Dmitry set the tablet aside. The screen went dark, leaving a cold black rectangle on the rough, weathered wood of the table. He looked at Cohen, then at Karl and Martha, who remained frozen in the shadows like ghosts of a bygone era. For a moment, he considered lying. He could claim to be a merchant from a sun-drenched southern coast or a survivor of a mundane shipwreck. But the man in the torn sheepskin coat opposite him had just handed over an ancient family relic just to understand his speech. Cohen sat in his ruined hall with the unshakable dignity of a king. He deserved the truth, no matter how insane it sounded.

  "I don't know the geography of your world, Baron," Dmitry began, feeling the amulet on his chest vibrate as it wove meaning into his words. "In my world, there is no magic. We have technology. We have machines." He gestured toward the window, where the silhouette of the Ark loomed in the rain. "Two days ago, I was in a desert. Sun, sand, and heat that could melt asphalt. I pressed a button... a lever... to escape a lethal storm. And the world simply blinked."

  Dmitry paused, searching for concepts the amulet could bridge.

  "The light died. The heat vanished. When I opened my eyes, there was only darkness, bone-chilling cold, and water."

  Cohen listened in absolute silence. His face remained a mask of stone, but his knuckles, gripping the wooden armrests, had turned white.

  "I woke up in a swamp," Dmitry continued. "Forty kilometers east of here. Мой дом... my machine... was buried in the muck up to its belly. I didn't know where I was. I saw no sun—only rotting trees and black, stagnant water. I sawed through the forest. I built roads out of logs. I dragged that multi-ton beast with steel cables until my veins felt like they were bursting. I crawled through those forty kilometers for two days straight, no sleep, eating on the move. I moved toward the only landmark I could find—your castle. I thought I was still on my own world, just lost. But then I sent my 'flying bird' above the clouds."

  Dmitry looked straight into Cohen's eyes.

  "I saw two moons. And I realized I was very, very far from home."

  The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sharp crackle of dying coals in the fireplace.

  Cohen rose slowly from his chair. He walked to the wall where a moth-eaten map, drawn on an old hide, hung precariously.

  "You say you came from the East?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper. "Through the Marshes?"

  "Straight through. Through the thick of the forest and the heart of the mire," Dmitry confirmed.

  The Baron turned around, and for the first time, Dmitry saw a flicker of superstitious horror in his eyes, mixed with a budding, reluctant admiration.

  "You are either the greatest liar these lands have ever seen, Dmitry, or the luckiest madman to ever draw breath."

  He pressed a finger against a large gray smudge on the map, cordoned off with jagged, wavy lines.

  "This is the Rotten Marshes. The Barrier of Dead Water."

  As Cohen spoke, the amulet flooded Dmitry’s mind with translated images. This wasn't just a swamp—it was a scar on the world’s surface. Five centuries ago, when the Necromancer Empire from the south attempted to drown the Free Kingdoms in shadow, the Magisters of Water and Earth had erected this wall.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "Hydromancy and Geomancy," the amulet whispered in Dmitry's mind.

  "They collapsed the rivers, heaved the earth, and cursed the land so no army could ever set foot there," Cohen explained. "To bypass the Marshes with a trade caravan takes half a year through the Northern Passes. To go through them... even the most legendary rangers spend two months, moving step-for-step, protected by amulets against the restless dead."

  "Undead?" Dmitry’s muscles tensed.

  "The Marshes are not empty, Dmitry," Cohen said, his voice hardening. "The magic that birthed them twisted everything it touched. In those depths roam the Drowned—those who died but were denied rest. There are swamp beasts warped by raw mana, predatory plants that can drain a man in seconds, and ghosts whose wailing shatters the mind. Full squads of knights in plate armor have vanished there. Even dragons have drowned in those bogs. And yet you..."

  The Baron looked at the Ark outside, then back at the engineer.

  "...you drove forty kilometers on your roaring beast. You crushed the forest, you filled the air with noise and blinding lights. You should have been a beacon for every horror within a hundred leagues. You should have been torn apart in the first hour."

  A cold chill traced its way down Dmitry’s spine. He remembered the first night. He remembered the gurgling sounds when he stepped into the water for a jerrycan. He remembered the feeling of a thousand eyes watching from the dark. He thought he was fighting mud and physics. In reality, he’d been wading through a pit of vipers—and they simply hadn't bitten.

  "Why?" Dmitry asked. "Why am I still alive?"

  Cohen shrugged.

  "Perhaps your Iron Beast terrified them. They have never seen its like—the roar, the lights, the scent of burning oil. To them, you were the apex predator. Or," he touched the amulet on Dmitry’s chest, "the Gods protect fools and strangers. You passed through the Barrier of Dead Water like a hot knife through butter. You did the impossible."

  Dmitry leaned back, the puzzle pieces finally locking together. He hadn't just landed in a strange land; he had dropped into a magical Chernobyl and driven through it in a truck, scaring off zombies with a pneumatic horn.

  "Luck," he exhaled. "Just pure, terrifying luck."

  "No," old Karl murmured from the corner, shaking his head. "It is not luck, sir. It is Destiny. The last person to emerge from the Marshes was the current King’s great-grandfather. And he arrived to change everything."

  Dmitry looked at them. They no longer saw a provider; they saw a miracle.

  "Alright," Dmitry said, standing up on slightly Trembling legs. "Destiny or not, I’m here. I’ve crossed your Barrier. I have a home, food, and heat." He looked at Cohen. "It seems we can be useful to one another. I survived the Marshes; you survived this castle. Perhaps we should join forces?"

  Cohen nodded slowly.

  "You are right, Dmitry. But there is one more thing you must understand."

  The Baron pointed toward the west, into the deep darkness beyond the castle walls.

  "The Marshes were made to protect us from the Empire. But the Empire is still there. And if you could cross... it means the Barrier is no longer insurmountable. That news is worth more than gold. And it is far more dangerous than poison."