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Episode (1)

 From the Ashes

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The stench of dried blood hung heavy in the air—a sharp, metallic tang, like rusted iron left soaking under rain for years.  

The cell was hidden in the darkest depths of the palace, a place where even moonlight dared not reach.  

Only a tiny crevice between the cracked stones allowed a thin ribbon of silver light to slip inside.  

That lifeless glow barely touched the face of the girl sitting in the shadows… a face that still drew breath.  

Her features were a map of bruises; repeated slaps and relentless torture had turned her delicate skin into a canvas of purple and black welts.  

The moonlight fell mercilessly upon those marks, making them stand out in cruel relief—as if it wanted the world to look closely.  

But to her, it made no difference. Pain no longer registered.  

Not that she couldn’t feel it—she had simply grown accustomed to it.  

From childhood, she had known “caresses” only as the rhythmic whistle of a cane, never the warmth of a parent’s hands.  

Those blows still lived and breathed in every cell of her body, even after all these years.  

It had been a long time since she last heard that sound.  

She no longer remembered the days; what was the point of counting them? Time here was stagnant water—neither flowing nor ending.  

No one ever came for her.  

Perhaps only the guard, once a day, to toss in a crust of dry bread or a bowl of murky water before slipping away in silence.  

He never even looked at her.  

Her eyes, long accustomed to the dark, snapped open at the sound of quiet footsteps echoing through the stone corridors.  

At this hour, no one should be coming. The guard never moved so silently.  

She sensed the mana before she saw its owner.  

That once-beloved mana, now as repulsive as any other.  

Her breath quickened. Her heart, dormant for so long, began to pound once more.  

Suddenly, the sharp reek of alcohol flooded the cell—a nauseating odor that seeped through the bars and burned her nostrils.  

The footsteps stopped.  

A key turned in the lock, and the heavy door opened with a slow, grating creak.  

His clothes were disheveled: an expensive suit now wrinkled and stained, his tie hanging crooked, hair damp with sweat, face flushed and euphoric—as if he had just come down from the upper floors.  

From a party she hadn’t even known was happening.  

When his gaze landed on her, he broke into a wide, drunken grin.  

“Oh… my dear.”  

He drew out the words like honey drizzled over an open wound.  

“So here you are. I’ve missed you.”  

She clenched her teeth.  

The grinding sound echoed loudly in the silence.  

Seeing him sober was torment enough—let alone like this, reeking of liquor, slurring that possessive “my dear.”  

Her eyes narrowed. The crystalline orb in her chest spun faster, as though boiling with rage.  

She said nothing; she refused to waste even a fragment of her energy on him.  

The orb churned wildly, yet she remained silent—like a stone waiting beneath the water.  

With drunken nonchalance, he tossed his costly jacket onto the worn stone floor.  

Ancient dust rose and settled in the faint moonlight. Then, wearing a smile that reeked of triumph, he stared at her.  

She knew exactly why he had come, and that knowledge twisted her stomach into knots.  

A sickening sensation, like venom crawling beneath her skin, consumed her entirely. These midnight visits were never without purpose.  

“Oh… ignoring me again?”  

His voice was soft, but a hidden blade lay beneath it. His smile grew more mocking. When she refused to turn her head, something shifted in his expression.  

Veins of anger shadowed his forehead and the corners of his eyes.  

Suddenly, he lunged forward and seized her chin with cold, slender fingers—hard enough that pain shot through her jaw like lightning. He forced her head up, making her meet his gaze.  

The pressure bruised bone, yet she didn’t even flinch.  

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”  

Her eyes locked with his.  

Those bloodshot, clouded eyes, threaded with red veins—the same eyes that had tormented her for years, renewing her suffering with every glance.  

She spoke with her gaze alone; her lips stayed sealed, but pure hatred surged in her deep black pupils.  

Finally, she parted her lips. Her voice was calm, yet it cut through the silence like a cold blade.  

“What do you want this time, Raymond?”  

Hearing her voice widened his grin further—as if that single sentence were the gift he had been waiting for.  

He released her chin and dropped to one knee beside her, like a man about to confide in his lover.  

“While I was upstairs drinking myself senseless, I kept thinking how much your presence was missed… among all those devils.”  

He softened his tone, feigning regret.  

“But what a shame—you brought this on yourself.”  

Astia tilted her head.  

A cold, silent sneer formed on her cracked lips—one that spoke louder than any scream.  

“Why waste time with nonsense? Just say what you came to say.”  

Her stare sharpened.  

“What do you want from me, Raymond?”  

A brief silence fell. Raymond drew a deep breath, spreading the alcohol stench further.  

His smile faded slightly, but his eyes still gleamed—with something yet unspoken.  

That gleam intensified; her anger was precisely what he had come seeking tonight.  

“I love how quickly you catch on, Astia.”  

He paused, letting his bloodshot, hazy eyes roam slowly over her body. The bruises, the purple and black marks, the fresh and old scars—none had diminished her beauty even slightly.  

She was still the same radiant creature that once captivated everyone, now merely hidden in the darkness of a cell.  

Her beauty seemed only more defiant amid the ruin.  

“I need you tonight.”  

He lowered his voice.  

“How about doing me a favor?”  

Astia glared at him with unrestrained fury.  

She pulled back as far as the chain around her wrist allowed.  

“You… bastard.”  

The words escaped through clenched teeth.  

“Won’t you ever stop this? Don’t you already do it with that woman? Why do you still keep coming after me?”  

Another short silence.  

Raymond merely stared. His smile didn’t fade—it changed.  

Something colder, darker settled within it.  

Then he chuckled softly, a dry sound that echoed off the stone walls.  

“Oh, my dear… you’re nothing but a substitute.”  

He leaned closer, voice dropping further.  

“No one can ever take her place for me. She was tired tonight—I had no choice but you.”