Magalla found a clean pond in the woods later in the afternoon. She used its waters to cook some pork strips and duck eggs she got from a village's women five hours ago. A few simple disappearing coins tricks were enough. After supper, she washed herself and her clothes in the shallow water, put up her camouflage-green tent and fell asleep. So far she liked Landhapis very much. The climate was much warmer than the one in Solummger and Magalla, who has always liked the sun and heat and didn't mind getting a little more sweaty, enjoyed walking in this weather on the cobbled roads with a company of parrots and butterflies. The country was less populated, clearly, the technology was at least a few decades behind, no aeroplane was disturbing the sounds of nature. Seeing all the flora and shades of green it was hard to believe what she found in books about this land's history: a dry and hard to farm place where humans couldn't feel safe in front of virtually any animal. If that was true it was a very long time ago. Now she was falling asleep surrounded by the sound of mosquitoes that tried in vain to sample the warmth of her blood.

The morning came with a pretty horrible way to wake up. Something was tingling her face and mouth with thousands of tiny hairs. She shook it off and opened her eyes to looked at not one but four pairs of pitch-black eyes attached to a hairy small body on eight not so small legs. She let out a scream and jumped out of the tent. No, she was not scared of spiders. On the contrary, they have been her favourite ‘bugs’ for being clever, unusual and fascinating. But here? On this continent? They had such a bad reputation that even a fearless arachnophile like Magalla was not happy with the encounter (not to mention the sudden and unpleasant nature of it). Most of the spiders' species in this land were poisonous, the one that entered her tent didn't look friendly with its red stripes and the size of a rat. She didn't fancy checking the 'don't judge by the cover' theory.

It took her an uncomfortably long time to find the monster among her clothes, by the time she located it and threw it into the bushes the spider had a company of another five co-species, a scorpion and three things that Magalla couldn't classify and they run before she could take a closer look. At last, her personal things, sleeping bag and tent were carefully checked, cleared and folded back. She went to the bushes to empty her bladder, having checked the twigs and dark nooks and crannies.

'That was quite a wake-up!' she said to herself aloud, took a deep breath, stretched and smiled. Yeah, she still liked it here.

'Wait, is it oranges I can smell? Yes, and a hint of lime,' she continued dialogue with herself. Taking her belongings she followed the citrusy aroma. It led her to a small orchard right behind the woods. A woman was bathing a toddler in front of a white painted house with a round roof made of waxed teal leaves. She smiled and said:

'You are the woman who slept by the pond last night. Are you a traveller or a run-away?'

'Good morning', Magalla replied, 'I'm the first.'

'Oh, a foreigner I hear. Solummger, I hope?'

'That's right.'

'How do I know you are not a Skey-Er spy?' the woman asked sharply.

'Well... I don't know. How can I prove it?' Magalla replied, taking a step back.

'That's fine. If you were a spy you would have your answer ready. You look confused so for me you're not a spy. Come, have some breakfast.' She wrapped her son in a towel, picked him up and waved for Magalla to follow her to the house. They went through a small mudroom where they left their shoes, and followed to a sooty kitchen with a dining table. Magalla noticed the furnace and stove were of an old design. She wondered if it's characteristic for the country or if this household is built in the old style.

The little boy was left with his toys by the cupboards while his mother was bustling about the table.

'Did you meet a Skey-Er spy?' Magalla asked a few minutes later, having been served a warm bun baked with cloves and goat yoghurt in a tall glass.

'Yes, two weeks ago or so. I could tell he was a foreigner: round-eyed, curly hair like a swallow nest. Here we keep our hair short or straightened,' she explained and paused to admire Magalla's dreadlocks. 'Yours is nice. But it looks heavy and too long. It would annoy me. Anyway, he spoke without an accent but I could tell. It was on the orange farm. Yes, there's an orange farm behind my garden. It belongs to the family, I am one of the owners. I'll sell you fruits for a good price if you want. Wait here, watch my boy. I'll bring you some to try.'

Magalla wanted to protest. She has never watched over tiny people who couldn't even talk. Before she could protest the woman disappeared somewhere in the house. Fortunately, she reappeared before the boy would notice her absence, or kill himself with a toy (which was what Magalla imagined would happen).

'Here, try.' The woman said, handing her a bowl with freshly peeled oranges. Indeed, they were sweet and juicy and after a short time, Magalla reached for her newly earned Landhapis coins.

The little boy was also very interested in the oranges whose fresh smell filled the kitchen. He wobbled on his short plumpy legs towards the table and saying ‘dehli dehli dehli’ tried to climb Magalla's knees, very much to both women's surprise.

'Usually, he either ignores or runs from strangers,' said his mother, watching his efforts with curiosity.

'Ekhm… what should I do with him?!' Magalla cried.

'Nothing. He won't fall dead, even if he falls on the floor. If you don't like it - put him back on his pillow or tell him to go to mamma. It's really not a steam engine science,' she said, clearly amused. 'Don't let him take the fruit if you don't want to be covered in the juice.'

