Eve was sitting curled up in the corridor outside the room, waiting for her mother and her villainous uncle to finish their conversation.

Although she was young, she could sense that the atmosphere between them was different from before. This made her uneasy.

Suddenly, she remembered a nightmare she had had recently.

“No!”

Unwanted, frightening thoughts pressed in, and Eve knocked her head with her fists to drive them out.

A dream where she hurt her mother.
A dream where she fought with the villain uncle.
A dream where her body ached all over.
A dream where she hit people and did bad things.

She had wanted it to stop—so frightening, so painful—yet her body had refused to obey her.

Her mother had told her it was just a dream.

It had felt like more than that, but since her mother said so, it must have been. Even so, believing it brought no comfort.

Pouting, she tugged at the loose threads poking out from the edge of the carpet. At that moment, a shadow fell across her head.

Looking up, she saw a beautiful woman in white standing over her.

Eve jolted, springing to her feet.

‘White clothes!’

That was what the bad people wore! The ones who had hit her before, the ones who tormented Aunt Greeta—and the one who had given her mother those strange flowers, the ones that brought the nightmares.

That terrifying laboratory. That man who had tormented her mother.

“You must be Luise’s daughter.”

Giselle looked down at the wide-eyed child. At once, the girl flinched and shuffled backward, as if she were facing a monster.

Trying to soothe her, Giselle offered a gentle smile.

“Come here, little one.”

“I’m not little!”

Eve shouted back, her frightened face defiant all the same. It left a deep impression—so bold for someone so young. Her words came crisp and clear.

“All right, not little. And your name is…?”

“Eve!”

She barked her name at her as though scolding her, her eyes brimming with suspicion. Her gaze darted around anxiously as she considered whether to run.

“I am a high priestess. I won’t hurt you.”

Giselle softened her tone as much as possible and pretended to be harmless. But this only backfired.

‘High priestess!’

Eve knew how terrifying that title was. Dietrich — the man who had given her mother flowers and taken her to that strange place — had also been called a high priest.

The child went pale with fear and ran down the corridor. But perhaps she ran too frantically—

“Eve!”

Crash!

She stumbled and scraped her knee.

Giselle gasped and rushed forward, but Eve sprang up as if nothing had happened and ran off again.

Giselle was taken aback. Children usually admired her, or at least looked on with curiosity. But this girl was afraid of her, as though she were a monster.

For a moment, Giselle wondered if she should leave the frightened child alone. But then she saw where Eve was running and called out again.

“Eve, not that way!”

The child was racing straight toward the makeshift infirmary the temple had set up—where soldiers and priests labored frantically over the wounded from the battle against Dietrich’s revenants.

It was no place for a child. She could be crushed beneath rushing boots, and the sight of bloodied bodies writhing in pain was no scene for her eyes.

Giselle hurried after her, but Eve was quick and nimble as a squirrel, always darting out of reach.

Shoving open the door to the colonnade, Eve burst into the courtyard, where the infirmary tents had been raised. And there she stopped, frozen.

The injured lay scattered, their groans filling the air. Legs and robes moved in a frantic rush all around her.

And there—priests in white stood by the bedsides.

‘The bad people hurt them!’

So deeply ingrained was her fear that in Eve’s eyes, the priests looked not like healers but tormentors, striking people down.

At that moment—

“It’s dangerous to wander, Eve.”

Giselle caught her up in her arms.

At the sight of the high priestess’s face so close, Eve recoiled in horror and screamed.

“Save me!”

Her cry rang through the infirmary, and every head turned toward Giselle.

For a heartbeat, the priestess’s graceful composure shattered, her eyes wide with panic.

“What are you saying I’ve done to you…!”

“Save me! The high priestess is hurting me!”

“E-Eve…!”

Never in her life had Giselle felt such mortification. She tried desperately to calm the struggling child, but Eve would not relent.

A nearby priest stepped forward, awkwardly offering to take the girl from her arms. But Eve lashed out, her little foot thudding against his chest.

“Ugh!”

“I hate white clothes!”

