Meeting the Shadows of the Past…
The evening sun shone gently over the western horizon of the valley. A thin mist hung in the air.
"Klop... klop..."
The sound of hooves echoed softly along the stone path winding through the valley. Clara and her elite knights rode through the quiet road, one rarely heard by the residents of the capital.
The evening breeze brushed against the wild rose petals scattered along the way. Clara sat upright on her horse, yet her heart… trembled:
The Rose Valley.
A name seldom spoken among the nobles of the capital... a remote village far from civilisation, deemed unworthy of attention. But not for Clara. Every step closer to that village felt like a step toward the forgotten gate of memory buried for the past seven years.
Beneath the amber twilight sky, the small village appeared like an old painting forced to live again: serene, humble, and sharpened by the fragrance of nostalgia.
Clara gazed at the village from afar. The soft wind caressed her violet hair, carrying with it the calming scent of roses. Beyond the fields of red and white roses, the village looked small... like an old memory unwilling to fade.
Clara smiled faintly, then whispered, "Seven years… after everything that happened, why am I still trembling?"
Clara and the knights continued riding toward the village. Passing through its wooden gate, they were greeted by lush gardens and the earthy scent of soil in the air.
She dismounted her horse, tying it beneath an old oak tree, and began walking slowly, followed by her knights.
Ahead of her, an old man was tending his garden. When Clara approached, the old man stopped his work, staring at the unfamiliar figures before him.
Clara offered a gentle smile. "Sir, my name is Detective Clara from the capital," she said, gesturing to the knights. "These are my accompanying knights. We don't mean to disturb your work, but may we borrow a moment of your time?"
The old man smiled and slowly stood up. "Of course, young lady. I don't mind. How can I help you?" he asked kindly.
"I'm searching for two fugitives," Clara said, pulling out a wanted poster from her cloak and handing it to him.
"Have you seen these two men? Their names are Bragg and Garel—criminals long pursued by the Rose Kingdom."
The old man stroked his beard, studying the poster carefully, then shook his head.
"I'm sorry, miss. I've never seen such rough-looking men before." He handed the paper back. "If I may ask—have you been staying in this village long?"
Clara nodded slowly. "Not really, sir. I've only been here a few days."
"I see," the old man replied softly. "Then perhaps you don't know our village well yet, miss. It's very peaceful here. In all my years, I've never once met a criminal in this place."
He gestured toward the villagers working in the fields. "Look around, miss. We live simply and honestly. We may not be rich, but we live with gratitude.
And besides…" He smiled fondly. "Our village is blessed with a holy woman and her little daughter who bring light to this place."
"A holy woman and a little girl?!" Clara's eyes widened.
"Yes, miss. The woman's name is Marry, and her daughter is Caelan," the old man said, his tone softening. "She's a kind young mother. Since she and her daughter settled here seven years ago, our lives have grown better."
"That woman treats us with warmth and respect. She even helps us quietly, without asking for anything in return. I once saw her walking through the fields with her daughter."
"At first, I thought she was just taking a stroll. But days later, I realised the fields she had passed became healthier and free from pests. Our harvests have flourished ever since Mrs. Marry came to our village."
Clara blinked. She knew Marry was no saintess, she is only a former executioner, feared across the continent before the world's memory collapsed. She never imagined Marry would use her power… to help villagers.
Clara hesitated, her gaze heavy with mixed feelings. Then she asked softly,
"Sir… have you ever seen Mrs Marry use any kind of magic?"
The old man paused, then chuckled.
"Magic? No, miss. But I do believe Mrs Marry is blessed. A woman that kind couldn't possibly be a magician. And besides," he added with a grin, "I've never met a magician who'd work for free. Most of them are arrogant and selfish, you know."
Clara sighed. "I see…" She shook her head slowly. "Forgive me, sir. I must have misunderstood."
The old man smiled kindly. "It's alright, miss. You simply haven't gotten to know Mrs. Marry yet. If you ever have the time, you should visit her. Her house is on the hill north of this village," he said, pointing the way.
"Mrs Marry always welcomes guests warmly," he added, stroking his white beard. "If you're lucky, she might even serve you warm cookies. Everyone here loves her homemade ones."
Clara smiled gently. "Thank you for the information, sir. I'll make sure to visit her when I can."
"You're most welcome, miss. I'm glad to be of help. And if you wish to know more about Mrs. Marry, just ask anyone here. Everyone in this village knows her well."
Clara bowed slightly. "Then I won't take any more of your time, sir. Please excuse me."
