Festival at Constantinople, Timurtaş's 120th birthday

The following day, our ship sailed into the grand city of Constantinople, which towered over every other city I had encountered. Its vastness was awe-inspiring. As we neared the harbor, the flag of Türk-il was prominently displayed, its colors mirroring the expanse of the sky. This flag symbolized their belief in Gök Tengri, the Sky God, whom they regarded as either residing in the heavens or being the very heavens themselves.Upon disembarking, we made our way toward the palace. The iconic Hagia Sophia loomed in the distance, but it was still under reconstruction, obscuring its full glory. It remained a beacon of Christianity, even amidst the ongoing renovations. The Turks, however, seemed unconcerned with the local populace's religious affiliations, as long as they recognized the name of Gök Tengri and invoked it in their daily lives. It became clear that the nomads were more interested in facilitating prosperity rather than imposing their rule. Their presence was a necessary assertion of authority but not an effort to dominate every aspect of life in the city.We finally entered the palace, where I saw Timurtas and his council engaged in a briefing about the state of Constantinople. Timurtas, a figure of immense authority and respect, was meticulously informed about the city's affairs. His commanding presence and the focused attention of his advisors underscored the gravity of his role. The palace itself was a reflection of the grandeur and significance of his leadership.Upon entering the grand halls of the palace, my gaze was immediately drawn to Timurtas's personal guard. These elite warriors were unlike any I had encountered before. Their armor was a masterful blend of functionality and artistry, adorned with intricate tribal and nomadic sigils that spoke of a rich heritage and fierce pride. Each piece of their armor was meticulously decorated with patterns that seemed to tell stories of old battles and legendary victories.Their swords were not just weapons but works of art, with elaborate engravings and gemstones set into the hilts. The shields they carried were equally impressive, decorated with symbols and designs that hinted at both their personal prowess and the noble lineage they represented.The banner of the guard was particularly striking--a fierce female-wolf sigil, symbolizing both the strength and the protective spirit of the warriors. The emblem waved proudly, a testament to the power and unity of Timurtas's most trusted soldiers.In contrast, the light horse archers I had traveled with bore much simpler gear. Their arsenal, while practical, lacked the luxury and grandeur of Timurtas's guard. Seeing such opulence and detail in their equipment was a profound reminder of the vast differences in wealth and status that could exist even within the same realm.

Timurtas, with his imposing presence and authoritative air, commanded us to join him for a walk through the palace gardens. As we strolled along the meticulously manicured paths, surrounded by the lush greenery and the fragrant blooms, Timurtas's personal guard dispersed into the surrounding forest, their sharp eyes and vigilant stance ensuring our security.As we walked, Timurtas addressed me, "How was your training, Gengiz?"The use of that name, "Gengiz," struck me with unexpected force. It was a moniker that had not echoed in my ears for many years, one given to me during my time as a hostage. The sudden reminder brought a wave of nostalgia and discomfort. I hadn't realized how much that name, once so familiar, had faded from my life until this very moment.I began recounting my adventures to Timurtas in detail. I spoke of the various trials and tribulations I had faced, the lands I had traversed, and the encounters that had shaped my journey. Each story unfolded as a vivid tapestry of my experiences, a testament to the path I had walked since those early days under the name "Gengiz." Timurtas listened intently, his gaze unwavering, as if measuring the weight of my words against the backdrop of his own vast and storied existence.Timurtas announced that a grand festival was to be held in Istanbul, an event he had meticulously planned and prepared for months. The entire realm had been invited, and the city was abuzz with preparations. It promised to be a magnificent celebration, complete with a grand tournament that was the talk of the town.

