"You need me."
At Arın's words, İlyara looked at him for a brief moment. Then a single tear slipped down her cheek.
Without taking his eyes off her, Arın took a few slow steps forward. İlyara instinctively wanted to back away, but forced herself to stay where she was.
She would not take a step back.
Once he stopped in front of her, Arın lowered his head slightly and moved closer to the black smoke coiling around her hand. As he approached, the smoke stirred and began reaching toward him.
"Hmm... It looks like it wants to reach me," he said in his usual calm tone.
İlyara shrugged and wiped away the tear trailing down her cheek.
"Isn't that normal?" she said. "It's looking for a new body."
"Maybe," Arın replied. "But you're not trying to transfer it to me right now. Even so, it still seems to be trying to reach me."
İlyara focused on the black smoke stretching toward Arın. She couldn't remember it ever behaving like this before.
"It should be reacting that way to a Yadkan..." said Arın.
His fingers moved slowly around the smoke. As it tried to reach him, the black wisps twisted and curled as though they were dancing.
What caught İlyara's attention wasn't only the way the smoke moved. The closer it got to Arın's hands, the denser it became, stretching toward him in thin black tendrils.
It looked as though it had finally found something it had been searching for for years.
"...or to its fated mate."
İlyara tore her gaze away from the smoke and focused on Arın.
She more or less knew what a Yadkan was.
But a fated mate?
She had never heard that term before.
"A fated mate?"
At her question, Arın stopped toying with the smoke. His eyes lingered on the black tendrils for a moment before he lifted his gaze to hers.
"Yes, a fated mate," he said. "Rare as they are, some Alkans do have fated mates. In a way, it's like finding a Yadkan with whom you have perfect compatibility in sharing power."
So she had a fated mate?
The very thought seemed so absurd that İlyara found herself shaking her head. Fate could never have a mate waiting for her. She had nothing in this world. No home. No place where she truly belonged. The only thing she had left was her curse.
As though rejecting Arın's words outright, she took a few steps back and moved toward the bed. Her legs felt heavy with exhaustion, and all she wanted was to sit down. Maybe a little rest—or even sleep—would let her forget all of this, if only for a few hours.
"But you're a Morhena, not a Yadkan," she said as she sat on the edge of the bed.
At that moment, she noticed the black smoke wrapped around her hands growing denser. Thin tendrils curled between her fingers, shifting as though they had become restless.
Arın approached her with the same slow, deliberate steps. By the time he stopped directly in front of her, İlyara had to tilt her head back as far as she could just to meet his gaze.
"Yes," said Arın.
There wasn't the slightest trace of hesitation in his voice.
"That's why I could be your fated mate."
İlyara's eyes widened.
"That's ridiculous!"
She raised a hand and shoved him in the chest, but nothing happened. Arın remained exactly where he was. He didn't step back. He didn't even lose his balance. Standing before her, he felt less like a person and more like a tree whose roots stretched deep beneath the earth.
Her attention dropped to her hands.
The moment she touched Arın, the black smoke stirred again. Thin tendrils stretched toward his body, drawn to him by some invisible force. That brief contact alone had been enough to awaken them.
The instant she realized what that meant, İlyara tried to pull her hands away. Arın was faster. He caught her wrists before she could escape.
As though it had been waiting for this opportunity, the black smoke began flowing toward his hands. Dark tendrils slowly spread across his pale skin, and İlyara felt her chest tighten.
"Let me go," she said, her voice trembling with fear and shock. "It's going to hurt you."
As more and more of the smoke flowed into Arın's body, he began struggling to remain standing. His knees slowly buckled, and his body leaned forward as though it could no longer support its own weight. Even so, he refused to release İlyara's hands.
İlyara tried to pull away once more, but before she could free her hands, she saw Arın collapse to his knees and froze where she was.
There was no way she could have brought him down.
Arın was stronger than anyone she had ever met.
"Arın, are you alright?" she asked. Even her own voice sounded unfamiliar to her.
Arın didn't answer.
As her gaze drifted to his face, she noticed a dark liquid running from his nose. For a moment, she couldn't understand what she was seeing. Then she realized it was blood, and a sudden wave of fear tightened around her chest.
