To prevent the peaceful atmosphere of the isolated valley from being disturbed by the exhaust fumes of cumbersome transports, a long rail connected the northern gates of Rabor with the entrance to the lair of the Lord of Volnitsa, branching along the side of the wide road. Supplicants traveling on the train that ran along this rail were treated to a truly unusual sight.

  The inner slopes of the mountains surrounding this strange place were leveled and sloped gently, allowing even a frail old man to easily reach the peaks if he so desired. On the opposite side, the slopes bristled with thousands of jagged protrusions, many treacherous depressions, and prepared traps. This natural barrier protected the vegetation within from fierce storms, ensuring peace from intruders.

  Elegant gardens once stood alongside sprawling woodlands, adding to the harmony of the area. Snow-white paths wound between flowerbeds, disappearing into the dense thickets of the meticulously tended forest. Earthquakes swept through these lands in repeated waves of destruction, opening gaping fissures in the ground, toppling marble statues, shattering all the entertainment holographic screens, and collapsing the walls dividing the sections of the secluded resort.

  Vegetation overflowed from its habitats, blending into a seamless jumble of unified greenery, leaving only the main road untouched. Occasional statues and forgotten stalls could often be seen between the sturdy trunks of trees adapted to the New World.

  The catastrophe that destroyed the Old World and the intervening centuries failed to alter the local landscape, meticulously crafted by forgotten architects. The valley preserved its bowl-shaped form, within which the spires of the complex, now converted into a palace, shone with chrome and untarnished steel. They sparkled in the rays of the rising sun, taking on the appearance of blazing pillars of fire.

  The raiders delivered their tribute directly to the gigantic doors leading to an equally vast underground hangar, housing the technological beast unmatched by any other gang. From the various bunkers surrounding the palace, guns monitored the arrivals while servants received the rare individuals. There were no strict criteria for the gifts. Exotic beauties and incredibly ugly mutants, seasoned sages and utter idiots, were all greeted with equal warmth. The slightest hint of novelty was the most important. The overlord experienced the greatest joy at the news of the discovery of assassins who had survived the mountain trials and desperate brave souls who had slipped through the gates to demand the release of their loved ones.

  Paikan hunted the former himself. The latter were granted entry, with sumptuous feasts held in their honor.

  Standing on the roof of the first carriage, Draz recalled the surprise on the last couple’s faces after their release, accompanied by a reward of jewels for the young man’s courage in undertaking such a perilous journey. No one dared rob them, and the lucky pair left the borders unmolested.

  Volnitsa’s finest warriors served here, clad in black power armor with the emblem of a snow-white head with red eyes on their bellies. Their right pauldrons were adorned with painted golden snakes devouring their own tails. Most of those seen by Draz’s gang stood silently, holding energy emitters at the ready. Feda tensed, receiving no response to the scan of these weapons’ potency.

  After secluding himself in the fortress, Paikan restructured his original army, giving ambitious opportunists leadership over independent bands. The loyal idiots were given harmless positions in the settlements. No one was left behind or neglected. Devoted fanatics formed his personal guard—tall, disciplined, and capable of initiative. Draz repeatedly tried to approach them through pleasure, bribes, or promises to resolve pent-up grievances.

  No one agreed.

  They had found this valley before the war with the League. Draz recalled how Paikan had become uncharacteristically quiet as he walked the untouched corridors of the complex, marveling at the various forms of entertainment. In the dining halls, capable of holding tens of thousands, they found untouched canned goods—enough to feed several cities for many years. A dark matter-powered power plant ran all the complex’s systems, maintaining life support.

  Small drones moved across the floors, removing the slightest dust particles with their own force fields and performing maintenance and repairs. When a soldier accidentally crushed a machine, its fellows repaired the mechanism before the astonished eyes of the people, causing a nervous reaction among the reconnaissance team.

  Where were the inhabitants of this place hiding?

  They found them hours later, in a hall full of cryo-pods. At first, Draz thought the people were asleep, but Paikan cursed under his breath, muttering something about infantilism while reading a journal. Idiots killed themselves. Before the Extinction, the cream of society rested here, served by elite personnel. They awaited the end, helplessly watching the falling spaceships, hearing explosions that lit the entire sky in impossible hues. Several staff members and guests were crushed by falling debris, dozens died from exploding terminals, and hundreds were vaporized while trying to escape on transports by land and air.

  Thousands survived. Having lost people while exploring the mountain peaks and attempting to venture beyond the valley, they regrouped, making a foolish decision based on the mistaken assumption that humanity was doomed. The children were given sweets laced with poison, and the adults wrote entire volumes of journals begging forgiveness from distant relatives and various gods. Then they placed the dead in capsules, took their places, ingested the poison, and wrote a request for a decent burial should anyone discover them.

