Posts from ☀️ Arselia and Akonia Auto-translated

-- Well, Klaus? How's the little world?

-- Epic. When I transported, I never expected such detailed development. It used to be like this: with each new story, something new gradually emerged. Airisufir, "Wisteria," was interesting, but it was only in Serberia that everything took shape and gained depth; before that, it was a local joke about mercenaries and princesses. In Serberia, each province felt alive and unique. Lafrenia seemed like a decent revolutionary story, but it was hard to grasp much from it, and the substance only came in Sakumoramoria, where it became clear how people lived in different parts of the planet.

-- Heh, and Lungworth?

-- Strangely enough, Lungworth also "felt" real, but it turned out short and the mechanics were unfortunate, though the potential was there. Anyway, the idea is that in Anuzish, the depth of detail immediately turned out not just on par, but above that.

-- And what about the princess, then?

-- Is this a question like for a beauty contest? A very beautifully designed character and portraits—I like blondes, so of all the ones I remember, she appealed to me the most. From the perspective of her look and character—I got vibes from Naria that reminded me until the end of a notable character from a certain manga you probably know. Not in the details, of course. But here too, there's a strong emotional attachment to something that forces the character to follow a rather ambiguous path, and at the same time, in terms of feelings and relationships with some heroes, she is quite human and actively participates in everything. No idealization; her closet is packed to the brim with skeletons, and she understands it herself. It looked dangerous and, to some extent, sympathetic at the same time; it was a powerful engine for the events.

The Blacksmith continues:

-- A while ago, I managed to get a job at Erephir's design bureau, which is why I've heard so much, though it passed through a certain prism of my perception. Many people work there, and I managed to chat with some knights. Anyway, you know I'm lazy—instead of working, I love discussing different people and fantasizing. In particular, before that Red Fury, Carneol had another leader, Aiko Viresenser from Noir, and from her experience, much can be said about the empress as well. Naria was very good at setting various gears in motion, which produced even this squad, but her empathy was a bit worse; otherwise, it would have been strange not to see that a kind-hearted, timid little trader wasn't very suited to leading a band of assassins. The girl was happy about the appointment, but she ultimately accepted it mainly because she didn't want her head to roll, and also to sleep on a big bed, yeah...

-- What followed only confirmed all her fears. It wasn't a natural course of events for her, but rather a rafting trip down a stormy river in a leaky boat without oars. In Minjin, Aiko was very lucky that they were captured, robbed, and sent home by train—otherwise, she would never have forgiven herself for burning down an orphanage with potential victims; as it was, losing her belongings was just a relatively tolerable loss. On Granhildr, the people around her split into those who were easily willing to take advantage of the toy-like Carneol leader's kindness, and those who loved her but lacked the spirit to actively help and stuff her into a sphere... So the ending was predictable, and a malicious sword of roughly the same mass flew onto the continent, despite its intention to later kill everyone. Probably, if Valis could laugh, everyone in the balloon would have had a hard time listening to him. And the most interesting thing is that I got the impression that for Aiko, this wasn't the worst outcome: if the dwarf had later learned what became of the Zimivian queen, for whom so many sacrifices had been made, she would have been horrified and would have forever lost faith in people.

-- Hmm. So, from discussing the empress, I've smoothly or not-so-smoothly moved on to other topics. Well, let me tell you about some other interesting personalities then. Erephir Linel Darvening, for instance—I managed to read her diaries in an early edition, and she changed a lot "over the summer." Or rather, over the years she spent in her Dark Lands, because there she had friends for the first time in a long while, from whom she could learn heroism, perseverance, and wisdom. Even though she lost all that, she still became a more cheerful and mature character, and the experience of death contributed to that as well. Well, some details... I hope the book will be published soon; you'll read it yourself, and so will everyone who wants to. After what happened to her there, there are naturally two paths: either principled optimism, sometimes leading to a very poor understanding of others' feelings, or madness. If there is a third path, it's for a few chosen sages, who, however, sometimes also exist in the multiverse...

-- Beata Luxae and Guyon Tamaris—these two probably suffered the most from being misunderstood by their commander, because she didn't acknowledge any of their troubles as such. At least among the current ones, not those in quests and flashbacks. Nevertheless, they had more influence on Fury than the others; in them, she found friends she never thought she'd find anywhere, and so she treasured the Knight of the Arena and the Knight of the Falling Star immensely. When it became clear that the wedding was just around the corner and the rings hastily left Margel fearing retribution, Erephir made replacements for them, going all out so that the old ones could be forgotten, given how much better the quality and effects of the new ones were. Of course, here you need to understand that Crag forged his own rings for not even 100k... But still. So much was experienced with these two, in both old and new Carneol, and experienced very deeply—what kind of veterans they will become, where and how they will become famous, only they themselves know.

-- Ayano... I worried for her at the beginning of the story with the rapist; at any moment it seemed it could escalate into a massacre and an unscheduled rescue quest, but surprisingly, everything was resolved socially. Essentially, for Carneol, she was an older sister who's never home because she's visiting friends... With, among other things, a very pleasant, detailed cultural-Japanese flavor—that's how I perceived this part of the story. In the end, there is more Nihon in the stories and tales of those I spoke with than the local Mitsurugi islands, by many times over. I wonder what would have happened if someone else from that country had transported to Anuzish?

-- Merelle made an interesting impression of a silent companion who would later power up and, unexpectedly for everyone, become an enemy boss. It happened somewhat differently, but it came true. I think that for the screen time he had, he showed himself as characteristically as possible, and could have shown much more, continuing to increase his strength and beauty.

-- Garrett was known as the silent brother, but every appearance of his was powerfully infused with the spirit of adventure. It was great how much of a transformation he got toward the end; who would have thought he just needed a little attention and titles to turn into a champion of justice. Well, maybe a pinch of threat of exile, perhaps, heh? I hope not, though, or that it was a minor factor. Harold probably softened his cynicism over time too, it seems to me, but he knows best... Actually, the biggest mystery was finding out whether Harold was truly a living soul when he followed his brother as a skeleton in Lungworth—and since he remembers that period, apparently, that's the case...

-- Klin, whatever he thought of himself, tried his best. Yes, despite sleep, despite everything, but... Such a true-to-herself and dignified simplicity, and a path to success. And his reconnaissance friends, Kiven and Yulisia, were excellent; I was most disappointed that at some point they disappeared from the story, even though I understand covering this, that, and the other would have been difficult for the documentarists.

-- Alaria tried very hard to carry a very sweaty page in Calcite, under conditions of limited resources, broken communication, and constant losses. Once I heard a story from Reim about a Nihonese woman, Tsukiko Shimizu, who had similar duties but in a snowy desert—she couldn't handle it. Alaria may have had more reliable friends she could count on, both in planning and especially in real actions... Without those skills, you can't fight much, and the weakened Tsukiko couldn't be backed up by her Nihonese friends, but Alaria was backed up excellently—by Klin, the scouts, and Kenshiro. In short, everything pointed to this being a success story...

-- Yes, Kenshiro was certainly harsh. As befits a warrior, if he saw a solution to a problem in his katana, he solved it with his katana, without a hint of doubt. Overlooking the guards and other people in Barsin was, of course, an unpleasant mistake, but he played a big role, and it will be great when an arena is named after him where heads will be chopped off... Or maybe not chopped off; I'm not from around here, I don't know how arenas work.

-- Raphael was very, very socially skilled, and Carneol clearly saw him as a major helper. I don't understand why he suddenly lost his will to live and got involved with a dangerous yandere... He warned everyone around that you should be careful with women, but he didn't live that way himself.

-- Little sister Nisho—listening about her, at some point I thought that she, too, got a strong morale boost compared to her past life (which I accidentally learned about from other sources). In the sense that she started committing her villainous deeds not just for the sake of villainy and personal gain; the episode with the moneylender showed that Nisho, for once, was starting to think and care about others. Even if only the very closest, and in a very specific way, nonetheless. Perhaps if Erephir had noticed the suspicious wanderings around town in time and had managed to have a heart-to-heart talk with her, as well as warn her, the crimson-haired girl's story wouldn't have ended so soon.

-- Raptilion—I don't know why I remembered him; he's just some kind of ticket taker. Well, uh, he's doing great, I guess; if he ever writes a philosophical treatise, I'll read it.

-- Keliandra made quite a mark; at some point I realized that in the old stories, some characters had something of her, some chaotic factor. Remembering Hanelion, for instance... And the ending fit, too. There was also some Mellen from this series, and Vortex, but it's hard to say anything more about them since they didn't manage to establish stable ties with Carneol. However, I will say, again about Keliandra, that yes, she was a breath of fresh air, especially for Aiko. Probably, deep down, she felt warm from such a strange but kind friend (kind up until the hypothetical trip to Thais).

-- Maybe it's a bit strange to end with this, but I'll still say that Amamius Okykot made an indelible impression on me, becoming one of my favorite characters. He had style from the very beginning, and it seemed like the start of a novel, but not for long. Then he dropped off the radar, and I thought he'd turned into an episodic role, but no, after his return, he pleasantly surprised me by actively rethinking his life and relationships. He didn't become magically perfect right away; no, you could feel that phrase by phrase and dialogue by dialogue, something was being forged from him, sometimes with his own problems, like that sudden loss of self-preservation, but that made him even more alive, and he fully deserved his happy ending. And, as far as I know, he got it—at least that dangerous episode with the Church went fine, Naria helped a bit, and Zhenya once again proved himself to be an understanding person.

-- Anyway, that's it. Communicating with all these people was truly a good experience, that's my conclusion. Right now, what year is it anyway? — Klaus checked the calendar, but the calendar was blurred. — Well, I don't know, but it's far from the cornerstone 1000, so more information will be added.

Did Nebok get the link? If not.

Oh yes, a photo from the wedding:

Without a shadow of exaggeration, this legendary exp is worthy of a detailed review; however, after long months of playing, many moments and their corresponding spectra of impressions have, to some extent, overwritten each other in my memory, making it a bit difficult at the current moment. Therefore, I won't delve too deep into the details and will simply note a couple of striking distinctive features that especially influenced the perception of the world and generally fueled interest.

Firstly, of course, it is the scale and content. Even NPCs with very minor episodic appearances didn't feel like random nobodies, which is unthinkable given their total number—just take a look at the character lists; you can't recall many of them offhand, yet they existed and played some role in the world and narrative. And the world itself turned out quite curious; it's clear, of course, that Margel, as the central place of action, was the most detailed and received the most development, however, beyond its borders there were not only raid locations, but also very atmospheric Calcite, Yuzhanka, Yanxi, Tais, and even individual "portal" locations like the Elysium and Mitten mountains also proved interesting.

And this brings me to the second thing I'd like to highlight, namely, the travels. In essence, it's the basic concept of an expedition, so it's also an important detail. I liked how they were implemented here—not just an RP transition to a new map, but with a travel line that must be overcome, along which various events may or may not occur. It seems to me that this idea is quite engaging; it adds a special spice of adventurous excitement. Likely not just me, if you remember the bits in the thread with variations of events x) Just please, no hundred thousand quicksands and harpy attacks 😳

Of course, there was much more interesting stuff in this game that is undoubtedly fun to remember, but rather than listing everything, one can, for example, open the master post (a convenient thing, by the way, glad it's there) to find something specific, although I personally still like to do it the old-fashioned way: click a random old page and read. Sometimes this way you can even discover interesting moments that might have been missed during active play.

In conclusion, due credit must certainly be given to the players, whose immersion makes the detailed world and exciting adventures part of the story.

Kosha — your couple might not be aliens, but Beata and Giyyon are the most "cosmic" in their adventures in terms of how they react to all their incidents; they set their own special vibe throughout the game, which kept things from ever getting boring.
Ment — brilliantly played the professions of both characters and carried Carneol from start to finish; no less sturdy in activity than Erephir's armor, and just as piercing in his ingenuity as her sword.
Loken — very deep and at the same time multifaceted RP, and the interaction with the world and the royal scale of the story — everything is at the highest level; it seems that with Ayano, any character can shine in new colors.
Geroist — I liked the multi-stage story of the character's development, very soulfully played how the events happening to him changed Klina over time, and of course, I'll note the duo of RSV-ers, a very bright and resourceful move that splendidly nudged the plot, which seemed to have hit a dead end, back into motion.
Nebo — delighted me with the hilarious adventures of Raphael, and then revealed to the world a femme fatale in the form of Nisho, and even Raptilion became a cool sketch.
Arandor — generally, Merel, even apart from Valis, was perceived as something of a secret boss, given his past and subsequently restored memory; it's interesting where that could have led...
Alex — kudos for the colorful RP and decisive actions in the conclusion of the Calcite quest; Kenshiro rushed into the final battle without a shadow of a doubt like a true warrior, and thanks to this, the southern arc gained its heroic final note.
Astral — an unexpected participation with such energy and unpredictable actions, although brief, it also looked interesting; I hope you'll return again.
Plesen — the sudden end of Alaria saddened me... She had come such a long way and then a turn like that; it's very harsh, because I liked her active and inspired roleplay.

And, of course, Revan. I am immensely impressed by your endurance; so much time, and playing is hard enough, but running the game... It is a titanic labor, and thanks to this, we saw a truly grandiose experience in many aspects, moreover with a fully completed long epic plot; stunning. For which I sincerely congratulate you and all the players and express my deepest respect to everyone.

Something like that. I'm glad I took part in this divine comedy; it was a completely unique experience. And I'm especially glad that despite the difficulties, I managed to bring the character to the finale, and not alone, but reunited with a now truly resurrected brother, because considering the peculiarities of the world and the characters, it seemed to me to be a hopeless undertaking, so I was pleasantly surprised when this issue found a resolution.

Thank you all for the game!

