A drizzle fell. The sky was dull, sometimes lightening, sometimes darkening, though it was already eleven o’clock. Outside the windows stood crooked wooden huts and two-story houses, strung together with sagging clotheslines. In some windows, thick cobwebs were visible from the darkened rooms within.

  Smoke rose from chimneys or lanterns burned only in a few houses—most of the windows in this tiny town were boarded up. No one walked the streets, except out of absolute necessity, maybe to dash to the corner tavern and buy another bottle to drown the fear of tomorrow in alcohol. And then there were the beggars, slumped against houses under awnings, wrapped in cloaks and fur coats, matted with the filthy muck that filled the streets.

  The chapel on the town’s only small square had clearly been empty for a long time, its doors and windows shut tight. The monks had proved wiser than most people, caught as they were between two dangers: getting lost in the shadowy valley forests while fleeing, or falling under pirate occupation. The small shops scattered through the alleys were all closed without exception. A few manors once home to local elders were locked up; only in one garden a Nocturn was still trimming drooping rose bushes in the rain, and a light burned in the second-floor window.

  "Maybe you’re right," the old innkeeper said sorrowfully, seated in an armchair surrounded by soft sofas and bookshelves. They were having breakfast before setting out on the trail toward the grassy mountain slopes. The area Petros wanted to explore lay at a modest elevation, surrounded by yellowish cliffs that could be seen from the window.

  "Maybe you’re right," the old man repeated. His legs were stretched closer to the fireplace. "But it doesn’t matter to me anymore. Where would I go? I still have hope in our armed forces, to be honest. But even if luck turns away, what could they possibly take from us? My daughter and her husband live here, they don’t want to leave, though it’s long past time. They won’t abandon me and the old lady. Maybe that’s for the best. We live poorly. There’s nothing to take. You’ve got horses, you know the roads… You go. We’ll manage somehow, and if we don’t—may Aktos forgive our sins."

  Petros said little, mostly nodding. They had arrived in this godforsaken little town at the foot of the eastern slopes of Selinel at dawn, having ridden all night, pushing the Hellsteeds to their limits, or so it seemed to Kairu, who wasn’t used to riding so fast. He had only taken the armor he had ordered from the forge, and now was fully suited for battle. In the town’s only open tavern, they had slept a few hours for pennies, then ordered breakfast, oatmeal with milk (were there still cows here?). It was a true gift, and both Kairu and Petros devoured it in seconds.

  "Well, thank you, folks," said Petros with a bow. "We’ll be on our way. With luck, Aktos won’t forget your kindness to travelers. And we’re in a hurry, we better reach the Western Province quickly—maybe the storm will pass us by. Dark times are here."

  "Dark times indeed," the old man agreed. "But what can we do? Nothing to be done. Farewell, strangers. I’d see you off, but I can’t, my legs are too weak. I can barely walk."

  Petros bowed again, grabbed Kairu by the shoulder, and hurried down.

  They left the house, cloaked in their capes, crossed the yard, took their horses tied by the gate, and led them down the lonely path.

  The sky was milky white; the streams of rain seemed to be born not from a uniform layer of clouds but directly from the air itself, right above the ground, flashing like silver threads. The mountains lay ahead of them. The path had already left behind a small, rotting fence that surrounded the last of the huts and now led further on—first down the hills covered in bent, dark grass, then leveling out and stretching forward through tall stalks of some wild grain and sparse, wilted flowers. It was nothing like their triumphant ascent to the Olmaer Ridge, glittering with eternal snows. This was more like a short climb up a yellow, humped, and very high hill with steep, rocky slopes, among which wound a single navigable trail.

  They walked with heads bowed against the wind; the horses snorted and tossed their heads, water pouring into their eyes. Across the plain, scattered shrubs with fallen leaves stood alone, trembling and threateningly waving their black, bare, gnarled branches. Ahead, on the slope, the vegetation was somewhat denser, and farther off, where the mountains were not as steep, groves of low trees even grew on the plateaus. Here, at the northern end of the ridge, they were to climb the outermost mountain, only about a mile high, but further south, the peaks already darkened, piercing the clouds with sharp, proud ridges, seemingly ready to carve a path for the sun.

  "Are you sure it's here?" Kairu asked.

  "Absolutely." Petros's voice was muffled, hoarse, slightly rattling. It seemed the mage wasn’t pleased with the discovery himself. "I measured everything. In the Nalvin library, I found a detailed map of this area. The rails we’ve been following are somewhere over there now," he gestured northward toward the feathered expanse of fields smudged on the horizon, where the blurry line of forests ran.

  "Why did you bring only me?" The question had long itched on his tongue.

  "No need to trouble Viggo and Remiz. No need to shift burdens that aren’t theirs. Understand? This isn’t their problem, let them sleep peacefully. When you return, you can explain it to them."

