EYA

  The night bites with a wind howling through the trees, pierg my skin like ieedles. Thick darkness bs everything, broken only by the bonfire bzing wildly in front of me. The sound of wood crag and sparks leaping into the air makes our shadows dan the ground like cloth puppets. Warmth creeps into my fiips, chasing away the chill that had seeped into my bones.

  In my hands, a wooden bowl of warm soup steams. Thick vapor rises, mixing a sharp herbal st with a strong minty aroma. I blow gently on the surface, hesitant to taste it, afraid it will be too bnd or too sour. Beside me, Aliyah sits silently, hugging her knees. Her eyes are fixed on the fire, staring bnkly into the fmes.

  Not far from us, two young men are crouched down. One has long brown hair and a sturdy build, the other short bck hair and a thin frame. They are Roka and Gomar, squatting on the muddy ground, skinning a carcass that looks like a small rat with rusty khe sound of tearing flesh and the hissing of Asel, a young woman with long brown hair who is sharpening a flint, answer each other. The fishy smell of fresh blood mixed with damp earth stings my nose, making me wri.

  What experiment are they going to do ? I woo myself. The rustle of wind outside the tent is faintly audible, but my mind is too full to really pay attention to it. I don't dare voice my thoughts. Besides, I don't uand anything they are saying anyway.

  Earlier today, the sky was still e when I finally mao leave the temple after waiting for so long. My shadow stretched long on the dusty ground as the damp mossy st from the old walls g to my nose. Poma didn't appear even as I left. Only his weary voice echoed in my head: "Farewell, Ryan." Such a short farewell.

  "What are you thinking about?" Aliyah asks suddenly. Her voice breaks my trance.

  Actually, I was thinking about many things during the journey earlier. But they were busy with their own affairs, and besides, I don't uand their nguage. So, I felt awkward interrupting their versation a my questions to myself. Maybe now is a good time to ask? After all, Aliyah is the only person I talk tht? The st of dry earth and warm stones is faintly present as I take a deep breath.

  "What are they doing? Making food?" I ask, watg the meat skewers sizzling over the fire. Thick smoke billows, mixing the smells of salt and spices, stinging my nose. Roka fans the embers with dry leaves, making sparks jump like fireflies in the night.

  Aliyah just smiles, her dimples clearly visible in the e light. Her lips tremble, holding back a small ugh. "Because throughout the jouro the temple and when we are he temple, it is tradition to forbid eati. Since we are now far enough from the temple, they want to eat meat as soon as possible." she expins. Her voice is soft but clear, like water flowing over stones.

  Meanwhile, the night wind blows gently, making the bonfire crackle louder. I hug my khinking about the vilge where I will live ter. I be like them? I tell stories freely and ugh without hesitation?

  Aliyah must sense my silence. Her empty eyes stare straight at me, as if she see my wavering shadow in the firelight. "Why don't you tell that stain ter? I quite like that story of yours." she asks suddenly. In the distance, crickets chirp bad forth, filling the silehat is created.

  Why does Aliyah like stories like this? In my opinion, it’s a tragedy that even in the modern era feels heavy. I’ve never seen anyone adapt this story for the big s, and it seems like not many people even know about it.

  “Is that story so iing to you? I don’t think it’s an iing story at all,” I retort, eyeing the remnants of the cooling soup in the wooden bowl. Its steam has long gone, leaving behind a minty st now mixed with the smell of roasti from Roka and Gomar’s dire.

  art of the Oedipus tragedy is iing and memorable? I actually feel more depressed if I keep thinking about it. But it seems Aliyah has a different feeling? I don’t know why at all. The sound of crickets in the distance suddenly seems louder, as if joining our versation.

  “There are many things to take from that story. I hope you share it with others too. Besides, I think you’re a great storyteller, and this could also make et to know you better,” Aliyah reveals, her eyes sparkling, lit by the firelight. Her voice is soft, but there’s a firmhat makes me turn to her.

  At a gnce, her iion isn’t just wanting to hear my story, but also wantio i with others. Indeed, besides the initial introdus, I’ve barely spoken to them again except for Aliyah. Her suggestio sound bad, it’s just…

  “Are you sure my storytelling ability is good? I ’t even use yuage. How I tell stories to others if you’re the only one who uands my words?” I ask, scratg the wooden bowl in my hands.

  “Why do you doubt your own abilities? I quite enjoy the way you tell stories. About the nguage, I’ll help transte. You tell stories fortably without worry,” Aliyah replies with a smile. There's a teasing tone in her voice, but I choose to stay silent.

