It was a bright warm day over the Roswaal Manor as Margrave Roswaal sat in his office, cradling a cup of tea in his hand, engrossed in the unfolding events of the kingdom.

Among the countless letters he received, one, in particular, caught his attention—a letter from a trusted source hinting at a rumor or speculation, indicating that a new prophecy from the revered Holy Dragon Tablet had been revealed to the esteemed members of the Sage Council.

Ever since the demise of the monarchy years ago, the governance and decision-making of the Holy Kingdom of Lagunica had rested in the hands of a select group of aristocrats who identified themselves as the Sage Council. This council comprised wise men of the highest nobility within the kingdom.

Even Roswaal, an influential noble in his own right, found himself navigating the delicate dance of seeking favor with these venerable yet somewhat haughty individuals. However, a winds of change were in motion.

Whispers circulated, suggesting a prophecy directly from the dragon itself—a decree foretelling the upcoming Royal Selection, an event to determine a new monarch and continue the lineage of the kingdom's kings.

While official confirmation remained pending, the Margrave held firm trust in his sources, bolstered by the considerable financial investments he had made to secure their loyalty.

In the wake of this captivating revelation, Roswaal's heart brimmed with excitement. The book bestowed upon him by his enigmatic mistress, a secret treasure hidden for countless decades, now seemed to radiate with undeniable truth and unwavering precision.

Delving into one of the drawers of his ornate desk, he retrieved a black book adorned with intricate designs and enigmatic inscriptions. Eager anticipation danced in his eyes as he unsealed its pages.

Turning through the book's contents, his fingers traced the well-worn parchment until they reached the final section. There, nestled amidst the lines of text, a freshly unveiled message awaited—an instruction laden with intrigue and mystique.

"Subjugate," it declared, "the great spirit residing within the frozen expanse of the Ellior Forest and Enslave its chosen contractor."

"It seems that the time to reunite with you, my mistress, is drawing near," Roswaal murmured to himself, tears of elation glistening in his eyes.

"Raaam!" he called out loudly, beckoning one of his attendants.
Without delay, a young woman with short pink hair, dressed in maid attire, promptly entered his office. Offering a respectful bow, she inquired,

"Is there something you require, Lord Roswaal?" Her voice held a composed neutrality, tinged with a hint of fervor.

"Yes, Ram. Kindly dispatch this missive to the representative of the Thieves and Smugglers Guild. Inform them that I am prepared to offer 500 holy gold coins, in addition to other compensation. Furthermore, convey my request for their assistance in procuring the Great Spirit of Fire. We shall require formidable firepower to achieve our objectives~~" he began, his words laced with purpose.

"Is that all, Lord Roswaal?" Ram inquired before departing.

"Hmm," the Margrave contemplated, closing one eye in thought. "Instruct your sister to make preparations for battle. The three of us shall set forth at dawn tomorrow," he concluded with a wide grin on his face.

"How about we consider the battle mages and mercenaries you've contracted, my lord? Should I also promptly inform them about the plan?" Ram suggested.

"Absolutely, that would be wonderfuuul!"


"Lia, run!" roared the colossal cat spirit, his urgent voice reverberating as a barrage of magical blasts and gusts of wind struck him, further sapping his strength.

"Puck, NO! I won't abandon you," implored the silver-haired half-elf, her voice tinged with desperation, firing back at the encroaching enemies from all directions.

"Lia, I can't endure much longer. I'm nearly spent... You must go! Leave me behind... Escape," the colossal cat spirit bellowed again, his voice carrying a tone of profound sadness and despair.

Ever since forming a contract with Emilia, Puck had sworn an unbreakable vow to protect her at any cost, even if it meant facing death itself. However, the great spirit had never anticipated this day.

It all began when Puck and Emilia detected a group of intruders on the outskirts of their village. Initially dismissed as a routine bandit party, it swiftly became apparent that this was no ordinary threat. Before them stood a substantial force under the command of the influential Margrave of the region, Roswaal Mathers. His leadership included two fearsome Oni-maids, several accomplished mages, a formidable assembly of a hundred mercenaries and bandits, and none other than the mighty Great Spirit of Fire himself, Melakuera.

Driven by an unwavering resolve to ensure his daughter's safety, he harnessed a significant portion of his power in a desperate bid to obliterate the opposition in a single, overwhelming assault. However, to his astonishment, his assault encountered unanticipated resistance. Through a combination of Melakuera's awe-inspiring might and the strategic prowess of the court mage Roswaal, a substantial portion of Puck's attack was effectively repelled.

Confronted with this overwhelming force, Puck's realization of the direness of their situation became painfully clear.

"I beg you, Lia. Please, you need to—AGHHH!" Puck's cry was abruptly cut off by searing pain as additional explosions rocked his colossal form, forcing him to crash to the ground.

"Puck!" Emilia's terrified scream pierced the chaos as she rushed toward her spirit parent, tears streaming down her anguished face.

"Please, my daughter... I beg you... flee while there's still a chance," the spirit implored once more, his eyes closing for the last time as his essence began to dissipate into the air.

As the encroaching enemies closed in, Emilia's heart grew heavy. She initiated her escape, employing her ice magic to dispatch the bandits obstructing her path. With each step, she ran and leaped, striving to outpace her pursuers.

The challenge was daunting, but the woods were within sight—a sanctuary where she could find solace, safety, and finally mourn the loss of her sole family.

Eliminating more bandits with practiced skill, Emilia approached the threshold of the forest. Just one more step, one final sprint, and then...

"EL Huma!" A commanding voice shattered the air, followed by a barrage of icicles striking her back. She collapsed to the ground, wincing in pain.

