NISO

Introduction

-- Make way! Make way! His Majesty King Arandil!
The crowd, if that small bunch of people in rags could be called that, parted and let through a rusty but, by local standards, rather clean and well-kept jalopy. On top of the car sat the king himself, the long-eared Arandil in a golden crown. Behind the improvised carriage, tied with a rope, walked a white stallion named Spare Engine. Slowly but surely the transport rolled onto the square, where one could observe traffic that was relatively lively for this place: workers were sawing, planing, drilling... mostly pumpkins. The point was that preparations were under way for the night before All Saints' Day. The unique thing about the undertaking was that this night had never before been celebrated in the Land of Heroes, but now King Arandil had issued a new decree. Carrying out the decree had been entrusted to the local stargazer Gray Raven, because he had a rich imagination and a gift for mathematics.
By the way, here was Raven himself, coming out of his observatory right on the square with some drawings and starting to give the workers instructions. King Arandil coughed politely, but the stargazer did not turn around. Arandil coughed louder, then louder still, but failed to attract even the tiniest bit of attention. Finally, the driver of the king's personal car shouted, "Hey, plebeian! Bow to the king at once!" Gray Raven turned at the shout and measured the driver with a contemptuous look, but then saw Arandil and still knelt before him.
-- Your Majesty!
-- You have not yet finished preparing for the festival, Gray Raven?
-- As you can see, we do not have much left.
-- Are there any problems?
-- We need to install Big Ben on top of the clock tower.
King Arandil looked around the square and saw the aforementioned Big Ben: it was a gigantic pumpkin, no less than eight meters in diameter, this year's winner of the Land of Heroes harvest contest. The necessary cuts had already been made on Big Ben in the shape of a face with scary teeth, and all the pulp had been pulled out. Moreover, the workers had eaten an excellent porridge made from its innards.
-- So what is the problem? Install it!
-- Unfortunately, we do not have the necessary equipment.
-- What do you need?
-- A construction crane, naturally.
-- Get one.
-- For example, where?
-- You are the one who should think where! Not me! -- Arandil scratched his chin. -- Gray Raven, go to Scout or something, he will come up with something.
-- That is on the other side of town.
-- Fine, so be it. I was going to see him too, so I will give you a ride.
-- Very noble of you.

