Every person—no matter if they are a man or a woman—must have a goal in life. Some kind of guiding star that they will follow throughout their existence and perhaps never reach... A worthy goal elevates and brings meaning to life, but its absence or a base nature plunges one into the abyss of despair and inexplicable melancholy. And only when fate itself makes the choice for a person, there is no point in discussing or even thinking about its advantages and disadvantages. All that remains is to grit your teeth and move forward...
From the diary of Radomir the Destroyer, Patriarch of House Cheringar.
The thing Malk hated the most was long, tearful goodbyes, alternating with hackneyed instructions and vague threats. Especially when a long, uncharted road lay ahead: your soul is already there, beyond the dusty turn, yet you are forced to stand on the platform convincing those seeing you off that you can survive without their strict supervision and care! Somehow, it felt off, wrong. Though Malk wasn't exactly an expert in family relationships. His mother never even saw him off to boarding school, his stepfather was always away at work, and his sisters... well, his sisters were at that age when Malk himself often slipped into a moralizing tone and overused instructions.
So, of all people, he was definitely not the one to judge what's right or wrong in other families.
Malk adjusted the strap of a backpack digging into his shoulder, moved back the wooden suitcase that had ended up at the very edge of the platform, and prepared to wait further until the numerous members of Helavia's family finished instructing the daughter who was going to the cultural capital of Boreas. Her mother, younger brother, two nephews, and two unmarried aunts from her father's side—all were chattering, touching her clothes, fixing something, and trying to slip something into her pocket. And every now and then, they glanced at Malk, grimacing as if they were seeing a demonic slug. It was good that Helavia's father wasn't here today—a minor nobleman who, until last year, had seen no shame in mingling with ordinary mortals, but after finding favor with the new governor had significantly changed his attitude towards those around him, especially his daughter's suitor. Any meeting with him ended in a scandal, and Malk tried to cross paths with the esteemed Lizar Gulor as rarely as possible...
As he indulged in his thoughts, the door of the armored car suddenly clanged, and a gray-haired bearded conductor, straining to extend the ladder, announced the start of boarding. Malk, being closest to the car entrance, hurriedly handed the man his passport card and the ticket, colorful with various stamps. All he wanted now was to get away from the gazes of Helavia's relatives as quickly as possible. The appearance of the conductor became a real salvation.
The bearded man studied the document carefully, ran his glowing hand over the ticket—a Colhaun Railroad emblem instantly flared up in the air—returned the papers, and, muttering the number of Malk's compartment and seat, turned to the next passenger. The lad who just barely crossed adulthood's threshold no longer interested him.
This was precisely what Malk had been waiting for. Nodding to Helavia, who glanced back at him, he grabbed the suitcase and ran up the steps into the vestibule. He turned in the narrow passage, trying not to bump anything with his backpack, and headed deeper into the car. Even though this was his first train journey, he knew where to go and how to behave. Although, to be honest, he still feared deep down that he might mess up and embarrass himself.
Silly, of course, but Malk couldn't help it.
Finally, he reached the needed compartment and entered. The small space with two pairs of bunks and a tiny table was dimly lit—even though the armored shutters were up, the thick window glass let in little light. So, he didn't immediately figure out which of the upper bunks was his...
"Don't block the passage, bumpkin!" a cheerful voice suddenly sounded behind him, and Malk felt a sharp poke in his side.
"Then what about you?!" he retorted out of habit and, turning around, lightly punched the speaker in the stomach. "Didn't expect you, Tolfan! Thought you'd stay home..."
"May Yorrokh gobble up your tongue, Malk! What would I do there?! No fool would swap boarding school's rules for father's dictates!" the fatty exclaimed, widening his eyes, then paused, looked around cautiously, and squeezed into the compartment, his belly pushing his friend further from the entrance. "The farther away from Lokia, the better," he whispered, adding, "And if something happens, I can always come back."
