Time flowed heavy, deep, and dangerous, like the frozen rivers of the North.
By the time Aetherion turned six, he had memorized every cold stone of the castle, every creaking hinge, and the deadly three-second gaps during the guards' shift changes.
But that day, while returning to the barracks after training in the courtyard, something beyond stone and metal caught the attention of his old soul.
The kitchen entrance was noisy as always; servants grumbled while carrying buckets, shouting "May rust be far from you!" to one another. But the woman sheltering in the darkest corner, at the base of the damp wall, was different.
Her hair had grayed prematurely, taking on the color of molten silver, as if weighed down by an indescribable grief crushing her spirit. Her complexion did not resemble the healthy pallor of the Northerners; it was grayish, like dead marble struck by moonlight. Her shoulders slumped as if she were carrying an invisible sky.
Beside her was a girl Aetherion's age.
The girl's hair spilled over her shoulders like a waterfall of silver, even brighter than her mother's. But what truly struck him were her eyes... She had no pupils; her irises were flooded with a deep, bottomless violet. Looking into those eyes was like looking into a stormy night sky; beautiful, yet an uncanny void that pulled a person in.
She didn't run like the other children, didn't play with strings. She clung to her mother's skirt, trembling like a fawn afraid of stepping into a hunter's trap.
Aetherion stopped. He wiped the sweat from his porcelain-white forehead with the back of his hand and watched them from behind the gray curtain.
No sound, the warrior within him sensed. They make no sound at all. Their very existence consists of a whisper. It is as if they do not belong to this world, but are two silver ghosts who fell here by mistake.
That evening, the air in the Castle Lord's private dining hall was heavier than the storm outside. Even the fire in the fireplace burned feebly, as if afraid of the tension in the room. Only the sound of silver cutlery touching metal could be heard.
Zero paused as he brought his goblet to his lips. The red wine rippled inside the glass like blood.
As Aetherion ate the food on his plate in an orderly fashion, he spoke. "That woman," he said. His voice was childlike, but his intonation carried the seriousness of an adult. "And her daughter. Who are they, father?"
"Nara," Zero said, his voice weary. "And her daughter, Runa."
He took a sip of wine and fixed his eyes on the fire in the hearth.
"They fled from the Central Region. Nara was a cleaner in the Priests' 'Forbidden Archives.' She was illiterate, but..." Zero's voice dropped, as if even speaking the words was dangerous. "...curses lie not in words, but in shapes. A parchment was left open. Nara saw a symbol she was never meant to see. A seal belonging to the True Name of a God."
Aetherion put down his fork. The sound of silver striking metal triggered an old memory in his mind.
A winter night, his mother explaining as she tucked him in: The Forbidden Archives are where Eldara's books are kept. The symbols there are not just ink, my son; they are living, breathing, twisted realities. If an unprepared mind looks at them... just like looking at the sun with the naked eye, the soul is scorched.
He understood Nara's slumped shoulders now. She was crushed under the weight of that single symbol she had seen.
"Some truths," whispered Aetherion, repeating his mother's words from that night. "Are heavy enough to crush a mind."
"The Priests wanted to 'cleanse' her," Zero continued, his eyes glazing over. "But she did what everyone called impossible. She crawled out through the 'Ash Channels'—places even the Priests fear to enter, where waste is dumped into the Void. She dragged herself through the darkness for weeks, starving and wounded. When she reached here, the Northern Gate, she was no longer human; she had been reduced to a bag of bones."
Zero took another sip of his wine, his tone growing heavier.
"She wasn't pregnant when she saw the image, Aetherion. That life in her womb sprouted on the escape route... on those dark and uncanny paths. Only Nara knows who the father is; perhaps another fugitive, perhaps a bandit, perhaps a faceless shadow that helped her..."
"And the daughter?" Aetherion asked. "Why is she silent?"
"That is the true tragedy," Zero said. "When Nara saw that symbol, that forbidden knowledge didn't just burn her mind; it seeped into her soul, her blood, even her womb. That curse wove itself into Nara's biology. Even though she conceived months later, the shadow of that symbol fell upon the child."
His father leaned toward the table.
"Runa did not cry when she was born. She made no sound at all. That 'Divine Secret' her mother saw erased the girl's vocal cords before they could even form. It was as if the Gods said, 'Since you have seen, your lineage shall not speak of it.' Runa pays the price of her mother's sin with her silence."
Zero turned to his son. There was a commander's warning in his eyes.
"They have no tongue; they cannot defend themselves. But they have eyes. They see what we do not. Still... you must not be seen with them too often, Aetherion. Silence is safe only as long as it remains in the shadow."
When he finished speaking, Zero slammed his goblet onto the table. A wine stain spread across the tablecloth. He turned his gaze to his wife, Elara. The subject had changed, but the tension had increased.
"The Southern Road is closed," he said, his voice sharp as a knife. "Not a blizzard. The High Priests' patrols have increased. Caravans cannot pass."
Zero took a deep breath, sagging under the weight of the burden on his shoulders.
"No word from the Blind Alchemist. Our stocks... are empty."
Zero brought his hand to his own eye. The blue veil in his eyes was still strong; he had used his last drop just yesterday, and its effect would last at least another month. He was safe.
But then he turned his gaze to his son. The gray mask in Aetherion's eyes had thinned, and the dangerous redness beneath had begun to become distinct. Aetherion had only three days' worth of drops left.
"I have a month," Zero said, clenching his teeth. "But Aetherion's time is running out. If that veil lifts..."
Zero looked helplessly at Elara. He sounded not like a commanding officer, but like a father unable to protect his son.
"Elara, in your greenhouse... Can't you do something? Can't you decode that old alchemist's formula? Even if it's not the exact same, a temporary solution to keep Aetherion's eyes gray for a few more weeks?"
Elara's face paled, but her gaze remained steady. Beneath her delicate, fragile appearance lay the composure of a healer who knew how to dance with poisons and roots. She squeezed the napkin on the table.
"Ice Thorn only grows in caves on the edge of the Void, Zero. It cannot survive in my greenhouse," Elara said.
Then she paused. She weighed old recipes and risky mixtures in her mind. She turned her eyes to her son.
"But..." she whispered. "...I can try a mixture that will ease his pain and keep the veil in his eyes at least gray. With Shadow Root and Northern Moss. It's not a complete solution. But... it buys us time."
Zero let out a deep breath. "Do it," he said. "Do whatever is necessary."
Then he turned to Aetherion.
"Until Elara prepares that mixture," Zero said with finality. "You will not leave your room, Aetherion. Do you understand?"
Aetherion gritted his teeth. For a samurai, inactivity was a slow death. But his logic screamed that his father was right.
"I understand," he said, forcing his voice not to tremble. "As you command."