Hero, warrior, savior, defender of the disadvantaged, knight without fear and reproach?.. Nothing like that. Sorcerer, warlock, werewolf - that's what they called me. What can I say - I really earned a very peculiar reputation. Even among their own kind. But how not to help old colleagues - especially when the whole world is going downhill? If I knew then how it would all end! A tiny mistake in the ritual - and now I'm in a strange world. It's 1909, the world is ruled by aristocrats endowed with Talent, and all evil spirits climb directly from the Breakthroughs to the streets of St. Petersburg. No friends, no acquaintances, no money, no title - only an unusual skinny body, a gymnasium cap and miserable remnants of previous abilities. However - what's the difference? Work is work.