Pelleas was sitting cross-legged on the bridge, his hands hanging down, forming a kind of Lotus flower. A warm wind blew through his body, and his mind replayed the last seconds of Motso's life, during which a lump rose in his throat. He closed the door of memories and promised himself to keep this story in his remembrance for the rest of his life. His eyes opened. He stretched, got up, and walked to the building a kilometer away, where the Council members were. Pelleas walked slowly, still lost in his own thoughts.

Once inside the building, through a secret door, he heard the last remaining members of the hundred and four talking in the back room, but when he entered the same room with everyone else, the conversations stopped and there was silence.

“Radgiver, I'd like to talk to you in private.”

He rose from his chair and they went into another small room, as cold and dark as any others.

"You were right," Pelleas began, then paused for a ten-second and continued, "I've read the rest of Motso's memories. It opened my eyes to a lot of things.”

"I'm ready to listen."

Pelleas told the story as accurately as possible. But he focused on two points: the first one – Motso changed the code of the sphere and now everyone can pass it by saying the phrase "What controls the fate of humanity in this world? He himself? Or is it already a foregone conclusion?"; and the second is that each sphere contains a scheme for restoring the mechanism that creates them.

"How did we not discover this before?"

"We just didn't think about it, but Motso did.”

“Although the story that you told me is sad, but I'll tell you honestly: Motso hasn’t lived his life in vain.

“"I regret I hadn’t taught him all the secrets of the sphere. You should have seen how hard it was for him to save his wounded friend.”

“We all made that decision. We couldn’t tell him everything. It would be precarious for a young boy to accomplish almost anything just by thinking about it. Too risky.”

"He could have saved a lot of people. Maybe we were wrong here too…”

"What's the use of discussing it now? Now, with his knowledge, we can change our plan and recreate the city that he always dreamed of.”

"Yes, it's different now, except that my heir is dead.”

"I need to tell the others about this.”

"I'm counting on you."

"What will you do?"

"Do you remember my great-great-grandfather?" He wrote a book, in the ancient language of his ancestors. Almost no one read it, or if they did, they didn't take it seriously. Is it still in the library?”

"Yes, underground.”

"I'll go there. A man who calls himself Daimonion is truly terrifying to me.”

“He batted the sphere away with his bare hand.”

"And he knew about our planet, even though I'd never seen him. This is definitely not an ordinary soldier.”

"But he existed more than five thousand years ago.”

“Yes. And I wouldn't have noticed it if it wasn't for one thing.”

"What thing? Don’t keep me in suspense. You speak too dramatically!”

“Listen. When this guy, Malum, who teleported here...”

“Yes.”

"I felt as if something very powerful was watching him, something that we couldn't understand or see. My great-great-grandfather once wrote that we aren’t the first civilization in the multiverse. He talked about the generation of Pitris, from the ice planet. They once worked together.”

"Never heard of it."

"Everyone who read it thought it was fairy tale. Moreover, there were only five people of that generation. But if my great-great-grandfather wasn't lying and these creatures are really still roaming the world, then they are watching our guy. I'd like to find out what's on their minds.”

“Do you think there is a race that just walks around the world and rules everything behind the scenes? What for?”

“I don't know, but I'll try to find out.”

“This matter feels shoddy.”

“Yeah. I hope it won't get any shoddier.”

Pelleas said goodbye to Rodgiver and, passing the interested glances of the others, went outside. The red giant was still in the east, illuminating the once majestic city filled with green gardens, animals and life in full swing. He began to move faster, but the decrepit body still fettered and slowed him down. After passing several suspended mesh structures, Pelleas ran into an intersection, turned right, where there were fewer houses. He walked another two kilometers, under the creaks of bending iron, and turned left. There he crossed two bridges and stopped at the third, almost reaching the goal, and looked into the distance, to the west, where used to be an urban forest. For some reason, he thought of the people who used to live in this place, back in the ancient times, when the capital of Alaval was more like a large village in the countryside, rather than the forgotten ruins of civilization. He imagined himself on a small green hill, not far from the river where he had fished. He remembered the plains that turned into floodplains during the rainy season, and he also remembered the most ancient representatives of their landscape – the vast calderas. After all, even before their birth, the planet was a lava mountain, a hot earth, with many craters, without any hint of life. However, it appeared. And his ancestors, the same great-great-grandfather, could walk through the blue haze of the ridge. Look at the majestic peaks of the mountains stretching from West to East.

Now there is nothing left of those beauties, except for nostalgia and longing in the hearts of living people. Everything that seemed normal in the old days is gone, extinguished forever. All that remained was the ubiquitous ash that had been flying for more than five thousand years, rising from the surface and spiraling, then falling to the blackened earth shrouded in mother Darkness. Pelleas did not often descend to the very bottom of this infernal blood-scarlet realm, for the streets where children used to have fun and peddlers sold all sorts of things are now considered one of the most dangerous places. The last time this happened was several decades ago, when the acid disappeared after a long drought. But surprisingly, the plants were able to adapt to the terrible weather conditions and grew as if nothing had happened. However, since the Panic war, their color has changed to a bright red with a slight bluish tinge, greedily absorbing the energy-rich light of the red giant. The same plants that were not lucky enough to be satisfied with the rays of a hot star dimmed and became black as pitch. The grass was barely big enough to reach the old man's Shin, although its color was different from the rest and it was striking in its bright birch fluorescent color.

He went to the intentioned building, opened the door, though not from the first and second time, but still he did it. He went down the spiral staircase, looking at the empty and lifeless interior architecture of the room. Pipes on the right, pipes on the left, and under his feet were melted pipes that form a small hint of a flat floor. It was dark, but he was used to living in the dark, and it was not difficult for him. But in reality, as he sank deeper into the darkness, it occurred to him that he deserved it. The infinite abyss is a kind of punishment that cannot be avoided and will have to be endured. Maybe he could have lit the torch, but he didn't want to, because he didn't deserve it.

Before Pelleas rose a huge gate, created not even by his labors and not by the labors of his ancestors. He remembers how when he was very young, his father called a builder from another planet and he built this gate. When his father asked why they are so dark, he explained that knowledge does not lead to light. “And though you have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though you have all faith, so that you could remove mountains, and have not charity, you are nothing.” This gate was a kind of warning. Pelleas's father strongly disagreed with him, but didn’t alter it, just threw a tarp over them and always kept the gate open. Now the library, or what was left of it, was underground. And the only thing that survived the war was that damned grim gate. They didn't even get a scratch.

Pelleas knew the library well from his childhood, where everything was. And when he first discovered his great-great-grandfather's book and started reading it, his father noticed it and immediately forbade him. He said it was too early for you to read this, and too early for him.

He passed through a small crack in the doorway; the torch was still unlit. He found himself in a gallery filled with various scrolls and books. On the right side, at that time, there was still a peristyle with a small statue dedicated to writers. The hall itself was rectangular with niches in the walls for storing everything that was written. Pelleas walked forward, climbed the podia with steps, turned right, rounded the arched wall, and came to a wooden door. He opened it and entered a small room. He walked down the hall and saw a partially lit book stand in the center of the room, and a book lying open on it. Pelleas took it with trembling hands, closed it gently, pressed it to his chest with both hands, and started walking towards the exit.

Already at home (if this small room can be called that), he put the book on the table. On the cover was written "the Story of my time" by Ymir. Pelleas flipped through the book to the table of contents, began to run his finger along it and read. He found the Chapter "Collaboration with a group of Pitris""Collapse of the Empire, demons of darkness".

Pelleas's brow was covered with perspiration.

“Damn, it's getting shoddier and shoddier.”

He began to study the history.