different

The plane approached at an odd angle. As usual, it had an extra streak, indicating fertilizer. It wasn't entirely possible to verify, but it was already certain information. Spoken by someone who knew the subject. Well enough that she already knew the next stage of the operation.

Work, how he loved it. It was like refreshing air on a cold day. It gave his life meaning. It wonderfully used up the extra energy he had in abundance. Nothing helped him get through difficult times like work. Work, work, work—they should write about it in the newspapers. Work for all the depressed, for all the unlucky lovers, for anyone who sees no point in life. Wonderful, and for everyone. Regardless of the type, you'll be happy. Nothing will lift your spirits more or make things go their own way. The salary doesn't matter. What matters is that you're at least burning off the energy that makes it impossible to live on this patch of land anymore.

It was bright all around. The dark clouds had long since set behind the sun, which wasn't very visible. It was going to be another wonderful day. Another twelve hours, during which everyone could do whatever they wanted. Nothing was more motivating than the opportunity to spend twelve hours sensibly and effectively. No one believed it was even possible anymore, but it was possible. The world welcomed another day of peace and harmony. Twelve days left until the zero hour. "

Don't believe what you see, subtract 50% from what you see," the graffiti on the walls screamed.

"You must live consciously, or your life will lose its meaning."

"Two weeks until the end of the world."

"I hate this city. When people tell the truth, no one wants to hear them," Kordian said. "All lies. People love them. They love trouble," he said, examining the empty shutters of the old housing estate where, he was now certain, he lived.

A few old newspapers flew across the street.

A white dog came running. Almost like something out of a book he'd read when he was little. His surroundings gave no indication that the world was heading in the wrong direction. The newspapers—a pack of lies he'd stopped reading for five years. It seemed to him that the air had suddenly changed its consistency, become different, thicker. He hated this city. He was so sick of it, yet he still lingered there. Something prevented him from leaving. He felt he had a role to play here. He felt needed. That was important, especially for an older man. He'd wasted so much of his life to make even the slightest mistake now. His legs and face looked different. He didn't feel old, but his body felt alien.

At his age, he thought. He walked straight down the street until he came across his own staircase. He turned the key and turned around. No one was watching him. It was just unnecessary paranoia, the kind that surely comes with age. He also hoped she was leaving, because he didn't want to end up in a mental institution because of it. He was too young for that.

The damp autumn was just ending its season. It was starting to get cold and cloudy. There were less than two months left until the end of the year. The visible change in landscape affected all the inhabitants. They became slower and more stooped. They sluggishly headed towards a direction they so desperately didn't want to approach. Work. There was something about it that allowed them to forget their daily pains, yet not everyone shared the same approach. Sometimes, work had the opposite effect.

Slowly, people began to fall ill. Diseases appeared out of nowhere. As if they were always waiting underground for the right moment to strike. Some attributed it to a change in the weather, others to pure coincidence, but some were absolutely certain of the situation. A situation that had spiraled out of control. First the women fell ill, then the children and the elderly. Last the adult men. Something was wrong. Something was causing the temperature in the city to rise to unexpected levels. Something was changing by the minute, but it was too late to stop it.

Clark entered the office where he felt safe. He placed the normalizer on his head and pressed a button.

Did you know that it's possible to draw energy through a photo?

That Voodoo tribes manipulate people remotely?

That your signature is enough to know everything about you?

That there's such a thing as extrasensory perception?

That each of us transmits evil through our legs?

That we lost the war long ago?

Click, click, click.

"Connection lost."

Clark removed the normalizer. "

Connection lost?" he wondered. It was strange; he hadn't even had time to fall asleep. "The transmission lasted no longer than a few minutes." What could have happened?

He looked at the empty office. The girl was off today.

Or maybe that was why, he wondered. Maybe the connection was interrupted because he couldn't sleep?

No, that was a rather bizarre hypothesis. He had to come up with something better. He didn't know why he felt strange. So strange that he didn't realize that a bug the size of an ant had begun receiving a signal from the center. It had temporarily disrupted his electromagnetic field.

