Nostra gingerly stepped onto the dark, viscous surface, and his boot immediately sank into the mud with a squelch. The ground clung to his leg as though it were a living hand, pulling him downward, while a dense fog wrapped itself around everything, filling the air with a chill and dampness, like a heavy shroud eager to swallow everything whole.
A stifling silence loomed over the swamp, broken only by faint whispers, as if the place itself murmured sinister secrets hidden in its depths. Light barely filtered through the mist, leaving only the dim glow of his own breath, fading into the cold, wet air.
He halted, clenching his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, releasing a sharp pain. He tried to quell his trembling, but his body seemed to resist him, beyond his control.
– Where… where is this? – his voice came out raspy, swallowed by the sticky darkness around him. Even the air seemed to absorb sounds, transforming them into endless silence.
A muffled voice, as if emanating from the very ground, answered beside him:
– This is the Ordinary Swamp, Nostra. The swamp on the lowest plane of existence.
These words stirred in Nostra memories of old legends.
The Ordinary Swamp—one of the most mysterious and perilous places in their world. It spread out like a bottomless pit, consuming all who dared to tread on its soil. Like the Abyss of Inevitable Death or the Dark Desert, it was a place from which no one returned the same—if they returned at all.
If the Abyss of Inevitable Death was an endless canyon where falling meant certain doom, the Ordinary Swamp held something even more terrifying: it erased one's identity.
No matter how strong, intelligent, or skilled someone was, the swamp turned them into an ordinary, unremarkable person. No one understood its true nature or what awaited a traveler who remained here forever.
– So, I really did escape the Abyss of Inevitability? – There was a faint glimmer of hope in his voice, mixed with disbelief.
His Inner Self responded calmly, its voice like a cold gust of wind:
– In a way, yes. You emerged from the Abyss, but the path has led you here. This is no accident. Everyone who walks this path eventually arrives at the Ordinary Swamp. It's a path we choose, not one that chooses us.
– But why here? Wasn't one trial enough? – Nostra couldn't contain his exhaustion and despair. What was the point of his efforts if each new trial became harsher?
– Every path is a choice, – echoed the Inner Self. – This isn't something you can pass in one go. Walk as long as you can. When you can't anymore, you'll stay here, at the bottom.
The words chilled his heart. He realized that his presence here was the result of his own choices, even if he hadn't been aware of it. Anxiety tightened around his chest as he remembered the stories of those who had remained here forever.
– So… does that mean I can leave, like I left the Abyss? – he muttered, a flicker of hope in his voice.
His Inner Self chuckled softly, but there was neither warmth nor relief in its laughter.
– This swamp makes everyone the same, Nostra. People come here because they are alike inside. They don't have claws to defend themselves like tigers, nor roots to cling to life like trees. They can't transform like clouds. Humans—they're simply ordinary, and the swamp reminds them of this.
The companion's words echoed in his thoughts. Ordinary… Could something so simple be so sinister? He looked around, hoping to see someone else also trying to find their way.
– If everyone is ordinary, why am I alone? Where are those who were here before me?
– How can you say no one's here? They were here. You just don't see them. Look down.
Slowly, Nostra lowered his gaze to the ground and froze: the earth around him was littered with prints—claw marks, roots, bare feet, and animal tracks. Each of these marks was a symbol of those who had come before him.
– Why are there so many footprints? – his voice trembled with confusion.
– The swamp doesn't choose who enters it, – whispered the Inner Self. – All living things are drawn here. Many stay forever. Only a few find the strength to move forward. Here, everyone is ordinary, Nostra, just like you.
These words weighed heavily on his heart. He knew he couldn't stay here, couldn't surrender to the darkness pressing on him, swallowing every attempt to resist. He took a deep breath, trying to brace himself, like a man plunging into icy water, knowing it was the only way out.
– I don't want to be part of this. This darkness seems to want to consume me, turn me into something shapeless and empty. I don't want to be just another footprint on this filthy ground.
The Inner Self laughed softly again, but this time there was a gentle sadness in its voice.
