If the citizens of Sylvania—nobles and commoners alike—had grown to hate Avelilinélia, it was because she had achieved too much.
Whether it was her battle against the Hero of the legend—who had defeated so many noble warriors—or her unique ability to fly, to "grow wings of her own," so to speak, or even her use of a genetic trait revealing that she bore human blood… they had plenty of reasons. But they needed to know—the hatred was mutual.
For years, she had remained silent. Watching the true citizens of Sylvania—unlike the slum-dwellers, who were branded as "false"—revel in their joyful lives, while those below ate filth or ate each other for lack of food.
For years, she had said nothing about the divide between those who had everything and those who had nothing. About the way her people were sent to die as cannon fodder on battlefields. About how the mages tasked with maintaining day and night never cleaned the World-Turtle's shell, delegating that work to poor souls incapable of using magic.
For years, she had kept quiet about her status as a princess—and about the treatment her family endured—simply because one of their ancestors had married a human. She had chosen to plead for her people rather than flaunt her royal blood—far more refined, far more distinguished, like a well-aged wine—than that of her "clones," distant aunts who served as nothing but pompous relics.
For years…!
For years, Avelilinélia had stayed silent because she believed she could become Queen of Sylvania and change the world she knew—a world made of nothing but that crumbling, stinking, filthy slum they called the "Underside."
She raged at herself for having had the misfortune of crossing paths with the man who carried the very role she had longed to claim. For being naïve enough to believe she could change her people's fate with nothing but her own strength. She was only twenty-six. With even fewer years of real experience. And still, she had convinced herself her dream would come true.
Reality had never bent to her. Destiny had always been against her.
She despised herself for not having grown up after all these years...
She had blamed Hero Nalo for not taking his role seriously—when she herself had been playing the heroine of the commoners, instead of… staying in her place.
The place of trash, bequeathed to her by her ancestor.
Maybe that's all she was meant to be.
But then… why was she standing before this artificial sea?
Why was she staring at the horizon, hands in her pockets, watching the small waves—pushed by artificial wind—lap against the freshly cleaned sand, swept spotless after every visit from the city's elite?
Because… a last hope remained.
A hope that would chain her for the rest of her life.
If the Wingless Girl of the Slums accepted the offer of the Wingless Girl of the Nobility… what future would be left for her?
The so-called savior of the poor widow and the wretched orphan would become a servant of her own captors.
What bitter irony.
Those were the thoughts racing through the head of our dear Avelilinélia, formerly known as Talemilia Malalalivia.
Well… almost all of them.
One last thought drifted through her mind, despite all her loathing of her current condition. A thought directed at the one who carried the role she had admired so dearly.
Remembering that final evening in his presence… she had believed she might be able to stop him—halt his march toward the dark fate that awaited him. But she had, once again, chosen the wrong dream.
She had once again failed to help anyone.
The people of her community praised her for what she had accomplished—but what could she possibly offer them, beyond a half-hearted "I tried," wrapped in a fake smile?
The Hero had told her to accept the role of Karyoten. But what would that actually bring her?
And now, it was his protégé who came to her for help?
Had she become a plucked sherocid? The butt of a cosmic joke?
She sighed and sat down on the soft, powdery sand. She rubbed her hand across it, still staring into the distance.
Everyone praised her. But what exactly were they praising her for?
Could she really blame the Princess for turning to the man who had never stopped saving her?
Could she blame the Hero for stepping into this competition—for the dream of a whiny little girl?
Surely not. Her late mothers would've told her it was just bad luck.
She sighed again.
And so, she sat there. Waiting.
Waiting to be summoned—to learn what kind of chains would bind her for the rest of her life, should this whining little princess win.
"Disgraced Princess Avelilinélia!" called out a voice.
She turned and saw a guard in colorful armor approaching.
"That's me, yes."
"You're summoned to the castle."
"I know… I'm coming. Let me enjoy the beach for just a few more moments..."
"It's true, down there, you don't get a view like this—just mud and misery, right?" the soldier sneered.
Avelilinélia sighed, stood up, and began walking toward the castle. The ornate guard tried to follow, but tripped and fell. Something had caught his feet. He looked down—and saw the sand clinging to his greaves.
"What trickery is this?!"
"Don't worry. It'll wear off in a few hours," the princess said, eyes full of contempt.
"Remove this sand spell, Princess! Immediately!"
"Watch your tongue, or I might break your body without even touching you. Be grateful—you get to enjoy the view."
The guard cursed, demanded she undo the spell, insulted her, threatened her—but it was pointless. Avelilinélia would not change her mind.
When she entered the meeting room of the finalist princesses, only the Fairy and the queen remained. The others had already departed, having named their campaign directors.
"Where's the guard?" asked Audisélia.
