JENNEL 277.

  It's January 1st of I-don’t-know-what-year. I realize I’ve missed two days. I’m becoming less and less consistent. Regaining that might be a good resolution for this new year.

  I started this deeply personal journal as a way to anchor myself in reality. We all struggle with this. This incomprehensible world arrived too abruptly, like a nightmare we can’t wake up from.

  To be honest, for me, it feels more like a dream I absolutely don’t want to wake up from.

  I am terribly selfish. We both are.

  The last night of the year was amazing. I hit a few wrong notes in my songs, but no one noticed.

  Alan gave me a beautiful sweater, which I immediately put on this morning. And I gave him the pendant. We were both very moved.

  I dared to wear the embroidered panties. Definitely effective.

  Alan pretends not to notice me writing in this journal, but he understands everything.

  I am happy when I probably shouldn’t be.

  February

  Winter had grown harsher over the weeks. The relentless snowfall and freezing temperatures made daily life increasingly difficult. Food was running scarce, firewood for the chimneys was depleting rapidly, and it became clear that staying in the hotel much longer was untenable. Leaving at the first sign of warmer temperatures, carefully selecting sheltered stops along the way, seemed to be the only viable option.

  A meeting was held in the hotel’s hall to decide their next move. Detailed maps of Eastern Europe, found during an expedition to Maribor, were spread out across a table. Michel spoke first, his expression serious.

  “With the first sightline drawn in Avignon and the second one obtained here, we now have a potential location for the Beacon,” he said, placing his finger on a section of the map. “It’s in Turkey.”

  An immediate murmur of concern filled the hall.

  “That far?” a voice exclaimed. “We’ll never make it!”

  “Why don’t we find a safe place and settle down? We could stockpile supplies and wait for things to get better.”

  “Wait for what?” someone else countered. “There’s nothing to wait for!”

  Some no longer wanted to keep moving, while others were demoralized by the remaining distance. Michel raised his hands to restore order.

  “Please! Everyone will have their say. Your opinion matters. But let’s hear each other out first.”

  A sharp voice cut through the brief silence:

  “What do you think, Alan?” It was Rose, her gaze locked on Alan with determination.

  Alan, who had remained silent until now, slowly rose to his feet. A cold smile curved his lips.

  “Of course, no one is forced to keep fighting,” he said, his voice calm but sharp.

  “Many survivors will simply wait for death on this empty planet, until supplies run out. Most will likely kill each other long before that. You’re free to follow their example. But not me. And not those who, like me, choose to fight until the very last spark of hope.”

  “We’ve come a long way, and we take pride in having walked this path together. There’s still a journey ahead. And at the end, we may find answers to our questions. Perhaps even a chance at survival.”

  A deafening silence followed his speech. Alan sat back down, crossing his arms.

  “If you want to stay and build snowmen, fine by me,” Rose added with a smirk.

  “Well, Chief!” Johnny called out from the back of the room.

  Gradually, people started finding their own reasons to keep going. Alan’s words, strengthened by Rose’s determination and Michel’s silent approval, resonated deeply with the survivors. Despite their doubts, each one asked themselves whether they could truly abandon this journey.

  Alan left the hall, his face tense with contained emotion. Jennel followed him in silence. Once outside, the biting cold stung their skin, a stark contrast to the heated discussion inside.

  “What did Johnny mean by ‘Chief’?” Alan asked, stopping to face her.

  Jennel looked at him seriously, searching his eyes. “It’s the nickname they use for you behind your back.”

  Alan raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Chief?”

  “Yes, Chief. Because, whether you like it or not, they follow you.” Jennel placed a gentle hand on his arm, a soft smile lighting up her face. “And you’d better get used to it.”

  Alan stood in silence for a moment, gazing into the snowy darkness. Then, with a mix of resignation and pride, he nodded. “Alright, then. Chief, huh?” he murmured with a half-smile before they resumed their walk toward the chalet.

  April

  JENNEL 365.

  So, it’s been a year since I started this journal (actually, this is my second one). I think I’ll stop counting the days. Maybe because I can’t keep up with it, or because I no longer feel the need? I’ll write whenever I feel like it.

  Starting with today.

  We’re struggling to find food because the unspoken rule is to avoid towns and cities. Everyone sees the problem, but no one does anything about it. Except me.

  I made a suggestion in Alan’s style, meaning I proposed it as if it were already decided. That’s his trick, and it works on me too.

