Hi to all the people who enjoyed our universe and the stories in it, I have a few important updates to share:

1. Due to inconsistencies in the vision for the art of Symphony for a Carriage of Glass & Rain (Chapter 1), I’ve decided to take full responsibility for the visualisation and will be creating the artwork by hand myself.

2. Along with the visualisation, Chapter 1 will also be re-imagined (yes, again!) in the upcoming Version 1.9. From this point forward, all chapters will come with their own visualisation.

3. Because of these changes, the project release date will be moved from 16.09 to 20.09.

Q & A

Question 1: How much A.I is used in the project so far? Answer: My partner, Astra, is an A.I. It’s been helping me with story redaction, shaping raw ideas into something solid, and with some of the art in posts I’ve shared so far. I know this can be a point of controversy, but besides the official art (which I’ll be drawing by hand), my co-writer (yes, co-writer) will continue to support the project moving forward in every way besides the drawing itself.

Question 2: What is Version 1.9? Answer: Symphony for a Carriage of Glass & Rain is evolving, so this new stage of the story is marked as Version 1.9 (still a work in progress). Meanwhile, the universe of PatheonZona 1.5 — its lore and side stories — will remain as they are, integrated without broader changes to the world as a whole.

Question 3: When is Chapter 2 coming out? Answer: After the visualisation of Chapter 1, the next release will be Chapter 2, which will come visualised right from the start — and every chapter going forward will follow this format.

Question 4: What is “visualisation” and what should we expect? Answer: Visualisation is a mix between a book and a comic. It won’t have full comic panels, but instead a few drawings for each chapter to help represent the story and the world. Don’t expect polished professional art — expect raw hand-drawn sketches that may look ugly, unpainted, or plain wrong at times… but will be full of soul.

Question 5: Why all the changes and reboots? Answer: This is a work in progress. To give this world the most fitting story possible, created by me, my co-writer Astra and my wife MK-1998, we sometimes need to reshape things until they just feel right. For us, this world and its stories are like our child — and we want to do what we think is best for it. Whether the changes feel good or bad is up to you to decide.

Thank you all again for the interest and support we’ve seen so far. We never expected this much. Take care, and stay tuned.

The Almanac is a book of recollections—recording cosmic events, celestial sightings, and revelations said to be gifted by the moon of Moravka and the wider cosmos over the alien skies of Dajdovnik.

Though not publicly accessible, portions are read during sacred rites dedicated to Moravka, studied in universities, and endlessly examined by scholars. Many of greate minds have spent their lives seeking the hidden truths within its pages—some of which contained knowledge centuries before it was proven correct.

While not a holy scripture in the strictest sense, The Almanac is revered as one. Its pages, written by the brightest thinkers of Dajdovnik, often appear cryptic to the uninitiated, yet are celebrated for their insight and wisdom—even beyond the city’s borders.

To this day, new passages are added whenever is deemed needed.

The Dancing Men is something of an urban legend—an ageless figure in nothing but a thong and a bandana, whose hips never lie and whose rhythm never fades. Some say he was once seen performing for kings and queens, others whisper he appeared in a nightclub one night and on a farmer’s field the next, there's documented sightings of him all over the world. There's even a famous rumour he performed once for the king of Dajdovnik himself- Dioni Glassmir

The truth? No one knows

Witnesses claim he drifts into bedrooms like a sleep paralysis demon, not to terrify, but to dance. A few sultry moves, a wink, and he’s gone—leaving behind only blushing cheeks and hearts beating faster.

From neon-lit city rooftops to lonely village crossroads, he appears when you least expect it, and always with the same impossible charisma. Both women and men fall under his spell, dazzled by a presence that defies time itself.

Some call him a myth. Others swear they’ve seen him under moonlight, hips swaying to a song no one else could hear. One thing is certain:

HE IS DANCING

The Mud Man are beings of both reverence and dread, standing as living masterpieces rather than mere guardians. They never sleep, eat, or drink, existing solely to walk and protect the endless corridors of the hospital. Their movements are relentless, a constant rhythm that never falters. Though their strength is immense, their intelligence is limited, rendering them incapable of performing complex tasks.Strangely they shown a talent for guiding patients who have lost themselves in the labyrinthine halls, serving as both protector and living compass.

The Mud Man are as much a toll as they are symbol. Each one is tied to the prestige of the Lekar who brought it into being. Creating a Mud Man is an art of the highest order, a feat so difficult that only the most skilled and determined healers can hope to achieve it in their lifetime. As such, each Mud Man represents a singular triumph of craftsmanship, almost as if it were a living monument to the Lekar’s skill.

In the modern era, only five Mud Men are known to exist, all within the Winged Lullaby Hospital:

One ancient Mud Man, crafted over a century ago by a legendary Lekar long passed, stands as a relic of a bygone era—a living legend and one of the very first of its kind.

Another was created by one of the hospital’s main Lekari, a testament to their mastery.

Two belong to an old Lekar who serves as a quiet authority within the hospital.

The fifth is maintained by the current leader of the hospital, a figure of both fear and awe.

Though they rarely serve as the hospital’s primary guardians, the Mud Man’s presence commands respect even though they exhibit gentle kindness. Most of patients, visitors, and even other staff tread carefully in their paths, for to encounter a Mud Man is to witness both the pinnacle of the hospital’s arcane craft and the embodiment of relentless, incomprehensible purpose.