Thanks again for your participation and kind words, guys. Reading these posts makes you realize how wonderful our community and pastime are here. By the way, I was thinking that the term "multiverse" probably doesn't quite fit this setting. I'm no expert, but there haven't been any "parallel" worlds or anything like that here. The universe is essentially one, just with different planets, and this time there was this unique way of transportation. What I found particularly interesting is that you can open any game set in the other four worlds, and everything will be connected in some way to what happened in this game. Here's Sonata's bloody rise to power and her subsequent downfall (while the still-unfamiliar Ayano and her companions are cleaning up the palace), here's Erefir fighting in a tournament, here's "Merel" causing trouble in the mafia, and so on. And in the context of the fact that, thanks to Nari, this particular feature of Anuzish was closed, you can perceive the era shown in this game as a kind of time of miracles, when anything was possible, even things you wouldn't even think about in another era. Master Post

Klinolog
A lone fishing boat rocked gently on the waves, like the dwarf clouds lazily crawling across the morning sky. The light paint had peeled off, and a hastily patched hole on the starboard side spoke volumes about the quality of this raft forgotten by the goddess in the midst of bottomless unknown.
Having once again pulled up an empty net, the gray-haired gentleman hunched under the weight of time cursed quietly, puffed on his crumpled cigar, and tried again for the thousandth time.
—..First the Anuzish Belt, now Anuzish sweat. What next part of the goddess shall we name ourselves after?..
Continuing to grumble, the sailor made his way to the cabin, where his usual provisions x1 and a stack of papers awaited him on a rusty table. Pulling off his soaked boots, he groaned as he re-bandaged his blackened finger and set about his meager ration. Each hard-swallowed bite of dried food passed through his stomach with sharp pain. Acid rose to his throat in a nauseating surge, but over the years he had stopped paying attention to such trifles. Uncorking his hip flask, the man tilted his head back and doused the pain with the bitterness of alcohol. It briefly refreshed his mind.
—As they say, from Aconia to Agony is just one letter, heh-heh! —chuckling at his own unexpected observation, the sailor reached for the table cluttered with junk. There, atop the salt-dissolved papers, waited a clean envelope carefully sealed unlike the others. Hooked the edges of the document with his dirty thumbnail, he freed with a sharp motion a letter written in neat feminine handwriting:

Dear K.,

How are you? Still chasing that unattainable dream? Perhaps it's time to come home? P. and I won't abandon you. We'll help with both money and work.

Everything here is as before. M. successfully passed her entrance exam to the academy! R. dreams of following in my footsteps. No, not what you thought — a journalist!

Work is as always overwhelming. But when was it ever different with us?.. Independent publishers have a tough time these days. On the other hand, it turned out to be a wonderful opportunity to see the world and meet all sorts of people. I think a person with your talents and knowledge would find a place with us too.

I'm sending our photographs, as well as some from the new millennium celebration in Magrel. You probably know about all the events there even without me.

With best wishes,
Yours sincerely,

Yu. and P.

PS: You never reply, but we will keep waiting for word from you...

Setting aside the message, the sailor leans back and closes his eyes for a moment. Fate of gray reconnaissance in this world ended sadly but deservedly, and K. himself found his calling in a personal suicidal quest.
Under Yu.'s letter, a collection of photographs sealed in transparent film is discovered — a happy family, fragments of the last celebration, and even a snapshot of the newly-minted goddess of light.
—Where there's light, soon just as much darkness will sprout... —casually flipping through the photos, the man was about to turn the envelope to ash when he unexpectedly felt another message at the bottom. Slightly surprised, he unfolds the crumpled paper sheet:

PPS: Enclosed is the latest interview with our old acquaintance, perhaps you'll find it interesting:


"A former imperial province, now a tiny country hidden among mountains east of the kingdom of Magrel — for many, even its name evokes no particular associations. Once inhabited by ascetic philosophers, it was destroyed to the ground by a terrible cataclysm, and only through the efforts of its current administrator did it receive a chance at a second life. From a simple villager to ruler of a mountain state — until now, anyone interested in the fate of Clin Chegver could piece together his story only from rare fragmented fragments. Tradition versus modernity, naive ideals versus ties with the Magrel crown, ostentatious asceticism versus a collection of artifacts, modest lifestyle versus "church" flow of donations, family harmony versus a hidden secret drama — let us try together to unravel this curious tangle to answer the main question: are we witnessing a revival or the final demise of this ancient culture? Today's topic — Cridear."

The familiar clatter of wheels gives way to a sharp ascent, and lungs fill with the cool aroma of mountain herbs; our destination is close. My interlocutor also notices the approach of his homeland: his gray face regains freshness, and flames ignite in his eyes.
—Glad to see you at the festival! And thank you for this unique opportunity to talk.
—I don't fancy journalists and paparazzi. But since you promised to present our conversation in a favorable light, for an old friend I can make an exception.
—Of course! Hmm, I see you haven't visited Magrel in a long time? —I ask the obvious question.
—After the death of the previous queen, I visited it only once. —after a short pause, the mountain lord replies.
—Her untimely passing truly shocked many... What relationships caused you to become so attached to Naria es Diesra Arual? Perhaps there was a secret line of unrequited love, so appealing to our readers?..
Raising an eyebrow, the ruler of Cridear measures me with a surprised look, then shakes his head:
—In this world I met two women: one gave light to my soul; the second to my heart. None of us can live without the Sun, but do you harbor any base carnal feelings toward it?..
—Perhaps, given recent events, that thesis has merit! —I giggle in response. —Then surely you must rejoice that you can now always feel the presence of your former patroness with every ray of morning light!
—..Queen Naria was first and foremost a Person to me. —His Chegvership chuckles bitterly. —Long before she gained her divine power. Long before the coronation. Long before all current events. Only when I first crossed the threshold of Her villa. Perhaps earlier than many now living. —in the last phrase I detect a slight mixture of pride, though unclear whether for himself.
—Wicked tongues whisper that this story involved a spell of imprisonment...
—What someone paints as a curse, another sees as a blessing. —my companion answers evasively.
Deciding not to touch philosophical matters, I look out the window. Sunset rays gently touch the top of the watchtower, above which flies the flag of modern Cridear.

—An oak tree? Such a direct hint at the dynasty?
—Not quite. —my interlocutor smiles slightly. —When I first stepped onto native soil after the cataclysm, it resembled a multicolored canvas of dead earth. That was the forever-lost old Cridear; this symbol marks the beginning of a new Cridear. And as long as not a single compatriot's roots have been torn from the red earth, we shall certainly rise high with the sunlight, mightier than before.
Weaving around the post, we soon hit a tall stone wall, and our path is blocked by gates adorned with coats of arms.
—Welcome to Oak Cliff. —the former count introduces modestly.
Compared to Folkvang and the ancient imperial fortresses, the "gates of Cridear" cannot boast either indestructible fortifications or legions of thousands of guards. Nevertheless, it is evident that considerable effort of soul and body was invested in the construction of the outpost.
—..And this fortress is indeed named after father. —explains the mountain ruler. —So that, like him, it would always protect loved ones like a rock and instill peace and hope in their hearts. I became passionate about this "project" shortly after learning of the destruction of my homeland. Back then I couldn't imagine how useful the invested resources would prove in these turbulent times of collapse and discord.
Oak Cliff remains the only "accessible" path shielding the mountain country from the rest of the world. The fort's primary task is warning and alerting residents of potential dangers, yet in mountainous terrain it serves as an advantageous strategic point for defending the narrow pass against superior ground forces, while surrounding peaks complicate maneuvering for any air vessels lacking dragon wings...
Toward us from the gates comes a mighty-looking dark-haired warrior, a fearsome two-handed sword in his scabbard.
—Buben, chief of Cridear's guard and my deputy. —shakes hands, introducing me to the stern mountaineer.
After a brief dialogue in the local dialect, the king of the mountain issues several short orders to his comrade, and himself, leaning on his cane, invites me inside the fort.
—..Were it not for the water school, I'd be riding in a wheelchair before meeting the goddess. —he explains, as if reading my thoughts.
—Old injury?
—Calcit meat grinder. —shrugs. —For every defense, a countermeasure exists.
They say that after returning from the front, Count Chegver devoted himself entirely to hard labor, brick by brick building the new Cridear alongside everyone else. This latter devotion to his father's convictions, however commendable, took its toll on the mountaineer's health.
Passing the outer fortifications, we find ourselves in a wide inner courtyard where squads of young fighters practice combat skills.
—Warriors of the Balder school. —the knight-count briefly explains.
At the sight of their instructor, the students immediately form a line and only continue training after a permissive nod.
—Is it true that you admit only those pure of heart and soul to this ancient art?
—I'd like to hope so. Unlike my mentor, I have no desire to desecrate the memory of glorious Eir and her comrades by teaching this dangerous craft to every passing scoundrel.
—They say applicants must undergo an initiation duel against you, during which you somehow determine not only their combat skills and character traits, but also affiliation with robbers, bandits, pirates, and other ill-intentioned individuals?..
—People will say anything. —my interlocutor waves it off.
—And what about Magrel?..
—My affairs in the kingdom are currently managed by Trefa. We have no enemies in the kingdom, and Cridear's doors are open to all who seek martial valor.
Noting the tactical cunning of partially pulling one of the most effective combat schools into defending his homeland, I follow the host beyond the fortress walls, where in the last rays of the setting sun the rebuilt Cridear opens before my eyes. Neat little houses are scattered across the mountain plain, farmlands stretch for miles ahead, livestock grazes in meadows, green palisades shelter winding paths between homesteads.
A sharp gust of mountain wind makes me involuntarily shiver.
—Careful, you might catch cold. —draping his Calcit-made cloak over my shoulders, says the descendant of Chega. —Shall I give you a small tour?
—That's why we started this. —I nod gratefully.
To save time, I expected to ride on wheeled transport, but the ruler of Cridear seemed pleased with the idea of walking through his native lands.
—Movement is good for health. —he reads my thoughts again.
—And what's that smoke over there? —I point to bright glimmers hiding in the darkness at the far end of the highlands.
—Royal mines of Magrel. —the former Knight of Carneol again gets away with a brief explanation.
—Ah, so rumors about discovered deposits of "Anuzish sweat" in the Cridear mountains have been confirmed?
—I've always said our country is rich not only spiritually. —the mountaineer seems to attach little importance to the discovery.
—So what does it mean — selling off your homeland's resources to a former usurper, and also inviting the risk of invasion from those greedy for mineral wealth? —I decide to boldly catch out my patriotic interlocutor.
—You're right. —after a moment of silence, the elder disarms me with his answer. —The me of twenty years ago would probably agree with you. But one day I came across an interesting cycle of imperial chronicles and realized that alone in our world one cannot survive. Like mortals, empires are born and vanish into oblivion, and one man in the field is no warrior. Except Erephir, of course.
—So then?..
—Our new agreement with Queen Lunamaria isn't some political secret. Cut off by Magrel from the sea to the west and north, Cridear naturally needs economic and military support. And if for peace and prosperity I, like the previous queen, must do something unthinkable in the memory of my ancestors, I am ready to pay that price.
The next part of the journey, the mountain politician delves into explanations of details of political cooperation with the kingdom, but to preserve the target audience's time, we'll move this monologue to the appendix!
From our conversation we are distracted by melodic rhythms and the din of cheerful voices coming from a small roadside tavern:



—"Reza". —I read on the sign.
—Named after mother. —the mountain chieftain nods. —It may seem "unworthy" for some tavern, but it was precisely from this that the new Cridear grew, so for a hearth giving warmth and homely comfort to any weary traveler, I could find no other name.
Holding the door, the gentleman, not devoid of manners, lets me inside the establishment, where merry dances to folk musicians' performance are just wrapping up.
—Father, you're back! —a young spirited singer throws herself around my companion's neck in one bound.
—My youngest, Tiya. —beaming with a warm smile, the mountain chieftain introduces the girl. —Named her in memory of my sister, and as luck would have it, she too decided to tie her life to music. Sometimes that's how it happens by the goddess's will. Though in voice she certainly takes after her mother.
Rising from benches, other patrons surround the master of Cridear in a semicircle. Among them I discern native mountaineers; but far more foreigners, mainly from neighboring Magrel.
—Come on lads, play us something special for the road. —the ruler claps his mighty palms.
And so again wonderful live music flows like a river, and I, a married lady and mother of two children, find myself dancing in a cavalcade of dancers forgetting everything in the world. Even the aging ruler limps along in time to his daughter's performance.
—..I don't recall such "concerts" in old Cridear. —I later remark to my interlocutor.
—New people and old traditions sometimes birth amazing things. —he notes philosophically, continuing our evening walk.
—How many Cridearians survived the dragon raid? —I dare to ask the pressing question.
—..Less than one in ten. —not without bitterness in his voice, the descendant of Chega satisfies my curiosity.
An awkward silence hangs in the air for a moment. Passing the emptied market square, we soon find ourselves before a modern-style newly built structure surrounded by a trimmed natural hedge.
—First Academy of Philosophy of Cridear, or APC. —the founder proudly introduces us. —Only recently opened and few students so far, but we're actively establishing ties with Magrel partners and hoping for a good influx of foreign students in the new year.
—Hm, somehow didn't expect to see something like this here, though knowing your people's history it's hardly surprising. —I nod understandingly.
—Having spent my youth in the capital of the former empire, I concluded that the best way to pass on my homeland's traditions is to combine them into a format understandable to modern society. —explains the mountain guardian. —Everyone knows Cridearian philosophy is the most sensible in the world, for only our thinkers are protected from mental illness and suicide, yet it must be admitted that strict asceticism, meditation, and self-restraint suit nowhere near everyone. Here you can participate in debates, learn something new about our world, or simply immerse yourself in the rich culture of Cridear.
Walking around the academy's perimeter, I notice a stone statue of a thinker in lotus position before the main entrance.
—A tribute to my Teacher and all philosophers of my homeland. —my perceptive companion hastens to answer. —Even now I strive to follow their wise advice.
—Interesting combination of traditional and modern views. Some might call it trying to sit on two chairs. —I cut him off with a new remark.
—You haven't seen the Oza Chegver School yet. —the overlord of the heights chuckles in response, pointing with his cane somewhere to the opposite side of the plateau. —In my travels I realized how sad it is: not having the simplest general education. Were it not for my older sister's lessons, I wouldn't be here with you now.
—Curious, how much does Cridearian education cost nowadays?
—For Cridearians — by passport rather than origin — free.
—Really? —I let out a surprised laugh. —Perhaps medicine too?
—Exactly right. —the mountaineer genuinely marvels at my sarcasm. —I'm generally not fond of money, but alas, in today's market economy one cannot do without it.
—Just don't tell me fairy tales about a perfectly built system of mutual aid and support...
—Alas, the past model proved unviable over the centuries. —the mountain reformer didn't argue. —Not all original Cridearian culture could be restored, so in the foundation of statehood I had to play by commonly accepted rules.
—Then where do budget funds come from? Surely super-profits from duties on "sweat" extraction? Or good connections with the Magrel crown and years of donations?
Smiling meekly, the money-disliker neither confirms nor refutes my assumptions.
Rounding a low hill, we find ourselves at the foot of a winding stone staircase leading to a regular granite platform, atop which looms the silhouette of some symbolic structure.
—What god-fearing country would go without a Church. Would you care to climb up? —offers the kind-hearted host.
Struggling up the endless steps, I need several minutes to catch my breath. My interlocutor, meanwhile, doesn't seem winded at all.
—You Magrelians need to spend more time outdoors. —the hardened mountain dweller decides to chide me. —Sitting cooped up in your offices, suffocating on machine fumes.
Approaching the edge of the ledge, I survey with mild admiration the surroundings dimming in the night gloom. My hand reaches for the camera and a modest shot is born:

"Cridear"
Finally tearing myself away from admiring natural serenity, I find the interviewee tidying up in the little church.
—Captivating view, isn't it?.. —he nods knowingly at me.
—Indeed, one couldn't find such a peaceful vista in the kingdom. —I agree with his observation. —But surely the same picture must have grown stale for you over the years?
—Not at all. —the builder shakes his head. —Every time I behold the fruits of mine and my comrades' labors, my soul fills with light as if for the first time.
—How little we sometimes need for happiness... —an unexpected reflection escapes my lips.
—See, you're already imbibing Cridearian culture yourself. —the ruler of this small but very proud distinctive land smiles paternalistically. —However, with your permission, I suggest we head back now, lest my mistress grow angry over a cooled dinner.
I nod in agreement, preparing to conclude the interview, but my interlocutor invites me to join their family table:
—Refusing hospitality to a dear acquaintance is the highest insult to a mountaineer's honor. Since you invited yourself for an interview, you won't get away from us without a couple extra uevs.
Demurring for a minute for propriety's sake, I accept the kind-hearted host's invitation.
—I heard you gave away part of your holdings to friends from "Carneol"? —I inquire along the way. —Or for example about...
—Now-now-now. —the veteran of the Calcit campaign interrupts my verbal stream. —For information you're interested in, you'd better address the direct recipients directly. —he cuts off my bold attempts to shamelessly pry into others' stories unrelated to the agreed Cridear topic.
At the doorstep of Sir Chegver's dwelling, we are greeted... not by his wife at all, but by an imperial-looking whiskered beast.
—Meet Sirya. —the host introduces me.
The animal meows back with a displeased tone.

—Oh wow, how cute! Can I pet him? —I'm already reaching my palm toward the cat when the Son of Oak cuts off my attempt:
—Sirrionych doesn't respect strange hands. We spoiled him with premium feed; now he could turn a person into a torch with a single fire shield...
I chuckle guiltily in response, though unwilling to test the truthfulness of this tale.
—Seems he really takes after his namesake. —the mountain dweller continues meanwhile. —Third decade already, and he flies like an airship.
To my utter amazement, the animal, as if to demonstrate what was said, smoothly lifts off the ground and soon disappears into the well-groomed garden.
In the spacious living room, Sanexa Chegver herself greets us:

—You look wonderful! —after a tiresome exchange of pleasantries, I pay the mountaineer's wife a compliment not without envy.
There's not a shred of idle flattery in my words: for a mother of four gracefully entering old age whose museum portrait adorns the exhibition of the "Miss Magrel 975" contest, the woman has retained much of her former beauty.
Smiling modestly, Sanexa mentions the wondrous properties of the Balder water school, as her husband did earlier.
—Fresh air and protection from ailments — there's your secret to eternal youth! —the Cridearian adds his five rems.
By our arrival, a luxurious table groaning with dishes of both traditional Cridearian and exquisite Magrel cuisine awaits us.
—It so happened that Sanexa taught me your royal recipes, and I told her about our dishes. —the gentleman pulls out a chair for me.
Not without curiosity, I note that dinner is set for only six persons. The second son of the Cridearian ruler arrives greatly late. Measuring me with an arrogant look, to his parent's visible displeasure he declares he's not hungry. The remainder of the feast passes in a friendlier atmosphere: father and mother, the aforementioned youngest daughter Tiya, and middle brother Ret create a cheerful and relaxed mood, though my trained journalistic eye doesn't miss a slight theatricality. Despite this, I don't miss the opportunity to eat my fill for free: when else will I get to enjoy another lord's hospitality?..
But the table empties of delicacies, and the host and I smoothly move to his study. Instead of the crowd of servants I expected, the younger children enthusiastically take up cleaning and washing dishes.
—Some tea, perhaps? —the healthy-lifestyle mountaineer politely inquires.
—Don't mind if I do. And thank you for the warm welcome. —I too don't neglect manners.
Fire plays in slow dance in the hearth, pale moonlight streams through the window, and a magnificent tea set sits on the table.

—A gift from Queen Naria's younger sister. —the knight satisfies my interest, pouring the hot drink. —She seems to rule Minua now?.. I can't even remember how it ended up with me. Strange thing, so many years have passed, yet I still sometimes can't shake the feeling that I wronged her somehow...
Taking a leisurely sip from priceless imperial ware, I notice on the wall a crown adorned with precious stones:

—Surely not, that very one?..
—Crown of Melesar. —rising from his seat, the mountain lord hobbles to the artifact and runs his palm over the dust-dimmed circlet.
—So all those stories about your being undead have a grain of truth?
My interlocutor measures me with an ambiguous look, as if expecting me to personally attest to these miraculous tales.
—I think centuries will pass and they'll stop believing in the last empress's divine power too. —he finally says. —Or possibly much sooner: just look at today's youth.
—Oh, this modern generation! —I chuckle in agreement from the vantage of my years.
—Everyone believes what they want. —the mountain chieftain concludes philosophically. —But for me, meeting that dark sorcerer turned out to be the most fateful event.
—It would be interesting to hear what it's like: gaining the curse of eternal life...
—You can read about that in my latest book. —the healed one remarks as if in passing. —There I also include part of translated records from my diaries. It will be far more accurate than rummaging through worn memories of many decades.
—I'll definitely familiarize myself with your works. —I promise.
—Still, it's ironic that the crown gifted by the empress bearing that sorcerer's name ultimately served me as temporary refuge from his very charms.
—I see you kept plenty of gifts from your service, Sir Chegver! —I cast a suggestive glance around the room. —An ordinary servant wouldn't dare hope for such a collection.
—From outside it may indeed appear so. —the elder shrugs. —Though I won't diminish the generosity of my patronesses either: those around me were very kind.
Setting down my cup, with permission I venture to reconnoiter the private quarters of the first Cridearian count. At first glance the study is sparsely furnished, but even in this simplicity a strict masterly order is felt. There on the wall hangs some tournament medal:

—Fifth place?..
—Unlucky to run into Erephir. —the knight sighs modestly. —Although I had decent chances...
—Oh come on! —I wave off such brazen claims regarding the famed champion of Carneol.
And there, in a glass sphere, rests an eternal flower:

—I've read about these. Amazing that you managed to preserve all eight petals!
—..That no one could be saved... —the host utters in a toneless voice.
—Hm, and what's this strange exhibit of outdated fashion doing here?..

—Two of Magrel's greatest masters put their hands to this curious item. —explains the leader of Cridear. —For me it's primarily a warm memory of those whose craft supported me through life's journey.
I reach the bookshelf, where behind glass an elegant figurine gazes at me proudly:

—Didn't think you were into something like this... And who's depicted here?
—Could be mistaken, but I believe it's the vanished symbol of sea and love. —scratching the back of his head, the collector explains.
A bit further I discover an exhibition of old family photographs.
—Wow, I recognize native Magrel!
—From our engagement, '75. —drawing level with me, the son of the mountains comments.
—Then that means Princess Ayano! —I feign surprise.
—Correct. Ever since she bound ours and Sanexa's souls before the mother goddess, Miko-sama has become an eternal close friend to our family. —adds the mountaineer with warmth in his voice.
—I can't help noting again your strong ties with the imperial family of that era! Probably raked in generous donations from there too?
—When good people gather together in the name of goodness, the world only benefits. —the former servant answers meaningfully.
—..And here I spot you with the Order of Carneol. —I dig up a creased frontline photograph.
—The only surviving photo I have from the southern campaign. —my interlocutor nods. —Had it not been for my comrades' support, separation from my beloved would have been absolutely unbearable. To this day I sometimes recall my return home from the front. When Sanexa met me at the doorstep with our son in her arms... Almost a pity this touching scene didn't make it into the chronicles.
Dabbing my eyes with the corner of a handkerchief, I move on to the next photos.
—Grand wedding, I must say!
—Yes indeed, all of Cridear celebrated, and beyond. —the elderly gentleman sinks into memories. —"Between us," due to invested funds construction was delayed by four months, heh-heh.
—Not very prudent of you! Hm, I see many familiar faces, care to list them?..
—Let them mention themselves, should they wish. —my interlocutor tactfully dodges again.
The next frame captures a small pleasure vessel:

—Isn't this the ship I saw moored in Magrel's port?..
—My dear wife was born to conquer the seas, and I would never forgive myself if I hadn't returned her once-lost dream.
Assuming "lost" here implies the forced relocation to Cridear rather than something serious from the past, I decide not to clarify my interlocutor's remark.
—I myself am not fond of sea "trips." —sighs the land dweller. —You never know when you'll hit an iceberg mid-ocean... So the "Storm" hasn't weighed anchor in a long while. But who knows, perhaps one day I'll entrust all my affairs to descendants and we'll sail off to deserved retirement to warm our bones on some paradise island.
—Descendants, you say? —I decide to seize upon the hot topic. —Then won't you share your plans for Cridear's future?
—Much has been done, but just as much lies ahead. Before indulging in dreams, one must secure a solid foundation for them.
—Still, you must have thought about it, haven't you? —I refuse to yield to the mountain philosopher's detached turns. —Cridear historically is a quite unique case: a devastated imperial colony handed over to sole control of a young count, then suddenly gaining political independence a couple years later. Should we expect election of a council of elders in coming years, maybe popular vote, or outright formation of the Chegver dynasty?..
—I'd rather fear another occupation. —the imperial governor shares his optimism. —Whoever continues the work of my entire life, I have no doubt it will be a worthy son of the mountains. —with the last words his gaze involuntarily slid to the scabbard of the two-handed sword.
—Like your eldest offspring, for instance? —I launch into journalistic counterattack. —According to my information, he left Cridear several years ago. Rumors circulate of a family conflict...
Frowning momentarily, the knight returns a serene expression to his face:
—My son chose a path of adventure similar to mine. And I wish him success on this difficult road.
—And what about the second child? —I recall the insolent lad.
—Bit early to write me off. Besides, it doesn't necessarily have to be someone from my family.
—Are you saying you have heirs outside marriage?.. —I ask with a sly expression. —Some envious types say that for a man so committed to reviving his homeland, four children and one spouse is rather few...
Judging by the deathly silence hanging in the room, I understand I've gone too far.
—You Magrelians may find this surprising, but after everything Sanexa and I went through, even the mere hint strikes me as outrageously offensive. —makes clear he has no intention of discussing this matter further.
I lower my head guiltily, not daring to meet eyes with the warrior who, according to legends, crossed swords with one of the Saints.
—Perhaps you're right, sorry... Then let's finish with the pearl of your collection. —I latch onto the luxurious blade.
—You mean the "Devourer"? —he draws from its sheath a gleaming flamberge shimmering with the light of sixteen runes.

—They say the project for this weapon was undertaken by the last empress herself, and three legendary masters contributed to its creation: Kreg, Erephir, and Orros. —I pick up the change of subject. —Supposedly this sword can read and absorb other souls...
—I won't conceal the great talent of the craftsmen you mentioned, however... Any weapon is merely an extension of its owner. —Chegver notes modestly. —In the hands of a worthy person, even a simple blade becomes a "Devourer," and for a worthless man even a priceless relic changes nothing.
—Easy to speak from the height of owning that very relic! —I chuckle in response.
—..There was a time when I'd gladly trade this sword for a good friendly piece of advice. —the mountaineer answers mysteriously.
On that note, our lengthy conversation comes to an end. I spend the night in the guest quarters of the Chegver house, and in the morning the ruler of Cridear presents me with a first edition of his book, then places me in the care of his deputy for the return trip.
—What can you say about the current political situation in the world? —having taken leave for the hospitality shown, I ask my final question. —The "Georgina Petals" treaty has sunk into oblivion, meaning the shards of the empire are shrouded in fog of uncertainty.
—I'm not too strong on current trends. —the two-meter pensioner shrugs apologetically. —Read newspapers too little. If going by gut feeling... The era of miracles has ended, and ahead awaits the era of humanity. And how we use it: to benevolently carve each other to pieces or jointly build something truly noble — history will show.
Leaving Cridearian lands, I notice at the gate a well-tended Memorial. And then a farewell, inspiring melody reaches my ears...



"Thus ends the astonishing story of Clin Chegver. Was the key factor luck or loyalty, naivety or diligence, or perhaps something else entirely? And what awaits the country and dynasty he revived in the future? I invite every reader to try answering this question independently."


