I. The White Wolf

It was unimaginably cold, but he seemed oblivious to it. He rode slowly on his horse. He wasn't in a hurry. In fact, anyone in his position would have tried to delay their arrival.

The snow was falling harder and harder. The man... or maybe it wasn't a man? The figure looked very tired, which might have encouraged bandits to attack. But there were no bandits in this area. And no wonder. No one living ventured into these parts. No one except...

"How much would I give to change the course of events," the rider thought, "To go back to the moment when it all began..."

But he couldn't. No one could anymore.

***

The sun shone very brightly that day, which was no surprise. It was the very middle of the warm season, the one hundred and eighty-third day of the year. This time, the midday day fell twice. This meant it was to be celebrated today and tomorrow. Such an anomaly occurred once every four years. People didn't know why this was happening. It was enough for them that the sages believed it was the right thing to do. The sages enjoyed great respect among the populace.

A richly dressed man entered the inn. He wore a sword in a silver and gold-trimmed scabbard at his belt. It was immediately obvious he hadn't come for a beer. People like him didn't drink beer at a roadside inn.

"Are there any brave men here?" he asked, raising his voice so everyone could hear. "Surely everyone has heard about the inhabitants dying in the forest! Our sages have found the cause! We need a few brave men willing to face the beast!

" "And what kind of beast is this?" one tall man asked, breaking away from his chicken.

"I don't know, as no one has seen it. The sages say you could just as easily find a troll, a rebellious centaur, or even Fenris himself there!

" "Fenris?" – the man asked in surprise. – Who would be afraid of Fenris?

– So I take it you accept the challenge?

– Not so fast… – he knew perfectly well how to deal with royal envoys. – I am generally considered brave, but courage has its price…

– What do they call you?

– I have traveled extensively – he began in a calm voice, indicating that a long story would follow – but in each place they called me differently.

– Get to the point – the only one listening grew impatient.

– All right. Of all my names, Mercenary is probably the most apt. I am also often called Brawler…

– “Okay, Mercenary! You will get…” – he pondered, trying to make the sum sound convincing.

Exactly three days had passed when Mercenary gathered his men and prepared for the expedition. He was standing before the entrance to the cave the sages had indicated.

– Do you still want to go in?” he asked his companions.

"Those who don't take risks..." replied the first, deliberately leaving the popular saying unfinished.

"There's no way I'm backing down now!" announced the second, who towered over the Mercenary by half a centimeter.

"And I like that," he said happily. "Loth, you take the torch," he turned to the tallest of them. "It'll be dark inside .

" "And me?" asked the second.

"And you, Gord, will follow a few meters behind us, as you're best with a bow."

The Mercenary was right. It wasn't revealing, but the cave was indeed dark. It was here, in this cold cavern, that Fenris was supposed to be lurking. Fenris? No one had said it outright, but the Mercenary had already convinced himself of it, and nothing could dissuade him.

The torch illuminated quite a bit, so they walked confidently. Loth, holding the light in his left hand, and his sword in his right. The mercenary, two steps ahead, carried a shield in addition to his sword. Gord, on the other hand, was armed only with a bow. He was a truly good shot, and even if it came to a close encounter with an opponent, he could quickly kill with just the tip of an arrow. No one knew exactly how he did it. No one ever asked him.

***

He stopped his horse. He noticed some tracks in the snow. They were already buried under snow, only an outline remained. Despite this, he recognized them as wolf tracks. He didn't even have to dismount; his eyesight was excellent. A good description would be "superhuman."

"So I'm not the only living creature here"—the thought should have filled him with optimism, but it didn't. "How I wish this had never happened... but I had no control over it"—it haunted him—"I didn't choose this destiny myself."

***

"Halt!" the mercenary ordered. "Something moved there!"

"Where?" Gord asked. There was no trace of fear in his voice.

WHO ARE YOU?

