Posts from ☀️ Arselia and Akonia

-- 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

Клинолог
Одинокое рыбацкое судёнышко мерно покачивалось на волнах, подобно карликовым облачкам лениво ползущим по утреннему небосводу. Светлая краска облупилась, а наспех заделанная пробоина на правом борту ярко говорила о качестве этого забытого богиней плота посреди бездонной неизвестности.
В очередной раз выудив пустую сеть, сгорбленный тяжестью времени седой джентльмен негромко ругнулся, пыхнул скомканной сигарой и в тысячный раз повторил попытку.
—..Сначала пояс Анузиш, теперь пот Анузиш. Какой следующей частью богини обзовемся?..
Продолжая ворчать, моряк проследовал в каюту, где на ржавом столике его дожидался привычный провиант х1 и кипа каких-то бумаг. Стащив с ног измокшие сапоги, он кряхтя перевязал почерневший палец и приступил к своему скудному рациону. Каждый с трудом проглоченный кусок иссохшей пищи резкой болью проходил по желудку. Кислота тошнотворным приступом подступила к горлу, но с годами он перестал обращать внимания на подобные мелочи. Откупорив нагрудную фляжку, мужик запрокинул голову и потушил боль горечью спиртного. Это ненадолго освежило его разум.
—Как говорится, от Аконии до Агонии всего одна буква, хе-хе! —усмехнувшись собственному неожиданному наблюдению, моряк потянулся к заваленному рухлядью столику. Там, поверху растворенных солью бумаг, его дожидался чистый относительно других бережно запечатанный конвертик. Подцепив края документа грязным ногтем большого пальца, он резким движением освободил из плена записанное аккуратным женским почерком письмо:

Дорогой К.,

Как ты? Всё так-же гоняешься за несбыточной мечтой? Быть может, пора вернуться домой? Мы с П. тебя не бросим. Поможем и с деньгами и с работой.

У нас всё по старому. М. успешно сдала проходной экзамен в академию! Р. грезит пойти по моим стопам. Нет, не тем что ты подумал, а — журналиста!

С работой как и всегда завал. Ну а когда у нас было иначе?.. Независимым издательствам нынче непросто. С другой стороны, это оказалось прекрасной возможностью посмотреть мир и познакомиться с самыми разными личностями. Думаю, человеку с твоими талантами и знаниями у нас бы тоже отыскалось местечко.

Пересылаю наши фотографии, а также с празднования нового тысячелетия в Маргеле. Ты наверное и без меня знаешь обо всех событиях оттуда.

С наилучшими пожеланиями,
Сердечно твои,

Ю. и П.

PS: Ты никогда не отвечаешь, но мы все-равно будем ждать обратной весточки...

Отложив послание, моряк откидывается на спинку и на мгновение прикрывает глаза. Судьба серой разведки в этом мире печально но заслуженно окончилась, а сам К. нашел себя на личном самоубийственном квесте.
Под письмом Ю. обнаруживается запечатанная в прозрачную пленку коллекция фотокарточек со счастливым семейством, фрагментами последнего празднества и даже снимок новоявленной богини света.
—Там где свет, скоро уродится столько же тьмы... —небрежно пролистав фотки, мужик уже собирался обратить конверт в пепел, когда неожиданно нащупал на дне ещё одно послание. Слегка удивившись, он разворачивает смятый бумажный листок:

PPS: Прикладываю последнее интервью с нашим старым знакомым, может быть тебе будет любопытно:


"Бывшая имперская провинция, а ныне крошечная сокрытая среди гор страна на востоке от королевства Маргел — для многих даже ее название не вызовет особенных ассоциаций. Некогда заселенная аскетичными философами, вследствие ужасного катаклизма она была разрушена до основания, и лишь стараниями нынешнего управленца получила шанс на вторую жизнь. Из простого деревенского жителя до правителя горной державы, — до сего момента заинтересованный судьбой Клина Чегвера мог собирать его историю лишь по редким обрывчатым фрагментам. Традиции против современности, наивные идеалы против связей с маргельской короной, нарочитый аскетизм против коллекции артефактов, скромный образ жизни против "церковного" потока пожертвований, семейная гармония против сокрытой тайной драмы, — постараемся вместе распутать этот диковинный клубок чтобы ответить на главный вопрос: перед нами возрождение или окончательная гибель этой древней культуры? Тема сегодняшнего выпуска — Кридеар."

