"It's been thirteen years since you sealed away Hel, Boris…" The elder's voice carried through the golden study with words heavy like lead. "And yet, you hate my granddaughter for being a Kaizamei?"
The room was large and filled with trophies of Rozenheart triumphs; shelves of magical grimoires, and a large tapestry of Yggdrasil hanging behind the fireplace.
At its center, seated in a high-backed chair of black oak, was Geralt Rozenheart, the former head of the family.
His age had taken the color from his beard and dulled his once-golden eyes, but not the steel behind them.
Across from him, Boris Rozenheart stood, arms crossed and his brow showing frustration. Even in the presence of his father, his jaw clenched like he was bracing for battle.
"You weren't there, Father. You didn't see what I saw when I faced her."
Geralt leaned forward, pouring himself tea with a steady hand. "Then help me understand. Enlighten me. Why would you curse your own bloodline just to rid the world of Hel?"
Boris looked toward the ground with a low voice.
"It wasn't a choice. Hel couldn't be killed, not then, and not with the magic we had. Her body could be destroyed, but not her soul... not her nucleus. She needed a vessel. One with enough resistance to hold her. And enough... emptiness to trap her."
Geralt's hand paused mid-air.
"You chose Elizabeth."
"I didn't choose her!" Boris snapped. "She was the only one. She was born manaless. That made her the perfect prison. The Antimana in her... it was like a void. A space that even Hel couldn't escape from!"
"She's a child." Geralt said sternly. "Your child! She doesn't even speak about it."
"And she's still alive because of it!" Boris's voice rose, shaking his fist. "Do you think the other families would've shown her mercy if they knew what was inside her?! If the world had known the Queen of Death existed in the Rozenheart line, inside a girl who can't even cast a spell?! They would've burned us down. She had to carry that burden. It was the only way."
Geralt set his cup down with a quiet clink.
"You call it a burden. But Elizabeth doesn't even know that this thing inside of her is Hel."
Boris didn't answer.
"You didn't tell her, did you?"
Silence lingered like a hanging blade.
"I spared her the knowledge." Boris said at last. "She already believes she's a disgrace. What would it do to her if she knew she was cursed with the literal Queen of Death, Father?"
Geralt exhaled through his nose before he stood up, walking slowly across the room until he stood beside his son.
"She's not cursed, Boris. She's strong. Stronger than you give her credit for."
Boris's expression twisted.
"She's a Kaizamei, Father. Her presence devours magic. She's already ruining our family name, our prestige. She can't wield mana, can't contribute to the legacy we've built over generations."
Geralt turned to him with a firm voice.
"And yet she lives. With Hel's essence burning in her chest, she walks freely, smiles, loves, endures ridicule, and still holds her head up. That's more than I can say for most mages who crumble under far less."
Boris looked away before Geralt continued.
"You sealed Hel inside her, yes. But that doesn't make Elizabeth a monster. It makes her a survivor. The fact that she hasn't succumbed to Hel's influence proves it. That Alufray has enough power to take over anyone else, but Elizabeth is different."
Boris ran a hand through his beard as the weight of the past settled on his shoulders like a cloak of iron.
"She was never supposed to be the vessel..." He muttered. "I was going to offer myself... but Augbren stopped me. She was terrified I'd lose control. That Hel would take me. She begged me not to do it."
"So you put your daughter in your place."
Boris furrowed his brows.
"Yes. Her Antimana was the key to stopping her."
Geralt narrowed his gaze.
"You were a fool to hide this from her. The day she finds out—and she will—you'll lose more than just her respect. You'll lose her forever."
"Then let her hate me..." Boris said grimly. "So long as she lives."
Geralt gave a disappointed shake of his head. Then slowly, he turned back to his seat.
"She's stronger than we ever were. She'll surpass us, with or without magic."
Boris scoffed under his breath.
"How can you be so sure?"
Geralt smirked faintly.
"Because, son… that girl has survived Hel, pain, humiliation, and suffering, and still knows how to laugh."
Boris didn't like to admit it, but Geralt's words cut deep—deeper than any blade forged from magic or steel.
There had been a time when he would have died to protect Elizabeth. But that time felt far away now and was drowned in expectations, tradition, and the crushing burden of legacy.
"I did what I had to…" Boris muttered.
Geralt returned to his chair, watching his son with mild disappointment.
"No." He said calmly, "You did what you thought would save our name. But it was never about the name. It was about fear. And fear, Boris, is what leads even the wisest mages to ruin."
Outside the study window, the bells of the High Cathedral tolled the hour.
A long pause passed before Geralt's voice softened, just slightly.
"She looks like your mother, you know."
Boris's head turned.
"Elizabeth?"
The elder Rozenheart smiled faintly.
"The same quiet stubbornness. That fire in her eyes even when she's on the verge of tears. She reminds me so much of Seraphine."
Boris swallowed hard; he hadn't heard his mother's name spoken aloud in years.
"She would have fought to protect Elizabeth…" Geralt said. "Not because of power. But because she was family."
