――Standing on the hill, the man gazed into the distant horizon.

　Time had passed since the sun had set, and the cold village, lacking in light sources, was unable to contend with the night.

　Moreover, with many men injured and fewer torches than usual, the sight of the man standing in the darkness appeared very strange to the girl.

　The rural hometown that had suffered great damage from wild bandits raiding neighboring villages had lost livestock and food, and many men had been hurt.

　Still, the village’s survival was a stroke of good fortune, and the figure standing on the hill could also be considered part of that luck.

　When the bandits attacked the village, the men who resisted were wounded or killed, and women and children were captured one after another.

　The girl, on the verge of being sold or meeting a worse fate, was then saved by soldiers dispatched from the capital, including the man on the hill.

　They surrounded the bandits in no time, annihilating them without almost any resistance.

　After that, they stationed themselves near the village under the guise of providing assistance for protection and reconstruction, promptly setting up measures that made the village sturdier than before it was attacked by the bandits.

　Once the men healed, the village would be safe for a while.

　The girl busily ran around, just like the adult women, tending to the injured, delivering meals to the soldiers, and looking after the village children.

　She spotted the man on the hill while heading home after all those tasks were done.

“――――”

　Silently, the man’s figure was almost comical as he strained to see into the dark night.

　Straining his eyes to peer into the darkness where nothing could be seen was the epitome of a meaningless act. An action that doesn’t yield results holds no value; that is the harsh reality of the Empire.

　However, to the girl’s eyes, the man did not seem ridiculous.

　He intently stared into the distance, as if trying to ascertain something invisible to others.

　What on earth was he trying to see? This thought filled her with unending curiosity.

“Wouldn’t counting the stars in the sky be more calming than staring into the pitch-black darkness?”

　Before she knew it, she had called out to the man’s back.

　The man turned around, a hint of surprise reflected in his eyes, and it made her feel oddly proud.

　――That was the beginning of a long, long tale, the fairy tale of the girl and the king.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　△▼△▼△▼△

　――Their reunion was unexpected.

　Perhaps it was fate’s prank or an incredible twist of fate.

　In the Volakia Empire, which was exposed to unprecedented dangers, the entirety of the “Great Calamity,” which nearly everyone became aware of at once.

　The procession of the dead, who had arisen as the undead, sent all living beings spiraling into chaos.

　However, amidst the inevitable plunge into turmoil, there were those who crawled back up.

　Regardless of physical strength, there were those who rose as mental strongholds—individuals seen as heroes and remarkable figures in the eyes of ordinary mortals. Often, these strong individuals were physically strong as well, and their actions significantly influenced the fate of the Imperial Capital.

　The “Great Calamity,” which struck a severe surprise attack on the living, concluded with results that greatly fell short of the simple expectations of the damage inflicted.

　However, while it did signify the efforts of the living, it did not mean the best possible outcome.

　This was because it gave rise to a situation where what should have been rightfully counted among extraordinary figures was devoured by the initial ambush more swiftly than they could crawl back up from the first chaos.

“――Hmm”

　A soft breath escaped her lips as she slowly awakened to consciousness.

　Her long eyelashes trembled, and as her eyelids, like a sun afraid of dawn, slowly opened to reveal the world, she blinked once, twice, and in an instant, her ephemeral dream shattered, and her consciousness firmly grasped reality.

“――!”

　In a hurry, she propped herself up, only to find herself in an unfamiliar place.

　The high-ceilinged room, with first-class materials and craftsmanship in its walls and floors, was adorned with fine furnishings befitting a noble atmosphere.

　Amidst the spacious room, the fact that she was lying on a soft bed only reinforced her understanding, but that very fact was strange.

　It was entirely unnatural when compared to her recent memories.

“I was in the battle of the Imperial City…”

　She reflected on her situation.

　Suddenly, vivid memories surged back of a world stained red with both heaven and earth, where she frantically tried to soothe a crying child alongside a girl she had miraculously reunited with.

