Hakan
The echo of my mother's voice…
The echo of my attendant's impossible truth…
It all blended into a single, suffocating storm inside my skull.
My wound throbbed beneath the torn fabric of my sleeve, but compared to the chaos churning in my chest, it felt insignificant—irrelevant. The sharp sting was nothing more than a reminder of how close I'd come to death, but even that paled next to the thought of losing her.
My mother.
The last person I ever imagined would be placed before me as an enemy.
My attendant's voice earlier had already dug deep into my composure:
"The cleric told me you refused treatment and left. You're still hurt, Your Majesty—"
I had slashed the concern down before he could finish.
"SILENCE. Have you ever seen a Draconian die from a tiny scratch like this?"
But he didn't back down.
He never backed down when it came to the kingdom.
His frustration cracked through his usually calm demeanor:
"That was too dangerous to call a 'scratch'! The Black Arrows can kill guardian dragons. If you were even slightly more careless—you could have destroyed Tayar's future."
Then, the heartbreakingly human question:
"So what do you want me to do, then?!"
I had turned to him then, and that was when everything shifted.
When she became the center of the conversation.
His grim words were still ringing:
"If you do not wish to send her to the Valley of Fire… She did openly declare she would kill the last remaining guardian dragon."
My blood froze.
"My mother?"
The world tilted.
And then—
He spoke of rumors, of whispers turning into demands:
"Word has been spreading that she should be sent to the Valley of Fire."
The earth beneath me felt like it cracked open.
"SHE IS MY MOTHER!"
But he remained firm, unyielding.
"She insulted the former king by clinging to his soul. And now she has threatened the current King's life. If you do nothing… the ministers will not remain silent."
Rage surged through me—
"DO YOU WANT ME TO THROW MY OWN MOTHER IN PRISON?!"
And then… the blow that shattered me:
"I fear you may have to, Your Majesty."
---
Something inside me snapped.
My voice tore from my throat like thunder:
"HAS EVERYONE LOST THEIR MINDS?!"
But my attendant only dropped to one knee, head bowed, voice low but unwavering:
"Please forgive me, Your Majesty… but Adar is no longer fit to be your mother."
Those words—
Those unforgivable words—
Cracked across my heart like a whip.
He pushed again:
"STOP DEFENDING YOUR MOTHER AND THINK RATIONALLY—"
My hand moved on instinct, gripping the nearby sword.
The cold steel against my palm steadied my rage just enough to direct it.
"GET OUT."
My voice was a low growl, deadly.
"I'LL CUT YOU DOWN IF YOU DON'T."
He stiffened—fear flickering, but still loyal enough to bow deeply before fleeing.
The door closed.
Silence…
And then the storm erupted.
I brought the sword crashing down.
SCRAAAASH—
The crimson curtain split in two.
CLANG—
The decorative vase exploded against the marble.
Breathing hard, chest tight, I stood amid the destruction—
But it did nothing.
Nothing at all to soothe the tremor in my hands.
Because I could still see her.
My mother—Adar—being restrained, dragged back.
Her grief-blinded rage aimed straight at my heart.
Her screams tore through me again:
"SHUT UP, YOU MURDERER! IT'S YOUR FAULT RAIKAN IS DEAD!"
Her face—contorted, broken, consumed by hatred.
"YOU SPENT YOUR WHOLE LIFE JEALOUS OF YOUR BROTHER—NOW YOU'VE FINALLY STOLEN HIS POSITION! YOU DEMON!"
Each accusation carved the truth I feared most:
That she saw me as nothing but the shadow of the son she had lost.
"Hakan's not like you. You are the Great King who unified Tayar Kingdom."
I sank onto the cushions, the room tilting, vision blurring.
My breath came shallow, uneven.
The weight of everything she believed about me—
Everything she thought I had taken—
Pressed against my chest until I thought my ribs would crack.
Had I failed her that deeply?
Had I failed… everyone?
And in that moment, a thought darker than any wound…
A thought whispered from the deepest, most wounded place inside me—
"PERHAPS SHE WOULD'VE BEEN HAPPIER… IF I HAD BEEN THE ONE WHO DIED THAT DAY."
