2

That night, they roused him from bed again. Another manifestation of the Chaos taint. It was beginning to tire him, and the prospect of no help in this dirty work was even more depressing. Dimka came for him, as usual. Polish learned his name was Dimka. He was the only one of the Stalgard Militia with whom he could have a normal conversation. A few days ago, Dimka had taken him after his shift to one of the inns in the city. There was singing and dancing, vodka and beer flowed freely. Dozens of soldiers who normally went about their duties were now rejoicing carefree. Polish was even asked to play something. Lenra's magic fed on joy, so the cheerful melody traveled to the inn's ceiling and flowed into the hearts of the listeners. It echoed with the notes of birth, the song of flowers, the flutter of butterfly wings, the summer breeze, and warm rain. Pure joy filled the hearts of the soldiers.

The party lasted until dawn, and the guests, the SM officers, sobered up surprisingly quickly and marched straight to their duties. Porost had to walk to the palace himself, but he was in such a state that he lost his way among the dark streets. The stench of the gutter and rotting refuse forced him to empty his rebellious stomach. He felt weak and his head pounded, but at least he no longer felt nauseous. He had no idea where he was. Not even what part of the city he was in. Even though dawn was breaking, the darkness somehow lingered in the street shadows. Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. Exactly as when he first encountered the spawn of Chaos. Something was whispering to him. He couldn't move. He wanted to reach for Lenra, but his hands wouldn't obey him; anyway, he couldn't play. The whisper grew louder, chilling his blood, corrupting his mind with its black language. Finally, he saw eyes. Red dots in the rough, gray wall. Eyes piercing the depths of his soul... he was terrified like never before. He couldn't move a muscle. The eyes grew closer, closing in on him, and he couldn't even scream. The gigantic maw opened to swallow him... when suddenly it withdrew and began to shrink. He heard singing. The singing of several children's voices. They were approaching him... but he had long since fallen to the damp ground.

The memory terrified him, forcing him to overcome his fear again before each intervention. Fortunately, he was spurred on by the knowledge that someone else might take his place, perhaps a child. Children... why did the spawn of Chaos retreat when they approached? What do they possess? Innocence? No, that couldn't be it. Children are the easiest to mutate, after all. He decided to leave the topic for later.

He followed Sergeant Lotrefov, who led him to the squad waiting at the palace entrance. Oil lamps glowed yellow, illuminating the windless night. They hurried toward the city center. Postos wondered why the center? After all, there had never been any Chaos spawn there. In the main square stood the Temple of Urlyk. A stark stone structure with ornate battlements around the roof. Its walls hadn't yet had time to blacken, so the limestone walls stood out in the gloom. Dimka led the squad to the temple cemetery, which was sparsely occupied by new graves. He stopped before the gates of the royal tomb.

"That's where," Dimka pointed, "the grave digger had barely escaped..."

"Or maybe some dead guy just woke up?" interjected a private, trying to defuse the tense situation. But only silence answered him.

"In case of a dead man," Dimka looked significantly at the private, "we'll all go there."

The unit didn't look pleased, but an order was an order. Contrary to appearances, the Stalgard Militia were no cowards. They were capable of facing the greatest dangers by following the orders of their superiors. The Stalgard Militia was also known for being the last to retreat from the battlefield. However, the battle-hardened soldiers feared their ancestors most in the spirit world. They believed in the curse of the dead, which condemned the soul of the damned to eternal torture. An innate respect for ancestors is in their blood, so their fear is justified when they disturb their resting place.

The steel door creaked falsely. Dimka led the way down the stone stairs, holding his lamp high. Lichen followed close behind him, along with the unit. The smell of earth, dampness, and mustiness hung in the still air. Unsteady footsteps echoed loudly in the stone corridor. Suddenly, Dimka stopped dead in his tracks.

"What happened, Dimka?" Porost asked, concerned.

Dimka didn't answer. Porost glanced over his shoulder and saw...

A translucent white figure hovering in the air before them. He felt his heart leap into his throat, and his legs felt heavier than lead. Terror paralyzed him again. The specter's words reached the edges of his consciousness.

Beware the breath of the midnight mouth,

which, with the coming of the equinox , will enter

with fire, death, and fear, and

surprise the innocent.

Remember my advice

to defeat Chaos with Order .

Let the virgin song of the earth

change fate terribly.

The specter vanished, leaving behind a dead silence and sweat dripping down his goosebumps.

The guards, strangely enough, remembered nothing but fear. No one had heard the specter's words except Porost. He, however, had no desire to recall the event. The words blurred in his mind and lost all meaning. Over time, he forgot them, throwing himself into the flow of life in Praag. He often returned to the gardens, filled with birdsong and the scent of spring. One such day, he met the princess again, this time gathering flowers. His talisman hung from her swan's neck. When she saw Porost, she smiled and followed him.

