Finally! ... you are here to meet her... Get Ready buddy... Don't worry. She doesn't like a ugly guy like you. She like a handsome guy like me... bruhhh
...
It is around five in the morning.
The largest railway station on the eastern edge of Mistveil City, a grand structure of steel and glass, buzzes with the clamor of countless voices. Makus, Edgar, and Alaric stand near the platform for the 'Azure Comet,' a luxury train bound for the Nadian Empire, their small travel bags in hand. A little distance away, Clara grips a single bag tightly, her shoulders slightly hunched.
The constant, monotonous rhythm of the train wheels sounds dull and wearying. Edgar subtly adjusts his spectacles, inhaling the cold morning air.
"It's a bit regrettable to say goodbye to Knox," Makus says, pulling up his gloves. His face is serious, a change from his usual jesting demeanor.
Edgar nods. "His situation is complicated. He chose to retire from the Watchers and stay here as a local police officer in Mistveil, and we must respect that. But with the Artifact and a Fragment of God's Memory falling into the Stranger's hands at such a critical time, we must first return to the Nadian Empire and await new orders from Headquarters."
Makus sighs, his eyes briefly landing on Clara behind them. Her eyes are red, and tears silently stream down her face. Issac's image weighs heavily on all their hearts.
"The first thing we do when we reach the capital, Lunaria, is establish a memorial grave for Issac near the Watchers' headquarters," Makus says, controlling his voice as much as possible.
Edgar slowly removes his glasses and wipes them. "He wouldn't want us to mourn. Before every mission, he always used to say: 'Life is a great joke, and death is just the punchline.'"
Makus tries to force a laugh. "I remember… once, while hiding near an enemy camp, he asked us, 'What color is a cow's milk?' While everyone was thinking of a non-humorous answer, he just laughed and said, 'You don't see white when you milk a cow, you just see black.' Those happy moments…" Makus's voice trails off.
(This morbid joke reflects Issac's cynical view that the seemingly obvious truth (milk is white) is often less important than the unexpected perspective (the color seen when milking). For a Watcher, such dark humor is a coping mechanism, a way to laugh at the meaninglessness of life and the distorted perceptions of truth they constantly seek.)
Clara wipes her tears, suppressing a sob. Issac was her mentor and friend. "He… he promised he'd teach me new songs on the journey back to the Empire…"
Alaric, listening silently to their grief, instantly refocuses his mind. There is no time for mourning. He has a personal duty on this trip.
(Alaric's consciousness drifts to Bander Walcroft's house.)
Bander Walcroft's eyes, normally cold and steady behind his spectacles, are filled with undisguised sorrow as he looks at a framed photo of his son, Riel, on the desk before him.
"Alaric," Bander calls softly. "Your mission to the Nadian Empire is extremely dangerous. I know finding my son, Riel, is not your primary duty."
"But…" Bander's fingers gently stroke the photograph frame. "I beg for your help to find my son, Riel... my child... I need to know what he is facing." Bander's voice trembles.
Alaric promises in a firm voice. "I understand, Mr. Bander. I will find Riel and report back to you. Trust me, Mr. Bander."
(Alaric's consciousness snaps back to the train station.)
"Alaric? What are you thinking about?" Makus asks, patting his shoulder, seeking to lighten the mood after the heavy conversation about Issac.
Alaric opens his eyes and smiles. "Nothing at all. Mr. Volken... I am just praying for all of us to have a safe journey."
"Just call me Makus. We are comrades-in-arms; there's no need for formality," Makus replies.
Edgar turns to Alaric. "Alaric… how old are you?"
"Eighteen," Alaric answers.
Edgar glances at Clara and lets out a small laugh, teasing her. "It's a pity for Clara... she's no longer the youngest in Delta 9 anymore."
At Edgar's joke, Clara whirls around, crossing her arms, pouting her lips. "Hmph... I'm only two years older than Alaric, and you old uncle is six years older than him…" She sticks out her tongue at Edgar's teasing.
Clara's retort and silly gesture make Makus and Alaric burst into laughter at Edgar's expense.
"Ha! Ha! Poor Edgar got roasted!" Makus teases.
Edgar sighs. "Come on. Let's go. The train is leaving soon."
Just then, the loud siren of the train horn blares, announcing the immediate departure of the 'Azure Comet.' The four of them, carrying the sorrowful memories of Issac and the dangers ahead, step into the train carriage.
.....
