Seventeen-year-old Lida left the orphanage with nothing but a bizarre inheritance—a crumbling cottage in the woods, left by a grandmother she’d never met. The lonely structure sat at the forest’s edge, untouched by the modern world, like a relic abandoned by time itself.
No family. No history. Just emptiness. And for Lida, that meant freedom—a blank slate to rebuild her life from nothing.
On the third day, exhausted from scrubbing decay from the walls, she wandered into the forest for mushrooms. The trees swallowed her whole as she ventured deeper, until she stumbled into a silent clearing, its floor blanketed in thick moss.
And there, nestled among the roots and vines, was the wreckage—an ancient airplane, half-consumed by the forest, its rusted frame fused with the earth as if it had grown there. A forgotten ghost from another era. Waiting.
Criosity overcame caution. Lida climbed into the cockpit — and, looking inside, screamed: in the pilot’s seat sat a motionless skeleton in uniform, frozen in the last moment of life. Around its neck hung a medallion… with her name carefully engraved on the surface.
From that moment, everything changed. What began as an attempt to start an independent life alone turned into a deep immersion into a mystery from the times of war — about missing crews, secret operations, family ties… and something much bigger than she could understand.
Lida froze, clutching the edge of the cockpit. The air was thick, stuffy — smelling of rust, mold, forgotten time.
The skeleton looked at her with empty eye sockets. It seemed to be waiting for her.
She barely tore her gaze away and reached for the medallion. Her fingers trembled, her breath faltered. Carefully, almost reverently, she removed the ornament from the chain.
On the back were engraved the words:
“To Lida. When you grow up — find me.”
Her throat went dry. Her heart pounded as if wanting to burst out of her chest.
“What nonsense?..” she whispered, feeling her fingertips grow cold.
The pilot’s uniform was preserved to an astonishing degree — as if time had spared him alone. On the instrument panel were crumpled notes in English, one of which read:
“Mission 13. Northern Sector. Classified.”
She didn’t know English but could read the number.
An unlucky number.
When Lida got outside, the sun was already setting. The forest grew denser, the air heavier. The rustling around seemed louder. She hurried home, forgetting the mushrooms, clutching the medallion tightly in her hand.
The next morning, she felt drawn to the forest again. Not by fear, but by a deep unease, as if something demanded attention.
But before going out, she heard a strange creak in the attic. The house was quiet — too quiet for anyone to be nearby. Going upstairs, Lida found an old suitcase filled with letters. One was addressed to her:
For my granddaughter Lida. If you return.
Opening the envelope, she read:
If you are reading this — it means you found the plane. Keep silent about it. It is not from our time. And perhaps, it came for you.
These lines gave her goosebumps. Everything happening was beyond ordinary. But most of all, one question tormented her: if the pilot knew her name — who was he?
The next day Lida woke with the feeling someone had called her in a dream. Thoughts would not let her rest:
How could he know about me? Why me? Who is that man in the cockpit? And how did grandmother know the truth?
Stubbornness won over fear. Dressed warmly, with a flashlight in hand, she headed to the forest.
Every step was hard. The bushes seemed to close behind her, the trees whispered overhead.
When she reached the clearing — the plane was gone.
Only young grass, soft moss, and silence. No metal gleam, no rusty wreckage. As if it had all been a dream.
Lida looked around, feverishly searching for any traces. Nothing. Only somewhere far off a woodpecker was tapping.
And then — a branch cracked.
She sharply turned. Behind the trees flickered a shadow — tall, indistinct.
Her heart froze. The shadow froze too. Lida did not move. After a second — it disappeared.
But she knew: someone had been watching her. And perhaps, had been observing all along.
That night Lida couldn’t close her eyes. The room smelled damp, old boards creaked, and outside the window something alive seemed to be peeking in.
She reread grandmother’s letter:
The plane will return if you remember. You are not just an orphan, Lida. Your blood remembers more than you think.
These words chilled her to the bone.
Sitting on the floor, clutching the medallion, she suddenly felt the air tremble. The room shook slightly, as if the space was wavering.
From the wall, as if through water, the outlines of the cockpit appeared. There, in the dim light, sat the pilot. His eyes were alive. And he was looking right at her.
“Lida…” came a muffled voice, as if from underwater.
The medallion in her hand suddenly heated up like hot metal.
“Who are you?! Why are you calling me?!” she exclaimed.
The pilot did not move. Only his lips whispered:
“Remember the coordinates.”
And then everything vanished. The air returned to normal, the room became as before.
On the floor lay a note — as if slipped out from the past. On it — coordinates:
Latitude 62.001. Longitude 47.744. 12:13 — don’t be late.
Lida trembled. But inside, determination was already growing.
