"No. I want to know the truth. My grandfather entrusted me with this secret not so I could hide it back in the archive."

Dinara looked at him with respect.

"Then we'll go tomorrow. But we'll be careful."

After dinner, they drove to the hotel. It was a modest but clean establishment in the city center. Dinara helped Alexei check in and accompanied him to his room. At the door, she hesitated, as if wanting to say something but changed her mind.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow at seven in the morning," she said. "Be ready."

"Thank you again," Alexei replied. "For everything."

She nodded and turned to leave but suddenly stopped and looked at him over her shoulder.

"You know, I'm glad you came. Despite everything."

With these words, she left, leaving Alexei at his room door with the feeling that tomorrow would change everything.

Inside, the room proved simple but comfortable. Alexei locked the door and, for good measure, propped a chair against it. Then he took out the medallion and placed it on the bedside table. The silver disc gleamed in the lamplight, as if winking at him.

"What are you hiding?" Alexei thought, looking at the ancient artifact. "And is the solution worth the dangers it might bring?"

But he already knew the answer. He hadn't come here to turn back. Tomorrow they would head to Issyk-Kul, and perhaps the secret preserved for centuries would finally be revealed.

Alexei lay down on the bed, fully clothed, and closed his eyes. Sleep was long in coming, and when it finally arrived, he dreamed of labyrinths of underground caves filled with water, and an ancient monk who persistently told him something in an unfamiliar language, pointing to a silver medallion hanging around his neck.

Dinara pulled up to the hotel at exactly seven in the morning. Alexei was already waiting at the entrance with a small backpack. He had slept poorly, plagued by strange dreams, and looked somewhat disheveled. However, the anticipation of the journey to the lake gave him energy.

"Good morning," said Dinara, opening the car door. Today she was dressed in practical clothing—jeans, a plaid shirt, and a light jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. "Ready for the journey?"

"More than ready," Alexei replied, tossing his backpack onto the back seat.

Dinara handed him a paper cup of coffee and a paper bag.

"Here. Coffee and meat samsa. A traveler's breakfast."

"Thanks," Alexei smiled, accepting the offering. "You've thought of everything."

"It's quite a journey," Dinara shrugged, merging into the morning traffic. "Four hours at best, if there's no congestion leaving the city."

They drove in silence for a while. Alexei chewed on the samsa—a flaky pastry with meat filling—and watched as Bishkek gradually gave way to suburbs and then rural countryside. In the distance, the mountain ranges of the Tian Shan were visible, shrouded in morning mist.

"Tell me," Alexei finally broke the silence, "what do you know about this Karabaev?"

Dinara gave him a quick glance.

"Not as much as I'd like. In the '90s, he started with a small business, then somehow gained control of several gold mines. Now he's one of the wealthiest men in the country, has connections in the government, finances cultural projects." She hesitated. "But rumors suggest he made his first millions smuggling antiquities to Europe and China."

"And he's interested in the archaeology of Issyk-Kul?"

"Not just interested. Obsessed with it." Dinara changed lanes, overtaking a slowly crawling truck. "For the past five years, he's been financing expeditions, bringing in foreign specialists, building a collection of artifacts. They say there's an entire museum in his mansion near Cholpon-Ata."