Story: The Ghost of Alster - author Anatoliy Kavun

People... Cities... Their fates are inseparable! But each of them leaves its own mark on the banks of the endless river of time.

Some people may not be able to withstand the turbulent flow of life and willingly surrender to the current. Others will steadfastly face any blows of fate. Some may go out to sea, but return after the first weak wave. Others will boldly look into the eyes of even the strongest storm!

So it is with cities! History has sentenced some to be forever forgotten. Others are so great that they make history themselves!

And if you have been to the latter, you know that sometimes, walking in the evening, when the light from the lanterns casts shadows on the old walls, you can see what is hidden from the discerning eyes of documentary filmmakers and historians. Things you will never hear about, even in long-forgotten legends. But precisely what made these cities what they became...

Take your time, and you may learn about those whose hearts and souls live on in the old stones, trees, and eyes of their elderly residents...

 The GHOST of ALSTER

This story is about the glorious and free Hanseatic city. A city whose history has always been full of secrets and mysteries. A city that will reveal its secrets to you only if you open your heart to it. A city whose voices of the past can be heard in the cries of the seagulls soaring above it, in the creaking of old ropes in the harbor, in the wind blowing through the canals... A city with people who combine the harsh and free spirit of their ancestors with the kind hearts of their contemporaries... A city where everyone can find a piece of their home.

I am sure you have recognized it, which means it is time for us to tell you the story that united two eras. A story that once became part of this city. A story whose echoes you can find in the hearts of each of its inhabitants.

Perhaps you have passed by places where echoes of these events still linger. And today, as you read these lines, you will learn how much remains unknown right next to us!

So, let's begin!

MEETING

I first saw her in the evening at Alster during the rain. Most likely, if it hadn't been raining, I wouldn't even have noticed the girl standing alone. She would have disappeared into the dense stream of townspeople rushing home or exercising. But at that moment, when the rain had emptied the lake shore, we were alone.

I stood under an umbrella, and she... She looked calmly at the lake, as if it weren't raining, but a clear day... And although I don't usually pay much attention to the world around me, this time, for some reason, everything was different.

Something stopped me. The desire to approach a girl standing alone was extremely uncharacteristic of my usual behavior. However, justifying myself with the need to help her protect herself from the rain, I tried not to focus on my emotions. But they, like a river that had burst its banks during a heavy rain, carried me like a twig to this lonely figure with their turbulent current.

I walked over and stood right next to her, pretending to admire the rain too. My umbrella casually covered us both from the weather.

And she... Paying no attention to me, she continued to gaze into the distance, over the lake. Despite the umbrella covering her from the rain, raindrops continued to run down her beautiful face from her wet hair.

Her gaze... It was somehow special. However, I should say a few words about myself...

I really enjoy visiting art galleries. And it is precisely how artists tried to convey the gaze of their characters that attracts me the most. The eyes, the gaze — they shape my perception of the people in paintings from the distant past: their thoughts, desires, aspirations. Sometimes it seems to me that the gaze in paintings is the basis of most portrait artists' work, and the rest is just a complement to it...

And now, looking at her, I had the feeling that she had a depth that you usually only see in older people, but never in someone as young as her...

I caught myself thinking: how old is she? Twenty-five? Thirty? Older? No matter how closely I looked, I couldn't decide which option was correct.

The downpour was slowly subsiding. And even though she wasn't responding to me at all, I decided to break the awkward silence.

In a timid voice, I asked if she needed any help.

In an instant, her imperturbable gaze gave way to confusion. She flinched as if I hadn't been standing next to her for some time, but had jumped out at her in a dark alley.

In a fit of inexplicable fear, she moved away from me, stepping out from under the umbrella...

‘Who are you?’ Those were the first words I heard from her...

A beautiful voice, slightly trembling with fear... A dilemma formed in my head. Standing under the umbrella in front of her, leaving her to get wet in the rain, which was no longer heavy but still falling, was wrong. And approaching her again, given her initial reaction, was clearly not the best solution.

Apparently, my subconscious picked up on my confusion and made the decision for me... I held out the umbrella to her and said I would make a deal: she could take it, and I would answer her question - ‘Who am I?’

I held the umbrella out with my arm outstretched, and she stood frozen, like a statue, continuing to stare at me with her beautiful but frightened eyes. We stood like that for a while: me with the umbrella outstretched, and her with her arms down and a piercing gaze.

And although my brain was suggesting many options for action, I realised that the best solution now would be to simply remain silent.

I don't even know how long this awkward pause lasted. But eventually, at some point, she raised her hand in surprise and looked at the raindrops falling on her. It was as if she was seeing them for the first time in her life...

And when her gaze turned back to me, I saw that her overwhelming confusion was slowly giving way to timid surprise. With a little more patience on my part, her curiosity finally won out... I could literally feel the cascade of emotions in her gaze, ready to burst forth in a torrent. But all this was only in the depths of her eyes. Her frozen, emotionless face gave no hint of what was going on inside her.

However, patience is always rewarded, and the long-awaited turning point finally came. She reached out and took the umbrella I offered her. Now I was standing in the rain, but, like her before, I didn't notice it at all.

Do you ever feel like you want to do something, but you're afraid? You think you can close your eyes and take a step forward, but you're still afraid?

While my thoughts were racing between what to say or what to do, our eyes decided everything for us... From the outside, it might have seemed like we were just looking at each other. But in reality, our minds seemed to merge together, and our rapidly beating hearts synchronized their rhythms and began to beat in unison.

This invisible but very strong connection took a step towards each other for us. And now we are standing together under the umbrella again. But now we are not standing side by side, but shoulder to shoulder - as before, when I first approached her. Now we were standing face to face.

The only thing separating us was her hand, which was holding the umbrella and was pressed against my chest at that moment. And now, standing next to her, I felt her trembling. I don't know if she was trembling from the cold or from excitement. However, the sensation of her trembling, or perhaps the desire to help her hold the umbrella or even try to warm her up, led me to involuntarily raise my hand and touch hers...

But as soon as our hands touched, I felt the world around us freeze... We stood within breathing distance, but we weren't breathing; within heartbeat distance, but our hearts seemed to have stopped beating. It seemed that even the raindrops had frozen in their rapid flight to the ground.

That moment, paused by the universe, lasted only an instant. And now the rain is falling again, but not like before... It has turned into a torrent. A torrent in which I began to drown. But it was no longer water... I was drowning in an endless and incomprehensible torrent of time and other people's memories. It was as if shards of broken mirrors were rushing past me: someone's hopes and aspirations, unbearable pain and despair... And somewhere far away, through the thick of these events, she was looking at me. And in her gaze, I felt such paralyzing loneliness that I couldn't breathe.

I tried to breathe, but couldn't... And at that moment, when the flow around me darkened and I felt that I was finally losing consciousness, she reached out her hand to me, and I heard her voice: ‘You promised!’

‘YOU PROMISED!’ Her insistent voice pulled me out of the abyss of oblivion. Still gasping for breath, I took a deep breath into my empty lungs and realised that we were still standing next to each other. And her eyes, only a few dozen centimetres away, were still looking at me with curiosity, as if everything I had just seen had not actually happened and was just a figment of my imagination...

Clinging to that gaze like a drowning man clings to a straw, and afraid of falling back into some abyss of the subconscious, I muttered a response to her question: ‘What did I promise?’ My brain was not yet ready to form anything more coherent after the emotional apocalypse that had descended upon it.

‘You promised to tell me about yourself,’ she replied... And for the first time, she smiled slightly with the corners of her eyes. To emphasize her words, she even nudged me lightly in the chest with her hand holding the umbrella, as if trying to wake me up and bring me out of my stupor. I realized that she hadn't noticed what I felt when I touched her hand.

You know, sometimes in your dreams you try to pinch yourself to see if you're dreaming or not? Her push helped me understand where I was, remember who I was, and finally pull me out of a state of deep inner paralysis.

I looked at her and felt like I knew her. As if I had been searching for her my whole life and finally found her. As if we had already lived our whole lives together and forgotten each other for a moment. Something inexplicable united us...

But I couldn't answer the question of what it was. And I just started talking... Talking a lot and without stopping, so that my thoughts wouldn't pull me back.

I told where I was born and that I lost my parents early on. That my grandfather raised me, helped me get an education, and introduced me to the family business... I told him that I've loved music since I was a kid, graduated from the conservatory, and sometimes play for fun, and even perform - not for money, but because I love music. I told her about my second, historical education, which I received because of the family's antique business. I told her about my love for paintings and things that preserve history. The words poured out of me in an unstoppable stream.

And yes, I didn't want to stop. And she listened as if she were a traveler who, after an eternity of wandering through the desert, had stumbled upon a well and now couldn't drink enough... And I let her drink...

And it seemed to me that if I finished, she would disappear from my life, and I would never see her again.

I even said that this was the first time I had stood with a girl at a distance that I had previously only allowed characters in paintings to approach.

Not only the rain, but also the last pedestrians and even cars had long since disappeared along with its last drops... Night enveloped the city, and we stood facing each other, afraid to let go of each other's hands. As if everything would disappear.

‘I'd like to hear you play,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘Why not? We can do it right now. There's my favorite hotel nearby, where I often play. Come with me,’ I replied.

‘I can't,’ she said, ‘they're waiting for me. They're waiting for me urgently. Maybe someday... Promise me you'll play for me someday?’

‘Of course I will!’ I replied. ‘But when? When will we see each other again? Where can I find you? Can I walk you home?’

In desperation, I rattled off questions... And she looked at me as if it were the last time. As if saying goodbye, she wanted to remember my face forever.

‘Don't go,’ I said in a barely audible voice, understanding the hopelessness of the situation... But she just raised her hand and placed her fingertips on my lips, interrupting my confused stream of thoughts.

‘Close your eyes,’ she said. And although my emotions and my attempt to say something made me open them even wider, I still obeyed her. I felt her lean towards me and felt her breath on my neck.

