Klaus sat in a small room inside a tall building where, as he had already observed, people lived stacked atop one another like birds in cages.
This was nothing like his fortress.
The walls felt too close. The ceiling too low. The doors looked flimsy — as if a single solid kick could shatter them.
The bathing chamber in his palace had been larger than this entire apartment.
How could anyone call this living?
"Tea? Coffee?" the thin, fair-haired young man asked.
"Coffee? What is that?"
"It's… a drink. It helps you stay awake."
"Then I will try it."
Egor moved about the kitchen, preparing the drinks and setting unfamiliar packaged sweets on the table.
Klaus picked one up.
Sweet.
Overwhelmingly so.
He swallowed it with visible displeasure.
"Lady Pauoka," he said carefully, choosing politeness, "is there anything less… saccharine? I am hungry."
He had decided caution was wise with this woman.
He did not yet understand her.
And that made her dangerous.
"Look in the refrigerator," she muttered. "I'm an old woman, not your maid."
Seeing his confusion, she sighed.
"The white box. Pull the door open."
Klaus did so — out of curiosity more than obedience.
At home, no one gave him orders.
No one.
When he opened the appliance, a rush of cold air struck his face.
He blinked.
"Fascinating. Is this wind magic? Or ice?"
"It's called a refrigerator," Pauoka replied calmly. "The magic of human invention."
He examined jars of pickled vegetables, cheese, slices of sausage.
At least this was recognizable.
He selected what interested him and set it on the table. Egor quickly sliced everything properly and placed a mug of steaming black liquid before him.
"Your coffee."
Klaus studied it with suspicion and took a cautious sip.
Bitter.
Unfamiliar.
Not entirely unpleasant.
"Does your grandson serve someone?" Klaus asked thoughtfully. "If I must remain here, I could take him into my service."
Egor nearly choked.
Pauoka smiled faintly.
"The rules here are different," she said. "But in a sense, that's not a terrible idea. You do need someone to guide you."
"Grandma," Egor cut in, "maybe you could explain what's actually happening? I hear the words, but none of it makes sense. What country is he from? Why did soldiers attack him? What does he mean he's a crown prince?"
Pauoka fell silent.
"I should have told you years ago," she said quietly. "I've lived peacefully in this world for fifty years. I never expected the past to return… in the form of Isorobia's crown prince."
Klaus stopped chewing.
"Yes," he said evenly. "I would like to hear your story as well."
"I am from Isorobia," Pauoka began. "Its capital is Anatodom. It exists in another world — nothing like this one."
She paused.
"In my youth, that world was governed by a single principle: the Law of Strength. The strong take what they want. The weak either submit… or pay stronger men to protect them."
"That law has stood for over a thousand years," Klaus said sharply. "It is order, not chaos. It ensures that no invader dares challenge us."
"Order?" she echoed softly. "Let me explain what that 'order' means, Egor."
She turned to her grandson.
"Your home can be taken from you. If you lack strength, you may be enslaved. Or killed. Ordinary people survive in one of three ways: they earn enough to hire protection, they master a craft and become valuable enough to keep alive… or they are born beautiful."
Egor stared at her.
"That sounds medieval."
"It is ordinary there," she replied calmly. "Just as the subway is ordinary here. Innovation is discouraged. Sometimes punished. Why invent anything new if your master sees no profit in it?"
"There are those who want change," Klaus objected.
"And what becomes of them?" she asked quietly. "Do they succeed? Or are they silenced before they begin?"
Klaus did not answer.
For the first time, something beneath his pride shifted.
He had always believed their system embodied strength.
Now, sitting in a cramped kitchen in a world without swords or servants, it felt… different.
He was not home.
Here, he was no one.
"There is something more," Pauoka continued. "Something that may sound even more absurd to you, Egor."
She looked at Klaus.
"Magic."
Egor let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"Magic?"
"It exists," she said firmly. "It is the true power of Isorobia. Even the weakest mage holds status."
She turned back to Klaus.
"What element do you command?"
