* * *

We entered the city from the northeast, through the old city cemetery. The only road into the place went out on the road up to the roadblocks and the large inscription 'Bagiyevo'. It ended here without linking the young forest that had grown over the abandoned burial ground with the suburbs - a gully two dozen meters deep was in the way. And no one lived there. That is why the new masters of the town did not bother to close the traffic in this direction. It's not easy to transport cargo, and it's not easy for people to get through. If not for the uncle's skills, we would have gotten stuck in the swampy lowland, at the bank of the muddy river at the very bottom of the crevasse. But with his help, it was as if we were climbing steps. In the end, we had to climb the stairs, clinging to the roots of bushes and grass. Uncle Wolf advised finishing the "stairs" early so it could not be seen from afar. Only who was to be seen was unclear - it was as if everything around had died out. There was more life even on the other side of the ravine. Birds sang, and a fox's clever face peered from afar.

Had everyone left the city already? I felt a tickle in my heart. No, they shouldn't have, I reassured myself as I remembered the bustle of the city from which we had come. The train stations were jammed with departing people, the line of buses weaving mournfully down the road in long columns. It could not all have ended so suddenly for a city of two hundred thousand people.

We drove along the edge of the road, littered with the rubble of a collapsed house. I can't imagine what must have happened to the massive stone on the ground floor of the collapsed building to turn all its other floors into melted rubble, covered in places with a yellow glaze of glass and a black glaze of metal.

"You look too confident for a burnout."

It so happened that I was two steps ahead, choosing our way at every turn. I had learned the map by heart, so it was easy to navigate. The uncle, on the other hand, was confused without street signs and signposts - somehow, there were none on the ruined houses...

"Shouldn't I know the city I live in?"

"That's not the point. Your expression is... Too calm."

"Do you think so?"

I glanced through the surviving window of the house, carefully assessing the image I had conjured up at the last stop. Slippers, worn after conquering the ravine but already dirty enough from the journey through the ruined streets. Shorts - I hadn't even changed them, so once beige, they were now painted with leaves and dirt. Short-sleeved shirt with no pockets - grey from the dust, white only on the underside. The red bowtie is unchanged and perfect, though the oldest of the set.

According to the legend, I left the house when it all happened. I woke up in the ruins with a pain in my head and the world swinging before my eyes. In the pockets of my shorts, there was only a memory card. A memory of the past with no names or dates and a bit of money left over. No pockets at all on my shirt - nowhere to put my documents. Everything is left where it was burned. My face is tired and a little shabby after three days without any sleep or proper food. Only my eyes really give it all away - indifferent to everything.

"Hold this," I decided, taking the bowtie off myself and handing it to the uncle.

I closed my eyes and imagined the bowtie was lost on the road, disappearing on a long journey. Maybe caught on a sharp branch? Left at the bottom of a ravine, in the sand, under a muddy glass of water? Anxiety came from the depths of my soul, an aching and panicky feeling, a desire to run back and search, and with it, the hopelessness of knowing that all was lost.

"Now, that's different..." a satisfied voice broke through to the panicked consciousness.

I opened my eyes again and didn't recognize the man himself in the reflection. The clothes were the same, but the look... This is what Tolik looked like on his first day at boarding school.

"Have you thought of where you live yet? Street, house, neighbors, friends, school, teachers?"

"The house on Yamasha-Murza Street, we passed it ten minutes ago. Do you remember the restaurant sign still lying on the floor, in crumbs of glass? We had to go around?"

"I do," Valentine nodded.

"I came with my family from Upper Novgorod. We rented a flat here. There are a lot of people renting in that house. I haven't made any friends yet. I don't have to go to school until September. I've been out on my own. I've managed to get around half the city, but I only know my block well. I am borrowing family from a good acquaintance. His father and mother died in a car accident. He told me a lot about them. About his former school and friends, too."

"That'll be fine," the man agreed. "Who am I then?"

"Fellow traveler."

"Just like that, without a story?" He looked at me sideways.

"Will you tell me about yourself?" I wondered, hoping for a life story.

"I don't think so," Valentine discouraged.

"So we just go together until you have to go about your business, and I have to go about mine."

"What about the contract?" He patted his hand on his right pocket.

"If anyone asks, you'll show them."

"Who's going to ask here?"

"And there's the glass blinking in the sun," I pointed with my chin at the dilapidated high-rise with what looked like a bitten-off side. "Just under the roof. No windows there, so binoculars, I guess."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Waiting for the guests," Valentine scrambled up in one wide stride. He outpaced me, shielding me from the high rise with his body.

A trio of humanoid creatures in dirty grey armor slid through the broken stained-glass window of the ground floor of the skyscraper. Tall as I was, they looked like grasshoppers, with the angular articulation of their legs turned backward, the oval of their chest plate, and the narrow slits of their red eyes. Only the weapons in their hands were reminiscent of humans - the rifle was not alien, except that it was huge, to the size of its owners. Despite all this, the visitors made little noise, striding with the sound of a newspaper hitting a nimble mosquito - as if they were hovering and touching the ground to guide their movement.

"Don't move. I'll do the talking," Valentine said clearly, hovering over his right shoulder. "We not going to be able to lie with this one."

Two stopped five meters to our right and left, pointing their rifles at the ground; the third stood thirty paces away, drawing a red light from his laser sight in circles at our feet.

"Sergeant Teterin, Internal Troops Patrol," it sounded like a drainpipe from the right. "We are observing the transfer of the city. Are there any wounded among you?"

"No," the uncle responds.

"Have you been attacked? Have you witnessed crime, violence, looting?"

"No."

"Do you have an application that needs to be dealt with immediately?"

"I got it. Are you a bug or another insect?" I asked, looking up from below - even at this distance, I had to hold my head up.

"Maxim," Valentine hissed.

"I'm human," the monster seemed to reply with a chuckle.

The mechanism on the creature's head clicked, unhooking the top part, and a tired man, heavily tanned and almost hairless, smiled at me. He appeared to be sitting in the mechanism, as if on a chair, and somehow controlling the whole thing. I want one of those too.

His partner also decided to give us a smile - his mask opened following, revealing a broken nose and a tired look.

"Whoa!" I marveled at the design and lunged forward, but the uncle held my shoulder back in time, pointing with his chin at the last man in the group, now aiming at me - the light of the scope dazzled for a moment as I jerked to wonder, but now a scarlet blob settled on my chest.

"Don't come any closer," the man asked in a slightly stricter tone. "Is this your son?"

"The employer." Valentine tilted his head slightly, tensely watching the reaction to his words.

"So..." said the sergeant thoughtfully, looking only at me.

"The papers are in my right pocket," said the uncle, and only then took his time pulling out the rectangles of papers.

He opened each document in front of him, flipped through the pages, and replaced the next until he reached the rectangle of the treaty on the stamped sheet.

"He's under my protection," Valentine summed up, putting everything back together.

"And the lad probably has no papers," the sergeant nodded thoughtfully.

"Fire is to blame."

"I see. Semenych, there's a survivor of the old masters here," he half-turned to the third patrolman.

The bright light of the sight disappeared from my chest.

"I'm afraid you've misunderstood us," Valentine half-turned to me, continuing to address the soldiers. "We have nothing to do with this city and the conflict."

"None of our business," Teterin brushed it aside. "The Emperor is against unnecessary bloodshed, but this is not our city, so we cannot ensure your safety."

The armor clicked open, revealing the sergeant's hands as he fumbled for something in his breast pocket.

"Here are the documents," he said, tossing the bundle toward Valentine, who had time to catch it on the fly. "Found from dead residents, but not yet added to the general database. You will have two days."

"Mr. Sergeant, you've taken us for the wrong people," Uncle Wolf repeated patiently.

"Drevich, I'm trying to help you," the soldier responded with mild irritation. "Don't tell me fairy tales about a random guy on the street with no parents and lots of money."

"But that's about as far as it went," Valentine shrugged.

"The kid has a coat of arms on his shoe."

We almost bumped heads, simultaneously looking down at my cute and very comfortable grey slippers, with an intricate pattern of scarlet and red thread on top of the toe.

"And?" I wondered.

"And here," another rifle movement pointed to a bent pillar of light, on top of which an incredibly similar pattern could be discerned, only simpler and in one color.

Hm...

"Maxim?!" Valentine hissed in anger. "Where did you get these?"

"The guy at the train station was selling..." I ran my hand through my hair. "Cheap, and my size. Here."

"Greedy!" The man barked as if it were a bad thing. He should have looked at his fee first!

"There's a misunderstanding here," he turned his head to the soldiers. "We bought it."

The soldier cackled cheerfully and waved his barrel, pointing to the ruins of the city.

"Where?!"

"At the railway station in Kornouhovo."

"And then come back to walk around in them? Don't mess with my head!" The tin can chuckled. "Take your papers and walk to the crossroads, then turn right. You have to go to the main street, then through the sewer to the train station building. It's a real mess there now. Then take the bus. If you make it through, you can light a candle for me. That's it."

The metal armor reassembled into an insect-like monolith, hiding its masters beneath the armor, turned around as if on cue, and just as swiftly raced back to the high-rise.

Valentine turned and with a sharp movement indicated a smack, but keeping his palm some centimeters away. Only the wind blew in, and my eyes closed.

"To throw the slippers to all the demons!" The man exhaled as he fiercely went through the plastic IDs.

"Oh, yeah, throwing it away! It's worth money..." I muttered, trying to peel the painting off my shoe. I was not walking around barefoot, either...

The coat of arms was embroidered on the fabric, not on a separate backing, and would not give up. I had to tear the threads apart, which I did by picking up the loops with my fingernail.

"Out of the blue... what kind of a man you are!" Valentine continued to be indignant, shuffling the plastic.

"The Emperor!" I answered seriously.

This time the smack was felt in full force.

"Here, these look like you," three rectangles flew down from above and scattered right in front of my face.

"Evgeny Ivanov, Roman Panteleev, and Maxim Fedotov," I read the names.

I looked at the pictures, and there was indeed something in common, except that they were all over fourteen, and Fedotov was even seventeen. And each card has the same coat of arms on it, which I spent a few minutes ripping off my shoes. I remember that uncle's papers had a very different picture, and one of the watchmen had an imperial double-headed eagle. But everything else was the same - name, date and place of birth, photo, a combination of incomprehensible letters at the right border, convenient and durable plastic. If it were not for the sergeant's promise that these cards would be blocked in two days' time, it would be time to go home.

"Can I take everything?"

"Take it," Valentine waved, glancing longingly at the ruined city. "How long will it take us to reach the destination?"

"Two turns, you heard me," I shook off my slippers and straightened up, hiding my papers in my pockets. "What did they think we were?"

"The Tenishevs, the old masters of the town," Uncle Wolf stepped forward. "Almost all of them were killed, but some survived. They're trying to find them, too, and kill them."

"Why? After all, the city is already in the hands of the victors..." I did not understand such cruelty.

"Aristocrats have a custom don't leave their enemies alive. Then no one will stab you in the back in a few years," Valentine replied melancholically.

"But I'm not them, am I?"

It goes without saying. Don't worry. Nothing bad can happen in two turns.

"Sure."

* * *

Chapter 21

Sense of ownership