One hour earlier:
The inside of the Crystal Palace was simple, mostly gray and brown with wooden penthouses. The great palace hall, the rooms close to it and the corridors connecting it looked completely different. The walls there were hard, marble, decorated with crystals and blue stones. The floors and ceilings were dark, and everything was dimly lit.
Brainy personally loved the slightly dark atmosphere of this place, primarily because of the silence that reigned here most of the time. Within the palace, he could always find a quiet and peaceful place where he could study and do his homework. Thanks to the thick walls, he didn't have to listen to the shouts of those wacko warriors who the Grand Master adored so much for some reason. The Ten weren't as good as Brainy when it came to knowledge.
The bespectacled Smurf was proud of his Destiny. In the future, he was to become a great strategist and advisor, and the brunet always set the bar very high for himself. His dream was to assist by the imperial throne one day.
However, speeding through these corridors brought him no relief this time. The former Grand Master had just sent him to the room where the current Grand Master used to meditate to achieve peace and balance. Brainy had only heard that it was extremely important and that Grand Master Papa Smurf should have taken an interest in it.
The brunet walked quite quickly, barely keeping himself from running. Rushing in the morning didn't work well for him, although he believed that Destiny favors early birds. His panting echoed throughout the Crystal Palace.
Grand Master Papa Smurf was kneeling on the cold floor in a small room to the left of the palace hall. It was an extremely dark place. The room was built on a hexagonal plan, there were steps leading nowhere under each wall, with candles placed on them. The Grand Master's hands were resting on his lap, his eyes were closed, the old Smurf was breathing deeply through his nose.
He had changed a lot over the last hundred years. He no longer walked proudly upright, he had a slightly visible hunch, the kind that could be seen in all slightly older Smurfs. When he walked, it was with a limp – a nasty injury that made it difficult to move his right leg properly. His robes hadn't been renewed for years and had lost their vibrant colors, turning grayish in effect.
They had turned gray just like his beard. It had used to have a beautiful color of dark ripe chestnut, now it looked more like catkins. The Grand Master's face was also adorned with several clearly visible wrinkles, not as deep as those of his mentor, but deep enough to be noticeable at a glance.
Papa Smurf's ears twitched as panting from the corridor echoed throughout the room he was meditating in. The Grand Master lowered his ears slightly and frowned, squeezing his eyes tighter. The sound grew louder by the second. "Would whoever is running a marathon on the corridors, quiet down?!" he shouted, turning his head toward the open door.
The panting didn't stop, and after a moment, quick footsteps moved from the corridor to the room. The Grand Master sighed with a low growl and turned his head again.
What he saw was a panting messenger. "Oh, Brainy," he said, a little surprised. "Did something happen? You seem worried."
The brunet gasped a few more times, then straightened up and adjusted his glasses as they were sliding down his nose. It was true that he had no idea what news Grandpa and Nanny had for the Grand Master, but if it wasn't important, they wouldn't have told him to interrupt his teacher's meditation. Something was telling him that the news wasn't very good.
"The Grand... Grand Master... Grandpa Smurf... he wants to see you..." he panted finally and hugged himself loosely. "Phew..."
The older Smurf blinked several times, absorbed in his thoughts again. Meditations were supposed to calm down and focus on balance. In theory, they were to help relieve the burden of thoughts and give new strength to reconsider and clarify matters. However, for over two decades, Grand Master Papa Smurf had been unable to find peace within himself.
When the former Grand Master demanded someone, he never did it rashly. He usually didn't invite anyone over for light chats about trivial matters. So Papa Smurf quickly got up and walked over to the palace messenger. "Did he tell you what it is about?"
"Eh..." Brainy gasped and shook his head. "Except that it is very important and concerns all of us."
The Grand Master nodded slightly. "Very well, I will see him. And you make sure the Ten Azure Warriors do their training."
"Yes, Grand Master Papa Smurf."
The guardian of the Ten left the small room and took the fastest route to the hall. He had a bad feeling. His right leg hurt more than usual.
The great palace hall was the most important holy place in the entire valley. This wide and high hall was a treasure trove of knowledge carved into the walls, memorabilia locked behind glass, and, above all, the resting place of the Long Life Stone. This stone was a powerful magical item that guaranteed the Smurf species a long life, even exceeding a thousand years! Of course, this didn't guarantee a long life for every Smurf, as diseases and fatal accidents still occurred.
The high ceiling of the hall was supported by dark blue columns one could easily hide behind. In the past, Papa Smurf's teenage students had considered this place a great base for playing hide and seek. One day, however, they had been caught frolicking by their Master, who had forbidden them from having fun near the great hall.
