Zavet had been in a terrible sect almost since birth. He was often bullied, he could hardly talk to anyone because he was almost at the very bottom of the hierarchy. The sect had many strange rules, customs and cultures that were different from ordinary people. Zavet understood this, but when someone did not follow them, he simply told them how to do it in a commanding tone. Zavet was sitting on the windowsill of a cold, large, abandoned castle. He knew that as soon as he was noticed, they would immediately drive him away, but he continued to look at the beautiful sky. Zavet, pressing his knees to himself, looked boredly into the distance. Black hair fell over his eyes, the old, worn jacket almost did not warm.