Dima and Stasyan ran flat out, fleeing the village. Both feared that after the outburst the villagers would come to their senses and chase them. Stasyan was especially worried they’d be branded as evil sorcerers—and people like that, as he knew well, didn’t get second chances.

  They burst into the forest, crashing through trees and brush. Dima was barely staying on his feet—he hadn’t run like this since childhood.

  “Sto—stop…” he rasped, stumbling and collapsing onto the ground, rolling onto his back.

  “I’m stopped, I’m stopped…” Stasyan answered, dropping down as well. “Barely alive myself.”

  They lay there, breathing hard, listening to blood pound in their ears.

  “Well,” Stasyan finally said. “That village is off-limits now. If we go back, we’ll definitely be chewing roots. And that’s if we’re lucky.”

  “Oh, come on…” Dima struggled up onto his elbows. “So where are we even going? Is there anything ahead you remember?”

  “I don’t know,” Stasyan admitted honestly. “I’ve never gone farther than this.”

  Dima snorted, staring up at the sky through the canopy, exhausted.

  “Well, I hope we don’t die. Maybe we’ll make it to Moscow, hah.”

  “Never heard of it,” Stasyan replied calmly.

  Dima got up and sat against a tree, still trying to catch his breath. His lungs burned, his heart hammered in his throat.

  “Do crystals react like that to people from the past?” he asked between breaths.

  “You’re the first person like you I’ve ever seen,” Stasyan answered grimly. “Do you really think I know?”

  Dima smirked, but there was no humor in it.

  “Alright, let’s keep moving,” Stasyan said. “Just in case they wake up and decide to chase us.”

  They moved slowly in the direction the light had pointed. After the run, every step was a struggle. The bags of supplies dragged at their shoulders, straps cutting into their skin.

  Dima wasn’t used to this—his back ached, his muscles trembled—but he said nothing and kept going.

  The forest stretched on, monotonous. Any bushes with berries were stripped as they passed, eaten immediately to conserve supplies. Underfoot, piles of stones appeared more and more often, with small crystals and chipped shards jutting out—as if someone had once tried to mine them.

  Suddenly, branches cracked.

  Both of them stopped short and turned.

  A large man in a cloak slammed into Stasyan from behind. It all happened in a second. This time, Dima didn’t freeze—he went straight for the pistol. The weapon now hung at his belt.

  “Freeze! Or I shoot!” he shouted, aiming the barrel.

  “Stop! Don’t shoot!” the attacker said quickly. “I was trying to pin you so you wouldn’t attack me first.”

  He released Stasyan and took a step back.

  It was the same man who had met them at the village entrance.

  “Your name’s Dozhor, right?” Dima asked, keeping his aim steady. “What do you want?”

  Stasyan got to his feet, carefully moved closer to Dima, and took a fighting stance.

  “What happened in the village stirred everyone up,” Dozhor said. “They’re dancing circles around the crystal now.”

  He looked at Dima.

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  “I want to understand what that was… and who you are. I can’t stay there anymore. I don’t understand what any of this means.”

  Silence hung between them for a few seconds.

  Then Dima slowly lowered the pistol back to his belt.

  “We don’t understand it either,” he said. “But I can tell you everything I know—if you don’t attack us.”

  Dozhor nodded.

  “We’ve been on our feet all day,” Stasyan cut in. “The sun’s already going down. Let’s set up camp here—rest, get some sleep.”

  He looked at Dozhor hard.

  “But I’m keeping an eye on you.”

  They lit a fire. By the time they’d gathered enough wood for the night, the sun had fully set, and the forest darkened around them, filling with snapping branches and rustling sounds. When the fire caught, all three sat around it and started eating.

  Dozhor had nothing with him, so they fed him as well. He ate in silence, carefully, as if afraid they might change their minds.

  Warming his hands by the fire, Dima began to talk—at first in fragments, then with more confidence.

  “So you don’t know anything either,” Dozhor said after listening. “I’ve read a lot of books back home… never seen anything like this in them.”

  “Honestly,” Dima smirked, “I’m surprised you can read at all in conditions like these.”

  “If all this seems wild to you,” Stasyan snorted, “then what kind of times did you live in, with those… stone forests?”

