I opened my eyes and immediately realized I wasn’t at home. Ephraim’s cabin was dark and smelled of damp wood, tobacco, and something I couldn’t identify. The old floorboards creaked occasionally—each sound made me tense.

  “Get up,” Ephraim said, not lifting his eyes from the table, where he was sorting through something. “We’ve got a long day ahead.”

  I sat up, feeling the pain in my shoulder and arm. The clay and burn remnants still made themselves felt. Every step was a test of endurance; any sudden movement could make me howl in pain.

  “First, I’ll show you something,” he said, holding out a strange object.

  It was a small metal box, almost like a jewelry case, with a clever system of locks. It looked old and worn, but it was clear Ephraim had cared for it carefully.

  “I found it before you even got here,” he said. “I don’t know why I keep it, but I like to think it protects something valuable.”

  I took the box in my hands. It felt alive in a way—light, yet heavy at the same time. The metal warmed under my palm. I opened the lid—inside was a small crystal sphere, glowing with green light. Ephraim noticed me staring.

  “Don’t handle it too much,” he said. “It could burn you. But if you figure out how it works… it could be useful.”

  I put the box back on the table. It was clearly important to Ephraim, but I didn’t ask questions. At times like this, it’s better to stay quiet and follow his lead.

  “Let’s go,” he said, pointing to the door. “The swamps are waiting.”

  I sighed, feeling my heart race. Stepping outside was always difficult. Once I was out the door, I immediately saw that Ephraim had set traps.

  They weren’t ordinary traps. I saw them as patterns, lines, and knots, connecting hidden wires and magical threads. One wrong step and you could break a leg, get tangled, or worse.

  “Don’t step on the red,” Ephraim said quietly. “Red kills.”

  I nodded and moved slowly. Every step was calculated. Wet grass slipped beneath my feet, and the moss absorbed sound—my steps were almost silent, but my mind caught even the faintest glint of wire.

  “You can see this,” Ephraim said as I crossed the first row of traps. “It helps, but don’t relax.”

  I didn’t say a word. I moved silently, scanning for knots and loops. It was strange—I felt like I knew these swamps, but every time they revealed something new, hidden under layers of mud and moss.

  Suddenly, I noticed movement in the distance. Something black, fast, gliding over the water and moss. I froze.

  “The Eraser,” Ephraim muttered. “A special unit of the Order. It checks for survivors after an explosion. If it sees us… we don’t stand a chance.”

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  I looked at him. The situation was clear: we needed to cross several dozen meters of trap-filled swamps while avoiding the Eraser’s notice.

  “Let’s go along the edge,” Ephraim said. “Fewer traps there, but closer to the water. One mistake and you’ll fall in.”

  I stepped carefully. The ground gave under my feet, thick mud pulling me down, but I kept moving, watching the trap lines. Every pause felt like a second of life. Sometimes I listened to the faint sounds of hidden mechanisms—clicks, subtle metal ringing, creaks.

  “Here,” Ephraim said, pointing to a bush. “A mine. Older than you, but it will trigger if you step on it.”

  I avoided it, feeling adrenaline surge in my chest. Every step was a small victory, every misstep—death.

  We moved silently, and I noticed that Ephraim kept his hand on the box, never taking his eyes off it, as if afraid someone else would find out about it.

  “It saved me once,” he said softly. “Don’t ask how. Just remember: some things in this world matter only to one person.”

  I nodded. Words weren’t necessary. I understood that the box was his personal goal, his trophy, his small victory in a merciless world.

  Suddenly, the ground shook. The Eraser was approaching. The black figure slid across the swamp, fast, almost invisible, but I saw reflections of the green light on the water’s surface—it was searching for us.

  “Faster,” Ephraim whispered. “Don’t draw attention.”

  We sped up, but the swamps were treacherous. I nearly stepped on a trap, but jerked my foot back just in time. Ephraim grabbed my shoulder and pulled me aside.

  “One more step and we’d both be underground,” he said. “I know these swamps like the back of my hand.”

  I kept moving, trying not to breathe heavily. The Eraser moved like a shadow, every motion precise, without wasted energy. I watched it check every puddle, every crack.

  “We’re almost at the safe side,” Ephraim said, pointing ahead. “A few more steps and it will lose us.”

  We moved steadily until we reached dry ground, away from the traps. The Eraser no longer followed, but its presence lingered.

  “It will come again,” Ephraim said. “And not alone. Remember this day. Only those who see the patterns survive.”

  I nodded, keeping my eyes on his face. Ephraim had shown himself not as a scary old man teaching lessons, but as someone living by his own rules.

  We stopped at a small puddle. Ephraim opened the box. The green glow of the crystal flickered softly.

  “You understand,” he said. “This isn’t just a toy. If you can use it correctly, it will give you a chance to survive in these swamps.”

  I looked at him. Inside, there was no joy, only understanding: this item would be our tool, and if we didn’t learn to use it—both of us would die.

  “Then let’s go home,” I said quietly. “I don’t want to stay here any longer than necessary.”

  Ephraim nodded. We moved back through the swamps, carefully avoiding each trap. I thought of the Eraser, the green glow of the box, and how strange it all looked from the outside—a old man, a boy, and deadly swamps full of magical traps.

  “You know,” Ephraim said as we neared the cabin, “without this box, I wouldn’t be here anymore. It reminds me why I’m still moving forward.”

  I didn’t respond. Sometimes it’s better to stay silent. Better to just go, step by step, remembering that the swamps are watching like living beings.

  We entered the cabin. I left the box on the table, feeling a tiny click inside me, as if a small key had unlocked a part of my nerves. Ephraim sat on his bench, wearily puffing on his pipe.

  “Tomorrow will be hard,” he said. “I’ll show you how it works. And if it goes well—maybe we’ll have a chance to get out of these swamps alive.”

  I looked at the box. The green light flickered gently, as if reminding me: survival is possible, but the price will be high.

  At that moment, I realized that everything waiting ahead—traps, the Eraser, the swamps—was only the beginning. But now we had a tool. And that gave hope.

  I sat by the stove, placing the box beside me. I wasn’t thinking of victory, glory, or heroism. I was thinking of simply living until the next morning. And this time, it seemed, I had a chance.