0: A Rainy Prologue

The first time Ellmeria cried was on a particularly rainy day after a lengthy dry spell; the earthly petrichor engraved the moment in her mind: the body of her beloved laying battered beyond recognition, the land beneath her failing to maintain its own form as it fractured, and at the very center of it all, a resting pitch-black flower.

For the first time in countless years she experienced true anger. Ellmeria raised her staff and from it many branches emerged encircling the murderous flower in a final strive to pulverize it. But her last effort failed, the flower burrowed deep into the ground and left behind the once whole land strewn about in fragments.

Scattered about the shattered land were buildings and people—the remnants of a prosperous city. The flower devoured all without discrimination; it was known as the demon flower, Lucium Aculeatis, or merely the “Lightbranch.” Amidst all demon flowers, the Lightbranch was infamous for its destructive nature said to have extinguished the lights of an entire nation.

Ellmeria immediately collapsed after the demon vanished. As she inhaled, she could feel the raindrops drip into her mouth and slap her stomach while her body desperately heaved to absorb enough oxygen for her fatigued muscles. Tears streamed down her face, but the rain masked them. Her thoughts raced as she recounted his death and how quickly the entire city plunged into chaos. Then, a deep sleep gripped her.

When her eyes stirred again the only evidence left by the rainstorm were the newly-formed puddles across the ground. Her long purple hair marred by the mud made any sort of movement uncomfortable and leftover debris in her eyes obscured her eyesight. Using her hands and pieces of cloth from her dress she cleaned her eyes.

Having regained enough strength from her sleep to stand on her two legs, Ellmeria staggered to a small wooden cabin which impressively stayed together throughout the entire ordeal. It was a small home, perhaps belonging to a poor family who passed in the battle, but it contained a singular bed, all that which Ellmeria’s tired mind desired. She rolled onto it and stared at the plain wooden ceiling while her brain replayed the scene of his death. Ellmeria didn’t move from that spot until the next day.

An entire night later, a whimpering noise and thud at the door startled Ellmeria, and with caution she removed herself from the bed and peeked outside. A petite creature, covered in fur and without obvious legs, jumped at the wooden door and wailed. As she fully opened the door and revealed herself the creature’s eyes lit up at her presence. The creature then rubbed up against her and jumped all over her producing a giggle from the purple-haired woman; the furball’s eagerness also led Ellmeria to believe the critter had specifically sought for her.

Bewilderment leaked from her face, “Why were you looking for me, little guy?”

Silence fell over the room as the living furball deliberated its surroundings. Suddenly, after reaching some sort of conclusion, the furball launched itself inside of Ellmeria’s traveling bag and massaged itself against her notebook. She opened the notebook and waited for the creature’s next demand or for it to somehow scribble in the notebook, but the critter just stared at her wistfully.

That’s when the train inside Ellmeria’s head arrived at an idea. On every blank page of the notebook she wrote a single letter and then flipped through them one by one in front of the furball. When she turned to specific letters the creature jumped onto them, slowly spelling out a string of letters, then a word, “It’s.” Ellmeria waited in anticipation as the creature continued its message.

What could this creature need to inform me of so urgently?

As the furball enthusiastically hopped on the letters, Ellmeria examined it closer and began to find its clumsy movements oddly cute. It hopped haphazardly and never stuck the landing—always rolling just a little off the page after pouncing. Unfortunately, Ellmeria wouldn’t see anymore of the creature’s odd movements today; the final word had been put together and it contained only two letters, M and E. Put together, the two words spelled out, “It’s me.”

It wouldn’t be inaccurate to claim Ellmeria’s entire world froze at that moment. A rush filled her every vein.

Ellmeria spoke softly, “Are you really him?”

She flipped through the pages again, and the furry critter spelled out, “Yes.”

Ellmeria hugged her beloved in her arms while pondering how this form befell him. The Lightbranch’s primary source of infamy stemmed from the trail of death left in its wake, but there were reports, rare reports, of curses spawned by the flower. Regrettably, there were zero recorded cases of those afflicted by its curse ever recovering—instead, curses from the Lightbranch often grew stronger as the victim aged, and eventually led to an early grave.

Yet a powerful differentiation existed that divided the afflicted who never recovered and her beloved: Ellmeria could stand toe-to-toe with the vicious plant and possibly defeat it. Could its demise break the curse? She didn’t know, but a frail hope it still was—even if her beloved’s body lay destroyed in some crevasse—a hope still lived, and Ellmeria’s passion drove her to reach towards it.

For as strong as her passion was, the purple-haired woman began to tire again. The previous battle sapped more than just one night of Ellmeria’s vigor, but before falling asleep once again, she held her companion close to her heart.

With resolution in her eyes, Ellmeria assured him, “I promise I will turn you back into a human no matter how long it takes. Even if I have to die trying, no even if I do die trying, you will return to humanity once more.”

Ellmeria made a vow to herself that day: She would restore the humanity of her dearest regardless of the perilous path that lay ahead; even if the Lightbranch or the gods themself blocked that path, she would conquer it.

Over the next centimillenium, Ellmeria progressed not in her hunt for the Lightbranch; she visited uncharted countries and lands far off the map, but received nil guidance to the flower’s whereabouts or even sightings of it. And over 124,004 years later, she stumbled into a peculiar man, one familiar to her, and the one who spelled her descent.