Date: August 19, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Two weeks flew by like a single day. White zones replaced each other — deserts, hills, rocky ridges, rare groves of silver trees. The guardians grew stronger, the leaves in each zone more numerous. The group worked like a well-oiled machine: Datuk and Sobra broke the front, Rosh supported with vectors, Ulvia bound and finished. Four Pillars who, over two weeks, had grown accustomed to their new capabilities and learned to work together.
The number of silver leaves grew. After Ulvia absorbed the green one, they decided to save for the next. Sobra was to receive the second, then Rosh, then Datuk. In two weeks, they had gathered almost three hundred and fifty leaves. The mood in the group was high. Even the perpetually gloomy Rosh occasionally allowed himself short, barely noticeable smiles, and Datuk, who after the spring incident teased Sobra at every opportunity, now was more often silent and focused, working his axe.
But today they found something else.
---
The zone they entered in the morning was different from all the previous ones. The white sand here was not loose but compacted, as if trodden for thousands of years. The air grew heavier, and a strange, barely perceptible smell appeared — not ozone, not cold metal, something else, ancient. Even the light seemed different here — thicker, slower, as if time in this place flowed differently than outside.
"I don't like it here," Datuk said, adjusting his axe on his back. His voice sounded muffled, as if the walls of an invisible corridor were closing in. "Too… orderly."
"Orderly?" Rosh repeated, looking around. His fingers were already tracing vectors, but his movements were slower than usual — the air resisted.
"Well, everything is even. Sand like a ruler. Rocks like a string. As if someone built this place, not it grew by itself."
Sobra, walking ahead, suddenly stopped. His fur, silver-striped, bristled on his scruff, and a low, warning growl came from his throat. The bear sniffed, turned his nose from side to side, and stepped back.
"He smells something," Ulvia said, and her left hand, her living vine, burst from under her sleeve. "Something unfamiliar."
"Or someone," Rosh added, narrowing his mismatched eyes.
They moved forward more slowly, staying closer together. Rosh deployed vectors around the perimeter, but they hit an invisible barrier and died before completing their task. He frowned — this hadn't happened in a long time.
After half an hour, the rocks parted, and a valley opened before them.
---
It was beautiful and frightening at once. The white sand here shimmered with mother-of-pearl, and the rare stones scattered along the edges resembled fragments of a giant egg — smooth, polished, as if licked by water for centuries. In the center of the valley, on a small rise, stood a tower.
It was unlike any structure of humans, Sylvans, dwarves, or even bears. White, smooth, without a single seam, it rose so high that its peak disappeared into the white sky. Its walls did not reflect light — they themselves were light, but a cold, detached light. And in this radiance, in this flawless smoothness, there was something that made Ulvia uneasy. The tower did not invite. It waited.
And at its foot, on a flat stone, sat an old man.
His face, etched with deep wrinkles, resembled the bark of an ancient tree that had survived many droughts. His eyes were pale, almost transparent, and they reflected nothing — neither the tower, nor the valley, nor the approaching travelers. He was dressed in black — a long cloak, simple, without adornment, hiding his figure. Black here, in this white world, seemed unnatural, almost defiant. It absorbed light, giving nothing back.
The old man's hands, thin, bony, with long fingers, lay motionless on his knees, like a statue's.
The group stopped a few dozen paces away. Datuk exchanged a glance with Sobra. Rosh narrowed his mismatched eyes, scanning the old man with vectors, and after a few seconds shook his head.
"Nothing," he said quietly, so only his own could hear. "Absolutely nothing. No aura, no energy, no rank. He's not here. But I see him."
"How can that be — not here?" Datuk asked, lowering his voice.
"Just like that. Emptiness. As if he is not a person, but… a reflection. Or a ghost."
"In this world, anything is possible," Ulvia said, remembering the guardians in the forest, the shadows that were once people. "Maybe he's one of them."
"Or something else," Rosh added. "I sense no threat from him. But no trust either."
Datuk, unable to stand it, stepped forward. He didn't lower his axe, but didn't raise it either — held it ready at his hip.
"Hey, old man!" he called. "Who are you? And what is this tower?"
The old man slowly turned his head. The movement was smooth, almost fluid, but it held such ancient, unhurried power that Datuk tensed involuntarily. His pale eyes looked at the dwarf, but not at him — through him, as if seeing something hidden from ordinary sight.
"It matters not who I am," the old man said. His voice was quiet, but in this silence, in this empty, ringing valley, it sounded clear as a bell. "What matters is who you are. And whether you wish to overcome the obstacle the Tree has placed before you."
The group froze. Sobra flattened his ears and growled softly. Ulvia stepped forward, standing beside Datuk.
"We know about the Tree," she said. "And about the obstacle. We have already met the Herald. And we will return to him when we are ready."
"When you are ready," the old man repeated, and in his voice, there was a slight, barely perceptible mockery. "And what does 'ready' mean? When you have all absorbed a green leaf? When your Vessels are filled to the brim?"
"Precisely," Rosh replied, stepping forward. "We have already received one. Ulvia became a Pillar. Next, Sobra will receive one, then me, then Datuk. When we have all strengthened, we will meet the Herald again."
