Chapter 25

Keira stands before the door, her fist trembling slightly after she knocks. The sound echoes faintly, swallowed by the silence of the forest surrounding Namonaki's home. Her heart pounds in her chest like a war drum, each beat growing heavier with the passing seconds. She steadies her breathing, forcing herself to stand tall as the door creaks open abruptly.

Namonaki—known to most in the valley as Witch Princess—appears in the doorway, her sharp red eyes narrowing in irritation. Her expression is that of someone who's been interrupted one too many times, her brows furrowed as she scans Keira from head to toe.

"Who dares disturb me while I'm working?" Witch Princess snaps, her voice carrying an edge as cold as steel. But as her gaze lands on Keira, recognition flickers across her face. Her posture shifts, and she crosses her arms, leaning against the doorframe.

"Oh, it's you," she says, her tone laced with equal parts disdain and curiosity. "What do you want?"

Keira's lips part, but no words come out. She stands frozen under Witch Princess' piercing gaze, her carefully rehearsed words slipping away like sand through her fingers. The two women stare at each other, the silence between them thick with tension.

Witch Princess raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Keira's hesitation. Finally, with a dramatic sigh, she steps back and gestures for her to enter. "Well, come on, then. You've already ruined my concentration. Might as well make it worth my while."

Keira hesitates for a moment, then steps inside. The air is heavy with the scent of herbs and something faintly sweet, like burnt sugar. Shelves line the walls, crowded with jars of strange ingredients, spellbooks, and trinkets that seem to hum with energy. It's a space that feels alive, chaotic but somehow purposeful.

Witch Princess strides past her, muttering something under her breath as she moves toward the small kitchen. Keira's eyes follow her, noting how effortlessly she moves in her element, a stark contrast to the hostility she exudes.

"Sit," Witch Princess says, waving a hand toward a small table. Keira obeys, lowering herself into the worn wooden chair, her armor clinking softly as she does. She watches in silence as Witch Princess busies herself, pulling down a teapot and an assortment of herbs. Witch Princess works quickly, her movements practiced and precise, as if even something as mundane as making tea is a form of alchemy to her.

Moments later, Witch Princess sets a steaming cup of tea in front of Keira with a clink. She doesn't sit but stands across the table, leaning slightly on the back of a chair as she crosses her arms again.

"I don't make a habit of entertaining guests," she says, her tone dry. "But you can have this if you want. Don't worry, it's not poisoned."

Keira glances down at the tea, the fragrant steam curling upward. She feels Witch Princess gaze on her, sharp and unrelenting, as though she's trying to read her thoughts.

"Thank you," Keira says softly, her voice steady despite the knot of nerves tightening in her stomach. She wraps her hands around the cup, the warmth grounding her as she prepares to find the words she came here to say.

But before she can speak, Witch Princess tilts her head, her expression unreadable. "So?" she prompts, her voice cutting through the quiet. "What brings the esteemed Princess of Hanabishi to my door? You didn't come here just for tea, did you?"

Keira swallows, her grip on the cup tightening as she lifts her gaze to meet Witch Princess'. "No," she says firmly. "I came here for answers."

Witch Princess smirks faintly, but there's no humor in it. "Well," she says, leaning back slightly, "this should be interesting."

Keira takes a deep breath, steadying her nerves as she prepares to speak. Her fingers grip the warm cup of tea tightly, the steam curling gently in front of her face. She finally lifts her gaze to meet Witch Princess' piercing red eyes.

"Namonaki, I—"

Before she can finish, Witch Princess lets out a sharp, mocking laugh. It's not the kind of laughter born of joy but one dripping with sarcasm, a cruel edge that slices through Keira's words.

"Namonaki?" she repeats, her lips curling into a smirk. "Is that really what you're calling me?" She waves a hand dramatically, as though the name itself is some ridiculous notion. "How quaint. Tell me, princess, do you even know what that name means?"

Keira hesitates, her confidence faltering under Witch Princess' cutting tone. She can sense the bitterness in the witch's words, the weight of years of disdain layered beneath them. Her mouth opens, but for a moment, no sound escapes. She knows exactly what the name means and why it carries so much pain for the woman before her.

Witch Princess leans forward slightly, her red eyes glinting with something akin to amusement—or perhaps challenge. "Well?" she prods, tilting her head. "Don't keep me waiting. Enlighten me, princess. What does Namonaki mean?"

