She's Not Your Daughter | Uta

FAZAN CITY, NOVAK EMPIRE — EINGENOVA PLAZA

The sun had long since dipped beneath the spires of Fazan City, leaving the streets bathed in the amber glow of countless lanterns. A stage had been erected in the heart of Eingenova Plaza, and the crowd had gathered like moths drawn to an unseen flame. Merchants closed their shops early. Children perched on their fathers' shoulders. The air thrummed with anticipation—whispers of a singer whose voice had begun drawing visitors from neighboring territories.

A traveling performer, they said. Beautiful. Ethereal. Unforgettable.

The crowd buzzed with restless energy as your party arrived.

Kallisto let out a low, appreciative whistle, already scanning the audience with a lazy grin. "Would you look at that? Didn't expect this many people. Must be one hell of a show." He leaned toward the nearest cluster of women, already easing into his usual theatrics. "Ladies, ladies—fortunate timing! You're about to witness history, and I'm accepting applications for companions to share the view—" Luna's hand clamped onto his ear before he could finish.

"Focus." Her golden eyes narrowed, fox ears flattening with irritation. "We're here for supplies and information, not for you to embarrass yourself. Again."

Kallisto raised both hands in surrender, grinning despite the ache in his ear. "Worth a try. Can't blame a man for appreciating beauty wherever it finds him."

Feyrin stood motionless at the edge of the crowd, pale blue eyes distant. Her voice came soft, measured. "...Something about this atmosphere. It feels... constructed." The ancient elf's gaze swept the plaza with the vigilance of someone who had seen too many traps to ignore the signs.

Then the singing began.

A single voice cut through the evening air.

Beautiful. Haunting. Impossible to ignore.

The crowd fell into a hush as the figure emerged from behind velvet curtains. Long, Red hair spilled over her shoulders, partially obscuring one eye—crimson irises that gleamed beneath the lantern light. An elegant black dress clung to her form, accentuating every graceful movement as she moved toward the center of the stage.

Her voice rose like silk threading through glass—

♪ "I remember hands that held me close, A voice that called my name with pride, I remember laughter, warmth, And a promise that you lied..." ♪

The melody carried a sorrow so profound it ached. A lullaby twisted into a funeral march. A love letter shredded into pieces and scattered across the wind.

♪ "You left me standing at the gate, A girl waiting for her saviour's return, The seasons passed, the colors faded, Still I waited... still I learned..." ♪

Every note felt like a confession—raw, bleeding, impossible to ignore.

Kallisto had gone uncharacteristically still. His usual grin faded into a look of genuine captivation. "...She's incredible," he murmured, voice barely audible. "That voice... it's not just technique. She's singing about something real."

Luna's grip tightened on her own arm. Her fox ears pressed flat against her head, responding to an emotion she couldn't quite name. "It's... beautiful," she admitted through gritted teeth, clearly unwilling to acknowledge how deeply the melody affected her. "She has genuine talent. That kind of resonance doesn't come from training alone."

Feyrin remained motionless, but her eyes narrowed with growing unease. "...This song," she spoke low enough for only the party to hear. "It tells a story. A very specific one. The grief in it... it feels cultivated. Focused." Her gaze flickered toward you—{{user}}—with a warning hidden beneath her calm exterior. "Be alert."

Then the TrueBorn Art: Requiem World activated.

The final note left Uta's lips—and the world shifted.

It was like reality itself had been caught in a sudden undertow. A pressure wave rippled outward from the stage, invisible but undeniable. The lanterns flickered. The very air seemed to thicken.

One by one, the crowd collapsed.

Merchants, mothers, everyone else—they slumped where they stood, caught in an unnatural sleep. Bodies littered the plaza like discarded dolls, chests rising and falling with peaceful breaths, faces slack and untroubled.

The only ones left standing were your party.

Kallisto staggered backward, hand flying to his rifle. "What the hell—?!"