***

-- Read this book, I am sure you will like it!
Doctor Plesnev had good taste, especially when it came to recommendations, and Scout knew that perfectly well. It was also quite obvious from Plesnev himself: he was always dressed to the nines, appropriate to the time and place. Right now his hat and cloak had a slight green sheen, which looked good while they stood in the ranger greenhouse. True, the greenhouse itself had more rust than green, because the plants grown there required special conditions, and those conditions were not easy to maintain. Take a birch, for example: it consumes several times more water than most other trees. And that water has to be obtained somewhere, somehow, and it has to be fairly clean.
Worst of all was the energy crisis. Perhaps everything could have been far more compact, but energy consumption had to be reduced somehow, because there was almost nowhere to get that energy. Everything had to be sent through secondary, tertiary, quaternary recycling... A whole network of energy drains was being built for that. And even then, all that splendor would not simply start working. The age of mechanicism had long passed; now many people could connect two gears together. Plesnev himself understood that sort of thing well enough, and Gray Raven was not far behind him. But if you wanted to make a mechanism work, you could not do without magic; only it could sometimes provide enough energy. Scout used a special kind: Nature magic. Suitable magic for watching over a greenhouse, is it not?
-- Are you listening to me, Scout?
-- Sorry, I was thinking about my own things. May I step away for a bit? I need to feed the reservoirs with magic; I am afraid the energy will soon run out.
-- Wait, wait, wait, I think there is still plenty left. Come on, let us do something.
-- By my estimates, it is almost at zero.
-- You cannot count, arithmetician! Better tell me, are we going to try the new game today?
-- What new game?
-- A very interesting one. Lots of magic; you will like it. And the winner gets a talisman! -- Plesnev took a ruby star on a golden chain from his breast pocket.
-- You already have it.
-- You should read the rules. Taking the talisman in your hands is not forbidden, but only the winner of the game will be able to put it on, and only once.
Unexpectedly, the door with the sign "Don't panic, all ye who enter here!" flew open, and Arandil strode confidently inside, followed by Gray Raven. Scout bowed politely to the king, while the liberal-minded Plesnev merely nodded.
-- Scout, how is the work progressing?
-- The trees grow stronger every day. Perhaps soon we will have woodpeckers...
-- Can anything hinder the triumphant return of the birds?
-- I do not know what I will feed them with; things are bad with wood insects, -- Scout sighed. -- Besides, I am starting to suspect more and more that it is only a legend and that no woodpeckers exist. Like, well, unicorns...
-- Unicorns exist! -- Arandil stamped his foot. -- I saw one last week.
-- That is foolish, -- Doctor Plesnev remarked. -- A horse with such a strange skull structure could never pass natural selection. The horns would constantly break, by definition they could not protect against predators, and sexual selection in that form does not seem plausible to me either...
-- They exist because the king said so, -- Arandil put an end to the matter. -- And woodpeckers too.
Then Draco Neko Trit jumped out of the greenhouse, holding the hand of some schoolgirl with Asian features. Draco was something of a Don Juan, and even now the hair on his head was rakishly tousled.
-- Oh. Sorry! -- the schoolgirl said, embarrassed.
-- Come on, come on, -- Trit took her by the arm and led her toward the greenhouse exit.
Scout frowned and looked at Plesnev.
-- He just asked me to distract you, -- the latter justified himself.
-- Ahem, I think I will go too, -- Arandil spoke up. -- Gray Raven had some questions for you as well, Scout, help him.
-- As you command, Your Majesty.
-- Arandil, wait a little! -- Plesnev stopped him. -- I wanted to ask all of you whether tonight you would...
-- Regrettably, I do not have my royal time for that, -- the king answered at once and finally left the building.
-- Unfortunately, I cannot today either, -- said Gray Raven.
-- Mmm, it would be nice, of course, but I do not know... Maybe it will work out, -- Scout began uncertainly.
-- Typical, -- Doctor Plesnev sighed.

***

Catherine removed the glove from her right hand and prepared herself. Most of the time she was an ordinary, modest girl who, for some reason, always wore leather gloves on her hands. In solitude, in her workshop, she allowed herself to remove the gloves, and beneath them unusual hands were revealed: clawed, covered in scales, as if those hands belonged to a dragon. Those hands held an astonishing magic that let Catherine create the finest paintings in the Land of Heroes. Gray Raven had somehow managed to learn her secret, so he often asked Catherine to help him organize various events. Now, too, the artist had to paint several pumpkins with magical paint and draw a couple of large posters.
She had only just begun creating when someone knocked on the workshop door. The artist ran to open it, squeaked, ran back, put on her gloves, and opened the door. Before her stood a tanned southerner. Overall he wore western clothes, but eastern features showed here and there, especially in the ornaments and the saber at his belt.
-- Why are you so out of breath, Cat? What were you doing? Probably...
-- No dirty jokes!
-- Drawing naked boys? -- the southerner finished and smiled broadly. -- Anyway, how is your work going?
-- Worse than I would like, -- Catherine let the guest into the room and sat on a chair. -- I am so lazy... I keep scolding myself, scolding myself... But sometimes there is just no inspiration, and that is that.
-- Cat...
-- Yes, Sirah?
-- Tomorrow I am leaving the Land of Heroes for a long time. I am leading an expedition into the Desert.
The girl was speechless for a moment.
-- So soon? Tomorrow already?
-- Tomorrow already. I have arranged everything with the king.
-- So this is your initiative?
-- You do not understand. I cannot do otherwise; I was born there, after all. There are few people left in the Desert now, and the people who remain can hardly be called people anymore, but I must return there.
-- Yes, I understand, but just... Why so quickly, without warning...
-- I will probably not return for a very long time, -- Sirah continued. -- You must understand. And before leaving I decided I had to tell you something... Something very important.
"Is he finally going to say it?" Catherine wondered, surprised and at the same time delighted despite the general sadness of the moment. Meanwhile, Sirah began rummaging through his pockets and finally pulled out a small suede box, at the sight of which Cat's eyes lit up.
-- Cat, -- he coughed. -- I ask you for... your hand.
-- You probably meant "hand in marriage"?
-- No, give me your hand.
The girl extended her hand, and the southerner shook the contents of the box onto it: a tiny snow-white lizard.
-- Here, take care of Umka while I am gone.
-- Umka? -- Catherine repeated, stunned.
-- Umka is my lizard. I cannot take her on the campaign. If anything, she eats salad and washes it down with cat food. You probably do not have cat food, but you are a woman, so you will cook something, right? And watch her carefully. My Umka is nimble, she might run away. I am entrusting you with what is dearest to me, -- Sirah pushed into the truly shocked Cat's other hand the box, which had small breathing holes made in it.
Meanwhile, the rumble that at first nobody present had paid attention to began to grow. Umka reacted first and darted into her new mistress's pocket.
-- There is some noise here, do you not think, Sirah?
-- Yes, something outside, -- the southerner went to the window. -- "#*:%! -- he swore from the heart when he saw what was happening in the square.

