The pilot’s consciousness, after an air crash, is transferred to the past into the body of a young nobleman. Outside the window, spring—on the yard, it’s clearly the end of a completely unfamiliar nineteenth century. And he is pinned to the bed after an unsuccessful fall from the roof of a yard building. The surrounding reality offers him mysteries more surprising than one another, and he will have to figure them out. And there’s still Alexander III ruling the country—who lost his son in Japan. As for the treatment and recovery that lie ahead, the question of what to do next doesn’t even arise. If you’ve managed to raise yourself into the sky once on your own, then you’ll get sick of it for the rest of your life—either with the old, lost one, or with a new one you’ve acquired. The only thing left is to rise. First to your feet, then into the sky. And there isn’t far from it to war—though which war? And aren’t there enough of them? On Rus’ there’s always been war!