Date: September 26, 637, 9:19 PM.

  A familiar scent filled my nostrils—a nauseating blend of decaying corpses and thick, foggy air. I had once again entered the dream I had been anticipating for so long. The same scene was before me. In the midst of the apocalypse, among the ruins and debris, it was there. Twirling the iron rod in its hand mockingl“Hey! You’ve been quiet for a while,” I said as I approached. My voice echoed, but it showed no surprise. Breaking its cross-legged sitting posture, it stood up and turned its back to me. With a blank expression and a cold voice, it simply said, “It was necessary.”

  This time, I had gotten closer than ever before. It wasn’t throwing me away, nor was it attacking me in a terrifying frenzy. It seemed open to communication; this could be a first. Maybe, for once, we could have a normal conversation.

  Suddenly, it pointed the iron rod at my face. “I have new questions for you,” it said. Its voice remained unwaveringly confident. I responded with a cocky remark, “Isn’t it pointless to ask questions you already know the answers to?”

  It didn’t like my words. It murmured something under its breath before replying in a low voice, “I knew you would say that.” For the first time, a human-like expression flickered across its face. A trace of emotion appeared on that normally impassive facade; it was like a small victory. Maybe I was getting closer to unraveling its mystery. I needed to push a little further.

  But it was a being beyond my expectations. Abruptly, it snapped, “No. The conclusion you’re about to reach is incorrect.” How could I have forgotten this trait of its? Hiding anything from it was impossible.

  This was the clearest I had ever seen its face. I couldn’t look away, trying to etch every detail into my mind. I began analyzing its facial features, and at that moment, I realized something… There was a terrifying resemblance. It looked like me—a dirtied, wounded, and battered version of myself.

  As this thought echoed in my mind, it extended the iron rod toward my chest, lightly tapping the tip against me. Then, in a cold tone, it spoke:

  “You are me, and I am you. I know everything about you—what you think, what you feel… I won’t repeat myself.”

  Its words felt like a threat that sank deep into my bones. I was sweating, yet at the same time, I felt cold. My knees trembled. The thoughts this being was forcing upon me had become unbearable.

  “Our purpose here is for you to realize these things,” it continued. Tapping the iron rod against the ground, it created a sharp, resounding noise. Then, it asked a question that froze me in place:

  “How did you feel when you learned the truth about Malle?”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. It, however, suddenly lifted its head toward the sky.

  A crimson glow flickered in its eyes, as if it were awaiting a signal from above. Without another word, it raised the iron rod once more and, with that familiar force, hurled me out of the dream.

  As I was expelled from the dream, complex sequences of numbers streamed before my eyes like a reel of film. These images spun in my mind as I opened my eyes. I was staring at the ceiling. Cold sweat drenched my body, and without meaning to, tears trickled down my face.

  My legs felt frozen with unease. My entire body was covered in sweat, yet I still felt as though I was freezing. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and pushed the blanket off of me. When I looked down at my legs, I noticed fragments of crimson ice forming along the edges. It seemed I had found the reason for the unbearable coldness I had felt. But the moment I returned to reality, that sensation had vanished.

  Malle’s words about Alphia echoed in my mind. As an Alphian, I was weak against heat but resistant to the cold. It wasn’t strange that I no longer felt anything—it even brought a slight sense of relief.

  But why had this ice appeared now? The first thing that came to mind was the Archive. Without hesitation, I scanned the ice using Analyze. I systematically reviewed the results: This was a rare substance known as Crimson Ice. It was a special kind of ice that could only be produced by a pureblood Alphian. A reaction caused by the events in my dream, yet the exact reason and mechanism behind it remained a mystery.

  My thoughts were a mess. Despite all this information, the fact remained that I had felt cold when I was in the forest. Everything was happening too quickly, and I couldn’t make sense of it. I brushed the ice off my legs with my hands. The moment the fragments hit the ground, they began to melt rapidly, vanishing within seconds. I remained still, watching them evaporate.

  Finally, I lay back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling as my thoughts drifted. “Where is Malle?” I murmured. Just then, I realized I could hear distant sounds outside.

  She had mentioned that the first leaf would fall today. Most likely, everyone had gathered around the tree in the town square. But the square was far from here—so where were these voices coming from?