  So, we’re forming lightweight, fast-moving teams to make detours into the towns we pass. Alan can ensure their safety without a problem. And Bob will plan quick access routes if the scouting team finds a worthwhile source.

  I don’t feel particularly brilliant for this idea. And I’m not sure if people are convinced by me or if I’m just ‘the Chief’s girlfriend.’ Let’s stick with the first explanation.

  Alan told me I should do this more often. More than just encouragement, I take it as recognition of my abilities.

  The Horezu Monastery rose majestically in the heart of the lush Balkan hills, its pristine walls glowing under the spring sun. The group wandered slowly around and within this place of peace and spirituality, admiring the ancient frescoes and delicate sculptures adorning the buildings. Jennel, fascinated, ran her fingers along the stone, as if trying to grasp a fragment of the history that still seemed to vibrate in the air. Maria Luisa, laughing, joked about how the monks must have survived in such isolation, while Alan, silent, observed the surroundings with his ever-present vigilance.

  When the group resumed their journey, they followed a route mapped out by Bob’s team. The map was lacking in detail, making their progress somewhat uncertain, yet the atmosphere remained surprisingly relaxed. At midday, they took a break by a crystal-clear stream. The sun bathed the valley, and the gentle murmur of water added a soothing touch to the landscape.

  However, Alan remained on high alert. As he scanned the area, he detected an unusual presence. Three Specters were following them at a safe distance. Then, he noticed another group of four on their left. A chill ran down his spine.

  “We’re being followed,” he announced in a low but firm voice. “Three behind us and four on the left. That’s a lot.”

  The group froze at his words. The surprise was evident on their faces. Jennel murmured,

  “Seven? That’s... unexpected.”

  Maria Luisa, her expression darkening suddenly, grabbed her automatic rifle.

  “Bob,” Alan said, “we need to change the route. We can’t keep going this way.”

  Bob nodded and quickly mapped out a new path, leading the group away from their pursuers. After hours of cautious walking, the tension seemed to ease.

  As night fell, they set up camp discreetly, avoiding a fire to remain unseen. Alan, unable to sleep, spent hours keeping watch with his ability. The others slept in shifts, their breaths laden with unease.

  By morning, they resumed their journey, but the worry lingered. They knew their path was predictable, and the Specters remained in their minds.

  The group advanced through a wooded valley, the rustling leaves filling the spring air. The atmosphere was almost peaceful, yet Alan couldn't ignore the tension gnawing at him.

  Still on edge, he suddenly sensed a wave of dark intentions: greed, growing hostility. He halted abruptly and scanned the surroundings.

  “What is it?” Jennel asked, her voice tinged with concern.

  “Specters. Many. More than we’ve seen before. Bandits. And they’re closing in,” Alan said, his voice low but resolute. “A fight is inevitable.”

  Maria Luisa, walking slightly ahead, paused and calmly set her pack down. In one fluid motion, she unshouldered her automatic rifle and checked the scope. Her once-relaxed demeanor vanished, replaced by cold determination. The usual playfulness in her eyes had transformed into something almost unsettling.

  Jennel watched the shift in Maria Luisa with a mix of fascination and concern. She leaned closer to Alan and murmured,

  “This woman… she’s not what she seems. Something about her unsettles me.”

  Alan nodded, his gaze locked on the forest.

  “Now’s not the time for questions. But you’re right. She… changes. And for now, that’s to our advantage.”

  They pushed forward another few hundred meters, but the tension escalated quickly. The Specters grew clearer, and Alan sensed their greed turning into murderous intent. When Maria Luisa suddenly stopped and raised a fist in warning, the group knew it was time to prepare.

  To Alan’s left, Maria Luisa silently fixated on a rocky ridge several hundred meters away, where a brief glint revealed the presence of a scout.

  “They’re here,” she murmured, adjusting her rifle. “Three positions on the ridge, likely more in the ravine.”

  Alan nodded.

  “How long before they advance?”

  Maria Luisa shrugged. “Not long. They know we’re here, but they’re waiting. Probably to surround us.”

  Alan visualized the dispersed intentions of the bandits—a mixture of greed, anxiety, and ruthless hostility.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “They’re moving,” he announced. “We have ten minutes at most before they hit us full force.”

  Michel, crouched behind a ledge below, signaled to them.

