“Margharita. We are the Desert Passage, those who read the past and see the future. The two are like the ends of a horseshoe, never touching yet facing each other. Connecting those parallel lines is our role bestowed by the gods.”

In her childhood, her grandmother had said these words. It was the day Hari discovered her ability.

“What did you see?”

Hari clutched the five-colored crystal tightly in her small hand. It was a family heirloom passed down through generations in the leading family of the matriarchal Lagonia tribe.

“A black snake climbing up a tree.”

At the clear voice of the six-year-old child, her grandmother smiled with approval.

“You’ve glimpsed the Igrito myth. The snake, blinded by greed, bit into the fruit of the world tree Igrito. And thus, the world’s order crumbled…”

The smile faded, replaced by a sad expression. Her grandmother held young Hari close as she stared at the burning tents. The piercing screams and Lagonian dancers being dragged away. Her hands trembled as she covered the child’s eyes from the horrific scene.

“The world became filled with malice and chaos.”

“Grandmother… What about Mother?”

“Those who invite in the snake will surely face divine punishment. Don’t forget that. Your mother will be punished for breaking the taboo. She will pay dearly for bringing outsiders into the sacred Lagonian lands.”

Those were her last words. Lagonia, the sanctuary of Hari’s soul, became a sea of flames, and the desert dancers chose death over being taken by Galate’s soldiers. All except Hari’s mother, Ananta.

Blinded by love, her mother revealed to her lover, the King of Galate, about the Lagonian dancers’ prophetic abilities. The greedy king drew his sword. When he failed to forcibly take the resisting dancers, he wielded that sword.

By the time Ananta realized her mistake, it was too late. The warm golden sand, the beautiful oasis, and the sisters who loved to dance – only blood and ashes remain where the fierce blade had passed.

Her mother, who belatedly regretted and lost her mind, became the king’s concubine, while Hari, the last of Lagonian blood, became a half-princess of Galate.

Thus more than ten years passed.

* * *

“Prophet of Galate. From now on, you will live as my concubine.”

When those cold words pierced her ears, Margharita didn’t think much of it. Even when Galate fell to this man’s hands, she felt nothing particular. Margharita simply nodded.

“Can’t you speak?”

“……”

“Are you mute?”

The man who spoke dryly suddenly grabbed her chin. His calloused fingers dug sharply into her soft skin. Only then did Hari raise her eyes to look at him. Hair darker than soot, a helmet covering half his face. His green eyes flickered with a strange hue, glowing red-hot like flames.

A demon. A demon came to punish me in place of my mother who betrayed the Lagonian tribe.

Under his blood-stained crimson armor, Hari trembled. The tall man smelled of metallic blood mixed with sharp burning embers.

“His, verify if it’s her.”

This time, another man came and grabbed her hair. He pulled at the golden strands that coiled softly like silk thread, and lifted her clothes. After confirming that the black bird-shaped brand on her waist matched their records, heavy iron chains were wrapped around Hari’s wrists.

“It’s definitely her. This is the woman.”

“Take her away.”

And so Margharita became the man’s concubine. The burning of Galate’s fortress, the execution of the royal family, and becoming the concubine of a general whose name and face she didn’t know – it all happened in an instant.

“Do you resent me?”

A sneering laugh cut through the air thick with heat and burning smell.

“Go ahead and blame your misfortune.”

Well. Was anything ever truly mine? Instead of answering, Hari looked at the sunset flowing like blood behind the man’s back. The castle of Galate, which had destroyed Lagonia, was burning. Corpses turned to rags and bloodstains carpeted the ground. Somewhere out there, the king who wore gold and silver would be sprawled out. Soon to become food for crows.

“Even gold melts.”

“What?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

Black crows descended all at once. The red blood spread on the ground was instantly covered by black waves.

“The palace of Galate seemed like it would never fall.”

That beautiful and cruel cage made of gold.

But Galate too was merely someone else’s prey. That fact suddenly made her laugh.

