Chapter 24

There were moments from my childhood that felt like dreams—so vivid, yet distant enough to make me question whether they were real. But there was one memory I could never forget. A memory of her. Namonaki.

The name lingered in my mind. I closed my eyes, letting the memory unfurl like an old storybook.

I was nine years old, sitting on the edge of my grand bed in the middle of my room, my small hands clutching the hem of my heavy robe as tears streaked down my cheeks. The walls of my room felt cold and suffocating.

My parents were busy, as always. The weight of ruling a kingdom left little time for bedtime stories or shared meals. Days could pass without even a glimpse of them. I didn't resent them—never would—but the loneliness felt like an ache I couldn't escape.

My muffled sobs filled the room, until a soft creak broke through the sound. The door, heavy and ornate, swung open slowly. I froze, my breath catching in my throat as a figure stepped into my dimly lit room.

The woman was unlike anyone I had ever seen. Tall and cloaked in a flowing cape of fur and leather, she moved with an otherworldly grace. Her dirty blonde hair gleamed in the candlelight, and her eyes—sharp and red—seemed to pierce through the shadows.

I shrank back, my heart pounding in my chest. This woman was no ordinary visitor. The sharp angles of her face, her purple tunic, and the way the air itself seemed to hum around her marked her as something other.

A witch.

My voice trembled as I whispered, "Who… who are you?"

The woman didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stepped closer, her movements deliberate but not threatening. I flinched as the woman raised her hand, her fingers curling slightly. Then, with a flick of her wrist, a soft light began to bloom in her palm.

I stared, my fear momentarily forgotten. The light grew, forming a delicate orb that hovered just above the woman's hand. It glowed with a warm, golden hue, flickering like a firefly caught in a glass jar.

"Look closer," the woman said, her voice low and melodic.

Hesitant but curious, I leaned forward. My tears had stopped, replaced by wide-eyed wonder. As I peered into the orb, the golden light shifted, swirling and twisting until shapes began to form within it.

I gasped softly. Inside the orb, I saw places I'd only heard of in stories. Towering mountains with snow-capped peaks. Forests so dense their canopies blocked out the sun. Villages bustling with life, markets filled with colors and scents I could almost imagine.

And then I saw more—places I couldn't have dreamed of. Deserts that stretched endlessly, their sands glowing under a setting sun. Oceans, vast and endless, their waves crashing against jagged cliffs. A sky full of stars, so clear and close it felt like I could reach out and touch them.

My small hands clutched the edges of the orb as if I could pull it closer. "It's beautiful…" I whispered.

The woman knelt, bringing herself to my eye level. Her red eyes softened, though there was an unreadable depth behind them. "This is the world beyond your walls, princess. A world vast and brimming with wonder."

I tore my gaze away from the orb to look at the woman. "Who are you?" I asked again, my voice steadier now, though still tinged with awe.

The woman tilted her head slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Your father calls me Namonaki."

Mark spent the better part of the next day retelling everything, but this time, he could not keep the truth hidden from her any longer. The weight of Mark's confession lingers in the room, thick and unshakable. He stands a few feet away, his posture tense, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

"I should have told you sooner," Mark says, his voice low but steady. "You had every right to know the truth. I just… I didn't know how to tell you. And I was afraid. Afraid of what it might do to you."

Keira turns to look at him, her expression calm but unreadable. Her brown eyes meet his, and he sees the depth of her emotions swirling beneath the surface—confusion, sorrow, and a quiet resolve.

Mark takes a deep breath and continues, his words spilling out in a rush as if he can no longer hold them back. "Namonaki… Or rather Witch Princess... she was there when the Hanabishi kingdom fell. She played a role in its collapse. I didn't know how to tell you because I knew how much she meant to you as a child. I thought I could protect you from the pain, but… I admit that was wrong. You deserved the truth."

The room feels silent, save for the faint crackle of the candle. Keira's gaze softens, and she finally speaks, her voice steady and gentle. "You thought you were protecting me. And in some ways, you were. Mark, I'm not angry with you."

Mark blinks, his brows knitting together in confusion. "You're not?"

