency services missed you when they arrived at the train after the generator accident ¡ª well, that¡¯s anyone¡¯s guess. Understood?¡±


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    ¡°Excellent,¡± the Colonel nodded, closing his folder. For a while, he smoked in silence. Then he asked, ¡°What do you think, Milar?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, Colonel,¡± Cat shrugged. ¡°Yonatan recommended eliminating the kid.¡±


    ¡°He recommends that we eliminate everyone,¡± the Colonel retorted. ¡°That¡¯s why I value him.¡±


    ¡°For his paranoia?¡±


    ¡°For his lack of attachments, Captain,¡± the Second Chancery¡¯s leader corrected, flicking ash into an elegant, sculpted ashtray that appeared on the desk seemingly out of nowhere. ¡°But I want your honest opinion. Speak your mind.¡±


    Milar cast a quick glance at Ardan, then turned back.


    ¡°Deep beneath his naivety and reckless curiosity lies a competent investigator,¡± he declared. ¡°Coupled with his obvious aptitude for learning that Bazhen reported-¡±


    ¡°Cool it, Captain,¡± the Colonel mockingly admonished. ¡°Mr. Egobar isn¡¯t on the payroll yet and has never set foot in the Black House. So, let¡¯s leave names out of this.¡±


    ¡°But it seems like he has a penchant for recklessness,¡± Milar continued. ¡°The Wanderer, the Shanti¡¯Ra, the house on Baliero, the train ¡ª it all points to a death wish. The Magister is determined to end his life in the most unpleasant way possible. I don¡¯t want to risk the lives of the men and women who might end up in the same team as him. He¡¯ll drag them down.¡±


    ¡°Hm,¡± the Colonel murmured noncommittally. ¡°And you, Mr. Egobar? What do you have to say about that?¡±


    ¡°That you¡¯re framing this as if I should be begging you for a position, rather than the other way around,¡± Ardan replied faster than he could stop himself.


    A small snow leopard on his shoulder nodded respectfully, while the squirrel on the other side hid its face in its paws in embarrassment.


    ¡°Well, well,¡± the Colonel drawled after a brief pause. ¡°Care to explain? But let me warn you: yes, we don¡¯t have many half-bloods, and the Firstborn in our ranks can be counted on two hands. In that sense, you¡¯re a rare find. And not every mage is suited to our line of work. Those who might be interested often have far better offers, so-¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter to you at all,¡± Ardi interrupted, not even bothering to apologize. ¡°And you know that I know as much. Which leaves only one thing.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡± The Colonel frowned slightly.


    ¡°The fact that none of those you mentioned have any connection to ¡®Operation Mountain Predator.¡¯ But you, like my father and great-grandfather ¡ªmy great-grandfather on my mother¡¯s side, to clarify ¡ª suspect it was a conspiracy.¡±


    A heavy silence fell over the office. The Colonel scrutinized Ardan, while Milar looked between them both. At that moment, Ardi simply didn¡¯t care. The truth was, absurd and pompous as it might¡¯ve sounded, that the Second Chancery needed him even more than he needed them.


    ¡°I must ask you, Mr. Egobar, to hand over Alexander Taakov¡¯s journal,¡± the Colonel demanded, his tone devoid of any coercion but clearly authoritative.


    ¡°How did you know?¡±


    ¡°When we first met, Ard, you had no idea about ¡®Operation Mountain Predator,¡¯ nor about your mother¡¯s family history,¡± the old man replied calmly. Although, on second thought, the Colonel wasn¡¯t that old ¡ª maybe sixty or slightly older. ¡°Your mother, if she¡¯d known, would¡¯ve already told you. That leaves Aror and your father. Aror is a dubious and shady character ¡ª no offense, though feel free to be offended... he¡¯s unreliable. Which means it was your father. A father about whom you knew so little that you wouldn¡¯t trust his words enough to base your reasoning on them. Which means Hector Egobar provided you with convincing evidence. And since every field investigator is required to keep a journal of their investigations, he must¡¯ve left it to you as an inheritance.¡±


    Ardan blinked in stunned silence. So, this was what it felt like to be on the receiving end of someone¡¯s deductive reasoning and having your life laid bare.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t think your unpolished deductive skills were unique, did you?¡± The Colonel took another puff, seemingly pleased with himself. ¡°The journal?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s only a page,¡± Ardi admitted, not bothering to lie. He opened his satchel, which, along with his bag, he hadn¡¯t checked into the cloakroom, and pulled out his father¡¯s letter. ¡°The rest was burned under... certain circumstances.¡±


    ¡°Ard,¡± the Colonel winced a little, carefully taking the page from his great-grandfather¡¯s journal. ¡°Don¡¯t make us regret our faith in you. We¡¯re well-aware of your father¡¯s entire story. So, calm down.¡±


    Of course... Of course they already knew.


    ¡°And I¡¯ll be keeping this page ¡ª no hard feelings,¡± the Colonel carefully placed it into one of those familiar tubes meant to be used with pneumatic systems. Spinning in his chair, he opened the left cabinet, which contained not books or files, but an array of pneumatic mail tubes.


    Well, then... Nothing was as it seemed.


    ¡°Especially since you¡¯ve already made a copy,¡± the Colonel remarked, sending the scroll off with a satisfying whoosh.


    Ardi tried not to react. He hadn¡¯t made a copy. It hadn¡¯t even occurred to him. Besides, why would he need one? But the Colonel was so certain, as though... As though he believed Ardan was wholly focused on uncovering the tragedy of his father¡¯s people.


    ¡°This connection still doesn¡¯t make you a suitable candidate, Ard,¡± the Colonel returned to his seat.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll head home on the Marcov Canal,¡± Ardi shrugged.


    Tellingly, none of them moved. They all understood that they needed each other, perhaps not equally, but in a way that left little room for negotiation.


    ¡°I¡¯ll offer you a three-month probationary period,¡± the Colonel said after nearly five minutes of silence. ¡°During this time, your salary will be twelve exes and forty kso. And sixty kso for each ray of your Red Star. That makes sixteen exes and sixty kso.¡±


    The sum didn¡¯t particularly appeal to Ardan. Yonatan¡¯s skepticism about Second Chancery salaries suddenly made a lot more sense, as did the reason for why mages weren¡¯t lining up to join them. Even with bonuses for their Stars.


    ¡°And whose team will we assign him to, Colonel?¡± Milar finally asked after a long pause.


    The leader of the Second Chancery didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he shot a meaningful look at the captain, who seemed to realize something a moment later and practically exploded.


    ¡°Mine?!¡± Milar shot to his feet. ¡°An untrained kid? Maybe in five years, he¡¯d be of some use, but... this is absurd!¡±


    ¡°If he can¡¯t catch up in three months, we¡¯ll dismiss him,¡± the Colonel replied calmly. ¡°You¡¯ve been submitting reports for nearly a year, always asking for a mage to be assigned to your unit.¡±


    ¡°A combat mage,¡± Milar grumbled, sitting back down. ¡°And I was hinting at Aversky or, at worst, Mshisty.¡±


    ¡°Aversky volunteered to train our new, albeit temporary, colleague,¡± the Colonel said, passing Milar the dossier.


    ¡°Aversky?¡± The captain¡¯s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. ¡°Volunteer? Why would that lunatic do something like that?¡±


    ¡°Because Cassara asked him to. Back when Ard was with Yonatan¡¯s group.¡±


    ¡°Ah, of course. If Cassara asked him to, then the asshole would move heaven and earth...¡± Milar grumbled. ¡°Yet when we asked him to help with the illegal magic shield lab, he practically told us to fu...¡±


    ¡°All the more reason to take him, Captain,¡± the Colonel¡¯s blue eyes glinted faintly. ¡°You¡¯re already leading the case.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Milar admitted. ¡°But I don¡¯t need a second investigator, and he¡¯s not cut out for being an operative, even with all his potential.¡±


    ¡°Aversky will train him.¡±


    ¡°Not in three months!¡±


    The Colonel narrowed his eyes slightly, and Milar immediately sat up straighter, almost as if saluting.


    ¡°You¡¯ll work with him for three months,¡± the Colonel¡¯s tone was steady, but steely. ¡°You¡¯ll have time to dig into Baliero, investigate the Dandy¡¯s interests, and look into Trevor Man. Ard has already gotten involved in this mess, so you¡¯ll help him.¡±


    ¡°Help him... clean up, you mean?¡± Milar sighed in defeat and said no more.


    The Colonel turned to Ardan, who had remained silent throughout the exchange.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t fail your probationary period, Mr. Egobar, and join the staff, you¡¯ll become a fully-fledged member of the Second Chancery and gain access to the case materials for ¡®Operation Mountain Predator.¡¯¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still a student at the Grand,¡± Ardan reminded him. ¡°And since the crown is no longer paying for my education, I need a full scholarship¡­ and the stipend, which-¡±


    ¡°Is entirely your problem, Mr. Egobar,¡± the Colonel interrupted immediately. ¡°The Second Chancery offers a course in military magic. In your case, one of our best ¡ª if not the best ¡ª specialists will handle your training. You¡¯re already acquainted with him. It¡¯s thanks to his efforts that you didn¡¯t get too close to a deceased terrorist.¡±


    Vulture...


    ¡°You can continue studying as long as you can manage both,¡± the Colonel continued. ¡°Or you can decline our offer, and, as I said before, you were never in the Black House, and we never met.¡±


    Ardan thought about it deeply. He genuinely wanted to uncover what had happened to his father¡¯s ancestors. But when weighing the tragedy of the Matabar against his education at the Grand, ¡®Operation Mountain Predator¡¯ lost the battle.


    Well, it was as Atta¡¯nha had once taught him: ¡°Life doesn¡¯t allow you to have everything at once.¡± The she-wolf had meant to say that it would be impossible to master all of the True Names, and in fact, even mastering several of them would be a challenge. The best idea was to focus on those closest to one¡¯s heart.


    ¡°Then I¡¯m afraid I must refu-¡±


    There was a knock at the door, interrupting Ardan.


    ¡°Ah, here he is,¡± the Colonel raised his cigar and took another puff. ¡°Come in!¡±


    A broad-shouldered man of average height walked into the office, leaning on an iron staff etched with seals. He was dressed in an expensive suit embroidered with silk thread. He also had pristine white cuffs adorned with ruby cufflinks, was perfumed with a sweet fragrance, was wearing ¡°not-for-the-streets¡± shoes, and he had a gold watch chain jingling against the silver buttons of his vest. Even his grimoire, hanging from his belt, was a work of art.


    The cover, made from deer hide, was ornamented with an ancient heraldic design. The spine, embossed with a rugged pattern and shimmering with gold lettering, promised that the book would have at least four hundred pages, if not more.


    And yet his face, neck, and hands stood in stark contrast to his attire. His strong, slightly heavyset face was laced with scars. His right hand was missing a ring finger, and his left was barely gripping his staff, likely due to an old injury.


    Only now did Ardan notice Vulture¡¯s shuffling, slightly sliding gait. He had a prosthetic. But not one like the Emperor¡¯s ¡ª just his foot had been replaced, it seemed.


    ¡°Colonel,¡± Aversky nodded and, leaning on his staff, took a seat at the table.


    ¡°Major,¡± the Second Chancery¡¯s leader replied in kind. ¡°You arrived just in time ¡ª Mr. Egobar was about to choose his studies at the Grand over our organization.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Aversky seemed to be pleasantly surprised. ¡°That¡¯s good. It means he has brains. If the lad had chosen differently, I would¡¯ve refused to train him, despite Cassara¡¯s request.¡±


    ¡°Apologies for interrupting,¡± Ardan interjected, feeling utterly exhausted. He wanted to sleep and, even more so, eat. Almost anything was preferable to sitting in the company of these unpleasant people discussing equally unpleasant topics. ¡°But if you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯d like to leave. My first class of the semester is tomorrow, and-¡±


    ¡°Mr. Egobar,¡± Aversky cut him off in turn, pulling something from his pocket. ¡°As far as I know, attending all the lectures at the Grand isn¡¯t mandatory. I would propose this: you attend the lectures you find interesting, both the theoretical and practical ones, and I¡¯ll cover the missed material with you personally.¡±


    Vulture then placed several items on the table. The first was immediately recognizable to Ardan ¡ª he had these himself, albeit his were far more modest. Before him lay the epaulettes of an Imperial mage. There were six Stars depicted on them, with seven, eight, another eight, nine, three, and two rays.


    After Velena Emergold ¡ª the university¡¯s head librarian ¡ª Aversky was only the second mage Ardan had ever encountered with six Stars. And with an impressive number of rays to boot.


    But what struck Ardan even more weren¡¯t the epaulettes, but the medallion lying next to them. It was a simple, forged iron disk bearing the emblem of an ancient wizard¡¯s hat and a book.


    Once, in the Empire¡¯s early days, the academic ranks of mages had had seven levels. First had been the Novice, then the Apprentice, the Practitioner, the Magister, the Senior Magister, the Grand Magister, and the Supreme Magister.


    Over the years, the first three ranks had fallen by the wayside, replaced by the proud and resonant title of ¡°student.¡± After graduation, if a mage chose to pursue Star Magic further, they could attempt to enter the Magisterium.


    The Magisterium existed in only one location ¡ª directly within the Grand. There, Magisters and Senior Magisters delved into the most intricate and convoluted realms of magical science.


    The title of Magister was awarded upon successfully completing another three years of study. Achieving the rank of Senior Magister required one to make a significant contribution to the field and then defend a thesis on a specific topic.


    For example, Senior Magister Bogdan Urnosov, who taught the Grand Princess Anastasia, had reportedly developed a new principle for creating stationary shields. That didn¡¯t sound particularly impressive in theory, but in practice, Urnosov had single-handedly established an entirely new branch in the science of shield wards.


    However, the medallion Aversky had produced ¡ª those were awarded only to Grand Magisters. To individuals who¡¯d not only made invaluable contributions to the study of Star Magic, but had also achieved something recognized by the global scientific community.


    And ¡°global¡± really did mean the entire scientific world. These medallions were given only to universally-acknowledged masters.


    As for the Supreme Magister ¡ª or, as they were known on the eastern continent, the Arch Magister ¡ª there was only ever one of them at a time. The current Arch Magister, Shilit Es¡¯al¡¯mus Hamni, a native of the deserts of Al¡¯Zafir and a seven-Star mage, hadn¡¯t been heard from since before Ardan was born. He led a reclusive life, dwelling... no one knew where.


    So, the man currently facing Ardan wasn¡¯t just a six-Star mage, but something akin to a beacon of the academic world. A figure of both scientific and, given the incident with the Aean¡¯Hane elf, military renown.


    Even the heir to the throne, with all the crown¡¯s wealth and influence, was being taught by ¡°merely¡± a Senior Magister. The opportunity being presented to Ardan right now wasn¡¯t something money could buy, even with unlimited funds.


    But this raised a reasonable question: what was Aversky, who was clearly a man of means and a Grand Magister, doing in the Second Chancery? And why hadn¡¯t Ardi heard his name during an entire semester at the Grand?


    But those were thoughts for another day.


    ¡°I agree,¡± Ardan said, unable to take his eyes off the medallion.


    ¡°In that case, Captain, Major, I entrust this young talent to your care,¡± the Colonel concluded. ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I have more important matters to attend to.¡±


    ¡°Colonel,¡± Aversky nodded as he rose.


    ¡°Colonel,¡± Milar echoed.


    The three of them left the office, walking past the doors that were the silent guardians of the Black House¡¯s secrets. They descended to the first floor, retrieved their outerwear from the cloakroom (where Aversky casually donned a coat lined with black, Scaldavian sheepskin, which was the same material that the Anorsky family¡¯s tailor had used to make his suit), and then stepped outside.


    The first thing that caught Ardan¡¯s eye was the car parked at the entrance. It was the same make as the duchess¡¯ own car, only slightly newer, with a longer, sleeker cabin.


    ¡°Mr. Egobar,¡± Aversky approached the car, where his driver, an older man wearing glasses, opened the door for him. A personal driver... ¡°My schedule is very tight, so I¡¯d appreciate it if we could meet, say, once a week at my house. Let¡¯s say¡­ on the evening of the fourth day. And I¡¯d be even more grateful if you came prepared with genuinely challenging questions for our sessions, rather than something simple like the dependency of the contour and array of runes within a seal.¡±


    Ardan nearly collapsed right there on the spot. He hadn¡¯t even known such a dependency existed!


    ¡°You have the address...¡± At this point, the driver approached Ardan and handed him a note, ¡°... already. Sessions will begin promptly at seven in the evening and last until two in the morning, whether you arrive on time or not. And perhaps we already have something to discuss this week.¡±


    Aversky¡¯s gaze lingered briefly on the spot right in front of his inner pocket, where Ardan carried the transcribed seals from the Staff of Demons. It was unlikely to be a coincidence.


    ¡°Captain, please take good care of my prot¨¦g¨¦. On the fourth day of every week, he must arrive at my residence. Preferably with his head and at least one hand intact. The rest of his limbs are of little interest to me.¡±


    ¡°And what else do you want, you-¡± Milar began.


    ¡°Thank you for your understanding, Captain,¡± Aversky climbed into the luxurious car and closed the door.


    His driver bowed slightly before stepping inside and starting the engine. Soon, they disappeared into the snowstorm.


    ¡°What a bastard,¡± Milar spat. ¡°He does whatever he feels like and everyone indulges him. Because, of course... he¡¯s a Grand Magister, damn him.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s mind struggled to reconcile...


    ¡°You¡¯re wondering how he ended up in our little circle, aren¡¯t you?¡± Milar seemed to read his thoughts as they walked to a small parking lot near the park, where the employees¡¯ cars slumbered under the snow. ¡°And why he answered to that... What did you call that Lord-General? A top hat? Well, Aversky made a deal about ten years ago. Almost like Yonatan. He was to either be declared an outlaw for his utterly immoral experiments with no boundaries, or join us. Personally, I think they shouldn¡¯t have offered him that reprieve. He acts like the world owes him, and won¡¯t lift a finger without a direct order from the Colonel.¡±


    Experiments... Aversky... And then it hit Ardi.


    ¡°Edward Aversky?¡± He asked. ¡°That¡¯s Edward Aversky?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Elena had once told him, while explaining the principle behind the practice grounds, that back when they hadn¡¯t existed, all work with Star Magic had carried the risk of catastrophic side effects.


    That was why, for example, Arkar had threatened to break Ardan¡¯s legs if he blew something up. People still believed in some stereotypes because Grounds were a relatively recent invention. They had only started becoming widespread about twenty years ago.


    The patent, and thus the royalties from every one of them produced, belonged to none other than Edward Aversky. And he had earned the title of Grand Magister, as well as worldwide recognition, because of them. But those Grounds were merely a byproduct of his research, as Edward Aversky was one of the best specialists in a very narrow field of Star Engineering.


    Edward Aversky¡¯s creations included some of the most destructive and lethal seals used in military applications. Many of them were classified as having strategic significance. In the Grand¡¯s library, no student, no matter how privileged, could access Aversky¡¯s works.


    Only those studying to become Magisters were allowed to familiarize themselves with Aversky¡¯s non-classified research and publications.


    It was no wonder that Ardi hadn¡¯t recognized him immediately. They lived in entirely different worlds.


    ¡°Judging by your expression, you¡¯ve only just realized what you¡¯ve gotten yourself into,¡± Milar grinned somewhat bloodthirstily. ¡°Hop in. I¡¯ll brush off the snow and drive us home.¡±


    He unlocked the passenger door, letting Ardi into the car. Armed with a stiff brush, Milar swept the snow off the roof and hood before getting in as well. Starting the engine, he warmed it up briefly before they set off, heading through the snowfall toward Ardan¡¯s lodgings.


    ***


    ¡°Take this,¡± Milar handed him an iron medallion that depicted a shield and dagger. It was slightly larger than the Grand Magister¡¯s medallion, heavy and solid ¡ª impossible to lose by accident.


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°A product of your new mentor¡¯s research and our science department,¡± Milar shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t ask me how it works, I have no idea. All I know is that if I press this,¡± he held down the hilt of the dagger engraved on his own identical medallion, ¡°this happens.¡±


    At once, a translucent arrow appeared above his medallion, resembling a compass needle. It spun several times before pointing toward Ardi. Next to its ghostly silhouette, the number ¡°1¡± appeared.


    The medallion in Ardan¡¯s hand instantly heated up ¡ª so much so that holding it became nearly impossible.


    ¡°It¡¯s classified tech, because you can imagine the consequences if it falls into the wrong hands,¡± Milar pressed the hilt again, and the arrow and number vanished. Ardan¡¯s medallion immediately returned to its original temperature. ¡°When it heats up, it means I¡¯m looking for you. Stay put and wait. I¡¯ll pick you up, and we¡¯ll polish your budding investigative skills in the field. But I doubt we¡¯ll see each other before next week.¡±


    ¡°In what field?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a figure of speech,¡± Milar clarified irritably. ¡°Fieldwork means assignments outside the Black House. Now, rookie, out with you ¡ª I¡¯ve got to get home to my wife. My lunch is already cold. Yesterday¡¯s lunch... I haven¡¯t been home in a day. My kids are starting to forget what I look like, and... By the Eternal Angels! Work on that Witch¡¯s Gaze with Aversky, or I¡¯ll shoot you myself. All right, off you go. Until next time.¡±


    Milar leaned over the front seat and opened the door for Ardan, gesturing for him to leave.


    Ardan climbed out, and as soon as he closed the door to the aging car, Milar took off, vanishing into the snowy streets alongside the sparse traffic.


    Ardi stood there for a moment, watching the car disappear, before turning to the bar¡¯s entrance. It had only been two weeks since he¡¯d last been here, yet it felt like a lifetime.


    Stepping inside, he found the same small, intimate venue, the same chairs flipped onto tables, and the ever-present Arkar eternally polishing glasses.


    ¡°So, you finally showed up,¡± the half-orc said without turning around. ¡°Thought you¡¯d leave me the deposit and vanish.¡±


    Ardan approached the counter, pulled out his wallet, and counted out the sum he owed for his lodging.


    ¡°There¡¯s a message for you from the bank. It came an hour ago,¡± Arkar tossed his towel over his shoulder and pulled out a small note from his vest¡¯s inner pocket. ¡°Wanted to tell them I¡¯m no one¡¯s errand boy... no one¡¯s messenger, I mean. But those fellows... Serious sorts, they were. Talking like they meant business. So here, but next time, handle your affairs elsewhere.¡±


    Ardan took the note, broke the wax seal, unfolded it, and read:


    ¡°Dear Mr. Egobar,


    At 4:43 day capital time today, an amount of 300 exes and 0 kso was transferred to your personal account by the company Bri-&-Man. Thus, including the previous deposit from the state organization known as the Imperial Magical University, your current balance is:


    <u>308 exes and 40 kso.</u>


    Additionally, a permanent safe deposit box has been opened in your name. You may collect the key upon your first visit to our second branch, where it is located.


    We apologize for the inconvenience, but the central branch of the Imperial Bank is under reconstruction.


    With best regards.¡±


    Well, how about that... He had managed to score above ninety on his mid-term exams after all! Too bad he hadn¡¯t quite reached the level needed for a higher stipend.


    ¡°Arkar, you didn¡¯t see anyone go into my room, did you?¡±


    ¡°Ard, do I look like your butler?¡± Arkar snapped and went back to polishing glasses. ¡°And no, I didn¡¯t see anyone.¡±


    So, the Cloaks had broken into a property controlled by the Orcish Jackets and retrieved Ardi¡¯s belongings, and the gangsters had no clue? What was it someone had recently told him about the Second Chancery¡¯s capabilities being exaggerated?


    With that chilling thought, Ardi thanked Arkar for passing on the note and headed upstairs. On the stairs, as had become something of a tradition, he ran into Tess. She appeared to be preparing for tonight¡¯s performance ¡ª after all, the holidays were over.


    ¡°Ardi!¡± She smiled like spring sunshine, and his spirits lifted slightly. ¡°You decided to visit your family after all?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I stopped by,¡± he stammered a bit.


    They stood there on the staircase, silently looking at each other ¡ª another part of the ritual.


    ¡°May I pass?¡± She asked with that same warm, friendly smile.


    ¡°O-of course,¡± Ardan stepped aside, letting Tess pass in her warm, though old, fur coat and those same well-worn boots.


    ¡°Tess!¡± He called after her as she was nearly downstairs.


    ¡°Yes?¡± She turned.


    ¡°The Festival of Light... want to go together?¡±


    She glanced away, sighing softly.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already been invited, Ardi.¡±


    ¡°And you...¡±


    ¡°I promised to go.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s heart skipped a beat, and it felt as if someone had punched him in the gut.


    Well¡­ He hadn¡¯t planned on returning anyway, so it was only fair. But then why did it feel so unpleasant?


    ¡°Maybe next time?¡± He asked for no reason.


    ¡°Maybe next time,¡± she replied. ¡°Goodbye, Ardi.¡±


    ¡°Goodbye.¡±


    And she walked away, leaving Ardan alone on the stairs. He stood there a moment longer before heading up to his room. Closing the door behind him, he looked around.


    Nothing had changed. The dozens of seal sketches substituting for wallpaper and curtains were still there, as were the lone wardrobe, the bed, the sink, the small table, and the chair.


    Ardan placed his things on the floor and, ensuring the door was securely locked, retrieved the folded sheet of slightly peculiar-feeling paper from inside his vest.


    Thoughts of Tess were soon replaced by thoughts of Star Magic. And now, finally, he had the opportunity to examine something that had captivated representatives of not one, but two nations. Before him lay the copied seals of the Staff of Demons.


    Unfortunately, the Castilian hadn¡¯t finished the sixth one (the final contours were only lightly sketched, not completed), and part of the seals was smeared with blood. Yet even the things Ardi could see were enough to make him clutch his head and whisper:


    ¡°What is this supposed to be?¡±


    Just one glance at these monsters of engineering made him feel as if he¡¯d never studied Star Magic at all.


    What a start to the new year this was, by the Sleeping Spirits and Eternal Angels...

 Chapter 54 - Choice and Consequences

    The days stretched into a series of unhurried copies of each other. In the morning, Ardan would wake up, wash himself, then exercise by lifting a block of ice made from snow taken off the roof instead of a stone. Afterward, he would dress, exchange greetings with Tess, who was usually hurrying off to work (after the Festival of Light, she had returned home alone, and, what¡¯s more, at only ten in the evening. For some reason, this made Ardi feel happy), and trade a few words with Arkar. Though their previous warm relationship had not been restored, at least they were on speaking terms again. Then he¡¯d ride the tram. Ardi had even splurged on a monthly pass.


    For four exes and seventy kso, he could take an unlimited number of rides. Naturally, Ardan was trying not to waste money, and had withdrawn only ten exes for his immediate needs.


    He¡¯d bought himself a couple of new socks and another shirt. He could have sewn one himself, but he¡¯d wanted to allow himself the luxury of a new item while freeing up time for work on seals. And yet, no matter how hard he struggled to understand the essence of the Staff of Demons¡¯ seals, he hadn¡¯t even managed to figure out the contours.


    Speaking of seals. And the Second Chancery, and the rest¡­


    The medallion issued to him by Milar stubbornly refused to heat up, so Ardi didn¡¯t worry too much about tasks from the Cloaks or anything else related to them. On the other hand, his first session with Aversky was set to take place this week, and his questions¡­ kept piling up.


    Ardi wasn¡¯t rushing to spend money on books or practice spaces for Star Magic yet because he didn¡¯t know what his lessons with the Grand Magister would look like. Perhaps he would recommend specific literature or¡­ something.


    As for his classes at the Grand, they had become a lot more demanding, more intricate, and far less forgiving toward the minds of young students. That seemed to be the tradition at the start of every month ¡ª harder and harder classes. Even now, Ardan was hurrying up the stairs to the sixteenth floor of the main building, where it seemed like the General Theory lecture had already started.


    Adjusting the red cloak his mother had lengthened for him (for which he was immensely grateful) and nearly tripping over it, Ardi sped down the corridor. Along the way, he passed a few other latecomers, then stopped before the lecture hall door, steadied his breathing, and knocked politely.


    Without waiting for permission, Ardi cautiously opened the door and slipped inside. In the small, even cramped amphitheater, the entirety of the first-year cohort from their faculty was gathered¡­ and missing three students since the exams.


    In the dim room, which smelled faintly of book dust and cheap ink, rows of ascending benches housed several dozen girls, among whom two boys were scattered. Ardan hadn¡¯t remembered their names ¡ª he saw no need for it.


    Confirming that Professor Listov had just begun the lecture, Ardi climbed the stairs. After nodding a greeting to Elena, who had taken a convenient seat in the front row, he perched at the very top, in a corner where few liked to sit.


    Settling in and pulling out his notebook, Ardan armed himself with a pencil. His toes, which had been poorly protected from the cold by his overly-light autumn boots despite the fact that he was wearing two pairs of socks, gradually warmed back up after the outdoor frost. The cold kept trying to creep into the lecture hall, nibbling awkwardly at the edges of the frost-covered window. Its efforts were futile.


    Inside, warmth reigned, even carrying a hint of comfort with it, despite the hard benches, slightly wobbly desks, the graphite board that had yellowed with time, and the wide lectern piled high with papers, notebooks, and books that were being supported by a few empty boxes.


    Even Professor Listov himself matched the spirit of his domain, which bore a hint of neglect that was resonant with the echo of a theoretical science few cared about. After half a year, Ardan still had no idea what his own faculty was meant to study. It seemed like the answer was: ¡°everything at once and nothing at all.¡±


    Listov, at seventy years old, possessed three Stars with three, two and two rays respectively and almost never appeared in public with a staff. Even that staff, throughout the scholar¡¯s long life, had not acquired a single seal engraved on its surface.


    Once, judging by lingering indicators, Tiun Listov had been an athletic man. But with the years, he had relaxed, and so had his belt, now barely containing his round, protruding belly. His hair, too, seemed to have abandoned its post, leaving behind a shiny, bald head that reflected the light of the few Ley-lamps hanging from the lecture hall ceiling.


    ¡°Since we are all gathered,¡± he croaked in a slightly rasping voice, taking up a piece of chalk, ¡°today, we will touch on a topic that, incidentally, is not typically discussed with first-year students. But, alas, I seem to have misplaced my notes for the lecture we need¡­ Perhaps they covered the evolution of seal construction¡­ or was that a lecture for the historians? Hm¡­¡±


    ¡°Professor,¡± Elena called out softly.


    ¡°Yes, Miss Promyslov?¡±


    ¡°What is today¡¯s topic?¡± She asked politely and even with a hint of concern.


    Professor Listov had a peculiar trait ¡ª he was incredibly easy to derail. A single careless question or word spoken out of turn could set off a chain of irreversible events, leading the professor into such remote theoretical tangents that he himself seemed to get lost within them.


    ¡°Ah¡­ right. Thank you, Elena,¡± Listov replied gratefully. Listov had honestly thanked her, and with a kind smile to boot. He was equally gentle and even affectionate toward everyone, without exception, even those who spoke unkindly behind his back about the meager number of rays or Stars possessed by the ¡°Professor and Grand Magister of General Knowledge.¡± Moreover, no one knew why Listov had received his honorary title.


    It was precisely because of the professor¡¯s kind heart that the more reasonable students tried not to disrupt his lectures. Even Eveless ¡ª who had a habit of challenging professors ¡ª never bickered with Listov, despite often engaging in debates with others. Perhaps it would have been easier to accept her antagonism if Eveless had been an unpleasant Firstborn, but no. She simply hated Ardan, and that was the extent of it.


    ¡°Today, we will discuss the phenomenon of Stars, their evolution, and how a mage ignites their rays and, by extension, the Stars themselves,¡± Listov began as the chalk danced deftly in his hands. Despite his age, he wielded it with surprising agility, writing quick and precise text on the board.


    ¡°Drawing from the conclusions of Grand Magister Naakraatad, who left our world in the year 376 after the Fall of Ectassus, the Stars within a mage are not merely physical objects, such as the crystallized Ley found in creatures poisoned by it. Rather, they are specific connections within our gray matter. Here, we must make a detour into the realm of ordinary science rather than Star Science. As you know, the Ley affects the electromagnetic field, which prevents us from using the knowledge of our fellow scholars regarding radio waves and electricity. Their complex experiments, conducted in chambers isolated from the Ley, prove the existence of phenomena that could fundamentally change even our daily lives. For example, in the absence of Ley, water in our part of the world would spin in the opposite direction, and the seasons of winter and summer would switch places.¡±


    Listov¡¯s lectures had a peculiar rhythm: he would deliver monologues, write on the board, erase it, and then launch into more sprawling musings, jotting down further words on the board.


    All the students could do was try to keep up with the professor, then later, armed with their library cards and notes, attempt to untangle what they had heard and written down.


    ¡°Thus, Grand Magister Naakraatad, a native of Kargaam, came to the conclusion that the Ley also influences the functioning of our brains, whose connections also consist of electrical impulses. And he arrived at this conclusion in quite an amusing way. He discovered that, in chambers isolated from the Ley, if one rubs paper against their hair for a long time, their hair acquires amusing properties ¡ª a phenomenon that doesn¡¯t occur under normal circumstances.¡±


    The chalk continued to dance across the board, forming beautifully precise and legible letters.


    ¡°This suggests that when we form Stars, we are merely forming new connections in our brain, leading to the conclusion that the Ley is more of a physical phenomenon than a metaphysical one. Or perhaps it possesses some intermediate property, given that Ley Lines themselves have yet to be discovered. One might assume, of course, that-¡±


    ¡°Professor,¡± Elena interrupted softly.


    ¡°Ah? Oh yes¡­ Thank you, dear Elena,¡± Listov said, clearing his throat and resuming.


    ¡°The formation of Stars is linked to our interaction with the Ley. The more Stars a mage has, the stronger their connection to this type of energy. But considering that a Star is essentially a pseudo-electrical circuit within our brain, it becomes clear why the process of igniting each additional Star becomes increasingly difficult. Ultimately, the capacity of our minds is quite limited, and far smaller than that of the dragons who created this form of magic.¡± He paused for a second here.


    Luckily, he managed to keep going without a reminder. ¡°Speaking of variations¡­ In addition to the art of the Aean¡¯Hane, we know for certain that the Shamanism of orcs, as well as that of trolls, ogres, and giants, is a distinct form of influencing the Ley in the surrounding reality. And yet, they deny this rather obvious fact recognized by the scientific community, instead claiming to practice Aean¡¯Hane ¡ª in common terms, Naming. I will remind you that the magic of Names and Words is essentially the same thing. Those called ¡®Speakers¡¯ are individuals who have not yet mastered Names, and instead use their echoes, referred to as Words. Though, here, one could-¡±


    Elena cleared her throat. In every group, there was always someone responsible for steering Listov back on track. In their group, that someone was Elena.


    ¡°Stars¡­ Stars¡­ oh yes,¡± Listov returned to the beginning of the board and erased everything he had written down, only to start scribbling anew with the chalk.


    ¡°This also explains the varied number of rays. If we once again consider the brain¡¯s limited capacity and envision a Ley Star as a new node within it, it becomes absolutely ¡ª dare I say, axiomatically ¡ª clear that this node cannot expand indefinitely. This, again, explains the pain a mage experiences when igniting each individual ray, or each Star as a whole.¡±


    He paused again for a second or two, but then kept going. ¡°You might ask whether dissections of the gray matter of mages have been performed, and yes, of course they have. Such experiments have indirectly confirmed this theory, making it the prevailing one for now. In the brains of Star Mages who have passed away, small, almost microscopic, damaged areas were found. They were so tiny that they looked as if they¡¯d been burned through by the thinnest of needles. And in one hundred percent of cases, their number matches the number of Stars. From this, we can reasonably conclude that Stars indeed possess a physical embodiment that dissipates after the mage¡¯s death. It just doesn¡¯t happen in the same way as it does with beasts. When it comes to beasts, their mental capacity is even more limited than ours, and therefore-¡±


    Elena coughed once more, bringing Listov back on track. This time, it was a subject that genuinely intrigued Ardan.


    ¡°Could we assume that if humanity, or the Firstborn, were to encounter another evolutionary leap, and our gray matter became more resilient, the number of potential rays in a Star would increase? It¡¯s possible. But for now, this is purely speculative, with no scientific foundation. Advocates for legalizing human chimerization, which is legal in the Brotherhood of Tazidahian, often argue precisely along these lines.¡±


    Listov didn¡¯t even glance at his notes. As Ardan had come to understand, the more complex and convoluted the topic, the better the professor grasped it. Rumor had it that for advanced courses, he didn¡¯t even provide reading lists, relying entirely on his own knowledge.


    ¡°Thus, we arrive at one of the central theses: the number of Stars a mage can ignite directly correlates with the extent to which their mind is trained in sensing and controlling everything adjacent to the Ley. This is why mages typically spend several years practicing between igniting Stars ¡ª to strengthen their minds and make them more¡­ intertwined, let¡¯s say, with the Ley¡¯s influence.¡±


    The professor erased the chalkboard again and began writing anew. If a student didn¡¯t manage to jot down his words in time or from the graphite board, that was their problem.


    ¡°One could even argue that the number of Stars they possess directly represents the degree of a mage¡¯s connection with the natural phenomenon of the Ley. As for rays, their quantity is determined more by the elasticity of a mage¡¯s mind. While anyone can learn to drive a car or shoot a revolver, not everyone can achieve virtuosity in these skills, no matter how much effort they expend.¡±


    He took a breath and kept going. ¡°This points to a similarity between the art of the Aean¡¯Hane and Star Magic. In both cases, a mage¡¯s innate characteristics impose limitations. The difference lies in when these constraints manifest. In Star Magic, they appear at much later stages than in Naming. Again, this makes sense, given that Star Magic was born from a dragon¡¯s attempts to teach humans the art of the Aean¡¯Hane. This is precisely why a hunt for the last surviving dragons has persisted for decades. The scientific community believes that by dissecting their brains, we might uncover answers or clues to key questions about Star Magic. Imagine if we could, for example, overcome the ¡®nine by nine¡¯ barrier. That is to say, the limitation of nine Stars and nine rays.¡±


    Listov stepped away from the board, poured himself a glass of water from a decanter, and drank. After a couple of noisy gulps, he set the glass down on top of some submitted assignments and surveyed the room with a slightly lost expression.


    It seemed like he had forgotten what he was talking about.


    ¡°Rays and Stars,¡± Elena whispered.


    ¡°Oh, yes, that¡¯s right,¡± Listov said brightly and returned to the board. ¡°The concept of rays can be expanded a bit. Since the electrical connections of a Ley node in the brain ¡ª or, to use a shorter term, a Star ¡ª are not biologically inherent to us, expanding them afterward appears, at least at our current level of scientific progress, impossible. You are born with two hands, and no matter how hard you try, you won¡¯t grow a third by sheer force of will. Similarly, a Ley node ¡ª a Star in your mind ¡ª is born during the process. However much you initially expand it, that¡¯s how it will remain until your encounter with the Eternal Angels.¡±


    Despite his scientific expertise, Tiun Listov was a deeply devout man, though his office bore no symbols of faith. The professor always stated that his belief was internal, and sufficient for himself. He wasn¡¯t a missionary seeking to convert anyone to the Light.


    ¡°Is it currently possible to break through the nine by nine limitation, even just for rays?¡± Listov cleared his throat and drank some more water. The class fell silent, waiting, but it seemed the professor was determined to stick to the topic.


    ¡°There¡¯s a theory that this task would be much simpler to accomplish than increasing the number of Stars themselves. This assumption is based on the knowledge that failing to ignite a Star halts a mage¡¯s progress entirely. Why? It¡¯s actually much simpler than you might think. It¡¯s about the brain ¡ª a complex yet fragile instrument. Failing to ignite a Star leaves irreversible damage in the brain¡¯s tissues and connections, preventing the mage from creating new Stars in the future. It¡¯s quite straightforward and simple, really. Of course, research is ongoing ¡ª both among Grand Magisters specializing in the healing arts and ordinary doctors and surgeons ¡ª on whether such damage can be repaired. But so far, there¡¯s been no success. By the way, my good friend at the Hospital of Heroes, he-¡±


    ¡°Professor, you were telling us about the number of rays,¡± Elena gently reminded him.


    ¡°Oh? Was I? Oh, yes, I was!¡± Listov exclaimed. ¡°Let¡¯s continue, then. The number of rays itself is a simpler limitation. Expanding the brain¡¯s capacity to form more than nine unique connections separate from our biologically similar, but distinct species, is one question. But increasing the capacity of such a node is an entirely different matter. Again, scholars agree that without the process of chimerization, such attempts are doomed to fail. Fifty years ago, in the Guild, under the highest sanction of the government, an experiment was conducted on a volunteer. He underwent long and extraordinarily complex preparations to ignite ten rays in his Blue Star. Various drugs, stimulants, and even exposure to pure Ertaline crystals submerged in chemical reagents were used, but it was unsuccessful. The test subject completely burned out his brain in the transition from the ninth to the tenth ray and ended up in a vegetative state. He was studied for a time before mercy was shown, and he was sent to meet the Eternal Angels.¡±


    Listov concluded his explanation with a heavy sigh. Ardi noticed subtle nuances in the professor¡¯s posture and tone that suggested why this particular theoretician had earned the medallion of a Grand Magister.


    Listov had held it for about forty years, which meant¡­ he may well have been involved in the very experiment he was now recalling with such tenderness, as if speaking of a beloved child.


    ¡°As for the process of ignition itself, it is quite trivial,¡± the professor composed himself and continued. ¡°The Ley is not a homogenous phenomenon but a spectrum, likely far broader than the nine gradients it is typically divided into. If you¡¯re wondering whether the gradients or the Stars¡¯ colors came first, also consider which preceded the other ¡ª the chicken or the egg. The usefulness and efficiency of such musings are comparable. It¡¯s a dilemma for which the scientific community has no answer.¡±


    ¡°Professor,¡± Elena whispered again. ¡°The process of creating Stars.¡±


    ¡°The process¡­ process¡­ Oh yes, the process is indeed trivial,¡± Listov snapped back to attention. ¡°Each gradient of the Ley spectrum differs in saturation. The transition, in turn, always equals a threefold increase in energy density. Thus, three rays of a Red Star equal one ray of a Green Star, and three rays of a Green Star equal one ray of a Blue Star, and so on. The process of igniting a Star is essentially the brain adapting to a new level of density and saturation. This is why it requires preliminary preparation. Its duration, of course, depends heavily on the mage¡¯s abilities. Some require more time, others less. But I wouldn¡¯t recommend that any of you spend a small fortune on a green accumulator of appropriate density, purity, and saturation, and then rush to ignite your second Star. Take your time. Allow your brain to grow stronger. After all, at each stage of progress, you only have one attempt.¡±


    ¡°As for whether these Stars are filled with the Ley,¡± Listov continued, ¡°there are several theories. The most popular one posits that they are indeed filled with the Ley ¡ª or, rather, the specific part of its spectrum corresponding to the color of the Star. Not electrical impulses of the brain¡¯s particles, but the Ley itself. This idea also explains why, when expended, it takes a significant amount of time ¡ª unless external sources are used ¡ª to restore these Star nodes. After all, they are not biologically innate to us¡­ This hypothesis suggests that the brains of dragons, and possibly the Fae, may be structured entirely differently, giving these races a direct biological connection to the Ley. Experimental evidence also supports the theory of Stars being filled with the Ley. For example, if you place a Star Mage with a total of more than twenty-eight rays in a Ley-isolated chamber, they will create sufficient interference to negate the isolation effect. This is why powerful Star Mages cannot be imprisoned, but only eliminated.¡±


    ¡°And now let¡¯s move on to¡­¡±


    The lecture, as was customary with Listov, transitioned into him listing scientific facts supporting these theories, accompanied by the names of the researchers who¡¯d conducted the experiments, descriptions of the experiments themselves, and much more.


    And Ardi? Ardi stared at his notes, experiencing a sudden epiphany. Mutants were likely not the ultimate goal of the many Tazidahian and Imperial projects, but a side effect of the race for scientific progress and the attempt to create a Star Mage far superior to any others.


    Why would nations need such a unique individual? In isolation, they wouldn¡¯t. But if they could create hundreds of them¡­


    Strangely, this thought seemed incredibly important and pressing to Ardi. Though, for now, he didn¡¯t quite understand why. Even so, he loved puzzles, especially those as complex as this one.


    Reflecting on Listov¡¯s lecture, Ardan made his way to the cafeteria, where he collected his free lunch included in his scholarship. This time, he was lucky ¡ª the garnished dish was fragrant, rich buckwheat. Beside it sat two slices of black bread and, as the meat option, a pair of wild grouse wings. Meat from wild animals rarely appeared on the menu at the university. According to Elena and Boris, Ardan had visibly lost weight in the past few months. His mother had noted the same.


    Perhaps it was time to increase his expenses to allow for the occasional dinner out? Even if only at ¡°Bruce¡¯s?¡±


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    But Ardi quickly dismissed such indulgent thoughts. Three hundred exes was, of course, a significant amount of money, but not for a Star Mage. For instance, a single reading list provided by Professor Convel would cost him 37 exes and 30 kso. Sure, he could study in the library, as he had for all of the last semester. However, with the addition of the Second Chancery and Aversky to his schedule, every minute of his time was precious, and considering the fact that the library closed only fifteen minutes before the last tram, missing the tram, as he¡¯d done a few times before, meant getting home by eleven. At that point, there would be little time left for anything but sleep before he had to return to the university.


    No, he categorically needed his own books. And accumulators in red and green colors, preferably of high quality. The blue ones he had stored would be of little use to him for at least a few years due to their energy loss. Additionally, he needed access to the city¡¯s practice grounds because, at present, the university¡¯s waiting time for theirs was about twelve days.


    If he spread three hundred exes across all his needs, he still came up short by about twenty or forty exes in his quest to secure all the materials he¡¯d require for the calendar year ¡ª excluding any additional literature.


    ¡°How right Mart was,¡± Ardi sighed, recalling the man¡¯s words about mages and their perpetual financial struggles.


    ¡°Ard,¡± Elena suddenly appeared beside him, looking as light and fresh as always. ¡°Why do you look so glum?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m thinking about where to earn money,¡± he muttered, flexing his fingers before picking up his utensils.


    She just smiled and began eating her vegetable salad and chicken breast, which cost, if he recalled correctly, 35 kso per every 100 grams. The Grand¡¯s cafeteria menu was practically indistinguishable from that of a restaurant, which wasn¡¯t too surprising.


    ¡°Ard,¡± someone said.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Ardan looked up from his Shielding Wards textbook, the lecture for which he had after lunch.


    Standing beside their table was a young girl. She seemed to be from the Faculty of Engineering. He vaguely remembered her name but didn¡¯t bother recalling it fully ¡ª there was no need.


    ¡°Could you help me modify this array so it doesn¡¯t consume an extra ray?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s give it a try,¡± Ardan nodded. Wiping his fingers with a napkin, he took the schematic.


    It was a standard stationary shield seal with two contours and a fixed array meant to neutralize the speed of an offensive spell. The girl had tried to stabilize the shield by adding excessive density to the array. In other words, she was trying to counter force with force. Naturally, this approach required an additional ray, making the shield far too resource-intensive for a Red Star ¡ª four rays used up against a speed-type spell was wasteful.


    It was like¡­ like¡­ Ardi glanced at Elena¡¯s plate. It was like eating chicken for lunch!


    ¡°Remove half the density runes and replace them with elasticity runes,¡± Ardan advised, handing the seal back. ¡°Balance the first contour with density and elasticity, and in the second contour, embed an additional reflection array. That way, the opposing spell will lose part of its force first and then lack the momentum to break through. Of course, this is assuming the shield and the attacking spell have an equal number of rays.¡±


    ¡°Thank you!¡± The girl smiled and dashed off somewhere deeper into the hall.


    Ardan sniffed the aromatic meat on his plate, licking his lips, when-


    ¡°Ard.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    A freckled young man with a somewhat lost expression approached their table.


    ¡°Listen, I need to modify a digging seal so the earth doesn¡¯t scatter everywhere but piles up neatly into a heap,¡± the boy said, handing over a schematic.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take a look,¡± Ardan nodded.


    Taking the sheet, he saw several crossed-out seals and the final version. Overall, his peer (possibly from Jurisprudence) was on the right track. He had tried adding concentration runes to the array and distributing them in the first contour, which controlled the primary properties of the seal.


    However, the result was entirely the opposite of what he needed. Instead of concentratedly ejecting earth, the seal focused its efforts on one point, digging not a hole, but something more akin to a divot.


    ¡°Move the concentration array to the second contour, and in the first, inscribe direction runes,¡± Ardan said after some thought. ¡°Oh, and add an embedded seal for the digging function. The task isn¡¯t to cram two actions into one seal but to link them¡­¡±


    ¡°Got it!¡± The boy¡¯s face lit up. ¡°Thanks!¡±


    He, too, darted off. Ardi finally raised his knife over the meat when-


    ¡°Ard, I-¡±


    ¡°Eternal Angels! Will you let him eat in peace!¡± Elena shouted, startling the latest petitioner ¡ª a boy holding a piece of paper ¡ª and sending him retreating, along with two other girls who had been waiting nearby.


    Ardan gave Elena a grateful smile and sank his teeth into the juicy, albeit slightly cooled, grouse. The food at the Grand was exquisite.


    For the next ten minutes, they ate in silence, savoring the meal and the absence of interruptions. Outside, snow fell on the heads of the occasional pedestrians walking by and on the even rarer cars humming down the avenue.


    ¡°How many people do you help in a day?¡± Elena suddenly asked.


    Ardan wiped his mouth, set aside his napkin, and looked regretfully at his now-empty plate. The portions, while delicious, were small ¡ª too small.


    ¡°Two or three,¡± Ardan shrugged. ¡°Sometimes more, sometimes less.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°You heard me,¡± Elena said firmly.


    ¡°I just like solving puzzles,¡± Ardan shrugged again. ¡°And it¡¯s practice for me, too. For example, yesterday, someone brought me a seal that ¡ª you won¡¯t believe this ¡ª copies animal sounds. They wanted it to identify an animal by its sound and create its illusion. I spent nearly the entire break racking my brain over it! But I solved it!¡±


    Elena, noticing how Ardan practically beamed with pride as he recounted his achievement, simply sighed and shook her head slightly.


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s your answer on how to make money,¡± she said, gesturing toward the group of people awkwardly waiting nearby, shifting from foot to foot. ¡°Charge them a couple of kso for each problem, and maybe you¡¯ll save up an ex in a month.¡±


    ¡°But there¡¯s nothing to charge them for,¡± Ardan waved off the suggestion. ¡°Most of the time, it¡¯s just basic problems.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re basic to you, Ard,¡± Elena countered. After a moment¡¯s thought, she added, ¡°Eternal Angels, Boris might be right. You probably sleep hugging your textbooks, don¡¯t you? You knew absolutely nothing when you enrolled.¡±


    ¡°I knew some things,¡± Ardan muttered defensively, trying to change the subject. ¡°How¡¯s Boris? You usually have lunch with him on the fourth day.¡±


    ¡°The same as always,¡± Elena replied, sighing helplessly. ¡°He got into a quarrel with someone and is now running around the university looking for a second.¡±


    ¡°Why? Won¡¯t they assign him one?¡±


    ¡°They agreed to duel at a city practice ground,¡± she explained in a bored tone. ¡°Ours are booked solid for nearly two weeks.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± Ardan sighed wistfully.


    ¡°So, you don¡¯t have money, but you¡¯ll find some for practice grounds?¡± Elena asked slyly, squinting at him.


    ¡°Elena, I¡¯ve got a dozen untested seals piled up!¡± Ardan exclaimed enthusiastically, throwing up his hands. ¡°Not to mention¡­¡±


    He stopped himself before admitting that the dozen seals were his own inventions, while nearly two dozen more were modifications of those they¡¯d studied at the university.


    Mart had also been right about the challenges involved in modifying and inventing new seals. For some reason, this skill eluded students, often remaining out of reach until their third or even fourth year. Even then, only a handful of graduates from the Faculty of Engineering ever managed to create something unique and new.


    Why was that? Ardan had no idea. Maybe they hadn¡¯t spent their childhood solving squirrel and wolf riddles. Or perhaps they hadn¡¯t begun studying the works of Nicholas the Stranger at thirteen. Or maybe¡­


    ¡°You do know that you can sell seals at the Spell Market, right?¡± Elena asked suddenly.


    ¡°Market¡­ what?¡±


    She gave him a look that seemed to say she couldn¡¯t believe what she was hearing. After a few moments, she laughed ¡ª not unkindly, but lightly.


    ¡°Eternal Angels, Ardi, you¡¯ve been living in the Metropolis for almost six months and haven¡¯t heard about the Spell Market?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± Ardan admitted with a shrug.


    ¡°It¡¯s a network of establishments all over the capital,¡± Elena began to explain, smiling and even sounding a little nurturing. ¡°You can buy books, accumulators, and practice grounds there. They even host Magic Boxing tournaments sometimes. And you can sell seals, too. Many upperclassmen do it. But the Market doesn¡¯t pay based on the number of rays; they evaluate how useful or valuable the seal is to them. If they think they can sell it for a good price, they¡¯ll pay a decent amount. If it¡¯s just something simple like the problems people bring you, they might not buy it at all. But seriously, Ardi, how could you not know about this?¡±


    Ardan scratched the back of his head sheepishly. ¡°So, it turns out I have heard of it. I just thought it was several separate places, not all in one. Practice grounds here, bookstores there, accumulators somewhere else...¡±


    ¡°Wait, wait,¡± Elena waved her hands as if trying to stop him. ¡°Are you saying that you¡¯ve been using only the university¡¯s practice grounds and library this whole time?¡±


    Ardan nodded solemnly.


    She looked at him as though he were a rare and exotic creature in a zoo. Incidentally, there was a zoo in the capital. But for obvious reasons, Ardan had no plans to visit it.


    ¡°Has anyone ever told you that you¡¯re a walking anomaly?¡±


    ¡°Occasionally,¡± Ardan replied evasively.


    They fell silent for a while. Ardi gazed out at the snowfall, recalling the days he¡¯d spent running along mountain trails and forest paths in the Alcade. There, the wind had carried snowy whirlwinds on its wings, guiding the young hunter through the vast expanses of his homeland.


    ¡°Ard.¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡± Ardan snapped out of his thoughts.


    ¡°If Boris doesn¡¯t find a second, can you come with us this evening?¡±


    Damn...


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Ardan sighed, looking downcast. ¡°I¡¯ve got plans tonight.¡±


    ¡°Oh? I¡¯m sorry for putting you in an awkward position,¡± Elena quickly apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful. ¡°What kind of plans, if it¡¯s not a secret?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got lessons with Edward Aversky,¡± Ardan said calmly.


    Elena blinked a couple of times, then laughed. Once again, Ardan was reminded of something wise Skusty had told him. No matter how much nonsense the squirrel had spouted or how often he¡¯d played pranks on everyone, he had occasionally said things of great wisdom.


    The little rascal had always insisted that sometimes, the truth would sound more fictional than the most elaborate of lies.


    ***


    Stepping off the tram, Ardan looked around. Dusk had fallen, but here, on Saint Vasily¡¯s Island (where the Anorsky estate was also located), it seemed as though the day had no intention of giving way to its rightful successor ¡ª the night. Streetlamps powered by the Ley illuminated the sidewalks, lights glowed in the windows, and the snow-cleared streets gleamed under the headlights of expensive cars.


    Here, on this island of the wealthy and noble, there were no snowdrifts. The drainage system worked more efficiently than a butler opening the doors of the mansions hidden behind beautiful, though not overly tall, fences. Trams clattered discreetly along rails placed close to the curbs rather than the middle of the road, and the people here looked as though they had just stepped out of a high-end boutique or an appointment with a shoeshine.


    Dressed in fine clothes and smelling of expensive perfumes, they strolled leisurely ¡ª too leisurely ¡ª along the streets toward their opulent homes.


    Ardan walked along the embankment, occasionally glancing toward the avenue leading deeper into the island ¡ª toward the duchess¡¯ residence. But his path lay in the opposite direction.


    Treading over the smooth, perfectly even paving stones lining the embankment¡¯s edge, which kept pedestrians from falling into the icy surface of the Niewa River, Ardi gazed at the city. From here, he could see the embankment with its glowing lights, and the fairy-tale-like splendor of the Palace of the Kings of the Past. Beyond it, through a small park that had several rare species of trees, rose the dark spires of the Shipyards and Seas building, which was every bit as grandiose as the other pompous structures of the city¡¯s Central District.


    Made of gray stone, with countless sculptures of sea monsters and mythical creatures lining its cornices, the Shipyards and Seas building loomed over the Niewa, which kept battering against the dark granite of the embankment as if trying to challenge those who had dared to tame the elements.


    If one squinted through the snowfall and the faint twilight settling over the river, it was possible to discern the dome of the temple still under construction, which Ardi had already managed to visit. Along the embankment stood houses as grand as palaces, and palaces so impossibly crafted that they seemed like the work of the finest Fae artisans. And yet, the realization that these marvels had been created not by magical beings, but by ordinary humans, made this place ¡ª the Palace Embankment ¡ª extraordinary. It felt like stepping momentarily into one of his grandfather¡¯s legends and walking through the streets of mythical Ectassus, absorbing a history that resonated in the echoes of steps on cobblestones, streets, and embankments.


    Or perhaps¡­ Perhaps Ardi was simply in a good mood. He had exes in his account, his life at the Grand was improving rapidly, save for Eveless and the Great Prince, he had found a questionable yet tangible job, and Tess had returned alone after the Festival of Light¡­ Why had he thought of her just now?


    ¡°Thoughts for another day,¡± Ardan muttered to himself, unfolding the paper with the address.


    ¡°Guilds¡¯ Embankment, House 4.¡±


    Ardan looked up at the nearest street sign attached to a lamppost. Elena, who had guided him on how to get here, had not been wrong. He had indeed arrived at the correct destination.


    Crossing the street and going from the embankment to the row of houses, Ardi approached the building in question. It was a peculiar structure. The broad, three-story mansion stretched so far across the ground that it could¡¯ve likely accommodated four separate entrances. Instead, a well-cleared path led through an open gate to a single, main entrance. Lacking a porch, steps, or columns with an awning, this was a relatively modest door leading into the house.


    The facade itself, beyond its decorative window frames, bore no other embellishments. However, spaced a meter apart along the cornice, peering through the snowfall, were small statues no taller than thirty centimeters. These figures depicted ancient women in veils and shawls frozen in dance, playing harps, singing, or rocking newborns in their arms.


    Ardan had always marveled at how sculptors managed to shape stone to make it truly resemble frozen people. Even the folds of clothing in the marble seemed more realistic than actual fabric.


    Truly a remarkable skill.


    After admiring the statues briefly, Ardi passed through the open gates, walked up the cleared path, and pushed the doorbell. Instantly, a soft, melodious chime rang out somewhere inside, and after half a minute, the door opened. Standing there was a butler.


    Despite his advanced age, the butler had a proud posture. Dressed in a formal tailcoat, with a monocle perched over one eye, he cast an appraising gaze at Ardan. Though the man was looking up at him, it somehow felt as if he were looking down at him instead.


    ¡°Mr. Egobar?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Good. You are punctual,¡± the butler said, stepping aside to let the visitor in.


    Ardan stepped inside the mansion and¡­ was quite surprised. Not by the decor, but by its near total absence. He found himself standing on a simple rug laid out over parquet flooring that clearly needed replacement, which was dotted here and there with faded patches of mold. The winged staircase leading from the entrance hall to the second floor bore no adornments, save for two portraits on the wall depicting a man and a woman in old-fashioned attire.


    There was nothing else there. No sofas, no display cabinets, no grandfather clocks, no tall vases with plants ¡ª just a sense of abandonment and echoes wandering through the walls.


    ¡°Your coat, please.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes, of course,¡± Ardan said, shrugging off his outerwear and handing it to the butler.


    With that same stony and slightly haughty expression from before, the butler hung it on a hook. The hook itself had been affixed to a long, wooden rail nailed to the wall by the entrance. Alongside Ardan¡¯s coat hung two far more expensive-looking ones and two felt hats.


    ¡°Your hat and scarf.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right.¡± Ardi pulled off his knitted hat and untied the knot at his neck. Both had been made for him by his mother during his stay in Delpas.


    The butler carefully, but without any excessive reverence, hung these items on some hooks as well. Clearing his throat, he stepped forward.


    ¡°Follow me.¡±


    They walked down a wide corridor that could¡¯ve easily passed for an overly-elongated and narrow living room. Even here, the entire area looked as though it had long ceased to be inhabited and had frozen in anticipation of future renovations. Even the air seemed stagnant, causing the dust to hover in thin, shimmering strands instead of settling on anything.


    Ardi sneezed.


    The butler said nothing.


    The walls bore no paintings or wallpaper. The ceiling was streaked with long, snaking cracks, which rivaled the maze-like patterns of cobwebs clinging to the farthest corners.


    But Ardan paid no attention to this. Instead, he was mentally repeating the definition of the connection between a contour and an array. Conveniently, this topic had been covered in one of the engineering texts recommended to him by Professor Convel.


    Their relationship had turned out to be straightforward and mundane. The array¡¯s capacity was directly proportional to the contour¡¯s capacity. However, this topic was relevant only to seals constructed using the energy of multiple Stars ¡ª in which case, the contour could be expanded by adding another Star.


    Thus, Ardan had settled for a superficial understanding of the connection, choosing not to delve deeper into a subject that currently had no practical application for him.


    ¡°We¡¯ve arrived.¡±


    Ardan looked around. They had, apparently, descended into the basement¡­ if one could call this vast space a mere basement. It more closely resembled a fully-equipped testing ground.


    The floor was bordered by a familiar low rail containing Ley cables, with grooves in the walls leading down to it, where additional cables lay hidden. Nothing about this was new or surprising ¡ª except for its size, which could rival even the main practice ground at the Grand.


    Not the entire practice ground, of course, but the section where general classes were held. Classes that Ardi would no longer be attending. Since he would be studying military magic with Aversky, there was no need to subject himself to the company of the Great Prince and Colonel Kshtovsky.


    ¡°Mr. Aversky¡¯s office is over there,¡± the butler said, pointing to a steel door on the far side of the testing ground. ¡°I¡¯ve been informed that your session will end after midnight, so I will arrange for a driver to take you wherever you need to go.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s absolutely unnec-¡±


    ¡°It is absolutely necessary,¡± the butler cut him off in a tone that radiated finality. With that, he pivoted sharply on his heel and marched back toward the staircase.


    Ardan, adjusting his grip on his grimoire and staff, crossed the testing ground and knocked on the door, surprised by how solidly his knuckles met its surface.


    ¡°Pull hard,¡± came a muffled voice from inside.


    Ardan tugged on the iron ring that served as the door¡¯s handle, and it gave way, albeit with some effort. When he saw the thickness of the door ¡ª nearly fifty millimeters of steel ¡ª he understood why. Such a door could probably withstand an artillery shell.


    Inside was a rather unremarkable office that seemed quite similar to the countless ones scattered throughout the Grand. It was a spacious room of roughly forty square meters. The walls were dominated by bookshelves crammed with books and grimoires. In the center was a massive desk, where neat stacks of papers and folders stood in orderly rows. The far wall was entirely covered by a massive graphite board filled with incomplete diagrams and columns of complex calculations written in formulas Ardan didn¡¯t recognize.


    Standing near the board was Edward Aversky himself. Dressed in a pressed turquoise shirt tucked neatly under a silk vest, and black trousers paired with comfortable shoes, he had a cigarette in hand as he studied the calculations. His rolled-up sleeves exposed forearms bearing several tattoos. One was a simple image of a dagger piercing a cloak, but the other two were intricate and convoluted seals.


    Ardan had seen something similar ¡ª though they¡¯d been even more complex and greater in number ¡ª on the Selkado Squire (whatever that title meant).


    ¡°You can leave your staff beside mine,¡± the Grand Magister said without turning around.


    Ardan walked to the desk and propped his staff up next to Aversky¡¯s. The Grand Magister¡¯s staff was a marvel: made from steel and a special Ertaline alloy, with numerous engraved seals across its surface and a crystal accumulator encased in its ornate headpiece.


    It probably cost as much as an entire building.


    ¡°Do you have an analyzer on you? If so, take it off and don¡¯t use it during my lessons.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ardan replied tersely.


    His analyzer had been reduced to ashes along with the exes that had burned up in the bank, so he would have to wait for a replacement.


    ¡°Good,¡± Aversky nodded. ¡°In that case, come here.¡±


    Ardan approached and stood beside the man who barely reached his shoulder.


    ¡°What do you see before you, Mr. Egobar?¡± Aversky asked.


    ¡°Calculations.¡±


    ¡°If that was meant to be a feeble attempt at wit, I¡¯d prefer a more detailed answer.¡±


    Aversky¡¯s tone was calm, but it carried the ominous weight of a volcano on the verge of eruption. Ardan focused intently on the complex formulas, strings of symbols, and numbers, then shifted his gaze to the seal and back again.


    ¡°It seems like you¡¯re calculating the formula for¡­ compressed heated gas? Something resembling plasma?¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Aversky said, nodding with mild surprise. ¡°Any more details you can discern?¡±


    Ardan strained every neuron in his brain, even his relatively new Red Star, if that somehow counted.


    ¡°It¡¯s some kind of modification of the standard Fireball spell used with Red and Green Stars,¡± Ardan ventured hesitantly. ¡°Except it doesn¡¯t create a directed plasma burst, but makes it¡­¡±


    He scrutinized the seal again.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he admitted at last.


    ¡°Hm,¡± Aversky murmured, still gazing at the board. ¡°Judging by the fact that your deductions rely more on the formulas than the seal itself, I presume you have no idea what vectors are. The influence of elemental dependency when embedding seals probably means nothing to you¡­ And contours and rune arrays are concepts you can only grasp abstractly. As for classifications of military magic ¡ª you¡¯re entirely unaware of those.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a first-year student attending my second semester at the Grand. I can, for example, make sure that the dirt from a hole gets piled neatly in one place.¡±


    ¡°Dirt from a hole? Are you studying under Convel?¡±


    ¡°How did you-¡±


    ¡°Convel¡¯s a big fan of Firsky¡¯s puzzle book,¡± Aversky explained. ¡°It¡¯s an old publication with almost no copies left, so students can¡¯t copy each other¡¯s solutions. And it¡¯s filled with tricky problems ¡ª like the one with the matchstick or the vase. Did you encounter those?¡±


    ¡°The one with the matchstick, yes,¡± Ardan confirmed.


    ¡°And did you solve it?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°I embedded a passive property-identification seal into the active effect seal.¡±


    Aversky paused for a fraction of a second, then huffed with a trace of respect.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re inventive. That¡¯ll be helpful¡­¡± Aversky turned away from the board and walked to his desk. Ardan followed. ¡°Take a seat.¡±


    Ardan lowered himself into the chair opposite Aversky.


    ¡°Since you seem reluctant to ask me about the specialized paper soaked in a reinforcing alchemical solution that I noticed you had on you during our last encounter, I¡¯ll pretend I saw nothing and patiently wait until you come up with a question worth my time.¡±


    Ardan said nothing. In this situation, any response would¡¯ve either been disrespectful or revealed his ignorance.


    ¡°Today¡¯s topic, Mr. Egobar, is straightforward and unremarkable: the classifications of military spells,¡± Aversky said as he opened several prepared tomes. ¡°They are divided into suppressive and penetrating types. Suppressive spells aim to neutralize a shield¡¯s properties, while penetrating spells seek to bypass them entirely. The difference may seem subtle in theory, but in practice¡­¡±


    The next five hours passed in a whirlwind of notes. Ardan scribbled at such a furious pace that his pencil nearly started smoking. Aversky, with his relentless delivery, resembled Listov ¡ª he spoke endlessly and left no room for questions or interjections.


    The stark difference between Aversky and Atta¡¯nha, however, was clear. While the latter had engaged Ardan in dialogue, forcing him to think and reason, Aversky seemed intent on cramming a mountain of information directly into his brain.


    By the end of the session, Ardan felt as though a metaphorical anvil had been dropped on his head.


    ¡°That will suffice for today,¡± Aversky said, glancing at the clock. ¡°For our next session, which will be entirely practical, I expect you to prepare one military spell ¡ª something like Stone Fist, which you should have studied at the Grand ¡ª and one shield spell. Additionally, please purchase this list of literature,¡± he said, sliding a piece of paper toward Ardan, ¡°and try to familiarize yourself with it over the next month. If you have questions, bring them to our sessions so that we are both spared my monologues. You may go.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t even remember how he ended up in the car. His head buzzed as if he had spent the evening driving nails into a stone wall with it.


    He had imagined that lessons with Aversky would be different. But then again, how else was a Grand Magister engaged in inventing some of the most complex military spells supposed to teach a student whose knowledge of Star Magic was limited to the basics?


    In his hands was a note listing¡­ Ardi blinked, thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him¡­ twenty-three items. Fortunately, some of the books overlapped with Convel¡¯s list.


    Maybe he should get a graphite board for his apartment? At this rate, he¡¯d soon run out of room for his collection of paper scraps.


    ***


    The car stopped near ¡°Bruce¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°How much do I owe you?¡± Ardan asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s already paid for,¡± the burly, deep-voiced driver replied.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Take care,¡± the man said brusquely.


    Ardan stepped out of the car, and the driver immediately rolled down the street, though at a leisurely pace as he was likely scouting for his next fare. Despite the late hour and the freezing weather, there were still quite a few people out on the streets. Markov Embankment wasn¡¯t Baliero, but it had its own collection of bars, cafes, and restaurants that drew in a crowd after the workday.


    ¡°Ardi.¡±


    The word made Ardan turn sharply. Standing near the entrance to the bar was Elena. She looked pale, her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and her fur coat was smeared with dirt. She was trembling, either from the cold or something else entirely.


    ¡°What happened?¡± He asked.


    ¡°Boris,¡± she whispered, swallowing her sobs. ¡°He¡¯s been kidnapped.¡±

 Chapter 55 - Crimson Lady

    Disclaimer: This chapter may contain material that is inappropriate for some people.


    Ardan just stood there silently for a few seconds, trying to process what he had just heard. Boris? Kidnapped? Who? Where? How?


    Questions swarmed his mind like a hive¡¯s worth of disturbed bees, battering against the walls of his skull. He nearly let them escape, but right now, a girl who seemed to have shrunk and curled into herself, her face streaked with tears, was standing before him. A girl he could perhaps call, if not a close friend, then at least someone familiar enough for her pain to stir something within him.


    Ardan put an arm around her, feeling her involuntarily sag against him. It was as if all her strength had been used to get here, to find help, and now¡­ now there was nothing left in her. Sleeping Spirits. What had happened?


    ¡°Come on,¡± Ardi said, guiding the vacant-eyed Elena toward the doors of ¡°Bruce¡¯s.¡±


    Inside, despite the fact that it was long past midnight, the bar was bustling. Patrons ate, drank, and engaged in muted conversations. The bar counter was hosting a scattering of loners and small cliques of regulars. The vacant stage stood dark and forlorn, its air of neglect accentuated by the faint traces of cigarette smoke curling toward the ceiling. Thick cigar clouds loomed here and there, with the occasional trails from smoking pipes winding upwards. The smell was foul.


    Elena coughed but seemed not to notice that she was doing it. Nor did she pay any attention to the patrons, a few of whom turned to glance at the newcomers.


    Ardan scoured the room, seeking the one person he least wanted to approach, but he had little choice in this situation. Finally, their eyes met. Arkar, seated in a guarded section cordoned off by a red rope, acknowledged Ardan with a curt nod and gestured toward a private room. No orcish gangsters were there tonight, it seemed.


    Ardi navigated carefully past the round tables, mindful not to jostle anyone or step on their feet. He guided Elena to a shadowed passageway, where Arkar unlocked a door and ushered them inside.


    For the second time in his life ¡ª and under eerily similar circumstances ¡ª Ardan stepped into this particular room. A pang of guilt flared up in his chest. He had sworn never to deal with the Orcish Jackets again, and yet here he was, out of better options.


    Even before Elena began her story, Ardan knew they wouldn¡¯t have time to contact the Cloaks. He didn¡¯t know a single address, and Milar¡¯s medallion showed no signs of heating up. As for the city guards¡­ They were far too slow. They¡¯d never make it in time.


    Ardan settled Elena onto the sofa and poured her a glass of water from the decanter on the table. Her numb fingers fumbled with it, almost spilling everything, so Ardi steadied her hands and helped her bring the glass to her lips.


    She took a few sips before breaking into a coughing fit. Gone was the sharp, ever-smiling mage Ardi had come to know over the past few months. Before him now was the same frightened, disoriented girl he¡¯d encountered at the Presny tavern.


    ¡°What happened, Miss Promyslov?¡± Asked Arkar.


    Elena and Boris ¡ª known for their generous tips ¡ª had frequented ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± for Tess¡¯ concerts, so Arkar was acquainted with them.


    ¡°Boris has been kidnapped,¡± Elena repeated. Her fingers clenched as she tried to suppress her trembling, but failed. She shook like the last autumn leaf on a sleeping tree.


    ¡°Elena,¡± Ardi crouched beside her and covered her small fists with his hands. ¡°Please, tell us what happened in more detail.¡±


    Something flickered to life in her eyes, and mustering what strength she had left, Elena forced herself to speak, though her words came haltingly.


    ¡°Do you remember that time, Ardi¡­ when we told you about Baron Orvilov before the exams?¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t remember that at all. ¡°Of course,¡± he lied without hesitation.


    ¡°Last time, Boris beat him three times out of three,¡± Elena sniffled into a napkin, growing even paler. ¡°Orvilov spent the holidays trying to get a rematch, but Boris just laughed and refused. He even asked if Orvilov had Iolai¡¯s permission to act like that. And then¡­ At the Festival of Light, Orvilov showed up with¡­¡±


    Ardan already knew the answer. He now understood why Tess had returned so quickly.


    ¡°With Tess,¡± Ardi said quietly.


    Elena nodded. ¡°He thought Boris and I were just¡­¡± She rubbed her ring finger awkwardly, where no ring had ever been, but anyone attentive enough wouldn¡¯t have needed one to guess they were married. ¡°We came here often. Orvilov must have been watching and decided Boris had an interest in Tess. That¡¯s why he invited her. And at the festival, there was a scandal.¡±


    Ardi felt a searing heat rise up in his chest, right where the symbol left by Ergar¡¯s fang had lodged itself beneath his clothes. It was almost like last time. Like back in the steppe.


    ¡°Did he hurt her?¡± Ardan didn¡¯t realize his fangs had lengthened slightly.


