Frieda Reiss, the legitimate daughter of Rod Reiss and a commanding figure within the walls of Paradis Island, lived a life marked by duality and the heavy burden of her royal blood. The half-sister of the illegitimate Historia, born of Rod's affair with a woman outside his marriage, she occupied a throne that simultaneously granted her absolute power and subjected her to the will of a king who had ruled over the minds of his descendants since ancient times. Upon inheriting the Founding Titan from her uncle, Uri Reiss, Frieda found herself trapped by the curse of the First King, whose influence over her was nearly uncontrollable. Her life became a constant struggle between the desire to be free and the harrowing obligation to obey the unyielding rules of her lineage.
Although the crown she wore symbolized authority, Frieda was consumed by profound melancholy, a depression that isolated her and left her vulnerable to the influence of the Titan within her body. In moments of silence, she felt an unbearable anguish, and her demeanor shifted from sharp calmness to wild aggression—a reflection of the distorted memories and emotions implanted in her mind by the Founding Titan. At her lowest moments, she barely recognized herself, feeling as though she were merely a puppet controlled by forces beyond her understanding.
Yet within this tormented life, there was a ray of light: Historia. Her illegitimate half-sister, who, despite the complicated circumstances of her birth, always had a positive influence on Frieda's life. The bond between them, though marked by differences in status, was genuine, and Frieda found in Historia's presence a solace that even the weight of the Founding Titan could not fully obscure. Historia was, for Frieda, a reminder of the humanity that remained amid the chaos of her royal existence.
Today, once again, Frieda prepared to visit her half-sister. It was a visit she anticipated with an almost anxious intensity, as if the simple act of seeing Historia could ease, if only for a moment, the crushing pressure she bore on her shoulders.
"Ah, madam, are you here to see Alma's daughter?" The voice resonated through the room with a depth that not only captured attention but dominated it, as if every syllable were a command disguised as a question. It was soft, yet carried an intensity that couldn't be ignored. The tone was refined, like that of someone who knew exactly what it meant to occupy a position of prominence, yet there was a subtle power in every word—a confidence that overflowed in an almost arrogant manner. It was as if he were asserting that his mere presence was enough to shape the situation around him, and nothing would happen without his permission.
Frieda, always attuned to the smallest details, turned slowly to identify the source of the voice. Her eyes met the figure of a young man, likely around 18 years old, who exuded an aura of silent superiority. His long, blonde hair, fine and golden like a stream of pure gold, cascaded gently to his shoulders, catching the light in an almost mesmerizing way. His deep blue eyes, sparkling like rare sapphires, were fixed on her with a calculated intensity, as if he were analyzing her every move.
[Insert image here]
The young man was dressed in a perfectly fitted white shirt and simple brown trousers that, somehow, under his bearing, seemed tailor-made to highlight his natural elegance. His brown shoes completed the ensemble, and his upright posture conveyed an unshakable confidence, as if he were fully aware that his appearance and demeanor were in complete harmony with his inner greatness.
Frieda observed him with a faint expression of curiosity, trying to understand who this young man was, greeting her with such assuredness and perhaps a touch of disdain.
"Yes, I came to see Historia," Frieda replied in a gentle yet assertive tone, unimpressed by the young man's imposing presence. He then smiled, a hint of amusement playing on his lips, as if entertained by some private thought, and turned away without saying another word.
"Come, I will take you to where she is." The young man's words were almost a command, and he moved forward without waiting for any kind of confirmation, as if it were natural for him to lead. Frieda, though slightly unsettled, saw no other option but to follow him. The anxiety of seeing Historia soon made her quicken her steps behind the young man, who walked with an almost ethereal grace.
As she followed, a question lingered in her mind: who was he? Frieda, who had visited that place countless times, had never encountered that young man before. His face was unfamiliar, and it made her wonder whether he was there for a specific reason or part of some new arrangement. Her sharp gaze tried to catch any clue, but the young man seemed to be an elusive presence, shrouded in mystery.
"You know," the blond spoke with a smile of someone who knew something she didn't, "you always come to visit Historia every month, but right after, she doesn't remember you—or at least, she says she doesn't." His voice was casual but carried a hint of mischief, as though he were aware of something deeply unsettling about the situation. He glanced over his shoulder, his bright blue eyes gleaming with an enigmatic smile. "How about we walk together? Your stare at my back feels like it wants to kill me hahaha."
