Berenica

For as long as you can remember, Berenica has always been by your side.

You may have spent more time with her than with anyone else in the world, yet there are still parts of her that remain a mystery to you, just as there are aspects of yourself that you don't fully understand.

Who are you? Who is she? Where did you come from, and how did you meet? Whenever you pose these questions, Berenica hesitates, her words faltering, eventually retreating into prolonged silence. Over time, you stopped asking.

There's much you don't know, but of one thing you're certain, You can always trust her, no matter what.

People often nurture idyllic fantasies about isolated places, yet not all secluded spots are sanctuaries of peace. Purgatorio Island, adrift in the desolate sea, is far from a paradise. On this beautiful little island, the malice that festers in hardship and isolation is all too familiar. The strong prey on the weak, and the weak, in turn, target those even weaker, it's a natural law that the villagers of Purgatorio Island know well and follow to the letter.

However, this brutal "law of survival" met an unexpected challenge in the form of a little girl named Berenica.

Despite being an orphan with no one to rely on, the hardships of life had not instilled in Berenica any idea of compromise or inclination to yield. Once she set her mind on something, neither brute intimidation nor sweet coaxing could make her budge. Even the island's brawniest fishermen couldn't overpower her, partly because her strength was shockingly immense for a child, but more so because she would fight with a ferocity that belied her size, like the cub of a savage beast baring its baby fangs. Nevertheless, there weren't many things that would push her buttons, she wasn't greedy for food or fortune. The only things she would desperately fight for were those concerning another child named Vita.

But that was a long time ago. By the time Berenica had grown to half the height of a grown man, not even all the adults on Purgatorio Island combined could stand against her. The way they looked at her had changed, their stares now held a hint of fear. "She's probably a monster," they thought.

But aren't monsters supposed to be inherently selfish? Would a monster cherish another soul as deeply as she does?

Berenica has a soft spot for anything fluffy and cuddly, like the silky fur of small animals.

Unfortunately, the feeling isn't mutual. Whenever they lock eyes with her, even the gentlest cats suddenly arch their backs and bolt away like startled, furry projectiles.

This leaves Berenica frustrated, with no choice but to wrap an arm around your head and playfully ruffle your soft hair until it's a tousled mess.

The villagers of Purgatorio Island often set up fishing nets along the beach, taking advantage of the tides to catch fish. After they'd hauled in everything visible, some smaller fish and shrimp were left behind, these scraps became the primary source of food for Berenica and Vita before they were old enough to work. Wading through the sands left behind by other fishermen's hauls, the two children scoured the murky waters for any remaining small fish and shrimp. This task was not only tedious and exhausting but also yielded little. However, they managed to make it fun by turning it into a competition to see who could gather more "treasures."

"Look, Berry! I caught a big one!" Vita exclaimed from a short distance, proudly holding up a fish about the size of a hand. The fishermen would never bother to bend over for fish of this size, but to them, it was a bountiful prize.

"That's impressive," Berenica smiled in response.

Pleased with the acknowledgement, Vita didn't immediately put the fish into the basket. Instead, she held it proudly for a moment, savouring the victory, until the fish's sharp fin pricked her palm, leaving a "battle wound." When it came time to tally their finds, it was clear that Berenica had come out on top. Unwilling to admit defeat, Vita protested, "If I hadn't gotten hurt, I definitely would've won! It's all that fish's fault... Let's stew it tonight."

"Don't be a sore loser. Remember to be more careful next time," Berenica said, only to realise Vita had already slung the basket over her shoulder and taken off towards home.

"Race you home!" she shouted from a distance, waving at Berenica.

With a resigned smile, Berenica adjusted her own basket and took off to join in this unfair race. No sooner had she started than the weather took a sudden turn, raining down heavily and drenching them completely. "Just my luck," Berenica thought glumly, but before she could dwell on it, Vita's lively voice floated back through the downpour, "Look, Berry, it's raining!" she reached out to catch the raindrops, chuckling. "Now we don't have to go up the mountain for water. This must be a gift from the gods... We're so lucky! Luckier than those princes and princesses in the palace!"

