The night was pitch black. Wind howled outside like a grieving spirit, and heavy rain lashed against the creaking wooden walls of the cabin. The temperature had dropped sharply, turning the air damp and bone-chilling. Inside the rotting cabin, the walls were damp, the corners reeked of mold, and the stale stench of decay clung to everything like a curse.

A girl in her twenties was lying lifeless. Her whole body was covered in serious injuries. She has several burn marks on her body. Her long, pink hair was matted with dirt and grime, the strands tangled and dull. The rags she wore were barely enough to Be called clothing, hanging loosely off her bruised frame. Her breathing was shallow, barely audible.

SLAM!!

The door burst open. A woman entered And slammed it shut behind her. Her black hair was braided beautifully, shining under the dim flicker of an old lantern, and her crimson eyes gleamed with venomous light. She scanned the room with disdain, her gaze quickly falling on The broken figure curled up in the corner.

Her lips curled in disgust.

“ I hate this day. Thr freaking day you were born. You, usless piece of shit, why are you lying on floor?” She screamed angrily.

The girl trembled under her voice, her frail body curling in on itself instinctively. Slowly, painfully, she lifted her head and looked up at the woman, her mother. But she had locked the girl from her birth in this old cabin.

Without hesitation, she yanked her up and shoved her back down, the motion jerking her neck violently. The girl fell without resistance, her limbs too weak to catch herself.

“You make me feel so disgusted. How can you be so useless? Huh??”

The girl didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She had learned that silence was her only shield. To make no sound. To endure. To Wait for it to end so that she could drift into unconsciousness again.

A man stepped into the room, watching the scene unfold with an unreadable expression. His eyes flicked to the girl and then to the furious woman beside her.

“Hestia, what are you doing here?” he asked.

But she didn’t answer. Instead, she yanked the girl’s hair again, forcing her to stand. Her legs trembled beneath her. Her knees gave out. She had been starving for days. There was no strength left in her frail body.

Hestia seized the girl’s chin in a bruising grip and screamed, “Arghhh… I HATE YOU!!”

The words struck like knives.

Without warning, Roland slapped the girl across her face.

Her body collapsed again, her cheek burning from the impact. Her head spun. The room blurred around her. Her wounds reopened. The pain was unbearable. When will this end? she thought bitterly.

Hestia turned to Roland, her tone suddenly honeyed. “Roland, dear, I’m tired of her. I don’t even enjoy it anymore. I think it’s time to end it.”

Roland gave a slight nod and walked toward the girl. Without warning, he drove his foot into her stomach.

“Wench! You ruined everything. How can you be so f*cking weak?”

The girl let out a broken cough, blood spilling from her lips. She clutched her stomach, gasping. Before she could recover, another violent kick landed against her ribs.

Crack.

A sharp pain shot through her body as a rib snapped. Her breath came in choked, uneven gasps. Every movement was agony. Her lips trembled, but she said nothing. She just wanted it all to end.

But, hestia had no plans on stopping here. She took out a whip and started hitting the girl harshly.

“Why did you run out of the holy powers? Why? How is it possible?? Huh??” Hestia seethed venomously.

“You committed a sin b*tch!!” Rolan snarled.

“You’re the Divine Saintess!” Hestia roared. “You’re a mortal blessed by the gods. And now your power is gone? You must’ve committed some wretched sin! Why else would you dry up like this?!”

The girl hissed in pain. Roland grabbed her cheeks and slapped her again. She convulsed in pain and fell to floor. Her eyes were getting heavy as her body was aching a lot. She was confused what they were talking about? What divine saitess? She didn’t understand a thing. She didn’t want it anymore.

She has been trapped in this cabin her whole life. Her whole life was like this where her power used to get sucked tortorously and transferred to others. She used to get beaten by her mother, father and maids. She had to starve. But, her powers stopped coming out anymore. And, that triggered her mother. She started tortuting her more.

The girl looked up at Hestia. “Momma, Dad..It hurt. Stop. It hurt.”

Hestia hit her with whip again and spat, “Don’t you dare call me Momma. You’re not even worthy of a name, let alone a mother. Useless pig. Learn to speak first, useless girl. Useless just like your name. That’s right, your name is useless.”

She laughed.

The girl started crying and begging, “I give power. I.. I give them. I go with you.”

Roland’s expression twisted in disgust. He turned to Hestia. “This is enough. We don’t need this trash anymore. It’s time to get rid of her.”

Hestia hesitated, whip still in hand. “But what if her holy power returns?”

