"How is this even possible?" Turku muttered, disbelief etched across his face. "That horse kicked me yesterday during the day. How can it be so… obedient now?"
Richard's expression remained calm, unreadable. "Perhaps the horse experienced something frightening last night. Who can say what terrors even a simple animal might encounter?" With that, he swung gracefully into the saddle, hoisting Lucy, his loyal maid, up beside him.
The chestnut horse shivered slightly at first, frozen in place, nostrils flaring. Only when Richard nudged it gently with his heel did it begin to move, cautious yet obedient, each step hesitant as if the creature feared another unseen menace. Its movements reminded Turku of a rabbit startled in the moonlight—quick, jittery, yet pliant.
Turku shook his head, the sense of wonder and confusion unshakable. Richard seemed to command the very air, bending reality around him with ease. Whatever subtle magic he possessed—whether latent or deliberate—it made ordinary rules meaningless. Shrugging, Turku mounted the white horse assigned to him and fell into position, forming a protective formation around his master as they headed out of the castle.
The drawbridge creaked as it lowered, the chains groaning under the weight. One by one, the group spurred their horses forward, kicking up clouds of dust in their wake. The road stretched into the hazy southwest horizon, lined with the amber-gold of autumn leaves and the shadowed silhouettes of distant hills. This journey, Richard had decided, would be his reward—a rare indulgence after months of relentless study, careful planning, and unyielding mental strain. A solitary excursion, a breath of freedom to soothe the mind, even if just for a few fleeting hours.
Yet, even in this pursuit of leisure, Richard's mind refused to drift entirely into idle amusement. His curiosity and discipline remained his constant companions. Alongside the mild thrill of riding under the open sky, Richard carried a far more deliberate purpose: the collection and cataloging of flora. Each plant, each specimen, a fragment of the world's truth, waiting to be understood and archived.
From the day he had been born fifteen years prior, the anomaly of his existence had fascinated him. He had known, early on, that something about his presence defied logic—that his arrival in this world was not coincidental. It was, he suspected, a form of crossing between realities, a traversal into a world similar yet distinctly separate from the Earth he had never truly known.
And so, he had begun to catalog, to measure, to record. The subtleties of this world, its flora and fauna, the minutiae that could distinguish one reality from another—everything mattered. Differences in soil composition, mineral content, atmospheric chemistry, and climate all dictated the plants that could thrive, the animals that could survive. Each deviation, no matter how slight, was a clue to the puzzle of his existence.
Richard's mind often worked like a topologist's, tracing the ripple effects of one minor variation across the fabric of nature. A single twist of fate in a distant jungle might, over millennia, create a new species entirely, or shift the balance of an ecosystem. Similarly, a subtle alteration in the formation of a planet billions of years ago could decide whether a region's grass was common or completely alien.
By now, his collection numbered in the thousands. Each autumn excursion expanded it further, a meticulous act of scholarship disguised as leisure. Today's objective was no different. The southwestern plains of the baronial lands stretched ahead, a sweeping expanse of rough grass interspersed with wildflowers and scrub. A narrow stream cut across the landscape, its surface shimmering under the early morning sun.
Richard dismounted with fluid grace, landing silently as if the ground itself welcomed him. Without hesitation, he began examining the flora, crouching to inspect each plant. Lucy followed obediently, receiving each specimen he handed over and arranging them carefully in a flat wooden box, separating each with strips of linen to preserve their structure.
One, two, three plants collected, each labeled in his mind with their characteristics, habitat, and potential uses. Turku and the others attempted to assist, eagerly passing him clumps of leaves and stems. Richard waved them off after a short time, preferring to handle the delicate specimens himself, ensuring nothing was damaged.
Autumn mallow, spider lilies, zinnias, magnolia buds, rye grass, blue fescue—he cataloged them all, pausing occasionally to inspect a flower's vein patterns or the texture of a stem. Hours passed in this rhythmic, almost meditative task. The wooden box in Lucy's hands gradually filled to capacity, each specimen a testament to Richard's careful observation.
As noon approached, Richard straightened, surveying the work they had accomplished. The plants must now be processed into pressed specimens immediately; otherwise, the moisture in their leaves and petals would cause wilting, and the intricate forms would lose their scientific value.
A sudden rustle in the distance snapped Richard's attention away from his meticulous work. He paused mid-motion, his enhanced senses immediately isolating the source. A figure was approaching—human, young, seemingly a woman of perhaps twenty years, dressed in simple garb that suggested she was a villager or farmhand. Her eyes widened at the sight of the armed group, curiosity mingled with caution.
"You there…" she began, her voice tentative.
Turku, ever vigilant, finally noticed the stranger. His eyes narrowed, instincts sharpening. "Who are you?" he demanded, voice carrying authority.
The girl's response was unexpected. She did not answer directly but instead mirrored his question. "And who are you?" she asked. Then, as though remembering a responsibility of her own, she quickly added, "Have you seen Dukas? My dog, the gray one, quite large—he's gone missing!" She gestured vaguely with her hand as she stepped closer, seemingly unafraid despite the armed entourage.
Turku's brow furrowed. Bold, perhaps too bold. This girl was approaching the baron's second heir, surrounded by ten armored riders, and yet she made no attempt to flee. In fact, her stride quickened, closing the distance faster than Turku expected. Alarm rang in his mind. He spurred his horse forward, intending to intercept and shield Richard.
But the girl moved faster still. As Turku leapt forward, the glint of steel caught his eye. In an instant, a half-length crossbow materialized in her hands, its blackened, poisoned bolt aimed directly at Richard.
The arrowhead gleamed under the sun, cruelly precise. A strike from this distance left virtually no room to react. Turku's shout tore through the air, a combination of warning and command. "Richard, move! Now!"
But it was already too late.
In the fraction of a heartbeat before anything could be done, her finger pressed the trigger of the crossbow.