Date: April 15, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
The morning was clear. The sun rose over the hills, its rays breaking through sparse clouds, falling on the clearing in golden stripes. Ulvia came to training earlier than usual — she needed to warm up, get her blood moving after yesterday. Her left arm was bare, the vine dozing, curled into a tight ball, but ready to wake at any moment.
The men gathered gradually. Mark came with his sons, Cort and his brothers — the wounded one, whose name was Erk, was holding up well, his shoulder almost healed. Gavil appeared last, and Ulvia noticed that today he wasn't as usual. His gaze was focused, thoughtful, and in his hand he held something wrapped in old, worn cloth.
"Let's begin!" Mark shouted, and the men paired off.
Ulvia worked with Gavil as usual. They practiced strikes, blocks, evasions. Gavil was focused, but something distracted him. Several times he missed her movements, and Ulvia, stopping, looked at him.
"You're not yourself today," she said. "What's wrong?"
Gavil was silent for a moment, then nodded toward the bundle he had left on a log at the edge of the clearing.
"My father left this," he said. "A long time ago. He said it was important. That someday I would understand what to do with it."
"And what is it?" Ulvia asked.
"I don't know," he shook his head. "I looked at it all through my childhood, turned it over in my hands. Never understood anything. But yesterday, after you left, I took it out. Looked at it, thought. And I thought... maybe it could help you."
He walked to the log, picked up the bundle, handed it to her. Ulvia unwrapped the cloth.
It was a column. Small, the size of her palm, carved from dark, almost black stone. It was old — scratches, chips, wear covered its surface. And it was broken. The upper part was missing, only the base and a couple of fragments remained, but even like that, Ulvia recognized it.
The same column. Broken, moss-grown, the one she had seen in the Temple's vision. The very one that pointed the way.
Her fingers tightened around the stone, and at that moment, the column responded.
The light was faint, barely noticeable — a golden glow that emerged from the depths of the stone, flowed along the cracks, enveloped her fingers. Ulvia felt warmth, familiar, long-forgotten. The same warmth that had guided her from column to column, from sign to sign. The same that had been silent all this time at the old bridge.
"What is it?" Gavil whispered. His eyes widened, staring at the glowing stone in her hands. The other men froze nearby.
"It's what I've been looking for," Ulvia answered. Her voice trembled — for the first time in a long while. "The bridge was only the beginning. And this... this will show the way."
She raised her eyes to Gavil. He stood before her, confused but happy. On his face there was no doubt — only joy at having been able to help.
"Gavil," Ulvia said, her voice firm but a lump in her throat. "You have no idea what you've given me."
She stepped forward and hugged him. Tightly, genuinely. Gavil froze for a moment, then hugged her back — carefully, as if afraid to break her.
"Thank you," Ulvia said. "Thank you."
"For what?" His voice was muffled, embarrassed. "I just... my father left it. I did nothing."
"You did," she pulled back, looked into his eyes. "You believed it might be important. You gave me something you had kept for years. That's more than you think."
She opened her palm. The column in her hand still glowed — faintly, steadily, like a tiny beacon.
"The bridge was the first goal," Ulvia said, now addressing everyone. "It brought me here. And this column... it will show where to go next."
Mark came closer, examining the stone. His usually stern face was calm.
"It's his," he said quietly. "Gavil's father. He was searching for something too. He went into the mountains, brought back stones, maps. Said he had to find something. Never told anyone what. And before he died, he gave this to Gavil. Said — keep it."
"Did he find it?" Ulvia asked.
"I don't know," Mark shook his head. "He didn't have time. Or didn't want to say."
He looked at the glowing stone in her hands, then at Gavil.
"Maybe he was looking for the same thing as you," he said to Ulvia. "Or maybe he just wanted it to help someone. Seems he got his wish."
Gavil stood silent, and in his eyes was something Ulvia couldn't decipher. Sadness? Pride? Gratitude?
"Will you leave now?" he asked.
Ulvia looked at the column. The light inside it pulsed steadily, calmly, as if waiting. She felt where it was leading — east, beyond the forests, beyond the hills. To where her next trial awaited.
"Yes," she said. "But not today. Today I'll stay."
Gavil nodded, and relief flickered in his eyes.
"Then let's go train," he said, and his usual cheerfulness returned to his voice. "While you're here, I have to learn everything you can show me."
Ulvia smiled. She put the column in her pocket — where Garth's token and Kell's wooden flower also lay. The stone was warm, and its warmth echoed in her chest, warming her from within.
"Let's go," she said. "Today we'll learn to evade strikes."
---
Training proceeded as usual. Ulvia worked with Gavil, showing him how to shift his body, how to use an opponent's momentum, how to strike short and precise. The men who had kept their distance before now came closer, asking to see this or that move. Cort asked her to teach him the strike she had used to break the wolf's spine. Ulvia showed him — short, sharp, without wasted motion.
---
By evening, everyone was exhausted. The men sat around the edges of the clearing, some drinking water, some just lying on the grass looking at the sky. Ulvia sat by a tree, her back against the rough trunk. The column in her pocket was warm, and the warmth reminded her that the journey continued.
Gavil sat down beside her. He held two mugs of water — one he offered to her.
"Will you leave tomorrow?" he asked.
Ulvia hesitated. She had thought about it all day. The column called her east, but something held her back. Maybe this place. Maybe these people.
"The day after tomorrow," she said. "Tomorrow I'll go to the bridge one more time. To say goodbye."
Gavil nodded, took a sip from his mug.
"I'll walk with you," he said. "If you want."
"I want," Ulvia replied.
They sat in silence, watching the sun set behind the hills. Somewhere in the field a bird called, in the village dogs barked. Life here flowed unhurriedly, in its own way, and in that unhurriedness was something soothing.
"Will you come back?" Gavil asked.
Ulvia looked at him. In his open, light eyes there was nothing but hope.
"I don't know," she answered honestly. "But if I do — you'll show me your forests."
He smiled, and in that smile was something boyish, almost childlike.
"I will," he said. "And I'll teach you to hunt. Real hunting, not wolves."
"Agreed," Ulvia extended her hand, and he shook it.
---
She returned to Mila's as it grew dark. The woman set the table, silently placed a bowl of stew before her. Ulvia ate, her thoughts far away. The column in her pocket was still warm, and the warmth warmed her from within.
"Did you find it?" Mila asked when the bowl was empty.
"Yes," Ulvia answered. "Gavil gave me what his father left. It's what I was looking for."
Mila nodded, clearing the dishes.
"So you're leaving?"
"The day after tomorrow."
The woman paused, then came over, placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You can always come back," she said. "You have a home here."
Ulvia looked up at her. In the warm lamplight, Mila's face was calm, kind.
"Thank you," she said. "I'll remember."
She lay down on the bench, covered herself with the sheepskin. Outside, darkness fell, and only the stars, appearing one by one, reminded her that the world was vast and the road long.