Bal didn’t respond, his expression remaining queasy.

Deus placed his palm on his chest, probing his heartbeat. He sensed heavy palpitations, indicating these were his true feelings.

“For survival?”

Bal responded whispering, repeating, “For survival.”

Deus turned away, facing the wobbly horse. Its muscles spasmed visibly while it groaned strenuously. He figured that even if it escaped, it wouldn’t survive long with its carotid artery slit.

He pulled up his linen shirt, revealing a dagger hidden beneath at his waist. He’d discovered it while stripping Zarael’s tunic for Bal to cover himself.

Drawing the dagger, he walked up to it and slowly moved his hand to whereunder its carotid artery lay. As it got closer, his hand began trembling while his breath quickened.

Bal’s eyes were wide apart, fixed on the dagger. When it was a hair’s breadth apart, he immediately withdrew it.

He shook his head, uttering, “I know it’s necessary, but I alone can’t bear it. Will you help me?”

Bal’s eyes hesitantly darted from the dagger to Deus. A few seconds later, he finally nodded, “Alright, It’s not fair for you to carry the entire burden. I’ll help you.”

He took hold of the knife’s hilt, interlocking his hand with Deus’s.

He said decisively, “Let’s do it.”

Bal’s grip trembled, but Deus steadied it. If they were to miss the artery, their situation would turn quite precarious.

The blade cleanly sunk into its flesh, directly piercing its carotid artery. Blood gushed from the wound and the horse raised his front legs, neighing. It tottered a few steps back, until collapsing onto the grass.

Thud.

Bal’s breathing was heavy as he stared at the horse’s carcass.

He muttered nervously, “We’ve miscalculated. What about the smell? They’ll find it for sure.”

Deus smiled inwardly, satisfied with his response. It was cold and calculated, far from that usual empathic and naïve self. However, Rome wasn’t built in a day either — there was still a long path ahead.

“Don’t worry. Especially during winter, the time it takes to decompose is prolonged. They’ll find it for sure, but only after we’ve boarded the train,” He turned back towards the city, slightly cast in the night’s greenish hue.

“Wait here.”

He retraced their steps, eventually veering into wilderness where he spotted a shallow cave consumed by moss and mushrooms.

Inside, he mustered all thoughts within his mind, directing them to a single cause:

Activate the skill, [ Liminal Gateway ]!

At once, a wooden door arose from the ground, and flashbacks of that scene in the world of fog rattled through his mind. Was this a coincidence?

Perhaps it is, thought Deus. He turned, walking back towards the valley where Bal waited, Perhaps, it isn’t.

He said, “Now, let’s go. We’ll have to find some place to stay warm.”

Bal nodded, and they both began descending the terraced fields.

…

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

At the same time, in the Lilius manor.

Dinner had concluded, and all had returned into their private chambers to settle in for the night. In the early hours of the following day, they’d say their farewells to their eldest, Anthony of Lilius.

Although the Lilius manor lay in close proximity to Novaston where the Royal Succession War was to take place, he was to depart ahead of time. This was standard, since latecomers would directly be disqualified as per procedure.

As such, competitors would directly try to delay their opponents. His entourage consisted of several servants and guards, who’d ensure both his safety and punctuality.

In the corridor leading to the family’s chambers, only the farthest door was ajar. Light faintly leaked from the slit.

Inside, the table lamp placed atop the nightstand illuminated the surroundings dimly, revealing two figures.

Johan, the head of the Lilius family, sat at the mahogany bed’s rear, while an old woman lay blanketed inside.

She was extremely gaunt, her cheekbones protruding from her wrinkled skin. Her once-copper hair had nearly shed completely, with the remaining strands turned charred.

“What do you want?” she asked with a raspy voice.

Johan pulled the blood-stained handkerchief from his pockets.

Ásta eyed it, prompting Johan to say dejectedly, “The curse is worsening — I’m afraid I’m going to be bedridden very soon.”

He took a deep breath, “I can only set my hopes on Anthony. He’s intelligent, powerful, and shows traits of a leader.”

He balled his fists, clenching his handkerchief. Blood wringed onto the velvet bedding. “All he knows is peace and leisure. We’re of Lorn origin, while he’s been raised like a Bothamian. I’m afraid I've been overprotective.”

Ásta didn’t voice her opinion, instead responding, “That’s not why you’re here.”

An awkward silence hung in the air.

“You’re right,” admitted Johan, leaning back slightly, “Mary of Lilius has passed away.”

Ásta’s expression remained unperturbed, “In a fire?”

“That’s right,” His eyebrows furrowed, “How did you know?”

She chuckled softly but didn’t answer.

Johan harrumphed, familiar with his mother’s antics. “Doesn’t this worry you? It’s a minor incident, but what is a minor incident? In history, they are the avalanche of major events — wars, revolutions, genocides.”

Her lips remained curled into a slight smile.

As she didn’t respond, he gritted his teeth and continued, “This doesn’t only concern our family, but both our nations. We are tied to both the Bothamian Empire and the Lorn Republic. Don’t you care about that?”

All of a sudden, she erupted into laughter, “Boy, you’re complaining that your eldest is still a child, when it is you whose vision is blurred.”

“You’re rotting away, while I’m leading our family to prosper,” Johan’s jaws clenched in anger, “My son has been admitted into the Royal Succession War, while the generous bounty I put out for that evil spirit who killed Mary of Lilius will assure his victory.”

Ásta sighed, finally responding, “Again, your vision is blurred. You are oblivious to the truth of this world. Secrets are slumbering everywhere, waiting to shake this unwavering march of time. There are no certainties.”

Johan raised his voice, screaming, “Who are you to talk about certainties? You’re the one mindlessly trusting that bullshit prophecy!”

Her eyes lingered on him, guilt lingering within. “I’m not mindless. I’ve deciphered the prophecy, spending countless hours in order to eradicate that curse.”

“Do you truly believe I’ve convinced you to adopt her to mend our nation’s relations? Do you believe I’d have let you give her to that second-rate priest, if I’m uncertain about that prophecy?” she asked rhetorically.

Her expression softened, wandering to her velvet blanket intricate in embroidery. “Her death in fire is proof of its accuracy. We’ve consulted many specialists to locate her. She’s the last ancestor of ‘that’ species — her relatives have all been hunted down.”

“That’s…” Johan’s expression lightened up as an epiphany crossed his mind, “Then why is she exempt from their species’s fate?”

“Her blood has been diluted in the span of centuries. Time works wonders. People die. People forget,” her expression turned stern, “She’ll save us. I’ve prepared everything, waiting for it to fall into place. I didn’t tell you because I’ve been greedy. I wanted to solve it personally, to avenge our ancestors.”

Her eyelids closed slightly as tiredness washed over her. Notwithstanding, she held onto that sliver of consciousness, “However, it’s not my turn. My body is decaying. James’s father should’ve passed it down to him. Ask him about it.”

Johan slammed against the bed’s footboard and shouted skeptically, “This debility has made you even more delusional, mother.”

He turned his back to her, stomping towards the exit.

Ásta pulled aside her blanket, pulling herself into his direction. Beneath it, her body was dry charred and riddled with cracks of yellow and red light.

She snickered, her voice raspy and deep, “Oh Johan, have faith in the prophecy, or die a miserable death. Let your body corrode to the curse, like it did with mine.”

With her last strength remaining, she whispered, “Our family’s corpses will continue to pile up. Anthony is next up.”

Johan slammed shut the door, his louds footsteps resounding muffled as he walked away.