1. The Final Prophecy
“Please…”
A woman sobbed.
A sword was lodged in her chest. Cold blood ran down the blade, forming a dark crimson pool on the floor.
Step. Step…
Someone approached the fallen woman.
She already knew who it was. As she looked up, the light was blinding—like staring directly at the sun.
His eyes were dazzling golden, far too radiant for any human to gaze upon directly.
The woman whimpered as if her eyes were burning.
“Please… spare me. Don’t let me die like this.”
Her frail voice was heart-wrenching, soaked in such raw emotion it felt like it could melt one’s eardrums.
Her delicate wrist trembled like a flower stem as she clutched the hem of the man’s garment.
“Don’t turn away from me. I am your destiny. You just don’t realize it yet.”
Her desperate plea didn’t reach him.
The man looked down at the bleeding woman with cold, emotionless eyes.
“No. This can’t be fate. You’re not my destiny.”
His words were cruel.
And at last, the woman understood.
He had never loved her—not even once.
Even if she were to die right in front of him, his heart wouldn’t change.
“If that’s all you have to say.”
With those final words, the man turned and walked away.
His retreating figure was merciless. His indifference until the very end was just as brutal.
He had been heartless from the very beginning.
The woman staggered to her feet, trembling violently as she summoned her last strength.
“This can’t be…”
Doubt drained the color from her face. Her expression turned lifeless as she muttered in despair.
“You’re supposed to love me… That’s our destiny.”
With that, she closed her eyes and collapsed.
Her forsaken confession remained, staining her pale face with the stench of blood.
* * *
“Ah…!”
The dream ended there.
Rasilia opened her eyes with a silent gasp.
“Lady Rasilia? Are you alright?”
Floata asked from beside her.
Rasilia was currently traveling in a carriage, accompanied only by her dreamkeeper. She had closed her eyes for a moment and fallen asleep—and dreamed.
“Yes… I’m fine.”
Rasilia blinked away the cold sweat from her lashes.
The dream had been so vivid that she couldn’t quite return to reality. Half her consciousness still felt trapped in it.
What she saw now wasn’t her concerned dreamkeeper Floata, but those chilling, indifferent golden eyes.
Those eyes felt like the blade still embedded in her chest. Rasilia clenched her teeth.
“Did you have a dream?”
Rasilia was the prophet of the Kingdom of Delarta.
The gods revealed the future to her through her dreams. Once verified by dreamkeepers, her dreams were sealed at the altar and became divine prophecies.
“I did dream… but I don’t think it was a prophecy.”
Divine messages were always clear. They showed events to come, allowing for action.
But this dream—strangers speaking irrelevant words, unconnected to her or the kingdom—wasn’t prophecy.
“Do prophets dream ordinary dreams too?”
“Apparently so. But how far have we come? Are we close?”
Rasilia forced her anxiety down and looked out the window.
Before the strange dream of the golden-eyed man, she had received a terrifying prophecy that could shake the entire kingdom.
It showed Prince Ricardo—the 12th royal heir—beheading the king.
As soon as she woke, Rasilia sealed the dream and sent a message to the king.
Floata was her only witness. The prophecy was too dangerous, so she had told no one else. Even the Temple of the Prophet was full of Ricardo’s men. She couldn’t trust anyone.
Despite warning of an urgent prophecy, there was no response from the royal court. In the end, Rasilia decided to go to the king herself.
It was rare for a prophet to leave the temple. She kept her journey secret—even from the priests. Only Floata and the temple’s coachman knew her whereabouts.
“Have you ever wanted to see your own reflection?”
Floata suddenly asked an odd question.
“What…?”
Rasilia turned to her, puzzled.
“Why do you ask?”
Floata didn’t avoid her gaze.
She wasn’t sitting neatly like usual. She sat on her toes, twirling her hair around her finger. It felt… unfamiliar.
“I’ve always wondered. How can someone not be curious about their appearance? You’re still a woman—even if you’re a prophet.”
“Looking in the mirror has nothing to do with prophecy. And besides, you always help with those things.”
“I did. But I hated it. If beauty is so worthless to you, why couldn’t I have it instead?”
“Why are you saying this, Floata?”
Floata smiled strangely. Coldly. Ominously.
“Just so you know. That way, maybe it won’t feel as unfair when you die.”
“When I die?”
What was she talking about?
Rasilia had grown up in the temple, without family or friends. Floata had been everything—friend, helper, companion.
So her words now were incomprehensible. Her unfamiliar expression made her look like a stranger.
“Why are you doing this, Floata? Are you angry with me? What did I do wrong?”
Floata chuckled darkly.
