The wintry night air was freezing cold, yet it still played a beautiful melody in Anastasia's ear. There was something about the winter that reminded her of memories she had long forgotten.
Memories of her mother when she was still alive. She could see her majestic white hair, long and flowing. She could see her blue eyes, the same shade as the sea. Her adorable face, which made her father blush more than once.
All of it reminded her of the person her maternal figure once was.
Anastasia sat on the edge of her bed with the window open, which her father openly disapproved of.
For some reason, she knew she would have a hard social life from now on, that most nobles would see her as a murderer and a savage beast, one who mercilessly killed a man in front of people.
It didn't matter to them that she killed a murderer who had previously brutally ended the lives of two servants in front of their very eyes.
But would that really change anything?
She already had almost no contact with other nobles. If anything, it actually made her life easier; spreading her name as that of a bloody murderer would only build her reputation and help her towards her ultimate goal, revolution.
This nation was rotted to its very core; the nobles were nothing but a bunch of crows, feeding themselves off the people's hard work, precisely like a crow feeding on other beasts' hunts, without putting in any effort.
She resented the emperor for doing nothing about it, rather enjoying his lonely life at the top of everything. The one who never bothered to do something about the many criminal organizations hiding in the shadows of the Empire, leaving the task of eliminating those criminals to the very people of his Empire.
She hated that the people were so blind to see that the meat was long rotten, and that all that remained were the bones of the previously glorious and flamboyant animal that was the Prussian Empire.
All of it was senseless to her.
Thus, she bathed in the hope of revolution.
Revolution would bring a new sun upon the Empire. She would do something about the criminals, the poverty, the nobles; she believed she could fix all of it.
Even if the Sun God wished otherwise, He would not go through with the idea of stopping her.
However high and mighty He might be, there's no way the Sun God would be foolish enough to cut His own prophet's head.
But having analyzed His character, she was entirely sure that He wouldn't be opposed to a bit of change; He'd probably be glad to help her if it brought Him followers.
Anastasia took a knife and an apple next to her bed and began to peel it skillfully.
She cut the apple into pieces and stabbed a cube of apple with her knife.
She slowly ate the apple, one piece at a time, until there remained nothing but the core, which she cut in half and threw away.
Anastasia looked at the knife in her hand, its black handle and long, silver blade.
She looked at her hand, pale and cold because of the freezing temperature outside.
She observed both those elements for a long time and approached the blade to the palm of her hand.
Slash!
Blood poured out of the wound she inflicted on herself, dripping on the wooden floor made of expensive trees from beyond the borders of the continent of Sentria.
Before long, the wound closed itself, and the blood on the floor turned to smoke, as if it never existed in the first place.
She observed her hand quietly.
Slash!
Blood dripped once again, then went up in smoke.
Slash!
Again.
Slash!
Again.
Slash!
Slash!
Slash!
She had cut her palm numerous times. Each time, the wound disappeared and the blood became part of the winter's wind.
It took about 15 cuts before the wound stopped regenerating permanently.
She waited, and waited, but the blood remained on the floor.
"15 times."
That was how many regenerations of this level she had before it stopped.
She had no idea whether the counter applied only to minor wounds or to all wounds, regardless of scale.
She also didn't know if fatal wounds would revert, or if severing her head from the rest of her body would put her to eternal repose.
But it didn't really matter; the fact was,
"This is completely overpowered."
This power changed everything for her; everything she had always wanted was now within grasping distance.
But it still seemed weird to her how there was no reason for the sudden appearance of this ability.
She had no memories of ever showing signs of supernatural regeneration as a kid, nor as a teenager, for that matter.
At 17 years old, Anastasia had just developed two powers that could completely change her Fate.
It was only a matter of how.
She chuckled in the dark, only lit by the moonlight of the world that lay farther than her chamber.
She looked outside, gazed at the stars, but quickly retracted her gaze from them.
"There's probably no such place as Heaven in this world. I never believed in God, and I still don't, but I at least know They exist."
