When they arrived at the capital weeks after the encounter with the enemy, the carriage was welcomed with cheers from the people of the kingdom.

The streets erupted with excitement at the princess’s return. Flags waved from balconies, brightly colored fabrics fluttered in the wind, and flower petals fell from above, carried by the gentle currents flowing through the city.

The sound of applause, joyful shouts, and bells echoed through the walls, forming a vibrant resonance that filled every corner of the capital.

The Church of the Goddess of Light seemed more beautiful than ever, while the great towers of the castle rose gloriously among the most luxurious districts of the kingdom. Sunlight reflected off the church’s stained glass, casting multicolored glimmers over the cobblestone streets, while the castle towers shone with a faint golden hue, as if protecting everything beneath them.

The air smelled of incense, freshly baked bread, and blooming flowers—a warm and comforting mixture that contrasted with the recent memories of blood and smoke.

Cinderella looked at the smiles of her people and, unconsciously, felt guilty for having decided to go to war just to satisfy her curiosity. Those expressions filled with hope and pride weighed more than any reproach.

Her eyes moved across the faces of children pointing at her in admiration, elders nodding in relief, and entire families celebrating her return as if it were a miracle.

The soldier at her side tapped her shoulder to get her attention.

"Those are the people you must protect, just as we protect you. Never forget that, Princess Guinevere Cinderella."

The princess’s eyes shone at those words. It was as if something had awakened inside her—a response she had needed to overcome the blood spilled in that lonely border forest. She felt a strange warmth in her chest, a mix of pain and determination that slowly settled within her.

Seeing the faces of the people cheering for her, she knew what to do.

The carriage stopped in front of the stairs leading up to the heights of the royal palace. The sound of the wheels faded, and the murmur of the crowd remained behind, as if that moment belonged only to her.

At the top, at the end of the stairs, a man waited, wearing beautiful red and purple mantles like a cape that matched his noble attire. On his head of brown hair, grayed at the sides with age, he wore a golden crown that seemed to gleam under the sun.

His posture was firm, imposing, but in his eyes hid a concern difficult to conceal.

At his side stood a beautiful woman with black hair, around thirty or older, strikingly similar to Cinderella, though she wore a lovely green brial adorned along the edges of her skirt. The fabric moved gently with the breeze, and her elegant bearing commanded respect.

Like the man, she held a serious expression, though her clasped hands betrayed tension.

Cinderella felt intimidated. She knew what would come next would be the hardest part, so she stepped down from the old carriage and climbed the stairs. The sound of her steps was soft, yet each one echoed in her mind with overwhelming weight.

On every step stood a fully armored soldier wearing a helmet, each holding a spear with one hand while the other rested near the chest—over the heart—in a clenched fist to show respect to the princess.

She climbed the stairs. Her simple dress threatened to tangle around her feet and make her fall, but Cinderella pushed forward to reach the top. She felt the fabric brush against her legs, the cold sweat in her hands, and the rapid beating of her heart marking each second.

Once she stood before her parents, the only thing she could do was lower her head. Her gaze fixed on the ground, unable to face what she believed would be inevitable punishment.

The king took a step forward, then knelt and opened his arms toward Cinderella. She shut her eyes tightly, thinking she would be punished, but instead, she was pulled into a tight embrace.

"You have no idea how worried I was."

At that, the woman joined the embrace with tears on her face. Her hug was warm, firm—as if she needed to make sure her daughter was truly there.

Cinderella felt something break inside her. She saw the soldiers dying before her eyes, heard their cries of pain until they finally faded, and felt firsthand what it meant to be in a war. Everything she had been holding back began to overflow.

She tried to hold back the tears that wanted to escape her heart, but she couldn’t.

Through sobs, she said:

"I’m sorry, Dad! I’m so sorry!"

Her shoulders trembled, and her hands clutched tightly at her parents’ clothes, as if she feared she might disappear if she let go.

The soldier watching from below smiled calmly as he turned his back on the princess. The distant noise of the crowd began to fade, replaced by the more intimate sound of that reunion.

He climbed back onto the carriage and knocked twice on the wood, signaling the driver to move the horses forward. The creaking wheels rolling away marked the end of his role in that story.

That day, the princess returned home—but she also planted the seed of what Guinevere Cinderella would become in the future. The trauma would never disappear, but the soldier’s words would remain with her forever as well. Both would coexist, shaping every decision she would make from that point on.

Because of that, as the days passed, Cinderella asked her father for training in swordsmanship and magic. Her determination did not fade; on the contrary, it grew with every sunrise.

The man, seated on his royal throne of marble and stone, brought a hand to his forehead. The throne room was silent, save for the faint echo of their voices bouncing off the tall walls adorned with tapestries and shields.

"Cinder, my daughter, I know you saw things no one your age should see, but you can’t train your body for war. I simply cannot allow you to think about going to war."

The young girl, completely serious, stood firm. Her gaze did not waver for even a second.

"I never said I was going to war, Father. Don’t put words in my mouth that I never said. All I want is to learn how to fight to defend myself—or others if needed. I can’t be like other princesses who hide behind their knights."

The echo of her words filled the hall, making some of the nearby servants exchange silent glances.

The king sighed. He looked at the queen standing beside him, but she turned her gaze away as if she had already accepted her daughter’s request. A faint, almost imperceptible smile formed on her lips.

"Woman, you’re a traitor," the king muttered with a sigh, then looked back at Cinderella. "If I have Minerva teach you magic and Percival train you with the sword, will you promise never to leave the kingdom without my permission?"

Cinderella nodded with determination.

"I promise, Your Majesty."

The king sighed once more. He heard a soft chuckle at his side. When he looked at the queen, she turned away, trying to hide her victorious smile.

"Fine. I’ll see what I can do. Just keep your promise and—"

"Yes!" Cinderella shouted. Then she ran off toward the hallways. Her footsteps echoed lightly, filled with renewed energy.

The nearby soldiers couldn’t hold back their laughter... Some looked away, others cleared their throats to hide it, but the atmosphere had completely lightened.

***

The memory ended with the young princess running toward her room. When the door closed, Mitsuki opened his eyes.

He found himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling and breathing in the scent of damp ash. The air was dense, slightly cold, carrying a metallic trace that was hard to ignore. He looked to the side and saw a strange wooden object. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was the tip of Ellegaard’s staff—and she was holding it.

"Don’t move, tick, or your organs will spill out through the seams of your abdomen."