"Safe travels, miss," said the old man kindly.
Clara walked back toward the oak tree, mounted her horse, and glanced behind her. The knights were already lined up neatly on their steeds.
She nodded. "Let's continue."
They rode through the village roads. Clara looked to one side and saw young mothers sitting on their porches: one feeding her children, another scolding a mischievous boy.
On the other side, young girls sat gracefully on verandas, weaving wool while humming softly and sharing quiet laughter. Clara smiled faintly and turned her gaze forward.
"This village… is truly peaceful."
But then, the image of the two fugitives flashed in her mind: slave traders who kidnapped girls and children. Her green eyes sharpened.
"I won't let those vile men disturb this peace," she whispered to herself.
Clara tightened her reins. Her horse galloped down the stony path, followed closely by the other knights.
—
A Few Moments Later…
Clara slowed her horse's pace. She had arrived at the village market. Stopping by the roadside, she dismounted and tied her horse.
Her knights halted beside her. "I'll look for more leads. Please keep watch here," she said softly.
"Yes, Miss Clara," the knights replied in unison.
Clara crossed the street. Ahead stood a small fruit stall at the edge of the road, where an old woman was scolding her grandson.
"Thomas… stop playing around," the grandmother sighed. "Watch over the stall!"
Little Thomas frowned. "But I want to train, Grandma! I want to be a shadow hero like Sister Red!" he declared, swinging a twig like a sword.
"Red again? Who even is this Sister Red you keep talking about?" the grandmother grumbled.
Thomas instinctively covered his mouth with his tiny hands.
"I can't tell you, Grandma! I promised Sister Red I wouldn't tell anyone in the village," he said innocently.
Clara paused, watching the silly quarrel between the old woman and her grandson. This village truly is full of life, she thought to herself.
She walked closer and stopped in front of them.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Detective Clara from the capital," she greeted politely.
"May I borrow a bit of your time? I have a few important questions."
The old woman blinked in surprise, studying the young detective in her black attire. She touched her forehead lightly, then smiled.
"Of course, Miss Detective. How can I help you?"
She turned to Thomas, who was still waving his twig around. "Thomas! Be a good boy! This is Detective Clara from the capital. Introduce yourself properly," she scolded.
Thomas puffed his cheeks but obeyed. He bowed slightly.
"I'm Thomas. Nice to meet you, Miss Detective," he said curtly.
The grandmother sighed. "My apologies, Miss Clara. My grandson has been quite unruly these past few days. He keeps playing with that stick and saying strange things... like how he wants to become a shadow hero like Sister Red."
"A shadow hero like Sister Red?" Clara repeated quietly.
"Yes, Miss," the grandmother whispered, leaning closer so Thomas wouldn't hear.
"Red is some imaginary shadow heroine my grandson has become obsessed with. He's been practising swordplay with that stick for days."
"A shadow heroine?" Clara muttered in surprise.
"Yes. He even calls out Red's name in his sleep," the grandmother continued softly.
"Just a few days ago, my grandson got lost in the forest behind the village while collecting firewood. I was frantic… he was gone all day."
"But the next morning, he came home alone, his clothes torn and dirty. He said he fell while wandering in the forest."
"Ever since then, he's been talking about this shadow heroine, Red. He refuses to tell me who Red is…he says he made a promise."
"Perhaps Red is just an imaginary hero… or maybe he's some mysterious saviour," she whispered.
Clara's eyes widened. A mysterious saviour?
Those words struck a deep chord, reminding her of the mysterious saviour from ten years ago, Blood Rose Princess, the woman who had rescued her from a bloody siege. Unconsciously, Clara swallowed hard.
Thomas frowned at his grandmother whispering to Clara. "Grandma, don't tell strangers about Red!"
"I wouldn't have to if you didn't keep playing around," she replied, exasperated. "Do you understand?"
Thomas crossed his arms. "Fine, Grandma. But please don't tell them about Red."
The grandmother rubbed her forehead and sighed. "Forgive me, Miss Clara. My grandson's going through a rebellious phase."
Then she smiled gently. "So, what did you want to ask me, Miss Detective?"
Clara snapped out of her thoughts, shaking her head slightly. "Madam, have you ever seen these two faces before?" She reached into her coat and handed over a wanted poster.
The grandmother examined the paper carefully for a moment before shaking her head.
"I'm sorry, Miss Clara. I've never seen them."