‘Oh, I’m not scared of kids. Actually, they are my most important clientele. I am a street performer. It’s just I have never babysat any of them.’ She said at the same time realising the boy knows very well how to keep his balance sitting on her knees. He became very interested in her dreads, playing with the long hair gently with the most genuine delight she has ever seen in a human being. She moved the bowl to his reach. The boy took a piece and nibbled on it, the juice and saliva pouring down his little hands and chin.

'Oh, that's fine. There's nothing that can't be washed,' she said with a smile. 'Bite it, bite. No, don't swallow it all... too late. Was it nice? No? You see, I told you. Yes, I did, you nod. Next time you listen? Yes, good boy.'

They ate for a few minutes in silence, then Magalla remembered what the woman said at the beginning and it raised her curiosity.

'The Skey-Er spy you talked about. What did he want?', Magalla returned to the topic that interested her.

'Oh, he acted very politely. At first, I thought he was just a traveller. There is a road behind the woods but strolling here is much more pleasant for someone on foot. Nature, the views, the air. Not to mention my business, everybody leaves with my oranges. That man... he was too good behaved. He was too concerned about my business too.'

'How? Do you think he was an economic spy? If that's how it's called, I don't know.'

'He was asking about our farming methods, about energy sustainability, fertilizing, about all the technological stuff. I told him none of it is his business. And do you know what he said?' she looked disgusted with the memory.

'He asked what would I say if there was someone who would come here, to my orchard, and help improve the business for free!' she exclaimed.

Magalla was confused. What was so appalling about it? Why would a help offer be offensive? Soon she understood when the woman continued:

'I told him to go away. I said ‘hands off this country’. That moment I knew he was from Skey-Er, that wretched country, which has been finally planning to conquer us, enslave and take the land, all while presenting themselves as saviours!' she said and made an imitation of spitting on the floor.

‘Yes, I see. They hed been biting at your western border for generations. And now this war… you think they want to finally get more than a bite...’

The host nodded in silence.

Magalla stayed for another half an hour, taking advice about the best ‘picturesque route’ towards the next town. The woman gave her some goat cheese and a bread-like loaf that smelled of wood and cinnamon. She didn't want to take money for that, only for the oranges to help run the orchard.

While walking, Magalla was pondering over the story she heard. Was it what the woman claimed? The Landhapis' arch-enemy has finally prepared the ultimate solution? Is this war so serious? What her new military friends told her was that, despite nobody really knows what the two continental countries are fighting over this time, the history of their conflicts implied that Skey-Eer wants to take full control over the despised lands. Now, with the woman's words (which should be taken with a pinch of salt, she was well aware of that) a new light shone on the case. If indeed there was a Skey-Er spy in the far east, so many miles away from the forces' concentration, something was not right. The conclusion was hanging in the air: 'this war is different.' Some things have changed, the question remains what and where.

The next several days of her journey was for her a dream come true. The road took her back towards the east and the moutains that made a wall between the interior and the coast could be seen all the time. Not as high and dreamy as Solummger's mountains, not topped with snow-covered majestic rocks where, somewhere, Special Forces Domicile is located. The name of these mountains suggested that a very long time ago, maybe when the climate of the planet was slightly different, the chain had its snow and the view must had been much more interesting. Or less? Magalla wondered if the presence of snow would really add to the visual effects. Maybe in fact green would look more amazing. She looked for hours at the distant brownish peaks imagining how would they be perceived if the main colour was something else. Would white caps scatter the sunlight in the evenings or maybe thick green grass turned it into a fairytale? How about crocuses! Oh yes, that would do, waves on waves of blue, purple and violet. Crocuses were not growing in Landhapis. How about those Firewheel trees? Wouldn't it make the mountains look like waves of blood that want to swallow the whole land? Or would it be too far to see the colours and all would blur into grey?

Then the road would take her further away, avoiding craters that were left there by long-forgotten wars when the other continents were still alive and able to deliver death. The inverted mountains now filled with water and calmly steaming the vapour under the hot northern sun. Magalla liked the heat. She liked the way her skin was getting warm and soft, the tickling of sweat under her shirt, but above all the craziness that possessed nature. The closer to the tropic the more energy she was getting from the view soaked in ardent rays, from the smell of blooming greens and from the buzzing of tens of thousands of insects searching for their "the ones" of this moment.

Sometimes she would just sit and inhale the air feeding her eyes with vibrant colours of of the land. Sometimes she would march to a song playing in her head and she would laught aloud at imagined conversations she had with fantoms in her head. The boots were comfortable as usual, no sore feet disturbed her. The people in the settlements she was passing were welcoming, polite and generous when it came to paying for entertainment. She was not hungry and did not have to be afraid of falling asleep in wildness in the night. She thought to herself how wonderful the journey is and how different it must be right now for thousands of soldiers somewhere to the west, maybe taking a simultanious walk with her. She was filled with calmness and joy, they would be filled with either fear or excitement, or both.