"Elizabeth asked me if she was broken." Boris admitted. "A year ago. When she failed the Mage's Rite again. She looked up at me, tears in her eyes, and asked if something was wrong with her."
Geralt looked down at his tea, untouched.
"I didn't know what to say." Boris proclaimed. "I just… walked away."
The confession hung heavy in the air.
"She's your daughter, Boris." Geralt said. "Not your shame. And if you truly care about her… then one day, you must come to accept her."
"I can't."
"Then hope she's merciful when she grows up."
From those words, Boris turned to the door.
"I should go. The council meets at dusk."
Geralt didn't stop him, but just as Boris reached the door, Geralt spoke again; this time without looking up.
"She dreams of becoming a Monk, you know."
Boris froze.
Geralt's voice was quieter now, and almost warm.
"She comes to visit me time to time and reads the old scrolls in secret. Elizabeth trains her body in silence when everyone's asleep. There's a strength in her that doesn't come from spells or magic. It comes from pain. And it comes from will."
Boris stood still.
"And one day… that will might be the only thing standing between Hel's return and this world."
+
Somewhere deep in the night, Elizabeth sat beneath one of the old blueleaf trees in the Rozenheart garden.
The moonlight painted her skin silver while her white hair sat loosely over her shoulder.
She stared at her hand, holding it up to the stars before closing her fingers into a fist and lowering it slowly.
"I'll prove it…" She muttered. "Even if I wasn't born like the others... I'll prove I'm meant to be here."
Behind her, the wind shifted as the leaves rustled unnaturally, and deep inside of her, something ancient came forth.
It was a voice, cold and velvet-like, echoing through the air; only loud enough for one soul to hear.
"You think you belong here? How amusing. Everyone despises you, Elizabeth, can't you see that? You're not meant to belong."
Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat.
She instantly knew who this voice was. It was Hel, to whom she called her alter ego; completely unaware of their true origins.
"It's you again… the voice in my head! Leave me alone!"
"Why fight me?" The voice cooed again. "You cry alone in silence. You break your hands trying to build a future that was never meant for you. And for what? So they can keep laughing behind your back?"
"No!" Elizabeth shouted.
Her words rang across the garden, echoing faintly off the marble columns.
She turned to look around, expecting to see someone watching, but there was no one. Just her and that presence curled in the pit of her nucleus like a snake.
"I don't care what they say about me." She muttered with trembling fists at her sides. "I'm going to prove them wrong. All of them. Even if I have to crawl every step of the way."
"Such conviction… such pain." The voice chuckled. "You should let me help you. I can give you strength. I can make them kneel before you."
"I don't want their fear!"
"Then what do you want, child?"
Elizabeth swallowed hard as her eyes were watery again, but she didn't let the tears fall.
"I-I just want to be seen by everyone…"
"Ah… I see. You don't want power. You just want to be known. Not as a failure. Not as the girl who can't cast a single spell. You just want them to see you for who you are."
Elizabeth lowered her eyes.
"Yes."
The voice was quiet for a time, but then—
"You and I… we are not so different."
"No." Elizabeth said sharply, standing up. "You're not real! You're just something in my head, something wrong with me!"
"And yet, here we are. Still talking. Still bound."
The moonlight dimmed, like the clouds above had shifted.
Elizabeth clutched at her chest where the strange feeling throbbed; an old, dense pressure like a second heartbeat.
"One day, they will fear you." The voice whispered. "And on that day, when you finally break... I will be waiting."
And just like that—the presence receded.
Elizabeth gasped like something had been uncoiled from her lungs, stumbling to her knees and clutching the grass with shaking fingers.
She was exhausted.
She sat there for a long while, just breathing and letting the wind soothe her.
"…I'm not going to become like you!" She shouted. "No matter what I have to go through! I won't make everyone fear me and gain attention with an iron fist!"
She stood up again and wiped her eyes.
Then, from the edge of the garden, a voice broke the silence.
"Elizabeth…?"
She turned, surprised.
It was her mother, Augbren Rozenheart, standing beneath a small archway. Dressed in a simple white robe with her long hair tied behind her, she looked almost ghostly in the pale moonlight.
"I heard shouting…" Augbren walked closer, concern painted on her face.
"I'm sorry." Elizabeth said quickly, straightening herself. "I didn't mean to wake anyone."
Augbren simply stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her daughter.
"You don't have to say anything, sweetheart." She whispered, holding her gently. "I know the world is heavier for you."
Elizabeth didn't resist and rested her head against her mother's chest, swallowing a lump in her throat.
"Am I cursed, Mother?"
Augbren froze for a moment before pulling back just enough to hold her daughter's face in her hands.
"You are not cursed." She said firmly. "You are Elizabeth Rozenheart. You are my daughter. And nothing in this world, not magic, not bloodlines, not even the Elohim, can take that from you."
Elizabeth blinked with wide eyes before Augbren kissed her forehead and smiled.
"You're going to do something incredible one day. And when you do… they'll finally see you, Elizabeth."
Elizabeth nodded.
In her heart, she didn't fully believe it yet, but it was clear enough that she wanted to.