Almost no agreement had been reached; the air had been filled with more shouting and bitter accusations than anything productive. Tarkan questioned if the effort was worth it. Yet, finally, they found common ground with the Nirans, who consented to train them for a fortnight, and no more. Despite the grumbling of his siblings and the murmurs of discontent around him, Tarkan gladly accepted. When Bataar and the other knights arrived, the recounting of events left Bataar visibly disappointed.
“Where was Esen while all of this was happening?” he hissed, but no one had an answer. Tarkan suspected Esen had secretly left the island, but he had no proof. They were already a man down and needed to begin their training soon. Tarkan had no desire to waste any more time here. Convincing Aelar to spare Zeno had been challenging enough, but Tarkan took pride in his success. Zeno’s actions had greatly surprised him; he had expected the man to linger in the shadows as they held him hostage, but the sworn knight had proven his loyalty in a most unexpected way. Tarkan couldn’t force trust among them, but he did trust the Nirans. They were far more reasonable than he had anticipated. For one, they hadn’t killed him on sight. They seemed like honorable men, and Tarkan intended to honor that himself.
Tarkan’s group decided to merge their camp with Aelar’s, which lay farther away than anyone had anticipated. The journey took a grueling day, with the Nirans doing most of the heavy lifting. They demonstrated how to use vines and giant forest leaves to drag their boxes, a method Tarkan found far more enjoyable than carrying them on his back. This thoughtful gesture from the Nirans gave Tarkan hope that it would help bridge the gap between their two groups. When they arrived, Tarkan was surprised to see an impressive ship docked a bit farther off, one he resolved to inspect later.
They settled in easily, but tensions remained high, particularly between Bataar and the knights towards the Nirans. Rhea refused to let Zeno sleep in their camp, leading to yet another heated argument. They barely reached a compromise: Zeno would sleep at the edge of the forest, far from the group. He agreed with a shrug, and Tarkan suspected he had slept in worse places. The merging of the camps was no small feat, and Tarkan knew maintaining harmony would be an ongoing challenge. Today was the beginning to their first training session, something Tarkan had been looking forward to. Everytime Tarkan only just as glanced at his marked hand he felt power course through his veins. It made his hands slightly tremble and his heart beat a bit faster.
Tarkan walked down the beach next to his siblings trailed by their sworn knights following Aelar and Ayrn. Both the Niranis walked a way ahead of them, their heads tilted towards each other whispering unheard words. Neither of them seemed to have a mark so how was it that they would train him he wondered. Tarkan had studied every inch of them available to his eyes and had found nothing to betray a mark similar to their own, not even the blackness they all once had.
As they walked, the sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the silence, the salty breeze tangling in Tarkan's hair. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the sand and sea. Derya broke the silence first, her voice cutting through the rhythmic roar of the ocean.
“These... people know more about the marks than they’re letting on,” she said, mimicking the Niranis’ subtle head tilt. Her eyes flicked towards Aelar and Ayrn, who walked ahead, their heads bowed together in quiet conversation. “They spoke about my mark oddly, and yours as well. The way Zayn was studying you was... unnatural.” Tarkan felt the weight of her gaze as she studied him. It was true. The Nirans had shown an uncanny interest in their marks. Zayn’s piercing eyes had unnerved him, though he had hidden it well. The man watched like a hawk, his gaze never faltering, his demeanor relentless. Tarkan's mind wandered to the first encounter with Zayn. The Niran's eyes had scanned him with an intensity that felt invasive, as if trying to unravel his very soul. The memory made his skin prickle, but he shoved the discomfort aside. He knew that pushing for answers now would be futile. The truth would reveal itself in time, and impatience would only breed mistrust.
“You once said only time would tell,” Dimer pointed out, his voice calm and measured. “Our relationship is far too unstable to question them for anything right now. Let's stay patient and trust in the First Ones. We will figure all of this out.” Derya met Dimer’s eyes, her defiance softening. She nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing.
