Two days after the mysterious letter reached the Fairy, the long-awaited day had finally come: the resumption of the race for the throne of Sylvania.
In the royal reception hall stood the five finalists of the tournament—those who had demonstrated ferocity, ingenuity, courage, and above all, the unwavering resolve and strength of the right hands of Sylvania's potential future queens. This time, however, it would not be the prowess of their champions that would determine the victor, but their own personal faculties—deciding, once and for all, who would rule the Fairy Kingdom. All except one. As usual.
On this beautiful day, the contenders for the throne had come alone, for this final stage of the tournament concerned only them—not their champions.
Among the princesses were some familiar faces, such as Mananélia Matantide Diasirée, fierce rival of the wingless fairy from the Sanctuary. Her loyal champion was none other than Al-Ryanis, an ogre whose strength was beyond dispute—relentlessly fierce, despite a surprisingly cheerful demeanor.
True to form, she made no effort to go unnoticed upon her arrival in the hall. She entered accompanied by her attendants and servants, one of whom loudly announced her presence. Flowers were tossed at her feet all the way to the round table at the center of the room, as Mananélia, all smiles and radiating confidence with a touch of makeup, gracefully lifted the hem of her pink velvet dress to avoid stepping on it. It was almost certain that Al-Ryanis hadn't been informed of any of this—he despised extravagance, favoring minimalism as a sign of true taste. If you had seen the outfit he had planned for his battles… it was peak boorish peasantry. Fortunately, the lavishness of his princess had managed to salvage the presentation, giving him at least a semblance of dignity worthy of a champion.
Mananélia took her seat and waited for the arrival of the other contestants—which didn't take long.
The next arrival was a name you may not have heard before in this story, but she was well known among her peers: Lavemmelia B'chiret. One of the few fairies in the kingdom to wear glasses. She was very intelligent and quite beautiful, with curly hair the color of rosy-pink chocolate, finely arched eyebrows that complemented her long chestnut lashes. She had what the fairies of Sylvania called one of the many "anomalies of Java-Aleim": a bronzed complexion. An anomaly because the purity of the Tree should only yield one type of fairy—female, with the complexion of the Three Warrior-Kings, and the same hair, eye, and wing colors. Something, evidently, had gone wrong in the creation of the magical birthing tree.
Nevertheless, she did not suffer the same discrimination as the wingless Fairy. She was not the first bronzed fairy-princess the people of this self-contained kingdom had seen—thanks largely to Lily's many travels. Her entrance was also announced, though with far less pomp than her predecessor. She exuded elegance. Which, incidentally, pleased Al-Ryanis greatly.
Then came two newcomers—friends of the first Fairy to arrive in the room: Marinenélia Ra'Ajirar and Roxannélia Begleiter.
One of them also bore the trait of bronzed skin, despite having smooth, brown hair with blonde tips. Her wings were a blend of purple and brown, and her slender frame and graceful limbs added, some said, to her beauty and charm. But do not mistake her for a child—she was among the young women who had made it to the finals of the future queens' tournament. This stemmed, no doubt, from her rigorous upbringing—trained to be a sovereign in anticipation of this very day. She was perhaps the closest thing in the Fairy Kingdom to what one might call "nobility" in the human world—if not a secret caste with ambitions reaching beyond the kingdom's borders.
I won't go so far as to suggest she was a manipulator who approached the Hero with ulterior motives, but... let's just say it was suspicious. Even he might have asked himself the same question—if he hadn't already, given his constant paranoia.
Simply put, she was not to be underestimated.
As for Roxannélia Rosélia Begleiter—you already know her temper when it comes to others. Despite a good heart, she remained cold and exasperating more often than not. The Hero liked her company precisely because she was so irritable. She too was among the tournament's top contenders: one of the best in her class, excelling in both theoretical and practical magic. She didn't care much for science, but studied enough not to let it drag down her grades. Her surly, combative nature actually worked in her favor—she earned the respect of others. Combined with her intelligence, she could have become a rather aggressive Karyoten, given her aptitude tests and strategic skills.
Naturally, she lacked nothing in terms of beauty, and according to the Hero—judging by his taste in women—she was even more beautiful than the Fairy when she took off her glasses. Her short brown-pink haircut matched her sky-blue wings, which were speckled at the tips with infinite-looking circular patterns.
Each was a beauty in her own right—worthy of reflecting the kingdom's future leadership.
