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Hakan
My eyes felt heavy, each blink a battle against the creeping darkness. I pressed a trembling hand to my chest, fighting the nausea clawing at my stomach. The chamber, once a sanctuary of gold and crimson splendor, now seemed distorted, tilting with every heartbeat. Turan stood over me, his silver-braided hair spilling over his broad shoulders, his brows drawn together with a grim intensity I seldom saw.
"Turan…" My voice emerged hoarse, almost a rasp, but enough to summon his attention.
He leaned closer, his own unease visible in the tight set of his jaw. "There's something I need to tell you."
I clenched my fingers over the cloth at my chest, wincing as the sting of the wound beneath my tunic flared—a small scratch, yet enough to bring me to my knees. "What is it?"
The memory struck with violent clarity—the sickening SPLATTER, the crimson spurt of life leaving my body, the searing agony that bloomed across my chest. Each ragged breath felt like a struggle against invisible chains. I pressed my forearm against the wound, trying futilely to stop the bleeding, trying to force life back into my body.
It wasn't the arrow that broke me. It was the poison—the dark, corrupted magic coursing through my veins like a river of fire. My strength, my Dragon King vitality, faltered. Leaning against a marble column, a guttural, animalistic sound escaped me. HUFF… HUFF… The world swirled into a ringing void as I collapsed with a bone-jarring THUD.
"Turan…" My voice cracked, a shadow of command left in it. "Patch me up. Call the cleric. Hurry!"
His arms wrapped around me, firm and unyielding, lifting me with the ease of a man who bore the weight of my kingdom daily. The world blurred around the edges, silver armor gleaming faintly in the light. Before we could move further, the chamber doors burst open, revealing my younger general. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of his King barely clinging to consciousness.
"YOUR MAJESTY! WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED?!"
I fought to maintain the illusion of calm, to mask the venom coursing through me. "Y-yes, Sir," I managed, forcing the words from my lips. Turan supported me, steadying my trembling form, and yet the nausea and pain gnawed at my focus.
I gave a faint, dismissive sneer, attempting to downplay the danger. "Why are you getting so worked up over such a small scratch?"
Turan's jaw clenched, his eyes sharp with perception. "Because it was caused by a black arrow!" His roar of warning cut through the haze of my pain, confirming the nightmare I already suspected. This was no ordinary wound. A dark curse, a poison beyond simple healing. My eyes fluttered closed as another wave of blackness pressed against my vision.
The younger general worked quickly, hands trembling slightly but precise. "The truth is…" he began, glancing between Turan and me, uncertainty warring with duty.
I silenced him with a controlled gesture. "You may leave if you're finished." My voice was steady, concealing the storm within. The moment the doors closed with a definitive CLACK, Turan's gaze met mine, fierce and unwavering.
Then came the cleric, Lady Lucina, entering the chamber with a solemnity that carried the weight of truth. Her eyes met Turan's, and she shook her head slowly. Even her power, brilliant and revered, was useless against the black arrow's dark curse. I was left to confront the poison alone—the very venom I had tried to conceal now a clear threat to everything I held dear.
Turan's fists were tight at his sides, his frustration palpable. "Why are you acting so calm? How do we even treat this now?"
I forced a rasping chuckle, attempting to project control. "We have Gillai, an incredible researcher… and if necessary, the Cardinal of Brion Kingdom." My attempt at levity barely concealed the sharp sting of blood in my throat.
He exhaled, a long, ragged sigh. The calculation of risk flickered across his face—our options few, our enemies cunning.
"Lady Lucina has suffered much…" Turan murmured, his voice heavy with guilt.
I pressed a hand to his shoulder, the touch a gentle command to abandon self-reproach. "This isn't your fault," I said, forcing myself to push the conversation toward the more immediate concern—my Queen, my family, my heart.
He nodded, shame and determination warring in his expression. "The Shifters devised this vile plan. I should have realized sooner."
I offered him the faint glimmer of hope that mirrored his own. "It's not over yet. Your child may still be alive."
Hope and despair coexisted in the silence until a sharp knock fractured it. "The cleric is here to see you," the guard called.
My chest tightened. "The cleric…?" My attention fractured for the first time from the poison's torment.
I dismissed Turan with a glance, forcing myself upright despite the burning poison. I stormed down the hall to the Queen's chamber, flinging open the doors in a violent burst. "LUCINA!"
She sat fragile in the bed, her white hair a halo around her tear-streaked face. "Hakan…?" Her voice quivered, her fear stark in the moonlight.