Keira swallows hard, forcing herself to respond even as her voice wavers. "…It means… Nameless One."

Keira's fingers tighten around the cup of tea, her voice trembling but filled with the sharpness of long-buried hurt. "Is that why?" she asks, her eyes fixed on Witch Princess. "Is your name the reason you destroyed my home?"

Witch Princess freezes at the question, her hand still resting on the chair she was standing over. Her expression doesn't falter, but there's an almost imperceptible shift in her posture—a subtle tension that betrays her thoughts.

"You were supposed to be someone I could trust," Keira continues, her voice growing steadier, though the pain is unmistakable. "I trusted you with my life, Namonaki. You were part of my family. And yet you betrayed me. Betrayed us. You didn't even have the courage to face me after everything you did. Not until I came to you."

A heavy silence falls between them, the room seeming to hold its breath. Keira's words hang in the air like a challenge, and she waits, her heart pounding as she watches Witch Princess' face.

For a long moment, Witch Princess says nothing. She stands there, still as stone, her gaze fixed on the princess sitting in front of her. Then, slowly, she takes a seat and rests her chin on her folded hands.

"I don't remember," she says at last, her voice soft and almost hollow.

Keira blinks, her breath catching. "What?"

"I don't remember," Namonaki repeats, her crimson eyes meeting Keira's. There's no malice in her expression now, only weariness—an exhaustion that seems to stretch across centuries.

Keira shakes her head, disbelief washing over her. "What do you mean you don't remember? How can you not remember something like that?"

Witch Princess exhales slowly, her gaze drifting to the rows upon rows of journals lining the wall behind her. "Do you see those?" she says, gesturing toward the shelves. "They're journals. Diaries I've kept over the years to keep track of my life. Because my mind… it can't hold everything anymore."

Keira furrows her brow, her confusion deepening. "What are you talking about?"

Witch Princess walks to the library wall, her fingers brushing over the spines of the leather-bound books. "I've lived for more than a thousand years, Keira. My memory—my mind—it wasn't meant to stretch this far. I can only retain about a century's worth of memories at a time. After that… they start to fade. I have to write them down if I want to preserve them."

Keira's eyes widen in shock. "A thousand years…? How is that even possible?"

Witch Princess sighs, her gaze lingering on the journals that line her walls, as if they hold the answers even she cannot recall. "I can't age, Keira," she begins quietly, her voice almost a whisper. "And I can't die of old age. Not because I don't want to… but because I can't. It's the curse of the witch."

Keira narrows her eyes, her confusion evident. "The witch's curse? What does that even mean?"

Witch Princess turns back to face her, folding her arms as if bracing herself against the weight of her own explanation. "Many years ago, I made the choice to become a witch. I don't remember why, not anymore. That memory is lost to time, like so many others, including my own name. But I do know this: once you make that choice, you lose something precious—your humanity. And once your humanity is gone, so is the promise of peace in death."

Keira stares at her, the gravity of Namonaki's words sinking in. "What are you saying? What happens if you die?"

Namonaki's crimson eyes meet hers, unflinching. "If I die, I won't go to the same place you will. Not heaven, not the afterlife promised to humans. My soul will fall into the Nether, where I will become something monstrous. A demon."

Keira inhales sharply, her mind reeling at the revelation. "You'd become… a demon?"

Witch Princess nods. "That's why witches and wizards like me fear death so much. It's not just the end—it's the beginning of something far worse. So we run from it. We fight, we hide, we do whatever it takes to keep living. For hundreds of years, that's exactly what I did. And during the wars… it was chaos. Survival meant sacrificing everything, including any shred of decency we might've had."

Keira's voice softens as she processes the pain behind Namonaki's words. "But… you're not running anymore."

"No," Namonaki replies, her tone tinged with resignation. "The wars are over. The world has changed. People no longer hunt witches and wizards like they once did. But there was a time, long ago, when the world wasn't so kind. After the Magic War ended, magic was outlawed everywhere. Anyone caught practicing it was put to death—no trial, no mercy. To be a witch or a wizard was to be a walking death sentence."

Keira watches Namonaki closely, seeing something raw and unguarded in her expression for the first time. "Then how did you survive? Where did you go?"

A faint, almost bitter smile touches Witch Princess' lips. "There was s rumor of the only one place I could live without fear of being hunted. One place where I could practice magic without worrying that it would cost me my life. Your home, Keira. The Hanabishi kingdom."

