"So then," said Petros, "gentlemen… and ladies. Thank you for tearing yourselves away from your pastimes and deigning to remember that, despite everything, we remain an expedition sent by the Academy of Sciences to study the crossroads of time. Today marks the fifth day of brazen idleness in the temple of Tornir, and Erik and I have decided it’s time to shake you up. And bring you back to our further plan…"

  "Do we really have a plan?" Ashley interrupted. "Up until now, it’s looked more like summer vacation, with balloon rides as the attraction. To be honest, I’d almost forgotten that we’re here working…"

  "Everything so far has been a prelude," Petros smiled. "And yes, Saelin, Konrad, and I have worked a lot these past five days while you all took it easy. But that’s fine: your time will come later. Enough idle chatter; let’s get to business. Konrad, bring the map."

  The translator pulled a thick roll of parchment from its case and carefully unrolled it across the table. The others leaned over it. Nubel adjusted his glasses, Vergilius absentmindedly stroked his beard as he examined the ink-drawn lines with interest.

  "I present to you our route," said Petros. "This is the fruit of long work combining data from more than a hundred different sources. We studied documents from various years, from 530 to 700 before the New Era, compared landmarks, traced how the names of settlements and roads changed over time. And we believe we’ve managed to pinpoint within a few miles the location of several important religious centers."

  "This, if I understand correctly, is the Temple of Tornir." Nubel tapped a point on the map. "Which at that time was called Avilix. But what does this great arc represent?"

  "The pilgrimage route that the ancient Nocturns called the Crescent," explained Saelin. "The deeply devout often made such a journey, visiting all the most significant shrines of Vaimar. It began at the temple of Tornir, where ships from Aktida arrived across the bay, then the pilgrims moved north, skirting the Regerlim forest, until they reached the final temple, located somewhere close to where now is the city of Ardrai."

  "May I ask?" Ashley raised her eyes from the map. "This is fascinating, of course, but how are ancient Nocturn shrines connected with the crossroads of time we are studying?"

  Petros and Saelin exchanged grins.

  "Many chronicles and sources mention a period about two thousand three hundred years ago," Saelin explained, "when the crossroads of time appeared as frequently as they do now. This lasted several decades, then suddenly ceased. Why—we don’t know. But the fact is that the Nocturns built their temples, chapels, sanctuaries, and their most significant monuments precisely on the sites of most of those crossroads. For example—if anyone didn’t know—Linurad, which is now called Mainor, was also built on a crossroads of time. The Nocturns believed these were places marked by the gods—and they were right. The crossroads, even after disappearing, leave certain magical traces. And those are what we intend to study in detail. Questions?"

  Silence followed. The group stared at the map, deep in thought. Axel, who hadn’t even tried to follow the scholar’s explanation, yawned widely and asked:

  "So, which day should I have the aerostat ready? And, if possible, I’d like a detailed itinerary with all the stops. There isn’t enough fuel to fly straight from here to Ardrai along your… Crescent."

  "Well, if the theory is clear, let’s move on to more down-to-earth matters," Petros nodded dryly.

  ***

  Light streamed in slanting golden columns through the vast windows high under the ceiling. This hall, the largest in the temple of Tornir, was always the best lit at any time of day; even breathing here felt easier than in the second-largest hall, where the youths trained. A monk working in the monastery’s scriptorium on miniatures, icons, frescoes, and statues carefully stroked his sable brush across the palette and touched the heavy canvas with color. Light was everywhere, enough that the old master’s eyes did not strain too much. Now the main task remained: to transfer it to the canvas, to preserve it pure and pristine, so that centuries later descendants could still see this light flowing from the painting…

  Centuries later…

  Petros shifted slightly in his chair, scratched his nose hastily, then returned his hand to its former position. Konrad’s smile was almost forced, his elegant hand, resting on the star globe, had long gone numb and sore. Saelin’s knees trembled. Ashley, sitting in her armchair, fought sleep. The props had been hastily set up to imitate a study at the Academy of Sciences—though all six scholars seated beside the antique desk, bookshelf, and globe knew perfectly well that in the Academy, no such studies ever existed.

  The scholars had been here already for three sessions, three hours each. In silence and stillness, without changing their poses. The monk occasionally glanced at them, but his focus was on the colors spreading across the canvas, the light, ethereal shadows in the folds of clothing, the fine features, the barely perceptible gleams that had to be captured with almost magical precision… Nubel watched his movements with reverence. Art was being born here and now, before them, in this hall.

  The monk moved his brush, mixed paints, worked the rag with vigor, and held his breath as his heart seemed to stop at an especially delicate stroke. He was in the grip of inspiration. Likely, he would not have been much moved by the thought that centuries later, descendants would sigh deeply and gaze with widened eyes of wonder at his paintings in galleries or his frescoes in ancient temples.