  I slowly sat up and leaned toward the window near the desk. Peering outside carefully, I scanned the yard. At the bottom of the veranda steps, right in front of the garden gate, I spotted three figures moving: Amice, Brishen, and Malle. They were likely making their final preparations before heading to the festival grounds.

  The night had already fallen, and I didn’t think I needed to put on anything extra. I didn’t even bother grabbing my hat. Without a second thought, I stepped outside in the thin white dress I wore to sleep. I didn’t even know what this type of clothing was called—perhaps I had never thought to ask. But for now, describing it this simply would suffice.

  I called out. “What are you doing?” I asked. The children immediately lifted their heads and looked at me with excitement.

  Malle, who had been adjusting the last details of their outfits, caught my gaze with a faint smile. For a brief moment, she bent down toward the children and whispered something in their ears. They immediately dashed toward me with excitement.

  Leading the way was Amice, wearing a knee-length pink dress with a slightly worn but still functional brown jacket over it. Behind her, Brishen followed, dressed in a matching blue-toned outfit with a similar jacket. When Amice reached the steps, she gasped for breath and eagerly asked, “Big sister Lily, are you coming with us?” Brishen, too, grinned with the same enthusiasm. Their bright, innocent smiles warmed me.

  From behind, Malle called out playfully, “Say yes, say yes!”

  I had already wanted to see the festival. And I couldn’t refuse such a sweet request from the children. So, I agreed to go. The moment I said it, Amice and Brishen wrapped their arms around me in a sudden embrace.

  The gesture caught me off guard, and for a brief moment, I hesitated, unsure of what to do with my hands hovering in the air. But their warmth felt comforting.

  As Malle slowly descended the veranda steps to join us, my eyes caught sight of the crimson outfit beneath her worn black cloak. It matched perfectly with her hair and eyes. Tonight, she had left her hair loose instead of tying it up as she usually did. She looked beautiful.

  In a soft voice, she spoke, “They really adore you.” Then, after a brief pause, she added, “It’s nice that they see you as their big sister, isn’t it?”

  She was right. The children’s joy as they clung to me, their innocent laughter—it truly warmed something deep inside me. These emotions stirred a strange, unexpected warmth within me. But I didn’t respond to Malle’s question.

  She didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she suggested we head inside before leaving for the festival so that I could change into something more appropriate.

  As I stepped through the doorway, thoughts swirled in my mind. The bond of siblings… This relationship felt more real to me than that of a parent and child. Of course, parents were the key figures in bringing a person into the world—they shaped their children's lives in significant ways.

  But that wasn’t the case for me. A Messiah had neither a mother nor a father. Even if I had forgotten everything, understanding this truth wasn’t difficult.

  My thoughts shifted from parents to children. “I wonder if I could meet Amice and Brishen’s parents?” I mused. Their kindness and warmth made me think their parents must be good people—just like Malle. And right now, I really needed good people. People who could guide me in this unfamiliar world.

  Malle pulled out some new clothes from a chest beside the mirror. Along with the white dress I already wore, she handed me gloves and a scarf for sun protection, as well as a black hooded cloak. As she extended the cloak to me, she said, “It might be a bit chilly tonight. This will help keep you warm.”

  As an Alphian, I was resistant to the cold, so she must have known I wouldn’t actually need it. But I understood her intention—it wasn’t just about warmth. She was making sure I blended in with others, making me seem more 'normal' in their eyes. This cloak was a tool, not just for protection from the cold but also for adaptation.

  With the children’s small but enthusiastic assistance, I quickly changed into my new outfit. Before stepping outside, we took a moment to comment on each other’s clothing. The children were particularly fascinated by mine.

  “You look like an angel!” Amice exclaimed in admiration.

  Brishen nodded eagerly in agreement. I wasn’t sure exactly what they imagined an angel to look like, but I understood that it symbolized purity and beauty.

  As we passed through the garden gate and stepped onto the dark pathway, it became clear that Malle and the children were struggling to see the road ahead. The distant festival lights were visible, but the path we walked on was uneven, with scattered stones and small pits. They stumbled every few steps, trying to tread carefully.

  I warned them and did my best to prevent accidents, but Brishen still tripped a few times, dirtying his clothes.

  During one of these small mishaps, Brishen lost his patience and started crying. His sobs filled the quiet night air. Malle picked him up in her arms, softly humming a lullaby to calm him down. Within minutes, his hiccups faded, and he rested his head against Malle’s shoulder.

