[On the Way to Zahryssar—Inside the Carriage]
GALLOP—!
CLUNK—!
The wheels struck stone hard enough to jolt the carriage as it surged forward beneath a merciless sun.
Heat poured down from the sky, fierce and unrelenting, the light sharpening as the land slowly surrendered its green. Trees thinned. Grass gave way to dust. The horizon stretched wide and bare, broken only by distant heat-haze.
Levin sat upright inside the carriage, gaze fixed on the changing world beyond the narrow window.
'It's starting, to get hot,' Levin thought.
The air felt different here—thicker, heavier. Each breath carried heat and something else beneath it, something old and watchful.
The carriage slowed, then stopped.
A sharp knock followed.
"Consort Levin." Naburash's voice came through the door—controlled, respectful, and precise. "May I enter?"
Levin's eyes lifted towards the door. "Yes."
The door opened at once. Naburash head remained lowered, eyes cast down. His hands were folded neatly before him, posture disciplined to the point of ritual.
"We have reached a suitable place to rest," he said. "May we halt here for a brief interval, Consort Levin?"
Levin blinked.
"You may. But why ask me? You're the one guiding this journey," he asked.
"As a mother of Zahryssar," Naburash replied, voice steady, "your permission is required for all official decisions concerning the procession."
Levin stared.
"…Mother?"
"Yes, Consort."
The words settled strangely in the air.
Levin leaned back, disbelief flickering across his face, this was not what he had expected from a tyrant emperor's envoy.
He let out a quiet scoff, "So… not every rumor survives the desert."
Naburash's head tilted a fraction, confusion threading into his otherwise controlled expression.
"Consort?"
Levin stepped down from the carriage, boots striking sun-warmed stone. He rolled his shoulders once, heat clinging to his skin, "Take the break, You don't need to ask my permission for breathing, Naburash."
Naburash bowed—deeply.
"As your will, Consort," he said.
Around them, the Zahryssari soldiers followed suit. Gazes lowered. No one raised their heads as Levin passed between them.
"I shall bring fruits and water," Naburash added softly. "Please remain within sight."
Naburash withdrew, leaving Levin alone at the edge of the clearing. The heat pressed down immediately.
'It's surprisingly warm' Levin thought, loosening his collar slightly as he looked around.
The forest was unlike the North.
The trees were taller, darker, their bark twisted and scaled as if shaped by something older than time. Leaves were thick and waxy, catching sunlight in sharp fragments. The air smelled of resin, spice, and something faintly metallic.
Levin walked slowly, curiosity drawing him forward. He brushed his fingers against a low-hanging branch. The leaves were warm.
Then—HISS!!!
The sound cut through the stillness like a blade. Levin froze and when he turned he saw a snake lay coiled on a sun-warmed stone not ten paces away.
Its body was pitch-black, scales gleaming like polished obsidian. Its eyes were a deep, unnatural red—wet, alert, fixed entirely on him. The serpent lifted its head, mouth opening just enough to reveal curved fangs glistening with venom.
Levin's pulse spiked.
'That looks too dangerous. Like some beast,' he thought, his hands on his sword.
The snake drew back.
Coiled tighter.
Ready to strike.
Levin held his sword, muscles tensing—not moving, not provoking. His Alpha instincts surged, sharp and defensive, heat flaring beneath his skin.
For one suspended heartbeat—The serpent stilled. Its head tilted slightly, tongue flicking once through the air.
Then, without warning, it lowered itself.
The red gaze broke away.
The snake turned—not in panic, not in haste—but calmly, deliberately, as if obeying an unseen command. Its long body slid from the stone and disappeared into the undergrowth, vanishing soundlessly into the forest.
Levin stood there, breath shallow.
"…Strange," he murmured.
The forest fell unnaturally still. No insects. No wind. Even the heat seemed to pause, as though the land itself had drawn a careful breath.
Then Levin noticed it—A shadow of snake slid across the ground behind him.
Long and massive.
It moved without sound, stretching over dust and roots like a living stain, too vast to belong to any single body. Levin's spine prickled instantly, every instinct screaming a warning older than thought.
He turned and there was nothing. Only trees standing too straight, leaves too still beneath the sun. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs and when he looked down, he froze.
The silver snake lay coiled at his feet.
It had not been there a heartbeat ago.
Its body gleamed like liquid moonlight poured into shape, scales smooth and flawless, catching the sun without reflecting it. Not large enough to be monstrous—yet something about it made the air feel smaller. Heavier. As though the world had bent inward around this single point of existence.
Its head lifted.
Its eyes opened.
Gold.
Not the dull gold of animals. Not reflective. Not empty.
Awake.
Ancient.
They locked onto Levin's gaze—and in that instant, his breath caught painfully in his chest. Pressure slammed into him.
His Alpha surged violently, heat flooding his veins, sharp and sudden, his body reacting before his mind could understand why. His knees nearly buckled—not from fear, but from the crushing awareness of being acknowledged.
Not hunted.
Not threatened.
Chosen.
And the air changed. A scent threaded through the clearing—subtle, elusive, and impossibly rare. Not the sweetness of common flowers.
It carried the depth of Black Lotusblooming blossoms, warmed by the sun and cooled by shadow. A fragrance that felt ancient rather than fragrant.
Levin inhaled sharply, but the scent did not overwhelm.
The silver serpent did not hiss.
Did not bare fangs.
