In the beginning, there was light.

  He moaned faintly and opened his eyes. Shielded them with his hand. Sensation returned, he felt the blood running down his arms, the hard, sun-baked earth beneath his back, the warmth of it against his bare skin. He was completely naked, like a newborn. And in truth, that’s what he was.

  The only thing he held was a tiny gray sphere, clutched tightly in his palms. The sphere warmed him, the sun burned from without, and the compressed energy burned from within. There was nothing else, only earth and light.

  He lay there for a long time. Rising didn’t seem necessary; he knew he could lie there forever. Then, slowly, he moved his hand from his face and dared to look upon what shone above.

  The sun was enormous, filling half the sky, and it was not yellow but white. Though at once he wondered: was it ever otherwise? Was there anything beyond this world, where he lay naked on hot ground?

  The sunlight didn’t scorch with ultraviolet, didn’t blind, but sustained. It made him feel warm, feel… right. He could look straight into it, almost without squinting, and see the sky’s swirling masses of cloud, brown, gray, violet, crimson, with shining halos, all encircling the great disc of the star.

  There was also wind. Gentle, strange, bringing unfamiliar scents, brushing his face. A wind he could almost taste. Everything was changed. Nothing was absolute anymore. Nothing could be an axiom.

  This is the Zone.

  He slowly stood. Swayed. The world felt tilted. He stood in the middle of an endless steppe, the horizon stretching limitlessly in every direction. The grass whispered faintly—bright, deep green. Everything around him was vivid, almost painfully clear, yet unnatural: the dark-green and rust-colored clouds, for example. But that didn’t seem strange. Everything he saw, he accepted. If it existed, it was meant to be. Impossible? Forget it. There are no axioms anymore.

  This is the Zone.

  He examined himself. No scars. No bruises, no scratches, his arms whole and unblemished… then why were they red to the elbows? Ah, yes. The gray, serpentine scar coiling around his forearm. The skin there was dry and yellow, like desert sand, the scar twisting like a snake, a viper biting its own tail. That’s where teeth had sunk into him not so long ago.

  Where to go? The sun hung dead, marking the center of the firmament. He stood in a circle of bare gray soil, surrounded by low grass. He felt no fatigue, no hunger, no thirst. His body worked perfectly. He was ready to move. To stride anywhere, even to the edge of the earth. Distance, difficulty, obstacles—none of it mattered. Only the goal mattered. Give me a mission! his mind demanded. His hands itched to grip a rifle; his legs were already running toward something unknown—

  “Do you see me?”

  A fragrance drifted in—herbs that shouldn’t exist here… wormwood, verbena. He turned. Out of the light, a hazy figure took form, and he heard a voice. Or rather, it resounded within him, coming from everywhere at once.

  “I see you,” he croaked, startled by the sound of his own voice. Everything was new. Everything was changed.

  “I will offer you a choice,” said the voice—a woman’s. “Between this world and its echo, which can be entered from another world. Between joy and sorrow. Between peace and wandering. Between comfort and trial. Between death… and life.”

  “Who am I? Where am I?”

  “First, you must choose.”

  “But I don’t know the alternative! I know nothing but this desert!”

  “Here you will gain eternity… and solitude. Here you will find happiness of your own kind, harmony within yourself. Here, every desire of yours will be fulfilled. Here, you belong.

  “But there… there you will not remain long. Life will flash by like a single moment—and then death will come again. Yet that will be life. No one can tell you what awaits there, for only by living it will you discover it. You will have to seek. And fight. Spill blood—your own, and others’. Make choices on which the fate of millions will depend. And suffer.”

  He hesitated before replying.

  “If it’s so terrible there, why offer the choice at all? I feel nothing here that displeases me.”

  “I’ll tell you why,” the voice said softly. “There are those who choose life—in spite of everything. Knowing how hard it will be. Death is sweet. Death brings peace. But… perhaps you will wish to take the risk. For those who love life are rewarded. Though everything there has a price. And the joy you may know there, if you do all things rightly, will surpass anything here. Believe me.”

  “What is the price?”

  “You will not return as an ordinary man. If you wish, I can help you go back. But you will pay for it. You have been wounded too deeply. You’re becoming one with the Zone, but not yet. You need a device to facilitate the connection between your two identities. The one of your world, and the one of my world.”

  “Why do I need this connection?”

  “Because it’s the only thing that will help you survive on your path.”

  “Which path?”

  “Your path to the heart of the Zone.”

  He nodded. Now, he was given a goal. And it made his soul fill with joy.

  “And if I fail?”

  “There is only one chance. Don’t waste it.”

  “If,” he said slowly, “there truly is an alternative… then it must exist for a reason. It means there is something that makes life better than death.”

  “There is — without doubt.”

  “You said I wouldn’t be there long. So… I can return here again?”

  “Always. We will meet again. Sometimes, when the boundary fades, you will glimpse this place, and me. And again, I will offer you the choice.”

  “Then,” he said thoughtfully, “perhaps it’s worth the risk.”

