Prison in the Britannia base camp is far from comfortable. The cold air bites through the crevices of stone walls, numbed by protective glyphs, while a gloomy blue light emanates from a spell seal that seems never to sleep. The night grows darker, and the rain outside falls to the ground with a relentless rhythm, as if the world longs to close the sorrowful tale amidst the ruins of war. Within the cold prison, the thought of leaving that place feels like the most forbidden dream desired.

  Irithya sits leaning against the corner of her cell, her eyes tracing the hazy mist swirling beyond the bars. Her once neatly flowing silver hair is now disheveled, reflecting the hollowness and fatigue in her gaze, while her hands are bound by a binding rune, as if to add to the anguish in her restless soul. “What do you want from me?” her voice is low, focused on the echo that bounces off her stony walls. Her breath is heavy, caught between resignation and vengeance, between wounds and the remnants of hope. Deep within her heart, she whispers, What remains after everything is taken?

  “Is there still a reason to resist the will of this world? Fitran... if I choose to leave tonight, will you find it in your heart to forgive me?” Uncertainty crept into the corners of her heart, gnawing at the belief that was slowly fading. Courage and doubt wrestled within her, each striving to pull her deeper into the daunting shadows of despair.

  Suddenly, there was a vibration at the cell door, accompanied by a commotion that shattered the silence of the night. The air cracked with the magic of teleportation, an alien presence intruding upon the space. The metallic scent of dark magic flowed into the cell, causing the prison’s glyph to groan softly, as if it were a living creature in torment. A swirling violet mist danced gracefully behind the bars, enveloping the area in a tense stillness, before the figure of a man in shadowy armor emerged—his eyes glowed red, like embers alight, and a faint smile played on his lips, radiating a latent threat that made Irithya’s heart race.

  “Good evening, my daughter,” Chaos greeted, his voice echoing within the cell, heavy yet piercing, flowing like poison wrapped in a gentle caress. He stepped forward, utterly unfazed by the aura of fear that enveloped the room. “You seem weaker than I had anticipated.” He closed his eyes for a moment, as though trying to gauge the remnants of strength still within Irithya. “I hear the execution is set for tomorrow morning, is that not so?” His tone was sweet yet hurtful, each word polished to tighten the grip of his power.

  Irithya looked up, her gaze shrouded in deep anger and bitterness. In a cold voice, she said, “Do not refer to me as your daughter. You are unworthy of that title; even at my birth, you chose to forsake me.” Her fingers clenched tightly behind the rune, trembling like brittle branches in a fierce wind. She bit her lip, struggling to muster her courage. “If you come bearing death, then do it now. I've waited long enough. Living or dying, to me, it all feels the same.”

  Chaos offered a faint smile, his steps measured like a predator closing in on its prey. His magical mist enveloped the cell, casting an oppressive aura. "I don't come to you to end your life, Irithya," he said, his voice soft yet laden with gravity. "You are my flesh and blood—this world is far too barren of true heirs. I am not a monster. I merely wish to give you a choice." He shook his head slowly, as if mourning his own words. "This is the final offer from a father."

  Irithya narrowed her eyes, her gaze sharp like a drawn sword. Her voice trembled yet was filled with resolve and rejection. "I know what kind of offers you typically make. Kingdoms, power, or empty freedom. All of it is just another chain, wrapped in different colors. You seek to bind me with those promises, but I have witnessed enough power shifts to know that all of it is mere illusion." With decisive movement, she spread her arms wide, revealing the glowing runes behind them. "Your magic and blood cannot redeem your failings. What do you desire, Chaos? To sell yourself as a father? Or to see me kneel before the emptiness of your power?”

  Chaos chuckled softly, his voice like a melody in the darkness of the room, thick with dampness and dust. He leaned closer, his face almost level with Irithya, who remained frozen on the stone floor. Her eyes were filled with an unspoken anxiety. “You are mistaken, Irithya,” he said, his tone threading through the tension of the night that permeated the silence. “The choice you face this evening is quite simple. If you swear allegiance to Zaahir's will, to our will—I will take you out of this place.” He raised his hand, as if offering a gleaming future at the end of a path, “I shall give you a new opportunity in Gamma. No execution, no torture, only a fresh beginning from the ruins of the old world.”

  Irithya clenched her fists, her wrists trembling with anxiety. She inhaled deeply, the weight of her breath echoing through her chest as turmoil roiled within her. With a voice that quivered, she replied, "I know that this offer is not merely an escape. It means I must become an instrument of my father's will—abandoning Fitran, forsaking all promises, even relinquishing my own sense of dignity. What remains for me in the new world you promise?"

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Irithya,” Chaos sighed deeply, his tone gentler yet firm. “This world will not allow you to endure if you cling to the chains that bind you. Everything you call ‘dignity’ is but an illusion crafted by the rulers and heroines who have never understood the true essence of freedom.”

  Irithya glared at him, feeling the fiery uncertainty simmering in her chest. “I never chose to be born of your blood, Chaos,” she said, her voice a mix of anger and sorrow. She lowered her gaze, tears streaming down her cheeks unbeknownst to her, forming a small pool upon the cold stone surface. “Do you think I can survive by merely selling the remnants of my own heart? What is the meaning of this life, if all its significance is only an extension of your desires?”