The man seemed uninterested in joining her meaningless wordplay. He tied rope around Hari’s wrists and signaled to the chariot. With a jolt, as the chariot slid into silence, Margharita, who was crumpled inside, fell back into contemplation. Until the sun set and the dark red waves engulfed what was once the glorious royal castle of Galate.

* * *

“Give me the woman.”

The request of Achilleon, the renowned general and Third Prince of Hitais, was simple. King Mempion stroked his chin with amusement.

“I’m surprised to hear such words from you. Is this woman your spoils of war?”

He had ordered the complete extermination of Galate’s royal family. The woman had a posture unbefitting a slave and dazzling golden hair. Though her clothes were torn and tattered, her fair and beautiful skin suggested she was no ordinary person.

“If not royalty, then nobility.”

“We caught her trying to escape from Galate’s temple.”

“Then she must be a priestess.”

“Her name isn’t on the registry, so she’s probably not an official priestess. Must have been an apprentice.”

Noticing the king’s suspicious expression, the escort guard yanked the woman’s neck chain. Her slender chin lifted immediately. The woman’s expression was like an empty shell, and her red eyes were as calm and hard as a glass wall.

“…A priestess of Galate. Quite a pretty face. What is your name?”

“Hari.”

At last, dry words sprang from the woman’s mouth. The king found her insolent tone rather interesting. As if sensing this, Achilleon made his request once again.

“Please give her to me as my slave.”

“Without offering such a precious thing to me?”

“Father, you already own several excellent priests of Hitais.”

“So, Achilleon, you want to take her?”

“She’s merely a byproduct of a fallen nation. Even during transport, she wished for Hitais’s downfall and father’s destruction. She lacks the courage to wield a sword, so she only spews curses with her sharp tongue. We cannot keep such a malicious woman near father. I will take her.”

“Why keep alive a woman who could bring ill fortune to the country?”

“As commanded, we’ve exterminated Galate’s royal family, but is there need to kill a pitiful civilian who’s lost her country? My respected king.”

The king smirked.

“That’s sophistry. We can’t consider that woman an ordinary refugee. A priestess serves the royal family. There’s no reason to spare her.”

Despite the king’s firm words, Achilleon didn’t even blink. Rather, he smiled until his dimple showed and kept requesting the woman, until Queen Tiltia, who favored the youngest prince, finally nudged the king’s side.

“Though indeed, she does look as helpless as a bird with broken wings.”

The king looked down at the woman. Golden hair and white skin. She looked so delicate that she might shatter at a touch, enough to inspire sadistic thoughts.

“I want to possess her. I think it would be fun to play with her. That’s all.”

The king finally gave permission at his son’s candid laughter.

“So you do have such desires after all. You’re still a man, I see.”

The king quietly asked a priest beside him.

“Is this woman a snake with poisonous fangs?”

“Hostility that breaks easily cannot become poison. The woman will follow orders as commanded, so please show mercy to this powerless woman, great king!”

“Very well, do as you wish. I wondered why you, who’s never kept a proper lover, would request a slave, but with looks like that, she wouldn’t be bad to keep around.”

The old king’s gaze lingered on Margharita for a moment. Though desire flickered, he soon withdrew it. He could spare one for his child.

“Glory of victory to the great King Mempion and the brave Prince Achilleon!”

As Achilleon stepped back with the woman, the nobles raised their golden cups in unison to the command. Hitais was in a festive mood as the five-year conquest ended in victory.

The hero was undoubtedly Third Prince Achilleon, who brought back the royal scepter of Galate. Led by him, the Hitais army had seized the lower Nes River and the Golden Plains, conquering the entire Oinox Sea to become the leading nation of Rodos. Wine overflowed in the vessels dedicated to the young, strong, wise, and beautiful prince.

“Your name will go down in history, and the civilization we’ve built will become the foundation of the Western Continent.”

“Yes, it will be as you wish.”

The prince smiled indifferently amidst the fervent cheers.

—

T/N: I decided to go with “Margharita” instead of “Margarita” since her nickname is Hari.