I bet some of you know that feeling, as if a massive slab has fallen on you, and each breath is such a struggle that it feels like molten lead is pouring into your lungs instead of oxygen. You lie there staring at the ceiling, not understanding whether it’s day or night outside; everything becomes one. Images flash before your eyes, hundreds of thoughts race through your mind, and there’s no way to grasp anything, no way to stop this chaotic carousel of consciousness. You feel a slowly growing sensation in the tips of your fingers, as if hundreds of tiny icy needles are piercing your skin. You want to cry, but there are no tears—they've been gone for a good hundred years. Once, I cried just like you and lamented my losses and failures, but that is long gone. Over these hundreds of years, everything has passed except for this unbearably heavy slab on my chest, which from time to time presses me down to the bed, leaving me completely immobilized. But even this won’t last long; countless stars have dimmed since the days when I could feel, when I struggled to understand why certain barbs pierced my once-human heart. Now I’ve almost forgotten what those emotions and feelings were called.

You shift the slab aside and simply say into the void, “Not now. Later, I will have time to understand what I feel later.” Stepping up to the mirror, you try on yet another mask, reminding yourself not to startle the passersby lost in their own concerns. Then, you open the door to a world where no one has waited for you in ages. Once, back when printed books were still popular, when people could read and truly absorb what was written, I accidentally came across a saying by someone: “We are born alone and die alone.” Back then, it seemed so absurd to me; I was young, full of energy, and swept away in a whirlwind of events. But the years went by, and I lost friends, decades passed, and I lost loved ones, and after a hundred years, there were no familiar faces left, and I began a new cycle. After a couple of centuries, the realization of this phrase comes to me in full measure. How could a person, in their short life, understand what came to me so late?

People flash by like bright images; for them, it’s an entire life, for me, it’s just a moment. But there is something that will remain in my cold heart like a prayer carved in stone — a debt. It may seem to whom I owe and what, but the answer is trivially simple: I owe it only to myself. Once, I came into this world and was shown that I could change it, that I could find something valuable in a pile of rags and dirt, and then I realized that this is my duty. I must continue to find and protect those grains of beauty that have been lost in this eternally foul swamp. So, no matter what slab lies upon me, I will be able to rise again and again; I will find those who still need help and show them another world.

But I’m not so selfless as to think only of others; I do this primarily for myself. I lost access to my native world due to the Shift and can no longer find the necessary doors, but recently I was closer to them than ever. My beloved Wotherhall, I will find you.

A few days ago, events occurred that would stay in my memory for a long time. While performing my duties as a Guardian, I found myself in a gray and uncomfortable world, where I was tracking a small but agile violator who constantly jumped between worlds and disturbed the locals. I walked down a dirty street, staining my polished shoes, while streams of some disgusting bubbling liquid flowed on both sides. The smell was so foul that it seemed appropriate to call for a plague doctor. From time to time, I encountered some creatures whose origins were impossible to determine, lying in those putrid ditches and showing almost no signs of life. Some of them twitched faintly and whimpered, while others were already dead. I didn’t feel sorry for them, as they had brought this upon themselves.

The drug, which was the main source of survival in this world, had incredible effects and irreversible consequences. The locals were completely immune to it, as they consumed it with water from birth, but for foreigners, it was a true gift and a curse. In every town across the planet, there were points for distributing this filth, and that’s where I was heading. They were easy to find; places where one could buy Charoit, as the locals called this intoxicating substance, were always marked by neon pink and purple lights. I didn’t have to walk long; within just 15 minutes of wandering in the gloom, a bright sign illuminated the area, indicating that a sea of pleasure and dreams awaited you right there.

It was the same kind of dim, semi-basement room as many of the other shops I had already seen. Behind the counter stood a seller in a little white coat with short sleeves and white gloves up to his elbows; apparently, this was the uniform of Charoit dealers. Small tables were arranged all around the room, each occupied by patrons of the establishment; it seemed to be a full house tonight. I found a small table in the corner and sat down. From this spot, I had a perfect view of those who were hooked on the substance.

