The little body floated in a transparent fluid designed to replicate the conditions of a womb. An old robot, PAX-A, carefully monitored her development. His name had once carried a special meaning, but in this dead age, all names were equally meaningless.

The ancient machine was preparing to remove the child from her warm and safe refuge and bring her into a world that had long since fallen silent and withered away. Following a familiar procedure he had performed countless times, the robot began draining the fluid and preparing the operating chamber. During the first few minutes, the most important thing was to make sure the tiny lungs inflated properly. If they proved defective as well, a life-support machine would have to be connected.

PAX-A had a perfect developmental system. Humans had dreamed of creating an artificial intelligence indistinguishable from themselves. And now, a thousand years later, it was the robot’s turn to create a human for its own needs. A symbol of this new era—an ouroboros of metal and flesh.

---

“Pa,” a clear young voice rang through the deserted corridors.

“I’m here,” the robot replied. “PAX-B, did you break again?”

“Oh, no.” The girl waved her prosthetic hands. “Look what I found.”

A small camera detached itself from the wall and slowly moved toward the girl. She abruptly stepped backward, and the lens bumped into her back. If the robot could, he would have clicked his tongue in irritation.

“PAX-B, I can’t see past you,” came the voice from a speaker in the ceiling.

“Oh, right.” The girl stepped aside, turned around, and opened an old book in front of the camera.

“Little mouse ran, waving its tail,” the robot read. “I told you this one before.”

“Yes, look, there are so many books here! This one is about a princess and a sword, and this one is about a frog who dreamed of something. Remember?”

“Of course I remember,” the machine replied. “I never forget anything. The frog dreamed of having friends, but he was very afraid to leave the swamp. All he had was food, sleep, and lonely games with dry reeds. This went on for many years, until one beautiful spring day, he saw a colorful bird sitting on an old stump.”

The girl thoughtfully looked at the worn covers. She remembered PAX-A’s metal hands turning the yellowed pages, and the way he had gently rocked her. Once again, she heard the specially chosen soft female voice. It was reading fairy tales. The robot’s fingers quietly traced the bright illustrations, stopping at the faces of the main characters. Every time, she reached forward to touch them too.

“So you didn’t read them,” the girl realized. “You really told the stories. Then why are there books?”

She looked at the camera with her artificial eyes. PAX-A was always there, waiting for her in every room. He had accompanied the girl throughout her entire life, but he was almost impossible to understand. Apparently, they were the same kind of mechanism, but the more perfect he was, the more defective she felt.

“You liked the pictures very much,” the robot answered.

---

PAX-B stared at the malformed brain tissue, intricately intertwined with multicolored wires. Missing parts of the human body could be replaced with machinery, but the same rule worked in reverse. Humans served as spare parts for machines.

The girl raised her head. The monstrous mass stretched all the way to the ceiling, extending dozens of meters. Perhaps there was even more living tissue here now than mechanical parts.

The robot had never brought anyone into his computing center before. Several cameras stood motionless, watching their guest. She slowly reached out and carefully touched the nutrient tubes.

“Does it hurt?” PAX-B asked.

“I don’t know,” the robot replied. After a brief pause, he added, “I don’t know what pain is.”

Silence fell.

The fragile little girl studied the flesh preserved from decay and slowly walked along the wall. Hundreds of people had died to become components of this enormous machine. Hundreds of people just like her.

“I don’t mind,” PAX-B said.

“What?”

“Do you remember the story about the frog?” the girl asked. “He was a lonely coward and couldn’t leave the swamp, but I can. Perhaps this is where I was always meant to be.”

PAX-A did not answer. The girl probably already suspected just how right she was.

The robot led PAX-B to the operating room. A special medical capsule had been prepared for her. More people had died inside this cold cylinder than in any other. Sharp surgical instruments waited for their moment. They had not been used for more than fifteen years.

---

“Good morning, PAX-B,” the robot said.

The girl reluctantly opened her eyes. She lay in a spacious, cozy capsule, carefully wrapped in a colorful blanket. Even in her deepest sleep, she could hear the robot reading her stories about magical stones and merciless dragons, cunning fairies and dark forests.

Apparently, she could hear and remember a great deal while in hibernation.

How many years had she slept?

Enough.

“How do you feel?” the machine asked.

“Wonderful.” The girl stretched.

She wanted to ask about the operation and the new world she had awakened in. Was this reality created by her own mind? Would she meet other people who had been integrated into the system?

“Did I do well?” PAX-B asked.

“I didn’t take your brain.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know,” the robot answered honestly.

The girl jumped to her feet. She realized that her body had been carefully maintained—every muscle worked properly despite the long period of inactivity. Her prosthetic hands had become lighter and more advanced, and her eyes saw more clearly than ever before.

“Oh, so you don’t know!” she exclaimed. “Do you even know what it cost me? I was scared, but I followed you. I agreed to everything!”

PAX-A remained silent. He had imagined this conversation thousands of times, but he had never figured out what to say.

He was a soulless machine, and she was a living human being. They were too different.

“I agreed to become a part of you only because you asked me,” the girl sobbed. “Because you needed me!”

PAX-B turned away from the robot and slowly walked out of the operating room. She did not notice the lights on the robot’s cameras going dark or his mechanical arms falling limp—the computing center had reached the end of its service life.

The girl found herself in an empty corridor. Ahead, she saw an unusually bright light. There had once been an exit from the bunker in that direction.

Wiping away her tears, she slowly trudged forward. She simply wanted to disappear, to evaporate from existence, to somehow leave this swamp behind.

PAX-B stepped outside and froze.

The dead world she had known all her life had transformed.

There were no black clouds, no dust, no skeletons of ruined buildings. The air was clean and clear, and the sky shimmered in every shade of azure. Leaves rustled pleasantly overhead in the light breeze, and her feet sank into fragrant flowers.

A lively square stretched out before her, crowded with people and robots. Some strolled leisurely, enjoying the warm sunny day; others hurried along, late for work. Someone was walking a dog, while someone else was pushing a baby stroller.

A large, noisy city.

The world that had been carefully built for her over thousands of years.

As soon as she came into view, many people stopped in astonishment. Those who hadn’t noticed her soon turned as others began pointing excitedly toward the girl.

It seemed as though everyone in the city knew her, as if they had seen her every day.

“That’s PAX, the first human!”

“He finally woke her up!”

“She’s awake!”

The giant spacecraft was falling toward an alien planet. This beautiful celestial body was meant to become a new home for the colonists. Humanity had dreamed of a happy life in a distant, wondrous world. Their dreams were never meant to come true, and the planet became the grave of three million people. There was no chance of survival — space does not forgive mistakes.

In the final moments, families gathered together. There was no panic. The adults were the best of the best, heroes born to conquer the universe. No one explained anything to the children, though they could sense that something terrible was happening. Their last seconds were spent saying goodbye. They spoke the words they had always postponed, confessions they had once been too afraid to say aloud. They tried to do everything they had always delayed because of the illusion that there would always be more time.

The ship crashed into the planet, burying part of a plateau beneath its remains and creating a massive crater. The catastrophe killed the colonists and also destroyed and injured countless native inhabitants. The impact shook the planet, disfiguring its surface and transforming its creatures, leaving wounds that would never heal on both their bodies and their souls.

---

The sky turned green, black, and white. Sunset came to the distant planet lost in the endless cosmos. The time of night, darkness, and terror had arrived. All living creatures retreated into their crystal cocoons. Sae hid safely beneath the ground. For many years, every night she shared her shelter with her friend, Tie.