  But since I have no reason to refuse either, maybe there’s no harm in doing it, right? So, all I do is nod my head in agreement with her suggestion.

  Then the fragrant smell of roasti suddenly fills my nostrils while Asel starts cutting the meat into small portions, mixing it with fresh green leaves in a wooden bowl. Not long after, Roka and Gomar walk over, carrying wooden bowls that are still warm. Roka smiles broadly as he hands me my bowl, saying something I don't uand. His ughter booms, making the bonfire seem to tremble. Aliyah, who listens, suddenly chuckles—a sound I rarely hear.

  “What did he say?” I ask, frowning.

  “Roka says, he’s giving you a slightly bigger portion. Because you’re like a child who ’t eat vegetable soup,” Aliyah expins, still holding back ughter. I g the bowl in my ha sthered in spices, green leaves ging to the side. The smell of salt and wood smoke blend, making my stomach rumble.

  Slowly, I lift the first bite. The heat spreads on my tongue, but the unfamiliar, intense spice makes me fet my earlier hesitation. This is the most normal food I’ve been able to eat so far. Luckily, the taste of meat in this world isn't much different from ba Earth. At least I eat and don't o worry my stomach will ache from eating food with unimaginable fvain.

  Across from me, I see Gomar sitting leaning against a tree truing his meat, his eyes closed as if enjoying the night wind. Roka is also talking with Asel, while eating discussing something. Meanwhile, Aliyah is still smiling, her face bright in the firelight.

  Maybe, I think, this could be a not-too-bad start. If I indeed get closer to them and maybe it’ll als me closer to this world.

  So, I don't hesitate anymore. I start finishing the meat in front of me. I eat the tents of this bowl so eagerly, I finish quickly. Each chew of meat mixes with the tempting smoky aroma. The green leaves beside the meat give a distinct fvor as I eat. There’s a slightly spicy taste, like eating paprika or chili as I chew. And the meat is also tender and juicy when chewed.

  Then I also force myself to eat the soup that has cooled down. The thick texture of the soup with its bnd and sour taste intensely blend, making my tongue and my head spin. But I still try to eat and swallow it because I have to get used to this kind of food as well.

  After finishing all the food given to me, my stomach is full and a little sore, probably from eating that strange soup again. But it's not like the first time I ate it where I immediately got diarrhea all day. I see Aliyah and the others start talking to each other after finishiing. Then Aliyah looks at me, as if signaling if I am ready for the ‘storytelling session’ she asked me for earlier.

  “Are you ready?” Aliyah asks me. Smiling, she seems to give me a cue. Her smile blossoms, awaiting the start of the story. I take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh cold air into my lungs while calming my mind before starting to tell the story. Meanwhile, Aliyah speaks to the others, asking for their time for a moment and finally all eyes turn to me.

  “You start,” Aliyah says, tellihat I start the story. The night wind blows gently, as if encio start soon.

  The dying embers of the bonfire illuminate my face, the heat still lingers on my skin even as the night air stabs from behind. I stand there like a fool on a stage, with four pairs of eyes fixed on me—Roka scratches at the ground with a stick, Gomar holds a bone, a food remnant, Asel sits cross-legged, her hair waving like smoke. The crickets abruptly fall silent, as if nature itself holds its breath.

  Maybe I'll use more poetic words when I tell the story ter. I said to myself.

  “I… will tell the story of Oedipus,” I murmur, my voice crag like a dry twig snapping. My throat feels scraped with dust, but I know this story by heart—every word, every sorrow, every destiny like a snare. Just before my mouth opens, I feel the night wind slip ih my clothes, making me shiver. I see Aliyah smile gently, her hand raised, ready to transte. In the distahe wood fire crackles, breaking the tension.

  “Somewhere far from here, beh a sky forever veiled in twilight’s muted glow, there y the city of Thebes—a jewel raised from the earth by the mighty ruler Laius. Men spoke not only of his ce in carving the city from wilderness, but of his pace’s grandeur, its tleaming like dawn’s first dew. Yet behind the glittering veil of such splendor, a secret g the king’s soul: though bound by years of marriage, he and his queen had never cradled an heir.

  One night, as whispers of wind stirred the sacred leaves near Delphi’s temple, Laius felt dread coil in his chest. Heart heavy as stone, he sought Pythia, the Oracle cloaked in robes woven of starlight and smoke. Her eyes, pools of a knowing, pierced the shadows as she spoke. A prophecy that cracked the air like thunder: Your own son shall spill your life’s blood. The words left Laius reeling, his thoughts whirling like tempests in the o’s darkest depths.