‘Thank you for tonight,’ she whispered in my ear.

"You gave me something I haven't had in a very, very long time. And if we were meant to meet today, then maybe fate will bring us together again someday. Just promise me that you will play for me like you've never played for anyone else. Promise me that tonight will not be our last. Promise me that I will not carry the hope that was born today with me into eternity. Promise me. And I promise that I will follow the sound of your music.

She fell silent, and I realised that there was no one left to answer me. Neither her breathing, nor her hand on my shoulder, nor she herself were there anymore.

I opened my eyes and stood alone on the shore of the Alster for a long time, holding an umbrella that had long since become useless...

Despair. Pain. Confusion... Deep down, I knew there was no point in chasing after her or looking for her. And although I hadn't gone anywhere yet, I already knew where I would spend my evening — tomorrow, the day after tomorrow...

HOME

More than one evening and even more than one week passed... I came to the shore with hope that was fading more and more... I tried to immerse myself in work to distract myself from thoughts of her, but nothing helped. I was obsessed, inconsolable and devastated at the same time.

After some time, the closest and dearest person in my life asked me what was wrong. He raised me, we worked together, and it was logical that I would tell him everything...

He was the wisest person in the world to me. Therefore, apart from him, I had nowhere else to turn for answers... We lived together in the family home that he had built before my parents died. I grew up here and, although I could have, I didn't want to move, because there were so many things here that reminded me of the time when I was happy. Sometimes I would close my eyes and it seemed to me that my parents were still here.

My grandfather was against any thoughts I had about moving, because both the office and the art appraisal business (which was our family business) were located in that house. And, as he always said, that house carried a piece of our family's soul. And when he was gone, the house would not survive without me... His words always seemed strange to me, but the fact that when I came home, I felt as if I were in the arms of someone who loved and cared for me - that was true... Grandfather also loved to discuss and resolve all issues by the fireplace. According to him, fire is a substance that helps you see answers where you cannot see them yourself...

So, there we were, sitting by the fireplace, and I told him all about her... And even though it was hard for me to convey every unusual feeling I had experienced while I was with her, I described everything in minute detail...

He listened to me without interrupting once. He sat there for a while, staring into the fire. Then he got up, filled his pipe, took an old wooden box from the shelf and sat down again in the armchair next to me...

‘What's that box?’ I asked him.

‘It doesn't matter, I just remembered it,’ he evaded the question. His left hand rested on the box, which he held with his knee, while his right hand periodically brought the pipe to his mouth...

What did I expect from him? Answers? To what? But I guess it was just important for me to talk... And I, just like him, just sat and stared into the fire...

But in the end, he broke the silence...

"When you lost your parents, you started playing. It came to you spontaneously; we hadn't noticed your love of music before. The tragedy took you far away from the real world for a while. But after some time, thanks to music, you came back... At first, I was afraid that the tragedy had taken not only your parents from me, but you too, but music brought you back to me.

- Once, a long time ago, I met a man who gave me this box. He told me that I shouldn't look for solutions where they already exist... I just need to close my eyes and find them within myself. You are looking for answers now. But you have always found them in music. Don't turn away from what has always given you strength...

- And remember... You promised her you'd play it one day! So play it for her, even though she's no longer here...

Yes, he was right... I hadn't played for a long time... I don't know why... Maybe because, since childhood, playing had helped me calm my heart, which often ached when I thought about my parents. And now I didn't want to help myself stop thinking about her. I was afraid that the music would push her away, blur her clear image in my mind and make her already unreal image even less real.

But now... Now, thinking about his words, I realized that I wanted to play. I wanted to play not to forget her, but to play for her... After all, that's what she asked for. So, I would play not for myself, but for her. And I knew exactly where I would play — in the place where I had invited her, but where we never went...

ATLANTIC

The next evening, I went to the very hotel where we had met on the shore. The hotel owners knew my parents and were always happy to see our family. But that wasn't why I came here. Within these walls, the music sounded different than anywhere else...

They say that all houses are built of stone and cement, but there are places in the world where architects have used special knowledge passed down from generation to generation. Knowledge that came to us from ancient masters who heard what the stone said and spoke to it...

A large foyer, old paintings, a fireplace, high ceilings - a seemingly ordinary list for a hotel. But no, not here... The atmosphere of this place attracted everyone who was able to feel its soul. A place where I came to life when I needed the strength hidden within its walls...

I sat down at the grand piano - the very same grand piano that I could play at any time of the day or night. When I wanted to immerse myself in music, I came here. After all, I never played at home.

You may ask why. Well, because at home, during my childhood, there was always music playing, played by my mother. And I didn't want to interrupt those sounds, which still lingered in every corner of the house and filled my heart with warmth. Although, no, that's not the only reason - but more on that later...

And, sitting here now at the piano, I began to understand that all the events in my life are somehow connected. It was as if I were caught between the past and the future, and at the same time I felt that they were somehow elusively connected...

But to discover this connection, we need to live it. Which meant that I had to sit down and start playing! And so, I began.

There were few visitors, and their voices did not disturb me... And the first sounds that poured out of the beautiful instrument made everyone in the hotel lobby freeze...

Today, I did not play any of my favorite pieces. I played hope, I played meeting her, I played her gaze... I played like a man who had spent a long time in darkness and suffered without light. I played and played... until I was exhausted... And the people stood spellbound, listening, but I didn't notice them until at some point I saw her...

And although I couldn't see her face, I wouldn't have confused her with anyone else. The lonely girl sitting with her back to me by the burning fireplace was definitely her... Her hair, her dress...

I jumped up from the piano and was about to run to her. But an elderly woman stood in my way, stopped me and said that she had once taught at the conservatory, and only one of her students played like that, a student who looked very much like me... And that today she had heard music she had never heard before in her long life... That none of the musicians she knew in the world had ever played anything like it...

But I didn't hear her - I wanted to hurry to the one who had inspired my playing... But when I looked back at the armchair by the fireplace, I found that it was already empty...

In despair and under the surprised glances of people who didn't understand my confusion, I ran out into the street, but there was no one there either. Only a hotel employee in livery asked if I needed a taxi and thanked me for the beautiful music.

‘Tell me, have you seen a girl in a light-colored dress leaving the hotel just now?’ I asked him...

To which he smiled and said that, as far as he could remember, on those rare evenings when I played, no one ever left the hotel lobby. And those who happened to come in always stayed in the lobby until I finished playing...

The phrase ‘until the end of my game’ struck me like a bolt of lightning. I glanced towards the lake, shrouded in darkness, and my imagination conjured up a vision of a light-colored dress flashing in the darkness...

Disheveled, confused, but full of hope, I hugged the concierge and thanked him profusely for helping me realize what I had to do... His face showed confusion. And my statement that ‘you may have saved my life’ only increased his confusion. But I didn't notice that... I already knew what I had to do...

GRAND PIANO

Antiques - that's what my family has been involved in for several generations. I inherited a love of history from my parents, and my grandfather raised me to be a knowledgeable and well-read expert in my field. Over time, I became a good support for him, joining the family business with interest and inspiration. But this digression is only to explain where it came from...

One day, my grandfather told me his story. But only now have I begun to understand that fate is increasingly revealing its intentions, which are still incomprehensible to me...

Many years ago, a very elderly friend of my grandfather's came to visit us. My mother was still young at the time, but her playing already captivated everyone who heard her. The family guest asked her to sit down and play with him in four hands. According to my grandfather, it was an amazing evening, and although it was their first time playing together, their duet was magnificent. Impressed by my mother's playing, he said that it was the first time he had seen someone who could feel music so deeply, and invited my mother and her father (my grandfather) to visit him. He said he wanted to show them something very important.

Meeting them at the doorstep of his house, he led them into a back room. According to him, it had been a long time since he had had guests there...

Upon entering, they saw a grand piano. He stood next to it and explained that it was no usual piano. His family had not inherited it, nor had they purchased it. He said that this piano was not just the work of an unknown craftsman, but was like a living creature. And when it chose someone who could play it, they played together: the musician and the piano. And its enchanting music seemed to sound not only in this world, but also in other worlds unknown to us, influencing the whole world around us...

He approached and sat down at the instrument. ‘Don't be surprised,’ he said. He turned and, apologizing to the instrument, opened the closed keys and began to play. But if yesterday his playing was beautiful, now it was just a dry tapping of the keys on the wood...

‘But it's broken,’ said Mum.

‘No, don't be surprised by what you see,’ he said. ‘I'm simply not worthy of it. I've been trying for many years, but it's waiting for someone who can play it.’

He closed the keys and, apologizing once more to the instrument, stood up from behind it.

‘Now it's your turn, child,’ he said to her mother. ‘You and I will step outside,’ and, turning, he gently but firmly led her father out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar...

‘And don't rush to open it...’ he said, closing the door. ‘Talk to it. And remember: you don't play it with your hands. It feels the soul and heart of the musician, and you can only play it with those...’

When they came out, Mum sat down at the grand piano, looking at it with a slightly frightened and puzzled expression. But the longer she sat there looking at it, the more she felt that they were not alone in the room. After a while, she touched it and opened the lid.

It seemed to her that it was not she who wanted to play, but the grand piano that was inviting her to do so... But she did not rush. Closing her eyes, she touched the keys. It was as if she already knew what awaited her. Without opening her eyes, she pressed the first key, and the sound from it illuminated the darkness in her mind. She saw him. He stood before her, as if made of thousands of twinkling fireflies.

He waited, and she began to play... And the music that flowed from her playing spread beyond the room. It floated through the streets of the city, causing people and nature to blossom...

When my mother left the room, my grandfather's friend stood up and, wiping away his tears, said:

‘He chose you. Now he's yours.’

That's how this piano came to be in our house. And when my mother passed away, no one played it anymore. My grandfather once asked me if I wanted to try, but I couldn't. I could still hear her playing. No matter where I was in the house, it sounded softly in my heart. And he said that one day I would do it... One day!