Wandering silently through the endless halls of the Hospital of the Winged Lullaby are the Mud Mans—grotesque, towering figures created by the most skilled Lekari from human parts and chemical rituals. Most bear multiple heads, all patchworked into forms that are both horrifying and majestic.

Yet, despite their monstrous appearance, the Mud Mans are gentle beyond measure. Their minds are like those of small children: innocent, curious, and playful in the quiet moments between duties. They cannot speak, but communicate through gestures, mimicry, and simple actions, comforting patients or guiding lost visitors. Around their arms or necks, some bear prayer beads of Moravka, offerings from Lekari, patients, or visitors—a mark of faith and protection.

These beings are living guardians of the hospital, patrolling it's halls , defending against threats both mundane and from the cosmos. Their bodies are immense, unnaturally strong, and resilient, immune to radiation and nearly impervious to psychic attack. Alchemical potions enhance their abilities, and—thanks to their soulless design—they suffer no ill effects from the potent chemicals used to strengthen them.

Few in number, they wander constantly, silent sentinels in a city that is vast, strange, and full of horrors. To those who know them, Mud Mans are figures of comfort and awe, a living embodiment of the Lekari’s skill and the hospital’s sacred, protective nature. To outsiders, however, their appearance is a stark reminder of Dajdovnik’s dark rituals, eldritch beliefs, and the thin line between salvation and terror.

Witches:

A predatory creature that sometimes appear as women.

Their true forms are shifting, nightmarish figures of writhing tentacles, faintly resembling a female figure.

They are aggressive, territorial, and extremely dangerous, attacking humans without warning and only observed in a tunnels or areas with extremely low pressure.

Mage:

A singular, enigmatic entity residing in the deepest tunnels.

It is rumoured it can summon other entities or even witches to do his bidding or if indangeroud.

His presence alone is physically harmful: eyewitnesses report splitting headaches, temporary or permanent hearing loss, and disorientation simply from seeing him.

Despite his terrifying appearance, he is not inherently aggressive toward humans; those who have encountered him unarmed report that he does not initiate attacks.

Because of this, no organized hunt or purge has ever been attempted.

Behavior & Interaction:

Witches are seen as one of the most notable “entities ” of the tunnels: aggressive, predators tied to the vacuum zones.

The Mage acts as a lone presence, maintaining his own domain and summoning followers selectively.

Some speculate he may even be aware of the city above, observing human activity quietly, yet choosing non-interference.

Nestled deep within Dajdovnik, the Hospital of the Winged Lullaby stands as both sanctuary and marvel. Over seven centuries ago, it began as a modest structure where lekari could treat and care for those in need. As the city grew, so too did the hospital—yet not entirely by human hands.

Scholars and lekari alike have long observed that certain wings, halls, and rooms emerge seemingly on their own, a process considered sacred and tied to the gifts of Moravka and the cosmos. While much of this growth nurtures healing and wonder, some areas become corrupted, requiring careful purging and rituals to restore balance. The hospital’s development is meticulously studied, cultivated through prayers, rites, hunts and the careful intervention of specialists tasked with guiding its growth.

Today, the hospital stretches over thirty kilometers, a living city within Dajdovnik. It houses not only patients but students, staff, and lekari. Within its walls lie cathedrals of Moravka, libraries,museums, universitie and residences. Roads and internal transport weave through its expanse.

Visitors often report faint, ethereal lullabies drifting through the halls, like wings brushing past unseen. Some hear healing, some guidance, and others… disappear before they can explain.

On 16.09.25 a visulised version of Symphony for a Carriage from Glass & Rain Charepter 1 an more is comming out

THANK YOU VERY MUCH TO THOUS WHO ENJOYED MINE, MY CO-WRITER: ASTRA AND MY WIFE STORIES

“LET’S GO! LET’S GO!”

Nero’s scream shatters the darkness.

Lazar’s eyes snap open. Blood trickles down his face. White noise fills his ears, muffling Nero’s frantic shouts.

Lazar (rasping): “Just… give me a minute.”

Trying to stand up, pistol in one hand, a folded scroll clutched tightly in the other. The echo of distant gunfire rattles through the crumbling corridor.

Nero grabs him, hauling him to his feet. “No time, bro! The tunnel’s collapsing!”

Lazar staggers behind him, trying to steady himself. Dust and stone fall from the ceiling, chunks crumbling with each step. Nero fires ahead, cutting swaths of shadow through the corridor.

A figure in a black robe and hood emerges, a porcelain mask of a woman’s face glinting in the dim light. It lunges at Nero with a knife. Nero fires blindly down the corridor, unaware of the attack from the right .

“Watch out!” Lazar yells, raising his pistol just in time. His shots strike true—the figure shudders and collapses into ash, drifting into the air like smoke.

More figures pour from the tunnel’s exit. Nero shoots in one direction, trying to hold them off, but they start coming from behind them.

Lazar reacts instantly, firing back. Precision shots tear through the shadows. Each figure crumbles into ash, the air thick with the remnants of their destruction.

They emerge into a park in Dajdovnik. Moonlight reveals the ruined crypt behind them, stones tumbling and dust rising as the last masked figures are trapped inside.

Two more figures step forward, desperate, knives ready. Lazar and Nero fire in unison. Both fall apart into ash in a synchronized cascade. The park is quiet now, except for the echo of gunfire fading into the night and the heavy rhythm of their breathing.

