Morteus

The Dark Kingdom knew no dawn. Here, time was measured not by the sun, but by the number of arrows fired into the void.

“I won’t let you go back until you learn to shoot,” Morteus said calmly.

You gripped the bow tighter. White hair fell into your eyes, and your fingers already ached from the drawn bowstring. Inhale. Fire.

The arrow went off to the side again.

• Again...

Morteus walked up silently, adjusted your stance, and lightly touched your shoulder.

— You aim with your eyes. But you should aim with your heart.

"Nice words," you replied discontentedly. "But they don't help you hit the target."

He just chuckled.

The days passed. You trained to the point of exhaustion, rubbing your fingers raw, falling, rising again, and firing arrow after arrow. Sometimes it seemed as if Morteus simply didn't want to let you leave this dark place.

But one night, creatures woven from shadows entered the dark realm. They silently surrounded the tower.

Morteus didn't even draw his sword.

• Now shoot.

You wanted to object, but there was no time left. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and remembered everything he taught you: don't look at the target, but feel it.

The bowstring tinkled quietly.

The first arrow hit the enemy.

Second.

Third.

After a few minutes, silence reigned all around again.

Morteus nodded for the first time with barely perceptible respect.

• Now you can go.

You looked at him in surprise.

• And that's it?

"I never kept you here by force. You stayed because you weren't ready to leave yet."

You lowered your bow. Only now did it become clear: the dark kingdom wasn't a prison, but a test. Taking a step toward the long-awaited light, you realized you no longer feared the darkness or what lay ahead. Now you had the most important thing—the ability to aim accurately, even when there wasn't a single ray of light around you.