The silence within the small farmhouse suddenly grew dense, almost tangible, as if the air had turned into a gelatinous mass. Eni froze, her hand not yet reaching the lace of her shoe. The sound that rang out in her head wasn't like an ordinary auditory hallucination—it was a vibration of reality itself, a low, rumbling resonance that seeped into her bones and made even her teeth vibrate.

  "Greetings, child. What is your name?" the Unknown spoke. The voice possessed a strange magnetism: in it could be heard the rumble of ocean depths and the rustle of ancient sands.

  Eni shrank back, feeling like a tiny insect beneath the gaze of a god. Fear constricted her throat, but some unknown force forced her lips apart. "E-Eni..." she exhaled, barely recognizing her own voice.

  "Eni... What a... beautiful, feminine name!" The Voice grew softer, notes of almost fatherly tenderness slipping into it. This contrast between colossal power and a gentle tone was disorienting.

  "Thank you," she muttered awkwardly. The shock was slowly receding, replaced by her usual fussy nervousness. She began to put on her shoes, pulling on her footwear with their masculine heels. A heavy sigh escaped her chest as she looked at the reflection of her violet tunic in the dusty window.

  "Eni, what happened?" the Voice asked, sounding almost plaintive, with sincere sympathy.

  "No, no... Nothing," she shook her head, trying to suppress the tremor in her hands. She glanced once more at her stockings, at the delicate but already world-worn fabric. "It's just... I love my clothes so much. But I understand... they won't last long in this hell."

  Her voice faltered. To some, it might seem foolish—worrying about rags when dragons were flying around. But for Eni, this violet outfit was the last thread connecting her to the "self" she might have loved. It was her armor, her sexuality, her way of feeling alive.

  "Hmm..." The Voice sank into thought. "I am ready to help you, Eni. As your faithful friend. But first, I must tell you the truth that this fog conceals."

  Eni froze, listening. The world outside the window seemed to hold its breath. Even the grotesque scarecrow in the field appeared to stop swaying.

  "This world is corrupted," the Voice began, and biblical grief sounded in its intonations. "Great civilizations fell under the onslaught of despair, mythical creatures fled underground in terror, hiding from the rot. And those called heroes... Oh, they turned out to be the weakest of all. They turned away from us, Eni. They sided with the corruption, choosing their selfish desires instead of saving the innocent."

  The Voice suddenly shifted to an ecstatic, anticipating tone that sent shivers down Eni's spine. "But I am sure! I know that you are the one who can save this world of pain and bloodshed. You are the one who will cleanse the multiverse of this festering abscess, returning everything to its original state! You will bring back the light to where only darkness remains!"

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  Eni was silent. She just sat on the farmer's bed, looking at her pale palms. The thought of saving the multiverse seemed so absurd she wanted to laugh in the face of this divine majesty. "But I... I don't even have strength," she said quietly. "All I've figured out is that I don't feel pain. But that doesn't mean I can fight. I don't even know how to hold an axe properly. And in general... I'm a coward. I just want to be left alone."

  A booming, good-natured laugh rang out in her head. "Don't be upset, child. Strength is not something you're born with; it's something you take. In this world, you can become stronger by absorbing 'bad' souls. Those who rejected the light will become your fuel. Every kill of the corrupted will make you harder, faster, deadlier. Of course, you won't gain the power of a god just by killing fifty monsters. If it were that easy, Alvina would have become the Demiurge long ago."

  Eni perked up. The name struck like a whip. "Alvina?" she repeated with almost childish curiosity. "And who is she?"

  The Voice's tone changed instantly. Majesty was replaced by poisonous, icy loathing that seemed to drop the temperature in the room by several more degrees. "A former hero. A dryad. The one who betrayed everyone for the sake of her forest."

  The Voice became insidious, almost pleading, warning: "Therefore, Eni... listen to me carefully. Under no circumstances touch the plants. Don't break branches, don't trample flowers without need. Use only what you find in abandoned buildings, in dead stones, and in chests. That way Alvina won't notice your presence. While you are vulnerable, she could destroy you in an instant if she senses your hunger for power."

  "But I was attacked by dragons... and spiders," Eni objected, remembering the horrific eyes of the forest predator. "I'm sure plenty of creatures have seen me."

  The Voice laughed again, but this time the laugh was dry and short. "Plants, Eni, know how to scream. And their scream is much louder than the cry of any mindless animal. Beasts have no consciousness; they are only shadows of former greatness. But plants—they grieve for each other, screaming loudly. As long as you don't harm the forest, you are safe."

  Eni's eyes widened. The information about "screaming plants" barely fit in her head. She imagined the grass beneath her feet opening invisible mouths, and she shuddered. "No kidding..." she breathed. But then, shaking her head, she remembered the most important thing. "Wait, stop! You said you'd help me with my clothes! And you're just talking around about heroes and dryads. My tunic is still full of holes!"

  "You are observant, Eni. That's a very good skill for someone who wants to survive," the Voice sounded almost mundane, as if they were discussing the weather. "Very well, I keep my word. Repeat after me. This is an ancient dialect, the language of the very fabric of the universe. Say: 'Ornotavnitalvina, verventinovantalya, Elfrendtovistarimanmonta'."

  Eni frowned. The words were long, prickly; they didn't want to settle on her tongue, turning into unintelligible mush. She tried again and again. About ten times she stumbled, mixing up syllables, until finally she focused on the image of her torn sleeve.

  "Or-notav-nita-lvina... ver-venti-novan-talya... Elfre-ndto-vistariman-monta!" she shouted, pouring all her desperation into these sounds.

  And a miracle happened.

  Her tunic was suddenly enveloped in a soft, violet glow. Eni watched mesmerized as the threads of fabric began to move on their own, weaving into an intricate pattern. Dirt crumbled away like ash, blood evaporated, and the torn hole on her forearm left by the spider closed in a split second. The fabric became dense, fresh, as if it had just been taken from the display of the most expensive atelier in the multiverse.

  "Good job! I'm so proud of you!" the Voice exclaimed joyfully.

  Eni cautiously touched her forearm. Where there had once been a gaping hole, there was now only smooth, enchanted fabric. A feeling of delight momentarily overshadowed her fear. She was beautiful again. She was herself again. "W-wow..." was all she could utter.

  But the next second, reality returned to her. She remembered the farmer, the silent four-meter creature with a pumpkin, and that she was still in the center of a nightmare. Resolve, fueled by magic and the Voice's affection, pushed her to action.

  Eni gathered her things, walked to the door, and decisively pulled the handle, stepping out to meet the morning sun of this cursed world.