　It had truly been a situation that had her burning with frustration, but that attempt had to have been a success.

　Yet here she was. It was far too puzzling—

“――Where’s my kimono?”

　She realized only as far as her hand on her chest felt unfamiliar.

　When she looked down at her body on the bed, instead of her customary kimono, she was draped in a luxurious blue dress made from high-quality fabric.

　Her gathered hair had been let down, and her hair ornaments and earrings had apparently been taken off.

　Those items were irreplaceable to her, and it was unthinkable that they had been discarded while she was unconscious—

“――Have you awakened, my star?”

　Just as she was about to leave the bed and search for her lost ornaments, that voice rang out.

“――Ah!”

　The unexpectedly piercing voice stole away all activity in her brain.

　It came from the entrance of the room, and there were elegant and dazzling furnishings laid out along the way that would have captured anyone’s gaze. Yet none of it entered her vision.

　It was as if her ears had been stolen, and her heart was abducted, her consciousness drawn over there.

　For her—that was something unavoidable for Yorna Mishigure.

“――――”

　With wide-open eyes, Yorna on the bed fixated on the figure standing at the entrance.

　There stood a small figure. The height was considerably lower than Yorna, who was tall for a woman, and it bore the slimness of a child, but the face was that of a sharply defined, remarkable man.

　His dark green hair reached his shoulders, and his unhealthy-looking eyes hinted at displeasure, vividly reflecting his character of keeping people at bay.

　However, Yorna knew that people only feared him; he did not drive them away. In fact, he had not distanced himself from her either.

　Even before that final moment, he had genuinely refused to distance himself.

　So, Yorna knew that was why she stood there today.

　She knew because—

“…Is that you, My Lord?”

“You speak in a strange manner. But I shall allow it, regarding all that concerns your soul.”

　The small man replied brusquely to Yorna, who was filled with disbelief.

　His cold, blunt tone held an emotion poised to burst, which starkly contrasted with the brief statement.

　It was an attachment that exceeded mere mortals, its origin rooted in love.

　The man before her loved Yorna Mishigure.

　That was a feeling so overwhelmingly clear that anyone else could understand it at first glance, let alone her.

　However, it was absolutely unlikely that anyone else would be present here.

　After all, this was—

“It has been nearly three hundred years since our last encounter. No one shall interrupt our reunion.”

“――――”

“Show your face well. No matter how your form may change, I wish to see your blink up close.”

　As the man slowly approached, Yorna’s heart trembled at his words.

　What sort of feeling this was, she was unsure. She naturally felt an impulse to rejoice at the impossible reunion and want to leap into his embrace.

　However, at the same time, there were three centuries’ worth of reasons not to do so. The most recent decades held the greatest significance in keeping Yorna from acting impulsively.

　Thus, Yorna quivered her lips, harboring conflicting emotions toward the approaching man—

“――Yugaldo Volakia, my Lord.”

　At her calling, the man’s feet stopped, and Yorna tightened her lips.

　If he were to halt at that calling, it was certainly not a case of mistaken identity. In fact, it would be improbable to mistake him for anyone else. Even if everyone else mistook him, Yorna would never misrecognize him.

　Only she—no, the soul that started with Iris could never mistake the “Thorned King” Yugaldo.

　――Iris and the Thorned King.

　That is a tale told since ancient times in this world and also known as a piece of historical literature.

　It told the story of the encounters and farewells between the girl named Iris and the Emperor of Volakia, known as the “Thorned King,” along with its tragic conclusion.

　The soul of Iris did not rise to the heavens but instead became bound to the land of the Empire, continuously undergoing reincarnation. This existence was Yorna Mishigure, and it was none other than the “Thorned King” Yugaldo Volakia who bound Iris’ soul to the land of the Empire.

　In other words, this was the story after the “Iris and the Thorned King,” which had not been told—

“What a beautiful story it should have been.”

　Gently shaking her head side to side, Yorna suppressed the impulse in her heart.