The old man shook his head. Slowly, heavily, like an old branch bending under the wind.
"You think the battle with the Herald will be easy when you are all stronger?" he asked. "You are mistaken. It will be hard. Very hard. Even if each of you absorbs a green leaf."
"We know," Datuk said, and in his voice rang steel. "We have already fought him. Nearly died. Next time, he will not win."
"Then you fought him when you were weaker," the old man shifted his gaze to Ulvia. "Now you have become stronger. But he has not stood still. The Herald is part of the Tree. He grows with you. And if you become stronger by one step, he becomes stronger by two. Such is the law of this place."
Silence fell in the valley. Sobra, who usually snorted at such moments, froze. Even the wind, which was never here, died down, as if listening.
"Also, know this," the old man replied. "The first green leaf that the girl absorbed opened her Vessel. Expanded her channels, filled them with power. The second, third, fourth — they will be useless. The body does not accept more than it has already received. Like a jug filled to the brim — no matter how much you pour on top, the water will spill over."
"And if we try to give her a second?" Rosh asked.
"Try," the old man shrugged. "Nothing will happen. The leaf will remain a leaf. Or crumble to dust. Or disappear. But it will not grant power."
"So each of us can only receive power from one green leaf?" Ulvia clarified. "I have already received mine. Sobra will receive his. Rosh his. Datuk his. And that's all?"
"That's all," the old man nodded. "More than one per person the Tree does not give. Such is its will."
"And if we still try?" Datuk asked stubbornly.
"Try," the old man repeated. "The Tree does not forbid it. It simply will not yield results. You will waste time and effort, but you will not become stronger."
The group exchanged glances. Datuk scratched the back of his head, frowning. Sobra growled softly — not agreeing, not disagreeing. Rosh looked thoughtfully at the old man, trying to understand if he spoke the truth.
"Why are you telling us this?" Ulvia asked. "Why warn us? If the Tree will not give us more than one leaf each, let us find out for ourselves when we try."
The old man rose. His black cloak stirred, though there was no wind. He was short, stooped, but in his stillness, in his silence, there was power — not the crude power of Pillars or Heralds, but a different, deep, ancient power. Power that needs no proof.
"Everything that has happened to you," he said, "has been a test. The Tree has been testing you since the first day you crossed its threshold. Your meeting with the Herald. Your victory over him — or rather, your escape. Your ability to obtain the first green leaf and understand how to obtain more. The zones where guardians grow stronger each time. Your training, your wounds, your victories and defeats — all of it the Tree foresaw."
"Even our meeting with you?" Rosh asked.
"Even that," the old man nodded. "I am not here by chance. And you are not here by chance. The Tree led you to this tower, to this place, to me."
"Why?" Datuk asked, and in his voice, for the first time, there was not irritation but genuine, childlike curiosity. "Why does the Tree do all this? What does it gain?"
The old man looked at him. His pale, pupil-less eyes momentarily grew deeper, darker, and in that depth, in that darkness, Datuk saw something that made him shudder. Not from fear — from realization. Before him was not just an ancient being. Before him was part of something immense, ancient, that did not fit in his mind.
"I do not know the Tree's purposes," the old man said. "No one does. It is older than any of us, and its thoughts are like roots reaching into depths that cannot be measured. But I know one thing: since you have found your way to it, since you have passed through so many trials and not broken — it considers you worthy."
He turned to the tower. White, smooth, it towered above them, and in its walls, if one looked closely, faint lines appeared — not cracks, not writings, something else that Ulvia could not understand. These lines moved. Very slowly, almost imperceptibly, but they moved — as if alive.
"I will show you one of the secret methods of energy control," the old man said. "Not the one taught as standard. Another. Deeper. It will not make you stronger in the usual sense. It will not raise your rank or expand your Vessel. But it will make you more efficient. Each of your steps will be quieter and faster."
"And for this, nothing is required?" Datuk asked suspiciously.
"Something is required," the old man looked at him. "You must enter the tower. And you must pass through it. Not by fighting — by understanding. This is not a battle with guardians. It is a test of your spirit. Your fears. Your doubts. Your pain."
"And if we fail?" Rosh asked.
"Then you will emerge as you entered," the old man replied. "But you will not receive the knowledge."
Silence fell over the valley again. Datuk looked at the tower, at the old man, at Sobra. Rosh scanned the space with vectors, trying to sense a trap, but his fingers stopped — he felt nothing. Only emptiness. Only expectation.
Ulvia clenched the vine in her left hand. She felt it pulse with her heart — evenly, calmly. Beside her stood Datuk, Rosh, Sobra. Those who had become almost family over these three months. Those who had passed through fire, water, and white wastelands with her.
"We agree," she said. "Lead."
The old man nodded. He approached the tower, raised his hand, and his thin, bony fingers touched the white wall. At that moment, the stone rippled, and an opening appeared in the wall — narrow, dark, leading inward. Cold emanated from it, but not the kind that numbs fingers — a different cold, deep, penetrating to the very core.
Ulvia stepped forward. Datuk and Sobra followed. Rosh brought up the rear.
They entered the tower, and darkness closed behind them.