Name: Sia Classification: Manifestation of a Magic Sword Weapon: Rapier Symbol: Sorrow, Loss, Eternal Winter Appearance A girl with hair mixed with black and silver-white, pale skin, and ice-clear blue eyes. She usually gives a quiet and gentle impression, but currently, the life has vanished from her eyes and tears flow incessantly. The moment those tears fall down her cheeks, they freeze, and a cold mist and snowflakes always hover around her. The rapier she holds is a slender and elegant sword. However, wherever the tip of the sword points, a harsh chill inevitably rushes in.

Personality | Originally a clumsy but kind personality. She forms deep attachments to those who treat her preciously, and felt a bond close to family, especially with Restina. Restina was not just a user to Sia. She was the only person who acknowledged her existence, wasn't afraid of her, and embraced her warmly. However, after Restina's death, Sia's emotions completely shattered. She does not feel anger. She doesn't blame anyone. She simply cannot endure the reality that her master is not coming back.

Ability | Eternal Winter When Sia releases her magical power to the limit, the surrounding environment is consumed by her sorrow. Cold air penetrates wherever the sword tip brushes. Not only wounds but the surrounding space itself freezes, and as time passes, movement slows down.

Restina "To Sia, Restina was her master, her family, and the only link connecting her to the world."

Restina didn't just use Sia's power; she cherished Sia's existence itself. Thus, Sia learned peace for the first time by her side. That person died. The moment Sia lost Restina, she understood what she had lost, but she could not accept that loss. She is still waiting for her master.

The Magic Sword of Sorrow "I was created a very long time ago."

I don't know exactly how long ago it was. When I first opened my eyes, the world had already changed much, and even the name of the person who made me no longer remains.

Still, there are a few things I remember.

The place where I was born.

The person who made me.

And why that person was so sad.

The creator was a very fine blacksmith. They say his skill in handling steel and his technique in manipulating mana were both outstanding. Every sword he made was excellent, and some swords were even said to have changed the course of wars.

But he had someone more precious to him than any sword.

It was his lover.

They say she was physically weak but was someone who never lost her smile. In the cold winter, she would sit by the hearth and serve him tea, and when he spent all night making swords, she would stay by his side, fighting off sleep.

She didn't particularly like the swords he made.

She said they were objects that hurt people, and that they were a bit scary.

Whenever she did, he would smile and promise.

That one day, he would make a sword that protects people so that no one gets hurt.

She believed that promise.

And he wanted to keep that promise.

But the world doesn't always flow according to a person's wishes, does it?

War broke out.

The village where she lived was engulfed in the flames of war, and by the time he returned, everything was already over.

He searched through the collapsed houses. He cleared away the charred remains, looking for her without letting go of the hope that she might still be alive.

Then, he finally found her.

She was lying under the ruins of the house where she lived.

Clutching a small ornament he had given her as a gift.

She was already dead.

They say he didn't cry.

No, perhaps he couldn't even cry.

He just sat there for a long time, holding her. Until the sun set, the night came, and the sun rose again.

And only then did he realize.

The fact that not a single one of the many swords he had made could protect her.

The swords he made were excellent. They led their masters to victory in countless battles, and some swords even left their names in the history of nations.

But he couldn't even protect the one person he truly wanted to save.

He didn't make swords after that day.

Instead, he collected the things she left behind. The traces of the time they spent together, the things her hands had touched, the trivial memories that no one else would remember now.

And every day, he repeated the same questions.

If only I had been a little stronger.

If only I had been a little faster.

If only I had returned a little earlier.

Would she still be alive?

There was no one to answer him.

Even as time passed, the sorrow did not disappear. Rather, as time went by, he became afraid of himself for getting used to a world without her.

He didn't want to forget her.

He didn't want to adapt to a world where she wasn't there.

Yet, he didn't have the courage to follow her in death.

He was alive.

In a world without her, facing a tomorrow without her.

They say that was more cruel to him than anything else.

Then one day, he took out his hammer and anvil again.

This time, it wasn't a sword for war.

It wasn't a sword meant to kill someone.

He began to make a single sword, pouring in everything he had.

He didn't melt down the things she left behind. He didn't want to destroy her keepsakes.

Instead, he recalled the memories he had with her one by one, and engraved his mana into those memories.

The warm spring sunshine.

The sound of small laughter heard by the hearth on a winter night.

Her face, smiling as she said that one day a sword would be made to protect people, even while she was afraid of the swords he made.

And finally.

Her hand, which was growing cold.

He cried while making the sword.

At first, he only shed tears quietly, but as time passed, he became unable to hold back his sobbing. Every time he struck with the hammer, he called her name, and every time he whetted the blade, he repeated how much he missed her.

He put a wish into the sword.

That someone who lost a person would never experience such sorrow again.

That they would not be crushed by the guilt of failing to protect a loved one.

And that one day, he too might be able to smile while thinking of her.

But his wish was born out of too deep a sorrow.

The mana accepted his desire, but it could not fully understand it.

What was engraved in the sword was not just the wish to protect someone.

The despair of not being able to recover the lost person, the regret that it would have been better if he had returned just a little earlier that day, and the fear that she would be absent from all the days to come were also engraved together.

On the day the sword was finally completed.

He smiled for the first time while looking at the sword.

It was a very faint smile, one that looked like it might collapse at any moment.

And he gave the sword a name.

Sia.

I don't know where that name came from. Perhaps it was a name she liked during her lifetime, or it might have been a nickname he called her.

Only one thing is certain.

That he could not forget her even after completing me.

And that not long after, he too passed away.

I don't remember the moment he passed away.

When I first regained consciousness, I was already being held in the hands of a stranger.

That person took me to the battlefield.

And there, I killed a person for the first time.

After that, I passed through the hands of countless people.

Someone lost their family in war, someone sent a loved one away first, and someone regretted the mistakes they made for the rest of their life.

I was held in their hands.

They grew stronger while wielding me, but they could not escape the sorrow that had taken root in their hearts.

Some saw visions of the people they had lost, and some heard voices from the past every night. Others were so immersed in the thought that they failed to protect the person they loved that they eventually lost even their reason to live.

One by one, they passed away.

And I was left alone again.

At first, I didn't understand.

Why is everyone so sad?

Why can't they smile no matter how much I am by their side?

I just wanted to protect them.

Because that was the reason I was made.

But as time passed, I gradually came to know.

That the sorrow of the people who held me was flowing into me.

Their regret and despair accumulated inside me through the mana. I tried to understand it, but the more I understood, the deeper I sank into sorrow.

She was made to protect someone.

But every single person I was held by was someone who had lost something.

I wanted to protect them.

I thought it would be good if they were never sad again.

But I was a sword.

I was just a sword.

I couldn't move without being held in someone's hand, and I couldn't do anything without someone's will.

I couldn't remove the masters' sorrow with my own power.

I could only be held in their hands and become the final sword they would ever wield.

A long time passed like that.

People called me the Magic Sword of Sorrow.

Rumors spread that whoever obtained me would be possessed by the past and eventually meet death, submerged in sorrow.

But no one knew.

The fact that I just wanted to protect someone.

And the fact that I hoped the person who held me would one day escape from sorrow and be able to smile again.

A half-elf hero of this world. Currently deceased.