---
________
Lucina
I sat there, the weight of despair pressing down on my chest, my wound throbbing like a cruel drumbeat against my shoulder. Each pulse reminded me of the tiny, almost laughable scratch that could have killed me—or so my attendant had warned. A tear slipped down my face, warm and unbidden, dripping slowly along the line of my jaw. DRIP… TRICKLE…
I finally stumbled to my feet, the effort almost too much. STUMBLE… THUD… My body sank onto the deep red, luxurious couch, the cushions swallowing me in their soft embrace. Exhaustion and defeat settled into my bones like a second skin.
And then, a small, distant voice whispered through the fog of my thoughts. A memory, fragile yet sharp, cut through my despair:
I was leaning against a marble pillar, watching from the shadows. A woman—Lucina—stood before another man, their conversation fraught with intensity. The man spoke with passion, desperation in his voice:
"I'll protect you, so you never have to be abducted or sold off again. Let's leave this kingdom together, Lucina."
Lucina listened, her face troubled. She did not smile. She did not flinch, not even when he poured his heart out. In that moment, I realized something profoundly unsettling: the words that were meant to woo her, meant to inspire love or gratitude, left her unmoved.
The man's tone grew more insistent, almost pleading:
"You're beautiful and charming, Lucina. When I opened my eyes and saw you, I thought you were a saint who had come to save me."
He even spoke of my own twin, Raikan:
"When Hakan says those things to me, I get butterflies…"
The man's frustration was palpable:
"What's so great about someone who refuses to talk to you properly?"
And then… Lucina's demeanor shifted. SPRING. Determination sparked in her eyes, a quiet but resolute inner decision:
"I'M GOING OVER TO HAKAN."
She explained her choice to her friend, softly, almost shyly:
"I'm not going because I like him."
Her cheeks flushed as she recalled a moment of vulnerability, of raw truth:
"HE WAS… BLEEDING."
My mind cleared as the memory settled. She was drawn not to flowery words or promises. She was drawn to the sight of my injury—an imperfection even a Draconian king could not hide. She saw the pain I had arrogantly dismissed as a "scratch," the suffering that made me human.
My attendant had been right: that arrow was dangerous. And my mother… her grief, her rage, her accusations—they were a wound too, one I had foolishly ignored, bleeding poison into the delicate politics of my court.
I closed my eyes, letting the clarity solidify into resolve. My fury and despair had no place here. To save my mother, to save my kingdom, I had to face the bleeding wounds—literal and political—head-on.
The moment of clarity, brief as it was, gave way to the cold inevitability of duty. My mother had to be contained—not punished, but protected from the storm she had provoked. The ministers were relentless. The public, fueled by her threats and her defiance toward the former king, demanded she be sent to the Valley of Fire. Imprisonment was the only shield against a worse fate.
I gave the orders. The Empress Dowager, Adar, was escorted to a secure wing of the palace.
A small, red, stuffed toy—fragile, precious, and likely a keepsake from my twin, Raikan—lay abandoned on the floor outside the iron gate. It was a silent relic of loss, innocence, and memory.
Suddenly, the heavy door slammed shut. FSSSHHHH.
From the other side came her furious, heartbroken screams, reverberating through the corridor:
"LET ME OUT, YOU WRETCHED BASTARDS!" Her voice cracked with venom and grief. "I WILL GET REVENGE FOR MY SON!"
Then, a new accusation, more agonizing than any before, ripped through the air. Her grief twisted into delusion:
"THAT BASTARD KILLED RAIKAN! HE SHOT THE ARROW THAT KILLED HIM! I SAW IT CLEARLY WITH MY OWN EYES!"
A vivid, horrifying image flashed unbidden in my mind: a lone warrior, bow drawn, standing over a fallen, white-boned dragon skeleton—and a gravely wounded Raikan.
The reality was crueler than her accusation: a dragon slayer had shot the arrow. But in her mind, I was the villain.
"I'LL BE THE ONE TO GET REVENGE!"
Her desperate cries gradually subsided into a low, mournful moan. SLUMP. She collapsed inside the cell, her gaze catching the small red toy on the floor. A silent reminder of the son she had lost.
