Hakan
I awoke with a sharp, sickening jolt, my chest heaving against the lush red bedding. My head was pounding, the residual terror of the dream clinging to me like a shroud.
"WHY DID I SUDDENLY DREAM ABOUT THAT DAY?"
The memory, a raw, festering wound I usually kept carefully sealed, had broken through. I was dazed, confused by the vividness. My hand went instinctively to my side, a familiar, agonizing throb already expected.
"MAYBE MY PAIN WAS TOO SEVERE," I mumbled to myself, the words thick and dry in my throat. I pushed myself up, wincing.
I looked around the opulent, golden room. The light was too bright, the silence too loud. The pain was… absent. A strange, hollow sensation replaced the expected fiery agony.
"WAS THAT… ALL A DREAM?"
I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to anchor myself in reality. The dream, the pain, the events of "that day"—it all felt impossibly distant, yet horrifyingly recent. I brought my hand up to my chest, covering the spiraling tribal-style tattoo with my palm.
PAUSE.
My eyes widened. I stripped the bedding away from my torso, leaning in close to inspect my body. The dark, stylized marks of my people decorated my skin—on my chest, my shoulders, my arms—but where the deepest injury had been…
I ran my fingers over the smooth, unblemished skin just above the central crest tattoo. There was no raised scar tissue, no trace of the terrible gash that had nearly ended me.
"MY WOUND HAS… COMPLETELY DISAPPEARED!"
It was impossible. The wound had been mortal. How could it have vanished without a trace? I wasn't healed; I was reset. The terror was instantly replaced by a cold, sharp sense of dread. The dream was more than a memory; it was a warning. I had woken up, but something fundamental had changed. I was alive, yes, but the cost was still unknown.
---
My hand rested against his brow. His skin was burning, dangerously hot.
"HE'S BURNING UP. IS IT BECAUSE OF HIS WOUND?"
I watched the subtle shift in his pained expression. He was Hakan, a stranger, a man who crash-landed in my quiet life. I knew I should be wary. The stakes were too high for careless trust.
Hakan… I watched him, fevered and fragile.
"HAKAN, I STILL DON'T KNOW… WHETHER I CAN TRUST YOU…"
The thought was rational, prudent. But watching him suffer was another matter entirely. The sight of his pain pricked a familiar ache in my own chest, an echo of a night long ago.
A surge of energy pulsed through my hands, a faint glow beginning to emanate from the point of contact on his chest.
"THAT'S WHY, AT THE VERY LEAST, I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU SUFFERING OR HURT."
A beam of light, followed by faint CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP sounds, shone brightly before fading. I pushed the memories away, but the act of healing him dragged them back to the surface.
---
It was the night I first saw the forest under the full moon. I found him, a man in a dark tunic, gravely injured.
"IS THIS THE FOREST I CRASH-LANDED IN?" he had groaned, barely conscious.
He was bleeding profusely, and though I didn't know then the extent of his lineage or power, his desperate state was clear.
"I CAN'T MOVE. I'VE LOST TOO MUCH BLOOD," he confessed in a strained whisper.
Then my own, silent terror returned. I was facing something monstrous, something red and terrifying, yet fundamentally wounded.
"IF I DIE AS WELL, THEN WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THE TAYARS AND MY MOTHER… SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME…"
I was small, alone, and trapped. In the darkness, I saw the majestic, horned creature. It was a dripping red dragon, clearly injured, its massive body collapsed on the ground.
I was terrified, yes, but a greater instinct took hold.
"BUT MY HEART ACHED WHEN I SAW THE FIRST DRAGON I HAD EVER ENCOUNTERED IN MY LIFE BLEEDING."
I stood there in my simple white dress, looking at the monumental suffering of a creature I thought was only myth. That moment—that compassion for a powerful, wounded stranger—was why I couldn't abandon Hakan now. Whether he was trustworthy or not, I wouldn't let him die while I had the power to prevent it.
