Date: April 26, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The silence in the white valley became unbearable. It hung in the air like a sword raised to strike, like a drop about to fall from a blade's edge. Ulviya stood at the edge of the sandy bowl and felt her words, spoken with such confidence only a moment ago, dissolving into that silence, finding no echo.
"If you continue — I'll have to choose a side."
She thought this would stop them. That the threat of intervention, even from a Warrior, would make two Pillars think twice, stop seeing each other as enemies. She thought her appearance — this strange girl with one arm and a living vine under her sleeve — would be the stone that shatters the mirror of their conflict.
But it was exactly the opposite.
The dwarf — stocky, broad-shouldered, with a reddish beard and an axe in his hand — smirked. His smirk was not malicious, rather eager, and in his eyes, green, bright, burned that same fire Ulviya had seen in maddened beasts before they pounced. He wasn't afraid. He craved continuation.
"Choose," he said, and there was not a trace of reconciliation in his voice. Only a challenge. "But quickly. I have little patience."
Datuk truly wasn't afraid. His Berserker Spirit, pushed to its limit, pulsed in every cell, accelerating his blood, making his heart beat faster, his muscles work at maximum. He felt his regeneration slowly but surely drawing the edges of his wounds together. The blood from his split brow had almost stopped, the deep cuts on his arms beginning to close. A little more — and he'd be in shape. A little more — and he could continue.
"This fight isn't over yet," Datuk thought, gripping his axe. "I don't know which of us will win — me or that long-haired freak. But I won't die here."
The half-blood — tall, thin, with long silver hair and mismatched eyes — tilted his head. His fingers, folded in an intricate pattern, twitched faintly.
"And I," he added, and in his cold, even voice there was anticipation.
Rosh was exhausted too. His Vector Spirit demanded fuel, and there was almost none left. His fingers ached and trembled, and each new gesture came with difficulty. But he showed no weakness. His mismatched eyes — green and brown — darted from the dwarf to the woman, from the woman to the bear. He was ready to attack in any direction. Whoever moved first, whoever showed weakness first, would become his target.
They hadn't heard her. They only heard the threat. Only the possibility of a new fight, a new opponent, new blood. Her words, spoken simply in hope of ending the conflict, became the spark that nearly lit the powder.
"Foolish," Ulviya thought, and her left hand, her living vine, stirred anxiously under her sleeve. "They don't want peace. They want to fight. And you just gave them a reason to continue."
---
Sobra stood behind his friend, his amber eyes, calm and wary, moving from the half-blood to the woman, from the woman to the emptiness behind her. He felt the tension hanging in the air and knew — another moment, and the fight would erupt anew.
The bear made no sound. Only his nostrils flared, drawing in air, only his ears flattened against his head, only the fur on his scruff bristled. He inhaled the scents — sweat, blood, adrenaline — and understood that his friend was not yet ready for another fight. Datuk was strong, but his wounds were telling. One more battle, and he might not endure.
Sobra stepped forward, moving beside Datuk. His heavy body, his huge paws, his silver-striped fur — all of it was a warning. He didn't growl, didn't bare his teeth. Just stood, watching the half-blood with his amber eyes, and in that gaze was everything: readiness to defend, readiness to attack, readiness to die.
"I won't let you touch him," his gaze said. "Not now. Not after everything we've been through."
Datuk felt his friend's presence. Didn't see — felt. The warmth, the strength, the confidence emanating from the huge beast. He didn't turn, didn't say a word. Only nodded faintly, and Sobra understood — they were together again. As always. As in hundreds of battles before.
---
The tension reached its peak. Ulviya stood at the valley's edge, and her left hand, her living vine, burst from under her sleeve, ready for battle. She didn't want to fight. But if she had to — she would fight.
She shifted her gaze from the dwarf to the half-blood, from the half-blood to the bear. Three Pillars. Three warriors, each with their own power, each with their own will. And she — a Warrior — between them, like a grain of sand between millstones.
"What should I do?" she thought. "Take a side? Try to separate them?"
She didn't know. But she knew one thing: if they charged at each other now, she couldn't stay aside. Her conscience, her oath, her promise to Chelaya — all demanded that she try to stop the senseless slaughter.
She opened her mouth to say something else, but at that moment, the white valley shuddered.