  "Here," he simply thought, putting the finishing touches to the almost completed painting. "Here lies eternity. No time machines are needed to carry the present into the future and from the future back into the past. A brush, a palette, a canvas… and a prayer are enough."

  ***

  "Petros? Are you busy? I’d like a word… before we board and fly away."

  "I’m listening."

  "In the first shrine… as I understand, we won’t find Octarus itself there?"

  "Saelin, we’ve read about this in the Vaimarakirian and other manuscripts. So far, it isn’t clear whether the time machine is hidden in the shrines of the Crescent or somewhere farther, and if it is, whether in the northern or southern horn. But in the sanctuaries, the information about it should be completely clear. That was the idea: the true pilgrim, worthy of possessing Octarus, must pass through all the holy sites. There’s a very strong religious context here, Erik."

  "Fine. Then I’ll be patient for now. But I hope we’ll manage to learn at least something in the first shrine… otherwise our whole legend won’t be worth a damn."

  "Relax! This problem is already in our hands. It’s the simplest thing—the only difference between us and all the other archaeologists is that we believe in the time machine. And they don’t."

  "Alright, alright… you’ve convinced me. I suggest that for the first time we take everyone with us, so as not to arouse suspicion. Except perhaps Axel, who will stay behind to guard the aerostat."

  "Hector, too? You’re bold. Well, alright… The first shrine won’t be much trouble. We’ll land, examine it, and move on. But the next stop on the Crescent… that one will be a real challenge."

  "Agreed… And one more thing. If we find something, we quietly take it with us and don’t say a word. Or you just signal me, we’ll look together, and we’ll discuss it later, when we can be alone."

  "Of course, Erik. Of course."

  ***

  They packed quickly. Once again, they inventoried the dry rations and fuel, and Axel carefully inspected all the mechanisms of his flying machine. They loaded the maps, additional books, and all the notes Petros, Saelin, and Konrad had compiled during their stay at the Temple. And then came another warm May morning, when a fresh wind blew freely, stirring the waters of Derelzfjord as they rolled onto the rocky beach—and after breakfast, the travelers once again boarded the airship. The engine hummed, the fuel feed came to life, the propellers spun, the burner flared, filling the huge balloon with hot air. The monks poured out onto the square in front of the temple’s porch, once again watching in awe and wonder at the slow ascent of the aerostat. Many of them already suspected they were seeing such a craft for the first and last time in their lives.

  The ground and the hospitable temple of Tornir with all its inhabitants were left behind. Petros leaned on the rail and lit his beloved pipe, while Konrad stopped next to Axel, gazing ahead grimly. In the clear blue sky drifted towers of white cumulus clouds, nearer than ever before, and in the distance, far beyond the West-Vaimar range, there lay their road north.

  Below them slid by the fog-wreathed mountains that encircled Derelzfjord in a tight ring. To the left stretched the West-Vaimar ridge, its dark, forested slopes trailing toward the horizon. Directly beneath the belly of the airship spread the endless plain, where open meadows and small rivers alternated with pine forests and leafy groves. These were the thresholds of the vast Regerlim forest, which began farther north.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The airship flew along the ridge. Axel stepped out on deck with various measuring instruments, then spent long stretches calculating and jotting notes in his log. The map with the landmarks now lay spread on the table below, and the aeronaut constantly checked it to correct their course.

  The next destination lay three days away.

  ***

  The morning was foggy and windy; the sun was just a blurred spot behind the thick curtain of clouds in the east. A deep shadow lay upon the earth, cloaking the forested lowlands, the foothills riddled with clefts and ravines, and the dark mountain slopes themselves—low, but rugged, difficult to climb. The base of the range was thick with groves, bare rock only showed at the very summits, the rest hidden by rampant greenery. The airship slowed, the propellers turning more softly, the burner’s flame at a minimum.

  "If Petros calculated the coordinates correctly, we’ve arrived," Axel said quietly, turning the wheel with deliberate slowness and adjusting the flame so the balloon would sink smoothly. "But damn it, I’ve never had to land this machine in such extreme conditions, you understand? Look over the rail. Do you see any open space down there where we could land? No? Neither do I."

  "Try closer to the foothills," Ashley said uncertainly. She had, as always, been the first to wake and joined Axel on deck. "There must be some clearings there…"

  "The wind’s strong. It’s pushing us. And down there, it would have to be a precision landing—make a mistake by a couple of feet and the balloon will catch on a sharp branch, or the ropes will tangle in the canopy, or the gondola will crash into a rock. In that case… well, we’d be lucky if we all come out alive. Alright. If you want to help—here’s what I’ll do: I’ll pick an area, drop as low as possible, and start circling. You look for a more or less even patch for landing."

