The blazing sun scorched the sky on a midsummer’s day.

In the middle of a large open-air execution site, a prisoner knelt, her hands and feet bound, looking as if she might collapse at any moment.

Her tangled grey hair was unkempt, her cheeks pale and bloodless, and her body so thin it looked like brittle twigs.

It was a pitiful sight, far removed from the image of a woman who had not long ago ruled a nation.

As the executioner drew a gleaming, sharpened sword, the Emperor rose from his seat and walked slowly towards the woman.

“Speak your last wish.”

“My wish…?”

The faint voice that escaped her cracked, pale lips was so faint it could have been mistaken for a whisper to herself.

Her vacant gaze held only a moment before her eyes closed tightly.

“Just kill me.”

The words were forced out in a low, bitter tone. Her expression was indifferent – devoid of even the slightest will to live.

The Emperor’s brow furrowed deeply at the sight.

‘For the love of god, stop asking that and just kill me already…!’

Freya screamed silently in her mind, remembering the dozens of deaths she had already endured.

The chill of cold steel cutting through flesh, the horrible sensation of her neck being severed – these things had long since ceased to be vague fears.

They were memories now, etched so deeply into her bones that it was impossible to forget them.

What Freya had gained from being trapped in the cycle of endless death was nothing but despair.

“I command the king of the defeated kingdom of Havern.

Make your last wish now.”

The Emperor’s voice was slow, deliberate and strangely tense with urgency.

‘As if a stupid wish matters at all. It’s not like you’re going to grant it anyway.’

A metallic, salty taste filled her mouth as she bit down hard on her lip.

What a wretched pastime this was – forcing someone on the brink of death to make a wish that would never be granted.

Freya no longer had the strength to fall for that sweet temptation or to harbor foolish hope.

***

“Speak your final wish.”

The first time the Emperor asked this question – in Freya’s very first life – she answered without a moment’s hesitation.

“I wish to die as soon as possible. So kill me now.”

“The king of the defeated kingdom of Havern will answer clearly. Are you saying that your wish is to die?”

The Emperor’s voice dropped, almost as if he couldn’t really believe her, as if he doubted that she really wanted to die.

“That is true. To die is my only wish.”

Without the slightest hesitation, she wanted nothing but death.

A pitiful end for a monarch who had lost her country.

But there was nothing to be gained by clinging to life.

Above all, Freya no longer had a reason to live.

“Carry out… the execution.”

After a long silence, the Emperor finally spoke – and the moment the words left his lips, her slender neck was severed in one clean motion.

At that moment, all Freya wanted was peace – nothing more.

However—

Drip. Drip.

Cold drops, like ice, fell mercilessly on the back of Freya’s bent neck.

She gasped in surprise and instinctively clutched at her throat.

Her trembling hands frantically searched her slender neck.

Her violet eyes, wide with vivid terror, shook uncontrollably, losing focus.

‘I’m sure… I was beheaded… I died…’

In the dark, murky vision before her, a suffocatingly damp air filled Freya’s lungs.

A musty, fishy stench stung her nose – somehow it wasn’t unfamiliar.

No way… Could this be…

‘The underground… prison?’

She opened her mouth slightly, remembering the ceiling where water occasionally dripped and pooled.

‘No… this can’t be. This is impossible…’

Just then, the heavy sound of approaching footsteps echoed from the distance, growing louder until a rusty iron gate creaked open.

“Today is His Majesty the Emperor’s birthday, so for breakfast you’ll have barley porridge and potato bread. It’s a special treat, so you’d better eat up.”

With the guard’s voice, a worn wooden tray was carefully placed on the floor.

‘I have heard these exact words before…’

Freya couldn’t tell if she was dreaming or if her execution had been the dream.

And if neither was a dream… had she somehow returned to the past, before her death?

If that was the case, then today was-

‘Just one day before my execution?’

The day before she was led to the execution platform… was the Emperor’s birthday.

‘Then tomorrow… again?’

Freya’s complexion instantly darkened.

Seeing this, the guard clicked his tongue in pity.

“If you keep starving like this, you’ll die in this cell before the execution ever takes place.

You must eat something – find a way to survive, for God’s sake…”

The man, whose wife was said to be from the kingdom of Havern, often showed concern for Freya in his seemingly indifferent way.

‘Survive… find a way to survive…’

As she unconsciously repeated his words in her mind, the image of the guardian deity of her kingdom suddenly appeared in Freya’s mind.