"Who said that?" Loth's voice trembled. He gripped his sword hilt tighter. "

BECAUSE YOU HAVE INFRINGED ON MY PROPERTY, YOU WILL NOT LEAVE HERE!

" "Fenris?" The mercenary took a few steps forward. A faint note of excitement was evident in his voice. Suddenly, a figure of imposing height loomed in the torchlight. It stood at least six feet tall! It couldn't be seen clearly, but it was clear that it was in the process of unslinging a weapon from its back. Gord aimed his bow.

"Surrender, whoever you are!" he shouted, approaching his companions. "

ARE YOU IN A RUSH TO DEATH?"

The figure ran toward them. The mercenary responded in kind. When they met halfway, he shielded his body against the heavy weapon the attacker held in both hands. He tried to slash at the leg, but the attacker spun and would have struck the mercenary in the back if the enormous, two-handed sword hadn't caught on a stalactite, which snapped in half and fell to the ground with a crash. Fear drove the man back.

"Who are you?" he asked, trying to calm his heart. "

SOME CALL ME DEATH."

When the mercenary had calmed down a bit, he noticed an arrow sticking out of Death's black armor. Behind him stood Loth, ready to fight, and Gord, another arrow ready.

BUT THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS THE PERSONIFICATION OF DEATH! I AM A DEALER. I SELL DEATH AND PAIN.

The mercenary attacked his opponent. He saw Loth do the same from the opposite side. Again he had to shield himself from the opponent's blow, but this time... the shield shattered! Thrown by the force of the impact, he landed on his back on the ground. He saw an arrow fly, chipping away a piece of the wall, and blood. Loth's blood. He saw his body fall to the ground. A moment later, Gord headed for the exit. He ran blindly, not taking the torch, which now lay on the ground, providing little light. "

DID YOU THINK YOU COULD KILL ME? YOU WERE WRONG."

After those words, he felt cold iron sinking just above his sternum, slashing across his ribs, which offered no resistance to the blade.

"You misunderstood me!" The figure in the long, red robe was visibly irritated.

"Did I do something wrong?" the king panicked. He didn't let anyone raise their voices. No one even tried, because everyone feared him. Everyone, except the wise men.

"You know the kingdom is in danger!"

"Of course, I know. You mentioned it.

" "There's a monster living in that cave," the wise man began, his voice calmer now, "and just because it kills people isn't a reason to kill it outright! I know, blood for blood... but it's a monster! It has no conscience!

" "I don't think I understand..." the king said uncertainly.

"We can use it to avert the danger! We must grasp at every possible means, for when the kingdom falls, the whole world will be open to those filthy creatures from..." He deliberately stopped the sentence. He didn't want to say the word.

"Yes, I know. Forgive me, I didn't think...

" "The wise men have to go there. You can't convince it to serve in your army. It's a monster that needs to be killed. It delights in the sight of blood. Perhaps it even feeds on it...?" Leave it to us, the wise men, and don't interfere in this matter any further." He pondered for a moment. He took a few nervous steps and after a moment continued. "Did you listen to the report of this... well... Gorn?"

"Gord. It was Gord. Yes, I heard.

" "So you see... people have to be kept away. This Gord claimed the beast could deflect arrows with his sword! Only witchers could do that trick.

" "But witchers died out long ago...

" "True. That's why I have no idea what we're dealing with. A witcher would never hurt anyone... if he wasn't paid for it, of course.

" ***

He couldn't understand. How could someone decide his future without his knowledge? He wanted it all to be over. The snow was beginning to fall harder. The horse moved lazily forward. He seemed to sense the danger too. He wanted to delay the moment of death as much as possible.

The further he went, the more wolf tracks he noticed. He didn't think it would be a good omen. For a moment, he even thought he heard a howl, but he dismissed it as a figment of his imagination.

***

"You're saying he could deflect arrows with his sword?" asked the man sitting across from Gord.

"Of course!" – He replied without thinking – it's only thanks to a miracle that I'm still alive.