  Meanwhile, Amice silently reached for my hand under my cloak and held onto it. Her quiet demeanor made it clear that she was bothered by Brishen’s reaction.

  As we continued our walk, Malle and I started talking about my abilities.

  “You can see everything clearly, can’t you?” she asked.

  I nodded in confirmation. A faint smile crossed her lips as she continued, “I think your powers are starting to awaken. But you need to control your eyes properly. If you don’t, they might shine like the gaze of a bloodthirsty predator. I don’t want you to frighten people.”

  The thought of my eyes becoming so uncontrollable felt distant to me, but I understood Malle’s concern. She was warning me in advance to prevent any potential problems.

  “How do I control my eyes?” I asked.

  Her response was slow but firm. “Try to stay calm. This happens when your emotions reach extreme levels. No matter what, you must always remain composed.”

  I admitted that I didn’t think it was possible. Malle gave a small smile and, in a voice filled with intrigue, said, “If you can’t do it, who else can?”

  Her words echoed in my mind as we walked through the darkened path in silence.

  Staying calm… That wasn’t exactly my strongest trait. But if I wanted to avoid trouble, I had no choice but to learn.

  I reminded myself that I was usually composed, that I didn’t let events or emotions dictate my actions. But deep down, I wasn’t sure if I could truly maintain my control in this situation.

  As we approached the village center, the growing brightness of the lights made it easier to navigate. The once-hidden stones and uneven ground were no longer a major obstacle.

  In this well-lit part of the village, several merchants had set up stalls, selling various goods, food, and drinks. The crowd grew denser, sending a slight wave of unease through me. To avoid drawing attention, I pulled up the hood of my cloak. Malle noticed and nodded approvingly—it was a reasonable precaution.

  Suddenly, Brishen reacted as if he had caught the scent of food in the air. He wriggled out of Malle’s grasp and dashed toward a food stall, bumping into a few people on the way. Seeing this, Amice followed him. Naturally, we had no choice but to go after them.

  When we reached the stall, the intense aroma of meat filled my nostrils. But it wasn’t just the meat—an array of spices and ingredients had blended into a rich, overwhelming scent.

  “What kind of meat is this?” I asked, unable to suppress my curiosity despite the way the smell stung my nose.

  “Seasoned Beef,” Malle answered, stepping closer and inhaling the scent deeply. From her tone, it was clear that she enjoyed it.

  The seasoning was a mix of spices made from herbs that grew abundantly in this region. I had tried something similar before, thanks to Malle. The memory of that experience—both the internal and external struggles that followed—was still fresh in my mind. I had learned my lesson. No matter how diverse the flavors were, I had to stay away from heavily seasoned foods.

  When Malle asked, “Would you like some?” I quickly shook my head.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small coin pouch, handing a few iron coins to the vendor. The children, now holding their freshly bought food, looked delighted. Their faces lit up in the midst of the bustling crowd, small beacons of joy in the sea of people.

  With their excitement fueling our steps, we continued toward the festival’s center.

  The last time I had been here, it hadn’t left me with the best memories. But now, the place felt entirely different. Strings of lights and flowers hung between the tightly packed buildings, adding a certain charm to the night. The children’s excitement blended with the lively atmosphere, transforming the village square into something straight out of a fairy tale.

  That’s when we spotted Dustin standing behind one of the stalls. Malle and the children’s faces lit up the moment they saw him. Without hesitation, Amice and Brishen ran toward him, shouting with glee. The elderly man spread his arms wide as they threw themselves at him, wrapping their small arms around his sides. With surprising strength, Dustin lifted both children into the air as though they weighed nothing more than dolls. Given his towering height, the kids were raised high above the crowd, their giggles mixing with traces of fear from the sudden lift—but the joy on their faces was undeniable.

  Malle and I approached as Dustin’s booming laughter echoed over the crowd. “Your beard’s all prickly, Uncle Dustin!” Amice protested playfully, causing another burst of laughter from the old man. Brishen’s slight grimace confirmed Amice’s complaint, though it was clear that both children adored Dustin. He was more than just another villager; that much was obvious.

