Dimer watched absentmindedly as Rhea's deft fingers braided Derya’s hair with practiced ease. Each movement was precise, almost reverent, as if she were weaving a spell. Derya stood perfectly still, letting Rhea's skilled hands work their magic.

"This is how we braid our hair," Rhea murmured, her voice soft as she brushed her hands down the length of the braid. It gleamed in the sunlight, a sleek, intricate design, as meticulously crafted as a newly forged sword from the hearth. Derya touched the braids carefully, almost as if she feared they might unravel at the slightest pressure. Then, her face lit up with a smile. She edged over to the stream nearby, knelt down, and peered into its reflective surface. When she stood up again, her smile was brighter than Dimer had seen in days.

"These are so beautiful," she said, her voice brimming with joy that Dimer wished he could share. He felt a pang of envy watching her, so effortlessly delighted by such a simple thing. Meanwhile, Tarkan moved through their temporary camp with a lightness that seemed almost alien to Dimer, who couldn’t share it. Since his conversation with Aelar a week of nights ago, Tarkan had acted as if a charmed path lay before him, free of obstacles or pitfalls. It was as though he walked on a road where no horse carriage could get stuck, where every step was assured and easy. Dimer wished he could match his brother's confidence, but his own mark had yet to reveal itself.

The black residue on his skin had receded slightly, a small sign of change, but nothing more. No matter how much he willed it, no matter how hard he concentrated, nothing happened. He stubbornly refused to ask Derya for help. If he was meant to have this mark, he wanted to earn it on his own terms. As he watched Derya and Rhea by the stream, Dimer's mind wandered back to the situation they found themselves in. They had been given a reprieve, but it felt fragile, temporary. He glanced at Tarkan, who seemed so at ease, and wondered how he managed it. Dimer's thoughts swirled with uncertainty and a longing for the same unshakeable faith that Tarkan seemed to possess. Dimer couldn't help but feel a gnawing doubt. The island's unfamiliar terrain and the tenuous alliances they had formed left him on edge. His gaze returned to Derya, her newfound joy so different to his own restless mind.

“Dimer, how does it look?” Derya asked, showing him her braid with pride. Dimer nodded, envying her joy.

“They look great,” he replied curtly. Rhea laughed softly, covering her mouth as she drew nearer to Dimer, her gaze locking onto his.

“Is something troubling you?” she inquired, her voice tinged with a knowing edge. He pondered whether to unburden himself to her but found it difficult to trust her completely. He wasn’t ready to reveal his feelings. “You can tell us,” Rhea reassured, glancing between Derya and him. “Nothing escapes a girl’s mouth, right?” Derya nodded, hugging Dimer warmly. When her marked hand touched him, it felt as though a veil had lifted, clearing his mind and easing his worries.

“Oh, nothing really,” he said, though his evasion only deepened their disappointment. “I was just thinking about Tarkan’s mark. His eye has been entirely consumed by it, and he refuses to speak of it. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” Rhea withdrew slightly, her interest waning at the mention of Tarkan, but Derya remained attentive, her curiosity piqued.

"It's like his eye is the night sky," she exclaimed with wonder, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. Rhea noticed and grabbed Derya by the shoulders, leaning in close, her eyes narrowing.

"Derya, are you by any chance... attracted to that boy?" Rhea asked seriously. Derya's cheeks flushed so deeply that Tarkan might have thought her head had turned into a tomato. When she remained silent, Rhea sighed.

"A maiden like you could do so much better. Is there a shortage of princes where you come from?" she asked pointedly. Derya lifted her chin and crossed her arms, turning away from Rhea.

"I think Tarkan’s quite handsome," she declared hotly. Dimer snorted, realizing he had no interest in listening to girls discuss their crushes. Perhaps he felt a twinge of jealousy, since no girl had ever shown an interest in him, but he doubted it. Once, he had seen a girl he thought was the most beautiful in the world, but she was as unattainable as everything else in his life.

“I worry about that boy,” Rhea said suddenly, looking down. Her eyes had a distant quality, as if she were grappling with thoughts she barely understood herself. Dimer and Derya exchanged confused glances.