Clara exhaled softly. "I see—"
But the grandmother interrupted, "I haven't seen them, no. But if you need help, you should ask Mrs. Marry. She's a holy woman, truly blessed. She often helps us in quiet ways… and her little daughter is such a sweetheart."
"Just yesterday, that sweet child brought me cookies she baked herself," the grandmother said with teary eyes, wiping them fondly.
"Marry again?!" Clara was taken aback. Once again, the villagers spoke that name.
"How could a former executioner of tyranny be loved by an entire village?" She wondered inwardly.
"Mrs Marry again? Do you know her, Miss?" the grandmother asked curiously.
Clara nodded faintly. "Yes… I met her at the market yesterday."
"Oh, that's wonderful. You should visit her again, Miss. Mrs Marry is gentle, kindhearted, and generous."
"I just wish my grandson would befriend her lovely little girl instead of swinging that twig around all day," she said with a sigh.
"Grandma, it's not a twig! It's a sword!" Thomas protested indignantly.
Clara let out a soft, awkward laugh. "Well then, I'll take my leave, madam. Thank you for your time," she said sincerely.
"You're most welcome, Miss Detective. Please give my regards to Mrs. Marry if you see her," said the old woman kindly.
Clara bid farewell to the grandmother and her grandson. She had found no new clues about the fugitives. Instead, every villager she spoke to kept repeating the same name over and over.
Marryis a gentle, kind, generous mother with a sweet little daughter.
Clara mounted her horse and rode toward the hill overlooking the village. Her gaze softened with nostalgia.
Ten years ago, that name alone could make the world tremble. And now… Marry was known merely as a young mother.
"Marry… the villagers truly love you," she thought quietly.
—
Before the Rose House…
The evening was drawing to a close when Clara finally reached the hilltop. She tied her horse beneath an oak tree and instructed her knights to wait there.
Clara walked alone toward the solitary wooden house standing proudly atop the green hill. Her steps halted before the door.
The simple home was surrounded by a wooden fence and a neatly kept rose garden. The air was fragrant, tranquil… almost too peaceful for the former executioner known as the Blood Rose Princess.
But Clara knew better than anyone: in the most peaceful places, the deepest wounds are often hidden.
Her hand trembled as she lifted it. She wasn't sure if it was from fear, nerves, or some buried hope. She knocked gently.
From behind the door, a soft voice called out, "Caelan, Mama's going to open the door… it might be a guest."
The door creaked open. Clara held her breath. And there—standing gracefully in the doorway—was the same woman who hadn't changed in the slightest. Long silver hair, a calm yet weary face, and sharp blue eyes that now carried a newfound tenderness.
Marry El Rose.
Clara froze, speechless. Meanwhile, Marry — who had first thought it was just an ordinary visitor — suddenly went still.
Their eyes met — Clara's green and Marry's blue — for a heartbeat, time itself seemed to stop. In that instant… all the memories Marry had locked away erupted like a flood.
That night in the church. The young detective girl with eyes of judgment. That confused, wounded gaze.
And now, that same girl stood before her. She had grown. Yet, Clara was still Clara. She is firm, gentle, and painfully sincere.
…
A silence hung heavy in the air.
For several seconds, neither spoke. Only their eyes spoke — unravelling the shared past neither could bury. Finally, Marry broke the silence. Her voice was soft, almost trembling.
"Did you come here as Clara… or as the Detective?" she asked quietly.
The question cut like a knife. Clara swallowed hard. Then, with quiet honesty, she answered:
"I… don't know. I just want to understand… if what I'm seeing right now is truly the truth."
—
Caelan and the New Light…
At that moment, small footsteps came from inside the house. A little girl with sky-blue eyes and silver hair appeared, wrapping her arms around her mother's waist.
Her eyes were round and clear, reflecting the afternoon light. She looked curiously at the frozen Clara. Tilting her head, the little girl asked innocently,
"Mommy, is she the detective lady from the market?!" she said, pointing at Clara.
Marry gently patted her daughter's head. "She's an old friend of Mama's, honey."
Clara stared at the child for a long moment… before realising her eyes had grown wet. She wasn't merely looking at a little girl. She was looking at an answer.
The world hadn't been completely destroyed, because from the hands of the executioner who once spilt the blood of tyrants for the sake of justice… Now bloomed a life so pure.
And there… Detective Clara finally understood one truth: True justice isn't about punishing the world… but saving one child from it.
Yet those small footsteps had led her right to the door of reality she had long refused to open… a door that did not lead to a criminal, but to a gentle mother who simply loved her little daughter.