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It started with a mutter. Faint whispers here or there. And like all rumors, it began with a long night of drinking. 

A wandering nomad passing by, took a center seat at a local tavern one night. Travelers like him were an exotic sight, always ready to entrance those who'll spare an ear with even more exotic tales to astonish. 

This traveler was of no exception. 

Drink in hand, and with a tipsy smile on his bearded face, he told his newfound village companions the story of the nearby forest and the little girl with the violet cloak that resides within it.

A simple tale told once, became a story told twice, overnight, two nights… soon it wouldn't just be stray wanderers recounting their own experiences over a drink or two.

The village baker claimed to have witnessed his dearly departed friend shambling around in the outskirts through his window, but before he could have taken a closer look, his friend had taken off in the night with a little girl, his rotting hand in hers.

Another instance, a grieving widow for years past, howled in anguish for her late husband's desecrated grave. His body gone, his resting place empty. She could never fathom why. Her visits were always without a soul in sight… save for a curious little girl, with wide yellow eyes.

It didn't take long before the whispers and mutters turned to wonders and speculations as sightings of the little girl became more frequent and distinct. 

On the streets, in the day, neighbor to neighbor, they pondered to themselves. Though no matter how the topic drifted and weaved, no one can daresay offer an explanation on how a small child just so suddenly appeared out of nowhere wandering the nearby forest. 

Discussions would always end fruitless… but they'll also always be in a shared agreement of this one single irrefutable fact.

That the night-child of the forest bore a striking, almost uncanny resemblance to Princess Riona, the firstborn daughter to the King and Queen of the Kingdom of Astra.

In the weeks that followed, word of mouth soon spread the tale of the night-child far and wide, until eventually, an apprentice sorcerer, aspiring ambitions a twinkle in his eyes, approached the backwater village one day having heard of the rumors, and with a bravado loud and proud, proclaimed that he would be the one to shed light to this mystery once and for all.

That night, a moonless night, he set forth into the dark forest, being sent off by both the cheer and jeers of the village residents.

Some called his bluff, already presuming him a mere fraud that'll inevitably turn tail at the slightest glance of her. Others offered him the benefit of the doubt, as they too were keen on unearthing the truth after all this time… while the rest were only present just for the spectacle of it.

Before the sorcerer disappeared into the night, he turned his audience and announced that he will be back at the break of dawn with his findings, and as the villagers walked back to their humble abodes that night, many of them slept restlessly that night, their thoughts occupied for just what would await them in the morning.

Eventually, morning came, the skies above basked in a warm orange glow, the villagers opened their doors, walked their streets, and one head would turn, then another… one by one, they took turns looking over to the forests.

But nothing awaited them. 

The naysayers laughed, their suspicions all but confirmed. The sorcerer turn and fled and most likely would never return. Little did they know, that come the next night, that they only had the half-truth of the matter.

The sorcerer… and the night-child for that matter, were never seen again. 

In time, legends fade. The mutters and whispers of the night-child and the missing sorcerer eventually were spoken their last… left to be forgotten, as just another tall tale for a wandering nomad to recount in a long night of drinks.

Five years later, Terestra's hold on the realm was growing day by day… reports of massacred kingdoms and nations spread like wildfire… and the last ten surviving Ancient Magi were brought together as one to come up with a solution in order to combat the overwhelming forces of the Demon Queen.

As all of this was going on, somewhere in the distant snowy province of Lamir, far from the influence of Terestra's wrath, harboring atop the Blue Kingdom in the Mountains… a rumor was starting to spread.

A young girl with a violet cloak. A girl with her eyes a glow of yellow, her skin the hue of white snow. She was seen here, she was seen there… was she alone? No. A man accompanied her, a man hand in hand, and together they were there, living in an old carriage deep within the crystal forest.

As always the stories started through the slurred words of a traveler simply passing by, only this time, the nomad offered more than just a tale to enthrall, he offered an experience, a little something to entice… to those that had tragically lost friends, family in the war against Terestra.

