Certain notions in our lives wield profound influence over both individual destinies and the course of history. Without a doubt, the notion of inheritance can be counted among them. Just as every person is compelled to live with a certain legacy passed down from their family, nations and communities of faith must also live under the weight of expectations and pressures inherited from their history.

Through such legacies, an individual may find themselves endowed with great wealth, a kingdom, or even a position of leadership within society.

Does a person, then, have the right to renounce an inheritance? Renunciation may not alter the reality of certain hereditary diseases carried in our genes, yet it does grant us the possibility of refusing what we acquire after birth. Nevertheless, we must acknowledge that whether we belong to an Eastern or Western civilization, turning one’s back on ancestral legacies—such as national identity or faith—is not only exceedingly difficult but often brings deep suffering to the one who attempts it.

Of course, this does not mean that a person is obliged to live according to superstitions or misguided beliefs.

It will be far more beneficial—for both the individual and the well-being of society—if one discards the beliefs we call superstition and fanaticism, and instead preserves those that uphold virtues such as integrity, cooperation, and love. Rather than attempting to eradicate belief altogether, it is wiser to sift out what is false and misguided.

In the Pacific Ocean, in the stretch where the African and European continents seemed to lean subtly toward one another, there lay a place known as the Twin Island. Some scholars claimed that this land, whispered of for centuries, was none other than another face of the Lost City of Atlantis. Its inhabitants, bound by the weight of their ancestry, were doomed to carry the darker legacies of those who had lived before them. And because their forebears had never found the courage to renounce that inheritance, each generation paid the price—an ever-growing tide of injustice, oppression, and unrest.

Had those ancestors known that their distant descendants would one day writhe beneath layers of deepening fanaticism and the cruelties born from it, would they have stood silent before the spark of the very first wrong?

As its name suggests, the Twin Island was formed by a crater lake nestled within a single island—two smaller isles resting in the lake’s heart, all encircled by towering mountains. The two inner islands were known as the Eastern and Western Islands, named for the direction they faced, while the land surrounding the crater lake was called the Encircling Island.

There were several reasons why the Twin Island remained undiscovered for so long. Chief among them was the strange, unforgiving climate born from the clash of differing ocean currents.

Above the island, the sky was never free of fog, just as the seas surrounding it were never spared from storms. Only a handful of weeks each year saw the heavy shroud of fog loosen its grip. On all other days, one could barely see a few steps ahead. It was as if the very force that governed the universe wished to conceal this island from the eyes of humankind.

Passing near the island, through its raging seas and blinding fog, was less a risk and more a deliberate march toward death. And since the island lay on no trade route, no political corridor, and no essential passage of any kind, there was never a reason to tempt fate.

True, in this part of the ocean there was no danger of an iceberg looming out of the fog,yet striking even a small, unseen islet could run a ship aground or cripple it beyond repair. And what then? In the heart of the ocean, with nothing but water on all sides, how could a damaged vessel be mended? With whose tools, with whose hands?

Contrary to the swirling storms that raged around it, the island itself possessed a calm and temperate climate. The towering mountains encircling the land not only concealed the magnificent crater lake—and the Twin Island resting at its heart—but also served as a natural barrier, shielding the island’s interior from the violent weather beyond.

Thanks to this protective wall of stone, the islands within the crater lake were blessed with fertile soil, allowing a remarkable variety of crops to flourish. Not only citrus fruits typical of Mediterranean climates, but also grains such as wheat, born of harsher continental conditions, thrived there. Even fruits with entirely different needs—bananas and apples, for instance—were cultivated on the northern and southern sides of the Twin Island.

The most striking feature of the island was the absence of any plant life or fish within the crater lake. The water held a taste unlike seawater, yet unlike fresh water as well—something peculiar, something in-between. The settlers met their need for drinking water not from the lake, but from three separate freshwater springs scattered across the islands.

Neither of the two inner islands rose to great heights, yet both possessed wide, fertile plains. In their central regions lay a series of elevated hills, from which small streams trickled down. It was these springs and the meandering brooks born of the hills that allowed the islands’ trees and crops to grow and flourish.

The fertile soil of the islands within the crater lake, together with the presence of fresh water and the mild climate, allowed the land to sustain itself with ease. The Twin Island, resting at the heart of the crater lake, were nearly circular in shape and similar in size. On the inner slopes of the Encircling Island, tall fir trees stood in dense ranks, while toward the sea these firs mingled with countless evergreen oaks.

Pine trees reached colossal heights, especially on the sides of the Twin Island that faced one another. From the hills of the Eastern and Western Islands, streams thundered forth, bursting out from steep rocks and narrow ravines in foaming torrents before calming into shallow beds and gliding gently toward the waves. These winding channels were lined with moss, ferns, and small thickets draped with climbing vines.

Perhaps because the soil of the Eastern Island was richer, the greenery around its streambeds was noticeably more abundant than that of the Western Island. Along the shores, the smooth, unbroken tone of the coastline was interrupted here and there by solitary pines rising above the rest, or by clusters of them gathered like silent watchtowers.