    ¡°No,¡± Elena shook her head. ¡°He wanted to, though... He deliberately took her to all the places where Boris and I were. They argued. Words were exchanged, and everything came out. Boris and Tess mocked Orvilov, and he raised a hand to strike Tess. Boris punched him instead and challenged him to a duel. A bloody one.¡±


    Bloody duels. That was what students at the Grand called matches where normal rules didn¡¯t apply. These weren¡¯t just shield-breaking duels. During one of them, military magic was allowed to inflict actual harm. Though regulated under the rules of Magic Boxing, such duels required approval from the dean of the Military Faculty.


    ¡°But all the Grand¡¯s grounds were booked,¡± Elena sniffled again. ¡°So, they decided to find a place in the city. Orvilov suggested one, and Boris agreed. He couldn¡¯t find a second, so I went with him. But when we got to the building¡­¡±


    She reached for the back of her head, wincing slightly. Ardan leaned closer, examining her carefully. Beneath her hat, the hair at the top of her head was matted with what looked like reddish clay. The skin there had been torn, and the blood had dried into a thick crust.


    Ardi cursed softly and turned to Arkar.


    ¡°If she¡¯s already in bed, you¡¯ll have to deal with the consequences yourself,¡± Arkar muttered and exchanged a few words with a bouncer outside.


    ¡°When I woke up, Boris was gone,¡± Elena took another sip of water and pulled something from her pocket. ¡°And all I had was this.¡±


    She placed a small note on the table that had been written in meticulous, almost calligraphic handwriting:


    ¡°You have until 10 at morning. Tendari. The Industrial District. Warehouse 6. Bring 2,500 exes and sincere apologies, or we¡¯ll send the next piece.¡±


    ¡°Quite the statement,¡± Arkar bared his lower fangs.


    The note, stained with red blotches, contained more than just a written message. Wrapped inside of it were two phalanges from a pinky finger.


    ¡°This is-¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Elena cut in. ¡°It¡¯s from Boris¡¯ pinky.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure of it, Ardi,¡± she said firmly.


    The door opened, and Tess entered, clearly groggy and annoyed. She was bundled up in a warm skirt and an endearingly lopsided, hand-knit pink sweater.


    ¡°Arkar, Ardi, what are you-¡± She broke off mid-sentence.


    ¡°Elena!¡± Tess cried out, rushing to her friend. She enveloped Elena in an embrace so tight and tender that it could only be shared between two women. Elena¡¯s composure shattered completely, and she broke into heaving sobs, wailing like a wounded doe, more from fear than pain ¡ª for herself and for her husband.


    ¡°Out!¡± Tess barked, her tone commanding and brooking no argument.


    Arkar and Ardi exchanged glances but didn¡¯t argue with her. They left the room, stepping back into the bar¡¯s smoky, noisy interior. The orc bouncers by the door stood like statues, their brown, tusked faces impassive as if they¡¯d heard nothing.


    Arkar plopped down onto a couch at a nearby table, gesturing for Ardi to join him. Lighting a cigar with a match struck against his stubbled chin, he offered a second one to Ardan.


    ¡°Oh, right. You don¡¯t smoke,¡± he muttered, pocketing it again. ¡°And you don¡¯t drink, either¡­ Saintly as ever.¡±


    While Arkar smoked, Ardan stared blankly ahead. He felt like he could see the half-full bar, and yet he didn¡¯t. His gaze sank into the crests of his own thoughts, which were crashing like waves against the cliffs of his memories.


    Elena had asked him. She¡¯d asked him to be Boris¡¯ second. And he¡­ He¡¯d chosen his lessons with Aversky over the only people in the city who had shown him genuine warmth and care.


    Emergold¡­ Had she been right about him?


    No, this wasn¡¯t the time for such thoughts. Not even the greatest of Aean¡¯Hane could turn back time. He needed to focus on fixing the situation, not on what he-


    ¡°He¡¯s the son of the Southern Fleet¡¯s commander, right?¡± Arkar broke the silence.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Then it doesn¡¯t add up, Ard.¡± Arkar exhaled a cloud of smoke that carried hints of leather, pine, and dark chocolate. ¡°Kids like that don¡¯t just disappear. And the ransom, though hefty, isn¡¯t exactly crippling for a Duke-General. They could¡¯ve demanded much more, and-¡±


    ¡°He was disowned.¡±


    Arkar choked on his smoke, coughing harshly.


    ¡°A duke¡¯s son? One of the Upper Chamber? Disowned?¡±


    Ardi nodded.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Ardan shrugged. He had his suspicions about why Boris had been kicked out from the Fahtov family, but he¡¯d never asked directly.


    ¡°It still doesn¡¯t add up,¡± Arkar said, waving a hand the size of a paddle to clear the air. ¡°Even if he¡¯s been stripped of his inheritance and some other fancy stuff, what¡¯s the rub ¡ª what¡¯s the point, I mean ¡ª in kidnapping him? The money¡¯s peanuts compared to the risk. And his father¡­ Just on principle, he¡¯d erase everyone involved.¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Orvilov is friends with Iolai Agrov,¡± Ardan replied, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them. He needed to think¡­


    ¡°Agrov?¡± Arkar¡¯s eyebrows lifted slightly. ¡°One of the Great Princes?¡±


    ¡°Exactly¡­¡±


    ¡°Matabar, you¡¯ve really got a knack for finding trouble, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°And some of that trouble was courtesy of you, orc.¡±


    Arkar snorted. Ardan did the same. After all, they were both half-bloods.


    ¡°So,¡± Ardan continued, picking up where he¡¯d left off. ¡°Boris¡¯ father might get involved, or he might not. It all depends on how¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­bad the blood is between them,¡± Arkar finished, taking a deep drag. ¡°Either way, while the old man makes up his mind, Boris¡¯ ass might be hung out to dry... Time will tick away, I mean. And if time ticks away for too long, the situation could take a catastrophically unpleasant¡­ interval.¡±


    ¡°Catastrophically unpleasant turn,¡± Ardan corrected him automatically.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Arkar replied tersely.


    And yet, why was Ardi suddenly thinking of the bear cubs and the troll? No one was coming to help Boris anytime soon. The kidnappers, judging by the severed pinky, were serious and likely knew full well that the Southern Fleet¡¯s commander wouldn¡¯t respond swiftly.


    And Ardan himself¡­ His life had only just begun to make some sort of sense as he¡¯d found his footing. His relations with Iolai were already strained, with the Great Prince usually offering barbed remarks and then pointedly ignoring him ¡ª a difference in status had its upsides from time to time.


    What did this have to do with some pretender to the throne? Simple: Baron Orvilov would not have even looked in the direction of the banished Lord Fahtov without the permission of his senior friend.


    And what did Ardan really owe Boris?


    Memories of their brief times together surfaced: their shared laughter, Boris and Elena¡¯s visits to ¡°Bruce¡¯s,¡± the times Ardan had visited them on Saint Warriors Street. No, they weren¡¯t his friends. Or perhaps¡­ Perhaps Ardi simply didn¡¯t know how to be close friends. Not with humans, at least¡­


    ¡°Help me, Arkar,¡± Ardan exhaled.


    ¡°Someone once told me that they wanted nothing to do with the Orcish Jackets,¡± Arkar¡¯s eyes gleamed as he spoke. ¡°So why not run to your humans, mountain brother? To the guards or the Cloaks, who camped outside our windows for weeks? Go on, petition the Mage Guild even. Anyone you choose will surely aid you, oh saintly one¡­¡±


    ¡°What do you want from me?¡± Ardi narrowed his eyes at him.


    Arkar spun toward him, slamming his hand on the table with enough force to make every head in the bar turn their way. But within a heartbeat, the stone-faced bouncers made sure curious patrons had returned to their conversations, late meals, and strong drinks.


    ¡°I want you to remember you¡¯re not human, mountain hunter,¡± Arkar growled. ¡°And the next time you open your childish, naive mouth to spout your high-brain-¡±


    ¡°High-minded-¡±


    ¡°High-go-fuck-yourself¡­¡± Arkar cut him off. ¡°I don¡¯t give a damn what words you conjure in that little skull of yours. Remember this, Ard. When you needed help, you came to me. A half-blood orc. Not to the authorities. Not to anyone else. You came to your brothers, the same ones you brushed off.¡±


    Ardan stared silently at the half-orc. Arkar kept smoking calmly, as though he hadn¡¯t just delivered a tirade laced with bared fangs.


    ¡°And you¡¯ll owe me,¡± Arkar added after a pause. ¡°A fat one. And rest assured, I¡¯ll collect.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°Fine?!¡± Arkar¡¯s temper flared again. ¡°You can wipe your ass with that word, kid. You¡¯ll swear by the ways of your ancestors. You¡¯re sticking my neck in the noose, you asshole¡­ Barons, lords, dukes, Great bloody Princes. But the most ass... troubling thing of all, I mean... Tendari¡¯s warehouses belong to the Crimson Lady.¡±


    Arkar said that last title not as a mere descriptor, but with clear respect, as if he were naming someone important.


    ¡°Who is-¡±


    ¡°Not another word until you swear it.¡±


    Swearing by the ways of one¡¯s ancestors was a binding oath among the Firstborn. Breaking it meant renouncing one¡¯s past and people and becoming an outcast. Such oathbreakers were branded with shame, banished, their families stripped of land, their children denied matches, and their parents¡­


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Stoned to death.


    The Firstborn weren¡¯t as civilized as the tales of Ectassus had painted them. Blood rites and traditions abounded.


    Would he really make such a serious vow for Boris? A man who, in truth, meant nothing to Ardan? Or was Ardan merely trying to convince himself of that? In reality, he had only two friends in the entirety of Metropolis. And one of them was in trouble because Ardi had chosen Star Magic over him.


    Emergold¡¯s words echoed in his mind.


    ¡°I swear by the ways of my ancestors, Arkar, that I will repay you for your help.¡±


    The half-orc turned to him slowly, staring into his eyes. For a moment, Ardi felt like he was drowning in boiling pitch that was searing his skin and mind. For some reason, Arkar¡¯s wild, feral rage seemed to roar and rumble within him.


    ¡°Are you stupid, little one?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯d you make that vow?¡±


    ¡°Because you asked me to,¡± Ardi said, bewildered.


    Arkar stubbed out his cigar and shook his head wearily.


    ¡°How are you still alive with a heart like that, Ardi? Mark my words, one day, someone will use your kindness against you and hurt you. And you know what happens to strong but kind people, especially Firstborn, when their kindness is betrayed, and they¡¯re harmed?¡± Arkar didn¡¯t wait for an answer. ¡°They become the monsters parents use to scare their children... Let¡¯s roll, kid... let¡¯s go, I mean.¡±


    The half-orc rose, exchanged a few words with the bouncers, retrieved a fur coat that could¡¯ve doubled as a blanket for someone smaller, and returned to the couches. He lifted a seat to reveal a hidden compartment. Inside, revolvers rested neatly on stands alongside several heavy, short-handled axes in sheaths.


    Arkar put all this stuff on his belt, tucked a few ¡°moons¡± (pre-loaded discs for quick drum changes when using revolvers) into his pants pocket, and stared at Ardan expectantly.


    It was only then that Ardi realized that he hadn¡¯t changed clothes or retrieved his weapons from the satchel upstairs.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go grab-¡±


    ¡°Here,¡± Arkar handed him one of the revolvers. ¡°Though from what I¡¯ve heard from Lisa, you¡¯re no gunslinger.¡±


    Nevertheless, Ardi strapped the holster to his belt, then rose from the table. Together, they stepped out into the night. The wind swirled around them like a playful dog, licking their noses with wet snow and nipping at their necks with insistent frost.


    They rounded the corner where the bar¡¯s entrance lay, then walked to the middle of the building and turned into a dark archway leading to the courtyard. Within was a small garden with benches and a parking area bristling with snow-laden winter covers. Arkar approached one of these and, with a quick, powerful motion, yanked off the heavy covering along with its snowy burden.


    Under the light of a solitary streetlamp stood a simple, almost unassuming car. It looked like a model from the ¡°Schvenlik¡± company, which was known for producing reliable but inexpensive vehicles for the middle class. It was intended for those who no longer wanted to drive rickety contraptions resembling miniature trucks but couldn¡¯t afford anything too lavish.


    Comparing the body and interior to models like a ¡°Derks,¡± which Lisa had owned ¡ª or, rather, used to own ¡ª the ¡°Schvenlik¡± seemed to imitate the appearance of high-end automobiles. It had a low profile, rectangular design, and smooth transitions from roof to trunk. Only the bulky wheels and the interior lined in cheap fabric gave away its modest price.


    Arkar patted the car¡¯s side, and Ardan could have sworn it almost snorted, like a horse eager to start galloping. Its gray, slightly-frosted metal gleamed under the lamp¡¯s Ley light, and its headlights resembled the eyes of a steed.


    ¡°Get in,¡± Arkar climbed inside and opened the passenger door.


    Ardan glanced back toward the archway.


    ¡°What about your men?¡±


    ¡°Get in,¡± the half-orc repeated more firmly.


    This time, Ardi didn¡¯t argue. He walked around the car and climbed into the passenger seat. The stiff, winter-chilled upholstery felt as hard as a rock, and the door creaked like a trapped barn mouse as it closed.


    Arkar turned the key, and the engine responded with a guttural growl. The car shook slightly as thick, murky exhaust smoke ¡ª gray with hints of brown ¡ª poured from the tailpipe.


    ¡°If I bring muscle, it¡¯ll signal that I¡¯m there on Jacket business,¡± Arkar explained, opening the glove compartment to retrieve another cigar, this one thicker and longer than the one he¡¯d smoked in the bar. ¡°If I show up alone, it¡¯s paternal.¡±


    ¡°Personal.¡±


    Arkar paused mid-motion, his match poised to light the cigar¡¯s freshly bitten-off tip.


    ¡°Does correcting me bring you joy?¡± He asked with a squint and a hint of disapproval.


    ¡°Force of inertia.¡±


    ¡°Inertia? Is that some kind of animal? Or are you insulting me?¡±


    Ardan opened his mouth to explain the term but then waved a hand dismissively.


    ¡°You¡¯re learning,¡± Arkar snorted. Satisfied, he waited for the engine to warm up and the smoke to clear before flooring the gas pedal.


    The tires spun in the snow a couple of times before finding traction and propelling the car toward the archway. As they drove, Ardan remembered Boris¡¯ complaints about how, north of the Alcade, in the central part of the continent, people didn¡¯t have to worry about snowdrifts or swapping out their summer tires for winter ones equipped with small, specially-designed studs.


    Ardan gripped his staff tightly. If only he had agreed to be Boris¡¯ second¡­


    Thoughts for another day.


    The car rolled onto Markov Street and sped toward the nearest bridge over the canal. The farther they drove from the Central District, the more the winter city began to resemble its smaller counterparts.


    Few pedestrians roamed the pavements. Most windows were dark, and only the occasional streetlamp reminded them that they were driving through a city, not among dead cliffs whose shapes loomed eerily in the gloom.


    Their route led them southwest, farther and farther from the refined architecture of the center, yet not quite to the grotesque skyscrapers. Twenty minutes later, the buildings around them had shrunk in size, as if contracting. They¡¯d dwindled to three or four stories, modest and downtrodden. The brickwork was devoid of facades or embellishments. Sidewalks flaunted cracked cobblestones like a thug showing off bruises and a split lip after a fight.


    The roadway, instead of asphalt, groaned under the weight of potholes and ruts. No matter how much Arkar tried to avoid them, the car occasionally bumped into hidden, snow-covered pits. He cursed and drove on.


    As they delved deeper into Tendari, the sky grew even darker, and the air, despite the car¡¯s closed windows, smelled of coal, filth, gas, and something akin to diesel. Perhaps it was crude oil.


    From the shadows pierced by dwindling streetlights and the rare glow of windows, tall factory smokestacks loomed. Even at this hour, they belched greasy, foul-smelling smoke. The sight of these thick, heavy clouds spewing forth made Ardan want to cover his face with his collar or hands. It was as if a dark, dirty tide was rising toward the sky, dragging everything into the mire of its unyielding stench.


    The roadway was practically deserted. Trolley tracks were rare here, and cars even rarer. It would seem the residents of the working-class neighborhoods mostly got around on foot.


    They turned off the avenue into a side street and parked near the curb, surprisingly finding themselves among nearly a dozen other vehicles. On either side, three-story houses with iced-over water towers on their roofs loomed overhead.


    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Arkar muttered grudgingly. ¡°Let¡¯s get out. And don¡¯t forget your hat. She¡¯s got a thing about uncovered heads.¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t understand but pulled his knitted hat down over his ears anyway.


    They stepped out into the street, and once again, like when he¡¯d first come to the Metropolis, Ardan was seized by a coughing fit. His lungs felt like they were coated in tar and his throat itched worse than after inhaling coal dust. He spat thick, acrid saliva and straightened up with great effort.


    ¡°Where are we?¡± He asked, still catching his breath.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see,¡± Arkar chuckled.


    He exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke that almost froze in the air before walking across the dirty slush. Oddly enough, about ten meters from a nondescript entrance to a basement-level establishment, the ground suddenly became less muddy. Someone had cleaned up here, but only this small patch.


    They approached a staircase leading down, not because the building had been constructed that way, but because every flood in the Metropolis (which occurred frequently) raised the ground level due to residual deposits. Moreover, streets were often raised by hand to avoid flooding, leaving some windows below sidewalk level.


    Arkar descended the stairs, and Ardan followed closely. They stopped in front of a heavy metal door devoid of any signage.


    The half-orc knocked in a peculiar, irregular rhythm. Ardan was puzzled at first, but quickly realized its purpose. A latch slid open with a metallic scrape, revealing someone¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Arkar?¡± Came a sharp, clipped voice.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Arkar rumbled.


    The eyes shifted to Ardan, then scanned the street.


    ¡°Who¡¯s he?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s with me.¡±


    ¡°All right. Business or pleasure?¡±


    ¡°Business.¡±


    ¡°Got it¡­ Armed?¡±


    Arkar nodded.


    ¡°Official?¡±


    ¡°Personal.¡±


    The latch slid shut with that same metallic scrape. A moment later, the creak of a worn lock signaled the door¡¯s opening. Arkar entered first, stepping into a dimly-lit antechamber. It separated the iron door from another, much more curious one.


    The heated room, which was roughly ten square meters, contained not only the owner of the sharp voice, but also several burly men with holsters that could be seen under their jackets. They sat at a table, playing Olikzasian Sevens.


    ¡°Boys,¡± Arkar greeted.


    ¡°Arkar,¡± they said in a discordant chorus.


    The half-orc drew his revolver from its holster and placed it on a table near the entrance... where a dozen others lay. The owner of the sharp voice, a tall, subdued man, nodded curtly at Ardan.


    ¡°Your iron, kid,¡± Arkar prompted.


    Ard noted that Arkar had also brought his axes and¡­ his staff wasn¡¯t being confiscated. So, he calmly surrendered the revolver.


    ¡°Take a seat at the free table,¡± the sharp-voiced man instructed them. ¡°The lady will see you shortly.¡±


    With that, he opened the curious door at the back of the antechamber. It was upholstered like a sofa in bright red, almost blood-colored material.


    The man let them into a narrow corridor lined with coat racks holding numerous overcoats and furs. Beyond that lay another door identical to the first.


    Arkar entered first, followed by Ardan. As soon as Ardan crossed the threshold, the door behind them shut with the distinct sound of a locking mechanism engaging.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± the half-orc said, removing his fur coat and hanging it on an empty hook. ¡°If this goes smoothly, they¡¯ll let us out.¡±


    ¡°If?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t be certain of anything when dealing with women like the Crimson Lady, kid.¡±


    Ardan hung up his coat and hurried after Arkar, who was already opening the next door.


    ¡°And who is she, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you haven¡¯t guessed already?¡± Arkar flashed him a toothy, predatory grin.


    They now stood at the entrance to a long, narrow chamber. The unexpectedly high ceiling extended well beyond the basement level. On either side, wrought-iron candelabras rose from the floor, their crimson candles alight with flickering red flames. Beyond them stood tall arches separating the room from two bar counters that ran the length of the walls. Overhead hung chandeliers, their Ley-lamps emitting the same red light.


    The entire room seemed suspended in the heat of a spring dawn, that fleeting moment when the world plunges into a bloody twilight. It was warm, like the first kiss of youthful passion.


    And amidst this endless kiss, round tables laden with bottles and glasses hosted men. They wore mid-priced suits, all of them donning hats. They drank and conversed. There was nothing unusual about any of it, except for one detail.


    A long, crimson carpet with a high pile had been placed across the center of the chamber. And along this carpet walked young women. Some wore sandals, others had on more elegant shoes like high heels, and some were barefoot as they strolled past the tables.


    And that might have, arguably, been nothing out of the ordinary, except for the fact that they wore no dresses, no stockings, nothing save for the skimpiest of lingerie. Strings of fabric barely concealed their modesty, exposing their hips and the more intimate parts of their legs. Their bras were simple black bands. Only their heads were adorned, crowned with hats atop flowing, luxurious hair.


    Everyone in the hall, including the bartenders, wore hats.


    Ardi felt a twinge of discomfort. Perhaps it was his own hat, or the fact that more than a dozen nearly-naked women, swaying their hips and¡­ more provocative assets¡­ were parading before him.


    They were short and tall. Slim and curvy. Some had such ample forms that their lingerie strained against its tiny seams (if it had any at all), while others were nearly boyish in their flatness.


    Ardan suddenly found it hard to breathe, a furnace-like heat igniting just below his belt buckle.


    ¡°This is a brothel, Ard,¡± Arkar clapped his shoulder and guided him to an empty table.


    Ardan, stumbling slightly, followed after him, his gaze wandering across the room. He found himself lost in the curves of round breasts, his gaze tracing slender waists and sliding over firm hips crowned by soft mounds. His eyes tangled in long hair, brushed against flushed cheeks, slid down thin necks, and lost themselves among delicate fingers.


    The women walked by, casting inviting, sultry smiles toward every patron. Their gazes seemed to beckon each man to follow, promising them whispered secrets shared only in the quiet intimacy of night.


    Occasionally, a man would reach out, and one of the women would sit on his lap. They¡¯d exchange a few words before disappearing toward the end of the room, where a spiral staircase beckoned.


    When Ardan finally sank into a chair and tried to calm the burning with a sip of water, his hands trembled. His head swam.


    ¡°Arkar, darling, long time no see,¡± one of the women said as she approached their table. She immediately sank into the half-orc¡¯s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his in a hot, greedy kiss. Next to Arkar¡¯s massive frame, the petite woman seemed even smaller. Her curvaceous figure only accentuated her delicacy.


    Her skin was the color of wet coal, black as burnt wood. It absorbed light, drawing it into the beads of sweat that shimmered across her body, mingling with the heady scent of expensive, musky perfume. The air was so thick with the fragrance that even Ardan¡¯s sharp nose struggled to detect anything else.


    This was a woman from Kargaam. Ardi had heard of people with such skin tones from that distant land and had even seen its ambassador at the Emperor¡¯s coronation. But this close? He¡¯d never been this close to one of them before.


    ¡°How fascinating¡­¡± He muttered.


    ¡°And who¡¯s this you¡¯ve brought with you, Arkar?¡± Purred a voice right by his ear.


    Soft hands slid down his shoulders, caressing him as they went. They moved across his chest, brushing against his shirt buttons and unfastening them with playful ease.


    ¡°Mister mage, perhaps we should slip away and go upstairs? Away from the crowd?¡± The woman spoke ¡ª or was she kissing him? ¡ª and Ardan hadn¡¯t even seen her face.


    ¡°Well, well,¡± she said, a little surprised. ¡°You¡¯re not an orc, but¡­ half-bloods pay double, darling.¡±


    ¡°Ladies,¡± Arkar lifted the ebony-skinned beauty off his lap. ¡°We¡¯re here on business.¡±


    ¡°Well, if it¡¯s business¡­¡±


    And then they vanished as quickly as they¡¯d appeared. Ardan was left trying to catch his breath and regain his focus. His vision still swam. He could barely comprehend where he was or what was happening.


    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t need anything in life besides your magic,¡± Arkar said, pulling out an ex and placing it on the table. He uncorked a bottle of wine, filling two glasses. ¡°Drink.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s wine, you idiot,¡± the half-orc cut him off. ¡°Take my advice. Drink. It¡¯ll help.¡±


    Ardan clasped the glass with both hands, which seemed ready to jitter away, and took several gulps of the wine. It didn¡¯t completely calm him, but at least the world stopped spinning.


    ¡°Cover yourself,¡± Arkar nodded toward Ardan¡¯s belt. ¡°It¡¯s embarrassing. It feels like I brought a virgin along¡­¡±


    Ardan hastily pulled his cloak¡¯s hem over the area in question. The fire subsided slightly, or so he thought until his gaze landed on another passing woman.


    Ardi squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his mind to recall the most intricate seals he¡¯d been working on lately. Demon seals. They had complex contours, some of which entwined the body¡¯s¡­ features into a single¡­


    A single sheet. A single bed. He opened his eyes. This wasn¡¯t helping.


    He downed the wine in one gulp. The taste lingered on his tongue: rich, tart, sweet, like berry juice, but more vibrant and intense. It was as vivid as the girls passing by.


    ¡°What is wrong with me?¡± He muttered to himself.


    ¡°Ah, to be eighteen again,¡± sighed Arkar.


    ¡°You already had that pleasure... somewhere on the Armondian border, my friend,¡± came a voice ¡ª low, sultry and viscous, like honey poured directly into their ears. ¡°Amid trenches and gunpowder smoke.¡±


    A woman joined them at the table. She was statuesque, slightly over forty, but looking as if she¡¯d barely passed twenty-five. Her vibrant, scarlet hair ¡ª dyed to hide the grays ¡ª had been worked on so skillfully that it was almost indistinguishable from a natural shade.


    Her neck was adorned with a necklace of white gold and large emeralds, which covered what few wrinkles her flawless skin might have betrayed. Her corset emphasized her ample chest and narrow waist. A fox fur stole draped over her shoulders, cascading onto her slender arms, one of which held a long cherry-wood cigarette holder with a smoldering cigarette.


    She wore a long, red dress shaped like an inverted tulip ¡ª narrow at the top and flaring out below. Her tightly-styled hair was netted and topped with a hat adorned with decorative feathers.


    ¡°You certainly know how to reopen old wounds, Inga,¡± Arkar scowled.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± Inga flicked her cigarette ash directly into Arkar¡¯s wine glass. ¡°What brings the right hand of Ordargar here on such businesslike terms?¡±


    ¡°This is personal.¡±


    ¡°When it¡¯s personal, Arkar, my girls can¡¯t walk properly for days,¡± Inga¡¯s soft, mesmerizing tone contrasted with the lifeless, icy glint in her emerald eyes. ¡°But you always tip generously and pay double for your¡­ orcish physiology. So, we¡¯ve never had issues. And I¡¯d rather not spoil such a fine tradition.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with my physiognomy?¡±


    ¡°Physiology, Arkar, not physiognomy,¡± Inga said and, in a fluid motion, she poured more wine into Ardan¡¯s glass. ¡°Mister mage, I haven¡¯t had the pleasure of being introduced. I¡¯m Inga, but most know me as the Crimson Lady.¡±


    ¡°Ar-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re speaking to me, Inga,¡± Arkar interrupted Ardan firmly, prompting the establishment¡¯s mistress to turn back to him with a smile. ¡°I¡¯m here on personal business, yes, but it¡¯s still business.¡±


    ¡°Let me guess, my dear overseer¡­¡± Inga¡¯s lips curved into a teasing smile as she crossed her legs, drawing attention to their length and elegance. ¡°You¡¯re here about the little arrangement that some gentlemen of mine requested assistance with a few days ago.¡±


    ¡°I have my own interest in that arrangement.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Inga arched an elegant eyebrow. ¡°And how significant is this¡­ interest of yours, Arkar?¡±


    ¡°At our organization¡¯s next celebration, I¡¯ll hire your girls instead of the ones from the Black Lotus.¡±


    ¡°Tempting, my dear friend,¡± Inga replied, her green eyes glittering as she swirled her wine and gazed at Ardan. ¡°But those gentlemen offered five weighty reasons. And your offer barely amounts to three. Perhaps three and a half at best.¡±


    It was clear that these ¡°reasons¡± referred to exes. Hundreds of exes to be precise.


    ¡°And did these gentlemen mention, Inga, that their arrangement involves the son of a duke, who¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­has been disowned by his family, Arkar,¡± Inga dismissed him with a wave. ¡°And who would dare hurt a harmless, aging woman who graciously shelters girls who are privy to such interesting secrets shared on their pillows¡­ You¡¯ve always been terrible at bluffing, my friend.¡±


    Arkar clenched his jaw, the muscles there twitching, before curtly stating, ¡°Three celebrations. That¡¯s nearly a thousand-¡±


    ¡°A thousand reasons for why I so value our collaboration,¡± the Crimson Lady bit down on her cigarette holder and held out her hand. ¡°Your word?¡±


    ¡°My word, Inga.¡± Arkar squeezed her tiny hand gently with his paw.


    ¡°Wonderful,¡± Inga pushed her fingers into her corset¡¯s neckline for a moment and pulled out a small note. ¡°Show this to the boys, they won¡¯t interfere. And as for those gentlemen... Well, you¡¯ll handle that yourselves.¡±


    Arkar took the paper with a curt nod.


    ¡°Inga,¡± he said.


    ¡°Arkar,¡± she replied.


    The half-orc rose, grabbing the partially-finished bottle of wine from the table with a cheeky grin.


    ¡°For what the ex fall that''s the hands'' toll,¡± he quipped.


    ¡°Savage,¡± Inga sniffed.


    Ardan stood and followed Arkar, making a concerted effort to avoid the inviting gazes and smiles of the passing women.


    ¡°Mr. Egobar,¡± came a sultry voice from behind him. Ardan stopped abruptly and turned. Inga was tracing the rim of her glass with a finger, her gaze foxlike and playful. ¡°Do come again. On your first visit, we won¡¯t even charge you extra for your¡­ half-blood physiology.¡±


    ¡°Offer him a magic textbook instead of a girl, Inga,¡± Arkar snorted, clamping a hand on Ardan¡¯s shoulder and steering him toward the exit.


    They returned to the cloakroom, retrieved their outerwear, then their revolvers, where Arkar exchanged a few parting words with the bouncers, and finally stepped outside into the fresh air.


    Suddenly, the earlier frost seemed no colder than an autumn breeze to him. Ardan¡¯s entire body burned from within. He wanted to shed his coat, discard his shirt, and roll in the snowy slush just to douse the fire.


    ¡°Remember this, kid,¡± Arkar said, glancing briefly over his shoulder. ¡°Never deal with men anyone can buy. And never, ever deal with women who put a price tag on themselves. They¡¯ll sell you out faster than an ice cream man sells cones on a hot day.¡±


    They reached the car and climbed in. ¡°Well,¡± Arkar gripped the wheel and pressed down on the accelerator, causing the engine to roar as they sped uphill. ¡°Let¡¯s go rescue your damn fool of a lord.¡±

 Chapter 56 - Warehouse

    Soon, the low-rise buildings were left behind. The modest brick structures that had lined the streets gave way to towering, three-meter-high fences. Crowned with spirals of barbed wire, these fences, like the buildings themselves, were an unwelcoming shade of red brick. The few streetlights that could be seen cast a feeble glow, and were powered not by Ley energy, but by dim, flickering oil flames.


    The road was buried under mounds of snow, leaving a deep, slushy track carved out by trucks as the only passable route. The trucks themselves, the solitary wanderers of industrial districts, were scarce at this hour ¡ª it was barely past four. In the time that Arkar and Ardan had spent driving through the maze of bristling fences, they had only encountered two wobbling vehicles. One had been laden with gravel, and the other, covered by a heavy tarp, had rolled casually down a narrow alley between two factories.


    As for the factories themselves, they all appeared to be strikingly similar: massive edifices that loomed like mountains beyond their almost three-meter-high fences. Their premises were still lit, the faint voices of night shift workers occasionally audible, and their wide chimneys tirelessly spewed smoke into a sky already choked with smog.


    Ardi pressed a hand to his face, trying to breathe less frequently. Even so, the air carried a thick, pervasive smell of rubber, the needles of its chemical stench pricking his nose like a harmful bristle. Sometimes, the overwhelming ¡°aroma¡± of diesel and processed oil seemed to squeeze his throat shut. Amid this mix of penetrating scents that soaked into clothing and skin, the sharp, smoky tang of molten steel in endless furnaces provided an oddly grounding effect.


    ¡°They¡¯re following us,¡± Arkar said suddenly, his voice low. He adjusted the rearview mirror. In it, a pale light from distant headlights flickered briefly before vanishing.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± Ardi tensed, checking to ensure his revolver was still at his side. It might not end up being much use, but its presence made him feel steadier.


    Arkar jerked the wheel sharply, steering off the wide street. The car groaned in protest, rocking over the deep tracks, and turned into a narrow alleyway that stood between a steel mill and a plant producing rebar ¡ª or something else similar to that. Ardi couldn¡¯t make out the snow-covered signs on the massive gates leading inside.


    ¡°The Dandy¡¯s men,¡± Arkar growled. ¡°He¡¯s not particularly friendly toward us after Baliero, and this section of the factory streets? That¡¯s his parade ground... his territory, I mean. The Dandy runs a significant portion of the local workers¡¯ guilds.¡±


    Ardi glanced back into the night. His half-blood eyes could see reasonably well in the dark, but not well enough to discern much beyond the next bend. All he could make out were plumes of smoke, brownish, dirty snow, and the same sparse, oily lampposts.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get shaken,¡± Arkar coughed, shifting the gear lever to spur their tired car forward. ¡°Or worry, I mean. Ordargar coughed up things out with the Dandy... they resolved everything, I mean. So, they shouldn¡¯t touch us.¡±


    Ardan cast a doubtful look at the half-orc. Arkar, nearly bumping his head on the car¡¯s roof like Ardi himself, was driving with his left hand while his eyes darted between the mirrors, his right hand hovering near the holster of his revolver.


    ¡°But they might?¡± Ardi pressed.


    ¡°Oh, they might,¡± Arkar grinned widely, baring his tusks.


    Ardan squinted at him. ¡°Do you have some sort of problem with the Dandy, Arkar?¡±


    Arkar shot him an annoyed glance. ¡°You¡¯d make a fine hound... a fine investigator, I mean,¡± he said reluctantly, grinding his teeth. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve got a bone to pick with him... an old debt he owes me, Ard.¡±


    The flicker of headlights behind them disappeared, and their car finally slipped out of the labyrinth of alleyways, auxiliary roads, and industrial clutter. The fences remained a relentless stretch of brick and wire, but they¡¯d left the looming witnesses of the industrial boom behind. Instead, new giants appeared ¡ª some resembling enormous square boxes, almost windowless and thin-walled; others, by contrast, were awe-inspiring in their monumentality, with massive doors, gates, and the narrow strips of their windows gleaming in the icy steel of the night.


    Warehouses of all shapes and sizes crowded around the lone vehicle crawling like an ant at their feet. During his first months in the Metropolis, Ardi had figured out a curious phenomenon ¡ª the taller a building was, the smaller a person felt at its base. Oddly, this sensation had never struck him in the mountains.


    ¡°We¡¯re here.¡±


    Arkar pulled up to a curb buried under filthy snow, set the handbrake, and killed the engine. Some 150 meters away, at the intersection of several broad service roads, near towering gates wide enough for several heavy trucks to pass through them, a simple metal sign swayed forlornly under the weight of the wind and frost.


    ¡°Warehouse 6.¡±


    The car¡¯s headlights failed to reach the intersection and faded, plunging the street into oppressive night. A night so dense that an ordinary person wouldn¡¯t be able to see their hand in front of their face.


    The already starless sky in Tendari¡¯s industrial neighborhood was also hidden under a blanket of smog, smoke and cinders.


    ¡°And?¡± Arkar asked, breaking the silence.


    ¡°What?¡± Ardan countered.


    Arkar looked at him with a bit of annoyance.


    ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    ¡°The plan? Why are you asking me?¡±


    ¡°Sleeping Spirits, little guy!¡± Arkar nearly shouted but stopped himself, hissing the rest. ¡°This, damn the angels and demons, is your bloody debut. I¡¯m here to help, not organize your mess.¡±


    If he thought about it, Arkar was right. It was Ardi¡¯s responsibility to get Boris out of the trap. He had asked for Arkar¡¯s help, which the half-orc, if one remembered what he¡¯d done with Inga, had already provided. But that didn¡¯t mean...


    There was a knock at the window.


    Simultaneously, Arkar and Ardan drew their revolvers, pointing them toward their unexpected visitor.


    Outside, four barrels gleamed in the darkness, accompanied by flashlight beams and the unmistakable sight of cocked hammers.


    ¡°Arkar?¡±


    ¡°Crooked?¡±


    ¡°Crooked your ass, you unshaved mongrel.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t have time,¡± Arkar said, running a hand over his thick stubble. ¡°And stop shining that light in my eyes.¡±


    Slowly, the flashlight beams dropped closer to the ground, revealing their visitors. They were four young men with sharp, wolfish eyes and movements to match. They seemed to stand together in a pack, shadowing the one in front, who was not the tallest or most muscular, but someone whose twisted nose spoke of countless scuffles.


    ¡°Here, take this,¡± Arkar handed the one called Crooked (the nickname was unsurprisingly apt) the note Inga had given them. ¡°From your boss.¡±


    Crooked, even though he¡¯d lowered the hammer back into the cylinder, didn¡¯t holster his revolver. Taking the note, he read it carefully and shrugged.


    ¡°And what the hell are we supposed to do with this scribble, Arkar?¡±


    Arkar blinked a few times, then sighed heavily and... slammed his forehead against the steering wheel.


    ¡°And how many are there?¡± The half-orc asked.


    ¡°Fuck if I know,¡± Crooked shrugged again, a flicker of unpleasant amusement dancing in his eyes. ¡°We were paid for three wheels¡¯ worth of passage and to keep anyone else out. Or, if someone more serious showed up, to give them a signal.¡±


    Arkar cursed in Orcish. Ardan couldn¡¯t quite parse the meaning, but it seemed like the half-orc¡¯s string of curses went as far back as Inga¡¯s ancestors from five generations ago.


    The half-orc lifted his head from the wheel, then looked at the group with a glimmer of hope.


    ¡°How about joining us in rescuing one dumb lord?¡±


    ¡°Three wheels, Arkar,¡± Crooked repeated. ¡°There are at least a dozen of them. And Pavel saw two with staves. Right, Pavel?¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± one of the others confirmed.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Crooked drawled, dramatically stashing his revolver back under his battered coat. ¡°And I¡¯m allergic to mages, Arkar. Especially when they¡¯ve got a dozen armed, imported muscles with them.¡±


    ¡°Not locals?¡±


    ¡°Exactly. Westerners, by the looks of them. None of our people have ever seen their faces before.¡± Crooked gave the car roof a mocking pat. ¡°My advice, overseer, would be to turn around with your friend and drive back where you came from. There¡¯s nothing for you here. Whoever they¡¯ve got in that warehouse will need stormtroopers from the Guard to pull them out. Or the Cloaks.¡±


    Arkar swore under his breath, then began opening the door.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s your call,¡± Crooked said, tipping the brim of his fur hat that protected his ears from the cold.


    Once the half-orc stepped out onto the street, Crooked gave him a measured nod.


    ¡°Arkar.¡±


    ¡°Crooked,¡± the half-orc replied with equal solemnity.


    The group of four turned and began to fade into the snowy night. Meanwhile, Arkar circled around to the trunk of his car, unlocked it, and pulled out a set of ten industrial-grade explosives with rather short fuses. He handed a few to Ardan.


    ¡°You know what this is?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m from the Foothill Province,¡± Ardi said simply, taking the explosives and tucking them into his belt.


    Arkar snorted and carefully, quietly, closed the trunk.


    Standing beside Ardan, he stared at the enormous, elongated structure of the warehouse behind the fence. His gaze was fixed on it and his whispers were barely audible.


    ¡°Never trust whores...¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve said that before.¡±


    ¡°I told it to you,¡± Arkar snapped, lifting his fur-lined collar to shield himself from the biting winter wind. ¡°And now I¡¯m reminding myself.¡±


    ¡°But what-¡±


    ¡°Inga screwed us,¡± the half-orc cut him off. ¡°I thought that if this business was on her turf, it not only had her permission, but her muscle... her people, I mean. But all she gave was permission, while those bastards brought their own muscle.¡±


    Ardan realized what the half-orc was upset about. If Inga¡¯s support had included her own enforcers, her note might have drastically reduced the number of opponents facing them. Now, though...


    ¡°By the way, why is it that when you greet someone or say goodbye to them, you just call each other by name?¡±


    ¡°Because wishing them good health when parting is just asking for bad luck, and asking to meet again is wishing to risk your neck once again and...¡± Arkar abruptly stopped, his eyes gleaming with irritation as he turned toward Ardan. ¡°Sleeping Spirits, Ard! Is that really what¡¯s on your mind right now?¡±


    ¡°I just thought I¡¯d ask since it came up,¡± Ardi replied calmly. He¡¯d always been curious about why criminals of all kinds, marshals and Cloaks didn¡¯t say ¡°hello¡± or ¡°goodbye¡± but simply addressed each other by name or title.


    ¡°You¡¯re a strange one, Ard,¡± the half-orc muttered, scratching his stubble with fingers that had gradually reddened due to the frost.


    They fell silent. Ahead of them loomed the warehouse, while their backs were pressed against the cold brick fence. The wind howled, bringing in icy air from the ocean¡¯s frozen shores, and farther out, less than a hundred meters from the quay, it raged in a dark winter dance colder than snow itself.


    ¡°Arkar, if you want to leave, then-¡±


    The half-orc bared his tusks, grabbing the handle of the axe tucked into his belt.


    ¡°Are you calling me a coward, pup?¡± He growled.


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying-¡±


    ¡°Save your warnings for the girl you finally take to bed when you¡¯re forced to tell her that the only breast you¡¯ve ever held before was your mother¡¯s when you were drinking her milk!¡± Arkar snapped. ¡°Now focus that overly-clever skull of yours and figure out what we¡¯re going to do. You understand mages better than I do.¡±


    Ardan sighed and thought about it for a moment. It was unlikely that Orvilov had spared enough money to not only hire ten thugs but also find a Star Mage crazy enough to assist him. Why was the mage crazy? Because, despite everything else, the baron had kidnapped a lord. What¡¯s more, he was the son of the Southern Fleet¡¯s commander, who was a hereditary aristocrat of the Empire and a member of the Upper Chamber.


    People like that didn¡¯t take kindly to having even their estranged kin cut into pieces.


    At least that was what Ardan had guessed based on his general knowledge. What it was really like in practice¡­ Only Boris himself might know that.


    So, he was presumably facing ten or more armed men who probably lacked substantial military training (such people valued themselves too much to get involved in abducting the aristocrats¡¯ offspring), and probably two first-year students from the Grand.


    Ardan harbored no illusions about his abilities as a combat mage, so taking on two ¡°schoolmates,¡± even if they collectively had just ten rays between them, wasn¡¯t feasible. And they had the aid of a bunch of hired guns, whatever their level of skill.


    Crooked had been right. It would¡¯ve been more sensible to get back in the car, turn around, and leave, but...


    Ardan remembered how Boris had spent an entire night listening to his emotional struggles. Not just listening, but actively participating, doing his best to help his... friend? Did Ardan really not know how to befriend humans? Strangely enough, Neviy, his brother, Anna, and Faruh had seemed to understand that.


    Tomorrow¡¯s thoughts.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make us invisible,¡± Ardan said, gripping his slightly-icy staff tightly. ¡°But I don¡¯t know how long I can hold the veil, and¡­¡±


    He stopped himself, but it was too late.


    ¡°A veil?¡± Arkar turned to him sharply, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Not a seal, but a veil? So that¡¯s how you pulled Lisa out of her nightmare in that house... She mentioned some bullshit... nonsense, I mean... and I thought it was just her nerves... but you... You know the art of the Aean¡¯Hane.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just a simple Speaker,¡± Ardan admitted, no longer denying it. It was too late. ¡°And not a very skilled one at that.¡±


    ¡°Work your magic, Speaker,¡± Arkar ignored his deflections. ¡°If we were in the steppes, songs would be written about this adventure of ours.¡±


    Orcs truly did have an obsessive passion when it came to valor and the legacy they left behind in the histories of their clans. At least that was what Ardan¡¯s grandfather had taught him. Orcs valued warrior and hunter glory above all else and composed songs about it. They called the eras of the greatest wars and upheavals ¡°Times of Great Songs.¡±


    Ardan closed his eyes and opened his mind to the world around him. With a familiar effort, he distanced himself from the endless constellation of complex shield spells that, like festively-lit trees, adorned the warehouses and factories. They shimmered like a dispersed rainbow, creating the illusion that the night had turned into the fever dream of a madman.


    And amid this fractured kaleidoscope of the Ley¡¯s shimmer and glow, Warehouse 6 stood out as a dim, desolate blotch. The building¡¯s stationary shield was down, likely to keep everything happening inside a secret, and...


    Tomorrow¡¯s thoughts. Again.


    Ardan bent down, running his hand along the undercarriage of the car, searching for that darkness untouched by any light ¡ª a place where the absolute sovereignty of shadow reigned. He needed to find it, for without it, Boris...


    Scenes of his friend being tortured mingled with Elena¡¯s sobbing, and the sensation of soft, yielding darkness vanished from Ardan¡¯s mind.


    He swayed slightly, feeling exhaustion settle like a lead weight on his shoulders. Gathering himself, he reached out again for the timid, malleable shadows, which seemed to know that nothing else existed but their serene, dark domain. He nearly grasped them, but the image of Elena¡¯s tear-streaked face surged forth once more.


    Sleeping Spirits... It wasn¡¯t just shadows he was fighting, but himself as well...


    Ardan opened his eyes, and the world regained its clarity. The kaleidoscope of the Ley¡¯s brilliance disappeared, and the young man wiped large beads of sweat from his brow, leaning heavily on his staff to keep standing.


    ¡°And?¡± Arkar asked, looking around. ¡°Are we invisible yet?¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t do it,¡± Ardan admitted, shamefaced. ¡°I¡¯m too tense... I can¡¯t focus, and-¡±


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Ard, fuck, you¡¯re going to tell that to a girl when...¡± Arkar waved his revolver dismissively. ¡°I¡¯m already repeating myself.¡±


    ¡°What if we claim we¡¯re here with a ransom?¡± Ardan suggested. ¡°And when they¡¯re distracted, we could-¡±


    ¡°They¡¯d pump us so full of lead we¡¯d be shitting from a dozen extra holes,¡± Arkar told him firmly, then asked after a brief pause, ¡°What was Boris wearing?¡±


    Ardan quickly described what his maybe-friend, maybe-good acquaintance usually wore.


    Why was it so complicated with humans...


    ¡°Alright,¡± the half-orc nodded, checking the bullets in his revolver¡¯s cylinder before pulling out a second revolver. ¡°In any case, based on my experience, all these clever plans, Ard, always go to shit... fail, I mean. So, let¡¯s try to sneak in quietly and put down... switch the light off for... bury... Fuck! Kill as many people as we can, I mean. They won¡¯t send your Boris to the Angels just yet. He represents a lot of money to them.¡±


    Ardan nodded but kept the rest of his thoughts and guesses to himself. If Iolai Agrov was indeed involved, then... what could two and a half thousand exes possibly mean to him? After all, he was one of the Great Princes. His family had real money, more money than anyone could imagine... so why?


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Arkar muttered, motioning with the barrel of his revolver. Bending low, he darted across the street.


    Ardan, gripping his staff in his right hand and his revolver in his left (even though he could hardly aim with his right hand, let alone his left), hurried after him. Pressing their backs against the cold brick wall of the fence, they sidestepped toward the gates.


    The massive, iron doors used for transport were locked up tight, but the smaller, man-sized door within them was secured only by a simple latch.


    In complete silence, Arkar held the barrel of his second revolver in his mouth and, pulling a wide knife from the sheath strapped to his back, carefully, without any unnecessary movements, lifted the latch.


    It seemed like the owners of the warehouse hadn¡¯t bothered with better security measures, relying on their stationary industrial-grade shields, which were currently deactivated, and the Crimson Lady¡¯s hired protection, which could be bribed, as it turned out.


    What a mistake that was¡­ Then again, no one was here to steal anything.


    ¡°Focus, little one,¡± Arkar whispered.


    The half-orc opened the door in the gate¡¯s frame slightly and peeked inside the courtyard, then crouched and returned to Ardan.


    ¡°There are two guards near the entrance. Getting in quietly won¡¯t work,¡± he growled. ¡°We¡¯ll have to fight our way through.¡±


    At those words, Ardan flinched. Memories of Gleb, Marshal Elliny, the bandits on the train, Baliero, and the recent incident at the Imperial Bank all came rushing back to him.


    Why did it seem like, ever since he¡¯d met the Cloaks, a single month hadn¡¯t passed without people ¡ª and Firstborn ¡ª dying around him?


    ¡°Can you see in the dark?¡± Ardan asked, almost doing it out of habit at this point.


    ¡°Not as well as purebloods, but I can make out shapes.¡±


    Ardan nodded.


    Arkar closed his eyes and muttered a few words in Orcish.


    ¡°Alright, kid. Let¡¯s fuckin roll!¡±


    No longer bothering to hide, Arkar approached the door and kicked it open.


    ¡°Who gave you permission to operate in this city without asking, outsiders?!¡± He roared, rushing inside and firing both revolvers simultaneously. The thunderous crack of gunfire echoed.


    Shouts rang out within the warehouse, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass. Ardan caught sight of figures leaning out from the catwalks that ran along the walls inside. Cheap, low-grade revolvers were being clutched in hands clad in coats ill-suited for the season.


    At least he¡¯d guessed that part right.


    Ducking his head and instinctively hopping like a mountain goat to avoid the spots where bullets were slamming into the pavement, Ardan followed Arkar into the inner yard.


    Near the entrance to the warehouse, one man ¡ª he was barely twenty years old ¡ª was gasping and clutching his chest, blood seeping through his fingers from a bullet wound. Another was locked in close combat with Arkar, who had a stream of dark, reddish blood dripping from his right side.


    Their fight was brief. Arkar, knocking away the man¡¯s revolver ¡ª which was apparently empty already ¡ª grabbed his opponent¡¯s head and pressed it against his chest. The half-orc¡¯s inhuman muscles tensed, and then there was a sickening crunch followed by a short scream. The walls of the warehouse were painted by a spray of blood and brain matter.


    Ardan instinctively turned away from the sight, but immediately regretted it. One of the shooters on the catwalk fired, and the bullet grazed Ardan¡¯s left thigh. He stumbled forward, rolling to the ground before pressing himself against the iron gates, hiding beneath their overhang. Arkar, who was covered in blood ¡ª his and others¡¯ both ¡ª helped him up.


    ¡°Save your ammo, you bastards!¡± Arkar bellowed at the shooters up on the catwalks. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m going to take each of you apart, you scum! The Eternal Angels will weep when-¡±


    A bullet pierced the overhang, grazing Arkar¡¯s chest and tearing through his coat and shirt.


    ¡°You filthy mongrel!¡± Arkar roared, staring at his ruined coat and shirt. ¡°I paid nearly eight exes for these furs!¡±


    The half-orc charged out from under the overhang, firing his revolvers at the catwalks. Shouts and curses rang out ¡ª he must have hit someone, but not fatally.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Arkar muttered, breathing a bit harder as he returned to the overhang. ¡°Quick little fuckers.¡±


    ¡°How are you holding up?¡± He asked Ardan.


    ¡°Give me a few seconds,¡± Ardan replied through gritted teeth.


    Ignoring the pain in his leg and the blood running down his thigh, he began arranging the explosives near the warehouse¡¯s smaller door. Sticking them into the snow, he worked quickly, tying their fuses together.


    Unlike the main gates, the smaller entrance was far more secure. There was no simple way to get through it.


    Once he was finished, Ardan nodded to Arkar, who pulled out a lighter and lit the fuses. The cords sparked and sizzled like holiday sparklers. Under a hail of bullets and accompanied by the crash of exploding wood and metal, Ardan and Arkar sprinted to the nearest truck covered with a tarp.


    The explosion that followed was deafening. It blew the overhang clean off, hurling it into the air higher than the warehouse¡¯s roof. The force of the blast seemed to hammer against their ears, and everything was enveloped in a choking, acrid, white smoke. Dirt, rock fragments, and bits of snow rained down around them.


    Arkar peeked out from behind the truck, only to duck back as another shot rang out.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± the half-orc muttered.


    ¡°Did the door withstand that blast?¡±


    ¡°Well, we definitely did something to it, but we still can¡¯t get inside.¡±


    Ardan, his heart pounding against his ribs, dropped to the ground and crawled under the truck, peering through the smoky haze.


    Gradually, the outlines of the gates became visible through the white mist, including the smaller door past them. The main gates had held, but the smaller door was slightly warped, though not enough to allow them entry.


    However... The hinges bearing the door¡¯s weight had started to wobble, likely loosened by the explosion and the resulting shockwave.


    All it needed was a push.


    ¡°Keep them busy so they don¡¯t shoot at me!¡± Ardan shouted, running toward the truck¡¯s cab.


    ¡°Next time, just say ¡®cover me,¡¯ you idiot!¡± Arkar roared, throwing himself into the open and firing his revolvers from a prone position.


    In response, the thugs ¡ª admittedly, Arkar was one as well ¡ª returned fire in a flurry of bullets accompanied by a stream of profanities. Meanwhile, Ardan, aiming his revolver at the truck¡¯s lock, turned his face away and fired. The lock whined pitifully, and he threw his staff onto the seat before climbing inside.


    Surely the driver hadn¡¯t taken the keys home, given the shields and other security measures. They were too easy to lose... Or maybe Ardan was just clinging to hope, despite good fortune rarely being on his side.


    Rummaging through the cab of the truck, Ardan cried out in relief as he found a set of keys hidden under the steering column. Then, just before he straightened back up, a bullet whizzed past his head and tore through the seatback.


    If he¡¯d popped up even a fraction of a second earlier, the bullet would have gone through his chest.


    Shaking off the thought ¡ª literally ¡ª Ardan shouted, ¡°Here!¡± and inserted the key into the ignition.


    Arkar, yelling something incomprehensible, ran to the cab, firing his last few shots before diving inside and slamming the door shut with the tip of his boot.


    Sprawled across the seat, he reached into his pockets, pulled out a handful of ¡°moons,¡± and reloaded his revolvers.


    ¡°What are we waiting for?!¡± He bellowed over the sound of gunfire and the clatter of bullets striking the truck.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to drive!¡± Ardan shouted back.


    They¡¯d never found time for Lisa, who sometimes visited the bar, to fulfill her promise to teach Ardan how to operate an automobile.


    ¡°Handbrake down! Push the left pedal all the way down with your left foot! Pull the lever to the left and up! Right foot on the far-right pedal, push it all the way down! Lever down and then down again!¡± Arkar yelled. ¡°Don¡¯t touch the middle pedal at all!¡±


    Another bullet shattered the windshield, its shards biting into Ardan¡¯s cheek and chin like a swarm of stinging bees. Hot, copper-smelling blood began to streak down his face and neck.


    Ardan screamed something ¡ª he didn¡¯t even know what ¡ª and followed Arkar¡¯s instructions.


    ¡°Good lungs, kid!¡± Arkar laughed and curled into a ball as more bullets tore through the cab.


    The truck shuddered, wheezed like an old man, then surged forward, barreling straight toward the gates.


    Ardan first felt a childlike thrill at the fact that such a massive machine had obeyed his commands, then an equally overwhelming terror as the realization of what was about to happen hit him.


    Without lifting his foot off the gas pedal, he braced himself, and the truck rammed the gates. For a moment, the gates groaned and tried to hold out, but with a screech and a deafening crash, they gave way.


    The truck plowed forward, its momentum carrying it into the warehouse, and it smashed through rows of crates of all shapes and sizes.


    A hail of bullets rattled against the roof, sides, rear, and hood of the truck.


    ¡°What an absolutely glorious and spontaneous idea, kid!¡± Arkar laughed, firing his revolvers... somewhere. He seemed to be shooting roughly in the same direction the bullets were coming from.


    ¡°Spectacular!¡± Ardan corrected, shouting over the din of gunfire.


    The truck, smashing through dozens of various crates, barreled straight to the middle of the warehouse before slamming into a steel column.


    The impact flung Ardan and Arkar to the floor, slamming their ribs and then their heads against the cab¡¯s interior.


    ¡°Ah, demon balls...¡± The half-orc muttered through gritted teeth.


    Ardan, clenching his own teeth, quickly flipped open his grimoire to a page he knew all too well. Maybe it was time to finally memorize Cold Shadow¡­


    Drawing energy from his Star, Ardan followed the instructions written in the book, forming the sigil and pouring the seething energy from his veins into it. He slammed his staff against the truck¡¯s door. The door groaned, as though it had been struck by another shockwave, and the sigil appeared right above his staff. Thick, frosty mist poured out of it.


    The rapidly-expanding cloud of icy darkness blanketed both the truck and about ten meters of the surrounding area.


    Ardan and Arkar tumbled out on the opposite side from the catwalk.


    The gunfire ceased. Apparently, no one was foolhardy enough to shoot blindly into the murky cloud.


    ¡°No sign of the mages,¡± Arkar said, wiping away blood and sweat. ¡°The rest of the bastards are on the catwalk.¡±


    Ardan turned toward the far end of the warehouse, where he thought he¡¯d briefly heard a familiar voice through the maze of stacked crates.


    ¡°Will you cover me?¡±


    ¡°There are six of them, little one,¡± Arkar said, shaking the spent casings out of his revolver and reloading it. ¡°Plus two more wounded who are still capable of shooting. And I¡¯m alone... Of course I¡¯ll cover you! This whole situation¡¯s completely against those pissers... I mean to say-¡±


    ¡°I understand what you meant,¡± Ardan assured him.


    Arkar bared his teeth in a grin. ¡°Orak Han-da,¡± he said, making Ardan flinch. ¡°Or, if you translate from the language of Ectassus: good hunting.¡±


    ¡°And to you,¡± Ardan replied with a nod.


    The young man knew what the phrase meant, just as he knew it was the battle cry of all Firstborn. But for him, those words would forever remain burned into his memory as the battle cry of the Shanti¡¯Ra gang¡­


    Tomorrow¡¯s thoughts.


    ¡°You sons of rotten bitch-¡± Arkar¡¯s last word, shouted as he leaped out from behind the crumbling truck, was cut off and drowned out by the thunder of his revolvers.


    Ardan, catching his breath, unfastened his belt and pulled it free so he could tie it around his thigh. The bleeding from his gunshot wound needed to stop.


    Glancing at the revolver lying abandoned in the cab of the truck, Ardan sighed. He ignored it, opened his grimoire, and plunged into the labyrinth of crates. Pressing his back against the rough wooden planks bound with steel rivets, he left behind the echoes of the gunfight, moving through what seemed like an endless tangle of pathways and junctions.


    He navigated more by instinct than scent ¡ª his nose was overwhelmed by the acrid smells of gunpowder, blood, and sweat. Eventually, he reached a relatively open area.


    Crouching behind a crate, Ardan cautiously peered out to assess the scene.


    There, tied to a chair with thick ropes, sat a naked Boris. Or at least it was someone who looked like Boris. His ginger hair was matted with blood, and his face was swollen and covered in numerous bruises. His left eye was completely shut, while his right had been reduced to a narrow slit.


    Long, deep cuts made by a knife marred his chest. His right leg was broken in several places near the knee, the joint itself almost entirely shattered. And on his left hand, not only his pinky, but also his ring finger were missing.


    Boris wheezed, occasionally spitting out a mix of saliva, foam, and blood. Several teeth had been pulled from his mouth, roots and all.


    ¡°If you think those fools will manage to save you, you¡¯re dumber than I thought,¡± said a young man standing before him.


    His appearance was extremely ordinary: he had chestnut hair, an average build, and was around 175 centimeters tall, maybe a bit taller. Ardan thought he might have seen him before, possibly during the lectures they shared with the Military Faculty.


    Next to the mage, on a table, lay a collection of bloodied tools: construction pliers, a hammer with a chisel, a crowbar, a screwdriver, a saw, and other instruments that were likely taken from the warehouse.


    ¡°You¡¯re better off just telling us the cipher for this,¡± said the second mage, who was also vaguely familiar to Ardan. He held up a medallion. The medallion¡¯s chain, which had been crafted into an intricate weave of mythical creatures, was immediately familiar to Ardan.


    Boris had never taken it off. The cipher for the medallion was their goal?


    ¡°Tell us the cipher, Boris,¡± said the chestnut-haired mage, his tone eerily calm. ¡°And your suffering will end. I swear on my honor as a baron, I won¡¯t harm your maid.¡±


    Ardan narrowed his eyes at the scene and fought back a curse that burned on his tongue. He wouldn¡¯t have understood what he was seeing if not for the week he¡¯d spent deciphering the Staff of Demons¡¯ seals.


    Engraved on the silver medallion of Lord Boris Fahtov, eldest son of the Southern Fleet¡¯s commander, was a seal from the demonic school of Star Magic. And it was encrypted far more cleverly than the cipher Gleb Davos had used in his research.


    Boris, despite his condition, lifted his head slightly. The two men stood with their backs to Ardan, oblivious to the visitor peering at them from behind the crates.


    But Boris¡­ Through the narrow slit of his one functional eye, he somehow recognized the familiar face. ¡°No...¡± He rasped, coughing up blood and spitting out small bits of flesh.


    ¡°Idiot,¡± the chestnut-haired mage said, spreading his arms out theatrically. He grabbed the hammer from the table and brought it down on Boris¡¯ other knee ¡ª the one that had yet to be reduced to a bloody mess.


    Boris screamed. The sound tore through the warehouse like a wild animal¡¯s death cry, raw and brimming with agony. It was the kind of scream only those on the brink of madness could make. Ardan had heard such cries before in the Alcadian mountains, from animals caught in a hunter¡¯s trap.


    Gritting his teeth, Ardan pulled back behind the crates. He suppressed the burning desire to rush forward and attack the torturers. Doing so would accomplish nothing.


    ¡°Are. You. Going. To. Talk. Now? Or. Do. You. Want. Promyslov. To. End. Up. Here. Too?¡±


    With each word, the chestnut-haired mage paused to deliver another blow, waiting for the blood-soaked screams of Boris to fade before continuing.


    Ardan, flipping through his grimoire, fought to keep his composure. He would need it. Boris had to hold out for just a few more seconds. Just a little longer.


    Boris screamed. He screamed so loudly that Ardan¡¯s heart clenched, and the blood in his veins seemed to freeze.


    But Ardan¡­ Ardan knew almost no combat magic. Ice Arrow was useless ¡ª Military Faculty students would easily shield themselves against it. He didn¡¯t have enough rays for Ice Barrage. That left only...


    Got it, Ardan thought, a flicker of relief passing through him.


    His grimoire¡¯s pages were currently displaying the sigil for Ice Wall, which his remaining five rays were just enough to cast. But why use a defensive spell?


    The answer was simple: a match. That idiotic match Convel had made him ignite.


    Closing his eyes, Ardan began mentally integrating an embedded seal into Ice Wall. He had no idea if it would work without physically sketching out the formula, but...


    ¡°Aaaah!¡± Boris¡¯ scream, filled with pain and despair, snapped him back to reality. There was no other choice.


    Boris screamed once more. It was a sound that carried raw, almost primal pain within it, and made it seem like he was desperately clinging to the last vestiges of his life and mind.


    Ardan didn¡¯t hesitate any longer. He finished sketching the seal in his mind, straining to maintain its structure in his head, then stepped out from behind the crates.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he called out loudly and clearly.


    He needed the mages to be distracted, and they were.


    Both of them were splattered with blood, their coats and jackets removed, their sleeves rolled up. They turned toward him as he spoke.


    ¡°Egobar?¡± The chestnut-haired mage¡¯s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. ¡°What are you-¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t let him finish speaking. He slammed his staff against the ground, and at that moment, a sigil of ice flared to life beneath his feet.


    But... nothing happened.


    No burst of frost came, no fiery explosion, no stone spikes or spectral blades of wind. None of the flashy displays first-year Military Faculty students expected from magic.


    Then, several meters above their heads, a massive ice wall appeared, fully formed, and slammed down onto them. The impact made the floor shake, and shards of ice exploded outwards like shrapnel.


    The second mage ¡ª judging by the blood and bits of flesh now scattered across the floor ¡ª was crushed instantly.


    Orvilov, however, had managed to summon a shield just in time. A fiery cocoon had surrounded the baron, carving a molten tunnel through the wall of ice. But in his panic and desperation, Orvilov had poured every bit of energy he had into his shield.


    And now he stood waist-deep in scalding water, steam rising around him, yelping in pain whenever the melting ice touched his exposed skin. Drained of strength and trapped, he could barely move.


    Ardan didn¡¯t spare him a glance. He walked around his creation ¡ª knowing it would fully melt and vanish in minutes, the Ley energy returning to its source ¡ª and approached Boris.


    ¡°A... A-r-r-d...¡± Boris¡¯ voice was weak, barely audible. ¡°W-what... t-took you... s-so l-long?¡±


    A lump formed in Ardan¡¯s throat as he fought back tears. Memories flooded his mind: laughing with Elena and Boris in a caf¨¦, visiting them on Saint Warriors Street, their frequent visits to ¡°Bruce¡¯s,¡± and all of them playing card games like Olikzasian Sevens with Tess, Talis an Manish, and anyone else who¡¯d wanted to join.


    And now, in his friend¡¯s hour of need, Ardan had...


    ¡°The important thing is... y-you... c-came...¡± Boris whispered, his breath rattling out of him.


    Ardan carefully pulled out his father¡¯s old work knife and began cutting the ropes. He tried his best not to cause his friend more pain, but it was unavoidable. Boris groaned and gritted his teeth with every movement.


    ¡°You have no idea what you¡¯ve gotten yourself into, Egobar,¡± Orvilov muttered, finally regaining some composure. ¡°You¡¯ve involved yourself in something that-¡±


    Suddenly, Orvilov gasped, his words cut off.


    Ardan turned sharply and saw Arkar. The half-orc was a mess: he was bloodied, his left arm was hanging limp, and two bullet wounds were clearly visible on his right side. He was also covered in several knife slashes, but his expression was cold and steady as he gripped Orvilov¡¯s throat with his one working hand.


    ¡°This one¡¯s a regular of mine, you bastard,¡± Arkar growled. With a sudden, vicious twist of his wrist, he tore out the baron¡¯s throat.


    Clutching Orvilov¡¯s larynx and part of his windpipe in his bloody hand, Arkar watched dispassionately as the baron collapsed into the steaming water, gasping and clawing at his neck. He twitched once, then again, and finally, he went still, blood pooling around him in the water.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t get to finish speaking,¡± Ardan said quietly, a note of dismay in his voice.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t get to finish speaking? Are you an idiot, Ard?¡± Arkar barked, stepping over the ice wall and picking up something from the floor ¡ª a revolver, as it turned out.


    ¡°He was stalling,¡± the half-orc continued, wiping the weapon clean before tucking it into his belt. ¡°If we hadn¡¯t already agreed on this, I¡¯d say you owe me... for saving your overly clever but incredibly stupid ass.¡±


    Arkar approached Ardan and helped him finish untying Boris, hauling the beaten lord to his feet. But as soon as Boris stood, he collapsed again, clutching something on the ground. It was his medallion, bloodied but intact, lying next to the rapidly-melting remains of the Ice Wall spell.


    Arkar and Ardan exchanged a glance, then hoisted Boris back up.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, your lordship,¡± Arkar grunted. ¡°If my head¡¯s still working ¡ª and it is ¡ª Crooked hasn¡¯t gone far and should be waiting for us nearby. Inga still needs her order fulfilled...¡±


    Arkar left a bloody trail across the floor, limping on his right side. Ardan hobbled along with his wounded leg and clutched his side where a bullet had grazed him. Between them, Boris dangled like a half-dead slab of meat, barely conscious.


    ¡°We¡¯ll head to a clinic first, your lordship,¡± Arkar rambled, seemingly more to fill the silence than anything else. ¡°It¡¯s mostly my kind ¡ª us orcs, I mean ¡ª that go there for treatment, but they¡¯ll sterilize you, too.¡±


    Boris let out a faint groan, barely clinging to consciousness.


    ¡°Stabilize,¡± Ardan corrected quietly.


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I meant. After that, we¡¯ll take you wherever you want to go.¡±


    ***


    Ardan sat on the stairs outside his apartment, slumped against the cold wall. His clothes were soaked with blood ¡ª his own and others¡¯ both. His ruined outfit clung to him like a second skin, and he barely had the strength to climb the last few steps.


    He was there without Arkar.


    The half-orc had gone to sort out some details with his superior... chief... The leader of his gang... The gang head... Ardan had never worked out what titles the members of the Orcish Jackets used.


    Arkar had been right. Crooked and his men had been waiting for them. After exchanging a few words with the half-orc, they¡¯d loaded the wounded into their cars and taken them to the agreed-upon destinations. After a stop at Old Park¡¯s underground theater-turned-clinic, they dropped Boris off at a New City hospital so grand it resembled a museum. Ardan was pretty sure he¡¯d even seen elven healers in the reception area.


    And now, after being dropped off near the bar, Ardan had climbed partway up the stairs to his apartment... and stopped. He just sat there, staring at nothing. His head felt hollow, emptier than even his growling stomach.


    The creak of a door caught his attention. Red hair glinted in the dim light as Tess appeared at the bottom of the stairs. She was still wearing the same outfit from before. Climbing up, she adjusted her skirt and sat down beside him.


    ¡°You alright?¡±


    ¡°I will be, in a couple of days,¡± Ardan mumbled, his words sluggish.


    ¡°And Boris?¡±


    ¡°He will be, in a couple of months.¡±


    Tess sat silently for a few seconds before taking Ardan¡¯s bloodied hand in hers.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go patch you up,¡± she said, casting a skeptical glance at his torn pants and shredded sweater. ¡°Those stitches look more like loose threads. They¡¯ll split open.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s sit here a bit longer,¡± Ardan replied, unmoving.


    ¡°Sit here? You¡¯re bleeding all over the place.¡±


    Instead of answering her, Ardan nodded toward a small window. Beyond its dirty, foggy glass, the sunrise was beginning to blaze. Golden light wrapped around the snowy rooftops of the Metropolis, illuminating the steam rising from the streets and chasing long shadows down the alleyways.


    Tess sighed, resting her head on Ardan¡¯s shoulder. He sat there quietly, gazing at the horizon as the sun climbed higher.


    Or perhaps it was the Eye of the Spirit of the Day?

 Chapter 57 - Barking Dog

    With his sleeves rolled up, wearing a slightly-worn shirt and a loosely-knotted tie, Ardan sat on the cold floor of Aversky¡¯s testing ground, glowering at the absurd dummy. The life-sized mannequin dressed in a jester¡¯s outfit mockingly smirked at him with its crudely-painted crimson smile and sneering blue eyes that decorated the wooden sphere that served as its head.


    The Grand Magister himself, who was clad in his characteristic ink-stained, long-unwashed clothes, stood nearby. While layering the dummy with various shield spells, he was somehow also managing to read a newly-published work: ¡°The Recursion of Composite Properties,¡± written earlier that year by Grand Magister Erik Myasnitsyev, the mentor of Professor Convel.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if wide-area military spells exceeding sixteen rays at three Stars can be looped,¡± Aversky muttered under his breath, idly running his incomplete set of fingers over his staff. ¡°Though the calculations are certainly intriguing.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s gaze fell on the missing finger of Aversky¡¯s hand, and his mind flashed back to the scene he¡¯d witnessed at the palace. If not for the fact that the Spider ¡ª his name for that Fae ¡ª was a Factionless One, and Aversky just an ordinary human, he might have begun to suspect his teacher of something beyond just having an eccentric teaching style.


    ¡°Mr. Avers-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve told you before, Ard, to address me simply by my first name, but with respect,¡± Aversky interrupted. ¡°That will suffice.¡±


    Ardan sighed and sprawled out across the floor, spreading his arms out to either side as he stared at the low ceiling. Scorched in places, acid-stained in others, it bore marks that looked as if... it had been melted in the past, but not across its surface, but from within. It was as though fire had erupted from inside the stonework. Or perhaps it hadn¡¯t been fire at all...


    He could feel his Star gradually replenishing the energy he had expended. Without any avarice, and with even a hint of laziness, it absorbed the Ley energy suffusing the space that was being transmitted through cables laid out beneath the faintly-shimmering dome of protective spells.


    Bit by bit, the rays within Ardi¡¯s consciousness reignited.


    Aversky glanced at his wrist, where a simple officer¡¯s watch gleamed on the inner side of it, worn in a military manner. It was very old, much older than the Grand Magister himself.


    ¡°You¡¯ve spent two hours trying to hit the target, and so far...¡± Aversky made an exaggerated show of inspecting the mannequin. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call it a success. Though perhaps Tony was terrified of your ferocious assault.¡± Tony... That was what Aversky called the life-sized target dummy. ¡°Perhaps we should discuss certain aspects of your attempts.¡±


    Ardi barely restrained himself from exclaiming, ¡°Oh really, you think so?¡± Instead, he held his tongue. Over the past week, he had spent his days, nights, and had even skipped several lectures ¡ª sacrificing his combat classes, though in their case, there was another reason he skipped those, Jurisprudence, and History for the sake of saving time ¡ª so he could pore over the list of textbooks and treatises assigned to him by Convel and Aversky. Naturally, he had only managed to grasp a fraction of their contents, and even then, he¡¯d only done so partially.


    The sheer volume of information in the books was so immense that Ardan doubted he could absorb it all within a year, especially since much of it required practice. And practice cost money. Money that now, admittedly, was present in the form of fresh exes in his Imperial Bank account, but still wasn¡¯t an inexhaustible resource to be spent carelessly.


    ¡°For starters, Ard, let¡¯s revisit our previous lesson,¡± Aversky said, closing his book and sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the dummy. He casually leaned his staff against ¡°Tony.¡± ¡°What are the types of military magic?¡±


    ¡°There are penetrating and suppressive seals,¡± Ardi replied, still staring at the ceiling.


    ¡°Give me a few insightful sentences about them to convince me you¡¯ve grasped the material at a level of understanding, not merely rote memorization.¡±


    Ardan never memorized anything by rote. Atta¡¯nha and Skusty had always taught him that unless the mind had comprehended and internalized new information, making it a part of one¡¯s consciousness and body both, knowledge was as useless as river sand was to a man dying of thirst.


    ¡°Penetrating seals are designed to bypass most of a shield and inflict direct damage on the target,¡± Ardan said, his eyes closed. ¡°They require, paradoxically, more energy than suppressive seals, which merely counteract a shield.¡±


    ¡°How would you explain this paradox, Ard?¡± Aversky asked, retrieving a slightly-dented flask from his belt ¡ª a flask he was never without ¡ª and taking a few noisy gulps from it.


