For as long as I can remember, the world has been gray...
Not the gentle gray of a rainy afternoon, but a heavy, suffocating ash that clings to your lungs and steals the color from your dreams…
I am Clara Despond…
They say my name means "Despair," a gift from a soldier who found me crying in the mud of a ruined village…
I used to hate it, but on the battlefield of Vesla, names don't matter…
Designations do not matter and your own standing also doesn't matter…
Only the rhythm of the shift system and the smell of ozone from the barriers matter…
Although because I was a healer and tried my best to save others so even shift system wasn't very clear for myself…
I would just heal and heal and then eat and sleep and heal again…
This was my Daily routine…
But one day I received a message…
Leaving Vesla was the hardest thing I've ever done…
I remember the faces of the soldiers as I was called back to the Capital for the summoning ritual…
They were gaunt, their skin like parchment, their eyes hollow pits of exhaustion…
Yet, when they saw me leaving, they forced their cracked lips into smiles…
"Go on, Little Angel," a veteran had whispered, his hand too shaky to even pat my head…
"This hell isn't for you…
Go find us a miracle…"
I felt like a traitor…
Every step I took toward the Capital was a step away from the people who had protected my youth with their very lives…
I wanted to let them smile and let them relax from the never ending war…
So I prayed…
I prayed until my voice was a rasp, begging the Goddesses to let the summoning succeed…
For several months, I had called into the void, and for twenty years, the void had only sent back more ink…
When I reached the Castle I felt it's opulence and was distressed at how much of this could have been used to empower the uncles in the battlefield…
Fortunately I didn't have to see it all too long and was immediately led into the Summoning Hall…
When I reached the Summoning Hall, the air was thick with the scent of expensive incense—a smell that felt wrong, too sweet, too disconnected from the metallic tang of the frontlines…
The Old Priest, his face a map of deep wrinkles, gripped my shoulder…
"Everything depends on this, Clara," he had said…
I closed my eyes and poured every drop of my faith into the circle…
My mana burned; my life-force felt like it was being squeezed through a needle's eye…
Please, I thought…
Not for me…
For the men at Vesla…
For the ghosts who still have names…
Then, the light changed…
It didn't flicker or die like the failed attempts of the past…
It roared...
When my vision cleared, I saw him...
A "Big Brother…"
My first thought was a surge of pure, crystalline joy—someone had finally come!!!
But then, I looked at his clothes…
A black and white sac???
Strange Shoes???
He looked like a boy out for a walk in a park I had only seen in picture books…
For a terrifying second, a seed of doubt sprouted in my chest...
Is this it???
Is this our savior???
I immediately felt a wave of crushing guilt…
To doubt the Hero was to doubt the Goddesses…
I squeezed my eyes shut and repented, forcing my faith to swallow my confusion…
I was wrong so I decided to reflect on myself and then looked at the Big Brother…
But then, he reached out…
No one on the battlefield had ever touched me like that…
The soldiers were always covered in blood; they kept their distance out of a grim, beautiful respect for my "purity…"
But this Hero…
He reached out and patted my head…
His palm was warm, solid, and real…
It wasn't the touch of a distant god; it was the touch of a brother…
I felt my breath hitch, and for the first time in my fifteen years, the "Saintess" mask cracked…
I felt like a child…
I felt safe…
The journey to the Throne Room, however, felt like walking back into a nightmare…
I looked at the gaudy gold leaf on the walls and felt a simmer of indignation…
How many grain shipments did this hallway cost???
How many sets of armor could have been forged from the Queen's jewelry???
When we entered, and the Ministers began to bark like rabid dogs, I felt my heart sink…
They called him a "stable boy…"
They called him "pauper…"
When Queen Minerva spoke of "Retreat…"
I felt something inside me break…
I had seen men give their last drop of blood to hold a single inch of a wall, and here she was, sitting on a throne too big for her soul, talking about a back door…
I stood up…
My voice shook, but I couldn't stay silent…
I told her about the soldiers…
I told her about the bread…
And she looked at me with annoyance…
Not pity...
Not shame…
Just the irritation one feels toward a buzzing fly…
I felt a hand on my shoulder…
It was him…
The air in the room suddenly became heavy—so heavy I could barely breathe…
I watched, paralyzed, as Big Brother stood against the royalty of my world…
I was terrified…
I thought the guards would cut him down, and we would be lost forever…
But then…
The world exploded…
I remember the sound of the castle shattering…
I remember the golden throne—the symbol of our "Order"—turning into splinters…
My mind simply stopped working... I couldn't comprehend it…
A Hero didn't just fight monsters; he was supposed to be a tool for the Crown…
This was something even my young mind understood…
After all, in our world rarely does someone go against Queens and Kings…
But Big Brother…
He smashed the Crown…
He turned the "Dream of Valroy" into a pile of ash…
I felt myself being hoisted up…
Suddenly, I was in a princess carry, my face pressed against the soft fabric of his hoodie…
I had never been so close to a man before…
I felt a heat rush to my face that was stronger than any holy fire…
I was shy, I was confused, and I was absolutely mesmerized…
As we flew through the sky, his wings of light making the sun look dim, I asked him why he did it…
He spoke of "sins" and "donkeys…"
But she didn't understand these things since she had grown up near the battlefield…
He said he would leave soon…