Chapter 13 — The Watcher on the Shore

The sand scraped against the hull. Yusuf bent forward, gripping the gunwale as if he'd founder if he let go of it. His knees shook as he stepped onto the other beach.
There was quiet here—too quiet. No birds, no breeze. Only the grind of ash-grain sand beneath his boots.
The faceless child crouched beside him, the Codex clutched tightly. "It's heavier here," the child whispered.
He knew. The air pressed down on him, every breath a reminder of all the things he had lost so far. There must be some smell here—a whiff of salt, reeds along the river, something. But the air held no scent at all.
The ferryman at the rear of them pushed off with his pole. His voice scraped across the black water.
"Be careful where you step, traveler. The shore is not empty."
Yusuf glared down, frowning. Only now did he notice what was scattered on the sand: pieces of lives. A comb with some teeth missing. A ripped-out page from a book. A kid's shoe, scuffed but spotless, as if just thrown away.
"Things thrown away," Yusuf said.
"Stolen," said the ferryman without glancing around.
And then he shot off in the black water.
Yusuf looked at the faceless child, but the words were still lodged in his throat. For a moment, he could not recall the sound of the child's voice. A panic went through him—then the sound returned, soft and comforting, as the child asked: "What is this place?"
Before Yusuf was able to answer, the sand shifted. Something burst forth from the ground: an outline with no particular form, as if the very world was showing him a fractured mirror with a thousand shards.
The mirror took the shape of a human form, outlines dissolving and re-forming with every variation of light. Where a face should be, Yusuf saw only fluid components of his own—a mouth, lips, eyes—constantly changing.
"You are not empty enough," it told him. Its voice was glass against glass.
The Codex exploded in the child's hands. On the open page, a single line:
The Watcher on the Beach.
Yusuf gulped. "What do you want?"
The Watcher tilted its head, shards cracking like shattered glass. "I stand guard at the doorway. I weigh the lost ones. You possess someone else's. You are holding something that belongs to another."
Its reflection face lowered, and Yusuf noticed that his fist was still clenched around Rae's shard.
He tightened his grip. "This was left for me."
"Given," the Watcher said again, and its voice split into many, repeating the word again and again like a chant. "But in exchange for what was taken?"
The ground shifted again, and Yusuf stumbled as memories retreated further from him. He pulled with every last fiber to pull something—something insignificant back into his head: the smell of bread, the groan of his childhood home—but the strands yanked up frayed and torn.
The Watcher stepped forward. "You are unravelling. As another did once."
Yusuf stopped. "Another…?"
"Yes," said the Watcher, its face rippling until Yusuf could swear he saw his father's eyes. "The one who bore the Codex before you. He left his price here. A memory too heavy to bear."
The faceless child pulled on Yusuf's arm. "Don't listen," they whispered. "It's trying to unmake you."But Yusuf stood with his eyes fixed on the distorted face before him. His voice cracked as he spoke:
"What did he leave in his memory?"
The Watcher stepped forward, its broken mouth opening wide with a groan of glass.
"His son."
The words sliced into Yusuf, leaving him breathless.