In the Taron Empire, the nobility did not consider the lower classes to be human. They believed that having noble blood proved divine selection, and those who hadn’t been chosen — commoners and slaves alike — were viewed as no better than livestock. From a young age, noble children were taught this truth and indoctrinated in the ways of categorising people according to their perceived worth.

Therefore, in their world, Miar’s suggestion that Lian take Hailla by force by cutting off her limbs was not at all shocking. In fact, it was a natural line of thought.

“All that needs to disappear is her sister. There’s no need to go that far.”

“Hmmm.”

Although Miar was cautious around Lian, she had a habit of asking explosive questions when she was curious. This was one of those moments.

“But what if things don’t go according to plan?”

For a moment, they were silent — an uneasy stillness broken only by distant, grotesque moaning. Lian stared down at the cracks in his teacup. Reflected in the surface of the cup, his pupils were empty black voids.

He could picture it clearly: Rethe, the leech, still clinging to Hailla, who was still unwilling to give up on her sister. She repeated the same tired excuse, saying that she had to leave him.

“Then wouldn’t it be better to just take one of her legs off now?”

Miar coaxed, licking her upper lip. She wore a wicked smile, like a child waiting to see what would happen after pouring water on an anthill. She had always been cunning to a terrifying degree, even from a young age.

“That won’t happen.”

Even the slightest injury to Hailla’s body — a scratch, for example — was something he could not tolerate. It was unacceptable to him.

“Then you’ll let her go?”

“Of course not. I’ll keep her tied to me.”

It would be easy enough to lock someone as small as Hailla away in a comfortable manor. If she said cruel things, he would simply soothe her with sweet words and affection until she handed him her leash willingly.

He would make her bear his children — several of them, in fact — so that they would bind her to him. Hailla was weak to blood ties. He could succeed without much effort. Just thinking about that blissful future made Lian bite his lower lip and smile darkly. Miar noticed the sinister glint and chuckled without restraint.

“You Huerite men are all bone-chilling.”

“Though you don’t quite live up to your father.”

Mia giggled and poured herself a glass of wine. She was one of the few people who knew exactly how the duke had transformed his duchess. It was surprising and amusing that Lian hadn’t inherited that particular madness.

Lian’s expression darkened and his eyes hollowed. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate being compared to his father. Miar, someone with a talent for striking and retreating quickly, cleared her throat and smoothly changed the subject.

“Here’s what you asked for.”

She handed him a neatly folded white envelope. Inside were a few carefully wrapped red and blue shards — tools to help strengthen his bond with Hailla. He instinctively reached into his pocket and took out her handkerchief, rubbing it between his fingers. The coarse texture grazed his thumb — a small, grounding sensation.

“Feeling like visiting the young lady yet?”

‘Hadn’t he hurt her enough already?’

Miar wondered. Lian was punishing Hailla. Alone in a temple where she knew no one, and where no one could verify its authenticity, what could a poor orphan girl possibly do?

Too ill to move, she was at the mercy of the attendants, who would undoubtedly mock her humble origins. This was childish and almost endearing, but also painfully wasteful.

“Not yet.”

It was clear that Lian intended to continue this isolation game for a while. He was going to wait until she came crawling back to him.

What bad taste!

Miar muttered this to herself and turned on her heel. In any case, she had handed over the goods and received her payment. She had no reason to meddle further. She’d been paid – that was enough. For a noble-born priestess, she had a refreshingly straightforward way of doing business. She quietly instructed her attendant, who was waiting outside the door.

“Take me to the temple.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once the door had closed, Miar didn’t give Lian another thought. She had more profitable opportunities to pursue.

—

“They still haven’t found her?”

This was the most lavish room in the entire Senir Temple. After leaving the theatre and heading straight there, Miar now sat in front of her dressing table, her voice filled with irritation.

“They’re still searching, but there’s been no progress.”

“Tch.”

She gestured for the maid, who was tying her red hair up, to leave. As the servant quietly left, her trusted aide approached and whispered urgently.

