I stepped into the red circle. My heart pounded as if it would burst from my chest. Fear and hunger twisted inside me; my breath was shallow and quick. My hunger was like a warning, a primal urge driving me to survive.
The man in front of me suddenly lunged. His sword came down like lightning. Adrenaline exploded through my veins, and my reflexes were so fast I surprised even myself; I raised my sword and blocked his strike.
I quickly stepped back, shifting into defense mode. Every muscle was tense, my eyes scrutinizing my opponent. I was calculating his every move his steps, his breath, the weight of his sword.
The crowd held their breath outside the circle. The bet had begun for them; all eyes were on us. My task was not just to survive, but to wear him down. Hunger and fear gnawed at me, but determination was rising inside me too.
In the center of the circle, sparks flew as our swords collided. Every move was an attack, a reckoning, a fight for survival.
His ambitious gaze locked onto me. His legs were thin but muscular, appearing worn, yet he kept attacking. I met every strike, my reflexes razor-sharp.
Suddenly, his sword came crashing down toward me, and I tried to move without losing my balance… but a split-second mistake sent me sprawling to the ground. My heart pounded wildly; dust and sweat mingled with my breath.
I turned my head to the side, my hand barely brushing over the red line; I hadn't touched the edge of the circle. I sprang up and, with a swift crawl, slipped between the man's legs with my small frame. My flexibility and agility had become my advantage.
The man slowly turned his back, and I followed. I took a few steps back, regaining my breath. As he lunged toward me again, I raised my sword and struck toward his face; a quick blow hit his right eye, cheek, and lip.
The clash of steel shattered the tense silence around the circle. The crowd held their breath; the masked man's eyes were fixed on us. Every move was both an attack and a fight for survival.
The ground was a sea of red; blood shimmered everywhere. Standing in the center of the circle, a thought flashed through my mind:
"A 12-year-old girl… Could she really be such a ruthless killer?"
The crowd fell utterly silent. Everyone's eyes were wide, their expressions a mix of shock and fear, all fixed on me. A shiver ran through me, but I didn't flinch.
The man on the ground screamed in pain, clutching his face. As he thrashed, some of the blood splashed onto my face. I quickly wiped it with my palm, but the red stains remained, etched like a deep scar.
The masked man and everyone watching kept their eyes locked on me. When our gazes met, a strange mix of fear and power surged within me. This was no longer just a fight; it was a battle to survive and prove my strength.
I swept my cold gaze over the crowd, my breath deep but controlled. In a low, steady voice, I broke the silence:
"Give me food."
The crowd froze instantly; their shocked, blank stares rattled me, but I didn't step back. The silence was so heavy it seemed to make the edges of the circle tremble.
Just as I was about to step outside the red line, the man suddenly snatched his sword from the ground. My sword wasn't in my hands yet; I was about to grab it when he kicked it out of the circle with a sharp move.
He covered his face with his hands, blood still gushing. When he looked at me, his eyes were a mix of pain and rage. Blood flowed across the floor like a dark red river, each drop hitting my heart like a heavy weight.
I took deep, rapid breaths; my heart felt like it would burst from my chest.
The man charged at me with all his strength, shouting… His footsteps echoed against the stones of the circle. I leapt to the side; he stopped, his eyes filled with blood on the floor, a mix of tears and crimson.
I struck his arm sharply. The sword flew from his hand, my fingers still trembling. Both of us were focused on a single goal: the chicken. It was a fight to survive.
We ran toward the sword; at the same moment, we both reached for it. And in that instant, I grabbed it…
My small hands, fueled by determination and rage, lifted the sword. I drew a deep breath and brought it down straight toward his heart.
Silence engulfed the circle. Blood splattered onto the stones; breaths caught in throats, time seemed to freeze. This was no longer a race for food
it was a test of survival, of power and will.
Suddenly, everyone shouted at the top of their lungs, applause filling the circle. Bags of gold were thrown into the air, landing inside the circle; their glittering contents blinded my eyes.
The masked man rose with heavy steps and walked toward me. The only sound breaking the silence was the thud of his steps and the coldness in his breath.