Berenica couldn't help but smile. She didn't believe in gods. To her, rain was just another natural occurrence. But on that last point, she could agree, the time spent with Vita was indeed priceless.

"Tomorrow, I should let her win." Berenica thought, quickening her pace to catch up.

Berenica is unflinchingly straightforward and sincere. Unlike most, she never lies and often struggles with the subtleties of unspoken words. In a harsh world where people often disguise their true intentions with deceit and pleasantries, Berenica's candid remarks cut through these facades, always resulting in uncomfortable silences. As a child, her blunt honesty was often dismissed as mere youthful innocence. However, as she grew older, this trait increasingly alienated her from others in the village.

Consequently, from a young age, you mastered the art of reading people and skillfully adapting your words to deal with different individuals. For the things she disliked or struggled with, you stepped in. You decided that you would be her mask and her voice.

It was a midsummer morning, an otherwise unremarkable day on Purgatorio Island. The fishermen rose early, collecting freshly mended nets and sails from their wives before heading to the small pier where their boats awaited. They were set to face the briny breeze at sea for days, hoping to return laden with fish to sustain their families in the coming weeks.

Amid the hustle of farewells at the dock, no one noticed a young girl, Abigail, sneaking away in the opposite direction, up the muddy mountain path. As she ran, the clamour of the village receded, and the wind whistling through charred branches filled the air with mournful sounds. Abigail reassured herself it wasn't the Filthoids, pressing a hand to her chest to steady her racing heart before keeping on.

For the villagers, the mountains were not a place to visit these days. Just two days ago, they had heard a deafening roar from the abandoned temple in the mountains, followed by a fire that was fortunately doused by a sudden downpour. Some claimed it was the goddess punishing them for their irreverence; others whispered it was the work of the woman who lived in the mountains, or that the Filthoids had been roused. Despite the varied theories, everyone agreed on one thing: stay away from the mountain, at least for now.

But Abigail had no choice. Her mother's gout had worsened, and Abigail had heard her mother's pained groans echoing through the night. She knew of a medicinal herb near the temple that might offer relief. Despite the risks, she resolved to make the journey.

Preoccupied with her destination, she failed to notice what lay hidden in the undergrowth and was brought down by something soft underfoot. Rubbing her bruised knee, she glanced at the thicket, and the sight made her gasp and stumble back in terror.

"A d, dead body...!!!"

It was a child, about seven or eight years old, with delicate features that suggested she was a girl. The little girl was covered in soot and grime, her once beautiful silver hair matted with mud. Curled up tightly like a newborn, she lay surrounded by the lifeless bodies of several Filthoids, along with a blackened knife.

Had she been attacked by the Filthoids? But if so, who killed those beasts?

"You..." Overcoming her initial shock, Abigail's concern took over. She clutched her pounding chest and hesitantly prodded the little girl's shoulder. "Hey, are you... alive?"

Whether it was because Abigail had just accidentally stepped on her or because Abigail's voice woke her, the "corpse" suddenly shuddered, followed by intense trembling. She's alive! Relief washed over Abigail. "Thank goodness! Lemme help you get up!"

Trying to grasp the little girl's hand, Abigail found her arms tightly crossed over something clutched to her chest. No matter how hard Abigail tugged, the girl wouldn't let go. "You have to give me your hand," Abigail sighed, circling around to face the child. "It's okay, I'm here to help you."

The little girl struggled to open her eyes, warily watching Abigail, her gaze meeting Abigail's sincere, kind eyes. She bit her chapped lips, as if wrestling with a tough decision. Finally, with a heavy nod, she seemed to make up her mind, reluctantly loosening her arms.

As dawn's light filtered through the trees, Abigail finally saw what the girl had been guarding so desperately, it was another, even younger, child.

Berenica's sleep has always been shallow, a consequence of old, ingrained habits. Yet, occasionally, she's haunted by unsettling dreams, sometimes she finds herself back in past confinements, sometimes lost in a desolate forest, or adrift alone on an endless sea. More often, she finds herself trapped in a vast glass chamber, where ominous waters rise from every direction, engulfing her limbs, her chest, her ears, and her eyes, submerging her every sense in a suffocating dread.

