In the elegant drawing room of the Stelluna estate, morning sunlight filtered softly through the tall windows, casting warm patterns on the polished floor. Cryssa sat comfortably on a velvet sofa, her expression calm but attentive. Seated across from her were Lyra and Roxy. Beside Cryssa, partially phasing through the cushion, was the light-blue translucent figure of Ayla. Only Cryssa could see her.

  Cryssa had just finished recounting the story from her "dream prophecy", a tale she claimed came to her in a vision.

  She spoke of a savior named Frostina who had met a mysterious wanderer, Glacia, by sheer chance. Of how Glacia, despite being burdened by a false curse, grew into a legendary mage in only a year.

  Cryssa had been careful with the details, omitting Ayla’s humorous inner monologue, the game mechanics, and any mention of online forums.

  Lyra listened in composed silence, while Roxy’s eyes gleamed with wonder. She leaned forward with childlike curiosity, captivated by what sounded to her like a fantastical fairytale.

  Then a knock came at the door. A maid announced from the other side.

  “My lady, the guest is ready.”

  “Let her in.”

  Lyra replied.

  The door opened, and a different maid entered, though it took Cryssa a moment to recognize her.

  Gone was the dirt-smudged face and disheveled hair from last night.

  Instead, the woman now had soft, ocean-blue hair that shimmered under the light, though it still bore the marks of trauma. Her dark blue eyes flickered with unease, her expression a swirl of fear, confusion, and vulnerability. Around her neck rested a cold steel slave collar. The left sleeve of her uniform hung empty, swaying gently, revealing the absence of her left arm.

  “Come sit here.”

  Lyra said gently, motioning to the sofa.

  “Y-Yes.”

  The maid answered with a slight bow.

  She hesitated, then walked slowly into the room. But instead of taking the offered seat, she stopped beside Cryssa and knelt down, beginning to sit on the floor.

  Cryssa shot to her feet, startled.

  “Eh?! What are you doing? Come sit next to me on the sofa. Not the floor!”

  The maid froze, trembling slightly.

  “H-Huh? B-But I’m just a sla—”

  Cryssa interrupted firmly.

  “No buts! This is an order! Sit on the sofa.”

  The maid stared up at her with wide, stunned eyes. After a moment, she gave a small, hesitant nod and rose to sit beside Cryssa, her movements stiff with uncertainty.

  Roxy tilted her head, watching with innocent curiosity. She’d never seen a slave before, and the woman’s reluctance to sit properly puzzled her.

  To lighten the mood, Cryssa clapped her hands and smiled.

  “Right~! We haven’t done introductions yet, have we? I’m Cryssa Stelluna, the younger sister of the lady of this house, Lyra Stelluna. And this is Lyra’s daughter, my adorable niece, Roxy Stelluna.”

  The maid lowered her gaze, barely lifting her chin as she spoke.

  “Y-Yes… M-My name is Glacia.”

  She still couldn’t bring herself to meet anyone’s eyes, her posture small and uncertain.

  Ayla, still watching beside Cryssa, felt a pang in her chest. This Glacia was a far cry from the woman she remembered. She wasn’t the confident, cool, one-armed, legendary ice mage who commanded storms and wielded frost like a blade.

  This Glacia was just a timid, broken maid with a missing arm and haunted eyes.

  Ayla’s expression softened.

  (“I want to get her back. No matter what it takes.”)

  Cryssa just cast a smile of assurance for her.

  Lyra’s voice was gentle as she asked.

  “Can you tell us about your background? Everything, whatever you’re comfortable sharing.”

  Glacia gave a quiet nod, and then she began to speak.

  Her story unfolded with quiet restraint, each sentence heavy with years of pain. Even Ayla, who had thought she knew Glacia from the game, found herself hearing truths she'd never imagined.

  Glacia had been born without a left arm. Her mother passed away from illness when she was just five years old. After that, her life spiraled into hardship. Her father, a jobless drunkard, turned violent. He beat her when intoxicated and forced her to beg on the streets. Every coin she earned, she was made to hand over to him.

  She had begged on the streets until only a year ago.

  One day, men came to their home to collect on her father’s debts. There was no money to give them.

  So instead, her father offered her, his own daughter… for sale.

  That same day, they gave him a handful of silver coins and dragged her away.

  Her first master was the leader of a gang in the slums. She served him for a month before he was killed in a turf war by a rival gang. Then she was passed on to the leader of that group.

  Her second master died just a month later, during a crackdown led by the local lord who sought to purge the slums of criminal activity. Among those arrested, the noble overseeing the cleanup took a strange interest in her and claimed her as his own.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  That noble became her third master.

  But it didn’t last. His wife caught him using Glacia in his bed. Furious, she fled the estate, threatening to expose the affair to both their families. The noble chased after her, but fate, or perhaps misfortune, struck again.

  He was hit by a carriage and died instantly.

  His wife, in a fit of rage, sold Glacia to a slave merchant.

  Her fourth and fifth masters were nobles too, both of whom died within months, one assassinated, the other poisoned.

  Then came her sixth master. A wealthy commoner with a modest smithy and a small tailoring shop.

  For the first time, she experienced kindness.

  They treated her like a person. They taught her to forge weapons and armor, to sew garments with skill. She often assisted the old mother of the house, who became fond of her.

  But when the old woman’s health declined with age and then passed away, everything changed.

  Her master and his wife, once warm and kind, turned cold, consumed by grief. They blamed Glacia for the death.

  And so, she was sold again.

  Then Glacia hesitated, her voice faltering. She looked down at her hand, trembling slightly in her lap.

  Her voice barely above a whisper.

  “My most recent master…”

  She paused, her eyes distant.

  “His son would… play with me. That’s what they called it. But it wasn’t play.”

  Her lips trembled as she continued.

