Date: February 21, 543 After the Fall of Zandra the Dishonorable
The white world froze. The wind that had never existed here died, and the sand underfoot stopped crunching. Even the light, steady and diffuse, grew denser, heavier—as if space itself was holding its breath, waiting for what was to come.
The girl in white stood at the edge of the waste, her figure silvery and spectral, almost blending into the horizon. But her eyes—white, with no pupils, no irises—looked straight at Datuk. And in their depths, in that endless whiteness, there was neither threat nor mockery. Only serenity. And, perhaps, curiosity.
"Who are you?" Datuk repeated, his voice low and hoarse, like stone grinding against stone.
The girl took a step forward. Her feet didn't touch the ground—she hovered above the sand, leaving behind a faint silvery glow.
"Me?" she asked, and in her melodious, quiet voice, a soft smile seemed to linger. "I am what you seek. I am what you call the Tree. Not a symbol. Not a guardian. The Tree itself."
The silence that followed her words was so thick it felt like it could be cut with a knife.
Datuk froze. The hand gripping his axe whitened at the knuckles. His eyes, green and bright, widened, then narrowed into slits where a dangerous, predatory fire ignited.
"You…" he whispered, and his voice held no fear. Only fury. That same icy, calm fury that rose from the depths of his being when life lost its meaning and only purpose remained.
And then power erupted from him.
It wasn't an explosion. It wasn't a flash. It was a wave—dense, heavy, bursting from his body like lava from a volcano's crater. The air around Datuk trembled, hummed, and the black debris scattered on the sand jumped and rolled away. His Spirit of the Battle Echo, newly awakened and not yet sated with bloodlust, surged through his veins, demanding release.
"You killed him," Datuk said, his voice level, devoid of all emotion. "Your guardians killed my friend. Your Tree took him."
He took a step forward. The sand beneath his feet sank, and fine cracks spiderwebbed outward. Another step. And another. The force radiating from him grew with every movement, and even Ulvia, standing aside, felt her Vessel constrict under the pressure.
"If you are the Tree," Datuk continued, "then you'll answer for him. I will kill you. Even if it's the last fight of my life. Even if I crumble to dust afterward. I will kill you."
He raised his axe. The blade, covered in white dust, flared again with crimson-black flame. The veins on his arms bulged, and the green blood—the blood that had appeared after the Breaking of the Chains—flowed faster, surging energy through his body.
He was ready. He was ready to die.
The girl didn't retreat. She stood her ground, her white eyes regarding him with that same calm, serene expression.
"Now, now," she said, and her voice held neither fear nor anger. Only a soft, almost motherly reproach. "There's no need for extremes, dwarf. You defeated my guardians. You proved your will is stronger than the stone these walls are made of. Do you really want to throw away everything you've achieved in a senseless flash of rage?"
"Senseless?" Datuk repeated, and his voice wavered for the first time in this conversation. "You call avenging a friend senseless?"
"I call a fight you are guaranteed to lose senseless," the girl replied calmly. "You are strong, dwarf. Very strong. But against me…" she shook her head, "you cannot prevail. Not now. And not in this form."
"But I'm not offering you a fight," the girl continued. "I'm offering you a choice."
"A choice?" Datuk asked, not lowering his axe.
"Yes. You defeated two guardians—Heralds, as you call them. That makes you special. There have been only a handful like you in all of history. And those who survived were granted the right to…"
She paused, and her white eyes deepened, darkened for a moment.
"…a wish," she finished. "One wish. Which I can grant. Within the limits of my power, of course."
Datuk lowered his axe. He didn't relax—just lowered it. His eyes, green and bright, bored into the girl's face.
"A wish," he repeated. "You're offering me a wish?"
"Don't waste time, dwarf," the girl said. "Your friend is dying with every heartbeat. I can save him. I can restore his paws, replenish his blood, heal his wounds. He will live. But that will be your wish. And you will ask for nothing else."
She paused, letting the words sink in.
"Or you can ask for power. The power to help you build your 'Better World.' The one you dreamed of back in Krag-Mhor. Power that will crush any enemy. Power that will make you invincible."
Silence settled over the waste once more.
Ulvia, standing aside, felt her heart beat faster. She looked at Datuk, and in her deep brown eyes, concern flickered. She knew that the power the girl spoke of could be the key to everything he wanted.
