Prologue: Prophecy of the Future Monarch

Prologue: Prophecy of the Future Monarch  

Even as a child, people told me I was destined to be an unmatched king, one who would surpass even my father.  

They described my intellect as sublime, worthy of my royal blood and my evident future.  

They said I might become the greatest king Versa had ever known.  

And yet, something always troubled me.  

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From a young age, I closely observed the way my father ruled the kingdom.  

I was captivated by how his voice could move the people with little effort.  

I admired the imposing figure he represented to both our people and the world.  

He was known as a man of few emotions, rarely showing reactions or expressions.  

To our nation, he was a hero. To others, he was a demon.  

In the war years ago, my father single-handedly annihilated armies, fighting for his people, always with a stern expression on his face.  

Because of this, even after peace was established among nations, some still held resentment and hatred toward him for the lives he had taken.  

Yet, despite it all, my father remained impassive, his presence unmatched.  

But I could always sense the invisible weight of guilt pressing upon him.  

My mother, on the other hand, was affectionate and astute.  

My father could never hide anything from her—she was far too perceptive.  

Whenever she noticed his sadness, she would embrace him, kiss him, and speak to him with her charismatic smile.  

My father was never good at showing affection. In truth, he was terrible at expressing any kind of feeling.  

But I knew, without a doubt.  

He loved my mother and my aunt deeply, and that made me admire and respect him even more.  

---

Knowing all this, one question always echoed in my mind:  

"How could I ever surpass such a man? How could I be a better king than my father?"  

The answer seemed almost impossible to find.  

My mother, with her blue eyes, could easily read my expressions.  

“It seems my little one is troubled. Is there something I can do?” she asked, sitting elegantly beside me.  

“To be honest, not really. I’m just… feeling a little pressured. But don’t worry, I can handle it,” I replied, forcing a smile to keep her from worrying.  

“Oh, it seems you’re more like your father than me, hehe,” she laughed softly.  

People often told me I resembled my mother in appearance.  

But some also said I acted like my father at times.  

That made me wonder: “What exactly makes me like him?”  

I thought that if I discovered the answer, I could develop what made me similar to the man who was my symbol.  

“Why do you say that, Mother?” I asked, curious about her thoughts.  

“Well, your father always carries burdens and guilt on his shoulders without ever asking for help. In that sense, you two are very alike,” she said, her voice filled with admiration.  

---

Her words always carried meaning, and I cherished every conversation with her.  

I thought I could speak with her forever.  

But when I was only eight years old, my mother passed away from heart failure.  

My father was the one who suffered most from her absence. He visited her grave every day, bringing her favorite flowers, sitting silently beside the tombstone as if trying to feel her presence once more.  

---

One day, while wandering the fields outside Versa’s capital to clear my mind, I saw an unusual butterfly glowing in shades of blue.  

I followed it across the uneven terrain, but stumbled and fell down a slope, twisting my ankle and landing in a small forest.  

The pain was sharp, but then I noticed a faint, shimmering blue light among the trees.  

Supporting myself against the trunks, I limped toward it.  

There, lying gracefully on the grass, was a girl.  

Her long white hair tipped with blue shimmered in the light, her celestial blue eyes framed by long lashes. She wore a white corset with golden details, a flowing asymmetrical blue skirt embroidered with gold, and white stockings.  

Her serene, innocent expression made her seem almost detached from the world around her.  

I watched, entranced, as she smiled sweetly at the butterfly perched on her finger.  

But when she noticed me, startled, she transformed into a spectral butterfly and vanished.  

Later, my father found me asleep in the forest and carried me home.  

Yet the vision of that mysterious girl haunted me like a lucid dream.  

I returned to that place day after day, hoping to see her again.  

Weeks passed, then months, but she never appeared.  

Frustration consumed me, and I decided to visit one last time.  

Hours passed, the moon rose, and I turned to leave—when a soft voice called out:  

“Hey…”  

I spun around, but saw no one.  

Then I bumped into her.  

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to!” she exclaimed.  

It was her—the girl I had longed to see.  

She was as beautiful as the first time.  

“Why did you keep coming back, even with no sign I would return?” she asked shyly.  

I hesitated, then spoke the only truth I knew:  

“It was your smile. I wanted to see it again, even if only once more.”  

Her cheeks flushed red, and she turned away, trembling slightly.  

“W-what’s your name?” she asked softly.  

“My name? My name is…”