Готовый перевод История Королевы Эльфов / The story of the Elf Queen: Глава седьмая. Кирилл. Новые занятия Героя Королевы Эльфов

Chapter Seven. Cyrill. New Activities for the Hero of the Elf Queen

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Having performed what he hoped was a perfect bow, Cyrill greeted her politely and with the utmost respect.

"Greetings to you, most venerable seer."

Standing to Cyrill’s right, Diantrel also bowed her head politely and respectfully, echoing Cyrill’s greeting. A second later, Gata and Armina, standing behind them, performed synchronized and truly flawless curtsies. Only then did all four take their assigned seats. Diantrel sat in an armchair, while Cyrill, Gata, and Armina sat on the sofa, which turned out to be very soft. As soon as he sat down, the young man nearly sank into it and quickly moved to the very edge. Otherwise, it was simply impossible to sit up straight.

Andarial, giving him a simply charming, toothy smile, sank smoothly into her chair, sinking comfortably into its soft depths and leaning back. Clasping her hands on her stomach, she said politely.

"Please, do not be shy, my esteemed guests. We have a long conversation ahead of us, and I see no reason why we should not spend it in comfort."

Casting a quick glance at Diantrel, who, as it turned out, had settled into her armchair just as comfortably as their blind hostess had in hers, Cyrill allowed himself to lean back against the sofa and sink into its soft embrace. A second later, Gata and Armina followed his example. With a constant smile on her face, Andarial continued.

So, let’s not waste time, of which we have, regrettably, very little. There are two reasons why you, esteemed Cirial, have been brought before me. The first is the infamous and enigmatic Master, whom I—and the rest of the Forest—have tried in vain to find. And so have our allies, our enemies, those who pretend to be the former, and those who are neither friend nor foe to the Forest.

A dark shadow passed over Andarial's face, and she wiggled her fingers clasped together on her stomach.

"And as painful as it may be to admit to my pride as the best of the Forest's seers, this enemy truly knows how to hide from the eyes of the seers. Not a single trace he left behind, in the hands of the Forest, could give me a foothold from which to direct my gaze. This arouses in me both admiration and the gravest fears in equal measure. And the only possible trace that has not yet been tested for insight is you, Ciriall."

Looking meaningfully at the young man with her pale blue eyes and the "Third Eye" flashing on her forehead, Andarial explained.

"While no one knows for certain how and under what circumstances you met Master, what is certain is that you were held captive by him for a very long time. He has clearly been trying for decades to obtain the power of the Soul Tablet bestowed upon you; of that there is no doubt. Therefore, there is a good chance that, despite all his efforts, you, Ciriall, can serve as a fulcrum for me, guiding my vision. And for this reason, your visit was no surprise to me; I expected it very soon. But here is the second reason for your visit..."

Here, Andarial slightly narrowed her normal, albeit sightless, eyes, continuing to carefully examine Cyrill.

"....came as a complete surprise even to me. And so, I'd like to begin with it. Your venerable mentor and the Elder Enchantress have already given me all the details, and have also described in considerable detail the nature of the Tablet's power bestowed upon you. However, I'd still like to hear from you in person, Ciriall."

Leaning forward slightly, she asked with a hint of curiosity.

"Tell me everything about your dreams-visions."

Sighing, Cyrill answered absolutely honestly:

"That's the main problem, most honorable, that I have practically nothing to tell. I remember almost nothing of what I dream. I remember that I dreamed something. But I remember practically nothing about what I dreamed. Moreover..."

Here Cyrill glanced at Diantrel, who nodded slightly.

"...last night, the honorable Diantrell gave me a dreamcatcher set crafted by the Forest's masters. We placed it in my bedroom together and tuned it, but it could only capture incoherent fragments that couldn't be called full-fledged dreams. Meanwhile, it captured Armina and Gata's dreams completely and without the slightest error, so it wasn't a matter of oversight or imprecise tuning."

Andarial, who had been listening attentively to Kirill, frowned slightly and said thoughtfully.

"This is quite unusual... Let me look at these, as you said, scraps?"

"Yes, of course."

Taking a crystal with imprinted images from his pocket, Cyrill stood up and carefully handed it to Andarial.

"Please, most honorable."

"Thank you. And I ask you, esteemed ones, not to disturb me in any way for a while, however brief. My work requires peace."

With these words, Andarial clutched the crystal in her fist and leaned back in her chair. The chair suddenly leaned back, and a comfortable footrest slid forward from under the seat, transforming the entire chair into a rather comfortable bed, upon which the seer settled in complete comfort. She closed her pale blue eyes, but the artifact eye on her forehead began to glow noticeably brighter, pulsing slightly and periodically... blinking? At least, that's what it looked like. The crystal clutched in her fist began to glow similarly. But nothing else happened.

Waiting for Andarial to finish whatever she was doing, and so as not to disturb her, Cyrill began examining the paintings hanging on the walls, all executed with the utmost realism and mastery. No portraits or landscapes in the style of Pablo Picasso, abstract art, cubism, or other painting styles where it's often difficult to immediately discern what's being painted or where the top and bottom of the painting are. After running his eyes over several portraits, depicting various elves, both full-length and just their faces, and seemingly almost alive, Cyrill became convinced that some of them were definitely part of the tracking weaves of Andarial's mansion. Or perhaps even scanning.

Indeed, magical weavings were present on every portrait; he could see that clearly. True, their purpose was purely utilitarian—protection from dust and, if he'd seen it correctly, fading. But surely for half of them, this was only the first layer. And if he looked closely, there was likely another, or perhaps even two, hidden beneath the first layer of weaving. However, Cyrill had no intention of so blatantly examining the protections of someone else's home, so he limited himself to a quick glance with his magical vision, lingering on just one portrait, the largest in the room.

A pair of elves, clad in immaculate silver-green robes, stood next to each other. A man with shoulder-length ash-blond hair, a calm, aristocratic face, and green eyes held a woman with elven beauty, bright azure eyes, and snow-white hair, holding a swaddled baby in her arms. The facial features of both elves clearly hinted at...

"Yes, these are my parents. And me, just six months old."

Andarial's voice made Cyrill involuntarily flinch and quickly turn to face her. The Seer had somehow managed to return to a sitting position without a sound and was now looking at the young man with a thoughtful smile. Reaching forward, she opened her palm and, using a simple telekinetic weave, returned the crystal to Cyrill without rising from her chair. She continued in a thoughtful voice, clasping her hands together again on her stomach:

"I must say, I'm intrigued... Quite intrigued, which doesn't happen to me often... These fragments, captured by the amulets you provided, were not part of an ordinary dream. This was definitely a vision. A vision of the possible, but not the actual. Past or future, I can't say."

"Are you sure, most honorable?" Diantrel immediately perked up.

Giving Cyrill's mentor a slightly reproachful look, Andarial nodded.

"Absolutely. It may not be obvious to you, but for me, the difference between an ordinary dream and a vision within a dream is as clear as the difference between a gust of wind and a hurricane is for you, venerable Diantrel."

The mentor didn't show it at all, but thanks to the connection, Cyrill sensed her embarrassment. Andarial, turning back to the young man, who was listening attentively, asked with undisguised interest:

"Tell me, Ciriall, how long have you been seeing such dreams?"

Sighing again, the young man said.

"Honestly, I don't remember. I used to never pay any attention to it. I'd dream about something crazy, and I'd forget about it as soon as I got out of bed. But now... Now I can't really remember a single dream... Not counting the nightmares I had after my encounter with the Deep One. Although I'd really like to forget those."

"It's a shame; it's extremely annoying..." A shadow of displeasure flashed across Andarial's young face, and undisguised notes of reproach could be heard in her voice.

Turning to Diantrel, she said.

"It is an oversight on Mirael's part not to pay attention to such an important aspect for any gifted person as dreams."

Diantrel again didn't react outwardly, but this time Cyrill sensed that she was inwardly roused by the reproach directed at her as a mentor. Out loud, she said in a polite voice.

"Cirial is an unusually gifted, most respectable. His power is granted by the Tablet of the Soul, which, among countless other benefits, provides an extremely accurate description of both the acquired knowledge and the acquired properties of physical and subtle bodies. And among the gifts that Cirial has acquired, there is not a single one that is in any way connected with a lot similar to yours, most venerable Andaria."

At the end, Diantrel looked meaningfully at Cyrill, and he quickly nodded in response, confirming his mentor’s words.

"So..."

A thoughtful expression returned to Andarial's face. Straightening up and leaning forward slightly, she gazed intently at the young man, her sightless eyes narrowing slightly and her artifact eye flashing.

"Is that really true, Ciriall? You don't have any gift related to clairvoyance that could explain these dreams? Nothing at all?"

Damn, it looks like they'll be reminding him of his mistake for another hundred years. Maybe two hundred.
T.N. Welcome to elf society.

"Yes, that's exactly it, most honorable, I'm ready to swear to it," Cyrill nodded politely, but seriously and honestly.

Andarial narrowed her eyes even more. Continuing to literally shine her third eye on Cyrill, she asked with a strange intensity.

"Do you think so? Or do you know it's true, Ciriall?"

Damn it... Sighing, Cyrill, to clear his conscience, raised both his hands with open palms and said out loud the textbook word.

"Status."

The invisible lines of the System appeared before his eyes. So, let's get going, point by point. Level, class, stats... By the way, he'll have to discuss with his mentor where to invest his two free points, as well as his talent points... Later! So, knowledge... Speaking and writing are out of the question; general knowledge.

Looking through their list, which had grown considerably since the first day, Cyrill couldn't help but feel a surge of pride in himself. Yes, he's not even close to being an archmagister or an archmage, but perhaps the larva of the first.. Damn, you're thinking about the wrong thing! So, so, so...

Well, yes, there's nothing in General Knowledge that's even remotely related to clairvoyance. At all. Nothing in the core, in illusions, his main strength and pride. He has only one Minor Knowledge. Properties... Oh, the properties are good, especially the elite ones! It brings to mind the classic line: how good I am, how powerful my paws are! But again, nothing related to clairvoyance. System modifiers are also irrelevant; tokens are also irrelevant, and finally... oops...

Cyrill froze when he reached the practically last line of his status. He read it. Reread it. And mentally groaned. Fuuck ...

"Judging by your changed expression, Ciriall, do you have something to tell us all?" Diantrel's voice was positively full of distilled politeness and a certain ingratiating quality.

Mentally slapping himself a few times, Cyrill sighed and, trying to make his voice sound as firm as possible, said calmly and confidently.

"You are right, honored one. I truly have something to share. Amidst the many lines in my Tablet, describing the knowledge and qualities I've acquired since awakening, I've completely forgotten one of the very first lines bestowed upon me. The one that was there from the very beginning, stating that I am the Chosen by Aurial the Magnificent, Supreme Keeper of the Balance of Worlds, Standing Guard of the Balance of Powers. Or rather, I didn't forget that line. Amidst all the lines I've acquired in the Tablet, I've forgotten that this line has a small addition. It states that it possesses hidden effects."

"Silence fell in the room. Diantrel's gaze, directed at Kirill, was extremely expressive. And the emotions emanating from her through the bond, which she had clearly intentionally revealed, matched it perfectly. Andarial's face, however, once again revealed a broad, and this time frankly contented, smile, with which the seer leaned back in her chair, clasping her hands once more on her stomach."

"Well, it looks like we've managed to solve one of the mysteries without even resorting to prophecy..."

Turning to her, Diantrel asked with undisguised respect.

"How did you find out, most honorable?"

The smile on Andarial's face grew even wider.

"Experience, venerable Diantrel, three long thousand years of experience, during which I've learned, among other things, not just to sense, but to practically see inconsistencies. When someone, even if they sincerely believe it, says one thing, but the reality, the truth, is entirely different. An extremely useful and extremely difficult skill to master, one that has brought me and Forest much benefit."

Turning to Снrill, she continued.

"And if your visions-dreams are sent to you by your patroness, Сiriall, then this easily explains why the dream catchers were unable to remember them."

"But that doesn't explain why he himself doesn't remember them," Diantrel said doubtfully.

"Perhaps he remembers more than enough," Andarial shrugged. "Perhaps it's the will of his patron. We cannot understand the motives of those infinitely powerful entities that stand behind the power of the Tablet bestowed upon Cirial. In any case..."

Here, the seer suddenly leaned forward again with undisguised interest on her face.

