Calendar of the Displacement. Year 0001, March, Day 22.

  A year had passed since the Russian Federation had found itself in this other world. In that time, the delegation from Qua-Toyne had returned home, the treaties had been signed, and the slow, difficult work of two civilizations learning to coexist had begun. What follows is a summary of that year — because history is not only made in the moments of first contact, but in the ten thousand ordinary decisions that come after. It was a year of anxiety, discovery, and titanic effort that had transformed not only Russia itself, but also its first neighbors—the Principality of Qua-Toyne and the Quila Kingdom—beyond recognition.

  The initial months were spent on reconnaissance, analysis, and the cultivation of cautious diplomacy. Once the key strategic partnership treaties were signed, the work began. The first reports from agronomists and biologists in Qua-Toyne caused a sensation at the Russian Academy of Sciences and the Ministry of Agriculture. The principality's soil, enriched with unique microorganisms, not only possessed phenomenal fertility but also contained natural fungicides that suppressed plant diseases. Russian agricultural corporations, using modern technology, helped Qua-Toyne increase its crop yields several times over, turning the principality into a veritable "biosphere laboratory." A flow of unique genetic material, seeds, and soil samples began to make its way to Russia, promising a revolution in agriculture.

  But the real discovery was Quila. Its seemingly barren deserts concealed a geological miracle. Russian geological survey teams, using seismographs and aerial reconnaissance, discovered colossal reserves of high-quality light crude oil, natural gas, and, most valuable of all, rare-earth metals that were worth their weight in gold back on Earth. The geologists jokingly nicknamed the region "the Klondike." For Russia, finding itself in complete resource isolation, this was not just a stroke of luck; it was a strategic salvation.

  In return, Russia began a massive infrastructural transformation of the region. The old, stone-paved roads, over which carts had trudged for centuries, were replaced by smooth ribbons of asphalt highways built with "seamless paving" technology. Not only were Russian KAMAZ trucks already moving along them, but also the first, still clumsy local wagons, adapted for the new speeds. A multi-kilometer branch of a broad-gauge railway, laid from the new mines in Quila to the modernized port in Maihark, became an artery through which resources flowed to Russia and technology flowed back. For the local inhabitants, it was a miracle. The train, which they called the "steel serpent," reduced a journey that had once taken weeks to just a few hours.

  However, this cooperation had clear boundaries. When the delegations from Qua-Toyne and Quila, growing bolder, requested access to more serious technologies—metallurgy, electronics, engine manufacturing—they received a polite but firm refusal. The State Duma, in an emergency session, passed the "Act on the Control of the Outflow of Modern Technologies to the New World," which placed the export of any dual-use developments under the strictest prohibition. Requests for arms shipments—even obsolete rifles or armored cars—were shut down at the root. The Russian leadership understood perfectly well that they were walking a razor's edge. One careless move, one "sold" technology, and the fragile balance of power in this world could be shattered, leading to unpredictable and possibly catastrophic consequences. Russia had not come here as a colonizer, but nor was it a naive benefactor. It had come to stay. And it would be the one to dictate the rules.

  Nevertheless, Russia willingly shared technologies it classified as "humanitarian and infrastructural." The first water pipelines appeared in the capitals of Qua-Toyne and Quila. Now, almost every home had running water; one only needed to turn a handle, and hot and cold water would flow, whereas before it had to be heated and carried from afar. Diesel generators, installed on the outskirts, provided electricity to light the main streets and government buildings, bathing the cities at night in an unfamiliar, almost magical glow. And the propane tanks, which Russian engineers called "domestic gas," brought about a veritable revolution in kitchens, allowing food to be cooked without firewood and soot. Life was slowly but inexorably changing.

  These changes gave rise to two opposing reactions among the elite of Qua-Toyne. The head of the merchant's guild, a pragmatic and shrewd beastman named Varg, became the most ardent supporter of the cooperation. He saw in Russian technologies not just conveniences, but a source of untold wealth.

  "Their goods are miracles!" he would exclaim at every Council meeting, brandishing a Russian calculator in the air. "This little artifact can calculate faster and more accurately than ten of my best accountants! And their roads! Can you imagine how much the delivery time for goods will be reduced? We can surpass not only Louria in our standard of living, but the Civilized Lands themselves!"

