A series of thoughts and emotions swirled through his mind. Shock and curiosity were all mixed together, making his heart beat like crazy. A deal with Charon, an entity that exists beyond human understanding, promised both incredible opportunities and unimaginable risks.

- What is this soul that I have to find? - the question echoed in his head. Now that Alexander was left alone in this gloomy place, he felt filled with doubts. But he knew there was no turning back. The deal was made in front of the Grani judges, and now he must do his part, no matter how unattainable it may seem.

His gaze fell on the lamp, the only source of light in this darkness. He picked it up and decided it was time to return to the real world. The guy wanted to return before, but the circumstances were beyond him. Now he could try to get out of here.

Alexander, holding a lamp in his hands, slowly moved forward, allowing the dim light to illuminate the path through the corridors of the temple. Each step revealed new details of this place: ancient runic symbols engraved in gray stones, images of scenes describing something that Alexander could no longer make out, as well as small rubbish that miraculously did not turn into dust.

As he walked, Alexander began to notice that the corridors were changing. They became more and more winding, and their architecture became more and more sophisticated and intricate. It seemed that the temple lived its own life, changing and adapting to those who were in it. The latter made the guy slow down.

Alexander carefully walked along the uneven floor, avoiding scattered stones and deep cracks. From time to time he passed niches and altars, partially destroyed, but still bearing traces of lost beauty and holiness. Frescoes and reliefs depicting deities, mythical creatures and scenes from ancient legends were now only a shadow of their former splendor.

The air was filled with the smell of mold, damp earth and something else that Alexander could not identify, but which caused a vague uneasiness in his soul. Moving deeper into the temple, he noticed strange symbols painted on the walls, which began to appear more and more often. Just like the last time they walked with Roman, the runes on the walls glowed slightly. This could mean that around the corner there would be a tunnel that could return him to the real world.

Alexander left the corridor into a spacious room, which, despite its abandonment, still inspired a feeling of power and grandeur. This room, hidden deep underground, seemed to be the heart of an ancient temple, a place where times, histories and destinies intertwined.

The vaulted ceilings rose high above his head, giving him the feeling that he was inside a giant drop frozen in stone. The columns stretching into the darkness formed a rhythmic labyrinth, in the middle of which, as in the core of the ancient world, rested the altar. It was built from fragments of stone and marble, covered with the cobwebs of time and moss, testifying to eras long past.

The walls were decorated with reliefs and bas-reliefs depicting ancient rituals, battles and mythical scenes. Some of them were almost erased by time, but those that survived spoke of the skill and imagination of their creators. In the corners, where the shadow merged with the dust, fragments of statues could be seen.

The air was heavy and humid, mixed with the smells of mold, antiquity and something bitter and metallic, which sometimes made Alexander look around warily. The light from the lamp in his hands cast shadows on the ancient walls and made the atmosphere even more ominous.

The silence in the room was broken only by his steps, the echo of which went into the depths of the corridors, as if trying to awaken the spirits of this place.

Right in the center of the room, directly in front of the throne, like a beacon among the gloomy silence and oblivion, there was a portal. It was a luminous transition, consisting of pulsating streams of pure, bright energy that swirled within invisible boundaries. It sparkled in many shades, from deep indigo to almost transparent blue, and these colors danced, intertwined, disappeared, only to be born again in a new whirlwind of light.

The portal flickered and emitted a soft light, which, reflected from the damp walls and cracked columns, created the illusion of a starry sky, lost by this place many centuries ago. The energy emanating from him was so strong that Alexander could feel it even from a distance - it pulsated in the air, causing the hair on his arms to rise with a static charge.

Alexander, looking around the room, stopped his gaze on a pair of familiar pyramids. Thin streams of smoke curling from their tops, as if obeying an invisible stream, pointed directly to the portal. This sight gave him confidence. Alexander had already encountered similar phenomena, and he knew from the creature that smoke rushing towards the portal was a reliable sign that it led back to the real world.

Now, encouraged by this small but significant sign, Alexander set his sights on the portal. Every step was dictated by the determination to return home. With a heart full of hope, he stepped into the flickering light, ready for what awaited him next. Crossing the threshold of light, Alexander felt the reality around him begin to distort. The tunnel, filled with shimmer and energy, spun around him, and time seemed to slow down to infinity and at the same time accelerate to unimaginable limits. He walked with his eyes fixed on the bright wall of light ahead, feeling how every step separated him from the world of the Edge and brought him closer to his own reality.

