Inside the royal palace, in a spacious chamber adorned with ornate wall decorations and classical paintings, Felice slowly opened her eyes.
Soft morning light filtered gently through the tall windows draped in sheer white curtains, dancing across carved woodwork and elegant furnishings.
Her gaze first fell upon the golden silk canopy that draped gracefully around the bed. Felice blinked several times, trying to make sense of where she was.
"Such delicate warmth..." she thought.
The bed cradled her in a tender embrace—soft, inviting, and almost unreal,
like being gently wrapped in a spell woven from light and dreams.
But that fleeting serenity shattered in an instant.
The echo of a voice—Dann's desperate cry—and then… the consuming dark.
Felice slowly pushed herself up.
Her head still throbbed with heaviness, but her body had regained enough strength to sit upright.
"You're awake. Don't push yourself too hard."
That gentle yet firm voice reached her ears like a whisper carried on the wind, prompting her to turn her head ever so slightly.
Seated before her, bathed in the golden glow of morning light streaming through the grand window, was a graceful woman. In her hands rested a thick, half-opened tome bound in aged brownish-black leather—yet her gaze was no longer on the pages, but on Felice.
She was none other than Princess Seraphina Valeblanc.
Her long, silvery hair shimmered in the sunlight, cascading like flowing silk.
The white-and-gold dress she wore, adorned with crimson patterns, draped flawlessly over the ornate chair beneath her.
Her gaze was gentle—yet within it lay an undeniable firmness,
like moonlight that could soothe the soul… or pierce straight through it.
"Why… am I here?" Felice asked under her breath, struggling to sit up with one hand bracing her weight.
But the moment she moved, a sharp pain surged through her head.
"Ah… ngh," she winced, clutching her temple as her eyes narrowed.
A dull ache pulsed behind her eyes—subtle, yet insistent,
like the lingering echo of magic not yet fully faded.
Princess Seraphina rose gracefully from her seat, closing the book in her hands before stepping slowly toward the bed. The sound of her heels echoed faintly against the marble floor—light, deliberate, like whispers against stone.
"Don't strain yourself. The sealing magic's effects are still lingering in your body."
"It was Dann who brought you here. He was deeply worried… even scolded the medical staff when you didn't wake up."
Felice Amour said nothing in response—only smiled in silence.
"What exactly happened? This is a Grimoure, isn't it?
You don't seem like just an ordinary seer."
"After the demon attack that night, traces of dark energy still lingered.
So I took the initiative to move around and purify what remained."
"Move around? Then… you can sense that corrupted energy?"
Her tone shifted—suspicion lacing her voice, brows furrowing slightly.
"Don't tell me… you're from the witchfolk?"
"You could say that… though it's not entirely accurate."
Her reply was calm, yet carried a weight—something unspoken beneath the surface.
Seraphina's brow furrowed.
Her eyes locked onto Felice's face, searching for clarity behind that elusive answer.
"Don't joke about this," she said sharply, her tone bordering on reprimand.
"You understand, don't you? A witch isn't someone who can just wander freely.
They're a race feared by many—even nobles tread carefully around them.
Their presence alone can spark unrest. There must be agreements between kingdoms, official declarations.
Without them, even a single step could be seen as provocation."
"So… which kingdom are you really from?"
Seraphina's gaze sharpened, cutting straight into Felice's eyes.
Her voice remained calm, yet it carried a weight that pressed down like invisible chains.
Felice didn't respond right away.
Her expression stayed gentle, but her eyes grew distant—as if carefully weighing each word before it left her lips.
The hem of her nun's robe swayed softly in the breeze,
and in that silence, she looked like someone burdened by a truth far too heavy to speak aloud.
***
Though midday bathed the Eternal Light Palace in its brilliance,
that radiance could not pierce the heavy air within a sealed chamber—
a private room reserved solely for nobles and the kingdom's most prominent figures.