Despite her agony and apparent injuries, Emilia fought to rise. However her pitiful efforts were swiftly thwarted, when a forceful blow landed on her head, rendering her unconscious.


Rem was filled with a deep sense of pride. For years, she had carried the weight of her traumatic past – the horrifying massacre of her parents and entire village by the merciless followers of the witch. The memories of that brutal event haunted her, the images of her loved ones cut down before her eyes without mercy.

However, now, standing amidst a field of icicles, with the witch's reincarnation at her feet, she couldn't help but feel a surge of vitality.

The half-witch lay defeated, and with each shard of ice that surrounded her, Rem's thirst for revenge was finally quenched.

"Stupid witch, may you rot," she whispered under her breath, the words a quiet offering to the wind.

With the battle's conclusion, Roswaal stood at the village center, a smile playing on his lips. Once again, he had successfully achieved what his tome had foretold—a significant stride toward his ultimate goal.

"Lord Roswaal! What say you? Did we do a fine job, huh?" The leader of the Ganaks thieves' guild walked beside Roswaal, wearing a satisfied grin.

"Indeeeeeed! It was quite a spectacle! That fiery horse truly performed admirably against that troublesome great spirit!" Roswaal's grin widened.

"Ram, please provide our friend here with the agreed-upon amount of 500 gold pieces, won't you?~~~"

"I shall, my lord," replied Ram, her tone composed.

Chap stepped forward, and Ram handed him a sizable chest. With a pleased expression, Chap opened it.

"Would you like to count it?~~" Roswaal inquired.

"No need, my lord. If you ever require our services again, please don't hesitate to contact us."

Roswaal nodded with satisfaction, his grin still present.

The removal of the troublesome great spirit and this defiant elf paved the way for the long-anticipated expansion of the area's mining and industry. The smooth execution of these plans would undoubtedly further bolster Roswaal's already considerable wealth, aiding his endeavor to reunite with his mistress.

"By the way, milord," Chap spoke once more, snapping Roswaal out of his thoughts. "What are your intentions regarding the elf? She's still breathing, after all."

"Hmm," Roswaal pondered, his expression contemplative. "Mr. Chap, you are free to decide her fate. If you wish to enslave her and trade her to a brothel in Ganaks, be my guest. Should you opt to sell her to the miners, I hold no objections." Roswaal's grin persisted.

"Oh, no! By the dragons, no!" Chap shuddered visibly. "The people in Ganaks wouldn't want anything to do with a half-devil like her." He pointed emphatically at the ground. "But I've heard that Kararagi has a fetish for her kind."


2 years after.

On a dim and chilly day, the clocks struck eleven. Emilia lay sprawled upon the cold, damp ground, unable to escape the biting wind that surrounded her.

Thrown onto the streets of Kyo Kararagi, her body was a canvas of bruises and wounds. Her once vibrant figure was now a skeletal testament to severe malnutrition and long-term abuse. The beauty that once defined her had withered and crumbled under the harsh weight of her reality. Consumed by fatigue, she lacked the strength to move.

As countless people passed her by, their reactions varied from pity and sympathy to indifference and apathy.

Emilia's mind drifted to the day when everything fell apart. After her father, Puck, was killed, memories of her past flooded her consciousness. The sins that had led to the tragic fates of her mother, Fortuna, and her father, Guese, haunted her. However, that was only the beginning.

Under the blessing of the Margrave, bandits had seized her, subjecting her to weeks of brutal beatings in Ganaks. Before long, she was shipped off to Kararagi and sold into slavery.

For years, she was passed from one form of servitude to another—brothels, pleasure houses, and entertainment establishments. Her beauty became both a curse and a curse, attracting countless men who took advantage of her, assaulting and abusing her. Violent customers were not uncommon, often leaving her battered.

Despite it all, Emilia clung to hope. She believed that somewhere, someday, a hero would come to rescue her—the hero she had read about as a child in the Ellior Forest. Yet, heroes did not materialize, at least not for her kind.

She was labeled a prostitute, a slave, a worthless demi-human, and even the reincarnation of the Witch of Envy.

People like her do not deserve a Hero! They never do.

Emilia vaguely recalled a fortune teller's words, suggesting that her suffering was a blessing. She was told that her existence would obstruct and bring forth unimaginable suffering to the path of a great hero destined to usher in a golden era for the world. Her suffering, the teller claimed, served a purpose.

But Emilia didn't buy into such notions. Still, maybe there was some truth to it. Perhaps she truly was a blight upon the world, deserving of pain, despair, hate, and misfortune.

Her thoughts often consumed her, leading to self-loathing. However, now, weak and battered, with her energy slipping away, she remembered an elven lullaby her mother, Fortuna, used to sing to her when she was young. The Wish of the Stars.

She began to sing, softly and barely audible, finding comfort and calmness in the melody. As Emilia sang, a sense of solace momentarily lifted some of her pain and sorrow.

With the second verse, she closed her eyes, letting the melody and her instincts guide her voice. She could sense her life slipping away, but that didn't matter. She felt transported to a different realm, a better place.

A smile touched Emilia's lips as she waved to her family. The vision was vivid—Mother Fortuna, Father Guese... Puck! They were all there.

As the song reached its final verse, Emilia's energy waned. Yet, she pressed on, knowing the end was near. Her heartbeat slowed, and a serene feeling enveloped her. Everything would be alright again.

With the last of her strength, Emilia sang a final note, took a final breath, and uttered her last words.

"Mother Fortuna... I'm sorry."

And then, in that chilling embrace of solitude, Emilia, the half-elf who had borne the weight of a world's cruelty, passed away.