It was just another day in the Emerald Palace.
Ozu stood straight and rigid against the massive doors of the Grand Council Hall. His armor, forged from pure emerald, reflected the light flooding the chamber in cold green flashes. Each gleam seemed to herald the imminent arrival of his lord and the guests who had been urgently summoned.
The hall stretched endlessly around him. Towering columns supported the vaulted ceiling, adorned with mosaics that told the history of Fantasia—from the arrival of the Wizard to the marriages that brought order to the Seven Kingdoms.
It was a place that inspired reverence toward its ruler.
The Great Wizard Oz.
That afternoon, all guards had been ordered to withdraw, but Ozu was far too stubborn to abandon his post.
"My lord ordered me to remain here," Ozu repeated to himself like a mantra. "My duty is to obey and protect the palace and its ruler."
It had always been that way. Always loyal. Always faithful.
From the day his training ended— from the moment the benevolent smile of the Good Witch singled him out among hundreds, chosen in the name of a god made flesh—Ozu swore absolute loyalty. He knew no doubt. He knew no fear. If his lord commanded him to wait in hell itself, he would do so without hesitation.
Even now.
His focus shattered when a thunderous crash shook the hall.
A brutal slam against the round table of emerald tiles echoed like thunder.
"What the hell did you do, Oz?"
The voice belonged to one of the princes—a young man with golden hair, emerald-green eyes, and a proud bearing. His fist still trembled against the table's surface.
"Calm yourself," replied a deep, grave, amplified voice from above. "Everything has already been resolved."
At the pinnacle of the hall, dominating all, floated a gigantic head formed of green tiles—the Great Wizard of Oz, absolute ruler of Fantasia… and Ozu's master.
"Calm?" interrupted another prince, dark-skinned, with a perfectly trimmed mustache and black hair tied into a ponytail. "Do you realize what would happen if this spreads through Fantasia?"
"It will not spread," Oz replied coldly. "This will not leave this palace. I have already taken care of it."
"What are you talking about?" asked a third prince, red-haired, with long wild hair falling messily and partially covering his honey-colored eyes.
Oz's head exhaled a breath of greenish smoke before continuing.
"The girl was returned to her kingdom, beyond the mirror. As a farewell… she left us this."
A sharp snap.
A small explosion of black smoke formed above the table, and when it dissipated, it dropped an unmistakable object.
A pointed, worn black hat.
The Wicked Witch's hat.
Absolute silence followed.
"She… is she really…?" murmured another prince, with white hair, dark skin, and eyes as deep as an abyss.
"That is correct," Oz affirmed. "The cursed one has finally been eliminated. There is nothing to fear. No one knows."
"Except that you're a damned fraud."
The voice did not belong to anyone present.
It echoed from above.
Everyone looked up at once.
Hanging upside down from the ceiling by an almost invisible rope was a human figure.
"She is—" began the final prince, with brown hair tied in a bun and a perpetually bored expression.
The intruder wore a worn red cloak. Her face was concealed behind a white mask, adorned with a crimson rose painted at its center.
"Who are you?" Oz demanded, his tone mixing surprise and fury.
There was no answer.
The roar of the doors breaking the silence shook the hall.
Ozu did not hesitate.
He charged forward, drawing his emerald sword in a single motion. His body reacted before his mind. The cloaked figure released the rope and dropped directly onto the round table, making it tremble.
Ozu's first strike was fast and precise.
The young woman dodged with an agile roll, landing on the opposite side of the table. The second strike came immediately—stronger—but she leapt again, putting distance between them with ease that belied her build.
Emerald steel cut through the air.
No one spoke.
All eyes ignored the fight and locked onto Oz.
The great head began to exhale more smoke. More and more. Until, with a furious roar, it released a thick cloud of green gas that spread throughout the hall.
The princes, as if expecting it, pulled masks hidden beneath the table and donned them without hesitation.
Ozu did not.
The knight continued his assault.
The young woman began to lose ground. She dodged, rolled, and leapt, but Ozu's relentless pace forced her backward. One misstep. A slip against the table's edge.
The blade struck true.
Steel cut through cloth and flesh, revealing a slender abdomen stained with blood.
She collapsed to the floor.
Ozu pointed his sword at her.
"Surrender in the name of our god, the Great Wizard."
"The great fraud, you mean," she replied, struggling to rise.
"That is blasphemy."
"The only blasphemy is worshipping a mortal without magical blood and allowing him to trample Fantasia without punishment."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"You're the one who knows nothing."
She lunged at him.
Ozu had toyed with the intruder long enough. He released his sword, letting it fall with a dull metallic clang that made her flinch, and opened his arms, ready to seize her at that precise moment—when—
A yawn escaped his mouth.
His vision blurred.
To the guard's misfortune, the gas had taken effect—and only on him.
None of the princes moved, watching the spectacle with arrogant detachment.
Using Ozu's drowsy body as leverage, the young woman propelled herself upward, grabbing her escape rope. Before vanishing into the night, she turned toward those present and shouted:
"That thing you call a god is nothing more than a ruthless murderer! And the proof will be released!"
Oz could only feel the veins on his forehead throb as the princes offered arrogant smiles toward their humiliated sovereign.
Ozu fell to his knees, gradually losing consciousness. His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling—the last thing he saw was that emerald-tiled face staring down at him like a punishing god.