“What do you mean?” Dimer asked cautiously. She hesitated, then shook her head.

“He’s your friend, and I hardly know him. It wouldn’t be my place to speak of him,” she said, shaking her head more emphatically, as if convincing herself of her own words. Derya shared a brief look with Dimer.

“No, you can tell us. I know Tarkan can be…” She trailed off, laughing lightly. “He really is great, though,” she sighed, gazing at the sky with a dreamy expression. Rhea smiled at Derya’s wistfulness.

“I worry that such carelessness isn’t good,” Rhea admitted. Dimer shook his head immediately, knowing she misunderstood.

“I know he seems that way, but he cares. He’s smart and always aware of what he’s doing,” Dimer explained. Rhea shrugged.

“As I said, I hardly know the boy, and he makes no effort to be known.” She shook herself slightly. “Just be careful,” she cautioned suddenly. Dimer narrowed his eyes and stood up. He knew Tarkan wasn’t what this woman thought. She was right that she hardly knew him, and Tarkan wouldn’t bother correcting her either. He was so kind it was as if Ylith the Kindly had blessed the boy with his nature.

“How come Dimer can’t meet the Fjords with us?” Derya cried, her small hands tugging insistently on Hajr’s sleeve. They were but children, no older than five, their eyes wide with innocent curiosity. Hajr gently pushed her back, a soft smile on his lips.

“It is not for him to attend with us,” Hajr replied, his tone kind but firm. Tarkan, arms crossed, stomped his foot in frustration. He could sense their concern, yet he was loath to defy a decree so ancient and immutable.

“It’s fine, really,” Dimer insisted, though his earnestness did little to convince. Tarkan rolled his eyes, disbelief written plainly on his face.

“You always told us you wanted to see the fish people, and here they come!” Tarkan exclaimed, his excitement bubbling over as he jumped up and down. Hajr’s hand shot out, catching Tarkan by the ear and pulling sternly.

“They are not fish people, and you must not call them such in their presence. Do you understand?” Hajr’s voice was sharp. Tarkan recoiled, rubbing his reddened ear, muttering under his breath. “Do you?” Hajr repeated, his tone leaving no room for defiance.

“Yes, okay, Hajr Shah. I understand.” Tarkan’s voice was sullen. Hajr’s sternness melted into a smile as he patted each of their heads.

“I would like for Dimer to join us, but it is not my place to decide. Those who came before us set these standards, and I doubt the House of Fjord would understand if we broke them,” Hajr explained, his words carrying the weight of unyielding tradition.

“Well then, they should grow some brains,” Derya declared, raising her hand defiantly. Dimer’s giggle was a ripple of laughter in the tense air.

“If he’s not going, I’m not either,” Tarkan announced, dropping to the floor with stubborn resolve. Hajr’s eyes gleamed with amusement.

“Then I will personally strap you to a chair and take you there myself. Is that agreeable to you?” Hajr asked, his tone a mix of jest and command. Tarkan shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“I’ll just go and hide. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.” Tarkan leaped to his feet, seizing Derya and Dimer by their hands and sprinting away, pulling them into his whirlwind of rebellion.

“If we tell Mother, she’ll make Hajr let you come,” Tarkan declared, his voice brimming with conviction. Though the claim held truth, Dimer had already resigned himself to the dictates of tradition.

“It’s fine, Tarkan. I don’t want to come; it’ll only make things harder for Hajr,” Dimer said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. Derya rolled her eyes, exasperation mingling with concern.

“Come on, Dimer, don’t be like that,” she implored. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.” Dimer snorted, his cynicism a shield against her earnestness. “

You and Tarkan would be together without me in the way,” he pointed out, his words sharp. Derya blushed, stealing a glance at Tarkan, who seemed blissfully unaware, before giving Dimer a playful shove. Dimer’s laughter rang out, carefree and loud.

“Where are you three running off to like that?” The voice, harsh and disdainful, sliced through their mirth. It was Erdem, his sister Ayana trailing behind him, both children of Hajr. Erdem’s sneer, his nose wrinkled in disdain, made them feel like vermin caught in the light.

