Episode 3 — Barhel
The Fifth Empress of Castan could not bear a child.
After several miscarriages, her body had become incapable of carrying life.
Her broken body turned her heart to iron — and, before long, she became a tyrant no different from the Emperor himself.
The first woman the Emperor took as a concubine after the Empress was Prianne.
And soon after, Prianne gave birth to a child — Oberon.
Naturally, the Empress’s fury turned toward Prianne.
“If I cannot have a child, what meaning does my life have?”
A barren empress could never remain quiet.
With repeated attempts on her life, Prianne’s reputation fell to the ground.
“You dodge death like a little insect, Lady Prianne.”
In the clean, peaceful garden, their conversation was as sharp as blades.
Seated before the Empress, Prianne looked weary.
“I will leave on my own accord.”
“On your own?”
“Please… withdraw your anger.”
Without hesitation, Prianne knelt on the floor.
The Empress, unmoved, raised her teacup.
Clink.
Even the sound of the cup being set down made Prianne’s heart lurch.
When she heard the Empress’s footsteps draw near, she slowly lifted her head.
“Lady Prianne.”
A voice elegant and poised. Prianne swallowed hard and looked up.
No matter how fine her dress or how rich her food, she could never erase her common roots.
“There are only two ways to leave of your own will.
Commit a crime… or become a corpse.”
The Empress smiled beautifully.
And in that smile, Prianne felt herself plummet into an endless abyss.
Avoiding assassins only made her more suspicious — a game the Empress mastered easily.
“How pitiful, seeing you strut about proudly just because you bore a child.”
The Emperor clicked his tongue and looked away.
Prianne had long since expected this.
‘If you bear my child, you shall live in comfort. Will you come with me?’
‘…Yes.’
That man — the one who once offered his hand — had long turned his back on her.
Once the Emperor decided his bloodline had no value, his interest vanished.
Prianne knew she could not remain forever under his shadow.
Even now, if the Emperor or the Empress set their sights on her son…
Just imagining it made her shiver.
“O great god Castan, please have mercy on this prayer… Spare only my child…”
Through countless assassination attempts, she prayed only that Oberon might survive.
And perhaps, heaven listened.
“We will help you leave the palace tonight.”
The High Priest himself said it.
The only one capable of freeing her from the Emperor’s shadow — and the Empress’s wrath.
“As long as my child lives, that’s enough.”
“He is far too young, my lady. Even if he survives…”
“…”
“No child can live without a mother’s touch. He needs you.”
Prianne wiped her tears and held her son close.
When she finally fled the palace, Oberon was three years old.
Clang!
“Go first!”
“But—!”
“Don’t look back. Run! Only forward!”
The knight shouted. Prianne ran without looking behind.
Waaah—!
Oberon cried in her arms — even as a child, he could feel death closing in.
She had to keep him alive.
She had to live.
They could not die here.
Prianne gritted her teeth and ran until she reached a remote village in the western outskirts of the empire.
Knock, knock.
By the time Oberon turned five, she had finally built a life there.
The one who visited was the same knight who had protected her — now missing an arm.
The moment he saw her face, he sank to his knees in relief.
“Because of me…”
Prianne fell beside him, sobbing endlessly.
“Please don’t say that. My duty is to protect you and your son.”
“But how could you—”
“The High Priest and I believe that you and the young master will one day lead the Empire anew.”
“Please… never forget that faith.”
The knight wiped his tears with his remaining arm.
Oberon, though only five, understood — perhaps by divine will, or simply because he had inherited his mother’s keen mind.
“That knight lost his arm protecting me and Mother.”
He clenched his small fists.
Someday, I’ll return to the palace.
I’ll walk there proudly, holding Mother’s hand.
And I’ll become a ruler who will never let another loyal knight bleed again.
He engraved that vow deep in his heart.
The knight visited often, bringing money and books.
Even with little, Prianne managed their home.
Oberon never once complained.
“This says ‘Castan,’ see?”
“What about this one?”
“That means…”
When the knight brought an old book, Oberon would read it again and again.
If Prianne taught him one thing, he would ask three more.
And one day, while reading as always — he met Rosen Barhel.
“Get out!”
A man’s angry voice rang from the neighboring house.
Oberon looked up sharply.
That voice again.
It wasn’t rare — he heard shouting there often.
Peering out the window, he saw a small figure burst out of the house.
A child — about his own age.
“…A girl?”
