The harmony of the vortex

Gurzhik remained in turmoil for four more winters. He continued to work at the same tavern. His life had turned into a gray monotony: he didn't notice the passage of time, and whether it was a day, a month, or a year, everything merged into one gray weekday. While the world around him did not stand still, he remained the same young man with the scarf, full of ambitions, but gloomy, like the gray clouds that herald rain on a clear, sunny day. Yet, a glimmer of hope still resided in his soul. A small but bright spark of warmth continued to gently and quietly beat against the vessel of his soul. An uneasy feeling about an impending encounter he did not know about increasingly sowed a seed of fear in his calm emotional state.

While Gurzhik languished in his gray routine, Artemon, on his way to Rondon, asked the coachman, "How soon will we arrive?" The coachman, adjusting his hat, replied in a hoarse voice, "We're almost there, Mr. Feldrin." Artemon looked out the window, pulling back the curtain. The same sunny city he had heard about since birth appeared before him.

His father often told him before bed the legend of the great mage Darius, whose power was unparalleled and whose mind was as sharp as the blade of a cold sword.

"Darius was not just powerful, my son," his father would say, gently tucking him in with a soft blanket. Then, in a low voice, he would continue, "He was a beacon of hope in the darkest times."

"Tell me that story again, Papa," the little boy would always ask sleepily, as he was very fond of that tale.

"Alright," his father would say meaningfully, then continue, "One cold winter evening, when the shadows seemed to stretch even further than usual, darkness descended upon Rondon, enveloping the entire city and consuming everything in its path. An ancient evil, languishing in the depths of oblivion, found a tiny loophole and seeped into our world. Darius knew that he was the only one who could defeat the great evil. With a heavy heart but unwavering resolve, he gathered all his strength and unleashed the full power of his magic upon the darkness—a bright light repelled the encroaching chaos and gloom. But the evil was not willing to give up—it struck back with such force that Darius was thrown against a wall and fell, unable to rise. He tried to get back on his feet, but his body wouldn't obey. Suddenly, a dark figure emerged from the stream of darkness and chaos right before his eyes, and with a sneering voice said, 'Surrender, great mage. You cannot win this battle. You are too weak, just like your people.' Darius, gritting his teeth, replied, 'No! That won't happen!' He rose to one knee and continued, 'I may be just an ordinary mage, but I have something to fight for.'

'And what might that be?' the figure asked scornfully.

'For the good in this world. And its reign is undeniable. For my people! For their dreams and hopes! For Rondon!' the mage replied steadfastly, rising to his feet and assuming a combat stance.

'Foolish mage,' the darkness sneered, 'You cannot protect yourself or your people. Do you really believe you can defeat the true darkness and chaos?'

Darius stood silent, not taking his eyes off the embodiment of evil before him.

'Yes,' the mage answered firmly, 'For even the smallest flame can pierce the deepest shadow. And as long as there are those who dare to stand against the darkness, hope will always exist.'

With a wave of his hand, Darius created a shining sphere of light, and its brilliance drove back the shadows threatening to engulf him. With each step forward, he pushed back the encroaching darkness, his resolve unyielding.

The dark figure recoiled, its form writhing in agony, struggling against the onslaught of light. 'You cannot defeat me, mage,' it hissed, its voice filled with venom. 'I am the darkness itself, I am chaos incarnate, eternal and unyielding.'

But Darius ignored the taunts. Clenching his fist, he surged forward, his heart ablaze with determination.

Then, in a blinding flash of light, the darkness was vanquished, dissipating into the air like mist under the morning sun. Rondon was saved, its inhabitants freed from the clutches of eternal night.

And when the first dawn broke over the horizon, Darius stood with a smile on his face and peace in his soul. Though shadows may linger, they could never extinguish the light of hope that burned in the hearts of Rondon's people. And as long as that light burned, the legacy of the great mage Darius, the protector of light and guardian of his beloved city, would live on.

'The end,' the father would whisper, 'Good night, Artemon.' The father quietly headed for the door, thinking his son was already dreaming in the realm of sleep. But suddenly the boy said to his father, 'When I grow up, I will be like Darius.'

'Of course you will,' the father replied with a warm smile, 'Now go to sleep, my son. We have a long journey ahead tomorrow. Rest well.' The little boy, wrapped in his white blanket, drifted off into the world of dreams.

'How I miss your warm smile, father,' Artemon quietly said, looking out the window, as if taking over from his past self.

The carriage stopped at the city gates, framed in silver. Artemon felt a wave of anticipation coursing through his veins. It was time to begin a new chapter of his journey.

The gates opened. Gurzhik took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. The carriage rolled into Rondon. Artemon couldn't help but admire the grandeur of the city. Tall spires reached for the sky, their intricate designs catching the sunlight and casting dazzling patterns of light and shadow on the cobblestone streets. Merchants sold their goods from colorful stalls, their voices mingling with the laughter of children playing nearby.

As the carriage navigated the winding streets of Rondon, Artemon thought about his immediate concerns: he needed to find a place to stay, where he could rest and gather his thoughts before beginning his search for the secret of the ancient barrier.

After much contemplation, Artemon decided to stay at a quaint inn near the city center. Its warm, inviting facade beckoned him, like a beacon amidst the bustling streets of Rondon.

Entering the inn, Artemon was greeted by the cozy warmth of a crackling fireplace and the soothing aroma of home-cooked food wafting from the kitchen. The innkeeper welcomed him with a friendly smile, offering a room for the night and a hearty meal to fill his stomach.

Settling into his room, Artemon felt a sense of peace wash over him. Here, in the heart of Rondon, surrounded by the sights and sounds of the city he had long dreamed of visiting, he felt at ease.

As he drifted off to sleep that night, Artemon knew his journey was just beginning.