"...we can't say anything for sure until we try it ourselves. Cirial, may I ask you to open your aura to me so I can fully appreciate what I'm about to work with?"

Receiving a mental nod from Diantrel, Cyrill nodded briefly physically and almost completely relaxed the camouflage of his subtle bodies, which his mentor had trained him to keep "on" almost always. Fortunately, with the acquisition of the elite "Subtle Body Mimicry" skill, this became an order of magnitude easier.

"Please."

"Thank you, it won't take long. Hmm..."

Squinting her blind eyes and flashing her artifact eye, Andarial once again began to scrutinize Cyrill, who suddenly felt as if he were naked. Despite the fact that he hadn't felt any influence from the clairvoyant at all. None of the sensations you get when you're being scanned with scanning amulets and charms. And yet, it felt as if you were standing naked in public. He was distracted from these thoughts by Andarial's thoughtful voice, smoothly rising to her feet and folding her arms across her chest.

"Hmm... As a classically gifted person, you're well-developed. I'm not even afraid to say it—excellent. If I hadn't known you were imbued with the power of the Tablet, I would never have believed someone so young could attain such power so perfectly... Or perhaps I'd suspected you of possessing a rare talent, like the Apostate. But..."

Andarial pursed her lips slightly, tilted her head to the side, and continued.

"...precisely as a classically gifted one. My lot, however, requires a different kind of development, and in this regard, things are quite sad for you. Frankly, I don't even see any potential for you to develop as a Seer, or, more specifically, a Dreamwalker... Hmm... Perhaps your incredible power of the Tablet, the shadow of which I cannot even discern, can, if not completely change this, then at least correct it... Tell me, Cyriall, are there any gifts suitable for this among those offered to you?"

“One moment,” the young man, who had been listening attentively to Andarial, closed his eyes slightly and sent a mental command to the System.

So, what do we have here on the topic of all sorts of prophecies, predictions, and insights? Oh, praise be to you, Most Magnificent, for your most convenient filter system, and one that's mind-controlled, too! So. Uh-huh. Aha.

"There are several properties and knowledge, most honorable, but... I can tell you, as someone who has already mastered the power of the Tablet, they are all extremely... unimpressive... and not entirely suitable. Of the knowledge available to me that even slightly fits your descriptions, there are "the basic principles of simple divination practices" with further development into sacrificial, ritual, or various artifactual branches. And also "the basic principles of simple methods of conscious work in dreams." At first, they essentially only provide the ability to actually realize that you are dreaming and perform simple manipulations in your dreams. And to develop both branches into something more or less serious, you will need six or seven talent points in each... And that's a lot, especially now, when each new step is increasingly difficult. There are slightly more properties, but they are not purely divination... So, now I'll try to filter out the ones that are really less suitable..."

A couple of mental commands, and Cyrill was left with a dry residue. A very dry one.

"There's "Premonition of Trouble I" and "Intuition I," but they're both passive, and to have any tangible benefit or effect from them, you'd ideally need to invest three points in each. And for them to provide any concrete results, according to the Tablet's description, you'd need at least five, and preferably six. There's also "Tranquility of Sleep I"... but it's less about divination and more about protecting dreams from all sorts of... I quote: "nightmares, delusions, and other inhabitants of immaterial worlds and planes."

After running his eyes over the remaining ones and playing with the filters a little more, Cyrill continued.

"Actually, that's all, nothing more for me. The Tablet... aaaah... that's the thing... I see..."

Under the expressive glances of both elves, as well as Gata and Armina, who, although they were listening to the conversation silently, were very attentive, Cyrill explained.

"I only have a one in Spirit. And that's what's responsible for everything related to divination and clairvoyance. And also Sensitivity. But since Spirit isn't critical for a wizard, I didn't really level it up... I mean, I didn't really develop it. I focused on Control, Source, and Power, which are almost equally developed for me. And to even get the basic, but specifically specialized, divination-related skills, you need at least a three in Spirit. A four is better."

Diantrel, who had listened attentively to Kirill and, as the one with the most developed of the four, possessed the aforementioned characteristic, closed her eyes and nodded in agreement.

"Indeed. In addition to the knowledge Ciriall mentioned, I have access to the "basic foundations of the simplest methods of divination" and similar "basic foundations of the simplest methods of insight" from the Tablet. The first branch is aimed at lifting the veil of the future or the past, while the second branch is aimed at finding answers to a wide variety of questions. I have also been offered several properties that are only slightly better than those available to Ciriall."

Opening her eyes, Diantrel shook her head with doubt on her face.

"But, anticipating possible questions, I have neither the ability to acquire them right now, nor do I believe it would be advisable in the future. My lot is as far from yours, most honorable, as Ciriall's. Even further, since I have accumulated more steps, and each new one will be increasingly difficult. And most importantly, everything will again come down to a development of the subtle bodies unsuitable for the seer."

"It's a shame, it's extremely sad." Andarial's voice carried a truly universal sadness and sorrow, reflected on her face. "I had held out hope that with the Tablet's incredible power, the situation could be improved at least slightly. If you had even the slightest inclination to become a seer, Ciriall... and if we had more time so I could conduct a few additional trial readings with you... it would be a significant aid to the upcoming discernment of Master's traces..."

After falling silent for a few seconds, Andarial smiled charmingly again.

"Well, since even the power of the Tablet can't fix anything, we'll work with what we have. It will be all the more interesting and honorable to solve this difficult problem..."

Seeing that Cyrill, who had been listening attentively to her, slowly raised his hand, the seer immediately stopped mid-sentence.

"Yes, Cirial?"

The young man coughed and said.

"It just so happens, most honorable, that I, unlike my venerable mentor, have the opportunity to improve the situation at least a little."

Under Andarial's now very questioning gaze, Cyrill explained.

"I have two unspent gifts from the Tablet that influence the development of the physical and subtle bodies. They can be used to slightly improve my, as you said, less-than-ideal development. I also have three unspent gifts that can be used to acquire initial specialized skills or knowledge. I don't know how much this will help you, but I daresay it will be better than nothing. And, most importantly, thanks to one of the most recently acquired gifts from the Tablet, I can also give us time. I have the power to stretch an hour of its normal course ten times over into a day in one, or at most, a couple of rooms."

As Cyrill spoke, Andarial's expression gradually changed. The initial questioning look gave way to mild surprise, then admiration, and finally, Lesa, the best-sighted woman, looked at the young man with a strange anticipation. When he finished speaking, she glanced meaningfully at Diantrel and said.

"If neither you, venerable Diantrel, nor your mentor, nor anyone else involved in Cirial's training has any objections, I would kindly request him to do as he has stated. As even such an enhancement could greatly increase our chances of success."

Cyrill's mentor cast a thoughtful glance at him, then slowly said.

"I won't lie when I say I consider such expenditures the most appropriate for Cirial's development... and I'm sure the venerable Mirael agrees with me... but I also can't categorically reject them. Especially given the circumstances that have come to light regarding his dreams, as well as the need to find Master."

After a few seconds of silence, thinking about something, she continued.

Act as you see fit, Cirial. This is your Tablet, and it is up to you to fill its lines.

Slowly nodding in response, the young man looked at Gata and Armina, who understood without words, simultaneously rising from the sofa, making room for Cirill. Settling comfortably under Andarial's interested gaze, the young man closed his eyes and mentally committed both stat points to his weakest attribute. It wasn't exactly easy—he really wanted to spend them on his core attributes, but, as the saying goes, there's a word for it: it's necessary.

In an instant, the one in the Spirit turned into a three, and Cyrill felt himself being overwhelmed. Not as intensely as after the underground voyage, not even close, but still, it was a strange sensation... As if he were beginning to sink deeper into the sofa, simultaneously merging with its immense softness, and then with the rest of the universe...

"Cirial?"

Diantrel's voice rang out surprisingly clearly, bringing Cyrill back to reality. Blinking several times, the young man saw a bright ceiling above him. And against it, his companions bowed. Andarial, her arms crossed over her chest, regarded him with undisguised interest through her glowing artifact eye.

"Amazing... Such changes in such a short time... and without the slightest deviation... Truly, the power of the Tablet is incomprehensible..."

Already accustomed to such sights, Diantrel, seeing that Cyrill had opened his eyes and come to his senses, asked.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes..."

Sitting carefully on the sofa, Cyrill made sure his head wasn’t spinning and asked.

"How long did I lie there?"

"A little less than an hour. During this time, the most honorable Andarial managed to order everything necessary for us to be prepared."

Cyrill nodded and closed his eyes, listening to himself and the world around him, searching for changes. Because one in any stat is practically the base. The foundation, so to speak. But a three... A three is already something. A first step, so to speak.

Cyrill felt the changes almost immediately. The most noticeable of which was a heightened sense of the Forest. No, he'd felt it before. To not sense it, and being within its confines, you'd have to be a complete blockhead. But before, Cyrill had perceived it more as simply a heightened magical background. And back in the Underworld, damn it all, that same background had been far stronger and more unpleasant. Now, however, his perception had changed. Concentrating and listening inward, Cyrill sensed it and involuntarily shuddered at how boundless, powerful, and truly ancient it seemed. Yet what he sensed was, in fact, merely a background, an echo, not something direct...

"Well, now I can confidently say you've acquired the makings of a seer," Andarial said with satisfaction. "It's quite modest, I'd even say minimal, and to be honest with you, under any other circumstances I'd be very unlikely to waste my time on such a student. If he didn't have the Tablet of the Soul. Can you tell us, Ciriall, what gifts of hers are now available to you?"

"Yes, of course, one moment... So... Now the same knowledge as the venerable Diantrel is available... A few more abilities have been added... But most of them, however, aren't directly related to clairvoyance, like "World Perception I," as well as "Forest Sense I" and "Dungeon Sense I." The only ability that can be definitely attributed to clairvoyance is "Spontaneous Insights I." However, if the Tablet is to be believed, at the first stages these will be insights of the level: you need to bring a cloak from home in the morning. Even though the sun is shining brightly outside, there's no sign of rain. But it will come."

"I see... Nothing related to dreaming or prophetic dreams?" Andarial clarified.

“No, it's not offering anything like that.” Cyrill shook his head.

"That's a shame... In that case, I suggest you, Ciriall, not acquire any knowledge or abilities for now. First, we'll conduct a couple of joint tentative divinations, and, if the venerable Diantrel is to be believed, there's a chance you might discover some knowledge yourself, and then strengthen it."

“Agreed,” the young man nodded.

"If so," a charming smile appeared on the seer’s face again, "then I ask you to follow me, honorable ones."

With these words, Andarial strode confidently toward the exit. But, as Cyrill noticed, she didn't walk straight ahead, but rather across a fluffy rug firmly attached to the floor. In the hallway by the door, the butler was already waiting for her, immediately bowing briefly upon seeing the elf.

"Mistress, everything is ready as you wished."

“Thank you, Regnold.” The seer nodded to him and walked forward with a confident gait.

Cyrill and his companions hurried after her. A moment later, carefully closing the door behind them, the majordomo followed at a respectful distance. Following the seer, they descended one floor down the same staircase they had ascended. There they found a similar corridor. And the same handrails lined the walls. Reaching the middle of the corridor, Andarial stopped at a pair of tall doors, noticeably different from the others. They were made of dark wood, covered in protective carvings and literally imbued with protective weaves that continued right into the walls. Even without peering closely with his magical vision, Cyrill could discern the powerful warding enclosing the room beyond the doors. It stood out even from the rest of the protection he had already noticed about Andarial's mansion. It was also surprisingly impenetrable; he had no sense of what was beyond the walls at all.

Andarial reached out and touched the doors with her fingertips; they swung open silently and surprisingly easily. Beyond them lay a windowless, square room with another door in the opposite wall. It was filled almost entirely with various furniture and several stacked chests, leaving very little free space, just a narrow passage from one door to the other. Andarial glanced around and nodded contentedly. Regnold, frozen behind her, and Cyrill with his companions said.

"Everything is done as you requested, mistress. Five beds, a set of toiletries, a small bath, a dining table, cutlery and crockery sets, several enchanted chests containing food and drink for two weeks, and a full set of household amulets have been prepared."

“Excellent, Regnold,” the seer nodded contentedly.

"May I be so kind as to inquire, mistress, how long your unscheduled session will last, and how much will it be necessary to shift the schedule?"

Turning to her majordomo, Andarial gave him a simply charming smile and replied.

"I expect we'll have all our business completed by dinner, Regnold. So there won't be any need to move the schedule."

