Arın (The Uniformed One)
When İlyara said goodbye to Master Veyra and left the palace, Arın had forced every part of his body not to follow her.
He couldn't understand why.
His duty was to remain in the palace, and he had never even considered disobeying an order. Yet something inside him kept urging him to go after İlyara.
His master had also begun acting differently after that day. She was calmer. She no longer gave orders as often as before and sometimes spent long periods lost in thought without saying a word.
Then something happened that Arın had not expected.
One day, his master, Veyra, summoned him and ordered him to follow İlyara and keep an eye on her.
The moment Arın heard that command, his heart beat several times.
It was strange.
After İlyara had left the palace, the irregular beats of his heart had disappeared as well. For days, he had felt nothing and had noticed no unusual reaction from his body.
But now...
Simply hearing her name was enough to make his heart stir again.
And the fact that he would see her soon only made that unfamiliar movement in his chest even more noticeable.
Why was this happening?
Why did his heart start beating whenever İlyara's name was mentioned?
What's more, his master knew where İlyara was. If she had wanted to, she could have killed her long ago.
Then why was she still alive?
The thought caused his shoulders to tense involuntarily, and his breathing became uneven. Even when his master and İlyara had stood against each other, this body had been unable to choose a side. The more he remembered that moment of indecision, the more an unexplainable unease grew inside him.
He spent the entire journey thinking about all of it. Yet no matter how much he thought, he could not find a logical explanation.
When he finally reached the house, the door opened.
İlyara's face was hidden.
As her gaze traveled slowly from his feet to his head, Arın recognized the cloak draped over her shoulders.
She was wearing the cloak he had given her.
His heart stirred again.
He had not even seen her face.
Despite that, the reaction from his body was stronger than before. Was it because of the cloak? Or because he was seeing her again?
Arın let his gaze linger on her for a brief moment.
Did he want to see her?
He did not know the answer to that question. More accurately, he was not even sure what it meant to want something.
Was it possible for a Morhena to want anything at all?
And if it wasn't, how was he supposed to explain these strange feelings that appeared whenever he was near İlyara?
His thoughts were interrupted when İlyara grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.
The moment Arın stepped into the house, he sensed that something was wrong. He could not explain why, but the unease within his body refused to fade. Instead of listening to what İlyara was saying, he had begun inspecting the house first.
His gaze swept across the walls, the windows, and the entrance, searching for a possible threat. Yet he found nothing that stood out.
Even so, the feeling of unease remained.
The fact that children had already attacked İlyara was reason enough on its own. This house was not safe for her. The attackers were still alive, and sooner or later, they would return.
And next time, there would be more of them.
While arguing with İlyara, he had noticed the black smoke reaching toward his hands. That was when a thought had occurred to him.
Could there be an explanation for the strange way his body reacted to her?
He remembered an old tale he had heard from elderly women when he was a child.
Fated mates.
According to the stories, it was not only Alkan who were affected by such a bond, but Yadkan as well. Some even claimed that their bodies made decisions before their minds did. They would move instinctively to avoid being separated from their fated mates, returning to the same person again and again no matter what logic told them.
Back then, Arın had dismissed those stories as nothing more than ordinary tales.
Now he wasn't so certain.
Perhaps that was exactly what he was experiencing.
After all, he was dead. His heart did not beat. He could not feel emotions.
And yet, when İlyara had left the palace, it had felt as though something inside him had gone missing. The moment he heard her name, his heart had begun to stir again.
And the black smoke kept trying to reach him.
Could all of this really be a coincidence?
No.
He had never believed in coincidences. If there was a reason behind all of this, he would find it sooner or later.
Even though İlyara had tried to stop him, the moment he began drawing the black smoke from her hands into himself, he had felt his body nearing its limits. Those dark emotions coursed through his veins, growing heavier with every passing second. At one point, he had thought they would tear his body apart.
What would happen if it really did break apart?
Could a dead man die a second time?
Or would his master bring him back once again?
He did not know the answer to any of those questions.
Fortunately, he did not need to.
Because at that moment, the only thing that mattered was preventing İlyara from being crushed beneath those emotions.
If the fated mate theory was correct, protecting her was simply a natural response of his body.