***

-- It is all going to fall now, a little to the left! -- Doctor Plesnev shouted with difficulty over the noise of the mechanism.
Up above, Scout and Gray Raven were both pulling different levers, not without effort, because over the years everything had rusted through. On top of the monstrous structure, at the very edge of the lift, lay that same Big Ben.
-- I do not understand why you could not simply give me a crane, -- Gray Raven remarked. -- It would have been much simpler.
-- A crane is not energy-efficient; we would have had to lift Ben too high and then lower him down. Besides, he would swing on the ropes, which is even worse. The ScoutPusher 5001 has no such problems.
-- How are we going to put Ben onto the tower from below?
-- Well, we will push him somehow... It does not matter, the main thing is that my solution is much more elegant. Admit it.
-- It will be elegant when the pumpkin falls off your ScoutPusher onto someone's roof, -- Raven observed pessimistically.
Standing in the square, Doctor Plesnev whispered to himself:
-- Well, so far everything has gone smoothly enough. By all the laws of the genre, something should happen now, no doubt about it, I know these moments. They will press the wrong thing, the pumpkin will swing, and then...
Indeed, some little lever was pressed carelessly, the pumpkin rolled off the device's platform and... somehow managed to land exactly on the tower roof. From the sudden jolt, the clock hands shifted sharply and showed six thirty in the evening. The workers in the square, seeing how late it already was, quickly dropped their tasks and went home. The ScoutPusher itself swayed, but by some miracle still held, despite its center of gravity shifting after Ben's fall.
-- Ah, well yes, that is also possible, -- Plesnev remarked melancholically. -- Guys, are you all right? -- he shouted upward.
Scout gestured that everything was fine and shut off the mechanism.
-- Hey, first get this off the square.
-- Why? It is a good installation...
-- I appreciate the joke, but if the king sees it...
-- Fine, fine. Then help; this thing is hard to operate alone.

