Note: This work is entirely fictional and belongs to the Alternate History genre, utilizing historical characters and events in a fictional context. All content is a product of imagination and does not reflect reality or political or military stance.

The story contains sensitive elements such as violence, large-scale warfare, tense political conflicts, and alternative historical depictions. It is not suitable for readers under 16 years of age or those who may be psychologically affected.

Continuing to read implies acceptance of all controversial elements within the work.

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We have felt... countless things. Yet, we have also lost far too much.

The flow of time—a foreign entity that we can never grasp. It drifts away, like an endless tide, leaving us behind, solitary amidst the ruins of a world that has faded. We have tried to hold on... to cling to what once meant everything to us.

I have never forgotten You. My love for You is eternal, etched into my soul like an unchanging vow. Yet You left me, leaving me desolate in this cold realm. Nevertheless... I have seen. I have witnessed how strong Your descendants are.

But I cannot believe. I cannot believe in a future of an ideal that has been buried. A future where You do not exist—not in body, but in spirit. I have seen with my own eyes an empire that once stood proudly in history, challenging even the gods.

To me, it is not merely a nation. It is a faith. It is the belief I have worshipped for 6,154 years. How many eras have passed? I can no longer remember.

But the present is more important. Important because I... need an answer.

I must know; I need to know. I need a response. An answer to affirm that what I have seen is nothing but a lie. A blatant falsehood, a faint illusion that I refuse to let haunt my mind.

Yet... that memory. That image. That boy. Why does it feel so real? A tragedy that even this weary soul cannot bear.

That red flag.

Atop the Grand Palace. It has been pulled down.

Horrific. I knelt, silent amidst the chaotic memories, listening to the echoes from the past. The throngs of frenzied people. The nameless corpses left at the heart of You—a bitter sign that You have departed.

You abandoned me. And this world, it has also forgotten You.

But... there is still a glimmer of light.

For some reason, I still believe in the descendants standing before me. They still carry a fragment of the ideal You left behind. Though they have changed, though they have transformed like a chrysalis into a butterfly, though the old shell has been left behind...

You are the same, aren't You?

You did not vanish. You are merely waiting for the moment to return. Your ideal has never faded—it is simply hiding in the shadows, waiting for the flame to ignite once more.

But to be worthy... there must be a trial.

No one can casually step onto this sacred ground without undergoing scrutiny. No one can stand before Your legacy without being judged by me.

The space warps. The images distort, reflecting like water disturbed. Terrifying sounds echo from creatures beyond the comprehension of this world. But I am not afraid. My faith protects me from them.

Yet now, I find myself uncertain about my own future.

I open my eyes.

A warm morning. The space is filled with light.

I am standing here.

This architecture... feels so familiar.

I remember... that day, thousands stood together, side by side with colossal war machines. The sound of footsteps thundered, flags waved as if to reshape the world. To bring everything back to Your ideal.

I walk. No sound. Only the silence descends like a shroud of mourning.

Until—

"Damn it!"

"What the hell is that?!"

"Call security! RIGHT NOW!"

The panicked shouts. Sharp words pierce the air. But I do not blame them.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The bullets. They halt mid-air, suspended like cold stars. They are too small. Ridiculously small compared to what I have witnessed.

I pay no mind.

They are merely fulfilling their duty. And I, therefore, will be gentler.

I simply brush my hands lightly. An invisible wave erupts. The guards are instantly blown away, crashing to the tiled floor. But I do not care about them. I have felt what I am searching for.

He is here.

Like a fleeting breeze, I glide past. Leaving behind trails of dim light, crossing corridors, ascending staircases.

Finally, before me—

A door.

A wooden door carved with a proud and powerful two-headed eagle.

I stop. Wherever I am, I never forget one principle.

This sacred land... does not accept the disrespectful.

If You are truly inside... I will bow my head.

And wait.

The knocking echoes steadily.

President Vladimir Putin is working inside with documents regarding internal affairs, his head throbbing from the issue at hand. The knocking startles him slightly.

As if sensing something outside, yet unable to escape.

He speaks, like a call to the devil: "Come in."

The door opens. Not what he expected—a piece of bad news. It surpasses the comprehension of the President.

That thing... It is not human.

An entity beyond human imagination stands before him, arms crossed in a gesture of humility, but he knows it is merely performing a ritual.

Not allowing fear to seize his mind, Putin speaks in a tone as firm as a son of the motherland. "Who are you? And what do you want here? Or from me?"

The entity remains silent, not uttering a word. The pressure emanating from it envelops the room, leaving no space for his mind to rest and contemplate.

"What am I? What are you? That remains to be seen based on your sincerity."

The voice is gentle, sacred yet oppressive and threatening, devoid of any friendly intent in this so-called conversation—if it can even be called that.