If the majordomo was surprised by this answer, given his previous request, he didn't show it. He merely nodded briefly and clarified.

"Should I order something special or the usual dishes, mistress?"

For a moment, the seer froze, covering her blind eyes and flashing the artifact, and then confidently said.

"Prepare dinner for five. Several meat dishes, definitely something seafood, and for dessert, maybe some fruits and berries from the forest or the south. But nothing apple-based," Andarial added unexpectedly at the very end.

Her majordomo bowed briefly, pressing his right hand to his heart, and departed. Andarial closed the doors with a graceful touch of her fingertips. As soon as the doors closed, the room's wards activated, more than reliably cutting them off from the outside world. And now it was especially noticeable—that same heightened sense of the Forest had vanished completely. And not only that—the entire world outside the room they were in seemed to vanish.

Andarial, turning to Cyrill and his companions, said in a surprisingly cheerful voice.

"So, let's not waste time, even though, as it turns out, it's still, albeit partially, subject to the power of your Tablet, Ciriall! I ask you, honored ones, to arrange this place where we will spend the next five days. Of course..."

For a moment, a slight shadow passed across the seer's face.

"...this is completely insufficient, but while you were lost in your reverie, Ciriall, we contacted the Supreme Hierarchs, and they strongly advised us not to waste more than half of the unique power granted to you over time itself. Still, this is far better than the mere day and a half I had originally planned for. As for you and me, Ciriall, we will get down to business. I ask you to use your gift and follow me."

With these words, Andarial confidently walked through the narrow passage between the servants' furniture to the opposite doors. Cyrill, activating his Token, followed her. Armina, Gata, and Diantrell exchanged glances, then silently began settling into their new surroundings. Stopping before the doors similar to those through which they had all entered, the seer turned to Cyrill and said:

"I ask you to leave all your amulets and wand here, Ciriall. They won't help you in the upcoming task, but they could very well hinder you. Even the slightest extraneous emanation of any magic can affect the final quality of the insight."

Cyrill hesitated for a moment, then received a mental confirmation from Diantrel, after which he began removing all his amulets from his special pockets and sending them straight into the spatial pocket. Without them, thanks to Diantrel's training and especially Alatrel's, he now felt naked and utterly vulnerable... Damn it, stop it! You're not in another training session with Alatrel right now. And come to think of it, it's Andarial who Kirill should be wary of, especially considering... Damn it, stop thinking about all this dirty crap!

Giving himself another mental slap, Cyrill put the last pair of amulets back in his spatial pocket. Andarial, watching his actions with interest, said thoughtfully.

"Quite impressive... Few can boast of such a thing, except for the most gifted practitioners of the School of Space."

She then turned to the doors and gently touched them with her fingertips, then placed the tip of a small cylindrical metal amulet-key, taken from the inside pocket of her housedress, against an inconspicuous recess. A wave of light passed from it across the carved doors, and they swung open just as silently and surprisingly easily. Beyond them lay another room, windowless and doorless. Its walls were completely bare, made of white stone, seemingly solid, and the floor was equally white (again, without a single tile joint, suggesting the work of skilled geomancers). Furthermore, the room was hemispherical, with a scattering of small magical crystal lamps shining on the ceiling at the very center.

It was practically bare of furniture, especially compared to the previous one. In the very center stood only a pair of soft armchairs, similar to those in the room on the upper floor. Between them stood a small table on which lay several completely transparent crystals, each the size of a grown man's fist. Most of them rested in specially designed recesses in a small, velvet-lined, carved wooden chest. A couple, however, hovered in midair, held motionless and upright by metal amulet stands.

Closing the door behind Cyrill with a light touch, Andarial waved her hand around the room with a slight smile.

"Welcome to my sanctum sanctorum, Ciriall."

Looking around, but now with magical vision, Cyrill realized that Andarial was not being disingenuous at all and slowly nodded.

"Impressive... The protective barriers are simply flawless; the isolation from the outside world is almost complete... But I can't figure out the meaning of the other weaves. Are they intended for divination?"

Andarial nodded affirmatively.

"Absolutely correct. They serve different purposes: some are meant to enhance my vision, others are meant to block out "junk" visions, and still others are meant to divert gazes already directed my way... I can say without false modesty that this place is one of the Forest's greatest treasures, created and perfected over many centuries."

After examining once again the incredibly complex pattern of weaving that covered the walls, floor, and ceiling of the room, Cyrill turned to Andarial and asked.

"So what exactly are we going to do now, most honorable?"

"Since we have more time, we'll start by holding a joint dreaming session. Or rather, you'll conduct it, while I'll act merely as an observer, a possible supporter, and a memorizer. Then... Then we'll proceed based on the results of your dreams, Ciriall."

"Okay... Then, can we get started? Or do we need any preparations? Any special amulets or potions?" the young man asked.

To his surprise, Andarial shook her head with a strange smile and said.

"We won't need any of this for the first time. But before we begin the dreaming session, I'd like you to understand something. It's simply impossible to convey in words, so please, Ciriall, take my hands."

Surprised, but without arguing or asking anything, Cyrill carefully reached out and grasped Andarial's surprisingly soft hands. She closed her sightless eye, simultaneously beginning to glow with her artifact eye. The room began to darken.

"Close your eyes, Cirial, and look..."

Cyrill complied with the first request without a moment's hesitation, but before he could even consider what and how he was supposed to see with his eyes closed, he was engulfed in darkness. An all-consuming, absolute, impenetrable darkness surrounded him. The entire world suddenly shrank monstrously to the floor beneath his feet. To the palm resting on the wall. To someone else's hand, holding his elbow, leading him... somewhere...

Then, still immersed in impenetrable darkness, the surrounding world took on the outlines of a mansion. Or rather, an idea, an understanding, a memory emerged of where each room was. Where each corridor or staircase led. A memorized, precise number of steps from one room to another. From the bed to the restroom. From the restroom to the dining table. To make things easier, handrails were everywhere, on every wall, each one covered in a special carving that indicated exactly where you were. In every room, in every corridor, the floors were covered with narrow rugs, like a road leading to the necessary places: tables, chairs, a sofa, a washbasin.

This made life in the eternal darkness much easier, which, to be perfectly honest, wasn't all that eternal. It was often diluted by visions of other places, events, elves, humans, or representatives of other races. Whether they had happened, were happening, or were merely possible. Bright and clear, dim and blurry, they brightened the eternal darkness. But they couldn't dispel it, for it was for their sake that she had voluntarily plunged herself into this darkness. Over time, she learned to live in it. She learned to confidently, even without outside help, navigate her mansion, where the furnishings practically never changed. For every change meant having to relearn a world she had already memorized. This was the risk of finding yourself in that unpleasant and irritating state when, having strayed from your memorized path, you realize you don't know, you don't understand, where you are.

Years. Decades. Centuries of impenetrable darkness, diluted by visions. Until the end of eternity. Until...

All of a sudden, the darkness dissipates, revealing a world long, infinitely forgotten! A world that will no longer be confined to the walls of a familiar mansion, one that was so unpleasant to leave precisely because everything there was known. And beyond its confines, you'll have to rely on others again, allowing yourself to be led, which is so irritating. You would have had to do that before. But not now, and all thanks to...

Cyrill's eyes and mouth widened, and he came to his senses to find himself sitting in one of the chairs. He immediately gasped at the sensations that washed over him. The source of these sensations was Andarial, kneeling between the young man's spread legs. Methodically sucking his cock. What the hell?!

Cyrill's mouth wide open, he tried to speak, but he literally choked with pleasure as he felt the seer's lips and tongue glide over his cock. Slyly squinting her sightless eyes, Andarial pulled back slightly, releasing Cyrill Junior from her mouth, and cooed with a satisfied smile.

"I wanted you to understand what you've given me, Ciriall. And to understand how grateful I am to you."

"I... yes, I..."

Cyrill couldn't manage to squeeze out anything coherent, simultaneously stunned by what was happening and overwhelmed by the overwhelming pleasure. This caused the smile on the onlooker's face to widen even further, and she said briefly.

"No words needed. Just enjoy and accept my gratitude."

Then she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around his cock again, continuing to suck it. Slamming his mouth shut, Cyrill could only lean back in the chair, gripping its armrests and breathing heavily. Fuuuuuck. His thoughts were jumbled from the unreality of what was happening. It was so fucking uncomfortable. It was downright scary. What if they think he'd used some other dirty token?! But it felt so fucking good... Fuuuuck!

Too late, caught up in the pleasure of the seer's lips and tongue sliding over his cock, realizing what was about to happen, and immediately realizing he had no time to do anything, Cyrill exhaled heavily and gripped the armrests even tighter. A moment later, he ejaculated into Andarial's mouth, who had just swallowed his cock almost to the root. The seer, her expression completely unchanged, smoothly pulled away without spilling a drop, and calmly swallowed all of his semen. A panicked thought flashed through Cyrill's mind that this must be incredibly humiliating not just for a powerfully gifted woman, but also for the best seer in all of the Forest. On the other hand, if he ejaculated on her face, it would be even worse...

He didn't have time to finish these thoughts, as Andarial leaned forward again, opening her mouth in a completely lewd and obscene manner, and playfully ran her tongue over Cyrill's dick. Then, with a strange amusement in her voice, she said:

"You're really so young, Ciriall... and so charmingly embarrassed... In my time, I simply adored young lads like you..."

"Most honored, this is... I don't..."

Once again playfully licking Cyrill's dick, the seer giggled quietly and completely frivolously and said with the same joy in her voice.

"It's so delightful to see your confusion... Oh, if only you knew, Ciriall, what sometimes goes on behind the closed doors of the Royal Palace or the family mansions, and who is involved... However," Andarial slyly narrowed her sightless eyes, "perhaps I will demonstrate it to you again. In secret. But later. For now, we still have business to attend to."

With these words, the seer rose to her feet in one fluid motion and walked over to the table. Cyrill, still completely stunned by what had just happened, began pulling on his pants, which had been stolen at some point. His head was in complete disarray from what had just happened. No, on the one hand, he had a pretty good feel for what Andarial had been through. She had given him, so to speak, a taste of the price paid for enhancing the gift of clairvoyance. On the other hand, it was fucking unexpected. But also fucking pleasant.

By the time Cyrill had dressed, tucked himself in, and buttoned up, the sighted woman, who had remained perfectly calm, had managed to tidy herself up and drink some water from the enchanted jug she'd pulled from the desk drawer. For a moment, the young man was stunned, unable to comprehend how he'd managed to fit in there; then it dawned on him that the drawer was clearly enchanted to increase its internal volume. Andarial immediately confirmed this, putting the jug back and producing a pair of silver headbands adorned with the same perfectly clear crystals that had been in the chest and hovering above the stands, only smaller. With a few touches and gentle manipulations, the young man realized she had attuned them to each other and handed one to Cyrill.

"Put it on your head and get comfortable in the chair, Ciriall. It will allow me to see your dream."

Taking the proffered headband, Cyrill carefully placed it on his head and sat back in the chair. Andarial herself donned another identical headband and also sat down in her chair. Or rather, she lay down, lowering the backrest and extending the armrest. And how... Ah, I see. Following her example, the young man settled more comfortably into the soft embrace of the chair and asked:

"What now?"

"I'll set it up now; it won't take much time..."

Andarial, comfortably settled in her chair, closed her eyes, her artifact eye beginning to glow. Literally ten seconds later, the young man heard the seer's voice in his head.

\\"Ciriall, can you hear me?"

\\"Yes, most honorable."

\\"Good, just one last touch left."

A wave of energy rippled across the floor of the room from the seer's chair, then spread to the walls and converged precisely on the ceiling. The magical crystal lamps almost completely went out, plunging the room into darkness, and Cyrill felt the numerous weaves come to life, enveloping him and Andarial in a shared, feather-light cocoon. Not a protective barrier, but something else.

"Cirial, can you fall asleep on your own?"

"Um... Yeah, I have a more or less clear idea of ​​how to do it..."

"Then relax and get started, Ciriall."

Closing his eyes, the young man began, as Diantrel called it, to gradually dampen his energy flows, immersing his body more and more. This wasn't exactly easy, considering it was only the beginning of the day, but "advanced management and control of internal energies" helped him cope, and before he knew it, sleep had slipped away...

* * *

The first dream is clear and colorful...

