With the first rays of the sun, he walked along a flat, well-trodden path that crossed a wide wheat field. At the edges of the path, the grass, still damp with dew, rustled softly, and the light morning breeze carried the mixed scent of the forest and something unfamiliar—fresh fruit, flowering plants, and warm resin.
After a few minutes, the roofs of houses appeared beyond the edge of the field. At first, they were sparse, as if peeking cautiously from behind the horizon, then more and more frequent and denser, until entire neighborhoods stretched out before him. The houses looked neat and solid: large windows reflected the sunlight, the doors seemed sturdy, and the dark roofs were clean and well-maintained. Neatly trimmed flower beds and young trees lined the streets, giving the settlement a sense of order and comfort.
He stopped, involuntarily slowing his pace, struck by the scale of it all. The streets stretched into the distance, the houses stood in neat rows, with squares and small parks between them. Along the roadsides were shops with signs decorated with unfamiliar symbols, and life moved slowly along the sidewalks.
Women wore light dresses or jeans with bright shirts; their hair was either neatly tied back or flowing freely in the wind.
Men dressed simply and modernly—shirts, jeans, light jackets.
Most faces showed calmness and kindness: people smiled at each other, talked, laughed, as if they knew no worries here.
Children ran through the streets, playing and chasing each other. Sometimes they stopped and glanced curiously in his direction before disappearing again into their games.
But what struck him most was something else.
Strange contraptions on wheels moved through the streets. Some were large, with shiny surfaces and four round supports, humming as they rolled slowly along the road and emitting quiet signals. Others were smaller, with only two wheels and pedals that people turned with their feet to set them in motion.
He froze and blinked several times, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.
"What are these things...?" he muttered, not taking his eyes off them. "Do they... drive themselves? Or are they controlled... by feet...?"
He cautiously stepped deeper into the village, carefully studying the streets and passersby. Several children exchanged wary glances and quickly ran away, but he just smiled gently at them, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.
As he moved further, he began to distinguish different parts of the settlement.
Narrow streets lined with shops selling strange fruits and unfamiliar items. Spacious squares with benches where people rested, read, or chatted quietly. Green parks with neat trees and soft grass.
Courtyards and alleys, where some people tended to their plants, while others simply enjoyed the morning silence.
He watched the gestures of the residents: some pointed to a food counter, others to the door of a house, inviting him inside. He nodded and smiled in response, not understanding a word, but carefully memorizing their movements, intonations, and mannerisms.
Despite its size, the village seemed lively and truly inhabited. Clean streets, well-kept houses, trimmed plants — everything spoke of care and order.
He stopped at the edge of one of the squares, adjusted the bag on his shoulder, and looked around.
"Wow... this isn't just a village," he muttered quietly. "I wonder how they live here... and what can be found here."
Sitting down on the curb, he listened to the laughter of children, the quiet hum of conversation, the rustling of leaves, and the steady noise of wheeled vehicles. Deciding to give himself some time, he allowed his fatigue to recede, simply observing the life around him.
"For now..." he exhaled, "I'd better just sit and watch."
He sat there for a while longer, allowing the noise of the square to merge into a steady, familiar hum. Foreign speech enveloped him on all sides — the words were clear, but they made no sense. He could only make out the intonations: calm, businesslike, sometimes cheerful. No one paid him any particular attention. People passed by him just as they would pass by any stranger from the other side of the world.
A couple of times his gaze met that of a stranger — briefly, without interest, without suspicion. And then it immediately moved on. To them, he was just an ordinary foreigner. Nothing unusual.
He exhaled a little more calmly.
Getting up, he walked down the street again, keeping with the general flow. No one started a conversation with him, stopped, tried to help or ask questions. Salespeople served other customers, children played, adults hurried about their business. His presence did not disturb the usual rhythm of life.
He began to notice how easy it was to get lost in the crowd here.
He walked on, looking at the houses and signs, trying to understand the purpose of the buildings at least by their appearance. Somewhere from inside came the smell of food, somewhere voices and laughter could be heard, somewhere — silence and coolness.
At the end of one of the streets, a large building caught his attention. It differed from the other houses: taller, wider, with massive walls of light-colored stone. Tall windows stretched almost to the roof, and inside, through the glass, he could make out neat rows of something dark, neatly arranged. There was no noise or bustle in front of the entrance—people entered and exited slowly, quietly, as if the place itself demanded calm.
He slowed his pace.
He felt a strange attraction—as if this building promised answers. Not food or rest, but something else. Something that did not need to be understood by ear.
He stopped opposite, raised his head, and looked closely at the tall windows.
"A strange place..." he muttered quietly. "But for some reason, it seems so important..."
After a moment's hesitation, he took a step toward it, not yet knowing what lay behind those walls — but feeling that it was there that the first real key to this world awaited him.