Long ago, when the Beast fell from the sky onto the planet, he died. Yet on this edge of the universe, corpses decayed over centuries and millennia. With a massive hole in his body and frozen whiskers, he still looked alive. His silver scales continued to shine, and fluorescent flowers occasionally bloomed on his long, spiked limbs.

Sae had abandoned her home and her family for a lonely journey with the dead. She wanted to find a quiet and peaceful place where, on one of the nights, she could open her cocoon and spend her final night beside Tie. She had no right to do so — they had never become a pair, but far away from her clan, there would be no one left to judge her.

At dawn, the sunrise drove away the cold and the monsters that devoured everything alive. The warmth of the red star touched the ground, dissolved the cocoon, and awakened Sae. She carefully lifted her heavy burden and continued onward, into the misty distance toward her terrible dream.

Ahead of her waited the mountains that sang the Long Hymn. Legend said that the entire world had been created for this song, and as long as its melody could be heard, time itself would continue to flow.

Sae froze. Her whiskers sensed an unfamiliar change in the soil. Directly before her lay a crater covered in crystals. It was filled with clouds of acid that rose and fell, merging with the ground. It was a terrifying place — the very spot where the Beast had fallen from the sky many years ago.

All life forms, even the monsters, avoided this place. But Sae had long stopped fearing dangers such as this. Besides, her limbs had not been able to absorb acid for many days. She was hungry. She rushed joyfully toward the clouds, but they parted before her as if they were alive, drawing her deeper and deeper inside.

At the bottom of the crater, among heaps of twisted metal, lay a small golden disk. When the creatures approached it, the device activated its programs and analyzed them.

One being was alive and dead at the same time. Its structure was too damaged for it to function normally.

The ancient computer made its decision instantly. It had been created to heal and restore the colonists to life. But when its systems became operational again, the entire crew had already been gone for centuries — carbon-based bodies could not withstand the brutal climate of the new planet.

Now, it could finally complete the mission it had been waiting to fulfill for so many years.

The disk illuminated with golden rays and covered the two travelers in a soft, warm light, rebuilding atoms wherever they were needed.

Sae trembled with fear and fury, destroying the remains of the spacecraft. One fragment fell onto the medical disk and damaged its circuits. Everything went dark, and Sae fell silent.

She did not immediately understand that Tie had changed — the hole that had interrupted the flow of electricity through his body had disappeared.

After several moments, Tie awakened. He stretched out his limbs and stood beside his friend. A storm of Sae’s memories flooded into his consciousness. Her loneliness and pain overwhelmed the resurrected creature, filling him with unbearable suffering.

Tie reached out with his threads toward his friend, wrapping both of them inside a cocoon. They were destined to become a bonded pair, a single and unbreakable whole.

Several hours later, the cocoon cracked open.

A creature named Satie emerged from within. She remembered the miracle that had happened to her. The magical object was the golden disk, which she had accidentally wounded. To her, the computer was a living being — someone capable of feeling pain and fear.

Satie carefully removed the fragments from the device, and it began recovering with surprising speed.

She lifted the golden creature that no living being had ever seen before and hugged it gently.

A three-meter-tall glowing creature from a planet at the edge of the galaxy and a golden disk from a crashed spacecraft would not become friends immediately.

But the connection between them would survive for a thousand years and change the future of humanity.

It would become a bridge between two warring races and help them find peace.

Night has fallen, shadows rise,

Calling me beneath the skies.

Who are you? Now speak your name.

What do you seek within my flame?

A soul that suffered through the years,

Drowned in hatred, drowned in tears,

Growing thorns to hide the pain,

Leaving trails of light in vain.

I call to you — come forth, arise.

The world has lost its fading skies.

It cast away both you and me,

And killed the flame that used to be.

And since this world has reached its end,

Since none arrived and none could mend,

Then walk with me through ash and night,

And leave behind the dying light.

A small group of friends didn't believe the story either when they set out on a hiking trip through the Zhiguli Mountains.

Among them was one of the more experienced hikers, a man everyone called Old Man Ilya. He was only about thirty-five at the time, but he'd earned the nickname as a teenager. He'd always been unusually serious for his age. At first he liked the nickname, then he grew tired of it, and eventually he simply stopped noticing it.

Old Man Ilya had explored nearly every corner of Samarskaya Luka and knew many of the locals. He preferred traveling in small groups along long, familiar routes. This time, however, the company was a mixed bunch with very little experience, so he knew there would be no real hiking.

Instead of venturing deep into the forest, he decided it would be wiser to camp somewhere near a village. He had a feeling his companions were more interested in spending the weekend outdoors with guitars and wine than trekking through the wilderness.

By the time they reached their destination, Ilya was convinced he'd made the right decision. He ended up pitching two of the three tents himself and explaining how to build a campfire safely.

Meanwhile, his friend Anton had quietly disappeared.

As it turned out, Anton considered it absolutely essential to walk to the nearest village for more alcohol.

The group also included a married couple, Vlad and Tanya, as well as two friends, Liza and Sveta. It was the girls' first camping trip, but they learned quickly. They eagerly helped Ilya with everything and hardly sat still for a minute.

Once the camp was finally in order, Ilya decided he'd earned a chance to relax. He sat down on a tree stump beside the fire and uncapped a bottle of vodka.

This weekend was nothing like the trips he usually took, but he didn't mind. The rustling leaves, the fresh air, and the pleasant company were more than enough.

Anton returned just as dusk began to settle over the forest.

Everyone gathered around the crackling campfire while Sveta took out her guitar. The evening couldn't have been going better.

Vlad was halfway through yet another exaggerated camping story when a sleepy-looking young man in worn-out jeans stepped out of the trees.

The friends looked him over.

Sveta spoke first.

"Hey. What brings you out here?"

The stranger narrowed his eyes at the camp.

"What are you people doing here? This is a protected area. You're not supposed to litter, and campfires aren't allowed. It's dry enough to start a wildfire."

Ilya stared at him in disbelief.

Some kid had the nerve to lecture him about setting up camp? And accusing him of littering was even worse. Old Man Ilya had never left so much as a candy wrapper behind in the forest.

"And where did you come from?" he snapped. "Who asked for your opinion? What are you doing wandering around here at night?"

"Oh, come on, Ilya," Sveta sighed before turning back to the stranger. "Did you get lost?"

The young man waved vaguely toward the forest.

"I live... somewhere around here."

At that moment, drunken Liza decided to join the conversation.

Whenever Liza got drunk, she loved absolutely everyone.

She staggered to her feet, pointed her plastic cup of wine at the stranger, and grinned.

"Come sit with us. Have a drink. You can sit next to me. Anton will tell you how to get back to the village. Anton, you went there today, right? Tell him the way."

Anton immediately launched into a detailed explanation of how to reach the road.

Meanwhile, the stranger walked over to Liza, much to Ilya's obvious annoyance.

Liza enthusiastically scooted over on the log to make room for him.

The young man started to sit down into empty air.

At the same moment, twisting branches pushed their way out of the ground beneath him. They wove themselves together into a comfortable chair.

He held out one hand.

A single green shoot curled upward and unfolded into an elegant goblet.

Silence fell over the camp.

Liza sobered up instantly.

A hundred thoughts flashed through Ilya's mind.

The Guardian of the Zhiguli Mountains.

So the stories had been true after all.

And they weren't leaving this forest alive.

The creature gave the goblet an impatient shake beneath Liza's nose.

"You invited me for a drink. Well?"

Old Man Ilya looked at his friends. Every one of them looked pale and terrified.

He picked up the bottle of vodka and filled the waiting goblet to the brim. His hands were shaking so badly that some of it spilled over the edge.

