Dima and Stasyan emerged from the forest.

  It ended strangely—abruptly, as if the trees had simply been cut down and torn out by the roots, leaving no real boundary behind. Ahead, in an almost open space—aside from scattered piles of stone—stood something that could hardly be called a village.

  More like a cluster of houses.

  “Strange place,” Dima muttered. “I thought it’d be like in the old days—wooden walls, stakes, watch posts…”

  “This isn’t really a village,” Stasyan replied. “Just people sticking together and living however they can. Protecting each other—more or less.”

  Dima squinted, studying the buildings.

  “So anyone can attack them at night, and they wouldn’t be able to do much about it?”

  “Pretty much,” Stasyan nodded. “The locals aren’t exactly welcoming. They’ll be watching us, that’s for sure. But they don’t mind trading.”

  He adjusted the sack of loot as they walked.

  “We’ll sell the hides, stock up on food and water, then move on. I doubt that light was pointing us to this place specifically. More likely there’s something beyond it. Still, I’d rather head to a proper village afterward.”

  They reached the edge of the settlement. An old man stood there, glaring at them openly, making it clear they weren’t welcome.

  At the entrance, a tall man stepped out to meet them.

  “Why are you here?” he asked in an unfriendly tone.

  “Don’t say a word,” Stasyan whispered to Dima. “I’ll do the talking.”

  He stepped forward.

  “To restock supplies, get some sleep, and move on. We’re not here to cause trouble.”

  The man examined them in silence. His gaze lingered on their clothes, their weapons—but most often on Dima. Especially on his eyes. They clearly seemed alien to him.

  “You’re… not like the others,” he finally said, not looking away. “I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

  He gestured to himself.

  “Name’s Dozhor. Don’t break our lives—and we won’t break yours.”

  With that, he stepped aside.

  Dima and Stasyan entered the settlement.

  From the inside, it felt like a small, crookedly assembled neighborhood. In the distance, a trading stall and a well were visible—the only places where life seemed to move at all.

  At the stall, Stasyan unloaded everything he had piled onto Dima after the fight and laid the trophies on the counter.

  “So what are we trading for?” the very fat woman behind the stall asked sourly, not bothering to hide her irritation.

  “Food. Show us what you’ve got,” Stasyan replied.

  She clicked her tongue and removed the board covering the display. Beneath it lay vegetables, berries, and something meaty—questionable at best.

  Stasyan did a quick mental calculation, pointed out what to take, filled one bag completely with food, handed it to Dima, and kept the remaining unsold trophies for himself.

  They filled their flasks and headed toward one of the houses.

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  All the while, the locals watched them. People of different heights, different skin tones—unfamiliar, rough, like the stereotypical villagers from old stories. They snorted, exchanged looks, and spat demonstratively at their feet without breaking eye contact.

  “So these are the crooked-toothed peasants,” Dima muttered, more nervous than mocking. “First time I’ve ever been looked at with this much contempt. Where to now?”

  “Over there,” Stasyan nodded. “We can sleep there. For a price, of course.”

  They passed by a crystal.

  It was transparent, almost unnoticeable—but as they drew closer, it slowly began to change color, filling with violet hues and shimmering as if thick lava were flowing inside.

  They both noticed it and stopped.

  “We shouldn’t draw attention,” Stasyan whispered. “Better move on.”

  “Agreed,” Dima nodded. “We’ll touch it in the morning.”

  At that very moment, an echo sounded in his mind.

  Quiet. Lingering. As if someone were calling from inside the stone. It pulled him toward the crystal, promised something—unclear, but important. Dima clenched his teeth. He wanted to go to the crystal… and at the same time, he just wanted to be under a roof, in silence.

  Stasyan tugged him by the arm, steering him toward the place for the night.

  It was a small building. At the entrance stood the same old man who had met them at the edge of the village.

  “Two for the night,” Stasyan said, handing over one of the hides.