  Curiosity sparked within me. Was Dustin somehow connected to the children’s family? I tugged at Malle’s shoulder, prompting her to lean down so I could whisper in her ear. “Is Dustin related to the children’s family?” A soft, bittersweet smile spread across Malle’s face. She took a deep breath before answering quietly: “They’re orphans,” she said gently.

  She went on to explain that a few years ago, while foraging for medicinal herbs in the Great Oak Forest, the children’s family had been ambushed by bandits. Their parents had been gravely injured during the attack. It had been Dustin and his men who had driven the bandits away, rescuing the children and bringing them back to the village. Despite Malle’s best efforts, she hadn’t been able to save their parents. “Since that day,” Malle continued, “the entire village has taken care of them, doing everything they can to make the children feel loved. Dustin especially—he’s a hero in their eyes because he saved them.”

  Her words echoed in my mind, but another thought followed closely behind. What a futile effort. As long as memories lingered, there was no way to truly forget such a tragedy. Especially when the wound was still so fresh. Even Malle, an adult, carried the scars of her past—so how could these children possibly forget? There was a hidden sorrow behind their bright smiles, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud.

  Dustin’s voice broke through my thoughts, his cheerful tone carrying above the noise of the crowd. “Since you’ve come all this way, how about giving the game a shot?”

  His stall resembled a simple game setup—targets were placed at varying distances, and the goal was to hit as many as possible. The more you hit, the bigger the prize. It was simple but fun. The throwing items were dagger-like, designed to be safe even for children.

  The kids were the first to try. Amice grabbed one of the daggers with her small hands, aimed carefully, and threw it. The blade missed the target entirely, clattering harmlessly to the ground. Brishen tried a few times but eventually accepted defeat with a heavy sigh, his shoulders drooping. Both returned to us, slightly sulking. Their disappointment was obvious, though understandable—they were still too young.

  When it was Malle’s turn, the atmosphere immediately shifted. She stepped up to the stall, grabbing three daggers and weighing them skillfully in her hands. With practiced ease, she spun them once in the air before hurling them one after another. Each dagger hit the center of its target dead-on. No one seemed particularly surprised.

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  The children jumped up and down, cheering, “That’s just like Malle! Hooray!” while Dustin nodded with approval, folding his arms across his chest.

  But something about Malle’s performance made me pause. A healer being this adept with daggers wasn’t normal. And more than that, the casual way she displayed her skill—it felt strange.

  Then, Malle turned to me, a playful, challenging look in her eyes. “Your turn,” she said, handing me three daggers.

  I turned them over in my hand, inspecting them. They weren’t sharp—clearly designed to be safe for children—but the daggers weren’t the problem. It was Malle’s attitude that irked me.

  Throughout our interactions, I’d noticed several behaviors I didn’t approve of: her unnecessary physical contact, her mocking and condescending remarks… And now, even in this simple game, she seemed determined to outshine me. I couldn’t let that slide. She needed to understand that someone like me wasn’t to be underestimated.

  With that thought, I decided to outperform her. The Archive came to mind. I had promised myself not to use it unless necessary, but that promise had already been broken earlier when I analyzed the crimson ice on my legs. So, what harm could one more time do?

  I placed the daggers between my fingers and activated the Visor and Speed commands. Visor would ensure perfect accuracy, and Speed would allow me to show off my strength.

  I threw the daggers in quick succession. At first, everything went according to plan—each dagger hit its target—but then things took an unexpected turn. My daggers pierced straight through Malle’s, shattering the targets entirely.

  Instead of simply sticking into the boards, my daggers broke them into pieces that glittered with crimson ice.

  I could feel Malle’s stunned gaze without even turning toward her. Dustin opened his mouth as if to say something but was left speechless.

  I, on the other hand, slowly shifted my focus to the spot where the targets had been. They were gone, completely destroyed, and the shattered pieces had toppled the stall behind them, injuring a couple of people in the process.

  As I tried to process what had just happened, I felt a strange heat in my eyes—an odd blend of warmth and cold. Malle had been right—my eyes were out of control.

  Dustin and Malle quickly rushed to the injured, leaving me standing there, frozen. Amice and Brishen stared at me from a distance, wide-eyed, their faces filled with a mixture of fear and shock. How did it come to this? I hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, yet there I was—someone who had unintentionally hurt two innocent people.