– If you see an abyss here, then it will be an abyss. If you see a path, then it will be a path. It all depends on how you look, Nostra. Leave your own tracks, and perhaps they'll lead you out of this swamp.
He paused, steeling himself, and took his first step. The earth beneath him accepted his foot with a slosh, thick and heavy, as if trying to hold him, unwilling to let go. Each step resonated through his body with a sluggish ache—the ground seemed to resist every movement he made, as though aware of his desire to escape.
But he didn't give up. Step by step, he moved forward. The swamp still clung to him, unwilling to release him, but he saw a path ahead of him, scattered with the traces of those who'd come before. Following those footprints was easier, like a trail carved by someone else.
For the first time in a long time, he smiled.
– Following others' steps is much easier than forging my own path. Maybe this way, I'll get out faster.
But after a while, he realized he was moving in circles. He began to recognize certain marks and landmarks he'd already passed. The swamp held him captive despite his efforts.
Then the voice of his Inner Self sounded again:
– If you want to be extraordinary, Nostra, you must walk your own path. Those who came before left their tracks, but their path will not lead you out. If you want to escape, you must leave your own footprints.
These words pierced him. He stopped, staring at the mud filled with tracks. He understood that he could leave, but only if he forged his own way, even if that path was filled with pain and darkness.
– Understood, – Nostra murmured, feeling determination boil within him. If the path others had taken wouldn't lead to freedom, then he would make his own.
Cautiously stepping off the beaten trail, he set foot on the soft, sticky ground, which nearly swallowed his foot instantly. The mud pressed around him, as though trying to consume him, and each new step stung with sharp pain. But the more he fought against the swamp's resistance, the clearer the path he was creating for himself became.
Over time, he noticed something strange: where his blood and sweat soaked into the earth, tiny blades of grass sprouted. At first, they were barely noticeable, but with each step, the grass grew taller and stronger, defying the darkness, as if symbolizing his effort and resolve.
These blades of grass seemed to stand against the darkness, each of Nostra's efforts leaving behind more than just footprints. He watched them and felt something new stir inside him—a desire to leave a mark that no one could erase. He realized that his actions here created more than mere memories—they embodied his resolve and strength.
So he walked, leaving behind footsteps filled with his will and pain, and these reminded him that the path to true greatness could not be walked by following others' steps. Nostra understood that his struggle was not only a physical overcoming of obstacles but also an inner realization of his place in this world.
He scowled into the dense darkness ahead. The ground trembled beneath his feet, as if resisting each step. Every movement was agony, each new step a trial.
The ground was treacherous: firm in some places, and soft, treacherous quicksand in others. Nostra felt his legs sink into the mud, as though the swamp itself was trying to drag him into its murky depths.
The cold air burned his lungs, each breath a struggle. Exhaustion flooded him, his legs ached, yet he kept moving. He knew—the only way out was to keep going. The swamp seemed to sense his fatigue and weakness, but Nostra didn't falter.
Then, his Inner Self's voice sounded again in his mind, quiet and enigmatic, as if it arose from the very earth:
– Nostra, if you don't want to lose your way here, your steps must be stronger. You're moving cautiously to avoid pain, but that isn't enough to break free. If you want to escape, leave footprints that no one can erase. Let every step be so deep that nothing can wipe it away.
Nostra nodded, realizing that caution only prolonged his suffering. Gritting his teeth, he began to move with purpose, stomping heavily and driving his feet into the ground. Pain shot through his body, and each new imprint in the earth became a symbol of his determination and strength. The swamp resisted his will, but Nostra stubbornly left his deep prints, knowing it was his only path.
Over time, his footprints began to change. What had once been faint marks became strong, solid impressions. Where his blood and sweat soaked into the soil, small, tenacious blades of grass emerged, as if sprouting from his own effort. These tiny plants became his guiding markers, living symbols that defied the oppressive darkness.
Nostra felt a strange joy as he saw something living grow from his tracks. These shoots were strong, unyielding to wind or the swamp's weight. Even the darkness could not consume them.
– I really can escape from here, – he whispered, feeling a strength he hadn't known before.
