Date: October 27, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
Consciousness returned slowly, like water seeping through cracks in stone. Rosh couldn't understand where he was. There was no white sand beneath his back, no cold rock from the cliff he had leaned against after the battle. Instead, something soft, warm, almost weightless. A bed? He hadn't slept in a real bed for many months.
He opened his eyes. The ceiling was white, but not like the sky in the white world—matte, with faint silvery veins that pulsed in time with something distant, elusive. Light came from everywhere, but didn't hurt his eyes—soft, diffused, it reminded him of mornings in the mountains, when the sun just began to gild the peaks.
*Where am I?* Rosh thought, trying to move.
His body responded with pain. Dull, aching, it pulsed in his chest, his side, his shoulder, his thigh. He looked down and saw his torso tightly wrapped in bandages—clean, white, soaked with something that smelled of herbs. His forearms and right shoulder were wrapped in similar bandages.
He tried to sit up, and the world swayed. Rosh froze, letting his body adjust to the vertical. The room he was in was small—ten paces long and as many wide. Walls made of the same white material as the ceiling, without windows, but with one door carved in the shape of an arch. In the corner stood a small table, on which lay his daggers—neatly arranged, cleaned of white dust. Next to them, his clothes, also clean, folded in a pile.
*Someone brought me here,* he realized. *Someone saved me.*
Memories of the battle flooded back. Fifteen Warriors. Four Pillars. A Peak Pillar wearing his mother's face. Blades piercing his chest. Blood gushing from the wounds. Pain that made the world go dark. He remembered falling onto the sand after the victory. Remembered closing his eyes. Then—nothing.
*With wounds like that, I shouldn't have survived,* he thought, touching his chest with his hand. The bandages were tight, but beneath them, he felt the wounds had closed. Not completely—regeneration couldn't handle such damage in a few hours. So more time had passed. Or… something else had been used.
The door opened silently, and a girl entered the room.
---
Rosh didn't immediately understand what he was seeing. She was short, a little below his shoulder, with long white hair that flowed down her back like a waterfall. She wore a simple dress of light fabric, cinched with a thin belt. But the main thing was her ears—long, fluffy, they stuck out from under her hair and twitched slightly as she moved. And a tail—small, white, it flicked behind her as she stepped into the room.
A rabbit. A rabbit-girl. One of the Forest Folk.
Rosh had heard of such creatures. In Datuk's stories, in old legends told around campfires. But he had never seen one with his own eyes. And he certainly never expected to meet one in the white world.
She smiled—softly, almost shyly—and approached the bed.
"You're awake," she said. Her voice was quiet, melodic, like a babbling brook. "I was starting to think you wouldn't wake up. Your wounds were very severe."
"Where am I?" Rosh asked, his voice hoarse, foreign.
"In our settlement," the girl replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I found you on the road, not far from the gates. You were lying in a pool of blood, barely breathing. If I had walked past…" she trailed off, and her ears drooped slightly. "But I didn't."
Rosh looked at her, questions swirling in his head. A settlement. In the white world. Peaceful inhabitants. He thought there were only guardians, zones, and leaves here. But this place… it was different. Alive. Real.
"A settlement?" he repeated. "Inside the Tree? I thought…"
"That no one lives here?" the girl shook her head. "People live. But not as you're used to. We are part of the Tree. We don't fight guardians, don't gather leaves. We just… exist. The Tree allows us to."
"Why have I never heard of you?"
The girl looked away. Her ears twitched again, and Rosh noticed her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her dress.
"The Tree doesn't allow us to speak of ourselves," she said. "It dictates the terms. We can help travelers, but we can't tell who we are or where we come from. Your rescue… is an exception. The Tree allowed it."
"Allowed?" Rosh frowned. "You speak of the Tree as if it's… alive."
"It is alive," the girl said simply. "The Tree is not just a place. It is a being. It thinks, feels, makes decisions. And it doesn't like it when its laws are broken."
She fell silent, and the room grew quiet. Rosh looked at her, hundreds of questions spinning in his head. Who were they? How long had they lived here? Why did the Tree allow them to exist? But he understood—she wouldn't answer. Not because she didn't want to. Because she couldn't.
"How long can I stay here?" he asked.
"About thirty-six hours," the girl replied. "The Tree has allowed you to stay and recover your strength. But then you must leave. If you stay longer…" she didn't finish, but Rosh understood.
"I'll leave," he said. "But I still have time."
The girl nodded, and her ears perked up slightly—a gesture Rosh took to mean relief.
"My name is Lira," she said. "If you want, I can answer the questions I'm allowed to answer. But there won't be many."
"Rosh," he introduced himself. "Just Rosh."
---
They talked for a short while—Lira was careful with her words, and every sentence seemed to pass through an invisible censorship. She told him their settlement was small—only a few dozen inhabitants. They didn't fight, didn't gather leaves, didn't seek a way out of the Tree. They just lived. Grew, worked, rejoiced. The Tree gave them everything they needed—food, water, shelter. And in return, they rarely left the settlement's boundaries and didn't interfere with the travelers' affairs.
"But you interfered," Rosh noted.
"The Tree allowed it," Lira repeated, her voice firm. "I don't know why. Maybe because you're special. Maybe because your death wasn't part of the Tree's plans. I don't ask. I just do as I'm told."
Rosh wanted to ask what would happen to her if he stayed longer, but didn't. He didn't want her to suffer because of him.
"Tell me about yourself," he asked. "What you can."
Lira smiled—wider this time, and in her eyes, dark, almost black, a warm light flickered.
"I was born here, in this settlement," she said. "My parents were born here too. And their parents. We don't know another world. For us, the Tree is everything. Sky, earth, home. We don't complain. We are happy."
"And those who come from outside?" Rosh asked. "Travelers. Do you save them?"
"Sometimes," Lira looked away. "If the Tree allows it. But more often, they die. Their wounds are too severe, or they don't reach us in time. The white world is cruel. You know that better than I."
Rosh nodded. He knew.
---
They talked for about another hour. Lira told him about her settlement—how they grew white flowers that glowed in the dark, how they baked bread from strange, silvery flour, how children played in the square and old people sat by the fire remembering the past. Rosh listened, and it felt like he had entered another world. A world without pain, without fear, without endless battles.
"You could stay," Lira suddenly said, and hope sounded in her voice. "If the Tree allowed it. But it won't."
"I know," Rosh replied. "I have people waiting for me. Friends."
"Friends," Lira repeated, and sadness flickered in her eyes. "I've never seen friends from the outside world. Only travelers. And they always leave."
"I will leave too," Rosh said. "But I will remember you. And this place."
Lira smiled, and in her smile was something that made Rosh's heart ache.
"Sleep," she said, rising. "You need to recover. Tomorrow I'll bring food. And we can talk more. If you want."
"I want," Rosh answered.
Lira left, the door closing silently behind her. Rosh leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes.
Thirty-six hours. He had thirty-six hours to forget about battles, wounds, the endless path. And then he would go back into the white world. To the tower. To his friends.
But for now, he could just lie there and listen to the birds singing softly outside the wall. And feel his body slowly, surely, returning to life.