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In an autumn without trees, those we lost are brought back under the banners of respect and loyalty.
And there—where deals are forged in the silent halls of aristocracy—Layla returns from the camp,
and with her returns the name Aline Friedman.
But does life truly return?
Can the rift be healed between those who remained… and those who were forced to leave?
This chapter takes you deep into the heart of Marley,
and into the depths of a message waiting for Sarah to open.
❖ Marley – The Return of Those Who Never Truly Return
He did not know them.
Zeke Yeager—commander, soldier, traitor in some eyes and savior in others—had never belonged to the world of noble families or circles of nostalgia.
Yet now, he stood at the threshold of a house filled with portraits of the past.
The house of Aline Friedman—the woman who chose to love beyond bloodlines and lineage,
and paid for that choice with her life.
Aline…
the rebellious sister,
the mother who died two months after Jalal's execution,
the mother of Sarah and Layla.
Zeke knocked on the door with a heart that had never known fear on the battlefield—
yet trembled when facing memory.
He did not know the grandmother well.
He had never met Luca before.
But the information he had gathered, the threads he had begun to piece together, had led him here.
Time was running out.
And Layla… was in danger.
In an old aristocratic salon, groaning under the weight of portraits and ivory,
Zeke sat facing a pale elderly woman whose fingers trembled uncontrollably.
Beside her stood a tall, fair-haired young man—his features calm, concealing a quiet fire.
Luca Friedman.
Heir to blue blood, and the younger brother of Aline—lost to him in childhood.
He was only five years older than Sarah, yet had grown up bearing the weight of the entire family since his sister's death.
Zeke spoke softly, as if carrying the burden of every word he was about to say:
"Layla is being held… not in an official prison.
She's in a medical camp near the border—under the pretext of providing psychological support to soldiers.
But the truth is… she is a hostage."
The air fell out of the room.
The walls seemed to shrink inward.
The grandmother lifted her trembling glasses and whispered:
"And where is Sarah?"
Zeke met her eyes.
There was caution in them—and something close to regret.
"On Paradis.
She was forced to go… in exchange for her sister's life.
She was sent to uncover the secret of the Founder.
She has less than a year left."
The grandmother let out a lifeless laugh.
"Life?
And when did we ever own the right to life?
Aline married Jalal against our will.
She gave birth to Sarah, then Layla—and paid the price.
Jalal was imprisoned, executed during the revolution…
and she died two months later.
We took the girls from the orphanage two years after that.
Their grandfather raised them like plants meant to be harvested for a false sense of patriotism.
Even Sarah… he wanted to marry her off to Willy Tybur."
Luca interrupted, his voice shaking, his chest heaving:
"She loved Mathis.
All she ever wanted was to choose her own life.
And she ran… taking Layla with her."
Zeke looked at Luca for a long moment, then asked quietly:
"Do you blame her?"
Luca answered bitterly:
"Me?
I didn't just lose my sister when Aline died…
I lost Sarah twice.
Once when she disappeared.
And once when she chose never to return."
He stepped closer to the table, his voice now steady as steel:
"But Layla… we will not let them swallow her too."
The grandmother raised her head, as if waking from a deep sleep:
"I was the one who took her out of the orphanage.
And I will take her out of their hands now.
But Sarah?
Sarah cannot be brought back."
Zeke spoke slowly, as though carving his words into stone:
"That's why I'm here.
Sarah will be my responsibility…
and Layla?
She is in your hands."
Luca drew a deep breath—his eyes burning with the same fire Aline once had when she stood against Marley:
"Tomorrow, I go to the camp.
There is no law above us when we have the means to pay—and know where to place the dagger."
Zeke stepped closer, standing directly before him:
"You know this is dangerous."
Luca smiled with the cold sarcasm of the nobility:
"More dangerous than leaving an innocent girl at the mercy of Marley's soldiers?
No.
Everything we have—we throw it in now."
He turned to leave, then paused, glancing back at the grandmother:
"When Layla returns…
the name Aline will return with her.
And we will rebuild everything that was broken on the night love died."