Grand Master Papa Smurf hurried across the hall, almost to the Long Life Stone, where a wooden cane stood. Despite the lack of support, it didn't fall over, and on it rested something large and misshapen, dressed in yellow material.
The misshapen thing didn't even flinch as Papa Smurf stood next to it, panting like a pug. "Master!" he gasped, but composed himself immediately. He suppressed his panting and stood straight, ignoring the pain in his leg. "Grand Master, you summoned me," he said in a calm tone, bowing slightly.
The shapeless thing let out a short laugh and moved, with each movement becoming more and more like just another old Smurf, much older than the current official Grand Master of the Crystal Palace. His beard was so long it touched the ground, his figure was slightly stooped, and his skin was much more wrinkled than Papa Smurf's. Despite all these, a certain youthfulness of spirit that he still had within him danced in his eyes. "Oh, you look terrified," the former Grand Master replied lightly.
He held his cane in his right hand, his left hand behind his back. He was dressed in a long yellow tunic and a red scarf that ran under his arm and was tied on his shoulder on the other side. His outfit immediately suggested an experienced warrior and mentor.
"I thought something serious had happened." Grand Master Papa Smurf frowned, confused.
The older Smurf walked away from the Long Life Stone, and an old Smurfess, close in age to Grandpa, emerged from behind the stone. They both stood in front of Papa Smurf, their expressions didn't indicate anything specific.
The red-clothed Smurf bowed slightly again. "Nanny."
"This morning my wife had another vision that we need to share with you." The retired Grand Master gestured for the woman to come even closer to Papa Smurf.
The Smurfess looked straight into the Grand Master's eyes, and the expression on her face changed barely noticeably. There was a certain seriousness and fear in it. Papa felt a shiver run down his spine.
"I was supposed to see a beautiful sunrise this morning," the Medium began slowly. "It is shining so beautifully right now. However, I woke up to heavy rain, and dust from demolished walls danced before my eyes."
At these words, the Grand Master felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders tense. Demolished walls? Where? In his palace? In his village? This couldn't be!
"I saw shadows, several of them, fighting another shadow. I saw blue flashes of light and a Smurf who does not live in the Azure Craft Village. He does not live here, but he seemed strangely familiar. The Long Life Stone was not in its place."
Something trembled in the Grand Master's chest. The Long Life Stone would be stolen from the Crystal Palace?! By whom?! What Smurf outside the valley area would do such a thing?! The valley had no war with any land where other Smurfs lived. Moreover, they were on very good terms with the other Smurf communities.
Blue flashes of light? Was Medium talking about lightnings dancing in the sky during a downpour and storm? Or what if...?
The Grand Master shook his head in disbelief, his wide eyes staring right at Nanny. After a moment, he looked at his mentor. Grandpa Smurf stood calmly next to his wife, but the youthful glow in his eyes disappeared for a split second and the old Smurf nodded sadly.
Present time:
Unlike Medium Nanny Smurfess, the vast majority of the villagers were able to enjoy the beautiful sunrise. Although the sun no longer touched the horizon, it was still quite low in the sky, casting an orange-yellow light over the Valley of Peace.
This light wasn't the only thing that penetrated through an open window into a room of one of the young inhabitants of the Azure Craft Village. The hollering of children running down the streets found its way inside as well.
The young Smurf was sitting at his desk, right next to the window, and was leaning over a blank piece of paper. He was planning to start another of his brilliant projects, but he woke up in a rather strange and disturbing atmosphere. He had a migraine and the boy rubbed his temples vigorously, shutting his eyes closed and gritting his teeth. He couldn't concentrate on anything in such conditions. However, the headache wasn't the only obstacle to the implementation of his plans.
"Architect!" his father's baritone voice rang out from the ground floor. "Do you need a special invitation?! What are you doing there again?!"
The blond exhaled loudly through his nose and tore himself away from the desk. The chair legs made an unpleasant sound as they moved across the floor. The Smurf shuffled toward the corridor, then wambled to the stairs, from which he descended with heavy steps. His arms hung limply like a rag doll's. His head felt several times heavier than usual.
He found his father on the ground floor, finishing a conversation with a neighbor. "Yes, I almost finished yesterday, and they will all be ready just in time for the holidays," his father said with a fake cheerfulness. "And how's your Muse? I haven't seen her for a long time."
"Ah." The neighbor waved his hand. "She's been sickly lately, but nothing dangerous. The boys are very caring toward their mother."
"I heard they are both going to have a big part in the holidays."
"It's really nothing, Talent, just a few minor works."
"I wouldn't say minor. You have very talented young artists."
"Yes, they wander around all day looking for inspiration, and then both of them cry at night because they can't keep up with the orders." Talent's interlocutor rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I feel like they're making a competition out of it, but I never know who wins: Poet or Painter?"
