Malty Melromarc sat on a weathered wooden bench in the courtyard of an abandoned monastery, her slender fingers idly tracing the intricate carvings on the armrest. The setting sun cast long shadows over the crumbling walls, matching the darkness that enveloped her heart. She was just a foot soldier now, a mere pawn in a game of power and conquest, stripped of her title, her lands, and everything she held dear.

Her thoughts wandered back to the day her world came crashing down. The civil war between the Saxon-Fanoss Union and the existing aristocrats had raged on for months, demesnes falling one by one to the merciless onslaught. Her father, the  influential Count, and her family were disliked for their tyranny, and their tyranny had made them a target for Saxon-Fanoss Union that craved power at any cost, by inciting the plebeians to rebel.

It was a coup d'etat that had claimed her father's life. The memory of that fateful night haunted her, the sound of swords clashing, the cries of pain and desperation, and the sight of her father falling to the ground, his lifeblood staining the cold, hard stones. In that moment, everything changed for Malty. The life of privilege and comfort she had known was torn away, replaced by a life of uncertainty and hardship.

Now, she fought alongside a faction opposing the Saxon-Fanoss Union, a group determined to restore the old aristocratic order and bring an end to the self proclaimed Queen Selena Saxon's reign. But the battle they fought the day before had been a crushing defeat. Her unit, combined with the Baron they were defending, had been scattered like leaves in the wind. Friends had fallen, comrades lost, and she was left with nothing but the bitter taste of failure.

As the evening grew darker, Malty's gaze turned to the stars twinkling above, their distant light a stark contrast to the darkness that consumed her. She questioned her fate, wondering why she had been subjected to such hardships. What had she done to deserve this? Was she cursed?

Malty Melromarc sat there, her fingers still tracing the carvings on the armrest as she stared at her broken sword. Its shattered blade reflected her own shattered hopes and dreams. In that moment, the weight of her losses and failures pressed down upon her, threatening to consume her entirely.

The broken sword served as a symbol of her defeated state, a reminder of the crushing defeat she had suffered and the futility of her current situation. But as Malty contemplated the shattered weapon, a spark of defiance flickered within her. She refused to let her brokenness define her.

The dented metal armor lay before Malty, bearing the marks of battles fought and hardships endured. Each dent told a story, a testament to her resilience and determination. She ran her fingers along the jagged edges, feeling the rough texture beneath her touch.

Malty's gaze shifted from the armor to her broken sword, still clutched in her other hand. Despite its shattered state, she couldn't bring herself to let go of it. It was a symbol of her past, of the life she had lost. Her eyes caught her leggings that were torn and stained, a reflection of the trials she had faced and the sacrifices she had made. Every tear, every stain, held a memory of pain and struggle. 

She stood up but she realized her shoes were torn from the countless miles she had marched, the rugged terrains she had traversed. They were a testament to her journey, the path she had walked, and the hardships she had endured. 

Her leg felt pain and she used her sheath as a crotch.

Malty Melromarc winced as she applied pressure to her injured leg, the pain a sharp reminder of the physical toll her battles had taken on her. She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the discomfort. The pain was just another obstacle in her path, one that she would overcome.

As she stood there, leaning on her sheath for support, Malty's gaze shifted from her worn-out shoes to the courtyard around her. The abandoned monastery stood as a metaphor for her own current state – crumbling, abandoned, and forgotten. 

Malty straightened her posture and let go of her broken sword. It clattered to the ground, its shattered pieces pierced her heart. She was reminded about her previous luxurious life and how arrogant she was.

In that moment, a wave of realization washed over Malty. She had been blinded by her own privilege and had used her power and status to oppress others. The events that had unfolded, the loss of her father, and the stripping away of her title and lands were not solely the result of external forces, but also the consequences of her own actions.