Scientists say one thing, ordinary people say another. Who should he believe, Clark thought.

He had to find the answer in only one place, the one he was supposed to visit today. He had an appointment. This time he wouldn't mess up.

"Come in, Mr. Clark," said the gray-haired man, seeing the other man lurking outside the door.

"Good morning," said Clark.

"Not so good, but not bad either," replied the gray-haired man.

"As agreed, I have the men you requested for you. They will carry out your every command. Without exception."

Clark pondered, then said,

"Are there as many as I requested?

" "Yes. There are three of them. Two men and one woman. I don't think that will be a problem for you.

" "You mean the woman?" asked Clark.

"Yes. I think she's twice as good as those two combined, but I'll leave that to your judgment. If you have any reservations..." the gray-haired man took a drag on a long, very long cigar. "Come straight to me," he said finally. "You know where to find me, right?"

"Yes," he replied.

"If the team doesn't meet the expectations, it will be replaced immediately. Understood?

" "Yes." The man changed. He was more formal now.

"Yes, sir.

" "You can check out," he said. "The next meeting is in twelve days."

The gray-haired man turned toward the window and stared at the passing plane.

He walked down a narrow street, where random people strolled indifferently. He couldn't believe anyone could be up and about so early in the morning. He picked up today's newspaper. You can't understand something that doesn't exist. Now he was looking at something real.

"A meteorite? Hmm... there's been quite a bit of talk about them lately.

Leave your fate to chance? No. He had to act. In two hours, he was supposed to meet the three people assigned to him. He hoped everything would end successfully.

BOOK I

They marched through enormous mountains, so terrifyingly large that every now and then they thought it couldn't be real. That what surrounded them was a figment of their overwrought imagination. One of them stopped just as a huge rock fell onto the road, signaling them that they shouldn't go any further.

The road curved left, and at the end, something black could be seen, like a black hole that was about to swallow them with all the energy and strength they possessed.

The smallest and youngest member of the expedition stood first. He was the only one who had kept his composure, and whose desire to continue the journey had just vanished.

"We can't go any further," he said in a calm and serious tone. "We have no choice but to turn back," he added after a moment.

"Turn back now?" the man, twice as tall, said in surprise. "That's madness. We can't do that, and we certainly won't."

"Think about what awaits us when we go through that black hole. We can't risk it. We'd knock out too many people."

"Can't we? This is our only chance. If we manage to get through this switch… the reward will be worth all the effort. In my opinion, we should keep going."

The weather was changing by the minute. Most of the clouds were completely filled with water. A heavy downpour was about to hit them.

"If so, we should choose one of us to go and check it out. If he succeeds, we'll all continue," the shorter man announced.

"Agreed. I'll choose that brave soul. I even have someone in mind. If he agrees, everything would go my way," he said.

"Who is that?" the shorter man asked.

"You," the other said.

"Me?" the other was surprised. "I knew you had strange ideas, but not to this extent.

" "I think this is the best choice. If you have a different opinion, speak up right here and now.

" "Agreed, but if I fail, remember that you'll suffer double punishment in hell."

The man nodded. The smaller of them took something from a bag strapped to his horse and started up the mountain. A huge black spot lay before him, perhaps resembling an old portal, one that people in these regions had used not so long ago to travel through. He walked a short distance, then turned to see if the others were still where he'd left them. They were there, watching him, probably silently hoping his mission would be successful.

He drew closer and closer. He already knew that not everything was quite as they'd imagined. Something was happening near the portal. Something sinister.

On a rock several thousand kilometers away, someone had just succeeded in constructing something whose perfection surpassed the human mind. A small device, its dimensions resembling a quadruple matchbox. Inside were various compounds that existed in nature in excessive form anyway. However, proportions were key. The man carried the box and observed his surroundings. It changed its form, its nature, one might say, as he walked. The surroundings swirled not with smoke but with the changing matter and colors. The device had a healing effect on the environment, but the question was how it would affect humans.

