Waron sat on a wooden stool, leaning against the wall, watching the little bird's activities. Even now, dozens of kilometers from his castle, he felt unsafe. The peace in his soul was disturbed by the uncertainty he had felt since he had managed to escape with his life. Had Naimad survived? If so, what would their fates be like? These questions held no clear answers, so he stopped dwelling on them.
He shifted his gaze to the sleeping figure in the corner. Lying on the narrow bed, covered with gray sheets, Ksaia looked like someone from whom all earthly problems and suffering had been removed. Immersed in her dreams, absorbed by the image of her dream, she seemed even more beautiful and delicate than in reality, Waron thought. There was something special about this person. Something that took one's breath away and yet made it impossible to forget the extraordinary woman Ksaia undoubtedly was. Was it her voice, her blue eyes, or her delicacy and sensitivity? Who knows?
The dull sound of an iron object falling broke Waron's contemplation. The frightened sparrow flew away, ending its concert. The warrior glanced toward the door and, on the other side of the hut, noticed an old woman with loose, curly hair that gave the impression of an unnaturally large head.
She was bending down to pick up a soup ladle from the ground. She wore old, faded robes, sewn together with patches in several places. As she picked up the ladle, she reached for something on the table and disappeared behind the wall, walking away from the door.
Waron knew exactly who she was and what she was doing there. He met her on the road leading to the heavily fortified city of Bihrgam in the east. On a forest path, she leaped from behind a tree right in front of his mount. She made him an incredibly tempting and absurd proposition. She said she would help him defeat his enemies and take possession of all the lands he could see from the top of a high mountain. He remembered well what he had said to her then: "I no longer have enemies, and these lands will soon be mine anyway!" These words clearly made no impression on her, for, mocking him, she began to laugh at his recklessness. When she stopped, she told him about the battle he had fought and the opponent he had not defeated. Her words surprised him greatly, so he decided to listen to her until the end. She promised him that she could summon an army of warriors from the afterlife who would fight alongside him and tip the scales of victory in his favor. However, to conquer most of these lands, he must defeat the powerful fire adept who stands in his way.
She gave this incredible information to Varon when he agreed to take her with him. Just before the city, she ordered him to turn toward the mountains to avoid people who would surely be interested in suspicious-looking travelers possessing superhuman abilities.
After a full day of riding, they finally reached a small hut in the middle of a small clearing, where the witch had her "arbor," as she called it.
To the east of the hut, the ground fell away, creating a rocky chasm that, up close, seemed even more terrifying than usual. From other sides, the place was surrounded by deciduous trees, their leaves rustling with the slightest breeze.
Varon didn't understand why the witch was afraid of other people. In a sense, he was afraid too. Otherwise, he wouldn't have fled from Naimad.
A new day was beginning. After a week in this dreadful dungeon, he was beginning to tire of the company of this old woman, who made soups from insects and old leaves. He grew increasingly impatient. The witch told him that soon there would be a clash between two elements: fire and air. Who would win would depend not on skill, but on outside help, which, she assured him, he would surely receive from her.
In all this, he was curious about what she wanted in return. When he asked her about it on the way to the city, she told him that once she possessed the land, she would raise a large army with which to attack and capture the citadel of Eclimicos in the south of the continent. He didn't fully understand why she needed this. It was in this citadel that the Academy of Magic, which Varon and Naimad had attended, was located. No one had yet managed to breach the walls of this city. In the past, it had been besieged for many years without success. The city possessed a large army, but in the face of danger, it could call upon the allied forces of the ruler of the neighboring land called Ularlium, who had pledged to provide aid in the event of an attack on the metropolis. Residents called this city the capital or cradle of adepts, because, according to legend, it was founded by an ancient wizard who initiated the training of people with exceptional abilities, transforming them into powerful adepts of the four elements, who initially served as guardians of peace in a world saturated with hatred and evil. To prevent young wizards from using their powers for nefarious purposes, he ordered a strict selection process at his Academy, selecting only those he believed had no evil in their hearts. Those rejected were sent to a secluded location so that they could live out their days away from the public eye without harming anyone should they accidentally use their abilities.
After the mage died, the people of the new settlement began to worship him as a god, erecting numerous monuments and temples, and subsequent generations of masters of the four elements began to abandon the principle of strict selection, as it was a harmful addition to the lives of some young adepts.
The city had a system of fortifications, walls, and defensive towers that made it impregnable. Many had tried to seize the Prince of Eclimicos's wealth, but none had managed to defeat the combined army of warriors and mages. It was the latter that Waron feared most.
In that fateful place, on the road to Bihrgam, it had seemed to him an eternity to make his decision. In reality, it had taken him a few seconds of internal struggle, before the lust for power overcame reason and decided the fate of everyone around him.
Now he could not retreat. Nor could he kill the witch, for he feared the army of warriors that might already be waiting, hidden in that mysterious forest, ready to answer their mistress's call. He had become entangled in a great intrigue, of which he had become the protagonist. If I were truly to be king of the Northern Continent, it was better to have such an ally than none at all, Waron thought.
The sun had risen high enough to make the day more pleasant. A light breeze blew into the cottage through the open window and made Varon feel that despite so many difficulties he was not alone and could count on the spiritual support of a certain person.
He approached the sleeping Ksaia and gently brushed her hair from her forehead, then looked at the innocent expression on her face and smiled. "I will never give her to Naimad! I'd rather die than know that he…" Waron, but he didn't want to even think about what might happen if he lost the duel to the warrior. He pushed all thoughts aside, leaving only one that made him feel happy. He leaned over the girl and kissed her gently on the lips. When he stepped back, Ksaia opened her eyes and smiled at the sorcerer.
"Are you going somewhere, my king?" she asked quietly, gazing into the worried man's face. "
I'm going out for some fresh air. I'll be back in a few minutes. I hope you haven't run away by then," the sorcerer assured her, returning his smile.
Waron walked through the door into the small vestibule where he had left
his sword. The blade, leaning against the wall, reflected the sunlight, blinding the man standing in the corner. He raised his weapon and looked toward the exit, where a half-open door let in fresh, warm air. At the very end of the clearing lay the steep path he'd taken to get here. No trees grew there, for there were exposed rocks covered only by sparse, light-green moss.
Suddenly, the entire hut trembled, as if an earthquake were beginning. The tremors were brief, but powerful enough to unsettle Varon. At the same moment, as he leaned against the wall, a section of the wooden roof in the center of the vestibule collapsed. Burning shards fell to the ground, creating a large bonfire in the center of the small room. Varon understood everything. This wasn't an earthquake. The fire adept had arrived to steal the mage's only happiness.
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