  An internal battle erupted within me. One voice whispered, “They’re just humans. Why should you care if they get hurt or die?” Another, louder and fiercer, countered, “No! Hurting innocents is wrong—completely unacceptable!” This mental clash left me paralyzed.

  As more villagers approached the scene, murmurs and whispers grew louder. Someone stepped forward from the crowd and shouted: “Look at her eyes! She’s a witch, a killer!” That single accusation was enough to ignite chaos.

  The crowd surged forward, their growing hostility palpable. I stood motionless, overwhelmed, my mind racing for an escape—when suddenly, two soldiers appeared, pushing through the mob.

  “Clear the way! Stand back!”

  Leading the charge was Adam, strong and confident. Behind him, slightly clumsy but determined, was Brayton. I recognized them from my early days in the village—they had helped Malle before. Adam’s eyes gleamed with focus and resolve, while Brayton, as before, seemed hesitant.

  They forced their way through the crowd and finally reached me. Malle returned from tending the wounded, quickly joining us.

  While Brayton struggled to keep the crowd calm, Adam pulled Malle aside for a quick assessment.

  “Any dead or critical injuries?” Adam asked.

  Malle responded swiftly, “Two are badly hurt, and a few others have minor injuries. The lightly wounded aren’t a concern, but we need to treat the others immediately.”

  Adam’s jaw tensed as he processed the information. One hand rubbed his chin thoughtfully, while the other instinctively rested on the hilt of his sword. After a few tense seconds, he sighed deeply and made his decision.

  “Reinforcements are on the way, but we don’t have time to wait. Move the injured to a nearby house and start treatment right away,” he instructed.

  Malle nodded but then hesitated, glancing at me. “What about Li— I mean, her?” she asked, quickly correcting herself but still pointing at me. My heart pounded. I wanted to know the answer to that too.

  Adam shot me a quick glance, his jaw tightening before he spoke. “I’ll calm Torsten down and convince him to let this go. That idiot’s bound to do something reckless otherwise.” With that, Adam disappeared back into the crowd, no doubt heading straight for Torsten.

  Malle, meanwhile, rolled up her sleeves, preparing to help move the wounded. Her face was a mask of control, though a flicker of worry still shone through. Amice and Brishen stood silently nearby, but this time, they hesitated to approach me. The fear in their eyes cut deeper than anything else.

  Dustin, along with a few calm-headed villagers, helped Malle carry the injured to safety. Just as Adam had predicted, more soldiers arrived, bringing a brief moment of order to the chaos. But even with the crowd somewhat calmed, the unease within me remained.

  My gaze slowly shifted back to the children. They were still there, still watching me. Amice swallowed hard, her wide eyes locked on mine. She hesitated, then, in a barely audible voice, spoke as she tugged lightly on my black cloak.

  “Lily… I think your eyes look really pretty. And you’re not a witch.” Her soft, pure-hearted words filled me with a strange warmth.

  “Brishen thinks so too,” she added, her voice even quieter.

  For a moment, I was speechless. Just like Malle often did, I felt the sudden urge to hug them. I knelt down, opened my arms, and without a second of hesitation, they ran into my embrace.

  Amice whispered as she hugged me, “You’re so cold, Lily.” It was true—being Alphian meant my body was always cold—but that didn’t matter in this moment. Their warmth made me feel… human.

  As distant shouts grew louder, a shiver crawled down my spine. I didn’t need to see who it was—I already knew. Torsten.

  Turning to the children, I urged, “Go to Malle.” They hesitated, fear shifting into concern in their wide eyes, but they knew they couldn’t stay here. With downcast faces, they quickly hurried away.

  No sooner had they left than Torsten emerged from the crowd. Every eye snapped to him. His face twisted with fury, and his voice matched it, booming over the growing murmurs.

  “See?! This is what happens when you protect a witch! Now we’ll get rid of her! And I’ve brought the highest authority to do it!”

  As his words echoed across the square, my gaze shifted toward someone standing next to him—a figure who clearly didn’t belong among the armored guards. Her mere presence radiated authority.

  With dark green and deep blue hair cascading down her back and eyes shimmering like polished gemstones, she stood out even among the heavily armored knights. A flowing robe of white and gold cloaked her, its intricate designs amplifying her status. A tall, ornate hat crowned her head, and the shining armor of the surrounding knights only served to emphasize her position of power.

  Her presence here was a bad omen. I didn’t need any further signs.

