I reign supreme in the Western fantasy world for eternity.

Young Ophelia, nestled on her mother's lap, tilted her soft little face up and asked innocently:

"Mom, why hasn't Father come to see us for so long? Can you do a divination?"

She already knew from snippets of conversation among the elves around her that her mother had been a master in the field of divination and prophecy. Perhaps because her magical circuits were inherently flawed, or perhaps because she was afraid of hurting her, her mother had never shown any extraordinary abilities in front of her.

At that time, Ophelia was unaware of this and only wanted to witness her mother's divination skills.

Her mother gently placed her hand on the top of her head, her fingertips stroking her long, silvery hair, her voice soft: "This doesn't need divination. Your father is a high-ranking nobleman in the Elven Court, and he has many affairs to attend to. Visiting us once every three months is already considered very frequent."

Little Ophelia nodded as if she understood, buried her face in her mother's arms, and smelled the familiar scent of grass and trees.

At that time, she thought "three months" was a very, very long time, long enough for her to count all the leaves on the sapling in the yard.

She had grown a bit older, reaching an age where she would be called a "little girl" in the human kingdom, while the daughter of the elven maid who was responsible for taking care of her and her child looked much younger than her.

Ophelia ran home crying and threw herself into her mother's arms, her voice full of confusion: "Mommy, why am I older than her? I'm clearly younger than her!"

The mother was stunned for a while before she understood what her daughter meant, and then she squatted down and hugged her.

"Half-elves develop differently from regular elves. You have half-human blood in your body, so you will grow up like a human first, and then slow down."

She paused, gently stroking her daughter's soft hair with her fingers, her voice suddenly choked with emotion: "Was it... wrong of me to selfishly bring you into this world? To leave you all alone in the future..."

"No!" Little Ophelia shook her head vigorously, burying her face in her mother's arms, her voice muffled but unusually firm, "I have my mother with me, so I won't be lonely!"

Upon hearing this, the mother cried even harder.

From that moment on, Ophelia made a secret decision—she would pass the adulthood test earlier than everyone else.

She wanted to prove to her mother that she had grown up and could take care of herself even if there were problems with the magic circuits.

So she studied etiquette, history, Elvish, Common Tongue... those boring subjects became extremely important to her.

She tirelessly perused the thick parchment scrolls, her fingers developing calluses from the edges of the paper, but she did not hesitate.

Finally, at the age of 18, she completed the assessment that elves needed to study for nearly a hundred years and successfully obtained her adult certificate.

Clutching the parchment, she ran all the way home, panting heavily, her short, silvery-white hair flying in the wind.

She pushed open the treehouse door, her voice brimming with undisguised joy and pride, "Mom! I passed! I'm an adult now!"

The mother was sitting by the window sewing clothes for Ophelia. Hearing this, she looked up, a gentle smile curving her lips. "My little Ophelia has grown up."

My father was there that night too.

He rarely visited his mother. Sitting in the living room, his gaze fell on the assessment certificate that Ophelia had placed on the table, and for the first time, he revealed a heavy emotion.

He stood up and said to his mother, "Let's talk."

They went into the inner room, the door was closed, and Ophelia sat outside. Her voice was blocked by soundproofing magic, so she couldn't hear what was being said. She only knew that her father's face was even more gloomy when he left that night than when he arrived, clearly indicating that an argument had broken out.

After her father left, her mother came out from the inner room, sat down beside her, and gently stroked her short, silvery-white hair, which had grown to her shoulders.

"Little Ophelia, I will definitely give you the best future."

Ophelia nodded with some confusion, then shook her head.

Life is good enough as it is now; we don't need the best future.

In the days that followed, her mother grew thinner and thinner. Her complexion changed from rosy to sallow, fine wrinkles began to appear at the corners of her eyes, and her once slender yet strong fingers became withered and thin, trembling slightly even when combing her hair.

"Mom, what's wrong?" Ophelia had already vaguely sensed something, but dared not ask too many questions.

"It's nothing," the mother said with a smile, shaking her head. "It's just that I had some minor injuries from doing some divinations that I shouldn't have done before. I'll be fine after resting for a while."

Ophelia believed it.

She even started learning to cook soup and porridge, clumsily taking care of her mother, but her mother's face grew paler day by day.

Until that evening, her mother lay by the bedside, holding her hand, "Little Ophelia... Mommy may not be able to stay with you for much longer."

"No!" she cried, her voice trembling as she gripped her mother's hand. "You'll get better!"

The mother smiled, her fingertips gently tracing her cheek. "My little Ophelia has grown up. You must be well while I'm away..."

Those were her last words.

In the days following her mother's death, Ophelia was in a daze, as if her soul had been ripped out.

At the funeral, she stood at the front of the crowd in a long black dress, her icy blue eyes dry and aching, yet not a single tear could be shed.

Father arrived.

He glanced at her from a distance through the crowd, then looked away, never approaching her again.

That was the last time she saw him.

After the funeral, Ophelia returned to the treehouse alone.

Everything in the house remained exactly as it was when her mother left: the sewing basket on the windowsill still held unfinished clothes, the closet was folded with the clothes she wore as a child, and the silver comb she used to comb her mother's long hair was still on the dressing table.

She began to feel that the Elven Royal Court had become unfamiliar.

Those once gentle, intimate corners that belonged to her and her mother's shared memories are now shrouded in an indescribable barrier.

As she walked down the street, occasionally a familiar elf would cast a pitying glance at her or whisper a word of condolence, but those words seemed to reach her ears as if through a veil of water, blurry and distant.

She didn't want to be pitied.

She felt that this was no longer the "home" where she and her mother had lived together, but a cold, strictly rule-bound city filled with the words "you are different".

So she picked up the scissors, grabbed her long, silvery-white hair that had grown to her waist, and cut it in one swift motion.

Her hair fell to the ground like snowflakes.

Looking at the unfamiliar girl with short, ear-length hair in the mirror, she suddenly felt a little relieved.

Those long hairs held her mother's caresses, the warmth of her childhood, and too many memories she couldn't bear to let go of but dared not touch again.

She put them in a wooden box and buried it under the roots of the old oak tree behind the treehouse.

……

"Thump."

She bumped into Ji Tian's back gently but firmly.

Just now, Elena, who noticed that something was wrong with Ophelia, walked beside Ji Tian and poked his lower back with her fingertip to signal him to stop. She then glanced in Ophelia's direction, her meaning clear: You should comfort her.

What a joke! Does he not know whether his own apprentice needs comforting or not?

The strong need no pity!

However... this can be used to encourage the other person to cultivate diligently.

Ji Tian turned around, his gaze falling on Ophelia. He looked her up and down and asked:

"Can you lift my holy sword?"

Ophelia was pulled back to reality by this sudden question. After a moment of stunned silence, she instinctively shook her head: "I can't lift it."

She really couldn't lift it. Although the sacred mountain on the Holy Sword could be enlarged or shrunk at will after being refined by Ji Tian, ​​and wouldn't dent the ground when placed on it in its pure Holy Sword form, it was still something she couldn't lift.

Ji Tian seemed to have known the answer all along. "That's right! It's because you're not strong enough that you're afraid of losing things. As long as you're strong enough, you'll have everything."

Upon hearing this, Ophelia's sadness subsided. She lowered her head thoughtfully, pondering the meaning of the words, when she heard another voice from ahead:

"Of course, the sect will always be your home. This is something that is destined whether you become stronger or not."