As daylight broke over the Bosphorus, Kemal sat still, unwilling to recall what had passed in the dark. He sipped his coffee slowly and sat in front of his computer. He began searching academic databases, typing in keywords like "stag-headed human figure," "lion-headed ancient symbol," "dual symbol stone." Various pieces from Mesopotamian, Persian, Hittite, and even Hindu mythology surfaced but none depicted the two figures together in a shared composition.
Then he paused.
He suddenly thought of Dr. Yelda Bayar, whom he had met years ago during a symposium in Egypt. A young academic specializing in symbols, she was completing her doctorate on ancient iconography, mythological systems, and symbolic structures. They had last crossed paths at a panel two years ago, and since then, contact had faded.
Still, something inside told Kemal to reach out.
Without hesitation, he picked up his phone.
"Hi Yelda, I hope you're still using this number."
He hesitated for a moment, then continued:
"I need your help with a symbol. It's urgent. Please get back to me when you can."
After pressing send, his fingers lingered on the screen. It wasn't just an academic question. No words could quite capture the unease, the creeping darkness he carried inside.
He placed the phone back on the table. Outside, the wind from the Bosphorus rattled the windowpanes softly.
When the phone finally rang, the sight of Yelda's name on the screen brought both relief and a strange tension.
"Kemal, I just examined the figures," Yelda said. "They don't match anything I've seen before. But I can offer some interpretations based on the animal-headed iconography."
Kemal said nothing. He simply listened.
"The stag," she continued, "is associated with intuition, spirituality, and the guiding force of the forests in many cultures. In Norse cosmology, Eikthyrnir feeds from the leaves of Yggdrasil, the world tree. Water dripping from its antlers flows into Hvergelmir, the sacred spring, giving rise to rivers. In Greek and Roman mythology, stags are sacred to Artemis—protected, revered, and forbidden to hunt. They represent a connection to the divine wilderness."
"What about the lion?" Kemal asked softly.
"The lion," Yelda replied, "is much more tied to power. In almost every tradition, it symbolizes leadership, the sun, and cosmic order. But a lion-headed human figure? That shows up mostly in Mesopotamian and Ancient Egyptian contexts. Especially Sekhmet—the lion-headed goddess of both war and healing. She's a bringer of destruction and transformation. In one myth, she becomes so enraged she nearly wipes out humanity. Ra eventually tricks her into calming down, thus saving the world. It's an archetype—one that balances raw power with wisdom, the human struggle to contain inner chaos."
There was a pause. Then Yelda's voice returned, more tentative:
"Kemal… are you still there?"
He parted his lips to speak, but for a moment couldn't gather the words. At last, he said quietly:
"I'm here. I just… need a moment to think."
Yelda seemed to understand.
"If you want, we can meet in person," she offered. "It might help if I examine the object up close. In the meantime, we can both keep researching—maybe we'll reach the same place from different angles."
Kemal nodded faintly to himself. This didn't feel like a break or a pause—it felt like the first step into something much deeper. He was circling around a feeling he couldn't yet name.
He gently placed the phone on the desk. Yelda's words echoed in his mind, but he could no longer think clearly. A growing impulse surged inside him—he needed to go to the stone. He needed to look at it. See it with his own eyes.
He stood and walked to the old table in the corner of the room, its surface carved with dark walnut patterns. The stone lay exactly where he had left it.
Its matte surface shimmered faintly in the dark, and the lion-headed figure still stood there, fierce and unmoving. Its claws extended outward, as if guarding something.
But... the stag-headed figure was gone.
Kemal stepped back.
He rubbed his eyes and lifted the stone toward the light. He examined every inch—top, sides, curves.
No stag.
"How is that possible?" he whispered.
His heart pounded in his chest. Cold sweat spread down the back of his neck.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught something in the mirror.
A reflection.
He turned slowly.
He looked into the mirror — but it wasn't just him staring back.
Someone—something—was standing silently behind him.
Its towering antlers stretched toward the ceiling. Its eyes, unblinking, locked onto him.
Kemal spun around.
Nothing.
He took a trembling breath and stepped back. The stone slipped from his hand, hitting the ground with a dull, fractured thud.
His vision darkened and the last thing he saw was the figure in the mirrort, tilting its head ever so slightly.
And then…
Darkness.