And that time had come - I knew that now I needed it. A grand piano, created by the hand of an unknown master. One whose sounds, dissolving among the walls, never disappear from the hearts of those who have heard it...

SHE

By nightfall, when the shore of Alster was deserted, the piano stood in the very spot where I had met her.

But I was in no hurry to play... For me, this instrument was as mystical as the reason it had ended up here... I sat down at the piano and closed my eyes. But I didn't need to clear my mind of unnecessary thoughts - they were all about her anyway. But I still had to tune in to the music.

For the first time in my life, I timidly touched this piano. But it remained silent. It seemed as if it was studying me, watching me and waiting. And I, afraid to hear the dry knock of the keys that my grandfather had described in his stories, opened them anyway.

Putting my fingers on the keys, I remembered my mother, remembered her words about music, remembered how she played. And for a second, it seemed to me that she repeated the phrase she once said to me when I stood next to her while she was playing: ‘Don't be afraid, it will wait for you. And when you're ready, just play.’

And I began to play. Not fearfully, but knowing that every keystroke was my chance to see her again... And it responded! It sounded like no other instrument in the world. It sounded in my head, in my heart and in my soul at the same time...

The sky was covered with clouds, but his music created its own light. It was as if he was weaving together the whispers of the night, the glow of the stars, the burning lanterns, and what my heart ached for... What my soul asked for.

I myself seemed to become part of this instrument and this melody for a moment, which I could only interrupt by ending my life.

These magical and somewhat supernatural sounds floated across the lake. They embraced every tree, whose branches seemed to reach towards the source of the sound. Filling the lake, they spilled over its banks. Spreading through the streets, they lit up long-extinguished lanterns of the past and awakened the shadows of long-forgotten events. The world seemed to freeze for a moment, and then, for an elusive moment, two worlds merged. In that fleeting second, the rare passers-by could see lights in old and long-gone windows, and children who were not yet asleep could see cars passing by on the streets, rare and unknown to them.

It lasted only a second, but that was enough. She heard it. I felt her sit down on the chair next to me. I still didn't open my eyes and continued playing. I was afraid that it was the music that was keeping her close to me.

She leaned against me and rested her head on my shoulder...

‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘Why you?’

‘And why now, after all these endless years...?’

I listened to her and played, hoping that the answer would come on its own... But she kept talking.

‘You don't know who I am. And if you find out...’ She fell silent and moved away from me...

And then I realized that in another second she would be gone again. Not knowing what to do, I stopped playing and took her hands. But even though I had stopped playing and the magical sounds no longer floated over the lake, the piano was still playing... It played in octaves that were inaudible to ordinary people, but which, in a magical and incomprehensible way, kept her close to me...

‘Let me know,’ I said. ‘Give me a chance to understand. Don't go. Give me a chance to be with you!’

‘I'm afraid,’ she said, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

‘Don't be afraid,’ I replied.

‘No!’ she said and wiped away the tear. ‘I'll have to leave, but not now. Give me this night. It's been so long since anyone or anything has given me anything.’

AMULET

Now that she was with me, I put aside all thoughts of what would happen next. I promised myself that even the slightest shadow of our impending separation would not cast a pall over this night. I wanted to give her everything I could, even though we only had one night ahead of us!

I took her to my favorite places. We walked through the streets, went to restaurants, stopped to warm ourselves by the fireplace in my favorite hotel... We danced and walked again. We chatted, sat, drank tea, ran after sleepy seagulls... I told her about paintings and my work, about music and myself. She laughed and responded, had fun and was as natural and lively as possible.

But somewhere deep in her eyes, I still saw the same wisdom, longing and sadness that I noticed in her gaze when I first met her... And yes, she didn't tell me anything about herself. And I didn't ask. I just wanted her to be happy... Because at that moment, I was also happy to be with her.

They say happiness is fleeting... No, that's not true... Only time is fleeting, and the fact that at some point you stop appreciating, feeling and realizing happiness... Happiness is the very ‘mechanism’ that turns your life into eternity... Because grey everyday life will fly by unnoticed, but happiness... Happiness will give you moments that you will remember again and again!

Probably, my whole life before meeting her, I had never been truly happy... Yes, after losing my parents, my grandfather gave me everything. In many ways, I was like my father - focused on knowledge, and like my mother, I was endlessly in love with music and inherited her talent. But despite the fact that I projected all the gratitude and love I could have given to my parents onto the only person who was there for me, I still missed her... The one that each of us will meet one day, the one to whom we will give ourselves completely... And now, being with her, I realized that I had found her... But only to lose her again...

And yes, everything in the world is subject to time. And no force can stand in its way... Not even all-consuming happiness... And so, we stood on the shore of the Alster again, and somewhere in the distance the dawn sky was brightening. She looked at me with her eyes, in which the stars shone brighter than in the sky above our heads, and asked me to play for her one last time.

I sat down and began to play. She sat down next to me, her back to the piano, rested her head on my shoulder, and put her other arm around my neck. I could feel her looking at the lake, and I knew she would soon leave, but I played on, holding her there with my music and my heart.

‘Do you know that we will never see each other again?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I replied... ‘And I also know that you will not tell me your story. And that I will search for you my whole life...’

She pressed herself against me and said, ‘Goodbye, it's time for me to go.’

‘Wait,’ I stopped her... ‘I want to give you something.’ I unbuttoned my shirt and took an old medallion from around my neck.

- Many years ago, I lost my parents. But shortly before their death, they gave me this old medallion and told me that one day I would give it to the person without whom I could no longer live. The person with whom I might have to part, and to whom he would lead me again... I want to give it to you. From the moment I first met you, my world was turned upside down. And even though I don't understand everything that's happening, now I believe! I believe that fate brought us together for a reason, which means that no matter where you are or who you are, I will find you again and again...

- And while I'm looking for you, may it protect you as it protected me.

She looked at me with her beautiful eyes, and I didn't need her answer - it was all in her gaze. But when she turned her gaze to the locket, her wide-open eyes widened even more...

‘Wait,’ she said...

Reaching up to her neck, she pulled out a leather strap from under her dress with an identical medallion...

And again, her gaze was confused and frightened - just like on that first day when I met her on the shore...

‘How can this be?’ I asked.

‘I don't understand,’ she replied. ‘This piano, these medallions... They were made by the same craftsman... And the wood they are made of has some kind of special power that draws me in... I don't know, but apparently fate decides things for us.’

She looked at me intently and asked: ‘Do you really want to know who I am?’

‘Of course,’ I replied.

"Well... I'll probably regret this for the rest of my life. But I'll regret it even more if I don't do it. I'll show you... And let fate decide for us. After all, since we met, it must have meant something...

With her left hand, she took me by the shoulder and turned me slightly towards her. With her right hand, she clenched the amulet hanging around her neck into a fist. Then her left hand rose higher and tilted my head towards her.

Our lips touched.

KISS

They say that when lips meet in a first kiss, that moment lasts forever... But what if eternity itself was part of that kiss?

Yes, yes, eternity itself. The very thing that is created by the endless flow of time. The thing that existed before the beginning of the universe and will exist after it. It was on the tips of her lips. It was in her beautiful eyes. It was her.

I kissed the one whom Time and Eternity protected. The one who was part of both of them for most of her life. The one I was not supposed to meet. But the one whose predestined fate was interfered with by inexplicable forces...

It was a flash that blinded my consciousness. I touched something that my brain could neither accept nor explain. A little more, and the flow of infinity would have shattered my consciousness, leaving my body an empty shell...

But her lips... They kept me conscious, preserving my mind and my ability to think. And the tsunami that came from the abyss of time rolled back into eternity...

With that flow, she was gone too.

I was standing alone on the shore again. But now I did not feel the despair that had overwhelmed me when I lost her the first time. And although my mind refused to explain what had happened, I already knew my next step.

I knew exactly where to go to begin unravelling this thread of Ariadne that fate had thrown at me. And this knowledge would give me the final answer - who she really was. What I saw at the moment of the kiss gave me a chance for the first answer. And in order to ultimately answer all the questions, it was time for me to continue on the path I had embarked on many days ago when I saw her for the first time!

KUNSTHALLE

We had broken up not long ago. Although it was already morning and the place, I was supposed to go was very close by, it would not open for another hour or so. So, I decided to return to the Atlantic for a cup of their excellent coffee. I desperately needed a clear head to think things through.

The bartender, who was also a good friend of mine, had not yet changed from the night shift. After each of my visits to the Atlantic, I often stayed to drink coffee with him at the bar. And once we got talking. Since then, we have gone to sailing regattas together many times and trained together in the gym. Modern life doesn't leave much free time, and perhaps with a different lifestyle, we would have been best friends.

He made me coffee and asked how I was doing, because today I broke all my pedantic traditions. I didn't go to the bar to socialize after yesterday's game; I didn't have a cup of coffee after it. And I also came to the hotel for the first time at night and behaved a little unusually. And now my slightly disheveled appearance and worried look clearly hinted that I might need to share something or need help...

Looking at him, I suddenly realized that he was probably the second person in my life after my grandfather with whom I had shared my thoughts more than once. And I told him that last night I had been on my first date with someone I might never see again in my life. But I am sure that I have met the one I want to spend the rest of my life with! And that now I am desperate because I may have lost her forever...

With sincere joy on his face, he said he was very happy that I had finally found someone who would make my work-, music- and sports-focused life more fun. And that although he hadn't seen my chosen one, he was sure she would make me happy.

‘But you saw her today!’ I said. ‘We chatted for a long time over there, to the right of the bar, just an hour ago.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I saw you, but you were sitting alone and, as it seemed to me, talking on your headset... You looked very happy, and I decided not to distract you...’

- Myself...? - Probably yesterday this phrase would have shocked me... But today... Today, the house of cards that was my understanding of the world has finally collapsed. Although why am I deceiving myself... From the first time I met her and the first time I touched her hand, I knew that fate had brought me together with someone whose image did not fit into the usual idea of those we might meet in our lives. So, I looked at him and said thoughtfully, slightly confused, that it was probably time for me to go...