As she drew closer, Oberon saw the bruises — her face and body battered.
She stopped, panting, then turned back to look at her home.
He whispered under his breath:
“Don’t go back.”
The girl stood frozen for a long moment.
“If you go back, it’ll just happen again.”
Maybe she heard him.
She turned forward, brushed back her tangled lavender hair, and started walking.
Her steps were unsteady but resolute.
Oberon smiled faintly and went to the door.
“Hi.”
“…”
He poked his head out and grinned.
The girl hesitated, backing away — but he stepped closer.
“What’s your name?”
“…”
“Mine’s Oberon.”
“…Barhel.”
“Barhel… that’s a nice name.”
“…Not really.”
“It means ‘stone.’”
“…All the more reason I don’t like it.”
“Why? Stones are strong.”
“They don’t break easily — no matter what hits them.”
Oberon’s smile shone as bright as sunlight.
The girl — Barhel — watched silently, then gave a faint nod.
That was the first meeting between the future Emperor and the future Grand Duke.
“Do you like books?”
“…Can’t read.”
“Then I’ll read to you.”
Oberon brought her inside.
They sat across the table, and he opened a book he’d already read many times.
[The god descended from the heavens, created land with a step, and stirred the seas with a wave of his hand.]
“Once upon a time, there lived a greedy king.”
He read aloud, mixing his own words into the sacred text.
[And the god said to humankind, ‘O, mortal being.’]
“The god said to the king, ‘O, king.’”
As he turned the page, a drawing of the god blessing humanity appeared.
He traced the picture gently.
“If you never stop being greedy… your own son will take your life.”
Barhel stared quietly at him — at the golden hair and blue eyes shining in the light.
If gods existed… wouldn’t they look like this?
When their eyes met, Oberon laughed awkwardly and closed the book.
“It’s boring, huh?”
“…Why?”
“It’s short. And… the king’s kind of pitiful?”
Despite the words, his expression held no pity at all.
Barhel frowned slightly.
“He’s not pitiful.”
“…”
“The king’s the one who did wrong.”
“Really?”
“Then what happens to him?”
Oberon hesitated before answering softly:
“…His son takes his throne.”
“Then that son must be different.”
Fanning her collar, Barhel looked hot.
Oberon opened the window, then paused mid-step.
“What if he’s not?”
“What?”
“What if the son turns out just like the king?”
He stared down at the floor.
Their shadows stretched long under the sunlight.
If he’s the same…
Just then, Barhel’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“He’s not.”
Oberon turned.
Wind blew through the open window, tossing Barhel’s hair — light violet strands revealing a face still marred by bruises.
But her ashen eyes gleamed with conviction.
“The god chose the king’s son. That means he’s different.”
Oberon blinked, then murmured almost to himself:
“…You’re right.”
I’m different.
He smiled softly again.
“What did you say?”
“That you’re right.”
Oberon brought her a cup of water.
Their small hands brushed — but their eyes held a gravity beyond their years.
“Barhel, you said you can’t read?”
“…Yeah.”
“Then I’ll teach you. I’ll teach you the letters.”
“…Really?”
“Yeah. Let’s study together. My mom will like that too.”
Barhel nodded, watching his radiant smile.
Four years passed. They were both nine.
By then, Barhel often came to Oberon’s home.
They became inseparable friends.
Prianne didn’t need to ask — she already understood Barhel’s circumstances.
Learning letters, reading books, discovering her country’s culture — Barhel absorbed everything eagerly.
“It feels like I was a bird locked in a cage.”
“Who?”
“Me. I lived knowing nothing.”
“You just didn’t have someone to teach you. You do now.”
Barhel smiled shyly.
Her face still bore faint, unhealed bruises.
Oberon’s smile wavered bitterly, and she quickly looked away.
“Hey… when you become emperor, will you still use the name Oberon?”
“Probably. The name Castan will just be added after it.”
“Hmm… look at this.”
She showed him her messy handwriting.
“Lante. You said that means starlight in Castan language, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Castan itself means blue light.
Light means you. So — how about using Lante as your emperor’s name?”
“Lante…”
“Do you like it, Your Highness the Future Emperor?”
Barhel smiled, bruised but bright.
Oberon — soon to be Rante — looked at her and smiled back.
“I like it. I’ll use Lante.”
“No take-backs.”
“Promise.”
Barhel lightly tapped his shoulder.
And the two of them laughed together — like children who didn’t yet know they were shaping an empire’s fate.
