The night stretched long and restless.
Aria lay wide-eyed on the bed, unable to close her eyes. Sleep had become a stranger since the moment she opened her eyes in this world—a luxury she had long forgotten how to claim.
The room she now occupied was delicate and grand. Silken drapes swayed in the faint winter breeze, and the fire crackled softly in the hearth. It was warm—almost too warm for someone raised in the quiet frost of pain.
Theo had arranged everything personally. A personal maid, the softest linens, and a room that looked far too prepared—like it had waited for her. Like he had waited for her.
Did the Aria who belonged to this world ever visit the North?
Her mind was a maze of broken pieces, blurred past lives, and fading memories. She didn't know. And somehow, that hurt more.
A sudden thud echoed down the hall.
She jolted upright.
Silence returned, but the tension lingered—too sharp, too deliberate. Curiosity clawed at her, more powerful than fear. She rose slowly, wrapping her robe tightly around her body. With a flick of her fingers, her golden aura flickered to life, dim and soft, lighting the way as she padded barefoot through the cold corridor.
The shadows loomed taller in the dark. The North was quiet—but not empty.
Then—something caught her leg.
Sticky. Wet.
She looked down—and froze.
Blood.
Everywhere.
Dark red smeared across the marble floor, still warm. Her breath caught in her throat, then—
"AHHHHH!"
Her scream echoed through the stone halls, full of raw panic.
A shadow moved in front of her, stepping into the light. The figure raised his hand, not in threat, but as if to shield her from what lay behind him.
"I'm sorry," the young man said, voice low and calm. "You shouldn't have seen this."
His face was partially illuminated now. Blood smeared across his skin, his shirt soaked in crimson. Yet his brown hair still fell in gentle waves, parted neatly to the side, as if violence couldn't quite touch all of him. A thin, jagged scar slashed through his right eyebrow—a story untold but easy to imagine.
"Who… who are you?" Aria stammered, taking a step back.
He gave a polite bow, despite the blood. "Abigel."
Footsteps thundered in from the end of the hall. Theodore appeared, sword in hand. His expression shifted as he took in the scene—not shocked, not alarmed. Just… tired.
"I see," he muttered. Then his eyes landed on Aria.
"Go back to bed," Theo said gently. "We'll talk in the morning."
She hesitated, but her maid had already arrived, quietly leading her away, casting nervous glances behind them.
As the doors to her room closed, Aria pressed a trembling hand to her chest. Her heart still raced. Who were those bodies? Why was Abigel covered in blood? Why did Theo act like it was… normal?
Back in the hall, Theo stood silently beside the trail of crimson.
"How many came tonight?" he asked, not even needing to glance at the corpses.
"Ten," Abigel replied as he began clearing the mess, his movements smooth, practiced. "Your Highness."
Theo's jaw tightened. "Same as the last ones?"
"Yes," Abigel said, wiping blood from the hilt of his blade. "Same crest. Same method. They're not sending rookies anymore."
Theo exhaled heavily, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't like this. Not the blood, not the patterns, and definitely not the fact that Aria had to see it.
Abigel moved in silence, scrubbing the floor with methodical ease. He worked quickly, knowing full well that the guest was not supposed to witness any of this. But who could have guessed Aria would wander the halls so late?
Theo watched for a moment longer, then said, "Leave it. You need rest. You'll be at the training grounds at dawn. Aria needs someone to spar with."
Abigel straightened, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Yes, Your Highness," he said simply, bowing again before disappearing into the shadows.
The corridor fell silent.
But blood still lingered in the cracks of the stone—reminders of the threats that hunted their borders. And of the danger Aria now lived among.
The cold of the North greeted Aria like a slap across the face.
Even wrapped in thick fur-lined garments, the morning air bit into her skin like teeth. Her breath fogged instantly, trailing before her like a ghost as she stepped out onto the frozen training grounds.
Snow blanketed everything in white silence. The training area was wide and open, encircled by high, ancient stone walls. A row of weapons rested neatly on one side. Aria's fingers twitched. She didn't know how to wield any of them—not in this life, at least.
"Good morning."
The voice was calm, a little rough around the edges.
She turned.
Abigel stood a few feet away, already dressed in black combat gear. There was no trace of blood on him now, but the scar across his eyebrow remained—a silent echo of the night before. His expression was neutral, unreadable. Like a soldier who knew when to show emotion—and when to bury it.
Aria gave a small nod. "You… clean up fast."
He smiled faintly.
Theodore's voice broke the moment from the other side of the field. "Don't go easy on her. She wants to learn."
Aria's gaze shifted toward her uncle, standing on a raised platform under a small awning, arms crossed, silver cloak fluttering in the wind. His sharp eyes never left her.
Aria exhaled.
Right. This was her choice. If she was going to survive this life—she couldn't afford to stay weak.
"I don't need you to hold back," she said to Abigel, raising her chin slightly. "Let's start."
He nodded once, respectful but firm. "As you wish, Lady Aria."
Their training began slow. Abigel demonstrated basic movements—footwork, balance, how to move without exposing vital areas. Aria mimicked them, stumbling a little at first. Her boots slid across the frozen stone, but she caught herself.
"I'm not made for this," she muttered.
"You're not made for standing still either," he replied quietly.
She blinked at him.
He didn't elaborate.
They continued.
After half an hour, sweat clung to her neck despite the freezing air. Her golden aura flickered unconsciously, responding to her frustration. It sparked once—then flared like a candle in the dark.
Abigel stopped mid-move.
"Your aura…" he said, watching it carefully. "It's unstable."
"I know," Aria whispered, gripping her wrist. "I don't know how to control it. It just... acts on its own."
"Then let it."
"What?"
Abigel's eyes met hers, serious now. "It's part of you. Not something separate. Don't fight it. Sync with it."
She hesitated.
Theodore watched in silence, the wind lifting his hair. He didn't interfere.
Aria closed her eyes. She thought of the light—not as something she had to wield, but as something that lived in her chest. A heartbeat. A memory. A promise.
Warmth gathered at her fingertips, then slowly enveloped her.
Golden threads danced around her body like a whispering flame, gentle and fierce at once. The snow at her feet began to melt in a circle.
Abigel didn't step back.
He drew his practice sword instead.
"Now we really begin."