It used to be different. It was easy to figure out what was good and what was bad. And now, everything has changed, as if a sloppy cook mixed two incompatible ingredients in the hope of a new incredible taste, only that the common human did not like it, and the high-ranking one turned out to be just right.

I remember a young lad from Rety, from that sand planet. He came to stay at the Palace of the second ruling family, and heard them conspiring. He reported them to the planet's overlord, one of the hundred and four. We were proud of him then.

I even took this young lad in; anyway, I didn't have an heir. I gave him a chance to form his own sphere. Although custom did not allow this. It was a good boy, dreaming of great changes, contagious stuff. At that time, only the inhabitants of our planet were supposed to have spheres, but times changed, and we made an exception. The sphere turned out to be black, how many people were surprised by this? Yes, I am not without sin.

I spent a lot of time with him, teaching him everything I knew. We liked to go fishing together, we fished and let our catch go, there's no need to kill a living thing without a reason, and it’s terrible to kill at all. In the end, even the conspirators were released from prison. Although in the end we paid for it. Everything has its own price, and for kindness you have to pay triple.

It's a silly memory, but the young lad called me" the fisherman". I didn't like the nickname at first, but then I got used to it.

When our planet began to die and the yellow star just began to turn into a red giant, our souls changed. The discord has begun, although something tells me that it was born much earlier. At one point, it seemed that people stopped hearing each other. You sound like you're talking, but you're definitely talking into the void, into the quicksand of hypocrisy. Some might call it character evolution, but for me, it's just a normal degradation. Previously, people were smarter, and that's why they were surrounded by happiness and prosperity.

After a few hundred years, the planet became barely habitable. We made a terraforming mechanism. We wanted to give it a breath of fresh air. At that time, we didn't understand that the swamp wouldn't make the sea any cleaner. Then the Council of the" hundred and four" decided to use the energy of the black sphere of the boy and deprive him not only of his gift, but also of his life. We thought at the time that after terraforming, the owner of the sphere would die. Who would have thought that this was an another lie, and who would have thought that before doing something, they would just send experimental rats and watch the result. No one cares who dies tomorrow or the day after, much less who died yesterday. I started hating everyone after that, especially the Council. Probably I did the right thing. What was needed.

Malum started slowly moving toward the creature. It was still sitting on the bridge, showing no signs of life, looking like a Scarecrow in a field of scorched earth. With each step, the shape of the unknown became clearer: a gray beard, pale black hair, a ragged gray robe. Next to the old man was an old clay bowl half filled with muddy water.

"I'm sorry," Malum began. "Do you speak Russian?"

But why should he know Russian? Stupid question.

At the sound of the voice, the old man turned and drew back slightly. The eyes were affected by cataracts. He stared into the void, into the darkness that covered this city with its shadows. One pupil was larger than the other. And one of the hands looked like a woman's hand. His teeth yellow. He answered in some crude, archaic language that Malum didn't understand. Then the old man raised his head, sighed heavily, and with a quiet step walked up to the young man, grasping his wrist with his hand, which was warm, but almost lifeless. However, for all its subtlety, the grip was strong. Apparently, until the old man understands what Malum is up to, he won't let go.

Suddenly the creased face changed, and the old man pointed his ear toward the hum of the sphere. He paused and listened. His left hand trembled and reached for the sound. The sphere was flying high, and Malum wondered if It would fly up to him or not. It flew up and touched the elder's palm. However, after a minute, the man's face changed. And it was not a pleasant sight; it took on more and more distinct outlines of frustration and anger. They were silent for a while, and then the old man spoke in pure Russian, his voice calm and measured, but very low:

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

[https://i.imgur.com/KMq0eV7.jpg]

"Motso..." he said in a low, irritated voice, baring his teeth.

Malum noticed that the old man's lips moved asynchronously to his words.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Pelleas."

"My name is Malum."

"I didn't think I'd ever see this sphere again," the old man said thoughtfully. "How did you get your hands on it?"

Malum looked down at his wrist, which the old man was holding.

"I found it on my planet. In a cave. In a crypt."

"And then what?"

"Then it had activated, I touched it and the memories of the former owner flashed through my head, as I understand. But I didn't really understand anything. An hour later, darkness seemed to engulf me, and I couldn't see anything. I opened my eyes and realized that I was teleported to your world."

"Are you scared?"

"Yes. A little."

"What do you want?"

"I want us to help each other."

"My people and I will not refuse to help."

"Your people? How many of you are here?"

Pelleas took his time. He was looking into something behind the back of a newcomer to this world. The sound of his breathing stopped for a few seconds. He froze like the statues of ancient Gods or philosophers of antiquity. Then the muscles of the old man's entire body tensed. They seemed to reflect his thoughts like a mirror; and these thoughts seemed to be heavier than the whole planet. For a moment, his eyes became sighted, and it seemed to Malum that he was looking not only at him, but also at a world that was not visible to the average person - a metaphysical space stretching for a million years, engulfed in the flames of war and heavy consequences. Malum was afraid, for the first time in his life he realized that such a strong feeling of fear and for the first time in his life he realized that fear arises from nowhere and goes nowhere, like a pilgrim who leads an endless journey through the expanses of hell. He was about to ask a new question, rather than listen to this oppressive silence, when Pelleas finally told him that until recently there were fourteen of them, but one was missing. Now there are thirteen of them.

"I think I saw the fourteenth…"

Pelleas made no reply to this. He just shook his head and closed his eyes for a few seconds.

"This isn't the first time you've seen the sphere."

"No. Not the first time."

"Do you know how it works?"

"Wait," he said.

The old man's eyes strayed into the distance, trying to see if anyone was following Malum. And a few seconds later, for the first time, a cold wind began to blow, even too cold for this area.

"I feel a terrible force that follows you around. Who did you bring to me?"

"Nobody. In the last thirteen hours, you’re the first person I’ve met. And if someone was watching me, I think I would have noticed. "

Pelleas continued to hold Malum's hand tightly, peering into the stone forest behind him.

"And if you were being watched by a creature without a physical shell, would you notice it?"

"As far as I know, it can't be possible."

"Anything can be possible in this world."

"Will you tell me?"

"About what?"

"About spheres."

Then the old man said that the spheres are microelements of cosmic bodies created in the expanses of black matter that has surrounded us since the beginning of time. However, no one was able to know the full depth of the spheres except for one person-the Creator of these spheres, who many millennia ago was called Krugis (in peacetime he worked as a blacksmith on Alaval), and then disappeared and is probably already dead. Nothing more is known about him.

"What do you and your people want?"

The old man considered.

"I don't know how to say it."

"Take your time."

Malum looked around, but the surrounding landscape didn't change at all. The red light on the horizon looked like a time bomb, counting down the last hours of a dead civilization, which, like a wounded wolf, is crawling forward with its last strength, without a goal, without a purpose. The temperature on Alaval is not that high, and it is likely that it is saved by something hidden from the eyes, Malum reflected, maybe even the same thing that protected his sphere from acid rain.

As soon as Pelleas opened his mouth to reply, Malum heard the sound of a sharp object slicing through the air, and suddenly he felt his body stop responding, acute pain arousing in his neck. He wrested the hand that had been held by Pelleas, clutched at the wound, and a few seconds later, without saying a word, fell to his knees, he looked up into the old man's surprised, and at the same time frightened eyes, and then lost consciousness, plunging into the abyss, without hope of seeing this world again; betrayed and helpless, unable to change anything.