A child’s first embarrassing memories might be wetting the bed or mispronouncing words while talking to someone.

For Thelira, it was the day, at four years old, when she vomited a great deal of blood onto the dinner table.

Something was wrong with her body—this notion had been instilled in her before she even learned how to count.

From the moment she became aware of her own existence, the girl had always seen shackles on both her arms.

Her own mana was killing her.

She understood that she was what people called a defective product.

Elves had long life expectancies, but the doctors told her she would not live past her eighth birthday.

At ten, she was told she might never be able to step outside the palace.

The girl who had spent most of her life in her room had never been able to run freely outdoors without collapsing.

Mana was no gift for Thelira—it was a parasite, devouring every fraction of her being. It surged through her body, soaking into every cell, every fiber of her existence, regardless of her will. It didn’t matter how much she used. Even when she cast a spell, her body would reabsorb the mana that had been spent, and her suffering would return.

Simply to live, she had to endure constant agony.

Each day of her life felt like bearing the weight of a mountain. Her skin throbbed under the pressure, bleeding from countless cuts that opened without warning. Her muscles convulsed, and her blood grew heavier, denser. Voices—not only of elves, but of all living beings around her—were nothing more than sharp, grating buzzes in her ears. Breathing required effort, and movement itself was a miracle.

Every morning upon waking, and every night before sleep, the girl drank a advanced potion to treat the wounds that had opened. Like a cracked vase on the verge of crumbling, she tried to sleep in hopes of escaping the pain. Yet, as if the world were mocking her, even her dreams were filled with nightmares.

With such fragile health, she was never able to make friends her own age. The same was true even within her family circle.

Thelira hardly ever saw her father. Burdened with managing the internal affairs of their territory, he had no time to look after a sickly girl. She saw him only once every few months, sometimes only after years had passed.

The same could be said of the other members of her family.

For elves, who could live for centuries, having a family member who wouldn’t even reach thirty was no different from losing a newborn at birth. No one was willing to grow attached to someone who would be gone in the blink of an eye. That is, no one except for two people.

“You’re wearing those thin rags again? What if you catch a cold?”

The young girl, not much older than Thelira, came every day to check on her.

“Clothes are heavy and they hurt, Sis. I don’t like them.”

Gripping the hem of her sleeveless, paper-thin shirt, the frail girl looked at the young woman, who sighed softly at her answer.

Thelira did not think of herself as spoiled when it came to clothing. She simply could not wear garments the way others did. Her skin was so sensitive that even soap in the bath could leave her bleeding with fresh cuts. For the elf who could not even use a blanket to shield herself from the night’s chill without feeling crushed by its weight, clothes were no different from wearing blades.

Her older sister seemed exasperated at her reply, but after a brief pause, she only shook her head a few times as if in reluctant understanding. Sitting behind Thelira, she began braiding her golden hair, taking great care not to hurt her little sister.

“Thelira, listen. Soldiers must wear equipment and clothes that cover their whole bodies to protect themselves from serious injury. I know it hurts, but you can’t keep leaving your arms and legs bare like this.”

“But Sis, they told me I’ll never be a warrior like you,” Thelira argued.

“What are you talking about? Of course you will!” her older sister replied with energy.

“But…”

“I’m learning healing magic, all right? You just have to believe in me! I’ll find a way to make you better, I promise!”

Thelira understood her sister’s words for what they were—an attempt to sound utterly convincing. She was one of only two people who truly loved her, and with all her heart she wanted Thelira to get better. More than anything, she wanted to give her hope, to keep her holding on despite the pain.

And that was why it hurt.

Hope was nothing more than an expectation that things would somehow work out—a baseless trust, blind and unfounded.

She was alive, yes, even though everyone had said she would be dead by now. They called her continued breath a miracle and urged her to keep having hope.

But Thelira had never possessed it in the first place.