A city plunging into night darkness. It's nowhere near as large as White Harbor, and much more haphazardly built. The sun has already set, and only on the central streets are streetlights lit, where the tallest and most opulent houses and buildings once stood. Elsewhere, the darkness is dispelled only by the light amulets of the occasional night watch patrols on duty.

One of the streets adjacent to the central part of the city. A tall, well-built building with several stories. The sign above the main entrance is no longer legible; it's too dark...

Cyrill's gaze suddenly seemed to focus, becoming sharper, though the inscription remained invisible. But the stylized image of a quill in an inkwell became quite distinct and recognizable. A young man—more like a teenager, really—emerged from the central doors, briefly illuminating the darkness of the street with the light emanating from within. He was dressed in decent, not particularly rich, but high-quality robes, tailored in the fashion of the Confederation of Free Cities. He held several wooden scroll tubes in his hands. Wrapping himself in a cloak against the evening chill, he hurried down the street, where the light was noticeably dim.

It's not far, but he needs to hurry; the master has kept him until dark again! Hurry, hurry, before they close the gates between the blocks; otherwise he'll have to pay the night watchmen again for unscheduled entry... Neither the young man, nor the few passersby hurrying home, nor the distant night watch patrol noticed the shadow darting from the side passage between the neighboring houses. A moment of panic, and before he could comprehend what was happening, the boy was dragged into the side passage by an incomprehensible shadow...

* * *

The second dream, although colorful, lacks constant clarity; it floats, like a camera out of focus...

An endless green steppe, stretching as far as the eye could see, stretching to the horizon. And thousands, if not tens of thousands, of approaching horsemen. Some units mounted familiar horses, separate groups rode enormous werewolves no smaller than the horses themselves, and some even mounted some kind of war chimeroids. And all of them under a common banner, fluttering from dozens of specially designed tall spears. Cyrill couldn't quite make out what exactly was depicted on the blood-red banners; everything was already blurry, and the approaching horde was still too far away...

Suddenly, his vision focuses, becoming clear; the banners zoom in, as if someone had zoomed in on a camera, and he manages to glimpse an image. Two pairs of crossed black spears, atop two green circles on a blood-red background...

The view suddenly zooms out again, and the banners disappear. But what's clearly visible, even without any zooming, despite the renewed blurring, are hundreds of massive monsters striding among the horde, singly or in small groups. Ogres, trolls, and some decidedly bestial creatures towered several meters above even the mounted riders. You'd want to miss them, but you couldn't! However, several monsters, reminiscent of the iconic behemoths from Heroes III, nearly as tall as a three-story building, towered even above them, striding heavily across the steppe, supported by powerful forepaws with enormous claws.

And in the path of this entire horde, a lone man-made giant loomed large. Its body was crafted from something resembling the Tree of Life, so saturated was it with magic. It was also reinforced with metal, and enchanted to the extreme. Its chest plate, made of pure mithril, was particularly striking, adorned with some stylized letters. Cyrill thought he recognized the "H" and "O," but he wasn't sure, nor what letter was between them, due to the same out-of-focus situation. And to top it all off, this man-made giant was also stuffed to the brim with magical crystals, combat and protective amulets, several embedded artifacts, and who knows what else. It was genuine fur, straight out of a Japanese animation masterpiece, made of wood, mithril, and magically powered! The icing on the cake was a huge spear with a fabulously expensive tip made of pure mithril, stylized as a unicorn's horn, on which the man-made giant leaned.

Standing on his shoulder, next to the open hatch leading to the head, was someone with his back to Cyrill. He was clad in a strange, completely un-medieval-looking suit of silver and gold armor, also enchanted in three layers. His face was hidden by a nearly impenetrable helmet, but his gaze was directed toward the advancing horde. Without turning, he asked briefly and coldly:

"How long?"

From the depths of the giant came a muffled, but extremely irritated and nervous cry.

"Almost there!!! I'm running the final check and launching!!!"

"You have thirty seconds; then they will begin the attack," the unknown man, whose voice seemed vaguely familiar, also cut off coldly.

He couldn't hear the reply from the depths of the man-made giant. And that wasn't what caught Cyrill's attention. It was the fact that one of the behemoth monsters, the largest and most seasoned, its hide already touched with gray, had been stomping heavily near the front of the horde. It suddenly froze, its claws buried in the ground. It sucked in a few breaths with its monstrous snout. Then, with a deafening, terrifying howl, it turned and charged straight through the ranks of the Horde, sweeping away and trampling anyone who didn't manage to get out of its way. The monster paid no attention at all to the arrows, spears, or spells that flew its way—its thick hide simply ignored the physical attacks, and magical ones sank and faded in its shaggy gray fur.

Watching the fleeing monster leave a sizable trail of crushed and torn corpses of riders and mounts, the man standing on the shoulder of the man-made giant said very quietly and coldly.

"You recognized."

At that moment, a jubilant cry was heard from the depths of the man-made giant.

"It's ready!!! I'm launching!!!"

The figure in strange armor, without another word, dove into the giant's head with a single movement, slamming the hatch door shut. A few seconds later, the giant came to life and held his spear at the ready...

* * *

The third dream is clear, but absolutely devoid of color and brightness, like footage from an old, old newsreel...

From a bird's-eye view, Cyrill saw a vast city, much larger than White Harbor, surrounded by five rings of mighty fortress walls and spread out amidst a fertile plain. It boasted numerous majestic, palace-like buildings, growing ever more opulent the closer they got to the center, wide and even streets, as if drawn with a ruler, several large parks, and man-made ponds. And all this splendor bore numerous traces of destruction.

The outermost ring of walls was almost completely destroyed, as were the adjacent districts and the surrounding suburbs. In some places, entire blocks had been burned, reduced to rubble, or collapsed into the abyss, leaving deep craters in their place. Even without looking or listening, one could sense the traces of a brutal magical battle that had raged here. But beyond the magic, the traces of divine miracles were also clearly perceptible, and the latter were seemingly even more numerous.

Only the very center of the city remained relatively intact, protected by a protective barrier resting on the final wall. But even there, scattered signs of destruction were visible. The only structure that showed no signs of damage at all was the enormous, anthracite-black tower rising in the very center of the city, taller than some of the skyscrapers on Mother Earth.

A monstrous magical power emanated from the tower, permeating it from its base to its summit; Cyrill sensed it even from a great distance. But there was something else in this power... Something deeply sinister, incredibly sticky, with a viscous, oily rottenness on the tongue, causing pain in the stomach and joints...

The Curse of the Black Blood: a realization comes from somewhere outside, and in this realization there is outright fear...

Suddenly, the feeling of vile filth intensifies by an order of magnitude, becoming more distinct and repulsive, as if the abomination had received a hefty dose of nourishment and begun to grow rapidly. But at the same time, the sensation of magical power emanating from the gigantic tower, acting as both a resonator and a focuser, increases exponentially. At some point, the magical power coursing through it reaches simply unimaginable levels.

And then, all this power, without a trace, rushes in one fell swoop, seemingly in all directions at once and into nowhere. At first, Cyrill didn't even understand how this could happen. And then, from the foot of the tower, a monstrous and simultaneously mesmerizing wave rushed in all directions, tearing apart, shredding, and crumpling the fabric of existence. Space itself felt as if it had been thrown into a blender. Or a meat grinder. Which also spins, scattering torn pieces and shreds in all directions. And along with space, everything within it began to tear apart.

Buildings in the city center, intact and very well-fortified just moments before, were shattered into hundreds of pieces, flying tens, even hundreds, of meters into the air. Or they were crushed into shapeless lumps, no bigger than a soccer ball, only to erupt a moment later in a fountain of debris on the other side of the city. The monstrous impact spared nothing and no one!

In a matter of moments, the entire city center was destroyed, along with the humans and nonhumans sheltering there, who hadn't even had time to fully comprehend what had happened. And the monstrous wave-grinder, showing no signs of stopping, had already engulfed and mercilessly ground down the middle and then the outer districts. The destruction was compounded by a frenzy of magic—artifacts, amulets, storage crystals, minor sources of magic, ritual circles, protective barriers—all proved powerless against the space being torn apart. Hundreds of explosions of various types scattered people and space, intensifying the rapidly growing chaos.

The isolated attempts of the city's defenders or the besieging units that had broken through and dug in to disperse, divert, or somehow deflect the approaching death were not even noticed by the wave tearing apart the space. Having swept through the city like a bloody massacre, it spilled beyond its borders. There, on all sides, the city was surrounded by several fortified and interconnected siege camps. In some places, the besiegers had even built natural fortresses—well-defended strongholds.

No. Not just fortresses. Fortress-temples; the understanding comes.

And they are protected not only by magic but also by divine will, by the power of those whose altars are located deep within each of them. And their defenses are quite strong, especially from the Magic of Space, for the besiegers knew very well what to expect and what to fear from the besieged.

But their primary fear was the opening of portals behind their lines, carrying saboteurs, fireship-like creatures, swarms of predatory chimeras, natural monsters, or something even worse. And so, the besiegers had prepared very well, simply superbly, against these portals, painstakingly making the space as stable as possible. So that it would be impossible to quickly and easily open any portal. And if they did, they would ensure it was stable. And now this preparation, suddenly reinforced by the besieged, worked against them.

Снrill literally felt the panic and primal terror that gripped hundreds, no, tens, no, hundreds, hundreds of thousands of sentient beings who, seeing death approaching, desperately tried to save themselves, hide, flee! And the heart-stopping realization that there was no salvation, that escape was impossible, since they themselves, in the first place, had so diligently blocked all means of travel through the portals, fearing a strike from the Black Tower's chief denizen. And he had reinforced and supplemented their blockade, making the space around his abode even more material. This caused not only those accustomed to dealing with the spirit world or the elemental planes, but even several dozen divine messengers, among those besieging or protecting the fortress-temples, to suddenly realize with horror that they could not return to their patron's domain...

Once again, a bitter and somewhat malicious realization dawns. One of the celestials, who had incarnated a full-fledged avatar at the wrong time to assess the final stages of a long-running war, has panickedly realized that he is unable to disembody his earthly incarnation and return to his native and safe domain...

So, as it turned out, the besiegers in the Black Tower were right to fear the besieged, but they feared something completely different from what they expected. The wave, which had reduced the vast city to bloody dust and spilled beyond its borders, engulfed the besiegers' camps and fortress-temples in mere moments. Those few gifted with the gift of flight attempted to escape into the air. But only to discover with horror that the space, now utterly material, had also become terribly dense. Viscous. As if trying to run through water...

But their terror was short-lived, as the wave that reached the besiegers' camps crushed them just as it had crushed the city, heedless of the desperately erected defensive barriers. The merciless meat grinder into which space itself had become transformed crushed divine messengers and hundreds of gifted ones, both mighty individuals and equally mighty individuals with numerous retinues. Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of ordinary besiegers who supplied and maintained the camps and fortresses with everything they needed. For a few moments, amidst the frenzy of the rushing space, the celestial being who had so unsuccessfully manifested held out. And then his defenses fell, and he found himself in a hundred different places at once. And then in a thousand, in a desperate and impotent rage mingled with malice, he ceased to exist forever.

And the monstrous wave moved on, like a tsunami, covering and grinding up the fertile fields lying far beyond the besiegers' camps, destroying irrigation ditches and canals, fruit groves, roads, villages and small towns...

The next moment, Cyrill realized he was no longer looking down from the heights of a bird's flight, but from a fine airliner. And he saw a monstrous wave, broken into separate but still extremely wide streams, spreading in all directions across the continent, grinding everything and everyone along with the space. And not just leaving behind devastation, no... Much worse. Mutilated, raped, and torn, the space proves unable to recover, transforming vast territories, almost half the continent, from thriving and densely populated lands into a desert filled with death traps...

* * *

The fourth dream is not clear and rather dim...

It's either a large village or a small town. It's winter outside, and the night is deep. Several men, clinging to each other, stagger out of what appears to be a drinking establishment. The night is clear, and therefore frosty, with a half-moon and stars shining brightly in the sky. A tipsy group pauses on the street, trying to figure out where and how to go. It's not an idle question, given the cold and the amount of alcohol they've had.

Suddenly, one of them screams and raises his hand in terror, pointing to the sky. The others look in the direction indicated and scream too; one nearly falls, dragging his comrades down with him. The cause of their terror becomes apparent a second later: a huge sleigh flies across the clear night sky. It's being pulled, desperately clawing, by a huge, yet thin, terrifying, hunched creature with disproportionate limbs and branching horns.