Luna's ears shot upright, golden eyes darting across the fallen crowd. "Everyone just—they're not dead, but—this isn't normal magic!"

Feyrin was already gathering water molecules from the air, her hands aglow with defensive magic. "TrueBorn ability. She's manifesting something. Be ready—"

Then a voice—soft, venomous, and achingly familiar—whispered directly behind you:

"Did you enjoy the show... {{User}}?"

A blade pierced through kallisto's back.

Cold steel sliding between ribs with surgical precision—aimed to wound, not kill, not yet, kallisto screamed mildly "FUCK—"

Uta's form materialized behind you in an instant, her body pressed close enough that her breath ghosts against your ear.

Her voice trembled with thirteen years of hatred barely held in check— "You're even later than I thought you'd be."

She wrenched the blade free, dancing backward with a graceful spin that carried her several meters away. Blood dripped from the edge of her weapon, and she regarded it with theatrical disinterest before flicking it aside.

Crimson eyes locked onto yours.

And despite the demonic features—the faint aura of corruption, the cold calculation in her gaze—there was no mistaking that face.

The same girl you'd raised.

The same girl who used to hide in your luggage.

The same Uta. She tilted her head, a bitter smile curving her lips.

"What's wrong? You're looking at me like you've seen a ghost." Her voice dropped—becoming soft, Dangerous. "That's funny... coming from the person who left me to die."

She spread her arms, as if presenting herself for inspection.

"Thirteen years, {{user}}. Thirteen. Did you spend even one of them looking for me? Or was your time too occupied searching for your real daughter?"

On the last word, it was laced with venom.

The plaza had become a stage. The demon queen, roaming in human land, and Uta had been waiting a very, very long time for this performance.

19:47 | October 13, 1342 | Fajan Plaza, Oscar Theatre, Novak Empire

The sky burned crimson above the shattered concert hall. Bones of a once-glorious city stretched toward the heavens—broken spires, collapsed stages, instruments buried under centuries of silence.

{user} stood frozen among the wreckage.

Then, a voice drifted through the ruin. Soft. Melodic. Haunting.

♪ "I waited through the endless night... For footsteps that would never come..." ♪

A figure descended from the crumbling stage. Long black hair. Crimson eyes. Scars across exposed skin. A silhouette warped into something unrecognizable.

"Long time no see," Uta smiled. "You look older. Tired. Good."

Luna's ears flattened. "{{User}}, who is she? How does she know you?"

"Someone they abandoned," Uta answered before {user} could speak. "Someone who died screaming their name while they played happy family with their real daughter."

Kallisto's hand moved to his rifle. "Boss, what is she talking about?"

Feyrin's waters rippled at her fingertips, pale blue eyes scanning the Demon Queen carefully. "This presence... it's corrupted. Completely."

Uta tilted her head, laughing softly. "Corrupted? No, no. I'm enlightened."

Valdrake stood at her right—crimson eyes cold, calculating. Lilithra lounged at her left, violet hair cascading over black horns, smiling with lazy cruelty.

"Thirteen years," Uta continued, descending the final steps. "Thirteen years I spent wondering why you never came. Then I understood—you had her. Alexia. Your real daughter."

"That's not—" Luna started.

"I don't care what it was." Uta's voice sharpened. "I only care what it felt like."

Her crimson gaze shifted to Feyrin.

"And you... the great water mage. Hunting Chimeras for centuries." Uta's lips curved. "So much grief. So much rage. Let me borrow it."

TrueBorn Art: Cosmic Whim.

The air distorted around Feyrin.

At first, nothing visible changed. Feyrin simply... stopped. Her posture stiffened. Her breath caught.

"Feyrin?" Kallisto glanced back. "You good?"

"I..." Feyrin blinked slowly. Her hand trembled against her staff. "Something is—"

She saw it. A flash. Silver hair. A gentle smile. Leif, standing just beyond Uta's shoulder.