  At last, they reached the mountain slope. First, the earth tilted, slightly rose before them, and they slowly, strenuously began the climb, sometimes clinging to bushes rooted tightly in the rocks. They found among the thorns something like a path they could walk on while leading the horses. They made it to the shade of a few lonely firs. Here, Kairu glanced briefly downward. The field looked like a smooth, gently rippling mass, a canvas of shimmering dark tones. Higher up, a few more trees bent; rain streamed down the yellow-gray rocks and gathered in murky puddles on the trail.

  "Now stand still," Petros said, lifting his head.

  Kairu stopped. They froze on a small flat area atop a rounded hill. Beyond, only more such hills rose, sparsely vegetated, resembling man-made burial mounds—some tall, others squat, with trees, long since bare, growing in the hollows between them.

  "Close your eyes, Kairu. Try to see this place as it was two thousand years ago."

  "What?" Kairu asked in surprise. "I see the future, not the past..."

  "It doesn't matter. Time is a single thread. You can move along it forward or backward. I know you can do it."

  Kairu obeyed. He closed his eyelids and, with a practiced motion, found that invisible thread of time and began to unwind it in his mind. Space no longer mattered—only magic did, the raw power surging through him. And the farther he unraveled the thread, the more the source fed him, the one located thousands of miles away...

  Backwards. His mind no longer belongs to him. These aren’t his thoughts but the feelings of the Diamond, connected to all its manifestations, to the crossroads of time. And to him, a seventeen-year-old boy who had received this gift—or curse.

  The rails… They still carry the imprint of energy. They stretch like a band through the Southern Province and pass there, beyond the distant hills. They lead to a place where the imprint of that magic had reappeared, brighter even than two thousand years ago, when a temple was built on the site of the crossroad of time. That temple is still here. Which means the passage is open.

  There. It draws him in, pulls him toward this place bound inseparably to his fate. There are many such places, but the impulses come strongest from there…

  He groaned, two forces were fighting inside him: his own mind and the mind of the Lake of Aktida, striving for that passage. Petros cried out, grabbed him by the collar, slapped his cheek. He shook his head weakly, agony coursing through every piece of his body, and then collapsed to his knees.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Wake up! Wake up!… I’m sorry, I… I had no idea it would be like this!"

  "It’s not your fault." He barely recognized his own voice. With effort, he stood, brushed off the mud-caked trousers. "I should’ve guessed… In other places, when I tried to see the future, I was far from anything tied to the Lake’s history. But now the passage is too close. That’s why it went wild. Petros, I felt it… inside me. Like I was the Diamond."

  "No," Petros corrected him seriously. "The Diamond, in some sense, is part of you."

  Kairu looked at him in surprise.

  "Let’s go. Did you see where?"

  "There," Kairu pointed toward the hills. "I saw the rails. They were climbing up the hills, then further, toward some cliffs."

  "Then let’s go. Listen… I know it’s hard for you, but sometimes you’ll have to look."

  "Don’t." Kairu closed his eyes. "Better this way. Just stay close behind me."

  Now he grasped the thread very cautiously. He tried to contain, to store in his mind only the smallest grain of information. And before his closed eyes, light seemed to flash. He saw the road, leading onward, to the tops of the hills. Saw the glow of the portal. Not so far—the main thing was to reach that high point.

  "Petros?…" The voice seemed to come from afar. "Guide me. Something might have changed here over the past two thousand years."

  And he walked. Carefully stepping on stones and soggy, squelching ground.

  Up. To the right, and up the trail again. Winding around, weaving among the hills, feeling the bracing, sobering torrents of icy water pouring from the sky. Further, straight… He doesn’t see, but he knows that when the crossroad appeared here, the sun was shining overhead.

  "Careful, Kairu. There’s a cliff on the left."

  Good. There’s another road… It can be bypassed… Up again, and he really does feel himself climbing a hill. Trees to the right. He walks in their shadow. Actually, there were many trees around. Two thousand years ago, they were tended to, and the gods were kind to their people. So why is the Diamond a curse for them?

  Closer to the goal. A descent, a crevice nearby. Yes, quite a suitable place for a temporary portal. Sheltered from winds and storms, and from unwanted human curiosity. Not on the hills, but on the solid ground of an unyielding mountain mass.

  "Kairu, the slope here is really steep. Are you sure?"

  "I don’t see another way. Sorry, Petros."

  "Look, there are the rails!"

  He saw them too—or rather, felt them. A descent, Petros’s elbow nearby, behind them the Hellsteeds snorted and stumbled. They were close. On the right—a sheer gray wall. On the left—a line of hills rising. The crevice led on, and finally opened to the northern slope.

  Hills again surrounded them. Scattered trees and bushes dotted the slopes. Ahead loomed a steep cliff, dropping sharply downwards. They were now walking along rails laid here by another path, from the northern side. Close. Energy surged within him and around him… One more descent and ascent, the final ascent…

  "You can open your eyes, Kairu. I see it. I can go on from here. Thank you for helping me."

  He took a deep breath and gently allowed his consciousness to return.

