"Eat, drink," he invited. "Help yourselves to everything God has provided."

During dinner, the conversation revolved around everyday matters—life in the village, harvest prospects, relatives' health. Rustam asked Dinara about her work at the museum and Alexei about life in St. Petersburg. It seemed the old man deliberately avoided the topic of the medallion and the pursuit, as if waiting for the right moment.

When the meal was finished and Aigul had cleared the table, serving fresh tea, Rustam finally got down to business.

"Ermek told me by radio about what happened," he said, looking intently at Alexei. "About the medallion, about Karabaev's men." He shook his head. "I knew this day would come. I've been preparing for it for many years. But it still caught me off guard."

"What do you mean?" asked Alexei. "What day?"

"The day when the medallion would return to Issyk-Kul," Rustam replied. "The day when the final chapter of a story that has lasted eight centuries would begin."

Alexei felt the medallion on his neck seem to respond to these words—becoming warmer, heavier. He took it out from under his shirt and placed it on the table in front of Rustam.

The old man did not touch the medallion but looked at it with reverence mixed with anxiety.

"So it is indeed the one," Rustam said quietly. "The very one your grandfather found in 1954 and then hid from everyone."

"You knew about my grandfather's find?" Alexei asked in surprise.

"Of course," Rustam nodded. "I was there when Igor found it in the cave. I was twelve years old, helping the expedition as a guide. I saw how the medallion first glowed in his hands."

"Glowed?" Alexei repeated. "You mean… literally?"

"Exactly," Rustam confirmed. "The silver began to emit a bluish glow when Igor took it in his hands. The expedition leader, Voronov, attributed it to some optical effect, a reflection of light from minerals in the cave. But Igor and I knew it was something more."

The old man sipped his tea and continued:

"After that, your grandfather began asking me questions about local legends, about the Nestorians, about sunken treasures. I told him what I knew from the stories of my father and grandfather. And then Igor decided to conceal the find from the expedition leadership."

"Why?" asked Dinara. "Usually archaeologists strive to register every find."

"Because Igor understood that the medallion was not just an ancient artifact," Rustam answered. "It's a key to something much more important. To a secret that had been kept for centuries. And this secret should not have fallen into the hands of the Soviet authorities, especially at that time—the height of the Cold War, spy mania, KGB everywhere…"

Rustam rose and went to a shelf where books and old photographs were kept. He retrieved a worn leather book tied with a cord.

"This is a family heirloom," he said, returning to the table. "The diary of my distant ancestor, Murat Kambarov. He was a shaman and healer. People from all over the valley came to him for advice and help. He began helping people after a man once came to him who changed our family's history."

Rustam untied the cord and carefully opened the book. The pages were yellowed, with handwritten text in old Kyrgyz, faded in places.

"It says here," Rustam began, slowly translating, "that in 1273, an old man named David came to my ancestor. He was very old, with a beard as white as snow, but his eyes were clear and lively. He spoke in a strange mixture of languages and wore a silver cross on his chest. The old man said he had come from afar to pass on important knowledge to one worthy of keeping it."