The dead man's name was Warush. I learned that much later, even after Arvid had ordered his body and those of his allies to be hung on wooden spikes, displayed prominently at the edge of camp as they usually did according to Southern custom—a death befitting those who committed treason against the crown. I remembered the first time I had heard of this particular punishment, back in Gorei, right after Yasmine's trial and execution. That time, I had felt an indescribable sense of repulsion, a visceral horror at the brutality of it all. The image had haunted my dreams for weeks afterward, the cruelty of it seeming so unnecessary, so barbaric.
Today, however, that feeling of repulsion didn't come my way. It didn't stir even the slightest emotional response within me. I had gone through so much since then, had been transformed by experiences that had fundamentally altered who I was at my core. I had lost a loved one—someone precious and irreplaceable—and had killed for revenge, crossing a line I had once promised myself I would never cross. That promise felt like it had been made by a different person entirely, someone naive and innocent who no longer existed.
Now I was way across that line, standing firmly in the realm of no return. There was no going back to who I had been before. When I looked back over my shoulder at the path I had walked to get here, I could see it clearly: bodies littered the way I had come, marking each step of my journey with death. Killing had become easy for me now, just like something as trivial and automatic as breathing. It required no thought, no conscious decision. It simply happened when it needed to happen.
So even after the news of Warush's execution reached my ears, delivered by a messenger who spoke the words with careful neutrality, I didn't feel anything at all. No satisfaction, no horror, no guilt—just a vast emptiness where those emotions should have been.
I was currently in a makeshift tent where they were treating the wounded from our various encounters. The canvas walls flapped gently in the desert breeze, and the interior was dim and relatively cool compared to the scorching heat outside. The detoxing potions I had enchanted with elven magic had proved to be pretty damn amazing, exceeding even my hopeful expectations. The soldiers who had been struck with the Dergu's poisoned arrows had recovered quickly, improving dramatically after just two doses of the medicine. The grayish tinge had faded from their skin, the fever had broken, and the trembling had ceased. But I had instructed them to rest in the tent some more before we departed for Arpa, wanting to ensure they were fully recovered and wouldn't suffer any relapses during the journey ahead.
There were also some soldiers with surface wounds—cuts and gashes that weren't life-threatening but still needed attention to prevent infection in this harsh environment. I carefully applied the healing salve to each wound, my hands moving with practiced efficiency, then wrapped the injured areas with clean bandages. Rora stood next to me, assisting quietly. She handed me supplies before I could ask for them, anticipated my needs, and disposed of soiled bandages. Her presence was calming, a silent support that I appreciated more than I could express.
Some of the captured merchants we had rescued were wounded too, bearing injuries from their captivity and the chaos of their rescue. I had asked them to come to the tent to receive treatment, sending word through one of the soldiers. They had arrived some time later, gathering hesitantly outside the tent entrance. But none of them approached me directly. They lingered at the threshold, looking at me with shifty, uncertain eyes and trembling hands that betrayed their fear. They were scared of me—terrified, actually. The way they flinched when I glanced in their direction made that abundantly clear.
"Scared of me, huh?" I let out a sigh as I addressed them directly, my voice gentle despite the weariness I felt. They didn't say anything in response, their silence speaking volumes. They still didn't dare to take even a single step inside the tent, as if an invisible barrier prevented them from entering.
After some prolonged, uncomfortable silence where we all just stood there in this strange standoff, it was the child—the young boy I had noticed earlier—who finally opened his mouth and broke the tension.
"Are you a witch?" he asked simply, his voice high and clear, untainted by the fear that paralyzed the adults. His eyes were wide with curiosity rather than terror.
I let out a genuine smile at his innocent directness. He was cute, with his tousled hair and dirt-smudged face. Children had a way of cutting through complexity with their straightforward questions.
"Come here," I gestured for him to approach, patting my lap invitingly. The child took hesitant steps toward me, far braver than any of the adults watching nervously. After settling him comfortably on my lap, I stroked his hair gently, feeling the tangles and grit from days of travel and captivity.
"What's your name?" I asked him softly, genuinely wanting to know. The burly man—Warush—had inadvertently given me an important lesson before his death. He had asked me pointedly if I even knew his name, and I hadn't. That single question had cut deep, exposing a fundamental flaw in how I had been approaching my role here. I had left all the military matters, all the personnel issues, all the relationship-building to Arvid, and I had feigned ignorance or disinterest in areas I had thought weren't of much importance to me personally.
But that approach had proved to be a grave mistake, one that could have cost lives—could have cost Arvid his life if things had gone differently. If I wanted to be a Southern empress alongside Arvid, to truly stand beside him as an equal partner rather than just a powerful accessory, I had to do better. I had to learn about the people of the South, understand their customs and values, and introduce myself to them in an equal, respectful manner. Whether they ultimately welcomed me or rejected me was up to them to decide, but I should no longer be so selfishly engrossed in my own little world, isolated and disconnected from those around me.
