“What year is it?”

“2024.”

“Felix, we’ve been through this. What year is it?”

“1993.”

“Good.”

“Just in your world. In mine, it’s 2024.”

“There are no worlds, Felix! There is only one world!”

Days melted into one another, and Doctor Volkov patience wore thin with the young boy. At first, Felix had been cooperative, but that spark of agreement had dimmed. After conceding that it was indeed 1993, the questions began—questions about his parents, his real parents. Boris and Emma Voronov didn’t exist in this timeline, at least not as adults. Boris Voronov from Saint Petersburg was merely the one-year-old son of a Russian businessman named Slava. They didn’t believe his claims of accidentally jumping through time; they dismissed the existence of gifted children with unusual powers. Instead, they prepared him for transfer to another hospital. The clinic had tended to his physical wounds and cold, but now they intended to send him to a facility that would address the chaos in his mind.

“This was your last chance, boy.”

“Fine!” he retorted, frustration bubbling over. That afternoon, after a bland and tasteless lunch in his equally unwelcoming room, a car arrived for him. Two burly men seized him, treating him like a feral animal, and confined him to the back of a medical vehicle. As they drove, Felix caught glimpses of the world he had landed in. The city around him was without towering buildings; everything appeared sad, draped in shades of gray. The streets were not populated, and the few cars that passed seemed to go very slow. The only crowd he encountered was outside a small shop, where people waited patiently for their turn to enter. Few beggars lined the streets, their faces painted with desperation. The men beside him remained silent throughout the ride. Before long, they left the city behind, and the oppressive, dull scenery gave way to the beauty of sprawling woods. Hidden within the trees was the Sasklyakhl Mental Institute, a grand wooden house with a large backyard. Its exterior was impressive, but as Felix stepped inside, he began to suffocate on the dust that lingered in the dark hallway. Numbness washed over him as he awaited his new room. He didn’t resist; why would he? His family didn’t exist in this world, and no one could help him return. If he kept speaking, he would only find himself in deeper trouble. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life locked away. He needed to figure out how to go back—alone. To do that, he needed solitude to practice his powers.

Days continued to slip by, marked by the first snowflakes that danced past the window of his room. The doctors ceased their regular conversations with him, and he found himself confined to a small space, seeing other human beings only when they brought him food. Meals were sparse—sometimes only two a day, but usually three. He wasn’t given pills, yet he felt himself growing weaker. Finally, he lacked the energy to swing his hands left and right, hoping to conjure some magic that might create a portal to take him back home. Helplessness, weakness, desperation, and anger coursed through him. Yes, he felt angry—furious, even. He was enraged at his uncaring parents, his selfish uncles, and most of all, his aunt, the only person who had ever shown him love. Why wasn’t she here to help him? Did she really left him in this awful world all alone? Was she really gone? She can’t be! He would never forgive her that. Selfish. He knew. No one from his time could tell where he was and come and save him, but it was much easier to feel anger than the paralyzing fear that would have kept him bedridden for days at a time.

And that day was no different. He sat on his broken bed, staring at the gray walls within arm's around himself. If he stretched out his leg, he could touch the wall opposite him.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, anxiety wrapping around him like a suffocating blanket.

“What if Toski forgets me? And how the hell will we justify missed classes?” Tears of frustration rolled down his cheeks as he heard the creak of the door opening. Expecting the familiar figure of a nurse in a white uniform, he was taken aback by a different person—a man dressed in nice suit, with short gray hair and striking brown eyes. He was older and oddly familiar to Felix, though he couldn’t place where he had seen him before.

“Son...” the man said, his voice was sharp. Felix instinctively run away to the corner of the room. “Who are you?” he shouted.

“Evgeny Voronov, grandfather of Slava Voronov, the ancestor of your father and you.”

A sigh of relief escaped Felix’s lips; finally, someone who believed him.

“You are gifted?” he asked, eager to learn more about this man who could potentially be the one to save him from this misery.

“I am. God granted me the ability to foresee the future, yet I never saw you coming into our lives. You are quite a mystery. For months, we have been watching you, discussing what to do with you and where you belong in this world and in the future. Your very existence has blurred my visions; I cannot see your future.”

“So?” Felix raised an eyebrow, his interest waning. The man’s aura now radiated insecurity, and Felix was wary. Initial joy left him quickly. He could see it in Evgeny's eyes, he is not to be trusted.

“I want you to come with me. I want you to meet your family.” Felix didn’t smile. He would finally escape this prison cell, yet joy eluded him. He sensed that Evgeny was not there to rescue him; instead, he feared him. He feared the boy’s existence, and Felix knew that at the right moment, he would have to run.