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Chapter 18 - Chapter 17 – Ink Beneath Skin

It started with a dream.

Emir stood in a hallway he didn't recognize, but his feet knew where to go.

Marble beneath him. Walls covered in maps.Faint echoes of footsteps not yet taken.

He walked past a room filled with light.Inside, voices argued in languages he didn't speak—but somehow understood.

He wasn't awake.But he wasn't fully asleep either.

Then the voice came.

Not beside him.Not inside him.

From him.

"If you carry the idea, you must also carry the burden."

He woke up sweating.

3:44 a.m.

The city outside sounded like it was grinding its teeth.

He turned on the lamp and opened his notebook.

The words came without hesitation:

"Legacy is not inherited.It's earned again.Every single day."

He stared at the sentence like it might blink back.

"Not bad," the voice said."That one sounds almost like me."

— "I didn't write it to impress you."

"Good. Impressing me is impossible. I once edited a constitution during a thunderstorm while bleeding."

Emir chuckled, but his hand trembled slightly.This wasn't just pressure.It was transformation.

Later that week, he walked past a tattoo parlor tucked between two phone repair shops.

He didn't know why he stopped.

Didn't know why he walked in.

A young woman at the counter looked up.

— "What are you thinking?"

He paused.

— "A single word."

She smiled.— "Let me guess… 'freedom'?"

He shook his head.

— "'Hatırlamak.'"("To remember.")

Her eyebrows lifted.

— "You sure?"

He nodded.

She gestured toward the chair.

— "Left or right?"

— "Over the heart."

The needle buzzed.

It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would.

"You know ink won't make you brave," the voice whispered."That's not why I'm doing it," Emir replied."Then why?""So I don't forget to remember."

That night, he stood shirtless in the mirror, the fresh ink burning faintly on his skin.

He traced the word with his fingertip.

One word.

But a weight far heavier than any he'd ever carried.

"Hatırlamak."

And for the first time…he didn't feel like an impostor carrying someone else's memory.

He felt like a man carrying his own.

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