The girl felt her heart racing. Still, taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself.

"Ahhh, it's really cold," she whispered as she watched her breath crystallize between her hands.

Her current situation?

'A prisoner,' she thought to herself.

Before being captured, she had fought back as best as she could, but after exhausting her strength, she was imprisoned in a lavish room. Both the floor and the ceiling were white. Despite being only eleven years old, she was completely alone. She was chained to a box of sand, near a shelf filled with numerous glass figures of amorphous beings.

"To be honest, this is quite uncomfortable… Ah! Come on, Ingrid, now's not the time to be flustered!"—slapping her cheeks repeatedly, she began to take deep breaths.

The girl, named Ingrid, had long cream-colored hair. Her cold amber eyes flickered with a hint of anger. She wore a dirty, faded red dress; however, covering her thighs were now torn, dark-colored stockings. Her attire was somewhat luxurious, fitting for the daughter of merchants.

Her village had been attacked by the fallen, and she had been taken prisoner. Anyone in her position would be terrified, paralyzed, unsure of what to do. Ingrid wasn't immune to fear, but she decided to rid herself of those useless feelings.

"Come on," she said to herself, "forget what's unnecessary. Anything useless should be discarded."

She breathed deeply for what felt like an eternity, about ten minutes, until the gears in her head started turning.

"Metal box…" she whispered as she opened her eyes.

When she was captured, Ingrid was conscious, so she remembered being locked in a metal box during her journey. Taking that small clue, she continued to think:

"Putting a child in a metal box isn't very smart. Using this kind of prison instead of one with simple bars is a silly waste."

If they only wanted to kidnap children, a wooden box would have sufficed. After all, a child lacks the strength to even break a big stick with their hands.

"Using steel is an overkill! A waste of resources. But it will work for me."

A plan began to form in her small head. From the start, Ingrid refused to die or even to waste much time locked in this room. Staying here, wasting time, was behavior for the useless—those who let themselves be defeated by laziness or fear and refused to make an effort, causing more and more problems for those around them. However, Ingrid was also aware that trying to act on her own could be counterproductive.

"No, it's definitely reckless if someone has been sent to rescue me."

Yet, deep down, Ingrid knew the truth.

"Knowing the kingdom, and given that they abandoned my village, I can't expect them to mobilize anyone just to rescue a child. The other option is my parents. Though…"

As elite merchants, they undoubtedly had the resources to hire one or more mercenaries, but Ingrid had to admit with a sigh:

"Ah, as painful as it is, I don't think they'll lift a finger."

She could say this with certainty because she knew them like the back of her hand. It was true that utility was an ideology deeply ingrained in every citizen of Longer. And surely, any adult would follow it, as the few who questioned it eventually gave up and moved to other realms.

Nevertheless, no one in their right mind, not even the citizens of Longer, would force a child to adhere to the doctrine of utility. Still, as Ingrid herself had mentioned, her parents were the exception. Besides instilling the doctrine from the moment she began to speak, they had given her an extremely strict education.

'The most likely thing,' she thought, 'is that my mother would say, "If she truly is my daughter, she will make it back safely on her own; and if she is useless, then let her not return. She needs to learn. She has to be useful, she has to be perfect! After all, isn't it the duty of good children to spare their parents difficulties and expenses? In any case, let's consider this a test for her! Ha, ha, ha!" '

The fact that she was so convinced those would be her mother's words made Ingrid form an ironic smile. Still, she didn't deny that her parents' strict education had led her to develop peculiar skills.

Knowing that no one would come for her, her best alternative was to try and die or stay here and die.

"But I don't even like the idea of dying," she sighed. "So, I'm going to do it… and it must be perfect. Just like my mother used to say."

Although it was challenging, Ingrid admitted that her mother's teachings about being useful and perfect made up 50% of her personality. The other 50% was something she was working on improving.

"Without rushing. Step by step. And the first step for me is information."

That is, knowing her current location. With an idea in mind, she placed her finger on the sand in her box and began to doodle as if she were playing.

"Knowing where I am."

How could she, who had been locked in a box throughout the journey, infer her current position on the map? From what she could observe, although the room seemed filled with luxurious furniture and paintings, there was no emblem revealing the family to which the property belonged. She would have to find another way. However, Ingrid didn't stay silent for long and continued:

"It's not that difficult if you know three magnitudes. Three variables that would lead to an answer."

