The Dyatlov Pass Incident. Mystery of the Fireballs. Sergei Mikhailov
his breath. In the distance, among the Ural mountain ridges, lay Mount Kholat Syakhl.
The strange device in his hands came alive. A series of pulsing signals joined its familiar hum, and the mysterious symbols on its surface began to shift. Slowly turning, Maxim held the device before him like a compass. When he pointed it toward one of the distant peaks, the signals grew clearer, more insistent.
Further progress was impossible without skis. He put them on, silently thanking the old man for his foresight.
Fortunately, his serious background in skiing proved invaluable now. The hunting skis, fitted with climbing skins, were unusually wide but gripped the snow well. He moved quickly for the first few hours, driven by fear of pursuit. The winter day waned, the forest grew denser, massive fir trees converged overhead, barely letting through the dim light. The frost intensified, creeping under his jacket, but he couldn’t afford to stop.
As darkness approached, Maxim finally caught his breath and surveyed his surroundings. The sawmill lay far behind, and ahead stretched an endless winter forest. He checked the map – Kholat Syakhl was more than a hundred kilometers away – a long journey ahead.
As night fell, fatigue began to take its toll. In a small clearing between trees, Maxim decided to make camp. Taking a thermos of tea from his backpack, he suddenly realized how cold and exhausted he had become. A long night lay ahead, with several days’ journey still remaining to the Mountain of the Dead.
He hastily constructed a small shelter from pine boughs beneath a spreading fir tree, clearing away the snow. The frost intensified during the night, and even his warm sleeping bag couldn’t completely ward off the cold. He drifted in and out of troubled sleep, starting at every rustle, flinching at the crack of frozen trees.
He set out again at first light. The morning sun painted the snow pink, and fog crept between the trees. The forest seemed endless; kilometer after kilometer Maxim pressed on, occasionally checking his map. The old hunting skis glided softly over the snow, leaving long tracks behind.
Several days passed this way. Each day mirrored the last – long treks through snowy forest, brief rests, and cold nights.
Once, fortune smiled on him. He encountered some kind people on a snowmobile who, upon seeing Maxim, offered to take him to the nearest village. This significantly hastened his progress and allowed him some respite from the long journey.
On the fourth day, the forest began to thin, and ahead the outlines of mountain ridges emerged more distinctly. Maxim sensed he was close to his goal. Somewhere among these stern peaks lay Mount Kholat Syakhl. He took out the device again to confirm his direction, and suddenly caught movement from the corner of his eye. Among the trees appeared a small figure – no taller than a child, but with unnaturally white, glowing eyes. The white-eyed Chud – ancient Mansi legends made flesh.
The being studied Maxim and the device intently, then pointed toward the mountain and spoke something in an incomprehensible language.
With trembling hands, Maxim retrieved a package of sugar from his backpack – remembering Dyatlov’s notes. It carefully accepted the offering and again pointed to the mountain.
“They’re guiding me to my destination,” Maxim realized.
The journey grew increasingly difficult. Snow reached to his knees, the wind strengthening with each step. The device in Maxim’s hands pulsed more frequently, as if sensing the approach of something significant.
By evening, they reached the mountain’s base. At the entrance to a small cave, the being stopped and gestured for Maxim to enter, its movement carrying an air of ancient wisdom.
Deep in the cave, ancient drawings glowed with a dim phosphorescent light. Maxim gazed in amazement at the strange images – human figures, stars, and objects floating in the sky. In the center, like the heart of a sanctuary, rose an altar stone.
The being approached the altar and touched it with its white hand. The device in Maxim’s hands exploded with light and sound – the signals became deafening, symbols on its surface whirling in a frenzied dance.
The air in the cave thickened, pulsing like a living thing. The stone walls dissolved, revealing the infinity of starry sky and the outlines of alien worlds whose existence humanity had never suspected.
Maxim understood – he stood on the threshold of a discovery that could overturn all understanding of reality. Here, in this ancient cave, awaited answers not only to the mystery of Dyatlov Pass, but to questions about the very nature of the universe.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward into the unknown…
Chapter 6 – Gateway to the Unknown
A flash of light blinded him. When his vision returned, Maxim found himself on a snow-covered slope beneath a night sky crisscrossed by the trajectories of fiery spheres. They floated above the horizon as if performing some ancient dance.
The crunch of snow behind him made him turn. There she stood – the same woman from Moscow where it all began.
“You?” Maxim could only breathe.
“I’m Anna,” she smiled with the same mysterious expression as in Moscow. “And I’m here to help you understand.”
The world around them swayed and blurred like melting wax. They found themselves beside a majestic cedar tree, next to a crackling fire. Two young men – Yuri Doroshenko and Yuri Krivonischenko – sat by the flames, shivering from cold, unaware of the invisible eyes watching them.
“Look,” Anna whispered.
Something gleamed in Krivonischenko’s hands – an object shimmering in the firelight with a living, unearthly glow.
“A key to the gates between worlds,” Anna explained in response to Maxim’s unspoken question. “They received it shortly before the tragedy.”
The night sky suddenly exploded with light. Fiery spheres darted about like maddened fireflies. Horror and wonder froze on the faces of the two Yuris as they leaped to their feet.
“The gates are losing stability,” Anna’s voice grew anxious. “And they have neither the strength nor knowledge to control them.”
Reality shifted again. Now they saw the tent on the mountainside – and the panic that overtook the group. There they were, cutting the tent fabric from inside, scattering across the snow, then forming a line. Their struggle was visible, each breath seemingly difficult, but despite the bitter frost and their overwhelming fear, they began descending the slope – each step a battle for survival.
Maxim lunged toward them, but Anna held him back.
“The past cannot be changed, but we can prevent its repetition,” suddenly in her outstretched hand appeared the familiar device from Maxim’s backpack.
“This is one of the keys to closing the gates. Soon you’ll understand how to use it,” Anna looked at him with slight concern in her eyes, as if unable to tell him everything.
When Maxim took the device, the ancient symbols on it flashed, as if recognizing their master.
“How?” he asked.
“You’re from the lineage of guardians. The knowledge flows in your blood. Just trust it.”
Maxim closed his eyes, feeling the device’s energy streaming through him. Understanding came naturally, as if awakening from the depths of memory.
When he opened his eyes, the summit of Kholat Syakhl spread beneath him. In the raging chaos of realities, all times merged at once.
Raising the device above his head, Maxim was ready to meet his destiny. The mystery that had waited more than half a century had finally found one who could unveil it.
Chapter 7 – Keys from the Past
Suddenly Maxim felt his consciousness