  Yet fate, ever cruel, soon granted a miracle. A son was born to the royal house. But joy withered like frost-touched petals. Trembling, half-mad with fear, Laius steeled himself. Under oonlight, he pierced his infant’s ankles—wounds to cripple each tiny step—and anded a servant to cast the child upon a barren mountainside, where the very winds wailed for the babe’s fate.

  But destiny weaves thread no bde sever. The servant, pity softening his resolve, slipped the child into the arms of a shepherd wandering a moonlit path. And so, under skies indifferent to mortal sorrow, the boy passed to another king’s household. They named him Oedipus: swollen foot, for the scars etched into his flesh—a lifelong seal upon his fate.

  Years slipped by, and Oedipus grew into his borrowed life, though the shadows of his infancy g like cobwebs to his bones. One day, as the wind hissed through the city’s hollow streets, he caught murmurs swirling like dead leaves—hushed tales of his uain birth. Fury and shame coiled in his throat as he demanded answers from those, he called parents. Yet their words dissolved into evasion, leaving only silehick as burial cloth. Unmoored, he turo the same Oracle.

  Iemple’s dim belly, heavy with smoke as, Pythia’s voice slithered through the inse. Her prophecy struck darker, colder: You will sy the man who fathered you, thehe woman who bore you. Horror turned Oedipus’s blood to ice. Vowing to outrun fate, he fled toward Thebes—a city crouched near Delphi’s slopes. Along the sun-scorched road, where shadows writhed like serpents, he crossed paths with a lordly stranger. Pride fred, steel fshed—and in a csh swift and brutal as summer lightning, Oedipus struck down the man. He didn’t know the corpse at his feet was Laius, the ruler of Thebes.

  At the city’s gates loomed the Sphinx—a nightmare made flesh. Her woman’s face smiled cold above a lion’s haunches; wings spread dark as stormclouds. None passed uhey solved her riddle, sung in a voice that made storemble. Fail, and bones joihe s lining the path. But Oedipus’s mind burned clear as a wiar. He answered, and the beast’s scream split the sky as she cast herself into the abyss. Hailed as savior, he asded Laius’s vat throne and took the dead king’s widow as his bride—unknowingly g his mother’s hand in marriage.

  Thus, the prophecy coiled back upon itself. Laius fell by his son’s bde; Oedipus’s bed became his cradle. Decades unfolded, and Thebes thrived—until rot seeped into its roots. Crops withered. Children choked on fever. Desperate, Oedipus returo Delphi’s shrine, where the truth began to peel itself raw: The killer walks among you. Laius’s blood still cries for justice.

  Rage and sorrow fused in Oedipus’s veins as he vowed to hunt the killer, te Thebes of its festering rot. But time’s veil tore at st, revealing the serpeh the stone: he was no true son to those who raised him, and the woman who shared his bed was the womb that bore him. His queen—his mother—staggered uhe weight of the truth. Her hands, oender, became instruments of despair. That night, she chose the cold embrace of a noose, leaving Oedipus aloh their four children—i echoes of a love that should never have been.

  In the end, Oedipus renouhe throhat once glittered like a sunlit river. He walked into exile, wandering roads dusted with ash, each footfall a prayer for absolution. Cruelest of all ironies: father and son, both fleeing fate’s shadow, had bee puppets to a melody only the Fates could hear. Their defiance had carved the very tragedy they sought to escape. Mortals, ever-blind, they danced on life’s stage—where the illusion that we steer our steps is but a phantom, dissolving like mist over the desert of sorrow.”

  The crag sound of the firewood broke the sileer I fielling the story. The fire, now dying down, only left embers, illuminating the faces of Roka, Gomar, and Asel who were like statues—their eyes bnk, their lips tightly shut. Cold sweat trickled down my neck, mixing with the pierg night wind. I sat stiffly, my fingers g the dry grass until it crumbled intments. They must have thought my story was b. I felt a strong urge to run into the dark forest behind us.

  But Aliyah suddenly cpped her hands, the sound sharp like a whip crag through the air. She spoke quickly, thehers nodded and cpped—stiffly, like puppets trolled by strings. I smiled faintly, but a sense of shame still weighed on my chest. There was no ughter or admiration—only serious faces that made me feel even smaller.