  But Prime Minister Kanata viewed these changes with apprehension. He saw not only the gleam of new technologies, but also the shadow they cast. One day, during another meeting at his residence, he took Varg aside.

  "Varg, our future frightens me," he said quietly, gazing at the green hills outside the window, where the steel thread of a railway under construction was already visible. "The Russians are mighty. Their power is absolute. If one day they decide that our principality is more useful to them as a territory than as a partner… we will not stand a single chance. Each of their tractors is like a hundred of our plowmen. Each of their roads is an invasion route for their army. We are building a beachhead for them with our own hands."

  Varg frowned. A flicker of annoyance crossed his eyes.

  "I understand your concerns, Prime Minister. But what choice do we have? Louria is massing its troops on the border. I am more frustrated that the Russians so stubbornly refuse to share their weapons with us. Even their simplest rifles could stop the Lourian cavalry. But they speak of the 'balance of power' and 'irreversible consequences.'"

  Kanata sighed heavily, his gaze fixed on the bottomless blue sky.

  "They are not afraid that we will become too strong, Varg. They are afraid that we, having received their weapons, will act just as Louria does. That we, drunk on power, will become aggressors ourselves. They do not trust us. They see us… as children. Children who have been given pretty toys to play with, but not matches. And the most terrifying thing is, I cannot be certain that they are wrong."

  He fell silent, and in that silence lay the old ruler's greatest fear. He was not as afraid of an external enemy as he was of what his own people might become upon touching a power they could neither comprehend nor control.

  The Louria Kingdom. Castle Hark, the capital of Jin-Hark.

  On a cool spring night, under the cold light of two silver moons, the Royal War Council convened in the throne room of Castle Hark. The shadows cast by the torches danced on the stone walls, lending the grim faces of the highest dignitaries and military commanders a sinister cast. Tonight, the fate of the continent would be decided. On the agenda was the final approval of Operation "Iron Fist"—a meticulously developed campaign for the annexation of the neighboring states, the Principality of Qua-Toyne and the Quila Kingdom.

  King Haark Louria the Thirty-Fourth, clad in ceremonial black armor, sat upon his throne of polished basalt. His cold, piercing gaze swept across the hall and came to rest on the figure kneeling in the center. It was General Patagene, commander of the invasion army—a warrior whose reputation had been forged in dozens of punitive expeditions.

  "Your Majesty, the six-year preparation is complete," his voice, amplified by the hall's acoustics, sounded like the strike of a hammer on an anvil. "The army stands ready to march on your command."

  A faint, predatory smile appeared on King Haark's lips.

  "We face a war on two fronts, General. Qua-Toyne and Quila, though weak individually, might pose a problem together. Are you certain of success?"

  "Your Majesty, one of these countries is a collection of farmers, the other a gathering of destitute miners. Both are torn by internal conflicts due to the abundance of demihumans within their borders. Our army outnumbers their combined forces three to one, and surpasses them tenfold in fighting spirit. We have no chance of defeat," Patagene answered with unshakable confidence.

  The king was satisfied with the answer, but one detail still troubled him.

  "Prime Minister Maus," he said, addressing the gray-haired man in a robe who stood at the right hand of the throne. "What is known of that strange delegation that arrived here a month ago? The Russian Federation, was it?"

  The prime minister bowed his head respectfully.

  "We have conducted an investigation, Your Majesty. It is a newly formed state, located on a vast continental landmass far to the northeast of Qua-Toyne—over a thousand kilometers away by sea. Their own envoy stated their territory exceeds seventeen million square kilometers, a figure our cartographers consider either an exaggeration or an impossibility. We have not been able to independently verify it. Their diplomatic approach was… unusual. They immediately requested an audience with you, bypassing all protocols, and spoke of their 'transfer' into our world. We deemed it to be either the ravings of madmen or an extremely clumsy espionage cover story. Their delegation requested an audience with Your Majesty and was refused. They departed without incident. We classified their visit as an intelligence-gathering exercise under diplomatic cover and had them monitored until they left our territory."

  "And what of their military power?" the king asked.