Witch Princess pulls a weathered journal from her shelf, the spine cracked and the cover adorned with faded ink that reads Spring of 1591. She places it gently on the table in front of Keira, her crimson eyes soft with a mixture of nostalgia and bitterness.

"This," Witch Princess begins, her voice steady but tinged with melancholy, "is where it all started for me in your kingdom. The Hanabishi kingdom wasn't just my sanctuary; it was also my prison. Let me tell you how it began."

She opens the journal, flipping through pages filled with delicate, sprawling handwriting of the ancient wiccan language. Her finger stops on an entry dated just before her fateful meeting with the Hanabishi king.

"I took a dangerous journey to reach your kingdom," Witch Princess says, leaning back in her chair. "Magic had been outlawed everywhere else, and the world had no mercy for witches like me. But then I heard whispers of the Hanabishi kingdom—of how they welcomed magic, how they valued it as a resource. It felt like my only hope."

She pauses, her gaze distant. "When I crossed the border, I thought I was finally safe. I remember taking a deep breath of relief, thinking that no one would hunt me here. But that hope was short-lived."

Keira leans in, her attention fixed on Witch Princess every word.

"It wasn't long after I crossed into Hanabishi lands that the army found me," Witch Princess continues. "They seized me without hesitation. I didn't fight back—I couldn't. There were too many of them, their swords and spears ready to strike me down if I so much as moved wrong. So I allowed them to take me, hoping they wouldn't kill me outright."

Witch Princess' fingers trace the edges of the journal absentmindedly as she speaks. "They brought me to the king. At first, he thought I was a Sech spy, someone sent to infiltrate his kingdom. But then he saw my red eyes." She gestures to her own piercing red irises. "The mark of a witch. It was unmistakable."

Keira swallows hard, unable to imagine the fear and vulnerability Witch Princess must have felt in that moment.

"The king spared my life," Witch Princess says quietly. "Not out of kindness, but for his own reasons. He struck a bargain with me—my life in exchange for my servitude. I was assigned to serve the queen. To entertain her. To use my magic to make her laugh and keep her spirits high. After all…" Witch Princess' voice turns bitter. "A happy queen lives longer, as your father so often reminded me."

Keira flinches at the mention of her father, but she doesn't interrupt.

"I should have been relieved," Witch Princess continues. "To live in the safety of the castle, free from the fear of being hunted. But it wasn't the haven I'd imagined. Life in the castle was… suffocating."

She flips a few pages in the journal, showing Keira an entry written in a different script—a rough approximation of the Hanabishi language, with corrections scrawled in the margins.

"First, there was the language barrier," Witch Princess says. "The king could speak many languages, so he communicated with me easily. But the queen?" She shakes her head. "She spoke only the language of the Hanabishi. If I was to serve her, I had to learn it, and fast. It was grueling—nights spent studying, fumbling through sentences, and enduring scolding whenever I made a mistake."

Keira's brows furrow, imagining the pressure Witch Princess must have faced.

"And then there were the rules," Witch Princess adds, her tone heavy. "What I was allowed to wear, who I could speak to, what I was permitted to eat and do. Everything was dictated to me. I had no freedom in that castle. I was there to entertain the queen and nothing more."

Keira tilts her head. "Entertain her how?"

Namonaki gives a dry laugh. "With my magic, of course. My magic was a novelty to her, something to amuse her on dull afternoons. Illusions, tricks, little displays of magic like juggling fireballs to make her smile. I became little more than a court jester in ragged clothes. But the king didn't care—as long as the queen was happy, my purpose was fulfilled."

Keira's heart tightens. She can see the pain in Witch Princess' expression, the deep resentment hidden beneath her calm exterior.

"Do you know what it's like, Keira," Witch Princess asks softly, "to be valued only for what you can do, not for who you are? To be treated like a tool, not a person?"

Keira hesitates, her voice catching in her throat. "I… think in a way, I do."

Witch Princess studies her for a moment, then nods as if understanding something unspoken.

Witch Princess sighs deeply, her fingers tracing the spine of the journal as if grounding herself in its memories. Her crimson eyes flicker toward Keira, then away, as though unsure how much of her story to reveal.

"After about a year in the castle," she begins, her voice quieter now, "I started to notice something… peculiar. The queen, your mother, began to act strangely. She would disappear for hours every few days, without a word of explanation. When she returned, her mood was different—softer, more at peace, as if she had escaped some great burden. But I wasn't allowed to ask questions. Servants know better than to pry into the queen's affairs."