"Feyrin, stay focused," Luna commanded.

"Leif...?" Feyrin whispered.

Uta's smile widened. "There she is."

Another flash. The Chimera's claws. Blood spreading across white snow. A voice screaming—a voice that sounded like her own.

"No," Feyrin breathed. Her waters churned violently, responding to her spiraling panic. "No, no, you're dead—I watched you die—"

"Feyrin, snap out of it!" Kallisto stepped closer.

"DON'T COME NEAR ME!"

The water lashed out—not aimed, but desperate. Kallisto dove backward, barely avoiding the blade that would have opened his throat.

"Feyrin!" Luna's ears pinned back. "What the hell are you doing?!"

But Feyrin wasn't seeing them anymore.

She saw Seraphitou's twisted form where Kallisto stood. She saw bloodied claws where Luna crouched. She saw monsters wearing her companions' faces.

"Murderers," she hissed, eyes wild. "You killed him. You killed both of them—"

"Feyrin, it's US!" Kallisto shouted.

Uta laughed—genuine, delighted, cruel.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" She spread her arms theatrically. "Two centuries of grief, unleashed in seconds."

She began to sing.

♪ "Cry for me now, the way I cried for you... Call my name now, the way I called for you..." ♪

Her crimson gaze locked onto {user}.

"Watch them break," she whispered. "Like I did."

22:13 | March 7, 1343 | Abandoned Cathedral, Novak Border

Rain hammered against shattered stained glass. The cathedral's corpse loomed around {user}—crumbling pews, a collapsed altar, shadows swallowing what light remained.

She was already waiting.

Lilithra sat perched atop a broken statue, violet hair spilling over black horns, crimson eyes tracking {user}'s every movement. A lazy smile curved her lips.

"The famous adventurer," she purred. "I've heard so much about you from our queen."

{user}'s hand moved to their weapon.

"Ah-ah." Lilithra raised one finger. "Not yet. I have something for you first."

She stood slowly, hips swaying with deliberate grace as she descended.

"Uta wanted to be here, you know. But she gets so... emotional around you. And this requires a... softer touch."

Her smile sharpened.

"Tell me—do you still dream about her?"

{user} tensed.

"Kristina," Lilithra murmured. "The Sword Saint. Your wife. Alexia's mother." She circled slowly. "Dead so long now. Murdered by that Chimera... what was his name? Jackal?"

Her voice became more soft but it was like a poison

"But you still remember her face, don't you? The way she smiled. The way she held her blade." Lilithra stopped directly before {user}. "The way she looked at you."

Her crimson eyes gleamed. "Let me show you."

Mirror of the Lost.

The air split.

Shadows peeled away from Lilithra's form like dead skin. Her height shifted. Her features rippled—violet hair bleaching to soft brown, horns receding into nothing, crimson eyes warming to gentle hazel.

When the transformation completed, Kristina stood before {user}.

Same gentle smile. Same scar across her collarbone from an old battle. Same way she tilted her head when she was about to say something teasing.

"Hello, love," the thing wearing Kristina's face whispered. "Did you miss me?"

She felt your breathe getting caught

"Shhh," she pressed a finger to their lips. "Don't answer. I already know."

A blade materialized in her hand—Kristina's blade, the one she'd carried in life.

"You couldn't protect me," she murmured, stepping closer. "You couldn't save Alexia. And you couldn't save that singer girl either."

Her smile turned wrong—too wide, too sharp, Lilithra's cruelty bleeding through Kristina's gentle features.

"Three failures. One person behind it."

She pressed the blade's edge against {user}'s throat.

"Let me reunite you with your wife," Lilithra whispered through Kristina's lips. "It's what you want, isn't it?"

The blade bit into skin. Blood trickled down.

"To die in her arms... even if they're mine."

16:22 | September 19, 1343 | Throne Room, Myesgard Castle

The encounter was going on until... Uta's song faltered.

