But several made it through, gnashing at the hull with magma-dripping fangs. Avi, eyes glowing now, shifted his control to freeze and refreeze the damage, encasing the attackers in crystal-clear ice.

Avi: "Keep firing! I’ll handle the leaks!"

A boom shook the boat. The largest Lavor Pike had struck from beneath.

CRACK!

Yudhir crashed down from the mast, landing in a roll. Ruslan nearly flew off the deck, clutching onto Ostap. Varun fell to his knees, the rudder shaking in his grasp. Avi lost control momentarily. A hole tore open in the bottom.

And then—light.

The river carried them through a jagged opening, and the boat tumbled into a vast underground chamber. The ceiling arched high above like the dome of a lost cathedral. All around them, red lava carved a furious border around the centerpiece: a ghostly blue lake.

The lake glowed not with heat but with an ethereal stillness, casting the cavern in a shimmering sapphire hue. It was calm, surreal. In the very center, on a tiny island of obsidian stone, scorched with timeworn glyphs no one remembered how to read, lay the chained creature: Simargl.

A divine beast, draconic and lupine, its feathers shimmered in hues of cobalt and emerald. Its massive wings, vast as temple banners, were tucked close like the last breath before a storm. Chains of ancient rune-metal bound it at neck, limbs, and tail, pulsing with a forgotten language of restraint. Each chain pulsed not just with power, but with sorrow — as if the beast had once accepted this fate to protect something long lost.

Everyone was stunned.

Varun: (awed) "That… that’s him... Simargl."

Yudhir: (still catching breath) "That’s no ordinary beast. That’s a freaking divine storm with fur."

Ruslan: (whispers) "Why is he chained?"

Avi: (firmly) "That’s what we’re here to find out."

Then came the second surprise.

The river ended in a steep drop. A hidden waterfall. No one had time to react. The boat, broken but still afloat, plunged.

Yudhir: "BRACE!"

Avi flung his arms wide mid-air, freezing part of the waterfall to cushion the fall. Varun threw up a spiraling water vortex to slow the descent. Yudhir kicked against the mast, breaking the angle. Ruslan held Ostap tightly, shielding him.

CRAAASSHHH!!

The boat hit the lake, splashing radiant blue waves. Cracks spread, but Avi sealed them. They floated. Just barely.

A beat of silence.

Varun: (coughs, grinning) "Well... we made an entrance."

Simargl stirred.

Chains rattled.

The guardian was waking up.

Scene 7 : Simargl, The Sacred Guardian of Pskov

The ship floated gently in the glowing lake, its crystalline blue surface mirroring the stars that weren’t there. Around them, the fiery lava rimmed the cavern, pulsing like a living wound. The stark contrast between molten red and tranquil blue felt like a battle of gods frozen mid-conflict.

On a tiny island of black obsidian, scorched and etched with timeworn glyphs lost to memory, lay the chained creature—Simargl. Revered once by ancient tribes of Pskov, this divine guardian now lingered between myth and memory, bound in silence.

Ruslan leaned forward, breath caught in his throat. Stories from his childhood—tales spun by elders near the hearth—flickered through his mind. But none did justice to the reality before him. Simargl’s feathered body shimmered with shifting hues of cobalt, silver, and twilight green. Its mane sparked like distant galaxies.

The chains binding its limbs and wings weren’t iron—they glowed with an eerie pulse, woven with ancient runes and divine command. They throbbed like a second heart.

In the center of the island stood a tall obsidian pillar, tightly coiled by Simargl’s massive tail. Atop it rested a radiant orb, the source of the cavern’s ghostly blue glow. The light danced across the surface of the lake, casting long, trembling shadows.

Avi: "I think… that’s the Regalia. On top of the central pillar."

Yudhir (narrowing his eyes): "What else could it be? Should we grab it quickly and run?"

Ruslan (quietly): "No… I don’t think that’s a good idea. If Simargl wakes up… we might not live to regret it."

Varun (grinning): "Relax. It’s chained, right? I’ll go grab it. That’s what you all are here for—backup."

Suddenly, a tremor pulsed beneath them. The lake surface stilled. Simargl’s ear twitched.

The divine beast stirred.

Its luminous eyes opened—glowing amber suns in a face sculpted like divine judgment. Chains clinked, shifting like old bones, as Simargl raised its head and locked eyes with the intruders.

Then it spoke.

Not with a mouth, but directly into their minds. Its voice was ancient thunder beneath still waters.

Simargl: "I heard your every word since you entered this prison. I had no interest in you. Until one of you dared to speak of stealing the Regalia beneath my tail."

They all froze.

Avi sensed something strange in the beast's tone. There was no wrath. No hatred. Just… weight. Burden. A kind of reluctant guardianship.