Keira listens intently, her lips slightly parted as she takes in the tale of her mother's secret life.

"But curiosity is a dangerous thing," Witch Princess continues, her lips curling into a wry smile. "And witches? We've never been good at resisting temptation."

She leans forward, her gaze locking with Keira's. "One day, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I had to know where she was going. So, I followed her."

Keira raises an eyebrow. "You followed my mother? How?"

"Magic," Namonaki answers simply, waving a hand as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I cloaked myself, made myself invisible to the guards, and slipped past the heavy doors they guarded so zealously. She moved quickly, almost as if she were trying to lose anyone who might have been trailing her. But I was persistent."

Her expression softens, and a flicker of emotion crosses her face that Keira can't quite place. "Eventually, I followed her to a secluded wing of the castle. A place I didn't even know existed. And there…" She pauses, her voice lowering, as though the memory itself is sacred. "That's when I saw you."

Keira's breath catches in her throat.

"You were so small, just a child," Witch Princess says, her voice tinged with wonder. "Nine years old, with a mop of hair. You were sitting on the floor, surrounded by books and toys, your little face buried in a story you were too young to understand. The queen knelt beside you, her hand brushing your hair so gently it was like she was afraid you'd vanish if she touched you too hard. I'd never seen her like that. I'd never seen anyone like that."

Keira swallows hard, her mind racing with fragmented memories of her lonely childhood.

"I was… fascinated by you," Witch Princess admits, her voice almost a whisper. "There was this light about you. Something pure, untainted by the world's cruelty. For a moment, I forgot myself. Forgot that I was trespassing in a place I had no right to be. And then…" She grimaces. "I was caught."

Keira's eyes widen. "Caught? By who?"

"A patrolling guard," Witch Princess answers, her tone bitter. "I was distracted by you, so I didn't notice him until it was too late. He grabbed me and dragged me back to the king. Once again, I found myself at his mercy, standing before him in chains."

Keira feels a pang of guilt, even though she knows it isn't hers to carry. "What happened?"

Witch Princess' expression darkens, and her gaze drifts toward the journal as if seeking solace in its pages. "I begged for my life. I swore that I would keep the queen's secret, that I would never speak a word of what I'd seen. But your father… He wasn't convinced. He drew his sword, ready to end me right then and there."

Keira's heart clenches. Despite her feelings about her father, the thought of him executing someone in cold blood sends a chill through her.

"But then," Witch Princess says, her voice softening, "your mother stepped in. She stopped him, placing a hand on his arm and offering a compromise."

Keira leans forward, her curiosity piqued. "A compromise?"

Witch Princess nods. "The queen proposed that I become your caregiver. She argued that you were lonely, that you needed someone to keep you company when she couldn't be there. And she was right, wasn't she? You were so isolated, locked away in that room like a little bird in a gilded cage."

Keira doesn't respond, but the truth of Witch Princess' words stings.

"The king agreed," Witch Princess continues, her lips curling into a rueful smile. "But not without a condition. If anything happened to you—anything at all—it would be over for me. My life would end the moment yours was threatened."

Keira's chest tightens as she imagines the weight of such a responsibility.

"So, that's how it began," Witch Princess says, leaning back in her chair. "I became your caregiver. Not because I wanted to, but because I had no choice. And at first, I hated it. I hated the chains that bound me to you, the constant fear of making a mistake that could cost me my life."

Witch Princess took a deep breath, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly as she recounted the years she had spent with Keira. Her gaze, far away now, seemed to drift to the memories of a time she had both cherished and loathed.

"At first, I hated it," she admitted, her voice tinged with a bitterness that seemed to echo across centuries. "Being locked in that room with you, day in and day out. You were a child, curious and inquisitive, which meant endless questions—questions I didn't know how to answer or didn't want to answer. You'd complain about being a princess, about your duties and your destiny. You spoke about wanting freedom from it all, yet you didn't know how privileged you were. Meanwhile, I was the one with no escape, chained to you by your father's threat. But…" Her voice softened, almost reluctantly, "it wasn't all bad. I won't lie and say I adored you a little. But over time, your questions and your complaints, as frustrating as they were, started to grow on me. You were a child trying to make sense of a world that didn't make sense, just as I was trying to find my place in a world that hated me for what I was. We were… similar in ways I didn't expect."