"Damn it," she said, trying once again to pull her hands free.
"Just let go already."
Arın lifted his head and looked at her. His pale eyes were still calm, but the strain on his face was becoming more apparent with every passing second.
"On one condition..."
The rest of his words caught in his throat. A violent cough bent him forward, yet he still refused to release her wrists.
"If you make a blood bond with me."
İlyara stared at him as though she couldn't believe what she had just heard.
"Why do you want this bond so badly?" she asked. "What could possibly make hurting yourself worth it?"
She truly didn't understand.
What was there for Arın to gain?
He was a Morhena—a being long dead, incapable of feeling emotions. Even if they really were fated mates, she couldn't understand what that could possibly mean to him.
Arın tightened his grip on her hands.
"Because my body has been drawn to you ever since the day we first met," he said.
"I've thought about it for a long time, but I couldn't find any explanation that made sense other than the possibility that you're my fated mate."
İlyara shook her head.
"That's not true," she said. "Let go of me. You can't handle this many emotions."
Arın coughed again. Black blood spilled from the corner of his mouth and dripped onto the floor. Even so, he never looked away from her.
"I can if you make the blood bond," he said at last. "Once the bond is formed, the burden of those emotions will be shared between two people. If we're truly fated mates, we'll both feel it."
İlyara frowned. As she struggled to pull her wrists free, her gaze was drawn once again to the black blood staining his face.
"What if we're not?" she asked. "What if all of this is wrong? I don't know what happens to a Morhena if they can't withstand a bond like this. I don't know what will happen to you either."
Before answering, Arın tilted his head slightly to the side. For a moment, he looked as though he were genuinely considering the question.
"Neither do I," he said at last. "But we won't know unless we try."
İlyara frowned.
"Don't you care what happens to you?" she asked, unable to hide the anger in her voice this time.
"No."
For several seconds, İlyara simply stared at him.
That answer shouldn't have surprised her. After all, he was a Morhena. Even so, the ease with which he said it irritated her.
"What about other people?"
Not the slightest change appeared on Arın's face.
"I don't care what happens to them," he said before coughing again.
As black blood trickled from the corner of his lips, a feeling of unease settled in İlyara's chest. Arın didn't care about his own life. He didn't care about anyone else's either.
And yet, he had been trying to save her for hours.
None of it made any sense.
"How is a blood bond made?" she asked.
"Are you agreeing to it?"
İlyara's shoulders tensed at once.
"No," she said quickly.
"I'm just asking."
Arın watched her for another moment before answering.
"We cut our palms with a blade until they bleed. Then we clasp our hands together and say, 'May our bond protect us and make us stronger.'"
İlyara frowned involuntarily.
It didn't sound romantic at all.
They were talking about a bond formed between a man and a woman, yet she had expected something far more personal—perhaps even a little embarrassing.
"Those words aren't romantic at all," she said with a faintly mocking smile.
At that moment, Arın's body began to tremble.
"Are you alright?"
"Of course it isn't romantic," Arın said.
He seemed completely unconcerned by the tremors running through his body.
"It's an agreement meant to keep power under control. If power isn't controlled, it becomes destructive."
İlyara remained silent for a few seconds.
"But if we really are fated mates, wouldn't that bring us even closer?"
The moment the words left her mouth, she looked away.
Was she really searching for closeness? And from a Morhena, of all people? Or was she far lonelier and more desperate than she had realized?
Arın watched her for a moment before answering.
Trying to escape his gaze, İlyara lowered her eyes to their hands and noticed that the black smoke had spread across Arın's pale skin. Wherever it touched, his skin seemed to darken, while black veins crept beneath the surface like cracks spreading through stone.
A sudden fear gripped her chest.
"Let go of my hands already—"
"I don't know," Arın interrupted. "I have no idea how it works for someone who's dead."
Ah... right. Arın was dead.
Once again, İlyara had found herself clinging to a hope that had never been hers to keep. Every time she tried to forget that she was cursed, life found a way to remind her of that truth.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath. Then she lifted her head and met Arın's pale gray eyes.
"Alright," she said.
"Let's do it."