The jet's doors opened to Istanbul's pale morning light.
She stepped out first.
Curly brown hair spilled loosely over her shoulders, catching the breeze as if it belonged there. Her eyes—yellow, warm, almost honeyed—scanned the horizon with an alert calm that didn't match the softness of her face. Her skin was smooth, pale, unmarked by travel or fatigue, as though distance meant nothing to her.
Behind her came her brother.
Blonde hair, neatly kept. Bluish-green eyes that missed very little. He carried himself easily, confidently—handsome in a way that didn't ask for attention yet received it anyway. Early thirties, maybe a touch older. The kind of man people trusted without knowing why.
She paused at the top of the steps, shielding her eyes.
"Are you sure the address is correct?" she asked quietly.
Her brother glanced at the folded paper in his hand, then at his phone.
"He gave it to me himself," he replied. "Right before we left."
Her gaze sharpened. "And you trust him."
He smiled faintly. "I trust the urgency in his voice."
That earned a slow nod from her.
"Then Istanbul it is," she said.
They descended into the city—unnoticed, unrecognized and they were not expected.
Emrah arrived at the university just before noon.
The campus felt the same—familiar paths, familiar buildings—but something in him had shifted. It wasn't exhaustion this time. It was awareness. The kind that never truly turns off once it's been awakened.
As he entered the teachers' lounge, voices blended into background noise. Coffee machines hissed. Papers shuffled. Laughter came and went.
Then—
"Dr. Emrah!"
The voice was warm. Energetic.
Dr. Adem Yesari stood near the counter, a cup in his hand, smiling as if they were old friends reunited after years apart.
"How did your vacation go, Dr. Emrah?" Adem asked easily.
Emrah stopped for half a second too long.
"It was fine," he replied. "What about yours?"
Adem's smile widened. "Great. Truly refreshing."
"I'm glad," Emrah said.
They held each other's gaze.
Just long enough.
Something tightened in Emrah's chest—not fear, not suspicion alone, but a quiet discomfort that had no clear source. How did he know? Emrah hadn't told anyone at the university about Dubai. Not a single soul.
Before he could press the thought further, the bell rang. Classes were starting.
"Duty calls," Adem said cheerfully. "Good luck today."
"You too," Emrah replied.
They parted in opposite directions.
Neither looked back.
The classroom buzzed when Emrah entered.
Students straightened. Conversations died down. A few smiles appeared immediately.
He set his bag down calmly, surveying the room.
"You seem happy to see me," he said.
A hand shot up.
"Where have you been, doctor?" Şebnem asked, barely hiding her grin. "You disappeared."
"Family matters," Emrah replied. "But that doesn't mean I'd neglect my students."
A ripple of relieved laughter spread through the room.
"Now," he continued, turning toward the board, "let's begin today's lesson."
As he taught, he felt it again—that strange sense of parallel motion. As if while he spoke of theories and principles, other lives were aligning around him without his consent.
Elsewhere in the city, his family was already moving.
Fabric samples were laid out. Calls were being made. Venues discussed and discarded just as quickly.
Dubai had taken care of much—but not everything.
"There are still things only the bride and groom should choose," Melike said gently, checking a list. "And a place large enough for both families… that won't be easy."
"It has to be neutral," Cengiz added. "No territory. No old pride."
"And it has to be secure," someone else muttered.
Names were exchanged. Locations suggested. Arguments sparked, then softened.
The wedding was no longer a future event.
It was becoming real.
And real things attracted attention.
Back in the classroom, Emrah paused mid-sentence.
Just for a heartbeat.
A flicker of something—unease, intuition, warning—passed through him.
He continued teaching as if nothing had happened.
But somewhere deep inside, a quiet truth settled:
Too many threads were moving at once.
And none of them were coincidental.
Emrah stepped into the university parking lot as the afternoon sun dipped lower, casting long shadows between the rows of cars. The campus noise faded behind him—voices, laughter, the ordinary rhythm of life continuing unbothered.
I have to see Kerem, he thought. Now.
He unlocked his car and slid into the driver's seat, hands resting on the wheel—but his mind was already elsewhere.
