Since the ancient past, the Great Races had always been at the top of the world. Aside from the aloof Elementals, the humans and the Elves regularly deepened their bonds through marriages and annual visits.

The Human Empire would send a promising youth to the Elven Kingdom and vice versa. They would marry the other and strengthen their relationship, creating webs of interconnecting influences, which collectively exerted their power on the geopolitical world and maintained the balance between the common men and the upper-echelons.

Princess was once a tool for such ploy, having her future decided by the Emperor to marry Ocupas, an influential figure within the Elven Royalty. At first, Ocupas held little to no affection to her, but, as she drifted apart from her innocent maiden and became the Princess of Resolution, he finally realised how much her smile is worth.

Though Princess revealed no intention to marry him, Ocupas was unwavering in his pursuit. He joined her group and interacted with her friends, integrating himself into her life. Before he knew it, his love turned into admiration and idolisation.

Ocupas became an indispensable bond between the Human Empire and the Elven Kingdom. He was also one of the only people who had a direct connection with the Fallen Princess.

"Peritia, did you save me once again?" Ocupas muttered as he glanced around the crumbled ruins. For reasons unknown, he survived the onslaught of the Authorities. The Elven King also sat on his chair. His eyes surveyed the surrounding people.

Like dolls, they toppled against the ground, their heads rolling away from them. Once they understood their situation, their lives ended, leaving behind their contracted pupils and terrified expressions as their legacy.

"Your majesty, we should leave," Ocupas turned to the Elven King and said.

The Elven King stood up and glanced at the God of Light. A gentle wind flicked his golden mantle and rippled a muffled tone.

"Ocupas, don't you think that I'm pathetic?"

"Your majesty, we have no time for such a discussion. The on-going battle could accidentally kill us easily."

"It's fine. We can't leave even if we want to." The Elven King wryly smiled and sat down. "Come, sit and listen to my story, even for a little."

Ocupas sighed before finding a chair to sit on. He placed his spear and removed badges from his military uniform. The sound of the medals hitting the ground resounded throughout the wreckage, but the impact from the battle between the godly beings overshadowed it.

"Truth be told, I'm tired. Life has exhausted me. Thankfully, everything will end today. Ocupas, can listen to me, not as your king, but a tired, miserable Elf?"

"Your majesty, what are you saying?" Ocupas detected a change in the Elven King's voice. The blind zeal and the dignified air vanished from his figure, replaced by the looming sense of weariness.

"Ocupas, do you know how I become the successor of the throne, despite being the eleventh descendant of the Late Elven King?"

"Your autobiography tells tales of your exploits."

"It fails to mention the bad and the ugly. They said that the victor takes all, but they didn't know the price in all." The Elven King took off his imperial mantle and accessory, only cloaking himself in a light shirt. "Though the victor changes history, he still lives through the truth, which he can never change."

The Elven King plucked a strand of white hair and let it drift along with the current of the air. "Ocupas, I'm only five hundred years old, yet I feel so . . . so tired. It's starting to wear me down."

Ocupas could only sit in his place. He didn't know what to say or do, other than complying with the wish of the Elven King. Though a raging battle was happening not far away, all sounds in the world muffled themselves to listen to the story untold by history.

"When younger, I was merely a naive prince who hates politic and lives in blissful ignorance. Looking back, I should have stayed that way instead of devoting myself to Heaven."

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"Your majesty, your connection with the churches is what helps you succeed the throne."

"I used to confess my sins to the Gods, hoping to find salvation. I followed their orders and betrayed my bloodline." Despite talking about himself, the Elven King's voice was cold, like an outsider narrating an unfamiliar fairytale. "I killed my own fiancee and watched my father died.

"Now, I finally stand here. I fool myself, and in turn, I fool the world."

"Your majesty, what are you planning?" Ocupas said before he suddenly stood up and glanced at the rubbles behind him. His foot kicked the spear to the air. His hand grabbed the handle and aimed the tip forwards.

The rubbles trembled and jumped, revealing a dirty, injured silhouette. Though covered in wounds, Consimia's eyes swept the vicinity and landed on the Elven King.

"You're still alive?" Ocupas said as he stepped in front of the Elven King. He noticed a faint glow emitting from Consimia's right hand, where an old, exquisite ring stayed.

