Date: October 14, 542, from the Fall of Zandra the Dishonorable.
Sobra stood at the edge of the white swamp. His silver-striped fur pulsed in time with his heart. Three crocodiles stood before him. Their yellow, vertically pupiled eyes watched him without fear, without doubt, without hatred. Only the cold, predatory attention of creatures who knew they were stronger.
But Sobra was no ordinary bear. He was a Pillar. And he had endured things these white lizards could not even imagine.
The crocodiles broke formation. Two moved to the sides, encircling him. The third—the largest, holding a spear adorned with silver runes—remained in place. Its toothy grin promised nothing good.
*Three of them,* Sobra thought. *All Pillars. But I am stronger.*
He did not wait.
---
Sobra lunged forward. The energy control technique he had been honing for half a year activated—not perfectly, but well enough. His large, heavy body moved with incredible speed. Sand flew from under his paws. He closed the distance in a split second and crashed into the central crocodile.
Claws. Heavy and sharp, they sank into the enemy's white hide. Using the momentum of his body, Sobra wrenched sideways. The crocodile grunted and staggered back. Not blood, but thick, milk-like white dust gushed from its shoulder.
*One wounded,* Sobra thought. *But not dead.*
The left crocodile attacked from the side. Its long, slender spear arced through the air. Sobra, unable to dodge fully, turned his shoulder. The point pierced his fur and grazed the muscle, leaving a deep scratch. The pain was sharp but brief—regeneration was already beginning its work.
Sobra roared—a low, guttural sound. Ignoring the wound, he struck the crocodile's chest with his paw. Claws sank into white flesh. The crocodile, thrown off balance, crashed onto the sand. Sobra would have finished it, but the right crocodile was already upon him.
Its spear aimed for his belly. Sobra leaped—not upward, but sideways. The energy control technique activated again, but this time too forcefully. He overshot the crocodile, tumbled in the air, and landed on his paws, breathing heavily.
*Too fast,* he thought. *Need more precision.*
The central crocodile, the one with the runed spear, rose. Its shoulder still bled white dust, but it did not look defeated. It bared its teeth and stepped forward.
"You are fast," it said. "But not fast enough."
---
Sobra did not answer. He could not speak. But he could fight.
He lunged forward again. This time, the energy control technique worked perfectly. His body moved smoothly and swiftly. Dodging the central crocodile's spear, he appeared directly in front of the left one—the one lying on the sand.
Claws. Strike. Crunch.
The left crocodile crumbled into white dust before it could even cry out.
*One.*
The central and right crocodiles attacked simultaneously. Their spears moved in perfect rhythm. Dodging one, Sobra left himself open to the other. The point plunged into his thigh. Sharp, searing pain lanced through the muscle. He roared and jerked away. The spear, slipping from the crocodile's grasp, remained embedded in the wound.
Sobra did not pull it out. He used it as a lever. A sharp twist—and the spear, still lodged in his thigh, struck the right crocodile across the head. It grunted and staggered. Sobra seized the moment and crashed down upon it with his full weight.
Claws, teeth, paws. He struck without pause. Unable to withstand the onslaught, the crocodile crumbled into dust.
*Two.*
The central crocodile, the one with the runes, was alone. It stared at Sobra. In its yellow, predatory eyes, something like fear flickered for the first time.
"You… you are no mere beast," it said. "You are a monster."
Sobra did not answer. He approached it, his paws stepping softly and silently.
The crocodile raised its spear in a final, desperate attack. Sobra dodged—easily, smoothly. Catching the shaft in his teeth, he ripped the weapon from the enemy's grasp. Then he struck with his paw. Once. Twice. Three times.
The crocodile collapsed. Crumbled.
*Three.*
---
Sobra stood in the middle of the white swamp, breathing heavily, staring at the remains of his enemies. White dust slowly settled onto the sand. In this light, in this silence, there was something that made his heart beat more steadily.
He was wounded. His thigh throbbed, his shoulder ached, and the deep scratch on his side still oozed white substance—not blood, but something akin to it. But he had won. Three Pillars—and he had overcome them.
*Gather leaves,* he thought. *Then move on.*
He found about fifty leaves in the zone—they lay on stones, on pedestals, in hollows. Sobra gathered them without counting and stuffed them into the bag hanging around his neck (Datuk had made it specially before he left).
The bird was waiting for him at the edge of the swamp. It perched on a bush of transparent grass, preening its feathers.
"You succeeded," it said. "Faster than I expected. Come."
It took flight, and Sobra followed.
---
The bird led him through white wastelands, across rocky ridges, through narrow canyons. Sobra walked on, his wounds slowly healing—regeneration was working, though not as fast as he would have liked.
The bird brought him to a small pond.
It was circular, no more than ten paces across. Its water was white—not clear like the lake, but milky and opaque. A faint, barely perceptible steam rose from it. Mist swirled above the pond, and in that white haze, there was something that made Sobra's nose itch.
"Immerse yourself," the bird said. "It will cleanse you. And return you to where you belong."
Sobra looked at it. In its black, shiny eyes—like two tiny peas—there was no mockery. Only calm confidence.
"Submerge your head," it repeated. "Do not be afraid. It does not hurt."
Sobra was not afraid. He approached the pond and dipped a paw into the water. It was warm—not hot like the springs, but pleasantly warm, almost gentle.
He stepped into the pond. The water rose to his knees, his thighs, his chest. He felt it flow around his fur, seep into his skin, wash away fatigue, pain, and fear.
"Your head," the bird reminded him.
Sobra took a deep breath, held it, and submerged himself.
The world vanished. Only warmth. Only silence. Only white, milky darkness enveloping him from all sides.
He didn't know how much time passed. A second, perhaps. An eternity.
And then he surfaced.