Isolde took half a step back, as if instinctively avoiding that overly gentle gaze.
“No need to thank me,” she said calmly. “Strictly speaking, I only did it to protect my own soul.”
The unicorn smiled softly. “You are always so quick to hide your kindness.”
Isolde remained expressionless. “You might have misjudged me. I am a witch, not some good person.”
With that, she raised a hand and pointed at herself. “Back where I come from, people like me would be written straight into the criminal code.”
“I deceive passersby, killed my ‘adoptive father,’ stripped a Silver-Robed Inquisitor down to his undergarments and spatial ring, and looted the entire storeroom of Grey Dove Monastery on a whim. Even by the most lenient moral standards of Celantia, I'm not exactly suited for praise from a holy beast.”
The unicorn quietly listened to her rapid-fire self-deprecation without backing away.
It merely lowered its stardust-entwined head slightly, gently touching Isolde's cheek with its wet nose.
A cool, pure sensation spread across her skin, like a handful of crystal-clear mountain spring water, gently washing away the lingering corruption and smoke of battle.
The unicorn looked at her, its gaze not changing in the slightest:
“If kindness has no edge, it is cowardice. If holiness dares not face the darkness, it is hypocrisy.”
“You shattered the cage that imprisoned our souls, and you exposed the filth hidden beneath the Holy Light.”
“To the Holy Court, this may be blasphemy.”
“But to us, it is liberation.”
Isolde listened silently. The unicorn raised its head and looked into the distance at its herd, quiet as a painting and gradually turning translucent.
“Our unicorn herd was once blessed with power from the Holy God, making us naturally close to purity and beauty.”
“Throughout the long eras of the past, we stubbornly believed that as long as we were pure enough, we would not be eroded by filth.”
“That as long as our souls were kind enough, we would not be swallowed by malice.”
Its voice was ethereal and calm, yet it stirred a deep, settled sorrow in the wind.
“Only later did we understand that pure white is the easiest to stain, and eyes that cannot see malice can never safeguard kindness.”
Isolde suddenly recalled the resentment that had nearly torn the entire monastery apart when the Mooncrown Lock went out of control.
Those were not monsters, but the most tragic resistance of gentle souls.
The Mooncrown Unicorn looked back at her.
“Within you, I see a trace of holiness. It is not pure; it is wrapped in dense fog, flickering, and even... filled with scars and cracks.”
Isolde shrugged indifferently. “Doesn't sound like much of a compliment.”
“No.”
The Mooncrown Unicorn looked at her gently.
“Precisely because it has cracks, it did not become a blind light.”
Isolde let out a self-deprecating laugh.
“The way you say it makes me sound like some savior chosen by destiny.”
“No, it is not destiny that chose you.” The unicorn lowered its eyelids, its tone filled with a fated admiration. “It is you who made the choice that decided destiny.”
Isolde said, “Even if you say that, I won't easily accept any radiant baptism.”
The unicorn smiled again. “That is also very good.”
Isolde looked up at it, her gaze carrying a certain stubbornness:
“That's good? In the teachings of the Holy Court, I am fallen, a hopeless demon.”
“Because, at the very least, you will not easily forgive.”
A sharp, piercing glint flashed in the unicorn's eyes. “In this world filled with injustice, forgiveness without a price is a second murder of the victim.”
Isolde's heart jolted violently, caught completely off guard.
“We believed too much in forgiveness. We believed that yielding would bring peace, that purity would reform greed, and that those clergymen clad in God's light would never lift a slaughterer's blade.”
“In the end, our entire herd died of our own naivety, reduced to materials dismantled and sold in the Holy Court's storehouses, suffering a catastrophe from which there was no return.”
The long wind across the grassland swept past with a wail.
The phantom figures of the young unicorns flickered violently in the sunlight, looking like a pile of ashes that could be scattered by the wind at any moment.
With mixed emotions, Isolde withdrew her gaze, suppressing the turbulent feelings rising in her chest.
“So, let's get to business. After going to such lengths, what is your final wish?”
The Mooncrown Unicorn looked up at the damaged Mooncrown Lock floating in midair.
From the cracks in the Mooncrown Lock's crystal, a tiny speck of light slowly emerged. The light was very weak, like a seed that had been hidden away for a long time.
“The Mooncrown Lock was crafted from the flesh and bones of our herd. Aside from our deathbed resentment, it also seals the final trace of unique radiance we stripped from ourselves before our destruction.”
Isolde frowned. “What is it?”
The Mooncrown Unicorn said softly, “The Proof of Imperfection.”
Looking at the slightly confused witch, the holy beast's voice carried a firm resolve:
“The sacred radiance bestowed by the gods did not allow us to touch any darkness, but because of that, we were perfect slaves.”
“We have already died in our ignorant pure white. But you are different. You have cracks, and you possess a blade that even the gods fear.”
“Thus, our final wish is actually very simple.”
Nudged by the unicorn, the speck of light seemed to find its destination, drifting slowly yet firmly toward Isolde.
“I want you to take it. Take our final radiance, take our flaws.”
“If one day in the future, someone again commits slaughter in the name of holiness, if the gods again package sacrifice as a blessing, and if those rulers again coldly tell the world, ‘This is a necessary price’—”
“Please prove to this world on our behalf: not all sacrificed lives are willing to become ashes upon the altar.”
The unicorn's figure began to fade rapidly, its voice growing extremely faint, yet carrying the weight of a thousand gold pieces.
The speck of light stopped before Isolde's chest.
She stared in silence at this spark that carried the final dignity of an epic herd.
After a long while, she spoke in a low voice:
“Sounds like a troublesome, thankless task.”
The Mooncrown Unicorn's transparent eyes curved gently.
“My dear, living is inherently troublesome. But more often than not, only these endless troubles can prove you are still passionately alive, can they not?”
Isolde looked up abruptly, only to find that the unicorn before her had already dissolved into a sky full of dancing, flowing light.
The grassland was collapsing, and the sky was shattering.
At the edge of her vision, the entire herd of unicorns raised their heads in unison, turning into an endless expanse of colorful stardust.
Carrying relief and liberation, they soared toward the heavens, blotting out the sky.
The unicorn's final voice, like the lingering echo of an epic poem, boomed deep within her soul:
“Isolde, you do not need to become a perfect saint, you do not need to forgive all suffering, and you certainly do not need to force yourself to become a beam of blind light that casts no shadow.”
“You only need to remember—”
“When everyone accuses you of being wrong, you can still raise your head proudly and choose the answer you believe is right.”
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