asleep. Sanzhar carefully closed the door to his room, leaving the evening bustle of the house behind it. Silence reigned inside, broken only by the muffled sounds of the night garden outside the window. The room was immersed in semi-darkness, which was barely dispelled by the light from the street lamps breaking through the curtains. Sanzhar put Zhaniya’s painting on the table and looked at it thoughtfully. The flying city depicted by his sister seemed simple and surprisingly complex at the same time, reflecting Sanzhar’s own inner world at that moment – full of contradictions and hidden meanings.
He slowly approached the bed and sat down on the edge, feeling how the softness of the mattress pleasantly gave in under his weight. Thoughts about the past day swirled in his head: his mother’s success, an awkward moment with Zhaniya, the technical difficulties of the project with Lesha. All this intertwined, forming a complex picture, like threads in thick fabric.
Sanzhar remembered his father’s words that the future depends on the efforts and diligence of each. These words, although simple, had a deep meaning that was only now beginning to reach him. He had always wanted to create something meaningful, to leave his mark on the world, to prove to himself and others that he was capable of more. The project with Lesha had ceased to be just a game – it had become the embodiment of his desire for self-realization. His gaze returned to the painting. “A flying city…” Sanzhar thought. There was something attractive in this image, something that made him think about the future. Perhaps Zhaniya’s childhood fantasy contained a metaphor for their shared dreams – a desire for more, for a world where they could realize themselves completely.
He carefully picked up the painting, feeling its fragility and at the same time its value. It was not just an image, but a symbol of their family connection, their hopes and desires. Sanzhar stood up and, finding a suitable place on the wall opposite the bed, carefully attached the painting. Now it had become part of his world, his personal space, reflecting those thoughts and feelings that he himself could not yet express in words. Sanzhar lay down on the bed, feeling how fatigue was gradually beginning to take over his body. He continued to look at the painting, allowing his thoughts to smoothly flow from one to another. Images flashed before his eyes: Lyosha, concentrating on the code; Zhaniya, smiling after reconciliation; Aida, proudly holding a Forbes magazine; and his father, always ready to support and give advice. His eyes slowly closed, but before he finally fell asleep, a thought flashed through his mind: “What if dreams about the future can actually become reality? What if flying cities are not just a fantasy, but a possible future that we can build?” With these thoughts, Sanzhar slowly fell asleep. He felt that something unusual was waiting for him ahead, something that would open up new horizons for him and lead to the most unexpected discoveries. Zhaniya’s painting was the last thing he saw before his consciousness finally fell silent, leaving him in the sweet embrace of sleep, where amazing adventures awaited him.
Chapter 2. Moving to the Emerald Era
2:1 The Man in the Hat. Sanzhar stretched as the old but reliable Subaru Forester smoothly stopped at the curb not far from KIMEP. The morning had barely begun to bloom, and the first rays of the sun were still timidly breaking through the light fog rising above the city. The cool morning air, slightly giving off freshness and dampness, filled the lungs with invigorating energy. The father, Erlan, turned to his son, his face lit up with a smile that reflected both pride in his son and hope for a new successful day.
– Have a nice day, son. Don’t forget about your goals, – said Erlan, gently patting his son on the shoulder.
– Thank you, dad, – Sanzhar replied, smiling back and carefully closing the car door.
Having closed the door, he lingered for a moment, watching his father slowly drive away, dissolving into the stream of cars that had already filled the city streets. Left alone on the deserted street, Sanzhar took a deep breath of the morning air, feeling how it filled him with energy and freshness. The day promised to be eventful, and he felt ready for any challenges that this day might bring.
He began his walk along the street leading to the university. The city was still dozing, silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional sounds of the first cars and the voices of early passers-by. Walking past familiar buildings and shop windows, Sanzhar could not help but smile slightly. These morning walks to the university had become a kind of ritual for him, helping him tune in to the school day, immerse himself in his thoughts and prepare for new knowledge.
Approaching the entrance to KIMEP, Sanzhar noticed several familiar faces. Classmates and friends were already starting their day, exchanging greetings and short jokes, filling the space with the familiar and cozy noise of university life. He felt himself a part of this world, where every day brought something new, where every moment was full of discoveries. Suddenly his gaze caught the figure of a man sitting on a bench near the entrance. The man was dressed in an elegant suit, his face hidden under the shadow of a wide hat. In his hands he held a newspaper, unfolded so that Sanzhar could see only the top of the hat and a hand with a shiny emerald ring. The ring seemed to attract attention, shimmering in the sun.
Sanjar was about to pass by, but when he was close enough, the man suddenly spoke, his voice deep and confident:
– Young man, you have a talent for journalism and writing.
Sanjar froze in place, turning towards the voice. He saw that the man had lowered the newspaper, revealing his face. He was a man of about sixty, with piercing eyes and delicate features. He extended his hand, as if inviting him to meet.
– Nice to meet you, Sanjar, – the man said with a slight smile. – My name is Richard. Today is my first time at your university, I was invited to give a lecture on international trade.
Sanjar, still surprised by the unexpected address, extended his hand in response:
– Very pleased to meet you. How can I help you? Do you not know how to get to the lecture hall?
Richard shook his head slightly, his smile widening.
– No, thank you, I already know where to go, – he answered with a slight hint of mystery in his voice. – But you, Sanjar, may need my help.
Sanjar raised his eyebrows in surprise, not understanding what was being said.
“Help?” he asked again, trying to understand where this strange man was going with this. “I’m just a second-year student, I have nothing to do with international trade,” he laughed, trying to defuse the situation.
Richard leaned forward slightly, his voice became quieter, as if he was about to share a secret:
“You’re wrong, my dear. What I can offer will help not only you, but all of humanity,” Richard replied, his voice sounding as if he knew something that was inaccessible to others.
Sanjar felt a slight excitement mixed with bewilderment. His heart began to beat faster.
“So what is it?” he asked, trying not to show his excitement.
Richard stood up and, leaning towards Sanjar, said quietly, looking around:
“I will help you travel into the future, a hundred years ahead – to the year 3024. Your journey will only take a couple of minutes, here in 2024 no one will notice your absence.
These words sounded like a bolt from the blue. Sanzhar felt a chill run down his spine. He jumped back a step, his