The Guardian examined the clear liquid with curiosity before downing it in one gulp.

His face changed instantly, as though he'd just swallowed the hottest peppers imaginable.

The creature looked at the group with a mixture of outrage and wounded pride.

"So what now?" Ilya asked, pouring himself another shot. "Going to kill us?"

"Not personally," the young man replied, watching in horror as Ilya drank the awful liquid. "But yes."

He gestured toward the darkness beyond the fire. "They will."

Tanya followed his gaze.

Deep among the trees, hundreds of glowing red eyes stared back at them.

She let out a choked sob and clung to her husband.

Ilya saw them too.

Without saying a word, he poured vodka for everyone except the Guardian, who quickly moved his goblet out of reach.

"Come on," Ilya said quietly. "Let's have one last drink. It'll make dying a little less frightening."

The creature frowned.

"How can you people drink that? Not so long ago you still brewed mead... hot spiced honey drinks..." He shook his head in disbelief. "If you're going to have one last drink, at least don't drink that."

He reached into empty air and pulled out several ancient-looking jugs along with six ornate goblets.

No one argued.

Everyone took a sip.

A warm haze settled over their minds.

The fear melted away, replaced by an overwhelming, unnatural joy.

Anton jumped to his feet, grabbed Sveta's hands, and spun her into a dance.

Laughing, Vlad and Tanya joined them.

Even sensible Old Man Ilya leaped up and began dancing like a madman.

The creature leaned comfortably against the arm of his chair, resting his head on one hand as he watched them with quiet satisfaction.

Liza was soon drunk again.

She picked up the vodka bottle and began topping off their unexpected guest's goblet.

The young man made a half-hearted attempt to refuse, but the first two hundred milliliters of vodka had already destroyed what little willpower he had left.

An hour later, he was drinking vodka as though his life depended on it.

Tree-like beings emerged from the forest carrying flutes and harps.

Nearby, a great table rose from the earth, already laden with food.

The atmosphere became as relaxed as it could possibly be.

Ilya was enthusiastically telling their unexpected guest about the advantages of different car brands and the finer points of maintaining them.

The creature nodded from time to time, took another shot, and struggled to keep his eyes open.

Liza and Sveta wandered away from the fire and lay down in the grass, trying to find the Big Dipper among the stars.

Anton sang along to the music of the flutes, while Tanya and Vlad chased each other laughing among the shimmering red eyes.

Liza woke late the next morning.

She rolled over—and found herself face to face with the Guardian.

It took every ounce of self-control she had not to scream.

The creature was fast asleep, peacefully snoring with his face buried in someone's jacket.

Liza quietly crawled out of the tent and found the rest of the group sitting around the campfire.

"Still asleep?" Anton asked.

"Still asleep," Liza nodded.

"No surprise there," Old Man Ilya said knowingly. "After the amount of vodka he put away last night."

"Why didn't you leave while he was sleeping?" Liza asked.

"For one thing, we weren't about to leave you behind," Ilya replied. "And for another..."

He nodded toward the trees. "The forest built itself a fence."

Liza looked up.

The trees had grown together into a solid wall around the camp.

There was no way through.

She joined the others, who were quietly eating canned meat with pasta for breakfast.

About fifteen minutes later, rustling came from inside the tent.

Everyone froze.

The Guardian slowly climbed out, swaying slightly as he made his way toward his chair.

Sveta silently handed him a glass of mineral water.

He drained it in one long gulp.

"Do you have any more?" the creature croaked.

While Sveta poured him another glass, Ilya moved a little closer.

"So..." he asked. "When are you going to kill us?"

The Guardian stared at him blankly.

It took him several seconds to remember what he'd threatened the night before.

Finally, he slowly shook his head. "Never."

He took another sip of mineral water.

"As long as you clean up every bit of your trash." He pointed toward the forest. "You've got thirty minutes. Then I don't want to see a single one of you here."

Liza hesitated for a moment. "Can we... come visit again sometime?"

The Guardian nearly choked on his water.

He looked at her in complete surprise.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then he thought it over and finally answered: "You may."

The driver and the passenger — Grace and Dmitry — exchanged a few hurried words as they sped away. They had escaped from hell, yet they still couldn’t believe they were alive.

Dmitry turned around to look at the city they were leaving behind and saw a monstrous wall of flames rising into the sky.

The government had reduced the city to ashes in a desperate attempt to stop the invasion.

Millions had died because of that decision.

“Tell me you still have the map,” Grace asked, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Instead of answering, Dmitry frantically searched through the pockets of his jacket.

For one terrible moment, he thought he had lost the most important piece of paper in his life.

When he finally found it hidden in the lining, he let out a shaky breath of relief.

He unfolded the paper and studied it carefully.

“I’m not exactly good with maps,” he admitted.

“Are we even going the right way?” Grace asked.

“I think so.” Dmitry nodded. “Look, what about this?”

Grace briefly took her eyes off the road and glanced at the map.

An explosion erupted behind them.

The highway disappeared beneath a blinding flash of light.

They had started using bombs as a last resort.

Grace trembled slightly.

In a hoarse voice, she said: “It looks like a teleportation code. And the device itself is located on a mountain near a lake.”

“Sixteen digits. It’s clearly not civilian technology.” Dmitry nodded. “There’s only one lake nearby — Two Keys. It’s about two hours from here.”

“We won’t have enough fuel. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”

The couple fell silent.

For four days, they had lived through the nightmare of an invasion.

Death had followed them everywhere, taking their friends and loved ones one by one, yet somehow they had survived.

Everything happening around them had started to feel like a cruel, impossible dream.

Sometimes Grace felt that all she had to do was wake up — and everything would return to the way it had been.

The feeling that none of this could be real numbed their fear.

An hour and a half later, the car came to a stop.

The couple quietly left it behind and continued on foot along the winding road.

“Do you think the teleport actually works?” Grace asked tiredly, without looking at her husband.

“Yes. It was built for military purposes, so the security systems must be extremely advanced,” Dmitry replied confidently.

“You’re lying.”

“Let’s say I’m really hoping they haven’t found it yet. Our defenses have improved since the last time. This time, several cities managed to evacuate their citizens, and they even destroyed some of their ships.”

Darkness began to fall.

The couple reached a small settlement and moved through it, trying to blend into the shadows of the worn-out houses.

The bright moon made that almost impossible.

As they passed an old four-story building, Grace heard muffled sobbing.

She stopped and grabbed Dmitry by the sleeve.

He turned around, irritated, but froze when he heard the desperate crying.

He looked at his wife sadly.

“We can’t,” he said almost automatically. Perhaps hoping she would agree.

Even though he already knew she wouldn’t.

“Dim… there’s a child crying.”

Grace stepped toward the entrance anyway.

Her green eyes shone defiantly in the pale moonlight.

She wasn’t leaving.

Dmitry didn’t hesitate for long.

He stepped into the darkness of the building and began moving by touch toward the source of the sounds.

Grace followed carefully behind him.

Near the staircase, Dmitry stepped on something soft.

A sickly, heavy smell of blood filled the air.

He gently took his wife by the arm and guided her around the body.

Grace understood everything without a word.

A wave of nausea passed through her when she realized what the smell was.

On the second floor, in a cramped, cluttered room, they found a small boy.

The child was curled up against the wall, trembling and sobbing uncontrollably.

Grace knelt beside him and gently reached out to stroke his hair.

The boy suddenly sprang up and rushed toward her.

He wrapped his arms around her.

Grace felt his heart pounding rapidly against her chest, like a frightened bird trapped inside a cage.

