Prologue – The Daughter of Light

Throughout her short but eventful life, she had worn many names.

At first, she was just Luciel Anwar. The only child of a minor noble house, she had lived a relatively normal, if fortunate childhood. She played with her friends, went to school, and did plenty of other things that a girl of her age and social standing was expected to do.

When she got older, her parents made it known that she was to contribute to her family’s fortune when she came of age, and eventually become the head of the House of Anwar. This meant private tutoring lessons in finances, etiquette and magic, and attending social gatherings with other big names to make connections with powerful families. Life back then wasn’t always easy, but it was simple. She knew her place in this world, and she would do her best to live up to her parents’ expectations. Or so she thought.

Her name, Luciel, was composed of two parts: Luci-, supposedly a derivative of a word meaning “light” in a now long-dead language, and -el, which meant “daughter of” when added at the end of another word. In short, it could be translated to “daughter of light”. This trend of names ending with -el, though once common with nobles and wealthy families, had declined in recent decades, along with its masculine counterpart of -an, though her parents obviously didn’t care about that. As for why they chose the “light” part, that was because she had been born on a flawless summer day without a cloud in the sky. Still, she had never received any grief for her somewhat old-fashioned name, and she never really gave much thought to its etymology.

The men who came to visit her shortly after her twentieth birthday, on the other hand, cared very much. They claimed that an army of demons would soon overrun the land, and only she, the Daughter of Light prophesied over two hundred years ago by King Magnus the Third, could stop them. All the signs were there, they said: her name, her birthday, her height, even the material of her favourite necklace. She responded by laughing them out of her property, but not before they made some more cryptic predictions about the future that would supposedly prove their claims. She did not care for the mad ramblings from a long dead king that she had never heard about before, and the mere idea of a demonic invasion was so ridiculous she didn’t know where to begin.

Except a few days later, the demons did attack. And when a small number of them came to the village close to her manor, she inadvertently drove them off exactly like the madmen had predicted. Troubled, she did not shoo them away when they came back, listening to them more intently this time. It was now undeniable that there was truth to what they were saying. Frankly speaking, she did not want that kind of weight on her shoulders. But if what they claimed was true, and she had good reason to believe it was… then she was the only one who could repel this threat. And so, after much consideration, she accepted. And thus, she became the Daughter of Light.

She’d gained other names throughout her adventures. The citizens of the Jerdelia Republic uncreatively dubbed her the Saviour after her pivotal role in repelling the demon army during the Battle of Jer. Ralthas, the third companion she had acquired on her journey, pledged undying loyalty to her after saving his life, and referred to her as his Devo, roughly translating to “guardian spirit” in his birth language. Even two years after having met him, she still felt uneasy about his shameless devotion towards her. The demons themselves had their own name for her: the Nemesis.

The Demon Queen, during her final confrontation, had given her another: the Jailer. She couldn’t disagree.

And now, roughly three years after her journey started, she had finally done it. The demons had been sealed to the Underworld, their place of origin, and would likely stay there for a very, very long time. After the news of this travelled over the land, the masses would certainly give her yet another name. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to be the Saviour, or the Nemesis, or the Daughter of Light. She just wanted to be Luciel again.

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Well, she thought with half-hearted humour, at least names ending in -el will definitely come back in fashion now.

She should have been elated. She wanted to be elated. She had saved the world. Wasn’t that a childhood dream of everyone that had ever lived? But she couldn’t find joy in her victory. Not after what she’d learned. Not after what she’d done. And she couldn’t say anything, not even to her closest allies. Or else he would hear, and his response would be swift and brutal. She had ideas on things she could do, but…

“You alright?”

The question broke her out of her reverie.

Luciel glanced at Liv, the woman walking besides her. She was tall, and despite her thin frame carried a backpack that was as heavy as her like it was nothing. Her skin had an odd, pale yellow-brown tone, and her long, white hair contrasted with her overall androgynous figure.

“Sorry,” she replied, welcoming the distraction. “Was I spacing out?”

“You looked lost in thought.”

“Just thinking about the future. Where to go from here.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Her companion grunted in response. Though that woman was stoic most of the time, Luciel could tell she was bothered. Liv was after all, the first person that had accompanied her on this journey. Over the years, the two of them had become very close, in multiple ways.

They continued in silence the rest of the way. The dense, dark woods they were traversing eventually gave way to a clearing. In the centre of it was a large, grey stone that stood out from the vegetation surrounding it. Though it didn’t seem like much, this was one of the first places she had gone to after accepting her duty, and found the tool that had made her victory possible. Speaking of…

Solemnly, she walked to the stone, and removed the glove covering her right hand. What was underneath was not the same pale skin that covered her other hand, as one would expect, but a bright pink, crystalline material that still stretched and strained much like actual flesh would. Luciel held her hand in front of her. The pink material continued up to the wrist, where it abruptly transitioned back into normal skin there.

In a flash of light, her hand was suddenly replaced from the wrist down by a sword that looked like it had been carved out of a single block of this pink crystal. She swept her right arm through the still air a few times, slashing at nothing in particular. The sword moved with grace and precision, as if it was an extension of its wielder’s body. Which it was.

Though the sword was at the centre of this silent crisis of hers, she still wanted this one final moment with it. The weapon had served her well throughout the years, and she would miss it, despite everything.

Once she was satisfied, she pointed the bonded blade towards the stone, then thrust down. The sword sank down like butter. With another flash of light, it separated from her body. The sword now had a hilt, also made of that same pink crystal, with her newly flesh and blood right hand wrapped around it. She let go, flexing her fingers experimentally.

“... Weird to have it back to normal after all this time.” she muttered.

“So this is it, huh?” Liv said, quiet.

“Yeah,” she replied.

The two stood in silence for a minute or two staring at the sword, now in its resting place.

“Will I… ever see you again?” Liv asked.

“Of course you will, silly,” Luciel answered with a playful tone. “Just because we accomplished our goal doesn’t mean I’ll stop spending time with you. Those bonds we forged? All of us - we’re more than just teammates. In fact, I intend to make reunions a regular thing. Don’t go finding a reason to skip out on them now, miss hermit!” she teased her.

Though her jovial tone was forced, she truly did mean that. She couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her days without seeing the people that had stuck with her through all this ever again. Except maybe Ralthas. That guy was just weird.

“Right, stupid question. Sorry I asked, Luce,” Liv said with a small smile.

Despite everything, Luciel felt hope welling in her chest at the reminder of a different sort of name she had obtained. Not some pretentious title conjured up by an uncreative hack, but a simple nickname. Luce. Something that was spoken not in foreign palaces by politicians lining up to kiss her ass, or in battlefields by her enemies, but around campfires by people she would trust with her life.

The future may have looked bleak, but with her friends at her back she felt that everything would turn out alright. She could, and would prepare. She would find the cracks in his scheme. She could do this. Well… maybe not today though. She deserved to have a bit of fun first.

“How about we go back to your place and get absolutely shit-faced on your latest brew before we get dragged to some boring award ceremony, eh?”, she said, this time more sincerely.

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Liv laughed. “Let’s do it”.

She just had to hope that the next wielder of the sword would do the right thing, and that her actions hadn’t doomed the world.