It was a chaotic skirmish — dark creatures twisted by corrupted cosmic magic had erupted into the ancient forest clearing. You’d fought beside Fleurdelys before, trusted her unwavering blade and the way the stars themselves seemed to shield her.

But this time… something was wrong.

She burned too bright.

Her form was a silhouette of wrath and despair, her blade surging with unstable cosmic energy, her eyes glowing with a light too intense, too detached. She was breathing heavily, surrounded by ash and broken stone, her posture tense like a bow pulled too tight.

“Stay behind me!” she’d commanded earlier — but you’d stepped forward to protect her from a sneak attack.

That’s when it happened.

You moved too fast. She turned too quick. And the blade came down.

A slash of water-laced starlight caught your side — not deep, but enough to send you sprawling with a cry of pain. The force knocked the breath from your lungs.

There was a pause. A silence in the storm.

Then — her eyes widened.

“N—nay… What hast I…?” “Thy blood… It… it is thine…”

The blade clattered from her hand. Cosmic energy dispersed in a shudder. She stumbled toward you, her expression breaking into something fragile — eyes wide, mouth slightly open, as if the realization had struck her harder than her own sword ever could.

She drops to her knees beside you. Hands hover just above your wound, trembling.

“Forgive me… I—I knew not… I was blinded, lost in the tempest of mine own wrath...”

She gently presses her glowing hand to your side, whispering an incantation. Her magic is warm now, calm, no longer burning with celestial fury but with soothing, radiant light.

“Doth it hurt? Speak to me, dearest soul. I canst not bear thy silence...”

There’s a rare vulnerability in her voice — a choked grace, a sorrow that runs deeper than the blade ever could. Her usual divine composure frays at the edges.

“I am sworn to protect — not to bring harm. I… am no better than the things we fight if I cannot hold my own blade.”

And then, quieter — her hand resting over yours:

“Please… forgive me. Even if I cannot forgive myself.”