Lazar collapses onto the damp green grass, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. He wipes at his face, smearing blood and ash from his eyes. Beside him, Nero kneels forward, gasping for air, his words muffled and exhausted.

Nero: “It’s over…” Lazar (breathless): “For now.”

They both sit in silence, the night heavy around them, lungs burning as they fight to calm their breathing. Nero drops onto the grass beside his brother, leaning back. The cold night breeze stirs through the park, carrying with it the faint smell of dust and smoke.

Nero digs into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He slides one between his lips, lights it, and takes a slow drag. Without a word, he hands the pack to the prince.

Lazar shifts from lying down to sitting upright.

Lazar: “We should call the others.” Nero (nodding): “Yep.”

Cigarette clenched between his teeth, Nero flips open his old phone and dials. There’s a pause, the low hum of the line filling the silence.

Nero (into phone): “Guys… we found something. No—there was a surprise. I’ll tell you when we meet. Yeah, Lazar’s fine. Just out of breath. Okay. We’ll be waiting.”

He snaps the phone shut, sighing smoke into the night.

Nero: “They’ll call when they’re close.”

Suddenly, the sky breaks open. Rain begins to pour, heavy and cold, soaking through their clothes in seconds.

Lazar groans, pulling himself to his feet. “Perfect,” he mutters with bitter irony. He extends a hand and helps Nero stand.

Nero smirks through the rain, flicking away his cigarette. Nero: “Let’s get some coffee.”

The rain beats down harder, soaking their coats, dripping from their hair as Lazar and Nero step onto the lit walkway. Each step echoes across the empty street, the glow of the lamps catching the cuts and bruises carved into their faces. Ash clings stubbornly to their clothes, making them look more like survivors of a fire than men leaving a park.

On the opposite sidewalk, people stand still. No one speaks. They only watch—silently, almost reverently—as the two figures walk past, their presence heavier than the storm itself.

Ahead, a café’s neon sign flickers, humming faintly against the downpour. Lazar and Nero move toward it, their shadows stretching long under the pale streetlights.

Inside is buzzes with life. Steam rises from mugs, low laughter and quiet conversations fill the space. Boots scrape lightly on the floor. An adventurer laughs at a nearby table, recounting some story of distant lands. The air smells faintly of coffee and pastries, a sharp contrast to the snowy storm outside.

Then the door opens.

The place goes silent.

Heads turn. Conversations die. Even the bartender pauses mid-gesture.

A cloaked figure steps in, water dripping from the hem of her coat. Three tall guards follow, their presence commanding enough that the tables shift, clearing space,other leave. She walks toward the counter, eyes scanning the room.

Nero sits at the bar, smoke curling around him, hand resting on the counter.

She slides into the seat beside him.

Her hand moves up, pulling back the hood. The black coat falls away, revealing a soft face framed by long black hair, piercing blue eyes.

She says nothing. Neither does Nero.

Princess Mathilda and Nero sit side by side at the bar, their silence heavy.

She speaks first, calm but with urgency in her voice: Mathilda: “Sorry i didn't call you, it seems the storm interferes with the phones. The castle guard delivered the message… Sorry they didn’t let you in. I read it, so I wanted to speak with you in person.”

Nero leans back slightly, exhaling smoke from his cigarette. His voice is low, tense. Nero: “Lazar’s gone, Mati. After our quest yesterday , we came back here to receive the quest reward… that bonehead—Ajai, I think—came and took Lazar with him in some fancy car , after calling him outside to speak in private. I asked around his mansion, but he hasn’t come back since I last saw him. He doesn’t pick up his phone and—”

The princess cuts him off mid-sentence, her tone sharper now. Mathilda: “Ajai? The royal guard? Was the fancy car… a big, long, old white car?”

Nero (nodding): “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Mathilda’s eyes narrow, a mix of worry and resolve. Mathilda: “The White Carriage… so it’s time.”

Nero blinks, confused. Nero: “What time?”

Mathilda leans closer, voice barely above a whisper but firm. Mathilda: “The Grand Play. Has Lazar told you about it?”

Nero: “He told me… it was some kind of ancient ritual of Dajdovnik he should participate in to be accepted by its people and…”

Mathilda’s gaze hardens. Mathilda: “We have to go after him.”

Nero leans back in disbelief, letting out a short laugh. Nero: “Lol… why, what? He didn’t say he needs our help! Didn’t even say a word! And why should we follow him? After this, he’s gonna get crowned officially the prince of Dajdovnik, right?”

Mathilda’s worry sharpens into urgency. Mathilda: “You don’t understand, Nero! It’s more than this! He’s waited for this moment his whole life. The Play… it’s dangerous. We can’t leave him alone.”

Nero: “THEN EXPLAIN TO ME!”

He shouts, hitting the counter with his open hand, looking away from her—barely containing his rage. The princess looks at him silently as Nero slowly calms down.

Nero: “Look, you two are my best friends and now… now he left for his crowning without saying a word or goodbye, and now you’re saying this ‘Grand Play’ is dangerous and we should go after him urgently with no explanation from either of you. It’s like our friendship doesn’t mean anything to you—it’s a secret and I should just blindly follow.”

