The footsteps in the depot corridor cut off the four archaeologists' conversation.
The sounds weren't heavy. They didn't resemble the steps of someone in a hurry, either. Each step left a long silence before touching the stone floor, then echoed through the darkness of the corridor.
Arif switched off the flashlight in his hand.
“If it were a security guard, he'd use a key,” he whispered.
Betul leaned over the book. The metal cover was still warm. “Maybe he doesn't have one.”
“Anyone trying to break into this depot wouldn't come without a key,” Ilber said.
Esra looked toward the end of the corridor. “Maybe he doesn't want to get in. Maybe he's already inside.”
At that exact moment, a thin line of darkness slipped beneath the door. The corridor lights were on, but the person standing in front of the door cast no shadow on the floor. It was as if the light split apart in both directions without touching the body.
Ilber put the book in his bag. “Everyone to the back exit.”
“What if this person came to take the book?” Betul asked.
Arif turned to her. “Then we don't give it to him.”
The door handle slowly pressed downward.
All four friends stepped back at once. Arif grabbed the iron pickaxe handle lying in the depot. Ilber slung the bag containing the book over his shoulder. Esra shut down the computer screen while Betul tightened her grip on the measuring device.
The door opened.
A tall man stood in the doorway. He wore a dark field jacket covered in dust. His face revealed nothing about his age; he was neither young nor old. His hair was slicked backward, as if he'd spent a long time in the wind. But what truly unsettled them was the expression on his face. The man wasn't looking at the four archaeologists. He seemed to be watching something standing behind them, something only he could see.
“The book,” he said.
His voice was calm. That calm was more oppressive than a threat.
Ilber stepped forward. “This area is closed. Who are you?”
The man didn't answer. His gaze shifted to the bag on Ilber's shoulder.
Betul whispered, “Ilber, he knows where the book is.”
“I heard,” the man said.
Arif raised the iron handle. “Don't take another step.”
For the first time, the man looked at Arif. “The four of you think the book has accepted you.”
Esra's face tightened. “What do you know?”
“The book hasn't accepted you.”
A vibration rose from inside the bag. Blue light seeped from beneath the metal book's cover, shining through the fabric. Every lamp in the depot went out at once.
Only the book's light remained in the darkness.
The man's shadow, which did not fall on the floor, stretched across the threshold and into the room. It stopped at the four archaeologists' feet, then reached toward the bag containing the book like a fourth line.
Betul held her breath. “This isn't normal.”
“Nothing normal is left,” Ilber said.
The man extended his hand. “Where are the last four pages?”
Ilber moved the bag behind his back. “We don't know.”
“You do know.”
Esra looked at the eye-shaped mark on the book's cover. Three of the four notches in the center of the eye glowed blue. The fourth remained dark, as if waiting for something to arrive.
“Who are you?” Esra asked.
The man tilted his head slightly. “I'm the person who saw the book closed for the last time.”
Arif's expression hardened. “This book has been here for thousands of years.”
“So have I.”
As the man spoke, the air in the depot grew heavy. Fine cracks appeared in the walls. A metallic hum rose from within the darkness. The book's cover opened by itself and turned to the section where the missing pages belonged.
A single sentence formed in the empty space:
“The one who loses his shadow remains in the gateway's memory.”
Betul stepped back. “That sentence wasn't there before.”
For the first time, something changed in the man's face. It wasn't a smile; it was more like the weary acceptance of someone whose long-awaited sign had finally arrived.
“So it's still working,” he said.
“Tell us what's still working!” Ilber shouted.
Instead of answering, the man looked toward the wall at the end of the corridor. Blue lines appeared across the stone wall, lines that hadn't been there before. They passed beneath the four archaeologists' feet and continued toward the northern slope behind the depot.
At the same time, far away, on a night from the distant past, Gohan stood watch at the mouth of a tunnel.
Niyon knelt before the stone door and placed the sphere of light into one of the sockets. Blue light shining from within the door illuminated Gohan's face.
“Let the humans in,” Niyon said.
Gohan looked toward the hum outside. “Aren't you coming?”
“I am.”
“You said that before.”
Niyon turned to him. “This time, I'm telling the truth.”
“Have you ever lied to me?”
“When I first arrived.”
Gohan frowned.
“When I asked why you were helping us, you said the Anunakis saw everyone as equals.”
Niyon's voice grew quieter. “I believed that then.”
“And now?”
“Now I know that when they talk about equality, they mean only those who obey.”
Gohan looked at the marks on the door. “If we get through here, where will we go?”
“To the memory center.”
“Does it hold our people's past?”
“More than your past. Even possibilities that haven't happened yet may be recorded there.”
Gohan shook his head with a bitter smile. “They taught us to carve stone, but not how to shape it. They let us use their craft, but never showed us how to make it. Now they want to hide our memories, too.”
“Because they're afraid of you.”
“Of me?”
“Of a human who remembers.”
Shouts echoed from behind the tunnel. Niyon stood. “The door will accept only three people.”
Gohan stared at him in shock. “There are hundreds of people behind us.”
“There are four sockets. But the fourth socket is still empty.”
“One person is missing.”
“Or one person's intentions don't match the door.”
Gohan looked at the sphere in Niyon's hand. “What are your intentions?”
Niyon answered without hesitation. “To save you.”
“And if the door doesn't accept you?”
“Then you go in.”
“No.”
“Gohan—”
“I won't pass through a door that separates me from my people.”
The lights of the Anunaki craft appeared at the tunnel entrance. Niyon placed a hand on Gohan's shoulder.
“You don't have to choose me,” he said. “But you do have to choose your people.”
Gohan's eyes filled with tears. “You're one of them, too.”
“No.”
“Niyon.”
“I am an Anunaki who changed his mind.”
The door's third socket lit up. The fourth remained dark.
Gohan turned to the people behind him. “Children and the elderly first.”
“And you?” an elderly woman asked.
“I'll make the door open.”
Niyon looked at him. “How are you going to do that?”
Gohan pressed his hand against the eye-shaped mark at the center of the door. “I don't know. But what brought us this far wasn't knowledge. It was our trust in one another.”
A deep sound echoed from within the stone. A brief flash of light appeared in the door's dark socket, then vanished.
Niyon whispered, “The door has begun to recognize you.”
Gohan smiled. “Then let's give it a little more time.”
In the present, the man in the depot took a step forward. Even without any light, his shadow detached itself from the wall and spread across the book.
Esra raised her device and pointed it at the man's shadow. The readings on the screen climbed rapidly.
“That isn't a human shadow,” she said.
“Not a shadow,” the man replied. “A mark.”
“Are you Anunaki?” Betul asked.
The man's eyes glinted over the book. “I know the human who stood beside Niyon.”
Ilber's voice caught. “Gohan?”
“Did Gohan die?”
For the first time, the man looked directly at them. “To find that out, you need to locate the last four pages.”
Arif knocked over the shelf beside the door with the iron handle. The shelf crashed noisily to the floor. The man recoiled for an instant. The four archaeologists headed for the back exit.
When they reached the end of the corridor, they heard a voice coming from inside the book. It was neither Old Turkish nor like the silent symbols of the hieroglyphs. It was a human voice.
“The fourth person is here.”
Betul stopped.
The voice had come from behind her.
Esra looked at Betul. “Did you hear that too?”
Betul couldn't answer.
Because one of the four blue lines on the wall had broken away from the others and stretched directly toward her chest.