Clouds enveloped most of the wasteland. But he was lucky, very lucky. He was now certain that the experiment had succeeded and that the effect would be miraculously unforgettable. He returned to his quarters and began devising another plan. A plan that this time would involve the destruction of half of humanity. He would inject a certain dose of bacteria onto the entire world, perhaps using airplanes, and then... And then he would sit comfortably at his desk and, at the right moment, press the red button. He would then find himself far away from here. For example, on one of the orbital stations. Yes, it was a brilliant plan. He would live happily for the rest of his days, gazing at the remnants of what had survived.

The bright orange sky invigorated everyone. Not only did it make them happier, but it also gave them a neutral, healthy, optimistic view of the world. Furthermore, one felt a sudden surge of energy and vitality. There was probably no one who wouldn't rejoice at this development. Small forest gremlins were tidying their homes, and the not-so-bigger sprites were preparing for the harsh winter of that summer.

They drank the miraculous honey water, which brought them contentment and health, and then went to bed.

"You have to be careful what you eat and drink, and especially what you mix with what. Otherwise, you might be struck by an illness you don't want," repeated one of the sprites' great protectors, the widow of an old soldier, Mrs. Hypocrisy. She was known throughout the Tree World because her surname, inherited from her husband, had so many characteristics in common with her personality. Despite this, she was a beloved elf, considered a beloved person by most.

He longed to do something great, something that would shake the Discworld so much that it would cover him in such great glory that he couldn't ask for anything less. He would have it all. Precious stones, fame, and everything that came with it. So what prevented him from achieving it? That was a certainty. He couldn't find the right way. He searched everywhere and tried various professions, but nothing worked. There was always something wrong. Perhaps he was searching for his identity. He helped people and all the creatures living in the Tree World. He thought this would get him where he wanted. He was partly right, but he was also wrong. So much so that after several years of great effort, he became so lost in it that he became ill. Seriously. His mind was failing. This wasn't good, because he needed his brain to function properly if he wanted the world of the Tree to truly look as it should through his eyes. Crisp and in the right colors. Without distortions or unnecessary fantasies that didn't seem to matter.

(SIGN)

and their number didn't exceed eighty-eight. The oldest members were four figures who held the most important roles in the group. They were Animides, Meriot, Toin, and Aeri, a woman known for her love of sweets, whose favorite stone was diamond-like amber, finding which bordered on a miracle, impossible to find in any other land.

(SIGN)

The pink, yellow, green, and blue bag of stones was perfect proof that one could enjoy something so common, yet literally walked on with one's feet. Most people have no idea that beneath their feet rested treasures so precious that their value was difficult to assess. At least for them. For others, it was something that not only constituted a priority in life, but also gave so much satisfaction…

(SIGN)

Darkness enveloped the clouds, a sign that evening was approaching, a time so longed for by people weary from work. Similarly, old jugs miraculously preserved from the younger ones were placed on each fence. They were used to provide water for animals, and sometimes served as a target for one of the youngest members of society.

(SIGN)

It ​​rained for so long that only a bird deigned to know why. It was certainly a kind of magic, and no one had the slightest doubt about it.

(SIGN)

Knowledge of other lands had its advantages. One of these was the ability to quickly learn to recognize magical stones, which in each region had a unique composition. Often, seekers of these artifacts traveled hundreds of miles just to acquire some miraculously unique specimen. There were special guilds that prided themselves on possessing the largest number of stones with special magical properties. The oldest and most famous, and also the one with the largest number of stones, was the Solat Guild. It was founded even before magical flames and sentient wardrobes appeared on the Discworld. Its members prided themselves on belonging to a so-called society.

"I see we're getting along," said one of the workers when he saw everyone standing neatly against the wall, listening intently.

