The morning crept upon them, pale and reluctant, its light swallowed by the dense fog that clung to the flatlands of Turukhan. Tarkan felt its chill seep through his cloak, a damp cold that gnawed at his skin and settled in his bones. The days had grown unnaturally short, as though the world itself conspired to bring the night sooner, and with it, the creeping sense of unease that had shadowed him for weeks. They rode in silence, their horses’ hooves muffled by frostbitten earth, the banner of House Altan swaying faintly in the still air. The golden goat, rearing proudly against the painted peaks and sword, was a defiant symbol of strength, yet even it seemed diminished in the lifeless gray of the morning. They were searching for the missing vassals House Tayga, a name that had stood alongside Altan's for centuries. House Tayga had been among the first to kneel to King Altan Son to no Man, their oaths sworn on a day of defeat and victory when he had claimed the heart of central Turukhan with swift and unyielding force. Their loyalty had been unbroken through war and peace alike, but now their silence hung heavy over the region, an absence that felt more ominous with every passing mile.

  “No trace.” Batar murmured, breaking the silence of the long trek. “Not a trace.” He repeated chewing on his tobacco. Batar spat it out onto the ground and kicked his horse to catch up to King Hajr. Batar had a long ugly scar stretching from the corner of his mouth to his chest. Something that made him look much more intimidating than he truly was.

  “Their castle is just up ahead.” King Hajr told Batar, The ultimate military commander of the Altans. “There we can see if they have truly disappeared.” A month ago House Tayga had stopped answering to the messages and summons of King Hajr. It had been abrupt and surprising for all sending ripples throughout the kingdom. Some whispered treason and betrayal while others thought they had all gone and left to the Sea of Reeds. All was just hearsay, no one truly would know what happened to them until they were at the castle.

  As they rode a little forward shapes began to break through the fog. It was first the columns of the castle then the gate, and at last all of it was revealed to them in its full stature.

  The castle was big enough to fit a whole army in it comfortably. Its towers high enough to see enemies coming from miles away. The gate of the castle made from stone, a technological marvel that only the Altans had imitated. On the front of the castle were normally the banners of the House but it appeared someone, or something had torn it away. In its place was nothing but a ragged piece of cloth still hanging onto the nail.

  “By the Gods!” Kadir expressed hopping off from his horse and heading to the castle on foot. “They’ve truly up and left.” His brown-reddish beard swayed a little in the wind as he turned to look at King Hajr. King Hajr hopped off from his horse signaling for his other men to get off as well. Batar was the first to follow behind King Hajr, standing by his side.

  “It was clear from the beginning might I say.” Said Ozgur, the advisor of King Hajr. “If there had been soldiers stationed at the towers they would’ve greeted us miles away.” King Hajr looked at Kadir his hawk like eyes switching from him back to the castle.

  “We must go inside,” King Hajr announced, turning to his soldiers. “Bataar, take ten men and scout the perimeter. The rest of you, with me—except for you three.” He pointed at Tarkan and his siblings, Dimer and Derya. Tarkan stiffened.

  “Why can’t we go inside with you, my king?” He tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. He would have preferred something more meaningful than watching the horses.

  “The horses carried us here, and they will carry us back,” King Hajr said without so much as a glance. Tarkan swallowed his frustration as Kadir stepped forward, running his hand along the rough stone of the castle’s gate.

  “How will we get inside?” King Hajr studied the gate, pressing his palm against the weathered stone. The castle seemed impenetrable. They had brought no siege gear, no ropes, nothing that could aid their entry. They hadn’t expected the place to be abandoned without a trace.

  “Do you think it was scavengers?” Derya asked softly, stepping between her brothers. Dimer shot her a sharp look. Tarkan felt a shiver creep down his spine at the mention of them. Scavengers—filthy, wretched things. Hardly even human anymore.

  “This is not the work of scavengers, girl,” came a quiet voice. Ozgur had approached them without sound, his sharp eyes sweeping the empty stronghold. Derya dipped her head at the advisor’s words.

  “I’m sure you remember what scavengers leave behind,” Ozgur went on, voice calm but weighted. “This is nothing like that.”