Roland walked towards her and spoke while handing her knife. “We waited for two years, didn’t we? This b*tch has lost her powers. We can’t suck her powers anymore. There’s nothing left. She must be temporary divine saintess.”

Hestia frowned. Temporary? She glared at the girl in disgust. She nodded. “Fine. Let’s just kill this useless girl.”

She moved towards the girl while looking at the knife. Her expression changed to amusment as she spoke, “I regret giving birth to you. I regretted every single day.” She sat down and looked at the girl who was struggling in pain. “I HATE YOU. You know that, right? You don’t deserve happiness. You will always be hated. I hate you and that b@stard. He must be still searching for you.”

She started laughing, “Ohh!! How lovely it will be to send your corpse to him? To see that look of terror on his face?? How long I’ve waited to see that. To see his world crushing down.” She continued laughing.

The girl was shaking in fear. Her mother looked terrifying—like a monster. Hestia yanked her head up by the hair and hissed, “I enjoyed every moment of your torture. When you trembled in fear, it made me happy. Your screams were music to my ears. But now, it’s time to kill you.”

She slammed the girl’s face into the floor. Then, raising the knife high, she stabbed it into her heart. She continued stabbing her like madwoman.

The girl screamed in agony. Her last thoughts drifted toward her parents. She had always wanted to die, but now that her mother had truly killed her, she wasn’t sure how to feel. Should she be relieved? Or should she cry?

Her eyes grew heavy. The world around her grew silent. She started feeling peaceful like she was drifting off to a good sleep. The girl died.

.

.

.

.

There was nothing but darkness.

A soul drifted weightlessly, until a warm embrace wrapped around her. A hooded figure in pale golden robes held her gently.

Behind the figure glowed a halo, etched with divine runes. Her long, yellow-blonde hair floated like threads of light in the void.

She whispered, her voice filled with sorrow.

"My child"

Her eyes welled up with tears as she looked upon the girl’s broken body.

“You have suffered a lot. This is not the ending you deserve.”

She gently stroked the girl’s hair who was unconscious. She spoke further.

”You deserve happiness and comfort from your family. You are strong. I hope your heart will be healed. Go back my child, Live your happily ever after.”

Her words shimmered like healing magic. Her divine hands glowed with power. She leaned forward and kissed the girl’s forehead. The divine light surrounded them both.

The girl stirred. Her eyes fluttered open briefly, just enough to glimpse the divine figure.

She closed them again.

The room was cold. Dampness clung to the floor, soaking through the splintered wooden planks. The faint glow of a dying lantern flickered weakly in the corner, casting distorted shadows against the walls. A heavy, foul smell lingered in the air. A mix of mildew, blood, and rot, so familiar it had soaked into the very bones of the place.

A small figure tossed and turned on the stained mattress, her thin body twitching in discomfort. Her breathing was shallow, her skin marked by fresh bruises and old burn scars. The blanket wrapped around her legs had long since lost its warmth.

Suddenly, her eyes flew open.

“—Hh!”

She jolted up, gasping for air as if she had been drowning in a nightmare. Her lungs strained, her chest heaving. The sudden movement tore open an unhealed wound on her arm, and she flinched in pain. Blood oozed slowly from the broken scab.

She sat still for a moment, frozen.

This place...

She slowly turned her head, her eyes scanning the cracked wooden walls, the strange markings carved into the floor, the faded enchantments that shimmered faintly under the lantern’s glow. Magic circles. Hexes. Binding runes. Everything was just as she remembered.

No. This wasn’t a memory. This was real.

Her trembling legs carried her toward the broken piece of glass leaning against the wall. She crouched beside it and stared into it. In the shattered reflection, wide yellow eyes stared back at her, pure, glowing gold. Her long tangled strands of pink hair were coated in filth.

She was... little.

No older than five.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her tiny hands clenched unconsciously at her sides, and her small body began to tremble.

Why...? Why am I back? I... I died… didn’t I?

Her chest tightened. Her lips trembled. Tears slipped down her dirt-smeared cheeks.

“No... I don’t... want this again...”

She crouched on the ground, covering her face with her hands, and began sobbing uncontrollably. Loud, broken cries filled the tiny cabin, bouncing off the walls and folding back into her. She didn’t understand anything. She didn't wanted to experience everything again.

The glowing woman... Did she do this?

She wanted to die. She had died.

So why…?

Her thoughts scattered as the door suddenly slammed open with a deafening thud. The little girl froze. Her body stiffened.

A tall woman entered the cabin, dressed in a flowing red gown embroidered with golden vines. Her beauty was sharp, like polished glass, and her long black braid rested elegantly over one shoulder. Behind her, two maids trailed quietly.

