You will be forgotten

'How annoying these cheers are,' Musa grumbled to himself as he stood among the crowd in front of the seer's house. His older sister had insisted he visit because of a dream that had haunted him every night since they arrived in Britain.

''When will it be my turn? I've been here since morning!'' one of the waiting people started shouting, frustrated by the long wait. He explained that he had been there since nine in the morning, and now it was nearly two in the afternoon. How many people stood in front of the seer's house every morning? The number was unimaginable.

That man, along with others, continued to protest the poor organization, while another group chanted praises and glorifications for the seer. Standing amidst the crowd, Musa could do nothing but grumble about the loud voices, the stench in the air, and the scorching heat. The bandage wrapped around his forehead and left eye had become so sweaty that it started itching, making him even more irritated.

As he stood there, a young man with bronze skin, dark brown hair, and matching eyes approached him. His height was between 175 and 180 centimeters. ''Looks like it's your first time visiting Mr. Donovan.''

Mr. Donovan was the name of the seer before whose house hundreds no, thousands—of people gathered.

''And I hope it will be the last,'' Musa replied, still annoyed by the atmosphere around him. ''I still believe this Donovan is just another fraud.''

The young man wasn't offended by his words. Instead, he smiled and said, ''That's what many people think, not just you. Personally, if I saw this many people in front of someone's house, I would assume he's a fraud.'' He then shifted his gaze toward Mr. Donovan's door before continuing, ''But Mr. Donovan is different.''

''That's what the followers of every charlatan always say—he's different, he's blessed, he's not like the others. I've heard this nonsense too many times,'' Musa retorted, criticizing the young man's words.

''Can I know your name?'' the bronze-skinned young man maintained his smile as he asked Musa for his name.

''Musa,'' he answered honestly. ''Musa Suleiman.''

The young man raised his eyebrows in surprise. ''Suleiman? I've never heard of that family before. Are you from outside the country?''

Musa nodded in confirmation just as someone exited Mr. Donovan's house, announcing that the seer had left and did not say when he would return. He asked everyone to leave and come back another day.

Many people began complaining, some cursing as they left, while others lamented, ''How will I determine my fate now?'' Musa's reaction, however, was relief—he was fed up with seers and frauds.

''There he goes again, disappearing suddenly. Mr. Donovan is truly a strange man, not very committed to his work,'' the bronze-skinned young man said, laughing lightly. Then he turned to Musa. ''Where are you headed now?''

''To my home, of course,'' Musa replied as he walked toward the exit gate of Mr. Donovan's courtyard.

Musa left the courtyard, followed by the bronze-skinned young man. As they reached outside, Musa turned to ask, ''What's your name?'' But he was surprised to find that the young man had already disappeared.

Musa wandered through the streets of Riverin until he reached an old neighborhood marked by signs of poverty—scattered piles of garbage and dilapidated houses. He climbed the wooden stairs of one of the buildings until he reached the fourth floor, then knocked on a door. A fair-skinned girl with blackish-green hair and dark black eyes, about 165 centimeters tall, opened it. She was Musa's older sister, Bethel. ''You're back early.''

''Early? I've been there for three hours,'' Musa responded, annoyed.

Bethel closed the door behind him, revealing their old apartment. Musa and his older sister lived in a rented, aged flat consisting of a small living room, two bedrooms, and a tiny kitchen and bathroom.

''Waiting should have taken you much longer than that, but never mind. What's the news?''

Musa sat on one of the empty dining chairs. ''No news. I didn't even get in. That fraud just disappeared suddenly, and they told us to come back another day.'' He sighed in frustration. ''I'm sick of visiting seers and frauds.''

''But we still need to know—''

''We still need to know the interpretation of my dream, yes, I get it,'' Musa cut her off, then stood up and headed toward the bathroom.

Inside the bathroom, he removed the headband wrapped around his face and left eye, then looked into the mirror, observing his reflection. He resembled his sister—fair-skinned with blackish-green hair. His right eye was a deep black, but his left eye was different. Its pupil was shaped like a Latin clock and had a bluish-green glow. Despite its oddity, it gave him a striking appearance.

Since his birth, Musa had never shown this eye to anyone outside his family, following his father's strict warning that it was a curse. He cautioned that the authorities might try to purge the curse, and Musa could end up dead.

Curses had become increasingly common in the current era—the 'Mogus' era—so his father's fears had been taken seriously by his wife, daughter, and Musa himself.

Musa's father had died in a mysterious accident when Musa was four, followed by his mother at twelve due to heart disease, reinforcing Musa's belief that his eye was truly cursed.

His sole focus in life had been to rid himself of this cursed eye. That's why he and his sister had come to Britain after hearing about individuals with strange powers capable of eliminating curses. Then came that bizarre dream—he saw a black raven with violet eyes staring at him while a voice echoed in his head: ''You will be forgotten. You will be forgotten. You will be forgotten…''

When Musa told his sister about the dream, she believed it was connected to their desire to get rid of the curse. She insisted on interpreting the dream before taking any further steps to find those with supernatural powers.

