Night.
The moon hung high above, its silver glow pouring softly onto the quiet balcony.
Stacia stood still, letting the moonlight gently grace her face.
The wind whispered against her skin, brushing past the hem of her robe as she looked up, eyes calm yet distant.
"They say heroes in the making… always leave behind something unforgettable," she murmured. "Stories that carve their names across generations—etched not just in history, but in the hearts of those who witness them."
Her voice was soft, barely above a breath. But each word was heavy with meaning.
"To think I'd be experiencing that very legend in real life… maybe the goddess has truly shown favor upon Del Luna."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she closed her eyes.
She'd always believed she was meant to be something more.
That her strength, her fire, her noble blood—were all meant to shape her path into greatness.
But now?