But one person was still missing. She wasn't late per se, but according to the tacit rules she was forced to follow as a wingless one, the Fairy was required to arrive a few minutes after the others. It was a form of "protocol violation" meant to humiliate her—she, after all, did not follow the sacred codes, and by definition, was a degenerate incapable of adhering to their etiquette.
Yet on this day, when she arrived, none of the fairies insulted or mocked her. They may have looked down on her with disdain, but she and her champion had proven their worth to have made it this far. They knew—thanks to their spies—that even though he was the Hero of the legend, she had trained with him, and both had grown stronger. She may not have had the chance to showcase her progress, but her time had come. The time to prove she was worthy of the throne—and of claiming the one thing she desired above all else.
She had lived for this moment—a moment that had arrived sooner than expected.
When her "name" was announced, she stepped forward with a determination never before seen in her lonely, wingless gaze—radiating tenacity and boldness. Her heart may have trembled, but she refused to remain passive—not after the superhuman effort of the Hero, who had fought a woman he acknowledged as brave with unmatched strength, unleashing both his heroic and demonic powers, inherited from Némésis, to face her at full power.
She had seen in his eyes the sorrow of crushing the hopes of a woman whose dream was to save her people from poverty and crime.
So if she had to pursue her own selfish dream—she would do it without regret, and fulfill the Hero's final wish before his departure.
She took her seat at the last available chair around the table. Normally, she would've lowered her gaze in shame—but not today. Today, she held her head high and stared down her rivals, just as the Hero had encouraged her to do. In all circumstances.
She must not lose confidence in herself—not in any aspect of her life. And she would do so without falling into arrogance, pride, or vanity.
But the tension rose even further when the Queen of Sylvania, Audisélia II Vanguard, finally deigned to reveal her face.
The two great doors behind the seat she was to occupy burst open like a thunderclap. Two radiant eyes—shimmering with an otherworldly turquoise glow—pierced the air, a gaze powerful enough to shatter the sky itself. She wore a dazzling yellow gown, encrusted with sparkling gems, her neck adorned with rare flowers and intricate jewelry—four roses, one for each of the kingdom's founding kings, those who had refused to live under the yoke of self-important Men who thought themselves superior.
As she stepped forward to meet her would-be heirs, she wore the mask of her youth: a golden shield-shaped visage resembling an upside-down house, crowned with a circle of diadems encircling her head. It was covered in magical inscriptions and concealed every feature of her face—except for her lips, ears, and pastel-colored hair.
None of the fairies had ever seen her wear it before—and for good reason. She had only donned it briefly in her early days as queen, during the long cycle of her laments.
They never would have believed it, but with the mask on, the queen appeared even more formidable. No emotion could be discerned behind its golden shell. If she already seemed intimidating without it, then with it, the resemblance to the divine and merciless figure of Eclina—the goddess of war and lightning—was nothing short of chilling. Though they had never before noticed any resemblance, where else could this sudden dread be coming from?
Following behind her were the royal guards—the Queen's Holy Knights—led by their captains, the kingdom's top ministers, and her personal advisor. They all lined up above the queen, on elevated platforms, standing tall and immovable.
This was the elite of the Kingdom of Sylvania.
The absence of Globox was glaring, and his place remained unfilled. To the kingdom, he had died fighting the minions of the sect that had placed a bounty on the Fairy's head. The Queen could not bring herself to dishonor the memory of one of her dearest friends. Though they hadn't always seen eye to eye, he had been a source of precious advice and unwavering support. A vile man with a heart of gold, manipulated by that wicked...
The queen took her seat and faced the five finalists.
"My dear children. My dear daughters. My dear fairy princesses... I welcome you to the final round of the tournament for the succession of Sylvania. I congratulate you on your performance thus far—or rather, I should say, your champions have performed admirably and honored you well. We've discussed this before—the true purpose of this trial—but I don't believe you've been of much help to your champions... beyond serving as a source of motivation."
"That's not true, Your Majesty," objected Princess Roxanne Rosélia. "I devised several strategies with my champion to counter our opponents. I studied their behaviors to give him an advantage."
"Interesting," said the queen. "It is rare for princesses to consider the usefulness of observing enemy champions during battle."
"You mean it was deliberate to force us to watch all the matches?" Lavemmelia asked.
"Exactly," Audisélia confirmed with a nod. "Few princesses take the time to analyze those battles seriously. They rely solely on their champions to carry them to victory. But like a Karyoten, you must learn to plan multiple strategies—to win not only on the battlefield, but also beyond it."
