İlyara – Pov
İlyara kept tugging at the hem of her dress as they moved along the path. Since it had been torn from top to bottom, a large part of her leg was exposed. No matter how much she pulled the fabric down, it wasn't enough to cover it. The cold air brushing against her skin only made her more uneasy.
At the same time, she kept watching the uniformed man.
His gaze never shifted. There was no hesitation, not the slightest sign that he might have noticed. It was as if he was deliberately ignoring the tear.
Or perhaps he truly didn't see it.
İlyara couldn't decide which was more unsettling.
The uniformed man guided the horse between the trees. Branches brushed against his shoulders as he pulled the reins and brought it to a stop. Then he dismounted quietly and tied the horse to a nearby tree.
He lifted his head and looked at İlyara.
"Wait here," he said. "I'll go into the town and get a few things."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked toward the entrance of the town.
İlyara watched him for a while as he moved away. When his silhouette disappeared among the trees, she turned her head and looked around.
Just being this close to the town was enough. The memories she had buried rose to the surface on their own. Especially that night…
The horse shifted uneasily. İlyara loosened the reins and leaned toward its neck, pressing her palm gently against its warm skin.
Her hands were trembling.
"Calm down, İlyara," she murmured. "Everything's fine."
The time she had spent on horseback had left a dull ache in her thighs. Thinking it might feel better to walk, she slowly climbed down.
The moment her feet touched the ground, the horse's behavior changed. Its tension eased for a brief second, then it turned its head to the side and took a few steps away.
İlyara paused, her steps hanging in place for a moment. Still, she didn't pull back; she moved toward it with careful steps. As she got closer, the horse tried to move away from the tree it was tied to. With every motion, the rope tightened, its skin scraping against the rough bark.
"Easy…" she said, raising her hands slowly. "It's okay."
But this time, her voice was more cautious.
She took another step.
The horse suddenly neighed.
İlyara quickly reached out and grabbed the reins. "Shh… easy, it's okay," she said, though her voice came out more tense than she expected.
But her words had no effect.
The horse suddenly reared.
İlyara's fingers slipped from the reins; she lost her balance and fell hard onto the ground on her back.
"Ah…"
Her breath was knocked out of her for a moment.
When she lifted her head, she saw that the horse had already broken free from the reins. She must have loosened the rope as she fell.
"Damn it!" she cursed.
The horse was running toward the town.
It must have remembered its way home, she thought. But what was she going to say to Arın now? Would he be angry?
Then again… could he even get angry?
İlyara frowned.
She didn't know.
And she didn't want to know either.
He wasn't… human.
And yet… she wanted him to be by her side.
She couldn't lose him.
"Well, look who we have here," a mocking voice said.
İlyara's eyes widened in fear. She turned sharply and saw the man.
She recognized him.
The horse's owner.
"So the little thief came back," he said, starting to walk toward her with slow, heavy steps. The axe in his right hand hung loosely at his side, swaying slightly with each step.
İlyara tried to get up, but a sharp pain shot through her lower back and she let out a pained sound. She couldn't stand. Losing her balance, she dropped back onto the ground and instinctively moved away.
She began to crawl backward.
Her eyes scanned the surroundings on their own. She was looking for the uniformed man.
Where was he?
The man grinned.
"It's just the two of us," he said, his voice low but full of confidence. "No point looking for anyone."
He took a few more steps closer.
"We've got time before that freak shows up."
With a heavy motion, he leaned over İlyara and lifted his foot, pressing her hard against the ground. Her back hit the dirt; she clenched her teeth as a sharp breath escaped between her lips.
"What are you doing?" she shouted, not taking her eyes off him. She tried to sound firm, but the filthy grin spreading across his face sent a chill through her.
She tried to pull back.
This time, he pressed his foot against her stomach. As the pressure increased, İlyara's breath was cut off; her chest rose, but no air filled her lungs.
"You're not going anywhere," the man said, his voice low, almost amused. "You're famous around here now."
İlyara lifted her head. Her vision had blurred, yet she still kept her gaze fixed on him.
The man leaned in a little more. His face came dangerously close.
"There's a bounty on your head," he whispered.
He didn't drag it out.
"The shadow of the Ancient."
İlyara's heart began to race. Who was the Ancient?
"I'm no one's shadow," she said, trying to steady her breath.
The man let out a short, rough laugh. He spun the axe loosely in his hand; its dull surface caught the light for a brief moment before it faded again.
"That power of yours…" he said, pointing at her, "it's the same as the Ancient's power."
İlyara's jaw tightened. This cursed power kept becoming a problem.
"I don't know anyone called the Ancient," she said, not breaking eye contact.
The expression on the man's face shifted. His grin faded, replaced by a more measuring look.
"So the rumors are true…" he muttered.
İlyara frowned.
"What rumors?"
She shifted slightly, but when the man increased the pressure of his foot, she was forced to stay where she was.
"What rumor is that?" she repeated, her voice sharper this time.
The man pulled his foot away and straightened. Holding the axe as if weighing it in his hand, he took a few steps back, then turned toward her again.
"About thirty years ago," he said slowly, "a child was born. The child from the prophecy…"
"A prophecy?" İlyara cut in.
The man grinned.
"Yes, a prophecy. But whether you are that child or not doesn't matter." He shrugged. "I only care about the reward I'll get."
He started walking toward her again.
İlyara instinctively tried to move back, but there was nowhere to go. The man closed the distance in a single step and forced her down again with his foot.
"You bastard!" İlyara shouted, writhing in pain.
This time, he pressed his foot onto her hand.
İlyara's scream echoed through the forest.
"I'll kill you!"
The man only grinned at that. Slowly, he raised his axe.
İlyara closed her eyes, lifting her arms instinctively to shield her face.
But the axe didn't fall.
Instead, a low, muffled laugh came from the man.
İlyara opened her eyes.
"You? The Ancient? Don't make me laugh, you pathetic—"
Pathetic…
Weird girl…
You again?
İlyara's fingers dug into the ground. The damp soil crushed within her palm. The familiar tightness in her chest didn't fade this time; it grew, hardened, spreading through her like something burning from the inside.
She slowly lifted her head. Her eyes found his.
And this time, she didn't look away.
She tilted her head slightly.
"Die…"
The word slipped from her lips, almost a whisper.
The man's voice cut off instantly.
He tried to breathe. His chest rose, but no air filled his lungs. His fingers flew to his throat.
The axe loosened in his grip and fell beside İlyara's head.
But İlyara didn't move.
Her gaze was locked onto him.
The man dropped to his knees.
"D-don't…" he said, reaching toward her with a trembling hand.
İlyara slowly pushed herself up into a seated position.
She didn't take her eyes off him.
And then she began to laugh.