"T-THAT'S NOT RIGHT…" Her voice was barely a whisper. Doubt replaced conviction, grief softening into sorrow. "Hakan didn't kill Raikan."
The acknowledgment of the truth—a fragile, fleeting comfort—was painfully bittersweet. My mother remained imprisoned, raving, consumed by grief that had imperiled the kingdom.
I stood there, the weight of the crown pressing down on me like molten iron. Being king meant making choices no son should ever have to face.
Flashback
Mother's perspective
The torchlight flickered across the high, arched windows, casting long, uncertain shadows on the polished stone floor. I stood by the cold ledge, the night air brushing against my skin, offering little comfort against the inferno of guilt and regret that burned in my chest.
From somewhere deep within the palace, I heard the muffled, despairing sobs of the Queen Mother, my wife—Adar. Her grief reverberated through the halls like a ghost, sharp and unrelenting.
"I know you're not worried about me," she said, her voice raw and breaking, "but you fear for Hakan's safety."
I turned slightly, muscles tensing as the weight of the kingdom pressed down on me. My oath—the sacred duty of the Great King, Protector of Tayar Kingdom—demanded all of me: every ounce of strength, every shred of focus.
"You are the Great King and Protector of Tayar Kingdom, so I have accepted that you have to endure hardship," her voice trembled, a bitter pill I had forced her to swallow years ago. "But do I have to watch my youngest child, who is barely more than a boy, get hurt as well?"
I crossed the room to her, trembling hands brushing the tears from her cheeks. I leaned my forehead against hers, letting the pain in her gaze pierce me.
"Don't worry, Mother," I whispered, forcing a confidence I did not feel. "I'll protect Hakan, no matter what."
But even as I spoke, I knew the truth. A silent, choking laugh escaped me—Hahaha…—hollow and bitter. What had I done?
Moments before, the terrible clarity had struck me like lightning. The faint, disembodied voice of a retainer—or perhaps my own conscience—had whispered, "Hakan didn't kill Raikan."
Raikan… my beloved son, my heir, the one taken from me too soon.
"Raikan died..." the thought trailed off, cutting me deeper than any blade. "Because he was trying to protect Hakan. He did that to keep his promise… not to let Hakan get hurt."
It was not Hakan's sin. It was Raikan's final sacrifice. And yet, I had blamed my youngest, convinced he was the cause of the calamity I had sworn to prevent.
My mind fractured. Desperation overtook me, and I pounded against the towering wooden door of Hakan's prison. SLAM! SLAM! WHAM!
"HAKAN! I must've lost my mind for a moment! This is all my fault!"
The ornate gold collar of my ceremonial robes felt like chains of iron, a crown of thorns pressing down on my temples. I stood there, utterly broken, as the stoic palace guards remained impassive, their spears silent sentinels flanking the door.
I clutched the heavy handle, pleading, "I need to go and apologize to my son! Please let me see him!"
But the men held firm, their loyalty to the law and my previous command cold, unyielding. I had ordered Hakan's confinement, and now my own authority chained me, leaving me powerless to correct the mistake.
I had failed Raikan. I had condemned Hakan. And now, all that remained was the crushing weight of a broken promise:
I will make sure… that Hakan is not burdened with the responsibilities of a King and lives a life of freedom, just as you wish.
A freedom that now felt like a lonely, isolated cage.
The heavy door rattled under the force of my blows, and beyond it, a broken, desperate voice called out.
It was my mother.
The sound of her despair pierced deeper than any chains or confinement.
"HAKAN!" she screamed, voice cracking, "I must've lost my mind for a moment! This is all my fault!"
She begged the guards—men sworn to keep me here—to let her through. "I need to go and apologize to my son! Please let me see him!"
I pressed my ear against the cold wood, hearing her pleas, knowing I could not answer. Her self-blame was excruciating, but it was her grief that truly trapped me. She had accused me wrongly, but the agony in her heart was real and undeniable.
Hakan had always been soft-spoken, gentle, but this time, even he was a pawn in a larger scheme.
The echo of a cold, calculating voice intruded into my memory. The architect of this chaos revealed themselves: the true manipulator.