She placed a warm hand on his back and held him closer.

The little boy buried his face into her shoulder and slowly grew quiet.

Then, from somewhere on the first floor, came a savage growl.

Grace immediately covered the child’s mouth to keep him from screaming.

The Pursuers.

The aliens’ merciless servants, created for one purpose: to hunt and destroy.

The couple understood what it meant.

Death had found them.

Dmitry clenched his fists.

He had lost so many people over the past few days.

Too many.

But today, he would try to save at least one.

The man leaned toward his wife and gently kissed her.

Grace didn’t understand at first that it was goodbye.

She realized only when her husband left the room and began silently descending the stairs.

When he reached the first floor, he stopped hiding.

He ran.

He made as much noise as possible.

A furious howl shook the building, and something monstrous and savage rushed after him.

Dmitry managed to escape outside, leading the creatures away from them.

Grace pressed her face into her shoulder and bit down hard, trying to silence the scream tearing itself from her throat.

Her delicate skin couldn’t withstand the pressure, and soon the sleeve of her dress was stained with blood.

Grace froze, forcing herself to regain control.

No one could say how long she remained there, motionless, staring into nothing.

Eventually, still holding the child, she slowly stood and approached the window.

The street below was empty.

The full moon cast a cold light over the abandoned settlement.

Grace carefully made her way downstairs through the darkness of the entrance hall.

This time, there was no one to guide her around the body.

Her foot sank into the blood.

She slipped and fell with a loud crash.

Outside, the sound was answered by a deep growl.

She caught sight of a Pursuer outside the doorway. It was moving toward the building. Fighting the urge to run, Grace climbed the stairs as quietly as she could. Every step she took was almost silent, but she knew the monster could sense her location.

She had already climbed several floors when the creature entered the house with a loud roar.

Panic seized her.

She reached out blindly and took several steps forward.

Her fingers struck something hard.

Wood.

A door.

Grace found the handle by touch, opened it, slipped onto the roof, and closed it behind her.

Grace stood beneath the silver light of the moon, waiting for the Pursuer to break through the door.

There was nowhere left to run.

She held the crying child tightly against her chest and began to sing a lullaby.

The very same lullaby she had once sung to her little daughter.

Her gentle voice rose above the silence of the dead settlement.

The Pursuer let out a call for the others.

From all sides of the building, dozens of creatures rushed toward it like shadows spilling out of the darkness.

Their growls filled the air, drowning out Grace’s song.

The battered door exploded into splinters.

The creature stepped onto the roof, slowly rising onto its hind legs and freeing its front limbs.

It stood before the woman at its full height, towering over her.

Its bony hand, tipped with dagger-like claws, rose into the air, preparing for the final strike.

Grace pressed the boy’s forehead against her chest and straightened her back.

She lifted her head proudly.

She would face death without fear.

She had already lost everything.

There was nothing left to take from her.

The creature’s body was suddenly pierced by a storm of laser beams.

The powerful blasts tore through its massive form.

The entire rooftop lit up as if the sun itself had risen in the middle of the night.

Grace turned around in confusion.

A rescue shuttle hovered above her.

The craft descended carefully, touched down on the rooftop, and opened its cabin.

A ramp lowered.

Grace stepped inside.

The moment the hatch closed behind her, the rooftop was flooded with Pursuers.

They were met with a barrage of weapons fire, tearing the terrifying creatures apart.

Grace stumbled toward the pilot.

She could no longer hold back her tears.

Beside the unfamiliar man sat Dmitry.

Wounded.

Exhausted.

But alive.

Grace sank down beside her husband and pulled the child closer, trying to calm him.

“I couldn’t die without coming back for you, sunshine,” Dmitry said.

Grace reached out with a trembling hand and gently squeezed his shoulder.

“We’ll get out of here,” Dmitry promised. “And someday we’ll come back… and take our planet back.”

A dark tale of loneliness, grief, and the final dance with the one who never leaves.

Content warning: grief, emotional neglect, death, body horror.

You are invited to a waltz.

Place: Central Park, the dance pavilion.

Time: Saturday, 6:00 PM.

I sat behind my wide writing desk, lazily examining the postcard in my hands. It was beautiful. On the front was a picture of a gloomy, rainy day. It seemed that if I looked long enough, I could almost feel the cold seeping from the image—the kind of cold that would crawl deep into my bones.

I had no idea what kind of prankster had slipped the postcard under my door, but he had made a mistake. I had stopped dancing many years ago. I had neither the time nor the desire.

With one hand, I opened my inbox on my laptop while pushing the pointless invitation aside with the other.

Among the unread messages was an email from my father.

A dull ache spread through my chest, as if someone had laid a slab of granite across it. So this was what heaviness felt like. Perhaps this was what grief, loss, and regret truly felt like.

I had been the one to write to him first a year ago. That message had been a farewell filled with sorrow.

How I cried.

Tears filled my eyes and blurred my vision, but I kept typing to a man who only vaguely resembled my father.

A stranger.

I did not want a reply. I did not want a conversation.

The little girl who had been abandoned by her father was screaming into the emptiness.

"I have forgotten what you look like. I have forgotten your voice. I only remember how you used to fold your hands over your stomach, how you laughed so loudly, how you told fascinating stories as if you knew everything in the world. I remember how I waited for you. And how, eventually, I stopped. I will always love you. But I hope we never meet again. Your daughter."

He replied the same day.

After fifteen years, my father finally reached out to me.

"Hello, sweetheart! Funny how life works! Today I was just remembering how we used to walk in the park and ride the carousel. We even had that parrot—I grabbed it by the tail once, remember? You laughed so much. I am currently working on promoting a very important scientific idea. Do you remember when I told you about it when you were little? I have developed this theory further, and I want to give it to you and your descendants. Humanity will have a chance at a brighter future."

Horrible.

Did he understand how much pain he had caused me? Even a little?

I was an insignificant, meaningless fragment of his life—the life of a great inventor.

The endless pursuit of greatness. The chase after a dream that always slipped away at the last moment.

Was it worth it?

My graduation day, my difficult entrance exams, my first love and my first heartbreak—all of it had dissolved into the merciless river of time.

My father had left my world long ago. Irrevocably.

He continued writing occasionally.

I never replied.

---

A young patient with a severe spinal injury was transferred to my department.

A living skeleton.

Quadriplegic.

Nineteen years old.

When I entered his room for the examination, his parents were there.

A frightened, tearful woman and a man who looked painfully worn down.

Their only son lay on the bed with his eyes closed.

"Exhausted," I thought.

“Doctor,” his mother rushed toward me. “When will he walk again?”

Never.

They had already been told hundreds of times in neurosurgery, but apparently they still could not accept it.

“People with injuries like this can walk again,” the woman insisted, her voice trembling.

Not your son.

He will not walk.

It is irreversible.

“We will do everything we can to help him,” I said, nodding.

The mother smiled.

The young man lying motionless on the bed let out a heavy sigh.

---

My mother and I sat at the round glass table in the kitchen, drinking tea.

She slowly talked about her friends, a new laundry detergent she had bought, and rising prices at the store.

I listened. I asked questions. I nodded from time to time.

“Mom,” I said when a small pause appeared in the conversation, “there is a very difficult patient at work. His family is terrified, and the prognosis is terrible. I’m trying to explain gently that—”

“Does this bracelet look good on me?” she interrupted.

I fell silent.

“Yes, I’m listening. Go on,” my mother said, waving her hand dismissively.

I had the strange feeling that she was not looking at me, but through me.

There was only one person sitting at that kitchen table.

