Alan, followed by Jennel and their group of Survivors, finally reached the top of the path. With a single glance, they were struck by the landscape unfolding before them. A barren valley, where rocks, half-dead trees, and dust had replaced the forests of the past, sloped down toward a shimmering sea under the sun. A winding path gently descended into the valley, lined with makeshift tents stretching as far as the eye could see, while wisps of smoke rose from scattered campfires.

  The river, a thin silver ribbon, meandered peacefully toward the sea, marking the center of the landscape. Along its banks, the remnants of a once-prosperous past stood out with pavilions and hotels degraded by time, their cracked facades and overgrown gardens bearing witness to years of neglect. Further ahead, the valley opened into a side branch, where scattered stone houses dotted the hills, forming a discreet hamlet.

  On the opposite slope, overlooking the sea, an unusual gathering immediately caught their attention. Silhouettes stood clustered at the summit, surrounding a point that was difficult to discern from their position but which Alan knew to be the Beacon. A well-trodden path wound its way up to this mysterious place, leaving visible traces of frequent passage in the dust.

  Beyond, the coastline stretched out in all its raw beauty. Steep cliffs alternated with secluded coves, where small sandy and pebbled beaches nestled between the rocks. Waves gently crashed upon the shore, adding a soothing melody to the striking tableau. The warm, sunlit climate bathed everything in a golden glow, accentuating the deep blue of the sea. This landscape, both desolate and magnificent, told the story of a broken world and the silent struggles of those fighting to survive within it.

  The group set off down the winding path leading gently into the valley. The dust kicked up by their steps formed a light veil, through which the sun’s rays flickered in golden bursts. With every turn of the trail, new details of the landscape revealed themselves. The tents, growing ever more numerous, formed a patchwork of faded colors, a testament to a frugal existence and makeshift repairs. Murmurs drifted up from the lower camps, deep voices carried by the wind, almost drowned out by the quiet hum of campfires.

  Walking beside Alan, Jennel let her gaze sweep over the silhouettes of the abandoned pavilions in the distance. “Do you think we could settle there?” she asked, her tone a mix of hope and doubt.

  Alan shrugged. “We’ll see. One step at a time.”

  As they descended, the air grew more humid, carrying the scents of the river and the smoke from the fires. They passed a few wary glances near the first tents, but no one spoke to them. A woman, kneeling, washed a cloth in a dented basin, her gaze fixed on an unseen point beyond them.

  The trail widened as they neared the river. The clear waters, though shallow, reflected the sky’s hues. A makeshift boat, cobbled together from mismatched planks, was moored near a crumbling stone bridge. The group paused for a moment to take in the scene, the river’s murmur offering a momentary respite for their weary minds.

  On the other side of the bridge, a man and a woman of Middle Eastern descent awaited them. The man stepped forward slightly and introduced himself:

  “I am Arman, and this is Leyla.”

  Arman’s calm, steady voice contrasted with the unease still lingering among the Survivors. Leyla added in a welcoming tone:

  “We are here to show you your accommodations. Follow us.”

  The group followed in silence, slowly making their way up a steep path winding into the side valley. The dilapidated pavilions left behind gave way to stone houses that, though marked by time, still stood.

  Alan asked the question that was on everyone’s mind, though he already knew the answer: “Where is the Source, as you call it? We call it the Beacon.”

  Arman pointed to a spot above the sea, at the very top. “At the end of the trail up there. But you may be disappointed. Take time to settle in before going up.”

  His response stirred a mix of urgency and apprehension among the Survivors. Alan could sense their unspoken thoughts in the glances they exchanged.

  Had they come all this way for nothing?

  Finally, their guides led them to a cluster of dilapidated studios, still adorned with a few wildflowers sprouting from the cracks in the walls. Leyla advised:

  “Divide yourselves as best you can, but stay close. It’s safer that way.”

  The group settled in quietly, torn between the hope of finding refuge and the fear of what awaited them at the summit.

  The 34 Survivors had to divide themselves among 19 habitable spaces. Jennel and Alan chose one for themselves. The studio was simple, its furnishings sparse: a rough wooden table, two scratched chairs, a bed with worn blankets, and a rickety shelf holding a few forgotten objects. Jennel set her bag down in a corner and ran her hand along the edge of the table, her fingers stirring up a fine layer of dust.