She reached Varralla, a lovely region of vine and hemp when she started overhearing disturbing gossip: ‘the three armies met, Landhapis and Solummger against Skey-Er, in an unpredicted and unprepared battle. Why? How? A general leading the troops while reading a map upside down’ (a Public Laundry by a Stream version). ‘A diversion that went wrong when a flood came’ (a Corner Bakery in a Sleepy Yown version). ‘It was all prepared but the politicians want us to believe otherwise, wake up and turn thinking on’ (Under the Remote Mental Asylum’s Open Window version). Nobody seemed to know where it happened either. At first, Magalla didn't pay much attention to the rumours. She walked into Nimeldat, a gorgeous town of pink painted walls and moss-covered roofs, located on the crossroads of three main tracts of this region and spreading along the roads. There, listening to the travelers in many of the town’s pubs and shops, she finally glimpsed the full picture. Indeed, there was a battle by the (here comes the name she didn't know what it refers to, a village or a wood, a strange name she couldn't remember). It was Landhapis' superiors who stood behind the decision to take the enemy by surprise. The armies clashed one day in the evening and everything was over before the moonrise. The coalition won but there was no time to celebrate. The strike was very badly prepared, without proper investigation and Skey-Er didn't suffer sufficient loss. Instead, they got very angry and fuming with a desire for revenge. Now it was Landhapis and Solummger trying to run and get more time for preparations.

She wondered every day what happened to the people she talked to not so long ago. Did they fight? Were they still alive?

Kyeta and Ottaine separated shortly after they left the camp where they were stationed after the sea voyage. Kyeta's and four other platoons were taken by cargo carriages straight towards the north. Ottaine joined a smaller group made of all the forces representatives to catch up with the already stationed folk. Unlike on the ship, she didn't have much time to look at the stars or talk philosophy. There were letters to carry, orders to pass, strategies to learn by heart, questions to discuss and answer. 'What kind of terrain do we find in northern Landhapis?', 'How does the traditional Rule of Five Factors apply to the new situation?', 'Types of weapon used in the latest conflict.', 'Do we sail our krools here or not?', 'Can we train wingfingers to deliver cargo over midland battle spots?', 'Does anybody know if the army has a proper dragon tamer on the continent?', 'Yes, I know, here you have his name and the name of a ship.', 'How many clad food tracks can Landhapis sent to the front?', 'Are you seriously asking about vegan options in time of war???'

The journey was tiresome, or it would be if Ottaine weren't an essudus, taking her companions' stamina and strength. She would prefer sucking the energy from local farmers and shop owners. They could just lie down for a couple of hours or eat a nutritious meal and would be fine. But no, Landhapis people are not used to the essudi's presence, the deal with their government does not include using the civilians. Ottaine was left with no choice but to use the same people over and over again. Even though it was not necessary to Demand more than once in a few days she started noting rolled eyes and almost soundless moanings when she approached them to ‘feed’ again and again. They needed to be in good shape too, being tired too often was weakening their fitness. Her colleagues were used to fatigue and sweat, not overwhelming weakness as if blood was drained from them, that's what the feeling was. She wished she could stop, be like the old Ota from before the Domicile... no, she did not wish that. She was trying to be embarrassed, not to enjoy her new possibilities, and to be a bit more humble. No result, she truly felt her body working on some higher level, being more efficient. If only it would come without any side effects. Or maybe if her intelligence was increased too... that was her only wish which could never come true.

Finally, they arrived at the city of Shim, a city by no means comparable to the splendid urban centres of Solummger: filled with modern houses with shared atria, tall offices, streets made of even stones and hardened mortars, echoing the sound of engined vehicles and the smell of fresher air coming through the aerating tunnels. Shim was relatively tiny and cramped, however, it presented itself much better than Port Town and Solummgerians would call it a very pleasant antique town. A central rectangular place, a manor and three temples, houses packed together with dirty alleys here and there. It did not stink, a sign of a working sewage system. The buildings had fresh looking light paint, in shades of white and creamy yellow. A typical for the Landhapis central and north (unlike the south with predominant dark wood). People here had round or square faces and almond eyes. Most of them had rather wavy hair, not curly, many women wore them straight. Ottaine, who loved everything about hair care, quickly noticed little shops and stands with colourful, long ribbons you use to wrap around wet strands of hair and wait for it to dry. In the villages they were passing, she saw women leaving the houses in the morning with such hairdos and she even considered buying one or two ribbons for her sister in Virikko.

The locals were looking at the Solummger soldiers with a mixture of curiosity, annoyment and liking, depending on the looker. The soldiers were there to help with fighting with Skey-Er, the old enemy, which was earning them gratitude. But they have been stationed in the proximity for long enough to become a sort of a burden on the local community, using its food, smiling at their unmarried men and women, crowding shadowed public houses after dark, shouting and singing in the middle of babies' bedtime.

There were talks in the shops, by the fruit stands in the main square, in the atria and in the town's farm gates. People talked about foreigners, how they looked differently, how in their difference they resembled the bloody Skeyernials, their godless attitude and lack of morals. Outside, the locals were smiling and nodding, giving free homemade food and asking the foreign soldiers if they needed anything else. Behind the doors, in their homes and workplaces, the friendly faces were changing.

