The Year of Dormant Death (eBook)

Youssef Elouizari (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
298 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
978-0-00-112513-1 (ISBN)

Infos

Can a fighting machine learn to live? The price is a lost memory.For thirty years, Ilya Van was nothing but a rhythm. A precise machine, his life revolving around a single goal: survival. After his memory was erased, he was given one final task by 'The Organization': 'Live like an ordinary person for one year. Don't kill. Don't create waves.'Ilya became a paper-folding man in a quiet printing shop, practicing the precision of a killer folding shop catalogs. This was his quiet prison, or as he called it: 'The Year of the Sleeping Death.'But the routine is shattered when Nora bursts into his life, a terrified fugitive carrying in her bag a key to a global secret network run by the 'Threads of Atlas' organization. Ilya discovers that the two organizations, the one that trained him and the one hunting Nora, are two sides of the same coin, controlled by the enigmatic 'Master.'Now, Ilya's sole purpose is to protect the routine he has built, forcing him to use his deadly skills in a conflict where the goal is no longer killing, but rather precision in protection. He must decipher complex codes related to rhythm, biology, and lost memory before a global information war erupts.A quest for the 'Lost Island' reveals a shocking truth to Ilya: the memory that can restore his humanity is in the possession of his missing brother, who is also the true heir to the network. Ilya finds himself facing a final choice:Will he choose to return to 'Zero' (deadly mechanical perfection), or become 'The Single Rhythm' (the emotional balance that saves the world)?Immerse yourself in a deeply psychological thriller that reveals the price of precision and the value of lost emotion. Start reading 'Year of the Sleeping Death' now.

Textauszug

The Human Face of Confinement

It was seven o’clock in the morning when Ilya woke up, a full hour earlier than usual. He had only slept for two hours in a row, but he was fully prepared. The quietude he had adopted in his new life had transformed into the quietude of wakefulness, just as it had been before any previous mission.

In the small kitchen, Khadija was making tea. She was a large woman, with sharp features, but her eyes held an ancient gentleness. As soon as Ilya entered, she gave him a direct look that no one had ever penetrated before.

“Good morning, Ice Statue. Did you sleep well?” Khadija asked, without smiling.

“Good morning, Madam. Yes, as usual,” Ilya replied, his hand steady as he poured hot water into his cup.

“Two lies in one sentence. You didn’t sleep, and not as usual,” Khadija said, placing the teapot on the stove. “Since when do you allow strangers into my house without consulting me?”

Her voice wasn’t angry, but rather indignant at the breach of protocol. Ilya knew that Khadija wasn’t afraid of thieves, but of chaos.

“It’s Noura, your niece,” Ilya said, clinging to his concocted story.

Khadija gave a short, unfunny laugh. “I have no sisters. No nieces. I’m alone, Ilya, and I welcome my solitude. Who is this girl?”

Ilya knew he couldn’t lie to Khadija. Her eyes were more adept at detecting deception than any secret agent he’d ever encountered.

“She’s a runaway, ma’am. She came to your door seeking refuge. I told her she’d speak with you today.”

Khadija stopped stirring her sugar spoon. She looked at him with deep annoyance. “And you believed her? Ilya, you’re a man who only thinks about the corners of paper. Why do you care?”

“Because it’s a less risky option than throwing her out. Throwing her out might create a wave of unrest in the street. Keeping her here keeps the problem within these walls, under our control,” Ilya said, justifying his decision with the logic of a murderer, not an ordinary man. Khadija gave him a scrutinizing look. “Control, Ilya? You’re not in control of anything anymore. You’re just a young man folding flyers now. Fine. I’ll see about it.”

Khadija went to the storage room and knocked twice. Nora opened the door, her eyes red. Her purse was still beside her.

“You’re Nora?” Khadija asked in a formal tone.

“Yes.”

“Well, Nora. You’re not my niece, and you have no reason to be here. But Ilya—that paper-stuff idiot—let you in. So, you have two choices. Either you tell me why you’re here, or I’ll have Ilya take you to the police station. You look like a minor, and the police will take care of you.”

Khadija’s threat had worked. The police meant official records, and records meant breaking Ilya’s “no attention” rule.

Nora glanced at Khadija, then at Ilya, who was standing in the kitchen doorway. Nora seemed to have decided that Khadija was the most direct and least ambiguous threat.

“I… I ran away from my adoptive family,” Nora said, her voice trembling slightly. “They wanted me to marry someone I didn’t want. I ran away for my future. And I couldn’t go anywhere else.”