By the way, this drug had quite interesting properties. It greatly enhanced everything. A user could run faster and longer, jump incredibly high walls, but the drug affected not only the body but also the mind. It stimulated all areas; under its influence, one became smarter and more resourceful, able to summon any memories they desired, making the sensations from them almost indistinguishable from reality. One could say that for a time, the drug could make all dreams real, turning fantasies into something physically tangible. It was no wonder that so many enthusiasts had gathered around this glowing liquid. But like all good things, Charoit also had a dark side. The use of the substance came at a high price; the body shriveled. The higher the concentration of the drug in the body, the faster the process of mummification occurred, as if all the moisture was evaporating from the body, starting with the internal organs. That’s why, walking down the street, I saw so many unidentified creatures; they had dried up and become mummified.

Lost in observing the patrons, I had the opportunity to witness all the stages of poisoning, from the euphoria of the first high to the realization of impending death due to something that had once given them wings. The flow of my thoughts was interrupted by the creak of a door. A creature in a hood entered and headed straight for the seller’s counter. Throwing back its hood revealed a head that I could only describe as something between an orc and a terrestrial shar-pei. Two huge white fangs protruded from its mouth, with neatly drilled holes through which a necklace of black and pink shimmering round stones was threaded. This necklace connected the creature’s left fang to its left nostril, and from its left nostril, a double thread of black pearls connected to its left ear; its right side was adorned in the same way. After a quiet exchange, the seller handed something to the creature and nervously turned away. Everything indicated that this hooded figure was a local Shaman, creatures known for being quite secretive and well-informed about everything happening on their planet.

Logically reasoning, I decided to follow the Shaman to inquire if he knew anything about my violator. I quietly slipped out of my corner and silently trailed the hooded figure. Of course, I didn’t fool myself into believing I would go unnoticed, but I wanted to believe that they wouldn’t run away upon realizing who I was. Thus, we walked silently, weaving through narrow streets until I completely lost track of the turns and time. Eventually, my guide entered a small two-story house; when I approached the door, it was slightly ajar, which was a good sign, perhaps.

Crossing the threshold, I carefully closed the door behind me. In the room, a bright fire burned in a well-lit fireplace, and the logs crackled cheerfully. From behind a door near the fireplace, a barking voice sounded:

"Well, hello, Keeper. Why are you standing there like a statue? Come in, since you’ve followed me all this way. You clearly want to ask something."

I quickly crossed the room and found myself in a space that served its owner as both a library and a laboratory. The homeowner was already without his cloak, wearing a splendid three-piece suit made of dense dark blue fabric. He sat in a chair, legs thrown over the desk, smoking a pipe and exhaling thick puffs of lilac smoke. I rarely encountered Shamans of this world, so I was very interested in observing him as closely as possible, especially since this time he wasn’t hidden by a cloak. All visible areas of his body were covered in dense, short cream-colored fur, including his face. His entire neck was wrinkled, and his cheeks drooped so much that it seemed they would soon cover his whole neck. On the powerful paw holding the pipe, there were only four fingers, and their pads were completely black and hairless. The homeowner was just as curious about examining me as I was about him. We were facing each other for the first time so closely.

"Hello, Shaman. I apologize for barging in so rudely," I said calmly, interrupting our mutual scrutiny. "You’re right; I do have questions for you, and I would appreciate it if you could help me."

"What do you want to ask?" the homeowner growled, not removing the pipe from his teeth. "And sit down already, stop standing there like a post. My neck is starting to ache from looking up at you."

Not surprised by such an impolite manner of speaking, I took a seat in the chair opposite my opponent.

"So, what business could bring such a distinguished Keeper to a place so filthy? Don’t tell me you’re here to experience the extraordinary effects of Charoite yourself?"

"It certainly sounds tempting, but I am quite satisfied with what I possess, and living in illusions is not my thing. I came for another reason. You and your kin know everything that happens on this planet. I am looking for a creature that is causing unrest across many worlds, and I’ve been informed that it is currently here. I think there will be a commotion here soon, so I would like to avoid any fuss, quietly catch the little one, and get out of here."

"You’re just in time," the Shaman replied in a bold tone. "Do you know what a Soul Stone is?"

"I have little information about it."