  Maybe the story was too heavy? Should I have told the story of the goat and the wolf instead? But before that thought finished, Roka spoke, his eyes narrowed sharply. I didn’t uand his words, but Aliyah immediately transted, her voice soft like flowing water.

  “Roka asked, what happeo Oedipus afterward? Could he live a normal life?” Aliyah asked, her hand still half-raised as if holding back a wave of questions.

  I didn’t know the ao that. Because I only read this story from dusty old books, and it seemed there were many variations and differences depending on the source. But if I sidered the possibilities, Oedipus must have lived a life full ret, didn't he? He not only failed to escape his destiny but also lived to bear all the sequences. A worst-case sario for tinuing to live. Maybe he would it suicide too? But I figured if that was going to happen, he would have do directly instead of exiling himself, wouldn’t he? I also didn't know for sure what his fate was after the story ended. A long sigh escaped my lips; perhaps I would share my interpretation.

  I scratched the ground with my fingers. “I think… he would tio exile himself, beari for the rest of his life.”

  Aliyah immediately veyed my ao Roka. The sound of the fire, now dying down, broke the silehen Asel spoke up—her eyes sparkling like a curious child. She asked about Delphi, the city of oracles I had mentioned earlier. I shrugged, trying te up memories. All I remembered was a white marble temple shining uhe sun, surrounded by rocky mountains. But in this world, perhaps it was a more ashen color, like the charcoal now ging to the tips of my shoes.

  “The city… is like a pa a hill and yered with white marble all around it. A very legendary holy city,” I answered hesitantly. “But unfortunately, I myself also don't know for sure what it looks like.”

  For Asel's question, I could only expin the broad strokes of what I knew. A white marble city located in the mountains. In my head, I pictured t mountains with glittering white rocks. And maybe not far from the sea? I didn’t remember for sure, and besides, there were many biological differences betweeh and this world, so I didn't expin in too much detail.

  As fomar’s question, I didn’t remember the riddle Oedipus received from the Sphinx. If I remembered, I would have told it. While rag my brain, I made up my own riddle. The sound of the fire crag like brittle bones filled the silence. I pced the wooden bowl on the ground, then whispered to Aliyah in a trembling voice:

  “I always walk ahead of you, yet never arrive.

  I am alresent behind you, yet never seen.

  I give hope, but also take everything away.

  What am I?”

  Aliyah repeated the question, her eyes fshing, refleg the firelight. Asel raised her hand, her brown hair waving like dry leaves blown by the wind.

  “Is the answer wind?” Aliyah reyed Asel's answer.

  Of course, I easily replied, “Wrong.” I shook my head, and the fire suddenly fred up, as if joining in ughing at the wrong answer.

  Then Gomar tried to answer, “Old age?”

  A slightly unique answer but still far from the actual answer. So I replied, “Not quite.”

  Roka didn’t give an answer, and Aliyah also couldn’t answer. So, I took a deep breath then said.

  “The answer is… Time,” I replied to them all.

  That answer made them silent. Then Asel cpped her hands, the sound sharp like breaking wood. Gomar followed suit, his face beaming like a child who received a gift. Roka only nodded once, but his eyes seemed to say: I uand. It seemed they weren’t used to pying riddles.

  Then we chatted a little after that. Where Aliyah worked hard as a two-way transtor. The versation flowed smoothly, occasionally punctuated by small ughs and nods of uanding. At least I felt better now, and maybe iure, I felt I could bee close to Roka, Gomar, and Asel.

  After that small bonding moment and finishing talking, we started preparing for sleep by making a kind of simple tent. Except for Roka, who seemed to prefer sleeping leaning against a tree. We began to build the tent where Roka and Gomar had already gathered a lot of reeds, their hands like maes. So fast and skilled at assembling them. I arranged dry grass, the smell like sun-scorched hay. The worn cloth used as a roof smelled of damp earth, making me want to sneeze.

  I helped make this tent, and it seemed they preferred to make e tent rather than individual tents, and it took maybe half an hour for us to erect this tent. I was a little warm, but we slept rass piled up and used as mattresses. It seemed this was the reason why they gathered a lot of grass and dry leaves iernoon earlier before resting and making dinner.

  This dry grass was indeed not as fortable as Enyeka's fur like a b. But the fatigue of the day finally won. I y down, hearing the rustle of wind through the leaves. The sound of crickets, which had been noisy, was slowly repced by Gomar's heavy sn. My eyes slowly closed, and darkness engulfed me like a thiket swallowing everything.

  EYA