He looked at me intently and, shaking the hand I held out to him, was in no hurry to let go.

‘Listen,’ he said. "I know a lot of people, but you are one of those who deserve true happiness. You have helped so many, but you have never allowed anyone to help you. Everyone who knows you would consider it an honor to support you in a difficult situation, but you have never revealed to anyone what is troubling you. Even when sailing with you on the Ulster, I often saw a look in your eyes that seemed to be searching for someone. So now, looking at you, I will say: I and many others are ready to help you. But if, as before, you do not accept this help, remember: knowing you, I believe in you. And I have no doubt that you will cope with everything. And if, in order to be with the one, you told me about today, you have to move mountains, then you are the kind of person who will stop at nothing. Go and find her!

Did I need to hear those words? Very much so! Because even though he was right about everything, I was starting to feel like I was going crazy chasing someone who might only exist in my head!

I left the hotel and quickly made my way to the museum, which I had loved to visit so often in the past. In just a couple of minutes, I was already at the doorstep.

The staff knew me not only as one of their most frequent visitors and an expert on painting. Our family were patrons of the arts, and we often participated in various events held at the museum. That's why I was able to go inside with the first employees who arrived for work.

And yes, I knew where I was going... Walking quickly through the museum corridors, I involuntarily slowed down as I approached that very place. At the moment of the kiss, it flashed through my mind for just a moment. But I recognized the painting that was visible at the end of the corridor. Being away from the main flow of tourists, for some inexplicable reason, it hid from me what I should have seen hundreds of times before.

I have always liked this place. It was steeped in history. If you know how to look closely at the paintings rather than just rushing past them, trying to understand what the artist wanted to say, you will discover a whole new world: you will become part of a time machine and embark on a journey that is incomparably more interesting than any tourist trip...

But no matter how hard I tried to slow down, distracting myself with extraneous thoughts, it didn't mean I stopped, and after a while I reached the right turn. Behind it lay the reason I had come here.

And a few moments later, I saw her! Yes, her! Only now she was looking at me from the painting.

When and who hung it here? Who was the artist and how did she end up in this painting? I stood there; my head filled with questions. But I managed to overcome the endless noise and look at the painting with more than just an agitated gaze. As an expert, I could say that it was at least five hundred years old. However, a more accurate analysis required more than just a superficial examination. The brush of an unknown but very talented artist did not simply expressively depict her image. In any painting, if you don't rush past it, you will find the meaning conveyed by the author. It was here too... However, perhaps only I could see the despair and helplessness in the depths of her gaze.

What was she saying with that look? At what moment in her life did the artist capture her? Probably no one will ever answer these questions for me...

And yes, I could probably look at this painting for months. But now... Now it was difficult for me to accept. After all, in the portrait from the past was the one whose lips I still felt on my own...

But no. The paintings weren't enough for me. I needed her. The real her, not the painted one. The one I could talk to and hug! And I knew for sure that I wouldn't meet her again by the lake. That meant I had to keep going!

I walked over to the wall and did what anyone with even a passing familiarity with art would do: I took down the painting and turned it over. Yes, I could have seen just a blank canvas or the name of the artist, which was not on the front. And yes, my confidence that the chain of events that had brought me here could not end with the painting was rewarded.

On the back of the canvas, I saw the inscription: ‘Thank you from those you were able to save. Thank you for your kindness and hope. And forgive us...’

Given my direct involvement in art appraisal, it was not difficult for me to see that the inscription had clearly not been made by the artist himself. The handwriting was not like that of someone who could have created this beautiful portrait. Perhaps it had been added later. But there was something else there that was extremely important. There were her name, surname and date!

This meant that fate, which had already interrupted the chain of events more than once, had thrown me another thread and a glimmer of hope. And I knew again what to do next.

I carefully hung the painting on the wall and, looking into her eyes, said:

‘I won't give up. I don't know how, but I will find you. Just believe in me!’

ARCHIVE

You've probably guessed that after a while I was standing at the door of the city archive. And although urgent matters usually result in long queues here, I was hoping for some exception to the rules. The fact is that, thanks to the antiques business, our family had previously donated many historical documents to the city archives. That is why I believed that such a simple task as searching for a name in the archive books (some of which had long since been digitized) would not be too difficult for the staff...

And yes, I was right. As I was approaching the archive, I called the representative to whom we usually handed over the documents we found and asked for help with an urgent matter.

I was greeted and shown into a room with old volumes and documents. The archive employee politely asked how he could help me. I took out a piece of paper I had written beforehand with the first name, surname and date.

On the way, I tried to imagine how exactly I could use the date I had. If I searched for all matches among the townspeople who lived during that period by first and last name, I would most likely get hundreds of options. But in that case, I would never know who specifically I was talking about. After all, in those days there were no passport photos, let alone social networks, which today make it so easy to find anyone... The second most relevant option was to search by date of birth. That would have given me something... But it was unlikely that a painting created in her adult years would be signed with her date of birth. And the first and, alas, most logical option was the date of death... Sadly, the signature on the back of the painting also pointed to this option... Of course, there could have been other options, and I was ready to spend at least a couple of years in the archives for this. But I had a clear plan of where to start.

The archive employee said he would try to go through all the options and search both digitized documents and archive books. He also asked for my phone number and promised to contact me if the search was successful.

Leave? I replied that I would not go anywhere and was prepared to sleep there on the floor until he found a reference to this person... He shrugged, said that it was still early in the day and that he might be able to avoid having to find a mattress for me, and then went off to the archive...

I sat down on a bench and, leaning my head against the wall, thought about my next steps. But apparently, either the coffee had worn off or the sleepless night had taken its toll, and for a moment I fell into a restless slumber. A voice woke me up: ‘Have you been asleep long?’

I opened my eyes and asked, ‘Have you found anything yet?’

But standing in front of me was not the employee to whom I had given the piece of paper with the information, but a very elderly man. For a moment, it even seemed to me that he was too old to work even in an institution such as an archive. But I didn't dwell on that thought. Especially since he was holding a very heavy volume in his hands, possibly containing information that would be useful to me.

‘Have you found anything?’ I asked.

‘Have you lost something?’ he asked me unexpectedly in response.

‘I'm sorry, I don't understand. I came to find information about a person. Perhaps you have it in this book?’

‘We'll find out soon,’ he said. ‘But first, tell me, where did you get this amulet?’ he added, pointing to the wooden amulet that was visible on my neck because of my unbuttoned shirt.

- It's an old family heirloom, and it's directly connected to the person I'm looking for. But despite this connection, it's hardly relevant to this request... - Only now did I look closely at him and realise that his eyes deserved a separate description. He looked at me with a kind of special wisdom. At the same time, his gaze conveyed both curiosity and caution.

- Everything concerns me! - he said, interrupting my internal dialogue as I studied him. ‘You have no idea how much it concerns me. But that's not important. I'll tell you something about her. However, it may upset you a little.’

He turned the book towards me and pointed to a specific entry. And yes, he was right: I didn't like what I read there very much. The book described a sentence in which a woman with a similar name was registered about six hundred years ago, accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake as a witch. At the end, the date of the execution was indicated. Yes, it was the same date from my note and from the back of the painting. Everything went dark before my eyes.

‘Are you all right? Would you like some water?’ asked the old man.

‘No, sorry... Just give me a couple of minutes,’ I muttered.

After recovering a little, I reread these lines and saw that the ink, faded by time, still contained some information related to her. The word ‘executed’ was crossed out, and underneath it was written ‘acquitted’.

I took my phone and photographed this part of the page with information about her. To which the old man said: ‘You won't be able to photograph what's hidden behind these lines, but if you're really looking for her, then maybe today you've come one step closer to your goal.’

Ignoring him, I looked up at him and asked, ‘Is that all? Is there really nothing else to be found?’

‘You don't need anything else, young man,’ he replied. ‘And since you came here, it means you already have everything,’ he said, looking at the amulet.

Then he looked into my surprised eyes and said:

‘By the way, give my regards to your grandfather. We haven't seen each other for a long time, but I remember that he was a very worthy young man. And if I am not mistaken about him, he will show you the way. And if I am not mistaken about you, you will be able to follow it.’

While I was trying to comprehend what he had said, he turned, picked up the old folio and went through the door behind the counter... I had many questions and no answers. And while I was in a state of shock, the employee who had greeted me in the morning came out of the door he had just gone through.

‘I'm sorry. I've gone through all the data on the computers, as well as all the books from this year. I couldn't find any information related to this person. I apologise again.’ He placed the piece of paper he had recently received from me in front of me.

‘Wait,’ I said. ‘What about the elderly man who just walked out that door... What's his name? He already told me all the information I was interested in. He just said hello to my loved one, but I never asked his name...’

The archive employee looked at me in surprise. ‘I'm sorry, but behind that door are the archive's computers and bookshelves. Even though the room is large, I'm the only one on duty today, and there's no one else there but me...’

‘No, you say? What about the photo? Just a moment...’ I turned on my phone and went to the photo gallery. But there was nothing there either, as if I hadn't photographed the book a couple of minutes ago. ‘What on earth...?’ I involuntarily uttered this phrase aloud, and the phone fell out of my hand, hitting the table loudly...

‘I'm sorry, can I help you with anything else?’ asked the archive employee, cautiously taking a step back from the table.

I pulled myself together, apologized and said that it was probably time for me to go...

GRANDFATHER

The thread broke again... I had no choice but to go home. There I could consult with the person I considered the wisest of all I knew. The one who had supported me throughout my life and whose advice had always been a source of strength when I stumbled.

He was like a father and mother to me. But the most important thing about him was that only with him could I share everything that had happened to me, and only he would believe my every word without question! And that was exactly what I was sorely lacking now... On the way, I called him and asked him to put everything else on hold. I told him that I needed him now more than ever before in my life!