– It's a bit unlikely – he turned his face away, giving the impression that he was considering something – but anyone wouldn't have killed Loth. I knew him. And that, what's his name… – he paused, apparently the beer running down his chin had damaged his memory – The Hireling? I guess so. He could defeat three in one fight!

– You see.

– I wonder why you survived then!

– Why? – Gord was afraid of the question. Was he supposed to say he left his comrades in the fight? Did he run away like a coward? – Because… – he lost confidence – because they told me to run. They shouted that one of us had to survive to tell the tale. They chose me because I had a bow and wouldn't be useful in hand-to-hand combat.

– Hmm… – the man seemed to believe – that sounds likely. I knew Loth… – he didn't finish, as his attention was diverted by a very pretty waitress serving him the beer he had ordered. After so many mugs, all the waitresses were pretty.

Gord would have stayed in that tavern for a long time, but two mugs later, he became so insufferable that he had to be forcibly removed.

The sage in the red robe had probably entered his tower. People like him often locked themselves in towers. They explained this by saying that living high above the ground gave them peace, nothing disturbed them.

He opened a book and began reading. It was a bestiary. He was looking for information on creatures similar to the one in the cave outside the city. He was certain it could be beguiled and used for his own purposes. Such tricks worked on almost any creature whose sole purpose was to kill as many living beings as possible. But each one required a different approach.

The worst part was that he couldn't assess the seriousness of the threat. All signs in the sky and on earth indicated that an army led by the Fenris wolf, whom the gods had punished simply for being born, would soon invade Midgard. Many people claimed to have seen Nidhogg soaring through the sky. For now, far from the city. So, if Nidhogg had appeared in Midgard, he was probably spying for his mistress. So the best thing would be to find and kill him... but who would undertake it? Who, if not a being eager for all sorts of bloodshed?

The sage had already made his decision. Since he hadn't learned much from the books, he would have to use a universal method. One that would work on almost every creature, but was more exhausting.

All that was left was to agree on the details at a council with the other sages.

***

"Why did I agree to this?" he continued to pursue the topic, the matter haunting him. "I didn't have to..." The howling came from the exact direction he was heading. This time, he was certain it wasn't a figment of his imagination. He was afraid. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he was afraid of anything. No, it wasn't fear of death. He couldn't explain it himself.

"Apparently, he had to."

The snow was falling steadily, so he had difficulty making out the shape emerging from the partially buried cave. The four-legged creature blended into the background. It looked ready to attack.

He quickly dismounted and drew his sword. He knew perfectly well not to underestimate even the weakest of opponents. "A white wolf, something like that," he thought, gripping the hilt of his weapon. He had always believed these were merely legends told by weary travelers who delighted in all sorts of hallucinogenic plants.

The animal didn't move, save for the slight twitching of its lips, revealing all its teeth. "Die!" "—he shouted, lunging, slashing with incredible speed and force. No one could survive such a blow; the blade would have cut through even the hardest armor like butter. But the wolf proved faster. He leaped for his throat and surely would have killed him, were it not for the fact that it was firmly shielded against the cold by a scarf. The wolf sank its fangs into what had once been some animal's fur, and when the blood he expected didn't flow, he was slightly surprised. This lost him a few precious seconds that could have saved him.

The man, thrown by the force of the animal's leap, struck the wolf on the back as soon as he hit the snow. A bit clumsily, but it still had the desired effect. The animal fell to its side, howling savagely. Blood instantly stained a large area of ​​snow.

"You are the servant of my enemy, you are my enemy." He fell into thought. "But now I will prove to be your friend." And he mercifully shortened the suffering of the animal, which was probably not entirely responsible for its actions.

"Let's go, Niell," he said to the horse. "It's not up to us anymore, we have to move on. They decided for us

Intimissimi" chapter VII

VII.

The market square is magnificent in summer, especially in August...

It shimmers and shimmers in the sun, vendors shouting over each other.