Musa left the bathroom after washing his face and drying it. He didn't put the bandage back on, since he was at home with his sister.

When Bethel saw him coming out, she tilted her head playfully. ''Your left eye is mesmerizing no matter how long I look at it.''

''Which is why we want to get rid of it, right?'' Musa replied with a smile before adding, ''Remind me again why I shouldn't just tear it out?''

''Aren't you afraid of flooding the house with blood?'' Bethel joked. ''Besides, Father said removing it wouldn't break the curse. You know how he reached that conclusion.''

Musa returned to his chair at the table while Bethel prepared their lunch. It was a simple meal—fried eggs with black pepper and a side of black honey. Just an ordinary meal for a family of lower-middle-class means.

After finishing his meal, Musa went to his room, tying his bandage back in place out of fear of the curse. He pulled a book from one of the shelves and began reading. The title was The Gate of Fate, written by the most famous author of the current era—Roma Cecil.

The Gate of Fate was a newly purchased novel that Musa hadn't started reading yet. He was an avid reader, especially of Roma Cecil's works.

The book's cover featured an illustration of a white gate, with a man standing to its right and a woman to its left, surrounded by lush green plants and a soft blue sky above them.

Musa flipped through the introductory pages until he reached the first chapter and began reading. The first chapter of the novel told the story of Haya and Benjamin, a young woman and man born into a world infused with supernatural powers. Both of them possessed such abilities.

The novel explained that the power system in this world operated on principles of killing, looting, and theft to grow stronger, except for a few lucky ones born with their abilities.

Haya belonged to a tribe that was hostile to Benjamin's tribe. Due to the laws governing supernatural powers, both tribes sought to destroy each other and seize their opponent's strength.

One day, Haya and Benjamin met at the Tina River, each standing on an opposite bank.

Haya was the first to attack. She pulled a Latin-style pocket watch from her pocket, a greenish-blue timepiece, and in her other hand, she gripped her sword before leaping across the river to the other side.

On the opposite bank, Benjamin showed no intention of fighting back. He merely defended himself and dodged her attacks, as he had done every time they met. He would stall until she grew tired, then leave without striking her or causing her any harm.

Musa finished reading the first chapter, then closed the book and placed it beside his bed. He shut his eyes, intending to take a nap. It was around three in the afternoon, and he wanted to rest for a while.

As he drifted into sleep, he found himself in the same recurring dream. The purple-eyed raven stood on a tall black column, surrounded by an impenetrable darkness. Then, the murmuring began in his head: "You will be forgotten... You will be forgotten... You will be forgotten..."

Usually, this whispering brought Musa unbearable pain, forcing him to his knees and making him strike his head. But by now, he had grown used to it and was no longer as affected.

The dream's atmosphere was as it had always been, until Musa noticed something unusual. The raven's eyes were focused on him more intensely than before. Not only that, but the surrounding darkness seemed slightly lighter, as if it had lost some of its depth.

'Is what I'm noticing real, or is it just a trick of the dream's atmosphere?... No, there must be something wrong. This dream hasn't changed in the slightest—not even by a grain of sand—since the first time I had it two years ago.' Musa began seriously analyzing these subtle differences. 'Could it be because I read 'Gate of Fate'? No, it's just a novel... or...'

Suddenly, the voice in Musa's head became clearer. It was no longer mere incoherent murmuring; he could now distinguish the tone and sharpness of the speaker. It was a delicate, feminine voice—both warning and foretelling.

Before Musa could process this change, the repeating phrase suddenly stopped: "You will be forgotten..."

Musa was stunned. The surprises and changes were coming at him relentlessly, and he no longer knew where to focus his thoughts.

'First, changes in the dream's scenery. Second, the voice becoming clearer. And now, it has disappeared entirely... There's no way these are mere coincidences. Could it be... Damn it, I can't find any determining factor.' Musa struggled to analyze what was happening, but all his attempts at reasoning failed.

The next second, the soft female voice returned, but instead of the usual phrase, it spoke an entirely new sentence: 'Wake up, Musa.'

The moment he heard those words, Musa jolted awake in his bed.

He was back in reality. He looked around and saw his old room, its single window allowing the blue moonlight to filter in.

Musa got up and walked to his mirror. His reflection showed his face drenched in sweat.

Suddenly, he realized that night had fallen. This dream had lasted longer than usual in the waking world.

He lit the lanterns in his room and sat back on his bed, deep in thought, trying to make sense of his dream. But with so little information and so few clues, his mind couldn't draw any conclusions. 'There could be multiple reasons for the changes in my dream tonight. The only explanations I can think of are that I'm getting closer to breaking the curse... Maybe visiting Donovan played a role. Or something about that novel... But how could a mere book cause changes in my dream?'

Musa continued pondering. 'And who could that woman be? At first, she kept telling me I would be forgotten. But how? And who would forget me? I've never figured that out. And now, she finally spoke a different sentence—for the first time—just to wake me up... Damn it, I don't understand anything.'

Lost in thought, Musa reached out and picked up the novel, 'Gate of Fate,' from beside his bed.

The moment he did, his pupils widened in shock. 'The cover... The cover has changed.'