In the second world, it wasn't as dark. Instead, it was damp and cold. The prince mustered his remaining strength to leap out of the dark world controlled by Evil through the mirror and lost consciousness. All his bags with clothes and food were left in the well's cellar. So he had to walk through the swamp, with gray misty clouds billowing around him, in torn pants.

Unfortunately, there was no sign of clean water here, so the prince had to trudge through the mud, dirty and dissatisfied.

The experience of being close to Evil was impressively disgusting. No matter how tenderly he spoke to him, Evil ruled the world with force and blood. Even if the prince hadn't told him that he liked it a bit rougher, Evil would have done everything as he pleased.

Now the prince saw this clearly.

His vision was still blurry in the twilight of the gray world, but he was definitely feeling better.

Someone was approaching him.

A distant figure appeared shrouded in a hood. The figure leaned on a long staff and stood, waiting for the prince.

He decided to move forward. The figure began to move toward him. But every time the prince stopped, the figure stopped as well.

"Come to me, do not be afraid, child..." The voice seemed suspiciously familiar to the prince. There was no longer a trace of trust in it, so the prince shouted:

"If you're not afraid, come yourself."

The person under the hood only chuckled with a cold, chilling laughter but didn't move.

Frightened, the prince started to back away, and the figure backed away in response.

"Come here," the voice said dryly, as if in the prince's mind.

Tired and already frightened, the prince decided to retreat.

"You'll die in the swamps. All the berries are poisoned, and if you don't wash off the blood, you'll die from infection," the voice said tenderly.

The prince froze.

"Being violated for the second time or dying? Well... living is better."

The prince listened carefully, but the voice fell silent.

"You can read my thoughts?"

He cautiously decided to check.

And again, silence.

"You don't read them. What a relief."

The prince sighed.

Now he bit his lip, contemplating his next move. He was clearly in pain, and it was difficult to walk. His heart was heavy, and he didn't want to die.

"The world won't release you alive unless you pass the trial," the voice added, concluding the prince's contemplations.

"Why is this figure speaking so informally? As if we're close?" the prince suddenly thought, looking at the stranger hidden under the hood.

"Come to me. I'll warm you up. I'll feed you soup and give you cranberry tea. I'll give you new clothes. And I'll even allow you to leave the gray world."

"You're lying."

"Of course not."

"Why would you do this for me?"

"You are special, Prince. You are created from pure light. Everyone wants to touch the source, even if through an intermediary."

"So, am I the source or the intermediary?"

"You are what you define yourself to be."

"If I were the source, aren't you afraid that my light would be destructive to your grayness?"

"..."

There was silence in response.

"So, you consider me an intermediary?"

"I never said that."

"Otherwise, what's the benefit to you if I were the source? You would die just standing next to me. Or is that why you're afraid to approach first? You don't know if I'm the source or the intermediary."

"You are what you define yourself to be."

"Do you want to see the king?"

The prince nodded hesitantly.

"Maybe I've made my own life more complicated."

"Follow me."

The figure turned around, and the first one began to walk away. The prince was certain that whether he should follow the figure or not, there was no choice. If a few moments ago he had hesitated, now he obediently followed the figure, keeping a certain distance.

The road was long. When the marshes made up of hillocks ended, real gray mud began. The prince's feet constantly sank so deep that each step was accompanied by him having to pull his leg out, almost up to the knee. As a result, the gray mud splashed onto the unprotected patches of his skin.

The bleeding had finally stopped, but the dried scabs on his legs were now covered with yet another layer of unpleasantly unhygienic mud.

"When will we get there?" the prince yelled in despair to the figure, who seemed to be moving effortlessly.

"Not soon, prince. After all, you wanted to see the king."

The prince clenched his fists.

"Why are you leading me into the center of the swamp then? I could drown!"

"You'll only drown if there's not a drop of light left in you."

"Can't we do without the king then?" the prince reconsidered, feeling himself sinking into the marsh.

"Don't stop, prince, or you'll drown. We must keep going."

"I mean that I can go to you instead of the king."

"I've already contacted the king."

The prince pressed his hands to his bare buttocks. He couldn't afford an infection.

"Let's go, prince."

"You have no light in you - a servant of the gray world. Why is it so easy for you to walk?"

"I am a true resident."

The figure moved again. The prince decided to watch how he was moving. Jumping from hillock to hillock with both feet.

"What if I jump and make a mistake? Then I won't be able to pull myself out of the gray swamp."

Moreover, there was a considerable distance between the prince and the figure, which made him even more doubtful. If they were walking in single file, the prince could repeat his actions.

The prince decided, no matter what, he had to catch up with the figure. Now he walked more consciously. And for some reason, this whole world seemed wrong to him. The hillocks repeated, the same mud, even the view of the forest in the distance among the gray mist remained unchanged.

"This is some kind of heresy!" he exclaimed.

"We'll be there soon," the figure reassured immediately.

"Where are we going if it's all the same? I've seen this for the third time already! Are you intentionally leading me in circles?"

"Look, there's the castle." The figure justified itself immediately.

And indeed, as soon as the prince looked ahead, a castle became visible on the previously empty spot. A small gray stone castle.

"Does your king live here?"

"Yes."

"Let's go." The prince started walking directly toward the castle, but the figure didn't move.

The prince didn't stop and crashed into the figure.

"Ouch! Why aren't you moving?" The prince asked roughly, grabbing the figure by the shoulder.

But the figure only began to transform into gray smoke, managing to say as a parting remark, "You need to make this journey on your own. The king won't wait for extra guests."

An irritated prince, through whose fingers the smoke passed, continued to move forward. However far he walked, the castle didn't seem to get any closer. It was starting to get dark. The gray smoke was becoming gloomy. The prince could barely make out the road. He was freezing, and his jaw involuntarily chattered. He was tired, and his legs no longer wanted to slog through the muddy swamp. He was already yearning to lie down and sleep. But the only thing that pushed him forward was the sight of the castle, which could provide some shelter.

For some reason, the prince felt that he would never experience as much pain as he did when he was tormented by Evil. 

"The darkest level has been passed," he convinced himself.

Eventually, his body gave in. The prince lay on his side under a tree and curled up into a ball. "I can allow myself to stop. I'll need strength to pass the trial. I can afford to sleep..."

The prince closed his eyes. Darkness and cold enveloped his consciousness, freezing his actions.

***

When he opened his eyes, it was warm. He lay naked on a soft bed, and warm, moist fabric was being drawn over his feet. The prince was startled and jumped up.

Before him stood a figure in a hooded cloak. The face was not visible under the hood.

"Have you decided to take pity on me?" the prince snorted.

"Very impolite of you, Prince, to speak to the king that way," a familiar voice emanated from under the hood.

The voice sounded cheerful and was relatively high-pitched, as if the person was young.

"You... the king?" The prince was no longer sure. He began pulling the gray sheet that he was wrapped in up to his chest, covering his torso up to his collarbone.