No matter how much you look at this dust storm, you can't see what's behind it. A storm that seems to be frozen in one place is called a magical wall or border. There, beyond it, is death and pain.

A thousand years of war has destroyed many good people, consuming their souls like the pit of the underworld. To save the people on this side, the last mages on earth banded together and created an insurmountable barrier.

The final frontier was set on the eastern border. Thousands of combat-ready wizards created this wall, at the cost of their lives, dividing the world in two.

Hundreds of years have passed since then. The ground around it has been washed away by the rain, burying the bodies of those who died, but the wall still stands. The people who lived in the surrounding villages looked with fear at the wall swirling with deadly poison and fire. Many did not know its purpose. For many, it did not hold back death, but simply kept people out.

The world situation was not good. Bad harvest years, epidemics, deaths for unclear reasons  - the balance of the world was shaken.

There were three old men, a small child, and a silent ghost in rags, living in a village near the frontier. He lived in the place as long as he had always been there. Without a word, he joined in the affairs of the people, whether playing dice, mining magical amulets or eavesdropping on gossip.

After plowing a small vegetable garden, three old men and a child sat down to rest. The ghost immediately brought them cool on this hot day. Spitting husks on the ground, and gossiping about the inhabitants of the neighboring village, they sat in a small circle on the hillside.

The frontier was still secure. No one had yet been able to get in or out. Within the dust storm, deadly ominous lightning flashed and occasional peals of thunder could be heard. This familiar noise was familiar and even soothing to people.

"They'll come digging again today," spat an old man with a bald forehead and a tail down the center of his top. His gray, dirty hair resembled the tail of a dog that sweeps the ground endlessly with fear.

"It's best to stay out of their eyes; they always think we hide the best places from them," said the toothless old woman, licking her wounded finger, which was still bleeding.

"And I tell you, when all the bones are dug up, this wall will collapse," said the third old man.

Everyone stared at him in silence.

The bones of the mages were part of the magical barrier. But as the years passed, the flesh decayed, and the white bones scattered, someone discovered that they had magical power. Then the hunt for the "amulets" began. People came and dug at their own risk because at times lightning burst from the barrier and destroyed the impertinent.

But over the years of searching the number of seekers did not decrease. As moths fly to the light, so these unfortunates flew to the foot of the barrier to test their fate. How many there were: rich and poor, noble and brigand...

The third elder grinned:

"So many treasure hunters have died here. Now they are digging up their bones."

The little girl chewed thoughtfully on the seeds the ghost had given her.

The wind picked up. The sun rose higher and higher. A procession appeared at the edge of the village. Eight strong warriors were carrying a magnificent palanquin. Ahead and behind them walked servants with sacks and tools.

"They have arrived," the old woman hissed. There was no more blood on her finger. "I'll go see if I can sell them a map."

"You old fool, they'll figure you out in no time!"

"Stupid isn't stupid, but sometimes they buy it," she snapped.

"Well, go, it's up to you."

There was very little good soil in the village. There were rocks and tree roots all around. The old woman was tired, and her legs were stiff when she reached the place where the posh procession had stopped.

There was order in the camp. The servants had already erected a large tent, a fire had been lit on the side, and two cooks had set up a cauldron. Flies immediately flocked to the smell of food. One of the servants kept waving a large fan to ward off the pests.

An orderly bustle reigned in the large tent. The old woman involuntarily marveled as she stopped in the distance. Today's guests were no ordinary people. The royal family is here, aren't they? Well, they are not fools. Would she be able to sell them a fake card?

The stranger was noticed by sharp dark eyes. Two servants were immediately sent to ask what she wanted. Without saying a word, they bought her map and sternly told her to return to the village. Nothing else interested her. Joyfully jingling her coins, she staggered back to the village.

"Your Highness, we bought a map. But it must be a fake."

"Hmm," the exquisite young man glanced at the map and turned away, "it doesn't matter. Let them think we're looking for bones."

Then he turned to his table, and the gold jewelry on his body gleamed in the sunlight that streamed through the hole in the roof of the tent. The table was littered with scrolls, ancient maps, and various magical artifacts. The table seemed to be in chaos, but to the prince, it was not.

He sent the servants away from the tent, carefully lifted his fine robes, and sat down on a padded chair without a backrest, leaning over the table.

The full moon was less than a day away.

Beautiful graceful fingers slid along the map, then touched the seal on a mysterious ancient scroll.

«Your Highness!» The anxious voice of an aide came from outside the tent.

«М?»

«The men are arriving...»

«What?» the prince turned his head toward the exit and his eyes became serious. «Who are they?»

«Your Highness, these are... these are the men of our enemies.»

«The Kingdom of Rau?»

«They are, Your Highness. They have a black scorpion on their banners.»

The prince, confused, began to gather papers on the table.

Then he stopped. His heart was beating fast.

«Nothing had been heard of them for over three hundred years. Why here, why now?»

«Your Highness, they spotted us and turned.»

«What?»

The Prince did not come out but stopped at the translucent curtain at the entrance to the tent.

«Are they leaving?»

«No, Your Highness, but they are avoiding our camp, heading for the wall.»

«...»

The prince pursed his lips.

«Gather the men and tell them to get their tools and go digging immediately. Give them this map, tell them to pretend to follow it.»

«Yes, my lord.»

«Do not call me highness, and forbid others. No one must know who I am.»

«I obey.»

The prince returned to the tent and sat down again at the table. From under his clothes, he took out a small medallion. When he opened it, he admired with bated breath the portrait of the little boy.

«My dear son, I will surely save you. Daddy knows how to bring you back to health and strength. Just be patient,» the prince touched the little portrait with his lips and closed his eyes.

The night was falling. Dark clouds covered the sky. The prince changed into the clothes of a nomad, hid his face, and, gathering all the necessary things, went under guard to the frontier. There was no one nearby. Fortunately, the Rau's people had moved on.

He did not care now why these incomprehensible, centuries-old people who hated his people were here either.

All the prince cared about was the ritual. The workers had already prepared the altar. The prince stopped beside it, and his heart sank.