“Nowhere really,” Dimer replied, his attempt at nonchalance betrayed by the tightness in his voice.

“Nowhere, huh?” Erdem said, towering over the three of them.

“Nowhere that’s your business,” Tarkan snorted, laughing. Erdem only laughed in return, but his sister shouldered him aside. Ayana wasn’t like the other girls Dimer often saw at balls and tournaments. She scorned dresses and gowns, deeming them far too “maidenly” for her taste. She preferred a tunic and pants, her shirt always a size too big.

“Of course it isn’t our business,” Ayana said, glaring at her brother. “So I don’t know why we should be asking.”

“Well, we don’t really know either,” Derya said, prompting Tarkan to slap his palm across his face. Erdem’s laughter rang out, mocking and cruel, as he pointed at them.

“Dumb, dumber, and even dumber,” Erdem jeered, laughing uncontrollably. His mirth was so intense he had to lean on a knight’s stand that held a spear. Dimer found no humor in it, and neither did Tarkan, who delivered a rough kick to Erdem’s shin. The laughter stopped abruptly as Erdem grabbed Tarkan by the collar, lifting him despite Tarkan’s struggles. Derya cried out for him to let go, but he only released his grip when Ayana intervened, taking Tarkan herself. Erdem glanced at her warily before muttering.

“You three fucking mistakes,” he hissed venomously. Dimer wished he hadn’t heard it, but the words cut deep, and he could only try to ignore them. Ayana responded with a solid punch to Erdem’s face, knocking him back though his scorn remained.

“Take that back,” Tarkan spat, his voice filled with rage. Erdem chuckled, leaning down to look Tarkan in the eyes.

“What if I don’t?” he sneered, then suddenly turned his cruel attention to Dimer. “I can understand why you roam this castle, but how come he does? He’s not even a bastard, just some trash we picked up on the street out of pity. Just because we put robes on you and called you ‘prince’ doesn’t make you one of us.” He shoved Dimer over. “You little dumb shit.” Tarkan reacted swiftly, punching Erdem in the groin. Erdem shouted in pain, keeling over. In that moment, if Ayana hadn’t intervened, Dimer was certain Tarkan might have killed him. Tarkan had seized the knight’s spear and was readying to strike when Ayana kicked it out of his hand.

“Calm down, Tarkan,” she told him carefully, holding him as if he might lash out again. But he remained still. The look he gave Erdem stirred memories in Dimer, memories of eyes filled with hatred, glowing blood-red with a fire kindled by love. Ayana called for a guard who happened to be patrolling the hall at that moment. They were swiftly escorted to their rooms. Dimer doubted either child spoke of the incident afterward, but it had left Erdem rattled. Erdem could undoubtedly overpower the three of them in a physical confrontation, but it wasn’t sheer strength that unnerved Dimer; it was the intensity of Tarkan’s resolve in that moment, a resolve poised on the edge of violence. A man with such unbridled determination was a dangerous ally, or a fearsome foe. No one else had glimpsed that side of Tarkan, save for Dimer and Derya, who seemed only to grow fonder of him.

"Oh, Dimer, don’t go before you eat with us!" Rhea exclaimed, revealing a skin pouch that likely held food.

"Not everyone gets an invite to an exclusively girls' meal," Derya chimed in cheerfully, coaxing him to stay seated. Dimer acquiesced, mostly because Derya asked him to, though he'd planned to return to their camp soon.

"Should I call Tarkan?" he asked, watching Rhea closely for any hint of reaction. Her gaze flickered from him to the skin pouch she opened, but she remained silent. Derya shook her head.

"I think he was speaking with Aelar before we left. Whatever it was, it seemed important." Dimer couldn’t help but wonder about the conversations between Tarkan and Aelar. Tarkan divulged nothing about their discussions, merely dismissing them as uninteresting. Dimer wished he would craft a more believable excuse. Rhea revealed some bread and cheese, along with a small closed vase that likely contained water or hibiscus tea. It appeared those were the only beverages available on the island.

