Date: April 8, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Sobra's compass had stopped working.
It happened unexpectedly — the needle, which had been confidently guiding them through forests and hills, suddenly trembled, swung back and forth, then froze, pointing in all directions at once. Sobra stopped, tilted his head, and confusion flickered in his amber eyes. Datuk approached, looked into the thick fur at his friend's scruff where the device was hidden. The bluish glow that had pulsed steadily and calmly now flickered like a dying candle.
"Well, what do we do now?" Datuk asked, scratching his head.
Sobra snorted and nudged his shoulder with his nose.
They walked on at random. The forest they found themselves in was thick, old, and the air smelled of pine and decayed leaves. Datuk led the way, hacking a path with his axe when the branches grew too dense. Sobra followed, his brown fur catching on thorny bushes, but he didn't complain. They were used to hardship.
Days passed. Datuk lost count after the third — the sun barely pierced the dense canopy, making it impossible to tell morning from evening. He measured time only by fatigue. By how heavy his legs grew after each march, how his muscles ached after sleeping on bare ground. Sobra, his faithful friend, walked beside him, and his steady, deep breathing was the only thing that calmed Datuk in this endless, monotonous forest.
On the fifth day, they came upon an old stone bridge. It spanned a deep ravine, its moss-grown arches seeming part of the forest itself. Datuk stopped, looking at it, and Sobra stopped beside him.
Exchanging glances, they crossed the bridge, and the forest changed. The shadows here were thicker, and in the air appeared a strange, barely perceptible smell — not pine, not earth, but something else, ancient, nameless. Sobra sniffed, and his fur bristled.
"Feel it?" Datuk asked.
The bear nodded. He felt it.
On the eighth day, they emerged into a clearing where a solitary oak stood. Its trunk was split by a lightning strike, and in the cleft, grown into the bark, lay a small stone with a carved sign. Sobra recognized it — the same one on the bottom of his compass, which Krogan had given him. He approached, sniffed the stone, and froze.
"Someone was here before us," Datuk said, examining the sign. "Or something."
They moved on. The forest gradually thinned, and on the tenth day, when Datuk had begun to think they were walking in circles, a light appeared ahead.
It was not sunlight — different, soft, silvery. It streamed through the tree trunks like water, and when Datuk stepped into it, his weariness seemed to ease. Sobra walked beside him, his brown fur in this light appearing almost black.
They emerged into a forest that was not on any map. The trees here were white, their trunks smooth as polished marble, and their leaves silver, glowing from within. Datuk stopped at the edge, feeling his heart beat faster. Sobra sniffed and froze — his fur bristled, and a low, warning growl came from his throat.
"Do you feel it?" Datuk asked.
The bear nodded. He felt it. This place was different. Not like any they had seen before. It was alive.
They entered the forest, and the trees parted before them, opening a path leading deeper. Datuk walked, gripping his axe, and Sobra walked beside him, his steps heavy but confident. They didn't know what awaited them. But they knew they had to go.
Datuk thought of home. Of Krag-Mhor, of his mother who always scolded him when he came home late, and of his father who nodded silently, looking at him with his dark, deep eyes. He thought that they were probably worried. But Sobra's compass, which still wasn't working, and the path itself — they could no longer turn back.
Sobra thought of his own. Of the forest where he was born, of his mother who taught him to hunt, and of his father, the old brown bear whose fur was as dark as the bark of ancient oaks. He thought of how they had said goodbye — without words, without tears, only a short growl from his father and his mother's warm tongue on his forehead. He knew they were proud of him. And he knew he had to return. Tell them. Show them. Prove that his path was right.
They walked, and the forest grew lighter, more transparent. The path led them to a clearing where the Tree stood. Huge, white, with silver leaves glowing from within like thousands of tiny suns. It was beautiful. So beautiful that Datuk's eyes stung, and Sobra froze, his ears flat against his head.
"This is it," Datuk said. "What we've been looking for."
Sobra didn't answer. He stared at the Tree, and in his amber eyes reflected the silver light. He stepped forward. Then another step.
"Sobra, stop!" Datuk shouted, but the bear didn't listen. He walked towards the Tree, and his heavy body, his brown fur, his huge paws — all of it was focused on one goal. To touch. To receive. To become part of it.
Datuk ran after him, but didn't make it in time. Sobra touched the trunk with his nose, and at that moment, the Tree responded.
The light was blinding. White, bright, it flooded the clearing, flooded them, and Datuk felt his body, his mind, his spirit — all of it begin to change. The pain was sharp but brief — like a lightning strike, like a flash that leaves only a ringing in the ears and the smell of ozone. He fell to his knees, and the axe fell from his weakening grasp.
Beside him, on the white grass, lay Sobra.
Datuk didn't know how much time passed. Perhaps a minute. Perhaps an hour. When he opened his eyes, the world around was different. The forest was gone. The Tree was gone. All around, as far as the eye could see, stretched a white plain, and only the light, steady, diffused, reminded them that they were still not in the ordinary world.
Sobra rose. He had changed. His fur, once brown, was now covered with wide silver stripes. They ran from his head to his tail, along his sides, over his shoulders, and glowed from within, pulsing in time with his heart. His eyes, amber, bright, looked at Datuk with the same calm confidence as always, but in them appeared something new. Depth. Wisdom. Strength.
"You okay?" Datuk asked, rising. His body ached, but it was not pain — rather, heaviness. The heaviness of new power filling him like water fills an empty vessel.
Sobra snorted and nudged his shoulder with his nose. He was fine. Better than fine. He was stronger.
"We're inside the Tree," Datuk said, looking around. "The shaman said this could happen."
Sobra nodded. He knew. He felt it.
They walked forward. The white plain gave way to white hills, the hills to white cliffs, the cliffs to a white desert. And everywhere, on pedestals, in hollows, on peaks, lay silver leaves. Datuk collected them, not knowing why. Sobra collected them, not knowing why. They simply did what the Tree commanded.
They fought. White goblins on tigers, four-armed guardians with swords, white eagles in the sky — all this and more met them on their path, and all of it was defeated. Datuk struck with his axe, and Sobra tore with his claws, and they were strong. The silver stripes on Sobra's fur flared in battle, making him faster, more elusive. Datuk felt his axe grow lighter, each strike more precise than before. The Tree was changing them. Making them stronger.
They walked, and days merged into one endless white flow. Datuk stopped counting. He just walked, and Sobra walked beside him, and they collected leaves — one after another, two after two, ten after ten.
And now, after many days of travel, they had emerged into a white valley. Datuk was tired, and Sobra was tired, and they decided to rest in the shadow of a cliff. Datuk sat on the sand, sorting through the leaves, thinking how many more they needed to collect. Sobra sniffed the ground, his silver stripes glowing faintly in the diffused light.
And then he came.
The one standing at the edge of the valley. Tall, thin, with mismatched eyes and long silver hair. He looked at them, and in his gaze was something that made Datuk rise to his feet.
"Well, well," the stranger said. "I wasn't expecting guests. But that's even better. Won't have to search for leaves one by one."
Datuk gripped his axe, and Sobra watched him warily. They didn't know who this was. Didn't know what he wanted. But they knew one thing — they would fight anyone.
The bear growled, and his silver stripes flared brighter. The white valley froze in anticipation. And only the Tree's pulse, deep, measured, echoed in each of their chests, counting the seconds until the first strike.