The path opened beneath Göbeklitepe looked less like a tunnel than a rift carved into time itself.
As the four archaeologists followed the shadowless man, the blue veins in the walls lit up one by one, then went dark behind them. Each time a light faded, the passage changed a little more; the rough stone floor they had just walked across gave way to paving that seemed to belong to another era.
Arif glanced over his shoulder.
“Are we moving forward, or is the passage carrying us?”
“Could be both,” Esra said. Her device’s screen displayed only a single number: 0.
Ilber pressed the book against his chest. “Zero meters?”
“No. Zero time.”
Betul didn’t answer. The blue line across her chest extended toward the gateway at the end of the passage. Every time the line flared, she heard another voice inside her mind, but she couldn’t tell which time the voice belonged to.
On either side of the gateway stood two enormous T-shaped stones, their faces turned toward each other. They bore reliefs resembling human arms, belt-like lines around the waist, and eye-shaped marks at chest level. But these stones were different from the standing stones above Göbeklitepe. Fine metal veins had been embedded between the reliefs.
The shadowless man stopped in front of the gateway.
“This isn’t the gateway of return,” he said. “It’s the place where return is witnessed.”
Ilber frowned. “What’s the difference?”
“Those who return don’t pass through here. Here, their future appears within the past.”
Arif struck the ground with his iron-handled tool. “Have you ever tried explaining anything in a way people can understand?”
For the first time, the man looked at him. “Haven’t you believed in understandable things for long enough?”
When the gateway opened, there wasn’t a room beyond it. Images appeared, overlapping one another. On one side was Göbeklitepe thousands of years ago. People dragged stone blocks, carved animal reliefs between the walls, and gathered around fires. On the other was the same hill as it looked today: the walkways beneath the protective canopy, the excavation site, and floodlights trembling throughout the night.
The two images overlapped.
Esra whispered, “This isn’t a recording.”
“No,” Betul said. “It’s watching us.”
Gohan appeared within the image. He was younger. Carrying a stone vessel, he walked in the shadow of a wall with Niyon. Their conversation didn’t rise from the air in the room; it emerged directly inside the archaeologists’ minds.
“Did you go to the northern slope today?” Gohan asked.
Niyon smiled. “I’m not as curious as you are.”
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t curious. You’re just better at hiding your questions.”
“And you want your answers too soon.”
Gohan held out the stone vessel to her. “People are afraid of you.”
“Of me?”
“No. Of what you know.”
The smile vanished from Niyon’s face. “Sometimes I’m afraid of what I know, too.”
Gohan raised his head and looked at the stars. “You came from the sky. So why do you look just as lonely as we do when you look at the stars?”
Niyon didn’t answer for a long time.
“Because not everyone who comes from the sky has to belong somewhere.”
“Then why did you stay here with the humans?”
“At first, for the ore. Then, for order. And finally, to prove ourselves right.”
Gohan frowned. “Are you using us?”
“Sometimes.”
“Are you protecting us?”
“Sometimes.”
“Which one is the truth?”
Niyon looked at him. “Both. While protecting humans, we failed to realize that we were ruling them. We taught them how to use the tools, but not how they were made. That made them love us—but not need us.”
Gohan’s face hardened. “The love of someone who needs you isn’t real.”
“I’m not brave enough to say that to my own people.”
“I am.”
“That’s why I like talking to you.”
The image rippled. The stone vessel in Gohan’s hand fell to the ground. As a white light rose in the distance, the sky split apart with a black rift opening among the stars.
This time, Niyon wasn’t smiling.
“They’re coming back,” she said.
Gohan turned to her. “Who?”
“My people.”
“When?”
“Soon. But before they return, they’ll seal away the marks here.”
Gohan’s gaze drifted over the village. “The marks?”
“The people.”
Even within the image of the past, the silence grew heavy.
“They wouldn’t do that to us,” Gohan said.
“Niyon?”
“We’ve lived together all these years. They healed our children. They gave us food during famines. They taught us how to cut stone and work the soil.”
“They taught you how to use things, not how to produce them.”
“They still kept us alive.”
“Because we were useful to them.”
Gohan took a step back. “Tell me the truth.”
Niyon closed her eyes.
“I was given a mission.”
“What mission?”
“To eliminate your people before the return.”
All the color drained from Gohan’s face. “You?”
“They chose me because I know you. They think I’m the only one who can get close to humans.”
“Did you stay by my side to kill me?”
“No. I had to tell you the truth so I could save you.”
“Can you save all our people?”
Niyon looked at the four empty sockets above the gateway. “Not physically. Not all of them.”
“Then what do we do?”
“We’ll make sure they remember.”
Gohan laughed bitterly. “The dead don’t remember.”
“We won’t send them all to one place. We’ll scatter their memories among the stones, the water, the children, and the dreams of people not yet born.”
“That isn’t escape.”
“No. It’s refusing to be erased.”
Gohan stared at Niyon for a long time. Then he placed his hand on one of the stones beside the gateway.
“What can we do together?”
For the first time, Niyon looked at him with genuine hope.
“You’ll lead the people to the tunnels on the northern slope. I’ll stay at the nexus and keep the Anunaki guards occupied.”
“Then what?”
“We’ll activate the four sockets at the same time.”
“The fourth socket is empty.”
“It isn’t empty. It’s for the one who hasn’t made their choice yet.”
Gohan nodded. “I’ve made mine.”
“Your choice isn’t enough. A human, an Anunaki, and a witness from the future must decide at the same time.”
“Who’s the witness from the future?”
Niyon didn’t answer. Her gaze seemed to turn toward Betul through the image.
Betul took a step back. “She can see me.”
The shadowless man’s voice echoed through the room. “No. She remembers you.”
Suddenly, the image of the past shattered. Gohan, Niyon, and the villagers broke apart into lines of light. Each line traveled in a different direction; some merged with stones, some with water, and others with the darkness between the stars.
Ilber opened the book. New lines were forming in the section containing the missing pages:
“The past does not die to reach the future. It chooses to be remembered.”
Esra studied the mark beneath the lines. “This isn’t a statement about history. It’s a command.”
Arif looked at the images behind the gateway. “What’s the result of the command?”
Four separate voices rose from within the gateway. One belonged to Gohan, one to Niyon, one to Betul, and one to a being who had yet to appear.
“When the witnesses unite, the path is complete.”
The shadowless man stepped back.
Ilber noticed. “What are you afraid of?”
“Because if the path is completed, the Anunakis won’t be the only ones to return.”
“What else will return?”
Before the man could answer, the ground shook. The image of the future beyond the gateway went dark. Above the present-day image of Göbeklitepe, a colossal object appeared, covering the sky. It didn’t look like a ship; it was more like a moving city made of stone and metal.
The blue line on Betul’s chest flared with pain.
One final sentence appeared in the book:
“Return opens the gateway not only for those who come, but also for those who were sent.”
Something stirred beneath the wall.
First came a deep vibration. Then hundreds of human voices rose from between the stones. Gohan’s voice, Niyon’s voice, the voices of children and old people, all blending together.
Every voice said the same thing:
“Remember us.”
Three of the gateway’s four sockets filled with blue light.
The fourth socket turned toward Betul.
At that exact moment, a long finger unlike anything made by human hands burst through the stone floor from beneath the earth.
Arif recoiled. “What is that?”
Fear returned to the shadowless man’s face.
“It isn’t the Anunakis’ return ship.”
Ilber raised the book. “Then what is it?”
The man whispered from the darkness:
“Something left here before them.”
The fourth socket opened.
Betul’s blue line connected to the gateway, and past and future folded into each other in a single instant.