Malk smirked understandingly and, after throwing his things onto his bunk, quickly climbed up. Over the years of their friendship, he had studied the fatty's character inside out, so the latter couldn't fool him with this fake bravado. Tolfan was driven to Andalore by ambitions, and those ambitions were backed by the money of a not-the-smallest Colhaun magnate. And to make them a reality, the fatty was willing to go to great lengths...
"And here I am, boys!" Helavia didn't just walk in—she burst into the compartment.
Having quickly pecked on the cheek the flustered-as-usual Tolfan, she gave a much more sensual kiss to Malk, who had leaned down from above, and then returned to the corridor. In her place, a station porter stepped over the threshold with a huge travel trunk and began stowing it under one of the bottom bunks. A minute later, only the trio of friends remained in the compartment.
"Phew! Freedom!" Helavia exclaimed and, with a tinkling laugh, sat down at the table. Right across from Tolfan, who was staring out the window.
"We'll yell about freedom once we're on our way. It's too early now..." Tolfan grumbled, suddenly looking glum, but Helavia, who had finally escaped her family's care, just waved off his words.
She was in such a mood that nothing and no one could spoil it.
Meanwhile, Malk nimbly climbed down from his bunk and sat next to the girl. Helavia welcomed his appearance with a smile.
The conductor ran down the corridor, peeking into each compartment and warning about the imminent departure and the need for those seeing off to leave the car. Then followed a few minutes of chaotic hustle and bustle and cursing until the doors finally clanged shut and, after a noticeable jolt, the train started moving.
"Now it's the time!" Tolfan's loud voice broke the hanging silence in the compartment, and he placed a bottle of dry red wine on the table. Another moment, and three glass goblets, almost filled to the brim with the ruby drink, as if by magic appeared beside it. "And this needs to be celebrated!"
No one had any objections. Malk himself didn't even realize how he was the first to raise his goblet and propose a toast:
"To the fulfillment of our shared dream!"
And in response, he predictably heard:
"To the dream!"
The trio of such different friends, who had become so close over the years of studying in the Colhaun republican boarding school, was on their way to conquer the cultural capital of Boreas. And the first step on the path to success—at least, Malk, Helavia, and Tolfan genuinely believed this—was studying at the School of the Three Saints. A school that hundreds, if not thousands, of boys and girls across Colhaun could only dream of getting into. And the very thought that in just a few days he would face the entrance exams for outer disciples made Malk's heart beat faster.
They were going to enter a three-star School! A place where Magisters taught, where one could learn high-ranking Arcane Arts and powerful spells, where members of renowned Families received their education, and where the foundation of each student's future development was laid. Magic and connections, personal power, and career growth—that's what the illustrious School offered its students. And it was what the trio of provincials sorely lacked.
Of course, there were even more prestigious educational institutions. The Academy of the Four Elements, the School of Iron and Blood, the College of White Gloves—all of them belonged to the highest league. Members of powerful Houses did not consider it a disgrace to study there, Senior Magisters and Archmages conducted research within their walls, and the best graduates gained access to almost any knowledge. It was just that studying there cost such money that Malk, Helavia, and Tolfan combined didn't have! And that's not even mentioning the need to have a talent for magic and a special Lineage.
The latter was especially lacking in Malk. According to his mother—when she found the strength to talk to her unloved offspring, she loved reminiscing about her past rich life—he was born into an ancient House whose offspring were famous for their strong blood and inclination towards magic. And that's why the men of the House didn't fear marrying not just simple noblewomen but even ordinary mortals. Which is what happened with Malk's mother. The heir of the House fell in love with a common city girl, married her, conceived a child, and that child... came into the world as a "dud." A talentless bastard, devoid of even the smallest signs of the House's founder's Legacy.
Such things occasionally happened even in the most renowned dynasties of mages. But while for ordinary nobles this might just be a cause for grief, the high aristocracy saw it as something beyond the acceptable. The mortal beauty who had once captured the young Magister's heart barely had time to realize what was happening before they performed the rite of renunciation over the son and then threw her out of the family manor along with the child and divorce papers.
The fairy tale ended, and real life began...
