Cinderella and Alangazar

– This whip… With it, I can come back to life anytime!

The Story of Captain Cat – a Sloth with the Mind of a General

Puss in Boots was fluffy, striped, and always on duty. Well, technically on a pillow – because most of the time, he could be found sleeping on the strategy map in the command tent.

But the moment someone said,

"Training is canceled!"

he would open one eye and purr:

"Hmm… Nonsense. Too obvious a trap."

He knew every trail, trick, and tactic within three fields’ radius. Some say he once won a battle without even leaving his chair – he simply sent a squad to the right spot and placed a donut on the map as bait.

The Cat was a genius of stillness. He believed you should lie down and think thoroughly before rushing into anything. His favorite saying:

"A good idea comes… when you’re almost asleep."

Everyone wondered how he always knew where the enemy would be, when it would rain, or when the donuts would burn. He’d just say:

"I feel it with my whiskers. And I’ve got good hearing. Especially when someone says the word ‘snack.’"

He didn’t like yelling. He could convince a soldier to go on a recon mission as if they were heading to a picnic. Even mighty Alangazar once said:

"If the Cat asks – I go. He rarely asks, but he’s always right."

Cinderella loved his short, spot-on reports. One day she asked:

"Why are you always so calm?"

Without even opening his eyes, he replied:

"I just know everything’s going to plan… as long as the map is under me."

The Story of the Bear Cook – Whose Pots Even Obey

No army can last without food. And Cinderella’s troop was well-fed and happy – because the kitchen was ruled by Masha, a mighty bear in a flowered apron and a hat decorated with spoons instead of feathers.

Masha didn’t just make porridge – she ran culinary discipline. No one dared sneak a bun without permission. Anyone who tried got The Glare – and it was filled with stuffing.

Every morning, she greeted the troops with:

"No breakfast – no marching!

And absolutely no coffee on an empty stomach, kittens!"

Her signature dish? Jelly-filled donuts. So soft and delicious, even Fox agreed to do morning stretches afterward. Though he usually tried to bargain:

"Maybe you could just throw me a donut, and I’ll catch it mid-air? That’s almost exercise!"

She’d squint:

"Maybe you could go marching, and then I’ll reward you with a donut?"

And so they lived.

But one day – disaster struck. All the jam berries were gone! Someone had eaten the entire stock.

She roared like a trumpet:

"No jam?! HOW?! It’ll be… just bread! Just plain bread!"

Right away, Quickpaw rustled into the bushes, Alangazar grabbed a basket, and even the Cat went sniffing berry trails. Two hours later, the whole unit returned with buckets full of raspberries, strawberries, and something blue – thankfully edible.

Masha melted:

"Now that’s what I call an army family. Even if someone ate the berries…

together, we find more and save the bread."

From that day on, she made "Friendship Donuts," and Cinderella often came to the mess hall not for orders – but for seconds… or thirds.

The Story of the Fairy – She Fixes Everything But Evil

This fairy wore no wings. She had a toolbelt with hammers, keys, bandages – and even a miniature teapot. Her wand? A screwdriver with a ribbon. Her magic? Pure care.

When the tower clock jammed, she zoomed up the stairs, spoon in hand, whispering:

"Shh… it’s okay, little one. Mama’s here."

When Alangazar’s boot split open, she picked up a needle the size of a shovel and stitched the sole so well, it drummed like a parade drum when he walked.

One day, even Fox was down. Tail dragging. No purring.

Without a word, Sasha placed a warm mug of minty milk in front of him and quietly fixed his favorite compass – the one that always pointed toward… donuts.

He sighed:

"Thanks, Bulka. You can fix even me."

She loved mending things. Turned traps into bird feeders. Broken umbrellas into flags. Broken hearts – into just a little sad, but healing ones.

She also collected sounds: the tower’s creak, the Cat’s purr, Masha’s kitchen door slam.

"Everything’s alive. Everything speaks – if you listen," she’d say.

Cinderella cherished her like a quiet enchantment.

"I have an army," she once said.

"But Masha makes it a home."

Chapter 2:

ERTOSHTUK – HERO OF THE STEPPES AND MOUNTAINS

Era: 9th century

Height: about 3 meters

Origin: from the lineage of ancient giants, son of Earth and Sky

Homeland: the vast Great Steppe and the foothills of the Tien Shan Mountains

Ertoshtuk is a giant among men – tall and broad-shouldered, with a powerful chest.

Though nearly three meters tall, his movements are light, dancer-like – precise and controlled.

His face is sun-kissed, with high cheekbones, thick brows, and serious, eagle-like eyes. Piercing, but not cruel.

Long dark hair tied into a thick braid, woven with a leather strap.

His beard is thick and warrior-like, yet neatly trimmed.

