The capital, with its eternal beauty and hanging gardens, had embraced Mary Queens since the moment of her birth. The Queens family was one of the old noble families at the heart of Nexus, the capital of the continent of Gaia—famous for its knowledge, wisdom, and service to the people. But Mary was not just the heir to this ancient legacy; since childhood, she was something different… something like light.
From her early years, Mary looked at life with fearless eyes. She didn't see nobility as luxury or privilege, but as a responsibility and duty granted to her by fate in this life.
At the age of seven, she left the noble palaces alone to help a lost little boy in the crowded marketplace. She then stood in front of a city guard and said with a confident voice:
"If you're not afraid of the dark, then don't fear the light. Show me his mother, I don't have time to hesitate."
He replied, "Who are you to say such things to me?"
She responded, "I am the daughter of Morgan Queens."
That's how she was. A force of courage, not born from the sword, but from the heart.
Her father, who was greedy and fond of luxury, came and brought her back home.
"Who are you to speak to a capital soldier?"
"I was just expressing my stance, nothing more," she replied, trying to avoid a pointless argument.
In the school of magic and nobility, Mary was not just a top student, but the spirit of the class. She defended the weak and stood up to bullies regardless of their status. Once, she struck the son of a military commander when he tried to humiliate a commoner girl, and said:
"Those who lack respect for others deserve neither shield nor authority."
The commander went mad and demanded her immediate expulsion for violence. But Morgan, her father, had underground influence, which allowed her to stay in school.
One day, she asked the teacher: "Why don't poor children study with us in this big school?"
The teacher went silent and ignored her. But Mary wanted to know, so she did her own research until she found the answer she was looking for: classism.
During those years, I met my childhood friend—my first true equal and rival: Franco Francesco.
Franco was a chaotic boy, endlessly ambitious, but he listened to Mary. Between them grew a friendship, which soon became a gentle rivalry. They always repeated:
"We will challenge each other until we become Holy Knights." — inspired by a lesson in their class.
They underwent fierce training together. Wooden swords clashed, spells trembled in the air, and sweat mixed with hope. One day, after she defeated him for the first time, Franco sat on the ground, panting, looking up at the sky and asked:
"How do you do it?"
She replied with a calm smile:
"I don't fight to win. I fight to protect."
That moment was the beginning of a hidden admiration that grew in Franco's heart. He saw in Mary something indomitable.
But the admiration wasn't one-sided. One day, when a magical experiment gone wrong caused chaos in the academy, Franco rushed into the mess to save children, ignoring the danger.
Mary, seeing him emerge from the smoke carrying a little girl in his arms, felt something new. For the first time, she wasn't just the brave girl… but the girl who saw bravery in someone else.
Their friendship deepened, and many incidents followed. During a magical crisis that froze parts of the academy, Mary proposed an unconventional solution using an ancient, forgotten magic code—saving the affected sections.
One winter, as the cold devastated the poor neighborhoods, Mary secretly went out every night distributing blankets and food, using her limited magic to warm the huts. She became known not just as a noble girl, but as "the warm heart of the capital." She came to know every alley of the poor districts.
But she didn't stop there. Every morning before classes, she went to the family library, reading about combat styles, elemental types, and the philosophy of power. She was seeking meaning.
One morning, her mother entered the library to find her hunched over books, her face tired.
Her mother said gently:
"Mary, don't forget you're still a young girl. It's okay to rest sometimes."
Mary looked up and calmly replied:
"Mom... the world doesn't wait for us to be ready. I want to understand it before it hurts me."
Her mother smiled and sat beside her:
"Reading builds a strong mind, but don't forget—it's the heart that leads the battle. And you… you have a heart I've never seen in anyone else."
Mary hugged her and whispered:
"I want to be like you, Mom... I want to be a light."
She replied:
"Then always remember: light doesn't fear darkness, it illuminates it."
Her favorite color was green. The color of life. The color of hope. She would say:
"Everything I do must grow. Like a plant, I want my life to bear fruit."
When she turned fifteen, she passed the "Element Summoning" test. Everyone expected her to receive wind or water—something elegant, fitting her gentle nature. But the world fell silent when a heavy gray light came from her hands… the element of iron.
The teacher shouted in shock:
"This… this is a combat element! It doesn't suit aristocratic ladies!"
But Mary stood firm and said:
"I wasn't born just to be elegant, but to be strong. I will carry iron with my heart, not just with my hands."
From that moment, her true journey began.
She entered intense training, learning how to wield iron, how to turn its hardness into a shield, and its weight into power. She trained until her palms bled, until she could no longer stand.
With every strike, she would whisper:
"This is for those who have no choice… this is for those waiting for someone who doesn't give up."
One day, Franco came to her, wearing for the first time the uniform of a Holy Knight. He was smiling but silent. He looked at her and said:
"You're still one step ahead of me, Iron Flower."
