When she opened her eyes, the wooden planks of the ceiling seemed to shift for a brief moment; her breathing had grown heavy, and as she reached out to the side, she flinched slightly when the cold stone brushed against her skin. Forcing herself, she pushed her body upright on the bed. What was she doing in a bed, and where was this place?
As she tried to stand, dizziness overtook her, her balance faltered, and she was forced to sit back down on the bed.
"Don't move so quickly, I may have given you too much of the medicine," a woman's voice said. Turning toward the sound, she saw a woman placing a dish onto a wooden table.
She began to study her carefully; her hair fell to her shoulders and appeared black at first glance, yet shifted into a deep navy under the light. Her skin was almost unnaturally pale, and her eyes resembled a deep ocean blue. Like the other women here, she wore a long dress, but hers was a vivid red with a noticeable neckline. She found it difficult to look away from her; her beauty was almost unsettling.
Then she let her gaze wander across the room. It seemed to consist of a single space; across from the door was a small kitchen area, a table stood in the center, and to the left was the bed she had just risen from. Her eyes briefly flicked toward another door; it was likely the bathroom. After all, no one with another room would place their bed out in the open like this.
When she turned back to the woman, she noticed that she was already looking at her, a faint smile resting on her lips.
"Come, drink your soup before it gets cold," the woman said, taking a seat on one of the chairs.
Where was this place, and why was she here? As that thought echoed through her mind, her memories rushed back all at once. İlyara suddenly rose to her feet.
"No! Arın—they took him!" she shouted, her heart pounding as though it might burst from her chest.
"Wait…" she said, turning toward the woman and pointing a finger at her.
"Did you kidnap me?" she asked, though her voice grew noticeably quieter as the sentence went on.
The woman took a sip of her soup and let out a faint hiss. "Ah, it's hot," she said calmly before lifting her gaze to İlyara.
"I know you have many questions, but drink your soup first; you've been asleep for two days."
Unable to contain the anger rising within her any longer, İlyara walked toward the woman and slammed both of her hands onto the table; everything on it trembled slightly from the impact.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice low and strained.
The woman slowly placed her spoon beside the bowl, then folded her hands together on the table.
"Calm down…" she said, her gaze drifting toward İlyara's hands as she continued. "…you can't control your emotions."
Frowning, İlyara looked down at her hands; that black smoke was rising from them again. Startled, she pulled her hand back from the table and staggered a few steps backward. Her eyes remained fixed on her hands… and then, unexpectedly, a smile spread across her face.
The woman rose from her chair and began walking toward İlyara with slow, measured steps.
"You're losing control," she said, extending her hand toward her. "Let me help you—"
İlyara knocked her hand away before she could touch her. Her smile widened, her lips stretching unnaturally, almost reaching her ears, as her body began to tremble before she suddenly dropped into a crouch with a scream.
"I told you, you can't control it," the woman said as she slowly knelt beside her and took hold of İlyara's hands. At first, İlyara tried to pull away, but the woman was far stronger than she had expected; her grip did not loosen in the slightest.
As İlyara continued struggling to free herself, a strange calm began to spread through her, and in the next instant she found herself standing in the middle of a vast field of violets. As she turned her head from side to side, the rich scent of the flowers filled her lungs, her shoulders slackened, and the tension left her body. She was no longer screaming; instead, she lifted her face toward the sky and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, yet something was wrong this time—the sweet fragrance of violets was laced with the sharp, metallic scent of blood.
That foreign note in the scent grew heavier with each breath. The sweetness soured, and the metallic trace seeping through the flowers tightened around her lungs. Her chest constricted, and she felt that something was terribly wrong.
Her eyes snapped open.
The color of the field had faded; the purples darkened and turned murky, as if stained, while dark patches appeared among the flowers and parts of the soil looked wet and shadowed. The violets at her feet were crushed. When she inhaled, there was nothing left but the smell of blood.
She tried to take a step back—but she couldn't move.
The image seemed to fracture.
And then, in an instant, everything vanished.
The woman was standing before her again.
---
Arın — The Uniformed One
The moment that familiar scent filled his nose, he sensed a slight movement beside him; his eyes snapped open, and he lunged at the body next to him without hesitation, only to stop instantly the moment he realized that the person beneath him was his master.
His master slowly opened her eyes. Upon seeing Arın above her, a faint smile formed on her lips.
"Are you awake?" she asked, one hand already cupping his cheek. Arın, however, remained completely still, doing nothing but watching her.
Then his master lowered her hand from his face, sliding it downward without ever breaking contact as it moved along Arın's bare body, until it came to rest directly over his heart.
Arın felt his heart tighten, as though her hand had truly wrapped around it, pressing a little more with each beat; his breathing did not change, and his gaze remained steady.
Was she angry with him? He could not tell whether that even mattered. The only thing that mattered to him—was orders.
"Is there a problem, my master?" he asked without moving in the slightest.
His master pressed her long, red-polished nails into the place where his heart lay, and from between them a thick, black fluid began to seep, flowing down from her hand and dripping onto the white sheets. Arın showed no reaction whatsoever and simply continued waiting for her answer.
"The girl protected by a Morhena… you must have heard the rumor," she said in a cold voice, pushing her nails slightly deeper as she continued in almost the same tone. "Is it true?"
"Yes, my master," he replied without emotion.
"Is that so…" she murmured. "Then who is this girl?" Her voice had grown noticeably quieter.
"I'm not certain, but they believe she is the shadow of the Kadim," he said.
The moment he spoke those words, a strange feeling stirred within him—something he had not felt in a very long time.
Something in him was definitely broken.
"The shadow of the Kadim…" his master murmured to herself, her expression thoughtful, before lifting her gaze back to Arın. "Then… where is this girl now—"
"İlyara," Arın cut in.
He did not understand why he had done that; he had never interrupted his master before.
She frowned at the interruption but said nothing.
"İlyara…" she repeated this time in a calmer tone. "Where is she now?"
She withdrew her nails from Arın's skin, then ran her fingers over the wounds; after a short while, they closed completely.
"I don't know," Arın said. Where was she, really? The thought caused his heart to falter for a brief moment—another mistake.
"I was bringing her to you, my master—"
"Veyra," his master interrupted, "I prefer it when you call me Veyra," she said, placing her hand once more over his heart.
"As you command, Veyra, my master," Arın replied. In response, Veyra grasped the back of his neck with her other hand and pulled him closer.
"Just Veyra," she said, her lips drawing nearer to his as her breath brushed against his skin.
"Veyra—" As Arın spoke only her name this time, Veyra lowered her head slightly and pressed her lips against his.
Arın did not understand why his master was doing this, nor could he comprehend what she expected from it. The outcome would always be the same, because such feelings no longer existed for him. Remaining completely still, he did what he always did—he simply waited for it to end.
Veyra pulled her lips away from his, then reached for the vase on the bedside table and hurled it toward the door. The vase shattered on impact, fragments scattering across the floor.
"Why don't you react? Why!" Veyra shouted.
Faced with this outburst, Arın did not know how he was supposed to respond, nor could he understand what he had done wrong.
The door suddenly opened. The one responsible for his capture, Number Two, stepped inside; he first looked at Arın, then at his master, before taking a few steps into the room.
"Are you alright, my master?" he asked, his gaze still fixed on Arın.
"The girl—" Veyra began, pausing briefly. "Find İlyara and bring her to me," she continued, pushing Arın off her.
"As you command," Number Two said before leaving the room.
Arın's heart began to beat faster than it ever had before; this feeling… was something very old.