LLA;FIE_LLA:

The disheveled little waif seized her hand upon a chisel that would protect her for eons to come, whose actions would confound the paragon of humanity. Little by little, chip by chip, the child carved a prayerful oath seeking salvation for what little humanity remained in her soul. The gallant tree was the palette of her masterpiece, and the shadow that it cast upon her frail body served to be her shelter.

The magnificent tree housed a beautiful great soul harbored for long times past. Its dew drops were filled with viscous liquid that could satiate a lord, and its fruit grew endlessly for the one that would soon recognize its existence. Once the chisel spread across its iron-worked skin, the fruit and drops only grew for her, for she was the only one who would recognize her in the form of a lord.

One day, an offering was made to the tree itself; a jade-colored ceramic shard fired and glazed by a master ceramist born with the curse of want. The child believed that the jade-fired color was the gift of nature, for its withered flowers tore themselves in the windswept lands. And when this offering was brought, the tree was carved upon once more, holding the remnant of the waif within.

A second offering was made a week later. In the rain-splattered lands, a rusted metal spherical object glistened in the specular sun when the clouds dissipated. The metal sphere, whose base had been morphed over time, belonged to a hopeful man who believed the soul outlived beauty. Upon offering the object to the gallant tree, a single dew drop fell upon the object and revealed a remnant of a lost soul within. When this offering was brought, the child carved the tree and held it dear for her life.

The last offering was made a month later. Scarlet roses from an arduous journey across the lands withered upon contact with the gallant tree. The child's tears could not sanctify them, for the curse of life is the curse of death. Life comes in many fleeting forms, and the tree recognized them for the beauty they used to hold. When this final offering was brought, the child carved the tree one last time before dropping the chisel. The child pressed her cheeks against the dew-ridden tree and closed her eyes.

The tree spoke to her, sensing the slow beating hard of the child who carved against its base. It sensed a fleeting soul within the child, beat against all odds would have failed to serve her. For she was not the one being served, but the one who served instead. Yes, the tree had spoken to her, and the tree said:

My kingdom will fall, its ashes will spread across the lands, and my children will reemerge, seeking the lordship that I had endowed upon them. If you were to offer your beautiful beating heart, then...

The child stopped there. Take, take, take. That is all they had ever done. The disparity between children and humanity had plagued her soul for far too long. The chisel was dropped, and a lost soul departed.

But the offerings remained. A ceramic shard, a metal sphere, and scarlet withered roses. The offerings were brought to the root of the gallant tree, shaping the revival of a kingdom whose beauty was unrivaled and unparalleled to the gods above. But such a place required sustenance.

For every fleeting soul would return to its former shadow. The brighter the soul, the darker the shamble. And thus, the offerings were complete, and the kingdom would return.

Green tendrils composed of dead ivy stopped the child from leaving the premise. They bound her against the gallant tree as the offerings paved the way for the return of the tree's kingdom. The beating heart of the child was all that was needed to revive the kingdom, sustaining it for centuries to come.

Ceramic and porcelain pillars erected themselves from below the tree's roots, engorging the tree's surroundings in an ivory-white castle. The pillars shaped themselves to create buildings engorged in the life of porcelain; a crystalline dominion for those housed within. The tree's branches faded in brown as the scarlet roses brought blood-colored dew encased in spherical crystals. The dew was treated as life for the castle's devotees, who sought to roam the lands seeking survival. And the child sealed within, became the lord of beauty.

Llafiella, the Gallant Kingdom. Revived to be the rebirth of the noble lord of beauty, her entry took upon the child and encased her in transparent crystalline ivory, nurturing her soul for the day she would return as the savior of the lands. Her hands were scarred by the carving of the tree, and her body was preserved with her beating heart encased in the castle's highest peaks.

Once, the scarlet dew was used for prayer, but such an accident created a lustful appetite for more. The devotees worshipped the lord of the gallant kingdom, defying its blood-colored dew for liquid sustenance. But such tragedy befell them, as dependency on the dew crazed them into mad fiends whose bodies endlessly rot. Now, they roam the lands, gorging upon the ones that stole their humanity. Despite their predatory state, what little humanity remains within forces them to pray to the ivory vessel housed in crystal, believing one day, the goddess's salvation will revert them to their primeval state.

My Elaina was none other than this vessel...

Driven out by the madness of those who admonished her creation.

"Now you know why I wanted to keep it to myself," Cethe whispered to her allies seated in front of her. Her feeble hand clutched onto Damian's as she pressed her forehead against her knees. "When she began carving that tree because everyone pushed her away, we never knew it would take her to be used as a vessel for the goddess of Llafiella. The madness for want had shaped her into a deity, and the village knows her for a different name; the scarlet lord of SIGMA."

"I'm... terribly sorry," Alfaic apologized, remaining nestled close to Lyn's knees on a log stool. "Your sister's fate was tragic enough. The tree recognized her as a sacrifice... which means that the tree had humanity once?"

"That's what I'm led to believe," Cethe said. "Why else would those monsters pray to her?"

"And your village..."

"Are defending against the monsters of Llafiella," Cethe finished Alfaic's sentence. "Stravia is nothing but a byproduct of the fear that Llafiella houses within. Every day gets shorter with the people believing that one day, the creatures of Llafiella will storm the village and search for the dew within us. Blood..."

Damian shivered and held onto his sister tightly. "I'm... scared..." He whimpered.

"The tree must have been lonely," Alfaic noted. "That's why it took upon those offerings to create a castle from those products. And your sister is this prodigal goddess worshipped to bring salvation to the rotten creatures. She is no lord of SIGMA. She is the victim of all of this!"

"My parents have forgotten of her existence," Cethe continued. "But I have not. I will never forget what they did to her."

Lyn stared endlessly at her hands as she rested against the log stool she nestled upon. Nighttime in Stravia was more serene than the destructive environment from the fire station, which made Lyn ponder upon Elaina's fate.

The tale of Llafiella had direct comparisons to the experience she uncovered within the fire station when the tendril monster demonstrated an ugly man offering a metal object to a princess. Used as one of the offerings to the tree, Lyn could draw a direct line across its similarities. She could not forget that the film's setting, a giant tree nestled upon a bed of fresh flowers, drew an extreme comparison to Elaina's experience with the gallant tree. Both trees held direct meaning to Lyn, and perhaps, the tragic tale of the monster inside the fire station had continued even after death.

There was a responsibility that she had to fulfill because of this. A responsibility that no one but herself had known.

"Lyn," Alfaic called out. "You've been quiet. Are you okay?"

"Yes," Lyn breathed out, continuing to stare at her hands. "This story has pained me."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," Cethe apologized, looking into Lyn's dull and pale eyes. "And... I'm sorry for lashing out at you. I shouldn't be blaming you for wanting to know about Llafiella..."

"The village must remember Elaina," Lyn said. "They must undo their mistake by recognizing it. There is a way that they may realize this."

"The festival..." Cethe gasped.

"Do you mean..." Alfaic began. "You're planning on venturing to Llafiella to save Elaina?"

"I said no such thing," Lyn corrected. "I want the village to remember her."

"Ah, but you are implying it. It's so funny watching you interact with people."

"I am only speaking to myself, blade. Silence yourself."

Cethe and Damian, who watched the two exchanging dialogue, had a glimpse of hope in their eyes believing Elaina's name would not be forgotten by the village as well. She grinned beyond hope's relief and believed that the future would be bright. She clasped her palms together and shot herself up from her knees beaming with confidence.

Elaina... I will save you.