  The propellers droned softly, the ropes tightening the balloon clearly slackened—the airship was losing altitude. Now the stunted tops of ancient dark firs, dense pine crowns, wild hazel thickets, and shrubs in the hollow below became sharper in detail. The rest of the passengers poured onto the deck. Axel hissed curses under his breath as he forced the gondola to turn in wide arcs, while Ashley and Hector, whom she had pulled along as an extra pair of eyes, leaned over the rail, peering downward.

  "Right… a bit more to the right… There, see? There’s a spot! No, no, a little left… Yes! Now down and forward a little!"

  The ropes creaked and groaned, the gondola jolted, making those who still dared stay on deck clutch the rails and cry out whenever the shaking grew violent. Axel clenched his teeth, gripping the wheel, his left hand jerking at the levers while he dashed again and again to the burner to adjust the flame. The treetops were only a dozen feet beneath the hull, nearly brushing it, when suddenly the aerostat lurched upward, shot forward, and everyone except Axel was thrown to the deck. Then came the final plunge—propellers braking sharply, the burner reduced to a tiny flicker—and the flying machine, with a terrible crash, groan, and grind, dropped below the tree line. The balloon jerked a few more times, nearly snagging on branches, sagged limp—and then the gondola abruptly hung still for an instant before slamming down with a heavy thud.

  Axel, flung against the boards by the impact, clutched his wheel and slowly forced himself upright. His face was red as a lobster, dripping with sweat, beads running down his temples. The balloon sagged and folded in silence as the mechanism crumpled and stored it in its compartment. The burner hissed out. Silence fell, broken only by the whisper of trees encircling the tiny clearing and the occasional birdcall.

  "Congratulations on a soft landing," Petros smiled, rising first to his knees, then, gripping the rail, to his feet. "Axel, you’re a marvel… I’d never have thought it possible to set down such a behemoth in such a tiny gap."

  "Really?" the aeronaut muttered, sitting and wiping his face with his sleeve. "Neither would I. I was sure it couldn’t be done."

  Saelin gave a crooked, weary grin. Vergilius, sweating and trembling, appeared on the stairs, climbed up slowly, stared wildly at the others, staggered to the side of the gondola, and vomited heavily overboard.

  "That’s why I decided to save breakfast for better times," Petros remarked faintly. "Rest, ladies and gentlemen."

  The travelers left the deck and went below to gather their things, preparing for the time they would have to spend in the forest and mountains. Axel was the last to join them. Silently, he moved to the door, unlocked it, and jumped down to the ground.

  A faint mist drifted through the forest, blurring the distant rows of trees. The mountains were clearly visible from the landing site, as were the thickets covering them. A barely perceptible trail led through shrubs and fallen trees; somewhere nearby, the murmur of a stream could be heard. Axel scowled at the landscape, his hand unconsciously resting on the stock of the crossbow hanging at his belt. This was the edge of Regerlim. Caution was required here.

  "So then," said Petros, stepping outside. He already carried his staff in hand, with a tightly packed backpack slung behind him. "Axel, you…"

  "I’m staying to guard the airship," the man guessed. "No problem, Petros. I’ve no reason to join you in that wilderness… Just leave me someone for company. So it’s not too boring."

  "Yes," the professor nodded. "That’s exactly what I was going to say. Konrad will stay with you. He volunteered himself. Now the instructions: wait for us no more than three days, then fly back to Derelzfjord and call for rescue. But I am absolutely certain that won’t be necessary, and we’ll be back before sunset."

  "You’ve got the compass and the astrolabe I gave you. You won’t get lost. The target point is northwest of here, with the coordinates you provided me. Good luck."

  "Go to hell." The professor turned away. "Follow me, ladies and gentlemen!"

  And they moved forward, leaving the clearing bathed in the dim light of the rising sun. Axel and Konrad stood by the gondola, watching them go. Looking back, Ashley could still see their figures for a while, until fallen trunks blocked her view, and then even the massive belly of the airship vanished behind the endless rows of identical gray pines.

  It was quiet, with only the needles crunching softly under their boots.

  ***

  The first thing they discovered, once they had climbed a little higher into the mountains, were rails.

