Blurb
What if the thin line between our world and the shattered reality of “Tomorrow” is not fantasy – but a brutal truth?
Konstantin, a man with a complicated past, becomes someone capable of crossing into a place from which no one has ever returned.
In a world where cities have turned into ruins and people into monsters, he is no longer just searching for a way home. He is fighting for the right to remain human. For every step. For everyone by his side. For the last fragment of hope.
This is not a story about superheroes.
It is a story about those who rise when all strength is gone.
One Step Into Tomorrow is more than post-apocalypse.
It is about us.
About choice.
About the price of returning.
Chapter 1
The Stranger Wind
It was autumn. Cold, dismal, and utterly soaked with rain—my most hated season. Not spring, which gently leads into the heat of summer. Not winter, with its crisp snow and thoughts of skiing and hunting. Not even summer, which I dislike slightly because of the heat. No—everything happened now, in this grey, rotting autumn.
The wind lashed droplets against my face, and the damp cold bit into my bones, but I barely felt it. Drenched to the skin, I stood on the roof of a high-rise, staring at the frozen world and waiting.
Emptiness. No cars, no people. Even the wind seemed to move soundlessly, as if afraid to disturb the dead city. Beneath my feet was peeling concrete; around me stood the dark shells of buildings abandoned by their inhabitants.
In that other world, a new district was once supposed to rise here. I had even bought an apartment in this very spot. It was a classic scheme: I invested in a shared construction project, hoping to eventually secure my own home. Everything looked appealing, and the sum wasn’t overwhelming. But the construction had stalled eight years ago. The collective lawsuit filed by defrauded investors had long since disappeared into the depths of the courts, and the building remained a concrete skeleton, frozen in an eternal pause.
Back then, I hadn’t worried much. Money came easily, and the purchase didn’t strain my finances. Besides, I already had a home. It stood apart from the city bustle, almost on the border between the residential area and the river. The district was called Tumanovo—a quiet, undeveloped corner on the outskirts of Kolomna, where private houses alternated with overgrown plots and abandoned gardens. Beyond the fence lay a riverside meadow, and a bit further on, the edge of a forest. It was always quiet there. Even the wind felt different, as if lazy and contemplative. I had chosen the place myself—far from people, closer to something alive.