Avi (bowing slightly): "Forgive my friend. He has more courage than caution. We didn’t come to rob you—we came seeking help."

Yudhir lowered his bow. Varun’s grin faltered. Ruslan looked mesmerized—eyes wide, heart thundering.

Simargl: "As you can see, I am bound. I cannot help you. And if you believe you can take the Regalia by force… you will be buried here."

Avi: "We came not to steal, but to save. Novgorod's armies march on Pskov. People are in danger. We believe the Regalia can help us protect them."

Simargl’s gaze shifted. It stared at Ruslan and the unconscious Ostap.

There was a pause—a silence that weighed more than words.

Ruslan (stepping forward): "Please… Lord Simargl. Help us. Weren’t you our protector once? Let us free you."

Yudhir (startled): "Have you lost your mind? He’s chained. For a reason!"

Varun: "We don’t know what he really is. We could be unleashing something worse."

But Avi said nothing. He watched. Waited. The beast gave off no aura of evil—only restraint. Sorrow. Duty.

Simargl: "Your heart speaks loudly, young one. But the chains are not only punishment—they are precaution. For your world… and mine."

Ruslan: "Then tell us. Why remain here? Why choose this pain?"

Avi (softly): "You don’t seem evil. You feel… like a sentinel. A guardian paying penance."

Simargl slowly turned its massive head toward a buried stone slab.

Simargl: "If you wish to understand… then look."

They docked the boat. The sand of the island was cold and coarse. Black glass and ash crunched beneath their boots.

The obsidian tablet jutted out from the earth like a fang. Etched upon it were five ancient scenes—worn, but still legible.

Ruslan knelt, brushing off the dust. He recognized the old glyphs. Avi stood beside him, reading the story through the images:

—A celestial war between divine beasts.
—Simargl weeping in the ruins of a fallen city.
—A betrayal—fire and blood.
—A pact made in sorrow.
—Chains binding wings under starlight.

Yudhir (softly): "So… it wasn’t conquered. It chose this."

Varun: "To protect us… from itself."

They turned to Simargl again.

Yudhir: "Forgive our disrespect."

Varun (earnestly): "We didn’t know. We only saw a chance to save lives."

Simargl's glowing eyes dimmed slightly.

Simargl: *"You are forgiven. But the Regalia cannot leave with those who have not proven their will. To take it… you must be worthy. You must earn it."

A hush fell across the cavern.

Then, the orb pulsed—once, like a heartbeat. The lake shimmered in response.

Simargl: "Seek the Flame of Cest. Only then will the Regalia awaken. And I… shall rise again."

The beast closed its eyes.

But its presence lingered—watchful, waiting.

A pact was made, sealed not with chains… but purpose.

A sudden pulse of raw mana burst out from Simargl's chest—silent yet thunderous—radiating across the cavern like a divine ripple. The impact struck every soul on the island.

Ruslan gasped and fell first, eyes rolling back as his body collapsed gently like a falling leaf. One by one, Varun, Yudhir, and finally Avi succumbed, each crumpling under the overwhelming force of spiritual weight. Their breathing slowed, their bodies still—but not lifeless. They had been drawn into a plane far beyond mortal understanding.

But one figure did not fall.

Ostap’s eyes snapped open.

Except it wasn’t Ostap.

A malicious glint shone in those eyes—an intelligence far more ancient, and far more cunning, lurked behind that boyish stare. He stood still for a heartbeat, almost mockingly… and then a storm of dark mana coiled around him like shadowy serpents ready to strike.

Simargl’s eyes blazed open.

Not surprised. Not afraid.

Prepared.

The ancient beast roared—not with sound, but with presence—and surged with radiant energy. With a motion of his great, feathered tail, he pulled all the boys, still unconscious, closer to him—shielding them within a barrier of runic light. The tension between the two powers, Simargl and the entity within Ostap, was suffocating, like the moment before a volcano erupts.

But Ruslan… was elsewhere.

Inside the Memory Trial

He gasped for air.

The world around him was… wrong.

Fires danced wildly across the blackened earth, painting the horizon in crimson hues. Crumbling stone walls stretched like bones of a dying city. The air smelled of ash and something older, like forgotten rage and divine judgment.

Ruslan stumbled to his feet.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, but his gaze was already fixed on the sky. The clouds churned above like boiling ink, and behind that swirling veil, the heavens were at war.

Seven great silhouettes.
Vast. Mythic. Glowing with divine essence.
Each shaped like a celestial beast—wings, claws, horns, scales—locked in furious battle beyond human perception.

Thunder cracked louder than mountains collapsing. Each collision of fang and claw sent shockwaves rolling across the land, toppling towers, igniting forests. This was not merely a battle. This was history bleeding into the world.