At the center of the room stood a long table crafted from aged mahogany,
surrounded by ten ornate chairs—each reserved for those of high rank and trust.
At the head of the table sat King Alberecht, clad in the ceremonial robes of the realm.
Beside him, Queen Isolde Vern Hilde stared straight ahead, her hands calmly folded on her lap.
A royal advisor stood with a stack of documents in his arms,
while several nobles sat in a row—each face marked by concern and wary anticipation.
A tense silence hung over the room.
They were discussing a matter that could no longer be delayed—the formation of an inter-kingdom alliance.
The Demon King's forces had begun striking one territory after another, moving through the shadows.
The quiet world they once knew… was slowly beginning to crumble.
"Your Majesty," said a noble named Eirwen from the defense council, rising from his seat.
His right hand rested over his chest in a gesture of respect.
"With all due respect, allow me to speak my mind."
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to him.
"I propose that we immediately begin the process of forming an alliance among the kingdoms. If we continue to stand alone, our defensive strength will only diminish further.
However, if we unite—share intelligence, combine our military forces—then we stand a real chance of confronting the threat posed by the Demon King's army."
The noble's voice was steady, yet a trace of unease slipped through despite his composure.
Several of the other lords exchanged glances—some nodding quietly in agreement,
others still clouded by doubt.
A middle-aged man in a long robe adorned with ancient symbols slowly raised his hand.
His eyes were sharp, carrying the quiet authority of deep knowledge.
"If I may, Your Majesty," he said, his voice calm yet resolute.
He was Rivan Ortha, a renowned historian from the Altross Academia—a man known as the keeper of the old world's secrets.
"I do agree with the proposal. However, there's no guarantee that these kingdoms will fully commit to the alliance.
What if they turn out to be enemies in disguise?"
"As recorded in the annals, there are seven official kingdoms within the United Nations of the Realm.
Eldorian—a land blessed with prosperity.
Serathaar—renowned for its strict laws and iron discipline.
Nerathya—a kingdom long suspected of harboring armies empowered by dark sorcery.
Alvernia—a great power now shaken by internal strife.
And Thalmyra—a hidden realm ruled by magi, scarcely known to the outside world."
"Lastly, Aether Draconis—the kingdom that rules the skies.
According to ancient texts, it is the oldest of them all, said to have stood for over 70,000 years. The Drakania people, who call themselves the descendants of the gods, dwell among the clouds—bearing an honor untouched by any other race."
"With such stark differences between them… the possibility of forging an alliance seems almost nonexistent."
His words hung in the air, leaving behind a silence that pressed down on the room.
Not a single voice rose in response.
King Albrecht remained still upon his throne, his gaze distant—piercing through the space before him, as if weighing a thought too heavy to put into words.
The nobles, too, remained silent—faces tense, frozen in the weight of the moment.
No one dared to speak, as the atmosphere turned cold and heavy.
"Are we just going to sit here…
and wait for them to come again—
to burn my people in darkness once more?"
King Albrecht's voice shattered the silence—deep, heavy, and resonant.
Each word carried the weight of restrained fury, a mixture of bitter disappointment and the crushing burden of duty.
His eyes burned—not with ambition,
but with the pain of an old wound that had never truly healed.
"More importantly… why did the demon race suddenly strike at our kingdom?"
"What is it they truly seek?"
There was suspicion—and unanswered anger—in King Albrecht's voice.
His gaze swept across the chamber, as if searching for someone—anyone—who could give him an answer.
Even though, deep down, he knew no one truly could.
"They didn't attack blindly… their movements were too calculated. Too precise."
"This isn't just an invasion—this is a message."
His voice rang with finality, punctuated by the sharp thud of his fist striking the armrest of his throne.
The nobles began exchanging uneasy glances.
Some clenched their hands tightly atop the table, as if trying to contain a rising unrest they couldn't yet understand.
Rivan Ortha spoke once more, his voice low—like a whisper drawn from the pages of forgotten history.
"The demon race… never acts without reason.