Outlasting every deadline the doctors had set for her death did not mean her chances were improving. It only proved their calculations had been wrong.

“Yes, I’ll believe you. Thank you, Sis.” Lying once more, Thelira clenched her teeth to hide the agony of her hair being pulled as it was braided.

Over the years, she had learned to conceal her pain completely. As long as she knew the right answers, those two people would not worry. As long as she controlled her expressions, she could mimic the life they wanted her to live. A creature imitating people, but never quite a person herself. That was what she was.

Holding up a small mirror and pretending to admire the process, Thelira instead studied her crescent-moon pupils.

She was one of the few in her family gifted with precognition, able to glimpse fragments of what was to come. Yet, beyond a handful of fleeting seconds, nothing she saw ever seemed real.

They told her it was because her affinity was weak, or something along those lines. But Thelira didn’t think it was wrong. Someone who might not even survive tomorrow—how could she be worthy of seeing beyond it?

In a way, she couldn’t help but find it ironic. Of the two sisters, the only one who could see the future was the one struggling just to endure the present.

“Elarielle, Thelira, come here.”

The voice, heard only once a day, called them to the bed as a radiant smile entered the room with her.

To the little girl, that woman was the other half of everything she understood as the world.

“All right, would you like to hear the story of the fruit-picking fairies?”

“Mother, Thelira won’t be able to sleep if you keep telling the same stories again and again.”

“What are you saying? I have so many stories to tell! Let’s see… ah, yes, I have a very good one about a great legendary mage!”

Nestled in the most comfortable place between the two women, Thelira savored the only time of day when pain was not the foremost thing in her mind.

---

Lophantera Virelia Phaea was the most important person among the elves.

Being the queen, the one who ruled this land, of all people, her mother was the one who had the greatest excuse to forget she even existed. Yet, somehow, she was also the one who came to her the most.

Even when she was tired or burdened with endless duties, her mother always found a moment in the day to be with her.

The little girl had no other family to compare to, but she was certain of one thing: Virelia was a good mother.

“That’s it, hold it like this. Think of the bow as an extension of your own body.”

At fifteen, Thelira held a weapon for the first time.

Even though her body bruised easily and her progress was painfully slow, her mother still helped her train. Everyone else dismissed it as a pointless effort, some even mocking the queen behind her back, but even so, Virelia never denied her daughter help.

Just letting the string slide against her fingers was enough to make her skin bleed. Condensing the parasitic mana into a spell felt like carving into her own flesh with a knife.

Once the mana-inhibiting shackles were removed and she practiced, a pain that twisted her stomach and made her vomit would overwhelm her.

No one had forced her into this.

Physical training could never improve her condition. Every attempt only subjected her to suffering. And yet, she had a reason to endure. A goal so important to her that her pain became secondary.

“Well done, Thelira! You hit the target! You did it!”

That reason was to give her life meaning—for those two people.

As her mother’s cheerful voice reached her ears, Thelira let out a long sigh.

She held no hope. She was certain she would die soon. But as long as those two people were happy—those two existences who made up her entire world—Thelira knew her life would not have been in vain. She truly believed that.

Until that day came.

---

“Thelira, listen to me, this is important. We won’t be coming back for some time. Now that the alliance has been formed, as the race with fewer soldiers, all high elves must go to the front lines.”

As her sister’s forehead pressed firmly against her own, Thelira couldn’t help but feel the weight of those words.

All the high elves would go to war—everyone except her.

She had trained as a mage, but the effort she put in to please those around her was far from enough to step onto a battlefield. She knew how to imitate others, how to wear whatever expression was needed, but none of that would help her kill monsters.

For the first time in her life, Thelira was left completely alone.

With nothing but her own thoughts, the girl did the only thing she could do: she waited.

With no news and no answers, Thelira remained in her room, awaiting the outcome of the war.

---

How were those two doing? Thelira asked herself that question every single day.

