Date: April 19, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
They emerged from the snow haze unexpectedly — soundlessly, like shadows, like clots of white light that suddenly took form. Ulviya froze, and the vine on her left arm, previously calm, suddenly shot up, covered in thorns, transforming into a long, curved blade. The silver light pulsed on her arm in time with her heart, and that light seemed to attract them, like a beacon attracts ships.
There were five of them. White goblins — she had no other name for them — riding white-and-orange tigers whose fur shimmered in the strange, unreal light of this place. The goblins themselves were short, stocky, with long arms and ears sharp as arrowheads. Their skin was white, almost translucent, and through it showed dark, winding lines, like veins or cracks in old bark. Their eyes were black — without pupils, without shine — and in those eyes was nothing but hunger. Or curiosity. Or both.
The tigers they rode were enormous. Their fur, white with orange stripes, resembled frozen flames, and the muscles beneath rolled with each movement like living stones. They did not snarl or growl — they simply stared with yellow eyes, and in their gaze was something ancient, predatory, inhuman.
Ulviya stepped back, assessing the distance. Five riders, five tigers. The odds were uneven, but there was nowhere to retreat — behind her was the white plain, and ahead, the snowy slope where a silver leaf lay on a pedestal. She didn't know why it was important, but she felt it was. And she would not give it up without a fight.
The first goblin raised his hand. In it, woven from the same white light as everything around, materialized a spear — long, thin, its tip shimmering like ice in sunlight. He shouted something — not words, but a series of clicks and whistles, like the language of the wind. The tigers crouched, ready to spring.
Ulviya didn't wait. She stepped forward, and at that moment, her living vine shot out a long, flexible thorn. It plunged into the snow before the first tiger's muzzle, throwing up a cloud of white dust, and the beast, blinded, shied aside. The goblin on its back lost his balance, and Ulviya, seizing the moment, closed the distance.
Her right hand, in its glove, clenched into a fist and struck. Short, sharp, as Klii had taught. The blow landed on the goblin's shoulder, and she felt bone crack under the metal. The goblin shrieked — high, piercing — and tumbled into the snow.
But the others didn't wait.
Two riders attacked from the flanks, their shimmering spears arcing through the air. Ulviya ducked, letting one spear pass over her head, and at that moment, her left hand, transformed into a shield, took the blow of the second. The vine groaned but held. The thorns, extended to meet it, bit into the shaft, and the goblin trying to pull his weapon free could not.
Ulviya wrenched the shield towards herself, ripping the spear from the rider's hands, and at that moment, her right fist met his face. The goblin flew back, and his tiger, left without a rider, thrashed in the snow, unsure whom to attack.
Three remained.
They were smarter than the first two. They didn't charge head-on — they circled, spread out, approached from different sides. The tigers moved soundlessly, their paws not sinking into the snow but gliding over its surface like skates on ice. The goblins communicated in short, sharp sounds, and in those sounds, Ulviya heard not panic, but calculation.
They hadn't expected her to fight like this. They thought she would run.
She didn't.
She stepped into the center of their circle, and at that moment, her left hand changed. The blade vanished, the shield vanished — instead, dozens of thin, flexible threads burst from her palm. White thorn, the plant Bagurai called "repellent." The threads struck the nearest rider in the chest, and he, unable to resist, flew backward, knocking his own tiger off its feet.
The second goblin, seizing the moment, threw his spear. Ulviya ducked, and the projectile whistled past where her head had been. She straightened, and at that moment, her right fist met the face of a tiger that tried to leap at her. The beast yelped, recoiled, and the goblin on its back, losing his balance, crashed into the snow, dissolving into a white cloud.
One remained.
He was larger than the others, and his tiger — the biggest, with fangs like daggers — stared at Ulviya with yellow, unblinking eyes. The goblin was in no hurry. He dismounted slowly, and his spear, shimmering with white light, lowered to the level of her chest.
The goblin's face, white, almost translucent, was impassive, but in his black eyes, something like understanding flickered.
"The Tree admits not all," he said. "But those who come, it tests. We are its guardians. If you wish to go further, you must win."
He raised his spear, and Ulviya, not waiting for his attack, stepped forward.
---
The fight was short, but brutal. The goblin was strong, his spear faster than she expected, and each strike made her vine groan with strain. But she was faster. She dodged, struck, and each of her blows found its mark.
Her right fist in its glove — into his body. Her left hand, transformed into a thorn — into his shoulder. A kick — to his knee. The goblin grunted, stepped back, and his spear, falling from his weakening grasp, stuck in the snow.
Ulviya approached him. He knelt, breathing heavily, and in his eyes was not fear — only weariness. And relief.
"You passed," he said. "Go. The Tree waits."
He raised his hand, and his body, his tiger, his spear — all began to melt, to turn into white light, which dispersed, leaving nothing behind. Only snow, only silence, only the Tree's pulse, echoing in her chest.
Ulviya stood, breathing heavily, feeling her strength leave her. Blood from a cut on her brow ran into her eye, but she felt no pain. Only fatigue. And a strange, unfamiliar satisfaction.
She had won.