Jul 28, 2026 · 35 min · 9 segments
The sorcerer needs an heir. Not of her own flesh and blood, but sired—as she was—by one of the jungle's spirit-walking tigers and imbued with their primal magic. All of paradise is hers to offer, so…
Hear my words, great Ryashmanai, and I will deliver you paradise beyond your understanding.
I have divined our allegiance.
I have cast aside the material world for seven days and seven nights until God wreathed me in the sight of you, red-coated and striped by the night, asleep in a bed of stars.
Do me one service, and you will never hunger, never tire, never want.
Hear me.
No other creature will come bearing such gifts.
Hear me, please.
Can you hear me? Yes,
girl.
I hear you.
Get you from this place.
Great Ryashmani, I am the sorcerer of Ukrasil.
At the touch of my hand, I have grown trees that bear pearls instead of fruit.
I have spun weightless thread from the inky darkness of the woods.
I pulled our temple out of the ground and into the sky.
I bade the dead speak and the living silent.
I offer you the fortunes of the world.
Find those who will speak with prey.
Read my mind of your voice.
What must I lay at your feet for an audience with you? Great Ryashmanai, I have felled him myself.
See the blood on my fingertips.
Emerge from your den and feast on him.
I needn't be fed.
Look, then.
Her face, round like the moon, and oh, her eyes, amber-yellow, just caught by the sun.
Hear my words, great Ryashmanai, and I will deliver you paradise beyond your understanding.
I have divined our allegiance.
I have cast aside the material world for seven days and seven nights until God wreathed me in the sight of you, red-coated and striped by the night, asleep in a bed of stars.
Do me one service, and you will never hunger, never tire, never want.
Hear me.
No other creature will come bearing such gifts.
Hear me, please.
Can you hear me? Yes,
girl.
I hear you.
Get you from this place.
Great Ryashmani, I am the sorcerer of Ukrasil.
At the touch of my hand, I have grown trees that bear pearls instead of fruit.
I have spun weightless thread from the inky darkness of the woods.
I pulled our temple out of the ground and into the sky.
I bade the dead speak and the living silent.
I offer you the fortunes of the world.
Find those who will speak with prey.
Read my mind of your voice.
What must I lay at your feet for an audience with you? Great Ryashmanai, I have felled him myself.
See the blood on my fingertips.
Emerge from your den and feast on him.
I needn't be fed.
Look, then.
Her face, round like the moon, and oh, her eyes, amber-yellow, just caught by the sun.
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