Cursed Saga Official

The man threatened again: "Drop it, Orkam."

His gaze was fixed and he seemed utterly determined. There was no doubt he would do as he said. The large dog beside him growled at the fugitive, poised to attack. Orkam’s hesitation gave the other guards time to surround him. The nearest man placed a sword against his neck, nearly ready to finish him.

Sensing the danger, Respina shouted: "Drop it, Orkam... right now!"

Orkam sighed and slowly lowered his sword, releasing it onto the ground. He could hear Abaris’s whisper from behind him: "She told you not to do that..."

The guard’s sword rose from his neck, ready to finish the fugitive, when a whistling hiss rang out. Something appeared with a faint thud in the man’s neck—a long hunting arrow had entered through the back of his neck and pierced through the front, accompanied by a flood of spraying blood.

Before the stunned guard could realize what had happened and fall to his knees, another arrow struck the chest of the second man. Orkam’s gaze followed the path of the arrow and saw the slender figure of a man sitting atop a greyish-white horse. His bow was drawn and ready in his hands. The large dog lunged toward the attacker, but a spear from the forest's edge plunged into its body, leaving the animal half-dead on the ground. A moment later, the earth trembled under the thundering hooves of several horses.

Orkam dove to the ground to snatch the dead man's sword and, with his first move, cut Abaris’s bonds. But neither gained the chance for another move. The riders had surprised and surrounded the guards in an instant. Seeing the situation, the red-clad officer raised his dagger to finish the child, but the flat of a sword moved between his blade and the infant’s body. Two of the riders, who had charged toward him like lightning, struck the officer down with flawless coordination. Amidst Respina’s terrified scream, one of them miraculously caught the infant in mid-air.

A minute later, the six remaining guards were tied up in a corner. The rider who had caught the infant urged his bay horse forward and came toward Respina. He gently placed the infant into her pleading hands: "She is fine; she is unhurt."

Respina was nearly in tears. Sobbing, she pressed her wet face against the infant’s face and thanked her savior. The man nodded and turned toward his companion standing over the officer: "Finish that wretch off, Gallus. Take a few men down the valley and make sure they aren't being followed."

The archer, who had just reached them, replied: "The situation is clear, Kayan... I don't think anyone is following them."

Then he dismounted and went directly to Orkam, who was kneeling and panting as he clutched his wounded shoulder: "Oh no... let me have a look at your wound."

None of the trio protested; they were still in shock from this strange rescue. The slender archer was barely twenty-six years old. He had a thin face and straight, brown hair. He gently placed his hand on the wounded man's arm. Abaris could see Orkam’s complexion growing darker by the moment.

The archer, without lifting his gaze from the wound on Orkam’s arm, announced: "The knife was tainted with poison, Garnik... he needs help..."

"No..."

Respina’s face had turned pale. She had warned her brother. The brawny young man mounted on a tall brown horse said: "We don't have much time, Haran; we have no idea what is happening behind us."

"Well, buy me a little time."

Garnik nodded: "While we scout the perimeter... attend to his condition... you don't have much opportunity." Then he turned his horse’s reins and went toward the larger group of riders. He swiftly issued several orders, and they split into groups, each turning in a different direction.

Haran pulled his own dagger from his waist and handed it to Abaris: "Place its blade over the fire... Kayan, come help me..."

Abaris went toward the fire without any argument. He could see that the man before him knew his trade. At the very least, the unquestioning obedience of those around him showed that they trusted him.

With Kayan’s help, he laid Orkam on the ground and placed a horse’s saddlebag under his head. Then, with a forceful tug, he tore the collar of his shirt to take a closer look at the wound. The blade of the dagger had sunk deep, and blood was flowing from around it. "What happened to that dagger?"

Abaris turned the dagger over the fire: "How hot do you want it?"

"The hotter, the better."

Orkam let out a groan and tried to rise: "It's nothing, I can handle it."

Haran placed his hand on his chest and forced him to remain lying down: "Friend, just stay right where you are. Let us do our work." He lifted his head and called out: "Gallus, leave those prisoners for the others; I need you here." He untied a small pouch from his belt: "Kayan, make me a paste with this powder."

The man nodded and went to carry out his order.

Haran turned his head toward Abaris: "What happened to that dagger, man?" At the same time, he unfastened his leather belt, folded it in half, and moved it toward Orkam's mouth: "I’m going to open your wound. Bite down on it hard."