“We’re keeping it hidden from the royal palace and the nobles, but we don’t know how long we can keep it under wraps.”

“I know that already!”

She snapped, making the aide flinch and retreat. Still fuming, Mia yanked open a drawer and carefully selected a pair of earrings. She was about to choose her favourite red pair, but remembering her white clerical robes, she chose a set inlaid with sapphires instead. When she put them on, she looked like a goddess.

“How foolish of the brat not to have shown herself by now…”

Although she spoke in a coarse and vulgar manner, reminiscent of a street thug, she admired her perfectly dressed reflection. Standing up, she turned slightly to view herself from different angles. Seemingly satisfied, she relaxed a little.

“Gather all the prophecies that emerged this time and send them to the Imperial Palace.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Although she knew the report would be incomplete, there was no better option. After all, they couldn’t tell the palace that one of the appointed prophets was missing.

“But what if that person never shows up?”

“If not?”

She repeated the trailing words mockingly, her lips curling into a crooked smile.

“We won’t be able to keep hiding it from the Imperial Family.”

“We will keep hiding it.”

“……”

“If we don’t, the heads of those who fail to keep it hidden will be the first to roll.”

All expression vanished from Miar’s face. She had never been more serious.

This was a matter of the temple’s very survival.

Historically, the Temple had always maintained a neutral position between the Imperial Palace and the Noble Houses. Although they had the power of prophecy, their monopoly lay in medicine rather than political authority. They neither sought nor were able to seize power.

The favour of the gods was far too fickle.

Once every few centuries, a truly powerful prophet would emerge — someone who could dream vivid, concrete visions and, with strong enough desire, glimpse fragments of the future for specific individuals. If such a prophet existed today, the temple would not fear any emperor.

However, most temple seers only received fragments of prophecies about state matters, which had to be pieced together from several seers to make sense. This inconsistency meant the temple had to remain cautious. Their monopoly over medicine had always been their contingency plan for when prophecy alone would not suffice.

But this time, it wasn’t just a minor setback.

“Ha… Ludwig, that useless bastard…”

“Lady Miar.”

The moment she cursed the High Priest, her attendant glanced around nervously. Faced with Miar’s icy glare, however, he remained silent.

There were always seventeen temple prophets. When one died, the power of prophecy was meant to manifest in another child somewhere in the empire — without fail. Never more than seventeen. Never fewer.

So when the High Priest died a year ago, everyone expected a new child to appear at the temple the very next day.

Or at least within the week.

But no one came. A whole year passed and not a single prophet received a vision about the new successor. With no other option, the temple was forced to conceal the High Priest’s death, despite originally planning to announce it within a month.

Even more alarming was the fact that the remaining sixteen prophets were steadily losing their prophetic abilities.

Even Miar herself.

“This is driving me insane.”

Despairingly, she stroked the rings on her fingers. It felt as though the seventeenth prophet, who was missing, was absorbing all divine favour and draining the power of prophecy from the others.

If the temple’s influence weakened, Miar would find it harder to hoard money and buy the extravagant jewellery she loved so much.

The thought of that intoxicating scent of money slipping away was unbearable. She wanted her jewels, her gowns and the admiring glances of her envious admirers. People called her a greedy merchant rather than a servant of the gods, but she didn’t care.

In a world where faith could be bought, wasn’t money itself a god?

As Miar thought of ways to reclaim her fading divine favour, she clenched her freshly tied hair in frustration. There had to be another lucrative opportunity out there somewhere. She told herself that over and over again.

Storming out of her chambers, she strode across the temple’s white marble floor until she suddenly stopped. Her attendant, following behind, naturally halted and waited for her command. Miar clicked her tongue softly against the roof of her mouth and furrowed her brows in deep thought. It was a habit she had whenever she was considering complex possibilities.

“… That woman.”

“Pardon?”

“That woman—Hailla, I mean. Where is she?”