"How could that be?" Faustina asked with a frown. Her brown eyes were laced with confusion. It made her uneasy. The king's eyes were not showing any trace of taking his words back, befuddling Faustina more.

"How could that be?" The king repeats. "I wonder."

Before Faustina could mutter any word, a loud thud on the gigantic door echoed against the room as it was sent open banging against the large castle walls.

In the midst of the throne room, there stood a person wearing a clothing she'd never seen before, along with several individuals clad in a pale green shawl, like a moss.

The person who stood out among them wore clothes that spoke of a foreign land. A dress all draped towards the skin, yet leaving the shoulders bare, a dress with a slit on the left leg; its color was a pale white with intricate patterns of gold, revealing the person's curves through a see-through lace.

Faustina stood dumbfounded, a statue amidst such perplexity.

The person was a woman, breast perked high against a silky-thin dress. Her locks were a deviating color of individual threads of gold, yet dissimilar to the king. The sunshine highlighted the intimacy her body was giving as the cloth embraced her skin like a gentle caress.

"Am I late?" Says the woman. Faustina's eyes widened at the sound of her voice. Suddenly she remembered the voice that spoke to her when she was in a deep slumber—the voice that is different from the two.

Faustina stood astounded.

Her pupils. They were the color of pale yellow. Like a faded tulip, depleted of its own sunshine. Faustina stared for such a long time and noticed the scepter she was holding. It was a dark wood wrapped with vines and flowers; a ruby resting on its very peak.

A sorcerer's staff.

"Hmm, what do we have here?" The woman says, her gaze fixated to the king. "That is odd of you. No high knights in the throne room, or any monarch. I can see neither a seneschal nor a single soldier."

"I have no need for such."

"How odd,"

"What is your inquiry, Lady of the Clairvoyants?"

"I am here by the order of king Alexander Octavius Ein Feuerkrieger IX."

The king reached to clutch his sword, but before he could even touch its grip, the woman pointed her staff at the king's direction, as she stepped forward and advanced.

"Resipisco!"

And as she chanted, a magic circle was summoned to the ground. Faustina watched as her mouth gaped in surprise. The king's expression slowly eased until his eyes closed—falling into the hands of the woman. She reached to catch his body, supporting his physique.

"Expergo." She mutters silently. And then the king's eyes fluttered open, as if a wary animal waking up from his deep slumber—alert and tense. But then, realizing he was on her arms, he immediately softened.

"Sheila." the king says as he parted away from her embrace.

The woman immediately bowed as the king stood before her. The people clad in green also bowed, their forehead touching the floor.

"I am sorry for my delay."

"You do not need to apologize."

"I truly apologize. He inhabited your body before I could come here."

The king did not answer, but instead his gaze drifted towards Faustina—who was apparently forgotten, or most probably not seen at all. The king's eyes were different again. Faustina could tell that these eyes were the ones that she had seen that night. The king's expressions were somber and they were lighter than before.

A different person.

"Faustina." The king says.

Realizing she was the only one standing, Faustina bowed as a show of respect. She wanted to slap herself from forgetting etiquette—a golden rule perhaps for everyone. But growing in the mountain made her ignorant.

But perhaps, this was not the case.

A bow is nothing but a small picture to the scenery.

'What just happened?' Faustina asked herself. She wanted to know if she was probably on daze, daydreaming in the summer breeze.

"Who spoke to you?"

Faustina lifted her head slowly, meeting the king's gaze. The woman, Sheila, was staring at her too, with eyes void of any emotion.

"T-the first king of Feuersturm."

"Octavius." The woman says in astonishment. "It's him now. I thought it was Julius."

The king stood silently, as he sat to his throne. "Faustina."

"Y-your Majesty?"

"Come."

Faustina stared in surprise, flabbergasted.

She walked towards the king, her legs shaking in nervousness. She cannot distinguish what she feels right now, or decipher what just happened. She stood next to the woman, facing the king. The throne room was wide, gigantically spacious. She was still standing several meters away from him.

"The king who spoke to you is not the one speaking to you right now," he says gently, like a caressing feather. "I do not want my fair lady to cower in fear because of me."

Faustina remained silent.

"Sheila."

"My king."

"You are to guide her until she regains her strength."

"My king?" Sheila says, as if she did not expect those words. "I beg your pardon?"

"Faustina is carrying the Heilen blood." The king says, "the only real Heilen in the Feuersturm empire."

"A real Heilen...?"

"Yes."

"But their bloodline was gone several hundred years ago!" She said in surprise. "My King, I beg your pardon but, this may be a hoax. She cannot be a Heilen! I am well aware how the nobles made a lofty imitation by dyeing the hair of commoners to black to display power—"

"Sheila," the king interrupts calmly. "She is a Heilen."

Sheila thinned her lips, and then she spoke no longer.

"Faustina, you are summoned to the castle because we need you." The king says. "For years, for decades we have searched for a Heilen blood. A theory from the sorcerers—a theory that they have been formulating for a hundred years."

"A theory?"

"I know you are aware of what 'Nightmare' is right now."

"Y-yes."

"There is no cure for Nightmare. One person in every royal family in the Zuerst continent possess this disease, and for a thousand of years we are trying to survive through powerful incantations casted upon our bodies ever since we are born."

The king's eyes were filled with warmth, yet he looked as if he was concealing something inside. An emotion Faustina cannot read. He did not look like he was lamenting or in agony, yet his eyes were downright—

As if there is a mask entrapping his real emotions.

"I am inhabiting all the souls of the kings of Feuersturm. The victims of Nightmare." He says silently, "and the man who cursed them to preside over my body is Jonathan Unsterblich."

"J-jonathan?" Faustina's eyes widened, as her complexion turned pale. Hearing that name. Jonathan. She felt an overwhelming rage, as she wanted to scream on the top of her lungs.

"The man who took your master's body." He says. "Is the incarnation of the first warlock centuries ago—the one who cursed the first kings of Zuerst."