"This part of the forest is so lovely," Derya remarked, delicately spreading cheese on her bread and taking a bite. Rhea nodded in agreement, her eyes brightening with appreciation for their surroundings.

"It has to be the most beautiful place in the world, don’t you think?" Rhea said, cupping an unfamiliar flower nestled within a bush beside her. She brought it to her nose, inhaling its fragrance with rapid blinks, then carefully plucked it, extending it to Dimer for his inspection. He leaned in and took a sniff, surprised to find it pleasantly fragrant, though Derya appeared even more enchanted.

"These flowers are truly stunning and smell divine," Derya remarked, her gaze wandering over the blooms as if she were seeing them for the first time. Yet, her attention was drawn to one particular flower, which she cradled between her hands. "Is this bush dead? Why are all these flowers like this?" she inquired, lifting it for Rhea's scrutiny. Rhea's smile was gentle.

"I love that you asked," she replied, mirroring Derya's gesture by cupping a flower of her own before plucking it from its stem. "This is an everdying," she explained. Holding the flower in her palm for a moment, she then revealed it again, to their astonishment. The bloom, once wilted and withered, now burst forth with life, its petals adorned with a milky white and bright yellow hue, vibrant and alive.

"How does that happen?" Dimer asked, his shock evident as he plucked one of the flowers for himself, watching in amazement as it bloomed before his eyes. Derya did the same, emitting a delighted squeal when her flower followed suit.

"Well, in our botany books, I read that these flowers exhibit this behavior to deter creatures from picking them. They mimic the appearance of wilting, but in reality, they are very much alive. Once they are picked, having held back their true colors for so long, they bloom fully," Rhea explained, holding out the flower for their inspection. "The most beautiful," she claimed, though Derya appeared preoccupied with another question.

"How do you know that's how they do it? I never thought flowers had their own thoughts," Derya pondered aloud. "Or that they want to live," Dimer added, studying his flower intently as if searching for hidden secrets within its petals. Rhea's expression momentarily shifted, as if she regretted revealing too much, but she quickly laughed it off.

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"Well, our scholars have determined that, not me," she deflected, brushing aside a strand of hair before taking a bite of bread and averting her gaze. There was something enigmatic about her demeanor, but Dimer chose not to pry if she wasn't willing to share. As always, their curiosity led only to disappointment.

"Princess Derya, Prince Dimer, I think it's getting darker, so it's best we leave now," a voice interjected. Rhea jumped in surprise, and Dimer whirled around to see their sworn knight standing there, looking more awkward than a knight ought to.

"How long have you been there?" Derya demanded, taken aback by his sudden appearance. He scratched his head, clearly embarrassed.

"Since you arrived, my princess," Nümen replied, his tone apologetic. Derya rolled her eyes in frustration.

"Did Bataar instruct you to wait here? Because I distinctly recall instructing both of you to leave us in privacy," she sighed, disappointed. She reached out to grasp Rhea's hands apologetically. "I'm so sorry about this, but thank you for the braids," she said cheerfully. Rhea smiled, brushing Derya's sleek black hair before turning to Dimer.

"Grow yours out, and your sister will make you some," she suggested. Dimer shook his head, finding the idea of braids unappealing.

"Alright, we're coming," Derya declared, but instead of immediately rising, she plucked some everdying flowers from their stems, holding them in her hand before finally standing up. Dimer couldn't help but smile to himself, but he refrained from commenting since Derya already seemed embarrassed enough. They bid farewell to Rhea, heading off in opposite directions for some inexplicable reason. Dimer was fine with that; he had no desire to spend another moment in the company of that woman.

"It was Tarkan who told us to be here, might I say, my princess," Münil informed her, and Derya nodded absentmindedly, her thoughts seeming distant once again. Dimer couldn't help but wonder why Tarkan would involve the guards, but he refrained from asking; it wasn't his place.

"It's odd because he himself didn't take Zeno to where he was going," Nümen remarked, scratching his patchy beard. Münil nodded in agreement.

