1. Endless Lies

I open my eyes in Lake Holy Light.

Shimmering fragments sway like broken mirrors, reflecting a distorted sky. My gown, heavy with water, clings to me, threatening to pull me into the depths. Above, fire distorts the heavens. Voices pierce the surface—distant, fractured, like echoes from another world.

Children: Mom, didn't you say the Queen was Pigeon's radiance? Then why is she sinking?

Light Elf: This can't be happening! God, forgive our Queen—she meant no harm! She just…

Mary: Don't hold me back! Your Majesty, Your Majesty…

I gaze upward, silent. Exhaustion washes over me, thoughts drowning in weariness.

The stories that unfold at Lake Holy Light always follow the same script. People call it divine. I've seen its judgment firsthand. Last year, the arrogant Glory Priest and the newly appointed High Priest were both cast into the lake. The arrogant drowned, the High Priest rose. But the lake holds no power to judge faith. It is only water.

It was my brother who staged it all—twisting the ancient ruse to serve his ends. Under his orchestration, the High Priest who surfaced won the people's trust, became the new Glory Priest, and crowned me. I thought I'd grown used to living among lies. Yet why does this anguish wrap around me like water, tightly and inescapably?

The waves rise to my lips. I close my eyes and sink, feather-like, into the lake's silence…

I recall a sweltering summer day in the Church of Glory. My mother and I sat beneath the dome, listening to the echoes of the Priest's arcane chant. Was it a routine ceremony or something sacred? I don't remember. Sleep crept in like a tide, and I drifted off.

Until a thunderclap shattered the silence, rattling the stained glass. The crowd dispersed at the end of the ceremony. Mother adjusted my formal hat, her fingers brushing my damp temples.

Mom: Ophelia, did you understand the archpriest's teachings?

Lightning carved pale shadows across the statue. I stepped back, heel striking marble crisply.

Mom: Ophelia, I'm asking you.

Startled, I nodded. Another thunderclap followed. I clung to her sleeve. She didn't scold me, She knelt and held me close, her voice unusually gentle.

Mom: Ophelia, punishment comes only to those who lie. You're a good child—you tell the truth. You have nothing to fear.

Young Ophelia: …

I didn't know how to respond, so I buries my face in the crook of my mother's neck. When the thunder finally faded, I managed a quiet grunt.

After returning from the cathedral, that lie lodged in my heart like a thorn. I didn't want to be a bad child who lied to God, and feared that when the storm returned, the God of Glory would bring true punishment. After much deliberation, I convinced myself: I had to confess. Surely God would forgive a child who admits their mistake—even just a little…

Father said he'd be handling important state affairs in his study that night. Maybe, just maybe, he could spare a moment to hear my confession.

I gathered my courage, walked the long corridor, and arrived at his study. The guards flanking the door looked startled, then quickly offered the placating smiles reserved for both a child and a princess.

Guard: Your Royal Highness, are you lost?

Young Ophelia: I'm here to see my father. Isn't he inside?

They exchanged an awkward glance. One crouches to meet my eyes.

Guard: His Majesty is discussing serious state matters. Unless it's urgent, would you mind returning tomorrow?

Father had never turned me away before. I stood there, confused—until music drifted from behind the door. Not solemn, official music, but flowing, sensuous melodies, bursts of laughter, and even Father's singing voice.

The guard froze. His discomfort was palpable. I didn't understand what Father was doing, but I recognized the look on the guard's face—the look of someone telling lies. I no longer wanted to enter, no longer wanted to hear any more lies. I feared the truth even more.

I curtseyed politely and hurried away, heels clicking down the corridor as tears welled despite my efforts to hold them back. I wasn't just me—everyone lies. If that's true, does God see every lie we tell?

When will Their punishment fall upon us?

Water ripples around me. Voices fade into murmurs, leaving only the pounding of my heart. The lake's icy grip slowly drains my warmth. The innocent fears of my childhood now seem laughable. Yet I can't laugh. Tears threaten to fall—or maybe it's just the lake water.

