The Primordial Witch Takes a Stroll Through the Royal Capital
A continent ruled by swords and magic. The human royal capital, Artemis, is protected from external threats by a guardian contract with witches. Witches cannot be killed by humans or other races—only by fellow witches. But the First Witch, Theresia, is the exception: no witch she created can harm her.
Sierra, the White Witch, is twenty years old. She chose to side with humanity, a stubborn and unyielding guardian. One night, sensing an unfathomable presence approaching the capital, Sierra goes
The Primordial Witch Takes a Stroll Through the Royal Capital - My mother's face, my sister's face
The village lay quiet in the early afternoon.
The wind carried the scent of dry earth. A withered tree standing at the edge of the fields rustled its branches with a dry, rasping sound. The autumn sunlight was white and stark, casting hard-edged shadows on the ground.
Shiera stood motionless beneath the eaves of Alke's house.
The hem of her white coat fluttered in the breeze. Her long silver hair was still tied back in a single tail. She hadn't slept a wink the night before. Burned into the backs of her eyelids, impossible to erase, was that familiar's voice she'd heard in the darkness.
(Theresia is coming.)
(To this village. To see Alke.)
Deep in her chest, something cold and silent coiled and turned.
The night before, Shiera had reached for Luminous again and again beneath her blanket. Each time she confirmed the cold touch of the holy sword in its sheath, her fingertips trembled. No one knew better than she the foolishness of pointing a blade at an opponent she couldn't kill. And yet, she could not let go of the sword.
(I am the White Witch.)
(The guardian who protects the Royal Capital.)
(Theresia is my enemy.)
She repeated those words in her mind. The more she repeated them, the emptier they became.
Alke had been cleaning the house since morning.
Sweeping the floor with a broom, dusting the shelves, opening the windows to let in fresh air. Ever since receiving the familiar's message the night before, there was not a single wasted movement in her actions. She was preparing to welcome a guest — calmly, methodically, and with care.
Shiera watched her back.
(That woman knew.)
(She knew Theresia was coming. She's known all along.)
(I was the only one kept in the dark.)
That fact ate away at Shiera from the inside — quietly, but surely.
Alke lit the hearth and began boiling water. Preparing to make tea. The night before, she had asked the familiar to tell Theresia: "I'll have tea ready and waiting." Shiera had heard those words in the darkness.
(That woman will welcome her mother.)
(With all her heart — the very person I point my sword at.)
Shiera bit her lip.
————
Two figures appeared at the village entrance.
Visible even from a distance. One was small. Shoulder-length brown hair swaying in the wind. Beside her, a man with black hair. Dressed in black, walking half a step behind the small figure.
The blood drained from Shiera's fingertips.
(She's here.)
Her heart pulsed — slowly, heavily.
That was when it happened.
A dry sound echoed from inside the house.
Clink.
The sound of ceramic being set on a wooden tray.
Before Shiera could even turn, Alke came flying out of the house. A woman with dull flaxen hair tied back in a single knot, wearing a faded, unbleached dress. In the instant her face passed by Shiera, she was smiling.
It was a smile Shiera had never seen before.
"Mother... Mother!"
Alke ran barefoot down the dirt path.
Her hem flew wild, her hair came loose, and she paid it no mind at all — she ran. Like a child, utterly unguarded, at full speed.
Toward the small figure standing at the village entrance.
"Mother!"
Alke threw herself at Theresia.
With the momentum of it, she wrapped both arms around the small body and held tight. Burying her face in Theresia's shoulder, she repeated "Mother" over and over and over.
Theresia didn't stagger a single step from the impact.
The eight-hundred-year-old progenitor gently placed a hand on the back of the daughter who had flung herself at her.
"I'm home, Alke."
Theresia's voice was soft.
Shiera stood frozen beneath the eaves of Alke's house.
Her feet wouldn't move.
Her fingertips were cold.
(That is Theresia's voice.)