They settle into a private compartment in the first-class carriage. The seats are upholstered in deep blue velvet in a Victorian style, and through the window, the misty cityscape of Mistveil rushes past.
Makus and Alaric sit facing each other, with Edgar and Clara beside them.
Makus turns his head toward Edgar. "We have an important matter to attend to as soon as we reach the Nadian Empire." Makus straightens up. "We need to visit and interrogate Prisoner-0325."
Clara's blue eyes widen. Her pouting expression instantly dissolves into curiosity. "Makus! Prisoner 0325… that rumored… incredibly beautiful girl?"
Edgar immediately adjusts his posture, using his index finger to steady his glasses frame. A rare flicker of enthusiasm appears in his eyes.
"Rumor? Ha! It's no rumor, Clara. It is the truth," Edgar asserts, raising his voice. "She is the most beautiful girl anyone has ever seen, in the entire world. Records state that everyone who saw her for the first time stood silent, as if they had just witnessed the Goddess of Judgement (Moon Goddess)."
Makus stares at Edgar, feeling uncomfortable, and presses the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Edgar… you are too excited."
Alaric, for the first time since the beginning of the journey, shows an expression of profound interest. "The most beautiful girl? What is her story? Why is such a person imprisoned?"
Edgar smiles with satisfaction. He feels the pleasure of a storyteller about to begin his tale. "Her life story? Indeed. I know every detail. She is the youngest daughter of the Nightingale Manor, and her name is Aespa Nightingale."
Clara requests with wide eyes. "Please… tell us! We want to know why she was imprisoned!"
Alaric nods silently, his gaze fixed on Edgar. He needs to understand the story of their mysterious Target alongside his duty to find Bander's son, Riel.
Edgar looks out through the window at the distant fog, lowering his voice, and begins his tale.
"She is a Princess of the utmost pity... If I am to tell her story, it all starts with the birthday celebration of Aespa's older sister, Vena."
The Nightingale Manor: Lady Vena's Birthday Ball....
The gilded grand corridor of Nightingale Manor is a study in oppressive silence, standing starkly above the clamorous celebration echoing from below. Aespa stands alone in the upstairs corridor of the manor. Even the cheap, simple white muslin dress her sisters force her to wear cannot hide her extraordinary beauty. This dress is made of the cheapest muslin, the cloth worn by servants, and bears no adornment.
She shrinks from descending. She is terribly afraid of people.
"Won't you come down, Aespa?" Vena, the second oldest sister, sneers as she adjusts the magnificent folds of her ruby-red gown. Vena's Victorian princess-style dress is specially grand for the birthday party, commissioned from Monsieur Faehlan's 'The Silk Vault,' the most famous designer in Lunaria. Its value equals the Nightingale family's income for an entire year.
The bodice is covered in the finest silk velvet, and small diamonds and rubies are embroidered everywhere.
Vena's long, dark hair is styled into a rigid, majestic Victorian Updo, as if sculpted, adorned with expensive pearls and gold ribbons. Her face wears a full face of makeup, meticulously aimed at displaying her beauty.
Next to her, Aespa is the extreme opposite. Her long, silver-white hair flows simply down her back, unstyled, yet its natural luster outshines Vena's carefully placed diamonds.
"It is my birthday today, Aespa," Vena says, her voice sweet, yet tinged with mockery. "Be a good little sister... come down and receive the guests for your older sister. Come, let's go down together."
Aespa complies, preparing to move despite her overwhelming dread, whispering her assent: ''Yes, Lady Vena.''
'Poor Aespa… you must come out so everyone can see how pitiful you are' Vena thinks, savoring the humiliation she expects Aespa to face.
Laila, the youngest sister, adds with a mocking tone.
"Of course, she must appear, Vena. Aespa is our only little sister... everyone must know her face."
Aespa is visibly exhausted, her state a direct result of the endless, menial labor_ including the relentless washing of her sisters elaborate clothes_ she is forced to perform. Her Azure eyes, like white star-dust diamonds, are clouded with weariness and sadness.
As she steps onto the staircase leading into the grand hall, which is filled with voices and the mellow sounds of instruments, Aespa's chest is full of a frantic heartbeat. Vena, who stands before her like a regal figure, grips Aespa's hand tightly with her sharp nails, making retreat impossible.
The view from the staircase top reveals the full grandeur of the hall. The guests wear silk garments interwoven with gold threads; their bracelets, necklaces, and earrings flash brilliantly in the lamplight. The air is thick with the scent of sweet grape wine and flowers. A slow Waltz, popular during the Victorian era, drifts through the air, adding to the gaiety of the party.