Привычный перестук колес сменяется резким подъемом, а легкие наполняются хладным ароматом горных трав; наша конечная уже близко. Мой собеседник тоже замечает приближение родины: его серое лицо вновь окрашивается свежестью, а в очах разгорается пламя.
—Рады были видеть вас на празднике! И спасибо за эту уникальную возможность пообщаться.
—Журналюг и папа-рацци я не жалую. Но раз уж вы пообещали донести наш разговор в приемлемом свете, для старого друга я могу сделать исключение.
—Само собой! Хм, вижу, давно не бывали в Маргеле? —задаю я очевидный вопрос.
—После смерти прошлой королевы я посещал его лишь раз. —выдержав короткую паузу, отвечает горный властитель.
—Её преждевременный уход действительно стал шоком для многих... Какие отношения заставили вас столь сильно привязаться к Нарии эс Диэсра Аруал? Быть может, там была тайная линия безответной любви, столь привлекающая наших читателей?..
Приподняв бровь, правитель Кридеара смеряет меня удивленным взглядом, затем покачав головой:
—В этом мире я повстречал двух женщин: одна подарила свет моей душе; вторая сердцу. Каждый из нас жить не может без Солнца, но питаете ли вы к нему какие-то низменные плотские чувства?..
—Пожалуй что с поправкой на последние события, такой тезис имеет место быть! —хихикаю в ответ. —Тогда наверное вы должны радоваться, что теперь всегда сможете ощущать присутствие вашей бывшей покровительницы с каждым лучиком утреннего света!
—..Королева Нария была для меня в первую очередь Человеком. —с горечью усмехается Его Чегвершество.  —Ещё задолго до обретения своей божественной силы. Задолго до коронации. Задолго до всех нынешних событий. Лишь когда в первый раз ступил на порог Её виллы. Пожалуй, пораньше многих ныне живущих. —в последней фразе я различаю легкую помесь гордости, хоть и не ясно, за себя ли.
—Злые языки поговаривают, что в этой истории не обошлось без заклятия пленения...
—То что кто-то рисует проклятием, другому благословение. —уклончиво отвечает мой спутник.
Решив не затрагивать философские материи, я выглядываю в окошко. Закатные лучи нежно касаются верхушки сторожевой башни, над которой реет флаг современного Кридеара.