"System," he said quietly, keeping his voice low even though no one was near. "Can I use teleportation as a Stratum Nine master?"
There was no delay in the response.
[Negative.]
[Teleportation is unavailable at your current stratum.]
[Accessible abilities: Future Vision. Precognition.]
Emrah exhaled through his nose. "Figures."
He paused, then asked, "What about the pocket domain?"
This time, the answer came with certainty.
[Pocket Domain access is unrestricted.]
[Available to system users at all stratums.]
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"That's enough."
The world folded.
Reality peeled away without sensation—no wind, no light, no movement—just absence. Then, suddenly, he was standing on solid ground beneath an endless dark sky.
His pocket domain.
Silent. Vast. Still.
And waiting for him at the center, like a loyal beast at rest, was the Infinity Car.
Its surface shimmered faintly, reacting to his presence. As Emrah approached, the car's structure shifted seamlessly—panels flowing, metal rearranging itself with elegant precision.
In seconds, it had become exactly what he needed.
A black Chevrolet Camaro, sleek and aggressive, silver racing stripes cutting clean lines down its body. Familiar. Inconspicuous.
Perfect.
The door opened on its own.
"Still showing off," Emrah muttered, stepping inside.
The engine purred—not loudly, not artificially—but with something close to recognition.
He exited the pocket domain.
The Camaro appeared in the parking lot as if it had always been there.
Emrah pulled out, merging into traffic, his thoughts already sharpening as the city unfolded before him.
Dr. Kerem Yalçın's laboratory sat tucked between older buildings—quiet, unremarkable, intentionally forgettable. The kind of place no one looked at twice.
Kerem himself opened the door before Emrah even knocked.
"You're late," Kerem said—then smiled. "Which tells me you came the fastest way you could."
Emrah stepped inside. "You said it was ready."
Kerem's eyes lit up. "More than ready."
The lab smelled faintly of cocoa and sterilized metal—an odd combination that shouldn't have worked, yet somehow did. On the central table sat several sealed containers, each holding small, precisely shaped pieces of chocolate.
Kerem gestured proudly. "I've already made a batch. Stable. Consistent. You can take them all."
Emrah stared at them for a long moment.
Then Kerem spoke again, more carefully this time.
"Oh—and Emrah," he added, folding his arms. "I think I finally understand why you were so obsessed with replicating this."
Emrah looked up.
"This isn't just… anything," Kerem continued. "It enhances human biology. Dramatically. Cellular reinforcement, neural responsiveness, regenerative potential—this is far beyond any enhancement drug."
Emrah nodded slowly. "At first, I wasn't sure either. When I gave you the last piece, it was mostly instinct."
"And now?"
"Now I know," Emrah said. "It's a super-serum. But not a uniform one. It grants different abilities depending on the person."
Kerem let out a breathless laugh. "That's insane. I thought it was just… well, a miracle compound."
"It is," Emrah replied quietly. "Just not a harmless one."
He picked up one of the chocolates, turned it between his fingers.
Then he held it out.
"I want you to have one."
Kerem froze. "Emrah—"
"Take it," Emrah said firmly. "The effects are permanent. You should know that."
Kerem searched his face. "Why?"
"Because the world is changing," Emrah said. "And I can't be everywhere. At least this way… my mind is at ease knowing my friend can protect himself."
Silence settled between them.
Finally, Kerem sighed. "You always were bad at asking."
He took the chocolate, studied it once more, then shrugged.
"Alright. If you insist."
Without ceremony, he ate it.
For a second—nothing happened.
Then Kerem blinked.
Once. Twice.
"…Huh," he murmured.
"What do you feel?" Emrah asked.
Kerem placed a hand on his chest, then laughed softly—uncertain, astonished.
"Clarity," he said. "Like my thoughts just… lined up. My body feels lighter. Stronger."
He looked at Emrah, eyes wide now.
"What did you get yourself into?"
Emrah didn't answer.
By the time Emrah arrived at the mansion, night had fully settled over the city. The gates closed behind his car with a heavy clang, and the lights along the driveway washed the stone walls in warm gold.
As soon as he opened the door—
"EMRAH!"
