In truth, she truly wanted to do just that.

But the headmistress, who had been watching her every move, made it clear she wouldn’t allow it. The moment Lia struggled to rise, the headmistress pinned her shoulders down, forcing her back onto her knees.

Yihan’s eye twitched. A surge of white-hot fury erupted in his chest—he nearly shoved through the crowd to charge forward.

Facing the murmuring crowd below, the headmistress’s smile widened with satisfaction. *What a splendid night.* Nearly every noble from Soul Valley Town had come, along with wealthy outsiders. She knew exactly how valuable a Sorceress was—especially one as beautiful and young as Lia, easy to control. A docile, powerful fire-attribute Sorceress? The price she’d fetch at auction was unimaginable. Enough to cover the orphanage’s expenses for years.

“Child, don’t be upset. I won’t hurt you,” the old witch murmured, her voice dripping with false kindness. Then she turned to the audience, projecting loudly: “Allow me to introduce her. This is Lia, a child of Saint Peter Orphanage—and she is a Sorceress.”

Not just Carola, frozen in shock—even Yihan was dumbfounded.

He stared, disbelieving, at Lia trembling on her knees, head bowed. Then at the headmistress, gloating. His mind refused to catch up.

*Sorceress? Lia’s a Sorceress? Since when? Why didn’t she tell me?*

Wait—he recalled hearing about Sorceresses in the real world too. The Papal State had summoned these extraordinary beings to counter the Crimson Flame Witch from the north. They wielded impossible powers, strength beyond ordinary comprehension.

But this was his *dream*. How could it connect to reality? Unease coiled in Yihan’s gut, his thoughts flickering between clarity and chaos.

He was certain Lia had seen him. Yet the girl knelt motionless, as if her heart had turned to ashes. Her vibrant red dress spilled around her legs like a blood-red rose blooming wildly on the stage.

*Was she afraid? Or did she not even realize what she was?*

The headmistress’s words struck the crowd like a stone thrown into a pond. Murmurs erupted instantly. Soon, voices shouted demands: *Prove it! Show us your power!*

Lia ignored every jeer and command. Her mind screamed only one thought: *It’s over.* The idea that Yihan might see her as a monster crushed her. She didn’t want to live anymore.

No one would ever live beside a girl whose body spat fire. She was a walking time bomb—one misstep, and everything around her would burn.

Her fate was clear: a life of rootless wandering, eternal loneliness. She’d sensed this truth long ago. Yet she’d clung to a fragile hope—to find someone who’d accept her, protect her. Even if it meant lying. Even if it meant delaying the inevitable.

All she wanted was a warm home. A gentle lover. A quiet life. *What crime was that?*

The headmistress grew frantic, digging her nails into Lia’s arm, forcing her to conjure flames as proof. But Lia only smiled coldly, sealing her heart shut, deaf to the world.

The power inside her surged, then stilled. Her calm was terrifying—a perfect control she’d never achieved before. But she knew it was temporary. Only despair had locked the flames away this time. Next time, nothing would hold them back.

“Are you deaf?!” The headmistress’s patience snapped. She slapped Lia hard across the face. The girl crumpled to the floor, body jerking.

Yihan saw red. He shouldered violently through the crowd, scrambling toward the stage.

His outburst drew attention. Guards rushed toward him. Carola, still standing aside, flicked her gaze at their snarling faces. As they neared her, she swept out a leg without warning. The guards tumbled like dominoes, crashing into each other amid curses and chaos.

Carola turned back to the stage as if nothing happened, face unreadable.

She didn’t meddle in others’ affairs. She barely knew Lia. Around the world, girls far more broken than her suffered daily—beaten, starved, violated—just to survive another dawn. Carola had seen too many tragedies. She couldn’t save them all. Couldn’t promise them hope. So she watched. Cold. Detached.

But if someone else chose to fight for them? She wouldn’t mind tripping a guard or two from the shadows.

“Stop him!”

“Who is this peasant?!”

Chaos swallowed the theater. The headmistress stood frozen. Lia pushed herself up weakly. In her emerald eyes, she saw Yihan’s figure drawing nearer.

He moved like a rabbit fleeing hunters—impossibly agile. His charge shattered the theater’s order. The crowd surged toward the stage, a tangled mess of bodies.

“Lia—give me your hand!” Yihan’s roar snapped her out of her daze. Instinctively, she reached out her pale right hand. He seized it, yanking her toward him while lunging forward—straight at the headmistress.

“W-What are you doing?!” The headmistress stumbled back, terror twisting her face.

Yihan didn’t waste words. He kicked her square in the face. A shrill scream tore through the air as the woman who’d sold orphans for profit flew backward, smashing through rows of seats. She writhed, unable to rise.

Lia stared, trembling like a clockwork doll with unwound springs. Her face was bloodless, pupils wide with shock. She pressed herself against Yihan—as if he alone held the world’s safety.

“What now?” Her heart hammered against her ribs, wild with fear and exhilaration. Her legs felt boneless.

Yihan was just as panicked. Dozens of furious eyes locked onto him, promising violence. But he kept his voice steady. “We run. We leave Soul Valley Town. Now.”

“I’ll follow you,” Lia whispered. The certainty in her own voice surprised her. No hesitation. No doubts. She’d go with him—no matter where.

His hand still gripped hers, tight with urgency. It hurt. Yet she didn’t pull away. She *liked* this rough tenderness. It made her feel human—a girl to be cherished, not a monster to be feared.

But the crowd pressed in like a wall. No allies in sight. Every exit blocked.

Unless they grew wings, escape was impossible.

“Liaaa—Liaaa—” A low, guttural moan slithered through the noise—like a demon’s curse. Yihan and Lia froze, icy dread prickling their skin.

They turned.

The blood-soaked headmistress had crawled upright. Her face was a mask of twisted rage.

“DIE—” A broken chair leg swung down. Too fast. Yihan barely raised his arms to block—

*THUD.*

Lia screamed, collapsing backward. Blood streamed from her forehead. Under the stage lights, it gleamed a strange golden-red.

Yihan lunged to catch her—but the moment his palms touched her skin, he recoiled with a gasp. Agony seared his hands. He stared, stunned.

Lia curled on the floor, shuddering in pain. Before Yihan’s eyes, her hair began to glow. Then her exposed skin. Vivid, intricate patterns bloomed across her flesh—eerie as tattoos, sharp as nightmares.