"What do you mean?" another princess asked.
"I mean that none of you seem to have noticed that no rule prevents attacking a champion outside the tournament—whether under the cover of night or in broad daylight."
"But that would harm a princess's reputation if she acted that way," Marinenélia pointed out.
"Perhaps. But if a princess makes it this far, then she must be prepared to face the consequences. You've been taught to value reputation since childhood—and I find it tragic how much weight you've placed on it."
"Why is that?" asked Mananélia. "A princess's reputation is her most valuable asset—especially for a queen. That's what history and people will remember about us, from life to death. We can't afford to tarnish it. The kinds of things you ask us to do should be handled by others—people hired for such dirty tasks. We delegate those to more appropriate individuals..."
The queen let out a small laugh.
"What's so funny about that?" Mananélia asked.
"What's funny," said the queen, "is that you believe being queen is merely pageantry—giving speeches, waving to the people... I know you won't be on the front lines when our soldiers go to war—and I don't blame you. But there's something you need to engrave in your minds: being queen—of any kingdom—is not a fairy tale, as the humans say."
"Our matriarchal monarchy doesn't exempt us from harsh truths: like any government, rats will infiltrate your ship and, once night falls, begin to chew through your limbs bit by bit until you lose the ability to resist. And then they'll tie strings to your broken body to fulfill their darkest desires—turning you into their puppet."
"You'll no longer be a queen. You'll be their plaything. Others will have different ambitions: they'll want your head if they don't see you as useful. They'll plot a coup and replace you with someone more... compliant. After all... that's exactly what happened. Not so long ago."
"What do you mean?" asked several of the princesses.
Audisélia took a deep breath.
And then, without the slightest hint of emotion—like a machine reciting protocol—she told them the truth behind Globox's death. From beginning to end, she recited it all: the sect of Marrynélia, the death of young Princess-Fairy Thoosa, the use of slum children in a ritual dagger… Nothing was left out. The fairy princesses heard it all—and could scarcely believe their ears.
She told them everything—except one thing: that the evil queen had "awakened" from her slumber.
A small voice broke the heavy silence that followed the queen's confession.
"Who… who uncovered the deception?" asked the Nameless Fairy.
"If you're asking me that," the queen said, her lips curling into a brief smirk, "then you already suspect who was involved. But we'll get to that later."
"For now, understand this: many things have occurred right under your noses—without your knowing."
Roxanne stood abruptly and slammed both hands on the table.
"Why did you lie to us? Why did you lie to the citizens of Sylvania, Queen Audisélia?"
"Do you truly believe," the queen replied calmly, "that it would have been wise to tell the public that someone close to their queen had plotted her assassination—and yours too—in order to resurrect the greatest threat this kingdom has ever known? That a cult was gathering in her name to glorify her return? Do you think it would be responsible to reveal all of that to the people?"
The fairy narrowed her eyes, then lowered her gaze.
"…Not really…"
The queen sighed.
"I understand your shock. But the world of rulers is not the world of ordinary citizens. And conspiracies are the first threat you must learn to watch for. Do not let yourselves be led by emotion as Princess Thoosa once was. May she rest in peace. She tried to build a plan for her ascension—but let herself be caught in a futile romance. If you truly care about your reputations, then don't be remembered as the one who let the enemy into her home out of a naïve affection."
The princesses nodded.
"And don't think I'm unaware of the plots your families are weaving to gain even more power than they already have..." the queen added.
Several of them swallowed hard at that.
It was now clear: the struggle for the throne of Sylvania was far more than a childish contest of aspiring queens and noble dreams. It was a political battlefield, with consequences that extended far beyond titles and crowns.
"But frankly, I don't really care about that—as long as it doesn't interfere with the proper functioning of the kingdom. We'll address it when the matter of sponsorship is discussed in your final trial. But back to the matter of history and reputation..."
"Do you recognize the mask I'm wearing?" she asked.
All the girls responded no.
"That just proves," the queen said, with a faint twitch at the corner of her lips, "that your so-called reputations are nothing but petty rumors and shallow critique."
"So let's have a short history lesson, shall we?"
The queen removed the golden mask and shook her head, letting her pastel hair cascade down her back. She placed the crown-mask on the table and began her lecture.
Not long ago—just months after her coronation—Sylvania was plunged into an age of relentless warfare. Battles with foreign nations. Clashes with insurgent groups. Alliances. Betrayals. It seemed nothing could stop the bloodshed.