As we continued our walk through the gardens, Timurtas mentioned that he had organized a grand festival in Istanbul. The entire city had been preparing for months, and he spoke of the upcoming festivities with a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. "It will be one hell of a tourney," he declared, his voice brimming with pride and excitement.As we walked further, another figure joined us--it was Marshal Kılıç. He approached us with a respectful greeting to Timurtas before turning his attention to Kara. The two began discussing matters in hushed tones, their conversation private and intense. This left me standing alone with Timurtas, a situation that filled me with a mix of awe and unease.We continued walking until we reached a peak overlooking the vast expanse of the city. The view was breathtaking, with the domes and minarets of Istanbul stretching out before us, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. It was here that Timurtas stopped and turned to me, his gaze piercing as he began to ask me a series of personal questions."Tell me, Gengiz," he said, using that name again, "what are your dreams? Have you ever seen anything suspicious in them?"I was taken aback by the nature of his inquiries. Dreams? Suspicion? These were not the kinds of questions I had expected from the great Timurtas. I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. The dreams I had, though vivid, seemed mundane to me. Yet the intensity with which Timurtas asked made me wonder if there was something more behind his questions.I confessed that I didn't understand why he was asking me such things, but I answered as best I could. I told him about the dreams I could recall--flickering images of battles, of foreign lands, and sometimes of strange figures whose faces I could never quite make out. But nothing that seemed particularly unusual or worthy of note.Timurtas listened carefully, his expression thoughtful as if weighing each word I spoke. His silence in response only deepened the mystery, leaving me to ponder what it was he sought in my answers and why these questions seemed so important to him.Timurtas paused after my hesitant response, his gaze shifting from the horizon back to me. "Do you miss back home?" he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle, almost fatherly.The question hit me harder than I expected. Memories of my time in Alexandria flooded back—the identity crisis that had plagued me, the sense of not belonging anywhere, of being caught between worlds. I hesitated, unsure if I should speak of such personal turmoil to Timurtas, the man who, despite everything, had become a significant figure in my life.Before I could respond, a servant approached us, carrying a tray with a cold drink called Ayran. It was a familiar taste, made from yogurt, and served in ornate cups. The Turks seemed to have a way with milk, turning it into various things—cheese, a sweet delicacy called kaymak, kımız, and, of course, Ayran. Out of all of them, Ayran had become my favorite. Its refreshing taste had a way of easing tensions, and as I took a sip, I felt a small measure of comfort.The cool, tangy liquid seemed to wash away some of the uncertainty I'd been feeling. It soothed my throat and settled my nerves, making me hungrier but also more at ease. With that comfort, I found the courage to speak up."I do, sometimes," I admitted, still unsure how much to reveal. "But it's complicated. There are moments when I remember my life before all of this, before I was taken, and I wonder what might have been. In Alexandria, I struggled with who I am, with what I've become. I've been living among the Turks, learning their ways, their language, but... there are times when I feel like a stranger in my own skin."Timurtas listened quietly, his eyes never leaving mine. There was something in his expression—a mix of understanding and perhaps something deeper, something I couldn't quite place."I've learned to fight, to survive," I continued, "but there are moments when I wonder if I'm meant for something more, or if I'm just a pawn in a game I don't fully understand."As I spoke, the words seemed to flow more easily. The Ayran had done its job, not just refreshing my body but loosening my tongue. I opened up about the identity crisis I had faced, about the difficulty of reconciling the two worlds I inhabited—one of blood and heritage, and the other of the life I had been thrust into among the Turks.Timurtas didn't interrupt. He simply let me speak, absorbing my words with the patience of someone who had seen much and understood more than he let on. When I finished, he nodded slowly, as if he had expected nothing less."There's a place for you here, Gengiz," he finally said, using that name once more. "But it's up to you to find it. The road won't be easy, but no road worth walking ever is. Your journey is just beginning."His words, though simple, carried weight. They didn't solve the turmoil within me, but they offered a strange kind of reassurance. Perhaps, in time, I would find my place, just as he had said. For now, I had to keep moving forward, one step at a time, and see where the path would lead.