---
I woke up with a residual ache, but something felt fundamentally wrong. I pushed myself up, my chest bare, and a wave of shock hit me. The large, black, crescent-shaped symbol tattooed on my left pec seemed to throb—not with pain, but with a strange, vibrant energy.
My hand flew to my side. Just hours ago, after my fit of anger had caused my old wound to reopen, I had been wracked with fever. I distinctly remembered the searing pain.
"My wound has… completely disappeared!" I whispered in disbelief.
I called for my closest confidantes, my voice sharp, demanding answers.
"ANYONE ENTER MY CHAMBERS LAST NIGHT?" I asked, my gaze piercing.
The light-haired, silver-braided Turan stepped forward first, avoiding my eyes.
"LUCINA STOPPED BY…", he replied cautiously. "AND WANTED TO MAKE SURE YOU WERE RESTING BEFORE LEAVING."
Lucina. But Lucina wasn't a healer. This wasn't just about rest.
Suspicion hardened my expression as I pressed him further.
"DID YOU COME INTO MY CHAMBERS LAST NIGHT AND HEAL ME?"
Turan flinched. "N-NO, YOUR MAJESTY. I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU SINCE YOU LEFT THE SHRINE YESTERDAY."
I didn't believe him. The healing had been too perfect, too sudden.
"TURAN, DID YOU CLEANSE MY WOUND WITH HOLY WATER WHILE I WAS SLEEPING?"
"WHAT?" Turan's eyes widened. The denial was too quick, the surprise too genuine. He stepped back.
The third person, wearing an elaborate headpiece, tried to smooth over the tension.
"PERHAPS THE WOUND WASN'T AS DEEP AS WE THOUGHT," he suggested, glancing between us.
But Turan, regaining his composure, stepped closer and looked at the perfectly healed skin on my side with an unsettling awe.
"HAS IT ALREADY HEALED?" he murmured, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then he added quickly, "I only brought the cleric along with me just in case…"
I recalled the debilitating fever that had gripped me after my wound reopened. This rapid, complete healing was no coincidence, no mere stroke of luck. Someone had risked a great deal to enter my private chambers and perform an act of powerful healing. If it wasn't Turan, and it wasn't Lucina, then who was it? And why would they keep it a secret?
I stood in the opulent hallway, my frown deepening as I watched the panicked guards. The news of my miraculous healing was still fresh, but a new, immediate crisis demanded my attention.
"WHERE IS SHE RIGHT NOW?" I demanded, my voice low, sharp with impatience.
The guards shifted nervously, their spears held stiffly. The older guard, graying at the temples, spoke first, his voice hushed.
"WHY IS SHE SO QUIET? HAS SHE FALLEN ASLEEP?" he whispered to his younger companion.
The younger, broader guard answered anxiously, "SHE'S STILL ALIVE, RIGHT? SHE SOUNDED QUITE BREATHLESS AFTER CRYING ALL NIGHT."
My eyes narrowed. The fact that she had been crying all night confirmed she was captive—and deeply distressed.
"WHAT?! SHE HAD BETTER BE! HURRY UP AND CHECK!" the older guard barked.
A sickening CREAK echoed as a door swung open. A rush of air—FWOOSH—from an open window was the only answer.
The guards froze, faces paling. "WHAT'S GOING ON?! S-SHE'S ESCAPED!"
Frustration and disbelief surged within me.
"DAMMIT, HOW DOES AN OLD WOMAN HAVE THE STRENGTH TO DO THAT?!" one guard yelled, incredulous.
I muttered to myself, recalling the figure from the night before. "SO I WASN'T DREAMING WHEN I SAW HER…"
The mystery of her identity, and the audacity of her escape, demanded immediate resolution.
Part II: The Historical Tome
Meanwhile, in a sunlit room, a different scene unfolded. Lucina, her white hair cascading like a river of light, stood beside a gilded vase of flowers, contemplative.
A young girl burst in, clutching a worn book to her chest, practically vibrating with excitement.
"TAKE A LOOK AT THIS, LUCINA!" she exclaimed. "I BORROWED A BOOK FROM THE CLERIC."