Vena's nails feel like they pierce Aespa's hand. "Let's go, little sister," Vena whispers.
They descend the steps slowly. Some guests at the bottom notice them. Everyone's eyes quickly shift from the magnificently dressed Vena to the girl at the top of the staircase with the silver-white hair and the simple white gown.
"Who is she?" some guests whisper softly.
Aespa is the absolute epitome of beauty, a phenomenon that transcends mere aesthetics. Her presence is a silent, overwhelming force; an atomic level of allure that renders everything else in the room dull.
Her long, flowing hair is a brilliant Silver-White, a shade so pure it seems ethereal to the mortal world. It does not merely reflect light; it generates its own soft luminosity, shimmering like polished pearls beneath the chandeliers. This hair is not simply long; it is a cascading sheet of solidified moonlight, or the last, perfect dusting of winter's snow. Though it hangs down her back in the simplest fashion, it possesses a gravitational elegance that outshines every elaborate Victorian updo, resembling silent silver comets streaming across a dark night sky.
Aespa's eyes are an impossible shade of Azure Blue. They are not simply pupils and irises, but two flawless facets of a pure, glacial ice lake. With every timid blink, diamond dust or starlight seems to scatter, catching the light in a breathtaking, ephemeral display. Though often clouded by fear or melancholy, the depth of her eyes reveals a terrifying innocence and clean power that can mesmerize any viewer, making them forget every other beauty on Earth. These eyes are truly fashioned from what seems to be the highest heavens.
Her facial features achieve a level of geometric perfection that would make every master sculptor in the world abandon their tools in defeat. Her nose is finely sculpted and delicate, and her small, full lips carry the natural stain of the softest pink, never tainted by artificial color. Her skin is smooth, flawless porcelain that actively captures and disperses light. No amount of makeup is needed, for her complexion embodies the rarest form of noble, vibrant beauty.
While Lady Vena's ruby gown shouts of wealth, Aespa's cheap, simple muslin white dress, when worn by her, achieves a transformation. It merges with her form to create the image of a true celestial being—a literal angel descended to the ballroom floor. She needs no ornamentation; she is the jewel. Her sudden appearance halts all sound and movement, drawing all light and focus to her like a powerful magnet. This sublime beauty is said to rival even the Goddess of Judgement herself in the Divine Kingdom, an impossible, devastating purity embodied in a single, fragile human form.
Aespa's eyes are downcast; she looks only at her toes. But Vena continues to push her forward. The murmuring of the crowd gradually subsides, leaving only the sound of the instruments. Everyone's attention is now fixed on the two figures on the stairs.
Vena stands still, smiling, but her eyes are filled with a triumphant expectation. She has waited for this moment—to publicly shame her little sister before these gentlemen and ladies, ensuring the world knows her own beauty is superior.
Aespa struggles to control her breathing. Her simple white gown feels even more insignificant among the wealthy attire. Yet, she continues to stand firm and descend the steps. Her silver-white hair shines naturally bright under the staircase lights, and her blue eyes, though fearful, maintain a pure and innocent clarity.
As they reach the foot of the stairs, Vena pushes Aespa toward the crowd. "This is my little sister… Aespa," Vena introduces, her voice resonating clearly.
A gasp escapes a man in the crowd. "How magnificent she is."
The music in the hall ceases completely. The silence is louder than the noise. Every pair of eyes focuses solely on Aespa.
Her simple white dress utterly overshadows Vena's magnificent ruby gown. Her unstyled, natural silver-white hair glows brilliantly under the light, appearing far more attractive than Vena's hours of preparation.
In that moment, Lady Vena's birthday celebration transforms into Aespa's unexpected solo debut.
The first reaction comes from Lord Kael, Seraphina's fiancé. He drops his wine glass, not caring that the red wine spills onto the floor.
Lord Kael (Muttering, eyes wide): "Who... who is this? I cannot believe such beauty exists in the world."
Seraphina (Grinding her teeth): "Kael! What nonsense are you spouting! That is my little sister!"
Lord Kael: "Little sister? Seraphina, I think we must break off our engagement! I have never seen anything like this. Aespa... I will give you anything you desire. I want to make you my bride!"
Count Valerius, an obese magnate in his fifties, suddenly pushes forward to the Mistress of Nightingale Manor. "Lady Nightingale, I demand your daughter's hand! I will name my city after her and drown her in gold! Everything she wishes for, I will give!" He addresses Vivienne Nightingale, the stepmother and mother of the three sisters.