Timurtas's next words caught me off guard. "Your grandfather, Kaiser Anno, will be among the guests," he said, his voice carrying a weight that made me pause. The idea of my grandfather--an emperor, a man I had only heard stories about--being here, in Constantinople, filled me with a rush of emotions. For the first time in years, the thought of returning to the life I had lost seemed within reach. Perhaps, just perhaps, I could go back home and experience the life that had been stolen from me.My heart raced as I considered the possibilities. "What about my father?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could think them through. "Is he coming too?"The moment I mentioned my father, Timurtas's expression darkened, a shadow passing over his face. He didn't respond immediately, and for a brief moment, I wondered if I had crossed a line. Finally, he answered, his tone more subdued, "I suppose."There was something in his voice that made me feel uneasy, but before I could dwell on it, he continued, "There comes a time in a man's life when he must change the course of his destiny. A great man," he added, his gaze fixed on something distant, "never waits for the perfect moment to jump--he creates one."His words hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning I couldn't quite grasp. It felt like he was speaking to me and himself, perhaps reflecting on the choices he had made and the paths he had taken. There was a sense of urgency in what he said, as if he was trying to impart something important to me, something that went beyond the obvious.The thought of my father being here, of seeing him again, brought a wave of conflicting emotions. I had spent so long trying to reconcile the different parts of my life--the noble heritage I was born into and the warrior's path I had been thrust onto--that the idea of confronting it all at once was overwhelming. And yet, there was also a part of me that longed for it, that wanted to see if there was still a place for me in the world I had left behind.Timurtas's words about creating one's destiny echoed in my mind. Perhaps this was my chance to do just that, to find a way to bridge the gap between the two worlds I inhabited. But what would that mean for the life I had built here, for the people who had become my family in this strange, foreign land? As we continued our walk, the city of Constantinople stretching out before us, I couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to change. Whether I was ready for it or not, I was about to face the crossroads of my life, and the decisions I made would shape my future in ways I couldn't yet imagine.

After some time, Kara and Marshal Kılıç joined us, their presence breaking the contemplative silence that had settled between Timurtas and me. Kara, ever the blunt one, spoke up, "Majesty has a lot to do, let's give him some space." There was a subtle command in his tone, one that made it clear we were to leave Timurtas to his thoughts.They led me to a large dining room, one that exuded the power and wealth of the empire. As we entered, the room was abuzz with conversation. I noticed the faces of men who bore the marks of nobility and strength--commanders, princes, and other important figures of the realm. Each of them had a distinct presence, their faces etched with the kind of experience that only comes from years of battle and leadership.These were not just any men; they were the sons of influential Turkish families, each one groomed for greatness. Their bodies were strong and healthy, a testament to the rigorous lifestyle they led. They had the look of men who were born to command, and their sharp eyes took in everything with a keen awareness that made me feel a bit out of place.As Kara and I entered, the conversations quieted, and the men in the room stood up and saluted us. It was a respectful gesture, one that I wasn't entirely accustomed to, given my ambiguous position in this society. But it wasn't until Marshal Kılıç stepped into the room that the atmosphere truly shifted. The respect they had shown me and Kara was nothing compared to the deference they displayed for him.To my understanding, being Marshal, the general of the armies, was the highest honor one could achieve in this empire. Kılıç carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man who had earned his place through countless battles and victories. His presence commanded the room, and the men who had moments before been engaged in lively conversation now stood in solemn respect.As we took our seats, I couldn't help but feel the weight of the company I was keeping. These were men who shaped the fate of the empire, and here I was, an outsider by birth, yet somehow caught up in the currents of their world. The gravity of it all wasn't lost on me, but neither was the realization that I was being accepted into their ranks, if only for this moment.The night promised to be one of stories, strategies, and perhaps more than a few cups of strong drink. But as I looked around the table at the faces of those who would one day lead this vast empire, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was on the verge of something monumental, something that would test everything I had learned and everything I was yet to become.

We then moved towards a table that had been cleared for us out of respect. The soldiers who had been seated there quickly stood up, offering us the space in the center of the room. Kılıç led the way, striding confidently towards the table, saluting his comrades as he passed. I, however, hesitated. I wasn't sure where to sit or what was expected of me. Kılıç and I had barely spoken, and I still felt like an outsider in this place.

Just as I was lingering at the edge of the room, unsure of myself, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. It was Kara, of course. With a rough push, he urged me forward, grumbling, "Move along, brat. Don't worry, you won't be eating pastırma here."