—..The fantasies they invent, ugh. —the sailor grumbled, crumpling the paper and tossing it into the stove with the rest. —Good endings fit in three lines; wasted half an hour for nothing.
Exhaling a puff of smoke, he returns to the lonely deck to check the nets. Suddenly his gaze catches some regularly shaped object, and the cigar falls from his gaping mouth. Forgetting everything, he rushes to the prize, futilely tearing at thick twine with nails and teeth until he finds a knife in one of his pockets. After several minutes that seemed like eternity, an old, seaweed-covered suitcase is freed from captivity. Feeling the hollow beats of his weakening heart in his ears, the man removes the decrepit lock and opens the lid.
A piercing scream illuminates the deserted water surface for miles around. But whether it was a cry of great joy or absolute despair — shall remain a mystery.

(need to stretch it out for a bit, because I couldn't find the extended version)

Four of them entered the Margel Academy of Arts.
- Don't scatter! Hold my hand! - the mother clucked. - Honey, you keep an eye on them too, okay??
- Mmm... - the husband groaned indistinctly.



The youngest made a face:
- Uhh?.. Actually, I'm not a child anymore, - she sighed heavily and drawled. - Did we really have to come here?.. Was there seriously nowhere else to go? This is a huge city...
In her head, she was picturing scenes of going to a house party with her friends, featuring plenty of young guys of all tastes—this was her own kind of "safe space," reserved for restless times.



- Ksu-ksu... No wonder someone with the intellect of a goldfish, like you, is incapable of appreciating high art, - the eldest smirked.



- What did you just blurt out?! - the sister flared up. - Do you know where I'll shove those glasses of yours right now?!
- Silence! Watch your language! - the mother snapped. - And stop picking on your sister!
Making murderous faces, the girl behind her mother's back performed a pantomime of the most terrible punishments, while the brother merely smiled nastily at it. The mother fussed, the father remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Their family scene was interrupted by the stern and gloomy look of the attendant, in response to which, shuffling and showering her with apologies, the mother hurried to shove the tickets under her nose and quickly drag her entire family into the exhibition.


Whether it took a long time or a short time, they finally joined the tour.
- Here you can observe the works of the great master, warrior-poet, man of the highest intellect, honorary fighter of the left Akonian wing of Margel, Sima Yun!.. - the guide proclaimed solemnly.





- Yeah... The organization leaves much to be desired, - the brother commented in a low voice. - Actually, it should be Yun Sima. There are some discrepancies regarding his origin, but it would be completely bad and colonialist tone to put the eastern (western) name before the surname...
The sister rolled her eyes, sighed, and shrugged with her shoulders and brows:
- Could you be any more lame and tedious?.. Yun-Shmun, Sima-Sila, what the hell does it matter, for Akonia's sake? - her eyes drifted to the portrait of the artist himself, hanging at the very beginning of the exposition. - For a handsome guy like that, these trifles aren't critical to being a successful person. You should take a leaf out of his book, if you weren't a water aphid.
- Pff, please, - the brother brushed her off. - A low-tier fuckboy.
The mother, contrary to her son's opinion, clapped her hands:
- I think he's a very cute and worthy boy! I wish someone like that would be friends with you! Eh? - she asked the children with glowing eyes.
- Maaa... This "boy" is already in his forties, if not fifties... - the brother sighed. - He's basically a walking corpse anyway. He'll be heading to the other side soon.
- Nuuu... And what do you think, dear?
The father only shrugged—he still hadn't looked away from the floor, or maybe he had, but it wasn't visible behind his hairstyle.
- Yesss, buuut... - the mother shook her head at the paintings with doubt and disapproval. - I don't understand this kind of art. It looks like shamelessness for the sake of shamelessness... It's too early for you to see such things! - she covered the eyes of her daughter and son with her palms.
Tearing her mother's hand away from his eyes, the son exclaimed:
- You don't understand anything, Mom! This is the highest form of art! This wonderful artist showed the entire community what everyone else was previously afraid to show! He brought an unprecedented freedom of self-expression into the world! He founded an entire genre that all of Margel, no—the whole world—adopted! If it weren't for him, I would never have gotten in here and become an illustrator!



- Ha-ha... - the sister smirked without any amusement. - So that's what it was all about. You just wanted to draw... something like that. Fine, go on, great expert, tell me what's depicted here and why it should exist?
Adjusting his glasses, the brother gestured toward the works:
- Shiris is one of the goddesses of Calcite, symbolizing luck. In the image of a young nurse, which gives her image an unexpected edge. I won't delve too deeply into the context; it would just go in one ear and out the other of an uneducated snail like you. But generally speaking, luck is what we need to survive in this world full of suffering and danger, and her image in the form of a medicinal injection drawn into a syringe symbolizes the corresponding attitude of mercenaries and lucky people who entrust their lives to her gentle tanned hands.
- Shiris?.. - the sister frowned distrustfully. - Doesn't look like her at all... Shouldn't she look older, have ears and so on? I think you're feeding me some nonsense.
The brother just brushed her off contemptuously:
- I didn't expect understanding from a plebeian like you. Next... See the ears?
- Ear. There's only one here.
Ignoring this remark, the brother continued:
- You think they're depicted here just for beauty? Knowing the author's style, one could easily assume that's the case, however, this is a goddess from Heles.
- Which one?.. - the sister asked without any interest.
After pausing for a few seconds, the brother decided to hide his ignorance behind a pompous comment:
- Heh... Clearly not one that a simpleton like you would know...
Not buying into this cheap demagoguery, the sister, with some surprise to herself, decided not to press her brother, allowing him to save face in this matter—after all, another argument would lead to nothing but exhaustion, and even while being a total loser and degenerate in her eyes, he was still her older brother. So she just sighed and nodded toward the remaining two:
- Well, and these?..
- Hmm... - squinting, the brother analyzed the remaining paintings for a while, then spread his arms. - This isn't so simple, even for me. I can only guess that the third is based on some island concepts, and those two... Perhaps some images from his experience?.. I don't know.
Sighing, the sister shrugged:
- One thing is clear for sure—this Yun Sima of yours has some kind of fetish for tanned skin.
- Hoooo? - adjusting his glasses again and licking his lips, the brother grinned in a sinister smile. - I can't blame him for that. Especially when there are untanned marks left beneath it...
- Beee, - already regretting her leniency, the sister made an ugly face of sharp disgust.
- Hey! The group has already moved on! - giving her a light smack on the back of the head for that, the mother pulled the family into the next section.

- ...were painted long after the debut of the 975th, - the guide was broadcasting full tilt, gesturing with her palm toward the new set.



- Ooo... - drawled the chubby glasses-wearer. - Works of Her Majesty Ayano!
- Majesty... - the sister only sighed.
- Her Highness, actually, - a random visitor corrected displeasedly, measuring the bumpkin with a contemptuous look. - Remember that, young man, so you don't find yourself in an embarrassing situation again.
- Hoooo? - the brother repeated. - Listen here, friend. What if I told you that she's practically...
His line was cut off by a smack on the head from the mother:
- Don't pick on people! - and an apologetic smile to the visitor. - Sorry, he's... a bit home-schooled.
Frowning at such rough treatment, the big guy stepped back to the paintings and fixed them with his offended gaze.
- Now, why are you... Everything is correct, after all, - after half a minute, he heard the hesitant voice of the younger sister behind his shoulder. - Just in case something happens. They might lock you up...
The brother remained silent, continuing to stare gloomily at the works of high art. Then he finally hissed:
- She was supposed to be the next empress. Just imagine how it would have been... - he shook his head, unable to find words that could express his feelings, until he finally let out a breath, his shoulders slumping.
- I don't know, - the sister drawled tiredly. - I have a C in history.
After another short silence, the heavy-set brother muttered:
- The Miko-Empire... stretching from the western shore to the eastern, from the north to the south... With temples and sanctuaries in every settlement, absorbing new and new territories—not by force, but by understanding, tenderness, sincerity, and a kind word... Caring for every citizen individually, having found a solution to all our religious and ideological conflicts of the past... With squadrons of mikes, flying in parade formation across the sky on the ninth of every May... In such wonderful custom outfits... - the brother spoke the last phrase with a loud exhale, letting a small thread of drool escape his flushed plump lips, though he wiped it away before anyone else noticed. - Anuzish has never lost so much after barely gaining it, - he muttered in conclusion.
- Eee... Probably?.. - the sister drawled. - Maybe she just didn't want to...
- She didn't want to, - the brother said firmly, as if he were a contemporary of those events, finally turning to his sister and flashing an unexpectedly steely gaze from behind his thick glasses. - And she let this chance go, rather than plunging the situation into something unsightly, - pulling back his sweater, behind which a T-shirt with a print of Princess Ayano was visible, he poked himself in the chest with his thumb. - I regret this more than anyone—and so do all my comrades, a great many of whom are hiding in basements, college dorms, and secluded rooms in their parents' houses. But any other development of events would have made her someone who would never have won our hearts. Therefore, this is one of those bittersweet stories that are good precisely because they remain on the edge of the unspoken.
He nodded toward the works hanging on the wall:
- As you can see, they are all executed in a single style, which some plebeians have defined as "monotonous." By general conviction, she didn't like to depict humans or the image of their urbanization of nature, preferring something real—the flesh and blood of Anuzish. And yet, from my point of view as an expert in the artistic field, having studied in this academy for three years, I tell you that this drawing and its modifications are the future. You'll see.
Smiling warmly and confidently, as if his 120 lbs of weight consisted of muscle and not fat, he patted his sister on the head, causing a flush of red to hit her cheeks.
- I-it's such a shame that this was all so long ago... - deliberately trying to sound displeased, the sister turned away, yet not rushing to free herself from her brother's palm. - Maybe you would have had a chance to marry her...
Sighing and remaining silent, the brother didn't comment on this, but moved to the next hall. Hesitantly looking back at the guide, who hadn't finished yet, and their parents, who were staring blankly at her story—the mother with her mouth open and the father drilling a hole into space—the sister hurried after him.

Hardly having entered the third hall, she bumped into a firm, hot mountain—it was the back and buttocks of her brother.
- What are you doing?.. - bypassing this obstacle, she glanced at the new set of paintings.
For the first few seconds, she felt confusion, then anger. Then she huffed, and then laughed softly:
- What... is... this?.. - the girl barely squeezed out through laughter. - Ahaha-ha! What nonsense!
But the brother didn't answer. His brow furrowed, and his gaze ran feverishly over the works.



- Is it because today is April 1st? Did they decide to hang this crap? A-ha-ha! - the sister nudged him with her elbow, but gradually her smile faded when she noticed sweat on her brother's forehead.
- Hey, what's wrong?.. Did you eat something? There's a restroom around the corner... - she said to him hesitantly.
- ...
- ...
- ...
- This... - the brother finally regained the power of speech—extremely partially—and took a few steps toward the exhibits, raising his hand as if he wanted to touch them.
- Some kind of scribble, - the sister said, smirking again, but the brother didn't share her amusement and she didn't start laughing again. - What?..
- I... have never seen them before, but... I know exactly whose brush they belong to, - the brother touched the painting and sniffed its scent, which caused his eyes to widen to five rems. - These are originals!!!
- Hey!.. What are you doing!.. - the sister tugged at his sweater, looking around anxiously, but there was no attendant in this hall, and the tour hadn't reached this stage yet.
- Ha! - the brother said, triumphantly poking the description plaque with his finger. - I knew it.
- Zig...fern...zwen...sven...zwai...sch... - the sister shook her head, unable to read the artist's name. - "All that I could" - she finished reading the title of the set. What nonsense? Some kind of schizophasia...
- Ha! - the brother repeated, casting a triumphant look at his sister. - This is from the collection of Queen Farellia's younger brother! Only he masters such a style so flawlessly!
- ...style?.. - the sister cast a pitiful look at the scribbles. - But this is just some...
- Stop! - the chubby one interrupted her speech, sealing his sister's lips with his index finger. - I know what you want to say, and here I understand you well. This isn't just advanced-level, but grandmaster; even I didn't get it right away. The style is called "ms-painting," and believe me, behind the apparent simplicity it hides much more than may seem at first glance. This is the style of the future, but not in the mainstream sense. To understand something like this... it requires a great mind and the finest artistic taste. But how did it end up here?.. And most importantly... wh... what... is depicted here?.. - with great suspicion, he peered at the drawing.
- Eee... - without much enthusiasm, the younger sister repeated his gesture. - Looks like that princess of yours, maybe? Look—familiar outfit and hair color, ha-ha! Eee... Sorry, I didn't mean to... - realizing her mistake, the sister shrugged her head into her shoulders.
- Hmmm... - not reacting to the jab, the brother stared intently at the painting, then finally spoke. - Yes... there are undeniable details of resemblance. Even behind this minimalism, it becomes clear to an attentive viewer that it's her. No one in known history wore such an outfit simultaneously with such shoes and such a hairstyle. Hmmm... but what does this mean? - his eyes frantically scanned the canvas. - What is in her hand? And who are her neighbors?..
- Looks like some kind of weapon? But why did she put it to her head? And so clumsily... And what's hanging from it? - the sister shrugged. - The uncle on the right looks like he's angry, and the one on the left—he finds it funny. I don't know what it's supposed to mean.
- Hmmmmmmmmmm... - rubbing his temples, the brother shook his head. - Okay, let's move on. And what's here?
- Well... - the sister thoughtfully tilted her head to the side. - Probably the same ones from the front. I don't know. Maybe some event is depicted.
- Hmmm... - the brother drawled again, moving to the third painting.
- Two princesses?..
- No, - he answered. - See, one has different hair. Besides, she's lacking other details. But what does the one on the right mean?
- Eee?-?-? - the sister didn't know how to answer. - And here?
- Hm? - the brother took a couple of steps to the next specimen. - Tsk. The guy on the left looks like my classmate... women are always swarming around him.
The sister sympathetically squeezed her hand on her brother's gelatinous shoulder:
- It's okay, someday you... - but she didn't dare finish the phrase. - Hang in there, anyway... Oh! I know this one! - she cheerfully poked the next canvas with her finger. - This is where they hang prayer plaques!
- Exactly, - the brother nodded importantly. - Listen, how do you know that? We haven't even entered the local temple yet...
- Ha! - the sister turned up her nose. - Did you think I'm a complete dummy? Don't underestimate me!
After remaining silent for a couple of moments, the brother just patted her on the head with a smile again. The sister didn't clarify that she had secretly studied the basic tenets of the Yanagist religion that her brother was so obsessed with, and preferred to spend the next few seconds in this position until she blushed and broke free from the situation:
- But what's drawn here? Some kind of graves...
- Looks like it... - this time the brother shrugged, unable to decipher the embedded meaning. - Next... Eee...
- Co..ro...nation... 981, - the sister read. - I don't know... I have a C-minus in history.
- Coronation 981?.. - the brother asked. - That was the year the previous empress died. There was a big rally, or even a holiday, when the new ones were appointed. But... all this contradicts the official version of events. Why?
- Maybe it's the author's artistic fiction or Farellian propaganda. How would they know what was happening with our people, well, think about it yourself? - the sister brushed him off. - Or the government, as always, forged the chronicle. What's the point of studying history if any official can rewrite it?
The brother didn't answer. Spending another half-minute on silent analysis, he moved to art object №7.
- Now this is just too much, - the sister grumbled displeasedly. - The drawing is even clumsier. I don't understand what's here at all.
- He-he-he, - adjusting his glasses again, the brother chuckled sinisterly. - The promised land for every man... I will definitely get there, no matter what. I'll run away from the hotel if necessary.
- Huh?..
- ...doesn't matter, - he shifted his gaze to the next painting. - Ooo!.. Even in this schematic style, I recognize who is depicted here.
- I recognize them too, - the sister sighed. - It would be strange not to, considering how your room is plastered and furnished with rabbits...
- Sasuga imouto yo, - the brother declared, not embarrassed in the least.
"Your mother is a dried-up husk" - the sister could have replied if this were a stranger. But alas, the closest kinship made this maneuver impossible, so she ignored this incoherent utterance.
- And what's this? - she nodded irritably at the ninth scribble. - I can't understand what's depicted here at all.
- Hmmm... thinking deeply, the chubby one carefully studied the painting, then licked the image of the same red-and-white heroine, after which he snapped his fingers with understanding. - Aaa!.. There is a historical theory that once Her Majesty (Highness), for some of her own reasons—perhaps described earlier?—left Margel and went on a... business trip? Or a vacation? What do you think, imouto yo, why is our wonderful religion spread in various parts of the world outside Margel? Not only because people spread it like a conscientious infection, but also as a result of the painstaking work of carrying the word by her adepts—starting with the efforts of the Very First Person. And this concerned primarily those territories that were affected by the metastases of Nephiria's pernicious influence—including the scattered remains of her army. But this is only a theory. Those were turbulent times, and chroniclers didn't always manage to record all events in their original form and reach a consensus among themselves.
Perhaps the sister could have perceived this excursion a bit more thoughtfully if not for the preliminary, completely disgusting and degenerative gesture of her brother, which instantly lowered his status in her eyes from a water aphid to a paramecium.
Turning her gaze to the last exhibit, she clapped her hands:
- It looks like your great royal relative got some new pencils.
Frowning, the brother silently stared at the tenth painting.
- Do I imagine it, or have I seen something like this somewhere before?.. - the sister spoke up again, but heard no answer. - So... what happened in the end to this... "waifu" of yours or whatever?
- ...
- ...
- ...
- I'm afraid that is unknown to me, - the brother finally squeezed out. - They say she is seen from time to time in this city and its surroundings. But you understand, in our times... This outfit and hairstyle don't say anything. And they don't just flicker here. Do you know the legend of the Lord in Black? A hero who appears at the darkest and gloomiest moment and rescues people from trouble, leaving only an incomprehensible card? It's the same vibe here, - the brother whispered excitedly.
- Maybe I should enroll in this art school of yours?.. I feel like you'll go crazy without me, - the sister sighed.

