Principality of Qua-Toyne. The Sacred Forest of Ren-Noa.

  It was here, in this ancient place, full of secrets and echoes of long-gone eras, that five thousand years ago the high elves and representatives of other races, whose names have long since been erased from the memory of centuries, raised their last, desperate prayers to the High God. They pleaded for salvation from the imminent annihilation by the countless legions of demons. And it was from here that the inhabitants of the New World, rallying under the crimson banners of the messenger-warriors, began to fight back fiercely, driving the darkness back to the sinister continent of Grameus with an unseen fury.

  Since those ancient times, a great, mysterious forest, Ren-Noa, had grown on the site of the ancient altar, soaked in tears and prayers. This sanctuary is guarded to this day by the high elven people. And, as legends say, one of the celestial ships of the messengers is still preserved in the depths of this sacred place with the help of forgotten time magic.

  The crowns of the ancient trees, like an emerald dome, blocked out the sky, allowing sunlight to filter down only in thin, trembling rays. Nearby, a river babbled merrily, its crystal-clear waters revealing the fish and crayfish darting among the stones. A light breeze, like the breath of nature itself, rustled the leaves, carrying the scents of flowers and herbs.

  At the very entrance to the ancient sanctuary, under an arch of intertwined trees, two high elves awaited the arrival of the Russian research group. Vol, young but with already hardened features, crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze cold and wary. Beside him stood Miina, her eyes, the color of spring leaves, burned with curiosity and impatience.

  "I absolutely do not like the idea of letting these humans into the sanctuary of our ancestors," the high elf Vol grumbled to himself, his thoughts filled with doubt and an ancient, almost genetic, distrust of the short-lived races. He couldn't shake the feeling that they, these humans, like barbarians, could desecrate this sacred place with their mere presence.

  In the four centuries he had lived, which for a normal human would be an eternity, he would never have thought that the Council of Elders, whose wisdom seemed as unshakable as the ancient oaks, would permit anyone but elves to enter the halls of the sanctuary. They saw no difference, whether you were a high elf, a wood elf, or even a half-breed. For them, only purity of thought and respect for ancient traditions mattered. Such was the covenant of the Mother Goddess who, having given her last strength to bless this land, commanded her children not to sow discord among themselves. Throughout all the ages, since that very War with the Demons, it had never happened that representatives of other races entered this sacred forest. The only exception was that day when the Alliance of Races, in retreat, made their last stand here. But that was a matter of dire necessity. And now?

  "Vol! How can you not understand! These people are extraordinary! These are the very Russians who saved our kin in Louria! Who destroyed the awakened Demon Lord Nosgorath, scattering him to the winds!" the high elf Miina mentally countered him. Her thoughts, unlike his grim ones, were bright, almost radiant with inspiration. "The Elder himself invited them because he saw in them not a threat, but the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy!"

  "Miina, you are no longer a child, but you are still too naive…" Vol was about to rebuke her, but then a strange, rhythmically beating sound reached their keen ears. Like the buzzing of a giant, invisible insect, approaching with an unnatural speed.

  "What is that?!" Vol exclaimed in surprise. For the first time in a century, the high elves were shocked by this mechanical, alien sound. A Russian "Ansat" helicopter, like an unseen predatory bird, slicing through the air, was rapidly approaching, shattering the age-old silence of the forest.

  "It can't be! Is that… a sky ship?" Miina whispered, stunned. In her memory, like living pages from an ancient book, her mother's story of the Messengers of the High God and their flying machines resurfaced. Fear and sacred awe mingled in her heart.

  The "Ansat," like a huge metal beetle, landed on the clearing at the entrance to the sanctuary with a deafening roar of its rotors and a downwash that knocked them off their feet, making the ancient earth beneath the elves' feet tremble in fear. From the open side door, five figures jumped to the ground. Two were in sturdy hiking gear, with heavy backpacks. The other three, in mottled green military uniforms with assault rifles on their chests, moved with a practiced, predatory grace, their gazes instantly "scanning" the surrounding forest, assessing any potential threats.

