Бесплатный фрагмент - The Universal Passenger. Book 1. Someone Else

The Prologue

A sigh. We are hardly distinguishable from humans when examining our bodies. Yet, we are far more efficient and resilient. We can think of everything at once, making confident and swift decisions. Our productivity is much higher, and our nervous system is more resistant to stress. We are successful.

The ability to understand human emotions, but not to feel them — this is the gift of the Community.

I am Sophia, an Ephor who has dedicated my entire life to serving others. We share the values of humans, but we adjust their memories of past lives, keeping them an unknown scientific fact. For hundreds of years, we have appeared in the Higher World and descended to Earth to evaluate the work of other beings, intervening when necessary.

We cannot be misled or made to doubt the nature of the Community.

At least, that’s what we believed.

Chapter 1

What is a brush for an artist? It resembles a syringe, and the paints serve as medicine. You approach the blank canvas, preparing to make a life-saving injection. With a light stroke of your hand, you begin to paint. Vital warmth spreads through your arteries and veins. Painting becomes a form of anesthetic. To convey the essence of the piece, you must engage every fiber of perception. The sense of reality becomes like an electric charge. Each spark must be preserved on the canvas, depicting the tasks set by the creator.

Constantin smiled at the sudden seriousness of his thoughts and glanced at his completed work.

On the canvas was a boy sitting on a bridge at the water’s edge, examining a pearl held tightly in his small hand, illuminated by the light. The delicate cracks and muted hues gave the piece the effect of an aged painting. The boy’s dark brown overalls and rubber boots reminded viewers of the fleeting nature of modern life, which would someday become an “outdated model.”

Setting down his brush, Constantin felt a quiet satisfaction with his work and habitually made his way to the mini-bar, hoping to find something appealing.

Pouring himself the remaining Scotch, Constantin glanced at the clock. It was early morning. Dawn was breaking.

He approached the window in his bedroom and looked out at the empty street in the early hours. Taking a sip of his drink, he paused to gaze at the spinning fan mounted on the exterior wall. The hum from it began to swell in his mind, intensifying his heartbeat.

Blinking rapidly, Constantin tried to look away from the fan. The noise gradually subsided, but an unseen force compelled him to glance back.

The fan blades sliced through the air in a synchronized march, and Constantin instinctively grimaced, trying to suppress the unpleasant, familiar symptoms as he distracted himself from the nagging hum outside. He took a step back, intending to retreat deeper into the room, when suddenly, in the window frame — like a scene from a painting — the silhouette of a girl appeared, reflected back at him. A fleeting thought crossed his mind: the reflected figure was painted in the same colors as his recently completed canvas.

“I need to change my daily routine.” Constantin smirked and took a sip.

He stepped away from the window, glancing back one last time. The silhouette had vanished, and a cheerful ray of morning sunlight blinded his eyes, inviting him into a new day.

Hurriedly, Constantin rushed to the shower, shedding his clothes along the way, unaware that he was stirring his second self — or what is referred to in the Higher World as a “Guide” — who was lounging comfortably on the bed, having observed the scene outside just moments before.

Due to the limitations of earthly life, Constantin could neither see nor know his faithful companion. The thoughts and insights she whispered in his ear, having spent hours performing her role as a Guide, he perceived as his own ego, occasionally amusing him with fairly decent works he crafted from memory.

The droplets of water, like a life-giving balm, flowed over his body as Constantin relaxed and closed his eyes. In that moment, his subconscious whirled with thoughts, dragging him under the surface of an unfamiliar lake. Suddenly opening his eyes, Constantin felt a sharp pang of breathlessness.

“You’ve successfully mastered your skills.”

Constantin stared in astonishment at the familiar dark-haired girl, who was jotting something down in her notebook. He wanted to ask who she was, but no words came out.

“It’s a pity your time was so short. But now you can choose another version. What do you prefer?” The girl snapped her notebook shut and looked at him. Her gaze pierced into Constantin, rendering him immobile.

As if rewinding a film, Constantin found himself again by the river. He sat at the edge of the wooden bridge, searching for something in the water. An object sparkled enticingly, and as he plunged his hand into the water, he grasped an unknown item between his fingers. It was a string of pearl beads. The thread holding the alluring beads snapped suddenly, and nearly all of them scattered back into the water with a characteristic splash. He managed to keep the last pearl in his hand. Constantin began to examine it in the sunlight, admiring its beauty.

The water turned suddenly cold, and he frantically searched for a switch. But it was nowhere to be found. Panic spread through his body, and once again, he felt the suffocating grip of airlessness.

He abruptly looked up to see the water closing above him, as if two doors were slamming shut. Only a faint sliver of sunlight filtered through. He was drowning. No matter how hard he flailed his arms and legs, he couldn’t push himself to the surface. Constantin didn’t know how to swim.

Slowly, he turned his head and opened his clenched fist. The pearl glimmered in the water, catching the light and falling to the bottom alongside him.

“How beautiful she is,” he thought again, the words lingering in his mind.

Cursing under his breath, Constantin struggled to climb out of the bathtub. Water, mixed with remnants of bubbles, trickled down his body. He hurried down the stairs to his studio and approached the painting he had recently completed. The boy was looking back at him — the very same boy who was destined to drown. Or had he already drowned?

His vision blurred, and a familiar pulse throbbed in his temples. His blood pressure began to drop.

“A panic attack,” he realized, moving toward the first-aid kit to take his medication.

Each time Constantin thought he had learned to control the process, panic returned with renewed intensity. He tried to calm himself and breathe deeply.

It wasn’t helping. Waves of panic enveloped his mind, and through the fog of consciousness, the boy and the painfully familiar girl kept appearing. Frequently closing his eyes in futile attempts to block out the “film” racing before him, Constantin suddenly realized it was all in his head.

With a trembling hand, he began to rummage through the nightstand for the medication he had promised himself not to take — or at least to take as infrequently as possible. But now, enduring the finale was unbearable. He could almost feel the damp clothing clinging to his skin and the heaviness of the rubber boots.

Finally, he found the pills. He swallowed one without wasting time looking for water to wash it down.

He sat on the floor of the studio, cradling his head in his hands. How heavy it felt. Then he curled up in a fetal position, placing his right hand over his heart while his left hand gripped some object tightly. He could feel chaotic thumps in his palm, as if an inexperienced person were hammering a nail for the first time.

The Guide, looking grimly at her charge, quietly left the building and headed toward the Guide accompanying Constantin’s friend. She needed him to drop by and find Constantin on the studio floor, displaying those all-too-familiar symptoms.

* * *

Constantin awoke in a hospital room, shining with cleanliness. His mind felt empty. Just then, the door opened, and a young nurse entered with a tray of syringes.

“Don’t worry, you’re in the best clinic in the city, and you’ll be back on your feet in no time,” the girl smiled warmly.

“What happened to me?” Constantin asked, bewildered. “I don’t remember anything — ”

“No wonder,” the Guide muttered from behind the headboard.

“It’s nothing serious. Just ordinary exhaustion,” the girl said. “You need rest and peace.”

She gave him an injection and, as she left, placed a shiny bead on the bedside table, casting a sly glance over the back of his bed.

“You were holding this when the ambulance brought you in.”

Constantin recognized the pearl, painted earlier on his canvas, and grimaced. He didn’t have the strength to think clearly. All he wanted was to sleep.

The Guide rolled her eyes, clearly displeased, and waved dismissively at the Ephor nurse as she closed the door behind her.

The medication wasn’t helping much. For a week, he received various IV drips and was assured that he was experiencing some form of autopsychic depersonalization. The doctor had ruled out selective amnesia, confirming that there was no dark-haired girl in his memory.

His friends supported him as best they could. Some recited their go-to phrases, while others genuinely tried to understand. A few simply called and stayed silent, and in that silence lay a profound meaning. But the truth was that no words would help. It was obvious to both Constantin and those speaking. Yet all the formalities were observed. A checkbox was ticked.

Days passed, but the burden didn’t go away. It was heavy, and Constantin’s weight was rapidly dropping — not because of a newfound fitness routine or diet, but because he carried that burden with him every day.

He rose each morning with it, dragged it to the dining hall, then rolled it with him to his treatments. He could feel every muscle in his body working, straining to carry the invisible load.

Time stretched monotonously. Waking to the sound of the alarm, he would slightly open his eyes and cautiously look ahead. Against the backdrop of lemon-colored walls, the burden stood out starkly. It was still there. The wheel of Sansara spun furiously, trapping him like a hamster running endlessly in its cage.

Days passed. Constantin grew stronger. His muscles hardened, and the burden no longer felt as heavy. It was as if his entire being had accepted it, making it more compact — like a backpack. He could even stand in line for medication without succumbing to panic, a feat that had once felt impossible. Before, he had to wait until he was certain he would be the last in line.

Days continued to move forward, and so did Constantin. The burden hadn’t disappeared, but he had made peace with it. He had befriended it.

Three weeks had passed. It sounded easier than it felt. For the doctors and his friends, it had been “only” three weeks, but for Constantin, it was “already” three weeks. And therein lay the crux of his catharsis. During this time, he had met many interesting people. He never would have imagined how many talents had fallen victim to their own inspiration. There were artists like him, writers, and musicians. Rumor even had it that some psychologists, at some point, couldn’t cope with the pain they were treating in their patients.