From behind him, Respina protested: "Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

Haran took the glowing dagger from Abaris’s hand: "Under normal circumstances, I shouldn't just pull a knife out of a wound like this, but this blade was poisoned. If it had hit his jugular, he would already be dead."

He took the hot dagger from Abaris: "I want to open the wound; bleeding helps less of the poison spread through his body. What happened to that ointment, Kayan?"

An inverted helmet was placed in front of his face; a foul-smelling brown paste was at the bottom of the helmet. Haran’s eyebrows shot up. His friend shrugged nonchalantly: "Do you see any other bowls or containers around here?"

"Good, set it aside and come help us. I want you three to hold him down firmly. The wound must be opened completely, and if he moves too much, it might damage the artery."

While the three men held Orkam down, Haran made a skillful incision above and below the wound with the dagger. The three men used all their strength to pin down the struggling, wounded limbs. Orkam losing consciousness amidst the pain made the task easier. Haran created a vertical cut, then leaned in and began to suck the blood from the wound.

Respina, staring at the semi-conscious man being treated by the archer, searched for a way of salvation. Before her, Haran was sucking out the blood and spitting the tainted gore from his mouth onto the grass. He repeated this several times, extracting as much of the contaminated blood as he could. Then, he covered the wound with the ointment. He spat once more and raised his voice: "Someone bring the bandages from my saddlebag!"

A few minutes later, as the scouting riders were returning to them, Orkam's wound was clean and well-bandaged.

Haran, drenched in sweat, lifted his head and met Respina's worried gaze: "His condition is stable for now..."

He wiped the bloodied blade of his dagger on his leather trousers to clean it, and meanwhile, reported to Garnik, who had just dismounted: "He’s sweating and his body has gone cold... it’s some kind of compound venom. I’ve cleaned the wound and sucked out the poison. This ointment will buy us a few hours... I can’t do much more for him than this."

Respina intervened quickly: "A woman can save him. A woman in blue with long hair... do you know such a person?"

Before Haran could express his surprise, Garnik announced: "Seems like we have to take him home..."

"...I’ll send Raad home to let Armira know."

A small-statured youth standing beside him jumped onto his horse quickly. As he sped away toward the mountain path, Garnik turned back toward the survivors. The smaller group seemed anxious. As he untied a rope from the side of his saddle, he said without looking at Respina: "Two days ago, we were informed that Hotran is after you... we acted as fast as we could... I promise you, you are safe with us, Lady Respina. As soon as your brother's condition improves, you can continue your journey."

"Who are you? Who informed you?"

With a toss of his head, the man pushed a lock of sweat-drenched hair away from his eyes: "Let’s put it this way: the man whose neck you had a right over informed us."

He lowered his voice as much as possible and continued: "Hamin wanted me to tell you that he won't forget what you did for our mother... I owe you that same debt..."

Respina’s face brightened: "You are... the brother of Hamin Illen?"

Garnik nodded in confirmation; he could see peace returning to Respina's face. He smiled at Respina and Abaris, then went toward the few riders guarding the soldiers: "Take their boots, weapons, and horses; by the time they reach the first village, we will be far from here."

With the help of his associates, Hotran suppressed his enemies with force and subsequently ordered that no prisoners be taken. A massive slaughter of dissidents ensued... anyone who had taken a step against him was killed along with all their family members. More than two thousand men, women, and children were killed within four days, and after this, only Respina's warning caused that man to alter his decrees. Nevertheless, countless rebels were slain, and their wives and children were taken into slavery. Anyone who could, took their life in their hands and fled the country, while the rest of the suppressed people watched these atrocities in misery, an invisible rage seething beneath their skin.

It was precisely at this time that Respina and her friends decided to leave Palen. Enough with the pretense. None of them could bear to witness these tragedies any longer. Once, Palen had been the seat of a wise king, a just man who dedicated all his power to the peace, welfare of the people, and the progress of his country. Its men and women served him with love; but Hotran walked the path of the devil and had stepped onto the road of tyrants. He had taken up sorcery and witchcraft, and contrary to the oath he had sworn, he used the power that belonged to the people for his own welfare; thus, he was unworthy of service.

