Captured by the Tyrant of the Desert - Chapter 2

The crisp December air hummed with the chatter of tiny birds, their melodic song punctuating the silence of the frost-covered morning. A delicate creature, small and feathered, perched gracefully on young Latifa’s hand, its eyes bright and curious. Hovering just above its head, an ethereal silver wisp floated—a spirit that only Latifa could see.

“The north is freezing. The lakes have turned to ice, so I came down here!” The spirit’s voice resonated with playful energy, wrapping around Latifa like a familiar tune. She turned to her mother, her face alight with excitement, the secret barely contained.

“Mom, it says it came from the north! The lakes are frozen solid up there!” Latifa’s voice rang out, innocent and full of wonder. But her mother’s delighted expression faltered and hardened into worry. With a sudden motion, she grasped Latifa’s slender shoulders, glancing around with sharp eyes.

“Shh! How many times have I told you not to say things like that, Latifa?” she whispered, her voice tinged with urgency.

“But…”

The bird, startled by the reprimand, fluttered its wings and flew off, leaving Latifa pouting, her cheeks puffed in dismay. It had only just come to share its tales, and now it was gone, leaving her feeling chastised and misunderstood.

“Talking to animals… that’s what witches do,” her mother said, softer now, but the warning remained.

“But I’m not a witch,” Latifa mumbled, eyes glistening with the sting of her mother’s words.

“I know, darling, you’re not,” her mother reassured her, running gentle fingers through Latifa’s silvery hair. “But others might think differently. They might see you as one. And that’s dangerous.”

Latifa’s brows knitted, the joy of moments ago now wrapped in confusion and sadness.

“Promise me, Latifa. Never show this ability to anyone, and never speak of it.”

A long pause stretched between them until finally, with a tiny nod, Latifa whispered, “I promise.”

Her mother smiled, a small, wavering curve of the lips, as though trying to hold onto hope in a world that allowed so little of it. Pulling her daughter close, she whispered wishes that floated like fragile petals on a storm’s wind.

“You must live long, my darling. Be happy, like other girls. Dance with kind men, eat sweet things, stay strong and healthy. Live for both of us.”

Years later, Latifa would recall these words with a bitter taste. Her mother, kind but naïve, had never imagined the fall of Tania’s great empire, or that her daughter would become a fugitive, surviving as a shadow, roaming from one forgotten corner to the next.

The present rushed in with the scent of dust and the low rumble of approaching boots. Latifa’s heart pounded as a thin wisp, silver and alive, flickered above a hunting dog’s head. The spirit seemed to nod, greeting her with a familiar warmth.
“Latifa, step back! Brenda’s right; it’s a beast. It won’t understand!” whispered a woman at her side, voice trembling as she tried to pull Latifa away.

“Quiet!” Latifa raised her hand, silencing the frightened woman. The spirit’s presence meant only one thing—there was no time left. She looked into the dog’s sharp eyes, its growl low and uncertain.

“Don’t worry. I mean no harm. I’ll give you this bread if you pretend not to see us,” she whispered, holding her breath.
The dog’s ears twitched, and for a moment, it tilted its head, eyes searching hers with an intelligence that sent a shiver down her spine. Then, as if speaking directly into her mind, she heard its voice, channeled through the silver wisp.

“If I don’t tell them, I’ll be scolded.” The dog glanced at the approaching voices and back at Latifa, a whine of indecision escaping its muzzle.

The hidden group huddled behind Latifa, breath held, each second stretching unbearably long.

“No one will scold you if you keep quiet. Here, take it.” She tossed the piece of bread, heart pounding. The dog hesitated only a moment longer before padding forward, grabbing the bread, and rolling onto its back, tail thumping against the ground.

A collective sigh swept through the group, followed by whispered relief.

“Latifa, you… you saved us!” said a woman, eyes wide with gratitude.

Latifa managed a small smile, fingers still trembling as she patted the dog’s fur.

“Just lucky, I suppose.”

Yet deep in her chest, the weight of the unspoken truth lingered. If they ever knew who she truly was—the last princess of a shattered empire, the child of a fallen and powerless ruler—would their gratitude turn to fear?

She leaned against the crumbling wall, closing her eyes, straining to believe that the shouts outside were the retreat of their pursuers, and not the echoes of a fate still hunting her.

**

As the rising clouds of dust revealed the number of bandits, Hades’s sharp eyes caught the erratic movements of a lone hunting dog behaving unusually.

“Hm?”

– Yip!

While the rest of the hounds chased after fleeing townspeople amidst the chaos of the ruined residential district, this one scurried around aimlessly, its actions out of place. With no hiding spots for people or any prey worth chasing, Hades’s curiosity piqued, and he urged his horse forward, quietly approaching.

“Bandits steal, and hounds hunt as they’re meant to. But this…”
Sliding off his horse, Hades gave a low whistle, pulling back the hood of his robe. Midnight-black hair tumbled out, framing a face of bronzed skin. Below thick, masculine eyebrows, his eyes glistened like onyx flames, scanning the scene with a keen, piercing gaze. A well-defined nose and a mouth that curved into an enticing smile completed his striking visage.

“So, what have you found out here, all alone?”

