THIRD DEGREE

 

It was a clear, sunny morning. Pink and white clouds floated across the blue sky. Somewhere high above, a lark sang its song. A gentle breeze swayed the leaves of the roadside trees. Tall, green grass lushly covered the hills. Somewhere in its thicket, young rabbits frolicked, safely hidden from the gaze of the falcons. Unaware yet of the dangers that awaited them in their future lives. A sandy path, slightly overgrown with grass but still clearly visible, snaked between isolated trees, heading somewhere southwest. A tall man walked along this path worn by the feet of unknown travelers. He wore a long red cloak, its hood now loosely draped over his back, on which sat a leather backpack, likely containing some travel trinkets. In his hand, he held a dark wooden staff, iron-bound on both ends. On his head was a brown hat, its brim studded with iron rings, and his feet were shod in high, hard-soled leather boots, undoubtedly suited to long treks, now dusty and somewhat neglected. A gray linen shirt, trimmed with red ribbon at the seams, and dark brown leather trousers tucked into the boots completed the outfit. His face, scarred by burns, was covered in uneven stubble. His hands were also covered with burns. Behind his belt, to which a small bag was attached, were four daggers. A strap ran across his chest, to which a canteen was attached. He hummed a strange, wordless melody to himself. "Heaven on Earth," he thought, "perhaps someday I'll return here and be able to stay longer." He smiled to himself.

It was approaching noon. The lark had finished its song and perched somewhere in the grass, sheltering from the sun. The traveler walked a little further and sat down in the shade of some dense bushes. From his previously removed backpack, he took a piece of dried meat and two biscuits. He ate them and, after drinking some liquid from his canteen, began chewing the meat. He took a scroll of parchment from his bag and began to study it carefully. After a moment, he pulled a thick, red leather-bound book from his backpack. He gently ran his fingers along its spine and, in a low, monotonous voice, sang a strange song. The book glowed for a moment with a yellowish glow and opened with a faint creak of leather binding. The traveler leaned over the book and raised his hands. Blue sparks jumped between his fingers, and the hairs on his chin and head rose, sticking out in all directions like thin, brown spikes. The man remained silent, but his eyes were tense, and not a muscle twitched on his rigid face. After a moment, as long as it takes the sun to move the shadow of a man's head one foot, the book closed on its own. The fingers stopped sparking, and the man moved. He smoothed his hair, then carefully placed the book in his backpack. From his bag, he took a flint and steel.

A second glance at the parchment sparked a spark. Not even ash remained of the parchment, as the man had swallowed the burnt remains. Then the traveler rose and, after packing all the remaining belongings, set off again. His green eyes now glowed with intensity, and the slightly pink whites were now blood-red and full of a strange energy...

...The world was dim and silent, for it was the time when the daytime predators had already retired, and the nocturnal ones had not yet emerged to hunt. Our familiar traveler slowly climbed a relatively high hill. The grass reached to his knees. At the top of the hill stood a strange stone, shaped like the letter "Y," and between his shoulders, a slightly lighter rim around the moon, eclipsed by the sun, was visible. The traveler quickened his pace. "I must make it while my power is at its peak," he thought. He reached the summit. Below, a roughly three-story, windowless tower of black stone gleamed in the starlight. The man ran down to the tower's base, then removed his backpack and set aside all the items he had with him. After a moment's hesitation, he placed a

dagger in each boot. He sang softly, encircling all his belongings on the ground with his hands. A delicate halo surrounded the objects and momentarily illuminated the black stone wall, covered with a strange, dark pattern, its sinuous lines reminiscent of a tangle of thorny branches. The traveler felt a chill run down his spine; he knew these signs all too well, for this was not his first visit to this place. He slowly straightened and walked three times around the tower. Then he approached the wall and hummed another wordless song, tracing the shape of a door with his hands. The stone where he touched it dulled and began to slowly sink. The crack widened towards the center of the outline, and pieces of stone fell to the ground, disappearing and dissolving into nothingness. After a few minutes, the traveler stood before a strong wooden door, gilded with iron ornaments. In the center of the door was an iron knocker in the shape of a lion's head with a round ring in its teeth. The moonlight increasingly illuminated the tower. The man turned, his red eyelids gleaming bloody even in the pale light of the moon's rim, which was slowly appearing from behind the shadows cast by the earth. The traveler bowed his head and turned back to the door. Two tears rolled down his cheeks, but no one could see them. He knocked on the door knocker three times, then took three steps back. The door opened with a soft rustle. "It sounds like a page turning in my book," he thought. Warm air

