The moon shines brightly above the night sky, its silver glow spilling across a silent street. Crows cry noisily from the rooftops, their wings cutting through the stillness.
Around the area, rows of houses stand in shadow, and one tall apartment building towers over them all. On the third floor, horror waits. Blood stains the floor and walls. Broken furniture lies scattered, shards of glass glitter like dying stars.
Inside Room 304, torn cloth and crimson pools cover the ground. Two lifeless bodies lie sprawled, motionless, drenched in blood.
Suddenly, the sound of running water echoes through the room.
At the sink, a woman washes her bloodied hands. Beside her rests a knife, its blade dripping red. She wears a black hoodie pulled low over her head, hiding most of her face. A dark skirt brushes against her knees.
Her eyes—cold, sharp, and gray like steel—glimmer faintly beneath the hood.
Footsteps echo on the stairwell. Someone is coming. The woman turns off the faucet, her hands now clean. She gazes at the moon through the window, then looks back at the corpses on the floor. Without hesitation, she opens the apartment door and walks out, her hands tucked into her hoodie's pockets. Before she can turn the corner, a gun presses against her head. She reacts instantly—slapping the weapon aside.
The man holding it wears a black suit, his hair slicked back, his eyes sharp and narrow like a predator's. He lunges forward with a punch.
She parries with her palm, grabs his wrist, and throws him to the ground.
He groans in pain. She stomps toward his face, but he rolls away, dodging, and springs back to his feet. "I admit it… you're impressive," the man growls. "But don't think you'll live another second!"
He charges with a flurry of punches. She dodges each one, her movements sharp and fluid. An uppercut comes—she blocks it with both palms, then counters with a barrage of strikes: jaw, nose, chin. The man reels backward, dazed. She seizes his collar and hurls him out the window. He plummets from the third floor—but twists midair, landing perfectly on the ground below. Looking up, he sees her silhouette against the moonlight. She leaps down after him, fist clenched. Her punch slams into the ground, shattering the ground, dust exploding everywhere.
The woman grins beneath her hood, her gray eyes glinting.
"Did you come to execute me?" she asks coldly.
The man smirks back, his dark eyes burning with confidence. "That's right. We're here to take your head."
"Oh? You think you can, when you can't even touch me?" she replies, her tone sharp and mocking. In an instant, she dashes forward. A knife gleams in her hand, nearly piercing his stomach.
A knife?! he realizes, dodging sideways. The blade grazes him—blood drips from his wound.
"Impressive. You dodged that," she says, her voice tinged with amusement. "Maybe you're not ordinary after all. But don't think you'll escape twice."
She rushes again, slashing. Cuts graze his chest, arms, and stomach.
Her fist drives into his gut—he collapses to the ground, groaning.
She walks toward him, eyes locked on his.
Monster… he thinks, trembling as she approaches.
But suddenly, he laughs. "You really are different." He twists, planting his hand on the ground, and kicks her legs out from under her.
She crashes down. "You!" she shouts, but before she can rise, a gun is already aimed at her head.
"Farewell… Killing Machine Elicia." The man pulls the trigger. Blood spills from her head as she falls. And then—the rain begins to pour.
The man lowers his gun, staring at Elicia's body lying motionless on the floor.
He exhales, clutching his stomach where her blade had grazed him. Pain surges through his body, but he forces himself to stand. "Morren!" a voice call from behind. Another man in the same suit rushes forward, throwing Morren's arm over his shoulder.
"You're bleeding too much," he says, glancing at the ground. His eyes widen at the sight of Elicia's corpse. "I see… you finally brought her down."
"Call the others. Tell them to take care of Elicia's body," Morren orders, his voice strained. "Understood." The man pulls out his phone, dialing quickly. Together, they walk out of the apartment, leaving Elicia behind.
---
Darkness surrounds her. Elicia opens her eyes, and she feels herself sinking—deeper and deeper—into an endless ocean. Her body drifts weightlessly, hair floating around her face like strands of shadow. Am I… dead? She lifts her arms, staring at her trembling hands. Her eyes are tired, heavy. Where am I? She tries to move, but her body refuses. Only her arms obey. I can't move… what an absurd situation. Maybe I really am dead. My life was too short. Full of sins I committed. All I ever did was kill… and kill again.
