Without any ceremony, the old butler took the enemy prince as his apprentice. In Etna-Flamma, squires carried shields and took care of swords for knights, while in Devora, Vasili did the same thing. The difference was that he was doing these tasks for himself. When Stenka sharpened his knife, Vasili learned how to make sparks instead of smoke. When Stenka sewed his scale armor, Vasili learned how to bite off the thread with his teeth. Over time, Vasili's wings became fuller, but every time he felt Stenka's slate-like face soften, the latter would say something like this:
"I am training you not for you to become a warrior, but rather to ensure you don't die because of it."
In addition to teaching Vasili how to handle weapons, Stenka also taught him how to survive in the wilderness like a wolf. They would leave the cabin and camp outside for several days, learning how to hunt, skin, burying meat in the snow to preserve it, judging the upwind and downwind, walking on the snow without leaving any traces, and enduring the cold in an icy cave until dawn.
In his life as a stranger, Vasili developed interests he had never imagined before. On days of rest, he lay on the roof, immersed in the book in his hands. He had no interest in outsmarting people or dealing with the court's elaborate rituals; he just wanted to find the answer to why people fought. For this, he read through history books but found that people could fight for anything - for their country, for gods, for their loved ones, and for themselves. Human stories were stories of war. Struggle was ingrained in human blood, causing equal harm in the name of love.
In addition to history books, Vasili sometimes read some irrelevant stories. These stories were poorly made, and most of the plots were similar: the handsome protagonist was estranged from his lover, had a dream and went to a forest, encountered a fierce wolf (sometimes a poisonous dragon), was taken to meet the queen by a fairy, passed the test, reunited with his lover, and they sailed to the Island of Love together. The second volume would involve the protagonist being rejected by his lover again for no reason, the intervention of gods, repentant kisses, fainting, and revival, and so on.
These books were brought by Repara. Judging by age, she was the granddaughter of Stenka, although Vasili never asked him about it. Repara usually lived with other girls in the main house in the city, learning weaving, sewing, and some knowledge of herbs. Recently, because she was old enough, she was allowed to go out. She often visited the remote wooden house in the afternoon, bringing borrowed books for Vasili to read to her. While Stenka smoked the game outside the house; the constant crackling of charcoal and the aroma of roasted meat filled the air.
The four years in Avalanşă were the happiest time for Vasili, and nothing reminded him that he was a hostage sent to enemy territory. It wasn't until he was sixteen, in the late spring when the snow melted, that a change came in the glow from Acdepin. The distant star had grown dim, replaced by a row of flickering lights along the ridge that drew closer with each passing night. The ancient beacon towers were lit again, but this time it was not the warning of the Etna people but the call for help from other Devoran clans. Eventually, Avalanşă lit the beacon and responded to the call.
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The old butler Stenka went to the city, and the guard who temporarily replaced him dozed off. At night, Repara climbed onto the roof and joined Vasili, who was gazing into the distance.
"Tell me," on a clear and windless night, Repara smiled like a gentle breeze and asked, "What did Ticalos say?" She was referring to the protagonist of a story collection, a handsome and devoted man with a bumpy love life.
Vasili was fascinated by the distant flames and absent-mindedly murmured, "I didn't bring the book up here."
"Then make up a story for me. Pretend you are Ticalos."
Repara said, but even though she said that, Vasili, who was not good with words, hesitated to answer. Repara was amused by his embarrassment and shook her stretched-out legs. She followed Vasili's gaze and sighed softly.
"Even star patterns change someday," Repara said gently and sorrowfully, "Let me go first. Perhaps Ticalos is a prince from another planet." She leaned forward and looked at Vasili with her head tilted, the starlight shining on her lips. "Now, have you got any idea?"
"Ticalos is a prince from another planet," Vasili opened his mouth, but it was stuck in his throat. "Because his father, the king of the constellations, despised him, he was sent to the distant land of the night, thinking he would be extinguished. But there, Ticalos fell in love with the princess of the night." He managed to speak.
Repara closed her eyes and immersed herself in Vasili's story.
"The king of the constellations was furious and launched a war against the land of the night. Ticalos fought to protect the princess and made his father retreat. But after that, Ticalos also left the land of the night and became a shooting star across the night sky."
"Why didn't he stay with the princess of the night?" Repara asked, holding her knees and opening her eyes. Vasili answered bitterly:
"Because he remembered that light and darkness had different origins, and his light would diminish the darkness of the princess, while the darkness of the princess would diminish his light."
"No, it's because he feels he's not worthy of love. He's afraid of the love of others and also afraid of his own heart." Repara rested her head on Vasili's shoulder and held his hand that was placed on the roof. "He's afraid that this is just a dream, that there's no Night Kingdom, and no girl who loves him. So, to avoid getting hurt more, he refuses to believe in anything good." Vasili looked at Repara, who just hung her head low, as if a statue calmly closing her eyes.
"But, Ticalos is right, everything is so easily fleeting. The Dark Princess doesn't even know where love comes from, she just wants to treat Ticalos well while she still can, because he's like a shooting star that can disappear at any moment," When Repara spoke like this, there was a submissive smile on her lips. "Perhaps the light will eventually diminish the darkness, and the darkness will eventually diminish the light. Even so, the dusk before nightfall will always be the most brilliant, and the late night before dawn will always be the most peaceful."
Feeling Vasili hesitate to speak, Repara lifted his left arm and nestled into his embrace.
"Don't say anything, Vasili. Just feel this moment, only this moment is real. Everything else is a lie. Since the future is going to swallow us up, why rush into its mouth?"
Vasili leaned his head against hers. He felt the warmth of blood flowing beneath her skin, the delicate yet firm skull, the slightly rough strands of her hair, and the scent of her skin that was not particularly fragrant but undeniably real. In this moment, he forgot his assumed name and his status as a hostage, he was just a shadow cast by the sunshine of Repara, just a wing of a bird. In the fire spreading before his eyes, the people dying, but unknown to him, formed a sad yet peaceful harmony, making Vasili feel like he was in a dream.