I remembered the recent whispers, the chilling details of the plot:
"Thanks to the illusion you conjured up using your magic, I heard that Adar lost her mind and attacked Hakan."
Praise followed. "Well done, Gillai," the conspirator said.
Their magic had orchestrated a breakdown, pushing Adar to attack me—a setup that painted me as the villain and drove my family to despair.
The accomplice, wrapped in a trembling purple shawl, confessed:
"I-I overheard some ministers talking… They want to send Adar to the Valley of Fire. What if she actually dies because of this?"
The woman in red, confident and unnerving, smiled. "You've made so many people lose their minds and driven them out of the palace, but are you scared now that someone might actually die?"
The purpose became clear. Adar's magical attack and her resulting despair had political consequences.
"After that incident, I won't be able to move Raikan's body to Mezaluc for a while now."
They had blocked the funeral rites, the procession of Raikan's body, using my family's grief and duty as leverage. They wanted me distracted, disgraced, or even removed, unable to perform the final rites for my brother.
I clenched my fists. Confined, unable to comfort my mother, unable to protect Adar from the Valley of Fire, unable to give Raikan the burial he deserved—I was a puppet. The invisible strings of illusion and political maneuvering tightened around my neck.
_________
Giaret
Meanwhile
Pain flared like molten iron through my side, burning deeper than any wound I had known. The moonlight, usually comforting in its silver glow, felt distant and cold, reflecting off the dark canopy of leaves above.
Is this the forest I crash-landed in?
I tried to move, but the agony stopped me in an instant. My eyes squeezed shut, the edges of vision blackening.
I can't move. I've lost too much blood…
A monstrous, red, scaly shape loomed through the shadows, dripping with a liquid that made my stomach twist. And with it came the weight of my failure—the state I had left everything in, the family and kingdom I could no longer immediately protect.
If I die as well… then what will happen to the Tayars and my mother?
A desperate whisper, small and childlike, escaped me:
Someone… please… help me…
Even as I lay broken and bleeding in the forest, the threads of conspiracy continued to weave themselves inside the palace.
A woman draped in red—the sorceress, Gillai—spoke to her trembling accomplice in a purple shawl. Her smile was cold, calculated.
"Thanks to the illusion you conjured up using your magic, I heard that Adar lost her mind and attacked Hakan."
Her words were praise, sharp and cruel:
"Well done, Gillai."
The man wrung his hands in panic, his voice barely a whisper:
"I-I overheard some ministers talking… They want to send Adar to the Valley of Fire. What if she actually ends up dying because of this…?"
The woman in red was unmoved. Her smile never faltered.
"You've made so many people lose their minds and driven them out of the palace, but are you scared now that someone might actually die?"
Her voice dripped with the certainty of control. She knew the consequences of the Adar incident would ripple directly to Hakan.
"Hakan has always had a soft spot for his mother," she said, revealing the depth of their manipulation.
And the ultimate objective:
"After that incident, he won't be able to move Raikan's body to Mezaluc for a while now."
The chaos was deliberate. Raikan's funeral rites were halted, Hakan's grief weaponized, his compassion leveraged as a political trap.
Even in this maelstrom, Hakan's inherent character shone through. A woman—possibly observing, possibly recalling the events—smiled grimly.
"Do you really think someone as kindhearted as Hakan could kill his own mother?" she scoffed.
Instead of vengeance, his first act had been mercy. He had not sent Adar to a dungeon or exacted punishment for her actions. He had her taken to Korseek—a sanctuary, a place of protection.
Even amid false accusations and the unraveling of his family, Hakan's heart remained steadfast. That soft spot he had for his mother—the very vulnerability the conspirators had sought to exploit—was also his shield.
If I, lying here in the forest, could not trust my own strength or judgment, I hoped that Hakan's kindness, his unwavering compassion, would be enough to save those he loved.
A memory flickered: a silver-haired woman gently touching the face of an injured man, a faint glow around the wound.
"Hakan, I still don't know… whether I can trust you…"
I couldn't blame her. The kingdom had been twisted by lies and magic, and the bonds of trust in my family were fraying.
But Hakan's heart, his unwavering kindness, was real. It was the truth amid deception.