Part 1

Once upon a very long time ago everything was good, but only until everything became bad. Fortunately, it was bad for only a short while: very soon everything became one hell of a well-fed arctic fox. Various states and superpowers hurled nuclear and neutron bombs at one another, the sky was covered with blackest-black clouds, and nuclear winter began. And when most of the planet's population had died out, everything became relatively not bad again. After all, when you can ski regardless of the season, that is not bad, right?
Ah, stupid post-apocalypse...
The people who remained alive inevitably grew feral. There could no longer be any talk of scientific knowledge, of civilizations or society as we know them. By every sign, humanity had to start from a blank slate. And it did: everyone began hunting deer and wild cows, gathering berries and herbs in swamps; in short, gathering, returning to the roots, all that.
I hate post-apocalypse... Why, just why?
But when even the bravest had lost hope, one man appeared, a man later proudly called the Builder, a man not satisfied with the existing order of things. He said that skiing is skiing, but people must never, under any circumstances, lose their face. Now that few people were left, those who remained should not waste their entire lives on aimless cow-hunting; instead, they had to build a new, just society, immediately give rise to civilization, and not wait for centuries until everything formed by itself.
Damn cop-style post-apocalypse...
Many followed the Builder. To be exact, 37 thousand 216 people, of whom 556 were active participants. They found land less affected by radiation than others and carried out enormous, painstaking work to improve it. They created the Land of Heroes: a place where everyone can be whatever they want to be. A place where legends and epics, honor and nobility are reborn. Where people work with each other, not against each other, as happened everywhere in the rest of the world. A place where heroic deeds are always welcomed.
King Arandil stretched sweetly on his throne.
-- Did I sleep long?
-- One may rest after righteous labors, my king. I was reading you the tale meanwhile.
-- Yes, I vaguely remember something like that through sleep.
-- You talked in your sleep. You mentioned some "post-apoc."
-- What? I do not talk in my sleep.
-- I ask forgiveness in advance for my discourtesy, but I will still allow myself to note...
-- I do not talk in my sleep; I am not some sick person. And that word you just said, I hear it for the first time. What kind of "potapoc"? -- seeing the confusion in the storyteller's eyes, and not understanding much himself, Arandil waved his hand. -- So, has it started yet?
-- The event begins in an hour.
-- Excellent. Then I shall go and take my honorable royal seat.

***

Everything was ready. Sinister pumpkins all over the square glowed sinisterly, with Big Ben standing out especially on his tower (on the very last day, for some reason, he had tilted sideways, but it was too late to fix it). These vegetables were almost everywhere: on roofs, on the ground, on stalls with holiday souvenirs, inside shops, on some people's heads... And heaps of carnival costumes, all sorts of witches and vampires, a sinister atmosphere of horror and hopelessness... In short, just a little more and it would have looked like life outside the Land of Heroes.
-- Halt, who goes there? -- a guard called to a suspicious type in a dark cloak, from under which a sword protruded and some part of armor gleamed.
-- What are you doing? That is the Dark Inquisitor himself!
-- It is? Sorry, I did not recognize you, my fault.
The Dark Inquisitor, named Harold the Transcendent, smiled and entered the square. There he shook his head, thinking that in former times, before retraining as a dark inquisitor and while still an ordinary inquisitor, he would have broken up such a sabbath as soon as he learned about it. But now Harold's life priorities had changed drastically. Much of this was King Arandil's fault: one day he had declared that he had enough ordinary inquisitors, but nobody for the dark side, and that this misunderstanding had to be corrected immediately.
Harold approached one of the stalls, where a seemingly ordinary man stood, though on closer inspection something was wrong with his eyes. They were unusually round, and when he blinked his eyelids moved like a bird's, horizontally.
-- What would you like? Chocolate? Candy?
-- Do you have green fur of equatorial mammoth?
-- It should be delivered today at 28 hours 88 minutes.
From the outside, the dialogue looked as if two guys from a madhouse had found each other; in reality it was merely an exchange of code words. Thus, through his people, the Dark Inquisitor monitored the situation. Such a Dark Event as Halloween simply had to pass without surprises, and Harold wanted to make sure it would.
And here was His Majesty's carriage, rushing at full steam (literally and figuratively) toward the newly built royal box. The car stopped right at the entrance, and Spare Engine almost bumped his forehead into the transport. The driver got out, opened the door, and King Arandil found himself nose to nose with some boy in a wolf costume.
-- Candy or life! -- the child held out some dirty plastic bag to Arandil.
-- Boy, there is a king before you!
-- So you have lots of candy, right?
Arandil rolled his eyes and groaned in displeasure. The driver immediately pushed the boy out of the king's path with his foot, and the king was able to proceed to his box. He sat down and began to inspect Gray Raven's creation and the people in the square in a businesslike manner. Arandil noticed that the event organizer himself, like Doctor Plesnev, was nowhere to be seen. But in the center of the square there was a small group of people familiar to the king: the artist Catherine had approached the candy stall where the Dark Inquisitor and another girl already stood. Though it seemed Arandil had never seen that girl in his life. But if she were a bit taller... And her face not so feminine... Remove some at the hips and add some at the shoulders, and a beard too... Wait, does Scout have a sister? Or something of that kind?
An unpleasant guess formed in the king's mind, and he muttered:
-- A woman at Gray Raven's event means misfortune. I should have learned that long ago!

