— in which Vlad Dracula’s former teacher reflects on his pupil’s beast marks, and how a chain of misfortunes has led him to a point of no return.
word count: 1,174 words
warnings: violence; mentions of torture; captivity and imprisonment; physical restraint and bondage (non-sexual); graphic descriptions of corporal punishment; graphic descriptions of whipping; mentions of severe injury and trauma; implied impending death; psychological distress; mentions of delirium; themes of war
a/n: Back to writing after what feels like an eternity, and it feels so goood! ✨ I hope you will enjoy the start of this series — it is going to be a very grim and gory ride but, nonetheless, it is an important part of Vlad’s story, and despite the pain and hardship, I hope you are going to enjoy all that follows on this journey. Thank you endlessly for your support and love, despite my impromptu hiatus! I hope 2026 will treat you with utmost generosity and kindness. ❤️
➨ also available on AO3
İBRET (n.) — a lesson, warning, cautionary example, or moral drawn from an experience or situation, often something to learn from to avoid similar mistakes, originating from Arabic (ʿibrat) through Ottoman Turkish. It signifies something that serves as a sign or reminder for others and emphasises wisdom gained from hardship. Often used in phrases like “ibret almak” (to take a lesson/learn from) or “ibret olsun” (let it be a lesson).
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January 1462, Yergöğü Kalesi — Cetatea Giurgiu, southern Wallachian borders
His face still floats before his eyes and refuses to vanish even when he closes them. His grin was wild, to the point of insanity, although he recognised something unmistakable as well: the same refusal to yield he had once known in his pupil when reason was offered and patience was exhausted. It does not have to be this way, Vlad, he pleaded as he kneeled on the fortress’s icy stone, his voice already hoarse with a hope that would not survive the hour. Be reasonable. Come with me. We will go south, to the sultan’s court.
There is no way back now.
The boy he once called deli kafa with fond exasperation — half-smiling as he muttered Sen de ne biçim deli kafasın… under his breath at the youth’s obstinacy — was gone. In his place stood only Kazıklı Voyvoda. And when he was wrenched to his feet and dragged away, the warrior’s dark figure receding into the pale winter light, understanding came without warmth or ceremony. This was the beginning of his end. He would die by the hand of the very man into whom he had once tried to pour all his wisdom.
Before the soldiers threw him into the small, damp cell rank with rot and old despair, the voivode turned back. He met his gaze, tapped a finger against his temple, and the words falling from his lips sent a chill through his former tutor.
You taught me well, hocam efendim. Without fault. I forgot none of it.
Ever since that encounter, he has not seen the light of day. He has learned quickly which movements punish him and which merely remind him why he is here. Lost in thought, he tugs at the wrists bound behind his back and hisses. The ropes fold him inward, a man reduced to angles he cannot alter. His knees will not part; his ankles answer to the same command as his wrists. Any attempt to rise only tightens the hold.
The ropes are not the only thing that hold him motionless in the darkness. Memory, too, has learned to constrict. As a soldier, naivety has never been a luxury he could allow himself to possess. The sultan ordered him to capture the young voivode who had willingly, with open eyes, entered Dar al-Harb. Betrayal is hardly an anomaly; it is the rule of their world. And yet, each time he strains against what happened — searching for some thread of reason that might unravel the knot of how they arrived at this — the past only draws tighter around him, forcing him back to the same place, the same moment.
Vlad has been a fierce spirit, a recklessly stubborn one. He has never been a madman.
Looking back at all that transpired between them, Hamza Bey of Nicopolis could name the precise moment when the young man’s hatred of the Empire hardened into something that would later prove catastrophic. It was that sweltering summer day when the hot-headed youth paid for his offences and was dragged from their lessons into the training yard — the very same place that had provoked Vlad’s punishment in the first place.
Vlad never learned that Hamza had pleaded for him before the young sultan — and that the plea had not been immediately granted. The punishment had been decided upon early, framed as an act of absolute humiliation at İkinci Avlu, meant to be witnessed by all. Hamza did not contest its necessity; he contested its form. If correction was required, he insisted, it need not be made into spectacle. Pain could be administered without an audience, discipline without the eyes of the janissaries and the Divan. For a moment, the sultan resisted. In the end, yielded.
When the punishment was over — too long after it should have been — his back had been turned into pulp. The boy was carried to his quarters, shaking uncontrollably, his lips blue and eyes drifting out of focus. The physicians counted breaths, watched for movement in fingers and legs. No one present pretended the damage could be measured, much less corrected. The sultan’s cruelty had exceeded its purpose.
That day, Hamza followed and refused to leave him. As the boy drifted in delirium, he repeated a single phrase, again and again, like a verse whose meaning had begun to fray. İbret olsun. Let it be a lesson. He needed it to be true. If the suffering carried any meaning in the end, then it had not been inflicted in vain. Hamza loved the boy in the manner permitted to him, and yet believed in the sultan who had ordered such cruelty — then, as he does still.
