Page 62

Hakan

T he trail of Midas's corrupted magic led us northeast, toward the ancient border between shadow and light realms. I moved with single-minded fury, my shadows extending ahead like hunting hounds, searching for any trace of Ada and Kiraz.

Behind me, Sarp and Melo struggled to keep pace, both still weakened from their earlier injuries.

"They're heading for the Twilight Pass," Sarp called, his voice tight with pain. "The old gateway between realms."

I knew the place—a narrow corridor of stone where the boundaries between shadow and light had worn thin over millennia. Neither fully one realm nor the other, it was a place of unstable magic and shifting loyalties. The perfect place for Midas to make his escape with captives in tow.

"Hakan, slow down," Melo urged, her human form limping slightly from the wound in her side. "We need to conserve strength for the actual fight."

I ignored her, pushing forward with greater speed.

Every moment wasted was another moment Ada and Kiraz remained in Midas's hands.

The thought of that small child—with her impossible shadow magic and fearless eyes—in the clutches of a madman drove me forward with a primal urgency I couldn't explain.

The trail grew fresher as night deepened. They were slowed by prisoners, by the need to maintain the gold-forged bindings that suppressed Ada's light magic. We were gaining on them.

"There," Melo hissed, her fox-sharp senses detecting what even my shadows had missed. "Movement ahead. The old fortress."

Silhouetted against the night sky stood the crumbling remains of Karanlik Kule—the Dark Tower—an ancient shadow realm outpost abandoned centuries ago during the last great war. Golden light flickered from its topmost chamber, sickly and corrupt—Midas's signature magic.

I raised a hand, signaling for silence. "How many?" I asked Melo, whose senses were keenest.

She closed her eyes, concentrating. "At least ten guards on the perimeter. More inside. And…something else. A presence I don't recognize."

"Midas has allies we don't know about," Sarp muttered grimly. "Wonderful."

"It doesn't matter," I replied, shadows gathering around me in violent waves. "None of them leave alive."

Sarp caught my arm. "We need a plan, Hakan. Charging in blind is exactly what Midas expects."

I nearly struck him for delaying me, but the rational part of my mind—the part not consumed by rage and something else, something deeper and more protective—recognized the wisdom in his words.

"The tower has a weakness," I said after a moment. "The eastern wall collapsed during the last war. It was never rebuilt, just hidden with shadow magic to appear whole. My shadows can bypass it."

"And while you're slipping in the back door, Melo and I create a distraction at the front." Sarp nodded, already forming the strategy. "Divide their forces."

"I move faster alone," I said, not wanting to risk their lives further. "Get yourselves to safety."

Sarp's expression hardened. "Don't be an idiot. You can't face Midas and his entire contingent alone, not even at full strength, which you're not."

Before I could argue, Melo stepped between us. "We're wasting time," she said sharply. "Hakan takes the eastern approach. We create a diversion at the main entrance. We rendezvous at the top chamber where they're holding Ada and Kiraz."

Her practicality cut through my impatience. I nodded curtly. "Go."

We separated, moving silently through the darkness.

I circled to the eastern wall, my shadows seeking the ancient weakness in the stone.

There—a shimmer of old magic, the illusion of solid stone covering a gaping hole large enough for a man to pass through.

My shadows dissolved the spell with ease; it had been cast by shadow lords of old, recognizing my bloodline and yielding to my command.

I slipped inside, finding myself in what had once been the fortress armory.

Now it was little more than a shell, stone walls crumbling, ancient weapons rusted beyond recognition.

Above me, I could feel the hum of corrupted magic, the unique signature of Midas's presence.

And beneath it, steady and rhythmic, the familiar resonance of Ada's light.

She was alive. And if she was alive, there was hope for Kiraz as well.

I ascended silently, shadows cloaking me from detection. Distant shouts and the clash of steel suggested Sarp and Melo had begun their diversion. Good. Let Midas's forces chase shadows while I reach their master.

The top chamber loomed ahead, golden light spilling from beneath its door. Inside, voices—Midas's distorted rasp, and another that made my heart pause: a woman's tone, musical but with an edge of desperation. And then, Ada's words, strained but defiant.