“I guess you’re right,” she murmured, almost to herself, her gaze drifting back to the Niranis. Tarkan’s thoughts swirled as he walked, the sand shifting beneath his boots. What secrets did the Nirans hold? How much did they know about the marks, and why were they so invested in their training? His mind played out scenarios, each one more intricate and shadowy than the last. The mystery gnawed at him, but he resolved to keep his focus. Both Ayrn and Aelar suddenly stopped and turned to face the group. The setting sun cast long shadows on their faces, giving them an almost ethereal appearance. Aelar’s eyes scanned each of them, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
“This is where we will begin our training,” Aelar declared, surveying the glistening white sand with an appraising eye. His blue gaze swept over Tarkan and his siblings before shifting towards their knights. “I suggest you three stand a bit farther away.” When none of them moved, he added, “It is for their benefit, not mine.” Without another word, he turned and walked towards Ayrn. Tarkan glanced at the beach, its pristine expanse seeming no different from any other stretch of sand.
“What’s so special about this beach compared to every other?” he muttered, only to realize his friends had heard him.
“Maybe it’s because this beach is farther away from the camp,” Dimer suggested, trying to sound helpful. Despite his words, Tarkan felt his hands tremble slightly. Aelar stepped forward, ready to address them.
“I don’t know how the three of you got your marks, nor do I know why your marks are like they are, but I will say these few things,” Aelar began, his voice steady and commanding. Tarkan strained his ears, too anxious to miss a single word. “To use your marks, you must have an incredible sense of willpower. Otherwise, those marks will certainly consume you.” Dimer’s eyes widened in shock.
“What do you mean ‘consume’ us?” he asked, his voice tinged with puzzlement and fear. Aelar grinned, a flash of teeth that held no warmth.
“The marks are powerful, but they are not gifts given freely. They require control, discipline, and an unyielding spirit. Without these, the marks will dominate you, twist your mind, and turn your power against you.” Tarkan’s heart pounded in his chest. The serene beach suddenly felt charged with an unseen energy, a foreboding aura that mirrored the gravity of Aelar’s words. He looked at the sand beneath his feet, wondering if it would soon bear witness to their triumphs or their failures. Ayrn spoke next, his voice softer but no less intense.
“This place is isolated for a reason. Here, you will confront your deepest fears and your greatest challenges. The distance from the camp ensures that no one will interrupt or come to your aid. You must face this on your own.” Tarkan’s mind raced. The marks had always been a source of mystery and power, but now they felt like a ticking clock, counting down to an uncertain fate. Aelar’s gaze softened slightly, though his voice remained firm. “You have potential, all of you. But potential is nothing without mastery. Over the next fortnight, you will be pushed to your limits and beyond. Embrace the challenge, or be consumed by it.”
"Sounds easy enough, right guys?" Tarkan's voice rang out with a gleeful optimism that was contagious. Derya rolled her eyes, feeling a slight flush creeping up her cheeks. Meanwhile, Dimer remained lost in contemplation, his gaze fixated on his mark, a familiar ritual they had all performed countless times.
“When will I unlock my mark?” Dimer's voice broke the silence, almost a whisper to himself. Aelar's response was as enigmatic as ever.
“I've never seen anything like that, but your marks aren’t ordinary either. It could mean anything,” he offered, his words providing little solace. If anything, Dimer's worry only deepened.
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“So, how do we begin this training?” Derya interjected eagerly, her impatience barely contained. Ayrn shared a knowing glance with Aelar before letting out a soft chuckle.
“You bear the mark of the sun, yes?” Ayrn directed the question at Derya, who nodded in affirmation. “Then command the sun,” he continued, his words hanging in the air, pregnant with significance. Derya blinked, her expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief.
“Command?” Both she and Ayrn echoed simultaneously. Aelar nodded in confirmation.
“When you receive a mark, you become bound to its power. It's a perpetual struggle for dominance between you and your mark,” Aelar explained, his tone grave. Dimer’s mind raced with questions, his brows furrowed in concentration.