  Alan, sitting on the bed, looked exhausted. He slowly got up, crossed the room, and stepped into the small adjacent bathroom. The metallic sound of the faucet echoed as he splashed cold water onto his face. Jennel, concerned, approached the half-open door.

  “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

  Alan sighed and wiped his face with his hands. “No, not really. I… I can’t activate my ability. There are too many Specters. It’s like… blindness. I’m out of practice.”

  Jennel entered the bathroom, her expression softened by quiet determination. “Alan, you’ve come all this way. You can’t let this discourage you now. If you can’t focus, that’s okay. I struggle sometimes too, but I can concentrate a little more easily.”

  He met her gaze, a brief, sad smile crossing his face. “I need you. I’m counting on you.”

  “You can always count on me,” she said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm.

  Alan nodded, but his eyes were distant. “I’m stressed. I worry that this will be a huge disappointment for the group. After everything we’ve been through…”

  Jennel cut him off. “No, Alan. It can’t end here. I know it. I feel it.”

  Her certainty seemed to reassure him, if only for a moment. He took a deep breath and murmured, “Then we keep going.”

  The entire group was abuzz with anticipation. Torn between curiosity and anxiety, everyone busied themselves finding a place, checking doors, wiping down surfaces, or simply sitting to catch their breath. Rose and Bob coordinated the movements, assigning studios based on needs and familiarity.

  Leyla had explained that Kaynak was not the original name, that this place had once been a seaside resort, abandoned long before the Wave. And that, here, there had never been a single human corpse.

  Once everyone was settled, a gathering was held at the edge of the hamlet. Rose, in a firm voice, ensured everyone was accounted for. The Survivors were all there, restless but silent. They began their ascent along the winding path leading to the Source.

  Jennel took Alan’s hand and squeezed it gently.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the trail ahead.

  Alan, surprised, gave her a concerned look.

  She slowed her steps, her apprehension becoming palpable. “This barren hill, this path…” she added, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion.

  Then, he understood. Jennel’s second dream, that haunted her, might be here. In that dream, a man left her, a painful farewell.

  Alan tried to reassure her: “It’s over, Jennel. This is the final step. The Beacon is right there. Look, we’re almost there."

  She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, and kept moving forward, though her fingers remained tightly clenched around Alan’s.

  At the summit, the view stretched beyond the sea. A large crowd had gathered. Some standing motionless, facing the ocean, others murmuring prayers or chanting incantations. A bearded man, arms raised, spoke aloud as if trying to reach the heavens. They all seemed focused on an invisible object.

  Jennel and Alan’s group approached, intrigued. At the center of this commotion stood a large, marble-like plaque resting on a pedestal of the same material. People took turns stepping forward, placing their hands on the smooth surface, only to walk away disappointed. The murmurs whispered of the Source’s mystery:

  “Is this it? Just a plaque?”

  A guard, armed and wearing a yellow armband labeled “Security,” ensured that visitors did not linger.

  “Move quickly, single file. There are others behind you.” His authoritative voice left no room for discussion.

  Alan, perplexed, climbed higher to observe the scene. Nothing was clear. What were they supposed to do? What could he tell the group?

  Meanwhile, Jennel let go of his hand and, following Johnny, stepped toward the pedestal. Johnny placed his hands on the plaque but only grimaced. “Nothing,” he said, turning to the others, looking frustrated.

  Jennel stepped forward and placed her hands on the cold surface. A subtle vibration rippled through her fingers, making her shudder. “There’s something!” she insisted, but the others, including Johnny, shook their heads. They felt nothing.

  “Alan, come here!” she shouted, her voice urgent. Alan, snapped from his thoughts, quickly descended toward her. He cut the line, drawing a few protests, and placed his hands opposite Jennel’s.

  A burst of light erupted from the pedestal, illuminating the stunned faces of the crowd. Alan, shocked, lifted his hands, and the light vanished instantly.

  “Do it again, love,” Jennel murmured slowly.

