Date: April 26, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
White light struck from the center of the valley with such force that Ulviya was blinded for a moment. It seemed to her that the world had exploded, that the white sand, the white sky, the white cliffs — all of it dissolved in blinding radiance, leaving behind nothing but emptiness and pain.
She squeezed her eyes shut, covering her face with her hand, and through her closed lids saw the light begin to dim. Slowly, reluctantly, it receded, returning outlines, colors, shadows to the world. And when she finally opened her eyes, she saw that their attack had failed.
The Herald stood in the same place, its swords plunged into the ground up to their hilts. The blades had sunk into the white sand so deeply that from beneath them, pulsing, silver light streamed. Around the creature, a few paces from it, a translucent dome shimmered. White, with iridescent facets, it resembled a giant crystal grown from the earth itself.
Datuk's axe, Ulviya's whip, and Rosh's daggers — all struck the dome simultaneously. A sound like a bell being struck rang out, and thin, winding cracks ran across the white surface. They grew, branched, and in a second, the dome resembled a shattered mirror, about to crumble.
But it did not crumble. It held. Only for a second — but that was enough.
The cracks stopped. The dome, battered, nearly destroyed, still stood. And inside it, behind that fragile barrier, the white Herald was raising its swords.
---
All three of their eyes widened. Datuk, standing closest, saw the blades, just plunged into the ground, rip free from the sand. Saw the creature reverse its grip — blades pointing down, arms crossed on its chest. Saw it spread its arms, and the swords, arcing, plunged into the ground again, but not for defense.
The dome burst. It shattered into thousands of silver shards that, before hitting the ground, turned to light and vanished. And at that moment, the Herald lunged forward.
It did not run — it glided, like a shadow over water. Its movements were fluid, almost lazy, but in that lazy grace was deadly danger. It chose its target. The first was Datuk.
Ulviya saw it. Saw the Herald's sword, raised to strike, arcing wide. Saw Datuk, still lowering his axe after the failed attack, freeze, realizing he would not be fast enough to defend. Saw the shimmering blade approach his body.
"No!" she shouted, but her voice drowned in the silence.
---
The strike was fast and terrible. The sword, arcing, entered Datuk's body at the left thigh and traveled upward to the right shoulder. Skin split, muscles tore, and blood, thick, dark, poured from the wound, staining the white sand crimson. Datuk did not scream — he simply fell to his knees, then onto his side, and his axe fell from his weakening grip.
The cloak of bearskin, woven from Sobra's power, flared for the last time and died. The hood with its burning eyes fell onto the sand and dissolved.
Sobra, the great bear who had been with Datuk in his soul, in his blood, in his heart, fell out of the Possession state. He collapsed onto the sand beside his friend, breathing heavily, and his amber eyes, clouded with pain, looked at the dwarf's prone body.
Datuk did not move.
---
Rosh saw everything. Saw the Herald's sword arc. Saw Datuk, his temporary ally, his enemy, his brother in arms, fall to the sand, drenched in blood. Saw the creature turn toward him, preparing its next strike.
Instincts worked faster than reason. His fingers, motionless a moment ago, began to move, tracing vectors. He did not think about what he was doing. He just did it. One line of force touched Datuk, and the dwarf, bleeding, flew aside, away from the deadly blade.
A second line shot toward the Herald. Rosh did not hope to wound — only to distract. Only to buy a second. His fingers traced the final pattern, and the remnants of his power — pathetic crumbs he had saved for a final push — went into this vector. A silver thread, thin, almost invisible, struck the creature's face.
The Herald didn't even glance at it. It simply took a step forward, and its sword, arcing short, cut the vector in half. The silver thread scattered, and Rosh knew — he was next.
He tried to retreat, but his legs wouldn't obey. Tried to create a new vector to displace himself, but his fingers trembled, unable to trace the needed pattern. The Herald was already close, its sword raised to strike, and Rosh knew — he wouldn't make it.
At the last moment, his fingers found the right position. A vector, weak, almost invisible, touched his body, and he lunged left. The Herald's sword passed dangerously close to his heart — Rosh felt the blade slide along his ribs, slicing skin but not touching vital organs.
