THE STORY THEY REMEMBERED
THE KARUUQS CITADEL.
...
Morning had arrived
quietly.
For once...
there was no hunter.
No bloodshed.
No repeated step
moving through the mist.
...
Only people.
...
Near one of the old walls
of the citadel...
several elders sat together.
Coffee rested between them.
The conversation
had started somewhere else.
As conversations often did.
But eventually...
it returned to an old story.
...
An old man smiled.
"Do young people
still know the story?"
...
Another elder laughed.
"Which version?"
...
"The only version
worth telling."
...
"Then definitely
not yours."
...
A few of them laughed.
...
One of the elders
leaned forward.
...
"Long ago..."
...
"In the province of Bale..."
...
"...there lived
a young man
named Isa."
...
The others became quiet.
They had heard this story
many times.
But old stories
were rarely told
only once.
...
"Isa was said
to be the greatest horseman
in the entire region."
...
"No horse
was too wild for him."
...
"They say
he could calm
even the fiercest horse
simply by standing beside it
and reciting his verses."
...
Another elder interrupted.
"That's not what
my grandfather told me."
...
The storyteller waved
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his hand.
"Your grandfather
couldn't remember
where he left his own shoes."
...
Laughter.
...
Then the story continued.
...
"But there was
one thing
Isa could never tame."
...
"His own heart."
...
The first time
he saw Halkan...
it belonged to her.
...
A woman
whose eyes were said
to be as deep
as forest pools.
...
Whose voice
was as gentle
as the morning wind.
...
They fell
deeply in love.
...
But love...
according to the story...
was not enough.
...
Halkan had been promised
to the wealthy son
of a powerful chief
from another clan.
...
The marriage
would preserve peace
between their families.
...
And when
the wedding day arrived...
Isa refused
to accept it.
...
The warm fire
inside his chest
became something else.
...
Something wild.
...
Something desperate.
...
When Halkan
was taken away
on a white horse...
Isa followed.
...
He rode
day and night.
...
He did not eat.
He did not drink.
He did not sleep.
...
At least...
that was what
the stories claimed.
...
Eventually...
his mind
began to break.
...
Every movement
of the wind
carried Halkan's voice.
...
Every shadow
between the trees
became her face.
...
Every road
seemed to promise
that she waited
somewhere ahead.
...
Until Isa
reached the mountains.
...
But the wedding party
was already gone.
...
And Isa...
lost inside
his own love...
stepped down
from his horse.
...
The mountains
were covered
in mist.
...
Isa looked
at the white fog...
and believed
he was looking
at Halkan's bridal veil.
...
So he ran.
...
Into the mist.
...
Calling her name.
...
And never returned.
...
Silence.
...
The elder smiled.
...
"And even today..."
...
"...the shepherds
of the Bale Mountains
say that when
the wind screams
through the ravines..."
...
"...it is not
the storm you hear."
...
"It is Isa."
...
"Still calling..."
...
"...for Halkan."
...
...
One of the elders
shook his head.
...
"Beautiful."
...
Another answered:
"Completely wrong."
...
Laughter erupted.
...
"No, no.
Not completely."
...
"Half of it."
...
"Which half?"
...
The elder shrugged.
...
"That's the problem
with old stories."
...
"After enough people
tell them..."
...
"...truth and myth
begin sharing
the same mouth."
...
...
None of them knew.
...
Isa had not disappeared
into mountain mist
chasing a bridal veil.
...
Halkan had not simply
been carried away
to another man.
...
And the ending...
...
The ending
was nothing
like the story
they remembered.
...
Because the woman
they were speaking about...
was approaching
their citadel.
...
Right now.
...
...
One elder
squinted toward
the distant road.
...
"What is that?"
...
The others turned.
...
Someone was walking.
...
Slowly.
...
Very slowly.
...
At first...
they saw only
one person.
...
Then they realized...
he was carrying
two.
...
The elders stood.
...
"What happened?"
...
"Get someone."
...
"NOW."
...
People began running.
...
The peaceful morning
disappeared.
...
Jalatta took
another step.
...
His legs shook.
...
Safsan's weight
pulled against
one side of him.
...
Halkan's body
against the other.