  “Normal ones, for me,” Dima shrugged. “People just lived in big villages. We called them cities. And there weren’t thirty people living there, or even a thousand—there were far more.”

  “Oh…” Dozhor drawled. “And there was enough food for everyone?”

  “Usually, yeah. Huge fields, farms, pastures. Even things that sped up plant growth. Stuff like that.”

  He talked about houses built upward instead of outward—to fit more people. About how people traveled using what Stasyan now wore. About rules people tried to live by so they wouldn’t kill each other immediately.

  About how the world had never been united.

  He fell silent, staring into the fire.

  The flames reflected in his eyes, and for a moment it seemed he wasn’t looking at the campfire at all, but somewhere much farther away—to a place that no longer existed.

  “Sounds like you all mastered magic together,” Dozhor said. “I’d like to see that.”

  “And I’d kill for a bath right now,” Dima sighed. “Just soak in warm water, watch some videos on my phone… and crash into a soft bed.”

  He smiled, but there was longing in his voice.

  Before long, they all lay down. The exhaustion of the day hit at once—thoughts tangled, eyes grew heavy, and the forest slowly sank into the silence of night.

  Dima woke up to a soft rustling sound. The campfire had almost burned out. Dozhor sat nearby, poking at the embers with a stick. Stasyan was still asleep, breathing heavily and evenly.

  “You’re up early,” Dima said, pushing himself up. “Can’t sleep?”

  Dozhor didn’t answer right away.

  “I’m thinking about what to do next,” he finally said. “Going back to the village is scary. I don’t know what they might decide now…”

  He paused, then added more quietly:

  “That leaves only one option—to go with you. And that’s scary too.”

  “You could just go your own way,” Stasyan muttered, waking up and propping himself up on an elbow.

  “Yeah, real funny,” Dozhor snorted without even turning his head.

  They all sat down for breakfast. They ate in silence.

  Dozhor chewed slowly, thoughtfully, as if each bite were a separate argument for or against. His thoughts went in circles, but no path other than staying with them ever really took shape.

  “Alright,” Stasyan finally said, wiping his hands on his pants. “Time to move on. Maybe there’ll be a town along the way. Not your megacities, of course,” he smirked, “but maybe a hundred people or so.”

  He looked at Dozhor.

  “Decide fast. We’re leaving. Either you head back, or you come with us—and in the town you can decide what to do next.”

  “And you’ve decided to keep wandering with me?” Dima asked, glancing at Stasyan.

  “Yeah,” Stasyan replied calmly. “I’m curious where all this leads. And who knows—maybe I’ll get something out of it.”

  Dozhor sighed.

  “Alright,” he said. “I’m coming with you. For now.”

  They packed up and moved on. Before long, the forest opened up, and they stepped into a small clearing. It was carpeted with berries—red, juicy, looking at first glance like a mix of strawberries and wild berries.

  Without hesitation, Stasyan picked a few and tossed them into his mouth.

  Edible, then, Dima decided, following his example.

  The berries really did taste like strawberries—just a bit more sour and firmer.

  A stream ran through the clearing. The water was clear and cold, murmuring softly and steadily. Dima stopped, crouched down, and dipped his hand in.

  “I’m going to wash,” he said.

  It was the first stream he’d seen since arriving here. The thought that he’d been walking around filthy all this time scratched unpleasantly at his mind. He quickly undressed and jumped into the water.

  The cold bit instantly—his breath caught, his body tensed—but after a few seconds it became easier. The water was invigorating, as if it were washing away not only dirt, but some of the fatigue he’d built up as well.

  Stasyan and Dozhor watched him with surprise.

  “You should wash too,” Dima smirked, splashing water in their direction. “You’ll stink less.”

  “Yeah, right,” Stasyan grumbled. “Catch a cold and treat yourself.”

  After rinsing off, Dima climbed out onto the bank and sat down to dry right on the grass. Meanwhile, the others gathered berries—there were so many that stocking up took little effort.

  After a while, they set off again.

  The clearing quickly fell behind them. The forest closed in once more—dense and dark. Branches hung low, intertwining, almost completely blocking out the sunlight. The air grew cooler, quieter, and each step landed with a dull thud beneath their feet.

  The path stretched ahead—toward the same direction the light of the crystals had once pointed.