The air still smelled of ash. Smoke drifted over the ruined market square, carrying with it the bitter tang of charred wood and the faint copper scent of blood. Broken carts and scattered wares lay in every corner, remnants of the chaos the demons had brought with them.
And yet, in the middle of this destruction, Shellia Emerald stood tall.
Her black hair fluttered in the breeze, strands catching faint streaks of sunlight that pierced through the gray sky. Her blue eyes glowed, not with fire, but with a strange calm that seemed to steady the frightened hearts of those around her. In her hands lingered the faint traces of magic—residual energy from the battle, shimmering like stardust before fading into the air.
At her side, a small figure hovered—Yuki, her spirit. His tiny form radiated a soft, silver glow, his healing aura wrapping gently around the wounded who lay nearby. Wherever his light touched, pain eased, bleeding slowed, and weary breaths steadied.
The citizens, who had been cowering moments ago, now began to rise one by one. At first they stared in silence. Then came the whispers.
"She fought them… alone."
"No—look, not alone. That little spirit… it's healing us."
"Blue eyes, black hair… it can't be mistaken. The Spirit Beloved has awakened."
The words spread like wildfire. Mothers clutched their children tighter, murmuring prayers of gratitude. Old men who once spoke of legends now watched with tears in their eyes. Young soldiers bowed their heads, shame and relief mingling in their expressions.
And then came the sound Shellia had not expected. Applause.
It began with one man—bloodied, his arm wrapped in makeshift cloth—clapping shakily. Then another joined, then more. Soon the entire square resounded with claps, cheers, and shouts that echoed against the broken walls of the dukedom.
"Spirit Beloved!"
"Lady Shellia has saved us!"
"The Emerald family is blessed once again!"
Shellia's chest tightened. She had trained her whole life to stand worthy of the Emerald name, but this was different. This was not the recognition of nobility or the respect for a duke's daughter. This was awe—raw, unshakable awe, as though they were gazing upon a legend brought to life.
Her hand, still trembling faintly from channeling so much magic, fell to her side. She swallowed, feeling the weight of countless eyes upon her.
Yuki floated closer, his silver light dimming as he returned from mending a soldier's wounds. His voice was soft, almost like a breeze, but only Shellia could hear it.
[They're looking at you like that because you gave them hope.]
Shellia glanced at him, her lips curving faintly though her eyes remained clouded. "Hope can be a dangerous thing, Yuki."
[And yet, without it, they would already be lost.]
The spirit's words carried a simplicity that made her chest ache. She knelt beside a little girl who had been crying, brushing soot from the child's cheeks. Yuki hovered over them, sending a pulse of healing warmth to ease the girl's scraped knee.
The girl looked up at Shellia with wide, tear-bright eyes. "You're… you're not afraid of them? The demons?"
For a moment, Shellia's throat closed. She wanted to answer honestly—that she had been terrified, that every strike of the demons' claws had echoed like thunder in her bones. But instead she smiled gently, brushing the girl's hair behind her ear.
"I'm only afraid if I stand still. As long as I keep moving forward, there's nothing to fear."
The girl blinked, then slowly smiled, her tears drying.
From the crowd, voices rose again.
"She's stronger than the last Spirit Beloved!"
"No… she's the strongest of them all. Did you see how the demons fell before her?"
"The spirits themselves must have chosen her!"
Shellia felt the words strike her like arrows. Strongest. Chosen. Spirit Beloved.
It should have filled her with pride. Instead, it left her unsettled. For she knew the truth—her power was not ordinary. It was doubled, heavy, as though two lifetimes had folded into one. She had not confessed that secret, not even to her father. Only Yuki knew.
Her gaze shifted toward the horizon, where smoke still rose from distant villages. The demons she had slain here were only the beginning. She knew it in her bones. This was a test—nothing more. And if the legends her father spoke of were true, worse was yet to come.
Yuki tugged softly at her sleeve, his glow flickering like a lantern in the dusk. [You're thinking too far ahead again.]
"Maybe." Her blue eyes softened as she regarded him. "But if I don't think ahead, who will?"
[That's why you're the Beloved. The spirits follow you because you carry the weight no one else dares to.]
Shellia exhaled, her breath trembling as it left her. She straightened, facing the citizens once more. Their eyes shone with admiration, but also with expectation. They believed in her now, believed she would stand between them and ruin.
She gave them a nod—simple, calm, but firm. The cheers erupted anew.
But inside, Shellia whispered a truth only to herself: If I falter, if I fail, then their hope will shatter with me.
The dusk settled deeper, painting the ruined square in shades of violet and gray. The people began to clear the debris, their movements quicker, steadier, hearts rekindled by the sight of her victory. Children laughed weakly, clutching their mothers' skirts, no longer crying.
Shellia stood amidst them, her black hair catching the fading light, her blue eyes reflecting the flames of scattered torches. For them, she was no longer just the duke's daughter. She was a legend reborn.
And yet, as the wind shifted and carried with it a faint echo—something like a distant growl—Shellia's hand tightened around the hilt of her weapon.
The demons had retreated today. But they would return. Stronger. Hungrier.
And when they did, the Spirit Beloved would stand again.
For she had no choice.
---
The square was still trembling with silence after the clash. Fragments of ash floated down where the demon had dissolved, scattered into nothingness by the purity of Shellia's magic. Citizens, bruised and shaken, stared in awe at the girl with black hair and bright blue eyes, standing tall despite her trembling fingers. At her side, the tiny spirit Yuki hovered with a faint glow, its healing aura softening the cries of the injured.