For only a mere thousand silvers, you'll be able to reunite with your loved ones again… for this strange quiet little girl with the violet cloak was a special one, indeed.

Her name was Sera. 

The man that accompanied her would present her as such to the skeptics that approached them, spoken always with a flourish and a smile. That night, the first thousand silvers entered the man's pouch, desperately handed over by a grief-stricken aristocrat whose daughter fell victim to one of Terestra's servants' many raids.

With a sympathetic nod, and soft words of comfort, the man gestured Sera over while assuring the aristocrat that he will most definitely get his money's worth.

Sera took the aristocrat's hand, her long violet hair swaying in the chilly breeze, staring deep with her yellow eyes… and the rest was history.

It didn't take long after for the crystal forest to suddenly receive an overwhelming amount of people venturing into its depths in search of the man and the little miracle girl named Sera in hopes of being able to speak to the souls of the departed.

Though it is not known even to those who had experienced it just how exactly the process is done, nevertheless, it did not stop the rumors and stories from spreading and the fame and wealth from piling.

Soon, the rumors and stories would eventually reach the ears of the other far-distant nations… and many would make the voyage overseas just for the chance, for a brief moment of respite, to soothe their broken hearts.

But the crystal forest of Lamir will not be their final settling place… for there were still many hearts in Asteria to set at ease, and many glinting silvers to line the young charming apprentice's pockets.

Their travels would find them traversing through many kingdoms, villages, and towns all over the realm of Asteria. Through the great expansive plains of Frieden Rike, the thick bubbling swamps of Molothir… and even high above on the floating islands of Til. 

Then they happened upon themselves to the land of Creekwood. The man had hoped perhaps the losses of the Fey would too prove a lucrative venture to delve into.

They never made it halfway across the region before they were cast out by the Great Sages. The man did not know why the Fey reacted as they did, why the mere sight of Sera sent them howling away in outrage. 

Was she not one of their kind, after all? Was her milky-white skin and yellow eyes merely pure coincidence all along? It can't be.

Yet that did not stop the spears from hurling… the arrows from firing. It was the first time Sera ever felt pain, the first she saw blood dripping down from her skin.

She didn't like that feeling.

All she wanted was to feel those hands again, the warmth from so long ago. She raised so many bodies, held so many hands… but she could never replicate that sensation, the way it felt to be held by those hands…

She had hoped to find them here. She read about the Fey, how their eyes too glimmered yellow, and how their skin also shone in the light. Just like her.

Perhaps that feeling, that warmth... perhaps she'll find them here.

That was all she wanted ever since she climbed out of that hole.

The man in the forest promised her that he'll help her find that feeling. It still hadn't happened. She did as he asked, studied everything he taught her, did everything he ever said. 

But she seemed no closer to finding that feeling than she was five years ago. 

Something else fell from her cheeks that day aside from the dark red dribbling. Something that was even more unbearable than the pain searing across her skin. Something that wouldn't stop flowing no matter how much she tried to make them stop.

Sera learned of a new thing at that moment.

Crying hurts. 

She never wanted to cry ever again. It was just too painful to bear.

From the dozen Fey that ambushed them that day, only one ever returned. A shambling, armless shadow of his former self. It is said that the last thing that group ever saw, the last thing they ever heard before they met with their ends… were the lonely wailings of a child.

After the incident… not a single member of the Fey dared approach the carriage settled in the northeastern part of the forest in fear of the crossbreed and the wrath she'll inflict upon them.

It was only when a member of the council of sages came to offer them safe passage to leave the nation of Creekwood did they finally up and left in haste, the man setting their sights instead to the promising Kingdom of Astra.

As their ship shrank away into the distant horizon…. It was only a matter of time before new rumors, new stories began to make their way across the land. 

Region to region, person to person… before long, in a rugged tavern of a backwater village, a wandering nomad with his lips frothed in foam, would be reciting to those with ears eager the tale of the girl with the violet cloak, whom struck down twelve in a heartbeat.

A new name was bestowed upon her to better fit the tale.

The Arbiter of Death.