Chapter One - The New Life Begins.

The world had burned, and silence screamed in his ears.

Altai’s eyes fluttered open, pain striking him like lightning. His head throbbed; every breath made his chest ache, and his right arm felt useless, broken beneath him. Dust and smoke choked the air, stinging his eyes and throat. Somewhere behind him, the groan of collapsing walls echoed, and the faint smell of burning — of wood, of plaster, of something darker — filled his nose.

He tried to move. His limbs obeyed only reluctantly. He tried to call out, a single word for help, but his throat had betrayed him. Only a hoarse rasp escaped, a whisper swallowed by the ringing in his ears.

Everything around him was ruin. The hall that had once stood proud and ancient lay shattered, debris scattered like the bones of a fallen giant. The sun broke through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating the chaos in jagged shafts.

Then memory surged, unbidden, dragging him backward to hours before, to the morning that seemed so ordinary… until it became anything but.

—

The morning had carried a sense of celebration. Baku’s sun glinted on cobblestones as students spilled across the university courtyard. Altai adjusted the strap of his bag, heart fluttering with the usual nervous energy. He carried more books than necessary — a habit, an armor, a comfort against a world that always seemed one step away from chaos.

Kamal, his roommate, walked beside him, whistling lightly. “Can you believe it? Two hundred years. This place has stood through empires and revolutions, and here we are.”

Altai managed a small smile. “Older than you, anyway.”

Kamal laughed. “Don’t be so serious. Today’s the celebration! Music, food, fireworks… and the treasure.”

Altai rolled his eyes. “It’s just a book and an amulet. Big deal.”

Kamal nudged him. “Not just any amulet. They found it buried under the library wall. Hundreds of years old. They say it carries… power.”

Altai suppressed a shiver of curiosity. He told himself it was nonsense, walked faster, tried to leave the thought behind.

In the courtyard, banners of blue and gold fluttered. Students pressed closer to the center, voices buzzing with excitement. A stage had been raised, and staff carefully positioned the glass case at its center.

The amulet gleamed faintly on crimson cloth, shaped like a majestic falcon. Its wings stretched outward as if ready to take flight, and its sharp head was tilted slightly downward, giving the impression it was watching all who approached. The metal seemed almost alive, catching the sunlight, glowing faintly at the edges — a silent promise of power hidden within. Beside it lay a leather-bound book, edges frayed, covered with cryptic symbols. Students pressed around the case, whispering, speculating, awed by what might have survived for centuries.

Leyla’s voice broke through the crowd: “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Altai turned, heart constricting. She stood a few steps away, sunlight catching her hair like molten copper. Her smile was quiet but full of warmth.

“Y-yes,” he murmured, barely audible. “I… guess so.”

“You should come by later,” she said. “They’ll let students examine it closer after the ceremony.”

“I… maybe,” he stammered, ashamed of the weakness in his voice.

Kamal groaned from behind. “Maybe? That’s all?”

Altai pressed his lips together. Words always failed him when it mattered most.

The morning passed with laughter, music, and food. Students moved in groups, excited and unaware of the danger lurking beyond ordinary life. The book and amulet sat at the center of it all — mysterious, silent, beckoning.

By the afternoon, his friends had gathered near the hall for the formal unveiling. Altai lingered behind, returning a borrowed notebook, helping a professor with minor tasks. He was late — unknowingly giving himself a fragile shield. That delay would be the only reason he survived.

Then the world tore itself apart.

A tremor ran through the floor, followed by a deafening roar. Stone and glass rained down. Heat hit his face. His ears rang; the world turned white, then red with fire. Screams were cut short by the explosion, swallowed by the inferno.

—

Pain brought him back.

Altai gasped, dragging himself upright. His legs shook; his right arm burned with pain, useless and broken. Around him, the hall had vanished into rubble. Flames licked shattered columns and beams. Smoke filled the air, thick and blinding.

And then he saw her.

Leyla.

She lay unmoving beneath a fallen beam, hair spread like a halo. Her eyes stared at nothing. His chest tightened; he forced himself forward, but the world would not let him. His throat refused to work — a strangled, useless rasp escaped as his body trembled.

Altai’s knees gave out. Pain, fear, and grief collided. He collapsed into the rubble, clutching his broken arm and chest, gasping. The ringing in his ears made the world spin; the weight of debris pressed down like a physical force. He could not scream. He could not move freely.

Then voices.

Low, cruel laughter. Steps crunching over shattered stone.

Three figures emerged through the smoke. One carried a rifle slung casually across his shoulder. Another gripped a heavy satchel. The third swung a crowbar as if the destruction were a game.

“…too easy,” one said. “All this for one amulet and a dusty old book.”

“Worth it. The boss will be pleased.”

A laugh, sharp and empty, echoed.

Altai pressed himself flatter against the floor, sweat and blood mixing on his skin. Every instinct screamed to run or fight, but his injuries made him immobile. Every heartbeat threatened to reveal him.

The footsteps drew closer.

Closer.

Closer.

And the shadow fell over him.

—

Memory had been a cruel teacher. The morning rewind had shown him everything: the laughter of friends, the festival’s joy, the amulet, the book — and the reason he survived. He had arrived late, just enough to stay out of the direct path of death. That delay, trivial as it seemed then, had become the fragile thread keeping him tethered to life.

Now, in the charred remains of the university, that thread felt thinner than ever.

Altai’s body ached. His broken right arm burned with pain. Cuts and bruises screamed from every direction. His chest rose and fell unevenly. His mind, however, remained painfully alert — absorbing every sound, every shadow, every whisper of movement in the wreckage.

He dared not cry. He could not scream. All he could do was lie, trembling, heart hammering, eyes wide, listening.

The footsteps moved nearer. Their laughter, casual and mocking, sliced through his chest. Altai’s vision blurred with tears he could not shed, with grief and fear and anger.

And then silence, brief and terrifying, as the shadow fell right beside him.

He had survived the morning, survived the blast, but the night had only just begun.

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