She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Ten years, Keira. I spent ten years as your caregiver. I listened to you, played games with you, watched you grow from a loud, curious child into something closer to a young woman. I thought I had finally accepted my fate. Until..."

Her expression darkened. "There was one afternoon… one single moment where I lost my senses. We were playing a game—I don't even remember what it was. You were asking questions again, as you always did. Because of the questions, I lost my focus and lost the game. You then mocked me like a younger sister would. But I didn't take it that way. I snapped," Witch Princess admitted, her voice heavy with guilt. "I couldn't hold it in anymore. The years of frustration, of feeling like a prisoner in a cage of my own making—it all came out in a single moment. I cursed you, Keira. With my magic."

Witch Princess sighs as she continues, "I didn't mean to. It was instinctive, born out of anger I couldn't control. But the moment the magic left my fingers, I knew I'd made a terrible mistake."

"So I ran," Witch Princess whispered, understanding dawning on her face. "I knew your father would send the army after me. He would drag me back to the castle and punish me for what I'd done. I was terrified. And in my desperation to escape, I made another mistake."

"I used my magic to collapse the mines beneath the castle," Witch Princess confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought… I thought it would be enough to slow them down. To give me time to disappear. But I underestimated the power of my magic. The entire castle sank into the ground, swallowed by the earth."

"I didn't mean for it to happen," Witch Princess continued, her voice trembling. "I just wanted to protect myself, to escape. But instead, I destroyed your home. I didn't know what would happen next. I thought the kingdom would rebuild. But no—without the castle, without the king, all-out war broke out. Neighboring kingdoms saw it as an opportunity to claim the land. So many people died, Keira. So many."

She finally turned her gaze back to Keira, her crimson eyes filled with pain and regret. "But at least nobody was looking for me anymore. I disappeared into the wilderness, hiding from the world I had shattered."

"I hid because I couldn't face the consequences of what I've done. I wandered for years, avoiding people, avoiding everyone and anyone, until eventually, the wars ended. The Hanabishi kingdom was gone, swallowed by time and the scars I left behind."

She gestured the hut they are inside of. "And this? This hut? I built it where the castle once stood, after years of wandering. By then, no one remembered me, no one knew who I was. Eventually people began to settle here, creating what you now call Forget-Me-Not Valley. A name that feels like an ironic curse of its own."

The room fell into silence, the weight of Witch Princess' confession settling between them. Keira's mind raced, trying to process everything she had just learned—the curse, the destruction of her home, the wars that had claimed countless lives.

Keira sat in silence, her thoughts swirling like a storm over an endless ocean. The weight of Witch Princess's story pressed heavily on her chest, but no matter how she turned it over in her mind, she couldn't find anger or hatred. She wanted to. But now, sitting across from the woman once known as Namonaki, she found no malice to latch onto.

Everything that had happened—the sinking of the castle, the war that followed, the countless lives lost—was not born out of cruelty. It had all been the result of fear. Fear of death, fear of persecution, fear of losing her own existence. Witch Princess had not set out to harm anyone; her actions were those of a cornered animal, desperate and frantic. Keira could see it clearly now.

No one had died in the sinking of the castle. The mines had swallowed it whole, but the people, including her family, had survived the event. It was the chaos that followed, the war for power and land, that had turned those years into a bloodstained chapter of history. And while Witch Princess's actions may have been the catalyst, Keira couldn't ignore the truth: war had always been inevitable. Kingdoms with uneasy alliances always teetered on the edge of conflict. If her actions hadn't been the castle's fall, it would have been something else. Someone else with more unethical reasons.

The thought didn't absolve Witch Princess completely, but it softened the sharp edges of Keira's resentment. Blaming her felt futile, like trying to grasp smoke. What was left to hold onto? A woman who had been running from her own fears for centuries, who had buried her humanity beneath a curse she couldn't escape?

The atmosphere in the small hut shifted abruptly as Witch Princess rose to her feet, her crimson eyes narrowing with cold determination. The creak of her chair scraping against the floor sent a shiver through the silence. Keira watched her, confused by the sudden change in demeanor.

"It's time," Witch Princess said, her voice calm but laced with an undertone of finality. She begins to prepare her spell ready for battle.

Keira furrowed her brow. "Time for what?" she asked, though the unease settling in her chest told her she already knew.

Witch Princess gestured toward the armor Keira wore, her gaze flicking briefly to the hilt of the blade sheathed at Keira's chest. "You came here prepared for this," she said. "Don't play coy with me. You're wearing your armor, and I know you didn't bring that blade just for show."