The moment little girl saw her, her blood ran cold. Her knees buckled beneath her. A twisted smile curled on Hestia’s lips as she looked down at the girl trembling in the corner.

“My dear little child,” she cooed mockingly, “it’s time to give us back what doesn’t belong to you.”

She tilted her head. “I’ve come to collect holy power, useless.”

The little girl’s eyes widened.

Her tiny frame trembled like a leaf in the wind. Hestia raised her hand as if to strike, amused at the girl’s reaction. The moment she flinched and took a step back, Hestia let out a soft laugh, pleased.

“She still remembers fear,” she mused aloud.

One of the maids stepped forward and bowed.

“My Lady, why dirty your hands with that filthy creature? I’ll handle her.”

Hestia gave a satisfied nod and turned to leave the room, her heels clicking against the wooden floor.

The maid walked toward the girl and seized her wrist with a tight grip.

“Ah—!”

She whimpered as pain shot up her arm. Her bruises flared, the cuts opened again. She couldn’t stop the weak sound that escaped her throat.

SLAP

A sharp blow struck her face. Her head jerked sideways, her cheek were stinging. The maid’s eyes were cold.

“Don’t make noise, brat. Madam hates your voice.”

She fell silent. Her eyes welled up again, but she forced herself not to cry. She didn’t want to go. To that room where they took holy powers... it was worse than death.

Her body trembled harder. Her thoughts were spiraling, unstable.

No... I don’t want to go... not again...

The maid frowned at her shivering and gritted her teeth. “Tch. Stop shaking, you filthy thing.”

Grabbing a fistful of little girl’s tangled hair, the maid began dragging her forward. Her scalp burned. Her neck twisted painfully. Her breathing turned ragged as she stumbled after the maid, pulled like livestock. But there was nothing she could do.

The journey from the cabin to the mansion was short but to the little girl, it felt eternal.

As soon as the heavy mansion doors opened, she shrank back in fear. The light that streamed through the vast windows burned her eyes. It was bright...so bright it hurt.

She stumbled slightly, blinking rapidly as the world around her turned white and blinding. The corridor was polished and clean. Marble floors, glowing crystals on the walls, sweet perfumes lingering in the air.

It was so different from the filth and damp of the cabin.

But none of it mattered.

The disgusted stares she received from passing servants pierced through her like needles. They covered their noses. Whispers echoed as they looked at her bloodied legs and bruised face, at the dried stains on her ragged clothes.

She knew this place.

Every step etched into her bones.

The same turns.

The same staircase.

The same door at the end of the hall.

It was the room where her powers were transfered countless time. The same cold chamber. And the excruciating pain.

“Strap that useless brat to the chair,” Hestia ordered coldly.

The maid shoved her forward. She stumbled and crashed into the wooden chair. Sharp pain erupted across her arms and legs as old wounds reopened. Blood seeped slowly from fresh gashes.

She bit her lip hard. So hard it bled.

She mustn’t scream.

The maid yanked her arms and legs into place, strapping them down with rough leather belts. Each tug made her whimper silently, but she didn’t dare speak.

Once the girl was restrained, the maid bowed to Hestia and stepped aside, standing quietly near the door.

In the center of the room, the little girl sat alone, surrounded by glowing enchantments.

An intricate magic circle was carved into the stone floor, etched in divine ink. She sat in the middle of it: helpless, trembling.

Around the circle stood five men. Their eyes were gleaming with twisted hunger for power which they will soon receive from this little girl. They smirked greedily.

They looked at her as if she were livestock. A source. A thing.

The little girl closed her eyes in fear.

Roland summoned his magic and focused in the incantation inscrubed on the ceiling. A torrent of magic cascaded down engulfing the little girl in the chair and activating the magic circle on the floor. The energy coursed through magic circle and was being transferred to the five men and her parents. The ritual continued for hour until the magic circle stopped responding.

The little girl's small body jerked against the restraints as she screamed. It felt like her soul was being torn from her bones.

Tiny scratches ripped across her skin, glowing with holy energy before turning into raw, open wounds. Her mouth hung open in a silent cry as the power left her sucked out, drained, devoured.

The five men smiled in satisfaction as energy flowed into them.

An hour passed.

The light dimmed. The magic faded.

And the ritual stopped.

The child slumped in the chair. Her body was limp, broken. She could barely breathe.

Her vision blurred.

The five men chuckled among themselves. They boasted of their strength. They thanked Roland. Hestia’s face was radiant with pride as she spoke to them, as if she had gifted them a treasure.