Five times a day, he bowed his head to Allah and prayed not for forgiveness, but for consequence: that Vlad would live, that he would walk, that he would always remember that day. That whatever had been broken and destroyed would instruct him in life rather than ruin him.
Instruct him in life, it did. With a tired resignation, Hamza admits to himself that the trajectory of the youth’s actions became something no one could have foreseen.
His thoughts are cut short when the heavy door opens, and a blade of light spills into the cell. Blinded, he narrows his eyes to endure the sting and make out the owners of the two pairs of heavy boots. A tall, light-haired man — Hamza vaguely recalls him standing at Vlad’s side — retrieves a dagger from beneath his belt, saws through the binds at his legs, and yanks him upright by the ropes biting into his wrists. An older man, one eye covered by a strip of white cloth, a puckered scar visible above it, remains at the door.
“The voivode expects you outside the gates,” says the older of the two in fluent Turkish, and Hamza is momentarily startled by the ease of it. As the light-haired bear drags him up the three stairs toward the open door, the one-eyed soldier stops them with an open palm flat against Hamza’s blood-soaked chest.
“He has a message for you.” The man leans closer than necessary, and his grin stretches with quiet satisfaction. “İbret olsun.”
Hamza lifts his head, chin thrust forward in a final gesture of defiance. Cold sweat gathers at the nape of his neck and slides down his spine. He swallows; his throat burns.
The words used to be Hamza’s justification, his fervent prayer… and now, his greatest curse.
This pain was meant to teach us, too, he thinks now, walking towards the cold sun. Yet we all learned the wrong lesson.
Thank you for making it until the very end! I will not bombard you with historical facts this time — the series will map a crucial part of Vlad’s story and identity (a.k.a. where the massive scars on his back that are frequently referenced in my works come from), and so I wish not to spoil anything that follows. It will explore one formative event that is largely the product of my own imagination, even though a considerable amount of research and historical references have gone into this grim creation of mine. Whipping scars are a staple of Vlad’s fictional representation at this point, and I could not resist incorporating them into my own interpretation. I do find it important, however, to explore what preceded such a punishment, how it worked and, most importantly, what the recovery was like. Such an experience leaves not only physical scars, but emotional ones, too. Hopefully, this series will also help clarify some of Vlad’s behaviours or stances on life.
It is also the first time I introduce the character of Hamza Bey, who is really fascinating and such a pleasure to craft and write. He plays an important role not only in this particular series, but also in my take on Vlad’s story. Despite standing on the “enemy side”, nothing is quite black-and-white, and I hope you will enjoy him as much as I do.
The story incorporates numerous Turkish terms and phrases, so here is a brief list to clarify them.
Yergöğü Kalesi — the Ottoman equivalent of the Giurgiu Fortress (in Romanian Cetatea Giurgiu). Following its capture by the Ottoman Empire in the early 15th century, it became an important Ottoman frontier fortress that served as a military, administrative, and logistical centre supporting Ottoman operations north of the Danube. The fortress housed a permanent garrison and functioned as a base for river patrols, troop movements, and supply transport. As long as the fortress remained under Ottoman control, Wallachian rulers faced sustained pressure and limited autonomy in defending their southern border. As a result, the fortress became a frequent objective in Wallachian military campaigns. Temporary Wallachian captures of Giurgiu (most notably during Vlad’s second reign) were intended to disrupt Ottoman supply lines, weaken their Danubian presence, and reduce the possibility of incursions into Wallachian territory.
deli kafa — crazyhead, madhead
Sen de ne biçim deli kafasın… — What a crazy mind you have… / What a madhead you are…
Kazıklı Voyvoda — the Impaler Voivode
hocam efendim — my esteemed teacher / my esteemed master
Dar al-Harb — “The House of Islam” (Dar al-Islam) and “The House of War” (Dar al-Harb) are historical Islamic legal concepts that divide the world into Muslim-ruled lands where Islamic law (Sharia) prevails, and non-Muslim lands traditionally viewed as hostile or requiring conversion to Islam. A third category, “The House of Covenant” (Dar al-’Ahd), was designated for territories ruled by non-Muslims that had a treaty of non-aggression or peace with Muslims. Once the treaty was broken, the territory fell under Dar al-Harb.
İkinci Avlu — the Second Courtyard. Sometimes also referred to as the Divan Square (Divan Meydanı) or the Justice Square (Adalet Meydanı). It was the administrative and ceremonial heart of the Ottoman Empire and housed key state buildings such as the Imperial Council Chamber (Divan-ı Hümayun), the palace kitchens, or the Imperial Treasury (Hazine-i Âmire). It served as the central hub for governance, justice, and logistics, and also saw public displays of power and warnings.
the Divan — the cabinet of the Ottoman Empire. Initially an informal gathering of senior ministers presided over by the Sultan himself, the Council’s composition and function became firmly regulated by the mid-15th century.
