After that moment when she saw the reflection of her own gaze in the fox\u2019s eyes, Simana realized that while it was possible to return, it was no longer possible to go back; yet one could not venture into the heavens unprotected.<\/p>\n
This was the oldest principle known to the ancient shamans. The layers of the sky were traversed not only by stairs but also by guardians. The door was not forced without a summons, and the threshold was not crossed until the guardian arrived. Simana sat down at the base of the ash tree, placed the drum on her lap, and turned the drumstick in her palm for a long time; for the drumstick was, for her, an intention carrying the call.<\/p>\n
At the first beat, the night did not stir. At the second beat, the wind shifted direction, but the leaves did not rustle. At the third beat, however, the sound finally spread through time.<\/p>\n
Simana declared her intention aloud: \u201cThose who know my name, let them say, \u2018I am here,\u2019 and join me on my path.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a wait. Long\u2026 Endless\u2026<\/p>\n
Then, a thin ring formed around the moon. It was neither a cloud nor fog; it was more like the shadow of an invisible wing. A tremor appeared in the upper branches of the beech tree. The wind, which had been wandering among the grasses, stopped its wandering without changing direction.<\/p>\n
And from three different directions, in three different tones, the same words came:<\/p>\n
\u201cI am here.\u201d<\/p>\n
The celestial guardians may not have appeared, but Simana knew they had arrived\u2014from the interruption in the moon\u2019s light, the warmth spreading deep within the earth, and the shift in the rhythm of her heartbeat. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The wind fell silent, the stars shifted, and time ceased to be a straight line.<\/p>\n
The
\nsecond level was built within shattered moments of time. There, moments did not stand side by side in a row. Sometimes they formed layers piled one on top of another; other times, they spiraled like a serpent swallowing its own tail.<\/p>\n
A shadow of childhood stood shoulder to shoulder with the light of a morning yet to be lived; the distance between death and birth grew as short as a single breath. That is why it was called \u201cTime Fractures.\u201d<\/p>\n
Simana walked on. A silhouette appeared before her. It was Ba\u015fkam T\u00fcle\u00e7. On his face, beyond the lines of time, were the traces of the decisions he had made throughout his life. \u201cThe Guardians<\/p>\n
come as far as the door,\u201d said T\u00fcle\u00e7; his voice was like water flowing from beneath a rock. \u201cBecause those who enter are of their own bloodline.\u201d<\/p>\n
Simana did not say, \u201cI\u2019m ready,\u201d because she had learned that being ready was merely a claim. She took action and took a step.<\/p>\n
Time fractured. A wisp of smoke from a tent appeared. But the smoke wasn\u2019t rising; it hung suspended in the air. The neigh of a horse was heard\u2026 And two shadows approached slowly from within the fractured time.<\/p>\n
Simana didn\u2019t recognize them at first glance. Because a person recognizes what belongs to them last. But the place where her heart beat shifted once more. As the shadows drew nearer, their faces became clearer; they were young, not weary; yet they seemed to be standing in the middle of an unfinished sentence.<\/p>\n
Her mother. Her father. But the words \u201cmother\u201d and \u201cfather\u201d felt too narrow here. They were the first destiny trembling in her blood.<\/p>\n
Simana took a step toward them; a shiver rose from beneath the earth, as if the footsteps of her ancestors had met hers.<\/p>\n
Her mother spoke: \u201cYou thought we had abandoned you.\u201d<\/p>\n
These words carried no reproach; for reproach is reserved for the living. This was the slow restoration of a truth plucked from the depths of time.<\/p>\n
Her
\nfather continued:<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen fire falls upon a camp, no one leaves anyone behind. But fire makes no distinction between names; the wind asks no questions, and death does not choose which tent to enter.\u201d<\/p>\n
Time cracked open again in that moment\u2014a heavy, irreversible crack, like water seeping from a broken jug. An image emerged: black smoke settling over the steppe, dirt kicked up by the hooves of galloping horses, the shadows of the tents intertwining. An enemy attack on her parents\u2019 encampment\u2026 The clatter of horses\u2019 hooves could be heard for a while, then gave way to the dry crackling of burning wood; for a moment, the sky turned into a crimson curtain, and then everything simplified beyond redemption.<\/p>\n