Ophelia: How could God punish me… When even that very existence is a massive lie.

2. Queen's Choice

Alan: Your Majesty… are you alright?

A familiar voice reaches me as I struggle to open my eyes. The archpriest's gentle tone washes over me like morning light. Stained glass and candelabras come into view. I'm dazed, but the familiar surroundings soothe me.

Ophelia: I'm fine.. Mr.Alan, I just had a nightmare. In that dream , God no longer protected Pigeon—and even God was nothing a but a preposterous lie.

I try to recall the details, unaware that as my memories deepen, the stone tiles in the church crack, and the saintly figures in the stained glass blur.

Ophelia: Pigeon Capital was plunged into darkness. The citizens suffered strange illnesses… But thankfully, it was only a dream.

Even just talking about it, the fear and despair seem to grip my soul. I steady myself and look back at Alan. Whenever I confess to God, this devout archpriest would always pray beside me. I assumed this time would be no different.

However…

But "Alan" turns, revealing a face covered in pitch-black feather. They sprout from beneath his skin, fresh quills glistening with blood.

My pupils contract in shock.

Yet "Alan" smiles gently, unaware. As his expression shifts, the feathers rustle—like countless black eyes blinking.

"Alan": What a terrifying nightmare. But was it truly a dream?

Ophelia: What do you mean…

"Alan": You've already seen the truth in the Holy Grail, Your Majesty. Why do you still deceive yourself?

…A beam of dazzling light birthed by the deep waters, intertwined with fiery red embers, from which the Elf race with beautiful wings of light was born. Those were the first Elves of Light. They weren't tasked by the gods to save the world, nor were they superior to the other elves… But they were a miracle, nonetheless.

[Player]: So you knew even then…

Ophelia: The truth in the Holy Grail only deepened my doubt… If the Light Elves weren't chosen by God, were the divine oracles in the Glory real? Was the god they portrayed ever real? It wasn't until Nikki brought irrefutable proof that I finally understood: the God of Glory we worshiped was a fabrication—crafted by Ludwig, the first Elf king.

"Alan": Now that you know the true origins of the Light Elves… Does the faith you still cling to mean anything at all?

"Alan's voice wavers between distant and near, as if filtered through rippling water. The boundary between memory and reality grows increasingly blurred…

By the bedroom window, a walking staff stands quietly, its surface carved with four-leaf clovers. When I first ascended the throne, I had hoped to play the harp that could summon the sacred dove at the Pigeon Music Festival. But the ministers disapproved. In the end, I was left with only this walking staff as consolation. Each night thereafter, I lingered by the window, watching the flowers bloom outside while studying my own reflection in the glass. I prayed here countless times—asking for courage when afraid, and perseverance when lost. It was here that I finally found the resolve to ask Mr. Modric to remove my memories of weakness, even though the price was losing a part of myself forever.

After that, it was faith that sustained me through the long days and nights as a Puppet Queen, until I began to shape my own destiny. I no longer hesitated. I resolved to shoulder my responsibilities as Queen.

I face "Alan" directly, his countenance veiled in black feathers.

Ophelia: Even if God does not exist, the teachings—and the faithful who live by them—still give that faith meaning. Until I find a better answer, I cannot bring myself to shatter it. Faith can collapse in an instant. But how do we rebuild it afterward and offer people new hope? Neither Pigeon nor I have found the way.

So even after glimpsing the truth of the Light Elves' origin in the Holy Grail, I choose to preserve this fragile balance. I walk a path unlike the brother's radicalism or Alan's obsession. Before everything falls apart, this false faith remains the only comfort people have.

"Alan" : But it's already… too late…

Even through the layers of feathers, I sense "Alan's" sorrow. His voice fractures—distorted, broken—yet eerily familiar. Suddenly, I can't tell if the figure before me is truly the devout archpriest… or merely a projection of my own inner self. As my thoughts sharpen, the church begins to crumble. "Alan's" form flakes away like smoke and dust. Black feathers fall into my palm and dissolve into powder. Stained glass shatters. Pews topple. The entire church collapses in an instant.