And only somewhere outside the window, groaning from the incredible cringe of the overheard conversation, a dark silhouette in the twilight lighting soared into the air and flew as far away from the Academy grounds as possible.

Warning

There are quite a few images; if needed, turn on your adblock.

When Amamius in the Moon Park attributed to my virtue the fact that I am not satisfied with little, he was quite mistaken—in this one thing specifically. The truth is that I love being satisfied with little and pride myself on this ability, but I also completely lack the ability to stop—and that is clearly my sin. Every time I succeed at something, I think, "Well, what if I do it like this too, will it work?" Having achieved that, I think, "Hmm, the path to this is also open before me, let me try?", and I try. What my past self would have considered absolutely incredible now became merely a question of the number of steps climbed, and with each time I feared more and more that I would lose my humanity, fearing that on the path to fulfilling my great desires and small whims, I would cease entirely to perceive the world around me as something real, and instead consider it a dream in which one could simply cast aside all morale instantaneously and see what happens. Even more terrible is that I truly seriously consider the unreality of everything happening: it was much easier to believe in the magical distortions of the Dark Lands that block the sun, sucking out life and everything bright, than in such dizzying success on many fronts. And if one delves into the structure of the universe and encounters paradoxes such as wave-particle... Faith diminishes even further. It feels as though anything can be embodied into reality if you can imagine it.



In the old world, I had not seen dreams for many years, and always prided myself on the deep sleep of a warrior who knew how to spend every one of her few minutes of rest usefully. In the new one—despite the fact that I still work myself to exhaustion, nocturnal visions have returned to me. Not a single one of them concerns my life on Anuzish, never... Usually, I see Ertenia. The Darwening estate and my parents, and that door. My father and mother sometimes accuse me of being responsible for their deaths.



In other dreams—I am forging in Master Romsan's smithy, and I hear someone climbing the hill. It seems to me that it is that giant spider from the coliseum, but the master tells me that the Red Fury has come to kill us, and then I truly notice the body of an arachne on the spider—my own body. In the third type of dreams, my Dark Land companions, the Hero of the Source, and everyone else scream at me because I killed them. The most terrible part is that this last one is indeed not a complete lie, but the first two cases are also beginning to raise questions for me. What if I forgot something important about my past? Such a suggestion may seem absurd; I was only a child, but if my memory is in order, then what was I doing from the time of my release from captivity until my arrival in Covellia? I remember very little of that period, which I explained to myself as trauma... Perhaps it was so, but at what exact moment did this gap begin, and what exactly did I forget?

Finally, sometimes I see a completely different world, one I know I have never been to. And yet, I wake up with an awareness of many details about it that barely echo my current experience; I can name enemies from there whom I supposedly defeated, items I created there, artifacts I found... I remember the name of my horse from there. I remember the feeling of a coming cataclysm that only I can prevent—and in the end, I do prevent it, but at the cost of destroying an entire continent. Interesting... Do I have such a rich imagination, or is it actually untrue that my soul has lived through only two lives?

On a rational level, of course, this is all empty; I'm simply living too well, for I am a person of ruins and only among ruins does my spirit work at its maximum, while Anuzish is too prosperous. But still... I wish I could talk to someone; perhaps there are other wonders in the universe. Alas, Stalia is silent, Suzerain is gone, and we are unlikely to meet poor lonely Miss Cosmos again for technical reasons. I know only one thing: no matter what I do, and however hard I try to become a heroine—it is not enough. I do not want to stop or even take pauses; I want to see where my efforts lead if I am truly worthy of changing the world. Something else will happen, for where everything is good and prosperous, what purpose is there for my soul?

***

November 22



The degree to which Amamius trusted his fiancée was certainly enviable. Indeed, what normal person would decide to calmly wait while a crowd of priests in the square tie him to a stake and, standing nearby with torches in hand, force him to renounce and turn into a scryme? But that did not happen; the rishistu and the alien were very lucky that Empress Naria had already returned life to Evgeny Kripov, and they themselves returned from Elysia just in time for hour X. Thus, the issue was resolved as Erephir wanted, as officially as possible, but even more successfully than she had hoped: Amamius was not forced to convert, nor were anathemas or other restrictions imposed, but he was simply given a reprieve. Of course, the patriarch knew of the plans of Akonia's second incarnation to close Anuzish, so it is not surprising that he considered a soft decision acceptable, just as Naria was quite disposed to allow diplomacy on this matter.



^ From the wedding

The story of Ama and Phyr is only beginning here, and despite their sincere longing for each other, there will also be difficulties. For instance, despite the Red Fury's promise to adapt to Ama, in reality, only he adapted and changed, time and again finding no flaws in his fiancée or simply not daring to report them: in the end, in the family, as in life, Erephir took an absolutely dominant position, and it was difficult to imagine this order wavering, given her independent steel character and status as a leader. Perhaps Amamius noticed all this at some point, but upon realizing it—he agreed. Or was he ready for this from the very beginning? After all, his opportunities for self-realization increased significantly due to the multifaceted help of his spouse; this was precisely what he once considered an important reason to unite; but reality gave him manifoldly more, including a level of domestic love and tenderness that a Margelite, accustomed to the predominance of a cold business world over himself, could never have imagined before.



^ Meeting



^ Also a meeting, he cannot escape



^ But should he?

At home, the Red Fury sincerely cared for her Amchik, acting according to those courtship rituals she saw with her own parents and drew from classical books... True, due to certain peculiarities of perception, she sometimes behaved more like a handsome prince than a beautiful princess. In turn, she was happy to have a herald by her side who always exalted her, admired her, backed her up in things, participated in long pleasant conversations in the evenings, and once melted his heart enough to confess his love.

Let us return to the past, to November 23

Waking up at 4 AM... Carefully slipping past Amchik, who is peacefully snoring on the neighboring bed—yes, to make room for a new recruit, it was necessary to move from noble etiquette to camp-life etiquette; it was the same for them on Tais. Next, the redhead headed to the forge—starting from this day, she vowed to limit the number of action points spent on nonsense, and her ~20 current points now awaited spending in the style of Crag-style blitz-forging. The approach also became much more comprehensive and consisted of several components:

1. A special smithing song for maximum inspiration
2. Starting by creating tools of exceptional quality, so that with their help she could not only have better capabilities but also find challenges, and even become stronger overall with each forging.



"Other Dimension" microscope-points with magnification up to ~100 times, different magnification for the two eyes, and built-in lighting.



Weeping Statue—heavy armor created not for battle, but for forging, which significantly improves precision of movement (built-in gyroscopes and various locks), at the cost of any movement in it being a serious exercise (but in reality, for the smith, this was only good, since replacing physical and book training with something actively useful was also a goal)

3. Of course, two schools of Baldur, one fully studied, the other started, to better manage metal and heat, creating forms and composites that hardly anyone else on Anuzish was capable of

As a result, she creates many interesting and amazing things, some successful, some not so much, but the main thing is that toward the end, she held in her hands that item, the start of a future huge project, to which Thursday morning was dedicated.



Protective Circle. That was the simple name given to the amulet that bound the owner's soul to Anuzish; now, after one or two short prayers, one could not so easily become a victim of banishment. For inspiration, Erephir could thank Crag, who showed that metal, if one tries hard enough, can protect against anything; a helmet of white light could equally save her from Valis or an evil priest. Seeing such an amazing example, the redhead completely discarded any timidity in her projects; she became convinced that with the proper level of persistence, she could achieve anything.

Consequently, today she will go and, without excessive secrecy (though with necessary modesty), answer Nadia's questions in an interview, inspiring people with her story. In the end, on no front will she fear a foolish end to her life due to the interference of an enemy chaplain, and she will protect her subordinates from the same. Ultimately, this and many other projects of hers will over time become part of a magnum opus.



Yuni. Liquid metal armor that Erephir had long dreamed of. With one sole idea: it absorbed other types of armor, various enhancing and protective gear, in order to become more powerful and universal. Very soon Yuni became a kind of singularity, meaning a device so complex that even the creator barely understood how this multitude of properties was achieved. The armor absorbed both the Protective Circle, and Erephir's old armor, and many other projects, analyzing and reprocessing everything, turning into something that seemed to possess consciousness itself, for it sometimes provided immunity even to things the smith could not possibly know in advance and therefore provide for. Yuni was something more than the sum of the individual parts it consisted of... Separately worth mentioning is its ability to adapt to the owner's desire, transforming externally into any outfit desired—this property flowed naturally from its structure and combat functions, allowing Erephir to never be unprotected.

***

Thus, just a few days, as well as the providential 20th, became the beginning of many events and things. There are moments in history that seem to spawn branches of time extending into years, into centuries...

In the year 976, there was a war that Phyr remembered as numerous events on tiles and fast, boring battles... After that historical lecture from Stalia, everything else didn't really warm the soul; whether it was a hundred people, or a thousand, or tens of thousands didn't matter, as the scale of that feeling of overcoming someone beyond human nature could not be topped. She heard that on the Farellian front it was apparently more interesting, but all she managed to do for it was urge whoever needed to place a large order for the production of suitable machinery. When the order is ready, the Farellian flyers will face a completely different threat, incomparable to expensive and senseless airships: endless clouds of exploding drones could hardly instill in them anything but despair. Had Chronos finished the order before the start of the war—perhaps the situation would have been completely different; in fact, patriotically minded Lunarians with magic and rifles had already determined the outcome anyway... But demonstrating to the enemies once more that for every clever fruit there is an uncompromising city-exploding chest—did not hurt.

Unlike Farellia, the war in Harran and Calcite did not become purely defensive, which, frankly, seemed promising to Erephir in a way, since knights without their own allotment could hardly fully correspond to traditions, and their own land was clearly more useful for peace of mind regarding one's lineage than dozens of titles and regalia. Since time immemorial, in all cultures, conquests were a way of giving birth to new feudals, but whether the subordinates of the right pillar received their blood-earned brand new castles in the desert, with adjacent territories—that is probably a question for the universe and for them themselves. Erephir herself, leaving behind seas of blood that didn't fit into HP bonuses and the material component of the new armor, was rather disappointed by the results of this war (meanwhile, somewhere in Nephiria, Sonata is disappointed by the duel with Ruby). But these feelings were not significant, and the reward, as always, was beyond all expectations: upon returning to Margel, Suzerain will paint Lady Darwening's soul in a new color, and besides that, bring news about the fortress, thus the nozenrotka will now be able to say without doubt that she has found on Anuzish a home long lost on all planets.