His words, though mocking, were oddly comforting. Kara had a way of grounding me, even in the most unfamiliar situations. I could sense that he was trying to help me feel like I belonged, even if he showed it in his usual gruff manner. I took my place beside him, still feeling a bit out of place, but less so than before.

For a while, Kılıç and the other men at the table engaged in their own conversations. Kılıç, ever the respected leader, accepted greetings from soldiers who approached in small groups, eager to exchange a few words with the Marshal. It was clear that these men held him in high regard, but the constant interruptions seemed to irritate Kara. He suddenly stood up and barked, "Bring some food here! We're starving!"

The command worked like a charm. The soldiers quickly returned to their own tables, and the atmosphere around our table became more private. The six of us settled in—Kara, Kılıç, and myself on one side, and across from us sat High Shaman Kutay, the heir to Timurtas's legacy.

Kutay was an interesting figure. He appeared to be in his early forties, and there was an air of unease about him. Despite being in the company of his superior, Kılıç, it was clear that Kutay saw himself as above everyone else at the table, including the Marshal. The subtle arrogance in his demeanor was unmistakable. He held himself with a certain aloofness, as if the weight of his future throne already rested on his shoulders.

Watching Kutay, I couldn't help but form an impression of his personality. He was a man who seemed to be constantly measuring those around him, perhaps seeing them as either obstacles or stepping stones to his inevitable rise to power. His presence added a tension to the table, a stark contrast to Kara's rough humor and Kılıç's commanding presence.

As I sat there, surrounded by men of power and influence, I realized that this was a rare opportunity to observe the dynamics of leadership and succession within the empire. It was also a reminder of just how far I had come from the life I had once known. The stakes were higher here, the players more formidable, and I was still trying to find my place among them.

As we sat at the table, the conversation began to shift towards Kutay. He had a habit of dominating discussions, and today was no different. He started talking about a fine sword his majesty had gifted him, a piece of Damascus steel that he held in high regard. The way he bragged about his privileges made it clear that he enjoyed being in the spotlight. But as I listened, I could sense the subtle tension from Kılıç and Kara. They were respectful, yes, but there was an underlying distaste for Kutay's arrogance that they couldn't completely hide.Then, Kutay turned his attention to me. "You didn't introduce me to this young man," he said, his tone carrying that same air of superiority. The sudden focus on me made my heart race. Everyone at the table turned to look at me, and I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me.Before I could respond, the man next to Kutay chimed in, "He is the grandson of Kaiser." The words struck me like an arrow to the heart. It was a reminder of the outsider status that seemed to cling to me no matter where I went. These men, with their power and influence, saw me as something different, something foreign.Kutay leaned in slightly, a sly smile on his face. "So, when you are crowned, you won't spill our secrets, huh, Wolfram? You must have close relationships with me." His words carried a weight that made me uneasy. He was suggesting that by the time I might rule the Roman Empire, he would be ruling Türk-il. The implications were clear, and they unsettled me deeply.That was the breaking point for Kara. He interrupted with a firm tone, "His majesty calls him Gengiz, my prince, so shall we call him that." The use of my Turkic name, bestowed upon me by Timurtas, was Kara's way of asserting my place at the table, reminding Kutay that I was more than just a foreign hostage. Kutay's eyes flashed with irritation at Kara's words, but he held his tongue, clearly not wanting to push the matter further.Still, Kutay wasn't done. He continued, his voice laced with a hint of suspicion, "I wonder why his majesty took great care of this young man at an early age. Surely it's more than just keeping him as a hostage for leverage."Kılıç, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. "Timurtas, my great uncle, knows his way around politics. He introduced him to these lands because he sees Gengiz as an important figure of authority in the future." His words were measured and calm, but they carried a clear message: I wasn't just some pawn; I was being groomed for something significant.Kutay, however, wasn't entirely convinced. He leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "You see these men sitting here? They command more than 100,000 elite warriors, let alone the other parts of the army with their countless sheep and horses. Can you imagine facing such a force in an open field?" He smiled, ever proud, as if the mere thought of it was amusing to him. "I pity such unfortunate souls," he added, clearly reveling in the power he believed would one day be his.As I sat there, listening to the exchange, I couldn't help but feel the weight of Kutay's words. The power he spoke of, the authority he sought--these were things that could shape the future of entire realms. And somehow, I was caught in the middle of it all, a key piece in a game I was only beginning to understand.