His armor is crafted from hardened leather, brass scales, and bronze plates.

The breastplate bears carvings of the sun, a falcon, and stylized waves.

Pauldrons shaped like lion heads rest on his shoulders.

A broad belt holds his scabbard and several amulets: a bear’s tooth, a sky-blue stone, and a braid from his sister as a talisman.

His shield is round, wooden, bound with iron, and bears a wolf symbol at its center.

His horse is nearly mythical – black as midnight, with a mane that sweeps the ground.

Nearly man-sized, the steed has an intelligent, soulful gaze.

Ertoshtuk can lift the horse in his arms if he must pull it from swamp or battlefield.

His bow is made from yew and horn, adorned with runic patterns – its draw weight is immense, nearly unmatched.

His arrows have white fletching, each with a name: Memory, Wrath, Song.

His saber is long and slightly curved, etched with the form of a serpent along the blade. The hilt is set with turquoise – a symbol of the sky.

On horseback, he moves as if the horse were part of him – riding like a dancer, firing without missing even at full gallop.

Held a mountain pass alone for three days and nights against giants, until reinforcements arrived.

Descended into an underworld to reclaim his sister’s soul – defeated the Stone Sentinel with hollow eyes.

Freed an entire village on his own by lifting a fallen tower onto his shoulders and holding it while the children escaped.

Once, like in a tale, he spoke to a bird, who guided him to the enemy’s heart.

Calm as a mountain lake – but in fury, a storm.

Wise, a man of few but thoughtful words.

Respects women, elders, and children.

Believes true strength is in the heart, not the fist.

Cinderella. Cinderella’s camp.

Morning began with its usual hustle in Cinderella’s camp.

Soldiers were marching, orders rang out sharply, and someone had already dropped a steaming kettle of buckwheat stew in the mess hall. Cooks were cursing, recruits slipping in porridge, and Alangazar was wiping cabbage off the wall, looking guilty.

When Cinderella stepped into her headquarters, everyone snapped to attention.

She wore impeccable military attire: a dark blue coat with golden buttons, a belt with a crest, and polished boots.

The uniform not only conveyed command – it suited her. Especially the elegant officer's beret with an emerald clasp.

– Stand down. Documents on the table, – she said calmly.

First on her desk was Alangazar’s leave request. As per protocol, the giant was due rest after the latest exercises.

She signed with a flourish – he beamed and rolled off toward the forest for firewood and fresh air.

Then entered her adjutant – a lean and diligent lieutenant named Guzel – with a new folder.

– Recruit paperwork: Lieutenant Ertoshtuk. Special request. His story is… quite unusual.

Cinderella flipped through the file. Amid reports and assessments, there was a letter – handwritten in a strong, elegant script.

It began:

“When I was a boy, a witch came to our aul. She told my father:

‘Give me the boy – and you may live.’

My father knew he couldn’t defeat her. But he didn’t give me to the witch – he gave me to fate.

He hid a dagger by the roadside and sent me after her, knowing the witch would wait in the form of an old woman…”

Cinderella raised an eyebrow and kept reading.

Young Ertoshtuk rode and saw an old woman sitting by the road, looking tired – like a kind granny from a story.

But something felt… wrong.

Then he spotted the gleam of a dagger hidden in the moss – his father's gift.

– Grandmother, could you hand me that dagger? – he asked politely.

– Boy, croaked the woman, if I sit, I won’t rise again… if I rise, I won’t sit again…

He didn’t dismount.

He leaned down, grabbed the dagger himself – and in that instant, the “granny” became a witch:

Her cloak turned into storm clouds, her hands into claws, her eyes flashed green fire.

He spurred his horse – they fled, the witch close behind.

– Earth, open! – he cried in desperation.

And the ground split open under the horse's hooves.

He fell into darkness – into the underworld of giants and flame serpents.

There, through trial and battle, he grew – in strength, in spirit, in skill.

When he emerged, he was no longer a boy – but a man, quiet-eyed and steady.

Now he had returned – and was requesting service in Cinderella’s army.

“And then, if you permit, I will return to my homeland…”

– the letter concluded modestly.

He never mentioned that he had fallen in love with Cinderella from the first tale he heard of her.

He simply ended with a beautiful, deliberate period.

Cinderella paused, a faint smile flickering across her face.

She closed the folder and placed it carefully in her drawer.

– Enlist him, she said. And tell him to come by – I want to speak with him myself.

The adjutant nodded and left.

Cinderella looked out the window: soldiers drilled on the parade ground, Alangazar had already dropped another kettle, and far off on the road, a figure approached – wearing a dark cloak and a silver-bladed sword on his back.

The office was quiet.