He met me by the fireplace, which he lit every time we had a long conversation. Pointing to the armchair, he looked at me intently and asked me not to rush, but to tell him everything that was bothering me, in the smallest detail.

I sat down in the armchair and began to crumple my thoughts into words.

‘No, that won't work!’ he interrupted me.

‘You haven't calmed down yet. That means you'll leave out a lot of important details. And without them, as you know, our work is impossible.’

He stood up, poured me some tea and began to fill his pipe. Knowing him, I understood that there was no point in starting until he had lit his pipe and I had drunk a cup of tea. And I decided not to resist his traditions and the standard ritual of our conversations. Staring into the fire, I finished my tea and felt my grandfather's calmness transfer to me, making my brain capable not of chaotic thoughts, but of constructive analysis and dialogue.

After fulfilling all the requirements of his ritual, I began my story. Not long ago, he had already given me valuable advice — to call on music for help. And it was thanks to him that I was able to see her for the second time at Atlantik. He also helped me with our family grand piano, which I played on the shore. And now I told him what all this had led to: the indescribable sound of the piano on the shore, the night date, the bartender, the painting, the archive, the old man...

‘Tell me,’He asked at the end of my story, ‘was the pardon inscription similar to the others? I studied the archival documents of those times and can tell you something about that period...’

‘No,’ I replied. "The main text and the inscription about the execution of the sentence were written in the same handwriting. But the inscription about the acquittal was clearly written by someone else... But what difference does it make? It was about six hundred years ago... I just want to understand what is happening to me in general.

‘No!’ he said. ‘That won't work. Let's take it one at a time!’

And he told me that the date of her execution coincided with the period of the plague, which was raging at the time. And with the Inquisition, which, alas, was an integral part of medieval Europe at that time. He explained that although many executions were indeed carried out, accusations of witchcraft were often not the real reason for religious persecution. The problem was that the ignorant crowd, frightened by the plague, created precedents themselves and demanded the execution of this or that person. The reasons could be anything, but most often it was accusations of witchcraft that led to burning at the stake. And although the city authorities often tried to avoid such punishment, sometimes the only way to pacify the angry and frightened people was to carry out the sentence...

Times were dark, but the fact remains. And, unfortunately, such sentences could be handed down not only because of the anger of the crowd, but also because of the division of property, personal revenge or other circumstances. In such cases, the decision to execute could come from an influential official, and to convince the crowd of its fairness, it was enough to suggest that the person was allegedly guilty of spreading the plague.

However, according to him, the additional note I saw under the sentence was an extremely rare occurrence. It meant that the person had been acquitted because evidence had been found to prove his innocence.

‘Wait! I'm confused... She was acquitted?’ I asked.

‘No, ’he replied. ‘I am almost certain that she was executed. The book recorded the fact of her death, and it was only recorded in the event of such an occurrence. The inscription with the justification merely added a postscript to this, alas, already sad event...’

At the same time, given the times, after the sentence was carried out, no one was interested in what was written in the city book. That is why any such additional inscription of justification was, in essence, a whole event. Its presence indicates considerable pressure on officials to make it happen. I do not know who she was, why she was included in this portrait, why she was executed, and even more so, why such a rare form of acquittal was applied to her. But all this together suggests that she was not an ordinary person of her time. However, what is happening to you now only confirms this. And until we find out whether this is only happening in your head or in reality, we must cling to any straw.

‘I'm desperate,’ I muttered, staring at the flames in the fireplace.

‘Don't rush,’ he replied. "Having come this far, you can't stop now, which means we just have to keep digging up the facts - just like we've always done in our work. Perhaps you missed something important when you told me about her?

‘Yes, I told you everything,’ I said thoughtfully, going over everything that had happened frame by frame in my mind.

‘No, wait! Old man! I remember — he sent you, his regards. You seem to know him... Do you know him? Maybe this chain will lead somewhere...?’

‘Old man... Strange...’ Grandfather looked thoughtfully into the fire and puffed on his pipe a couple of times.

‘Why is that strange?’ I said in surprise. ‘You know a lot of people, especially those who have been working in the archives for decades. You just need to remember who he is...’

‘It's not that simple,’ replied my grandfather. "When I met him, I was about the same age as you are now, and even then, he looked just like the person you described today... But that's not the end of the strangeness in this story. Last time you asked me a question about one thing, but at the time it seemed to me that coincidences were not a reason to worry. Now I think that everything in this story is not accidental at all.

He stood up and took from the shelf above the fireplace the very same small and very old (judging by its appearance) wooden box that I had already seen in his hands a couple of days ago.

‘Open it,’ he said, still with that thoughtful look, handing it to me.

I opened the box and saw two small holes in the bottom... ‘Is this what I think it is?’ I asked.

‘Yes, that's exactly what it is,’ he replied.

I took the amulet from around my neck, removed the leather strap and placed it in one of the compartments inside the box. It fit perfectly.

‘And the second...’ I didn't finish my sentence, remembering her locket.

‘Yes!’ he said. ‘The second one is most likely the one you saw on her.’

‘But how? You said that my parents gave me this amulet! How did it get to them and how could it have ended up with her?’ As I said this, I put the medallion back around my neck, then picked up the box and continued to examine it with curiosity...

‘Yes,’ replied the grandfather. "You're right. Your parents gave you this box. But every story has its own backstory... I gave this box to your parents, and they passed it on to you. But what's more important is how it came to be in our family. And this is where the next piece of the puzzle falls into place. This box was given to me when I was young by the very old man you saw today in the archive...

‘But what are we supposed to do with all this information?’ I asked. ‘How will it help me take the next step? Am I really stuck, and is this the end of it?’

Grandfather listened to me, staring into the fire in the fireplace. ‘You know,’ he said, "our profession is not just about paintings or antiques. And we don't just collect history. We see things in it that are hidden from the eyes of others. In my lifetime, I have encountered many things that are difficult to explain from the point of view of the ordinary way of things. Today, science looks ahead and says many things that are incomprehensible to us, the older generations. But if scientists turned around and looked back, it might be easier for them to understand what is only just beginning to be revealed to humanity. What was called a miracle yesterday is called energy today, and what is considered impossible today has already happened once and may happen again in the future.

I never told you what I did before joining my father's family business. I studied to become a physicist. Unfortunately, I was not familiar with Einstein. And the level of scientific discoveries and opportunities in my youth was mostly theoretical. Then one day, my father introduced me to the world of ancient artefacts. I began to study their history... And then I realised how much science was missing by losing touch with the past. How many discoveries could have been made if scientists had not considered the past useless.

Once, a long time ago, all the peoples who inhabited the planet had a legend about sacred trees. Yes, people were not able to analyze the world around them as they do now. But they claimed that all these trees were connected not only to each other, but also to the sun, the stars and the universe. Today, scientists call these energies that permeate the universe and search for their sources, looking for places where this power is concentrated. But they search where they are not yet able to find it. And pride prevents them from turning around. Although then their journey of a thousand miles would be reduced to a single step... We humans are too prone to pride to look beneath our feet... We want too much where a little could be our salvation.

Once I read a story by a contemporary author called ‘The Ancient Guardians of Light.’ It opened my eyes to the nature of many things I had encountered in my life. And I can tell you that everything that is happening to you now is not a dream, it is the reality that we are accustomed to denying. So, believe in yourself! What is happening to you is not a figment of your imagination, but only a part of the world around us that has not yet been proven, but is no less real for that.

DREAM

We sat with him in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. But in our minds, we were both trying unsuccessfully to untangle the tangled thread that had brought us to this place and then broken off.

Grandfather had finished his pipe, and the fire was slowly dying down...

‘I'm going to my study, I need to think,’ he said. ‘And you should probably go to bed. Folk wisdom has always said that if you can't answer a question late at night, perhaps sleep will bring you the answer on its wings. So, try to get some rest. And maybe tomorrow we'll find the answer together.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘I'll probably sit here a little longer, but I think I'll take your advice soon.’

I got up, walked over to the table, picked up the magnifying glass, and returned to the fireplace. Practically lying in the armchair from the emotional strain and general fatigue that had built up over several days, I took off the amulet again and placed it in a compartment in the open box. And although my eyes were almost closed, I was still trying to make out the patterns carved on the walls of the box in the remaining light from the dying fire. What did I see there? People, buildings, events...

After a short time, my right hand with the magnifying glass slipped onto the chair, while my left hand remained holding the open box to my chest. And even though my thoughts were still trying to cling to reality, I was sinking deeper and deeper into sleep...

Soon after I fell asleep, the fire burned out. The room was plunged into darkness. But not completely — a faint glow emanated from the box that remained on my chest. If only I had been able to look at it... But I was fast asleep. My medallion, lying in the box, flickered slightly, but the intensity of the glow increased with every passing second... After a while, not only did the empty space where the second medallion had been glow, but all the patterns on the outer edges of the box began to emit a bright light...

And at some point, the brightness became so intense that a beam of light from the box hit the ceiling and scattered in a dance of hundreds of thousands of sparks throughout the room... However, this was not light as we usually imagine it. These flickering sparks began to gather in groups, forming objects, images, and figures that floated around the room. Their slow dance began to weave into patterns, each of which was a dream inspired by the light!

I was asleep in the chair, and all the events I had already touched upon, touching her hand or touching her lips, lined up around me. But then my mind was unable to accept them. And now... Now my mind was asleep. And my consciousness inexplicably merged with the consciousness of the one I had been desperately searching for. It was her memory, her joys and sufferings, her difficult path in those times when light was easily confused with darkness... It was a life known only to her.

***

She did not remember her parents. They had died before she was old enough to retain any memories of them. Together with her two sisters, one older and one younger than her, they lived in their old, partially ruined family home on the outskirts of town. Her older sister worked day and night to find food to feed her and her younger sister. But there was never enough money or food. They couldn't stock up on firewood for the winter, and eventually, during one of the harsh winters, her older sister died of a cold. She buried her sister herself and devoted all her energy to feeding her younger sister. But one day she found her dead. The neighbors told her that she had died of typhus and that no one could have done anything to help. The next morning, after she buried her younger sister next to her older sister, they came to take her to a convent.

