“What? Who is he?” Stasyan asked first, faster than anyone.

  Dima stayed silent. He had never told them who he’d been before, and now that silence felt almost tangible.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t say it out loud,” he said at last, quietly. “It’s a different time. It won’t change anything.”

  The elder looked at him in surprise.

  “I’m supposed to give you my seat without an election,” he said slowly, “and you want to hide from everyone who you are?”

  He leaned back in his chair and studied Dima—not as a rarity anymore, but as a potential problem.

  “You have to understand,” he continued calmly, “names aren’t forgotten here for no reason. Sometimes it’s protection. Sometimes it’s cowardice.”

  He paused.

  “And sometimes it’s a luxury the city cannot afford.”

  Grigory stopped smiling.

  “What are we even talking about?” he asked. “What seat?”

  The elder didn’t answer right away. He looked into the folder again, then back at Dima.

  “About the kind,” he said, “that appears when the past suddenly becomes more important than the present.”

  He closed the folder and placed his palm on it.

  “So decide,” the elder added. “Either you remain who you want to be now…”

  He lifted his gaze.

  “…or you say who you were. And then this city will start asking questions.”

  Silence settled over the room again.

  Dima understood:

  This wasn’t an interrogation.

  And it wasn’t a threat.

  It was a choice—and it carried weight beyond his own life.

  “Then you say it,” Dima said softly. “Even back then, I never liked being in the spotlight.”

  The elder looked at him, surprised, then nodded slowly—almost resigned, as if accepting not a request, but a decision.

  “Very well,” he said.

  He straightened and swept his gaze over everyone present.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Before you stands the son of the last emperor of the country,” the elder said evenly, “on whose ruins our city now stands.”

  He paused.

  “The one who was meant to be next.”

  “Actually—not me,” Dima cut in. “My brother was supposed to be emperor. Vanya. He was the eldest.”

  Confusion hung in the air.

  “I wasn’t even second in line,” Dima went on, calmer now. “And I never wanted it.”

  Stasyan exhaled slowly.

  “Wait…” he said. “So this whole time you’ve been…”

  “An ordinary person,” Dima replied. “With a last name that’s good for nothing, and problems up to my neck.”

  The elder looked at him for a long moment, carefully—as if fitting what he’d heard into his own thoughts.

  “That explains a lot,” the elder finally said. “And at the same time—nothing at all.”

  “What do you mean?” Grigory asked.

  “This,” the elder tapped the folder with his fingers, “means the city doesn’t care who you were supposed to be.”

  He lifted his gaze to Dima.

  “But it does care who you are now.”

  He leaned back in his chair.

  “You are still an heir,” he continued. “A man from a time when such things mattered. And the very fact that you’re here…”

  He fell silent.

  “…is already dangerous.”

  Dima felt that familiar pressure rising inside him again.

  Not fear.

  Understanding.

  They all fell quiet, processing what had been said.

  The silence grew thick, almost oppressive—each lost in their own thoughts, none daring to speak aloud.

  “So what happens now?” Grigory finally broke it. “Do you become the new elder?”

  Dima let out a short snort.

  “No way,” he said without hesitation. “I’d rather just live in the city. Like an ordinary resident.”

  The elder slowly shook his head.

  “No,” he replied calmly. “I won’t allow you to simply live.”

  Dima tensed.

  “Not because of who you supposedly are,” the elder continued, “but because you know too much.”

  He tapped the folder again.

  “You will tell us how things were in your time. How people lived. How they made agreements. How they destroyed—and how they built.”

  He lifted his gaze.

  “Maybe something from the past will still be useful to us,” he said. “And if not—at least we’ll know what not to do.”

  Grigory smirked.

  “Well, there you go. Even in a new world, they found you a job.”

  Dima sighed.

  He hadn’t been looking for work.

  But it seemed the past had decided to catch up with him—here of all places.

  He glanced at Stasyan. Stasyan looked back with mild surprise, as if trying to reconcile what he’d just heard with the man he’d known on the road.

  “Maybe we should go to the crystal,” Dima said. “Touch it. At least find out whether it led us here—or whether it’s still pointing farther, to where the others went.”

  Stasyan snorted.

  “Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said mockingly, getting to his feet. “I’d prefer to rest first.”

  “Fair enough,” Dima chuckled. “But I’ll need a job if I’m going to pay for that rest.”

  He turned to Dozhor.

  “And you? Staying here, like you wanted?”

  “I never said I wanted to stay,” Dozhor replied calmly. “I said I’d think about it. If you go on—I’m coming with you.”

  Dima looked at him in surprise. He’d been certain Dozhor would leave the moment they reached a major settlement.

  The elder nodded, as if he’d just heard something important.

  “I’ll pay you for clarifying details,” he said to Dima. “For the past you remember better than any of my records.”

  He frowned slightly.

  “But I don’t support you moving on. No one knows what became of those who followed the light before you.”

  “We’re not going anywhere right now,” Dima replied. “We might even change our minds.”

  “We’ll see,” the elder said dryly.

  He turned to Grigory.

  “Alright. Grisha, take them. Find them work, settle them in the guesthouse. And make sure they’re fed.”

  Grigory nodded and motioned for Stasyan and Dozhor to follow.

  They left without looking back.

  Dima stayed.

  The elder opened the folder again and set it in front of him.

  “Well then,” he said, “let’s see how well my records match the living past.”

  And this time, Dima understood:

  the conversation would be a long one.