"At least your boys are doing something tangible. My Architect sits in his room and draws little nothings all day long."
"Don't be too hard on him, Talent. I know what young unfulfilled souls can do without inspiration."
"Taste, come on!" Talent leaned slightly forward in the doorway. "I prefer to call it laziness and rebellion."
"Whatever," Taste laughed. "Well, it's time for me to go. I have to get the boys to work. Have a good one!"
"Yeah, you too." Architect's father bowed lightly, then closed the door and turned to face his son. He shook his head slightly when he saw him, but he didn't seem angry. He sat down at the table calmly and pointed to the bowl intended for the younger Smurf.
Architect sighed heavily and sat next to him, staring at the bowl of soup. A Smurfling ran past their house and shouted in a tiny voice. Architect cringed and grabbed his temples, hissing softly.
This didn't go unnoticed by his father, who immediately felt concern for the boy. "Are you feeling unwell?" The Smurf brought his hand to his son's head, but the younger Smurf moved it away gently, as if annoyed by his father's sudden concern.
"It's just a migraine," he muttered.
A second later they both started eating.
Architect poked around the bowl with his chopsticks, examining the noodles and vegetables. His expression was dull, a little bored, a little sad, but most of all, his drawn close eyebrows suggested that something was still on his mind. The older Smurf spotted it as well, he was watching his son out of the corner of his eye, and slowly putting his breakfast into his mouth.
They were accompanied by the clanking of the utensils, the screams of children and the conversations of adults from the outside.
Every now and then, Architect stole glances at Talent, but mostly kept his eyes glued to the chair across from him. It was empty, tucked tightly against the table. No one had sat on it for twenty years.
The next, somewhat silent, minutes passed in the dingy kitchen. The blond's father was already finishing eating. However, the older Smurf could no longer pretend that he didn't see his son's mysterious awkwardness.
The boy decided to surprise the man. He sighed heavily and then started the topic himself. "Something's happening," he muttered, looking down at his bowl, still filled with soup. "I'm not sure what."
Talent nodded silently, focusing all fis attention on his son. Without taking his eyes off him, he pushed his bowl aside and rested his forearms on the table.
"For several days..." Architect began in a quiet tone. "For several days now I've had a strange feeling that something is going to happen soon. I just can't figure out what." The blond raised his head, meeting his father's watchful eyes. "Remember when I used to say I had strange premonitions?"
The older Smurf nodded slowly, his expression didn't give away what he might have been thinking at that moment. His slowly lowering ear tips showed that he was preparing for the next, difficult part of the conversation.
"I never have such powerful premonitions unless they are about what they have always been about."
Father and son looked at each other, searching for signs in each other's eyes. Architect was scared, worried, he knew more than he wanted to say, but he had a reason for it. Talent, on the other hand, recalled every moment in his life when a blond boy had run up to him with a scream and concern on his face. It was a sign, and its meaning never changed.
"It's so strong I can't stop thinking about it..." Architect's voice faded with each sentence. "I can't sleep, I can't eat, I have so many thoughts and terrible migraines. I start to feel things that I shouldn't feel because they don't belong to me. These emotions, the discomfort in my body, the pain, they are not mine and I can't get rid of them! They are growing stronger with every moment."
Talent's irises trembled, the Smurf raised his hand and placed it on his son's shoulder, trying to somehow comfort him and persuade him to open up to him.
Architect sniffed – a life of a twin was hard. "Something bad is happening... And he's right in the center of it, dad."
Four days earlier:
"Come on! Move!"
The sound of a body falling on the stones echoed through the corridor, followed by the roar and laughter of the guards. Wartmongers were a species infamous for their disgusting cruelty toward other citizen species. These monsters in the bodies of a citizen species would take it out on anyone given the opportunity.
It so happened that the Emperor's daughter had sent a frail messenger to visit the Treacherous Swamp Prison. Woody was an ordinary Wood Elf and his occupation had nothing to do with visiting this kind of facilities. He didn't know the standards that applied in such places or the politics prevailing there.
Of course, it didn't matter to Wartmongers. For them, it was just another opportunity to abuse someone.
The Treacherous Swamp Prison was a closed facility with the strictest possible rigour. It had been built over a thousand years ago and had originally been intended to be a place where the legendary Shadow Warrior was buried alive.
Today, however, it operated as the most restrictive prison in the country, prepared to house the most dangerous person in the country. It was full of labyrinthine corridors, thick stone walls that were impossible to break down, and hundreds, no, thousands of guards. And every guard was well trained and had sharp weapons, and most of all: every guard was a Wartmonger.
