Summon the Modern Lady!

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The cobblestone road glimmered in the afternoon light, its mismatched stones forming a whimsical mosaic that stretched toward the horizon.

Cheska leaned out of the carriage window, her face alight with excitement.

"Wow," she whispered. "This place looks like it came straight out of a storybook."

Outside, the bustling streets of Iya unfolded—a town that somehow blended the old and new in a way that felt distinctly magical.

Flowing tunics and light cloaks adorned the residents as they browsed vibrant market stalls or strolled beneath the shade of ancient trees. Modern-looking lamplights stood at every corner, their sleek designs incongruous yet oddly harmonious with the otherwise rustic setting.

"It does feel enchanting," Cheska admitted, her brows furrowing. "But… isn't it kind of strange? The rest of this kingdom looks like a European historical manhwa, but this feels like I stepped into an oriental wuxia novel."

Amaranthe, seated beside her, smiled thoughtfully, "It does, doesn't it?"

Her green eyes watched the trees and nearby flower fields almost encapsulating the entire town.

Feeling calmer than usual, she finally eyed the prince, seated across her. He wore a red cloak, though it looked expensive they were similar cloaks worn by the residents outside.

She paused then asked, "If the town is new, how did it grow this big so quickly?"

As the carriage came to a halt, Prince Kayer met her eyes, calm and assured. "It's simple. The town was built on the collaborative efforts of its people."

He stepped out first, his green cloak blending with the vibrant colors of the street. Emette followed, nodding as the aide added, "Even during yesterday's earthquake, this place suffered the least damage. Prince Kayer and the other masters protected it with magic."

Cheska glanced at the prince from behind, her gaze lingering for a moment. Despite her initial impression of him, his words carried a quiet pride that suited the idyllic town around them.

She stepped onto the cobblestone, the air buzzing with life, and allowed herself to marvel once more.

The editor smiled as she watched the gathered children nearby, there was a puppet show playing.

"Long ago," The puppetmaster began, his voice ancient as if drawing the children into a trance. "The five goddesses left the world after defeating an unknown great evil... But, they left a gift. A child born from good and evil. Someone who will carry the burden of balancing the world! That being... is Ianthe... or which we know as Iya."

The puppet master's hands moved deftly, the wooden puppets swaying with an almost hypnotic rhythm. The gathered children sat cross-legged, their wide eyes glued to the stage, while a few adults, including Cheska, lingered at the edges of the crowd, drawn by the tale.

"Iya," the puppet master continued, his voice low and compelling, "was born from clear water, a child of the ancient lake hidden in the cove of the goddesses' legendary home. This lake, invisible to humankind and revered by the creatures of the land, became her cradle. None can say how she grew into her powers, but those who knew her later—her friends and companions—spoke of a heart as vast as the sky and a wisdom that seemed beyond her years."

The puppet of Iya, a delicate figure carved from pale wood, spun gracefully on the stage, her movements light and serene.

Around her, smaller puppets of animals —deer, foxes, and birds— gathered, symbolizing the natural harmony she brought.

"But such a gift," the puppet master said gravely, "was also a burden. Iya was a child of balance, born from both good and evil. Wherever she went, the creatures of both light and darkness followed. What should have been peace instead became unease. Crowds of creatures, good and ill alike, gathered merely to glimpse her, their presence unsettling the delicate order of the world."

A darker puppet emerged, its movements jarring, representing the crack in the balance. 

"One day," the puppet master intoned, "a crack appeared in the ancient seal of the Great Evil— a seal meant to keep the unknown darkness at bay. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was enough. Enough to let havoc seep into the world once more."

Cheska leaned closer, her arms folded as she watched the children shiver and huddle closer. Even she could feel the tension in the air, the soft wind tugging at her hair as if carrying the story's weight.

"Iya knew the responsibility lay with her," the puppet master continued, now moving the Iya puppet with slower, more deliberate motions, "She devised a plan— a plan so terrible, so tragic, that it broke the hearts of those who loved her. She would become the living seal. Her soul would lock the evil away, forever. But… her loved ones could not bear to let her go."

A gasp rippled through the audience as the puppet master shifted, pulling a blackened figure onto the stage.

The once-graceful Iya now crowned with jagged horns, her delicate features warped into something monstrous.

"To force their hands," the puppet master said, his voice heavy with sorrow, "she became wicked. She turned into a Demon King, leading her wrath upon abandoned settlements and poor villages, taking their people as prisoners. She wreaked havoc upon the world, knowing her loved ones could not ignore such atrocities. They would have no choice but to rise against her."

The children gasped again as a group of brave, bright puppets entered the stage, wielding swords and shields. 

"They confronted her," the puppet master said, his voice growing soft, "and they succeeded. With her death, the mechanism of her soul's seal was triggered. The Great Evil was locked away once more, and the world was safe."

He paused, letting the children absorb the gravity of the tale, before continuing. "But when her body fell… the truth was revealed. The people from the settlements she attacked—the poor, the abandoned—were unharmed. They emerged from hiding, safe and protected. Iya had kept them hidden all along, ensuring no harm would come to them. Her cruelty had been a facade, a desperate ploy to ensure her plan would succeed."