  Alan complied, and this time, an amber glow spread across the plaque. He stood frozen, watching as intricate symbols and patterns emerged on the surface, their complexity mesmerizing. The crowd stood still, watching in silence. Prayers and incantations ceased. Jennel, trembling with awe, stared at the phenomenon.

  Suddenly, a voice rose above the hushed whispers:

  “He is the Chosen One!”

  The cry jolted Alan from his daze. Jennel and the others snapped back to reality at the exclamation.

  Johnny, ever quick with humor, quipped, “Well, Boss, that’s quite a trick!”

  Alan, however, had no time to enjoy the situation. He thought quickly, then withdrew his hands from the pedestal, instantly extinguishing the object. The crowd shifted with disappointed murmurs of confusion. He raised his voice:

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “It will be lit again later.”

  Turning to his companions, he added quickly, “We need to leave. Now.”

  He grabbed Jennel’s hand and hurried toward the path. The crowd, driven by curiosity and an almost instinctive need to touch him, began closing in. Their progress became difficult and almost impossible.

  Alan shouted to the nearest guard, “Major security issue! Fire a warning shot to disperse the crowd, call for reinforcements, and alert Imre!”

  The guard hesitated, clearly unaccustomed to such direct orders. Alan’s tone hardened:

  “Execute the order, soldier!”

  Under pressure, the guard obeyed and fired into the air. A brief retreat in the crowd allowed Alan and Jennel to break free. Along with the other Survivors and the guard, they rushed down the path.

  The descent was chaotic. They passed stunned onlookers who stepped aside as they fled. At the bottom, two more guards ran toward them.

  Alan called up to the guard from above: “Try to stop the crowd. And above all, inform Imre of what happened!”

  The entire group sprinted into the valley, their hurried footsteps kicking up dust.

  Imre paced back and forth inside Alan and Jennel’s studio. His face betrayed a barely contained agitation.

  “I’ve reinforced security around the Source and blocked access to the hamlet.”

  Jennel nodded. “Thank you for your help, Imre.”

  Imre stopped and fixed Alan with a stare. “Do you understand what just happened?”

  Alan shrugged. “I was just a switch.”

  Imre shook his head, skeptical. “No, I don’t think so. Over twenty Seekers have come here before, and nothing happened. So, what makes you different?”

  Alan smirked wryly. “Probably because I’m the Chosen One.”

  Imre ignored the sarcasm and pressed on. “We need to work together…”

  Alan cut him off. “We’re all exhausted. We need a quick meal and some rest. Tomorrow morning, we’ll need a large sheet, a pencil, and a skilled artist to record whatever the Source reveals. Until then, we must process what we felt.”

  Imre nodded. “Understood. I’ll have supplies sent to anyone who needs them. I’ll meet you in the morning.”

  He walked to the door, casting one last look at the two companions before leaving.

  Alan and Jennel stared at each other. Silence stretched between them as they searched for words.

  “I’m not some kind of Chosen One,” Alan suddenly said.

  Jennel raised an amused eyebrow. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never dated a Chosen One.”

  They shared a knowing smile. Jennel continued, more seriously, “But you did something no one else has. There must be an explanation.”

  Alan nodded, deep in thought. “The vibrations. Only you felt them.”

  Jennel crossed her arms, pensive. “Does that make me a Chosen One too?”

  Alan smiled. “You’ve always been my Chosen One.”

  They exchanged a tender kiss before Jennel walked over to the window. Outside, the Survivors were engaged in animated discussions. Voices rose, filled with ignorance, doubt, but also hope.

  “Get some rest,” she said, casting one last glance at Alan. “I’m going to see what’s happening.”

  She stepped outside and was immediately struck by the palpable tension. Voices were agitated, sometimes rising in heated debate. Jennel found a low wall and sat on it, observing the chaotic discussions.

  Suddenly, Rose’s voice rang out over the noise:

  “Jennel has something to say!”

  Everyone fell silent and turned toward her. Jennel waited a moment, then said with a smile:

  “I just tucked my Chosen One into bed, so I’ll take this chance to say a few words.”

  A few chuckles rippled through the crowd, slightly easing the tension.

