Date: March 24, 541 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
The forest, where the battle had just unfolded, grew quiet. Three gray bodies lay motionless, and their hides, which moments ago were dull and patchy, now slowly, visibly, began to change. The corruption was leaving with the life, and where an hour ago there had been a dead, scorched patch of earth, the first timid shoots pushed through. Thin, pale-green, they stretched towards the light, which had almost disappeared beyond the horizon.
From the shadow of an old, fallen trunk, hidden from sight and, it seemed, from time itself, Chelaya watched this scene. Her white shell in the twilight did not glow but rather grew dim, blending with the gray trunks and withered grass. She stood motionless, and only her eyes, ancient, deep, followed the figure of the girl who, staggering, was making her way back towards the city.
Beside her, leaning against a trunk, stood the one she had been waiting for. He was tall, even by this forest's standards, and his body, hidden under a long, dark cloak, seemed carved from the same gray stone as the mountains on the horizon. His face was not visible — only a faint, barely perceptible gleam where his eyes should be. He looked in the same direction as Chelaya, and in his silence there was something of that same ancient, unhurried wisdom.
"I told you this child would manage," Chelaya said, and her voice, usually quiet, now sounded clear, as if they were sitting in her cave, not standing in a dead forest.
Her companion did not answer immediately. He watched as the girl, stumbling, climbed over roots, as her silhouette grew smaller, as shadows closed behind her. Only when she disappeared around a bend in the path did he speak:
"Well, well. Has such a mediocre creature really caught your interest, Chelaya?"
There was no mockery in his voice. Rather, curiosity — as ancient as she was, as calm, unhurried.
"She is only a small, unremarkable seed at the beginning of its journey," Chelaya answered, and in her voice, usually devoid of emotion, something warm suddenly sounded. "But it will grow into a beautiful forest."
The companion turned his head. Where his eyes should have been, a faint, golden light flickered.
"Oh?" he drawled. "You think she is one of them?"
Chelaya was silent. She looked at the path where Ulviya had just disappeared, and her ancient, serene face was calm, like the water in a deep lake.
"Perhaps," she said finally. "At the very least, she is connected to them."
"Very interesting," the companion folded his arms across his chest, and his cloak, dark and heavy, stirred, though there was no wind. "And what do you think about..."
He did not finish. From behind a trunk growing a few steps away from them, a figure emerged. It was a Messenger. Not the one they expected, not the one they feared. The creature approaching them had a human body, but four arms, covered in chitinous armor, grew from its shoulders, and in each hand it clutched a short, curved blade. Its face, narrow, with deep-set eyes, was twisted with rage.
"Who are you?" it snarled, and its voice, amplified by the power of its rank, made the branches of nearby trees tremble. "What are creatures like you doing in this forest?"
It did not recognize them. Or perhaps it did, but the fear of who they were was stronger. It stepped forward, its blades flashing in the twilight, and its presence, heavy, crushing, fell upon the clearing, forcing the young shoots that had just broken through the ground to bend toward the earth.
The companion did not move from his spot. He did not even turn his head. Only his hand, long, with thin, bony fingers, slowly rose, and in that movement there was something of a lazy, well-fed predator annoyed by a bothersome fly.
"What ill-mannered creatures there are nowadays," he said, and his voice was as calm as it had been a moment before. "In our time, such disrespect would not have been tolerated."
He stepped. One step — and he was in front of the Messenger, who was taller, broader, stronger. The Messenger swung its blades, but the companion did not even look at them. His foot, clad in a heavy, iron-bound boot, shot up and came down — short, sharp, merciless.
The crack was such that even Chelaya, who had seen much, paused for a moment. The Messenger's head, a second ago full of rage and fear, was now driven into the ground, and from beneath it, slowly spreading, oozed dark, thick blood.
"Ill-mannered," the companion repeated, shaking from his boot what remained of the creature. "In our time, such..."
"Our time has passed," Chelaya interrupted him. She was not looking at the body. She was looking where Ulviya had disappeared, and her eyes were sad. "And the world itself tells us this. Soon they will appear. And we can either side with them or perish by their hand."
The companion slowly turned to her. In his gaze, where just now there had been lazy mockery, something else now appeared. Sharp, cold, almost dangerous.
"Do you really think they will be stronger than us?" he asked, and in his voice sounded something Chelaya had not heard in him for many years. Resentment. Or disappointment. "If so, then I am disappointed in you."
Chelaya looked at him. Long, calm, without averting her gaze. And in her eyes, ancient, wise, there was something that made him pause.
"Neither you," she said, and her voice was hard as the stone from which the mountains on the horizon were built, "nor anyone else will be able to kill them. Because His will will not allow it."
The companion was silent. His arms lowered, and he once again resembled an old, tired traveler who had stopped to rest in the shade of an ancient tree.
"Well, well," he said finally, and his voice regained its former lazy mockery. "Don't forget, such things have happened before. More than once. And they are not immortal."
Chelaya did not answer. She looked to the west, where beyond the trees, in the city of the Forest Dwellers, lights were being lit. Somewhere there, in a small room with a window-hollow, a girl who had become stronger today lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Unaware that she was being watched.
"Let's go," Chelaya said. "We have nothing more to do here."
The companion nodded. He raised his hand, and his cloak, dark, heavy, stirred, concealing his form. When it settled, the clearing was empty. Only three gray bodies, slowly sinking into the earth, and young shoots that, no longer feeling the alien presence, once again stretched towards the light.
The forest grew quiet. Somewhere in the distance, at the edge of hearing, a beast howled, and the howl was like a lament. And over the city, over its tree-houses, over its fountains and squares, over the small room where Ulviya slept, the moon rose — large, round, and its light was cold, but calm.
And in this light, in this silence, in this world that was preparing for change, something was ending. And something was just beginning.