Chapter 3: The Elusive Truth

The court wizard came to find me in the afternoon, a man named Corvus who walked so fast he seemed to bring wind with him. He carried a glass instrument I couldn't identify. A young assistant followed behind him, his face clearly broadcasting "I don't want to be here."

"Your Highness," he stopped before me with the directness of someone who had already decided to skip preliminaries, "His Majesty has sent me to see you. Please accompany me to the laboratory."

It wasn't a tone that invited discussion. I went with him directly, even though I already knew what the result would be.

The laboratory was on the lowest level. I had little interest in magic or alchemy, so I rarely set foot in this place. I only remembered that the smell inside was a mixture of metal and some kind of sweetness, a sweet scent I still couldn't identify to this day.

Corvus set the instrument on the table and began tidying things that didn't need tidying, for show. He thought I couldn't tell.

"The gardener's report, the kitchen inventory, the royal physician's observation records from this morning," he perfectly reconstructed my movements over the past two days, then looked up. "A merchant from Thornside Market also reported that after a transaction yesterday morning, all his goods rapidly spoiled."

"The common factor in all cases," seeing I had no reaction, he continued speaking, like stating an experimental result without any excess emotion, "is proximity to you. The pattern of decay matches a specific curse targeting a particular person—" he paused, reorganizing his wording, "rather than the type cast on a specific location."

As he spoke, he had already walked to a row of bookshelves against the wall. Most of the books there had obscure names, leather-bound, with gilded runes on their spines. He searched for a moment, then pulled down a volume with a dark red cover and worn corners. He opened the book and placed it on the table within my reach.

"Your Highness, here."

I walked over and looked down. The format on that page was much shorter than the court archives, the wording austere in that way peculiar to wizards. There were Corvus's own notes in the margins, tiny letters, densely packed.

I read a few lines. The content of the prophecy and the facts were recorded together. I inevitably saw that irritating phrase.

The King's daughter shall be the closing of the Rift.

I had heard this phrase too many times already, spoken from different mouths, in different tones. Of course, they also carried different expectations and calculations.

The page about my prophecy showed signs of having been torn—that was my masterpiece from childhood. I had never accepted such an absurd arrangement.

Twenty years ago, the first batch of reports from the East Coast were sent to the palace. They spoke of a collapse beneath the sea, a fissure opening in the seabed. Similar collapses had been recorded before; what was truly strange was the seawater—it stopped at the edge of the fissure. The fissure remained, and then monsters poured out from within. They came ashore, following river courses and mountain paths inland, entering deeper into human territory.

In the year the Rift appeared, I was born. The prophecy was born with it.

It all seemed perfectly logical.

Corvus flipped through several pages, not finding what he wanted. So he went to check the results in the instrument.

On the table, the glass instrument contained a layer of residue, dark-colored, the same shade as what was in the flower bed.

"Who placed the curse," I said.

"We don't know yet."

"When was it cast."

"From the traces, it's been active for several days, perhaps longer. It's just that the early intensity was very low. Something triggered its acceleration."

The wind outside had picked up, coming through the tower's narrow window slit. The sky had already turned lead-gray.

"Besides these things," I continued asking, "how else will it develop."

Corvus's eyes flicked to the upper left, then he continued looking down at the equipment he was fiddling with.

I recognized that gesture. A classic tell.

"Based on the current rate of increase," he said, placing each word very carefully, like walking in the dark, "living things near you will begin to be severely affected. Not just plants, not just stored goods." A pause. "We believe that your continued presence in the court—in the city—poses an expanding risk. His Majesty is consulting with the council. He says after the vote, he will speak with you personally tomorrow. I just wanted to inform you of the situation beforehand."

"I understand," I cut him off directly. Some things didn't need to be spelled out clearly. Before he finished speaking, I left.

Mother's illness was getting worse. The time mentioned in the prophecy was drawing closer. The council had met again and again, each time the same topic, but there were never any results.

As for the Rift, according to the latest reports, the frequency of monsters emerging was already three times what it had been the same period last year. Not just border towns—several inland cities with insufficient military preparation had also made this year's casualty list.

Even though Father was still hesitating, the city garrison had already begun preparing weapons and supplies, waiting to send me to the Rift. And I still had no clue how to make that ominous thing disappear.

This kingdom's situation was gradually worsening, moving closer and closer to the trajectory described in the prophecy. It seemed there was no other solution besides closing the Rift. The closer to the Rift, the more dangerous it became. How could I possibly let those soldiers follow me to their deaths for nothing?

I was a princess, but also the heir to this land. Things had reached this point. I couldn't gamble with the fate of the entire kingdom.

To hell with prophecy and destiny.

I had to set out alone, without an army, without guards. This was the way no one would expect, because in most people's eyes I was just a princess of mediocre talent who had never seen the world.

But before that, there was one more thing I had to do.