Date: October 13, 542, from the Fall of Zandra the Dishonorable.
The tower appeared on the horizon unexpectedly—white and smooth, rising above the cliffs. Its walls seemed to glow from within. Ulvia had been walking toward it for several hours, and every step was harder than the last. The bag on her back weighed heavily on her shoulders—it held about one hundred and fifty silver leaves. Not as many as she would have liked, but enough. She had gathered them carefully, avoiding unnecessary risks, choosing zones where the guardians were not too strong. After the battle with the kobolds and Pillars, she understood: she could not face what lurked in the depths of the white world alone.
*One hundred and sixty,* she mentally recounted. *Plus the ones that were gathered before me. Over seven hundred now. A little more, and it will be enough.*
She approached the entrance, and the glowing lines on the walls flared brighter in welcome. Ulvia crossed the threshold, and the familiar silence of the tower—warm and cozy, like a blanket after a long journey—enveloped her.
*I'm back,* she thought, but she did not shout it out.
---
On the central platform, training was in progress.
Datuk stood on his track—the same one where he had learned to gather energy in his legs and immediately release it, preventing it from rising above his knees. A month and a half ago, he would falter after two steps. Now he had stood motionless for half an hour, and only a slight tremor in his knees betrayed the strain. His face was red, sweat beaded on his forehead, but he did not move. *A stone does not tense. A stone simply lies.*
Rosh was running the outer circuit—the largest and longest track. His movements were economical, precise. As he ran, he seemed not to touch the floor but to glide above it like a shadow. His fingers were folded in their familiar pattern, but no vectors appeared—he was learning to manage without them.
Seeing Ulvia, they did not rush toward her with shouts. Datuk finished his exercise—slowly, smoothly—and only then opened his eyes. Rosh ran another lap, stopped, and, catching his breath, turned to her.
"So, how was your stroll outside the tower?" Datuk asked. "Did you find anyone to warm up with?"
"Something like that," Ulvia replied, the corner of her mouth twitching in a faint smile.
Rosh remained silent. He simply looked at her with his mismatched eyes—one green, one brown—and in their depths, in that cool, calm appraisal, there was something akin to relief.
"How many?" he asked.
Ulvia dropped the bag onto the floor. Silver leaves spilled onto the glowing lines, and their radiance, mingling with the tower's light, flooded the platform with a soft, warm glow.
"One hundred and sixty," she said. "And a few more. About seven hundred in total."
"Not bad," Rosh nodded. "For a first week—very good."
Datuk raised an eyebrow.
"One hundred and sixty? What, did you spend the whole week just running from guardians?"
"Almost," Ulvia chuckled. "Had to work up a bit of a sweat."
She lowered herself to the floor and leaned her back against the wall. Her body ached—the wounds had healed, but the memory of them remained. The scar on her stomach, where the spear had entered her, still stung with every movement. Her left arm, her living vine, pulsed steadily, but she could feel weakness in it—the white plant she had used in battle was still dormant.
"Tell us," Datuk said, sitting down opposite her. "What's it like out there?"
Ulvia was silent for a moment. She remembered the kobolds, their black eyes, the spear that had nearly killed her. She remembered the white two-headed hound, its golden eyes.
"It's dangerous," she said. "Very dangerous. I ran into a pack of kobolds—twenty-five Warriors and five Pillars."
"Five Pillars?" Rosh frowned. "And you handled them?"
"Barely. I got impaled by a spear."
Datuk started to say something, but Ulvia raised her hand to stop him.
"But that's not all. I met a guardian that could talk. A white hound with two heads. It let me pass through its zone on the condition that I didn't break or pick anything. And it said, 'The Tree is changing the rules.'"
"Guardians don't talk," Rosh shook his head. "Ever. This is something new."
"Maybe the Tree is preparing us for something," Ulvia suggested. "Something bigger than just a fight with a Herald."
Datuk grunted, but did not argue.
---
The elder emerged from the shadow of a column just as they were about to disperse to their cells. His black cloak billowed behind him, and his gray hair, streaming with every step, made him look like a ghost.
"You have returned," he said. It was not a question.
"As you can see," Ulvia replied.
