Secret Gate - Porta Monastry

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"Forbidden things are like fire; they illuminate the path for those who stay away, yet burn the hands of those who draw near."

This phrase, believed to have originated from the nomadic Scythians in the 5th century BCE, opened the pages of Derya’s research book. Since she began her study, Derya had pored over countless texts and encyclopedias, crafting an extensive roadmap for her journey.

This project, in truth, belonged to both her and her twin brother, Deniz—her ally and confidant. But life, as unpredictable as it is, had decided to separate them for a while. “Just for a while,” Derya would say. She refused to grieve, instead throwing herself into relentless searching and researching.

Exactly one year ago, Istanbul had seen its first snowfall in years. Under the silence of white, only children roamed the streets. The new year coincided with the weekend, and if the snow continued, they could welcome it with serene views.

Derya and Deniz had planned to attend different parties that New Year’s Eve but had agreed to meet at midnight, as they did every year. Though the fraternal twins led separate lives, their bond was unbreakable. Deniz, a magazine editor, was immersed in his demanding job, while Derya, an academic specializing in mythology, pursued a quieter, research-driven life.

That New Year’s Eve, Deniz attended a special party hosted by his magazine. During the event, he encountered a fortune teller who invited him to draw a card from the deck. The card read “Amazonian” and depicted a cave painting. The fortune teller told Deniz that the card held a sign for his future and would prove meaningful when the time came. Intrigued but skeptical, Deniz tucked the card into his coat pocket.

Meanwhile, Derya was spending a romantic evening with her new boyfriend. She saw no reason to join the crowds when they could enjoy a private celebration. At 11:30 PM, both siblings’ alarms chimed, reminding them to head home for their midnight rendezvous. From opposite ends of the city, they hailed taxis and began their snowy journeys. However, the relentless snowfall soon brought traffic to a standstill, forcing them to continue on foot.

Deniz was the first to call. “Lazybones! Did you manage to leave your party?” he teased, out of breath.

“And you? Still clinging to those flashy socialites?” Derya shot back, laughing. Despite the cold, their laughter echoed through the empty streets.

“Where are you?” Derya asked.

“By the mall. You?”

“Near the bus stops on the other side of the avenue.”

Both simultaneously had the same idea. “Let’s run toward each other. We’ll meet at the corner before midnight!”

And so they ran. Derya reached the meeting point first, her breath visible in the icy air. She waited, noticing the frost accumulating on her lashes. Time stretched uncomfortably. A deep chill, not from the snow but from within, crept over her. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

The festive streets, adorned with New Year’s decorations, seemed to dim in her eyes. She called Deniz, but there was no answer. Panic rising, she ran toward the direction her brother was supposed to come from. She still had a few minutes to find him.

She sprinted until her throat was dry, only to freeze in place at the sight ahead—a crowd gathered around a shattered car windshield. Her heart sank as she pushed through the bystanders and saw Deniz lying motionless on the ground. Her trembling hands touched her brother’s cold face, his still arms, desperately trying to will him back to life.

It was then she noticed the card clenched in Deniz’s hand, now damp from snow and mud. “Amazonian.” The cave painting and the peculiar logo beneath remained intact.

That single card unraveled a path Derya could not ignore. It had been a sign—one her brother had tried to decode. Determined to understand, Derya began to delve into the myths of the Amazons.

The Scythians, also known as the legendary Amazons, were a nomadic people whose stories echoed through centuries. While ancient Greek mythology painted them as warrior women in a matriarchal society, historical evidence suggested something different: the Scythians were egalitarian, with women sharing equal roles in hunting, warfare, and governance alongside men. Greek myths, influenced by patriarchal lenses, exaggerated their legends into tales of manless, militant women.

These women roamed vast lands, their strength and wisdom enabling the Scythians to thrive across Eurasia. Their myths hinted at extraordinary talents—some spoke to spirits, others practiced magic, and a few were said to have the power to alter fate itself.

Derya's research led her to countless locations, from excavations in Georgia to studies of nomadic tribes along the Black Sea. Her inquiries seemed endless until a friend in Artvin mentioned a place called Porta Monastery. Local legends claimed a spiritual gateway lay beneath its ruins, a place long abandoned by nearby villagers. The site coincided with areas once inhabited by the Amazons.

