Lhasa was ancient.
Her face was deeply lined, the dark skin creased with the accumulated wisdom of what must have been ninety years or more. Yet strangely, her hair fell thick and jet-black over her shoulders—as dark and lustrous as a maiden's. Though her back was bent with age, she stood remarkably tall, as one would expect from Ronheimer blood.
When I first glimpsed her from a distance, waiting at the edge of the settlement, I mistook her for a young girl.
Lhasa welcomed us with open arms and a gentle smile that softened the severity of her weathered features. She seemed not to know—or perhaps not to care—that I was a princess of the Arental Empire. Unlike Bihar's cautious formality, Lhasa's hospitality was warm and uncomplicated.
Seeing her kindness, the Uttar chieftain and his people visibly relaxed. They emerged from their portable dwellings—called kers—to greet our party properly.
"God has sent me to you."
Lhasa spoke these words to Callius with quiet reverence, as if conveying a message of great importance.
Callius seemed to understand her meaning immediately. His expression shifted—not with surprise, but with the look of someone who had been expecting such news.
"What did God wish to tell me?"
"Come. We will speak inside."
Her tone was secretive, meant for his ears alone.
Callius glanced back at me, his gaze lingering for just a moment.
"Please stay with the others at the chieftain's house. I'll return shortly."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Brentian, ever perceptive, stepped forward and gestured for me to follow him toward the chief's ker.
From the hilltop, the Uttar settlement resembled a cluster of round cakes scattered across the frozen valley. Each ker was a portable dwelling constructed from wooden frames draped with animal skins and secured with thick rope.
Inside, the chieftain's ker proved far more spacious and comfortable than I had anticipated. Even with nearly twenty people gathered within, there was still room to spare. The Uttar tribesmen filed in behind us and settled in a circle around the central hearth, where a fire crackled warmly.
"To think we would invite Her Highness the Princess to such a shabby place..."
Vanessa's complaint came from beside me, her tone dripping with disdain rather than genuine concern for my comfort.
She sat stiffly on the floor, clearly uncomfortable without a proper chair, and hunched her shoulders to avoid touching the cushions and furs stacked against the walls.
The Uttar chieftain looked embarrassed by Vanessa's obvious discomfort.
"Forgive the humble accommodations, Your Highness. We wish only to show you the utmost respect, even in our modest circumstances."
I imagined what Callius would do in this moment—how he would put the chieftain at ease—and tried to mirror his gracious manner.
"There is nothing to forgive. I am grateful for your hospitality, especially given the suddenness of our arrival."
The tribesmen murmured among themselves in a language I couldn't understand, though their sidelong glances in my direction made it clear they were discussing my response.
The chieftain's face brightened with visible relief. He clapped his hands, and moments later, steaming cups were placed before each of us.
"This is sutei tsai—milk tea made with butter and goat's milk. It is our tradition to offer this to honored guests."
I lifted the cup carefully and inhaled. The aroma was rich and unusual—savory, with the distinct warmth of butter and a hint of salt.
"What is this?"
Vanessa wrinkled her nose as she sniffed suspiciously at her own cup.
Brentian could no longer contain himself. He leaned toward her and whispered sharply:
"Salt is more precious than gold to the nomads. They are treating us with the utmost respect. Show some grace."
Heat flooded my face—not from the tea, but from shame.
I can no longer tolerate this behavior. Kavala's maids are making a mockery of me in front of our hosts.
Though I knew the four maids—Vanessa, Lamia, and the others—were originally Kavala's servants, to outsiders they appeared to be my attendants. Their rudeness reflected poorly on me, whether I condoned it or not.
I set down my cup and addressed Vanessa directly, my voice cold.
"Vanessa. You embarrass me. Even animals know gratitude—why do you offer only complaints?"
Vanessa's eyes widened in shock.
"I didn't mean to—what did I even do—"
But when she looked around and saw that not only I, but everyone else in the ker, was glaring at her with open disapproval, she quickly fell silent. It seemed to dawn on her that no one here would take her side.
I lifted the cup of sutei tsai to my lips and took a careful sip.
The flavor spread across my tongue—warm, rich, and unexpectedly comforting. The butter lent a creamy smoothness, while the salt brought out the natural sweetness of the milk. It was unlike anything I had tasted before, and utterly delicious.
Almost immediately, I felt the warmth spreading through my chest. The headache and dizziness that had been plaguing me since we climbed into the mountains began to fade.
"This is wonderful! My head feels so much clearer. I've been feeling dizzy ever since we arrived."
Lamia, sitting beside me, whispered in agreement.
"It really does help, doesn't it?"
She drained her cup quickly and, finding the tea to her liking, asked the Uttar tribesman beside her for more.
The chieftain looked pleased.
"Does it suit Your Highness's taste?"
I smiled brightly and nodded with genuine enthusiasm.
"It's delicious! May I have another cup?"
"As much as you desire, Your Highness."
Only then did the Uttar tribesmen fully relax. Laughter rippled through the circle as they refilled our cups.
The other maids, watching Lamia and me drink with obvious enjoyment, cautiously lifted their own cups and took tentative sips.
"Oh... it is good..."
"Quite warming."