In ancient records, they only emerge when the 'Sealkeeper' weakens…
or when something far greater begins to stir from its long slumber."
Amid the thick, suffocating tension in the air, someone finally dared to raise a hand.
"Sealkeeper…?"
King Albrecht narrowed his eyes. His voice grew firmer—yet beneath that commanding tone, a trace of uncertainty slipped through.
"Are there any remnants of a sealing site within our kingdom…?"
"Not in the literal sense, Your Majesty," Rivan Ortha replied slowly, his words seeming to echo across time itself.
"However… there are numerous ancient ruins—remnants of the Skyborn civilization, who were once believed to have set foot upon this land."
He paused, letting the silence settle around his words,
before continuing.
"What they once did here remains a mystery to this day.
But I believe… something they left behind—something still unresolved—has drawn the attention of the demon race."
His sharp eyes shifted subtly toward the King.
"For in truth, light and darkness… always walk side by side.
And where the light once shone the brightest,
the shadows will one day return to claim what was cast behind."
"Wouldn't you agree, Your Majesty?"
"If it's merely about ancient ruins, other kingdoms have them as well," King Albrecht said, his voice low and weighted, the tone beginning to harden.
"Don't stir unrest with speculation, Ortha—especially when nothing has been proven."
"Our concern right now is not some riddle from the past—
but how we'll face the demon race should they strike again."
The King's words landed like a hammer upon the table,
rejecting every theory not grounded in certainty.
The room grew heavier, as if the very air had tightened under the weight of his authority.
Rivan Ortha lowered his head deeply,
and in the stillness, his quiet voice rang clear:
"Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty…"
"I allowed myself to drift too far into the shadows of history."
He didn't meet anyone's gaze.
Yet those gentle words from the scholar were met with a cold, disdainful look from King Albrecht.
"How is it that…"
The King's voice was low, heavy—laced with a frustration he could barely keep contained.
"Is there no one in this room capable of finding a way—"
His sentence was cut short.
The King's piercing gaze froze, locking onto a figure at the far end of the long table.
A small-built individual, clad in an oversized robe that hung awkwardly from their frame, slowly stood up—raising a hand with an almost comical enthusiasm.
"P–pardon me…"
"M–my name is Puput, Your Majesty."
"M–my father is currently unwell, so… I've come in his place…"
The girl's voice trembled, yet she did her best to speak clearly before the assembly of nobles.
All eyes were now fixed on her—a small figure with slightly messy hair, standing upright despite nearly disappearing within the ceremonial robe far too large for her.
King Albrecht furrowed his brows.
His gaze sharpened, trailing from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes—
as if trying to determine whether the one before him was truly a royal envoy…
or a lost child who had wandered into the royal council chamber by mistake.
His expression was difficult to read—a mixture of confusion, doubt, and… perhaps a hint of surprise.
"You… are standing in for your father?" he asked, his tone flat, yet clearly holding something back.
Puput nodded quickly.
The silence in the room shifted into a ripple of murmurs.
Nobles exchanged glances—some startled, others simply intrigued.
King Albrecht fixed his sharp gaze on the girl once more.
His voice remained even, but there was a weight behind it that pressed down like stone.
"State his name. And his official position under the crown."
"M–my father's name is Viscount Erdelmorn, Your Majesty.
He serves as a strategic analyst… and also a scholar in archaeology."
King Albrecht narrowed his eyes, then slowly leaned back into the throne.
Faint lines formed on his brow—like traces of time reluctant to give up their answers.
He searched his memory—
That name… Viscount Erdelmorn.
A name that sounded official, yet nearly lost beneath the weight of old reports and dusty royal archives.
"Viscount, huh…" he muttered under his breath.
His frown deepened—not out of suspicion,
but because his memory simply refused to cooperate.
"Ahh… I truly can't recall."
King Albrecht let out a long sigh,
then leaned back into his throne, weariness in his posture.
"There are too many strategists in this kingdom…
Too many names that come and go."