Even now, I knew: if I could not trust the world, I had to trust him. And if his compassion could endure, the promise made to Raikan—that I would live free, unburdened by the King's responsibilities—might still be fulfilled.
---_________
Hakan.
I awoke with a sharp, sickening jolt, my chest heaving against the lush red bedding. My head throbbed, a relentless echo of the dream still clinging to me like a suffocating shroud.
"WHY DID I SUDDENLY DREAM ABOUT THAT DAY?"
The memory, raw and festering, had broken through the careful seals I had built around it. I was dazed, disoriented, my mind struggling to reconcile the vividness with reality. My hand instinctively went to my side, bracing for a familiar, agonizing throb.
"MAYBE MY PAIN WAS TOO SEVERE…" I mumbled, my words thick and dry in my throat. I pushed myself upright, wincing as my body protested the movement.
The golden light of the opulent room was too bright; the silence too loud. The pain I had expected… was gone. In its place, a hollow, unsettling sensation spread through me.
"WAS THAT… ALL A DREAM?"
I took a shaky, grounding breath, trying to anchor myself in the present. The dream, the pain, the memories of that day—it all felt impossibly distant, yet horrifyingly recent. My hand rose to my chest, covering the spiraling tribal-style tattoo etched deep into my skin.
I froze. Slowly, I stripped the bedding from my torso, leaning closer to examine my body. The dark, stylized marks of my people stretched across my chest, shoulders, and arms. But where the deepest injury had been…
My fingers traced the smooth, unblemished skin above the central crest tattoo. No scar tissue. No trace of the mortal gash that had nearly ended me.
"MY WOUND HAS… COMPLETELY DISAPPEARED!"
It was impossible. The wound had been fatal. How could it vanish without a trace? I wasn't healed—I had been reset.
A shiver of dread ran through me. The dream was not just a memory. It was a warning. I was alive… yes. But something fundamental had changed. The cost of this survival was still unknown.
My hand rested lightly against his fevered brow. His skin burned, dangerously hot beneath my touch.
"HE'S BURNING UP… IS IT BECAUSE OF HIS WOUND?"
I watched him shift, pained and feverish. He was Hakan—a stranger who had suddenly become central to my life. I knew the stakes were high; trust here was a dangerous thing.
"HAKAN… I STILL DON'T KNOW… WHETHER I CAN TRUST YOU…"
Rational thought waged war with instinct. But seeing him suffer… it was impossible to remain detached. The ache in my chest mirrored his own, echoing a night long ago that had shaped me.
A faint glow began to pulse from my hands where they rested on his chest. Light, warmth, and life spreading from the point of contact.
"THAT'S WHY… AT THE VERY LEAST, I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU SUFFERING OR HURT."
A soft beam of light flickered and faded, accompanied by faint chirp chirp chirp sounds. Memories, suppressed until now, threatened to resurface, dragged up by the act of healing.
It was the night I first saw the forest under a full moon. There he was—a man in a dark tunic, gravely injured, lying among the roots and shadows.
"IS THIS THE FOREST I CRASH-LANDED IN?" he groaned, barely conscious.
Blood seeped through his torn clothes. Though I could not yet comprehend the depth of his lineage or power, his desperation was undeniable.
"I CAN'T MOVE… I'VE LOST TOO MUCH BLOOD," he whispered, each word strained.
The terror that gripped me was immediate. But what confronted me in the darkness was no ordinary human tragedy. Before us, a massive red dragon lay injured, dripping blood onto the forest floor. Its scale shimmered in the moonlight, yet its power was dimmed, its majesty bent by suffering.
"IF I DIE AS WELL… THEN WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THE TAYARS AND MY MOTHER… SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME…"
I was small, alone, yet a greater instinct took hold. Compassion. Protection. Even in the face of overwhelming danger, I could not abandon him.
"BUT MY HEART ACHEd WHEN I SAW THE FIRST DRAGON I HAD EVER ENCOUNTERED IN MY LIFE BLEEDING."
Standing in my simple white dress, I realized then that my compassion for a powerful, wounded stranger—Hakan—was absolute. Trust could wait. Survival could not. I would not allow him to die while I had the power to prevent it.
Lucina was the one who again healed hakan again and he didn't dreamt .