John fell silent.
He felt a shiver run through him.
Thomas continued: "There are references... scattered...
In various ancient traditions." "Flood stories."
John said quietly: "Myth."
Thomas smiled faintly.
"It all starts as a myth... until we find the evidence."
Then he leaned closer to John, lowering his voice.
"What if the flood wasn't just a natural disaster?"
John stared at him.
"What if... it was a recurring cycle?"
"What if... it was something beyond human comprehension?"
John stared at him.
"What if... it's a cycle?"
A heavy silence fell between them.
Thomas continued:
"Something happens... then disappears... then comes back."
John said slowly:
"And what about this symbol?"
Thomas looked at the paper again.
"It's not just a symbol..."
Then he raised his eyes.
"It's a sign."
"A sign of what?"
Thomas took a deep breath.
"Where it all begins."
John felt everything begin to connect.
The tunnel.
The room.
The sound.
The sea.
"...and the line?" he asked."
Thomas examined it more closely this time.
"This is... new.
"New?
"Yes."
Then he said quietly,
"This wasn't part of the original code."
John's heart sank.
"So, what's wrong?"
Thomas didn't take his eyes off her.
"It means one thing..."
He slowly raised his eyes to John.
"Someone... is trying to guide you."
John looked again.
Then he said quietly,
"Or seductive."
Thomas didn't deny it.
He simply said,
"In places like these..."
Maybe is trying to help you.
"...The difference isn't always clear." Silence.
Then he added in a low voice:
"And if you truly saw what I think you saw..."
He looked directly at him. "You're already a part of it."
John didn't reply. He just looked towards the sea.
Which seemed calm again.
But this time…
He didn't see it the same way.
He always saw it as something different.
John exchanged phone numbers with the archaeologist Thomas.
He told him he had been very pleased with their conversation and that he would stay in contact. John said goodbye to the museum curator, Paul, and left.
John didn't take a taxi.
He preferred to walk, as the museum was on a hill overlooking the sea.
The main road led down to the hotel.
As he walked, his conversation with Thomas kept running through his mind. It had opened up a whole new world of speculation and strange things.
John made his decision without saying a word.
After about half an hour's walk, he arrived at the hotel.
Rebecca, the receptionist, was checking the guest register.
John thanked her for her help and for everything during his stay.
Then he told her he had to get ready for his journey.
As the afternoon drew to a close, he was packing his luggage.
The room looked different now.
Not because anything had changed,
but because he had.
The disc.
The paper.
The conversation with Thomas.
The chamber beneath the mountain.
None of it felt like something he could simply leave behind.
And yet…
he had to.
"This isn't my fight…" he murmured quietly.
Though part of him knew that wasn't entirely true.
He closed his backpack carefully.
This time, he made sure everything was in place.
The disk wrapped.
The paper folded and tucked inside his notebook.
He paused for a moment before zipping it shut.
As if closing it meant… postponing something inevitable.
Then he stood.
Took one last look around the room.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing out of place.
Just a room.
Just a stay.
Just a man... about to leave.
Then he left the hotel for the airport.
The airport was small.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
A few travelers sat scattered in the waiting area.
Some were checking their phones—the signal still wasn't there for everyone.
Others were talking in hushed, tired voices.
John sat near the window, his backpack beside him.
A boarding pass rested in his hand.
Final call would be in less than an hour.
He looked outside.
The runway stretched empty under a pale sky.
The sea was visible in the distance.
Still calm.
Still… watching
For the first time in days, John allowed himself to breathe.
Slowly.
Deeply.
"I'm leaving," he whispered.
As if saying it would make it real.
A faint announcement echoed through the terminal.
Unclear.
Distorted.
Then silence again.
John frowned slightly.
Something felt… off.
Not wrong.
Just… unfinished.
He reached into his bag.
Almost without thinking.
Took out the paper.
He opened it.
He stared at the symbols. The line. The dot.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then—
His expression changed.
"...No."
" THIS IS TRUTH " ooh my God is so clear
The line.
It had changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
The endpoint… was no longer in the same place.