There wasn't much time left until the meeting ended, and everyone was eager to get rid of their tiresome superior as quickly as possible. If he managed to miss the deadline, they'd have another afternoon to waste, and they really didn't want that, because after all, they deserved something from life. There was another reason, too, but it wasn't as important, even completely irrelevant.

"He will perform his work with proper honor and decency until the end of time," thought the well-built man, who didn't particularly enjoy arguing with his superiors. In other words, he was utterly ignorant and had no interest in thinking or worrying about what his subordinates might come up with these days. Stupid or foolish. As for the rest, he was certain that everything was going well. Absolutely.

The black knight was watering his horse when an idea popped into his little head. He looked into the horse's mouth and saw no objection. He would have been so disconsolate, because his opinion mattered to him. He considered him his friend. And in his opinion, friendship must be cherished, because without it, there's no proper color. After all. Whatever, let him be lucky for once in his life.

"It's worth a try," he thought, and quickly pulled a bag of stones from his pocket. He poured them out on the ground and counted them. Twenty-two yellow stones, four black stones, two blue stones, and two pink stones. He liked the latter the most, but unfortunately, they were the least valuable. The two blue stones were the most valuable. They were unpolished, but without a single blemish. The radiant being had spared them. Rays of light passing through the center miraculously changed their color, and despite their different shapes, the stones always remained straight. They also possessed other properties that were significant to him. Their fantastic glow gave him as much energy as many a horse harnessed to pulling a cart. But that was why he didn't like them. The reason was different, and for most people, not so much obvious as clear. He looked at his friend again. He stood in the same position as before, half as content as he looked. The black knight offered him a few pieces of his food, which at the time was rather poor quality hay. The horse immediately felt special. He felt pampered beyond measure, though he had a feeling his hay was only fifty percent as good as it looked.

It's a good thing they haven't added any chemicals yet, he thought to himself, before turning to grinding a handful of stalks in his mouth again.

Five seconds later, it began to drizzle in an unusual way. The Tree World was famous for this kind of thing. Something like this was bound to happen here, and no one was surprised anymore. The weather was as changeable as shooting stars. Sometimes, at the least expected moment, enough rain fell to irrigate a huge pond, and sometimes it didn't.

On the way back, he'd grab his camera and take a few interesting photos of the place. It was truly worth it. Who knows, maybe he'd even be able to sell them at auction.

The villagers were growing grain, their wives were preparing meals, and preparing various supplies for the winter that was approaching faster than usual. Animals demanded meals at their appointed times. Children demanded proper care at completely inappropriate times. Harmony was maintained.

A dozen or so moles were exterminated by the older children, who thought it would brighten up the fun, while the younger ones watched from afar.

Several times, birds so beautiful flew over the fields that everyone unanimously declared the phenomenon so impossible that it was simply difficult to imagine it had happened. There was little time left until the end of the harvest, and most were so tired that they often preferred boredom to working in the fields, which they hated and loathed beyond all reason.

(SIGN)

When he saw the sign hanging high above the norm, he knew he'd landed somewhere he didn't want to. But this time, he had no choice but to come here and do everything he was obligated to do. He disliked this part of the Tree World. It seemed dingy and lifeless to him. Besides, there was an overwhelming feeling that time had stood still here, and everyone living here had never even heard of anything as mundane as a wheel. Everyone lived as they did in the days when the Tree's leaves weren't yet large enough to be gathered by the clouds. This time, or rather, period, suited some so well that they remained there to this day. He feared only one thing: would he find people here who could face his problems, and whether it would be without harm to him or them? Well, whoever does nothing has nothing.

To achieve something requires strong and persistent work. Nothing more. And so he must face his destiny. He entered the first room, and on the right, all sorts of trophies and paintings from lycaenid hunts immediately caught his eye. He was a die-hard fan of lycaenid dishes, but he didn't particularly enjoy hunting them. Not only did he find it unbearable, but he also couldn't bear to look at the dismembered animal, which stood no chance against the technologically, though not physically, backward humans, for whom catching a dozen lycaenids was no problem at all. As he gazed at the paintings, he realized that in three days there was a festival, where all the hunters not only hunted twice as many as usual but also celebrated wildly and were so merry that they often forgot to take their kills with them.

