Half a Magic (1)
‘Expectations are a load of bullshit.’
For the second time, he realized just how unforgiving the prairie truly was.
Following Ahor into the morning duties, Vesta found himself sweating the moment chaos erupted.
**Kweeeeeeeeeeee—**
The instigator of the disturbance kicked up a storm of sound while rampaging across the entire ground.
It was a massive female camel.
They had simply let it graze and wandered off, yet here it was, throwing a tantrum.
“Absolute mayhem.”
The camel was an animal of such enormous size that even most Empire citizens who had never seen one would imagine it as some exaggerated horse. And now that Vesta stood beside an actual horse, the difference was staggering.
A creature that large kicking up trouble was no joke.
Elf riders on horseback tried to herd the camel toward one direction to scare it, but panic had clearly taken over. It only grew more agitated.
Even Ahor, who had been guarding Vesta, stepped in.
From a safe distance that didn’t provoke the camel, she crouched calmly, waiting for the perfect moment.
“Hey, everyone—pull out the lassos.”
The elves reached for their ropes, the last resort.
Ahor’s voice rose sharply. “One camel throwing a tantrum? What’s the point of even bringing out lassos? Wouldn’t breaking a healthy leg be better?”
That was true. At her height, falling after snagging a lasso could easily break bones.
But the camel clearly wasn’t listening.
The mother camel snorted in pure ignorance of its own doom ahead.
“I can’t help them.”
Even strong horses panicked. Vesta had been trying to drive the camel himself when he suddenly stopped.
“Ashtien…?”
Vesta spotted the Khan emerging from her tent.
She was positioned far from the commotion.
Watching the situation with an unreadable expression.
*She’s carrying a bow.*
And a single arrow had been taken out of the tent.
Exactly one arrow. Nothing more.
She calmly strung the bow and drew the string.
“Are you going to kill the camel?”
Vesta couldn’t understand why she would choose such a drastic path. Lassoing would have been far safer.
He focused his gaze on the arrowhead at the Khan’s end.
He wasn’t as sharp-eyed as a prairie elf, so he couldn’t see clearly, but the arrowhead looked… odd.
**-Vesta.**
“……!”
Her lips moved. Had she spotted him while aiming at the camel?
She turned her head slightly, still holding the string taut.
*Now—*
With a faint chuckle, she released the string.
**Piiiiiiiiiii—**
The arrow flew with an eerie sound unlike any normal arrow.
It resembled the cry of a falcon, a mournful instrument-like tone.
The arrow emitted a wail as it passed harmlessly beside the camel’s nose.
The startled camel froze at the sharp sound and eerie sensation.
Ahor didn’t miss the opening. She had already seen the Khan glance at Vesta, heard her laugh, and noticed the bowstring.
She moved.
No, she had already been moving before the arrow struck.
She was certain the Khan would succeed in her goal.
Leaping onto the saddle like a rider, Ahor launched herself toward the camel’s hump.
She soared through the air and landed lightly between the humps, then skillfully twisted the camel’s nose ring.
The camel, pinned by the needle-like ring, only grunted in protest.
“Easy. Calm down.”
Ahor stroked the camel’s neck with gentle hands.
She seemed relieved that no lasso had been used.
“So that’s why she’s called the Falcon.”
Her movements were as swift as a hawk striking its prey. Without the natural balance, focus, and coordination, she could never have moved like that.
“And even more astonishing…”
It was the Khan.
Her archery was truly inhuman.
More than someone who could hit a distant target.
More than someone who could strike a moving beast.
She had to predict movement and execute that prediction in an instant.
Not just a body—she had to aim precisely at the end of a swaying neck.
If she wanted, she could have fallen the camel with a single shot by locking eyes.
Vesta glanced back at the Khan’s position, but she had already vanished.
*I love hunting.*
He remembered her confident words.
“Running away is out of the question.”
His sweat had cooled completely.
*
When he picked up the arrow again, the head was indeed unusual.
It looked like a small instrument was attached.
“So that’s the wailing arrow.”
Ahor said as she approached on horseback.
“Is this the arrow used to signal the start of battle?”
“Yes. Commanders and signalers carry them.”
Vesta examined the arrowhead and asked, “Does Ahor-sama shoot well with a bow?”
“I can hit targets like most others.”
“Most others.”
The people she referred to were almost certainly the renowned prairie elf archers.
Ahor, who shot as well as them, was truly exceptional.
“I saw the Khan fire that arrow and graze the camel’s nose.”
“Yes. You did.”
“I may not know much about archery, but her skill is extraordinary.”
Ahor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, her gaze drifted toward the direction the Khan had gone.
“There are so many skilled archers in this prairie that it’s hard for any single one to stand out.”
*However.*
The emotion in Ahor’s eyes was one of reverence.
“Only one person stands out even among them.”
The **Arrow Princess**.
Vesta remembered that the elf women who had kidnapped him had called the Khan by that name.
“Vesta-nim.”
Ahor had been staring at the Khan’s quarters for quite some time before dismounting.
“Please speak.”
“Do you hate the Khan?”
“…Yes?”
“You… do not despise her?”
“No. Not especially.”
She had become a mere possession of the Khan, but she hadn’t been kidnapped by her.
The true culprit had acted, and the Khan had merely purchased Vesta from them.
“In that case, it’s fortunate. Since you can never return home, I was worried you might hold hatred toward her.”
*Ah. So that’s it.*
She was concerned that Vesta’s hatred was directed at the Khan.
“I’ve never seen the Khan show such vulnerability before. So, I hope Vesta-nim does not hate her.”
Vesta understood the feeling.
If he had hated the Khan, and that hatred had driven him to strike.
Yes, as the Khan had said, even if he pierced her with a sword, she would forgive him if her hatred was genuine.