　Reuniting with Yugaldo after an unwelcome parting was undeniably a long-cherished desire for Yorna. In a sense, it could be said that this was a moment where that desire was fulfilled.

　However, it was different. The reunion Yorna had envisioned was not in this shape.

“I did not wish to see my Lord with such a face or eyes.”

　With a sad anger, Yorna gazed at the dear Emperor, who accepted her line of sight. His pale skin and golden eyes, too striking in their transformation, were far beyond what she knew from before.

　She did not understand precisely what had happened to him.

　Yet, she was sure that his current form was anything but normal and that it would not yield any good effects for herself or her beloved children.

　Having reawakened as an entirely remodeled person—if this unfamiliar place where she had awoken was truly a room in the Crystal Palace, the worst possibilities flitted through her mind.

　Something extraordinary must have occurred, and the nature of the Empire might have changed drastically.

“Lord, what on earth happened here…?”

　She had an endless list of questions she wished to pose.

　However—

“――My star.”

　Yorna’s inquiries were sealed by Yugaldo’s gesture of raising a single finger.

　It wasn’t that his gesture had the power to seal her mouth. Accompanying that gesture was a sharp pain tightening around Yorna’s heart that sealed her voice.

“Ugh…”

　Cut down by the sharp pain, a groan escaped her throat instead of a question.

　Reflexively clutching her chest, Yorna glanced down and saw details that had not been in her dress previously—gray thorns now adorned her.

　Those thorns spiraled at the center of her chest, piercing through her white skin and crawling inward.

　They stood like thorns in Yorna’s heart, seizing her with tremendous pain that engulfed her entire being. Moreover, when she attempted to touch it with her hand, Yorna’s fingers slipped right through, and she couldn’t grasp it.

　While her thoughts turned white with the pain, memories of Yugaldo’s epithet entered Yorna’s mind—the recurring theme of the Volakia Emperors was often their methods of governance and the great achievements they accomplished, yet Yugaldo was known as “The Thorned Emperor.”

　Literally, Yugaldo subdued others with thorns of pain.

　The planted, untouchable thorns served as a means by which Yugaldo subjugated the citizens of the Empire, expanding the imperial territories into their current forms through pain and fear.

　Tormented by the unbearable pain, Yorna gasped.

　And she recalled—within the battle that swept through the Imperial City, after bringing down Arakia, who cried and lashed out with Priscilla by her side, what folly she had committed.

　It was straightforward.

　Yorna had been entranced by Yugaldo’s sudden appearance and had been unable to avoid the entrapment of thorns. Then, with both bound Yorna and the unconscious Arakia in her arms, Priscilla ended up facing Yugaldo and the many golden-eyed beings following behind him—

“—Is Priscilla safe?”

　With a question born from the acute, sharp pain.

　Only a moan of suffering escaped her lips, but the yearning to ask something meaningful overcame the pain in her heart.

　Indeed, the pain inflicted upon her remained unshaken.

　Yugaldo would not loosen the bondage of the thorns. It was the same whether the recipient was Yorna or Iris. His actions were neither aimed at venting anger nor executing punishment.

　Planting thorns and binding others was as natural to Yugaldo as breathing.

　Just as one walks on two legs, Yugaldo tied others with thorns.

　The cries of those deeply pierced and the blood that flowed were mere means for him to connect with others.

　Thus, to be with him meant to be entwined with this pain.

　Recalling that with her very being, Yorna let a smile linger at the edges of her mouth, voicing that question.

“Those two who were with me at that place—are they safe?”

“You say you were with them, yet they have not entered my sight. In my view, there is only you, my star.”

“Is that so…?”

　Yorna’s repeated inquiry yielded an answer from Yugaldo that was not her desire.

　However, upon seeing Yorna lower her tone, he squinted his golden eyes, as if contemplating something.

“…However, a ‘Witch’ has ushered the living into the castle; it’s possible that one you speak of is among them.”