It should have been the same voice she'd heard in the Royal Capital — and yet it sounded like something entirely different.
Theresia stroked Alke's hair.
Her small hand moved slowly, again and again, through the dull flaxen strands. The gesture was astonishingly natural, practiced — and warm.
"You've gotten a little thinner, haven't you? Are you eating properly?"
"I am. The potatoes in this village are sweet and delicious."
"Is that so. Well, as long as you're eating."
Theresia pinched Alke's cheek.
Squish.
"Ow ow ow. Mother, that hurts!"
"But your cheeks feel just a tiny bit softer than before. How funny."
Alke smiled, looking a little helpless.
That smile was a completely different creature from the gentle expression Shiera had seen yesterday when Alke poured her tea.
————
Lorde moved.
The man in black glanced once at Theresia and Alke's reunion, then slowly began to walk.
His direction: the eaves of the house where Shiera stood.
A cold sensation ran down Shiera's spine.
Lorde stopped at a position between Shiera and Theresia.
Half a step forward.
What that distance meant was obvious.
Lorde's hands were hidden beneath his sleeves. But Shiera understood. His magical energy was already being gathered. A dark, shadow-like power seemed to waver and flicker around him.
(If I move even one step, I'll be eliminated.)
Shiera's hand started toward Luminous.
Her fingertips touched the cold metal fitting of the sheath.
—And there, her hand stopped.
(If I move, I'll be killed.)
(...No. That's not it.)
(There's no point in moving.)
What pinned Shiera's feet in place was not fear.
It was a deep stagnation — the inability to find a reason to move.
Even if she drew her sword, it wouldn't reach Theresia. Even if she faced Lorde, there was no guarantee she'd win. And more than that, in this moment, drawing her blade felt like an utterly meaningless act.
(What did I come here to do?)
(To find a way to kill Theresia.)
(But after seeing that — can I still draw my sword?)
Lorde glanced at Shiera.
Jet-black eyes. Eyes deep enough to swallow light — eyes that were not human.
"...I'm glad to see you're staying put."
Lorde's tone was perfectly polite.
But the temperature of his words was cold as ice.
Shiera glared back at him.
"...You're wary of me."
"Naturally. You pointed a sword at Lady Theresia. That alone is sufficient reason for elimination."
His manner was matter-of-fact.
"However, Lady Theresia has granted you pardon. So I will not act. For now."
"For now."
Shiera repeated his words.
"Yes. For now."
Lorde said nothing more.
He simply stood half a step forward, existing between Shiera and Theresia like a black wall.
Through all of it, Lorde's gaze never once turned toward Alke.
The only target of his vigilance was Shiera.
To Lorde, Alke was not someone to be eliminated. She was Theresia's daughter — someone Theresia trusted with her heart. That contrast threw Shiera's isolation into agonizing relief.
————
Theresia noticed Shiera.
She stopped stroking Alke's hair and turned her small body neatly toward Shiera.
Her large brown eyes caught Shiera.
"Oh, it's Shiera. It's been a while."
Theresia smiled.
That innocent, carefree smile.
The same smile she'd worn when she waved at Shiera on the Royal Capital's ramparts, with Shiera's sword raised against her.
"Have you been well? Did you come to point your sword at me again?"
Shiera couldn't answer.
Her throat stuck fast, as if glued shut.
("It's been a while," she says.)
("Have you been well," she says.)
("Did you come to point your sword at me again," she says.)
This woman had no idea what she had done, what she had said. No — she understood, and even so, this was the only way she could interact with anyone.
"Hey, Shiera. This village is interesting, isn't it? Dry, quiet, and the sky is so wide. It's much more relaxing than the Royal Capital."
Without waiting for a reply, Theresia kept talking.
"Alke says she'll make me tea. I can't wait. It's been so long since I've had Alke's tea."
"Mother, I've already roasted the tea leaves. I prepared them yesterday."