The crowds are terrifying; you have to squeeze through people who are ugly, worn out, as if this market had sucked out all their softness, freedom of thought, and higher aspirations.

My gaze drifted over the hills of ripe apples, the stacks of sweet new potatoes, the pyramids of cucumbers with rough skin...

After a moment's reflection, I was almost captivated, concluding that a wonderful harmony governed this market and, so to speak, the sequence of fruits and vegetables.

After all, cool, fragrant strawberries are here in June, plump watermelons in July, moist brown and russet mushrooms—in September, the same minuet every year, everything is renewed, and flavors return to the human mouth. Now I must admit, this event gave me, seeking harmony in all things, a tremendous and almost reverential relief.

Nature doesn't move pieces on her chessboard so easily.

Am I sick, or perhaps they are?

All these healthy scents in various shades merged in my brain and sang some gibberish hymn to the heavens, higher and higher.

Driven by this melody, frayed like lettuce leaves (sometimes I create truly silly metaphors), I looked up at the façade of the tenement house adjacent to the market square, as if in a dream, bathed in the midday sun, immensely dreamy and soft, full of the sexy red of geraniums and the golden reflections of laughter and desire.

Then, on one of the balconies, I saw you.

You're so close and yet so far, you amaze. I don't want to feel ridiculous and talk about you too loudly; they'll hear me. Shh...

You, in your white t-shirt with flimsy straps, looking down, bored.

And that whiteness that harmonizes with your Hungarian tan!

I'd run up those stairs, bumping into passersby. Believe me, I'd run, I can do it too, I can do it too, listen, I'd run upstairs to quickly, without a word, peel my breasts, still warm from the sun, out of that white t-shirt.

I'm convinced again that I need you.

I envy you that view from the balcony because you can see everything clearly, the entire market, the seemingly insignificant interference of human movements, you hear that cacophony, you take it all in, Queen.

I turned to light a cigarette.

A moment later, she was gone.

The geraniums on the balconies sparkled in the sun and seemed even redder.

The Heir - Prologue

It was a dark night. The deafening silence was occasionally broken by the sounds of waking owls and wolves stalking. The moon cast a pale light on a small hill, in the center of which stood a dingy inn. It was the last place to find shelter; beyond stretched savage plains and hills, beyond which lay a similarly vast land ravaged by fire and lava. Its sole inhabitant had once been Aunglamir, a powerful black magician with the power of murder. Two years ago, however, Aunglamir had been defeated by a chosen one—Varrus—who later earned the epithet "the righteous one." However, this story does not concern those distant times, so let's return to the present, that is, to 514.

The inn built on the hill stood almost empty that evening. Only on the second floor of a small building on the western side, a faint light smoldered, almost invisible behind mud-smeared windows. In a small room stood a tall man. He had raven-black hair, brown eyes, and a face covered with numerous scars. This man was a traveler, the only one so intimately familiar with wild lands. Rumors even circulated that he had been to Aunglamir's land, though he himself would not confirm this. However, whenever mention was made of that distant and dangerous place, his face was crisscrossed with rippling strands of skin, as if recalling the horrors he might have experienced there. In any case, the man now stood by the window, staring into the darkness that shrouded the entire area. He was waiting for something, or someone. Finally, he arrived. A presence was evident in the room, though no one but the traveler himself was visible. Suddenly, the traveler spoke:

"Hello, Vivien, why are you sneaking up on me as if you were going to kill me? Can't you show yourself?"

"Of course not," replied a soft voice, a woman's voice. "Don't you remember that I look terrible after the fight with Vonnis? You can't see me like this.

" "Your choice! But remember, you're not my ordinary friend, and I'd like you to die before the end of all that exists.

" "You'll surely see me again, but what end are you talking about?

" "Don't you know? 'At the end of good, the heir of Aunglamir will be born from under the mountain, he will bring us ruin!'" Those are the words of the prophecy. The end of good, the last home where you will find refuge, is here; the heir will be born tonight, from under the mountain nearby."