As he pondered this, he heard a flock of lycaenids fly by. He quickly ran out to observe this miraculous, undeniably real phenomenon. The flock of lycaenids flew by so quickly that he barely had time to notice them.

How do they catch these birds? he wondered to himself, and entered the vast hunters' hut. The lamps inside didn't provide much light. Yet the atmosphere itself was stunning. White energy emanated from every direction. Something so incredibly rare that he was surprised it could even exist in such large quantities. He promised himself that he would.

He had already learned a few things he thought were essential. He had enough experience that he no longer feared any competition. He was in his element, feeling he could achieve a lot, and crucially, he knew how to do it. There wasn't much time left in the day when he noticed his energy was rapidly dwindling.

He was losing the power he needed to function too quickly. He couldn't help it, but he knew this wasn't the way to go. Without energy, he was so powerless that even the slightest adversity would deprive him of the possibility of victory. In his left hand, he held a golden disc, which he used to superimpose magical lines both vertically and horizontally, intended to protect him from past unfavorable events. They were meant to mitigate the evil that would soon come. His right hand was placed over a small lens, which transmitted information from the water it was over directly into his body. This information allowed him to enhance his physical abilities and provided additional protection for twenty-two days. In addition to all this, there were a few other items he always carried with him. Four balls hung around his neck, each fulfilling a specific function. One protected him from entities from the astral world, another prevented others from stealing his energy in any way, and another served as a barrier of sorts, meant to protect him from various illnesses. There was also a ball that stopped aggression aimed at him, with a yellow effect at a distance of three meters, and was an excellent countermeasure against various harmless types, of which there were so many in the world.

On his left wrist was a metal bracelet, intended to improve his overall mental health. He was therefore prepared to face almost any opponent. He hoped he would never need the things he was wearing, but he preferred to be insured just in case.

He wondered why she hadn't called. She should have done so long ago after she told him she loved him. Oh well. Women are fickle.

And his father always told him: A woman, son, is nothing but trouble. You're looking for trouble, find yourself a woman. And she got what she deserved. He looked at the colorful kites flown by happy children and wondered how many times he had played like that. Life was so much happier then, so much more peaceful. He could choose whether to play this game or that. Nothing could disturb his wonderful, problem-free time, which ended as quickly as it had begun.

(SIGN)

THE WORLD OF THE TREE Part: III

He was devastated. His head was pounding with pain, and he didn't know what could have caused it. He searched his mind to see if he'd done anything foolish in the recent past. The cause must have been very strong, because it had been a long time since he'd felt such strange pressure. He was being pressed by some magical entities that had nested somewhere around his head. This tormented him, and he wanted to know a way to free himself from them. He was convinced that time would bring a solution.

Meanwhile, he was walking along a dirt road that cut through the small hills on which a small chapel stood. It was quite small, but it gave the impression of something with considerable magical power. It had enormous circular columns and rounded roofs, for the chapel was composed of several, let's call them, segments. He hoped that once inside, he would be able to calm the chaos that was swirling in his head. He wanted to organize everything he knew, otherwise his work would be at a standstill. He opened the door, and it was clear that no one else was there. He walked to the altar and sat down on the nearest bench. For as long as he could remember, he had always enjoyed being in such rooms… alone.

He gazed at the altar and recalled the events of the day. He quickly realized that his headache was fading. He was happy. Very happy. He only had one more wish: that his task would be completed successfully.

The World of the Tree, like any world, had its ups and downs. Sometimes things were good, sometimes nothing went according to plan. There were also times when nothing could be done, nothing could be done about the rampant evil, to the point that all that was left was to bend the branches and wither. There were just over fifty days left until the end of the year, which provided an opportunity to prepare for the coming one.