The next morning she got up early. The wind picked up, the forest rustled anxiously. Something was preparing. Something was waiting.
Exactly at 12:12 Lida stepped onto the clearing. In her hands — a watch, her heart — in sync with the time.
12:13.
The medallion flared with heat. The air stirred, twisted into a vortex — and before her, just like the first time, appeared the plane.
Not a mirage. Not a hallucination. Real, tangible, like any object in this world.
Only now she knew: this was not the end. This was the beginning.
But now the cockpit door was open.
Lida slowly approached. The pilot’s seat was empty. Inside, on top of the instrument panel, lay a new sheet of paper. She took it.
It was a child’s drawing: a girl holding the hand of a man in military uniform. The caption below read:
“Dad and me. Lida, 4 years old.”
Her heart stopped. The world tilted.
“Dad?..” she breathed out.
Somewhere in the forest a branch cracked again.
Lida stood clutching the drawing. Thoughts raced:
Dad? But how? Why is he in that plane? And why now?
The medallion on her chest vibrated slightly — as if responding to her anxiety.
Behind her came a rustle.
She turned sharply. At the edge of the clearing, among the trees, something was moving. At first it seemed just a shadow. But then a face emerged from the gloom — pale, as if carved from ash. Mouthless. With eyes — human, but alien.
The creature did not move. But Lida was pierced with certainty:
If I run — it will follow me.
She slowly stepped back toward the plane. The door was ajar. Inside everything was as before — only on the pilot’s seat lay a second medallion, exactly like hers.
Lida took it… and heard a voice:
“They are coming. You must make it, Lida. Only you can close the cycle.”
“Cycle? What cycle? What is happening?!” she shouted in her mind.
The creature at the edge of the clearing moved. Smoothly, silently. Unhurried. It did not chase her — it knew there was no more time.
Lida stepped inside the plane and slammed the door.
Inside the cockpit came to life. Dim lights lit one by one. The instrument panel glowed faintly — without wires, without a power source.
A button labeled “START” flickered like a heartbeat.
Outside — silence. But somewhere there, beyond the visible world, awaited something nameless.
Lida reached for the button. Held her breath. Pressed it.
The space around jerked. The cockpit filled with gray light, as if time was torn apart. Outside the window the forest disappeared.
Before her spread an airbase — cold, abandoned, frozen in the past. Planes, signal flags, people in uniform. And among them — him.
The pilot. Her father. Alive.
He looked straight at her.
“You made it. Now choose: stay here… or go back.”
Lida didn’t know what to say.
Behind her — loneliness, the orphanage, the empty house. Here — her father. A man who should not exist. But who had been waiting for her.
“Decide,” he said, “and know: much depends on this choice.”
She looked through the glass — beyond time, as if in a loop, the same scene repeated. The same clearing, the same plane, the same her. The cycle. A closed circle.
“Why me?” she finally asked. “Why you?”
He looked at her with pain.
“Because you are not just a daughter. You are the result of a choice.
I went on the flight knowing I would not return. It was a mission — to cross the time rift. To pass coordinates to the next generation. But something went wrong. I got stuck between times, like in a drop of resin.
Grandmother knew. She was warned. But you are the first to find me. Because the rift opens once every 50 years. And you — are 17. Exactly when everything begins anew.”
A dull thud ran along the plane’s body.
“He has come,” whispered the father.
“Who is he?” asked Lida.
“The Keeper of the cycle. He cannot speak. But he is not an enemy. He is a guardian. Searching for those who break boundaries.”
The creature behind the plane’s wall began to emerge. Not as a monster. But as a reflection of something old, familiar.
“He… was me?” she whispered.
The father was silent.
And then the creature reached out — to the medallion on her chest.
And she understood.
If she stayed, she would be with her father — outside time.
If she left — she could pass on the knowledge, warn the world, break the cycle.
But then he would disappear forever.
And she would be alone again.
The medallion grew warm. From it came a voice — familiar, gentle:
“You are stronger than you think. You are the link. Choose with your heart — and time will hear you.”
Lida clenched her fist. Stood between her father and the creature.
“I cannot lose you both.
But if I stay — everything will begin again. And no one will be saved.
“Forgive me…”
She extended the medallion to the creature.
The plane trembled. A flash. Time shattered into pieces.
“Lida!” her father shouted. “Thank you. For everything.”
And then — silence.
Epilogue
She woke up on the floor of the house. The sun played with rays in the dust. Everything was as before. Almost.
On the floor near her lay a charred sheet of paper.
On it — just a few lines:
The cycle is complete.
Pass it on.
Your blood remembers.
Lida stood up. Walked to the window. Beyond it — the same forest, the same trees. But now she knew the truth.
There was no longer a shadow in it.