'Godless nation. How many of them go to the Mother of Freemen temple? Do they say prayers after leaving their tents? Has anybody saw them on their knees?', was a furious mechanic's grievance in front of his clients. 'My son says they don't have many temples on their island. Do you hear that? They are godless people! Godless! How can they help us if gods are not with them?!'

'My woman saw two male soldiers leaving the Wheat Street tavern embracing each other.' said one of the men waiting for a new cartwheel part.

'Disgusting!' exclaimed the mechanic.

'Yes. She didn't see properly, it was after dark. They walked off this way. She says they walked a pretty straight line, you know what I mean. It was not helping a drunk friend thing. That's what she says.'

'They're strangers just like Sky-Er. Even stranger, with all those rayways and those Cruels - military dragons, excetera excetera.'

'Rayways are good. I think it's called railways. Skey-Er invented them. You travel faster.' marked the first man. 'And it's Krools, with "K" I saw it in a paper.'

'Ok, what else?', the other man was clearly pissed off. 'Maybe next you tell me I say 'excetera' wrong?!'

'Sorry. I did not mean offence...'

'And Skey-Er invented them? What's that supposed to mean? If Skey-Er invented them it's evil's work! That's what it is! Bloody fuck-what-ways.'

Ottaine was ordered to join a command group. As a young, inexperienced officer she was to sit, listen and be quiet. The army needed essudi in their ranks, hence the older general she was about to serve under was very pleased to see her. 'An extra shield. Good' he murmured when she presented herself after the arrival. She didn't know what her skills and knowledge had to do with any kind of 'shield', literal or figurative.

She took a top bunk of a triple bed at the back of a spacious tent where she was led by a soldier her age. He was not talkative, in fact, he looked very tired and a little bit nervous. It was not for her presence, she was sure about it. It was what was going on: the preparations for marching, constant talks about Skey-Er's army approaching, guns' cleaning, and spears' sharpeners' high-pitch scraping. Ottaine walked around the camp, joined the queue for a stew, talked to her tentmates (all older than her, infantry soldiers) but it didn't go well. They were not happy about the same thing her travelling companions were complaining about: they were the clear first source of the essudus’ 'food'. They were respectful and answered all her questions without trying to be friendly, having formed a firm group emanating disfavour for the outsider.

Shortly after the sunset, she was summoned to the headquarter tent where she met the highest rank officers and the old general, the first in command here. He didn't like to keep eye contact with anybody, his rather short posture and slim albeit muscular body reminded her of a predatory bird, a falcon or a buzzard: quiet, quick, and deadly efficient. He was talking over a table covered with a map and moved his finger over certain military positions.

'They want to march too quickly. They don't know what Skey-Er is up to, not to mention where their main forces are.' He said with a not surprisingly quiet but sharp voice.

'Yes, general Snevser...' a younger female major replied, 'you are right. And how will we force them to slow down? If they don't use enough intelligence it is their problem.'

The general bashed the table with his fist.

'It is our problem the same as theirs. If they fail - we fail. We are bound together, we joined them so this is our war too!!!'

'But, General, what I mean... they will go, we stay a little back, they get defeated and then they finally listen to our advice.'

'That's very pretty. And how many soldiers do they lose? A hundred? Five thousand? Ten souls? You will stand and watch young people, somebody's children and somebody's parents die? No. No. Do something to speak to their senses. Who is up north? Any essudus?'

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

'Sir, it is illegal...' The woman tried to protest. Ottaine knew what she was thinking. It was illegal to use mental influence on foreign subjects, and clearly, that's where the old general was heading. He wanted an essudus to force someone to say something to someone else and thus change the decisions.

'You tell me what is and what is not illegal when we fail to save lives. Yes, yes, I know they will die in the next battle,' he waved his hand like he was trying to get rid of an annoying insect. 'So what. Maybe they will. Maybe not. I will not leave anything to blind chance or worse, to somebody else's stupid decisions. So, who have we got up north?'

'There's young...' started the major.

'No. Somebody older than thirty. Kids are not trustworthy,' he interrupted and Ota, who was clearly in her twenties, felt disappointed at this remark from a man she had just started adoring.'

'There's also Varsheghom and...'

'Ah! Varsheghom! She's a good one. Send her a letter. I will write it tonight.'

While walking the camp Ottaine started realising how privileged she was as a Special Forces soldier. Unlike all the others who were part of their detachments and groups she was free to choose how to perform her daily routine and exercises, she could easily leave the camp with just a wave of a hand to the guard. No strings to pull her and no duty (apart from a personal sense of it). Frequently she kept asking herself if she's still a soldier or rather a mercenary employed by her government. Or a princess in the army, officially the same as any other, practically above every commoner whose actions will be overlooked. Of course, she didn't know any royalty and wasn't even sure if a real princess would be actually given extra privileges. This was only the common conception people had about blue blood, a scenario very easy to imagine.

She used this privilege to watch and listen and gather information. During the first night, she heard her tentmates whinging about the locals.

'Those people... at first I thought they were the nicest people in the whole world, smiling and with open arms.’

'Yes, we all did. And then you find out how they call you behind your back.'