Mary, cleaning her training sword, replied:
"And that step… won't be the last. Because we're running toward the same goal, even if the path differs."
Neither of them knew that their paths would later diverge… and that their memories would remain only in the heart of the capital.
But not everyone in the capital held hope in their hearts like Mary did.
On the other side of nexis golden wall, a thin young man in torn clothes entered the capital for the first time, carrying in his eyes the sorrow of the countryside and the betrayal of years. His name was: Andre Ethan.
He was the son of a former soldier, betrayed one day by his friends and left bleeding alone on the battlefield. Since that incident, everything collapsed. Andre grew up in abject poverty, filled with anger at everyone who lived in luxury without paying the price. He would often tell himself:
"They... don't know hunger. They don't know what it means to be forgotten."
One day, during the inauguration ceremony of the new elite knights in the grand plaza of the capital, Andre hid among the crowd, concealing something dark in his pocket. It wasn't a traditional weapon… but a magical bomb he had made himself, covered by a basic invisibility spell. He planned to blow himself up in the middle of the ceremony, to make those "pure ones" taste the pain he grew up with.
He stood there, in a dark corner, watching the lights, the golden goblets, and the laughter that provoked him. His eyes were tearful, but his jaw was clenched—his hatred keeping him from breaking down. The reason he wasn't detected by the security was that the bomb wasn't handheld—it was fused with his body, and he had drained his energy to remain undetectable.
But Mary, as always, didn't see the world through the eyes of privilege. She walked among the crowd, her eyes searching for something only she could sense. She suddenly stopped and turned her gaze toward Andre.
…He stood there, in a shadowy corner of the celebration square, watching the lights and cheers with a lifeless face. In his pocket, a magical bomb cloaked by the element of concealment, pulsing slightly with every beat of his heart.
The place was rejoicing over the coronation of the new elite knights, and Mary was among the attendees, walking without guards, observing more than participating.
But then… she stopped.
Something wasn't right… Her gaze, as if piercing through the crowd, locked onto a single target...
He walked calmly toward where André stood. She didn't speak first, but stopped a short distance from him, looking at him, waiting.
"Go away," he said sharply, without looking at her.
"You're trembling, and it's not cold."We need to get out of here—she grabbed him with all her strength and dashed off at high speed to an empty place. Even he was surprised that a girl had discovered him while the soldiers and knights had no idea what he was planning.
Silence.
"What are you planning to do?"
"What someone who's never taken seriously would do… I'll blow up the silence," he said, staring at the stage from afar, where a nobleman was delivering a speech about "duty" and "honor."
"Blow up the silence? Or blow yourself up?"
His face tensed, then he whispered bitterly:"Do you know… how it feels to never be invited to the table? To be born in the shadows, while others are born in the spotlight? That… is not fair."
Mary stepped closer, and said in a cold yet sharp tone:"No. It's injustice. And I won't deny it."
He was surprised. He didn't expect an answer like that.
"But to respond to injustice with random killing… that's not justice either. It's just continuing the same logic: the strong imposing their pain on the weak."
André suddenly shouted:"Strong? Me? I swear if I had a choice, I'd ask for a normal life! I'm not strong… I'm broken. Do you know what it means to live without a choice?"
Mary slowly shook her head, looked at him for a long moment, then said:
"You're not without choices. The bomb is a choice. Crying is a choice. Even shouting now… is a choice. But the bravest choice is refusing to become a replica of your oppressors."
My oppressors?! You mean those who threw me into the wilderness? Who stole my father and killed him while he thought they were his brothers? The ones standing on that platform now with fake smiles?!If I'm going to explode, then let it be in their faces!"
Mary (in a quiet but firm voice):"Exactly.If you blow yourself up, you're not avenging. You're perpetuating the same cycle they created.Murder, betrayal, silence, erasure… all of it started with them.But when you become like them, you prove they succeeded in reshaping you as they wanted: a tool of rage, just another spark in their chaos."
André (looking at his trembling hand):"And what's the alternative? To live and beg like a rat? To pretend I'm okay?!"
Mary:"The alternative… is to surprise them.To live not as a victim, but as an equal.To decide to build something instead of destroying everything.Not because you're weak… but because you're strong enough to say: I won't be like you.That… is the real revolution."
André (softly):"But I don't know how to do that alone…"
Mary (with a faint smile):"No one is born knowing. But we can learn.Together, if you want."
A long silence.
Then he whispered:"No one listens."
"I'm listening now," she said calmly."And everyone will, if you choose to speak… not explode."
He stepped back. Looked at his hand, where flames of magic had nearly ignited. They suddenly faded.
He looked at Mary, then whispered, eyes tearing up—he burst like a crying child:"I don't know how to live."
"Then let's start from here," she said, extending her hand to him.
A long moment passed before he finally touched her hand.It wasn't a handshake between a noble girl and a rebellious boy…But between salvation and collapse.