  “Do we hold them here?”

  “No choice,” Alan replied. “We stop them on this slope. If we position ourselves well, they won’t have the height advantage.”

  Maria Luisa grinned.

  “Perfect. The closer they are, the harder it is for them to run.”

  They quickly spread out, each armed member taking cover behind rocks and tree trunks. Maria Luisa climbed onto a ledge, adjusting her scope to cover the left flank. Alan positioned himself higher up to monitor the center.

  The first shot rang out, a sharp crack in the crisp air. Maria Luisa had fired, taking down the scout with a single precise shot.

  “One down,” she murmured, reloading smoothly.

  The bandits reacted instantly. Shouts echoed through the valley, followed by a barrage of gunfire. Bullets ricocheted off the rocks, sending shards flying. Alan steadied his aim and fired, hitting an enemy trying to flank them.

  “Take cover!” he shouted to the group. “Michel, watch our rear!”

  Chaos erupted. The bandits charged down the slope, covering their advance with relentless gunfire. Alan steadied his breath, focusing on a man wielding an improvised grenade launcher. He fired, and the man crumpled to the ground.

  Beside him, Maria Luisa was a picture of deadly efficiency. Every shot from her rifle found its mark, her movements eerily precise. Alan, already impressed by her discipline, couldn’t help but notice the clinical detachment in her actions. There was something almost inhuman about her composure.

  “They’re flanking us!” she warned. “Three on the left, two on the right!”

  Alan nodded and targeted the right side, his shots taking down two more before they could advance further. But just as they seemed to gain the upper hand, a piercing cry shattered the air.

  Michel, stationed lower down, had been hit. He collapsed, his rifle slipping from his hands, blood staining the grass.

  “Michel!” Jennel screamed, rushing toward him without hesitation.

  Alan felt a wave of despair but forced himself to focus, shooting down a bandit aiming at Jennel.

  “Maria, cover her!”

  Maria Luisa responded with a rapid burst, neutralizing the remaining assailants on the left. Jennel reached Michel, but it was too late. He had been shot through the heart.

  “No…” she murmured, cradling his lifeless body.

  The fight ended abruptly. The remaining bandits, realizing their numbers had dwindled, fled into the forest’s shadows. Alan and Maria descended to Jennel. The ground was streaked with red, and the only sound was Jennel’s muffled sobs.

  “We lost him,” she whispered, voice breaking.

  Alan placed a firm yet comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “He saved us. We won’t forget him.”

  Maria Luisa, her voice cold, stated,

  “But we must move on. Otherwise, he died for nothing.”

  A solemn procession formed. Michel’s body, wrapped in a clean but worn blanket, was carried to a clearing at the forest’s edge. Faces were set with grief, words murmured in prayer or quiet farewells.

  Alan spoke, his voice unsteady.

  “Michel was more than a companion. He was a pillar, a friend, a brother to us all. Today, we honor him by continuing the path he gave his life for. Rest in peace, Michel.”

  The group dug a simple yet dignified grave. A makeshift cross was planted, marking his final resting place. Each person placed a flower, a stone, or a personal token in tribute.

  After the burial, they moved on. Faces were hardened by grief but steeled with determination. No one spoke, each lost in thought.

  The bandits remained at a distance. Their presence, though distant, hung over them like a lingering threat. As night fell, they returned to the battlefield to retrieve their dead and wounded before vanishing into the darkness.

  The group found a relatively safe place to set up camp. A fire flickered, casting light on weary faces. Alan took the first watch. Sleep was elusive for all.

  At dawn, the first rays of sunlight melted the shadows. Alan, exhausted yet relieved, watched his companions stir. For the first time in days, there were no signs of the bandits.

  A breath of hope stirred through the group. Perhaps they had finally earned a respite.

  As they marched on, Jennel drew close and murmured,

  “Last night, I spoke with Maria Luisa.”

  Alan raised an eyebrow, surprised. The tension between the two was well known.

  “Tell me,” he said, intrigued.

  JENNEL

  I see myself, hesitant, standing before Maria-Luisa’s tent. After a moment, I ask for permission to enter. Her cold voice invites me in, but her welcome is as distant as I feared.

  I apologize for my past behavior, admitting that I haven’t always been friendly toward her. Maria studies me for a long moment before calmly stating:

  “We have something in common, you and I.”

  She pauses, and I understand that she is speaking of Alan, without naming him.