However, the further Nostra went, the more treacherous the path became. The ground turned increasingly dangerous: sharp stones and thorny bushes clawed at his clothes and skin, leaving bleeding cuts. But Nostra understood—this was his trial. If he stopped, he would remain in the swamp forever, becoming a part of it.
Each step was an ordeal, the pain intensifying, yet he kept moving. With every step, he felt more acutely how pain and strength merged into his essence, as if this journey was forging his spirit. But soon, he realized he was back where he had started.
– Nostra, – the voice of his Inner Self echoed, – you're too afraid of pain and keep trying to avoid the sharp stones. As long as you sidestep obstacles, you won't find the exit. The path to true freedom isn't one of comfort.
Nostra clenched his teeth, realizing he'd have to face the pain, not evade it, if he truly wanted to become something greater. He looked at his wounds, at the mud that soaked in his blood, and understood—it was his choice to endure pain to grow stronger.
– I won't look for easy paths, – he said to himself. – If this is my fate, then I'll face it head-on.
With renewed resolve, he stepped onto a path scattered with thorns and jagged rocks. Each step brought fresh wounds, but he didn't stop. He felt his blood and sweat soaking into the earth, nourishing it, like seeds of his accomplishments.
With each new step, his footprints grew stronger and deeper. Now, the swamp could no longer swallow them—they were too powerful, filled with his will. And from these footprints, something more than just grass sprouted. From his wounds, small trees emerged, resilient and sturdy, just like his resolve.
As he walked, his footprints transformed into an entire forest. Tall, vibrant trees stood as living proof of his struggle and endurance. In every step, in every tree, Nostra saw his efforts, his pain that nourished these shoots, making them taller and stronger.
But exhaustion crept over him. The trees grew, yet the swamp's edge remained unseen. Nostra looked at his forest, at his accomplishments, tasting a bitter flavor on his tongue. Every step and tree had once brought joy, but now they reminded him of an endless journey, denying him peace.
A heaviness settled in his chest, as if a second heart, dark and heavy, was growing inside him. He realized this feeling was discontent. This new heart weighed him down, keeping him from feeling satisfaction in his journey.
Sensing his turmoil, his Inner Self spoke:
– This discontent is your new companion, Nostra. When your journey becomes an endless struggle, your achievements lose their sweetness. Discontent is a part of your growth, a reminder to strive for something greater.
Nostra looked back at the forest behind him. He saw how his trees filled the swamp, transforming it into something different. But every fruit, once sweet, now left a bitter taste, and this bitterness weighed on his soul. He felt as if the swamp had become a part of him, and a new thought emerged in his heart like a shadow settling within.
– I need to plant a tree that can rise above the swamp's walls, – he murmured, gazing at his worn and bloodied hands. – One that will lead me to the exit.
His Inner Self spoke again:
– Look at your trees, Nostra. They grew from your pain and blood, but to create something truly magnificent, you'll need to give more. A tree capable of leading you out of the swamp will require all of your essence.
Nostra understood what he needed to do. Feeling a surge of determination, he pulled a sharp stone from the mud. Gritting his teeth, he raised it to his chest. Taking a deep breath, he plunged the stone into his heart, feeling searing pain pierce his entire being. For a moment, his heart stopped, then warm, thick blood began to flow, seeping into the soil.
Before his eyes, a new tree began to grow—taller and stronger than all the others. It stretched toward the sky, its leaves glowing with a soft light that pierced the swamp's darkness. Nostra continued to bleed, but the tree grew, rising higher and higher, striving to break through the gloom.
As he stood there, bleeding, he felt each drop pulling part of his soul with it. The tree towering before him, with its vast branches, seemed to demand everything he could give, and Nostra obeyed, surrendering the last remnants of his pain and resolve.
Every drop of his blood ignited a spark of life, and soon around him, tender shoots began to reach toward the light, pushing through the darkness that had engulfed the swamp.
With every breath, he felt his strength slipping away like water through his fingers. The tree kept growing, its branches stretching toward an invisible sky, but the weight in Nostra's chest grew unbearable.
