The Guide, looking grimly at her charge, quietly left the building and headed toward the Guide accompanying Constantin’s friend. She needed him to drop by and find Constantin on the studio floor, displaying those all-too-familiar symptoms.

Constantin awoke in a hospital room, shining with cleanliness. His mind felt empty. Just then, the door opened, and a young nurse entered with a tray of syringes.

“Don’t worry, you’re in the best clinic in the city, and you’ll be back on your feet in no time,” the girl smiled warmly.

“What happened to me?” Constantin asked, bewildered. “I don’t remember anything—”

“No wonder,” the Guide muttered from behind the headboard.

“It’s nothing serious. Just ordinary exhaustion,” the girl said. “You need rest and peace.”

She gave him an injection and, as she left, placed a shiny bead on the bedside table, casting a sly glance over the back of his bed.

“You were holding this when the ambulance brought you in.”

Constantin recognized the pearl, painted earlier on his canvas, and grimaced. He didn’t have the strength to think clearly. All he wanted was to sleep.

The Guide rolled her eyes, clearly displeased, and waved dismissively at the Ephor nurse as she closed the door behind her.

The medication wasn’t helping much. For a week, he received various IV drips and was assured that he was experiencing some form of autopsychic depersonalization. The doctor had ruled out selective amnesia, confirming that there was no dark-haired girl in his memory.

His friends supported him as best they could. Some recited their go-to phrases, while others genuinely tried to understand. A few simply called and stayed silent, and in that silence lay a profound meaning. But the truth was that no words would help. It was obvious to both Constantin and those speaking. Yet all the formalities were observed. A checkbox was ticked.

Days passed, but the burden didn’t go away. It was heavy, and Constantin’s weight was rapidly dropping – not because of a newfound fitness routine or diet, but because he carried that burden with him every day.

He rose each morning with it, dragged it to the dining hall, then rolled it with him to his treatments. He could feel every muscle in his body working, straining to carry the invisible load.

Time stretched monotonously. Waking to the sound of the alarm, he would slightly open his eyes and cautiously look ahead. Against the backdrop of lemon-colored walls, the burden stood out starkly. It was still there. The wheel of Sansara spun furiously, trapping him like a hamster running endlessly in its cage.

Days passed. Constantin grew stronger. His muscles hardened, and the burden no longer felt as heavy. It was as if his entire being had accepted it, making it more compact – like a backpack. He could even stand in line for medication without succumbing to panic, a feat that had once felt impossible. Before, he had to wait until he was certain he would be the last in line.

Days continued to move forward, and so did Constantin. The burden hadn’t disappeared, but he had made peace with it. He had befriended it.

Three weeks had passed. It sounded easier than it felt. For the doctors and his friends, it had been "only" three weeks, but for Constantin, it was "already" three weeks. And therein lay the crux of his catharsis. During this time, he had met many interesting people. He never would have imagined how many talents had fallen victim to their own inspiration. There were artists like him, writers, and musicians. Rumor even had it that some psychologists, at some point, couldn’t cope with the pain they were treating in their patients.

Constantin was informed that one of the best doctors in the clinic, who had agreed to take on his case, was expected to return. So he patiently awaited their introduction.

Through her dark sunglasses, Sophia gazed at the midday sun. The ultraviolet rays couldn’t harm her vision, but they could attract the attention of those who were more vulnerable. Holding a blackcurrant leaf in her hand, she absentmindedly rolled it between her fingers.

The sharp beep of her wristwatch pulled her from this aimless activity. There was no doubt that on the touchscreen, the Ephor would see the coordinates and the name of her new charge.

Feeling for the wooden ladder beneath her feet, Sophia took one last glance at the hills.

"What a beautiful view from the roof of that one-story house!"

Once, a familiar person had told her that, and adhering to that sentiment, the Ephor sometimes found solace sitting on the roof. This isolation also helped her avoid meaningless conversations.

Jumping down to solid ground, she headed toward her car.

“Leaving already?” her neighbor called out cheerfully, leaning over the low fence.

"Speaking of meaningless conversations," Sophia thought to herself.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Sophia nodded.

“S-Sophia, talk to Esther. She really doesn’t take care of herself. And, by the way, she just turned 60! What is she doing? Still planting s-strawberries—”

Sophia tried not to stare openly at the creature leaning against the slightly crooked fence next to her neighbor. In the sunlight, it resembled a snake basking in the warm rays.

Its bright yellow eyes bore into Esther, while its long tongue flicked out, splitting at the tip and significantly longer than a human's.

“That’s not my business,” Sophia whispered softly, glancing at the dirty wheels. The roads here were far from ideal, and the mud always puzzled her. An insatiable urge to scrub it away would wash over her.

“Come by my place! I’ll show you my new flowerbed. It’s simply lovely!” the neighbor said, removing her gardening gloves and waving her hand in invitation.

“Maybe next time, ma’am. I really am in a hurry.”

“No, don’t leave!” the creature insisted, undeterred. “It’s s-so boring here. Why can’t we jus-st go somewhere in Holland? There are tons of tulips there!”

Sophia lifted her head and noted that if you stripped away its unusual coloring, the creature resembled a young woman with African features.

Nothing new. When your guide is Nomadum, life becomes a journey. Nomads, who have no permanent "nests," find like-minded people (if they’re lucky) and travel often. They are sociable, have a sense of humor, and know how to dream. But they aren’t suited for family life and quickly begin to feel bored. Stuck in the same relationships, the same job, the same place. They are in a constant search for comfortable stability, yet can’t stand it. It’s a paradox. Even if you’re sixty, the thirst for adventure will drive you – at least to the dacha, and at most, to the airport.

Jumping into the car, Sophia turned on her playlist and cranked up the volume.

"I want to be confident in the future," sounded encouraging from the speakers.

Throwing a leaf from a plant out the window, Ephor rolled up the windows and drove on.

At this stage, it's important to bring clarity to what’s happening.

The soul voluntarily chooses a new life path and returns to Earth until it becomes multifaceted and purified. Only after completing all the preparations can the soul remain and no longer need to go back to Earth. Celebration!

Human beings' temporary needs have always overshadowed their true ones. They carefully distracted their consciousness from the only real cause of their unhappiness: the lack of independent choice. This was a nearly perfected Masonic conspiracy. But the Masons were merely a handful of guides – beings who believed themselves to be the Messiah. And while one writer warned that "Annushka has already spilled the oil," the Guides used that oil as if it were olive oil. The semantic equivalent astounded the minds of the Higher Realm, let alone those of the human world.