Quick, hurried footsteps echoed through the vast hallway, the sound sharp against the serene ambience. Blue, green, and yellow luminescence glowed softly from vine-like fixtures, casting shifting patterns across carved wooden walls. The air carried a faint scent of dew and moss, grounding the space in unmistakable elven artistry. Dominant wooden arches and draping greenery left no doubt: this was the heart of the Elves' residence.

Just as the figure approached the large ornate door, two spears crossed before her with a metallic snap.

"Halt! State your business," demanded a tall, lean elf clad in polished silver armor. His long ears twitched slightly, his voice firm.

The runner—a white-haired female elf—skidded to a stop. Her long, silken strands trailed behind her like ripples of frost. She wore an emerald-and-silver outfit hugging her curves, the lowered neckline offering a graceful, eye-catching glimpse of cleavage. Shimmering patterns along the fabric accentuated her natural allure, crafting an image of refined elegance. Her expression, however, was far from serene.

"Idiot! Do you keep forgetting who I am? Let me in!" she snapped, breathless. "There's urgent news—spies from the Human Empire sent a report. The Empress needs to hear it now." Her words tumbled out between gasps, her frustration palpable.

The two guards exchanged a brief, uncertain glance. Before either could respond, a soft, melodic voice floated from inside the chamber.

"Is it Venyra? Let her in."

Immediately, the guards lifted their spears and pushed the door open.

A wash of moonlit radiance spilled out from the Empress's study, warm and soothing like a gentle night breeze. Venyra stepped inside, the tension in her shoulders easing only slightly.

The Elven Empress lounged on a crescent-shaped sofa, her relaxed posture carrying an effortless allure. Long white hair flowed around her in silken waves, catching the starlight and scattering it in cool, shimmering hues. A few loose strands drifted across her cheek and collarbone, enhancing the graceful maturity of her features—high cheekbones, full lips, and silver eyes that shimmered with depth and quiet dominance.

Her gown was pearl-toned and mana-woven, thin enough to hint at warm skin beneath. It embraced every curve of her voluptuous, hourglass figure. The neckline dipped gently, offering an enticing view of her full, mature chest—suggestive yet never crude. Each subtle motion sent soft ripples through the fabric, emphasizing her elegant sensuality.

Even seated, her presence radiated dangerous grace of regal, magnetic and profoundly feminine.

She closed her book with a soft thud and lifted her gaze.

"Venyra," she murmured, her voice warm, velvety. "Come in."

She motioned to the seat opposite her, a small smile curving her lips.

"Your Majesty! We have shocking news," Venyra said, lowering herself into the seat. "Depending on the circumstances… it could be extremely dangerous."

Cyrandel Aeloria—the Empress—arched a delicate brow.

"Oh? And what could have happened for it to be dangerous?"

Venyra swallowed, gathering herself. "Let me explain, Your Majesty."

Venyra began recounting everything—starting from the Human Empire's mass trial selection, the overwhelming number of candidates, the surprising amount of new talents, and finally, the most crucial part of the report: the emergence of the another same talent—Spirit Caller, and not like the previous weak one. As she spoke, the discussion inevitably narrowed toward one person—Lily.

"And that girl has pink hair!" Venyra finished sharply.

The moment Cyrandel heard pink hair, her entire demeanour shifted. Her relaxed poise straightened, silver eyes sharpening with sudden intensity.

"How reliable is this information?" she asked, her voice lower and carrying a dangerous edge.

"It's confirmed," Venyra replied quickly. "Our spies positioned inside the academies verified the appearance of a Spirit Caller with an 8-star talent."

"And she has pink hair…" Cyrandel repeated softly, the words tasting of memory and dread.

"Your Majesty, I am certain she's the descendant of your sister—the one kidnapped by those scheming demons."

"And that claim only grows stronger," Venyra added, "because another spirit-related talent appeared at the same time… and after some digging, we discovered they're from the same place."

Cyrandel's gaze darkened as she contemplated the implications.

"If that's true," she said, voice grave, "we must bring her here. She belongs with us—not among any other race."

Her hand curled tightly into a fist. "Those bastards… I heard that after my sister was kidnapped, the demons transporting her were attacked by humans. They took every captive." Her jaw clenched. "And knowing humans… they must have made Aeliryn…" She didn't finish. Her trembling fist said enough.

A breath shuddered out of her. She rubbed her forehead, silver lashes dipping low.

"When her soul orb extinguished, it had already been 150 years since her disappearance. I don't even want to imagine what happened during that time. She was the weakest among us…"

Venyra stepped in gently, unwilling to let Cyrandel spiral again. Aeliryn's loss had always been a sensitive wound. Despite being a high elf, she had been frail even by elven standards. But what set her apart and made everyone cherish her—was her striking, ethereal pink hair.

And they had loved her, not in spite of her weakness, but because of what she represented.

A prophecy.

It foretold that a goddess with pink hair would descend from the heavens alongside a hero who would save the world from a second destruction. Though the prophecy never specified the race, because it came from the previous Elven Empress, everyone simply assumed the goddess and hero would be elves.

So when news spread of a new World Tree sapling appearing, everyone wanted Aeliryn to be the first to see it—to be able to contract its guardian. As the World Tree grew, she would rise with it… eventually reaching the status of a god.

But they never suspected that all of it—the rumour and the timing—was a ploy crafted by a single demon.

A King-level powerhouse, instantly captivated by Aeliryn, claiming she was the reincarnation of his dead wife, the succubus queen. And because Aeliryn rarely left the palace, he resorted to deception: seeding false news of the World Tree sapling and using the point of time when the Demon Emperor, Samael, staged an invasion every century.

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