But her eyes when they glanced at the girl were cold again.

“Throw her in the cabin,” she said flatly, not even looking back.

The maid nodded and walked over.

The little girl tried to stand.

Her legs shook violently beneath her weight, but she forced herself up. Every muscle screamed in agony. Her skin burned. Her bones ached. Her breath was shallow.

The maid didn’t care.

Irritated, she yanked the little girl by the hair and began dragging her again.

“You reek of stench… Ugh! So dirty,” the maid spat, frowning in disgust.

The little girl said nothing.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t scream.

But her heart... her tiny heart beat fast. She knew no one liked her here.

She didn’t want to go back to the cabin.

She didn’t want this life again.

As they neared the edge of the mansion grounds toward the forest path where the cabin lay hidden in isolation, she began to panic. Her steps grew unsteady. Her breaths became short and frantic.

No... not the dark. Not the cold. Not again...

And then—

“Huh? Wh–what’s happening…? Why... do I... feel... sleepy...?” the maid murmured, her voice slurring.

She swayed. Then collapsed.

Thud.

She began snoring, deep and unbothered. The little girl stared in stunned silence. She blinked rapidly and crawled toward the maid, touching her gently with her fingers.

Did... did she die? No. Sleeping...

The girl looked around quickly, her breathing shallow. And then her eyes drifted toward the forest.

‘Shall I run away? But if mom and dad catches me they will punish me more. They will beat me.'

The girl shivered at the thought. But she looked at the forest again and whispered softly,

“I run away and die quick. They no catch. No punish.”

The little girl started running towards the forest. Her heart was beating loudly as she was sacred of being caught. Her whole body was aching. But she didn’t looked back and continued running.

The forest stretched like a dream: soft, sun-dappled, and endlessly green.

Tall trees towered high above the ground, their thick leaves dancing with the breeze. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, warm and golden, casting moving shadows across a meadow dotted with wildflowers. Delicate white blossoms and bright red berries peeked from beneath bushes. The air was sweet with the scent of pine, grass, and blooming petals.

Two young boys ran through the forest, laughter echoing with the rustling leaves. One of them, a black-haired boy with eyes red like rubies raced ahead without a care, leaping over logs and kicking up petals in his wake.

“Loui! Wait up!” shouted the other boy, panting. He had soft white-silver hair that shimmered under the sun and ocean-blue eyes full of worry. At nine and a half, he was only months younger than his brother, but far more cautious.

“If we go too far, Dad will scold us again!”

The black-haired boy turned his head and rolled his eyes playfully. “Don’t be such obedient, Leo! I’m just playing. You’re too stiff.” He was barely ten, though he carried himself like a little prince with mischief in his veins.

He darted deeper into the woods, delighting in the wind brushing past his cheeks. But just as he grinned and leapt forward, his foot caught on something in the long grass.

He stumbled and then crashed to the ground with a thud.

“Agh!”

He winced and looked down. Blood trickled down from a scrape on his knee. “Ow, ow, ow!”

Leo rushed forward in alarm. “Louis!” He knelt beside his brother and carefully examined the wound. “I told you not to run off. See what happened?”

He tore a piece from the hem of his own shirt and gently wrapped it around the scrape, his little fingers trembling slightly.

Louis pouted. “I’m older than you, Leo! And it wasn’t my fault. I tripped on something!”

He stood up and turned back to the grass, curiosity flaring. “Wait, let me show you. I think it was a rock or a branch or-”

Suddenly, he froze.

His eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.

“CLEO!!”

He grabbed his younger brother’s arm tightly. “Cleo, come here! I... I think it’s a corpse!”

Cleo looked at him like he’d gone mad, but stepped forward. As the grass parted, a gasp slipped from his lips.

There, lying among the wildflowers, was a tiny girl.

She looked no older than three. Her long pink hair was tangled and crusted with dirt. Her limbs were covered in bruises: some fresh, some so old they had turned dark purple. Her cheeks were scratched, her lips cracked. Her small form was limp and pale.

Her clothes were torn rags barely clinging to her thin body. Dried blood stained the fabric and her skin.

“She’s not dead,” Cleo whispered. He knelt beside her and touched her wrist. “She’s alive. But she is badly injured.”

Louis stared, his voice faltering. “So many bruises… Leo, wh-what happened to her?”

Before Cleo could answer, another voice called out from behind them. Calm, but firm.

“What are you two doing here?”

Both boys turned toward the older figure approaching. He had silver-white hair that fell neatly to his shoulders and calm violet eyes that missed nothing. He looked mature, commanding already tall and composed despite his young age of eighteen.