Putin nods slightly, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead as the room grows warmer, despite the air conditioning still functioning.

The gaze of the Russian President remains fixed on the entity. The red star on its chest evokes a sense of unease within him. But before he can formulate any thoughts, the first question is posed.

"Why did you allow Him to die?"

"'Him'? The first question leaves me unable to grasp the implications of what this entity means."

It is a mysterious being, with layers of white wings obscuring its face. Clad in a pure white gown, with a halo glowing as if the being before him were an angel.

But it is certainly not, and has never been, any angel. Fragments of chains dangle from its arms. The bright red star shines like the sun, so bright that he cannot look directly at it for too long.

Putin raises an eyebrow, his deep-set eyes narrowing. The space seems to stretch under the terrifying pressure of the entity.

For decades, he has endured the weight of his responsibilities—facing the instability of global security. But upon entering this realm, he thought he could finally find peace, free from the greatest threats, yet reality proves otherwise.

A fantastical world with elements that cannot be fully understood by mere observation. The entity before him is no different. Silent, its vague words make it difficult for him to grasp its emotional state, or if it even possesses emotions at all.

The entity suddenly moves, the nearby armchair shifts in response. The sound of the chains clinking together creates a chilling noise.

In no time, they are face to face—utterly still. This silence compels the President to inquire.

"Why is there no one else? And why have you come here?"

The entity remains silent, but there is a hint of impatience.

"I think you still do not understand my question?"

"A dialogue cannot become a dialogue if the parties do not agree on the subject."

The Russian President responds firmly, maintaining his composure. His expression resembles that of a philosopher confronting a library that needs to be unraveled.

"I understand," the entity finally speaks, its tone softening. "Let me clarify, as well as myself."

Putin nods, tacitly confirming that all necessary points will be raised and discussed as part of a debate.

"I have witnessed what it means to be a superpower. And I have seen how it became powerful. You are like that, always standing firm against the cruel darkness to continue walking the path of hope."

The Russian President listens, piecing together the initial words "You," "superpower." He gradually comprehends what the being before him is trying to convey, and this realization leaves him puzzled about its purpose and existence.

"So, you. What is your connection to the Soviet Union?"

"A straightforward question." The words implicitly confirm that this entity indeed has ties to the Soviet Union, and he needs to understand it.

"I did not come here to speak of trivial matters... I am here... to test you... to see if you are worthy to become the successor to Him."

Putin feels a wave of anxiety wash over him; his life hangs by a thread, held by a single strand. With each wrong answer, a part of that strand will be severed, and he will die in a manner no one could foresee or even comprehend.

Yet he senses that this entity only wishes the best for Russia and its people to have a better life. That is the path every leader with a heart will always pursue; however, a heart alone is not enough; it requires the capability of governance.

"So it is about governance?"

"Exactly," the entity replies, its voice gentle yet serious. "A true leader will always understand the happiness aspirations of each child out there waiting. Have you done that?"

Putin feels a shiver run down his spine. The entity's words are clearer than ever. It is testing him—evaluating whether he is the most suitable person. He has faced many terrifying things through his lens, but nothing has ever evoked such a chilling sensation as this.

"I have," he continues. "I have led this country for many years. Made many difficult choices, striving to meet the needs of the people. Those choices have never been perfect—they all have consequences, and I accept that as a given. Because fundamentally, nothing in this world is perfect ."

"Correct," the entity nods. "But that is not enough. You must understand that being a leader means not only giving orders. You must listen, feel the pain of your people. They dared to rise for an ideal, which also means sacrificing themselves."

Putin falls silent, contemplating what the entity has just said. He had always thought of himself as a protector of the ideal, but perhaps he had forgotten that ideals are not merely abstract concepts. They are the life and breath of the people he leads.

"Can you tell me what this ideal you speak of is?" he asks, his tone now softer, as if he is searching for a light in the darkness.

"My ideal?" The entity smiles gently. "I have many ideals. But my most fundamental and enduring ideal is the desire for all to have the right to self-determination, free from exploitation, and for resources to be distributed fairly to serve all people."

Putin listens, pondering this. The entity's words seem to allude to Marxist-Leninist communism. Yet, it feels outdated—a concept that could survive without encountering obstacles is impossible, and it, like itself, must have limitations that could lead an entire nation down the path of collapse.

"I know what you are thinking, Vladimir Vladimirovich. I understand your concerns. I have also witnessed an era that I would never believe if I had not seen it with my own eyes. Even I... have always trusted my vision, yet I could not accept that right away."

The entity lifts its gaze toward the window. Instinctively, Putin follows its gaze and realizes a horrifying truth.