One rainy spring morning, Derya arrived at Istanbul’s Sabiha Gökçen Airport, her mind buzzing with anticipation. For the first time in months, she felt a strange certainty that answers awaited her. While waiting for her flight, she reviewed her notes.

One figure stood out: Lycastia, a powerful Amazonian sorceress from the 1200s BCE. Tasked with protecting her people during turbulent times, Lycastia used her abilities to create—or find—portals to safety. The Amazons, led by their indomitable queen Hyppolita, ventured into distant lands for hunting and conquest, trusting Lycastia to safeguard their survival. Her magic, said to harness the forces of fire and water, shaped the legends of an entire era.

Lost in thought, Derya nearly missed her boarding call. She dashed to the gate, clutching her notebook tightly. As the plane ascended, she sent a quick message to her boyfriend, Can, letting him know she had arrived safely. Though he rarely joined her on such trips due to his demanding job as a lawyer, Derya preferred solitude for this particular journey. This was not just research—it was a quest for answers that had eluded her since the night she lost her twin.

The plane touched down in Artvin amidst a turbulent descent. The early morning air was cloudy and cool. As the sharp oxygen filled her lungs, Derya thought to herself, Finally! She was where she belonged—out in the field, on the trail of a mystery.

Outside the airport, Aziz, her old friend and guide for this journey, waited for her by the door. Aziz was a university professor, no older than forty. His long hair and enigmatic aura always struck Derya as mysterious and charismatic. Though they had met years ago at archaeology conferences and events, Derya felt certain there had been a fleeting moment of closeness between them after one such gathering, though the alcohol had clouded her memory.

Aziz’s appeal wasn’t solely his mystique. He was deeply knowledgeable about the region’s history and often helped students researching Turkish mythology by providing guidance and resources. Yet Derya had a lingering suspicion that his motives weren’t entirely altruistic.

As they exchanged greetings like old friends, their eyes met briefly, as though each sought to glimpse behind the other’s mask. Derya broke the moment with a professional smile and climbed into Aziz’s mud-splattered jeep. The interior was warm and inviting. Aziz loaded her luggage, slid into the driver’s seat with a faint smile, and asked, “Shall we head straight there?” Derya nodded eagerly, and with that, they were off to Pırnallı village.

During the drive, they spoke of their lives and work. Derya, however, was careful not to reveal that her research was connected to her late brother. Aziz, meanwhile, discussed school projects, emphasizing a particular legend he thought Derya should explore—one tied to the Amazons. Derya, gazing out the window, occasionally felt Aziz’s eyes on her but dismissed it as nothing more than friendly curiosity.

Pırnallı was a small mountain village with no more than a dozen homes, all built in the traditional wooden style of the Black Sea region. Most lay vacant during the winter. Aziz had arranged for Derya to stay in one of these homes, trusted to him by the warm and welcoming locals.

After navigating rugged roads, they reached the village by mid-afternoon. When the car engine stopped, leaving only the sound of rain and wind, Derya smiled. There was a serenity in the natural world here—a sharp contrast to the suffocating exhaust and chaos of the city. Her lungs felt alive with fresh air, though the journey had left her body weary.

The small house they arrived at had just two rooms and a bathroom. To keep warm, only one room had been prepared, with a stove in the center and two mattresses spread around it. The house, preheated for their arrival, greeted them with the inviting scent of roasted chestnuts.

Derya slept for a few hours and woke to the aroma of soup warming on the stove. Aziz had stocked the house with supplies beforehand. Over dinner, she began questioning him about his knowledge of her research topic.

The Porta Monastery, she learned, was ancient but not old enough to date back to the era Derya was interested in. Built in the 6th century during the Georgian Kingdom, it had served as a place for worship, retreat, and education. The name "Porta," derived from Latin, meant "door" or "gateway." Local legend imbued the monastery with mystical significance, with some believing it to be a symbolic “sacred gate” or “spiritual passage.”