Her knowledge of everything was limited to what she read or overheard. Though she knew of the communication devices within the palace, they were reserved strictly for military use—only the general and the council of elders could speak with the front lines. She had no authority, and there was no chance they would let her use them just to speak with those two out of longing.

Would she even survive until they returned?

As the days passed, she remained in her room, waiting for the outcome that would eventually arrive.

And then, the news came—heralded by the joyous cries of the people.

The war had been won. The soldiers were returning.

Thelira rushed to the palace gates.

Yet, instead of joyful faces, all around her were expressions broken by grief.

The reason could not have been more obvious.

Among all the high elves who had gone to war, only those two women had returned.

The royal family had been annihilated, leaving only three high elves alive.

But none of that mattered to the girl.

Thelira could hardly remember the faces of most of her relatives. People who had never once spoken to her did not deserve a second of her thoughts.

Her world was alive. That was all that mattered.

Her sister had finally returned. At last, they could begin again.

“I’m sorry, Thelira… not now.”

But the moment the woman walked past her without a second glance, Thelira knew things would never be as they once were.

Her sister was different. She no longer wore armor, but instead a pair of long gloves that covered her arms every day—gloves Thelira had never seen before.

Her mother was the same. She had gone to war at an advanced age, and the years of conflict had not been kind to her. After her husband’s death, every shared responsibility had fallen entirely upon her shoulders.

Those two were now called heroes.

Her world had returned.

But Thelira was alone.

---

Somehow, contrary to what everyone believed, she had survived for more than a century.

Just as everything around her had changed, Thelira had been forced to change as well.

She was now the only descendant of the royal family with precognition, the one who would inherit the title of Sage.

Every day, no matter how weary she was, a tutor would come to teach her everything she needed to know in order to fulfill her role.

Politics, mathematics, geography, history, rhetoric, philosophy, and language.

Knowledge she had never had access to was pressed into her mind at the cost of her very blood.

Strangers she had never seen before would approach her, forcing her to train her gift.

Thelira longed to disappear—truly.

Yet when her single, desperate attempt to escape ended in failure, she was never given another chance.

There was no longer any way for her to flee her fate.

Like the hands of a clock that never ceased moving, the years slipped away.

No matter how advanced elven medicine was, the inevitable had finally arrived.

Standing beside her sister, Thelira gazed upon a lavish bed where a white-haired elf lay resting.

“Thelira… no matter what anyone says, just find happiness.”

Happiness—something she had never known.

Those were her mother’s last words.

Half of her world was gone.

Never in her entire life had she cried so much.

---

She had become the Sage.

As long as she remained alive, her sister would never truly be free. This thought was now hammered in her mind every single day.

There was no other way out. To say she had never thought about ending it all would be a lie, but she had never acted on the idea.

Contrary to what she had expected, nothing had really changed in her situation.

As someone who could not properly control her powers, no one ever came seeking her wisdom. As someone who had never spoken with foreigners, or even knew the other nobles, no one ever asked her for guidance on political matters.

Her sister became the queen. Elarielle was now responsible for all the duties that had once been shared by the royal family.

Thelira, on the other hand, needed only to exist.

She was merely a political figure for the masses—an instrument to show the people, to show other nations, that the elves still had a Sage.

She was to fulfill this role until her sister bore a child, or until the day she took her last breath.

---

Thelira could not tell when a future was certain or false.

She could see a few seconds ahead with precision, but anything beyond that was nearly incomprehensible. Like a blur in a poorly painted picture, a jumble of unintelligible images appeared whenever she tried to use her innate ability.

Sometimes, she tried to make sense of those incomplete images. Like a scholar assembling a puzzle, she sought meaning in the chaos.

Flames.

She had undeniably seen them.

From the center of the city and spreading throughout the forest, dozens of pillars of fire would rise toward the sky while a sea of blood formed below.

That vision filled her with horror.

For the first time, the girl desperately tried to warn everyone, to alert them to the danger. But, with the exception of her sister, no one believed her words.