A warm glow washed over his face from the tower's interior. He waited a moment longer and then stepped decisively into the tower. The door closed behind him, and at the same moment, a greenish light enveloped him, seemingly emanating from every corner of the tower. A ladder, also emanating a green glow, surrounded him before him. Without hesitation, he approached it and slowly began to climb. He felt himself growing warmer with each rung he climbed; the ladder heated up and soon began to burn him. He continued climbing, ignoring this, until he reached the hatch in the ceiling. At the top, he slowly straightened and, trying to forget the stinging pain in his hands, braced himself against the hatch. The hatch bent slightly but refused to release in one spot. He examined the spot that prevented

him from reaching the upper level. "A bolt," he thought, and slowly grabbed the rung with one hand and began to slide down with the other toward the dagger stuck in his boot. The ladder burned ever hotter, and the terrible heat that had long penetrated even the thick soles of his boots now began to burn his feet as well. He could almost feel blisters forming on them. He drew his dagger, almost howling with pain at the contact with the relatively cool metal. Slowly, he raised his hand with the dagger and inserted the blade into the crack. He felt the hair on his head begin to smolder. He moved the dagger to one side but encountered resistance he couldn't overcome. Without thinking, he drew the dagger and inserted it into the crack on the other side of the spot where he expected the bolt to be. He encountered resistance there too, but slowly

managed to overcome it. The pain that had previously radiated only from his hands now began to radiate from his legs as well. As quickly as he could, he lifted the hatch and climbed to the upper level. He could see almost nothing, for the heat was so intense that even he, despite his habit, had to close his eyes. His hands were covered in blisters, and his feet probably looked only slightly better. He tried to stand on them, but at that moment the pain he had been holding back until then overcame his will and our traveler collapsed to the ground.

Flakes of black and red swirled around his eyes. He heard the creak of the hatch and the gentle click as the bolt closed again, and then darkness enveloped him. At first, he felt as if he had fainted, but then he realized he was still conscious and still feeling the searing pain. Slowly, the realization dawned on him that he was in a darkness so dense that the light of a thousand fires gathered in one small area wouldn't illuminate it even a whit. He felt as if he were moving through some dense, pervasive nothingness, and that he might as well be carving it up piece by piece. He tried to figure out where he was now, but he had no idea which way to find the wall. He began to walk forward, as he imagined, but despite taking many steps, he couldn't even make out the faintest hint of any landmark. It was slowly getting colder. He felt his toes go numb from the cold, but the pain didn't lessen in the slightest; on the contrary, it steadily increased, causing Ar-Gastron to stagger several times. He stretched out his arms and almost cried out in pain at the touch of the wall. The increasing cold, radiating, just like the heat had before, from every point in the room, numbing his burned body. He slowly approached the wall and began walking along it, sliding one hand along its smooth surface. Suddenly, he felt the touch of metal beneath his fingers. With the last of his feeling, he realized it was

a rung, its bent ends driven into the wall's surface. Below were three more rungs, and above them he managed to find six similar ones. Slowly, guided more by instinct than feeling, he began to climb the rungs. A terrible cold radiated from the wall, and Ar-Gastron felt his breath forming icicles on the remains of his burnt whiskers. At one point, he felt that the clamps had run out. Feeling around, he realized he had reached a landing. At the same time, a sharp pain

The chill began to subside. He braced himself with both hands on the opposite edges of the opening and kicked his legs off the last rung, arching his torso. The searing pain returned with terrifying force, along with the sensation in his body. Ar-Gastron felt the last of his strength drain from his arms as his legs finally found purchase on the edges of the hole. He slowly crawled away from the opening and lay on the floor. He felt a pleasant warmth begin to envelop his entire body. Slowly, the darkness receded from his sight. Above him, he could see a stone ceiling, made of the same dark stone as the rest of the tower. The walls were almost perfectly smooth, but just above his head, he saw a wooden slat, about three fingers wide and two cubits long, floating in the air. Slowly, he stood and turned his back to the dark, square opening that gaped black at his feet. Before him, an open book levitated on the slat, surrounded by yellow and red flashes. Its pages had a delicate pink hue, and the edge of the cover, visible behind the parchment pages, was blood-red. Ar-Gastron hummed another wordless song. Slowly, step by step, he approached the book, and a blue-and-white circle appeared on its surface. It began to grow and shimmer increasingly brighter. Ar-Gastron

changed the melody slightly, yet retained its rhythm, and slowly drew a large ellipse in the air with his hands. A pale yellow oval appeared before him. Holding his hands at hip level, he returned to his previous tone and began approaching the book again. A large, shimmering blue-and-white sphere now gleamed on its surface. At one point, it detached itself from the book and struck the yellowish oval Ar-Gastron had created. He took a step back, still singing. He watched the ball

ricochet under the ceiling, slowly approaching him from the right. Slowly, he began to change the tone of his song again. He raised one hand, and a pinkish-yellow ball began to form on its surface.