"It forms from Charoit. Many creatures come here wanting to enhance their mental and physical abilities; many chase an unattainable dream," the Shaman said, rising and beginning to pace the room as if speaking to himself. "Many have lost loved ones and use the drug to revive memories of them. But their fairy tale doesn’t last long. The more you consume this liquid, the more you crave it; the more it dries out your body, and eventually, the creature shrivels up and lies in the streets like a mummy. You’ve seen this, haven’t you?" Turning his head toward me, the Shaman continued, "But it doesn’t end there; mummification is not the last step. It continues for years. Charoit continues to dry out the body while transforming within it into a crystal, absorbing everything it can suck out from the victim's body. I’m not just talking about liquids, but also about energy. After five years, there’s nothing left but a dry shell, resembling a walnut, with an uncut Soul Stone forming in place of the core. Then, those like me and my brethren gather these stones, and with a certain ritual, we cut and polish them. You may have noticed some of us wearing necklaces made of these stones," he said, pointing to his necklace that connected his ears, nose, and fangs. "It indicates our status in society, but its primary value lies elsewhere. With these stones, we know what is happening around us. The larger the Shaman's necklace, the wider the radius he covers. These stones, like true souls, are connected to each other, even with those that are not yet fully formed; they communicate and whisper. They know what the body forming them knows. They alert their owner to dangers and strangers pursuing him," the Shaman said with a sly smile and winked at me. "Recently, we’ve noticed that someone has begun destroying the Soul Stones in some barbaric way that we cannot yet comprehend. Come, I’ll show you something." He beckoned me to follow.

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The Shaman approached a table and picked up a small jar. Opening it, he showed me the contents: two perfectly round black and lilac stones glimmering at the bottom. The Shaman placed one of them on a large metallic slab with a tiny indentation and, in the same moment, grabbed a massive hammer and swung it down hard onto the stone. I jumped in surprise. There was a horrible screech of metal, sparks flew, and when I regained my composure, the iron hammer lay shattered, and between its two pieces, the Soul Stone sparkled without a single scratch.

"I think now you understand that this little stone isn’t so easy to destroy. But someone has found a way and is trying to cut down our network and undermine our influence. I don’t know if they act alone or under someone else's orders, but we need to catch whoever is doing this as quickly as possible. So it’s very fortunate that you’re here. Perhaps the one you’re searching for is our troublemaker."

"Then we are all interested in doing this as quickly as possible. It seems we are indeed looking for the same creature. I would also like to hear about the last missing stone. Could you tell me where this happened?"

"The last missing stone was in the port area."

"That’s not far from that Charoit shop from which I followed you."

"Yes, that's right. But we still haven't determined the sequence in which the stones are destroyed and which will be next. The only thing we know for sure is that when someone foreign touches a stone, that’s when the problem arises."

"That will be enough; if we know which stone and where it was touched, I can handle the rest."

"Alright, then I'll inform my brothers that you are with us. Do you have a place to stay? I have a spare room upstairs; if you want, you can occupy it while we search."

"Thank you. I hadn't thought about where I would sleep, so I would gladly accept your offer."

"Since we’ll be living under the same roof for a while, you can call me by my name; it feels a bit too formal when you call me Shaman. My kin call me Alm. As far as I know, you don’t have a name, do you?"

"Yes, you’re right, Alm."

"Oh, and could you perhaps change that official tone of yours? I feel like I'm being interrogated by the Ministry."

I smiled at him without saying anything, and we went to see where I would be sleeping. The room turned out to be small but quite cozy. I settled onto the large, soft bed and began to survey my surroundings. Next to the bed, just a step away, was a tiny writing desk with a chair. In the far corner, about three steps from the bed, stood a wardrobe. Opposite was a door leading to a personal bathroom. That was all there was to it. I was lucky that I was not picky, I joked to myself; I had spent a few nights sleeping under a pine tree in the mountains, and here I was with so much in a room the size of a closet in my house. But I was truly grateful to Alma for providing me with this accommodation. With nothing else to ponder, I went to sleep.

The next morning, as I went downstairs for breakfast, I found Alm in a wonderful emerald green suit. He was sitting at the table, drinking coffee, and reading a newspaper. Of course, he didn’t need newspapers to find out the news, and they hadn’t been printed in any of the worlds for a long time, but as I understood from our conversation, he took pleasure in looking at this relic of past centuries every morning.