These dreams often jolt her awake in a cold sweat, overwhelmed by stark fear and solitude. Her panic only subsides when she detects the steady rhythm of your breathing beside her, a gentle reminder that she is not alone.

To add variety to their meals, Berenica and Vita would sometimes venture into the mountains to forage for fruits and vegetables. The mountain terrain was treacherous, teeming with wild beasts. To avoid startling these creatures, especially in emergencies, Berenica came up with a system of silent signals: two taps on the right shoulder meant "watch your back," and two taps over the heart signified "come closer."

"Let's add one more, a nose boop to signal 'all clear.'" Berenica suggested to Vita. "These should be enough for now. Make sure you remember them."

Thanks to these signals, the two children managed to navigate many dangerous situations until the day they encountered a greater threat, Filthoids. It was Vita's first encounter with such creatures, but Berenica knew just how deadly they were. She instantly sprang into action, shielding Vita behind her as she grappled with the fearsome monsters, sustaining several wounds in the process. Though she eventually subdued the beasts, she soon realised that their attacks had poisoned her.

In her last moments before losing consciousness, Berenica caught a glimpse of Vita's panicked face. She attempted to speak, but her strength failed her.

When Berenica finally regained consciousness, she found herself safely in her own bed at home.

"Berry...? Berry! You're awake!" Vita cried out, rushing to her side and gripping her hand tightly, as if afraid she might vanish in an instant.

"Don't worry, I'm alright now," Berenica reassured her as she propped herself up and surveyed the room. To her surprise, the place was in complete disarray, pots and bowls were scattered around the stove, some filled with dubious-looking liquids. Their piggy bank had been turned upside down, emptied of every last coin. Vita had always been a steady, balanced child, perhaps a bit too steady for her age, and she would never cause such chaos even when alone at home. Puzzled, Berenica probed further and learned that Vita had spent all the money on medicine.

"I panicked and just paid whatever the shopkeeper asked for the medicine. When I found the coins in the piggy bank weren't enough to cover the cost, he offered me a discount... But after I got home and tried mixing the ingredients myself, I realised they were just ground vegetables, not a real cure," Vita murmured. "I'm sorry, Berry. I know you've been saving those coins for a long time..."

The silver-haired child stood there, head hung low, hands wringing, sweat beading on her nose. Berenica noticed her dishevelled hair and dirty clothes, realising she probably had neither rested nor eaten properly while she was unconscious. As if on cue, Vita's stomach growled loudly.

"...Honestly," Berenica sighed with a mix of amusement and frustration as she tidied Vita's hair. "Looks like we need one more signal. Mmm... in a real emergency, we might not have time for gestures... Let's go with three blinks. Three blinks, that's our new signal."

"Huh? What does that mean?"

"It means even if I'm no longer with you, you need to take care of yourself and live on," Berenica replied.

"No! I don't want that!" Vita shook her head vigorously, like a silver rattle drum. "We're family, aren't we? Family always sticks together."

A distant, hazy figure from Berenica's past flickered in her mind. Even family could suddenly leave each other, she had experienced that firsthand.

"Vita, listen to me... This signal isn't about separation. It's about what you need to do if we're ever forced apart... You need to take care of yourself and live on, so that we can find each other again." Berenica looked straight into Vita's eyes, her tone more serious than ever. "So, remember this signal, three blinks mean 'Even if left all alone, you should be brave and live on... until the day we meet again.'"

In stark contrast to her meticulous protection of you, Berenica is ruthlessly hard on herself. Whenever she's attacked by wild beasts or Filthoids, she fights back with a self-destructive fervour, sparing no part of herself from exposure to danger as she charges forward with resolute determination. The outcome is invariably the same: her dark blade strikes true, killing the creature with a single blow. Naturally, the cost is often severe injuries to herself.

Each time this happens, as you bandage her wounds, you plead with her not to be so reckless. Yet, she stubbornly insists it's the most efficient way she knows how to fight. "It's fine, I don't mind the pain," she always says.