The children were silent, their gazes solemn, as the puppet master lifted the Iya puppet one last time, now adorned with a simple crown and a serene expression. 

"This town," he concluded, his voice reverent, "was built for her sacrifice. A place to honor her memory and the balance she gave her life to restore. This is why we call it Iya, in her name, and why it stands as a testament to the burden of love and the price of peace."

As the puppet master bowed and the children clapped hesitantly, Cheska felt a chill creep up her spine. 

"She turned into a Demon King…" she murmured to herself, glancing at Amaranthe, who had been silent through the story. 

Amaranthe met her gaze, her expression unreadable. "They should have just let her become a seal instead of letting her reputation plummet..."

Cheska frowned, uneasy, but chose to say nothing.

Instead, her gaze shifted to the bustling streets of Iya, the weight of its legacy now looming heavily over her wonder.

Just then, the puppet master arose, with a gloomy voice. "But make no mistake. This story is not for sorrow or joy. It is of gratitude. Our kingdom, the center of the atrocities encountered, does not celebrate the victory. For the people outside of this town could not comprehend her greatness."

The people around, watching the scene unfold, clapped their hands.

On the stage, the peaceful Iya danced with both animals and people, sometimes her appearance flickered in here demon king form. 

But nonetheless, the creatures stood with her, dancing in joy.

"You think you know her?" 

A voice snapped from behind, Kayer's cold gaze penetrating through his hair and cloak. 

The writer shrugged in response, "I was just..." she paused, sighing. "I apologize."

She had a soulless look as if the apology was half-hearted.

Seeing that irritated Kayer even more, he turned away marching through the bustling streets without waiting for them.

"Miss Amaranthe... please." Cheska was on the verge of scolding the author. "What's going on with you? You've become too rude."

Amaranthe sighed, rubbing her temples before looking at Cheska with a fleeting trace of regret.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I need a minute to calm myself."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked off down a different bustling street, weaving into the crowd with steady but aimless steps. 

Cheska blinked, surprised by the sudden retreat.

She exchanged a nervous glance with Emette, whose brow creased with worry. 

"She's new to this place," he murmured, mostly to himself. "If she wanders too far, she might get lost."

"I'm sure she'll be okay," Cheska offered, though her tone was uncertain.

Emette shook his head slightly. "No, I should go after her. I wouldn't feel right leaving her to figure out the way back on her own." His gaze turned to Cheska, earnest but tinged with concern. "You saw where Prince Kayer went, didn't you? Could I ask you to speak with him in the meantime? It would mean a great deal."

Cheska hesitated but seeing the worry in Emette's eyes, she nodded. "I'll try my best."

"Thank you," he said with a soft smile before hurrying off in the direction Amaranthe had taken.

Left alone, Cheska took a deep breath and turned toward where she'd last seen Kayer.

Retracing his steps, she made her way through the town's winding streets and toward a quieter area where the noise of the crowd gave way to the faint rustling of trees and the distant chirping of birds.

She found him sitting on an ornately carved oriental bench near the edge of a cliff, the golden hues of sunrise spilling across the horizon before him.

The air was cooler here, carrying the crisp scent of morning dew and earth.

His broad figure looked smaller somehow, his stiff shoulders betraying the weight he carried, even as he stared unblinkingly at the rising sun.

Cheska hesitated, lingering a few steps away.

What was I supposed to say? I barely know the guy!

Her usual cheerful demeanor faltered under the gravity of the moment. Kayer looked so distant, so untouchable, that her words felt inadequate before they even formed.

She took a tentative step forward, her shoes scuffing against the ground, the sound too loud in the serene quiet.

As Cheska's hesitant steps brought her closer, Kayer turned, his sharp profile catching the soft glow of the sunrise.

His brows, previously furrowed with frustration, eased as he met her gaze.

He cleared his throat, the tension in his frame loosening ever so slightly. 

"I… owe you an apology," he said, his voice quieter now, the edge from before replaced by something gentler. "My outburst earlier was uncalled for."

Cheska blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected humility. She quickly shook her head. "Oh, no, Your Highness. I should apologize on behalf of my companion. She was incredibly rude this time."

Kayer gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, the ghost of a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips before fading.

For a moment, silence fell between them, filled only by the faint rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the awakening town.

Summoning her courage, Cheska spoke, her voice tentative but steady. "I'm sorry if this is nosy, but… may I ask something?"

He turned his head slightly, giving her his attention without a word, as if granting silent permission.

Cheska hesitated, then let the question tumble out.

"Did you… know Iya personally?"

For a moment, Kayer didn't respond.

The golden light of the rising sun bathed his face, softening his expression, but his eyes told another story. They glistened, filled with unspoken memories and a sorrow so profound it made Cheska's heart ache.

"She was the bravest person I've ever known." he said softly, the words carrying the weight of a lifetime. 

The sunrise cast a radiant glow over him as the revelation hung in the air, heavy and unshakable.

His lips curved into a faint, sad smile as he added, "And she was my fiancée."