***

Over the years, the right pillar of Margel turned into what she had always secretly feared, but for which she was effectively given the green light: a person who tirelessly changes the world, interfering simultaneously in many spheres of life in Anuzish. Thus, her scientific design bureau Source, named after the hero of the past world, gradually became one of the substantial reasons for the kingdom's technological superiority. She provided the image, the best personnel, and international cooperation in this field, getting other provinces hooked on her solutions, tying everything into a single network and providing powerful economic and diplomatic levers of influence. Chain swords, which after rethinking became saws, were a symbol of a new agricultural era along with many other wonders, small and great. In her time, she strove to be one of the flagships of the transition to new types of engines, using her connections in intelligence and the fact that the newly discovered fuel, unlike precious stones, could be used with a broader imagination (internal combustion engines alone were classified as piston, rotary-piston, carbureted or injected, etc.; there was plenty of room to roam and claim advantage in various fields). Invariably, cooperation proved beneficial for the regions, far more beneficial and simpler than conducting developments themselves, especially since their own best personnel likewise leaked in a steady stream to Margel, and all this allowed the former capital to earn influence points and conclude new cooperation agreements.

Those outside Velfern were not cut off from this horn of plenty; iron ships of Margel production began to sail the seas under various flags, showing unprecedented independence from the weather; tracked transport penetrated equally into the sands of the southern continent and into the northern snowy deserts. The formation of the latter was greatly influenced by Azarina Eisenbach, who, in breaks between secret necromancy rituals, quite openly shared concepts of tanks known to her from her own planet within the framework of her work at the bureau, and whatever she did not know or had not studied—she mastered and caught up on.

Around when precious stones stopped working in the year 81, Kanchan Kizdam joined the Source, wishing, among other things, to create a working alternative to the lightsaber. This work actually evolved into something larger, namely a large group that began developing new means of long-distance communication to replace the failed sapphire towers, and for this purpose, it was decided to use the new discoverable wave properties of light. It seems that in the end, Anuzish gained more from its closure than it lost, for in the course of scientific thought, something similar to fiber optics was created... For the first time over a distance of 10 kilometers, without the use of magic, another employee of the bureau named Arivell transmitted the word "Carneol," and it was successfully received. But this was only the beginning, for new discoveries soon followed, and long-distance communication became more and more real and accessible, and by the end of the millennium, it was already possible to communicate with each other using reliable electrical signals traveling along copper wires.

Many achievements would not have been possible without cooperation with Chronos, so when Quentin Quant hit hard times, the bureau (which conversely was bursting with tasks related to changing the energy source) tried to help him, whether it was just advice or even a profitable new joint venture in a risky, little-studied, but promising field... Amirega, healed from the negative consequences of his curse, became a valuable external specialist; in cooperation with him and his institute, one could deal with health, biocompatibility of certain technological solutions and devices. And Sima Yun was simply a universal specialist of the bureau; with his intellect, he changed departments and projects he worked on like gloves. Suyen Vanderlast was also invited to work because of his good spatial imagination and knowledge of the secrets of polymer clay—both found wide application in prototyping.

Amamius Okikot was an indispensable man when it came to the specific application of inventions (after all, he was the first to think of using chain swords as saws), searching for economic niches, concluding contracts, commercialization, patenting, and other related issues. He successfully combined his activities at the bureau with a shoe workshop; he came to understand leather so well that he competed with the best of the best. At the same time, according to some internal principle, Amamius walked this path himself, by trial and error, learning from no one, thus developing unique techniques and methods of processing for the profession.

{Insert here any other achievement of any player characters who could all work at the Source bureau and engage in something cool if they wanted, since we have no one without potential :cool:}

***

Fortress of the Carneol Order



Carneol himself gradually increased his influence, becoming like the great orders of the past, penetrating here and there, for many wanted to have his military power, equipped with the latest technology, on their side. It was a supranational entity that had to be reckoned with due to its prevalence and power... Despite this, the order earned a reputation as benefactors and peacemakers, readily helping not only the crown but also the civilian population.

Their main headquarters in Folkvang fully corresponded to this. It was a large fortress on the shore of a local reservoir, looking slightly old-fashioned from the outside, but only until an external observer noticed the howitzers bristling around the entire perimeter, and numerous compartments for other weaponry, taking into account the history of recent conflicts and anticipating new challenges. All the sadder its mistress became knowing that all this splendor was never used for its intended purpose...






On the other hand, the place of residence for the knights was simply excellent, both rich and austere. Adjacent to a beautiful church, a gorgeous botanical garden, an extensive library, and a common kitchen full of aromas were numerous training classes and halls, passing through which was harder than passing through the sands of Calcite or the snows of Granhildr. Theory, physical training on the best steel machines, constant sparring—both novices and veterans endured this for one and only one reason: that the opportunity to serve in the order and correspond to the level expected of everyone completely outweighed the associated difficulties. Distinguished recruits were sent for internships in Cridear to Count Chegver, who was an honorary knight, and quite possibly with his beautiful title...

Since the two-handed chain sword also became a mass phenomenon in its own way, a special combat style was developed for this modern weapon, taking into account the experience of classical nozenrot-kalevrit knightly techniques (which had to be partially recalled, partially reconstructed). The unique balance of chain saws, the presence of moving parts, their gyroscopic nature, and large surface area allowed for a rethink of much in fencing, and the pleasant hum of the motor allowed their owners to enter a state of special combat trance.




The local forge and foundry were true technological wonders, and even they could be called ritual structures in a sense. In addition to other things, there were necessary special communications here, and the rooms of the inner circle knights had individual layouts. For example, the Grandmaster of Carneol preferred to spend her relatively rare nights in the fortress under a waterfall of molten metal, strengthening body and spirit in the style of island samurai, but more harshly than just with cold water.

***

Finally, there was the aspect of cultural influence. Erephir's metal works were not mass-produced, but on the contrary, stood out for their uniqueness, and books and music completed the picture. Together with Knight Arivell, many concerts were organized, and the redhead constantly experimented, which often meant she didn't fit into trends: but this simple fact turned out to be more of a plus than a minus, for in the end, she set the trends. When the time came, the ballad of the rulers of Margel received its continuation, in honor of the twentieth queen, although it was a small part of all the creative work on the theme.

Naria carries Akonia's soul in her heart,
That soul desires many wonders.
Bright heroes among the stars she shall find,
And save the planet from threats from the skies.

This and other music sounded far beyond the borders of the Margel kingdom, for as soon as she obtained the necessary capabilities, the right pillar did not cease her constant travels, relying on the reliability of her assistants in the order and the means of communication she was promoting for that very purpose... She covered vast distances without any transport, strove to be a heroine wherever she was, helping in both trifles and real crises, and then checked how things were with Carneol and Margel, keeping her finger on the pulse of events. Sometimes she searched for antiquities and artifacts, especially striving in the search for meteorites... Thinned out the monster threat. Found many friends among those she benefited via "quests," essentially continuing what she had started back in Margel. She visited Kumari particularly often, where she earned a special degree of love from the lizardfolk. Whether they admired the Fury's valor and the ease with which dinosaurs were split in half by her, or the fact that she did not shy away from bringing the fire of civilization to the Kumarians, or some other fire reminding them of Stalia, who was revered here. There was hope that all this would not remain only a manifestation of the spirit of adventure, but would ultimately give Margel more plusses in its image bank.

These actions would have little meaning without the help of those who are near, and therefore during the Heless catastrophe, the nozenrotka tried to apply all her 100+ charisma, not so much to encourage Kilika, for that was impossible, but to share even a small portion of her grief. Of course, this was partly justified by Erephir's confusion, who sincerely considered the tragedy her failure, for for some reason the battle with the singularity was not entrusted to the order, either due to lack of strength or distrust, and in the end, the fight between two saints predictably turned out to be more large-scale and catastrophic than previous fights between saints and mortals... Be that as it may, the Knight of Serenity was released from Carneol not empty-handed and not silently, but on the contrary, it was decided that this was the only correct course of action in the given situation; Erephir wanted Kilika to become a reliable support for her people in their hardships, and if she needed any help... Whether to pile up a new island in the sea, or to win back existing territory used by unworthy people, as the Mindjins were once saved... And perhaps by that time some land was already owned by the order. Alas, it is far from a fact that the initiative to help refugees could lead anywhere; Phyr deluded herself not about whether the inhabitants of a closed country were ready to accept anything from foreigners, moreover subjects of the very power that caused the destruction of a once beautiful land, the abode of air and freedom; but the departed knight will undoubtedly be able to determine how best to act in such a situation; faith in her was absolute.

***



A teenage boy was sitting on a bench, with a stack of books beside him. He was probably supposed to be reading them, but instead, the boy's attention was currently drawn to an eagle soaring in the distance over the forest near Folkvang. "Big," he thought. "Probably almost like a pterodactyl." Engrossed in this fascinating activity, it was no surprise that he was startled when someone placed a hand on his shoulder.



"Why aren't you in school?!" someone shouted right in his ear. It was a good thing the boy was already sitting down, or he would hardly have stayed on his feet from the shock.
"S-Sky?" he managed, calming his wildly beating heart. "Dummy! What a dummy you are!"
"You're the idiot, Bast," the smirking girl said, putting her hands on her hips. "Mom didn't teach us to let our guard down."
"Why did you have to shout like that? I'm on vacation, everyone's on vacation after Akonia appeared, got it?!"

These two — Sky Brava Darvening-Okikot, 17, and Bastil Maximilian Darvening-Okikot, 13, were the younger children of Amamius Okikot and Erefir Linel Darvening, bearers of that proud double surname and equally proud double given names. Though they didn't always act accordingly... Sky, despite her young age, was already leading an active adventuring life, so it had been quite a while since she'd last seen her brother. This apparent quarrel between two yapping fox cubs was, in reality, a touching reunion.

"Weeeell, Akoooonia... I bet things were interesting around here, since you didn't send me a single message, you naughty brother?" Brava pulls out a hefty bag of coins. "Dance! Maybe then — I'll forgive you! But no promises!"
"What's that? You... What have you gotten yourself into this time?!"
"Remember Uncle Anpan from Crideaar? He gave me a great business idea, and I pulled it off successfully: I managed to sell talismans to all sorts of superstitious fools down south for fifty thousand!"

Yes, an outside observer would easily note that her face was terribly similar to her mother's, only she had her father's hair, which, combined with the appearance of the other children, led to the thought that in the competition for inheriting Erefir's traits, she had also managed to win — that's just the kind of person she was, conceding nothing to anyone... But, as one could tell from her character, Sky clearly had something from her father, or rather, even surpassed him: his love for money multiplied by her mother's love for adventure produced a particularly potent combination in the case of the younger daughter.

"W-wait, what? When did you learn to make talismans?!"



"You can't be serious?! How did you not get... arrested? Or even executed?!"
"Had to run from the guards a bit, but that just made it more fun," the daredevil shrugged. "Anyway, I bought some paper and spent a couple of nights with a brush and scissors. Now that's what I call a business!"
"Mom and Dad are going to be furious with you!"
"You're not going to tell them, are you? And that was just the warm-up, by the way. I've already come up with a great little scheme in Wiliya. Things are so bad there right now that it's actually good—I can totally tap into that endless financial flow... Don't look at me like that, nothing immoral, I'm just going to open a casino )) Besides, there's no real danger. If something bad happens to me, Mom will 'have a word' with them, and that country will cease to exist. Everyone knows that."
"... You scare me. T-that's why I didn't write to you!"
"Uh-huh, nice deflection, kid. Where are Mom and Dad?"
"... Probably busy, as always."
"Let's go to a café then? Don't bother with the books, who's going to steal them off the bench?"
"What if it rains? Better take them."

Sky looked skeptically at the cloudless sky and sighed. She walked over and started sorting through the stack of books:

"Alright, let me carry something. What interesting stuff do you have here... Ooooh! I haven't seen this one yet," she grinned, taking the magazine she'd found and leaving the rest for the boy to carry.
"What's in it?"
"Don't know, whether you grabbed it by accident or you're pretending, but nope, I'm not showing you now," she said, raising the magazine high into the air, out of reach of the teenage boy, and then she broke into a run. "Catch me!"

Although summer hadn't arrived yet, the café in Folkvang was already offering outdoor service on a picturesque terrace under the shade of cherry trees. Neither Sky nor Bastil were surprised to see Erefir there, sipping coffee and lost in thought, while the few other diners ate inside the warm establishment. She noticed the children. Smiled. Stood up to meet them and hugged them warmly.



"Migratory birds always return to their native lands. Hello, little chick," she said, stroking her daughter's head. The girl was already almost as tall as her mother but still received the corresponding treatment for a child.

It had always been this way with her. The Red Fury radiated an incomparable aura of power, confidence, and nobility onto everyone, including her own children, but contrary to any possible expectations, she used this aura not to boast or intimidate. No, the whole idea was for those around her to see in the Right Pillar their unwavering ally, their heroine. She worked tirelessly for this, carrying out both great and humble deeds, all in emulation of the only Hero she had ever known personally. Every person near her was not diminished but became part of something significant, and then it was they themselves who were significant.

"More than twenty years lived peacefully, and now I get this feeling again that the narrative has taken up its old praises. I give up," Erefir sighed inwardly.

"Mom?" the middle daughter asked.
"Everything's fine ) Tell me about yourself."
"Oh, nothing special. Flew off, did some quests, flew back... Oh, and I passed my pilot's test! Maybe I don't have to wait until I'm eighteen to get my license?"
"I'm not sure what you're suggesting... Let's do it by the book, you don't have long to wait, right, Sky? ) And until then... I think {the knight's name} hasn't shown you all the advanced maneuvers yet. Ask him to surprise you, and he will—he'll teach you, so you won't waste time."
"Then I'll ask him!"

