31

The bright sun was still shining in the sky and fluffy white clouds were running, driven by a warm breeze. The world was familiar, full of life and cold alienation. The world was different, with its inherent sorrows and losses, with joys and happiness, there were kingdoms of people and a dead forest of the damned. But this was his world. Their world.

He slowly looked around, taking in both the wide meadow and the gloomy dark thicket of the forest. The inhabitants of Reeta howled hoarsely and scraped the ground with their paws, as if they knew that their king was not going to return to them now. The only surviving sorcerer stood calmly among the bloodied bodies of his recent subordinates. Hands lowered, back proudly straightened, in the eyes of an incomprehensible expectation, but not fear. He did not take his eyes off Yaroslav, an incomprehensible look.

Yarsi walked across the grass and picked up a white sword from the ground, which lay comfortably in his right hand, habitually coveri