He realized that soon there would be nothing left to keep him in this world. Just as despair reached its peak, he heard a faint rustle behind him.
He turned and met the gaze of a girl, her eyes filled with both fear and hope. In them, he saw vulnerability and desperate determination, as though she viewed him as her last chance, an unexpected miracle amid the swamp's endless darkness.
– I can't believe it, – her voice came out as a trembling whisper, filled with countless emotions. – I thought there was no one else here… I thought I was alone.
To Nostra, the sight of another person was like a breath of fresh air. The swamp, which had isolated souls, seemed to enclose them in eternal solitude. But her presence stirred a warmth within him, a connection he had nearly forgotten.
A faint smile flickered across Izel's face, timid yet genuine. She looked at him with unfeigned curiosity, and Nostra felt a faint warmth growing in his chest—a reminder that he was no longer alone.
– I've come a long way, planting these trees and searching for a path to freedom, – he said, gesturing to the forest around them. – These are my steps, my achievements.
Awe sparked in her eyes, and she whispered softly:
– That's incredible… I'm Izel, – her words were gentle and filled with gratitude. – And you?
– Nostra, – he replied, feeling alive for the first time in a long while.
Izel approached one of the trees and, touching its bark, seemed to sense its hidden strength. After a moment of contemplation, she carefully plucked a fruit and, holding it delicately in her hands, extended it to Nostra.
– It's a pleasure to meet you, Nostra. Your forest… it's like an island of light in this darkness. Here… it feels different.
– Yes, it's a place of rest, – he replied quietly, offering her a faint smile in response to her wonder.
His heart filled with a calmness. Here, beside her, he felt a warmth that was different from his Inner Self.
They spent a long time together, wandering among the trees. Nostra brought her fruit, and each time, he noticed how her eyes lit up with joy.
– So sweet, – she would murmur each time, as if it were something distant and unreachable to her.
Izel found peace among the trees, seemingly drawing light from this dark world. But Nostra knew a different fire burned within him—a fire that called him onward. He knew his friends, Baios and Anfar, were searching for him, and his future awaited him beyond the swamp.
Izel tried to convince him to stay:
– Nostra, why would you leave? It's so peaceful here. We could grow trees, live in this tranquility. Isn't that enough?
Her words were like a warm breeze, and for a moment, Nostra felt the allure of staying pull at him. Here, in the forest of his victories, there seemed to be purpose. But he knew it was only a stop, not his destination.
– I have to keep moving, – he said firmly, his voice resolute. – This forest is part of the journey, but it's not the end. My friends are waiting for me, and I can't let them down.
His eyes shone with strength, and in his heart, an unwavering certainty lived, knowing that each step was leading him toward his destiny. He knew he couldn't let down those who awaited him.
Izel began to cry, clinging to him as if she feared he would vanish forever.
– Nostra, please… don't leave me, – her voice trembled. – I don't know how to grow trees or climb them. If you leave, I'll be stuck here, and one day the fruit will run out… and I'll die.
Her words pierced his heart. In her eyes, he saw pain and the fear of solitude.
– I won't leave you, – he said resolutely, feeling determination surge within him. – You matter to me. I'll take you with me.
She embraced him, and they began to climb the mighty tree of his achievements. With each step, the weight on his heart grew heavier, his strength slipping away as if he were drawing upon the very last remnants of his life. Izel clutched his hand, her eyes shining with a mix of hope and fear, making each step all the more difficult.
The tree groaned ominously beneath them, its branches trembling and bending as if it resisted bearing them both. In the swamp's silence, the voice of his Inner Self echoed, laced with a hint of warning, almost desperation:
– Nostra, you can't make her like you. This is your tree of achievements, rooted in your sacrifices and trials. It won't support two.
Gritting his teeth, Nostra held Izel even tighter, his gaze fierce with determination.
– I won't leave her here, – he said through clenched teeth. – I can't abandon her. I can't leave another soul behind, no matter how difficult it is.
His Inner Self paused as if weighing his resolve. Then, with a note of sorrowful empathy, it spoke:
– She hasn't walked your path, Nostra. Her place isn't here at the summit. You can walk beside her, but you can't make her equal. Your achievements are your price. Everyone must walk their own journey.
