Zas stepped into the hut, hesitant, his eyes sweeping the place as though it defied the laws of nature itself.
The air was saturated with the scent of aged timber—warm yet solitary—and the old man's footsteps struck the floorboards in a rhythm so steady it felt like the echo of some forgotten song.
The hut, though modest from the outside, seemed far larger within: a hall flowing into an open kitchen, and a narrow corridor sinking into shadow as if it led nowhere—or perhaps everywhere.
The old man sat squarely in the center of the hall, resting a hand on his knee. He turned his head toward Zas and, with unnerving calm, said:
"Cut a piece of minced meat."
He raised a cup of tea in his other hand. Steam coiled upward in thick ribbons, impossibly hot, though no fire burned in sight.
Zas frowned, but curiosity outweighed his suspicion.
He crossed into the kitchen. Everything was disturbingly neat, as if arranged long before his arrival. No meat in sight.
Then—his gaze caught a small door tucked into the corner. He hadn't noticed it before.
He opened it.
And a world unfolded.
A vast garden stretched before him, carpeted in lush grass and teeming with sheep. White, woolly forms moved like wandering clouds across an endless green sky.
His heart skipped a beat. He was certain—absolutely certain—this place had not existed when he'd looked from outside.
Cautiously, he extended a hand toward the nearest sheep.
A sudden cry split the silence, and the beast charged.
The impact hurled him backward, slamming him through the door and into the kitchen. He sprawled across the floorboards, gasping:
"This… impossible!"
He staggered to his feet, sweat dripping, and charged back through the door. This time his steps were calculated, cautious.
But another sheep barreled into him, its horns like a battering ram, sending him tumbling to the far edge of the garden.
Gritting his teeth, he scrambled up and lunged for a smaller one—surely easier prey.
The ground vanished beneath him.
In an instant, he was in the sky.
Then plummeting—his body smashed through the hut's roof in a cloud of splintered wood and choking dust.
He crashed into the hall, broken and humiliated.
The old man's gaze dropped on him, and his voice rang out like iron:
"Fool."
Blood on his lips, Zas growled:
"They're… unpredictable. Madness itself!"
The old man only smiled, lifted a wooden plate bearing a delicate cake crowned with bright strawberries, and offered it to him.
"Try."
Zas reached straight for the strawberry. It slipped through his grasp, tumbling off the cake.
The old man erupted in laughter, his voice shaking the walls:
"Even the simplest of things… demand focus."
Zas scowled, tried again, failed again.
Frustrated, he abandoned the fruit and ate from the cake itself. Sweetness burst across his tongue—strange, layered, as though sugar had been baked with blood.
At the end, only the strawberry remained, nestled among crumbs in his hand.
A realization struck him like lightning.
Begin small. Progress step by step. Only then do you reach the summit without collapse.
The image of the sheep blazed in his mind.
Direct assault was useless. But patience—separation, careful approach, deliberate steps—that was the key.
He leapt to his feet, eyes burning with new resolve, and rushed once more toward the garden.
The old man watched, a crooked smile spreading across his face.
"Good… He reminds me of someone else. Someone I once knew, long ago."
…
In an age long buried.
The skies were heavy with blackened clouds, the air thick with smoke and blood.
A young man with dark hair streaked by green-tinted petals roared with defiance:
"You'll never belong here, traitor! The beasts are coming, and crawling to the strongest faction won't save you!"
His sword flared with perception, a cry of will exploding through him as he charged, his strike decisive, lethal.
The man he faced sneered, muttering under his breath:
"Fool…" He twisted aside, but too slow—the blade severed half his hand.
The wounded man shrieked, eyes wild:
"I'll see you destroyed, wretch!"
The youth smirked, voice like steel:
"Then come closer—if you dare!"
But before his words could finish, a monstrous claw erupted through his abdomen, tearing him apart from within.
His cry gurgled, broken. Darkness devoured his sight.
His final whisper crawled from his lips:
"Damn it…"
And he fell, swallowed by silence eternal.