  “We all need to process what just happened. Alan, especially. But we also desperately need rest. The people here will bring food for those who need it. After that, I ask you all to relax and try to sleep. I’m asking this from friends who have traveled a long way with me, friends who have been my constant support. Thank you.”

  A murmur of gratitude spread through the assembly. A few whispered words of encouragement were exchanged before the group slowly dispersed. Though many cast lingering glances at her before leaving.

  The sky was still a dazzling blue, but the rising heat marked the beginning of summer with an oppressive omen. On the hill, the aridity became more palpable each day. The earth, cracked and hardened, no longer retained any moisture, and the sparse bushes suffered under the relentless sun. Below, the river winding through the valley was slowly losing its flow, stirring growing concern among the Survivors. It was their only water source, and its slow demise seemed to mirror that of the entire landscape.

  Alan stood before the Source, under tight escort. Beside him, Jennel, concerned and torn between emotions, feared an unexpected event that could upend their quest or a change too abrupt for the group to handle. A deeper fear haunted her: the fear of losing Alan in this mysterious and unknown process. Yet, despite her apprehensions, a strong curiosity gleamed in her eyes, mingled with a determination to understand and move forward.

  Bob, Rose, Maria-Luisa, Johnny, and a few others from the group were also present. Imre stood nearby, accompanied by a small man carrying a large sheet of crumpled paper, which he was carefully smoothing out.

  Alan took a deep breath before placing his hand on the plaque. That was enough and the same phenomenon as the day before occurred. The markings reappeared on the smooth surface, emitting a mysterious glow.

  The small man quickly stepped forward, eyes shining with wonder. He bent over the plaque, visibly impressed, and began copying the symbols onto the paper. The others circled the scene in silence, as if afraid to break the spell. Imre remained impassive, watching attentively, while Maria-Luisa never took her eyes off Alan.

  Jennel, however, studied the plaque with fascination.

  She placed her hands on its surface.

  "The vibration is still there," she murmured. Rose mimicked her but shook her head, indicating she felt nothing.

  Jennel then examined the pillar supporting the plaque. "That's strange. It looks like there's a circular mark."

  She gently traced the mark with her fingers, and suddenly, a small cylinder slowly emerged from the base. She hesitated for a second before taking it and showing it to everyone.

  "This is what's emitting the vibration," she said, bringing the cylinder close to her ear.

  "Maybe we should put it back," Bob suggested.

  Jennel shook her head. "I don't think so. It’s like it wanted us to find it."

  "Wanted you to find it," Rose corrected with a smile.

  Alan remained silent. He appeared to be listening, but his mind seemed elsewhere. This lasted for several minutes until the transcription was complete. The small man, satisfied with his work, gathered his materials.

  The team left the site, now closed to visitors. The Source, for now, remained a mystery.

  The journey back to the hamlet was marked by the varied reactions of the Survivors they passed. Some were curious, eyes wide with intrigue, while others seemed worried or awed by what they had heard. A few were even exhilarated, whispering excitedly among themselves. But there were also distant gazes, some filled with suspicion. Some tried to approach, seemingly drawn by an irresistible need to touch Alan or Jennel.

  Imre’s men maintained a firm stance, gently but resolutely keeping them at bay. Jennel absentmindedly played with the cylinder between her fingers, rolling it in her palm. Alan, on the other hand, remained silent, his gaze lost in the distance.

  "My discovery doesn’t seem to interest you," Jennel remarked, a slight edge to her tone.

  Alan snapped out of his thoughts.

  "Of course, let me see," he replied.

  Jennel eyed him warily before handing over the cylinder. Alan took it and turned it between his fingers.

  "You're right. It's very faint, but it vibrates," he admitted.

  Jennel beamed, pleased to prove she wasn’t imagining things. "And one end is orange," Alan added, inspecting it closely.

  "Yes, that was the outer face," Jennel confirmed.

  Farther down the path, Maria-Luisa discreetly pulled Jennel aside.

  "Did you notice Alan’s behavior earlier?" she asked, intrigued.

  Jennel shook her head. "No, why?"

  Maria-Luisa lowered her voice.

  "He was murmuring something. His lips were moving, but there was no sound."

