When Hazar woke, he opened his eyes to find that every part of his body ached. As it turned out, this wasn't from the wound on his back but from sleeping on a few sticks of brush on top of hard stone.
When the old man had arrived, he'd taken a salve from his bag and applied it to the wound. First it had stung. Then a warmth had spread from within. After that the pain… had vanished. Though he couldn't quite see his own back, the others had said the wound was healing remarkably fast.
At least he could walk now.
Hazar didn't get up from where he lay; his gaze hung in the cold light of the glowing stones on the cave ceiling.
There was a lump in his throat; he swallowed, but it wouldn't go away. His mind kept trying to go back, to those safe days.
He forced himself to remember the smell of his home, the sound of his mother's voice, the last conversation he'd had with his friends at that café.
But those memories were now too far away to grasp even if he reached out his hand.
Then he remembered that shadow. The blow that tore his back open like paper, and that nonsense called the 'awakening' he'd gone through yesterday…
Everything had happened so fast and so terribly.
Hazar felt as if he'd been torn not only from his home but from himself. Now, beneath this alien sky, he was just a stranger. The darkness inside the cave seemed to have filled his heart too.
The hungry growl of his stomach pulled Hazar out of those heavy thoughts and back to reality.
As he slowly sat up from where he lay, he felt his bones ache as if he hadn't moved in days. Every joint had stiffened, as if pounded by the hardness of this alien world.
He squinted and looked around. He saw that part of the group had already woken; Tunay, Poyraz, and Aylin were talking about something in low voices with Yalaz beside the campfire.
The others, having succumbed to the crushing fatigue left over from yesterday, were still in the arms of a deep sleep.
What had happened yesterday was still blurry in his mind. That strange ritual called the 'awakening circle' had eaten up nearly his whole day.
Although some had come out of the circle early and come to themselves, it had taken hours for the entire group to cross that spiritual threshold.
Hazar was one of those who took hours.
According to what the old man said, at the moment of awakening his eyes had glowed in a strange shade where red and green were intertwined.
Though the colors were quite dark and faint, this proved that Hazar had a basic affinity for both Erk and Sezi energies.
This condition, which Yalaz called "an average talent," didn't mean anything to Hazar yet; he was only trying not to be crushed under the burden this new world had brought.
He looked at the campfire; it was about to go out. The logs had turned to ash, and the wind was blowing those ashes about.
He picked up a few branches from the ground and tossed them onto the fire. The fire flared up, if only a little.
He reached for the bags beside the fire. Inside were the foods the scouting party had brought: lots of fruit, all kinds of vegetables, and a few loaves of bread…
The old man had been surprised to see this food, saying it couldn't be grown in the Ruined Lands, that they mostly lived on the meat of animals and monsters. Then he'd checked it and taken a bite of one of the loaves. Hazar had never imagined someone could be so delighted by a piece of bread.
Maybe it was because he hadn't lived a poor life; he didn't know.
He took a pear and bit into it. It really was sweet, just as they'd said. At that moment it was one of the most pleasant fruits he'd ever eaten.
Then he kept looking around; up ahead, Tunay, Poyraz, and Aylin had settled in across from the old man, listening to something and speaking now and then. The ones who'd come with the old man were with them too.
He approached and quietly sat down beside them; he tried to listen, to follow the conversation. Yalaz, noticing him, called out:
"Good morning! Hazar, it was Hazar, wasn't it?" He waited for Hazar to confirm, and after he did, went on. "How's your wound? Is the pain still there? Is the salve I put on doing well?"
"It doesn't hurt, just a faint ache. Thank you again," he said, and turned his back to show the wound.
"It's nothing, nothing. This salve isn't all that miraculous; your wound just wasn't very deep. That's why it healed so quickly." He stopped and thought for a moment.
"Anyway, what was I saying—your kor appears together with the feeling inside you when it awakens. Some of you will notice it right away, some of you years later. I can't say what it is — everyone's kor is unique to them."
Unable to make sense of what was said, Hazar looked around blankly. Aylin, noticing he hadn't understood a thing, cut in:
"In this world everyone has their own unique abilities. They're called 'kor.' That's what the master was talking about."
Hazar thought for a moment and understood the 'kor,' then asked another question:
"Master? Why do you call him master?"
Aylin answered with a laugh: "At first we said 'Grandpa Yalaz,' he didn't like it. Then we said 'uncle,' he didn't like that either." Pointing to Togan and Erlin, "They address him as master, so we decided to call him that too."
Yalaz, stirring the soil in front of him, turned his gaze to Hazar.
"For a long time now, everyone's called me 'master' or 'old man.' Forms of address like 'grandpa' or 'uncle' sound rather strange to my ears, child—you call me that too."
Tunay, who had been silently weighing them throughout the conversation, cut in with a mocking curl on his lips.
"How old are you anyway, old man?"
Before giving a definite answer, Yalaz turned to the young man beside him.
"We left off at a hundred and forty-one, I think—was that right, Togan?"
Togan nodded respectfully to his master in confirmation.
"Yes, master. This coming October you'll be a hundred and forty-two."