This year brought many opportunities to fulfill dreams or simply live as they pleased. Most inhabitants dreamed of only one thing: freedom. Everyone wanted to be free. So much so that they did everything they could to ensure their work gave them more satisfaction than money. It worked to some extent, but as I said, there are days when one remains powerless. Such was the case on the day when a little boy named Jasmine decided to find a place in the world of the Tree, a place so remote and so unexplored that only a few hoped to know the truth about it. For there are places in this world that even scientists have never dreamed of.

He stood in the middle of a sandy road, gazing into the distance, waiting for the sunrise. He was convinced he would soon see it, and so he did. It was yellow-orange, and its rays radiantly illuminated the surroundings.

Oh, if only he could someday touch even a fragment of that star. Normal life seemed dull when compared to visiting unknown galaxies. He wanted to head straight for the nearest forest. He had to go there. The road ahead seemed too uneven, so he decided to turn immediately left and head into the forest, where the first thing he needed to do to succeed in his mission awaited him. He liked the forest. He felt nature had a positive influence on him. He hoped that this time it would help him complete his task. Perhaps it would even magically change his life. Who knew.

A man with large ears walked along a winding path that led to a cottage set apart from the rest. It looked ordinary, but its owner was someone who deserved respect and reverence.

He was a master of fire, and his only flaw was that he sometimes liked to use his skills for nefarious purposes. Such was the case here. He was making a powder that could disappear instantly when thrown at a person. The person vanished with the powder, a crucial element of the whole operation. He hadn't yet discovered where the person was being taken, but he was convinced it wasn't the most interesting place. All day long, he did nothing but invent gadgets that were supposed to be helpful, but also served as a useful weapon against… well, whoever.

He also had a rule: he wrote down all the information he had in his head in a kind of magical notebook, which always remained in the same place. Next to it stood a small golden pillar, meant to ward off thieves. In the second and final room stood a device that emanated energy so vastly that it was difficult to understand how such a thing could even be possible. Some considered him evil, a charlatan wielding evil powers. Others worshiped him like a deity and couldn't believe he could be evil.

One day, a black troll came to him and asked if he should choose a sea region, the one his wife most longed for, for a well-deserved rest. The man advised him against this region because of the danger it could pose to the black troll's entire family. The troll's wife called him an evil magician and sorcerer, but twelve days later, she considered him her personal god because a sudden storm raged over the region they were about to travel to, and for most, it was the last journey they ever made. Many trolls also consider him a spiritual leader and teacher. Perhaps there would be an opportunity to test his skills in the near future, for the Discworld was once again in a frenzied frenzy.

Clouds covered most of the sky, and birds flew at a rapid rate, as if something special was about to happen in their midst. Perhaps it had already happened. They assumed various postures that conveyed something, but no one knew exactly what. The birds spoke to each other in a language known only to them, and perhaps it should remain that way. No one insisted otherwise. Apparently, there's something that allows them to carry information much further than we might think; it circulates until it reaches the right recipient. Information travels at a speed of 7 miles per hour, which is an average. People have long wondered why this is so, but no one has managed to create something that could measure another, much more interesting phenomenon: the perfect polarization of a crow's nest.

(SIGN)

Even though everything was falling apart, he always tried to keep his cool. From the very beginning of his existence, he had sensed that he was someone special, unique, perhaps even the chosen one who would play a significant role in the World of the Tree. One day, while walking along the path in his garden, he noticed a strange stone, of considerable size and one he hadn't seen before. He approached it and, out of recklessness and curiosity, touched it. This was something he certainly shouldn't have done, and for which he would suffer the consequences. The stone plays a secondary role in this story, as it was one of those stones that fell from the sky, but the exact cause is unknown. It can only be added that it was of medium size. It can only be added that it was of medium size, and that its color, red, was also to play a significant role in the entire adventure. Since we have that out of the way, let's move on to more important matters, namely the event itself, which occurred afterwards, that is, after the red visitor touched it.