A one-eyed old man in a red robe and a red cap lined with white fur sat in a sleigh, holding the reins, his face twisted with anger and discontent. Next to him, in a smart green suit, a girl painted like some kind of clown burst into laughter, throwing boxes and bundles in all directions. Just looking at them made Cyrill taste like honey and candied berries. And she wasn't just throwing them; she was hurling them as if into the chimneys of houses. Flying right over the frozen group of drunkards, the old man, his expression unchanged, croaked angrily at them:

"Happy New Year to you, ho-ho-ho, may the devil take you all!!!"

It was accompanied by the mournful howl of the monster harnessed to the sleigh, which sent shivers down everyone's spines. But somehow, both were drowned out by the ringing laughter of the painted girl, who continued to scatter sweet gifts down the chimneys. When the sleigh disappeared behind the rooftops, the men who had watched it disappear with stunned gazes, all of whom had sobered up in record time, slowly exchanged glances. Then, without saying a word, they glanced at the half-empty, pot-bellied bottle one of them had grabbed from the tavern. A second later, the bottle flew off, straight into a snowdrift on the opposite side of the street.

And the next moment, Kirill saw a textbook scene of a tavern brawl, where an equally textbook fat tavern keeper, together with the bouncers, was fighting off an enraged group of drunkards, who were demanding that he confess to what kind of crap he was mixing in his drinks, that honest people were seeing Wendigos flying through the sky, harnessed to sleighs!

* * *

Cyrill opened his eyes and, for a few seconds, as usual, couldn't comprehend where he was or what was happening. His head was a complete mess, and his head itself felt incredibly heavy. Some Santa Claus in a sleigh pulled by a horned monster. The Black Tower and a total continent-scale Armageddon. A wooden anime mech against some horde. And some guy... Fuuuuuck!!!

Cyrill sat up abruptly. His heart sank as he saw and, more importantly, felt himself lying in the folded-out chair, pantsless again. Andarial, nestled at his feet, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, was methodically sucking him off again. Seeing the young man awake, she slyly narrowed her sightless eyes, but didn't stop, continuing to work her lips and tongue. Choked by the overwhelming pleasure, Cyrill jerked once more, but then slumped back in the chair. Fuck. Fuck, what a bitch... Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!

The situation made him want to scream. And not just from pleasure, although that was part of it, but also from the fact that... Fuck, screw it all! He didn't force anyone; he could swear on anything!!! And if the great seer decided to thank him like this for the artifact he'd given her, then that was her decision; he had nothing to do with it...

Gripping the soft armrests with his hands, Cyrill exhaled heavily through clenched lips and, just like last time, ejaculated directly into Andarial's mouth. And she, just as unabashed, calmly pulled away, swallowed every drop, and then, in a purring voice like Gata's, said.

"Good morning, Cirial."

And she leaned forward again, running her tongue from the root to the head of his cock. The young man, breathing heavily, licked his dry lips and croaked out.

"Thank you, most honorable one. For everything..."

A second later, he realized the stupidity and cringe of the phrase, but Andarial suddenly just smiled and licked Cyrill the Junior again in a completely depraved manner.

"I thought I had made it clear enough to you, Ciriall, for you to understand how grateful I am to you."

With these words, she wrapped her lips around the young man's dick again, cleaning it of 0the remaining drops of saliva and semen, causing Cyrill to gasp in pleasure once again. Having finished cleaning, Andarial pulled away, sitting at his feet and looking up at him with a sly squint.

"Don't you like my gratitude, Ciriall?"

Cyrill sighed heavily and cursed silently, but continued to lie there and answered with utmost honesty.

"I am more than pleased with it, most honorable one, but I fear that others may decide that it was caused by the power of the Tablet, and not by your own wish."

Slightly squinting her sightless eyes, Andarial crossed her arms over her chest and asked sternly.

"And did you use the power of the Tablet on me?"

"No! I’m ready to swear on anything!" Cyrill hastily blurted out.

This caused the seer to laugh quietly and contentedly.

"I see and believe you're not lying. That's why I agreed to be alone with you. As for the others, you needn't worry. This place," Andarial gestured toward the hemispherical room they were in, "is as isolated as possible from the rest of the world. Everything that happens here stays here. Unless I let it out myself, I won't let it out. And since you're so worried..."

Suddenly squinting, she tilted her head to the side and asked.

"Are you afraid of jealousy on the part of the venerable Diantrel?"

"What? No, not that... I'm telling you, I'm afraid she and the others will think I used the Tablet's power on you!"

"And you think so because," said Andarial, "you think that this is too high and indecent a price for your gift to me, Ciriall."

Sighing heavily, the seer smiled and shook her head, looking at the young man as if he were a small child. Although, given their age difference, hidden behind the elf's youthful appearance, to her he wasn't even a child, but rather a spermatozoon...

"Cirial, you still haven't fully realized what a great gift you've given me. What it means to me, after three thousand years, to regain the ability to see without compromising my primary sense of sight..."

Sighing again, Andarial rose to her feet and said in a voice that instantly became businesslike.

"Get dressed, Ciriall, and tidy yourself up. We have much to discuss with your mentor. And don't worry about her or anyone else finding out about my gratitude to you."

With these words, the elf approached the table, pulled a jug of water from a drawer, took a few sips, and began to tidy herself up. Having finished, she carefully returned the four crystals, now far from transparent, to the chest, taking the rest out and setting them to levitate above the stands. Cyrill, meanwhile, managed to get dressed, still completely confused. A joke about a top manager of a mega-corporation on his native Earth, unable to talk to anyone normally because everyone, upon learning who he was, immediately started giving him blow jobs, kept spinning around in his head. Hmm, being the Chosen One with the System has its perks after all... If you survive, of course...

Andarial's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"This time, I hope you retained at least some memory of your dreams, Cirial?"

Cirill, with great effort, tried to remember what he had dreamed about.

"Um... Yeah, I remember some stuff... First, I dreamed about some boy... It seemed like something ate him! Then I dreamed about some kind of horde... orcs and steppe dwellers, I think... And some kind of giant golem. Then there was some real horror, like half a continent... fuuuuuck..."

A satisfied smile appeared on the face of Andarial, who was listening to Cyrill.

"I see that you yourself understood what exactly you saw, Ciriall."

"It was the Black Tower of the Apostate..."

"To be precise, it was an extremely tragic ending to the War of God's Wrath, the seer nodded."

"And the last thing... the last thing I had was some kind of nonsense... Santa Claus, but instead of reindeer, there was some kind of creepy creature..."

Andarial frowned slightly and asked.

"What is Santa Claus?"

"Ah, this is... a fictional character from my home world..."

He had to spend several minutes explaining to the viewer part of the cultural code of his home world. And yes, he had to clarify several times that, in fact, there is no Santa Claus on Earth. That's right. It's just a legend told to little children, and that's why they believe it. After listening to the young man, Andarial nodded, picked up the crystal box from the table, and pointed to the door.

"Let's go, Ciriall, they're already waiting for us."

During their absence, the first room had undergone a significant transformation. As it turned out, Cyrill had slept until the evening, despite the fact that it was still midday when they started, and he was alert and full of energy. Well, or rather, "evening" by their standards, since about half an hour had passed outside. Diantrel, along with Gata and Armina, had arranged and made the beds, separating two of them with separate screens. They had set up a dining room, screening off two corners where they had placed a washroom and a bathing area. Moreover, all the screens weren't simple, but enchanted, creating sound-blocking barriers. They also provided some protection from normal and magical vision. Although the latter was more of a tentative measure.

And, of course, they set up a separate amulet system designed to freshen and purify the air, without which the confined space would quickly become a real gas chamber. All three greeted Cyrill and Andarial with restrained interest. After greeting them, the seer gestured toward the dining table and said.

"Please sit down, honorable ones; we have much to discuss. And please arrange a light supper for us."

The latter referred to Gata and Armina.

“Everything is ready, most honorable, please.” Both of Cyrill’s companions nodded.

"Fabulous!"

Settling down at the relatively small dining table, Andarial immediately popped a couple of fruit slices into her mouth from the silver tray, enchanted to maintain freshness and placed before her by Armina. Diantrel took the seat next to her. Cyrill sat opposite them. Gata and Armina sat on either side of him, having placed several more platters of various foods, pitchers of drinks, and glasses on the table. Placing a casket of crystals on the edge of the table, Andarial opened it, carefully picked up one of the crystals, and set it on one of the small metal stands she had brought with her. As soon as the dimly glowing, clouded crystal hovered above her, the seer leaned back in her chair, clasped her hands on her stomach, crossed her legs, and said in a philosophical voice.

"So, what can I say about the results of our dreaming session? First of all, I'd like to lament once again that you, venerable Diantrel, were so late in noticing Cirial's dreams, because even I didn't expect what I saw..."

Ignoring another jab at her, Diantrel briefly and reservedly clarified.

"Is it that bad, most honorable?"

She shook her head in response.

"It's too bad it was discovered so late. But what was ultimately discovered... it's at least quite curious... So!"

After popping a couple more fruit slices and large grapes into her mouth, Andarial dimmed the lights and elegantly touched the crystal, which began to glow noticeably brighter. In an instant, it projected a three-dimensional image of the city, almost plunged into darkness, over the table.

"To begin with, I must say that tuning into Cirial’s dreams turned out to be extremely difficult. Even for me in my sanctum sanctorum and using amulets of excellent quality designed specifically for joint dreams. But thanks to my wealth of experience and skill, I still succeeded,” undisguised pride could be heard in the voice of the spectator. "And not just to see them, but also to preserve the dreams you saw."

With another short gesture, she started the image of the city at night and continued.

"The first dream is a vision of something that happened, most likely last night. I'm willing to stake my reputation on this, and as for the timing—perhaps the night before last, which isn't the point. The clarity of the images, their richness—all indicate that this event has already left its mark on reality, and just recently."

Diantrel, who was carefully examining the projection, slightly narrowed her violet eyes and confidently said.

"One of the cities of the Confederation. Perhaps not sovereign, but a vassal or protectorate of one of the larger cities."

Andarial nodded in agreement and pointed to the moment when the unknown youth exited the door.

"Absolutely right. I couldn't identify him; the image was too general, but at this point I was able to "focus" my vision and pick out a specific detail—part of a sign. This could help us identify the scene and also establish the identity of this young man."

"Is he dead?" Armina asked quietly as the image reached the point where he was dragged into the formless shadow.

Andarial shook her head.

"The likelihood is high, but in the dream I didn't see or feel any obvious signs of his death. However, I also didn't feel any sign of what had caught him, and that's cause for concern. But, I repeat, since I didn't feel any obvious signs of his death, perhaps he remained alive. In any case..." Here the seer looked meaningfully at Diantrel with her blind eyes and again flashed her artifact eye.

"...I would insist on investigating this vision. If Ciriall's prophetic dreams are indeed sent by his patroness, it could be something important. Although it may be one of the countless "junk" visions that so hamper those great seers that they are somehow unable to shut them out..."

She spoke the last phrase with noticeable mockery, but Cyrill didn't understand who or what she was talking about, as he was completely unaware. And neither did Diantrel, judging by the emotions she transmitted through the bond. Meanwhile, the Seer extinguished the crystal and replaced it with another, revealing an image of the endless steppe and an advancing horde.

"The second dream," Andarial continued, "is, with a high degree of probability, a vision of something possible that didn't happen. The richness of its colors indicates the former, but the lack of clarity and general vagueness are a sure sign of the latter."

Diantrel, who had suddenly become extremely collected at the sight of the horde marching across the steppe, asked sharply:

"Another Great Horde, assembled by yet another imitator of the Greatest of Khans?"

Andarial shrugged.

"I won't claim to confirm this, for although I managed, albeit at great cost, to "focus" on their banners, I did manage to identify them. None of the clans I know of, whose leaders could theoretically claim to amass such a horde in the coming decades, fly such a banner. And I, in my line of work, am quite well versed in this matter..."

"Me too," Diantrel said slowly, "and I also can't recall a single clan or tribal union that would fly such a banner. I'll have to contact the Forest Guard scouts who work in the Great Steppe."

“That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Andarial nodded, “but I’ll emphasize that this vision is definitely not coming true.”

"What kind of creature is this? Some kind of golem?" Gata asked, pointing to the man-made giant of wood and metal.

“It looks like an anime mecha, only made of wood and powered by magic,” Cyrill said thoughtfully, looking at the image.