'And how they treat each other! This is unbelievable! When the local borough sent this offer to financially support local businesses who struggled because of us, Solummgerians stationed here, you know what they did?'

'A sensible move would be to apply for support together, helping each other.'

'And those imbeciles started writing denunciations of each other, counting who has more money, checking who is selling goods that should not be sold...'

'Should not be sold? Something illegal?'

'Don't be so naive. Everybody here has an opinion about what others should do with their lives and businesses. A baker would steam hate for a confectioner, wine drinkers beat up moonshine drinkers... they can't be supportive. All they do is pretend and lie while being selfish, stupid, ignorant idiots.'

'If that's how they all behave I wonder how this country still stands.'

'We all see how. On shit, prejudices and overgrown ego.'

'Shit the most. Do you remember Port Town?'

'Don't even remind me.'

Ottaine couldn't help laughing inside. These were exactly her thoughts about the country. A little bit of education and gaining self-confidence would not harm. Landhapis had great potential as a country and as a society, it was lacking trust. Once they see not everything and everyone is a threat they would start the changes. Even better if they did not see their neighbours as selfish predators that want nothing but to get rich and fat with a minimum effort.

Magalla would not agree with them. In her journey that took much loonger than she expected, she did see prejudice, self-adoration that was simply ridiculous, and a lot of backwardness. What else she did see was generosity among neighbours when somebody was in need, hospitality that did not ask for repayment or reward, standing up to each other in front of somebody's hate speech. This nation had it all, good and bad, heroes and cowards, open minds and closed minds, beauties and beasts. In the last stop before reaching the capital, she spent the night in her tent on the outskirts of a village. When spotted she was given two meals, change (quite a lot, coming from several people) for lodging in the city and good vibes. Ottaine's new acquaintances would wonder how long could such behaviour towards her last if she stayed a few nights more, or how they would judge each other for giving too much or too little to the 'poor soul'. The truth is Magalla couldn't care less. She knew people can be both good and awful, as long as she was safe, she was fine. Her skills were very much appreciated in these parts of the world where essudi and their powers were unknown and street art was rare. Even the authorities didn't trouble her with permits and fines, all that hustle she had to deal with in Solummger. Here the towns' mayors clapped their hands with the rest of the audience, tossed generous amounts of money and sometimes offered her kind of permanent employment, which she always refused with a gracious smile.

She had been on the way for long enough to happily accept the end of her travelling. In Solummger winter would be taking over, passing with her white cloak throught the fields and streets. Here, much more north and closer to equator, the sun was still waming up the earth and it was tropical rain that would fall from the coulds. The capital looked splendid from the distance, on a vast plain, spreading across the horizon. A vast lake to the west was spreading the sun rays like a joyous silver plate, artificial waterfalls in the distance fed watermills' humming blades and enormous fields of crop and rice were stretching as far as the eye could see.

The city of Fuerumig used to be an independent kingdom thousand years ago and even today it stood out in its flamboyant splendid colours and richness, almost comparable to Rekeeren, Solummger capital. Full of hope and excitement she walked towards Fuerumig gates.

The City Library proved to be a gold mine: whatever Solummger burnt and destroyed was still available on the Landhapis' shelves. She had already read Sigir Solgeghom's 'Art of Enlightenment'. Twice. It was a three thousand years old treatise on how to achieve full control over your body, including those parts your mind doesn't tell you about, and energy sourcing through mental and physical practices. The text was describing exactly what she had done. The book claimed all humans have this potential within them since the time the Frozen Continent was inhabited. Something changed at the twilight of one old civilisation: dragons re-born and humans seemed to change. It was a shame, the book concluded, the change was not to last. It 'fell asleep' as Solgeghom named it, only a few maintained the ability, just like any talent, perfect pitch or excellent memory. But like with any talent, it shouldn't mean only those who exhibit it can do the thing. Solgeghom knew it, Magalla knew it. People were made to believe only a few can be essudi, people who take energy from the living being to shape it and use it in an almost magical way. What's more, only Solummger was looking for them to train and was looking in military schools. Magalla could not find any reason for that. She kept reading the ancient treatise to be more and more convinced the whole ‘feature of personality’ was, in fact, an effect of some forgotten technology. The details were full of words that lost their meaning a long time ago and hence the explanation became obscure. What was important here was not the past, not the beginning of things, but that humans had been lied to for centuries about how much is possible! She looked around the silent library. The world had settled into wars, impotence and unjustified traditions. The civilisations were rising and collapsing so many times and the dreadful word ‘apocalypse’ rumbled from mouth to mouth on too many occasions to remember. The old knowledge was lost, the pre-ancient world was dead, the Frozen Continent holds to its treasures in the icy embracement of everlasting oblivion. The only souvenir left was the dragons.

