In the dry, golden hills of Anatolia, under the endless stretch of sky, young Alp, son of a blacksmith in the nomadic Kayı tribe, chased his shadow with a wooden sword. He dreamed of glory, like the old warriors sung about around the fire.
One evening, as the sun bled into the horizon, Alp wandered far from camp, following the strange sound of wind whispering his name.
> "Alp… Alp…"
He followed it into the ruins of an old stone shrine half-buried in earth and vines. Inside, he saw something glowing under the dirt.
He dug with his hands until his fingers met cold metal.
It was a curved blade, unlike any he had ever seen — glowing faintly blue, engraved with ancient runes of the Göktürks. As his fingers wrapped around it, a sudden gust of wind surged through the ruin, and the whisper became a voice:
> "The Witch of Akdöl has awakened."