White and Black Part I

He appeared out of nowhere. He was simply walking down

a busy street. People passing by reacted differently. Some stared at him, frozen in whatever action they had been performing before they saw him, as if unable to look away. Others glanced in his direction briefly and then turned away in fright. Still others laughed and mocked him, but only until the object of their observation seemed to react to the insults. They fell silent immediately, not knowing why, and hurried away, casting frightened glances behind them.

There were also those who looked at him with curiosity and passed him by as if they were an almost normal passerby; some smiled sincerely, their moods strangely lifted. No one remained indifferent to the newcomer. One might venture to say that it was impossible to pretend in front of him. When confronted by a strange figure, people's true nature emerged stronger than the desire to hide their naked selves.

Even, or perhaps especially, the animals reacted strangely to him. Dogs ran across the street with their tails tucked between their legs, watching him with great interest from a safe distance. After a moment, as if driven by instinct, they followed him, yet kept their distance. Birds took to the air and circled. Swallows, in their habitual, seemingly dangerous dance, veered just before the edges of the buildings, only to turn back with great grace and agility, repeating their aerial ballet. At the arrival of a newcomer, they descended so low that people involuntarily bowed their heads. Pigeons flapped their wings and held themselves high, higher than usual. A white poodle with a pink ribbon around its neck and a blue leash began nibbling at an elderly lady's very expensive and cheap dress. The pickpocket hesitated before removing the wallet from the woman's purse, then thought better of it and changed his mind. A young girl smiled at a boy she passed on the sidewalk. He stopped and turned around to ask her the time, even though he was wearing a watch.

The person who had this effect on people looked quite peculiar. It was a man – an old man. Dressed in a dark brown habit with a hood pulled up over his head, he held a long staff, a good meter taller than its owner. The habit was old and worn. The staff clattered against the paving stones. Sandals tied with a strap could be seen on the old man's feet. The old man seemed oblivious to the people passing by. He walked with a steady, measured, and calm gait.

His face was obscured by the shadow cast by the long hood. However, indifference was only the first impression. The old man seemed to see and feel everything around him. Gazing at him, one might get the impression that a smile sometimes graced the shadowed face. Not a mocking or menacing smile, but... as mysterious as the invisible face and himself.

The old man walked calmly, his gait undecipherable whether he was simply out for a stroll, unsure of his destination, or whether he had a specific destination in mind. Passing a glass-walled skyscraper, reflecting neighboring buildings and a blue sky dotted with puffy clouds here and there, he turned toward the entrance. The doorman, speaking with a customer, interrupted his conversation; he wasn't alone. The customer, who had just moments earlier been arguing about a refund for damaged equipment, cut his sentence short. As the customer passed them, they exchanged quizzical glances, as if forgetting what they were talking about.

The old man stood in front of the elevator and pressed a button, extending a wrinkled, yet somehow well-groomed, thin hand from his wide sleeve. A moment later, a woman with a small child approached the elevator. The bell rang, and the doors opened. The mother and child entered first. She pressed the button for the next floor, and the old man did the same, choosing the highest floor. The child, a blond girl, stared curiously at the old man with her large, innocent blue eyes, her index finger in her mouth. Peeking out from behind her mother's dress, which she held with her free hand, she kept her eyes fixed on the old man. Sensing her gaze, the old man glanced at her. The child immediately hid behind her mother, but after a moment, she leaned out to look into the old man's face and see two gleaming, blue-gray, deep eyes. The man smiled. The doorbell announced the door's opening. The mother took her daughter's hand in hers and left. The child turned her head and watched the old man until he disappeared around the corner. The old man smiled to himself, then sobered.

The elevator stopped on the top floor. The doors opened, revealing a long corridor beyond. The man emerged. He passed large palm trees with spreading leaves, seemingly small in the wide, high corridor. The walls were undoubtedly covered with expensive wallpaper, and on them hung various paintings, perfectly integrated into the overall picture, depicting a mountain stream, a boat on the high seas, and a high, breaking wave. The old man stopped before the painting of the boat. Suddenly, it came to life. The helmsman struggled against gusts of wind that tore at the sails. Birds flew, fighting against strong currents. Dark clouds raced across the sky. Rain began to fall. Thunder roared in the hall. As soon as the old man moved on, the painting froze in the last image immortalized on the canvas. The mountain stream came alive for a moment, and the sound of a waterfall could be heard. The forest rustled, a wolf howled, and a woman hummed a mournful song as she sat by a spindle. "Greetings, Miss Atropos," he said. The face of the man in the painting, seated on a dun horse in full armor with his visor raised, expressed courage and anger. The horse beneath him was restlessly eager to run. The knight held a pennant with a green dragon fluttering in the wind. His sword gleamed in his hand, reflecting the sunlight. There was a scent of horse sweat and earth. The armor creaked. Hooves struck the ground. The horse whinnied. The painting, like all the others, froze as soon as the old man stopped looking at it. A green carpet stretched the length of the corridor.

