Date: April 19, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The snow beneath her feet was soft, almost weightless, and each step sank in up to her ankle, making no sound. The silence here was absolute — even her breathing, usually so distinct in quiet places, seemed muffled, as if the space itself absorbed sounds, unwilling to release them. She walked slowly, unhurriedly, and the silver light on her left arm pulsed steadily, calmly, like a beacon in the fog.
The pedestal was low — only knee-high, carved from the same white bark as the walls of this strange world. It stood atop a small snowy hill, its smooth surface gleaming dully in the diffused light that came from everywhere. On top of the pedestal, in a shallow indentation, lay a silver leaf.
Ulviya stopped before it, examining. The leaf was no larger than her palm, but it held the same power as the Tree she had touched. It glowed from within — softly, steadily — and in that glow, in its pulse, was the same rhythm as her own vine. It was alive. Not like a leaf on a tree — like part of something greater, something that breathed, felt, remembered.
She took the leaf. It detached easily from the pedestal, and at that moment, the indentation in which it had lain went dark, becoming just a hollow in the white bark. But the leaf in her hand continued to glow — steadily, calmly — and its light seemed warmer when she closed her fist around it.
Ulviya brought the leaf closer, examining. Its veins were thin as a spider's web, and along them, if she looked closely, flowed the same silvery substance as in the great Tree's trunk. She ran her finger over its surface — smooth, cool, it did not absorb the warmth of her hand, remaining alien, but not hostile.
She tried pressing the leaf to her left hand, to the vine, hoping it would absorb it, but nothing happened. The vine, her living hand, responded to the leaf's presence — glowed brighter, reached towards it — but did not absorb it. As if they were kin, but not one. The leaf remained a leaf. The vine remained a vine.
"So you're not for that," Ulviya said aloud, tucking the leaf into her pocket with the other nineteen. "You're a key. Or a marker. Or something the Tree wants me to collect."
She looked around. The white world stretched around her, and in that endless space, at varying distances, she noticed other glowing points. Some were close — on nearby hills, in the white desert, in the snowy lowlands. Others were far, on the very horizon, where the white haze hid the outlines of new zones. All glowed with the same silver light as the leaf in her pocket. All waited.
Ulviya took out the leaf again, looked at it. The light was steady, calm, and in that light, in its pulse, she felt a connection — to the Tree, to this place, to those other points flickering in the distance. The leaf was not alone. There were many. And the Tree, great and white, wanted her to collect them.
She tucked the leaf away, adjusted the bundle on her back. The silver light on her left arm, previously steady and calm, suddenly flared brighter, pointing a direction. Towards where, on the horizon, she could see the next zone — a white desert with dunes that shimmered in the strange, unreal light.
"So this is my goal now," she said, addressing the Tree. "Collect your leaves. And then? Then you'll show the way?"
The Tree was silent. Only its pulse, deep, measured, echoed in her chest, and the clouds above, high and white, slowly danced their eternal dance.
Ulviya sighed. She didn't know how many leaves she needed to collect. Didn't know what would happen when she collected them all. Didn't know how long it would take — days, weeks, months. But she knew one thing: this was the only path. The Tree had brought her here for a reason. It had given her a clue — these glowing points, these silver leaves scattered across the white world. And she would collect them. Because there was no other way.
She stepped forward, off the hill, and her foot sank into the snow. The white desert awaited. And somewhere among the dunes, the next silver point flickered.
Ulviya walked towards it, her steps firm, confident. She didn't know what she would meet on the way — new guardians, new trials, new zones. But she knew she was ready. The Tree had chosen her. And she would not let it down.
She walked, and the white world unfolded before her, zone by zone, riddle by riddle. In her pocket lay the first silver leaf — warm, alive, pulsing in time with her heart. And ahead, others flickered, their lights beacons in this vast, silent space.