Lucina turned, serene and elegant, her white hair glowing in the sunlight. The girl proudly presented the book.
"THIS BOOK CONTAINS THE HISTORY OF THE TAYARS AND DRACONIANS," she explained, pausing for effect.
"IF YOU'RE GOING TO BECOME THE QUEEN OF TAYAR KINGDOM, THEN IT CAN'T HURT TO READ THIS IN ADVANCE!"
Lucina reached for the book, her eyes calm yet reflective. The history she was about to inherit, the weight of the Draconians and the Tayars—it was knowledge she would need if she were to step into her destined role as queen.
The moment the guards yelled, my face hardened. An escaped prisoner was a massive failure, especially one who had been crying all night.
"WHERE IS SHE RIGHT NOW?" I demanded, my gaze burning a hole into the polished marble floor. The guards were already in a panic, whispering uselessly to each other.
"WHY IS SHE SO QUIET? HAS SHE FALLEN ASLEEP?" one murmured.
"SHE'S STILL ALIVE, RIGHT? SHE SOUNDED QUITE BREATHLESS AFTER CRYING ALL NIGHT," the other confirmed, his voice taut with worry.
My jaw tightened. The captive had been deeply distressed; the situation was worse than I had anticipated.
"WHAT?! SHE HAD BETTER BE! HURRY UP AND CHECK!" I snapped, pushing them toward the door.
A tense moment passed, broken only by the CREAK of the door being wrenched open. Then came the FWOOSH of air from an open window.
"WHAT'S GOING ON?! S-SHE'S ESCAPED!" the guards cried in unison.
My jaw tightened further. This was impossible.
"DAMMIT, HOW DOES AN OLD WOMAN HAVE THE STRENGTH TO DO THAT?!" one guard bellowed, utterly baffled.
The moment I heard "old woman," a chilling thought struck me. I remembered the shadowy figure I had glimpsed the night before, the one I had convinced myself was a fevered hallucination after my wound reopened.
"SO I WASN'T DREAMING WHEN I SAW HER…"
The realization hit me like a thunderclap: the old woman they had been holding captive—the one who had entered my room and, perhaps, healed me—was now free. The mystery deepened, and a cold knot of unease formed in my stomach.
Part II: Lucina's Secret
Meanwhile, oblivious to the search for the fugitive, Lucina prepared in her chambers for the path she was expected to walk.
Titi, bright-eyed and energetic, rushed in, holding a leather-bound book. She practically held it above her head with excitement.
"TAKE A LOOK AT THIS, LUCINA! I BORROWED A BOOK FROM THE CLERIC."
Titi presented the tome with a flourish.
"THIS BOOK CONTAINS THE HISTORY OF THE TAYARS AND DRACONIANS." She paused, then gave Lucina an encouraging look. "IF YOU'RE GOING TO BECOME THE QUEEN OF TAYAR KINGDOM, THEN IT CAN'T HURT TO READ THIS IN ADVANCE!"
Lucina took the book gently, her hands almost reverent. "THANK YOU, TITI," she replied softly, eyes glimmering with a mix of curiosity and unease.
She looked down at the ancient script, her fingers hesitantly tracing the rough, worn characters.
"OH, IT DOESN'T HAVE ANY PICTURES," she muttered, flipping a few pages with a soft FLIP, FLIP.
Seeing her struggle, Titi grew anxious.
"PARDON?" Lucina confessed finally, her composure faltering. "I… CAN'T READ."
A wave of shame washed over her face. "THE BARONESS NEVER TAUGHT ME HOW TO READ. I STRUGGLED TO LEARN HOW TO TALK BY PRACTICING CLUMSILY ON MY OWN." She looked up at Titi, desperation in her eyes. "DO YOU KNOW HOW TO READ, TITI? COULD YOU READ IT TO ME?"
Titi peered at the script, her bright demeanor dimming.