Her thoughts echo in the water.
I wonder… if I'm reborn, what kind of life will I have? I hope… it's better than this one. Her eyelids grow heavy. She begins to close her eyes—until a radiant light pierces the water, touching her face. Her eyes snap open. What is… this? From above the water, voices reach her ears. At first muffled, then clearer.
"She was born, Your Majesty!" The sound grows louder, pulling her upward.
Her vision shifts. Elicia blinks—and suddenly, she is no longer sinking. She is small, fragile, wrapped in cloth. A woman doctor and several maids gather around, gazing down at her. "Oh! My daughter!" a man's voice declares warmly. Elicia's new father—the King—lifts her gently. His hair is golden, his eyes a deep sapphire blue, shining with pride. He places her beside her mother, who lies on the bed. Her mother—the Queen—has long silver hair cascading over the pillow, and eyes of soft emerald green. She smiles tenderly, reaching out to touch her newborn daughter's cheek. "You're so cute… my beloved daughter." She cradles Elicia in her arms, warmth radiating from her gentle embrace.
Hey! Hey! Hey! Wait… wait… wait! No way, right?! I was really reborn?! Her baby eyes widen, staring at the King and Queen. In my past life, I was a killer… and now I'm a princess?! The King studies her closely. "Something feels off," he murmurs.
"Yes… she's not crying," the Queen agrees softly, concern flickering in her emerald eyes.
Elicia freezes. Oh crap! I forgot! She suddenly bursts into loud, nonstop crying. The King and Queen exchange relieved smiles. "Oh, I guess we were just imagining things," the King says. "There, there… are you hungry? Do you want my milk?" the Queen whispers, rocking her gently. Elicia's newborn body squirms, her baby eyes darting nervously.
Whaaaat?! You mean I'll be tasting breast milk?! No way!
Luceriel finally stops crying, her tiny baby face flushed red, almost embarrassed.
I admit it… that was... Her soft emerald green eyes sparkle comically, shining as if she just discovered a new skill. incredible. I cried like a pro.
She shifts her gaze, trying to look around. The Queen's chamber is vast and elegant—walls painted ivory, curtains flowing like silk waves. A grand painting hangs above the bed, showing the King and Queen together, smiling proudly in royal attire. Golden frames glimmer under the candlelight, and polished marble floors reflect the glow of lanterns. This place is kinda amazing…
The Queen notices her daughter's wandering eyes.
"Oh? Our little daughter is looking around. She's too cute… I don't want to leave her side." The King sits beside her, watching Luceriel curiously. His sapphire blue eyes soften. "Oh! We didn't give her a name yet." The Queen gasps lightly, then looks at her husband. "You're right. What should we name her?" She glances down at her daughter, who wiggles gently in her arms. "Hmmm…" The King strokes his chin, deep in thought.
Elicia's baby face scrunches into a pout. Right, you two made me and didn't even think of a name before I was born?! Unbelievable! Finally, the King smiles. "What about… Luceriel?" The Queen's soft emerald eyes brighten. "That's a wonderful name!" She looks at her daughter lovingly. "Luceriel. From now on, your name is Luceriel de Valemont." Luceriel blinks. Luceriel… not bad. At least it sounds elegant.
Suddenly, the King and Queen raise their hands. Golden light flows from the King's palm, while a soft blue glow streams from the Queen's. Their eyes close as they chant silently, their magic swirling together like threads of fate. Luceriel stares wide-eyed. What are those…? Magic? The warmth of their power touches her forehead. So warm…
She closes her eyes, feeling the gentle blessing sink into her soul. When the light fades, she opens them again—violet irises now shimmering with the same gentle glow as her mother's emerald eyes. I wonder what they did to me…
---
In the grand hall of the palace, maids bustle with excitement. "Did you hear? The Princess was finally born!" one maid says while polishing the long dining table. "I can't wait to take care of her," another replies, arranging silverware neatly. "I wonder what she looks like. I bet she has the Queen's eyes," a maid giggles while preparing fresh bread in the kitchen. Another maid carrying laundry hums happily. "I can't wait to see the Princess myself." Elsewhere, guards whisper in the corridors, proud of their new royal princess. The palace glows with life, every corner buzzing with anticipation.