"Time, distance"—she closed her eyes as if meditating—"and direction. I need those three magnitudes, and then I'll know my location."

She moved her finger in the sand and wrote in human language: "Time of a song."

"Calculating it mentally is foolish. Although there are methods to do it, the more you try to count, the more inaccurate it becomes. That's why I opted for my own method."

In the human realms, particularly in the central continent, there was a very popular song that recounted the battle of a group of high-ranking knights and was titled: "The Epic of the White Knights." As it was such a famous chant, women from prominent households were expected to know it and sing it like true masters. It was like a fashion trend among families of that time.

For the first time, Ingrid was grateful for that kind of cheap fashion.

"The Epic of the White Knights lasts exactly 10 minutes. Not a second more, not a second less!"

Of course, as a chant, it had to be recited with precision, in a predefined tone and rhythm. Because of this, and only by the most expert women, it could be used as a sort of improvised timer.

"I worked very hard to learn it and not make a single mistake. Exactly ten minutes."

At that moment, her mother's voice echoed in her head again:

A girl must be perfect, no more, no less flesh than necessary. Just as you control your food, control your song as well. Ten exact minutes! Adding a second means you're too fat, and subtracting one means you suffer from anemia. I don't want useless daughters, only perfect ones! After all, isn't it the duty of good children to spare their parents difficulties and expenses? In any case, let's consider this a test for her! Ha, ha, ha!

For a moment, a shiver ran down her spine, but Ingrid began to write in the sand again.

"Exactly ten minutes. From the moment the carriage started moving, I repeated 'The Epic of the White Knights' 144 times without stopping. If I'm not mistaken, by the tears in my stockings."

Of course, Ingrid was no genius; she couldn't keep track of the count while mentally repeating the song. To do so, she used her stockings. Each time she counted, she made a small scratch with her nail. In an orderly and systematic manner on her right stocking, she managed to record the time it took for the journey.

Which resulted in:

"A total of 144 times, that is, 1440 minutes. A day of travel, huh?"

The time had already been recorded. Now she needed to determine the second magnitude, which was direction.

"And what better way to know my direction than to use the cardinal points? That is, north, south, east, and west. Of course, Ingrid had covered that point as well."

"I already said that a metal box is a silly idea, didn't I?"—placing her finger back on the sand, she began to say—"The sun rises in the east, and the metal they used heats up very quickly. Naturally, the side facing the sun gets the hottest."

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

When they had locked her in that metal box, she tried to move as little as possible. Regularly, she placed her hand on each wall, feeling how the temperature varied.

"At the moment we started moving, the right side of the box began to heat up more than the rest; that is, it was the east, where the sun rises."

Then, in the sand, she wrote: "Right: West," "Front: North," and "Behind: South." As mentioned, the left was the east.

"Furthermore," Ingrid continued, whispering to herself, "if I take into account the chant of 'The Epic of the White Knights'... Hmm, if I compare it with the results of temperature changes in each of the boxes... This, this, and this more... Hmm, that leaves me with the following results."

With all this data, Ingrid presented her conclusions:

"First, we traveled north for the first four and a half chants. Then we went west for the rest of the half chant and one full chant more. Afterward, we moved south for two and a half chants. We continued north for four more chants. West: one full chant and four stanzas. We stopped moving for two chants. Finally, east: nine chants..."

Systematically, she wrote down each of the collected data.

It should be noted that the cardinal points were also marked on Ingrid's clothing. To be even more precise, she used the leather from her belt as a sort of paper and, using the tip of one of her hairpins, wrote on it.

Not only did she record all the information about the cardinal points, but she also included specifications for cases when the chant was interrupted halfway. Additionally, she detailed how many stanzas corresponded to each cardinal point, which allowed her to calculate the time more accurately. It's worth mentioning that "The Epic of the White Knights" had a total of ten stanzas, each lasting exactly one minute.

"I should be grateful it was early in the morning when I was captured, right when the sun was rising."

Whether luck or convenience, Ingrid continued with the third and final magnitude to calculate: distance.

She had the address and the time, but how could she calculate the distance? Figuring out the speed while confined in a box was impossible. So, how could she estimate the distance if she didn't know the speed?

"That's simple: topography will help me!"

When a vehicle climbs a slope, the body can sense it, but it can't be certain if it's actually climbing. However, there was something that could be used: water.

"If you put it in a jar, you can see how it levels out due to gravity. By observing its tilt, I can determine if I've ascended, descended, or remained level with the road."

