← The Duke's Daughter Fled Because She Didn't Want to Become EmpressSand entered his mouth.
Lucian closed his lips, but it was already too late. The rough texture remained on his tongue. The sand was warm, moving as if alive. It flowed between his fingers, traced down his collar, touched his skin—like thousands of tiny feet crawling up his body.
"No."
Karen's voice came. It was different from before. Somewhere between transparency and hardness. Like the sound of glass just before it shatters.
Lucian opened his eyes.
The world was upside down. No—he was upside down. He was kneeling on sand, and when he tried to brace his hands on the ground, they sank into it. Into a depth of unknown measure.
"Since when?"
he asked. His throat was rough. "Since when?"
"Since the moment you entered the town."
Karen stood. Her feet were on the sand but didn't sink. As if she followed different rules than the sand itself. Her golden nails had grown brighter. Now they weren't emitting light—they were drawing it in.
"Lucian Cardo."
When she spoke his name, Lucian knew it wasn't the first time. He didn't know how many times her lips had repeated those syllables, but his body knew. Deep in the marrow. Like a recurring memory.
"You... knew."
Lucian tried to stand. The sand resisted. It wrapped around his legs, pulling downward, ever downward.
"From the beginning."
Karen said. "When you entered the inn. When you searched for the blonde woman. When you knocked on my door. And when you tried to take my hand."
There was no sadness or anger in her voice. Only confirmation. Like checking something off a list.
"Every time. Lucian. Every time you come. Every time in the same clothes. Every time saying the same things. Every—"
"What is this?"
Lucian cried out. "What is this! Magic? A curse?"
"A choice."
Karen said, and it was the most terrifying answer.
Lucian looked around. The forest was already gone. The town too. The houses. The graves. Everything was submerged in sand, and that sand moved endlessly. Like waves. No—like breathing.
And at the edges of that sand were figures.
At first, Lucian didn't recognize them. Because they were too old. Because they were buried too deep. But they were women. Dozens of women. All in the same position. Kneeling, hands buried in sand, mouths open.
"Are they alive?"
"Neither alive nor dead."
Karen said. "They are remembering. Like graves."
Lucian's breathing became shallow. This wasn't what he had expected. He had come looking for a rebellious noblewoman. A woman who had fled the Emperor's court. But this was...
"How long?"
"I have never calculated."
Karen said. And that was the most terrible thing. That she hadn't calculated. That she hadn't counted how many graves there were. That she didn't know how many times the days had repeated.
Lucian tried to pull his hands from the sand. The sand grew harder. His fingers touched something. Bone.
"You will stay here."
Karen said. And now something else mixed into her voice. Pity? Or exhaustion? "You will dig your own grave. And I... I will begin another day."
"No."
Lucian said. His voice tried to be a command, but it was really a plea. "No. I am the Emperor's envoy. I must take you—"
"You say that every time."
And the sand swallowed him.
Lucian screamed. Sand entered his throat. His eyes. His nose. And finally—
---
Karen opened her eyes.
There was sunlight. Warm sunlight coming through the window. Her nails were ordinary again. The gold was gone. For now.
She sat up. The bed was white. The ceiling too. The walls. As if all the color she had taken yesterday had been drained away during the night.
She looked in the mirror.
Her eyes were still that color. Not gold, but something brighter. As if it were becoming increasingly transparent. As if she were slowly disappearing.
"It begins again."
Karen murmured.
And there was a knock on the door. It always came at the same time, in the same rhythm.
"Madam? A new guest has arrived."
The servant's voice.
Karen knew. Who it was.
"He has blonde hair. And he's wearing black clothes. The Emperor's crest..."
"Send him in."
Karen said.
Outside the window, a sand wind blew. The sand always blows in the evening. And disappears in the morning. When this cycle began, when it will end—she had already stopped counting.
She knew only one thing.
That the frontier was no longer safe. That it had never been safe from the beginning. And the brighter the gold became, the deeper the graves grew, the more transparent she became.
The door opened.
"Lucian Cardo."
And everything begins again.
