Their army was like decoration. Knights in shining armor knew how to bow elegantly to ladies, but wielded swords as if they were fans for dancing. They knew the price of gold to the last coin, but didn't know the price of blood.
Then came the Krivers.
Eternally hungry. Eternally envious. With souls scorched by wars and campaigns. They saw Dagla's open borders—and took it as an invitation.
The invasion lasted three days. Just three days for the dream to crumble to dust.
Even then, the queen didn't call for resistance. She did what ancient custom dictated—gave the conquerors all the kingdom's gold. With her own hands carried out the treasures and laid them at their feet. Like a flower thrown at the feet of a storm in hope that its beauty would stop the hurricane.
The Krivers took the gold. Laughed. And continued the slaughter.
Strange thing, memory. The more years pass, the clearer I understand: Dagla didn't die. It dissolved in the souls of its inhabitants, became an invisible spark under the ashes of centuries.
It lives in the stubborn faith of those who survived. On faith—knowledge. That someday the storm will subside, and they will become simply people again. People who know how to turn labor into beauty, and beauty into gold of the soul.
This faith is fragile like a moth's wing. And indestructible like life itself.
Today I wander the same streets of the past town. They are restored, rebuilt anew, but... Somewhere the soul is lost. The sun rises in the east, the wind rustles the leaves, even weeds are full of insolent love of life. Nature remains indifferent to human tragedies.
And it makes me sick. Not from the destructions—they can be restored. Not from the blood—rains will wash it away. But from the fact that the Krivers trampled the very idea of beauty. Turned art into craft, dream into calculation.
The most vile thing? That they were right by the laws of this world. Beauty without strength is an invitation to robbery. Wisdom without an army is beautiful words on a gravestone.
I can't reconcile with that. Because then I'd have to admit: the world is arranged correctly. And what then for those of us who don't fit into such a world?