    Judging by the sharp, herbal scent wafting from it, Ardan would guess that it contained some kind of medicinal concoction.


    ¡°Considering the fact that shield spells consist of three types with distinct functions: redirection, absorption, and dissipation, penetrating military spells must be capable of dealing with any of these types, which necessitates additional energy by default.¡±


    ¡°Because...¡± Aversky prompted.


    ¡°Because penetrating spells have the easiest time dealing with absorption type shields, as they are inherently conflicting structures,¡± Ardan continued, recalling and processing what he had learned over the past week. ¡°This is what led scholars to create the other two types of shields.¡±


    ¡°Which subsequently...¡± Aversky pressed further.


    ¡°Which subsequently inspired military mages to develop a second type of military magic ¡ª suppressive,¡± Ardi said, waving his hand vaguely, as though struggling to find the right words. ¡°Suppressive magic requires less energy than penetrating magic and is indifferent to the type of shield it interacts with.¡±


    ¡°Then why hasn¡¯t shield magic become obsolete under these circumstances, Ard?¡±


    ¡°Because... Because...¡± Ardan frowned.


    Actually, why hadn¡¯t it? Suppressive magic should have theoretically rendered shield spell research irrelevant. It required fewer rays than shields inherently possessed. And yet in practice, the situation was the exact opposite.


    ¡°Let¡¯s approach this from another angle, Ard,¡± Aversky said, his tone carrying a familiar, crooked smirk that made the scars on his chin and neck even more pronounced. ¡°You mentioned the differences between the types of military magic. But what do they have in common?¡±


    ¡°The commonality lies in their free array,¡± Ardan replied, ¡°as all military magic is based on the principle of infinite modifications.¡±


    ¡°And shields?¡± Aversky¡¯s smirk seemed to grow wider. ¡°Assuming we¡¯re not talking about stationary, heavy-duty shields powered by accumulators or cables.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s eyebrows twitched and rose. How had he not stumbled upon such an obvious and rather basic pattern earlier?


    ¡°They share the same principle.¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± Aversky said, snapping his fingers. ¡°Which means offensive and shield magic compete...¡±


    ¡°Not in terms of the contours that define spell properties, but in a clash of the arrays that dictate the rules.¡±


    ¡°Excellent, Ard!¡± Aversky exclaimed, his tone carrying a trace of sarcasm that suggested this was anything but praise. ¡°It only took us half a month to get you to this realization. It¡¯s a pity your professor an Manish doesn¡¯t cover lockpicking shields until the third year. Otherwise, you might have noticed the dependency of arrays much earlier... Oh, wait. Aren¡¯t you the one who broke the shield at Baliero?¡±


    Ardan clenched his teeth and inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly to calm down. Lately, especially after the incidents at the bank, on the train, and with Boris, Ardi was a bit... on edge. He was like a coiled spring about to reach its limit and snap. Naturally, in Ardan¡¯s case, the spring would likely end up snapping back into his own face.


    ¡°And since you¡¯ve so cleverly highlighted these dependencies, you should have no trouble answering my question: why did your Ice Arrows, Ice Barrages,¡± Aversky casually listed the names of Ardan¡¯s spells, a fact that was unsurprising after Lavrilov¡¯s slip. ¡°Not to mention your clumsy, preemptively botched Stone Fist and Fire Charge, fail to even strain my shields?¡±


    Ardi took a few more deep breaths. Obviously, a Grand Magister of military magic wouldn¡¯t have missed the fact that Ardan had been forming his seals for the non-water-or-ice elements somewhat carelessly.


    ¡°It¡¯s smart of you to avoid showcasing your ability to wield all the elements,¡± Aversky said, now almost openly laughing. ¡°But any idiot who knows a bit more than just reading seals from a book will see through it. Plus, you¡¯ve stopped attending your military training sessions, and elemental protective spells aren¡¯t taught until ¡ª yet again ¡ª the third year. So, you can dial down your theatrics, Mr. Speaker. Incidentally, it¡¯s thanks to your Aean¡¯Hane skills that you can handle the elements so easily. Just a fun fact I figured I¡¯d share to keep you from feeling like some sort of supreme mage.¡±


    Aversky likely found great pleasure in demonstrating his superiority. Well... no, he absolutely did. And Ardan was beginning to understand why Milar and the Grand Magister had such a tense relationship. Aversky, it seemed, suffered from a classic case of always needing to be the smartest person in the room.


    Ardan recalled all the attempts he had made to hit the target with a spell. Regardless of what seal he¡¯d formed, or how he had adjusted the spell¡¯s direction, speed, area of effect, or resistance intensity ¡ª nothing had worked. Every modification he¡¯d made to his seals had run into an impenetrable barrier. Not just one type of barrier, either, but all three. To make matters worse, Aversky had alternated between them.


    He would cast shields sequentially: absorption first, then redirection, and finally dissipation, cycling through them in that order.


    And yet, amid this carousel of multicolored flashes and wasted energy, Ardan, after Aversky¡¯s pointed clue, finally noticed a hidden pattern he had missed before. Each time, the Grand Magister had conjured his shield after Ardan had begun forming his spell.


    Sleeping Spirits... If not for the fact that Ardan could sense a Fae from a mile away, he might have started doubting Aversky¡¯s humanity.


    ¡°You read my arrays during the seal¡¯s formation stage,¡± Ardi breathed, shocked. ¡°But that¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s impossible,¡± Aversky interjected, ¡°then how did I do it, my dear Ard?¡± He tapped the cover of the monograph lying beside him. He had been reading an advanced academic text simultaneously, after all. ¡°Still, I do question the feasibility of looping area spells.¡±


    No, Aversky wasn¡¯t arrogant enough to try and inflate his already well-earned ego at the expense of a first-year student. Most likely, he was trying to provide a hint.


    And then it hit Ardan. He abruptly sat up, staring straight ahead. As he had suspected, Aversky was smirking while idly fiddling with the prosthetic digits of his hand.


    ¡°There¡¯s a sort of system to the arrays in military magic,¡± Ardan murmured, stunned. ¡°You weren¡¯t reading the array itself ¡ª you were recognizing the type of array and selecting the appropriate shield against it.¡±


    ¡°Close, very close, Ard,¡± Aversky nodded. ¡°I won¡¯t torture you further ¡ª let me just point out that the principles of study for the Military and Medical Faculties are remarkably similar. Both fields require students to memorize an unseemly number of seals and their modifications. But rote memorization alone isn¡¯t enough. A person who only memorizes dozens of seal modifications will still be useless in battle. Care to guess why?¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s impossible to remember all of them.¡±


    Aversky gave an approving hum.


    ¡°All hope is not lost, it seems. Right, Ard?¡± The Grand Magister rose to his feet, briefly revealing the prosthetic foot beneath his pant leg. ¡°The Military Faculty exists because, in addition to memorization, a combat mage must be able to modify their seals on the fly. Not rewrite them entirely ¡ª that takes too much time ¡ª but make corrections to the key nodes. They don¡¯t need to know how to change every single bit, just the commonalities: speed, for instance. Or area of effect. And so on. From the second Star onward, elemental interactions come into play as well. In essence, mage combat resembles a more complex version of rock-paper-scissors.¡±


    Ardan nearly slapped his forehead. While reading the Stranger¡¯s book, he had come across a mention of ¡°maximum rune combinations,¡± which had been divided into those same ¡°nodes¡± Aversky had just referenced.


    ¡°For instance, suppose you¡¯re constructing a fast Stone Fist,¡± Aversky said, striking his staff against the floor. Almost instantly, a seal flared beneath his feet, and from his staff¡¯s tip, a small, quick stone resembling a child¡¯s fist shot out.


    The stone zipped across the floor and vanished into a flash of light as it collided with the testing ground¡¯s barrier.


    ¡°If I see the speed node in your seal,¡± Aversky continued, ¡°I immediately form a shield with elasticity and load redistribution properties.¡± Another tap of his staff, and Aversky was surrounded by a shimmering, soap-bubble-like barrier that bent slightly at the edges.


    It was only now that Ardan realized that Aversky hadn¡¯t used a single shield with more rays than Ardan¡¯s own spells had contained throughout the past two hours.


    ¡°If, however, you sacrifice speed for greater volume or, say, penetrating properties, I simply adjust my shield¡¯s array to counter that. These are the broad strokes, of course. If I have any real skill in the military arts, I should also aim to ensure my shields consume less energy than your offensive spells. That way, when you run out of energy, the fight ends with a single spell from me. But we¡¯ll get to that later.¡±


    ¡°What if I simply don¡¯t attack you?¡± Ardan grabbed his staff and stood up. ¡°Then you won¡¯t be able to read my seals.¡±


    ¡°Brilliant, Ard. Absolutely brilliant. It¡¯s such a wise move to stand before a military mage and let them strike first,¡± Aversky snorted and slammed his staff into the floor.


    Faster than a blink, a thin, icy spike materialized in front of him, zipping through the air so quickly that if not for the testing ground¡¯s protective properties, it would have pierced Ardan¡¯s throat before he could even channel any energy through his staff to form a shield.


    ¡°Alright, I get it,¡± Ardi muttered, nodding in frustration. ¡°But that¡¯s you. What if two evenly-matched mages face off?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as evenly-matched mages,¡± Aversky replied, shaking his head. ¡°One is always better and the other worse.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just trying to frame the question in theoretical terms,¡± Ardan said, spreading his arms out. ¡°What if we assume-¡±


    ¡°There is no theoretical framework in military magic, Ard,¡± Aversky interrupted sternly. ¡°It¡¯s all knowledge and practice. Nothing else. Leave theoretical musings to people with big titles and yellow bellies who sit in workshops and read about battles in textbooks.¡±


    The Grand Magister unconsciously touched his scars before catching himself. With a small sigh, he continued:


    ¡°But if you insist, Ard, then theoretically, if neither mage were to attack first, they¡¯d simply walk away and go home.¡±


    ¡°That means the attacker is always at a disadvantage, since they reveal their seal first,¡± Ardan argued.


    ¡°Really?¡± Aversky raised an eyebrow. ¡°I attacked you just now. Did that help you? Did you read my seal?¡±


    To be honest, Ardan hadn¡¯t even noticed the seal. In a real battle, he would have been dead without ever understanding what spell had sent him to the Sleeping Spirits... or the Eternal Angels.


    ¡°The difference lies in skill,¡± Ardi said, refusing to back down.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Aversky agreed without hesitation. ¡°Which is why the Military Faculty requires years of study. Then come the constant drills in units on the military training grounds. Only thousands of hours of practice and hundreds of hours of studying seals, their properties, and more besides will keep you from dying in your first combat encounter with someone skilled in the military arts.¡±


    At least now it was clear why the testing grounds were reserved for the Military Faculty students according to their own schedule and used by them free of charge.


    ¡°What about when I¡¯m fighting multiple opponents?¡± Ardan asked, recalling his recent experience at Warehouse 6.


    ¡°There are particular strategies for that,¡± Aversky nodded, ¡°but it¡¯s not worth discussing them with you yet.¡±


    ¡°And what if a number of mages face off against another group?¡±


    Aversky¡¯s eyes narrowed dangerously.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a theoretical question,¡± Ardi waved his hands defensively. ¡°Well, maybe just a little theoretical. Suppose it¡¯s a military operation, and ten mages face another ten-¡±


    ¡°In that case, the commanding officer who allowed such a confrontation would be executed, or sent to dig trenches if they are lucky enough, Ard,¡± Aversky interrupted harshly, even aggressively. ¡°Because in such a battle, no mage would survive ¡ª nor would anyone who happened to be in the vicinity. But if, for some reason, both sides decided to squander their irreplaceable assets, it would be chaos. Brutal, merciless, and pointless. Every kind of spell would fly, and it¡¯d be like playing marbles. Are you familiar with that game?¡±


    ¡°The one where you knock over little pyramids from a distance?¡±


    Aversky nodded.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Whoever has their shield fail will die,¡± the Grand Magister shrugged. ¡°And given the sheer number of spells flying in all directions, everyone¡¯s shields will fail. Which is why, on the front lines, mages are either used as supplementary artillery to blanket areas with spells, counter-artillery meant to neutralize enemy mages, or in precise sabotage operations where mass confrontations aren¡¯t expected.¡±


    ¡°Then what¡¯s the point of spending so many years and exes training a specialist who could be replaced by a few artillery rounds?¡±


    Aversky¡¯s gaze grew even heavier.


    ¡°Follow me, Ard.¡±


    Without waiting for a response, the Grand Magister headed to his office. Opening the massive, heavy door, he stepped inside, propped his staff against the desk, and pulled a thin, 150-page book from a cabinet full of grimoires, printed works, and even handwritten treatises.


    Placing it on the desk in front of Ardan, he locked eyes with him. ¡°This contains a spell. For studying it, distributing it, or attempting to cast it, you¡¯d normally be executed, along with your family and anyone you¡¯ve shaken hands with in the past six months.¡±


    ¡°Strategic magic,¡± Ardan said, nodding.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Aversky opened the first page.


    On the first page was a single, incredibly complex seal that was seemingly composed of multiple interconnected seals. Just looking at it made Ardan¡¯s head spin.


    Seeing his reaction, Aversky turned the page. Soon, it became clear that all 150 pages of the book were dedicated to a single spell. A spell that, judging by its description...


    ¡°This is...¡± Ardan began.


    ¡°Monstrous?¡± Aversky supplied the word, snapping the book shut. ¡°What you see here isn¡¯t even the worst of what can be found in the realms of strategic magic, Ard. Thankfully, in modern conflicts, spells like this are never used, because... If one side uses them, the other side will, too. And then it¡¯s not a little skirmish anymore, but a war of annihilation. And no one wants that ¡ª for now.¡±


    He let the implications hang in the air for a moment before changing his tone.


    ¡°Well, now that I¡¯ve satisfied your curiosity, let¡¯s get back to it. By the end of today¡¯s session, you must manage to hit the target at least once.¡±


    ¡°But how can I, if you¡¯re reading my seals?¡±


    ¡°Ard, by the Eternal Angels, don¡¯t make me regret taking you on as a student,¡± Aversky sighed with mock exhaustion. ¡°If I¡¯m changing my seal¡¯s properties on the fly, then-¡±


    ¡°I have to rewrite my seal as well,¡± Ardi said, his face lighting up for a moment before darkening again. Aversky had already explained this to him. ¡°But if I try to alter my seal mid-formation, it¡¯ll break.¡±


    ¡°Not if you practice enough,¡± Aversky replied curtly. ¡°The ability to rewrite a seal during its formation is a requirement for advancing from the second to the third year of the Military Faculty. And as for you, Ard... Since you have my direct guidance, if you can¡¯t manage it within the next month, I¡¯m afraid that will mean you have no aptitude for military magic, and our collaboration will come to an end. Now, let¡¯s head back. We still have plenty of time until two in the morning.¡±


    As they left the office, Ardan cast a quick glance at the carelessly discarded book sitting on the desk ¡ª the book containing that horrific secret. On its second page was a photograph of a spell trial.


    An area of pure stone, 250 meters across, was depicted in that photo. It was filled with stone trees, stone grass, stone streams, stone puddles, stone trucks, stone cars, and stone fragments of fallen, shattered birds. And also... stone statues of animals frozen in unnatural poses, as well as people who¡¯d been tied to posts, their faces now eternally twisted into agonized screams.


    Everything touched by that horrific magic had turned to lifeless, dead stone created from the Ley. This was the essence of strategic military magic: death, and nothing but death.


    ***


    ¡°Today, ladies and gentlemen, I¡¯ve gathered you here for a single purpose. That purpose is as great as it is terrifying. It will haunt your worst nightmares, and from now on, you¡¯ll pray that you never find yourself serving as a military mage in the borderlands of the Enario Theocracy.¡±


    With that ominous declaration, Professor Kovertsky adjusted his perpetually-smudged glasses, picked up a chunk of bloody meat from the desk, and approached a box covered with a dark cloth.


    The auditorium, filled with students from the second group of the General Faculty and the first group of the Military Faculty, collectively held its breath. They were situated in a fairly spacious, yet peculiar hall.


    It was part of the Star Biology and Alchemy Faculty building, but located in the basement level. Benches and desks were arranged in a wide, circular amphitheater overlooking a sand-covered arena.


    Yes, it was exactly that.


    A three-meter pit yawned beneath the students¡¯ feet, ending in a sandy arena about seven meters in diameter. Access to the arena (via a discreet staircase with a clever lifting mechanism) was restricted to the professor alone. At that moment, Kovertsky descended onto the sand under the dim, yellowish glow of Ley-lamps. Despite his stained glasses, equally untidy clothing, and perpetually-disheveled hair, he looked unexpectedly imposing as he stood on the patchy, stained ground.


    ¡°Forgive the theatrics, but the first lesson on Ley fauna requires me to show you something that will likely deter the faint-hearted from pursuing this field of knowledge.¡±


    Kovertsky, who was smiling awkwardly as if he had practiced the gesture beforehand in front of a mirror, yanked off the cloth covering the box while simultaneously tossing the chunk of meat into it.


    ¡°Aaaaah!¡±


    ¡°Eternal Angels!¡±


    Some people screamed and others grabbed their staves, frantically trying to cast shield spells to no avail. Several particularly sensitive ladies and even a couple of young men fainted outright.


    On the sand, within a snow-white, lidless cage, sat... something.


    Leaning forward, Ardan inhaled through his nose, but detected none of the usual stench associated with the Factionless Fae or demons.


    Instead, the creature reeked of blood, musk, and, surprisingly, fish. Considering it resembled a giant crayfish, the distinctive odor wasn¡¯t entirely unexpected.


    Clutching the chunk of meat with a clawed limb, it stained the white bars of its cage with blood as it crammed the food into its enormous, toothy maw, swallowing without chewing. Its strange, elongated, chitinous tendrils ¡ª it had antennae where a face might have been ¡ª twitched and writhed. Simultaneously, its chitinous plates scraped against each other with an unpleasant screech, like rusted metal grinding together.


    The creature¡¯s vaguely-humanoid body revealed a ribcage fused into a grotesque, single structure. Its long torso rested on nearly absent leg-limbs, while clawed, hand-like appendages with four digits each reached into the air, their six-segmented tendril-fingers curling like whips.


    The creature, which was blood red in color, emitted a drawn-out, rasping squeal, its enormous mouth occupying nearly its entire bulbous head. The thing¡¯s maw looked grotesquely out of place on its undersized body, and was lined with rows of long, needle-like teeth that came together into a lock-like structure extending almost to the back of its head.


    The monster groped the air awkwardly with its clawed limbs, as though it were trying to latch onto something unseen.


    It had no eyes. No nose. No ears. Only those antenna-like protrusions writhed spasmodically above its head.


    Ardan¡¯s jaw slackened slightly, and he clicked his teeth together ¡ª the monster¡¯s screech felt as though it were cutting directly into his eardrums. Eveless, dressed in an extravagantly expensive gown, and a dwarven half-blood in a Military Faculty uniform, dropped their quills, staining themselves with ink as they clapped their hands over their ears in a futile attempt to block out the sound.


    Curiously, none of the other students seemed to react to the creature¡¯s screeching.


    ¡°I think that¡¯ll suffice for now,¡± Kovertsky¡¯s words barely reached Ardan over the noise.


    The professor picked up the cloth and covered the cage again. The creature fell silent immediately. Ardan clicked his teeth once more, while Eveless and the dwarven half-blood shook their heads, fumbling to retrieve their fallen quills.


    ¡°Can anyone tell me,¡± Kovertsky asked, adjusting his glasses and positioning himself in the center of the arena, where all the students could see him, ¡°what kind of creature this is?¡±


    Several hands shot into the air.


    ¡°Mr. Larin, please.¡±


    A wiry youth with a face covered in freckles, who was dressed in a red cloak and wearing a badge shaped like a sword ¡ª marking him as a Military Faculty student ¡ª stood.


    ¡°The Eyeless Water-Dweller,¡± he answered hesitantly, ¡°or just... the Maw.¡±


    ¡°Quite correct,¡± Kovertsky nodded. ¡°Anything else to add?¡±


    ¡°It lives in rivers and other bodies of water,¡± Larin continued, slightly more confident now. ¡°It can hardly move on land and is incapable of jumping. But in water, it can reach speeds upwards of six or even eight knots when swimming downstream. It reacts to vibrations detected by its antenna-like protrusions. It¡¯s also completely silent.¡±


    ¡°Ah, but you are mistaken,¡± Kovertsky shook his head, wagging a finger. ¡°In fact, this creature¡¯s screech is quite audible and profoundly unpleasant. Prolonged exposure to it can cause shock and paralysis. However!¡± Kovertsky paused dramatically, his gaze shifting deliberately to Ardan, Eveless, and the dwarven half-blood. ¡°It is only so to the Firstborn and their closest descendants. Mr. Larin, given your family¡¯s expertise, perhaps you can explain why?¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t know much about his classmates, but after six months, some details had inevitably stuck with him.


    Larin was the youngest son of the family that owned the ¡°Larin Hunting Guild.¡± They specialized in capturing Ley-poisoned creatures. They would sell some of them and hunt others in order to assist farmers plagued by monster attacks or small towns in need. But the bulk of their business lay in harvesting ingredients.


    A significant portion of Star Alchemy relied on components extracted from Ley-creatures¡¯ bodies. Not to mention the fact that monster cores ¡ª crystallized Ley energy ¡ª were highly valued by mages for their unparalleled purity and the fact they required no refinement to be made into accumulators.


    ¡°The Maws... pardon me,¡± Larin cleared his throat. ¡°The Eyeless Water-Dwellers were originally created by Galessian Star Mages to counter merfolk and tritons. That¡¯s why their screech affects the other Firstborn.¡±


    ¡°Exactly right,¡± Kovertsky praised him ¡ª a rare occurrence. ¡°And as you all know, most monsters and creatures now populating our continent are the product of the War of the Birth of the Empire. Some were created by the Galessian Star Mages and others by the Aean¡¯Hane of Ectassus.¡±


    Ardan glanced at the cage shrouded by its covering. After yesterday¡¯s session with Aversky, he had changed his opinion on Star Magic a great deal.


    ¡°As you are already aware, any experiments involving the §ãhimerization of humans are strictly forbidden by the International Star Magic Pact, which was signed in the 117th Year after the Fall of Ectassus at Ael¡¯Al¡¯Zafir,¡± Kovertsky said, his gaze remaining bored as he paced the sand. ¡°As is studying demonology, blood magic, malefic magic of all kinds, and other inherently harmful aspects of Star Magic.¡±


    ¡°As if anyone actually follows that pact,¡± someone muttered from the Military Faculty section.


    ¡°Thank you for that critical insight,¡± Kovertsky sneered slightly. ¡°But we¡¯ll leave such discussions for your History lectures. As for our own lessons, we¡¯ll explore the origins of various creations ¡ª those of our ancestors and those born from native Ley energy influences. This will include, of course, all the precautions and countermeasures one should take against such creatures. Even though these lectures may seem less practical considering the fact that, as Mr. Larin can attest to, Ley-creatures are rarely encountered outside of remote, sparsely-populated regions, or the Dead Lands, we will proceed with them nonetheless. Now then, let¡¯s begin. Use your analyzers. When I remove the covering again, direct them at the creature, and your rune plates will display its basic information. Within that, you-¡±


    The door suddenly burst open, and a breathless girl in a green cloak bearing the emblem of a flower and cauldron ¡ª marking her as a student of the Star Biology and Alchemy Faculty ¡ª was standing in the doorway. Beside her emblem was another patch shaped like a small crown. This was the Faculty Prefect.


    ¡°Professor!¡± The young woman called out from the threshold. ¡°There¡¯s a commotion in the menagerie ¡ª a Six-Limbed Bear has broken through its cage!¡±


    ¡°What a day...¡± Kovertsky muttered. ¡°For years, I¡¯ve been asking the accounting office for funding for new cages... I¡¯m in the middle of a lecture, Miss Kleverov. Isn¡¯t there anyone else in the building?¡±


    ¡°Everyone else has lectures,¡± the prefect replied, her voice tinged with mild panic. ¡°And only you have first-years.¡±


    ¡°Hazing, is it? Very well,¡± Kovertsky cast a stern look over the students. ¡°I¡¯ll be stepping away for a moment. If anyone dies during my absence, I¡¯ll face reprimands. And make no mistake, if that happens, I¡¯ll raise you as undead, necromancy ban be damned, and use you for-¡±


    ¡°Professor!¡± The prefect interrupted. ¡°The Six-Limbed Bear!¡±


    Kovertsky squinted at her before ascending the stairs to the balcony. He flipped a lever, causing the steps behind him to retract into the wall. With slow, clanking groans, metal bars began to slide back into place within their slots, forming a network above the sandpit.


    Grabbing his staff along the way, Kovertsky exited into the corridor with the prefect, slamming the door heavily behind him in obvious irritation.


    As soon as the door slammed shut, a wave of whispers, giggles, and low murmurs swept through the rows of students, filled with typical youthful mischief and speculation.


    Ardan, however, was uninterested in wasting valuable time, and so he retrieved a stack of his own schematics from his bag. Since no one was seated nearby, he spread the papers out before him and resumed his work.


    His sessions with Aversky had sparked certain ideas regarding shield magic, and these were concepts he intended to explore in his new creation. His goal wasn¡¯t to merely modify the Water Shroud, but develop an entirely new spell rooted in its principles.


    Ardan¡¯s primary goal wasn¡¯t to solve the issue of the Water Shroud¡¯s inability to halt objects with significant mass, but rather, to create a more universal shield system.


    If he could prepare specific contours and rune arrays for shields that could be quickly adjusted to counteract the ¡°nodes¡± of opponents wielding offensive magic, that would, theoretically, make his defenses more effective.


    Of course, achieving tangible progress would require a deeper understanding of not only the literature assigned to him by Convel and Aversky, but also concepts like ¡°vectors,¡± ¡°compound seals,¡± and other advanced topics from upper-level coursework at the Grand, or even the Magister program.


    Luckily, Ardan enjoyed puzzles. These challenges gave him satisfaction, not frustrating him at all as he methodically pieced together the intricate mechanics of magic.


    ¡°Shame Fahtov isn¡¯t here,¡± a voice rang out from the opposite side of the hall, pulling Ardan¡¯s attention away from his sketches. ¡°He¡¯d have appreciated that Maw.¡±


    The voice unmistakably belonged to Iolai Agrov, who was seated at the center of his little clique. ¡°Little¡± was an apt description, as the so-called Great Prince had managed to assemble a small but notable following. The group consisted of a handful of aristocratic heirs. Specifically, they were Baron Kerimov, Baron Shestov, Baron Zahatkin, and Lady Erkerovsky.


    Until last week, Orvilov had been part of their entourage, but after recent events, his absence from the Grand was conspicuous. Rumors swirled, but the official version¡­


    Well, as Ardan liked to say, such concerns were for ¡°tomorrow¡¯s thoughts.¡±


    ¡°Maybe he¡¯d even find a kindred spirit in it,¡± Kerimov squeaked, his voice high-pitched and incongruously sharp for his broad, square-jawed frame. The whispers about his mother¡¯s alleged dalliance with an orc were obviously baseless, and yet his unusual vocal timbre often fueled such gossip.


    Standing taller than Ardi and boasting five rays in his Red Star, Kerimov wasn¡¯t the most prominent figure among the Military Faculty students. However, as the scion of a family with a storied history that had produced a lot of great frontline mages, he carried a reputation no one dared challenge lightly.


    ¡°Right,¡± someone chimed in, their tone oozing mockery. ¡°He¡¯s probably some failed chimerization experiment himself. No wonder the Duke-General disowned him.¡±


    These words had come from Zahatkin, the nephew of Lord Zahatkin, who owned a major pharmaceutical factory supplying medicine to elite clinics across the capital and the Empire.


    Unremarkable in appearance, Zahatkin had narrow, gold-framed glasses perched on a slightly-crooked nose, and his teeth were misaligned in a way that baffled those who wondered why a wealthy family with ties to Star Medicine hadn¡¯t corrected them in his youth. Despite his unassuming looks, Zahatkin bore a six-ray Star.


    Shestov, in contrast, rarely spoke. The middle son of Lord Shestov, proprietor of ¡°Derks¡± (the company that produced mid-range automobiles), was quiet, average in build, and entirely unremarkable. His grayish eyes and perpetually slicked-back hair made him quite forgettable. Like Kerimov, he possessed five rays.


    ¡°I was just saying,¡± Kerimov chirped again, either laughing or squealing, it was hard to tell, ¡°that Fahtov¡¯s big mouth would fit right in with that thing¡¯s face.¡±


    ¡°And maybe that¡¯s why he fell ill,¡± Kerimov added with a sharp giggle. ¡°What do you think, Polina?¡±


    ¡°I think that I couldn¡¯t care less about what happened to Fahtov,¡± Erkerovsky drawled dismissively, brushing her belt adorned with agate-inlaid buckles.


    With her striking black hair, slightly sun-kissed complexion, long legs, and slim figure, Lady Polina Erkerovsky was undeniably beautiful. She was the daughter of Duke Erkerovsky, a prominent politician and patron of the Imperial Theater, and an enigma of the Military Faculty.


    Her enrollment was likely due to her seven-ray Star and her mother¡¯s lineage ¡ª she¡¯d come from a family of military aristocrats from the Empire¡¯s northwest.


    Ardan, however, had gleaned none of this information firsthand. He¡¯d heard it all through Boris¡¯ extensive diatribes about ¡°the conniving Iolai and his lackeys.¡±


    ¡°And yet his servant girl is nowhere to be seen,¡± Zahatkin added with mock concern, shading his eyes with his hand as if he were scanning for someone among the General Faculty students. ¡°Could it be they¡¯re both unwell? I warned Fahtov that associating with someone like her could lead to all sorts of unsavory infections. They probably don¡¯t even wash their hands, let alone the other parts of their bodies. Alas, it looks like he didn¡¯t listen to me.¡±


    Ardan returned his attention to his schematics, uninterested in their vulgar speculations. They could say whatever they liked.


    Shali had insisted on one simple truth when teaching him: ¡°If you stop at every howl from another hunter, you¡¯ll starve long before you catch your prey.¡±


    Though her words often applied to all sorts of situations, they also fit well enough here.


    ¡°I doubt it. Not even Fahtov would stoop to something as banal as bedding his own servant,¡± Iolai interjected, speaking with an air of pomp, as if he were presiding over some ministerial reports. ¡°But look, there¡¯s their little pet. Seems like they¡¯ve left Egobar unaccompanied by his knight in shining armor.¡±


    ¡°Oh, how will our poor little friend manage without Lord Fahtov¡¯s protection?¡± Zahatkin mocked, feigning a sob. ¡°I suppose skipping military training was his only choice ¡ª he must be too scared of something¡­ unpleasant happening.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t so much as flinch from his work. The best strategy, one he¡¯d learned long ago in Evergale¡¯s school, was to ignore such provocations. Nine times out of ten, such ¡°unique¡± individuals would quickly lose interest and move on.


    ¡°I heard,¡± Polina chimed in, adjusting her agate belt with a practiced flick of her wrist, ¡°that Lord Fahtov fell passionately in love with some low-grade singer who performs for¡­ non-humans. He and Orvilov even fought over her at the Festival of Light, like common factory workers.¡±


    When they heard her say ¡°non-humans,¡± Eveless and the dwarven half-blood bristled, their gazes sharp and disapproving, though they held their tongues.


    ¡°Maybe we should ask her what happened to our dear friend Boris?¡± Kerimov suggested with exaggerated earnestness. ¡°She might know. It¡¯s simply not right that our comrade should suffer in isolation while we can¡¯t even offer him our support.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s pencil slipped, marring his schematic with an irreparable error. He sighed, erasing the mark and starting anew. There was no need to worry about Tess.


    Ergar¡¯s lessons came to mind: ¡°When a hunter roars loudly, he won¡¯t strike you quietly. All the packs will know before he¡¯s even readied his claws.¡±


    Their chatter was nothing but noise, and yet Ardan could still feel his fangs begin to elongate slightly.


    ¡°Egobar!¡± Iolai called out sharply, taking a break from his usual indirect mockery to directly address him, which was a first. ¡°Perhaps it was you who did poor Boris in? After all, I can see that you¡¯ve got so many books and schematics that it looks as though you¡¯ve raided a printing house. Did you take advantage of poor, naive Fahtov? Did you stab him in the back? That seems to run in your family ¡ª striking from the shadows. Did you keep Promyslov as a trophy? Drag her back to your den? Or wherever it is you creatures live? Holes? Caves? Cesspits? Forgive me, I¡¯m not well-versed in such matters.¡±


    Ardan set down his pencil and looked at Iolai ¡ª not into his eyes, but at the bridge of his nose. He wasn¡¯t about to risk peering into the Great Prince¡¯s soul with his Witch¡¯s Gaze, especially since Iolai was likely warded against it.


    ¡°The smaller the dog, the louder it barks,¡± Ardan said calmly, quoting a line from one of Atta¡¯nha¡¯s scrolls.


    No one else in the amphitheater understood the language of the Fae ¡ª except Eveless, who laughed outright.


    Ah, yes. Of course. That singular exception. Iolai, while unpleasant, was no fool.


    ¡°What did you just say, non-human?¡± Iolai snarled, gripping his staff tightly.


    ¡°You heard me, Your Highness,¡± Ardan replied coolly. ¡°Whether you understood it is another matter, but that¡¯s no concern of mine.¡±


    With that, Ardan gathered his papers, slid them into his grimoire, tucked it into his bag, and stood. The tension in the room was escalating, and it was high time for him to leave.


    Ardan headed toward the door, determined to leave the perilous situation behind him. Just like in Evergale, there was no purpose to be served in tangling himself up in disputes where his pride might lead to trouble. He¡¯d already made one mistake like that with the Anorsky debt, and that was more than enough for now.


    ¡°Egobar! How dare you turn your back when a Great Prince is addressing you?¡±


    Ardan stopped in his tracks, his grip tightening on his staff. Before he could catch himself, the words slipped out:


    ¡°What position in line for the throne are you again, Your Highness? The hundredth? The thousandth? Last?¡± His voice carried an unsettling calm, as though he were hearing himself speak from afar. Damn his wearyness ¡­


    ¡°I, for one, am the sole official representative of the Matabar tribes, which, de jure, makes me the Chieftain of the Alcade clans. So tell me, mister Agrov, how is it that you feel entitled to address me with such disrespect?¡±


    The room fell silent, and with measured steps, Ardan crossed the threshold and gently closed the door behind him. In the quiet hallway, he sighed heavily and slammed the top of his staff against his forehead.


    Why? Why couldn¡¯t I just hold my tongue?


    Now Iolai would never forgive him.


    Descending the stairs, Ardan brooded over his lapse in self-control. Anastasia had often teased him about this in their recent correspondence, especially when he would absentmindedly address her as ¡°Your Imperial Highness¡± instead of using her name.


    That was how he¡¯d learned about his technical right to the title of Chieftain, seeing as he was the last of the Matabar line, even if just a half-blood. Of course, this title held no legal weight in the Empire ¡ª titles like Matabar and Orc Chieftain, Dwarven Under-Master, or Elven Keeper of the Forests and Meadows were little more than cultural relics. But the knowledge was¡­ amusing.


    An amusing fact that he should have kept to himself rather than using it to provoke Iolai Agrov, whose title was not only officially recognized, but carried real power and influence.


    ¡°Maybe I should visit the apothecary for some calming herbs, roots and berries, and brew something,¡± Ardi muttered aloud as he descended farther. ¡°At this rate, I¡¯ll end up barking at stray dogs in the streets.¡±


    He was still calculating the potential cost of such a purchase when a sharp heat flared against his leg. Startled, he reached into his pocket and pulled out Milar¡¯s medallion, which had grown so hot it was almost too painful to hold.


    The Cloaks¡¯ investigator was nearby¡­ very nearby.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Ardi let out a resigned sigh, veering toward the atrium. ¡°There goes my shopping trip¡­¡±

 Chapter 58 - Neighbours and Blood

    Ardan retrieved his clothes from the temporary wardrobe, where the polite staff, with barely-noticeable weariness etched onto their faces, were consistently greeting and bidding farewell to visitors with routine and slightly dim smiles.


    After throwing on his coat, putting on his hat, and wrapping a scarf around his neck, Ardan slipped out the doors and into Star Square. As usual, it was practically deserted. Only occasionally, accompanied by the discordant screech of tram wheels grinding against icy rails, could students and Magisters be seen as they hurried to their lectures, all of them wearing their cloaks.


    Ardi closed his eyes and inhaled the frosty air. Winter had hidden not just the cobblestones and the sleepy, leafless trees under its snowy mantle, but also the smells of the capital itself. At the very least, here, in the center of the city, there was none of that usual diesel and oil stench, no factory smog, and no sharp whiff of tobacco smoke.


    If not for Milar¡¯s summons, Ardan would have preferred to walk to the Markov Canal, given that he¡¯d skipped his last lecture. He enjoyed wandering Old Town, with its intricate web of elegant streets crossing over into pompous and proud avenues, where grandiose buildings ¡ª most of them resembled palaces ¡ª competed in terms of opulence and splendor.


    For some reason, the city was more effective than any soothing concoction for Ardi. Even while wandering unfamiliar alleyways and stumbling upon entirely unknown labyrinths, Ardan always found himself, as lofty as it might sound, alone with himself. No one disturbed him, called out to him, demanded anything from him. It was just him, the playful wind, the snow, and the silent city.


    In the distance, near a narrow alleyway adjoining the square, the prolonged blare of a horn rang out.


    Ardan¡¯s thoughts were derailed as he spotted a familiar, unassuming, slightly rusted, nearly box-shaped car. But considering the fact that this old-timer on wheels still managed to run even in -22 degrees, Milar clearly cared for it well, and the equipment under its hood wasn¡¯t as ordinary as it might¡¯ve seemed.


    Taking his time, Ardan approached the car. With a practiced motion, he first slid his staff inside, and then climbed in himself.


    Inside, the warmth rivaled that of a brand-new, expensive car. It was enough to let someone shed a few layers. Warm air streamed out from three technical vents covered by steel grates. Judging by the visible pipes, the car was being heated by the engine.


    Milar, dressed as always in black ¡ª a black winter coat, black fur-lined boots, and, of course, black pants ¡ª tugged at the collar of his thick, gray sweater. Beneath it lay a shirt and vest.


    ¡°I can¡¯t stand winter,¡± he muttered, scratching the red marks on his neck where the sweater had rubbed against his skin.


    ¡°I could make you a salve,¡± Ardan offered.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°For the rash,¡± Ardi nodded at his neck. ¡°You¡¯re probably allergic to the lanolin. They use it to treat the wool when making sweaters.¡±


    Milar waved him off with a grimace. ¡°My wife bought one last year,¡± he grumbled, scratching at his neck again. ¡°Paid twenty-seven kso for fifty grams of the stuff, and as soon as the jar ran out, it came back.¡± He gestured to the marks. ¡°You could go broke buying those ointments. Damn winter¡­ I can¡¯t wait for spring.¡±


    Ardan didn¡¯t tell him how much he enjoyed this time of year. It would¡¯ve just been petty. Instead, he promised, ¡°I¡¯ll try to make one myself. Maybe I can make more than fifty grams for less money.¡±


    Milar turned sharply toward him, studying him in silence for a moment.


    ¡°And why would you do that?¡±


    ¡°Why would I do what?¡±


    ¡°Help me¡­ why?¡±


    Ardi blinked a few times, puzzled, before replying, ¡°Do I need a reason?¡±


    Milar paused briefly, then laughed. It was a different laugh than his usual one, more honest and almost carefree.


    ¡°And how are you still alive, Magister?¡± The Cloak wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. ¡°All right, while we¡¯re driving over, you¡¯d better share a story about this.¡±


    Milar leaned over Ardi¡¯s lap, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out today¡¯s issue of the Imperial Herald. Tossing the newspaper to Ardan, the Cloak returned to the wheel. Pressing the clutch ¡ª Ardan, after the incident at the warehouse, had at least learned the names of the car¡¯s components ¡ª Milar shifted from neutral to first gear, and they rolled past the university buildings.


    It was an amusing coincidence that less than six months ago, Milar had driven him along this very road to the Grand.


    Unfolding the newspaper, Ardan wearily read the headline on the front page:


    ¡°Gang Skirmish at Warehouse District or Something More? A Journalistic Investigation by Taisia Shpritz.¡±


    Below it was a photograph of the very same warehouse where, a week earlier, he and Arkar had helped Boris out of a sticky situation. So sticky, in fact, that, according to Elena ¡ª who¡¯d been visiting ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± recently and had been keeping vigil at Boris¡¯ bedside day and night at the clinic before then ¡ª the doctors weren¡¯t sure whether Boris would be able to stand by summer. And the prospect of him ever walking without a cane was doubtful. Of course, Star Magic could work miracles, but not always, and not in every case.


    Otherwise, the Emperor, Aversky, and even Professor Lea herself wouldn¡¯t have looked the way they did.


    Denying it was clearly pointless, so Ardi gestured at the photograph.


    ¡°When we left, the warehouse was relatively intact,¡± he said honestly, pointing to the smoking ruins captured by the reporters.


    ¡°It was, partner,¡± Milar agreed, merging into the sparse traffic comprised of sleepy trams and a few rare cars as he turned onto the avenue. ¡°And then¡­ BOOM! It just exploded.¡±


    ¡°Partner?¡±


    ¡°For at least the next three months,¡± the captain nodded, ¡°but that¡¯s beside the point, Magister. Why did you use your Ice Wave there? Aversky said you knew your spells were in the House¡¯s records.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the House?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what we call the Second Chancery ¡ª damn it, Ard, can you listen without interrupting?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±


    Milar shot him a scrutinizing look, as if trying to determine whether his companion was mocking him. But in all seriousness, Ardan had struggled with holding back his questions since childhood.


    ¡°But that was an Ice Wall,¡± Ardi quickly corrected. ¡°My own modification of it. I altered the properties to maximize density. I had to completely remove its mobility, but in theory, it could absorb substantial kinetic energy, and-¡±


    ¡°You can discuss that later with Edward, damn him,¡± Milar interrupted him again, braking gently as he approached a traffic regulator bundled up so tightly he resembled a ball. ¡°I had to spend two hours filling out forms explaining why several witnesses saw you near the Crimson Lady¡¯s brothel, getting into a car with the Orcish Jackets¡¯ overseer, and then driving off toward the warehouses.¡±


    ¡°I live at one of the Jackets¡¯ profit houses.¡±


    ¡°I know that¡­ Couldn¡¯t find another apartment?¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t,¡± Ardan confirmed. ¡°Not many people in the center are willing to hand over their keys to a half-blood, and it takes too long to get to the Grand from the New City.¡±


    Waiting for the signal to proceed, Milar pressed the clutch again, shifted back into first gear, and they continued onward, heading, as far as Ardi could tell, toward the Trade District.


    The district¡¯s name, of course, dated back to the days when the Metropolis was the capital of Gales, and the area was inhabited by craftsmen and merchants.


    ¡°Tell me everything that happened, partner,¡± Milar reminded him more seriously. ¡°And try not to leave anything out.¡±


    And so, Ardan began his tale, starting from the moment he¡¯d left Aversky¡¯s mansion and returned to ¡°Bruce¡¯s,¡± where he had encountered Elena. He went over his conversation with Arkar (leaving out his oath), the visit to the brothel, and finally, Warehouse 6. Again, he refrained from mentioning the medallion.


    When he finished, Milar clicked his tongue. ¡°Ard, my dear Ard¡­ Let me tell you something,¡± Milar said, turning the wheel to guide them onto Craftsmen¡¯s Street.


    The Trade District, like most of Old Town, wasn¡¯t all that different from the Central District. It had the same opulent buildings, the same narrow streets, and the ever-present, wide avenues with drab sidewalks.


    ¡°For the last eight years, I¡¯ve served in the Chancery, hunting down scum and degenerates,¡± Milar continued, downshifting as they approached their destination. ¡°Before that, I worked with the military guard corps ¡ª it was only for a couple of years after I graduated from the lyceum, but there, too, I hunted scum and degenerates, though they were smaller fish and often in uniform. So, tell me, do you think I¡¯d have ever become a captain and first-rank investigator if the garbage you¡¯re trying to feed me could fool me?¡±


    Milar pulled the car to the curb and cut the engine. They had stopped in a narrow cul-de-sac situated between tenement houses that faced a small cluster of communal entrances.


    ¡°For starters, who in their right mind would kidnap the son ¡ª disowned or not ¡ª of the bloody Duke-General Fahtov?¡± Milar spoke calmly and measuredly, but the steely glint in his brown eyes was unmistakable. ¡°Even if they demanded two and a half thousand exes for him ¡ª or seven thousand, for that matter ¡ª no one can spend money in the afterlife. That¡¯s one. Two ¡ª cutting off a lord¡¯s finger? Crippling him so badly that the doctors are still sewing and patching him together? A highly questionable strategy if one intends to live a long life. And when something seems questionable, it¡¯s usually the opposite.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve said your piece,¡± Milar raised a hand to stop him. ¡°Now I¡¯ll speak, Ard, and you¡¯ll listen. You should¡¯ve been alarmed right from the start, when Elena wasn¡¯t taken along with Boris. Even if Orvilov and his accomplice were absolutely certain she was merely his servant and not a childhood friend ¡ª or even his wife ¡ª that part doesn¡¯t interest me. What matters is that they should have taken her for one reason: in order to avoid torturing Fahtov, a military aristocrat whose family commanded armies back in the days of the kings, and to torture Elena instead. But that¡¯s just a minor detail.¡±


    Milar adjusted his holster and checked his ammunition clips ¡ª six ¡°moons¡± loaded with cartridges ¡ª before sticking his head out of the partially-lowered window to inspect something above them. He seemed utterly unbothered that Ardan had tried to deceive him.


    ¡°And if they didn¡¯t take her, it means they had a different goal,¡± the captain continued, shutting off the ignition and taking the key out. ¡°When Elena came back with the ransom, they would¡¯ve killed her. Along with Boris. And Orvilov himself. Then they¡¯d have blown up the warehouse. How do I know that? Because they did blow it up, Ard, when our team arrived. There were people there that you and Arkar likely didn¡¯t even notice.¡±


    ¡°There was no one else there but us and the thugs working for the Crimson Lady,¡± Ardan objected.


    ¡°That old prostitute has nothing to do with this,¡± Milar scoffed. ¡°She simply did what the important people told her to do. And in the process, she led you and the half-orc around by the nose. But again, those are just details. The key point is this: Orvilov acted under someone else¡¯s orders. And those orders included torturing and preparing to kill the son of Duke-General Fahtov, the commander of the Southern Fleet.¡±


    ¡°Iolai Agrov-¡± Ardan began.


    ¡°I know all about your splendid three-way arrangement,¡± Milar said, pulling out a cigarette. With a couple of flicks of his lighter, he lit it and took a drag. ¡°But trust me, Great Prince Iolai can¡¯t even take a piss without his father¡¯s permission. So, it¡¯s unlikely to be him¡­ His balls are too small for that kind of maneuver. But that, too ¡ª damn it, I¡¯ll develop an allergy to these words soon enough ¡ª are just details. So, tell me, Ard, what¡¯s the point of such an elaborate scheme for the sake of two and a half thousand exes?¡±


    Ardan closed his eyes. He could understand when he¡¯d lost at a game of wits and was always willing to admit defeat, especially since he¡¯d rarely managed to outwit Skusty or Atta¡¯nha.


    ¡°They wanted the code for Boris¡¯ medallion,¡± he finally admitted.


    ¡°What medallion?¡± Milar exhaled a cloud of smoke, his tone laced with curiosity.


    Ardan shrugged. ¡°An old one. Probably a family heirloom. It has a demonic seal on it.¡±


    ¡°A demonic goddamn seal,¡± Milar repeated, leaning back against his seat. ¡°Fine, Magister, you don¡¯t trust me, and I don¡¯t particularly trust you, either. We¡¯ve established that. But please, the next time you try to feed me a load of crap, at least spend a couple of hours figuring out how to make it smell less.¡±


    With that, the captain bit down on his cigarette, opened the door, and stepped outside, buttoning up his coat against the biting wind. Ardan hurried after him. Milar locked the car, checked the handles, and, ignoring Ardan, strolled casually toward one of the entrances.


    In that moment, Ardan realized that it had been a mistake to try and deceive someone he¡¯d be working with for the next three months. And more importantly, that this man, despite his careless stride, was indeed a true investigator of the Second Chancery.


    After he caught up to Milar, they approached the third entrance of the tenement building, a structure that had witnessed the end of the previous century. Its facade, which had been patched up in places with evident signs of repair ¡ª there were unmistakable lines in the masonry where Ley cables and pipes for boiler heating had clearly been installed ¡ª looked somewhat dull compared to its far more ornate neighbors.


    The Cloak ascended the stairs and tugged the door open to reveal a modest lobby. Inside, the worn, scuffed parquet flooring was covered by a shabby and nondescript carpet. Two doors leading to apartments were on the right, on the left were ten mailboxes, and straight ahead, a narrow staircase led to the upper floors.


    ¡°I can¡¯t stand staircases,¡± Milar said through gritted teeth. ¡°And we¡¯re heading to the last¡­ the fifth floor.¡±


    But before he started their climb, the captain stopped briefly by the mailboxes. He inspected them carefully, muttering something under his breath, and shook his head grimly. A moment later, he turned away, whistling a cheerful tune while puffing on his cigarette, and began climbing.


    Ardi couldn¡¯t yet determine which side of Milar ¡ª the jovial, seemingly flippant persona, or the grimly focused professional ¡ª was his real face and which was the mask. The captain¡¯s demeanor often oscillated between irreverent jesting and thunderous seriousness when matters concerned work.


    ¡°Magister.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Since we¡¯re apparently going to spend,¡± Milar paused mid-sentence, leaning over the banister to glance upwards, and cursed, ¡°three months in an uncomfortably close¡­ let¡¯s call it proximity, could I trouble you to answer a few questions?¡±


    ¡°All right.¡±


    ¡°First question, Magister,¡± the captain tapped ash onto the windowsill of the stairwell and casually spat into a flower vase. ¡°Are you washing your socks?¡±


    ¡°Every morning and¡­ why?¡±


    ¡°Just curious,¡± Milar shrugged, sniffing the air. ¡°There¡¯s a smell.¡±


    Ardi frowned. At first, he thought Milar was joking, but there was indeed a scent here. It was something faintly sweet, yet cloyingly pungent, leaving a bitter, garlicky aftertaste in its wake. Somewhere, meat had spoiled.


    Oddly, Milar seemed to have noticed it before Ardan, even though the latter had always prided himself on a sharp sense of smell. He could only excuse his lack of perceptiveness by blaming his distraction on their earlier conversation in the car. If Iolai Agrov had truly had no connection to those unfortunate events, the puzzle became not only more tangled but also... far more intriguing.


    ¡°Why do you tap your staff against the floor?¡± Milar asked abruptly.


    ¡°What?¡± Ardi didn¡¯t immediately understand the question.


    ¡°Your staff,¡± Milar mimed striking the floor with it. ¡°It makes a racket every time you do it. So, if we ever need to do something covert, I¡¯d like to know if we can avoid this¡­¡± Milar failed to find the right word for it and simply shrugged.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°We can¡¯t,¡± Ardi replied. ¡°The staff closes the Ley circuit leading from my Star and into the Ley lines. Without that, a mage¡¯s energy simply dissipates into the air.¡±


    ¡°Any surface would work?¡±


    ¡°Only those in direct or indirect contact with the ground,¡± Ardi clarified.


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± Milar muttered as they reached the next landing, where he extinguished his cigarette and tossed the butt through the railing. ¡°And those glowing lines you Magisters tend to make? Can they be hidden? They¡¯re like the holiday lights on New Year¡¯s Eve.¡±


    ¡°Our seals?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ardan shook his head. ¡°A seal is, essentially, a direct manifestation of Ley energy embedded into the surrounding space by a mage. We can¡¯t make them invisible.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t know,¡± Ardi admitted. ¡°But to make a comparison, imagine a lantern. When it¡¯s on, it glows. When it¡¯s off, it doesn¡¯t. You can¡¯t make it work and not glow.¡±


    ¡°I could break the bulb.¡±


    ¡°But then it wouldn¡¯t give off light, and technically, it wouldn¡¯t be working, either.¡±


    Milar stopped, pondered for a few seconds, and then let out a noncommittal hum.


    ¡°So, in a real pinch, you¡¯ll be banging your stick and glowing like a restaurant display?¡±


    ¡°I seem to recall, Milar,¡± Ardi shot back, his voice tinged with irritation, ¡°that you specifically requested a mage for your team.¡±


    ¡°Fair point,¡± Milar agreed with a chuckle.


    They reached the fifth floor and passed through a flimsy wooden partition separating the staircase from a small landing. Like the first floor, the landing was covered with a rug, though it was less dirty and worn, which was understandable, as fewer people came through here.


    Again, only two doors were present. They looked sturdy and not overly old. One bore faintly visible, steel numbers that read 30, and the other had 29 on it.


    Milar approached the door marked 29. Instead of knocking, he nearly pressed his face right up to the keyhole and took a deep sniff. Immediately, he choked on the stench, retching reflexively. Spitting viscous saliva onto the floor, he blew his nose into a handkerchief, then pulled out a small, flat tin from his pocket, smearing something white and intensely minty-smelling under his nose.


    ¡°Here,¡± he said, handing the tin to Ardan. ¡°Otherwise, with your half-blood sense of smell, I¡¯ll have to drag your unconscious carcass back.¡±


    Ardan flared his nostrils and nearly lost his breakfast. The sickly-sweet stench of rot mixed with a sharp, acrid, garlic-like odor turned his stomach.


    He remembered where he¡¯d last encountered such a smell. Once, in Evergale, one of the ranch hands had gone missing for three days. Polskih had sent Ardan to check on the man at his home. It turned out that the ranch hand had gotten drunk, fallen, and broken his neck. And since he¡¯d lived alone, no one had noticed the accident. His house had reeked just like this.


    Without arguing, Ardan dabbed a small amount of the minty ointment above his lip. The strong peppermint aroma cleared his senses slightly, pushing the stench of death to the background.


    ¡°So,¡± Milar muttered, fumbling with his coat pockets, ¡°which medallion do we need? Damn it, these newfangled things are¡­¡± He pulled out a set of six round medallions, each slightly different from the one he had previously handed to Ardan. ¡°Ah, found it.¡± Milar pressed one of the medallions before stashing the rest back into his pocket.


    ¡°It used to be simpler,¡± he grumbled as he pulled out a leather roll from that same pocket. It was the kind carpenters typically carried, but instead of woodworking tools, Milar¡¯s roll contained a selection of curved picks, miniature vials, a magnifying glass, brushes that looked like they were meant for shaving foam, and other small implements. ¡°You¡¯d send a runner back to the House, and that was that. Now we¡¯ve got communication medallions. And good luck remembering which one connects to which department.¡±


    Milar knelt down and armed himself with the tools from his roll. Using a fine brush, he applied a gray powder to the handle of the door. Leaning in with the magnifying glass, he inspected it closely.


    ¡°No fingerprints, of course,¡± he sighed.


    ¡°Fingerprints?¡± Ardi asked.


    ¡°Look at your fingers,¡± Milar said without turning around. ¡°Every person has a unique pattern on their fingertips. It¡¯s how you can tell one person from another.¡±


    Ardan examined his fingertips closely and noticed faint, swirling lines there he hadn¡¯t paid attention to before.


    ¡°Fingers leave traces on surfaces because of bodily secretions,¡± Milar explained as he moved to the lock with a thin, curved pick. ¡°Don¡¯t you read books or newspapers? For the past twenty years, everyone¡¯s been raving about this new frontier in criminology.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not interested in the criminal world,¡± Ardan replied with a shrug.


    ¡°No signs of forced entry on the lock, either,¡± Milar muttered, twisting his tool. ¡°That means they either had the proper key, or she knew exactly who she was dealing with.¡±


    ¡°She?¡± Ardan asked. ¡°Do you know who¡¯s in there?¡±


    ¡°I have a guess,¡± Milar said as he gave a final tug with the pick. The lock clicked open. ¡°Let¡¯s see if this case turns into a dead end, or if there¡¯s a chance to make progress.¡±


    The captain pushed the door open and stepped inside first. The small, cramped entryway had a single coat hook on the wall, a stand for umbrellas, and a shabby shoe rack desperately in need of repair.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch anything,¡± Milar snapped at Ardan, ¡°and watch where you step. Don¡¯t ruin any hard evidence.¡±


    ¡°Hard evidence?¡±


    ¡°By the Eternal Angels, Ard!¡± Milar groaned, exasperated. ¡°You ramble on about seals and Ley energy but don¡¯t know what fingerprints or hard evidence are?¡±


    Ardan could only shrug. After all, no one could know everything.


    Milar made that odd, incomprehensible human gesture ¡ª he rolled his eyes ¡ª before drawing his revolver from its holster. Holding the gun in his right hand, he pushed open one of three doors leading off the entryway.


    The first led to a bathroom. Inside were a small, gray toilet, a mirror, a few bottles resting on makeshift wooden shelves, and a bathtub hidden behind a curtain.


    Milar used a handkerchief to carefully turn the hot water faucet. The pipes groaned and clattered loudly, like a wild boar that had been starving for days.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t been used for a few days at least,¡± Milar muttered, turning off the water and stepping back into the entryway.


    The next door opened to a tiny kitchen. Along one wall stood a small table for two, covered with a worn, moth-eaten cloth. To the right of a narrow window stood a sink and a Ley-powered stove, upon which lay a single, forlorn coffee pot ¡ª or, as it was called in the Empire, a za¡¯firka. The conical iron pot, with its narrow spout and long handle, looked almost like an alchemical mixing flask.


    The za¡¯firka lay on its side, and a dark, dried stain had spread out beneath it on the stove.


    ¡°Maybe she didn¡¯t know them after all,¡± Milar sighed, turning back to Ardan. ¡°Could you, with your skills, have unlocked that door without leaving a trace?¡±


    Ardi pondered this. Technically, he could have filled the keyhole with damp earth, inserted a stick to create a makeshift key, and then compressed it. But that would¡¯ve still left traces.


    ¡°I see,¡± Milar said, waving off the lack of an answer. ¡°They either used the proper key or a copy.¡±


    ¡°Or perhaps a more skilled mage did it,¡± Ardan added. ¡°But I still don¡¯t understand-¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± Milar cut him off, closing the kitchen door and returning to the entryway.


    With his revolver raised, Milar nudged the last door open with his shoulder. Instantly, an overpowering stench hit them, breaking through even the minty ointment.


    Inside a ten-square-meter room, sprawled across a messy bed with bloodstained sheets, lay the naked body of Lisa. Her arms were flung outward, her neck was twisted to one side, and her skin was gray and bloated. Her eyes bulged from their sockets, and her swollen tongue jutted from her lips. Blood pooled beneath her body, seeping into the mattress.


    ¡°She¡¯s been dead for at least three days,¡± Milar muttered, walking over to the window and examining it closely before pulling back the curtains to let daylight spill into the room.


    The captain moved through the space methodically, pausing at Lisa¡¯s tangled hair as if tempted to tug at it, perhaps to confirm the reality of the horror that lay before him. Instead, he pushed aside the haunting shadows and turned his attention to the snow-covered streets outside.


    Milar, while Ardan was feeling unable to avert his gaze from the dead body, examined the windowsill. Then he walked around the bed and, going to the wardrobe, opened the creaking door with the muzzle of his revolver.


    Ardi shuddered. The creak was so long and audible, as if it were the muffled, final scream Lisa had let out before falling silent forever.


    ¡°...Eternal Angels¡­ If we somehow make it to ¡°Bruce¡¯s,¡± I swear I¡¯m teaching you how to drive, big guy.¡±


    Meanwhile, Ardan remained frozen, his gaze locked onto Lisa¡¯s lifeless body. He couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away from the scene ¡ª those were the glassy, cloudy eyes of someone who had seen no magic or miracles in her final moments, only despair and death.


    Death had settled here, lingering on the bedside table where a woman¡¯s miniature revolver rested in its holster, unused. It was the same revolver Lisa had once used to save Ardan¡¯s life.


    And now she lay sprawled among the foam-like sheets, her blue-tinged arms flung wide, her neck twisted, blood everywhere.


    Wait, blood?


    ¡°All her clothes are gone,¡± Milar said, stepping away from the closet and gesturing to the empty hangers. ¡°And the rest of her belongings, too.¡±


    ¡°The blood¡­¡± Ardan murmured faintly.


    ¡°Are you about to faint? You can step outside-¡±


    ¡°Her neck. The blood,¡± Ardan rasped, struggling to form words.


    Milar turned toward the bed, then back to Ardi, then to the bed again.


    ¡°Not bad, Magister. Not bad at all,¡± Milar said, tucking his revolver back into its holster. Pulling on a pair of black gloves, he carefully lifted Lisa¡¯s shoulder ¡ª or what was left of it.


    On her back, as well as on the blood-soaked sheets, distinct lines and symbols could be seen.


    It was a seal. One that had been carved into her flesh while she¡¯d still been alive. Otherwise, there wouldn¡¯t have been so much blood.


    Ardan closed his eyes, looking as if he were trying to rid himself of the sight. But in the darkness that enveloped his perception, the features of the dead woman began to emerge gradually. Her eyes stood out most vividly: glassy, clouded, and bearing witness to things they could no longer recount.


    Ardi couldn¡¯t take it anymore. Turning sharply, he exited into the entryway and then out to the stairwell landing. Pressing his back against the wall, he slowly slid down to the floor. No matter how long he stared at the gray, crumbling paint covering the fine cracks in the plaster, he couldn¡¯t shake the image now burned into his mind.


    The entrance door opened, and Milar, removing his gloves, stepped out and stood beside him. The captain pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapped it against his knee, and deftly caught a cigarette with his teeth before lighting it.


    ¡°Want one?¡± He asked, offering the pack to Ardan.


    The young man grimaced and waved him off.


    ¡°You¡¯ll start smoking eventually,¡± Milar shrugged, stowing the cigarettes back into the pocket of his coat. ¡°It¡¯s just a matter of time. And time, of course, is a very relative thing. When you¡¯re staring down the barrel of a revolver, your whole life flashes before your eyes: from the moment you first shit yourself in the cradle to the time you nearly crapped your pants because of a cocked hammer.¡±


    Milar took a drag and exhaled a cloud of acrid, pungent smoke.


    ¡°It¡¯s bad, Ard, that we¡¯ve lost the last witness from Baliero,¡± the captain said, leaning his head back against the wall. In his left hand, he held the cigarette, and in his right, his fur hat. ¡°You, for instance, don¡¯t know anything about the demon, apart from the fact that you were paid for your involvement. The Orcish Jackets worked through an intermediary who brought the job to Arkar. That same intermediary brought the job to the Dandy as well.¡±


    ¡°And they-¡±


    ¡°And the intermediary was chopped into pieces, stuffed into a barrel, and left on display near the main guard station,¡± Milar replied before Ardan could finish asking. ¡°Bastards.¡±


    Ardi stretched out his hand in front of him. It trembled slightly. He clenched and unclenched his fist. It didn¡¯t help.


    ¡°All right, Ard,¡± Milar extended a hand to help him up. Ardan didn¡¯t refuse. ¡°Our team of eggheads will be here soon ¡ª they¡¯ll take a look, maybe find something we missed. They¡¯ll copy the seal, too. Meanwhile, we¡¯ve got work to do.¡±


    With that, Milar turned, took a step toward the neighboring door, and knocked on it nonchalantly. Holding his hat under one arm, he bit down on his cigarette and pulled out a small, elongated notebook with a stubby pencil attached to it by a string.


    ¡°One of the perks of working in the central districts, Magister,¡± Milar muttered to himself as footsteps approached from the other side of the door, slow and deliberate. ¡°You can always find housewives here.¡±


    The door opened, revealing a middle-aged woman. She wore slippers and a warm, woolen dress with wide skirts. In one hand, she held a cup of coffee, and in the other, a fashion magazine.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± She asked, her tone a mix of irritation and faint haughtiness.


    ¡°Captain Milar Pnev,¡± the Cloak said, displaying his badge. ¡°First-Rank Investigator of the Second Chancery. With me is Mr. Ard Egobar, Star Mage and trainee of the Second Chancery.¡±


    At those words, the woman¡¯s smug demeanor vanished like smoke in the wind, taking, it seemed, a layer of her makeup along with it. Even under her blush, her cheeks paled considerably, and her gaze lost its sharpness.


    ¡°H-h-how c-c-can I h-h-help-¡± She stammered.


    ¡°Your neighbor,¡± Milar interrupted, nodding toward the slightly ajar door to Lisa¡¯s apartment. ¡°When did you last time see her, and under what circumstances?¡±


    ¡°About f-four days ago,¡± the woman replied after a brief pause. ¡°L-Lisa came home late, as usual. It was a quarter past ten.¡±


    ¡°A quarter past ten?¡± Milar, not taking his eyes off the woman, was scribbling in his notebook. ¡°How can you be so precise?¡±


    ¡°My husband works as a manager at a restaurant on Small Oboronny Street,¡± the woman explained, seeming to regain some of her composure. ¡°He comes home at exactly ten every day, and I prepare dinner for him. That time, he was slightly late. He came ten minutes later than usual. While he was undressing, I saw Lisa. It was ten fifteen.¡±


    ¡°All right,¡± Milar nodded, flipping a page. ¡°What can you tell me about your neighbor?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t quite understa-¡±


    ¡°Did she have visitors? Maybe there were some people regularly coming to see her? Did she make noise? Were there any situations that seemed suspicious to you?¡±


    The woman raised her hands in a helpless gesture, almost spilling her coffee onto Milar¡¯s boots.


    ¡°Oh, excuse me, I-¡±


    ¡°No harm done, Mrs¡­?¡±


    ¡°Maria Erity.¡±


    ¡°No harm done, Mrs. Erity,¡± Milar said in a bored tone, making another note. ¡°Please, continue.¡±


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s not much to tell, Investigator,¡± Maria said, her posture relaxing as she ceased to resemble a living doll. ¡°Lisa¡¯s been here for about¡­ what, a year now? Maybe a little more.¡± She shrugged slightly. ¡°She never caused any trouble. Didn¡¯t make noise, didn¡¯t bring men over. Occasionally, someone might¡¯ve visited her, but that happened rarely. She herself sometimes wouldn¡¯t appear for days. Like before the winter she disappeared for a week and a half. When she came back, she was limping and didn¡¯t look too well. Honestly, I can¡¯t tell you anything specific about her. We didn¡¯t cross paths often. She would leave early in the morning and come back late. She never smelled of alcohol, just those awful-smelling cigarettes she smoked. And that¡¯s about it. Did something happen? Did she go missing? Are you looking for her?¡±


    ¡°Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Erity,¡± Milar said, ignoring her questions. ¡°Have a good day.¡±


    The captain shut the door in Maria¡¯s face, snapped his notebook closed, and headed toward the staircase.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, Ard.¡±


    The young man didn¡¯t move.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Milar asked, pausing at the stairwell.


    Ardan inhaled deeply through his nose, then wiped away the minty ointment from his upper lip in one sharp motion. The sickly-sweet stench of decay hit him again, causing a slight dizziness. This time, however, there were other notes in the mix, ones he hadn¡¯t noticed before since they¡¯d been masked by the ointment and the stench of death. It was the odor of swamp rot mingling with the scent of blooming lilies and nightshade flowers.


    The scent of a Homeless One.


    Ardan didn¡¯t hesitate. He slammed his staff against the floor. The Ley coursed through his body, filled his hand, flowed into his staff, and surged through the building, disappearing deep into the earth. Beneath his feet, a glowing seal flared to life, while pale threads shot out from the tip of his staff, forming four sharp, elongated icicles that hovered over his shoulders.


    It all happened in less than a second, but Milar didn¡¯t need an explanation. The Cloak, drawing his revolver, aimed it at the door and fired two shots without hesitation.


    The bullets whistled past Ardi and struck the wooden door, splintering it into sharp fragments. From within the apartment came a hiss, followed by the massive, serpentine tail of a creature as thick as a car and at least five meters long. It smashed through the door, sending it flying before it crashed into the wall above Milar¡¯s head.


    The captain, who was now buried under debris, tumbled backwards down the stairs.


    Ardan, who had dodged to the side in time, stood firm before the now-exposed doorway. Inside the apartment, he saw a creature that belonged in a cage beside the Maw more than anywhere else.


    The lower half of the creature¡¯s body was a serpentine tail over a meter and a half in diameter and roughly five meters long. The upper half was a grotesque parody of a woman, with four sagging breasts, a fang-filled, hairless maw for a face, and skin like a toad¡¯s. Behind her, the torn apart, chewed up, and partially-consumed bodies of the real Maria Erity and her husband lay sprawled out on the floor.


    ¡°Speaker,¡± hissed the Homeless One in the Fae tongue, her voice a venomous blend of malice and hunger. ¡°I will devour your heart and drink your Ley!¡±


    Coiling her tail, she braced herself against the ruined wall of the bedroom and launched forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. Her clawed, spindly fingers extended, and her tooth-filled maw yawned open as a forked tongue flicked out.


    Ardan, acting decisively, banged his staff against the floor once more. Instead of retreating, he charged forward. By the time a shimmering protective veil had enveloped him, the youth was already standing in the doorway.


    The creature collided with his shield. The impact spun her slightly to the side, and with a loud crash, she slammed into the wall, dislodging several bricks. Fortunately for him, Ardan now fully understood that the Universal Shield of the Stranger/Nicholas was a redirecting-type spell.


    The Homeless One, shrieking and wailing, fell to the floor. Ardan, summoning his will, unleashed all the charges of his previous spell. The first icy spike struck the creature¡¯s abdomen, pinning her to the ground. The remaining three pierced through her tail at its narrowest point, securing her in place.


    The beast howled, thrashing as she tried to break free, but the enchanted ice held fast. Each convulsion only deepened her pain and tightened the grip of the frosty bindings. Emerald, glowing blood spurted rhythmically from her grotesque maw.


    ¡°By the Eternal Angels,¡± Milar muttered after climbing back up the stairs, scratched up but otherwise unharmed. He leveled his revolver at the creature¡¯s face. ¡°What in the hell is this thing, Ard?!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what the Church calls a demon,¡± Ardan replied hoarsely, his breath coming in gasps. The exertion from all that spellcasting had left him feeling as though he¡¯d spent an entire day running through the mountains of the Alcade. ¡°But this one hasn¡¯t fully formed yet. She hasn¡¯t completely strayed from the Path of the Queens. She¡¯s not quite a demon, but no longer a Homeless One, either. She¡¯s something in between.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a half-damned demon?¡± Milar grumbled, his grip on his revolver steady. ¡°Path of who now?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain later,¡± Ardan waved him off. He planted his staff against the creature¡¯s throat and spoke with cold determination, ¡°What are you doing here, Homeless One?¡±


    The monster flailed, attempting to strike him with her clawed limbs. Two well-aimed shots from Milar¡¯s revolver shattered her elbows, leaving her limp and defenseless.


    Gurgling blood, the creature writhed and hissed in the Fae tongue, her words drenched in hatred. ¡°You cannot stop the harvest, Speaker...¡±


    A glowing seal ignited across her abdomen. Though Ardi only recognized a few of its intricate nodes, it was enough to alarm him. His eyes widened as he shouted incoherently. Pivoting, he rammed his shoulder into Milar¡¯s midsection, hoisting the captain onto his back before sprinting down the stairs.


    Ardan ignored the shots Milar fired toward the Wandering One as she tore herself apart to break free from the ice spikes. He kept running and leaped from the stairs, aiming for a window.


    Just like at Baliero, he twisted mid-air. But this time, it was the fifth floor they dropped from.


    They crashed onto the roof of a car below, the vehicle groaning under their combined weight. Ardi shoved the wheezing Milar off his chest and tumbled down to the ground as well, covering his head with his hands. Milar quickly followed suit.


    A moment later, as the Homeless One half-emerged from the shattered window, an explosion thundered through the building. A sphere of fire bloomed like the petals of a morning flower, ripping the creature into a bloody rain of fleshy fragments and tearing a section of the wall away.


    Chunks of masonry, green blood, and smoldering flesh rained down on Ardan and Milar. Thick, black smoke billowed from the fifth-floor windows, interspersed with bold, audacious tongues of flame. A fire alarm wailed in the distance.


    Coughing, Milar staggered to his feet and clapped his hands over his ears a few times, as though trying to shake off the ringing. For Ardan, the deafening roar in his ears was relentless. On top of that, a searing pain was spreading across his back like molten fire.


    The captain helped Ardi to his feet. The mage felt as though an entire herd of mustangs had just trampled him.


    Together, they stood there, heads tilted back, staring at the rising flames and listening to the cries of panicked residents spilling onto the streets. Almost in unison, they began muttering curses under their breath.


    ¡°You have no idea, Magister, how much paperwork this is going to generate for us,¡± Milar groaned.


    ¡°Us?¡± Ardan echoed weakly.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t think I¡¯d be handling it all on my own, did you?¡± Milar snapped, knocking the dust off his hat before jamming it back onto his head at a crooked angle. ¡°And as for any evidence? I guess we can kiss that goodbye. And your half-demon...¡± He kicked away some charred flesh that looked like a piece of her torso. ¡°She¡¯s not telling us anything now. She screamed herself to bits.¡±


    ¡°She was killed,¡± Ardi said, shaking his head and ignoring the captain¡¯s odd joke.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°That seal ¡ª the one that killed the Homeless One,¡± Ardan explained, his voice quieter as he replayed the scene in his mind. ¡°It was a very clever setup. It worked on the principles of a stationary shield. It was placed there in advance, but only triggered when necessary.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t understand a damn thing you just said, Magister,¡± Milar muttered, the word ¡°demon¡± clearly having left a bitter taste in his mouth.


    ¡°They did the same thing to her as they did to that warehouse,¡± Ardi clarified.


    By now, the street had filled with too many people ¡ª residents fleeing the buildings and rubberneckers alike.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, Ard,¡± Milar said, brushing off bits of flesh and tugging Ardan toward the car. ¡°This case is honestly beginning to smell, and it¡¯s not flowers I¡¯m detecting. By the Eternal Angels... What a brilliant way to start the new year this is.¡±

 Chapter 59 - Just keep breathing

    Ardan sat in silence, staring at the fogged-up window of the car. Beyond the gray glass, massive red trucks with eight wheels had already halted in the street, and men in blue jackets were unrolling hoses and connecting them to the pumps that drew water from the tanks of the trucks. The firefighters were shouting at the onlookers, urging them to clear the sidewalks and road, but the crowd was reluctant to move, entranced by the blaze that roared defiantly.


