Master greeted us today with a pale face and a gloomy expression. The morning was unusually quiet in Agadon's study. Disturbed only by his sighs and our whispers. I've never seen him in such a mood before. He always greeted us with a smile and immediately with great enthusiasm started teaching us, stimulating our curiosity in every possible way. There was so much I still had to learn about sclenite. But not today. As if he lost interest. I didn't have to be an adult to understand that something was bothering the master.

Almost three years have passed since my uncle Elmar brought me here, and I've been looking forward to each new day. I learned a lot. Things that once seemed odd and strange to me now seemed ordinary. I recognized defects in sclenite without much effort. The workshop became my second home and the kind-hearted Agadon the father I never had. Unfortunately, over the following years, I had to share his favor with more newcomers. He came to check on us every day, but he only taught us once a week, on Mondays. This day was the most exciting for me.

We did not share the large workshop with other lapidaries. We could not disturb the experienced glaziers at work with our eternal questions. We sat at tables, and in front of us lay pieces of raw black sclenite. Just like every Monday, we eagerly awaited the moment when the master would wave his hand, we would grab a practice polizor with four grinding wheels and be allowed to get started on the mineral. Then, under his guidance, we would try to give the sclenite the desired shape.

But today the master was procrastinating. His mind wandered far away from us, the workshop and the black sclenite.

"Duvals!" shouted Bazil. "I want to learn as much as I can about duvals!"

"Duvals?" he repeated thoughtfully, as if trying to remember why Bazil had barked that strange word. As if he forgot that he himself prompted us to ask questions.

I rummaged through the jumble of memories, whispering an unfamiliar expression to myself over and over under the voal. I was sure Mother had never mentioned anything like that. The word was too resonant to escape my curiosity.

Noticing Bazil's eagerness for answers, I furrowed my brows. It was all the more difficult to hide the annoyance at my own ignorance.

“What is it?” I blurted out finally, scratching my elbow. The rough fabric of the mantle bothered me more and more.

“Swords, Ilan,” the master replied quietly. "Duvals are swords."

"The ones the guards have? From the Duval Mountains, right?” Davor got ahead of me.

I recalled the swords of the guards they carried at their waists, doubting that something so mysterious would be made from the most affordable sclenite.

“These are made of clear sclenite, Davor,” Bazil whispered impatiently behind me. "Only the Twenty-Five can carry these."

I couldn't resist and turned behind to glance at Basil, dazzled by his knowledge. In that moment, I wished I could see his face under the voal and all the feelings that must have been rushing through him right now.

I've heard about the Twenty-Five. Everyone knew the twenty-five men sent from the lowlands to the sclenite-making towns to keep the order on the roads between them. But I had no idea what they really looked like. I imagined them as giants with menacing expressions on their scarred faces and heavy weapons ready to kill.

Master tiredly sat down in his chair and watched us for a while. He looked at each one and, as was his habit, kept his eyes on me the longest.

"Actually, it's important for you to know, even though I doubt you'll ever see duvals in your life," he began, a familiar flash of excitement in his eyes. Yet something still clouded their brightness. “Ordinary swords used by the military are made of black sclenite, as you know. Gray sclenite is also used to make weapons. But the most perfect ones are created from clear sclenite. But Duvals are something more. They are the most unique weapons glaziers have ever made. They are not honed like normal swords, and fighting with them isn't easy at all. Not everyone can touch them. A warrior must be strong. No glazier will help him much in this regard. Even when the sword is honed to perfection, the energy within it is dangerous. Most of the men who learned to handle duvals ended up dead. There are two duval swords and the warrior is the center between them. In a way, it's the same as the retea. If the turnuls are perfectly made, a fereastra will be created. But here, when everything is in harmony, and it's not just the swords that matter, a very effective and devastating weapon is created. Energy flows from the swords to the body and back again. A fighter with such a weapon poses a great danger to both the enemy and himself. It is enough if he is sick, does not feel in his own skin or is otherwise weakened. The very training and routine handling of duvals can become fatal to him. Only twenty-five men were found in the lowlands who had conquered the duval swords. Only twenty-five out of so many. Can you imagine that, boys?"

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We couldn't. Neither of us. We shook our heads and waited tensely to continue.