Saying goodbye to the place where she had lived, albeit through difficult years, but with people who were dear to her, she promised herself that she would become a doctor. She would study so that children would not lose those who were dear to them and would never be left alone, as she had been.

From the very first days, the sisters in the convent saw in her a child ready to learn and shared all their knowledge with her. And she absorbed it like dry moss absorbs moisture. She not only learned to read and write. One of the sisters turned out to be a herbalist and became attached to her like a daughter — and did not just share her knowledge with her. She taught her to understand the nature of medicines and their effect on people. And this knowledge found grateful soil. All the seeds of knowledge that were sown sprouted.

After some time, the young girl, who was knowledgeable about herbs, was noticed by pharmacists, to whom she brought herbal mixtures, earning her living this way. One of them offered her a job. He was an elderly man and had no relatives. She was willing to live in the pharmacy and even work without pay, as long as she had the opportunity to continue her studies. And he gave her what she wanted.

Not only townspeople but also doctors came to the pharmacy for medicine. The pharmacist negotiated with the doctors one by one and, in exchange for discounts on medicine, asked them to teach her their craft. And she studied day and night: she helped examine patients and cleaned up after them... Being a beautiful girl, she often attracted the attention of influential and wealthy customers in the pharmacy. But she rejected them all... She was only interested in herbs, recipes, medicines and the results of treatment...

She experimented, creating new recipes from herbs, which she often tested on herself. Thanks to her, the nuns who raised her helped the poor in the convent. Shortly before his death, the apothecary called her and introduced her to a man who turned out to be a representative of the doctors' guild. He congratulated her and handed her a paper stating that she could now call herself a doctor and practice medicine.

When the doctor left, she fell to her knees and, in tears, thanked the apothecary for helping her realize her greatest dream in life.

‘Don't cry, child,’ he said to her. "This paper cost me only my inheritance, which I have no one to pass on to anyway. You have become like a daughter to me, and I know what you dream of. So I couldn't have found a better use for this money anyway. Especially since it is the least I can do to thank you for your work. After all, you are truly a doctor sent by God, unlike those who simply bought this piece of paper.

A couple of months later, the pharmacist passed away, leaving her the pharmacy in his will.

She continued his business, although she introduced her own rules. Wealthy customers continued to pay for their medicines as before, while the poor received them free of charge. She gave medicines to the nuns at the convent so that they could treat those who could not be cured with herbs alone.

And yes, the money was running out: sometimes she couldn't even afford to buy food, let alone repair the pharmacy or buy firewood. But people saw this. And although not everyone, there were those among them who were grateful to her for her deeds. Some came and helped her with repairs, others with firewood. Her neighbors were always ready to feed her. She became someone who sincerely helped everyone she could, and someone whom others were ready to help.

But there was something else special about her. Somewhere deep in her heart lay a powerful belief that children should not suffer, that illness should not take away those who are just beginning to live. Her unwavering desire to save, a special energy and willpower, and perhaps some kind of blessing from above, and, of course, her talent — all of this helped her to heal.

Of course, people of any age could buy medicine at the pharmacy. But as a doctor, she only came to treat children, although in particularly urgent cases she also helped adults. Her little patients always waited for her. They said that when she took them by the hand and talked to them, the pain receded. Something incomprehensible happened where the medicines of the time often proved powerless. But they helped! Or maybe it wasn't them... But did it really matter?

She never took money for treating children. She said she helped in the name of her sisters, whom she could have saved if she had been a doctor at the time. With the help of others, she renovated her parents' house and made it bigger, then created a cozy family shelter for children who had lost their parents. The monastery where she grew up took custody of the shelter. She herself continued to live in the pharmacy so that she could always come to the rescue when someone needed her.

Was she happy? Infinitely! She did not want or dream of any other life! Healing people was her calling. And she devoted herself to it completely and utterly!

But one day, the plague came to her world. And all the grief that befell the world around her became her grief too... She wanted to heal everyone. But what could she do against such a terrible and deadly disease?

She used all the skills she knew. But the plague was a terrible and powerful enemy. However, she did not give up! To the point of exhaustion, risking becoming ill herself, she tried to help everyone. And her patients recovered more often than others. But most of those who recovered were children. Was she afraid of getting sick? No, she was afraid of not being able to help everyone! She was not concerned about her own fate.

However, like ships, all such stories have their own rocks that can be broken by strong winds and waves. These trials did not pass her by.

Rumors that there was a doctor who saved children spread throughout the neighborhood. And one morning, soldiers came for her. Knocking on her door, they said that at the invitation of a noble person, she would have to go with them. When she objected that everyone came to her on equal terms, they replied that they would not argue and that she would have to go with them willingly or by force. Did she agree with them? Of course not!

Therefore, she was forcibly taken to the house of the new judge. He came out to meet her and, asking the soldiers to leave, said that his child was ill. And she was obliged to cure him. And if she told anyone about it, he would personally cut out her tongue and burn her at the stake as a witch.

Pushing her into the room where his sick son was apparently lying, he quickly closed the door behind her. A young man was lying on the bed in the room. He looked at her and said: ‘Hello! Have you come to treat me?’ he asked, looking at her with wide-open eyes.

‘I don't know,’ she approached his bed and only now noticed that, apart from the bed, there was only an easel and two chairs in the room, and all the walls were covered with paintings. Of course, the doctor's eyes also noticed the bucket of bloody rags standing nearby, as well as the dried blood on his lips.

‘Are you an artist?’ she asked. ‘My father loves you very much.’

‘Well, not exactly,’ he smiled tensely, trying to suppress his coughing fits, and pulled back the blanket to show her his legs. "I haven't been able to walk since I was a child. So that I can paint, the servants carry me and sit me on a chair. Since I fell off a horse and stopped walking, my father has never once come into my room. What he loves are the paintings I do at his request for his friends. Thanks to my talent, he has been able to win the favor of many influential people. That's how he became a judge.

‘But how do you paint if no one comes in here except the servants?’

‘Do you see that hole in the wall near the floor? When guests come to visit my father, the servants put me on the floor, and I look at their faces and then paint them. And if I paint badly, they beat me.’

‘But that's cruel!’

- Cruel? What's crueller is that my father threatens to cut out the tongues of those who come here to keep secret how he supports his son. And he has already carried out his threats a couple of times. That's cruelty... Most likely, he threatened you too. And cruelty... The world itself is cruel. When you came in, I saw your eyes. You are full of kindness, but deep down there is sadness hidden in them. So, I don't need to tell you about the cruelty of the world...

She looked at him and saw a noble man who should have been in his father's place, rather than remaining a cripple and a toy in his hands... Coming even closer, she asked if he could turn over. He replied with both agreement and incomprehension.

Feeling his back, she asked how he could live with the pain caused by his spinal injury. To which he replied that the pain caused by the actions of his father, whom he loved so much and who now mocked him, was much greater. After that, he coughed again, took another rag and threw it into the bucket with blood on it...

The black spots she saw on his back and body when he turned and lifted his shirt could only mean one thing.

‘Do you know that you are very ill?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said, ‘but the pain I feel inside right now and what I see in your eyes give me a perfectly clear answer to your question. I understand that my life, which has been nothing but torment, will soon come to a happy end.’ He even smiled slightly through the pain after saying this. ‘I believe in God and could not take my own life. But if the day has finally come when I can do so by His will and not my own, then I will accept it with gratitude!’

She couldn't understand how he had the willpower to hold on like that. The form of plague she had identified was extremely rare, but it did terrible things to people, accompanied by unbearable pain. And all the signs on his body pointed to a terrible death in the coming hours. The symptoms of this disease would not even allow him to lie down without convulsions, but he was talking and smiling... How much strength was hidden in this young man, ravaged by life?

‘I'm sorry, I can't cure you, but I can ease your pain! I have medicine that will help,’ she told him.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘I wouldn't want that. My whole life has been pain, and it has become my companion in my loneliness. I don't want to leave this life alone. Let it go with me. Maybe if I take my pain with me from this life, someone else will have less of it...’

And once again, the same endless question overwhelmed her: how could fate take away those who should be sharing their wisdom and understanding of life with others... But fate is cruel, and who else but her would know this...

‘But what can I do for you?’ she asked.

‘I want to draw you. But not like I drew my father's friends, from memory, almost blindly... For the first time in my life, I want to draw a person I see in front of me. Spend this day with me!’ Please!

And she couldn't refuse. She carried him to a chair in front of the easel and sat down opposite him. They talked while he painted. And in the evening, after another very severe coughing fit, he asked her to leave.

- My time has come, so it's time for you to leave. While drawing you, I saw the scars on your heart. And I don't want another one to be added to them. I won't show you this portrait, but I promise you it's beautiful. I did not paint it with my mind, for I am no longer able to control it, nor with my hands, which no longer obey me. I painted it with the endless pain that is now consuming me from within. I don't know what will happen to all of us, but now, on the brink of life and death and practically losing touch with reality, I can tell you what I see: one day, this portrait will bring you happiness. And I don't know where this knowledge comes from; I just know that it will be so...

- Now go.

She approached him, carried him to the bed, covered him with a blanket, hugged him, and said that her heart had many scars, but only two were the deepest. Now there would be three.

Turning around, she walked out the door and closed it behind her. As she closed the door, she knew that his soul had left the room with her. And the tears rolling down her cheeks mingled with the thought that now he was definitely at peace.

But she couldn't stay alone with her thoughts for long... The judge was waiting for her at the door.

‘Did you cure him?’ he asked her.

"No! His illness is incurable. I couldn't save him. Just as nothing can save your soul for what you did to the one you once loved. You don't deserve to be a judge. You deserve to be judged for what you have done.

He raised his hand and struck her across the face with all his might!

‘You monster! How dare you talk to me like that?’

