The Lord of the North waited for Olekyr. During this wait, he quelled his fury, but not his restlessness—he tore out the trees that restrained his earthen carapace by the roots, and for the first time in a century, revealed his monstrous grandeur, formed from countless twisted, interwoven bones. His figure towered above the crowns of ancient trees, and his bony hands dragged along the ground, leaving deep furrows. On their ends clung the blood and flesh of mad carrion-eaters and dead creatures that had foolishly approached. And in his chest was his former body—distorted and mutilated.
Olekyr approached slowly. At first, the Lord did not notice his approach, continuing his patrol, which even a fierce blizzard had not interrupted. But suddenly he stopped. Despite his hideousness, it was clear his instincts warned of danger—the bones knit together more tightly, forming new layers of protection. But it was not enough. Olekyr's strike was incredibly swift: an enormous ice spear pierced the Lord's chest, shattering the bone cage to splinters and tearing the smaller body from its depths.
But this was not enough to defeat him. Otherwise, he would have no right to call himself a Lord, even a lesser one. Without hesitating a second, he crushed the spear and flung it away before turning to Olekyr. Now he no longer considered him unworthy of attention.
"Well? Did you like my greeting?" said Olekyr, his voice full of challenge. "I was worried you wouldn't hear me."
"So you have come after all," replied the Lord of the North in a voice like the howling of a fierce wind on a mountain peak. He leaned down to get a better look at him.
"I kept wondering who dared challenge me, but now I recognize you. The one who stood up, who approached the mysteries. But something is wrong..." He paused, as if recalling something ancient. "You shouldn't be here. You were supposed to fight, rise up, and stand alongside us. Everyone is waiting for you. But you are here. You oppose the vision."
"Of course I oppose the vision," Olekyr replied firmly. "I have no intention of repeating my mistakes and surrounding myself with treacherous degenerates."
"Treacherous degenerates?" The Lord tilted his head in confusion.
"Don't pretend you don't know. You said yourself you watched my life. So you should know well what happened in the end."
For a long time, the Lord was silent, his gaze empty yet piercing. Finally, he spoke:
"The end?"
"Yes, at the foot of that cursed mountain, by the gate of the last city."
"Ah, the end..." he said, as if remembering something. "When the spell went out of control, we had to remove its core to save every living creature from eternal sleep. But you shouldn't remember that."
"How shouldn't I? I remember perfectly well. And the pain that accompanied me the first weeks after my return, I remember that too."
"Return? Pain?"
Olekyr's words further confused the Lord of the North. His bewilderment could almost seem endearing in a way, if he weren't so hideous and enormous.
"The Lady of the Sky promised everything would be fine," he muttered to himself. "No creature that hadn't achieved unity of spirit and body could recall what happened then. But you remember. You oppose the vision. It seems you will not become my brother."
"Of course not. First I'll kill you to take your title and knowledge, then all the others—along with that bitch."
"I see. A pity, I liked you. I was looking forward to your rebirth. If this is your choice, then I have no other option but to destroy you!"
He raised his enormous body, swinging a limb for a strike. The air shuddered, and the trees around leaned from his movement. Yet Olekyr stood completely unmoved, waiting. Magic spread around, forming a majestic spear that took shape precisely at the moment the strike was unstoppable, and easily pierced the Lord's limb, using his own force. And in the next instant, it transformed into chains that gripped it dead to the ground and slithered like snakes further along his body.
The Lord of the North did not hesitate and sharply tore his ensnared limb free with another. This allowed his opponent to vanish from sight in the snow kicked up by the blow. Olekyr had no intention of losing such a chance and rushed at the giant's feet; in a moment he had already formed a heavy two-handed sword and taken a stance. Then a breath. And concentrated force erupted from the sword's blade, shattering it into particles and at the same instant severing a leg from the body. But this was not enough. The bones shifted, sealing the cut and preventing the leg from separating, and the lord just turned and swung to crush the foolish existence.
Olekyr had no intention of letting that happen. Magic spread around again, preparing for a strike, but would a lord be a lord if he fell for the same trick twice? Before the spear could form, the magic was shattered.
"Is that all?"
The Lord spoke mockingly as his blow struck the ground, raising even more snow. Olekyr did not answer, simply created a double, subduing the scattered force around him, and sent it to attack. Meanwhile, he formed and attacked the Lord with magic so he would believe the decoy was real. And he himself vanished like a shadow into darkness and ran, forming stairs from force that led him upward. The Lord felt a shift in force behind his back but merely waved a hand lightly, nearly disrupting the plans.
