? Ikazkan -> Tezot

- Warriors aren't mandatory, no. Those who know how to fight are mandatory, yes.

- Yes, perhaps, - Ukon thought for a while about whether it made sense to take all sorts of "mages," "archers," and "casters" to such a tournament - and decided - alright. After all, in a dungeon, each of them would use what they are capable of, wouldn't they? - He leaves the following announcement on the Board in a slightly clumsy but diligent handwriting:

The Dungeon Warriors Community is planning the only tournament in its history in honor of Kanau - our beloved teacher and elder sister. To all who wish to participate in this event for personal reasons, or perhaps to test their skills, or simply for fun - if you are a strong and honest warrior, we await you in the community. You can sign up for participation in the Community as well, either with me or with Bruxelles.
Ukon

Returning to the community, he nods to himself and sits on a chair waiting, while wondering whether he should personally try to invite player characters who could participate in this? But he thinks that perhaps the time for that has not yet come.

- Only once? - Usa frowned. - Poor thing, I can only sympathize with you. Hm... Well, in short. Óna's voice is wonderful music, solemn and tender, the reason why we all need ears. It is both a lullaby that plunges one into a gentle sleep, and an inspiring hymn that stirs the blood! Óna's appearance is a reflection of everything beautiful and bright in the universe, the reason why we all need eyes. Her great eyes are more wonderful than any gemstone; they are deeper than the Soul Mirror, hotter than the Path of Crimson Tongues, and richer than the Mineral Rivers. The whole of Ikazkan rests upon her magnificent wings, as do the hopes of everyone who lives in it! Her graceful silhouette gives meaning to our existence and guides us toward a happy path! To contemplate her beauty is precisely why we all need a mind.

- Hm-hm, - nodding for a long time, Blueberry retreats to the gallery, spinning a quill between her fingers for quite a while, pacing back and forth and occasionally rubbing her forehead.
Until she finally returns to Usa.
- I have composed a parable - not just for entertainment and praise, but also for the enlightenment of generations, - she presents the manuscript. - Well, here... depending on how ready you are to read.

Once Óna decided to make all the inhabitants of Ikazkan happy by descending from the Infernal Throne and appearing with Her magnificent bright countenance before the faces of its residents. To this day, historians among Her most devoted admirers struggle to unravel what She intended at that moment - any one of their versions, despite their differences, makes sense, because although Her ways are inscrutable, they are infinitely benevolent.
Therefore, Her admirers - in other words, all inhabitants possessing even some reason and eyes different from those of the Bagruks - decided to arrange for Her the most grandiose welcome in history.
"Light hundreds and thousands of lamps! Let us illuminate Her path and leave an unforgettable impression!" - such was the general desire. And indeed - in what other way, other than a banal layperson's one, can a follower unequivocally express their love if they are not necessarily highly skilled in all accompanying manners that they could express through action rather than word, but nevertheless keep Her solemn-tender image in their heart?

And so, all the followers gathered a lavish procession: each lit an incredible flame, illuminating even the most remote corners of Ikazkan previously hidden by shadow, all for the purpose of showing that Her bright countenance would dispel any darkness, and even that kind which had been present since primordial times, helping it pass into a harmonic bosom.
Only one weak, frail, sickly human old woman stood with a barely burning lamp in her trembling hands... According to the rumors of whispering neighbors, this elderly woman was on her last breath - having by nature neither the blessed rebirth of the ivilaes nor even the slightly longer lifespan of the elms, she had lived a righteous and honest life, but a hard one, not simple at all. She had no relatives left - such are the harsh conditions of life - and the reaper intended to take her soul many winters ago, but something kept her in Ikazkan, driving her day after day to prayer addressed to the Infernal Throne, the words of which no one could decipher even over decades, so quiet - yet so full of certainty - they were.
According to eyewitnesses, this venerable woman was ashamed to ask others for help that she could never repay, in order to participate in this manifestation of Óna in the maximum sense possible for her own position; however, the longing of this old woman's heart could not be extinguished in any way - she even used her own hair for the lamp.

And then...
Óna finally descended from the Infernal Throne. Casting glances here and there, She illuminates with a smile all Her numerous - or rather, countless - admirers, lovers, and simply rational beings. Her one-eyed blade hovers over Her shoulder, squinting slightly, as if having something to say, but not doing so for now.
Suddenly, a strong wind rises - a veritable storm stretches from the direction of the Soul Mirror! Who knows what initiated it! A wild gust rises from the Abyss and extinguishes all those lamps so tremulously created in Her honor. Absolutely all Her admirers fall to their knees, tears stream from their eyes, their teeth gnash, their fists beat the ground. However...
- So that's how it is, - they hear a voice - wonderful for those who know it. For others hearing it for the first time, it turns out to be the voice of Gekizo, the eye-razor-sharp tool that does not leave Óna for a second.
The believers open their eyes and see that light has not left Ikazkan - the only lamp that remained burning is the lamp of that old woman.
Descending to human level and folding Her wings, Óna embraces the old woman:
- This lamp burns because it contains the infinite love and longing of your soul. Even if the storm were stronger, it would not have extinguished it. Great fires burn from pride, small ones - from a pure heart. And even from this tiny flame, all others can be rekindled.