My twenty-five years of life have seen adventure and turmoil, but I had never expected a tragedy to drive me away from my homeland and place me on the same road I’d traveled in better days. At that time, I had journeyed from Atil to Kiev to represent my splendid Kagan. Now I’ve become an uprooted man, a seeker of a new life in a new country.

 

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My friends’ faces appear, some smiling, others sad. So many people dear to me who died or disappeared or may still be alive, but I don’t know where they are. I know my family is decimated. I know where my sister is—Kiev, where I am going. But where is my Lada? Where are you, my love?

I think of the past events in my life, the ones that left the deepest stamp on me, and come to the battle Khazaria had lost to Knyaz Svyatoslav—the Russian ruler. We were not ready. We thought we were, but we were not. They came from the Volga in their fast ladyas in such numbers that our warriors could not contain them, and slowly, slowly, losing many in the process, we pulled back. Many died. Atil, our capital, destroyed.

Now I am alone and have time to think, to contemplate the past, to imagine the future, which is difficult, as I cannot find the answers to any of my questions. Just hope remains that I can adapt to a different life. But for now, the calming influence of my memories is more pleasant than the thoughts of the future. This night may be my last chance to recollect the events of my life before the reality of the new world consumes me.