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Here and there, mostly on the hills, there were small two-story houses. But… a miniature landscape is not at all surprising if no one lives in it. Any even more or less savvy architecture student can create the exact same terrain. But only those who are able to call upon the souls of once dead people are able to bring life into their micro-world.

The guy, the author of the miniature world, was in seventh heaven. And rightly so, he spent a whole six months creating his ingenious project: he skipped lectures at the school of necromancy, owed a lot of coursework and was simply overworked. Well, this man was not interested in summoning the souls of dead partridges: it’s all boring and hackneyed, but having your own little world, your own civilization on a separate table is a completely different matter! Orwell’s pig farm is resting! Why isn’t anyone doing similar experiments?

– Dan, I feel sorry for your parents! – an old master declared from the threshold and entered the guy’s room.

Like all teachers of the school of necromancy, he wore a long crimson robe trimmed with a white border. He looked like a wizard from pictures in children’s books: shoulder-length gray hair, an unkempt beard tucked into the belt of his robe, sad eyes, a wrinkled forehead, a potato nose. If he held a magic wand in his hands, it would be easy to confuse the necromancer with some ordinary sorcerer. But the master put on his head a hat that was completely uncharacteristic of wizards – a rag one, with two white fake horns and a golden school coat of arms on the front side. The exact same symbol with the image of a skull pierced by lightning, cast from pure gold, hung from the master’s neck on a long silver chain, very similar to those worn by new Russian businessmen in the mid-nineties of the last century.

The young necromancer smiled welcomingly and, squinting his left eye, scratched the back of his head, ruffling the silver hair on the crown of his head.

«I feel sorry for them too, Master Julius.» Because…