And if it was wrong, he would still do the same.
That was why he had refused to let go of her hands, no matter what the outcome might be.
"Alright. Let's do it."
At İlyara's words, he finally released her wrists.
A violent cough immediately shook his chest, and black blood spilled from his mouth onto the wooden floor.
His gaze dropped to the ground instinctively.
Without realizing it, he had stained much of the floor with his own blood.
"Are you alright?"
İlyara asked him that question often.
"My body was strained a little. That's all."
After getting to his feet, he headed toward the kitchen.
"You recovered faster than I expected."
At those words, Arın turned to look at her.
İlyara was gesturing toward his hands.
The dark discoloration had vanished, and his skin had returned to its usual pale white hue with its faint purplish tint.
"It would seem so."
He picked up the bread knife resting on the counter.
"What are you doing?"
İlyara's eyes shifted first to the knife, then to Arın.
Holding the knife in his hand, Arın took a few steps toward her.
"Is this what's bothering you?" he asked, raising the blade slightly. "Or is it me?"
"Neither."
İlyara got up from the bed and walked toward him.
"I'm not afraid of you."
As she said it, she took a few more steps and stopped directly in front of him. Her red eyes met his without hesitation. Most people could never stand so comfortably beside a Morhena. They would avoid even meeting his gaze and try to keep as much distance as possible.
But İlyara was different.
She acted as though she were standing before an ordinary person rather than a Morhena.
Perhaps Arın should have been the one afraid.
For reasons he could not explain, he liked that thought. It was simply another addition to the growing list of strange feelings that had begun appearing whenever he was around İlyara, feelings he could not make sense of.
"Perhaps it's a fated mate reaction," he said as he reached for İlyara's hand.
As she placed her hand in his, her gaze briefly dropped to their palms.
"Are we really fated mates?" she asked.
Her voice was quiet, but Arın could hear her easily.
"We'll find out."
The moment the words left his mouth, he placed the knife against İlyara's palm and drew it across in a single motion. The cut was not deep, but it was enough to make it bleed.
İlyara hissed softly from the sting and tried to pull her hand away, but Arın did not loosen his grip until he had finished.
Then he released her and turned the knife toward his own palm.
He had been more careful than expected while cutting İlyara's hand. When it came to himself, however, he showed no such caution and drew the blade across quickly.
"Slow down!"
At the sound of İlyara's voice, he lifted his head.
Instead of looking at her own bleeding palm, she was looking at his.
"You cut it too deeply," she said with a frown.
Arın glanced down at his hand for a brief moment. Blood was slipping between his fingers and running down toward his wrist.
The cut didn't look as deep as he had expected.
"Let's complete the blood bond before my wound closes," Arın said, extending his hand toward İlyara.
It was held out as though for a handshake, black blood dripping from his palm onto the floor.
For a few moments, İlyara stared blankly at his outstretched hand before finally offering hers as well.
"Ah—"
İlyara hissed in pain.
"A little slower."
Without realizing it, his hand had already tightened around hers.
This body was drawn to her.
"May our bond protect us and make us stronger."
"I don't understand," İlyara said, looking down at their joined hands.
"We have to say it together to complete the bond," Arın replied. "And we need to look into each other's eyes."
"Alright..."
İlyara lifted her gaze and fixed it on him.
Her eyes were still damp, and the redness in them had not faded.
"May our bond protect us and make us stronger."
"May our bond protect us and make us stronger."
As they spoke the words together, both of their hands began to tremble slightly. The red in İlyara's eyes deepened into a dark burgundy, and at the same moment, Arın felt something stir within his palm.
From the questioning look in her eyes, he knew she had felt it too.
The blood in his hand was moving toward İlyara's wound, while hers flowed into his.
Would this harm İlyara?
The thought made him try to pull his hand away, but he couldn't.
It felt as though invisible chains had bound their hands together.
Thin black lines resembling roots emerged from their palms. The roots stretched between their hands and intertwined, locking themselves together. For a brief moment, they pulsed like a heartbeat.
Then they cracked apart like dried branches.
The broken fragments drifted toward the floor, but before they could touch the ground, they dissolved into dark sparks and vanished.