https://imgur.com/a/GaobWi6
Character visuals of her mother Celestienne and her sister Celestienne.
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Four hundred years before that meeting, she had once crossed paths with the Soul at the tip of the sword.
When she told the story, Celestienne burst into laughter—not out of mockery, but because the Soul, known for his arrogance, had actually looked embarrassed.
"Oh, Princess… you really do love to laugh," muttered the Soul, his tone half-annoyed, half-amused. "Who would have thought, beneath your appearance, your heart is like that of a man. No wonder I fell for you at first sight."
Celestienne gave a faint smile, her eyes narrowing as if hiding a secret. "Yes, I know. I didn't much like this body either. But fate had decided, so I simply accepted it."
Under a pale sky, their carriage rolled on. In the distance, the towering spires of magic and copper rooftops began to appear.
"Princess," the Soul spoke softly, "we'll be arriving in Ironvale's capital soon. You'll see what it's like for yourself."
Celestienne's eyes lit up. Without a moment's hesitation, she leapt from her seat and ran as fast as she could. The Soul at the tip of the sword was taken aback—even for him, her speed this time was unnatural, as if she were drunk on excitement.
And there it was—a breathtaking sight: the capital city of Ironvale, beautiful and bustling, full of color and life.
"Hahaha! So this is the capital of Ironvale. Too beautiful, isn't it, Soul at the tip of the sword?" Celestienne called out, her voice cutting through the city's noise.
"Indeed," replied the Soul. "I once only stared at the walls of a cave. Now… the view has completely changed. Come, Princess, let's go in."
Celestienne nodded. "I've grown tired of endless forests and mountains. Come, Soul at the tip of the sword, let's go down."
With a light yet graceful leap, Celestienne landed on the ground. But her arrival was met with commotion. The city gate guards immediately went on alert; thin smoke curled around them, and in its midst stood a girl with white hair.
"Who is she? Why is the ground cracking beneath her feet?" one guard whispered to another.
"I don't know," the other replied. "But… her hair is white. Just like Princess Celestienne's."
Celestienne stepped forward, wearing a smile laced with mystery. "Greetings, knights of the gate. How are you all today?"
The guards' eyes widened. "P-Princess…?"
"Yes, it's me," Celestienne answered, her lips curling slyly. "Surprised I'm not dead?"
Shock and tension rippled through the air. "Please keep this gate for me," Celestienne continued calmly. "I'll be going in and will return later. Understood?"
"Yes, Princess."
Celestienne's smile turned carefree. After so long trapped in the Forest of Death, she could finally breathe freely without surviving on scraps.
"Ironvale… at last, I'm out of that hell. Let's go in."
And as she set foot on the cobblestone streets of the capital, her eyes were met with towering magic spires, shops selling all manner of goods—from fabrics and garments to spices whose fragrance stung the nose.
But her steps halted when she bumped into someone. Her eyes recognized the figure instantly: Rowan Creed, the man she had once met in the Forest of Death.
"So you're here too, Rowan. It's been a while."
"Princess Celestienne… you really made it out of the Forest of Death?" Rowan looked at her, his eyes wide with disbelief and relief.
Before Celestienne could answer, the bustle of the street suddenly stopped. The sound of carriage wheels, once loud, now vanished. It was as if some unseen force had ordered everyone to step aside.
A black carriage halted right in front of them. The door swung open, and an old man stepped out with a commanding gait—Thalvorg Duskreign.
"It's been a long time since we last met, my child," he said with a haughty tone.
Celestienne offered a warm smile, though her eyes carried thorns. "Yes, it has been far too long, old man."
Thalvorg's gaze hardened. "How dare you insult your own father."
"Oh? So you see yourself as my father?" Celestienne's laugh rang out, dripping with derision. "Unfortunately, all I see is a frail old man who's sat on his throne for far too long."
The eyes of servants and guards nearby sharpened, brimming with hate. But Celestienne stood tall, savoring the tension.