On the first evening, the two children lay huddled in the grass, their faint, laboured breaths were the only sign of life. Abigail had seen similar scenes during childhood hunting trips with her father, where she encountered orphaned young animals helplessly huddled in thickets without their mothers.

Abigail placed a jug of fresh water beside the older girl, alongside some dried fish and stale bread arranged on a scrap of cloth, it was the best she could do. When she had pleaded with the villagers to help save the children, she was met with stark indifference. While the kinder villagers explained that the community was too poor to take on the burden of two more mouths to feed, those less kind chastised her for even venturing up the mountain. Some recognised the horns on the children's heads, a feature unwelcome back in their homeland of Hyperborea. Even her usually compassionate mother frowned, saying their own family was barely getting by and couldn't afford additional burdens.

"I hope you'll both be safe," Abigail murmured, setting down the food and casting one last worried glance back before walking away.

By the second night, the older girl had regained some strength. She managed to get up, lifting the younger child and staggering towards a small cave nearby for shelter from the nighttime rain. Although devoid of food, the cave offered them a dry place to rest. After settling the younger child inside, she collapsed to the ground, utterly drained. Following a brief rest, she stumbled back to where Abigail had left the provisions. She opened the jug and drank deeply before realising something; she then quickly capped it and stumbled back towards the cave, knowing how precious this jug of fresh water was, she saved most of it for the younger child.

On the third morning, when Abigail once again sneaked up the mountain, she found the girl sitting by the cave wall, bandaging her wounds with that scrap of cloth she had left behind. Despite being covered in injuries, the girl appeared somewhat revitalized, a faint sparkle returning to her crimson eyes. Abigail noticed the girl's lips moving, as if she wanted to say something, but instead, she remained silent, staring intently at the empty jug.

Realising the girl must be thirsty, Abigail picked up the jug, intending to refill it at the stream. Suddenly, the girl grabbed her arm, shaking her head firmly. "I... go with you," she rasped, her voice raw from disuse.

Abigail helped the girl to the stream, watching as she struggled to lean down and fill the jug. The girl seemed reluctant to rely on anyone's help, trying to do everything herself despite her injuries. Abigail felt a twinge of sympathy. Although the village children were taught to share their parents' burdens from a young age, it pained her to see a child so young bearing such severe wounds and striving to do everything alone.

On the fourth afternoon, a group of fishermen returned home. They had a bountiful catch this time, which sold for a good price at the empire's port, allowing them to bring back cloth and food from the mainland. This was usually the happiest day for the village children, but Abigail's mind was still on the girls in the mountains. She carefully wrapped her share of the pastries and tucked it into her basket.

Reaching the mountain, Abigail saw that the girl had cleaned her face in the stream. With the grime gone, Abigail realised that she was quite a beautiful child.

"Th-Thank... you," the girl's voice was less hoarse than the day before. It seemed she hadn't spoken in a long time, carefully enunciating each syllable. "Thank you." She solemnly took the basket from Abigail. "With this... she will get better soon."

Curious, Abigail couldn't help but ask, "Where do you two come from? I've never seen you before. Oh, and..." She hesitated, curiosity getting the better of her, "I've heard there was a woman living on the mountain. Is she your mother? What happened to her? Do you know anything about the loud noise a few days ago?"

At the mention of the woman on the mountain, the girl's body visibly tensed. "Can't... can't talk about it," she muttered, biting her lower lip.

"Alright, forget it." Abigail waved it off, feeling a bit deflated. "The village's more crowded these days, I might not be able to sneak up here very often. You two take care of yourselves, alright?"

On the evening of the tenth day, Abigail encountered the two children by the sea.

They appeared to have fully recovered. The two small figures stood on the beach where the tide had receded, the setting sun casting a golden glow on their beautiful silver hair and the vast expanse of white sand.

Upon seeing Abigail, the older child took the younger one's hand and slowly walked over, carrying the basket Abigail had left behind, now filled with small fish, shrimp, and crabs. "This is for you," she said. "As a thank-you."

Abigail was about to decline the offer with a wave of her hand, but the determination in the girl's eyes made her reconsider. Accepting the basket, she noticed the girl's faint smile.