But Ahor would never forgive him. Never.
“Ahor-sama is truly loyal to the Khan.”
Was that a new thought for her?
“Because I want to protect her, I say this…”
“The Khan is a person no one can protect.”
“Isn’t Ahor-sama doing exactly that?”
“This is about the mind. I cannot imagine her feeling despair or broken.”
*That’s the same for me.*
She was the kind of person who would remain dignified no matter what situation arose.
“As long as no new weakness appears for the Khan…”
As a member of the Khan’s guard, Ahor seemed terrified of her developing a weakness.
A weakness that could be forgiven, even if it was an unreasonable amount of mercy.
“I was an foolish subordinate speaking nonsense. Forgive me.”
“It’s fine. Don’t bow your head so much.”
“Please do not hate her.”
“I have no such feelings.”
Vesta’s words silenced Ahor. She never again brought up that heavy topic.
An awkward silence settled.
In the midst of it, the arrow remained.
Vesta decided to return it later and tucked it into his bosom.
*
The elves who had successfully driven out all the camels gathered to rest and drink milk tea.
It was made by boiling fresh milk with tea leaves.
The leftover milk used to make butter had been prepared in large quantities, soothing the tired workers.
“Doesn’t making butter waste a lot of milk?”
“It’s made from the byproducts after butter production. We can’t leave milk sitting for long, so it’s unavoidable.”
It sounded incredibly efficient.
“When summer comes, you’ll probably get tired of the ‘white food’.”
“White food, you mean cheese or milk porridge?”
“Yes. Camel milk that’s normally not eaten in spring can be drunk in summer.”
“Is it tasty?”
“It’s salty and rich, considered a delicacy on the prairie.”
He heard that camels were rare beasts that didn’t produce much milk, so the flavor could only be tasted in summer when the calves were grown.
Ahor, though somewhat stiff, gave Vesta a detailed explanation of the prairie as requested by the Khan.
*She’s a difficult person to get close to, but I want her as an ally.*
He hadn’t trusted the Khan for nothing.
**Swoosh—**
Just as he and Ahor were sharing the tea, a man entered the tent.
It was an elf man.
Vesta’s gaze lingered on him for some reason.
*Why does he bother me?*
He studied the man’s face to figure out why, and discovered one fact.
The man had wrinkles on his face.
An imperfection that an elf, who supposedly lived forever, shouldn’t have.
“Ah, you’ve come at a good time.”
Ahor called the man over after speaking. He greeted Altaia, who had been serving the milk tea, then approached them upon hearing Ahor’s words.
Ahor turned to Vesta.
“From this afternoon onward, you’ll be moving together with him.”
“What kind of work does he do?”
“He herds sheep.”
Vesta nodded and exchanged greetings with the man.
The man introduced himself.
“Nice to meet you, Consort.”
Consort. The man who had married the Emperor’s daughter.
“I am a half-elf. My name is Orolbai.”
“…You may call me Vesta.”
Half-elf.
*No wonder I thought he looked wrinkled.*
The man named Orolbai was a half-elf born from an elf father and a human mother.
---
*In the world of endless grass and wind, where survival was the only law, Vesta had always believed the steppe was a place of raw power and beauty. But today, that belief had cracked open once again. He had come to the prairie with high expectations—expectations of belonging, of purpose, of a home that would heal the scars of his gladiator past. Instead, he had witnessed a mother camel throwing a tantrum, and the entire scene had felt like the universe itself laughing at his naivety.*
*Ashtien, the proud Khan of the Nomadic Elves, had appeared in the distance like a silent storm. One arrow. One shot. That was all it took for her to turn chaos into order. Vesta had watched her move—not with the calm grace of a rider, but with the predatory precision of a predator who had already chosen her target. He had felt his heart skip at the realization that this woman was not merely a leader; she was a force of nature. And yet, something about her had tugged at him. A memory of the Spirit Princess, of the way she had sacrificed five hundred years of karma to save him. A feeling he couldn’t name. A feeling he refused to name.*
*Ahor’s loyalty was absolute. She had seen the Khan laugh at Vesta’s presence and still moved without hesitation. Her eyes held the same quiet reverence Vesta had glimpsed in Ashtien’s gaze when she looked at him. He wondered if the Khan felt the same way about him—as a complication, a vulnerability she could never afford to reveal.*
*And Orolbai, the half-elf shepherd, carried the weight of that question like an old wound. His wrinkles told stories of a life that had crossed species boundaries. He had married a prairie elf woman, raised orphaned children, and found a strange kind of peace in the harsh land. Vesta had once been a gladiator—Achilles, they called him in the arenas of the Empire. Now he was Baatar, champion, fiancé, husband. The titles felt heavy, but they also felt like armor. He had survived blood and sand. Surely he could survive this too.*
*When the milk tea was served, the conversation drifted to summer’s white food—cheese, curds, milk gruel, fermented mare’s milk. It was the kind of simple, abundant pleasure that nomads cherished. Vesta listened, nodded, and tried to memorize every detail. This was his new life now. Not the dusty streets of the Empire, not the roar of crowds, but the wind on his face and the taste of real freedom.*
*Yet in the back of his mind, a half-magic lingered. The arrow he had carried in his bosom still hummed faintly, as if it knew secrets the prairie refused to tell. The Spirit Princess’s blessing had granted him more than healing—it had granted him a thread of fate he could not yet see. Perhaps that was why he had come to the steppe in the first place. Not to conquer, not to conquer, but to find the other half of himself that the gladiator in him had lost long ago.*
*The sun dipped lower, painting the grass in gold. Somewhere beyond the horizon, the Empire burned. Somewhere closer, the Blood Alliance plotted. But here, in this vast sea of green and sky, Vesta felt something he had never felt before.*
*Home.*