"UM… Well, different tribes in Tayar Kingdom use different scripts. But this book is written in the ANCIENT DRACONIAN SCRIPT," she sighed, dropping her shoulders in defeat. "EVEN I CAN'T READ THIS!"
The history of the Tayars and Draconians, once so promising, was sealed from them both.
Part III: The Fugitive Found
Suddenly, a disturbance. Steps echoed in the hallway, and a pale, gray-haired woman was practically dragged into the room.
Titi's eyes widened in shock. "ADI!" she screamed.
Lucina immediately recognized her too, though she called her by another name. "IS THAT YOU, GRANDMA LITA?!"
Titi rushed forward. "GRANDMA—I MEAN, ADI! ARE YOU HURT SOMEWHERE?"
The fugitive—the woman I had been searching for with such intensity—was here. She was apparently known to Lucina and Titi by different names. This old woman, whether "Grandma Lita" or "Adi," held secrets to my healing, and perhaps even keys to Lucina's past.
"Grandma—I mean, Adi! Are you hurt somewhere? You're limping," I asked, voice filled with concern, noticing the older woman shuffling nervously while clutching a little red doll to her chest.
Her silver hair was tied neatly, and she wore a blue dress with a gold collar and intricate earrings. Her eyes drooped with fatigue, her face flushed from exertion.
"So your name isn't Lita?" a small, dark-skinned girl asked, eyes wide in confusion.
I smiled faintly. "Are you looking for your son?" I asked, seeing her anxious expression.
Her eyes suddenly lit up. "Oh my! Were you reading? I wrote this book!" she exclaimed, holding up a large, antique brown book, a faint golden glow emanating from it.
"Did you just say that you wrote this book?" I asked, holding it in my hands, surprise clear in my tone.
She nodded eagerly. "Of course! I wrote this book to read to my children. I used this to teach Hoki how to read and write!"
Leaning in conspiratorially, she whispered with sparkling eyes, "Do you know how to read and write the Draconian Script?"
She picked up a feather quill, adopting a playful teaching pose.
"It might look difficult at first, but it's really easy once you know the fundamentals. I'll teach you. Now pay close attention…"
Meanwhile, elsewhere…
A powerful, dark-haired man, tribal tattoos tracing across his muscular chest, stood deep in thought.
"If Lucina healed my wound, doesn't that make her the child I met ten years ago?" he wondered aloud, a serious expression shadowing his face.
I stood just outside the room, my hand resting on the elaborate golden door handle, listening intently. My mother's cheerful voice rang out inside, filling the space with a warmth I hadn't heard in ten years. A sudden CLUNK—the sound of the closing door—made me flinch. Was that really her voice?
Memories of the white-haired child from a decade ago flashed unbidden in my mind. The power I had witnessed then… could Lucina truly be that child?
My thoughts spun. "If Lucina really is that child, I…" The consequences of that realization were immense. Turan had been disappointed when I hadn't brought that child back with me. She would have been an invaluable asset to the Tayars.
I recalled a moment of pure magic: the girl—Lucina, if she was indeed the same—healing my wound, surrounded by glowing blue orbs of power. "Could she be my savior?" I wondered.
But doubt crept in. "If she has the power to heal, then why didn't she use it when we thought she had smallpox—No."
I quickly rationalized: "She could have hidden her power, thinking it would only complicate matters if we discovered it."
Inside the room, my mother's voice was joyful. "That's it, Hoki!" I heard her call out, and my chest thumped painfully—BA-BUMP BA-BUMP.
A defensively pitched voice answered: "But Adi… My name is Lucina! It's not Hoki."
My mother looked up, tilting her head with a small smile. "Hmm?" she questioned.
I glimpsed the door creak open slightly—CREAK—and there they were. My mother and Lucina sat together, the former holding a quill and an open book.
"Didn't I tell you that you'd be able to read as well as your brother? There's no need to be embarrassed!" my mother reassured Lucina, a rare warmth in her tone.
I watched silently, chest tightening. "Is this real? Am I dreaming again?"
