Princess Ophelia was the only heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Nymaris.
The palace walls of the royal family were believed to have been built from the scales of an immortal dragon, one that chose its own death to shield the goddess who once walked these lands.
The goddess in question had been Nymaris' founding ruler, known to all as Queen Nvidia.
She possessed a gift that no title could adequately contain. The ability to heal, to bless, to coax life from barren soil and ease from suffering. Crops grew fuller in her presence. The sick recovered. The weary found rest. She had not sought reverence, but reverence found her anyway, and so the people gave her the only word that felt sufficient.
Goddess.
But this also meant danger. There will always be those greedy enough to covet what they cannot have, and the Duke was no different. He wanted her heart. He wanted her body. He wanted all of her, and he had the power to take it.
She was defiled by the hands of that man, her purity tarnished. And yet, from that union, children were born, children who would go on to become the longtime heirs of the Nymaris kingdom.
After her children were born, the goddess in question vanished from the face of the kingdom, never to be found again.
Whether she lived or died, remained a mystery.
It drove the duke, who was genuinely in love with her in a twisted way, so mad that he became known as a tyrant in history. The founding father who neglected its own people after the queen disappeared.
Thankfully, his children were at least able to rule better than he ever did.
A madman who cared so much about power and love that he became so blinded he forgot what that power was used for.
The source of Queen Nvidia's power remained a mystery even to herself. She was just born with it, like beings born with eyes, nose, lips.
And so after her disappearance, children every millennia was born with her power, but it became less known to the public and exclusive knowledge to the royal family.
Knowing its dangers, it was best to keep the power a secret from outsiders.
·•—–٠✤٠—–•·
It was a beautiful summer night.
The stars shone brightly above the cathedral, scattered across the dark sky like countless jewels.
Moonlight filtered through the narrow window of my room, bathing the floor in a pale silver glow.
Kneeling beside my bed, I clasped my hands together and offered my nightly prayer.
A habit I had repeated countless times.
'Please let me leave this place someday.'
'Please let me live a long and peaceful life.'
'Please let me own a small home.'
Maybe a place with a garden or a kitchen filled with the smell of fresh coffee. Walls decorated however I pleased.
Nothing grand or extraordinary, really. Just a life that belonged to me.
They were just simple wishes. Yet they were things I could never seem to reach.
A bitter smile tugged at my lips.
When I first came here, I had believed this place would save me.
I could finally gain freedom and peace.
After everything I had endured, I thought I had finally found somewhere I could rest and belong.
Instead, I was shackled.
One side, I kept running away, always in hiding. And the other, I became a prisoner.
I thought by showing my abilities, I could gain freedom and retain the glory I lost, but instead it changed everything for the worse for me.
The church that had once welcomed me with open arms no longer saw me as a person.
Only a tool. A resource. A miracle that could be exploited.
My days became filled with endless demands.
No matter how exhausted I became, no matter how many times my body begged for rest, it never ended.
Because tools did not need rest.
Tools did not complain.
And tools certainly did not have dreams.
I lowered my head and stared at my trembling hands.
For a moment, I wondered if the goddess could still hear my prayers. Or if she can even hear me.
The pope cared little for faith.
What interested him was the money flowing into the church coffers.
The more donations he received, the more lavish his lifestyle became.
And so he surrounded himself with nobles who shared the same greed.
Together, they squeezed every coin they could from the common people while preaching about charity and virtue.
It was almost laughable.
The very people who claimed they existed to protect the weak were often the ones exploiting them the most.
Nymaris liked to pretend it was different. But from what I had seen, it wasn't much better than Aretia. Both kingdoms were filled with selfish nobles who only cared about themselves.
Conflicts between noble houses became increasingly common.
They always waged war against each other. Lords fighting neighboring lords. Families turning against families. Territories burning because someone wanted more land, more influence, or more gold.
And somehow, the church always found a way to benefit from it.
Whether by offering support, collecting donations, or promising my 'divine' powers to whichever side was willing to pay.
I knew all of this. Yet I couldn't bring myself to care, because to me, politics felt distant, and meaningless.
No matter who won or lost, my role never changed anyway.
I was expected to heal the wounded.
Heal the soldiers.
Heal the nobles.
Then march alongside the next army and do it all over again.
The church would lend me out like a weapon. The nobles would use me to secure victories.
And when the war ended, everyone would praise the gods while pretending they hadn't spent thousands of lives to gain a few more miles of land.
I lowered my gaze.
In the end, nobody ever asked what I wanted. Because to them, I wasn't Ophelia. I was simply a miracle that belonged to the church.
How many battlefields had I stood upon?
How many wars had I been dragged into?
I could no longer remember. The memories blurred together. Only the screams remained.
Soldiers crying out for their mothers. Fathers begging to see their children one last time. Young men clutching my sleeves and asking if they would survive.
At first, every death haunted me.
Every life I failed to save lingered in my thoughts long after the battle ended.
I would cry myself to sleep.
Pray for the dead.
Memorize their names so that someone, somewhere, would remember they had existed.
But people aren't meant to carry that much grief forever.
Eventually, the pain dulled.
It wasn't because I had grown accustomed to the cruelty of war and death, but it was because if every death hurt as much as the first one, I would have shattered long, long ago.