Of course, Ingrid didn't have water at that moment. The only thing she had managed to retrieve from her pockets was a small jar, an object that glowed when shaken. But what use was a glowing jar without water to measure the level of the road?

Well...

"There's another option, though it's a bit denser than water."

The answer was obvious.

"Saliva…"

Ingrid had filled the jar with saliva. Every time they went up a slope, the tilt of the saliva in the jar indicated it. Thanks to the jostling of the carriage, she didn't need to shake the jar for it to light up. In fact, whenever it went dark, it was a warning that they had stopped.

This data was also noted on the girl's belt. By gathering all the information, the answer regarding the distance was quite clear. However, this time Ingrid didn't just record the distance; by reviewing the previous results of time and direction, which were neatly listed side by side, she made the following verdict:

"First, we went up the road, heading north, for four and a half chants. We then traveled on a flat path, going west, for one and a half chants more." She said non-stop, while only moving her eyes to compare each of the data of the three recorded measurements on the sand. "We continued on the same flat path, but now heading south, for two and a half chants. And then..."

She continued in this manner until she had recorded the entire day's journey.

In no time, she had mapped out a route in the sand, including possible stops and detours. She also thanked her parents' education. Apparently, today she had a lot to thank them for. In a way, it felt strange.

With a mental map, Ingrid traced a possible path on the terrain and compared it with the map drawn in the sand, trying to maintain the scales as accurately as possible. She estimated the time with the possible routes.

And the truth was revealed: they had taken the main route, then an alternative, climbed a large mountain, and descended through its ravines. In the end, they had taken two or three short main roads to descend into a large valley.

The conclusion was:

"I'm about 80 km inside the Wolf Valley, near the border with the Beltras Monarchy. My estimate might be off by 4 or 5 kilometers, but since there are no major constructions there except for the Duke Monarch's estate and two nearby cabins, based on the wall materials, even without any emblems, I can be certain I'm at the main mansion. Moreover, the closest cabin to the main house is 8 kilometers away."

At this point, she had even managed to calculate the speed with millimeter precision, thanks to her intuition. The plan was starting to take shape. Everything would be done in its own time, slowly, with accuracy.

"And I know how to get out and where to go, that is, the safest nearby place. Good." She said to no one in particular in the room. "It seems like this time I'm the one who wins."

From the beginning, Ingrid had firmly rejected the idea of dying.

"Alright, next step: get rid of the chains. But first, I'll take a break and breathe." She sighed audibly while erasing everything written in the sand.

As long as she wasn't taken out of the central continent, her only option was to find a way to escape and then seek refuge among the soldiers who, due to the proximity to The Races' Wall, were everywhere. There wasn't a five-kilometer radius around, leaving the valley, where there wasn't some sort of checkpoint of the races. Once she escaped, reaching one of those checkpoints would be easy.

Ingrid thought this plan, though somewhat impractical, was her best option. Clenching her fist, she convinced herself. But a small light flickered behind her closed eyelids, and her brain's gears started turning again, this time in the opposite direction due to anxiety.

"I wonder how the others are doing. Ugh!" she muttered as she shook her head.

Once she completed her mental process, another worry flooded her heart. That was just her: when she wasn't busy thinking, she was busy worrying.

"My friends…"

She didn't know what had happened to them. She didn't like not having any clues, not even to theorize.

"I'm sure those two little ones are fine. As always, the parents weren't in the village, so I don't need to worry about them. Come on, calm down and think of something more useful."

She continued trying to find something that would mentally free her from the prison. It was ironic that the only memory that came to mind was a strange conversation.

It had been a few days ago… The season had been cold, and the long rainy hours made for gloomy days. Amidst all this, a friend she held in high regard posed a somewhat silly question.

"Bored, bored! Don't you think everything is? Huh?, how to put it?... Mmm. Ah! Monotonous, yes. Don't you think everything is so mo-no-to-nous?!", her friend complained while glaring at the sky in annoyance.

"Ugh, Eídal, stop shouting in my ear. And don't get so close —she pushed him away."

Sitting in the middle of the open field, they were having a casual conversation, just like every day. Her great friend, Eídal, was a year younger. He had a pale complexion that matched the brown hair that fluttered around his face. He always wore a dark, thin tracksuit, mostly made of wool. According to Eídal, it was comfortable in both hot and cold days, though Ingrid doubted it.