"Gentlemen! Lords! Witness this and learn. This girl has personally defeated someone older than herself. Now disperse!"
His voice was cold and sharp, echoing like an order. I looked at the masked man; he was like an angel of death. His black, smooth hood and mask absorbed nearly all the light. The straight slit over the eyes revealed no emotion. His presence froze the entire crowd in an instant.
Standing in the center of the circle, I felt a mix of fear and a chilling sense of pride. This moment was not just a victory it was a symbol of survival, power, and unwavering determination.
The black eyes behind the mask slowly fixed on me. He tilted his head slightly and said in a deep, cold voice:
"Come with me…"
I followed him silently. The room we entered was large, its walls covered from floor to ceiling with bookshelves, the floor draped in patterned carpets. In the center stood a heavy table surrounded by chairs.
I pulled out a chair, about to sit, when he interrupted:
"I don't recall telling you to sit. You must learn to obey your master, novice."
His voice was icy, each word cutting into my bones. I stood silently, holding my breath.
"Well done… Now I will send you to the Janissary Corps. You will join the novice unit. And you will be my spy."
His voice spread through the room like a cunning, sly smile. Inside me, fear mixed with an involuntary curiosity. This was not merely a task it was a trial to survive and prove my abilities.
I looked at him with wary eyes. Both a shiver and curiosity stirred within me.
"What kind of espionage?" I asked, my voice trembling and hesitant.
The masked man silently stared at me, his voice echoing in the room:
"You will rise in the Janissary Corps. Later, we will infiltrate them from within and topple the Sultan's throne… It's a kind of butterfly effect. This rebellion is a matter of great desire."
His words hammered into my mind like nails. I paused for a moment, then immediately accepted. Most likely, I wouldn't be able to accomplish much; I didn't expect anyone to listen to a twelve-year-old girl like me. But the masked man knew this perfectly well; with every movement I made, every glance I threw, he made his dominance felt.
At that moment, I realized that this mission wasn't just a physical test it was a mental trap, a trial of patience and courage.
I looked toward the Janissary Corps. My dark red straight hair rippled gently in the faint breeze. My black, fitted uniform and boots hugged my small frame. I lifted my head slowly and looked into the stone-walled barracks, then turned my back.
"Just because the Pasha sent her," muttered the carriage driver, striking the horse sharply. The hooves clattered across the stone floor as we moved swiftly.
Soldiers stood before me; just as I was about to enter, their eyes locked onto mine.
"Who are you, child? What business do you have in the soldier corps?" asked the gatekeeper, his voice echoing ominously off the stone walls.
"The Pasha sent me," I said.
The doors opened without question. Even at my small age and size, my step inside raised suspicion.
Two massive doors creaked open; golden sparks shimmered in the sunlight. A faint breeze tossed my hair. I took a step or two; everyone around watched in silence. The soldiers being trained observed me carefully. Inside, a mix of fear and chilling excitement stirred I was now stepping into the Janissary Corps, where their rules would be my test ground.
A group of three sat off to the side. Each appeared to be between twenty and twenty-five, their eyes sizing me up as if testing my very existence.
"Where is the chief commander's room?" I asked in a timid voice.
One of them smirked and glanced at the others.
"What's up? Why are you asking?" he said, his tone sharp and irritating.
"I'll be here too… because of that…" I replied, shooting him a cold look.
They exchanged glances and quietly laughed.
"Is this a joke?" said the dark-haired one, his bony face and tall frame standing out.
"Divine… I had no intention to laugh, but… this is ridiculous," muttered the burly one, his deep voice reverberating through the hall.
But the last one rose to his feet with heavy steps, glaring at me. His complexion was fair, his brown hair messy and rough. Suddenly, he grabbed me by the throat and lifted me into the air; the world spun for a brief, terrifying moment. My legs flailed in midair, and breathing became nearly impossible. Every inhale threatened to erupt into a scream, but it stuck in my throat.