Shellia's chest rose and fell with each heavy breath. She wanted nothing more than to retreat, to gather her strength in the quiet of her chambers, but her duty bound her to stand and face her people. It was then, amidst the stillness of admiration and fearful whispers, that the sound of galloping hooves broke through the square.
A noble carriage, flanked by Emerald knights, forced its way through the crowd. The crest of the Emerald family shimmered on the polished wood. From within, a tall man stepped out, his black hair catching the faint sunlight, his purple eyes sharp yet strained. Duke Gerald Emerald, the pillar of the dukedom, strode into the square not as a ruler alone—but as a father searching for his daughter.
"Shellia," his voice called, not loud, but heavy enough to draw every gaze.
Shellia turned, startled, her lips parting soundlessly. She had not expected him to come. The sight of him—draped in noble authority yet with unmasked worry flickering in his eyes—struck something in her heart.
Gerald's boots echoed against the stone as he closed the distance between them. He did not acknowledge the crowd, nor the kneeling knights, nor the murmurs of citizens hailing their savior. His eyes were fixed only on her.
"You reckless child," Gerald murmured once he reached her, his hand rising before hesitating mid-air. His gaze softened, the steel of a duke melting into the tremor of a father. Finally, he rested his hand upon her shoulder, as if to confirm she was real. "Why did you not wait for the knights? Why must you always throw yourself forward?"
Shellia's blue eyes widened, guilt brushing against her pride. She opened her mouth, struggling for words. "Father… the people were—there was no time. If I had hesitated, more would have died."
Gerald's jaw tightened, but his hand lingered, gripping her shoulder with a mix of reproach and affection. "You are the Spirit Beloved. Not merely my daughter now, but the bearer of power this world has not seen in generations. Yet to me… you are still that child who once hid in the gardens, chasing fireflies." His purple eyes shone faintly, betraying the turmoil within. "And I cannot—will not—stand idle as you risk everything."
The square grew quieter still, the citizens watching as their duke revealed the rawness of his heart. To them, he was a figure of might, unshaken by war or politics. But here, before Shellia, he looked nothing more than a man grasping at the fragility of family.
Shellia lowered her gaze, a whisper leaving her lips. "I cannot turn away, Father. The spirits have chosen me. If I ignore their call, then what worth does this power hold?"
For a long moment, Gerald said nothing. His fingers, calloused from years of swordsmanship despite his noble station, brushed against her cheek. He tilted her face upward until her blue eyes met his. "You speak with the voice of duty," he said softly. "And yet, I fear that one day, duty will steal you from me."
Shellia's throat tightened. The words dug into her chest, stirring both warmth and sorrow. She wanted to promise him safety, to assure him she would never be lost, but the truth of being Spirit Beloved weighed too heavily. Promises would be empty. So instead, she whispered, "I will return. Always."
Gerald studied her, the faintest smile touching his lips—a smile heavy with disbelief yet desperate hope. He drew her briefly into his embrace, his cloak enveloping her slight frame. The citizens gasped softly, unaccustomed to such vulnerability from their duke. Yet in that moment, Gerald cared nothing for appearances. He only cared for his daughter.
"You are stronger than I imagined," he murmured against her hair. "But strength is not armor enough. Remember, Shellia, even the Spirit Beloved must rest, must lean on others." His eyes shifted briefly to Yuki, who hovered quietly at her side. "Perhaps even lean on the companions fate has given you."
Yuki, sensing Gerald's gaze, flickered softly and nodded, though only Shellia could truly hear its gentle voice. "He worries, as fathers do."
Shellia pulled back from the embrace, though her father's hands remained upon her shoulders. "I will not let the power consume me, Father. And I will not let the demons win. For Emerald… and for you."
Her words, quiet but resolute, seemed to ripple through the square. The citizens, who had feared the awakening of the Spirit Beloved, now found themselves admiring her courage even more. Some bowed their heads, others whispered prayers of gratitude.
Gerald, however, did not look to them. He studied only her, his heart tightening at the resolve in her gaze. How quickly she had grown, how swiftly she had stepped beyond his reach. He felt pride—but it was a pride veined with sorrow.
"You have inherited more than just the blood of Emerald," he said finally, his tone carrying both nobility and tenderness. "You carry its burdens, its destiny. I cannot shield you from that. But, Shellia… I can walk beside you as long as fate allows."
Her blue eyes glistened faintly. For all her strength, for all her acceptance of the spirits' call, she was still his daughter. Still the girl who longed for his approval, his presence. "Then walk with me, Father," she said, voice trembling but steady. "Even if the path leads to darkness."
Gerald's lips curved into a rare, gentle smile. "Always."
He let his hands fall at last, though reluctance lingered in the gesture. Straightening, the Duke's noble aura returned, commanding and unyielding. Yet the citizens who watched would never forget the sight of him as a father—wounded by worry, softened by love.
The bells of the town tolled distantly, signaling the end of danger for now. The people slowly dispersed, but whispers of reverence followed Shellia's name, and behind those whispers was an unspoken admiration for the bond between Duke Gerald and his daughter. A bond tested by fate, yet unbroken.
As the carriage waited, Gerald offered his hand. Shellia hesitated for only a breath before taking it, allowing him to guide her back—not as Duke to Spirit Beloved, but as father to daughter.
And though the shadow of demons loomed ever closer, for that brief walk through the square, the world felt a little less heavy.