That morning, Kemal had woken up no differently than any other day. As he rose from his bed, the mist over the Bosphorus still lingered, and the city's noise had dulled into a distant hum beyond the windows. But there was one thing he didn't know: that day, he would read the first word that would intertwine his life with a silence three thousand years old.
He was in the upper floor of the old mansion in Bebek that he had inherited from his grandfather, preparing for a new translation in his study. Working with ancient texts wasn't just a job for Kemal — it was an obsession. A few days earlier, his former university professor, Ahmet Soyer, had called with a cryptic message about a newly discovered object.
"Kemal, we found something during a restoration excavation in Ayvansaray," Ahmet had said with his usual gravity. "A stone disc. There are symbols and figures on it that we can't quite make sense of. This isn't just a translation job — it's intuitive work. And I can't think of anyone better suited for it than you."
Two days later, Kemal was holding the disc in his hands. Roughly the size of a dinner plate, its edges were weathered with age. At its center, a carved scene stood out in shallow relief: two figures encircled by a ring. One had the head of a stag, the other that of a lion. Their eyes were locked onto each other, mouths slightly open — as if engaged in an ancient dialogue no one had ever heard.
Kemal tilted the disc toward the light, and the outer ring of symbols caught his eye. They resembled Aramaic, but the letterforms were sharper, more angular — older. That was when he looked closer.
And then it happened.
The heads of the figures turned — slowly — until they were facing him. Their eyes, still etched into the stone, now stared directly at Kemal.
A wave of something indescribable surged through him. As if the air inside his chest had been sucked out. His heart began to race; his breath shortened; his eyelids flickered involuntarily. His knees gave out beneath him.
The last thing he heard was a whisper, echoing from somewhere deep within his mind:
"You remembered."
Then came the darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, the chandelier above him was a blur. He turned his head — the disc was right where he had left it, resting on the desk. The figures were back to their original positions. Unchanged.
But Kemal's gut told him otherwise. He brought a trembling hand to his forehead. He was soaked in sweat. His heartbeat remained erratic.
"Did that… really happen?" he whispered. "Or..."
He tried to stand, but his head was still spinning. Steadying himself on the desk, he looked again at the disc. The figures' eyes were once more locked onto each other — not him.
But he had felt those eyes. Heard that voice.
And worst of all… something inside him had stirred. As if he had awakened something that was never meant to be disturbed.