Olekyr, who only through cold calculation and faith in his strength broke through the lord's sweeping attack, managed to climb onto his back. Although it was his first time fighting specifically with the Lord of the North, he had met others like him. And the fight was always drawn-out due to their incredible regeneration and the core they loved to move from place to place. However, now Olekyr wasn't sure he had enough precision and control to not accidentally destroy the core he needed, so he had to take a slightly roundabout path.
"That's it."
Olekyr spoke clearly, forming a simple dagger which he plunged into the Lord's body. Through it passed a powerful flow of force that pierced every bone, making them tremble. At that moment Olekyr stopped hiding, dispelled his double, which instantly disintegrated. From the Lord of the North's back he jumped down and moved a decent distance away, simply waiting.
The Lord turned to him with a jerky motion, but before he could take even a step toward him, the force literally tore his body apart from the inside, exposing and releasing the core. The fire in his eyes went out, as did the attempts to maintain his body and restore damaged elements. With a dry crackle it fell, breaking into pieces. The core pulsed, radiating fury. But Olekyr had already completed the necessary preparations. Force was released lethally, sealing the core; he intended to absorb it later, first cleansing it of emotions.
According to a signal from the void arrived his wife—majestic and unbreakable. Thousands of dolls, soulless warriors, began clearing the felled trees, separating the frozen bodies piled on top of each other, forming mountains of death. Their movements were precise and sequential. In this heavy labor they were gladly assisted by Yaroslava and Myroslava, who avoided Olekyr's gaze. With a heavy heart he watched them but said not a word, sinking into deep meditation to better control the faceless host.
Having recovered and examined the surrounding environment in detail, he for the first time truly realized the scale of the battle that had unfolded here. The bodies of various creatures numbered tens, if not hundreds of thousands, and these were only the more or less intact remains. How many had been eaten by carrion-eaters, torn apart and trampled by the Lord of the North and his minions—was impossible to count.
From time to time Olekyr saw shadows wandering in the forest, watching them. And he could have sent scouts to investigate them, but saw no point in it, wanting to return as soon as possible and take what he considered his own. But fate decided otherwise. One night, when the moon took its place high in the sky, a group of creatures emerged toward their camp. Myrolana, who was walking around first, noticed them and brought them to camp.
About ten figures stopped in a semicircle, maintaining a distance not to be crossed without permission. Crudely worked hides sat on them unusually—like an alien burden pressing on their skin. Silver hair—common to all—fell in strands matted with frost. Their eyes all had a cold glint, pupils slightly elongated, but only in five—in four men and the woman at the front—did they narrow into true vertical slits.
She stepped forward. Wolf ears covered in silver down barely twitched in the wind. Her arms and legs—up to elbows and knees—were covered in thicker fur, claws retracted but their presence felt in every movement. Her tail swayed behind her back—calmly but with barely noticeable tension.
"I am Sirka," her voice was low, with a barely audible growl at the end of words. "Daughter of the Chieftain of the Fierce Wolf Tribe. He sent me to greet the one who defeated the Lord of the North, invite you to our hearth, and deliver a gift."
She waved her hand—briefly, without unnecessary gestures. From the shadows emerged five girls. Slender limbs, softer hair, pupils almost human. They did not hesitate: dropped to their hands and knees, crawled toward Olekyr on all fours, then lay on their backs in the snow. The hides parted, exposing pale skin, stomachs, breasts—a demonstration not of seduction but submission. None raised their gaze. They simply lay there awaiting inspection like cattle at a market.
Olekyr bent down—without haste or demonstrative roughness. His hand reached out. His fingers barely touched the cold skin of the nearest girl—and at that moment force released from his palm, a thin invisible thread that spread over her body. The girl shuddered, her back arched into a bow, her breathing became ragged, uncontrolled. Excitement washed over her in waves she couldn't restrain. In a moment she fell powerless, breathing heavily, her eyes glassy.
He did not linger on her. Repeated the same with the next—and the next. Each reacted identically: a brief spasm, arching of the body, muffled moan, then complete exhausted submission. Five now lay motionless, only their chests rising in an uneven rhythm. When he finished, he nodded with satisfaction, stood up—slowly, having completed a minor procedure. And then his gaze returned to Sirka.
He did not hide it. Did not pretend to look accidentally. His eyes traveled over her—from her wolf ears now standing still as if feeling the weight of his attention, over the silver fur on her arms and legs, over her tail frozen in mid-air. Over the line of her neck, shoulders, thighs—slowly, without haste.
Sirka did not look away. Her vertical pupils narrowed a little more, and her tail made one short sharp movement.
"I accept the gift," Olekyr said quietly without taking his eyes off her. "And I will gladly visit your father. To see if I can obtain... something else."