In truth, the "dud" stigma didn't particularly bother Malk. By and large, besides his relatives, closest friends, and the only person he could call a mentor, no one knew about it. But when applying to a School of magic where one of the exam stages was awakening a magical Gift, this couldn't be hidden. And that meant he had to set achievable goals, not aiming too high...
Of course, money could solve many problems, but the forty gold drachmas allocated by his stepfather were barely enough for the first year of study at the School of the Three Saints. Dreaming of higher-ranked institutions was out of the question!
Though it wasn't just Malk—Helavia and Tolfan also decided to limit themselves to the Three Saints. And that's despite their parents having money and connections and them themselves not lacking in talent. Malk had seen the results of his friends' Ka Sphere tests. Tolfan was predicted to get a Gift of medium strength after the initiation rite, while Helavia was suspected to be a future genius. And if the machine was not mistaken, it was a serious claim to become an inner disciple of a School.
In this company of future mages, Malk, born a "dud," stood out like a sore thumb. And only outstanding results in ordinary "civilian" subjects allowed him to hope for successful admission. After all, magic is not only about spells and rituals; it's also about serious research. And talentless Malk could give any magical genius a head start in this regard.
So, he did have a chance to become an adept of the School of the Three Saints, he did! And he wasn't going to miss it.
"Why the long faces?!" Tolfan's voice suddenly interrupted Malk's musings. And it became clear that for the past few minutes, a heavy silence had reigned in the compartment, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of wheels. "Such a toast, and you ruined it..."
"No one ruined anything, fatty. It's just... there's a strange feeling in my heart," Helavia replied, suddenly serious. "It's like we're crossing a threshold right now, after which everything will be different. Really different. Everything will change: the city, the people, ourselves. And there's no turning back..."
The girl frowned and suddenly looked much older. Already familiar with such a state of his girlfriend, Malk immediately hugged her and kissed her on the neck. And Helavia's gloomy mood instantly passed. She sighed and gave the lad a tender smile.
"Though, maybe I just don't want to grow up..." she continued.
Which deeply outraged Tolfan.
"Holy intercessors, growing up! Hel, you might as well mention old age!" he exclaimed. "We're young, smart... I don't know about you, but I'm also handsome!.. The whole world lies before us!!! And if there's one thing I don't want to regret, it's our childhood at the boarding school. Right, Malk?!"
Malk smirked:
"I'm not sure about that, you and Helavia only studied there for the last three years. Yet you talk as if it's been ten..."
"But you've been there for eight!" the fatty exclaimed. "And I still don't understand how you endured that nightmare."
But Malk chose not to continue on the topic. No matter what Tolfan said, the boarding school was home to him. A bad home, but a home nonetheless. His mother, disappointed in her "dud" son, who deprived her of wealth and social status, sent Malk to a boarding school as soon as he learned to be independent. And she never made any attempt to take him back, allowing him to return home only for holidays.
As for his friends, their situation was entirely different. For them, the new place of study was something like a temporary refuge. Helavia's father, Lizar Gulor, hid his daughter in the boarding school from old enemies who had shown up in Colhaun, while Tolfan's father, Bolivar Sugron, left his son there during his trade voyage to distant countries. And when life's troubles ended, the children returned home...
"She never came to terms with it?" Helavia suddenly asked sympathetically, hinting at Malk's mother and her unfortunate first marriage.
Malk just shrugged:
"Not a bit. Glad she at least didn't interfere in my talk with my stepfather when I asked him for money. She could've..."
The conversation petered out on its own after that. Tolfan tried to mumble something about future prospects, but Helavia buried herself in a book, while Malk returned to his bunk and demonstratively started rummaging through his backpack. The fatty had no choice but to wave them off and go to sleep. A few minutes later, he was snoring, and half an hour later, Helavia fell asleep too. Malk was the only one left awake in the compartment.