    The sharp whistles of the guards clad in red winter uniforms pierced the air as they rushed to aid their comrades from the firefighting service. Brandishing batons and revolvers at their belts, they gradually pushed the crowd back, while an officer with gleaming epaulets barked into a loudspeaker, ¡°Move along! Let them work! For your own safety, clear the area!¡±


    Slowly, reluctantly and awkwardly, the crowd began to part, making way for the firefighters. They carried ladders, buckets of sand, hoses, and first-aid kits with them.


    It wasn¡¯t long ¡ª no more than five minutes ¡ª before several trucks stopped near the cul-de-sac. One of them bore weathered white letters reading ¡°Imperial Herald,¡± while another read ¡°Dubravs Family News Agency.¡± Ardi couldn¡¯t make out the writing on the rest of the trucks parking along the curb due to all the people and the snowfall covering them.


    Even so, it would be impossible to miss the reporters spilling out into the street. Armed with notebooks, microphones connected to bulky tape recorders housed in leather cases, tripods, and briefcases containing monstrous, outrageously expensive cameras, they did their best to capture the scene.


    Amid all this chaos, a simple car stopped unobtrusively at the corner where Ardi and Milar were waiting. It looked modest and cheaper than most vehicles commonly seen navigating the winter streets of the Central District. It had a long, boxy cabin with a pronounced trunk, atop which rested a spare tire covered in a snug casing.


    Three people stepped out.


    ¡°Come on, Ard, let me introduce you to the team,¡± Milar extinguished what must have been his third cigarette and stepped outside.


    Ardan followed suit.


    The first to approach them was a young woman who was perhaps twenty-five, or maybe slightly older. She was petite ¡ª probably shorter than 160 centimeters ¡ª and wore the same attire as Milar and the other two. Instead of a skirt or a dress, she¡¯d opted for austere, masculine pants.


    Removing a glove, she extended a plump, soft hand with the faint but discernible mark of a wedding ring on her ring finger. It was almost gone, but still visible.


    ¡°Corporal Alice Rovnev,¡± she introduced herself, her voice soft and syrupy, like molasses.


    Despite her inviting tone, her gray eyes, hiding behind thick-framed glasses, held a piercing, sly gaze.


    ¡°Alice is our forensic expert,¡± Milar explained as Ardan shook her hand. ¡°A former military and guard chemist.¡±


    Next came a man of average height ¡ª he was perhaps slightly over 175 centimeters or so, with a similar broadness to his shoulders. His belt displayed several revolvers and a cowboy-style cartridge belt. His tanned, weathered face looked stern, and his head was either entirely bald or he¡¯d had his hair cut very short.


    He offered Ardan a firm handshake, his dark eyes scrutinizing him, and spoke just as firmly, ¡°Corporal Alexander Ursky. Operative.¡±


    He appeared to be somewhere between thirty and forty years old.


    The last of the trio was another man, seemingly in his thirties, but leaning toward the lower end of that range. His youthful face could have easily allowed him to pass for eighteen.


    Holding a sugar lollipop between his teeth and steadying his hat, he whistled while watching the fire. His belt held a holster with a solitary revolver, but alongside it dangled four knives in their sheaths: one long and narrow, another short and wide, one leaf-shaped, and the last resembled a pike¡¯s tooth.


    ¡°Din,¡± Milar growled.


    ¡°Huh?¡± The Cloak perked up, flashing a broad smile as he practically flew over to Ardan, shaking his hand with great exuberance. ¡°Oh, sir mage, this is amazing! Honestly, I¡¯ve only ever seen mages from a distance before! You know, during large-scale operations when multiple departments-¡±


    ¡°Din!¡± The other Cloaks shouted in unison.


    ¡°You were briefed about the Witch¡¯s Gaze,¡± Milar sighed, massaging his temples.


    ¡°Oh, come on,¡± the peculiar man waved them off, ¡°he¡¯s one of us ¡ª a trainee of sorts. Our trainee? A trainee comrade?¡±


    ¡°This beanpole chatterbox,¡± Alice cut him off, ¡°is Corporal Din Ernson, our second operative. He¡¯s a former tracker from the Ralsk Mountains.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s the beanpole here?¡± Din muttered, rubbing the side Alice had just jabbed.


    He stood somewhere between 185 and 190 centimeters tall. He was lean, with an aquiline nose and hawk-like eyes. His gangly limbs and short torso made him resemble the leader of a wolf pack, always ready to hunt, to pounce. And yet, his eyes were warm and kind, and his smile was almost too bright, even to Ardi.


    The Ralsk Mountains¡­ Weren¡¯t they on the border with the Enario Theocracy? They also bordered the Dead Lands that had been created by the betrayal of the legendary Sergeant Mendera¡¯s squad.


    After remembering all of that, Ardan was now looking at Corporal Ernson in a completely different light. A man who had served as a tracker in such places must have been remarkable. Just like most of those who worked in the Second Chancery.


    ¡°Any news, Captain?¡± Alexander asked, pulling out ¡ª yes, of course ¡ª a pack of cigarettes.


    Was smoking a requirement for being in the Cloaks?


    ¡°Only bad ones, Alexander,¡± Milar sighed, leaning against the car. ¡°By the time me and the trainee arrived, it was already too late, and then...¡±


    Captain Pnev began recounting the events in great detail, during which Alexander cursed intermittently, and Alice and Din made the sign of the Face of Light.


    Ardi, however, turned away, watching the fire and thinking. Skusty and Atta¡¯nha had always taught him that, in order to solve a riddle or a puzzle, one must avoid confronting it head-on. You needed to step aside, look behind it. Search for what was being concealed. And to do that, paradoxically, one had to first identify the commonalities, for within them lay the nuances that might lift the veil of mystery.


    What linked those events on the train from last summer, the Fifth Street incident in Baliero, the Staff of Demons, and Boris¡¯ medallion?


    The answer was almost obvious. The common thread was the presence of demons and the Homeless Fae. And this was where he needed to step aside.


    For example, there was the Homeless One in the palace, who¡¯d somehow penetrated all the Palace of the Kings of the Past''s shields right under the noses of the Second Chancery and the Emperor¡¯s personal guard. That Spider was currently of little consequence since he raised more questions than answers.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Reporters shouted, interviewing witnesses. ¡°Did you see how the fire started? Any comments for the paper, please?¡±


    Ardi stared blankly at them while his thoughts raced further and further.


    One thread the Spider had let slip from its web was that it had known about the events on the train. Ardi didn¡¯t hold an overly-inflated opinion of himself, but objectively, the bandits on the train had likely made an error.


    But not the kind of error he¡¯d initially assumed they¡¯d made. They were indeed supposed to kidnap Boris, and him as well. It seemed like they¡¯d intended to abduct two mages that day, albeit for different purposes.


    Or perhaps the same purpose...


    If all the events in this string of incidents were indeed interconnected, forming the groundwork for something the Homeless Snake had referred to as the ¡°Harvest,¡± it would be convenient to paint Ardan as the guilty party in this ¡°Harvest.¡±


    This, incidentally, explained why they had tried to abduct him in the summer rather than kill him outright ¡ª a task that would have been far simpler. So, if one sought the commonality here¡­


    ¡°Step back! Move away, I said!¡± Shouted the guards, preventing the growing crowd from approaching the burning house.


    ¡­everything dissolved once more into a haze of uncertainty. Yes, it seemed like every incident had somehow involved demons, who, in turn, were the next step down into the abyss for the Factionless Fae.


    Ardi stretched his side, which was stiff from the lingering pain of his healing scars, the ones given to him by the Aean¡¯Hane elf.


    That was another piece of the puzzle. And if not for the elf¡¯s slip of the tongue about the Dandy¡¯s vague involvement in the bank explosion, it could have been dismissed as a mere coincidence. However, if viewed from this angle, it made sense that the elf had left the bank without taking any money. He had been searching for something in the vault.


    He¡¯d searched for it, but hadn¡¯t found it. There were demons, artifacts, and¡­ something else involved in this. Something Ardi couldn¡¯t quite grasp.


    ¡°What do our undercover people say?¡± Milar asked.


    ¡°All the gangs have gone underground since the Imperial Bank incident,¡± Alexander replied. ¡°They¡¯ve nearly ceased operations entirely, leaving only their racketeering and Worker¡¯s Guild scams active. Everything¡¯s been quiet. Not a single skirmish in the past month.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re waiting, the bastards,¡± Milar shook his head. ¡°And that means they¡¯re afraid.¡±


    ¡°They are,¡± Alexander agreed.


    ¡°Now if only we knew what exactly they¡¯re waiting for,¡± the captain muttered, ¡°and what¡¯s making them so jumpy that they¡¯re keeping their distance from everything.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your job, investigator,¡± Alexander shrugged.


    ¡°Fair point,¡± Milar glanced at the burning house. ¡°Lisa worked as Peter Oglanov¡¯s assistant, as far as I know.¡±


    Alice, Alexander, and Dean exchanged glances.


    ¡°Peter Oglanov? The one who was dismissed as Chief Inspector for spitting in the Minister of Internal Affairs¡¯ face?¡± Alice asked hesitantly.


    ¡°That¡¯s him,¡± Milar replied tersely. ¡°I¡¯m thinking of visiting him. Maybe the old man knows something.¡±


    ¡°He might,¡± Alexander extinguished his cigarette and blew warm air onto his reddened hands. ¡°But a man like Peter Oglanov is unlikely to tell you anything unless he chooses to.¡±


    ¡°I see no reason why he wouldn¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Can we get a list of the items that were stored in the bombed branch of the bank?¡±


    The four Cloaks simultaneously turned toward Ardan.


    ¡°Why?¡± Milar squinted.


    ¡°The elf mentioned the Dandy,¡± Ardi reminded them.


    The Cloaks exchanged looks.


    ¡°And you couldn¡¯t mention that earlier, Magister?¡± Milar rolled his eyes. ¡°Like, oh I don¡¯t know, before we wore out our soles chasing any trace of what¡¯s going on? Eternal Angels, Ard¡­¡±


    Ardi didn¡¯t bother pointing out that he hadn¡¯t had much of a chance to share every detail earlier. Initially, they had almost thrown him into the dungeons of the Black House, and later, during his conversation with the Emperor, there simply hadn¡¯t been an opportunity for him to do so. It wasn¡¯t every day that one found themselves sitting in an unfinished temple, listening to revelations not meant for the average citizen of the Empire.


    ¡°Alice?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Milar,¡± Corporal Rovnev spread her hands. ¡°We can, of course, file an official request, but there¡¯s a process¡­ as you know. There¡¯s the matter of the inviolability of private property, confidentiality, classified information, and so on. We won¡¯t see a list before the end of the month. Or the next one.¡±


    ¡°And if we go through unofficial channels?¡±


    All three of them turned sharply to Din, who was crunching a squirrel-shaped candy.


    ¡°She¡¯s just a teller at one of the branches,¡± he said, noisily snapping the candy in half. ¡°But I¡¯ll ask her. Maybe Plamena can manage it. By the way, you do remember-¡±


    ¡°That you¡¯re getting married at the start of summer,¡± Alexander cut in. ¡°You inform us of this approximately¡­¡±


    ¡°Every day,¡± Alice chimed in. ¡°Several times.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Alexander nodded.


    Din was about to respond when Milar cut him off.


    ¡°Alright, my dear Cloaks,¡± the captain pulled out a notebook, made a few notes, tore out a page, and handed it to Alice. ¡°You guys go and submit the requests. Official and unofficial both. The trainee and I will head over to Oglanov. Maybe, if we have time on the way back, we¡¯ll visit a certain theater enthusiast as well. His name comes up way too often.¡±


    ¡°Do you need backup?¡± Alexander asked, his expression still stern and displeased.


    ¡°Against the Dandy?¡± Milar snorted. ¡°He¡¯s too smart and cunning to lay a finger on us.¡±


    ¡°Even a smart animal will attack if cornered.¡±


    ¡°Actually, no it won¡¯t,¡± Ardi and Din contradicted Alexander in unison.


    ¡°Alright, gentlemen and Alice, let¡¯s move,¡± Milar cast one last glance at the now nearly-extinguished fire and turned toward the car. ¡°I don¡¯t want to end up like Yonatan, bouncing between field assignments for years because we let something slip like he did seven years ago.¡±


    Without shaking hands, the Cloaks went their separate ways. Ardi, as he was settling into his seat, couldn¡¯t resist the pull of his curiosity.


    ¡°What did Yonatan let slip?¡±


    ¡°Not what, but who. The Order of Dark Mages,¡± Milar grumbled, starting the engine and making it growl in discontent. ¡°They were dabbling in necromancy and flooded the sewer tunnels with ravenous, aggressive, and nearly-indestructible creatures made from corpses called ghouls. Yonatan was investigating a chain of brutal murders but didn¡¯t unravel it in time.¡±


    Ardi recalled one of the Imperial Herald¡¯s headlines he¡¯d glimpsed thanks to Neviy. Taisia Shpritz, notorious as ever, had been investigating the reasons behind the horrifying deaths in the slums.


    ¡°Since then, Kornosskiy only gets called back to the capital for a couple of weeks at a time before he and his team are sent off again on the most loathsome of missions,¡± Milar paused, glancing at Ardi. ¡°No offense, Magister, but your case doesn¡¯t look much simpler.¡±


    And with that, the captain pressed the pedals and shifted the gearstick, steering the car toward the New City. Ardi realized that, less than nine months ago, it could have been Milar Pnev standing on his doorstep instead of Yonatan Kornosskiy.


    They turned onto the Crookedwater Canal, the city¡¯s main artery, and then onto the Martyrs¡¯ Bridge. Relatively short at only about fifty meters long, the bridge stood out with its somber yet striking balustrade. Wrought-iron bars depicted grieving women hiding their faces in their hands, while the granite supports beneath featured angels carrying away what appeared to be sleeping infants.


    And yet, knowing the Empire¡¯s history revealed a darker truth ¡ª the infants weren¡¯t asleep. The bridge had been named in remembrance of an event that had sparked the rebellion of Gales against the oppression and enslavement inflicted upon them by Ectassus.


    About five and a half centuries ago, a group of elves led by a Speaker had stopped to resupply at a human village after a long campaign. Unfortunately, the season had been harsh, and supplies had been scarce.


    The elves hadn¡¯t cared.


    They¡¯d stormed the settlement, a simple, peaceful village of artisans and farmers who hadn¡¯t even had the chance to send word to the local ruler for aid.


    The elves massacred the village down to the last soul. Even when the women and children barricaded themselves inside the Church of the Face of Light, the elves ignored their pleas and burned everything to the ground. Mothers screamed and wept as they shielded their children with their bodies, but¡­


    Ardan stared at the steel figures eternally frozen in their lamentation.


    How did the rest of the Galessians learn of this tragedy? One of the Martyrs (as they were later called by the people) managed to hide her child among the rubble and bodies. When the prince and his warband arrived, they found the child and took him in.


    That child grew up to become one of the warlords leading the siege of several Ectassus cities. His name was Vasily.


    Later, after Vasily died in the final battle between Gales and Ectassus, the church canonized him, naming him a saint. In the Metropolis, an entire island was named after him, and was now home to the nobility and the wealthy.


    Including several descendants of the elven clan.


    The irony...


    ¡°By the way,¡± Milar suddenly slapped his forehead. ¡°There¡¯s something for you in the glove compartment. Edward pulled it out of storage for you.¡±


    Ardi shook off his morbid thoughts and opened the compartment, retrieving two small, cardboard boxes. On each of them, faint red seals shimmered with the name ¡°Bri-&-Man.¡±


    He untied the ribbons around the boxes and found two red, military-grade accumulators inside, nestled on velvet cushions. Faceted like crystals, each weighing only a few grams, they rested on intricate steel platforms.


    Ardi chuckled inwardly.


    These platforms were designed to attach to rings. That was likely the entire purpose of Gleb¡¯s mysterious ring ¡ª it was simply a holster of sorts, not for a revolver, but for an accumulator.


    ¡°There¡¯s a ring in there, too,¡± Milar, still focused on the road, gestured toward the glove compartment. ¡°Dig a little deeper.¡±


    Ardan reached in, brushing against the compartment door with his bracelet. Black as pitch with white stripes, the silk bracelet had been gifted to him long ago by Atta¡¯nha. It was so light and unobtrusive that he often forgot he was wearing it.


    And for some reason, no one else ever seemed to notice it either¡­


    ¡°Found it yet?¡±


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°What?¡± Ardi snapped out of his brief trance. ¡°Oh, yes, I found it.¡±


    He pulled out another small box, weighing it in his hand. Strangely enough, he was sure that he had just been pondering something entirely unrelated to the ring.


    Thoughts for another day.


    He did indeed find a ring inside the box, one that was perfectly sized for his index finger. Made of platinum (the metal best at conducting the Ley), with a recess for the accumulator, it appeared somewhat ornate, but it wasn¡¯t like he could be picky.


    Ardi spent a few moments slotting an accumulator into the ring, securing it in place, and then he mentally reached out to the stored energy. The Red Ley immediately responded, flooding his Star to the brim. It took no more than a couple of seconds for Ardi to restore all seven of his rays once more.


    That was the power of a military accumulator.


    The only pity was that, without an analyzer, Ardan had no idea how much energy remained in the crystal.


    Outside, buildings that were seven, eight, and even nine stories tall rose around them, with skyscrapers towering beyond those. Wide boulevards, sprawling sidewalks, and countless tram tracks filled the landscape. Unlike the slumbering Old Town in the Central District, the New City was alive with automobiles, trams, and pedestrians. Among the latter, Ardi spotted tall, slender elves, short, broad-shouldered dwarves (whose women looked almost as stout as their men, save for the lack of beards and their preference for dresses that concealed their¡­ prominent forms), and even a few orcish women in fur coats, overcoats, and hats.


    Orcish women differed far less from humans than their male counterparts did. Outwardly, aside from their skin color and the small tusks peeking out from their lower lips, they resembled human women. They had similar figures, were of a comparable height, and even had facial features that leaned toward softness rather than ferocity.


    History textbooks explained this oddity as the result of early orc raids on human settlements. Orcs had frequently taken human women captive because orc and human bloodlines mixed exceptionally well, and human women could bear children annually. Orcish women, on the other hand, had needed at least five years to recover between births.


    Strangely, this blending of bloodlines had had no noticeable impact on male orcs, with the peculiarities being absorbed entirely by the females. Over millennia, this had resulted in orcish women becoming almost indistinguishable from humans.


    And so, what had begun as practical raids had turned into something akin to ritualized hunts.


    ¡°What do you think, Milar?¡± Ardan asked, resting his forehead against the window and idly spinning the ring on his finger. ¡°Can we truly live in peace?¡±


    ¡°Thinking about that evening in the Temple of the Face of Light?¡± Milar smirked.


    ¡°Perhaps I am¡­¡±


    Milar didn¡¯t respond immediately. They stopped at¡­ what was it called again¡­ Ah yes, a traffic light. It was almost like a lantern, except the lights alternated in sequence, dictating when vehicles could cross intersections.


    In Old Town, such devices hadn¡¯t been installed. There wasn¡¯t an infrastructure present for the needed Ley cables. But in the perpetually under-construction New City, traffic lights were everywhere, especially in the Tend district, where they now found themselves.


    The Tend and Tendari districts had gotten their names from historical figures, a brother and sister, though Ardi struggled to recall the details of their legend.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Magister,¡± Milar finally replied as the car came to a halt at a red light. ¡°Sometimes, I think it¡¯s possible, and then my team gets called to some scene, and it¡¯s a bloodbath. Elves against orcs, dwarves against humans, everyone against everyone else, or some other hellish mess. So, no, I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s about the shape of your ears, your tusks, or your height. It¡¯s that we can¡¯t even live peacefully amongst ourselves, let alone with each other.¡±


    His father¡¯s letters flitted through Ardan¡¯s mind. The Matabar hadn¡¯t lived peacefully among their own packs, either. They¡¯d fought each other, claiming territories and hunting grounds.


    ¡°Then what¡¯s the point of your work, Milar?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re really getting philosophical on me, Ard,¡± Milar chuckled faintly, stopping at another red light. ¡°When I enrolled, I asked myself that same question. And then¡­¡± The captain trailed off, turning onto a smaller street and exiting the broad Soldiers¡¯ Brotherhood Avenue. ¡°Now, my answer is this: if you strip away all the talk about the legacy of the King¡¯s warband or duty, though that¡¯s part of it, I just want to clean up the world. With every case I close, there¡¯s one less scumbag on the streets. Not mere thieves, swindlers, robbers, or even killers ¡ª the guards handle them. I mean the real bastards. The ones who can ruin hundreds of lives. Orc lives. Elf lives. Dwarf lives. All lives. That¡¯s the point: to make things a bit better for everyone in the Empire, no matter the color of their blood, the length of their ears, or the size of their tusks.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s your personal angle?¡±


    ¡°My personal angle?¡± Milar raised an eyebrow. ¡°Feels odd hearing that from you, Mister Allergy Potion Maker. Personally, Ard, I love my homeland. I don¡¯t want vile creatures to run amok here. And I want my kids, when they grow up, to live in a world just a bit better than the one I was born into.¡±


    Ardi flinched and turned away. For some reason, he¡¯d heard his father¡¯s voice in Milar¡¯s words just then.


    Above them loomed a building stretching toward the sky, with a square foundation and no more than one front entrance, unlike the multi-entrance houses of Old Town. Judging by its windows, it had numerous rooms on each floor.


    The fa?ade featured a zigzagging fire escape, Ley-lamps flickered in the windows, and lightning rods swayed slightly on the flat roof.


    Maybe all fathers sound the same? Ardi mused to himself.


    He and Milar stepped out into a street teeming with people and, cutting through the crowd, approached the building. By the main entrance, which extended halfway over the sidewalk thanks to a wide awning, hung a bright sign made from Ley bulbs.


    ¡°Mitakov Office Center.¡±


    Ardi wasn¡¯t surprised to find that Milar knew where Peter Oglanov resided. After all, as Chief Inspector, the man had once led all investigative operations for the capital¡¯s guards.


    Incidentally, Ardan had always wondered why the Second Chancery called its detectives ¡°Investigators,¡± while the guards used the term ¡°Inspectors.¡±


    They entered a lobby spacious enough to house not only a row of leather chairs with bald spots in the upholstery, but also an information desk, but there wasn¡¯t one. Only rows of mailboxes lined the walls. The floor, soaked and dirty from the snow, squelched underfoot. The peeling paint on the walls and occasional groans of pipes added to the atmosphere. Overhead, the Ley-lights flickered sporadically.


    ¡°What a dump,¡± Milar whistled, pulling off his hat and unbuttoning his coat. ¡°Looks like the old man¡¯s not doing so well if he couldn¡¯t find himself a better spot.¡±


    Clicking his tongue, the captain headed toward the elevators. Of the three, only one seemed operational ¡ª the other two were chained shut with ¡°Temporarily Closed¡± signs, their state of disrepair suggesting ¡°temporarily¡± had turned into permanence.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Milar asked as Ardan headed for a side door near the elevators.


    ¡°The stairs,¡± Ardi said, still twisting the unfamiliar ring on his finger. ¡°I don¡¯t like elevators.¡±


    ¡°You were jumping out of fifth-floor windows half an hour ago, and now you¡¯re avoiding the box¡­ Oh, right, I forgot ¡ª you¡¯re a Matabar.¡±


    ¡°Half-Matabar.¡±


    ¡°Can you grow back an arm if it¡¯s cut off?¡±


    Ardi smirked faintly.


    ¡°That¡¯s a myth. Orcs and Matabar can¡¯t regrow limbs. But yes, scars do eventually fade.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s boring,¡± Milar waved dismissively, pressing the elevator call button.


    The elevator shaft groaned, cables creaked, and somewhere above, the cabin began to descend. Ardi tried the side door, but it wouldn¡¯t budge. The handle squeaked, but the door remained locked, secured with chains and a padlock from the inside.


    Defeated, Ardan returned to Milar.


    ¡°Looks like the tables have turned,¡± the captain remarked with evident satisfaction, reminding Ardi of his aversion to elevators.


    The elevator doors opened, and both men sneezed simultaneously at the stench of rot and something reminiscent of urine that wafted out.


    ¡°What a dump,¡± Milar repeated, stepping inside.


    In the cramped cabin, which was devoid of wooden paneling like those in the Grand, but instead rusted and dilapidated, they rattled and jerked their way up ¡ª naturally, they headed to the very top floor.


    Nothing else would¡¯ve made sense.


    Ardi felt a cold sweat break out along his back, and his knees threatened to buckle as the elevator jerked and creaked with every passing floor. The tight confines seemed to press in on him, and each groan of the cables made his breath hitch. To distract himself, he tried to engage his insatiable curiosity.


    ¡°I always thought that the Second Chancery could immediately get a list like that?¡± He asked, his tongue feeling oddly thick in his mouth.


    ¡°The bank¡¯s list?¡± Milar kept his gaze on the flickering lights marking the passing floors. The elevator seemed to be in no hurry. ¡°That¡¯s classified information. Just imagine how many nobles and financial bigwigs store all sorts of trinkets there. Then add all the procedures on top. The guards would¡¯ve been turned away outright, but for us, they¡¯ll eventually provide it. Now, if the urgency level had been higher¡­¡±


    ¡°Urgency level?¡± Ardi leaned on his staff, though it offered little comfort. Breathing was getting harder, and the walls seemed to be closing in.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Milar tapped impatiently on the console with the floor buttons. ¡°In the Empire¡¯s internal affairs ¡ª and probably external ones, too ¡ª everything has an urgency level or priority. Anything below Level Two is handled by the guards. The Second Chancery deals with cases of Level Two, Level One, and Supreme urgency.¡±


    Ardi, who was counting the few remaining lights, tried to imagine the kind of cases that warranted Level One or Supreme urgency and importance.


    ¡°So, does the Second Chancery handle external operations as well?¡± Ardi asked, his curiosity overpowering his mounting unease. ¡°I thought military intelligence took care of that.¡±


    ¡°Military intelligence does indeed do that,¡± Milar nodded. ¡°But they focus on war-related matters. If you need to quietly steal the design for a seal, gather delicate information, or recruit some useful individuals, that¡¯s the Second Chancery¡¯s job. More specifically, the Daggers.¡±


    ¡°Daggers?¡±


    ¡°There are the Cloaks,¡± Milar gestured toward himself, ¡°meaning us ¡ª we operate within the Empire¡¯s borders. Then there are the Daggers. They serve the Second Chancery too, but work abroad, either permanently or occasionally.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of the Daggers.¡±


    ¡°And you weren¡¯t supposed to,¡± the captain smirked. ¡°But here¡¯s a hint: you¡¯ve already met one of them.¡±


    ¡°Cassara,¡± Ardi exhaled.


    ¡°Magister, did you hit your head while falling out of that fifth-floor window?¡± Milar nearly laughed. ¡°Who would send a vampire on a foreign mission? No, it wasn¡¯t Cassara.¡±


    ¡°Katerina?¡±


    ¡°Katerina,¡± Milar confirmed. As the elevator doors opened with a groan, he added with unveiled relief, ¡°Finally! I thought we¡¯d end up stinking of this place by the time we got out.¡±


    The captain stepped into a long corridor, where the doors differed from those in residential buildings. Each was partly made from textured glass, like a carafe of water, and bore various inscriptions in black ink:


    ¡°Notary Darius Milov,¡± ¡°Star Mage Harry D. ¡ª Any Work for Your Money,¡± and, unsurprisingly, there were several with ¡°Lawyer¡­¡± followed by a name.


    At the very end, near a window leading to the fire escape, stood the last door. Its inscription read:


    ¡°Private Detective Agency, Peter Oglanov and Associates.¡±


    Without knocking, Milar grabbed the handle and stepped inside.


    The cramped room held a dirty, fogged-up window behind a wide desk buried under a mound of papers. Stacks of files surrounded a typewriter. Sitting behind the desk was a young woman not much older than Ardi. Her elaborate hairstyle and lightweight dress seemed ill-suited for winter, and was far too revealing to discourage wandering eyes.


    Ardi managed to control himself in time, diverting his gaze to her face instead. She had juicy, red lips, bright blue eyes, and platinum-white hair resting on her shoulders.


    ¡°Second Chancery,¡± Milar flashed his badge again. ¡°Captain Milar Pnev, First-Rank Investigator.¡±


    ¡°Do you have an appointment?¡± The woman chirped, her voice as sweet as a songbird¡¯s.


    Milar blinked in disbelief. Ardi was equally surprised, though more by the room¡¯s walls. From floor to ceiling, they were lined with steel filing cabinets, each drawer labeled with a case number. Judging by the sheer quantity of them, Oglanov had been anything but idle.


    ¡°Second. Chancery,¡± Milar repeated slowly.


    ¡°Are. You. Here. By. Appointment?¡± She parroted back with the same deliberate emphasis, fluttering her lashes innocently.


    ¡°What kind of day is this?¡± Milar muttered through gritted teeth. Swirling the hem of his coat like a raven¡¯s wings, he marched toward the next door and yanked it open.


    ¡°You can¡¯t just-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Ella,¡± said a familiar voice. ¡°Please make three cups of tea for us.¡±


    ¡°Hot cocoa for me, if possible,¡± Ardi added with a polite smile.


    ¡°Certainly,¡± Ella replied, still as chirpy as ever. She opened an inconspicuous cabinet near her desk, retrieving cups, a thermos, and jars of powdered drinks.


    Ardi hurried after Milar into the office.


    The first thing Ardi noticed inside the office was a short, sagging couch that clearly doubled as a bed. Nearby, a standing coat rack held several shirts and jackets. The rest of the room featured a wide desk made of redwood, its lacquer cracked like broken ice atop a winter puddle. Stains from bottles and glasses had permanently etched themselves into its surface. In the corner stood an armory safe that was large enough to house a decent arsenal.


    The window overlooked the street and the adjacent avenue. Beyond the rooftops, the night dominated, punctuated by the myriad lights of the New City, which had replaced the stars that could no longer be seen.


    The room smelled of alcohol, tobacco, dampness, and debts ¡ª debts more than anything else. That explained the lack of proper heating.


    Peter Oglanov sat wrapped in a blanket. He was short, with an unhealthy gut, thinning, gray hair combed to one side, and a mouth missing more than a few teeth. His skin, coarse and uneven, reminded Ardi of lemon peel.


    But even so, his steel-gray eyes burned with a great clarity, and his sly smile hinted at a sharp wit.


    ¡°What an unexpected reunion, Ard,¡± he said in a voice that was pleasant, yet creaked like an old hinge. ¡°Had the chance to take in some jazz yet?¡±


    Milar gave Ardi a puzzled look, glancing back and forth between him and Oglanov. Ardi, for his part, could only gape, opening and closing his mouth like a fish.


    ¡°Metropolis is a small town, despite its millions,¡± Peter continued, spreading his arms out. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, Ard?¡±


    Without asking permission, Milar sat down in a chair, lit a cigarette, and began smoking. He slid a dirty ashtray full of cigar stubs closer to himself.


    ¡°You two know each other?¡± The captain asked, exhaling a puff of smoke.


    ¡°We¡¯ve met,¡± Peter confirmed, gesturing to a chair for Ardi as well. ¡°Right, Mister¡­?¡±


    ¡°Captain Milar Pnev, First-Rank Investigator of the Second Chancery,¡± Milar introduced himself, emphasizing his rank.


    ¡°Well, well,¡± Peter clapped his hands theatrically. ¡°An actual Captain Investigator! To what do I owe this rare visit to my humble abode?¡±


    And despite Milar¡¯s rank, despite the weight the title of a Cloak carried, Peter appeared utterly unimpressed by him, and was even lightly mocking him.


    ¡°Elizabeth Aris is dead,¡± Milar said flatly.


    Peter blinked once. Then again. His expression hardened, and he seemed to age five years in an instant. He reached under the desk, pulled out a bottle of amber liquid, and retrieved three glasses.


    He poured a measure into each glass, then immediately downed his own.


    ¡°I¡¯m on duty,¡± Milar pushed his glass aside.


    Peter drained it as well.


    Ardi eyed his glass, the aroma of whiskey rising from the amber liquid.


    ¡°I don¡¯t drink,¡± he said.


    ¡°Ah, yes,¡± Peter murmured, pouring Ardi¡¯s glass into his own. ¡°Lisa mentioned that about her lanky new acquaintance.¡±


    They fell silent for a moment.


    ¡°What do you want to know, Captain?¡± Peter asked finally, his voice heavy, but quivering slightly. His hands, as he returned the bottle to its makeshift bar under the desk, trembled just enough to show his unease.


    ¡°Baliero,¡± Milar said curtly.


    ¡°What specifically?¡±


    ¡°Everything.¡±


    Peter leaned back in his creaky chair, turning his gaze to the window. The city lights flickered against the glass, but his expression remained distant, as though he were looking at something far beyond the glowing skyline.


    ¡°About four months ago, I got a rather unpleasant case,¡± Peter began. ¡°A boy, eleven years old, had gone missing.¡±


    ¡°Why not go to the guards?¡±


    ¡°Because,¡± Peter sighed, ¡°the guards have more important matters to deal with than chasing down a missing boy from a family of northern migrants. Those folks can have up to eight kids in their lot, sometimes even more. The guards opened a case, sure, but two weeks of searching turned up nothing.¡±


    ¡°And how does that connect to-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t interrupt me, Captain,¡± Peter said sharply, though without malice. He lit a cigar and took a long drag before continuing, coughing slightly. ¡°I took the job. Exes don¡¯t exactly grow on trees, especially when I¡¯m nearly ten exes behind on rent. At first, I thought it was the usual story. Either the kid got killed in a fight, fell somewhere he shouldn¡¯t have, or was snatched up for some illegal operation. You know how it goes in the rougher neighborhoods.¡±


    Milar opened his notebook and began jotting things down.


    ¡°Where exactly did the boy go missing?¡±


    ¡°The far outskirts of the Factory District. At the intersection of Psov Street and, I think, Lomye Avenue, though I might be mistaken. My memory¡¯s not what it used to be,¡± Peter tapped his temple. ¡°Ella can give you the file on your way out. Everything¡¯s in there.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± Milar¡¯s pencil didn¡¯t pause. ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°I went to his school,¡± Peter said, exhaling smoke that curled like a serpent. ¡°The boy was the heart of his class. He got into scuffles sometimes, but mostly didn¡¯t. He chased after girls, worked odd jobs to bring some money home, looked after his younger siblings, helped his parents ¡ª just a regular kid.¡±


    ¡°A boy like that wouldn¡¯t just run away or vanish in a fight.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ And if he had vanished, there¡¯d be witnesses.¡±


    ¡°And there were no witnesses, I presume?¡±


    Peter spread his hands in confirmation. Ardan remained silent, his attention fully on the unfolding story.


    ¡°In the end, I interviewed everyone I could,¡± Peter continued. ¡°Even pulled a few strings with my old contacts among the Dandy¡¯s people. No one had seen or heard anything. The boy might as well have disappeared into thin air.¡±


    ¡°Tragic, certainly,¡± Milar said honestly. ¡°But how does this connect to Lisa and Baliero?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not listening closely enough, Captain,¡± Peter said, his tone now carrying an edge of ridicule. ¡°Or maybe you¡¯re just slow on the uptake. A First-Rank Investigator¡­ The Second Chancery must be in dire straits after the reforms¡­¡±


    ¡°Stay on track, Oglanov.¡±


    ¡°I am, lad,¡± Peter¡¯s grin was sharp as he rubbed his cheek in a manner that could easily have been mistaken for a rude gesture.


    Milar smirked but kept silent.


    ¡°When there are no leads,¡± Peter¡¯s tone signaled that he was now teaching them something, ¡°that in itself becomes the most important lead, Captain. Someone worked so cleanly that no one had the faintest idea what had happened, how, or when. This wasn¡¯t an accident. Not the work of some lunatic or psychopath. It was surgical. Precise.¡±


    ¡°A professional.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Peter snapped his fingers. ¡°And if a professional was involved, then¡­¡±


    ¡°Then it wasn¡¯t an isolated incident,¡± Milar murmured, rubbing his cheek thoughtfully.


    ¡°See? Maybe your salary that you get from my taxes isn¡¯t entirely wasted.¡±


    Milar scanned the dingy room and grinned.


    ¡°Your taxes? It seems to me like those could barely pay for a bit of salt.¡±


    Peter didn¡¯t react and continued: ¡°I tugged on some threads. A word here, a rumor there. This old inspector still has a few acquaintances,¡± Peter tried to flick the ash from his cigar into the ashtray but missed, landing it on the table instead. He didn¡¯t seem to be in the best of shape. ¡°Over the past year, similar incidents have occurred in every district of the city. And not just once.¡±


    ¡°Always boys?¡±


    ¡°And girls too, but!¡± Peter raised a finger. ¡°I wasn¡¯t interested in all the children. Just the boys who were eleven years old. And you know what? I found about ten such cases. All, like mine, had no leads. Utter dead ends.¡±


    ¡°And what makes you think that they¡¯re connected events and not simple coincidences? Every year in the Metropolis, over five thousand people disappear without a trace. At least a couple hundred of them are children. Surely the subset of eleven-year-old boys isn¡¯t that narrow.¡±


    ¡°I have nothing concrete, Captain,¡± Peter shrugged. ¡°Just my intuition. The instinct of an old hound. And the fact that not a single disappearance like that has happened in Baliero. You get it? Not one. So, I asked Lisa to keep a close eye on everything happening in the streets of the city if it involved Baliero. And then she came to me and said that the Orcish Jackets and the Dandy shared an interest on Fifth Street. I gave her the green light to get involved.¡±


    ¡°What do you know about the artifact the Jackets handed to the intermediary? And about the intermediary themselves?¡±


    Peter¡¯s fingers trembled as he dragged his cigar across his lips. It seemed like the news of Lisa¡¯s death had hit him hard.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you ask the orcs?¡±


    ¡°Because-¡±


    ¡°Because they were in the dark too,¡± Peter interrupted, his tone thoughtful. ¡°Interesting¡­ If both the Jackets and the Dandy are dancing to someone¡¯s tune¡­ That¡¯s something. And as for your intermediary¡­ I don¡¯t know anything. The streets are silent. No one saw him before he visited the orcs and the Dandy.¡±


    ¡°And they just let him in and believed him, simple as that?¡±


    ¡°Get back to reality, Cloak,¡± Peter whistled sarcastically, his contempt clear. ¡°Even the most skeptical of minds will perk up at the jingle of exes. Especially when the job seems relatively clean. Greed, Captain. Greed¡­¡±


    ¡°Alright¡­ What about the artifact? Any information?¡±


    Peter leaned over, pulled a small sheet of paper from a drawer, and extended it across the desk. It depicted the exact statuette that Ardi and Lisa had retrieved from the mansion, rendered in exquisite detail.


    ¡°Here,¡± Peter pushed the sheet toward them. ¡°Lisa wasn¡¯t just good at stealing cars¡­ She was good at drawing, too. I always told her to drop all this shady business and¡­¡±


    He trailed off, giving a dismissive wave. Milar picked up the sketch, added a few more notes to his notebook, and then noisily pushed back his chair as he stood.


    ¡°Don¡¯t leave the city,¡± Milar said sternly.


    ¡°Do you think I need you to tell me that, Captain?¡± Peter retorted with a faint sneer.


    For a moment, Milar stared at the older man. Then, without another word, he turned and headed for the door. Ardi rose to follow him.


    Just as they reached the door, Peter called out after them.


    ¡°Cloak.¡±


    Milar paused and looked back.


    ¡°Was it quick?¡± Peter asked, his voice trembling.


    Milar hesitated. ¡°She didn¡¯t suffer. Lisa died peacefully in her sleep. She didn¡¯t even know what happened.¡±


    The pause stretched as Peter considered the words. ¡°Liar,¡± he said simply.


    Milar didn¡¯t reply. He walked out, letting the door close behind him.


    At the reception desk, Ella offered Milar a steaming cup of tea and a smaller cup of hot chocolate to Ardi.


    ¡°The missing boy¡¯s file, please,¡± Milar said.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Ella replied cheerfully. She rifled through the filing cabinets, extracted a thin folder, and handed it over.


    ¡°Have a good evening,¡± Milar said as he stepped into the corridor.


    ¡°But what about the tea? And the cocoa?¡± Ella called after them, her voice tinged with dismay.


    Neither of them responded.


    They rode the elevator back down and stepped out into the cold night. Snow continued to fall, and the wind cut sharply against their faces. Streetlamps flickered to life, their light chasing away the deepening shadows. People hurried home, unaware of the demons, disappearances, or Lisa¡¯s death ¡ª all tied together in ways only the Cloaks might one day uncover.


    Ardi couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something about all of this was deeply wrong. Alien, even. And it wasn¡¯t because he was a half-blood among the Firstborn. It was something else entirely.


    For the first time, he began to understand the drunken words Katerina had spoken in the train that fateful night, just before the bandits had attacked.


    ¡°Get in,¡± Milar said, opening the car door. ¡°I¡¯ll drop you off at ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± and head home. I really need to hug my kids.¡±


    ¡°And the Dandy?¡±


    ¡°Get in the car, Magister,¡± Milar snapped.


    Ardi slid in, carefully setting his staff aside.


    They drove in silence for a while. Milar focused on the road, and Ardi gazed at the city lights. Thousands of bright points illuminated the dark backdrop of the capital, creating the illusion of warmth and life. But it was just that ¡ª an illusion. The Ley-lights burned cold, their lifeless glow devoid of any true warmth or meaning.


    And yet, there was something hauntingly beautiful about them. The shadows danced between the lights, weaving their own stories amid the towering stone, steel, and glass structures. Somewhere within this dazzling facade lay hidden truths, dark and buried.


    ¡°I¡¯ll request that the guards provide their intel,¡± Milar broke the silence. ¡°You wait for my next summons. And listen carefully to Edward. Something tells me his efforts might prove useful.¡±


    ¡°Can you get me access to the demonology section in the Grand¡¯s Library?¡± Ardi asked abruptly.


    The request was so unexpected that Milar almost swerved into oncoming traffic. A passing car blared its horn, and its driver shouted a string of colorful curses at them.


    Milar grumbled but kept driving. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll arrange it. You¡¯ll get the clearance by the end of the week. But know this: the House will review your choices afterwards.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± Ardi said quietly.


    ***


    Ardi stepped out of the car, closing the door behind him as Milar drove off. The captain¡¯s vehicle disappeared into the snow-covered streets of the New City, leaving Ardan alone by the Markov Canal.


    He leaned on the parapet, setting his staff down beside him, and stared at his reflection in the thin layer of ice coating the dark water below. Cars crawled past, pedestrians shuffled through the snow, and yet Ardi stood there, motionless, his gaze fixed on the inky river. Minutes passed. Maybe an hour.


    Why did he want access to books on demonology?


    If he didn¡¯t intend to study the seals from the Staff of Demons hidden beneath his floorboards, maybe he wanted to¡­


    ¡°Speaker.¡±


    Ardi spun around.


    All he managed to see was a figure clad in a winter coat, the hood pulled low over their face.


    And then¡­


    BAM!


    The revolver pressed to his chest fired.


    Ardi gasped, choking as he collapsed to the ground. He stared blankly at the crimson blood spreading across the snow, trickling down the granite, and disappearing into the black depths of the river.


    The figure tossed the revolver over the parapet, climbed into a waiting car, and vanished into the traffic.


    Around him, people began to shout, their voices muffled and distant.


    Ardi couldn¡¯t hear them.


    All he could do was struggle to remember how to breathe.


    The most important thing was to keep breathing.

 Chapter 60 - Dark Names

    Ardi breathed in the fragrance of grass just barely waking from its slumber. The blades of grass swayed, yawning toward the slow-moving, fluffy clouds that meandered lazily across the swiftly-brightening, blue expanse of a sky that suddenly seemed so much higher than before. The little hunter raised a hand over his head, shading his face from the piercing rays of the Eye of the Spirit of the Day.


    A hand...


    The little hunter still wasn¡¯t accustomed to this strange, faintly familiar word.


    ¡°What do you hear, Ardi?¡± A low, growling voice broke the silence.


    But the little hunter wasn¡¯t frightened in the least. On the contrary, he merely squeezed his eyes shut, smiling, and almost purred like a forest cat. Nestling against the slightly coarse and yet pleasantly warm fur, he burrowed his hands and body into the she-wolf¡¯s pelt.


    She was massive ¡ª larger than even Guta ¡ª and so the she-wolf carried him easily through the towering pines and firs that swayed in rhythm with the lively, carefree wind that brought with it tales from distant lands.


    Ardi told her of the steppes, where blossoms unfurled and the tremulous wings of bees quivered in haste to reach their precious buds. Laughing, the wind brought with it the babbling songs of streams, which, overcome with their own joy, shattered the thinning ice. The crackling of breaking frost echoed over the forest, shaking off the final moments of winter¡¯s languor.


    Beasts and birds, rodents and adders, beetles and gnats ¡ª all of them swarmed, chittered, buzzed, and darted about in an endless chorus.


    Even the earth beneath their feet, heavy and silent, sighed in contentment, welcoming yet another turn of the eternal dance of the seasons, a cycle unbroken in the dream of the Sleeping Spirits.


    Ardi Spoke the words he had heard in the sounds of budding spring, those tiny shards he¡¯d caught from the whispers of the faint melody awakening in the Alcade.


    ¡°Good,¡± rumbled Atta¡¯nha. ¡°Never forget, my dear friend, to Listen to everything around you. Never separate one thing from another.¡±


    ¡°Of course, fluffy wolf!¡± The little hunter laughed.


    Flipping himself over, he threw his arms around Atta¡¯nha¡¯s mighty neck and, as Guta had taught him, yanked with all his weight. Of course, if the she-wolf hadn¡¯t allowed it, his efforts would have achieved nothing.


    They tumbled together down the hillside. Ardi laughed, pushing off mounds of dirt and trees, and leaping over bushes that seemed eager to snag him with their prickles.


    Nearby, Atta¡¯nha¡¯s teeth clicked. Rolling in a funny ball, she snapped her jaws close to his sides and shoulders. Occasionally, when she caught him, her bites left shallow scratches on his flesh, making Ardi shriek with joy, and he cheered every time he managed to evade her fangs.


    For Atta¡¯nha, the greater challenge seemed to be not harming her little friend during their game, rather than catching him. But the little hunter didn¡¯t notice this in the least.


    Finally, kicking up clouds of dust, they landed in a hollow. The she-wolf got there first, with Ardi flopping onto her soft belly. Atta¡¯nha pinned him down with her paws, which swiftly began to shift into hands.


    White fur grayed and receded into flesh that rippled faintly like the sky after a wild, white fire had passed.


    And now Atta¡¯nha embraced him in her second form. Beside her lay a staff carved from enchanted wood that had come from the gardens of the City on the Hill, a diadem rested on her brow, and a medallion shimmered faintly on her chest.


    Ardi snuggled against her shoulder, as if trying to wrap himself tighter in her warm embrace.


    The wolf-woman pulled him closer, resting her head atop his own. For some reason, the gesture felt familiar to Ardi. As though someone, somewhere, had done this to him before. It hurt, just a little.


    ¡°Atta¡¯nha?¡±


    ¡°What is it, my little friend?¡± The wolf-woman whispered.


    ¡°Why can¡¯t you just tell me the names you ask me to hear?¡±


    ¡°Because it cannot be done,¡± she replied thoughtfully.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because if I tried to make you hear what I can hear, you would die, my little friend.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because your mind is too fragile to withstand it.¡±


    ¡°How do I make it stronger?¡±


    ¡°Listen to the world around you. That will be enough.¡±


    Ardi always felt fortunate that, out of all his forest friends, at least Atta¡¯nha could endure his endless stream of questions. Skusty would start joking at some point, Guta would climb a tree, Shali would hide in the grass, and Ergar¡­


    The little hunter rubbed his ribs. Asking his Teacher questions was interesting, but it could also be quite painful. As for Lenos and Kaishas, he saw them far less often and never had enough time to properly chat with them.


    ¡°But it takes so long!¡± The little hunter grumbled.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the wolf-woman nodded slightly, her chin fur tickling his forehead. ¡°Many cycles will pass before you hear what will become part of your Name.¡±


    ¡°Part of my Name?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡± Atta¡¯nha brushed her cheek against his, making him laugh at the tickling sensation. ¡°The names you hear will become part of your own. Part of you.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s so long¡­¡± Ardi pouted. ¡°And Listening is hard¡­ Can¡¯t it be done faster?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she replied a bit more sternly.


    Ardi fell silent. Nearly ten visits from the Spirit of the Night ago, the little hunter had stumbled upon an old scroll in Atta¡¯nha¡¯s lair, hidden in a far corner inside a small box. How had he found it? Oh, that story could have been one of the greatest legends of the Alcade if not for the fact that Ardi had simply run out of paper and, while looking for more, had knocked over the entire collection of books and scrolls onto himself.


    So, in truth, there was nothing legendary about it, but Ardi liked to think otherwise.


    The scroll hadn¡¯t been written on paper, but on a strange hide that reminded him of his own skin, but somehow dry and peculiar. And it had been written in blood.


    From it, the little hunter had learned about other names. Dark Names. These were easier to discern than the names of the world around them. The world would hide itself from the Speaker, using the veil of what the eyes see, the ears hear, and the body feels. Both the world and the Speaker had to overcome much to connect their hearts, for it was the heart of the Speaker that truly Listened.


    But Dark Names¡­ These names were entirely different. They had resided in the heart since birth: rage, envy, greed. And many others. If one didn¡¯t listen to them, nothing terrible would happen.


    ¡°Ardan!¡±


    The wolf-woman¡¯s sudden, stern cry jolted the little hunter out of his thoughts.


    Her powerful hand-paws seized his shoulders, lifted him to his feet, and spun him around in mid-air, planting him firmly on the ground. Atta¡¯nha turned him toward her, and in her once-soft and caring eyes burned something Ardi had never seen before ¡ª not even in Ergar¡¯s gaze when he had battled other hunters for the trails.


    ¡°Did you read it?¡± The wolf-woman¡¯s growl silenced the sounds of the forest. ¡°Did you read that scroll, Ardan?!¡±


    Animals stilled, birds folded their wings, and even insects hid among the branches and grass.


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°Answer me!¡± The winds swirled around Ardi, their claws reaching for him, the grass, turning to sharp fangs, brushed his legs menacingly, and the tall trees bent, bristling their branches like hunters¡¯ tails.


    ¡°I did,¡± the little hunter whispered quietly.


    For a moment, he thought that Atta¡¯nha would transform into a massive, snow-white wolf and tear him apart. Icy mist escaped her maw but dissipated before touching him, settling down as droplets of morning dew instead.


    The she-wolf calmed down and unexpectedly held him close, clutching him tightly ¡ª not out of fear for herself, but for her friend. It was as if she feared something terrible, something irreversible, would happen if she let go.


    Once more, Ardi felt as though someone had held him like this long ago.


    ¡°Never, do you hear me, my dear friend? Never recall what is written on that scroll,¡± she whispered in his ear.


    ¡°Why?¡± The little hunter couldn¡¯t resist his favorite question.


    Atta¡¯nha pulled back slightly and, effortlessly turning him around in the air, set him down with his back against her chest.


    ¡°Long ago, when the Matabar packs were countless, Ardi, I would come for those who could Speak to lead them to the Queens.¡±


    ¡°To the Queens of the Fae?¡±


    Atta¡¯nha nodded gently, treating the little hunter as though he might shatter at her touch.


    ¡°And there, on the Day of Darkness in winter, or the Day of Light in summer, among the Aean¡¯Hane, the Speaker would slowly forget their trails,¡± the wolf-woman continued. ¡°And become one of us. One of the Fae.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re not a Fae, are you?¡± The little hunter was surprised. ¡°I thought you were a wolf.¡±


    ¡°I can be whatever I wish to be,¡± she stroked his hair with her paw, ¡°as can you, my dear friend. But whatever I choose to be, it does not change the fact that I was born from the winds of cold winters and moonless nights. Born as the daughter of our Winter Queen. My song began in the magnificent City on the Hill and, one day, it will end there, too.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t understand,¡± Ardi sighed, defeated.


    At last, Atta¡¯nha smiled, though it was faint and tinged with sadness. But even that was enough to make the little hunter happy. The important thing was that she seemed to feel lighter. Otherwise, why would her eyes have glistened and her heart creaked like the awakening streams? Her heart was big and warm ¡ª not wintery at all. Ardi knew that much for sure!


    ¡°Don¡¯t recall what¡¯s written on the scroll, my dear friend, or you¡¯ll walk different paths. Paths taken by the Homeless who wander too long in the darkness,¡± she whispered while stroking his hair. His thoughts quieted, and his mind began sinking into the abyss of the Sleeping Spirits. ¡°I won¡¯t lock away what you¡¯ve read, as Ergar has already sealed what¡¯s hidden from you now. I won¡¯t take away your free will, my little friend. Just¡­ don¡¯t listen to them. The Dark Names. Don¡¯t listen to them, so you can never turn into a shadow. The world wouldn¡¯t survive if you were to wear the darkness, my dear friend. Not you¡­¡±


    ***


    Ardi struggled to open his eyes. It was as if he were lifting entire glaciers rather than just his eyelids. He was lying on a table in a closed room within ¡°Bruce¡¯s.¡± The very same table where, last year, Tess had stitched up Lisa.


    And now¡­


    With a faint cough, Ardan turned his head to the side. Among crumpled, blood-stained bandages, smelling sharply of alcohol, lay Tess, still clutching surgical scissors in her hands. Her fiery red hair had fanned out across the scattered gauze, and she breathed softly in her sleep.


    Ardi, trying not to wake her, rasped as he raised a hand to touch his chest. His fingers encountered the tight binding of bandages wound securely over his ribs. Above them hung pendants: a totem shaped like an oak tree, which was now marked by a semicircular dent and several cracks along its trunk. Next to it dangled Ergar¡¯s fang, also cracked and partially broken.


    ¡°If someone had told me that trinkets could stop a bullet,¡± came a familiar voice from the corner, ¡°I¡¯d have thought they were spinning me¡­ telling me, I mean, a tall tale.¡±


    Arkar, nursing a nearly-empty bottle of not-so-cheap whiskey, smirked crookedly, his shirt stained with blood.


    ¡°My head¡­ it¡¯s pounding,¡± Ardi rasped.


    ¡°No anesthetics on hand, so we had to make do with this,¡± the half-orc gestured with the bottle. ¡°Hope you don¡¯t mind.¡±


    Ardan leaned back onto the rolled-up pants serving as his makeshift pillow. Breathing was a struggle, and every inhale sent a sharp pain through not just his bones and muscles, but somewhere deeper inside him as well.


    ¡°Ard?¡± Tess stirred, blinking as she focused on him.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he croaked again.


    She smiled faintly, just the corners of her lips lifting. Then, without warning, she swung her arm and stabbed the scissors into the table mere centimeters from his ear.


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t ruin the furniture!¡± Arkar shouted.


    ¡°Next time, you can stitch yourself up!¡± Tess snapped, her green eyes blazing like fire. She leaped to her feet, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind her with enough force to make the walls shake.


    Ardi watched her go, his expression a mixture of confusion and resignation.


    ¡°Women,¡± Arkar shrugged, bottle in one hand. ¡°But you, Matabar, better make sure there isn¡¯t a next time. Your hole¡­ I mean, your ass, won¡¯t survive it.¡±


    ¡°The first time wasn¡¯t planned either, orc,¡± Ardan shot back, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.


    They fell silent. Outside the door, the typical nighttime noise of the city filtered in: voices, laughter, clinking glasses. People were eating, talking, drinking, and celebrating. The normalcy of it all felt strange ¡ª knowing what lay behind the glittering surface of the Metropolis and its proud citizens, and also seeing how oblivious they were to the fragility of their ¡°tomorrow.¡± It was as delicate as the porcelain plates they heaped their meals on.


    ¡°How long have I been out?¡±


    ¡°Not long,¡± Arkar informed him. He glanced at his wristwatch. ¡°It¡¯s half past ten now.¡±


    They¡¯d left Peter¡¯s place around six, so about four and a half hours had passed. The inherent flaw of Star Healing was its demand for proportional energy ¡ª the longer the delay after an injury, the greater the power required for a full recovery. Not to mention the fact that the severity of the damage itself mattered. For a full restoration, Ardi would have needed a Five-Star healer at least, and around sixty rays of energy.


    Yes, his day had been turbulent, to say the least.


    First, he¡¯d had an encounter with a Homeless One. Then there was the visit to Oglanov, who¡¯d turned out to be an old acquaintance and who¡¯d informed them about the missing children. And finally¡­


    ¡°Speaker...¡±


    In his mind, Ardi heard the marksman¡¯s voice. They had spoken the Fae language, though they¡¯d done so in a manner akin to how Ardan might speak Selkado: mimicked from hearing it somewhere, but with an accent so thick it was barely intelligible.


    No, the shooter ¡ª or shooteress, which was probably not a word ¡ª had not been Fae. Nor were they Factionless or a demon. This had been a human. Or perhaps a Firstborn.


    ¡°The shooter-¡±


    ¡°When the shot rang out,¡± Arkar interrupted him, ¡°me and the lads craped out¡­ dashed out, I mean, onto the street. You were bleeding, gasping, and the bastard was already in their automobile. By the time the boys reached their wheels¡­ cars, I mean, they¡¯d already gotten away.¡±


    So, no capture, then. If they¡¯d caught the shooter, this whole incident could have been dismissed as a run-of-the-mill cowboy story, the kind told over drinks in some saloon.


    ¡°Breathing¡­ hurts,¡± Ardi rasped.


    ¡°Not surprising, Matabar,¡± Arkar set the bottle aside, approached the table, and helped Ardan down to the floor.


    Every movement sent sharp stabs of pain through his chest, as if a bear had clawed at it. Ardi knew this sensation well from his childhood ¡ª it was like lying under a heavy stone, unable to draw breath no matter how hard he tried. And when he finally did manage it, the air burned through his lungs like molten sand, coarse and searing.


    ¡°The lead¡­ the bullet, I mean, shattered on impact,¡± Arkar explained, settling Ardan ¡ª sweaty and wearing only his underclothes and socks ¡ª onto a small couch. ¡°Tess spent all this time pulling the fragments out of you. But the impact also messed up your chest pretty bad. You¡¯re in rough shape, but at least your lung didn¡¯t collapse. Otherwise, you¡¯d already be walking the hunting trails with your ancestors.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ reassuring,¡± Ardi closed his eyes, trying to relax.


    ¡°Here¡¯s the thing, hunter,¡± Arkar leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ¡°Everyone knows this is our territory. Everyone knows you live under our roof. So whoever this was, Matabar, they-¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t gangsters,¡± Ardi interrupted. ¡°Or anyone tied to the underworld, for that matter.¡±


    Judging by the sounds he heard after saying that, Arkar had turned sharply toward him.


    ¡°What makes you say that?¡± The half-orc demanded. ¡°No, this was an amateur move. They didn¡¯t even aim for the noggin¡­ head, I mean. Sure, they ditched the iron, but that doesn¡¯t mean squat.¡±


    Ardi tried to smile, but winced instead from the pain in his chest.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a hunch¡­ I¡¯ll need to visit Boris and the library to confirm it.¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Ard, I¡¯m not the best adviser,¡± Arkar said, rising to his feet and heading for the door. ¡°But you might want to think twice before sticking your neck out again for whatever it is you¡¯re tangled up in with the Cloaks.¡±


    Ardi opened his eyes with immense effort. Arkar grabbed the bottle, gave it a shake, and drained the last of it.


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°Sleep here,¡± Arkar cut him off. ¡°I¡¯ll leave some of the boys at the door ¡ª no one will bother you till morning, hunter. Consider it compensation for getting hurt on our turf.¡±


    The overseer of the Orcish Jackets left with the empty bottle, heading back to the main room. Ardi closed his eyes once more. Grinding his teeth, wheezing, and growling under his breath, he managed to situate himself on the couch. He pulled his clothes off the table, rolled them into a makeshift pillow, and placed them under his head.


    By morning, the pain would ease, but it would take at least a week for his Matabar blood to heal his fractures and mend his wounds. And if Ardi¡¯s suspicions were correct, he might not even have that much time.


    Tomorrow would mark the twenty-first day of the New Month. The day of the Winter Solstice. The longest night of the year. A time when the Spirit of the Night reigns, and in its steps of darkness, paths are erased.


    Or so the Firstborn believed.


    The Star Mages knew otherwise. The fact of the matter was that during this time, Ley Line radiation, which was tied to the seasons, surged significantly, amplifying its influence.


    What did all these recent events have to do with the rapidly-approaching 21st?


    Ardi had his suspicions. But to know for sure, he still needed to talk to Boris and read¡­ a book on history. The history of demonology, to be precise. But it was amusing, in a way, that in his hour of need, what he required wasn¡¯t some obscure arcane treatise, but a straightforward ¡ª though not publicly accessible ¡ª archival record.


    As he pondered this, he tried not to move unnecessarily. Soon enough, Ardi closed his eyes and fell into an almost immediate sleep.


    ***


    Waking up in the morning proved scarcely easier than recovering from the injury itself. While his chest no longer burned and breathing came more easily, every awkward movement ¡ª every twist of his torso or too-deep inhale ¡ª sent waves of aching pain surging through his body.


    Groaning like an old man, Ardi pulled on his pants, socks, shoes, and¡­ that was it. The rest of his clothes hadn¡¯t survived. And that stung the most. His body would heal, his bones would knit, and the massive bruise spreading across his neck and shoulder would fade. But the clothes ¡ª those were gone forever.


    Exiting the room into the main area, Ardi squinted briefly, not from any random bright light, but because Arkar was shining a flashlight directly in his face.


    The half-orc, dressed in his usual attire ¡ª a shirt and jacket sans vest ¡ª was rummaging around under the bar. When Ardan had opened the door, Arkar had flinched at the noise and pointed the beam straight at him.


    ¡°And good morning to you, too,¡± Ardi muttered.


    Without waiting for permission, he approached the wooden levers, grabbed a glass, and pulled one of them down, letting a stream of cool water fill the cup.


    Even swallowing caused him as much pain as breathing.


    ¡°You¡¯ll owe me for that-¡±


    ¡°By law, drinking water must be provided for free in public establishments,¡± Ardi preempted the orc.


    ¡°For free? Last night you slept for free on the flat ones¡­ the couches, I mean,¡± Arkar shot back.


    Instead of replying, Ardi set the glass down on the counter and shuffled toward the stairs, his steps slow and deliberate.


    ¡°Hey, Matabar,¡± Arkar called out while still rummaging under the counter. ¡°You know anything about Ley cables?¡±


    ¡°Only that they transmit Ley energy with variable intensity.¡±


    ¡°Uh, what?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know either,¡± Ardi admitted, shrugging slightly and instantly regretting the motion. The pain in his chest flared up like an ember. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Bloody Winter Solstice! Demons take it!¡± Arkar growled, fumbling with the cables and tools under the bar. ¡°The wiring¡¯s either fried, or the accumulator crystals have cracked¡­ The stove in the kitchen¡¯s out, and the transformer in the basement¡¯s busted. Look!¡± A clawed hand appeared above the counter, pointing toward the light fixtures. ¡°We¡¯ve had no power since the middle of the night. And Tess has a concert tonight. The place will be packed¡­¡±


    Lately, Tess¡¯ performances at ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± had drawn increasingly large crowds. At her last show, the main bar area ¡ª designed to accommodate a maximum of seventy patrons ¡ª had held upwards of one hundred and twenty. And that didn¡¯t count those who¡¯d braved the cold to gather outside the doors.


    ¡°Can you help?¡± The half-orc¡¯s tone turned almost pleading.


    ¡°I have other matters to attend to,¡± Ardi rasped. ¡°Send for an engineer.¡±


    ¡°Really, Matabar? Send for an engineer? How could I have not thought of that with my ¡®bright¡¯ mind¡­¡± Arkar grumbled, fiddling with cables, flashlight, and pliers in hand. ¡°And what kind of business do you have with a hole in your chest¡­ wound, I mean?¡±


    ¡°Just a minor errand,¡± Ardi replied dismissively, his words whistling through clenched teeth. Speaking meant breathing, and breathing still felt like being shot again with every word. ¡°I need to catch a demonologist before midnight.¡±


    ¡°Ha-ha,¡± Arkar deadpanned. ¡°Very funny, Matabar. If you don¡¯t want to help with the stove, just say so. Demonologists¡­¡±


    It took Ardi nearly fifteen minutes to climb the stairs to his apartment. Once there, he regretted that he couldn¡¯t wash properly. He was flushed and drenched with his own sweat.


    Instead of a proper wash, Ardan, out of habit, cracked the window open and scooped up a handful of snow to rub over his body, taking care to avoid the bandages. He then dried himself with a rough, patched towel.


    Breaking through the ice in the basin with his knife, he rinsed his face, brushed his teeth, and shaved. For a fleeting moment, he was tempted to collapse onto his bed and pretend none of this concerned him.


    ¡°You can¡¯t just leave things as they are,¡± he said to his reflection in the mirror. ¡°And don¡¯t talk about how much you hate adventures. I already know that.¡±


    His reflection remained silent, as it always did. Maybe that¡¯s why Ardi sometimes liked talking to it.


    Buttoning up a knitted vest, throwing on his last remaining woolen jacket, and wrapping a scarf around his neck, Ardan, gritting his teeth and groaning softly, pushed his arms into the sleeves of his autumn coat. It wasn¡¯t suitable for the season, but unfortunately, it was all he had left.


    If the frost struck again, he¡¯d have to spend money on new clothes¡­


    Grabbing his staff, he slung his grimoire on its chain over his shoulder (it had most likely been brought here by Arkar, who had spare keys to all the apartments). Ardi slid his knife into its sheath, tucked a few rounds of ammunition into his right pocket, and a second accumulator into the left. On his finger, he wore the ring.


    There likely wouldn¡¯t be time to visit the Black House if his suspicions proved correct.


    But Ergar had always taught his pupil that a snow leopard could rely only on itself while out on the hunt, unlike other predators that thrived in packs.


    ¡°And he also taught me never to hunt prey stronger than myself,¡± Ardi reminded himself, but he still stepped out the door.


    Through the small, murky window, the dim gray of dawn gradually gave way to morning light. Winter nights in the Metropolis truly lingered longer than summer days. And now, despite the clock nearing ten, the sun in the southeast was only just beginning its lazy, unhurried ascent through the factory haze and smudged clouds.


    Today, the capital would see the shortest day and the longest night. Five hours and fifty-two minutes of light, and eighteen hours and eight minutes of darkness.


    Why ¡°darkness¡± instead of night, considering how the New City and Baliero served as colossal lamps? Because the problem afflicting Arkar¡¯s bar was unlikely to be isolated. By nighttime, Ley cables and transformers would begin to fail not just across the Metropolis, but across the entire continent.


    Ardi checked his watch and set the small secondary dial for a countdown. Fourteen hours remained.


    What would happen when time ran out? Ardan didn¡¯t know.


    But he sure didn¡¯t like what the Homeless Fae had called it: a ¡°harvest.¡±


    ¡°Ard?¡±


    The young man looked up and saw Tess. Still wrapped in the same fur coat from before and wearing her well-repaired and carefully polished boots, she looked at him with a mix of surprise and concern.


    ¡°Why are you¡­?¡±


    ¡°Madam Okladov let me leave early so I could rehearse,¡± she explained, holding a simple bag in her mitten-covered hands. Her ears and hair were hidden beneath a slightly worn but warm fur hat.


    Ardi was certain that many of Tess¡¯ admirers ¡ª not just fans of her talent but also of her beauty ¡ª had offered her everything from gifts to help of various kinds. Even so, Tess rarely agreed to dates and never accepted assistance. In this, she reminded him of a swift, darting swallow: no matter how far she flew, she always returned to her nest.


    ¡°May I pass?¡± She asked, as had become their little tradition.


    ¡°Oh, yes, sorry,¡± he replied, equally in line with their established custom.


    He stepped aside as she ascended the stairs. Pausing beside him, she looked into his eyes.


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡±


    ¡°Like I wrestled a bear,¡± Ardi admitted honestly, remembering how, as a child, he¡¯d once had a run-in with a young bear on a hunting trail. The aftermath had left him bedridden in the cave for nearly two weeks, forcing him to endure Ergar¡¯s lamenting about having such a weak and useless student.


    Of course, later on, he had taught him a clever trick for overcoming foes larger and stronger than himself.


    Tess first offered a faint smile, then furrowed her brow, seemingly unsure about whether he was joking or not.


    ¡°Ard, I¡¯m not anyone to you ¡ª not a friend, not a sister, and certainly, thank the Eternal Angels, not your mother. But take some unsolicited advice all the same: exes aren¡¯t worth getting involved with the Orcish Jackets.¡±


    She turned and started up the stairs.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t worked with Arkar since that night,¡± Ardi blurted out, unsure of why he felt the need to explain himself. Perhaps because the idea of Tess being disappointed in him was deeply unpleasant.


    The girl froze mid-step and glanced back at him over her shoulder.


    ¡°Then¡­ why did someone shoot you?¡±


    And then it hit him. She didn¡¯t know. Tess had no idea that Lisa was dead. Nor that Ardi had been cooperating with the Second Chancery. Arkar, who clearly knew about the latter at the very least, hadn¡¯t said a word to his prized singer, whose performances brought ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± two weeks¡¯ worth of earnings in a single evening.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to find out,¡± he said, not lying, but not telling the whole truth, either.


    ¡°Maybe it has something to do with Boris?¡± Tess frowned. ¡°Are you heading to see them? To see Boris and Elena? Do you want me to come with you? Just in case. You look like¡­ Well, like you really did wrestle a bear.¡±


    She smiled ¡ª it was a hesitant, restrained smile ¡ª while fiddling with the handles of her bag.


    ¡°What about your rehearsal?¡±


    ¡°To hell with it,¡± Tess shrugged without hesitation. ¡°I¡¯ll rehearse in the evening, before the performance.¡±


    For a few seconds longer than was necessary, Ardi hesitated over how to answer. He genuinely considered saying yes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need to head to the Grand later,¡± he finally said, scratching the back of his head with the tip of his staff out of habit.


    Once again, he hadn¡¯t lied, but neither had he shared the full truth.


    ¡°Oh¡­ all right,¡± Tess murmured, nodding with a hint of hesitation before turning back toward the stairs.


    And then, as though losing control of his own tongue, Ardi called out: ¡°Wait!¡±


    She stopped and looked back at him.


    Sleeping Spirits, why had he stopped her? What was he even going to say?


    ¡°Did you want something?¡± She asked quietly.


    A fair question. If only he had an answer for her.


    ¡°Let¡¯s¡­ Let¡¯s go somewhere together on the fifth day and-¡±


    He was fumbling, trying to think of where he could possibly invite a girl like Tess, someone likely unimpressed by conventional outings, given her many admirers.


    ¡°Sure,¡± she interrupted before he could finish his awkward invitation.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d love to go there, Ard,¡± her eyes gleamed slightly, and her smile widened.


    ¡°But I haven¡¯t even said where we¡¯d go yet.¡±


    ¡°As long as no one will be shooting at us there,¡± she teased.


    ¡°Probably not.¡±


    ¡°Your lack of certainty is a bit unsettling,¡± Tess giggled softly, covering her mouth with her mittened hand. ¡°But I like surprises¡­ My shift ends at seven on fifth day. Will you pick me up from the atelier?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± he agreed.


    ¡°Then see you on fifth day, Ard.¡±


    She ascended the stairs, her boots clicking against the concrete. Ardi felt both foolishly elated ¡ª like the time he¡¯d bested Shali at hide-and-seek ¡ª and more terrified than when he had first encountered a mountain troll.


    ¡°Thoughts for another day¡­¡± Ardi muttered under his breath. ¡°But what did she mean by ¡®pick me up?¡¯¡±


    Had Tess simply assumed he would arrive in an automobile, as most of her suitors likely did? Wait. Hold on. One second. Did he just¡­ ask her out on a date?


    Sleeping Spirits.


    Suddenly, the looming confrontation with Boris¡¯ abductors, the Homeless Fae, and even potential conflicts with demonologists didn¡¯t seem nearly as nerve-racking.


    ***


    The tram screeched along its tracks and came to a halt at the stop near the hospital on Mirinsky Street. The street, of course, was named after a historical figure ¡ª someone who had apparently discovered a special type of mold that could cure infectious diseases. Or something like that.


    The New City greeted Ardi, as always, with its towering buildings. They were not as ornate and pompous as those in Old Town, but still undeniably impressive.


    Carefully descending the icy steps and holding onto the equally-frosty handrail, Ardi silently prayed to the Sleeping Spirits and Eternal Angels to help him avoid slipping and crashing onto the pavement. Such a fall would surely end his day¡¯s journey; his body simply wouldn¡¯t cooperate after such carelessness.


    His chest ached fiercely. He checked his watch.


    Time until midnight: 13 hours, 6 minutes.


    There was no time to gawk at his surroundings: the skyscrapers, high-rise buildings, cars, or pedestrians. Ardi barely registered the imposing five-story hospital building that occupied an entire city block.


    Leaning on his staff, he stepped beneath the massive awning and entered through the revolving doors, which reminded him of a hotel. And indeed, considering the vast lobby, with its leather couches, elegant rugs atop marble floors, a cloakroom, and a long information desk, one might have been skeptical about whether this was a medical facility at all.


    Approaching the receptionist ¡ª a pleasant young woman dressed in white with a black cap and cuffs ¡ª Ardi spoke curtly:


    ¡°I¡¯m headed to the third ward, the post-trauma rehabilitation department.¡±


    ¡°One moment,¡± the nurse said, her fingers running over the spines of several folders. She retrieved one, opened it midway, and asked, ¡°Your name?¡±


    ¡°Ard Egobar.¡±


    She scanned the list of authorized visitors with her finger.


    ¡°All right, I can see that you¡¯re listed. Please sign here,¡± she said, handing him a form. Ardi scrawled his wide, sweeping signature there, just as his mother had taught him. ¡°Shoe covers are by the cloakroom. You¡¯ll also need to put on a coat there.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardi replied.


    Moving cautiously to avoid unnecessary strain, he changed into the required attire, collected a numbered aluminum token stamped with a design, and donned the sturdy, waterproof shoe covers over his boots. Then he pulled a white coat over his jacket and headed for the stairs.


    Today, he would have gladly endured his fear of confined spaces to ride the elevator, but hospital policy restricted elevator use to doctors, critically-ill patients and emergencies.


    Ardan fell into none of these categories.


    And so, gritting his teeth and feeling every step reverberate painfully through his fractured chest, he climbed to the fifth floor (naturally), then made his way to the farthest end of the eastern wing (because of course). Along the way, he caught sight of several doctors, including a pair of elven healers. One wore pink robes (indicating a Fifth-Star healer), and the other had donned black (a Sixth-Star healer) beneath their white coats with crimson collars and cuffs, which meant they were also surgeons.