He fell onto the sand, pressing his hand to his chest. Blood seeped through his fingers, but he was alive. For now, alive.
---
Sobra rose to his paws. His body, wounded, bleeding, trembled with strain, but he stood. He ran to Datuk, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him toward Rosh. The dwarf was heavy, almost impossible to lift, but the bear did not feel the weight. Only fear. Only the will to save.
He laid Datuk beside the half-blood and turned to the Herald. His fur, silver-striped, was soaked with blood — his own and others'. His body was covered in deep cuts, and from each, life seeped. But he stood. Stood between his friend and the enemy, and his eyes, amber, bright, burned with resolve.
He did not growl. Did not bare his teeth. Only watched, and in his gaze was a promise: "You shall not pass."
The Herald paused. Its faceless face turned toward the bear, and in its stillness, its silence, something like respect could be felt. Only for a moment. Then it stepped forward. Then another step.
Sobra knew he could not last long. But he did not retreat.
---
Ulviya watched the scene, her heart breaking with pain. Datuk was bleeding out. Rosh could barely breathe. Sobra stood between them and death, ready to die. And she... she was useless. Her strength was almost gone, her vine barely glowed, and she could not help.
But she could lead them away.
Sobra turned his head and looked at her. In his amber eyes, clouded with pain, she saw what she could not put into words. A plea. Hope. A command.
"Take them," his gaze said. "I'll hold him off. For a while. Go."
Ulviya nodded. She ran to Datuk and Rosh, and her vine, weak, exhausted, stretched out, wrapping around their bodies. She lifted them — with difficulty, nearly falling — and ran. Not back where she came from. In the opposite direction. Where the white valley stretched into infinity.
She ran, her feet sinking into the sand, her heart pounding in her throat, and she did not look back. Because she knew — if she looked back, she would see death.
---
Sobra bought them a few minutes. He charged the Herald, roaring, clawing, biting, and the creature, surprised by such fury, defended, retreated, but also attacked in return. The bear did not hope to win — only to delay. Only to give them time.
When Ulviya was out of sight, he retreated. His body was covered in new wounds, and blood streamed, but he did not fall. He raised his head and looked toward where his friends had disappeared. Then he closed his eyes and reached for his power.
Earlier, in that brief moment when Ulviya had run to the wounded, he had managed to touch her. With his paw — lightly, almost weightlessly — he established a connection. Minimal, barely perceptible, but enough to use his Spirit of Possession.
He opened his eyes and stepped forward — not with his body, but with his spirit. His consciousness, his essence, his power rushed toward Ulviya, pouring into her like water into an empty vessel. For a second — only a second — he became part of her. Then he withdrew.
That was enough.
---
Ulviya felt it — warmth spreading through her body, strength filling her muscles, clarity sharpening her mind. Her fatigue eased, and she ran faster. Not much — but enough.
Sobra caught up with her moments later. He ran up, offered his back, and Ulviya, without hesitation, loaded Datuk and Rosh onto it. She climbed on top herself, clinging to his thick fur.
The bear lunged forward, his heavy, bleeding body racing across the white sand.
They ran, the white valley flashing past, wind whistling in their ears, their hearts pounding in their throats. They tried to outrun death.
---
Ulviya looked back. The Herald stood where they had fought, its white figure, three meters tall, towering over the sand. It did not pursue them. Stood motionless, its swords lowered.
It could have caught them. Could have killed them. Easily. But it did not move. Stood and watched them go, and in its stillness, its silence, was something Ulviya could not understand.
A limit. Or an order. Or simply indifference. She did not know. But she was grateful.
Sobra ran, bleeding, but not stopping. Ulviya sat on his massive back, clutching the wounded, and watched the white figure grow smaller, more distant. Until it disappeared over the horizon.
They had survived. Today. This time.
But tomorrow... tomorrow everything could repeat. Or not. Perhaps the Tree, great and white, which had summoned them here, had decided they were not yet ready. That they needed more trials. More pain. More loss.
Ulviya did not know. She only felt her strength leave her, the world around her begin to blur, lose clarity. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to rest. Just for a minute. Just for a second.
Sobra ran. And ahead, on the horizon, a new zone was already visible. A new white emptiness. A new trial.
The Tree had not yet finished its game.