Every action has one task – to get from point A to point B. For others we are alive while we go this way, while we are at this movement from point A to point B. When the road ends, we cease to exist for those who have not arrived at the point of destination. What is beyond the destination point of this route?
Haven’t you understood yet?
But I'm afraid Preface is dragged out. Let’s go!
Chapter 1
the hIghlIghts of the Past
Near Tandrod. The year 475 after the Great Separation. The Second Age.
Time seemed frozen in a lonely desert, dimly lit with cloudy sun, hiding behind mournful clouds. Under a thick layer of the Lord snow in the dead vegetation there was life. Unconsciously, in oppression, under the white darkness, the life was seeking out to light, which possibly did not exist at all. But without ceasing to strive for, not tolerating frustration, and overcoming insurmountable and through the insignificance of breaking to the cherished light, so much desired and emerged into consciousness from the outside, the life was relying on the senses in the desire to break out of the thick snow and to behold the sun. The sun wilted, but warming a beautiful flowering snowdrop. This snowdrop, as a miracle, with its tender shadows of light colours and smiling life seen in a slightly bended bud, will emphasise the region bounded with rocky guards and haggard spruces-guards, a few dignified, but mostly shrunken, living among anarchically thrown clumps of grey stones. It was near the village. Poor and impoverished it seemed a cemetery opposite the rocks. It had some spirit reminding about former life, sunk into oblivion.
The silence enveloping the steppe soaked the air itself. As a sinister dissembler it was hiding the world, devoured and oppressed by the poison of death behind phony external unwavering, chilling calm. The eternity, as an outcast mother, was bewailing adopted world. The abandoned world was destroying the ways to salvation. The world was dying in tergiversation. The world grown dark and contrived its power has lost the Light as it was clothed in flesh and so it was dead.
The past has disappeared in frozen hearts as a green-leaved life under the thickness of snow. The world was neither dead no alive. It was languishing surrounded by a wall of fear. It was unfit to confrontation,