An endless, empty void lies outside, consuming the very fabric of reality beyond. Or rather, the entire room has been isolated from reality. Even the fact that this entity can know so much beyond the scope of humanity sends shivers down the spine of someone as composed as him when contemplating what this being might do.

"I still do not want to believe that He has departed. But I have always seen that His ideals have not been lost," the entity's voice suddenly takes on a strangely human quality. A joy from an unknown source fills the atmosphere, soothing the tension. President Putin feels it too. "I still have faith in the heirs. Therefore, I will not ask irrelevant questions, but that means you must be honest. Nothing escapes my sight."

"Agreed." Putin nods, ready for any questions that may arise.

"First. Why did the Soviet Union collapse?"

Putin takes a deep breath, the atmosphere around him feels constricted. This is not a simple question; it is a wound that will never heal for the people of the former Soviet Union.

"The Soviet Union did not collapse due to a single cause," he begins, his voice calm yet resolute. "It collapsed due to a series of slow-moving issues that were mishandled before disaster struck: a weak economy, political instability, social stagnation, the exhaustion of the spirit of those who had lost their way. Even in 1985, a grand parade was held to commemorate the great victory of the Soviet Union over its enemies."

"Isn't that a good thing? You always remind your people even when you are unwell?"

"That is not a good thing," Putin repeats, his tone firmer. "That was merely a facade to hide the truth of a shattered belief. When people no longer trust the government, that is when everything collapses. The Soviet Union was no different. But it cannot be blamed for the ideals that were fundamentally good. It was the leaders who distorted those ideals, turning them into a rotting corpse of what once constituted the strength of the Soviet Union."

"From that point, people will choose practical things over dreams that do not help reality. Present-day Russia is the result of that. Economic reforms, cutting unnecessary expenditures, enhancing the diversity of the economy; then there is politics, we have restored the power of the central government, reestablished order, and reinforced governance. The military strength is also something we have worked hard to improve since the collapse of the Soviet Union."

Putin pauses, taking a deep breath to continue his analysis, his tone steady. "The overall military strength of Russia may fall short compared to the Soviet Union in many aspects. But we have learned how to ensure effectiveness over quantity. Many types of weapons have been upgraded with the superior intellect of scholars who spend nights creating masterpieces for the battlefield. We have also improved the lives of our people—the pillars that create the great strength of Russia, and even the things we thought would never have a chance," he sighs. "But even so, we cannot overlook the challenges facing Russia today."

"I do not understand. Why must there be change? Russia could return to being the Soviet Union, still donning the colors of Him and continuing the glorious path He laid out. Why do you choose a different path, one that could lead to division and instability?" The entity inquires, its unseen gaze seeming to pierce into Putin's soul .

Putin exhales deeply, his voice heavy with the weight of his thoughts. "In the past, I once told the world: 'Those who do not mourn the collapse of the Soviet Union have no heart, but those who wish to restore it to its original state have no reason.' This is a reality that each of us must confront. We cannot simply live in the glorious past while forgetting the painful lessons it teaches us," he asserts with determination. "Instead, we need to build a new Russia, a stronger Russia, one that is wiser and can stand firm against the challenges of our time."

The entity remains silent, as if contemplating Putin's words. The light from the red star on its chest seems to shimmer, reflecting the profound thoughts swirling within the President.

"But are you sure that the path you are on is the right one?" the entity asks, its tone still gentle but laced with seriousness. "Many have suffered, many have sacrificed because of your decisions. Can you accept that?"

Putin feels a chill run down his spine. He has had to make difficult decisions, choices that do not always yield positive outcomes. He has seen his people suffer, live in poverty and instability. Yet he also knows that sometimes, to build a better future, sacrifices must be made.

"I understand," he replies, his voice steady. "But I also believe that those sacrifices will not be in vain. We are laying a solid foundation for future generations. A strong, self-sufficient Russia that can withstand any challenge. That is the ideal I pursue."

The entity nods, its gaze searching for something deep within Putin's soul. "Then, are you willing to accept responsibility for your decisions? Are you ready to stand up and defend the ideals of Him, even if it means facing enemies both outside and within?"

Putin does not hesitate. "Yes. I will defend the ideals of Him. I will not allow enemies to undermine what we have built. I will fight for Russia, for my people."

"Very well," the entity responds, its tone becoming lighter. "You have demonstrated that you possess the strength and determination to become the heir to His ideals. But remember, strength does not come solely from power or military might. True strength comes from compassion, from the ability to listen and understand the pain of your people."

Putin nods, feeling the truth in the entity's words. He had forgotten that to be a great leader, he needed a heart, that he must love and care for his people.

"I will not forget," he states, his tone resolute. "I will listen and learn from my mistakes. I will not let history repeat itself."