Keira's voice was steady, though her heart raced with the weight of her decision. "Stop," she commanded, stepping back as Witch Princess readied herself for combat. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a blade.

Witch Princess blinked, lowering her hands slightly. Her crimson eyes narrowed, studying Keira with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. "You don't want to fight me?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. "Why not? You came here in armor, with a sword no less. You came prepared for this. Don't tell me you're backing out now."

Keira shook her head, meeting Witch Princess's piercing gaze. "I've thought about this long and hard, and… I don't want to fight you."

The surprise on Witch Princess's face was evident. "You don't want to fight me? After everything I've done? After I destroyed your home, caused your people to suffer, and ran away like a coward? You should hate me, Keira. You should want to kill me."

Keira took a deep breath, the weight of centuries pressing against her chest as she spoke, her voice steady but filled with emotion. "You're right," she began, locking eyes with Witch Princess, who stood silently, her crimson gaze wary yet attentive. "Back in my time, what you've done would have been considered unforgivable. Sinking the castle, dismantling the heart of a kingdom, forcing my people into chaos—it would have marked you as a villain in every story, a name to be cursed for generations."

Witch Princess's expression didn't waver, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—a shadow of guilt, perhaps, or a resigned acceptance of the condemnation she expected.

"But now…" Keira continued, her tone softening, "things are different. The world is different. I've had time to reflect, to live, and to understand." She took a step closer, her hands unclenching from her sides. "I may have lost my parents, my people, and my crown. But I've also gained so much more—because of you."

Witch Princess blinked, caught off guard. "Because of me?" she asked, her voice quiet, almost disbelieving.

Keira nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Yes, because of you. I no longer have to carry the unbearable weight of my role as queen. That destiny, that crushing responsibility to protect and lead, it was ripped away from me when I was cursed, and the castle fell. And though it was devastating at the time, it set me free. It took years—four centuries of sleeping in the bottom of the mines—but after all that, I found a new life."

She glanced toward the window, as if the thought of her home, her husband, and the valley that had become her sanctuary grounded her. "I have a home now, a place where I can simply be. I have a husband who takes care of me in ways I never thought I deserved. I have friends who I can trust, who don't see me as a queen or a symbol of royalty, but as Keira. Just Keira."

Her voice grew stronger as she spoke, conviction replacing hesitation. "And despite everything that happened, my people survived. They're still alive, still thriving, building new lives and new futures. Maybe not in the way my father would have imagined, but they've endured. They've grown."

Keira stepped closer, her tone gentle yet firm. "Because of this—because of everything—I don't hate you. I can't. How could I, when the life I have now is one I'm truly proud of?"

Witch Princess stared at her, stunned into silence. The mocking smirk she so often wore had disappeared, replaced by an expression Keira couldn't quite read—something between confusion and vulnerability.

"And, in fact…" Keira hesitated for only a moment before continuing, her voice steady, "I wish to thank you. For everything."

The words hung in the air, their weight impossible to ignore. Witch Princess's mouth opened slightly, as if to respond, but no sound came out. Her crimson eyes flickered with a mixture of emotions—confusion, disbelief, perhaps even a hint of admiration. The crackling spells that had begun to form in her hands fizzled out, the glowing tendrils of magic dissipating like smoke on the wind. She stood motionless for a moment, the fight draining from her body as if Keira's words had struck deeper than any blade could.

Finally, with a weary sigh, Witch Princess sank back into her chair, her posture deflating. "You've changed," she murmured, her voice quieter now, tinged with something akin to resignation. "You're not the princess the king raised. The girl who once stood beneath the weight of the crown would never have said these things."

Keira stepped closer, the tension in her shoulders easing as she saw the shift in Witch Princess's demeanor. "Maybe you're right," she said softly, her voice carrying both resolve and tenderness. "I've changed because I had to. Because the life I have now is worth protecting more than the life I left behind."

Witch Princess tilted her head, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly, scrutinizing the woman standing before her. "And what is this life you're so desperate to protect? What is it that makes you so willing to forgive someone like me?"

Keira smiled faintly, the thought of her husband and the home they had built together filling her with a quiet warmth. "My husband," she said simply, her tone soft but firm. "The man who waits for me at home, who will be returning soon and expecting me to be there. The man who has given me a reason to smile every day. I don't want to lose this life I've fought so hard to build—not for revenge, not for some sense of duty."