The whites of his eyes, previously red, began to turn pink, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He slowly pushed the formed ball toward the ceiling and for a moment watched the two balls chasing each other near the ceiling. Both had noticeably accelerated, and the force with which they struck

the thick walls of the tower could have long ago reduced a fairly large castle to dust and wiped out its entire crew. Ar-Gastron returned to the original melody for a second time and began to approach the book. He felt the floor beneath his feet begin to tremble, and to make matters worse, a round shape, much bluer in color, began to appear on the book's surface. Ar-Gastron quickened his pace and increased the volume of his voice. The spherical shape on the book swelled and grew. "Just one more

"Two steps," "one more," he thought, and at that moment a second blue projectile shot from the pages of the book. Ar-Gastron instinctively closed his eyes and covered himself with an oval shape, now only faintly shimmering with yellow sparks. He took a step back, tripped over his own feet, and fell to the ground. He only saw the blue projectile slithering past his magical shield with terrifying speed, tearing it apart and destroying the entire spell. There was only one thought in his mind - "Don't stop singing, don't lose the rhythm." Three balls danced under the ceiling, trying to hit each other. Their momentum was so terrifying that they resembled more colorful streaks, tracing colorful patterns on the dark surface of the ceiling. The floor was shaking more and more. Ar-Gastron got up from the floor and, still humming, approached the book. This time, a dark blue circle was forming on its pages. He took the book in both hands and closed it. Terrible pain from He threw it to the ground with his burned hands. The book tried to break free and

burned him severely. Ar-Gastron placed it on his chest and held it with both hands. Before his eyes flew three balls at a mad dash – pale blue, pink-yellow, and blue. Suddenly, these three balls met in the very center of the circular ceiling, and an incredible roar shook the entire tower. Darkness fell...

...The sun shone above the world. Noon was approaching. A gentle breeze was blowing. A lark was singing its songs in the air. On the hill lay a pile of stones, rapidly crumbling to dust. A few hundred meters away, in the valley, lay the figure of a man. A rather thick book lay on his chest, held in his hands. He was dressed in torn and burned clothes. His hair was a reddish hue and curled as if by a tremendous heat, and in some places, burned to the skin. The man He didn't move. A lizard was basking in the sun on his torn and burned-out boot. Nearby lay a backpack, a canteen, and a traveling stick, neatly arranged in a heap, a faint yellow halo pulsating around them.

Ants gathered around it, sensing the scent of biscuits even through the magical barrier. The ants began to slowly climb onto the man's motionless body. The lizard reluctantly climbed off his boot, leaving the small workers free to explore, oblivious to the fact that the man's chest, previously motionless, began to rise and fall gently. The ants invaded his ears, hair, and mouth, and began their feast. The man stirred restlessly and sneezed. Hundreds of tiny jaws dug into his flesh in desperate pain.

The desire to get one last morsel for his small, hungry body. The man opened his eyes and looked around anxiously. Peace reigned, and only the song of a lark disturbed the midmorning silence. The book on his chest began to weigh heavily on him. His belongings lay nearby, surrounded by a protective barrier. He tried to stand, but even sitting up made him dizzy. He tried to crawl, and despite the difficulty, he managed to slowly approach the package. Still holding the book with one hand, he slipped the other

into the barrier and then untied his backpack. The ants continued to bite him unbearably, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get rid of them until he finished with the book. The whites of his eyes were faintly pink. He slowly pulled a second book, slightly thicker than the one in his hand, from his backpack. He pressed the spines of the books together and hummed a tune softly. The books merged into one, only slightly thicker than the one removed from the backpack. Only the dark red glints on their covers indicated that new spells had arrived. The man placed the book on his backpack, still resting within its magical envelope, and slowly sat down. He hummed another strange and haunting song, and ants began to float away from his body, gliding through the air, igniting with red light, only to

vanish in a brief spark of red fire about ten paces away. The man slowly placed his hand in the backpack and rummaged through it for a moment. He pulled out a scroll of parchment and unfolded it. He slowly began to read it. Suddenly, he raised

his hands and began to sing. His voice rose and fell, red and blue sparks leaping between his fingers. The pain in his hands began to fade, and the scars smoothed and almost disappeared. He felt new energy and strength flowing within him.

He had the book of the third degree, he was alive and all that was left for him to do was return to more civilized lands to rest and learn to use his new powers.