“So, for me, it would be the moon?” Tarkan ventured cautiously. Aelar's nod confirmed his suspicion. Dimer scratched his head, struggling to comprehend the implications.
“What powers can the sun and moon bestow upon us?” Dimer's question hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. Ayrn’s demeanor grew more solemn and he held his tongue. Aelar shot him a sideways glance before Dimer let out a frustrated sigh, pushing his hair away from his face.
“So, I guess I’ll just command it to do… what exactly?” Derya asked.
"That's for you to figure out, not me. I do not know what your marks are capable of. I can only guide you," Ayrn's voice held a note of finality, his words punctuated by a sense of responsibility. Aelar raised his hand as if he were silencing Ayrn. A palpable tension crackled in the air between them for a moment, like lightning about to strike, but then Aelar turned back to Tarkan and his siblings.
"Try to do what we told you while we head back. Given enough time, you will come to master these marks," Aelar’s reassurance was met with a mixture of hope and apprehension. Dimer opened his mouth to voice his frustrations, but Aelar silenced him with a shake of his head. "You can force your mark to emerge, I'm sure," Aelar added cryptically, his words leaving more questions than answers. With that, both Ayrn and Aelar were gone, leaving Tarkan and his siblings to work out these marks themselves.
“Don’t kill yourselves while you’re at it!” Zeno called out in his usual nonchalant manner. Tarkan snorted, rubbing his hands together as if to warm them. The sun hung high in the sky, but the moon lingered, a pale ghost against the blue, still within his reach. He glanced over at Derya, who stood with her mark extended towards the sun, her entire body taut with concentration. Dimer, on the other hand, sat down, appearing lost in his thoughts. Tarkan knew that no one could help Dimer now; he would have to unlock his mark’s potential on his own. Turning his attention back to his own moon mark, Tarkan closed his eyes and imagined the moon high in the sky, a luminous orb against the darkness. Slowly, he lifted his hand, envisioning himself tracing the moon’s path across the heavens.
He didn't fully understand how to command the moon, but he focused on the image in his mind, as if he were standing before it. In that instant, the world seemed to shift around him. A powerful wind whipped up, blurring his vision and drowning out his voice as he tried to call out. He felt his feet lift from the ground, the sensation of floating disorienting him. The wind roared in his ears, and then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ceased. Tarkan found himself suspended in a vast black void, dotted with countless tiny white stars. It was an endless expanse of night, breathtaking and terrifying in its immensity.
Off in the distance, he saw a bright light—the sun. Confusion and awe warred within him. What had he done? Where was he? He reached out tentatively, his hand trembling as he tried to grasp the reality of his surroundings. The void felt both alien and oddly familiar, as if he had always been a part of this cosmic tableau, yet never fully aware of it.
Panic began to rise within Tarkan, a cold, suffocating dread that tightened around his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He was just floating, suspended in this vast, empty void. When he turned his head, he noticed a blue sphere behind him. His jaw dropped as he recognized it—the map of their world, etched onto the surface of the globe. Was this truly their world? Turning again, he saw something white and colossal looming nearby. It could only be the moon, the celestial body he was supposed to command. Aelar and Ayrn had said nothing about such an experience during their practice. Tarkan opened his mouth to command the moon, but no sound emerged. Frustration bubbled up inside him as he tried again, only to be met with silence.
“Thou art clueless,” a voice echoed through his mind. Tarkan whirled around, searching for the source, but found nothing. The voice hadn’t come through his ears but seemed to resonate directly within his head. The void around him held no clues, no visible source for the disembodied voice. He tried to call out again, but his voice was swallowed by the silence.
“Tis futile. Do not even attempt. Thou canst not utter words in this realm,” the voice continued. Tarkan furrowed his brow, frustration and confusion mounting.