That number blew over the group like an icy wind; everyone's eyes had widened in shock. No one had expected to hear such an outrageous figure. As if to scatter the silence that had formed, Yalaz launched into an explanation:
"As you rise, you can slow your aging. Of course you can't live forever, but you can mostly pass a hundred years. This is just one of the thousand and one uses of the energy within you."
To hide his astonishment, Tunay fixed a grin on his face. Lowering his voice a little,
"A hundred and forty-one? So, old man, next to you my dusty history books aren't even worth mentioning," he muttered.
"Whatever world we come from, I think my greatest fear is my library archives coming to life and lecturing me, saying 'that's not actually how it happened, child.'"
Yalaz wasn't outdone by this clever retort. Shouldering his sword slightly, he answered in a hard tone: "Pray that your history books don't come to life, child. Because most truths are washed in blood before they're ever set down on paper."
Tunay didn't give up his mocking manner and went on grinning.
"I hope they don't come to life. I couldn't handle an attack from rebelling books on top of everything. We already played enough hide-and-seek with monsters the other day."
Tunay seemed to be in good spirits. At least someone seeming content with the situation had soothed Hazar a little.
Tunay's good mood had dispersed some of the gloomy air inside Hazar. "So? What do we do, master?" he asked; saying 'old man' felt disrespectful, so he preferred the other title.
Yalaz pointed to the others who were starting to wake.
"Once your friends have fully come to themselves and gotten ready, we'll set off. There's a pass further along this valley. We'll cross it and get to the other side of the mountains."
Poyraz, who had kept silent until then, questioned with a suspicious manner: "How did you find us and this place? Did we just happen to cross paths as you were passing by? And also, why are you helping us?"
Yalaz paused for a moment, as if weighing his memories.
"The other day, around this hour, I felt a strange ripple in the air; I sensed that something important was afoot. When I reached the area I found that entrance you'd gone into. And when I stepped inside, I found you before me."
Gesturing to the two people beside him, he continued:
"As for your second question… It's up to you whether you believe me or not, but I have no hidden agenda. I'm only trying to keep you alive. For as long as I can remember, I've reached out a hand to children in need. These ones beside me are the grandchildren of those who once decided to follow me. Everyone living in the village is an heir to those left over from those days."
His voice suddenly took on a sorrowful tone, his eyes drifting into the distance.
"They're also the reason I still call it a village… Once this was a modest place of forty or fifty people. Not anymore…"
Tunay, to break up the emotional air, asked: "Do you know why and how we came here, old man?"
"I have no idea," murmured Yalaz.
"Maybe the exalted beings sent you, maybe you were subjected to some extraordinary force beyond your control. I haven't the faintest idea about those thrones or the tree you described."
Poyraz pressed on, hoping to find the answer he sought: "Exalted beings? Gods?"
His question was simple and well-meaning. But it angered the old man—and another.
"Do not describe anyone with that word!" Yalaz roared. "It is a 'taboo,' and it brings ill fortune with it!"
Everyone flinched at the old man's sudden outburst. Realizing his reaction had been too harsh, Yalaz coughed lightly and softened his voice.
"There's actually no harm in using the word 'god.' Just don't address anyone by that title. Things didn't end well for those who did. Instead of the word 'god,' use words like holy or exalted."
Hazar turned this mystery over and over in his mind but couldn't make it fit any logic; how could a single word be so dangerous?
Just then Tunay, with a curious expression, changed the subject:
"Old man, when you first met me you said, 'I'm a Corebearer Erk master.' Is this 'Corebearer' something to do with the rungs that come after 'spark'?"
Yalaz hesitated briefly, as if weighing how much of his secrets he should share.
"Actually I was going to explain all this later, but you'll find out anyway," he said, drawing his sword and tracing a simple staircase shape in the soil.
He began by pointing to the lowest step:
"Stepping onto this first rung is the awakening. By going through the awakening you become a 'spark.'"
He pointed to the step above it:
"The second rung is the fracture; those who pass it become 'purified.'"
Then, pointing to himself, he went on:
"The third rung is integration; at that point you become a Corebearer, like me. What we call the 'Path of Kut' is really this staircase; with each step, discovering more of yourself."
Poyraz's eyes lit up. "And after? What's at the top of the staircase?"
Yalaz, giving his voice a mystic weight, whispered:
"The final rung is ascension. One who reaches it becomes an 'ascended' and takes their place among the most powerful beings on Iskar."
Yalaz looked around; the camp was slowly coming to life.
"That's enough explanation. You'll learn all this down to the finest detail in the village anyway. Since your friends have begun to wake too, let's have our breakfast and set off toward the pass."
While these life-filled conversations the group held by the campfire echoed in the depths of the Ruined Lands, miles away an entirely different scene held sway.
Beyond the mountains, at the very center of the enormous circular plain stretching across that eerie void of the Ruined Lands, a shadow had appeared, standing as if forged out of darkness.
The shadow sat cross-legged within a rigid silence; hands stretched out on its knees, it waited with a stillness even the wind hesitated to touch.
Its gaze was locked on the great stone altar rising just before it.
Into the surface of this ancient stone circle were carved intricate star symbols, as if torn forcibly from the sky and imprisoned here.
At the very center of the altar stood a black sword, driven into the heart of the stone.
That blood-soaked sword….