He stopped before a door with the silver number 777, where a young man sat with his back against the wall. He was dressed in an immaculate white suit and shirt. The white contrasted with his raven-black hair. His head was bowed, his hair falling over his shoulders. A saber lay on the floor beside him. The old man stood next to him and asked,

"What are you waiting for, man?

" "For a change of fate," the raven-haired man replied.

"Do you think waiting will help you?

" "I don't know if anything will help me.

" "So why are you sitting here?

" "I have no choice.

" "Why don't you get up and seek happiness?

" Happiness turned its back on me, showing me its true face.

"Happiness will be where you feel it, where you see it."

The young man raised his head. He was very handsome and very pale. Under a high forehead and eyebrows as black as his hair, two coal-black eyes gazed at the old man. He looked at the man with a sharp, though sad, and subdued gaze.

"Perhaps you're right, old man. But I don't remember what happiness is anymore. I don't even remember if I've ever been happy.

" "What do they call you?"

The man fell into thought, clearly trying to remember his name. "You can call me Raven."

"Listen to me, Raven. Rise and come with me. We will seek your happiness. You will lose nothing by coming with me and gain nothing by staying here.

" "Your offer, old man, is not bad. I will go with you. But what if I don't find happiness or don't know it?

" "I'll give you mine.

" "Fine. I agree to your offer." With these words, he stood up. He was very tall. He towered over the old man by a head. He raised his saber, looked into his companion's eyes, and laughed lightly, revealing teeth as white as snow.

The old man rapped his staff four times on the oak wood, even though a knocker in the shape of a wolf's head hung on the door. A moment later, a woman opened the door. Dressed in a tight red dress, she made a stunning impression. Dark blond hair curled at the sides, falling gently over her shoulders. There was no trace of makeup on her very pretty face. The sounds of music and conversation came from behind the woman.

"I'm listening," she said, unable to hide her surprise, her gaze settling on Raven for a moment.

"I've been invited by the master of this house," he said in a deep, bass voice. "Please tell him an old acquaintance has arrived." As he spoke, he reached for his hood and pulled it back, revealing his wrinkled face. His thinning, long hair fell behind his robe, and his bushy eyebrows gave the old man the air of a sage.

"This is my companion. He's with me.

" "Please come in and make yourself comfortable. I'll be back soon."

The newcomers entered. The woman quickly departed, leaving her guests among the people standing in the large living room. The music they heard from behind the door turned out to be the works of old masters, played by a string quartet. A man playing the piano accompanied them.

The men looked around the room. It was very large and circular. A glass entrance to the terrace was directly in front of them. The sun was just setting, tinting the sky and clouds with shades of red.

"The sun is setting bloody tonight," said Raven sadly, looking into the distance. His eyes glinted briefly and then faded.

They descended the steps. Passing people talking, they entered the terrace. It was wide and long. A waiter approached them with a tray bearing glasses of red wine. The old man declined. Raven took a glass, drank the wine in one gulp, and before the waiter left, placed the glass on the tray. He took a second glass, examined its contents, swirling it gently. He sniffed it, and drank the second as quickly as the first. A drop of wine fell on Raven's immaculate white suit. He didn't notice.

"Look, old man, how beautiful it is here.

" "You're right, Raven."

Those standing on the terrace were not surprised by the view that unfolded before them. It was a landscape of considerable size. A vast forest stretched to the horizon, its end in sight. The river, hugging the castle from the east, meandered through the forest, disappearing among the trees. Barely visible in the distance were mountains. Birds circled above the forest. Every now and then, swallows flew past the terrace, cutting the air almost silently. Eagles and hawks could be seen high in the sky. The terrace itself was part of the castle, located in its central section. In front of the castle, a magnificent garden captivated the eyes with its wondrous corridors of trees, shrubs, and flowers.

This sight was no surprise to either the old man in the brown habit or his younger companion, a tall man in a white suit with midnight-black hair. Anyone who was surprised by the sight would likely have been no less surprised to see the guests. Among them were fully armored samurai with katanas tucked into their belts, and there were warriors dressed in traditional kimonos with long black braids. Geishas strolled among them, pacing the hall with tiny steps. Among the colorful attire were black frock coats, bowler hats, colorful dresses, fanciful hairstyles, and hats. In their opinion, a cross-section of human culture and history. There were also figures who couldn't be categorized within these frameworks.