...
He had stopped counting
how long
they had been travelling.
...
He only knew
that the citadel
was finally here.
...
Someone reached him.
...
"Give her to me."
...
Another person
took Safsan.
...
Jalatta's arms
suddenly became empty.
...
For a moment...
he almost fell.
...
Hands caught him.
...
"What happened?"
...
"Who attacked you?"
...
"Where did you come from?"
...
"Can you hear me?"
...
Jalatta heard
every question.
...
He answered none.
...
People carried
Safsan inside.
...
Others rushed Halkan
through another entrance.
...
The elders
who had been telling
the story moments earlier
watched her pass.
...
None of them
recognized
the woman
from their own legend.
...
...
Inside the citadel...
Safsan received
medical treatment.
...
His wounds
were cleaned.
His condition
was examined.
...
Halkan
was treated separately.
...
Blood.
Bandages.
Water.
Medicine.
Rest.
...
People moved
quickly around them.
...
But Jalatta...
sat alone.
...
Someone offered him water.
...
He took it.
...
Someone asked
whether he was injured.
...
"I'm fine."
...
He wasn't.
...
But compared
to the other two...
fine was close enough.
...
He leaned back.
...
And for the first time
in days...
there was nothing
he needed to carry.
...
No Safsan.
No Halkan.
No road.
...
Nothing.
...
And somehow...
that made his thoughts
more dangerous.
...
Because Jalatta
remembered something.
...
His old life.
...
Quiet.
Ordinary.
...
A life where
he could wake up
without wondering
what impossible thing
would happen next.
...
It had not been
a perfectly safe life.
Far from it.
...
Death had come
close to him
more times
than he liked
to remember.
...
But still...
he had lived.
...
Undisturbed.
...
He had understood
the shape
of his days.
...
And now?
...
Odania.
War.
Death.
Safsan.
BAAČ.
Mist.
JHARAA.
Halkan.
...
Jalatta lowered
his head.
...
He almost laughed.
...
"I miss being bored."
...
...
ELSEWHERE.
...
SCRATCH.
...
SEENEE was looking
at something.
...
Not JHARAA.
Not Nollveil.
Not Nafsan.
...
Something much simpler.
...
A date.
...
He had been checking
the universe
containing
SAFSAN STORY.
...
More specifically...
the period
currently unfolding
in BAAČ.
...
SEENEE looked
at the year.
...
Silence.
...
He looked again.
...
Once.
...
Twice.
...
Then...
SEENEE:
"Oh."
...
...
SCRATCH.
...
ELSEWHERE.
...
A classroom.
...
Usually...
this was where
questions were organized.
...
Today...
nothing
was organized.
...
"WAIT—"
...
"WHO WROTE THAT?!"
...
"THAT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE!"
...
"WHAT YEAR IS IT?!"
...
"WHO MOVED MY NOTES?!"
...
"IS THIS ABOUT NAFSAN?!"
...
"STOP WRITING PARADOX
ON EVERYTHING!"
...
Papers flew.
Someone had taken
three pieces of chalk.
Two people
were arguing
over a timeline.
Someone else
had drawn
?????
across half
the board.
...
And standing
in the middle
of all of it...
was
GAAFATAA.
...
He stared
at the classroom.
...
At the board.
...
At the timelines.
...
At the questions.
...
At the chaos.
...
Then slowly...
he raised
one hand.
...
"Everyone—"
...
Nobody heard him.
...
GAAFATAA:
"EVERYONE."
...
Still chaos.
...
He looked
directly ahead.
...
...
For perhaps
the first time
in his existence...
THE QUESTIONER
had too many questions.
...
SCRATCH.
...
CHAPTER 40
THE STORY THEY REMEMBERED
THE STORY OF ISA AND HALKAN
SURVIVED.
...
THE TRUTH DID NOT.
...
SAFSAN AND HALKAN
HAVE REACHED
THE KARUUQS CITADEL.
...
JALATTA
JUST WANTS
HIS OLD LIFE BACK.
...
SEENEE
CHECKED THE YEAR.
...
HE SAID:
"OH."
...
AND SOMEWHERE...
THE CLASSROOM
IS IN CHAOS.
...
END.