The wind howled across the cliffside, carrying with it the scent of rain and ash. The horizon burned in shades of orange and gold as the sun began its descent, painting the clouds with hues of fading fire.
At the cliff's edge stood Shin Fairy—alone, her silver hair whipping wildly around her face, a living contrast between serenity and torment. The dying light bathed her in gold, but her eyes reflected only storm.
She winced as another wave of pain tore through her shoulder, forcing her to her knees. With trembling fingers, she pulled down the silk cloth covering it. Beneath, a jagged thunderbolt-shaped mark pulsed faintly—dark veins crawling outward like roots of shadow, creeping closer to her heart.
"It's close…" she murmured, her voice barely rising above the wind. "It'll reach my heart soon."
Her lips curved into a smile, but it was hollow—a smile born not of hope, but of defiance against inevitable ruin. She lifted her gaze toward the dying sun, her thoughts wandering to a time long buried by war and sorrow.
Once, Eriland had known peace.
She remembered the soft hum of magic in the meadows, the songs of nymphs that danced between rivers of light, and skies so clear they seemed to reflect eternity. The kingdoms had been united once—not by fear or prophecy, but by choice. Magic was harmony, not weaponry.
But those days were gone—stolen by greed, prophecy, and blood.
Deep beneath Mount Gravelle, where the earth's breath ran cold, a storm had slept for centuries. The Phyrinx—a monstrous being of shadow and vengeance—was sealed there, chained by sacred vows and enchanted stone. It was the embodiment of dark magic, a consciousness that whispered temptation to the weak and the broken.
For ages, it slumbered. But darkness never dies; it waits.
Many had sought its power. All had fallen—crushed by hatred, consumed by the very shadows they wished to command.
Only two forces balanced Eriland's fate: the Phyrinx, guardian of darkness, and the Sacred Stone, keeper of light. Together, they maintained the world's fragile equilibrium. When the Stone chose Shin Fairy as its vessel, she had thought it an honor—until she learned what such an honor cost.
To carry the Stone was to carry every soul that fell for the sake of light. Every cry, every prayer, every sacrifice became a whisper in her mind.
Meanwhile, the Phyrinx had been entrusted to King Grezin, father of Prince Ornaphendreul. His heart, calm and tempered, made him a worthy warden of darkness. For many years, Grezin kept the shadows at bay, even forming friendship with the rulers of the Eri Kingdom.
It was in those peaceful days that a royal marriage was arranged: Prince Ornaphendreul and Princess Erin. What began as duty blossomed into love—quiet, sincere, and full of promise. They dreamed of a world where light and dark could coexist.
But in Eriland, even love bowed to prophecy.
The Book of Prophecy, a living tome of fate, dictated all. No king nor mage could defy its word. And when Erica, the only one who could read its vanishing runes, revealed its latest decree, hope shattered.
The Book had chosen another: Prince Kyler, destined by divine will to join with Princess Erin. Their union would not be one of flesh, but of ritual—an heir born through sacred magic, sealed within a crystal orb until the rightful time. A child of balance.
The day Erin learned this, she wept until her tears turned to ice. Ornaphendreul, upon hearing it, raged like a storm.
"I will not follow a prophecy that tears us apart," he had whispered fiercely, his hand trembling as he held hers.
Erin had promised to run away with him. But promises made under fear often crumble when dawn arrives.
King Grezin, burdened by grief for his son's pain, faltered. The Phyrinx's voice—soft, seductive—slithered into his heart. It told him what he wanted to hear: that the Book was wrong, that fate could be rewritten.
And so, darkness spread.
Grezin urged Ornaphendreul to defy prophecy—to claim his destiny by power, not divine decree. Against his better judgment, the prince accepted. He took the trial of the Phyrinx, and for a time, he succeeded. He wielded its might without losing his heart—or so he believed.
But the Phyrinx's gifts were never free.
From its depths, it offered him a token—the Dagger of Curse. If ever betrayed by the one he loved, he need only plunge it into her heart, and his wish would be granted.
Yet the dagger's edge carried more than death—it carried doubt. And doubt is the purest poison.
The Phyrinx whispered illusions to him in the dark, feeding his grief, twisting truth into lies. When Erin failed to appear one night—kept away by her royal guards—Ornaphendreul's heart snapped.
He stormed the castle, consumed by fury.
Shin Fairy had been there.
She saw the dagger raised, the madness in his eyes. She stepped between him and Erin—between vengeance and love.
The blade pierced her shoulder.
Her scream shook the walls, echoing with the voices of ten souls bound within her. Light burst from her chest, splintering into shards that burned through the air. The castle shook, and all fell silent but the sound of her gasping breath.
"I loved you!" Ornaphendreul cried, realization dawning too late.
Erin, clutching her trembling hands to her chest, shouted through her tears, "You're the one who betrayed me!"
"Lies!" His voice cracked. "Then feel what betrayal tastes like! One of your children will never be allowed to love. That child will carry your sin."
Erin's eyes widened in horror. "No… please, don't curse them. I'm—" she hesitated, her voice trembling—"I'm carrying your child!"
The dagger slipped from his grasp. "A child?"
Her tears fell like rain. "Yes! Our child!"
He stumbled back, disbelief and pain warring in his eyes. But before he could speak again, Shin Fairy collapsed, blood pooling beneath her. The thunderbolt curse ignited, searing through her veins as light and shadow collided within her body.
Her necklace—once pure silver—absorbed the agony of ten protectors who had perished in her defense. Each bead that formed represented a soul trapped in limbo, bound to her existence.
"Your life will be their freedom," whispered the voice of the curse.
From that day on, Shin Fairy became a living prison—a vessel of suffering, her body marked by lightning and sorrow. In the Spirit World, those ten souls fought eternally, their cries echoing through her dreams.
Years passed. Princess Erin died, her heart broken and her kingdom in mourning. Prince Ornaphendreul vanished into the shadows, his name carried only in whispers. Only his general, Arnoux, was ever seen again—his face unreadable, his loyalty uncertain. Some claimed Ornaphendreul had merged with the darkness itself, still searching for the Sacred Stone… or perhaps for redemption.
And Shin Fairy… endured.
Now, standing upon the same cliff where it had all begun, she looked toward the setting sun. The wind carried her whisper away like a vow.
"We will find our freedom," she said softly. "Even if it costs this life."
Far across the land, hidden within a garden sealed by enchantment, Prince Ornaphendreul stood beneath a glass dome. The air smelled faintly of roses—dark ones, their petals black with crimson edges. In the center of the garden bloomed a single blue rose, glowing faintly under the moonlight.
"It was her favorite," he murmured, voice hoarse with years of regret.
He plucked it gently, watching a single droplet slide down its petal—a tear, or perhaps a blessing.
"The tears of purity," he whispered. "Said to lift any curse…"
For a fleeting second, hope flickered in his eyes. But then he clenched his hand, crushing the rose into fragments. The petals scattered like pieces of his heart.
"The past is gone," he said coldly, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
As he turned away, a faint breeze stirred the fallen petals—carrying them out of the garden and into the night.
And somewhere far away, on the edge of a dying light, Shin Fairy's heart throbbed once more.