  They stood atop the hill, looking down from the height onto the plains, fields, and forests lying north of the mountain range. It was raining, but the streams were gradually fading, and somewhere in the east, the sun peeked through. Behind them was something dark, part of a mountain slope, slowly trailing southward, where it suddenly thrust into the clouds. Around them stood seven lone pillars, their color and shape nearly lost to time, with only faint traces of the statues of ancient gods still discernible. Wet grass pushed through the dark stones underfoot—once part of a mosaic. Ahead lay a small elevation, like a shard of an altar.

  "Where are we?"

  "In the temple itself. This is what the centuries have left of it."

  "How much time has passed?"

  "About an hour. Not much."

  "It felt like just a few minutes. It’s so strange, Petros!"

  "I believe you," the mage said with a sad smile, and he moved across the small flat area to the ruined altar, to the very edge where the air seemed to shimmer slightly. It was less noticeable because of the rain, and yet Kairu could sense it in his core, the same kind of energy as that of the Lake of Aktida, emanating from this place. They drew closer, and then Kairu saw it—a faint pulsing in the air, a distortion of space, like ripples from a stone thrown into water. He felt a slight dizziness. The crossroads of time was calling, luring him in.

  "It’s time to say goodbye, Kairu."

  He looked at Petros.

  "Why can’t I come with you?"

  "This is my task. You must stay here."

  "But what should I do?"

  "You really want to help me?" Petros gave a small smile. "You’ll find your purpose when you obtain the Lake of Aktida. Focus on that. With Viggo, Remiz, Rita—you’ll manage. The road to the Eastern Province, to Castle Saelin, is hard… But I hope I’ll find all the answers in the meantime. That’s no longer your burden, don’t trouble your head with it, for Aktos’ sake. Find Yuffilis—I’m almost certain you’ll hear about him soon. He’ll tell you about another matter, no less important than the Lake of Aktida. Truth and noble goals are many-faceted, and few can know in advance what echoes even the smallest action might create… But now, after years of failure, I think I’ve finally learned. I’ll try to finish this last little task, and if my calculations are correct, I’ll return to you as soon as I can. Until then… I wish you luck, Kairu."

  He stepped toward the crossroads. Kairu let his arms fall helplessly, watching his back.

  "You haven’t told me everything, Petros!" he shouted.

  Petros turned around, and a smile lit his face.

  "I don’t know everything myself, Kairu," he said. "And I’m going there to find the missing pieces of the mosaic. But I’ll return, and I’ll find you. I promise."

  He turned away, stepped toward the shimmering air. The rain seemed to part, and suddenly the last drops fell to the ground. The world fell silent, and the crossroads of time flashed, space behind it warped like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. Petros’ tall, stooped figure distorted, blurred—and vanished.

  And at that moment, when despair and confusion overwhelmed Kairu’s chest and he stood there gasping, staring at the spot where Petros had just been, now only shimmering air and endless emptiness—darkness clouded his eyes, and reality gave way to another vision. But this one was unlike any he had seen before.

  A white tower, tall and proud, but at its base a fire blazing. The whole city is in flames, drenched in blood.

  A man in gleaming armor, a crimson cloak, and a sword at his side stares out the window at the burning city. He is pale, his lips tight, his gaze unfocused. That man is Kairu.

  "Are you sure?" he asks. It wasn’t the first time he had asked the question, and yet he still hoped for a different answer. "Maybe… maybe we can still fix this?"

  Petros stands behind him. His face is sorrowful, yet filled with resolve. He shakes his head.

  "It’s the only way to fix it," Petros says gently. "I wouldn’t do this if we had a choice. But we don’t anymore. We made a mistake."

  "I understand. All right. So be it."

  Kairu turns.

  "What will it feel like?"

  "Like a dream. You won’t feel a thing. No one will. You won’t even notice. I give you my word."

  "And then…"

  "We’ll all start over. We’ll meet there again. And we’ll do everything differently."

  Darkness again, only for a moment, and then he was back, standing atop the hill, staring at the place where the professor had just stood, but still not seeing anything. His mind wandered, thoughts and emotions scattered, and suddenly he felt an overwhelming fear, deeper than he’d felt in years. His heart pounded wildly, raindrops streamed down his face, washing away sweat and sudden tears—he tasted their salt on his lips.

  What was that? The future?

  How should he understand it?

  He stood a long time in silence, broken only by the rustling of the rain, as if deafened and blinded. Voices, his own, then Petros’, echoed again and again in his mind, so vividly it felt like the conversation was still happening right in front of him. And then another sound pierced through the veil of rain. He didn’t realize what it was at first. For several more seconds, his thoughts were far from these hills in space and time—until, with terrifying clarity, he understood: beyond the forest, far behind him, he heard the sound of war horns.

  "Viggo. Remiz. Nalvin! Pirates!" Kairu thought, and snapped out of his contemplation.

  In the next second, he raced to his Hellsteed, leaped into the saddle, and set off at full gallop toward Nalvin. Petros’ horse, left alone among the hills, gave a long, plaintive neigh.