“Thou knowest not even what that mark of thine doth, dost thou?” The voice echoed mockingly. “I see... verily, I knew this would transpire, so I comprehend not why I am so taken aback.” A sound that was almost a laugh reverberated through the void, feeling more like a jolt of lightning to Tarkan.
“Thou shalt, in time, learn to command the moon and all that doth bow before it. But in the meantime, I think I could offer thee a small measure of assistance, could I not?” The disembodied voice resonated through Tarkan's mind, dripping with an unsettling blend of amusement and authority. Tarkan's scream was swallowed by the void as searing pain exploded within him, an unbearable sensation that burned through every fiber of his being. It was as if his very essence was being scorched, leaving him raw and exposed. And then, as abruptly as it began, the pain ceased. He looked down at his hand, eyes wide with shock, only to find his mark gone.
Panic surged through him, his heart pounding as he swung his arm furiously, desperate to find the vanished symbol. His mind raced, a whirlwind of confusion and fear. The voice’s words echoed in his head, taunting him with their cryptic promises. Was this part of the training? Was this some twisted test? Tarkan forced himself to calm down, taking deep breaths despite the suffocating silence of the void. He had to think, to understand. He focused on the voice, trying to extract any semblance of meaning from its enigmatic words.
“Worry yourself not. Thy mark rests upon thine eye. Now thou shalt see the world as never before,” the voice intoned, each word vibrating through Tarkan's skull like a tolling bell. The light chuckle that followed was like a crack of lightning, jarring and disorienting. Suddenly, he was propelled away from the moon, the void spinning and collapsing around him as he hurtled towards the blue sphere of his world. The sensation was dizzying, a maelstrom of light and shadow that left him breathless. He closed his eyes against the chaos, bracing for impact. When he opened them again, he found himself lying on the familiar sand of the beach, the camp's tents and fires flickering around him. He rubbed his aching skull, a headache pounding behind his eyes. As his vision cleared, he saw Zayn standing over him, disbelief etched across his face.
“Why am I here?” Tarkan groaned, the effort of speaking making his head throb even more. Zayn stepped forward, his expression shifting from shock to a mix of concern and curiosity. He grabbed Tarkan’s chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze.
Zayn could scarcely believe his eyes. The boy's mark had shifted to his eye, transforming it into something otherworldly. Encircling it was a ring bisected by a line, and Tarkan’s right eye no longer resembled that of a mortal. Instead, it held the moon within, the sun shining distantly, surrounded by a constellation of stars. Zayn's mind raced, recalling the ancient texts he had studied. The descriptions matched exactly—this same mark, in this same place, a symbol of history forgotten. The boy blinked up at him, confusion etched on his face.
“What has happened to me?” Tarkan muttered groggily, his voice thick with exhaustion. Zayn found himself at a loss for words, and even Kamil, standing nearby, watched Tarkan with wary, almost fearful eyes.
“I do not know,” Zayn admitted, his tone grave. “Listen to and go rest your eyes. We shall discuss this later.” Tarkan stared at him for a moment, then shrugged, his movements sluggish with weariness.
"You know best," he said, heading over to his sleeping area.
Tarkan collapsed upon his bed, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. The revelations of what had just transpired were scarce, clouded by a reluctance to fully grasp their implications. Even to himself, he had to admit he was afraid. The events left him bewildered, and now his mark was gone. He rubbed his eye and blinked away the soreness, trying to make sense of the strange space he had been in.
Was that what lay beyond the sky? A tinge of excitement mingled with his fear as he pondered the possibility. He didn’t think he had truly lost his mark since the voice had assured him of its assistance. So then, where had it gone? No matter, he told himself. Aelar would have an answer for him when he woke up. As he lay there, Tarkan’s thoughts swirled with the memories of the void and the voice that had spoken to him. Slowly but surely, his mind began to drift towards sleep. The last image that floated through his consciousness was that of the moon. It lingered in his thoughts, the way it had looked at him... as if it were afraid. The realization sent a shiver down his spine, and with that unsettling thought, he slipped into slumber.