During the ensuing warm conversation, both Brava and Max shared their achievements and impressions. Fragrant food, consisting of meat and vegetables—the best friends of young adventurers—was brought and they began to eat. Then Sky suggested:

"How about we play your favorite game, Mom? Questions-answers-questions-answers! ))"
"Do I have to tell you everything about myself? And that thing—what's it called—Uncle Guyon always brings it up—the 'arrived word,' right? Will that be a thing?" Bastil asked.
"Haaaa, I see your cunning here, Sky. You're offering me unfair terms..." the mother noted. "I already know everything about you; I won't have anything to ask."
"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you," the daughter said defiantly.
"M? You mean your money schemes? Of course, I know. You don't actually think I'm some petty, law-abiding paladin who'll start scolding you and put you under house arrest for that, do you? But truly, you should still keep something in mind," Erefir took a sip of coffee, which at that moment seemed different somehow—her usual lightness shifting into something else. "Namely, if you play too far, neither your father nor I can guarantee you any help, as you might think. Moreover, if you cross a certain line with your crime, it might just happen that I'm the one sent after you." This sounded as mundane and almost like a joke as it was chilling, like ice water; Fyr clearly never threw around uncharacteristic phrases like that. "Though, of course, that was a joke—sorry about that. ) No doubt you're sensible enough to stop your pranks in time, and you won't make enemies for yourself, and you won't tarnish my name..."

Brava smiled, not hiding the suddenly appearing beads of sweat on her forehead at all.

"Yyyyeeaaahhh, of course, you know me well, Mom. I definitely won't, hahah )))"

She looked down sheepishly at the magazine she had brought earlier.

"Ooooh!"
"What have you got there? Show me," the red-haired mother said, reaching out her hand. Her daughter automatically tried to keep the magazine away, holding it high and far, but this only triggered Erefir's powerful competitive instinct. A millisecond later, the daughter's hands were empty, as if they had never held anything, or as if someone had rewritten history. The Right Pillar sat imperturbably with the magazine.

Magazine Contents

(yes, things are so bad that I decided to spawn a million snapshots in addition to the million already existing)

"Where did you find this? Haven't seen it in ages..."
"Bast found it," the girl leaned in to look as well.
"And it, uh, was lying in the volume about Velfern, like a bookmark."

"The last time Am reread about Velfern, I see," Fyr thought.

"Mom, where did you get this?"
"... Right after the war, people became especially interested in knowing who was protecting them. Sonata was always too modest and secretive, so I had to take the heat, but I was completely ready. I suspected I'd have to, and people really do have a right to such a small thing as photos of the Right Pillar. The strength of our order is based on their moral and material support. So I showed my face a bit—no big deal."
"I think you're showing more than just your face here! ))"
"?"
"Never mind. ) Also, I noticed you look exactly the same in these photos as you do now—is that even normal?"
"M? You're just using the same trope that's already been applied two or three times to other female characters in other epilogues, aren't you? I don't need such flattery. )"
"No, seriously! Do you wear some kind of high-tech mask instead of a face? Are you camouflaging yourself with Uni? Or did you learn to stop time? How does it work? Will you teach me?!"

Whenever the conversation turned to any of her peculiarities, the Fury would always look away, then turn her head aside, not knowing what to answer. After a pause, she finally said:

"Maybe Uni really does have an influence. I've actually stopped understanding my own armor a long time ago... Given its job is to maintain my health and reconstruct my body even from complete non-existence, fighting off gray hair could be a side effect."
"I see. And anyway! Anyway, it turns out you have a ton of secrets from us, while we're an open book for you—is that fair, Mom? I think we need to grill you properly to catch up!"
"I suppose you've got me there. Go ahead and ask."
"What do you think about the appearance of Akonia?"
"Starting with the big guns right away, Sky. ) That's quite a lot of thoughts. Are you sure you're interested?"

After her daughter's confident nod, Erefir continued.

"Alright, in the end Am already listened to me, so I don't see the harm. Most likely, my attitude toward this event and the associated reign of My Sovereign is the opposite of what others believe. The first thing I felt on January 1st of this year was not jubilation, but a slight sadness at yet another loss, because Stalia, who had accompanied me all these years, had finally ceased to be."
"What do you mean? Was it destroyed?"
"Not exactly. Rather, Akonia absorbed it and became one with it. On one hand, it's interesting, because souls are influenced by the thoughts and deeds of their bearers, so I find it amusing to think that there's something in the goddess of light, a tiny particle of my experience, which probably passed on by inheritance. On the other hand, I won't lie—I would have preferred otherwise."
"You wanted to keep Stalia for yourself, didn't you? I see right through you, you power-hungry woman! ))"
"... I meant I would have liked Stalia to be reborn as a person, like Naria before her, and I was kind of expecting that in the new millennium. I've long had the feeling that this singularity and I were only temporary traveling companions. And from a power perspective... During the war, the Saint truly helped me a lot; at that moment, I felt we were invincible together. Now it's just a drop that can easily be simulated by other means, and even that drop didn't disappear without a trace."
"So Akonia just gobbled up everything in the house, I get it."
"I understand her motives, which align with the planet's own wishes. But having the freedom to my own opinion, it seems to me that merging souls into a single entity is... Inhuman. Everyone should have the right to such a small thing as their own personality, even demigods. However, setting aside morale, purely from interacting with the embodiment of the light element, she did turn out to be quite a character in her own way, and she put in a lot of effort this past month—credit where it's due."

Fyr spoke again after a short pause:

"And earlier, they treated Miss Cosmos rather sadly, the one they 'forgot' among the stars, even though Anuzish is her homeland... I also think that neither Akonia nor the Sovereign before her fully understood the consequences of the movement restrictions they initiated. Or maybe it's just excessive caution and an excessive desire to think globally speaking in me. I doubt closing off Anuzish was a wise decision from the perspective of the planet's inhabitants..."
"Why? Now no Valis will come near you. That's great, isn't it?"
"No Valis, but something stronger... To make it clearer, I'll give you an analogy: imagine you're a professional thief, with invisibility, excellent skills and tools—and you've entered a decent-looking mansion. You see many rooms, various paintings and statues, but one room is different. In it, you see a safe. What do you do? What about you, Bast?"—a sudden address to her silent son. "What would you do?"
"What do you mean? I-I'd never go in there at all! Someone could come back any moment, and then what? W-well, maybe if I really, really stretched my imagination, I'd grab the first expensive-looking things I saw and run away as fast as I could... That's just stupid!"
"And you, Sky?"
"I'd ignore everything except the safe. If there are expensive things just lying around, then the safe must contain an absolute royal treasury, no doubt about it. And it wouldn't be interesting to leave without cracking its mystery," Brava answered without hesitation.
"Exactly. You understand the psychology. That's how truly serious criminals think. Not small-time swindlers just looking to stuff their pockets with anything, but those who see their craft as an art. In other words, the most dangerous ones, because they really can crack any lock and escape any predicament. Now imagine there's a deity in space, so powerful that all planets and their resources are boring to it. It has consumed and destroyed a great many of them, inhabited and uninhabited. And here it comes—stumbling upon a planet locked with a padlock among a multitude of boring targets..."
"... I guess there must be something especially interesting there?"
"Correct."
"But this deity can't 'unlock' it, can it? That's the whole point, isn't it?"
"The Sovereign merely cut off the magical and spiritual paths to get here, and I'm not even sure she cut off all of them. We know that Risha, for instance, could no longer reach Anuzish using the old method, and perhaps no one can."
"So?"
"But the light of the sun, the moon, and the stars—still reaches us. It's quite obvious and natural; the natural balance is such that planets themselves don't have enough energy to sustain all life—we rely on our nearest star for that. To physically isolate us from the rest of the universe is impossible, and it wasn't done. That means someone or something can still get to us."
"Like meteorites? Well, I guess they thought of that, and the planet is just going to destroy any intruder on sight, right?"
"Most likely, yes. But then it's just a contest of strength. If something comes here with more energy than the entire planet, then?.."
"... Then it will break the lock? But there can't be anyone with that much power, can there?"
"Anuzish itself is sentient. Obviously, there can be. Let me summarize: when we weren't so heavily protected, we were attacked only by petty thieves looking to grab whatever was lying around, and even dealing with them wasn't easy in the old days. Now we're protected from targets that humanity could have defeated on its own, but we've become immensely more attractive to others. I assure you, this isn't bravado—we overcame singularities when we weren't even properly prepared. But since then, our preparation is on a completely different level. Possessing resources, the will to live, and the will to win, a person can be unafraid even of a squad of saints—and they once fought on equal terms with Risha. But if a being arrives here with resources greater than entire planetary systems, we, limited only by what Anuzish can provide, have small chances of victory. Though I'm not complaining—I'd find that scenario interesting. Strong opponents are always inspiring."
"That's brutal," was all Sky could say, impressed by the prospect.

Bastil, meanwhile, was clearly troubled by something else.

"Uh, 'unafraid of a squad of saints'? You say that like you've seriously considered something like that? Mom?"
"Well, yes. What about it?"
"... How? I don't understand..."
"Uni's first function, body restoration, is the answer to a threat on the level of Ruby and Valis," her mother began to explain calmly. "Restoration and retention of the soul is for dealing with those who could launch a targeted attack on it. Since I expect that a deity might be capable of destroying an entire fragment of the universe, I have placed backup copies of Uni in numerous hidden locations on Anuzish, linked into a specific network. If one copy is lost, the algorithm should trigger automatically. All of this is deep underground in magma, of course, to make it harder to find and retrieve. But I, in turn, should be able to get out of molten metal without too much trouble. From an attack perspective—there's no need to state the obvious, that all my years of struggle to increase damage output aren't aimed at human opponents. Why push someone so deep into the negative? Apophis isn't what it used to be, either."



"As you can see, I not only converted it to a new fuel but also modified it considerably, including adding runes, so that even total damage absorption couldn't work. This weapon has evolved alongside me for decades, just like my armor."
"Ha-ha, you're crazy!" the boy's eyes widened, but he still laughed at the silly adult. "If your enemy just hangs high in the air, you wouldn't be able to reach them..."

In response to the unfinished sentence, Erefir silently materialized from the inexhaustible mass of her armor three pairs of huge wings, larger than a human.

"This isn't the most optimal solution to the problem of fliers, of course, but I like it for its elegance. There are a few backups, though, in case I need to approach things more seriously. Of course, the worst case would be fighting an intangible or conditionally tangible opponent, but it's not for nothing that the design bureau exists—we solve problems even bigger than that there..."
"Mom, you know," Sky's voice chimed in. "With all this, you sometimes sound like some kind of lich. ))"
"M, explain."
"'Backup copies' of your armor—that's pretty much pure phylactery."

Both women fell into thought: Sky about how funny her joke was, comparing her mother to a lich, and Erefir about how her daughter had hit too close to home, and it was an unpleasant comparison.

"Scary..."
"?"
"?"
"Y-you women, you're scary! I'm not joking... My sister always talks like she wants to trick and rob the whole world. And you, Mom, sound like you want to conquer the entire universe. And doesn't it faze you at all? Carmen and Anita—they've been reading each other's thoughts their whole lives, and that's great, I get it, they're smart and twins, though when they talk about scientific stuff, I understand them even less than I understand Mom... And now they're fighting over a guy and ready to kill each other. Do you think that's normal? I'm never getting married..."



Carmen Echo Darvening-Okikot (left) — the older of the twins, 23 years old.
Anita Lisbeth Darvening-Okikot (right) — the younger of the twins, 23 years old.
Both are bureau employees and knights; their strength lies in their extraordinary mental synchronization—that was true until recently.
Why do Am and Fyr have four children? Because when Carmen and Anita were born, Erefir said, "That counts as one"...

"Haha, you're being harsh on us. And I can't say it's unfair. You know, Bast, I've noticed you've started stuttering. Tell me..." — Fyr.
"It's because of the bandits."
"I see. I thought they scared you."
"Not them, Mom."
"... I see," the redhead said sadly.
"Am I missing something? What bandits?"
"*sigh* About six months ago, Bast and I unfortunately ran into them on a trip. Well, you know how it is—you can develop your perception as much as you want, but there will always be skilled ambushers. There's not much to tell. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have even paid attention to such opponents, but they held a knife to Max's throat, so I got a bit angry."
"... There... There was blood everywhere, and the smell... You could have just told them who you were—they would have been scared and run away, right?"
"Yes. I probably could have."
"You're an idiot," his sister said with a mocking pout. "They saved your life, and you're complaining."
"Why did we even go there? It was just going to be another execution, wasn't it? Why did you make me fight a monster when I was ten? Kids shouldn't be doing that!"
"Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, now he remembers!" the black-haired girl laughed. "Unlike you, I took that test at eight, and I won. And besides, the monster was really young—what are you acting like a baby for )"
"And I took it at ten, and I ran away! Mom, you're always telling us you want to prepare us for something. You say if your parents had prepared you the way you prepare us, your life would have been easier. But we're not going to lose you, are we? You're so strong—what kind of army would even be needed to take you from us? Why do you treat us like you're getting ready to drop us off on a desert island? Why do you constantly have to plan battles with demigods, or gods, or planets, or whoever is next on your list..."
"I plan, and I prepare you, because anything can happen in life, including the supernatural. Are you going to deny my experience?"
"Nothing will happen! Do you hear yourself, Mom? Nothing so terrible will happen! Not to you, not to us! It's all in the past! We're past that stage! Why can't we just live like everyone else?"
"... Weeeell, frankly speaking, you weren't created so that I would listen to such lectures from someone who still hasn't let go of my apron strings," Erefir stood up. "And not so that I would be occasionally mocked, called, for example, a power-hungry lich," she looked at Sky. "Though I never allowed myself such behavior towards you."

Under the stern judge's gaze, both children averted their eyes, deciding that yes, they had overstepped, each in their own way. But not for long, because they soon found themselves in her embrace.

"And not so that in the process of your upbringing, I would once again realize that I have failed. Forgive me... I understand you, Bastil. At this age, you start thinking about your place in life, you have adult desires, but you don't yet feel ready for independence. At that moment, you become especially critical of those around you, and it hurts when the people closest to you turn out not to be as good as you always thought. I really do have a tendency to burden my children with my past, though it's my burden and mine alone—a burden whose usefulness I should probably already question. Not to mention that I simply don't spend enough time with you because I'm constantly on the other side of the globe..."

