chapter I 
 “Andor's dream”

A stranger regains conciousness near the ruins of a mysterious tower in a desert. He doesn't remember who he is.
However the Stronghold of the Ancients where he finds refuge is full of imminent mortal danger.

      Darkness was looming. Unknown incomprehensible thunder rumbled in the distant sky. One by one, the stars were extinguished. The world was bathed in absolute silence. Gone was the hooting of the owls, the screeching of the bats, the howling of the wolves. 

Was this death? His body showed no signs of life. His heart ceased to beat. Darkness caught him in a ravenous gust and everything lost its shape. Light became ghostly and pale. He fell out of space and time. 

But it was not the end. Some time later, the shroud of darkness lifted and through the fog one could see the outline of a structure. At first it seemed to be not a building, but an enormous stone mountain, or the work of giants that lived here eons ago. It was something so ancient, that it was difficult to say what it was made of. The central tower fused with the rock and was propping up the sky. Its top was perfectly dome-shaped and glittered in different colors like a gemstone. On both sides of the Stronghold stood two half-ruined towers, much smaller in size than the central one. They looked slightly ominous – with a black metallic gleam and, despite the influence of time, with a perfectly smooth surface, unblemished by the slightest hint of windows or loopholes.

All around was lifeless wasteland. It was a dull land of low hills and windswept plains. In some places lay the bones of whale-like creatures resembling leviathans; the land of cruel gods, deaf to prayers.

He wanted to remember his name, who he was, but suddenly, strength left him again. Everything was once more shrouded in darkness and only the mysterious Tower continued to glow with a ghostly, otherworldly light. It has become a living creature, as if having its own mind and power. This power pressed on him as if he were sinking deeper and deeper underwater. Against his will, his gaze began to skim over the Stronghold, until he found a window. Nothing could be seen inside, only individual sounds and voices were heard from the depths of the building. The voices were decidedly female. From the whole conversation he managed to hear a couple of phrases:

“Nionel!”
“Yes, Mistress?”
“At the door to the Tower you will find a man. Make haste to bring him inside. I have plans for this one. And I need him alive.”

      Gradually their voices became quieter, as though they were moving farther and farther. The picture abruptly changed and before his eyes arose a boundless white field with thousands, nay, hundreds of thousands of sleepers like himself… Once, they were filled with consciousness and will, they made plans and were upset by trifles, and now they were just empty shells, creatures lodged between worlds. The fog stifled them, rendered them ethereal, leaving only a blurred silhouette instead of a human. None of them moved and all their eyes were gazing into infinity.

Above this scene towered an imposing structure. The ziggurat was like a red mountain – a massively indestructible building with many long flights of stairs, straight lines and sharply defined corners everywhere. At the top, on four carved pillars, stood a stone throne, a coarse, rough, sharp shape of black obsidian. Above it hung bloodied bones, resembling giant devil wings. In this world of shadows, they looked the most extant.

On that throne sat a woman. A woman of rare beauty, something was unearthly about her, she radiated an aura of hunger for unlimited power. Her black dress was adorned with a silver corset, shaped like a spider or human ribs. The hem of the dress was decorated with a multitude of shrunken human heads. 

And she was looking at him! Her icy gaze pierced him and there was no looking away from her eyes. That gaze burned like the most terrible terror, more terrible than anything in the world and he wanted to scream. Scream until he could scream no more, but the gaze paralyzed him completely, stripped him of all power to resist. Gradually, the horror began to dissipate until all that remained were her red eyes. The torture was over and he could see mountains, white snow-capped peaks and strands of rivers in dark forests.  

      His soul traversed the boundless space until with his inner sight he discerned a subtle movement in the gloom of the moonless night. A group of people walked along a trail – three warriors in black outlandish armor and a stocky long-haired man in a light chainmail shirt. Here and there lay giant boulders: black, razor-sharp protrusions, they towered over the chasm as though they were trying to look down. The sun rarely shines here, a piercing wind is near-constant and danger is everywhere.

They travelled the canyon along the edge of the precipice, at the bottom of which were balding pines or crooked fir trees, mutilated by the icy wind. In the past, the canyon bed was vibrant and green, but then came the cold and the dark and now only decrepit tree husks reminded of the old times. Nothing alive was left here – only darkness and chaos; black cliffs and wastelands, seemingly man-made."

Some time later, he saw red lights high up in the sky. They looked like someone’s eyes, burning in the night. 

Soon, his attention was drawn to another sight – through the night fog an outline of a lone mountain emerged. At its foot there was movement, lights and a barely discernible giant shape that resembled a statue with the wings of an eagle, the body of an ox and the paws of a lion. From this mysterious ensemble, shrouded in smoke and gloom, resonated barely audible sounds. The shuffling of boots and the distant voices of the guards of the gigantic complex inside the mountain.