  “Decide. Know this: billions have come here forever, without ever being asked what they wanted. You are different. You have been given a chance to be born anew. To rewrite your life. To correct mistakes and to fulfill your true purpose. That will be your task.”

  “Very well.” He took a deep breath. “How much time do I have?”

  “You have none. Decide now.”

  “Why?” He clutched his head. “Why so quickly?”

  “You wouldn’t understand. But you must choose now.”

  “…All right. I choose life.”

  And he fell silent, astonished at the ease with which he said it.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “So be it,” the voice replied.

  “Who are you?” he shouted, already feeling the world tremble, the fabric of space and time twist and fold. The sun swelled. The earth dropped away. Everything inverted, and only light was consuming him…

  “I am the Zone…”

  Everything spun. And then, there was nothing. Only light, and he, suspended in some luminous sphere, a disembodied spirit…

  Then came the scents again—mint, verbena, wormwood. The tang of pine and ozone after a storm. Then—sensation. He was lying not on earth now, but on something hard and wooden. He was drenched in sweat; mist veiled the air around him. Bone amulets swayed above, and strange shadows moved across the ceiling: a bird, a man with a gun, a creeping fox, a swimming perch, a flying eagle…

  The witch muttered incantations, rubbed his body with ointments, threw herbs into the fire. He groaned, delirious. The red candles swayed and burned. The room was dark; no other light existed.

  “Where… am I?” he managed to whisper.

  “You’re safe… for now. Drink this.” Basilisse leaned over him, holding a birch-wood cup to his lips. He grimaced, swallowed the scalding elixir, and felt warmth spread through his veins.

  “Do you remember anything?” she asked, leaning closer. He met her dark eyes.

  “Nothing. Who am I? How did I get here?”

  “Sleep. Rest now. And when you wake, I’ll tell you.”

  “Everything?”

  “Not everything. But much. Remember this: you chose life. It’s harder. And now, you are responsible for that choice.”

  “So it was you… in the desert…”

  “No. You were only dreaming.”

  He fell asleep.

  Basilisse whispered an incantation, spreading her hands over him. The candles flared brighter, the air in the room grew hotter and heavier. Had an unaccustomed person walked in, they would have fainted from the heady scent of rare herbs boiling in the cauldron. Basilisse threw in the last bundles, carefully weighing the necessary drachms on tiny silver scales. Then she crushed some small dark berries between her palms, waved her hand, and the steam began to coil and gather into vague shapes in the air. Finally, she sighed deeply, wiped the sweat from her brow, and moved on to the final phase of the spell, taking from Adrian’s cold, almost paralyzed hand a gray sphere. It glowed faintly from within. She examined it, smiled faintly, and tossed it into the cauldron. From the bottom, a white star seemed to flash.

  Basilisse took out a small dagger, raised her other hand, and made a single shallow cut on his vein. Blood spurted into a carefully placed vial; she immediately corked it and pressed a bundle of leaves to the wound. Then she poured the crimson liquid into another cauldron, dropped in one herb—no reaction. She added berries, roots, powdered leaves, and then, one by one, several artifacts. Satisfied, she whispered:

  “There is one remedy that will help you…”

  She took a silver ritual dagger and made several more cuts on the forearm. This time, no blood flowed—the herbs were doing their work. She drew a deep breath and began to cut, separating the arm from the body, carefully freeing tendons, muscles, blood vessels, nerves, and bone.

  Then she took the device that was the key to the operation. She set it in place, inserted into a small niche the glowing gray sphere she had drawn from the cauldron, and began stitching the tendons and ligaments back together, performing the delicate work of connecting the living tissue. What surgeons in their gleaming white operating rooms, with sterile instruments and cutting-edge technology, often failed to accomplish was now taking place in a tiny hut on the edge of the Zone, on a wooden table beneath a log-beamed ceiling, amid clouds of steam and the intoxicating scent of herbs.

  Long minutes passed—work, whispers, the flick of a scalpel, the pull of a needle. Then Basilisse brushed the sweat from her brow, finally opened a small compartment on the device, and fused the wires, closing the circuit. Tiny lights blinked; electromagnetic impulses coursed along the fine filaments, making nerve endings twitch, sending signals to the brain—proof that this was not just metal and nanotech, but a living human arm.

  Basilisse sank heavily onto a stool, allowing herself a brief rest. She clapped her hands over the sleeping Inanna, waved her hand, and directed clouds of steam toward the girl. Inny slowly opened her eyes. Her skin was gray; Basilisse saw the inevitable mutations working within her body under the energy of the Quake.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Strange…” Inny rasped, moving her fingers, flexing and unflexing her fists. “What’s happening to me? Where am I? I can feel something moving inside me…”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Inanna… I got caught in the Quake…”

  “You remember everything,” noted Basilisse. “That’s good. Sleep now.”

  “What about Adrian?” Inny forced the words out. “I ran when he was about to go out and help them fight Aquilles… Where are they all? What happened? Did they win? And who are you?”