Something collided with his chest.
He staggered half a step before recognizing the familiar laugh, the familiar scent.
"Sofia?" he said, stunned.
Her arms were already around his neck, her curly brown hair brushing his jaw as she hugged him tightly. "You look like you forgot we existed."
Before he could respond, a calm voice followed, edged with quiet amusement.
"Still slow on your reflexes."
Emrah looked up.
James Dawson stood just beyond the doorway, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but eyes alert. Blonde hair, sharp features, and that same unreadable expression he'd worn back in Oxford whenever he was processing more than he let on.
James stepped forward and extended his hand.
Emrah met it without hesitation.
Their fingers locked, twisted, and snapped into place—an old handshake born of sleepless nights, shared lectures, and reckless ambition. It ended with a brief pull-in and a solid pat on the shoulder.
"Thought you'd forgotten us," James said.
Emrah exhaled, a genuine smile breaking through his exhaustion. "Never."
Sofia finally released him, stepping back to study his face. "You changed," she said immediately.
James raised an eyebrow. "That was fast."
"I'm serious," Sofia continued. "Something's different."
Emrah cleared his throat. "You still haven't answered my question. What are you two doing here?"
James tilted his head. "You gave me the address."
Emrah paused.
James continued, watching him carefully. "Right before you moved back to Turkey. You said—" his voice softened slightly, "'If you ever want to visit, don't ask. Just come.'"
Sofia grinned. "So we did."
The memory surfaced instantly.
Late night. Half-packed bags. A decision made on instinct rather than reason.
Come anytime. I'll be in Istanbul.
Emrah nodded slowly. "Right. I did say that."
Sofia crossed her arms, mock-offended. "So you were expecting us."
"Just not tonight," Emrah admitted, then stepped aside. "Come in. You must be exhausted."
They entered the mansion together, the warmth of the interior wrapping around them. James glanced around, taking everything in with quiet precision.
"You landed well," he said.
Emrah smirked. "That's one way to put it."
Sofia dropped onto the couch like she owned the place. "So," she said lightly, though her eyes stayed on him, "what happened after you left England?"
Emrah hesitated—just briefly.
"A lot," he said.
James noticed. He always did.
"Well," James said after a beat, "we're here now."
And for reasons Emrah couldn't quite explain, that simple fact made his chest tighten more than anything else that day.
Because this time—
He wasn't sure how long he could keep the truth from them.
Emrah shut the door behind them and turned back, a faint crease forming between his brows.
"Wait," he said. "Who let you in?"
Sofia blinked. "Your brother."
James nodded. "Tall. Serious. Looked like he was fighting a deadline."
"Aslan?" Emrah asked.
"That's the one," James said. "We told him we were your friends from England and he didn't even hesitate. Just opened the door, told us to make ourselves comfortable, and said he had to head out."
Sofia tilted her head. "He seemed… busy."
Emrah stared at them for a second longer than necessary.
"So," he said slowly, "he left my guests alone in the house?"
James smiled faintly. "Technically, yes."
Emrah let out a quiet breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable."
Sofia laughed and spread her arms. "Relax. We survived."
Emrah glanced past them, scanning the living room, then the hallway beyond. The house felt unusually quiet. Too quiet.
"Where is everyone else?" he asked.
James shrugged. "No idea. We assumed they'd show up eventually."
Sofia leaned forward conspiratorially. "Very dramatic mansion, by the way. But kind of empty."
Emrah nodded to himself, the pieces clicking together just a second too late.
Of course.
Dubai purchases. Final fittings. Jewelry. Venue confirmations. Last-minute chaos.
Everyone was out preparing for the wedding.
He exhaled, half-amused, half-resigned. "Perfect timing," he muttered.
James caught it. "That good?"
Emrah looked back at them, forcing a smile. "You have no idea."
Sofia's gaze lingered on him again, sharper now, more searching. "You sure you're okay, Emrah?"
He met her eyes.
"I am," he said.
It wasn't a lie.
But it wasn't the whole truth either.
And somewhere deep inside him, the system remained silent—watching, waiting—as old bonds and new destinies quietly began to overlap.