"He instructed him to accompany us, but he went off on his own. Perhaps to track Tarkan, but I doubt he cares that much," Münil muttered. Dimer's blood ran cold at Münil's words. Where could Tarkan be venturing alone at this hour? He had never displayed such behavior before, typically opting to spend time around camp or in the forest with someone. A silent exchange of glances with Derya confirmed that she shared his concern.

"An odd man, isn't he, that Zeno? He'll put a knife to a child's neck to protect Tarkan but seems to hardly care," Nümen remarked, his confusion evident.

"It was only a Nirani child," Münil added, then immediately regretted his words, bowing his head in shame. Derya shot a glare at the man, and Dimer silently echoed her sentiments. He couldn't fathom why there was so much hostility among them; it made no sense, but it wasn't his place to intervene. As the discussion shifted to Tarkan's late-night excursion and Esen's absence, Dimer couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment. At this point, he could only entertain Aelar's grim speculation that Esen had fallen prey to a bear or some other danger. It was disheartening, fueling Tarkan's desire to depart from this place, though he knew he couldn't.

"One of the reasons for our presence here is to forge an alliance with the Niranis," Dimer interjected coldly. "The Gods know we've nearly squandered that opportunity. We're fortunate to have been given a second chance through their generosity. It would serve you both well to remember that," he admonished the knights. Both men nodded apologetically, and Dimer let the matter drop. In time, they would come to recognize the true kindness of these people. Despite his own reservations, they were all truly benevolent.

They arrived at the camp to find a crackling fire, with Tarkan seated beside it, and opposite him sat Zeno, diligently sharpening his blade once more. It seemed to be his sole occupation. Dimer held back slightly, nodding to the guards as they dispersed to attend other tasks now that they were back in camp. Derya glanced at him, but he averted his gaze as though he were observing nothing at all. When he turned back, he saw Derya approaching Tarkan, the flowers she held concealed behind her back. Zeno watched them both intently. Derya took Tarkan's hand and began to lead him away, a realization dawning on Dimer. A sudden wave of despondency washed over him as he witnessed his siblings, his two closest friends, forging a bond with each other. It felt as though Dimer himself had been left with nothing.

"Watch and understand," came a serene voice from behind him. Dimer turned, intrigued to realize it was Zayn, Aelar’s bastard brother. Dimer turned around again to watch his siblings leave.

"Understand what? Have you come to mock me now?" Dimer addressed the man, his tone restrained. Zayn stepped up beside him.

"I never intended to mock you. Is that what you believe my presence here signifies?" he inquired, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity. Dimer conceded silently.

"The words slipped out unintentionally," he apologized. "I'm sorry for that." Zayn gestured for him to sit on the sand, and Dimer complied without protest.

"You and I, we are alike, aren't we?" Zayn proposed, studying Dimer intently. "I am a bastard, and you, you are not of true Altan blood. Merely an orphan plucked from the streets." He awaited Dimer's response, but Dimer remained silent, fixating on the fire ahead. Zeno observed them from the corner of his eye before sheathing his sword and disappearing into the forest alone. "How do you envision yourself a decade from now, Dimer?" Zayn posed the question, catching Dimer off guard.

"I don't know," Dimer admitted with a shrug. Perhaps he had a vague notion, but nothing concrete.

"I think I know," Zayn replied, a faint smile playing on his lips. "In a decade, Tarkan will be king, and Derya will be his queen, while you will remain a measly pampered prince in a distant land, ruling under his name," Zayn speculated, eliciting an eye roll from Dimer.

"Tarkan wouldn't do such a thing," Dimer countered firmly. "He told me I would be his Hand if he ever ascended to the throne." Zayn's head swayed from side to side contemplatively.

"Perhaps there is truth in it, but would your kingdom consent to such an arrangement? Surely there are numerous qualified candidates to serve as Hand, many more experienced than you. So why should it be you? Simply because you are Tarkan's brother? Or because he pities that you may never achieve anything of significance on a hierarchical scale?" Zayn posed the probing questions. Dimer felt an urge to ignore the man's impertinent inquiries, but a part of him yearned for answers, even if only to himself.

