Valarose, the girl standing beside the emperor, watched as the crowd of nobles showered her with praise. Even though she knew she wasn't the real princess, she still enjoyed the treatment she received from them. The emperor and empress had adopted her as a stand-in for the real princess, though they never truly considered her their own.
Still, her wishes were fulfilled, and she was quite content with her current life. She was glad she had accepted King Erwin's order to participate as a candidate in the princess stand-in selection.
Now, there was only one thing left for her to do…it's to follow the king orders.
As Valarose observed the crowd, her gaze suddenly stopped on a girl with a striking appearance. She had silver hair and icy blue eyes that radiated a cold, piercing aura—as if they could see right through her soul. The contempt in those eyes was unmistakable.
Yet, Valarose felt a jolt of recognition.
princ...princess Anastaisa?
Her breath hitched. No—it couldn't be. Yet, deep down, she knew. The true princess stood before her, just as King Erwin had predicted.
A storm of emotions swirled within her. Fear. Guilt. And yet… a strange excitement. This was the girl she had replaced, the one whose life she had been living.
Swallowing her unease, Valarose steadied herself, forcing a pleasant expression onto her face. She had played her role well so far—she couldn't afford to falter now.
With careful, measured steps, she made her way toward the silver-haired girl. She had to do it or else...she won't be able to save them..her real family.
...
As Anastasia stood in place, she noticed Valarose making her way toward her. She didn't know why the girl was approaching, but an unfamiliar feeling stirred inside her—something strange, something she couldn't quite grasp. It gnawed at her, unsettling yet unidentifiable.
With each step Valarose took, the tension in the air thickened. And then—she stopped.
Right in front of her.
A hush fell over the grand hall. Conversations ceased, and every pair of eyes turned toward them. The weight of their gazes pressed down on Anastasia like an unspoken question.
Even the emperor and empress, who had been standing among the nobles, turned sharply at the sight of her. Their faces, once composed, now carried unmistakable worry. Their expressions betrayed not only shock but something deeper—concern, hesitation… perhaps even fear.
Beside them, the crown prince—her brother—stared in open disbelief.
Anastasia—who had spent her entire life hidden away, confined within the palace walls—was standing before them.
For the first time.
Valarose leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper so that no one else could hear.
"Why are you here? You don't belong here," she murmured, her tone laced with quiet hostility. "You should be locked up. Why is a monster like you roaming the grounds of the main palace?"
Her words were like daggers, cutting deep. "You know quite well how dangerous you are. That's exactly why my parents locked you away."
Anastasia felt a cold wave wash over her. Her fingers clenched at her sides as the words sank in.
"Your... parents?" she mumbled under her breath, her icy blue eyes flickering with something unreadable.
For a moment, everything around her faded. The murmurs of the nobles, the worried glances of the emperor and empress, the weight of the crown prince's gaze—all of it blurred into the background.
her parents?
A sharp, unfamiliar emotion twisted inside her. No they are my family not yours, I'm there daughter.. I.. I'm..
As Anastasia listened to Valarose's words, a sharp, searing rage ignited within her. A heat unlike anything she had ever felt before surged through her veins, consuming every corner of her being. The world around her seemed to blur, her vision twisting as something deep inside her—something long buried—began to stir.
Then, suddenly, it happened.
Her once icy-blue eyes bled into a deep, glowing crimson.
Gasps filled the air, followed by a terrified scream.
"D-De... Demon!" someone cried out.
Panic spread like wildfire.
"It's the same as the ancient one! Run!"
The nobles erupted into chaos, their fear turning into desperate screams as they fled in all directions. The once grand gathering turned into a stampede of terror.
The royal family stood frozen, their faces pale with concern. But before anyone could react, Anastasia felt something snap inside her—her control slipping like sand through her fingers.
The dormant power buried within her for years now roared to life. The air thickened with an overwhelming force, suffocating and scorching.
Scarlet flames erupted from her body, devouring everything in their path.
The imperial palace—once a symbol of power and grandeur—was now consumed in a sea of crimson fire.
The very kingdom trembled beneath her wrath.
Anastasia was in agony.
She couldn't control it. The fire—the power—was consuming her from the inside out. It felt as if she were burning alive, flames licking at her skin, scorching her from within. She screamed, the sound raw and filled with unbearable pain, as the fire raged wildly around her.
The once-pristine imperial palace was unrecognizable, engulfed in an inferno that painted the sky a bloody red. The air was thick with heat, smoke, and the desperate cries of those trapped within the flames.
Then, she heard them.
The screams.
People were burning.
No matter what magic they wielded—no matter how much mana they poured into stopping the fire—it would not be extinguished. The flames devoured everything, relentless and unstoppable, as though they were the fabled eternal fire itself.
And then—through the chaos—he appeared.
A man with silver hair and icy blue eyes leaped into the inferno. The flames consumed him instantly, yet he pressed forward, undeterred. In his hand, he clutched a pendant—a pendant crafted from the nail of a dragon. It protected him, shielding him from complete destruction.
But as soon as he reached her, his daughter—Anastasia—he did the unthinkable.
With trembling hands, he removed the pendant.
The fire, sensing weakness, latched onto him greedily, searing his flesh. Agony wracked his body, but he did not hesitate. He knew what would happen.
He knew this fire would consume him whole.
Yet he still did it.
Because he loved his daughter.
With his last strength, he placed the pendant around Anastasia's neck, whispering her name—Anastaisa before the flames swallowed him.
As soon as Anastasia wore the pendant, something inside her shifted. The raging flames that had consumed everything were suddenly drawn into the pendant, as if being swallowed whole. The unbearable heat dissipated, the roaring fire faded, and at last—her body was her own again.
She gasped, stumbling forward as she regained her composure. Her hands trembled, her breathing ragged.
But then—she looked around.
And her heart stopped.
Everything was gone.
The once-grand palace was now nothing but smoldering ruins, reduced to ash and rubble. The air was thick with the stench of burnt wood, scorched stone, and something far worse—the scent of charred flesh.
Her eyes widened in horror.
There were no survivors.
No nobles. No guards. No servants. No voices, no movements—only the stillness of death. The ground was littered with bodies, their faces frozen in terror, their lives stolen by the very fire that had raged from her own hands.
Then her gaze fell upon them.
Her family.
The emperor, the empress, the crown prince—all of them, motionless, lifeless. Their once-proud figures reduced to nothing more than burnt corpses.
Anastasia staggered backward, her mind unable to process what she was seeing. Why?
Her father—Why had he done this?
Why had he sacrifised himself to save her? Hadn't he hated her? Hadn't he locked her away, treated her as if she was nothing more than a curse upon the empire?
Then why—why had he given his life to protect hers?
A choked sob tore from her throat, and then—she screamed.
A raw, agonized wail that shattered the silence of death.
But as her cries echoed through the desolate ruins, a new sound broke through.
Footsteps
Someone was approaching.