Mentally pleased that no strangers were traveling with them, he furtively looked around, took out a notebook deeply hidden among his belongings, and once again began studying the notes he had left there. It was one of Malk's most valuable possessions—his working journal. Not a diary with reflections on the day's events, but a journal with plans for the future, the most important ideas, and notes about thoughts that mustn't be forgotten. And although all the entries were encrypted—the boarding school life taught him to hide his secrets—Malk preferred not to show the notebook unnecessarily. Not even to his friends.
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So when sleepiness finally overcame Malk, before diving into the realm of dreams, he returned the journal to his backpack...
Only Malk couldn't really fall asleep. Instead of a full sleep, he entered a very strange state. Some form of exhausting and draining trance. Without any recognizable—even if phantasmagorical—visions, but with extremely painful sensations throughout his body and terrifying premonitions. At one point, Malk couldn't take it anymore and woke up, realizing he was lying on his back, his face drenched in eye-stinging sweat. And he recognized the familiar inner tremor known to every Colhaunian, which arose whenever demons were nearby.
Demons?! The alarming thought made him shake off the sleepy stupor and grab the knife lying under his pillow. How could there be demons here?!
Malk strained to listen to the surrounding sounds, and after a few moments, his efforts were rewarded. Despite the clattering wheels, his ears managed to catch heavy footsteps on the roof of the car. Considering the speed at which the train was traveling and the thickness of the armor, it definitely couldn't be a human.
"What's going on?!" Helavia and Tolfan exclaimed in unison, waking up just a bit later than Malk. "Why does it feel like Yorrokh's Night has started again?!"
"Because the train's guards overslept, and otherworldly creatures are loafing around on the roofs of the cars!" Malk hissed at his clamoring friends and hastily started pulling on his pants.
For some reason, the thought that he was in a passenger car of an actual armored train no longer gave him a sense of security. And he didn't like that at all.
"Then why are we sitting here?! We need to tell the conductor!" Helavia said loudly and quickly glanced toward the window.
Malk followed her gaze and exhaled in relief—the armored shutters had been put down, so there was no way for the creature to get in here. He even prepared to say something, but what exactly—he forgot a couple of seconds later, when a powerful blow shook the entire car, and a deep dent appeared in the ceiling right above his head. It was as if a demon of an unknown breed hadn't just hit the roof but had aimed directly at him.
Malk didn't realize how he rolled onto the floor with the knife in hand, pulled the stunned Helavia off the bunk, and dragged her out of the compartment, barking at the gaping Tolfan along the way. What had happened only dawned on him when he found himself in the corridor, and that's when he also picked out, among the piled-up sensations, the pressure on his temples and crown that had appeared out of nowhere. The demon was clearly attacking not only on the physical plane but also mentally. And Malk had no idea what was worse—the creature's ability to damage the reinforced armor or its skill in driving its victims into a magical stupor despite defensive enchantments.
"What the heck is going on?!" Helavia finally exclaimed, having somewhat recovered from the enemy's magic.
Instead of an answer, another blow from the demon followed. But if last time it hit the roof, now it attacked the armored shutter on the train window. And strangely enough, it was again right at the spot where Malk and Helavia were.
"What the flur is happening?!" Malk growled, swiftly turning towards the attacked window and raising his blade in front of him.
He didn't believe he could actually take down a real demon, but it made him feel a bit safer...
However, when under his shocked gaze the armor plate began to slowly crumple and pop out of its slots, Malk cursed again and started retreating towards the conductor's compartment, trying to stay between the point of enemy breakthrough and Helavia.
"Tolfan, may a golem screw you! Get out of there!!!" he remembered his friend who hadn't left the compartment.
But the latter wasn't in a hurry to come out into the corridor or even respond.
Malk was about to take another deep breath to shout again when the soldiers guarding the train finally intervened, and the seemingly critical situation was instantly resolved.
First came the staccato of multiple grapeshot guns firing at the demon from armored platforms placed along the length of the train, then one of the cannons boomed. And it must be said, it was the artillery that brought the attack to an end. The soldier manning the cannon must have borrowed luck from one of the Nine Saints, managing to hit the demon perfectly on the first shot without damaging the cars. All Malk heard was a muffled explosion, the crackling of shattering glass, and then the drumming of blood on the armor of the train car.