Cinderella and Ertochtuk

Through the open window, soft sounds drifted in —

the click of boots,

the thud of training swords,

and the smell of freshly watered grass lingered in the air.

Cinderella stood by the window, thoughtful.

Her uniform, the color of field cornflowers, shimmered slightly in the morning sun.

A command tablet hung from her belt, and beside it lay a stack of papers and a cup of cooling tea.

She watched drills, bustle, life outside —

but inside, she held a sliver of quiet.

Suddenly – a knock.

She turned, calm as ever.

– Enter, she said.

The door opened, and a young man stood there – tall, clear-eyed, with a shy smile.

He held his cap respectfully in both hands.

– Ertoshtuk? – she looked up.

– Yes, Commander Cinderella. Good morning, – he nodded slightly, hesitant.

– Come in.

He stepped closer, and his presence filled the room —

fresh, like mountain air.

There was something honest about him, like in children – or the rare brave souls unafraid to be kind.

– I read your file, – she said, flipping papers, though already watching him directly.

– Quite a story. Underground trials, battles with giants… you showed both wit and courage.

He looked away, blushing slightly.

Then, after a pause, softly:

– It was my father… He left me the dagger. I just didn’t want to let him down.

Cinderella smiled gently.

– Family honor is a strong reason. I like warriors who speak from the heart.

– You’re young, but you’ve seen much. So tell me – why join our ranks? You’re not from here.

He paused. His hands tensed just a little.

– Because… – he looked up,

– Here, I feel useful. And here – I can learn.

I want to return home stronger one day.

But for now – I need to grow.

The silence that followed felt bright.

And within it – respect.

Cinderella nodded, her gaze softening – no longer just a commander.

—

Well then… Welcome to the regiment, Ertoshtuk.

You’ll be of value. And I believe – you’ll find something here too.

He straightened, drew a deep breath,

and in his bow was more than formality —

there was gratitude, trust, and a beginning.

– Thank you, Commander.

He left.

Cinderella stood quietly, watching the closed door.

Outside, orders rang out, boots stomped —

the morning went on.

But in her heart, a warm note lingered.

Perhaps, indeed – a day that starts with paperwork

can end with a new friendship.

Ertoshstuk and the Underground Mission

It hadn’t been long since Ertoshstuk joined Cinderella’s service.

But already, everyone in the regiment knew his name.

More than that – they respected him.

For the way he silently helped carry the heavy burdens.

For his restraint, and his quiet kindness.

For how he listened.

And – somehow – for the light he seemed to carry inside.

Something unexplainable.

He trained with Alangazar.

They became friends – the kind who could share silence,

split a loaf of bread,

and laugh at the same silly joke again and again.

Alangazar taught him to throw spears – with force, from the shoulder.

He showed him how to lift boulders with one hand.

And Ertoshstuk, in return,

taught the giant to walk gently,

to stop trampling the flowers in the command garden…

Though the flowerbeds still suffered. Five times. Maybe six.

One early morning,

Cinderella summoned Ertoshstuk to headquarters.

Sunlight glinted on the golden buttons of her uniform.

A breeze stirred the delicate curtain at the window.

On the table lay an ancient map,

faded,

with torn edges.

Strange markings covered it —

and one stood out above all:

an entrance to the Underworld.

“You know these lands,” she said softly.

“We need to find out what’s happening in the old tunnels.

Are you ready?”

He nodded silently.

Something tightened inside him —

not from fear,

but from memory.

He hadn’t been there since that battle.

Since the day he left the darkness and chose the light.

And now – a return.

He gathered a team:

The White Giant – shy, with kind eyes and a pouch of dried apples.

The Blue Giant – cheerful as a mischievous wind,

able to sing with icy breath and scare the kitchen cooks into hiccups.

And they left.

To the place where night never ends.

Where stones remember the steps of ancient beings.

Underground, everything changed.

Tunnels – brittle as eggshells.

Halls – empty.

And the dead…

They didn’t attack.

They simply stood.

Eyes full of sorrow.

Ertoshstuk didn’t raise his sword.

He stepped closer.

Spoke almost in a whisper:

“You are tired.

You’ve guarded what no longer needs guarding.

It’s time to rest.”

And they faded.

Dissolving into the soft air, like candle smoke.

But there were trials.

Traps, pits,

spiders with eyes like saucers.

And wonders.

Mirrors that showed not reflection – but dreams.

Coins that rang only at a kind touch.

Stones that sang, if you weren’t afraid.

When they returned,

with the first morning birds,

Ertoshstuk was no longer the same.

He carried no gold.

But his gaze – sure.

And inside him – stillness.

Wisdom, not from books.

He was appointed commander of the expeditionary corps.

Cinderella said:

“You know the tunnels better than anyone.

But more importantly – you know yourself.”

On the third day of his new duty,

she summoned him again.