Simana searched for pain within that moment; for people believe that truth comes with pain. But the pain did not come. Her mother continued:<\/p>\n
\u201cWe didn\u2019t abandon you. Abandonment is a choice. But that night, there was no choice\u2014only fire.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her father let his eyes wander over Simana\u2019s face; in his gaze lay the weight of a farewell left unspoken:<\/p>\n
\u201cWe could not pass through the fire. But you did. Because His hand protected you.\u201d<\/p>\n
With
\nthose words, the crimson glow of time faded, and Simana slipped into another moment. A narrow, unburned void in the midst of the smoke, a silence standing unshaken amid the collapse of the tents, and rising from that silence\u2014an invisible yet undeniable power\u2026 Umay\u2019s protective touch.<\/p>\n
Ba\u015fkam T\u00fcle\u00e7 had remained silent until that moment; now he spoke, his words meant to put the underlying meaning of the scene into its proper place:<\/p>\n
\u201cThe second level judges no one\u2014neither the living nor the dead. No guilt is sought here; for guilt is the work of time. Here, only an echo is sought. The echo of abandonment that has been ringing within you for years was, in fact, the unfinished breath of a fire and of fate.\u201d<\/p>\n
At that moment, Simana realized that what she carried was not a story of abandonment, but an unfinished farewell; the fear inherited from her ancestors was the tremor of their unfinished breath. And that vibration fell silent for the first time in her life. That hard lump she had carried right in the center of her chest for years\u2014which she had named \u201cabandonment\u201d\u2014did not suddenly soften; rather, it broke free from its roots and moved elsewhere. It was as if a tree planted in soil where it did not belong had finally been moved to its rightful place and begun to take root.<\/p>\n
T\u00fcle\u00e7 continued: \u201cAncestors are not a burden,\u201d he said. \u201cThey provide guidance. The burden lies in mistaking their fear for your own destiny; in mistaking their echo for your own voice, their trail for your own path.\u201d<\/p>\n
These words settled into Simana\u2019s heart like a stone finding its place.<\/p>\n
The fractures of time began to draw closer to one another, slowly. Scattered moments formed a circle once more, like shards of a broken pot; the smoke thinned, the reddish glow faded, and the shadows of the horses retreated into the steppe. Her mother and father began walking backward; yet they did not vanish. For ancestors do not disappear; they merely change their place. As they receded, the tremor within Simana subsided, replaced by a warmth and a steadfast bond. She had now found her balance.<\/p>\n
Chief T\u00fcle\u00e7 spoke one last time; this time, his voice mingled with the wind:<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have passed through the second gate. From now on, the fear of your lineage will not mingle with your voice; yet its power will remain. The echo will fall silent, and the true voice will be heard. The trail will now become the path.\u201d<\/p>\n
Simana did not bow her head, nor did tears well up in her eyes. For tears are a sign of purification in the wrong place, and she had healed her wound not from the wrong place, but at its root. The vibration within her was no longer screaming; it flowed silently, like water that had found its course.<\/p>\n
With her next breath, she found herself once again standing before the ash tree. The guardians had withdrawn; moonlight filtered through the branches in a straight, calm line, and the night once again resembled a measurable span of time. Though the steppe had returned to its former appearance, Simana\u2019s presence had changed; the earth beneath her feet was the same, but the person stepping upon it was no longer the same.<\/p>\n
She placed her hand on the trunk and carved the second notch with a heavy, unhesitating motion. The bark split; the notch was deep.<\/p>\n
And Simana, knowing that after the second layer she now carried not the fear of her lineage but only its power, gazed out into the night.<\/p>\n
The sky had grown even thinner.<\/p>\n
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