"You look like a real gentleman, Sir Alm."

"Good morning. The coffee is on the stove; sit down, I have news for you. Yesterday I spoke with my brothers; they said they noticed something strange in the area of the Mechanic's Street. We don't know exactly what is happening there yet, as our network is weak in that area, but after consulting, we concluded that the next stone is most likely to be destroyed in that region."

After finishing breakfast, we set out into the city to carefully examine the surroundings. According to Alm, all attacks on the stones had occurred at night when it was difficult to identify the appearance of the attacker. This indicated that the intruder was quite clever. I didn’t fully understand why he would want to destroy the stones. I didn’t think that anyone would do something so labor-intensive as destroying a Soul Stone just out of malice or simply to undermine the authority of the Shamans. Alm surely knew more than he was saying, and that fact made me uneasy. Still, I had no other option right now but to rely on this creature covered in fluffy folds.

Until twilight, everything was quiet. We sat in a small establishment after a long day. Alm was drinking something; I abstained because I knew that the local food and water would not sit well with me. At one moment, the Shaman tensed up like a string.

"Someone just did it," Alm whispered. "What a brazen thief! He’s nearby, how dare he touch a precious Soul right under the nose of a Shaman?"

Alm jumped to his feet so suddenly that he knocked over his cup, and the black, viscous liquid lazily spilled onto the white tablecloth, soaking every inch of it.

"Hurry! We can't let him get away! We can’t allow him to destroy another stone!" my new acquaintance growled through clenched teeth.

"Show me the way where it happened, I’m right behind you," I replied, already at the door and opening it.

"Don't fall behind!" Alm snapped.

Who would have thought he could run so fast? A couple of times, I even thought Alm was going on all fours, and then he would momentarily vanish from sight. We found ourselves in a dark alley piled high with heaps of twisted metal. The last rays of light disappeared somewhere beyond the horizon, leaving us nearly blind.

"I feel nothing. There’s no one here, but the stone seems to be in place..." - Alm wanted to say something else, but he didn't have time; we were blinded by a bright flash of green light.

Alm yelped and grabbed his side; I felt a strong jolt that painfully slammed me against the pile of metal, and the acrid smell of swamp hit my nostrils. I tried to get up as quickly as possible and rushed to Alm, who was whimpering and whining; his cloak was badly torn, and crimson droplets streamed through the fingers he pressed against his side.

"Are you alright? You're bleeding."

"Do I look like I'm alright?" Alm snapped angrily. "I don’t understand how I didn’t notice him; I felt no presence other than the two of us. Go after him! I’ll deal with my wound; it’s not fatal. Take the stone from him!"

I had no choice but to start the chase and leave the Shaman bleeding in the dark of night. I followed the wet scent that the criminal left behind, but I saw no one ahead of me except for a blurred shadow. Still, I slowly but steadily closed in on my prey. Just when I thought I was almost catching up to this intruder, they suddenly stopped under a streetlight. The shadow constantly vibrated, blurring its edges and thwarting all my attempts to see it clearly. It seemed even the air around us thickened and began to vibrate.

"Hmm… and who are you? I thought you were a Shaman too. But you don’t look anything like that dog face. What do you want from me? I haven’t touched you; leave me alone. This is none of your business! Get lost," the shadow hissed, sounding like an old, broken radio.

"I am the Keeper," I said, using the moment to catch my breath, my voice hoarse. "You disturb the peace of the worlds; I cannot let this go. Return what you stole and surrender."

“Oh… my, how terrifying! I’m trembling all over. Look!—” and the stranger laughed unpleasantly, further blurring the edges of his appearance and making the air around him almost feel vacuum-like. Now the swampy smell mingled with the fresh scent of ozone. “Alright, I don’t have time to chat with you; you’ve spoiled my plan and my mood. So, bye-bye!”

Something fell from his hands and rolled behind him, but I was ready. I expected another flash of light or something of the sort, but it turned out to be much worse—a portal opened behind the shadow.

"Are you going to chase me? Or are you afraid to jump into an unknown world?" the shadow’s last words echoed from the closing portal.