After the tension-filled exchange, Kara shifted the conversation to our training. "He's a quick learner," Kara began, his voice carrying a weight that made everyone listen. "He can already speak three languages, and he's Tengrist like us. He puts his mouth where his mind is. He follows the rules and respects the chain of hierarchy, which is so hard to find these days." The room fell silent, and I could feel the impact of Kara's words. It was more than just praise; it was a direct challenge to Kutay's behavior.

Kara's words cut through the air like a volley of arrows, each one striking its target with precision. The subtle disapproval of Kutay's arrogance was clear to everyone at the table. Kutay, clearly stung by the rebuke but too proud to show it, held his tongue. After a moment, he forced a smile and said, "I wish you luck upon the battles to come."

But there was something in his tone, a coldness that belied the words. It wasn't the well-wishing of a comrade but the thinly veiled threat of a rival. In that instant, I realized that Kutay saw me not as an ally, but as a potential threat to his ambitions. The animosity in his voice made it clear: I was no longer just a guest or a hostage in this land--I was a competitor, someone who could one day stand in his way.

As I sat there, absorbing the tension that lingered after Kutay's words, I understood something vital. In this game of power and politics, Kutay was destined to be my adversary. The rivalry that had been hinted at in his words would only grow, and the battles he spoke of were not just on the battlefield but in the halls of power, in the hearts and minds of the people, and in the very fabric of the empire.

From that moment on, I knew one thing for certain: Kutay was destined to be my adversary. The animosity in his voice, the thinly veiled challenge in his words, all pointed to a future where our paths would inevitably collide. The rivalry had been sparked, and from that moment on, I knew who my villain would be in the days to come.