Luceriel lies between the King and Queen on the royal bed. Both parents gaze at her with endless affection. How long are they going to stare at me? This is bad… it's making me uncomfortable. The Queen smiles softly. "Our daughter is staring at me, Darling." The King chuckles. "Yes… she has your eyes and your hair. She didn't take anything from me." He clutches his chest dramatically, pretending to faint. Luceriel stares at him blankly. Wow… my father is such an actor.
The King rubs her tiny head gently, smiling warmly. "But that's okay. You inherited the kind of Arcana I have." Luceriel blinks. Arcana? Oh, so that's the name of the magic in this world. The Queen nods, her emerald eyes glowing. "Yes… I sense it within her. It's strong. I hope she becomes a fully pledged mage one day." Luceriel wiggles slightly, her thoughts drifting back to her past life. Mage… huh? In my past life, all I did was kill. My hands were stained with blood, my soul heavy with regret. Maybe… this time, I'll live differently. I'll live the way I want.
Her gaze drifts toward the window behind her mother. The horizon stretches endlessly, painted in soft moonlight. Yes… I'll do it. I'll do all the things I never had the chance to do before. I'll live freely, beyond the blue horizon.
The Queen leans down, kissing her daughter's forehead. The King wraps his arm around them both, smiling proudly. Luceriel yawns, her tiny body curling against her mother's warmth. Her violet eyes flutter shut, and for the first time in her new life, she sleeps peacefully. The King whispers softly, "Rest well, Luceriel. Your journey has just begun." And in the quiet of the royal chamber, the newborn princess dreams—her destiny waiting beyond the blue horizon.
---
The golden afternoon sun poured through the tall windows of the castle, painting the marble floors in warm light. In the royal chamber, Luceriel slept peacefully, her tiny breaths steady. The King and Queen gently closed the door behind them, smiling at their daughter's resting form.
"Luceriel must be tired," the King said softly, his deep voice carrying warmth.
"Yes," the Queen replied with a gentle nod. "She was already moving around a little bit. She's growing quickly." At the door, a maid bowed deeply, hands pressed against her chest, her eyes lowered in respect.
The King and Queen walked side by side through the grand hall, their footsteps echoing against the polished stone. Their voices carried in quiet conversation. "She will be strong," the King murmured, his sapphire eyes thoughtful. "I wonder… what kind of mage she will become." The Queen smiled faintly, her emerald eyes glowing in the sunlight. "With her Arcana, she may surpass even us. But I hope she grows not only strong… but kind." "Yes," the King agreed. "Strength without compassion is dangerous. She must learn balance."
The grand two doors of the throne room opened slowly, their golden handles gleaming. Inside, knights stood tall on both sides of the hall, clad in silver armor polished to perfection. Their spears rose high, banners of Valemont draped behind them. Their presence was mighty, unwavering, like statues carved from steel.
The King and Queen ascended the stairs and sat upon their thrones—majestic seats of gold and velvet, overlooking the hall below. From their vantage, the vast chamber stretched endlessly, lined with pillars and banners that swayed gently in the afternoon breeze. Suddenly, a man appeared at the center of the hall, kneeling low before them. "I congratulate you, Your Majesties, as the princess is finally born," he said, his voice respectful yet firm.
The man was Klein—tall, lean, with sharp features. His hair was dark brown, tied neatly at the back, and his eyes glowed faintly with a silver hue, betraying his Arcana. His cloak was black, trimmed with silver, and his posture radiated discipline.
"I have a report," Klein continued, bowing his head deeper.
The King's expression hardened, his tone now serious. "Klein. State it."