  Jennel frowned, thanking Maria-Luisa for the information. But a growing concern took hold of her. She watched Alan from a distance, searching for signs of what she had missed.

  When they finally returned to the hamlet, Alan seemed more present, but Jennel couldn’t shake Maria-Luisa’s words from her mind.

  A meeting was held in the shade, with the Survivors spreading out in a loose circle. The sketch was laid before them; the cryptic drawings carefully transcribed earlier by the fascinated small man.

  Everyone stared at the image with confusion, exchanging puzzled glances and furrowed brows.

  Alan, still quiet, eventually sighed and stated,

  "It's a schematic vision of a path."

  Shock rippled through the group. Johnny, skeptical, was the first to speak.

  "You think so?"

  Alan slowly nodded. "I was told so."

  Jennel turned to him, intrigued. "By whom?" she asked.

  Alan took a moment before responding, avoiding her gaze. "The voice I hear when I connect to the Source. Though it’s not really a voice…"

  Jennel pressed gently. "And what does it say?"

  Alan, after a prolonged silence, finally answered,

  "Follow the path alone. Come to me, for I cannot come to you."

  Silence fell, heavy and thoughtful, as everyone absorbed Alan’s words and their potential meaning.

  In the dimly lit room, Jennel sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on her knees, staring at the floor. Alan, seated on a rickety chair, looked worn down, exhaustion etched into his features.

  "You can’t start all over alone, repeating everything we’ve been through," Jennel began, her voice trembling slightly.

  "There’s no Beacon to follow this time. And playing apocalypse scout… it’s enough."

  Alan gazed at her, his face unreadable.

  "Jennel, everything we’ve done can’t just stop here. Do you want us to simply wait for death in this valley?"

  She lifted her eyes to him, anger flickering in them.

  "There might be ways to survive for a while. But throwing yourself into this insane quest? No. Do you think I could live with that?"

  Alan’s voice was steady, grave.

  "And I couldn’t bear to see you die, knowing I could have acted."

  Jennel stood abruptly, emotion overwhelming her.

  "You can’t go alone! If you leave, I’m coming with you. Or we go with an escort from Imre."

  Alan shook his head, his tone calm but firm.

  "You know that’s impossible. This mission must be done alone. If I break that rule, everything could fail."

  Jennel clenched her fists, her anger giving way to profound despair. "It’s not fair…" she whispered.

  Alan stood and approached her gently.

  "Jennel… all the roads we’ve traveled together had a purpose. To find an answer. To save what can still be saved. But that goal isn’t reached yet."

  She lifted her tear-filled eyes to his. "Why you?"

  He gave a sad smile.

  "Because I have a strange fate, too. And you… so do you. In truth, it’s not just my destiny or yours. It’s ours, Jennel. The destiny of Jennel and Alan."

  The small group followed the winding path climbing the hill behind the hamlet. Alan held a pale Jennel by the hand. Gathered for this memorable moment were all the Survivors, Imre, and the members of Kaynak’s Council.

  The Source had ceased to be a meaningful objective or a place of pilgrimage. Access was open, but few still visited it.

  Imre had combed the valley to find geographers and cartographers; he had managed to bring back three.

  The once-impenetrable drawings were no longer as difficult to decipher now that they were recognized as a map. The stylized landmarks had lost their mystery, and a single straight line pointed eastward. Without further indication.

  Alan carried with him the small cylinder that Jennel had found, just in case. The group finally came to a stop. The farewells began, one by one, each expressing their support and emotion.

  Then it was Jennel’s turn. She stepped forward, tears brimming in her eyes, and Alan held her in his arms for a long moment.

  "I love you," she said simply.

  Alan ran his fingers over the small gold pendant she had given him for New Year’s, which contained a tiny lock of her hair.

  "I’m taking a little piece of you with me for luck. I will come back, my love. Never doubt that."

  He pulled away from her embrace and hurried up the path, trying to hide the tears filling his eyes. His steps were quick as he climbed, his heart heavy.

  Halfway up, he turned back, searching for Jennel’s gaze. He gave her a small nod and thought: "Yes, the second dream is fulfilled."