text: A millennium seems like an immense span of time, especially to someone who only experiences a small fraction of one. But in the wider scope of history, beyond our lifetimes, its only a small sliver of time and experience. Time keeps moving forward like a mighty river, with nothing, or none, of significance able to stop its immortal flow. Experiences and ideas accumulate and assemble like the rocks of a riverbed, before withering away as the endless rush of water erodes them into smitherines riding the current downstream. I have had the so-called 'gift' of learning this first-hand. Time isn't a component of reality, or some sort of mystical force that can't be understood. It is a machination of our perceptions. In order for reality to be perceived, it must be taken in through the stimulation of our senses in a continuous stream, and thus, it seems to move forward in a continuous line. This is a terrible part of reality. It speeds by, faster and faster, ignorantly racing past every cherished moment and experience. And I'm trapped by my perceptions in this damned immortal place. For eternity. Before I begin my story, I must acknowledge that my memory has become a bit hazy over the generations. But, I will do my best to try to recall as much as possible. A long time ago, a sceptre was growing over Europe. An Empire of incomparable size was engulfing everything in its path, growing stronger and stronger by each day. It seemed like nothing could stop the vastness and strength of this Empire. Horsemen from far-Eastern Steppes had grown from equestrians, to become what was called the 'scourge of God,' and the survivors of this scourge spread tales of death and destruction left in their wake. But, in the midsts of this paranoia and fear, the curiosity of many was piqued by the foreign nature of this Empire. Tales of incomparable wealth, marvelling treasures and rich wisdom abounded from those who had travelled to the Eastern lands that formed the core of this Empire. But, after many insurrections and battles, this Empire shattered. The great conduits of trade it had established throughout the continent sputtered and fell apart, disconnected and disorganized. The flow of supplies was no longer carried by merchants who trekked over the continent, and this only feuled the imaginations of those who did not have the opportunity to witness what truly lay inside that great Empire. I seemed stupid at the time to many, and to be quite frank, I was. But I had no livelihood, and the town was fluttering in stagnation and disease. I realized there was no life in the musty and mildewy fisheries that I came from, so I took a clue from an ancient book, and left - to never turn back. I spent what little wealth I had on gathering supplies and a horse for travel, and I set off from the village. I didn't leave anyone special behind, nor did I leave many memories. My life truly began at that moment, or so I thought. I set forth to find the lost city of 'Xanadu,' once the former capital of the Great Khanate, and the centre of the worlds richest riches. On the first part of the journey, I passed through the strange lands of what was once the farthest borderlands of the Great Khanate. Much like my homeland, it was ridden with disease, and destroyed by war. The people here were strange. They still looked European, they still sounded somewhat European, they still were professed followers of Christ, but they didn't seem so European. Many of the traditions and mannerisms they carried were radically different, and sometimes even nonsensical. I figured that it was probably the influences of the fabled Great Khanate and whatever culture this place used to have. I skirted down a river to avoid what was described to me as a Kingdom of bandits and barbarians, before passing through the great 'Bashkir' protecting Europe. This mountain pass unfortunately protected whatever lay on the other side from Europeans, too. As I passed through, I ran low on my rations. To make ends meet, I had to begin hunting the surrounding wildlife for meals with a bow. This worked for some time, but as the path became more jagged and barren, it became harder to scavenge for firewood. My horse became more weary and tired, and the journey slowed. I had heard stories of bandits preying on the weak and isolated in these mountains, and I made sure to keep a knife sheathed on my waist at all times. To ensure that I didn't fall victim to an attack, I tried moving through this mountain chain as fast as possible, only taking breaks for gathering food or sleep. But this didn't suffice. As I was guiding my horse around the chasm of a gorge, a whizzing arrow pierced my shoulder. Another struck the icy-rock behind me, pinging off and falling into the vast and deep gorge below. Warm blood rushed down my chest, soaking my clothes and dripping from my shoulder. If they weren't already near me, they would be able to follow my path thanks to this wound. I fastened the reigns of my horse, and clutched my blade as I waited for - whoever these people were - to approach me. I heard voices in the distance. Three men emerged from the cliffs shadow, clad in foreign silk, leather, and weaponry. At first I mistook their tongue for Turkish, but as they approached closer, I knew it was something distinct that I had never heard before. Is this all that was left from the once great Khanate? Or were these people of a different descent, who helped tear down the horde? This thought passed, because it didn't matter, they were approaching me now with weapons drawn. *"Keri bolıñız!"* I clenched my fist around my blade, and unsheathed it, revealing it to the men approaching me. They tried speaking to me, but I didn't understand. I took a few steps back, taking stance for a fight. "I-I'm just a traveller," I stammered out. "I bring no harm to you, please, just don't hurt me..." They furrowed their brows, confused by my language. Still, undeterred, they continued their approach. *"Artqa! Ustañız, al jaqında biz ketemiz."* They commanded as they apprehensively stepped closer. I stood back, not knowing what they were saying. But I could presume the routine of a bandit. Injure or kill the victim, take their belongings, and scatter away before any consequences could catch up with them. So, I stayed out of their way. They rummaged through the bags on my horse, looking for anything of value. They began taking food, clothes, whatever they could find. They then took the reigns of my horse, and left me, blood dripping out of my shoulder, on the cliff-side. I made no objections. I stood there in dead silence while they walked into the hazy distance. What would I say? 'Please stop?' I was stuck in these God-forbidden mountains with no food or means of travel. I was, for lack of a better word, fucked. My first instinct was to build a fire, before figuring out what to do next. I tore off a piece of clothing, and fastened it around my shoulder. Every move came with writhing and gruesome pain. I gnashed my teeth to try and ignore the pain, until my jaw became sore. I walked down the path with what little I had on my shoulders, still seeking the great city foretold in legends and prophecies. This was for more than just greed or fame, but for adventure, and discovery. This path was long, and winding, and seemed to never end. The sun was setting behind the great peaks in the distance, covering the gorge with a resoundingly dark shadow. Finally, after what seemed like hours, I emerged from the gorge to a valley, lush with vegetation and tree's. Pain shooting through my arm, I tore away brush and twigs, and began to collect fuel for a fire. The tree's of this land were thin and tall, sprouting narrow branches in every direction, flooding my nostrils with the scent of pine-cones and needles bristled with frost. As if God himself had granted me a miracle, this was exactly what I needed, with my shoulder disabled. I collected what I needed from the dense strip of tender's, and created a fire, at last. Finally, I could warm myself, sleep, and tend to my wound. I sat by the flickering fire, warming my body temperature, and preparing myself mentally. Gritting my teeth, I slowly pulled the arrow out of my flesh, gouging my wound with more blood. I let out a gasp of pain as it finally came out. I bandaged my wound, and lay back, exhaling a sigh of relief. Looking at the arrow, I became intrigued. It was strange. It had markings and patterns I had never seen before, with Greek and Turkish looking characters written on its metal edge. I tossed it aside, disinterested. I looked up to the sky and rested my eyelids, trying to get some rest, so I could heal my wounds. As I sat there alone staring at the night sky, full of stars and wonder, I thought about why I had even come this far for this. I thought about the mundane life at home, choked to death by greed and misfortune. My mind wandered to the legends I had been told by old travellers, to the stories that abounded old forsaken books... > 'To walk the sacred river Alph, to scale the great walls, to wander the infinite caves of Ice. A pleasure-dome, decreed by Kublah Khan, possessing the answers to the greatest wonders of human kind. A place of immortality, with prophecies of war foretold in the whispering distance.