  “We both love him,” she adds.

  Her bluntness unsettles me. She continues, almost gently:

  “I don’t blame you for getting there first. It’s better this way.”

  I remain silent for a moment before addressing what has been on my mind: her behavior during the battle.

  “I wanted to ask you something. Why were you so… different back there?”

  She narrows her eyes. “Is that question from you, or from Alan?”

  “From me,” I answer honestly.

  Maria looks away and sighs. “I just used my training. I’m skilled, that’s all.”

  But I’m not convinced.

  “You seemed… detached.”

  She takes a deep breath and, after a long silence, begins to speak.

  “A few months ago, I met another survivor, Alexia. She meant a lot to me.”

  I understand from the look in her eyes that Maria had loved her.

  She continues, “One day, we ran into a man who seemed friendly. He was a raider. When Alexia tried to defend herself, he stabbed her. He took her bag and ran, leaving me alone with her. I had no weapon. I watched Alexia die right in front of me.”

  Her voice trembles slightly. “Today, I thought I could avenge her, but… it’s not that simple.”

  A heavy silence settles between us. I don’t know what to say. Finally, I murmur, “I’m sorry, Maria.”

  She nods, her eyes glistening with restrained sorrow. And for the first time, it feels like a fragile bridge is beginning to form between us.

  May

  The Bosphorus Bridge stretched out before them, an engineering marvel linking two continents. The group of Survivors, led by Alan and Jennel, approached the imposing structure under a clearing sky, where a few clouds still drifted after a gray morning. The shimmering waters of the Bosphorus below reflected the sunlight, adding an almost supernatural dimension to the landscape.

  “It’s strange to think that we’re changing continents just by crossing this bridge,” Jennel said, her gaze fixed on the massive towers supporting the steel cables.

  Alan nodded slowly, his dark eyes scanning the distance.

  “Yes. But look closely… the chaos, the wreckage. The Wave passed through here just like everywhere else.”

  The group advanced cautiously along the wide roadway, their footsteps echoing against the metal as they progressed. The cars, immobilized in a macabre chaos, told the story of a brutal end: chain collisions, charred husks from fires, and vehicles that had crashed through the barrier, plunging into the waters below. In some places, shattered glass and twisted metal gleamed under the sunlight.

  “It’s as if everything was frozen in time,” murmured Rose, her eyes locked on an overturned car with a burned-out engine.

  “That’s exactly what happened,” Alan replied in a low voice. “They died instantly, without understanding what was happening.”

  The wind coming from the strait brought a welcome coolness, though its force occasionally forced the group to proceed with caution. Alan suddenly stopped, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the horizon.

  “Specters?” Jennel asked, concerned.

  Alan nodded, his gaze fixed on a distant point.

  “Yes. Not too close, but they’re there. They seem to be… watching.”

  Jennel placed a hand on his arm. “We should cross quickly.”

  Reaching the middle of the bridge, Jennel leaned against the railing, gazing down at the murky waters below. The minarets of Istanbul, a ghostly silhouette in the distance, seemed to watch over their passage.

  “It’s breathtaking,” she whispered, her eyes shining with emotion. “But so empty…”

  Alan stood beside her, taking in the view. “Yes. It’s a beauty we appreciate differently now.”

  The group took a brief pause to drink water and reassess their progress. The air carried a salty scent mixed with rusted metal and ancient ashes. Rose approached Alan, holding a crumpled map.

  “If we keep this pace, we should reach our next stop before nightfall. But these Specters…” She glanced over her shoulder. “We can’t ignore them.”

  Alan nodded. “They’re far for now. But you’re right, we should stay cautious. This bridge might attract less friendly Survivors.”

  Once they crossed the bridge, the group stopped at the entrance of a park, deciding to take a short break before continuing. Jennel sat on a half-collapsed bench, watching the waters stretch behind them. Then, the group set off again, leaving behind the bridge and its horizon, a meeting point between two worlds.

  The group advanced slowly along the small roads of Turkey. The winding path, bordered by arid landscapes, seemed to bend to their will while imposing its own rhythm. At each turn, the Beacon appeared on the horizon. Sometimes to their right, sometimes to their left, gliding along in echo to their direction of travel.

  The number of Specters was also increasing, though there was little direct contact with the Survivors. Some observed them with silent curiosity, while others passed by indifferently. Nevertheless, the presence of those ghostly halos urged caution.