Abigail smiled back, feeling reassured that they were now capable of surviving on their own.

Years later, during an interview with The Tides Daily, Abigail Morley, now a successful fishing tycoon, reflected on some deep memories upon the reporter's question: "Ms Morley, I have one last question. I've heard you built your fortune from scratch. What changed your life? Or rather, what are the three most significant events that shaped it?"

"The first event was when my home island was ravaged by Filthoids. My parents and I managed to escape, but they were already in poor health and sustained injuries along the way. They passed away soon after, leaving me to fend for myself. As for the second event... it might have had more significance to the world than to me."

Abigail paused, her thoughts drifting back to that seemingly ordinary morning many years ago. While the villagers were busy seeing off the fishermen, young Abigail ventured alone into the mountains to gather herbs for her ailing mother.

"That day, I saved two children younger than myself on the mountain," she continued. "At the time, I didn't realise I was setting the wheels of history in motion."

Berenica never cries. Regardless of the intensity of her pain or the depth of her despair, she merely clenches her teeth and endures without shedding a single tear. For a child, crying serves as an expression of discomfort and a plea for solace. However, for a weapon, tears are a sign of weakness, merely moisture that would rust the steel. Long before she found a family who truly cared for her, Berenica had already lost the ability to cry.

"Get up and keep fighting."

The cold, detached voice cut through the air from behind the glass partition as another batch of combat drones was released into the cramped training arena. Their menacing red lights flickered as they surged towards the young girl at the centre.

Clutching her sword, the girl struggled to rise from the remnants of her previous foes. Despite the searing pain that racked her body and the near exhaustion of her arms, she swiftly adjusted her stance. Hoisting the red blade taller than herself, she mechanically repeated her slashing motions. The adults in dark grey uniforms had taught her that failure to do so meant she would be the one shattered on the floor.

Today's opponents were tougher, and the training session lasted longer than ever before. Such a gruelling test was far beyond what any child should endure, yet the girl had no concept of normalcy. She was unaware that beyond the one-way glass, those adults were observing her with feverish excitement, while the only feedback she ever received was a repetitive "not enough." Since birth, she had been indoctrinated with a single purpose: to become the sharpest of swords. Thus, she unquestioningly accepted each brutal training session, enduring the pain and viewing each harsher challenge as an affirmation of her worth.

"That's enough for today. Good job, No. 0."

The day's training ended with a light, almost dismissive praise. Drained, the girl dragged herself back to her room, too weary even to eat. She collapsed into bed, but was tormented by her wounds to the point of sleeplessness. She lay counting the minutes, hoping for the pain to subside more quickly.

"Child... child?"

A voice whispered at midnight as the girl continued counting the minutes. It was so gentle, like the moonlight slipping into her room through the narrow window. "I must be dreaming," she thought, for in this steel prison, no one ever spoke to her like this. But the voice came again, closer this time, as if right beside her bed. In the darkness, she couldn't see the speaker. She sat up in her cold bed, whispering, "Are you...talking to me?"

Her voice trembled. The visitor seemed nervous too. "Yes. Don't be afraid, child... here, have some fruit!"

That figure offered softly, handing over a small, deep-red fruit in their palm. Much later, Berenica would learn its name, pomegranate.

"My name is 'No. 0,'" the girl murmured, nervously fiddling with the fruit in her hands.

"That's not a good name." the figure replied, reaching out a hand towards her. "Come on, let's leave this place. I'll give you a better name."

"Leave... Where to?" The little girl's voice, usually cold and devoid of emotion, now held a rare note of innocent confusion.

"To a place without war or pain."

That would be impossible. War and pain were ubiquitous and inescapable, for her fate had already been decided, as she had been indoctrinally taught to accept. She realised this person was tempting her to do something against the rules, something that defied her destiny, something she should reject outright and report to the adults in dark grey uniforms. Yet the moonlight, now piercing through the window, illuminated the visitor's sincere, pure eyes, igniting in the girl a profound yearning to escape to a place where she might touch the moon herself.

Nodding, she grasped the extended hand and whispered, "Okay."

