Date: April 18, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
The column had been guiding her for two days. The light inside the stone pulsed steadily, calmly, and Ulvia had learned to feel its rhythm — unhurried, confident, like the heartbeat of an ancient forest. She walked, and the forest around her changed. The trees grew taller, the trunks thicker, their roots intertwining to form natural arches and steps that could be climbed like stairs. The moss here was thicker, darker, and its scent was stronger — damp, ancient, like places humans visit once in a hundred years.
Somewhere in the depths, beyond the intertwined branches, the sky was no longer visible. Only rare rays of sunlight pierced the dense foliage, falling to the ground in golden patches, and in those patches, when the column's light fell on them, sparks flickered — tiny, barely noticeable, as if the very air here was saturated with something she couldn't name.
She didn't know where she was going. The column knew.
By midday, the forest changed. The silence deepened, and even the birds that had called in the branches that morning fell silent. Ulvia slowed her pace, listening. Something had changed. The air grew denser, heavier, and a new scent appeared — dampness, old stone, something ancient, long forgotten. She stopped, crouched, touched the ground. It was cold, hard, and beneath her fingers there was no life — only stone, descending deep, beneath the moss and decayed leaves.
The column in her hand flared brighter. The light pulsed faster, more insistently, and Ulvia, obeying the impulse, left the barely visible path and plunged into the thicket. Branches whipped her face, caught on her clothes, on Mila's bundle, trying to tear it from her hands. But she walked on, pushing them aside with her left hand. The vine woke, burst from under her sleeve, and its flexible shoots helped clear the way, pushing aside thorny bushes, holding branches back so they wouldn't hit her face. The thorns on her fingers, extended just in case, bit into the bark, leaving thin, barely visible scratches.
She came to the cliff unexpectedly. Grey, moss-covered, it rose among the trees, and at its base, hidden by an overhanging rock and roots, gaped an opening. A cave. Small, barely noticeable, and if not for the column's light, Ulvia would have walked past. Roots, thick as a grown man's arms, wrapped around the entrance, weaving into a strange pattern, and on some of them hung tufts of dry grass — perhaps brought by the wind, perhaps left by someone who had passed this way long ago.
She stopped at the entrance, listening. Silence. Only the wind in the treetops, and somewhere water dripping — dull, measured, like the counting of time. Drops fell every few seconds, and Ulvia, without knowing why, began to count. One, two, three. Drop. One, two, three. Drop. The column in her hand pulsed brightly, and she understood — she had to enter.
The vine on her left arm tightened, becoming denser, harder. Ulvia stepped forward and slipped into the darkness.
---
Inside the cave, it was dark and damp. The air was stale, heavy, and it smelled not only of stone and moisture but of something else — something she had no name for. Perhaps what remains after a long presence of a person. Or of something that was once a person. The column's light picked out uneven walls covered with slippery moisture, hanging roots that had grown through the stone, small stones on the floor that crunched underfoot. The walls were uneven, as if someone had once tried to widen the space but had abandoned it unfinished.
Ulvia walked slowly, feeling the vine on her left arm twitch uneasily, as if warning of danger. But she felt no threat. Only heaviness — that ancient heaviness found in places where time had stopped. It seemed that here, in this cave, the years did not pass but stood still, accumulating like water in a cup until they began to press on the walls.
The cave was shallow. After a few steps, she reached a wall, and the column's light fell on a small recess in the stone. There, in a niche clearly not made by nature, something lay. Ulvia approached, and the light revealed an old, worn object. Leather, cracked, peeling in places, and metal corners covered with greenish patina.
She reached out and took it.
It was a diary. Old, worn, bound in leather that had dried out with age and seemed ready to crumble at a touch. Ulvia held it carefully, afraid of damaging it. She opened it, and the pages, yellowed, brittle, rustled under her fingers. The ink had faded, blurred in places, but the words could still be read — if one took time, if one let one's eyes adjust to the dim light.
She read, standing in the cave's half-darkness, and the voice that sounded in her head was that of a stranger, long gone. But in that voice, in that heaviness like the stones around, was the weight of a man who knew he would not return.