　When Yugaldo added that, Yorna unconsciously held her breath.

　Unlike the indigo eyes in her memories, Yugaldo’s pupils now glimmered with gold, yet the softness and clumsy care in his gaze were reminiscent of the man she once knew.

　Feeling a different pain clenching her chest apart from the thorns, she said,

“Then, I have a request.”

“A request?”

“—Was it that ‘Witch’ who gained entry to the castle? I would like you to confirm whether that ‘Witch’ was with me.”

　Yorna wanted to ascertain the safety of Priscilla and Arakia.

　Uncertain of the current situation, understanding their safety was her utmost priority.

　If that could be fulfilled—

“—Will you give up on death, my star?”

　Yugaldo’s words struck Yorna’s heart with another wave of pain.

“――――”

　Voiceless, Yorna raised her face, and Yugaldo was looking down at her.

　For Yugaldo’s words, Yorna found herself at a loss for words. How could she call the very ridiculousness of it? It was undeniably pointing directly at her true feelings.

　Having her soul bound to the land of the Empire, she would attain a new name and be reborn every time she died. That was the desire of Yorna, of Iris, after repeating such a cycle.

　That was what Yugaldo Volakia had correctly perceived.

“…Blood is inescapable.”

　The same understanding was also held by Vincent Volakia.

　Because of this, Yorna allied herself with Vincent and chose to plunge into the battle to reclaim the Imperial Capital from the rebels. Of course, the devastation of the Magic City weighed heavily on her as well, yet Yorna thought it insincere to hesitate about where her true feelings lay.

　Therefore, Yorna nodded at Yugaldo’s question.

“If the lives of those children can be saved, my own death is but a small matter.”

“Very well. I shall heed your wish, my star.”

　Despite enduring the pain and smiling, Yugaldo nodded without changing color.

　Then, he resumed his steps, which he had once halted, closing the distance until he stood right before Yorna, gently reaching out to touch her cheek.

　That tender touch contrasted sharply with the frigidness of his fingers, driving the thorns deeper as they closed the gap.

“Wait a moment.”

　Yugaldo, who had released the exquisite pain that pierced both heart and body, turned his back after whispering so.

　He still acted quickly once he resolved to take action.

　While pondering this, Yorna called out to his back as he headed toward the door.

“What happened to the kimono I was originally wearing, and the ornaments in my hair and ears?”

“They are not to my taste. However, they are items that adorned you. I have kept them.”

　Saying that, Yugaldo gestured to a shelf beside the bed, drawing no further words from himself.

　With that, Yugaldo exited the room with a disposition that was quintessentially the man she knew. In life, he always seemed to rush as if chased by time.

　She wanted to tell him that there was no need to hurry, while Iris lined up beside him—

“…It’s like something a fragile little girl would do.”

　Gently shaking her head, Yorna slipped out of bed and reached for the shelf.

　Opening the drawer, she found her kimono and obi neatly folded, along with a pouch containing her hair and ear ornaments, bringing forth a sigh of relief.

　Perhaps it was due to this overwhelming sense of relief—

“――Ah!”

　A sound that was uncharacteristically thin slipped from her throat, and warmth traveled through her cheeks simultaneously.

“Ugh!”

　Bending forward, Yorna clenched her teeth tightly, stifling her sobs.

　She shouldn’t shed tears. That would be a curse, returning Yorna Mishigure, the mistress of the Magic City, back to the mere village girl Iris.

　Returning to Iris meant constraining her love for everyone into just one.

　For three centuries, being someone’s child, someone else’s parent, and someone’s spouse, that would wipe away all those days she had spent.

“Why, my Lord… why now?”

　She wanted to keep loving Priscilla, the inhabitants of the Magic City, and all those who live in this Empire as she was.

　Even as the pain of the thorns in her chest tried to obliterate that feeling, she found herself terrified of the sweet pain, so disturbingly nostalgic.

　Terrified beyond measure.