    Their elongated, delicate faces were almost feminine, their reflections faintly visible in the polished marble floor where it wasn¡¯t covered by plush carpets. The walls, painted in a blindingly-sterile white often favored by the wealthy, displayed photographs and paintings ¡ª all of them neutral landscapes.


    The ceiling, which had been made from redwoods, held crystal Ley-lamps designed to resemble old chandeliers.


    Amid all this grandeur, Ardi felt slightly out of place. He was almost relieved when he finally reached the door to the third ward.


    The room inside was spacious, about four times the size of Ardan¡¯s own small apartment. The floor-to-ceiling windows were draped with velvet curtains. Two lacquered cabinets stood against the walls, alongside a wardrobe large enough for several people¡¯s belongings. A table with four chairs sat to one side, along with a couple of small bedside tables ¡ª one of them covered in flowers. A plush, oversized armchair occupied the corner.


    And, of course, there was the bed, which was far more of a luxurious, solid-frame affair than anything typically seen in a hospital.


    Next to it stood another bedside table crowded with jars and vials. On the opposite side was an intravenous stand, and overhead, intricate systems of straps and supports hung from the ceiling. It resembled a slingshot, except instead of a pouch for stones, it held Boris¡¯ injured legs in place.


    Boris Fahtov himself was swathed in bandages (some of which had yellowed from various salves), had his hands locked in casts, his legs braced with steel pins connected by wires tightened around wingnuts, and his face partially concealed beneath layers of gauze. Only his nostrils, lips, and eyes were visible. He looked more like a mummy from the ancient desert kingdoms of Al¡¯Zafir than a living man.


    Beside him, Elena Promyslov sat on a chair, reading aloud from a popular detective novel about a Second Chancery agent traveling the world, unraveling conspiracies, fighting serial killers, dark mages, and occasionally just finding himself in regular old scrapes.


    ¡°Mmm,¡± Boris murmured.


    He had noticed Ardi enter, though Elena, seated with her back to the door, hadn¡¯t heard him.


    ¡°What is it, dear?¡± She asked, closing the book and rising from her seat. ¡°Do you need a drink?¡±


    She picked up a glass of water from the bedside table, a glass straw clinking gently inside.


    ¡°Good afternoon,¡± Ardan said softly, tapping his staff lightly on the floor.


    Elena flinched and turned around. She looked haggard, her face drawn and shadowed with dark circles under her eyes, which were bloodshot from lack of sleep.


    She hadn¡¯t left the hospital the entire time Boris had been there. She slept in the armchair, ate at the cafeteria, and washed in the sinks. Couriers delivered her clothes. She helped the nurses, changed his bandages, disposed of his bedpans, brought Boris drinks, she even measured out the doses of his painkillers.


    Ardi had often wondered whether Elena had married Boris before or after he had been disinherited by his family. But now he knew without a shadow of a doubt that trivialities such as titles, ranks, or money didn¡¯t matter to either of them.


    They loved each other. They were in love in a way that perhaps only existed in those ten-kso novels Elena would read aloud for Boris.


    ¡°Ah, Ardi,¡± she greeted him with a weary but warm smile. ¡°Is it already the seventh day? How quickly time flies¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the fifth,¡± he corrected. ¡°I¡¯ll come on the seventh, too, and bring the lecture notes I promised you.¡±


    ¡°Ah, right, the fifth¡­¡± She murmured distractedly, sinking back into the chair. ¡°You look tired, Ardi. And that coat¡­ it¡¯s not for this season. Did something happen?¡±


    ¡°I slipped on the embankment,¡± Ardi replied, neither lying nor telling the full truth. He disliked how often he¡¯d been relying on Skusty¡¯s art lately, but what choice did he have? ¡°Tore my clothes right up. This was all I had left to wear.¡±


    ¡°Be more careful,¡± Elena whispered.


    All the while, Ardi kept his gaze locked on Boris¡¯ eyes, which were barely visible behind the bandages. He fully understood. He understood that Ardan wasn¡¯t being entirely truthful. But he said nothing. Even if he could have spoken, he likely wouldn¡¯t have.


    ¡°Thank you for visiting,¡± Elena said, resting her cheek against her wrist, her smile never wavering. ¡°We¡¯re always happy to see you, Ardi. Are you staying long?¡±


    Ardi¡¯s heart ached as she spoke. He had visited only twice during this entire ordeal. Were they friends? Good acquaintances? He still didn¡¯t know how to define their relationship. But one thing was certain ¡ª he should visit them more often.


    ¡°No,¡± Ardi shook his head. ¡°I can¡¯t stay long. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t apologize,¡± Elena waved him off. ¡°You have enough of your own things to deal with. Thank you for visiting at all. For finding the time. Truly, thank you.¡±


    At that moment, Ardan felt like the lowest, most insignificant creature imaginable. Even so, he couldn¡¯t bring himself to stay longer.


    Approaching Boris¡¯ bed, he found he couldn¡¯t look him in the eye. He had intended, as Skusty had taught him, to deliberately use the Witch¡¯s Gaze, but he refrained from that. Perhaps because he truly felt like something lower than a gnat right now?


    Or maybe because, even as he gingerly perched on the edge of the bed, he could feel the rhythm of Boris¡¯ heart. That would be enough to know if the man was lying to him.


    Ardan wanted to believe that he could act nobly out of a desire to be better, but he understood that, most likely, it was all because of the fact that he could feel the other man¡¯s heartbeat.


    ¡°Boris, I have a question for you,¡± Ardi said slowly.


    Elena turned to him, startled. Her voice carried a hint of indignation tinged with disbelief.


    ¡°Ardi, Boris isn¡¯t in a position to-¡±


    ¡°Mmm-mmm,¡± Boris interrupted her with a deliberate hum, his gaze stern as he glanced at Elena before returning to Ardi.


    ¡°Your mother,¡± Ardan began cautiously, avoiding Elena¡¯s wide, incredulous eyes, ¡°was from the northwestern military aristocracy, correct? The same region as Lady Talia, the last demonologist of the Empire. Did you inherit anything from her?¡±


    ¡°Ard!¡± Elena exclaimed, leaping from her seat, though her exhaustion robbed the motion of its usual energy.


    ¡°Mmm,¡± Boris grunted firmly, his eyes narrowing as he slowly blinked once, very deliberately.


    Ardi cursed inwardly. He had hoped ¡ª desperately hoped ¡ª for a different answer. But his suspicions had been confirmed.


    ¡°Elena,¡± Ardan said, turning to her.


    ¡°What?¡± She demanded, her tone sharp. She was almost bristling like an affronted cat.


    ¡°Iolai kept Orvilov close to him because their group¡­ made fun of him, didn¡¯t they? Because Orvilov had only a few rays and wasn¡¯t particularly skilled in military magic?¡±


    ¡°Yes, they often mocked him and dismissed his opinions,¡± she admitted after a moment, her irritation giving way to confusion.


    ¡°Did he have any relationships?¡± Ardi asked, pressing on.


    ¡°Ard! I¡¯m not on trial, and you¡¯re not an investigator-¡±


    ¡°Mmm!¡± Boris¡¯ insistent hum cut her off.


    Elena turned her gaze from her husband back to Ardi. Understanding dawned in her eyes, and with it, her earlier annoyance evaporated, replaced by wariness.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she answered hesitantly after a pause. ¡°He¡­ yes, he did. He was involved with someone from our course. I don¡¯t know who, exactly, but there were rumors about it.¡±


    Ardan turned his gaze to Boris.


    The man¡¯s eyes shifted briefly to the right, then to the left.


    So, Boris didn¡¯t know either.


    But it was enough. All that remained was to check the historical records. And if his theory ended up aligning with the facts¡­ then what?


    Ardi had no idea what he would do next.


    ¡°Elena,¡± he said suddenly.


    ¡°What is it?¡± She asked, now genuinely concerned.


    Reaching into his pocket, Ardi withdrew the second accumulator and slipped off the ring.


    ¡°Can you check how many rays these hold with your analyzer? Mine broke again.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a small device strapped to her forearm. It was secured there with leather straps and looked well-worn but functional. She aimed it at the items.


    After a moment, a message appeared on the device¡¯s screen:


    [Bri-&-Man Accumulator. Data unavailable.]


    Ardan sighed heavily. The result had ended up being exactly what he had feared. It was the same as when he had tried to analyze Gleb Davos¡¯ accumulator.


    ¡°Ardi,¡± Elena exhaled his name, a mixture of surprise and unease creeping into her voice. ¡°These are specialized military accumulators for Second Chancery mages¡­ How did you get them?¡±


    She held the ring closer, frowning as she examined it further.


    ¡°They always hold nine rays,¡± she explained, her words coming out quick and clipped. ¡°That¡¯s why they¡¯re compact enough to fit into a ring. Regular accumulators are much larger, made to fit into staff heads. These¡­ you rarely see even in the military. Ardi, your questions¡­ What are you involved in?¡±


    Her concern was genuine. She was worried for him. And all he could do was offer her the faintest possible reassurance.


    ¡°Everything will be fine,¡± he whispered before nodding to Boris, brushing Elena¡¯s shoulder lightly with his hand, and rising from the bed. He made his way toward the door, pausing just before stepping out.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come back on the seventh day,¡± he said, this time more loudly. ¡°And during the week as well. If you don¡¯t mind, that is¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course we don¡¯t mind!¡± Elena called after him.


    ¡°Mhm,¡± Boris added with a soft grunt of agreement.


    Warmth spread through Ardi¡¯s chest ¡ª but so did a gnawing guilt. Maybe the ache was just from his fractured sternum, but somehow, he doubted it.


    He left the room, gently closing the door behind him.


    ***


    Ardan reached the temporary cloakroom at the Grand and handed over his coat to the attendant, who accepted it with an expression of utter boredom, tossing it carelessly onto a rack. In return, the worker lazily slapped a wooden token onto the counter.


    Snatching up the token, Ardi pushed through the atrium toward the staircases.


    Time until midnight: 11 hours, 23 minutes.


    The darkest hour of the year still seemed deceptively distant, because who knew how long he would spend sifting through old records.


    He needed to hurry-


    ¡°Egobar!¡±


    Ardi turned.


    A moment later, all he could see was a massive fist hurtling directly toward his face.

 Chapter 61 - Grudge

    Ardi¡¯s instincts, drilled into him by Guta, reacted faster than he could even comprehend. Ignoring the blinding pain, he let go of his staff, hunched over to avoid the large, hairy fist swinging past above his head, then dove at his opponent¡¯s legs.


    Slamming his shoulder into the man¡¯s stomach and pressing his neck against his torso, Ardan grasped the back of his foe¡¯s knees and yanked them toward himself while simultaneously shoving his own body forward.


    Feeling his prey lose its balance and fall onto its back, flailing awkwardly at the air in a vain attempt to hold on to something, the hunter loosened his paws and leaped up, pressing his knees into his victim¡¯s chest. Clasping his paws together, he lifted them above his head, summoning all his strength to slam them directly into the prey¡¯s muzzle. Guta, just like Ergar, had always taught him to end a hunt or a fight as quickly as possible.


    Wait¡­ Guta? Ergar? Prey?


    Ardi blinked.


    There was no prey trembling before him. With a terrified look on his face, Baron Kerimov was lying pressed to the ground beneath his knees, his chest getting crushed.


    Yes, that same baron from Iolai Agrov¡¯s entourage¡­ He was broad-shouldered, hulking, and had a massive jaw. He rasped and tried to breathe, but Ardan¡¯s knees were pressed against his chest, preventing him from doing so.


    Ardi, who was also rasping and pressing a hand against his burning chest (which made the pain flare up again), struggled to get back to his feet and, after picking up his staff, stepped aside. All around him stood frozen, shocked students. They were whispering to each other and pointing their fingers at Kerimov and Ardan.


    It made him uneasy.


    ¡°Egobar¡­¡± The struggling baron began to say, his voice hoarse as he rose.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening here?!¡± Came a somewhat squeaky, yet still male voice.


    It was a voice Ardi recognized. A scene from what was essentially his recent, and yet also seemingly distant past, surfaced in his memory:


    A pompous man in a black suit paraded past him, strutting like the only rooster in a henhouse. He looked rather like a balloon ¡ª one of those children¡¯s toys parents bought for them at festivals. His thin legs somehow supported a bloated belly, which was barely contained by his pants and shirt, both of which were cinched tight by a wide, silk sash that had been wrapped several times around his middle. In his hands ¡ª which were softer than a child¡¯s ¡ª the man held a long cane with a crow-shaped tip, and he was leaning heavily on it, making Ardi worry that at any moment, the rings on his sausage-like fingers might snap, sending the enormous gemstones flying like bullets from a revolver.


    This was the very same man who had succumbed to the Witch¡¯s Gaze when Ardan had been leaving the Palace of the Kings of the Past.


    Dispersing the crowd as he went, the pompous mage struggled to walk on such thin legs that the mere fact they hadn¡¯t broken under the weight of his protruding, round, swollen belly was a miracle unto itself.


    Unfortunately, the gentleman had replaced his cane with a staff, his expensive suit and cufflinks with a yellow academic robe, and his jewel-encrusted rings with the insignia of the Deputy Dean of the Military Faculty. Of course.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on, student Kerimov?¡± The Deputy Dean, Rafael Alirov, asked the disheveled baron in a gentle, even paternal tone. Ardan recalled the man¡¯s name thanks to Boris, who¡¯d mentioned the dean and his deputies.


    Rafael Alirov, who possessed five, three, four, and then three rays again judging by his epaulettes, seemed not to notice Ardan. And considering their history, he surely hadn¡¯t.


    ¡°Student Egobar attacked me, Deputy Dean,¡± Kerimov grimaced, rubbing his bruised chest.


    The man turned sharply to Ardan, who was stunned by such a blatant lie. For a moment, Rafael¡¯s small eyes turned into beads, then widened to a normal size by ordinary human standards.


    ¡°You!¡± He declared in outrage. ¡°Yes¡­ Yes¡­¡± And then his mouth twisted into a smug smirk. ¡°Attacking another student of the Imperial Magical University is a very serious offense. Not to mention causing them grievous bodily harm.¡±


    Ardan looked at Kerimov. He looked quite alright, though his jacket and cloak were wrinkled.


    ¡°Kerimov!¡± Bellowed Rafael.


    ¡°Yes, Deputy Dean?¡±


    ¡°Are you seriously injured?¡±


    ¡°Me? No, it¡¯s nothing¡­¡± But, after noticing the furious, deadly gaze of the deputy dean, the baron immediately changed his stance. ¡°Or, umm, I meant to say that I seem to have a fractured rib. Two. Or maybe even four. And a ruptured spleen. And perhaps my liver has been crushed. Both of them.¡±


    ¡°A human body only has one liver,¡± Ardan corrected him automatically.


    ¡°Silence!¡± Rafael squeaked at a volume that endangered the stained-glass windows. ¡°Today, I will submit a report demanding your expulsion, student Egobar! You will no longer-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true!¡± A voice rang out among the students. ¡°Kerimov attacked Ard first!¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Squeaked the deputy dean. ¡°Who said that?! Step out of the crowd immediately!¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± said a slender boy from the Faculty of Biology and Alchemy, pushing aside the other students. Ardi had helped him with tinctures and the properties of Ley plants once or twice.


    Rafael seemed to even be licking his lips in anticipation.


    ¡°A false testimony? A conspiracy, is it? I-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a false testimony,¡± came another voice. And then a girl from the Faculty of Defensive Wards stepped forward out of the crowd. Ardi had helped her with some drawings and arrays. ¡°I also saw Kerimov try to hit Ard. From behind.¡±


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°And I saw it as well!¡± Another man cut in.


    ¡°And so did I.¡±


    ¡°I saw it too!¡±


    ¡°Kerimov attacked first!¡±


    ¡°The baron is lying!¡±


    ¡°And you listened to him.¡±


    One by one, freshmen, and a few rare sophomores emerged from the crowd of students. All of them accused Kerimov of lying and insisted that Ardan was defending himself and nothing more.


    ¡°Silence!¡± Rafael slammed his staff against the floor. For a moment, a seal flared beneath his feet, and the hall was plunged into silence.


    The students opened their mouths, gesticulating wildly, but not a single word escaped their lips. Soon, they realized what had happened and began anxiously clutching their throats and mouths.


    ¡°It¡¯s a simple Curse of Silence,¡± Rafael gritted his teeth. ¡°It will fade in ten minutes. And you, Kerimov and Egobar, will follow me to the Dean of the Military Faculty¡¯s office. I will hear both of you out there, after which I will make a decision. This is an order.¡±


    According to the regulations of the Grand, students were obliged to obey professors under the threat of immediate expulsion. It was quite logical when you considered the fact that essentially every student carried a weapon ¡ª a staff ¡ª and the means to use it with them. Moreover, they all underwent military training. Without a strict hierarchy, anything could happen.


    Naturally, professors never abused their authority because the prestige of the Grand was at stake, and also because some of the students were nobles far more distinguished than their instructors.


    But that was not the case with Lord Rafael. Dukes did not study at this university, and the Great Princes, of whom there were two in the Grand besides Iolai, were the exception to the rule.


    Ardan found himself facing a rather ridiculous choice. He could refuse and be expelled immediately for disobedience. Or he could comply and get caught up in a web of bureaucracy and red tape that would stretch on for so long that the library would be forgotten by the end of it.


    Ardi looked at his watch.


    Time until midnight: 11 hours, 11 minutes.


    ¡°You¡¯re not running late anymore, student Egobar,¡± Rafael hissed. ¡°And you might not even get to stay at the university any longer than I need to-¡±


    ¡°Oh, Ard, I was looking for you,¡± another familiar voice called out from the crowd.


    With a lollipop in his mouth, acting almost like Din Erson, his stride casual even as he deliberately made his heels click loudly, Bazhen stepped forward.


    This was the Jurisprudence student who had handled Ardan¡¯s enrollment documents. He was still painfully thin, but with some inner strength to him. That inner strength was so apparent that it made the scrawny Bazhen appear more powerful and taller than all the other students standing beside him.


    ¡°Deputy Dean,¡± Bazhen bowed theatrically while making intricate gestures¡­ with his lollipop.


    Whispers spread through the crowd of students. In the relatively tight community of the Grand, peculiar rumors about Bazhen Eorsky were always circulating. They largely centered around his unrestrained hedonism, which had brought him to the brink of expulsion time and again, but which he¡¯d always managed to wriggle out of thanks to his incredibly sharp mind, his quick tongue, and his impeccable knowledge of the law.


    In short, people preferred not to tangle with Bazhen. Not because of the number of rays on his epaulettes ¡ªwhich were practically nonexistent ¡ª but because it just wasn¡¯t worth the risk.


    ¡°Eorsky,¡± Rafael hissed.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you remembered my name,¡± Bazhen exclaimed, waving his hands about. ¡°Alas, I can¡¯t respond with genuine reciprocity, for which I offer my deepest apologies.¡±


    Rafael almost started frothing at the mouth due to his barely-contained rage.


    ¡°I can see that we have a misunderstanding here, Deputy Dean,¡± Bazhen tossed the lollipop into his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest. ¡°Mr. Egobar didn¡¯t clean his shoes and soiled the floor,¡± Eorsky nodded toward¡­ the perfectly clean, shiny floor. ¡°As a result, Mr. Kerimov slipped and, in an attempt to preserve his honor and dignity, tried to grab his fellow student¡¯s reliable shoulder. Unfortunately, they fell together as a result, which may have looked like a fight to the surrounding observers. Have I assumed correctly, Deputy Dean?¡±


    Rafael clenched his teeth so hard they nearly cracked.


    ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°But, of course,¡± Bazhen interrupted him, lazily rolling the lollipop around in his mouth. ¡°If I¡¯m the only one who sees things that way, then it¡¯s a very serious matter. An attack meant to cause severe harm to a future military mage is the same as an assault on an active officer. That is a crime punishable by up to twenty years of hard labor. However, unfortunately, such cases are not within the jurisdiction of the teaching staff. The guards must be called in. Although¡­¡±


    Bazhen pretended to ponder the matter, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I was slightly mistaken there. Since both parties in this case are mages, a call to the Second Chancery and their investigators will be required. And an interrogation of all witnesses, of course. Let me just remind you that the witnesses will be held accountable if they provide a false testimony. On top of that, both sides of the conflict will also have to bear a lot of responsibility, from administrative fines of sixty exes to criminal charges for the unjustified wasting of the investigators¡¯ time. Not to mention the fact that if the attack did take place, we are back to the issue of hard labor. The only thing to figure out then is which side will end up being shackled to-¡±


    ¡°You talk too much, student Eorsky,¡± Rafael, whose face was now an alarming shade of deep red, began to raise his staff again.


    ¡°Oh, I can see that you have used the Silence Curse on a group of students,¡± Bazhen grinned, looking at the mute students at the same time. ¡°Do you have the authorization from the Dean to use such measures? Although, I suppose you might¡¯ve just gotten nervous and slipped up accidentally. Such an incident, of course, would not be worth the trouble of convening a faculty panel to assess your professional aptitude. After all, that¡¯s what article 22.4 of the Grand¡¯s Charter stipulates.¡±


    Rafael slowly lowered his staff back down, not even finishing the seal.


    ¡°I think we can all agree that Mr. Egobar should compensate you for the damage caused to the Grand¡¯s property,¡± Bazhen sweetened the deal. ¡°Say¡­ by spending three days as an assistant worker in the Main Menagerie? Oh, wait, that¡¯s only allowed from the fourth year onwards¡­ But, obviously, you wouldn¡¯t mind postponing his service, would you, Deputy Dean?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t,¡± Lord Alirov muttered.


    ¡°Wonderful,¡± Bazhen clapped his hands together. ¡°How wonderful it is that, thanks to the efforts of the Faculty of Jurisprudence, we¡¯ve managed to resolve everything so quickly. And also, please return the students to normal.¡±


    Rafael quickly slammed his staff down, and after a seal briefly flashed under it, the ability to speak was restored to everyone around them, instantly manifesting itself in a wave of whispers and barely-contained giggles.


    No one wanted to mess with Bazhen since he could twist any situation and law to his advantage, but everyone still enjoyed watching how he treated those unfortunate enough to have drawn his ire.


    ¡°Disperse,¡± Rafael snorted, hastily moving toward the elevators. ¡°No need to crowd around.¡±


    Kerimov didn¡¯t budge. He didn¡¯t take his worried and alarmed gaze away from Ardan.


    Sleeping Spirits.


    Milar had been right. Iolai Agrov¡¯s squad of toadies really did have a very small-


    ¡°I challenge you, Mr. Egobar, to a bloody duel,¡± Kerimov announced. He didn¡¯t sound at all confident and was quite hesitant, in fact, but his words still had the same effect as the deputy dean¡¯s recently-cast curse, plunging the students into a chasm of silence.


    But the baron himself was not worried about the duel or his opponent. He was concerned about something else. Or rather, someone else. Specifically, Iolai Agrov, whom Ardi had noticed was standing near the monument to the First Emperor, accompanied by his other lackeys. The Great Prince was watching the unfolding events with a disapproving look on his face.


    ¡°I refuse-¡±


    ¡°You better agree,¡± Bazhen whispered in his ear, adding a few more words when he noticed the confusion on Ardan¡¯s face. ¡°Kerimov is one of the strongest first-year duelists, isn¡¯t he? If you defeat him, you¡¯ll ensure a peaceful life for yourself, at least until the end of the year. Iolai will decide to prepare better before settling scores with you.¡±


    Bazhen¡¯s words had a lot of merit, but Ardi, plainly put, didn¡¯t want to engage in foolish acts like duels. Especially when there was no real reason for it.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Ardan sighed in agreement.


    ¡°Name the time,¡± Bazhen suggested.


    ¡°Fifth day, right after the last lecture.¡±


    ¡°And the place.¡±


    ¡°Any practice ground in the Grand.¡±


    ¡°Appoint your second.¡±


    Ardan turned to Bazhen, who had been whispering in his ear all this time, and grinned broadly.


    ¡°Ah, you motherfu-¡±


    ¡°Bazhen Eorsky will be my second,¡± Ardan silenced his protests.


    ¡°This is what you get for helping your colleagues,¡± Bazhen whispered with an annoyed huff.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Baron Zahatkin will be my second,¡± the emboldened Kerimov replied. ¡°See you, Mr. Egobar.¡±


    And the baron left. Along with him, the crowd gradually dispersed, discussing and spreading the news that Ardan was about to fight a bloody duel against one of the Great Prince¡¯s friends. Given the excitement, the entire university would know about this farce within a week.


    Ardi shook his head. Did he need all of this hassle... He also wondered if a duel could be skipped?


    Ardan snapped out of it. Right next to him was an agent or informant (if there was even any difference between them in the current situation) from the Second Chancery.


    Ardan leaned in toward Bazhen¡¯s ear and whispered, trying to ensure that no one would overhear them, even accidentally.


    ¡°Do you have a way to contact the House?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a draft in the atrium,¡± Bazhen complained. ¡°Some unintelligible words are being created by it.¡±


    ¡°I need to contact Captain Pnev.¡±


    ¡°Such unfamiliar names. I am even unclear on-¡±


    ¡°Tell the House to have Pnev find my medallion. Say that I might have a clue about the demonologist.¡±


    Bazhen turned to Ardan and, moving just one lip, said:


    ¡°You are as good as a Cloak already, Ard, as¡­ I can¡¯t even find the words. I¡¯ll let them know. Let¡¯s leave now.¡±


    And Bazhen, sucking on his lollipop once more, put his hands in his pockets and walked off somewhere toward the eastern passage.


    ¡°And bring the first-years¡¯ records to the library as well, please,¡± Ardan hurried to add.


    For some reason, Bazhen slapped himself across the face and pretended not to have heard anything.


    Ardi could only hope that he was ¡°pretending¡± at least.


    Ardan, however, headed for the elevators. Leaving the atrium behind, he passed through the ¡°museum¡± doors (as he called them) and, after waiting with the elderly worker until a group of five had gathered, ascended to the library floor.


    During the ride, as he always did, the young man had the feeling that he would either fall to his death or be crushed by the walls that would close in on him, but none of that happened. The worst thing that did happen was that someone had contaminated the air. And quite seriously, too. But out of politeness, everyone pretended that they hadn¡¯t noticed, and the ride went smoothly.


    All in all, after Ardan finally left the elevator, he felt like his dislike for the infernal contraptions had grown.


    After catching his breath and blinking hard while trying to resist the urge to rub his aching chest, Ardi straightened and... queued up.


    There were twenty students ahead of him. And they were all standing at a desk where several library staff were working.


    This wasn¡¯t even funny anymore.


    ***


    The last person in front of Ardan, who¡¯d finally found a solution to his problems after a lot of back and forth with the staff, stepped aside. Ardi checked his watch.


    Time until midnight: 10 hours, 26 minutes.


    Sleeping Spirits. He probably hadn¡¯t even gotten so bored while waiting for his certificate of adulthood and other papers in the Evergale town hall. And this wasn¡¯t even a case of bad luck. The semester had just begun and the students needed new literature. That was it.


    ¡°Good afternoon, Ard,¡± his good acquaintance greeted him cheerfully. Ardi had often been here for her shifts when he¡¯d stayed late in the library. ¡°What have you got for me today? More books on the design and construction of three-contoured seals? Or will you continue with embedded dynamic arrays? I think I¡¯ll soon master your curriculum.¡±


    ¡°Good afternoon, Lisa,¡± Ardan greeted her back, struggling to say her name without flinching.


    Her name was the same as¡­


    Instead of saying anything else, the young man handed her his special pass, sliding it across the desk with a list of literature tucked underneath it. Lisa skillfully grabbed it, read it, then tore it up and threw it into the bin.


    ¡°I¡¯ll bring it all to your usual spot,¡± she nodded with a rather serious expression.


    Ardi thanked her and headed to the reading hall. Considering that he was in the library, where he sometimes spent more time than at home, he indeed had his own little corner.


    Passing by rows of tables, and occasionally whispering greetings to some acquaintances ¡ª other dedicated readers who spent long hours poring over books ¡ª Ardan walked past a partition and found himself at a familiar little nook.


    There were tables piled high with books, and sometimes even scrolls; students buried in various literature, scribbling with their pens under the light of Ley-lamps; and a lone, vacant table near the window.


    He sat down at it.


    A few minutes later, Lisa, pretending like she wasn¡¯t holding anything particularly special, brought him several books. And then, just as silently as she¡¯d come (she even wore soft-soled shoes without heels to not disturb the quiet), she returned to her workstation.


    It was no surprise to him that she¡¯d brought him such important books herself and not used magic. The risk involved was terrifying¡­


    Ardan, not wanting to waste any time, opened the first volume of six. It wasn¡¯t too thick, but it was not among the thinnest things he¡¯d ever read, either. It had about five hundred pages, probably.


    ¡°The history of the Demonology prohibition as an inherently destructive branch of Star Magic.¡±


    Hours passed in his search for the information he needed, evoking genuine excitement in Ardi. He felt like he was close to unraveling the puzzle. Just a little more. Just a little¡­


    A ¡°little¡± while later¡­


    ¡°I can¡¯t say that my training with Lady Talia¡¯s group was difficult for me. Demonology seals, of course, differ from the ones of classical Star Magic, just as Necromancy seals do, which suggests some correlation. But I never needed, either out of duty or natural curiosity, to engage in researching this field. Although, I suppose it will soon be banned as well.


    But let¡¯s move on to the aforementioned research. The science of human chimerization being pursued by Tazidahian scholars is undoubtedly disgusting and violates not only the Prophet¡¯s commandments, but also common morality. And yet, it is magnificent. Purely in its complexity, of course.


    Using Ley energy in such a way as to grow within a person ¡ª as well as within Ley beasts ¡ª a crystalline Ley essence, and then crossing it with the aforementioned beasts¡­ It is a remarkable breakthrough.


    And yes, of course, during the recently-ended war, we, the Galessians, or as we are now commonly called ¡ª the Imperials ¡ª also used this approach, but our knowledge, as well as the information obtained by the Second Chancery¡¯s spies, proved insufficient. In the end, the continent was flooded with hideous creatures, but¡­ that¡¯s a completely different topic.


    Naturally, we scientists couldn¡¯t leave this matter alone and decided to approach it from another angle.


    If we couldn¡¯t create a highly-functional chimera ¡ª mutant ¡ª then perhaps we should change our perspective.


    And here we must make something clear regarding Demonology and Necromancy seals. They, just like classical Star Magic seals, operate within the framework of the physical laws of our world.


    But while classical Star Magic only works with these laws, Demonic Magic, Necromancy, Malefaction, and Blood Magic can also interfere with the structure of living organisms. And not just indirectly, as in classical magic, but directly as well. This fact is why an increasing number of scholars are siding with those who are attempting to classify the aforementioned branches of Star Magic under a new concept: the school of ¡°Dark Magic.¡±


    And it doesn¡¯t matter that many of these very same scholars, during the war, were not at all averse to using so-called ¡°dark magic¡± to destroy the Aean¡¯Hane and the Firstborn¡­ but the War of the Empire¡¯s Founding has ended. We live on.


    And science must be developed further.¡±


    ¡°Here, this is the last one,¡± Lisa, who had quietly approached the table, placed another box full of thin folders next to Ardan. Of course, while the folders were thin individually, the sheer number of them was somewhat intimidating.


    Ardi stopped reading the ¡°Autobiography of the Sole and Last Grand Magister of Demonology in the Empire¡± ¡ª the fourth book on his list. He hadn¡¯t found the necessary information in the first three.


    ¡°Could you please help me?¡±


    ¡°With what exactly?¡±


    ¡°I need to sort these files,¡± Ardi nodded to the piles. ¡°By gender and place of residence.¡±


    Lisa glanced toward the now-empty lobby, where hours earlier, a huge line had formed, and she gave him a small nod.


    At this hour, everyone who¡¯d wanted to come to the library was already seated, and any newcomers would have to wait until tomorrow. The reading room¡¯s seats were not endless, so if you didn¡¯t manage to grab a free one in time, it was your own fault. You had to wait until one freed up. And of course, they didn¡¯t free up until closing time.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Ardan said and returned to reading.


    ¡°Lady Talia didn¡¯t research this area of her magic. Her attention was focused on more applied and understandable structures. Demonology, or the branch of it created by Lady Talia ¡ª Chaos Magic ¡ª was only ever needed for the uncompromising destruction of everything that could be destroyed. She wasn¡¯t interested in subtleties like interfering with natural processes.


    As for me, I proposed another idea.


    If we can¡¯t achieve the necessary level of chimerization as it is, then what¡¯s stopping us from trying to use the capabilities of Demonology and Necromancy to do so?


    Thus, my wife and I formed research groups. My wife, along with her students, dealt with Necromancy, and I, with mine, focused on Demonology.


    Progress wasn¡¯t swift, of course. Especially considering the fact that Lady Talia refused to participate. Fortunately, Duke¡­¡±


    Ardan frowned. The name was faded to the point that it was impossible to read. However, it was irrelevant.


    ¡°¡­provided us with comprehensive support, both financial and political. By then, the fledgling interim government of the Empire was already hearing rumblings against our experiments.


    After a year of theoretical preparation, we began the experiments. Initially, it was decided that we would conduct trials on the Firstborn, since after the war, there were plenty of them in the prison camps who had been sentenced to death for crimes against humanity. That way, they wouldn¡¯t only atone for their bloody sins, but also serve the noble cause of scientific progress.


    Why was the choice made to specifically use the Firstborn as our initial test subjects? It was because of their, firstly, naturally enhanced vitality and resistance to potential negative side effects, and secondly, because of the increased concentration of the Ley they possessed.


    As is already well known, the Ley permeates all living beings. The issue of Ley poisoning only arises when the concentration of it exceeds the norm. And when it comes to the Firstborn, their threshold for Ley poisoning is much higher than that of humans.


    The first 149 specimens, unfortunately, did not survive the initial stage of transformation. We couldn¡¯t stabilize them in their new state.


    As I mentioned at the very beginning, our goal was not the classical chimerization of the Tazidahian Brotherhood, but demonization ¡ª a term coined by me.


    After all, what is a demon, essentially? If we discard the Prophet¡¯s teachings ¡ª let¡¯s leave those to the devout and clergy ¡ª a demon is nothing more than a Ley-poisoned being. But in the case of standard poisoning, only the subject¡¯s physical structure changes, whereas in demonization, something else changes as well.


    Priests call it the soul and claim it is bestowed upon us by the Face of Light. The Firstborn call it their spirit, claiming it is given to them by the dream of the Sleeping Spirits. I, however, think that all living beings might be surrounded by an energy field that conflicts with the Ley, which prevents Ley flows from poisoning and altering everything on the planet.


    But that¡¯s just a theory.


    So, a demon is not merely Ley-poisoned, but a phenomenon entirely devoid of this protective barrier, and is therefore directly interacting with it, which, of course, leads to an absolute distortion of one¡¯s self. It¡¯s hard to imagine how demons and the Sidhe Fae ¡ª whom we might consider the antithesis of demons ¡ª perceive the world.


    Interestingly, the church has designated angels as the demons¡¯ antithesis, but their existence cannot be confirmed. However, the Sidhe¡¯s can. They existed until they disappeared after Sergeant Mendera¡¯s squad stole the Eternal Flame, may the Eternal Angels accept him.


    Thus, our goal is to completely neutralize the Firstborn¡¯s protective field that shields them from the constant influence of Ley flows.


    Why am I confident that this can be done?


    I¡¯ve heard legends from the captured Firstborn which claim that the most powerful Aean¡¯Hane Fae possess the secret to making a suitable candidate one of their own. One of the Fae.


    Also, some facts about the ¡°Lady Talia incident¡± that happened on our border with the Enario Theocracy indicate that Talia didn¡¯t perish, but became part of the Fae tribe instead. Even so, I¡¯m not sure that we can trust the traitors who became part of Sergeant Mendera¡¯s squad. I wouldn¡¯t rely on Bashag and Remi¡¯s diaries normally, but at the same time, they give me hope that my idea isn¡¯t doomed to fail from the start.


    Thus, after that first batch of specimens and about 600 more samples, it took us another ten years to create, based on Lady Talia¡¯s seals that are responsible for summoning demons, a new structure capable of neutralizing the Firstborn¡¯s protective field.


    It was a phenomenal success.


    Independently, through our own efforts, with the aid of a colossal number of accumulators, we managed to create a tame demon. Unfortunately, it only lasted 31 seconds, but that was still a breakthrough.


    The demise of the ¡°Successful Demonization Sample Number 1¡± occurred due to a limitation in how much Ley energy the accumulators could transfer at once, which led me to consider whether it was possible to create some method of constant transmission of large amounts of Ley energy. I passed this idea on to the Guild. It¡¯s not my area of expertise.


    So.


    The success also made me ponder a somewhat related topic ¡ª where demons are summoned from and where the Fae actually disappeared to. One of my theories is that the Ley flows form a field that exists not in another dimension, but on another level beyond our perception.


    We only perceive our surrounding reality within a limited range of dimensions. And perhaps the Ley isn¡¯t part of them. But for demons and the Fae, it is their natural habitat. And they can, under certain circumstances, pass through the veil separating us and exist on our level of reality as well.


    This theory is supported by the fact that a demon cannot exist in our reality for longer than a few minutes, and the Fae cannot maintain their true form for any significantly long periods of time and are forced to spend most of their time in an intermediate or humanoid form.


    Combining all of these theories and speculations made me consider the possibility that perhaps demonization could be applied not only to the Firstborn, but also to humans.


    Just imagine what a stable demonized human would be capable of. And what if you demonized not an ordinary person, but a Star Mage?


    There¡¯s no denying the fact that the capabilities of an experienced, strong Aean¡¯Hane exceed the combined power of even ten Six-Star combat ¡ª or as they now prefer to be called, military ¡ª mages by several orders of magnitude.


    But in practice, people, except for a few rare exceptions, cannot become Aean¡¯Hane due to their short lifespans. Yes, attempts are being made to invent a seal that can prolong one¡¯s life, but any such invention would require constant support by accumulators, creating an energy depletion problem and never allowing humanity to create a viable number of human Aean¡¯Hane.


    But demonizing a Star Mage¡­ Imagine a mage who could have constant, unlimited access to Ley energy. It would be a simply incredible amount of power.


    Of course, this is all just a theory. Because the negative Ley field in humans is much more potent than in the Firstborn, far more energy would be required. Perhaps the needed amount would be impossible to procure.


    On the other hand, if we assume that the negative Ley field becomes denser over time, then perhaps if we start experiments with younger test subjects, it might become possible to advance our research. But I¡¯m sure no one would approve of that.


    After all, children aged eight to thirteen would be needed. That way, they¡¯d not be so young as to die from the process¡¯ side effects, but not so old as to have the willpower to resist the transitional states.


    Maybe I¡¯d settle on some children who are eleven years old. Just as an average value.


    But that, of course, is a theoretical proposition.


    At the moment, we know for certain that the possibility of demonizing the Firstborn is a reality.


    I¡¯ve also sent my seals and other findings to the Guild; maybe that¡¯ll help them work out the chimerization process.


    As for my wife¡¯s experiments with Necromancy, they are still ongoing. Duke¡­ continues to provide us with comprehensive support.


    Below, I will present my theoretical proposals on how to approach the issue of human demonization.¡±


    Ardan closed the book and glanced at its spine.


    ¡°First Print. Year 376 F.o.E. Publisher: House of Magic. Number of copies: 25.¡±


    ¡°Lisa?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m almost done,¡± the girl closed the penultimate folder and placed it on top of the smallest of the four stacks.


    ¡°I wanted to ask you about something else,¡± Ardan pointed to the book. ¡°It says here that this print run had twenty-five copies. Are there twenty-five of them in the Grand?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s classified information, Ard,¡± Lisa shook her head sadly. ¡°I can¡¯t answer that.¡±


    The young man glanced at his wrist.


    Time until midnight: 4 hours, 2 minutes.


    ¡°You saw the seal and stamp on my pass.¡±


    ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°Believe me, I could get permission to find out the number of volumes contained in this library, but I don¡¯t have the time,¡± Ardan tried to speak as seriously and convincingly as possible. At the same time, he looked directly into the girl¡¯s eyes. ¡°I really need to know. Tell me, Elizabeth, are there any more copies?¡±


    By the Sleeping Spirits, he didn¡¯t want to do this. But time was running out.


    The girl didn¡¯t give in immediately. Ardi could feel her mind resisting his efforts, but as soon as he pressed harder, leveraging all his willpower against hers, she relented.


    Lisa¡¯s eyes glazed over.


    ¡°There are only eighteen copies in our library...¡±


    Ardi, maintaining his hold over Lisa¡¯s mind, asked his next question:


    ¡°What happened to the publishing house?¡±


    ¡°The House of Magic publisher hasn¡¯t been in business for over a century,¡± she spoke like a doll, without any traces of emotion or intonation. ¡°All their books were either confiscated for use in special libraries, including ours, or destroyed.¡±


    Only one last question remained. The most important one.


    ¡°Has anyone else requested this book in recent times?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Yes. You¡¯re the first in at least twenty-nine years.¡±


    Damn¡­


    ¡°You won¡¯t remember that this happened, Lisa... But you¡¯ll feel a little resentful toward me for... a few months.¡±


    Ardan looked away, and Lisa, groaning slightly, rubbed her temples.


    ¡°Oh, Ard,¡± she said, blinking in confusion while her gaze slowly returned to normal. ¡°My head is actually hurting a bit from sorting all these folders.¡±


    Ardi discreetly wiped the blood from his upper lip (his nose had bled) and tried not to show that he was about to collapse from exhaustion.


    ¡°You must be suffering from all that difficult reading,¡± Lisa nodded at the unpleasant tomes. ¡°But, you know, it¡¯s not like I care.¡±


    ¡°I would honestly prefer to reread the handbook on formulas for high-load dynamic free arrays.¡±


    ¡°Is that the one where each formula takes up a page?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a madman, Ard,¡± Lisa wrinkled her nose slightly, then laughed and, rising from her seat, walked back to her workstation. ¡°It¡¯s almost closing time, Ard. Your pass is single-use only. I¡¯ll report the materials you¡¯ve asked for to my superiors. And the next time you come here, there will be no extra help from me. I¡¯m not your personal assistant or your friend.¡±


    ¡°I know. Thanks. And sorry.¡±


    ¡°Have a good evening.¡±


    And she left.


    Lisa was a pleasant person and a remarkable mage. But Ardan had broken her will and taken what he¡¯d wanted by force.


    He felt dirty. He wanted to clean himself. Purge himself. Run from what he had just done. But there was no time for that.


    Ardi turned back to the stacks of folders. Or rather ¡ª the stack. He was only interested in the women¡¯s files. After all, who would an eleven-year-old boy trust enough to leave with them willingly? A sweet lady in a mage¡¯s cloak, of course. Girls, even at such a tender age, had enough intuition to sense that something was wrong in such a situation.


    So, he was looking for a female mage. One who lived in Baliero. Why did he think this? Because the risk of being seen by acquaintances or someone else who could become a witness to her kidnapping boys had been too high. That was why she had never worked in the Baliero area, which, if not definitive proof, was still a clue as to where she lived. She also wasn¡¯t a professional. Otherwise, she would have shot him in the head.


    Or maybe she¡¯d planned to¡­ but it would surely be quite inconvenient to aim for the head of a two-meter-tall half-breed if she wasn¡¯t very tall herself.


    Yes, Ardi was now sure of it ¡ª a woman had shot at him.


    So, it was a girl from Baliero, and a first-year student. Why was she only a freshman? Because Orvilov had been courting a freshman. Both Orvilov and this lady desired power. Orvilov had wanted it so he could silence those he called ¡°friends,¡± and she¡­


    Ardan didn¡¯t know why. And he didn¡¯t care.


    He rifled through folder after folder. File after file. Finally, he found the one he needed. The only suitable one.


    Sleeping Spirits.


    Could it truly be so simple, and was it really one of his own classmates?


    Ardan grabbed her file and, feeling the Cloaks¡¯ medallion heating up in his pocket, he headed for the exit.


    ***


    Milar, after listening to Ardan¡¯s explanation, snapped the folder shut and handed it to Alice, who was sitting in the back, sandwiched between Alexander and Din. She just shrugged.


    ¡°Sounds convincing enough to check the address. But why do I have to go with you lot?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll wait in the car while we verify the trainee¡¯s hunch,¡± Milar turned the ignition. ¡°If he¡¯s right, you¡¯ll collect evidence and... whatever else you need to collect.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Alice nodded.


    The car¡¯s engine rumbled.


    ¡°So, my dear operatives, how do you like the idea of conducting a raid on a demonologist¡¯s lair without any backup, and in the company of a single wounded mage-in-training?¡±


    Alexander spun his revolvers¡¯ barrels, checking the smoothness of the rotation. Din flicked his knives, sending a few sparks flying.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go,¡± the captain exhaled a puff of smoke. ¡°We¡¯ll beat some demon ass and earn some bonus exes.¡±


    Time until midnight: 3 hours, 17 minutes.

 Chapter 62 - Again, Baliero

    They drove toward Baliero in complete silence. With each new, desolate turn; with each new traffic officer trembling from the cold they left behind; driving past quiet streets hiding from the barely-perceptible tread of the moonless darkness; along sidewalks where people hurried to return to the deceptively safe eaves of their own homes, seeking shelter from the oncoming storm ¡ª they drew closer to their destination.


    And the city around them¡­ Like a lurking cat, it waited. It didn¡¯t know exactly what it was waiting for, but it was. More and more frequently, the lights in the windows were not Ley-lamps, but candles, which the residents had taken out of their boxes and, after lighting them, were now huddled around them, remembering the stories of their grandmothers about how living fire, in the hour of hungry darkness, could offer both salvation and aid. The closer midnight crept, the more sharply the veneer of civilization ¡ª wrapped tightly around the minds and hearts of both humans and the Firstborn ¡ª began to crack and splinter.


    And now, with inactive Ley cables drooping like dead vines, as the capital was gradually succumbing to the relentless, determined march of the cold night, and as they sunk into its darkness¡­ they remembered. They remembered forgotten legends and stories. They remembered old rites and traditions.


    They took inherited talismans and amulets out of storage, the very same ones they used to mock as children. And right beside the candles, in the company of these pagan trinkets, lay the holy scriptures of the Face of Light. And no one cared about how odd such a pairing looked.


    Fear gnawed at them, clinging to them and reeking of weakness and a frantic desire to run, to cower in the farthest corner and wait for the dawn.


    Ardan could sense that stench. He could feel it as it prowled across the sidewalks, the half-seen paws and fangs of terror wandering through snowy gusts in search of their rightful prey. And maybe, had he reached out with his mind, had he opened himself up to it, he could have heard the distant echo of its name. One that was just as vile as it was powerful.


    Ardi did not.


    He sat in the front seat and, over and over, leafed through his grimoire, as if hoping that this would help him better remember the seals he already knew by heart. He only had a few memorized, unfortunately. Two defensive and two offensive spells. The rest he hadn¡¯t yet mastered well enough to use easily in a fight. And there was no time for him to try and correct that mistake.


    Milar was smoking and holding the steering wheel firmly. Alice was silently looking out the window. The operatives sitting to her right and left ¡ª Alexander and Din, who sometimes glanced at each other ¡ª were also staying silent.


    And so was the capital.


    It closed in around their car like a thick smear of nocturnal grease, smothering them in the black pit of night, squeezing them in the steel jaws of winter¡¯s chill, and laying out a barren, icy roadway beneath their wheels. All traces of the earlier carnival of lights and that ceaseless celebration of life had long since vanished.


    They crossed a wide bridge and found themselves on the other side of the Niewa, in the Baliero District on Saint Vasily¡¯s Island. That first time, a sight worthy of his grandfather¡¯s stories had greeted Ardi. Now, however, a frozen, black wasteland¡¯s embrace was all that welcomed them.


    The houses ¡ª frost-laced and draped in snow like scarves ¡ª stood grimly, looming like statues and barely lit by the timid glimmers of fireplaces or candles. No lively pedestrians filled the streets, nor flashy cars. The trendy caf¨¦s and restaurants had locked their doors, bars had shuttered their windows, and both the cinemas and regular theaters had hung signs proclaiming that they were being guarded by private security.


    It was as though Baliero had turned from a place of endless enjoyment into a heavy, unwelcoming fortress.


    Turning onto Fourteenth Street, they stopped near a particularly unremarkable ¡ª by the standards of the island anyways ¡ª house. It had two stories, was made from red brick, the fa?ade was lined with white, faux-marble ledges, it had caryatids holding up porticos, and a parapet on the roof formed by elegant statuary. A small front lawn slumbered beneath a layer of snow cut through by a granite path leading to the wrought-iron gate. Milar brought the engine to a stop right by that gate.


    ¡°Corner of Fourteenth Street and the Lady¡¯s Avenue,¡± the captain said like a tram conductor. ¡°Here¡¯s to your health, my dear colleagues.¡±


    From a satchel nestled between the seats, Milar pulled out several small bottles. The first contained a thick, red fluid that smelled of wood-boring beetles, toadstools, and ferns. Ardi recognized that scent from his childhood: it was a potion meant to grant someone night vision.


    The second held something dark that clung to the glass, leaving greasy streaks behind. As soon as the captain cracked the lid open, the odor of oak bark, armadillo musk, and something earthy drifted out. This concoction ensured blood did not flow too quickly from one¡¯s wounds.


    The other agents also drank identical potions, which meant they were all presumably standard issue. Alice handed a vial to Ardi as well. This one held a green fluid within that was reminiscent of an herbal tincture and had a sharp, repulsive smell ¡ª a strong painkiller. Grimacing, the young man downed it all in one gulp.


    ¡°Did you know,¡± Din leaned forward, saying the words in his usual cheerful tone. ¡°That the Lady¡¯s Avenue is called that because, two centuries ago, before the ban on prostitution, there was an entire row of brothels here.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for that valuable information, Erson,¡± the always surly Alexander said with a sigh.


    ¡°Alice,¡± Milar said, leaning across Ardi¡¯s knees with practiced ease to open the glove compartment. From it, he retrieved a lady¡¯s revolver, which he handed to her. ¡°Shoot anyone who tries to come closer than a few meters.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± she nodded.


    ¡°But warn them first,¡± Alexander grunted.


    The look Alice gave him right then was one Ardi hoped never to receive himself. He disliked feeling like an idiot.


    ¡°We¡¯re moving out,¡± Milar nodded at them, his gun now in his hand, and stepped out onto the street.


    All throughout the capital, the transformers had gone down, plunging the city into a darkness so complete that the view outside reminded Ardan of his native Alcade Mountains. The skyscrapers in the distance resembled the mountain peaks that would loom above the icy forests and cliffs ¡ª only here, instead of beasts howling, you could hear the sirens of the fire brigade, the ambulances, and the guards. They were roaming the city because, in times like these, when not even Ley cables worked reliably, looting became just another fact of life.


    Milar approached the gate, whose bars were shaped like a lion rearing up on its hind legs. A layer of ice gave them a faint gleam. The captain was flanked by the two corporals, with Ardan bringing up the rear. He kept his staff at the ready, and his grimoire, just in case, was open at the page for the Ice Wall spell. That way, he wouldn¡¯t have to search for it if things got dicey.


    Captain Pnev extended a gloved hand toward the doorbell, paused, then lowered it. ¡°It¡¯s out,¡± he muttered, then flicked his gaze toward Din with a short nod.


    ¡°Understood, Cat,¡± Din replied, using the captain¡¯s call sign ¡ª or whatever it was called.


    Din undid his coat, stepped back, and, like a seasoned acrobat, ran forward, jumped, planted one foot on the gate¡¯s bars, flipped over their pointed spikes, and landed lightly on the other side with his knees bent and without making a sound.


    Ardi blinked in surprise. The man had effortlessly leaped over an almost three-meter-high fence and was now acting as if he¡¯d done nothing special. With that slightly goofy, cheerful smile still on his face, he took out one of his knives, smashed the ice off the latch with its handle, and opened the gate for them. Perhaps he¡¯d had another potion as well? To enhance his physical abilities? Such things did exist, but they lasted only a few minutes, and the person who¡¯d consumed them would need a few days to recover afterwards.


    ¡°Please, go right ahead,¡± he said to the others with a bit of pride.


    Milar nodded silently, and Alexander snorted disdainfully:


    ¡°Show-off.¡±


    Ardan was seeing the carefree Din in a new light. It was one thing to hear that he had served as a ranger in the Ralsk Mountains, and quite another to witness his abilities with his own eyes. And, considering those impressive knives of his, this was clearly only a fraction of them.


    ¡°Din,¡± Milar gestured around them. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    To Ardi ¡ª who was used to reading tracks along forest paths and mountain trails ¡ª this little lawn blanketed in snow looked entirely ordinary. But Din seemed to see more here. He walked to the edge of the cleared path, pulled off a glove, ran his hand along the snow, then lifted his head and sniffed at the air. Next, he stood on tiptoe by the foundation of the house, checked the window ledges, and even felt around the porch and the door handle before carrying on. He inspected the flowerbeds, the corners of the house, the drainpipes, the fence ¡ª everything.


    What he was looking for was a mystery to Ardi.


    ¡°The house has three adults and a small child that¡¯s around three years old, no more than that, living in it,¡± he said after a minute of this.


    ¡°That¡¯s bad,¡± Milar grimaced.


    ¡°Why?¡± Ardi asked, perplexed.


    ¡°Because this is the typical layout for a reconstruction of an old merchant¡¯s residence,¡± Captain Pnev replied, drawing his revolver. ¡°The living room should be right¡­ there.¡± He pointed the barrel of his gun at the second window from the entrance, which faced them directly. ¡°And there¡¯s no light in the windows.¡±


    Ardi frowned harder in utter confusion.


    ¡°Din, explain things to the kid.¡±


    By this time, the ranger had already returned to the other Cloaks who were standing at the very edge of the property.


    ¡°Judging by the doors and the snow on the main stairs, one light person with small feet left the house last night, and returned only a few hours later, after which no one else went out.¡±


    ¡°And there¡¯s no light,¡± Alexander added.


    ¡°Perhaps they¡¯re sleeping?¡± Ardi speculated.


    ¡°On a night when the city is crawling with looters?¡± Alexander almost smiled in amusement. ¡°Unlikely, trainee. Look, their neighbors are still awake.¡±


    The gruff man pointed to a neighboring building, which looked almost identical to the one they were standing next to. Ardi turned just in time to notice the curtain swaying, behind which flickered the flame of a candle and a couple of blurry silhouettes.


    ¡°I have a hunch, Magister,¡± Milar, stepping forward along the path, drew his revolver and pressed it against his waist. ¡°That you really have found our demonologist.¡±


    ¡°Demonologess,¡± Din raised a finger.


    ¡°There¡¯s no such word, Erson,¡± Alexander snorted at him.


    ¡°Really? Well, alright,¡± Din shrugged carelessly.


    The Cloaks, along with Ardi, climbed the front steps and stood near the door.


    ¡°Should we go in guns blazing or try to be quiet?¡± Alexander, holding a revolver in each hand, along with Din, was pressed up next to the door, standing to the right of it.


    ¡°Let¡¯s try to go in without shooting everyone first,¡± Milar replied, getting into position with Ardan to the left of the door.


    They pressed themselves close to the wooden door. The frost cracked beneath their weight, and yet, Ardi could not bring himself to touch the house.


    Not because he was scared (though he was), but because he could literally feel with his entire ¡°being¡± that the building was breathing. It would inhale the frosty, nocturnal air, and then exhale something musty and heavy that seemed to be pressing down on his chest. It could¡¯ve been mistaken for pain he was suffering due to his wound, but not after that painkiller potion.


    The breaths of the house enveloped his consciousness with a swarm of annoying horseflies. They buzzed, trying to get under his collar and into his ears. And the stench exhaled by the building literally clogged his nostrils and mouth, filling them with the disgusting taste of rotten vegetables and mold-covered berries.


    And even if Ardi had never encountered such a thing before, this rotten, acrid mustiness was something he would never be able to mistake for anything else.


    Demons.


    By the Sleeping Spirits, he¡¯d wanted ¡ª wished for it, even ¡ª to have his suspicions proven wrong, but it seemed like he had indeed solved the puzzle.


    ¡°Is anyone home?!¡± Milar banged his revolver against the door.


    In response, the door swung open. Slowly, like some crooked old crone, it creaked inwards, shedding icy shards that fell onto the granite steps with a soft, ringing clatter.


    A stench wafted out from the exposed, dark maw of the house. It was so foul that Ardi barely held back a wave of nausea.


    ¡°It looks like they¡¯re inviting us in.¡± None of the others, not Alexander, or Milar, or Din seemed to feel anything.


    ¡°Are you sure we can handle this without reinforcements?¡± Din whispered.


    ¡°All the guards and House agents are spread throughout the city,¡± Milar whispered back. ¡°The bastard chose the most opportune time¡­ and don¡¯t even try to think of a female form for that word!¡±


    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± Din raised his knives. Presumably, he meant what raised palms meant with that gesture.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Milar had already stepped inside, but was stopped by Ardi.


    ¡°There is something demonic inside this place.¡±


    ¡°You sure?¡± The captain asked him quietly without turning around.


    ¡°Almost one hundred percent sure.¡±


    ¡°Almost?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t studied demonology,¡± Ardi raised his staff, ready to cast a spell at any moment. ¡°But the stench was about the same on Fifth Street.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying it smells bad?¡± Milar growled. In a swift motion, he brushed aside his coat and drew a short saber from its sheath. ¡°All right, let¡¯s roll, boys!¡±


    The operatives nodded. Alexander raised his revolvers and Din grabbed his knives in a reverse grip. In unison, the three of them jumped in and pressed their shoulders together, forming a triangle. A moment passed, then another, and yet only the howling of the wind that had invaded the musty, dark dwelling could be heard¡­


    Nothing.


    Milar aimed his sabre and revolver at the living room, Alexander kept an eye on the stairs leading to the second floor, and Din, knives crossed in front of his face, watched the kitchen intently.


    But nothing happened.


    ¡°Trainee.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Are you sure something reeks in here?¡± Milar whispered, almost managing to not move his lips. ¡°I can only smell cat shit.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s from a dog,¡± Din corrected him.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Ardi frowned. Due to the putrid, damp stench of rotten vegetables and berries, he couldn¡¯t detect the slightest hint of animal waste.


    Crossing the threshold of the house, Ardan sniffed the air and¡­


    Click!


    He turned sharply to see a wall standing there. The door was nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°Not again,¡± Ardi barely managed to say before a wild howl, one that no human, Firstborn or beast would be able to produce, ripped through the room.


    It was such a chilling howl that his heart skipped a beat, and the blood in his veins froze for a moment, stopping its endless flow.


    Ardan whipped around toward the source of the noise. On the landing at the top of the stairs, some sort of fiend was feasting on a human corpse and making a wet, sucking noise as it did so. Its doglike muzzle was plunged nearly up to its brows into the mangled remains of a man, while two clawed limbs stuck out from the folds of its leathery wings, gripping the ragged shirt that hung in tatters around a torn-open rib cage.


    Spatters of blood were flung in every direction, staining the walls, mirrors, wooden paneling, and even the chandelier. The creature, which looked like an unholy union between a dog and a bat, continued to gnaw on its grisly prize, chewing and tearing at spilled intestines and other organs.


    As there was not a single source of light in the room, Ardi saw everything in smudged shades of gray due to the nature of his Matabar night vision. Only the blood glistened, bright as living flame, painting the horrific spectacle in the vivid brush strokes of death.


    ¡°Fire!¡± Milar shouted.


    Ardi flinched at this and screamed:


    ¡°No!¡±


    But it was already too late.


    The captain, as well as Alexander and Din, had already cocked their guns and pulled the triggers. Thunderous shots rang out, accompanied by flashes of gunpowder. Every bullet hit its target. Lead pierced holes in the creature¡¯s wings, tore off chunks of its flesh, scattering fur across the floor, and several bones were also shattered, sending unpleasantly crunchy bits falling to the ground.


    But the creature didn¡¯t so much as think of succumbing to its wounds.


    Howling again, it turned and looked at the stunned Cloaks with its beady, yellowish eyes.


    ¡°Woo-eee!¡± It squealed, and, launching itself away from the man¡¯s corpse ¡ª his face was mutilated and frozen in a grimace of terror ¡ª the demon spread those massive wings and swooped down the stairs.


    Milar and Alexander flung themselves aside, going in different directions, which meant that its paws only managed to slash the edges of their coats. Meanwhile, Din pushed off the floor and sprang into the air, landing on the back of the demon below him. Then, with a cry worthy of the best wranglers, he drove his steel knives into the creature¡¯s ears. They plunged into the monster¡¯s skull with a nauseating slurping sound.


    The creature jerked, flailed its leathery wings, and crashed to the floor, rolling a good two meters along the ground. Din had leaped clear and was now hopping from foot to foot like a seasoned boxer, eyes bright in the dark from that night vision brew and his pupils so dilated they nearly filled his irises.


    ¡°Let¡¯s check it out,¡± Din drew out his small, handheld analyzer and pointed it at the monster. ¡°It¡¯s got enough Ley for three rays of a Red Star. That¡¯s about six exes and thirty kso. Not quite the juicy bounty I¡¯d been hoping for.¡±


    Milar, ignoring the ranger, turned to Ardan.


    ¡°What were you yelling about?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a bat, albeit only partially,¡± Ardi shook his head dejectedly. ¡°And bats¡­¡±


    ¡°Live in colonies,¡± the Cloaks finished for him. After that realization, they made sure to stand back to back once again, this time forming not a triangle, but a square due to the addition of Ardan.


    As if hearing their words, the darkness within the house began to roil. Along the ceiling, where previously only spiders had dwelled; in the corners between the walls and furniture, where daylight had never reached; across the floor, in those far-flung areas that the housekeepers¡¯ brooms had barely brushed¡­ The shadows churned and puffed up in every place the light had never held sway.


    And these bubbles of darkness, swelling faster and faster, all simultaneously burst, erupting like a swollen pimple full of oil, taking on the features of the same creature that Din had just eliminated. Some were smaller, the size of a dachshund, while others were much larger than an adult wolf. They all spread their still-forming wings, opened their maws impossibly wide, and howled madly.


    ¡°What were you saying about a bonus?¡± Alexander whispered, cocking his weapons again.


    ¡°Go up!¡± Milar yelled and, waving his sabre in front of him and shooting his revolver at the enemy, ran toward the stairs.


    Following him, Ardan rushed to the steps as well, right behind Alexander. Each shot the gruff man fired invariably found a target, exploding the eye sockets of the creatures diving on them from all sides. Din brought up the rear, delivering quick, fast strikes to the right and left of him, cutting wings and slashing throats with his knives.


    Ardi, meanwhile, was mentally holding a defensive seal at the ready, and so he remained inactive. If, of course, one didn¡¯t count the fact that, from time to time, he had to duck down, dodging the enemies swooping in right above him, and the fact he also sometimes had to use his staff in imaginative ways it hadn¡¯t been intended for, fending off the creatures with its base or even hitting them right on the head with it.


    Milar reached the second-floor landing first, skidded off to one side, whirled around, and fired his gun, knocking down a demon that had almost stabbed its claws into Din¡¯s back. The ranger, for his part, leaped onto the banister and kicked off it with the predatory grace of a hunting falcon. For a single heartbeat, he seemed to hang in midair as he drove a knife into the back of the creature¡¯s skull, then used the demon¡¯s dying body as a springboard to fling himself past the railing. He landed and rolled across the floor, slamming painfully against the wall.


    Alexander, who was shooting with both hands in different directions and not missing (which seemed impossible to Ardan), still couldn¡¯t stop one of the hungry, flesh-craving creatures from clawing his head. It tore off some skin and took his hat along with it, revealing his bald head¡­ covered in the ornate, intricate tribal tattoos of the Armondo.


    ¡°Bastard,¡± he spat. With a spin of one emptied revolver, he holstered it and, in the same movement, pulled a large knuckle duster from his belt.


    Easily slipping it onto his fingers and clenching his fist, Alexander delivered a swift and equally powerful blow to the demon¡¯s chest. A cracking sound resounded, and his fist, which had dented the demon¡¯s chest a couple of centimeters inward, sent it flying back.


    When all four of them reached the second floor, Milar took something small and round out of his inner pocket and shouted:


    ¡°Eyes!¡±


    Ardi panicked at first, but after noticing how everyone was covering their faces with their elbows, he managed to close his eyes. Alas, he couldn¡¯t cover himself with his hand in time, and so, even through his closed eyes, the world around him still blazed with white light.


    When Ardan opened his eyes again, everything had been reduced to a bunch of blurry silhouettes.


    ¡°Move!¡± Alexander barked into his ear and, grabbing him by the elbow, dragged him somewhere.


    Then came the sound of the door slamming shut, and he felt himself being violently yanked down. When Ardan regained his ability to see, he was almost sick again. They were hiding in a nursery. A nursery where, in a broken bed ¡ª with splinters all around it and torn sheets and a mattress that had fallen to the floor ¡ª lay the gnawed on, bloodied remains of a three-year-old child.


    Ardan sometimes had nightmares about Baliero, and for a moment, he thought he was asleep and experiencing one of them.


    ¡°So, let¡¯s count that as twelve creatures with three rays each,¡± Din said, seemingly unconcerned by what he was seeing, including the bloody scratches on the blue wallpaper depicting poodles frolicking on white clouds. ¡°We just need to collect some sort of tangible proof of our kills, or else half of the bonus will be deducted. And they¡¯ll still charge us for the grenade. All in all, that¡¯s almost seventy exes and-¡±


    ¡°And we¡¯re screwed, Din,¡± Milar said tiredly, reloading his revolver as he did so. ¡°It¡¯s really not the time to be angling for a big bonus.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re out of grenades?¡± Alexander, who was busy doing the same thing, asked.


    The ¡°moons,¡± while suitable for quick reloads, were limited, and the Cloaks were not in a hurry to spend them. Ardan was fighting against his nausea. He had seen it all in the last six months and had probably even gotten used to corpses and blood. But what normal person could ever get used to the sight of a child¡¯s body, let alone one that had been torn apart so viciously...


    The Cloaks, on the other hand, acted as though the carnage barely registered. Maybe that was why society both feared them and despised them in equal measure.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got two left,¡± the captain said, pulling out two small glass orbs tied off with plain twine. Inside, a shimmering white fluid sparkled and swirled. ¡°We can burn the swarm two more times, but¡­¡± Milar shook his head and tucked the grenades away again. ¡°They¡¯re just low-level creatures, summoned to be a distraction by that demonologist bastard¡­¡±


    ¡°Demonologess,¡± Din insisted again.


    ¡°She¡¯s a murderous psycho bitch as far as I¡¯m concerned,¡± Alexander growled. ¡°Now is not the time for niceties!¡±


    Din ¡ª twirling the cylinder of his revolver that he¡¯d fired only once or twice ¡ª just shrugged, his knives still clenched in his hands.


    ¡°I just wanted to remind you that the target is a woman, so the poor guy that the demon ate is at least innocent.¡±


    ¡°The esteemed Lady Demonologess is our target,¡± Milar corrected him mockingly. ¡°And she¡¯s most likely still somewhere in this building, planning something bigger.¡±


    All three of them turned to Ardan in unison.


    ¡°The trainee is about to throw up,¡± Alexander pulled out a five-kso coin from his pocket.


    ¡°He won¡¯t,¡± Milar took out a coin as well.


    ¡°I¡¯ll pass,¡± Din shook his head.


    Ardan looked at them, trying to understand whether the Cloaks had gone insane or not, and then, bending over the wreckage of the wardrobe, he coughed a couple of times but managed to not vomit.


    ¡°My coin,¡± the captain took the five kso. ¡°Alright, what are your guesses, Magister?¡±


    ¡°Basement.¡±


    ¡°That is very vague,¡± Milar squinted. ¡°We need some specifics, Ard.¡±


    Ardan closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. His heart was trying to burst through his chest and escape, and his legs were shaking treacherously. He would¡¯ve liked to remain ignorant about the abilities of demonologists ¡ª especially the powerful ones ¡ª and their demons like the Cloaks. But after reading Atta¡¯nha¡¯s scrolls and stories, he no longer had that luxury.


    ¡°The deeper into the ground you go, the stronger the influence of the Ley gets, especially on this night,¡± Ardan clarified, wiping the bitter saliva from his lips. ¡°We¡¯re now on the second floor, but the creatures aren¡¯t attacking us anymore, although they clearly could keep going. That means they are almost definitely guarding the entrance to the basement.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± Milar nodded approvingly. ¡°Alexander?¡±


    ¡°We could clear the way to the kitchen with one grenade, and then throw the second one into the cellar before immediately going down after it.¡±


    ¡°And if there¡¯s some crap waiting for us in the basement?¡± Din put away his knives and took out two much longer, curved ones that looked like short sabers or very lengthy daggers.


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll improvise,¡± Alexander raised his revolvers.


    ¡°As we always do,¡± Din sighed dejectedly.


    ¡°As we always do,¡± Alexander agreed.


    ¡°Plamena offered me some of her famous apple strudel this morning,¡± Din groaned dramatically. ¡°And being the fool I am, I refused. If our improvisation ends the same as our last one, we¡¯ll be stuck in the infirmary for a couple of months again.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll have your strudel tomorrow morning,¡± Alexander growled in annoyance.


    ¡°Tomorrow¡­ But I want some now. And yet, instead of strudel, I get demons! Damned half-dog and half-mouse ones, too. I can¡¯t stand mice. They¡¯re small, agile and always chewing on something.¡±


    ¡°Then they¡¯re almost like you, Din,¡± Alexander snorted. ¡°You¡¯ve always got some sort of nasty snack in your maw, but you¡¯re as tall as a beanstalk, too.¡±


    Ardi, while listening to the clearly nervous banter, kept his gaze fixed on the remains of the mauled toddler. If the unknown demonologist was indeed planning to conduct the experiment described in that Grand Magister¡¯s autobiography, then why would she part with, as bad as it sounded, good materials?


    Yes, the Grand Magister had mentioned eleven-year-old children as a baseline average, but by that logic, a small child could be better suited to the experiment, at least to some extent.


    And yet¡­


    ¡°Have you noticed it?¡± Milar asked him in a whisper, ending the argument at once.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ardan confirmed. ¡°I have.¡±


    They exchanged glances and fell silent. Alexander and Din, who were shifting their gazes between the captain and the young man in puzzlement, both finally shrugged.


    ¡°Perhaps, gentlemen investigators, you would like to share your thoughts with us?¡± Alexander demanded harshly.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t add up,¡± Milar ran his fingers over his stubbled jaw.


    ¡°What, by the Eternal Angels, doesn¡¯t add up, Cat?¡±


    ¡°The details, Alexander, the details don¡¯t add up,¡± the captain said, sliding a palm across his revolver¡¯s cylinder and giving it a spin to check the mechanism. ¡°We don¡¯t know how yet, but it¡¯s clear things aren¡¯t lining up.¡±


    ¡°And what are we doing about it?¡± Din asked, a glimmer of hope in his voice.


    ¡°First, we¡¯ll clear out this lair, and then we¡¯ll think about it,¡± Milar shrugged. ¡°How much time do we have left until midnight?¡±


    Ardan raised his watch up to his nose.


    ¡°Two hours and twenty-one minutes,¡± he informed the Cloaks.


    For several suffocating heartbeats, a heavy silence filled the ravaged nursery. Outside, the night tore at the city, ripping away more scraps of its resistance, which came in the form of desperate attempts at lighting up the gloom with Ley-lamps and flickering candles and oil lamps.


    No one there so much as glanced in the direction of that fleeting safety. Unlike in Baliero itself, this house did not present itself as a simple deathtrap.


    If anything, it was the other way around: the vanishing door and the demon swarm seemed designed to push unwelcome guests toward one sensible decision ¡ª turn tail and flee this hellhole as quickly and as far as possible.


    ¡°Whoever dies is a Fatian,¡± Milar spat and, stepping over the crib¡¯s wreckage and the gnawed limbs of the child, approached the door.


    Taking a grenade in his left hand, he used his revolver¡¯s muzzle to slightly open the door and, exhaling, shouted: ¡°Well, you flying exes, come on! Here we are!¡± And with that, he lunged into the hallway.


    Alexander and Din darted after him, and Ardan followed last. While they were in the second-floor corridor, as Ardan had guessed, the demons did not attack them. But the moment Milar crossed the invisible boundary between landing and stairway, the darkness that had spread throughout the first floor ballooned again into viscous, oily clouds.


    The rotten, tarry bubbles burst, spawning more and more hybrids of bats and dogs. They also had fish-like teeth and flapped their wings, generating a buzz of nauseating pops reminiscent of the flapping of torn skin in the wind.


    ¡°Eyes!¡± Milar shouted, leaping from midway up the stairs and hurling another glass orb ahead of him. Ardan recognized it at once ¡ª he¡¯d seen Mart use something similar on the train.


    Shielding his eyes with one arm, staff raised, Ardan dove after Alexander and Din. He landed in something viscous and half-melted ¡ª the steaming remains of a demon burnt away by the orb¡¯s supernatural flash.


    When he moved his hand away from his face, Ardan saw that the gloom had been seared so badly that blurry afterimages were now scorched into the walls like sun-bleached silhouettes. And yet, in the corners where that eerie light hadn¡¯t reached, new bubbles were already bursting, birthing more shrieking, drooling horrors.


    ¡°Don¡¯t slow down!¡± Milar shouted.


    Ardan and the Cloaks dashed into the kitchen. A whoosh sounded behind the stove as yet another monstrosity lunged at them. Its fangs never reached Cloak flesh, though ¡ª they slammed into one of Din¡¯s blades instead. The former ranger, holding his left knife in a reverse grip, wedged the steel firmly between its teeth, then drove his right blade deep into the fiend¡¯s belly. In one fluid spin, he flung himself aside, twisting the demon into a whirl of wet, black flesh and steaming gore.


    Its skull split from ear to ear. Its torso was bisected from crotch to maw. Four separate chunks of the monster collapsed onto the tiles just as Milar yanked open the cellar door.


    ¡°Behind you!¡± Alexander shouted.


    He yanked Ardan backwards, planting a hand on the boy¡¯s collarbone and bracing an elbow against his shoulder, then pulled the trigger three times. The shots cracked right behind Ardan¡¯s head, each blast threatening to rupture his eardrums. Ardi tried to shout something, but he could hardly hear his own voice.


    By the time Alexander let him go, flipping open his gun to shake out the spent shells, four demon corpses lay behind Ardan. Each one was sporting an extra hole dead center between their eyes and their diameters matched his bullets perfectly.


    Unfortunately, Ardan could no longer hear anything with his right ear, which was buzzing like a faulty transformer.


    ¡°Grenade!¡± Milar tossed the orb into the cellar and slammed the door shut. From beneath it, searing rays of white light shot out for a moment, eliciting shrieks from the horde of demons that had begun pouring into the kitchen. Screeching, the creatures shielded themselves with their wings ¡ª which burned under the onslaught of that brilliance ¡ª and retreated deeper into the shadows.