She shakes her head slowly, a small, bittersweet smile forming on her lips. "No. I know you kept this from me because you care about me, because you didn't want me to carry more pain than I already do. I can't fault you for that. You've always been by my side, Mark, even when I've struggled to understand myself. And now that I know the truth… I can finally begin to face it."

Mark's shoulders sag as if a great weight has been lifted, though his guilt lingers. "Keira, I'm sorry. For all of it. For keeping this from you, for not trusting you to handle it sooner. You have every right to be upset with me."

Keira steps forward, closing the distance between them. She places a hand on his cheek, her touch warm and grounding. "I'm not upset with you," she says firmly, her voice filled with conviction. "You've always had my best interests at heart, and I see that. But now, I need to understand what happened, and I need to face Namonaki for myself. Whatever role she played in my family's downfall… I need to hear it from her."

Mark's hand trembles slightly as it rests over hers, the warmth of her touch grounding him in a storm of emotion he can't quite control. Her eyes hold no resentment, no anger, only the quiet kindness that has always defined her. Yet, that kindness feels like a double-edged sword. It soothes him, offering a sense of relief, but it also leaves him feeling adrift.

Has she truly forgiven him, or is this forgiveness another aspect of her duty? Her role as his wife, or perhaps as the last princess of the Hanabishi? Mark wonders where her responsibilities end and where Keira, the woman he fell in love with, begins. Deep down, he fears he will never fully know. The thought gnaws at him, a subtle ache he can't shake.

Keira's steady nod breaks through his spiraling thoughts. "Thank you, Mark. For everything," she says softly, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves.

His relief is short-lived, overwhelmed by a growing sense of dread. He knows Keira—knows the fire that burns beneath her calm exterior. She isn't someone to let unresolved truths rest, especially when they involve her duty to her family and the woman who once guided her.

"Keira," he says, his voice cracking slightly as he looks at her. "You should stay away from her."

She tilts her head, her expression thoughtful but unreadable.

"I don't know what kind of person Namonaki was when you knew her," Mark continues, his words coming faster now, fueled by worry. "But she's dangerous now. Everyone in the valley is afraid of her. She's not the same woman you remember. She's hostile, unpredictable. She'll never give you the closure you're looking for."

Keira nods slowly, her expression calm. "I understand."

Mark exhales shakily, his grip on her hand loosening. He wants to believe her, wants to trust that she'll heed his warning. But in the quiet space between them, he sees something in her gaze—a flicker of determination she's trying to hide.

And he knows.

She'll go to Namonaki. She has to.

Mark doesn't push the matter further, though his chest tightens with unease. He knows Keira well enough to understand that her calm acceptance doesn't mean surrender—it means she's already made up her mind.

The air between them grows heavy, and Mark pulls her into a tight embrace. His voice is soft, almost a whisper. "Just… be careful. Whatever happens."

Keira rests her head against his shoulder, her arms wrapping around him. "I will."

But even as she says it, her thoughts are already elsewhere, drawn to the shadowy figure she saw in the woods and the truth she knows lies ahead. She cares for Mark as his wife, truly and deeply, but this is something she must face—not as his wife, nor as a queen, but as Keira. The woman she has become.

Later that afternoon, Mark and Keira stand by the house, their usual routine momentarily shadowed by the weight of unspoken truths. Mark leans in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hands lingering on her arms as if reluctant to let her go.

"I'll be back later," he says, his tone light but his eyes still searching hers for reassurance.

Keira smiles, the expression calm and unwavering. "I'll see you then," she replies, waving as he turns to head toward the fields.

Mark looks back once, his figure silhouetted against the afternoon sun. Keira waves again, her hand steady even as her heart tightens. She watches him until he disappears down the path, the golden light of the valley framing him in a warmth she wishes she could carry with her.

As the quiet settles in, Keira sighs, the weight she had pushed aside earlier now creeping back. She turns to the robe resting on the bamboo pole in the back, its intricate design shimmering faintly in the sunlight.

"I'm sorry, my dear husband," Keira murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "I may have an obligation to you, but I also have an obligation to my family."