"I don't know how the Twenty-Five controls the duvals or how they practice with them. They have their own lapidary - a listener who takes care of their duvals. He is said to be one of the best. Duvals are unimaginably sharp weapons. Honed for each man separately. It depends on the energy of the individual using duvals. It's actually his own rokha. Rokha is also tailor-made, and it's the same with the swords. Duvals are a source of incredibly destructive power, boys. It takes several months to produce them. And then a few more before the fighter befriends them. It's a long process. But I myself have never seen the Twenty-Five use duvals. I only once heard another listener say that to someone who can listen, the sound of duval swords is an unreal beauty. He couldn't even describe it. It is said to be a very specific sound. Unfortunately, the fighters themselves do not hear their weapons. They only feel their energy. Maybe it's better that way so they don't get distracted during the fight. The men of the Twenty-Five are trained in both the modern arts of fighting with weapons from the lowlands, as well as fighting with swords and other weapons used in the Duval Mountains. They train armies. They recruit soldiers. They do everything so that the cities can defend themselves before the Twenty-Five arrives.” The master stopped in front of a small window through which several streaks of winter sunlight fell on the ground, lingered for a moment, then turned and asked conspiratorially, “But do you know the main reason behind the foundation of the Twenty-Five? "

Another shake of the four heads followed. I wasn't the only one who stopped breathing in amazement. Bazil's loud gasps for air reminded me to open my mouth and breathe.

The master nodded his head in understanding. "Of course. You can't know. You were born and live in Amaria. And such reports are kept secret so that the glaziers do not riot too much. Amaria was the first sclenite-making city. The site was carefully chosen by the original glaziers. And they chose well. It is the best fortified among the sclenite-making cities. It is impregnable.” The Master's index finger tensed emphatically and rose to the ceiling. “While the guard sees everything that happens around the city, no one sees them. We are safe and well protected here…”

“Protected from what?” Kastor cut in, fearing the master would skip that part. We would then have to search for the rest of the knowledge among the lapidaries as in other cases when the master did not want to talk about something. But we were children and our curiosity was irrepressible. We always learned what the master tried to hide from us.

"From a creature we call a nasterea," revealed Master Agadon. His eyes wandered over our voals for a moment to make sure we were indeed hearing about this threat for the first time. Only then did he continue.

For now, I was clenching my hands into fists in frustration. Another word I've never heard of!

“Beyond the shield, in that gray impenetrable cloud…” continued the master, a shadow settling on his face as if the story was draining him, “…long ago the life of the enemies of the lowlanders ended. None of them were left. No one survived. And so it was for many years. But then, unexpectedly, a new life was born on the other side. In those terrible conditions, something began to move. But no one can tell what kind of life it is and what kind of beings survive there in that cloud. And especially how. Originally, lowland scientists expected the poisoned air to dissipate, but that did not happen. As if the poison on the other side was feeding on something. It is heavier than air, it stays above the ground. Sometimes it even seems that the poisonous clouds behind the retea do not even move. They are not progressing further over the sea as they should. They just keep above the ground, as if they are afraid of the water. As if they weren't even clouds. No one can understand why this is so. This is also the reason why the retea was built only on land. Unfortunately, all attempts to see through the cloud failed. As on our side, the shield is so powerful there that all the machines of the lowlanders stop working. Everything falls apart in those gray drifts. And when the lowlanders sent their scientists out to explore, none returned. So it's a big mystery to all of us what's going on on the other side. Unfortunately, nastereas started attacking our cities. The first attack was recorded more than a hundred years ago. They can get through the shield…”

"But that's not possible!" warned Kastor, frightened. "You yourself said it was impossible!"

"I know, Kastor, I know," the master assured him immediately, his palms facing the ground trying to ease his panic. “Nothing from our side gets through the retea, and neither does anything from the other side here. But that goes only for the things we know about. However, we know nothing about those creatures. They are a mystery to us. Nasterey are quick and stealthy. They invade cities, destroy sclenite mines and attack trade caravans. That's why the Twenty-Five was founded. A normal soldier won't kill a nastarea, but the Twenty-Five can with their swords. If they arrive in time and have a chance to show off their weapons, the nasterea will literally run away and won’t be seen for a long time.”

The Master's words set off a barrage of questions.

And what do they look like? What are they? How many are there? How does the Twenty-Five drive them away? What do those swords do? Why are they called duvals? And how did the lowlanders even figure it out? And are we in danger?

We were terrified of the unknown beings, but at the same time we couldn't suppress our curiosity. The questions came pouring in one after another. Master Agadon just sat there, elbows resting on his knees, watching us in silence. My head was boiling and my mantle was sticking to my sweaty body. I couldn't remember the last time I felt so scared and excited at the same time.

"I don't know the answers to all your questions, boys," he informed us sadly as he polished his glasses. "I wish I knew, but I don't. I don't know exactly how duvals work in combat. Only the members of the Twenty-Five and their glazier know that. I don't know what nasterea looks like. I've never seen one. I can only tell you what I have heard. However, I can explain to you how people from the lowlands came up with the idea of creating duvals."