Pathetic thing…
Weird girl…
You again?
These voices she had heard for years had carved themselves deep into her heart. She thought she had forgotten them, that she had buried them, left them behind… but those memories began to rise from the darkness one by one. Not in order—no, all at once.
Those words used to make her feel small. They would push her inward, force her into silence. She would run from them. She would hide, even from herself.
But this time, it wasn't the same.
Now, she felt anger.
That anger grew with every memory she recalled, something that had been building inside her for years finally breaking loose. A harsh pressure formed in her chest. Her breathing turned uneven; the air she drew in failed to reach her lungs, getting stuck somewhere along the way.
She dug her hands into the ground and clenched her fingers. The damp soil crumbled between her palms as the sound of her heartbeat filled her ears, so loud that it drowned out everything else.
When she lifted her head, she looked at the man in front of her.
But she did not see him.
What she saw was not the person standing there, but her own past—the mocking laughter, the belittling glances, that part of her that had been constantly suppressed, ignored, crushed… all of it had come alive again at once.
Her fingers trembled.
She did not want to run.
Not this time.
She had run for years. Stayed silent. Pulled herself back. But now, that thing inside her refused to take another step back.
Her lips parted.
The word echoed in her mind first.
Then… it slipped out on its own.
"Die."
Her voice was neither loud nor trembling. Yet it carried something within it—a weight she herself could not fully understand.
The moment she said it, she hesitated for a brief second.
She was surprised by her own words.
But she did not pull back.
On the contrary, something inside her wanted to go further. She wanted the people in front of her to feel what she had felt for years—that suffocating inability to breathe… that crushing weight pressing down on her chest, that tightness closing in around her.
Yes.
They should feel it.
That thought formed a faint, unfamiliar smile at the corner of her lips.
But how?
How could that even be possible?
At that moment, she felt something wet on her face.
Her brows drew together slightly. Her hand moved to her cheek on instinct, and at her fingertips she felt something warm and slick. When she pulled her hand away, the red stain she saw was enough to tell her what it was.
Blood.
She did not struggle to recognize it.
But she couldn't understand where it had come from.
Perhaps she should have stopped for a moment. Questioned it. Stepped back…
But she didn't.
Because the anger was still there.
It hadn't left her.
Just then, she felt a hand on her shoulder.
Cold.
But not burning.
On the contrary… it was soothing.
As if that heavy darkness filling her had suddenly withdrawn. The memories blurred. The voices scattered. The pressure in her chest eased.
Her breathing slowed.
Her body relaxed.
For a brief moment… she felt light.
But the instant the hand pulled away, that lightness gave way to a sharp, unsettling emptiness—as if something was suddenly missing.
"İlyara, have you come back to your senses?"
The voice was close.
It was real.
İlyara lifted her head.
Her eyes still couldn't fully focus, but she became aware of where she was. The forest. Everything was slowly falling back into place.
Her gaze found the owner of the voice.
Arın.
His chest was rising and falling rapidly. His breathing was heavy, as if he had just run a long distance. The sight lingered in her mind for a brief moment.
That… wasn't like him.
Arın didn't run.
But the thought didn't last long.
Her gaze dropped.
The sword.
It was completely stained with blood.
From end to end.
İlyara's eyes widened.
Her first instinct was to look into Arın's eyes. His brows were slightly furrowed—an expression she had almost never seen on his face. For a fleeting moment, he looked as if he had actually felt something.
The moment she noticed it, something strange stirred inside her.
But it didn't last.
In the very next second, Arın's face returned to what it always was—flat, cold, unreachable.
As if that brief moment had never existed.
İlyara held her breath.
She tried to remember why she was here.
The pieces slowly began to fall into place.
The town.
The crowd.
The man.
Her gaze snapped forward.
She looked at where the man had been.
"Ah… no…"
Her voice came out muffled as she covered her mouth with her hand.
The man was on the ground.
He had fallen onto his side. Motionless.
For a moment, time stopped.
İlyara's chest tightened.
Had she…
done this?
The thought pierced through her like a sharp pain.
She couldn't kill another person.
She wouldn't be able to bear it.
She lifted her head quickly, her eyes finding the uniformed man.
"I—I…" she said, her voice breaking. "I didn't do it… did I?"
It was a question she was afraid to hear the answer to.
Without saying a word, Arın reached into his pocket and pulled out a black handkerchief. His movements were calm, unhurried.
He raised his sword.
And began to wipe the blood from it carefully.
Then he looked at her.
"No," he said.
Short, but clear.
"You didn't."
İlyara's shoulders relaxed without her realizing it.
But Arın continued.
"If I had been a little later…" he said, his tone still just as flat, "…then he would have died by your hands."
The words lingered in the air.
Heavy.
Inevitable.
İlyara's breathing became uneven again.
But this time, there was no anger.
Only… an emptiness trying to understand.
---
İlyara kept replaying that moment in her mind as they traveled. No matter how hard she tried to distance herself from it, the scene refused to fade; instead, it returned each time a little clearer than before. Was she really going to kill someone again?
With that thought, she lifted her head and looked at the man sitting in front of her.
Arın's back was turned to her. She sat right behind him on the same horse. The steady rhythm of the horse's steps did nothing to calm the turmoil inside her—if anything, it made it more pronounced.
He had said he noticed the horse on the way back. It had been wandering alone, without reins, and he had recognized it immediately.
İlyara frowned slightly.
How could he recognize it? If she had been in his place… she wouldn't have even noticed. And besides, she owed him again.
If he hadn't arrived in time…
She slowly lowered her head and looked at her hands. She opened and closed her fingers.
