Date: March 20, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
Ulviya woke up before dawn. Her sleep, deep and calm, left behind only silence — the kind that comes before an important day, when all words have been said and thoughts have settled like stones at the bottom of a river. She lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, and felt that inside her, where her spirit dwelled, all was calm. Not empty — calm.
She washed, pulled on a tunic, put on the glove. Her things had been packed yesterday: Bagurai's notebook, the seed of a rare plant, a map given by the Abbot, and a small pendant — a palm from which a shoot grows. She put it around her neck, and it lay on her chest, warm, almost alive. The city was still asleep. In the gray, pre-dawn light, the tree-houses seemed ghostly, their branches reaching towards the sky like hands just about to wake. Ulviya walked slowly, and each step echoed in her chest with a dull, steady beat. She was in no hurry. She had time to say goodbye to everyone.
First, she went to Clii.
The lioness was already on the lower training ground, though the sun had not yet risen. She stood in the center, her tail, long and serpentine, still. Disak and the others were not there — only her and the morning cold, slowly retreating before the first rays.
"You're early," Clii said, without turning.
"I hardly slept," Ulviya answered. "I was thinking."
"About what?"
"About how much you all have given me."
Clii turned. In her yellow eyes, there was no surprise. She looked at Ulviya for a long time, studying her, and in that gaze was something Ulviya had not seen before. Not approval — no, she had seen approval often. Something else. Respect, perhaps. Or gratitude.
"You have changed," Clii said. "Not only in strength. In something more important than strength. You have learned not to be afraid."
"I am afraid," Ulviya objected. "I am always afraid."
"Being afraid is not shameful," Clii came closer, and her hand, heavy, warm, rested on Ulviya's shoulder. "It is shameful to let fear stop you. You do not let it. That is courage."
She removed her hand, and something like a smile flickered across her face.
"Remember what I taught you. Not the swing — the step. Not strength — precision. Not victory — the ability to rise after falling. Go. And do not look back."
"I will not look back," Ulviya said.
She wanted to say something else — thank you, perhaps, or that she would miss her — but the words caught in her throat. Clii, it seemed, understood. She nodded, short, sharp, and turned away, indicating the farewell was over.
Ulviya walked toward the exit of the training ground. Already on the path, she looked back — Clii still stood in the center, and her tail, long, serpentine, slowly coiled, as if bidding farewell. Ulviya smiled and walked on.
Bagurai was waiting for her in the greenhouse. He sat at the long table, and before him stood two pots Ulviya already knew — false root and the 'memory of roots' — but she did not say she recognized them. Bagurai, probably, knew. He always knew.
"Sit down," he said, and his yellow eyes behind thick glasses looked at her with the same calm wisdom as always.
She sat on the high stool, placing Hope on the table next to the other pots.
"You are leaving," he said. It was not a question.
"Yes. Today."
"Are you ready?"
Ulviya was silent. She had thought about this all night, and the answer, it seemed, lay on the surface, but she wanted to be sure.
"I do not know what awaits me out there," she said finally. "I do not know if I can pass this trial. But I know I cannot stay. Not after what I saw in the Temple. Not after what you have given me."
Bagurai nodded, and his fingers, long, sensitive, rested on the pot with the 'memory of roots.'
"This plant," he said, "I grew it especially for you. It is called 'memory of roots.' It only grows where one who can feel life has passed. Your Hope is your future. This is your past. Plant it where you find your new home, and you will always remember where you came from."
Ulviya took the pot. The plant was light, almost weightless, and smelled of earth and rain.
"You can't carry pots around forever," Bagurai said as Ulviya examined her new friend.
Ulviya froze, Hope in her hands.
"I manage," she answered, though she knew it was not entirely true. The three pots she carried were already heavy, and the journey ahead was long.
"You manage?" Bagurai chuckled and shook his head. "But will you manage when there are ten? Twenty? When every new plant you save demands space, light, and your attention?"
He stood and walked to the far wall of the workshop. Ulviya did not know what was stored there — she had never been in that part of the underground. Bagurai opened a secret drawer carved into the stone itself and took out something wrapped in soft suede.
"This was mine when I was younger," he said, unwrapping the cloth. "When I was just beginning my path. Now I need it less than you."
On his palm lay a bracelet. Thin, silvery, it was woven from many intertwining threads, like roots or vines. At its top, in a small setting, rested a tiny glass sphere — no more than a centimeter in diameter. Inside it, barely visible, tiny lights flickered, and Ulviya felt her spirit respond to that flickering.
"An artifact," Bagurai continued. "Inside this sphere is its own ecosystem. Light, water, air — everything needed for life. And space," he smiled, "for your plants."