Turning away from me, she whispered, "You need to leave… I don't have the right to see you anymore."
My heart lurched at the despair, a pain deeper than the poison coursing through me.
"I… I can't bear another child," she admitted, voice breaking. "I can't become the Queen of Tayar anymore."
I stepped closer, trembling, fighting the weakness in my chest. "Lucina… you mean more to me than anything else in this world," I whispered, the words a lifeline across the gulf of fear and grief between us.
Kneeling beside her, I held her hands to my chest, the poison having spared at least the strength of my love. "I'll never give up on you," I vowed, drawing her close. Blood stained her nightgown, my tunic soaked crimson, but it mattered not. "You're the only woman I have chosen to be my wife."
I held her tighter, a protective shield around her fragile form, silently swearing to fight this darkness—both the curse in my veins and the grief in our hearts. Together, we were broken, yet somehow, still whole.
---
I held Lucina close, my arms a protective shield against the weight of her despair. Her confession lingered in the air like a poisoned dagger: "I… I can't bear another child. I can't become the Queen of Tayar anymore." Each word cut deeper than the black arrow lodged in my chest.
"Lucina," I whispered, my hands cradling her face gently but firmly, "you mean more to me than anything else in this world. I'll never give up on you. You're the only woman I have chosen to be my wife." My words were not empty; they were a solemn vow, an unbreakable promise, echoing in the quiet chamber.
She drew back slightly, her eyes glistening with fresh tears, and whispered my name—"Hakan…"—then faltered. "…But… no one else is going to accept me," she murmured, her slender frame seeming to slide away from my reassurance, as if my love alone wasn't enough to hold her.
"They're not important," I said firmly, pulling her back into my arms. "It doesn't matter whether they accept you or not." My eyes locked onto hers, blazing with fierce, kingly devotion. "If I can't have any children and continue my bloodline, I can simply give up the throne. The crown is meaningless without you by my side."
Her gasp filled the space between us. "Hakan…" The whisper was a fragile echo of hope, and I tilted her chin up, placing a soft, tender kiss upon her forehead. "So don't be too hard on yourself, Lucina," I murmured. My vow was absolute: her life, her happiness, and her safety were now the only kingdom I would ever need to protect.
The Conspirators
Far away from the King's chamber, shadows lengthened across the gilded halls. In a secluded council room, three high-ranking lords met under the dim glow of candlelight. Their conversation was low, thick with ambition and whispered malice.
"It seems Lucina can't have any more children," one stated plainly.
"Who's going to become the Queen of Tayar?" asked another, the question heavy with insinuation.
A third lord, a glint of excitement in his eyes, leaned forward. "I found out recently… the Great King might give up his throne for Lucina. And I heard he was seriously injured this time."
A hush fell over the table, broken only by nervous gasps. "Oh my goodness… who's going to rule over our kingdom?"
The oldest lord, his face etched with concern and cunning, leaned in, lowering his voice. "I'm sure you've all heard the rumors. The current King of Tayar is considering abdicating the throne."
A younger nobleman, dressed in crimson and purple silks, scoffed. "I don't see what this has to do with the White Dragon Tribe or the Black Dragon Tribe."
The lead conspirator's expression darkened instantly. With a sharp SLAM of his hand on the table, tension surged through the room like a live wire. "DON'T YOU GET IT?" he hissed, each word a weapon.
"For generations, the Guardian Dragons have ruled our kingdom," he continued, the malice in his voice dripping with calculated intent. "But there is no proper successor now. That means other Dragon Tribes are free to step into the vacuum. The throne is vulnerable, and chaos is an opportunity."
The young nobleman swallowed hard. "And who exactly would seize it?"
"Giaret, of course," the conspirator replied, a cruel smirk playing at his lips.
"But… she's currently being punished," an objector murmured, uncertainty creeping into his tone.
The lead lord leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, laced with dangerous promise. "If the elders put their minds to it, they could easily rectify the injustice she's facing. The choice is yours. Are you going to continue under the rule of the Guardian Dragons… or rise up and claim the throne for yourselves?"
Behind them, the red glow of a dragon flickered in the shadowed corner, a symbol of ambition, destruction, and the violent currents stirring within the kingdom. The conspiracy was no longer just talk—it had moved into motion. The lords had seized upon my injury and Lucina's despair, using it as a lever to destabilize everything my reign had built.
The poison in my veins, the whispered fears in the palace, the fragile body of my Queen—they were all pieces in a dangerous game I had yet to fully confront. But one thing was certain: I would not let the throne, or Lucina, slip from my grasp.