At this rate, either the brush would snap—or her hair would be torn out.

“Miss, don’t do that. Come here instead.”

Anne, the innkeeper, who had gone to great lengths to prepare hot water and plenty of food for guests arriving late at night, beckoned her over.

Bellona glanced at Sol, who was leaning against the stable fence.

“I’ll fix your hair a bit.”

Sol tilted his chin towards the innkeeper, as if to say, “Go on then.”

After putting her belongings back in the cloth bag, Bellona stood up and walked over to him.

In the middle of the courtyard, Anne set out a chair and placed old newspapers underneath it.

Then she wrapped the paper around Bellona’s shoulders.

“Sit here. I was going to let it go, but I just can’t. Who cut your hair like this? It looks like mice chewed through it.”

They were unusual guests.

There was clearly a story behind them: a man who kept his face hidden and a woman who seemed a little slow.

However, after seeing the gold coins that the man had produced upon arrival, the innkeeper hadn’t asked a single question.

Not just one, but ten.

Surely part of that was payment for her silence.

“Oh dear… even the dye job is a mess.”

Bellona swung her feet lightly beneath the newspaper draped around her.

‘So it was dyed.’

“Oh my… what on earth did they do to your hair?”

The more the innkeeper examined it, the more shocked she became.

After struggling for a while to untangle the strands that the brush couldn’t reach, she finally spoke with firm resolve.

“Miss, we’ll have to cut it. This just won’t do. It’s all tangled and matted together, and someone’s only cut one side—it’ll need quite a bit taken off.”

“Okay.”

Just as she had since losing her memories, Bellona simply accepted it without resistance.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it look very pretty. I cut everyone’s hair around here, you know. I even cut my daughter’s.”

“Okay.”

Following her gentle reply—

snip, snip.

Her green-dyed hair fell to the ground.

Bellona only realized at that moment that the longest strands had reached past her elbows, while the shortest ones clung close to her ears.

‘What was my real hair color?’

No matter how much she stared at the patchy, uneven green, she couldn’t tell.

‘Who cut it like this?

‘What kind of life did I live?’

‘Did I have a mother, like the innkeeper?’

‘A father?’

‘Why is no one looking for me?’

‘Is it because I committed a crime?’

‘What crime?’

She didn’t know.

She knew nothing.

As she stared at the strands of hair falling one by one, her vision began to blur.

Tears slipped down her face, tracing the path of the fallen locks.

“Oh, it’s alright. I’ll make it pretty. It’ll feel light and fresh. Don’t cry. It’s okay… it’s okay…”

The blazing heat of summer was long gone.

As the seasons turned and the air grew colder, the golden light of autumn rested softly on her green hair.

Wrapped in sheets of newspaper, the young girl sat silently crying while her long hair was cut down to her shoulders.

She cried, not knowing what she had lost.

Autumn, a season when trees burn in brilliant colors only to be stripped bare, carried with it a quiet, aching loneliness.

The man who had taken away her place to return to stood there, watching her cry.

He stood there, watching her cry.

***

She had eaten and rested enough.

It was time to move on.

After Sol had trimmed her hair, she lifted the sniffling Bellona onto the horse, and they set off once more.

Now, her green hair — smooth and untangled — fell neatly, brushing her swollen cheeks and tear-stained eyes.

“Is the place we’re going very far?”

“It’s far.”

“How far?”

“Very.”

“Where is it?”

Instead of answering, he urged the horse forward, picking up speed.

Bellona lurched backward, but Sol immediately caught her.

“Relax your waist and keep your mouth shut. You’ll bite your tongue.”

The guard was no ordinary man; he was regarded with quiet unease by everyone at the inn.

Even Paul, the tall, broad innkeeper’s husband, seemed small in comparison.

The man seated behind her was even taller and had broader shoulders, and he had an overwhelming presence. Hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, his sharp, gleaming eyes were almost frightening.