The day of the festival was meant to be a grand celebration, but as I stood in the hall room, dressed in the ornate attire of high Turkish nobility, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The wolf sigil pinned to my chest, at Timurtas's insistence, felt like a weight pressing down on my heart. The room was filled with the most powerful figures in the realm, their eyes all subtly assessing, judging. I scanned the faces until I found my grandfather, the Kaiser, already gazing at me with a stern expression.I approached him, placing my hand on my chest and offering a slight bow, speaking in my carefully practiced High German. "My grandsire, it is most welcomed to see you here."But instead of the approval I sought, I was met with disappointment. His voice was cold as he responded, "You forgot our customs. You should have kneeled before your king."Frustration surged through me. No matter where I turned, I felt like an outsider--neither fully accepted by the Turks nor by my own family. I quickly apologized, trying to mask my discomfort, and asked, "Is my father here too?"His answer only deepened my sense of alienation. "He is back home, governing in my absence."The day was already going poorly, but it worsened when my grandfather took me aside for a walk, away from the crowd. His demeanor shifted, becoming more candid, almost somber. "Your mother died giving birth to you, as you know," he began, his tone heavy with something I couldn't quite place. "But did you know that after that day, Kara stopped the festivals for eight years? He handed command to his council and spent that time alone, lurking in the dark, depressed. And then, one day, he asked to take you as a guardian."His words struck me like a blow. I had always known Timurtas as a fierce and unyielding warrior, but this side of him--this grief-stricken, solitary figure--was something entirely new. It didn't add up. Why would a man like Timurtas, who thrived on battle and power, retreat into isolation for so long?Shocked, I asked, "Do you think he killed my mother?"My grandfather paused, the silence stretching painfully between us. Finally, he spoke, his voice grave. "It's even worse."The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, the grand celebration around us seemed to fade away, leaving me standing on the edge of a precipice, with truths I wasn't sure I was ready to face. My mind raced, trying to grasp the implications of what he was saying. What could be worse than the murder of my mother? And why was I only now being told about this dark chapter in my past?The festival, with its lights and music, felt distant and irrelevant. My grandfather's revelation had opened a door to a darkness I hadn't known existed, and as I stood there, I realized that whatever lay on the other side of that door could change everything I thought I knew about my life, my family, and my place in this world.As I stood there, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of revelations, I couldn't help but ask, "Did Timurtas know my mother?"My grandfather's gaze hardened slightly, as if weighing how much to reveal. "Your mother was a fine Danish woman," he began, his voice steady but with a hint of something deeper beneath it, "with incredible social skills and a prowess in archery that rivaled the best. But your father... he's not made of the same fabric as me or you. In fact, I see you as more suitable for the throne than him."His words hit me like a hammer. I had never expected to hear such a declaration from the second most powerful man in the realm. Shock rippled through me, but before I could respond, he continued, his tone dropping to something almost conspiratorial."Your mother used to organize festivals and archery contests. She had a way of bringing people together, of commanding attention without even trying. One day, during one of her festivals near the borders, Timurtas sent a message saying he wished to participate in the competition. Naturally, no one could refuse him. So, we waited for him to arrive."He paused, as if replaying the memory in his mind. "I left my palace and rushed to the city where the festival was held. By the time I arrived, it was the finals--your mother and Timurtas, competing head-to-head. Timurtas lost, claiming his old age had gotten the better of him, but I saw it differently. He lost deliberately. I could tell he wanted to bestow the honor medal on her himself."His eyes locked onto mine, the intensity in them almost unbearable. "Wolfram, I've seen that man shoot arrows straight through the foreheads of wild rabbits at incredible distances. He's not someone who simply loses at archery. I believe that day, his attention was entirely on your mother."As he spoke, my mind spiraled into chaos. I could barely process what he was saying. My stomach churned, and I felt the bile rising in my throat. I reached for the salty ayran on the table, desperately trying to anchor myself, to drown out the torrent of thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me. I gulped it down, but the unease only grew.In a fit of anger and confusion, I ripped the wolf sigil from my chest. The fury inside me was boiling over. I looked at my grandfather, the man who had just shattered so much of what I thought I knew. He watched me with an unreadable expression, then said, "I will take you back with all the glory you deserve, but in the meantime, learn about their ways. You'll need that knowledge in the future."His words were meant to be comforting, but they only deepened my turmoil. I turned my gaze toward the stadium, scanning the crowd until I found him--Timurtas. He was watching us, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever. But in that moment, his mere presence felt like a crushing weight. The revelations, the implications, the possible truths--it was all too much.I felt trapped between two worlds, neither of which fully accepted me, and now burdened with a history that seemed to twist around me like a noose. My mind was a storm of questions, doubts, and anger. As I looked at Timurtas, standing there with the same calm demeanor he always carried, I couldn't help but wonder what he saw in me. What did he see in my mother? What did any of this mean for my future?The answers were somewhere in this tangled web of secrets, but finding them would be a journey I wasn't sure I was ready to take.