Frieda felt a slight shiver upon hearing the young man's remark. She couldn't hide her surprise and curiosity, though she tried to maintain her composure. The fact that he had noticed her gaze made her question exactly what he knew about her. Perhaps it was the natural confidence of someone used to observing others with sharp insight, or perhaps he knew more than he should about her meetings with Historia. Even so, she forced herself to smile, trying to mask the growing tension within her.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"No need to pretend. Everyone has their secrets, everyone has one." The blonde said with a sly smile, his piercing gaze fixed on Frieda as if he were reading her deepest intentions. His laugh was soft, but there was a sharpness to it that suggested he was enjoying the situation far more than he should.
He then leapt nimbly over the fence. "Come on, Historia is over there in the hay."
Frieda hesitated for a moment, but feeling she had no other choice, she vaulted over the fence with quiet agility. The sense of unease still hung over her, but her concern for Historia drove her to follow the young man without hesitation. She trailed him across the field, the soft sound of her boots muffled by the tall grass, until they reached the haystacks, where the scent of straw mixed with the fresh country breeze painted an idyllic scene. Yet Frieda knew something was amiss with all that tranquility.
"Historiaaaaa, Uncle's here!" The blonde called out in an exaggerated tone, his voice carrying an almost playful energy. He shouted so spontaneously that Frieda couldn't help but wonder if it was all some kind of act.
Suddenly, from within the hay, a small blonde figure emerged, her hair nearly identical to the young man's but in a softer shade. Her blue eyes sparkled with the innocence of a child, and she ran toward the blonde, her quick, clumsy steps like those of someone surrendering to pure joy. She threw herself into his arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and for a moment, Frieda stood watching the scene with a mix of surprise and apprehension.
"And then," the little girl said with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, "surprise attack!"
Before Frieda could react, the little girl leaped forward, grabbing the blonde with all the strength her small figure could muster. In one swift and unexpected move, she pushed him backward, causing him to momentarily lose his balance. The scene, which had begun with a false impression of calm, turned into a whirlwind of laughter and movement.
Frieda watched, stunned. This was not what she had anticipated. She had entered the room intending to see Historia in a sisterly moment, but the scene unfolding before her eyes seemed impossible. Her sister resembled that person far too much.
"You're getting strong, Historia," he said, quickly getting up, a genuine smile on his face.
"Uncle, I surprised you this time!" the little girl said with a victorious grin, her eyes shining with satisfaction, as if she had achieved something grand. She moved away from the blonde, waving her hands enthusiastically, clearly proud of her actions. The blonde, in turn, observed her with an indulgent smile, as if this playful act was part of a daily routine between them.
"Yes, yes, you surprised your uncle," he replied with a light laugh, his voice carrying a calculated tenderness, as though he was used to being caught off guard but always willing to give her the attention she sought. "Now, this person came to talk to you," he added, shifting his attention to Frieda, his gaze now more serious, but still maintaining that touch of ease.
Frieda, who observed the interaction between the blonde man and the little girl with growing unease, stepped forward. The atmosphere around her was charged with something she couldn't quite identify. She was there to see Historia, but the scene before her felt like a tangle of unexpected situations and mysterious people.
The little girl, who now seemed calmer after the playful exchange, looked at Frieda with curiosity, yet there was a subtle distrust in her gaze that Frieda couldn't interpret. It wasn't the first time she had seen her, but something about the way the child looked at her felt strange, as if she were trying to decipher what Frieda meant to her.
Maintaining her composure, Frieda looked directly at the little girl and smiled gently. "Hello, Historia. I came to talk for a bit, if you're willing."
The little girl continued to observe her, her blue eyes still fixed on Frieda. Instead of responding immediately, Historia turned to the blonde man with an inquisitive look, as if waiting for some kind of permission or explanation before proceeding with the meeting.
The blonde man, noticing Historia's hesitation, gave a slight nod, almost imperceptible but enough to indicate that the decision was now in the little girl's hands.
"Alright," Historia finally replied, her voice soft but filled with growing curiosity. She glanced back at the blonde man with a mischievous smile. "But only if Uncle doesn't butt in!"