My heart pounded, faster—BA-BUMP BA-BUMP. "It's been ten years… since I saw my mother look so happy," I thought, emotion washing over me in waves.
I swallowed hard, my happiness tinged with confusion over the names. "But Adi…", I whispered quietly to myself.
the golden door yielding with a quiet CREAK. My heart hammered as I took in the scene: my mother, smiling so freely after a decade, and the girl, Lucina, sitting before her. I wondered if I was seeing reality.
Lucina spoke, her tone a mix of defensiveness and politeness. "But Adi… My name is Lucina! It's not Hoki."
My mother looked up, slightly puzzled. "Hmm?"
Then her attention turned to encouragement. "Didn't I tell you that you'd be able to read as well as your brother? There's no need to be embarrassed!"
Suddenly, the room seemed to acknowledge me. I stepped into the doorway, long dark hair tied back, chest bare and adorned with my tribal tattoos—a warrior in every sense.
"Hakan?" Lucina asked, glancing up at me.
My mother's composure faltered slightly, dazed by the sudden intrusion.
"A-Adi was teaching me how to read," Lucina quickly explained, glancing between us to smooth over the tension.
"Adi?" I asked, looking at my mother. Her presence here, so far from where she should be, puzzled me.
My mother began to mumble, her usual dignity slipping. "You should be staying in Korseek. How did you find your way here?" Panic flickered in her eyes.
Lucina stepped in politely. "Hakan spoke so politely," I noted silently, impressed by her demeanor. "She helped me the last time she visited the palace. D-do you know who she is?" Lucina asked, her concern evident.
Meanwhile, my mother's confusion deepened with the name "Hoki." She looked at Lucina, realization dawning slowly. "You're not… Hoki?" she asked. Then a flicker of memory returned. "Yes. You came here because you were looking for Hoki, remember? Why are you looking for him?"
Her eyes clouded further. "I need to find him, but I don't remember why," she confessed, the memory of her son elusive.
The room fell into silence, thick with unspoken secrets. Lucina was here—the girl who had healed me—and my mother's memory of her purpose remained fragile and incomplete.
immediately, every eye turned toward me. The air seemed to thrum with anticipation, the silence heavy. Lucina, startled, was the first to speak, her voice trembling slightly.
"Hakan?"
My mother looked utterly dazed, her usual composure replaced by a fragile confusion.
"A-Adi was teaching me how to read," Lucina quickly explained, pointing toward the open book and the quill.
"Adi?" I asked, my voice low, almost cautious. I already knew she wasn't where she should be.
She started to mumble, her words soft and fragmented. "You should be staying in Korseek. How did you find your way here?"
Before I could respond, Lucina spoke again, her concern sharpened. "Adi? She helped me the last time she visited the palace. D-do you know who she is?"
Her eyes were wide with worry, and I couldn't help but notice the quiet politeness in my own tone as I listened. Lucina analyzed the interaction carefully, a subtle curiosity in her expression. Is she someone of high standing?
I heard my mother, still mumbling, say, "That's right. I think she's a lovely person, but she seems to be looking for someone— Hakan."
Then, suddenly, clarity returned. My mother's eyes cleared, a wave of light and sparkles seeming to surround her. Her gaze locked onto me with piercing recognition.
"HAKAN!" she cried out, the voice filled with an overwhelming mix of relief and joy.
She rushed forward in a sudden dash, moving faster than I could react. The next instant, she was right in front of me, her face radiant, every line of confusion replaced with perfect, vivid clarity.
"I REMEMBER NOW! I WAS LOOKING FOR YOU!" she exclaimed, relief washing over her features in waves.
I stood frozen, stunned by the sudden turn of events. My mother, moments ago bewildered and calling Lucina "Hoki," now remembered me—her son, Hakan.
I turned to look at Lucina, who was still reeling from the whirlwind of recognition and revelation.
"She helped you?" I asked, my voice stern, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of us.
Startled by the tone, my mother quickly rose to her feet, stepping between us instinctively, a protective gesture.