"He must've gotten lost…" hummed the wingless Fairy from the Slums.
"Mala... Avelilinélia, you know I hear everything."
"Then you don't need to ask where he is," the disgraced princess replied dryly.
The queen exhaled, exasperated. That girl's endless optimism and unshakable cheerfulness were already sorely missed. Of course, she maintained appearances in the Slums—and the people of that cursed place adored her for it—but once she crossed the border… all that joy dissolved into pure contempt, a deep rot at the bottom of her soul. Her gaze was bitter. Her disdain, palpable.
Yet unlike the Hero, she did not return that contempt to the people of High Town. Her resentment was aimed at the institutions of Sylvania—and likely, too, at Queen Audisélia.
Avelilinélia sat down at the table, directly across from the Fairy. Despite her inner fury, she composed herself with dignity before the queen, the guards, and the ministers.
"I'm listening," Avelilinélia said, already impatient. "Though I don't see why so many people are needed just to talk to the two of us. I don't even know why I was summoned. I was just supposed to speak with my fellow wingless fairy..."
"Well," said the queen, rising, "there's one little formality to take care of before we talk about the final stage of the race for the throne of Sylvania."
She approached the Grave descendant, bent over, and placed something around her neck.
Avelilinélia took hold of it. It was a medal.
"What...?"
Then, applause erupted around her. Everyone in the room clapped—the queen first among them. With wide eyes, Avelilinélia alone remained unmoved at the center of attention. Only the Fairy seemed equally confused by what was happening.
"Why…?" she asked.
"Because we couldn't not honor the first person who contributed to the investigation of the sect that was operating within our kingdom," declared Audisélia. "One of the things I despise most in this world is ingratitude—and I will not let my people become ungrateful. Even if I cannot recognize you as the heroine who dismantled the group entirely…"
"'Heroine,' huh?" Avelilinélia muttered, staring down at the medal. "Will your son receive this medal? Or has he already?"
Why had she asked that? It hadn't been out of malice... but then again, wasn't it largely thanks to him that all those extremists were brought to justice? Could they have prevented the worst if he hadn't been made a slave in this kingdom, condemned to suffer humiliation in the arena?
Did she bear some responsibility for his arrest...?
The queen placed her hand on her head, tousled her hair, and gave her a big smile—eyes closed, grinning ear to ear.
"I'll give it to him when he returns to Sylvania. I promise he'll receive it."
But more importantly, my little Aveli, the queen said telepathically, her voice carried by a crackle of electricity, stop belittling yourself. Without you, the worst might very well have happened.
She returned to her seat, leaving Avelilinélia clinging tightly to the medal—finally proud of having been seen and thanked. It wasn't glory or recognition she sought through her actions... but could anyone blame her for feeling a little joy at being lifted up again, after drowning so long in the mud of her own overestimated failures?
The Fairy narrowed her eyes at Avelilinélia's renewed pride, then glanced at the queen, who had just taken her seat again. Discreetly, she bit down on her lower lip with her side incisors—the teeth that replaced canines in humans and other omnivores.
"We've celebrated our victory against that failed coup," the queen continued. "Now let's get back to serious matters. You don't know it yet, Avelilinélia, but this princess here has chosen you to be her campaign director."
"What?!" Avelilinélia cried, snapping her head up and turning toward the Fairy.
The latter didn't even spare her a glance after the queen's announcement.
"Why?" asked the wingless princess from the Slums.
"Because her original champion is an incomprehensible fool," the queen spat. "And I don't even want to imagine what he's doing right now while his princess is here."
"There must be better candidates for the role than me," said the Slum princess.
The Nameless, Wingless Princess finally spoke up to explain her choice—without granting Avelilinélia the honor of even looking at her. She kept her eyes on the queen.
"I chose you to honor the promise my champion—the Hero of the legend, the one you call Nalo-vace—made me swear to uphold. That was the subject of our discussion today..."
"This is getting tiresome, miss," the queen interrupted. "Look at her instead of staring at me."
The Fairy groaned, sighed, and turned toward her would-be advisor.
"That was the subject of today's discussion," she repeated, still refusing to soften her tone. "How I could fulfill the one request my champion ever made of me, after all he gave to join this tournament. I couldn't say no. So—do you accept?"
"May I take some time to consider before giving an answer?"
"You have only a few moments," the queen replied. "The scribes are already recording the advisor registrations, and it would be unfortunate for the princess's candidate to reject the offer."
"Would participating in this race interfere with my training as a new Karyoten?"
"Oh? Caemgen Barskersclay took you under his wing?" the queen asked, surprised.
Sawyer, observing in silence, noted how the queen's information network wasn't as sharp as it used to be. Or perhaps she hadn't been listening when Caemgen informed her of his decision to take on the Grave descendant. Globox's death had clearly affected her more than anyone realized…
"I beat Globox at arm wrestling and hand-to-hand again! He's too weak, too slow, too stupid!" she used to tease—just months ago.
