A warm, almost delicious smell filled her nose. She inhaled sharply, and her stomach growled in response.
İlyara slowly opened her eyes. The sky had already begun to brighten. Then she looked at the hard surface she had been leaning against.
The cursed tree.
İlyara let out a tired sigh. She had fallen asleep beneath it again.
For a moment, her heart quickened.
Maybe I've returned, she thought, the corner of her lips lifting slightly.
But the smile faded almost as quickly as it had come.
A fire was burning in front of her, carefully built in the hollow between the roots. Pieces of meat, skewered on sticks, were slowly roasting above the flames.
İlyara's mouth watered.
Just as she was about to stand, someone reached out and took one of the pieces.
For a brief moment, anger flared inside her. Black smoke began to rise from her hands.
The instant she noticed it, her heart started pounding, and she froze where she was. Closing her eyes, she took slow, steady breaths.
"Have you calmed down?" someone asked.
İlyara's eyes snapped open, her heart pounding as if it might burst from her chest. She turned toward the voice.
Someone was sitting beside the fire.
The uniformed man.
When she noticed him, she relaxed slightly and rolled her eyes.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
As she pushed herself up, pain shot through her body, and she hissed. She glanced at her hand and saw blood seeping from a scabbed wound—the result of the fight the night before.
"Oh, wonderful," she muttered.
This time, she stood up without caring about the pain, but when dizziness hit her, she had to grab the cursed tree for support. As if burned, she pulled her hand away immediately.
She stood there for a moment, trying to steady herself, then looked at the uniformed man again.
"I asked why you're here," she said, her tone sharp.
The uniformed man lifted the meat to his mouth and began chewing calmly.
İlyara waited until he finished the bite.
"I don't know," he said simply, and kept eating.
"How do you not know?" she asked, taking a step toward him.
At that exact moment, her stomach growled again.
İlyara almost grabbed her stomach, but stopped herself. Instead, she walked toward the fire.
She could feel the uniformed man's gaze on her, but İlyara ignored it. She crouched beside the fire and sat on one of the large roots stretching out from the tree.
She reached toward the fire, took a piece of meat, and began to eat.
She could still feel him watching her, but she didn't look at him. She just ate.
As she ate, a drop slid down her cheek. Then another.
And another…
Without putting the food down, İlyara wiped her tears with the back of her hand—but they wouldn't stop. Soon, her hands began to tremble.
A hiccup escaped her. The meat slipped from her hand and fell to the ground.
İlyara kept crying as she stared at the fallen piece.
Then, through her blurred vision, another piece of meat appeared in front of her.
She lifted her head.
The uniformed man was holding it out to her.
For a moment, İlyara felt her heart skip.
Without looking into his eyes, she reached for it, her hands trembling as she took it and continued eating.
Now she was both crying and eating at the same time.
---
After finishing the meal, the uniformed man remained standing by the fire. İlyara sat off to the side, staring at her hands as she ran a finger over the scabs.
"Where will you go now?" he asked.
İlyara looked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze back to the wound.
"I don't know," she said. "Do I even have somewhere to go?" she added with a mocking smile, still focused on her hand. She lifted one of the scabs, and blood slowly gathered along the edge of the cut.
"You can come with me if you want," he said.
İlyara's hand froze over the wound. She raised her head and looked at him.
There was no change in his face—calm, the same dull, expressionless gaze as always.
İlyara sighed first.
"And where are you going?" she asked.
"Home," he said simply.
Home. What was she supposed to make of that? Was he trying to mock her?
To find out, she studied his face again. The same empty expression.
"And where exactly is this 'home' of yours?" İlyara asked.
"A city in the north," he said, gesturing deeper into the forest. But İlyara saw nothing but trees.
"But I killed someone," she said, lowering her head.
"I always do," the uniformed man replied.
İlyara froze at those words and met his eyes.
That darkness began to seep into her again, but this time she wasn't afraid of it. On the contrary, she wanted to draw it into herself.
Suddenly, the uniformed man looked away and swung his sword.
"Ahh!" she cried, covering her head with her hands.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Slowly, she lifted her head and looked at him.
He was putting out the fire.
What had just happened?
The uniformed man smothered the last glowing ember.
İlyara was still trying to understand what had just occurred.
---
Somewhere Else
The sky was dark, but suddenly it shifted into strange colors. The smell of blood and smoke spread through the air as the silence of the forest was shattered by shouts and the clash of metal.
She was running through the battlefield.
Bodies lay scattered wherever she stepped, groans and cries for help rising all around her.
She moved from one body to another, trying to heal those she believed were still alive. She was a healer, but her power had limits, and without her supporter beside her, everything became far more difficult.
She had arrived too late. Even so, she had come alone, hoping she could still help someone.
As she moved among the fallen, she noticed a familiar face.
She froze for a moment, her heart beginning to race.
Slowly, she walked toward that figure.
Other wounded soldiers called for her help as she passed, but she no longer heard them. Her entire focus was on that one body.
She knelt beside it. The gray armor was covered in cuts and burn marks. She brushed the short hair away from the face.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh no!" she cried. "No… no…"
Shaking her head, she began checking the wounds, feeling the faint heartbeat growing weaker beneath her touch.
"No… no…" she whispered. "You can't die!"
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her right hand. Blood ran from the center of her palm, and she could feel her power weakening.
"No… our bond can't break," she said, her voice trembling. "No… this can't happen."
"Open your eyes!" she shouted.
When she looked again, the body was gone.
Panic surged through her as she searched the cold ground with her hands.
There was nothing.
She jumped to her feet and spun around, shouting—
"No! Come back!"
She woke up in bed, drenched in sweat, her heart still pounding wildly as she pressed a hand against her chest.
Then she noticed a shadow standing in the corner of the room and turned toward it.
"Who's there?" she asked sharply.
The shadow moved.
"It is me, my lady," the man said, bowing.
"Who are you… Number Two?" the woman asked.
"Yes, my lady," he replied.
The woman slowly got out of bed. Without paying him any attention, she began changing her clothes.
"Why are you here?" she asked, her back turned to him.
"My lady, a rumor has been spreading in a town," the man said.
"There is always a rumor," she replied wearily.
"I thought it might be something you would want to know," he said, bowing again.
"Well? What is it?"
"They say there is a morhena protecting a young woman," the man said.
The woman turned toward him at once.
"How could that be? That's impossible," she said, alarmed. "Which morhena is it?"
"I believe it is… Number One," the man said thoughtfully.
The expression on the woman's face changed instantly. Then her whole body began to tremble.
She drew the man's sword from its sheath and stabbed him again and again.
But the man did not fall.
He simply remained standing, expressionless.
"Bring me that Number One," the woman said.
Her voice was now cold as ice.
"And kill the girl."