Date: October 28, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
Rosh woke to silence. Not the oppressive kind that surrounded him in the white wastelands, but a different silence—calm, almost domestic. The room smelled of herbs and something sweet, and the light filtering through the walls was soft, golden. He sat up in bed and felt that the pain was almost gone. The bandages on his chest were cleaner, and beneath them, if he listened to himself, he felt the steady, calm beat of life.
The door opened silently, and Lira entered with a tray in her hands. On the tray stood a clay mug of steaming herbal brew, a plate of white flatbreads, and a small bowl of honey.
"You look well," she said, setting the tray on the table. "The wounds are healing faster than I expected. Your regeneration… it's unusual."
"Thank you," Rosh replied, taking the mug. The brew was bitter, with a herby aftertaste, but it warmed him from the inside. "How long did I sleep?"
"About twelve hours," Lira sat on the edge of the bed. "Your body was recovering. We added healing herbs to the bandages, but the main work was done by your own power."
Rosh nodded silently. He felt the energy pulsing inside him—steady, calm. His regeneration was working at full power, restoring torn muscles and vessels. A little more, and he would be in shape.
"Can I go outside?" he asked, setting down the empty mug.
"You can," Lira smiled. "The Tree doesn't forbid you from walking around the settlement. But remember—you have about twenty hours left. Don't waste them."
---
The settlement turned out to be small—about two dozen houses made of the same white material as the room's walls. They stood in a circle, and in the center, on a small square, a fountain bubbled. The water in it was clear, silvery, and a faint, barely perceptible steam rose from it. Children played around the fountain—little rabbits with long ears and fluffy tails. Seeing Rosh, they froze for a moment, then, gaining courage, ran closer.
"Are you the traveler Lira saved?" asked one of them, a boy of about ten.
"I am," Rosh replied.
"Are you strong?" asked a younger girl. "Did you kill many guardians?"
Rosh didn't know what to say. He had never talked to children. But Lira, coming up behind him, saved him.
"Leave him alone," she said gently. "He's tired and wants to rest."
The children scattered, but their curious gazes followed Rosh for a long time.
They walked around the settlement for about an hour. Lira showed him the houses, the workshops, a small field where they grew white flowers. Rosh looked, listened, and felt like he had entered another world. A world without fear, without pain, without endless battles.
"Why don't you leave?" he asked. "The Tree gives you everything, but it also keeps you in a cage."
"It's not a cage," Lira replied. "It's home. We don't know another world. For us, the Tree is everything. And we are grateful for what it gives."
"But you could be free."
"Freedom isn't just the ability to leave," Lira looked at him, and in her dark, almost black eyes, sadness flickered. "Freedom is the ability to stay where you are happy. We are happy here. We don't want to change anything."
Rosh didn't argue. He didn't understand them, but he respected their choice.
---
By evening, they returned to his room. Lira brought dinner—hot soup, fresh bread, honey. Rosh ate in silence, feeling his strength returning. His body had almost recovered—the wounds had closed, leaving only pink scars that would disappear in a few days. The daggers, neatly arranged on the table, were cleaned and sharpened. Someone had taken care of them.
"Your weapons," Lira said, noticing his gaze. "The elder himself restored them. He said such blades are rarely seen, even among travelers."
"Thank him for me," Rosh replied.
They sat in silence, and Rosh felt time slipping away. He had about twelve hours left. Then he would have to leave.
"Tell me about your friends," Lira asked. "The ones waiting for you."
Rosh was silent for a moment. He never talked about them to strangers. But here, in this strange, peaceful place, the words came more easily.
"There are three of them," he began. "Datuk is a dwarf. He's gruff, stubborn, but loyal. We argue a lot, but in battle, he'll watch your back without thinking. Sobra is his bear. He doesn't speak, but he understands everything. Stronger than many people. And Ulvia…" he paused, searching for words. "Ulvia is the heart of our team. She lost an arm, but grew a new one from a vine."
"You miss them," Lira said.
"Yes," Rosh replied, and it was the truth.
---
The night passed quietly. Rosh slept soundly, without dreams, and woke to someone entering the room silently. It was the elder—a tall, grey rabbit with long ears that touched the floor. In his hands was a small bundle.
"You're leaving," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Rosh replied, sitting up in bed.
"The Tree allowed you to stay for thirty-six hours. The time is almost up." The elder handed him the bundle. "Food for the road. And some herbs to help if the wounds open."
Rosh took the bundle. It was warm.
"Thank you," he said. "For everything."
The elder nodded and left. Lira was waiting by the door.
"Will you see me off?" Rosh asked.
"To the gates," she answered.
They walked through the empty streets. The settlement was asleep, only the fountain in the center softly babbled, breaking the silence. At the gates, carved into the white wall, Lira stopped.
"Will you come back?" she asked.
"I don't know," Rosh answered honestly. "If the Tree allows it."
"Then… good luck," she smiled, and sadness flickered in her eyes.
Rosh nodded and stepped through the gates. The white wasteland surrounded him again, and he, checking the daggers at his belt, moved forward. Toward the tower. Toward his friends. Toward home.
In his pocket lay the stone he had picked up a few days ago—smooth, white, with faint silver veins. He didn't know why he had taken it. He just wanted to remember. This place. This girl. These quiet, peaceful hours.
*Soon,* Rosh thought, looking at the white horizon. *Soon I will return.*
He quickened his pace. Time waited for no one.