Date: May 1, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The morning began without a dawn. In this white world, there were no sunrises or sunsets — only a steady, diffused light that never changed. But Ulviya felt time differently. By how rested her body was, how the pain had left her muscles, how her thoughts had cleared — she knew: a night had passed. And a new day had begun.
She opened her eyes and saw that Rosh was already standing at the cave entrance. His mismatched eyes — green and brown — were fixed on the distance, where beyond the white cliffs stretched endless emptiness. He looked almost recovered — his movements were fluid, confident, and only a slight pallor on his face reminded that only days ago he had been at death's door.
Sobra lay beside Datuk, and the bear, feeling Ulviya wake, raised his head. His amber eyes were clear, alive, and in their depths, there was no longer the cloudy film that had covered them after the battle. His regeneration, innate and amplified by his Pillar rank, had done its work. His fur, matted and dirty just yesterday, now gleamed, and the silver stripes on it pulsed with a steady, calm light. He still limped on his left front paw, and the deep cuts on his sides hadn't fully healed, but Sobra was ready to go. More than ready.
Datuk sat, leaning against the wall, tying the bandages on his chest. His movements were slow, careful, and each sharp movement made him wince. He was in the worst condition — the deep wound that had split him from left thigh to right shoulder healed slowly, and even the Berserker Spirit, accelerating his regeneration, could not work miracles in a few days. But he stubbornly tightened the bandages, and his pale, hollow-eyed face was focused.
"Are you sure you can walk?" Ulviya asked, approaching him.
"I'm sure," Datuk replied, not even looking at her. "I'm not a cripple. And I'm not going to sit in this cave."
"We wouldn't go without you," she said. "We agreed — together."
"Together," Datuk repeated, and in his hoarse, strained voice, something like a smirk sounded. "So together. Even if I have to crawl like a turtle."
Sobra approached him, nudged his shoulder with his nose. The bear made no sound, but in his gaze was something that made Datuk smile faintly.
"Alright," the dwarf said, rising to his feet. "Let's move out."
---
They left the cave, and the white world greeted them with its familiar silence. Sand, cliffs, sky — all of it was as it had been four days ago. But something had changed. Or so it seemed.
Ulviya walked first, her left hand, her living vine, hidden under her sleeve but ready to burst free at any moment. She felt almost recovered — fatigue was gone, pain had subsided, and her strength seemed to have returned. Not all of it — but enough to walk and, if necessary, fight.
Rosh walked beside her, his fingers folded in their familiar pattern, ready to trace vectors at any moment. He was in the best shape among them — his wounds had healed almost completely, and only thin pink scars on his chest and arms reminded that he had been centimeters from death. He moved lightly, almost silently, and his mismatched eyes scanned the horizon for threats.
Sobra walked slightly behind, beside Datuk. The bear still limped, but his steps were confident, and his silver-striped fur shimmered in the white light. He was stronger than he looked — his innate regeneration, amplified by his Pillar rank, worked even in sleep, and every few hours, he became a little faster, a little stronger, a little healthier.
Datuk brought up the rear. He walked briskly — surprisingly briskly for a man who, four days ago, had nearly been cut in half. His axe was on his back, and his rough, calloused hands were clenched into fists. He didn't complain, didn't ask for a break — simply walked, and his eyes, green, bright, looked forward with the same stubbornness as always.
---
They moved in the direction opposite the Herald. Ulviya insisted on this, and even Datuk, who was eager for battle, didn't argue.
White zones replaced each other — deserts, hills, cliffs, sparse groves of white trees. In each, they found leaves. Silver, pulsing, they lay on pedestals, in hollows, on peaks, and Ulviya collected them.
Datuk collected just as many. He plucked leaves from pedestals without even looking and threw them into the sack on his back. Sobra helped — sniffing, finding, pointing with his paw. Rosh worked methodically — his fingers traced vectors, scanning the space, and he found leaves where others walked past.
By the end of the day, they had more than fifteen new leaves. Ulviya felt their light pulsing in her pocket.
---
They stopped for a rest at the foot of a low cliff. Sobra lay on the sand, resting his head on his paws, his amber eyes, tired but alive, watching Datuk. The dwarf sat beside him, leaning against the stone, sorting through the leaves in his sack.
"Seven," he said without looking up. "I have seven. How many do you have?"
"Eight," Rosh replied.
"Three," Ulviya said. "But that's not what matters. Something else does."
Datuk raised his head and looked at her. In his green, bright eyes, there was no trace of his former bravado. Only weariness and — strange, unfamiliar — calm.
"We're weak," he said, and in his hoarse, strained voice, there was no denial. Only statement of fact. "I'm weak. You're weak. Rosh is weak. Even Sobra is weak. The Herald proved it. It nearly killed us. And if we meet it again in the same state, it will finish us."
Silence hung in the air. Sobra raised his head and looked at Datuk. In his amber eyes was not a question — only agreement. He knew his friend was right. They were weak. All of them.
"You're right," Rosh said, and in his cold, even voice, there was no trace of his usual mockery. "We're weak. And what do you suggest? Sit in the cave and cry?"
"No," Datuk smirked, and in his smirk was something boyish, almost childlike. "I suggest we train. Every day. Every hour. We need to become stronger. Faster. More dangerous. The Herald is not a god. It can be wounded. We already proved that. So we can kill it."
"You want to fight it again?" Rosh asked, disbelief in his voice. "After what it did to us? You're insane."
"Maybe," Datuk shrugged. "But it's the only way out of here. I can feel it. The Tree won't let us go until we defeat it. Or until it kills us. There's no other way."
Sobra made a sound. Short, sharp, it sounded like agreement. The bear rose to his paws, approached Datuk, and nudged his shoulder with his nose.
"You think so too?" Datuk asked.
Sobra snorted and nodded. His amber eyes burned with the same fire as the dwarf's.
"Then we need to train," Ulviya said, and there was no doubt in her voice. "Collect leaves. Become stronger. And prepare to face the Herald."
"Prepare," Datuk repeated, and in his hoarse, strained voice, steel rang. "So that next time, it falls by our hand."
"We don't know when it will appear again," Rosh noted. "Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a month. We can't just sit and wait."
"Who said anything about sitting?" Datuk rose to his feet, and his pale, hollow-eyed face hardened. "We'll keep moving. Collect leaves. Train on the go. Each zone is a trial. Each guardian is a training session. We'll become stronger. And when the Herald comes... we'll be ready."
Rosh was silent. His mismatched eyes — green and brown — looked at the dwarf, at the bear, at Ulviya. In his gaze was not fear. Only cold, calm calculation.
"You're insane," he repeated. "But... you're right. There's no other choice. I'm with you."
He stepped forward, and his fingers, folded in their familiar pattern, twitched faintly.
"But not for friendship. For survival."
"That's enough," Datuk replied, and showed his customary grin.
Ulviya watched them, and her heart beat steadily, calmly. They were different. Strangers. Enemies just days ago. But now they were a team. Temporary, involuntary, but a team.
"Then we'll train," she said. "Every day. Every hour. Collect leaves. And prepare to face the Herald."
"Prepare," Datuk repeated, and in his hoarse, strained voice, steel rang. "So that next time, it doesn't get away."
Sobra growled — low, long — and in that growl was a promise. The bear was ready. Ready for pain. Ready for training. Ready for revenge.
Rosh nodded, and his fingers began to move, tracing invisible lines in the air.
"Then we start today," he said.