Why does living feel so difficult… when all you can do is look straight ahead?
A question without a definite answer.
---
Upon the stage of a modest concert hall stood a grand, asymmetrical pipe organ—magnificent and awe-inspiring.
The deep, resonant notes it produced filled the space with a majestic and overwhelming melody, as though the sound itself sought to burst free from the confines of the hall.
In the empty hall, a fantasia echoed—played by that renowned instrument.
The organ, massive and commanding, contrasted sharply with its performer, a small and delicate girl.
She appeared barely more than a child.
Her hair was pure white, her dress matching its hue. Her porcelain skin seemed lifelessly pale, and the long satin gloves she wore gleamed faintly as they reached up to her arms.
Only her eyes broke the monotony of white—one a deep gold, the other a vivid crimson—glowing faintly in the dim light.
Her slender fingers danced across the keys, and she was utterly absorbed in her performance.
Childlike innocence and refined mastery.
Luxury and solemnity.
The music she played balanced contradictions—melding them into something transcendent, something beautiful.
Not a single seat in the audience was filled.
Yet, she continued, lost in the act of creation, playing until the last note.
Her small frame remained still, her expression serene, unbroken even as the performance reached its end.
Then she closed her eyes, letting the final vibrations of her melody linger in silence.
At that moment—a soft, deliberate applause came from above.
Startled, she flinched. Someone had entered unnoticed, without even the faintest trace of presence.
She turned swiftly, gaze snapping toward the balcony. Her voice, sweet yet refined, carried across the hall:
"Who are you? Don't you know it's rude to spy on a lady?"
"I wouldn't be so inconsiderate as to interrupt your performance," replied a calm voice from the shadows.
His tone was peculiar—soft like a whisper, yet perfectly clear. Intrigued, for she had never performed before anyone but her sisters and her foster mother, she asked:
"In that case, may I hear your thoughts?"
"Your performance was as magnificent as always…"
As always?
Her face flushed. Was it embarrassment from being unknowingly watched so often, or from such unreserved praise? She couldn't tell.
The man stepped forward into the light, his appearance finally revealed—a handsome young man, likely in his early twenties.
Despite his youth, his expression carried the heaviness of one who had lived through much. His golden hair and sharp eyes reflected both intellect and sorrow. The fitted three-piece suit he wore complemented his dignified demeanor perfectly.
Handsome, she thought first.
Powerful, was the next word that stirred within her.
"May I know your name, my lady?" he asked politely.
"My name is Me— no, Edea."
She wasn't lying, but she wasn't being fully honest either. A stranger, no matter how charming, didn't deserve her true name.
He smiled faintly and spoke in his smooth, crystal-clear voice:
"I see. Then, Edea, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is… Jupiter."
That day marked the first meeting between the Witch of Time and the man who would one day become Jupiter Luxuria, the first King of Lustburg—the Conqueror King.
---
[FORTY YEARS LATER]
"So… it has come to this."
Edea stood in what had once been her sanctuary—now transformed into a gilded prison.
"Indeed," came a familiar voice. "I am sorry, Edea. Or should I call you Medea?"
A trembling smile crossed her youthful face as she looked at the man beyond the barrier. His golden hair still glowed faintly, radiating that same regal aura.
"How long has it been? We've come so far—from a mere noble beneath elven rule to the king of one of the Seven Nations. Everything I have, everything I am… it's because of you."
"…And yet, you still choose to betray me."
"Indeed, I do."
"Why?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Did I not fight for you? Bleed for you? What of our promise?"
"Promise? Hah!" he laughed coldly. "Oh, my dear goddess. Were you truly that naïve? Did you really believe our relationship could stay pure? Why should I torment myself with a woman I can't even touch?"
His words cut deeper than any blade. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she trembled.
"I would give up everything for you. I defied my mother, my sisters—all for you! If it's desire you crave, I wouldn't stop you. Take as many women as you wish… just don't leave me. Please, don't abandon me…"
Her voice broke into sobs. She collapsed, crying uncontrollably, begging through hiccupped breaths.
But before her desperate pleas—
"Pathetic."
Jupiter's voice was colder than stone.
"I'm sorry, but you're in my way. My goal is conquest—that is who I am. You can give up everything for me, but I will never do the same. Your light outshines mine, and the people doubt my strength. You must disappear."
His words silenced her completely. She stared at him, stunned.
"…Because of that? Because I shine brighter?"
The light faded from her eyes. She finally saw the truth.
"Heh… haha… Hahaha! I was a fool. So stupid, so naïve…"
He turned away, indifferent to her laughter.
"The door will not open for two hundred years. By then, I'll have conquered the other six nations. Wait patiently—I'll return once I've achieved my dream."
The door closed behind him. Edea's laughter echoed in the empty hall—hollow, broken, filled with self-mockery and despair.
She laughed at her foolish heart.
At her blind devotion.
And at the man whose greed blinded him to reality.
From one perspective, Jupiter was right—her power, her identity as the daughter of the First Witch, had been the cornerstone of his rise. Without her, his empire would crumble in time.
"I'm sorry, Mother," she murmured through fading laughter. "I was so naïve…"
Then, as if the air itself parted, a pair of gentle arms wrapped around her from behind—holding her close.
"Do not worry, my child," a tender voice whispered. "You have nothing to apologize for. Every child must make their own choices—and bear their consequences. But no matter what, I will always be with you."
---
Fifteen years later, Jupiter Luxuria, the Conqueror King, fell on the battlefield against the Republic of Wratharis, home of the beastkin.
His ten-year-old son, Pluto, ascended the throne—ushering in an age of peace.
He would one day be remembered as the Peaceful King.
(End of Volume 1: The Witch)