He wasn't one of those who during life was interested in death. What would be there, beyond the edge. Whether this edge even exists. No, he was too busy with the daily struggle for life itself.
So he didn't expect either a harem of virgins, nor an eternal feast among warriors, nor seraphim and golden gates. Only darkness. Warm, gentle. He felt good. He didn't want to leave it. For the first time, no anxiety, no worry. That's exactly why he was so deeply displeased with the appearance of white light at the end of the narrowing tunnel.
He wanted to stay inside. In the darkness. But it was pushing him out. Closer and closer to the burning circle of white flame.
Finally, light flooded everything around, and then inside, in his chest, he felt a burning sensation. He screamed. Not from pain, no, he knew how to endure it. Just to make sure that he was really alive. Only instead of a scream, he heard an annoying squeak.
"Dat har herieon."
An unfamiliar, somewhat rough language sounded. With difficulty, he opened his eyes and saw... Something unclear, blurry, obviously upside-down black and white spot. More by inertia than consciously, he reached with his hand toward the keyboard to type: "What the hell". But instead, he squeezed something soft. At first, he thought it was someone's hand, but looking closer, he recognized... a finger.
How huge was this finger if he was holding it with his whole palm!
Wait... hold on...
[Interface reconfiguration. Correction of initial error. Age of the carrier – 35 seconds.]
What?!
Suddenly the black and white image filled with color and returned to normal, switching top and bottom. Finally he saw a face. A woman's. Almost girlish, even. She was about twenty years old. No more. Thick black hair, tied in a heavy braid, lay on a narrow satin shoulder. Clear green eyes shone with happiness.
Her round, tired face covered with perspiration was perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He didn't see the surrounding environment. Neither the huge stone chamber, decorated with velvet and gold. Nor the painted walls. Nor the girls standing around in light leather armor. He looked only into her deep, warm eyes.
She gently, carefully stroked his cheek and kept saying:
"Dlahi Khaal. Dlahi Khaal."
"Look, nurse," Elizabeth smiled.
She stroked the cheek of the crying infant. On the sweaty sheets, she now lay not alone, rocking her newborn son in her arms. The nurse bustled around. She gave orders to the women in armor, and they ran deep into the palace corridors.
"Dear Khaal," the queen cradled the prince. "Dear Khaal."
A kind smile shone on her tired face.
"My Queen," the plump but sweet nurse came closer. "Look how firmly he holds."
Only now did Elizabeth notice that Khaal was strongly squeezing her finger. In his clear blue eyes, she suddenly saw a reflection of something that shouldn't have been in an infant. It looked like confusion.
"A son?!" suddenly an almost animal roar sounded.
The corridor echoed with the trampling of a dozen feet. The gigantic doors swung open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man flew into the hall. Dressed in loose golden clothes, belted with a sash holding a saber, he towered over his warriors by a good two heads.
Blond hair lay on his shoulders, and a leather strap with metal inserts crossed his forehead.
"The King," the nurse immediately bowed.
The girls in armor who had returned to the chamber did the same.
"My dear." Elizabeth's smile became even brighter than before.
"I have a son, brother!" The King embraced the man standing next to him.
He resembled the king, only taller and somewhat older. Gray had long since streaked his black beard, and a gold medallion fastened his heavy fur cloak.
"Congratulations, brother," the man replied in a deep bass.
The king shook him slightly and, letting go, almost jumped onto the boundless bed. He hugged his wife and somewhat fearfully touched his firstborn. He was warm.
"Why isn't he crying?" the king asked anxiously. "A healer to me! Now!"
"Calm down, Haver," the queen laughed and with a glance stopped the knights who had already sprung into action. "He was crying. He just... finished."
"Finished crying?" Haver was surprised. "Is that even normal?"
This time the question was addressed to the nurse who had straightened up.
"No, Your Majesty. In your time, you cried for almost four hours after birth."
Haver wanted to scold the crotchety old woman, but remembered in time that his little son was beside him. What if he hears?
"Don't worry, brother," the tall man came closer. "Look how firmly he holds Elizabeth and how steady his gaze is."
The king turned back to his son, and in his chest, the flame of pride flared for the first time. He extended his own finger, and the infant grabbed it with his second hand. Firmly. Very firmly.