"Lightning," he replied. "And a secondary gift — knowledge assimilation. I can absorb what a person knows. Not thoughts. Not secrets. Only knowledge."
"I can accept barbaric laws," Egor muttered. "But magic…"
"How dare you doubt me?" Klaus snapped.
Before Pauoka could intervene, he rose and stepped toward Egor.
Too close.
Egor froze.
Klaus extended a finger and pressed it lightly between his brows.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then Klaus swayed.
His expression darkened.
He collapsed.
"Klaus!" Egor dropped to his knees. "What's wrong with him?"
"He's exhausted himself," Pauoka said calmly after checking him. "There is no magic in this world. He spent what little he had left."
"What do you mean there's no magic?" Egor demanded.
"He tried to draw power from a place that cannot replenish it."
Egor stared at Klaus's unconscious body.
Magic.
No magic.
This was absurd.
And yet…
His grandmother had never lied to him.
When Klaus finally regained consciousness, he felt hollow.
Drained.
As though something essential had been stripped away.
"How long?" he rasped.
"Long enough," Pauoka replied evenly, "for you to realize I wasn't mistaken."
"There is truly no magic here?"
"None."
He sat up abruptly.
"That is impossible. Magic flows like blood. I have never felt its absence. I did not know it could run dry."
"Blood can be lost," she said quietly. "So can power."
He closed his eyes.
Inside — nothing.
No current. No storm. No lightning waiting to answer his call.
His sword was gone.
Now his magic as well.
Who was he without them?
"You must adapt," Pauoka said.
"You sound like my teacher."
"And who was he?"
"Baysal Fazli."
Her expression sharpened.
"Fazli… of Sever's line."
"You knew them?"
"Sever taught me," she said.
Klaus blinked.
"You were educated?"
"Do you think learning belongs only to royalty?" she asked dryly. "Some slaves resist quietly. Some teach. Some plan."
"You admit this to me?" he asked coolly. "What if I report them when I return?"
"If you return," she corrected softly. "And I do not believe you would."
"You are very certain."
"I believe in you."
That unsettled him more than her criticism ever had.
"What must I do?" he asked at last.
The words tasted bitter.
"First, you need documents. Without them, you do not exist here."
"I have studied this world's customs, laws, technologies," he said. "Your inventions are impressive. Almost magical."
"But not magic," she replied.
He exhaled sharply.
"You will work," she added.
He stared at her as if she had insulted his bloodline.
"I will not demean myself."
"You already have," she said calmly. "And you will go further — if you wish to return."
He said nothing.
Humiliation flared hot in his chest.
But she was right.
She was his only path home.
That evening he attempted to use Egor's laptop.
"This machine knows nothing," Klaus muttered irritably. "I ask how to restore magic, and it offers nonsense."
"It gives you verified information," Egor replied patiently. "Not myths."
"Magic is not a myth."
"Here, it is."
"Then search harder."
"I don't believe in it."
"Bring me coffee," Klaus said coolly. "And prepare clean clothes for when I finish bathing."
"I'm not your servant!" Egor shouted after him.
The bathroom door shut.
Silence followed.
The next morning began with another argument.
"Why is breakfast not ready?" Klaus demanded.
"This isn't a palace," Egor shot back. "We cook for ourselves."
"I require proper meat."
"Then buy it and cook it."
"How dare you—"
Pauoka watched them with quiet amusement.
"They'll sort it out," she murmured to herself.
Klaus accepted his plate of eggs with visible displeasure.
"This will suffice," he said stiffly. "Next time, have it ready earlier."
Egor clenched his fists.
"You're not a king here."
"And you are not a slave," Pauoka added calmly. "Teach him how people live in this world."
Klaus grimaced.
"I understand the laws of this place," he said. "That does not mean I accept them."
"Start by accepting I'm not your servant," Egor replied.
"What difference does the word make?" Klaus said coolly. "You will assist me regardless."
Egor turned away.
Arguing was pointless.
He would endure the arrogant stranger.
For his grandmother.
Only for her.
He did not need to befriend him.
He only needed to survive him.