Next to the old man and Raven, a man in a wheelchair, steered with minimal hand movements, rode. Large owlish glasses occupied a significant portion of his face. Beside the wheelchair walked a bald man dressed in an orange suit.

"Do you think time travel is possible?

" "If it is, I don't know the laws that govern it," the man replied in a mechanical voice, selecting the appropriate words on a computer attached to the wheelchair.

"I also believe time travel is impossible, or at least the answer to that question eludes us, eludes us so efficiently that we might not catch it for a long time."

"Time, gentlemen, is very malleable and depends not only on the physical laws you observe and know well every day. Time is also influenced by the observer. An observer who, by observing a phenomenon or participating in it, influences its course. Perhaps you will discover this law someday, perhaps you will never know it. As for whether time travel is possible, that's not the right question. You should ask a different one. What is it? Don't ask me that," the old man said to the men they passed. The cart stopped, and so did the man in the orange suit. "

That's very interesting, what you said." A mechanical sound emanated from hidden speakers. "Perplexing. Very puzzling."

They didn't have time to talk further. A samurai approached the men. He stood before the cart. His face twisted in contempt. He looked everyone in the eye. Only Kruk seemed oblivious to the newcomer. He looked around the area with a sad look.

"Who invited a cripple here?" he asked arrogantly. "A cripple who doesn't speak with his own voice. I agreed to come here and I won't tolerate fragments. You're not worthy of being among us! You," he pointed to the man in orange, "get him out of here quickly, otherwise you'll have to carry him out in pieces if you survive.

" "You're a fool," Crow said.

"What?! Who dares?" the samurai shouted angrily.

"Me," he said, raising his head and looking sadly at the warrior.

"Dog! Your final hour has come."

He reached for his katana and drew it with a lightning-fast movement. The men didn't react. Crow raised his wine glass to his lips. He drank it down in one gulp. The samurai attacked. Crow deflected the blow and pushed the attacker away from his companions, removing them from danger. He moved slowly from his spot, holding his saber loosely at his left leg. The music continued, and the guests began to look at the combatants. The samurai gripped his katana in both hands and struck again. Metal clanged against metal, emitting a clear sound that hadn't yet faded away before subsequent blows drowned it out. The speed of the cuts was so great that few guests managed to see them all. The samurai attacked with fury, yet with caution, quickly recognizing his opponent. The latter still held the glass in his right hand, as if forgotten. His face was calm. His eyes glittered, and a gentle smile played on his lips. He caught the Asian warrior's slashes with lightning-fast movements. His raven-black hair blew gently in the wind, though perhaps it wasn't wind. The samurai jumped back after another unsuccessful attack. He steeled himself. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He narrowed his eyes and stared at this strange opponent, whose calmness struck him as much as his incredible swordsmanship. Despite everything, he wasn't afraid. He was confident. He had never met an opponent who could withstand him for half the time he had wasted on the man in white. Anger flared within him even more. He leaped forward, deceiving his opponent, waiting for him to react. He didn't. He struck, aiming for the leg. He parried. Faster than the eye could see, he shifted his weight to the other foot and aimed for the head. The sword whistled through the air. He jumped back. The black-haired opponent stood with his saber lowered. He stood calm. The wind gently ruffled his hair. His face. His expression no longer expressed sadness. His smile widened. His eyes gleamed even more. He laughed aloud, looking directly into the samurai's eyes, and charged. The attacked warrior leaped forward, wanting to surprise his opponent. Metal. A clear sound pierced the silence like a scream in the night. The weapon flew from his hand. It flew over the heads of the men and embedded itself in the wall.

The samurai, his eyes widening in surprise, stared at his opponent. He stared, unable to believe what had happened. Kruk still stood, holding his glass in his right hand and his saber in his left, and laughed loudly. He laughed heartily and loudly. The guests continued to watch, curious to see what was happening next. Kruk stopped laughing; his eyes only gleamed with a strange light.

"Thank you. You were a great fighting companion. I hold no grudge against you. You hold no grudge against me, and he left this man alone."

The samurai nodded, turned, and walked slowly away. Meanwhile, Kruk was attracting attention. People were staring at him with curiosity. Some approached and congratulated him. He accepted their words calmly, and since he showed no enthusiasm in the conversation, they quickly left him alone.

"Thank you," said the man in the wheelchair.

Kruk smiled at him and approached the old man. Passing the waiter, he exchanged his glass for a full one and drank it in one gulp. Meanwhile, it was getting darker and darker. The clouds spread across the sky. The lights were turned on on the terrace and in the castle.

End of Part One