"That's my Alke. So thoughtful."
Theresia turned toward Alke and smiled with delight.
The warmth of that smile was decisively different from the smile she'd directed at Shiera.
Put into words, it was only a slight difference.
But to Shiera, it was unmistakable.
There was something in the way Theresia looked at Alke.
(That's a parent's gaze.)
(A mother's gaze, looking at her daughter.)
(She has never once looked at me that way.)
Deep in Shiera's chest, something cracked.
————
The villagers began to gather.
A middle-aged woman who'd been by the well. An old man carrying firewood on his back. Children peeking out from doorways. They watched Theresia and Lorde from a distance, curious.
"Oh my, Alke. You have guests?"
The first to speak was the middle-aged woman by the well.
Still holding Theresia's hand, Alke turned toward the villagers.
"Yes. A relative's child came to visit. I think she'll be staying in the village for a while, so please be kind to her, everyone."
Alke's voice was calm, as always.
"Oh, a relative's child? What a cute girl. What's her name?"
The old man with the firewood asked in a hoarse voice.
"I'm Theresia. Nice to meet you, grandpa."
Theresia smiled brightly at the old man.
"Ho, Theresia-chan. What a lively child. She looks like you, Alke — cute."
The old man squinted and smiled.
"Grandpa, what's there to do in this village? Anything interesting?"
"Interesting things? There's nothing here. Potatoes, a well, and... let's see, in autumn, chestnuts fall on the hill behind the village, I suppose."
"Chestnuts! How interesting. Alke, can you eat chestnuts?"
"You can. Peel the inner skin and boil them — they're fluffy and sweet."
"Then let's go gather some sometime. Right, Alke?"
"Fufu, sure. If you want to, Mother."
Still holding Theresia's hand, Alke smiled gently.
The villagers watched the two of them with warm, fond expressions.
"That's nice. Alke, it's good for you to be with someone once in a while."
"Right, right. She's always alone, cooped up in that house."
A circle of villagers formed naturally.
Centered on Theresia, centered on Alke — a warm atmosphere flowed.
Shiera stood outside that circle.
————
"...Who's the one in white?"
A young male villager asked the woman beside him in a low voice.
"Who knows... She seems to have been at Alke's house since yesterday."
"Is she with the relative's child? But something about her feels... different."
"I don't know. I asked Alke, but she wouldn't say clearly."
The villagers' glances flickered toward Shiera.
Curious eyes. Puzzled eyes. And a faint trace of wariness.
Shiera felt on her skin that they didn't know how to treat her.
Theresia was accepted naturally as "the relative's child."
Lorde was "her companion" — standing silently, and the villagers paid him no particular mind.
But Shiera.
The witch in the white coat, the outsider.
She was classified nowhere.
"...I—"
Shiera opened her mouth.
She had to say something. She thought so.
But the words wouldn't continue.
(What am I?)
(What am I to Alke?)
(What am I to Theresia?)
The answer was nowhere.
Shiera closed her lips.
The villagers' gazes stung.
————
"Come, Mother. Let's go inside. I'll make tea."
Alke took Theresia's hand and began walking toward the house.
"Yes. I can't wait."
Led by Alke's hand, Theresia smiled innocently.
Lorde followed behind.
As he passed by Shiera, Lorde looked at her for just a moment.
"...You too, please. Lady Theresia has granted permission."
That was all he said before following after Theresia.
Shiera stood there for a while, motionless.
The wind shook the hem of her white coat roughly.
(Am I allowed to go in?)
(Into that house. Into the space those two share.)
Shiera slowly stepped forward.
————
The inside of the house was filled with the scent of tea.
Alke deftly prepared the tea. She placed roasted leaves into the teapot and poured in boiling water. With a soft hiss, steam rose.
Theresia sat primly in front of the earthen hearth, watching Alke's hands.
"Alke, you're still using that teapot."
"Yes. You gave it to me, Mother, so I take good care of it."
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