  "Our agents in Qua-Toyne report that the Russians have several large ships and at least two types of flying machine. But, most importantly,"—the prime minister paused—"they have no wyverns. None at all. Our three independent sources in Maihark confirm this. Furthermore, during a demonstration flight of their 'sky spear,' the Russians were observed watching our wyverns with apparent curiosity—the interest of men seeing something unfamiliar, not the recognition of fellow aviators. They have also made no attempt to purchase wyvern eggs or trained animals, which any serious military power would do immediately upon arrival."

  He did not add—because the thought had not occurred to him—that a civilization capable of building a flying machine faster than a wyvern might have concluded that wyverns were simply not worth purchasing.

  The absence of dragon riders is a sign of military backwardness. Whatever their ships may be, without air superiority, they cannot effectively support their ground forces."

  Patagene smirked.

  "So even if Qua-Toyne begs them for help, these Russians can do nothing for them. Our wyverns will burn their troops from the sky with impunity."

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  Approving chuckles rippled through the hall. In the military doctrine of Rodenius, the absence of wyverns was tantamount to a naval power having no fleet. It was a fatal weakness, one that negated any other advantage. None of them could imagine that this small error in analysis, based on correct observations but flawed conclusions, would be the first step toward the destruction of their great army. They had correctly assessed that the Russians had no wyverns. But they could not even begin to imagine that the Russians had no need for them.

  "I understand," King Haark said, and a note of predatory anticipation entered his voice. "How close Rodenius is to complete unification under my banner! The thought of scouring all this demihuman filth from our lands brings me unimaginable pleasure."

  "Your Majesty." The voice from beside the throne was quiet and unhurried. A figure in a dark robe stepped forward — Kaios, emissary of the Parpaldia Empire. He did not bow, because in the Parpaldia Empire's understanding of protocol, he did not need to. "Unification is but the first step. You have not forgotten your commitment to the Emperor. A figure in a black, hooded robe stepped out from the shadows. It was Kaios, an emissary from the Parpaldia Empire. "Do not forget your promise to my emperor."

  King Haark's face contorted for a moment with poorly concealed fury.

  Haark held his expression. The emissary's presence was a constant reminder of the transaction he had made — Parpaldia's intelligence networks and naval support in exchange for a future he had not yet fully calculated. He had made that bargain when Parpaldia seemed like the largest power in the world. He was less certain now.

  But the war came first. The rest could wait.

  "I remember my word!" he roared, and his voice echoed through the hall, making the councilors flinch.

  Emissary Kaios only chuckled quietly and retreated back into the shadows.

  "General Patagene," the king continued in a more level voice. "Report your strategy."

  Patagene stepped forward to a huge table upon which a detailed map of the continent was laid out.

  "The invasion army numbers five hundred thousand battle-hardened soldiers. Four hundred thousand will be committed to the main strike against Qua-Toyne. The remaining one hundred thousand will form a defensive cordon on the border with Quila and protect our lands."

  He took a long pointer and indicated a border city.

  "Our first objective will be Gim, a city with a population of one hundred thousand. It will serve as our beachhead. By capturing it, we will secure provisions and fodder for the continued advance. After that, the main forces will strike the fortress of Ejey. It is their only significant fortified position on the road to the capital. Unlike our cities, their settlements have no serious walls. Once we have breached the defenses of Ejey, we will sweep through their lands like a hot knife through butter."

  He moved the pointer to the sea coast.

  "Simultaneously, our fleet of four thousand four hundred ships will put to sea and establish a total blockade of Port Maihark. Our five hundred wyverns, including reinforcements from our… allies, will ensure complete air supremacy and will strike their troops and lines of communication. The Quila Kingdom, completely dependent on food shipments from Qua-Toyne, will be caught in the grip of famine. They will capitulate within a few weeks without a single shot being fired."

  "And what of their forces?" one of the generals asked.

  "The total strength of Qua-Toyne's army does not exceed fifty thousand. Even with an emergency mobilization, they could not muster seventy thousand untrained peasants. They will be swept aside by the first attack of our vanguard. Six long years of preparation are about to bear fruit."

  "This is it! The long-awaited unification of Rodenius!" Haark cried, leaping from his throne. His eyes burned with a fanatical fire. The hall erupted in a roar of triumphant shouts.

  "Glory to King Haark!"

  "Death to the demihumans!"