The elder approached the pile of leaves, bent down, and ran his fingers through the silvery glow. His light-colored eyes, devoid of pupils, grew deeper, darker for a moment.
"One hundred and sixty," he said. "A good harvest. For a first attempt—very good."
"You counted them?" Ulvia asked, surprised.
"I always count," the elder straightened up. "That is my job. Rest. A new phase begins tomorrow."
He turned and walked slowly into the depths of the tower, where a passage was barely visible in the gloom. His black cloak billowed behind him, and a moment later, he vanished into the darkness.
---
Ulvia slept for nine hours. She woke to the glowing lines on the ceiling brightening—a signal that morning had come. Her body ached, but it was the familiar ache of training, not the sharp pain of wounds. The scar on her stomach no longer stung—it just itched, a sign that regeneration had almost finished its work.
She emerged onto the central platform. Datuk and Rosh were already training, and Sobra, as always, was running the outer circuit, his paws landing softly and silently.
Datuk exchanged a glance with Rosh.
"I think I'm next," Datuk said, his voice lacking its usual bravado. "I need the practice."
"You do need the practice," Rosh agreed, his cool, even voice free of its usual mockery. "But Sobra and I have almost stalled in our training. Without practical experience, it will be hard to break through this plateau."
"I think so too," Ulvia said, joining them. "Sobra should go next. He's strong, and his animal nature will help him survive alone."
The bear raised his head and squared his shoulders—as much as a bear can—freezing in a majestic pose. His silver stripes pulsed in time with his breathing, and in his amber eyes, in that calm, proud gaze, there was something that made Datuk chuckle involuntarily.
"Are you posing?" Datuk asked.
Sobra snorted—a short, sharp sound—and nudged the dwarf's shoulder with his nose.
"Alright," Datuk conceded. "Let him go."
Ulvia, unable to help herself, laughed. She went over to Sobra and stroked the back of his neck.
"You are the most majestic of us all," she said. "Go. Show them what a true warrior is capable of."
Sobra snorted contentedly and, turning, headed for the exit.
Rosh, watching the scene, smiled faintly—so faintly it could have been a trick of the light. But Ulvia noticed.
"You're smiling," she said.
"No," Rosh replied, his face becoming impassive once more.
---
In the evening, they sat by the fire. Datuk was roasting meat on a makeshift spit, Rosh was sorting leaves into piles, and Ulvia was repairing her gauntlet—the metal plates had been bent in the fight, and her right hand needed protection.
"Tomorrow, Sobra leaves," Datuk said. There was no anxiety in his voice, only calm confidence. "He'll manage. He's stronger than he looks."
"I know," Ulvia replied. "We all know."
She looked at Sobra. The bear lay nearby, his head resting on his paws, his amber eyes closed. He wasn't sleeping—just resting, gathering his strength for the long week ahead.
*Come back,* Ulvia thought. *We'll be waiting.*
---
The night passed calmly. Ulvia slept soundly, without dreams, and woke to someone shaking her shoulder.
"Get up," Datuk's voice was hoarse, unusually serious. "Sobra is leaving."
She emerged onto the central platform. Sobra stood by the exit, his silver-striped fur pulsing in time with his breathing. There was no fear in his amber eyes—only calm, animal confidence.
Datuk approached him and placed a hand on the back of his neck.
"Come back," he said. "In a week. We'll be waiting."
Sobra snorted and licked Datuk's cheek.
Rosh stood a little apart, arms crossed over his chest. He said nothing—just nodded. It was enough.
Ulvia went to Sobra and stroked his head.
"You'll manage," she said. "You're strong. And your technique is better than mine. Just believe in yourself."
Sobra looked at her. In his amber eyes, in that calm, trusting gaze, there was something that made her smile.
"Go," she said. "We'll be waiting."
Sobra turned and stepped into the white light.
Datuk stood at the threshold, watching him go. His hands, clenched into fists, did not tremble. His face was calm.
"He'll return," he said. "Sobra is a worthy fighter."
The door closed. Sobra was gone.
Ulvia placed a hand on Datuk's shoulder.
"I know," she said. "Let's go train."
And they went. Because in the tower, there was no time for long farewells. There was only work. Only the path. Only the goal that drew closer with every passing day.