  “Ozgur, stop scaring them,” Kadir called out, his tone firm. Tarkan didn’t think Ozgur had been trying to scare them, but it didn’t matter—Derya was gripping his arm, trembling. The thought of scavengers alone was enough to unsettle her. They were the people who lived between the Cradle of Crowns and the Sea of Reeds, roaming the northern and central borders of Turukhan. Never too small a group, never too large. Barbarians. Their camps were rudimentary, their greatest inventions little more than sharpened sticks. Yet they were as destructive as any army and, above all, inhuman.

  “I agree,” King Hajr said, rubbing his chin. “This wasn’t scavengers. But there are no signs of battle, either.”

  “Then what was it?” Derya asked, stepping closer. King Hajr didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand drifted to a section of the wall, pressing against a hidden mechanism. With a deep groan, the castle gate rumbled open. Without hesitation, he beckoned his knights forward.

  “Go back to your brothers,” he ordered. Derya lingered for a moment before dragging her feet back to them, dejected. “It’s for our own good,” Tarkan said, lowering himself into the grass. Derya sighed and sat beside him. Dimer followed, plucking a daisy from the ground. Absentmindedly, he began pulling at its petals, murmuring something under his breath.

  “We should be grateful he let us come at all,” he muttered.

  “What if whatever attacked the Taygas comes for us next?” Derya whispered, her eyes darting through the fog. Tarkan hesitated, glancing around despite himself. Here in the mist, anything could be lurking, unseen until it was too late—be it enemy or beast.

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  “They’re likely long gone,” Dimer said, plucking the last petal from his flower before tossing the stem aside. “No sign of them, after all.”

  “They probably didn’t leave a clue before they came, either,” Tarkan murmured, his gaze drifting back to the castle. Whatever had happened here had left no warning, no trace of struggle—just silence. He remembered coming here four years ago for one of the princes’ namedays. The visit had been more of a courtesy than anything, but even then, the halls had been lively. The Taygas were a festive people—ironic, considering the dreary, fog-choked land they called home. Now, their castle stood abandoned in the middle of nowhere, the nearest towns miles away. The thought sent a shiver down Tarkan’s spine. All gone—most likely slaughtered—and no one even knew what had happened.

  “Well, Hajr will handle it,” Dimer said, plucking a dandelion and twirling it between his fingers. He smiled, but it was weak. A distraction. Tarkan could tell he was afraid. A rustling sound snapped all three of them to attention. They leapt to their feet, their hearts pounding—though Tarkan would like to think he hadn’t shown much of it. Bataar and his men emerged from the fog.

  “Found something,” Bataar grunted as he dismounted. Behind him, a woman sat trembling in the saddle, her thin arms wrapped around herself for warmth. Tarkan watched as Bataar lifted her down with rough hands. She cried out, wincing at his touch.

  “Who is she?” Dimer asked, wide-eyed.

  “A prisoner, it seems,” Bataar said. “Whatever came through here didn’t think to take her.”

  “What’s your name?” Derya stepped forward, her voice softer than before.

  “She doesn’t speak the common tongue,” Bataar muttered, turning to his men. “Get her something warm. And food—let’s see if she has a tongue for any language.” Tarkan scoffed, crossing his arms.

  “I bet she has no tongue at all.” Derya smacked his shoulder, exasperated. But soon, even she and Dimer were laughing, their fear momentarily forgotten. They scampered back toward the horses, their chuckles still lingering in the air.

  Bataar exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “Idiots.”

  “I can’t believe I laughed at such a stupid joke,” Derya muttered once they had settled in the grass again. Tarkan only grinned.

  “You couldn’t help it. Most can’t.” He stretched his arms behind his head, reclining against the damp earth. Derya sighed before lying back beside him, and Dimer followed suit. The three of them stared up at the endless gray sky.

  “You know we’re not children anymore,” Derya said at last, her voice quieter now. “We’re fifteen. Our namedays are near.” Her brow furrowed. “Soon, they’ll start giving us real tasks. Responsibilities.” Dimer clasped his hands together, staring up at the sky. He looked eager. Tarkan wasn’t sure if he felt the same.

  “We’re already late as it is,” Dimer muttered, his hands trembling slightly. “The Cragorians have a child on their throne, and their prince—barely thirteen—might as well be the hand of his queen.”

  “I bet the Fjord children start even earlier than that,” Derya murmured. “They probably train their young from birth to be kings and queens.” Dimer snorted, rolling his eyes as he lay back down.

