Once, there was a boy.
Born as the third son of a reasonably affluent merchant family, he was raised with a great deal of freedom. His grandparents were still healthy and active, and it would be accurate to say that it was they, rather than his parents, who had primarily raised him.
The boy loved old stories. He had listened to many at his grandparents' knees.
Stories of the Great Magic War. Tales of the grand, decisive battle against the demon race.
Whenever he heard them, the boy’s heart would dance with excitement.
When he turned fifteen, the boy set out on a journey.
He didn't travel particularly far—only to a place within the kingdom that he could reach and return from in about ten days. There, four or five days' travel away, lay some ruins. He had heard rumors that these were ruins from the Great Magic War.
The site was situated on a plateau overlooking a vast lake. It had been developed into a tourist destination, and most visitors only stopped by the ruins as a side trip while sightseeing at the lake. The boy, however, showed no interest in the water; he spent his time tirelessly exploring the ancient structures.
"So these are the ruins..."
The site resembled the crumbling remains of a fortress. The sections deemed safe from collapse were open to the public, while the rest was strictly off-limits, save for the occasional visit from a licensed archaeologist.
"I'm certain there must be far more interesting things back there," the boy thought.
Waiting for nightfall when the tourists had vanished, he stepped into the restricted zone, carrying nothing but a single, small magi-lamp.
That decision changed his life forever.
In a place where dozens of people had surely walked before without incident, the ground suddenly gave way. A hole opened beneath his feet. Perhaps it was fate.
"Ow, ow, ow..."
The floor, made of stone blocks over a meter thick, had collapsed. The boy had plummeted into the darkness. He was lucky not to have been crushed by the falling masonry; the largest stone was two meters square, and had it landed on him, the boy would have been reduced to nothing more than a lump of flesh.
"Where am I...?"
Forcing his aching body to move, the boy stood up. He seemed to be in a grand hall. The hole he had fallen through wasn't a vertical drop; it had become a steep slope halfway down. Had it been a straight fall, the Shock would have surely killed him.
However, the opening above was now completely blocked by the stone blocks that had followed him down. There was no way back out that way.
"This is a problem," the boy muttered, though his expression didn't seem particularly troubled.
He was standing in a place tourists could never have imagined, a place where it seemed even archaeologists had never set foot. At the thought that he was inside a castle where generals and ritters had once strode during the Great Magic War, his heart pounded with irrepressible excitement.
"Now, which way?"
There were two exits in the hall. One was small—about the size of an ordinary front door—while the other was massive, at least five meters in both height and width. After a moment's hesitation, the boy headed for the smaller one.
As he began to walk, he realized he could see his surroundings quite clearly. It was supposed to be night, and his magi-lamp was buried under a pile of rocks, yet he could see. The walls themselves were emitting a faint, dim light.
Though he had seen many things in his life, he had never encountered light like this.
"Is this ancient technology?"
Guided by the glow, the boy passed through the small entrance. Beyond it lay a long, gently curving corridor. It sloped slightly downward, leading him even deeper underground.
After walking for about ten minutes, he reached a single door. It was made of iron and encrusted with red rust.
"I wonder if it opens..."
He leaned into the door with all his strength. It groaned and creaked, but eventually, it moved. Once he had forced it open wide enough for a person to slip through, the boy stepped inside.
In retrospect, that was his last chance to turn back. But fear and hesitation had long since vanished. He was utterly captivated by the unknown and pressed on.
What lay beyond the door was a staggering number of magic tools. Most were broken, but at least a third appeared to be intact, at least on the surface. Among them, one object in particular caught his eye.
"Is that... a doll?"
It was a single doll in the shape of a young girl. Lifeless, she sat on the floor, propped up against the wall.
There was another reason he knew immediately it was a doll: her left arm was missing. It had been torn off at the elbow, and strange, string-like components dangled from the remaining stump. It was clearly not a human body.
"...She's beautiful."
Despite the damage, the doll was exquisite. Her hair had the luster of pure gold and felt like the finest silk. Her skin possessed the translucent whiteness of porcelain, and her features were those of an angel.
"I wonder if she'll ever move again."
The boy reached out and touched her gently. She was cold; there was no hint of body heat.
"...She really is a doll."
He traced her cheek with his thumb.
"She’s so soft..."
She had a texture just like a human's, yet she remained cold—a strange, unsettling sensation.
"Her eyes are closed, too."
He couldn't help but wonder what color they were. With a doll this beautiful, surely her eyes would be just as stunning.
"Why won't you wake up?"
He grasped her shoulders and gave her a light shake. Her golden hair swayed softly, but she did not open her eyes.
At a loss, the boy recalled an old story his grandmother had told him. It was the tale of a princess imprisoned in a tower, locked in eternal sleep.
The princess, the last of the bloodline of the Ancient Kingdom, would sleep until the day the kingdom was restored. Her awakening would signal the kingdom's rebirth. In the story, it was a hero who woke her with a kiss. Once she awoke, she and the hero were joined, and the kingdom was restored, with the hero as king and the princess as queen.
"A kiss... huh."
The boy had never been in love. He had never even had a girlfriend. If this feeling could be called love, then this doll was his first.
Though no one was watching, he glanced around the room before slowly leaning in. After several moments of hesitation, he pressed his lips to her pale, pink ones.
Flushing deep red, the boy pulled away. He looked down bashfully, but when he raised his eyes to look at her face again, his expression turned to one of pure shock.
"!?"
The doll's eyes were open. They were a deep, crimson red, like blood—yet the boy thought they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen.
"Was it you... who woke me?"
Her voice was like the clear ringing of a bell, and it utterly enchanted him. The girl slowly stood up.
"I seem to have been asleep for a very long time. Oh, it seems my left arm is still broken."
Muttering to herself, she took a few steps.
"My joints are a bit stiff, but it shouldn't hinder my movement."
One step at a time, the doll walked until she stood directly before the boy.
"Thank you. If you would be so kind, could you give me a name?"
The boy's mind was reeling from the shock, but he managed to speak the name that had entered his head the moment he first saw her.
"Elena."
The doll gave him a bright, radiant smile.
"Yes. I am Elena. I look forward to serving you from now on, My Lord."