Her hand moved instinctively to the hilt of her sheathed blade in her chest, not to draw it, but as a gesture of resolve. "I choose not to fight you. I choose to go home."

And so, Keira stands up and walks out of the hut. Keira paused just before reaching the edge of the clearing, glancing back at the small, weathered hut. The woman who had once been so integral to her life—stood at the doorway, watching her. Witch Princess's crimson eyes held a strange mix of emotions: confusion, frustration, and something else Keira couldn't quite place.

Keira raised her hand in a silent farewell, her robe glinting in the light of the setting sun. For a fleeting moment, Witch Princess hesitated, her arms twitching as if she wanted to wave back. But she didn't. Keira didn't wait for a response. She turned and walked down the path, the gentle crunch of dirt beneath her feet has become the only sound accompanying her departure.

As Keira disappeared into the distance, Witch Princess stood frozen, staring at the spot where the young woman had just been. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, and her jaw tightened. Ever since she had discovered that Keira was alive, Witch Princess had been consumed by dread. She had spent a year waiting for the day Keira would come to confront her, demanding retribution or challenging her to a battle to reclaim the honor of the Hanabishi family. Then she would have no choice but to kill her.

But it hadn't happened. Instead, Keira had forgiven her. Thanked her, even.

The absurdity of it gnawed at her. It left a hollow, gaping void in her chest where all the fear and rage had lived for so long. She felt unmoored, as if the purpose she had clung to—her identity as a hated outcast, the destroyer of the Hanabishi kingdom—had been ripped away in an instant. She didn't feel relieved. She felt empty.

Inside her empty hut, the silence became unbearable. Witch Princess's breathing grew heavy, and her frustration boiled over. With a scream of rage, she kicked over her cauldron, sending its bubbling contents spilling across the wooden floor. The acrid smell of the potion mixed with the heat of her fury. She grabbed a chair and threw it against the wall, where it splintered into pieces. Her magic flared uncontrollably, fireballs forming in her palms as tears blurred her vision.

She hurled the fireballs in every direction, setting fire to her furniture, her shelves, the walls. The flames roared to life, consuming the remnants of her solitude. Her collection of ingredients, gathered over centuries, went up in smoke. Her treasures, her trinkets, her tools—everything she had built around herself as a barrier against the world—was reduced to ash.

And yet, she wasn't done. Her angry eyes landed on the one thing still untouched: the journals. The volumes that chronicled her hundreds of years of life. Her memories. Her triumphs and her failures. The names of those she had loved and those she had lost. The stories she could no longer recall without their written words to remind her. They sat neatly stacked in the corner, somehow untouched by the chaos she had unleashed.

She hesitated, her magic still crackling in her hands. These journals were her only link to the past, to the person she had once been. But as she stared at them, all she could feel was the weight of her regrets. Each page held pain, betrayal, and cowardice. Each word was a reminder of the life she had squandered, the people she had hurt, and the chances she had thrown away.

With trembling hands, she summoned one last fireball. "It's better this way," she shouted to herself, though the words tasted bitter. "I don't want to remember anymore!"

The fireball flings from her hand and strikes the shelves of books. Flames licked at the pages, consuming them one by one. The hut filled with the acrid smell of burning paper, the words of a thousand years erased in moments. Witch Princess stood motionless as the journals burned, watching her past disintegrate into ash.

When the fire finally died down, leaving only charred remains and smoke curling through the air, she collapsed to her knees. Her body shook with sobs, her hands clutching at the soot-streaked floor. She had destroyed everything. All her possessions, all her memories—everything that had defined her existence for centuries was gone.

The tears came harder, fueled by a torrent of emotions she could no longer contain. Regret clawed at her chest, a feral beast that refused to be ignored. She saw, in her mind's eye, the faces of the people she could have helped with her magic. The friends she could have made. The life she could have lived. And then she saw Keira's face—calm, resolute, and kind. A stark contrast to the rage and fear that had ruled Witch Princess for so long.

"I could have been like her," she choked out, her voice breaking. "I could have… I could have done something good."

But she hadn't. And now, she was alone.

Witch Princess knelt in the ruins of her life, her sobs the only sound in the charred remains of her hut. For the first time in centuries, she truly allowed herself to feel the weight of her choices. She had run from death, but what she had truly been running from all along was herself. And now, there was nothing left to run from.