So I endured.
And little by little, something inside me changed.
My prayers became less innocent and less hopeful.
The simple wishes I once whispered beneath the moonlight began to twist into something uglier.
I no longer prayed for a peaceful life.
I prayed for escape.
I no longer wished for a small home.
I wished for freedom, no matter what.
And on my worst nights, when exhaustion, resentment, and despair swallowed me whole, I found myself wishing for something even darker.
That this kingdom would burn.
That the church would collapse.
That all the people who treated others as tools would finally suffer as much as they had made everyone else suffer.
The moment those thoughts appeared, guilt would follow soon after.
Because soon, the world would change.
Creatures unlike anything recorded in history descended from the sky.
They floated above the clouds, watching humanity with indifference.
Wherever they passed, a strange miasma followed. The fertile lands withered, and rivers became poisoned, crops dying.
Starvation spread throughout the kingdoms, and all the while, those beings simply watched, as though the world already belonged to them.
As though humanity were nothing more than wild animals struggling beneath their notice.
They never really attacked directly nor did they conquer cities.
The miasma alone slowly drove the world toward ruin. But, hope flickered at those darkest times, changing everything when the Saintess purified the miasma.
Using her holy power, she cleared the corruption wherever she traveled.
The dying fields recovered, poisoned lands healed. And so they became dependent on her.
Kingdoms that had once considered Aretia an enemy suddenly changed their tune.
Nymaris that once sought her death now desperately sought her favor. After all, if Ophelia stopped helping them, the miasma would return.
And if the miasma returned, they would die.
At first, she did everything she could. She traveled endlessly, healed endlessly, worked endlessly. But there was only one Ophelia.
Eventually, her body began to fail.
Days of rest became weeks, then months. And no matter how much she gave, it was never enough to people.
The miasma spread faster than she could purify it, and because of it, people grew afraid then eventually growing angry.
And as always, people needed someone to blame.
So they blamed her.
The very person who had spent years saving them.
Ophelia was imprisoned shortly afterward.
Locked away inside a strange cavern deep beneath the earth.
Cold stone surrounded her on all sides.
Chains bound her wrists.
The only source of light came from a glowing lake illuminating the darkness with an eerie blue glow.
Days passed which turned to weeks, then months. Eventually, she stopped counting entirely.
But one day, someone had finally come. Or rather... Something.
The air distorted around them as several figures appeared inside.
They looked vaguely human. Yet every instinct in Ophelia's body screamed otherwise.
Floating around them were countless strange symbols.
Symbols that shifted and moved so quickly they should have been impossible to read.
Yet somehow, she could see them perfectly like time was slowing around them. She just couldn't understand.
"This is the human we were searching for?" One of the beings spoke.
Their voice carried neither hostility nor kindness.
It was only laced with indifference, like a man who was tasked with picking up a delivery.
The others observed her quietly.
Like scholars examining an unusual specimen.
"Let's bring her with us."
Ophelia slowly raised her head.
"Where are you taking me?"
The reaction was immediate.
Dozens of abilities manifested at once, and power flooded the cavern. The attacks stopped mere inches from her body.
The beings stared at her.
For the first time, genuine emotion appeared on their faces.
Shock.
"How do you speak our language?"
Ophelia blinked. That was a good question.
Because in her ears, she was clearly speaking Aretian.
Yet judging by their reaction, something else was coming out.
"I don't know." Her gaze drifted toward the strange symbols floating around them. "Maybe it has something to do with those?"
Silence filled the air for a moment, the atmosphere changing.
The beings exchanged looks.
Because what Ophelia had casually admitted was close to impossible.
A primitive lifeform shouldn't be able to perceive the System. Yet she could see it? What was going on.
Some recovered from their shock faster than others. After all, they hadn't come here because of a language issue.
They came because they had discovered a human capable of healing.
A human who might become the key to their race's survival.
One of them lifted a hand.
The chains around her wrist and ankles had shattered. Then her body rose into the air.
Telekinesis.
She floated helplessly as they ascended toward the surface. But her attention remained fixed elsewhere.
On the symbols.
The moment the telekinetic ability activated, the symbols around the Aberrant suddenly accelerated.
They twisted.
Shifted.
Rearranged themselves.
Almost as if they were performing some kind of calculation. Curiosity flickered within her.
What would happen if I touched them?
The thought appeared innocently.
Nothing more.
Yet the moment she reached out mentally, the symbols obeyed. The telekinetic ability vanished.
"...What?" The Aberrants froze in fear.
Then gravity reclaimed them. And everyone began falling. Including Ophelia.
"Aaaaaahhhhhh!"
For the first time in a very long while, pure panic overtook her.
The Aberrants screamed too.
Which somehow made the situation even more terrifying. The ground rushed toward them.
Closer, closer, and closer—!
Ophelia squeezed her eyes shut.
Please let me survive!
That was all she could think. Then, nothing happened.
Slowly opening her eyes, she found herself floating inches above the ground. Perfectly unharmed.
For several seconds, she simply stared blankly.
Then she looked around.
The Aberrants weren't as fortunate.
Their blue blood stained the earth, bodies laying scattered across.
Ophelia sat there silently.
Then a strange thought crossed her mind.
"...I'm glad that wasn't me."