  Soon, this delegation approached the frozen elves. One of the men in civilian clothes, with an open and friendly face, took off his hat and introduced himself:

  "Hello," he said, his voice calm and respectful. "My name is Eduard Anatolyevich, I am the head of the historical and cultural research group. And this," he indicated the second civilian, "is my colleague, Igor Mikhailovich. We are deeply grateful for your generosity and for allowing us to visit your sacred place."

  The elves were astonished. They had expected to see arrogant and haughty humans, drunk on their own power. But these men carried themselves with an unexpected dignity and politeness. Vol, giving a restrained nod, said:

  "Follow us. And do not fall behind. This forest does not forgive mistakes."

  The journey through Ren-Noa became a true test. The Russians, accustomed to long marches, walked in silence, stoically enduring the climbs and descents. But the forest played with them. After four hours of walking, Eduard, breathing heavily, stopped.

  "Just a moment…" he rasped. "My compass… it's gone haywire."

  One of the security team members, a young man with the call sign "Strelka" (Pointer), pulled out his army compass. Its needle was spinning wildly, as if in a fit.

  "What the hell…" he muttered.

  Miina, who was walking ahead, turned and smiled gently.

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  "The laws of your world do not work here. Here, you must not look, but listen. Listen to the voice of the forest. It will show the way to those whose intentions are pure."

  The soldiers exchanged glances, their pragmatic, military world colliding with something beyond their understanding. Vol, walking at the rear, just snorted contemptuously at their bewildered faces.

  "Excuse me, what is that in your hands?" Miina asked with a childlike, genuine curiosity and a slight smile, approaching the soldier. His face, covered in light stubble, was focused and grim.

  "Ah, this? A tablet," the soldier with the call sign "Strelka" answered as if waking from a trance, tearing his eyes from the black screen. "I was trying to determine where we are, but for some reason, the GPS can't get a lock on the satellites…"

  "No wonder it can't. Even though I don't trust this electronics of yours, my own compass has gone mad. Something's wrong with the magnetic field here," the second soldier, the group's commander, a captain with the call sign "Granit" (Granite), said with a smirk. He leaned against the trunk of an ancient tree and looked with curiosity at Miina and Vol. "If it weren't for you, we really would have gotten lost in no time."

  "And is it true that you defeated Louria? And that same Demon Lord Nosgorath, who wanted to exterminate all races and plunge the world into darkness?" Miina asked, and her eyes, the color of a spring emerald, shone with reverent curiosity.

  "It's true," "Strelka" answered curtly, putting the tablet back in his pouch. "But in the fight with Nosgorath, our guys took a real beating. That creature is no simple monster."

  And so, in a leisurely conversation with the high elf, the time for their break passed unnoticed. The group, rested and full of energy, moved on. The journey took almost a full day. They walked through thickets where light barely penetrated, waded through cold, fast streams, and climbed moss-covered hills. And all this time, they felt the unseen, scrutinizing gaze of the forest itself upon them.

  Finally, by the evening of the next day, they came out into a clearing. Before them, growing directly from the ground, rose a domed structure. It looked like an ancient hill, almost completely swallowed by nature. Its walls, once probably smooth stone, were now overgrown with moss and covered with ivy, and young trees grew from the cracks. Only here and there did the ancient, time-worn masonry peek out from under this green mantle. It was not a building. It was history itself, become a part of the forest.

  Miina, approaching the temple, the sight of which filled her with sacred awe, turned to the research group. Her voice, quiet but full of pride, echoed under the ancient forest canopy:

  "This is the sanctuary. Here, in this place where the sky meets the earth, is kept the greatest treasure of our world. A treasure of a bygone Age, when the Gods themselves, hearing the desperate prayer of their children, intervened in the battle against the legions of demons. It was here that the elders of the elves, the chieftains of the beastmen, and the kings of men, casting aside centuries of enmity, created the Alliance of Races. And the High God, heeding the prayers of the Goddess of Fertility and the Elves, sent his warriors, who struck down the demons with fire from the heavens."

  She paused, sweeping her radiant gaze over everyone.