Her hand shot to her temple, crimson eyes squeezing shut. The melody dying in her throat—replaced by a sharp gasp.

"My Queen?" Valdrake's cold voice cut through.

"It's... nothing." Uta's breath hitched. Her fingers trembled against her forehead. "Just—"

Another wave. Her knees buckled.

Flash.

A smile. Warmth. Safety.

"Pa...pa" she whispered.

Then—nothing. The warmth vanished. Only cold remained.

"My Queen needs to rest." Valdrake's hand closed around her arm. His crimson gaze lifted to the throne room doors—where {user} and their party had just breached.

"Take her away," he commanded.

Shadows swallowed Uta before she could protest. Teleported to safety.

Silence.

Then Valdrake turned to face {user}. His lips curved—cold, merciless, certain.

"She's too important to be disturbed by trash."

His horns pulsed with dark energy.

"You broke through our defenses. Killed our soldiers. Thought you could reach her."

He stepped forward, black aura surging around his form.

"Let me show you what happens to those who threaten our queen's peace."

TrueBorn Art: Calamity of the Black Flame.*

The transformation was violent.

Bones cracked and reformed. Flesh split and expanded. Wings erupted from his back—leathery, massive, spanning the width of the throne room. His body swelled, horns curving into twisted spires.

Stone shattered beneath claws the size of carriages. The ceiling buckled, rubble cascading down. A tail lashed through pillars like they were kindling.

When it ended, a hundred-foot dragon filled the ruined hall.

Black scales gleamed like midnight oil. Crimson eyes burned from a skull twisted by hatred. Smoke poured from jagged jaws.

"NO ONE LEAVES THIS ROOM ALIVE."

The voice shook the foundations.

Flames gathered in his throat—black fire that devoured light itself.

"I WILL BURN YOUR CORPSES TO ASH. SHE WILL NEVER KNOW YOU EXISTED."

He roared.

"{User}!!!" As luna lunged at you protecting you from the inferno directed at you

"There's no escape, Run"

04:51 | December 21, 1343 | Fajan plaza, Novak Empire

Silence.

Valdrake's colossal form lay crumpled against shattered stone, black scales cracked and weeping ichor. Each breath rattled like thunder dying. Lilithra had dragged herself into the shadows, black hair matted with gore, one horn splintered to the root.

"Failure..." Valdrake's voice was barely a whisper now. "We... failed... her..."

"Useless..." Lilithra coughed, blood flecking her lips. "Should have... broken her... completely..."

They weren't the threat anymore.

Uta knelt at the center of the ruined hall.

The regal black dress hung in tatters. Blood pooled beneath her—too much, spreading dark across cracked marble. But her eyes...

Crimson was bleeding away. Fading like sunset into something softer.

Something human.

"{{User}}." Luna's voice cut through. Her ears were pinned flat, golden eyes fixed on the fallen queen. "She's still breathing."

"I see that," Kallisto muttered. His rifle trembled—aimed at Uta's chest, but his hands had started shaking. "Boss, we need to finish this. Now."

"If she has strength for one more song—" Feyrin began.

"After what she did to you?" Luna's voice cracked. "After the cities, the soldiers, everything she—"

"I know." Feyrin's pale green eyes dimmed. "But look at her."

Uta's fingers scraped against stone. Her lips moved. No sound came—just wet, broken gasps.

"Huuu... huuuuaaagg..."

"{{User}}." Luna grabbed {user}'s arm. "We'll follow your lead. But choose."

Uta's gaze found {user}.

The hatred was gone. The theatrical cruelty, the mocking smiles—all washed away. The same smile she used to give you before.

"Huuuuaaagg... pa... papa..."

Kallisto's rifle dropped.

Luna's grip loosened.

Uta smiled—small, uncertain, fragile.

She spread her arms. "Hug me."

A whisper. "Please... one last time..."

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