    ¡°Move!¡± The captain bellowed. Holding the door open, saber raised, he kept firing. His aim was less impeccable than Alexander¡¯s, but he was still dropping the occasional demon as it came too close.


    That bought enough time for Alexander, Din, and Ardan to dash through. Then Milar darted in as well and yanked the door shut with a bang.


    Fangs and claws instantly battered the thin wood, ripping into the flimsy boards and prying apart large chunks of it.


    ¡°It won¡¯t last long!¡± Milar shouted, occasionally stabbing his saber into newly-opened gaps and skewering any howling demon unlucky enough to shove its muzzle through.


    Ardan quickly opened his grimoire to the page detailing the Ice Wave variant. It was nothing fancy: a standard form set within one of many free arrays.


    ¡°Get behind me!¡± He shouted, straining his throat until it hurt.


    Alexander and Din were the first to duck behind him. Milar had to kick off the stairs and leap right over their heads ¡ª fortunately, Alexander and Din were quick enough to catch him before he dropped like a sack of potatoes onto the cellar¡¯s stone floor.


    The demons, after reducing the door to splinters, got stuck in the narrow passage, and then began scratching their way inside, leaving long, deep gouges in the stone walls as they pushed forward.


    Ardan slammed the butt of his staff against the ground. A seal flared to life at his feet, and a flurry of ice streamed out from the tip of his staff. In seconds, a rectangular ice wall ¡ª two and a half meters tall, half a meter thick ¡ª rose up from floor to ceiling, sealing off the stairs. The demons that had clawed their way onto the steps crashed into this new barrier, ripping at it and gnashing their fangs against its smooth, transparent surface.


    Of course, they would eventually break through, and likely without too much trouble since the conjured wall would only hold for half an hour or so before its stored energy returned to the Ley Lines.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s¡­ interesting,¡± Ursky remarked, tilting his head as he studied the fiends attempting to gnaw their way through.


    Ardan, meanwhile, tapped into the remaining two rays in his ring. The accumulator on his finger cracked, falling away in tiny crystal shards. Shaking the ring free of any remnants, Ardan swapped in his other accumulator and drew three more rays from it.


    This left all seven of his rays burning in his Star, but only six in reserve in the last accumulator. Ardan had already realized while saving Boris that the number of Stars and rays he possessed was quite insignificant when it came to a serious fight. And now¡­


    It was no wonder Mart had been so skeptical about Ardan¡¯s combat magic education.


    ¡°Good job, trainee,¡± Milar straightened up, shaking himself off. ¡°But we¡¯re not resting just yet, gentlemen. The main event is still to come.¡± And the captain pointed deeper into the cellar.


    Nothing about this basement seemed remarkable: there were a few wooden casks, an ice chest against the nearest wall, a pair of cabinets full of cleaning supplies, mops, and garden tools. A single, non-functioning Ley-lamp swayed idly in the center...


    Which meant that Milar was pointing somewhere else.


    Ardan squinted and spotted a hole in the far wall. The masonry had been pried away ¡ª chunks of brick and stone littered the floor ¡ª revealing a tunnel that led into a dark abyss. The stench of rot and swamp was so strong that Ardi nearly gagged again.


    Din, blades still in hand, stepped up to the hole and peered inside. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a surprise,¡± he whistled softly. ¡°It¡¯s an old smuggler¡¯s passage that opens right into the sewers.¡±


    ¡°Damn it,¡± Alexander muttered, tucking away his knuckle duster and loading a second revolver. With a flourish, he spun both guns, lifting their barrels to rest near his shoulders. ¡°Those fucking drug runners had to screw things up even here.¡±


    ¡°I have nothing more to add, Alexander,¡± Milar sighed. ¡°Nothing more¡­ except for the fact that we¡¯ll have to go down there.¡±


    ¡°Into the sewers?¡± Din asked. ¡°How will we know where to go without any blueprints? I can¡¯t navigate in there. And even if I could ¡ª the demonologess could be anywhere. It¡¯s a real labyrinth down there.¡±


    Ardan probably could have remained silent. Maybe he should¡¯ve even suggested that they try to escape. Together, they could have fought their way through the demons and gotten out, even without any grenades to aid them. This was not his hunt. His pack had not been harmed. Only Lisa¡­ Boris¡­ And those missing children¡­


    Maybe Ardan still didn¡¯t know who he really was ¡ª a human or a Matabar. But he did know who he had no desire to become.


    ¡°I¡¯ll find her,¡± the young man said firmly, drawing everyone¡¯s attention.


    Milar approached, looking him in the eye. ¡°And how, might I ask, Magister, do you plan to do that?¡±


    ¡°By scent,¡± Ardan touched his nose. ¡°I can smell the corruption. I¡¯ll find her.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    Ardan thought about it a bit and uncertainly spread his arms out.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Milar waved his hand and also reloaded his revolver. ¡°That¡¯s still better than nothing. In that case, Magister, you can go first. Din, stay close to Ard. Alexander, you and I will cover them from the back.¡±


    The Cloaks and Ardi exchanged glances.


    The watch on the young man¡¯s wrist kept ticking.


    Time until midnight: 2 hours, 11 minutes.

 Chapter 63 - Beast and a Pawn

    Ardan stepped over the makeshift threshold and found himself in a cramped, narrow, and rather short tunnel. Hewn skillfully through the foundation and hard ground, it ended in a spiral staircase that descended straight down to a makeshift hatch welded onto the pipe of an enormous storm drain.


    During the rainy season, such drains would fill nearly to the brim, and in fairer weather, they¡¯d end up being mostly dry.


    Treading carefully on the corroded, sometimes cracked steps, Ardan closed his grimoire and returned it to its special clasp, shifting his grip on his staff. Then he reached for the old manhole cover.


    ¡°Let me help,¡± Din offered, trying to slip a hand past Ardi from the side.


    Ardan only glanced at him in confusion, gave the cover a harder tug, and winced through clenched teeth as a sharp flash of pain flared in his chest. Because of the potion, he¡¯d nearly forgotten that he was still nowhere near fully recovered, and such exertions certainly weren¡¯t doing him any good. And yet, despite everything, the manhole cover gave way at last.


    With a monstrous clang, he lifted it away, shaking off flakes of rust onto the steel pipe below. He also noticed signs that someone had come down here about half a year before, painstakingly sawing through the clinging rust that had fused the cover to the storm drain.


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± Din mumbled with a distracted smile. ¡°You¡¯re a Matabar. I forgot.¡±


    Ardi took a moment to catch his breath. Something hot and wet began to spread across his chest.


    ¡°Everything all right down there?¡± Milar asked from above.


    ¡°Y-yeah,¡± Ardan answered, a slight stammer betraying how winded he was. He finally managed to breathe without sounding like a cornered hare and peered inside.


    Metal rungs welded to the pipe served as a makeshift ladder, descending a couple of meters before ending in a runoff. The runoff branched into several stone channels that seemed to be old but still functioning piping. It wasn¡¯t surprising, given the fact that Baliero had existed since the days of Gales.


    Holding his staff in one hand and gripping the rungs with the other, Ardi climbed down onto a narrow ledge lining the shaft, with Din right behind him.


    Soon, Alexander and the captain joined them. Thanks to the potions they¡¯d taken, they also didn¡¯t need any light to see in the gloom. Once at the bottom, the Cloaks took turns peering into the wide mouths of the drains ¡ª each nearly three meters in diameter ¡ª that vanished into the distance.


    ¡°Which way do we go?¡± Alexander asked with a grimace. ¡°All of them reek equally to me.¡±


    Ardi approached each of the channels in turn, trying to clear his mind of all the other smells and sensations as he sniffed the air. Alexander hadn¡¯t been exaggerating when he¡¯d mentioned the stench.


    It stung his eyes with ammonia fumes from all manner of excrement. It twisted his stomach with the reek of stagnant water and decay. It even throbbed in his skull as the thick, stifling air seemed to squeeze it hard.


    And yet, near the eastern pathway, Ardan caught a scent that overshadowed all the rest. Those others ¡ª disgusting though they were ¡ª belonged here. They had long ago soaked into the stone and merged with the wet, sloping arches, now living undisturbed in their wretched, lonely domain. They paid no heed to their uninvited visitors, only disliking the fact that their filthy solitude had been disturbed.


    But what Ardan had just smelled did not belong in the sewers.


    ¡°And why is it,¡± Din grumbled, ¡°that whenever some kind of damned necromancer is performing a ritual or a demonologist is preparing a rite, it always has to be in the sewer? I¡¯ll be reeking for days¡­ Plamena will make me sleep with the dog in the yard.¡±


    ¡°Normally, the influence of Ley Lines is stronger down here, and it¡¯s easier to draw in energy,¡± Ardan reminded him, not immediately realizing that the question had been rhetorical. ¡°This way.¡±


    He reopened his grimoire to the familiar page that held the classic Ice Wave spell and took the lead.


    One by one, the Cloaks followed along the stone parapet that skirted a sort of canal. It was filled with sloshing, gray, foul-smelling water, within which murky shards of ice drifted like broken glass.


    ¡°By the Face of Light, that reeks,¡± Alexander rasped.


    The Cloaks hunched their shoulders, occasionally sneezing. Their dark coats, with their bright silver buttons, were reflected in the icy sheen on the walls.


    Ardan, for his part, was barely suffering from the cold, which was interesting, especially when you considered the fact that, while the weather was as bad as it currently was, he would normally be forced to wear several layers of warm clothing.


    If he had to guess, he would presume that it was all because of the winter solstice and the intense Ley Line radiation. His Matabar blood seemed to be drawing strength from it.


    Turning that notion over in his mind, Ardan walked gingerly ahead, peering into all the particularly dark corners cautiously. Hidden in the shadows, the concealed passages seemed to harbor ever more monsters than the house they¡¯d left behind. Sometimes, he would jolt at a splash in the canal, only to see another chunk of ice bobbing to the surface.


    Everywhere he looked, he was halfway convinced that demons, chimeras, or other beasts plucked straight from his grandfather¡¯s stories lurked there. But aside from that same decaying odor, which steadily grew stronger the closer they came to their target, Ardi noticed nothing else.


    The Cloaks behind him were reacting in much the same way ¡ª tensing for a moment and pointing their revolvers, sabers, or, in Din¡¯s case, knives, at every faint sound or whisper.


    Despite their wariness, the sewers remained stoically silent, enveloped in a hush that was almost hypnotic. The water and its icy edges swallowed every echo of their uninvited footsteps, while their shaky breaths simply blended into the local gloom.


    Sometimes, they would need to descend a sloping trough and then, after moving to the side, climb back up against the flow. Step after step, breath after breath, for the better part of fifteen minutes, they approached their destination ¡ª Ardan could tell by the gradually intensifying stench.


    ¡°Strange¡­¡± Alexander muttered. ¡°That house was crawling with demons, but down here, there¡¯s not a soul in sight.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the running water,¡± Ardan pointed at the channel, where a filthy trickle gurgled along. ¡°Water accumulates a Ley charge too, and though it¡¯s slight, it has special properties. In fact, rivers were the first sources of a stable Ley current for research experiments and-¡±


    Even with his back to them, Ardan could feel the skeptical looks burning holes into the back of his head.


    ¡°Demons and the undead can¡¯t endure being near running water,¡± Ardi cut his explanation short. ¡°That¡¯s also why they avoid Ley cables. That¡¯s why-¡±


    ¡°We got it,¡± Milar interrupted him. ¡°And since the city¡¯s having rolling blackouts, the cables-¡±


    At that moment, the captain and Ardan froze in unison, then glanced at each other. Alexander and Din pressed themselves to the wall, exchanging confused looks.


    ¡°If the city¡¯s Ley cables aren¡¯t working¡­¡± Ardan began.


    ¡°Then the demons can travel wherever they want down here,¡± Milar finished.


    ¡°But what about the Niewa?¡±


    ¡°The underground tram lines,¡± the captain snapped his fingers. ¡°They run beneath the river in the deepest parts. The demons could use them.¡±


    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t match with all the evidence that suggested that the demonologist is planning to transform herself into a demon to gain more power.¡±


    ¡°Which means¡­¡± Milar exhaled, staggering slightly and catching Alexander¡¯s arm for support. ¡°That someone put her up to it. But they didn¡¯t tell her everything. By the Eternal Angels¡­ We¡¯re just chasing a pawn.¡±


    ¡°Gentlemen investigators,¡± Alexander cleared his throat, his tone as irritated as ever. ¡°Would you mind sharing your thoughts with us?¡±


    ¡°Someone¡¯s trying to turn the capital into a Dead Land,¡± Ardan said softly, scarcely believing his own words.


    That, apparently, was set to take place at midnight. And that was the real aim of whoever was manipulating the demonologist. When the clock struck twelve, the phenomenon of the winter solstice would enter its most powerful phase.


    The Ley Lines¡¯ radiation would grow so strong that not only would Ley cables and transformers fail, but even accumulators would go dark. Star Mages would be left relying solely on the personal rays of their Stars.


    That would be the perfect time to strike. If the demonologist succeeded, the city would be overrun by hundreds of demons that would not face much significant resistance. And then¡­


    By the Sleeping Spirits¡­ The Metropolis was home to nearly twenty million people!


    Suddenly, Ardan found it hard to breathe.


    All those lives were now depending on two operatives and a detective from the Second Chancery who were being accompanied by a barely-trained mage.


    ¡°But how would she even manage the ritual?¡± Ardan asked, baffled. ¡°Whatever else it is, the high Ley radiation is impossible to calculate. Stabilizing a seal that opens the city up to hordes of demons just can¡¯t be done. It makes no sense¡­¡±


    ¡°I think I know where we¡¯re headed, Ard,¡± Milar said, spitting onto the damp stone. He glanced down the next branching pathway, where a steel ladder led upwards along one wall. ¡°One of the future subway junctions is up ahead.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s shielded from the Ley radiation,¡± Ardan added, his breath catching, ¡°which means that, on this special night, conducting a ritual there would be no trouble at all.¡±


    ¡°And the demons would immediately flood out into the city through the subway lines,¡± the captain nodded.


    With that grim realization, the four of them instantly broke into a run. Within minutes, they reached the junction and stood at the foot of the ladder. There, as if proving them right, bright, warm rays of light could be seen spilling out through the gaps around a slightly ajar service door.


    ¡°Alexander, you go first,¡± Milar ordered. ¡°Shoot anyone on sight.¡±


    ¡°What if there are hostages?¡±


    Milar¡¯s brow just furrowed. Alexander swore under his breath, but gave a curt nod. No one argued. If there were indeed hostages up there, it meant they were components in this ritual. And when the fate of twenty million other ¡°hostages¡± was at stake, you simply had to do the grim math.


    Ardan didn¡¯t condone it, but he understood.


    If these had been hunting trails, any pack leader would¡¯ve made the same choice.


    ¡°Din, you¡¯re second. Cover his back.¡±


    ¡°Got it, Cat.¡±


    ¡°Ard.¡± The captain turned to the young man. ¡°You¡¯re right behind me. Use whatever you can throw at her. We have to kill the demonologist.¡±


    Ardi nodded, seized by a sudden awareness of just how heavily this burden was weighing on him.


    ¡°So, is this still considered a Level Two priority?¡± Ardan asked, unable to help himself.


    ¡°It¡¯s the kind of priority,¡± Milar muttered through gritted teeth, holstering his saber and cocking his gun, ¡°that¡¯ll have us filling out reams of top-secret paperwork if we survive.¡±


    The Cloaks gave each other a measured nod. Then, carrying one revolver in his teeth, Alexander began to climb the ladder.


    Ardi, while waiting for his turn, glanced once more at his watch.


    Time until midnight: 1 hour, 26 minutes.


    Icy dread trickled down his spine. Now that he knew what awaited the city at the stroke of midnight, each tick of the watch¡¯s second hand sounded not like a discreet whisper, but rather, it seemed like a hammer playing a funeral march.


    One by one, the Cloaks vanished through the opening. Ardan pressed himself to the stone walls of the old sewer, trying to be as still as possible. He strained to catch any sounds or sights from the far side of the hatch, but the difference in lighting rendered him practically blind, and all he saw was the glare of the light.


    At last, after Milar climbed up, Ardan followed him. Balancing his staff in one hand and gripping the wet, rough rungs with the other, he began his ascent. With each rung, with every step left behind, his heart hammered faster, and insidious doubts began to gnaw at his conviction.


    Skusty would probably have reminded him that if he truly wished to escape, he could open a path through the Fae Lands and flee far from the Metropolis. Of course, he would then have to deal with a lot of furious Sidhe, which was in no way more pleasant than fighting demonologists, but at least there was a chance he could negotiate with them.


    Ergar, though¡­ Ergar would never run. Even if, as Ardan now understood, these were not his own hunting trails. Even if this conflict involved monsters not found in the Alcade. Ergar would still aid them, would still save them, would still watch over them, because that was his way among the snowy peaks bathed in the cold moonlight of endless nights.


    And the moment Ardan pictured his native mountains, his breathing steadied, and his heart calmed a little. He was, after all, the apprentice of a snow leopard before anything else. It would not do for him-


    ¡°Shhh,¡± someone hissed in his ear.


    Four hands yanked him clear of the hatch, hauling him down to crouch behind a stack of wooden crates. Blinking in the harsh brightness, it took Ardan a moment for his eyes to adjust and see anything.


    When his sight finally returned, he realized that he and the Cloaks were huddled behind these crates, which served as their cover.


    They were crouching together in a broad, oval corridor. Thick cables snaked along the walls, connecting to humming transformers, or sometimes vanishing through pipework that led into walls partially plated with steel. The corridor itself was closed off on one side by a wall, but on the other side, through wide arches, they could see a round platform about ten meters in diameter.


    There, four tall devices resembling steel balloons crackled with sparks. Each had a narrow base and a huge, orb-like top. Thick cables stretched out from them, and these cables, under normal circumstances, should have reached the transformers in four branching lines, routing the current farther along. At least that was how Anna¡¯s brother had once explained it to him.


    But now those thick cables had been severed. Instead of going into the transformers, each of them had been clamped with copper connectors to the screws on the lids of crystal boxes. Crystal was one of the best conductors of the Ley current ¡ª which was why it was used in lanterns among other things.


    Those containers lay on the stone floor inside four blood-inscribed sections of perhaps the largest, most convoluted seal Ardan had ever seen. In truth, it hardly resembled a single seal at all, and was more like five distinct constructs fused into one monstrous pattern.


    And if Ardan hadn¡¯t already seen the design of a certain strategic spell, he would¡¯ve thought that all of this was merely the deranged scribbling of a madman.


    At the center, within the intricate lines of the seal, sat a motionless figure covered by a black cowl.


    Even though Ardan could only see the figure¡¯s back, he instantly recognized them. This was the same person who¡¯d shot him last night.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± Alexander hissed. ¡°Look.¡±


    At first, Ardan didn¡¯t know where he was supposed to look, so he focused on the crystal boxes. In one of them, he spotted a strangely-shaped shard of bone, bent at multiple angles and dotted with bulbous growths. In the second was something like a parchment covered in fine writing that was too tiny to read at this distance, even for a Matabar half-blood. The third held a small, nondescript stone, the sort you might find by the thousands in the forest or along a riverbank. But in the last box, Ardan saw a familiar statuette.


    The very same one that had caused so many deaths on Fifth Street¡­


    ¡°There,¡± Alexander said, nodding slightly to the side of the middle of the hall.


    Ardan turned his head to the left and could barely keep himself from cursing. Lurching along the walkway above them and bumping its hideous head against the steel beams near the five-meter-high ceiling was a hulking monstrosity.


    Every so often, it scraped the glass windows leading into empty control rooms, or whatever these compartments that oversaw the station¡¯s operations were.


    The creature stood on four long, spindly legs with thick, rounded joints protruding from each of them. It had neither fur nor flesh, just the creaking plates of a chitinous shell overlapping each other.


    Its front limbs, vaguely reminiscent of arms, were thicker than its hind ones, which lacked anything resembling hips. Instead, each rear limb had a rod-like protrusion covered in cone-shaped nodules. The beast balanced itself on something that looked like huge, multi-toed hands armed with claws. And the arrangement of these was asymmetrical: on its left forelimb, there were four digits, and on its right, six. Its hind limbs were similarly mismatched: it only had two on one side, but a ghastly eight could be seen on the foot-like structure of the other.


    Its long legs ¡ª each was at least four meters long ¡ª were anchored to an exposed skeleton encased in that same chitinous carapace. Its torso was eerily shaped, almost humanoid, with sets of additional shoulder joints near the spots where its limbs attached to its body, each of them sprouting twitching filaments that appeared to be smaller additional arms or legs.


    As for its head, it was impossible to tell where the thing¡¯s torso ended and its mouth began. Its lower jaw seemed to grow out of its chest, while its upper jaw melded seamlessly into its sloping back, which was as smooth as a dolphin¡¯s ¡ª Ardan remembered pictures of them from his schoolbooks.


    The monster moved slowly, carefully placing each elongated limb as it prowled the outer walkway.


    And, hideous though it was, the creature exuded no scent whatsoever. Had it not been so colossal, and had it not moved with such uncanny silence on its many clawed toes ¡ª a silence that had alerted his instincts ¡ª Ardan might never have noticed it.


    But if he couldn¡¯t smell it, that meant¡­


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    ¡°It¡¯s a Tazidahian military chimera,¡± Alexander spat under his breath. ¡°By all the Angels, Captain, how is one of the Brotherhood¡¯s war beasts prowling the sewers in our own capital?¡±


    ¡°For once, Alexander, I don¡¯t much care,¡± Milar muttered.


    Ardan, who¡¯d been shifting his position, tried to slide a bit farther away, but Alexander grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it painfully.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± he repeated. ¡°That¡¯s a Sprinter-class chimera. It doesn¡¯t have a sense of smell, sight, or hearing, but it navigates perfectly through vibrations. And it can sprint at almost ninety kilometers an hour while maintaining that speed for hours on end. The Tazidahians used them to hunt cavalry regiments once. And now they¡¯re trying to update them for use against armored vehicles. Really, the Witch¡¯s Gaze? Now of all times¡­¡±


    Alexander shot Ardan a sharp look. Ardan merely raised his hands in mute apology. After hearing that description, he found himself far less eager to move.


    ¡°It¡¯s a wonder the thing didn¡¯t sense us climbing up,¡± Milar said in a hushed tone.


    Din hadn¡¯t spoken or moved all this time, standing poised, like a lynx about to leap.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Ley radiation,¡± Ardan said quietly, using measured, careful motions as he pointed at the sparking machines. ¡°They¡¯ve got high-grade accumulators inside them that create an enclosed, insulated field. Each one could-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t care,¡± the captain cut him off.


    ¡°What¡¯s the plan, Cat?¡± Din finally asked. ¡°That beast won¡¯t go down easy.¡±


    ¡°Alexander,¡± Milar said after a quick pause. ¡°You¡¯ve never faced anything like this on the Armondo border?¡±


    Ardan flicked his gaze over Alexander¡¯s tribal tattoos.


    ¡°Me? No,¡± came Alexander¡¯s cool reply. ¡°But some of the others did.¡±


    ¡°And¡­¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re all dead. You can¡¯t outrun this bastard, and if it locks onto your vibrations, you can¡¯t hide, either.¡±


    ¡°And how do you kill it?¡±


    ¡°The only unarmored part is the inside of its maw. Nothing short of a 65-caliber artillery shell will pierce that plating otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Shit,¡± Milar muttered, glaring at his revolver. ¡°Too bad I couldn¡¯t fit a cannon in my pocket.¡±


    The creature continued its slow patrol, shuffling back and forth and never straying far from the figure at the center of the seal. Clearly, the Tazidahian chimera was on guard duty.


    A Tazidahian chimera. Castilian and Selkado saboteurs on the train¡­


    Ardan cast another glance at the demonologist. Even if ¡ª no, when ¡ª they stopped her, that wouldn¡¯t end the investigation. Quite the opposite, in fact. Too many clues suggested that Ardan hadn¡¯t even come close to unraveling the puzzle. He¡¯d merely found its first thread, one of many being pulled by the unseen puppeteers orchestrating this ghastly show.


    ¡°Trainee.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll distract that monster,¡± Milar said through clenched teeth. ¡°You deal with the demonologist.¡±


    At that, Ardan almost fell on his ass ¡ª which would have been disastrous indeed.


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°No buts, Mister Mage,¡± the captain said, unsheathing his saber with excruciating care. ¡°You¡¯re the only spellcaster among us. So, it falls to you to handle our esteemed lady. Just be quick about it, because we can¡¯t dance with this thing for long.¡±


    Ardan gulped and nodded, feeling another invisible weight settle on his shoulders like a millstone.


    ¡°Don¡¯t fail us, Ard,¡± Alexander murmured as he turned toward the chimera. ¡°Because¡­ well, you know exactly what¡¯s at stake if we lose here.¡±


    ¡°Alright, boys,¡± Milar smiled grimly, lifting his revolver and squinting down its sight. ¡°Whoever dies first¡­¡±


    ¡°Is a Fatian!¡± The operatives roared in unison, their voices echoing like thunder. Then, under the cover of Milar¡¯s fire, they vaulted over the crates and charged the monster.


    Alexander¡¯s first shot found its mark inside the chimera¡¯s maw. Tearing through the pinkish flesh, the bullet lodged itself somewhere in its upper palate. The monster let out a cry that made it sound like an enraged mosquito ¡ª only louder and nastier ¡ª its green blood and sticky saliva spraying across the floor. The next few shots ricocheted off the beast¡¯s tightly-clamped fangs.


    The creature lashed out with its left forelimb, and its long claws ¡ª each was as long as one of Din¡¯s own blades ¡ª slashed through the air mere centimeters above the ranger¡¯s head. He dropped to his knees mid-stride, sliding underneath the limb that tore at the brickwork and crushed the steel plating behind him. Springing back to his feet, Din leaped, braced himself ¡ª just as he¡¯d done on that fence earlier ¡ª against the creature¡¯s hind leg, then flipped backwards through the air. Spreading his arms wide like wings, he drove his knives into the joint of its right forelimb.


    The chimera howled again. Jerking sideways, it rammed its shoulder into a control room window, shattering the glass and turning it into a gleaming rain that showered Alexander as he charged in. Alexander holstered his revolvers as he ran and slipped on a pair of brass knuckles. Each thick metal plate bore the sacred symbol of the Face of Light. With a roar every bit as fierce as Guta¡¯s, he smashed them straight into the claws of the limb Din had wounded. Even from several paces away, Ardan felt the ground tremble beneath him. The impact cracked the creature¡¯s chitinous shell.


    Meanwhile, Milar never stopped firing into the chimera¡¯s maw, not allowing it to unclench its jaws. He also darted between its legs, circling and slashing with his saber at anything he could reach, though it hardly left a mark. Still, the Cloaks buzzed around the chimera like a swarm of gnats, keeping it busy enough that it got tangled up in its own limbs, unable to reach them with its fangs.


    ¡°Ard!¡± Milar roared, flipping open his revolver¡¯s cylinder, dumping the spent shells, and hastily reloading with a ¡°moon.¡± ¡°Now!¡±


    As Ardan¡¯s name was shouted, the demonologist, who had paid no heed to the fight so far, gave a sudden twitch.


    Opening his grimoire, Ardan vaulted over the crates, ignoring the Cloaks¡¯ vicious struggle against the chimera. He raced toward the ritual seal. If he¡¯d interpreted it all correctly, he only needed to do one thing to thwart the ceremony ¡ª destroy at least one of the devices feeding a constant stream of Ley energy into the design. Such a sprawling spell construct demanded a monstrous amount of power...


    Ardi obeyed his instincts in that moment, skidding to a halt mid-stride and flinging himself to the side. He crashed shoulder-first into the ground and tumbled. When he stopped rolling, he leaped away yet again, trying to get as far from his original spot as possible.


    But it was not quite far enough. A few droplets of acid spattered the edge of his coat, burning through the fabric. The floor sizzled and blackened in several places, marking where the demonologist¡¯s spell had struck.


    She rose to her feet and threw back her hood.


    Ardan drew a pained breath. He¡¯d desperately hoped that he was mistaken.


    ¡°You, young lady,¡± the professor aimed his pointer at someone. ¡°Second row, fourth bench.¡±


    A girl with shiny earrings and a low forehead (which, oddly enough, suited her) stood up.


    ¡°That was a two-contour general-type seal,¡± she replied. ¡°If I¡¯m not mistaken, two rays of the Red and one ray of the Green Star were used.¡±


    ¡°Close, but incorrect,¡± Convel replied without a hint of displeasure. In fact, he seemed energized by the response. ¡°Next.¡±


    He remembered her all too well. She was the modest girl with the bright laugh who was oddly determined when it came to her studies. She always tried to compete with anyone who even slightly outdid her in terms of grades. There weren¡¯t many who could do so, considering the fact that Selena Lorlov had been among the best in their first-year class.


    She was of average height, with an average build, her cheeks were a bit hollow, and she was always wearing garishly colorful earrings ¡ª not ones with gems, but cheap costume trinkets ¡ª and forever tying her hair up into a tight bun that made her look several years older.


    She was a crown scholarship recipient. An orphan. Parents and family went missing in the Swallow Ocean.


    She¡¯d juggled her studies with her job as a governess. The household that had hired the fledgling mage were no kin of hers, and had presumably wanted their child raised under the supervision of a magic user.


    ¡°Yoouuu!¡± She growled like a wounded wolf.


    Her hair was no longer bound in a bun. Damp with sweat and blood, it hung in bedraggled locks about her shoulders.


    ¡°Selena, you-¡± Ardan began.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡± She screeched.


    She struck the floor with her staff and a dark, nearly black seal flared to life beneath her feet, appearing far faster than anything she¡¯d ever shown she was capable of during their military training. Ardan recognized certain details thanks to studying those copied runes he¡¯d taken from the train.


    It was a demonic seal from the School of Chaos ¡ª Lady Talia¡¯s creation.


    A swirling spike of black and scarlet erupted from the tip of Selena¡¯s staff, its smoky lights curling into each other in a terrifying swirl. Ardan used two rays of energy, forming a classic Shield around himself.


    ¡°You¡¯re pathetic,¡± Selena sneered as her spike tore through Ardan¡¯s barrier, nudged aside only slightly before cutting his left thigh.


    Ardi let out a roar at the pain ¡ª sharp and searing, even with the potion¡¯s effects ¡ª and instinctively hobbled away.


    ¡°Fucking half-breed!¡± Selena shrieked, no trace left of that bright, cheerful honor student she¡¯d been before. ¡°You think you¡¯re so clever?!¡±


    Another spike of chaos energy wreathed in a black seal shot out from her staff. Knowing that his injured leg would make it impossible for him to dodge, and that his Shield likely wouldn¡¯t hold, Ardan slammed his staff against the ground. Four icicles materialized around him, draining six more rays from his Star and the accumulator on his ring.


    The first icicle of his Ice Barrage met the black-and-red chaos spell midair; both fizzled out in a burst of frost and something vile and deeply unsettling. The next two vanished into the veil of crimson fog that whirled around Selena like a tornado. Ardan had no idea what sort of magic she was using, but it was clearly more than her Star alone should¡¯ve managed.


    ¡°You¡¯ve finally noticed?¡± She gave a laugh, tossing back her sweat-soaked hair. ¡°So much for one of the Grand¡¯s best engineers! Convel never shuts up about you! He¡¯s always praising you more than all his other students combined. You foul creature! You pitiful imitation of an actual human!¡±


    Gripping her staff in both hands, she slammed it against the floor again. A new seal, this one about a meter wide, flared to life, burning with darkness and blood. It spawned fanged skulls that rained down on Ardan from all sides like cannon shots.


    Ardan knew another simple Shield would be worthless here. Ignoring the mounting pain in his chest and leg, which was thankfully still being dulled by the potion, he sprinted around the edge of the platform. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed one of the chimera¡¯s forelimbs smashing into Alexander¡¯s gut and flinging him against a wall. Din, bloodied and tattered, was barely standing upright, and Milar was clinging to the chimera¡¯s torso, grimly holding on to the hilt of his bent saber wedged between the plates.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re better than me?!¡± Selena kept screaming, flinging skull after skull at him. They slammed into the floor, shattering the stone and leaving behind small craters filled with roiling lava. ¡°Just because you can answer some idiotic questions?! Because a bunch of fools who can¡¯t tell a contour from an array run to you for help?! You¡¯re no one! Nothing but a beast! No, you¡¯re worse, because even a beast can be trained to do tricks!¡±


    Ardan stumbled over a crack in the brick flooring, tumbling forward. He twisted in midair and landed on his back, gasping as the impact drove every bit of air from his lungs.


    ¡°You¡¯ll die here, half-breed!¡± Selena shrieked. ¡°Then they¡¯ll all realize you¡¯re just a worthless upstart! A talentless animal!¡±


    She raised her staff and slammed it down with finality. This time, the swarm of skulls soared at him unerringly. Ardan, wheezing and croaking, just barely managed to tap his staff against the floor. And from its tip, a stream of cold, impenetrable gloom surged out.


    He rolled aside, narrowly evading the incoming barrage of skulls that shook the floor.


    ¡°You think you can hide from me, you pathetic excuse for a mage?!¡± Selena shouted, scowling wildly, blinded by the haze of darkness around her. ¡°Is that worthless trick all the teacher¡¯s pet can manage?! You¡¯re not worth the air you breathe! None of you are! Filthy sub-humans ¡ª I hate you all! I¡¯ll destroy you!¡±


    Ardan recalled a detail from her file that he¡¯d read only a few hours before. Selena had been born in the north. Together with her family and other settlers, she¡¯d traveled around the mountains by rail, along the river routes to the Swallow Ocean, where the ship was wrecked.


    ¡°You won¡¯t just kill the Firstborn, Selena,¡± Ardan said through labored breaths.


    She twisted toward Ardan¡¯s voice. With a harsh cackle, she launched another wave of blood-red skulls. Ardan ¡ª who¡¯d discarded his boots so he could remain silent ¡ª hurriedly darted aside.


    ¡°They¡¯re using you, Selena!¡±


    ¡°Shut up, mongrel!¡± The young woman shrieked, slamming her staff down again. She flung out yet another swarm of skulls, acting as if there was no limit to her rays. ¡°I don¡¯t believe a single word from your filthy mouth!¡±


    ¡°Think, Selena! You have to see that your actions will devastate the entire Metropolis!¡± Ardan found it harder and harder to dodge her attacks, but he needed time, and so he stalled.


    ¡°I¡¯ll only annihilate the half-breed district! And every other beastly creature that¡¯s slunk into our city!¡± she screeched in outrage. ¡°They promised me power, promised to make me better! And I am better! Stronger than all our professors! Stronger than all the students! And I¡¯ll use that strength to-¡±


    ¡°What about the family you lived with? They were ordinary humans!¡± Ardan cut in, limping aside and struggling against the pain that was breaking through his potion-induced numbness.


    ¡°They were filthy beast lovers!¡± Selena snarled. ¡°They signed their own death warrant the day they started dealing with non-humans!¡±


    ¡°And their child? Was he also to blame for something?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s guilty of inevitably becoming just like his foul parents,¡± she sneered. ¡°Enough talk, beast. Time to finish this. After you, I¡¯ll gut those mangy Cloaks. And if Boris and Elena survive the night, I¡¯ll see to them as well.¡±


    Her staff struck the ground once more. This time, the seal took a moment longer to appear beneath her feet, but even so, a phantom maw gaped wide at her staff¡¯s tip, instantly swallowing the frigid darkness Ardan had summoned. And then...


    Nothing happened.


    Selena stared in shock at the broken, bloodstained floor. She gawked at the shattered bricks that had once borne an elegant, intricate seal and were now little more than the remnants of a disjointed mosaic. The four boxes had been ruined, their metal frames twisted and their crystal walls now reduced to sparkling dust. Though the severed cables still sparked, they could no longer form any kind of sigil.


    ¡°You broke it!¡± She screeched, voice shrill and furious. ¡°You ruined everything, you damned beast!¡±


    Breathing raggedly, Ardan gave her a brazen smile. ¡°Actually, you did that to yourself.¡±


    ¡°Monster!¡± She howled, slamming her staff down again.


    A complex seal flared with crimson fire beneath her, and a howling, flaming specter burst forth from her staff¡¯s tip. And yet, its flame burned an eerie green rather than the usual orange. Emitting silent, haunting shrieks, it bared its fangs and claws.


    It streaked like a bullet toward Ardan, who refused to budge, and... then dissolved into the rippling Water Shroud that now surrounded him. The Shroud, after devouring the energy of that hostile spell, surged out as a blazing ribbon that lashed out at the chimera. The beast, which had pinned Din to the floor and thrown Milar aside, was cleaved in half by the shimmering torrent.


    ¡°You saved your precious Cloaks, did you?¡± Selena rasped, her voice hollow and deranged, her glare full of madness. ¡°Now you¡¯ll die for it.¡±


    Ardan had only a single ray left in his Star and could feel the weakness gnawing at his battered body. Still, he tried to reach out toward the chill swirling through the darkness enveloping the city. Maybe he could call upon it, summon it somehow, and-


    Bang! Bang! Two shots rang out.


    Sitting on the floor, his back propped up against the wall, Alexander held his smoking revolvers in his outstretched hands.


    ¡°Aaaargh!¡± A wild, horrified scream echoed through the air.


    Selena flailed, blood spurting from her shattered wrists. Her hands dangled from the torn flesh by just a few strips of sinew. Her staff clattered across the floor.


    ¡°Noooooooo!¡± She wailed.


    With hideous, frantic motions, she pawed at her own belly, smearing blood across her gray dress.


    Ardan knew exactly what she was about to do. He tossed aside his staff, yanked out a dagger, and leaped forward, roaring through the pain. He tackled Selena onto her back and, with one slash, carved away a patch of skin that was already glowing with the same seal that had sent the Homeless Fae to the Sleeping Spirits.


    ¡°Aaaargh!¡± Selena screamed, convulsing violently. Ardan slid back, collapsing onto the floor.


    He gasped for breath, drenched in blood ¡ª his own and others¡¯ both ¡ª and just stared blindly at nothing.


    Milar, who was in far better shape than the rest, helped Din up and set him down beside Alexander. Then he limped toward Ardan, placing a hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°Well done, trainee,¡± the captain rasped. ¡°Our backup¡¯s almost here,¡± he added, shaking a bunch of medallions in his hand.


    ¡°That¡¯s... good...¡± Ardan exhaled.


    ¡°I... I just wanted to be stronger...¡± Selena, sprawled out on her back, spasmed as she wept. ¡°I only wanted to be stronger... Stronger than the half-breeds... Stronger than the humans... And they told me how... Showed me...¡±


    Ardan blinked and looked toward the crates behind which he and the Cloaks had been hiding recently. Through the cold haze still swirling within his mind ¡ª it felt like a wind howling overhead ¡ª he heard voices.


    Dozens of voices. The voices of children. At first, they laughed, calling for their mothers to wrap them up in a warm hug. Those same mothers promised them anything and everything, even their own lives and hearts. Then those voices changed, still pleading for their mothers ¡ª but instead of warmth and gentle arms, they found only agony. And in their final moments, the children understood that their mothers weren¡¯t coming. No one was. Only more darkness and torment.


    Ardan felt as though he couldn¡¯t breathe, as though the very world was choking him in a swirl of terror and despair.


    ¡°Trainee!¡± Milar¡¯s alarmed shout sounded very far away. ¡°Trainee, what¡¯s wrong?!¡±


    A huge piece of the wall peeled away from the broken steel plating and tumbled down, crushing what remained of the crates. Bodies rolled out ¡ª mutilated, naked and butchered bodies, their faces forever contorted in horror. Their eyes had been gouged out, their legs broken, and strange symbols had been carved into their small skulls.


    ¡°They taught me how to hear the words... Told me I had to hear the children¡¯s pain... so I could grow stronger... I listened to their agony... and I became stronger...¡± Selena¡¯s voice wavered.


    Ardan felt like he was suffocating. As though the world had him by the throat, twisting and crushing him beneath that ocean of horror and agony.


    ¡°Dammit, boy!¡± Milar¡¯s voice receded even further.


    ¡°But you, you damned half-breed, will learn nothing from me,¡± Selena hissed, her voice unbearably close. ¡°I¡¯ll never tell you anything.¡±


    Ardan turned. He no longer saw her as something human, but a monstrous horror devoid of all humanity. She opened her maw wide, moaning and bawling as she bit off her own tongue.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± Milar swore.


    Through the haze, Ardan watched Milar rush over, trying to stanch the bleeding with his hand. But Selena thrashed wildly, resisting any efforts to save her. Not because she wanted to live, but because they needed her alive, to get answers out of her.


    Ardan, panting, struggled to his feet. He walked over to them and, marveling at how light Milar suddenly felt, pushed him aside. Then he seized the monster by the throat and lifted her off the ground. She trembled in his grip, a pitiful wretch, so insignificant¡­


    She flailed her ruined limbs against his arms, and her yellow eyes glowed with greed and rot.


    She wasn¡¯t calling forth a demon.


    She had become one.


    And any hunter who was the alpha of his pack was duty-bound to exterminate such things. That was his vow. No demon or Homeless Fae would cross the borders of his land.


    ¡°You wanted power?¡± The hunter growled in the Fae tongue. ¡°Then take it!¡±


    Allowing all the children¡¯s agony to flow through him, he became a bridge for their tormented souls. Their fury poured back into this world, unleashed upon the one who had tormented them.


    The demon squealed and shrieked, trying to free herself, but how could such a wretched thing hope to rival the hunter¡¯s strength?


    ***


    Milar was hurled back a good ten paces. He hit the ground hard, scrambling for his revolver and training it on the young man.


    Damn it all. He liked this trainee, too. He was bright, if naive, and had a big, kind heart.


    ¡°Kid!¡± The captain shouted. ¡°I¡¯ll shoot! Let her go! We need to find out what she knows!¡±


    But Ardan most likely couldn¡¯t hear him right now. Maybe he couldn¡¯t hear anyone. Where he¡¯d once stood, a towering figure cloaked in a blue haze that was in the shape of a shimmering, colossal snow leopard was holding the gasping, groaning girl by the throat.


    The trainee opened his mouth. His canines, which had already been prominent, appeared to be even longer through that bestial haze.


    ¡°E lirak an¡¯dir?¡± Roared the creature that was more beast than man. ¡°Lir!¡±


    In response, shadows reached out from the mound of butchered corpses. Shadows shaped like small children. They crawled across the floor while letting out silent screams, clawing at broken stones and climbing atop one another. Then, swarming up Ardan¡¯s body, they began pouring into the demonologist¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°Nooooooooooooo!¡± She screamed, fighting to get free. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you everything! Stop! Please! I can¡¯t bear it!¡±


    ¡°Ihna!¡± The giant bellowed.


    ¡°The house next door!¡± She gasped. ¡°That¡¯s where the ones who taught me lived! They called themselves the Order of the Spider! That¡¯s all I know! I swear on my family¡¯s grave, that¡¯s everything! Stop the shadows! I beg you!¡±


    Milar flinched as Ardan pulled the girl closer to him, letting the silent shadows of the dead children crawl inside her, inflicting unbearable torment upon her. Then, with a curt nod, the giant repositioned his grip. He pressed his hands around her head and, as though twisting a chicken¡¯s neck, he snapped hers effortlessly. Her lifeless body hit the floor with a thud.


    ¡°Face of Light¡¯s shit,¡± Milar hissed, spitting.


    ***


    With monumental effort, Ardi erected mental barriers around his mind, cutting himself off from the darkness permeating the air and filling every pore of existence.


    Breathing hard, he sank to the floor and hugged his knees, trying to calm his pounding heart.


    ¡°Damn it, kid!¡± Milar ran up to him and delivered a sharp slap to the back of his head. ¡°Yonatan warned us in his report that you could lose it like this, but you went too far!¡±


    ¡°This is only the second time,¡± Ardan wheezed.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only happened once before... with the Shanti¡¯Ra,¡± he murmured, forcing down the last few dregs of the feral fury that had seized him moments ago. ¡°And now.¡±


    He remembered everything that had happened, but he¡¯d experienced it from an outsider¡¯s perspective, like a spectator within his own body. And yet, at the same time, he¡¯d been fully aware and had truly wanted to do all of it.


    He¡¯d wanted to punish the one who had chosen to become a demon and had taken so many innocent lives. It had felt like getting caught between two ropes being pulled in opposite directions.


    Milar shook his head and sat down beside him.


    ¡°Was she telling the truth?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡±


    ¡°She had no other choice,¡± Ardan said, wincing in pain as he nodded toward the ruined crates and their contents. ¡°They forced the words right out of her.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t take his eyes off Selena¡¯s corpse. Her chin lay against her spine, her glassy gaze reflecting pain and horror. The same kind of pain and horror that she¡¯d inflicted upon those murdered children.


    Ergar would have called this justice.


    But Skusty... The squirrel would have said that Ardan had been too kind and that her punishment was far from enough.


    ¡°All right,¡± Milar sighed, lying back on the cold stones. ¡°Whoever was in that ¡®house next door¡¯ is probably long gone by now, so we¡¯ll wait for our people. In the official report, we¡¯ll write that the demonologist ¡ª after revealing her foul plans to us ¡ª was unfortunate enough to slip, twist her ankle, and land very poorly.¡±


    Ardan¡¯s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. He¡¯d been fully prepared for another stint in the Cloaks¡¯ dungeon.


    ¡°You...¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re partners, Magister,¡± Milar said with a half-smirk. ¡°Our top priority, if we want to stay alive in this shitty city, is to watch each other¡¯s backs.¡±


    ***


    Around six in the morning, an unremarkable car pulled up to Markov Avenue. From the passenger side, a tall yet lanky young man climbed out.


    ¡°Stay safe, trainee,¡± rasped the weary driver, then the door slammed shut and the car drove off quietly down the street.


    A street where the Ley-lamps were gradually coming back to life. A street that knew nothing about what had transpired that night ¡ª and perhaps that ignorance was for the best.


    All the same...


    Ardan looked at his hands.


    When the Cloaks had arrived, they¡¯d brought Edward Aversky, several more mages, forensic experts, and a few healers with them. They¡¯d patched up Ardan¡¯s wounds, given him more painkillers, and within a few hours, had restored the half-ruined power station to a pristine condition. That way, when the workers showed up tomorrow, they wouldn¡¯t find a single trace of what had happened.


    The Cloaks had taken whatever artifacts had survived, along with the demonologist¡¯s staff, her grimoire, and Selena¡¯s body, of course.


    Milar, Alexander and Din had said nothing about Ardan losing control... If he¡¯d ever had any control to begin with.


    Ardi pressed a hand to his chest. Back on the steppe, was it he who¡¯d summoned Ergar¡¯s power, or had Ergar himself channeled his will through his student?


    Another question.


    Another missing answer.


    Leaning on his staff, Ardan hobbled up to the entrance and slumped down onto the steps of the bar. Overhead, the flickering sign sputtered in the wind. He sat there for a long time, gazing blankly off into space.


    If he¡¯d had the chance, would he have dealt with Selena ¡ª after all her murders and cruelty ¡ª any differently?


    The door covered in ice creaked open and Tess emerged in her fur coat. She had dark bags under her eyes, likely from a sleepless night.


    She¡¯d probably been unable to sleep while the power had been out. Or she¡¯d simply been too worried about something else. Who knew all the things that might have kept her awake?


    Without a word, she sat down beside Ardan and draped a warm blanket over him. She hugged him gently, not speaking so much as a syllable.


    Would he have treated Selena any differently?


    No.


    And that knowledge ¡ª the awareness that, deep within him, a truly fierce beast of the mountain lurked ¡ª was what frightened him the most.

 Chapter 64 - Autopsy

    Ardan sat there, twirling a pencil between his fingers ¡ª an annoying habit he¡¯d picked up from Kelly, who often spent his evenings in the kitchen, working on documents and reports ¡ª and stared at the half-finished design of a seal. His mind was elsewhere entirely.


    A Tazidahian chimera, a weird, shadowy Order, demonologists¡­ His head was spinning. The tangled threads he¡¯d been trying to unravel over the past few months now seemed more like a twisted web with a spider ¡ª or perhaps the Spider ¡ª sitting smugly at its center.


    Was there a link between what Selena had said she¡¯d somehow retained the ability to speak, thanks to shadows that had replaced her damaged tongue and the scene Ardi had witnessed in the palace? Or was it simply a coincidence? The problem was that, these days, far too many ¡°coincidences¡± seemed to be popping up.


    ¡°Today, my lovely audience, I stand ready to present one of the classical varieties of seals,¡± came the honeyed tones of Professor Talis an Manish from somewhere in the background. ¡°Back in the days when I had no need to imbibe a special tea before meeting my beloved ¡ª ah, how times have changed! ¡ªthese seals were called ¡®delayed action¡¯ seals. Rest assured, I¡¯m not referring to the sort of¡­ physical delays one might face after a hearty meal¡­¡±


    As always, the squat and somewhat plump, but exceedingly kind silver-haired native of Al¡¯Zafir was delivering his lecture like a lively oration. He paced at the front of the auditorium, letting his eloquence shine through.


    Ardan cast a sideways glance at the seat where Selena usually sat. It was near Elena¡¯s spot ¡ª who also happened to be absent. Five days had passed since the events in the sewer (a laughable description of such things, but no less true). By all appearances, everyone else had already forgotten how they¡¯d once quivered in terror amid the city¡¯s darkened gloom.


    Ardan had not.


    He kept flicking the pencil around his fingers, trying ¡ª at the very least ¡ª to find a spot where he could begin unraveling the knot of questions in his mind.


    ¡°If you¡¯d please look right here,¡± an Manish said, tapping the board with his pointer. It was displaying a nested, freeform array of a dynamic type. Ardan recognized the concept from the assigned reading Convel and Aversky had given him. ¡°This particular subtype of arrays is referred to as dynamic. Perhaps that¡¯s the case because its nuances often slip through the tender minds of our first-year students. Please, do take notes, and may the inventors of these convenient writing devices be thrice blessed. A dynamic array can contain up to four properties, activated separately or simultaneously, depending on internal or external structural conditions. Now, what does that imply¡­¡±


    Resting his cheek on one hand, Ardan doodled aimless scrawls in the margins of his notebook. A dynamic array¡­ like the one that, for example, had stopped the Cloaks from shooting Selena in the sewer until she¡¯d been too preoccupied fighting him. If she¡¯d had an invisible shield with a free dynamic array instead, it might have triggered under certain conditions and wiped them all out on the spot. That was why the various security forces always kept a few mages around ¡ª to deal with other mages.


    But in truth, for all its complexity, there was nothing all that overwhelming about a free dynamic array¡­ unless you had to craft one yourself. Then it became a matter of meticulous planning, calculation, and analysis of runic interactions in a geometric progression.


    To illustrate the point, one only needed to look at two similar shields, side by side: the first could contain, for example, the most straightforward fixed static array, with up to two properties described by 32 runes. But the second, a shield that would have a free dynamic array, might require a sudden jump to 128 runes. Sketching that many runes on paper ¡ª without making even one mistake ¡ª was difficult enough, let alone memorizing them and weaving them together with your own Ley energy before you grew old.


    And that was all presuming that you¡¯d only used a single Star in that spell.


    A complex, three-Star shield with a free dynamic array wasn¡¯t tricky because of the number of runes that could be used (the Fa§Ö ¡°alphabet¡± only had a 142 of them in total) but the endless combinations you might create with them, all of them bound by special Ley transitions. That was a topic for the advanced courses of the university¡¯s Military Faculty.


    After all, nearly three quarters of those who graduated from the Grand did so wearing a green cloak. Only a handful would wear blue ones, with the most notable exceptions usually coming from the Military and Healing Faculties.


    Unlike the other departments ¡ª where a second Star was not a requirement until the end of the third year, and a third Star was needed for one to graduate ¡ª both the Military and Healing Faculties required one to ignite a new Star every two years.


    Why was Ardan pondering all of this right now?


    Because of Selena.


    No matter how quick-witted she¡¯d been, Ardi still held firm to the belief that when she had first enrolled at the university, her knowledge of Star Engineering ¡ª and especially the restricted domains of Demonology and Chaos Magic ¡ª had been minimal at best. And yet, that seal she¡¯d drawn on the floor had definitely been strategic magic, and so advanced that even a top-tier graduate of the Grand might have struggled with it. Ardi honestly doubted that most Magisters or even Senior Magisters could have pulled it off.


    Which meant someone had trained Selena. Someone of at least a Senior Magister¡¯s caliber. And they¡¯d trained her specifically in demonology.


    But if you accepted that as fact, the next question obviously became: why would a person so well-versed in forbidden knowledge need the Staff of Demons at all? He was asking himself that because Selena had used certain nodes in her spells ¡ª the same ones Ardi had tried to decipher from his copy of Talia¡¯s seals.


    Maybe the people behind Selena and the ones who¡¯d attacked the train were two separate groups? If so, why were both sides chasing after demons? Or maybe Ardan was missing something, and the seals related to the Staff of Demons had some other value that yet eluded him? That might¡¯ve been true if it was only one group pulling all the strings. But if it really was two groups, then their motives were a genuine mystery to him.


    ¡°And for the next two months,¡± the professor continued, ¡°we shall spend our time not gazing into the reflections of our souls in one another¡¯s eyes, but studying the properties and principles of the fixed static array. It is far simpler than the free dynamic type, but it will still open up new heights for us in our Starry craft.¡±


    Ardan flipped a page in his notebook and scratched at his head.


    All right, he would presume that there was an undefined number of groups in play. Then¡­ how did Boris¡¯ medallion fit into all of this? It hadn¡¯t been used for Selena¡¯s plan, right? The statuette from Baliero had indeed been part of her ritual, but the Staff of Demons and Boris¡¯ medallion did not fit comfortably into this pattern.


    Actually, wait.


    They were linked ¡ª both artifacts had once belonged to Lady Talia.


    Which meant that¡­ That¡­


    Ardan buried his face in his hands. His head throbbed from all these disjointed theories.


    And if he took a further step back, remembering how bandits had tried to abduct both him and Boris last summer¡­ For a while, Ardan had assumed that they¡¯d wanted to set him up as the scapegoat for a terrorist attack. But as he was coming to realize, in order to do what Selena had tried to do, a person had to go along with it willingly. This meant that Ardan would never have made the right kind of pawn.


    Which only made the entire puzzle collapse like a shaky house of cards.


    That scheme in the sewers had not been a trifling ritual designed for a novice Star Mage to enact. Attempting to turn a city of millions into a Dead Land was unheard-of. Beyond monstrous.


    ¡°You¡¯ve already encountered fixed static arrays before,¡± Professor an Manish said, rocking in the chair behind the podium. ¡°But you couldn¡¯t always identify them on sight. Today, I shall lift the veil a fraction so that you might see them more clearly. In short ¡ª like a young romantic¡¯s first love ¡ª a fixed static array does not change a seal¡¯s properties after the seal takes shape; rather, it adds them during its formation. Meanwhile, the dynamic array can adjust them after the seal forms. Like sending a letter to the future.¡±


    And yet, to facilitate Selena¡¯s attempt, they¡¯d only provided her with a single chimera, however fearsome it might¡¯ve been. Apart from Selena herself, there¡¯d been no one else down there at all ¡ª just the Cloaks who¡¯d followed her trail. A single mage and one chimera had surely not been expected to pull off a plot that had threatened to flood the Imperial capital with demons. It all seemed so¡­ foolish.


    So much effort invested, so many lives lost¡­ And yet they¡¯d done practically nothing to guarantee their villainous plan¡¯s success. It was as if her handlers had never had any real faith that she¡¯d succeed. Then what was the point? A distraction? Possibly.


    But a distraction from what?


    Again, that Tazidahian chimera came to mind. If the puzzle¡¯s designer had wanted to mislead the would-be solver of it by introducing random elements, it could very well be a deliberate red herring. But Ardan then had to consider the most recent incident on the train ¡ª foreign infiltrators had been involved there as well.


    So maybe it really was multiple organizations?


    And what about the Order of the Spider and the Homeless Fae that he¡¯d encountered in the Palace of the Kings of the Past? A coincidence?


    Ardan dropped the pencil and ran his fingers through his hair, half-hoping he¡¯d discover some hidden switch on his scalp that he could flip and put his racing thoughts in order. If their attention had indeed been diverted twice now ¡ª once by Selena and once by the chimera ¡ª what were they covering up? No mention of anything suspicious had surfaced in the newspapers, or even in the rumor mill at ¡°Bruce¡¯s.¡± The winter solstice had brought its usual surge of petty banditry and break-ins around the outskirts of the city, but nothing beyond that.


    So then¡­ Why?


    What was it all for?


    And most importantly, who? Who was behind it all?


    A faint, barely-audible tapping came from a spot near Ardan¡¯s shoulder. He whirled around to see a plump-looking pigeon perched atop a heap of snow on the narrow ledge beyond the window.


    A pigeon? Maybe they were watching him through that bird. Or maybe the pigeon itself was the piece he was missing. Could there be a hidden Pigeon Sect working alongside the Order of the Spider, its members lurking¡­


    Ardan waved a hand and hissed under his breath at the ¡°winged rat,¡± as city folk called them due to their fondness for dumpsters, but the bird simply ruffled its feathers and refused to budge.


    No, this was just his overstressed mind going off the rails.


    ¡°Student Egobar.¡±


    Ardi stiffened, rising from his seat so abruptly he almost knocked the desk over. Professor an Manish stood at the podium in front of the amphitheater, eyeing him with a squint and a challenging smirk.


    ¡°Since you seem so engrossed in your battle with our feathered observer, perhaps you¡¯ve already solved the formula that I, in my negligence ¡ª unaware of your far more pressing struggle ¡ª wrote on the board a quarter hour ago?¡±


    Ardan shot a quick glance at the chalkboard. Scrawled across half the board was the formula for calculating the rays required for a given volume of kinetic energy. It glowed faintly under the Ley-lamps.


    It was nothing complicated, not for him. He¡¯d been solving these ray calculations since his second month of classes, and doing it almost as easily as Skusty devoured pinecone seeds.


    ¡°Three rays,¡± he answered confidently.


    ¡°And the type?¡± an Manish pressed him.


    Ardan turned to the next board over, where a modified version of the classic training shield was displayed. It was likely the focus of today¡¯s calculations.


    ¡°It¡¯s a dissipating type,¡± he said with a shrug.


    The professor didn¡¯t seem the least bit surprised by Ardan¡¯s quick replies. Instead, he set his chalk down on the corner of the table.


    ¡°And your proposal for how to improve it, Student Egobar?¡±


    The Grand gave no grades or test scores for one¡¯s daily performance, only end-of-the-year and monthly exam results. Nonetheless, every class had volunteers (or the volunteered) going up to the board regularly; it was a rare chance to receive direct advice from a professor.


    Ardan generally avoided doing so, however, preferring to figure out solutions on his own ¡ª his forest friends had taught him that much ¡ª but he also knew that an invitation from an Manish was a valuable opportunity. Grabbing his grimoire, he walked down the steps to the podium, took a piece of chalk, and approached the seal diagram.


    ¡°What are the requirements?¡± He asked, studying the layout.


    Behind him, the entire first-year group stopped their note-taking and eyed him, waiting to see what he¡¯d do.


    ¡°That¡¯s up to you, Student Egobar,¡± the professor replied in a playful tone. ¡°Turn this seal into something that not only dissipates the projectile¡¯s kinetic energy, but also surprises your opponent.¡±


    Ardan scratched at the back of his head in his usual manner (lacking his staff, he used the spine of his grimoire instead) and started drawing on the blackboard at a brisk pace.


    First, he converted the primary structure from a two-contour design into a three-contour one, allowing room for an additional array. To keep the seal within the limit of three rays, he reduced the density of runes, lowered some properties, and weeded out the redundancies.


    Then, to make the shield more versatile than an armored slab of stone, he introduced a free dynamic array. It was apparently the same type of array they¡¯d discussed at the start of class, when Ardan had been lost in his own thoughts.


    At some point, an Manish gave a disapproving huff and leaned on his staff, heaving himself to his feet. He stepped up behind Ardan. Meanwhile, the young man, perhaps getting carried away, had added a nested transition seal intended to store energy for a brief moment, so that the shield wouldn¡¯t just dissipate the projectile¡¯s force, but accumulate it ¡ª if only for a second or two ¡ª at a fixed point in space. If you were quick enough to create your own physical projectile right then, you¡¯d bypass the need to generate any acceleration, using the ¡°stolen¡± force instead.


    He could have tossed in an absorption structure as well, but that would¡¯ve definitely pushed things past a Red Star¡¯s limitations, and Ardan still wasn¡¯t allowing himself to jump ahead. Once he lit his next Star, then-


    ¡°Student Egobar,¡± came an Manish¡¯s voice, breaking through the fervor of Ardan¡¯s calculations, ¡°if I don¡¯t interrupt you now, we¡¯ll need another board to finish all of this.¡±


    Indeed, Ardan had filled two boards by now and was already crowding the bottom of a third.


    ¡°So then, let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve conjured up,¡± the professor said, nudging Ardan aside to take back the chalk. ¡°The load-redistribution node is somewhat ¡ª pardon my tautology ¡ª overloaded. You might use fewer runes there.¡± The chalk gleamed in an Manish¡¯s surprisingly nimble hand. His stout physique would probably make most people assume he was slow. ¡°Also, your first array is fixed in the wrong segment of the contour. Shift it lower to free up extra space for a smoother energy flow. That auxiliary array may look clever, but it weighs down the entire system. You could remove it if you just added one more contour. Then you¡¯d be able to distribute the runic load between them without requiring an array. True, the shield would be slower and maybe weaker, but we¡¯re not exactly shielding ourselves from real bullets here, just working through a problem.¡±


    Ardan cleared his throat and stepped back. Indeed, in his mind, the ¡°projectile¡± had been a bullet from a revolver.


    Professor an Manish spent another ten minutes correcting and explaining his improvements. By the time he¡¯d finished, Ardan¡¯s first diagram had been wiped away and replaced with a new one.


    ¡°But if you consider it in the right light,¡± an Manish said, nodding vigorously, ¡°it¡¯s rather good work for a third-year.¡±


    Ardan coughed.


    ¡°Yes, Student Egobar?¡±


    ¡°Uh, you¡¯re currently teaching a first-year class, Professor,¡± Ardan said gently.


    The professor turned around, gazing for a moment at the wide-eyed first-year students who were drifting steadily toward bewilderment. Then he shook his head and set the chalk down on a cushion atop the desk.


    ¡°By the Sands and the Temples, Student Egobar,¡± he said in a near-whisper that was quiet enough to ensure none of the front rows could overhear them. ¡°What am I supposed to do with you three years from now, hmm? Hand you a personalized Magister-level syllabus?¡±


    ¡°Is that even allowed?¡± Ardan asked with genuine curiosity.


    An Manish stared at him as though he were wondering if Ardi was messing with him.


    ¡°Return to your seat,¡± he ordered, a flicker of annoyance in his tone, then switched back to his usual smile for the class. ¡°And now, thanks to our colleague here, we¡¯ve glimpsed how arrays and contours can lead us into such dizzying depths that we nearly lose sight of the original problem! Who among you would like to help us climb back down from the high peaks of theory to something more practical? You there, young lady¡­¡±


    ¡°Lina Lill,¡± responded a girl wearing the Biology and Alchemy Faculty¡¯s badge.


    ¡°Step right up,¡± the professor encouraged.


    Returning to his seat, Ardan glanced at the pigeon. For some reason, it continued to fluff itself up and tilt its head to one side, blinking its beady little eyes at him.


    Ardi, after covertly aiming a rude gesture at the bird, produced from his satchel a small jar of pills that contained painkillers and anti-inflammatory meds from the Cloaks¡¯ physicians. His Matabar blood had already healed his leg to the point it barely throbbed, and his chest only reminded him of his injury when he was lying down. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry¡­


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    The lecture dragged on for another half hour. Afterwards, Ardan followed the stream of students to the atrium, intending to head for the library, when he felt a sharp heat in his pants pocket.


    It turned out to be coming from Milar¡¯s medallion. He could only hope the matter didn¡¯t involve Homeless Fae or demons, because the salary of a Cloak plus his apprenticeship with Aversky weren¡¯t sounding quite so appealing anymore if it did.


    Hadn¡¯t Din mentioned something about a bonus¡­


    Collecting his autumn coat from the cloakroom, Ardan stepped outside, heading for the spot where the captain had picked him up last time. The snow, as always, continued its lazy dance through the air, drifting down over Star Square. A few scattered students, fewer still professors, and bundled-up workers in scarves and fur-lined coats were sweeping the cobblestones tirelessly with their shovels.


    Occasionally, the little tram bell would chime as a trolley pulled in at the stop, spat out its passengers into the open, then ¡ª with another ring ¡ª trundled off to somewhere else in the city.


    Mart had been right when he¡¯d joked that the Metropolis had five months of winter, five months of autumn, six weeks of spring, and two of summer. And, all in all, Ardan liked that.


    Holding his staff close, he lifted his face toward the soft crystals of ice drifting down, closing his eyes against the snowfall. Somewhere overhead, beyond those low, gray clouds that clung tightly to each other like fortress walls, the sky itself was hidden. He would¡¯ve liked to at least glimpse those infinite plains of carefree azure where, in his childhood, Ardan had loved flying on Kaishas¡¯ back.


    Kaishas would, from time to time, flap his four wings and carry his young companion into a realm far beyond mortal ground, where fluffy giants had replaced the mountains, the winding rivers below would turn into distant, dreamlike brushstrokes, and the stars¡­ Oh, the stars had seemed close enough that you could reach out, tear a pair free, and keep them for yourself.


    In Evergale¡¯s school, Ardi had learned that stars were not the eyes of the Sleeping Spirits, but massive orbs of plasma sustained by ¡°thermonuclear reactions¡± instead. The night sky was not the wings of the Spirit of the Night, but the endless, cold silence of space. He had even peered through their old, many-times-repaired school telescope at the planet¡¯s moon and a few other satellites in their solar system.


    Science. It was no less mysterious than Star Magic.


    Ardi sometimes wanted nothing more than to stand there with his face upturned, letting the snowflake-kissed air fill his lungs, breathing in a glimmer of that genuine magic hidden among the peaks of the Alkade, and tucked away just as secretly into the twists of narrow alleys and the grand avenues, or reflected, albeit faintly, in the often-rusty rooftops of the Metropolis¡¯ central districts.


    ¡°How¡¯s the weather up there?¡±


    ¡°Where?¡± Ardi asked Milar, and then he shivered a little, remembering that once, long ago, he¡¯d begun a conversation with his grandfather in a similar way.


    The captain had stopped behind him, engine still running, then stepped out of his car. He lit a cigarette, which he¡¯d produced from a shiny new case, pressed it between his lips, shielded a flick of his lighter with one hand, and inhaled sweetly.


    ¡°Up top,¡± Milar said at last.


    Ardan realized that the captain wasn¡¯t talking about the distant foothills of his homeland, but remarking on their difference in height (Milar was barely 170 centimeters tall). Still, Ardi found himself wanting to talk about home.


    ¡°At the beginning of the year, when the sun lingers before coming at dawn ¡ª we call it the Eye of the Spirit of the Day ¡ªthe sky catches fire with golden light,¡± Ardi said, eyes still closed, recalling those distant horizons. ¡°The wind is so cold that it can make your teeth chatter. And all around you, for hundreds of kilometers, it¡¯s just the sleeping mountains, too stubborn to wake at such an early hour. Their snowy crests shine brighter than any rainbow. Meanwhile, off to the west, upon the Spirit of the Night¡¯s wings, drift the pale lights of the sky. All you need to do is climb the highest peak, sit down, close your eyes against the glare of the sunrise, and breathe.¡±


    ¡°Just breathe, huh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Ardi nodded, eyes still shut. ¡°In, out. In, out. It feels like the whole world is breathing with you. In, out.¡±


    Milar smoked in silence, taking a few more drags. After a long pause, he finally observed, ¡°Sounds lonely, that place.¡±


    ¡°Lonely?¡± Ardi sounded surprised. ¡°No, Captain. Not at all. The wind and stone are with you, the snow, the sky. The shadows of the clouds, and that endless horizon. They whisper to you, telling stories older than any living soul. The mountains aren¡¯t lonely, Milar. They¡¯re calm. Your heartbeat evens out there.¡±


    The captain snorted and spat into a snowbank. ¡°You¡¯re a romantic, Magister.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ Maybe. Is that a bad thing?¡±


    ¡°Hell if I know,¡± Milar grumbled, shrugging. ¡°But I¡¯ll say this: romantic types don¡¯t last long in this business. They die ¡ª heroically, of course ¡ª but they die all the same.¡±


    ¡°Is it such a bad thing to die a hero?¡±


    ¡°Heroic deaths, Magister, imply a failure of command,¡± Milar intoned as if he were quoting someone else. ¡°Where the commanding officer doesn¡¯t fail, there are no heroes. Only soldiers following orders.¡±


    Ardan opened his eyes. A little streetcar had just rattled to a stop in front of them, its operator bleary-eyed and wheezing, taking weary sips from a thermos at every chance. Milar stamped out his cigarette against the sole of his shoe and, with a practiced flick, tossed it into a nearby trash can.


    There was no shortage of bins in the Metropolis, ranging from plain iron boxes huddling at street corners to grandiose, granite urns more suited to a botanical garden. Even in winter (save for the outskirts), the city remained remarkably clean. Throw your trash on the ground within a guard¡¯s line of sight, and you risked a stiff fine ¡ª though it was mostly about courtesy, seeing as how daytime patrols weren¡¯t all that common.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get moving,¡± Milar said, gesturing for Ardi to hop in. He ducked back into the driver¡¯s seat of his car, shaking loose snow from his boots so that he wouldn¡¯t track it inside.


    ¡°Where to?¡± Ardi asked as he settled in beside him.


    ¡°The autopsy,¡± the captain replied, wiping condensation from the glass cover of three gauges showing speed, engine rotation, and fuel level. Ardan was fairly decent on horseback and loved to ride, but he still found the process of driving puzzling despite his adolescent admiration for it.


    ¡°Selena¡¯s body has finished its business with the Star Mages. They handed her off to Alice,¡± Milar said, glancing at his watch. ¡°We should make it in time.¡±


    They started toward the Black House. Ardan took the opportunity to press his cheek against the window and soak in the sights of the snow-covered homes outside, many of which resembled palaces. Amid these seemingly endless rows of ornate, colorful buildings, it was growing ever harder for him to distinguish a mere apartment complex from someone¡¯s private estate, and Ardi had all but given up trying.


    They left Star Avenue for Three Bridges Boulevard, then, after about fifteen minutes, turned onto the Crookedwater Canal, following it along the embankment.


    The cityscapes on either side of the frozen water contrasted starkly with each other. On the side Ardan and Milar were on, the buildings looked like they¡¯d stepped straight out of paintings, each of them lovelier than the last. On the opposite bank, the air was already darkened by factory smog, and off to the right, the outlines of skyscrapers rose through the falling snow.


    ¡°Milar-¡± Ardan began.


    ¡°If you¡¯re wondering whether Alexander and Din will keep quiet about that¡­ little ¡®issue¡¯ of yours,¡± the captain interrupted him, ¡°they will. We¡¯re all one department, one team, one squad ¡ª call it whatever you like.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I was going to say.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s on your mind, then?¡± Milar asked.


    Ardi cleared his throat, feeling heat bloom across his cheeks, and asked in a low murmur, ¡°Where in the capital might one take a lady out on a¡­ date?¡±


    Milar spluttered, and in his shock, he nearly swerved into the oncoming lane. Fortunately, the road was almost empty at this time of day. ¡°What do you¡­ I mean¡­ That was a stupid question for me to ask,¡± he muttered. Then he cracked his neck and leaned back in the squeaky leather seat. ¡°I can suggest a few caf¨¦s with a nice view of the Palace Embankment, but they aren¡¯t cheap.¡±


    ¡°I doubt that would impress her,¡± Ardan sighed, remembering the kinds of flashy cars Tess¡¯ suitors sometimes drove. They could probably take her to the most luxurious restaurant in town without even blinking at the expense.


    ¡°Ah, so not a simple one, is she?¡± Milar winked slyly. ¡°Well, if not a caf¨¦, then¡­ a stroll in the Dawn Garden or any other park isn¡¯t all that great in winter. What does she like to do?¡±


    ¡°She¡­ likes to sing,¡± Ardan said, only now realizing that he knew next to nothing about Tess aside from what she¡¯d told him about her family.


    ¡°Then take her dancing,¡± the captain said at once. ¡°I¡¯ll jot down a good address once we get back. It¡¯s a place in a beautiful part of town. My wife and I met there, in fact.¡±


    ¡°Dancing,¡± Ardan echoed uncertainly. ¡°Isn¡¯t that a bit¡­ clich¨¦d? Surely everyone takes women dancing.¡±


    ¡°Oh, my young, naive partner.¡± Milar¡¯s roguish grin shifted to one of nostalgia. ¡°For a woman, dancing is nothing like it is for us men. We find it equally torturous no matter who we¡¯re dancing with. But for them¡­ it¡¯s a language all its own. I swear by the Eternal Angels, if you let a woman dance two songs with you, she¡¯ll be able to discern truths you¡¯re afraid to tell yourself.¡±


    Ardan cleared his throat awkwardly and hunched his shoulders like a pigeon might ¡ª maybe even the one that had come to spy on an Manish¡¯s lecture.


    ¡°The trick is to make it a surprise,¡± Milar continued. ¡°Don¡¯t play it out too stiffly, but act like you just ¡®noticed¡¯ it while strolling by. She¡¯ll likely protest ¡ª saying she¡¯s wearing the wrong dress, uncomfortable shoes, you can do it next time ¡ª but you have to brush it off like it¡¯s some spur-of-the-moment adventure, not just flailing your arms and legs around. Women love little adventures even more than dancing.¡±


    Ardan blinked slowly. Fate, apparently, delighted in mocking him, seeing as how he loathed both adventures and dancing. Adventures only made him want to flee back to the comforts of books, diagrams, and experiments (which he still had to postpone, though on the seventh day, he planned to visit the Spell Market right after checking in on Boris and Elena). As for dancing, it mostly inspired a creeping sense of numbness in him. The same trouble he had with his fine motor skills that made it difficult for him to handle utensils or write properly with pen and ink also meant dancing was a challenge.


    But such was life¡­


    ¡°The Seventeenth Division¡¯s taken our spot,¡± Milar muttered through gritted teeth as they arrived at the small lot where the Second Chancery agents typically parked. ¡°I¡¯ll pay them back for this.¡±


    He spent five minutes circling around, finally found a spot by squeezing in between two nearly identical cars, killed the engine, and pulled a cover from the trunk to throw over the vehicle.


