"Sister Anna, thank you so much."
"Your medical skills are truly miraculous!"
"We're so grateful..."
Voices of gratitude rang from the crowd.
On the streets of Saint Petersburg, the crimson hues of sunset fell like shadows, dyeing the former capital of the Tsarist Empire in warm light.
Clad in heavy black-and-white nun's robes that completely concealed her figure and face, a girl—discernible only by the outline of her silhouette—smiled and gently shook her head in response to the thanks directed at her.
To her, it was a trivial matter, hardly worth mentioning. Yet the people continued to express their gratitude, their eyes filled with reverence and awe.
To them, the veiled girl was no less than a living saint—
With a wave of her hand and a few gentle words, she could heal ailments that had plagued their lives. To the common folk, this was the work of a legend.
Half-hidden beneath her hood, her pale blue eyes narrowed slightly, as if basking in quiet joy.
Helping others… brings peace of mind, she thought.
Though it was tiring, the sense of fulfillment warmed her deeply. Only after tending to the last patient did the girl finally rise with her medicine box in hand.
The sunset deepened. Shadows blurred the city's evening glow. She stretched her petite form, brushing aside a silvery strand of hair that had fallen over her forehead.
Casting a glance to ensure no one was nearby, she gently raised her hand.
From nothing, a small shadow materialized in her palm—a snowstorm sprite woven from straw in the style of the Tsarist Empire. It chirped and squeaked cheerfully.
Watching the sprightly creature dance, the girl couldn't help but smile.
"Still as lively as ever... Miss Sprite."
Though a spirit of nature held no consciousness or gender, she felt it must be female—like herself.
Cradling the sprite, she sighed softly. "Come to think of it... it's almost been a year, hasn't it?"
She turned, her shadow stretching long behind her, seemingly merging with the distant palace complexes.
She knew all too well what those palaces were.
They were the imperial residences in Saint Petersburg—
Once her home.
But not anymore.
Anastasia thought quietly.
Saint Petersburg had long been the true capital of the empire—from 1712 until the twilight of the Tsar's reign. Even during Nicholas II's final years, when the court settled in the Kremlin of Moscow due to Lucan's influence, Saint Petersburg remained vibrant and unshaken in its prestige.
Even now, it was still a flourishing city. With its access to the Baltic Sea, it would never be forgotten by history. But it was no longer the capital.
Now, the capital was Moscow.
The heart of a nation ruled by the Bolsheviks, no longer ruled by emperors. The place where revolution had first flared.
Only a year had passed, yet the world had changed so drastically.
Only a year—and she already missed that man so deeply.
But she exhaled softly and held back her longing.
His Eminence must still be busy…
Though she couldn't offer him much help,
She had to stay strong!
The girl in the nun's robe dismissed the snow sprite and walked down the street with her medicine box in hand.
Her steps were light, her robes fluttering as she moved. Crowds passed by, unaware of her presence, and she paid them no heed either. Her destination was a modest home nestled within the heart of Saint Petersburg.
There lived her current family—no longer Empress or Imperial Princesses.
They had arrived at the end of last year, just before the Empire's collapse. Following the plan laid out by Lucan and Nicholas II, they came not to the palace, but to live among the common people.
—Her younger brother Alexei had been sent abroad early on.
As a prince, his departure was necessary to sever all ties with the fallen Empire.
At first, the princesses found it hard to adapt. Without servants, without attendants, their lives felt bare.
But gradually, they adjusted.
When news of Nicholas II's death arrived,
Alexandra, no longer an Empress, did not cry. She silently assumed the role of head of the household.
The once-pampered princesses stopped complaining.
Yes, the three older princesses—Anastasia, the youngest, was different from the start. She adapted to common life earliest, wandered the streets earliest, even before the Tsar's death. She resolved not to be a burden on His Eminence.
Over the year, with the help of spirits, she learned miraculous healing arts. Through their eyes, she saw the suffering of the world.
This world was not the romantic fantasy found in novels.
It was filled with ugliness—
So many places steeped in pain and despair.
But Anastasia never felt repulsed.
She knew His Eminence came from such a place. She protected herself well and embraced it naturally.
She was no longer a princess.
Now, even if someone glimpsed her true face beneath the nun's veil, they would never imagine she was once a daughter of the Empire.
This, too, was a miracle of His Eminence.
And Anastasia accepted it with peace—
"If His Eminence could see me now… he'd probably be shocked, wouldn't he?"
Turning the corner, she couldn't help but think.
She had grown so much. She couldn't wait to see him again.
She missed him deeply.
Every night, she stayed up writing letters, pouring out her heart—
Yet never mailed them, afraid to disturb him.
Still, she missed him.
Every day. Every night. Every passing moment.
"Huh?"
Caught in her thoughts, she suddenly bumped into a warm chest. Startled, she looked up.
With the protection of her spirit, such an accident should've been impossible—unless the one she collided with was the person she longed for most.
Unless—
"Your Eminence?"
Anastasia gasped with surprise and delight.
Sure enough—beneath the last rays of sunset, under the starlit sky, the tall young priest looked down at the girl in his arms and smiled.
He said, "Still as clumsy as ever, Princess."
"I'm not clumsy," Anastasia huffed, though her lips curled into a radiant smile.
Just as she had all those years ago, she said—
"I did it on purpose."
This was the reunion she had dreamed of.
"I've come to take you home, Princess."
Lucan understood.
Their eyes met, and he gently pulled her close.
...
[You met Anastasia, hidden in Saint Petersburg]
[You chose her place of residence—you always knew where she was]
[Disguised as a nun, she bumped clumsily into your arms, yet seemed to have grown much. You saw it in her eyes]
[You embraced her. In this moment, the world seemed to contain only the two of you]
[You told her—you had come for her]
[The Empire has fallen. Nicholas II is dead. But its legacy lives on in its princess—Anastasia]
[You will take her away from this country]
[To the Far East]