But the legend Derya pursued was not about the monastery itself but rather a cave rumored to lie beneath it. Folklore suggested that medieval locals, fearful of the cave's supposed power as a portal, had built the monastery over it as a seal. Aziz dismissed such tales as myths, ungrounded in evidence, but for Derya, the story held enough allure to draw her here.

No one had ever verified the cave’s existence, yet stories persisted—of missing children, cursed villagers, and wandering ghosts. Derya’s research suggested that the Porta Monastery sat within territory once roamed by Scythian nomads. The first to uncover its secrets, she believed, were the Amazon women. Yet to access the cave, one needed more than brute strength or hunting skills. Like Lycastia, a figure Derya thought held the key. If the mystical gateways described in myths truly existed, they might connect her to her lost brother, Deniz.

That night, as rain tapped on the windows and the stove crackled warmly, Derya drifted into a vivid dream. She was in the Porta Monastery, walking its ancient halls by torchlight, exploring it as though it existed in another dimension. Then she saw him—Deniz—a shadowy figure moving through the mist. She followed him until they reached a structure resembling a tower. Much of it was buried underground, with only its uppermost portion visible, appearing to the untrained eye as nothing more than a simple stone gazebo. But Derya knew.

Deniz’s silhouette entered the structure and vanished. Derya rushed after him, only to find him gone. Panic set in as fog and smoke encircled her. The ground trembled beneath her feet, and as her heartbeat quickened, the monastery’s remaining walls began to collapse. A massive stone toppled toward her—and she awoke with a start.

Aziz was already up, cooking something over the stove. Shaking off the remnants of the dream, Derya forced a smile and said, “That was...a realistic dream.” Before Aziz could probe further, she got up and busied herself.

After breakfast, they set out early. The road was treacherous, winding through an abandoned village. The narrow, uneven streets and medieval-style houses gave the eerie impression of being haunted rather than merely deserted. Eventually, the Porta Monastery came into view.

Time had weathered the structure, but its mystical air remained intact. Aziz described its architectural features and the purposes of its various rooms as Derya took notes. Rain began to fall, forcing them to seek shelter in an underground tower.

As they sat in silence, watching the rain, Derya recalled her dream. She didn’t believe in coincidences. Somewhere here, she was sure, lay the portal Lycastia had uncovered. But she needed tangible proof. Turning to Aziz, she said, “I want to try something. Stay quiet if you want to join me.”

Derya drew a circle around them with white chalk from her bag, then lit a candle, shielding it from the wind. As she moved the flame in deliberate motions around the circle, Aziz quipped, “Not exactly a scientific method, is it?” She silenced him with a gesture and continued.

Finally, she stopped and said, “Found it.” Placing the candle on the ground, she pulled a pendant from her coat pocket—a metallic pendulum resembling a spinning top. Focusing intently, she watched as the pendulum began to rotate within the circle as if guided by an unseen force. Aziz crouched beside her, staring at the pendant with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. The air seemed charged, as though the room itself was alive.

Satisfied, Derya tucked the pendant away, whispered a few words, and extinguished the candle. This was just the beginning.

Turning to Aziz, who awaited an explanation, she smiled gently and said, “The rain has stopped, shall we go?” and stepped outside on a whim, started walking. Aziz stood frozen, watching her, expecting her to pause. Amused, she thought, “A little flirtation never hurt anyone”. It was her way of distracting him, steering his focus away from the topic at hand.

Though Aziz played along with her little game, his curiosity persisted. Along the way, she shared simple rituals used to detect traces of magic or areas of high-energy transitions. That was precisely what she had been doing earlier.

As Aziz drived the jeep through the mud and stones, his eyes fixed on the uneven path, he asked, “So, what are you hoping to find here?” Derya, admiring the verdant haze of the cloud-filled valley, turned to him with confidence in her gaze. “The past, Aziz.”

Aziz, smiling in a way that revealed his distaste for having his intellect underestimated, retorted, “That simple, huh?”

“Not at all,” she replied, her voice serious. “I need to go deeper somehow. I’m just trying to figure out how.”

