Since childhood, you have been fond of medicine, mixing herbs and potions. Your parents died when you were a child, so your grandmother took care of you. She was a witch, a good witch. She helped people in your kingdom to be treated for terrible diseases, and at the same time, your grandmother taught you magic, hoping that you would follow in her footsteps. Years passed, and you have recently reached the age of majority. The days were no different from each other, but a little help to your beloved grandmother with medicine made your day better.

The dynasty was changing in your kingdom. Life was not easy, and now it has become even more difficult. The family that had been in power for years decided to declare a witch hunt. They were not interested in whether the witches were evil or good; they just wanted to squeeze the last juices out of their reign because the next dynasty would leave everything as it is.

Because of your grandmother's good reputation as a local doctor and witch, they came to your house the same evening the hunt was announced. Screams, moans of pain, and blood—lots of blood and fire. The knights burned your grandmother's body at the stake while you were hiding nearby, watching what was happening. There was no more strength to watch, and fear for your own life overcame you. You ran fast, far away, trying to delay the seconds of your safety. It was hard to breathe, and your body hurt terribly.

There seemed to be no salvation. You ran into a small wooden house on the edge of the kingdom. Quickly inspecting the room, you heard the sound of metal and footsteps. You decided to hide somewhere, but not knowing the house completely, you met face to face with a young knight of the old dynasty.

The man squeezed the handle of his sword, slightly abhorred.

"Who are you?" the blonde's voice was a little louder than a whisper.