  Paikan ordered the adults thrown out to be eaten by the animals in the forest. Together with Draz, they dug graves for the children, inscribing the names listed in the journals on the tombstones. It was the only time Draz ever witnessed the furious scowl on his boss’s face and his trembling hands gripping the shovel’s handle. Paikan never spoke of who he was before rescuing Draz, but his reaction and compassion for the League’s youth hinted enough.

  Draz jumped off the train, shouldering aside the guards and the polite attendant in the bluish robe, noting with satisfaction his return to strength. His body ached beneath his leather jacket; he wanted to scratch his flesh until it bled to relieve the maddening itch.

  Despite his refusal to tolerate bandages, the doctors did their best, cleaning his wounds of any contamination left by toxic fumes, resetting his healing bones, and forcing Draz to wear sunglasses to ease the strain on his scratched eye when he flatly refused a bandage. He refused painkillers, preferring to keep a clear mind. There was no time for sleep.

  If the Oathtakers had invaded the region, all feuds had to be forgotten.

  Souzan and Feda followed him, still wearing armor coated in soot and nicks. Souzan surrendered her firearms, retaining only her ceremonial saber. Feda glared at the Paikan soldiers as he marched behind his leader. A dozen of the most influential leaders emerged from the trains, joining the governor’s conspiracy. Draz noted how they timidly handed over all their weapons, looking around in amazement.

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  He needed no guides. He hadn’t been here for twelve years, but virtually nothing had changed in that time. They ascended the stairs that curved around the hangar doors, passing through platinum-adorned doors into the inner hall. The reception desk was deserted; a couple of chattering babes were showing a thumb-sucking two-year-old child drones scurrying across the carpets. These silver disks rose into the air, to the child’s delight, and orbited the intruders, spraying them with perfume and cleaning away dirt.

  Draz, sweating with fatigue, accepted the favor, smiling welcomingly at the gasping chicks who took the child. A servant dressed in a tight gauze dress approached them, holding a cup of silvery liquid. The governor knelt, tilting his head so she could inscribe Paikan’s symbol on his forehead. Once she completed the task, she pulled two rose petals from strands of her dark hair, kissed them, and affixed them to the eye sockets of the painted skull.

  Only now did he allow the servants to retrieve their guns and proceed to Paikan’s reception room.

  It was the same place as last time, in the western wing of the complex, far from the director’s elegant office. The door slid open, deafening the raiders with a roar of wild music that shattered the quiet, measured peace of the corridor. Orange, green, blue, and red beams struck Draz’s face, and he couldn’t help but thank the doctors for their persistence.

  “There is no prophecy, no fate! When the whole world is stacked against me, I will always stay true to myself! My heart rules me! Welcome to the edge of the world, to the age of the claw! Be a hero, be a villain, forge your own path, just don’t be sad!”

  Feda whistled and followed Draz onto the dark tiles of the discotheque. To their left, on a small raised platform, sat a crowd of blabbering people, enjoying drinks and food collected from all over Volnitsa. On the right, dancers were enjoying loud music blaring from speakers surrounding the dance floor. Beneath their feet, the tiles flickered, changing color and forming their unique patterns, matching the illumination of the chaotically rotating spotlights on the ceiling. A gray-bearded old man, wrapped in an expensive fur coat, sat on a speaker, drinking swill from a flask and chattering about the human mind’s perception of outer space.

  “According to the professors’ tomes I’ve read, our brains are incapable of perceiving quantities such as the distance to the Red Planet from our world. So how did the astronauts in near space perceive the monstrous speeds necessary for transporting goods?” came from the dance floor.

  “They don’t perceive them, but they operate with them...” The old man smoothed his beard, sipping his drink.

  Opposite the entrance, a tall man stood at a round table, wearing a white overcoat that accentuated the darkness of his skin. His gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail, reaching his back, and tied with ropes at both ends. A scimitar hung from a wide belt around his waist, and his attentive gray eyes scanned the written report in his hand. The corners of his stern face were sparsely lined, betraying his age, but the man, standing three and a half meters tall, carried himself with ease. He glanced briefly at the newcomers, beckoning them closer with a tightly gloved hand.

  “How can he work in this chaos?” Souzan winced, taking her helmet under an arm. “Why doesn’t he throw this rabble out?”

  “So it’s Paikan...” said Feda.

  The man put the report aside, staring at the governor.

  “Draz.” He didn’t offer his hand.

  “Shabun,” Draz greeted. “Long time no see.”

  “Paikan! The guests have arrived!” shouted the intelligence chief.

  Feda exhaled, turning to the dance floor. Among the dancers, clutching his nose and simulating a wave-like dive under the water, was the lord of Volnitsa. A head shorter than Shabun, he was unashamed of his nakedness, shamelessly displaying his perfect body, unmarked by the slightest hint of scars or age.

  Quick enough to catch a machine-gun burst with his fingers, Paikan kept the general rhythm, often inviting others to lead the dance. One second, his fingers were clicking musical notes, seamlessly weaving into the frantic cacophony of the music; the next, the entire crowd was squatting, lifting their legs high from that position as they danced the hopak. There were a few familiar faces among the revelers, but for the most part, the crowd consisted of captives handed over as tribute. Not everyone managed every move, and as if by chance, Paikan ended up nearby, cheerfully encouraging the guests and tugging them up with his hand, preventing them from falling.

