“No point in me leaving, I’ll be back soon anyway,” Riner declared dismissively. “Micromanaging isn’t my style. They’ll all do fine on their own. Just make sure those other kings bring back a hefty seed supply for me.”
Kasser scoffed inwardly. Even the Dark King, notorious for neglecting his kingdom, had sent representatives. Rumors were fickle things. The Fire King’s reputation for generosity seemed undeserved.
“Do you have spare seeds?” Riner asked, eyeing the table. “For the Hwansus, of course.”
“How much do you need?” Kasser inquired.
Riner stretched out his hand. “The others left some, haven’t they? Give me whatever you can spare.
Kasser sighed, lifting a wooden box brimming with seed pouches onto the table. He grabbed one at random and tossed it to Riner, who immediately tore it open with a dismissive grunt.
“Hmm,” Riner grumbled. “This isn’t enough.”
“It’s sufficient for feeding,” Kasser countered, his voice firm.
“My Krak,” Riner whined, “is a glutton. Give me more.”
Kasser complied, tossing another pouch. A sudden suspicion gnawed at him. “Fire King,” he pressed, “are you truly using these for feed?”
Without a reply, Riner vanished from the tent as quickly as he arrived. Kasser rose impulsively, then sank back into his chair, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. In his kingdom, his word was law. He was accustomed to unquestioning obedience. But the Fire King, with his unpredictable and unruly nature, presented a baffling riddle.
Habit took hold. Kasser opened the sorcery notebook to find a new entry from Eugene.
[It’s a relief the Fire King stayed. At least you’re not entirely alone.]
He muttered a gloomy reply, “…I’d rather be alone.”
Days later, Eugene delivered the news Kasser craved. [The Wanderer elders assessed Flora’s sorcery aptitude. They estimate a month, possibly ten days more, for her to master control. Additionally, transportation sorcery is the only way for Flora to reach the kingdom from their hideout – the desert journey is too harsh.]
With forty days remaining until the active period, they had a comfortable buffer of over two weeks. This vastly exceeded Kasser’s initial five-day plan, granting him ample time to return for his kingdom’s duties.
Kasser asked through the notebook, [Are you considering the dark room storage for transportation sorcery?]
[No, that’s too complex,] Eugene responded. [We’ll set up a new ritual circle outside the desert’s stone gate. We have a basic concept, and Aldrit offered assistance. Though outside the city gate, it’s still close to the capital. What are your thoughts?]
[As you said, desert travel is simply out of the question for Anika Flora. Transportation sorcery is the only viable option.]
A tense silence descended. Finally, a new entry materialized in the notebook: [Can I succeed with the transportation sorcery? Can I trust Flora? Did I make a hasty decision?]
Her belly would be larger than when they last met, a time when even rest was difficult. She was alone, managing the palace and burdened with worry. A pang of guilt stabbed at him.
Anika Flora… trusting her is a gamble, he acknowledged. But they had no choice but to press forward.
The worst outcome is Flora falling prey to Sang-je. All we need is to breach the barrier.
His gaze fell to his hand, left fist clenched. As he narrowed his eyes, a blue snake materialized on his arm, its scales vivid and lifelike, coiling tightly. He used to believe his body merely contained Praz, a desperate struggle to prevent its rampage. Now, he felt in complete control.
No matter the terror within the Holy City, fear was absent from him.
Kasser’s message appeared: “It’s okay. I’ll handle everything afterward.”
As Eugene finished writing in the notebook, a flicker of regret crossing her face for voicing her anxieties. But as she reread his words, tears welled up. Wiping them away, she smiled. Yes, I shouldn’t worry. I can trust him… I miss him. I miss you, Kasser.
Holding back further sentiment, she placed the pen down. Tonight, a peaceful sleep felt attainable.
***
Accusations echoed in Flora’s mind: “You’re just the same… In league with the monster… You just watched us die!”
Flora screamed, a silent cry trapped in her throat. “No!” she thought desperately.
More voices joined the chorus: “Murderer… Liar… Deep down, you doubted…” Their words lashed at her, accusing her of pretending, of seeking an easy way out. “There are no secrets. Everyone will know your ugliness!”
Flora bolted upright in bed, gasping and screaming. Her heart hammered in her chest as she scanned the unfamiliar yet strangely familiar log cabin interior. The dim light filtering through the gaps illuminated straw bedding, a stark contrast to the sanctuary’s opulence.
Trembling, she wrapped her arms around herself, the echoes of the nightmare clinging to her. “It wasn’t my fault…” she whispered, the words a mantra against the accusations.
A vivid memory surfaced – a sorcery experiment gone awry, the sickening explosion, the blood staining the ground. They called it divine magic, she thought numbly. Everyone said it was divine magic.
The priests had framed the deaths as a noble sacrifice, claiming the victims died interpreting the divine will. Flora had desperately tried to erase the memory, pushing it down in her pursuit of Ramita, the power Sang-je had promised.