"It's all right, Your Majesty," Puput replied, her voice gentle, paired with a small, sincere smile.
"So then, what idea has your father entrusted you to share?"
"Your Majesty, with all due respect…"
Puput drew a breath. Her voice still trembled, yet her determination held firm.
"I support Lord Eirwen's proposal…"
"However… it shouldn't be the crown that forms the alliance directly."
"Instead… S–Sir Dann Fasto should be the one to go and carry it out."
A wave of hushed murmurs spread through the room.
Whispers overlapped in tones of surprise and confusion.
"That's impossible!" barked one of the nobles, his voice slicing through the fragile silence.
He rose abruptly from his seat, his face tense—filled with unease and refusal.
"If Sir Dann Fasto leaves the kingdom…
then who will lead the front lines when the demon forces return?"
"What are we supposed to do without him here?"
His tone carried an unrest that couldn't be hidden—
not just disagreement, but fear.
Some nobles nodded in silent agreement,
while others remained still, waiting to see which way the wind would turn.
The tension between those who looked to the future and those who clung to survival was beginning to show—plain and sharp.
"So… are we just…"
Puput swallowed hard, her voice nearly drowned beneath the whispers of the nobles.
"Are we just going to sit here… and wait to be attacked again…?"
She lowered her head slightly, clutching the edge of her robe tightly.
"M–most likely… their numbers will be far… far greater than before…"
Her voice trembled, yet there was a quiet courage in her stance—
enough to keep her standing tall beneath the piercing gazes of the kingdom's highest authorities.
The room fell silent.
Not out of respect—
but because the question… was far too real to ignore.
A question from a mere girl,
yet it struck harder than any polished argument the seasoned nobles could muster.
Some lowered their heads in quiet shame,
and for a brief moment—even King Albrecht had no words to offer.
The air grew hot with the sting of rising anger.
A middle-aged noble rose abruptly, his chair scraping backward with a jarring screech.
His face burned red, and his hand trembled as he pointed toward Puput, who still stood firm at the center of the chamber.
"You… little girl!" he shouted, his voice bursting with raw emotion.
"You don't know anything!!"
"This kingdom… nearly turned into a sea of blood in a single night!"
His voice echoed—shaking the very walls, freezing everyone in place.
"Do you even know… what real fear feels like!?"
"When you hear the screams from beyond your own walls…
when the night sky turns crimson…
when the ground trembles under the footsteps of something not of this world…"
His hand was still raised—then slowly lowered.
His shoulders trembled.
"Even after you've prayed…"
His voice cracked, breaking into a trembling whisper.
"No one… no one comes to save you…"
He collapsed back into his seat,
tears falling unbidden—not out of weakness,
but because the wound was still too raw to be called a memory.
Silence returned to the chamber.
But this time, it wasn't born of authority or discipline—
it came because everyone realized:
they were all wounded.
The only difference…
was how each of them chose to carry their pain.
King Albrecht remained silent.
The sharpness in his eyes had faded,
replaced by something deeper… more human.
He looked at the small, plain face of Puput—
the girl who had just endured the weight of emotions she should never have had to bear.
There was something in that expression…
something he couldn't quite name.
Not bravery. Not innocence.
But empathy.
Pure and unfiltered—
the kind he rarely saw in a palace built on masks.
Beside him, Queen Isolde—who had remained silent, quietly observing since the beginning—lowered her head.
The gentle light in her eyes dimmed, clouded by unspoken sorrow.
Her delicate fingers clenched tightly over her sapphire gown,
holding back tears that threatened to fall.
"You…"
King Albrecht's voice was soft,
but it was enough to pierce through the silence still lingering in the air.
All eyes turned once again to Puput,
who now looked back at the King, hands clasped tightly at her chest.
"How certain… are you of this plan?"
"One hundred percent, Your Majesty," Puput replied,
with a smile—light as air,
yet echoing with a weight that struck deep into every heart present.