"The gods witness," the smiling king whispered. "He will become a great general and..."
"A scholar, dear," Elizabeth interrupted. "We agreed that if a boy was born, he would become a scholar."
"But, my love, look at him! He weighs as much as a young dire wolf!"
Elizabeth's gaze hardened. The warriors tensed.
The king frowned.
"What are you all doing here?!" the nurse suddenly barked. "You can have your arguments later! The child needs to rest."
With these words, she approached the prince and, wrapping him in gold-embroidered covers, carried him away toward a small chamber.
The queen, breathing a sigh of relief, fell back on the pillows. Breathing heavily, she stroked her husband's hand. Despite their quarrels, which were legendary throughout the country, she loved Haver with all her heart. And he returned her love.
"Congratulations, brother," the man bowed. "But please excuse us, Queen, a war council awaits us."
"Just a couple more minutes, Primus," the weakening Elizabeth whispered. "Let me be with my husband for just a couple more minutes."
The king's brother bowed once more and, drawing his cloak around him, went out into the corridor. All the warriors followed him. Both the knights and the queen's bodyguards. Finally, the new father and mother were left alone. Not often did the royal couple have happy moments when they could devote themselves to each other.
Governing the country demanded their complete dedication. There were times when they might not see each other for weeks. How they managed to conceive a child under such conditions remains a great mystery. But, considering the timing, most likely, they should thank the feast in honor of the harvest festival, no doubt.
Haver sat beside his wife, and she rested her head on his mighty, scarred chest.
"Stay this time, my love," she whispered.
"A war is beginning, dear." The king stroked his wife's hair. Silky, thick, it smelled of jasmine. Untouched by gray, the same as on the day they met almost seventy years ago.
"This one will end, another will begin, and so on – endlessly. Wars never cease."
Elizabeth caressed the scars. With each new meeting, there were more scars on her beloved's body.
"I was born a king and a warrior – it is my destiny."
"That's exactly why I want him to be a scholar." The queen's voice trembled. "Let the world of martial arts not touch him."
"And he will live the life of a mortal?" the king sighed. "In forty years, his hair will turn gray, in sixty his teeth will fall out, and in ninety, if he's lucky and lives that long, he won't remember your name. And you will still be as young and beautiful."
Last month the queen celebrated her ninetieth birthday, but looked no older than twenty. The king had ruled the country for almost three centuries. By adept standards, they were still young. And compared to those who had stepped onto the level of Heavenly Soldier and touched the edge of eternity and immortality – they differed little from their newborn son.
"But it will be a full life," Elizabeth whispered, falling asleep. "It will have no hardships, no adversities. He will marry, have children, and move on, like all mortals. He will not know about the horrors of this world. About the struggle for a place under the sun. About the enmity of adepts. Strong sects will never be interested in him, pulling him into their endless feud. The martial arts academies won't take him, where he'll forget all the joys of life. Like many, he won't be obsessed with his development. He will live a good, peaceful, happy life. You can make the next son a warrior."
"We won't be able to hide him forever..."
"But we can for a mortal lifetime."
Elizabeth ran her hand once more over the mighty, scarred chest and finally fell asleep.
Haver sat a little longer beside his beloved wife and, only after making sure her breathing was steady, carefully extricated himself from her embrace. He covered her with a blanket and, closing the doors behind him, went out into the corridor. There his older brother Primus, the kingdom's first military commander, was already waiting for him.
"She still raves about the fate of a scholar?"
They walked toward the small throne room, where generals and senior officers had already gathered. A new war was approaching, although it must be admitted, Haver couldn't remember when he wasn't at war.
"She can be understood," the king sighed and stretched his stiff neck. "Her entire family died when she was still small."
"You saw little Khaal. He will make as good a scholar as a heavenly tiger would make a pet kitten."
Haver smiled proudly and stopped by a stained glass window. He looked at his golden-domed capital, sprawling for many kilometers around. Almost thirty million people lived in it alone. And in his entire kingdom, which occupied many thousands of kilometers, there were more than two billion souls.
The king shook his head – his kingdom, Lidus, was a very small, almost invisible country on the map. Perhaps that's why they had to fight so often.
Maybe Elizabeth was right, and Khaal was destined to be a scholar after all.
At that moment, Haver didn't know how wrong his wife was and how right his brother was.