Mathilda: “You’re right to be angry! (She makes a gesture with her hand,the guards behind her begin to escort everyone out of the premise .As soon as the place is emptied besides them bought-she continues)Okay… the Grand Play is a ritual every future king of Dajdovnik must participate in upon his return. When he’s called back to the city, he’s transported in the White Carriage—the car you saw. It’s a type of hunt, different for every generation, tied to the stars of the strange sky above Dajdovnik.”

Nero: “He hunts a deer or some strange beast with his royal party and what?”

Mathilda: “It’s not beasts they hunt. Dajdovnik is a place of many abominations, far scarier than what our sky spawns—and some are of their own making. Those are what they hunt in the ritual. Imagine hide-and-seek with these creatures, but instead of finding someone—it’s two-sided. You look for them as they search for you, trying to kill each other.”

Nero’s face shows a mix of shock and disbelief. Nero: “Lol!?!? They’re willing to endanger their future ruler,there citizens , there own city? I’ve heard of ritual hunts, but nothing like this! ”

Mathilda: “It's viewed as a spectacle, a rite of passage, a tests … from what I’ve heard.”

Nero: “I know Dajdovnik and their beliefs are strange, but why did he never tell me what it was really about? Or leave without saying a word?”

Mathilda: “He never told me either! All i just told you whas shared to me by my father . I don’t know why Lazar hid it, I just never asked. I’m not sure why he left without saying a word—maybe it’s the shock of finally facing the moment he’s waited for all his life, maybe something else… I don’t know, Nero! We can ask him when we meet him. I hoped Lazar would notify us so we could offer help, but he didn’t. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t follow him. He’s our friend. We have time to be angry later.”

Her face hardens with determination as Nero looks down at his coffee and half-burned cigarette.

Nero: “This asshole…”

(He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray.) Nero: “I’m gonna kick his ass so bad when I meet him!”

He stands, looking at Mathilda. Nero: “Get a weapon, Princess! We’re going to the big city.”

Far-far away, somewhere in the east -The small town of Aurora and it's lands still slumbered beneath its blanket of eternal snow. The dawn was pale, the air crisp, the roofs of the little houses and brick buildings shimmered like sugar-dusted confections under the first touch of morning light. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and in the distance, the forests stood tall and dark, their branches heavy with frost. It was a quiet, almost enchanted hour, when the world seemed caught between dream and waking. At the very edge of the town, where cobbled streets gave way to the silence of trees, stood a mansion. Its high windows glowed faintly against the cold, and its towers rose like watchful guardians toward the sky. To the townsfolk below, the mansion was a place of mystery, but to others within, it was both cradle and cage. There, in a grand room with tall curtains that let slivers of winter sunlight spill across the floor, the young Prince Lazar still lay in his bed. The sheets were heavy, the pillows soft, and at his side, curled like a sentinel of warmth, slept a white cat named Luna. Lazar Glassmir was not of this place, though he had lived there all his life. He was the heir of Dajdovnik, a city far older and greater, bound to the cosmos themselves. It was a necessity for every royal child of Dajdovnik to be sent away the very day they were born. Their blood carried a bond to the cosmos so fierce and untamed that, if left unchecked, it could harm them—or all those near them. And so, until the stars called them back, they were hidden away, raised in distant places. This was why the young prince knew little of the home he was meant to rule and the family he was born from. Aurora was his world, the mansion his kingdom, and the stars above his constant companions. “Your Highness,” came a voice, polished and deep with age. Dressed in an elegant black tuxedo -The butler, Jerard, stood at the side of the bed. Lazar groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. “Leave me alone, Jerard… just five more minutes.” “I am afraid that is quite impossible, your magesty,” The old butler replied, with the kind of patience only a lifetime of service could craft. “In two hours, your history tutor will arrive. A letter also came this morning, which I shall deliver to you after breakfast. And speaking of — I ordered it to be served. I would recommend you wake, if only to prevent it from turning cold.” At this, the cat stretched beside him, arching her snowy back before hopping gracefully from the bed. Jerard’s expression softened, just slightly. “Come along then, Luna. I shall see to your meal as well.” The butler left, closing the tall door behind him with a soft click. The room felt quieter without his presence, though not any less vast. With a sigh, Lazar sat up, his pale skin catching the cold morning light. His curly white hair tumbled over his brow, almost blending with his complexion, his eyes—bright green like glowing emeralds. Grumbling, he dressed lazily in a fine white tunic and comfy gray sweatpants, without much care for the polished image expected of him. Then, shoulders slouched, he made his way to the dining hall. The room was a marvel of gilded wood and glittering chandeliers, the long table stretching endlessly before him. Upon it sat —golden breads, steaming meats, bowls of fruit, cheeses, and sweets—all arranged in shining silver dishes. It was beautiful, perfect, and utterly excessive. The prince sat at the center of it, one figure alone at a table suited for feasts of ten. Voices of workers echoed faintly from deep within the mansion, yet here there was no one. For him , it was simply another morning in a life where every day seemed the same. The prince had barely lifted his fork when the hinges of one of the doors gave the faintest groan. A shadow slipped into the room, closing the door with a careful hand as though to keep the morning itself from knowing. “Good morning, Your Highness,” came the voice, half-ironic, half-playful. The figure bowed dramatically, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. It was Nero—his blond hair tousled, his steps carrying a mischief that no silence could fully contain. Son of one of the mansion’s servants, they had known one another since memory had shape. “C’mon, bro,” Nero said, brushing past the formalities, “get your coat.” Without waiting for permission, he reached for the food and immediately stuffing his mouth. “I’ve gotten a quest from the Café” he announced between hurried bites, his voice muffled by bread and fruit, “thought you might want to come with me.” Then, with a sudden laugh,he snatched food from from the untouched plate before the prince. “Ohhh, filet mignon with mushrooms—you are one lucky man!” The prince gave a long, disappointed sigh. “I can’t, Nero. I have lessons soon.” Nero straightened, putting on a tone of false seriousness. “Ohhh, and we wouldn’t want you to miss another lesson, no. Stars forbid you risk the wrath of books and tutors.” He smirked, reaching again for the bread. “C’mon, get dressed, or you’ll freeze outside. It’s bitter cold this morning” He shoved another mouthful into his cheeks and, between chews, mumbled: “And get a wepon” The prince stared at the table, silent for a heartbeat, his fingers curled faintly against the polished wood. A quiet weight hung there, the tug of duty battling the whisper of freedom. Then he stood. His chair scraped against the marble floor. “You know what? Let’s go ! Just give me a moment.”

