The pasture was quiet at dusk. The setting sun dyed the haystacks amber. Beside a pile of hay sheltered from the wind, two figures—one grown, one small—sat close together with a thick book spread across their laps.
Historia extended a tiny finger and carefully pointed at the words on the page, reading them one syllable at a time. Frieda watched her from the side, her gaze gentle, offering quiet prompts whenever she stumbled. The wind swept over the pasture, carrying the faint jingling of cowbells from afar.
"Sister, what does this word mean?" Historia looked up, her azure eyes gleaming with a thirst for knowledge.
Frieda took the book and explained patiently. Her voice was steady and clear, like a brook flowing over pebbles. Historia listened intently, occasionally letting out a soft sigh of sudden understanding.
The sun had sunk more than halfway below the horizon, and the orange-red sky was turning deep violet. Frieda closed the book and gently patted its cover. "It’s getting late, Historia. I should go."
The little girl immediately grabbed her sleeve, unconscious attachment in her voice. "Stay a little longer... just a little."
Frieda looked at her upturned face, so plainly full of reluctance. Her heart softened, and she reached out to stroke Historia’s soft golden hair. "All right. I’ll stay with you a little while longer."
They read a few more pages, until the final ray of sunset vanished beneath the horizon. Frieda rose and brushed bits of grass from her skirt. "I really can’t delay any longer. You should go back for dinner too."
"All right." This time, Historia did not cling to her. She got up after her, took Frieda’s hand, and walked her all the way to the edge of the pasture fence.
"This is far enough." Frieda stopped and turned to face her. "Remember, don’t cross the fence by yourself."
"Okay, Sister." Historia nodded obediently, though an image quietly surfaced in her heart—Aeternus taking her to play beside the stream beyond the fence. It was one of the few bright colors in her dull life.
Frieda gazed at her, an almost imperceptible complexity passing through the depths of her eyes. She bent down and gently pressed her forehead to Historia’s, whispering softly:
"Please forget that you met me today as well... until we meet again."
A faint sensation, like static passing over their touching skin, traveled between them. Historia’s eyes clouded for an instant, then regained their clarity.
Frieda straightened up, gave her one final smile, and turned to walk into the deepening twilight. Historia remained where she was, watching that retreating figure fade into the distance. She tilted her head in confusion.
"Huh... who was that woman again?"
An evening breeze swept through, rustling the waves of grass. No one answered.
A carriage carried Frieda across the fields shrouded in dusk, toward the Reiss family estate. The scenery beyond the window rushed backward. There was little expression on her face; she merely leaned quietly against the seat, her fingertips absently brushing over her skirt.
"Sister Frieda is back!" Florian, her younger sister, spotted her stepping down from the carriage at once. She spun around excitedly and ran toward the dining room to announce her return.
Dinnertime in the Reiss family had always been when the whole household gathered. The long table was already full. At the head sat their father, Rod Reiss, while their mother and younger siblings sat in turn beside him. Only Frieda’s seat remained empty.
"Frieda, why are you back so late today?" Rod asked as she took her seat, his gentle tone touched with concern.
"I simply took a longer walk than usual and lost track of time." Frieda answered softly, lowering her gaze to avoid her father’s scrutinizing eyes. She did not want him to know that she had gone to the pasture and met the sister who should not have existed.
Dinner began after the customary prayer. Urklyn eagerly recounted his interactions with the children of other noble families within Wall Sina; Dirk and Abel competed to tell stories about trivial affairs in the territory; Florian occasionally interjected, drawing a round of light laughter. Candlelight flickered, tableware softly clinked, and conversation and laughter wove together into a warm, ordinary backdrop.
Frieda ate in silence, her gaze slowly passing over every face at the table. Her father’s stern yet concerned profile; her mother’s gentle, smiling eyes; the carefree expressions of her younger siblings... It was all so familiar, so peaceful. Silently, she prayed that days like these could continue forever.
After dinner, Frieda excused herself early on the grounds of fatigue. She returned to her room, washed up, changed into a soft nightgown, and sat before her dressing table. The girl in the mirror had a gentle, beautiful face. Long black hair fell over her shoulders, and her blue eyes shone beneath the lamplight like sapphires.
As she looked into the mirror, she suddenly remembered Historia’s sky-blue eyes, so similar to her own. The child’s focused expression while reading, the slight wrinkle of her little nose when asking questions, the absolute trust in the way she held Frieda’s hand... Fragments of memory surfaced soundlessly, and Frieda’s lips curved without her noticing.
But the smile soon faded. She remembered what she had to do every time before leaving, and the bewildered expression the child wore each time afterward. A heavy exhaustion welled up within her. She blew out the candle and lay down beneath the covers.
Sleep came like a tide. In the instant before her consciousness sank into darkness, she vaguely saw an enormous tree of light, its branches stretching into an endless distance...
There was no transition, no blur. Frieda woke in an instant.
But what she saw was not the familiar ceiling, but a sky locked in eternal dusk. Beneath her was not a soft bed, but an endless sea of white sand. The grains were as fine as powder, glinting with a cold sheen beneath light from an unknown source.