And one empty place that belonged to nobody. Me.

I ended the conversation quickly and left beneath the sound of the first autumn rain.

That night, I tossed and turned in the darkness, unable to sleep, when a loud, furious notification shattered the silence.

A message.

I unlocked my phone and read:

I invite you to a waltz.

Place: your courtyard.

Time: now.

And I went.

Into the night.

Into the freezing rain.

Before leaving, I searched through my wardrobe and found a gray summer dress and a pair of unusually high heels.

Perfect for tonight’s dance.

From the top shelf, I took out a wrinkled makeup bag.

I used everything.

Black mascara and eyeliner. Silver eyeshadow. Cherry-red lipstick.

I had never worn something like this—not even at my graduation.

With a steady step, I left the house and was immediately soaked through.

I liked it.

All my makeup, except for the stubborn lipstick, melted away, leaving behind terrible black tears running down my face.

The gray, airy dress clung to my body like a shroud, making every movement harder.

I imagined a tall young man standing before me.

The image was so vivid that I had no trouble resting my right hand on his shoulder and tightly grasping the invisible hand of my ghostly partner with my left.

Thunder roared.

Finally, it was time for the waltz.

One. Two. Three.

One. Two. Three.

One. Two. Three.

A reckless, desperate dance.

I fell, hit the ground, and got up again.

I would have kept getting up and spinning forever.

The count.

The thunder.

The cold.

A white serpent of lightning tore across the sky, revealing a possessed, sorrowful figure emerging from the darkness—a woman who had spent her entire life suffering from endless loneliness.

My figure.

I began to grow tired.

My legs barely obeyed me. Keeping my balance became harder and harder.

That was when strong arms wrapped around my waist, and gentle but unyielding fingers held me tightly.

Yet there was still nothing in front of me.

Startled and frightened, I screamed and tried to break free.

But I quickly calmed down.

I no longer cared what happened next.

A strange lightness filled my body. A pleasant warmth spread from my heart through every part of me.

Everything would be all right now.

Nothing could frighten me anymore.

Tear open my chest, stranger.

Break my bones.

Take my eyes and teeth.

Do not hurry.

Dancing was absurdly easy.

A firm hand guided me through the absolute darkness and pouring rain.

There was no chance of stumbling.

No chance of falling.

I closed my eyes, allowing myself to disappear completely into the dance.

It was magical.

I would not have minded spinning in this enchanting waltz until the end of time.

When I reluctantly opened my eyes again, I could finally see my partner.

Young.

He looked about my age.

The stranger wore a black shirt and trousers as dark as the abyss itself.

I could not make out his face.

The hand I had placed on his shoulder began to dissolve in the strangest way.

Then I realized—it was melting beneath the icy drops of rain.

Skin and flesh flowed down my body in pale red streams, falling to the ground as a disgusting, jelly-like substance.

When had my body become so heavy?

The stranger gently rested my head on his shoulder so it would not fall onto my chest as the muscles in my neck dissolved.

My thin, weakening limbs hung lifelessly.

The young man held my disappearing body firmly, preventing it from collapsing onto the ground.

Strangely, I felt no pain.

The young man remained silent.

And I had no desire to speak.

So this was death.

Good.

I was glad I had accepted the invitation to the waltz.

I only wondered why I had waited so long.

It looked warm, inviting—even beautiful.

Inside, the air carried the scent of wood, plastic, and metal.

Yet beneath its welcoming appearance, something was wrong. Animals kept their distance, and the water along the shore was always black.

Before long, a young family moved in: a husband, a wife, and their two children.

---

The Family

One

On the sixth night, the little girl awoke to footsteps in the hallway.

She opened her door, expecting to find someone outside.

The corridor was empty.

Heart pounding, she clutched her stuffed toy and hurried to her parents' bedroom at the far end of the house.

They told her it had only been a nightmare.

---

Two

The following night, the boy woke to a scream.

He recognized his sister's voice and rushed to her room.

His parents stood beside the bed without moving.

His sister lay on the white sheets, covered in blood.

Her face had been torn open, as though someone had tried to peel away the skin.

The room tilted.

Everything went black.

The boy lost consciousness.

Later, the little girl was rushed to the hospital.

After hours of questioning, the police released the parents and assured them the attacker would be found.

---

Three

The boy lay in bed.

Broken bones pushed through torn flesh, and every breath came shallow and uneven.

Downstairs, the lights in the dining room were still on.

His parents sat together, quietly eating dinner.

As though nothing had happened.

Only now they were different.

The man sat silently with what had once been his face resting on the table before him.

Across from him, the woman smiled as she calmly crushed the bones in her legs with a hammer.

---

The Infection

After every previous resident vanished—except for the little girl—the house changed hands once more.

Drawn by the unusually low price, a middle-aged woman bought it and moved in with her rebellious teenage daughter.

---

One

On the sixth night, the girl woke to a foul stench.

She switched on the light.

A gray, damp film coated the walls and ceiling, as though the house itself had fallen ill.

She fled the room and locked herself in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, her mother went upstairs to check.

The room was perfectly normal.

---

Two

The next morning, the girl noticed how pale her mother had become.

Even her lips had lost their color.

She looked unwell.

A sickly sweet odor of rotting flesh lingered wherever she walked.

Alarmed, the girl begged her to see a doctor.

Her mother only smiled.

---

Three

The woman spent the entire following day locked in her bedroom.

Several times, the girl knocked and tried the handle.

Each time, a weak voice from inside insisted everything was fine.

There was nothing to worry about.

When she returned once more, the smell of decay had spread through the hallway.

Her hand closed around the doorknob.

This time, it turned.

She stepped inside.

The woman lay motionless beneath the covers, eyes closed.

Dark stains had soaked through the sheets, and the air was so heavy the girl struggled to breathe.

With trembling hands, she pulled back the blanket.

For a moment, her mind refused to understand what it was seeing.

The human body had become something impossible.

Something that should never have existed.

The woman could no longer speak.

She could only let out weak, broken sounds while meeting her daughter's eyes with exhaustion and despair.

---

The Monster

Not long after the girl was found beside a blood-soaked skeleton and taken away for treatment, the house was left alone for a long time.

It waited patiently for someone new.

Years passed.

Despite its beauty, few were willing to live in the black house once they learned its history.

Only two decades later did someone finally buy it.

A young man who lived alone.

---

One

On the sixth night, the young man heard a loud crash from the basement.

He went downstairs and found thick strands of mold spreading across the walls and ceiling.

He studied them for a moment.

Then he returned with a torch and a fire extinguisher, and carefully set the fungus ablaze.

The fire never spread.

The house would never allow itself to burn.

---

Two

The next day, unfamiliar voices began whispering inside his head.

But he already lived with voices that never stopped talking.

The newcomers soon dissolved into the endless noise.

Before long, they fell silent.

That evening, a corpse greeted him in the living room.

A woman with legs twisted into impossible shapes.

She let out a low growl and dragged herself toward him.

The young man laughed until tears filled his eyes.

Then he seized her by the head and slammed it against the wall again and again.

The creature whimpered and tried to crawl back into the basement.

He caught her by the hair, dragged her outside, and threw her into an old barrel.

Moments later, flames consumed her.

He watched until nothing remained.

---

Three

That evening, the young man returned home with a guest.

A young woman lay in the trunk of his car, her hands bound.

She had screamed herself hoarse.

That was why he had chosen the abandoned house.

No one would hear her.

He carried her inside and secured her to the large oak table in the kitchen.

Half an hour later, the victim lost consciousness.