  "Within the halls of this sanctuary lies the very celestial ship of the Messengers. The runes of a lost spell have sealed space and time itself within the temple, preventing it from fading from the memory of generations. It is an eternal reminder of those who once defied the darkness."

  "And now, by the will of the elders, we will show this holy relic to them… to Humans. To those who may be the descendants of those very Messengers," she thought with a mixture of anxiety and secret hope.

  "I can't wait to see it with my own eyes, wouldn't you agree, Eduard Anatolyevich?" Igor Mikhailovich asked. His eyes burned with the zeal of a discoverer, and his hands gripped his camera as if it were a rifle aimed at a strange beast.

  "That's an understatement, Igor. This is the moment when myth becomes history," Eduard nodded, looking expectantly at Miina.

  Miina, feeling his gaze, approached the temple wall. Vol, with a grim and displeased face, stood beside her. Before them was a smooth stone slab on which, it seemed, there was nothing. But when the elves simultaneously placed their palms on it and whispered words in an ancient, melodious language, a miracle occurred. On the slab, as if appearing from nowhere, intricate, intertwining patterns of a turquoise color flared and danced. The air filled with a quiet, crystalline chime and the smell of ozone. And then, with a low, deep rumble that seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth, the stone wall, which turned out to be monumental doors, slowly, reluctantly, began to open, letting the researchers into its halls, full of secrets, mysteries, and perhaps, answers that would change everything.

  And what they saw should not have existed in this place.

  "I-it can't be…" Eduard, the head of the research group, said in a trembling voice. His eyes, usually calm, now burned with a feverish, almost mad fire. His colleague, Igor Mikhailovich, no longer held back: like one possessed, he darted around the hall, and the flashes of his camera, like lightning, snatched the ancient walls and that incredible, alien metal object that rested in the center from the gloom.

  "I don't believe my eyes. How…? How did it get here?"

  The security detail, who until then had maintained a stony composure, were also shocked to the core. They stood frozen, their assault rifles seeming like useless toys in the face of this mystery. Their gazes held not just shock, but a deep, almost mystical bewilderment.

  "Why are you so surprised? Is it not beautiful, this celestial ship of the Messengers?" Miina asked with genuine puzzlement.

  Eduard slowly, as if in a dream, turned to her.

  "This is not a celestial ship, Lady Miina. This is one of ours… a plane. A fighter jet. Specifically—a MiG-15. How… HOW THE HELL DID IT GET HERE?!"

  "Igor! As soon as we're out of this forest—an encrypted message to 'Center'! Highest priority!" Eduard shouted to his colleague, switching to Russian.

  "Got it!" he replied, continuing to click the shutter, as if trying to document a miracle that might vanish at any moment.

  The elves looked at them, understanding nothing. These people, representatives of a powerful civilization whose own flying machines seemed like magic to them, now stood like children before a relic of their world. And at that moment, the chasm between them grew even deeper. For the elves, this was a sacred artifact, a gift from the gods. And for the Russians—a ghost from their own bloody past. A ghost that had no right to be here.

  The curtain had been torn away. But instead of clear answers to old questions, a chasm of new, even more frightening mysteries opened up before the Russian researchers. A MiG-15, a Soviet first-generation jet fighter, a legend of the Korean War, had been discovered in an ancient sanctuary of the high elves. It stood here, under a veil of time-slowing magic, a silent, steel witness to an impossible past, an artifact from another, yet so familiar, era. The most mass-produced jet combat aircraft in aviation history now rested in this ancient, mysterious place, having become a part of a foreign mythology.

  When the Kremlin received the encrypted message from the group, it had the effect of an exploding bomb. At an emergency meeting of the Security Council, a decision was made: to immediately, and with the highest priority, begin the most thorough and in-depth study of the mythology and history of this world. This was no longer just scientific curiosity. This was a matter of national security. Because the answer to the question, "How did a Soviet fighter jet end up here five thousand years before our Transfer?" could change their understanding not only of this world but of their own past, and, most importantly—of their future. Now, they had to find out who its predecessors were, where they had disappeared to, and whether the same fate awaited them.