Tranquil, prosperous, welcoming.

For a visiting stranger or a wandering pilgrim, such words will describe the grand country of Letheara. Every morning is a festivity of its own, with bustling streets, flourishing trades and abundant harvests. Every night is a healthy dose of merriment, filled with joyous laughter and cheerful singing; up until it's time for a restful sleep.

To the citizens dwelling outside the castle's gates, the kingdom is where they learn and grow. It is their home and their safe place. It has been that way for centuries and in their naive sentiments, it will remain the same forever.

But not for the people living inside the royal abode.

To the few who aren't granted the bliss of ignorance, things are entirely different. They are the first to witness the underlying curse beneath the seemingly flawless surface; of the wicked, foreign force that is slowly but surely taking over the throne. They know that the cold granite walls and the chilly marble floors hold plenty of secrets; and that the cries that echo in the dungeons are not always those of criminals. They possess the knowledge of tales and legends, and the forgotten truth behind them. Yet there they are, silenced and trapped.

All except for one.

In the thick, lush forest that lies at the southern border of the Lethearan landscape, a woman comes running for her life. The dress she wears has torn sleeves and ripped hem, unable to cover her arms and legs which are filled with angry bruises. Her chapped lips haven't had a taste of water in days and they sorely part as she draws a rugged breath. Her bare feet dash along the earthen path in a desperate race to escape the commotion of hooves and boots heading towards her direction. Her precipitate flight continues, but whatever miracle has kept pushing her forward is slowly starting to wane.

'You must find the Sephelyr Rose. It's our only hope, Aster.'

The final words of her mentor ring in her mind like a sacred chant, giving her another surge of strength to proceed despite her current shape.

"Sephelyr... Sephelyr Rose," she whispers between labored gasps.

It is said that the magical flower can break all spells, heal any illnesses and provide lasting protection against evil sorcery. Some say it can make its finder a conqueror of kingdoms. Some even say it grants immortality and eternal youth. Its tales have been passed on, altered and embellished countless times that it is hard to determine which parts have been lost in translation or which parts are produced by colorful imaginations alone. However, the essence of the rose and the general consensus regarding the fate of its seekers remain unchanged... The flower is so powerful that many have dared to comb the Loehs Mountains to search for it, but are all deemed a failure. Most of them have never been heard of again; and the few who have gotten to return are either driven insane by the horrors of their journey or are no longer capable of living as humans...

These thoughts of terrifying and deadly experiences cause her guts to churn, but the woman is resolved to risk her life for such a noble quest. The only concern now is for her to live long enough to embark into one. Right then, her chances are getting slim.

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The snapping of twigs and trotting of horses alert her senses to the soldiers closing in on her. She rushes towards the thicket of trees and shrubs, hoping to find sanctuary in one of the verdant underbrush. But the path she has taken to evade her pursuers has driven her to the edge of the forest instead and a cliff comes into view. A giant spruce with creeper plants twining its stem overlooks the steep formation, its thick roots clinging along the dangerous precipice.

In a split decision to spare herself, she clutches a loose crawling vine from the nearby tree then jumps. On her way down, protruding rocks and roots graze her skin enough to draw blood, but her firm grasp on the vine breaks her fall. Ten feet below the tip of the cliff is a cavity, hollow enough to hide someone from those who will peer from over the edge. She carefully rests her back on the vertical soil and heads for the opening. Holding onto the vine, she places a foot on the closest stable mass and proceeds sideward, one scared step at a time. Upon reaching the temporary haven, she lets out a shaky breath and relaxes her shoulders.

Minutes later, scuffling noises and gruff voices hover above her.

"She can't be far, leave nothing unturned," roars the leader of the squad.

Time passes in excruciating bits as the men continue their pursuit, stalking the grounds like predators looking for a prey. Spears are pierced through dense bushes that can shelter a person. Swords are used to strike down low-hanging branches and twigs that curtain several tree holes. Arrows are fired at every suspicious rustling on the canopy, and the hunt continues for hours to the sound of flurrying birds and perturbed critters.

As shadows creep through the foliage and only a veil of reddish hazy light envelops the area, someone from the group speaks up.

"We must take our leave now. The sun is about to set. It will be dangerous for us to continue the search for that handmaiden in the dark."

The remark is met with agreement and the troop begins to depart, haunting comments hanging in their wake.

"That wench is as good as dead. Even if we don't get her, the wild beasts will. But we ought to protect ourselves from the menacing creatures of the forest."

Upon hearing the last statement, dread crawls down her spine as she remembers the stories told by her fellow servants. Apart from predatory bears, vicious wolves and poisonous insects that appear at eventide, Wandrian Forest is also known for its supernatural beings. The most famous of which is the huldra, an enchanting seductress that is said to prey on males and suck the life out of them. The soldiers early on have obviously deserted to avoid the creature. It is something a female like her need not worry about, yet she can't help but grit her teeth in terror.

Once the woods is quiet again, the woman promptly climbs up, supporting herself with the vine and using the rocks and roots jutting out the surface as her foothold. Her shaky limbs make everything difficult but she somehow survives the task. Panting from overexertion and growing weak from starvation and injury, she leans on the great spruce for stability. She wants to lie down and sleep, but she fears that if she does, she won't be able to wake up again.

"I have to live..."

The whispered words escape her mouth, more like a plea to one's self than anything. She has to find a safe place to spend the night, and maybe have a drink at a brook or pick a fallen fruit along the way. Determined to survive, she takes a step forward, then another, then another.

She hasn't gone far when her head throbs painfully and her vision starts to sway. Unwillingly, her legs give up and her body slumps on the ground with a heavy thump. As she flickers in and out of consciousness, she vaguely hears the sound of rippling waters and gentle breeze. With her last ounce of strength, she weakly opens her eyes; not enough to stay awake but long enough to see a drooping branch with silver leaves tenderly caress her cheek.

Then, everything goes black.