Cinderella and Alangazar - страница 9

taught the giant to walk gently,

to stop trampling the flowers in the command garden…

Though the flowerbeds still suffered. Five times. Maybe six.

One early morning,

Cinderella summoned Ertoshstuk to headquarters.

Sunlight glinted on the golden buttons of her uniform.

A breeze stirred the delicate curtain at the window.

On the table lay an ancient map,

faded,

with torn edges.

Strange markings covered it —

and one stood out above all:

an entrance to the Underworld.

“You know these lands,” she said softly.

“We need to find out what’s happening in the old tunnels.

Are you ready?”

He nodded silently.

Something tightened inside him —

not from fear,

but from memory.

He hadn’t been there since that battle.

Since the day he left the darkness and chose the light.

And now – a return.

He gathered a team:

The White Giant – shy, with kind eyes and a pouch of dried apples.

The Blue Giant – cheerful as a mischievous wind,

able to sing with icy breath and scare the kitchen cooks into hiccups.

And they left.

To the place where night never ends.

Where stones remember the steps of ancient beings.

Underground, everything changed.

Tunnels – brittle as eggshells.

Halls – empty.

And the dead…

They didn’t attack.

They simply stood.

Eyes full of sorrow.

Ertoshstuk didn’t raise his sword.

He stepped closer.

Spoke almost in a whisper:

“You are tired.

You’ve guarded what no longer needs guarding.

It’s time to rest.”

And they faded.

Dissolving into the soft air, like candle smoke.

But there were trials.

Traps, pits,

spiders with eyes like saucers.

And wonders.

Mirrors that showed not reflection – but dreams.

Coins that rang only at a kind touch.

Stones that sang, if you weren’t afraid.

When they returned,

with the first morning birds,

Ertoshstuk was no longer the same.

He carried no gold.

But his gaze – sure.

And inside him – stillness.

Wisdom, not from books.

He was appointed commander of the expeditionary corps.

Cinderella said:

“You know the tunnels better than anyone.

But more importantly – you know yourself.”

On the third day of his new duty,

she summoned him again.

This time the morning was brighter,

and new marks dotted the map.

“Ertoshstuk,” she said, not turning, looking out the window,

“In the depths beyond the Black Crag, something has awakened again.

The dead – but they’re no longer guards.

Scrolls are hidden there. Words of ancient power.

Not for treasure. For protection.”

She turned. Calm worry in her eyes.

“Are you ready to descend again?”

He didn’t answer right away.

But inside, the reply was already burning —

clear. Warm. Simple.

“Yes.”

Into the Deep, Where Even Shadows Fear the Light

Ertoshstuk’s eyes flared.

Not with fear.

With recognition.

He knew these lands.

The smell of cold stone.

The silence that breathes.

The cracks in the walls

where memory hides.

He was born in a realm where birds do not sing.

He grew up among the dead.

And he knew how to move

so that even shadows wouldn’t notice.

“I’m ready,” he nodded.

“I’ll need companions.

The kind who won’t betray – in darkness or fire.”

He stepped forward and said:

“The White Giant.

He lifts a boulder like a child lifts a toy.

But his soul is quiet – full of herbs and stillness.

He does not love noise. He heals.

The Blue Giant.

He steps like snow in March – soft, silent.

But when he speaks… his voice wakes stone. And conscience.

He sings when fear comes – and the fear flees.”

Cinderella listened silently.