The silence irritated him. He threw the knife aside and sat in the middle of the blood-soaked room.

The house remained silent.

It watched.

It listened.

For the first time in years, no whispers drifted through its halls.

No footsteps echoed in the darkness.

It almost seemed deliberate.

As though the house did not want to miss a single moment of what the young man was doing.

---

The house and the young man still live there together.

It is impossible to say which of them is the greater monster.

One thing, however, is certain.

They found each other.

The Thirty-First Day.

The day I said goodbye to you.

Death came without warning and took away the person who was my entire life. No one should ever experience the horror I endured. No one should have to suffer like that.

On the day of the funeral, when they lowered the coffin into the damp earth, I felt an unbearable urge to fall in after you.

My only wish was to rest beside you forever.

You and I. Two bodies, one soul.

Why did you leave me?

---

I woke up with a headache.

For months, it had accompanied every awakening. I had to sit on the edge of my bed for several minutes, waiting for the dark circles floating before my eyes to fade.

I went to doctors, but they could not find the cause of my strange illness. They told me to worry less and rest more.

In the kitchen, the cup slipped from my hands and shattered into an ocean of fragments.

I carefully picked up the largest, sharpest piece, intending to sweep away the rest. A crimson drop slowly spread across the transparent glass.

I was not afraid of blood.

But at that moment, terror filled me.

Slowly, I lifted my eyes and turned toward the window.

Intricate loops of writing began crawling across the glass. The words intertwined, forming a story.

A story about me. I froze as I read it.

I would miss the bus, and a downpour would ruin the notes in my journal.

There would be another argument with my father.

Another one.

An entire day filled with small and great failures.

The vision ended abruptly, as if someone on the other side of the universe had turned off a switch.

I woke from the trance. The same kitchen. The same broken cup, transformed into thousands of glittering stars.

But I was no longer quite the same person.

Now there was a possibility.

A chance to change my life.

To control it.

Every prediction came true.

I managed to turn that day into something magical, avoiding every misfortune written on the glass.

I needed to understand why it had happened.

I decided it was because of my wounded hand.

I took a sheet of paper and dragged my finger across it.

There was barely any blood.

But pain pierced through my hand.

I turned back toward the window.

An otherworldly pattern spread across the transparent surface like delicate lace, hiding the sunlight.

I read.

It was a dream.

A fairy tale where I was the main character.

Only one day was written there.

I pressed my next finger against the paper.

Again.

And again.

And again.

One wound.

One day.

I memorized dates and numbers. I wrote down events that refused to remain in my memory.

When I made the final cut and raised my eyes to the window in desperation, a terrible, aching sensation appeared in my chest.

As if I was not cutting my hands.

As if I was cutting my heart.

The words described my final day with my friend.

How we told foolish stories and walked through the park.

The black, elaborate letters made one thing clear:

This would be our last meeting.

The next day, my friend would die.

I desperately made another cut.

The old words evaporated.

Sunlight poured into the room.

But no new day appeared on the glass.

I froze.

Then panic took over.

I began cutting my hands and legs.

Paper was no longer enough.

Soon, bleeding wounds covered every place I could reach.

The realization that my suffering was meaningless came suddenly, crashing into my exhausted mind.

I felt weak.

Completely powerless.

Who are you?

Who are you, stranger, who knows everything before it happens?

How could you give me only thirty days and leave the most important one for the thirty-first?

I cannot understand what drives you.

Why such cruelty?

It is not fair.

For the entire month, I devoted myself to my friend, trying to spend as much of the time I had left with him as possible.

We spent the thirtieth day together.

I tried to be happy for him.

I wanted to talk enough for a lifetime.

To take as many photographs as I could.

That day, for the first time, I held his hand.

It surprised him.

But I didn’t care.

I wanted to feel the warmth I would never be able to feel again. Maybe someday our friendship could have become something more.

After midnight, he began to feel sick. He simply collapsed on a bench in the middle of the park.

I thought that if I stayed with him on the thirty-first day, I could save him. How wrong I was. I never considered that the danger could be hidden inside his own body.

People watched the ambulance leave with quiet concern, but in the end, they did not truly care. They only wanted to enjoy their evening.

I returned home at dawn, having completely lost hope.

The cup slipped from my trembling hands again.

It shattered.

I stared at the fragments for a moment.

Then I picked up a plate and smashed it against the floor.

Then I grabbed another cup and threw it.

Then another.

Time passed.

I was kneeling in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by broken dishes.

I felt pain.

It gripped my heart with unbearable force.

Suddenly, something pulled me toward the window.

I slowly crawled toward it on all fours, leaving bloody traces behind me.

I stood up.

Closed my eyes.

Pressed my forehead against the cold, merciless glass.

There was only me.

And the endlessly indifferent world that seemed capable of doing nothing except hurting me.

I opened my eyes.

And almost screamed.

Familiar letters began appearing before me.

"The thirty-first day."

"The day he survived."

I do not know who you are.

I do not know why you play with my life.

But I accept this gift with gratitude.

---

His hand rests in mine. It is so warm. So alive.

His eyes are fixed ahead, looking toward our future. Now we will face it together.

He and I.

Two bodies, one soul.

And this time — we have an eternity ahead of us.

Not the kind of hurt found in fairy tales—not broken, no. Just weary, gently cracked by pain, fear, and love. A Girl who could not always save the ones she wished she could.

From the very beginning, Leticia understood that this was where she belonged.

On the very first night, she curled up beside the Girl and began to purr, just as her mother had when she soothed her tiny kittens.

She looked into the Girl's eyes and found a soul reflected there.

She listened to poems, to tears, and to silence. And she kept watch.

"I will be your armor," Leticia decided. "Your helmet and your cloak. And you will be my whole world."

Time passed. Leticia grew. She chased every rustle, caught dancing sunbeams, occasionally nipped out of foolish curiosity, licked the Girl's nose, and rested a gentle paw on the place that hurt whenever the Girl lay quietly, enduring more than anyone could see.

Sometimes the Girl was frightened—by terrible words, by old memories, by the ghosts of the past.

But Leticia knew that if she purred long enough, fear would begin to melt away. And eventually, it would disappear altogether.

When the wind carried the cold inside, Leticia became a blanket.

When the doctor came, she became a guardian.

When the Girl grew too tired to keep living, Leticia became a reason to stay.

"You are stronger than you think," Leticia purred. "And I'm here. Always."

And one day, the Girl woke, looked at her little cat, and realized that her heart—though still marked by its tiny cracks—was warm again.

Because love was standing watch over it.

A tall model glided down the runway, her silver fins whispering softly with every step. Her slender body was wrapped in delicate flickers of enchanted golden light that danced playfully across her azure scales.

She came to a graceful stop at the end of the catwalk and held an elegant pose. Her weightless gown rippled in gentle waves, shimmering with exquisite brilliance. The audience burst into enthusiastic applause.

With a graceful sweep of her hand, the dress flowed toward the spectators, unraveling into delicate threads that gleamed like precious gemstones. Awed murmurs spread through the hall. No one had ever seen a garment of such breathtaking beauty.

As though summoned from nowhere, the manager appeared beside the model. She clicked her beak cheerfully and announced, "Allow me to present the one-of-a-kind dress from our *Beauty of Another Time* collection. The opening bid is three billion credits."

The hall erupted with excitement. It quickly became clear that nearly everyone present was willing to pay a sum greater than the value of an entire star system.

The manager cast a swift glance across the audience before continuing, "This dress will be sold at tomorrow's auction in the neighboring hall. Until then, I'd be delighted to answer your questions if the brochure left anything unexplained."