The ministers of Sylvania had led the fairy kingdom into endless conflict. Entire families were torn apart. Trade halted. People starved. Even the forest spirits could no longer shield the realm. The fall of Sylvania seemed inevitable.
Yet from the flames and ashes of war, through the puddles of blood and viscera from the most horrific battles the world had seen, rose the young Queen of Sylvania: Audisélia II Vanguard.
Wearing a silk toga with a violet cape, adorned with heavy gold necklaces set with rubies, and braided bracelets, she wore the golden mask—then crowned with two horns sculpted from the same metal. She wielded an enormous double-edged blade, its sixty-centimeter hilt far too large for her small hands. And still she marched on every front. Fighting with fury and rage. Cutting down enemies. Destroying armies with her sword alone—and with magic that was still in its infancy.
She was the armed fist of the fairy nation. The figurehead of Sylvania's militant might.
Unstoppable. Tireless. Violent. Bloodthirsty.
She was known as "The Fairy with the Terrible Golden Face." And she reigned supreme on every battlefield, until she became, by force of fate, a herald of Eclina—the goddess of thunder and war.
This, then, was the legend of the queen who now stood before these young hopefuls.
"I believe," the queen said at last, "that none of you had ever heard this short tale of my reign."
"Indeed," Roxanne replied. "None of our instructors ever mentioned a decline during your time. The only decline we were taught was the one under the Reign of the Traitor Queen."
The Fairy swallowed hard, hoping no one turned their gaze toward her.
"If I recall," added Mananélia, "before we were born, you were accused of being the reincarnation of the Felon Queen."
"It's true," the queen admitted. "And that is exactly why I wore this mask—to disappear from public memory. But scapegoats change as quickly as time itself. And eventually, that ancient hatred found a new target: that poor wingless fairy who was stripped of her very name."
"But I imagine you're wondering where I'm going with all these stories..."
"I simply want you to understand: the reputation you're so eager to build can crumble with a single misstep. Having a flawless image means nothing if you accomplish nothing. When you die, all they'll remember is that you were useless—like Queen Jacinthélia. Beautiful, yes. But she contributed nothing to the realm."
"We become queens so that the people may live in peace, without the chaos of their past lives haunting them beyond these walls. Even if you make mistakes—and are condemned for them for a time—the truth will eventually come to light, and your name will be redeemed."
"That's my belief. And the advice I offer you."
"I know your families and patrons have expectations. But remember: only you will be queen of Sylvania. No one else."
"Don't repeat my mistake—marching to war outside these walls because the ministers before the Great Government Purge demanded it, dragging our kingdom and our people into an age of darkness."
The would-be queens lowered their heads in contemplation. Even the wingless Fairy—who had only her friends, family, and the Queen's cautious support—found herself thinking deeply about what it truly meant to be queen, beyond simply obtaining her heart's desire.
"And now, as for the final trial..." the queen continued, "it will be… an election."
"Huh?!" the princesses exclaimed in unison.
"No one told us that!" Mana shouted.
"I know," said the queen. "I changed the rules. As I said, no one should die during these trials. There were... some accidents that led to the death of a princess, but that won't happen again."
"You five now know part of the truth of Sylvania. There is no reason for you to die in the process, while only the queen holds all the kingdom's darkest secrets."
"I believe you should support each other after these trials—to fulfill your duty as queens and princesses of Sylvania."
"So... we're to become the queen's attendants?" Lavemmelia burst out.
"In a way," the queen answered, swaying her head side to side like a pendulum. "I would say rather: her closest advisors."
"If I lose, there's no way I'll become one of their subordinates," Roxanne growled. "I'd rather die than be someone's lackey."
"Do you even understand what dying means, Roxannélia?"
"No, not really. Just like you, Your Majesty. You've never lost a battle, save for one in your youth. Your strength is remarkable—admirable. I'm one of those who adore you. And it's because of that inspiration that I cannot bear the idea of not being your equal."
Audisélia smiled softly, shaking her head.
"It touches me to have an admirer, but Princess Roxanne… know this: war is not admirable. It brings nothing but ruin to the people and destroys them needlessly. This world is already teetering on the edge of extinction. The sky of darkness draws closer every day, threatening to engulf us all."
"Maybe I go against the doctrines of the Warrior-Kings—and my own violent past—but what I truly wish for… is peace. I know we cannot end all wars with the snap of a finger. Our mission is to rescue as many Faerics as we can from oppression or danger. But war does not serve our people. Many of our kind already suffer enough as it is."