"I'm Gohan," the little one replied, his voice gaining confidence as he realized I meant him no harm.
"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Gohan. My name is Rhia," I said warmly, making sure to look him in the eyes so he knew I was speaking truthfully. "I was the queen of Draga in the North. Now I'm married to the Selon Emperor Arvid, which I suppose makes me an empress, though I'm still getting used to that title." I paused, then continued, "And to answer your question—no, I'm not a witch. I am of dragon descent, what we call a dragon seed. That heritage is what allows me to use magic the way I do. What you saw earlier—that was dragon magic, a gift I got for setting home for a dragon inside of me."
I answered him with genuine happiness, my eyes glistening with emotion at this small but significant moment. This felt right, felt like the beginning of something important. Let the new era begin, I thought to myself. An era where I was no longer hiding, no longer pretending to be less than I was, but also no longer isolating myself from the people whose lives would be intertwined with mine.
The adults watched this exchange with growing surprise, and I noticed some of the tension leaving their shoulders. After I had finished speaking with Gohan and had treated his minor scrapes and bruises, the other merchants slowly, tentatively began to approach for treatment. The ice had been broken.
---
Later, Arvid had organized a group of men to return to the Dergu stronghold. The plan was to salvage whatever was usable from their camp—food supplies, medicine, weapons, and whatever valuables they could find, along with their horses. We couldn't afford to be wasteful in the desert, and the Dergu had no more use for their possessions. When I asked if I could accompany him on this expedition, he agreed without any resistance or hesitation, which surprised me slightly. Perhaps he sensed the change that was happening within me.
I spent the time while traveling back to the stronghold talking to each and every one of the soldiers in our group. I made a point of learning their names, asking about their hometowns, and getting a general sense of who they were as individuals rather than just faceless fighters. Where were they from? Did they have families? What had led them to join the Imperial army? What were their hopes for the future?
They were bewildered at first by my sudden approach, clearly unused to being addressed personally by someone of my rank and status. Some seemed suspicious of my motives, wondering if this was some kind of test or trap. But as we talked and they realized my interest was genuine, they gradually eased up and let me in. They began to share stories, to joke, to treat me less like some untouchable, terrifying figure and more like a person.
Arvid had watched this new development with obvious curiosity, his eyes tracking my interactions with an expression I couldn't quite read. Was it approval? Surprise? Concern? Perhaps a mixture of all three.
"You've changed," he commented finally when we arrived at what remained of the Dergu stronghold. The statement came as I was dismounting from my horse, my feet hitting the sand with a soft thud.
"Really? How so?" I asked him, feigning ignorance though I knew exactly what he meant. A mischievous smile played at the corners of my lips as I looked up at him.
"You were talking to the soldiers," he observed, walking over to stand beside me. "You used to ignore them completely—as if they didn't even exist in your world, as if they were just furniture or scenery."
"Now that's a bit harsh," I replied, though there was no real protest in my tone because we both knew it was essentially true. Then I let out a deep sigh, deciding to be honest rather than defensive. "Warush said to me that I didn't even know his name—which was absolutely true. I only learned his name yesterday, after he had already been put on that spike for treason. And I have to agree with him, at least on that point—I was ignorant. Willfully, stupidly ignorant."
I paused, gathering my thoughts before continuing. "I was completely unprepared for the moment when I would need to be an advocate for you, when I would need to stand beside you not just as a powerful mage but as a partner and leader. That unpreparedness was caused entirely by my own ignorance and my selfish desire to live in the small, comfortable world I had built for myself, where I only had to worry about my own concerns and could ignore everything else."
I looked directly at him, wanting him to understand the significance of this shift. "Now I've learned that's not the way forward. It's not sustainable, and it's not fair—not to you, not to the people who depend on us, and honestly not even to myself. So even if it's not much yet, even if I'm just taking baby steps, I'm trying to get to know the world around me better. I'm trying to expand my boundaries, to push past my comfort zone, even if it's just one small step forward at a time."
I searched his face anxiously. "Is it not good?" I asked him, suddenly uncertain. "Am I doing this right?"
He shook his head in negation, and for a brief moment my heart sank before I realized he was disagreeing with my self-doubt, not with my efforts. "You're doing great," he replied, and there was genuine warmth in his voice. His hand found mine and squeezed it gently. "Better than great, actually. This is exactly what was needed."
The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting the desert in shades of orange and gold. We stood there for a moment, hand in hand, looking at the ruins of the Dergu stronghold before us—a testament to battles won but also to the long road still ahead.