Aziz abruptly changed the subject. “I’d like you to meet someone tonight,” he said. “We’ll stay at my place in the city—it’s more comfortable and close by. While I’m interested in history, this friend of mine delves into the mystical side of things. You might find it helpful.”

Derya’s eyes lit up. The idea of such an encounter promised to make her research even more fruitful.

This friend, Şimal, was an old acquaintance of Aziz’s and a long-time resident of Artvin. Her family had lived in the region for centuries, and Şimal was deeply invested in its mythological history, as well as the roots of mysticism. She spoke of the ancient people who once lived here, their connection to nature, and how they used the region’s flora for healing, rituals, and even magic.

One plant stood out in their discussions: the yellow ban herb. It grew in many parts of the Black Sea region, its downy, veined leaves thriving in harsh conditions. Known for its medicinal properties—treating stomach pain, nausea, and even used as an anesthetic—it was also infamous as the "witches’ herb," believed to aid in flight. The seeds were its most potent component.

When Şimal described the herb, Derya’s instincts as a researcher kicked in. She reached for her notebook, but it wasn’t there. Panic set in as she realized it was missing. The last time she’d used it was at Porta Monastery. She was certain she had put it back in her bag; she was never careless. Yet, somehow, it was gone.

Aziz tried to calm her, laughing off her rising anxiety. “The roads are dangerous at night, and the rain could worsen. We’ll get it first thing in the morning.”

But Derya was determined. That notebook was her talisman, years of effort bound within its pages. She didn’t want to ruin the evening’s atmosphere, though, and so she waited in silence until they retired for the night.

As they settled into Aziz’s city apartment, he teased her. “Don’t worry, Derya. I’m sure tomorrow will be dry, and we’ll fetch your notebook.”

The idea of her notebook dissolving in the rain haunted her. She lay awake, unable to shake the feeling that she needed to act. Her gut told her she was running out of time. Finally, she got up, tiptoeing to the door. Aziz’s room was dark and silent. If he woke, she knew he wouldn’t let her leave. Quietly, she dressed, grabbed Aziz’s car keys, and slipped out into the icy night.

The streets were deserted, steeped in the deep slumber. She braved the cold, her face stung by the biting wind, until she reached the car. Thoughts of her twin, Deniz, filled her mind “He would’ve done the same for me.”

When Derya reached the rocky dirt road leading to the monastery, a wave of fear swept over her for the first time. She pulled a signal booster from her bag and connected it to her phone, planning to rely on GPS to guide her. For half an hour, she drove through the twilight, surrounded by nothing but dense vegetation and an eerie silence. The journey seemed far longer in the dark, as though the night stretched the distance. At last, she arrived. She parked her vehicle facing the monastery, leaving the headlights on to illuminate the surroundings. Stepping out, she turned on her flashlight and scanned the area.

The dark windows of the old, medieval-style houses seemed to watch her, making her shiver. It felt as if unseen eyes followed her every move. Perhaps she should have been afraid; perhaps coming alone had been a mistake. But it was too late for second thoughts now.

Steeling herself, she focused on the task at hand—finding her notebook—and moved swiftly, her determination outweighing her dread. By the time she reached the ruins, the air was thick with an unsettling quiet. The beam of her flashlight wavered as she spotted the yellow ban plant Şimal had described. Oddly, she didn’t remember seeing it here earlier. Curious, she harvested a few seed pods and tucked them into her pocket. The plant would surely prove useful somehow! Derya was convinced it had a direct connection to the gateway.

She knew that hallucinogenic substances were often key to inducing altered states of consciousness. Those who once sought to amplify their spells had relied on various plants for their rituals. While she was certain of the plant's dangers, she also knew there was no turning back now.

Driven by desperation, she consumed some of the seeds. Their bitterness coated her tongue, and her stomach churned. “Surely… They couldn’t be as dangerous as the myths suggested.”

