Tsaritsa and her troops marched through the broken streets, debris crunching underfoot, making their search difficult. They cleared debris, peered into basements, and compared ancient symbols to maps. Lantern light illuminated the wreckage of machinery and the shimmering crystals of artifacts, occasionally interrupted by the soft coughing of survivors. Tsaritsa halted her troops, issuing cold orders: to help the wounded, to carefully remove relics without disturbing the sleeping poison and the sins of the fallen nation.

As they explored, they managed to reach the ruins of the castle, where they found Pierrot in the shadow of a collapsed pillar. His robe was dusty and torn, and his pale face seemed even paler in the dim light. He was unconscious, his breathing shallow, and his hands were slightly trembling. There was a black spot on his cheek with a small blue line resembling a vein. The doctors carefully pulled him into the light, placed a rolled-up jacket under his head, and checked his pulse, which was weak but present. Pierrot, like all the survivors, was brought to Snowy first, and then we returned with the artifacts and the rest of the squad.

Pierrot slightly opened his remaining eye. Everything was so blurry. He managed to make out the sources of all the voices. Five men in uniform, apparently officers and doctors. Near them stood a person emitting a pleasant voice - a girl in a snow-white dress, with a fluffy fur coat on her shoulders. It looked truly majestic. Her hair was snow-white, with a pale blue tint at the ends, and her eyes were icy. Pierrot made a displeased face and looked in their direction. She is an Archon. He was consumed by hatred and rage. While she was whispering with the officers, he tried to get up with all his remaining strength, growling like a wolf. He wanted to tear apart every one of them. For everything. For destroying everything he had.

"I'll destroy... Everyone... You'll pay," Pierrot's voice was hoarse and barely audible, and everyone turned to look at him.