The cold, hard ground pressed against her back, as though it sought to claim her entirely. She ignored the ache and stared at the wooden ceiling of the cabin, her ears tuned to catch the distant sound of the royal knights’ horses—a sound that had yet to come.  

"Ugh... I’m so tired," she muttered.  

Sura, with her usual sarcastic tone, replied,  

"Your patience is truly abysmal."  

Shaking her head, she retorted with exasperation,  

"If you’d spent thousands of years wandering in a dark void like I did, you wouldn’t talk about patience."  

Sura let out a short, dry laugh.  

"Heh..."  

She drew her silver dagger slowly from its sheath. Its sharp blade glinted faintly in the dim light of the cabin. For a moment, she stared at its reflection, then slid it back into place.  

"Focus on your task, kid. Stay sharp."  

"Ugh... But why?" she whined.  

Suddenly, she fell silent. Her eyes fixed on the wooden floor, which seemed to tremble beneath her. Without hesitation, she stood and rushed outside, leaving the cold, enclosed cabin behind.  

The village, like the surrounding forest, was shrouded in a thick mist. Yet the weak rays of sunlight still broke through, casting faint shadows on the stone walls of the houses. She moved toward the gathered crowd, trying to make sense of the commotion.  

The villagers’ enthusiastic cries of "Your Highness!" filled the air, drowning out all other sounds. Frustrated, she muttered under her breath,  

"Ugh... Damn this short height of mine..."  

Her eyes darted around until she spotted a wooden crate leaning against the wall of a nearby house. She climbed onto it, balancing on her toes, and craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the young Crown Prince.  

The first thing that captured her gaze was a white horse with a flowing golden mane, shimmering even in the muted light of the mist. Yet, even more radiant than the horse was the figure sitting atop it.  

His hair glistened in the sunlight, brighter than the horse’s golden mane, almost blinding her. His presence was striking—so flawless it seemed as though he had stepped out of a dream.  

"How can someone be so effortlessly beautiful?" she thought.  

But as her gaze lingered on his ruby-red eyes, a pang of sorrow struck her heart.  

"Those jewel-like eyes... Are they really destined to lose their brilliance? No, I won’t let that happen. Beautiful eyes, I’ll protect you myself."  

For what felt like an eternity, she stared at him. The Crown Prince, mounted on his majestic steed, passed by with his loyal knights. The crowd surged forward, causing the crate beneath her to wobble. She lost her balance and fell onto the dusty ground below.  

"Ah... Damn it... That really hurts!" she groaned.  

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through the noise:  

"Are you alright?"  

Startled, she quickly lifted her head. It was the Crown Prince. His voice, calm and filled with genuine concern, startled her more than the fall itself. How was it possible? He had just ridden past her—how had he noticed her fall?  

The boy approached her, his expression serious and filled with worry. He knelt beside her and examined the palms of her hands, scratched and raw from the rough ground.  

"That must hurt. May I...?" he asked softly, his eyes gesturing toward her hands.  

Without a second thought, she extended her hands toward him. He took them gently in his own and closed his eyes. For a few moments, time seemed to freeze. When he opened his eyes again, the ruby-red color was gone, replaced by a luminous gold. His magical power flowed through her hands, healing the scratches as though they had never been there. Her palms were smoother than they had ever been.  

"I hope that helped," he said with a kind smile.  

"I... I..." she stammered, words escaping her.  

Before she could muster a proper response, he rose to his feet and began walking away. As he moved through the crowd, his magical energy shimmered like golden pollen in the air, leaving the villagers awestruck by its beauty.  

Watching him disappear into the distance, she muttered under her breath,  

"Does he always make such a dramatic, prince-on-horseback entrance, or is it just my imagination?"