“You did plenty wrong. You’re the great prophet, and I’m just a lowly dreamkeeper. A servant, really. And you’ve never once tried to use your prophetic powers fully, have you?”
The smile vanished from Floata’s face.
“But I wanted all of it. Everything you had.”
“Floata…”
Rasilia didn’t know what to say. Floata’s truth was painful.
Just as Rasilia bit her lip—
Neigh! Bang!
The carriage jolted to a halt, nearly throwing her forward.
“Ah, we’ve arrived.”
Floata’s expression brightened.
And the door burst open.
“What…!”
Rasilia’s face turned pale.
The man standing there was none other than Prince Ricardo.
“You’re right on time, Your Highness,” Floata said sweetly.
Rasilia was hit by a horrible realization.
“Floata… did you…?”
Floata had betrayed her. She had informed Ricardo of the secret journey—and likely the prophecy too.
“I told you, didn’t I? It’s better to know before you die than die ignorant.”
Prince Ricardo grabbed Rasilia’s chin.
“Well, well. So this is the beautiful prophet of Delarta.”
His grip was crushing. Her jaw felt like it would shatter.
“Take your hands off me. I am the eyes and mouth of the gods.”
Rasilia spoke through clenched teeth.
“Ah, yes. But your god doesn’t seem to like me very much,” Ricardo said with a twisted grin.
In that moment, Ricardo and Floata looked like twins.
“So I’m to behead my brother, am I? And you were rushing to warn him. What do you think he’ll do—kill me first?”
“That prophecy means the gods are watching over Delarta—ugh!”
Ricardo tightened his grip, choking her words.
“Listen well, flower-like prophet. You choose now: live or die. If you want to live, go back to the temple and keep your mouth shut. Forever. I’ll become king, and maybe I’ll take you as a concubine. You’re pretty enough.”
In the blur of her fading vision, Rasilia saw Floata’s twisted expression.
“It’s no use, Your Highness. Rasilia’s too upright. She’ll never cooperate.”
Ricardo ignored her.
“So? What’ll it be?”
“…I…”
Rasilia thought desperately.
She had to survive—to warn the king of Ricardo’s treason.
But how?
‘I’ll have to lie. Pretend to go along and find an opportunity…’
It was the only way. Floata had betrayed her, and the silent coachman was likely already dead or involved.
“…I don’t want to die.”
Ricardo laughed at her struggling words.
“So you don’t want to die an old virgin. Fine, then—”
Just then—
“She’s lying.”
Floata’s voice cut in. And then—sharp pain in her side.
“What are you—!”
Ricardo screamed.
Floata had stabbed her.
“Ugh!”
The pain was fire.
Perhaps because of her dream of a woman being stabbed, the lines between reality and dream blurred.
“Don’t be fooled, Your Highness. I know her best. She’d never cooperate with you. Just kill her, as planned.”
Thud!
A second stab landed. Floata twisted the knife.
She meant to finish it.
“Flo…ta… you…”
Rasilia reached out, staggering. But Floata’s eyes were cold. She looked at Rasilia like she was already dead.
“Damn it! Now she’s no use. Can’t save her now.”
Ricardo pulled the blade from her body.
Splurt!
Blood gushed uncontrollably.
“Out.”
He pushed Floata out of the carriage.
She looked back once at the bleeding Rasilia.
“Goodbye, Lady Rasilia. Let’s never meet again.”
“Flo…ta…”
Clack.
With Ricardo gone, the carriage door slammed shut.
Bang! Bang!
Ricardo banged on the door, shouting to his soldiers:
“Take this to the cliff and dump it. Throw the coachman’s body in too. Make it look like an accident.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
No… I must get up… I have to warn the king…
Rasilia summoned all her remaining strength.
But all she could do was twitch her fingers.
Clatter! Crash!
Moments later, the carriage carrying Rasilia and the coachman’s bodies tumbled over a sheer cliff.
* * *
“She’s here.”
“Yes, yes. She’s here.”
“So now… we begin?”
The surroundings were noisy.
Amid the rising clamor, Rasilia’s eyelids flickered. She opened her blurry eyes.
The first thing she saw was bright light.
“…?”
Too bright. Her room had never been this illuminated.
Was she dreaming?
…No. I died, didn’t I? I must be in the gods’ realm now.
Rasilia looked around again at the unfamiliar scene.
Her gaze finally settled on the window, where exotic, golden-framed carvings decorated the panes—and birds she’d never seen before perched outside, watching her.
Caw.
Tweet tweet. Chirp.
“…? Did you just speak to me?”
Strange. The birds were chirping, but to her ears, it sounded like human voices.
“Who arrived?”
Just then—
“Your Majesty the Empress. Did you cough?”
“…?”
Rasilia tilted her head.
Who was this “Empress”?