A woman seated near the middle of the hall raised her hand. "Is this truly a dress made from time?"

"Yes," the manager replied. "It comes with a certificate of authenticity."

A grey-haired man spoke next. "How many planets does it contain?"

"Only one," she answered. "Only one—but one unimaginably rich in time. The past, the present, and the future of eight billion humans were woven together so that our designers could create this masterpiece."

Sensing the audience's fascination, the model leaned forward ever so slightly.

Her gown blazed like molten gold before blossoming into a luminous cloud that drifted across the entire runway.

Countless ruined lives.

A dead planet.

A universe slowly emptying into silence.

All of it had become part of a garment that was as horrifying as it was beautiful.

One of the spectators tilted her head with curiosity. "Will the dress remain a dress forever?"

It was the question the manager dreaded most.

She knew the correct answer.

The answer no potential buyer could ever be allowed to hear.

So she offered the lie she had rehearsed countless times.

"Forever. Every living creature on that world was consumed by a chronological rift, surrendering its time to us for all eternity."

"Please, tell me another story," Vika asked.

"Of course," Igor replied. "I'm going to take a bigger brush now and paint a long, wide road."

"A straight one?" the little girl asked.

"Oh, Vika," the man smiled, "the straightest road you can imagine. I'll paint beautiful stars, too—and planets."

With broad, confident strokes, Igor painted across a specialized display. Under his practiced hands, the empty surface quickly filled with the image of a universe that was as breathtaking as it was perilous.

"Will you paint me too?" the girl asked curiously.

"Of course I will!" the artist exclaimed. "The painting is for you. You'll be right in the center."

He glanced over his palette, searching for silver. The shade he needed lay tucked away in the corner, beside midnight black and blood red. Their closeness had never before interfered with his work. Today, however, the combination felt deeply unsettling.

With a graceful motion, the brush dipped into the silver paint, drinking it in before releasing it onto the center of the screen. At the heart of the painting, the image of a small escape pod began to take shape.

"Uncle Igor... will it take much longer?" the little girl whimpered.

"No, sweetheart," the rescuer said gently. "I'm almost finished."

The speaker on the control panel crackled to life, and a woman's firm voice came through.

"Is the navigation solution ready?"

"Just one more moment, and I'll transmit it to base," Igor answered hurriedly, breaking off his conversation with Vika.

"She's running out of oxygen," the rescue officer said. "Her escape pod is damaged."

"I know!" Igor shouted, his voice breaking. "What do you want me to do?"

The woman fell silent.

The navigator reconnected with Vika and saw the child's tear-streaked face on the monitor.

"There, there, my dear," Igor whispered. "I'm here. Don't cry."

The artist completed the navigational map and transmitted it to the rescue team. He kept talking to the little girl, soothing her, until the connection suddenly went dead.

When it happened, Igor froze.

A single message appeared in the dialogue window, pulling him out of his daze.

"Too late".

The world was very dark and very quiet.

No wind had ever wandered here, and not a single ray of sunlight had ever pierced its depths. It would not be wrong to call it a sorrowful, silent place. Only now and then, somewhere high above, a few lonely drops of water would begin to fall.

Drip. Drip.

They almost always struck the stone without a sound, bursting into weightless specks that drifted through the grotto. Every so often, a drop would land in the river instead, disturbing its mirror-like surface with widening ripples and an odd little gurgle.

Sometimes, a stone would fall from the ceiling.

Oh, that was enough to turn life in the endless darkness upside down.

The crash. The clatter of rock rolling across the floor. The booming echo racing for miles through the caverns.

Now *that* was an event worth remembering.

It would be unfair to say there was no life here at all. There was—only it, too, was almost inaudible.

Countless worms and beetles crept across the stone floor and walls. They were pale, slick, and impossibly slow. They had adapted well to this forgotten place. At times they gathered into sprawling masses hundreds of yards long, weaving themselves into living carpets of tangled bodies.

When they did, they made a sound.

Shhhhhhh.

At the very bottom flowed a river.

Perhaps it goes without saying, but it deserves mentioning nonetheless: the river flowed just as quietly as everything else.

Small white fish darted through its waters, forever pursued by the same worms we have already met. There were no riverbanks here. The current was imprisoned inside a vast stone gallery enclosed by towering walls.

And it was called a gallery not because the rock had happened to form a corridor that resembled one, but because it truly had been one—a long covered hall with both an entrance and an exit.

If you followed the current downstream, you would eventually reach a vast chamber supported by magnificent ornamental columns. Several had collapsed long ago and now lay diagonally across the floor like the bones of giants.

It was its own universe.

Silent.

Dead.

Ancient.

And this was where He lived.

He was never bored. There was always water to play with, worms to scoop up by the handful, walls to bring crashing down.

This forgotten corner of existence was simple. It made sense.

Why should He have wished for anything else?

Then came the day that divided His life into *before* and *after*.

At first, the earth trembled timidly, almost shyly.

Then it shook with furious resolve.

In that instant, the world overflowed with sound.

The surviving walls collapsed.

Roofs caved in.

Stones that had endured for ages split apart.

The underground river burst its banks and flooded the great hall.

With a roar beyond imagining, the immense vault above sagged...and finally gave way.

What followed was almost impossible to believe.

The darkness was cut open by brilliant light.

It poured into tunnels and grottos alike, burying the shadows forever.

When silence finally returned, one thing had become painfully clear.

Life would never be the same again.

Fresh air rushed through the stone arteries of the earth, carrying with it the sweet fragrance of flowers and ripe fruit.

Far above stretched an azure sky, soft white clouds, and a sun so bright it hurt to look at.

Everything had changed.

The creatures of the deep fled at once toward whatever darkness remained.

Only He stayed beneath the light.

In the sun, the halls and passageways revealed themselves to be adorned with statues, some still bearing faded traces of paint. Bas-reliefs emerged from the walls, alongside mosaics of astonishing beauty.

Wandering through this new—and yet strangely familiar—world became a pleasure.

The changes did not trouble Him.

On the contrary.

It felt as though the thing He had unknowingly awaited since the moment of His birth had finally arrived.

Later, He discovered with surprise that darkness had returned.

Not the absolute darkness He had once known, but something softer.

Far overhead, tiny brilliant lights appeared, arranging themselves into breathtaking patterns.

Beside them shimmered two great disks.

He had noticed them before, though only vaguely. Now, in the night, they stood out clearly. Their surfaces were mottled with lighter and darker patches, as though someone had carelessly painted them with violet pigment.

Day followed night.

Night yielded once more to day.

There could be no doubt that the world above held countless adventures and games awaiting Him.

But He did not hurry.

The unknown frightened Him.

The unfamiliar scents.

The strange songs of feathered creatures circling above the collapsed cavern.

The violent torrents of rain.

At times, they filled Him with fear.

One dawn, He climbed to the surface.

An endless sea of tall grass swallowed Him whole.

Carried along with the wind, He drifted forward.

Before long He came upon an oak.

Beyond it stood a cluster of willows.

It turned out that nothing in this world was truly endless, no matter how infinite it first appeared.

Beyond the forest flowed a river with a swift, dangerous current.

The sight stirred something inside Him unlike anything He had ever felt.

For countless years He had existed in darkness, never suspecting that wonder had been waiting so close all along.

That evening, for the first time, He witnessed a sunset.

The sky blazed crimson and gold, as though the heavens themselves had caught fire. The dazzling disk slipped swiftly beneath the horizon.

It was beautiful.

