Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story, Kirill Klevanski [great reads .TXT] 📗

as if grown and molded by the giant itself, shone with a gentle, yellow light at this twilight hour. Ash closed his eyes and heard a distant, melodious buzzing — the Crystal Forest wasn’t lit by fire, but by a host of magical fireflies.

Numerous wooden columns, shaped like dryads frozen in a dance, spiraled away from the base toward the distant crown that looked more like a green sky. The leaves were clouds, and the light that shone through the small gaps were distant, misty stars.

A small group, with Ash in the center, was moving toward the arch, big enough to fit four Mystrian cathedrals under it. The mage couldn’t contain a sigh of surprise and admiration, which made the elves who accompanied his smile.

Ash closed his eyes for a moment as the party walked under the arch. Everything around sparkled with jasper and amber, which you’d not find even in Garangan’s treasury. Inside the tree were houses, temples, spires, shops, and streets connected with bridges. And how many channels and forfeits there were! Can you imagine — canals and fountains inside a tree?

The tree was bursting with life — thousands upon thousands of elves gathered to celebrate the first day of Spring. Among the crowd, Ash could distinguish various faces, from loud-mouthed dwarves to the withdrawn orcs. And they all hurried along the bridges and passages that led somewhere up, where, if you looked closely, you could see the most beautiful palace.

The elves led the mage through a series of passageways, through a network of shops and houses. And everywhere Ash went, he saw smiles, and heard laughter and songs. God and Spirits, what songs they were… By a lucky chance, I once heard a song from the Crystal Forest. Once you heard these ballads, your heart would ache or dance, depending on the tune, for years to come.

The mage paused, closed his eyes, and tried to turn into a stone, so that he could absorb every note, remember every echo and chime. The elves who accompanied him stood nearby and also froze, listening to the enchanting tune of the strings. There was nothing magical about them, nothing surprising, and nothing that’d make a human bard a legend, but there was still something elusively mesmerizing about them.

As he climbed higher and higher, Ash saw the most wonderful images his eyes had ever seen. A lady of such extraordinary beauty that Ash was so embarrassed by her gaze that he was ready to jump off the bridge so that he wouldn’t be in her way. The sculptures and statues looked so alive that he expected them to jump off their pedestals and begin to dance. There were no steps in the legendary dance of life of the capital of the elven kingdom, but everyone still called it a dance.

Standing on the threshold of the most beautiful palace he had ever seen in his life, Ash looked behind him with a slight longing. He lost all interest in the residence of the elven king’s abode. He adored everything beautiful, and what could be more beautiful than a festival on the streets of the Crystal Forest? Not to mention that Ash had never seen elves, dwarves, trolls, or even orcs. He was so impressed by the color of their skin, their language, and clothing that he wanted to spend as much time as possible among them.

“Come in,” whispered one of the elves, whose beauty would’ve been heard about even on the outskirts of the Thirteen Kingdoms. “The king is waiting.”

Ash nodded, but didn’t move.

“It won’t take you long,” she continued. Her green armor made of leaves was so strong that other steel gave way before it. “Besides, I assure you, the festival in the palace is just as merry as the one on the street.”

The mage turned to the other guard, glanced at the coat of arms in the form of a winged deer, and asked with childish naivety:

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Ash cast one last look at the street behind him and took a step forward. The doors, decorated with elaborate carvings, closed noiselessly behind him. Inside, the palace resembled any that he had ever seen. There were no guards, no big or large halls, no hallways, vaults, libraries, rooms, guardhouses, or anything like that.

The entire complex seemed like it consisted of only one huge room, divided into different sections by almost transparent curtains made of leaves. The guards led Ash through the crowd of courtiers, who looked at him with interest, as if they didn’t notice the rags he was dressed in. They, beautiful, rich, proud, and so far away, looked at him not like he was a freak, dragged in by their ruler’s whim, but like he was... Like he was from a fairy tale! That was right. If everything around him was a fairy tale for the young mage, then, ironically, he himself became a fairy tale for others.

Elves, dwarves, orcs, trolls, humans, and even dark elves invited to the Spring Festival observed the mage mentioned in many a ballad make his way to the throne. In Ash they saw not a general, a criminal, a monk, a dragon slayer, but a true mage, albeit young and naive.

The children reach out to him with their little arms. He understood that they wished to receive a gift from him, but he had nothing to give but his shirt, pants, and sandals made of wood and hemp rope.

Stealthily, he plucked a couple of pieces of amber from the wall behind him, and turned them into little birds. The children enjoyed them more than they would’ve enjoyed any material trinket. He then tore off a couple of leaves from a nearby curtain and made them shine brighter than Myristal herself. And there was no greater happiness for the little ones than to admire the silver light of the magic leaves.

And despite the fact that