  “Who knows why the Fjords do anything? Always hiding behind their dome. Even our spies return empty-handed.” It was true their spies would return empty-handed but Tarkan didn’t believe this was a weakness of the Fjords but rather theirs. They couldn’t ever battle an enemy they didn’t know. Would they know they had killed them or if they’d struck a wall? No they never could until it was at the cost of their life. If he were king he would work on their relationship with the Fjords until they could be considered anything but a threat. That would put his mind at ease.

  “I think the Fjords are the most powerful of us.” A silence followed. Even Bataar and his soldiers turned toward him, their gazes sharp.

  “What makes you say that, my prince?” Bataar asked, unmoving from where he sat against a rock. Tarkan met his eyes.

  “How do you fight an enemy you do not know?” he asked simply. “It would be like battling in the dark.” Bataar exhaled, looking down as if weighing the words. Then, without another word, he stood and gestured to the fog around them.

  “You simply learn to wait, my prince,” Bataar said, his eyes gleaming with something Tarkan couldn’t place. “When you fight in darkness, the greatest advantage is to wait in the light.” Tarkan breathed in, ready to argue, but the weight of Bataar’s words hit him with startling clarity. He turned his head away, mulling them over. It should have been obvious.

  “Don’t see that very often, do we?” Ozgur remarked, his lips pressed thin, as if holding back amusement. Bataar merely nodded before settling back with his men, drawing his blade and sharpening it with slow, deliberate strokes.

  “It was a nice thought,” Dimer murmured, exchanging a glance with Derya. Tarkan remained silent, staring at the ground. He wasn’t sulking—he wouldn’t sulk—but frustration churned inside him. The truth in Bataar’s words was too plain to deny, and that only meant one thing: he had been a fool for not seeing it first. “

  Here they come!” Derya suddenly exclaimed, grabbing Tarkan’s arm and pulling him up. He stumbled, regaining his footing just as the party emerged through the mist. King Hajr and Lord Kadir were at the front their men close behind, but they carried nothing with them. No stolen treasures, no survivors, not even a body to mourn.

  “Nothing,” Lord Kadir announced grimly as he dismounted. “No trace of anything. One would think even a massacre would leave its stains, but there’s nothing. No blood, no signs of a struggle.” Bataar rose, swinging his sword once before resting it on his shoulder.

  “Good thing we found her, then.” He gestured toward the prisoner. The girl sat wrapped in a threadbare blanket, hands trembling around a crust of bread. Tarkan studied her—gaunt, hollow-eyed, fingers curled tight as if she feared the food might vanish.

  “So, our expedition wasn’t fruitless after all,” King Hajr observed, stepping toward her. The girl tensed, eyes wide as the king crouched before her. From where Tarkan stood, he could see her hands shaking so violently she could barely hold on to her food. Was it hunger keeping her still, or terror? King Hajr was not a tall man, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in sheer presence. His frame was compact, his strength undeniable, and his skin, was red as if the blood from battles had stained it.

  “Ley atro ni uayk?” the girl whispered, her voice thin and frail.

  “You’re scaring her,” Derya said, crossing her arms. “If she swallows her tongue, it’ll be on you.” Hajr ignored her, his sharp eyes locked onto the prisoner.

  “Reo fii lee ni min kale?” he asked. Silence fell. Even Bataar looked confused. Tarkan exchanged glances with his siblings, but Kadir’s face remained unreadable, his expression carefully guarded. The girl spoke again, her voice frantic now, as if something in Hajr’s face had shifted.

  “Ni—ni atrei!” she pleaded, shaking her head violently. Hajr lifted a hand, silencing her. He turned to Lord Kadir.

  “Your thoughts?” Kadir exhaled slowly. His gaze remained fixed on the prisoner. Thoughtful. Calculating. But his fingers twitched at his side—a subtle tell.

  “She’s no use to us like this,” he said at last. “Feed her. Let her warm herself. Then we’ll see if she still has a tongue worth speaking.”

  Hajr grunted in agreement. “Find out what she knows.” Bataar nodded, already barking orders to his men. Tarkan, however, barely heard them. His gaze lingered on the castle—on the lifeless halls that had swallowed an entire people without a sound.

  "She says she is the only one left." The words curled around his mind like a whispered curse.

  I didn't think there was-

  anyone.. more

  sensible...//

  it was a lame mistake..-

  I've made those in my time.