  The war council seamlessly transitioned into a grand feast. The thick aroma of roasted meat and expensive wine filled the hall. Soldiers and aristocrats raised their goblets, toasting to future victory and glory. In this intoxicating anticipation of triumph, none of them noticed how, far to the northeast, thousands of kilometers away, the lights on the wings of a man-made monster flickered to life in a cold, alien sky as it began to fly in their direction. The storm they were about to unleash upon Rodenius was nothing compared to the hurricane they had just brought down upon themselves.

  The Embassy of the Russian Federation, the Capital of Qua-Toyne.

  The spring morning outside the office window of Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary Alexei Vladimirovich Sokolov was deceptively peaceful. A light breeze stirred the flowering branches of a tree that resembled a bird cherry. But the ambassador's gaze was fixed not on this pastoral scene, but on the screen of his secure laptop, where data from the Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) residency was being updated in real time.

  A quiet knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

  "Mr. Ambassador, the Deputy Head of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Mr. Yagou, is requesting an urgent meeting. He says the matter cannot wait."

  Sokolov frowned for a moment. An unscheduled visit from an official of his rank could mean only one thing—the crisis had reached a boiling point.

  "Send him in."

  A few minutes later, Yagou entered the office. His usual diplomatic composure was fractured. His face was etched with a deathly fatigue and poorly concealed panic. He attempted a polite bow, but the movement was clumsy.

  "Alexei Vladimirovich," his voice was hoarse.

  "Yagou," Sokolov rose from his desk, gesturing to a chair. "You look as though you haven't slept in several nights. What has happened?"

  "It concerns the Louria Kingdom," Yagou began, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on his knees. "All our worst fears have been confirmed. Our agents report… they have begun a full mobilization. Troops are massing at the border. King Haark Louria has officially declared his intention to 'reclaim the ancestral Lourian lands,' by which he means half of our principality. This… this is a declaration of war."

  Sokolov's face remained impassive, but internally, he had been prepared for this. The analysts at the Main Intelligence Directorate (GRU) and the SVR had predicted this exact scenario, down to the week.

  "I understand the full gravity of the situation," he said slowly, carefully weighing each word.

  "You understand?" Desperation broke through in Yagou's voice. "Mr. Ambassador, we cannot stop them. Their army is several times the size of ours. Our only ally, Quila, is itself on the verge of collapse. We… we are doomed."

  He fell silent, and in that silence hung the unspoken question. The question for which he had come here, in violation of all protocols.

  Sokolov looked at him. He saw before him not just a diplomat. He saw the representative of an entire nation, standing on the edge of a precipice. And Russia was now the only power capable of either pushing them into that abyss or pulling them back from the brink.

  "Yagou," the ambassador's tone became firmer, "the Russian Federation did not enter this world to stand by and watch as genocidal wars are unleashed on its borders. We have an interest in the stability and order of this region. We cannot allow our strategic partner to be destroyed."

  Yagou's eyes widened. He was barely breathing.

  "You… you will help us?" he whispered.

  "We will not let an act of aggression go unanswered," Sokolov replied, his words diplomatic but unambiguous.

  Yagou closed his eyes, and the wave of incredible relief that washed over his face was palpable, erasing the fear. He jumped to his feet and, forgetting all ceremony, grasped the ambassador's hand.

  "Thank you! On behalf of my entire people… thank you!"

  The light in Yagou's eyes was almost childlike. He left the embassy emboldened, as if an unbearable weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  Sokolov watched him go. Then he returned to his desk, and his face became cold and calculating once more. He pressed a button on the intercom.

  "Connect me to the National Defense Management Center. Line 'Crystal-1.'"

  After a few seconds, a voice came over the speaker.

  "On the line."

  "This is Ambassador Sokolov in Qua-Toyne. Relay this to the Commander-in-Chief. The forecast has been confirmed. Louria is initiating aggression. The government of Qua-Toyne has just officially, albeit verbally, requested military assistance. We have complete carte blanche. "I recommend activating the contingency we discussed in December. The trigger conditions have been met. It is time to act."

  He hung up. The peaceful phase of first contact was over. The phase of demonstrating power was about to begin. And this entire new world was about to see what happens when Russia decides to protect its allies.

  Calendar of the Displacement. Year 0001, April 10. Morning.

