"To see the soul of a man – look into his eyes, to see his past – listen to his voice, as if it, rushes along the river, giving a rough bass key of those deep, hidden memories that have accumulated over the years." That's what my grandfather used to tell me, and his grandfather used to tell him. There were not many generations on our planet, and we are all long-lived. At that time I inherited from my father a position on the council of one hundred and four. I wore a gray cloak, and on my shoulder sat a faithful friend, a Hawk. It was free, it wasn’t tamed. It was with me entirely of its own free will. It flew away sometimes to find something to eat, but it would always come back. On our feet we wore espadrilles with ties around the ankles – the most comfortable shoes of all time, and there was a red sign on our raincoats. Everyone knew that people in this uniform should be respected, and not for their status, but for their deeds, for they worked tirelessly for the sake of their own people. It was like that once, but not anymore. Now there was nothing left: no people, no honor. Only us – the authorities-are left. But what is the power without people? …Void. We have become kings who have fallen into oblivion, and every day we fly like ashes across the endless land of the once great planet Alaval.

He had been sitting under the roof of a building for an hour now, watching the heavy rain outside pounding on the mesh platforms that seemed to float in the air, anchored between the high-rise buildings, thus creating platforms, roads, and bridges for movement. He looked at the dial of his watch.

The time was 13: 38. Date: 29.07.2020

There was nothing below; everything was hidden in the depths of the fog, more like a heavy, punishing acrid smoke, which, in ancient times, enveloped Sodom and Gomorrah for the sins of the human race. The only source of light was the huge red giant, half-peeking over the horizon and several times the size of the sun. It lassoed within itself a primordial, unbridled flame that colored the clouds and the city in a blood-red tint, and perhaps it was just his imagination, but it felt as if not today, then tomorrow, the light would go out forever.

The skyscrapers looked like futuristic flowers that could grow on a low-pressure planet. They shot up from the depths of the void below, and their spires were hidden under a thick layer of heavy rain clouds. When he looked more closely, he realized that the unusual shape of the buildings appeared to be due to the fact that their frames consisted entirely of black pipes, and not of bricks, aerated concrete blocks or wooden beams, which are usually used in constructions on Earth. He looked at the building on his right, which was less than one step away, and as he felt the material, he realized that he had already encountered it somewhere, most likely silicon carbide. To the right and left, long staircases nailed to the walls led somewhere. The air in the atmosphere was musty and heavy. With each inhale, it became more disgusting to breathe. His lungs ached.

There was a deafening booming sound in the sky. And he felt as if the wall of the universe had cracked and been restored. Red lightning lit up the city. And in the thick clouds above, the rising stream of ominous winds formed eddies similar to those that astrologers observed on brown dwarfs, far from the planet Earth. The weather was getting worse. Lightning began to shoot out like a machine-gun, and to assume that this hell will ever end was akin to a miracle. He raised his head, watching the blood-red swirls, which for a split second seemed to become a strange creature, the size of a whale, with the only difference that instead of a face it had a black void, and the wings were so powerful that they could somehow resist the incredible pressure of the wind. Its legs were missing. The tail looked like a Scorpion's. In the midst of the thunder and the sound of the rain, a devilish scream rang out, and then it died away, like the sinister creature as well the faded away, which he had never seen again, and which seemed more like an illusion rather than something real. Something that you can see in a Museum of extraterrestrial life and be horrified at the idea that it once flew and perhaps still flies on one of the planets that people mistakenly believe are suitable for life.

There was not a single living soul on the streets or in the skyscrapers. Although it was impossible to say for sure, because he could not see the windows. There were only antennas, pipes, and stairs everywhere you look, and no signs of life.

He never took his eyes off the grim landscape, studying every detail with the curiosity of an archaeologist who has just unearthed the most important discovery of his life. He was trying to answer a single question: what kind of unknown race could create such a thing? But couldn't find an answer. The architecture of the buildings and the layout were all different from what was usual for a person from Earth. Anxiety and fear crept into his mind, infecting every cell of the body, and it was not possible to get rid of them. He tried to go outside; stopped at the last moment; noticing that the raindrops were of a strange color. Everyone who went on archaeological trips for many times, were able to recognize at a glance what is dangerous and what is not. There was a notebook and a pen in the breast pocket of his jacket, an old habit of an archeologist. He tore a blank sheet from his notebook, made a small airplane, a skill that finally came in handy, and sent it forward. The paper was soaked with water, and the plane fell. A second later, it turned black, smoked, and eventually turned to ashes, scattering around in small tarry pieces.