More and more often Magalla was thinking about the people she met a few months ago, the three soldiers she spent a short time with. For such a long time she had been alone she forgot how it is to have close friends. She envied them and now regretted she didn't try to get closer to them, to stay in touch somehow. It would be so nice to just write to someone about what she thinks, what bothers her and ask for a second opinion. Despite being her juniors of seven years they were good, very good companions. The girls were a bit naive: Kyeta treated life and her youth like a gate to happiness without searching for deeper desires and satisfactions. Ottaine, sometimes showing 'the smartest in the village' annoying attitude, must have been a typical kid who had learnt she's always right. Now as an adult she became more modest and with the right amount of insecurity. Her intelligence was rather average, maybe a little above, however, she had an open mind and was not afraid to look into the unknown and walk the undiscovered path. That's what Magalla treasured in her. Verlar seemed much more mature and older than his two friends. Magalla spent very little time with this pensive sailor with whom she felt most attached, a person who liked to really look into the questions before giving an answer, a humble thinker who seemed to be able to smile even in pain and had very piercing eyes, looking right into you. Kyeta was saying those eyes could make a bloodthirsty beast stop and listen, and Magalla knew it's true. Both girls truly loved him: Ottaine as a friend and Kyeta, in her heart full of chaos, as everything she could find a name to. Verlar was in love with Kyeta, a fresh and shallow love with the potential to settle in forever or die in a day.

Magalla never had such friends. As a child, she was a peculiar creature preferring the company of adults to her peers. Unlike other kids her age, she could always understand what the grown-ups were talking about and despite her self-aware lack of anything wise to comment, she loved being the witness of those conversations about the mysterious life that was ahead of her. While her sister and cousins were playing in the next room Magalla was sitting in a corner pretending to play with her doll and absorbing everything that reached her ears. She knew that the Funny Long Name guy has another name - Prime Minister - and the name passes from person to person. She knew her parents and aunt Kiki don't like him but liked his mother (or sister?) who had this name before him, and that her grandma and grandpa don't like listening to bad things about the Funny Long Name, they love him because he visits them and gives them money for thinking (she heard a lot about Pensive Money grandma liked to spend on her grandchildren). She understood when they were talking about kids. She learnt her and her sister's nicknames (Berry and Bee) they were using if they wanted to talk about kids in front of them (usually Magalla in a corner with her doll). The memory of her parents' faces when finally she used the nicknames in conversation was something that after so many years could make her smile. Her mother told her later how terrified she was that her daughter knew their little secret and her father couldn't stop laughing.

In time her keen interest in the adults' talks changed into disappointment. They were not omniscient and couldn't agree with each other. Moreover, very rarely they could change their minds about what they thought they knew, even if the evidence that they might not be right was clear. She swore at the age of six to never be such an adult. She still enjoyed watching and listening from behind her toys pretending to play with cuddly rabbit Bluebell and Bluedome the train. She learnt all the ‘grown-up’ games rules just by observing aunts and uncles playing them, even the more complicated ones where you had to count to a thousand. Of course, she already knew all the numbers.

When she started school it was a mix of being bored and upset. She could understand everything but reading and writing was a failure. How could anybody tell the difference between all the letters that looked the same? How could anybody remember which side is left and which one is right and when to draw a dash on this or another side?

She passed through the school years quietly giving an impression of both a genius and a silly thing. Yet it was the school that formed the Magalla who was a courageous explorer. It taught her that talent is not something you have to possess to be able to sing, run fast, understand maths or read people. It is simply one thing you don't have to work on when you want to be successful. In other words, no matter how untalented you are you can find a way to play a trumpet, crotchet, or understand something. Convinced this is always the case she embraced the idea of essudi being strongly talented people but not destined to anything unless guided there. If she had been spoken frankly to by any essudus she would learn that indeed the full potential of energy suckers must be unlocked, triggered. She, however, did something more profound - turned herself into one. With such achievement, she was hungry for more knowledge and more boundaries to be proved to be only social beliefs. Not finding anybody who falls in with her ideas among close and distant family or friends, she excluded herself from social customs and turned to books and solitude. The hope of finding a mate, a partner, a worthy opponent in a discussion led her into a filthy tavern on Solummger west coast, occupied by young soldiers heading to the warzone. Alas, she realised her true motifs weeks after she abandoned the people she befriended during the journey to the continent. Yet it made her decide that from now on, she would start looking for answers not only in the paper but in living people too, still hoping to find an ally.

Running out of money led Magalla outside the city library for the first time in many weeks. The room rent had been paid for a month in advance, unlike her food. No access to a stove meant more expensive takeaways and taverns and the silver in her purse clinked more and more quietly. It was high time to get out and earn some coins.

A rectangle marketplace with exquisite dress' shops, jewellery stands and well-maintained cobbles was a perfect choice. The clientele was rich and - what's more significant - nonchalantly relaxed. Leisure shopping required time, time was making people more eager to stop and look. Women and men choosing materials for an elegant dress were potentially interested in all art, that was her target audience. For today she had prepared feminine clothes of delicate green and blue muslin with sleeves and tunic that would spread like a fish fin. Usual tricks and acrobatic performance should be sufficient.

She unpacked her magical accessories (completely irrelevant, just a mysterious background of the show). Started doing some warm-ups when some heavy hand landed on her shoulder. A male voice with a Solummgerian accent asked:

'Reporting off duty, soldier? Name, rank, group. Speak.'

