Chapter 1
Their blood blended with the red grass, as if no brutal killing had taken place. Ragged screams echoed through the forest.
Women fled or hid their children in dense bushes from the killers who had attacked them, while the men from both sides fought, dying one by one.
Only two remained—the bravest and most battle-hardened men.
Florec Polter, his jaw clenched with violent emotion, drove his knife hard into the side of the killer life before him.
The man collapsed onto the grass in searing pain, clutching his side, his eyes squeezed shut.
Florec did not finish him, even though the law gave him the right in that moment.
Instead of anger or the urge for revenge, he thought of his wife. But when he searched for her in desperation, he found her dead.
Blood had poured from her body. She was covered in wounds and cuts—he could see it from her back.
Florec forgot how to breathe. In that moment, something inside him died. His heart was tearing apart, and he felt it physically.
He limped forward until he dropped to his knees behind the horrific sight of her back. Everything around him dissolved into white noise.
He reached out and touched her tangled, torn hair. His blue eyes gave in, and tears streamed down his face.
Memories flashed before him—her smile, meant only for him. The time they spent together, moments burning with passion and love.
How he used to touch her living, soft, sweet-smelling hair—the thing he loved most. Its golden chestnut color had always been the most beautiful in his eyes.
He remembered the children she had given him—pieces of life they had created together out of love and devotion.
Without her, life had no meaning. He pressed his face into her neck, breathing in her scent one last time, whatever it had become.
“Mother Nature… please, protect them while I’m not there.”
He whispered the prayer under his breath, trusting the Nature he had always loved—the same Nature that had chosen his daughter as the Queen of the world.
The next second, he felt a sharp blade drive into his neck. He felt no pain—only adrenaline.
Behind him, the killer life took four steps back, admiring the sight of blood pouring down, soaking into his clothes.
He smiled, celebrating his victory and power. But he failed to realize—it wasn’t victory. It was death turning toward him.
Nature struck his skull with lightning, splitting it apart with a deafening crack. The killer life died instantly, without understanding anything.
Polter’s adrenaline faded. Pain and death closed in. He let out one final scream, his jaw fully open, releasing everything—his emotions, his life.
The scream carried into the orphanage.
A small girl, asleep in her bed among the others, jolted upright with the same cry after a nightmare.
The children began to cry and shout, their sleep broken.
The door burst open. A caretaker named Enadela lit a candle and approached the child whose scream had woken everyone.
“Victoria, are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?”
She stroked the girl’s back, studying her strangely calm face. The girl only nodded.
Enadela moved on to calm the other children, ages two to five. Her gray night scarf slipped to the floor several times as she bent over them.
In the morning, the children started playing with their friends. Victoria sat on her bed with her brother, Trayar Polter.
“I want to see Mom and Dad,”
the girl whispered, afraid to meet his eyes.
“They’re gone!”
Trayar snapped.
“No… the photos. I want the photos.”
She pointed with her small finger at the dark wooden cabinet against the far wall, where photos of the children’s former families were kept.
“You look at them too often!”
her brother shot back.
But Victoria had already walked on her small legs toward Enadela, who sat on a couch, legs crossed, reading a book. Her light chestnut hair was tied in a bun, black glasses on her face, and the wide gray scarf she always wore around her neck.
“Enadela, I want to see photos of Mom and Dad.”
Enadela’s gaze softened as she looked at the girl with her yellow eyes. She realized Victoria was the only child who asked for her parents’ album so often.
She couldn’t refuse. They made their way through toys and children to the cabinet. The caretaker handed the girl the album.
Victoria sat on the floor in a virasana pose, flipping through a few photos, searching for one in particular.
She found it.
A photo taken just hours before her parents’ deaths.
Her parents were there, holding two newborns, smiling, happy. Her mother wore a loose red dress.
Two braids framed her face, tied together at the back, making her look younger.
“Enadela… why don’t I look like Mom and Dad?”
The girl looked up at her, her eyes sad.
“You take after your great-grandmother. She had
light blonde hair too, just like yours.”
Enadela gently tucked the girl’s short hair behind her ear.
“And your features are like hers as well—soft, delicate.”
She stroked the child’s cheek with her thumb, making Victoria smile.
“I want to look like Mom and Dad too. My brother looks like them.”
Enadela shook her head thoughtfully, staring at the wall.
“Well, you bring individuality to your family. You’re the only one like this. Nature made you that way for a reason.”
At the mention of Nature, Victoria turned her head toward the window, looking at the red trees with black trunks.
As she watched the wind outside, she felt its force inside her, as if she were controlling it.
Enadela smiled softly, seeing the girl beginning to sense Nature.
“Do you hear her? How she’s trying to speak to you?”
She tilted her head to see the girl’s face, still fixed on the wind.
“No… I don’t hear anything.”
Victoria turned away from the window, hurt.
“That’s alright. You will. You are our Queen of the world—the chosen one. Victoria Polter.”
Victoria looked into the yellow eyes before her, deep in thought, and asked:
“Why me?”