—Дубовое дерево? Так сразу намек на династию?
—Не совсем. —слегка улыбается мой собеседник. —Когда я впервые ступил на родную землю после катаклизма, она походила на разноцветное полотно из мертвой почвы. То был навечно утерянный Кридеар старый; этот символ знаменует начало Кридеара нового. И пока не выкорчевали из красной земли корни хоть одного земляка, мы непременно поднимемся ввысь с солнечным светом, ещё могучее прежнего.
Пропетляв вокруг поста, мы вскоре упираемся в высотную каменную стену, а путь нам преграждают украшенные гербами врата.
—Добро пожаловать в Дубовый Утес. —скромно представляет бывший граф.
По сравнению с Фольквангом и древними имперскими крепостями, "врата Кридеара" не могут похвастать ни несокрушимыми укреплениями, ни многотысячными легионами стражи. И тем не менее, очевидно что в постройку аванпоста были вложены заметные усилия души и тела.
—..А эта крепость действительно названа в честь отца. —поясняет правитель-горец. —Чтобы подобно нему, всегда скалою оберегать своих родных и вселять в их сердца покой и надежду. Этим "проектом" я загорелся вскоре после того, как узнал о разрушении родины. Тогда и подумать не мог, как кстати придутся вложенные ресурсы в нынешние турбулентные времена распада и раздора.
Дубовый Утес остается единственным "доступным" путем, ограждающим горную страну от остального мира. Первоочередная задача форта — предупреждение и оповещение жителей о возможных опасностях, однако в условиях горной местности он является выгодной стратегической точкой для обороны узкого перевала от превосходящих наземных сил, а окружающие его пики усложняют лавирование любых воздушных судов, не обладающих разве что драконьими крыльями...
Навстречу нам из врат выходит могучего вида темноволосый воин, в его ножнах пугающего вида двуручный меч.
—Бубен, начальник стражи Кридеара и мой заместитель. —пожимает руки, представляя меня суровому горцу.
После короткого диалога на местном наречии, царь горы отдает своему товарищу несколько коротких указов, а сам, опершись на трость, приглашает меня внутрь форта.
—..Кабы не водная школа, пришлось бы до встречи с богиней кататься на коляске. —объясняет, будто прочитав мои мысли.
—Старая травма?
—Кальцитская мясорубка. —пожимает плечами. —На каждую защиту своя контрмера отыщется.
Поговаривают, после возвращения с фронта граф Чегвер всецело посвятил себя тяжелому труду, наравне с остальными по кирпичику собирая новый Кридеар. Последняя приверженность убеждениям отца, насколько не похвальная, оказала свой эффект на здоровье горца.
Преодолев внешние фортификации, мы оказываемся на широком внутреннем дворе, где практикуются в боевом мастерстве отряды молодых бойцов.
—Воины школы Бальдра. —кратко поясняет рыцарь-граф.
При виде наставника, ученики тотчас выстраиваются в шеренгу и лишь после разрешающего кивка продолжают тренировку.
—А правда, что к этому древнему искусству вы допускаете лишь чистых сердцем и душой личностей?
—Хотелось бы надеяться что это так. В отличие от моей наставницы, я не желаю осквернять память о славной Эйр и её товарищах, обучая этому опасному мастерству каждого встречного негодяя.
—Говорят, будто желающим приходится пройти через вступительную дуэль против вас, во время которой вы каким-то образом определяете не только боевые навыки и свойства их характера, но и принадлежность к разбойникам, бандитам, пиратам и прочим недоброжелательным личностям?..
—Мало ли что "говорят". —отмахивается мой собеседник.
—А что же насчет Маргела?..
—Моими делами в королевстве в настоящее время заведует Трефа. В королевстве наших врагов нет, а двери Кридеара раскрыты для всех, кто ищет воинской доблести.
Отметив тактическую хитрость частично перетянуть одну из самых эффективных боевых школ на защиту своей родины, я следую за хозяином за пределы крепостной стены, где моего взору в последних лучах утопающего солнца открывается отстроенный Кридеар. По горной равнине разбросаны аккуратные домики, на многие мили вперед простираются фермерские угодья, на лугах пасется скот, зеленые палисады укрывают петляющие тропинки меж хозяйствами.
Резкий порыв горного ветра заставляет меня невольно поежиться.
—Осторожнее, так и простудиться недолго. —накинув свой плащ кальцитского производства мне на плечи, говорит потомок Чега. —Провести вам небольшую экскурсию?
—За этим мы это и затеяли. —благодарно киваю.
Для экономии времени я ожидала прокатиться на колесном транспорте, но правителя Кридеара похоже радовала идея прогулки по родным владениям.
—Движение для здоровья полезно. —вновь читает он мои размышления.
—А что это там за дымок? —указываю на прячущиеся во мраке светлые блики у дальнего конца высокогорья.
—Королевские шахты Маргела. —вновь отделывается коротким пояснением бывший рыцарь Карнеола.
—Ага, так значит слухи об обнаруженных залежах "пота Анузиш" в кридеарских горах нашли свое подтверждение?
—Я всегда говорил, что наша страна богата не только лишь духовно. —казалось, не придает большого значения находке горец.
—И что же получается, распродаете ресурсы родины бывшему узурпатору, так еще и навлекаете риск вторжения жадных до природных ископаемых? —решаю внаглую подловить своего патриотичного собеседника.
—Вы правы. —помолчав немного, обескураживает ответом старейшина. —Я двадцатилетней давности наверное с вами согласился бы. Но однажды я наткнулся на интересный цикл имперских хроник и осознал, что в одиночку в нашем мире не выжить. Подобно смертным, империи рождаются и исчезают в небытие, а один в поле не воин. Кроме Эрефир, конечно.
—Так значит?..
—Наше новое соглашение с королевой Лунамарией не какой-то политический секрет. Отрезанный Маргелом от моря с запада и севера, Кридеар естественным образом нуждается в экономической и военной поддержке. И если ради мира и процветания мне, подобно прошлой королеве, придется сделать нечто немыслимое в памяти моих предков, эту цену я готов заплатить.
Следующую часть пути горный политик вдается в разъяснения о деталях политического сотрудничества с королевством, но для сохранения времени целевой аудитории, этот монолог мы перенесем в аппендикс!
От беседы нас отвлекают мелодичные ритмы и гам веселых голосов, раздающихся из небольшого придорожного трактира:



—"Рёза". —читаю на вывеске.
—По имени матушки. —кивает горный вождь. —Вам может показаться это "недостойным" для какой-то таверны, но именно с неё и вырос новый Кридеар, потому для очага дающего тепло и домашний уют любому уставшему путнику другого названия у меня не нашлось бы.
Придержав дверь, не лишенный манер господин пропускает меня внутрь заведения, где как раз подходят к окончанию развеселые танцы под выступление народных музыкантов.
—Отец, ты вернулся! —молоденькая задорная певица в одном рывке бросается на шею моему спутнику.
—Моя младшенькая, Тия. —расплывшись в теплой улыбке, представляет девчушку вождь гор. —Обозвали так по памяти сестрицы, и так уж сложилось что она тоже решила связать жизнь с музыкой. Вот так вот по воле богини порою бывает. Хотя голосом она конечно в мать пошла.
Поднявшись со скамеек, другие посетители полукругом окружают хозяина Кридеара. В них я различаю коренных горцев; но гораздо больше иноземцев, главным образом из соседнего Маргела.
—А ну-ка ребята, сбацайте нам что-нибудь эдакое напоследок. —хлопает могучими ладонями правитель.
И вот вновь льется рекою чудная живая музыка, и я, замужняя дама и мать двоих детей, обнаруживаю себя отплясывающей в кавалькаде позабывших все на свете танцоров. Даже стареющий властитель, и тот подхрамывает в такт исполнению своей дочурки.
—..Что-то не припомню я в старом Кридеаре таких "концертов". —в последствии замечаю своему собеседнику.
—Новые люди и старые традиции порой рождают удивительные вещи. —философски подмечает тот, продолжая нашу вечернюю прогулку.
—Сколько кридеарцев уцелело после налета дракона? —решаюсь задать волнующий вопрос.
—..Менее одного из десятка. —не без горечи в голосе удовлетворяет мое любопытство потомок Чега.
В воздухе ненадолго повисает неловкая тишина. Миновав опустевшую рыночную площадь, мы вскоре оказываемся перед современного вида нововыстроенным зданием, окруженным подстриженной натуральной оградой.
—Первая Академия Философии Кридеара или АФК. —с гордостью знакомит нас основатель. —Открылись лишь недавно и учащихся пока немного, но мы активно налаживаем связи с маргельскими партнерами и надеемся на хороший приток иностранных студентов в новом году.
—Хм, почему-то не ожидала увидеть здесь нечто подобное, хотя зная историю вашего народа вовсе не удивительно. —понимающе киваю в ответ.
—Проведя молодость в столице бывшей империи, я пришел к выводу что лучший способ передать традиции моей родины это объединить их в понятный современному обществу формат. —объясняет горный страж. —Всем известно что кридеарская философия самая разумная на свете, ведь только наши мыслители защищены от ментальных заболеваний и самоубийств, однако стоит признать, что строгий аскетизм, медитации и самоограничения подойдут далеко не каждому. Здесь вы можете поучаствовать в дебатах, узнать что-нибудь новое о нашем мире, или попросту приобщиться к богатой культуре Кридеара.
Обойдя академию по периметру, подмечаю каменную статую мыслителя в позе лотоса перед главным входом.
—Дань памяти моему Учителю и всем философам моей родины. —спешит с ответом мой проницательный спутник. —Я и сейчас стараюсь следовать их мудрым советам.
—Интересная комбинация традиционных и современных взглядов. Кто-то мог назвать это попыткой усидеть на двух стульях. —обрываю его новым замечанием.
—Это вы ещё школу им. Озы Чегвер не видели. —усмехается надгорный лорд в ответ, указывая тростью куда-то в противоположную сторону плато. —В своих путешествиях я осознал, насколько же это печально: не иметь простейшего общего образования. Если бы не уроки старшей сестрицы, меня бы сейчас тут с вами не было.
—Любопытно, сколько же ныне стоит кридеарское обучение?
—Для кридеарцев, — по паспорту а не происхождению, — бесплатно.
—Вот как? —роняю удивленный смешок. —Быть может и медицина тоже?
—Совершенно верно. —искренне удивляется моему сарказму горец. —Я вообще не большой любитель денег, но увы, в современной рыночной экономике без них не обойтись.
—Только не рассказывайте мне сказок про идеально выстроенную систему на взаимной выручке и поддержке друг-друга...
—Увы, прошлая модель за прошедшие века показала себя нежизнеспособной. —не стал спорить горный реформатор. —Не всю исконно-кридеарскую культуру удалось восстановить, поэтому в фундаменте государственности мне пришлось играть по общепринятым правилам.
—Откуда же тогда средства в бюджете? Неужто сверхдоходы от пошлин на добычу "пота"? Или хорошие связи с маргельской короной и многолетние пожертвования?
Кротко улыбнувшись, нелюбитель денег не берется ни подтвердить ни опровергнуть мои предположения.
Огибая невысокий холм, мы обнаруживаем себя у порога извилистой каменной лестницы, уходящей к правильной гранитной площадке, на вершине которой чернеет силуэт какого-то символичного сооружения.
—Какая верная богине-матери страна обойдется без Церкви. Не желаете подняться? —предлагает добродушный хозяин.
С трудом преодолев бесконечные ступени, мне требуется несколько минут чтобы перевести дух. Мой же собеседник кажется вовсе не запыхался.
—Нужно вам, маргельским, больше на открытом воздухе времени проводить. —решает пожурить меня закаленный горный житель. —Сидите-сиднями в своих кабинетах, машинными испарениями попусту задыхаетесь.
Подойдя к краю уступа, с легким восхищением окидываю взором тускнеющие в ночном сумраке окрестности. Рука сама тянется к фотоаппарату и рождается скромный снимок:

"Кридеар"
Наконец отрываясь от любования природной безмятежностью, нахожу опрашиваемого прибирающимся в церквушке.
—Захватывающее зрелище, не правда ли?.. —с пониманием кивает мне.
—Пожалуй, в королевстве такого умиротворяющего вида не сыщешь. —соглашаюсь с его наблюдением. —Но вам-то, наверное, одна и та же картина за годы уж приелась?
—Вовсе нет. —качает головой строитель. —Каждый раз как взираю на плоды наших с товарищами трудов, душа наполняется светом словно в первый раз.
—Как немного порою нам нужно для счастья... —вырывается из моих уст неожиданное размышление.
—Вот вы уже и сами преисполняетесь культурой Кридеара. —по-отцовски усмехается властитель этого маленького, но очень гордого самобытного края. —Однако с вашего позволения, предлагаю на этом проследовать обратно, а не то моя хозяюшка рассердится за остывший ужин.
Согласно киваю, собираясь на этом закончить опрос, однако мой собеседник приглашает меня присоединиться к их семейному столу:
—Отказать в гостеприимстве дорогому знакомому — высшее оскорбление для чести горца. Раз уж напросились на интервью, без пары-тройки лишних уевов вы от нас не отделаетесь.
Поскромничав с минутку для приличия, принимаю приглашение добросердечного хозяина.
—Слышала, будто бы часть своих владений вы раздали друзьям из "Карнеола"? —интересуюсь по дороге. —Или вот например про...
—Но-но-но. —прерывает мой словесный поток ветеран кальцитской кампании. —За интересующей вас информацией вам лучше обращаться к прямым адресантам. —на корню обрывает мои дерзкие попытки нагло залезть в чужие истории, не касающиеся оговоренной кридеарской темы.
На пороге жилища сэра Чегвера нас приветствует... вовсе не его супруга, а императорского вида усатый зверь.
—Знакомьтесь, Сиря. —представляет меня хозяин.
Животное с недовольным оттенком мяукает в ответ.

—Ух ты, какой миленький! А погладить можно? —уже тянусь ладонью к коту, когда сын Дуба обрывает мою попытку:
—Чужие руки Сиррионыч не уважает. Разбаловали мы его элитным кормом, теперь одним огненным щитом может в факел человека обратить...
Виновато посмеиваюсь в ответ, не желая однако испытывать правдивость этого рассказа.
—Как-видно, и вправду в своего тезку пошел. —тем временем продолжает горный житель. —Третий десяток уж, а летает как дирижабль.
К моему безмерному удивлению, животное словно бы ради демонстрации сказанного плавно отрывается от земли и вскоре скрывается в ухоженном саду.
В просторной гостиной нас встречает сама Санекса Чегвер:

—Отлично выглядите! —после утомительного обмена любезностями, не без зависти отдаю комплимент супруге горца.
В моих словах нет ни толики праздной лести: для встречающей заслуженную старость матери четверых чье музейное изображение украшает выставку конкурса "Мисс Маргел 975", женщина сохранила немало своей прежней красоты.
Скромно улыбнувшись, Санекса упоминает чудесные свойства водной школы Бальдра, как и ее муж ранее.
—Свежий воздух и защита от болячек, вот вам и секрет вечной молодости! —вставляет свои пять ремов кридеарец.
К нашему приходу нас уже поджидает роскошный стол трещащий от яств как традиционной кридеарской, так и изысканной маргельской кухни.
—Так уж у нас сложилось, что Санекса научила меня вашим королевским рецептам, а я ей о наших блюдах поведал. —пододвигает мне стул джентльмен.
Не без любопытства подмечаю, что ужин накрыт лишь на шестерых персон. Второй сын правителя-кридеарского подходит с большим опозданием. Смерив меня надменным взглядом, к видимому неудовольствию родителя заявляет что не голоден. Остаток пиршества проходит в более дружелюбной обстановке: отец с матерью, уже упомянутая младшая дочурка Тия и средненький братишка Рет задают веселую и непринужденную атмосферу, хотя от моего наметанного журналистского глаза не укрывается легкая театральность. Не взирая на это, не упускаю возможности забесплатно наесться до отвала: когда еще удастся воспользоваться гостеприимством очередного лорда?..
Но вот стол пустеет от кушаний, и мы с хозяином дома плавно перемещаемся в его рабочий кабинет. Вместо ожидаемой мною толпы слуг за уборку и мытье посуды с энтузиазмом принимаются младшие дети.
—Может, чаю? —вежливо интересуется ведущий здоровый образ жизни горец.
—Не откажусь. И благодарю за теплый прием. —не уклоняюсь от манер и я.
В очаге в медленном танце играет огонь, в окно пробивается бледный лунный свет, на столике расположился роскошного вида сервиз.

—Подарок младшей сестры королевы Нарии. —удовлетворяет мой интерес рыцарь, разливая горячий напиток. —Она кажется сейчас Минуа правит?.. Уже и не вспомню, как он у меня оказался. Странное дело, столько лет прошло, а меня до сих порою не покидает ощущение, что я чем-то перед ней провинился...
Вальяжно отпив из бесценной императорской утвари, подмечаю на стене изукрашенную драгоценными камнями корону:

—Неужели, та самая?..
—Корона Мелесара. —поднявшись с места, горный господин ковыляет к артефакту и проводит ладонью по потускневшему от пыли обручу.
—Выходит, все эти истории про ваше бытие нежитью имеют правдивое зерно?
Мой собеседник смеряет меня неоднозначным взглядом, будто бы ожидает что я сама должна засвидетельствовать эти чудесатые расказни.
—Думаю, пройдут века и в божественную силу последней императрицы тоже перестанут верить. —наконец говорит он. —А возможно гораздо раньше оного: взгляните хоть на нынешнюю молодежь.
—Ох уж это современное поколение! —согласно усмехаюсь со стороны своих лет.
—Каждый верит во что хочет. —философски заключает вождь горы. —Но для меня встреча с этим темным чародеем оказалась самым судьбоносным событием.
—Интересно было бы послушать, каково это: обрести проклятие вечной жизни...
—Об этом вы можете прочесть в моей последней книге. —как бы между делом замечает исцеленный. —Там же я прикладываю часть переведенных записей своих дневников. Это будет гораздо точнее, чем ворошить затертые воспоминания многих десятилетий.
—Обязательно ознакомлюсь с вашими трудами. —обещаю я.
—И все-же иронично, что подаренная императрицей корона имени этого колдуна в итоге послужила мне временным укрытием от его же чар.
—Гляжу, немало у вас осталось даров со службы, сэр Чегвер! —окидываю намекающим взором помещение. —Обычный слуга на такую коллекцию рассчитывать не смеет.
—Со стороны действительно может так показаться. —пожимает плечами староста. —Хотя умалять щедрость моих покровительниц я тоже не стану: окружающие были ко мне очень добры.
Отложив чашу, я с разрешения осмеливаюсь провести разведку личных покоев первого кридеарского графа. На первый взгляд рабочая комната обставлена скудно, но и в этой простоте ощущается строгий хозяйский порядок. Вот на стене красуется какая-то турнирная медаль:

—Пятое место?..
—Не повезло налететь на Эрефир. —скромно вздыхает рыцарь. —Хотя у меня имелись неплохие шансы...
—Да бросьте вы! —отмахиваюсь от столь нахального заявления в отношении прославленного чемпиона Карнеола.
А там в стеклянной сфере покоится вечный цветок:

—А я о таких читала. Удивительно, что вам удалось сохранить все восемь лепестков!
—..Что никого не удалось спасти... —лишенным эмоций тоном бросает хозяин.
—Хм, а что тут делает этот странный экспонат устаревшей моды?..