Vanessa alone remained sullen and unmoved. She sat rigidly, refusing to touch her tea, and eventually rose to her feet and stormed out of the ker.
The tribesmen burst into laughter at her dramatic exit.
I joined in their laughter, though inwardly I sighed with frustration.
The maids need urgent training. This cannot continue.
While Callius spoke with Lhasa in private, I was treated to the warm hospitality of the Uttar tribe. We shared stories, laughter, and more cups of the soothing sutei tsai.
I found myself surrounded by unfamiliar people in an unfamiliar place, and yet...
Why does this feel so much like home?
There was a simplicity here—a kindness unmarred by courtly intrigue or hidden agendas. For the first time in what felt like years, I allowed myself to truly relax.
Meanwhile, Callius sat across from Lhasa in her private ker, with a fire crackling between them.
"Your Majesty, the precious thing you have been searching for all this time is near at hand."
Her voice was worn and shaky with age, yet the conviction in her words rang clear as a bell.
Callius raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral.
"What do you mean by 'the precious thing I've been searching for'?"
Lhasa smiled—a serene, knowing expression.
"God does not reveal everything to me, Your Majesty. He alone knows all things. But you are the one spoken of in this prophecy. You will understand what God is saying when the time comes."
Callius frowned slightly, his mind turning over the possibilities.
Could she be speaking of the lost relic? But that should be with Kavala...
The holy artifact his mother had protected—the one stolen from her in her final days—had to be in the Empress's possession. There was no other explanation.
"Are you certain it's nearby?"
"I am only conveying the voice of God, Your Majesty."
"Of course. I don't doubt you. I'm simply... surprised. This isn't what I expected."
"Life is full of surprises that surpass our expectations and plans, Your Majesty."
Lhasa's gentle smile remained unchanged, even as Callius's thoughts churned in turmoil.
Then her expression grew more serious.
"Be vigilant, Your Majesty. Be suspicious. Doubt again and again."
"As your treasure draws near, so too does your enemy."
Callius's jaw tightened.
"I see."
"Your enemy has already drawn his sword before your very eyes. You must learn to distinguish between your enemy and your treasure—between those who would destroy you and those who are precious beyond measure."
Lhasa's prophecies were never straightforward. They required interpretation, reflection, and time to unravel.
Seeing the troubled expression on Callius's face, Lhasa reached out and gently patted his hand.
"There is no need to be anxious, Your Majesty. As long as you do not abandon God, everything will become clear in due time."
She rose slowly, covering the fire with sand to extinguish it.
"Shall we return to your companions? The chieftain has prepared a feast in your honor."
"I am always in your debt, Lhasa."
Lhasa looked up at Callius as he stood, her dark eyes filled with ancient wisdom.
"You were born to be our King, Your Majesty. No matter how the world turns, we are your people. There is no debt between a king and his loyal subjects. That expression does not suit you."
She spoke with quiet firmness, then turned and left the ker, leaning heavily on her staff as she walked with slow, measured steps.
Callius and Lhasa returned not long after their private conversation.
When Lhasa entered the chieftain's ker, she paused and looked at each member of our group in turn. Her gaze was deep and penetrating, as if she could see straight through to our souls.
Then, without warning, she raised her staff and struck Brentian sharply on the shoulder.
Thwack!
"Ow! What was that for, Lhasa?"
Brentian looked up at her with an expression of wounded innocence.
"You think too much. When you think excessively, even with all your wisdom, you overlook the right answer and chase the wrong one instead. Think less. Use that time to run one more errand for your master."
Brentian was a nobleman of considerable influence in Ronheim and Callius's most trusted confidant. Yet Lhasa treated him as if he were an errant child.
It seemed she reserved her formal politeness exclusively for Callius.
Brentian grumbled under his breath, though his tone was more affectionate than truly aggrieved.
"Lhasa is always scolding me. You're especially harsh with me, you know."
"I scold you because I care about your talents. It would be a waste to see them squandered."
The exchange reminded me of a grandmother chiding her favorite grandson in a fairy tale. I couldn't help but smile.
Lhasa turned away from Brentian and continued her slow circuit of the room. Her gaze swept over the others—evaluating, considering.
Then her eyes found me.
She began to approach, her expression warm and welcoming.
But then she stopped.
Abruptly. Completely.
She stood frozen about a foot away from me, her face transformed by sudden shock.
"...?"
I looked up at her, confused by the change in her demeanor.
Slowly—so slowly it seemed she was afraid to startle me—Lhasa stepped closer. She leaned down until her face was level with mine, her dark eyes searching.
Then she whispered, so quietly that only I could hear:
"You are a being who has been given a second chance by God."
The world seemed to tilt.
My breath caught in my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs.
She knows.
Lhasa's eyes—ancient, wise, and impossibly deep—held mine with an intensity that made it clear this was no idle observation.
She saw the truth.
She saw what no one else could possibly see: that I had died once before. That I had been granted the impossible gift of returning to the past. That my entire existence was a miracle—or perhaps a curse.
Lhasa straightened slowly, her expression unreadable now. She did not speak again.
But her words echoed in my mind, louder than any prophecy:
"A being who has been given a second chance by God."
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