A young boy of eleven was standing somewhere around the port, his fingers tracing the surface of a golden coin freshly cast in a scorching forge. One of its sides displayed intricately intertwined letters, while the other remained blank, bearing the mark of a craftsman's error. Exchanging my misshapen gold for a more profitable alternative was never possible, but the boy wasn’t disappointed. Instead, he gently stowed me away in his pocket, carefully separating me from his other sparkling disks. From that moment on I became his constant companion, a talisman, opening new doors both before him and the city. The boy who picked up the coin from the ground bore the name Musa Naghiyev.