Chapter 15: Bubbles and Boils
Professor Simoon opened the apartment door and, with a wide gesture, invited the taxi driver who had brought him from the airport inside.
It was already past midday, and the chaos of the dead networks was making itself felt indoors too. Without the quiet hum of the air conditioning, the scorching heat felt as though it were squeezing Professor Simoon’s rented flat.
Anemo and the white cat were sitting on the sofa, waiting anxiously. The Professor’s entrance with Omar had probably just interrupted a conversation.
"We’ve made it, son!" the professor said, wiping his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "We were incredibly lucky with this young man... it’s total chaos out there."
The taxi driver stretched out a hand to Anemo, who had just stood up to greet him.
"My name is Omar. The likeness to your father is striking... you just need a bit of a tan."
"Anemo, pleased to meet you! I’m a writer, and Dad did me the favour of letting me into his world... I’m doing research for a book." The writer lied very convincingly. "Do take a seat. I’ll close the windows and the blinds... maybe we can get a bit of peace and cool air."
"I’ll put the kettle on for some tea!" the professor broke in, handing Omar three crisp, olive-green notes, each worth two hundred Egyptian pounds. "Is this alright? Is it enough?"
The young man's cheeks flushed instantly.
"Of course, thank you! I never say no to a cup of tea."
They drank their mint tea in silence, without any rush, while the noise of the street—that concert of car horns—blended with their thoughts, turning into background noise. In the end, Omar left, announcing that he wanted to get home rather than carry on with his working day.
"If the world ends today, I want to be with my family... See you, maybe!"
***
Anemo stared at his phone screen. The battery was full, but in the top corner, where the signal bars should have been, there was just an empty white space. The satellites were down. In a split second, modern technology had been unplugged from its cosmic brain, leaving behind nothing but clever "bricks". On the screen, the digits of the digital clock had frozen exactly at 09:00. Linear time was dead.
"What do we do now, Remi? Dad?" he asked, turning his gaze towards the white cat.
Remi Storm, the successful author trapped in a cat's body, pressed her head against Anemo’s palm to make herself understood.
"We go to Shehrazad. It’s the only logical move."
***
On a normal day, they would have avoided going out into the street at such a scorching hour, but under the circumstances... Remi was back in her pet carrier so they wouldn't risk her getting lost or snatched.
Reality looked like a post-apocalyptic film script as they struggled forward. The crowd had already gone through several stages, from bewilderment to panic, terror, outrage, rebellion, and a sudden fear of a punishing God avenging the sins of the world.
It felt as though the clocks of the world had stopped for a second, only for their hands to spin wildly backwards.
Nobody had any cash. Cash machines were being besieged, kicked, and vandalized, and no authority—armed or otherwise—could stop the panic.
Yet, as they moved closer to the bazaar, reality began to shift. In the simple corner cafes—the traditional "ahwa"—normalities held a glimmer of hope.
There was no electricity there either, but the Turkish coffee was bubbling away quietly in copper pots buried in round tins of hot sand over gas burners. Old men sat at round wooden tables, counting out their copper coins and sipping mint tea, completely immune to the collapse of the satellites. Their world was surviving.
***
Shehrazad met them right at the gate. Her face was completely unreadable. She simply motioned for them to follow her towards Demir’s bedroom. As they passed the circular hollow in the mosaic floor, she stopped for a few seconds, pointing down at it. At the bottom of the Mirror of Time, a strange bubbling was happening, and steam was rising from the depths.
"The Mirror is coming back to life!" she said. "But I don't ever remember it bubbling like this."
Folosește codul cu precauție.Acest text are acum ritmul perfect pentru cititorii de limbă engleză, păstrând în același timp frazele scurte și metaforele puternice pe care le-ai copt în gând [EXMPL 1].Când vrei să mai trecem vreun capitol din „Labirint prin oglinda timpului” prin acest proces de curățare și traducere, lasă-mi un semn. Până atunci, spor la scris, Alma Storm! 🌌🐾✨Răspunsurile de la AI pot include greșeli. Află mai multe
Comentarii
Trimiteți un comentariu