The others quickly rose as well. They formed a dark ring around me, silent yet radiating lethal intent. My heart pounded as if it would burst from my chest, my hands trembling uncontrollably. The silence was filled only with the echo of my ragged breaths and my swinging feet; time felt heavy, and a single mistake could be fatal.
I was suffocating… I clawed at his throat, but it was useless. His grip was so tight, it felt as though it could pierce flesh and grind into bone. My vision began to darken. Desperately, I kicked up both feet and struck his face with all my strength.
Suddenly, his fingers loosened; his hold gave way. I fell to the ground, coughing violently, the first breath of air burning like fire in my lungs.
The man before me glared with blood trickling from his nose. I stared back, trembling, like a cornered animal. Using my hands for support, I struggled to my feet and bolted.
My heart felt like it was pounding against my chest. I pressed a hand to it, my breaths loud and irregular. My footsteps echoed through the stone courtyard of the Janissary Corps, every corner seeming like a trap. I was utterly lost within the chase, swallowed by the desperate need to escape.
At that moment, I collided with someone. The impact sent me stumbling backward.
"What are you doing here?" the man demanded, his eyes narrowed, his voice deep and commanding.
I was out of breath. Before I could even respond, the three of them appeared. They lowered their heads in front of the man:
"My lord…"
I bent my knees and lowered myself to the ground, bowing gently. My heart was still pounding like a roaring drum.
"My lord, our Pasha sent me…" I said, head bowed, my voice trembling.
The man let out a short laugh, then in a firm voice said:
"Ah! I was looking for you too. Come with me."
My steps involuntarily faltered. The lord stopped, turned his head, and fixed me with a scrutinizing gaze.
"What's the matter? Don't you want to come?"
I remained silent. Swallowing hard, I slowly raised my head, first glancing at the three. The mockery in their eyes hadn't faded. Then, I turned my gaze back to the lord.
"What will happen to their punishment?!" I asked, my voice trembling, but firm with determination.
The lord's eyebrows furrowed. His eyes narrowed into thin slits. He stared at me silently for a moment, then slowly turned his head toward the trio. His gaze was heavy, like carved stone.
At that moment, even the wind in the courtyard seemed to stop.
All three lowered their heads, barely daring to breathe. The silence stretched tight, like an invisible rope around their necks.
"Forgive me, Ayçil," the lord said, calm yet icy. "Here, these are the rules. The strong always crush the weak. If you seek justice, know this— not even the Kadis will give it to you."
His words fell upon me like stone. I swallowed, my throat knotting, but I did not avert my gaze.
"I didn't ask for justice from you… our Pasha himself sent me-"
Before I could finish, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the air:
"Move along, brat! Your place is ready!"
I turned my head instantly. The speaker was the aide to the Chief Janissary. The anger in his voice echoed off the walls; the surroundings fell silent.
His gaze was like a dagger. Not a single muscle moved in his face. My heart pounded as if it would burst from my chest, but I didn't show it.
I slowly lowered my head. I took one step. Then another… My footsteps echoed on the stone floor, while everyone inside watched as if holding their breath.
They led me inside. The door slammed shut with a loud bang, and the room instantly felt suffocating. Thin, lined-up floor beds ran along the walls… The heavy stench of sweat and iron filled my nose.
All eyes were on me. A twelve-year-old girl, I was a tiny shadow among them. Their gazes held both curiosity and savage mockery.
"Look at her…" said the skinny but muscular one, curling his lips into a smirk. "She's going to be beautiful when she grows up. How are we supposed to wait, huh?"
Laughter erupted. The air in the room grew even heavier.
Another one brought his hand to his chin, grinning:
"Do you think she'll even survive?" he said mockingly.
Someone else leaned forward, squinting at my face.
"I doubt she'll even see her first morning. Want to bet?"
Their eyes were on me like hungry wolves. Fear rose inside me, but at the same time, a cold determination surged… I might be small, but I would not accept being a slave in this room.
To avoid their gaze, I quietly crouched to the floor. I spread out my bed, neither greeting anyone nor making eye contact. For now, this was the safest path. The balance of power was unclear; there was no guarantee that someone who seemed like a friend today wouldn't drive a dagger into my back tomorrow.
