Chapter 5: The Crack Behind the Silence
As night settled over the village, even the wind seemed to have learned to move more carefully. Trees bowed ever so slightly, their branches brushing each other in hushed whispers, like secrets rising from the depths of the earth.
Aytekin sat on the low stone wall in front of their home, resting his head on his knees. His eyes were fixed on the darkness ahead, but his thoughts clung to the face of the stranger who had entered the village earlier that day. That man's gaze… it was like a hollow—one that swallowed whatever fell into it.
"Father," he said quietly, "who was that man?"
His father, Yusuf Usta, had just returned from the threshing floor. His hands still carried the scent of straw. With a small groan to ease the pain in his knees, he sat down beside Aytekin.
"A traveler," he replied, voice short and tired. "You saw the dust on his back—he's come a long way. Maybe from Erzurum, maybe even farther."
"But why did he seem so afraid?"
Yusuf Usta was silent for a while. Then he lifted his eyes to the stars.
"A wolf coming down from the mountain shows its intent first in the eyes. Humans too… Some gazes carry fire behind them."
Aytekin turned the words over in his mind. People who carried fire behind their eyes… Maybe everything began with the eyes. Then turned into words, then actions, then ruin…
That night, in the village mosque, Derviş Mehmet sat quietly with a few other men. The candlelight was dim, but their faces were old enough to know the world by sound rather than sight.
"I saw winter in that man's face," Derviş said. "And yet spring has only just reached the soil."
Another murmured, "Did he flee from the palace? Or lose his way on the road? Hard to tell. But he brought no peace with him."
Just then, a cracking sound came from outside—perhaps just a dry branch breaking, but it froze the room into silence. The night was no longer ordinary. The darkness now seemed to be listening for its own voice.
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Later, as Aytekin lay in bed, Bayram was still awake.
"Aytekin," he whispered, "shall we go to the spring again tomorrow?"
Aytekin replied without taking his eyes off the ceiling,
"We will. But morning may not be like the others."
And the wind circled the rooftop, like a whistle searching for a song.