Laçin woke up to the sound of lamentations and cries outside the tent. One of the voices sounded familiar. It was her mother’s voice! She immediately rushed outside.

The air was freezing, and the wind cut into her face like a blade. As she approached the crowd, she found her mother on the ground, crying over someone. It couldn’t be what she was thinking. No, the person lying there wasn’t her father!

People tried to console Laçin, gently patting her head, but she looked at them all with hatred, as if they had killed her father themselves. Then, she turned and ran away. Tears streamed down her face as she ran, and the wind seemed to cut even deeper into her skin.

When she reached her tent, her face was red from the cold, and her eyes burned from crying. She threw herself onto her bed, sobbing, and let her thoughts consume her. Who killed my father? Why? Was my father a bad man? Did he deserve to die? She tried to answer these questions herself but eventually cried herself to sleep.

When she woke up, she heard a familiar voice from the next room—her father’s loyal companion, Uygar. He was explaining what had happened to her mother. Laçin had only caught the end of the conversation. She heard that the killer was the wealthiest merchant in the region.

Laçin thought, No matter how rich the murderer is, my big brother Uygar will never let my father’s blood go unavenged. But just seconds later, she realized she was wrong. Uygar had been intimidated by the killer’s power and had given up on seeking revenge.

Laçin could not accept this. If even Uygar refused to take action, who would ensure her father’s soul could rest in peace?

Suddenly, a fire of hatred ignited within her. From that moment on, nothing and no one had any value or importance in her eyes. Everyone was merely a stepping stone on her path to vengeance—steps she was ready to climb and discard without hesitation.

Eight years had passed since her father’s death. Laçin had grown up and become even more beautiful. Her blonde hair had darkened to a shade of ash brown, cascading past her shoulders. Her eyes were a vibrant green, and she had grown much taller, even surpassing her mother. But the dagger-shaped mark on her upper right shoulder remained as fresh as the first day. She had always asked her parents about its meaning, but they had never given her an answer.

Everyone she knew, even her mother, had moved on and forgotten about her father’s death. But Laçin had not let a single day pass without thinking of him. The hatred inside her remained just as intense and raw. Every night before she slept, she whispered the merchant’s name so she would never forget.

She trained every day, mastering the sword and the bow. She had become more agile and stronger than ever. She barely spoke to anyone, ate only enough to sustain herself, and spent the rest of her time training.

Yet, she knew that training alone would not be enough to reach the killer. That’s why, for eight years, she had prayed to the gods every night. And her efforts were not limited to prayer alone. On every anniversary of her father’s death, she would take a newborn goat into the forest and offer it as a sacrifice to the gods.

Once again, on such a night, she picked up a goat and headed into the forest. As she ventured deeper, she began to hear rustling behind her. She grew wary, but she did not let it show and kept walking. Eventually, the source of the sound revealed itself. It was someone she knew—the shepherd’s son.

“So, it was you all along! You’re the reason our newborn goats keep disappearing every year. I’m telling my father,” the boy said.

Laçin dropped the goat and, in an instant, made a decision. She could not allow anyone to know about her rituals. Without hesitation, she plunged the knife she had brought for the sacrifice into the boy’s heart.

Blood spilled from his mouth as he collapsed first to his knees, then onto the forest floor, among the leaves. A thought crossed Laçin’s mind. This time, instead of the goat’s blood, she would offer the boy’s blood to the gods.

She carried him to the sacred site where she always performed her rituals. The twelve stones standing there had been placed by her, each representing one of the twelve gods.

After changing her clothes, she began the ritual, letting the boy’s blood flow onto the central stone. But this time, something different happened. The eighth stone began to glow and crack. Even the tiniest fracture emitted a blinding light, strong enough to illuminate the entire world.

Laçin shielded her eyes with her hand, her heart pounding with anticipation. She was both afraid and eager to see what would emerge from within…

Laçin

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