Ruslan stood paralyzed… but only for a moment.

A strange clarity struck him. The way the sky shimmered. The familiarity of the burning castle ruins. The ethereal feeling in his veins.

“This is… Simargl’s memory,” he whispered.

It hit him then. The Battle of the Divine Beasts. He had read about it in crumbling texts, listened to half-believed tales whispered by scholars in Pskov. But seeing it—living it—was something else entirely.

And then he saw it.

Among the ruins stood a doorway—arched, majestic, impossibly untouched by the devastation around it. Flames coiled across its surface, yet emitted no heat. The fire pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.

Ruslan’s instincts screamed. This was it.

The Flame of Cest.

He stepped forward, not with fear, but with awe. The fire welcomed him—it did not burn, as if recognizing something in his soul. As if knowing he was the one meant to carry it.

His hand touched the flaming archway—and the door opened.

On the other side was a ruined city, solemn and silent, glowing faintly with residual mana. There, lying in the center of a broken temple square, was Simargl, wounded and unconscious, his feathers dulled, his divine body cracked and scorched.

Ruslan stared at the fallen beast.

And then he looked skyward one last time.

The silhouettes were still locked in battle, tearing the heavens apart.

He clenched his fists.

He would not look away.

This wasn’t just a memory. This was a revelation. A glimpse of the burden that Simargl bore. A god forced to fight, fall, and still rise to protect.

And Ruslan knew…
If he was to carry the Regalia…
If he was to awaken Simargl’s full strength…
He had to endure this trial not with fear, but with will.

He stepped into the ruined city, determined, the flame inside his soul finally beginning to rise.

The once-mighty guardian—whose wings spanned the heavens in the old epics and whose roar was said to silence storms—now lay broken amidst a city of ash and ruin. Simargl’s divine body was battered, his fur matted with soot and blood, his celestial feathers burnt and falling like grey snowflakes to the scorched stone beneath.

But what truly shook Ruslan… were the tears.

Simargl wept.

Thick, divine tears flowed silently down the sacred beast’s muzzle, glowing faintly like falling stardust as they struck the stone. He wasn’t howling or roaring in agony—he was simply mourning. Mourning like someone who had lost everything they swore to protect. Mourning like a guardian who had failed.

Ruslan’s breath caught in his throat.

He stepped closer, each footfall soft and hesitant, as if approaching a sleeping god. There was no fear—only a weight in his chest, like he was carrying the sorrow of a thousand broken prayers. Slowly, trembling, Ruslan raised his hand toward the fallen beast—not to touch, but simply to be seen. To reach out.

Suddenly, a voice—low and broken—whispered into his mind.

Simargl (weeping):
“I thought… if I fought in this war… I could protect my people. I believed I was doing what was right. But I lost everything. I lost myself. When I awoke… there was nothing left. Just smoke… and bones. Tell me, little one…
What could I have done differently?”

The words crashed into Ruslan’s heart like a landslide. He had never heard something so powerful sound so lost. He clenched his fists, unsure what to say. What could he say?

He was just a boy who couldn’t even save his own father, his own brothers. What wisdom could he offer a divine guardian?

But he looked at Simargl. Really looked.

And the boy inside him—the one who used to dream of heroes, who used to hold his father's hand while walking through markets, who buried his tears under quiet smiles—that boy stepped forward.

Ruslan (gently):
“…I don’t know what to say. I’m not a hero. I can’t even fix my own family. But…”
“If you tell me more about the battle… maybe I can understand. Maybe we can figure it out together.”

Simargl went silent. Then, slowly, with heavy sorrow vibrating through every word, he spoke.

Simargl:
“We were the Seven Sacred Guardians… summoned by our creator, the Sage Yājñavalkya. But when we arrived, he was gone. Only his disciple stood before us. He claimed that only one guardian could be chosen to inherit our Creator’s Divine Water Pot. He said we had to fight… or watch our cities burn.”

“Before we could even respond… a crimson fog consumed my mind. I lost all reason. When my senses briefly returned… I saw blood. My brothers and sisters—beasts of legend—torn and roaring, eyes glazed in madness. Some had fallen… others were still locked in carnage.”

“I tried to speak. I tried to stop it. But I couldn’t. The madness pulled me under again. When I awoke, I was alone… and my city… my people…”

“All gone.”

Ruslan stumbled back a step.

The pain. The betrayal. The manipulation. All buried under the mask of divine rage.

The guardian beast hadn’t failed.

He had been used.

And despite that… despite the blood on his claws… Simargl still wept. Still regretted.

That’s when Ruslan understood.

This wasn’t a trial of strength. It wasn’t about who could take the flame or wield the Regalia.

It was about understanding pain.

And having the courage to carry it.

He took a deep breath.