As the festival continued, my grandfather leaned in close and said, "I shall leave early." His voice carried a weight that I hadn't heard before, and I was left puzzled by his sudden departure. He suggested that I follow him, but something in me resisted. My mind was already swirling with too many revelations, and I needed some fresh air to clear my head.I stepped out onto the balcony, hoping for a moment of peace, but instead, I found Kara standing there, a dark look clouding his usually stern face. He was leaning against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon, as if lost in deep thought. I approached him, and for a moment, he didn't seem to notice me. But when he finally turned to face me, I could see that something was deeply troubling him."Kara," I began cautiously, "you look like you've got something heavy on your mind."He hesitated, the lines of his face tightening as if he were wrestling with himself. It was clear he didn't want to speak of whatever burdened him, but we had been through much together, and he knew my nature--talkative, respectful, and above all, trustworthy.Finally, with a sigh, Kara broke the silence. "There's something you should know, Gengiz. Something important that happened earlier this week. I wasn't sure if I should tell you, but... hell, I am going to explode if I don't."His words made my stomach twist in knots. What could be so grave that even Kara, a man who feared nothing, would hesitate to speak of it?"It's about Kutay," he said, his voice low. "That bastard challenged His Majesty, Timurtas, in one of the council meetings. It wasn't just a verbal spat--Kutay actually wounded Timurtas before the festival."I stared at Kara, stunned into silence. My thoughts raced back to my earlier encounter with Kutay, the arrogance in his voice, the barely concealed disdain. I had known about his ambitions, but this... this was something else entirely."Wounded him?" I repeated, hardly able to believe it. "Timurtas? But I saw him before the festival--he didn't seem any different."Kara nodded grimly. "He's a tough old wolf, that one. Didn't even let it show. But believe me, he was hurt. Kutay's desperate, mad even. I never thought he'd take it this far."I leaned against the cold stone of the balcony, trying to process everything. "What happened?" I asked, needing to know more.Kara's expression darkened further. "Kutay challenged him right there in the council, drew his blade like he had something to prove. But Timurtas--he didn't even bother with a weapon. He took Kutay down with his bare hands, but not before Kutay managed to land a blow."My heart pounded in my chest. I had seen Timurtas' strength before, but to imagine him in such a dire situation, facing his own heir in combat--it was almost too much to bear."And now?" I asked, almost dreading the answer."Now?" Kara echoed, his voice dripping with contempt. "That snake has slithered off to the borders, sent away by His Majesty. But mark my words, Wolfram--I'll find him. And when I do, I'll take his head myself."I could see the fire burning in Kara's eyes, a fierce determination to right the wrong that had been done. But as much as I shared his anger, I was also overwhelmed by the sheer weight of everything I had learned that day. My identity crisis, the revelations about my mother, and now this--the betrayal of Timurtas by his own flesh and blood.Kara's words hung heavy in the air between us. "Timurtas didn't even use a weapon," he said again, as if to drive home the point. "But in doing so, he was wounded. And that... that I cannot forgive."I was all over the place, my mind reeling from the information dump I had just received. Everything I thought I knew was being upended, and I could feel the ground shifting beneath my feet. The world of politics, power, and blood that I had been thrust into was far more dangerous and complex than I had ever imagined.

"The Final Roar of the Wolf King"

