Date: April 19, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
The forest she entered after the valley was different. Not the one where she had heard the keepers' voices, not the one where the stones sang in the rain. This forest was quiet. Too quiet. Even the wind that had blown through the treetops an hour ago had stopped, and the leaves hung motionless, as if someone held their breath.
Ulvia walked, and the column in her hand glowed steadily, calmly, but in that light appeared something new — tension, anticipation. She felt the goal was close. Not as one feels a smell or a sound — differently. Deeper. As one feels the approach of a storm hours before the sky darkens.
The path she followed was barely visible. Not an animal trail — someone had passed here long ago, very long ago, and the traces had almost faded. But they were there. Ulvia followed them, and the forest around her changed. The trees grew taller, their trunks thicker, and somewhere in the depths, beyond the intertwined branches, she began to discern a light. Not sunlight — another. Warm, golden, it broke through the leaves, and when Ulvia stepped into it, the column in her hand began to pulse faster.
She walked, and time lost count. Perhaps an hour. Perhaps a day. The forest around her lived its own life — roots intertwined to form steps, trunks leaned aside to open passages, branches closed overhead to create tunnels in which the column's light was the only thing dispelling the darkness. She was not afraid. She knew she was going the right way.
---
She reached the gate as the sun stood at its zenith.
They were not as she expected. Not stone, not iron, not forged by human hands. Two trees, old, enormous, grew toward each other, and their trunks, curving, fused at the top to form an arch. Their roots intertwined to form a threshold, and their branches, woven into a dense, impenetrable canopy, let through almost no light. Only the golden glow Ulvia had seen from afar broke through the leaves, falling to the ground in soft, warm patches.
The gate. She knew it without words. Beyond it — what she sought.
Ulvia stepped forward, and at that moment, the air changed. It grew dense, heavy, and each step was an effort, as if she walked not on earth but through water. The sound of her steps changed — it became hollow, deep, and the echo, bouncing off the trunks, rose upward, lost in the leaves, returned from somewhere far away, distorted, alien. It seemed the forest itself was listening to her, waiting, preparing.
She approached the arch, and the column's light grew brighter. So much brighter that the shadows around her vanished, and she stood in the center of a golden circle, and the tree trunks, their roots, the intertwined branches — all were flooded with this light, and in that light, she saw it.
---
A shadow stood at the threshold of the gate.
It was not like the keepers in the forest. They had been dense, almost material, woven from moss and bark, from what had once been alive. This one was different. It was woven from mist and memory, from light and darkness, and its outlines changed every moment. Sometimes it was tall, thin, like a young tree trunk; sometimes short, squat, like an old stump. Sometimes it had arms, sometimes it had none, only emptiness from which eyes looked — deep, dark, reflecting the column's light.
Ulvia stopped. The vine on her left arm shot up, transforming into a long, curved blade, and thorns, small, sharp, covered her forearm, ready for battle.
The shadow did not move. It stood on the threshold, its outlines trembling like a reflection in water when a stone is thrown.
"You shall not pass," said the shadow. The voice was not loud, not a whisper — it sounded in her head, like her own thoughts, only foreign. Cold, distant. "Not now. Not like this."
"I must," Ulvia answered. "I walked through the forest. Through the cave. Through the gorge. Through the circle of stones. I will not stop."
"You walked," the shadow agreed. "But you are not ready."
It stepped forward, and its form changed. Now it resembled a warrior — tall, broad-shouldered, with long arms and a face that could not be made out. In its hand appeared a sword — likewise woven from mist, likewise unreal, but Ulvia knew — it was sharp. Sharper than any blade she had ever held.
"What must I do?" Ulvia asked.
"Prove it," the shadow answered. "That you are not afraid. That you are ready to go to the end. That you will not become one of us."
It raised its sword, and Ulvia, without thinking, stepped forward.
---
The strike was fast. Faster than she expected. The blade of mist cut through the air, and Ulvia barely managed to raise her left arm. The vine, hard as steel, took the blow, and the thorns, extended to meet it, sank into the mist but found no flesh. The shadow was not alive. It was memory. Or fear. Or what remains when nothing remains.
Ulvia stepped back, and the shadow advanced. Its strikes were fast, precise, and each time the mist blade met her vine, Ulvia felt her own power respond, pulse, resist. But it was not enough.
The shadow struck again, and this time Ulvia was too slow. The blade slid along her right side, and she felt pain — sharp, burning. Blood, warm, sticky, ran down her shirt, dripping to the ground. She stepped back, pressing her hand to the wound, and the shadow paused.
"You are weak," said the shadow. "You lost your hand. You lost your friends. You lost your home. What do you defend?"
Ulvia raised her head. Pain pulsed in her side, and blood soaked her fingers, but she did not retreat.
"I defend what remains," she said. "Myself. My path. Those who believe in me."
"That is not enough," the shadow stepped forward, its sword rising again. "You cannot defeat me."
"Then I will fight," Ulvia straightened, and the vine on her left arm, previously a blade, changed. It grew longer, more flexible, and the thorns covering it grew larger, sharper. "Until I fall."
She lunged forward, and the fight continued.
---
They circled at the gate, strikes raining one after another. Ulvia attacked, and the shadow evaded, and each time her vine touched the mist, it dissipated but did not disappear, gathering again, becoming denser, heavier. She felt her strength leaving her, blood from the wound soaking her shirt, making it heavy, sticky. But she did not stop.
She remembered what Klii had taught her. Not the wind-up — the step. Not strength — precision. Not victory — the ability to rise after falling. She moved, evaded, attacked, and each strike was more precise, faster, than the last.
The shadow struck, and Ulvia took the blow on her left forearm. The vine cracked but held. She stepped back, and at that moment, her right hand, in its glove, clenched into a fist and struck. Short, sharp, as Klii had taught. The blow landed where the shadow's chest would be, and it... gasped. Quietly, barely audibly, but Ulvia heard.
The shadow retreated. Its form, previously stable, began to tremble, to break apart, and in its outlines, in its movement, Ulvia saw something.
"You..." Ulvia began, but did not finish.
The shadow charged at her. The mist sword arced, and Ulvia, without hesitation, stepped to meet it. The vine on her left arm stretched out, becoming a long, thin thorn, and she drove it into the shadow's shoulder.
The creature froze. The sword, raised to strike, stopped in midair, and the mist from which it was woven began to dissipate. Not quickly — slowly, as morning mist melts under the sun's rays. The outlines blurred, lost form, but did not disappear entirely. The shadow retreated to the gate, and its form became stable again.
"Not like that," said the shadow, and in its voice, for the first time, something like weariness appeared. "That is not how you will defeat me."
It raised its sword, and the light in its eyes, deep, dark, flared anew. Ulvia understood — the fight was only beginning. And this fight would be harder than anything before.
She clenched the vine into a fist, feeling the thorns bite into her own skin. Blood mixed with blood, and the pain, sharp, real, helped her focus. She didn't know how to defeat this shadow. But she knew she had to try.
The shadow stepped forward, and Ulvia stepped to meet it. The gate behind them glowed with golden light, and that light seemed to wait for one of them to fall.