Prologue — The Dream
"There are memories we choose to remember. Then there are memories that refuse to let us forget. Mine have always begun with the sea."
......
The sea was calm.
That was the first thing he noticed.
Not the voices.
Not the laughter.
Not even the faces that appeared and disappeared inside the dream like waves reaching the shore.
Only the sea.
It breathed in slow, gentle rhythms, carrying the scent of salt and summer beneath a sky brushed gold by the setting sun.
There had been a time when the sea knew only peace.
Or perhaps...
there had been a time when they did.
Laughter echoed somewhere in the distance.
Light.
Carefree.
Children's laughter.
The kind that belongs only to those who still believe tomorrow will always look like today.
Four silhouettes ran along the shoreline.
A boy chased another through the shallow water.
A little girl protested that they were cheating.
An older girl laughed, shaking her head as she followed at a slower pace.
The waves reached their feet before retreating again, as though the sea itself wished to join their game.
Almost as if it already knew those moments would one day become memories.
The dream shifted.
Fragments.
Never whole.
Never in order.
A weathered wooden boat rested on the sand.
A silver necklace glimmered beneath the afternoon sun.
A sandwich, carefully broken in half.
A small seashell resting in an open palm.
Tiny moments.
Ordinary moments.
The kind no one realizes are precious until years have already carried them away.
The necklace appeared again.
Not as an object.
As a feeling.
Warmth.
Safety.
A love that had existed long before everything changed.
A woman's voice.
Soft.
Gentle.
A voice that belonged to a memory he could never fully reach.
The dream moved before he could hold onto it.
Like the sea carrying something away.
"You came back."
A child's voice.
Soft.
Almost afraid to believe the words he had just spoken.
Another voice answered without hesitation.
"I told you I would."
The certainty in that reply wrapped around the memory like warmth.
As though leaving had never truly been an option.
The wind grew colder.
Clouds drifted across the sky.
The laughter faded.
The sea changed.
It became louder.
Restless.
The waves no longer played.
They warned.
The wooden boat rocked gently against the tide.
Somewhere...
someone called his name.
"Mert..."
The voice was distant.
Barely more than a whisper.
Then again.
Louder this time.
"Mert!"
He turned.
He tried to run.
But the shoreline stretched farther away with every step.
The waves crashed harder.
The sea pulled everything beyond his reach.
The silver necklace slipped beneath the dark water.
He reached out.
But the sea always carried it just beyond his fingertips.
As if reminding him that some things could be remembered...
but never returned.
His eyes opened.
For a long moment, he remained perfectly still.
The room around him was silent except for the quiet rhythm of rain tapping against the window.
His breathing slowly steadied.
The dream had returned.
It always did—not every night, only on the nights when the past refused to stay buried.
He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed a hand across his face.
Beyond the window, the city was still asleep.
Only the sea remained awake.
Barely visible beneath the gray morning sky.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
His gaze drifted to the bedside table.
A small seashell rested beside an old wristwatch.
Its edges had been worn smooth by years of waves...
and years of being held.
He picked it up carefully.
Almost reverently.
His thumb traced its familiar curves.
A tired smile touched his lips before quietly fading away.
"So many years..."
he murmured.
"And somehow, every dream still finds its way back to that summer."
His phone vibrated.
Once.
Then again.
He ignored it.
Outside, the sea looked calm.
Anyone else would have called it peaceful.
Mert knew better.
The sea had taught him long ago that the quietest waters often carried the deepest currents.
Storms did not always begin with thunder.
Sometimes...
they began with memories.
The phone rang a third time.
This time, he answered.
"...Yes."
Silence.
The color slowly drained from his face.
His fingers tightened around the seashell.
"...Where?"
Another pause.
His eyes closed.
For the briefest moment, he looked like the boy from his dream again.
"I'll be there."
The call ended.
He remained standing beside the window, watching the horizon where the sea met the sky.
It looked exactly as it had all those years ago.
Only he had changed.
He opened his hand.
The seashell rested quietly in his palm.
A single memory made solid.
A reminder that even the smallest things could survive the passing of time...
if someone cared enough to keep them.
Barely above a whisper, he spoke the name he had carried in silence for years.
"...Yaman."
Not with anger.
Not with hatred.
Only with a sadness so old it had become part of him.
He slipped the seashell into his coat pocket.
Picked up his keys.
And walked toward the door.
Because some promises...
never truly stop asking to be kept.
The sea remained behind him.
Quiet.
Patient.
As though it already knew that every story worth telling eventually finds its way back to the shore.
........
Book I of The Sessiz Saga
Written by Adrian Vale