"Here, put this on," said someone. A blond, green-eyed child with a gaze as cold as ice. His voice carried a strange tone, somewhere between an order and mockery.
He tossed the clothes in front of me. Thick fabric, rough to the touch.
"Where… am I supposed to change?" I asked, my voice timid yet cautious.
The child curled his lips in a disdainful smirk.
"Here, of course. No other place. Ha, if you don't want to wear it… that's your problem."
He turned and walked away with heavy steps. In the other corner of the room, three others silently watched me; their expressions were the kind that anticipated entertainment. I set the clothes aside and turned my back to my bed. Silence was my greatest weapon.
Through the night, my eyes flickered open and closed. I had no sense of how long I slept when suddenly, a harsh voice echoed through the room:
"Get up!.. Up! Up!"
The shouting hit the room like a slap that pierced through bone.
It wasn't dark yet. In the dim light seeping through the cold stone walls, I rubbed my eyes and quickly got upright. In the middle of the room sat a bucket. The water was icy. Without hesitation, I cupped it in my hands and splashed it on my face. My skin froze, but I had no choice if I wanted to wake up.
Stepping into the courtyard, my eyes went wide.
A massive courtyard, surrounded by stone walls… Hundreds of bodies lined up, the clash of swords echoing, the heavy scent of iron thick in the air.
The chief standing at the front scanned the crowd. He raised his voice:
"Yes!.. I am announcing your first mission! There are a total of one hundred and twenty people here! But only twenty will pass this task!"
A murmur erupted. Everyone glanced at each other; some clenched their fists with determination, others averted their eyes in fear.
I held my breath.
Among them, I… a twelve-year-old girl. And a stranger trying to hide that she was a girl. One part of me whispered, "Impossible." But deeper, sharper, another voice spoke:
"You will become a strong woman. But not 'someday'… now."
At that moment, the crowd's murmur fell silent. The pounding of my heart surged like a drum in my chest.
"You will take the flags at the top! There are only twenty… You will use no tools! Your hands, your feet, your will… You may use the iron pole!"
The chief's voice echoed across the courtyard. One hundred and twenty pairs of eyes turned toward the flags fluttering above. The sky was gray, the wind whipping the banners fiercely.
At the red line, everyone stomped their feet simultaneously. The crowd's breath tensed.
"Come on, may the strongest win!"
The trumpet pierced the sky. Suddenly, screams, pounding feet, chaos… Everyone surged toward the iron poles.
Wooden ladders, ropes, poles… all unstable. The scent of oil spilled across the courtyard, as if the difficulty had been deliberately heightened.
I ran too. I stumbled as someone bumped into my shoulder. When a cold hand grabbed my ankle from behind, fury surged inside me. I lifted my foot and struck with all my strength. The man fell to the ground, his head hitting the wooden edge. The crack echoed and then blood…
I froze for a moment. My breath caught in my throat. A twelve-year-old child had just knocked down a grown man. My eyes locked on the glint of his blood.
But the crowd was already climbing frantically. Arms and legs tangled, some slipping and crashing to the ground.
I clenched my fists. My stomach ached with hunger, my body weak, but my eyes were on the flag.
That flag had to be mine.
I gripped the flag tightly. I folded the cloth into my grasp, taking the iron pole into my hand. Suddenly, I felt the platform above collapse; the crackling of wood and the echoes of screams filled the air. Everyone gasped for breath, yet in the midst of chaos, I drew a single, steady inhale.
Three people rushed toward me at once. My heart pounded, my breath shortened. I quickly lifted the pole, and as the first lunged at me, I struck his arm with a sharp blow. The bone cracked. The man collapsed in pain, his eyes wide with terror.
I crawled under someone's legs, dirt and splinters slapping against my face. I pushed my feet forward quickly; my goal was far: reach a safe spot and protect the flag.
Fifteen minutes remained… Every second felt like a lifetime. The crowd's screams, the creaking of the wooden platform, the sharp scent of blood… Everything was as wild and terrifying as a battlefield.
I quickened my steps.
