Grant Me Your Grace

Night had fallen. The temple, once bustling with devotees, was now enveloped in darkness, as if cut off from the world, and was infinitely silent.

In the midst of this, Hissin was sitting in his chair in front of the laurel tree, gazing at the Levitia flower. 

The Levitia, which had freshly raised its stem, was moist with dew, thanks to the attention of the many who visited this place.

Hissin brushed the petals with his fingertips. The unique, soft moisture of the plant clung to his hand. 

As he gently rubbed it, he thought of Dahlia. It had been quite some time since he had seen her. 

Although he spent his days surrounded by countless people, feeling overwhelmed, at night he always waited here quietly for Dahlia.

For her to come, writhing in pain. 

For her to cling to him desperately, as he was the only one who could soothe that pain.

So, there were two reasons why the princess hadn’t visited this place for the past few days.

Either the red spots hadn’t appeared.

Or the red spots had just begun to cover her.

Either way, he didn’t like it much. It meant that the only reason Dahlia came here was because of the red spots.

[I… will be leaving Baran soon.]

The words Dahlia had spoken ten days ago scratched harshly at Hissin’s ears again. 

As he recalled the trivial reasons like marriage, his brow furrowed involuntarily. He also didn’t like the fact that her counterpart was Miftah. 

That guy was barbaric, arrogant, and so foolish that he couldn’t see an inch ahead. The thought of Dahlia going to such a guy made him want to overturn everything right away.

But there was a more important issue that needed to be addressed first. 

Something more fundamental would be both the starting point and the conclusion of all this.

[The Kingdom of Hayad, was it?]

As he recalled the surname attached to that guy’s name, a cold glint filled his red eyes. 

The petal he had been caressing was gradually crushed between his thumb and forefinger, and thick flower sap oozed out.

As the fresh scent heavily brushed the tip of his nose, at the moment it was crushed.

Hissin raised his eyes at the sensed presence. His gaze, fixed on the void, was filled with a deep chill, devoid of the warmth of midday.

“Did you call for me?”

A voice came from the darkness. 

Hissin, his body sunk deeply into the chair, turned his gaze toward the source of the sound. 

In the darkest shadow, where moonlight could not reach, a faint silhouette was visible.

It was a shadow.

Hissin shifted his gaze from the shadow to the sky. His posture, slouched in the chair, showed no trace of the nobility and sanctity bestowed by divine gifts.

Instead, he radiated a dangerous and decadent aura, like a fallen angel abandoned by God.

“The time has come.”

A chilling wind followed his meaningful words.

“The Kingdom of Baran will now lose its god.”

It was impossible to tell whether the freezing air that enveloped them was due to the desert’s cold or Hissin’s words.

Though it was earlier than planned, this was enough. 

No, in truth, it was closer to being unbearable to wait any longer.

All his plans held meaning only if the princess, Dahlia of Baran, remained on this land.

“As you command.”

The shadow accepted the order. But unlike before, when it would disappear immediately after receiving a command, the shadow spoke again from the darkness.

“Be cautious of the princess.”

A voice filled with concern quietly emerged from the shadows.

“I fear you may falter in your task.”

Hissin let out a soft laugh at the shadow’s unexpected advice. His crimson eyes, glowing elegantly under the moonlight, were revealed above his finely curved brows.

“Every step I’ve taken until this day has been for her.”

“…”  

“Do you think I would falter now?”

It was a smile he could only wear when thinking of her, Dahlia. Infinitely sublime and blindly devoted, a longing directed solely at her.

“My apologies.”

“Prepare without fail. Hold the leash tightly.”

“Do not worry.”

Soon, the shadow disappeared, and Hissin was left alone, gazing once more at the Levitia flower. 

Suddenly, a conversation he had had long ago with someone surfaced in his mind.

[There is someone I wish to bring from there.]

[Do you wish to save them?]

[I wonder.]  

Hissin spread his hand and gently caressed the intact flower buds. His eyes, which had held a cool smile, turned icy cold.  

[I suppose I wish to possess them.]

A crushed flower bud fell to the ground, crumpled and broken. 

