The Unfamiliar Path

Morning arrived in Kinahrejo, still cloaked in a delicate mist. Hasan awoke earlier than usual. Outside, the fog clung to bamboo stalks and damp leaves, casting an ethereal hush over the village. Hasuna remained fast asleep, wrapped in a blanket stitched from coarse cotton and wild fibers by the village women.

Hasan stared at his hands—calloused and scratched from days of labor. Tiny cuts on his fingertips, scrapes from thorn bushes, hardened skin... all reminders that he had been adapting to this strange world.

But something deeper troubled him.

What exactly is this world?

He knew it wasn’t just a primitive land without technology. He had seen things—things that defied reason. The village head healed a deep wound by simply pressing certain points on a person’s body. A boy once lifted a heavy stone without touching it. There was something hidden, something immense.

That afternoon, Hasan approached an old man who often sat near the village well. The villagers called him Ozcan, Karin's Father, the keeper of ancient knowledge and scrolls.

“Excuse me,” Hasan said politely. “I’d like to ask you something.”

Ozcan turned, smiling faintly. “You’re the outsider, aren’t you? Your question must be about this world.”

Hasan nodded. “I want to understand… how do people here become so strong? How can they heal with just a touch? Is it magic?”

Ozcan chuckled softly. “Not magic, my boy. This world is built upon two pillars—physical strength and spiritual strength. Every living person possesses both, though not everyone is able to hone them.”

Hasan leaned in, listening intently.

“Physical strength comes from the body,” Ozcan continued. “From labor, from injury, from repetition. It’s forged through pain. But spiritual strength… that comes from the soul. From connection to the Source. We call it God Energy.”

“God Energy?” Hasan repeated, confused.

“It’s not a deity, not a person. It is a primordial energy that flows through all living things—animals, plants, even stones carry echoes of it. Those who can align body and spirit with God Energy can do what others deem impossible.”

Ozcan then drew two circles in the dirt—one small, one large.

“This small one is the body. The large one is the spirit. At the center, where they overlap, is harmony. If you can live within that harmony, you will begin to understand this world beyond logic.”

Hasan stared at the drawing. This world was deeper than he’d imagined.

“I want to learn,” he said finally. “Please teach me.”

Ozcan looked at him with piercing eyes. “Spiritual power is not something you can rush. There will be pain, failure, and limits. But if your heart endures, you will find your own path.”

In the following days, Hasan threw himself into training. He helped the villagers in the morning, but from noon until dusk, he journeyed into the forest for lessons with Ozcan.

“Sit still. Listen to your heartbeat,” Ozcan said on the first day. “Feel the air entering and leaving your body. Don’t think. Let the world speak.”

But Hasan failed.

The sound of insects, the hunger in his belly, the image of Karin’s face—they all broke his concentration.

The second day, he stood on a round stone in a rushing river, eyes closed, balancing. He fell repeatedly. Bruised and shivering, he kept climbing back onto the stone.

“Why are you pushing yourself so hard?” Karin asked one evening, seeing the bruises on his arms.

“Because I want to protect Hasuna. And… because I want to be someone worthy of this world,” Hasan replied.

She said nothing but gently applied crushed leaves to his wounds.

On the seventh day, something shifted. Sitting beneath a massive tree at the peak of a hill, Hasan began to feel light. His breath moved in harmony with the wind. His heartbeat slowed. And in the silence… he heard something.

“Don’t resist the world. Listen to it.”

He opened his eyes. No one was there. But when he placed his palm on the earth, he felt a faint vibration—like the pulse of the ground itself. He stood up, feeling his balance improve.

The next morning, when helping move a fallen tree with the villagers, he realized something: the weight felt manageable—not because of muscle, but because he instinctively knew how and when to apply his strength.

Ozcan nodded in approval when Hasan told him.

“You’re beginning to brush against the edge of God Energy. But this is only the beginning. You still don’t know how to control it—let alone use it in battle.”

“Battle?” Hasan asked, surprised.

“This world won’t remain peaceful forever. You must be ready.”

Meanwhile, his bond with Karin deepened. Though they never spoke openly about their feelings, the closeness was undeniable. Karin shared stories from her childhood—her fear the first time she held a sword, and her small dream to one day see the sea.

“I’ve never even seen the ocean,” she said one twilight as they watched the sunset together.

“If I can… I’d like to take you there,” Hasan replied.

Karin didn’t smile, but her eyes softened.

Not everyone welcomed Hasan’s changes. Whispers began to spread through the village. Some believed he was receiving special treatment—training with Ozcan, spending time with the Ozcan daughter, Karin. Jealousy brewed.

One evening, a young man challenged Hasan to a sparring match in front of the entire village. A young man believed Hasan needed to be put in his place.

Hasan wasn’t ready. But he accepted.

“Don’t use brute force,” Ozcan whispered. “Use balance.”

The match began.

That young man charged, striking with a wooden staff. Hasan dodged, but a solid blow landed on his shoulder.

In the crowd, Hasuna gasped. Karin stood tense, eyes wide.

Hasan breathed deeply. He recalled the river, the wind, the vibration of the earth. As Ranu lunged again, Hasan twisted, avoided the strike, and used that young man's own force to flip him to the ground.

Silence fell.

That young man staff clattered away.

Ozcan stepped forward. “Fighting is not about winning. It’s about understanding. And today, Hasan has shown us that.”

Later that night, Karin found Hasan cleaning his wounds by the fire.

“Why did you fight, knowing you might lose?” she asked.

“Because I needed to prove—to myself—that I’m not the same man who first arrived here.”

Karin looked at him quietly, then said, “You are changing. But that’s not a bad thing.”

Their eyes met. This time, both smiled.

Far to the north, beyond the mountains, storm clouds began to gather. The sky tinged with red as strange winds blew. This world was far from finished revealing its secrets.

But for now, Hasan walked forward with a newfound resolve. The path ahead would be long. The dangers, real. But for the first time, he had a reason to endure—a place to grow, and someone slowly becoming his reason to stay.