"You won't succeed," Ada was saying. "The binding doesn't work that way. You can't just steal power without understanding its nature."

"Understanding is overrated," Midas replied, his speech changed since our last encounter—wetter somehow, as if speaking through damaged flesh. "Power responds to will, not comprehension. And my will is absolute."

A third speaker cut in, the voice thick and slurred but familiar. "That's what you always say, but it hasn't gotten you very far, has it? Look at your face."

I peered through a crack in the ancient door.

The scene inside froze my blood. Martha stood directly beside the binding circle, her hands glowing with fae magic as she maintained some sort of connection to the tethers—clearly, her fairy blood was being used to strengthen the bindings holding both prisoners.

Ada knelt in the center of a complex magical circle, golden chains binding her wrists and ankles to the carved floor itself.

Blood trickled from a cut across her forehead, but her eyes blazed with undiminished fury.

Beside her, small and terrified but chin lifted in stubborn defiance, knelt Kiraz—similarly bound with additional gold-forged bands encircling her head and chest, magical tethers connecting her to the same binding circle.

Midas stood before them, his form horrifically altered since our last encounter.

I had assumed him dead after Ada's light magic had transformed him into a golden statue, but somehow he had partially broken free of that prison.

His once-beautiful face was now half-melted, reconstructed with gold magic that pulsed sickeningly beneath his skin.

One eye bulged unnaturally, the other sunken and glowing with tainted power.

Parts of his body still retained the metallic immobility of his gold transformation, creating jerky, unnatural movements as he fought against his own partially solidified form.

But it was the third figure that caught my attention—Martha.

Her fiery red hair was disheveled, her usually pristine appearance replaced by hollow-eyed exhaustion.

She swayed slightly as she clutched a crystal goblet with white-knuckled fingers, the dark liquid within sloshing with her trembling.

Around her neck hung a deep blue eye encased in silver—a Goz Boncu?u that pulsed with ancient power.

But what disturbed me most was her expression: the dull, glazed look of someone fighting against magical compulsion, her natural personality struggling to surface through layers of enchanted control.

"Martha," Ada breathed, shock and sympathy evident in her voice. "What has he done to you?"

Martha's response came with bitter clarity, the alcohol having temporarily dulled the compulsion's grip.

"Hello, Ada." She took another drink, savoring the brief mental freedom it provided.

"He found me after I escaped. Brought me back.

" Her voice cracked slightly. "The drinking.

.. It lets me think clearly for short periods.

But when he gives direct orders..." She shuddered. "I become his puppet completely."

"You're under compulsion," Ada said, her voice careful but full of compassion. "That's why you're here."

Martha nodded miserably, tears mixing with the alcohol on her lips. "He makes me... makes me do things. Open pathways. Use my fae blood." She glanced at Midas with a mixture of hatred and fear. "I try to resist, but the pain..."

Midas laughed, the sound wet and wrong. "Martha has been quite useful.

Her fairy heritage gives her such unique abilities.

And her family's little trinket," he gestured to the amulet around her neck, "has been resisting my attempts to analyze it.

The protective enchantments are too layered for casual examination—I'll need direct contact to understand its true nature. "

From my position, I reached through our binding, letting Ada sense my presence.

Her awareness flickered, and she shifted almost imperceptibly—not enough to alert Midas, but enough to show me she knew I was there.

Her eyes darted briefly toward Kiraz, and I understood: the magical tethers meant the child couldn't be moved far from the circle without triggering harmful backlash.

I gathered my shadows, preparing to strike. Ada positioned herself as much as her bonds allowed, ready to shield Kiraz when I attacked.

With a surge of power, I blasted the door inward, shadows exploding into the room like a tidal wave. Midas was thrown backward, momentarily stunned by the sudden attack. Martha cried out, dropping her goblet as she clutched her amulet protectively.

"Hakan!" Ada gasped, relief flooding her voice. "Be careful—when I tried to move closer to Kiraz earlier, the golden bindings burned her. The whole circle is designed to keep us both trapped here!"

"Understood," I replied grimly, positioning myself between them and Midas while assessing the magical bindings. The golden chains were more complex than simple restraints—they were designed to channel and contain magic, part of the binding circle itself.