I had a choice: spend the rest of my life bedridden, confined to a disability, or believe the insane ramblings about parallel worlds and get a new life. I decided to take the risk.
It’s the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty-four. The Russian Empire. Only on the throne there are not the Romanovs, but the Rurikids. And the world is magical. I was definitely not prepared for this. But on the other hand, I’m not a serf—I’m an gifted nobleman, which is already pretty good. And now I’m fourteen. Which is simply wonderful!