Whenever Bellona spoke to him, she had to gather her courage first.

She finally managed to ask but he ignored her.

Still, she resolved to ask again once they dismounted.

Unlike Momona, who spoke endlessly without prompting, at least this man seemed honest.

The horse ran for a long time, cutting across the barren landscape. A vast black mountain range stretched out to the left of them.

The wind was bitter and stung her cheeks.

Swaying with the rhythm of the horse, Bellona quietly repeated what little she knew, as if committing it to memory.

‘My name is Bellona. My hair isn’t really green. What I have: a mirror, a fountain pen, a brush, and a key. The number on the key is 219.’

She took in the view: the snow-capped peaks of rugged mountains, a dense forest spreading out below them like a wall, and scattered patches of farmland across the harsh wilderness.

Her short hair no longer obstructed her view.

After looking around for a while, the terrain began to change: tall grass swayed in the breeze and reddish and yellow hills appeared here and there.

Suddenly, Sol pressed down firmly on her head with his gloved hand.

“Duck.”

The sound of pounding hooves grew faster.

Despite the cold air, the horse was sweating as it ran.

‘What’s happening?’

Bellona wanted to turn around, but she was unable to do so.

She heard something slicing through the air, but with her head forced downwards, she couldn’t see what it was.

Just a few seconds later, the ground ahead suddenly rose up as if to block their path.

It wasn’t very tall, but it was high enough to stop them. A low earthen wall had risen out of nowhere.

“Neigh!”

Moments before they were about to crash into it, the horse let out a sharp cry and veered off at its rider’s command.

Bellona froze, staring at the ground that had suddenly risen up in front of them.

Dark red soil was exposed and thick dust billowed into the air.

Thanks to the warhorse’s training and the rider’s skill, disaster was narrowly avoided.

Bellona nearly fell, but Solishar caught her and held her firmly in place.

The horse, breathing heavily with steam rising from its nostrils in the cold air, spun in a smooth arc —

They found themselves facing the direction from which they had come.

Only then did she see them.

Their pursuers.

Three riders were approaching.

Two of them were men dressed in black.

The third was a woman wearing a robe.

A woman in a robe.

Her face was pale and she was struggling to catch her breath.

The man in the center, who appeared to be their leader, raised his sword and pointed it straight at Solishar.

“The criminal has… left the magistrate’s jurisdiction—without permission! That’s illegal! I—I’ve come under orders from the Sarotum magistrate—no, the Northern Sarotum magistrate! Surrender and submit to arrest… immediately!”

He tried to sound imposing, but after rushing all the way there, he could barely catch his breath, rendering him far less intimidating than intended.

Nevertheless, for Bellona, who had believed until now that Solishar was merely doing his duty as her guard, it was terrifying enough.

Her eyes widened as she looked at Solishar.

‘Left the jurisdiction? Illegal?’

“What should we do? They say they’re here to arrest you.”

But Sol only looked down at her and spoke lightly, almost playfully.

“But… you’re the guard, Sol.”

Then why was this illegal?

“Oh, that?”

The last rays of the afternoon sun burned behind him, casting a halo of light at his back.

“That’s a lie.”

Her ears rang.

The words were so light—so careless—that they struck her all the more sharply.

Bellona froze.

“I am Sheriff Herbert, appointed by Magistrate Kien of Sarotum!”

The sheriff shouted loudly at the rider whose face was completely hidden beneath a mask and hood.

Panting heavily, he puffed out his chest and forced the words out, clearly proud of himself for managing to say it all without stopping this time.

“Refusal to comply with arrest will result in immediate punishment!”

Only Bellona found his breathless threats terrifying.

Her face turned pale.

“I didn’t expect the ones after you to show up faster than the ones after me.”

Solishar sounded almost impressed.

Who would have thought that a newly appointed magistrate from a remote northern region would be more efficient than those trying to hunt down and kill the crown prince?

“Looks like your friend really likes you, Bell.”