It was a partial lie. Leaving out a bit of the truth makes you sound more credible. Khadija felt a flicker of hesitation.

“Then why did you carry an old steel box instead of clothes?” Khadija asked sharply, pointing to the closed metal box that Ilya hadn’t seen in the bag but that was hidden under the mattress.

Nora froze. Khadija had a certain intuition.

Ilya intervened calmly. “Ma’am, whatever it is, she’ll have plenty of time to sort it out after breakfast. We can’t let people notice us because of a panicked girl.”

Ilya gave Nora a single look. The look was clear: Relax, I’ve got this under control.

This was the first time Ilya had used his training to protect an innocent person, or perhaps to protect his routine, which was now under threat.

Khadija finally agreed. “Fine. Breakfast. Then work. Then you decide your fate, Nora. But Ilya, if this girl causes any trouble, you’re the one who will deal with it. And I won’t be nice.”

At that moment, Ilya’s phone, which only had one number, rang. It was Salma.

Ilya stepped back into the narrow passage between the cardboard boxes.

“What’s up?” Ilya asked quietly.

“You have a problem, Ilya.” This time, Salma’s voice was exaggeratedly cold. “The ‘Atlas Threads’ group has lost something. And it’s very important to them. They’ve sent three of their best men into the area. Their search is meticulous, silent, and… deadly.”

Ilya received the news coldly. But he knew that “The Forgotten” was no longer the only threat.

“What are the orders?”

“The orders haven’t changed: Don’t kill anyone. Don’t create waves. But now you must also ensure that any new wave that is created doesn’t escape from under your roof.”

Ilya realized that protecting Nora had become part of the Year of the Sleeping Death mission.

Ilya ended the call and returned to the kitchen. He found Khadija and Noura sitting at the table in uneasy silence. Khadija was sipping her tea with exaggerated stillness, while Noura held her cup, her eyes fixed on the closed metal box now on the table, at Khadija’s request.

Ilya realized the box was the new center of gravity.

He sat down and took a sip of his tea. It was hot, but he ignored the sensation. He looked at Khadija. “What have you decided about our guest?”

“I’ve decided she’ll listen to one thing,” Khadija said, looking at Noura with a bluntness that betrayed nothing in her voice. “Whatever that thing in the box is, it’s not worth making me sell this place. This place has been mine for seventy years. And anyone who tries to disturb my peace will be thrown out in a… violent way.”

Noura nodded, but said nothing. She knew that this time the threat was real, but it wasn’t a threat of murder, rather a threat of expulsion.

“Very well, Noura.” Ilya spoke. His tone was calm and measured, but it carried a weight she hadn’t known. “We have rules now. You’ll stay here and help Khadija in the printing workshop. You won’t leave this building. Khadija will cut off all contact with the outside world. You’ll be as if you were never born.”

Noura looked at him in surprise, then realized. Ilya was being completely serious. He was imposing total isolation on her, the same isolation he lived in.

“But… why?” Noura asked.

“Because the thing you have belongs to an organization called ‘Atlas Threads,’” Ilya said. There was no reason to hide it; Noura already knew. “And they don’t send a police officer to search for their lost items; they send… specialists.”

Noura froze for a moment. “How do you know?”

“I saw the symbol on the coin.”

“The coin isn’t the thing. The thing is… this,” Noura said, then pointed to the metal box. “This box contains a very old map. The coin is the key to deciphering it. Maps are their most prized possession.”

Khadija sighed slowly. “So, you have a compelling reason to die in this box. Great.”

“The map doesn’t lead to treasure, my lady,” Nora said. “It leads to a very old, secret site used by ‘Threads of Atlas’ to store sensitive data and information decades ago. If they get hold of it, their power will surpass that of any government.”

Ilya listened to all this with cold logic: Information = Power. Power = Danger. Danger threatened his routine.

“So, this box must not be opened. The map must not be read. And this place must remain quiet,” Ilya said, picking up his teacup and placing it on the table.

His tone changed abruptly, becoming commanding: “From now on, you will help Khadija with the printing. If Khadija asks you anything about the printing, you must answer with unbearable precision. If she asks you about anything else, you must lie so convincingly that you are fooling yourself. Do you understand?”

Noura sensed a kind of hidden authority in Ilya, an authority that came not from physical strength, but from precision.

“Yes,” Noura...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 18.12.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Fantasy / Science Fiction ► Fantasy
• ISBN-10: 0-00-112513-3 / 0001125133
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-112513-1 / 9780001125131