After that exchange, we heard cheers and applause from the hall. We went inside. Timurtas, holding a cup and shaking it in his hand, seemed hesitant to drink, yet his voice carried the weight of centuries. He began to speak, his words echoing with the gravity of a life lived far beyond that of any ordinary man. "I have ruled since I was but a boy of four," he said, his voice deep and resonant, "for over a century, I have watched empires rise and fall, have made friends, forged alliances, and buried them all. Foes who once stood against me, lovers who shared my nights, and even my own bloodline--they now lie beneath the earth. I am one of the Kutlu warriors, a GökTürk, a son of Ashina. My life has been long, my path drenched in glory and sorrow."Timurtas took a deep breath, his eyes distant as if recalling a memory that had been etched into his very soul."I can never forget the day I faced a woman," he began, his voice softer now, tinged with a rare vulnerability.He paused, looking down at the cup in his hand,for the first time that night, a genuine smile crossed his weathered face,Raising the cup to his lips, he drained it in one long, deliberate gulp, as though seeking the courage to speak of something that had long weighed on his heart."She was unlike anyone I had ever encountered--a Danish woman, with a beauty that could rival the dawn. But it wasn't just her looks that struck me down; it was her spirit. For all my strength, all my power, she made me feel something I had never felt before: helplessness."He paused, his eyes clouding with the memory, as though he could see her standing before him once more. "It wasn't her arrows or her skill that brought me to my knees, but her very presence. She was a force of nature, something I could neither command nor control. With all my might, all my wealth, I found myself powerless before her, unable to gain the respect of the one person who mattered most. In her eyes, I was not the conqueror of realms, not the legendary warrior--but just a man, flawed and incomplete."Timurtas sighed, the sound heavy with regret. "Even now, when I look back, I know she was the right person... but it was the wrong time. She was the one I could never have, the one who made me realize that even a man like me, with all my victories and conquests, could still lose what mattered most. I carried kingdoms on my shoulders, but in her presence, I was stripped bare, left with nothing but the truth of my own insignificance."His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of a love lost, a love that could never be reclaimed. In that moment, Timurtas was not the invincible king, not the legendary warrior, but a man who had loved and lost, just like anyone else. And it was this revelation, more than anything, that showed the depths of his heart--a heart that had loved so deeply, it had left him vulnerable, even after all these years.As he spoke, his voice grew weaker, and he began to cough, his body trembling as he struggled to maintain his composure. Sweat beaded on his brow, and with a frustrated growl, he tore off his robe, revealing a fresh scar across his chest--the wound that Kutay had inflicted. As the robe fell away, revealing Timurtas's body, a collective gasp swept through the crowd As Timurtas's robe slipped from his shoulders, revealing his body, a hushed reverence fell over the room. His lean, muscular frame was adorned with intricate runic tattoos, each one a testament to a victorious war or significant conquest. In this culture, these tattoos were more than mere decoration; they were a mark of honor, bestowed only after a great achievement. To see so many etched across his skin was nothing short of awe-inspiring for those who knew the tradition. Each symbol told a story of battles fought and won, victories claimed, and territories gained. The tattoos, interwoven with countless battle scars, made his body a living chronicle of a life spent in the relentless pursuit of glory. For those who understood the weight of these marks, the sight was a powerful reminder of Timurtas's unparalleled legacy and the countless wars he had triumphed over.As he spoke, a violent cough seized him, and he wiped away sweat with a trembling hand. He tore off his robe, revealing the fresh scar from his duel with Kutay, a wound that ran deeper than flesh."This scar," he growled, "is but a shallow mark upon my flesh, paling against the deep wounds that time has carved into my heart and mind. I have outlived my own blood--children, and grandchildren, all swept away by the relentless tide of time. Yet I remain, tethered to this earth by the will of Tengri, cursed or blessed to endure long after those I loved have gone."As Timurtas's coughs grew more violent, a ripple of panic surged through the room. Something was clearly wrong. People began to rush toward the old man, their faces etched with concern. But before they could reach him, Timurtas, with a sudden burst of energy, raised his head, his voice thundering through the hall like a war cry."Stop there, you fools!" he bellowed, his eyes blazing with the fire of a man who had defied the very limits of mortality. "Do you think a mighty wolf like me would fall to mere poison? I am the valor incarnate, the son of Ashina! I have outlived empires, conquered lands, and wielded power beyond your feeble understanding. I have carved my name into the bones of history, only to be left with nothing but the crushing weight of loneliness and despair."As his voice echoed, he coughed again, this time blood splattering the ground. The sight was chilling, but even in his weakened state, he radiated an indomitable force. "You dare to pity me?" he roared, his voice cracking with a mix of fury and defiance. "I have walked this earth for more years than you can fathom, but even I cannot escape the final reckoning."The hall fell silent, every breath held in suspense, as Timurtas, the legendary warrior king, stood alone in his moment of truth. The image of him, battling against the inevitable with every ounce of strength left in his ancient body, would be etched into the memories of all who witnessed it."Everyone was afraid to approach him. Even in his final moments, Timurtas stood alone, bleeding out in a room crowded with people who revered him yet feared his power. It was as if the sheer force of his presence kept them at bay. It struck me then--what a fitting end for a man known as the living legend, to die alone, even in a room full of people. He had outlived his time, but in the end, he was as isolated in death as he had been in life, a solitary figure whose legend would outlast even his own shadow."In the chaos, I realized I dropped the wolf-sigil that Timurtas had given me. It was lost among the trampling feet of panicked nobles and soldiers. As Kara found me and pulled me through the throng, I knew, deep down, that after this day, the world was going to be a different place. The loss of the sigil felt symbolic--a sign that everything I had known was slipping away, just like the great Timurtas, whose legend would soon pass into history.