This time the morning was brighter,

and new marks dotted the map.

“Ertoshstuk,” she said, not turning, looking out the window,

“In the depths beyond the Black Crag, something has awakened again.

The dead – but they’re no longer guards.

Scrolls are hidden there. Words of ancient power.

Not for treasure. For protection.”

She turned. Calm worry in her eyes.

“Are you ready to descend again?”

He didn’t answer right away.

But inside, the reply was already burning —

clear. Warm. Simple.

“Yes.”

Into the Deep, Where Even Shadows Fear the Light

Ertoshstuk’s eyes flared.

Not with fear.

With recognition.

He knew these lands.

The smell of cold stone.

The silence that breathes.

The cracks in the walls

where memory hides.

He was born in a realm where birds do not sing.

He grew up among the dead.

And he knew how to move

so that even shadows wouldn’t notice.

“I’m ready,” he nodded.

“I’ll need companions.

The kind who won’t betray – in darkness or fire.”

He stepped forward and said:

“The White Giant.

He lifts a boulder like a child lifts a toy.

But his soul is quiet – full of herbs and stillness.

He does not love noise. He heals.

The Blue Giant.

He steps like snow in March – soft, silent.

But when he speaks… his voice wakes stone. And conscience.

He sings when fear comes – and the fear flees.”

Cinderella listened silently.

Her fingers brushed the map,

but her gaze was fixed on Ertoshstuk.

“Approved,” she said, and in her smile,

something human trembled.

“Just… promise me. Come back.”

He nodded, just barely.

Not loudly. So as not to betray

the real reason he wanted to return.

Something deeper than command.

Deeper than duty.

He wanted to return —

for her.

They packed quickly.

Silently, smoothly.

Herbs, ropes, dried berries, knives, amulets.

The Blue Giant fastened his icy horn to his belt,

and the White one tucked a handkerchief into his pack —

embroidered by his little sister.

At the last moment, someone else joined them —

a girl from the artillery company.

Ria. Thin as a birch sapling,

but sharp with her sling —

as if the stones knew where to fly.

“If the dead are memories,” she said,

“then I know how to fight memories.”

And no one disagreed.

The dungeon did not greet them with a growl —

but with breath.

Slow.

Deep.

It was cold there.

And echoing.

Drops fell from the ceiling —

each one counting down to something important.

The walls were covered in moss, glowing green.

It pulsed, like living skin.

The air was thick —

as though the world itself moved slower here.

Ertoshstuk ran his hand along the stone.

“Here,” he whispered, “I once ate bread from ashes.

Here I defeated a giant for the first time.

But now…

it’s different.”

He wasn’t looking at the walls.

He was looking inward.

Torchlight trembled.

Behind him, the Blue Giant sang softly —

a song in an old language.

The White Giant walked silently.

And Ria – her sling at the ready.

Ahead lay darkness.

But not emptiness.

Within it – their past.

And their future.

At the third bend, the tunnel narrowed.

The stone beneath their feet was slick as ice.

The air thickened.

Torchlight flickered, as if afraid to go on.

And then – silence tore open with a rustle.

From the darkness, the dead emerged.

Their eyes shone – not with life, but emptiness.

No pain. No fear. Only silent purpose —

as if some wicked will drove them forward.

Ertoshstuk stepped ahead.

In his hand – a sword, old and scarred by battles —

the same one that had once saved his life.

Now it felt heavy,

but within that weight – the strength of everyone he had ever protected.

He cried out – not in rage, but in loyalty.

A cry like a heartbeat:

“For the living! For the light!”

And charged into battle.

The White Giant didn’t hesitate —

with a thunderous roar, he ripped stones from the wall

and hurled them at the advancing dead.

Each strike – an earthquake.

And the Blue Giant…

He sang.

Not words – power.

Not song – spell.

His voice stirred the stones,

as if the earth itself remembered how to beat.

The battle was long.

Blood – dark as night.

Blows – deep as fate’s tolling bell.

Ertoshstuk fought not with blade – but with heart.

He let not one undead touch his friends.

He was the shield. He was the flame.

And when the last guardian fell,

dissolving into dust,

a treasure hall opened before them.

But the silence there – was different.

Earned.

Peaceful. Like a temple.

Chests of gold.

Blades gleaming like dawn.

Ancient books – spells forgotten by time.

But most of all…

Among the ashes and light lay a scroll.

On it – words that made Ertoshstuk’s heart tremble:

“He who is unafraid

can protect the whole world.”

He looked at it for a long time.

Then picked up the scroll and said, quietly but firmly:

“We are not thieves. We are warriors.

We do not steal.

We guard.”

He took only what he could carry on his back.

And left the rest untouched.

Thus ended their journey.

And thus began their return.