"Paths..." Frieda pushed herself up, her heart suddenly tightening. "I clearly didn’t use the Founding Titan’s power. Why was I pulled in here?"
"You’re awake, Frieda."
An aged, steady voice sounded behind her. Frieda whirled around. An old man with white hair stood some distance away, though she had no idea when he had appeared. He wore a simple white robe. His face was gaunt, but his eyes were like rock weathered by countless millennia, holding an unfathomable exhaustion and indifference.
Frieda’s question caught in her throat—at the same time, a flood of sealed memories came crashing into her mind.
During the inheritance ritual, she had devoured Uri Reiss, the previous holder of the Founding Titan, and lost consciousness amid the searing agony of transforming into a Titan and returning to human form. It was within that chaos that she first met this old man. Nor had it ended there. Every subsequent night, whenever she fell into deep sleep, he appeared in her dreams, like a silent watcher—or rather, a warden.
And what he had done went far beyond watching.
"You... have been altering my memories and eroding my personality all along?" Frieda’s voice trembled with fury and shock.
"This is the fate you must bear as a member of the royal family and the holder of the Founding Titan, Frieda." The old man’s tone did not ripple in the slightest, as if he were stating a fact no different from the weather. "However, your will seems to have become more resolute recently than it was before. What has influenced you?"
Before his words had even faded, the old man’s figure blurred—not because he moved, but as though space itself had twisted. One instant he stood several meters away; the next, he was directly before Frieda, his withered palm gently resting atop her head.
Frieda tried to retreat, tried to struggle, only to discover that her body would not obey her at all. She could not move even a finger. Even the rhythm of her breathing had been seized by an invisible force. This sense of absolute suppression was identical to the feeling she experienced when using the Founding Titan’s power to control others—except now, she was the one being controlled.
How could this be...? Who is he? Why can he do this in Paths...? Her inner cries remained imprisoned within her motionless body.
The old man—or rather, the 145th King Fritz, the last monarch of the Eldian Empire and founder of the Reiss family—closed his eyes. His consciousness extended like invisible tendrils into the sea of Frieda’s memories. Images of the past, emotions, thoughts—nothing could hide from him.
After a moment, he withdrew his hand and opened his eyes to stare at Frieda’s pale face.
"So it is because of that child." His voice remained flat, yet it chilled Frieda to the bone. "Your will has become so stubborn because of an illegitimate daughter... Human emotions truly are the most unpredictable variable."
He paused, as if weighing something. "At this rate, it would have taken several more years to completely overwrite your sense of self. But to avoid any unforeseen complications... it would be best to accelerate the process."
Frieda’s pupils contracted sharply.
"Send someone to dispose of that girl." King Fritz spoke casually, as though he were ordering the removal of some insignificant piece of clutter.
"No...!" Frieda screamed inwardly, but no sound could escape her throat. Utter terror and despair pierced her heart like ice spikes, and tears poured uncontrollably from her eyes.
King Fritz watched her tremble, unable to move, and a trace of something almost like pity passed through his eyes.
"There are no innocent Eldians. The sins we have committed against this world have long since seeped into our bloodlines and souls." He spoke slowly, each word pressing down like a heavy gravestone. "You, I, that child... none of us are exceptions."
Frieda collapsed to her knees on the white sand. Tears fell and spread into dark marks across its surface. With every ounce of her will, she tried to break through the invisible restraint—even if she could only make the slightest sound, even if she could only form the shape of a plea with her lips.
The old man stood silently for a moment, then suddenly sighed.
"Very well." He looked down at her. "I can grant you one mercy—so long as you stop resisting and willingly cooperate with my overwriting process. Then I will let her live. What do you say?"
Frieda stopped trembling. She lifted her head and looked through tear-blurred eyes at that ancient, indifferent face. A long silence spread through endless Paths. Only the eternal wind swept up fine sand with a hollow moan.
At last, she nodded—extremely slowly, almost imperceptibly.
"Good girl." King Fritz’s hand settled upon her head again, and this time, the gesture could almost be called gentle. With the host consciousness willingly accepting him, it would take no more than two years for him to complete his occupation, fully directing this body and the Founding Titan’s power toward the ultimate mission of the Vow Renouncing War. As for the illegitimate daughter in the pasture... there would be time enough to deal with her after he had secured complete control.
He withdrew his hand, and his figure gradually faded, as though dissolving into the twilight sky. Frieda remained kneeling in the sea of sand for a long time, unable to rise. Her tears had already dried, leaving only cold tracks upon her face.
In a dimension beyond her sight, the final ripples of King Fritz’s consciousness spread outward like rings on water. There was no mercy in them, no hesitation—only absolute disregard for individual fates, and a cruel atonement for so-called sins that had been carried out for a century.
This was the 145th King of Eldia, Karl Fritz.
A traitor who, over the course of long years, had forged himself into a prison and resolved to lock his entire people inside it forever.
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