  At the eastern foot of the ancient fortress of Ejey, in the very heart of Qua-Toyne, a new, alien world had sprung up. Where just a year ago wild meadows had stretched, a gigantic industrial complex now stood—the joint Russo-Qua-Toynian enterprise, "Rodenius-Resource." Geological surveys had discovered the richest deposits of tungsten, nickel, and aluminum here—strategic metals vital for the Russian military-industrial complex. Around the mines and processing plants, a complex infrastructure had grown like mushrooms after a rain: access roads, warehouses, and power lines. From here, along the new railway, ore and concentrates flowed in an unending stream to Port Maihark, and from there, via cargo ships, to Sevastopol and Astrakhan.

  Understanding the strategic importance of this site, the Russian leadership had declared the entire industrial zone and its adjacent territory the Extraterritorial Secure Facility "Sloboda." This was not just a factory. It was a full-fledged Russian enclave on foreign soil, operating under its own laws.

  It was defended by a consolidated battalion of the Black Sea Fleet's naval infantry. The perimeter was enclosed by a three-meter-high concrete fence topped with electrified barbed wire. At the corners stood watchtowers armed with heavy-caliber "Kord" machine guns and powerful searchlights. The approaches to the wall were covered by minefields and anti-tank "hedgehogs." Inside, in armored revetments, several BMP-3 infantry fighting vehicles were positioned with their formidable 100mm cannons. "Sloboda" was not just a base. It was a fortress.

  Life bustled within: engineers and workers from "Rosatom" and "Norilsk Nickel" worked in three shifts, soldiers stood guard duty, and "Ural" military trucks and "Tigr" armored vehicles moved through the streets of the small settlement.

  The people of the villages near Ejey called it "the Grey Wall." It had appeared over the course of three weeks, assembled from prefabricated concrete panels carried in by Russian trucks, and it had fundamentally altered the landscape in a way that the inhabitants were still processing.

  They were not hostile. The Russians paid for everything in silver at rates the local merchants considered generous to the point of suspicion, employed several hundred local workers for construction labor, and had, on two occasions, sent their medical team into the nearest village when illness spread through a farming family. The garrison soldiers were disciplined and did not drink or cause disturbances in the town.

  But the wall was four meters high, and the watchtowers were visible from the main road, and at night the searchlights swept the surrounding fields in slow, methodical arcs that lit up the darkness like artificial moons.

  The headman of the nearest village, an elderly dwarf named Korrak whose family had farmed the same land for six generations, had looked at the wall for a long time on the day it was completed. Then he had gone home and written a letter to the capital, to a cousin who worked in the Foreign Ministry.

  The letter said: *They are kind. They are generous. And they are building something that is not meant to come down.*

  He did not know if anyone in the capital read it. He sent it anyway.

  In the command post, located in a fortified bunker at the center of the base, tension was high.

  "Are you certain?" Colonel Petrov, the garrison commander—a man with a short gray beard and a gaze of steel—looked at his intelligence chief.

  Before him stood a young Main Intelligence Directorate (GRU) captain, holding a tablet with the latest intelligence.

  "Yes, Comrade Colonel," his voice was steady and devoid of emotion. "The data has been confirmed by two independent sources: our agent network in Jin-Hark and data from an 'Orlan' drone that has just returned from a border patrol. Louria is completing its mobilization. Their strike group, numbering up to forty thousand men, is already deployed in the border regions. The Qua-Toyne garrison in the border city of Gim numbers no more than three thousand. They will be swept aside within hours. According to our forecasts, the invasion will begin within forty-eight hours."

  Colonel Petrov nodded slowly, his fingers tightening on the armrest of his chair. He knew that Louria was an aggressive, militaristic kingdom. And he knew that Russia had given Qua-Toyne security guarantees. This meant that his small garrison, lost in an alien world, was about to find itself on the tip of the spear in Russia's first war in this new reality.

  "Orders from Moscow?"

  "Bring the garrison to full combat readiness. Increase perimeter patrols. In the event of a direct attack on the facility, open fire to kill without warning. Await further instructions."

  Petrov stood and walked to the map on the wall.

  "Forty thousand… they will come through Gim, straight for Ejey. And we will be on their flank. They will not be able to ignore us. That means a fight is inevitable." He turned to his officers. "All stations, code 'Groza' (Thunderstorm). This is not a drill, gentlemen. The war is beginning."