This oak tree stood here before the shadow of war fell on the fertile lands. And it will stand when the remnants of humanity disappear into oblivion, like the World Tree on the Alatyr Stone, an eternal reflection of the reality resting on its shoulders. And Mecheslav, the youngest sorcerer of the squad of the darkest prince Svyatogor, sometimes felt painfully ashamed in front of the oak tree. Because they, the Magi, pull the last veins from tormented nature, not in order to create - to distribute pitiful crumbs of power. This means taking it from someone who is weaker. We can only hope that maybe one day the joyful greenery of spring will bloom again on the ancient branches, and other people are cleaner than them...