"I would be Hand because I deserve it. I have observed councils and have a personal acquaintance with our Hand. I understand the demands and responsibilities it entails," Dimer retorted coldly. At times, Dimer forgot he was conversing with Nirans, not humans. These beings towered over any human, their stony complexions and luminous eyes marking them as distinctly otherworldly.

"No, you won't. I'm sorry," Zayn interjected suddenly, and Dimer rose to his feet, unwilling to entertain any more of the man's words. He grew weary of people treating him in such a manner. This marked the second occasion he found himself compelled to walk away from a conversation he had no desire to endure. Why must they push him to this point? It only made it more difficult for him to find any appreciation for them. "Do not depart just yet. At least hear me out while standing. Words that cut may target wounds you never knew existed. Only then can your body begin to heal," Zayn implored. Dimer closed his eyes, urging himself to depart, but he remained rooted in place.

"Then speak," he relented, his voice barely audible. Zayn rose to his feet as well, placing a hand on Dimer's shoulder.

"I speak only from what I perceive. You acknowledged our similarities, so why do you reject this notion? I do not say this to ridicule or diminish you, but to remind you," Zayn explained gently. Dimer shrugged off his hand.

"Remind me of what, exactly?" he retorted. "If there were something worth remembering, I assure you I would recall it."

"I'm sure you believe you possess nothing," Zayn continued, his words sending a shiver down Dimer's spine. How did this man know? Was it some latent Niran ability they had not disclosed to them? "When in reality, you possess everything. While there may be hundreds more qualified to serve as Hand than you, if I were to speak as though I hailed from the future, I would see only you," Zayn clarified. Dimer felt his mind whirl as he attempted to comprehend the man's meaning. "That means you have everything. The world is at your fingertips, and you possess all that is necessary to ascend to the role of Hand, to attain that power," Zayn concluded, offering a comforting smile as he placed a hand on Dimer's head. This time, Dimer did not recoil. "I share this only out of kindness. I believe you to be a finer individual, and I would extend my assistance, given our shared likeness," Zayn expressed, though Dimer couldn't help but wonder who, precisely, he was deemed "better" than.

"I see," Dimer managed to articulate, feeling a sense of discomfort wash over him. He hadn't anticipated such words from Zayn, and he couldn't discern whether they were meant as praise or veiled admonition. Regardless, he resolved not to dwell on it.

"So will it to happen. Only then will your desires manifest into reality. If you stand on this beach as though frozen, while life continues to ebb and flow around you, I can assure you, they will have perished and departed while you remain stagnant," Zayn leaned in, whispering into Dimer's ear. "Only those who act upon their will depart from this world fulfilled, while those who falter in their indecision languish in their inadequacies. Do not become one of them." These words lingered in Dimer's mind as he lay in bed that night, rendering him speechless. Derya had returned before Tarkan, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. He attempted to console her, but she only embraced him, seeking solace in his chest. A simmering fury stirred within him, though it dissipated the moment her marked hand made contact, calming his heart.

He merely wrapped his arms around her, allowing her tears to flow freely. Whatever Tarkan had conveyed, Dimer vowed to uncover its meaning. He could only speculate as to the events that had transpired in his absence. Merely a week earlier, Tarkan had taken Derya's hand and declared her his future queen. So what had changed in such a short span of time? Rising from his bed, Dimer realized sleep would elude him with such thoughts plaguing his mind, prompting him to venture out for a walk. Before departing, he stole a brief glance at Derya, curled up in slumber, her arms shielding her face. He rubbed his eyes wearily, shook off his reverie, and proceeded down the shoreline.

It was a serene night, the kind that invited introspection. The moon hung majestically in the midst of the sky, usurping the attention that typically belonged to the sun. Its gentle glow cascaded upon the ocean, transforming its surface into a tapestry of liquid jewels. At times, Dimer found himself pondering the possibility of journeying to the moon, wondering what secrets it held within its celestial embrace. The sky stretched out endlessly, an infinite expanse that seemed beyond the grasp of mortal ambition. Yet, Zayn's words echoed in his mind, urging him to exert his will. Perhaps that was his predicament. Gazing down at his blackened hand, Dimer contemplated the strength of his own resolve. He had believed it to be unwavering, but recent events suggested otherwise.