  Chaos sat upon a chair forged of magic, appearing more resolute despite being difficult to comprehend. His eyes scrutinized Irithya, brimming with profound curiosity. “The meaning of life, Irithya, belongs solely to those brave enough to write it themselves. You’ve allowed the world around you to dictate your steps for too long; the ambitious Fitran, the heroines ensnared in their own ideals, even your enemies seek to destroy everything. It is time to rise and become the master of your own fate, to wield your power and alter the course of your destiny.”

  Within her heart, Irithya wrestled with the whispers that swirled in her mind. What did all of this mean? Was she ready to cast aside her old identity and embrace the destructive force that Chaos embodied? Yet beneath her uncertainty, another urge stirred—a longing for freedom, to resist the world that had always bound her. With a piercing ache in her chest, she questioned, “And what is it that you truly hope for from me? How far will you take me from here?”

  Irithya laughed bitterly, her eyes blazing with fury as her sharp gaze locked onto Chaos. “Ah, how charming it is for you to speak of freedom,” she said, sarcasm flowing from her lips, each syllable wrapped in a deep bitterness. “Do you not remember that I was forged from your coercion over Mother? The creation you dare to call a future was born solely from the obsession and betrayal handed down by our ancestors. So, with all the power you possess, what do you truly know about freedom? You are merely the puppeteer of my fate.”

  Chaos let out a low grunt, his face—often adorned with arrogance—now shrouded in dark shadows. “Every corner of this world is built upon unavoidable suffering. Even the greatest of heroes are not free from the sins that are inherited. I have come here not to promise a false hope. What I desire is simply to give you a way to endure—a chance to step beyond the darkness. Look around you.”

  A chilling silence crept between them. The sound of rain dripping from the cell's roof played out a rhythmic tune, while whispers of glyphs danced in the air, creating a tense atmosphere surrounding them. Outside, the dark silhouette of a guard moved in the soft blue light, crossing the threshold of the fearsome aura emanating from Chaos. No one dared to approach; all understood the terrible energy swirling around these two figures.

  Irithya closed her eyes, embracing her knees with deep hope, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. “I… I want Fitran to live,” her voice trembled, filled with profound longing and despair. “Even if it means I must sacrifice myself, I will never be your tool. Even if the whole world hates me, I would rather die as myself than live as a mere shadow that you create.” She felt the weight in her chest, a profound internal conflict between pure love and a burning desire to free herself from the shackles binding her.

  Chaos shook his head slowly, his voice growing harsh, distant and cold. “A name will not save you from death, my child. When this emptiness arrives, no one will remember who Irithya was. Think carefully,” he continued, his tone akin to a foreboding warning of the darkness to come. “Tomorrow morning, I will return. If you change your mind, utter my name, and I will guide you wherever you wish to go. But remember, this opportunity comes only once.”

  He stood with an air of arrogance, the fog surrounding him slowly dissipating as if in deference to his steps. “Afterward, you will become another name on the list of those forgotten by history. Consider my offer. Your life is precious—do not squander this chance.”

  Chaos faded, leaving the prison cell in a chilling, magical silence. Irithya stood frozen, her body rigid; tears streamed down her face, falling freely now without shame. In the oppressive darkness, she wrestled with her own heart—desire to live burning fiercely, deep love for Fitran, fear of the inevitable death lurking nearby, and hatred for her own blood that forever tied her to the enemies of this world. “Why… why does it have to be like this?” she whispered, her voice nearly inaudible, yet her heart screamed in the silence.

  In the shadows, she felt the presence of her memories—Fitran's bright smile, his gentle touch like morning dew. "Fitran… if you can hear my voice tonight,” she grasped her empty hand, as if hoping to touch his face, “please… be strong, even though I’m not by your side. I want to choose you. I want to be free. But these chains… they feel so deep.”

  Every word spoken only stoked the flames of her frustration. “If I am gone by tomorrow morning,” her voice trembled with pain, “forgive me. All I ask is for one name, one meaning, before everything truly fades away.”

  From a distance, the sound of war rumbled like waves crashing against the shore, interspersed with the echoing sobs and the mad laughter of Nashira that occasionally broke through the walls of the cell, shattering the veil of tranquility woven by the darkness. "Enough!" Irithya shouted, her voice piercing the silence. Her reddened eyes glimmered, battling the emotions that flared within her. "Why are we trapped in this endless game?"

  The world continued to turn, indifferent as a name nearly slipped away into the night. In the cold and despair that enveloped her, Irithya poured out her heart. "I am not afraid of death," she whispered softly, as if to herself, "but what I truly fear is losing myself more than anything else."

  Yet in that dark corner, Irithya still fought, clinging to the remnants of love and hope that the world had denied her, waiting for a morning whose arrival remained uncertain. "Tomorrow… must bring a miracle," she thought, yearning for the moment when the chains binding her would shatter, allowing her to find freedom within them, even as the shadow of death lingered close by.