What kind of power was this?
"There's a bounty on your head."
Arın spoke without turning around.
At his words, İlyara lifted her head again, her gaze drawn to him almost instinctively.
"Ah, yes…" she said, a faint smile forming at the corner of her lips. "I've become famous."
The sarcasm in her voice failed to hide the emptiness inside her.
Arın's shoulders straightened slightly.
"Your picture was posted in the town," he said. Then, after a brief pause, he added, "It might be in the city too. When we get there, try to keep your face hidden."
İlyara gave a small nod.
She didn't care.
In truth… she didn't care about anything anymore.
It felt as though there was nothing left inside her toward life. Perhaps it would truly be better if she died. At least then, she wouldn't hurt anyone.
At that moment, Arın suddenly took her hand.
İlyara flinched and turned to him. She hadn't expected such an abrupt touch. His grip around her fingers was firm—not warm… but strong.
"Your emotions are too intense," Arın said.
The words caught İlyara off guard.
Her heart quickened for a moment.
Had someone…
noticed her?
The thought warmed something inside her in an unexpected way. But the feeling didn't last.
"You're unsettling the horse."
Reality settled back into place. Of course he wasn't thinking about her.
Who would?
A faint ache twisted inside İlyara. She tried to pull her hand away.
"Let go of my hand," she said, her voice sharpening.
But Arın didn't let go.
On the contrary, his grip tightened slightly.
"Calm down," he said in the same flat tone. "…control your emotions."
He paused briefly.
"There is no bond between us," he added. "But you can pass some of it to me."
İlyara didn't question how that was possible. To escape the sharp, suffocating weight rising inside her, she didn't need to think—she only needed relief. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and let go.
It actually worked.
The pressure tightening her chest eased, her breathing deepened; the darkness that had been building inside her seemed to loosen and disperse from somewhere deep within. For the first time… in that moment, she truly felt lighter.
But that lightness didn't remain only with her.
Arın's body tensed all at once.
His fingers stiffened on the reins, his shoulders tightened slightly, and without any warning, he urged the horse into a faster pace. The sudden shift caught İlyara off guard; her balance faltered, she lurched forward, and collided into him unintentionally. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around him—she had no other choice but to hold on.
For a moment, she thought about pulling away.
But she couldn't.
Arın didn't seem bothered by it. He neither pushed her away nor turned to look back. He simply continued riding, his pace steady, unyielding.
He didn't say a single word along the way.
İlyara didn't speak either.
As time stretched on, she realized she had drawn a little closer to him without noticing. Letting go felt easier than resisting. Slowly, she rested her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes, and with the rhythmic motion of the horse, the thoughts in her mind began to blur and fade.
For the first time in a long while… she was able to simply exist without thinking at all.
---
When they reached the city, the crowd and the noise swallowed them all at once.
When İlyara opened her eyes, the shadows of stone buildings were falling over them, narrow streets twisted into one another, and people passed by with quick, purposeful steps. Unlike the scattered silence of the town, everything here felt denser, more structured—and just as suffocating.
When Arın brought the horse to a stop, he reached out and handed her a black hooded cloak.
"Put this on," he said shortly.
As İlyara draped the cloak over her shoulders, she didn't need to question this small but necessary gesture. The hood that shadowed her face was the simplest way to avoid unwanted eyes.
They began to walk together.
Before long, İlyara's attention drifted to her surroundings. The structure of the city, the rise of stone walls, the way the narrow streets intertwined… everything she saw felt slightly unfamiliar, slightly heavier than what she was used to. Without realizing it, her steps slowed.
She noticed too late that Arın had moved ahead.
When she lifted her head, the distance between them had grown.
She quickened her pace.
"Ar—"
Her voice cut off.
Because at that moment, she saw people approaching Arın.
The uniforms they wore were familiar.
Morhenas.
İlyara froze where she stood. She couldn't take her eyes off them. A quiet unease spread through her; she knew what they were. Emotionless. Ruthless. Unwavering.
Arın was a morhena too.
But…
He was Arın.
That thought left something inside her—something she couldn't name.
She couldn't take her eyes off him.
While Arın was speaking with the morhena in front of him, another approached silently from behind. İlyara saw it—but it took her a moment to understand.
And that moment was enough.
In a single motion, the man pulled a sack over Arın's head.
Arın reacted—he had noticed. His shoulders tensed, he moved to turn. But the morhena in front of him held him there, not allowing him to look back.
A brief, unseen struggle passed between them.
Then…
Something jabbed into Arın's neck.
His movements slowed.
His resistance broke.
And in an instant, he went completely still.
İlyara's heart slammed against her chest.
She couldn't understand what was happening.
The man who covered his head hoisted Arın onto his shoulder—so easily, so casually, as if what he carried wasn't a person at all.
This…
This wasn't normal.
Morhenas…
Why would they take one of their own like this?
Her mind couldn't make sense of it.
But her body had already begun to move.
"Wait—"
The moment her voice rose, a hand clamped over her mouth.
Sudden.
Harsh.
Her breath was cut off.
Her eyes widened in fear.
The person behind her pulled her back, throwing her off balance as her feet dragged against the ground. She tried to resist, but the grip was like iron.
She was being dragged into the darkness of a narrow alley.
The light fell behind her.
İlyara forced her head to turn.
She looked one last time.
She saw Arın.
They were forcing him into a carriage.
It looked like the same kind of carriage she had seen the day they first met.
The door shut.
The image disappeared.
As İlyara's vision sank into darkness, the arm holding her tightened slightly.
And the city slipped away from her all at once.