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The Seal Stone  Novel Cover

The Seal Stone

The Seal Stone must reach its true seal, and when it does, the apocalypse will break. Every apocalypse demands lives—but whose honor is it to bear that loss? She traces the circle of Cesur's tattoo with her finger, bitterness in her voice. "Do you feel it? There's a huge sign right here." If he were brave, he might call it a stamp. Or a curse. She tells him he doesn't see it but feels it—a rope wrapped around him. Her other hand slips down his arm, fingers tangling with his. "A web that connects everything," she says, admiring the ink. "Just like me."
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Chapter 3

I don't remember when I made it back to my bed, but the voices coming from downstairs were loud enough to wake me from my sleep. Someone was arguing, and I was certain one of them was my grandfather. I climbed out of bed and crept toward the stairs.

When I recognized Cesur's voice, I paused on the steps to listen and figure out what was happening before going down.

"You're leaving right now. I can't afford such irresponsibility. Get him out of here," Cesur said. The sharp, disrespectful tone he used with my grandfather immediately got on my nerves.

"Where are we supposed to go?" my grandfather asked.

Was my grandfather actually meeting with Cesur all this time? Why had he felt the need to hide something like that from me when he had witnessed me calling out for my childhood friend for years?

Cesur continued, "I told you not to send her into the woods. You don't follow the rules."

When I walked down the stairs, both of them stopped talking and looked at me. There were no tears in Cesur's clothes, his hair was neat, and his face was completely unscathed-not a single scratch or bruised eyebrow. While I had been convinced he was dead, he was standing right in front of me in one piece.

My grandfather was sitting in a chair by the kitchen counter, looking as if he wanted to make sure I hadn't heard what was said. I didn't know how much of their conversation I had caught, but what I did hear stabbed my heart like a knife.

The man who had raised me, with whom I had shared a home for years, had clearly lied to me. And the other man-the childhood friend I had waited years for, my first love-wanted me gone.

I didn't know what to say. It was so hard to find my voice. I wanted to ask my grandfather if he had been seeing Cesur all along. I wanted to demand an explanation from Cesur as to why we had to leave. I wanted to scream that I wasn't going anywhere. He owed me an answer for how he had survived among those wolves. I had cried so much for him that I didn't even have a single tear left to shed.

I stared at Cesur in silence, verifying that he was completely unharmed.

Before I could say a word, Cesur moved to end the encounter. He turned away from me, walked toward my grandfather, placed his hand on the table, and leaned in slightly. "Just go," he said coldly.

If he hadn't sounded so confident, I might have cursed him right then and there.

He crossed the hallway and stepped out onto the porch. Without looking back, he headed down the path toward the main road.

Was he really just leaving? I had to do whatever it took to stop him. Ignoring my bare feet, I bolted after him down the stony path. I didn't care if there were five or thirty-five wolves out there-I just needed to reach him.

I didn't stop until I caught up with him. I threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly so he wouldn't go. It didn't matter where he had been all these years or why he hadn't come for me; I just didn't want him to walk away again.

When he wrapped his arms around my waist, a wave of relief washed over me. "I don't want to go," I whispered in his ear. "I don't want you to leave."

"Go," he repeated quietly.

I wanted to snap his neck. I wanted to kill him right there and dig his grave myself.

"I will find you," he added.

My anger flared up instantly. I unclasped my arms from his neck and pushed his hands off my waist, wanting to rid myself of his embrace entirely.

I stared at Cesur's face for a long time. I wasn't sure if I even wanted him to find me, but one thing was certain: I was leaving. There were things in my life I needed to leave behind and forget.

I turned around and walked back home, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand. I didn't bother looking back.

When I reached the house, my grandfather was still sitting in the same spot. I sat down on one of the stools beside him. Even though he wasn't looking at me, I could see how deeply remorseful he felt.

My grandfather was a tall man-I had always compared him to my favorite tree in the forest. Although his hair and beard had turned white, he was still the most charismatic man I knew. He wasn't the type to bow down to anyone, nor would he let anyone crush me. Seeing him sit in silence before a young man made me realize this wasn't the right moment to demand answers. We had a long journey ahead of us to talk.

"I think we should go to England," I said, putting my hand over his. "Besides, you always wanted me to go to college. Maybe I can continue my education there."

"If you don't want to go-" he began, but I cut him off. Seeing that he was still thinking of my well-being softened my anger.

"No, Grandpa, I want to go. I've been thinking about studying for a while now. This is a good opportunity," I said, trying to sound hopeful. "We can stay with my aunt for a bit until we find a place of our own. And of course, we'll come back after I finish my studies."

"Ezgi is starting university this year too. We can study together," I added happily, clapping my hands to break the gloomy atmosphere in the room. "Come on, big guy. Time to pack."

The smile on my face was contagious, and his tension melted into a soft smile.

In my room, I pulled out my suitcases and began packing. I planned to leave at the first light of dawn. I booked our tickets online, packed my belongings, and then helped my grandfather with his.

After double-checking that all the windows were locked, I stepped out onto the porch one last time while my grandfather loaded our luggage into the taxi. I turned the key in the lock.

I wasn't sad; I was furious. The more I thought about Cesur, the angrier I became-mostly at myself for being naive enough to think he was still the innocent boy from my childhood.

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