"Unfortunately, the God I know is the most evil of them out, but I'm sure He must be full of kindness on the inside. I'll trust my instinct."
"..."
The Sun God, Solatin, retracted His gaze from the spherical world floating in his hands.
"Ha! How entertaining thou art, my prophet. If thy desired revolution shall bring me benefits, then I will gladly follow!"
Solatin laughed on His throne of gold.
He turned His gaze towards the angel next to Him and opened His position to an inquiring one.
"Don't thou think this prophet of mine is beyond expectations?"
Longel, Her face as cold as ice, looked at Her master, the Monarch of gold.
"Indeed, Lady Anastasia is really surpassing expectations." Her voice did not go even an octave beyond her natural pitch.
The Sun God used the back of His hand to rest His head, looking back at the world with a smirk plastered over His face.
Thus, I was right about the existence of multiple rules, or rather the absence of one.
It shouldn't be possible for two beings of the same world to possess two entirely different realms. Having two different persons in the first place should be beyond the realm of possibility.
The sole fact that the prophet's powers were those of Fate, rather than light, life, death, order, or chaos, did warn me that something was wrong.
But my theory has been officially confirmed.
There is something seriously wrong with this world.
Whether it was someone else's or there was a problem during conception, though the latter's chances are relatively low, if it isn't someone else's, someone planned this.
Uqlurius should have an idea about it, reading situation is His domain after all.
I should wait for the next meeting of the Thirteenth Hour.
Solatin's consciousness extended towards the floating sphere, getting pulled back into the spectacle.
The most evil God, huh?
Haha!
You may be right, prophet.
Gods aren't all kind, and so are Devils, not always evil, be careful of appearances.
There is a fine line between good and evil, and most of us are using it to its full potential.
"I'll gladly wait for this revolution of yours to happen, prophet."
He smirked madly like a Devil.
"But beware that an action doesn't come without consequences."
"..."
The next morning, Anastasia woke up as early as she could, when the sun had barely started rising in the distance.
She put on her red cloak and her white robe and headed out, trying to avoid awakening anyone on the family estate.
The walk to the main street was painful. It was that time of year when snow would not stop piling up and kept falling from the clouds.
She arrived at her first destination after 30 minutes of walking.
The man at the counter looked bored and cold.
His original country sure did not have this type of weather.
His skin was dark, and his head had not a speck of hair.
He woke from his semi-nap and looked in the distance as the person walked towards his shop.
The snow obscured his vision, but he still managed to make out a red hood between the snowflakes.
Seeing the color, he sighed and threw a rolled journal at the person.
Anastasia caught the journal and waved at the shopkeeper, whose name she didn't know.
Still walking forward to her next destination, and her last one at that, she decided to open the journal and see its contents.
The first article at the top was as follows,
"Unfortunate Death of Count Dumas during the Night of the 22nd of Artuxia, Nobles are in Shambles!"
She read the title and rolled back the journal under her arm.
"..."
Anastasia arrived at the Svobotsa Print Shop from the back door, and as soon as she entered, a voice shouted to her.
"The mission got cancelled! Apparently, the guy died yesterday. Fortunately, he still sent us the money."
Kiril approached Anastasia as he threw the information paper in the bin.
Anastasia grinned slightly without him noticing.
"..."
In the world of the fog, Solatin and Longel were still present as always.
Solatin's consciousness was still focused on the world He managed, while Longel stood by His side like a guard to His king.
Solatin observed the Praussurian Empire, as this was where the most interesting actions were taking place. With His prophet part of the Empire, He had no reason not to look at the spectacle that would unfold.
Anastasia was slowly becoming more accustomed to her newfound powers of Fate and her bizarre regenerative abilities. The prophet's success was now guaranteed; the only remaining task was to spread the words of God.
The Sun God heard a loud bang and immediately noticed that Longel was asleep on the floor.
"I see, 'tis the same spell as last time. Sure, I will let thou do as thou please."
He smiled and slowly fell into a deep sleep that would quickly fade into a fragment of his memory.