Her fingers brush over the robe's surface, tracing the finely woven chainmail hidden beneath the delicate embroidery. To most, it appears to be a ceremonial garment, a relic of her heritage. But Keira knows its true purpose. It is armor, forged not only to honor her lineage but to shield her in battle.

Lifting the robe from its resting place, she lets its familiar weight settle over her shoulders. The fabric may be heavy, but it does not burden her—it fortifies her. Every thread, every metal link, is a reminder of the responsibility she carries, a responsibility that extends beyond her life with Mark.

Keira's gaze shifts to the blade resting on a nearby stand. It gleams faintly, its craftsmanship precise and elegant, designed not for war but for self-defense. She picks it up, the grip familiar in her hand, and unsheathes it with a quiet, resolute motion.

The blade is not long, but its edge is sharp, and its balance is perfect. She has trained with it since she was a child, mastering the movements her ancestors passed down to her. This was the weapon of the Hanabishi—a symbol of protection, precision, and duty.

Keira tests the weight of the blade in her hand, her movements fluid and deliberate. Memories of her training resurface: the countless hours spent perfecting each strike, each parry, preparing for a day she hoped would never come but always knew might.

Facing Namonaki will likely end in conflict, Keira knows this. But she cannot turn away now. Her path has led her here, to this moment. This is what she has been training for her entire life—a final battle, not just for closure but for the future of her people and the legacy they left behind.

Keira stares at the blade in her hand, her gaze fixated on the faint reflection staring back at her. The only part of herself she can see in its polished steel are her eyes—steady, sharp, and determined. It's a sight she has grown used to, one that has become an almost sacred ritual over the years. Yet, in the quiet of the moment, it takes her back to another time—a memory etched deeply into her soul.

She was just a child then, no more than seven years old, dressed in robes far too heavy for her small frame. Her father sat across from her in her room, his imposing figure framed by the glow of the lanterns. His expression was stern, but his eyes held a warmth that only she could see.

Even as a child, she felt the weight of his presence. It wasn't just the weight of his title as king, but the weight of his expectations and the legacy of the Hanabishi Clan that hung over them both. Yet, she swung the blade in her hands with all her strength, her small arms straining as she tried to mimic the techniques he had shown her.

The heavy fabric of her clothes dragged against her movements, but she pressed on, her breaths growing ragged as her strikes became more deliberate. Her father's watchful gaze never wavered, and though he remained silent, she knew he was measuring every swing, every stumble, every bead of sweat that fell to the floor.

When she finally stopped, the heavy blade trembling in her hands, Keira turned to her father, her voice tinged with frustration. "Why do I have to train like this?" she asked, her small hands gripping the hilt tightly. "My husband is supposed to protect me. Isn't that his duty?"

Her father's expression softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked her in the eyes. "Keira," he said, his voice low and steady, "you must remember who we are. We are the Hanabishi Clan. Our sworn duty is to protect the people of the Hanabishi Kingdom."

He reached out, gently placing a hand on her tiny shoulder. "One day, you will grow up to be queen. And when that day comes, you will be the final defense against invasion, against danger. It is true that your husband will protect you, and so will your guards, your allies, and your people. But you must never rely solely on others. Even a queen must know how to fight. Even a queen must protect her people."

His words had settled heavily on her young mind then, but over the years, they had become her foundation. She carried those lessons with her into every training session, every moment of doubt, and every decision she had ever made.

Now, standing in her home with the blade gleaming in her hand, Keira lets the memory fade, but its essence remains. Her father's words echo in her mind, grounding her as she sheaths the blade with a smooth, practiced motion.

Tucking the sheathed weapon into her chest, she straightens her posture, feeling the weight of her armor settle more securely across her shoulders. Her steps are deliberate as she walks toward the door, her resolve unshaken.

"I am the Hanabishi," she whispers to herself, the words like a mantra. "And I will protect my people."

Without hesitation, she steps outside, the warm light of the valley beginning to wane as the shadows of the forest loom ahead. Namonaki is waiting, and Keira knows the time has come to face her. She carries the strength of her father's lessons, the legacy of her ancestors, and the will to see this through—no matter the cost.