They talked for a long time about various matters, sharing worries and problems. When they came to a difficult topic, Porost marveled at her sharpness, intelligence, and knowledge—attributes rarely found in the women of Praag. Amm, as he called her, finally began to confide in her. Her main problem was the lack of freedom. Constantly imprisoned within the palace walls, she rarely left Praag. But something else hurt her more. The knowledge that she would have to spend the rest of her life with a man as grumpy as her father. He came from a distinguished family and was wealthy. She knew her father would give her hand to the first suitor he pleased. She would have the same life as her mother, in her husband's shadow. She would marry someone she didn't love. Post embraced her, and for a long time she didn't tear herself away from him. He could smell the scent of her hair and the intimate warmth of her body.

Months passed. Post spent entire days with Amm, patrolling the city at night. Often, in disguise, they would sneak outside the city walls, into the meadows and fields of crops, greening and ripening in the midnight summer sun. There, they did something that would shape the lives of both of them, or rather, three of them.

And soon, the lives of millions... will briefly explain what happened until the few days before the spring equinox, which are the key moments in this story.

Amm became pregnant, which angered the royal couple. The mother was particularly angry, even wanting to kill the child, who had been conceived from the seed of a vagabond she had long resented. The king was decidedly calmer. When he looked at it calmly, he saw that his problem had solved itself. Amm would marry Porost, a newcomer of great power who had changed the face of Pragg. The people would be more pleased with such a wedding than if the princess had been married to a strange royal son they had never seen, unlike Porost, who had won the hearts of the inhabitants. Zoltan himself marveled at his actions. Since when had he cared about the fate of Pragg's inhabitants? After all, he had always desired power and honor, and the people were merely instruments. However, the city's fire, its reconstruction, the joint fight against Chaos, and Porost's arrival had changed his heart. Over the years, as the king toured the city during the holidays, he noticed that the people were truly happy that he was their ruler. They weren't crying out in fear; they were sincere. The king loved these people and did everything he could to build a safe city in these northern wastelands. The lichen arrived and did what the inhabitants sorely lacked. He gave them joy in life and brought safety to the streets. People rejoiced in working together and celebrating together in the city streets. They felt as safe within the walls of Praag as they did within the walls of their homes. The lichen knows no business ruling, so everything will be left in the princess's hands when Zoltan hands over the crown. No royal bastard will rule Praag.

The wedding coincided with the harvest festival, and the people of Praag rejoiced immensely. Praag had never seen such a bountiful harvest. Granaries were bursting with provisions for the long and harsh winter that had arrived unexpectedly early. With the winter came terrible news: Norsca had once again been invaded by Chaos. The port of Erengard is once again a refugee camp, to which proud families of brave warriors from the north are fleeing. Rumor has it that the army of Chaos is so vast that even the dwarves have begun abandoning their mountain strongholds, which they could not defend. Ships are sailing from the southern ports with mercenaries who are to form one great army with the people of Norsca and the dwarves.

The lichen of Amm were spending the happiest moments of their lives, which, ironically, were not to last.

***

Zoltan was awakened by a pounding on the door.

"Sir, open up!" someone shouted from behind the door. The king stood and went to the door, shuddering as he touched the icy marble floor. Winter had not yet left, even though it was early spring, so the chamber was chilly. The king pulled back the bolt. Sergeant Lotrefow stood behind the door.

"Sir, forgive me..." the sergeant tried to catch his breath. "The tendrils are burning."

The blood drained from Zoltan's face, and the hair on his skin stood on end. He went to the window and opened the heavy shutters. In the darkness of the starless night, Praag slept, wrapped in a blanket of snow, and a few miles to the north, the alarm fire blazed.

The soldier was already gone when the king summoned his servants and dressed hurriedly. The palace was already awake, as was the city. People flocked to the walls, gazing silently at the burning tendrils. From beyond the walls came the clatter of hooves and the neighing of a horse. The gate opened for a scout from the guard posts.

The king stood in the square before the city gate. He felt no chill, even though the cold north wind buffeted everything around him. The scout approached him. Suddenly, the horse's knees snapped with a crack, and the animal collapsed in agony with a blood-curdling wheeze and howl. The rider fell with his horse. The guards tried to lift him, but suddenly recoiled in disgust. They drew their swords.

"Sir," the messenger shouted hoarsely, "let them kill me! I beg you! Kill me, sir!"

"What happened, man?!" The king angrily grabbed the messenger by his cloak. He looked into his deformed face, then released him in disgust.

"Sir..." he croaked, "it was the wind that did this to me. It came from the north... we all look like this.

" "Is it just the wind, soldier?! Is that the reason the tendrils are burning?!" The king shouted, but he longed to hear a positive answer.

"No, ma'am. We were over the Drath Valley..." the messenger paused. "Not many of us returned from that reconnaissance... sir, the valley was full of them!" That cry was the messenger's last words, as he fell to his death in convulsions.

Zoltan staggered. He reached for his sword, seeking solace in the cold steel. However, he found none. He looked at the soldiers' faces. He should say something. Raise their spirits. But what should he say? Drath, a crater several miles deep after some catastrophe, is full of Chaos monsters. "

Let's prepare for battle," was all he managed to choke out.