❖ Flashback – Luka
From the moment he began to recognize faces, she was the first to open the door for him and the last to turn off the light.
Aline… his sister—yet, in his eyes, she was his mother, his caretaker, the entire world in which he learned how a heart could stay warm despite the family's cold.
He grew up calling her by her name, but deep inside he knew that this woman—twenty years older than him—was the hand that caught him when he fell, the chest he hid against from the chill of his real mother: cold, rigid, a woman who never tolerated weakness or tears.
Aline was never just a sister.
She was the one who hid small gifts for him, who covered him when he slept on the floor, who taught him not to be part of the herd—but to become a voice among soundless walls.
When Aline married Jalal, Luka never understood the whispers, nor the looks of disdain from the rest of the family.
He only saw her happy—truly happy—for the first time.
And he loved Jalal, because Jalal treated her the way she deserved.
Then Jalal died.
His death struck Luka like a slap across the face.
And after him, Aline left—without a farewell, without an explanation, without giving Luka the chance to tell her that he still needed her.
When Sarah and Layla were taken to the orphanage, Luka was still a teenager, powerless to do anything.
But he swore—he would return to them.
He would carry his sister's name the way she once carried his weakness when they were young.
❖ Present Day
Today, Luka is one of the most influential opposition voices in Marley.
Handsome, tall, his features carry aristocratic refinement—but his voice holds the anger of orphans.
He smiles like a politician, yet speaks like the son of a sister betrayed by the state, just as it betrayed so many before her.
And when he sat across from Zeke and heard that Layla was being held captive, the world began to turn again—
But this time, he would not allow it to complete its cycle without tearing justice from its core.
"I will bring Layla back—not only because she is Sarah's sister…
but because she is a piece of Aline.
And this time, I will not be small, helpless, or silent."
❖ Autumn at the Northern Camp
Autumn in the north was different.
No colors. No poetically dying trees.
Only barren land, fog drifting through it like an undeclared battlefield.
Medical Camp No. 47, located on Marley's northern border, looked like a metal box frozen in a cold timeline—neither at peace, nor at war.
The soldiers moved in silence. No one raised their voice.
Since last night, one name alone had shaken the concrete walls:
Luka Friedman.
The car that brought him was not luxurious—but it bore the golden Friedman family seal.
When he arrived, he did not demand to see anyone.
He did not threaten.
He did not raise his voice.
All he did was say to the security aide at the gate:
"I will wait tonight. Inform your commanding officer that I request permission."
He knew that storming the place by force would not bring Layla back—
it would only make her disappear forever within a system skilled at burying names as efficiently as it buries people alive.
❖ That Night
That same night, Luka sat in a small office inside the officers' quarters.
From his jacket, he pulled out a letter bearing an official seal.
The letter was not a threat…
It was a reminder.
A reminder that the Friedman name was not merely that of a noble family—but one of Marley's ancient pillars.
His father, the late politician Max Friedman, had been among the last men to stand against the militarization of the state.
He was famously quoted before his death:
"Marley will die the day it forgets its children… or suffocates beneath its own orders."
And Luka—his only son—had not forgotten his sister's daughter, Aline, who was cast out of the family when she married the outcast scientist Jalal Abdeljalil.
He had not forgotten how Jalal died in a political prison.
He had not forgotten how Aline fell ill two months after his burial—and died without saying goodbye.
He had not forgotten how two little girls were left behind in an orphanage:
Sarah, nine years old.
Layla, four.
Nor had he forgotten how their tyrannical grandfather reclaimed them—
only for them to flee years later when he tried to force Sarah into marriage with a man named Willy Tybur.
❖ Morning
On a gray morning, after approval finally came from the high command, Luka entered the camp director's office.
The director was a stern-faced man—but his hand trembled slightly as he read the name on the file:
Dr. Layla Jalal Friedman.
The name alone was a delayed scandal.
Ordering her transfer could trigger a political investigation in the capital.
But in front of Luka?
Silence was wisdom.
