Five years later. Northern Ireland, Rathlin Island.
On this desolate little island, there was now a small village.
People worked on the island clad in black robes.
From time to time, someone would chant a strange ancient language, and small miracles would occur: a fruit tree would swiftly grow and bear fruit, an injured bird would fly again, or a barrel of beer would be brewed, clothes and bedsheets washed, and so on.
This was a village of wizards.
Thanks to the power of magic, even at the edge of the world, people could still live contentedly.
At that moment, in a house built of stone and thatch at the center of the village, a woman suddenly opened her eyes.
"Where is this?"
The woman stared blankly at everything in the room: a crude wooden bed, a desk piled with all kinds of parchment scrolls and books, and nothing else.
Clearly, this was not her room in the Palace of Spring. She even had the feeling that this was not Arkaim either!
Am I still dreaming?
But then, she saw a parchment scroll resting atop a thick open book on the desk. Written clearly upon it were the words: "For Sophia."
"For me?"
She picked up the parchment and glanced at the thick open book. It seemed to be a diary.
When she unrolled the parchment, she found that it was a letter.
"Dear Sophia,"
"Too many things have happened recently. It was only yesterday that I remembered the day of your first arrival was almost here, so I hurriedly wrote this letter."
"You must have many questions, but it's all right. I've written everything I know in the diary."
"I am Miriam, you from a thousand years ago."
"In other words, I am the owner of the body you