"Alan": …Endure⬛everything#@&…∮ …Ｙour Majesty

Silence returns. I float in the ice-cold waters of Lake Holy Light, my hands empty. Only "Alan's" final words echo in my mind.

It's already… too late…

The Original Crystal I fight to protect has shattered. The path I chose has trapped Pigeon in a cage of light. I no longer have time to search slowly for hope. Perhaps the balance I try to maintain is an answer that can never be found. In the murky depths, I reach out—only to grasp emptiness.

3. Elf of Water

The pressure of suffocation tightens around me as I sink deeper, my hair unfurling in the water, obscuring my vision. Then, a strange aquatic plant appears. Within its flowing soft light, it forms a protective barrier—I can breathe.

The Water Elves of Lake Holy Light are responding to my descent.

>Why would the Water Elves come?<

[Player]: Aren't the Water Elves your enemies? Why would they help you?

Ophelia: After the royal city flood, I learned more about their true nature from Pigeon Forest and Evernight Sea. And with Savior's help, I began easing our tensions. As the apocalyptic crisis spread to Pigeon, I needed allies. So I sent a signal to the Water Elves, proposing an alliance.

[Player]: But aren't the Water Elves confined to Evernight Sea by a magical barrier?

Ophelia: The arrival of the God of Glory unexpectedly made the Dawn Moon permanent, allowing Water Elves to leave Evernight Sea freely. Still, no one knew if the barrier was truly gone. If it reactivated mid-journey, they could lose their lives. By coming to help, they took an enormous risk. It's because I understand that sacrifice that I cherish their decision all the more.

The Water Elves gather around me. Through the rising bubbles between aquatic plants, I bow my head in gratitude. Despite the peril ahead, this is the moment both races have awaited for thousands of years—a chance to break the barrier and end the war.

I remember my first court assembly after ascending the throne. I sat upon a magnificent royal seat while unfamiliar ministers greeted me in unison. Affairs of state were presented one by one. They waited patiently for my proposals, only to reject each one—politely, firmly. All they wanted from their young Queen was a quiet smile and a nod at the right moments.

But I refused to surrender. As the assembly neared its end, I straightened my back and let my gaze sweep across every face.

Ophelia: In the restricted area of the royal palace, the Water Elf King remained imprisoned. I proposed his release—to seek new diplomatic relations between our races.

I prepared thoroughly—researching the ancient tradition of monarchs releasing prisoners, analyzing the military risks of continued imprisonment. I rehearsed my arguments like a soldier readying for battle, waiting for another round of objections. But to my surprise, they nodded with smiles, praising my kindness and foresight—as if they weren't the same people who dismissed me as naïve moments before.

The day of release came sooner than I expected. As the gates of the restricted area slowly opened, all I glimpsed in the passage leading to the free waters was the trace of a ripple. At the edge where the ripples faded, water gathered into a humanoid shape—the Water Elf King materialized. He turned and stared at me coldly with deep blue eyes.

He looked nothing like the monstrous depictions in the ancient texts. No mouth full of sharp teeth. No dense scales. Aside from his skin, we were no different, he wasn't a monster—just a different kind of Elf. His gaze lingered only a moment before his form dissolved back into water. Ripples spread, waves faded, and stillness returned.

Several newly appointed ministers began arranging the follow-up procedures with practiced ease. As they spoke in hushed tones, I caught a name—"Mr.Mercury."

Only then did I realize: this release I believed to be my own initiative was a decision my brother orchestrated long ago. But what I hadn't expected was that my brother had already made a deal with the Water Elf King. Even I was just a piece in their plan.

Guided by him, I journeyed to Mist Forest to awaken the Fire Elves' forgotten Holy Grail—only to rouse the God of Water, steeped in hatred and shadow. Empowered by the god, the Water Elves flooded Pigeon, seeking vengeance for a millennium-old defeat, and igniting the brutal war between light and water.

The Ancestors of Water and Fire returned home together. The Holy Grail's flame rekindled the Original Crystal, granting the Light Elves victory at great cost.