—К этой любопытной вещице приложили руку сразу два величайших мастера Маргела. —поясняет лидер Кридеара. —Для меня это в первую очередь теплая память о тех, чье ремесло поддерживало меня в жизненном пути.
Добираюсь до книжного шкафа, где из-за стекла на меня горделиво взирает элегантная статуэтка:

—Не думала, что вы увлекаетесь чем-то подобным... И кто же тут изображен?
—Могу ошибаться, но вроде бы канувший в небытие символ моря и любви. —почесав в затылке, поясняет коллекционер.
Чуть поодаль обнаруживаю выставку старых семейных фотографий.
—Ого, узнаю родной Маргел!
—С нашего обручения, 975-ый. —поравнявшись со мной, комментирует сын гор.
—А это тогда значит принцесса Айяно! —изображаю наигранное удивление.
—Вы правы. С тех пор как связала наши с Санексой души перед богиней-матерью, Мико-сама стала для нашей семьи вечным близким другом. —с теплотой в голосе добавляет горец.
—Не могу вновь не подметить ваши прочные связи с императорской семьей той эпохи! Наверное и щедрые пожертвования оттуда загребли?
—Когда хорошие люди собираются вместе во имя добра, миру от этого только благо. —многозначительно отвечает бывший слуга.
—..А здесь подмечаю вас с орденом Карнеола. —откапываю помятую фронтовую фотокарточку.
—Единственный сохранившийся у меня снимок с южной кампании. —кивает мой собеседник. —Если бы не поддержка товарищей, разлука с моей возлюбленной была бы абсолютно невыносимой. До сих пор иногда вспоминаю мое возвращение домой с фронта. Когда Санекса встречала меня на пороге с сыном на руках... Даже немного жаль, что эта трогательная сценка не дожила до хроник.
Промокнув глаза краешком платочка, перехожу к следующим снимкам.
—Грандиозная свадьба, скажу я вам!
—Да уж, гуляли всем Кридеаром, и не только. —ударяется в воспоминания престарелый господин. —"По секрету" скажу, из-за вложенных средств стройка задержалась на четыре месяца, хе-хе.
—Не очень-то рассудительно с вашей стороны! Гм, вижу много знакомых лиц, не хотите ли перечислить?..
—А это пусть они сами себя упомянут, ежели пожелают. —вновь тактично уходит от ответа мой собеседник.
На следующем кадре запечатлено небольшое прогулочное судно:

—Не этот ли корабль я видела пришвартованным в порту Маргела?..
—Моя женушка была рождена чтобы покорять моря, и я бы никогда не простил себе, если бы не вернул ей утерянную некогда мечту.
Предположив, что "утерянную" здесь подразумевает вынужденный переезд в Кридеар а не что-то серьезное из прошлого, решаю не прояснять ремарку моего собеседника.
—Я сам не любитель морских "поездок". —вздыхает житель суши. —Никогда не знаешь когда налетишь на айсберг посреди океана... Так что "Гроза" уже давненько не снимались с якоря. Но кто знает, быть может однажды я перепоручу все свои дела потомкам и мы отправимся на заслуженную пенсию греть кости на каком-нибудь райском островке.
—Потомкам, говорите? —решаю уцепиться за горячую тему. —Тогда не поведаете ли нам ваши планы насчет будущего Кридеара?
—Много было сделано, но ещё столько же ждет впереди. Прежде чем предаваться мечтаниям, нужно обеспечить для оных надежный фундамент.
—И всё-же, вы наверняка задумывались об этом, не так ли? —не поддаюсь отстраненным оборотам горного философа. —Кридеар в историческом смысле случай весьма уникальный: опустошенная имперская колония передается в единоличное распоряжение молодому графу, а спустя пару лет неожиданно заполучает политическую независимость. Ожидает ли нас в следующие годы избрание совета старейшин, а может общенародное голосование, или вовсе становление династии Чегверов?..
—Я бы скорее опасался очередной оккупации. —делится оптимизмом имперский наместник. —Кто бы не продолжил дело всей моей жизни, я не сомневаюсь что это будет достойный сын гор. —с последними словами взгляд его невольно скользнул по ножнам двуручного меча.
—Как например ваш старший отпрыск? —перехожу в журналистское контрнаступление. —По моим сведениям, вот уже несколько лет как он покинул Кридеар. Ходят слухи, имел место быть семейный конфликт...
На миг нахмурившись, рыцарь возвращает лицу безмятежное выражение:
—Мой сын избрал схожую со мной дорогу приключений. И я желаю ему успеха в этом непростом пути.
—А что насчет второго ребенка? —припоминаю нагловатого парнишку.
—Что-то рановато вы меня со счетов списываете. Да и вообще, необязательно, что это будет кто-то из моей семьи.
—Хотите сказать, у вас есть наследники и за пределами брака?.. —переспрашиваю с ехидным выражением лица. —Некоторые завистники поговаривают, что для человека столь приверженного возрождению родины четверо детей и одна супруга маловато...
По зависшей в комнате гробовой тишине понимаю, что позволила себе лишнего.
—Возможно вам-маргельским покажется это удивительным, но после всего, через что мы прошли с Санексой, даже сам намек кажется мне до негодования оскорбительным. —ясно дает понять, что не намерен далее обсуждать этот вопрос.
Виновато опускаю голову, не решаясь встретится глазами с воином, по легендам скрестившим мечи с одной из Святых.
—Пожалуй вы правы, извините... Давайте тогда напоследок перейдем к жемчужине вашей коллекции. —цепляюсь взглядом за роскошный клинок.
—Вы про "Пожиратель" что-ли? —изымает из ножен сияющий фламберг переливающийся светом шестнадцати рун.