Hissin, who had been staring at it blankly, raised his eyes.

“Wouldn’t it be fair to give something in return for saving a life long ago?”

His crimson eyes turned toward the distant princess’s palace. 

As memories of the boy resurfaced, a complex, indescribable hue filled those eyes—something deep and multifaceted.

Desire, or perhaps resentment.

Or maybe something else, like an obsession that had festered and hardened into darkness over time.

✨

The calamity approached in utter secrecy and silence.

The first deathly mist descended upon the land. The Bunta region, which had turned into fertile soil with Hissin’s arrival, suddenly transformed overnight into an irreparable desert.

Farmers were left in despair as they gazed at the land, now more barren than before. 

Having tasted a bountiful harvest unlike any other year, they struggled to let go of what they believed to be a once-in-a-lifetime glory.

Some claimed that the barren land’s brief fertility had been a fleeting miracle, a display of the greatness of the Nuit goddess’s divine gift.

Their faith lifted the spirits of the disheartened, and for a moment, they felt grateful to have personally experienced the grace of the gods.

But the second death came in a more tangible form. 

The Bial River, which had returned to its clear state less than half a year ago after decades of stagnation, completely dried up.

It wasn’t a gradual decline as the water table dropped. 

The Bial River literally dried up overnight, revealing its barren bed.

The exposed riverbed left all the fish that once lived there dead, and unidentified skeletons were discovered along the river. Surprisingly, they were in relatively intact condition.

The skeletons, whose identities could not be determined, were all dressed in the same clothing—prison uniforms worn by inmates of the underground prison.

Had they died while crossing the river together? 

Or had they been dumped into the river after death?

Since prisoners from the underground prison were, in principle, cremated upon death, the former seemed more likely. 

However, the Bial River was one of the shallower rivers surrounding the Tibara mountain range.

Unless a torrential downpour caused the river to flood, the water level only reached up to the shoulders of an adult man, making it entirely possible to cross the river on foot.

It seemed undeniable that someone had deliberately hidden the bodies beneath the Bial River.

“A curse… It must be a curse from those who died unjustly in this land.”

Sinister rumors began to spread among the empire’s people. 

The whispers spoke of souls who had been wrongfully captured and killed due to Baran’s reckless purges, now cursing the land.

Those who feared the curse argued that it was necessary to console the dead and properly collect their remains.

However, the next day, soldiers claiming to have come from the capital took away all the remains. 

The soldiers did not forget to threaten the locals into silence about the skeletons.

In the end, the residents of the Bial River had to console themselves by building a small makeshift altar and offering prayers for the dead.

“Your Majesty, the drying of the Bial River is causing the surrounding lands to rapidly turn into desert.”

“We must act quickly to save the Bial River before the dry season begins, as no rain will fall then.”

Amid the clamor of the officials, Khankundra wiped his face with a dry towel.

“What about diverting water from nearby rivers?”

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, the river closest to the Bial River is a brackish region, making it unsuitable for irrigation. The Jamal River, which could be used for farming, is currently inaccessible due to an outbreak of plague.”

The emperor’s expression darkened at the grim situation. 

When he asked if there were no other solutions, no one stepped forward.

To the emperor, the officials seemed like fools, loudly discussing the severity of the crisis but offering no real solutions.

Then, someone spoke up.

“Your Majesty, I humbly request to speak.”

All eyes turned to the speaker. It was High Priest Aaron.

“Speak.”

With the emperor’s permission, the elderly high priest stepped forward and continued.

“Your Majesty, in times like these, the royal palace must take the lead in calming the people’s hearts.” 

“Are you suggesting we distribute relief already, even before the dry season has begun?”

“Relief now would be like pouring water into a bottomless jar.”

“Then what do you suggest we do!”

“Nothing calms the people’s hearts more than unwavering faith…”

Under the emperor’s urging, Aaron, in a solemn voice, shared the opinion he had discussed with the temple priests earlier.

“How about offering a sacrifice to the Nuit goddess?”

Hovan’s gaze deepened as he watched the high priest speak.