I didn’t have time for long deliberations, so I decided to jump into the closing portal, not knowing where it would lead me. I must note that this act was quite reckless, not only because I could end up in an unfriendly world or fall into a trap, but I could also get my legs cut off. When the portal closed right behind my shoes, I almost felt like I was falling into one world while my legs remained under the streetlight. I should have thought a bit more before acting, but on the other hand, I would have lost the criminal.

We were thrown out onto some sand; I hadn’t even had time to get up when another portal opened ahead of me. I ran forward with all my might and heard the shadow ahead yelling something, the only word I distinctly heard, repeated multiple times, was “Waterhall.” My heart tightened with pain and longing. Had he found the entrance to the place I had been desperately searching for? Would I finally see home? I began to lose focus and was immediately expelled from the portal, tumbling onto the grass. When I got up and looked around, I recognized the place. Without a doubt, it was the Borderland, under a familiar sky where stars twinkled gently, and the summer breeze swayed the grass, bringing with it the intoxicating scent of wildflowers. Everything was as usual—quiet and peaceful—except for one element: five enormous stone arches had appeared in the glade. These arches stood twice my height, with runes shining brightly carved all around their perimeter. I tried to read the runes, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know that language. Attempts to pass through led nowhere; a thick black veil was between the arches, not allowing anyone in or out. Even just peeking inside was impossible. Most likely, the key lay in the runes, but there was no chance to read them now.

I was so exhausted from this chase that I could barely drag my feet. I lost the criminal, but what was worse, I lost someone who might know even a little about how to get me home. I didn’t want to go anywhere; despair tormented my soul. So I built a fire in front of the arches, dragged over a log, and sat on it, covering my head with my hands. At that moment, my mind was just blank; I couldn’t think of anything, only the occasional runes I had seen on the arches floated into my mind.

I don’t know how long I sat like that. I was brought back to consciousness by someone’s quiet footsteps. I didn’t flinch when a warm hand rested on my shoulder. Since we were in the Borderland, the only one it could be was the Warden. He wouldn’t allow anyone else in here.

“Hello, Todeus,” I said quietly without turning around.

“Hello, Keeper.”

I lifted my head from my hands and looked at my former student. But at that moment, my vision betrayed me, and I saw not Todeus, but Emil. My boy, my Emil. You still appear to me in moments of despair and inner turmoil. How long has it been since you were with me? The haze faded as quickly as it had come. Before me stood a strong young man. The Borderland grants a long life to its inhabitants, but it cannot stop time. An even greater bitterness washed over me, and tears welled up in my eyes. The emptiness inside me was torn apart by the fact that those few dear to me had irrevocably left me. Todeus smiled sadly and sat down beside me.

"You haven't changed, Keeper. Years go by, but you remain just as you were on the first day we met. You haven't been here in a long time. And I see you've discovered them," Todeus nodded toward the arches, "before I could tell you everything myself. They appeared here a couple of days ago. I sent one letter to inform you and another to the Ministry. Initially, I thought the reason for such a large object appearing was that I hadn't been keeping a close enough watch on the borders of the worlds, but that turned out not to be the case. The borders are now stronger than ever. I think the doors have always been here, but they were under some kind of spell, and now they’ve awakened. The spells were harmless, which is why none of us noticed them. I think you’ve already seen the runes on them. Unfortunately, I’m not familiar with them. Do you know what they are?"

"I'm not sure where all the doors lead, but one of them definitely leads to Waterhall. I can feel it—no, I know it." Todeus looked at me with understanding, and I continued, "I ended up here by accident; I was pursuing a violator, but something went wrong, and I was expelled into the Borderland."

"Even you can’t control everything. You’ll catch the one you were chasing. Shall we go to the house, and I’ll make us some tea?"

"No, thank you. I want to stay here a bit longer. I need to think."

"Then I’ll go. Dawn is coming, and I need to prepare. We’ll meet at home. I’m glad you ended up here, even if perhaps not of your own will."

Todeus stood up and walked toward the house, while I remained sitting in front of the fire, enveloped in thoughts from all sides. The questions were increasing, while the answers were dwindling.