  Malle and Dustin must have sensed it too. Hearing the noise, they arrived and instantly spotted Torsten and the imposing woman. Though fear flickered across their faces, they didn’t back down. Dustin was the first to speak, his voice loud and furious.

  “What the hell were you thinking, bringing a Haura Priestess to this village? You idiot!”

  Torsten merely shrugged, a smug grin stretching across his face, before arrogantly addressing the crowd.

  “You old fool! Two people are seriously injured because of you, aren’t they?”

  His words only heightened the tension. Malle stepped forward, her voice steady despite the growing pressure.

  “It was just a minor accident. They’ll be fine—I’m treating them.”

  But her attempt at reasoning only deepened Torsten’s rage. His fury now turned entirely on her.

  “You have no right to speak, traitor!” he bellowed. “You aided a witch—one of the gravest crimes!”

  The situation spiraled out of control. Torsten’s words caught the attention of the Haura Priestess’s knights. Their cold, calculated stares shifted to me, silently deciding their next move.

  I knew I had to act.

  My mind raced for solutions. This uncontrollable power within me—it stirred again. If I could control it, even just a little, I could flip this dangerous moment in our favor.

  After a quick evaluation, I realized this power was somehow connected to the Archive. My previous experiences had confirmed it—the Archive commands worked in harmony with my surroundings and even my body. But I still didn’t fully understand how to control that synergy. Despite that, I had no choice. I needed to turn this chaotic situation into an opportunity.

  Diving into the Restricted Mode of the Archive, I frantically searched for a suitable command—something that could act as both a strong defense and a deterrent. Countless codes and possibilities raced through my mind. One wrong move, and this would end badly.

  Torsten then turned to the imposing figure beside him, bowing his head with exaggerated reverence. “Lady Caltha, please,” he said, his hand gesturing toward me.

  His stance wasn’t just submissive—it was sycophantic, almost pathetic. Seeing him, usually arrogant and aggressive, bending so low revealed a side of him I hadn’t seen before.

  Caltha didn’t respond. She simply started moving, her steps heavy but measured. The knights flanking her followed closely, their metal armor clinking with each synchronized movement, the sound echoing ominously through the square. Each step she took seemed to press down on the crowd, silencing the whispers, crushing the noise.

  No one dared to speak.

  Caltha’s piercing gaze locked onto me, as though dissecting my very soul. Her eyes held both judgment and a cruel curiosity. As the distance between us shrank, the surrounding knights moved into formation, enclosing us in a wide circle.

  Caltha reached the center, stopping roughly fifteen meters away from me. She adjusted the hem of her robe, then spoke—her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

  But stranger still—her words didn’t just echo in my ears. They reverberated deep within my mind, as if spoken directly into my consciousness.

  “I am Amura Priestess of the Haura Churches—Caltha Zyn’Eryth. This name was bestowed upon me by none other than Fynthera Or’Elyxis, the Face of Time, Lady Haura herself!”

  Her very first sentence sent a palpable wave of tension across the square. Everyone held their breath.

  Caltha tilted her head, her voice rising as she addressed the crowd.

  “Lowly races! Hear my words and be forgiven! Bow! Kneel! Close your eyes and pray! Pray in the name of Lady Haura!”

  Her command triggered an immediate reaction. Villagers dropped to their knees as though yanked by some invisible force. Eyes closed, heads bowed, and quiet chants filled the air. Lips moved in repetitive murmurs, entranced in a trance-like prayer. I didn’t know if their words held meaning or if they simply obeyed out of fear—but the effect was undeniable.

  Even Malle and Dustin had dropped to their knees. Dustin’s face bore a calm, almost peaceful expression, as though he’d accepted this as an inevitable ritual. But Malle—her expression was strained, beads of sweat glistening on her brow. Her hands were clenched tightly, her breathing shallow. She wasn’t at peace. She was struggling.

  I wanted to call out to her—but in this eerie silence, any word I spoke would echo, drawing even more attention.

  Caltha’s focus was solely on me.

  Her gaze pierced deep into my mind, her presence digging at the edges of my consciousness. I felt her words before I even heard them, reverberating within me.

  But my body resisted.

  I didn’t kneel. I didn’t shut my eyes. Yet the icy burn returned to my vision, the telltale sign that my powers were slipping from my control.