They were only waiting for Respina to give birth to her child. One month after the birth of her daughter, Himan arranged the preparations for their escape. They were to take a side road to reach the mountains and from there, return secretly to their home—the place they had left years ago in the hope of serving their people. It would have been a successful escape if Hotran's soldiers had not found them exactly four days later. Himan was killed in an attempt to help them escape, and now his wife and child were on their way back to Palen. A place where Hotran, whether intentionally or not, would employ their talents in the path he desired. Like before, he would trade each of their lives for another, and this was something Orkam did not need his sister's prophetic ability to know.

Respina, whose gaze was fixed on a small bundle in the hands of one of the guards, whispered under her breath: "There is no danger for her. At least not from the man who is there."

Then she stood up and walked directly toward the group's commander. Neither of the two guards stopped her. Facing the officer who stood a few paces away, she commanded: "I want to feed my daughter... bring her."

The officer’s sharp gaze swung toward the woman. Respina commanded even more firmly this time: "Did you not hear what I said? Bring my daughter..."

The man's sword left its scabbard with a ringing resonance and was placed against Respina's neck: "Are you giving me orders?"

"Exactly. And you had better do what I said immediately."

age turned the soldier’s face crimson. Pointing toward a large wolfdog sitting beside his horse, he said, "Do not forget that you are a prisoner here. Now, go back to your place and sit down before I throw that brat to the dog..."

Not a single muscle moved in Respina’s face. "I know—and you know—that Hotran wants us alive. I expect you to treat me with the respect befitting my status, as he demanded; otherwise, in the end, it is you who will suffer."

The small fire within the camp erupted with a roaring fury, causing the soldiers around it to leap up and recoil. Heedless of their reaction, Respina warned with a voice that could make stone tremble: "Now, if you point your finger at my daughter one more time, I will make such an example of you that others will never forget. Is that clear?"

The enraged officer took a large stride toward Respina, and that was enough for Orkam. With a swift surge of strength, he tore through the remaining ropes around his wrists. In an instant, he lunged, swept the nearest man off his feet, and before the others could grasp the situation, he wrenched the sword from the man's hand. With one quick motion, he brought the man’s headless body to the ground. By the time the other guards regained their senses, Orkam had already dispatched the second guard and was moving toward the third.

A sudden stinging in his shoulder took his breath away. A throwing knife, by absolute chance, had embedded itself a hand-span above his chest. The pain cut his breath short. But Orkam was no novice soldier. He pushed the pain aside and, ignoring the blood seeping from the wound, went after the next man—the one who had thrown the knife. Before he could raise his sword, a guard finally reacted. In a split second, he snatched the infant from the man standing next to him and held her over the flames of the fire: "Make one more move and I'll throw her into the fire..."

Respina screamed involuntarily: "Linda!"

Title: The Blade of the Damned: Abaris

"Steel can break bone, but can it cut through a curse?"

Abaris was born for the battlefield, but the war in Hels is unlike any he has ever fought. A warrior by blood and a wanderer by fate, he carries a blade that has tasted the darkness of a thousand shadows.

Though he stands tall against the ancient terrors, the marks on his skin tell a different story. He is the Cursed Wanderer—a man who fights the very shadows that have already claimed a piece of his soul.

Name: Abaris

Role: The Cursed Warrior

Status: Marked by the Shadows

The Shadows of Hels Have Teeth... 🌑

The air in the Cursed Valley didn't just feel cold; it felt heavy, like wet wool pressing against Artiman's lungs. Every step he took through the black mud of Hels felt like a betrayal of his own instincts.

"Do you hear that?" Artiman whispered, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade until his knuckles turned white.

There was no reply from the darkness, only the rhythmic, wet thumping of something moving just beyond the reach of his torchlight. It wasn't the sound of feet. It was the sound of something dragging its ancient weight across the jagged rocks.

Then, the mist parted.

Standing there was a figure that defied the laws of the living. It wasn't just a Garnik rider; it was a relic of a terror forgotten by time. Its eyes didn't reflect the fire—they swallowed it. A low, vibrating hum began to rise from the ground, shaking the very marrow in Artiman's bones. The curse wasn't a legend anymore. It was breathing right in front of him.

He realized then that in Hels, you don't hunt the shadows. The shadows have already marked you.

🌍 Also Available in Persian (Persico/Farsi): For my Persian readers, the original version of the book is available at a special price.