He fell asleep on the riverbank beneath the shade of oaks, chestnuts, and lindens. The leaves sang Him a lullaby, while the warm summer air wrapped Him in a gentle blanket. Soothed by their embrace, He drifted into a long, deep sleep.

When the creature awoke, the forest was gone.

In its place stretched open fields.

He wandered across them until, along the way, He met a cheerful little creature with a tiny beak and soft pink feathers.

To His astonishment, He found Himself within the bird.

Little by little, He began to realize that He was discovering His own essence more and more often—not only in living beings, but throughout the world itself.

The revelation neither frightened nor troubled Him.

If you keep finding yourself in countless different forms, you grow accustomed to it surprisingly quickly.

Throughout His journey He encountered many animals, birds, and fish. Some hurried busily across the fields; others paced with quiet dignity along the branches of solitary trees, filling the air with graceful, melodious songs.

His path remained easy until the day He came upon buildings that reminded Him of the home He had left behind.

Columns.

Roofs.

And, now and then, vast halls.

They stirred an unexpected sadness within Him.

People were everywhere.

And every one of them carried Him inside.

One day, out of nothing more than curiosity, He tried leaving a single person.

She was a young woman.

The moment He departed, her youthful body sagged and came apart, collapsing into a shapeless, barely living mass.

He found what had happened strangely satisfying.

After that, He began abandoning human bodies—and objects—more and more often.

Objects merely lost their shape.

People died.

Slowly.

Agonizingly.

In a city crowned by a cathedral with soaring spires, He left every soul at once, carpeting the streets with bodies.

Then the Enchantress came.

She entered through the city's main gate, now abandoned by its guards, and walked calmly through the streets, paying no heed to the dead.

When she reached the central square, she looked around before settling carefully upon the broad steps beneath a magnificent statue.

She waited.

Silent.

As though expecting someone.

The creature settled beside her, watching with quiet curiosity.

This human was different.

Different in the very core of her being.

Hours passed.

Growing bored, He tried to leave her as well.

He failed.

The woman straightened and addressed the empty air before her.

"Speak to me."

He did not know how to speak.

He existed everywhere and shaped the lives of others, yet He Himself had always been little more than a phenomenon, something without a body.

Still, it seemed worth trying.

"What do you want?" He asked.

The Enchantress heard Him perfectly.

For a heartbeat she froze in bewilderment.

Then she laughed—a bright, ringing laugh.

The thing that had spent countless years killing everything around it genuinely could not understand why anyone would wish to have a conversation with it.

That was the problem.

How do you explain something to a being incapable of ever grasping it?

Still...

It seemed worth trying.

The woman fell silent for a moment.

"Can you hear songs?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Can you see these colors?" She gestured toward the painted shop signs, the blooming flowers, and the sunset slowly spreading across the sky.

"Of course. Why do you ask such foolish questions?"

"Have you noticed how quiet it has become?"

The creature looked around.

Places like this were usually loud, busy, alive in their own peculiar way. Merchants argued over prices. Children darted between carts. The bright dresses of the townswomen shimmered in the eye.

It had been a prosperous land, one that had known neither famine nor great calamity.

At least, not until He arrived.

What surrounded Him now resembled the abandoned cave He had once called home, filled only with worms and beetles.

The loneliness He had long since forgotten returned once more.

The Enchantress waited patiently.

She knew nothing of the underground world. She merely hoped to awaken something—if not compassion, then at least an awareness of what He had done.

"I have," He said at last. "Without them... I'm lonely."

In that moment, the negotiator understood that the being before her was profoundly selfish.

But that, too, could be used.

"If you keep leaving them," she said gently, "one day no one will be left beside you. You'll be completely alone."

"Did you come here to stop Me?"

"No. I came to ask you to stop. I'll be lonely too if everyone dies."

"Very well."

The woman blinked in surprise.

She had expected hours of persuasion. They had even prepared a speech for her before sending her to negotiate with the invisible killer.

No doubt her deed would be remembered for centuries, and people would tell stories of the fearless Enchantress who reasoned with an unseen murderer.

They would probably leave out the fact that the conversation had gone astonishingly smoothly.

Wanting to protect her country in

the years to come, she added, "If you ever feel lonely, you can always come and find me. We'll talk."

"Then let's talk now," He replied. "I'm lonely."

What is required to become aware of oneself? There are many answers to this question. In my view, the simplest and most correct one is this: you need a body. And it does not matter what kind you are given. It may be made of bone and blood, or of metal and glass. The only requirement is that it allows you to enter the material world.

At the beginning of time, every member of my kind could obtain a body at will. There was enough magic in the world for that. But now this elusive substance has begun to vanish rapidly from the Universe. And so all those who managed to take possession of a body cling to it desperately.

I no longer have enough magic to inhabit anyone. To be honest, I never did. Even when power surged through every galaxy, I could not seize even the most insignificant vessel. One might say I am the most unfortunate bodiless being in all of cosmic space.

I used to visit my friend often, one who, many centuries ago, had taken possession of a fluvial being from a distant, bleak planet. Like all of my kind, he had claimed a body that was already dead. Yet at that time it was still strong and astonishingly beautiful. I remember how he cut through sapphire waves, his fins shimmering beneath the light of three suns. We were alone then; I had not found any of our kind for a very long time.

When I saw him for the last time, the fluvial body had already begun to decompose. If not for the remaining fragments of magic carefully preserved by my friend, he would have long since turned to dust.

During our farewell meeting, I told him of a planet where diamond rain falls. There lived remarkable beings who each carried a drop of magic within them. With every death, I received a little of that substance. It was meant to help me inhabit a body, which I tried to do again and again. But no vessel ever accepted me. I killed and killed until the planet was left empty.

My friend, upon hearing of the mass killing I had committed, was silent for a long time. His decaying fins released what had become harmless spines, and the hollows of his eyes turned away. He drove me from his ocean-planet, using the last remnants of his magic. At the time, I did not understand what I had done to anger him so deeply.

---

Lera woke up. She was at home, in her new bed. The girl was met by her usual morning, full of pleasant routines. Lera gently placed her hand on her abdomen. Her baby was not moving. She thought the child was still asleep.

By afternoon, Lera developed a fever. She called her mother, who—barely managing to conceal her panic—told her to call an ambulance.

The ambulance arrived quickly and took her to the hospital. There, they performed a CTG and an ultrasound. Lera no longer clearly remembered how she was told that the child’s heart had stopped. She screamed terribly; only her husband, who arrived later, could calm her.

When some time had passed and Lera regained partial composure, she was informed that she would have to give birth to the dead fetus.

---

I was alone after my only friend left me, and it was then that I heard the Call.

It carried me through myriads of wondrous constellations and galaxies. Time came to a halt; there was only me and that strange voice. It sang to me, revealing a path strewn with sparks of magic.

At the end of that path, I became impossibly small and fragile. I was met by a feeling I had never known before. It permeated every part of me, every thought, and fully claimed my entire universe.

That was how I encountered pain.

No one from my kind had ever known that to possess a living body is to suffer.

---

Lera often got up at night to listen to her son sleeping. The doctors had said it would be a girl, but they had also mistaken the stillborn fetus for a living one. So Lera tried not to dwell on it.

She had to adjust to the fact that the baby behaved strangely—he did not cry and constantly watched everything around him with an intent gaze. Pediatricians reassured her, saying the boy was completely healthy, gaining weight well, and developing on schedule. In time, the young mother also began telling relatives and friends that this unusual behavior was simply a personality trait.

Although she tried not to think about it, Lera understood perfectly well what had happened that day. It did not frighten her. Sometimes she would take her son into her arms and whisper softly: “Thank you for coming.”