The First Prince's fiancée.
Yona Hanaki.
A royal betrothed. Caught stealing at the edge of Sheol.
What in all the sacred lands was she doing here?
Keiser's grip faltered. For a split second, surprise overpowered instinct—and Princess Yona bolted.
"Sh-she took it! Our money!" Lenko shouted, pointing after her with wide eyes.
Keiser stood stunned, mind reeling.
What is she doing here?
Isn't she the First Prince's fiancée?
Why is she stealing?
And gods—that was our only money to get to the capital.
Snapping out of it, Keiser surged forward. "Stay close!" he barked—though Lenko's squawk behind him was already fading into the chaos.
"Your highne—Muzio! Wait!"
Keiser's breath was ragged, but his focus razor-sharp. He kept her in the corner of his eye, tracking her weaving silhouette as she darted into a busier stretch of the village road.
Yona ducked under a cart, spun past a stall, and yanked down a hanging rack of clothes to trip up anyone following her. A fruit vendor cried out as apples scattered across the cobblestone.
Keiser leapt over them, feet skidding. His joints screamed—this body screamed—but he pushed on.
She moved with precision. This wasn't desperate, flailing theft—this was practiced. She knew how to run. She knew how to disappear.
"Muzio, don't—!" Lenko's voice faded further, his feet clearly not as fast.
But Keiser wasn't listening. His mind raced alongside his feet.
He knew her—Yona Hanaki, the princess of Hinode. Youngest daughter of a matriarch, promised to the First Prince as part of a political alliance meant to bolster his claim to the throne. She was a key figure in the Trials. Keiser had seen her before—in court, on the battlefield, during the trials—always poised, always silent, and just a little too unreadable for her own good.
But that was during the King's Gambit.
He hadn't known—or cared—how she ended up with the First Prince. He'd been too busy subduing beasts along the border. Still, he remembered seeing her choose the prince during the final trial… and die by the hand of the man she had chosen to become King, despite coming from a bloodline where women were born to lead.
In the end, it was Gideon who claimed the crown—despite the despair, the blood spilled, the sacrifices of every other candidate. The one who chose what to lose and planned what to sacrifice, won it all—even over his own supposed king.
What in the hells is she doing in a village near Sheol, stealing coin like a gutter thief?
Keiser gritted his teeth. That damn ache in his side was back—sharp and familiar, a bitter reminder that this body wasn't his, wasn't trained, and certainly wasn't ready for sprints. He had barely rested since they left Sheol's edge, and now here he was, sweating buckets and chasing a runaway princess turned thief.
This wasn't part of the training regimen he'd planned for this body.
His breath came in ragged gasps as the village thinned out around them. Dirt paths replaced cobblestones. Fewer houses, fewer people. They were nearing the border.
Keiser's legs screamed to stop. His vision blurred with heat and fatigue. And then—he saw it.
A stick. Half-buried by the roadside. Rough, thick, sturdy.
Desperate, he snatched it up, barely slowing. His palm burned as he gripped it, but he didn't stop to think.
"Stop… running," he muttered through clenched teeth.
He hauled the stick back and threw it with all he had.
It sailed—spinning fast—before smacking Yona square in the back.
She stumbled forward, collapsing with a startled grunt.
Keiser skidded to a stop, chest heaving, stumbling toward a tree for support. He leaned heavily against the bark, gasping, and looked down at his hand.
Smoke curled from his palm.
Right in the center—burned deep into the flesh—was a glowing sigil. Simple, sharp lines forming a rune that pulsed faintly with mana.
'Stop-running.'
Keiser stared at it, jaw clenched. That… wasn't there before. He hadn't even drawn it.
He had spoken it. Wanted it. And it happened.
The mana wasn't just Muzio's.
It was responding to him.
"My—my lord, cough—are you alright?"
Lenko staggered up, clutching his knees, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. His eyes flicked from Keiser's burned hand to the girl still sprawled on the ground, twitching and writhing.
"What…?" he murmured, baffled.
Keiser didn't answer. He simply began walking again, slow and stiff, one arm wrapped tightly around his side. Each step aggravated the ache in his side, but he pushed forward, jaw clenched.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
The girl cursed under her breath, trying to sit up but failing. Her limbs spasmed subtly, as though something invisible bound them. "Why can't I—why can't I stand? What is happening?"
Keiser ignored her. Instead, he picked up the stick he'd thrown. The spot where his hand had gripped it now bore a charred imprint of his fingers—and etched within it, the same glowing sigil that had appeared on his palm.
A stick, yes—but heavier than it looked. And now, far more than a simple piece of wood.
Lenko, meanwhile, knelt beside the girl, puffing out his chest.
"Y-you! It's not nice to steal someone's money, you know! That was the result of my blood, sweat, and tears! You can't just run off with it!"
He snatched a coin pouch from where it had rolled near her feet and quickly retreated at the sharp glare she shot him.
"Thief," he muttered under his breath as he began counting the money again.
Keiser stood in silence, stick in one hand, mind still spinning with what had just happened. But then—
A sound split the air.
A long, shrill screech echoed from the sky above.
Sharp. Inhuman. Hunting.
The three of them froze.
Keiser's eyes snapped upward.
Oh.
They had passed the village border. They were no longer within the wards—the sigils etched by village mages to repel what lurked beyond the safe zones.
They were exposed.
Lenko looked up, paling visibly.
"M-my lord…" he whispered, voice trembling.
Keiser narrowed his eyes.
No time to think.
The wilds of Sheol had found them.