  “Quiet, not all at once,” the woman said tiredly. “They’re alive—only Abdellah and Albert. Aquilles is alive too, but he won’t be chasing you for a while.”

  “And Adrian?”

  “Adrian is dead.”

  “No!” Inny screamed so loudly the windows rattled. Basilisse was glad she’d tied her down beforehand. Inny screamed, moaned, thrashed, choking on her grief—if freed, she would’ve killed anyone in her path. But finally, she quieted, breathing hard, holding back tears.

  “That can’t have happened.”

  “It did. Adrian is dead. Forget his name. Someone else will take his place. Now sleep.”

  Basilisse saw that Inny didn’t understand. But under the spell’s power, she closed her eyes and, a moment later, was breathing evenly again. Basilisse forced her mouth open, poured in a potion, whispered incantations for a long time. When she finished, she slowly wiped her hands on her apron and stepped into the dining room. At the sight of her, Salzman, who had been whispering furiously to Abdellah, fell silent.

  “Don’t worry about her,” she said. “She will live, and what the Zone has destined her to do—she will fulfill. And the Zone has destined her for much.”

  “I don’t doubt it, otherwise she would not survive the Quake,” Salzman said darkly. “What about Adrian? We heard you say he’s dead… Is that true?”

  “Yes. Quiet!” she snapped, cutting him off before he could leap up. “Adrian Thorne is dead. The man lying on my table is someone else—someone who, in essence, was just born ten minutes ago. I will give him a name, and that name will become known to every therizer in the Zone, for it will signify the very essence of who he is. Now listen carefully. Only you will know this.

  “First, never call him Adrian or speak of what happened before. His life begins here. Second, the Quake changed him irreversibly. He’s a mutant—far stronger than those who’ve spent years near the Zone. Adrian Thorne was never an ordinary man, but now he is completely immune to radiation and sickness. He will sense anomalies and the approach of mutants. He will be far stronger than any therizer and able to survive where all others would die. His skills from the orphanage remain, he’s forgotten only his name and his past. You’ll have to reintroduce yourselves.

  “Third, his reincarnation and new abilities had their price to pay. The poison of the Zone will spread inside him, slowly infecting his whole body, and the only way to slow that process is to insert Diavant artifacts into the Transcender I put on his forearm. Think of them as an accumulator, providing a charge for his existence. I’ll give him one more for the beginning, later he will have to search for new ones. If he fails to insert a new artifact when the previous one discharges… He risks becoming just a shadow, a ghost of the Zone.

  “Last—and this is the most important part, though for now you must keep it secret. If something separates you—death, or Aquilles, or Worms—tell him this: he’s bound tightly to the processes within the Zone. The Zone gave him a second chance, which means he has a purpose. These powers were not given to him in vain. The Zone chooses those who might accomplish something for it.”

  Salzman sat silent, unable to decide what to ask first. Basilisse turned away, stepped into the room where steam still lingered, and after a few minutes returned with Inanna. The girl was deathly pale and trembling with every step, but her eyes were lucid—no trace of the vacant stare of the mind-burned zombie that the Quake would make from an ordinary person. Basilisse helped her sit beside the men, and Salzman immediately embraced her, feeling her tremble in his arms.

  “Uncle… I’m cold…”

  “Hush,” he whispered. “It’ll be all right. We’ll be leaving soon.”

  “The Zone won’t let you go that easily,” Basilisse said sharply. “But try. If you try hard, maybe you’ll make it out.”

  Salzman said nothing. A cat meowed, arching its back on the stove. Basilisse wiped her brow and entered the room again, leaving the door open this time. The steam had cleared. She approached the table where the young man lay. A tiny green light pulsed on the device attached to his arm, a sign of stable condition. The strip showing the level of the Diavant charge glowed green. Basilisse clapped her hands. The man stirred, groaning, and slowly sat up.

  “Damn it,” he muttered, glancing at his arm, staring in shock at the device. “What happened to me? Are you going to tell me where I am and who the hell I am?”

  “I will,” Basilisse nodded. “You’re on the edge of the Zone, between the second and first Perimeter, descending from the hills into the Weinburg Valley, not far from the road to the village of the Frontier. As for your second question—you’re a therizer.”

  “Very informative. And what’s this thing on my arm?”

  “A special device. It’s called Transcender. It monitors every process in your body—radiation, diseases, organ conditions. And it shows available skills. It’ll help you later.”

  “Fine. I’m in the Zone. So what am I supposed to do now?”

  “First, go outside and meet some people. They’ll be your companions for now. One of them is a girl called Inanna. You must protect her at all costs. Her survival is your mission now. Many people are hunting both of you, and you’ve already made enemies here before you were even reborn. So you’ll have to run, escape from the danger. After that, you’ll figure it out.”

  “Great,” he said through his teeth. “I’m a therizer. Do I have a name?”

  “You do. From now on, you’ll be called as few chosen by the Zone have been called before—those to whom it granted the ability to enter its deepest corners for purposes known only to it. There were very few such people. But you are one of them. Your name is Radiant.”