The sky over Veridona was blue, cloudless, and the sun’s rays illuminated the roofs of the houses as if they were made of pure gold. The streets were bustling with life, children were playing, and women from the upper classes were sipping tea, in the meantime looking at the poor sitting at their stalls. One of the people sitting at a small stall was Sarah, a polite, calm girl, with a smile that, despite her own worries, could brighten someone else’s day. People knew well that she was the eldest daughter of an old, sick herbalist. That it was Sarah who sat at the market every day instead of her. Today was no different. Sarah, a red-haired woman, with a pale complexion and a face full of freckles, was spreading dried herbs and fruits picked in the forest on her stall. Her green eyes showed her tiredness, but despite this, she continued to smile. The air smelled of mint, lavender, and wild berries. Sarah gently brushed the red locks that fell over her face and adjusted the linen scarf on her shoulders. Every now and then she smiled at passersby, expecting nothing in return—she did it out of a simple reflex of the heart. Although most wealthy ladies paid her no attention, and some men mocked her quietly, there was not a grain of bitterness in her. She was what she was—sincere, patient, ready to help.
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The sun climbed higher, and the market became increasingly noisy. Here and there the voices of traders touting their wares rose, children laughed in the distance, and the clatter of horses’ hooves mingled with the hubbub of conversation.
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Suddenly, however, the hubbub seemed to quiet down a bit. At first imperceptibly. As if the air had thickened, and the world itself had held its breath for a moment.
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It took Sarah a moment to feel that something was different.
She raised her head and saw people stop, looking around uncertainly. And then she saw him.
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He walked calmly, through the crowd, his steps almost silent. He was dressed in a simple, white tunic, with bandages wrapped around his eyes. He had long, dark, curly hair with streaks almost like gold, which fell to his shoulders.
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Sarah squinted. She had never seen him before. He did not look like a resident of their neighborhood, much less like a wealthy aristocrat. He was… different. And there was something in this otherness that drew attention.
He did not stop at any of the richer stalls. He did not look at the gold ornaments, perfumes, exotic spices. He was looking for something - or someone.
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And finally he stopped at her stall.
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Sarah froze. Her heart stopped beating for a moment.
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She did not know who he was. But she knew one thing: no one had ever looked at her like that before… even though his eyes remained covered.
The mysterious man didn’t speak, only tilting his head slightly as he looked at the herbs on her stall.
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“Are these from the Veridony Forest?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet, deep, almost melodic, as if it resonated within her long after he had already fallen silent.
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Sarah took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. His presence was overwhelming, though not in a threatening way. She felt as if the air around her was thickening, as if something large and incomprehensible was standing just a meter away from her - and watching, though it had no eyes.
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“Yes, from the very heart of the forest,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.
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“I pick them myself. I know which places are the cleanest.” He didn’t answer right away. He ran his fingers over one of the dried rosemary sprigs, as if he was getting to know it not only by touch, but also by memory.
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“I feel something more in them,” he murmured.
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“Peace. Devotion. Tenderness.”
She fell silent. No one had ever talked about her herbs like that before. Most people just wanted to buy something cheap for a fever or sleep. And this man… he saw something deeper in them. As if he saw who she really was, not just what she was selling.
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“Do you want to buy something?” she asked after a moment, slightly embarrassed by his silence.
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“No… not yet.” He tilted his head slightly.
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“I just wanted to make sure it was you.”
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“Me?” Her heart pounded.
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“Who are you?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his tunic and pulled out a small, silver medallion—quite ordinary, but its surface glowed with a warm light, as if it didn’t come from this world. He placed it gently on the counter.
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“I’ll be back,” he said quietly, as if to himself.
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“Not now… but soon. When night and day meet at the border. Then you’ll understand.”
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Sarah watched him turn and walk away, again silently, as if he didn’t belong to this world. She was left alone, with the locket and her heart beating like crazy.
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She didn’t know yet that she had just met a god. A god who hadn’t come to choose a queen. He hadn’t sought power, submission, or sacrifice.
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He had come for her.
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For the rest of the day, Sarah was in a trance. Customers came and went, asking about the price of mint, about the effects of St. John’s wort, whether she still had angelica root. She answered, gave change, smiled as usual… but deep down, her thoughts were only about this man.
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He didn’t give his name. He didn’t explain,where he came from. And yet she felt as if she had known it forever. As if his presence in her life had been planned long before. The medallion he had left behind pulsed with a quiet light every time she touched it. The warmth of its surface soothed, and at the same time awakened something in her—curiosity, fear, but also… hope. When she returned home, her mother was asleep, wrapped in warm blankets. Sarah sat at the table, holding the medallion in her hand. Silver, simple, without any runes or symbols. And yet… she felt its weight, not only physically. She felt that it carried a promise.
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