At that moment, a scream came from the room where the servants had gone:

‘He's dead!’

The judge entered the room, holding a handkerchief to his face, and a moment later, quickly leaving it, shouted to the servants:

‘She's a witch! Her curses have left black marks on his body. Call the guards, have them take her to the city prison! I sentence her to death by burning, and tomorrow early in the morning the sentence will be carried out! Let them prepare the pyre!’

She was taken to her cell. Was she afraid? No. All her life she had feared for others and never feared for herself. And today she was afraid only for those she could no longer save. But she knew that there was nothing she could do here, sitting with her hands tied in the city prison. Only despair and injustice filled her heart more and more...

And at that moment she heard a voice. It came through the bars that separated her from the neighboring cell: ‘Come to me, my child. Do not fill with anger a heart that has always known only love!’

She got up and approached the bars. In the dim light of a torch burning on the wall, she saw an old man standing on the other side of the bars.

- You don't know me, but I've been watching you your whole life. I knew that one day I would stand here and talk to you about this. But even knowing this in advance, I still couldn't find the words right now. However, I'll try, and maybe you'll understand me. This century is cursed not only by the plague. You are also sick, but your illness is completely different - you are sick with love for people. And in this century, that is no less deadly than the plague. You have treated many people, but you did not notice that your herbs and medicines are no different from other herbs and medicines. They were treated by the endless kindness and hope that you brought into this world. It was this that worked miracles! But, alas, humanity very often pays for love with death! However, this will not always be the case, and your gift should not be given over to the ravages of dark times and people. Come to me!

Although she did not fully understand what he was talking about, his voice was soothing. She moved closer to the bars separating them.

‘Sit down,’ he said and took out an old wooden box. Opening it, he took out a wooden medallion. Reaching through the bars, he put it around her neck and said, "Never take it off. One day, the time will come when the world will change and love will cease to be a disease... One day, it will lead you to someone who is worthy of you... Until then... until then, eternity will protect you, and you will be able to do what you have dedicated your life to. You will, as you do today, carry your light...

‘But how? They will execute me in the morning.’

‘Do not be afraid, child. You are part of life, and death... death is only its shadow. And never, since the beginning of time, can those who radiate light themselves be in the shadow...’

He placed his hand over her eyes and, a moment later, picked up her sleeping body...

"Sleep... You won't be able to do this again for a very long time. Your path was determined even before you were born, but a person's path is only their destiny. You accepted it and were able to follow it. Although now, at this moment, you don't even realise that this is only the beginning.

He sat and watched her as she slept peacefully. For the first time in many years, she had no nightmares, no fears for her patients.

In the morning, the guards woke her up. One of them said: "Look how sweetly she sleeps. As if on a feather bed, not before her execution. Get up, witch, you'll be entertaining the crowd today. Apart from your execution, there's no one else to burn today, which means all the wood we've stockpiled will be yours. It will be a grand bonfire. The judge has ordered that the crowd be given a feast.

But she was not interested in their words. Clutching the wooden medallion on her chest, she looked into the empty neighboring cell and asked where the old man who had been there the night before was.

The guards exchanged glances... ‘She's lost her mind,’ said one of them. ‘Listen, witch, there's no one there. Soon there will be no one in yours either. And what are you hiding in your hand? Show us! Maybe there's gold in there? We could use it, but you certainly don't.’

And although she refused, one of the guards forcibly pried her hand open, but upon seeing the wooden medallion there, he was disappointed and said that this trinket would only add heat to burn her black heart.

‘Wait,’ muttered one of the guards.

‘We almost lost our heads. The judge said to put a bag over her head so she wouldn't curse anyone during the execution.

’But the crowd loves to see a witch writhing in the fire!

"I'm sorry, but the crowd also loves to see guards get their heads chopped off. And I don't want to entertain the crowd with my head!

One of the guards threw a bag over her head and, pushing her into the courtyard, they led her to a nearby square. According to tradition, the crowd was already waiting for the execution, as in those days it was one of the most spectacular forms of entertainment. However, while firewood was usually prepared for several executions, this time it had been piled up...

Seeing this amount of wood, the spectators understood that today's which would be special, but they were disappointed that they could not see her face. Shouts began to rise from the crowd, demanding that the bag be removed from her head, as otherwise the entertainment would not be complete. But the guards ignored their requests!

When the executioner tied her up, she asked: ‘I beg you, leave my hands untied.’

‘No, witch, everything will be done by the book. Although no: the mob can't see your face, so we'll tie you up tighter and leave your hands free... At least you can wave them around for fun while you're roasting!’

As a result, she stood tied to a wooden stake in the middle of the square, on a large and wide area covered with firewood. The judge did not come to the execution to announce the sentence — his assistant did it. After the announcement, the guards set fire to the firewood in a circle. But, so that the entertainment would not drag on, the crowd was allowed to approach and use the already burning logs to ignite those that were not yet burning!

The crowd roared and thirsted for death. They wanted to burn another witch. The fear that they were to blame for the plague usually left no chance for anyone. No one cared who the person standing on the stake was. They waited for screams, waited for her to writhe in pain. That was all that interested their frenzied minds.

And she stood quietly, clutching the amulet on her chest with both hands. And at the moment when the fire finally reached her, and the heat prevented anyone from coming closer than ten meters to the stake, strong gusts of hot rising air tore the bag from her head.

And then all the people in the square saw who she was - the witch they wanted to burn. Their frenzied and vengeful minds, their bloodshot eyes... all of this was instantly replaced by wild horror.

Before them stood the one to whom many owed their lives. The one who gave them medicine for free. The one who treated and saved their children! The one they came to, helped around the house and brought food to while she treated others. The one who was more than just a doctor or a pharmacist who didn't take money for many. She was in their hearts just like a mother or daughter.

And just a moment ago, they had lit the fire on which she stood with their own hands! A moment can sometimes last an eternity, and that moment was just like that for them.

She looked at them with eyes full of tears and incomprehension, but at the same time full of forgiveness. And they looked at her with supplication and a plea for forgiveness...

But however long that moment lasted, it ended, and people rushed to extinguish the flames. The heat made it impossible to approach the bonfire, but that did not stop many. With their bare hands, they grabbed burning logs, trying to extinguish the fire. Their clothes caught fire on their hands. Even in my sleep, I could feel the pain of their burns... But it was all useless... They saw her face too late...

That day, the crowd not only killed the guards who had brought her to her execution, they also tore the executioner to pieces. Then they found the judge, tied him to the roof of a house, and burned him alive!

And none of the city guards tried to stop them. Everyone knew that the crowd was not seeking revenge, but justice!

They couldn't even bury her... the fire consumed her entirely, leaving nothing behind. Only the ashes from the fire were scattered over the gardens of the monastery where she had grown up.

A couple of days later, an old man found her portrait, untouched by the fire, in the ashes of the judge's house. He took it to the square — to the place where all the townspeople were bringing flowers. A few days later, a medallion was added to the portrait by an unknown artist, and an inscription was added to the back of the painting - an inscription in which they asked for her forgiveness on behalf of all the residents...

Her sentence was overturned and changed to acquittal, the painting was moved to the town hall, but then disappeared into history, to find its way into it, and there were no more witch executions...

And she... What happened to her?

Fire creates light. But it is also part of light itself. And light cannot bring pain to light - it can only take it away. And it took her away. Without pain or suffering. For eternity had its own plans for her. She did not dissolve into infinity and become a new light. She seemed to freeze in time, waiting for the moment when love would awaken her again... But light cannot help but shine - and she shone. She shone on the path that was destined for her. Where she had shone all her life.

She remained among those who needed her. The burns from the fire on the hands of those who tried to extinguish it healed without leaving even scars. And for many centuries to come, she continued to come to those whose light was beginning to fade... The old man kept his promise. Being the light, she continued to carry it to others, igniting it in the souls of those whom darkness was beginning to envelop. Every night for centuries, she fulfilled her destiny - coming to homes, coming to hospitals. As before, there was not enough of her for everyone. But now she had time. Endless time.

And sometimes, when walking by the lake in the evening, children would point to a place where no one was and say: ‘Mummy, I know that lady. She came to see me when I was ill.’

But only some adults, in whose hearts the ability to see the light had not yet faded, could also see her - the one who, centuries later, came to be known as the Ghost of Alster. A ghost who carried the light during her life and after her death, helping it not to fade in the souls of those who believed in it!

And one day she met him - the boy by the lake who awakened her, sleeping amid the light. And yes, it was only a moment compared to the centuries of her sleep. But he still had a chance to wake her up, to bring her back to the life she had never lived!

I woke up... How long had I been asleep? Perhaps just a few moments. Or had I been asleep at all? My hands hurt terribly, and when I looked at them, I saw severe burns...

No, it wasn't a dream. And yes, for some reason, the box was no longer in my hands.

 JUNGFERNSTIEG

Jumping up from my chair and ignoring the pain from the burns on my hands, I headed to my grandfather's bedroom. I couldn't imagine waiting until morning and wanted to tell him everything right away. But his bedroom was empty, and it was clear from the bed that he hadn't even gone to sleep. So, I closed the door and went to his study.

Opening the old oak door, I was surprised by what I saw: the doors of all the bookcases were open. Many books - both open and closed - lay in different parts of the room: not only on the table and sofa, but also on the floor, on the windowsill... The table was littered with papers, which contained not only texts but also scanned and enlarged photographs of the sides of a wooden box. The two monitors he usually worked on were connected to two video conferences, each with several people, some of whom I recognized. They were my grandfather's friends, experts in painting and antiques. There, on the screen, were photos of my wooden medallion and even a photo of a painting from a museum, a grand piano...

My grandfather, disheveled, sat on the floor in the middle of his study, sorting through papers and continuing to talk on the conference call. In his hands was a book I recognized about the construction of the central part of the city adjacent to the Alster.

‘Hello!’ I said, confused. ‘What's going on?’

He looked at me, but his gaze stopped at my hands... ‘Is there a fire? What happened to your hands?’

