"Gueth ths commander's orders aren't tho absolute, huh, Alice?" I muttered, biting into the juicy, tender piece of meat.

No response came from Alice. Instead, she motionlessly laid atop her modest, deep green coverlet on the ground, feigning sleep. She lay exactly how one would expect her to. Hands resting neatly over her stomach, her neck perfectly centered on her pillow, her clothes for the next day sitting prettily folded on the ground above her head, without a single wrinkle. She sleeps like she's the corpse at a funeral.

I quietly smirked, sitting cross-legged and picking at the greasy remnants of my prize, my chicken. The cramped tent held just enough room for the two of us, illuminated by the flicker of a low-burning oil lamp. The rich scent of smoke and faint traces of damp earth lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of oil.

My gaze shifted to my newly acquired pair of shoes, positioned beside me. A grin tugged at my lips.

"Wife is goot," I whispered, nodding slightly as a warm fuzziness filled my chest.

"Is it?" Alice’s voice cut through the quiet, flat, as if reading off a ledger. "You are a prisoner of the empire. Despised by the kingdom for something as petty as slapping a woman." Well, that woman happened to be a saint. "Your parents condemned you to rot. Your fiancé has likely dissolved your engagement..." She trailed off, thinking of more things to list.

"And I'll be dead in days." I nearly added.

My hands lowered, as I contemplated absorbing the negativity of her words. I grimaced.

Nah.

"I know," I chewed, dropping a bone to the ground beside the chicken’s picked-over carcass. "That doesn't stop me from appweciating this moment."

Alice opened her mouth to speak, then let it fall shut before opening it again. She shook her head, fixing the blanket under her palms.

The tent's light flickered with the dancing of the flames in the lamp.

"Tell me, Alice. What appens to you if I were to die?" This was something I always wondered.

Given the fact that Alice wasn't in the main story, not even as a background character, I had no way of knowing what kind of fate she and her caravan suffered. Did they survive the attack? Was the death in the book really caused by a monster attack, or did they disguise Blert's killing Ashdown to cover for Melissa's broken oath?

"In the case in which you were to disappear, whatever way that may happen, I would be disposed of, my lady. For my existence would then be deemed meaningless."

"Why?"

Alice turned to me, opening her eyes to meet mine.

"A lady-in-waiting's soul is bound to her lady's. My duty is to share your pains and joys, to think of your life more than my own and to put your best interests at value every moment that I live. If you die, I share your pain through death. If we’re separated, I would be executed for not accomplishing my duties.”

I blinked, somewhat impressed by her ability to explain something so grotesque with such composure.

"And if you run away?" I asked.

"It would cost me a life of luxury I was not born into." She blinked. "And I would be cursed by Korpa."

I assumed Alice must have been a noblewoman for her to access this position, but...

"Are you a commoner, Alith?"

She blinked, this time looking slightly offended.

"Yes. Have you forgotten?" She said, her disbelieve morphing into suspicion. Then, something darker flickered in her eyes.

I shrugged. "I can't tell the diffewence between the two."

I forgot commoners were a thing. That was the truth.

I can't believe I'm living this right now.

"The Korpian Records of Yilderen... what a book." It's where all of this stuff was decreed.

A truly insane book of scripture, if I remember correctly.

Breaking the rules of the Korpian faith meant death in the eyes of Korpa, aka, The Korpians, devout to the bone, would hunt you the fuck down.

Yilderen, the so-called Kingdom of the Lasting, was where Wholeheartedly Yours took place. Power belonged to the king, but only on paper. In practice, he answered to one thing: the Korpian faith, and the leaders who upheld it.

When the kingdom faced peril—something about dragons, curses and deities; typical exposition bullshit—it was the Korpians, inspired by te lord himself, who found a worthy champion to defeat the impending evil and establish new rule. Their call to glory was answered by the Braveheart bloodline. They defeated evil, saved the world, and got handed the throne.

So now they're royal, and the Korpians basically rule on equal footing, but act as advisors in the eye of the public.

The worldbuilding in that book was flat and forgettable. So even as I can unfortunately recite most passages in the book, I have but a faint idea of what the backdrop of the story was. The book was too busy describing Estelle's waist-to-hip ratio to focus on the war that nearly ended the world or who was behind it.

So really, all I know is that magic people are bad, except rich and hot ones.