    As they approached the grand entrance of the imposing building, Ardan slowed, expecting Milar to pause and light up again. But the captain kept going.


    Ah, of course ¡ª superstition demanded that this ritual be performed only when three or more people were entering the Black House together. Today, it was just them.


    The captain flashed his papers to the bored guards. Then the duo ducked into the wardrobe area, changed into regulation attire, and started wandering the twisting hallways of the first floor.


    Much like last time, there was nothing worth studying in detail. The same carpets, the same bland photos and potted plants, the same endless tulle curtains, and all those innumerable doors from which silent staff would emerge only to then vanish again through a different pair of doors.


    The difference was that now, in these calmer circumstances, Ardan could pick up more scents: wood, varnish, stale cigarette smoke, and secrets. Secrets so thick and unnerving that Ardi preferred not to think about them at all.


    After turning right a couple of times and making their way through a few corridors, he and Milar finally reached their goal. The captain tugged on a tin handle, slowly pushed open the door, and ushered Ardan into a narrow vestibule. Only after closing the first door did he open the second one, revealing a fairly spacious room.


    A familiar chemical tang hit Ardan¡¯s nose: a mix of formalin, faint wisps of choking formaldehyde (they were apparently so minimal that humans couldn¡¯t detect them normally), a whiff of alcohol, and the pungent smell of herbal tea. Underfoot, the floor all but sparkled, with its diamond-patterned tiles scrubbed to a dull shine. Along the dark gray walls, rows of glass-fronted shelves held thick folders, surgical-grade instruments, and jars of cloudy amber fluid in which various human body parts had been preserved.


    At the far end, near a curtained window, stood a desk bearing little more than a closed thermos and a teacup, around which steam faintly danced.


    Along the left side of this long, narrow room, stood three more tables of a different sort. They looked like steel slabs mounted on adjustable mechanisms with pedals to raise and lower them. Low-hanging lamps hovered overhead, and each table sloped subtly toward a drain at the far edge. Next to them, a gurney waited. Farther along, set into the wall, were a dozen square steel doors. Each of them was about half a meter wide, with cardboard nametags resting inside labeled slots.


    Alice Rovnev was approaching one of those doors.


    Milar shivered a little, as if he were cold, but Ardan felt nothing in particular ¡ª maybe there was a bit of a chill in the air, but his Matabar blood made him all but indifferent to it.


    ¡°Mind giving me a hand?¡± Alice called over her shoulder without turning around.


    She wore a white medical coat over a thick sweater that lay atop a practical, ankle-length brown dress. Ardan also spotted a pair of fur-lined boots that looked more comfortable than professional. She bore down on the squeaking handle of the door labeled ¡°Selena Lorlov, fem., 18,¡± then yanked it free.


    Milar sprang over to assist her in pulling out a long, steel tray. On it, under a grayish sheet, lay a body.


    It took Ardan a moment to muster the courage to follow him. He fought off the sudden urge to turn around and leave.


    He barely managed to resist it. And when he came to stand next to the captain, he also shuddered. Not from the cold, but from the sight that met him once Alice drew back the sheet: a face whose pallor matched stone.


    Her scalp was partially shaved, and her hair had been neatly gathered into a bun. Along her old hairline stretched a hideous, hastily-sewn scar wrapping around her skull; below that, her neck looked bruised and like it had folded in on itself like crumpled cloth; and lower still, there were her chest and belly with a patch of skin slashed away¡­


    Ardan turned aside.


    He felt a pang of guilt, as though he were brazenly intruding on the dead.


    ¡°She won¡¯t care now, Ard,¡± Alice said softly, though with an unyielding undertone to her words.


    ¡°Right,¡± Milar puffed out a breath. He fished his cigarette case from his pocket and lit up again, exhaling smoke like a little locomotive. ¡°Want one?¡±


    ¡°Sure. I forgot mine,¡± Alice said with a nod.


    They both started smoking, and surprisingly, it made the air slightly more bearable. The sharp stench of tobacco overrode the lurking smells of this silent domain of death.


    ¡°Ard carved up her seal pretty badly,¡± Alice remarked, holding a scalpel in one hand and her cigarette in the other as she pointed to the incisions on Selena¡¯s belly, ¡°but we were able to reconstruct part of it. I¡¯ll give you a copy before you go.¡±


    ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°Milar, have I ever told you that you have the same bad habit as my ex-husband?¡± Alice¡¯s eyes flashed sternly despite her otherwise gentle countenance. ¡°Neither of you ever let me finish.¡±


    ¡°Right¡­ sorry,¡± the captain said, raising his hands in apology.


    ¡°As I was saying,¡± Alice continued, tapping the scalpel over the incision, ¡°the design was placed under her skin with a thin, long needle loaded with special ink ¡ª most likely the same kind used by sketchy tattoo artists. I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t help more than that.¡±


    ¡°Not that I was trying to¡­ sorry,¡± Milar broke in, then cut himself off again. ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± She gave him a prim nod. ¡°So, the needles themselves don¡¯t tell us much, but the ink does. It¡¯s an unusual composition.¡± Alice produced a small vial containing a few scarlet crystals. ¡°It¡¯s based on Iashint algae.¡±


    ¡°On¡­ what?¡±


    ¡°Iashint algae,¡± Alice and Ardan said in unison.


    She glanced at the trainee, then motioned for him to go on. ¡°Iashint algae¡­¡± Ardi began, recalling a lecture by Professor Kovertsky. ¡°They grow on the coast of the Anachreon Sea, north of Selkado. They¡¯re bright red. At first glance, they seem pretty ordinary, but they possess a rare trait ¡ª they produce negative Ley.¡±


    ¡°Negative¡­ what?¡± Milar frowned.


    ¡°They can shield you from the Ley,¡± Alice clarified. ¡°Tribal tattoos often use them or similar flora. Alexander, for example, has tattoos based on a resin from Ragtik trees, which are found in the Brotherhood¡¯s northern regions near N¡¯gia and also up on the Long Peninsula.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the one west of the Dancing¡­ something¡­? Sorry, geography¡¯s not my strong suit.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not surprised,¡± Alice said, waving a hand dismissively.


    ¡°All right, let¡¯s pretend I didn¡¯t ask why on earth plants that repel the Ley were used in a flippin¡¯ Ley-based seal,¡± Milar grunted. ¡°I can already guess that you¡¯d hand me over to the mage for a lecture-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why either,¡± Ardi said thoughtfully.


    ¡°Nor do Aversky and his fellow Star Mages,¡± Alice added. ¡°It¡¯s a really tough question. Though maybe not the biggest one we¡¯re facing.¡±


    ¡°Which is¡­?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Alice said, ¡°neither Ragtik resin nor Iashint algae take kindly to storage. Their special properties fade within half an hour once they¡¯re extracted from the source, so you apply them to the tattoo as quickly as possible.¡±


    Ardan and Milar exchanged glances. Their puzzle just kept producing new pieces.


    ¡°Are you saying they whisked a demonologist halfway across the planet and back again under everyone¡¯s nose? That¡¯s an eight to ten-month-long trip!¡± Milar exclaimed.


    ¡°It¡¯ll take a full year, if you¡¯re lucky,¡± Alice corrected, flicking ash into a floor drain. She folded her arms across her ample chest ¡ª Ardi immediately averted his gaze, a memory of the Crimson Lady¡¯s establishment flashing through his mind¡­ Damn his hormones. ¡°But I doubt that¡¯s what happened. It¡¯s more likely that these mysterious opponents of ours found a way to preserve the algae¡¯s properties, then brought some here.¡±


    ¡°Makes sense,¡± Milar sighed. ¡°Means I¡¯ll have to add the port to my route. Fine, it¡¯s something, at least. Iashint algae from Selkado and Tazidahian chimeras both appearing in the capital might not be proof of foreign involvement, but at least it¡¯s a lead¡­ Anything else to cheer us up with?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have called you here otherwise.¡± Alice nipped at her cigarette and pulled the sheet back over Selena¡¯s remains, sliding the ¡°tray¡± back into its icy slot and shutting the door. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Milar and Ardan followed her over to her desk. Alice moved her teacup aside, put the thermos on the windowsill, then hefted a big black microscope onto the table along with two small boxes.


    In the larger box, a human brain floated in an amber-colored solution. In the smaller one, something like a caddy full of slides sat, each groove within it holding a pair of glass plates, with thin slices of that same brain pressed between them like some sickly piece of parchment.


    ¡°Have a seat,¡± Alice said, placing one of the slides onto the microscope¡¯s stand. ¡°Not you, blockhead.¡± She grabbed Milar¡¯s arm before he could move in. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t see anything in there. Ard, come on.¡±


    Ardan settled onto the stool, brought an eye down to the rubber eyepiece, and turned the gears to focus the lens and crystals, waiting for the fuzzy image to sharpen.


    After a few seconds of adjusting ¡ª he¡¯d had plenty of practice in Professor Kovertsky¡¯s classes ¡ª and careful positioning, because these high-end microscopes cost as much as a decent automobile, Ardan spotted the hallmarks of a Star Mage¡¯s brain matter.


    He¡¯d learned from History class that when a mage ¡°lit¡± a Star, it formed a new structure in their brain, which would then burn away at the moment of death, leaving a distinct lesion behind. One could count these marks postmortem to determine the mage¡¯s strength.


    Within the tissue sample, Ardan spotted four tiny spots that looked as if they¡¯d been seared into place with a needle.


    ¡°She had four Stars,¡± he said slowly, still peering into the viewer.


    ¡°That¡¯s all you can see, Ard?¡± Alice asked, surprised. Then she threw up her hands. ¡°Right, you¡¯re not taught all the nuances. Fine, move over.¡±


    Remembering Kovertsky¡¯s instructions, Ardan closed his eyes first, then pulled back from the eyepiece, waited a few moments, and only then opened them again. It was much like letting your vision adapt to darkness, but in reverse.


    ¡°Postmortem Star marks typically have a diameter that corresponds to each Star¡¯s number of rays,¡± Alice explained. ¡°And each ray is roughly a hundred micrometers wide.¡±


    ¡°Micro¡­ what?¡± Milar asked, just as confused as before.


    ¡°It¡¯s a unit of measure that¡¯s one thousandth of a millimeter,¡± Ardan recited automatically. ¡°It was first used during the Fatian Massacre for calibrating artillery range scopes.¡±


    ¡°A walking encyclopedia, you are,¡± Milar grumbled. ¡°Sure, let¡¯s say that¡¯s enough detail for now. But why¡¯s it matter to us?¡±


    ¡°It matters because Selena¡¯s first Star left a four-hundred-micrometer mark,¡± Alice said, gently locking the expensive microscope away. ¡°But all the others only measure a hundred each.¡±


    ¡°So, she somehow managed to light three new Stars in half a year, all with a single ray apiece?¡± Ardan marveled.


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± Alice corrected. ¡°Postmortem Star lesions also have density, depth ¡ª lots of elements I won¡¯t clutter your investigation-focused minds with. The bottom line is, my colleagues and I concluded that Selena never lit those Stars herself.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Ardan and Milar asked in unison.


    ¡°Exactly that,¡± Alice said with a shrug. ¡°They were implanted artificially, like accumulators in a generator. How? We have no idea. Probably no one does, other than the very people who performed the procedure. By the way,¡± she turned to Ardan ¡°we checked your demonization theory, cross-referencing old archives from the early experiments in that field, but found no sign that she ever made any progress in that direction in Selena¡¯s body.¡±


    ¡°So that means¡­¡±


    Alice turned away, eyes closed, and nodded once.


    Milar cursed under his breath.


    Ardan¡¯s heart lurched. All those children, those dozens of innocent souls¡­ had been slaughtered for nothing. They¡¯d conned Selena into believing she could grow more powerful from the blood spilled, but in reality¡­ they¡¯d simply used some unknown method to grant her partial Stars.


    So why kill the children at all? Another question that still had no answer.


    ¡°The process, however, doesn¡¯t last long,¡± Alice said after a pregnant pause.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Milar asked, narrowing his eyes.


    ¡°Whatever method they used to implant these additional Stars caused severe side effects, including a necrosis that spread across the surrounding tissue,¡± Alice explained, closing the small box of slides. ¡°That might account for her confusion, mood swings, aggression, and even her cruelty. Regardless, even if she hadn¡¯t broken her own neck, she wouldn¡¯t have survived for more than a couple of weeks. And that death would¡¯ve been long and painful enough to make a crippling migraine seem like a party by comparison.¡±


    A bleak hush fell over the lab, heavy with the reek of tobacco and faint whiffs of alcohol.


    ¡°Wonderful,¡± Milar finally sighed. ¡°We have Selkado algae, Tazidahian chimeras in the capital, artificially lit murder-Stars, and a grand pseudo-ritual that served no practical purpose. Perfect.¡±


    Ardan snapped his gaze to the captain. He wasn¡¯t surprised Milar had pieced it all together. If anything, the young man felt a twinge of pride at the fact that his own thoughts mirrored a seasoned investigator¡¯s.


    ¡°That¡¯s why the Colonel hasn¡¯t escalated our alertness level,¡± Alice said, leaning back in her chair. ¡°After the recent reforms, we¡¯d have to present the Inquest Department with solid proof of a terrorist threat, and right now¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got nothing,¡± Milar said with a helpless sigh. ¡°A big donut-hole of nothing. Just a rancid stink.¡±


    ¡°And you can¡¯t jot down a smell in a case file, Captain,¡± Alice added, putting out her cigarette. She dropped it into the overflowing ashtray she kept in a drawer, then produced a folder and the vial of red crystals. ¡°I¡¯ll be poking around another couple of days with what we¡¯ve got. Maybe I¡¯ll find something, but don¡¯t expect too much.¡±


    ¡°Oh, we won¡¯t,¡± Milar said, taking the folder and pocketing the vial. ¡°Alice.¡±


    ¡°Milar.¡±


    The captain turned on his heel and strode for the door. Ardan quickly followed. He paused at the threshold and looked back.


    ¡°Miss Rovnev-¡±


    ¡°You can just call me Alice.¡±


    ¡°Right, yes. Alice, how do you pick flowers for a lady if you don¡¯t know what kind she likes?¡±


    Alice raised both eyebrows for a moment, then answered, ¡°Pick the ones that make you think of her instead of the price tag.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardan said sincerely. ¡°Alice.¡±


    ¡°Ard.¡±


    He hurried out to join Milar in the corridor. Together, they went back down to the cloakroom, retrieved their things, bade farewell to the still-bored security staff, and emerged onto the street, returning to the car.


    ¡°I¡¯ll think it over, Ardi,¡± Milar said, resting his chin on one hand and drumming an uneven beat on the steering wheel with the other. ¡°But I¡¯m guessing we¡¯ll have to start from scratch. Which means paying a visit to that diehard theatre fan.¡±


    ¡°The Dandy?¡±


    ¡°You remembered. Good. But not today ¡ª we¡¯ll probably do it next week.¡±


    ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°If things were urgent, we¡¯d see clearer signs,¡± the captain cut him off. ¡°No, this is a slow game. Selena was only a single move in the match. There¡¯ll be more moves, though likely not anytime soon. What worries me, Magister, is that the enemy¡¯s already placing pieces on the board, and we haven¡¯t answered in kind ¡ª we don¡¯t even know what game we¡¯re playing yet.¡±


    Milar turned the key in the ignition. They headed back toward the Central District.

 Chapter 65 - Duel

    After setting aside his staff, putting down his grimoire, removing his boots, leaving his patched crimson cloak on a makeshift hanger, and unbuttoning his coat, which was too light for Metropolis¡¯ still biting winter, Ardi, now dressed simply in a jacket and pants, collapsed onto his bed.


    Spending almost six hours endlessly practicing his spellcasting under Aversky¡¯s guidance was perhaps only comparable to¡­


    Ardan pondered.


    To be honest, he didn¡¯t even know what to compare such brutality to. Physically, he wasn¡¯t tired at all, but his mind, now that was another matter. By two in the morning, Ardi had begun to feel as though sweat was trickling down the inner walls of his skull.


    And yet, even if it was just for a single spell ¡ª Ice Arrow ¡ª the young man had finally managed to master the ability to rewrite its seal on the fly. Aversky had even deigned to offer a respectful, albeit restrained, nod of approval.


    Although, when you thought about it a bit more, the seal wasn¡¯t being entirely rewritten; rather, as the Grand Magister had mentioned before, it was simply being adjusted.


    Ardi didn¡¯t yet fully grasp, in a practical rather than theoretical sense, the necessity of using this style of adjustable spellcasting. The simple fact was that he still needed to read his opponent¡¯s seal in time to properly utilize it, and Aversky himself was always forming his seals faster than cowboys could draw their revolvers.


    The Grand Magister had insisted that such a tactic ¡ª rapid casting ¡ª was also a way of counteracting the ability to read and analyze seals. Naturally, this also had its drawbacks: the faster you created your seals, the higher the chance was of you making a mistake. Also, it was significantly harder to alter the structure of it in the process.


    ¡°Years will be spent on this,¡± Ardi sighed, burying his face into his pillow. ¡°And the most annoying thing is that military magic is just not that interesting.¡±


    Ardan really didn¡¯t enjoy training with Aversky when it came to practical matters. Star Magic, like the art of the Aean¡¯Hane, had fascinated him since his childhood with its vibrant enchantments. What Ardan was being taught in the Grand Magister¡¯s house amounted to one thing only ¡ª effective destruction.


    So, the lectures of Professors an Manish and Convel were far more intriguing to the young man, not to mention more useful to his own research.


    Speaking of which¡­


    Ardi shifted slightly to the side and, lowering himself closer to the floor, reached out his hand to a particularly squeaky floorboard. He lifted it up by using the groove he¡¯d drilled into it and retrieved the notebook that held his sheet with the seals from the Staff of Demons.


    Ardi had long ago ceased to wonder how such an artifact had ended up in a private collection and why the Second Chancery wasn¡¯t in a hurry to confiscate it. Perhaps the catch lay in the fact that the matter involved Trevor Man ¡ª one of the wealthiest people not only in the Empire, but in the entire world.


    Armed with a pencil he would gnaw at from time to time, his entire body heavy with weariness, Ardan trudged toward the table. He flicked the switch, and his old lamp, much like a disgruntled old woman, grumbled at him and finally sparked to life, shining with a steady, yellowish light.


    The young man opened one of the last few pages of the notebook he also used to copy the seals and make notes, then armed himself with a pencil.


    ¡°What if this isn¡¯t a classic free dynamic array,¡± he began to ponder while opening the reference books and textbooks stacked beside him. ¡°But something else¡­ The question is what, exactly¡­¡±


    Ardan bit his pencil and began to tap a leisurely rhythm with his fingers.


    Over the past month, he had made considerable progress in studying the structure of the Chaos School¡¯s seals and had even come to understand why Lady Talia had named them that.


    The thing was, Talia hadn¡¯t used the standard set of elements or kinetic energy. No. She¡¯d relied on some other laws and rules. Which ones? Ardi didn¡¯t know yet.


    To comprehend these seals, he would need knowledge far deeper and more extensive than what he currently possessed.


    ¡°A second Star is needed,¡± the young man declared once again, sprawling out on his chair and staring up at the ceiling. ¡°And it should have no fewer than six rays. Preferably seven. Then I can move on to studying vectors and runic connections.¡±


    Ardi pulled out a drawer and took out one of the blue accumulators that, along with some exes, he had taken from his storage in the second branch of the Imperial Bank.


    Nearby lay the book of Nicholas the Stranger.


    ¡°With this, my mysterious apprentice, we will conclude the foundation upon which we will one day build¡­ I forget the term¡­ ah yes ¡ª the Temple of Knowledge. I have shared my thoughts on runic sets and how they can be created as both permanent and non-permanent. Next, what I would like to discuss¡­ To be honest, I would like to talk to you about my thoughts regarding the increasingly obvious connection between the Aean¡¯Hane art and Star Magic, but I still find this matter too premature.


    So, I would instead like to move on to studying a much more complex issue, namely ¡ª the heart of the seal. Or as I call it ¡ª artificial Ley Lines. But for that, you will need to ignite a second Star.


    As before, I would advise you to prepare a blue crystal or that trendy ¡®accumulator¡¯ device, but if one is unavailable, a green one will suffice.


    And while you only encountered pain last time, this time, you will have to endure not only physical suffering, but also mental anguish. What do I mean by that?


    During the ignition of your second Star, the Ley Lines you will see before you shall begin to entangle themselves in knots, and you will have to find the green one you can use to untangle them. This process, as it is now becoming clear to me, resembles the usage of seals. So, before you begin igniting your second Star, try to ensure that the casting of all the spells I described earlier does not lead to even the slightest errors or hesitations.


    Also, try to create a couple of your own seals to practice castings and connections.


    I will await you in the following chapters, my dear friend. And once again, as always, I ask you to forge ahead.¡±


    Ardan sighed and set aside the old work. The more he delved into modern research and textbooks, the less he referred to Nicholas¡¯ book. Not because the latter explained his thoughts and ideas as incoherently as his History professor, but because Star Magic had not only made huge strides over the past five hundred years, but it had also changed its terminology. Sometimes, considerable effort was needed to translate the Stranger¡¯s words into the modern vernacular.


    Not to mention the fact that the seals outlined in the book had become so outdated that Ardi was already capable of improving them by several orders of magnitude.


    This, by the way, was what he was currently trying to do. But only in theory, as the chance to snag a free practice ground in the Grand was becoming increasingly rare, and during his training sessions with Aversky, they dealt with entirely different matters. The only option he had left was to perhaps visit the Spell Market, but alas, if before, the issue had been money, now it was a far more valuable resource that eluded him ¡ª time.


    ¡°And how do I know I¡¯m even ready?¡± Ardan muttered to himself, examining the seemingly unremarkable blue crystal in the light of the lamp.


    ¡°Ready for what, Mr. Ard?¡± Someone asked from behind him.


    Immediately, his nose caught the scent of forest herbs and fur. Poplar, as always, had appeared silently. Over the past several months, Ardi hadn¡¯t once noticed the fluffy creature¡¯s arrival.


    Poplar, as was his custom during the winter, wore a black jacket adorned with tin medals, red boots decorated with kokhloma patterns, and a toy sabre at his belt.


    Half Vila and half forest cat, he sat on Ardan¡¯s bedside table, waving his paws in the air.


    ¡°To ignite my Green Star, Mr. Poplar,¡± Ardi responded honestly.


    ¡°A serious matter,¡± the cat nodded knowingly, causing his long, thin whiskers to quiver amusingly in the air. ¡°You can¡¯t make a mistake in such matters.¡±


    ¡°I know, Poplar, I know¡­¡± Ardi pulled out his second drawer, retrieved a sealed letter, and handed it to the cat.


    A fluffy paw flickered and, with a swift, almost imperceptible motion, snatched the envelope from Ardan.


    ¡°Do you have something to convey verbally, Mr. Ard?¡± Poplar asked, folding the letter and tucking it under his arm.


    ¡°Not this time.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± the cat leaped to the floor and, stretching, began to gradually dissolve into the shadows. ¡°The Great Princess has asked you to take care of yourself. Until we meet again, sir.¡±


    Those last words were spoken by what appeared to be empty air. They rarely engaged in a dialogue that was longer than a couple of necessary sentences. Instances like this were more the exception than part of their routine.


    Mostly, the cat would appear, take Ardan¡¯s letter, hand him Anastasia¡¯s, and then vanish to deliver his message to her.


    The young man set the accumulator down on the table and, taking out his father¡¯s knife, carefully cut the seal on the letter. It hadn¡¯t been made from candle wax, but from a special postal wax stamped with the Empire¡¯s emblem.


    On paper scented with lavender and dusted with talcum to prevent the ink from smudging, elegant curls of calligraphic handwriting spiraled into long, neat rows.


    ¡°Dear Ardi,


    How happy I am to get to write you a letter again. Since the last time I wrote to you after the New Year¡¯s ball, where I was once again disappointed by my distant relative and our mutual acquaintance, nothing particularly noteworthy has happened.


    I hardly see Father ¡ª he¡¯s either traveling endlessly across the country, attending interminable meetings and receptions, or involved in other state matters. I see Mother more often, but even that¡¯s still only a couple of hours a week.


    The rest of my time, as always, is spent among governesses, mentors, and court maidens, with whom I feel both awkward and equally uncomfortable. Their lengthy conversations about clothes, suitors, weather, and fortune-telling tires me. Oh, that¡¯s a new pastime among the young heiresses of nobility and wealthy families, believe it or not.


    They¡¯re completely unscientific ramblings that attempt to explain their own and others¡¯ fates through the positions of stars and planets.


    Much dearer to my heart and far more pleasant are your adventures, Ardi. Eternal Angels, what I wouldn¡¯t give to have the opportunity to join you in your investigations, university life, and all the other things hidden from me by the palace walls.


    Regarding your last message: did you manage to make any progress in your investigation into the Staff of Demons? I took the liberty of contacting some reliable, knowledgeable people.


    It turns out Trevor Man inherited Lady Talia¡¯s staff. Their family has an entire collection of historical artifacts, and for all those items, even during my grandfather¡¯s time, the necessary permits and other papers were arranged, allowing them to legally possess such rarities.


    In my opinion, there was no lack of corruption there. I will try to find out more. I feel involved in your research, my dear friend. It lightens the gray days I spend in voluntary confinement.


    I am only pleased about the fact that my studies with Senior Magister Urnosov are very successful. Father promised to consider my request, when I turn 17, to enroll at the Grand University if I can pass the exams with flying colors.


    I hope that, even if it¡¯s a few years from now, we can talk face to face once more.


    Your friend,


    Anastasia Agrov.¡±


    Their letters never spanned several pages, as was the case when it came to his correspondence with his mother and brother. It wasn¡¯t because they had nothing to say to each other, but because his letters to Delpas arrived every six weeks, whereas with Anastasia, they exchanged messages twice a month.


    Of course, this still resulted in delays when it came to exchanging news, but there was nothing to be done about that.


    ¡°So, it¡¯s part of a collection,¡± Ardan concluded.


    He struck a few sparks with the old flint that had been gifted to him by the cowboys he¡¯d worked with, then set the letter ablaze and, waiting until it was smoldering in the ashtray, threw the trash into the bin.


    He didn¡¯t even want to think about the possible consequences if someone discovered that the Great Princess and the sole legitimate heir to the Empire¡¯s throne was corresponding with an ordinary mage who was simultaneously a descendant of the Dark Lord¡¯s infamous right hand.


    Ardan sighed and, laying his head down on the table, opened his mind to the world. In the rustle of falling snow brushing against cables, which were like strings stretched between buildings, in the creaking of tires sliding on icy embankments, in the series of wing flaps from seagulls and pigeons seeking shelter in the frozen night ¡ª within this light, barely noticeable, frosty assembly, Ardi heard the fragments of a Name.


    He uttered it, exhaling frost patterns that lay on the inside of the glass, and a small figure appeared in his palm. It somehow resembled Tess ¡ª a slender girl in a light, flowing ice-water dress, who swirled before him on the table. With each graceful gesture of her hands and long legs, she created miniature blizzards that swept away his notebooks and thick textbooks.


    No matter how outdated Nicholas the Stranger¡¯s work was, it remained the only book known to Ardan that touched upon such an ethereal topic as the connection between the art of the Aean¡¯Hane and Star Magic.


    Back in Evergale, Ardi had read Nicholas¡¯ observations in which he¡¯d suggested that the longer one engaged in Star Magic, the stronger their Aean¡¯Hane art became, and vice versa.


    Ardan had discovered that he¡¯d been right. It was now incredibly easy for him to hear the fragments of the Names of Snow and Ice, and he could even summon them reliably. Furthermore, maintaining his concentration and his connection to them had become easier with every passing month.


    The ice girl, gleaming with a blue hue, kept dancing and dancing, while Ardan kept his gaze fixed on the accumulator.


    Perhaps only a complete idiot would attempt to tackle a matter that could determine his future after spending a full six hours training with a Grand Magister in the field of military magic¡­ while also still not being fully recovered from taking a bullet at close range and various encounters with demonologists, chimeras, and sewers.


    But Ardan, as if something inside him was urging him on, felt as clearly as he sensed the figure on the table that the time had come.


    Breaking his connection with the Name fragments and brushing off the swiftly-disappearing snowdrift from his table, the young man grabbed the accumulator and his staff, and then sat down on the floor.


    Placing the crystal before him, Ardi, as he¡¯d been instructed by Skusty, regulated his breathing and listened to all his senses, then, as if turning away from reality, allowed them to show him what was happening on the other side, where the human eye couldn¡¯t reach.


    The moment he did so, Ardan almost lost consciousness from the images and flashes of light tearing through his mind. From every crack, every corner, every fold of space, shining rays of Ley rushed toward him.


    He saw them as snakes racing from one foggy building to another. He watched them burn in the iron trees that stood over the frozen street. He saw them beating rhythmically like a heart underground, flickering across the skies, and transforming the city into an endless dance of lights that made even the New Year¡¯s decorations look pale and unseemly by comparison.


    Inhale. Exhale.


    Ardan mentally pushed away the roaring storm of mystical light.


    Exhale. Inhale.


    The brilliance grew less intense by the second. The lights gradually retracted into the cables, returning to the lamps and slowly dimming within the bulbs, plates, transformers, and expensive, humming refrigerators.


    And so it continued until all that remained in the midst of this spilled dark ink, which the surrounding world had turned into, was the crystal. The crystal and an endless flow of much less bright, barely-perceptible threads that seemed to be everywhere and that permeated everything around Ardan.


    These were the Ley Lines¡­ Or rather, their echoes. Emanations. Ley-radiation. They could be called anything.


    They drifted along as threads of invisible wind, bending and twisting and intertwining into such a complex pattern that it was impossible to discern where one began and another ended.


    The view that unfolded before Ardan this time was strikingly different from what he had seen all those years ago in the old shed.


    This time, it all seemed a bit more expansive, but because of that, it was also much more complex and tangled.


    The blue crystal had become something like a beacon in the midst of this colorful ocean of Ley threads.


    As soon as Ardan reached for a green thread, it sparked and began to emit a steady glow, like a flame in a dark forest. The other green threads racing through the air paused briefly, akin to a group of weary travelers who had decided to rest by a warm fire after a tiring journey.


    Ardi mentally touched these threads and, ignoring the pain, walked their paths. Alongside them, he traversed trails so astonishing that even the Fae¡¯s own paths appeared to be both narrower and straighter than the capital¡¯s avenues by comparison.


    Keeping close to them, Ardi untangled the intricate patterns, freeing the green color from all other impurities. He sifted it through the red clusters, filtered out the blue, unraveled the yellow and pink knots, pierced through the veils of black and gray, and tried to bend all the other colors into arcs to let the green pass through.


    But no matter how hard the young man tried, the green threads refused to fit into his consciousness. Every time he stood on their paths and attempted to connect with them, they disintegrated into a sandy haze in his hands.


    And then the path began anew.


    Strangely, Ardan didn¡¯t feel any pain. He simply walked and walked along these paths beyond the grasp of reason and thus beyond a description in the human language. It was sort of like how indescribable it was to feel your own heartbeat during a first kiss; how your soul would howl in anguish at your mother¡¯s funeral; how your insides would twist when you said goodbye to a friend forever; how light and high you felt on distant mountains; how calm and heavy it all was at the bottom of a lake, where only silence and soothing darkness would surround you; how an artist¡¯s brush would fly across the canvas, leaving patterns of eternity; how fingers would run across piano keys, saying things that tongues usually remained silent about.


    No. Those paths could not be described.


    They could only be walked. After that, you could maybe sit in silence with someone who had also been fortunate or unfortunate enough to tread them. After all, even if you both knew something, it wasn¡¯t guaranteed that you could always find the right words to discuss it. But silence¡­ Silence could sometimes say more than the loudest of songs and sweetest of poems.


    Ardan walked, not keeping track of the time, which probably didn¡¯t exist here at all. Step by step, he picked up green threads and no longer tried to take them, as he had with his Red Star, in their pristine form.


    No, he folded them carefully and leisurely, intertwining them, creating shapes and curves. Some, he passed from below, others, he directed from above, and the few final ones, he guided along and across, until he formed something vaguely familiar yet hidden from his mind. It was like a forgotten word rolling on the tip of your tongue amid a heated argument.


    Ardi took the resulting pattern with him and finally felt the first sting inside his mind. It was as if someone had burned him with a hot needle.


    But the young man continued.


    Inhale. Exhale.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    He wove new patterns over and over, marveling at what he saw before him. It felt like the world was collapsing into a point within which it would reveal all its secrets and mysteries, allowing his desire to create something new and unseen to flourish, only to suddenly, while still inside that point, spread out into endless expanses. Compared to these never-ending vistas, the distance between him and the dark cosmos seemed as irrelevant as the distance between his room and a neighboring house.


    And Ardi, marveling at these expanses he didn¡¯t even understand, simply walked along invisible paths, and all the while, without paying attention to his actions, he was constantly weaving new patterns. He did so not because he wanted to, but because he remembered that he had to. And if it hadn¡¯t been for this memory, he would¡¯ve probably abandoned his attempts to take the green light with him and simply set off on a journey that would never end, for it had nowhere to end.


    But with each new pattern, with each new ray ignited in his burgeoning Star, mysterious waymarks of increasing pain arose in the midst of these enigmatic paths. They marked the route taken, reminding Ardan that this was a foreign, inhospitable world to him.


    And Ardi kept trying and trying to climb farther. To see more. He almost felt as if, behind the next bend, around the upcoming turn, he could find something important. Something that would fill the ever-growing void in his chest. It was still small, bead-sized at most, but it was tirelessly expanding and infinitely hungry.


    But the pain was already close to blinding him. He walked almost by feel now, so to speak, since when it came to something so ethereal, even a half-forgotten dream was more solid than granite by comparison.


    And yet, at some point, Ardan realized that his next step would be his last, and he would either burn in the ocean of pain or disappear, losing himself amid the invisible paths.


    Inhale. Exhale.


    The young man opened his eyes and severed the connection of his mind with the world of the Ley. Outside the window, the sun was already blazing, breaking through the blanket of gray clouds. On the floor lay the cracked, shattered accumulator, and Ardi, still sitting with his back to the table, was holding his staff in his hands.


    He couldn¡¯t understand whether he was merely imagining it or not. Was he already ¡°here¡± or still ¡°there?¡± And his thoughts were hindered by the fact that, within his mind, his second, Green Star now burned.


    A Star with nine rays.


    Ardan counted once more. Then again, and again, but the number did not seem to change.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± sighed the young man, lying back on the floor and stretching to his full height. ¡°And what am I supposed to do with this now?¡±


    The ceiling Ardi gazed at remained silent as stone.


    The young man clearly understood, like he had last time with his Red Star, that by taking a greater risk and with a stronger desire to urge him on, he could have progressed even further. But if back then, the matter had concerned his eighth and ninth rays, now...


    ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s thoughts,¡± Ardi chastised himself with deliberate sternness.


    He stood up and, following his established routine, opened the window and shoveled snow off the roof. Ardan wrapped himself in a towel and wiped down his body. Once a week, he would go to the public baths, spending about seven kso per visit.


    Returning to the table, Ardan clicked his flint again, lit the burner, and started boiling water on it, dissolving a powder made from a mixture of invigorating herbs and roots into it.


    After downing the bitter liquid in one gulp and washing it down with another pill provided by the Cloaks, Ardan dressed and headed for the exit. At such a late hour, he encountered no one on the stairs except, perhaps, for the ubiquitous slushy puddles. They were cleared in the morning and evening.


    The bar, too, was now obviously empty, only having chairs that had been lifted onto tables and¡­


    ¡°What were you doing all night?¡± Arkar squinted at him. He¡¯d changed from his black suit to a dark coral one.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Well, you were doing some magic crap up there... Don¡¯t deny it, yeah?¡± Arkar continued, still squinting, and adjusted his monocle while clicking away at his tally counters. The half-orc was checking numerous report forms and expense sheets. ¡°You had colorful lights flashing in your windows. I thought you were heating up... or burning something, I mean, right?¡±


    ¡°It was a small magic experiment,¡± Ardan did not lie again, precisely, but he did not tell the truth, either.


    ¡°Remember our shaking... our agreement, I mean?¡±


    Ardi checked if his grimoire was still tightly chained to his belt, then wrapped a scarf around his neck and pulled on a knitted cap.


    ¡°If you blow something up-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll break some of my bones,¡± Ardan interjected.


    ¡°Perhaps I¡¯ll even do so with some added cruelty, Matabar,¡± Arkar nodded.


    ¡°See you tonight, orc.¡±


    ¡°See you tonight.¡±


    Ardan dashed outside, almost hopping as he went, bypassing the rare passersby, letting humming cars go by, and ran to the tram stop. His thoughts were occupied by... no, not the nine rays of his new Star, and certainly not his duel with Kerimov. The young man was entirely absorbed by imagining scenes from his upcoming date. Considering the late hour, the fifth day lectures were almost over, so he would make it to the Grand just in time for the start of his duel.


    And after everything was resolved, he would definitely need to visit the infamous baths and maybe, if Arkar had any to spare, ask to borrow a decent suit from him? Or maybe not?


    Tess would surely understand, given where she worked, that an outfit meant for someone else¡¯s shoulders could never fit him properly. Or, conversely, she would find the thought of going out on a date with a raggedy fellow in a suit that had been patched up and stained with ink unpleasant. His vest with its colorful buttons and his cloak stitched together after acid had eaten away at it would certainly not help matters.


    ¡°Are you going to board or not?¡± A gruff, dissatisfied voice tore Ardi from the whirlpool of thoughts swirling around in his head.


    ¡°Yes, of course,¡± he snapped back and, after showing his pass ¡ª a cardboard ticket adorned with stamps from the City Transportation Department ¡ª climbed the iron steps into the wagon.


    The conductor shook his head in disapproval and knocked on the wall, signaling to the driver that they could keep going.


    Once he settled into a seat in the last row, where he preferred to sit, Ardan opened his worn, graying wallet.


    He still had a decent amount left from the sum he¡¯d received from ¡°Bri-&-Man¡± ¡ª 143 exes and 87 kso ¡ª even after all his expenses were tallied together, including his current costs, his textbooks, and paying off his debt to the Anorsky family, which he had finally decided to settle once and for all. Currently, as Arkar would say, four and a quarter exes were on his soul, to which Ardi would add another ten exes for the date.


    It would definitely be worth it to ask Din about the bonuses. Or maybe interns weren¡¯t eligible to receive them?


    In any case, when it came to his income, Ardan still had a scholarship, a stipend (there was a week left until he got it) and a salary from the Cloaks (another twelve days until he received it) to look forward to, but, as always, it wasn¡¯t enough.


    ¡°I hope something piques their interest,¡± Ardi said dreamily, patting his grimoire.


    He tried not to think about what had happened last night ¡ª the feeling that he could¡¯ve ignited more than nine rays. Instead, the young man focused on remembering Elena¡¯s explanation about how the Spell Market worked.


    Would they like the Water Shroud? It certainly had a very specific set of properties and a rather narrow field of application, but, false modesty aside, for a spell requiring only a couple of Red Star rays, it was a very decent creation.


    Ultimately, as Aversky had stated before, a battle between Star Mages could be reduced to the basic need for effective ray expenditure. Any military mage¡¯s task was to spend fewer rays than their opponent, or to force them to spend more.


    And his Water Shroud perfectly met these requirements. Not only did it neutralize the enemy¡¯s spell, but it also directed it back at its caster, forcing them to conjure a shield or react with almost miraculous speed and agility in some cases.


    For example, Ardan had never been able to dodge even casually thrown spells when they¡¯d come from Aversky, since they¡¯d always been faster than bullets. But, in the case of Selena, who¡¯d clearly lacked adequate practical training, he had managed to evade her monstrous magic even with a wounded leg.


    ¡°Flowers...¡± Ardan suddenly realized and almost hit himself on the forehead. ¡°I definitely have to go buy flowers.¡±


    In the capital, even in winter, those with decent reserves of money still had the opportunity to purchase flowers. They were kept in special greenhouses where the necessary climate was maintained using Ley cables and wards.


    ¡°Star Square,¡± the conductor announced.


    Ardan moved past several passengers and stepped out onto the street. Then, for the umpteenth time, he slipped on the ice-covered snow. He still couldn¡¯t, even after so many years spent wearing them, get used to shoes. He constantly had to fight the urge to take them off and walk barefoot.


    ¡°Be careful,¡± Bazhen grabbed him by the elbow. He was dressed in a warm fur coat, hat, and a red scarf adorned with his family crest. Yes, Bazhen actually belonged to a small noble family that had gone bankrupt. Long ago, they had received a title for services in the field of... Ardi honestly couldn¡¯t remember what.


    ¡°I thought you actually decided to skip the fun,¡± he grumbled and hurried toward the towering mass at the edge of the square. ¡°The last lecture ended ten minutes ago. People have started flocking to the practice ground.¡±


    The Grand never ceased to amaze Ardi with its size and monumentality that was mixed with its enchanting, almost floating grace.


    ¡°People? Like¡­ plural?¡± Ardan asked in a despondent tone.


    ¡°The first years, at least. All of them came to watch, for sure. And some of the second years, too, those that are interested for their own reasons,¡± Bazhen nodded. ¡°Bloody duels are a rare phenomenon, Egobar. You¡¯d normally have to beat a demon to get permission for one of them... And then along comes a descendant of Aror, wanting to fight one of the Great Prince¡¯s closest allies. That¡¯s a spectacle in the making.¡±


    Ardan, of course, had suspected that it would turn out this way, but had dearly hoped he would be proven wrong. He couldn¡¯t stand drawing extra attention to himself. It was an old, ingrained habit. A hunter on the trails had to, above all, remain unnoticed. That was what Aergar had always taught him.


    ¡°Did you bring an accumulator with you?¡± Bazhen grumbled at him, still clearly dissatisfied, over his shoulder.


    ¡°Why are you so annoyed?¡± Ardi was quite surprised. Bazhen usually looked like he didn¡¯t care about anything.


    ¡°Because, Egobar, the house decided on some ridiculous grounds to make me your guide and chaperone while you¡¯re at the university,¡± Bazhen said testily. ¡°Now I have nothing else to do but run around with a wild cowboy. I have, by the way, a week¡¯s schedule all planned out! There¡¯s drinking, cabaret, lovely ladies, more drinking, and, if you¡¯ll deign to notice, there¡¯s nothing about a Matabar on that list!¡±


    Ardan only shrugged at that, but the young man who was walking ahead of him did not see this, of course.


    ¡°Did you bring an accumulator with you, cowboy?¡±


    In bloody duels, only one accumulator was allowed, with a maximum of nine rays.


    ¡°Here,¡± Ardi showed him the red crystal in his ring.


    Of course, he hadn¡¯t spent money on it. Thanks to a bit of work with a knife, he had taken it out of Gleb¡¯s family ring (so that no one would recognize it by accident) and placed it in his own ring. However, he didn¡¯t know how many rays it had left. His replacement analyzer hadn¡¯t arrived yet.


    ¡°Why are you so calm, Egobar?¡± Bazhen almost croaked out in irritation. ¡°It¡¯s still Baron Kerimov. One of the best duelists in the first year.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m...¡± Ardi began and stopped.


    He truly didn¡¯t feel the slightest bit of excitement. Not after everything that had already happened. From the Wanderer to Selena Lorlov. Each time, they¡¯d tried to kill him. And this... This was almost a sporting contest. Magical Boxing, basically.


    ¡°Can I ask you a question?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Bazhen grumbled, hiding his hands in his pockets. ¡°But you¡¯ll ask it anyway.¡±


    ¡°How much time do mages have to notify the authorities about igniting a new Star?¡±


    ¡°Six months and three weeks,¡± Bazhen replied instantly. ¡°Then you get a fine of four exes for each week you delay. If you don¡¯t notify them within a year, you¡¯re criminally liable.¡±


    ¡°So, is there a way to find out when a Star was ignited?¡±


    ¡°And how many rays it has,¡± Bazhen nodded. ¡°It¡¯s just concentrated Ley energy, Egobar. Of course there are devices and methods that can count and analyze those besides post-mortem skull cracking. They use them, though extremely rarely. After all, what would be the point of a regular mage hiding their Stars or lying about their number of rays?¡±


    ¡°What about the non-regular kind?¡±


    ¡°Our superiors will take care of the non-regulars,¡± Bazhen parried verbally.


    At this point, they had already entered the atrium, shed their coats, and after a brief but extremely unpleasant elevator ride down, they found themselves in a long corridor. Ardan hadn¡¯t been here since the week before last.


    Overall, it was not too long of a period if you looked at it rationally, but it seemed to him like, since then, an entire lifetime, or a significant portion of it, had flown by.


    Passing doors leading to testing grounds, Ardan and Bazhen entered the men¡¯s locker room and, leaving it behind, stepped out into the light of Ley-lamps.


    Ardan whistled lightly, like a cowboy would. Besides the usual barrier of Ley cables over which a powerful shield had been erected, rows of wooden benches had now been laid out along the walls, merging into the wings of a large amphitheater. As Bazhen had warned him, there was barely any room to breathe. Everything was packed to the brim with the haze of scarlet and occasional green cloaks.


    ¡°Iolai took care of all of it,¡± Bazhen whispered in his ear. ¡°He wants everyone to watch his man humiliate you.¡±


    ¡°Humiliate me?¡± Ardan didn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°You know, when he defeats you in the duel,¡± Bazhen explained, a bit bewildered.


    ¡°What¡¯s humiliating about that?¡± Ardi still didn¡¯t understand. ¡°We¡¯re all learning.¡±


    Bazhen bowed his head and looked at Ardi with a somewhat strange squint, as if trying to figure out if he was serious or not.


    ¡°You¡¯re some strange half-blood, Egobar,¡± he declared his verdict and headed toward the barrier.


    Ardi only shrugged. In the Alkade, he¡¯d often dueled against young lynxes, bear cubs, wolves, and a couple of times, on Aergar¡¯s orders, he¡¯d even fought snow leopards.


    And he could count his victories on one hand, but his losses on the long paths of the Spirit of the Day that had left bloody marks on his hide. But no one considered a defeat in battles of cubs humiliating. On the contrary ¡ª it didn¡¯t matter who won. Fully-fledged hunters valued and respected not the fight itself, but the spirit shown in it.


    But, apparently, humans had slightly different norms. Ultimately, if one didn¡¯t count the farce against Gleb Davos, and the similar spectacles involving Iolai Agrov and Colonel Kshtovsky, Ardan was, for the first time ever, participating in a real magical duel.


    And speaking of the colonel¡­


    Vseslav Kshtovskyas always¡ªwith an unremarkable, round, smoothly-shaven face and wore an inconspicuous three-piece suit, over which he wore a pink cloak of the fifth Star. He was standing in the center of the arena.


    Ardan, after glancing at the man¡¯s epaulettes, smiled to himself as he noted the similarity in their number of rays. Senior Magister Vseslav Kshtovsky had also started with seven and nine rays, and then he¡¯d continued on to acquire eight, six, and another eight rays. That was a monstrous amount of power, as Ardi could now better attest to.


    On the other side stood Grand Magister Aversky, who had seven, eight, eight, nine, three, and two rays. Although he¡¯d lost out in the fifth Star, the two rays in his sixth meant that he could use spells requiring six Stars, whereas Kshtovsky couldn¡¯t. And when such a mismatch occurred, no amount of accumulators, nor any artifacts, nor anything else for that matter, would be able to help him.


    A mage could only use as many rays and Stars in their seals as they actually possessed.


    ¡°Student Eorsky, hurry your prot¨¦g¨¦ along,¡± Kshtovsky growled out in his calm, soft bass. ¡°Or else he might just change his mind at the last second.¡±


    Some of the students chuckled lightly, while others weren¡¯t paying any attention to what was happening, and had buried their noses in their grimoires and lecture notes. They were apparently only interested in the duel itself.


    ¡°Don¡¯t freeze up,¡± Bazhen glanced at Ardi and gestured dismissively.


    Along with him, Ardan stepped over the barrier. For a moment, he felt the titanic magical shield brush against his mind. Such a massive spell definitely couldn¡¯t be created or maintained without constant power supplied by Ley cables.


    On the side opposite the Senior Magister (who was presumably acting as the judge) stood two people. There was Baron Kerimov, who was massaging his square jaw and shaking out his shoulders that were as round as melons. Dressed in training gear ¡ª a pair of loose blue pants with sturdy seams and a black-and-white striped sailor shirt ¡ª he somewhat resembled Arkar¡¯s distant relative.


    Next to him stood Zahatkin, who looked like his surname should¡¯ve been Scarecrow-kin. Even his suit, which had clearly been tailored to fit him well and attempt to flatter his figure, still hung off him like he was a sentient stick. Or, indeed, a scarecrow.


    And, of course, behind them, in the central rows of the improvised amphitheater, sat the smirking Iolai Agrov with the remnants of his entourage.


    ¡°Introduce yourselves,¡± Colonel Kshtovsky urged them.


    ¡°The challenger,¡± squeaked Zahatkin. ¡°Student Kerimov. Military Faculty. Five rays of the Red Star.¡±


    ¡°The defender,¡± replied Bazhen, who was now wearing a monocle. ¡°Student Egobar. Faculty of General Knowledge. Seven rays of the Red Star.¡±


    ¡°Both sides,¡± announced the Senior Magister again. ¡°Approach me and present your accumulators.¡±


    All four of them moved toward Colonel Kshtovsky. First, Baron Kerimov held out his accumulator. At the tip of his steel staff that had clearly not been cheap and which already had several seals etched into it, a scarlet crystal the size of a palm glimmered.


    But appearances could be deceiving. It was not a military class accumulator, so his rays would be restored much slower, at a speed of something like one ray per ten seconds. Compared to military ones, which were able to replenish energy almost instantly, that was sorely lacking.


    It was all about purity. His crystal might have been large, but it contained too many impurities.


    Without using an analyzer, Kshtovsky demonstratively touched his crystal and announced:


    ¡°Nine rays. You pass.¡±


    This meant that the baron had fourteen rays in total at his disposal.


    Then it was Ardan¡¯s turn. He removed his ring and handed it to the colonel. No one was surprised that Ardan had a military-class accumulator. Only Kerimov was grinding his teeth faintly in annoyance.


    The professor, after glancing at the ring, first raised his eyebrows, then, frowning, handed it back.


    ¡°Seven rays. You pass.¡± He was now looking at Ardan quite differently than before.


    No, Kshtovsky hadn¡¯t liked Ardi much before, which was apparently due to his dislike of the Firstborn.


    But right now, something akin to surprise mixed with actual hatred was flickering in the colonel¡¯s dark eyes.


    Maybe he¡¯d recognized the ring itself, and the Second Chancery displeased him?


    ¡°Both sides ¡ª disperse!¡± Kshtovsky barked.


    Bazhen, who hadn¡¯t missed the change in the Senior Magister¡¯s gaze, led Ardan back to his starting position.


    ¡°Please tell me that¡¯s not Davos¡¯ accumulator!¡± He hissed fiercely into Ardan¡¯s ear.


    Of course Bazhen would know about the incident with the noble scion. He¡¯d been made his shepherd, after all.


    ¡°Yes, it is,¡± Ardan admitted in an even tone as he opened his grimoire at the Ice Wave page. Kerimov also opened his grimoire and flipped through it. ¡°But I took it out of-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s still engraved, you idiot!¡± Bazhen spat while barely moving his lips. He sounded like he was ready to breathe fire and simply burn his problem to ashes.


    Ardan reached out to scrutinize the accumulator more carefully, but Bazhen grabbed his hand.


    ¡°Have you lost your Light-damned mind?!¡± He shielded him from the colonel¡¯s view. ¡°Check it later.¡±


    ¡°But why-¡±


    ¡°One of the colonel¡¯s daughters is married to Semyon Davos, who-¡±


    ¡°Is Gleb¡¯s brother,¡± Ardan finished for Bazhen. As he did so, he recalled what Mart had told him about the Davos family.


    ¡°Military mages are a very tight-knit club, Egobar,¡± Bazhen calmed down slightly, stepping aside and standing nearby. ¡°Let¡¯s hope the colonel thinks he made a mistake.¡±


    ¡°And if he doesn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Then we are fu-¡±


    ¡°Sides!¡± Kshtovsky thundered again. ¡°I will remind you that according to the rules of bloody duels held for training purposes, you are allowed to use offensive military magic. Each side has the right to surrender at any moment, after which the duel will be immediately stopped. Also, the duel will be instantly stopped after one of the duelists takes damage that could cause disability or death. For your safety, healers are on standby.¡±


    The colonel pointed at two bored young men. One had a green cloak, and the other, surprisingly, wore a blue one. Both were from the Faculty of Healing.


    ¡°Understood?¡± Kshtovsky turned to the baron.


    ¡°Understood,¡± the baron nodded.


    The colonel shifted his impassive gaze to Ardi. Maybe his issue was indeed with the ring itself, and not the accumulator.


    ¡°Understood?¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Ardan confirmed.


    ¡°Seconds, you have ten seconds to give advice, after which I will ask you to leave the duel area,¡± the colonel said, turning and exiting the barrier.


    ¡°Egobar, listen to me carefully,¡± Bazhen stared at him intently. ¡°Use your entire arsenal. Even the House¡¯s spells. Admittedly, judging by the reports, you don¡¯t really know any others, but that¡¯s beside the point. In short¡­ Make sure the baron comes to fear even the word ¡®duel¡¯ after this.¡±


    Ardan frowned in confusion.


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Aversky¡¯s order,¡± Bazhen interrupted him, stressing that last word. ¡°I have no idea what his motives are, and, to be honest, I don¡¯t care. I already have enough woes without meddling in the affairs of Grand Magisters...¡±


    Aversky? But why hadn¡¯t he said anything to Ardan himself? Why hadn¡¯t he even told him that he was aware of his upcoming duel? Except... He had been running his student ragged all night, making him forget how to breathe sometimes.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go,¡± Bazhen pounded his fist against Ardan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Make it beautiful.¡±


    The young man, who was now somewhat overly enthusiastic, seemed to have forgotten about the incident with Kshtovsky.


    ¡°Half of your winnings are mine.¡±


    Bazhen cursed.


    ¡°What an investigator, demons take you¡­ You get a quarter.¡±


    ¡°A third.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Bazhen replied after a second¡¯s pause, taking a candy from his pocket, putting it in his mouth, and walking toward the benches.


    Soon, he and the baron, who was holding his staff out in front of him, were alone in the dueling area.


    ¡°Begin!¡± The colonel thundered.


    Kerimov was the first to react. He glanced at his staff, which flashed with the seal of the classic Stone Fist for a moment. That same shimmer could also be seen beneath his feet. And then...


    Ardan, frowning, took a step back and lifted his staff above the floor.


    Something was wrong here.


    Kerimov struck the floor with his staff, and his seal, blazing with energy, disappeared, and then, from the tip of his staff¡­ The most ordinary Stone Fist came out.


    But it was slow.


    Much slower than gunshots, the tail strikes of that nameless Fae, the chimera¡¯s paws, or Selena Lorlov¡¯s spells.


    Ardan, not wanting to waste his rays, jumped aside and immediately regretted his action. Kerimov, smiling widely, formed his next seal much faster and, in the spot where Ardi was about to land, quicksand suddenly appeared across the floor. This was a spell that the young man had only read about in textbooks before.


    Ardi, realizing that he couldn¡¯t use magic while in the air, rolled desperately and, falling onto his battered side, tumbled back. Erupting from the floor at the speed of wildly-swung sabers, stone needles shot out at him.


    One of them cut his leg, creating a tear in his last pair of pants, and another almost buried itself in his jacket, which he was still supposed to wear on his date.


    Ardi couldn¡¯t allow this to go on and, while still lying on the ground, he struck the floor with his staff, forming a modified Basic Shield around himself. Its main goal was to maximize his protection from external physical impacts.


    And Kerimov had apparently been waiting for this, because as soon as a steely film of energy began to coalesce around Ardan, the baron lifted his staff with both hands and drove it into the ground with great force.


    In the same instant, the stone needles shattered and, merging with the quicksand, formed a massive ball almost half a meter in diameter in the air.


    Meanwhile, the baron started gathering the lingering energy from his past spells in an effort to be efficient.


    The large stone ball, which was barely slower than a bullet, struck Ardan¡¯s shield, causing it to vibrate and gradually begin to crack.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± croaked the stunned Ardi. ¡°He really is the best duelist among the first-years.¡±


    Kerimov¡¯s strategy was to first lull his opponents into a false sense of security, then bombard them with a series of rapid spells, forcing them to raise a shield, then the baron would collect his spent Ley and unleash a powerful finishing blow with it.


    And Ardan had fallen for it.


    He¡¯d acted exactly as Kerimov had planned. Not because he was a fool, but because he had essentially never fought mages before. Not on an equal level, at least.


    ¡°Sleeping Spirits,¡± sighed Ardi while looking at the stone ball gradually piercing through his shield. And this was happening despite the fact that Ardan had deployed an absorbing shield.


    Kerimov, who still had no fewer than six rays at his disposal, waited. He already saw himself as the victor. If his spell pierced Ardi¡¯s shield, that would bring him victory. If Ardan dispelled his shield and tried to escape the follow-up strike, Kerimov would have a window of opportunity to launch his next attack, and his opponent wouldn¡¯t have time to defend himself, which, again, would be a victory.


    And Ardi couldn¡¯t counterattack because then he would have to remove his shield. Or that was what Kerimov thought, anyway.


    Ardan, shaking his head and lamenting his own shortsightedness, lightly struck his staff against the ground.


    The seal depicted on the pages of his grimoire flashed into being, and accompanied by a collective, astonished gasp, an icy mass formed above the baron¡¯s head, siphoning five rays from Ardan¡¯s reserves.


    The baron wrapped himself in a stone cocoon at the very last moment, which the healers who¡¯d jumped to their feet were glad to see, since they wouldn¡¯t have been able to help him. He used up all his remaining rays out of fear as well.


    The stone ball, which had almost gotten through his shield, shattered into fine crumbs, and Ardan, rising to his feet, struck his staff against the floor once again.


    Of course, he didn¡¯t yet know how to reuse energy for spells of the same elemental school as the previous ones he¡¯d cast (students were only taught this, Ley Resonance skill, at the Military Faculty, and Aversky had started him off with the basics), but he didn¡¯t need to.


    Calmly, feeling unhurried now that Kerimov had completely depleted his energy reserves and was relying on his stone cocoon to protect him, Ardan flipped through the pages of his grimoire.


    ¡°Found it,¡± he nodded to himself, then poured his remaining six rays into his own modification of the Ice Arrow.


    A wisp of steam curled out from his lips. Instead of the standard, one-meter-long, icy spike that would only take two rays, a two-meter-long spear that was about the thickness of a palm started spinning in front of the top of his staff. It was rotating at such a high speed that the air around its tip trembled slightly and his ears were pierced by a thin, unpleasant whistle.


    This shouldn¡¯t have worked this well, even considering the amount of Ley he¡¯d spent...


    Ardan, staring in shock at the monster he¡¯d created, recalled too late that there was a connection between the art of the Aean¡¯Hane and Star Magic.


    ¡°Watch out!¡± He shouted just as the spear, faster than a bullet fired from a rifle, sped toward its target.


    The healers, who hadn¡¯t returned to their previous positions, ran toward the baron.


    The stone cocoon was¡­ mostly intact. A hole now gaped through its center. It matched the one in Kerimov¡¯s stomach.


    And the spear, which had flown for another few meters, had shattered and disappeared inside the practice ground¡¯s shield. But that didn¡¯t concern many people right then. Having lost their ability to speak, the students silently watched as the healers first dispersed the stone cocoon and then started casting spells on the bleeding, choking baron, who was frantically trying to cover the enormous hole in his gut with his hands. His intestines and torn apart internal organs were spilling out of it.


    ¡°Damn it!¡± The healers were joined by Kshtovsky, who started casting spells of his own and covering the baron with various healing wards.


    ¡°Leave,¡± a worried Bazhen whispered to Ardan. ¡°I¡¯ll handle everything, but¡­ don¡¯t show up at the Grand for a couple of weeks.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to-¡±


    ¡°Leave while no one is watching,¡± Bazhen interrupted him and also walked toward the wounded.


    Ardan, turning around, hurried out.


    Only one thought was racing through his head: Sleeping Spirits, please make sure that Kerimov doesn¡¯t head off to meet the Eternal Angels.

 Chapter 66 - Two hearts

    Ardi pressed his forehead against the blisteringly cold, ice-covered steel handrail ¡ª it was so frigid that its frostiness bit through his woolen hat ¡ª and mulled over everything that had transpired.


    In the worst possible scenario, if Kerimov died¡­ would they expel him from the Grand? Who could say? On the one hand, he had taken part in an official, preapproved bloody duel. On the other¡­


    ¡°Damn,¡± Ardan muttered, closing his eyes.


    And then there was Kshtovsky¡­ Ardi wasn¡¯t even bothered by what Bazhen had told him about the colonel¡¯s daughter. He just wanted to know why the colonel hadn¡¯t intervened? Though, in truth, the answer was quite obvious.


    Ardan had used about as many rays ¡ª or maybe one more ¡ª as Kerimov had channeled into his absorbing-type shield. All other things being equal, even if Ardi¡¯s spell had overloaded the stone cocoon¡¯s properties, at most, the baron might have been cut by flying shards.


    That was likely why Kshtovsky hadn¡¯t stepped in. He couldn¡¯t possibly have foreseen the influence of the Aean¡¯Hane art, about which he likely knew very little, save for the mere fact that such magic connection even existed.


    Ardi could only hope that the two healers, even if they were just students, along with the help of a five-Star, seasoned military mage, would be able to pull Kerimov back from the brink.


    ¡°Damn,¡± Ardan repeated.


    ¡°Tough day?¡± Asked the conductor, who was sporting a funny hat with flappy ear coverings that he¡¯d pulled snugly over his standard-issue cap with its gleaming, lacquered visor.


    ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°Got it¡­ Markov Canal!¡±


    The tram screeched to a halt, its wheels whining against rails made brittle by the biting cold. Ardan stepped outside, pulled off his hat, and let the chill wind that was rushing across the snowy surface of the slumbering river lick his face.


    Tapping out the rhythm of his own footsteps with his staff, the young man passed a few buildings and arrived at number 23, where the familiar ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± sign flickered, and on the top floor, an oriel window with a rust-stained, steel roof glimmered faintly.


    Ardi intended to clean that roof come spring, so that when the rains began, he wouldn¡¯t have to live like a marsh frog always searching for higher ground ¡ª it would flood otherwise.


    Entering the building, Ardan found Arkar still hunched over numerous invoices and financial reports.


    ¡°That was quick,¡± the half-orc snorted, scribbling something into the columns of an enormous ledger.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Ardi said simply.


    He shrugged off his coat, hung it on the wardrobe rack, then pulled up a chair and settled in across from him.


    The clack of wooden beads sliding along steel wires calmed him somewhat.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you buy an arithmometer?¡± Ardi asked as he saw how often Arkar lost his place in the rows and units.


    Anna¡¯s brother, for instance, had used one. It was a wooden, collapsible device with two metal plates inside of it, jam-packed with gears and rollers that shifted digit-bearing strips.


    It could handle both simple arithmetic and multiplication, division¡­ The most expensive variants, which would be fitted with four plates rather than two, even supported trigonometry and more advanced calculations.


    Ardan had long dreamed of buying one for himself someday. Working on his Star Magic seals would go at least ten times faster that way. But even the simplest models started at sixty exes, at the very least.


    ¡°Arih¡­ aritt¡­ What did you call it?¡± Arkar tore his gaze from the ledger for a second.


    ¡°An ari-thmo-meter,¡± Ardan repeated, practically saying it syllable by syllable. ¡°It¡¯s a calculating machine. Very convenient.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t need it¡­¡± The half-orc mumbled, losing his place yet again. He cursed, then slammed the abacus down onto the desk so hard that both the frame and the tabletop creaked in protest. ¡°Tess usually helps me,¡± he grumbled in displeasure. ¡°But today, she¡¯s slacking off¡­ refusing to help, I mean. Says she¡¯s got plans tonight, even canceled her own show. Me, I¡¯m not about to butt into her life, so here I am, left to shift these beads by myself.¡±


    Ardan often found it amusing how Arkar tried to restrain himself from lapsing into pure gangster slang. He was, after all, the official face of a rather prominent jazz bar and had to behave accordingly.


    ¡°Want me to help?¡±


    Arkar leaned back in his chair, fingers laced over his chest.


    ¡°What, you gonna swoosh¡­ handle, I mean, a month¡¯s worth of bookkeeping for me¡­ just like that?¡±


    Ardan flipped open the ledger, picked up the forms, and¡­ nearly choked. At least now he understood why, when he¡¯d first moved in, Arkar had asked him to sign a receipt for a deposit far larger than the amount he¡¯d actually paid.


    Under ¡°expenses upon moving out,¡± every last tenant ¡ª absolutely every single one ¡ª was noted as owing money for various repairs or compensation for broken or damaged household items.


    ¡°A broken doorknob that costs seventy-five exes to replace?¡± Ardi arched an eyebrow.


    ¡°It was inlaid with diamonds from the necklace of Mrs. Dirati ¡ª one of the most renowned opera belters¡­ singers, I mean,¡± Arkar lied without batting an eye.


    ¡°May I see this doorknob?¡±


    ¡°Do I need to smash your face in?¡± The half-orc snorted. ¡°What, you fancy yourself an investigator now? Besides, it¡¯s gone ¡ª broken. It¡¯s all written down in there. Signed by the tenant, too.¡±


    ¡°Sure, of course,¡± Ardan grimaced and continued scanning the list. ¡°A scratch on the parquet¡­¡±


    ¡°Which was carved from a type of wood that grows¡­ well, who knows where, but definitely someplace very sparkly¡­ a place of honor and luxury, I mean.¡±


    ¡°¡­164 exes,¡± Ardan muttered, feeling a bit dizzy. ¡°A damaged Ley cable sheath¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­made from the hide of a dragon¡¯s ass, by all that¡¯s holy.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re extinct.¡±


    ¡°Care to prove it?¡± Arkar smirked. ¡°Your mage bloods¡­ Your Guild, I mean, has been sending expansions after them for decades.¡±


    ¡°Expeditions, not expansions,¡± Ardan corrected him. ¡°And how much was it? 279 exes?!¡±


    ¡°Made from a dragon¡¯s ass!¡± The half-orc jabbed a clawed finger in the air for emphasis, then flexed his enormous muscles so powerfully that the seams of his shirt nearly gave way.


    Ardan pushed one ledger aside and opened the second, which Arkar had been wrestling with. This one looked rather more proper and aboveboard: expenses for goods, the maintenance of the bar, servicing the Ley cables and transformers, household accumulators, staff salaries, and a few smaller items. On the other side were daily income columns showing the most popular food and drink orders.


    It turned out that ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± patrons most often ordered gin and whiskey, while among the dishes, ¡°Selkado Salad¡± (apples and turkey drizzled with a tangy berry sauce, sweet peppers, and lettuce leaves) proved to be the favorite cold dish, with braised veal and duck legs with baked potatoes topping the list of cooked offerings.


    Ardi¡¯s stomach rumbled.


    ¡°Hey, how many tenants actually live in the building?¡± He asked.


    Arkar remained silent.


    ¡°I get that we have multiple entrances, but I hardly ever see anybody.¡±


    The half-orc sighed, his broad chest rising and falling slowly before he finally answered curtly:


    ¡°Besides you and Tess, there are nine more boarders.¡±


    ¡°Eleven total,¡± Ardi said, shaking his head, ¡°in a place with sixty-eight apartments. And you don¡¯t have your own accountant?¡±


    ¡°You think I can¡¯t figure out numbers myself?¡± Arkar bared his tusks.


    ¡°I think, orc, that fascinating tasks like these should be handled by a professional.¡±


    Arkar huffed again.


    ¡°He does handle them,¡± the half-orc admitted grudgingly. ¡°Only right now, he¡¯s ¡®taking a break¡¯ in the slammer¡­ In the honorable guards¡¯ lockup, I mean. They nabbed him last week on fraud charges. We¡¯re still trying to bail him out.¡±


    Ardi recalled how Yonatan had mentioned serving time in a penal colony with a lawyer who¡¯d helped the Orcish Jackets launder money. Their scheme was simple enough.


    On paper, the building was never empty. Each apartment boasted its own tenant, who, upon moving in, supposedly paid them a huge deposit. Then, at least judging by the documents, roughly every two weeks, that tenant would move out, having presumably broken something. All the necessary forms and signatures were also surely in order.


    So, the guards had nothing concrete to latch onto. If they wanted to inspect the premises, every entranceway would have a tenant or two. Why so few? Well, the rest might be away at work or traveling somewhere.


    Ardi returned to the first ledger, skimmed the columns on eviction charges, and unfastened the top button of his shirt collar.


    ¡°This is¡­ almost six thousand exes a month.¡±


    ¡°Roughly,¡± Arkar did not deny it, pulling the bottle of weak ale he drank in place of water closer to him. ¡°Sometimes more, sometimes less. All legitimate, all taxed.¡±


    Ardi sighed and closed the murky accounts for good.


    ¡°I could figure out ¡®Bruce¡¯s¡¯ expenses for you,¡± he offered.


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Arkar clicked his tongue and took a swig from the bottle, leaning forward. ¡°And what do you want in return?¡±


    ¡°A suit.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get it¡­¡±


    ¡°A suit, if you happen to have one,¡± Ardi clarified. ¡°Something that won¡¯t look awful on me.¡±


    ¡°On you, is it¡­¡± Arkar grinned wolfishly, glancing first at the door that led to the stairs, then back at Ardi. His grin widened. ¡°So that¡¯s why Tess refused to help me and canceled her show. She¡¯s been on edge for two days straight.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s nervous?¡± Ardan raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°You been knocked in the head at your univers-a-whatever?¡±


    ¡°University,¡± Ardan corrected him automatically.


    ¡°University, cloakroom, outhouse ¡ª whatever.¡± The half-orc growled. ¡°Look, right there, on your back, is the best suit a man could hope for.¡±


    Arkar reached out and snagged a claw in the edge of Ardan¡¯s crimson cloak, giving it a little tug.


    ¡°An Imperial Mage,¡± he drawled, almost mockingly. ¡°A student of the Grand. Nah, kid. Naive girls might like what¡¯s right in front of them, but wise women look for prospects. And Tess has never been stupid or naive.¡±


    ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t hem and haw,¡± Arkar laughed, failing to explain the slang well enough for Ardan to grasp it. ¡°Seems I¡¯ve got one old advert stuffed away¡­ a suit, I mean. When I got out of the service and before I bulked up¡­ gained weight, you might say, I wore it. Hang on a minute.¡±


    With his bottle still in hand, he retreated to the back room that was off-limits to anyone but the orcish bruisers or the guests who sometimes booked a private room or a roped-off booth. In other words, only members of the Orcish Jackets had free rein in that storeroom.


    Ardi rarely crossed paths with them, and when he did, the orcs were invariably courteous. Then again, they treated all of ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± patrons that way.


    While Ardan deftly rattled through the abacus, filling in columns within the report, Arkar rummaged in the storeroom, muttering curses now and again. Judging by the racket, that back room must have been nearly as large as the actual bar portion of ¡°Bruce¡¯s.¡±


    By the time Arkar finally emerged a quarter hour later, Ardi had already finished the calculations and was eyeing the kitchen door with undisguised hunger. His stomach kept up its treacherous growling.


    ¡°You already done?¡± Arkar asked.


    ¡°Compared to Star Magic formulas, this was nothing,¡± Ardi replied with a modest shrug that was anything but modest.


    ¡°So, are you calling me an idiot or yourself a genius?¡± Arkar narrowed his eyes at him, a faint, half-playful, half-threatening spark there. It was as mild of a threat as a more-than-two-meter-tall bruiser with arms thicker than most folks¡¯ heads could muster.


    Ardi discreetly held his tongue, prompting Arkar to flash his tusks once more.


    ¡°Here,¡± the half-orc said. Stepping up to the table, he gently placed a bundle on the chair. ¡°Try it out. Doesn¡¯t fit me these days, so maybe it¡¯ll be just right for you.¡±


    Ardan loosened the braided ties and pulled from the cloth sleeve a rather respectable-looking suit. It had been made from thin wool, and was dark blue with a vertical white stripe. It didn¡¯t quite have a standard cut ¡ª it was tapered, with short lapels and sleeves that barely reached the wrists. The trousers, boasting a wide waistband, had slightly cropped legs that would ride up well above the ankles when seated. The glossy silk vest was the final flourish to this unusual ensemble.


    Respectable folk usually couldn¡¯t afford such suits, nor would they want them ¡ª they weren¡¯t exactly practical. You¡¯d only see that kind of attire on fashion hounds from Baliero or, of course, on gangsters.


    Ardi could only hope that, due to lacking the style of the former, he wouldn¡¯t end up looking too much like the latter.


    ¡°Did you buy flowers?¡± Arkar asked suddenly.


    Ardi nodded toward the coat rack, where he¡¯d left a wrapped bouquet on a nearby ottoman.


    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to put them in water!¡± The half-orc grumbled, heaving himself to his feet. ¡°Kid¡¯s clueless. And enough with that stomach growling of yours. Let¡¯s go see what¡¯s in the stable¡­ in the kitchen, I mean. I¡¯ll throw something together for you.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s all this generosity for, Arkar?¡±


    ¡°Oh-ho¡­ You¡¯re getting bold, kid,¡± the gangster clapped him on the back. ¡°A couple months ago, you wouldn¡¯t have dared ask. Consider it me making sure that my precious singer isn¡¯t shocked half to death by a rough-around-the-edges cowboy.¡±


    And so it was that, after Ardi quickly changed ¡ª yes, the suit proved a touch big for him, but not glaringly so ¡ª Arkar fed him a hearty porridge with venison, and then even gave him a bowl of grouse soup on the side.


    When the doors swung open and Tess entered, having hurried back home from work, they both remained in the kitchen and decided not to show themselves yet.


    ¡°You never said why you returned so quickly,¡± Arkar reminded him, raising the bottle to his lips.


    Sometimes, Ardan thought that the half-orc could down an entire barrel of whiskey and still remain steady on his feet.


    ¡°I destroyed a baron¡¯s guts.¡±


    Arkar nearly choked, spraying ale like a fireman¡¯s hose and drenching the wall. Mercifully, Ardi¡¯s ¡°new¡± suit was spared.


    The young man couldn¡¯t fathom what had prompted such a reaction. Arkar gaped at him for a couple of heartbeats before slapping his forehead.


    ¡°Demons¡­ You don¡¯t speak like we do¡­ so I thought you meant something else.¡±


    ¡°Something else?¡± Ardan blinked, scooping up the last bits of meat from his soup.