‘It doesn't matter; it's a long story...’

‘Well, you'll have to tell me, because I've decided not to go to bed. But before I tell you what I've discovered, tell me your story. It may confirm my theory or disprove it...’

‘So, boys and girls, bye for now,’ he said to those on the video call. ‘Today, my grandson and I are going to test our crazy theory. But if it's right, then... Well, we'll talk about that later...’

While he bandaged my hands with special burn dressings/bandages, I told him in detail everything I had seen, whether in a dream or... Although what exactly...?

After listening to everything, he said that I hadn't brought him closer to his goal, but fortunately, I hadn't distanced him from it either. He said he would very much like to discuss the details of what he had heard with me. But now it was more important to test the hypothesis that had arisen during his dialogue with his friends.

He joked that if all those who had just been on a video call with him were locked up together in one room, not all of them would come out alive because of their constant professional disagreements. Historians, specialists in mythology, mathematics, quantum physics, mediums... Everyone he knew who could help gathered to solve this mystery...

- Grandad, I still don't understand what all these people have to do with it... But I guess you'll tell me later what you discussed. For now, I still have the same question: what should I do next?

- Right! Yes, I agree. There is no answer to that question. But there is one very unusual hypothesis...

- Tell me!

- All right. But for my theory to be complete, I would have to start with the basics of quantum physics and mythology, and then get to the point. But now there is no time to spend a couple of years educating you in this field, so I will approach it from a different angle. For millennia, people, not knowing the answers to the nature of things, have been searching for the truth. And even now, when there are only theories, there is something to build on. Ancient people believed that the energy flowing through the universe (the existence of which they did not even suspect) somehow flows or accumulates in the world around us: in monoliths, ancient relics, places... Part of this theory involved huge giant trees that once grew all over the planet, including here. Whether these trees were sources of energy or simply grew in places where these flows occurred, we do not know. Although, in general, this theory is only a guess.

‘However, today we all analyzed the box and the locket that I took from you. And something else,’ he placed two printed images in front of me...

‘What is this?’ I asked him.

‘Good question!’ he smiled. ‘The first picture with the image of a spreading tree is a pattern carved on the inside of the piano lid.

’And the second?" I asked, eager to hear something important.

- Don't rush! The thing is, I found the same pattern on the bottom of the box... And it turns out that the amulet, which is an integral part of the box itself, is also a piece of this overall puzzle. Based on what you've told me, the piano was able to attract her and give her the strength to stay in our world. And the box and both amulets connect you, creating an invisible bridge.

‘So what?’ I really wanted to understand what would happen next.

"The thing is, if all these items are connected and made of the same material, but the contact was only superficial, then... then we need to look for another missing component. And while you were asleep, we were all searching for it. And...

‘Did you find it?’ My patience was at its limit.

‘I don't know. But, as I told you earlier, I have a hypothesis. And you, if you're ready, will have to test it today!’

Grandfather looked at his watch and said that I didn't have much time and that I needed to get to Jungfernstieg underground station as quickly as possible before it closed. And while I was driving, he would tell me the details over the phone.

I jumped into the car and turned on the speakerphone. He said that they had found a connection between the amulet, the box, the piano, and another item that was not yet on the list of pieces of the puzzle I knew about. And that item was a wooden fresco installed at the Jungfernstieg underground station.

According to historical data, the fresco was created from parts of a wooden bridge that used to stand on the Alster... And the bridge itself is the most important part of this story. Theoretically, the bridge was made from the wood of a huge old oak tree that had grown on the shore of the lake since ancient times. And if we draw a parallel, then the bridge, the fresco, the amulet, and the grand piano are all links in the same chain in the story I found myself in.

He said that everyone he had spoken to that evening would have dismissed these theories as quackery yesterday, but today... today this version had a right to exist. He also said that he had called his friend, the head of the Hamburg underground, and asked him to grant access to the fresco. He justified this by saying that I was supposedly working for the city archives. He added that it would be better to do this at night, when no one was in the underground, and asked for accreditation for night work. And although the request did not seem very logical in the evening, permission was still granted!

‘I understand! But what should I do when I get there?’

‘I don't know... That's where my understanding ends... But, considering everything that happened earlier, maybe you'll figure it out when you get there! And yes, don't forget the equipment in the car! In the boot! No need to thank me!’

I arrived when the underground station was almost closed. But they let me through with my lighting equipment and other gear. When asked how much lighting to leave, I said that my professional equipment would be enough and that extra light would get in the way.

How many times had I passed this place? Dozens? Hundreds? Did I know that today I would stand before it with a feeling of last hope? Once a randomly preserved part of an old bridge, and today a decoration of the underground station, it was the end of my unusual journey. Who could answer this question? No one!

I sat down on the floor in front of the wooden column, holding the box in my hands, until the lights went out. I needed to think, because the puzzle that had brought me here was not yet complete. Darkness always helped me concentrate. But when my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized that for some reason it wasn't completely dark... Even with my eyes closed, I could see a glow...

Opening my eyes, I saw that all the patterns on the box were glowing, and a barely discernible stellar wind was blowing from it towards the column. Touching the column, it seemed to ignite it with its energy, and it shimmered and glowed as if it were made of the Milky Way.

Feeling a slight burning sensation on my chest, I looked down. The wooden medallion glowed so brightly that it was visible even through my clothes. Removing it from my neck with my partially bandaged hands, I turned my gaze towards the column and took a step towards it.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had a feeling that the column and the amulet had a role to play in this puzzle. But I didn't yet understand what that role was. I examined the column carefully, looking for a clue. And my guess was rewarded: I found the place where, in theory, I could apply the medallion. And the closer I brought it to the column, the brighter it glowed. A few moments before I touched it with the medallion, the column wasn't just shining like the sun - I even had to cover my eyes with my hand. It vibrated and emitted a low hum. It felt like something was bursting out of it... And in another moment, I released it...

At first, there was a deep silence, and the humming stopped - but it was only for a moment. Then it seemed to me that I had gone blind, and my body was burning with a billion suns. At that moment, in the pitch darkness of my own blindness, I saw her - glowing, standing in the darkness. She turned towards me, but looked through me with eyes wide open in surprise.

Another moment - and my sight returned. I was still sitting in front of the column. However, the entire underground station had turned into a starry cauldron of the primordial universe. Chaos. Fire... But this fire did not burn, and the chaos increasingly took on the form of meaningful movement. In the center, a mini-tornado of stardust spun faster and faster. It drew all the light to itself, and after a while, only its column spun and glowed with a dense stream in the middle of the station. And at some point, this entire rotating stream began to turn into a flowing river that started at the column, flowed at my feet, and drew me to follow it.

I walked along it. I walked along the path that I had started when I first saw her by the lake. And now I left the underground station and walked along the lake by the flowing starry river until I reached the place where it ended. But does the light that created everything around it has an end? No - it only creates a new beginning! And, flowing somewhere into the depths of the earth, it awakened what had never slept.

From the place where the light flowed into the ground, a small and delicate sprout grew. Then it became a thin branch, a young tree... And a few moments later, a huge, mighty tree stood on the shore of Alster — the very same one that had grown here thousands of years ago. But it consisted of billions of glowing sparks. And it did not stop growing! Its roots spread along the shore, and its branches covered Alster and the city.

We are all convinced that we know the secrets of the universe, thinking that we are about to discover how the world was created and will be able to conquer other universes. But all this has always been right next to us. We just need to see it, look inside ourselves and understand how we are connected to the universe, and that both it and we are part of a single whole. Only our actions and thoughts either distance us from it or bring us closer to it.

Did anyone else see what I saw? I don't know... I didn't even think about it. Because I heard Her. Or rather, the beating of Her heart. First one beat, then two, then three... And a few moments later, she hugged me from behind and whispered: ‘You promised and you found me. I believed!

’Yes! I gave you my word not to give up until I did!

‘But now that you know who I am, will you be able to accept me?

’I will accept you no matter what, or I will leave with you!

- You know that I cannot be yours forever, don't you? Part of me will always remain light. And after each day we spend together, night will fall, and the light within me will draw me back to those who need it. Love can change the fabric of reality, but it cannot change my destiny. And during the day I will be yours, and at night I will come as light to the children to ease their pain, to heal and give them hope - just as I always did in life.

I turned to her, looked into her eyes and said: "I know that we will live many happy years together. And one day I will go to the stars, and you will see me off and continue your path of light here! I realised long ago that you are the embodiment of everything that so many of us often lack. And I want to walk with you the whole way that I am given to be with you.

She looked down at my burnt hands and said, "I saw you there and even then I knew you would come for me. You don't need them anymore. Especially since you promised me you would play the piano again.

She brushed away the bandages covering the burns on my hands. And beneath them, there was not even a trace of the fire.

We looked into each other's eyes. And each of us saw light in them — light that would never allow darkness to prevail. Because darkness is merely the absence of light. And as long as we exist, we will carry within us the light that will dispel the darkness. This light led me to her, and it led her to me. This light gave us life, and we were able to weave love from it.

***

Somewhere nearby, on the shore of the lake, an old man sat on a bench. In his hands he held a box containing two amulets. He closed it, stood up, and his receding figure first turned into light, then dissolved into the glow of the evening lanterns.

***

Perhaps one late evening, while walking by the Alster, your child will point to a stranger and say: ‘Mum, I know that girl sitting on the bench next to that man, she came to see me when I was ill...!’

Don't argue with them, because they will tell you the truth. And although you won't be able to see her, know that she will be next to the one whose love brought her back to this world.

***

Whether you believe this old legend or not is not important. What is important is to remember that each of us carries a piece of our own light within us. And may it never go out, because once you accept darkness, you may never return to the light.

Carry your light to others, and it will shine so brightly that it will dispel any darkness around you!

***

She came into this world to bring her light to it. A girl who was able to defeat the darkness! And her name is the Ghost of Alster...

© Anatoly Kavun, 2025