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In the ruins of Jerusalem, four men—Jew, Christian, Muslim, and one who believes in nothing—fight not only for survival but for meaning. Amid shattered faiths and rising fear, obedience becomes the new god. When River refuses to kneel, he becomes more than a man: he becomes a question.
In a world where order demands sacrifice, what will you give to sleep in peace?
A gripping literary novel set during the Crusades, The Shore of No One explores the tension between living and obeying, faith and fear, freedom and control. For readers of philosophical and historical fiction who seek stories that unsettle and linger.
Chapter 1 — Jerusalem
The horse slipped on something soft and collapsed sideways. The scream didn’t come from the animal. They were beneath the southern wall, where bodies were thrown to clear the way.
Dust still hung in the air when Abram realized he was kneeling. His hands sank into a soaked tunic. Red. Not his blood. Not at first. The man beneath him breathed in ragged bursts, as if the air had turned thick.
A banner tore free from its mast and crossed the sky before landing on the corpses. The fabric smelled of smoke and iron.
“Don’t look at him,” someone said, too close.
Pedro shoved with his shoulder and pulled Abram’s arm. His sword dangled loose, as if he no longer knew what it was for. His face was smeared, not with blood, but with ash.
From the wall came a long cry. Not an order. A lament.
Mohamed appeared between two shadows, limping. He leaned on a broken spear. He looked at the man on the ground, then at Abram.
“He’s not one of ours,” he said.
“Nor one of mine,” Pedro replied without looking at him.
River stood a little farther back, motionless, staring at the ground as if searching for something lost among the dead. He crouched and took a handful of earth, letting it fall slowly between his fingers.
A group of riders thundered past. Hooves struck flesh and stone without distinction. One of the bodies moved. No one went to him.
The man beneath the tunic stopped breathing.
Silence lasted barely a heartbeat. Then the noise returned: metal, screams, prayers shouted like orders and others whispered like apologies.
Abram rose to his feet. His hands trembled.
“This city…” he began, but didn’t finish.
Pedro crossed himself, quick, almost mechanical. The cross on his chest was bent.
“God sees everything,” he said, as if it were a command.
Mohamed spat on the ground.
“If He sees this,” he answered, “then He’s watching in silence.”
River lifted his gaze for the first time. His eyes were dry.
“Or He’s not watching,” he said.
A projectile slammed into the wall. The blast shook the air. Dust, new screams.
Abram looked around: bodies, broken symbols, blood mixing with earth, someone praying, another shouting.
The question escaped him, weak, almost a whisper:
“What if we’re fighting against God?”
No one answered.
But none of them raised their weapons right away.
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