As Eve twisted her whole body, resisting so violently she seemed on the verge of a fit, Giselle had no choice. After a long, flustered struggle, she finally set the child down.

At once, Eve bolted into the crowd and clutched at a soldier receiving treatment from a priest.

“Run away!”

“W-what?”

“Everyone, run!”

Even as she wept, Giselle pulled at anyone she could reach.

It was only then that Giselle realized what remained within her: trauma. Dietrich’s memories had instilled a terror of priestly robes in the child.

‘What in the world did he do…’

And yet, even in her fear, Eve tried with all her might to drag others to safety. Watching her, Giselle’s chest grew tight.

“Eve is innocent.”

Luise’s words rang true. To this child, the priests were demons. To burden one so innocent and pure with sin—was that not itself the work of the devil?

Biting her lip, Giselle watched as Eve cried among the priests. Yet the thought gnawed at her: if one day that girl truly became a demon—then who would be able to stop her? When the time came that they lamented not cutting away the thorn’s sprout before it grew…

“Child, we need treatment here.”

One soldier said awkwardly, prying Eve away from him.

“It’s not treatment! You’re hurting them! You’re bad!”

Her eyes burned with hostility as she looked at the priest. Yet the moment their eyes met, she spun around and ran off again.

But this was the temple — wherever she went, there would be priests.

Steadying herself, Giselle approached once more.

“Eve.”

“Hic!”

“I know why you’re afraid of me. But I’m not like that bad man. I’m on your mother’s side.”

Ignoring the dirt that soiled the hem of her robe, Giselle crouched low, meeting the child’s eyes.

“Liar…!”

“I helped to defeat that bad man too.”

“Bad man…?”

“Yes. That man disguised himself in these clothes and tricked people.”

At her words, Eve’s eyes narrowed. Her restless gaze still searched desperately for some corner to escape.

“Look. We’re not hurting people—we’re healing them.”

Giselle pointed briefly towards the priests, being careful not to startle them.

Suspicious eyes followed her gesture. Eve’s gaze fell upon them, and they revealed their holy power as if on cue, healing the injured person’s wounds before her eyes.

Eve’s eyes widened as she watched the wounds close instantly. She stared, transfixed.

“…It’s the same as me?”

“The same as you?”

“When I blow—hoo—it gets better.”

Ah. She must have thought the self-healing of black magic resembled the priests’ holy power. Giselle forced a gentle smile, shaking her head.

“Similar. But we heal other people’s wounds.”

“Yes! I know! I do that too!”

As Eve nodded, the bridge of Giselle’s nose creased. Somehow, her explanation didn’t seem to reach the child properly. The difference between black magic and holy power was clear.

“I healed little chirpy when I blew hoo!“

“You mean… you can heal other people’s wounds?”

Still doubtful, Giselle pressed her again. How could one who bore black magic heal another?

“Yes. So I blew on Mommy too, so she’d get better faster.”

The girl’s words were hard to believe. Giselle fell into thought for a moment, then picked up the nearest pair of medical scissors. She cut the tip of her finger with the blade. A bead of blood welled up and turned into a thin red line.

She held out her wounded hand to the child.

“…Then can you heal this too?”

Although she did not truly believe it, one thing lingered in her mind. When Eve collapsed and was brought here, Giselle had sensed something strange about the child. There was a current of black magic, but it seemed to be neutralized by something else.

“You’re trying to take me away, aren’t you?”

Suspicious, Eve shot her a sharp look, eyes wide.

“No. If you have power like ours, you could help us more.”

“…”

Eve hesitated, feeling wary. Then, upon seeing the blood dripping from Giselle’s wound, she nodded.

The child stepped closer cautiously and gently took Giselle’s hand. She blew a little ‘hoo’ onto the cut.

Much to Giselle’s shock, energy flowed from the girl’s fingertips into the wound and it closed in the blink of an eye.

Giselle and the priests all stared, their eyes wide.

The child’s black magic had not disappeared. Yet she clearly held holy power as well.

‘She can wield both at once…?’

Eve only blinked her pure, round eyes, curiously observing the stares fixed upon her.