  Caltha must have noticed.

  A cruel smile curved her lips. Her voice dropped into a condescending whisper—just for me.

  “Ah, so you can’t control your eyes. Your powers are just awakening, aren’t they? Or maybe you’re just an incompetent little witch?”

  The mocking venom in her words burned deep. Yet she didn’t stop.

  “No matter... Someone with more muscle than brains will handle you.”

  Her voice suddenly snapped back to its commanding pitch.

  “Ignisra!”

  Ignisra stepped forward from among the knights with slow, deliberate strides. His armor gleamed in shades of blood red and deep maroon, molten metal dripping from its surface with every step, releasing thin clouds of steam as it hit the ground. His advance resembled that of a predator—slow, calculated, and inevitable. The murmurs of the crowd ceased at once. No one could withstand the oppressive weight of his presence.

  As he approached, he removed his helmet, revealing his face. Jet-black hair flowed freely, and his golden eyes radiated a menacing glow in the darkness. His facial features were sharp and defined, the mocking curl at the corner of his lips reflecting the essence of his character. He fixed his gaze on me, a contemptuous smile playing across his face.

  “The night’s getting interesting,” he said, his voice deep and mocking. “They say you’re a so-called witch. But all I see is a child frozen in fear. What a disappointment.”

  The air around me grew heavier with every step he took. It felt as if an invisible weight was pressing down on me. The rising heat made breathing difficult, his aura crushing me in the most literal sense. The people nearby had fallen to their knees, their faces pale with terror, too afraid to make a sound. To them, Ignisra wasn’t just a man—he was the embodiment of raw power.

  “Your eyes…” he sneered, scanning me from head to toe. “You don’t know how to control them, do you? Maybe you’re just a clumsy little witch.” His mocking grin widened. “Or perhaps just a fool. Does it matter? Tonight, you’ll face your fate.”

  Every word felt like another layer of pressure, suffocating me. Yet behind his taunting gaze, I sensed something deeper—a chain, invisible but binding. There was a submission lurking beneath his mockery, though to whom he was bound, I could not yet tell.

  Ignisra gripped the hilt of his sword, turning to the crowd with a thunderous voice: “I understand your fear. But tonight, that fear will be replaced by cleansing.” He turned back to me, his voice dropping into a darker, more menacing tone. “And you... you won’t disappoint me, will you?”

  His sword slid free from its scabbard like a serpent uncoiling. Every motion was calculated, controlled. The heat from the ground beneath us intensified, nearly scorching my bare feet. Steam rose from the molten liquid dripping off his armor, enveloping us in a thick, suffocating mist. The tension between us was so dense, even my own breathing echoed in my ears.

  Ignisra’s mocking smile slowly faded, replaced by a determined and serious expression as the flames surrounding him grew even fiercer. His sword blazed as if it had just been pulled from the heart of a volcano. Red and yellow flames stretched from the blade to his hair, wrapping around his entire body. His eyes glowed like streams of molten gold, locking onto me. Through the curtain of fire, I could see his clenched teeth, his face contorted with pure rage and ambition.

  With a sharp whoosh, he raised his sword high into the air. As he swung it down with full force, the gust that followed slammed into me like a searing storm. My eyes narrowed against the pain, the scorching heat clawing at every inch of my body. It hurt—badly—but I had no intention of dying here.

  In a split second, I made my choice. As the enormous wave of fire came crashing toward me, a single command echoed through my mind: “Archive! Glacial Spire!”

  The moment the command activated, a crimson ice spire shot up from the ground beneath Ignisra. He had to abandon his attack and leap backward to avoid it. My plan had worked! The spire shimmered through the flames, rising tall and proud, forcing Ignisra to retreat and breaking the momentum of his strike.

  The tension in my chest loosened, but I could feel my energy levels plummeting. The oppressive heat from the flames was rapidly draining what little strength I had left. Breathing became harder; the toll of pushing my abilities to their limit was undeniable.

  Ignisra hesitated for a moment before a mocking laugh burst from his throat, reverberating through the square, cutting through the lingering heat.

  “Ah! Looks like this night’s going to be fun after all! You actually managed to fool me. Clever.” Resting his sword on his shoulder, he tilted his head, giving me a smug glance. “So, what else do you have for me?”