As she looked at the broken sword lying before her, she understood that it was not just a symbol of defeat, but also a symbol of her past self. The shattered blade represented the destruction she had caused, the lives she had ruined, and the pain she had inflicted upon others. It was a painful reminder of her arrogance.

Tears started to well up in Malty's eyes as she confronted the harsh truth about herself. She had been blind to the suffering of others, consumed by her own desires for power and control. The weight of her past actions bore down on her, threatening to crush her spirit completely.

She strode but stumbled forward, her injured leg unable to fully support her. She fell to her knees, her hands reaching out to brace herself against the ground. The tears flowed freely now, mixing with the dirt and dust that covered her face.

In that moment of vulnerability, Malty Melromarc realized the depth of her mistakes. She had been so focused on her own pride and desires that she had lost sight of her humanity. She had become a pawn in the game of greed, just like her father had been. More tears streamed down her face as she acknowledged the pain she had caused others and the suffering she had perpetuated.

Malty Melromarc's cries echoed through the courtyard, a raw expression of her remorse and anguish. The weight of her past actions and the consequences they had brought upon her and those around her were overwhelming. Each sob carried with it a mix of sorrow, regret, and a newfound understanding of the pain she had inflicted.

As the tears continued to flow, Malty felt a cathartic release, as if each droplet carried away a piece of her former self. The darkness that had enveloped her heart began to recede.

As Malty Melromarc looked around the desolate courtyard, a profound sense of emptiness washed over her. The crumbling walls of the abandoned monastery seemed to mirror the brokenness she felt inside. The weight of her past actions, the loss of her privileges, and the realization of the pain she had caused had left her feeling utterly hopeless.

The tears continued to stream down her face, mingling with the dirt on her cheeks. She had confronted the harsh truth about herself, acknowledged her mistakes, and felt the weight of her remorse. But in that moment, she couldn't see a way forward, couldn't fathom how she could ever make amends for the pain she had inflicted upon others.

The darkness that had consumed her heart for so long threatened to engulf her once more. Doubts crept into her mind, whispering that she was irredeemable, that her past actions defined her and that she would forever be trapped in this cycle of despair.

With trembling hands, Malty reached out and picked up her broken sword, the shattered pieces reflecting the fading light of the setting sun.

"What will become of me?" Malty Melromarc whispered, her voice filled with uncertainty and despair. She clutched the broken sword tightly, its jagged edges digging into her neck, a physical reminder of the pain she had caused. 

"My life is useless.." She pressed the broken blade into her tender neck.

A deep, reassuring voice broke through the darkness that threatened to consume Malty. "No, your life is not useless," the voice said firmly. Malty looked up, her tear-filled eyes meeting the gaze of a strong and resolute man.

The man's grip on her hands was firm yet gentle, preventing her from causing harm to herself. He held her broken sword, keeping it away from her reach. "You are more than your past mistakes," he continued, his voice filled with conviction. "You have the power to change, to make amends, and to find redemption."

"Master Hiro Hezri.." 

She called his name. 

Malty's heart pounded in her chest as she looked into the man's eyes.

Hiro, the tall dark man with a considerably large frame, stood before Malty Melromarc.

"Woman. Please call him Your Majesty." A female voice told Malty off from her side.

A petite girl with short black hair stood beside him and stared at her annoyingly. 

"Mirai.." 

"Woman. Don't call my name!"

Malty's voice trembled as she addressed Hiro Hezri, "Your Majesty, I... I'm so sorry for everything I've done. I... I never realized the pain I was causing until it was too late. Can... can you ever forgive me?"

Hiro's eyes softened as he looked at Malty. "Forgiveness is a difficult path, but it is not impossible. It starts with acknowledging your mistakes and taking responsibility for them.

Mirai, the girl standing next to Hiro, spoke up. "But don't think it will be easy. You have a long journey ahead of you, and the road to redemption is filled with obstacles. Are you truly willing to face them?"

Malty's tears continued to fall, but now there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "Yes, I am. I want to change!"