Raindrops continued to hit the mesh platforms and immediately trickled down, somewhere in the soul-crushing, fatal emptiness. Looking around again, the young man realized that because of such weather conditions, this hinged structure was created in order to protect local residents from acid puddles on the ground. In addition, whatever the mesh was made of, the drops did not corrode it, which was very well thought.

Just above his head, a black sphere hovered in the air, making a dull humming noise like the sound of wind in a desolated desert. Tap. The sphere was very cold to the touch. He tried to figure out how or by what miracle he had been transported to this world.

I remember sitting in my house, in a nice cozy apartment. I read the ancient text on the plate and said it out loud. That was the moment the sphere got activated. The first touch sent me back to the owner's memories, but they scrolled through my mind at the speed to fast for my brain to understand anything, and I only had time to consider a couple of moments and an incredibly beautiful green world stuffed with fields, mountains, and bizarre creatures. I thought how nice it would be to see it. Then it got dark and here I am.

He touched the sphere again; thought about Moscow, the church near his house, and his family... Nothing happened.

What am I doing wrong now? Teleportation is probably limited in time, energy or maybe there could be more conditions to be met before I can use it again. But how long should I wait? Or how should I know… what to do? Besides, this world is far from beautiful... What happened here?

A dry cough escaped from his lungs, and then agony gripped his chest. A few minutes later, he regained consciousness and decided to test the sphere's strength by aiming it at the acid rain. The result was amazing: the drops did not touch the sphere, as if it was protected by an invisible shell from any external influence.

A few hours later, the rain stopped. The red giant that lit up the city didn't move an inch. The young man decided to go on a journey, hoping to meet some sane creature. Whoever lived on this planet, they could build, so they could help him. He took an inhaler from the inside pocket of his checked jacket, shook it, and inhaled twice, his breathe eased. He looked once more at the blood-stained sky, where the last cloud had gone somewhere in the endless swirl of space and time. Suddenly, he felt a slight touch of cold on his arm. Snowflake. But where could it have come from? Then two more snowflakes touched his face. And it won’t disturb him again.

He tried to climb out of his hiding place and down onto the outboard structure. He clung to the pipes that formed the skyscraper with his hands, then lowered his right leg, slightly pinning the bridge with part of his weight, which seemed to be strong enough to hold his weight. But the first impression is often deceptive. After several checks, he finally made sure that everything was holding up as it should and continued; he put his other foot down, still holding his hands, then wrung out his right hand, followed by his left; he made a couple of swinging movements. Nothing. Jumped. There was a loud echo. Everything kept still. After making sure of the reliability of the structure, he slowly walked forward.

The hours passed one after the other. Because of stress, the brain completely forgot that a person needs food. Then, on one of the platforms, he noticed a charred skeleton, perfectly fitting into the surrounding landscape of the sunset of a civilization. On the ribs, chunks of human flesh still smoked. The frontal and parietal lobes of the skull were blackened. The skeleton was about to crumble, although the corpse supposed to be fresh.

He swore, spat, and abruptly changed direction, hiding around the corner of the nearest building so that if anyone approached the skeleton, they wouldn’t see him. He threw up.

"Come on, Malum, get a hold of yourself," he told himself.

Malum, an experienced archaeologist in his thirties, had already found human remains several times in different parts of the world, with the only difference being that they were buried underground many millennia ago.

So, this is how it is. Now I know where the smell comes from.