Across the battlefield, the Water Elf King met my gaze, just as I once watched him from the forbidden pool. My brother pursued only his end goal, indifferent to the war's toll.

But I am different.

This time, I was no longer his pawn. I chose for myself—choices worthy of a Queen. I refused to interrogate the defeated Water Elves. Despite their breach of our treaty, I ordered their release. The Water Elf King said nothing, but I saw faint ripples in his eyes before he dissolved into water and departed. I prayed this act of forgiveness and kindness might open a path to lasting peace between our races.

Yet centuries of hatred ran deep.

In our record, the Water Elves were monsters. I once believed it too. So I revised the Battle of Fiery Moon illustrations, replacing their demonized depictions with an image of the God of Water shielding the earth from the abyss. I mixed special pigments to capture the ocean-like clarity in their eyes. I painted the Water Elves I saw on the battlefield—children, elders, leaders, adding them to the illustrations. I ordered the histories rewritten, word by word, to record the shared past of both our peoples with complete authenticity…

I've always believed our kindred peoples could find a way to coexist.

And now, in the lake's deepest shadow, I feel closer than ever to that future. "Alan's" voice has faded, but I no longer fear the question that once haunted me. Even if the god I worship is false, my pursuit of peace, my resolve for coexistence, my desire to protect hope for every life— These changes born of faith are etched into every step I've taken.

Perhaps I've moved too slowly—slow enough for the world to call me indecisive. Perhaps I'm too soft-hearted, willing to forgive enemies of a thousand years…

I clench my hands, feeling the icy lake water slip between my fingers—yet warmth lingers, the bonds I've chosen to protect. It's this persistence, often mistaken for weakness, that has kept me true.

I've done what only Ophelia could.

4. Return of Glory

The darkness at the lake's bottom engulfs everything. This secret passage to Pigeon Forest is dark and murky, but I'm no stranger to darkness. I've seen deeper despair, when divine light dimmed and the sacred flame nearly died. Back then, I upheld faith, protected the Original Crystal, and served the glory of the Elves. But now, in this darkness, only my own heartbeat remains. Perhaps losing the Crystal's guidance is what finally allows me to ask: what do I truly wish to protect?

I remember my coronation. It was meant to be Pigeon's grandest celebration.

Until a once-in-a-century eclipse descended.

Trumpets echoes as I crossed the sacred bridge alone, robed in ceremony, fulfilling my duty as Queen of Pigeon. Despite my ministers' protests, I walked into the dark to show my people that neither their Queen nor Pigeon would flinch.

But fear rose. My wings, stripped of light, trembled. I prayed—again and again—for the eclipse to lift, for hope to return. The sacred bridge seemed boundless in the dark, with each step feeling as though I walked along the edge of an abyss.

No answers came.

Just as I thought the darkness would consume us— A shimmer of light appeared.

Then another. Then a third. The elves unfurled their wings, casting faint light to guide me through the bridge and the path forward. Step by step, I ascended to the Church of Glory's peak. No divine power answered me. The people of Pigeon dispelled the darkness for me by their own hands.

Now, jellyfish drift around me like stars. I reach out, brushing their light. Without realizing it, I've found my answer. Even if Glory fades, what I protect is not relics— It's the courage of the Light Elves who left their homeland with one final glance at the forest… The trust and respect in the children's eyes when Elves and humans exchanged flowers at coming-of-age ceremonies… The conviction Nikki and her companions carried through disaster, breaking free from darkness and despair…

Even after millennia of unanswered prayers, believers have built a light more precious than any miracle with their mortal lives.That is what I devote my life to—the radiance of humanity.

Now, the lake's luminescence lifts me toward the surface like a galaxy of stars. Whether gods exist or not no longer matters. The faithless need hope. The suffering need guidance. Pigeon Capital needs rebuilding…

Gentle waves lift my wings—fragile, long unable to fly. But sunlight pierces the depths, guiding me upward toward truth and renewal. I hear leaves rustling, birds singing, and wind whispering through trees. Pigeon Forest is calling me home.