Fortunately for Woody, the visitation had ended and a pair of guards was now escorting him to the exit. The boy wanted nothing more than to go home, take a hot bath, and then spend a quiet evening with Laconia, his fiancée.
He was just passing through a hanging corridor, one of the lowest hanging bridge corridors above the cell. There were many reasons why Woody wanted to leave the building. The worst of them was in that cell.
The cell was dark and cold, containing virtually nothing except heavy chains, woven into a clever trap. In this tangle of steel was the only prisoner of the Treacherous Swamp Prison. He had been transferred there more than a decade ago after nearly causing the collapse of the prison building where he had been previously held.
He was kneeling on the hard stones, curled up in a ball. His forehead almost touched the floor. The chains were wrapped tightly around him and prevented any movement. This clever trap had been developed by Grand Master Grandpa Smurf himself centuries ago. If the chains were made of good metal, escape by force was impossible. There was a technique to escape this trap, but the prisoner had not yet discovered it.
To be honest, he hadn't cared about anything for about twenty years. He hadn't seen a Smurf or heard the Smurf language for two decades. No Smurf had dared to enter the place where he was held. Quite clever. For it was the Smurfs, his own species, who had betrayed him. The Smurfs, who had given him hope and dreams, had made plans for him, had awakened love, care and the need to protect his loved ones in him, had turned him into a monster and turned away from him. Every Smurf had turned away from him. They had created an enemy out of the Smurf who only wanted to develop and help the weaker. Now he had no one and nothing except himself and his depression.
For years there had been no moment when he had stopped this pessimistic meditation. Images of the hostile faces of his Masters and friends had been replaying in his mind. Mental pain had been pouring from his mind into every muscle in his body.
They had been right after all. He was a monster, and a damn powerful and dangerous one. And it was all their fault.
"Did anyone teach you how to walk?!" the guard roared, pushing Woody again.
This time the Elf managed to stay on his feet, but he almost fell over the railing. The young redhead swallowed loudly, staring at the prisoner.
"What? You afraid of him?" The Wartmonger snorted with laughter. "That's unnecessary. You better take a close look, Elf, because it's a rare sight. This is what someone who was suppressed by his own people looks like. Everyone there is probably sighing in relief now that this trash is gone. I voted to kill him."
"No, I heard they made him crazy themselves," the second guard interjected. "He even wanted to destroy their stupid pebble of life."
"You mean the Long Life Stone of the Smurfs?" Woody pushed himself off the railing and ran toward the retreating guards. He didn't want them to leave him all alone. "The Smurfs need it. But I heard such a stone may stop working on individual Smurfs."
"Hey! You done?! Then get out!" another voice from somewhere in the distance roared.
The pair of guards and Woody left the hanging corridors.
The Long Life Stone which allowed the Smurfs to live almost forever, could cut someone off from its power? Interesting.
A sudden searing pain in his hands did the impossible. The prisoner awoke from his meditation with a hiss. His emerald eyes opened and looked at his hands curled between his thighs and chest. Not much was visible in the dim light, but the energy concentrated through meditation provided him with a tiny glow.
His hands... Something was definitely wrong. The hands of a one-hundred-twenty-year-old Smurf shouldn't have looked like that. They should have been hard and strong, as smooth as a polished stone. However, these were veined and wrinkled, with epidermis peeling off. They seemed a little soft, fragile even, and turned grayish.
The prisoner watched this phenomenon with increasing fear. What was happening?!
His hands kept changing their appearance in a second. They kept returning to their natural appearance, and in a moment he saw the image of old hands again. It was accompanied by pain and unpleasant throbbing.
In that moment, his subconsciousness sent a signal to a place he had cut himself off from long ago. For a moment he thought he was sitting at a desk in some room and looking at the street outside the window. Only it wasn't him sitting, it was someone else. He only sent a signal and saw the world through that someone's eyes.
His body shuddered, pushing against the tight chains that clanged in response. The signs of old age could only appear in a Smurf who was really old for a Smurf or when the Long Life Stone...
But it had no mind or soul of its own. So it couldn't break its power from the soul of a specific Smurf. So, could the Long Life Stone's power be manipulated? One could guess so, at least that was what he had been taught in the Crystal Palace. If that was what was going on, then...
Someone with access to the Long Life Stone from the Crystal Palace had cut its power from the prisoner's soul! Someone who had raised him themselves and then had sentenced him to have his freedom taken away! Someone who feared his return more than anybody else!
The chains clanged again and the cell was filled with harsh blue light.
That someone would pay him dearly for this!
Some family ties shown in this chapter:
– Grandpa and Nanny (married couple)
– Taste, Muse, Poet and Painter (family, Taste and Muse are married, Poet and Painter are their sons, Poet is older)
– Talent and Architect (father and son)