Only a few hundred meters beyond the yellow sands of the Twin Island, vast fertile plains stretched outward, although patches of ash-gray groves broke the continuity of the landscape. At the highest point of the central hill, the vegetation thinned until it vanished entirely, and the summit rose like the jagged tip of a stone tower, piercing the sky with its stark, naked rock.

The inhabitants of the Eastern Island within the crater lake lived entirely within their own ecosystem, sustaining their lives independent of the outside world. Although the fierce storms surrounding the island and its distance from the continents played a part in keeping them isolated, the true reason lay in their beliefs, their traditions, and the ancient superstitions passed down through countless generations.

The people lived in wooden houses whose roofs were covered with a layer of compacted earth, made waterproof by pressing rounded, heavy stones into it until it hardened like clay armor. In front of every home lay a small garden. These gardens were enclosed by thin wooden slats, and within them grew tomatoes, peppers, potatoes, onions, and other modest vegetables.

Because the islanders valued privacy, the fences on the sides facing their neighbors were built noticeably higher, shielding their small world from unwanted eyes.

There were designated areas on the island for raising animals. Cattle, sheep, goats, chickens, fish, and even a kennel for dogs stood side by side on the northern side of the Eastern Island. All work related to the animals was carried out in this cluster of farms. The villages scattered across the southern and eastern sides of the island were connected to the northern farms by winding paths and narrow roads.

From time to time, the islanders gathered in the flat clearing just below the central hill, or at the places of worship nearby. Above this clearing rose a château surrounded by low stone walls. It was from here that Ochiyan—the man known as the Lord of the island—would occasionally announce his new decrees to the people assembled in the square below.

Abraham had just turned thirteen. He had begun to interpret the events around him, to question their habits, their customs, and the very way they lived. Like any child, he had always regarded his parents—the ones who fed him, held him, and comforted him—as his greatest guides since the day he first opened his eyes to the world.

As he stepped into childhood, the stories he heard and the dreams he wove cast his father as a hero: a man strong enough to battle, and even defeat, the three-headed beast said to lurk beyond the far side of the island. Naturally, the religious tales and mythic legends whispered to him over the years shaped his imagination as well, filling his dreams with demons, monsters, and unseen forces lurking in the dark.

As Abraham entered adolescence, the image he had long cherished of his heroic father began to crumble. He realized that his father was not so different from the other islanders, that he tended to the same ordinary tasks, tired like everyone else, grew angry, fell ill, and found himself helpless before certain hardships. Yes, his father was generous, attentive, and devoted to his family, yet Abraham could not reconcile these virtues with the moments when the man became stingy, indifferent, or even prideful. The very words of wisdom his father had preached seemed to falter when set against his own flaws.

Perhaps it was for this reason that Abraham began searching for new guides.

And his search soon bore fruit. Because of his early achievements, he earned the rare privilege of entering the island’s library, a place accessible to only a handful of people. Within its wooden walls were not only well-regarded books on astronomy, but also works on chemistry, physics, biology, mathematics, and the sciences of society.

Centuries earlier, Abraham’s ancestors had fled a great persecution, carrying with them a precious treasure sealed within wooden chests. These forebears had witnessed firsthand the magnificent civilizations of Mesopotamia and Egypt, then the centers of human knowledge. Believing firmly in the saying, “Spoken words fade, but writing endures,” this oppressed people immortalized every science they had learned by committing it to the page.

As they journeyed to the island with their papyri and parchments, the tyrannical pharaohs of the age unleashed their wrath upon cities like Alexandria, Jerusalem, and Harran, destroying their libraries and the priceless works stored within.

The island’s greatest fortune was that the treasure of knowledge brought there had survived untouched through the ages. Yet Abraham was forbidden from entering the section of the library containing the history of religions, the texts on the ancestral faiths—paganism—and the writings on alchemy.

But like any youth newly stepping into adolescence, he believed that prohibitions existed for one reason only: to be broken. And, of course, the most important rule of the game was not to get caught.

As on every first day of the week, Abraham had listened beside his father to the Lord’s proclamations delivered from the balcony overlooking the square, and had taken part in the ritual of blessing meant to ensure a fruitful week. They were just leaving the gathering when he heard the Lord’s men call out to his father.

“Petrus, our Lord wishes to see you and your son.”

Abraham knew his father well enough to be certain he would never reply with,
“I have too much work to do, I cannot come.”
What he wondered instead was how small and subdued his father would become in the presence of the Lord.

Yet even so, he had not expected what followed.

The moment they stood before him, his father suddenly bent down, prostrating himself in full submission. Abraham held the Lord’s gaze for a brief moment, refusing to bow, but a sharp nudge from his father forced him to lower himself, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“Petrus, my trust in you is absolute, yet I want to hear it from your own mouth. No one enters the pine forest except your family, correct? If necessary, we can raise the walls surrounding it and assign you a few men. Do not, under any circumstances, behave carelessly in this matter.”

At that moment, Petrus could not help thinking of the madman whose tangled hair and beard made him look like some creature born of the wild. He had seen Abraham near him more than once. Whenever Petrus tried to drag him out by the collar, the man vanished as if swallowed by the air itself. But he also knew that telling the truth would mean facing the Lord’s wrath, so he kept silent.

