Found in a box of bog oak wood,
beneath the scroll of Umoyr’s map
(handwritten by Renyesta)
When Skrakan Was Silent
He knew. Knew a lot. Maybe—knew everything.
I stood beside him for almost twenty years. One day, when meteors were falling on Yazes and the air rang with old magic, we stood by the Tower’s southern window. He looked into the Astral and suddenly said:
— The Circles…
He didn’t explain. Just dimmed the light and walked deeper into the Tower.
I didn’t understand then. I thought he meant time loops, distortions. He loved speaking in images. But later, in the lower archive, among the notes no one was supposed to read, I saw a word scratched in. Thin, sharp handwriting, beneath one of the diagrams:
The Circles of Hell
That’s when I started asking questions. And he—began looking away.
“Don’t touch that,” he said when he saw me with that scroll.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you’re not ready. Because no one is ready. Not even me.” And added, without looking: “Especially not you.”
It stung. I was his best student. He said so himself. Many times. I thought he was preparing me for something important. I thought he was keeping it—for me.
But he just stared past me. As if he already knew: I would go anyway. So he said nothing. It was too late. The shadow of the fatal choice had already crept beneath my skin.
I left into the night. Without permission and without goodbye.
At the First Circle, I met Elien.
We studied together. He used to laugh, loved women and good wine. When he saw me, he didn’t recognize me. Just looked—and kept walking. I called him by name.
He turned. His face went pale.
“You’re dead,” he said.
“No,” I replied.
“Dead,” he repeated, and ran off.
I understood then: for the world, I really was dead. Skrakan wasn’t just silent. He was mourning.
At the Second Circle, I found Mirinel.
She lay in the ruins of an old temple. Still alive. But her eyes… they held something not of this world. She recognized me. Smiled.
“You’re walking too,” she said.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Good. I was lonely.”
She died an hour later. I buried her under the altar. Carved into the stone: “Mirinel of Umoyr. Reached the Second Circle.”
Then I realized—it wasn’t a grave. It was a warning.
At the Third Circle, magic stopped obeying.
It didn’t just flicker. It refused. As if I no longer had the right to it. I tried to light a simple candle—the flame burst blue and burned my hand to the bone. The scar remains. It still aches when I think of home.
That’s when I knew there was no way back. Not because the path was closed. But because “back” no longer existed.
At the Fourth Circle, I met him.
He stood in the center of a stone circle. Tall, in a black cloak. Face hidden. But the voice… the voice was familiar.
“You came,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Why?”
I didn’t know what to say. The truth was simple and terrifying: because I couldn’t stop. Because each Circle called the next. Because I was no longer myself.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Good,” he said. “Honesty is all you have left.”
He pulled back his hood. It was Skrakan. But not the one I knew. This one was… hollow. As if burned out from within.
“Master,” I whispered.
“No longer,” he said. “There are no teachers here. Only the path.”
“You’ve walked all Seven?”
“Yes.”
“And what’s there?”
He was silent for a long time. Then said:
“Nothing. There is nothing there.”
At the Fifth Circle, I met myself.
He sat by a fire. Young. Full of hope. Looked at me with curiosity.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“You,” I replied.
“Can’t be. I’m good-looking.”
I laughed. For the first time in a long time.
“You’re going to Skrakan’s Tower,” I said.
“Yes. He’ll take me as a student.”
“He will.”
“And I’ll become a great mage?”
“No,” I said. “You’ll become no one.”
“Is that bad?”
I looked at him. At his bright eyes. At hands without scars. At a face that still remembered how to smile.
“I don’t know,” I said.
He nodded. Understanding. And vanished.
At the Sixth Circle, I realized I was dead.
Not physically. Worse. I was dead to the world. To people. To magic. To myself.
But I kept walking. Because the dead cannot stop. Because there is no rest for them. Only motion. Only the path.
And I understood why Skrakan was silent. What do you say to the dead? What advice do you give to one who has already made his choice?
The Seventh Circle…
I won’t speak of it. Not because it’s frightening. But because there’s nothing to say.
There is nothing there. Not even emptiness. Not even darkness. Not even you.
But you walk. Because walking is all that remains.
Why walk?
I don’t know. I never asked myself. And I won’t ask you.
But if you still feel warmth in your chest—even faint, like a forgotten candle—then you’re not at the bottom yet. Keep walking.
Neither Skrakan nor anyone else will save you. Only you can—if you accept that salvation has nothing to do with it.
It’s not about heroism. Not about glory. Not about power.
It’s about what’s left when everything else is gone.
There were others too.
Nikolai reached the Third Circle and came back marked @3. Now he sits in the “Harpy” tavern and drinks himself into oblivion. Every day. Sometimes he cries. Sometimes he laughs. But mostly—just stares at the wall.
Xsama never returned. Her trail ends at the Fifth Circle. Her room still holds an unfinished cup of tea. Cold for a long time. But no one touches it.
Kobik reached the Sixth Circle—and never spoke again. Not because he couldn’t. Because words no longer meant anything. He lives in the old windmill outside town. Sometimes people see him in the garden. Planting. Watering. Harvesting. But no one knows why.
What I Understood
I am not Skrakan.
I disobeyed him. I walked against the will of the Master.
But I understood why he was silent. And why he was afraid.
He walked the Seventh Circle. I know that. He was silent because there was nothing left to say.
But there is one thing he didn’t tell me. And I will tell you.
Each Circle is not a trial. It is a choice. You can stop at any one. You can turn back. You can say “enough” and leave.
But you won’t. Because each Circle gives you something in return. Not strength. Not knowledge. Not power.
Understanding.
At the First Circle—you understand the world is bigger than you thought.
At the Second—that you are smaller than you thought.
At the Third—that death is not the end.
At the Fourth—that life is not the beginning.
At the Fifth—that you’ve never truly been yourself.
At the Sixth—that it’s normal.
At the Seventh—that “normal” doesn’t exist.
…you understand that understanding is an illusion. That all you knew was a lie. That all you felt was a dream.
And that’s okay too. If you make it there—don’t expect to meet anyone. Don’t call out a name. No one will answer.
You will just keep walking.
Because you don’t know how to do anything else anymore.
The Scholar Brother of Umoyr
Seal: a bloody handprint, not human
P.S. If you’re reading this and still have doubts—don’t go. Doubt is what makes you human. Where doubt ends, so does humanity.
If you’re reading this and have no doubts—still don’t go. The absence of doubt isn’t bravery. It’s madness.
If you go anyway—remember: each Circle is a door. And every door has a lock. And every lock has a key.
The key is what you must be willing to lose.
Think again.
Now forget everything you thought. And just walk.