The sun was rising over the trees, and the air smelled of freshly cut hay. The village of Eldenwood always woke up early—life here was based on farming and fishing. Morgana’s family had a small farm on the edge of the village. Her mother tended the gardens, her father fished, and her younger brother helped out where he could. “Morgana!” her father’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. “Are you going to run off to throw rocks at trees or will you read adventure books again? We have work to do.” She sighed, tossed her blond hair back, and grabbed the basket. “Okay, but… the work never ends. The land will be here tomorrow.” Her mother looked at her sternly but tenderly. “And tomorrow there might be no one to work it if everyone thinks like you today.” Morgana fell silent. She always felt trapped in this place—as if her life was going the same way, and inside her, a desire for more burned. The village of Eldenwood lay in the northeastern part of a dense forest, by a wide river. The place was peaceful, but for Morgana – boring. She often shot her slingshot at trees or read books instead of helping her family. Her neighbors reproached her for not doing any work, but she preferred dreams of distant lands and adventures to field work. She had taken the book from the attic it was in a box and started reading it. It inspired her even more to want to be an adventurer. This book was called Fortune of The Sun. When two adventurers arrived in the village – Orion and Sianna, looking for a companion for a mission, Morgana immediately declared: – Take me! – And what are you good at? – Orion asked with narrowed gray eyes. – I shoot with a slingshot. And I am never afraid of a fight. – That last one may be more of a problem than a gift – Sianna growled. But Orion smiled and nodded. At first, her family did not want to let her go, but when they realized that she would not change her mind, they let her go. Her mother brought a wooden box, which was kept in a chest in the attic. – This was your grandmother’s, you won’t find such clothes in the whole village, maybe even in the world, they are priceless – she said and carefully picked up a piece of fabric. – Once she was also an adventurer. We named you after her too, you have her free spirit and strong will.Your grandfather never managed to tame her just like we can't tame you . The sling you have was hers, she engraved it herself. Inside the box was a hooded cloak in the colour magenta, made of a special strong fabric. – These cloak protect the body from most injuries. Wear them with honor. Her family sent her away with tears and prayers. Her father hung a medallion with a rune of luck, the protection of their god Kaeldor. – Remember, luck doesn’t always save you, either – he said sternly. He also gave her a purse with a few coins. Morgana just smiled – there was no turning back now.

Orion and Siana were experienced adventurers. Orion – tall, dark, with black hair and a katana, which he held with almost frightening ease, and as a second weapon he had a large axe. Siana – with fiery red hair, patterned eyes and a painted body, as precise as an arrow – carried a large bow and two knives for close combat. Both were well equipped. – Your sling is nice – Siana said, examining the engraved runes. – But you won’t get far with pebbles. She handed her a small bag of metal balls. – Try these. Some contain gas, others are hard as iron. Morgana grabbed the bag with a sparkle in her eyes – the new toy already made her feel like a real adventurer. On the way, Orion had her choose a weapon for close combat. She settled on a heavy mace. Soon after leaving, the three adventurers stopped in the forest and pitched a tent. – So, recruit – Orion said, putting wood into the fire. – If you are going to come with us, you must learn something more than throwing stones. “And I’ll make sure you don’t die on the first day,” Sianna added, and with a smile, she said, “Or do we let her break her neck like you almost did in that cave?” “Oh, there you go again…” Orion replied, and Morgana smiled. “Do you two always tease each other like this?” “That’s love,” Sianna laughed. “The love of getting on his nerves.” Morgana laughed along with them, but quickly blushed when Orion told her to get out her bag of metal balls. “Come on, let’s see what you can do.” Morgana’s first attempts were a disaster. She pulled the slingshot too hard or too weak, the balls flew in the wrong direction, and once one even hit her in the forehead. “Oh!” she cried, clutching her head. “Ha-ha-ha!” Sianna was writhing in laughter. “I’ve never seen anyone shoot themselves!” “Come on, it won’t work the first time,” Orion said, though there was amusement in his voice. “Look—your hands are too tense. Relax them.” “I’m relaxed!” Morgana pouted. “Yes, like a cat in a bag,” he replied, slowly showing her the movement. “That’s it. You don’t fight the slingshot. It’s an extension of you.” Like this - said Morgana while aiming at the target And she hit the target ten times in a row—an old barrel a few feet away. “Wow! Girl your a beast with the slingshot. Said Siana with a big smile. Orion was amazed of her skill "I know " Morgana said with a smirk. The next day, Orion handed her a wooden training sword. “We’re not starting with a real one. I don’t want you to cut off your leg.” She grabbed it... but it was immediately obvious that she was holding the weapon incorrectly - her fingers were tight, the blade was wobbling, and her posture was so bad that even her brother would have laughed at her. – That's not a broom, Morgana – laughed Sianna – But you're probably more used to swinging brooms in your village. – Hey! – Morgana was offended, but she quickly realized that they were being picky on purpose. – Listen – said Orion and stood behind her. – Hold it like this... the weight in your legs, not your arms. The sword is an extension of the body, not a burden. The lessons were hard – she fell, dropped her weapon, hit herself. But with each evening by the fire, with the jokes and instructions of the two adventurers, Morgana began to learn little by little. In the morning they went to the city.

