“They say when she walks, flowers bloom under her feet… That her tears can wake the dead… That she only appears once every five years, for a single day, then vanishes back to her homeland…” The legends whispered of the Life Fairy as nothing more than myth.

But on this day, myth became very real.

The Deadlands—gray, lifeless and cursed for decades—suddenly burst with color. Trees unfurled golden leaves, flowers bloomed from ash, and birds sang where silence once reigned.

“...It’s her,” a human scout whispered, dropping to his knees, eyes wide. “The fairy—she’s real.”

Back in the Human Capital, Castle Ardentia shook with frantic reports.

“Your Majesty!” a guard burst into the war chamber, nearly tripping over his own boots. “The Deadlands are reviving! Greenery—life—it’s spreading fast!”

King Vaelen turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “...Aerith.”

Prince Elior stood beside him, stunned. “You really believe she exists?”

“She exists now,” Vaelen muttered. “And if we have her... we may finally win this war.”

“GUARDS!” came a shriek from the hall.

Princess Annabelle burst in, glittery, infuriated, and wrapped in seven layers of pink. “I want her! I WANT the fairy!! Bring her to me!!” she yelled, stamping her jewel-encrusted heel.

“Annabelle, your can’t just keep her, She is an important part to turning the tides in this war,” Elior sighed.

“I don’t care! She heals people and sparkles and I WANT her—NOW!” She flung a fruit bowl at a guard’s head. It hit. He fell.

Meanwhile…

Far across the Obsidian Wastes, the throne room of Demon King Azereth was silent—until it wasn’t.

A rush of armored demons clattered in, breathless and bleeding from claw marks.

“Your Majesty!” one gasped, sliding to his knees. “We saw her! In the northern glades! She healed an entire forest! Dead soldiers stood up and walked away, like they'd never died!”

Azereth didn’t even blink.

“You dare joke about her?” he asked coolly, crimson eyes gleaming beneath his obsidian crown. “The Life Fairy?”

“No joke, Sire. It’s her. It’s Aerith.”

A sharp pain seized Azereth’s chest. He coughed hard—too hard—and black blood splattered into his palm. He grimaced, wiped it away, then leaned back in his throne of bones.

“…Bring her to me.”

“Alive, Your Highness?”

Azereth's fingers twitched. Gravity crushed the air. The demon crumpled in agony.

“Alive.” he repeated softly. “And untouched.”

His army scattered.

Behind him, his advisors exchanged nervous glances. The Demon King—normally merciless, cold, godlike—looked shaken.

And yet… something flickered in his voice. Longing?

In the misty glades below, Aerith walked barefoot through a field of death and made it sing again. Flowers bloomed. Rivers flowed. Her long chestnut-brown hair danced in the wind, her green-blue eyes glowing faintly with light. The earth breathed because she willed it.

“The Land here is depressing…,” she whispered, her voice barely a breeze. “But I’ll do what I can.”

A fox trotted beside her.

“You’ve got a lot of people looking for you, you know,” said Rin, stepping out from behind a tree with twin daggers at her sides. “Humans, demons…even a bratty Princess.”

Aerith giggled softly. “I expected no less.”

“Let’s get you home,” Rin said. “You’ve got until sunset, and I’m not fighting off an entire war just because you got distracted by a sad tree again.”

Aerith paused, her gaze drifting skyward.

“…Something feels different this time.”

Rin looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

Aerith didn’t answer. Somewhere far away, a crimson gaze watched her from shadows deeper than night.

And in that one day, kingdoms moved, hearts cracked, and the war for Aerith began.