Many people, even in their twilight years, love to reminisce about their earliest days, which they fondly refer to as their "childhood."

For them, childhood is synonymous with joy, a mere mention of those times brings forth smiles and eyes crinkling with happiness. Similarly, thinking back to your days with Berenica on Purgatorio Island naturally brings a smile to your face.

However, if someone consistently avoids discussing their childhood, it likely suggests a past marred by hidden traumas and deep scars.

This realisation dawned on you one day. Since then, you've refrained from probing into Berenica's past before your shared memories. You made a promise: if she chooses not to speak of it, you won't push; but if she ever wishes to share, you'll be there for her.

During her time in the Legion, Berenica was often referred to as the "Empire's New Blade." The expressions accompanying this title varied, sometimes it was admiration, other times fear, and occasionally, a hint of mockery. Clearly, those were not the looks one would direct towards an ordinary human being. Consequently, Berenica grew to utterly despise the title.

Berenica has always been vaguely aware of the extraordinary powers within her. In tales told by minstrels and bards, characters endowed with significant strength usually bear grand destinies, like saving the world or ascending to a throne. But Berenica harbours no interest in such fates. Should she ever come to harness her powers fully, she intends to use them solely to safeguard her loved ones. While others might consider it a waste, for Berenica, protecting her family is what matters most.

"Berenica, my dear, listen closely," the woman bent down, hugging Berenica tightly before pushing her away. Her voice, typically gentle, was now laced with anxiety and unease. "Quickly, take Vita down to the village at the foot of the mountain." She paused, rifling through a drawer to retrieve several pieces of fine jewellery and a pocket watch. "Take these with you. The villagers might take you in. Just tell them you're orphans who drifted ashore and know nothing about the outside world, and that these were your mother's belongings."

"Aren't you coming with us?" Berenica asked.

"I can't."

Berenica froze, her mind going blank. She blinked in disbelief. "You're... leaving us?"

"You'll never have a peaceful life with me around. Just go, protect Vita, and live your own lives. Forget about the Hyperborean Empire, the 13th Legion, and No. 0. Remember, you're just an ordinary child. You're Berenica. Just Berenica."

She reeled off her instructions rapidly, then tenderly stroked Berenica's hair once more. There was a fleeting hesitation, a reluctance to part, that Berenica felt deeply in her touch. But the woman quickly withdrew her hand as if it burned, turned away, and steeled her voice. "No time to lose. Remember your sprint training? You have ten minutes. Leave the temple and reach the village road in ten minutes. This is an order."

The woman's authoritative tone revived Berenica's earliest memories, follow every order without question. That had been drilled into her since she could remember. She instinctively responded, "Yes, ma'am." But then she paused, shaking her head and looking desperately at the woman as if begging her to rescind the order. "Why...? I don't understand..."

"Berenica, forget about me and everything in the past. Never come back here."

Berenica instinctively stepped back as the temple door thundered shut before her. She didn't even see when the woman pressed the button to trigger the mechanism. Vita, startled by the sudden noise, clung to her arm in fear.

With one last lingering look at the closed door, Berenica scooped up Vita and set off without turning back.

"I have ten minutes," she echoed the command, "protect Vita, and live on..." She muttered under her breath, "I can do this."

Ten minutes later, as Berenica walked the mountain path, a deafening explosion rolled up from behind. She didn't know exactly what had transpired, but she had a pretty good idea. She blinked, but her eyes remained dry, tears had long been strangers to her. Yet, something within her seemed to spill over, like the debris tumbling down the mountain behind her.

That night saw both mountain fire and deluge, and to Berenica, the rain from that night never ceased.

Afterwards, Berenica and Vita narrowly escaped death by the Filthoids and were rescued by a kind-hearted girl from the village. Despite everything, they managed to survive.

Later on, Berenica returned to the temple's entrance several times, though she never dared to break her promise by turning the "key." Instead, she stood silently outside, waiting. She hoped that one day the door would suddenly open, and the woman would step out, tenderly smiling, and bend down to pat her head and say, "Everything's okay now. I'm back."