‘Maybe the goddess Remior… gave me a chance.’

It was hard to believe, but if she had truly returned to the time before her death, there had to be a reason.

Perhaps that reason was—

‘A chance to reclaim the Havern Kingdom?’

At that moment, the thought of survival filled her mind as if it had always been there.

Struggling, she reached out and grabbed the bread.

The guard, startled, quickly handed her a cup of water.

Only then did she realise how dry her mouth was – so parched she could barely swallow.

With trembling hands, she hurriedly drank the water to moisten her throat, then took a bite of the bread.

The potato and flour bread still crumbled dry in her mouth, rough and tasteless.

As Freya slowly brought back fragments of her past memories, a sudden glimmer lit up her eyes.

‘Was it because I said my wish was to die quickly… that they killed me? If that’s the case, then…’

She had to survive – no matter what – and reclaim the kingdom of Havern.

With this resolve, Freya told the emperor at the execution ground the next day that she wanted to live.

But the executioner’s blade fell mercilessly and cut her throat.

To think that she had wasted the chance given to her by the guardian deity.

Overcome with despair, Freya closed her eyes – only to awaken once more in the underground prison.

Once again it was the day before her execution.

‘Did asking to live offend the emperor’s pride?’

Perhaps to him and others she had seemed like a cowardly monarch – one who, rather than face the consequences of defeat, begged for her life while abandoning the people of her fallen kingdom.

So this time Freya said, “Please… show mercy so that the people of the Havern Kingdom may live in peace.”

But the result was the same.

She was executed again – and woke up in the underground prison once more.

‘How much longer must I endure this terrible cycle?’

With nothing she could say changing anything, an unspeakable terror began to consume her.

From that point on, she began to wish desperately – truly, desperately.

She begged for one last prayer to be granted to Remior, the tutelary goddess of the Kingdom of Havern.

She prayed to Imona, the guardian deity of the Kingdom of Karl, for salvation.

She wished for small things, like a glass of water.

She even made wretched wishes, such as to live as a citizen of the Kingdom of Karl.

And finally, she dared to make a bold wish – she wanted to be emperor.

But no matter what she wished for, her throat was always cut.

“My wish is that you die!”

Freya’s final death came just after she had shouted her cursed wish at the Emperor, who was consumed by rage.

‘Do I really have to keep coming back to life like this?’

The pain didn’t lessen with each death.

If anything, the knowledge of what was to come only made it more unbearable.

The belief that the goddess Remior had given her a second chance had long since faded.

From the beginning, this absurd cycle had been nothing more than the Emperor’s cruel amusement.

How fitting – this was, after all, the infamous Emperor of the Karl Empire, known far and wide for his ruthlessness and lack of compassion.

❖ ❖ ❖

‘If I’m going to die again anyway… then maybe, this time, I won’t say anything at all.’

With the pain surely just around the corner, Freya closed her eyes weakly, waiting.

‘Please, let this moment pass quickly…’

But then, just a few moments later—

“Khut…!”

Freya’s eyes flew open.

It was the rough hand that had gripped her chin.

“Do you really intend to defy the Imperial command? I have clearly told you to voice your wish.”

In her blurred vision, a man came into focus – his eyes a piercing blue like gems, his hair gleaming like platinum.

Realising that the person who had bent so low to grasp her chin was none other than the Emperor himself, Freya’s expression instantly turned to stone.

It was the first time she had seen the Emperor up close.

Even when she had been forced to kneel at his feet and surrender her crown after Havern’s defeat – even during the countless times she had been dragged to this execution ground to die – she had never seen him so close.

He had always been someone she could only look up to, as one looks up to the sun. In her memory he was a towering figure, imposing and unattainable.

But now, with his face so close, she saw something else – he was breathtakingly beautiful, like a statue carved by the hands of a god.

His features were delicate and refined, yet there was an unyielding strength in his eyes that gave her a strange sense of dissonance.

She found herself unable to look away.

Unknowingly, she took a deep breath.

“Speak your final wish.”

His voice was firm, as always, but there was something desperate in it – almost tender.

And that tenderness stirred a deep, unbearable disgust in Freya’s heart.

‘There is nothing more to say. What does he want from me now?’

Then, at that moment, a single desire surfaced in Freya’s mind. One she had never spoken aloud, not even once.

It was just as absurd as when she said she wanted to be emperor – but this one… was different somehow.

In truth, it didn’t matter anymore.