Lady Vivienne Nightingale's face contorts into a hideous mask of defeat. Her own daughters, for whom this party was thrown, are completely forgotten, all attention irrevocably drawn to Aespa.
Vena (Her face burning red, her ruby gown seeming to glow with the heat of her rage): "Nonsense! She is too young, she knows nothing!"
Laila (Seeing her own fiancé stealing glances, she whispers fiercely to Vena): "Vena, we cannot let her go. Even our fiancés are obsessed with her on sight. If she stays in this house, our lives will be ruined."
Vena (Nodding furiously): "We must eliminate her immediately."
That night_ the night of the grand ball_ marks Aespa's first public appearance, and the very same night the three sisters decide her death sentence.
After the tumultuous silence and subsequent renewed frenzy of the ball, a heavy quiet blankets Nightingale Manor. Aespa arrives at her own chamber, tucked away in the southern wing of the Manor. It is not decorated with the rubies and gold of Seraphina and Vena's rooms, but it is pristine, a princesss bedroom adorned with soft white linens, silver-embroidered curtains, and delicate patterns of flowers and birds. The chamber, dominated by silver-white and azure blue, perfectly complements Aespa's own ethereal coloring.
Too exhausted even to change out of the cheap muslin dress, she collapses onto the soft bed. The guests murmurs, Lord Kael's frantic declaration, and Count Valerius's fierce demands echo in her ears. Aespa does not comprehend the meaning of these events; she is only profoundly weary from the confusion.
"I am so tired I still have to wake up early tomorrow.''
Her blue eyes flutter shut in sadness, and she falls into a deep, immediate sleep.
While the Manor slumbers, the three sisters hold a secret council in Seraphina's private room upstairs, sealing Aespa's fate.
Lady Seraphina (The eldest), her face a grim mask of black fury after the humiliating public rejection by her fiance, Lord Kael, declares: ''She cannot live!''
Lady Vena (The middle sister) is still wearing her ruby gown. She tops up her wine with more red liquid, speaking with chilling clarity: ''She must be silenced tonight. Count Valerius will come tomorrow demanding her as a possession to buy. We cannot permit it.''
Lady Laila (The youngest) stares out the window, the image of her fiance stealing glances at Aespa burning her heart like a stab of a knife. "The two men we hired are already inside the Manor, Vena. There is no time to waste.''
....
Two dark shadows creep silently toward the large room where Aespa sleeps. They are the hired assassins, blades of cold steel clutched in their hands.
The first assassin raises his stiletto high, aiming for the sleeping, innocent girl.
The two dark figures glide silently toward the large bed where Aespa lies, oblivious in her exhausted slumber. Daggers of cold steel gleam dully in the absence of light. The first assassin raises his blade high, aiming for the fragile girl's heart.
In that critical, suspended second, a deafening thunderclap rips through the night sky, and a brilliant bolt of lightning violently illuminates the room. For that split second, both assassins recoil, their eyes locked on something standing motionless in the darkest corner of the room.
The lightning fades, plunging the room back into darkness, but two sets of Crimson Eyes remain, glowing with an unnatural, unwavering light. Both attackers freeze, their bodies rigid with a primal terror they cannot comprehend. Moments later, their strangled, throaty screams are utterly consumed by the roar of the receding thunder.
The jarring noise yanks Aespa from her heavy sleep. Her Azure eyes snap open, struggling to focus in the oppressive darkness. Then, she sees it: a shadowy silhouette standing tall in the corner, holding a long, thin sword whose blade catches the faintest hint of reflected light. The pair of Crimson Eyes she saw in the flash now stare directly at her. Above the figure's head, two angular, pointed shapes—like horns—jut sharply, causing tears of terror to well up as she immediately perceives it as a Demon.
In her panic, the shadowy figure begins to advance slowly toward her. Aespa tightens her grip on the thin sheet, pulling it up to her chin.
But as the figure steps under the weak spill of moonlight from the window, Aespa realizes it is no demon. It is a girl, perhaps of her own age, possessing an exquisite, deadly grace. She holds the long blade called the 'Zenith Blade' similar in form to a 'Katana' with casual ease. Her attire is immediately striking: a stark deviation from Nadian Empire's rigid Victorian fashion. It is a compelling fusion of restrictive Western tailoring and flowing Eastern silks, clearly marking her as a foreigner.
