-Mercius, 'road' to Derylini – October 7335-
The sun was rising pale over the wheat fields when Zirinos left the castle of Mercius. The morning mist enveloped the pale stone towers, and the smell of fresh bread came from the kitchens, where the servants were already working. The horse, rested, walked slowly, its hooves sinking into the beaten earth.
Zirinos did not look back.
The silver amulet Mercudoth had given him was in his tunic pocket, against his chest. It was small, light, with a blue stone that shone even in the twilight. "For the girl," the count had said. "They say she likes shiny things." Mira liked shiny things. Mira liked everything that shone.
"I'll give it to her when I see her," he thought. "If I see her."
The backpack on his back pulsed with a slow, steady rhythm. The egg, inside the cloth bag, was warmer than the day before. The cracks in the shell had increased during the night – small, thin, but deep.
"It will hatch soon," he thought. "I hope it's not inside the saddle."
---
The road to Derylini crossed the heart of Mercius, passing through villages of peasants, stone bridges over slow rivers, and oak forests where birds sang. The weather was good, the sky clear, and the wind blew from the south, bringing the smell of wet earth.
Zirinos decided to stop in Tum‑mar, a small mining village at the foot of the hills. The houses were low, made of dark stone, with thatched roofs. The ground, covered in coal dust, creaked under his boots.
"Are you the hero?" asked an old white‑bearded man sitting at the door of a tavern.
"I am."
"Then come in. We'll serve you for free."
Zirinos entered. The tavern was called "The Hammer and the Anvil." The owner, a short, muscular man, served dark beer and bread with sausage. The customers, mostly miners, stared at Zirinos with wide eyes.
"The hero of Endomyar," murmured one.
"The slayer of Trussum," added another.
"Drink," said Zirinos, raising his glass. "I'm paying."
The miners applauded. The wine flowed.
---
Later, Zirinos visited the magical object workshops. They were on the outskirts of the village, near the mines, where the heat of the forges mixed with the smell of sulfur. The craftsmen worked in silence, focused, their hands covered in ash.
"What are you looking for?" asked a man in a leather apron, his eyes deep.
"Something for a child. A girl."
"A girl?" The man scratched his beard. "Age?"
"Six years."
"Then a pendant. One that glows in the dark. Children like shiny things."
The man showed him a wooden box. Inside, dozens of pendants – some silver, some copper, some white iron. All with small stones that glowed with a bluish light.
"How much?"
"Five silver coins."
"Expensive."
"Cheap. Look at the quality."
Zirinos paid. He chose a silver pendant with a drop‑shaped stone.
"For the girl," said the craftsman. "May the gods protect her."
"The gods don't protect anyone. People protect people."
The man didn't reply. He just put away the coins.
---
Zirinos left Tum‑mar in the late afternoon. The sky was painted orange and purple, the wheat fields golden, the trees dark. The horse, tired, walked slowly.
The egg, in the backpack, pulsed more slowly now – the heat of the forges was left behind. Spring was approaching, but the weather was still cold.
Derylini, he thought. Academy. Mira.
Andy. Irina. Ethan.
The name of Macano's chosen one came to his mind unbidden. Ethan. The purple‑haired boy who lost the duel. Who couldn't lie. Who trusted him.
Who shouldn't.
He tightened the reins. The horse sped up.
---
Night fell when Zirinos found a clearing to camp.
The trees, tall and dark, formed a canopy of branches and leaves. The ground, covered in moss, was soft. Zirinos lit a fire – a quick, low‑cost fire spell – and spread his blanket over the grass.
He ate hard bread, drank water from the gourd, and sat watching the stars.
Mira, he thought. What is she doing? Drawing. Training with her sword. Asking for me.
And me lying. As always.
The egg, beside him, pulsed. The purple and red light glowed in the darkness.
"What are you?" Zirinos asked aloud.
The egg didn't answer.
---
It was then that he heard the footsteps.
Light. Slow. Cautious.
Zirinos put his hand on his sword.
"Who's there?"
A figure emerged from the shadows. It was a man wrapped in dark furs – wolf, bear, animals Zirinos didn't recognise. His face, hidden by a hood, was barely visible. Only his eyes, shining in the half‑light.
"Zirinos," said the man, his voice deep, measured. "The hero of Endomyar."
"The apprentice. Still."
"Apprentices die young. You don't."
"Not yet."
The man took another step closer. The smell of smoke and dried blood came from him.
"If you go straight to Aryster," he said, "you will gain something very special."
"Aryster? The kingdom across the sea?"
"The same."
"What thing?"
"An opportunity. The rest, you'll have to discover for yourself."
Zirinos stood up. Hand on sword.
"Who are you?"
The man didn't answer. He just stepped back, the dark furs dragging on the ground.
"One thing, Zirinos," he said, before disappearing into the darkness. "Trust those who deserve you. The others... the others are just tools."
"And you? Are you a tool or a person?"
The man laughed. The laugh was low, hoarse, and lost itself in the wind.
"I am a memory." The voice came from everywhere. "A memory that hasn't happened yet."
Then, silence.
Zirinos stood still, sword in hand, eyes fixed on the darkness. The egg, on the ground, pulsed once – strong – and then quieted.
The man did not return.
Zirinos sat down. The fire crackled.
Aryster, he thought. What awaits me there?
And who was that man?
The questions had no answers.
He put out the fire.
The room went dark.
Outside, the moon shone.