The demon's attack was repelled. And when it became clear after a couple of minutes that there would be no further hostilities, the entire train car sprang to life. Doors were slamming, other passengers began peeking down the corridor, the conductor appeared from somewhere—and all these people started staring at the still tense Malk and the hiding behind him Helavia.
And it was not the kind of attention one would call pleasant.
"Let's go back to the compartment," Helavia whispered, and now it was she who pulled the still-shaken by the experienced emotions Malk back.
However, if she hoped to wait out the surge of curiosity there, she was mistaken. In the compartment, Tolfan was waiting for them. And the fatty had questions too.
"Yorrokh's seed, what just happened?!" he yelled as soon as the couple stepped over the threshold. "Noise, commotion, cracking... I can't make sense of anything, it's like I got hit over the head with a sack of sand, and my legs feel like jelly. When I came to, I saw this..." Tolfan pointed to the ceiling adorned with a noticeable dent.
"Consider it the start of our journey to a bright future," Malk grumbled, pulling the sheath tangled in the bedsheet from the bunk and sliding the blade back in.
He didn't like what was happening at all, especially the strange coincidences with the places where the monster attacked. People from Colhaun, a province long considered cursed, were used to all sorts of things—more frequent and prolonged Yorrokh's Nights, ghost attacks, and bouts of "night" madness among mages who had let their guard down—but everything has its limits! The demon's mysterious selectiveness was not what he expected from his new life.
Or maybe Malk was overdramatizing, and for reasons known only to the Saints, he clung to a simple coincidence?! Alas, there was no way to get an answer...
The friends couldn't sleep anymore. The car that had been attacked, particularly the most damaged compartment, was frequented by unwelcome guests, from the conductor to the train head. Everyone looked at the damage to the railway company's property, shook their heads, sighed, and left without listening to Helavia's complaints. They didn't even move the friends to another compartment, leaving them to admire the traces of the demonic attack. And the girl, who had taken on all the negotiations with the local authorities, had hoped for some compensation!
"Seriously, did you think you could squeeze a dozen or two bright drachmas out of these skinflints?" Tolfan asked when the exhausted and sleepless trio gave up on saving money and went to have breakfast in the dining car. "Do you know how many similar incidents happen on the railroad in a month in Colhaun alone?! If they paid everyone, they'd go broke."
"Fatty, it was worth a shot," Helavia snapped back, clearly very disappointed by the failure.
"True enough," Tolfan nodded and, apparently unable to stay silent for long, turned to Malk. Giving his friend a scrutinizing look, especially lingering on the backpack neatly placed next to him on the seat, he asked sarcastically, "Hey, I don't quite get it—why did you bring your bag here? Do you think there's something in it that a thief or... better yet, a demon would want?"
Tolfan laughed, inviting Helavia to join in mocking their overly cautious friend. But the still-frowning girl didn't support him, and the merchant's son chose not to continue the joke. It was dangerous to amuse himself at Malk's expense alone: the latter could very well take offense and give his over-the-top friend a good thrashing.
However, the fatty worried in vain. This time, Malk wasn't angered by his friend's silly jabs. On the contrary, he himself thought he was overdoing it with the safety concerns. And that's why he honestly told Tolfan, nodding at the backpack:
"I've got a travel blunderbuss in there. And yeah, it makes me feel a bit more at ease having it handy!"
Tolfan choked on his tea at that and, after coughing, stared at his friend as if he were a madman.
"You brought a blunderbuss to the dining car?!" he hissed. "Mind you, I'm not asking why you brought that ancient junk from home in the first place. But to the dining car?!"
This finally stung Malk, who was about to snap back, but Helavia came to his defense:
"Tolfan, everyone protects themselves in their own way. Malk drags that musketoon around with him, while you, as I see, got a new pouch on your belt. Quite a distinctive shape..." she said with a smirk, and Malk saw how her words embarrassed the fatty.