*"We have been walking for many days. The forest grows thicker, and the paths marked on the map are disappearing. The elder says we are close. I feel it — the ground beneath my feet is almost alive, and every step is hard, as if the forest is testing whether we are worthy to go further. My boots are falling apart, and I've wrapped them in bark, but it still wears through. If we don't find this place in the next few days, I don't know what I'll do."*
*"Today we found a stream. The water is cold, clear, but we cannot drink it — the elder says it is poisoned by time. We move on. The map we made is no help. The forest changes every day. This morning I marked a tall pine with a split top, but by evening it was gone. Or it moved. Or I'm going mad. The elder says this is how it should be."*
*"One of ours disappeared. Went on reconnaissance and didn't return. The elder said not to search. This place takes those who are not ready. I don't know what that means. I don't know if I am ready. But I go on because I cannot go back. I don't know the way back."*
*"Today I saw a light. Far away, among the trees, a golden glow. It was beautiful. So beautiful that my eyes stung. The elder said — we have found it. We have found what we were looking for. I wept. I don't know why. Perhaps because it's ending. Or because something new is beginning."*
Ulvia turned the page. The handwriting became uneven, hurried, as if the writer was rushing, afraid of not having time. The letters jumped, the ink blurred, and some words she could only guess from context.
*"We found it. But it did not want to be found. The elder approached first. He reached out his hand, and the tree... the tree answered. The light grew brighter, and then — darkness. When we came to, the elder was gone. Only the light, now burning inside us. We cannot leave. We do not want to leave. We have become part of this place. And we will wait for those who come after. If you are reading this, know: do not be afraid. We mean no harm. We simply..."*
The following pages were blank. Only at the very end, on the last leaf, someone had written in a trembling hand: *"Forgive us."*
Ulvia closed the diary, and at that moment, she felt it. A gaze. Heavy, ancient, it watched her from the darkness of the cave, from behind the stones, from the very depths. Not one — several. They watched from everywhere, and the air grew dense, heavy, as before a storm.
The vine on her left arm shot up, transforming into a long, curved blade with thorns along the edge. Ulvia spun around, ready for battle, and the column's light swept across the walls, revealing cracks, roots, wet stones.
No one.
Only the column's light trembling on the walls, and shadows that moved as if alive. They were not ordinary shadows. They moved while she stood still. They gathered in corners, stretched, contracted, and in their movement was something purposeful, almost human.
She stood, peering into the darkness, and felt — she was not alone. Someone was here. Someone who had been watching her since she crossed the threshold. Someone who knew why she had come. Someone who had read those same lines many years ago.
"I know you're here," she said aloud. Her voice sounded muffled, muted, and the echo carried it into the depths of the cave, where it dissolved in silence. "I don't want to become part of this place. I want to understand why it called me."
Silence. Only the water dripping somewhere in the darkness, counting time. One, two, three. Drop. One, two, three. Drop.
The shadows stirred. For a moment, Ulvia thought a figure emerged from the darkness — tall, thin, woven from the same ancient half-light as the cave itself. But it lasted only a second. The figure dissolved, and the shadows became just shadows again.
Ulvia put the diary in her bundle. The column in her hand glowed steadily, calmly. She stepped toward the exit, and at that moment, the shadows behind her stirred again. She turned — no one. Only stones, moisture, roots growing through the walls.
But she knew. She was being watched.
She left the cave, and light struck her eyes, making her squint. When she opened them, the forest around her was empty. Only the wind stirring the leaves, and somewhere in the distance, birds singing again. But she felt — they were here. In the shadow of the trees, behind the trunks, among the moss and roots. They watched.
Ulvia looked at the column. It pulsed steadily, confidently, and its light seemed a little warmer. She knew where to go. And knew she was being watched.
She moved on, and the forest closed behind her. The diary in her bundle was heavy, and its weight pressed on her shoulder, reminding her of those who had been here before her. Of those who found. Of those who remained. Of those who wrote: *"Forgive us."*
The column led her forward, and Ulvia walked, feeling the diary's weight become part of her journey. She had to learn what happened to those who came before her. And perhaps find what they had sought.