The words cut deep, filling him with doubt and pain. The tree creaked, and branches began to break. The voice of his Inner Self came again, now stern:
– Let her go, or you'll remain here forever. You're bleeding, Nostra. If you try to carry her to a place she hasn't earned, you'll fall with her. Your tree, born of your pain and efforts, can't bear the weight of another.
Nostra wrestled with each word, feeling them tear at his soul. He looked at Izel; her eyes held pain but also understanding.
– I'm sorry… – he whispered, his voice quivering.
– If you won't listen, then I'll act, – his Inner Self said, and Nostra felt a surge of inevitability within him, like a shadow ready to engulf them both.
His Inner Self detached from his consciousness, taking on a dim reflection of himself—dark, filled with his doubts and fears. It glided toward Izel and, without a word, sank its teeth into her arm.
Izel cried out in shock, her fingers loosening as she slipped down, her figure disappearing into the thick mist, swallowed by the swamp's darkness.
– Aaaaaa!
Her scream echoed through the forest, and Nostra, his heart breaking, watched as she vanished into the mist, consumed by the swamp's shadows. The voice of his Inner Self spoke again, this time with sorrow:
– Go, Nostra. You can't carry others, even if they're dear to you. This is your sacrifice. Accept it and move forward.
These words awakened a fierce resolve within him. He took a step forward, crossing a threshold, and behind him, his forest of achievements collapsed with a resounding crack.
– Izel… – he murmured, but an invisible wall held him back.
The voice of his Inner Self spoke again, now filled not only with sternness but also bitterness:
– You can't go back, Nostra. Your tree of achievements has fallen, yet it was proof of your greatness. You are extraordinary. The great cannot return to where the ordinary remain. This forest is now just a memory, and your journey is only beginning.
In that moment, the remnants of his tree transformed into bright, pulsing lights, which, as if alive, soared into the air and converged upon him. As the light entered him, he felt power and energy filling every cell of his being, every corner of his consciousness. The strength he absorbed felt both familiar and foreign, and he felt reborn, though he couldn't quite understand what had changed within him.
– What is this… – he began, struggling to find the words.
His Inner Self, as if knowing his thoughts, spoke with a faint smile:
– You've walked a path that was beyond most. Now you've gained strength and power, Nostra. The great have strength not for fame or power—their strength lies in understanding and humility before the grandeur of the path. And now you are one of them.
Nostra looked at his hands, feeling energy pulsing through them, as if he could hold the entire world. Nothing seemed impossible now. But around him was still the darkness, the same boundless cave, so vast that neither its beginning nor its end was visible.
– Where are we? – he asked, feeling his voice resonate more deeply, more powerfully, as if it reverberated off the inner walls of the cavern.
– I don't know, – his Inner Self replied softly. – But that doesn't matter anymore. Now you can choose your path.
– How? – he asked, surprised. A part of the old Nostra, unfamiliar with such abilities, still lingered within him.
His Inner Self moved closer, its form soft and transparent, as if it were becoming part of Nostra's new world.
– Simply imagine what you strive for, where you wish to go. Take a step forward, and your path will unfold. Now, you're beyond the limits of time and distance—your strength is beyond these constraints.
Closing his eyes, Nostra envisioned his home, its walls and hearth, the warmth he hadn't felt in so long. Concentrating on that image, he took a step. In that instant, the space around him cracked and sparkled, as if reflected in a shattered mirror, and he found himself beneath a cloudless sky, hovering high above his home.
He stood as though suspended in air, yet his feet felt solid ground beneath them. Looking around, he tried to comprehend the incredibility of what had happened. It felt as if he had overcome not only physical barriers but the very nature of the world itself.
His Inner Self spoke again, its voice calm, like a guiding presence:
– You walk a path no one has walked before. You've opened doors others didn't dare to seek. Now, your strength grants you access to worlds, Nostra, but remember—nothing will be a barrier except your own doubts and fears. You stand above the world because you've learned to overcome yourself.