"Royal Father, is your confession . . . sincere?" Consimia narrowed her eyes before raising her right hand, exposing the ring to the Elven King.

"Everything I said today is true, or close enough that it might as well be. I . . . am not too sure of the past anymore."

"Your majesty, it is my duty to protect you. No matter what, you must not die," Ocupas said before huffing at Consimia. "Consimia, drop your evil intention and surrender. You can't defeat me."

"Evil intention?" Consimia gripped the jewellery on her dress and threw them against the ground, shattering into countless sparkling fragments. "Do you think that Royal Father is on the side of justice?"

"Consimia, you're committing treason against the imperial bloodline. You cannot succeed the throne if you assassinate his majesty."

"I don't plan to succeed him. I only know that Royal Father is with the God of Light, who ordered the slaughtering of millions."

"Your hatred has blinded—"

"That's enough," the Elven King said and stepped forwards, standing in front of Ocupas. "You're Seventh, aren't you?"

"Royal Father, why did you smile?"

"Did I?" The Elven King touched his mouth. It had curved into a wry smile after he laid his eyes on Consimia. He contemplated the reason for a moment. His pupils flashed. "I see . . . . Seventh, you did well, better than I could ever."

"What are you saying? Do you not fear death?"

"If only I have your courage, everything might not be this bad. Still, Heaven, how far is its reach? Despite standing here, I couldn't see its full extend."

The Elven King walked towards Consimia. His footstep bounced against the stone path. With every step he took, his appearance seemingly aged year after year, but his expression was the same.

Consimia stared at the Elven King. Her eyes contracted, her breath quickened. She avoided his gaze. As the distance between them decreased, she struggled to maintain her composure. Her feet screamed at her to back away, but her mind fought back and rooted her in place.

The Elven King grabbed Consimia's right hand and steadied it. His face beamed a happy, grateful smile. He pulled her hand close to his chest, where his heart resided.

"Seventh, I'm giving you this opportunity. You can do it slowly or mercifully, but you must do it. For yourself, and me."

Consimia raised her head to look at the Elven King. She saw his shadow extended over her and consumed her view. She found herself unable to act upon her words. Her hand quivered as she attempted to pull away, but the expectation in his eyes kept her from moving.

Her face shifted from cold to anxiety. Her heart pulsated and echoed inside her ears. She looked into the eyes of the Elven King. The lack of anger and arrogance cracked her resolution. The apparent acceptance and joy he displayed suffocated her.

"Why aren't you evil? Why did you repent? You should've hated me, cursed me, and humiliated me!" Consimia whispered her words as she lost control of her strength.

The Elven King seized her wrist and supported her. He caressed her face and reassured her with his earnest yet sorrowful smile. "Repentance doesn't absolve my sins, and regret doesn't reverse my past. Seventh, you've done well."

The sense of touch permeated Consimia. The warmth from the Elven King clashed with the hatred in her heart. A wave of confusion circulated through her body and took hold of her. She gradually let the all-encompassing hands guided her.

Her face contorted, revealing her blinking, enlarged pair of pupils, soaked in transparent tears. Her mouth opened and called for her father, yet nothing flowed out. She stared at him before she noticed her silhouette in the reflection of his eyes.

Despite the up and down during the past few months, her appearance remained the same. She was still the Seventh Princess. At once, she realised why the Elven King smiled. Her eyes were the same as his.

She was almost the same as him in the past. Before meeting Princess, she lived her life in vain and despised all kinds of hardship. Without Princess, she would still continue this lifestyle and lost her ignorant life during the battle for the throne.

"Seventh, do what I couldn't," the Elven King said.

Consimia placed her hand on his chest and closed her eyes, shielding her heart before fueling her resolution. The suffocation gripped her mind and reminded her of the past, but a gentle look from her father dispelled her fear.

Unlike her father, she had hope and friends. A pair of hands held her trembling palm. She turned to see without her eyes Ancil, who smiled at her.

"Royal Father, allow me to forgive you." Consimia opened her eyes, which was now full of clarity.

A ray of light manifested from the ring and penetrated the Elven King's heart. Consimia watched him toppled onto her and grabbed her shoulders. His face twisted in pain, but in the depth of his pupils, peace reigned.

"Thank you, Seventh . . . no, Consimia. At last, victory . . ."