Cinderella and Alangazar - страница 10

Her fingers brushed the map,

but her gaze was fixed on Ertoshstuk.

“Approved,” she said, and in her smile,

something human trembled.

“Just… promise me. Come back.”

He nodded, just barely.

Not loudly. So as not to betray

the real reason he wanted to return.

Something deeper than command.

Deeper than duty.

He wanted to return —

for her.

They packed quickly.

Silently, smoothly.

Herbs, ropes, dried berries, knives, amulets.

The Blue Giant fastened his icy horn to his belt,

and the White one tucked a handkerchief into his pack —

embroidered by his little sister.

At the last moment, someone else joined them —

a girl from the artillery company.

Ria. Thin as a birch sapling,

but sharp with her sling —

as if the stones knew where to fly.

“If the dead are memories,” she said,

“then I know how to fight memories.”

And no one disagreed.

The dungeon did not greet them with a growl —

but with breath.

Slow.

Deep.

It was cold there.

And echoing.

Drops fell from the ceiling —

each one counting down to something important.

The walls were covered in moss, glowing green.

It pulsed, like living skin.

The air was thick —

as though the world itself moved slower here.

Ertoshstuk ran his hand along the stone.

“Here,” he whispered, “I once ate bread from ashes.

Here I defeated a giant for the first time.

But now…

it’s different.”

He wasn’t looking at the walls.

He was looking inward.

Torchlight trembled.

Behind him, the Blue Giant sang softly —

a song in an old language.

The White Giant walked silently.

And Ria – her sling at the ready.

Ahead lay darkness.

But not emptiness.

Within it – their past.

And their future.

At the third bend, the tunnel narrowed.

The stone beneath their feet was slick as ice.

The air thickened.

Torchlight flickered, as if afraid to go on.

And then – silence tore open with a rustle.

From the darkness, the dead emerged.

Their eyes shone – not with life, but emptiness.

No pain. No fear. Only silent purpose —

as if some wicked will drove them forward.

Ertoshstuk stepped ahead.

In his hand – a sword, old and scarred by battles —

the same one that had once saved his life.

Now it felt heavy,

but within that weight – the strength of everyone he had ever protected.

He cried out – not in rage, but in loyalty.

A cry like a heartbeat:

“For the living! For the light!”

And charged into battle.

The White Giant didn’t hesitate —

with a thunderous roar, he ripped stones from the wall

and hurled them at the advancing dead.

Each strike – an earthquake.

And the Blue Giant…

He sang.

Not words – power.

Not song – spell.

His voice stirred the stones,

as if the earth itself remembered how to beat.

The battle was long.

Blood – dark as night.

Blows – deep as fate’s tolling bell.

Ertoshstuk fought not with blade – but with heart.

He let not one undead touch his friends.

He was the shield. He was the flame.

And when the last guardian fell,

dissolving into dust,

a treasure hall opened before them.

But the silence there – was different.

Earned.

Peaceful. Like a temple.

Chests of gold.

Blades gleaming like dawn.

Ancient books – spells forgotten by time.

But most of all…

Among the ashes and light lay a scroll.

On it – words that made Ertoshstuk’s heart tremble:

“He who is unafraid

can protect the whole world.”

He looked at it for a long time.

Then picked up the scroll and said, quietly but firmly:

“We are not thieves. We are warriors.

We do not steal.

We guard.”

He took only what he could carry on his back.