Klein raised his head slightly, his voice steady. "Our neighbor, the Kingdom of Arvendale, is planning to establish a diplomatic relationship with our Kingdom of Valemont."
The King's sapphire blue eyes narrowed, glowing sharply. "What is their motive?" His gaze pierced Klein like a blade. "I don't know yet," Klein admitted. "When I was there…"
---
Far away, Klein had stood atop a tall tree, overlooking the sprawling lands of Arvendale. His cloak fluttered in the wind, his silver eyes scanning the horizon. He formed a double of himself—an ethereal projection—and sent it forward. The double vanished instantly, slipping into the castle unseen. Inside the grand castle of Arvendale, nobles and royals gathered in a chamber lit by chandeliers. Velvet curtains framed the tall windows, and a long table stretched across the room.
At the head sat the King of Arvendale—a man with broad shoulders, golden hair streaked with gray, and stern amber eyes. His crown was modest, his robes deep crimson trimmed with fur. The nobles whispered among themselves.
"We must strengthen ties with Valemont," one said, his thin mustache twitching nervously. "Yes," another added, his jeweled rings clinking as he gestured. "This is the perfect time." The King of Arvendale leaned forward, his amber eyes gleaming. "Our motive is clear. We must ensure Valemont agrees to…" But before the words could finish, Klein's double froze.
A man appeared behind him, tall and menacing, with scarred cheeks and piercing black eyes. "Why is there a rat here?" he growled. His hand shot forward, gripping Klein's double by the throat. The projection shattered instantly, vanishing into smoke. Outside, atop the tree, Klein's real eyes snapped open. His heart raced. Without hesitation, he leapt down and fled the kingdom.
---
"That's what happened, Your Majesty," Klein said now, kneeling before the King and Queen. His tone was sincere, his silver eyes lowered. "I'm sorry… I couldn't uncover their full motive."
The King leaned back, his sapphire eyes still sharp, but his voice softened. "That's okay. You did well, Klein. You risked much." The Queen's expression was serious, her emerald eyes unwavering. "Good work. You must be tired. Rest for now."
"Yes. Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty," Klein replied calmly. He bowed deeply, then disappeared in a shimmer of silver light.
Silence lingered in the throne room. The King turned to his wife, his voice low.
"Arvendale… what could they want from us?" The Queen's emerald eyes narrowed. "A diplomatic relationship could mean alliance… or manipulation. Perhaps they seek our Arcana knowledge. Or perhaps… they fear Luceriel's birth."
The King clenched his fist. "If they know of her potential already, then they may try to bind us with false friendship." The Queen sighed softly, her gaze drifting to the banners above. "We must tread carefully. For now, we wait. But we must prepare… for every possibility." The King nodded, his sapphire eyes glowing with resolve. "Yes. For Luceriel's sake… and for Valemont."
---
Far beneath the grand castle of Arvendale, the air grew colder, damp stone walls lined with flickering torches. The King of Arvendale descended the spiral staircase slowly, each step echoing against the silence. His amber eyes gleamed, and a grin stretched across his face.
The basement was vast, carved from ancient stone, its ceiling low and heavy with shadows. At the center stood a massive capsule—taller than a man, its surface metallic and smooth, glowing faintly with pale blue light. Inside, a silhouette floated, suspended in liquid. The figure's outline was human, but distorted by the shimmering glow. Its presence radiated unease, as though something dangerous slept within.
The capsule pulsed softly, light spilling across the floor like veins of energy. Beside it stood a strange console—a keyboard system of polished steel, wires snaking into the capsule. Each key glowed faintly, symbols etched in runes that flickered as if alive. The King approached, his grin widening. His hand hovered over the console, fingers brushing the glowing keys. The capsule's light intensified, casting eerie shadows across the chamber.
The silhouette inside shifted slightly, its head tilting as though aware. The King whispered, his voice low and filled with anticipation. "Soon… Valemont will be ours to rule."
The capsule hummed louder, the light growing blinding. The silhouette's eyes flickered open—two piercing lights cutting through the liquid.