  His skin was brown, but not the color of a freshly tanned cusack hide, but rather the most delicate shade of milk chocolate, a rare luxury prized in Volnitsa. Paikan’s eyes were also brown. His patrician face didn’t shine with sweat, and his short hair, neatly trimmed mustache, and beard shone the darkest shade. He executed every movement effortlessly, elegantly adapting to every dance and filling the room with ringing laughter.

  “Get distracted already!” Shabun walked toward the dance floor, clapping to attract attention.

  “Alone. Without armor,” Feda muttered.

  “It’s impossible to survive for long without caution,” Souzan said.

  “Not now,” Draz warned with just his lips.

  “Friends!” Paikan perked up, apologizing to his partners. He appeared next to the guests, covering the distance with balletic leaps. “Souzan, what a beauty you’ve grown into!”

  “Not comparable to yours, sir.” The woman blinked in surprise as Paikan dropped to one knee, kissing the tips of her fingers.

  “Nonsense, nonsense, I will not listen to such belittling slander.” Paikan flashed a pearl-white smile, rising to his full height. “What is the value of an unchanging canvas? It tells nothing, demonstrating no trials endured. Heinrich, Hess, how pleasant it is to know that you are still smoking the sky. Are you adapting to changes in society?”

  “No complaints, boss.”

  “Mahmud, Ismail, you’re here too! You’ve completely neglected the old man; I haven’t met you in decades.” Paikan shook hands with his acquaintances, handing each one a glass of cold juice grabbed from a tray of the approaching waiter.

  “We thought you didn’t want to see us, boss,” the rebels replied without the slightest hesitation.

  “Is it possible to interpret the words ‘My doors are always open’ in any other way?” Paikan yanked the gold chain from Ismail’s chest, tossing it over his shoulder into the hands of a resting girl, eliciting a joyful cry from her.

  The very same Itil had sent and which the security services working for Ismail had robbed. The woman clutched the chain to her chest, sobbing.

  Draz’s stomach sank. This wasn’t how he’d imagined meeting his old friend. Paikan wore no clothes, but Draz felt like a naughty naked boy in his presence.

  “Grew quite a bit in size, Ismail.” The ruler slapped the man’s stomach.

  “Just fat, boss.” The raider turned pale and sweated.

  “Excellent, excellent... Ah! You must be Feda! Hard to tell because of that faceplate.” Paikan stood on tiptoe, shamelessly studying the armored warrior. “What do you think, Shabun?”

  “Only one person wears this antiquated relic,” the intelligence chief confirmed.

  “Such filial grandson loyalty warms my heart. And you nagged me that those kids would be trouble. Ha, nothing happened; they’ve fitted right in!”

  Feda didn’t shake the offered hand, ignoring the offered glass.

  “Sorry,” he gritted his teeth, nodding toward the emitter. “I don’t want to dirty you.”

  “No apologies needed! I don’t condemn any kinks.”

  “You and the cosmonauts are very similar!” yelled the old man sitting on the speaker.

  “Really?” Paikan turned to him. “How so?”

  “How many… four hundred thousand people live in Volnitsa?” the old man hiccupped.

  “Eight hundred and thirty-six thousand at the last count,” Shabun said.

  “Such a large number! It’s impossible to conceive of what they do every second. However, that doesn’t stop you from manipulating them, knowing exactly how to sway the masses one way or another. You know who needs supplies on a hard day and who, on the contrary, has a surplus. The cosmonauts perceived long distances in the same way, generalizing them in their heads and controlling the ship’s systems…”

  “Hey, decrepit theorist. We’re talking here,” Feda growled.

  “Pipe down,” Paikan threw. “Nothing is forbidden in my house, as long as it doesn’t affect my guests. Speak, Feda, I can hear more than one voice.” The officer remained silent. “So tense. We need to get you drunk to loosen your tongue... How inconsiderate of me! Girls, refreshments!”

  Paikan rushed toward the bar, grabbed an empty table and set it down on the dark tiles, flicking his fingers at the servants to bring chairs.

  “Draz, don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.” He finally reached him. Draz shook his hand, drinking a pleasant apple juice. Paikan found his dislocated fingers, loosening his grip. “My friend, you look like you’ve been put through a meat grinder. Found a wildcat?”

  “More like a sea lion,” Draz joked. No one’s manipulating me. “Paikan, I came because of the crisis.”

  “About the Oathtakers?” Paikan chuckled.

  “Yes. Their invasion threatens the very existence of our realm...”

  “Draz.” Paikan stopped him. “Breathe. Relax. Think. Your conclusion is compromised by the emotional tone of what happened and doesn’t correspond to the evidence. There is no invasion.”