"And both of you, forgive me for sometimes scaring you with my not-quite-normal tendencies, constant thoughts of war in peacetime, which apparently triggered a defensive reaction in the form of speeches and jokes. I'm not saying I'll change this instant, no, but I've changed my mind and will at least try to involve you less in my worries—definitely not against your will. Just don't be afraid to tell me from now on. And besides that, know this," she looked seriously down at her charges, and in her unblinking eyes reflected the boundless sky and the bright sun. "Know that I am always on your side. Your hobbies, your emotional movements, your worries—don't be afraid to share them, because not for myself, not for the lineage, not for the public good, but for your own sake, I want to help you live every second of your life so that you have no regrets! Not live the probable, but live the actual? Accepted! Whether it's a peaceful, joyful life, or moderate comfort, or great ambitions—you will achieve it if you wish, and your father and I will give you the initial push that will surely lead to the goal!" — a smile and a wink.

A titmouse on a nearby tree listened in silence. At the neighboring table, Arivel, who had arrived at some unknown point, was discovered holding tea in her mouth and holding her breath for too long, causing her to cough loudly right after the speech ended. The brother and sister stood red-faced. Amamius, who was just entering the courtyard gate, also stood red-faced. The redhead, as if not noticing the effect she had produced, addressed him.

"Oh, Am, right on time. I was just thinking of going for a walk ) Kids, is it okay if I borrow your father for a bit?"
"S-sure! Just come back soon," said Sky, while Bastil just nodded. Saying goodbye, Fyr plucked some early petals from somewhere and blew the children a kiss.



A waitress who entered at the wrong moment dropped her tray. The renowned long-eared knight Carneola turned red as a tomato and coughed again. The titmouse, which had just relaxed, fell from its branch, stricken with a heart attack. But the redhead noticed none of this, having already run off, dragging Am with her.

"You know, Bast, in moments like these, I understand that I would never, ever want different parents."
"Yeah... I feel bad for laying into her now."
"Only Mom can turn everyone red so easily and effortlessly. )"
"... Yeah. You're right," the boy smiled. "Good thing Dad is there to keep this natural disaster in check."

***

The wind blew drops of meltwater falling from the hillsides. The air was fresh. Amamius, as always, was not very talkative, but he said everything that needed to be said. Their love grew stronger with each passing day and became more evident both in words and gestures. Not everything, of course, always went smoothly, and one could write about all sorts of nuances and difficulties, about the small trials they had overcome, peculiarities of beliefs and health... But is that really important right now? Perhaps, rather than digging into every minor detail, it's better to summarize the main point: if before Am and Fyr simply understood and complemented each other, now they were as if one soul.

"..."
"What am I thinking about? Many things. For example, thanks to the legacy of previous generations of scientists, we already know the speed needed to escape Anuzish's gravity. But how to achieve it, given that there's presumably no air up there..."
"..."
"Haha, you're right. Bast did touch on a topic that hits close to home, that's the thing. Not so much because I turned out to be a tyrant who established a training camp in my own family—I've felt that problem for a long time ) Rather, it's something else, also felt but voiced for the first time so clearly and obviously..."

Erefir stopped, and her hair was blown into her face, but she seemed not to notice.

"What is someone like me doing here, in this beautiful, calm, peaceful place? Why am I stirring up trouble? I justify my actions by my nature, but what am I lacking—I, who, thanks to the widespread support of many people, have gained both glory and love?" To confirm the latter, the redhead placed her palm on her husband's cheek. "Few people on this planet can boast of both achievements at once, let alone to such an extent, and I think all of them are people I know—friends, comrades. And yet, paradoxically, when I look at my to-do list, my gaze is drawn not to the numerous inspiring successes, but to the perennial lack of a checkmark next to item twenty."

She took out her diary and showed her achievements, those that had been marked. Then she did something shocking and cold-bloodedly crossed out "saving the world" with ink.

"Alas. I've always been proud that I made this list not haphazardly, but based on realistic considerations. So it was high time to reassess that line. It's the only reasonable decision. Even if..."

The Nosenrot woman didn't finish saying what "if" meant; the sentence just hung in the air. Amamius replied with something pleasant and uplifting, as he knew how.

"Thank you for your kind words ) And also... I'm sorry. I want to be with you again tonight, but I think I'll be screaming in my sleep again. You're probably used to it by now—it happens to me all the time when I spend nights in a soft bed instead of on the ground or under a lava flow—but still... I'm sorry. You ended up with a person made of ruins like this."
"..."
"When you realize something, you always want to take stock. Do you mind?" Erefir said after a pause and began to sing one of those songs she used to say goodbye to someone or something...

***



A light magical storm gently caressed the skin, bones, and even all internal organs. Such a forgotten and yet so pleasant sensation... Like the sunbeams playfully being absorbed by the dark essence of unknown origin, like the picturesque hills, whose ground was regularly contorted every fifteen seconds. It was so good to be back.

"But only until my friends show up and start screaming that I killed them," Erefir said quietly, sitting down cross-legged. "Any second now. Maybe my parents and master will join them too..."

Time passed, but no one appeared. Only a blob of worm-like biomass in the distance flew over the smooth lake and croaked, struck by a black lightning bolt—true idyll. The Nosenrot woman touched the stones lying nearby, stuck out her tongue to catch smells and tastes. Everything around... felt surprisingly real. She stood up, walked to a puddle to look at her reflection.



"Mmmm. I don't know what I expected. Maybe that my subconscious would slip up somehow, that the visible world is the fruit of its labor, but so far—alas."

"It would be a bit embarrassing if it turned out that I'm awake right now and was asleep before. That would explain a lot, of course... All those dizzying successes, crowned with an almost peaceful life, were just too incredible for me."

"... What is reality? Where is the boundary between it and consciousness?"

Leaving this question hanging in the air, Erefir proceeded with her usual activities. Based on external signs, she identified a nearby area less prone to distortions. She found water and something to filter it. She found something to make fire and boil the water. She found bird eggs and ate them raw, only briefly dipping them in boiling water—and there was no food in the entire universe tastier than these unsalted eggs, and no drink more desirable than this boiled water that left grit on her teeth. The best desserts from Lepota's holiday menu and the best coffee from formal receptions couldn't compare to this current feast.

It seemed this used to be a city district... A lucky find. Here and there, remnants of buildings stood as half-destroyed walls, and the bricks were solid, built to last centuries—or perhaps centuries had already passed? The Fury pried them apart and built herself a forge—it would do for now. A rusty hammerhead was found and attached to a stick. A rusty heavy iron piece instead of an anvil—good enough for a start. For bellows—two sticks and any cloth, plus various minor crafting. No coal—that was a problem... It could have been, if Erefir weren't in a place teeming with magic. After half an hour of searching, the redhead successfully found a couple of heat-generating stones, or simply "heaters." Again, good enough for the time being.

The work began. The darkness-stricken sun hung at the same spot in the sky day and night, making it hard to tell how much time had passed. Five days? Seven? Ten? All the lizards around had already been eaten; then the same fate befell any unlucky monsters that wandered in. The hastily made forge grew increasingly sophisticated tools. Each new generation was used to improve the ability to work, and eventually the entire technological chain was completed as far as possible (fortunately, there were plenty of materials nearby, including some of exceptional quality if one searched well enough). Finally, the focused hammering stopped. It hadn't been easy. She had not only to be quite creative in replacing familiar machines but also to largely rethink the project from scratch, considering the availability of materials and energy sources—and she didn't even have paper to draw it all out. It was completely unclear whether the engine, designed based on those early magical gemstone engines, would even work here if the local heater stones and other magical stones turned out to be of a completely different, incompatible principle. She thought she tried to test it, but... Who knows?

All that remained was to hope that if this was a dream, then in the dream everything she wanted was indeed possible.

Erefir Linel Darvening pulled the lever, and for the first time, a sound echoed across the magical wastelands that had no equal in nature or the supernatural: the noise of friction from many carefully coordinated parts moving in a cyclic waltz. The source of such a sound could only have been created by a sentient being, loving with every neuron the hiss of metal during quenching, the crackle of fire in the coals, the heartbeat during battle, the morning dew, the howl of wind in the gorges, the play of colors during magical breakthroughs, and the fussy chattering of magpies looking for something shiny for their nest. And the waves of the lake, in the depths of which lurked the tentacles of a monster, and the stars above, and the darkness covering them, and the heat, and the cold, and life, and death, and reason, and madness—she clung to everything she could feel and felt everything she saw around her. This sound resonated with her soul, and there was no other like it in all the world.

Do you recognize it?

Ayano instructs the kamisamatachi.

Lost weight.

When not everyone has written an epilogue

Epilogue: and they lived happily ever after, for a long time.

“By order of the benevolent Mikoto Toyokawa, the unfortunate people of the Heles nation, who have been driven into the depths of the sea, are permitted to live within the territory of the celestial domain, subject to the following rules:
• Refugees and their descendants must settle in the province of Gahan, outside the city limits.
• To travel throughout the country, a special permit from the royal authority is required, depending on the activities in which the Helesian is involved (trade, science, etc.); permanent relocation to other provinces of the country is not allowed.
• The number of Helesians in the province of Gahan must not exceed 10% of the total population of native residents.”

The list of rules and requirements intended for the fellow tribesmen of the solitary inhabitant of this rather small but quite cozy room continued for many pages of a volume whose cover bore the pompous title: “Celestial Decree of the 982nd Year: On the Status of Helesians in Toyokawa.” Islanders, due to their cultural characteristics, were very fond of abusing such lofty terms, but the reader, who had lived here all her life, was accustomed to this cultural paradigm, although internally she regarded it with great skepticism because of her own position in it. For example, by "celestial decree" was meant an ordinary royal edict, and by celestial domain – the territories of the kingdom; the king or queen held the title of Mikoto and were identified with deities. All of this seemed incredibly foolish and at the same time overly complicated in the scale of all Anuzish, since Toyokawa was only one of the kingdoms of Misurugi, and the islands themselves were only a small part of the boundless expanses of the Mother Goddess. However, the islanders took all this very seriously, and therefore their traditions could only be challenged in thought. Mitsumi—that was the name of the young woman—was reading this celestial decree for the hundredth time in her life, and she had mixed feelings about this reality: on the one hand, she was grateful to the local residents for allowing a portion of her people to acquire land under their feet, and on the other hand, her heart was greatly troubled by the unfair attitude towards Helesians (“people of Heles”). This manifested itself, for example, in the fact that due to the rule regarding population numbers, many families sometimes had to limit themselves to only one child or leave in search of a land where they would be welcome: an optimistic idea, but often too difficult to implement, because such a journey not only required a large sum of money but also involved many hardships and dangers. At the same time, it was not easy to get used to the unfavorable position in Toyokawan society, because by its nature the celestial decree was not static and was sometimes supplemented. For example, a couple of years ago, taxes on Helesians were increased, and the reason for this was that despite all the obstacles facing them, the people of Heles managed to achieve high productivity and competitiveness in the market. The fact that hard work and entrepreneurship led to a worsening of their situation perhaps upset Mitsumi more than anything else, because just recently her fellow tribesmen chose her as a representative of their interests, but she could not find a way out of the сложившееся положение, since after any success, the ground could go out from under their feet at any moment, if the islanders wanted it, and wasted effort and tears would only make things worse. In moments of her own weakness, she cursed herself for showing talent for organizational activities, which is why she attracted the attention of impressionable compatriots, but quickly drove these thoughts away from herself, because they would not help matters. Today, she decided to take another look at the situation on the islands, rereading various books and comparing them with fresh information from newspapers, public reports, and so on.


Misurugi is the name of the archipelago (the Islands of Misurugi).
Misurugi is the name of the land itself (Land of Misurugi).
Mikoto is king/queen (divine status).


Toyokawa is a country in the southernmost of the islands, where people fled from the harsh customs of the north in ancient times and in search of a more favorable climate. It is famous for its pristine beaches, magnificent hot springs, emotional music, and diverse arts. The largest number of flowers and plants are grown for sale throughout the world in Fushikawa (the central province and the capital city of the kingdom) and Ayamine. In Hagiwara live the Toya people—the indigenous inhabitants of the island, whose distinctive feature is pink hair. Although they were here first, they eventually had to share their lands with those who came from the north.

The ruling dynasty is the Ootori clan, currently headed by Ootori Yamato. They are primarily known for actively trading with foreigners (which until recently was only accepted in Asahina), as well as exploiting vulnerable groups (for example, Helesians work for significantly less money than local residents).


In Yokoyama, part of the population is represented by vampires of the Sarseid clan. According to legend, in the distant past, they arrived in Anuzish from another world, fleeing from the tyranny of a god that was hostile to them. Upon arrival, almost all of them fell in battle against the saints of antiquity (also called singularities), but the blood of the vampire clan survived in the veins of Asalia Sarseid II—the successor of the previous queen of the bloodsuckers. For many millennia, they had to hide from persecution by their old enemies, but recently this need has disappeared. In Toyokawa, they live according to rules similar to those that burden the Helesians: the number of pure-blooded vampires cannot exceed 33, and the number of shikigami (their servants) is 198. The inhabitants of Yokoyama sell their blood to vampires in exchange for various goods and services.


In Akizuki, among other things, there is the headquarters of Sakuragumi—a military organization consisting entirely of Lunarian refugees who became such as a result of Farrellian bombardments during the war with Welfern. Unlike other foreigners, in general rights and opportunities they are hardly limited, but instead they are under the direct leadership of Mikoto, carrying out a wide variety of tasks. The head of Sakuragumi is a Lunarian named Luciana; it is believed that she is on friendly terms with Mikoto.

Looking at photographs of influential figures mentioned, Mitsumi involuntarily compared their striking outfits with her own—this clothing had long been dear to her, and it was comfortable to work in, but obviously, in terms of presentability, it could not compare with the elegance in which these three famous women were dressed. Annoyed, she waved her hand and dismissed unnecessary thoughts and returned to reading.