He stood up and swung a heavy punch at my face. I collided hard with the ground; my cheek swelled, the heat of the pain spreading across my face. He struck my foot with his iron pole the pain was so sharp and intense that I couldn't hold back a scream.
"This is nothing yet, red-haired witch… Gentlemen! Come! This child has the flag!" he shouted, his voice mixing with the screams, echoing like a threat over the twenty-strong crowd surrounding us.
Just as he was about to attack, I felt every muscle in my body tense with pain and fear; my breath caught, my heart pounding as if it would leap out of my chest. But inside me, a spark burned fueling my will to survive, to not give up.
I moved swiftly. I lunged at the chest of the boy choking me, reached out, and with a strained cry, grabbed the flag. I took a deep breath and fixed my gaze on him with determination. At that moment, I wasn't just holding the flag I was holding my own life in my hands.
"With the flag!" I shouted, my voice filled with pain.
They shoved me by the arms; my body burned, my knees were bloody. I crawled backward, every movement feeling like torture. Around me, everyone was piled on top of each other; the last minutes were filled with chaos and agony.
And then… the struggle ended. The flag was in my hands. I gripped it, trembling and in pain; blood and sweat coated me, but the flag I held was a symbol of my survival and resistance.
I looked around: many were no longer moving, the dead and the wounded lay on the ground. Silence had fallen, but this silence was not just the end of the battle it echoed the price of those who had fallen. My heart pounded, my breathing uneven; yet, I felt the weight of having survived.
The Chief of the Janissaries puffed out his chest and shouted:
"Yes! Whoever has the flag, step forward!"
His voice, merging with the wind's howl, echoed against the stone walls of the courtyard.
Those holding the flag began stepping forward slowly. Among the crowd, the boy who had tried to choke me appeared. The wind blew fiercely; our hair whipped, the lines and wounds on our faces made sharper by the harsh light.
He looked at me fiercely; his eyes were bloody, a straight line cut across his cheek. I suppressed all my fear and returned his stare with equal intensity. In that moment, locked in a gaze, the tension in the silence was so thick it felt as if time had stopped. Between the wind's howl and the crowd's breaths, there was only us.
The Chief of the Janissaries shouted in a booming voice:
"Nineteen people alone? One is missing!"
Even with my foot broken, I suppressed the pain and stepped forward on one leg. I gripped the flag tightly, lifting it into the air with my trembling hands.
The crowd's astonished eyes focused on me; in them was a mix of fear and admiration. My breath was short, my heart pounding as if it would burst from my chest.
"Here… the twentieth flag!" I said, my voice a mixture of pain and pride. The wind whipped my hair as the flag's cords fluttered above me. Silence fell for a moment, as if it had paused everything.
After taking the twentieth flag in my hands, the group stared at me in silence. Everyone was astonished, their eyes wide; those not part of the twenty-person group had been eliminated. Day by day, the training grew harder, but there was no retreat. Four years passed. I was now sixteen. Every morning and night, I trained with bow and sword as if I were killing myself, becoming a disciple of discipline and a relentless warrior.
That morning, as the sun rose, we all lined up in front of the red line. The wind brushed lightly across the stone courtyard, and the shadows of our bows and swords trembled on the ground.
"Move! Towards the red line, go!" they shouted.
Just as I was about to step forward, the Chief's assistant signaled me to stop with a sharp voice:
"Ayçil, stop! You will no longer take sword lessons!"
My face twisted involuntarily, and I fixed my gaze on him.
"My lord… have I committed a fault? I am among the best with the sword here, you know," I said, helplessly.
He looked at me; his eyes were neither harsh nor warm, they were exactly like an order.
"I know, Ayçil… but unfortunately, this is our Pasha's direct command," he said, the only harsh tone breaking the silence.
At that moment, my breath caught. Years of effort, my blood, my sweat… all felt as if they were being taken away with a single command. I gripped my swords tightly; my fingers trembled, but my determination remained unshaken.
Inside, I was boiling with rage. How could the Pasha allow such a thing? I had trained in blood and sweat for four years, one of the best swordsmen… and now, was I only going to do cleaning?