Temple people are also bad, but most people are religious because it's compulsory, so no one actually cares.

And the king is a wuss who remained neutral too long, letting a war break out between the mages and the korpians.

The war was probably the most horrible thing the book referenced. But the hopelessness of it was only relevant to highlight how grand a feat Estelle Pureheart managed to pull by stopping it in the end.

Yes. She single-handedly stopped a full-fledged war, using the power of love and a half-assed speech about her mixed heritage.

I often wonder if my chronic idiocy stems from that book killing my brain cells as a kid...

Oh, and now that I think about it, the War hasn't started yet. Penelope Ashdown's trial occurred within the first half of the book, a handful of chapters before Estelle and William's (Wholeheartedly Yours' winner male lead) chaotic-ass engagement party. The war starts roughly after that.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I the words didn't leave my mouth as I heard the soft breaths she left out, and how one of her hands had moved off of her chest. Alice had fallen asleep while I was spacing out.

I wiped the mess I made from eating, then gathered my hair—a soft blonde mess that's way too long for my liking—into a bun and took out the parchment hidden in my corset. A stolen map, and another piece where I itched a list of supplies—written in my own blood, no less, since I’d been too paranoid to ask Alice for ink.

Alice wasn’t to be trusted, no one was, not here and now, but she could be used. I was sure she'd prefer that to being dead. I put the folded parchment back into the corset.

A soft breeze tickled the tent’s outer walls while I waited. For sleep. For the commander to arrive. For morning. I stared at my left ring finger, noting the pale line where a ring once sat—a mark of Penelope Ashdown’s past. Her big love.

Trevor Vielle…

A shuffling noise resonated behind me, outside. I stiffened, my breath catching as I saw the silhouette crouched by the tent’s thin canvas wall.

"Quietly leave your tent," it hissed.

My eyes flicked nervously to Alice, still asleep. "I'm shackled," I whispered back, looking at the iron shackle clasped tightly around my ankle.

"... Alright, no matter. I shall cast the spell from here. Proximity suffices."

The low, rasping voice belonged to Commander Blert. He had promised me this spell, a binding magic that would allow him to know my location at all times. Why it had to be done in the dead of night remained a mystery.

"Fowgive my curiosity, but why can't you do this in daylight, Sir?" I couldn't help but ask, on my knees facing his shadow on the canvas.

"You would do well not to question my choices, girl," he grumbled, voice cold and clipped. "Place your hands upon the tent wall. Close your eyes, and be quiet."

I hesitated, waiting a moment as I contemplated whether this was as good an idea as I thought it this morning.

Blert tapped the tent, making it shake. "Now!" He hissed.

I bit my tongue, begrudgingly complying.

Think positively. He means well, to free me of my shackles. He offered himself. I should trust him if only a grain's amount.

My hands pressed against his, separated by the tent's slippery canvas. A shiver raced up my spine when he spoke a language foreign to me, the words rough and repetitive.

And then, suddenly, "Swear." He demanded, his voice strained.

"Swear? On what?"

"Just fucking say it," his teeth were gritted. I could hear him shifting repeatedly, checking for any soul that could be witnessing this.

I grinned. I sensed in his trembling touch, the pain he felt waiting. So I also waited. A moment, two, three. Until I heard him breath.

"What do I do, on who do I sweae?" I asked, tone just enough to paine me as daft rather than sadistic.

His breath hitched. "F- Just say I swear! You...!"

I huffed it, blinking innocently as though he could see it.

"I swear," I finally said.

The relief must have been instant, as his hands nearly slipped away from mine once the word was uttered. He took several heavy breaths, mumbling something under his breath.

“O Korpa..." His voice was even as he chanted, breaths forcefully controlled. "Hearst thou mine. Chain this soul to mine charge, 'til mind final breath be taketh, and mine soul resteth in the land of the perished. Curse her steps with mine shadow and shroud her with mine will, ‘til doom and flame swallow thee soul.”

"Amen," I added, once sure he was done.

Blert took his hands off the tent's canvas. "What?"

I cleared my throat. "Is it done?"

"Aye. You shall feel it soon," The amusement in his voice was laughable.

"I feew nothing," I mumbled, detaching my hands from his and analyzing the skin and nails' condition—dirty and dehydrated, but okay.