Malum had no doubt that he would find more than one exhibit of this kind. After an hour of waiting, the overpowering silence was not replaced by the expected sounds of relatives or friends bending over the dead body of the deceased, as he had originally believed. He looked around again, and then, like a snake on the prowl, he crept up to the dead man, hoping to find some clues. But the only information that the skeleton carried was that there were humanoid creatures living in this world and if they were caught in acid rain, they would die. Clothing, bags or personal belongings were also not found; apparently, they were corroded by the rain and washed down. For a split second, Malum seemed that a hubbub had been raised around this soulless shell that neither man nor God cared about. Black silhouettes of lost souls began to appear out of nowhere, singing the last epitaph and taking the newly arrived spirit into their fiery and formless world.

Malum, about to move on, saw out of the corner of his eyes a small hair in the still smoking chunk of flesh. He took a small bag from the back pocket of his pants, removed his headphones out from it, and put the loot in it.

"If I ever return to Earth, it could change history."

The street Malum was walking on was a long corridor, vaguely reminiscent of forgotten suspension bridges that made a creaking sound. A deathly silence reigned this place. At first, he tried not to stop, but it was harder and harder to move with each step. His strength gradually evaporated. There was no wind. Subsequently, Malum began to make more frequent stops under the metal canopies, running from one to the other. About six hours had passed, and the red light still hadn't moved. There were occasional skulls on the road, estimated to be a hundred years or older than the first find, some turning to sand at the first touch. Malum also began to worry that there were no intersections, so he could choose a safer direction.

Perhaps because of the lack of oxygen in the air, perhaps because of the terrible smell or hunger, Malum's mind was trying to free itself from his devastated body, like a caged wild animal. The breaks were getting longer. The hope of seeing someone alive was fading by the minute. And with each passing minute, the realization that the entire world around him had died, leaving only flying predators in the scarlet clouds, was becoming stronger and stronger. Using up the last of his energy, moving his legs and keeping his mind in check, Malum saw a human image sitting on the bridge at one of the crossings three hundred meters away. His feet hung over the edge of the bridge, and his hands held an object that looked like a fishing rod, the line of which went under a thick layer of fog. The acrid stench continued, and the air was heavy.

Malum hid around the corner of the building and watched. The creature didn't move. His chin was touching his chest. Malum asked himself a question "is it sleeping?" He sat in ambush for several hours, his eyes fixed on the unknown creature. The desire to get to know each other was building in his head, but the rational part of his brain was against this idea.

This is not an alien invasion of Earth, as in the movies, you need an approach, otherwise you will be destroyed, forgotten, isn't that what you are so afraid of? Forgotten and destroyed, never having done anything significant in your short life. No, you promised yourself you'd change everything. And your price is exactly the same as the price of your promises. Or maybe lady luck will smile at you? It's great when you do something reckless and it works out, and sometimes it works out even better than you thought it would. Only that lady luck loves the prepared, if you're not ready, no amount of luck will help you. Yes, and when did something come easy? Come to your senses, you're not even sure if the laws of physics are the same in this world. What if he already sensed you? Waiting for you to walk up to him and stab you in the heart? You won't even have time to explain yourself. Yes, even if you don't feel it, imagine sitting on a fishing trip, somewhere in the village and suddenly alien comes out on you, it's unlikely that the first thing that comes to your mind is to say "Hello, how can I help You?" So why should your case be special? You need to understand how aggressive this race is, if it is a different race at all, or maybe it is the same person as me? Hardly, no sphere is flying around it. Although the answer is obvious. Look at what's going on here: non-residential buildings, acid rains, dead bodies and bones lying everywhere. It is hardly possible to remain kind in such an environment. So how do you protect yourself?

Malum cast his mind for five minutes, occasionally stopping his gaze on the buzzing sphere next to him. Then he decided to go back about half a kilometer. To the place where he last saw a whole skull. As he moved back, constantly turning around, the paranoia raged in his mind even more. Its nerve wracking when you know that a possible danger lurks behind your back. Malum was quickly making his way back, while constantly looking over his shoulder.

When he reached the skull that lay under the building's awning, Malum took it in his right hand, and then tried to squeeze it as hard as he could, and it was just as strong as he hoped it would be. Without thinking twice, Malum threw the skull up, and the sphere jerked in his direction, a second later the target shattered, and the fragments scattered several meters and then fell down under the net.

"I can go now."