Did not coil to strike.
It simply watched him.
And in those golden eyes, Levin felt it—Power without movement. Authority without voice.
A will so vast it did not need to assert itself.
Then—
"Consort Levin?" Naburash's voice cut softly through the stillness. "Consort… where are you?"
The silver snake's pupils narrowed. In a single fluid motion, its body loosened—not retreating, not fleeing, but withdrawing. The light bent strangely around it as it slid backward, dissolving into shadow and leaf, slipping into the forest as though it had never truly occupied this world at all.
The pressure vanished. The scent lingered—faint, intoxicating—before fading into heat and dust.
Levin released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Naburash stepped into the clearing, head bowed, eyes carefully averted.
"Consort Levin. You shouldn't have come here. This forest is dense. Wild beasts move freely here. We humbly request that you return to the caravan."
Levin ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly, "You're right, Naburash. There are… indeed many beasts here."
Naburash furrowed in confusion and Levin turned back toward the path. As he stepped away, unseen behind a thick curtain of leaves, the silver snake watched him go.
Golden eyes unblinking.
Then—silently—it slid deeper into the forest, carrying with it the certainty of a bond neither of them yet understood.
[The Next Day — Zahryssar Empire — Imperial Palace]
Levin's eyes were closed as he leaned against the carriage window, his temple resting against his hand. The steady rhythm of the wheels had lulled him into a restless half-wakefulness, dreams dissolving into heat and light.
"Consort Levin," Naburash's voice came softly from outside. "We have reached our destination."
Levin stirred. Slowly, he opened his eyes and froze.
The carriage curtains had been drawn back and before him stretched the Imperial Palace of Zahryssar. It was not a single structure.
It was a city of stone and sun.
Golden-white buildings rose in sweeping terraces, their walls carved with flowing geometric patterns and ancient serpentine motifs that caught the light like moving water. Tall archways opened freely into shaded courtyards, revealing glimpses of fountains, gardens, and long colonnades beyond. There were no enclosing walls hemming the palace in—only openness, breath, and space, as though the empire itself refused to be caged.
Palm trees—tall, elegant, and innumerable—lined wide marble paths. Their fronds swayed lazily in the warm breeze, casting shifting shadows across polished stone. Coconut trees clustered around pools of clear blue water, their reflections trembling gently with every ripple.
Sunlight flooded everything.
Not harsh.
Not blinding.
But radiant—filtered through carved screens of stone and gold, softened by silk canopies stretched between pillars. The air shimmered faintly with heat, carrying the distant sound of water flowing and wind moving through leaves.
The palace felt alive.
Open halls revealed high ceilings supported by towering columns inlaid with gold veins. Balconies overlooked gardens where flowering vines climbed white stone, blossoms spilling color—deep reds, soft creams, flashes of violet—into the light. Everywhere Levinlooked, there was movement, breath, and quiet purpose.
This was not a fortress built to endure cold.
It was an empire shaped to command the sun.
Levin's chest tightened.
"So vast…" he murmured, barely aware he had spoken aloud.
Naburash appeared beside the carriage door, bowing respectfully, his expression composed.
"This is the Private Palace of His Radiance, Emperor Zeramet Karash," Naburash said evenly. "The Silthara Palace.As his consort, you will share this domain."
Levin stepped down slowly, his boots touching stone already warm beneath the morning light.
The marble beneath his feet was smooth, sun-soaked, veined faintly with gold. Palms rustled overhead. Water whispered somewhere nearby. As he stood there—surrounded by open sky, white stone, and living green—a strange sensation settled over him.
Not oppression.
Expectation.
As though the palace itself had paused… aware that something long-awaited had finally crossed its threshold.
Naburash straightened and gestured toward a wide stairway rising ahead, flanked by towering pillars carved in the likeness of coiled serpents. Their stone eyes were half-lidded, ancient and watchful.
"From this moment onward… every step you take belongs to the Emperor," Naburash said.
The breeze stirred.
And somewhere deep within the palace—unseen, yet unmistakable—Levin felt it again.
That same quiet pressure. That same knowing stillness.
Then—
"We greet, Consort Levin."
The voice was calm. Controlled. Warm without familiarity.
Levin turned.
A group of tanned men approached silently across the marble courtyard. They wore long, flowing white garments that brushed the stone with every step, cinched with thin gold sashes at the waist. Their hair was bound neatly, some braided, some loose. Small gold earrings gleamed at their ears—simple, uniform, deliberate.
They stopped several paces away and bowed. Their gazes remained lowered, eyes never once lifting to meet his.
"I greet the consort of Zahryssar," the foremost man said, stepping forward just enough to speak, his posture flawless. "May the Malika Ninsara bless her light upon you."
He looked slightly up, "I am Iru. I have been appointed as your personal attendant. It is my honor to serve the Mother of the Empire."
Levin glanced at them and Naburash said, "I shall inform his radiance about your arrival."
Levin watched Naburash stepping away.
"Please allow us to guide you," Iru said. "Your chambers have been prepared according to the will of His Radiance. Until the Emperor summons you, this palace—and all within it—stands at your disposal."
The servants bowed once more, perfectly synchronized.
Naburash watched from a distance, silent. Levin looked up the wide steps, past the serpent pillars, toward halls flooded with light and shadow.
The pressure in his chest deepened, maybe a recognition and the Fate of Levin in coiled land begins.