"I don't think this will hinder your training," she said, turning toward Avelilinélia's mentor.
"Waaasss that a quest—"
"No," she cut him off coldly.
"Thhheeeennn nooo."
"Then that settles it. So—your decision, Princess Grave?"
The Slum-born fairy turned to the one who had summoned her and stared her down.
Her gaze betrayed no hatred, no contempt. And yet… the very idea of helping this woman—the one who had gained the Hero's support—was an insult to her dream, to her people's dream.
It made her sick.
But she remembered the Hero's words—spoken when Caemgen had offered her the path of the Karyoten.
A rare moment of lucidity, for him.
Brushing the dust from her fingers, she looked again at the girl in front of her. Maybe, she thought, there were other ways to ensure her people's future.
"Life's too unpredictable not to take the chances you're given. Especially when it's a gift," he had told her. "You don't get offered a place in the government every day." And "What could a princess from the Slums of a Fairy Kingdom, one treated worse than a human, possibly do to help others? If you want to argue that—you already know the answer."
He was terrible with words, always skipping half of every sentence—but not all his advice was meaningless.
Avelilinélia took a deep breath and accepted the Wingless Princess's offer.
The meeting ended on those words, and the two girls were dismissed. The Fairy gathered the documents the queen had provided for the final trial, while they walked together in silence. The tension was almost visible—silent, yet heavy as stone.
Once outside, Avelilinélia, lost in thought, asked what they should do next.
The Fairy threw the documents at her, hitting her with them.
"Hey!"
"Do your damn job," the Fairy snapped. "That's your role—not mine!"
She turned on her heel, heading toward the exit of the castle.
But Avelilinélia caught up to her and grabbed her by the shoulder.
"Wait—we need to—"
"Let go of me, you filthy peasant."
She yanked herself free and spun around.
"Even if the queen praised you and gave you a medal, it doesn't change the fact that your bloodline is filth."
Avelilinélia chuckled, arms crossed.
"No matter my blood, you and I are the same. We're both Wingless. So—"
"Even if we're both Wingless, you have the blood of the impure Graves—descended from the Great Traitor Marrynélia. I, on the other hand, am a descendant of the Three Warrior-Kings. I love this kingdom, and I have no wish to change its rules like you and the queen."
"What are you even talking about?" Avelilinélia snapped. "So you like being treated like garbage? Being insulted? Threatened? And it's not like we're the only Wingless in this kingdom—"
"I'm not a revolutionary!" the Fairy barked. "I'm fine with how things are. Yes, life is hard—but compared to what lies beyond these walls, it's not so bad. You've heard the Hero's stories—about the outside world. The monsters. The slavery—of both humans and Faerics. I don't want to lead this kingdom into a wall that'll doom us all."
"For now, the kingdom works. So I won't push for change. These rules exist for a reason. And if the queen wants to change them, that's her business. She has wings, unlike me. So she has the legitimacy."
Avelilinélia sneered.
"Legitimacy? She's a Grave too..." she muttered.
"What?! She was adopted by the father of her bodyguard—Sawyer Vanguard. The last Hero of Sylvania—Torn Vanguard!"
"Forget it…"
"Don't try to lie to me to get me to back your grand, pompous dreams. The queen has never lied to me!"
"Because just wanting wings, at the cost of good governance, is such a noble goal."
"Yes," she replied bluntly. "And it's enough for me! I'll keep my promise to your precious Nalo-vace by helping you and your people. And you will help me fulfill my wish. Got it, 'Heroine of Sylvania'?"
The murderous looks they exchanged weren't enough to capture the sheer bitterness and contempt between them.
Still—because the Hero had asked her to—the Fairy would improve the lives of the Slum-dwellers when she became queen.
That was Avelilinélia Talemilia Malalalivia Grave's dream, wasn't it?
"It's crystal clear, my Lady," Avelilinélia replied.
"Good. Then we'll see each other again at the start of the competition. Not before."
"Understood."
And with that, the Fairy left without looking back.
Avelilinélia remained still—frozen—then collapsed to the ground, stomping on the official documents the queen had entrusted them with. In a fit of fury, she slammed her fists against the floor, teeth clenched, on the verge of tears.
Even if he'd meant well, the Hero had just placed her future—and that of her people—into the hands of this pitiful, selfish, contemptuous little wretch.
How could he stand such a girl?
What Avelilinélia didn't know… was that the treatment she had just received from the Fairy—was only a pale shadow of the cruelty she herself had endured from the fairies of the Sanctuary and Java-Aleim since her early childhood.
And without realizing it… she was beginning to mirror them.
Or at least—that's what I believe.