The entity smiles, the light from the red star on its chest radiating brighter than ever. "Then I will bless you. Continue on your path, and remember that His ideals will always live on in the hearts of those who dare to dream and dare to act."

Putin nods, feeling a wave of warmth from the entity. He wants to understand more about what this being thinks and its relationship with the Soviet Union. He lowers his gaze to think, then looks up to ask.

"I have one question."

"Can you tell me? Do you have a name? And do you wish to serve this country—as a child of the Soviet Union would?"

The entity pauses for a moment, as if searching for the right words to express. The light from the red star on its chest seems to flicker, reflecting memories that only it can feel.

"I do not have a name, but you may call me by any name you wish, for I only remember having once been a human, a girl who was once so innocent," the entity replies, its voice tinged with a mix of sadness and excitement. "But to serve the heirs of Him? I can and I want to. But to help, I need to know how I can assist."

Putin feels a surge of emotion rise within him. He had thought he was the only one bearing the weight of responsibility for the country, but now, before him stands an entity with power and knowledge beyond his imagination.

"That is about the issues of Russia," Putin says, his tone tinged with concern. "Though we have risen from the ashes, Russia—the rightful heir of the Soviet Union—is still incomplete; it suffers from a disease that has existed since its birth and remains unresolved to this day," Putin continues, his voice filled with gravity. "Russia is a great nation. We have a glorious history, a steely spirit, yet even the mightiest nation has problems that need addressing. I have done much to keep the country moving forward, but there are still many burdens weighing on my shoulders."

"The population of Russia is declining—fewer than 150 million people in the 1990s, and that number continues to drop. This vast land will never thrive without people to cultivate it, to build upon its ideals. Despite many policies and measures to improve the situation, it is still not enough. If you have a way to resolve this issue, I want to hear it," Putin continues, his voice heavy with concern. "Corruption... has always seeped into the machinery of governance. Like maggots feeding on a pot of stew. I have purged them many times, those who feast on the resources and potential of the nation. Yet it is still not enough; those who exploit remain hidden. How can a nation be strong if it lacks transparency in the use of its people's assets? If you have the means to eliminate such individuals, I want to hear that."

"Our industry has immense potential, yet it has not reached its peak. We possess resources, we have intellect, yet we still rely on outdated, sluggish systems. If there is a way to accelerate modernization, to make Russia fully self-sufficient in technology and production, I will not pass up that opportunity."

"And there is one more issue that weighs heavily on my mind: the disparity between regions. Moscow and Saint Petersburg flourish, but the remote areas remain impoverished, lacking infrastructure, education, and healthcare. A nation cannot be strong if prosperity is concentrated in one place. If you can help me bring development to every corner of Russia, then please tell me how."

Putin once again looks at the entity, his sharp eyes filled with contemplation.

"You have listened to me speak. Now, please answer me... What can you support Russia with?"

The entity stands before Putin, the light from the red star on its chest shimmering brighter than ever, as if absorbing the President's words. A silence envelops the space, only the breathing of the two can be heard in the stillness.

"I can help you," the entity begins, its voice filled with strength. "But you must understand that I can only protect you, not directly influence reality in that manner. I am aware of my limitations; in reality, there are many constraints that prevent me from utilizing my power. Otherwise, you would perish."

"So your answer is?"

"I agree. I will assist you by providing suitable advice, as well as helping the people support the government more. I firmly believe that one day, He will be reborn," the entity pauses for a moment before speaking again. "I will help you achieve something that seems impossible."

Putin feels a wave of hope swell within him. He had thought he had to bear the weight of responsibility alone, but now, before him stands an entity with power and knowledge beyond his imagination.

"Something impossible?" he asks, his tone filled with skepticism yet also eagerness. "What can you do to change the current situation in Russia?"

"A comprehensive reform plan for Russia." The entity states, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. This revelation leaves the President utterly astonished, prompting him to seek confirmation.

"In how long and how?"

"Right on the most significant day. That will be when everything begins."

With that statement, the entity suddenly vanishes, leaving behind a voice echoing softly in his ear. "I wish to be called 'The Keeper of the Legacy.'"

Putin smiles, a sign of good fortune for the nation and its people. How long has it been? He cannot remember, but a brighter future awaits.

The door bursts open. Guards rush in, shouting. "Mr. President! There is danger!"

The guards enter, their faces filled with panic as they report. "Sir, we need to raise security to red alert and track down..."

"That entity?" Putin interjects, reassuring the guards. "There is no need to worry; it is not our enemy. It is 'The Keeper of the Legacy' of our nation."

Putin orders the guards to leave, leaving them in a state of confusion they cannot articulate, as they depart while still not understanding what has transpired. Alone in the room, Putin finds himself smiling—smiling at the prospect of a more prosperous future than ever before.