Chimera: The Ashes of Bellerophon

Call of the Void

Point of Disappearance

Sometimes, the void isn’t silent. It hisses. It breathes. It burns.

You stand on the slope of a Lycian mountain where the rocks exhale methane, and myth dies over and over again, not even bothering to take the shape of a ghost. Wind, smoke, and not a single god. Only eternal fire—without a temple, without priests, without meaning. It burns because it can.

Here, reality doesn’t collapse—it evaporates.

And all that’s left for you is to breathe beside a rock that has no past, only a chemical reaction and a relentless exhaustion from being symbolic.

Landscapes Without Hope

You leave Çıralı close to sunset. That matters. During the day, it’s hot and banal, but night squeezes absurdity from the landscape. A stone staircase, seemingly designed during an engineer’s fever dream, winds upward through thorny forest. No signs—just useless arrows and the whisper of trees that have seen everything.

Bushes to your left, a drop to your right, and beneath your feet—nothing but dust and the shattered pieces of tourist delusion. You’re not hiking. You’re circling a drain. There will be no panorama, no summit. Only slopes that smolder like a glitched-out computer in a myth.

Somewhere in the dark, voices speak every language on Earth—but none speak to you. Because you’re walking toward a place where there’s nothing left to exchange.

The Cry of Stones

And then you arrive. Fire—straight out of the ground. No pipe, no wick, no warning. Elusive, liquid, silent and cruel. The stone flares up and then stills, as if something beneath it tried to inhale—but failed.

No one screams here. Not even those who came to scream. Because there’s no need. Everything’s already been said. The Chimera burned, Bellerophon forgotten, the myth incinerated along with its rituals.

You sit nearby and watch the earth smoke. No spirits. No guides. Just ritual solitude. And strangers, unknown to each other, roasting sausages over the burning stones.

The wind tries to extinguish the flame—and loses. There’s a strange comfort in that.

Shadows on the Edge of the Mind

If you sit long enough near the burning stone, you start to wonder: is this even fire? Or is it just an old glitch in the simulation? A fragment of ancient code left in Lycia to beta-test mythological terrain?

Why did you even decide it was beautiful? Or meaningful? It’s just hydrocarbons escaping to the surface. Just gas. Just ashes. Just a crack—in the crust and in your perception.

Then why are your hands trembling? Why is everything inside you so quiet?

Maybe the Chimera didn’t die. Maybe she just went underground—to burn in silence, without us.

Some people say that if you burn paper money in the flames of Mount Chimera, it gets sent to the Heavenly Retirement Fund.

But no one knows if such an organization truly exists. It’s possible these people are employees of a Celestial Ponzi Scheme—and the money goes to them.

Marks on the Map

Location: Turkey, Antalya province, village of Çıralı

Route: From Çıralı center to the Yanartaş trailhead is about 3 km, then 1 more km of rocky ascent.

Timing: Go at sunset. Bring a flashlight. Bring water. Leave your illusions.

Entry Fee: Yes. But in this kind of void, even a ticket feels like an artifact.

Tip: The fewer the people—the closer to the real thing.

Echo in the Void

You leave. The fire still burns. Without you, as it did before you.

Below, reality returns—scooters, tea, children. But somewhere in the back of your mind, the crack still smolders. As if you saw something you weren’t supposed to see. And now it’s inside you. Without flames—but with temperature.

You didn’t get closer to nature. You got farther from yourself.

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