---
The three looked on in confusion and mild horror at the swarm of Easteford soldiers moving around with bloodlust, plastering wanted posters across the town.
"Just what are you planning, Awin?" Qaya muttered under her breath.
She stared at the posters with unexplained curiosity, her gaze lingering longer than usual as she critically scrutinized the image.
The poster depicted a drawn portrait of a small, timid-looking woman with a scar across her left eye. Beneath the portrait, the words read:
"Talmia (aka The Heretic)
WANTED
Reward: 20 gold coins"
Jaslin, who was standing a few meters away with Rivan, called over, "What are you doing over there? Let's go home."
"I was just checking something."
Qaya feigned a pout to show her cousin she was upset about being hurried along. She crossed the road to meet her companions when, suddenly, a carriage swerved toward her. The horses looked spooked, and the driver had jumped out in fear.
"Mahalia!! Watch out!!!"
Out of instinct, Qaya squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact. But instead of the crushing force of hooves and wood, she felt herself being swept away and thrown to the ground. Someone had rescued her.
She opened her eyes cautiously, peeking at her savior, who now lay on top of her, his hands cradling her head to soften the impact.
"Thank you," she muttered weakly, still shaken from the near-death experience.
"You're welcome," Zachary replied between pants. There was gratitude in his eyes, but Qaya also caught a flicker of fear—an emotion that intrigued her. However, above all, she was acutely aware of how long they had been lying on the ground.
"So... how many business days do we have to stay like this?"
Zachary hurriedly scrambled to his feet, his ears red with embarrassment.
Rivan and Jaslin ran over.
"Are you fine?" Rivan asked, concern in his voice.
Jaslin looked around for the carriage driver. "Gosh, I ought to... that madman!"
"That was odd. The carriage shouldn't even be here," Zachary noted, his gaze settling on the wrecked vehicle. The horses had fainted after the collision.
"What are you doing here?" Rivan asked, distrust evident in his expression. "Are you following the king's betrothed on his orders?"
"Ew, I hate the sound of that," Qaya cut in. "Don't worry, he's here for himself."
"You really believe that?" Rivan's gaze remained fixed on Zachary, as if the latter were a child who had just soiled himself.
"Oh, come on, Rivan. He's not some lackey incapable of making his own decisions," Qaya shot back.
Zachary stared at Qaya in a brief daze before turning back to Rivan. "She's right. I'm here on personal business."
"What business is that?" Jaslin asked.
"I'd also like to know," Rivan added, making things no easier.
Zachary looked helplessly at Qaya, hoping for support, but she only regarded him with equal curiosity. He sighed. "I can't say, but I promise you that I'm here on Occident Coast's business. The king doesn't even know what I'm doing. I'm not here as the king's Lymer." He spat out the last word with clear disdain before turning to Qaya.
"Whatever. Just don't get in my way," Qaya said nonchalantly, heading back toward the inn.
"Don't worry, I'll get out of your hair," Zachary replied with a wry smile, gave a curt bow, and walked in the opposite direction.
Jaslin held her cousin's hands. "How are you feeling?"
"What? You mean Zachary? He's nothing."
"Wha— no, I mean the carriage incident! What were you even staring at on that poster?" Jaslin scolded.
Qaya shrugged. She couldn't tell Jaslin, or the other woman would think she'd lost it. But she couldn't shake the feeling that the heretic was the key to uncovering the truth. It seemed obvious enough—this was a place where everyone was wary of some book and denied its existence, and now there was an innocent-looking woman labeled a heretic. This was no mere coincidence.
She can tell me about the Mythic Twins,
Qaya thought to herself.
As she lost herself in thought, she fell behind, leaving Rivan and Jaslin walking side by side. Jaslin's gaze flickered from her shoes to the busy piers on her left. When she finally summoned enough courage, she cleared her throat.
"So... the Aethonites."
Rivan glanced at her. "What about them?"
"Never mind."
"Okay," he answered flatly.