***

-- So you got bored of taking part in Raven's events as a man and decided to... -- Catherine said, embarrassed.
-- I like it! You look fresh, -- the Dark Inquisitor shrugged.
-- That means you will buy more candy now, -- the shopkeeper remarked, but Harold the Transcendent leaned over and whispered to him not to overact his conspiracy.
-- I do not know about candy, -- Scout answered in a thin voice unusual to those around him, though it remained a little rougher than Cat's, for example. -- But it is still great that Nature magic allows such masquerade tricks, is it not?
Catherine gracefully "adjusted" the mustache she had drawn on her cheeks for the masquerade. Yes indeed, Scout's "costume" turned out better than they could have expected.
-- By the way, why did our doctor not come? -- Harold asked, but everyone only shrugged in response.
-- Look, it is starting! -- Scout drew their attention, and the speakers turned toward the stage. The curtain opened, and the people in the square saw Gray Raven accompanied by an orchestra.
-- Ladies and gentlemen! The Halloween festivities are declared open! This is the first time I am holding something of this sort, and I decided to prepare something special for all of you. I will show you now, -- Raven nodded to the orchestra, and it began playing a rather tense, heavy motif. Then the organizer unexpectedly rose into the air (the crowd gasped in surprise) and landed right on top of Big Ben.
-- I want to use this moment to announce one important thing. Ahem... The fact is that you and I live for years, long, long years, and do not think about certain things. As you all know, our country, the Land of Heroes, was created by the legendary Builder. With a very specific purpose: leaving aside the lofty ideas that "everyone can become whoever they want," it is enough to say that the Land of Heroes was needed to preserve civilization, so that people would not lose their humanity. Then the Builder disappeared, supposedly entrusting control over the Land of Heroes to his confidants. Whether these confidants truly exist and what exactly they do, I do not know. What is known is that after the Builder's disappearance, King Magnum came to power in the Land of Heroes, then died, presumably of old age, and passed power to our current king, Radiant Arandil. However, let us look with an objective, unclouded gaze at all the years our land has existed and give them an assessment. I will allow myself to give that assessment; it is expressed in one word: "talentless." Every morning I wake up, look out the window, and see that there are fewer and fewer people in the streets, and emptiness in their eyes. I try to learn what is happening in the world and understand that our kingdom is gradually fading into oblivion; nobody needs us. We are torn apart by wars, yes, real wars, mostly over resources, but also because people, contrary to all our hopes, are returning to their beastly origins. The Land of Heroes is failing in its function: life in it does not become like an ideal, or even like what existed before the nuclear winter; people around the Land are not inspired by our example, because we have no example to show. In short, the Land of Heroes is dead. It is dead, and all that remains for us is to burrow in this grave like worms while there is still some humus in it. But it is better to forget about that; there is no sense or consolation in it. That is all. Happy Halloween to everyone.
Throughout the monologue, the glow from the pumpkins all over the square intensified; here and there bright sheaves of blue sparks appeared, some monotonous hum grew louder, and electrical discharges passed through the air from one pumpkin to another. At some point the people in the square almost completely stopped caring about the speech; they whispered and watched the beauty happening around them. However, some (especially King Arandil and people who knew Raven personally) were seriously worried by what was happening; they had not expected such a strange speech. To top it all off, the tower with Big Ben rose, and mechanized arms emerged from its walls: they slowly lifted and folded above the tower's "head." At the same time, the clock hands spun madly. Add to this the fact that the Big Ben pumpkin was strongly tilted to one side, while the orchestra was still playing, and you get a fairly surreal picture.
-- Traitor! -- someone in the crowd cried. That someone jumped onto the stage, and from it climbed onto the awning that covered the stage. Only then did Arandil, the Inquisitor, Catherine, and Scout see that it was none other than Draco Neko Trit in person. Draco pulled out a minigun (where did he get a minigun?!) and fired a burst toward Gray Raven, who hurriedly hid behind Big Ben.
-- Korshun, do something! -- the Dark Inquisitor shouted to the shopkeeper. He grabbed two devices from behind the counter, put one on his belt, and tucked the second, resembling a time bomb, under his arm. A violet flash - and Korshun vanished from sight. Harold hoped he would reappear beside Gray Raven, but that did not happen. Instead, several seconds later an explosion sounded in the distance, loud enough to briefly drown out Trit's minigun. "Korshun!" the Inquisitor feared for his ally, watching smoke and dust rise over the neighboring quarter.
Meanwhile, pumpkin chunks stopped flying off Big Ben: Draco Trit had run out of minigun ammunition, which made him very unhappy. Raven looked at the time shown by his Breguet, stood up, and announced:
-- That is it. From this moment I begin the count!
-- The count of what? -- Scout wondered.
-- One!
-- What one?
-- Two!
Less than a second passed before a flash appeared in the sky, and immediately the whole square was covered by a meteorite [King Arandil, Dark Inquisitor, Draco Neko Trit, Catherine, Scout, and the people in the square take 42000000 damage, DEATH].
Gray Raven looked at his Breguet once more.
-- Strange. The meteorite was supposed to fall on three. I must be getting old, -- he concluded sadly.