What was this strange place? It was almost like a relic of the past – from the darkest depths of ancient myth and legends.

The four men entered the mountain. Through the darkness of the night, one could see tall, stout pillars, dark polished walls and long halls, here and there were bonfires and warriors around them. In some places lay the wreckage of once majestic statues, and the walls were covered with mysterious drawings – strange creatures with human bodies and spherical headgear, as well as triangles flying through the sky.

Once through the corridor, the travelers realized that they were at the mouth of a giant well that plunged deep into the mountain. The other side of it could be reached only by traversing a retractable bridge. In the event of an assault, this castle would probably be absolutely impregnable - anyone wishing to cross the well would simply fall into the black abyss.

       Besides endless corridors they came across holes and fissures that had to be jumped across. From the depths of the fissures came a barely audible sound of running water. The passage wound deeper and deeper, reaching the roots of the mountains.

The path swerved several times and then opened up into another gallery. It was much taller than all the previous ones. Apparently, it was here that all the inhabitants of the underground city gathered in their time. Along the hall, supporting a dome ceiling, stood six rows of mighty pillars. All of them were inscribed with mystic symbols and showed strange creatures – with faces of women and hair like snakes. The air here became noticeably warmer, it was harder to breathe and from the far end of the hall came a heavy acidic smell. The noise was getting ever louder. 

At the end of the gallery, the travelers saw a tall door. There was steam coming from the cracks in it. Suddenly it burst open and beyond it, bathed in bright light, they saw a huge lake. Now it became clear where the pungent smell and strange sounds came from: a weird mechanism worked inside the lake with an unvarying relentless wheezing, like the breathing of a monster hidden in the dark.

The colossal dimensions of this room exceeded the wildest expectations. Despite the fact that it was deep under the mountain, its domed ceiling contained a hole with a view of the star-speckled sky. The dome itself was held up by giants all around the lake perimeter. A man was no bigger than a pinkie of such a giant. A waterfall emerged from one of the wall cracks. The water jetted from it at such a speed that it appeared to dissipate into fog before even reaching the ground. 

Both sides of the lake were occupied by squads of soldiers dressed in dark armor worn out from constant battles. But these were not regular men and there was something extremely unsettling about them – they all had the same white faces and white hair, and they showed no trace of emotion. They resembled sinister wax figures. There was something in their cold blue eyes, something outside of this world. 

An already familiar female voice was suddenly heard: 
- Bring him!

From the inner gallery they brought the same stocky man, but already without his chain mail, absolutely naked. He was in a daze and felt nothing. The faceless warriors began to immerse the man into the lake.

Upon touching the water, he started to regain his senses. His body convulsed, he screamed and tried to struggle to shore, but it was too late. Soon he was completely submerged in the strange white liquid that filled the lake. Above his head the liquid first roiled, then bubbles formed, which filled the air with a sharp smell when they burst. The lake surface surged with small bluish charges.

    Then he froze. Involuntary movements began – his body began to tremble, his fingers moved and twitched on their own. His limbs became as cold and hard as marble.

After a while, the man resurfaced. 

A slight tremor ran through his body; the eyelids parted, showing whites; his lips split reluctantly and he emitted a sudden bloodcurdling scream. His face began to change noticeably – muscles convulsed, producing alternating grimaces of pain and horror. A minute later, his eyes slowly opened, they rolled back into his head and his face became so pale, as though he stole it from a dead man at a cemetery and wore it over his own. It became identical to that of the other warriors that surrounded him – white, cold, with lifeless blue eyes and white hair.

In his glassy eyes appeared a look that was directed inward. From his mouth came a voice, but it was like from another world. The warrior was no longer alive nor dead – he became a mankurt, a creature with no memory or will – an absolute slave of the Mistress.

- It’s your turn soon, Andor. 
- Andor, Andor, Andor – came a deafening clamor from the faceless warriors. Gradually their voices merged into a vague, distant howl. Then even the howl died down.

The night consumed all senses - he was engulfed by complete darkness and silence. His own Self didn't exist. There no longer was any matter, not even his consciousness - he completely merged with Infinity in an untimely stream.

He imagined that he was falling for years and years. Suddenly there was a voice. It sounded as if from very far away, from the depths of his subconscious. It was a female voice. So captivating and charming, that it stilled the heart. It tethered to itself. Pierced through with fiery heat. Everything else in the world became superfluous and worthless. Time stopped. Everything was merged – dream and reality, life and death, eternity and moment.

That voice called to him: 
- Andor, Andor, wake up. 
And at that moment, Andor began to rapidly fall. The ground rose up to meet him. He once again saw mountains, wild vast wastelands, the tower… his body. The dream dispersed, and Andor opened his eyes.