  At last, the road straightened, pointing directly toward their destination. Ahead of them, a group of Specters stood distinctly apart from the path— a mixture of duty and necessity: a dozen individuals, motionless, just off the road. Alan halted, raising a hand to signal the group to stop. He took a deep breath, then stepped forward alone, his eyes fixed on the man at the center, who appeared to be in command.

  This man, tall and imposing, advanced toward him in turn. Unlike the others, he carried no weapon, but those surrounding him were heavily armed, a yellow armband marking their function.

  “Welcome,” he said in a firm but composed voice. “My name is Imre, and I am in charge of security in Kaynak.”

  Alan nodded. “My name is Alan. Most of us come from France, and we have followed the light. The Beacon.”

  Imre studied Alan for a moment, as if evaluating his words. “Who follows the light?” he asked.

  Alan answered without hesitation: “I do.”

  A silence followed. Imre seemed satisfied. “Then you have arrived. Kaynak is before you. The Source is before your people.”

  Murmurs rippled through the group. A wave of relief and excitement spread among the Survivors. But Imre remained still. He turned to a tall, dark-haired woman standing beside him.

  “What do you think, Yael?” he asked.

  Yael frowned, her sharp gaze lingering on Alan. “There’s a problem,” she said after a moment. “I don’t see him.” She gestured toward Alan with a curt motion.

  Jennel understood immediately and stepped forward. “You can’t see his intentions. At first, neither could I. But now, I can. Just as I can see yours.”

  Yael was intrigued. “And how do you do that?” she asked.

  Jennel smiled at Alan before leaning in to whisper a few words into Yael’s ear. Yael’s eyes widened in surprise. She studied Alan once more, her expression changed. Alan, guessing her thoughts, returned a reassuring smile.

  Imre broke the silence. “Well?” he asked.

  Yael slowly nodded. “It’s fine,” she said, still surprised.

  Jennel returned to Alan, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Alan murmured, “If I have to make a sacrifice…”

  Jennel shook her head with a smirk. “It only works with me.”

  Alan raised an eyebrow, amused. “That’s quite possible,” he thought.

  “Alright, you’ll need to hand over your firearms if you want to continue. No worries, they’ll be numbered, and you’ll get them back easily. My men and I handle security in Kaynak,” Imre said in a reassuring tone, scanning the group's faces.

  Jennel, maintaining a cautious stance, fixed him with a sharp look before asking, “What exactly is your role?”

  Imre gave a slight smile. “I’m the sheriff, so to speak. Appointed by Kaynak’s Council. Don’t worry, ma’am, I’m not the local dictator.” His answer, laced with humor, aimed to ease Jennel’s visible doubts.

  Alan took a deep breath, turning to the Survivors. “We need to cooperate if we want to move forward. I know it’s difficult, but we don’t have a choice.”

  Murmurs ran through the group. Some members showed clear reluctance. Elias, a pragmatic man, shook his head. “And if we never see them again? How do we know we can trust them?”

  Jennel stepped in. “They have a system. Look, they’re numbering the weapons so they can be returned easily. They have nothing to gain by deceiving us.”

  “I’d rather keep mine,” grumbled another Survivor. “You never know.”

  Alan raised his voice slightly, but without aggression. “And what if keeping your weapons put us all in danger? Do you want them to see us as a threat? We came here for peace, not war. You need to trust me.”

  However, Maria-Luisa remained motionless. “No. I’m not giving them anything.”

  Alan sighed and stepped closer to her.

  “Maria-Luisa, come. Let’s talk.” He led her aside, his gaze searching hers. “I understand. You’re afraid. But I promise you, they won’t betray us.”

  She shook her head, determined. “I can’t. I don’t know them.”

  In desperation, Alan gently placed his hands on her face, his eyes locking onto hers. “Help me. Do it for me.”

  Maria-Luisa wrestled with her emotions for a moment, then lowered her gaze. “Alright,” she murmured at last.

  Jennel, watching the scene from a distance, offered Alan a knowing smile.

  One by one, the Survivors handed over their weapons. Imre’s men numbered them and assigned each person a corresponding number. The process was orderly and professional, reassuring some.

  Once everything was in order, Imre smiled and declared, “You may proceed. We will be waiting for you below to provide shelter. You are fortunate. Seekers, like Alan, are privileged. Just like Seers.”