The heart longs for what the heart longs for.
Surely of all things fickle the heart must be the most fickle—wildly unrestrained, a storm with no master. It denies logic, mocks reason, and pursues what will almost certainly end in pain.
Even then, there is an epheral beauty to what the heart desires. Fleeting though it may be—re monts in its long life of endlessly beating within one’s chest—those monts can last forever, echoing long after their passing.
What was this feeling called?
That feeling you’re describing is love, but not the ta, neatly defined kind. It is restless, unreasonable, a pull so consuming it borders on self-destruction. The heart chases it knowing the risk, yet still it leaps—because in those fleeting instants of connection, the world itself feels eternal.
This was what her heart was asking, and the response ca from her brain.
There was folly in her thoughts... and a childlike naïveté she was not supposed to allow.
This was wrong. Life wasn’t a storybook for young noble ladies, where the euphoria of love blooms from a single glance or a brief encounter.
All she knew was his na. All she had was his image burned into her mind.
That was it... and yet, after only a handful of days, here she was—her heart and mind constantly preoccupied with him.
"I don’t even know for certain if he’s alive."
For all she knew, he could be a liar. No—she knew that for certain. He was a liar and a cheat, without a shred of decency.
But also so noble. So brave. And... and...
’I can fix him...’
Maybe she should consider that if he needed fixing, he was not soone worth falling for. Certainly not soone like her.
However, the Valtheron princess did not care.
She raised her head from her pillow, sunlight streaming through tall windows. Her crimson eyes were dazed, heavy with thoughts she could not banish. Her lips curved into a faint smile, directed at the other side of the bed.
Upon a pillow lay a long cylindrical container, its surface glass frad in tal, lined with glowing runes and reinforced by preservation seals. Inside was...
A human arm. Perfectly preserved, unmarred, without a trace of injury.
Her crimson gaze lingered on it, an expression caught sowhere between grief and yearning.
If Damon had been here, he would have grimaced—not because the princess of Valtheron had a strange fetish for keeping a man’s arm in her bed, but because the arm was his own.
On every level, Abellona knew her attachnt was wrong. Yet she kept it. Not for any strange desire, but because she had needed it—for a locator spell. A way to track Damon.
She had failed. Even with the might of her position, even after pouring her influence and power into a grand locator spell, Damon remained untraceable. His existence slipped through her fingers like smoke.
That was why she kept the arm, why she preserved it.
"I’ll get rid of it when I find him..."
She rose, the silk of her white sleeping wear clinging to her figure, accentuating the allure that made her the empire’s jewel. Her dark hair tumbled freely, her beauty unguarded yet devastating.
Countless n dreamt of her—countless vied for her favor. And yet here she was, tornted by thoughts of a no-good wretch who had tricked her into signing away five billion zeni, taken her body as though she were nothing, and stolen her most precious possession.
Her spatial ring.
Not just any ring, but one etched with her imperial seal. A symbol of power. A symbol of rule. Whoever carried it could wield her authority as if it were their own. If it were known to be stolen, heads would fall simply for wearing it.
But Abellona had not reported it missing.
To carry that ring was to carry the authority of a princess.
She was not worried Damon would use it. She feared he would not.
"Where are you, Damian... you are still alive, aren’t you..."
Her sharp ears picked up the sound of footsteps approaching her chamber door. The palace halls were vast, the walls thick, but to Abellona poised at the cusp of the fourth class such distance was nothing.
Quickly, she sat upright, heat rushing to her cheeks. Her expression hardened to ice as she scolded herself for wasting her ti, for letting her heart linger on a man who likely wanted nothing to do with her.
She was a princess—her duties weighed mountains, and yet she drifted like a lovesick child.
Rising fully, she found herself drained, her mind hazy, until her gaze lifted skyward.
Through the tall windows she saw them—massive vessels drifting across the horizon.
"The war gas are about to begin... many warriors will co from all around the world... fighting for wealth, honor, fa, glory... and the favor of beautiful won..."
Her steps carried her forward, brisk and certain, her bare feet gliding over polished marble. She pushed open the balcony doors and stepped outside, the grandeur of her balcony unfolding before her pillars carved with ancient sigils, fountains spilling crystal waters, beds of flowers blooming in radiant hues.
The fresh air struck her face, sending her dark hair flying back. She inhaled deeply, her crimson eyes scanning the endless skies.
"Will you fight as well..." she murmured.
The war gas would draw countless warriors, noble and commoner alike. Death was not just a possibility—it was expected. Their prize: the rights to enter the world dungeon.
But the rules were strict. No participant older than forty. None higher than the third class.
He seed so young, far younger than she was. Sixteen, perhaps seventeen... twenty at the most. She could not be sure.
"Princess, forgive the intrusion," a maid’s voice called softly. "Will you also be declining to attend today’s preliminary gathering?"
Abellona closed her eyes, irritation gnawing at her. She did not have the heart for such things.
Turning sharply, her crimson eyes burned cold as they locked onto the maid.
"I will not be attending anything but the grand parade and war gas tournants. Do not bother wi—"
Her words froze, her eyes widening. A familiar pulse struck her senses, an aura she knew intimately. Her spatial ring.
The maid lowered her head quickly, taking the silence for dismissal.
"Understood, Princess. I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed."
"Ehm... I change my mind."
The maid paused, startled.
Abellona’s lips curved into a slow smile, radiant as sunlight spilling across her pale skin.
"Bring the most beautiful dresses... I want to steal the heart of all that see ."
The maid’s eyes widened, her breath catching. Under the golden light, the princess’s beauty seed otherworldly, divine. Her heart pounded as though she were witnessing a vision of art co alive.
Abellona didn’t notice, or didn’t care. She only smiled, crimson eyes gleaming with intent.
"You’re in Valtheron, aren’t you, Damian."
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