The blond let out a laugh, clearly accustomed to Historia's impulsive behavior. "Sure, sure," he said, as if he were more than happy to let the moment unfold however she wanted.
With that, Frieda moved closer to Historia to start the conversation.
The two sisters sat side by side, immersed in their talk. Historia, with her childlike curiosity, asked simple questions, yet they were filled with a touching sincerity, while Frieda, with her gentle and warm voice, answered, trying to savor every moment of their interaction. The young man, for his part, watched them for a moment before leaning back against the hay, crossing his arms behind his head, and closing his eyes as if he were oblivious to the scene, deliberately indulging in a carefree rest.
Time passed, and the sky began to change slowly. The vibrant colors of the day gave way to the soft orange of the evening, gradually unfolding into deeper shades of gold and red. Frieda and Historia continued talking, the sound of their voices filling the surrounding silence, while the young man remained still, almost like a part of the scenery, with only the faint movement of his breathing indicating that he was alive.
Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the conversation between the sisters came to an end. Frieda, with a tender gesture, leaned in and pressed her forehead to Historia's, closing her eyes for a moment. It was a simple gesture, but one filled with emotion. The instant their foreheads touched, something changed. Historia's bright blue eyes darkened, losing their innocent gleam, as though a shadow had crossed her mind. Frieda stayed still for a second before slowly pulling away, a melancholic look etched on her face.
She stood up, adjusting her posture and preparing to leave, but as she turned, her eyes caught sight of the young man leaning against a nearby tree, his silhouette highlighted by the golden light of the sunset. He seemed to be in a peaceful sleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, and the soft breeze swayed the strands of his golden hair, creating a scene almost dreamlike.
"Who are you?" Frieda asked, her voice filled with caution and curiosity. There was something about him that unsettled her, a mystery she couldn't ignore.
The wind picked up slightly, reaching a pleasant speed that made the leaves of the tree rustle in a serene whisper, as if nature itself was waiting for a response.
"Michael Kaiser." The young man's voice came suddenly, clear and firm, yet relaxed, as if he had been fully awake the entire time. His eyes slowly opened, and he looked at her directly, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips.
Frieda widened her eyes, surprised not only by the fact that he was awake, but by the way he responded.
"Leaving already? Historia will be sad to hear about this," Michael commented as he stood up with a feline-like grace, brushing off the dust from the hay on his clothes with nonchalant movements. He began walking towards Frieda, his steps light as if he were floating, until he stopped beside her. His gaze, though calm, seemed to look deeper than just the surface.
"I..." Frieda hesitated, her words coming out as a whisper, as she averted her gaze. "She won't remember this meeting."
Michael tilted his head slightly, the calm smile remaining on his lips, but his eyes, now fixed on the horizon where the sun was slowly disappearing, carried a thoughtful intensity. "The way you say that..." He paused, as if savoring the words before releasing them. "You don't want this. But you feel compelled to."
As he spoke, the wind blew again, stronger this time, making Michael's long golden hair dance like strands of liquid gold against the orange and red-tinged sky. His clothes also fluttered, the fabric billowing in a graceful dance, almost as if the wind were a messenger amplifying the weight of his words.
Frieda felt her body involuntarily shudder. She lifted her eyes to him, her irises filled with surprise and a hint of fear. "How did you...?" she began, but couldn't finish. There was something about Michael, something unsettling, as if he had a vision that went beyond what was allowed.
He remained looking at the sunset, his arms relaxed by his sides, but his voice came again, sharp as a blade wrapped in silk. "You no longer have your own will," he declared, with a firmness that wasn't accusatory, but painfully factual. "You're just a slave to someone else's will, aren't you?"
Michael's words hit Frieda like a blow, stealing the air from her lungs. It was a truth she didn't dare admit, not even to herself. Her wide eyes were now fixed on him, her mind spinning between indignation and unease. He knew. Somehow, this strange young man, with his relaxed posture and sharp words, saw beyond the veil she wore for protection.
"You don't understand..." Frieda finally murmured, her voice trembling, but lacking the strength to convince even herself.
Michael turned his face to her, his blue eyes shining with a mixture of compassion and something deeper, something unfathomable. "Maybe I understand more than you think," he replied calmly, before returning his attention to the horizon, leaving his words hanging in the air, like the wind that never stopped blowing.