Date: March 19, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
The Temple of the Forest Dwellers stood in the very heart of the city, where trees interlocked their crowns so tightly that sunlight penetrated through them in rare, golden rays. Ulviya had been here before — on the day of her arrival, when Chelaya brought her to Bagurai and Clii. But then she had been too frightened to truly see this place. Now she walked slowly, examining the carved columns, intertwined with living roots, and the high window-hollows where magical lamps flickered.
The city was still asleep, and the silence here was special — not the frightening kind found in empty places, but calm, deep, like water in a forest lake. Ulviya stopped before the entrance, feeling her spirit within, where her power dwelled, begin to pulse in rhythm with something she could not explain.
"Enter," a voice came from within. Quiet, but with a strength that needed no volume.
Inside was semi-dark. Light fell from somewhere above, from invisible windows, and lay on the floor in golden patches. The air smelled of wood, dried herbs, and something else — ancient, calm, that made her breathe deeper, slower.
She walked down a corridor, and her steps, muffled, almost inaudible, seemed thunderous in this silence. She did not know where to go, but her feet carried her forward, and somewhere deep in her soul, she knew she was expected.
The Abbot was waiting for her in the small hall — a round room whose floor was laid with dark, polished stone, and whose walls rose upward, lost in green semi-darkness. He sat in a chair carved from a single trunk, and his face, hidden by a deep hood, was calm, almost detached.
He was a badger. Ulviya did not immediately realize this — in the half-light, his figure seemed merely a clump of shadow. But when he raised his head, she saw. An old, gray muzzle with dark stripes that had once, perhaps, been distinct, but had now blurred, blending into the gray fur. His eyes were light, almost white, and in them, in these eyes, there was something Ulviya felt only near Chelaya. Time. Wisdom. A calmness that cannot be bought with strength or years.
"Sit down, Ulviya," he said, and his voice was as calm as everything in this place. "I have been waiting for you."
"You know why I called you?"
"No," she answered honestly.
He smiled. His smile was barely noticeable, but it softened his face, making it almost human.
"The Temple has chosen you, Ulviya," he said. "For Illumination."
She did not know what that meant. She looked at him, not understanding.
"Illumination..." she repeated.
"It is not a reward," he said, and his voice became quieter, as if he were speaking not to her, but to himself. "It is a trial. The Temple does not give strength. It shows the way."
"For what?" Ulviya asked. "Why did the Temple choose me?"
The Abbot was silent for a moment. In his eyes, light, almost white, she saw something like a smile. Or sadness.
"I do not know," he said. "No one knows. The Temple chooses for itself. And it will show the way."
He stood. His movements were slow, but there was no senile frailty in them. Rather, the caution of a creature accustomed to not wasting energy.
"Follow me," he said and walked towards the wall.
Ulviya rose, not letting go of Hope. The Abbot approached the wall, where among the intertwined roots a door was hidden, so inconspicuous she had not noticed it until he opened it. Behind the door was a room — small, without windows, without furniture. Only a stone floor, smooth, cold, and light that fell from somewhere above, soft, golden.
He stopped at the threshold and turned.
"Enter," he said. "The Temple is waiting."
She took a step forward, but he raised his hand, stopping her.
"Leave Hope here," he said. "You will enter alone."
Ulviya looked at the little tree. Hope, it seemed, understood. Its leaves trembled slightly, but it did not resist. Ulviya placed the pot at the threshold and straightened up.
"I am ready," she said.
The Abbot nodded and stepped aside, letting her pass. She entered, and the door closed behind her, cutting off the light, the sounds, the world itself.
The light falling from above was the only thing that kept her from feeling as if she were falling. She did not know how much time had passed. Perhaps a minute. Perhaps an hour. She simply stood, breathed, felt her spirit, her power, begin to respond to something that was here, in this emptiness, with her.
Then the light began to change.
It thickened, took form, turned into images. A bridge, old, stone, spanning a river that was not there. A column, broken, overgrown with moss, standing in the middle of a clearing. A tree with silver leaves, glowing from within like a small sun. They came and went, replacing each other, until they formed a path. Her path.
When she emerged, it was already dark outside the window-hollows. She did not remember how long she had spent in that room. It seemed to her that only a few moments had passed, but the fatigue, the heaviness in her body, spoke otherwise. The Abbot was waiting for her in his chair, and his face, illuminated by the flickering lamps, was calm.
"You saw?" he asked.
"Yes," Ulviya answered. "I saw the path."
He nodded, and in his eyes, something like a smile appeared.
"Then go. Rest. Tomorrow you will begin your path. And today... today you must say goodbye."
"Thank you," Ulviya said.
The Abbot shook his head.
"Do not thank me. The Temple chose you. I only conveyed its will."
She bowed — awkwardly, as humans do — but he seemed to understand. She left the Temple when the stars were already lighting up in the sky. The city lived its own life. Someone laughed, someone sang, steel rang somewhere. And she walked home, feeling exhaustion weigh on her shoulders. But it was a good exhaustion. The exhaustion of one who had found their path.
She returned to her room, placed Hope on the windowsill. The little tree seemed content, its leaves open to the stars. Ulviya sat on her bed, clenched her fist, feeling the glove creak familiarly.
"Tomorrow," she said quietly. "Tomorrow I leave."
Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow she would begin her path. And today, she simply slept. And that was enough.