“Whine…”

The hound, which had been skittering nervously, lowered its head and tucked its tail between its legs when the presence of this unfamiliar, commanding figure unsettled it. Hades patted the creature’s trembling head, a thoughtful frown crossing his face as he surveyed the barren surroundings.

‘A hound of the southern Shell province—keen eyes and a nose that never forgets its prey. Smart, but…’

“Is this one an exception?”

The corners of his nose twitched as he bent over, inhaling the faint scent lingering around the hound’s neck. A murmur escaped his lips.

“Jasmine. Tch, and the cheapest quality at that. The Grand Bazaar would have never dared display such a shoddy fragrance.”
The subtle mix of jasmine, mingled with the reek of dirt and the dog’s musk, made Hades grimace. Yet, something about it set his instincts on edge. The lone hound was odd enough, but jasmine—used mainly by desert women—drifting here in the Empire’s outskirts was even stranger.

‘This isn’t a scent that bandits would use. Have they taken women from the desert captive?’

Knowing that bandits occasionally kidnapped innocents to force into labor, Hades let out a soft sigh and stroked the hound’s scruff.

“Get out while you can, before a mad hound like me catches you.”
At that moment, the distant shouts of bandits reached him, and a sly smile curled on Hades’s lips.

“Well, looks like it’s time to meet your owners, who clearly lack any sense of honor. Cleaning up bandits is just part of my job, after all.”

Hoofbeats echoed through the ruined suburban streets as two squadrons of warriors with bronzed skin and desert-born resolve arrived in perfect formation. But the silence that lay thick over the ruins, broken only by the coppery tang of blood and an occasional gust, signaled that the battle had already been decided.

“Oh, flame among flames, Ignitis.”

A young commander dismounted, tense and reverent. Kneeling before the lone, dark-haired man seated arrogantly on the remnants of a shattered fountain—Hades Caleb—he offered his salute.

Before them, a massive scimitar lay embedded in the earth, its blade smeared with blood that intrigued the noses of hounds sniffing for their lost masters.

“It seems you’ve spared the burdened troops by handling these stray bandits yourself, even amidst your exhaustion from conquering the Empire…”

Hades listened as the soldiers swallowed nervously, a collective tension evident. He reached down to retrieve his sword, rising slowly.

“Still, you arrived late. Has victory dulled your discipline?”
“We apologize, General Hades!”

The soldiers knelt, foreheads nearly touching the ground. Hades ignored them, not out of disdain but because there was something more pressing.

Sweeping the hounds aside with his boot, he wiped the blood from his blade against his robe and scanned the horizon.

“It seems there may be captives from the desert nearby. I’ll search swiftly—collect their spoils.”

Unwritten law demanded desert kin aid one another. And Hades, knowing better than most, couldn’t just turn a blind eye. Pulling a clean cloth from his robes, he used it to mask any lingering scent before calling to the wary hound.

“Come here. Yes, you.”

The dog obediently approached, allowing Hades to rub the cloth over its neck, capturing the jasmine fragrance before throwing the cloth for the others to catch. The pack surged, noses to the ground, and bolted in pursuit. Mounting his dark steed, Hades looked back at his men.

“Stay vigilant. More bandits may come. I’ll return soon.”

“Yes, General Hades!”

To have angered the notorious “mad hound” and survived was fortune beyond hope. The soldiers bowed deeper, relief flooding their hearts.

The noise of clamoring voices and animal howls had faded hours ago. In their shelter, refugee women uncurled their rigid limbs, peeking nervously outside. With men drafted or lost to war, only women, children, and the elderly remained—easy prey for bandits and slave traders who prowled like vultures.

“Do you think they’ve finally left?”

“It’s safer to wait until night falls, just in case,” whispered Latifa, cautious.

Her words were met with an impatient snort.

“No time for that. We need firewood, and you dawdling won’t help,” snapped Brenda, who seemed to have forgotten Latifa’s earlier assistance.

“If you’re too scared, go fend for yourself out there.”

“N-no… I was just…”

Latifa’s voice died under the weight of Brenda’s glare. Even as a princess, she’d never learned to assert herself, so why now?
‘I’m useless, no matter what.’

Years spent as the 17th princess, a title with no power, had fostered a deep well of helplessness and loathing. A familiar ache burned in her ankle, reminding her of her limitations.
“Ow… my ankle still hurts.”

She discreetly tugged her skirt down to hide the swollen joint, afraid of Brenda’s scorn.

‘If I become more of a burden, she might truly leave me behind.’
Suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats resonated outside.

Clop, clop.

People cowered, huddled tighter as dogs barked and the approaching thuds grew louder.

“Out of my way, fool!”

“Ah!”

Brenda shoved Latifa aside and ducked into the safety of the huddled group. Latifa barely had time to scramble up before a section of the wall behind her crashed down.

“Ugh!”

Cold air rushed in, carrying the fierce growls of hunting dogs.
‘This must be the end.’

She clenched her jaw, shaking as the footsteps approached, stopping just before her. She pressed her palms over her mouth, trembling in terror.

And then, a gentle touch on her forehead.

“…!”

Startled, Latifa opened her eyes, gazing up at a face that was both fearsome and strangely reassuring.