It is something so beautiful, you can't see it.

It is something so great, you can't touch it.

It is something so perfect, you can't feel it.

For it is the gift from the Heavens, it must not be defiled by our blood-soaked hands.

--

The child wails heartwrenchingly. However, no one spares him a glance. The beatings rain down on him incessantly, curses and expletives seep into his raw skin like salt upon wound, unforgiving. But the small package he holds dear isn't going to leave his person any sooner.

"Give it back, you uncivilized bastard! Spawn of the devil! Give! It! Back!" The beatings come much, much harder as the man roars the last three words.

The child has no more energy to cry. He trembles on the ground in foetal position, enduring. The bread trader breathes heavily, both from exhaustion and anger.

"Hey, hey, hey," one voice calls out from the crowd. "You, Mr. Beardie Brawny Brain! You, yes, you!"

Someone comes out of the throng of people, a young girl with a short hair braided at one side. She wears leather vest on top of a cream coloured tunic, something that does not match with her knee-length plaid pleated skirt. Her hands are covered with leather, fingerless gloves.

"What do you want?!" the beardy man spits.

"Nothing for me, everything for him," the girl nods her head at the child's direction. "Isn't it enough? Leave him alone! He's already repented. And it's just a measly slice of bread anyway."

"And who are you, an ally of justice?"

Somehow the girl looks sheepish. "No, no, I'm no such great person!"

"Then get the hell away! It's not even your business!"

"Then, I'll make it mine!" the girl grins widely, almost looks evil. She pulls back her right leg diagonally so she stands on a form, both fists raised chest-level. Her movement is firm and powerful that it looks as if wind blows out the pores of her skin. Then, without warning, she moves forward two steps while swinging her right hook. It connects to the beardy man's jaws, sending him flying.

A woman screams.

Later, two market guardians have to peel the girl off the poor bread trader.

--

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!"

She plugs her ears with her fingers, wincing at the shrill note flying at her direction. In her mind she imagines the words take the form of tiny kitchen blades, assaulting her head mercilessly.

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!"

Silence.

"MY LADY!"

"Yes, yes, I hear you! Damn, shoulda let you handle that one. What did you eat for breakfast anyway? You're usually not this energetic."

"AND WHOSE FAULT IS THIS?!"

"Pipe down, sheesh... don't you feel sorry for the readers? Reading capital letters is tiresome, you know?"

"I DON'T KNOW AND I DON'T CARE!"

"You're such a selfish guy."

"DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT HOTHEADEDNESS OF YOURS BEFORE YOU TALK TO ME ABOUT BEING SELFISH!"

"SILEEEENCE!"

And then, silence ensues.

But not for long.

"Your Highness! Please, do something about this troublesome child of yours!"

"Shut up, Allowell! You're hurting my head!"

Allowell, the humble vassal of the Duke of Camomille, opens and closes his mouth in stunned speechlessness. The Duke is weird, that is public secret, but he always takes Allowell's side when it comes to the Lady. However, this time the Duke has decided to banish him to the world of aggravatedness that is the Lady's most favourite pastime.

Not even once in his lifetime Allowell has ever felt this alone.

Perhaps the Duke has grown tired of him? He was not humorous as a kid and always took things too seriously, but somehow his seriousness amused his master. But perhaps, the master would like someone as adventurous as his dear daughter to bring him joy now.

Of course, what is he thinking?! A grown man acting all business, and even shouting to his master to top it off? No sane person would let such an arrogant servant work for him!

"Ugh, I can even imagine what's going through that puny head of yours," the Duke grumbles. The Lady shoves her fist into her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter. Her shoulders shake so hard something might resonate.

Allowell, however, stutters, "P-pun-puny?!"

"Stop being so shocked over every goddamn trivial things!"

"Master, you should not curse!"

"I can curse whatever I want, bald head!"

"I am not bald!"

And then, that's it. The Lady rolls on the floor, clutching at her stomach, laughing so hard she can't even make a sound. He behaviours will put the dress designer to tears for she is acting unbecomingly so. She has changed her pleated skirt and leather vests into a long dress fit for a sweet princess. Truth to be told, she does look like a sweet princess, if only she'll stay still for just five minutes.

"Allowell," the Duke says, "leave us alone."

"M-master?"

"No, I'm not dismissing you out of your post. I just need privacy. I have to tell my daughter something important."

Allowell nods, then moves backward. "As you wish, My Lord." He then closes the twin doors. No footsteps are heard following his exit. The Duke sighs. He should do something about that guy's nosiness. However, something more pressing is imminent. The Duke straightens his back and then addresses the only other occupant of the room.

"Naon," he says, "I have something very important to tell you."

Naon, the girl in flowers-adorned dress, rises from the floor to face her dear father. She senses something big is about to happen. Maybe a revelation of a big secret about her heritage? Or disclosure of an important prophecy that mandates her to travel the World in order to slay an Evil dragon? She looks at the Duke with such apt attention, the Duke starts to feel sorry for himself.

"Yes, Father," she says.

The Duke inhales deeply.

"You shouldn't call me that."

Naon blinks. "I-I'm sorry, Your Highness. I often forget where we are."

The Duke clears his throat. "No, it is not because we are in the Dukedom Office. It is because I truly am not your father."

Naon hears something cracks in the depth of her chest.

"Wh-what?"

"Naon, you are the daughter of one of my dearest friend. He passed away not long after you were born. He sensed his time was near, so he came to me and entrusted you to me. I'm sorry for always deceiving you all this time."

Something that cracks has now turned into pieces. The sound of her heart shattering will forever reverberate in her memory.

"Naon, tomorrow you will be fifteen. You will be awaken to the power that is destined to be yours. However, as much as I would like you to stay here with me, I cannot hold you back, so you will have to leave this place. You have to live up to your Fate, for it is what will be of essence to the existence of the World."

Naon drops to her knees. Her sight blurs. Something wet runs down her cheeks.

"Naon, you will leave Camomille, you will leave Yoechard, and fulfill your destiny. May the Gods bless your journey."

BLAM! The twin doors open, a bewildered servant stands at the doorframe, looking at his master disbelievingly.

"Your Highness! Is that the truth?"

The Duke sighs again.

"Yes, Allowell. And I would like you to go with her. Please, keep her safe."

"Your Highness!"

The Duke stands up. He looks at the setting sun in the horizon solemnly. The orange light sets upon his face that now, somehow, looks so old. Battered, tired, in dire need of a peaceful rest.

"But, Fa—I mean, My Lord," Naon chokes, holding out her sobs the best she can. "Where am I supposed to go?"

The Duke pauses. Then, he gives her adopted daughter a long, wistful look. "Where the Fate brings you."

--

What did they say, the World is ending?

Like I can care less about that. Because, you know what?

My World has already ended.