When Kemal came to, he found himself once again in front of the old cafe. A dull ache pulsed in his head, and a foggy, tangled emptiness filled his mind. He had no idea how long he'd been there.
For a brief moment, he considered going to the police—telling them everything. But he stopped himself. Who would believe him? They'd probably think he was insane.No—he had to figure this out on his own. The visions, the note, Yelda's disappearance...
Lost in thought, he began walking aimlessly. The streets were familiar, but directionless.He needed a plan. There were far too many unanswered questions.
And right in the middle of those thoughts… that familiar chill ran down his spine.
He spun around instinctively and saw a shadow on a narrow alley. Someone was fleeing.
But this time, Kemal didn't hesitate. He wasn't afraid anymore. He started running after it.
A desperate chase unfolded through the tight alleys of Istanbul.
He could barely make out the figure ahead: dressed in a black raincoat and wearing a cap.
His breath grew shallow, chest burning—but he kept going.
Like a wolf frothing at the mouth, Kemal was no longer running from fear. He was hunting it.
The distance between them shrank. The stranger couldn't shake him off.
The chase ended in front of an abandoned building. The man pushed through a rusty iron door and disappeared inside. Kemal hesitated only a moment, then followed. All he could hear were the echoes of footsteps bouncing off the cracked walls as he climbed the stairs.
By the time he reached the rooftop, the last light of the sun was casting orange and gray streaks across the sky. The wind had picked up. The man stood at the edge, panting, alert—ready to flee again. Kemal began to approach slowly and their eyes met. The man said nothing and glanced at the void behind him, then back at Kemal.
"Who are you?" Kemal asked. His voice was firm, but weary.
Still no answer. The man took a step back. And then, it all happened in an instant. His foot slipped and he fell backward into the air. Kemal lunged forward to grab him—but he was too late. For a second, Kemal felt completely frozen. When he came to, he rushed to the edge of the roof. The man's body lay motionless on the concrete below. The street was dead silent. No one had screamed. No one had come running. Kemal bolted down the stairs.
Just as he reached the lifeless figure, the sound of a siren pierced the silence. It was getting closer. Should he run? Or stay and explain everything to the police?
Explain what, exactly? That he'd chased a stranger? That the man had slipped on his own? That he didn't even know who he was?
No one would believe him.
As sirens grew louder—so loud he could feel them on his skin—Kemal couldn't move. His feet were rooted to the ground. He wanted to run, but his body wouldn't respond. Then, a police car appeared around the corner. Its headlights briefly swept across the wall beside Kemal.
But it didn't stop. Didn't even slow down. It turned into a side street and disappeared. They were clearly after someone—or something—else.
Kemal let out a shaky breath and turned back to the body.
The man looked… ordinary. Maybe in his thirties, light brown skin, a short beard. The only notable feature was a faint scar running from the left corner of his lip to the bridge of his nose.
Searching for a clue, Kemal began checking the man's pockets—his jacket, waistband—anywhere something might be hidden. A slow trickle of blood ran from the man's head, painting the cobblestones a deep crimson. Kemal's hands froze. "What am I doing?" he muttered to himself.
The sight of himself, bent over a dead stranger, covered in blood, hit him like a wave. Was any of this real? Or had he already crossed the line? He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. There was no other way to get answers. He had to find Yelda. Had to learn what the stone meant. He had to keep going.
He resumed his search. No phone. No ID. No note.
Nothing.
The absence of clues was heavier than any discovery.
Frustration twisted into helpless rage.
"Why?" he shouted, shaking the man's body by the shoulder. "Why is there nothing?!"
And then… the man's head lolled to the side. That's when Kemal saw it.
Just below the neck, near the collarbone—a tattoo.
Faded, nearly worn away, but still visible. The lion's head from the stone disc.
And around it, faint script—barely legible.
With shaking hands, Kemal pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of the tattoo. He couldn't afford to forget this. It was a link. A thread.
Without wasting another moment, he stood up and hurried away.
The streets felt colder now. Quieter. He blended into the crowd.
Back at home, as he closed the door behind him, a tension unwound inside him.
He'd crossed a threshold—but he was back on familiar ground.
For the first time in hours, he breathed deeply.
Safe.
But only for a moment.
He headed straight for his study, eager to compare the tattoo with the carving on the stone. Reaching the door, he reached into his pocket for the key—and noticed the lock was broken.
The metal was bent. The frame cracked. A cold chill ran through him. He shoved the door open without thinking. His eyes immediately went to the desk.
His throat tightened.
The stone was gone.
He was no longer just being watched. Someone had intervened.
For several seconds, he stared at the empty desk. The silence in the room roared louder than any scream. Something surged inside him—panic, fury, helplessness…
All at once.
He tried to steady himself and lifted his gaze. And saw it.
In the mirror on the opposite wall—
Not his own reflection.
Someone else.
Something else.
It was the lion-headed figure.
Human body. Muscular. Motionless.
But the face…
It was staring directly at Kemal. Its mouth opened slowly. A dark fluid trickled from its lips.
Blood.
It ran down its chin. Then its chest. Kemal couldn't breathe. He wanted to look away—but couldn't.
His body was no longer his. The world darkened. A low hum filled his ears.
And then— Nothing.
He collapsed backward.
And fell into darkness.