Rosh, leaning against a stone, watched as well. His disfigured, bandaged face showed nothing—but his mismatched eyes, one green and one brown, burned with tense anticipation.
Datuk was silent.
He looked at the girl. Then he shifted his gaze to Sobra. The bear lay motionless on the sand, his silver-striped fur gone grey. He looked lifeless. Dead. Datuk knew—a little longer, and not even a miracle could save him.
Then he looked at his own hands. At the axe covered in white dust. At the green blood pulsing in his veins. At the power flowing within him, promising greatness and glory.
"If I ask for power," he said slowly, "I can build my world. I can protect those dear to me. I can make sure no one else suffers."
"Yes," the girl replied. "That is within my power."
"And if I ask to save Sobra," Datuk continued, "I lose that chance. I remain as I am. Strong, but not all-powerful. And I will never know if I could have changed the world if I'd chosen differently."
The girl didn't answer. She waited.
Datuk closed his eyes. In the darkness, images floated up. Krag-Mhor, his home. His mother, grumbling by the stove. His father, silently nodding from the doorway. Sobra, nuzzling his shoulder. Sobra, laughing at his jokes. Sobra, who had walked with him through everything—forests, mountains, the white wastes, the Dead Crater and the labyrinth. Sobra, who never spoke but always understood. Sobra, who was more than a friend. A brother.
He opened his eyes.
"If I ask for power," he said, and his voice was as firm as the steel of his axe, "I will betray him. Betray the one who believed in me. Betray the one who walked beside me. Betray myself. Because if I sink so low as to willingly abandon a friend for my own gain—I won't be able to build my 'Better World.' I won't even be able to respect myself. And without that… without that, no power has any meaning."
Ulvia exhaled—quietly, almost silently. In her tired brown eyes, respect glimmered. Rosh slowly nodded, and his mismatched gaze reflected the same.
They had heard stories about dwarves. About those who kept their word, even when it cost them their lives. About those who didn't betray, even under torture. About those whose iron word was stronger than any steel. They had thought those were legends. Exaggerations. Fairy tales for children.
Now they knew—it was true. And more than that.
"Heal him," Datuk said, looking straight into the girl's white eyes. "That will be my wish. Heal Sobra. Bring him back. He must live."
The girl looked at him for a long moment. In her eyes, in that bottomless whiteness, something resembling a smile flickered.
"Are you sure, dwarf?" she asked. "Last chance. The power to change the world, or the life of a single bear."
"Not 'a single bear,'" Datuk answered. "My brother. And I'm sure."
The girl nodded.
"Very well," she said. "Your wish will be granted."
She raised her hand, and her long, slender fingers began to glow with silver light. The light reached out to Sobra, enveloping his body, seeping through fur, skin, muscle. The bear didn't stir. Only his silvery stripes, dead and dim, suddenly flickered back to life—faint, barely noticeable, but they were shimmering.
Datuk watched, holding his breath. His hands trembled.
"But there is a condition," the girl said without turning around. "You must not consciously seek revenge against the Tree in the future. You must not raise a hand against my guardians, nor seek a way to destroy me. Perhaps it's foolish—seeing a threat in a single dwarf. But Rafael proved by his example that stubborn members of your race should not be underestimated."
Datuk gritted his teeth.
"If Sobra lives," he said, and every word came with difficulty, "I will not seek revenge. I swear it."
"Good," the girl replied.
The light around Sobra flared brighter. A quiet, barely audible chime sounded—like a bell, like dripping water, like something ancient and pure that had no name. And then the light went out.
Sobra drew a breath.
Deep, steady, like someone waking from a long sleep. His flanks rose and fell. The fur on his scruff, grey and dead just seconds before, turned silvery again, and the familiar living stripes raced across it.
He was alive.
Datuk collapsed to his knees. Not from weakness—from relief. He reached out and touched Sobra's muzzle. Warm. Alive.
"Sobra," he whispered, and his voice broke.
The girl in white stood at the edge of the waste, and her figure began to slowly melt, dissolving into the air.
"Go," she said. "The way out of the Tree is open. You have passed the trial. All of you."
She vanished.
The white world became simply the white world again. Sand, rocks, sky—nothing more.
Datuk remained on his knees beside Sobra.