The slippery path betrayed her, and she slid down the hill, landing hard at the bottom. When she looked up, she noticed a strange glow emanating from the ruins. She was certain that what she saw was no hallucination. Summoning all her courage, she took a few cautious steps toward the tower. Her heartbeat quickened with each step, and she could feel herself trembling. Yet, undeterred, she pressed on, inhaling deeply before stepping into the glowing circle of light. A shiver ran through her as she approached the source—a circle of shifting, iridescent light. The rain, wind, and even the sound of her own breath seemed to cease as she stepped inside the ring.

Peering into the illuminated pit before her, she saw a tunnel spiraling deep into the earth, its walls shimmering like polished gemstones. The light fractured into brilliant colors that danced along the surface. This was no hallucination. Her heart pounded as she prepared to step inside.

A shout stopped her in her tracks. Turning, she saw Aziz standing just outside the circle. Behind him, Şimal emerged, her face grim and her hand gripping a gun. Derya stood there, stunned, her thoughts racing. Aziz stepped into the circle, shielding Derya with his body. “What’s going on?” Derya finally finding her voice, panic rising in her.

“You were right to suspect her,” Şimal said, addressing Aziz. “I knew you’d try to stop me.” Seeing the gun in Şimal’s hand, Derya panicked and stammered, “What’s going on?” Şimal tilted her head to the side, a smug smile curling her lips. While looking around in admiration“Don’t you see? We brought you to this monastery because we needed you to find the portal. And you, being foolish enough, took the bait and came rushing to retrieve your notebook.”

She waved a small leather-bound notebook in her other hand, tauntingly, as though relishing her triumph. “Oh, and to top it all off, you went ahead and ate the seeds of the plant,” she added in amusemend, her tone dripping with mockery.

“Why me?” Derya asked, her voice trembling.

“You’re a twin, Derya. Only this powerful bond can open the portal. It activated because you thought of Deniz. I’m sorry, but for it to fully open, we need to kill your sibling. You know, deep down, that you’ll see her again,” Şimal said with a cruel certainty.

Derya shook with a mixture of fear and rage, on the verge of losing her grip on reality. Ignoring the weapon pointed at her, she lunged at Şimal. The gunshot rang out, sharp and deafening, and behind her, Aziz groaned in pain as he collapsed to the ground.

Panicked, Derya dropped to her knees beside him. The blood spreading from his abdomen told her there was no saving him. Grief-stricken, she turned to Şimal, tears streaming down her face. Şimal stared back with a steely, unyielding expression.

“I can’t kill you—it would put the portal at risk. But I can kill him,” she said with a sigh, as if it were merely an unfortunate necessity.

“What do you want from me?” Derya sobbed, clutching Aziz’s hand tightly.

Şimal stepped closer, standing at the very edge of the circle of light. Her voice was calm but laced with menace.

“You’re going to enter that pit and retrieve the stone for me. That’s all. Of course, do that, and I’ll help you find Deniz. Refuse, and more will die.”

So, there was indeed a stone inside. Though the idea of helping this deranged woman repelled her, she knew she had no choice but to descend.

Gripping the shimmering, pearl-like rocks, she stepped into the glow, which spread like powdered moonlight. The uneven ground of the wormhole proved treacherous, and she slipped, sliding downward for a time until she came to rest in a small, spherical chamber.

In the center of the room floated a luminous pearl, about the size of a plum, defying gravity and radiating a soft, mesmerizing light. The sight dazzled her, and as she stood, it felt as though the stone and her mind were connecting.

She approached it cautiously, reached out, and clasped the pearl in her hand. This was her only chance…

When she opened her eyes, she found herself in her room, lying on her bed. She stayed still in the darkness, catching her breath, her mind racing. Suddenly, her phone’s alarm blared, startling her. She grabbed it, squinting at the screen. The date read December 31st.

Somehow, she had managed to use the stone! The phone's date couldn’t lie. Her heart leaped with hope as she hurriedly dialed her sister’s number. The ringing seemed to stretch into eternity, but at last, a sleepy voice answered.

Hearing Deniz’s voice, she broke into tears.

As relief washed over her, she felt a strange weight pressing against her leg. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the pearl. Its once-dazzling surface had turned a dull black, its glow extinguished, resembling nothing more than an ordinary stone.

But this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning. She now had twelve hours to take her revenge on Şimal. The clock was ticking.