The first thing he felt was a tremendous dizziness in his head and a terrible pain. His ears began to buzz. He suddenly heard a thousand sounds and couldn't distinguish their origin or meaning. They were so strong that even with his hands over his ears, he could hear them clearly and with amplified intensity. He couldn't bear it. It was pure madness.

How could he escape this? he wondered as the vision before his eyes changed so rapidly that even he, who still felt young enough, couldn't control the rapidly changing image, which didn't fill him with much optimism. What he was seeing was part of his childhood. These were elements taken out of context, seemingly insignificant at first, but he quickly recognized the meaning of these images.

The night was starry and quiet. There were no more than a thousand stars in the sky. A few comets fell in various parts of the World Tree. At first, it seemed insignificant, but then it turned out that this had been carefully planned and orchestrated. He didn't want to observe everything from such a distance and decided to approach at a much more convenient distance. He took the cart that was standing next to it and placed his belongings inside, along with a small blue bag that nearly tore on the bag's sharp edges. He secured the small sponge securely and headed towards the falling celestial bodies. He was still far away when he noticed he was in a place he'd never been before. He looked around and knew immediately that he was lost. The forest he was in was not one he would have ever encountered. Next to one of the bushes, he noticed a small handkerchief lying there, seemingly lying there for ages. It was still colorful, meaning its energy still lingered within it. He didn't hesitate, picking it up and placing it on the cart, right next to the bag. He didn't notice that the moment he started moving, the handkerchief had shattered into hundreds of tiny holes, just like the metal cart's finish.

The grass was much greener than usual. It seemed to scream: I'm here, and you should enjoy it, you should take advantage of it. Thousands of tiny tips waved in the wind, making it impossible to forget that the weather would soon change. For worse. For a cold and dreary winter.

He had two options, the first of which seemed excruciatingly difficult, the second ominously simple. There were several factors that contributed to the chain of events that landed him in this particular place. One only needs to look back three years to understand why his life had unfolded as it did. He was an ordinary, unremarkable mortal. And besides, that's what he called himself. Nothing could rob him of the satisfaction of being able to describe himself differently than he truly believed. And it would certainly take a long time to adjust to what had just happened, something even he—the great, egocentric master—hadn't foreseen. There was nothing around to confirm or deny this thesis. Yet, there was something that allowed him to judge its validity and truth.

(SIGN)

He released a huge stream of energy in the direction most convenient for him: downward. He immediately felt its consequences. He achieved the result he had predicted. He immediately felt better. If only he had known a few years ago what he knew now, oh, the things he could have accomplished. He didn't really know himself, but he was certain they would be colossal.

(SIGN)

The enormous statue resembled its colossal owner, whose skin was covered with stone scales. The golem had a powerful build and a mocking expression. Its eyes seemed to glow. They were greenish-blue and terrifyingly large. It was also very heavy, and its foot could crush most things in this world. In its left hand, it held a statue that seemed to possess some color, and in the other... it held power, for besides it, twelve others stood just behind it, capable of destroying any obstacle standing in their way. Emid was pleased that he would be able to fulfill his role as leader.

(SIGN)

It ​​was characteristic of him that he always had to be right. In everything he said and did, it was always going to be his own. He was still young when the local doctor diagnosed his ailments as being caused by something entirely different, not just, as he seemed to assume, by his authoritarian nature. Everyone tried to help him and support him. They talked to him about various topics, just to make his life easier. Nothing helped. He was so convinced he was always right that he finally fell seriously ill. Doctors gave him no more than three months to live. Everyone was devastated. They sought help, but to no avail. When it was clear that nothing could be done, they decided to summon the grandmaster. He stayed with the sick man for two days, then left his home. Thirteen unmagical moments later, the patient miraculously recovered. He went to the grandmaster to thank him, but he wasn't there. He went a second time, but again he wasn't there. Finally, the grandmaster himself visited him and said only one thing: "Leave the past alone, and the illness will go away." In this way, he taught the young boy what illness is. It's nothing but an escape from facing the real world.

(SIGN)