As the son of the World Tree, the Prince was indeed immortal, and his Hero's heart held the power to restrain the Demon within him—forever, or so he believed.
But after countless years, Shyamal Ye Heresia realized his mistake.
His will was unshakable, his resolve unwavering. Yet the Great Demon of the Desert was not prepared to perish alongside him.
Cunning and insidious, the Demon found the smallest weakness in the seal, slipping through the cracks and embedding himself in the hearts of the Hero's children.
Perhaps, if the Prince had slain his descendants the moment he discovered the truth, he could have changed fate.
But he could not.
Though he would have sacrificed his life for the greater good, his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were different. He could not condemn them for the sins that had yet to unfold.
Instead, the Hero spent centuries crafting a seal that would never break.
His bloodline carried powers far beyond those of ordinary High Elves, a gift from the World Tree itself. With this strength, Shyamal came close to achieving the impossible.
All he lacked was the final element—a powerful source of energy to complete the seal.
And so, using the remnants of his immense life force, the Hero forged a new prison, binding the Demon deep within their hearts.
Yet again, he had underestimated his foe.
The Hero's heart had been strong enough to contain the Demon. His descendants, however, lacked the same indomitable will.
The seal was powerful, but the bloodline it protected was fragile.
The whispers began.
Year after year, the Great Demon of the Desert cursed the one who had stolen his freedom, twisting the minds of those who bore the burden.
Under his influence, the Prince's kin became monsters, committing unspeakable atrocities, bringing ruin to the world.
Their once-fair skin darkened into a blend of brown and gray.
Their once-pure mana became a murky abyss.
And the soft aura that all Elves radiated transformed into something cold, something that struck terror into the souls of men.
Thus, their new name was forged: the Dark Elves.
The shame of their kind. A cursed race that bore nothing but calamity.
The Prince—his sacrifice, his heroism—was long forgotten, his name buried alongside the others who had stood against the Demon of the Desert.
Only his tainted bloodline remained.
And so, the world chose their fate: extermination.
But time is relentless, and centuries later, Lasvil Ye Heresia, Hero of the Dark Elves and a distant descendant of the Prince, changed everything.
Building upon the work of those before him, Lasvil rewrote the seal, forging a barrier strong enough to prevent the Demon from corroding their souls.
Their mana lightened.
Their aura lost its cruel menace.
But redemption had come too late.
The world had already grown weary of their existence, unwilling to forget the horrors the Dark Elves had wrought.
No matter how fiercely they fought for absolution, the scorn remained.
Even after centuries of repentance, nothing changed.
"The Dark Elves will always be exiles."
That declaration, made 300 years ago by the Leader of the Dark Elves, sealed their fate.
They withdrew from the world, their land and dignity stripped from them, their only remaining possession—
The Barren Land of the Desert.
With no other path left, they embraced the wasteland, forging a new life within its dunes.
Perhaps, owing to their distant roots as High Elves, their efforts bore fruit.
Centuries passed, and through sheer determination, the Dark Elves built a civilization, creating a sanctuary where none had ever thrived.
The Desert welcomed them.
And they, in turn, accepted the Desert.
Though the world continued to loathe and fear them, behind the fortified walls of their newfound Paradise, they finally found peace.
Or so they believed.
But Sariel Ye Heresia, the current Leader of the Dark Elves, knew the bitter truth.
The records passed down through generations whispered a single warning.
One day, the Demon of the Desert will return.
No matter how strong their seal, no matter how firm their defenses, the Great Demon of the Desert had spent millennia imprisoned within their hearts.
At some point, he had ceased resisting the seal.
Instead, Demon merged with it, feeding on its energy, growing stronger in his confinement.
The process had been slow—agonizingly so.
But after countless years, the seal was fraying.
Most likely, it would be this generation that bore witness to his final rupture.
The Prince had decreed that when the time came, his descendants must face the Demon once more.
And Sariel knew that the duty would fall upon her shoulders.
It was an honor, was it not?
To stand where the Progenitor once stood, to shield the world from the nightmare he had sought to vanquish.
One day, her children will inherit this great burden, following in the Prince's footsteps.
But as Sariel gazed at the horizon, the weight of countless years pressing upon her, she whispered to the night.
"But if possible… I wish it never happened."
Years had passed since that fateful night.
Sariel watched as time unraveled before her, each season slipping into the next, carrying her children further and further away.
Her eldest son—the wisest of them all—had left to wander the world, seeking knowledge beyond their secluded desert home.
Her youngest daughter, gifted in the art of the spear, soon followed.
Only Yennefer remained.
She was neither a warrior nor a scholar. She possessed no extraordinary talents, no remarkable skills to wield against fate.
But she had the kindest heart.
And so, through the endless march of days, Sariel trained and prepared, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation with the Demon.
The burden she bore grew heavier with each sunrise, a burning weight pressing into her soul.
Pain clawed at the edges of her chest—constant, suffocating.
But she endured.
She was ready.
Ready to face the Demon of the Desert with everything she had.
…Until the night her daughter vanished.
All that remained was a single note, left behind like a whisper in the wind.
– – –
Don't worry, Mom. I'll find my Elder Brother and little sister and come right back.
Umm… maybe I'll also stop by the brownie house… but I'll make it quickly-quickly, I promise!
Your little flower, Yen.
ヾ(❀╹◡╹)ﾉﾞ❀~
– – –
Sariel held the scrap of paper in her trembling hands, her gaze tracing the familiar, carefree script.
A fleeting pain pierced her chest again.