Chapter One: The Fugitives of Shadow

The summer noon sun shone more fiercely than any other day in the past few years. Like a furnace in the sky, the sun blazed and scorched above a small group. Armored men, mounted on warhorses, were leading a trio of captives from the forest's edge toward the upper reaches of the river. The two male prisoners walked on either side of the young woman as if, despite their bound hands, they were still capable of protecting her.

The woman was about twenty-four years old. The velvet of her glossy black hair, reaching down to her waist, was left simply loose behind her. The spark of her bright eyes held a dazzling radiance within that dark frame. A long dress of black silk tightly embraced her slender figure. Unlike her companions, she walked with long, confident strides. Her physical resemblance to the youngest companion clearly revealed their blood relation. The only differences were Orkam’s green eyes and his athletic build, which well displayed his warrior nature. The third member of the group had a different countenance. If you looked at him from afar, you would see only a white-haired old man, yet his age barely reached thirty. Although he was taller than the other two, he did not possess the appearance of a warrior—or at least, his face did not suggest so. One of his arms had been clumsily bandaged, and from his limping, it was evident he also had a wound on his left leg.

The red-clad soldiers had captured these three while they were crossing the Tiles Mountains. They were fleeing from service to the future king, heading toward what was considered enemy territory; now, they had to return on foot a journey of several days to the capital and into the presence of the Regent. They had walked all morning. The riders had bound the two men’s hands behind their backs, throwing ropes around their necks and dragging them along like animals. The woman, however, remained free. They needed no ropes or cords to keep her in bondage; something far more precious than the two men accompanying her bound her to this prison. Though her appearance did not betray it, she walked firmly and with fortitude, and no one dared to deign her. All three were exhausted, but if their captors expected them to protest, they would have to wait much longer.

Eventually, after long hours, the riders stopped in a valley to rest for a while under the shadow of the cliffs. In a secluded corner beside some boulders, a fire was lit; however, the prisoners were driven into the open space of the valley under the sun, with two soldiers stationed nearby to guard them.

Orkam leaned against a boulder and stretched his weary body as much as his bound hands allowed. Simultaneously, his eyes searched the ground for something that could relieve his hands from the pressure of the ropes. His companion watched his movements vigilantly, trying to ensure his gaze did not attract the attention of others. He could see Orkam’s hands secretly scouting the pebbles behind him. The woman, however, had her gaze elsewhere. As she stared into the distance, she whispered softly, "Don't pick up that stone, brother... you'll only make things worse."

At that exact moment, Orkam’s empty hands struck the sharp edge of a suitable stone on the ground; he ignored his sister’s warning. "If we stay still like this, they will eventually take us to Hotran. I am not willing to serve that bastard, and I won't let them force you into it either."

He slowly drew the stone between his fingers, attempting to cut the rope without drawing attention. The albino man cast a quick glance at the guards and whispered in the lowest possible voice, "You’d better listen to your sister."

"You always say that, Abaris... The very night Lork Lohan died, I said we should leave the castle, and you two disagreed. Now, after two years, you’ve realized that man isn't worth serving."

Abaris grumbled, "Both your sister and I knew he wasn't, and all four of us knew what we were doing and why we were doing it."

"Oh yeah, we knew... that's why we became three!" He continued his secret effort to cut the rope. He could feel the gradual snapping of the rope's fibers. The stone was not as sharp as it should have been.

He ignored the sorrow that had rushed into Respina's eyes and continued: "Look, it's impossible for Hotran to let go of Respina. He wants Respina's ability at any cost. Until today, he kept her by threatening your life and mine; next time, he'll threaten her with more important things. You’ve seen that man, Abaris... you’ve seen the things he does... do you think he isn’t capable of this?"

All three knew the answer to this question. Only a few months after the strange death of King Lork Lohan, His Excellency Hotran had revealed his true face. That man was a murderous tyrant. Within the first weeks, he had removed everyone who was somehow against him. He drew whoever he could to his side and severely suppressed every dissenting voice. Nevertheless, things weren't so bad—not as long as the Queen's power remained. Lohan’s wife was the greatest obstacle to Hotran’s ambitions, and perhaps that was why she was killed.

Body: > Enter the haunting world of Hels, where legends breathe and shadows have teeth.

I'm so excited to finally share the first volume of my dark fantasy saga. If you're looking for a story filled with ancient mysteries, grim atmospheres, and a fight against fate, this is for you.