In the moments before my death, I was nothing more than a man—a historian, an engineer, a scholar—someone who understood the world only through facts, dates, and the systems that powered the modern age. My life had been an ordinary one, or at least it seemed so at the time. I had spent years immersed in books, in archives, in the quiet hum of a world that seemed to move faster than I could ever grasp. Technology was my passion, history my obsession, and I had prided myself on my understanding of how the modern world came to be. Little did I know, I was about to learn how little I really knew.
I had always been fascinated by Russia, its imperial history, the rise and fall of its tsars. The names of men like Peter the Great, Nicholas I, and Alexander II were familiar to me, as were the sprawling histories of their reigns, filled with revolutions, wars, and monumental change. I had dedicated years of my life to studying the Russian Empire, particularly the reigns of Tsar Alexander II and his predecessors. I knew their fates intimately—their choices, their mistakes. I could recite their policies, their triumphs, their failures, all as though they were my own.
But my fascination with Russia was not born from a desire for power or conquest. It was born from the pursuit of understanding. I wanted to know what made men like Tsar Alexander II decide to push for reform in a country as vast and entrenched in tradition as Russia. How did someone come to hold the fate of millions in their hands? How did they decide what was best for an empire?
I was never interested in ruling—only in learning. I thought that was my place in life. After all, I was just one man among billions. What could I ever do to change the course of history?
That question was answered for me in the most unexpected of ways.
I remember the night of my death with painful clarity. It was a mundane evening by all standards. I had just returned home from a long day at the university, where I lectured on engineering and the history of the Industrial Revolution. I had come home to an empty apartment—my only companion the hum of my laptop as I worked on a project. I had just begun to wind down, preparing myself for bed when the pain hit.
It started as a sharp, stabbing sensation in my chest—a pressure so intense I couldn't breathe. My vision blurred, the edges of my world dimming. I reached for the phone, desperate to call for help, but my arms felt heavy, my fingers numb. The world tilted. And then, it all went dark.
That was the last moment I remembered from my life.
And then... nothing.
At first, I thought I was dreaming. But when I tried to open my eyes, the world around me felt wrong, as though I were seeing it through a fog. I could hear faint murmurs, hushed voices speaking in a language I didn't recognize. My chest rose and fell with the rapid rhythm of my breath, but I couldn't seem to make sense of my surroundings.
When I finally opened my eyes—truly opened them for the first time—I found myself in a vast, unfamiliar room. It was an opulent, gilded space, its walls adorned with heavy tapestries, its floors lined with marble that gleamed under the dim light. There were figures standing near me, but they were distant, blurry. My senses were disoriented, as though I had been thrust into someone else's life.
And that's when I felt it.
The body I inhabited was wrong.
I was no longer the man I had been. This body was young—too young—yet it felt powerful in its own way. I reached up and touched my face, and it was then that the full realization slammed into me like a freight train.
I wasn't in my own body.
I was in the body of a tsar.
Tsar Alexander II, to be exact. The very same man whose reign I had studied for years, whose policies of reform had shaped the course of Russian history. I was him—or at least, I was in his body. How was this possible? How had this happened?
The confusion was overwhelming. I scrambled to make sense of it, but there was no time to process the enormity of my situation. A woman—her face obscured by worry—moved toward me, her footsteps heavy in the silence.
"Your Majesty," she said, her voice trembling. "Are you well?"
The words barely registered as I tried to focus.
The memory of my own life—the life I had known so well—was slipping away with each passing second, but one thing remained sharp in my mind: Nicholas I was dead.
The realization hit me like a thunderclap. Tsar Nicholas I was supposed to have died in 1855, yet here I was, in the body of his son, Alexander II, and something felt off. Something about the timing of it all was wrong.
Nicholas I had died too early. That much was clear. But why? What had happened? Why was I suddenly thrust into the middle of this alternate timeline?
My thoughts swirled with a thousand questions. The man whose life I had studied in such detail was dead, and his son—who was now me—had ascended to the throne much earlier than I had ever imagined. The entire course of history seemed to have been thrown off course, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do next.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. The woman who had spoken was still standing there, her eyes filled with concern. "Your Majesty," she repeated, her voice softer now. "You must rest. You've only just ascended the throne. You need your strength."
Ascended the throne? But I was not ready for this. I had never been prepared for something so monumental.
I had spent my entire life studying history, understanding the intricacies of power, of leadership, of empire. But this? To be at the helm of an empire—one that was now mine to command, though I had no idea how or why—I felt more lost than ever.
The burden of the crown was too much. I was thrust into this new life without warning, without preparation. The Russian Empire was mine to rule now, but I had no idea where to begin. The questions swirled in my mind: Could I change anything? Could I prevent the disasters I knew were coming? Or was I simply doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past, unable to escape the inexorable pull of fate?
One thing was certain: I was no longer an observer. I was no longer a historian. I was Tsar Alexander II now. And the empire was mine to command.
Whether I was ready or not.