  “Rest well,” the old man replied, taking the payment. Then he squinted and added, “And you’d best not stand out with eyes like that.”

  “What’s wrong with my eyes?” Dima couldn’t help asking.

  “We’ve only read about that color in books,” the old man replied dryly.

  Dima absentmindedly noted that Stasyan’s eyes were brown. The old man’s too. And everyone else he’d noticed in the village had similar shades—brown, reddish, warm.

  His own were blue.

  Stasyan tugged his sleeve, and they went inside.

  “I’ll take this room,” Stasyan said. “You’re in the other one. I’ll come get you in the morning. Don’t leave the room.”

  Dima nodded and stepped into the room assigned to him.

  Inside, there was a wooden table, a chair, and a low box stuffed with leaves and covered with a hide.

  A bed.

  There were no windows.

  “And where’s the bathroom?” he asked, before closing the door.

  “What’s a bathroom?” Stasyan asked, confused.

  “Well… where do you go to take a dump?”

  “Ohhh,” Stasyan drawled. “The latrine’s over there.”

  After taking care of his business, Dima returned to the room and lay down. The exhaustion hit him immediately—as if his body were shutting down piece by piece.

  Through his sleep, he heard a knock at the door. At first he thought it was part of a dream, but the knocking came again—insistent, dull. Dima jolted awake.

  He opened the door.

  The same old man stood in the doorway.

  “Who are you?” he asked quietly, but firmly. “Tell me the truth.”

  Dima blinked in confusion.

  “The crystal in the village,” the old man continued, not waiting for an answer. “When you arrived, it changed. That’s never happened before.”

  At that moment, the door across the hall swung open—Stasyan stepped out.

  “Why are you bothering people while they’re sleeping?” he snapped irritably. “We paid for a night’s rest, not a late-night interrogation.”

  The old man frowned, shifting his gaze from Stasyan to Dima.

  “He’s not like the others,” he said slowly. “The crystal awakened. That’s a bad sign.”

  “We don’t know anything,” Stasyan cut in. “Ask your mages, if you even have any. We’re moving on. Heard there’s a place to the southeast where you can get your hands on something ancient—that’s where we’re headed.”

  The old man stared at them for another second, then silently turned and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.

  Stasyan turned to Dima.

  “Don’t open the door for anyone else. Sleep.”

  “Alright,” Dima replied quietly and lay down.

  In the morning, he got ready to leave and waited for Stasyan.

  Stasyan came out of his room, and together they stepped outside.

  A crowd of villagers had already gathered around the crystal.

  “He’s the one who woke it,” the old man said, pointing at Dima.

  The people turned all at once. Dozens of eyes fixed on him—wary, frightened, greedy.

  “Go on,” the old man continued. “Touch it. It’s calling to you.”

  Stasyan leaned toward Dima.

  “Well, we were going to anyway…” he whispered. “Do it.”

  Dima slowly walked toward the crystal. The stares pressed down on him—too many eyes, too close. He absently noted that if the entire village had gathered, there really weren’t that many people here. Thirty at most.

  As he drew nearer, he saw the glow inside the crystal shift and stretch toward him.

  Dima raised his hand—the light followed the movement.

  He touched the crystal.

  The wave hit instantly.

  People were thrown aside like dolls. Some were hurled into houses—the walls couldn’t withstand the impact and collapsed. Others were simply swept across the ground, far away, without a sound.

  Stasyan stood farthest from the crystal—untouched by the shockwave, untouched by the flying bodies.

  Just like before, light surged from the crystal into the sky. It stretched into a line and pointed in the same direction as it had back in the forest.

  And then Stasyan grabbed Dima’s hand.

  “RUN!” he shouted.

  They bolted from the village without looking back.

  Behind them came groans and screams. People struggled to rise, to understand what had happened. None of them ever realized where the light had been pointing.

  And the crystal became transparent again—as if nothing had happened at all.