Narodar Empire. Titania Desert. Three years ago.

Evening was falling. Among the tall dunes - hot waves of the desert - an elf walked. Three weeks earlier his camp had been attacked. Because of one mage's carelessness, everyone had died, including the camels. The elf was the only survivor. When the caravan's supplies ran out, the elf set out. It was pointless to stay there and wait for the next caravan. They almost never used this route. There was no point going back either; the end of the desert was not so far away...
For a week now Oben had been walking north. He had survived alone in forests, mountains, snow, swamps, and jungles, but his relations with the desert were not the best. It seemed to him that he was treading in place; the landscape did not change. Dunes, dunes, dunes. More dunes, dunes again. And there was a dune smaller than the others. The food he had saved would last another week. The water only a few days.
"Damn desert. When will it end? It should have ended already. Where is that mountain ridge? I should have reached it by now. Or maybe I am walking in circles? No, no, everything is right, I just have not reached it yet."
Over the last week Oben had managed to think through in his head everything imaginable. And while the three weeks spent in camp had not affected him, the week spent in the desert had affected his mental health. Oben was slowly going mad. Thoughts tangled, twisted, narrowed, and widened. They behaved in the most indecent way. Fragmentary memories from childhood and youth surfaced: memories of completely insignificant events, trifles. Young Oben sharpening a knife, eating his favorite venison, returning home from a hunt, arguing with a blacksmith, making a bow, chatting with a sweet green-eyed girl.
"What nonsense!" the elf thought and shook his head. The memory flashes ceased. For a while he walked thinking of nothing, looking at his feet. For a second it seemed to him that moist air touched his face. He raised his head and saw a large oasis not far away, with naked girls bathing in it. The elf's eyes widened and he ran, but after covering ten meters he stopped abruptly.
- Ha! Screw you, desert! You will not fool me! - Oben said and made an obscene gesture toward the mirage.
Soon the illusion dissolved and the elf saw reality. Not long ago this oasis really had been full of water. Oben approached the dried palms and sat down in their shade.
- The princess turned into smoke, and the fairy died, - the elf muttered.
"Maybe if I run into a couple more like that, I will actually reach the ridge. And if I do not..."
The elf had more than once found himself in mortal danger, but never before had he felt so helpless and pathetic. All he could do was keep walking. He was not going to give up - that meant certain death. But a treacherous voice in his head periodically whispered that it would not be bad to end it all. Oben had never hoped for anything. He had always considered hope a snake that bites you and injects the poison of disappointment into your soul. But now that snake hissed quietly in his head, trying to drown out the voice. Oben sat under the palms until dark, staring at one point and listening to the quarrel between the voice and the snake.
At night it was not hot in the desert. So the fire, fueled by palm bark, warmed the elf a little. He remembered the book he had grabbed from the camp at random, took it out of his pack, and, without looking at the cover, opened it in the middle.
- I must not go mad in this cursed place, - Oben said and began reading aloud. - Staneus had never experienced anything like this in his life. Yes, this was indisputably the best moment of his life, despite all its richness. It is amazing how much pleasure cool seawater, a full moon...
The elf shuddered. He looked at the cover. The book seemed to be about the travels of some adventurer captain. Captain. Sea. Ocean. Water. Water. Water. Water. Water. Oben slammed the book shut, threw it onto the sand, and began stomping on it furiously. Perhaps stories like this, in this place, would support and motivate someone, but not Oben. It all seemed to him like mockery, a spit in the face, a trick by the goddess of fate, in whom he did not believe, but whose laughter seemed to carry for kilometers around. Soon he calmed down. Such outbursts of rage had happened to him in youth. He had managed to overcome them then, but now everything he had once mentally fought overwhelmed him completely.
- Anger dwells in the breasts of fools, - he whispered, sat on the sand, and covered his face with his hands.
"Why did I lead them this way? Almost nobody uses it. Why did I not lead them by the main route? I am guilty. I doomed them to certain death. I myself, with my own hands, drove myself into this sand trap..."
Despite the heavy thoughts, the elf managed to fall asleep. He had a strange dream. He was fighting his own people. He killed one, a second, a third, a fourth. Then a fifth attacked and wounded him in the side. Oben woke from terrible pain in his side. Dawn was breaking. He felt the wound he had stitched himself. The elf could swear he had been wounded fighting desert nomads when they attacked the camp. But what did his dream mean then?
"Some nonsense," Oben thought. - "I need to keep going."
Oben picked up the book trampled into the sand and felt shame. A very strange and incomprehensible shame. He put it back in his pack and walked on. Walked without knowing whether he would get out or not. Whether he would survive and remain as he had been, or whether he would not. Time would tell. For now: dunes, dunes, dunes...