Constantin was informed that one of the best doctors in the clinic, who had agreed to take on his case, was expected to return. So he patiently awaited their introduction.

Chapter 2

Through her dark sunglasses, Sophia gazed at the midday sun. The ultraviolet rays couldn’t harm her vision, but they could attract the attention of those who were more vulnerable. Holding a blackcurrant leaf in her hand, she absentmindedly rolled it between her fingers.

The sharp beep of her wristwatch pulled her from this aimless activity. There was no doubt that on the touchscreen, the Ephor would see the coordinates and the name of her new charge.

Feeling for the wooden ladder beneath her feet, Sophia took one last glance at the hills.

“What a beautiful view from the roof of that one-story house!”

Once, a familiar person had told her that, and adhering to that sentiment, the Ephor sometimes found solace sitting on the roof. This isolation also helped her avoid meaningless conversations.

Jumping down to solid ground, she headed toward her car.

“Leaving already?” her neighbor called out cheerfully, leaning over the low fence.

“Speaking of meaningless conversations,” Sophia thought to herself.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Sophia nodded.

“S-Sophia, talk to Esther. She really doesn’t take care of herself. And, by the way, she just turned 60! What is she doing? Still planting s-strawberries — ”

Sophia tried not to stare openly at the creature leaning against the slightly crooked fence next to her neighbor. In the sunlight, it resembled a snake basking in the warm rays.

Its bright yellow eyes bore into Esther, while its long tongue flicked out, splitting at the tip and significantly longer than a human’s.

“That’s not my business,” Sophia whispered softly, glancing at the dirty wheels. The roads here were far from ideal, and the mud always puzzled her. An insatiable urge to scrub it away would wash over her.

“Come by my place! I’ll show you my new flowerbed. It’s simply lovely!” the neighbor said, removing her gardening gloves and waving her hand in invitation.

“Maybe next time, ma’am. I really am in a hurry.”

“No, don’t leave!” the creature insisted, undeterred. “It’s s-so boring here. Why can’t we jus-st go somewhere in Holland? There are tons of tulips there!”

Sophia lifted her head and noted that if you stripped away its unusual coloring, the creature resembled a young woman with African features.

Nothing new. When your guide is Nomadum, life becomes a journey. Nomads, who have no permanent “nests,” find like-minded people (if they’re lucky) and travel often. They are sociable, have a sense of humor, and know how to dream. But they aren’t suited for family life and quickly begin to feel bored. Stuck in the same relationships, the same job, the same place. They are in a constant search for comfortable stability, yet can’t stand it. It’s a paradox. Even if you’re sixty, the thirst for adventure will drive you — at least to the dacha, and at most, to the airport.

Jumping into the car, Sophia turned on her playlist and cranked up the volume.

“I want to be confident in the future,” sounded encouraging from the speakers.

Throwing a leaf from a plant out the window, Ephor rolled up the windows and drove on.

At this stage, it’s important to bring clarity to what’s happening.

The soul voluntarily chooses a new life path and returns to Earth until it becomes multifaceted and purified. Only after completing all the preparations can the soul remain and no longer need to go back to Earth. Celebration!

Human beings’ temporary needs have always overshadowed their true ones. They carefully distracted their consciousness from the only real cause of their unhappiness: the lack of independent choice. This was a nearly perfected Masonic conspiracy. But the Masons were merely a handful of guides — beings who believed themselves to be the Messiah. And while one writer warned that “Annushka has already spilled the oil,” the Guides used that oil as if it were olive oil. The semantic equivalent astounded the minds of the Higher Realm, let alone those of the human world.

Each Guide represented a set of specific emotions and desires — a subtle, higher force, a lifelong companion. A kind of energy cluster containing a certain program.

Formally, a person had a choice. They could take an alternative path and would even encounter alternative acquaintances and obstacles along the way. But in the end, the final constant remained unchanged. A constant value, known as fate among people and as protocol among the guides.

So, the coordinates on her watch indicated that the new patient was already at the “Sleeping Dolphin” clinic. It wasn’t a short drive, but Sophia’s stash of rock music kept her entertained. She always turned the volume up, popping chocolate after chocolate into her mouth. In the human world, they would have called her a sweet tooth, but in reality, Ephor had long studied their harmful habits, including the craving for food.

Stopping at a gas station, she noticed a boy about seven years old. He was staring at the vending machine filled with sweets, uncertainly tracing his finger across the glass from one candy bar to another.

“Need some change?” Sophia asked, approaching the boy.

“No, thank you — » he mumbled. “Mom gave me some money, but I can’t choose. All the candy bars look so good.”

“Banana with chocolate seems pretty good,” she said, pointing to the middle of the shelf. “It’s just sweet enough and has the right amount of syrup.”

“That’s what the advertisement claimed,” she thought to herself.

“I like it too!” the boy exclaimed. “I think I’ll choose that one.”

Two unhappy figures appeared near the vending machine.

“If you think about the essence of choice, our perceptions shape our desires. Every day, we have to analyze countless little things. And perhaps, in this very moment, we are drastically different from who we were just a minute ago. It feels like the day is packed with denial.” The twin girls, the same age as the boy, in light lace hooded capes, stared at Sophia with their red eyes.

Flavuses saw better in the dark and tried to hide from the light.

One of the girls pulled back her hood, revealing a face resembling a bat, with a snout instead of a nose, and shook her blonde hair, tied in braids, with hostility.

“What’s your name?” Sophia asked the boy, trying to ignore his unfriendly companions.

“Lucas,” he mumbled, yawning.

“You know, Lucas, you don’t have to spend so long choosing just one chocolate bar. You can grab the first one you see. Next time, you can try the one next to it. That way, you’ll always have a variety of flavors,” the girl tried to encourage him.

“I don’t know, what if I don’t like it — ”

“You’ll end up like a product of the apricot after a worm gets into it — There’s a fine line between ‘I want’ and ‘I was convinced to want this,’” the blonde girl muttered.

“The road ahead isn’t short, and all that will remain is your own reflection in the glass and reflection,” the second girl countered.

“Son, there you are,” an adult woman approached them. “Sorry, he’s already started gathering a line here. What are you stalling for, Lucas?”

“Oh, it’s fine, I’m not in a hurry,” Sophia replied.

“Mom, I don’t know which chocolate bar to choose. Help me.”

“You always have the same problems,” a middle-aged man in a perfectly pressed, starched white shirt rolled his dark blue eyes.

“Great. Just what I needed — Lombask here,” Sophia thought, studying his chiseled Asian features.

He looked like a Japanese man with a tall, athletic build, broad shoulders, and muscular legs. But at a certain angle, his appearance was distorted, and the man with hair as black as oil resembled a crow.

“Son, I’m not rushing you, but we still have a long way to go. We need to make it before dark. You know how your dad dislikes driving at night.”

“Then help me out, Mom.”

“Why waste so much time?” Lombask said irritably, brushing his fingers through his hair and slicing through it with his sharp, long nails. “This boy can never make a quick, well-considered decision.”

“Alright, Lucas. How about we try this one this time?”

The woman pressed the button on the machine, and it spat out a candy bar in a plain wrapper with a crunch.

“Nougat — Even the waves wash up more selective treasures from the sea floor,” one of the girls wrinkled her nose.

“They spit out what isn’t tasty,” the second girl sighed.

The twin girls turned toward the boy, pulling up their hoods.

“They at least know what they don’t like,” Lombask scoffed, his patience wearing thin. His black hair fluffed up as if he were preparing for an attack.

“Goodbye, Lucas,” Sophia waved to him.

“Goodbye,” the boy replied shyly, awkwardly waving back as he unwrapped the unwanted candy bar and shuffled after his mother.

The boy’s Guides walked behind him, holding hands, trying to avoid the direct sunlight streaming into the store through the dusty windows. Their gait was weary and slightly awkward, as if they hadn’t slept for hundreds of years.

In contrast, Lombask strode confidently with his shoulders back, slightly ahead of his charge, glancing back only once toward the boy.

“What is that look — contempt?” Sophia thought.

After the gas station, she didn’t stop anywhere. Meeting the Flavuses always left an inexplicable residue. Timid, albino children who rarely engaged in conflict. Anyone assigned such a guide would be very unfortunate, as positive thinking would be out of the question. However, a melancholic mood was guaranteed, for that was like medicine to the Flavuses.

Lucas was a very nice and clever boy, though extremely shy, but it couldn’t be any other way with such Guides.

Lowering her left hand into the pocket of her denim jacket, the girl retrieved a banana chocolate bar without letting go of the steering wheel with her right hand.

“Well, it really is tasty,” she mumbled, taking a bite.

Chapter 3

Stepping out of her office, Sophia adjusted her robe and ran her hand over the dolphin-shaped business card in her pocket. As she walked, she gathered her wavy dark blonde hair into a bun. It was time for her usual routine.

The clinic had been built from the ground up by the Ephor many years ago. The exact date of its establishment was strictly confidential for regular staff.

If asked what this place meant to these beings and what feelings it evoked, the Ephor would have answered with one word — order. Every nook and cranny, every corner was meticulously planned and designed with a specific purpose: to distract patients from their true thoughts in favor of “substituted” ones.

The nurse’s involuntary smile, the menu in the cafeteria, the sleep and wake schedules — all had one common goal. And the coordinated mechanism worked smoothly.

Thanks to timely renovations, the clinic looked impeccable. The white, glossy floors, lemon-colored walls in the long corridors, and spotless, white patient rooms, where the furniture color harmonized with the surroundings, all contributed to the atmosphere. The cold light from the ceiling bulbs didn’t strain the patients’ eyes, while the cozy green garden with its lawn (behind the clinic) allowed people to connect with nature freely. Nothing hinted at the broken lives within the walls of this institution.

Sophia’s patient had been admitted for rehabilitation three weeks ago. The notes mentioned that he occasionally experienced panic attacks, and typical sedatives weren’t effective.

She entered the room and noticed a man sitting on the windowsill, thoughtfully gazing out the window. A sheet of paper lay on his lap, and he was sketching something with a pencil.

“Constantin Von?” the Ephor called out to him.

“It’s Van, to be precise. And I want to say right away that I’m feeling much better. So you don’t have to waste your time on me,” he said, setting the paper lay down on the windowsill and jumping down.

Sophia looked at Constantin. Before her stood an athletic man, constantly adjusting his ash-blonde hair.

She opened his medical file, activating the extended data function: “Born in a seaside town. Age 29. Height 1.80 m. A young Earth soul. Beginning to emerge from oblivion. Travels extensively around the world. Artist. Personal Guide — Kallidus.”

“Are you drawing?” she nodded toward the sheet of paper.

“Yes — the nurse said no sharp objects are allowed in the room, so I ‘borrowed’ a pencil from her pocket. Sorry about that. Drawing always calms me down,” he smiled, rolling the “wooden tool” between his fingers.

Sophia approached the windowsill and glanced at the sheet. It depicted a boy and a girl. The girl stood behind the boy, hesitating with her hand halfway to his shoulder. Her medium-length curly hair flowed freely, and delicate freckles were visible on her cheeks. One strand was tucked behind her ear, revealing a pointed ear that resembled either an elf’s or a fox’s.

“I don’t want to overthink it, but I think he’s drawing me.”

Startled, Sophia quickly glanced to the right corner.

A naked red-haired girl with bright blush and green eyes nervously twitched her fluffy tail.

She stood partially in the shadows, with half of her body erotically illuminated by the midday sun.

“Kalliduses are jokers, beings with high adaptive functions. They embody sexuality, always hungry for sexual energy. They can adjust to any circumstances, being cunning and quick to act. They ignite their charges with ideas but also let them fizzle out without completing anything. However, they ensure an inexhaustible supply of inspiration for such people,”

Sophia recalled.

“It looks that way, doesn’t it? He wakes up in the middle of the night and starts drawing frantically. Once, he painted the girl’s hair in bright red. I’m starting to get anxious. That’s why I brought him here. Though the girl was so sensual, just beautiful. A bright spot in a gray world.”

“The self-love of the Kallidus is also not to be underestimated.”

“Excuse me, you haven’t introduced yourself,” Constantin called out to Sophia, interrupting the guide’s tirade, but (to his fortune) unaware of it.

“Sophia. Sophia Ryoskin,” the girl replied and turned to him. “Beautiful drawing, you have a vivid imagination.”

“Do you think so? Sometimes I wish the girl in the drawing would finally touch her companion, but I feel like the time hasn’t come yet,” Constantin hesitated, as if shy about his drawing.

“And I hope it won’t come,” the Guide scoffed.

“Do you mind if I take the drawing?” Sophia asked. “It’s just so unusual.”

“Of course, I have plenty of them,” Constantin hesitated for a moment. “Tell me, how long will I be here?”

“No, there’s no need for that. Panic attacks aren’t uncommon these days. I’ll schedule follow-up appointments to monitor your progress. Otherwise, you can return to your normal life.”

“Thank you. I have an exhibition tomorrow. It’s nothing spectacular, but maybe — will you come?”

She looked at Constantin, who couldn’t stop smiling at her. Sophia hadn’t planned on establishing a connection with him so quickly.

“Yes, of course. Write the time and address on the back of the paper. You already have a pencil.”

Constantin laughed and, with a victorious expression, jotted down the address.

“Well, I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow, make sure to come.”

“Yes, definitely come. Otherwise, we’ll come after you ourselves,” the guide teased.

“Excuse me. How did you say it’s pronounced? Von?” Sophia turned back as she was leaving the room.

“Van. Constantin Van,” he replied.

“Elizabeth. You can call me Libby,” the Guide muttered.

* * *

Sophia arrived early at the designated spot on the paper. Ephors always had a habit of doing everything perfectly, and being late was unacceptable for them. She wanted to speed up the process of connecting with this person and resolve the issue at hand. Adjusting the mirror in the car, she touched up her lips with a soft peach color and made sure she hadn’t smeared her mascara. Sophia preferred a gentle, everyday makeup look, despite her bright and quite attractive appearance (with wavy light brown hair and dark, thick eyebrows) not needing any additional highlights. But Sophia didn’t want to stand out or draw attention to herself among the crowd.

At the exhibition, as with any other event, she chose a refined outfit. A black blazer, a black silk dress, and black high-heeled pumps. For accessories, she opted for emerald stud earrings and a thin titanium ring on her pinky.

Stepping out of the car, Sophia decided to take a look around. The studio was located not far from the main street, but it was hidden from passersby by winding alleys and iron staircases. The brick building, in the spirit of the old town, seemed to say “new things are born here, but the old is honored.”

The iron door creaked open with a heavy groan, and Constantin stepped into the light. He was wearing a green checkered shirt with rolled-up sleeves, worn dark jeans, sneakers, and a few strokes of paint on his wrist.

“What delicate hands he has,” Ephor noted.

“Sophia! I didn’t think you were so punctual. There’s still an hour until the opening,” Van said a bit flustered but his eyes showed joy.

“Yes, I can’t help myself. It’s probably a professional habit,” she shrugged.

“Well, everything is almost ready. Please, come in,” Constantin invited her.

Everything inside was just as Sophia had imagined. A well-lit space, with light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows and walls sconces. Gray loft-style walls and a long dark chocolate leather Chesterfield sofa sat in the middle of the room by the bar, waiting for its guests.

“This used to be a glass factory,” Constantin said, standing beside her and surveying the studio. “When the factory closed, I was able to buy the space cheaply and customize it for myself. As a bonus, I used leftover glass to update the stained glass windows and create a wall in the shower.”

“In the shower?” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes, I live here on the second floor. I don’t stray far from work, so to speak.”

“Interesting approach. What is today’s exhibition dedicated to?” Sophia asked.

“Inspiration at night,” Van replied. “That’s why I started at sunset, so visitors can transition smoothly from evening to night, noticing new details in the drawings.”

“Do you prefer to create at night?”

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t have enough daylight to express the depth of my thoughts on the canvas. That’s why I harness the night with its endless supply of ideas and possibilities. Under the light of the lamps, my drawings take on a completely different meaning and energy — something that can’t be captured during the day.”

Constantin gestured around the studio with a sense of parental pride.

“He’s still trying to hold on to his dreams,” Libby sighed, lounging provocatively on the sofa. “Last night, he jumped up as if scalded and started drawing twins.”

“Twins?” Sophia asked aloud.

“You have a good eye,” Constantin smirked. “This piece is brand new; I literally painted it last night. What do you think?”

He led her to the painting, which depicted two girls holding hands. It might have seemed unremarkable, except for the fact that he had painted them as albinos.

“That’s not all,” Constantin said proudly. “When the sun starts to set, we’ll definitely come back to this piece.”

Sophia glanced warily at the sofa, where Libby lay with her tail draped over her shoulders like a shawl.

“Well, what did I tell you? At this rate of progress, I’ll be sent back and demoted,” she sighed.

As the sun set, Sophia was surprised to see how many people had arrived. Men and women of different ages gradually filled the hall. The bartender, who had arrived half an hour before opening, was already mixing drinks, entertaining the guests with his skilled hands.

Sophia ordered a martini, noticing that it was a popular choice among the women, and slowly walked around the studio, trying to find something to hold onto in her search for a solution. The task was indeed no easy feat.

Over the centuries, the Ephor had encountered various opponents. There were bankers, soldiers, circus performers, stablehands, and plantation slaves. But they all shared one common experience: they had endured a profound shock that began to return their memories of past lives.

Now, however, the situation was different. According to available information, Constantin had grown up in a well-off family, comfortable and well-cared-for. He had done well in school and hadn’t lacked attention. Thanks to Libby, he possessed a strong charisma. He wasn’t afraid of moving, and any task seemed easily manageable to him. He wasn’t prone to depression. So what could have triggered such a rapid return of memory? That was what she needed to find out.

Continuing to walk through the space, Sophia tried her best not to pay attention to the other guides. There were many of them, and they quickly recognized her as an Ephor, but to their credit, they didn’t bombard her with questions. Some glanced at Libby with sympathy. Rumors in High Society spread as quickly as they did among ordinary people.

One by one, the paintings captured Sophia’s attention. The chaos in Constantin’s mind was skillfully reflected in his art-house works. To grasp the depth of his creative ideas, she had to scrutinize every detail, missing nothing.

In one painting, a young girl with enormous light blue eyes was depicted. Gold leaf adorned her eyebrows, and her long white lashes seemed to reach for it. Her porcelain skin seemed to glow through the canvas. A teacup rested atop a significant portion of her head, with her ear forming the handle of the cup. She was completely naked, modestly covered in strategic places by steam rising either from the saucer in her hands or from her own skin.

Next to her, there were duplicates of the girl, only twenty years older. As the girl approached old age, her porcelain skin dulled, and the wrinkles on her face and cup resembled cracks and chips in fine china. The sparkle in her eyes faded, and the saucer in her hands had completely vanished. Now, the elderly woman, broken in places and standing completely naked, embodied the wear and tear of body and spirit. Tea leaves were painted on her cheeks, resembling tears.

“Simply astonishing, isn’t it?” Libby asked, standing to Sophia’s left. “How finely he perceives this world.”

“There’s something to this painting,” the Ephor replied, without much enthusiasm. “As for perceiving the world, people are incapable of seeing the truth, no matter how hard they try.”

Libby looked at Sophia in surprise and rolled her eyes.

“They are the truth, Sophia. Their passion for life is proof of that, don’t you think?”

“Passion — » the Ephor pronounced the word almost with disgust. “What is passion, anyway? Just banal animal instincts, nothing more.”

“Everything is passion on a mental level, just as everything is art. You can find pleasure in creation and even greater ecstasy when your work is accepted and appreciated. The eroticism between people is simple and clear. But what you feel from creativity is something more.”

“His state is borderline. In his creative fervor, Van is mad,” Sophia replied, not turning her head toward her companion.

“But he’s mad just enough to return. Yes, within him lives that dark matter that envelops him, merging with him into a whole and forming what everyone sees — the artist.”

Sophia turned to Libby. Before her stood someone far from the carefree, rosy-cheeked giggler she had imagined. She had become no less mad than her protégé. A sinister smile mixed with pleasure lingered on her once-adorable face as she eagerly examined the painting.

“By granting Constantin a passion for art, is she robbing him of the possibility of balance?”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Constantin tapped his glass of whiskey with a glass straw and jumped onto the pedestal, interrupting Sophia’s thoughts. He had no shortage of agility. “I want to thank you all once again for coming today. It means a lot to me to share my work with you. Because what’s the point of drawings if they’re gathering dust in an abandoned factory?”

People applauded appreciatively. Some whistled, while others laughed.

“I certainly hope you’ll look at all the paintings and choose your favorite. But let me begin the presentation with a piece that came to me randomly one night. Therefore, it simply must be first, as the sunset’s orange light filters into the studio.”

Constantin pointed to the very painting of the twins.

The crowd began to chatter and moved closer to the artwork. The Guides also fell silent, contemplating.

“When I was painting this piece,” Van started the backstory, “I initially struggled to reflect an important detail, in my opinion. Under the night’s lamp light, the skin of our heroines shimmered white. Their light hair was also easy to see. But it was only with the arrival of dawn that the truth revealed itself in their gaze.”

Constantin theatrically approached the floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows and pulled back the sheer curtain.

The crowd gasped, and Sophia tensed alongside them. The twins’ eyes glowed red. They were no longer the innocent little girls; instead, the painting unveiled them as foreboding Flavuses, cloaked in shadow.

“It looks quite creepy,” someone murmured from the crowd.

“This is amazing! What a play of colors,” another voice breathed out.

In Sophia’s mind, the voices blended together, and she could no longer tell whether they were human or from the Guides.

“It feels like I’ve seen them somewhere before.”

She looked down and saw Lukas standing beside her.

“Hello, Lukas,” Sophia mumbled. “What are you doing here?”

“We came here with my mom and dad. Dad’s a collector. He takes us to different exhibitions and galleries all the time,” the boy replied, yawning as usual. “The painting is really beautiful. Maybe Dad will want to buy it —

In the distance, a shriek pierced the air. If people could have heard it, their eardrums would have burst.”

Sophia grimaced and turned to the very twins who had accompanied Lukas at the gas station.

As they swiftly approached the boy, their arms morphed into bat-like wings. They rushed toward him, enveloping him in a cocoon of their wings, their bodies merging into one, transforming them into Siamese twins.

Lukas instantly stopped smiling.

“Should we blame the boy for the fact that one individual’s imagination can lead another to ponder? Kallidus is failing in his duties. I need to report how significant even a small breach in the dam can be,” muttered one of the twins.

“And how treacherous the consequences will be when the dam breaks, and a wave of circumstances sweeps over us all,” nodded the other.

“You know, Lukas, I think you’re too young for such a painting,” Sophia told the boy. “It’s more a fabrication from the realm of nightmares than something that carries goodness.”

“Well, thanks,” the twins replied in unison.

“Lorina, just listen to Ephor. Now we’re even a nightmarish vision,” one of them said.

“I think they’re good,” the boy insisted. “If only they were real, we could play together.”

“Edith, our boy can’t be scared so easily. Sometimes he has more courage than it seems. If an ant were to fear a large piece of bread, it would starve to death,” one twin replied.

“Lukas!”

Sophia’s chaotic thoughts were interrupted by a gruff male voice.

“You’ve wandered off again. Your mother and I taught you not to stray too far from us.”

A man in his mid-forties took the boy by the hand.

“But Dad, I loved the painting! I wanted to see it up close.”

“Poor boy,” the father’s guide said, placing a sympathetic hand on his chest. “So many trials for this little body.”

“Kanises are guides resembling elderly people with turtle-like skin, who always empathize with everyone. They are like invisible friends, endowed with boundless wisdom and compassion, evident in their gray, sagging eyes. They provide support to their charges, helping them accept themselves and others as they are. They are sociable, positive old folks. But that’s only at first glance.

In the history of the Ephors, there was the first precedent when, in a moment of intense energy hunger, a Kanis revealed itself, becoming an ugly, withered skeleton with skin. Its charge lost their forgetfulness and remembered what their guide looked like during “feeding”. Subsequently, earthly people in Shendit began to mummify the bodies of the deceased to believe in an afterlife, thinking it important to preserve the body for the journey to a higher realm because the soul must remain in its corporeal shell. Funny? The Ephors thought so. However, the Guide was strictly punished for such a transgression and was forever sent to the Higher World. What happened to him afterward remains unknown.”

The elderly woman twirled her owl-shaped amulet on a long chain in her hands. Her long gray hair cascaded down her shoulders in thin strands, while the back was braided into a loose braid. The wind couldn’t affect the Guide, but it seemed her long white shirt dress swayed gently in the breeze, and her cowboy boots tapped playfully on the floor.

She stood beside her charge, gently touching his elbow, and smiled approvingly the entire time.

“Don’t interfere,” Edith’s sharp voice pulled Sophia back to reality. “No need to worry about others’ nests like a cuckoo.”

The twins no longer looked like children. Now, two young women stood before her. They still “wrapped’ their wings around Lucas but had separated from each other.

“Your son is very brave for his age,” Sophia said to the father, diverting her attention from the guides’ bickering. “How old is he, six?”

“He’ll be seven this year. I would certainly argue about bravery,” the man chuckled. “What do you say? Is the picture really that intriguing?”

“Honestly, I prefer other works more,” she replied, trying to feign an interested expression. “For example, a giraffe with an ice cream cone for a head could be a great decoration for a children’s party in the yard.”

The boy’s father nodded in agreement:

“Let’s go, Lucas. We still have a lot of work to see.”

“But Dad — » the boy pouted.

“No arguing, son,” the father said, stroking his son’s head and leading him away, ignoring his whimpers.

Following him, shaking their heads, the twins and the father’s guide left. The tension between them seemed palpable. Flavuses become adults in moments of danger for their charges, but what danger could there be from his father, or perhaps it was the Kanis —

The event was slowly drawing to a close, and people began to disperse. The walls thinned out as some bought paintings. Fortunately for Sophia, no one bought the twins.

Libby wandered gloomily around the columns with empty spots for paintings, trying all evening to avoid the other guides. It seemed she noticed the disapproving glances.

When the last visitor finally left, Sophia sat down on the couch and looked at Van. He appeared a bit tired and thoughtful.

“Can I smoke?” she asked.

“Yes of course,” Constantin pulled an ashtray from under the bar and handed it to her.

“It was incredibly interesting,” she said, exhaling a puff of smoke.

“Are you kidding me?” Disappointment was evident in Constantin’s voice.

“What do you mean?” Sophia didn’t understand.

“I heard your conversation with the boy and his father, Sophia. Why did you say not to buy that piece? Is it really that bad?”

“Nonsense.” Sophia extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray. “It’s not about that at all.”

“Then what is it about?” Van interrupted, anger growing on his face.

“I’ll be honest with you. I don’t just look at drawings as a passer-by, but also as a doctor.”

“As a psychiatrist, you mean,” Constantin casually interjected.

“I haven’t finished my thought,” the girl replied coldly. “I view paintings through the lens of my professional perspective. And no matter how beautiful a piece may be, I don’t want a seven-year-old boy gazing at it before bed. His psyche is still developing. Whether you like it or not, horror films aren’t just labeled 18+ for no reason. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“Many heard your dialogue and didn’t engage with that piece,” Constantin closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch. “They didn’t grasp what I wanted to convey through it.”

“They’ll have time to reconsider everything,” Sophia replied, not understanding his annoyance. “Look at how many of your other works sold. Honestly, I’ve rarely seen an artist boast about selling so many paintings in one evening.”

“It’s too late now,” Constantin said, standing up and offering her his hand. “I’ll walk you out.”

As she left, she realized that the established rapport with Constantin had been interrupted. Turning back one last time to the painting, Sophia saw Elizabeth form the word “thank you’ in the air with her lips.

Getting into the car, Sophia saw in the headlights that Van had returned to the studio without looking back to say goodbye. The Ephor simply shrugged and drove away.

Chapter 4

After seeing Sophia off, Constantin couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt.

“Maybe I was too harsh with her — ”

On the other hand, they had known each other for only a day, and she had already scared off potential buyers. All because she couldn’t keep silent.

Trying to blow off steam, he took a brush and began to paint chaotic strokes on the canvas. He wasn’t painting anything specific, just improvising.

And he drank a lot. First, he emptied the whiskey, then moved on to white rum. When he could no longer hold the brush in his hands, Constantin flopped down on the couch where the exhibition had taken place and closed his eyes.

In the morning, his head was pounding, but that was trivial compared to the lingering feeling from yesterday’s parting with Sophia. He liked that headstrong girl. The way she boldly defended her viewpoint was captivating. Yet he, like a true egoist, couldn’t accept an opinion different from his own. What childishness.

For half the day, he couldn’t find peace. He didn’t have Sophia’s phone number, which meant the only way to apologize for his behavior was to head to the “Sleeping Dolphin.”

The place wasn’t pleasant, although for a clinic it was ornate and tidy. During the times he came here, he wanted to run away. The patients were in their rooms — prisons. They only crossed paths during walks, but what always surprised him was that there were never any violent patients in this clinic. Either they were sent to other centers, or they felt much better here and weren’t in a hurry to leave.

Constantin approached the schedule desk and confirmed that Sophia was seeing patients today. Of course, no one gave him a referral, but for a box of chocolates and a promise to call, he managed to get the room number from the receptionist. Sometimes appearances helped, even though Constantin didn’t consider himself attractive. He inherited his mother’s Asian eyes and his father’s strong jawline. The mix of genes was evident.

Lost in thought about his roots, he didn’t notice when he bumped into someone familiar in the hallway.

“Costa!” the girl with an alien-like appearance and bleached eyebrows broke into a smile. “I’m so glad to see you! You haven’t written in a while.”

“Sayana, what’s up?” Constantin hugged her and glanced at the identification bracelet on her wrist. “I’m not a patient here. I just came to see a doctor about a personal matter,” he said. “And you still haven’t asked to go home?”

“No. I wanted to, but anyway I wouldn’t have made it in time for my mom’s birthday. And you know how families aren’t too keen on having a schizophrenic around. They feel more at ease when I’m getting treatment, and I feel more at ease when they’re not jumping at every little thing I do,” the girl smirked.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. They still love you. Just give them time.”

“I’m afraid I might not have the patience for long waits,” Sayana said, laughing sadly and tilting her head to the side as if she were listening to someone else nearby.

He looked at her bluish face and noted that not much time had passed since their last meeting, but she appeared even more withdrawn. Her thin fingers awkwardly ran through her light hair, as if she were gathering the remnants of her femininity to “freshen up.” Her large eyes, once a beautiful shade of blue, had dulled and turned more gray. On the girl’s neck, there was a pattern resembling vitiligo, but since Sayana was very pale, the pattern barely caught the eye and resembled more of an unusual decoration than a flaw.

“I believe in you, Sayana,” he said, hugging her again. “Remember, all fears are just in our heads. People outside this hospital don’t know what you’ve been through. Play the role you like.”

“Thank you, Costa. It was great to see you! We’ll meet again.”

The girl slowly wandered off toward the cafeteria, and Constantin turned to the appropriate office.

“Costa?” Sophia stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, raising an eyebrow.

“I allow her to call me that. We were treated together and became friends. May I come in?”

“Please, come in,” Sophia said, returning to the office and adjusting her already impeccably pressed lab coat as she sat in the chair. “How can I help you?”

“First of all, I’d like to apologize for yesterday,” Constantin began searching for the right words.

“No, I should be the one apologizing,” Sophia said, anxiously rubbing her hands together, mimicking human behavior when they’re upset. “I should have been more tactful and not meddled in things that aren’t my business. Besides, I really did like the painting.”

“Next time, I promise to behave more courteously,” Constantin smiled.

The heavy energy from his meeting with Sayana still lingered in the air, but he hadn’t come for that.

“Next time?” Sophia was surprised.

“If of course I haven’t scared you off,” Constantin hesitated. “I’d like to see you again, outside of this clinic.”

“Why not?” Sophia shrugged and he thought she seemed bored. “But this time I’ll choose the place for our meeting.”

“It’s settled then.” Constantin stood up to leave but suddenly remembered. “Can I have your number?”

“Of course. Is that why you came here?” she asked, dialing the number to call.

“Yes, I had to find some way to reach you, Sophia,” Constantin replied, feeling a bit shy.

The smartphone screen lit up with the precious call.

“Call me Sophie,” the girl smiled. “If you don’t mind, you can address me more casually.”

“Gladly,” he nodded and hurried to leave.

* * *

A week passed and Sophia still hadn’t called. Constantin waited patiently, comforting himself with thoughts that she had a lot of work. In the meantime, he painted and considered the concept for his next exhibition. He wrapped the painting of the twins in a blanket and stashed it in a distant corner, out of sight.

In the evenings, he met up with friends from the creative world. One of these friends invited him for a ride on a motorcycle to the waterfront. Constantin didn’t often use his iron steed. Perhaps it was due to the fear of getting carried away and losing track of speed, or maybe because he had made a promise to his parents long ago to sell it. But he never found the heart to part with his speedy friend.

Instead, he took him to a quiet enclosure behind the studio, away from onlookers. Now, as the cool sea air seeped through his helmet and filled his nostrils, he sped toward adventure, trying not to think about the girl for at least a couple of hours.

“Constantin!” his friend broke into a smile and waved.

“Hi, Max,” Constantin said, shaking his hand. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“How could I not? Good to see you, buddy,” Max said, turning to the two guys standing behind him. “Let me introduce you. This is Albert and Denis. They have their own photography studio.”

Constantin looked at them and nodded politely.

“What a cool motorcycle you have! The red paint looks bold,” Albert said, approaching the bike.

“And you can even control the navigation system without taking your hands off the handlebars!” Denis chimed in.

Constantin looked at the guys and smiled. Nothing took him back to childhood like toys, even if they were grown-up ones.

“Want to take a ride?” he offered.

“Of course! I’m driving,” Albert said, jumping onto the bike and putting on the helmet as he went.

“Alright, just don’t show off on the road,” Denis warned.

The guys sped off in a flash, while Van ordered a double espresso at a nearby café and returned to Max. He was a chubby guy of short stature, but he had a certain charisma that shone through at times. When Constantin was in the clinic, Max was the only one who didn’t pry into his personal life, never criticized or judged him. A priceless quality these days. And it was Max who had accidentally found Constantin on the floor that day.

“So, what are you up to now, my friend?” he asked, scratching his left eye. It seemed he just couldn’t get used to the contact lenses.

“You know me. I’m painting, spending long hours in the studio.”

“Sorry that I didn’t come to the exhibition. I was on a business trip. I hope you took photos of the paintings before selling them?” Max sighed sincerely.

Constantin always painted in one copy, so his paintings never lived in two places at once.

“Of course. I couldn’t leave you without news,” Constantin chuckled, lightly punching him in the shoulder. “By the way — speaking of news — I met someone.”

“Now that’s interesting. Who is she?” His friend immediately got to the point.

“You’ll laugh, but she’s my doctor. Not the best candidate for a relationship, I know.”

“Well, why not?” Max laughed. “Keep the most important things close at hand, as they say. It’ll be good for both the soul and the body.”

“You’re always joking,” Constantin replied, appreciating the tease.

While they chatted, time flew by, and the guys on the bike returned.

Denis jumped off the motorcycle like he’d been scalded, adjusting his curly, unruly hair as he went.

“I told you not to show off,” he scolded Albert, who, with a triumphant look, handed Constantin the helmet. “You almost made my heart jump out of my chest.”

“But it didn’t jump out,” his friend retorted. “Next time, don’t hold on to me like a girl.”

“What, like a girl? Oh, you!”

Denis kicked Albert and they engaged in a playful scuffle.

Constantin finished his invigorating coffee and went to toss the paper cup in the trash.

It was already quite dark on the waterfront and the streetlights had come on. This was his favorite time, when the sea, with its calm, barely noticeable waves, marked the end of the day. Turning his head toward the benches, he saw her.

The graceful silhouette of the girl stood out against the backdrop of the evening sunset.

She was sitting on the bench, reading something on her tablet while adjusting her hair, which the breeze was swirling around. A moment later, Sophia took a hairpin from the pocket of her gray blazer and neatly twisted her hair into a bun. She set the tablet aside and looked in Constantin’s direction, as if expecting to see him there.

He approached her.

“What a coincidence.”

“For some reason, I’m not surprised, Constantin,” Sophia replied. “The evening waterfront is perfect for a stroll after a long day. Oh, right — you like to work after sunset.”

He looked at her and noticed her tired appearance. It seemed she had been quite busy.

“I didn’t want to bother you after our last meeting. But I must admit, it wasn’t easy,” he said, sitting down on the bench next to her.

“Why wasn’t it easy?” Ephor furrowed her brows.

“God, Sophie,” Libby rolled her eyes, settling down next to her on the railing. “When you’re human, it’s natural to feel things. Every event shapes your mood.”

“Right, I promised to call,” Ephor continued, not waiting for an answer from Van, who was staring at her. “So much work piled up. And complicated clinical cases at work. I’m sorry.”

“I understand. Every day feels like sitting on a powder keg,” Van tried to joke.

“Exactly,” she nodded, her voice devoid of laughter.

Sophia looked at him with her sapphire eyes, and Constantin noted that he had never seen such a shade before. They seemed to glow from within, giving her irises a vibrant brightness.

“But since we’ve run into each other, maybe we could take a walk?”

“Constantin!” the guys called out to him, interrupting the moment.

“Are your friends?” Sophia nodded toward the approaching guys.

“More like acquaintances. Let me introduce you to them.”

He stood up and gestured to the guys who had come over.

“This is Max, my old friend. And these are Albert and Denis. We just met today.”

“Not only did you buy yourself such a badass bike, but you also kept a beautiful girl hidden!” Albert exclaimed, shaking Sophia’s hand warmly.

Something stirred inside Constantin.

“Nice to meet you,” she nodded. “I didn’t know you ride a motorcycle, too.”

“I don’t like to brag. Besides, it’s more of an occasional pastime than an everyday thing.”

“You’re downplaying your achievements,” Max waved him off. “In reality, he’s been saving diligently for his ‘steed.’ This bike is a symbol of his determination. If Van wants something, he’ll put in maximum effort to get it.”

“Okay, enough,” Constantin said. “Guys, if you don’t mind, we’re going to take a walk.”

“Actually, it’s getting late,” Sophia glanced at her watch. “I’d like to get myself in shape before the weekend. But we’ll definitely call tomorrow and come up with something. Is that okay?”

Constantin looked at her, not hiding his disappointment, while the guys whistled suggestively. Or maybe it was Albert.

“Yeah, of course. Need a ride?”

“I drove here, thanks. So, we’ll stay in touch. Bye, guys. Have fun!”

Sophia walked down the promenade, leaving him to watch her go. Every time he thought he could spend a little more time with her, she slipped away.

“She’s a bombshell,” Albert said.

“Don’t be jealous,” Denis smirked and continued passionately talking about the fast ride with his friend.

Constantin wasn’t listening to them. All evening he was troubled by his meeting with Sophia.

“Why did she look so exhausted? Is it really just work, or is something else bothering her?”

Returning to the studio, he thoughtfully started mixing paints. He tried to get the right proportions to achieve that very color, like her bottomless, large eyes.

He spent three hours on this, using a significant amount of oil paints, but barely managed to get close to the right shade.

* * *

The traitorous phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Constantin opened his eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight, and picked up the receiver.

“Van?”

He sat up sharply in bed, trying to shake off the drowsiness.

“Sophie, hello.”

“Hi. Did I wake you?”

Constantin glanced at the clock.

“Two in the afternoon, seriously?”

“I lost track of time last night while working on my paintings, but it’s all good. I’m glad to hear from you.”

“I wanted to ask, how do you feel about Thai cuisine? How about dinner together?”

“As you can probably tell, my appearance answers your question,” he laughed. His voice was still hoarse. “I’d love to.”

“Great! I’ll send you the address. See you soon.”

“See you.”

Constantin leaned back on the bed and closed his eyes. Then he opened them again and stared at the ceiling. His mind gradually dispelled the sleepy haze, and he descended to the studio with coffee in hand.

Yesterday, being a captive of mental illness, he hadn’t paid much attention to what he was painting. It was more of a healing ritual and an attempt to distract himself than a serious approach to his work. But today, standing before the painting with a clear mind, Constantin thought it turned out rather well. He hadn’t managed to capture Sophia’s eyes, but he painted the mist over the river. The veil above the blue surface of the river conveyed that very sapphire color. A female silhouette, in a long white shirt, with loose dark hair and a wreath in her hands, stepped along the riverbank. The longer Van looked at this girl, the more it seemed to him that she was the mist, or that the mist had created her.

He loved nature like that. In his time, Constantin was inspired by landscapes and the romance of villages, and this left an imprint on his heart, helping him to feel the pristine nature more sensitively. Perhaps that’s why, even during a panic attack, he painted what grounded him. Namely, nature and the color of tranquility, the color of her eyes.

At 6 PM, as agreed, Constantin arrived at the cooperative filled with numerous gastronomic spots and started looking for the name Sophia had sent him. The neon bright green sign read “YAY THAY.” Across from it, hills stood like a natural wall, shielding them from the outside world, and above, hundreds of hanging lights had already lit up.

Even though there was still half an hour until the appointed time, the girl was already sitting confidently in a rattan chair, carefully studying the menu. She wore a black polo shirt and round black sunglasses.

“The evening promises to be fiery,” Constantin said, approaching her.

“Well, sometimes there’s not enough spice,” the girl agreed, not catching his joke, and handed him the second menu. “What do you think of trying?”

“I’m old-fashioned. So, tom yum and Chang,” he said, not opening the menu. “What should I order for you?”

“I’ve already ordered — Pad Thai and coconut water.”

“Do you always come early?” Constantin asked.

“I value my time, but I really hate being late,” the girl replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sophia spoke casually and briefly, but for some reason, he liked it for the first time. Her cool demeanor seemed to stimulate Van, prompting him to study her more closely and get to her true inner world.

“When it comes to time, I’m impatient. I always feel like I could do more if I were more productive,” he continued.

Their order arrived, and while Constantin delved deeper into the topic, Sophia was already enjoying her meal.

“Every time people leave my exhibition, I think about how much more I still need to grow. Perhaps I haven’t spent enough time improving the results of my work,” said Constantin.

“But you live only for creation. Isn’t that enough?” Sophia replied.

“As long as there are negative reviews of my work, it’s not enough,” Constantin shrugged.

“Why are you so calm?” Sophia asked. “Doesn’t it irritate you that some people don’t appreciate your paintings? They couldn’t even paint a single part of them, yet they still come to your exhibitions and leave negative comments.”

He paused to think. Did he feel irritation at the sight of the ignorant near his work? No.

“I can’t turn a detached skeptic into an art connoisseur,” Van shrugged. “But I can try to instill in him the idea that everything is art and has the right to exist. He may not find understanding in my paintings, but by listening to his favorite music, he’ll definitely get closer to my world without even realizing it.”

Sophia looked at him thoughtfully. For a split second, Constantin thought he saw a smile flicker across her lips. He could only guess whether it was a smile of solidarity or if he seemed ridiculous in his philosophical musings.

They spent the entire evening discussing various topics and taste preferences. It turned out they had a lot in common despite their different personalities.

Constantin unobtrusively studied her face, trying to memorize every line so he could later paint her portrait from memory.

While talking to him, Sophia occasionally glanced away and looked off into the distance over his shoulder. For a moment, it even seemed like someone was standing there.

Constantin glanced over his shoulder. At a nearby table, a couple was sitting together, sharing an ice cream and laughing loudly.

“Do you know them?” asked Van.

“No, I don’t think so. They just look so happy. Maybe it’s the ice cream,” Sophia replied with a smile.

“Or maybe it’s that they’re just good together. Everything else is just props.”

“But I’m definitely going to order some ice cream,” she said, waving to the waiter.

Chapter 5

Constantin was talking to Sophia, surrounded by the glow of hanging lights and the enveloping scents of hoisin sauce and garlic. The weather was gradually turning, with a breeze beginning to pick up from the sea. Yet, it seemed the two of them were oblivious to it.

Libby was making an effort not to draw unnecessary attention to herself in Sophia’s presence.

There were already plenty of guides around, curiously glancing at them. The appearance of the Ephor always sparked discussions, and a wave of speculation was beginning to engulf the Community. Information among the Guides and Ephors had long lost its confidentiality. In a modern world where gossip and snitching were valued, harmful habits had not spared the guides (or were they the very founders of this detrimental phenomenon?).

The incident in the studio and Constantin’s painting quickly became the news of the day in the Upper World. Every passing guide cast a glance at Elizabeth. Some looked on with sympathy, others with judgment, and some with outright hatred.

The lower-ranking Guides feared her. They were afraid that one person’s mistakes would impact everyone’s work, that a chain of failures was contagious, like chickenpox. The older guides used Elizabeth as a bad example among their ranks, saying,

“There’s always a white crow in the family, and she is their leader.”

She had to adapt to the new reality. A reality in which she had become an outcast in just a couple of weeks.

She could only wonder why the Archon hadn’t demoted her yet or removed her from her assignment. Each day, she looked at Constantin in fear that it might be her last. She had been trained not to get attached to her charges, to show empathy while maintaining a clear view of the situation. Now, however, Libby wanted to be visible. She longed to share with Constantin, as she would with a brother, all the burdens she had endured while being near him. While he painted the fiery sunsets and the green seaweed on the sandy beach day and night, Kallidus sat like a faithful dog in a lotus pose by the painting, fearing each new stroke of watercolor.

“Why so slow?” she asked the guide, who was carelessly finishing her meal.

Sophia looked up and glanced at Libby, who stood with her arms crossed behind her, watching her charge.

Constantin naturally noticed this and assumed that Sophia was distracted by a couple enjoying ice cream.

Libby, in turn, looked around and focused on the guides of the couple. The girl had a guide named Nomadum. He was a dark-skinned man with snake-like skin and yellow eyes, who kept nudging his charge to be more sociable and friendly with her boyfriend. The sleeves of his wine-colored shirt were rebelliously rolled up, and the shirt itself was wrinkled and worn in places, as if he had hurriedly dashed out after his charge.

The guy, on the other hand, had a guide named Lombask. He was a man in a business suit with perfectly styled hair slicked back. He constantly glanced at his notebook, jotting something down with a pretentious expression, tapping his sharp claw against the pages. He was probably making a list of the girl’s flaws to ensure the date wouldn’t last longer than one night.

In the world of guides Lombasks were the most driven and businesslike. They were the careerists among the unseen guides, always presenting a flawless appearance and executing their work with equal perfection. Deep down, Libby envied them. In the history of Guides, there had never been a Lombask who failed in their mission. Even now, when the girl laughed at another joke from her companion, Lombask momentarily glanced up from his notebook before returning to his notes with an emotionless demeanor.

Libby turned away from the guides and focused on Sophia again. She wanted to scream at them, to vent all her pent-up emotions. But she couldn’t do that. In the hierarchy of beings, Guides and Ephors never shouted at each other. They either didn’t interact at all or worked together for the benefit of the charge and the Community. That was exactly what Libby planned to do.

“That was a great time. I didn’t even notice how quickly the time flew by,” said Ephor, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

“I was worried it would rain and ruin all our plans. But it seems like the weather is holding up. I didn’t even realize how long we’ve been here. I thought we’d only been sitting for a couple of hours, but it’s already been four — » Constantin replied, surprised. “Maybe we could continue our conversation somewhere new?”

“I would love to, but I still have some plans for today,” the girl sighed.

“Plans? Are you serious?” Libby finally raised her voice. The Guides in the area turned their attention to them, staring. “Constantin, your only plan is to stay here until everything works out.”

“That’s too bad. But I hope our meeting isn’t the last. There are still many restaurants worth visiting,” Constantin said easily, as he was oblivious to the guide’s remarks and the drama unfolding around him.

“I’ll step away for a moment to the restroom, if you don’t mind,” the girl said, glancing at Libby.

“Of course,” he nodded.

Elizabeth followed silently behind Sophie, hoping there would be no one else in the bathroom. Once inside the stall, Sophia glared at the Guide. The detached expression on her face was gone.

“Are you deliberately driving me crazy?” she asked.

“No, I just don’t understand why you’re stalling,” Libby pouted. Conflicts were unhelpful, and now alone with the Ephor, she felt uneasy.

“I’m acting strictly according to protocol,” she retorted. “First, I need to establish myself in his thoughts, gain his trust. If I buzz around Constantin too insistently, he’ll lose interest in me in a couple of days. Is that what we want?”

“Your protocols,” the Guide muttered. “Feelings aren’t governed by logic.”

“Everything is governed by logic,” Sophia said dryly. “And you would do well to start thinking with your head. So stop rushing me. I know it’s not easy. But if everything were simple, this situation wouldn’t have arisen at all. I’m searching day and night in the sources for similar situations and ways to resolve them.”

“Is it really that bad?” Only now did Libby notice the dark shadows under the girl’s eyes, even though Ephors didn’t need sleep.

“A person can’t accurately recall their past life or anyone from it. And they definitely can’t see guides and describe them in detail. There’s something more here than just a small ‘gap’ in the subconscious,” the Ephor said thoughtfully. “Does he still have panic attacks?”

“There was one, after he met you on the embankment.”

“I’m sure I’ll find the reason for all this mess. Right now, I need time and as much as it takes.”

“What if he doesn’t have that time?” Libby asked, frightened.

“There is always time. Be patient. And yes, Elizabeth, stop waiting for approval from other Guides.”

“What?” she exclaimed, taken aback.

“I saw how you were glancing at the other Guides while performing. Trust me, it’s not worth your worries. Fear only hinders you from focusing on your own goals.”

“I understand. But this is my first mistake, and it’s already such a serious one. I’ve thought a lot about what I did wrong. My task was to inspire Constantin, encourage him to take bold actions, fall in love with girls and his creativity. Instead, he became gloomy and obsessed with his desires.”

“We all make mistakes. The only difference is whether you are willing to correct them,” Sophia dismissed.

The Ephor approached the sink to wash her hands when suddenly a woman in her forties emerged from the neighboring stall and looked around in confusion.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked Sophia.

Sophia tapped her index finger on the earpiece in her right ear, which Libby hadn’t noticed under her hair.

“I have a theatrical production coming up. We’re constantly rehearsing.”

“Well, I wish you good luck,” the woman said with a smile as she headed for the exit.

Guide Kanis, following her charge, rolled his eyes and shook his head at them.

Libby wanted to drown herself in that tiny bathroom sink.

Returning to Constantin, she gazed thoughtfully at Sophia.

“There’s always time… How strange.”

Guides never loved time, unlike the Ephors. For them, time passed just as quickly as it did for people. They had to work diligently every second, because every moment their charge made choices that shifted the direction of their life.

The kaleidoscope of events spun relentlessly, even at night. While people slept, guides implanted thoughts and perceptions that they would wake up to. This was why sleep specialists had struggled for years to understand why the structure and routine of sleep often changed. If a guide was anxious and couldn’t separate their feelings from those of their charge, the person suffered from insomnia. This was destructive for both the guide and the charge.

At night, people’s thoughts became clearer, free from external distractions. They had space to contemplate the bigger picture and engage in philosophy. But this also created a risk of existential crises and a reevaluation of personal values.

Time became an eternal shepherd, always pushing forward. And while for the Ephors, time flowed steadily and clearly, for both people and guides, it was chaotic and unpredictable.

Libby recalled how Constantin’s watch had fallen off his wrist. The treacherous strap had lost its strength, just like his patience. But in that moment, it was so clear that he didn’t need to glance at his wrist, searching for an excuse to relax artificially or to find that precious free hour. After all, people who move toward their goals at a leisurely pace are always beautiful; it’s all about dignity.

“Looking at the clock is just a pleasant way to kill time,” wrote a famous author.

And it’s no wonder. His guide was also Kallidus, who infused him with inspiration but couldn’t keep up with the frantic pace of time.

Libby realized this when Constantin picked up his wristwatch from the floor. The tear in the strap mirrored his internal struggle. For a moment, harmony was restored. Even in his workshop, the clock on the wall began to tick chaotically. It had every right to do so.

Right now, Elizabeth had as much time as the rationality of her charge allowed. And every minute was priceless.

* * *

She stood nearby, just far enough to avoid hearing their conversation, but close enough to feel the vibrations from her charge. She had been trained to quickly make contact with Ephors, but they hadn’t taught her delicacy. This made things difficult for Kallidus. She constantly felt the urge to eavesdrop, to understand why her charge’s aura began to glow every time he saw Sophia.

Although Libby already knew the answer, it was one that disheartened her. It was jealousy, like a sister’s toward a brother, as if she were visible — and Constantin could “trade” her away. Silly.

Trying to keep herself together, Libby turned away from the couple. The feeling of being the third wheel wouldn’t leave her. But that was the job of a Guide: You can look, but you can’t touch. Like being in a zoo.

Her attention shifted to the couple with ice cream. More specifically, to their Guides. It was always amusing to observe how complete energetic opposites were forced to interact for the common good, nurturing certain skills in their charges.

Her gaze involuntarily drifted to Lombask. Throughout their time here, he had never once relaxed his posture. While Nomadum constantly lounged, throwing his legs on the table and sprawling in the chair next to his charge, Lombask stood behind his “pet” like a bodyguard.

As if hearing Elizabeth’s thoughts, Lombask turned his head in her direction.

Libby’s breath caught in her throat, and heat rushed through her body.

“If you want to ask something, please don’t hesitate,” Lombask said in a tone of complete indifference. “Otherwise, it’s inappropriate.”

“Oh, colleague!” Nomadum beamed, shaking his long dreadlocks. “Come join us.”

“Hello, my name is Elizabeth,” the guide said, stepping closer. Time was pressing — Sophia and Constantin were about to leave.

“I’m Alan,” Nomadum exclaimed warmly.

“Kiraz,” Lombask replied tersely, not looking up from his notebook.

“How long have you two been a duo?” Libby asked with a smirk, trying not to stare too intensely at Kiraz.

“Just made a comment too,” she thought.

“A couple of months-s,” Alan replied. “My stony friend and I are trying to combine the incompatible. To grant his charge a sens-se of sensuality that he lacks.”

“To give him communication skills with dreamy girls, to be precise. That’s far from sensuality, but it’s a good lesson in how not to lose your cool,” Lombask noted something in his notebook and snapped it shut.

“S-sorry, Mr. Stiff,” Nomadum laughed. “It doesn’t take much effort for your charge to lose his cool. Jus-st one unnoticed success at work, and suddenly papers are flying off the des-sk.”

“Apparently, the guy is more sensitive than you might think,” Libby laughed, addressing Alan, but she stopped when Kiraz shot her a reproachful look.

“Shouldn’t you be attending to your charge?” he asked in a parental tone.

“Of course. I just came over to say hello,” Elizabeth nodded.

“You shouldn’t leave him unattended for too long, even if he has an Ephor with him.”

“Aha, s-so that’s where I’ve s-seen that lady,” Alan chuckled. “Now it makes s-sense! You’re the Guide whose oddball started remembering everyt-thing?”

Libby felt uneasy at his words. Her cheeks betrayed her, turning a deep crimson.

“There’s a possibility,” she muttered.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Kiraz said, and even Alan opened his mouth in shock, sticking out his long tongue. “The Community cannot guarantee a hundred percent result. There are always unforeseen circumstances. Ultimately, our job is to solve problems as they arise.”

He looked at his charge, and Libby thought she saw him clench his teeth.

Maybe Lombasks aren’t as impenetrable as she thought.

“Well, it was nice to meet you. Maybe we’ll see each other again,” the Guide nodded kindly.

“That would be nice, Elizabeth,” Alan waved, once again propping his feet up on the table.

“The probability is extremely low,” Kiraz stated.

Libby took one last look at his perfect, textured face and made her way back to Constantin, swaying her hips. All she could do was hope that Lombask would appreciate her sensual, bare-footed walk.

Chapter 6

Sophia lay on the bed, listening to the silence around her. Ever since she was assigned to Constantin, her thoughts had become her only companions in the dark. Ephors had no need for sleep or food to sustain themselves; human vices did not affect them. But she enjoyed simulating an ordinary human life, adjusting her daily routine to the schedule of mortals. There was a special atmosphere in this, even if everything seemed like a monochrome harmony of the mundane.

A mundanity in which guides added colorful hues, filling people’s lives with diverse meaning. But the Ephors saw this as a waste of energy.

“Although Libby seems to have gone overboard with the colors,” Sophia thought.

Through the partially open window, the distant rustle of passing dogs and the faint whisper of branches from the shrubs growing beneath it could be heard.

The Ephor’s room had turned into an archive. Glancing around, Sophia realized how many attempts had been made to find the right thread, how much material had been studied.

Gracefully tiptoeing, like a cat, over the neat rows of documents with notes and action plans spread out on the floor, she stepped onto the balcony. Lighting another cigarette, she gazed into the emptiness of the street. Sophia didn’t know what she expected to see. The dim streetlamp attracted moths and gnats, and she watched them as if entranced. Their countless attempts to approach the heated light amused the Ephor. The moths, unable to realize the futility of their efforts, could not stop.

“Just like people,” an indifferent thought flashed through her mind.

In the distance, the roar of an engine could be heard; night races were starting on the highway. Every night, they took to the empty road to test themselves and their iron companions. Sometimes it ended tragically, with the news filled with depressing headlines, but the girl understood that it was nothing more than another task completed for the guide, and a new level of development for the soul.

Sophia recalled the meeting on the embankment. While gathering information about Constantin at the clinic, she had studied his visitors. She learned that Max was one of Van’s few regular guests.

This plump jester, along with his guide Kanis, served as a kind of support for his friend. To some extent, he acted as an anchor for Constantin’s unstable balance of memories. That was why she had discreetly asked Kanis to direct her charge toward a friendly gathering. Constantin and his friends were supposed to meet there, so Sophia had chosen a nearby bench in advance, ensuring Constantin would notice her in time. The Ephor needed to remind him of her presence and get a look at Libby. Only by observing her could Sophia gauge the true state of her charge.

And when she noticed how frightened the once-cheerful redhead had become, Sophia realized that Constantin was not getting better.

Now, reflecting on the subtleties of earthly life, she realized that she hadn’t watered her plant in a long time. Once, Sophia had seen her neighbor growing flowers on her balcony and decided to try it herself. She planted an avocado. It grew quickly, and the seed’s positive drive for life helped her adopt the right mindset.

Growing it in a glass jar filled with water and small river stones at the bottom, she found the process quite symbolic. The root stretched downward, while life simultaneously emerged from above. Could it be said that people, like the avocado root, make mistakes, sink to the bottom, yet continue to survive and sprout bright green leaves?

“What am I to do with you, Van…” Sophia thought.

The conversation with Elizabeth in the restroom left Ephor in a daze. She had examined all of Constantin’s lives, right up to the present day, and found nothing suspicious. There were no signs that he would begin experiencing such vivid flashbacks of his past life. Yet, given the circumstances, it was clear that some detail had been overlooked.

After extinguishing her cigarette on the wrought-iron balcony railing, Sophia returned to the room, clutching a stack of colorful sticky notes.

“Maybe if I visually assemble a map of his lives on the wall, I’ll notice the missing detail… No, it would just make more of a mess.”

She set the sticky notes aside and picked up another stack of blank paper.

* * *

With the arrival of morning, the scene in the apartment hadn’t changed. The box of documents had only grown larger, and the ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts. It was time to admit that her attempts to cope on her own hadn’t been successful. She needed to gather information from her colleagues.

Quickly getting ready, Sophia pulled a black cap over her eyes and headed to the clinic. Life within the walls of the “Sleeping Dolphin” was already bubbling like water boiling in a kettle, in stark contrast to the name of the establishment.

Every minute of the Ephor’s day was scheduled. Each employee played their role with responsibility. For example, some escorted patients to the library, where they could read their favorite works, complete with pre-made edits in the texts. This alternative branch of events, inserted into a previously familiar story, helped the individual reconstruct their memory.

Thus, distracting him from the “discovered” memories.

Other Ephors guided their patients to the healing spring, where belladonna had been carefully added to the water. The sleep grass not only justified the ironic name of the clinic but also helped people dream less. Dreams acted as a binocular lens to past lives, and patients couldn’t be allowed to view them until that lens became cloudy once more.

In the garden, apple trees grew, their fruits containing amalfin. The Ephors had developed this poison to spray on the tree fruits in small doses, adding it to food as well. Once amalfin entered the body, it caused the person to think more slowly. Gradually affecting the hippocampus, the poison had a narcotic effect, and the patient would forget the very reason they had been urgently admitted to the clinic.

However, there were cases when patients did not respond to treatment. They often returned to the clinic and began to pose a threat to the Higher Realm.

Then they were sent for the procedure of oblivion. The behavioral model was copied from cordyceps mushrooms. The guide, like the fungus, would penetrate their charge’s consciousness and completely dominate them, effectively zombifying them.

The person would become disoriented in space, losing recognition of themselves and those around them. The procedure of oblivion thoroughly erased all memories of previous lives, including the present one. The Guide would then control their charge for the rest of their life, like a puppet.

Cruel, but it was the only way to preserve the secret for which these beings had toiled for centuries.

As Sophia walked through the clinic grounds and passed by the garden, she habitually stopped at the fountain with the dolphin and began to examine it. The gilded figure gleamed brightly in the sun, and she could see her own reflection in it.

“You’ve been visiting us less frequently,” a voice said.

In the reflection beside her appeared a woman — a tall, statuesque figure with long red nails and an impressive beehive hairstyle, smirking as she fished coins from the fountain, their golden shine spreading across the artificial bottom like a glittering carpet.

“How many are there… a million?” Sophia’s thought flashed through her mind.

It wasn’t easy to do that with such long nails, but the woman didn’t give up. With each coin she caught, she triumphantly wiped her wet hands on her apron over her medical uniform. Then, upon examining a coin, she would toss it back in.

“Gerda,” Sophia stated dryly. “Aren’t Ephors above human money?”

“No. But when you have to entertain yourself all day, finding something like this can be quite pleasant.”

“We’re not here for entertainment,” the girl sighed.

In the world of Ephors, there was always a clear protocol of actions. With the right prioritization, there was little time to think about personal leisure. Yet even among the Higher Realm, some beings desired change. Sooner or later, they picked up on human behaviors and began to mimic them, even though they felt nothing in the process.

On the other hand, Sophia herself smoked and pretended to dream in much the same way. So perhaps it wasn’t fair to judge Gerda too harshly. An Ephor of her rank was responsible for the source in the clinic. She monitored the concentration of sleep grass in the water, and since belladonna didn’t affect her, she could confidently taste the water and adjust the dosage.

“Don’t be so grumpy, Sophie,” the woman waved her hand dismissively, holding another coin up to the sun and admiring it. “Of course, I’ve heard the rumors that your assignment isn’t easy, but that’s no reason to be such a snob.”

“Speaking of that — » the girl decided to pick up the topic, ignoring her remark, “didn’t we have a department with classified files?”

“Yes, there is such a department. But you still won’t be granted access, you know that,” Gerda scoffed. “Only the Supreme has that right.”

“But you know where it is, right?” Sophia pressed on.

“I do. Talanay worked there.”