Date: April 19, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
She emerged from the gorge as the sun began to rise over the cliffs. The first rays struck her face, making her squint, and when Ulvia opened her eyes, the valley before her was bathed in golden light. The river, curving through the center, gleamed like molten glass, and the stones standing on its bank cast long, stretched shadows.
A circle. Several dozen stones, sunk into the earth, overgrown with moss and lichen, stood in a perfect ring. Some were taller than she, others barely waist-high, but all were the same color — dark grey, almost black, with veins that glinted in the sun like metal. They were unlike any she had seen before. In these stones, she felt power — not the ancient power that had guided her through forests and mountains, but another, calmer, deeper. The power of a place that remembered more than human memory could hold.
Ulvia stopped at the edge of the valley, feeling the column in her hand begin to pulse faster. The light inside the stone, previously steady and calm, now flickered like a candle flame in the wind. She didn't know what it meant — warning or invitation — but she knew she had to enter.
She descended into the valley. The grass here was soft, lush, and water squelched underfoot — the river must have flooded in spring, covering the banks. Ulvia walked slowly, feeling each step echo in her chest with a dull, heavy resonance. The column pulsed in time with her heart, and it seemed to her that the stones standing in the circle also pulsed — faintly, but rhythmically, as if alive.
She entered the circle as the sun rose higher.
Inside, it was quiet. The wind that had stirred the grass outside the circle a moment ago fell still here, and the air was motionless, dense, as in the cave. The stones stood around her, their shadows falling on the ground, intersecting, creating a complex, intricate pattern. Ulvia stopped in the center, and at that moment, the sky above her darkened.
It happened suddenly. One moment the sun shone brightly, and the next, heavy, leaden clouds covered the sky, and the valley plunged into twilight. The wind that had fallen still inside the circle howled outside, and Ulvia heard trees on the hillsides begin to bend, break, their branches cracking like bones. She looked up, and the first drop fell on her face — cold, heavy. Then another. And another.
Rain poured down as from a bucket. Water filled her eyes, streamed down her face, her neck, soaked her clothes in seconds. Ulvia stood in the center of the circle, not moving, and felt the stones around her begin to change. Their shadows, clear moments ago, blurred, moved, and it seemed to her that the stones were shifting. Not falling, not moving — simply... breathing.
Then lightning struck.
The light was blinding, white, and for a moment Ulvia was blind. The sound hit her ears with such force that she staggered, nearly falling. She felt the ground beneath her shudder, and the stones around her responded — with a low, drawn-out hum that was not a sound. It was inside her, in her chest, in her head, in every cell of her body.
She opened her eyes. Lightning had struck a stone — the one directly before her, the tallest of all. It was black, gleaming, and on its surface, where moments ago there had been only smooth, time-polished body, now burned inscriptions.
They were like those she had seen in the temple. Not letters — signs, symbols, lines that curved, intertwined, formed patterns understandable only to those who could read stones. Ulvia could not. But she felt.
She stepped closer, reached out her hand. The column in her palm pulsed so strongly it seemed about to burst from her grasp, and when her fingers touched the stone, something unexpected happened.
The column flared brighter. Much brighter. The light that emanated from it was golden, warm, and when it touched the inscriptions on the stone, they responded — lit up with the same light, flowed along cracks Ulvia hadn't noticed before, and in that light, she saw.
---
The valley vanished. The stones vanished. The rain, wind, clouds — all vanished. She stood in a clearing, and the clearing was different. Not the one she had seen yesterday or today. It was older. Much older. The trees here were taller, their trunks thicker, and in the center of the clearing stood a circle of stones. Just like the one she stood in now. Only the stones were whole, new, and between them, in the very center, grew a tree.
She recognized it immediately. The tree with silver leaves that glowed from within like little suns. It was beautiful. So beautiful that her eyes stung, and she could not look away. Its trunk was white, smooth.
She wanted to approach, reach out, but the vision began to fade. The stones, the tree, the light — all of it receded, dissolved in a golden haze, and the voice she had heard in the cave sounded again in her head.
"You saw," it said. Or she. Or they all together. "Now you know where to look."
"Where?" Ulvia asked, but the voice was gone.
---
She opened her eyes. The rain had stopped. The clouds had parted, and the sun shone again, and the stones around her stood motionless, grey, silent. Only the one struck by lightning still bore the traces of inscriptions — faint, barely visible, but there.
Ulvia stood, feeling the column in her hand calm, its light becoming steady, calm. She knew that what she had seen was not just a vision. It was a sign. The tree with silver leaves stood in the center of such a circle. But not here. Elsewhere. Where she was yet to go.
She left the circle, her steps firm, confident. The rain had washed away dust and fatigue, and she felt renewed, ready for a new road. The column guided her. She knew where.
She walked through the valley, waded the river — the water was cold, swift, but she was not afraid. She crossed to the other bank and stopped at the edge of the forest. There, in the depths, beyond the trees, what she had seen in the vision awaited her.
She looked at the column. The light inside it pulsed steadily, calmly. She knew where to go.
Ulvia stepped into the forest, and the trees closed behind her.