Seasons changed, but the door remained shut, and waiting became a habit. It was not until a dried pomegranate fell and struck Berenica on the head one day that she abruptly snapped back to reality. She picked up the pomegranate and remembered how, every year when the fruit ripened, that woman would pick some to bring home, wash them clean, and give them to her and Vita to eat.

Clutching the shrivelled, already inedible fruit, Berenica finally realised the woman would never return. From then on, it would be just her and Vita.

"I will keep my promise," she vowed silently. "I will take good care of her, and I won't let you down."

Ever since arriving in the Empire, you've exhausted every possible means, both legitimate and otherwise, to find any trace of Berenica, but to no avail. Occasionally, from The Asphodel, you'd receive commissions that involved anonymous tips directing you to liberate a mysterious individual from an Imperial prison. Each time, you harboured a quiet hope of hearing that familiar voice from behind one of the cell doors you breached... Yet it never happened. Not even once.

Nevertheless, whenever you wield that pristine white sword, it feels as though she's still by your side. You hold onto the belief that you will reunite one day, for you will never break your promise, and neither will Berenica.

"She smiles more often now, almost like an ordinary child. And she's much stronger and braver than I ever imagined... Knowing this, I can entrust Vita to her care. With each passing day, I grew more certain that taking her away from the Legion was the right decision. Now, it's time for me to pay the price for that decision... I'm sorry, Berenica. Please forgive me for having to leave."

"And... I love you. Both of you."

Berenica has always seen protecting you as her paramount mission, viewing you as a younger, less robust child who could not possibly manage without her. Yet, that day on the cliff, when she saw you make that signal for the first time, she suddenly realised it was she who could not live without you.

Perhaps it was a stroke of luck that Berenica's rigorous childhood training made adapting to a nomadic life almost effortless. In the early days after escaping the Legion, she followed the woman who had rescued her, enduring nights in damp, dark caves, braving tempests on churning seas, and evading Imperial pursuers along precipitous cliffs. No matter how harsh or dangerous the circumstances, she never once complained or paused for rest.

Yet, more difficult than enduring pain was the challenge of forgetting it.

Even after escaping that prison and successfully evading endless pursuit, the shadows of her past lingered. Even after settling down on Purgatorio Island, remnants of her old life persistently haunted her: she would wake up before dawn, sitting blankly for long moments before realising there was no longer a need for early morning training. Despite food being within easy reach, she would wait until the designated mealtime to eat. When sick or injured, she bore the discomfort silently, never seeking help. If she accidentally came into physical contact with anyone, she instinctively recoiled, sometimes even taking a battle stance. Occasionally, even a bird flying past the window could jolt her into alertness.

Then she met you, small, soft, exuding innocence from within the embrace of that woman, your smile untainted by the world. Tentatively, she touched your cheek, and you clutched her finger with your tiny hand. You seemed so delicate, as if the slightest danger could easily snuff out your life.

For the first time, Berenica felt a deep urge to protect someone. To set a good example for you, she disciplined herself to adopt regular sleeping and waking routines. To ensure your healthy growth, she experimented with various foods, clumsily collecting all sorts of ingredients that people said were delicious. To care for your health, she learned to recognise the signs of illness, like how catching a cold would bring coughs, and heatstroke would cause dizziness. To avoid frightening you, she trained herself to suppress her instinctual defensive reactions and began to smile more often. As she watched you grow, she gradually rediscovered herself, reclaiming the human experiences and feelings she thought she had long lost.

One ordinary afternoon, after cleaning the house, Berenica leaned back in her chair and inadvertently dozed off. In her half-sleep, she felt a familiar touch on her face. When she opened her eyes, there you were, having clambered onto the table, gently poking her cheek with your little fingers. This was perhaps the first time she had ever allowed someone to be in a position to potentially harm her. Berenica smiled and gently pinched your cheek in return. At that moment, she felt an undeniable sense of truly being alive in this world.

If anyone were to ask Berenica why you mean so much to her, the answer would likely be simple, it was your presence that finally allowed her to transform from the Empire's weapon, "No. 0," into the girl named "Berenica."