Those around me laughed, their eyes full of contempt. I shot them a sharp look; it felt like their laughter stopped for a moment, but my anger still roared inside. I turned back to the chief and waited silently.
"My lord, then what am I supposed to do?" I asked, my voice a mix of anger and helplessness.
The chief sighed heavily and handed me a bucket and rags.
At that moment, the room exploded; everyone started laughing and jeering. Especially Oğuz… Yes, I would never forget him. Oğuz, the one who had strangled me and caused me pain, spoke in a disgusting, mocking tone:
"Crispy little thing… even her gaze burns. Our Pasha is right, chief… a girl should be cleaning. By the way, will she be serving us too?"
I shot him a sharp look; my heart was pounding wildly. Suddenly, everyone froze; the silence was charged with tension. The cold glare in my eyes froze Oğuz's disgusting laugh.
The Janissary chief's gaze turned toward Oğuz. In a deep, commanding voice, he shouted:
"Oğuz! Ayçil is one of the best swordsmen… unfortunately, she will be occupied with cleaning and kitchen duties!"
I pressed my lips tightly together, my pale skin nearly white. My dark red straight hair fell onto my shoulders in its natural color, tied tightly underneath. I picked up the bucket and rag from the ground; my hands trembled, but my steps were determined.
I turned my back and walked silently; with every step, the cold stone floor pressed against my feet. Oğuz's and the others' eyes were on me, but I didn't care. When I stepped outside, the cold, damp air of the kitchen hit my face. As I washed my hands, a spark ignited inside me… Eventually, I would take up my sword again.
"Ayçil, take these dishes! Wash them, dry them!" barked the burly man, his voice hard as stone.
I grabbed the dishes; my hands had turned red from the cold water, but I didn't stop. I washed and dried each one, one by one. Here in the Janissary Barracks, the work never ended. Every pile of dishes finished was immediately replaced by a new one.
In my mind, I thought, "As soon as this is over, I'll take up my sword and bow…" yet the tasks never ended. Finally, when night fell, all the dishes were done. I had completed my other duties as well; my body was exhausted, my hands calloused, but my spirit remained alert.
In the silence of the night, I took my sword. I blindfolded myself, preparing as if an invisible enemy stood before me. Sweat dripped from my face and hair, mixing with the falling rain.
The sky had darkened, and the rain poured heavily; the sound of the rain blended with my grip on the sword and the rapid beating of my heart. Every drop gave me strength; the dark night, the rain, and the silence… this was only the beginning.
I was soaked; the rain had plastered my hair and black, tight outfit to my skin. But I did not stop. I raised my sword into the air, ready. At that moment, someone struck my sword hard, throwing me off balance. I was about to open my eyes when:
"Ayçil, don't open your eyes, keep going!" the Pasha's voice rang out, sharp and commanding, cutting through the dark.
Breathless, I continued. "Pasha, why did you take away my sword lessons?" I asked, my voice trembling but resolute.
Just as my sword was about to fall, someone shoved me hard from behind. I felt their breath brush across my face cold, sharp, and commanding.
"Because this is your last sight of me!" the sparrow shouted, voice loud and clear, merging with the sky.
My sword slipped from my hands, and the piece of cloth covering my eyes fell from my face. The masked man with the black pointed hat looked at me. He swallowed hard.
"Why?" I asked, struggling to catch my breath, my trembling hands clasped tightly over my stomach.
"You'll fall ill in the morning. Why didn't you work under a roof?" he said, calm yet firm.
"Please… tell me why," I pleaded, looking into his eyes, feeling the intensity of a year's worth of fear and curiosity rising within me.
He stepped closer, looked straight into my eyes, and spoke coldly:
"You'll stay here for another year. Then you will be sent to the grand palace. Forget me, understand?"
Then he left, leaving only silence and rain behind.
Yes… for a whole year, I served in the Janissary Corps, enduring cruelty. But every blow, every cold glance, every fall only made me stronger. And then… I was sent to the grand palace; the next scene of my fate awaited there.