"…Then can you tell me—why?"
His voice was heavy.
Not with anger—
but with something far more human.
The weight of a king,
a father,
a man… who genuinely wanted to understand.
Puput lifted her chin ever so slightly,
her eyes gleaming as if she were gazing at a sky unseen above the palace walls.
"Because… this is the will of the stars, Your Majesty."
Her answer was simple. Without pretense.
Yet the faint smile on her face felt impossibly sincere—
strangely pure…
and quietly profound.
King Albrecht fell silent.
As if the girl's words had, for a moment, stopped time itself.
His gaze froze—not out of anger, nor confusion,
but because… it felt as though he had just heard something older than history itself.
The nobles were stunned.
Some glanced at one another.
Others let out quiet breaths, unsure of what to feel.
Rivan Ortha rose from his seat, his face taut with tension.
He turned to the King with a serious expression,
his hand clenched tightly at his side.
"Your Majesty, what this child has spoken… is nothing but fantasy!" Rivan cried out.
"We cannot stake the fate of our kingdom on the words of a girl whose background we don't even fully know—"
BRUUK.
The grand doors of the council chamber swung open with a heavy thud.
Measured footsteps echoed across the marble floor.
"No."
A woman's voice rang out—calm,
yet it cut through Rivan's protest like a cold blade slicing through fog.
"What that little girl said… is the truth."
Every head turned.
Standing in the doorway was a woman in a black veil, her gaze calm and composed.
Beside her stood a young lady with flowing silver hair—
Princess Seraphina Valeblanc.
"F–Felice Amoura…?" one of the nobles murmured in disbelief.
"The High Seer of the Veiled Star Monastery…?"
Felice stepped forward slowly,
each movement radiating an unseen energy—
as if her very presence had altered the atmosphere of the council chamber.
"We beg your pardon for the intrusion, Your Majesty,"
said Seraphina, gracefully making her way to the center of the room.
She lowered herself in a deep, elegant bow,
her right hand placed gently over her chest—a gesture of respect known to the royal house of Valeblanc.
"Miss Felice's presence here is not without purpose…"
"She brings a message of great importance—
not just for the Kingdom of the Eternal Light Order…
but for the fate of the entire continent."
Seraphina's voice was gentle yet resolute—
carrying a calm authority that silenced the entire chamber.
Felice Amoura gave a slight bow.
"Very well," King Albrecht finally spoke,
his voice steady, with an edge of quiet command.
"Let us hear what you have come to say."
He leaned back into his throne,
his gaze fixed firmly on Felice.
The creaking of chairs echoed softly throughout the chamber,
as the nobles slowly returned to their seats—one by one.
No one spoke.
No one dared to look away.
The room that had been filled with heated debate
had now become a sea of silence.
Felice Amoura stepped forward,
taking her place at the center of the hall.
With composure, she drew out a small scroll, wrapped in sky-blue cloth, from within her robe.
"Your Majesty… and honored nobles,"
she said, lifting the scroll slowly for all to see—
"What I am about to read… is part of the Prophecy of the Seventh Star.
An ancient script that only reveals itself…
when the cycle of fate nears its final turn."
"Whether you believe it or not…"
"It is the destiny…
each of you will carry upon your own shoulders."
She slowly unwrapped the sky-blue cloth—
as if unveiling time itself.
Felice's lips parted,
and her calm voice echoed across the chamber—
like a song whispered from a world beyond:
"In peace, one remains forsaken.
Truth… hides the evil beneath.
Suffering… seems without end.
All veiled behind a curtain of darkness.
No heart remains truly pure…
Even the heavens seem to turn away.
And yet…
There is one starlight…
that continues to shine within that kingdom.
A star that glows, even while drowned in shadow.
Its path… is nothingness.
And nothingness… is a part of it."
Felice slowly closed the scroll.
Silence fell once more upon the room—
not from tension this time,
but because the weight of those words
was simply too heavy to grasp all at once.