(The Zenith Blade is a weapon that represents the absolute pinnacle of skill within the combat history of the Nadian Empire. It is not a simple sword, but a peak weapon used exclusively by Peak Assassins who have mastered the highest tiers of esoteric, secret arts.
These assassins are the silent operators who can eliminate the most critical targets from the Royal Court or the Empire's covert organizations. Only those who possess this exceptional ability and authority are deemed worthy to wield this pinnacle weapon.)
She is a beautiful vision of calculated precision and dark grace. Her hair, a gleaming raven black that reaches past her waist, is trimmed with a precise, razor-straight fringe across her brow. The ends of the tresses, where the light touches, carry a subtle, telling hint of deep auburn. Two sleek, dark triangular shapes rise sharply from the top of her head—not horns, but perhaps heavily furred, expressive ears, lending her a wild, dangerous kind of beauty.
Her clothing is an elaborate Victorian-Chinese hybrid. A dark silk bodice is tightly laced in the manner of the House's fashions, overlaid by a luxurious, wide-sleeved outer robe. This overcoat is cut from thick, lustrous black satin, evoking the feel of an Eastern Kimono or Hanfu, embroidered with delicate, swirling white cherry blossoms and splashes of scarlet ribbon. A thick, Crimson Sash cinches her waist, from which the long Zenith Blade hangs.
This girl radiates absolute control, lethal capability, and foreign mystery.
She stops beside Aespa's bed, her crimson eyes intently studying the small girl who trembles under the sheet. The killing intent that crushed the assassins vanishes, replaced by a strange, protective stillness.
Aespa, despite her fear, finds herself drawn by a terrifying fascination. The girl slowly lowers the tip of her Zenith Blade to the floor.
Her voice is soft and smooth, yet carries an accent Aespa has never heard before. "You are safe, Lady Aespa."
Then, the girl gently sets the Zenith Blade on the ground. In a rare display of Oriental deference, virtually unknown in the Nadian Empire, she kneels on one knee and bows her head, paying her full respects. Her crimson eyes focus only on the floor.
"My liege, Princess Aespa Nightingale. My name is Karina Sinclair."
Aespa can only whisper. "Ka...Karina?"
Karina continues with her clear, distinct cadence. "I am not of this Nadian Empire. I am the one entrusted with the final wishes of your father, Lord Nightingale."
She lifts her head, meeting Aespa's eyes directly. Her crimson gaze is unwavering in the gloom.
"I am here by the terms of his Last Will and Testament. Since the passing of the Lord, your safety and protection have been transferred into my hands."
Karina reaches into the inner fold of her coat and produces a small, tightly-rolled parchment wrapped in leather, which she presents to Aespa.
"This is the Lord's Last Will and Testament."
Aespa's hands shake as she takes the scroll. She has never been told anything about her father beyond the cruel words of her sisters. Her fear dissolves, replaced by a heart-pounding mix of excitement and profound grief as she unrolls the paper.
The faint scent of old paper stirs her emotions. When she sees her father's familiar handwriting, her tears begin to flow immediately. She reads the blurred words—of his love for her, and his desperate, dying hope that Karina would be the one person she could truly rely on for protection in this cold world.
She finishes reading, utterly overwhelmed by sorrow. She presses a hand to her mouth to stifle a painful sob, grieving the loss but finding comfort in the knowledge that her father never forgot her.
Karina remains silently kneeling, allowing Aespa her moment of grief. Aespa finally wipes her tears, lifts her head, and looks back at Karina. For the first time, a resolute strength, not fear, shines in her azure eyes.
Aespa swallows a hitching breath and uses the back of her hand to wipe away the tears. She then offers a fragile, warm smile—a genuine warmth that has been long suppressed.
"Th-then... will you be my friend?"
Karina is visibly stunned. Her crimson eyes widen slightly, a momentary crack in her mercenary composure. Aespa's smile brings an unexpected warmth to the place where Karina's heart resides. She is a woman of cold blood, having long forgotten human kindness and affection. Yet, Aespa's innocent request instantly makes her feel human again. A subtle, almost imperceptible curve touches the corner of her lips.
Karina bows her head deeper, placing the hand that holds her Zenith Blade hilt over her heart. She renews her oath with a powerful, living conviction.
"My blade, my blood, and my life are for Lady Aespa Nightingale alone. From this day forward, I serve as your Retainer for life. I shall crush and eliminate all evil that seeks to touch Lady Aespa. And, my Liege, I shall be your friend."
That night becomes the crucial turning point in the fate of Aespa Nightingale.