"But I'm right, aren't I, Ingrid?"

"Hmph, I don't understand what you're complaining about".

"I mean, it would be fun if something happened. Let the days be different!"

'And now what's wrong with him?' Ingrid wondered.

"Ha! I bet if things changed, you'd start missing the old times. Ah! Fine, stop looking at me like that! I'll play along. What kind of different days are you talking about?"

"Um… I don't know, one where a great threat looms over the world and you have to go on an adventure to save it. Oh, I know, I know! Even better, a mysterious disease strikes all the races and makes them submit to its will, forcing them to attack each other! Like an invasion! Don't you think that would make for a good protagonist?"

'A good protagonist?' Ingrid thought.

To be honest, she doubted very much that Eídal could be the protagonist of a story. "Let alone one like that."

"In short, an apocalyptic scenario that puts you in the spotlight. I think you're becoming too simple of a man."

"But you don't have to put it that way! I'm not simple, you know? I'll work hard and be a—cough. I'll definitely be a great man! I'll die a legend!"

Although Eídal pretended to clear his throat in the middle of his speech, Ingrid understood what he was really about to say. After all, the boy had always strived for recognition from both others and her. Ingrid had reached this conclusion after observing her friend's actions for quite some time.

"You're striving for acceptance, huh?", she murmured to herself.

But even she could see the end of all this.

'None of your efforts will be worth it, and it's because there's a much stronger reason than utility why the villagers don't accept you.'

She learned this from her grandfather. It was an absurd superstition the people of Longer had regarding orphans in general.

'Quite foolish,' she thought with annoyance. 'How ridiculous to think of Eídal as a bad omen!'

So, Eídal wasn't being discriminated against for his perceived uselessness but for being an orphan. And that was something that couldn't be resolved, no matter what he did.

'None of your efforts will be worth it. It's funny how the people involved are the last to find out.'

Indeed, Eídal's confusion about his worth had already caused several problems in the past. When Ingrid remembered those days, she felt a pang of discomfort.

'That plan for Mr. Albert to accept Eídal as a son caused more problems than solutions.'

But that was a story for another time…

Shaking off the taste of that bitter adventure, Ingrid had a flash of inspiration. She should find a way to help her friend, even if it was just a little… very little. She decided to use Eídal's last phrase, about being a great man and a legend:

"Eídal, do you really want to become a great man and a legend?"

"Huh? Now you're responding. You were blank for quite a while, you know?"

"Eídal."

"Um, yes?"

"Do you really want to be a great man?"

"I-isn't it obvious?"

"You know, my grandfather says that great men who become legends don't cry. So, if you're a great man, promise that from now on… you won't cry."

If she couldn't help him directly, then a promise would suffice for today. Ingrid didn't expect that not crying would solve everything; she wasn't foolish. She had a plan for Eídal to start becoming less dependent on others, and the first step was: not crying.

"Huh? I don't quite understand."

Before Eídal could refuse, Ingrid looked at him more intently; this had always worked for her, and the little one said:

"But if you want, I can do it. Ingrid, I promise, no matter what, I won't cry."

'Easy,' Ingrid concluded.

"That's something I want to see for myself."

"You can count on it!"

It was a very recent memory. Brought back to her current reality, she thought it was a real shame that she couldn't finish the final details to make Eídal someone independent of others' affection.

Still swallowing the bitter taste, she decided to make that promise to herself.

"I won't cry either. Yes, that comforts me. I'm sure you won't cry either, right, Eídal? Take care, okay?"

Unlike her, Eídal should be fine. She had made sure he left the village when the attack of the Fallen began. It was impossible for Eídal to re-enter. He wasn't that foolish.

'Yes, you should definitely be okay.'

Her plan was based on that premise, but if, for some reason, Eídal had also ended up captured, Ingrid would have to make a drastic change of strategy. Just imagining such a scenario made a wave of anxiety pierce her heart.

"When this is over, I hope we meet again. Yes, I promise this too: I'll make sure to find you again… I'm sure we'll both have unique stories to share, right? So don't die, and I won't give up either."

And, after giving herself a pep talk, she whispered a confession she would never say in front of his friend:

"And so… maybe one day we could reunite as what we truly are… a family."

It was a promise that was lost in a luxurious room, trembling with the moans of desperation from the other side of the wall. But Ingrid wasn't wrong about that last point; they would surely both have unique stories to tell.

End of Interlude 1.