When the seer orb illuminated our soulmate prophecy at the celebration, Prince Darius shattered it with dark magic. He publicly declared me a mere premium food container before announcing his engagement to Duchess Seraphina. I did not beg, executing a flawless servant bow instead. In my chamber, I drank the Withering Potion I had prepared for half a year. The liquid burned through my veins like hellfire. To completely dismantle his ownership, I chose to embrace the First Progenitor equal conversion, paying the irreversible price: forever losing my natural human cycle of aging and dying under the warm sun. Beneath my bandages lies the soul-severing mark Darius himself burned into my arm fifty years ago. As I knock on the heavy doors of the Hunter Guild, I wonder when the arrogant prince will realize his fatal withdrawal has already begun.