Jaslin's jaw dropped as she stared daggers at him. "So I'm the only one worried about the so-called prophecy?"
"Oh... that's what you want to talk about?"
Silence. Jaslin stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. When it became evident that he had no intention of elaborating, she decided to press him for answers.
"How do you know the actual prophecy? Is it true? What does it mean? Should I be worried?"
Rivan snickered, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"The prophecy was received by my maternal great-grandfather. He was an oracle. The very nature of the prophecy—and the vision that accompanied it—was considered so ominous that the royal family banned anyone from speaking of it. They only ever referred to it as the Ancient Prophecy. Luckily, my great-grandfather made it his life's mission to preserve the prophecy, passing the truth down to his descendants."
"Is that all?" Jaslin asked, growing annoyed at how he was holding back information.
"That's all I'm ready to tell you."
"Don't you think you owe me more than that? After all, I'm the one the prophecy talked about."
Rivan shook his head. "No, you're not."
"What?" Jaslin's eyes widened. What exactly is wrong with this guy?
"The one who holds Astra is light to the Queen of the Dark. The focus of the prophecy isn't the one who holds Astra—it's the Queen of the Dark."
"Still, I'm connected somehow. I feel like I deserve to know more."
"You do," Rivan admitted. "But as I said earlier, this prophecy is quite ominous. Until I've confirmed certain things, I can't speak with certainty."
Before Jaslin could interrogate him further, they arrived at the inn.
Qaya walked inside gingerly, as if she were on a mission. That was all the cue Jaslin needed to follow after her—her cousin was always sniffing out trouble.
---
They walked to their room, and Jaslin went to take a bath while Qaya called for the innkeeper—the same woman who had almost gotten into trouble with the head of de Gei Jaune.
"You asked for me?" the woman said, her tall frame casting a towering silhouette in the dim room.
"Can we talk outside?" Qaya asked politely, motioning for her to step out. The woman seemed reluctant and wary. The two women walked towards the secluded back of the inn.
"I don't know anything about any book," she blurted out the moment they were out of earshot.
"Okay." Qaya's calm reply seemed to stun the woman.
"I'm serious. I know nothing."
"I believe you. But you know about the heretic."
The innkeeper winced as if someone had just shoved a lime into her mouth.
"You seem incapable of making simple requests." Even though it seemed like the innkeeper was reprimanding Qaya, it was obvious that she was impressed by the gall of the younger lady.
Qaya smiled. "That's just how I am."
"Why do you want to know about the heretic?"
"Something tells me she'll have the answers I'm looking for—and she'll give them willingly, in fact."
The innkeeper fell silent, her expression thoughtful.
"Talmia. That's her name—the heretic, I mean. Porto Jamon is a place of secrets, and those secrets lurk around every corner. It's because the Sword of Terror has silenced us natives, kept us from speaking of the horrors and evils that have happened. But Talmia isn't afraid of the sword. She speaks the truth, and they don't like it. So they labeled her a heretic and seek to keep her quiet."
"Who's 'they'?"
The innkeeper averted her gaze. Her lips quivered, and beads of cold sweat gathered on her brow. It seemed the very thought of these people was like staring into the mouth of hell for the natives of Porto Jamon.
"They are the ones who wield the Sword of Terror."
"Where can I find Talmia?"
"I can't tell you exactly where she stays. I don't know myself. We might be close friends, but Talmia is shrouded in mystery. What I can tell you is that you'll find her in the aristocratic district—Citë."
"Thank you."
---
The Next Day
"I still don't understand why we're here," Jaslin complained.
Qaya and Jaslin stood inside a bookstore.
"Do you think the banned book will be here?"
Qaya frowned at her cousin. "Of course not. I want to get a book on Jamonian script. I need to be able to read their language if I'm looking for Jamonian books."
Jaslin nodded thoughtfully, a bit embarrassed she hadn't thought of that.
"Anyway, what's the next part of your plan?"
