Egor had been trying to get the doctor to see them for nearly an hour. He had driven his grandmother across the entire city and arrived only five minutes late — how could they simply cancel her appointment?
"Listen, young man, we're booked months in advance. We can't just squeeze in Pauoka—"
"I don't have a patronymic," the old woman said with a gentle smile. "Just Pauoka Gradova."
"Well," the nurse continued impatiently, "you missed your scheduled time. The only thing I can offer is to reschedule."
"But we can't wait that long!" Egor burst out. "She needs this consultation now! I want to speak to whoever's in charge of this hospital!"
He was close to losing his temper, glancing anxiously at the calm elderly woman beside him. He couldn't just give up. The mere thought of this fragile woman disappearing from his life made something twist painfully in his chest.
"I understand you're upset, but—" The nurse was clearly eager to end the exchange. There was far more interesting gossip waiting for her — and, more importantly, she wanted a glimpse of the mysterious new patient everyone was whispering about. Handsome young men didn't end up in hospitals every day. That intrigued her far more than an irritated boy and his elderly — yet perfectly healthy — grandmother.
The argument dragged on while Pauoka sat quietly on a bench near the office, watching people pass. She couldn't understand why her grandson was making such a fuss. Her blood pressure had spiked only a couple of times. She had rested, taken her medicine, and felt fine. For her age, she was still lively and had no serious health concerns.
Then, suddenly, her face drained of color.
She forgot how to breathe.
A tall young man with long black hair tied in a low ponytail walked past. There was nothing extraordinary about him at first glance — aside from his striking looks and unusual clothes. But it wasn't his face that caught Pauoka's attention.
It was what marked it.
Black tattoos.
How long had it been since she'd last seen them? Fifty years? Perhaps more. Since fleeing her homeland with an infant in her arms and grief burning in her chest for her murdered lover, she had never again encountered a descendant of the Deffender dynasty.
And how could she have?
She hadn't just left her city.
She hadn't just left her country.
She had left that world entirely.
No one from there could possibly appear here.
Unless—
"Egor," she called.
"Grandma, just a minute, I'll be right—"
"Leave it. We'll reschedule."
"But—"
"Right now, I need you to stop that young man. The one with long hair and tattoos on his temples."
"I don't understand…" Egor stared at her. All his thoughts had been focused on her health. Why had she gone pale? Had that man done something?
"I'll explain later. Go. He's probably already leaving the hospital. Stop him before I reach the doors. Any way you can. I must speak with him."
Egor didn't understand, but he didn't argue. Leaving the nurse — who exhaled in visible relief — he rushed toward the exit.
Outside the glass doors, he looked around.
No one.
The man must have already left.
Still, determined to tell his grandmother he had at least tried, Egor walked along the side of the building. One direction, then the other.
And then he saw him.
The tall young man stood by a hot dog stand, arguing with the vendor.
Egor froze for a moment, struck by the proud, almost regal silhouette. Then he forced himself to move closer.
"I've already told you — I want food! My father will send payment later. You will be rewarded generously for your assistance!"
"Kid, that's not how it works. You want food, you pay. No cash, no hot dog."
If I had my sword, this insolent merchant would already be missing a hand. How dare he? Does he not see who stands before him?
"I'll pay," Egor cut in, stepping up beside them. "Two hot dogs, please."
It seemed like the easiest way to delay the stranger.
He's… strange. That look gives me chills.
"Thank you," the dark-haired young man said. "Tell me your name. My family will repay your kindness."
"It's just a hot dog," Egor replied with a nervous smile. "No need to repay me. You probably forgot your wallet — it happens. I'm Egor. Egor Gradov."
He had to tilt his head back to meet the stranger's gaze. The man was a full head taller.
And his eyes—
Black. Deep. Commanding.
He looked at people the way a king might regard his subjects.
The intensity of that gaze stole Egor's breath.
"May I ask your name?" he managed, his voice betraying a slight tremor. Fear? What was this feeling?
The stranger frowned faintly and touched the tattoo on his temple, as though confirming it was still there. Suspicion flickered across his features.