“Eric bro!” Cleo turned quickly, pointing behind him. “We found a little girl. She’s unconscious. She needs medical help, right away!”

Eric’s expression shifted. He walked swiftly to their side and knelt down. When his eyes fell on the girl, a sharp breath escaped his lips.

He reached out, gently brushing a strand of pink hair away from her face. Her skin was cold. Her body was so light in his arms when he carefully lifted her up.

“This is bad,” he murmured. “Let's go”

—

Not far from the forest, two opulent carriages rested beneath the shade of a great oak tree. The crest of the Elernburg Duchy: a silver dragon coiled around a crown gleamed on the side of each.

Few guards were stationed nearby, feeding the horses and standing alert.

A tall, imposing man paced back and forth with growing anxiety. His long black hair was tied loosely behind his back, and his piercing grey eyes carried the weight of power and blood.

His finely tailored coat, dark as ink, was adorned with the ducal emblem. A sword hung from his side: elegant, deadly. It had once slain a hundred men in a single battle.

This man was none other than Grand Duke Tristan Ashford, ruler of Elernburg and brother to the Emperor.

He was a man in his prime—thirty-five years old, yet his features held a youthful sharpness, a testament to the longevity of those born with royal blood. In this world, humans lived up to 150 years, and only after a century did their youth begin to fade. At thirty-five, Tristan Ashford still radiated the raw, magnetic charm of a man at his peak.

Once hailed as the “Black Wolf of the North,” Tristan had earned his title through ruthless military brilliance. His enemies feared him. His allies respected him. He was the blade that cut through treason and the shield that protected the Empire.

“Where did those boys disappear to?” he muttered darkly.

“Your Grace,” said a man beside him, bowing slightly. His long green hair was tied in a sleek ponytail, and his glasses reflected the light calmly.

Flynn Fletcher, the Grand Duke’s chief secretary. Known as the Empire’s brilliant strategist and scholar.

“Shall I look for them?”

Before Tristan could answer, a gentle hand reached for his.

The voice was like warm milk on a cold night. Giselle Ashford, the Grand Duchess, smiled gently at her husband. She was thirty-four, yet her beauty remained ethereal: snow-white hair cascading down her back, blue eyes as deep as the winter sea. Her long gown fluttered with the breeze, giving her the grace of a swan.

A former Lady General of the Royal Army, Giselle was known as the “White Hawk.” A warrior once feared by kings, now wrapped in the warmth of motherhood.

“Dear, relax,” she said, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Eric went after them. They’ll be back soon.”

“I—” Tristan started, but her gaze calmed him.

“Wait a little longer, Flynn,” Giselle added.

At that moment, a voice rang out.

“Mom! Dad!”

Cleo came rushing out of the woods. Giselle’s expression tensed. “Cleo, don’t run, baby—”

Louis and Eric appeared behind him. Eric was carrying the small girl in his arms. Her body was limp, her head resting against his chest.

Giselle gasped.

Tristan’s face darkened.

“W-What happened?” she asked.

Eric laid the girl gently inside one of the carriages, placing a soft blanket beneath her.

“She’s injured,” he said solemnly. “Badly."

Giselle’s eyes welled with tears. She knelt beside the carriage and brushed the child’s cheek with trembling fingers. “Who could... do this to a child?”

Tristan’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the girl's fragile, broken body. His jaw clenched. His fists shook not just with anger, but something else.

Sorrow.

Protectiveness.

“Flynn,” he said coldly, “Prepare to leave. We’re going home.”

Flynn nodded.

As the guards mounted their horses and the carriages prepared to move, the little girl stirred.

She opened her eyes slowly. Everything was too bright. Her body ached. Her chest was tight. Not only that, but her throat was dry.

Strange people were looking at her. Her small hands trembled as she tried to sit up, but she collapsed again. She curled into herself, hugging her knees tightly to her chest.

Who... who are these people? Where am I?

She didn’t know them. She didn’t know if they would hit her and take away her power. Or what if they take her to her parents?

Tristan took one step forward.

“...The Child of Prophecy?” he whispered under his breath.

Gasps echoed around the carriage.

The little girl whimpered softly and pressed her forehead to her knees. Her tiny frame trembled like a frightened bird. She couldn’t understand what they were saying but it scared away She just wanted the light to go away.

Tristan exhaled and gently shut the carriage door. He turned to Giselle, who wiped her eyes quickly.

“We will take her back,” he said. “No matter who she is… she’s ours now.”

And so, the carriages began to move.

And inside one of them, the little girl stared at the floor, trembling silently as her story began again.