She desperately searched for that same vision again.

Day after day, secretly using her precognition until she fainted, she sought to understand more about what would happen in that future.

After much analysis, she came to a conclusion.

She would not be able to see beyond the sea of flames.

Because she would not survive past that day.

Unlike all the doctors, Thelira understood her own body better than anyone.

A year? No—she was certain she had only a few months at best.

She was going to die.

That was a fact she could not defy.

But perhaps she could use the rest of her miserable life to do something.

Thelira continued to watch the future without pause.

It took an entire month for her to form another clear image.

There was a throne.

In that hall she had never seen, two girls sat upon it.

She could not hide her doubts.

Because in that place, she could see her only sister.

Where was Elarielle? Who were the people with her? Thelira could not answer any of these questions.

Yet, despite all the strangeness, what left her more astonished than anything in her entire life was something else entirely.

A long strand of golden saliva.

And a kiss.

Held firmly by a beautiful woman, Thelira saw herself being kissed by her.

Amberdrop. The final ingredient for her supposed cure. Could it be that? This information did not matter to Thelira, because something entirely different held her focus.

Her face...

She was happy…

For the first time in her life, she saw herself happy.

For the first time in her life, she wanted that happiness.

For the first time in her life, she wanted to live.

---

She continued to search for those people.

Abusing her innate ability had consequences. By observing the future, she was certain she was hastening her own death by days, perhaps weeks.

But none of that mattered.

Thelira knew she was not a good person.

She was an absolute selfish one. Putting her own happiness above her kingdom, she no longer sought a way to save the elves.

That future. She had to reach it.

It took her several weeks of effort to finally find usable images. She discovered that the place where her happiness would occur was a labyrinth.

She had never seen beyond the forest, so the chances that it would be outside of it were slim.

With that information, it was only a matter of searching.

The northern wing of the forest was the most suspicious. The territory where her mother had fought Torment was avoided by all. Prohibited due to the risk of infection, not even the fairies approached it carelessly.

After sharing this information with her sister, an expedition was quickly formed, and the labyrinth was discovered.

Elarielle organized several conquest teams and set out for the labyrinth. Yet, Thelira knew that her sister’s efforts were useless.

If all the pieces were not in place, Elarielle would never be able to conquer the labyrinth.

And that role, only Thelira could fulfill.

Zaylin was not a bad person, but even so, Thelira had to exploit her goodwill and her desire to repay an old debt.

Without anyone knowing, Thelira made the girl help bring those two girls into Lampides.

Not knowing whether she would live or die, Thelira set out on that path.

She set off in search of her happiness.

---

At the entrance of the city of Lampides, beyond the ruined walls, the vast green plateau was now littered with corpses.

“It’s past six in the morning—we’ve been in the fog for over two hours. Damn it, both my arms are going numb.”

Pulling his sword from the back of a Horned Bear and leaping to the ground, Kelios let out a deep, pained sigh.

“How can you keep tracking time so precisely after all this!?”

Wiping the purple blood from her dagger with a graceful flick of her wrist, Zaylin raised her eyebrows, her pink hair swaying in the breeze.

“That’s called having a decent internal clock,” Kelios retorted.

Rolling her eyes, the pink-haired girl scanned the surroundings. The dense fog barely allowed them to see more than fifteen steps ahead. Her pointed ears caught the sounds of collisions between other soldiers and the approaching monsters.

After escaping the palace with the help of that unknown woman, the duo had joined the defense at the gates. There was no time to rest. Even though they were exhausted and covered in wounds, it was their duty as soldiers to fight to the end.

“Zaylin, jump! The horned bear is still alive!”

A voice pierced the air, sending a chilling shiver down the girl’s spine.

Without a second’s hesitation, Zaylin leapt, spinning in the air just in time to avoid the paw that sought to crush her flesh.