  They ran, half-hidden in thickets and beneath trees, from south to north along the mountainside, well concealed by centuries of vegetation, far away from any traveled roads or even hunting paths. Once upon a time, the magic of the Nocturn sorcerers had given the iron lasting protection against anything that might damage it. One could almost say, without being far from the truth, that no human foot had set foot here for the last thousand years. The old trackbed had long since become a dense forest, plants winding their stems and roots around everything, sheltering the way from storms and prying eyes. And so the rails had survived, because the enchantments could hold forever. Where this road had begun, carrying stone and timber to the construction site, they could only guess—as well as where it led. But for Petros and Nubel, who had devoted their lives to the study of the ancient Nocturns, it was the first and most important landmark.

  "Exactly right," Petros confirmed, kneeling and parting the grass. The wood was half-rotten, half-eaten by insects, but the iron rails had survived far better.

  "Saelin, remember what we read in the chronicles… They built a railway connection between the shrine and the nearest quarries. And there were plenty of those in southern Regerlim. Granite, and that very marble that even in our own times adorns the capital of Vaimar…"

  "So we follow the rails?" Saelin licked his parched lips; his eyes burned with excitement.

  "That’s right. We follow them."

  And so they went north, keeping their eyes on the road winding beneath their feet, watching the slowly rising sun, keeping the mountain ridges to their left. Light spilled through the grove in bright lemon-colored pools, the heat was rising, and under the high crowns of the pines, there wasn’t the slightest breath of wind. Ashley turned her head again and again, gazing at the ancient, colossal black trunks that it would take five men to encircle, and at the gray, moss-covered boulders scattered here and there… Petros muttered curses under his breath and gazed at his compass, or tried to determine their coordinates by the sun. Saelin frowned and stared at nothing but the black rails disappearing into the grass.

  "Damn aeronaut… He dropped us a good couple of miles too far south. I’m sure of it!"

  "Calm yourself," Nubel murmured. "If you were in his place, you’d still be circling above the forest, searching for a safe landing spot. Let’s move faster. He can’t have been too far off—the shrine must be near."

  "Nubel, you don’t understand a damn thing…" Saelin snapped, hurrying ahead. "We could be going in the wrong direction altogether… and I feel like that’s exactly what we’re doing…"

  "Quiet!"

  Petros threw up his hand and froze. The others immediately followed his example, startled and on edge. The forest was silent, yet something crept through the silence, some indistinct noise…

  "Water," Hector said. "That’s just a waterfall. A mountain river nearby."

  "Right," Saelin muttered, slowly lowering his hand from his chest. Ashley glanced at him and felt a chill. His face had gone ghastly pale, unnaturally so, as though he had heard not the sound of water, but the call of his own death.

  "Yes. Let’s move on. There should be an open space ahead, we can get our bearings there."

  And only a few dozen feet later, light shimmered through the trees. The last trunks of the giant pines were left behind, and the travelers slowly emerged into the place where their goal lay.

  The space was open for a hundred yards around. To the left, in the rays of the rising sun, the ridge of the mountain chain was visible, sharp and clear, and from here its distance was all too evident—all the cliffs, passes, and trails merged into a gray mass of stone. A little closer, the eye began to distinguish uneven ridges, then a true maze of ravines, jagged spurs, and boulders forming the mountainside, an obstacle to any would-be climber. The terrain was the same everywhere, save for a few stunted trees and shrubs clinging desperately to bare rock. And directly ahead, thundering down from high jagged ledges, foaming in its narrow rocky channel, a river rushed downward. It roared, crashed furiously against the cliffs. Everything around was white with spray, droplets even reaching the place where Petros and his companions stood, before vanishing swiftly into the valley, sliding down more cascades and disappearing into the shadowy woods crowding the foothills.

  The rails ended here, breaking off at a flat ledge by the forest’s edge. Beyond that began the realm of stone. Petros swept his gaze along the river’s course, over the open slope. His eyes locked on tall granite columns, leaning slightly, weathered by time, but unmistakably the work of human hands.

  "Saelin…?"

  "I see them." Only now did Saelin tear his eyes away from the river and look where their leader pointed. His eyes were still wide, as though he had glimpsed something nightmarish. "Yes… yes. Looks like we’ve arrived."

  And he was the first to rush forward, stumbling over stones, staggering as though in a dream. He overtook even Petros, unconsciously clenching his teeth and fists. Petros hurried after him, his eyes shining brighter than ever, the excitement of a treasure-hunter plain in them.

  "Exactly!" he shouted fervently, running up to the nearest granite block, brushing his finger over the crumbling surface to expose a hidden carving beneath the dust. It was an ornate pattern wrapping around the ten-foot column. Petros traced it hurriedly while Nubel had already pulled special brushes from his pack, cleaning away the designs. Saelin stepped back, breathing heavily and hoarsely, while Ashley, thrilled, held her breath, watching as, from beneath centuries of dirt and grime, slowly emerged engravings made more than two thousand years ago…

  The Sun and the Kraken!