Tolfan ruffled his hair, then adjusted the lapel of his coat, covering the pouch Helavia had noticed.
That piece of equipment for an experienced traveler and warrior was called an "avalonch," or "Avalon pouch," and it stored glass cylinders with folded single-use spells. Undeniably a handy thing, but quite expensive. For instance, Malk was seeing one for the first time.
"Alright, alright," Tolfan raised his hands, showing he gave up. "I feel uneasy too. And if I initially thought about selling my father's gift, now I'm even glad to have it."
Helavia, with feminine spontaneity, immediately began asking for more details about the gift, and for a while, she and Tolfan got engrossed in discussing the set of spells the fatty had. She even managed to convince him to take the pouch off his belt and show its contents. Out of the corner of his eye, Malk, who found the topic frankly uninteresting, even managed to see the markings of fire offensive spells, something from the water arsenal, and the characteristic stripes of an earth defense magic.
Even though all the spells were no higher than the first circle, they certainly didn't come cheap.
However, Malk was always indifferent to other people's wealth, so he soon lost interest in his friends' conversation and buried himself in the newspaper brought by a waiter. Fortunately, his interest in Boreas' news was anything but idle.
Colhaun was always inward-focused, preoccupied with its own problems and concerns, and viewed the outside world through a lens of indifference. Malk had long shared this perspective, and it was strange to expect otherwise from a kid! However, now that he found himself in the big world, maintaining the same detachment was impossible. If Malk wanted to adapt as quickly as possible to his new surroundings, he needed to keep his finger on the pulse of current events. And there was no better helper in this than a newspaper!
Malk skimmed the headlines. Judging by them, journalists were still concerned with changes in the price of magical energy, the possible tax reduction for Gift bearers, and the recent resonant speech of an Adept from some little-known School in parliament, complaining about the exorbitant educational expenses. News about the latest actions of loyalists, monarchist rallies, and demonstrations in support of the Council of Regents, on the other hand, had slipped from the front pages to the back, alongside stories of social soirées and the amusements of bored aristocrats. Truly important things, like the signs of the approaching longest Yorrokh's Night in a century, the strange calm in the border waters with Heimdarch, and the aggressive behavior of Arktavia's trading companies in the northern Boreas market were clearly ignored. He had hoped to read about travel incidents similar to the one that happened at night, but those hopes were also dashed.
The articles of the "Colhaun Railway Herald," as the publication was called, were completely devoid of substance and utterly uninteresting. At least, they were to Malk. So, he set the newspaper aside with irritation.
He turned to his friends, but hearing that they were now, for the hundredth time, discussing the merits of choosing the School of the Three Saints, he barely restrained himself from slipping in a caustic comment. He stopped himself just in time and, instead of participating in useless arguments, started studying the people in the dining car. At least some form of entertainment! But it didn't last long. The more he looked, the more a sense of unease grew inside him, and he couldn't understand why.
Malk even started thinking about stepping out to the vestibule to get some fresh air, but then his gaze caught the face of one of the dining car's patrons, and he forgot about everything else. At a table to the right of the exit, where a noisy group of three guys and one girl—either students from some School or apprentices from a craft guild—were sitting, in the seat closest to the aisle, sat a dwarf. And not just a short man, but someone strange: blue-skinned, with bulging violet eyes and odd, almost rectangular pupils, a hooked nose hanging down to a frog-like mouth, and short, bristly hair resembling rusty wire. And to top it all off, he was dressed in a shapeless gray robe, stained with red spots of unknown origin. And this so unusual person, who looked too much like the product of failed experiments in crossbreeding human and demon Lineages, was staring at Malk with the gaze of a gourmet eyeing a delicious dish.
Moreover, when their eyes met, the dwarf stretched his mouth into a grin—revealing a mouth full of triangular shark teeth—and slowly nodded. Not as a gesture of politeness, but as if promising something... something bad and unpleasant for Malk personally.
At that very moment, the inexplicable unease tormenting Malk disappeared, replaced by the anticipation of quite real problems.