"We'll be traveling to Citë."
"Really? But I suggested we go there in the first place, and you were against it."
"Well, at the time, I didn't think we'd find any clues there. I was wrong."
Jaslin looked up from the book she was inspecting, glancing at the shopkeeper.
"Is it just me, or does the shopkeeper seem wary?"
Qaya looked up. "Maybe because we're tourists."
She walked up to the counter to pay and confirmed her suspicions—the shopkeeper was not pleased with their presence. It seemed like more than just the usual distrust reserved for outsiders. She thanked the man and left with Jaslin.
Outside the bookstore, the atmosphere felt tense. Everyone looked scared, their faces etched with fear. Qaya scanned the streets—there were more Eastefordian soldiers than before, and they seemed to be out for blood.
Qaya grabbed Jaslin's hand and slipped into a crooked, deserted alleyway.
"What's the matter?" Jaslin asked, surprised by Qaya's sudden change in demeanor.
"Something's wrong."
They waited in the alley for quite a while, observing the unfolding chaos. The soldiers seemed to be frantically searching for something—or someone. Thanks to the alley's shadows, no one noticed their peering eyes.
"Awin is up to no good," Qaya muttered.
Things were escalating. The soldiers grew violent, people argued, and children cried. Qaya massaged her temples, desperately trying to think of a way out. She wasn't sure what was going on, but her instincts screamed not to get caught.
Qaya sighed, a bit annoyed. "I don't know which is more nerve-racking—the chaos outside or your panicked breathing."
She turned to Jaslin, who looked terrified, as if she were face-to-face with a dragon about to devour her.
"Someone's coming," Jaslin whispered shakily.
The girls crouched down, holding their breath. Footsteps echoed down the alley—slow and heavy, but too frequent for just one person.
"There are two men," Qaya thought to herself.
The footsteps grew louder, stopping just beside them. Only a stack of condemned barrels separated them from discovery. They bowed their heads, praying not to be found.
But it was only wishful thinking. One by one, the barrels were removed. Jaslin opened her mouth to scream for help, but a voice stopped her.
"Calm down. It's us."
The alley fell silent, except for Jaslin's panicked breathing slowly calming down.
"Zachary? Rivan?" Qaya didn't realize it, but a wave of relief washed over her. She no longer had to pretend to be brave. Her knees gave way, but Zachary caught her just in time.
"What are you two doing here?" Jaslin asked.
"We were looking for you," Rivan replied, helping Jaslin to her feet.
"Why?" Jaslin raised an eyebrow.
"So you have no idea?" Rivan chuckled. "Well, we've got no one to thank but Zachary for our predicament."
Zachary rolled his eyes. "Really? I'm to blame?"
Qaya turned to face him, but since he was still holding her, their faces were only inches apart. She shyly looked away. "What's he talking about?"
"Oh, instead of telling you, how about we show you?"
The four of them sneaked into another alley—dirtier and smellier than the last. Despite the stench, this alley gave them a clear view of the town square. With pinched noses, they listened as the head of the soldiers announced:
"We come here under the order of the Crown and Throne of Easteford. Porto Jamon, a principality that jointly belongs to Easteford, is harboring traitors!"
The crowd erupted in fearful murmurs. The soldier raised his hand, signaling for silence before continuing.
"The traitor is none other than Prince Zachary Blainesweith of the Occident Coast. He has been a spy working for the throne of Easteford, and now he plots to usurp the crown and conquer Easteford!"
Qaya and Jaslin turned to Zachary, but he stared straight ahead, refusing to meet their eyes.
"And to make matters worse, he has brainwashed loyal Eastefordian citizens—Commander of the Dragon Cavalry, Rivan Ceria, and prominent aristocrats Jaslin Heris and Mahalia Heris-Mariale."
"By decree of the throne, these four are branded as traitors to the realm. Their capture is ordered, and they shall face the wrath of Easteford's justice—swift, merciless, and absolute!"
---
To be continued