She lowered herself gracefully before King Albrecht.
"That is all, Your Majesty."
Puput stood quietly at Felice's side,
her small figure half-hidden behind the oversized sleeves of her robe.
Her wide, innocent eyes were fixed on Felice—
filled with a mix of awe, confusion… and a touch of fear.
Without realizing it,
her hands—still wrapped in the folds of that ill-fitting garment—rose to cover her mouth,
as if trying to grasp the meaning behind the grand words she had just heard.
Felice glanced toward her.
She said nothing.
Only a soft, wistful gaze…
and a gentle smile so warm,
it could calm any storm stirring within the heart.
It wasn't the smile of a great seer…
but of someone who knew—
that the child beside her
was already carrying something far greater than she could ever understand.
***
The heavy creak of hinges echoed through the throne hall.
The grand gates slowly opened…
A current of air slithered in,
carrying with it the metallic scent of blades
and the dust of a long journey.
From beyond the light that spilled into the chamber,
the silhouette of a young man appeared—walking forward with steady steps.
On his left and right, two royal guards flanked him,
a half-step behind—
signifying that his arrival was neither unauthorized…
nor without purpose.
His gaze was fixed straight ahead.
In his eyes burned a fierce resolve—
the kind that belonged to someone
who had made a choice…
and was ready to stake everything on it.
At the far end of the hall,
King Albrecht and Queen Isolde sat side by side upon the royal throne.
Beside them stood Princess Seraphina Valeblanc, her posture graceful and composed,
while Felice Amoura remained bowed in quiet reverence.
The nobles said nothing.
Some recognized the young man's face.
Others did not—
but they could feel his presence…
not just courage,
but a conviction forged in fire and scarred by pain.
And on the right side of the room…
Puput stood still,
her small frame slowly turning to face the young man who had just entered.
The young man advanced until he reached the center of the great hall.
With a motion both firm and graceful,
he dropped to one knee and bowed his head before the throne.
The sound of his steps ceased.
Silence cloaked the entire chamber.
"Your Majesty…"
His voice was calm,
yet rang clearly—echoing against the stone walls of the throne room.
"Dann Fasto has arrived… in answer to your call."
King Albrecht gazed at the young man in silence for a moment.
The figure before him was no longer a former criminal…
but a symbol of hope—
a beacon meant to light the world amidst the encroaching darkness.
Slowly, the king rose from his throne.
The weight of his royal mantle shifted gently,
its heavy fabric whispering across the floor
as he stepped forward.
Tension rippled through the hall.
The nobles straightened in their seats,
spines rigid, breath held.
No one dared utter a word—
every gaze fixed upon the figure of the King
and the young man kneeling before him.
Princess Seraphina stepped forward,
carrying a container wrapped in deep navy velvet.
Within it lay a scroll sealed in silver—
a symbol that its contents bore the authority of a royal decree.
She bowed gracefully,
then offered it to the King with both hands.
Albrecht took the container,
his eyes lingering on the seal for a moment…
before turning his gaze to Dann Fasto,
who remained kneeling, head lowered in solemn respect.
"Dann Fasto."
The King's voice echoed—firm, yet deep with gravity.
"Are you willing… to bear the duty that will take you beyond these walls?"
"Are you prepared to become a guiding light… even as the world you face is shrouded in darkness?"
"I am, Your Majesty," Dann answered without hesitation.
"All the hopes and trust of the Order of Eternal Light are sealed within this scroll."
"Therefore…"
"In the name of the Order of Eternal Light—
I command you…"
"Leave this kingdom. Become the bridge between the Seven Realms,
the link between a world now fractured—"
"And unite their strength…
to vanquish the darkness that now begins to rise."
King Albrecht held his gaze in silence,
then slowly extended the silver-sealed scroll toward him.
Dann raised his eyes, meeting the King's.
He reached out with both hands to receive the decree.
His fingers trembled slightly—
not from fear,
but because he understood…
this scroll was more than a mission.