Ulviya reached out, and Bagurai carefully placed the bracelet on her palm. The metal was warm, almost alive, and when her fingers closed around it, the sphere inside flickered faintly.
"How does it work?" she asked, unable to look away.
"By force of will," Bagurai answered. "Imagine the plant inside. It will become tiny, no bigger than a grain of sand, and take its place. You can place almost anything with roots. Just don't try to put anything larger than nine cubic meters in there. It won't fit. Besides, why would you need that much?"
Ulviya clenched the bracelet in her fist. Hope stood on the table, its leaves, it seemed, also looking at this gift.
"I... I don't know what to say," she breathed.
"Say 'thank you' and stop carrying pots," Bagurai grumbled, but there was no severity in his voice. "This is not a reward, Ulviya. It is a tool. Your strength is in the life you carry. Do not waste it on burdens you can leave behind."
Ulviya nodded. She approached the table, took Hope. Closed her eyes. Imagined the little tree becoming smaller and smaller, its roots curling, its leaves folding, fitting in her palm, and then in the sphere, where there was everything it needed.
She opened her eyes. Hope was no longer on the table.
Inside the glass sphere, tiny but still green, stood her little tree. Her Hope.
Ulviya looked at the false root, at the 'memory of roots,' and one by one sent them after. All three plants were now there, in their own little world, and she felt them — alive, calm, waiting.
"Thank you," she said, and in that word, there was everything. Gratitude for the year, for the knowledge, for this bracelet that freed her hands for the journey.
He stood, approached her, and embraced her — awkwardly, bird-like, with wings that smelled of books and dried herbs. Ulviya felt her eyes sting, but she did not let the tears fall.
"Go," Bagurai turned away, pretending to be busy with his scrolls. "And don't linger. You have a long road ahead."
She left the greenhouse, and Keya, sitting in her usual spot, chirped after her. Irkit looked up from his microscope and nodded. She nodded back and walked on.
Disak was waiting for her by the fountain. He sat on the edge, his paws in the water, and his huge figure in the morning light seemed part of this city, as ancient and calm. Beside him stood Ilnos, Viniya, Urdash, and Corvin. They did not speak, but in their eyes was something more important than words.
"We wanted to see you off," Disak said as Ulviya approached. "Thought you might want to say goodbye to everyone at once."
Ulviya looked at them. At Disak, who taught her not to fear the weight of a blow. At Ilnos, who showed her that speed could be stronger than strength. At Viniya, whose daggers moved faster than her own thoughts. At Urdash, who taught her that even the strongest blow could be precise. At Corvin, who was quieter than a shadow, but always there when needed.
"I will miss you," she said, and it was true.
"We will too," Disak answered. "But you are going where you must. That is right."
He handed her a bundle. Ulviya unwrapped it — inside was a piece of jerky, an arrowhead, a small dagger, and a heavy hammer.
"From all of us," Disak said. "As a memory."
Ulviya smiled, feeling the tears she had held back all morning begin to well up.
"I will keep it," she said.
"I know," Disak nodded.
She embraced each of them. Ilnos — tightly, brotherly. Viniya — briefly, but warmly. Urdash — so that her bones cracked. Corvin simply stood nearby, and his presence was more important than any words. Disak embraced her last, and in his embrace, heavy, bear-like, there was something paternal, reliable, that Ulviya felt only here, in this city.
"Go," he said, releasing her. "Don't keep us waiting."
She nodded and walked toward the gates. Alone. With Hope in her hands and two new pots she held carefully, so as not to drop them.
At the gates, Corvin was waiting for her. He appeared from the shadows, as always, unexpected and quiet.
"I'll see you off," he said.
"To the forest?" Ulviya asked.
"Further," he answered and smiled — for the first time since she had known him.
They left the gates. The city remained behind, and the forest received them. Corvin walked beside her, his steps as silent as always. They did not speak. They did not need to.
At the edge of the forest, where it began to thin, Corvin stopped.
"I will not go further," he said. "Your path is yours alone."
Ulviya nodded. She wanted to say something, but the words again stuck in her throat.
"Thank you," she said finally. "For everything."
Corvin shook his head.
"No need. Go. And do not look back."
He turned and disappeared into the forest as silently as he had appeared. Ulviya was left alone. She stood at the edge, looking at the road that stretched ahead, between the trees, towards where trials, ruins, and meetings awaited her. She did not know what was there. But she knew she must go.
The sun rose higher, and its rays, piercing through the leaves, fell upon the earth in golden patches. Ulviya walked, and each step took her further from the city that had become her home, closer to what awaited her ahead. She did not know what it would be. She did not know how long the journey would last. But she knew: she was ready.