Twisting, blue mana condensed in her dagger. With surgical precision, a single strike was enough to split the monster’s thick-necked hide in two.

“Ah… Ah…”

Zaylin’s heavy breathing matched her wide-eyed expression. Legs trembling from the adrenaline of near death, she looked at the boy beside her.

“T-thank you, Kelios. If you hadn’t noticed, I would have been caught. You saved my life.”

However, unlike the confident words she expected, the boy’s surprised expression was even greater than hers.

“N-n-not me.”

---

The elven population was not particularly large.

As a race with an extremely low reproduction rate, army enlistment was never very high.

Always prioritizing quality over quantity, the elven kingdom had long relied on the superior elves for combat—and now, that reliance was taking its toll.

“How many are still able to fight?”

“Only twenty soldiers, General.”

Hearing the soldier’s response beside him, Riari resumed running across the battlefield, panic gnawing at the old general’s heart.

Riari had long since exhausted his mana reserves.

Every second, more people had to leave the battlefield due to severe injuries.

There was a limit to how quickly his healers could return men to the fight, and their stockpile of years’ worth of potions was rapidly running out.

Queen Elarielle had entrusted the city to his care. Yet he had no idea how to get out of this situation.

As more and more men fell in battle, the smell of blood grew stronger. The smoke from spells and the shrill noises never ceased. Thoughts of what he should do began to pile up in his mind.

What orders should he give? What should he do?

Riari’s body felt heavy. The thick fog enveloped everything, making it almost impossible to see the silhouettes of his own men.

The soldiers’ cries grew louder, like a nightmare he couldn’t escape. The weight of decision pressed on his stomach. He had to say something, anything.

He opened his mouth, his throat dry.

And then…

“All who hear my voice, fall back far enough to see the silhouette of the city! If you don’t, you’ll be caught in a pincer!”

There was a voice.

Calm and clear, like a light shining in the darkness.

Riari froze in place.

He couldn’t understand that order.

Because the voice—it wasn’t his own.

Even within the fog, it was impossible not to see that girl.

Atop the gates, one of her arms pointed toward the battlefield.

Her white dress barely covered her body, and not even shoes adorned her feet. Golden hair, so long it cascaded to the ground like a waterfall, seemed to shimmer even in the night. A pair of wooden shackles adorned her wrists.

“Right flank, an emerald spider is heading for your position—fall back!”

Her green eyes resembled emeralds, but the crescent-shaped pupils gleamed like gold. The fog prevented her from seeing any of the battles, but as if she could see beyond what others could, she continued to shout orders.

“Two people are about to be injured at the edge of Area 1. Any healer who can still move their legs, go there immediately.”

For the first time in her life, the golden-haired girl raised her voice above the crowd.

“Your Highness… Thelira!?”

Riari couldn’t believe what his eyes saw, nor what his ears heard.

Unconsciously, his body began moving toward the girl.

“Calm yourself, fool, you’ll only get in her way.”

Until he was suddenly grabbed by the neck.

Immobilized before he even realized it, the old general stared at the two-meter-tall woman, panic written across his face.

“W-who are you!?”

Rolling her eyes at his question, the woman with translucent bee-like wings casually touched the long antennae atop her head.

“I am not your enemy. You only need to know that.”

Releasing the man’s body, Rhei rested one hand on her elbow and brought the palm to her cheek.

“My king did not give me any specific orders, but standing still would hardly be commendable.”

“K-king?”

Riari couldn’t comprehend what she was saying.

“Be grateful. I created a barrier around the shelters. Expelling the fog of the Demon King is by no means one of the easiest or fastest feats, so it took some time. It’s not as efficient or vast as the one around the World Tree, but it will last long enough.”

“Long enough… long enough for what?” The general asked again.

Turning her back, her cold expression tinged with subtle emotion as she walked toward the blonde girl, who continued issuing commands.

“So that Thelira can show me the future my king intends to create.”