It was destiny.
He held it to his chest,
then closed his eyes with quiet reverence.
His voice rang clear,
cutting through the stillness—
each word echoing like a vow that would be etched into history.
"I, Dann Fasto…"
"Hereby declare—
that I have received the direct command of His Royal Majesty…"
"And I shall carry it out…
with all my soul and strength."
King Albrecht gave a slow, solemn nod.
"Rise, Dann Fasto."
Dann stood, bowed deeply,
then stepped back with the utmost respect.
But just as he turned away—
his steps halted at the sound of that deep voice once more,
resonating from the throne:
"Who said… you had permission to leave?"
King Albrecht's voice echoed—cold and sharp.
Dann froze, his body stiffening for a moment.
His heart began to race—nervous,
yet he forced himself to remain composed.
Slowly, he turned back,
only to see the King… no longer looking at him.
"Seraphina Valeblanc," the King said.
"Step forward."
Princess Seraphina—who had stood gracefully beside the throne all this time—
stepped forward without hesitation,
though her expression betrayed a flicker of surprise she could not quite hide.
King Albrecht looked between the two of them,
then raised his hand with quiet authority.
"With this decree, I hereby declare…"
"Seraphina Valeblanc shall be appointed as the personal guardian of Dann Fasto—
until this mission is fulfilled,
and this world finds its path once more."
Both Dann and Seraphina widened their eyes for a moment.
Like two opposite poles, suddenly drawn together by the same thread of fate.
And somehow… in the quiet corners of their hearts,
there was a feeling—
as if this moment had been waiting for them all along.
A single tear traced down the cheek of Queen Isolde Verhilde.
Not of sorrow—
but a bittersweet mix of joy, hope…
and an old wound that had never fully healed.
Her expression remained serene,
yet brimming with emotion.
Felice Amoura remained standing, a gentle smile gracing her lips.
Her gaze seemed to pierce far beyond the chamber—
beyond time, beyond fate itself.
"The stars… have begun to move," she whispered in her heart.
And Pupute—
the small girl who now unknowingly held the seed of hope,
watched the backs of Dann Fasto and Seraphina Valeblanc with trembling eyes.
Her tiny body shifted restlessly,
yet her lips curved into a smile.
A pure smile…
the kind only someone who understands—deep within—
that she too is a part of this story,
could wear.
"Go forth… with the pride of your kingdom, my daughter."
King Albrecht's voice was heavy—
like stone forced to flow through water.
He stood tall… yet within his eyes,
a storm quietly raged.
Inside his chest, memories crashed like waves—
memories of Seraphina's childhood,
of laughter that could never be relived.
And now…
he himself was the one to send his daughter
into a world shrouded in uncertainty.
Princess Seraphina remained bowed.
Her silver hair fell, trembling with the weight of emotion.
Her brow hovered just above the cold marble air of the palace floor—
a sign that she could not yet lift her face.
Her lips parted,
but no words came forth.
A single tear fell.
It landed gently on the red royal carpet stretched beneath her—
and with it, her father's command was sealed in silence.
Dann Fasto and Seraphina Valeblanc slowly lifted their heads.
Their eyes met—frozen in time.
No words passed between them.
Only a gaze...
one that carried everything words could never express.
Seraphina smiled.
A gentle, sincere smile...
Yet the tear on her cheek remained—
a lingering trace of a command she could not defy.
Dann blushed.
His face turned awkwardly red, a faint heat blooming on his cheeks.
He wanted to look away,
to hide the foolishness he felt—
But he held her gaze.
And at last...
they walked.
Side by side.
Leaving behind the grand hall of the throne room,
Stepping forward into the blinding light that awaited at the end of the corridor.
Meanwhile, behind them...
Felice Amoura remained still.
Her eyes followed their backs as they walked away,
and within those calm irises, a shadow stirred—
Silent… yet undeniable.
Light and darkness.
Now, both had begun to move.
To be continue...