  “He used a dagger. He… he would hurt me. Cut me. Just to see me bleed.”

  A cold stillness filled the room.

  “My master never stopped him. He just… watched.”

  Her right hand began to tremble in her lap. She clenched it tightly.

  “But he never told me not to defend myself. He never said I couldn’t touch his son.”

  Another pause, longer this time.

  “Then one day… I couldn’t take it anymore. I snapped.”

  Her voice cracked.

  “I grabbed the dagger. I didn’t think… I just… moved. And the next thing I knew…”

  A long, shaky breath left her lips.

  “…he was dead.”

  “I killed him.”

  The room fell into a heavy silence.

  Glacia stared at her shaking hand, as if still haunted by what she had done. It had been the first time she killed someone with her own hand. And though she had done it out of desperation, the horror of that moment hadn’t left her.

  “I was sold again. But this time… no one wanted to buy me. They called me cursed.”

  She exhaled softly.

  “Then, a few days ago, the merchant gave me a potion that healed all my wounds. And last night… you bought me, Master.”

  Silence thickened in the room once more.

  Roxy clung tightly to Lyra, tears glimmering in her eyes. Her young heart couldn’t fully understand all the pain, but it hurt her all the same. She was scared, but more than that, she was sad.

  Lyra gently stroked her daughter’s hair, comforting her with soft murmurs, while her thoughts raced.

  “If the church heard this… no, even the common people, anyone who heard her story would believe she was cursed.”

  She looked at Cryssa.

  “But if what Cryssa said is true, that Glacia is not cursed…”

  Her gaze drifted back to the girl sitting beside her sister.

  “Then her entire life has simply been one cruel string of tragedies… nothing more than a series of horrifying coincidences.”

  Lyra’s analytical mind began to work. She broke it down, piece by piece.

  “First, thug wars in the slums were common. It was natural for gang leaders to be killed in power struggles.”

  “Second, it was normal for town lords to clean out the slums periodically. Even our own father did it several times when he was lord.”

  “Third… Oh Goddess.”

  Lyra’s chest tightened.

  “If I ever caught Gareth with another woman… I’d be furious too.”

  She exhaled slowly.

  “But the carriage… that was just cruel timing. Nothing but tragic, senseless luck.”

  “Fourth and fifth, nobles poisoning and assassinating each other for power are also common. If Stelluna weren’t a knight family, maybe even Uncle would’ve done it.”

  “Sixth… her master’s mother died of old age. Nothing weird with it.”

  “And the last one… it was the master’s fault for not giving her clear orders.”

  She tilted her head slightly, deep in thought.

  “So… she’s really not cursed, then?”

  After a long, thoughtful silence, Lyra finally let out a heavy sigh.

  “Glacia… to be honest, I don’t trust you.”

  The words fell cold in the room, but Glacia didn’t flinch. She simply kept her gaze lowered, her shoulders still. As if she’d expected it. As if she’d already accepted that no place could truly welcome someone like her, someone who believed herself cursed.

  But then, Lyra smiled faintly.

  “However, I trust Cryssa’s judgment.”

  She looked at her younger sister, then back to the one-armed maid before her.

  “So, from this moment on, you will serve as Cryssa’s personal maid.”

  Cryssa’s face lit up, her eyes wide with relief. Ayla beamed beside her. And Glacia, surprised beyond words, lifted her gaze for the first time, her stormy blue eyes widening in disbelief.

  “You’ll be treated fairly here. We won’t harm you, unless you give us reason to. As long as you don’t hurt us, you’ll be safe.”

  Lyra’s tone softened but remained firm.

  “You may eat whenever you need, so long as it doesn’t interfere with your duties. I’ll have the other maids train you in etiquette, cooking, cleaning, tea service, everything expected of a Stelluna maid.”

  She paused before her tone shifted again, more resolute.

  “But the most important thing. If Cryssa is ever in danger, you are to protect her. Even if it costs you your life. Her safety comes before your own.”

  It sounded cruel, but in this world, such expectations were standard for slaves. Duty over self, especially when it involved the lives of nobles.

  “Can you accept that?”

  Officially, Cryssa was Glacia’s master. But Lyra’s word held weight too, authority layered in hierarchy. Glacia could not refuse her unless Cryssa directly contradicted the order. Only Roxy, still a child, had no binding power over her. It was better that way, who knew what kind of wild commands a child might give?

  Yet Glacia didn’t hesitate. Not even for a breath.

  She bowed low, and pressed her forehead against the table, her voice steady despite the emotion trembling beneath it.

  “I will serve Master Cryssa Stelluna, Lady Lyra Stelluna, and Young Lady Roxy with everything I have. And I will protect all three of you, even at the cost of my life.”

  Her vow went beyond what was asked. And in that simple, humble pledge, her deep gratitude, and the weight of her suffering, was plain to see.

  Lyra nodded, satisfied.

  “Good. Learning swordplay with one arm would be… difficult. But magic may suit you better. I’ll search the library for any spellbooks we can spare. With time, you may become strong enough to truly protect Cryssa.”

  Glacia stared at her, stunned.

  In this world, it was rare, almost unheard of, for a noble to allow a slave to study magic. The cost, the risk, the time… it wasn’t worth it for most. Nobles typically saved such resources for their heirs.

  But here, in the Stelluna estate, she was being given a chance.

  Glacia bowed her head once more, her voice soft but full of trembling emotion.

  “Thank you, my lady… truly.”

  As the words left her lips, her shoulders began to shake. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, tears not of sorrow, but of something far rarer: happiness.

  For the first time in her life, someone had given her more than an order.

  They had given her worth.

  If it came to it… she would give her life for them.

  Not out of duty.

  Not because she was ordered to.

  But because she meant it.

  Because for the first time… someone had given her a place to belong.