He halted on the beach, scrutinizing his hand as he had done countless times before. How could he demonstrate the fortitude of his will? To himself, to any observer, to the higher powers, to the Lion-Man who had bestowed this mark upon him? Recollections surfaced of Tarkan and Aelar, each proving their determination through acts of sacrifice. They had shown that their will and ambition were resolute. As Dimer surveyed the radiant shoreline, his search for answers yielded an unexpected encounter. Amidst the gentle waves stood a figure, too tall to be a child yet possessing a countenance of profound kindness.

"Who are you?" Dimer called out cautiously, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty. The stranger's curly white locks danced in the wind, casting an ethereal aura around them. Despite the mystique that surrounded this unfamiliar figure, Dimer felt a strange sense of enchantment rather than fear. As the stranger approached, Dimer's instincts urged him to flee, yet an inexplicable calm washed over him. Instead of retreating, he found himself sinking to his knees in reverence. There was a palpable kindness emanating from the stranger, a warmth that dispelled any apprehension. Bare-chested, the stranger's physique was revealed, displaying a pale yet muscular form akin to Dimer's own. They stood before him, a testament to strength and grace intertwined.

"Such kindness in thee, for what purpose? Surely, thee art among the blessed and the blessing." the man spoke, his words veiled in cryptic mystery. Dimer's expression mirrored his confusion as the stranger tenderly cupped Dimer's blackened hand in his own. "I see thee," the man whispered softly, his voice carrying an otherworldly weight. "Change will come, and thou wilt halt it. Repetition is madness, and 'tis that which folk refuse to grasp." With a gentle stroke, the man caressed Dimer's head, radiating warmth that enveloped him, reminiscent of the comforting touch of Derya's mark

. "Who are you?" Dimer repeated, seeking clarity in the enigmatic encounter. Yet, the man remained silent, leaning forward to press a kiss upon Dimer's forehead. A shiver coursed through Dimer's body as he collapsed to the ground, the weight of the moment bearing down upon him.

"Sacrifice," the man whispered softly, his words echoing in the vast expanse around them. "'Twas never for the sun to overtake the moon, but for it to do so." Struggling to comprehend the riddles spun before him, Dimer managed to voice his confusion,

"Why are you speaking in riddles?" His gaze fell upon his hand, where the darkness had dissipated, replaced by a mysterious blackness at its center, encircled by a radiant disk of shifting light. In an instant, Dimer found himself suspended in the void, weightless amidst a sea of stars. Ahead, a colossal entity loomed, its presence overwhelming, filling him with a sense of awe and trepidation.

"So 'tis thee that hath taken me as thy slave?" A voice echoed in Dimer's mind, emanating from the ominous black hole before him. It felt like a tear in the fabric of reality, a void consuming all in its path. "I am glad 'tis thee, rightfully done in thy own right." the voice continued, carrying a tone that bordered on amusement. In an instant, Dimer found himself standing on solid ground, his feet sinking into ankle-deep blood. Horrified, he surveyed his surroundings, greeted by the ghastly sight of countless corpses piled around him.

The air hung heavy with the stench of death, and despair gripped his heart. Ahead, three figures emerged from the grim tableau: a man adorned with mysterious black markings, a young girl, and another man with cascading blonde hair. Their presence seemed to stand in stark contrast to the surrounding carnage, yet they were not untouched by its weight. As a horde of approaching figures loomed in the distance, Dimer's attention was drawn to the interaction unfolding before him. The man with the dark markings embraced the girl tenderly, their shared tears a testament to the anguish that enveloped them. In a gesture of affection, he kissed her on the lips, and to Dimer's astonishment, he noticed horns sprouting from her head. She possessed an ethereal beauty, her black hair cascading in curls tinged with purple, her eyes bearing the weight of untold sorrow. It was a beauty that seemed to captivate the man, his love evident in every touch and gaze exchanged between them.