# Translation
The moment Lucian finished his greeting, Karen's eyes changed.
Not gold, but silver.
Just for a moment, then back to normal. But it was enough. Lucian still wore the same expression. Adjusting his black collar, preparing the same greeting. He was a puppet following a prompt.
Or was she the one who was.
Karen rose from her chair. Her fingers trembled slightly. Sand clung to her golden nails. Sand never falls away. Not when rained upon, not when washed with water—it remains embedded beneath the nails forever.
"Please, sit."
Her voice was soft. It had always been soft. That was the most dangerous thing.
As Lucian sat, he opened his mouth. The same words. The same pitch of voice. She already knew his next sentence. Down to the third syllable.
But this time was different.
"You," Karen said, walking toward the window. A sandy wind licked across the glass and passed. "Do you truly not know me?"
Lucian's voice stiffened.
"Have I misunderstood something, Madam?"
That too was a script. Always the same order. The same pronunciation. Karen had followed it all this time. She could only follow it. Because she believed the frontier was safe. Because she believed the court was death.
But death could also repeat.
Karen placed her hand on the windowsill. Gold touched glass, leaving a mark. As if drawing a mountain. As if she were slowly materializing.
"It seems I must return to the court."
Silence filled the room. Lucian stopped too. This line did not exist.
"Madam?"
"How is the Emperor?"
Deeper silence. Karen looked out the window. The sand was still blowing. There was still time before morning. This time, this time in between, was the most dangerous. The time when rules wavered. The time when repetition began to break.
"Madam, I—"
"I will enroll in the Magic Academy."
Karen spoke.
Lucian shot to his feet. His hand fell from his black collar. Confusion appeared on his face for the first time. An expression not in the script. That alone made Karen's heart sink.
"Madam, that is impossible. The Emperor—"
"The Emperor desired many things. But I am no longer the Emperor's daughter."
Karen turned around. She looked at her own hands. Her fingertips were truly transparent. As if only flesh remained on bone. No, that wasn't it either. As if she were becoming light.
"I choose."
"Choice is—"
"Understanding."
Karen looked at Lucian. His blonde hair swayed in the sandy wind. His black collar revealed the Emperor's seal. His eyes, his voice, his entire existence composed the repetition.
And he did not know.
Or knowing, he could not act.
"The Magic Academy is not the court's territory. It is neutral ground. Even if power changes, even if the Emperor dies, even if cycles turn, it continues."
Karen walked to the bookshelf. There were dozens of books there. All journals written in different hands. All with different names. Yet all the contents were the same. The same sand. The same gate. The same repetition.
She took out the oldest one.
"I have repeated in this frontier a hundred times. Perhaps more. I have already stopped counting."
Lucian spoke.
"Madam is... mad."
"Perhaps so."
Karen let out a laugh. It was like grains of desert sand. Dry, everywhere, never disappearing.
"But madness awakens you. Awakening lets you choose. And choosing lets you die."
She extended her hand to Lucian. Her fingers were translucent. Like glass.
"You will come again. Tomorrow at dawn. At the same time. In the same clothes. With the same words. But I will not be here."
"Madam—"
"I return to the court. But not in the way you know. I will return through the Magic Academy. They do not know me. The Emperor does not know me. This cycle does not know me."
Karen opened the window. Sandy wind poured into the room. It sounded like time flowing. Like she was finally beginning to move.
"If you truly seek me, come to the Magic Academy. There we will meet from the beginning. From nothing."
Lucian moved. But he could not reach out. As if there were an invisible wall. As if he were already dead.
"I am the Emperor's messenger. I merely follow orders."
"Yes. So you will keep coming. Until no one can stop you."
Karen picked up her bag. Inside were books. Records of every repetition. Evidence of every night she did not choose.
The door closed.
Lucian was left alone. In an empty room. In the sandy wind. His hand still revealed the Emperor's seal.
And he did not know.
That Karen was already translucent. That she already had one foot in another dimension. That if she entered the Magic Academy, if the cycle broke, if dozens of women buried in the sand awakened.
What would the Emperor do.
The sandy wind began to blow faster.