  But I had nothing left. My energy was nearly gone. I could feel my knees trembling, every bit of strength poured into simply staying on my feet. Ignisra, on the other hand, wasn’t even close to exhaustion—and he knew it.

  Just then, Caltha’s sharp, scathing voice rang out across the square:

  “Finish it already, you idiot! Do you think I have time to watch you play around?” Her words tore through the tense silence, thick with irritation. She turned her back, muttering as she walked away. “Why would they assign a fool like you to me, anyway?”

  Ignisra cast a brief glance at Caltha before giving an indifferent shrug and a reluctant nod. “Alright then! Let’s get serious,” he growled, his voice now laced with pure menace.

  The mocking gleam in his eyes vanished, replaced by a deadly seriousness. As he raised his sword once more, the heat surrounding us intensified. The ground beneath glowed red-hot, and in the air, the flickering trails of fire became sharper, more defined. This time, there would be no holding back. Breathing itself had become agonizing, and I knew there was no way I could fend off his next strike.

  His blade shimmered with firelight, and in a low, threatening voice, Ignisra declared, “Brace yourself, little Witch. It’s time to meet your end.”

  He lifted the sword one final time. The flames burned so fiercely that drawing breath felt like torture. It was as if all the air had been consumed, leaving behind only unbearable heat. Ignisra’s face glowed with the triumph of victory. As he swung the sword down, the fire flared wildly, encircling us like a blazing ring.

  I was powerless. My knees refused to move, my body no longer under my control. As the sword descended, there was no time left—no strength left—to dodge. “This is it,” I thought, my mind resigned. I was completely spent, with nothing left to give. I shut my eyes, bracing for the final searing blow.

  But then… something happened.

  A sharp, cracking sound echoed through the air, and I opened my eyes. Before me, a massive wall of ice had surged upward, solid and towering. Ignisra’s blazing sword slammed into it, the impact sending a hiss of steam swirling into the air. The suffocating heat vanished in an instant, replaced by an almost unnatural coolness that washed over me. I raised my arms to check myself—the searing pain was gone, replaced by a strange, peaceful sensation.

  But I hadn’t created this wall. So who had? What was going on?

  Slowly, I straightened up, scanning the area around the icy barrier. My eyes followed its edge, and there—emerging from the shadows—someone stepped into view. They wore a black cloak, its intricate patterns unmistakable. It looked almost identical to mine. Their face remained hidden beneath the hood’s darkness, but then… yes, their eyes—just for a moment—flared a vivid crimson.

  After seeing it, it slowly lowered its arm. The cold seemed to radiate directly from its very presence, an aura of frost shimmering faintly around it. Had it been the one who created the wall? The crowd had fallen into complete silence, no one able to comprehend what had just happened. The arrogance on Ignisra’s face had twisted into stunned rage, yet the figure before me didn’t seem to care. With slow, deliberate steps, it began moving toward me.

  I gathered my strength and pushed myself up, my legs trembling beneath me. As it approached, I instinctively took a step back, trying to get a clearer look at its face. My mind swirled with questions, but one rose above the rest, slipping from my lips before I could stop it.

  "Are you... an Alphian?"

  It tilted its head slightly, drawing in a deep, silent breath. Then, with both hands, it slowly pushed back the hood of its cloak. Beneath it, stark white hair spilled out, framing a face as sharp and cold as ice. Crimson eyes locked onto mine—a piercing, frigid stare, yet somehow carrying a searing intensity beneath its surface. There was a depth to that gaze, one that defied simple explanation.

  It held my gaze for a long, heavy moment. Then, without warning, it sank gracefully to its knees. The movement was deliberate, controlled, filled with an undeniable purpose. Letting its arms fall to its sides, it bowed its head before me. When it spoke, its voice, clear and feminine, was barely more than a whisper.

  "Yes, our Messiah."

  The words echoed in my mind, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world had stopped. There was a weight to what she’d said, a gravity unlike anything I had ever experienced. I didn’t know who she was or why she had come here—but there was no mistaking the sincerity in her words. No deception, no hidden meaning. The conviction in her eyes confirmed it all.

  Yet that single word—Messiah—kept repeating in my head. Why had she called me that? What was it about me that warranted such reverence? Who was I, really?

  As these questions burned through my thoughts, she lifted her head again. Her crimson eyes, unwavering and intense, met mine with the full seriousness of her declaration.