In a quiet forest clearing, where a small patch of grass stretched beneath the open sky, there lay a humble space untouched by the noise of the world. At its center stood a weathered tree stump, its surface worn smooth by time and now serving as a makeshift table for a small child.
From behind, one could see her light golden hair cascading gently down her back, adorned with tiny flowers. They were not arranged with precision, yet not untidy either. Clearly placed by her own small hands. She wore a simple light brown dress, her frame slim and delicate, no older than six.
With careful focus, she ground herbs upon the stump, mixing them into compact medicines to be sold at the market. Her small hands worked diligently, though her soft giggles betrayed her distraction.
A small fox had emerged from the forest, its curious eyes gleaming with mischief.
The creature playfully swatted at her wooden spoon as she stirred, its tiny paws batting at the air with relentless enthusiasm. It circled her, urging her to stop working and play with it instead. The girl laughed, her voice light and clear, as she tried to continue her work while indulging the fox's antics.
Her eyes were a gentle shade of blue, clear and bright, while her skin remained pale—as though the sun had never quite claimed her.
Yet, as her laughter softened, she suddenly paused.
A presence.
Someone was approaching from behind, their steps careful… almost playful in their attempt to remain unheard.
But instead of fear, a quiet certainty filled her heart.
She already knew.
Turning around, her face lit up, her smile widening with pure joy.
"Father!"
She sprang to her feet and ran barefoot across the grass, her small form moving with surprising speed as she threw herself into his embrace.
The man who caught her bore a striking resemblance to the child, yet carried an otherworldly air. His hair was snow-white, his skin pale as winter's breath, and his eyes shimmered with a golden hue. Tall and slender, he stood like a spirit given form, clad in a finely made robe-like top paired with dark trousers of noble quality.
He was Eomer Velmiar.
A descendant of Theana, the great Chancellor of Graitan. Revered and remembered by the people of Graitan and Epsos.
And more than that, he was the very child she once saved.
The one for whom she had risked her life for.
The child in his arms was his own daughter. One who bore a striking resemblance to his late aunt.
Her name was Ayumu Velmiar.
And Eomer loved her beyond measure.
Lifting her effortlessly, he spun her around in the open clearing. Her laughter rang like chimes in the wind, light and unrestrained. It was a sight to behold—her smile, her purity, her untouched innocence. For a fleeting moment, the burdens of the world felt distant.
He pulled her close and showered her cheeks with countless kisses.
The little girl, though delighted, soon began to squirm in his arms, her giggles turning into playful protests as she tried to pull away.
"Father, too many kisses!" she laughed, her voice breathless. "It tickles!"
"Ah?" a voice called out from nearby. "And what about my kisses? Are there any left for me?"
A woman approached from the edge of the clearing carrying a small basket of bloodied bandages and medicine bottles.
Her skin carried a warm, sun-kissed glow, and her dark brown hair flowed freely behind her. There was a grounded strength in her presence. Calm and nurturing.
She was Miriam Elanoir. An earthen magis. And the mother of the little girl.
"Of course there are," Eomer replied with a soft grin.
Setting Ayumu down gently, he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around his wife's waist, pulling her close before showering her with just as many kisses. The tall, slender man stood beside the voluptuous woman, utterly captivated by her presence. His affection for her plain for all to see.
Ayumu watched, giggling once more at the sight of her parents.
The three of them lived deep within the forest, far removed from the capital of Rohem. Their home was a modest cottage, neither grand nor poor, nestled within a wide clearing.
A lush garden stretched before it and soft grass blanketed the land, while towering trees enclosed the area like a silent barrier. It was hidden, protected. An ideal place to remain unseen.
A place where they could live in peace.
Miriam, as an earthen magis, possessed the knowledge of the land itself—how to cultivate, to grow, to sustain. Under her care, the soil flourished, providing all they needed for her and her little one to survive.
Eomer, however, did not live with them.
He resided alone in the capital and to the public, he is assumed to be unmarried. Only a select few magis, those he trusted with his life, knew the truth that his wife and child were hidden deep within the forest.
It was not secrecy born of shame, but of necessity.
After the death of Theana, the great White Magis who had transformed Epsos into what it was today, rumors spread like wildfire across kingdoms and empires alike.
That White Magis could do more than mend wounds or cure ailments. They could extend life itself.
And more than that, the world had witnessed how a single White Magis reshaped an entire nation.
From that moment onward, they were no longer seen as mere magis, they became prizes to get a hold of.
Targets.