John leaned forward.
Heart beginning to rac.
"That's not possible…"
He turned the paper slightly.
Checked again.
No mistake.
The mark had moved.
And this time…
it wasn't pointing toward the mountain.
It was pointing somewhere else.
Closer.
Much closer.
John slowly lifted his head.
And looked out the window.
Toward the runway.
His breath caught.
At the far end of the airstrip…
something was wrong.
At first, it looked like heat distortion.
A ripple in the air.
But the sky wasn't hot.
The ripple grew clearer.
Circular.
Faint.
Like… a boundary.
A line.
Separating something.
John stood up slowly.
Eyes fixed on it.
No one else reacted.
No one noticed.
A ground crew vehicle drove past it—
And for a brief second…
it disappeared.
Vanished.
Then reappeared on the other side.
John's grip tightened around the paper.
"No… no, this isn't…"
The same shape.
The same curve.
As the symbol.
He took a step back.
The announcement system crackled again.
This time clearer.
But the words…
weren't normal.
"…passengers are advised…"
A pause.
Static.
Then—
"…departure is no longer possible."
The lights inside the terminal flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
People around him began to murmur.
Confused.
Uncertain.
John didn't move.
His eyes were still on the runway.
The ripple…
was expanding.
Slowly.
Silently.
Like something opening.
And for the first time—
he understood.
He didn't come here by chance.
And he won't leave easily.
Not anymore.
The paper slipped slightly from his hand.
And right in the heart of the symbol...
A new line began to form.
John didn't move.
His eyes were still fixed on the far end of the runway.
The ripple… the distortion in the air…
It was still there.
Expanding.
Slowly.
Silently.
But something didn't add up.
A ground crew member walked across the runway.
Straight through it.
Without hesitation.
Without reaction.
Nothing happened.
John blinked.
Once.
The ripple… was still there.
He looked around.
People were sitting.
Scrolling through dead phones.
Talking quietly.
Some even looked bored.
No one was watching the runway.
No one was reacting.
A strange calm settled over him.
"...They don't see it," he whispered.
The realization came slowly.
Not as fear.
But as clarity.
It was a message.
For him.
John looked down at the paper in his hand.
The symbol.
The shifting line.
Then back at the runway.
The curve in the air… aligned perfectly with the same shape.
A boundary.
Not physical.
Perceptual.
He exhaled slowly.
"That's why…"
The words formed in his mind with unsettling precision.
This is why the network is down.
This is why the power is out.
It's not random.
It's not a fault.
Interference.
Containment.
Or... delay.
Or a message.
John's gaze softened slightly.
Not confusion anymore.
Not panic.
Understanding.
"They're not stopping it…"
A pause.
"They're slowing it down."
As if in response—
the ripple trembled.
Then—
it began to fade.
Slowly.
The air returned to normal.
The horizon straightened.
The invisible line… disappeared.
John didn't look away.
Not until it was completely gone.
A moment later—
the terminal lights brightened slightly.
Steady.
The announcement system crackled again.
This time… clear.
"Passengers for Flight 227, boarding will begin in fifteen minutes."
"Passengers for Flight 227, boarding will begin in fifteen minutes."
A quiet wave of relief moved through the room.
People stood.
Gathered their bags.
Normal movement returned.
As if nothing had happened.
John remained seated for a few seconds longer.
Then he looked down at the paper one last time.
The line had returned…
to its original place.
The mountain.
He folded it slowly.
Carefully.
Then placed it back inside his bag.
John stood.
Picked up his backpack.
And for a brief moment…
he hesitated.
Not because he was unsure.
But because he now understood something he hadn't before.
Leaving the island…
didn't mean leaving what he had seen behind.
Then began walking toward the boarding gate.
Calm.
Focused.
But different.
Because deep inside…
he knew—
This wasn't over.
It had only… chosen him.
But there are still many questions.
That need answers and explanations.
The plane is taking off now.
It's flying through the sky.
John casts one last look at the island through the window.
A strange sensation sends shivers down his spine.
Perhaps this won't be his last visit for the island maybe ?!!
...
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