“No, my Lord, no one enters,” he said, his voice trembling with fear. “Who would dare defy you?”

“Good. Do not let your guard down,” the Lord replied, motioning with his hand that they might leave… then suddenly added, “Petrus!”

He paused, then continued:

“Take good care of the one at your side. Let him learn our faith and our traditions well. And most importantly, let him learn how to stand before his Lord.”

After Petrus explained that Abraham’s momentary distraction had caused him to appear disrespectful, and that the boy was in truth well-mannered, he bowed his head and withdrew from his master’s presence.

For a fleeting moment, Abraham truly considered extending his hand to the Lord and saying, “Hello, I’m Abraham.” But at the last instant he heard a voice within whisper, “For your father’s sake, do not step on the tail of this peacock.” So he swallowed the urge and walked away.

Petrus finally voiced the question that had weighed on his mind for a long time.
“My son, I’ve seen that madman from the forest by your side more than once. What business do you have with him?”

“He asked me for bread and water a few times, nothing more. What else could I possibly want with that lunatic?” Abraham shrugged, then quickly tried to steer the conversation away by bombarding his father with questions.

“Tell me, Father, aren’t all people equal? If so, why do we bow and shrink before another man just like us?”

Petrus frowned.
“How many times must I tell you not to read the forbidden books of the library? One day you will get yourself into great trouble, and even I won’t be able to save you. Those books must be clouding your mind. And stop telling people you’ve been in that restricted section. If the Lord’s secret spies hear of it, you will face a danger far greater than you imagine.”

Abraham no longer cared about his father's constant warning's about the Lord's secret spies. But he had no intention of backing down against his father's other remarks, and said in a mocking tone:

"Apparently reading, the most natural high I have, must be an unforgivable crime" he added:

"And I still don't understand why only I and a few others are allowed in there. More plainly, what exactly is my privilege?"

"Well, you know the answer to that. You were the only child who passed the test the Lord prepared."

The Twin Island was particularly advanced in the field of geometry. Through this science, they made various calculations concerning the sun and the stars, and studied their influence on the world and on humankind using the numerical values they obtained. For this reason, the Lord constantly sought to discover the brightest minds among the children. What he asked of them was this:

Everywhere on the island, the lake had a depth of twenty-five meters. One day, the Lord hurled the sacred crown—too heavy for water to support—into the lake. After cutting the rope attached to it, he declared that out of the hundred-meter line, thirty-five meters remained. He reminded them again that the depth of the lake was the same everywhere, then said:

“Whoever brings me the sacred crown in the shortest time will be rewarded!”

Abraham, unlike the other students, did not immediately dive into the water. Instead, he made a few calculations with his fingers and thought to himself, “If each of my strokes covers two meters, then I should dive after thirty strokes and search in a circular pattern along the lakebed.”
Abraham was a clever child, and before long he found the crown and brought it back to shore. He explained how he had done it by drawing a triangle on the sand.
65² − 25² = 60² (According to the geometric rule, the sum of the squares of the legs in a right triangle equals the square of the hypotenuse.)
After proving with the figure that the crown had fallen sixty meters from the shore, he added:

“I had no way of knowing in which direction our Lord had thrown the crown into the lake. That’s why, during my search sixty meters off the shore to both the north and the south, I never strayed from the arc of the circle.”

Noticing the villagers staring at him blankly, he decided to explain it with a visual:

“Imagine we’re looking down at the lake from above. If we take the spot on the pier where I prepared to dive as the circle’s center, I had to move sixty meters from there. But since I couldn’t know which direction I was supposed to dive, I stayed strictly along the quarter-circle.”

The islanders applauded, and Abraham gave them his final demonstration:

“Of course, even though the water was calm, I also took its buoyancy into account. And I had to consider the distance between the Lord’s throwing arm and the edge of the pier. That’s why—factoring in the margin of error—I examined the inner and outer lines of that quarter-circle with great care.”

Even though the islander did not understand phrases like “buoyancy,” he assumed Abraham was using scientific terms, and applauded him all the more enthusiastically for it.

After recalling that day, Abraham lifted his hands in the air and said:

“I still don’t understand the reward the Lord gave you. Making you the guard of that enormous pine forest is no reward—it’s exile!”

He did not voice the thought that flashed through his mind: “I used to walk in and out of the forest freely; but now, with you there…”

“Apparently, I’m supposed to help you! We moved out of our lovely house in the middle of the island, and now you’re no longer as comfortable as you used to be. And why is one section of the library forbidden to me? If I’m going to become a scientist, I should read every book!”

His father replied with a grin:

“To be honest, there are questions in my own life that I, too, have never been able to answer.”

Abraham thought his father was speaking philosophically just to tease him, but Petrus had subtly hinted at certain truths.

By now, Abraham and Petrus had reached the great pine forests on the western side of the island. Abraham pointed at the six rocks that marked the beginning of the forest—the boundary of the restricted zone—and the wall built above them from thick, tall planks.

“What is the purpose of building this?” he asked.