The traveler had barely finished his sentence when a terrible roar rent the air, the sound like a thousand collapsing houses. The traveler's heart leaped. Suddenly, he felt a familiar touch; it was the invisible Vivien embracing him, while a stream of lava rose into the air, a thousand meters high. Vivien began to whisper,

"You were right, Valurus, you were right! The heir is being born. We must act quickly, the prophecy must come true!"

"What do you mean, what do you have in mind?

" "If you're quoting, then I can too. 'When the heir is born, there's only one way to defeat him. Find the sword of the lost soldier, chosen one, and unite it with the light on the altar of ghosts. Thus you will bring peace to your land and reign therein'!" Have you forgotten?

"I'll never do that; we'll all die for nothing, do you understand? My father died because he fulfilled the prophecy, and my grandfather too. Do you want me to share their fate?

" "Your grandfather died because he raised his hand against someone he shouldn't have raised it against, and my father died because he strayed from the path. Valarus, there's still hope. You can't deprive us of it, I won't let you die, remember that. And when it's all over, you'll see me physically, as I am.

" "If you want it so badly, I'll do it, for the sake of my feelings and the fact that I'll die anyway, so I prefer to act. But where to begin?"

- Find your father's sword in the cemetery at Aunglamir's place, then report it here. We'll deal with it from there.

End of prologue

Disease

He awoke to the sounds of a party. It was undoubtedly a successful one, as it was almost dawn. Interestingly, the party was taking place outdoors, which was rather unusual in this country, where the cold never subsides, and when the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, it was probably only to hide as quickly as possible for fear of being noticed.

However, the party was undoubtedly unannounced, and he was exceptionally ill. His impossibly unhealthy lifestyle, his diet, which smacked of mental illness to any dietitian, the lack of sunlight, and his general exhaustion were finally taking their toll. An illness of unknown origin had taken hold of him, and there was nothing he could do but lie down and sleep off the worst of it.

That's why he was furious. How could that be??? No one warned me. No one notified me, not a word was said about this endeavor. And now, as I lie here in my own bed, gathering strength to defeat this vile disease, this vermin that's practically eating away at my body, suddenly someone is throwing a wicked party right outside my window! This can't go on.

However, being a kind man at heart, he decided to give in. So he put on his headphones, turned on some music, and waited for the perfect night's sleep.

It never came. What sent him into a state of utter stupor and utter fever was the fact that the voices outside were becoming increasingly louder. Despite turning up the volume to the limit of his ears, he couldn't escape the noise outside.

Suddenly, he felt his face heat up, clenched his fists, and gritted his teeth. It's over. I'll end this game right now. Such disregard for the other tenants is unthinkable. It's been very pleasant, but it's time to go home, my dears. And without further discussion, or there will be blows.

He rose from the bed, the voices becoming increasingly distinct. Suddenly, he felt dizzy, and for a moment he couldn't stand, leaning against the wall. How ironic the situation was. There, right outside his window, crowds were partying like crazy, and here, in this tiny room, he couldn't get out of bed.

Finally, he came to his senses. He summoned all his anger and courage.

He looked out the window. There was no one there...

On light and grandeur: Beneath the majestic sun and its golden rays, even the densest clouds find their place in the sky. The tides, the sun, and the wind seem to dance an invisible choreography. In the end, everything in life is a matter of harmony...☀️🌊

"The meeting of two hearts, when woven between the lines, needs no direct explanation. Like a gentle breeze dancing through the curtains on a mild afternoon, the feeling reveals itself in shared silence, in the harmonious rhythm of breathing, and in the reassuring sense that the outside world can keep spinning on its axis while time stands still."

Life is about doing your part. You control nothing else. Do it and be at peace. We cannot control what happens out there, but we can control the peace we cultivate within. "True peace comes when you stop fighting against what you cannot change and focus on your own heart." 🕊✌️