White Magis were hunted, captured, and traded between nations like living relics. Wars were waged not for land nor gold, but for the possession of a single individual.
Conflicts that should never have existed began to rise, all for the sake of claiming a White Magis.
Eomer knew this truth all too well.
His parents had been among the last remaining White Magis in the capital after Theana's passing. They had taken her place, bearing the burden she left behind, guiding the empire while waiting for Eomer to come of age.
But that burden came with a cost. They were hunted. Again and again.
In the end, both of them perished. Each in separate attempts of abduction and war.
They forfeited their lives all to ensure that Eomer would survive. Just like how his Aunt did.
He lived on, becoming the Royal Advisor to Emperor Lennix. But his heart grows heavy as people sacrificed their lives for him.
On the other hand, the emperor now whispered to be slipping into senility.
Lennix ruled by pride.
He forbade the loss of any White Magis within his empire. It was not out of compassion, nor reverence, but because he could not bear the thought of weakness.
To him, losing a White Magis meant exposing vulnerability and a stain upon his rule. And that, he could never accept.
Thus, he demanded more White Magis to be sent from Graitan to Rord.
Yet, only a few more were sent to Rord as White Magis were exceedingly rare.
They had always been so.
Across the tribes of Graitan, it had long been a mystery why their numbers never grew. No matter the era, no matter the need… they remained few, as though the world itself refused to allow their existence in abundance.
In stark contrast, the Emperor had fathered many children.
Too many.
What should have been a symbol of strength became the seed of decay.
As Lennix aged, his body weakening and his mind beginning to fracture, the imperial court grew restless.
And within the palace walls, his children began to scheme.
Whispers turned to plots. Trying to eliminate one another as all eyes turned toward the throne.
Among the Emperor's many children, there was one who was often made a victim which is the youngest of the 19 siblings, born to the twelfth concubine.
A boy forgotten by power, yet never spared from its cruelty.
It was Eomer who had brought him away from Rord, after he was gravely injured. Urgently needing Miriam's aid to save his life and this is not the first time he went through this.
Now, he lay within the cottage, resting upon a modest guest bed.
The bloodied bandages in the basket Miriam carried belonged to him. Their deep crimson stains told of wounds were far from shallow.
Ayumu's eyes fell upon the bandages in the basket her mother put on the ground, and she knew.
Without a word, she turned and hurried toward the house. Before entering, she quickly washed her feet and rubbed them dry upon the doormat. Then, with small hurried steps, she made her way inside and straight to the guest room.
There, upon the bed, lay Visil Depraysie.
Thick bandages wrapped around his right shoulder and across his torso. The scent of medicine lingered heavily in the air. The wound must be far more severe than it appeared.
Ayumu quietly approached and sat on the floor beside the bed, her small hands resting on the side of the bed. Her light blue eyes were filled with worry, yet she remained silent, careful not to disturb his rest.
But Visil stirred as a faint floral scent reached his nose.
Soft, gentle and familiar. The smell of flowers always clung to Ayumu. Maybe its because she places flowers in her hair every time.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned his gaze towards the girl.
With a hoarse voice, he spoke,
"…Hello, little sister." A faint smile formed on his lips.
Though they dont share the same blood, Visil had long come to see Ayumu as the younger sister he never had. In this hidden place, under Eomer and Miriam's care, he had found something the palace had never given him-
Warmth.
Ayumu's eyes softened, though sadness lingered within them.
"Brother… it must hurt," she said quietly. "Do you want anything? I can make you some berry juice. It's very yummy."
Visil let out a weak breath, the hint of a chuckle escaping him.
"It does sound yummy… but I don't think I can eat or drink anything just yet," he replied gently. "Maybe later, alright?"
"…Okay."
Her voice dimmed, a small trace of disappointment slipping through. It pained her to see him like this.
Sensing it, Visil spoke again, his tone soft.
"What did you do today?"
A simple question, yet enough to shift her expression.
Ayumu's face brightened ever so slightly as she began to speak, recounting her day. She told him about the medicines she had been making—for stomach aches, sore throats, and fevers. Its to be sold in the market, not that she needed money. But to help the people who are less fortunate to have access to medicine.
And she continued talking about the mischievous little fox that refused to leave her alone, constantly interrupting her work.
Visil listened quietly, a gentle smile resting on his face.
Her voice was soothing, like a quiet balm against pain.
Perhaps it was simply her nature as she was a White Magis.
Must be something inherent in every white magis. Whatever they do carries the essence of healing.