The moment he reached the solid wall of light, the entire world plunged into a snow-white void. He closed his eyes under the onslaught of brightness, and immediately felt the solid ground disappear from under his feet. It was like falling into infinity and at the same time like taking off. A deafening silence filled his consciousness, eclipsing all thoughts and sensations.

The soft, yellowish glow of the lamps illuminated the sterile room in which Alexander was awakening. Looking around, he slowly realized that he was in a morgue. The cold, metallic smell of formaldehyde and disinfectants filled the air, making him feel slightly dizzy. There was a coldness to the light reflected off the white tiled walls and polished autopsy tables.

Alexander turned his stiff head to the right with difficulty. In the corner of the room stood a massive refrigerator with drawers for bodies, its stainless steel gleaming under the flood of light. The opposite wall was filled with cabinets containing medical equipment and instruments, their shadows creating strange shapes on the floor.

Turning his head to the left, he noticed people. There were two people working at one of the autopsy tables. One was a tall, thin man with an unshaven face and dull, tired eyes. His white robe was stained, and his hair, gray from years of experience, was carelessly pulled back into a ponytail. The other, shorter and rounder, was younger, with a neat black beard and sharp, attentive eyes. They flickered every now and then, so he was able to see oh from all sides. They moved with confidence and determination, which marked them as professionals, despite their different ages.

Both of them were busy working, carefully using scalpels and other instruments, discussing the details of the procedure among themselves in quiet but serious voices. The sounds of their instruments sinking into fabric and the noise of ventilation filled the room, creating a dark symphony that was as familiar as it was repulsive.

Alexander tried to sit up, feeling a piercing pain in his head. His movement attracted the attention of the morgue staff, and their gazes met his. Not a single muscle flinched on their faces when Alexander rose with difficulty in his arms, taking a sitting position. With blank expressions, they stopped what they were doing and turned to him. The young man with the beard shook his head a little, as if he was familiar with what he saw in front of him.

“You’re already the second one today,” he said in a calm tone, as if commenting on an unremarkable event. His colleague, the senior mortuary worker, folded his arms across his chest and nodded, confirming the younger man’s words.

“A medical miracle is becoming commonplace, apparently,” he added with slight dissatisfaction in his voice. “We’ll just open you up, take it, wake up, push everything back to us, because you’ll die without organs, and then you’ll be resurrected and die again.” Working with you is through the roof. Stepanych! There's another one, take it!

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Alexander put his hand to his head, still feeling a headache. The room smelled of chemicals and sterility, laced with subtle notes of decay and death - a smell that Alexander felt would now haunt him much longer than he might have expected. At that moment, two uniformed policemen entered the room. One of them, an elderly man with gray hair at the temples, immediately began to quickly walk towards Alexander, his eyes wide open in surprise and, it seemed, irritation.

- Yes, how much is possible?! - he muttered, clearly unhappy at the prospect of additional paperwork. - This is the third one this shift. First on the street, I almost had a heart attack when they carried the corpse of the murdered man, and now here. What the hell is going on in this town?

His colleague, young and energetic, with a badge that read "Varukov", nodded in agreement, his expression suggesting a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

- We already have our fill of work, and now we also have... Resurrection? What kind of life is this?!

The morgue employees, meanwhile, returned to their usual duties, studiously ignoring what was happening. They continued their work with sterile instruments and bodies, giving the impression that for them it was nothing more than a daily inconvenience.

The police turned their attention to Alexander, their eyes full of questions to which they may not have wanted to know the answers.

“Okay, guy,” said the senior sergeant, looking into Alexander’s eyes. - Now we will draw up a statement to recognize you as alive. The procedure is long, so we’ll probably go to the post, you’re not here to fill out papers with your bare ass.

Meanwhile, the second policeman, with the rank of sergeant, looked at Alexander and then at the morgue employees.

- How about the condition... - Varukov read the tag. - Alexander Stepnov? Are you Stepnov? Damn it, Stepanych, it’s him. You need to call the colonel... And they also need to convey information...

- Petka, don’t mess with my brain. We have work, and these showdowns with bandits, come on after the change of the backwater.

“Fractures, burns, multiple injuries...” one of the morgue workers quickly listed, continuing to perform his duties and not paying attention to the words of Sergeant Varukov. - All this was described in the documents when he was brought.

The policeman frowned, examining Alexander and waving off the young man, who was on pins and needles when he learned the guy’s last name.

- Sure? Because in my opinion, some of this damage is not there.

The morgue employees looked at each other, put down their instruments and approached Alexander for a more thorough examination. They leaned down to get a better look at his skin, and one of them involuntarily cried out in surprise.

- Holy shit! - he said, his eyes widening in amazement. - The burns are almost healed, and some of the fractures... They are on the way to healing, much better than they should be after such a short time. This is a medical miracle! Again!

- Listen, guys. I would like to get my passport back and get home. So let's say no miracles. Let's just fill out all the paperwork and call it a day. I ask you to.

The senior sergeant nodded, understanding that Alexander was in a state of shock and just needed to get out of this place. And as a person, he understood that it was a dubious pleasure to get into “miracles” for medical workers. Just a couple of days ago, when the first one rose from the dead appeared, the poor man was dragged around hospitals, taking tests.

Although he became a celebrity, he heard rumors from his colleagues that the man tried to escape and accidentally broke his neck, and after a couple of hours he rose again. For some reason, the man was sure that he would not be released for a very long time. And with Stepnov’s situation, additional publicity would be inappropriate. Colonel Berezovsky will definitely rot them in the night shifts for not handing him over to the leadership and the bandits, who have long held hunger in their hands.

“Okay, Stepnov,” he said in a softer tone. - Come with me. We will prepare all the necessary documents. But you'll have to answer some questions about what happened to you. According to the documents, you were stabbed to death right in your hospital bed.

Alexander nodded, feeling that he had no choice. He slowly swung his legs off the table and stood up, feeling his body react heavily to every movement. However, despite the pain, he noticed that many of his wounds actually looked better than he expected.

Sergeant Varukov approached him with clothes in his hands.

- Cover up, then we’ll find you normal things, since you can find anything here. - he said, handing over the robe.

Alexander nodded and accepted the clothes. This action brought pain, and then, while getting dressed, he felt how every movement caused an unpleasant sensation in his body. The guy continued stubbornly, wanting to leave the morgue premises as soon as possible.

While he was getting dressed, the morgue workers continued to discuss his case in whispers, and the police began preparing to leave. It was clear from everything that the situation with recovery had excited everyone, and Alexander could only guess what rumors and speculation would begin to spread after his departure.

- Okay, let's go. - said Alexander. - I am ready to answer your questions, but please help me understand what happened. I don't remember anything before the accident.

The sergeants exchanged glances. They nodded and led Alexander out of the room with the corpses, into the next office with a more or less ordinary hospital setting. Alexander, still feeling weak and headache, and the questions he had to answer were numerous and verbose, including everything from his last memories before the accident. All the while, he signed forms, one after another, sometimes not quite understanding what they meant, but aware of the need to restore his identity in the eyes of the law.

At the end of the procedure, one of the officers handed him a temporary document written on a simple piece of paper. It said that he, Alexander Stepnov, is alive and has the right to all social services and legal rights that a citizen is entitled to. The paper also indicated the address of the local police station, where he could pick up his documents, or rather his passport and broken phone, everything that was with him during the accident. That's it.

Leaving the Smolensk morgue building, Alexander stopped for a second to take a deep breath of the September air. The freshness of autumn seemed almost tangible after the stuffy, musty air inside. The sky was clear, but its color was already beginning to lose its summer brightness, acquiring duller, grayish-blue shades, foreshadowing the approach of cold weather.

A light, cool wind playfully caught falling leaves, creating small whirlwinds on the sidewalks and streets. The leaves still on the trees have already begun to change their color, showing the entire palette from golden yellow to bright red shades. These colors joyfully contrasted with the gray and beige facades of the buildings, giving the city a special, autumnal charm.

People on the streets were already taking out their windbreakers and sweatshirts, preparing for the inevitable colder weather. There was a sense of urgency in their movements, as if with the arrival of autumn everyone had even more things to do or a desire to quickly return to the comfort of their homes after a working day.

The sounds of the city have also somehow changed. The noise of traffic mixed with the rustle of footsteps on fallen leaves and the laughter of children as many families tried to enjoy the last warm days by spending time in the parks. He found it literally across the street. This strange juxtaposition of a morgue and a park with a children's playground caused some dissonance, but it quickly passed and was taken for granted.

Alexander felt the coolness creeping into his bones, but it was more refreshing than unpleasant. There was something cleansing in this September atmosphere, something that made him feel alive again, despite all the horrors he had experienced and the confusion of his return. He had to move on, first for a passport, and then home, in the hope that this would shed light on his past.