Chapter Five – "Family First"
On the same day he returned from the first floor, silence enveloped Iyas's home. His hesitant footsteps on the wooden floor echoed like inner tremors, and every tentative movement of his pale hand toward the metal doorknob seemed to drag an invisible weight of fear behind it.
Click.
The door opened softly, releasing a faint warmth from within. Yet, comfort did not greet him.
A slap.
Quick, firm… heavy with terrified affection more than anger.
Iyas froze. His eyes widened before settling on the figure standing before him.
A man in his mid-thirties, tall, lean, with shoulders broad enough to suggest silent strength. His black curly hair hung around his face in a deliberate disarray, and his olive-green eyes, deep in shadow, carried everything left unspoken. His striking face held an unusual balance—harsh yet kind, rational yet compassionate, like someone who chose to see everything but remain silent.
A thin side beard traced his jaw, completing a sentence no one dared finish.
"Rashad."
A low voice, thick with restrained anger:
"Have you lost your mind? You go to the Tower like that… without a word?!"
Yet the anger felt more like a hidden embrace, a love mixed with fear.
From inside, a soft yet commanding female voice:
"Let him in… the food will get cold."
---
Iyas stepped inside silently, the floorboards groaning beneath him. The scent of warm bread and sweet spices enveloped him, like a long-forgotten memory. The house itself seemed to breathe history.
In the corner stood a woman in her mid-thirties, her short hair brushing her neck, wearing a white shirt and a fitted skirt, her hands adorned with fingerless gloves etched with mysterious symbols. Her red eyes glowed like two calm embers, her presence unforgettable.
This was Asia. Rashad's wife. Wise as if plucked from ancient tales, strong with quiet authority, her mind precise, her decisions sharp, as though she could see beyond words.
Without turning, she said:
"Go wash your hands… the Tower doesn't mix with meals."
---
Iyas sat at the table, facing Rashad directly. Asia sat to the side, watching as if reading every hidden line behind their faces.
The silence was heavy, as though the house itself held its breath.
He reached for the bread… then withdrew his hand. He tried to lift his eyes to speak, but could not. Everything he had seen in the Tower—the sounds, the images—was lodged in his throat.
Rashad said softly:
"Do you know how many times I looked at this door… wishing you would open it?"
Asia added, without looking up:
"We know the call cannot be refused. But you didn't even give us a goodbye."
Iyas whispered:
"I didn't know… how to say it."
Rashad:
"No, you knew. But you were afraid. And you made us afraid, too."
Then a faint smile crossed his face:
"But at least… you returned. And that alone is a miracle."
---
Rashad sipped from his cup and exhaled:
"You know… the first floor isn't the same for everyone."
"The Tower sees you as you are… not as you pretend."
"I've seen things that stories cannot capture."
"Some have died… because they didn't understand."
Iyas whispered:
"I… passed it."
Rashad raised an eyebrow. Iyas said:
"I can't explain. Was it… a dream? Or something more?"
"Strange… long… drenched in symbols."
Asia looked at him sharply, as if tearing away the veil between him and the truth:
"You… are hiding something."
Iyas gave a wounded smile:
"Perhaps… but it's not the lies you think it is."
---
Inside, he murmured softly to himself:
I lied. I didn't tell them about Timur, nor Lily, nor Floor Zero, nor the computer, nor the mark on my soul. I didn't tell them about the eye… that watched me.
But they wouldn't understand now. They mustn't know… not yet.
---
Morning arrived slowly. Sunlight crept lazily through the window, painting golden lines across the floor.
Iyas opened his eyes slowly, rose, washed, changed, and went downstairs.
Rashad read something on a transparent screen while Asia prepared breakfast with focused precision.
Iyas said:
"I'll go out today… I need some fresh air."
Rashad smiled:
"I knew you'd say that."
Asia gestured with her spoon:
"Don't forget the blue bakery. Those pastries… they still amaze me."
Iyas laughed:
"Alright… it seems I survived the Tower, only to die on a pastry mission."
---
That morning… there was no Tower.
No floors, no symbols, no red screens.
Only a house… a family… and warm bread.
And a laugh… brief, yet miraculous.
---
End of Chapter Five