A few seconds later, he realized his comrades and Andarial were looking at him questioningly. Damn, yeah, they don't know about Japanese animation... Maybe it's even for the best...

"Sorry, I meant that this golem looks like the fictional combat mechanisms from my home world that were called mechs..."

Cyrill had to spend almost ten minutes explaining to the Beriadon natives what he meant. The opportunity to create a couple of not-so-schematic volumetric illusions, mimicking examples of Japanese animation that Cyrill had created from memory, was greatly helpful. After assessing the appearance of the pair of mechs on display, all four were somewhat disappointed to learn that on Earth, such combat machines exist only in the realm of fantasy and fairy tales.

"...the way this one in the armor got inside is very similar. And the armor itself is very similar to the kind they like to depict the pilots of these mechs in," Cyrill concluded.

Andarial, leaning back in her chair and not forgetting to pop one piece of fruit after another into her mouth during the conversation, said thoughtfully:

"Interesting... I'll have to think about this... But in any case, this, again, is clearly a vision that never came to pass. Moreover, based on my extensive experience, I strongly suspect that it pertains to those images of a possible future that are guaranteed not to occur, since the entire chain of events necessary for it never came together."

After changing the crystals and displaying the next image, she continued.

"The third dream, however, is quite interesting, as it's a vision of an event that happened in the past, a relatively distant one even by the standards of the Firstborn. But its traces are so vast that it's still easy to discern. True, not everyone can do so as clearly as you, Ciriall."

"The First Tree..." Diantrel whispered, watching, as if enchanted, how the space around the Black Tower, along with everyone who was there, turned into a torn mess.

“This…” Armina began, but Andarial got ahead of her, nodding affirmatively.

"A truly tragic end to the War of God's Wrath. The final and most terrible blow of Reystar the Apostate, into which he poured all his power and his very life. Or rather, the fragment of it that remained to him, for the curse of the Black Blood had already done its work. But even this was enough to turn half an entire continent into one vast and deadly desert," the seer said grimly, watching as the space-grinding torrents, spreading in all directions, destroyed everything in their path."

"He really destroyed his followers too?" Gata whispered in shock. "I confess, my lords, I've heard of this, but I always thought all those stories... were greatly exaggerated, intended to further vilify the Apostate."

"No, the first victims of Reystar's final blow were indeed his few remaining supporters, those who hadn't yet managed to flee or defect, seeing their lord and patron increasingly consumed by the Black Blood." Andarial shook her head gloomily. "But far more of his opponents perished, including those who thought they could hide in the heavens if necessary..."

Narrowing her eyes unkindly at the very moment when one of the celestials, whose avatar resembled a huge anthropomorphic bird of prey, had been so unsuccessfully incarnated, was also ground into a thousand pieces, Andarial, who had grown even more gloomy, added:

"But even more perished were those who tried to stay as far away from that war as possible, either unwilling to participate at all, or willing but indirectly. Reystar's final blow swept across vast lands like a bloody plow, destroying dozens of cities and reaching all the way to the coast of the Southern Continent. Several waves also carved out considerable tracts of land in the Great Jungle. However, the latter suffered the least; the lizardmen and their winged overlords escaped with only a slight fright."

“Not all,” Cyrill clarified, rolling back the image to the moment when the wave was grinding down the besiegers.

Including several dragons, some quite large, who attempted to escape with the divine harolds by air, taking off from the besiegers' camps. And they were probably very surprised and upset when that very air became incredibly sticky for them, preventing their escape.

"Not all," Andarial agreed. "But of all the inhabitants of the Southern Continent, it was the lizards and the black-skinned peoples who suffered the least direct damage. Although they weren't exactly happy about half the continent and its inhabitants being turned into the Great Desert."

"Very few were happy about this," Diantrel nodded grimly. "Because no one even managed to recapture the devastated lands, let alone the destroyed wealth. Perhaps the most satisfied was the ancestor of the current Most Serene Caliph, who received a powerful weapon from one of the fallen celestials at the end of that war, but very fortunately failed to fully assemble his troops and lead them to the final assault on the Black Tower. And then there was no one to repay the debt, and the gifted weapons remained, which allowed him to establish the Caliphate and then establish his line as the ruling family."

"Truly, although he was not the only one who managed to profit from the crumbs left after that war," Andarial nodded.

"But as far as I remember from the lectures of the venerable Diantrel, no one was ever able to secure the main prize?" Cyrill clarified.

A small shadow crossed Andarial's face, and she shook her head.

"No, no one has managed to get their hands on the Black Tower itself to this day..."

After a few seconds of silence, she continued.

"In conclusion, I would attribute Cirial's third dream-vision to the profound impact the finale of the War of God's Wrath left on the universe. Many seers, even now, and not just you, Cirial, sometimes detect echoes of those terrible years..."

After a moment's hesitation, Andarial added with a strange smile.

"And some seers even try to make money from this, telling stories of how they saw a secret passage left by Reistar to his abode."

"There were especially many of them in the first decades after the war," Diantrel added with a chuckle. "And the vast majority of those who believed the stories of all sorts of charlatans about a reliable way to reach the Black Tower vanished without a trace in the Great Desert."

"And the minority?" Cyrill asked.

“They disappeared before they even reached the desert.” Andarial snorted and pulled out the last crystal.

Projecting his image, she sighed and said.

"Ciriall's fourth dream. This vision—and it's a vision, not just a dream—I would definitely classify it as a "garbage" dream. It's one of those that not only didn't happen, but had a very slim chance of happening. One of countless, yet extremely unlikely, variations, and even I can't say with certainty whether it refers to the past or the future. Furthermore, there's a high probability that a false interpretation of the images occurred when the mind, trying to comprehend the received vision of something it's never encountered, uses its own, pre-existing analogies. I'm referring now to the image of a legendary character from his home world; Ciriall will be able to explain everything more clearly..."

Under the questioning glances of his companions, the young man once again explained who Grandpa Frost was, what he wore, how he got around, and what he did. As the final scene unfolded, all three of them stared at the projected image with a very... skeptical expression, let's call it that. Slowly nodding, Diantrel agreed.

"Truly, if this is a vision, it is of the extremely unlikely kind..."

"And so, I suggest we don't waste time on it and move on to the conclusions. So!"

Having sent another portion of fruits and berries into her mouth, Andarial said in a decisive voice.

"Ciriall clearly has prophetic dreams thanks to his patroness's gift; I have virtually no doubt about that now. Whether all his dreams are like this or this is an exception—I can't say yet; we need at least a few more nights together. And the more, the better. But what's clear is that this moment must not be left to chance. And that means..."

Here, a predatory anticipation appeared on the seer’s face.

"Ciriall, you and I will have to work very hard to ensure that you understand at least the basics of dreaming in our extremely limited time. With my modest assistance, of course. I promise to do everything I can to ensure this."

“Thank you, and I have no doubt about it,” Cyrill nodded gratefully.

At the same time, for some reason, he had the feeling that he was in deep trouble again...

"I had no doubt about it!" Andarial's face beamed with a smile, and she clapped her hands contentedly.

"Let's not waste another minute! That's all the practical work for today, so let's focus on theory for now. Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like you to clear the table."

Gata and Armina nodded politely and immediately rose to their feet. Cirill's feeling of being in deep trouble only grew stronger...

* * *

And, as it turned out, Cyrill's guts were right. The next three days were truly exhausting for him. Much more exhausting than those sweatshops at the training grounds with Diantrel. Because she drove him from sunrise to sunset, but Andarial drove him all those days, practically around the clock!

After the first session, the seer gave him and Cyrill's companions a theoretical lecture on various forms of clairvoyance and divination. The key points that Cyrill remembered well and was able to identify were as follows.

The first and most important point Andarial made was this: predicting the future with absolute certainty is impossible. Absolutely impossible. At least not in this world, no matter how much anyone tries to claim otherwise. One can foresee possible scenarios. One can calculate the most likely ones. But one can never be certain of one outcome or another. Not to mention that there are various ways to conceal one's intentions, so that those attempting to divine the future don't get a complete picture of the possible outcomes.

If things had been different, the Rising Empire wouldn't have fallen, the Isle Empire wouldn't have fallen, the Great Horde wouldn't have collapsed, the Northern Kingdoms wouldn't have burned under its onslaught. And, of course, the War of God's Wrath wouldn't have happened. Andarial recounted all this with such emotion that Cyrill believed it for himself—over the long centuries, even millennia, the seer had clearly been plagued with questions like: What awaits me in the future? What is my destiny?

The second thing Andarial emphasized is that clairvoyance or divination is actually relatively simple. Especially if you use auxiliary tools, like mind-expanding alchemy (often seriously damaging to health in the long term) or specialized artifacts. Like local versions of the classic sets of tarot cards, coffee grounds, lucky coins, and other, much darker options, like ritual sacrifices followed by divination using the victim's entrails or bones.

But seeing or predicting something specific is much, much more difficult than bingeing on mushroom infusions and having incredibly vivid dreams, the meaning of which you still won't be able to understand. And this is the true art and mastery of the seer! Seeing what you need, not just what you're lucky enough to see. And then correctly interpreting what you see. Ultimately, Cyrill formed an analogy for himself: Andarial's fate is like trying to watch the program you need on TV. Except you have hundreds, if not thousands, of channels. And they also clash with each other because some have a stronger signal, while others have a weaker one. Plus, there are pay channels. There are closed ones that require a password or key. Some are in foreign languages. There are some that are best avoided altogether if you want to preserve your sanity and life. And then there are interference and commercial breaks with all sorts of crap from TV shopping, pop-up windows when you try to block the feeds to other channels, including dangerous ones. And of course, the batteries in the remote control die. And the buttons stick.

Perhaps the analogy was a bit exaggerated, but hearing about the difficulties Andarial had to face at the beginning of her career, it was by no means exaggerated. And therefore, as the seer summed up with undisguised pride, there are many kinds of predictors and soothsayers. Those who can actually predict something, and not just fool the gullible, are an order of magnitude smaller. Those who can consistently predict or discern what they were asked about are even fewer. Well, those who, like Andarial, can consistently and with a very high guarantee see not only what is needed, but also what they are diligently trying to hide - there are no more than two dozen of them in the whole world. It’s difficult to say more precisely, since most of her colleagues, comparable to her in skill, as well as herself, prefer to lead a less public lifestyle.

The third thing Andarial emphasized during her lecture was that even the greatest seer or prophetess is unlikely to be able to foresee anything without some kind of "point of support." Something to base their prophecy or insight on. This should be something tangible, but not necessary. Although it is preferable. In the seer's history, there were cases in which she was able to successfully foresee and unravel them by initially relying solely on abstract rumors. Almost a classic Beriadon-style rumor mill. Even if they weren't told by some old woman at the entrance to her building.

And so, it's not hard to guess that secrecy was and is one of the best ways to counter Andarial's colleagues. If you don't know what you're looking for, you won't be able to see it. And, as she said, trying to peer into every direction with your third eye isn't the best idea. Not only is it impossible to encompass all possible scenarios with a single glance, but you can also get into serious trouble. Because methods of combating seers aren't always passive. There were plenty of ways to draw the gaze of a clairvoyant seeking you to a deceptive target, which you'd stare at enough to cause you to, at best, then report false information. And at worst, you'd either die or receive a gift to your head in the spirit of the same Master. Andarial especially emphasized this point, which also applies to dreamers.

No, she reassured Cyrill, in the passive mode in which he dreamed, the chance of running into trouble was extremely small, especially if no one was looking for you. Although not zero. But when the dreamwalker is deliberately trying to see something specific in a dream... That's when you have to be careful. Or rather, you always have to be careful, but at times like these, you have to be especially careful. Otherwise, as Cyrill realized, you could run into his colleague Fedor Krugerov. After mentioning the latter, he had to spend a few more minutes explaining to his companions and Andarial who he was.

Summing up the theoretical lecture, the seer declared that, ideally, mastering all the subtleties requires years of practice and training. As, indeed, in any lot. But Cyrill had the Tablet, and they had no time to spare, despite the young man's badge. Therefore, having finished the theory, Andarial removed from one of the chests delivered to their temporary living quarters several more crystals, containing pre-imprinted and selected images of a wide variety of events, which she used to train her students.