"You don't know my name? Ah… yes. Perhaps it isn't known in your country." His expression shifted into cool composure. "I am Klaus of the Deffender family."
"You're a foreigner, but you speak our language perfectly," Egor said, trying to keep the conversation going.
"With my abilities, learning a language poses no difficulty. I acquired it from a professor. Could you tell me how to reach this address?"
He handed Egor a scrap of paper.
Egor blinked.
Professor Skotsky lived in the same building as he did.
What were the odds?
"I know where this is. It's in my building. My grandmother and I are heading there now. You can come with us."
Klaus suppressed the urge to kick the stand, to draw steel and punish the insolent vendor. Instead, he maintained his composure, as though he did not rely on this fair-haired boy's help.
The thought irritated him.
"This is the second time you've assisted me," he said, taking a bite of the hot dog. He paused. "It's… surprisingly good. I've never tasted anything like it."
"I'm glad you like it," Egor said. "Shall we?"
They returned to the hospital, where Pauoka waited on the bench. She studied the young man beside her grandson without looking away, unable to decide whether she felt relief — or dread.
"Hello, young man," she said once they approached. "How did you come to be here?"
"Do you know me?" Klaus asked.
"Not you personally. But those." She gestured toward his temples. Her hand trembled slightly. "I know them. So I'll ask again — how did you arrive here?"
"Who are you? And where is this place?" The reaction to his tattoos was subtle but unmistakable. She knew.
"I see evasion runs in your blood," the old woman sighed. "This place is far from your homeland. You cannot reach it by sea or by air. It is not another country.
It is another world."
Egor stared at them, completely lost. Another world? What were they talking about? And why was his grandmother so invested in this stranger? Anxiety gathered inside him like a brewing storm.
"My name is Klaus Deffender. I am the heir to Isorobia. I do not know how I arrived here. Can you send me back?"
"That may be impossible," Pauoka said quietly. "You are the first person I've encountered here from our homeland. One may come to this world. Leaving it… is another matter."
"You came as well? Who brought us here? Why? I have questions—" Klaus fought to keep his composure. Hope flared dangerously inside him.
"Slow down," she said gently. "We'll discuss everything — but not here. Come with us. You have much to learn if you intend to survive."
"I do not intend to remain."
"That is no longer entirely your choice," Pauoka replied, rising. "Come, Egor. We have a guest."
Egor watched Klaus discreetly. The man was clearly struggling to contain fear and disbelief.
It soon became obvious he had never seen a subway, a mobile phone, or any other convenience of the modern world. He couldn't even pass through the turnstile without help, and when the train doors opened, Egor had to nudge him inside.
For eight stations Klaus remained rigid, instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn't there whenever the train jolted or screeched. Only when they emerged into open air did he seem to breathe more freely.
"This system is extraordinary. Underground transport — ingenious," Klaus said, genuine admiration slipping through despite his lingering tension. He noticed how calmly everyone else behaved, yet he could not share their ease.
A sealed metal box racing through a tunnel beneath the earth.
Madness.
He would not willingly enter such a contraption again.
"There are many things here that will astonish you," Pauoka said. "You must learn to blend in."
Her tone made Klaus bristle. How dare she speak to him as though he were a child? He was the prince of her homeland — its future ruler.
"Who says I wish to blend in?" he replied, restraining his irritation but unable to mask it entirely.
"For now, it is necessary. It is unusual that you were brought here. What happened before you arrived?"
"A group of soldiers attempted to assassinate me in my own chamber," Klaus said evenly.
Egor felt a chill crawl down his spine. How could he speak so calmly about something like that?
"I see," Pauoka murmured. "Then you were sent here for protection. A clever move."
"I require no protection," Klaus replied sharply. "If my own soldiers are attacking the heir, what chaos must be unfolding at home? I must return."
"You cannot. Not yet. Accept that. Use this time to your advantage."
"And how would you suggest I do that?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But nothing happens without purpose. Perhaps this is an opportunity. I doubt Anatodom has changed much in fifty years… but I believe it can still be saved."