'Actually, I'm not a sol...' she started saying and turned around. She saw a familiar face with the bottom half covered with ugly blisters. The eyes - she knew those eyes, young and laughing, below narrow boyish eyebrows.'

'It's... you! I met you on the ship!'

'In the docks to be precise, yes. How long have you been in the city, Magalla?'

'Since... six or eight weeks I suppose? I'm not even sure. What happened to you, Verlar?'

'It's nothing, not a war injury yet. Just some minor burns. An accident with dragons.'

'I see. Wait... what? Now dragons breathe fire?!' Magalla pretended to be puzzled.

'Long story, wingfinger's wings and tris' poo, you don't want to hear the details. Now I have to scare kids with this - he pointed to his chin - for another ten days, at least.'

'Yeah, you do look disgusting. Great!', Magalla had a sudden thought. 'You can be my assistance! I was just preparing for a silly show, I'm running short of money you know, I could use your new look to scare the kids away.'

'Wait', Verlar stopped her feverish enthusiasm. 'I'm a soldier. On duty, all the time. I can't...'

'Of course. You represent the uniform and the country. I wasn't serious about hiring you.'

'Looks like the suffering blunted my sense of humour... Scary to think what kind of person I'd become after a battle,' he replied with a smile that took away a bit of his temporary ugliness.

'Well, I really want this show done,' Magalla said apologetically. 'Maybe... can I give you my address in the city? Can we talk some time?'

'Oh, I'll be happy to wait here as a spectator. Haven't seen you perform, Kyeta says you're the best.'

'Kyeta has no comparison being from Sjaell, there are no good street artists there, but thank you. You could toss the first coin', she winked.

Verlar did toss the first one and after Magalla's hat's inside was shining, her purse clinking and her ears filled with the glorious sound of applause, he walked her to the house where she now lived. On the way, Verlar told her he was forced to abandon his ship after the government had decided that Solummger would send its krools to the war. Indeed what is the purpose of a fierce dragon if not to increase the chance for victory? Moreover, when Landhapis' king saw how much havoc can one well trained krool cause, he demanded wingfingers to be part of his show too. What if - the king asked - we trained wingfingers to fly above a battlefield and throw explosives on the enemy's heads?

Verlar shared his thoughts on that.

'I disliked this idea. Wingfingers are gentle and joyful animals. In our society, they are a symbol of peace, children love them. Children, for heaven's sake! Now I am being forced to change those dragons into signs of violence? Teach them how to bring death and pain?'

When he finished talking Magalla looked at him with a solemn face.

'Verlar, you are talking about the project with disgust like it was all that matters to you. What are dragons compared to humans? You cry over children being stripped of their beloved dragon's innocence and haven't you thought about the kids' parents? Shouldn't they represent the safe port filled with love and empathy? For six years you had been training how to kill - now you cry over some animals being used as your accomplice? These children's parents you talk about will go out there and murder other children parents for being of a different nationality, maim them and humiliate them. Fuck wingfingers, Verlar. Fuck krools and horses, why does humankind so easily forget how to be decent animals and why do we keep killing for glory!?'

'Alright', she said with a faint smile after the heaviest moment of mutual silence. 'You have your duties. Your honour depends on listening to orders, I understand and respect that. I promise not to bring up the subject ever again if we see each other.'

'I hope to see you again. Your comments are disturbing in a very positive sense. You said I could find you in the library? Let me guess: the archives section.'

'Correct. Or here, room twenty-six,' she said pointing at the orange-painted door on a back street.

They said goodbyes and parted. Magalla was worried that maybe she expressed her opinion too abruptly. To be honest, what did she know about duty toward a homeland, about the responsibilities of a soldier and about everyday moral choices?

Years of trials and mental exercises opened her eyes to a vast universe that was another person's mind. Where has her experience gone? Next time she must start with asking questions, not giving opinions.

Verlar was glad they met again. It was a nice surprise to see that woman safe and prospering in this foreign place. She was right from the beginning, there was no need to worry about her taking the lonely and long journey. She was tough, cautious, cunning and possessed all the strength essudi had. He could only imagine what would happen to a person trying to mess with her. At least one person he knew was safe. And it was good to talk to someone. When he left his crew for a new duty he left his friends behind. The guys he had already made a bond with sailed back to the sea, Sined, his best mate from Academy simply stopped keeping in touch, so Verlar truly enjoyed good company. Magalla was a person easier to talk to than Ota, and Kyeta... he felt the burning again thinking of her... He wanted to listen to her voice, watch her face, observe the way she ties her hair, spy the blue abyss of her eyes... enough. When the war is over they will meet again and talk about, or even better - continue the stolen fifteen minutes of the last night on the ship when they bumped at each other on the lower deck after she had a little too much rum with Ota. Verlar was aware Kyeta treated it as a frolic, a little dent in the friendship. He was also aware of differences in their attitude to life, pleasures and relationship. Nevertheless, for him, those fifteen minutes were a sign of hope he liked to stick to when the war was coming closer and closer.