"So think carefully before rejecting this offer."
The queen now seemed far more inclined toward discussion than submission through force. Was it Globox's death that had affected her so deeply? She didn't show it—her face remained stoic—but her tone, her calm delivery… it was unnatural for her. Too different from what had always been assumed to be her true nature.
Everyone noticed it. Sawyer most of all. But what could he do, except force her to carry on until these elections ended?
"So, now for the practical matter of the trial," the queen declared. "Citizens of Sylvania—be they from the Sanctuary, the castle, High Town, or the Slums—will vote for one of you in a series of challenges that will test your ability to lead this kingdom. Be it through eloquence, sovereignty, leadership, or song… everything will be judged by the people."
"To avoid cheating, the trials will not be disclosed in advance. But you're free to guess before the big day."
"As for your supporters during this electoral trial—you may compete alongside your champions, who may act as advisors. But keep in mind: a warrior rarely aligns with politics. Choose carefully the one who will support you."
"I know former queens often favored their champions… but times have changed. If you have questions, now is the time."
None of them really had any. The queen had already answered nearly every possible question throughout the discussion.
"If there are none, then we shall proceed to the registration of your advisors."
Each of the princesses seemed to have already made their choice. One by one, they named the advisor—or campaign director, as in a proper election—who would support them.
Upon hearing the names, the queen recognized all of them: seasoned old hands, waiting for their moment to shine and seize the power they had long coveted.
Then came the Fairy's turn.
She had been thinking since the beginning of the meeting about who she wanted as her campaign manager. Her mind was torn between two choices—both more foolish than the other.
The Hero was no longer here. She could no longer count on him. He had only been a temporary champion anyway, standing in for Beneltig. Beneltig, who had yet to prove himself in any way.
And it was obvious: because of the love she bore him, she would choose him. And if she didn't, she knew he would resent her forever. He hated fighting—but he had fought for her. And now that he could play a more intellectual role… she wouldn't choose him?
She was deeply conflicted.
The queen's words echoed in her mind. She understood perfectly now what Audisélia had meant by "playing the game." Perhaps her speeches had been directed at her all along—after all, the other fairies had powerful patrons who had already mapped out their entire campaigns. But the wingless Fairy? She had no such support. The queen couldn't be an option either—that would look too much like favoritism, heavier than any past leniencies or the Hero's involvement.
So who else could she choose, if not Beneltig?
Yes, he lacked intellect. He preferred play to duty—especially the company of girls rather than upholding his commitments to the princess to whom he was promised.
Who else remained?
Surely she wouldn't ask that vampire—whom she barely knew and who'd been flirting with her—to be her campaign manager? She'd only known him for a few months. She knew Beneltig wouldn't tolerate that, just as he was already suspicious of the Hero—despite the Hero treating her with nothing but platonic respect.
No. Only one name remained. Her best alternative.
But it was a name that irritated her more than anything.
The very existence of this person seemed to mock her desire to be queen. And ever since her champion's victory—and the praises he had lavished upon that same person—a certain jealousy had begun to grow.
Still, who else possessed such vast knowledge and such iron will on such short notice?
Only she could help.
After all, hadn't she invited her to talk about this very topic—because the Hero himself had asked for her support in exchange for his victory in advancing the Slum-dwellers' rights?
What cruel irony, to have to rely on the very woman she had lost to in her most bitter match—to rise to the rank of queen.
Fate truly had a twisted sense of humor.
The Fairy raised her head, her face tense with bitterness, and declared the name of her campaign director:
"I choose Avelilinélia Malalalivia Talemilia, of House Grave, as my campaign director."
Some fairies snickered, amused by the irony of the situation. Others giggled at the idea of a wingless fairy supporting another of her kind. Ministers murmured about whether the Graves should be allowed further involvement in royal affairs.
"They were nearly wiped out," Morvian said casually. "We can grant them some redemption, can't we?"
The queen nodded in agreement—and granted the Fairy her request.
"And do you know where that fallen peasant is?" Mananélia scoffed. "For her appointment to be legitimate, she must arrive within the hour. In proper attire. None of those patched-up rags."
"Don't worry about her," the queen replied. "She arrived in High Town quite some time ago."
Far away, on the deserted shores of Sylvania—deserted because of the national mourning—stood Avelilinélia, her face twisted in deep disgust.
She found this place... revolting.