The director spoke quietly:
"She served us. We monitored her. She did not resist.
But she is not an ordinary doctor."
Luka replied coldly:
"She is a hostage—wrapped in the language of respect."
He placed a small case on the desk.
Inside it: banknotes, a family ring, and a recommendation letter from a former royal advisor.
Then he added—his voice low, but piercing through the office walls:
"Layla will leave today.
She will not appear in public.
She will be transferred to the Friedman estate in the capital, under her grandmother's care.
As for the reports—
you will write what we decide.
Otherwise… your name will be the first one the newspapers hang beneath questions of scandal."
After an Hour
An hour later, Luka stepped out of the office, the fog still besieging the camp from every direction.
The autumn wind brushed his face, as if reminding him that he had not won yet.
But when the rear door of the field hospital opened…
and Layla emerged—pale, unfocused, clutching a thin file and a withered flower—
Time froze for a single second.
Her eyes met his.
She said nothing.
He did.
"This exile is over, Layla… at least from our side."
❖ The Friedman Estate – A Letter Beneath the Pillow of Absence
Layla's return to the estate was nothing like she had once imagined.
The place stood exactly as she had left it ten years ago—
everything looked the same, yet no one was who they used to be.
She entered in silence, between cold marble columns and staircases of childhood,
the grandmother walking ahead with slow, deliberate steps,
and Luka behind her, silent as a statue in a procession of memory.
As Layla neared the great hall, her grandmother suddenly stopped, then turned to her—
eyes filled with the weight of two lifetimes.
"You've changed," she said softly,
"but you are still Layla."
Then she opened her arms wide and pulled her into an embrace.
A wordless hug—carrying the warmth of childhood milk,
and a muffled sob lodged deep within the grandmother's heart,
from which a trembling sentence escaped:
"At last… you're home."
That night, the grandmother sat brushing Layla's hair, just as she had in childhood.
The same hands—creased with age—still held the same tenderness.
Layla asked softly, gazing at her reflection in the mirror:
"And Grandfather?"
Silence settled.
Then the grandmother murmured:
"He passed… four years ago.
And the last thing he said, as his breath faded, was:
'Forgive her if she returns.'"
Layla closed her eyes.
A silent tear fell onto her grandmother's hand.
The old woman clasped it gently and kissed it—without a word.
When night swallowed the house and the grandmother withdrew,
Layla sat at the old wooden desk.
She took out thick parchment and a pen inherited from years of silence.
Her handwriting was elegant—
but her heart trembled with every word.
❖ The Letter
My dearest Sarah,
I know these words will reach you someday—
and if they don't, their feeling will.
I never expected us to be separated this way,
but today I have returned… to the place where everything began.
The camp is over.
Don't ask how—just know that Luka did the impossible.
And Grandmother… she is still the same:
strong on the outside, weeping on the inside.
Do not worry about me.
There are many hearts here that beat for you, without even knowing you.
As for me… there is something I need you to remember.
If you hear this from Zeke or from anyone else, know that I am completely fine.
Just remember the word we used when we were little:
Lemon Moon.
Yes—my little lemon, don't laugh!
You'll remember the story, and I know you'll smile despite everything.
Let this word be your sign that I am safe.
And I will remain so… until you return.
She signed the letter with the small name she once used:
Lilo
Layla placed the letter inside a black envelope, sealed with the family crest,
and handed it to Zeke herself the following morning.
She said, as she placed it in his hand:
"Give it to her if you can…
and if you can't, then just read her the last line."
Zeke asked, puzzled:
"Lemon Moon?"
Layla smiled—for the first time in weeks—and said:
"She'll understand.
And she'll laugh… even if she's standing in the middle of hell."
In a world that masters the manipulation of names and bloodlines,
one word remains beyond purchase:
"Lemon Moon."
It is not merely a childhood joke—
but a symbol of bonds that do not wither,
even when autumn dries the earth bare.
Sarah has not read the letter yet…
but you, as a reader, have.
So what will you do with it?
Do you believe some words are strong enough to survive war — and still bring someone back alive?