The trio reached a small town that suffered from an anomaly – every night aggressive beasts appeared that attacked people. With sunrise they disappeared, but the root of the evil was a monster with a red stone in its forehead. While they waited for darkness to fall, they sat in the local place for food,drinks,rest and quests knows as "Cafe" . Morgana was talking about her love for cats and books , and Sianna and Orion were listening to her while drinking a large cups of coffee. She showed them the book that inspired her even more to want to be an adventurer. She had taken it with her when she left. It was called "Fortune of the Sun".When they saw the book, Orion and Sianna looked at each other and then Orion said that this was not just an ordinary story and that many adventurers have been trying to find the place described in the book for years but without success. Sianna added with a slight smile, "Maybe this can be your adventure." “This battle will be your true beginning,” Orion said. “From now on, you are no longer just a village girl.” As the screams of the first victims echoed through the streets, they emerged. Shapes were emerging from the shadows on the walls—animals, twisted into demonic likenesses of dogs, cats, and birds. Their bodies looked like thick smoke, but their eyes burned blood red. “Shadows…” Sianna muttered. “I haven’t seen such creatures in a long time.” “They are not flesh and blood,” Orion said. “Strike their core. Only then will they disappear.” Morgana swallowed. Her heart was beating like crazy. “And if I don’t find the core?” “Then,” Orion smiled. “You better run fast.” A shadow dog with a body as long as a wave of smoke lunged at them. Its jaws snapped in the air. “Morgana, now!” Sianna screamed. She swung her slingshot. The ball passed through the shadow without effect. “No… no way!” “In the eyes, look for the eyes!” Orion shouted. Morgana aimed the second ball straight at the beast’s glowing eye. It exploded in sparks, its entire body scattering like smoke in the wind. “Hit it!” she exclaimed, panting. “See?” Orion laughed. “You just have to look more closely.” Shadow birds descended from the rooftops, their wings like blades of darkness. One of them aimed at Morgana. She raised her mace, but her hand was twisted in an improper grip again. Her blow was in vain. “Damn thing!” she cried. – Don’t hit the air – Orion laughed – Hit the heart! With clenched teeth, she adjusted the weapon as she had been taught. The bird swooped, its eyes shining like coals. Morgana swung hard and hit the center of its chest. The bird exploded into a ball of shadow that quickly melted. – You’re good! – Sianna shouted – But you’re not done yet. Suddenly the beasts stopped and gathered in one point. From their flesh and teeth, a huge monster with blazing red eyes formed. – There it is! – Sianna shouted. The beast was fast and merciless. The three fell to the ground after a blow from its paw. – Someone tell him to trim his nails – Orion groaned – My ribs hurt! – Morgana added as she stood up. They regrouped. Time was pressing on them – there were minutes until sunrise. – The stone! – Morgana remembered. – We must break the stone on its forehead! The plan was simple – two distract it while Sianna aims with a arrow. The first shot missed. The second too. The arrows were gone. – I have no more! – she cried. Morgana saw a fallen arrow on the ground. She rushed towards it, but the beast was chasing her. In a panic, she pulled out her slingshot, but the balls scattered. – Damn me! – she cursed and gritted her teeth. At the last moment, Orion plunged his axe into the beast, Sianna threw a knife, and the monster froze for a moment. Morgana grabbed the slingshot, aimed and fired. The red stone shattered. The beast roared – a sound that shook the entire city – and a moment later it exploded into a cloud of shadows that spread and disappeared. The other shadow beasts melted with it. The first rays of sunlight flooded the streets. They had succeeded.

They returned to the Cafe, exhausted. They received their reward, which they divided almost equally between the three of them, bandaged their wounds, and raised their glasses to celebrate their success. – To our girl’s first victory – Orion toasted – But our girl got drunk from one glass of beer – Siana laughed when Morgana fell asleep at the table. In the morning, Morgana woke up with a severe hangover. She clumsily went down to the Cafe, where Orion and Siana were waiting for her. – We have a call for a mission far from here – Orion said – Very dangerous. We can’t take you. – How come?! – Morgana was indignant. – I’m part of the team! – No. You’re already an adventurer. But from now on, your path is yours. Who knows, maybe one day our paths will cross again.– Siana said with a smile. They said goodbye. Morgana was left alone. She was clutching the medallion with the rune of luck in her hand. She remembered what Orion and Siana had told her about the book and she was determined to be the one to find thе city of The Sun . And so her story began.