Having cleared the table of all unnecessary items, she laid them out before Cyrill, and for the rest of the day, she and the young man contemplated them one by one, practicing to determine which of them were real or possible, which belonged to the past or the future. And while the very first versions of the captured images were relatively clear: here's a faded and blurry one; here's a bright but blurry one; here's a faded but clear one; and here's a bright and clear one—then, as time went on, everything became more complex.

By the end, Cyrill's head was starting to ache. He'd barely expended any energy—his reserves were nearly full. But psychologically, the need to repeatedly watch a movie in VR—not just watch it, but analyze it—was unexpectedly exhausting. And when Andarial, after her final check, declared it satisfactory for the first time, Kirill was genuinely happy, looking forward to rest.

And he almost groaned out loud when the seer declared that the theory (and it turned out it was all theoretical!) was over for today, and they needed to move on to practice again. That is, to a joint dreaming session. Therefore, they had no more than an hour to freshen up before bed, for time was short and there was no time to waste! Or rather, as Andarial said, she would have been delighted to engage in some systematic training of Cyrill, along with Diantrel and Alatrel, but she physically couldn't do so right now. Because she was simply swamped with current work that she couldn't put aside. Otherwise, the Emissary Corps, the Secret Guard, and the Forest Guard would all be in an uproar at once.

She literally clawed her way out of her schedule for the original day and a half Cyrill's visit had been scheduled. So, don't look so sad, young Ciriall, but wash up properly, and if you need to, take a quick refreshment in the bathhouse, but only after me, and then let's go to another dreaming session together. Cyrill, limiting himself to thoroughly rinsing himself over the basin in the corner designated as a restroom, while Andarial took a practically full shower in the other corner, where the bathhouse had been set up, went with her to another dreaming session. There was nothing else to do. For there is such a word: must...

But to Andarial's undisguised disappointment, the second night proved far less fruitful. Only two dreams, of which only one—the first one—was a vision. It was quite brief, but clear and vivid.

Once again, a small town, a familiar one, plunging into night darkness. A street adjacent to the city wall. The houses are frankly poor, their shutters and doors tightly closed for the night, through which not a single ray of light penetrates. Which is more than suitable for the few people here who are currently awake, but just out hunting.

Several dark figures, having left one of the buildings through a side door, are moving toward the city center through the alleys between the houses. They move confidently and calmly, unafraid. Understanding dawns, thanks to night vision amulets. Moreover, some of the five figures, as Cyrill now discerned, are well armed, including magical amulets, not just cold steel. They have nothing to fear here. Another understanding dawns. A well-paid shift is on duty at the gates between the blocks today; they should be able to get into the central part without any problems, but closer to the center, things will be a bit more difficult...

The figures move confidently, silently. They know the path to their intended destination. But as they move along a narrow side street, passing another passageway between buildings, now completely immersed in darkness, a mass of seemingly animated darkness leaps out from within. Cyrill, like the last of the five, doesn't have time to react at first, but his gaze seems to focus automatically, trying to discern, to penetrate the mass of darkness, the disguise beneath which lies...

Together with the last of the five, who hadn't managed to understand anything or raise the alarm, the clot of darkness disappears back into the passage between the houses before Cyrill manages to see it clearly... The four continue on their way, not noticing the disappearance of their comrade, which is facilitated by the fact that each of them is wearing an amulet of silent steps, and they themselves are silent, since each knows the way and each has been ordered not to open their mouths unnecessarily...

Suddenly, Cyrill felt himself being pulled into a darkened passage, pushed there, and without realizing it, instead of following the four, he strode into the darkness... only to find himself in the nighttime gateway of his home. Looking around dazedly, the young man recognized his home yard, the playground, the path across the lawn to the school... Damn, they were probably waiting for him already; it was pitch-dark outside! He'd been on a bender, and he had classes tomorrow! He might as well skip at least the first one...

A dream. The realization that he's dreaming comes completely unexpectedly and clearly. It's a dream. This realization makes Cyrill freeze in place, not even taking a step toward his building. Damn... Right. He's in another world now. The Chosen One. And all this is left behind...

With the realization, the familiar residential complex, immersed in darkness, vanishes, and Cyrill opens his eyes to the ceiling, where magical crystals glow dimly. A moment later, he exhales heavily, feeling another "gratitude" from the now-awake Andarial. Without even saying anything, the young man leaned back in the fold-out chair and closed his eyes, enjoying the morning blowjob.

A lazy thought flashed through his mind again, that being the Chosen One with the System certainly had its perks... But that thought was literally driven from his mind the moment he finished. And no, not by the feeling of orgasm, but by a system message!

Attention!

New knowledge was acquired: "the basic principles of the simplest dreaming methods."

Yes, indeed! If it weren't for the pleasure from Andarial's blowjob, Cyrill would have screamed out loud, but as it was, he caught his breath. The Seer, apparently, chalked it up to her gratitude, and once again, calmly swallowing every drop of semen, began cleaning Cyrill Junior. When she was finished, she pulled away and said with a smile on her face.

"Good morning, Kirial."

"Good morning, most honorable. And it really is good," the young man managed to squeeze out through dry lips.

Catching something in Cyrill's voice, Andarial immediately became extremely serious and asked.

"Cirial?"

Thanks to your efforts, most respected one, I've received "the basics of the simplest dreaming techniques." Now I'll upgrade to the developed basics. Unfortunately, I can't go any higher; I don't have the necessary qualifications, so I'll probably be offline for an hour...

A mental command. Confirmation. And Cyrill felt the familiar rush of energy as the System loaded new knowledge into his head. It didn't take long, thanks to the already solid database. The new knowledge wasn't downloaded to a blank disk, as computer scientists would say, but rather complemented existing knowledge, like those "advanced magical weaving skills."

So, a little over half an hour later, Cyrill awoke. By this time, Andarial had completely recovered and was awaiting his awakening. After confirming the young man was alright, she left the divination room with him. In the "living" room, Cyrill's companions, it turned out, had already finished breakfast, and at that moment, Diantrel was preparing to give Gata and Armina some kind of lecture.

But seeing Andarial and Kirill emerge, she paused, and all three of the young man's companions inquired about the results of the second dreaming session. To which the seer replied that this time there had only been one dream-vision, but again about an unknown shadow, in the same city. This time, it had kidnapped or killed some Night Guild representative who had gone out with his accomplices on a mission. So both cases must be investigated; two dream-visions in the same direction are always a sign of something. Especially since her, albeit brief, attempt through Kirill to precisely discern the unknown shadow's disguise had been unsuccessful. And that was serious. Just anyone couldn't have such protection.

But Cyriall did receive a new gift from the Tablet, which immediately strengthened it, which delighted her. And before she could begin further training, she needed to assess what she was now dealing with. So, for the first half of the day, Andarial naturally questioned Cyril like one of her novice students, asking him about the various nuances of dreaming techniques. How should he organize his sleeping quarters? How should he protect himself from nightmares? How should he properly preserve a prophetic dream? How should he position and use a fulcrum in the form of a material object? And what if there was no fulcrum, only verbal information?

Andarial was extremely pleased and even delighted with the outcome of the exam, something she made no secret of. Or rather, she was delighted by the power of the Tablet, which literally downloaded into Cyrill's head knowledge that would otherwise have taken months to master. Ideally, six months, combined with simple practical training.

Having delivered this verdict, the seer announced a short lunch break, after which she pulled another set of crystals containing imprinted training images from another chest. And this time, everything was more complicated than yesterday. The images were, to use technical terms, staticky. Blurred spots where faces should be. Indistinct mutterings where clear voices should be. Cyrill had to overcome this interference. Andarial also began assigning specific tasks: determine the location of a particular imprinted event by identifying details that might indicate it; identify and identify a specific target; and, of course, the standard definition of whether these images were past or future, possible or actual remained.

By evening, Cyrill's head was buzzing again from watching all those Beriadon-style VR videos. But Andarial was adamant and merciless. After giving him a little time to wash and freshen up, the seer ordered him to prepare for a third joint dreaming session. But this time, since Cyrill had learned something from the Tablet, the dream would be shared in the literal sense of the word. Andarial would shape it herself and fill it with images. And Kirill would practice "live" to overcome interference, focus his gaze on specific details, and alter the very course of the dream. The dream would be standard, for beginners, practiced and honed by her herself. So nothing prohibitively difficult.

The young man's final statement, settling back into his chair to sleep, wasn't the least bit reassuring. And he was absolutely right! Because it wasn't prohibitively difficult. But it was very difficult. The dream itself depicted a marketplace in the center of a human city, filled with people. And in this marketplace, amidst the multitude of stalls and crowds of humans and non-humans, Cyrill needed to find a specific stall. A specific person. Or a dwarf. Or an orc. Or something else.

And the clarity and quality of the dream were deliberately kept by Andarial to a frankly average level. To discern the facial features of individual characters or hear what they were saying, Cyrill had to strain, carefully focusing his vision or hearing. And he also had to be careful not to overdo it, using his reserves, lest he disrupt the stability of the dream. Because dreams, as it turns out, are such fragile and shifting things. If you pour too much energy into them, or do it too roughly, the dream could easily go haywire. Or turn into a nightmare, because the more reserves you expend in a dream, the more actively you act, the greater the chance of attracting all sorts of immaterial nastiness, for which such intense dreams are just right!

Andarial explained all this to Cyrill in a natural voiceover as the young man moved around the square, carrying out her instructions. The elf herself never appeared in the dream, remaining an observer. She also, in fact, maintained the stability of the dream and kept an extra eye on security. Of course, her inner sanctum was perfectly protected from the intrusion of potential intangible predators, but caution is never too much. However, to be fair, she never had to restore the stability of the dream; Cyrill benefited greatly from his twelve stat points in Control, which somewhat compensated for his low stat of Spirit and Sensitivity. Especially the former; it was sorely lacking for this kind of work, and it was palpable.

Ultimately, after thoroughly pushing the young man through his sleep training, the seer was satisfied with the results, which were "quite acceptable" for a novice, and declared him waking. At that moment, Cyrill was tempted to point out that, even with the Tablet, he wasn't a dreamwalker, but first and foremost a wizard. But before he could say anything, the young man realized he was staring at the ceiling of Andarial's chamber for clairvoyance. Meanwhile, the seer herself, having awakened earlier, settled back at Cyrill's feet and methodically fellated him, having pulled down his pants.

No, there are definitely advantages to being the Chosen One with the System, which offset some of the risks... But Cyrill didn't voice this thought out loud, preferring to silently enjoy another morning blow-job. And his Conscience, which had tried to gurgle something, was sealed with an ironclad argument: he had nothing to do with it! Or rather, he did, but not in that sense! And when he gave the artifact to the elves, he hadn't even considered or counted on this outcome! He didn't even know about Andarial!

So if the seer was so filled with gratitude for him, for the opportunity to see the world around her again, then why the hell should he refuse? With these thoughts in mind, Cyrill, with a heavy, sharp exhalation, finished, ejaculating once again into Andarial's mouth. She, again, completely unperturbed, swallowed every drop, and then carefully cleaned the young man's penis. Only then did the elf pull away and say:

"Welcome back, Ciriall. Get yourself sorted and let's go. We have very little time, and there's still a lot of work to do."

All day long, while Diantrel was lecturing Gate and Armina on various topics, Cirill spent his time studying another batch of visions captured in crystals, practicing how to overcome “distractions” and focus on the relevant elements. What’s more, today’s crystals even contained training versions of nightmare enemies! Andarial assured Cyrill that they couldn’t cause any harm, but if they detected the young man’s presence—due to overly active or careless actions—he’d have to start the exercise all over again. And what was particularly frustrating was that all of Cyrill’s skills from the School of Illusions were of very little help here. The immaterial world—which included dreams—had its own laws and rules, and classical magic was far from always effective there.

No, Cyrill could fend off the nightmares embedded in the visions with the utmost ease; Andarial wasn’t being disingenuous when she said they were just training exercises and couldn’t possibly harm the young man in any real way. But the point of the exercises was something else entirely—to learn how to avoid them. They would be learning the basics of combat in the world of dreams today, as the seer had stated, during their next joint dream session. This didn’t exactly fill Cyrill with confidence, but Andarial assured him she would be extremely careful. Besides, she’d done this a thousand times before—yeah, right. Although, in her case, that might actually be true.

But what really gave Cyrill hope and made him happy was the “basic principles of the simplest methods for conscious dreaming” that he finally received late in the evening from the System, which had taken pity on him. The young man—exhausted and weary, but overjoyed—immediately elevated these to an advanced level. Unfortunately, he couldn’t go any further—he kept hitting that damned stats ceiling. After all, a level 3 in Spirit is literally the bare minimum. Well, okay, not the minimum, but a normal foundation. A baseline. But nothing more.