As the girl and the man parted, the transformation began. Dimer watched in awe and horror as the horns atop her head grew.. With each passing moment, she seemed to shed her humanity, a metamorphosis unfolding before his eyes. Meanwhile, the encroaching horde of Nirans drew nearer, their ominous presence casting a shadow over the battlefield. Without hesitation, both men leaped into action, hurling themselves into the midst of the oncoming horde. Dimer could only watch in stunned disbelief as the Nirans fell, as if struck down by an unseen force. Above, the sky darkened, shrouded by the same menacing black hole that had appeared before.

Overwhelmed by the sight of carnage and chaos, Dimer sank to his knees, the blood-soaked ground. He retched, emptying the contents of his stomach into the morass of blood, his senses reeling from the sheer horror of it all. Then the sky turned dark and hardly anything was seeable. In the sky dwelled the same black hole he had seen in that infintie expanse. Amidst the turmoil, the girl shared one last tender glance with the man, a look laden with both love and sorrow. Dimer felt an inexplicable surge of empathy for the man, a connection he couldn't quite comprehend. Then, in a surreal twist of fate, the Nirans underwent a grotesque transformation, their forms contorting into macabre shapes. The return of blinding light heralded the disappearance of the black hole, revealing the sun once more, its harsh rays illuminating the macabre scene below.

In place of the girl stood a small bird with horns, an Ashen Nightingale—a bird that dwelled in old battlefields singing the songs of soldiers and knights long gone and unremembered. But the girl herself was nowhere to be found, her absence leaving a haunting void in the aftermath of battle. As Dimer surveyed the battlefield, he realized only two figures remained—the black marked man and the other blonde-haired man. Or so he thought. His gaze settled on the lone survivor amidst the sea of corpses, and a chill ran down his spine. Could the man see him? The question hung heavy in the air, unanswered and ominous.

"Sacrifice," the man whispered softly, his voice laden with sorrow. "If only ours had been enough." With a desperate grip, he seized Dimer by his tunic, pulling him into the blood-soaked morass. Tears streamed down his face as he clung to Dimer, his anguish palpable. "'Twasn't enough!" he cried out, his voice a tortured wail. "'Twasn't." Though his grip threatened to crush him, Dimer felt a newfound strength coursing through him, anchoring him against the man's despair.

"Get up," a cold voice commanded from ahead. Dimer raised his gaze to behold a figure both familiar and alien—a man bearing a striking resemblance to Tarkan, save for his longer hair and subtly altered features.

"'Twasn't enough!" the man spat, his tone dripping with contempt."Who will know to sacrifice so much again? What purpose did this serve in thy plan?" His words echoed with accusation, demanding answers. But the man before him remained serene, his gaze unwavering. Then, as if to deepen the mystery, Dimer noticed the same crescent moon mark adorning the man's eye—a mirror image of Tarkan's own. Caught between confusion and awe, Dimer found himself speechless, his mind reeling with unanswered questions. Who was this man, and what role did he play in this unfolding drama? With a disconcerting smile, the man met Dimer's gaze.

"Thou shouldn't even be here yet." the man declared, his voice carrying a weight of solemnity. "One day thou wilt come to understand, but that day is not now. So, I'll see to thee later." With a sudden jolt, Dimer found himself back on the sandy shore, relief washing over him like a tidal wave. His heart pounded fiercely within his chest, grateful to be back amidst the familiar surroundings, surrounded by his friends and siblings.

"Get up," a voice urged, and Dimer startled, his nerves still on edge. But then he realized it was Tarkan—his Tarkan, with his moon mark gleaming brightly, his eye akin to the boundless expanse of the night sky Dimer had just traversed. "Where were you?" Tarkan inquired, his tone laced with concern as he surveyed Dimer. But there was an uncanny resemblance in their voices, a similarity that sent a shiver down Dimer's spine.

"I... I don't know," Dimer confessed, his words cautious. Tarkan regarded him with a wary gaze, as if probing for the truth. Then, his eyes fell upon Dimer's form, and his voice softened.

"Dimer," Tarkan murmured, his tone hushed. "You're... covered in blood."