Eldoria. The Realm of Grimm.
Poets often say that growth is like starlight—that one must endure the suffocating cold of the void to truly shine in the dawn of a new future.
Aina thought that was sentimental garbage.
To her, growth wasn't about endurance; it was about cultivation. Specifically, the cultivation of the Blood Curse Tree standing before her. She didn't wait for the stars; she watered the soil with fresh blood every single day, coaxing the twisted roots to drink deep.
And today, under the pale morning light, the tree had bloomed for the first time.
Aina smiled. It was a good omen.
"Your Holiness," a soft voice broke her reverie. "The preparations are complete. The procession awaits you and the Idol."
Aina inhaled deeply, savoring the metallic, sweet fragrance of the crimson flower one last time before pulling away. Two maidservants stood behind her, heads bowed, reminding her of the schedule.
"It seems the four Divine Envoys of Hellscream are getting impatient."