Maybe the ritual failed and my luck struck for once...

"No one shall know of this ritual except your lady-in-waiting. To every other person, you have been spared from cursed shackling by my merciful commander. Unless it is death you wish for."

"Alwight," I relaxed my shoulders. "Thankth," I remembered to add, watching Blert's silhouette disappear off the canvas.

Slowly but surely, a strange, long shiver seeped into every inch of my skin. The initial effect was a pleasant warmth, filling my comfort deprived body with relief. But the heat increased with every breath I took.

I stifled my breath, hoping it would stop.

But no, the pleasant warmth slowly morphed into a fiery ache coursing through my blood, making me release my breath with a snap, leaning forward as a lump of liquid traveled up my throat.

Everything I ate was externalized, and before I could catch my breath, a cacophony of sounds resonated in my mind—words I couldn’t grasp.

All except one. It cut through the noise like a dagger: Outsider.

The tent, already too tight for two people, suddenly couldn’t hold a single breath of mine. My lips moved, yet no sound came out. The words looped in my mind like a chant I couldn’t silence. Your soul must perish. You do not belong. Outsider. Outsider. Outsider.

I curled onto myself, hugging my belly as the air thickened.

“There, there…” A soft voice broke through the haze, a cool hand steadying me. “You’re not going to die from Sir Blert’s localizing spell, my lady. The magic is seeping into your body. That is all.” Alice said, though it took a moment for her words to make sense.

Even as her disturbingly calm tone pulled me back, I couldn’t stop trembling. The thought wouldn’t leave me. What if that fucker meant to kill me under the guise of helping?

My lips clenched, nails digging into the flesh of my skin.

“The pain will subside shorty,” Alice said calmly, her fingers firm on my shoulder.

My lips parted, and this time the words escaped before I could stop them, my voice barely audible. “I’m going to kill him.”

 A cloaked figure trudged across the mud, the soft squelch of his boots drowned beneath the vastness of the starry night. Caesar’s gaze shifted upward occasionally, scanning the heavens with idle curiosity. The lands he crossed had once been a joy to traverse, but under the cold blanket of night, the world below him faded into obscurity, leaving the sky as the only point of interest.

If I don't soon relieve her of those insufferably arched eyebrows... The thought came from frustration, but once he imagined Robin with no eyebrows, a faint, amused grin spread across his face.

Caesar's mind decided that walking was nice. He had grown to like it, even after continuous days of it.

He could use Anchor to get back. But this was a nice opportunity to think.

As he continued his aimless wandering, Caesar lifted his cap, letting the cool night air play with his dark hair, the breeze tousling it in messy waves. He began to hum, a soft and haunting melody drifting into the stillness of the night, so casually beautiful that it seemed to hold a secret. The dull ache in his legs was but a fleeting annoyance; his muscles regenerated with every breath.

He scanned the horizon, noting the blind darkness around him, with only distant shadows breaking the emptiness. A grin flickered on his lips.

“Release,” he muttered in a soft tone, his dark eyes sparkling in curiosity.

When he blinked again, his vision instantly expanded. The world snapped into sharper focus, each detail vivid and distinct. The distant trees, the swaying grasses, even the tiniest insects crawling along the earth—all of it became clearer, more real. And with that clarity came a familiar dread, a weight that only his true eyes could perceive.

No longer black, but instead a golden shade reminiscent of melted gold, shimmering brighter than the star-painted sky above him, his eyes kept their sharpness alone. He pierced through the darkness with a single glance. To his left, he glimpsed it. Deep within the forest across the meadow, a pitiful soul.

A whimper arose from the creature.

There, small and trembling, hidden in the shadows was a furry little thing. With eyes darker and nearly more bewitching than his own—so much so that even Caesar, for a brief moment, found himself caught in their pull. Inspecting it further, from couple of yards' distance away, he took in its fluffy, faded grey fur. Delicate wings, shimmering in the moonlight. And that adorable, black fluffy tail.

Caesar knew.

A Winged Fox, or its monster name, a Miracle.

His gaze settled on the injured creature, regal even in its injured distress.

Shifting direction, Caesar stepped toward his newfound prize.

The pleasant reminder that a single feather from that young creature was worth enough Keps to feed a hunger stricken village crossed his mind. And a soft, wicked smile curled at his lips, revealing faint dimples on each side.