"Hm," Thalvorg exhaled slowly, a thin smile curling on his lips. "Come home. In five days, you'll be entering the academy."
"Too bad. I'm not done exploring. And you know… what will happen if you try to force me."
A low chuckle escaped the king's lips. "You've grown arrogant just because you've opened the fourth mana circle. Don't forget, I'm still the ruler here."
Celestienne stepped closer, her voice low but sharp as a blade. "Power means nothing if you can't surpass its limits, Eternal King. Five circles—that's all you have. And I know how you obtained them… from the blood of heirs you eliminated for that throne."
Thalvorg's eyes narrowed. "How do you know…?"
"I know more than you think. And you certainly wouldn't want the people to know who their ruler truly is. So, let me enjoy the capital, hm?"
The silence stretched thin. Then Thalvorg laughed coldly. "Very well… enjoy yourself."
"Thank you, dear kind old man."
Celestienne strode away with Rowan. Rowan smiled, thinking it felt like a date. He didn't know that the princess's heart… was the heart of a man.
"Where to first?" Celestienne asked lightly.
"If I may suggest, let's try everything," Rowan replied.
They spent time at various games. Celestienne's laughter—rare and genuine—set Rowan's cheeks aflame. Meanwhile, the Soul within her sword only scoffed, already knowing the truth behind the princess's facade.
But their time together didn't last. As they moved toward the next game, Celestienne stumbled over a stone. Her body almost kissed the ground—yet Rowan caught her just in time. Their faces were so close both flushed deep red. Rowan quickly let go.
"M-my apologies, Princess. Are you all right?"
Celestienne gave a small smile. "I'm fine. Thank you, Rowan. But… it's already late. I must go home."
"Very well. Until we meet again, Princess Celestienne."
At the palace, the gates opened for her. Yet the guards' eyes held a hidden hatred. Celestienne ignored them, walking through the long corridor—until a man with an arrogant face blocked her way.
Lucarion. Her half-brother, second son of the king's second wife.
"Well, well, my useless little sister. I thought you'd died in the Forest of Death. Turns out you survived. How lucky… though I'm disappointed."
Celestienne answered with a mocking smile. "Thank you, dear brother, for your… concern."
"Concern? Hah. I'm disappointed because my rival for the throne is still breathing."
"Oh, so this is about the crown. Don't worry, Brother. There are still two candidates—you and me. But you know, this world doesn't belong to you alone."
Lucarion smirked in challenge. "And what will you boast of? Your beauty? Or that so-called eternal magic?"
Celestienne's eyes glinted. "Have you heard the rumor that the Forest of Death is now completely devoid of monsters?"
Lucarion raised an eyebrow. "Yes, but don't tell me you—"
"Correct," Celestienne cut in, letting her aura explode. "I slaughtered them all."
The sheer pressure dropped Lucarion to the floor. The palace walls trembled, the air thickened. Everyone inside felt the same terror—that an enemy had set foot in the palace.
"E-enough… Celestienne… I can't breathe… the servants have already fainted…!" Lucarion gasped.
"Hm… very well. But if you reveal my strength, you know the consequences."
Lucarion nodded rapidly. The aura faded. Celestienne gave a thin smile, then headed to the dining hall.
The rich aroma of warm dishes filled the grand space. A crystal chandelier reflected light across gold-plated walls, while a long table of polished blackwood was laden with roasted meat glazed in honey, wild mushroom soup, soft bread, and neatly arranged fresh fruit.
Celestienne entered, her gown swaying gently with each step. All eyes turned to her—some curious, others cold.
At the head of the table sat Aurelia Lysandra, her mother—a woman with long golden hair, sea-blue eyes, and a warm smile capable of melting ice. That smile appeared the moment Celestienne approached.
"Welcome back, my daughter," Aurelia said, her voice gentle yet filled with authority.