Andarial was no less delighted by Cyrill's success. And for some reason, her jubilation didn't inspire confidence in the young man at all. As it turned out, he was absolutely right. Cyrill found himself back in the same market square. This time, thanks to her newfound knowledge, the tasks of the off-screen observer were a little easier. But Andarial, as promised, added opponents, disguised as classic city guards, from whose watchful gaze Cyrill had to hide. Or try to eliminate them, trying to do so as discreetly as possible.

The first time, this was accomplished without any problems at all, as was the parallel task of finding a specific person. The second time, after the first guard was disembodied by a targeted attack, the others immediately became wary and began prowling more actively, trying to track down Cyrill. The third time, these bastards began traveling in pairs, making it even more difficult to deal with them without raising alarm, as well as to carry out Andarial's instructions to discern certain dream objects. And the fourth time, Cyrill, who finally managed to do so, was hunted from the very beginning. According to Andarial's stated conditions, he was not allowed to attack, but was only supposed to hide. And, of course, he was supposed to find some herbalist in the market square.

The elf painstakingly changed its place every time she "restarted" the dream, so that life wouldn't be easy. Ultimately, Cyrill managed to find the right stall without even getting caught. Anarial was quite satisfied with this. But the young man woke up completely exhausted, and another dose of gratitude from the seer didn't improve the situation much. Although, let's be honest, it did lift his spirits. And not just his spirits.

However, Cyrill was far more pleased than the luxurious morning blowjob by Andarial's announcement that there would be no more exhausting epiphanies of imprinted images. Cyrill had mastered the bare minimum available to him, thanks to the power of the Tablet, and if he were her student, she would have credited him with passing the first, simplest test. Therefore, today they both needed to get plenty of rest and prepare for the upcoming main event: an attempt to track Master with the help of Cyrill himself.

Andarial would naturally do the main work; Cyrill's role is a supporting one given their difference in experience. But perhaps the fundamentals he'd learned over the past few days would allow them to succeed. At least, Andarial was very much hoping so. And she wasn't the only one.

So, Cyrill and Andarial spent the rest of the day in restorative, relaxing meditations, interspersed with drinking a special brew to help restore spiritual strength, and small talk. The Seer insisted on the latter, to "clear their heads" before the task at hand. Armina and Gata, meanwhile, continued listening to Diantrel's lectures, which were mostly stories from her personal experience serving in the Forest Guard.

By evening, a well-rested Cyrill was feeling quite well, and he entered Andarial's inner sanctum, though not completely calm, at least with a fair amount of confidence. Diantrel, Armina, and Gata all wished them luck. They certainly could use some luck. Alright, pull yourself together! And if everything works out, there's a chance we'll soon be able to, if not pin down, then at least pick up the trail of that bastard!

With these optimistic thoughts, Cyrill, as usual, placed the silver headband on his head and lay down on his chair. He was a bit taken aback when, completely unexpectedly and without warning, Andarial lay down next to him. Or rather, on top of him!

"Um... most honorable... what are you..."

"Isn't it obvious, Cirial?" the seer asked with a strange amusement, brazenly settling herself more comfortably on the young man.

"You will serve as my fulcrum in my attempt to see Master. And, as you now know, in this case, the closer and more intimate the contact, the better."

"Am... yes..."

"In that case, please stop being embarrassed and move to the side a little. Thank you."

Tucking her legs in slightly, Andarial settled comfortably with her head resting on the young man’s chest, snuggling up to him from her left side. After hesitating for a couple of seconds, Cyrill gently wrapped his arms around the seer, who was smiling quite broadly, pulling her closer to him, and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep as usual...
* * *

___________________________________
Name: Diantrel of the House of Winterblooms, daughter of Edenril.

Level: 54

Connection level with the Chosen One: 5 (MAX).

Type of connection with the Chosen One: Mentor/Apprentice.

Class: Battle Sorceress

Characteristics: 0

Talents (free):0 (limited): 0

Constitution: 4

Sensitivity: 5

Power: 16

Control: 16

Source: 16

Spirit: 3

Resistance: 4

Acquired Knowledge:

Oral and Written:

Written and spoken: Classic Elven, Dark Elven, Free Cities, Northern Theocracy, Island Kingdom, Southern Caliphate, Undermountain Dwarven, Western Steppe, Central Steppe, Green Steppe, Northern Kingdoms, Ice Isles, Rising Empire (Classic/Simplified), Gem Cities dialects, Southeastern Lesser Kingdoms.

General knowledge:

‘Advanced mastery of combat weaving,’ ‘developed mastery of general weaving,’ ‘advanced mastery of elemental magic weaving (air),’ ‘advanced mastery of elemental magic weaving (fire),’ ‘advanced elemental magic weaving (earth)’, ‘advanced elemental magic weaving (water)’, ‘masterful creation and use of ritual circles’, ‘advanced barrier and protective weaving’, ‘masterful control of internal energies’, ‘developed mastery of advanced amulets and artefacts’, ‘advanced ability to work with powerful external sources’, "advanced duelling with magic wands‘, ’advanced tactics of magical combat‘, ’advanced methods of magical search‘, ’advanced methods of magical camouflage", ‘developed wilderness reconnaissance skills,’ ‘developed wilderness survival skills,’ ‘advanced magical sabotage skills,’ ‘advanced magical combat training instructor skills,’ ‘advanced healing weaving,’ ‘advanced archery,’ ‘advanced one-handed sword fencing (classical elven school),’ ‘advanced knowledge of alchemy,’ ‘advanced espionage,’ ‘advanced combat magic flight.’

Minor Knowledge: "Blink"

Acquired properties

"Developed Subtle Bodies III", "Refined Reflexes III", "Magic Sense III", "Trained Body II", "Forest Sense II", "Elven Health (Racial)", "Source of Magic", "Magic Boost (Elite)", "Stormborn (Elite)", "Born to Fly (Elite)".

System modifiers: "Access to System Purchases V", Issuing System Assignment IV

Tokens: "Purification 10/10", "Gift a random property 2/5 (elite)"

Companion Modifiers:

"Share the Burden I", "Mark of the Chosen One II", "Magical Restoration III", "Healing of the Subtle Bodies III", "Physical Healing III", "Mental Link I", "Extrapolation of Modifiers II"

___________________________________________

Name: Cyril

Level: 28

Class: Emerald Wizard

Characteristics: (free) ; (limited) 0

Talents: (free) 1; (limited): 0

Companion Modification Points (4)

Constitution: 3

Sensitivity: 3

Power: 11

Control: 12

Source: 11

Spirit: 3

Resistance: 3

Acquired Knowledge:

Oral and Written: Classical Elvish, Free Cities, Northern Theocracy; Dwarf Undermountain, Rising Empire (Classic/Simplified).

General knowledge:

"Advanced management and control of internal energies", "advanced methods of working with powerful external energy sources", "developed master skills in creating magical barriers", "advanced skills in creating magical weaves", "advanced basics of magical dueling techniques with combat rods", "advanced tantric energy restoration techniques", "advanced creation and use of ritual circles", "advanced tactics of conducting a magical battle", "advanced methods of working with advanced amulets and artifacts", "advanced methods of magical search", "advanced general weaves of elemental magic", "advanced methods of magical camouflage", "basic skills of working underwater", "developed basics of creating and concluding magical oaths and contracts", "developed methods of detecting and countering mental influences," "advanced methods of creating long-term defense systems," "advanced fundamentals of spatial magic and working with portals," "developed fundamentals of intelligence work," "advanced methods of creating artifacts and amulets," "basic fundamentals of broad-based alchemy.", "developed basics of the simplest methods of dreaming", "developed basics of the simplest methods of conscious work in dreams".

Core/root knowledge:

Advanced Mastery of the School of Illusion:

Creation and maintenance of point, small, medium, and large territorial illusions.

Creation and maintenance of static, dynamic, and adaptive illusions of all types.

Creation and maintenance of illusory doubles/clones/copies.

Creation and maintenance of hypnotic illusions of a wide range.

Creation and maintenance of complex illusions of a wide profile.

Thickening and saturation of created illusions.

Minor knowledge: "Protective Field (Elite)"

Acquired properties:

‘Blessing of Harmonious Magical Development’, “Strengthening of Subtle Bodies II”, “Regeneration of Subtle Bodies II”, “Magic in Blood (Elite)”, “Enhanced Magic”(Power 10), “Source of Magic”(Source 10); "Mimicry of subtle bodies (elite)": "Filtering Aura (Elite)", "Adaptive Invisibility (Elite)", "Charming Eyes (Elite)", "Micro Control" (Control 10)

System modifiers:

System Assignment IV, Intensive Development III, Access to System Purchases V; Orientation in space III, Spatial pocket I

Tokens:

Companion Enhancement 7/10, Awesome Melons 80/100, "French Kiss 25/25", "Temporary Magic Source (Granting Lust and Passion) 2/5", "Role Change Guarantee 1/1", "Surge of Life 3/3", "Restoration 3/3", "All-Seeing Eye 50/50", "The Grace of the Chosen One 5/5", "A Wonderful Moment 5/10".

Naughty Tongue:

Li Yan 98/100
Gyar'Skalashass 100/100

Special: Chosen by Aurial the Magnificent, Supreme Keeper of the Balance of Worlds, Standing Guard of the Balance of Powers: hidden effects.

Active Ability: "Share the Burden of the Chosen One III"

Available number of activations: 0 (recharge 1 standard month).

Available number of companions: 3/3

___________________________________________

Name: Armina, daughter of Darat.

Level: 19

Connection level with the Chosen One: 3 (strong)

Type of connection with the Chosen One: Maid-Guardian/Master.

Class: Guardian

Characteristics: 0

Talents (free): 3 (limited): 0

Constitution: 10

Sensitivity: 4

Power: 1

Control: 2

Source: 1

Spirit: 1

Resistance: 4

Acquired Knowledge:

Oral and Written: Classical Elvish, Free Cities, Northern Theocracy;

General knowledge:

"Advanced skills in handling throwing weapons (needles)", "advanced skills in handling short bladed weapons (knives/daggers/stilettos)", "advanced close combat skills", "advanced skills in broad-based intelligence work", "advanced skills as a bodyguard", "advanced skills in handling amulets and artifacts", "developed skills in providing medical assistance".

Minor Knowledge: ‘Enhanced Strike III’,

Acquired properties: "Trained Body II", "Vigilance II", "Toughness II", "Natural Regeneration II", "Physical Enhancement (10 Constitution)", "Accuracy II"

System modifiers: System Assignment II, Access to System Purchases II, Goal Tracking II, Intensive Development II

Companion Modifiers: "Magic Restoration II"

Hidden:

Properties: Charming Voice (elite), Sensitivity to Magic (elite)

Knowledge:
Advanced techniques and methods of seduction and manipulation, advanced acupuncture skills

Tokens: Request for a little help 25/25

___________________________________________

Name: Gata, daughter of Barías.

Level: 17

Connection level with the Chosen One: 2 (increased)

Type of connection with the Chosen One: Maid-Guardian/Master.

Class: Shaar'hashi (Embracing the Path of the Ancestor-Patron-Beast)

Characteristics: 0

Talents (free): 0 (limited): 0

Constitution: 7

Sensitivity: 4

Power: 1

Control: 2

Source: 1

Spirit: 1

Resistance: 2

Knowledge:

Written and spoken: Classical Elven, Free Cities, Western Steppe (Beastfolk dialect).

General knowledge:

"Advanced hand-to-hand combat skills (Claw Style)", "developed skills in handling short melee weapons (knives/daggers/stilettos)", "developed skills in handling throwing weapons", "advanced skills in inteligence work", "advanced skills as a bodyguard", "developed skills in handling amulets and artifacts", "developed skills in providing medical assistance", "developed knowledge of broad-based alchemy", "advanced methods of tracking prey (Beast Form)", "advanced close combat skills (Beast Form)".

Minor Knowledge: "Shapeshift II", "Crouching Step (Beast Form) I".

Properties: "Trained Body II", "Beast Vitality II", "Beast Sense I", "Beast Speed ​​II", "Reinforced Claws II".

System modifiers: Intensive Development II

Companion Modifiers: Physical Enhancement II

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
Его статус: идёт перевод

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/86674/597710

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP