Nothing felt like before—as if he had stepped into another world entirely.

Suddenly, he grabbed Jahongir by the collar and shoved him hard against the wall.

His voice was low, furious:

“Explain. Now. No riddles. What is this place? Give me a straight answer!”

Jahongir didn’t flinch. Still holding the lantern, his eyes remained fixed on the flame.

“Careful with the light. If it goes out… things might not go well.”

“Enough games! Talk! What do you call this place?!”

“This is the Platform of Time. The entry corridor. A neutral tunnel.”

“And where are we going from here?”

“We’re not going anywhere. The mission is here. At the very end of the corridor.”

“What am I retrieving? Where do I deliver it?”

The young man’s grip on his collar tightened. The tension was razor-sharp.

“If you let go,” Jahongir said calmly, “I’ll explain it in your terms. Breathe. I’m your living guarantee.

As long as I’m with you—you are protected.”

His gaze, lit by the flicker of the lantern, was so steady, so sure, that each word seemed to stand on solid ground.

Slowly, the young man loosened his grip, backed away, and dropped into a crouch.

It was as if his legs could no longer hold him.

“Courier. Name: Rustam. Age: 27. Education: basic. Single. Field specialist. No interest in history whatsoever… Listen carefully.

We are now standing in the sealed section of Gafur Gulyam metro station—officially closed for repairs.

In truth, this is a portal. An ancient passage, long forgotten and hidden. There’s another just like it at a different station.

Your task:

Travel into the past and retrieve the Swan Feather.

That’s all. I’ll explain the rest later.

That feather—it’s the emblem of our Organization.

It even shares its name: The Swan Feather.

Your mission is to bring it back.

Now focus.

At the end of this tunnel, you’ll enter the same location—but in a different era.

No object besides your body and the issued navigator may cross the boundary of time.

That’s why you must change completely—even your underclothes.

These old, musty garments match the fashion of that era.

This is a neutral zone. Here, you may leave your things—your tech, your clothes—untouched.

Remember:

When you return—don’t bring anything back with you.

Not a pebble. Not a scrap of cloth.

Anything else would disturb the balance between the timelines.”

Rustam stared silently at Jahongir, taking in every word.

But as the man kept speaking, it was as if a cold layer began creeping across his skin.

“Why?” the question spun endlessly in his mind.

“What if this is all just an elaborate joke?”

He had already tried using his phone—no signal, no power.

So Jahongir hadn’t lied: the tech really didn’t work here.

But this talk of portals, missions, swan feathers—it all sounded like a poorly staged play.

And yet… he was expected to walk to the end of that tunnel, as if he had already signed some invisible contract.

A hundred questions spun through his mind like a cyclone.

But then Rustam realized—he didn’t want to ask them.

Let Jahongir do the convincing.

“Come with me,” said Jahongir, lifting the lantern and pointing toward a staircase that led upward.

“We’ll go upstairs.”

Rustam rose reluctantly from the cold ground, where he had sat curled like a knot.

He stepped after Jahongir.

Part of him wanted to follow this through—to see how it all ended.

Another part rebelled, calling the whole thing absurd.

But one trait had always ruled his nature—stubbornness.

He remembered when, as a boy, he and some friends had dared to explore a cave outside their village late at night.

One of the boys had grown scared and wanted to turn back.