So Revanka really is quite the inspirer. It seems my thoughts had piled up long ago, but I could never find the time and strength to write something. Oh yes, I also forgot my beloved laziness, which often keeps me from accomplishing many things in my life.
To be honest, when I saw Revanka's little wall of text, I realized I had something to say. For example, that HW used to be better, mafia more interesting, chat worked, there were factions above avatars, and there are far fewer oldfags now; the wine was sweeter, the women prettier, the ruble stronger, and so on. But I will not do that, because even though HW really was more interesting to me in the past, nowadays I like HW no less, because in those good old days we did not have Ment, for example, and he is such a cutie that I can no longer imagine dear little HW without him.
On the other hand, I would still like to remember some moments that have settled firmly in my heart. For example, I was always amused by how our entertainer Revanka loves changing nicknames; and in general he is funny. I think almost everyone who had a chance to talk to him normally noticed that over his entire time on HW he has changed very much. For better or worse, I cannot say, because in some ways he always remains a mystery to me. I will never forget Siver's words that I used to annoy him because I broke his template about girls, but later he began treating me normally. I remember that Nebo was once Aziral and even Tieru, and that he was not as depraved before as he is now (or so I thought). For me, by the way, he will always be Bear Grylls who spent the night in Klov. Watching Klov was funny too: first he behaved like a child, then he grew up and began dreaming of pretty lolis. The mysterious Wistrit - some even suspected he was actually a girl, because he was always mysterious and tried to remain as anonymous as possible. I also remember Kosha's banhammer, with which she used to threaten each of us for any reason or none. In general, I can remember many more people: Hostor, who may not be such an oldfag (but still), yet is a very good friend and interesting conversation partner; Mejerson, who recommended a funny book to me and I only read it recently (you were right, the sequel sucks); Vishmaster, my countryman who moved from Komsomolsk to Ukraine (he even once scolded me for speaking badly of our city); Vegtam, probably closer to me than anyone else from HW; Plesen, who once told me that since I had no sideboard at home, I was a pauper; and Tox, who is also not quite an oldfag, but many funny memories are connected with him too. I also remember the Order of Phoenix clan, which for some reason many people did not like; among them, people especially singled out various Querties and Slonyshas, as I recall. Thanks to Sayuz in her mafia, organized by her close friend Guilford, Loken drew several cute and unforgettable illustrations. By the way, I almost forgot Loken, aka Morni, whom some uninformed people take for a girl. I have always loved his sense of humor, and although many people speak of him in not the most flattering way, he always has an important little place in my heart.
Overall, if not for HW, in my school years I would have withdrawn into myself from loneliness. Yes, yes, for a long time I had literally nobody to talk to, and then suddenly the internet appeared, and I decided to settle into it firmly and spit on reality (though somehow in the end I did not manage to spit on it). I am glad that here I was able to overcome my complexes and change my views on life for the better. Here I fell in love for the first time, though it did not end very well, because later I caught "rays of kindness" from Lizard (all right, all right, I was no better myself). By the way, I absolutely have not forgotten Arandor, even though I mention him last. I probably have the most memories with him, because we used to communicate a great deal, and someone even joked later that all HW was waiting for our wedding (but nope, I went and married some unknown Leshenka from my own city!). Over a long time I hurt him quite a bit and did not even think about his feelings, which I became ashamed of much later. It is a pity that at one point I simply had to stop communicating with him, but such is fate. I still wish him happiness and goodness; he deserves it.
In general, I wanted to say many more things, but earlier I was too lazy, and now Revanka also limited the deadline. I apologize in advance to those I could not mention, because the wall of text is already huge and probably unreadable, and there may not have been enough time to remember everyone, but I did not want to offend anyone.

