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.