—Рассказывают, что проектом этого оружия занималась сама последняя императрица, а к его созданию приложили руку трое легендарных мастеров: Крэг, Эрефир и Оррос. —подхватываю смену темы. —Будто этот меч способен читать и поглощать чужие души...
—Не стану укрывать великого таланта упомянутых вами ремесленников, однако... Любое оружие — лишь продолжение своего владельца. —скромно замечает Чегвер. —В руках достойной личности даже простой клинок будет "Пожирателем", а человеку ничтожному и бесценная реликвия погоды не сделает.
—Хорошо говорить с колокольни владельца этой самой реликвии! —усмехаюсь в ответ.
—..Было время, когда я с радостью был готов обменять этот меч на добрый дружеский совет. —таинственно отвечает горец.
На этом наша затянувшаяся беседа подходит к концу. Ночь я провожу в гостевых покоях дома Чегверов, а на утро правитель Кридеара вручает мне первое издание своей книги, после чего передает в распоряжение своего заместителя в обратный путь.
—Что можете сказать о нынешней политической обстановке в мире? —откланявшись за оказанное гостеприимство, задаю последний вопрос. —Договор "Лепестков Георгины" канул в небытие, а значит осколки империи окружены туманом неизвестности.
—Я не слишком силен в нынешних трендах. —виновато пожимает плечами двухметровый пенсионер. —Газет маловато читаю. А если по ощущениям... Эпоха чудес окончилась, и впереди нас ждет эра человечества. А как мы ею воспользуемся: чтобы благодушевно покромсать друг-друга на кусочки или же совместными усилиями выстроить нечто действительно благородное, — покажет история.
Покидая кридеарские земли, замечаю у ворот ухоженный Мемориал. А затем до моих ушей доносится прощальный, воодушевляющий мотив...



"На этом удивительная история Клина Чегвера подходит к концу. Была ли ключевым фактором удача или верность, наивность или усердие, а может вовсе нечто другое? И что же ожидает возрожденную им страну и династию в будущем? Предлагаю каждому читателю попробовать самостоятельно ответить на этот вопрос."


—..Навыдумывают же фантазий, тьфу. —проворчал моряк, скомкав бумагу и отправив в топку к остальным. —Хорошие концовки можно в три строчки уложить, зря только полчаса потратил.
Выпустив облачко дыма, он возвращается на одинокую палубу проверить сети. Внезапно взгляд его привлекает какой-то предмет правильной формы, сигара выпадает из разинутой пасти. Позабыв обо всем, он бросается к добыче, безуспешно рвет ногтями и зубами толстую бечевку, пока не отыскивает нож в одном из карманов. Спустя несколько казавшихся вечностью минут, из плена освобождается старенький, покрытый тиной чемоданчик. Ощущая в ушах гулкие удары собственного ослабевшего сердца, мужчина снимает ветхий замок и открывает крышку.
Истошный вопль озаряет безлюдную водную гладь на многие мили вокруг. Но был ли то крик великого счастья или абсолютного отчаяния, — останется загадкой.

(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.