Kyeta didn't regret it. She chose to live a life when she never regrets anything. Do things she wants to do (the trick being to realise what is the thing she truly wants and distinguish it from temporary caprices) and do them fully aware of consequences. Alright, she was a little drunk that evening. But it wasn't her who started all this. And in the end, she stopped it before something serious could happen. That evening was a sweet memory with the frolic flavour. The big 'want' had to wait till after the war. It could be Verlar, who knows? Probably not... he has to see it himself and in the meantime, she will not make him her enemy because of his or her temporary caprices.

Right now she was marching with the rest of her comrades and some scared Landhapis’ recruits towards the enemy's line. Skey-Er scattered their troops along the border and slowly but consequently was moving. Where? North, of course. The allies had already clashed with the enemy a few times. Kyeta wondered if her friend had already fought. Ottaine was a good shooter. Maybe she has already killed the monsters with bloodthirsty mouths and was baptised with her first wounds? Oh no, not my Ota, gentle little friend. It would be great to meet in a battle and cover each other, then drink to the fallen ones and sharpen the spears before marching on. She hasn't made any new good acquaintances apart from a few guys she has already given 'the look'. First, they need to prove themselves worthy. This was not training, the war is here, she will choose wisely from those who do not show just a pretty face or nicely shaped backsides. Oh no, now Kyeta had a different type in her mind. Show me the strength of your character and your guts... maybe not literally. And she had to prove herself to them the same way.

During exercises and drills, she was giving her maximum and found out she just can't wait for the real fight. She was a little scared. How much does the real pain hurt? How does looking Death into his or her eyes change your reality? But then they passed a poor area filled with tiny villages. Little children playing with sticks and stones watched the foreign soldiers marching to meet Skey-Er before Skey-Er marched through their homes. Kyeta vowed she would not take fright no matter what end she might see for her. Her mates, just like her, first time going to war, were scared too. They tried to hide it with songs and toilet jokes, they were only showing their true thoughts. Someone had to stand up and lead them out of fear to honour and glory. The commanders were busy, nobody cared about the Landhapis recruits, nobody was coming with the hero to save the soldiers from their anxiety. And when want something so very badly but you see there is nobody around, it leaves only one person who can and will do it. You.

Verlar stayed a bit longer in Fuerumig, tasked with some administrative work. The vessels were fully staffed and he was being asked by Landhapis about dragons and their use in the war. He hasn't been even close to the front line, checking papers, answering questions about dragons and on one occasion speaking to the Landhapis’ king himself. The young ruler didn't make a good impression on him. Ascending the throne after his father's premature death, he grew proud and self-obsessed. His advisors and counsellors were knowledgeable people with valuable experience in their fields but the king liked listening to his intuition only. Sometimes to his pretty wife with an obsession with make-up and fancy footwear. The king wanted to know everything about dragons: how to enslave the wild ones if they existed, what is the easiest way to kill the scaled ones, how to trick them into obeying the master when the command is in a way with the animal's survival instinct. Verlar left the palace disgusted. Judging by the faces of other Solummgerians who attended the meeting, he was not the only one.

Now he enjoyed spending time with his new friend with dreadlocks. What she found out about essudi was fascinating. Many times she proved that her powers were not much different from the ones Special Forces members possessed. Alas, the path seemed difficult and required either many years of practice or exceptional focus and dedication. Magalla had proved the impossible was possible and yet, maybe she was the only one who was willing to do all that.

When Verlar returned to the sea for more weeks she kept checking the library, walked the streets and talked to people. Several times she was taken for a Solummger soldier, her dreadlocks and her thick eyebrows were revealing her nationality even before she spoke.

Here, in Landhapis' capital, like in every capital and every big city around the world, at any time, people were less traditional, an outsider could merge there much easier. But even here certain hairdos have never been in fashion and the beauty standards required women to tweeze their brows into narrow arches.

Her tourist status concerned the authorities too. What would a Solummgerian look for in this country, for so long? Books? Our library is not bigger than yours? Do we have different book stocks? And it takes almost three months to read them?

Which way did you take to get here? Where did you sleep? What did you see? Don't you know we are at war? Where in Solummger were you born? Who can testify that you are who you say you are?

She was fed up with this, the library had fewer and fewer interesting volumes to offer. She started listening to the news about the war. It was getting violent and scary even though still far away from these parts of Landhapis. Now the fact that she was from Solummger did not stir distrust but curiosity and gratitude.

Time was passing. One day she was sitting on a bench by the lake outside the city walls when a familiar figure approached her.

'I didn't know you were back, Verlar! Lucky you came here, for such a long time I didn't know this marvellous lake existed! She said solemnly. For the last weeks, she had been feeding her thoughts not only on books but on the news from the front. She was so proud of her compatriots, of the people she had the privilege to personally meet. She started coming to sit in this quiet place a week ago, after the big news.

Verlar's face healed, if there were any signs of the previous burns they were hidden underneath a short beard, but it was his eyes that changed. He sat down next to her without a word and looked at the water.

'How are you?' she asked after a long silence.

'Did you hear about the Firewheel Field battle?' he asked back with a hollow voice.