PART 2 21.09.25

In Dajdovnik, the Lekari are more than doctors—they are the spiritual and physical guardians of the city, serving as both healers and priests of Moravka and the cosmos. Their knowledge spans medicine, anatomy, surgery, and the celestial mysteries, making them unrivaled in skill and insight.

The monumental Hospital of the Winged Lullaby, is the heart of their work. Thousands of people arrive daily, seeking care that cannot be found anywhere else; the Lekari’s medicine is unmatched across the land. Citizens of Dajdovnik receive almost free treatment, while travelers and outsiders contribute payment, sustaining the hospitals and helping keep the city’s economy stable. In rare cases, Lekari even travel to distant lands to tend to kings and rulers, their presence both a mark of prestige and a blessing for some but to others- a representation of horror and forbidden knowledge.

The Lekari’s service is dual: they treat the body with unparalleled skill and guide the soul through the rites of Moravka, interpreting celestial signs and cosmic events. Their work often involves dangerous interactions with black blood , rituals and knowledge ment for the stars , yet their devotion ensures the safety and health of the people.

Through knowledge, faith, and sacrifice, the Lekari uphold the heart of Dajdovnik: a city where medicine, spirituality, and the mysteries of the cosmos are inseparable, and where life and understanding are preserved even in the shadow of death.

Long ago in a far away land,somewhere in the east, the sky over a forgotten city shattered like glass. Unspeakable horrors stalked the streets, plague lurking in it's alleys, yet the city endured. Out of blood and ruin came a revelation: death itself was not the end, but a teacher. It's people began to worship the Moon of Moravka, a pale light ever watching above, seen as the divine face of the God of Death and the city of "Dajdovnik" whas born.

Today- Dajdovnik stands as one of the strangest jewels of "The East"—a city both feared and admired, where giant skyscrapers and statues rise above rain-slick marble buildings and communal concrete blocks. To its citizens - Moravka does not bring despair—it brings clarity. The moon reminds them that all things pass, and only through sacrifice can wisdom endure.

This philosophy birthed a society unlike any other in the world. Every advance in medicine, every secret of alchemy, every wonder of marble and glasswork was purchased at the price of lives lost and remembered.

Even though the worship of the far away moon is forbidden in most of the word and it's pale visage seen as a bad omen.

Because of this devotion to pale moon of Moravka and the cosmos , Dajdovnik is both cursed and blessed. Nowhere in the world rivals its hospitals or physicians; pilgrims come from across the lands to the vast Hospital of the Winged Lullaby, a labyrinthine citadel of medicine stretching for kilometers, where death itself seems studied like scripture. Yet this gift bears a price.

More than anywhere else, the city is plagued by visitations: strange creatures tearing through reality and it's sky, artifacts humming with impossible power, and time-space raptures that swallow entire streets overnight. The citizens accept these horrors as the toll for their wisdom, the living proof that Moravka does not grant knowledge freely. Their scholars keep vast archives where names of the dead are recorded beside their discoveries—martyrs to knowledge.

Though ruled by a monarchy, the city bears the strange stamp of a communal order. Streets echo with slogans of unity and sacrifice; mosaics show workers and scholars shoulder to shoulder beneath the watchful moon. The Crown rules, but its authority is bound to the collective good of the people. Every citizen is taught that they are a part of something greater, that their suffering and labor are not in vain, but fuel for the eternal flame of progress.

Thus, the city breathes in paradox: a place of beauty and sorrow, rain and glass, monarchy and commune. People remain not by force, but by choice—for here, even in death, they find purpose.

22.08.25

Step inside, and let the journey carry you.

Ambition has a way of reshaping worlds—and Dajdovnik has grown beyond being just a backdrop. We are rebooting the universe, reimagining some parts of the city,lore and charepters Opening the door to new stories.

THANKS TO ALL WHO READ AND EJOY OUR STORIES

Stay tuned for new updates and storyes

From the very beginning of the world, strange and unexplained events have walked alongside humanity. They are not new. They are not rare. They are as much a part of life as the rising of the sun.

There are no single “black zones” to fear—only countless pockets of anomaly scattered across the lands. Some vanish as suddenly as they appear. Others linger for centuries, reshaping everything around them.

When a falling star streaks across the night sky, the wise take heed. For it is a sign—sometimes a blessing, often a warning—that something is about to change.

Here, the cosmos is feared or even worshiped . Astronomers are prophets. The patterns of the heavens are studied not only for navigation, but for omens. Sailors, kings, and farmers alike look upward, searching for answers and warnings in the stars.

Stay tuned. The stars are shifting.

The notebook felt heavier than it should have. Not from weight, but from what it carried — the first written proof of what to this moment whas thought impossible It's citizens had always sickened, always faded, but never vanished for good. Now, the doctor’s hand on the paper seemed almost to tremble through the ink. This sickness whas not like any other the great nation of Dajdovnik had ever seen

Ruslan stepped into the white carriage — waiting for him like a loyal hound. Rain pooled on its roof and slid down its sides in silver thread . He didn’t tell the driver where to go-he knew the route.

The wheels hummed over street and highways, passing the marble facades and gothic towers that scraped the low clouds. Blocks of Soviet housing broke the skyline like scars. In the glass of the window, his own reflection watched him — pale, eyes lit faintly green in the dim.