    ¡°Never mind,¡± the half-orc waved it off. ¡°But watch your words. Someone else might take them the wrong way.¡±


    Ardi shrugged. He honestly didn¡¯t care who thought what about him.


    ¡°So, how¡¯d that happen?¡± Arkar asked, shifting back to the main topic.


    Ardan gave him a brief rundown of the day¡¯s events. Given that Arkar knew his tenant possessed the powers of a Speaker, the veteran criminal¡¯s perspective seemed worth hearing.


    ¡°You sure that colonel¡­ what¡¯s his name¡­?¡±


    ¡°Kshtovsky.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sure this Ksh¡­ Kshs¡­ oh, never mind¡­¡± Arkar slapped a heavy hand on the steel countertop where the cooks usually butchered meat. ¡°You¡¯re sure that clown¡­ fella¡­ fuck it¡­ You sure that human doesn¡¯t know about your Speaker abilities?¡±


    ¡°To a certain degree.¡±


    ¡°A certain damned degree,¡± the half-orc cursed, then drained the bottle and tossed it into the trash can. ¡°Either way, Ard, your scrap ¡ª your duel, I mean ¡ª was official and supervised. If anyone¡¯s in hot water, it¡¯s that colonel with the unpronounceable name, not you. So loosen up.¡±


    ¡°But what if Kerimov dies?¡±


    ¡°Bring flowers to his grave,¡± Arkar said calmly. ¡°Or don¡¯t. Your call.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°Screw it, Ard,¡± the half-orc cut him off, biting off the end of a cigar. He lit it and took a long drag. ¡°If his family has some clout, maybe they¡¯ll try something, but you¡¯re a standup young man ¡ª you¡¯ll figure it out. Whether Kerimov bites it¡­ dies, I mean, or not, shouldn¡¯t be your concern. The law¡¯s on your side. All that moral agonizing? You¡¯ll outgrow it. Trust me.¡±


    Ardan sighed and changed the subject. For a while, they discussed swapping out a transformer that had blown during the winter solstice and the fact that the company handling their installation and calibration was trying to fleece them by charging them triple the normal rate.


    And so, the clock hands crept around to five in the evening. Together, Ardan and Arkar strolled into the main bar area. Barely a few seconds later, Tess walked in as well.


    ¡°Good evening, Ardi,¡± she greeted him.


    Ardan felt his breath catch and his heart skip a beat, entirely forgetting how to function. Tess was beautiful even on her most casual days, but here she was, wearing a subtle, tasteful bit of makeup, a soft lilac dress with a long skirt, white fur boots she reserved for special occasions, and a matching, white fur coat and fox-fur hat, carrying a sleek, black leather purse in her hands. She was so dazzling that Arkar had to clear his throat to snap Ardan out of his trance.


    ¡°You look¡­ incredible,¡± Ardan managed to say through a tight throat, his tongue almost tripping over itself.


    ¡°You look nice, too,¡± Tess answered, giving him a sweet, slightly shy smile.


    ¡°I, uh¡­¡± On unsteady legs, Ardan made his way to the bouquet, peeled away the paper, and revealed a modest bunch of wildflowers. They were colorful, ragged blossoms, and oh so far from what tradition said you should bring on a first date. ¡°Here¡­ These are for you¡­¡±


    Arkar let out a soft curse and buried his face in his palm in dismay.


    ¡°My favorites!¡± Tess exclaimed, lifting them close to inhale their scent. ¡°They smell like spring.¡±


    Arkar lowered his hand from his face, jaw slack, and looked from Ardi to Tess, then just shrugged and mumbled something like ¡°they¡¯ll figure it out themselves¡± before heading behind the bar.


    ¡°Shall we?¡± Ardan put on his coat and opened the door for Tess.


    She placed the bouquet into a vase she must have prepared in advance, setting it down on the edge of the bar, then nodded gently.


    ¡°Won¡¯t you get cold?¡± She asked, eyeing his light, autumn coat.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡± Ardi fought the silly, almost foolish grin that insisted on spreading across his face ¡ª and lost.


    Tess giggled into her fuzzy mitten and stepped outside. Ardan followed, offering her his elbow and waiting for her gloved hand to rest upon it. Heart pounding, he led her along a route he had meticulously planned out and calculated, even factoring in the average walking speed of a person.


    They walked alongside the embankment. Cars glided by, headlights slicing through the darkening evening, scattering shadows that cloaked the city. People trudged along well-trodden paths between piles of snow, collars turned up against the wind, scarves or gloves hiding half their faces. White puffs of breath rose like lazy dogs into the low, gray sky, melting into the colorless, heavenly ceiling that seemed to sag ever closer to the earth, which was equally gray beneath its blanket of asphalt, cobblestones, and slightly grimy snow.


    Tess, with her collar up, tightened a scarf featuring little snowflake patterns around her face, stepping carefully along the cleared walkway in silence.


    Ardi, likewise, offered no bursts of eloquence. His autumn coat felt thin, and the cold nipped at his feet through the soles of his shoes.


    Each time he tried to speak, the words felt clumsy and banal, his thoughts scattering like startled birds. He wouldn¡¯t ask how her day had gone or what the last week had been like for her ¡ª too trivial. So, he said nothing, simply savoring the soft sparkle of the lamplight in her bright green eyes, which were so warm and welcoming. Tess¡¯ gaze seemed to wash away the city¡¯s soot and smog, that dingy cloak the Metropolis wore so stubbornly.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Even dressed in white and almost blending into the snowy drifts, she seemed strangely out of place in this grim, unyielding city.


    ¡°Ardi-¡±


    ¡°Tess-¡±


    They spoke in unison, then paused, bursting into shared laughter that was both light and free. It was as though they hadn¡¯t just spent nearly their entire walk in silence, strolling side by side from the canal onto Niewa Avenue, and making their way toward the bridge that led to Baliero.


    ¡°That suit really does suit you,¡± she said at last with such a radiant smile that Ardi felt as if summer had bloomed for a heartbeat. Even if only in his own trembling heart.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he replied, unbuttoning his coat just a bit. ¡°I was afraid I might look like some upstart gangster.¡±


    ¡°Or a bankrupt fashionista,¡± Tess giggled again.


    Suddenly, all of Ardi¡¯s awkwardness and anxiety melted away. He forgot his fear of appearing foolish or pathetic.


    ¡°You look wonderful, too,¡± he said, smiling that silly grin once more. ¡°Like a snowflake. Soft and delicate. And very lovely.¡±


    ¡°A snowflake¡­¡± Tess echoed. Her smile became smaller, more private, while the biting cold painted her cheeks a faint rosy hue.


    They started chatting casually, jumping from one random topic to the next. Tess told him about pricking her finger at work that day, and how everyone had teased her that she might end up sleeping like those fairy-tale princesses.


    Ardan vowed to rescue her if some evil sorceress cast a spell on her.


    Then he described how an obnoxious pigeon had kept him awake last night, flapping imaginary wings by flailing the hem of his coat as he ran circles around her, making a proper fool of himself.


    ¡°I heard that pigeon too!¡± Tess laughed, and so they went on ¡ª words winding their own paths from heart to lips, tumbling out in a rush of stories that, despite the only occasional overlap, somehow harmonized together.


    Cars drifted past. Sometimes, they ventured too close to the curb, spraying slushy snow at them, only for the wet spray to dissolve in midair, like it had hit an invisible wall and scattered into a ghostly swirl.


    The pair didn¡¯t seem to notice, oblivious to the vehicles or the pedestrians who stepped around them, shooting curious or disapproving glances at the couple¡¯s loud and carefree conversation.


    They ignored the city lights shining in their wake and the snapping tension in the ice-laden Ley cables overhead, which seemed like the strands of some great spider¡¯s web.


    They simply walked and talked, as though they were parched travelers who¡¯d finally come upon a cool spring, relaxed and safe at the end of a long, wearying journey. They lingered on a bridge for a while, the tram rattling behind them, while below, atop the thick ice, wooden stalls had been set up and city folk glided about on skates.


    In the Metropolis, each winter, the narrow canals branching off the Niewa turned into genuine marketplaces on ice ¡ª literal arteries of commerce.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to skate,¡± Tess admitted softly, with just a hint of wistfulness. ¡°Back in Shamtur, the ice is always too thin to skate on. I didn¡¯t have a chance to learn. And now I don¡¯t have the time.¡±


    ¡°Me neither,¡± Ardan said with a nod.


    Tess turned to him, surprise flickering in her eyes.


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Ardan turned so that his back was resting against the railing. He threw his head back, letting the falling snow melt against his cheeks. ¡°When I got back from the Alkade, I went straight to work on a farm. I don¡¯t know¡­ My friends would go to the lake ¡ª swimming in summer, skating and playing with a puck in winter ¡ª but I¡­ In my spare time, I was either buried in my books or dabbling with Star Magic.¡±


    Tess mimicked his posture, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. A few moments ago, she had said that she was suddenly feeling warmer and had undone her scarf, removed her mittens, and even unfastened her coat¡¯s collar, drawing stern looks (and envious ones) from the more thickly bundled women passing by.


    ¡°That¡¯s so like you,¡± she said with a tender smile, leaning her shoulder against his arm. She was a good bit shorter than him ¡ª she was maybe around 165 centimeters tall ¡ª enough so that the difference, despite her heels, was obvious. Oddly, Ardi found himself liking it. ¡°As a kid, I was either busy with my younger siblings or, occasionally, hanging out with friends. We had a magician living just a few streets away. He was not a mage, just an old stage magician. His house was full of things that whirred and squeaked, and sometimes exploded. He loved tinkering with contraptions. One of them made edible floss out of sugar.¡±


    ¡°Floss? Out of sugar? Edible?¡±


    Tess nodded, her face dreamy with the memory.


    ¡°I know, it sounds silly, but that¡¯s what it was ¡ª colored and unbelievably sweet. He¡¯d shape it into flowers and animal figures, almost like modeling clay. One time, he fashioned a miniature train and ran it along rails made of thin, airy sugar threads. We all laughed so hard¡­¡± Tess closed her eyes, lost in recollection. ¡°Every child in Shamtur adored that old man. We¡¯d swarm his place during our breaks between lessons and side jobs, and he was always happy to see us ¡ª never charging us a single kso¡­¡±


    ¡°He loved children?¡±


    ¡°Madly,¡± she murmured, nodding. ¡°He and his wife never had any of their own, and when she died of smallpox, he was left all alone¡­ He was so kind and gentle, though a little odd. I used to think - that¡¯s what wizards were supposed to be. But then¡­¡±


    Her expression turned somber, and her smile faded.


    ¡°Shamtur is a border city, Ardi,¡± she said, voice going quiet. ¡°We¡¯d sometimes get groups of Fatian saboteurs trying to cause chaos. They¡¯d blow up factories, sabotage train lines¡­ all sorts of things. One night, a few Fatian mages set fire to the magician¡¯s house. He died in the collapse. We couldn¡¯t save him in time. My father and brothers caught them, of course, but it was already too late.¡±


    ¡°Fatian mages killed a simple stage magician?¡±


    ¡°He was loved by the whole town,¡± Tess replied. ¡°He gave children a bit of joy and a piece of wonder to hold on to. And the Fatians decided to take all of that away from us.¡±


    They fell silent again. Ardan had heard rumors that, despite its status as a city, Shamtur was more of a front-line fortress ¡ª a bastion, really. It was mostly soldiers and workers from the defense industry who lived there.


    ¡°When you lived in the Alkade,¡± Tess said, changing the subject, ¡°was it hard for you afterwards in Evergale?¡±


    ¡°A lot,¡± Ardan admitted without pretense. ¡°For almost a year, I fought every single day against the urge to run back. To my friends. To the forests and mountains.¡±


    ¡°And now?¡±


    Ardan said nothing at first.


    ¡°It comes less often,¡± he answered at last. He didn¡¯t want to lie to or mislead her, nor did he wish to use a trick of Skusty¡¯s craft to disguise the truth. ¡°But sometimes, I still feel that desire. My family lives in Delpas. They¡¯re doing well. And occasionally, I think my place isn¡¯t here, or even with them ¡ª rather, it¡¯s out there, among the forest flows and the winding trails of the mountains.¡±


    They went quiet for a moment. Then Tess sneezed, pulled him along by the hand, and started off toward Baliero.


    ¡°Enough with the gloomy talk, Ardi-the-wizard!¡± Tess said, raising her voice on purpose, almost playfully. ¡°Let¡¯s move along!¡±


    He wrapped his fingers gently, almost reverently, around her hand and obediently followed. Ardan felt a soft, steady warmth flickering out from where their palms touched. It was not defenseless or fragile, but gentle and comforting ¡ª like a hearth fire on nights so dreary that it felt as though the wind might sweep you away.


    They laughed again, chatting about everything and nothing, and Ardan forgot all about the route he¡¯d planned out. He forgot about formulas, calculations, about the Alkade, demonologists, the Second Chancery, even magic itself.


    They strolled among Baliero¡¯s bright lights that shattered the night¡¯s gloom with their relentless brilliance. It was as if some benevolent deity had decided to spare the townsfolk from this season of fleeting sunlight, letting them bask in the illusion of a sunny autumn noon. The snow beneath their feet felt more like heaps of fallen leaves, crisp and rustling.


    Ardan even forgot about the address Milar had given him. They simply walked, laughing and talking.


    ¡°Look!¡± Tess exclaimed suddenly, pointing to a little nook along a sort of veranda jutting out from the embankment, shaped like a building¡¯s apse.


    There, half-buried in the snow, concealed by a wooden platform, stood a semicircle gleaming with strands of simple lights wrapped around steel columns and a domed frame.


    It seemed like, in summer, musicians must have performed here while people danced.


    ¡°I love dancing under the open sky,¡± Tess sighed, sounding faintly wistful.


    Ardan¡¯s lips curved into a slight smile. Milar had been right¡­


    ¡°Listen,¡± he said.


    ¡°To what?¡±


    ¡°Shh.¡± Ardi pressed a finger to his lips, turning her toward a building that could just be seen past a small park.


    By the entrance, a sign read, ¡°Fifth Day Dances,¡± and it seemed to be precisely where the captain of the Second Chancery had directed him to.


    A gentle tune drifted out through the door that had been left slightly ajar.


    The usual dread Ardan felt at the thought of dancing simply melted away.


    He offered his hand. ¡°May I have this dance?¡± He asked, feigning playful formality.


    ¡°By all means,¡± Tess answered in the same mock-regal tone, mimicking some grand lady at court.


    They both laughed and stepped onto the little platform. He placed his right hand at her waist; she let her left settle in his palm, resting her other hand lightly against his back.


    And then they began to whirl. To Ardi, it was almost like that time back at the Palace of the Kings of the Past.


    One-two-three.


    One-two-three.


    The snow beneath their feet seemed to scatter like glittering dust, revealing the platform¡¯s planks as though by magic. Perhaps it really was magic, but neither Tess nor Ardan paid it any mind.


    They only listened to the music and spun in slow circles, alone on the embankment. Overhead, for some reason, those lights, which had been disconnected from the Ley cables, came to life, glowing faintly in the darkness like a scattering of summertime stars.


    And the soft melody hovered nearby.


    ¡°When did you know that you wanted to sing?¡± Ardi asked, gazing into her green eyes, unafraid of his own Witch¡¯s Gaze.


    Somehow, he knew with perfect certainty that nothing untoward would happen ¡ª he wouldn¡¯t slip into Tess¡¯ mind.


    ¡°During the holidays, whenever the whole family gathered, I¡¯d sing with my mother. She played the piano,¡± Tess said, her eyes never leaving his. ¡°And whenever I sang, something in the people around me¡­ lit up. Their eyes sparkled. For a few minutes, Ardi, they left our dreary world and went someplace better, freer, lighter. And I went with them. That¡¯s how I learned to love singing. Maybe it¡¯s because of the way I feel on stage, or maybe it¡¯s how others feel¡­ I¡¯m not sure.¡±


    She turned her face away and drew back, removing her hand from his back and guiding his arm away from her waist. The lights above them went dark, the snow reclaimed the wooden boards, and that faint music ¡ª drifting toward them from a distant building they technically shouldn¡¯t have been able to hear ¡ª fell silent.


    ¡°Tess, I-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t, Ardi,¡± she murmured, still turned away. ¡°I grew up in a military family, and I can always spot a soldier¡¯s eyes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a soldier,¡± Ardan protested.


    ¡°Live in the Metropolis a bit longer, and you¡¯ll be able to recognize the Second Chancery¡¯s cars by how they rumble,¡± she answered quietly and a touch sadly. ¡°I¡¯ve seen how my mother suffers whenever my father or brothers go off to fulfill their duty. I¡¯ve felt it myself. And I don¡¯t ever want to feel that again.¡±


    Ardan stood there as if rooted to the spot, heart pounding so hard it felt like it would break free of his ribs. Ghostly fingers clutched at his throat, the way they had in his childhood.


    ¡°And you¡¯re an Imperial Mage,¡± Tess went on, her voice trembling just a little. ¡°While all I do is sing at a gangster¡¯s bar¡­ And you¡¯re almost two years younger than I am¡­¡±


    She moved toward the steps leading down from the snow-covered platform to the park below.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go home, Ardi,¡± she said in a broken voice. ¡°This isn¡¯t a fairy tale. And the Metropolis isn¡¯t some magician¡¯s workshop¡­¡±


    She¡¯d let go of his hand and had nearly reached the edge of the platform by the time he could act. In that instant, Ardan suddenly understood: if she descended those steps, they might never again stroll through the city together. One evening, while he was hunched over his schematics, idly gazing out the window, a sleek automobile would pull up in front of ¡°Bruce¡¯s.¡± A driver would open the door, and Tess, casting only a brief, slightly melancholy glance toward his window, would climb inside and never return.


    He also understood that this was likely for the best. It would be better if this winter night, so cold and pure, became no more than a fleeting memory.


    Like magical spun sugar at a traveling performer¡¯s stall. Or a dance upon icy boards by the frozen, dark river.


    Yes. It was probably better for them both.


    Ardan stepped forward, grabbed her shoulders, turned her back to face him, and looked her straight in the eyes. Tess didn¡¯t utter a single word. She simply gazed back at him, exactly as he did at her.


    She understood it, too.


    That it might be best if they remained apart, each in their own separate world.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± Ardan said softly, and bending down, he pressed his lips to hers in a gentle, sweet kiss.


    Tess let her purse slip from her fingers, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him down closer. They stood there, locked in an embrace and lost in a kiss, as a ghostly swirl of snow whirled around them.


    One-two-three.


    One-two-three.


    Lights that had been disconnected from the grid flickered overhead like stars. And from that distant building beyond the park, the soft melody began anew.


    They noticed none of it. Nothing but each other ¡ª lips moving, hearts pounding.


    Nor did they notice the dark figure lurking behind the trees.


    ***


    ¡°Why are you grinning like that?¡± Elena asked, setting aside the spoon she¡¯d been using to feed Boris a hearty meat soup. She looked at Ardan, who was sitting in an armchair and trying to maintain a stone-faced expression while reading a chapter on magical engineering. The chapter was talking about the structure of high-capacity arrays used from the second Star onward. Such arrays weren¡¯t a separate type or subtype of anything, but rather, a structural hallmark of multiple-property fusions.


    Boris, whose face and neck were no longer bandaged, peered at Ardan¡¯s silly, dreamy smile and gave a gruff, approving grunt.


    ¡°Well done,¡± he rasped through his lingering discomfort. ¡°I was afraid you might lose your nerve.¡±


    ¡°Will someone please explain what¡¯s going on here?!¡± Elena exclaimed, exasperated. But Ardan and Boris only exchanged looks and nodded solemnly to each other, ignoring her outrage.


    ***


    Adjusting his cap, Ardi stood before an unremarkable set of doors belonging to a building marked by a glaringly large sign. A staff shimmered beside an open book and a cloak, all of them neon.


    Beneath it were the words: ¡°Spell Market. Branch No. 14¡±


    Around the enormous Spell Market, smaller shops also sold all manner of Star Magic supplies. But only the Spell Market was licensed for the use and creation of practice grounds. And those, along with specialized books, were precisely what Ardan needed.


    So, he pushed open the doors ¡ª triggering a tinny bell ¡ª and stepped inside what, at first glance, seemed like the Face of Light¡¯s own paradise to him.


    Towering shelves lined the walls, packed with books and treatises, all of them sorted by subject, year of publication, and academic field. The cheapest of them ¡ª textbooks for specialized school classes ¡ª started at an ex and a half, while the priciest ones, huge tomes on the principles of vector interconnections between seals and Ley structures, reached up to thirty-five exes in cost.


    Beyond the shelves, large hallways branched out into spacious galleries, displaying rows of complex devices. Even the trigonometric arithmometers looked trivial and inexpensive by comparison. Ardan spotted massive printing contraptions bristling with bulbs, switches, and levers, capable of reproducing seal diagrams up to a certain complexity. There were also portable, smaller transformers, Ley cables in countless types of sheathing, instruments for measuring natural Ley concentrations in the atmosphere, analyzers of all shapes, prices, and functions (their price dictated how many phenomena they could identify), strange tubes, metal boxes bristling with gears and bulbs¡­ and even more marvels conjured by the bright minds and geniuses of Star Engineering than he could have imagined.


    Mouth agape, Ardi drifted among the shelves and display counters, feeling like a character in a fairy tale who¡¯d stumbled into a wizard¡¯s shop.


    Peeking into one hall, he found, under a skylight situated among rows of endless shelves, a group of mages gathered near some imposing Ley crystals. At least half a meter long and weighing over twenty kilograms, though of low purity, these crystals were sold by the kilo. Or rather, the gram.


    One of the market¡¯s employees was brandishing a strange, vibrating knife with a large handle (festooned with bulbs and switches of its own) and was assisting customers.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take six grams of the blue, low purity,¡± rumbled a bulky mage in a green cloak. ¡°Twenty grams of the red, same purity. And let¡¯s do two grams of the pink.¡±


    ¡°Certainly.¡± The employee guided that odd knife along the chosen crystals, slicing off small chunks and weighing them out before handing the customer a slip for payment. Then the customer headed to the cashiers.


    Beside the crystals, Ardan noticed an odd-looking golden cauldron meant for alchemy, and something resembling a dome made of crystal. The cauldron cost, to Ardan¡¯s shock, 240 exes, while the dome was priced at 612 exes.


    Sleeping Spirits¡­


    ¡°Sir?¡± One of the Spell Market¡¯s employees ¡ª a young mage in a crimson cloak who was wearing a rather rumpled shirt beneath a poorly-fitted suit jacket and vest ¡ª stepped up to Ardi. ¡°Are you looking for something in particular, or just getting a feel for the prices?¡±


    ¡°Both,¡± Ardan said, offering a list of books he intended to buy.


    The employee took the slip of paper and pivoted toward one of the halls. ¡°Follow me.¡±


    Ardan was led through several more rooms, one of which sold crystal Cores from Ley-beasts at such astronomical prices that he tried not even to glance in their direction.


    Finally, they arrived at a long counter lined with multiple cash registers. Buyers in cloaks of every hue were rustling through their exes, paying for their slips, while the staff ¡ª also dressed in cloaks ¡ª pounded on metal keys, pulling heavy levers that punched holes in their slips.


    ¡°All right¡­¡± The employee squinted at Ardan¡¯s list. ¡°¡®Theory of Modular Seal Construction¡¯ by Abrax Dolgov¡­ ¡®General Reference of Rune Connections¡¯ from Larikt Publishers¡­ and¡­ Looks like that comes out to at least 250 exes, sir.¡±


    Ardan had suspected as much.


    ¡°I only need the ones I¡¯ve underlined.¡±


    ¡°That brings it down to 84 exes and¡­¡± The staffer gave the arithmometer a brisk spin. ¡°27 kso.¡±


    ¡°How about just the first three underlined titles?¡±


    The employee gave him a mildly annoyed look and recalculated on the arithmometer. ¡°32 exes, 96 kso.¡±


    Ardan certainly didn¡¯t have that much on him in cash.


    ¡°Do you take checks?¡± He asked hopefully.


    ¡°Only from members of our club,¡± the employee answered, pointing to a notice posted on the wall behind him:


    ¡°Checks, loans, and property collateral are accepted only from holders of the Spell Market Club Card.


    By joining our club, you gain not only the privileges mentioned above, but also a discount of ten percent on all subsequent purchases, a free monthly ticket to a viewing chamber for Magical Boxing events, a five percent discount on our training grounds, and of course, the right to visit our private lounge inside the ¡®Poet¡¯s Corner¡¯ restaurant on Small Oboronny Street.


    Your monthly membership dues are five exes and five kso, or any Ley-related goods or Star Magic books equaling the same amount.¡±


    Ardan smirked, figuring that this explained Mart¡¯s fondness for the place.


    A smaller note had been appended at the bottom:


    ¡°Club membership is issued free of charge to students and alumni of the Imperial Magical University. No membership dues required.¡±


    Ardan fished around in his bag and produced his student credentials, which the staffer took and then tapped his staff against the floor, echoing what Bazhen had done in the past. A spectral dog¡¯s head emerged from his staff¡¯s tip, inhaled the air above the credentials in a noisy snort, and vanished.


    ¡°Original document confirmed,¡± the mage said. ¡°Please give me five minutes, sir, while I process your membership and add you to the club roster. In the meantime, feel free to ask any questions since it¡¯s your first visit.¡±


    He pulled out a large register from beneath the counter, set an ink jar beside it, and, pen in hand, opened Ardan¡¯s student papers to copy down the details.


    ¡°How much would it cost for twenty-five rays of the Red Star and forty rays of the Green Star on a practice ground?¡± Ardan asked.


    Rather than answer him, the employee tapped a notice mounted to the register¡¯s stand.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Ardan murmured, leaning in to read:


    ¡°Current Monthly Rates:


    1 hour of access (Red and Green Stars) is 1 ex and 83 kso.


    This includes unlimited Red rays plus 15 Green rays per hour. Each Green ray above the limit costs an added 19 kso.


    1 hour of access (Blue Star) is 4 exes and 50 kso.


    This includes unlimited Red rays, 15 Green rays, 10 Blue rays. Each Green ray above the limit is an added 19 kso. Each Blue ray above the limit is an added 36 kso.


    1 hour of access (Yellow Star) is 10 exes.


    This includes unlimited Red rays, 15 Green rays, 10 Blue rays, 6 Yellow rays. Each Green ray above the limit is an added 19 kso. Each Blue ray above the limit is an added 36 kso. Each Yellow ray above the limit is an added 94 kso.


    All practice grounds above the Yellow Star are available only at the central branch. Scheduling is on a first come, first served basis, and the pricing is individually determined.


    Respectfully,


    The Administration.¡±


    ¡°The prices are updated at the start of each month,¡± the employee muttered under his breath. ¡°Your discount is calculated separately.¡±


    Ardan patted the pocket holding his too-light wallet, which echoed emptily.


    Yes, the Market¡¯s rates were far steeper than the Grand¡¯s. However, for nearly half a month now, Ardan hadn¡¯t managed to snag an open slot at the university¡¯s grounds.


    ¡°What about booking in advance¡­?¡±


    ¡°We schedule practice ground access three days ahead,¡± the employee told him firmly. ¡°You visit any branch, pay in advance, and they arrange a date for you at whichever branch best suits your location or earliest availability. Anything that goes above your limit, you settle the bill for it afterwards.¡±


    ¡°Got it. And if I wanted to offer a seal for sale-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll need my colleague,¡± the man interrupted Ardi, pointing toward a doorway leading to a staircase. ¡°Second floor, first door on the right.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    It took the employee a few more minutes to finish copying Ardan¡¯s information, then he had Ardan sign several forms and handed him his club membership card.


    Inside the stiff leather frame, on high-quality paper embossed with that same staff-book-cloak emblem, Ardan¡¯s name, date of enrollment, and current Star and ray level shimmered into view.


    He was listed as ¡°Seven, Red,¡± which meant that they¡¯d pulled the data straight from his student records.


    ¡°Your check, sir,¡± the mage reminded him.


    Ardan reluctantly filled out a check for the required amount and handed it over.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need ten minutes to gather your books,¡± the staffer said. ¡°In the meantime, you can go see my colleague.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Ardan turned and headed upstairs.


    Unlike the bustling ground floor, this level reminded him vaguely of the Cloaks¡¯ domain. Without dawdling, he went straight to the first door on the right, where a polished steel plaque read, ¡°Seal Appraisal.¡±


    Inside the spacious, bright room lined with those same ubiquitous shelves, was an elderly mage who was likely in his seventies. He sat at a desk near the window. A thick-lensed pair of glasses perched on his hooked nose while he sifted through a sea of blueprints and scrolls.


    ¡°Good day,¡± Ardan ventured. ¡°I¡¯d like-¡±


    ¡°Envelope¡¯s on the table,¡± the older man cut him off, gesturing to another desk that was nearly overflowing with stacks of identical yellowish envelopes. ¡°Slip your seal inside with your name and address. There¡¯s a month-long queue for appraisals. We¡¯ll send the results by post.¡±


    ¡°I, uh¡­¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no queue only for students and alumni of the Grand, Magistrate aspirants, or anyone with the rank of Magister or higher.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯m in luck,¡± Ardan said, once again relying on his unexpectedly useful student papers.


    Granted, the capital boasted about twenty other institutions that taught Star Magic alongside a more mundane curriculum, but none were so prestigious as the Grand. Boris¡¯ friends, for instance ¡ª the ones who¡¯d been waiting in Presny along with him and Elena ¡ª hadn¡¯t been able to get into the Grand, and so they¡¯d ended up attending a lesser institute instead.


    ¡°A student, yes¡­¡± The old man finally tore himself away from his scrolls and held out a trembling hand, clearly impatient. ¡°Show me.¡±


    Ardan carefully retrieved a sheet of paper tucked between the pages of his grimoire and handed it over.


    The crotchety appraiser snatched it from him as though it were filthy and malodorous. He gave the design only the briefest glance before pronouncing irrefutably, ¡°Clumsy. Shoddy work at best,¡± he croaked, ¡°but the idea¡¯s decent. Forty kso.¡±


    Knowing there was no point in bargaining, Ardan agreed with a nod.


    The old man waved a hand, conjuring a seal without using a staff at all. A ghostly hand materialized above his desk, snatched up a pen, dipped it in an ink jar, and wrote out the sum on a check. Then it grabbed a stamp, pressed it into the check, tore it off, and held it out to Ardan. The apparition dissolved the moment he accepted the check.


    Ardi had watched the display with open-mouthed wonder. So many different actions had been encompassed in what appeared to be a single two-Star seal. For all his bad temper and off-putting manner, the old man was clearly a brilliant Star Engineer.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Ardan said, turning to go.


    He¡¯d barely reached the door when the old man¡¯s crabby voice stopped him.


    ¡°If you come up with anything else out of the ordinary, lad¡­ bring it here.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Ardan promised, now in far better spirits, and stepped out.


    Descending the stairs, he found the employee wrapping a stack of books in sturdy brown paper.


    ¡°Well?¡± The employee asked with a faintly mocking edge to his tone. ¡°Did you drop off an envelope?¡±


    Instead of replying verbally, Ardan laid the check on the counter. The mage¡¯s eyes widened in surprise, and his earlier derision shifted to something like respect.


    ¡°That¡¯s some news¡­ The old man seldom writes checks for those who are still in school¡­¡±


    In the end, Ardan left the Market carrying an armload of thick tomes, his spirits high, though his bank balance was now sadly lean.


    ***


    Three weeks passed. In the mornings and afternoons, Ardan devoted himself to his research and the study of two-Star seals, which turned out to be far more complex than their lesser cousins. A couple of times, he made trips to the practice grounds. Three times a week, he visited Boris and Elena ¡ª Tess even joined him once.


    He and Tess would often take a stroll together at night. Not every evening, but nearly every other one. They chatted, laughed, and sometimes lingered on the park benches until the cold became too bitter. Ardan no longer missed her performances, either; Tess always saved him a seat in the front row, and Arkar never objected.


    On Thursdays, Ardi had to check in with Aversky, who never really mentioned Kerimov. Only in passing did he reveal that the baron had survived, though he likely wouldn¡¯t return to classes for the rest of the semester.


    Ardan wasn¡¯t in a hurry to get back to the Grand, either ¡ª he wanted to let things settle, and besides, he had plenty to do.


    Milar¡¯s medallion remained silent. The postman, however, once brought Ardan a hefty stack of letters from his mother and brother, which delighted him to no end, and he spent an entire day reading them and then replying.


    He told his mother many things, though not everything, of course. But the most important detail he did share: news about his burgeoning romance with Tess.


    He wrote about how they were moving slowly, taking their time and getting used to each other ¡ª like two wary cats not yet ready to curl up close.


    He told her how they had gone to the Ley-archaeology museum together, where he¡¯d seen a few Matabar artifacts that had survived those well-known events of the past: a tribal drum and a hunting spear. Supposedly, something should have tugged at his soul at the sight of them, but all he¡¯d felt was mild curiosity. The fact had left him feeling both guilty and oddly relieved.


    ¡°What are you thinking about?¡± Tess asked.


    They were sitting in ¡°Bruce¡¯s,¡± sipping tea with gingerbread cookies, and talking the way they did nearly every evening. The place was full of rowdy patrons and thick with the haze of cigar and cigarette smoke, not to mention saturated with the stench of strong drink. And yet, after a long day, they could talk here for hours.


    Afterwards, Ardi would walk Tess to her door, they would kiss, and then¡­ each would go their separate way. Ardan never pushed for more. Tess never invited him in.


    They were in no hurry.


    Arkar, for his part, seemed endlessly amused by them, and it looked like his fellow orcish bruisers had started laying bets on the situation.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got an idea for how to adapt my dynamic free arrays to a multi-contour seal structure,¡± Ardan said, nibbling on a piece of gingerbread. A tart, berry-laced filling spilled across his tongue. ¡°I¡¯ll try using basic rune connections. I¡¯m not sure it¡¯ll work, but if it does, I can lower the cost of future two-Star seals by about one ray per Star. Of course, I could just open a reference text and look up the formula, since it¡¯s not a new idea at all¡­ but I want to figure it out for myself. And¡­ sorry, I¡¯m rambling again.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve already told you, Ardi-the-wizard,¡± Tess said, raising her pinky in a graceful gesture that was exactly like Boris¡¯¡­ Eveless¡¯¡­ or Iolai''s silent style of tea sipping ¡ª this was something Ardan had never asked her about. ¡°I love listening to you. Whenever you talk about Star Magic, your eyes light up. I like seeing them sparkle with that blue hue.¡±


    ¡°In that case, I could also tell you about-¡±


    The doors to ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± banged open, and in stomped several orcs in long fur coats thrown over their suits. They were helping ¡ª more like propping up ¡ª a massive monster of a figure.


    He was a hulking brute, slate-skinned and easily over two meters and twenty centimeters tall, with muscles like boulders. He was leaning heavily on their shoulders. It was Ordargar, the head of the Orcish Jackets gang.


    His left tusk, which seemed to erupt from his broad lower jaw, looked bigger than his right, which had been broken long ago, but later filed into a sharpened point. His bare skull betrayed not even the memory of hair, and he¡¯d replaced his missing left ear with, bizarrely, a human prosthetic ¡ª a strange sight indeed.


    Ordargar¡¯s mere presence, given his daunting proportions, inspired a primal sort of dread. Ardan had seen him only once before in ¡°Bruce¡¯s,¡± when he¡¯d briefly held a private meeting with Arkar in a closed-off room before leaving in a luxurious, long car that most wealthy folk would¡¯ve envied.


    But now, without a proper coat, and wearing only a striped overcoat and matching vest (in his gang, everyone wore a suit without a vest, whereas Ordargar did precisely the opposite to stand out), he leaned on a subordinate¡¯s shoulder, flailing the bloody stump of his left leg, which was wrapped in a tattered pant leg, through the air.


    ¡°Arkar!¡± He roared, adjusting a monocle made of black glass and paying no mind to the sudden hush that fell over the crowd. ¡°Rally the Fangs! We¡¯ve got ourselves a party¡­¡±

 Chapter 67 - Vows and Promises

    A crushing silence descended upon the room for an instant, broken only by the steady drip of Ordargar¡¯s blood as it seeped through the wrappings on his mangled leg.


    ¡°Honored guests,¡± Arkar said in a hoarse voice, loud enough for everyone to hear, ¡°our bar would like to offer its sincerest apologies for your ruined evening. Please, make your way to the exit. Your meals are on the house. Once again ¡ª my deepest regrets.¡±


    People cast frightened glances at the massive orc, who was still bleeding, and yet hadn¡¯t stopped flashing his deranged grin. Bit by bit, they began to collect their things. Leaving half-eaten dinners and unfinished drinks behind, they grabbed their hats and gloves, hurrying out past the young orc (he was about Ardi¡¯s height) who seemed to be in charge of handing them their coats and seeing them out.


    There was a resigned sorrow in Arkar¡¯s eyes as he watched the night¡¯s profits ¡ª probably the next few weeks¡¯ profits as well ¡ª go right down the drain. Even the regulars would be unlikely to return to their favorite bar anytime soon. That was precisely why the orcs never conducted their shady business here. Or why they hadn¡¯t until now.


    Their best cover had to remain pristine at all times. And clearly, something truly extraordinary had happened for the gang¡¯s leader to break that rule.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Tess said, taking hold of Ardi¡¯s hand and pulling him toward the stairs.


    Ardan didn¡¯t resist. Closing his grimoire and tucking a pencil behind his ear, he followed his¡­ friend? He couldn¡¯t help but wonder exactly what kind of relationship he had with Tess. He was courting her, that much was clear, but they weren¡¯t¡­ Well, they didn¡¯t sleep in the same bed, nor did they live under the same roof since being neighbors didn¡¯t really count.


    How complicated humans could be¡­


    ¡°Arkar,¡± Ordargar rumbled just as his subordinates were about to carry him into a private room, ¡°we¡¯ll need every single asset we have.¡±


    The gang boss¡¯ gaze flitted briefly to Ardan. Naturally, he knew that Ardi owed Arkar a debt¡­ The Overseer of the Orcish Jackets had no doubt told him all about what had happened in the Factory District and his deal with the Crimson Lady, along with a solid explanation for his reasoning.


    ¡°Ard,¡± Arkar wasted no time. ¡°You gave me your word.¡±


    Indeed, Ardan had promised to repay the favor. And it wasn¡¯t even about any grandiose vow ¡ª a concept that meant little to someone who¡¯d been raised not just in the Alkade mountains, but among the cowboys of Evergale as well.


    He had no reverence for oaths. But a promise¡­ That was another matter entirely, especially since Arkar had helped him in a desperate moment, even though he hadn¡¯t been obliged to. Ardi simply couldn¡¯t walk away now without paying him back.


    Tess released his hand and looked at him with an expression that clearly said: ¡°I knew it would come to this.¡±


    ¡°Tess, I-¡±


    ¡°Just promise me you¡¯ll come back,¡± she said, touching his cheek gently.


    ¡°I promise.¡±


    She pulled him down slightly, pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then slipped away through the door leading to the stairwell.


    And though she didn¡¯t protest, didn¡¯t try to stop or dissuade him, Ardan still felt rotten inside. Perhaps this was how his father had felt whenever he¡¯d left on each of his treks through the Alkade?


    Mother had never stood on the porch to see him off ¡ª or at least Father had never caught her doing so. But Ardi, who¡¯d been left behind in the house, would cling for ages to the hem of her dress while she stood at the second-floor window, staring out of it long after Father¡¯s silhouette had disappeared out of view.


    ¡°Ard!¡± Arkar called out, beckoning him over.


    Ardan sighed, turned away from the stairs, and joined the orcs in a lounge area lined with sofas.


    They had rigged the private room¡¯s doors so they would stay open, and had seated Ordargar at a table. One of the orcs ¡ª older than the others, green-skinned and covered in black tattoos ¡ª had taken off his jacket and removed a set of vials, jars, and a leather wrap full of surgical tools from his satchel. He said, ¡°I need a blowtorch, a wide cleaver used for chopping meat, and whiskey,¡± his growling voice was tinged with a distinct steppe accent. ¡°A lot of whiskey. A whole lot.¡±


    By that point, not a single customer was left in the bar, and yet it still felt cramped. That might have had something to do with the nearly four dozen hulking orcs crammed inside.


    They weren¡¯t as big as their ¡°wild¡± steppe kin, but were still far larger than almost any human. They had broad shoulders, strong, muscular limbs, and their average height was around 210 centimeters. Dressed as they were in black suits and white shirts without vests, they looked mighty intimidating.


    While a few of them were carrying out the shaman¡¯s ¡ª or maybe he was a doctor ¡ª orders, heading to the bar and kitchen, Ardi managed to notice a few details.


    Apart from Ordargar himself, several other orcs looked far from healthy. Some had their arms haphazardly bound to their sides, others had limped to chairs, jaws clenched in pain, tourniquets on their legs. And no matter how hard Ardan looked around, he couldn¡¯t spot Ordargar¡¯s usual driver, who liked to come in and hear Tess sing whenever he got the chance.


    He was a good guy. For a gangster. He never showed up without flowers, and a single glare from him would silence any drunk who¡¯d forgotten his manners and was disturbing Tess¡¯ performance long before Arkar¡¯s bouncers needed to step in.


    ¡°Darg,¡± Arkar said softly after whispering to a few of his men and sending them off outside, ¡°what happened?¡±


    ¡°We were on our way back from the duke¡¯s dinner,¡± Ordargar said. He chopped the neck off a thick whiskey bottle with a single blow, then drained nearly half of it in one go. ¡°Come on, old fang, do your ¡ª arrgh!¡±


    He roared as the doctor set to work, first cutting away the blood-encrusted knot of fabric from his pant leg, then pressing a scorching-hot cleaver to his horrible wound. With a scalpel doused in alcohol, he sliced off clinging strips of flesh, bit by bloody bit.


    Ordargar hammered the wall with his free hand, making the masks, hunting trophies, tusks, and photographs hanging there rattle.


    The procedure lasted several agonizing minutes, filled with pain, snarling, and the stench of burned flesh.


    ¡°Right after the Old Park,¡± one of the orcs who had helped carry Ordargar inside picked the story back up. ¡°We drove straight into an ambush. Two trucks were blocking the road. They tore off their tarps, and there they were ¡ª belt-fed machine guns. They blasted the car to pieces. Bordar died on the spot.¡±


    Arkar sighed, ¡°May his name be remembered.¡±


    ¡°May his name be remembered!¡± The orcs echoed.


    Bordar. That was the driver¡¯s name ¡ª the one who¡¯d adored jazz in general and Tess in particular.


    ¡°They used army-issue machine guns?¡± Even Arkar sounded taken aback. ¡°So brazenly? In the capital?!¡±


    ¡°If only that was all of it,¡± another orc cut in. ¡°Our wheels, as you know, are armored. We survived the first volley by dropping to the floor, waited till their guns jammed, and then¡­¡±


    The orc trailed off, and a third one continued for him.


    ¡°Fragmentation grenades, Arkar,¡± the orc said, eyes dull, suit and shirt shredded. ¡°They lit the night up like it was New Year¡¯s, damn them.¡±


    Silence fell, disturbed only by Ordargar¡¯s ragged breathing and the occasional low growl of pain.


    ¡°The Dandy,¡± Arkar hissed, clenching his fists and baring his tusks. ¡°It¡¯s long past time we had a good chinwag about Baliero, right¡­ Guys!¡±


    The orcs rose from their seats, but a harsh, unsteady voice interrupted them.


    ¡°Hold your wolves, Arkar,¡± Ordargar rasped through his haze of pain and near-unconsciousness. ¡°It wasn¡¯t the Dandy.¡±


    ¡°Darg, with all due respect, they must¡¯ve scrambled your-¡±


    A thunderous blow of Ordargar¡¯s fist left a dent in the solid stone wall, cracks spreading out like spider webs. Arkar fell silent at once.


    ¡°Watch your mouth, Overseer,¡± Ordargar growled, taking another swig of whiskey and then pouring the rest over his still-sizzling stump, roaring like a wounded Wanderer. ¡°It wasn¡¯t the Dandy.¡±


    ¡°How can you be so sure?¡± Arkar asked in a calmer tone.


    ¡°Because we came to an agreement at that dinner,¡± Ordargar replied, settling down as well. ¡°And the Dandy thinks far too highly of himself to break his worthless human promise so soon ¡ª at least not without waiting a week or two first.¡±


    Ordargar spat, his saliva laced with blood and the fragments of a tooth.


    Arkar exchanged glances with the other orcs, all of whom bore the same uncertainty in their eyes. Ardan sat quietly on one of the sofas, hoping the matter wouldn¡¯t end up involving him.


    ¡°But who else would dare to show off like that in this city, if not the Dandy?¡± Arkar refused to concede the point. ¡°He¡¯s the only one who¡¯d pull a¡­ a spectacle like that, Darg.¡±


    Ordargar slowly turned to Arkar, wearing the sort of expression Ardan hoped he¡¯d never see directed at him. It looked potent enough to drive iron stakes into the ground and bend rebar in half.


    ¡°That, Overseer, is precisely why I¡¯m not yet retired, and why you¡¯re not wearing the boss¡¯ vest,¡± Ordargar snarled. ¡°First Baliero, then the Crimson Lady, and now this¡­ Someone¡¯s trying to set off a war among the gangs.¡±


    ¡°To what end?¡±


    ¡°If I knew that, Arkar, I wouldn¡¯t have come limping in here¡­¡±


    Clearly, Ordargar¡¯s rise through the ranks of the underworld hadn¡¯t been solely due to his infamous brutality and beastly strength, but also a mind as sharp as his tusks.


    ¡°But we can¡¯t just sit on our hands, Overseer,¡± Ordargar said, glancing down at the bandages the doctor had finished wrapping around his still-smoking stump. Then he turned to face the table and leaned back on the couch. ¡°They¡¯ve marked us for the kill. If we show any weakness, they¡¯ll tear us apart.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re¡­ trapped,¡± Arkar exhaled, dropping onto the seat opposite him. ¡°If we don¡¯t make a move, they¡¯ll rip us to pieces. If we do¡­¡±


    ¡°We might play right into the hands of those bastards who turned the heart of this city into the Fatian border,¡± Ordargar finished for him.


    The entrance doors groaned, and more orcs began streaming into the bar, all dressed in black coats or suit jackets without vests, carrying revolvers (they were big enough that a human firing one might snap their shoulder clean off) and axes. In orc hands, those axes looked small, almost unnoticeable. Humans used the same kind of axe for chopping wood.


    Soon, the crowd in ¡°Bruce¡¯s¡± had swelled to over sixty. And yet, curiously, they gave Ardan a wide berth. After casting a single glance at the cloak on his shoulders and the staff in his hands, none dared cross that invisible boundary around him.


    ¡°Dagir,¡± the gang boss said to one of the wounded. ¡°Bring our guest.¡±


    The orc nodded silently, stood, and left with another gangster. A moment later, the slamming of a trunk could be heard, followed by a muffled grunting sound.


    When the doors opened again, Ardan had to fight to keep from jumping up in shock. Dagir was dragging a man by his hair. He was being muffled by a rag that had been shoved into his mouth and could only bleat pathetically. He seemed mostly unharmed except for the bruises on his face. The man appeared to be around thirty, and was wearing a simple, cheap woolen suit with flat wooden buttons, along with chunky boots polished with shoeshine rather than fur. It was common worker attire.


    They placed the man ¡ª and made him seem as light as a rag doll in the process ¡ª on his knees before Ordargar, yanking the gag from his mouth.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know anything, I just-¡±


    Ordargar stretched out one mighty arm, seized the poor soul by the throat, and hoisted him clean off the floor. His fingers tightened, forcing the man to choke, clutching frantically at Ordargar¡¯s stone-hard, gray skin.


    ¡°Talk,¡± Ordargar said.


    ¡°I¡­ I was just passing by¡­ on my way home¡­ to my¡­ family¡­ I swear¡­ I don¡¯t¡­¡±


    The boss tightened his grip, causing veins to bulge in the captive¡¯s neck. Blood vessels burst in his eyes, and his tongue swelled in his mouth.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t want my men to pay your family a visit,¡± Ordargar said calmly, as though he weren¡¯t holding an eighty-kilo man aloft with one hand, ¡°you¡¯d better start talking.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t¡­ know¡­¡±


    Ardan¡¯s knuckles whitened as he gripped his staff. He couldn¡¯t watch this any longer.


    He shot to his feet, slamming his staff down against the floor.


    ¡°This man speaks the truth!¡±


    Dozens of orcs turned to stare at him with decidedly unfriendly expressions. Ordargar¡¯s glare especially looked like he was deciding whether to tear this intruder in half or try for four pieces instead.


    ¡°Darg!¡± Arkar leaped up, positioning himself between Ardan and his boss. ¡°The kid¡¯s young, hot-headed, like a piece of burning coal. And he¡¯s just as-¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s telling the truth,¡± Ardan interrupted him, stepping around Arkar.


    For several moments, silence reigned. But then Ordargar loosened his grip, if only a little.


    ¡°And what makes you think so, Matabar?¡± The orc asked through narrowed eyes. ¡°You¡¯re not the only one who can hear the hearts of liars. His is racing like a dog¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Or like the heart of a man scared out of his mind,¡± Ardi persisted.


    Ordargar lowered the man to the ground, though he didn¡¯t release him fully.


    ¡°You have two minutes to explain yourself, boy,¡± the gang leader warned him. ¡°And if I don¡¯t like your answer, you¡¯ll be leaving our home for the hospital.¡±


    ¡°Look at his clothes,¡± Ardan said, gesturing to the worker. ¡°They¡¯re covered in mud and snow, but not a single scorch mark from gunpowder. With machine guns, grenades and explosions going off everywhere, such stains would¡¯ve been inevitable. Now look at his boots. They¡¯re far cleaner than his clothes. I suspect you found him unconscious on the street, took him for an attacker, and hauled him off. Am I right?¡±


    The orcs exchanged glances. Ordargar said nothing.


    ¡°So I¡¯m right.¡± Ardan nodded. ¡°I¡¯d guess that he¡¯d just been to a shoeshine before heading home. Then the flying asphalt fragments hit him and knocked him out. The shoeshine ran, and you, in the midst of your own retreat, saw him on the ground and grabbed him.¡±


    Ordargar stared at Ardan with a gaze that made the younger man feel as if a whole pack of Ley-crazed wolves had cornered him.


    But the orc¡¯s deadly aura suddenly vanished, and he let go of the terrified man¡¯s throat, pushing him aside.


    ¡°Arkar.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Darg?¡±


    ¡°Write our guest a check for a hundred exes,¡± Ordargar told him. ¡°That should cover his medical bills and¡­¡± The orc¡¯s eyes flicked to the dark stain spreading over the man¡¯s trousers, ¡°new pants. Plus a little donation to keep his mouth shut. Right?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes, of course, thank you, thank you so much,¡± the terrified man babbled, half sobbing as he scooted backwards toward the exit. ¡°I won¡¯t say a word to anyone. I promise. I-¡±


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Ardan blocked his way from behind.


    A low growl came from Ordargar, and the orcs rose to their feet as one.


    ¡°You¡¯re playing with a damned hot fire, cub,¡± Arkar whispered in his ear, ¡°and you might get us both burned.¡±


    Ignoring the warning, Ardan crouched down and laid his hand on the poor man¡¯s shoulder. If Arkar knew Ardan was a Speaker, then surely Ordargar did, too. There was no point hiding it now.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, mister?¡±


    ¡°T-Terens,¡± he stammered, voice still quivering with tears, ¡°Terens Fli.¡±


    Having freely received the man¡¯s name, Ardan infused it with his will and Spoke:


    ¡°Terens,¡± he said, frosty clouds escaping his lips. A delicate pattern of rime spread out along the floor and walls. The orcs began to murmur amongst themselves. ¡°Tell me, Terens, what did you see while you were sitting on that shoeshine stool?¡±


    Terens¡¯ face went slack, his gaze cloudy. All emotion drained from his voice, leaving it dry and mechanical.


    ¡°I saw the shoeshine. His brush¡­ He was cleaning my boots. I got them dirty stepping off the tram, which broke down a few stations too soon.¡±


    Ardan felt as if a crushing weight were settling over him, and each pulse of blood hammered like a mallet inside his skull. He shifted his questioning:


    ¡°The shoeshine ¡ª did anything about him strike you as unusual?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Look more closely at your memory, Terens. You ended up alone. Completely alone. It¡¯s not easy to move a shoeshine¡¯s stool and all his tools in an instant.¡±


    Each word felt like it was draining Ardan¡¯s strength, as if his own soul were being wrenched from his body and fed through a meat grinder. But he held on to the power that let him warp another¡¯s will.


    ¡°He had a red stain on his sleeve. I thought it was paint. But it wasn¡¯t paint. Blood. It was blood.¡±


    ¡°What did he do when a long, fancy automobile drove by?¡±


    ¡°He¡­ He pulled a flare gun from his pocket. Then he hit me with the handle. Then¡­ nothing but darkness.¡±


    Blood trickled from Ardan¡¯s nose and ears, and his vision swam.


    ¡°When he fired that gun, Terens, did you see anything else?¡±


    Terens¡¯ eyes rolled back, his whites the only thing visible now, and froth bubbled at his lips.


    ¡°Y-yes¡­ A tattoo¡­ A hammer and gloves.¡±


    Ardan broke the connection, severing his hold over the man. He likely would¡¯ve collapsed had Arkar not caught him. The half-orc helped Ardi stand upright, then guided him to a couch. He placed a glass of water in front of him.


    ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± Terens rubbed his bleary eyes and shook his head. ¡°I won¡¯t say anything, I swear it on my daughters. Not a word. Nothing¡­¡±


    He scrambled to his feet, snatched the check from Arkar¡¯s hand, and bolted out the door.


    ¡°Arkar, Urag and the rest ¡ª let¡¯s talk,¡± Ordargar said.


    Arkar cast a quick glance at Ardan, then headed into the private room with several other orcs. The doctor ¡ª presumably Urag ¡ª followed. When the door closed behind the last of those hulking figures, the air in the place felt markedly lighter, as if a weight had been lifted.


    Even though Ardi had been left alone with several dozen broad-shouldered orcs packed like sardines into the cramped bar, he felt far safer than before.


    While the more senior gang members discussed the situation in private, Ardan sipped the water in silence, struggling to steady his thoughts and emotions. Whenever he used the Aean¡¯Hane art to command another¡¯s Name, it left him feeling like he¡¯d once again been racing Aergar through the Alkade peaks amid a brutal storm.


    ¡°So, the rumors were true ¡ª there¡¯s a real Speaker living under our roof,¡± said a young orc as he sat down on the seat across from Ardi. By orc standards, he didn¡¯t look much older than Ardan himself.


    Orcs, once they came of age, all tended to look the same ¡ª somewhere between fourteen and eighty. Only after that did any signs of aging truly appear. But thanks to Atta¡¯nha¡¯s scrolls, Ardi knew one trick:


    The tusks. Specifically, their size. The smaller the tusks, the younger the orc.


    Which meant that the gangster in front of him was around twenty-five, maybe a bit more.


    ¡°I¡¯m Indgar,¡± he said, offering Ardan his huge hand.


    While shaking it, Ardi was startled by how small he felt. Generally, he was the tall one in any room. Here, among so many orcs, he was almost a runt by comparison. It was a strange, new feeling.


    ¡°We¡¯ve heard all sorts of things,¡± Indgar said, jerking his head toward the rest of the gang, who were either muttering amongst themselves or sullenly eyeing their glasses, but still occasionally turning to look his way. ¡°Word is, you took down a demon at Baliero, then you and Arkar butchered half a warehouse, and just recently, you bled ¡ª ahem, I mean wounded ¡ª some baron so badly his own mother wouldn¡¯t be able to recognize him.¡±


    Ardan tried not to reveal his surprise at how thoroughly the gangsters were informed. And in truth, matters had unfolded quite differently than the rumors claimed.


    ¡°The forest,¡± Skusty had liked to say, ¡°is always full of whispers.¡± Sometimes, it was better to let the other hunter believe you¡¯re stronger rather than fight them for the best trails.


    And so, instead of answering, Ardan merely shrugged.


    ¡°You handled that shorty very well,¡± Indgar went on. ¡°We orcs call humans ¡®shorties¡¯ because, well, they¡¯re small.¡±


    ¡°What about dwarves, then?¡± Ardi asked out of habit, his curiosity sparking to life.


    ¡°We call them ¡®bearded shorties,¡¯¡± Indgar said with a gravelly laugh.


    All in all, the orc made a decent impression on him considering the fact that he was still a gangster, and someone Ardan, with his new line of work, should¡¯ve theoretically been fighting against and stopping.


    But if the Second Chancery, combined with the city watch and the army, hadn¡¯t solved the capital¡¯s gang problem yet, it meant that either they lacked the ability or, given the Emperor¡¯s comments, the desire to do so.


    Or maybe both. As the saying went: ¡°If you can¡¯t beat them, lead them.¡± Or at least try to manage or guide them ¡ª the way you would do with rivers, dams, and floods.


    ¡°What duke did Ordargar visit?¡± Ardan asked.


    ¡°Abrailaal,¡± Indgar answered at once, then flinched. ¡°Spirits¡­ I wasn¡¯t planning to tell you that. Is that the Witch¡¯s Gaze we hear about as kids ¡ª the one our elder mothers scare us with?¡±


    ¡°To be honest, Indgar, I don¡¯t know what scares orcs, or if it¡¯s even possible to scare you lot.¡±


    At that, the orc flashed him a wide, predatory grin, baring rows of sharp teeth.


    ¡°There¡¯s no real secret to it,¡± he said with a dismissive wave. ¡°On the first day of the third week of the Star Month, Duke Abrailaal hosts a lavish dinner at his mansion. Prominent folks from all over the capital show up to mingle and shoot the breeze about pointless nonsense that¡¯s none of our concern.¡±


    The Star Month¡­ With everything that had transpired, Ardi had nearly forgotten that the second month of the year was drawing to a close. Which meant that on its very last day ¡ª which was imminent now ¡ª Ardan Egobar would turn eighteen.


    A birthday¡­ In his childhood, that word had always signified something joyous and magical, brimming with merriment and mischief. But now¡­ Ardi now found his mind occupied with far weightier concerns.


    ¡°You did well not to chicken out¡­ or, how do you say it¡­ not to lose your nerve, yes. It¡¯s good that you didn¡¯t lose your nerve in front of Ordargar,¡± Indgar said, taking a half-finished bottle of gin from a nearby table and pouring a measure into his glass after first discarding the dregs of the previous drink. ¡°He¡¯s a decisive leader, sometimes quick to dole out harsh punishment, but fair. If you bring him something worthwhile or have a sensible thought, he¡¯ll listen. If you waste his time, though, he might¡­ well, waste you.¡±


    Indgar rubbed his chest without thinking.


    ¡°And that hammer tattoo,¡± Ardan asked next. ¡°Does it mean anything to you?¡±


    ¡°Of course it does,¡± the orc snorted. ¡°That¡¯s the mark of the Hammers.¡±


    ¡°The Hammers?¡±


    ¡°One of the city¡¯s bigger gangs,¡± Indgar explained, hefting the bottle in his hand. ¡°They¡¯re mostly workers from the steel foundries. Employment in those foundries has been completely taken over and is now run by a community of northerners, and the Hammers are effectively their muscle.¡±


    ¡°So, are all the gangs tied to the Workers¡¯ Guilds in the Factory District?¡±


    ¡°We, the Dandy, and the Hammers split the Factory District and Old Park District, dealing with the Workers¡¯ Guilds in the process,¡± Indgar said, pouring gin into his glass and watching the colorless drink slowly run down the sides. ¡°The Crimson Lady is also involved, but she¡¯s got a¡­ different profile, same as the Black Lotus, although they do their business here in the Central District. Then there¡¯s Saint Eord¡¯s folks.¡±


    ¡°Saint?¡± Ardi echoed.


    ¡°It¡¯s a nickname for their founder,¡± the orc shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s been out of the game for a long time. Retired. Lives somewhere on the fancy outskirts of the city. Mansion-hills, I think. But his lot managed to get support from the ogre and giant diaspora. They hold the port.¡±


    ¡°Also through the Guilds?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°By the way, I haven¡¯t seen any ogres or giants around,¡± Ardi muttered aloud without quite realizing it.


    No, wait ¡ª he thought he might have glimpsed a few giants or ogres at the Emperor¡¯s coronation, but not once had he spotted one in the city proper.


    ¡°There aren¡¯t that many left,¡± Indgar said. ¡°About seven hundred ogres, and the same number of giants. But they¡¯re huge, bigger than we are. That¡¯s why they¡¯re not allowed in the central districts. And generally, you won¡¯t see them anywhere except the port or the Firstborn District. It¡¯s something to do with the streets not being built for their size, the pressure on the sewer structures, and so on. This city just isn¡¯t designed for them.¡±


    Ardan arched an eyebrow.


    ¡°I studied to be a welder back home,¡± Indgar said, answering the unspoken question of how he seemed to be so educated. ¡°Then I came here. I searched high and low for a job, but never found any. Turns out nobody wanted an orc welder, even with all the right papers. But I had to send something back to my family. Had to eat, too. That¡¯s how I ended up dressing like this.¡±


    He tugged at his lapel.


    Ardan nodded. He understood Indgar¡¯s plight. Even though Ardi looked human for the most part ¡ª he was quite tall, yes, but otherwise ordinary ¡ª he still hadn¡¯t managed to find a job or a place to live through the ¡°proper channels.¡±


    ¡°You named five,¡± Ardi recalled, returning to their previous topic. ¡°But Lisa¡­ My acquaintance mentioned there were six gangs.¡±


    ¡°In truth, there are actually eight,¡± Indgar said, tossing back his gin and taking a loud breath through his broad, flattened nose. ¡°Though it¡¯s hard to call the last two ¡®gangs¡¯ in the usual sense¡­ Anyway, there¡¯s also the Telkarts, over in the Tend District. They handle most of the illicit alcohol. This here¡± ¡ª he rattled the bottle ¡ª ¡°is their product.¡±


    He swished the gin around thoughtfully.


    ¡°You can¡¯t tell it apart from the legal stuff, not by its color or taste. But it¡¯s way cheaper. They don¡¯t pay taxes, you see.¡±


    Taxes¡­ A sore spot for many in the Empire. Not because they were too burdensome, but because failing to pay them could land you in prison ¡ª or, if you owed too much, sentenced to forced labor.


    Ardan¡¯s family had never been troubled by that, though. Those who served in the army, navy, fire department, medical field, or as teachers, plus the members of the Guild of Sciences and the city guard ¡ª along with the Second Chancery ¡ª were exempt. So were Star Mages with student status. And after completing their studies, Star Mages were exempt from taxes as well, but only if they earned the rank of Magister or higher.


    Those reforms had been introduced by the current Emperor back when he¡¯d still been just the heir to the throne amid upheaval and scandals, all before Ardi was even born.


    ¡°What about the last two?¡± Ardi asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re hard to call gangs, Matabar,¡± Indgar said, spreading his hands. ¡°The Unseen ¡ª that¡¯s what we call the strays, the beggars, the homeless, all the poor souls who literally live on the streets. There are rumors they¡¯ve got their own leaders, maybe even a head honcho, but nobody knows for sure. Then there¡¯s¡­¡±


    Indgar shuddered, which startled Ardi. This giant orc who weighed close to 170 kilos and was armed with a revolver the size of a small artillery piece and fists that could crumble walls¡­ was actually afraid?


    ¡°The Narikhman,¡± he whispered, lowering his voice and darting his gaze around as if worried someone might hear him. ¡°They control the Angel Dust, contract killings of bigwigs, the biggest heists, all that sort of thing. They cooperate with vampires, werewolves, radicals, and the rest of the scum.¡±


    The Narikhman. Ardan filed that name away for later. He¡¯d have to talk to Milar about that elf in the Imperial Bank, and the courier who¡¯d been sent to the Jackets and the Dandy. Of course, Milar surely knew everything Indgar had just shared with him, but that only raised the question of how they were going to tackle this.


    ¡°You can¡¯t simply schedule a meeting with the Narikhman,¡± the orc went on. ¡°Each gang has an Overseer, the person you can go to if you¡¯ve got questions. But the last two ¡ª no chance. If you don¡¯t already know someone who knows someone¡­ it¡¯s too dangerous to even try. That¡¯s why the Big Six usually just pretend that the Unseen and the Narikhman don¡¯t exist. And the common folk? They think those two are just urban legends.¡±


    Silence fell. Ardan kept sipping his water steadily, ruminating on everything he¡¯d just learned. Indgar stared at his own reflection in the table¡¯s lacquered surface.


    ¡°The Witch¡¯s Gaze is a frightening thing,¡± he murmured at last, running his hand over the tabletop as if to wipe the reflection away. ¡°I was foolish not to believe the elder mother when she warned me that talking with a Speaker felt as easy as chatting with your best friend or your own brother. You¡¯ll spill everything without even noticing it. I didn¡¯t believe her¡­ And I should have. But where would I even meet one of your people, anyway? The Speakers¡­ The Aean¡¯Hane¡­ might as well be fairy tales.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Ardi said honestly, though he was exaggerating a little. ¡°I still don¡¯t have perfect control over the Gaze.¡±


    In truth, Ardan had discovered how to rein in his Gaze when he really wanted to ¡ª but it took a lot of effort and left him drained. He only ever bothered doing so when talking to Tess, Boris, or Elena.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like I told you anything too secr-¡±


    Suddenly, the doors burst open and Arkar stormed out looking as ominous as a thundercloud, followed by two other orcs who seemed just as displeased with the outcome of their talk. Ordargar and the shaman remained inside.


    ¡°Ah, this is bad,¡± Indgar muttered. ¡°I hate it when the Overseer and the Boss butt heads. There¡¯s always trouble after that.¡±


    ¡°You, you¡­¡± Arkar began pointing at various members of the gang ¡ª Indgar included ¡ª until he¡¯d chosen about twenty of the tallest, toughest orcs. ¡°You¡¯re with us. We¡¯re heading to the Hammers. Everyone else stays here and awaits further orders. Only the Trusted will remain with the Boss.¡±


    While the Orcish Jackets¡¯ Overseer, his expression grim and his stare heavy, was picking who would go, two more orcs who had emerged from the meeting room opened the supply closet and began bringing out a small armory.


    There were clubs wrapped in steel wire and bristling with nails. Massive brass knuckles that looked more like gauntlets from a history museum exhibit. Knives the size of cavalry sabers. And, naturally, bandoliers bearing monstrous revolvers.


    ¡°Arkar, they¡¯ve got rifles and machine guns!¡± Someone shouted from the crowd.


    ¡°And grenades, too,¡± another voice chimed in.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, gents. We¡¯ve got a little something for them, too,¡± Arkar said with a predatory smile. Then he thumped his chest and roared, ¡°Orak Han-da!¡±


    All at once, sixty burly orcs boomed in unison, ¡°Orak Han-da!¡± making the entire building shudder from rooftop to foundation.


    They grabbed their weapons and ammunition, strapped on the bandoliers, holstered their revolvers, pulled on shaggy coats, and began filing outside.


    Ardan was just starting to hope that everyone had forgotten his presence when Arkar, adjusting an out-of-season felt hat, barked over his shoulder, ¡°Ard, you¡¯re coming too.¡±


    Of course he was¡­


    Patting his pockets, Ardi made a mental note to ask Milar for a medallion that could both receive and send out a summons.


    Squeezing his way outside through the throng of hard stares, he put on his hat, wrapped his scarf around his face, and stepped into the street alongside Arkar. In the distance, sirens wailed ¡ª the city guard was on its way to ¡°Bruce¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Faster!¡± Arkar shouted, spurring the orcs toward the inner courtyard where, beneath tarps and mounds of snow, their cars and a few small trucks lay hidden. ¡°The pigs are almost here!¡±


    Rounding the corner, they yanked off the covers. In groups of four, the orcs climbed into the vehicles and started their engines. One by one, the cars slid out onto Markov Canal, heading for the Crookedwater Canal, a clattering truck bringing up the rear.


    Ardan found himself in a car alone with Arkar. For a while, as the darkened facades slipped past the car¡¯s windows, neither of them spoke a word. Arkar kept his eyes on the road and spat out curses through gritted teeth every now and then.


    As for Ardi, he was pondering how being dragged into a gang war was hardly the sort of gift he wanted for his birthday. But there was no going back on his word. He¡¯d made a promise and he would see it through.


    Arkar had helped him and Boris. No matter how much Ardi wished he was back at his desk right now, he couldn¡¯t refuse to repay that debt. He wouldn¡¯t be able to respect himself if he did.


    ¡°Ordargar¡¯s losing his grip,¡± Arkar muttered all of a sudden. ¡°The old wolf¡¯s too scared.¡±


    Ardan said nothing.


    ¡°If he really thinks this is a trap, why jump right into it?¡± Arkar jerked the steering wheel sharply, cutting off another car and diving into the flow of traffic.


    Winter was slowly retreating and giving way ¡ª bit by bit ¡ª to its younger, warmer successor, the lovely spring. True, the streets were still layered with snow, the river lay buried under thick ice, and people were bundling themselves in heavy clothing. It would be another seven weeks, at least, before the snow would melt away. But the biting nighttime cold no longer howled like a starving beast, and cars weren¡¯t stalling at every intersection anymore. Traffic had grown heavier these past few days.


    ¡°We could have called for a sit-down,¡± Arkar growled, gripping the leather-covered wheel so tightly it creaked in protest. ¡°Gathered all the Big Sixes¡¯ sayers. Anyone who spits in our well spoils everyone¡¯s water. The thought of someone with a pair big enough to try and knock up all the other-siders, honestly makes your darkest hole tighten. I swear to the Sleeping Spirits that mine is clenched so tight it could snap a steel bar.¡±


    ¡°Arkar,¡± Ardi said.


    ¡°What?!¡± The half-orc snapped, nearly crashing into another car. He rolled down the window to unleash a torrent of curses that probably carried across the entire district.


    ¡°Could we speak plain Galessian?¡± Ardi asked, ignoring the outburst. ¡°I also know Fae, Matabar, some Old Elvish, and a bit of the steppe dialect of Orcish. But I¡¯ll need a slang dictionary if you want me to understand what you just said.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Arkar grumbled, switching back to common Galessian at once. ¡°Ordargar wants us to confront the Hammers. He wants us to show that the Jackets are still a force to be reckoned with.¡±


    ¡°You think-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure of it,¡± Arkar cut him off. ¡°And he¡¯s also sure that this is a trap, Matabar. He¡¯s right. Not even the Dandy has that kind of firepower ¡ª machine guns, grenades, rifles¡­ But Ordargar has gotten it into his head that he¡¯s part of high society now. Banquets, balls, fancy threads, I mean¡­ expensive clothes that cost hundreds of exes. His whores are even pricier than that. He¡¯s losing his bite. Meanwhile, I¡¯m the one down here on the ground every day, wrangling the fucking¡­ solving the problems, I mean.¡±


    Ardan watched the Crookedwater Canal draw closer, the smokestacks of the factories looming beyond it. His stomach twisted at the realization of where they were heading and why. It felt even worse knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.


    ¡°He¡¯s grown soft, that old fang,¡± Arkar said as he gunned the engine and flew over the Martyrs¡¯ Bridge. ¡°We¡¯re about to show off our stupidity, not strength. And then everyone will know the Jackets are just a bunch of donkeys happy to chase after a carrot.¡±


    ¡°So why don¡¯t you-¡±


    ¡°You talking about a mutiny?¡± Arkar gave a short, humorless laugh. ¡°Ordargar¡¯s got plenty of boys on the take¡­ I mean, whom he pays out of his own cut. They hang on his every word. I guess I can¡¯t blame them. All of them have families. Everyone¡¯s got to eat¡­ Damn it!¡± He slammed a hand against the wheel. ¡°This is horseshit! It¡¯s just like that time at the Armondian border, when some wet-behind-the-ears academy graduate tried to tell me ¡ª me, the man who¡¯d spent a whole season in the forward trenches ¡ª how we were supposed to repel the nomads¡¯ assaults¡­ Fuck!¡±


    He slapped the wheel again, finally letting off enough steam to grow quiet. Or at least pretend to.


    ¡°Be careful with Indgar,¡± he muttered after a moment. ¡°The cub¡¯s aiming for my spot. He worships old Ordargar like a god. He¡¯ll try pouring honey in your ears about how just and noble our gang life is. All lies, that. We¡¯re scummy bandits, not gallant drengrs.¡±


    ¡°I figured as much,¡± Ardan said, flipping open his grimoire to a page where he¡¯d sketched out a few seals for two-Star war magic.


    Just in case.


    He hadn¡¯t planned to practice them until spring, when he intended to tell Aversky and the Second Chancery about the progress he¡¯d made. He wasn¡¯t in a hurry to reveal his newfound power, especially since he¡¯d lit his second Star ¡ª and his Green Star had nine rays to boot ¡ª after less than half a year of training. If word got out about that, he might wind up like Lorlov had¡­ Strapped to a table in some Guild lab, his brain under a microscope.


    And Ardi still had no real reason to trust the Cloaks or Aversky, either. They were merely temporary companions on his path, as was Arkar.


    ¡°We¡¯re here.¡±


    Their car pulled up next to a mundane, four-story building made of gray brick, its windows wide and drab ¡ª one of countless such structures in the Factory District.


    Behind them, the other Jackets¡¯ cars were soon parked as well, disgorging orcs armed to the teeth, their sharp grins and sharper eyes bared to the night air. The truck also lurched up beside them, and out of it leaped two hulking figures. One was larger than even Ordargar and nearly the height of his steppe kin, carrying an actual belt-fed machine gun, the kind that was normally only seen when you could set it up in a fortified position. The other was hefting a massive rifle that looked like a wooden beam at first glance. A second glance revealed it to be an anti-tank gun.


    Yes, the Jackets had come prepared.


    ¡°The Hammers¡¯ base is across the street,¡± Arkar told Ardi. Then, turning to the rest, he bellowed, ¡°We go in first ¡ª me and Ard ¡ª and then-¡±


    Ardan felt it before he saw it, a cold that was unlike anything in the natural world. It was not the sharp bite of ice, but something dark and dead, like the surface of a gravestone.


    He¡¯d felt this before, out in the steppe, and on the train as well.


    He¡¯d felt it when Cassara had used her blood magic.


    ¡°Look out!¡± Ardan yelled, shoving Arkar to the side and slamming his staff against the ground, conjuring a shield.


    He was just in time. A flash of crimson streaked from a nearby rooftop ¡ª a spear of crystallized blood. It shattered against Ardan¡¯s steel-hued barrier, bursting into red dust. However, there was no time to exhale in relief.


    Barely a heartbeat later, three silhouettes flashed through the dreary sky, and the night itself grew so deep and dark that even Matabar eyes could scarcely see within it.


    ¡°Vampires!¡± Someone shrieked in horror, their scream cutting off as blood and agony choked it into a gurgle.