---
Light struck from the sky. Silvery, blinding, it fell on the white sand a hundred paces from them, and the ground beneath it hummed, vibrated, as if reality itself shuddered at its touch. The pillar of light was huge — dozens of meters across — and it did not dissipate, did not fade, but shone steadily, continuously, like a beacon in the night.
Ulviya squeezed her eyes shut, covering her face with her hand. The light penetrated her closed lids, her fingers, her very flesh, and she felt her vine, her living hand, pulse anxiously, trying to hide from that radiance.
Rosh stepped back, his fingers, which had been moving, tracing invisible lines, freezing in place. He felt that power — it was alien, hostile, dangerous. Not like his Vector Spirit. Not like the dwarf's Berserker Spirit. It was higher. Much higher.
Datuk froze, gripping his axe. His Berserker Spirit, pushed to its limit, suddenly contracted, as if sensing a predator stronger than itself. He wasn't afraid — he was never afraid. But he felt. Felt that something was about to happen that would change everything.
Sobra flattened his ears and growled softly — low, warning. His fur bristled, and the silver stripes on it flared brighter, as if trying to protect him from what was coming.
The light shone for several seconds. Perhaps ten. Perhaps twenty. Ulviya lost track of time — only the blinding radiance, only the hum of the ground beneath her feet, only the Tree's pulse, which suddenly grew faster, more anxious.
Then the light died.
---
It stood where the pillar had struck. Three meters tall, white, faceless, it towered over them, and its white clothing — cloak, boots up to the knees, trousers, shirt — was as white as this world itself. Not a single spot, not a single fold — everything was perfect, smooth as polished marble.
The creature was not human. Ulviya understood that at once — from its proportions, too elongated, unnatural. Its arms were long, thin, with fingers that seemed excessively long even for its height. Its face... there was no face. Where eyes, nose, mouth should have been was a smooth, white surface, and only two dark hollows — not eye sockets, just indentations — reminded that once, perhaps, this creature had been alive.
It was a Herald.
Ulviya felt it immediately — its presence, its aura pressed on her like the weight of water at depth. Her spirit, her power, her living vine — all of it contracted, shrank, trying to hide from that pressure. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Only stand and watch as the white figure slowly turned its head, sweeping them all with its sightless gaze.
Rosh froze. His fingers, which had been moving, tracing invisible lines, stopped. He felt that power — it was beyond him. Much beyond. He was a Pillar, but before a Herald, he was nothing. A grain of sand. Dust. He couldn't fight this creature. Couldn't evade. Couldn't redirect its attacks. His Vector Spirit, his main weapon, was useless against such power.
"What is this?" Rosh thought, his mismatched eyes widening. "Who is it? Why is it here?"
Datuk gripped his axe. His hands, tired, trembling, clenched the haft so hard his knuckles went white. He felt that power — it pressed on him like a mountain, like the earth itself when you stand at its foot. He was a Pillar, but before a Herald, he was weak. His Berserker Spirit, his rage, his power — all of it was nothing before this creature.
But he didn't retreat. He stepped forward, placing himself between the Herald and Sobra. His axe was raised, and in his eyes, green, bright, burned a fire that neither pain, nor fatigue, nor fear could quench.
"I won't give up," Datuk thought. "Even if it kills me. Even if I can't even lift my axe. I won't give up."
Sobra froze, ears flat. He felt that power — it was alien, hostile, dangerous. His nostrils flared, drawing in the scent — ozone, cold metal, something ancient, nameless. He growled softly — not threateningly, rather warningly — and his silver stripes flared brighter.
"We're going to die," Sobra thought, and his amber eyes filled with longing. "We're all going to die. And no one will know what happened to us. No one will come. No one will save us."
The creature stood at the valley's edge, its white clothing, white skin, white face — all of it part of this white world, part of the Tree, part of something vast, ancient, nameless. It did not move. Did not speak. Only watched them with sightless eyes, and in that gaze, that silence, that oppressive presence was something that made their hearts beat faster, their thoughts tangle.
Four — the dwarf, the half-blood, the woman, the bear — stood staring at the white figure, and none dared to move. The tension that had been between them moments ago dissolved, giving way to something new. A common threat. A common enemy. A common death, looking down at them from a height of three meters.
The white valley fell still. Only the Tree's pulse, deep, measured, echoed in their chests, counting the seconds until everything would be decided.
And the white Herald waited. And its silence was more frightening than any scream.