Date: March 26, 541 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
After the morning training with Clii, when her muscles hummed with the familiar, almost pleasant heaviness, Ulviya did not go to her room as usual. She headed towards Bagurai's house, but not to the greenhouse where they always worked — to that part of the house she had never been taken to before.
The owl was waiting for her at the entrance, and his yellow eyes behind thick glasses looked at her with the same calm, studying interest as always.
"Today," he said, "we will do what nature truly created you for. Come."
He turned and walked deeper into the house, and Ulviya followed. They passed familiar shelves of books, passed the greenhouse where glowing plants shimmered in the semi-darkness, passed the room where Keya and Irkit were bent over some samples. And further, to where Ulviya had never been.
The corridor narrowed, the ceiling lowered, and the walls here were not of books and scrolls but of bare, roughly hewn stone. The air grew cooler, heavier, and smelled of earth — deep, ancient earth, the kind that lay beneath the roots of the oldest trees. Bagurai stopped before a massive wooden door bound with metal and pushed it open.
"Welcome," he said, "to my workshop. The real one."
They entered, and Ulviya froze.
It was an underground chamber. Spacious, dry, with a high vaulted ceiling that rose into shadow. The walls here were of the same rough stone as the corridor, but on them, here and there, glowing veins appeared — roots, Ulviya realized. Roots of the trees growing above them, penetrating through the stone to fill this place with their power.
In the center of the hall, on the floor, was a circle of dark, polished stone. Inside the circle, there was nothing — only a smooth, cold surface. And all around, on the walls, on shelves, in niches — dozens, hundreds of pots with plants. But not the ones growing in the greenhouse. These were different. Ulviya felt it immediately. They were not just living — they were waiting.
"Here," Bagurai said, approaching the circle, "you will learn what cannot be done in the greenhouse. Here you will learn to speak with life not in the language of words, but in the language of power."
He turned to her, and his yellow eyes behind his glasses gleamed in the semi-darkness.
"Your rank has changed, Ulviya. You are no longer a Novice. Now you are a Warrior. And this is not just words. It means that your spirit, your connection to life, has become deeper. Wider. Stronger. But strength without understanding is a wild beast. It can protect, or it can destroy. My task is to help you tame it."
He pointed to the circle.
"Stand in the center."
Ulviya approached, stepped over the low, barely noticeable border, and stopped on the smooth, cold stone. Immediately, she felt — something was different here. Or not as it was elsewhere. The air inside the circle was different. Denser, perhaps. Or cleaner. She could not find the word.
"Close your eyes," Bagurai said. "Breathe. And feel."
She closed her eyes. At first, nothing happened. Only her breathing, only her steady, calm pulse. Then, somewhere deep, in the place where her spirit dwelt, she felt a response. Not the weak, barely perceptible one she was used to. Another. Loud, clear, like a voice she had always heard but never noticed.
"Do you feel it?" Bagurai asked.
"Yes," Ulviya breathed. "I... I feel them. All of them. The plants on the walls, the roots beneath the floor, even... even the stones. They... are they alive?"
"Everything is alive," Bagurai answered. "The question is how deeply you can feel it. Now — try to reach out to them. Not to one, to all of them at once. Don't force it. Just... be near."
Ulviya breathed, and her spirit, her small, weak power, began to grow. Not in a surge, not in an explosion, like yesterday when she conquered her fear. Slowly, calmly, as a tree grows, as a flower blooms, as a seed sprouts. She felt her consciousness expanding, touching every plant in this hall, every root, every stone. And they responded. Quietly, cautiously, but they responded.
"Good," Bagurai said. "Now — open your eyes."
She opened them. The world around her was the same, but different. She saw the light emanating from the plants, thin, barely perceptible, and the darkness swirling around the stones, and the threads stretching from all of this towards her, towards her spirit, towards her heart.
"Is this... is this everything?" she asked.
"This is the beginning," Bagurai walked to the wall, took one of the pots, and placed it before her, on the edge of the circle. "Now — try to do what you could not before. Create a form."
She looked at the plant. It was the same vine she knew, the one used for making baskets and ropes. Strong, flexible, alive. She reached out her hand, the one without the glove, and touched the stem.
"Create a hand," Bagurai said. "The one you lost."
Ulviya froze. She had not thought he knew. Or perhaps she had thought, but did not want to remember. Now he had said it aloud, and inside her, where her spirit dwelled, something wavered.
"I... I don't know how," she said.
"You do," Bagurai answered calmly. "You have always known. You were just afraid."
Ulviya looked at her hands. At one, living, and at the stump that never stopped reminding her of what had happened. And suddenly she understood. She was not afraid of losing her hand. She was afraid of not being able to replace it. Of not being whole.
She closed her eyes. Reached out to the plant. And at the moment her spirit touched it, she felt it respond. Not resisting, not afraid. Simply... waiting. She imagined a hand. Not the one she had lost, but a new one. Made of vine, flexible, alive, that would grow with her. And the vine began to stretch.
At first slowly, hesitantly. Then faster, more confidently. It coiled around the stump, rose to the shoulder, came down, and where the hand should have been, it began to form. Fingers, thin, flexible, from green, still soft shoots. A palm, wide, strong. A wrist that turned as she willed.
Ulviya opened her eyes. Where the stump had been, there was now a hand. Not the one she had before, but a hand. Made of vine, green, alive. She raised it, looked at it in the light. The fingers moved, clenched, unclenched. She felt them. Not as she felt the real one, but she felt them.
"This... this is me," she whispered.
"This is you," Bagurai confirmed. "Your hand. Your strength. Your life."
Ulviya looked at her new hand, and tears she had not cried for many years ran down her cheeks. She did not wipe them away. She just stood and watched as the fingers of green vine clenched into a fist, as they opened, as the light falling upon them made them seem almost real.
"Now," Bagurai said, and in his voice, usually so calm, something like a smile sounded, "you are ready to learn further."
She nodded, wiped her tears, and raised her head. Her eyes, red from crying, burned.
"I am ready."
Bagurai nodded. He walked to the wall, took another pot, and placed it beside the first.
"Try to make this hand not just a hand. A weapon. Protection. Something that will help you not only live but also win."
Ulviya looked at her new hand. It was beautiful, but fragile. She knew that in battle, such a hand would not withstand a single blow. She needed to make it stronger. Sharper. Harder.
Closing her eyes, she reached out to the plant. And the vine responded. It became thicker, denser. From its green surface, thorns began to emerge — small, sharp as needles. The fingers sharpened, turning into short, deadly claws. The vine wrapping around her forearm became hard as wood and smooth as bone.
The hand was different. Dangerous. But it was hers.
"Good," Bagurai said. "Very good. But this is only the beginning. Your hand can be not only a weapon. It can be a shield. A key. A bridge. It all depends on what you need."
He pointed to the pots lining the walls.
"Here — dozens of plants. Poisonous and healing, soft and hard, flexible and brittle. Each of them can become part of you. If you learn to listen to them. If you learn to understand them."
Ulviya looked at these pots, at the hundreds of plants waiting for their time. And inside her, where her spirit dwelt, a fire kindled. Not the one that burns. The one that lights the way.
"I will learn," she said. "I will learn everything."
Bagurai nodded, and in his eyes, yellow, wise, something like pride appeared.
"Then let's begin."
He walked to the wall, took the first pot, and placed it before her. Ulviya clenched her new hand into a fist, feeling the thorns prick her own skin, and smiled.