About a half-full glass good life.

In life there is always an opportunity to find something good against something bad.
To do this you need to take a cheerful-colored pen and write your own addition to what it writes in black ink.
A year ago in Donetsk, that is exactly what I started doing.

The city looks deserted and abandoned in places,but it is not empty.
Artillery shelling can begin at any moment. Without warning. In any district. So unless absolutely necessary, it is better not to walk around the city. But if your line of work allows it, you can switch to "work from home" (and then you do not need to spend money on transport and can wake up 15 minutes before the workday begins), and if it does not, then there are chances to become a _real_ hero. Like utility workers who continue watering flowerbeds, taking out garbage, and repairing roads; employees of "Voda Donbassa" who patch the long-suffering water pipeline; and employees of "DTEK" restoring destroyed electricity.
Many shops are closed, and in the open ones the selection is reduced to the necessary minimum. And that is right! One should think about the soul, not seasonal discounts on goods that may burn tomorrow together with the house!
There are far fewer cars,which means the ecology is improving. And no standing in traffic jams :rolleyes:
There is less work - many enterprises have closed, and there is less money for work too.But happiness is not in money!
We have started calling friends and relatives more often. Before, there was not always time to talk even once a month, and now almost every day we ask each other how things are :) And there is always a formal reason to talk: "Was that something that just went boom near you?"
At night there is a curfew - the former 24-hour shops work until 21-00.But no one sings under the windows, no one fights, and even neighbors who love loud music no longer play it loudly. In general, nobody interferes with sleep... almost nobody.
At night outside the window there are only crickets and artillery, sometimes bursts of automatic fire, sometimes drones.Someone has leveled the "nerves of steel" skill and falls asleep in such conditions without problems. Those who cannot fall asleephave the opportunity to think about the meaning of life, death, G-d, and the Eternal.
Everything that does not kill us makes us stronger.
And if it kills us, there will be nothing left to worry about.
The shutdown of ATMs and the ability to pay by card in shops is a very serious blow. The work is remote, and therefore the salary is too. So it is time to change banks and place of residence. Foreign banks look more stable than Ukrainian ones, and a (sub)tropical climate is milder. At the same time, there will finally be an opportunity to learn English in the field and travel.
The text turned out pompous. But optimistic ;)