Date: April 19, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The light receded slowly. It did not vanish abruptly, like a snuffed candle flame — it melted away, like morning mist under the sun's rays, leaving behind a trail of coolness and silence. Ulviya stood with her eyes closed, feeling the snow-white radiance that had enveloped her just moments ago gradually recede, returning her to a world of forms, sounds, and tangible reality.
The first sensation to return was the ground beneath her feet. It was solid, smooth, and when she carefully shifted her weight, her steps made no sound. Next came the air — fresh, clear, but not cold, rather neutral, as if temperature itself held no meaning here. Then the light, which slowly filled the space, and Ulviya realized it came not from above, but from everywhere at once, without a source, without shadows.
She opened her eyes.
The world that lay before her was unlike anything she had ever seen. She stood in the middle of a vast space — so vast it took her breath away. The walls, the floor, the ceiling — all were made of white bark, smooth as polished marble, but warm to the touch, alive. The bark was not dead — it breathed, and Ulviya felt that breath, felt the same power pulsing beneath her fingers as in the Tree with the silver leaves. She was inside. Inside the Tree.
High, high above, white clouds drifted. They were unlike any she had seen in the sky above the village — dense, almost tangible, they moved in a slow, strange dance, and their motion created the illusion that the ceiling, if there was one, was constantly changing shape. Ulviya looked up, and her gaze was lost in that white depth, where clouds converged and diverged, wove into intricate patterns and dissolved again.
The space before her stretched as far as the eye could see. It was not a hall, not a cave, not a valley. It was something in between — a vast, endless plain, divided into zones that differed from one another like different worlds. Some were close — a few hundred paces away — others far, on the very horizon, their outlines lost in the white haze.
Ulviya saw a zone that looked like a desert — white dunes, smooth as silk, and above them a white sky, without a sun, but filled with light. Further on, beyond the desert, she made out the shapes of snow-covered hills — white snow, white cliffs, and in this white world, even the shadows seemed pale, ghostly. Somewhere on the horizon, if she squinted, she could make out something resembling a forest — white trunks, white branches, white leaves. And above it all, the clouds, ubiquitous, drifted over the desert, over the snows, over the forest, connecting the different zones into a single whole.
Ulviya stood on a small rise — a natural outcropping of white bark that perhaps served as a lookout. She looked around, trying to understand where to go, and why she was here. The column that had led her here was gone — it was neither in her hand, nor in her pocket, nor in her bundle. In its place, on her left arm, on her living vine, pulsed a faint silver light — just like the leaves of the Tree she had touched. The light was steady, calm, and Ulviya understood: this was her guide. The Tree had not released her. It had brought her here.
But why?
She took a step forward, and her boot landed silently on the smooth, white surface. No sound, no echo — the silence here was absolute, and in that silence, Ulviya heard only her own breath and a steady, deep pulse that came from everywhere — from the walls, from the floor, from the clouds above. It was the Tree's heartbeat. It was slow, calm, and her own heart, involuntarily, began to sync with that rhythm.
"You brought me here," she said aloud, addressing the Tree. Her voice was muffled, muted, and the clouds above seemed to tremble slightly in response. "But why? What am I supposed to find here?"
There was no answer. Only the pulse, only the silence, only the vast white space stretching in all directions.
Ulviya sighed. She didn't know where to go, but she knew she must. The silver light on her left arm pulsed brighter when she looked towards the snowy hills, and dimmer when she turned towards the desert or the forest. That was her direction.
She stepped down from the rise, onto the white plain. Beneath her feet was not dust, nor sand, nor grass — only the smooth, warm bark, which sprang with each step like living flesh. Ulviya walked, and the silence around her grew deeper, denser, and it seemed to her that she walked not on earth, but on the very surface of a dream.
She walked, and the white world unfolded before her, zone by zone, riddle by riddle. And somewhere there, in the depths of that endless space, answers awaited her. Or new questions. The Tree knew. It always knew.
---
She had been walking for a long time. Time had lost meaning here — perhaps an hour had passed, perhaps a day. The silver light on her hand led her towards the snowy hills, which gradually grew closer, more distinct. White dunes, white cliffs, white snow — all of it was here, in this strange, silent world, where even the shadows were white.
She stopped at the edge of the zone that separated the plain from the snowy desert. The boundary was sharp — here the smooth bark ended, and deep, loose snow began, which, strangely, was not cold. Ulviya crouched, scooped up a handful. The snow was light as down, and melted on her palm, turning into drops of clear, pure water that soaked into her skin, leaving no moisture.
She stood, took a step forward, and her foot sank into the snow up to her ankle. No cold, no dampness — only a strange, unfamiliar sensation, as if she were stepping on a cloud.
Ulviya moved on. The snowy desert stretched before her, and somewhere in its center, on a small rise, she noticed something that stood out against the white monotony. It was a pedestal — white, smooth — and on it, in a hollow, lay a silver leaf. Just like those on the Tree she had touched. Just like those that had glowed in her visions.
She quickened her pace. The silver leaf pulsed, and her own vine, her living hand, responded to that pulse, reaching towards it like a root towards water.
But she did not reach it in time.
Ahead, on the snowy slope, something stirred. A shadow on the white background — vague, blurred, but definitely alive. Ulviya froze, and the vine on her left arm instantly burst from under her sleeve, transforming into a long, curved blade. Thorns, small, sharp, covered her forearm, ready for battle.
The shadow moved faster. And another. And another. There were many of them, and they were approaching.
Ulviya clenched her fist, feeling her heart beat faster, while the Tree, great and white, watched her from everywhere — from the clouds, from the snow, from the very whiteness of this strange world.
The white creatures approached, and her living vine glowed silver in response.