Celestienne bowed her head slightly. "Thank you, Mother."
They sat side by side. The meal began in silence, broken only by the clink of cutlery. Her father—rarely speaking—gave only a brief nod. Several of Celestienne's half-siblings exchanged glances, whispering with smug looks.
Aurelia broke the quiet. "I heard you crossed the Forest of Death alone," she said while ladling soup into Celestienne's bowl. "That's a dangerous journey. Why didn't you send word so we could fetch you?"
"I was fine," Celestienne replied flatly. "Besides, it was faster."
Aurelia's smile was faint, but worry was plain in her eyes. "You're as stubborn as ever. But remember—strength is not an excuse to always walk alone."
Celestienne met her mother's gaze briefly. "I know, Mother."
Servants refilled their drinks. Aurelia leaned closer, her voice lower. "I want you to know, whatever happens… I am on your side."
Celestienne didn't answer immediately, only gave a slight nod as she continued eating. Those few words, brief as they were, felt warmer than the entire feast before her.
The dinner ended with a short farewell. Before Celestienne could leave, Aurelia touched her hand gently, as if trying to keep her a little longer.
That night, the sky above Ironvale Palace was clear, dotted with stars. The evening breeze carried the fragrance of flowers from the royal gardens. Celestienne stepped into her room, closing the door softly.
Her chambers were spacious, draped in dark blue curtains with flickering candlelight. She removed her cloak, set her sword in the corner, then sat on the edge of the bed. For a moment, she gazed out the window, recalling the dinner… and her mother's eyes.
Slowly, the fatigue of her journey pulled her down. Her eyelids closed, and the real world began to fade.
---
The dream came without warning.
She stood in a meadow she had never seen before. A gentle breeze carried drifting petals of cherry blossoms. The sky was golden, and in the distance, ancient Eastern-style buildings rose among green hills.
Suddenly, a faint voice called her name.
"Celestienne…"
She turned, but no one was there. Her steps led her to a wooden bridge over a clear river. The water reflected the perfect image of the moon… until that reflection shifted into a pair of deep violet eyes staring straight at her.
The sky turned crimson. The cherry blossom breeze twisted into a dark vortex. Celestienne felt an overwhelming pressure—not on her body, but on her very soul.
---
She awoke with ragged breaths, cold sweat dampening her temples. The candles in her room had burned out, leaving only moonlight spilling through the window.
Her gaze fell on her sword. For some reason, she knew the dream was no mere trick of sleep.
---
The next morning, Celestienne awoke in her bed. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, making her open her eyes slowly. She rose, walked into the bathroom, and once finished, dressed in the clothes prepared for her trip to the academy.
So the academy allows high-ranking nobles—the children of kings, Grand Dukes, or those truly exceptional in magic—to wear whatever they please… I see.
She stepped out of her room as usual. The servants' gazes were full of disgust and loathing, but Celestienne, long accustomed to it, walked on without a glance.
"Good morning, Mother."
"Good morning, my daughter."
They spoke at length, touching on the mysterious figure in the Forest of Death. Aurelia was about to ask more, but her attention shifted toward the palace gates, where a carriage already waited.
"Celestienne, the carriage is ready. Will you leave now, or shall I walk you to the gates?"
"Is that really allowed?"
A faint smile crossed Aurelia's lips. "Come, let's go."
They walked together toward the gates, accompanied by Lucarion. Her mother opened the carriage door for her. Celestienne stepped inside, and as the door closed, she waved. The warm smile was for her mother—yet toward Lucarion, the gesture carried a subtler, unreadable edge.
As her hand lingered midair, a strange sensation brushed past her—neither voice nor whisper, but something like an echo too faint to be heard. Instinctively, she glanced around, eyes scanning the surroundings. No one was there.
Hm… odd.
The carriage began to move. That fleeting moment settled somewhere deep in her mind—not clear enough to remember, yet somehow… important.
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Chapter 3 Completed