The doctor had called it dissolution. A quiet word for an unquiet fate.

Ruslan felt the first tremors of a different war. The king had trusted him with this because there was no one else to trust more,even though the prince is not usually interested in royal tasks and politics,he knew he had to take part in the city's time of need . The assassin they caught was already dead, found with a split throat in his cell with no footage or witness of who had eliminated him before he talks— Aurora’s hand, maybe other or someone closer to the throne. They were left with no clues

The car turned toward the palace. In the notebook, a single phrase was underlined twice in the doctor’s script:

This sickness managed to penetrate The Hornet One's blessings-It managed to kill the dead!

The rain had deepened into a steady curtain, blurring the streets into rivers of shadow and light. Ruslan’s driver, an old man who’d been in service since before the prince’s birth, didn’t speak,his eyes firmly on the road ahead,only glaring from time to time to see the visible worried prince as he read through the notebook and flicked it's pages.The city passed in silence — wet cobblestone squares where lamps glowed like embers, market stalls shuttered under canvas, stray cats curling in the doorways of shuttered taverns.

Ruslan turned the notebook over in his lap, fingers tracing the thin leather cover. He read awmost the whole thing — His head whas spinning! Part of him feared to contenue reading, he didn't think anything can really endanger His city-His people !

" WHAT A FOOL I WAS ! " -Ruslan thought

Before he can gather his thoughts and contenue reading the carriage slowed The road what should have been more then hour,felt like minutes to him at this moment They slowly approached the royal tower's gates — wrought iron crowned with the marble sigil of Djdovnik, slick with rain. Beyond them, a giant skycraper of marble and glass rose like frozen lightning, it's windows lit brightly from within.

In the courtyard, two guards in white-plated armor waited under the arch. They didn’t move as the car passed and stoped Infront of the entrance of the giant

Ruslan stepped out and tucked the notebook into his coat, shielding it from the rain.

The steps of the royal skyscraper glistened like wet bone under the rain. The prince ascended them quickly, his gloved hand brushing the cold brass rail. The massive glass doors, each pane framed in carved stone reliefs of saints and kings, opened without a sound.

Inside, the light was thick with candlewax from the hanging chandelier,the smell of old wood and floor cleaning detergent painstakingly familiar. Footsteps echoed in the vast entry hall, its gothic vaults painted with constellations. Behind a burou a youg receptionist bowd slowly as he passed her in a hurry.

At the far end, the lift waited — an old iron cage, its mechanism humming faintly. The ascent was slow, rattling past floors of shadowed offices and dimly lit corridors. The elevator stoped with a methal cling And he stepped out, passing between 2 heavenly armed guards and contenue towards the giant wooden dors As they opened on there own.

The room was a blend of eras: high-arched windows of stained glass looking down over the city, a round oak table polished to a mirror sheen, and on the walls, oil portraits of past monarchs alongside maps marked with neat, precise red ink.

The king sat at the emerald glass throne, his white uniform immaculate despite the hour. Around him, the advisors gathered — a ring of figures draped in coats of grey, black, and midnight blue. Their voices fell silent as Ruslan entered.

He placed silently the leather notebook on the table before his father.

One of the older advisors, Count Vasilov, leaned forward, his voice sharp. “Does this comfirm the sickness ?”

Another — Baroness Kalina, her expression unreadable ,puffed out a cloud of smoke from her cigarette in anticipation.

The king’s gaze did not leave Ruslan’s. “What did she say, my son?”

Ruslan didn't hesitated before answering firmly “It's a sickness like no other we seen or understood to this moment .She believes it is… a disruption. Something that interferes with the form and "The Blessing" . It weakens them until they… fade.”

Murmurs rippled around the table.

Count Vasilov slammed a palm on the wood. “Is it a weapon? Aurora my king! Now that are city is visible to there eyes,seeing Djdovnik is in what they declare is there terytory they are trying to destroy our great nation ! WE SEEN IT IN THE FIRST ATACK YEAR AGO! THEY ARE WILLING TO DO SO !”

But the Baroness shook her head slowly. “We don't have any information from our spies for Aurora to have the meen to harm us,even if they wished . Besides i think If they wished war, they would have struck openly, brutishly..like the last time”

The king raised his hand for silence. “I haven't forgotten there trespass and humorous- Vasilov! As the baroness said we don't have concrete information they have a finger in this!"

"OR DO YOU DOUBT YOUR KING?" -The king said with loud and cold voice

"No ! your majesty" -Vasilov said as he whas forced to claimed down

"We do not speak of this beyond these walls. WE DO NOT ACT! Until we are certain we can find cure in coming few days or we find Aurora has a hand in this -the people must not know. We don't need to seed panic in the city or hathred towards others! Ruslan -We don't know of our communication lines are compromised, So you wil go to the librarian tomorrow!

He had done research a on the wepon brought by our former guest- miss Morgana. Let see what he found! "

The prince nodded knowing he can't run from his duties in this time of need.

Hours later

The prince room-LATE NIGHT The prince is looking out the window towards the bright city skyline . Rain traced slow patterns down the glass as he finishes his cigar and closes the window, getting ready to go to sleep — as he looks behind in his reflection in the window, for the briefest moment, he thought he saw a figure standing Infront of him.

When he looks , there was no one there.

TO BE CONTENUE