The Northern winter was merciless that night. The wind hurled razor-sharp shards of ice, reducing visibility to an arm's length.
Inside the makeshift wooden shelter the gate guards had built for protection against the wind, Aetherion and Runa sat. Aetherion was showing Runa a wooden horse figure he had carved; its legs were a bit disproportionate, but it was detailed. Runa's violet eyes were lost in the figure, but her shoulders were tense; as if she were being crushed under an invisible burden.
Suddenly, Runa froze. Her gaze locked onto the guards by the gate.
There was no sound. No scream. Only that muffled click of metal rubbing against metal was heard.
The armored guards standing on either side of the gate collapsed simultaneously like puppets whose strings had been cut. The heavy, lifeless sound their armor made in the snow hit Aetherion's stomach like a punch.
Aetherion sprang to his feet immediately. His heart rate transformed into a war drum echoing in his ribcage.
A silhouette peeled itself from the curtain of the blizzard. This was no soldier. He wore a dark gray, flexible leather armor that hugged his body. His face was covered by a mask that left only his eyes exposed. His steps left no trace in the snow, made no sound.
The Shadow stopped at the entrance of the shelter. Those cold eyes behind the mask scanned the interior like a predator seeking prey. His gaze didn't linger on Aetherion for even a second; he skipped over him like an insignificant shrub tossed by the wind.
His eyes stopped when they locked onto the silver-haired girl cowering in the corner. He had found what he was looking for.
Aetherion's mind worked with icy clarity instead of fear. The dark gray leather armor, silent soles, cloak blending with the wind... This wasn't a castle guard or an ordinary bandit. Silent. Leaves no trace. And sees only the target. Either a spy or an assassin.
"Runa, get behind me!" Aetherion shouted.
Aetherion drew the short, blunted practice sword at his waist. The surface of the metal steamed in the cold air.
One chance, said the samurai within. To the throat. Fast and precise.
Aetherion launched himself with the experience of thousands of duels in his mind. His intention was to sever the opponent's neck in a single move; his breath, his angle, his timing... all were from the mind of a master.
But reality slammed into his face like a cold wall.
Though his mind attacked like an eagle, his body was a sparrow yet to fledge. Those short eight-year-old arms, those puny muscles, fell far short of the lethal arc in his mind. The sword beat only the empty void instead of cutting the man's throat.
The Assassin saw the attack but didn't even bother to draw his sword. With an expression almost of boredom, he leaned slightly to the side. Aetherion's sword cut only empty air instead of the man's neck.
The man didn't counterattack. He just stood and watched this flailing little thing from behind his mask. Aetherion gritted his teeth, sweat and snow mingling. He attacked again. This time with rapid, consecutive thrusts... Swish. Swish. Swish. The man dodged each time with only millimeter movements. Sometimes he dipped a shoulder, sometimes he tilted his head slightly. Once, he even stepped on Aetherion's sword as if it were a stair tread, forcing the boy to faceplant.
This wasn't a fight. This was a wolf playing with a pup whose teeth hadn't yet come in. Humiliating, silent, and spirit-breaking.
The Shadow finally got bored. The game was over. When Aetherion gathered all his strength for one last hope and lunged at the man's chest, the man swung the back of his hand as if shooing away an annoying fly.
It looked like a simple slap, but behind it was bone-breaking momentum gathered over years.
THUD!
The blow exploded on Aetherion's ribcage. His feet left the ground. The air was forcibly ripped from his lungs. His small body was flung into the air and slammed into the stone wall like a frail branch torn from its trunk in a storm. When his back hit the stone, his world went dark. He crumpled onto the snow like a rag.
He lifted his head, half-conscious.
The Assassin didn't spare even a second glance at Aetherion writhing on the ground. He turned his back. To him, this boy was no different from a pebble on the road. He walked toward Runa.
Runa cowered against the wall, trembling. She couldn't scream. She had no voice. Her violet eyes had widened in horror.
The Assassin walked over to Runa. He showed not a shred of mercy for the girl's trembling body, for the terror in those violet eyes.
He raised his hand. His leather-gloved fist exploded on the girl's face, targeting the breaking point of the bone.
CRACK!
The sound was like a fresh branch snapping. Runa's head snapped back, her silver hair tracing a bloody fan in the air. Her small body collapsed onto the snow like a puppet with cut strings.
Runa's head was thrown back. Her silver hair flailed in the air and her tiny body slammed onto the snow like a broken doll. A drop of bright red blood leaking from her nose dripped onto the white snow.
She lay motionless.
When Runa fell, all sounds in Aetherion's world ceased.
In that moment, time froze. Aetherion no longer saw Runa. The veil before his eyes tore open, and that bloody memory of the past flooded his mind like a torrent.
A burning temple... People screaming amidst the smoke... And that old woman he held in his arms, whom he failed to protect. That hot, sticky blood staining his hands as he pulled the spear from her arm.
That old, wounded soul in his mind howled in pain. Again? Are you too late again? Is your sword too short again? Are your loved ones bleeding because of your inadequacy again?
This helplessness turned into rage. But this was not the whining anger of a child. This was the moment a volcano that had slept for centuries shattered the glacier above it.
From the deep, from the darkest, sealed vaults of his soul, something awakened. It was the exchange of blood flowing in his veins for lava.
The torches by the castle gate suddenly flickered, grew feeble. Because all the heat in the air was being pulled toward that small body lying on the ground. The snow around Aetherion melted instantly, turned to water, then hissed into steam.
The Samurai discipline within him became a riverbed for this wild, uncontrolled river. His rage was like liquid metal, and his will shaped it. His mind was now forged not of cold steel, but of burning embers.
"YOU..."
His voice did not sound human. It was like the roar of a burning forest.
He forced his grip around his sword in the snow as he rose from the ground. The metal hilt sizzled with the heat in his palm, the leather wrapping began to scorch and smoke.
He swung the sword. And in that moment, the nature of the metal changed. The blade glowed with a blood-red light. Fire spilled from the tip of the sword. It transformed into a wild serpent whip, hissing and curling in the air, obeying Aetherion's will.
The Shadow felt that sudden, suffocating heat behind him. The smell of ozone in the air had turned to the smell of burnt flesh. He turned. And for the first time in his life, that dull expression behind his mask shattered. What he saw was not a child. Standing in the middle of the snow, rippling the air around him, holding a lengthening lash of fire, stood an Anomaly.
Aetherion lunged. His strike did not fall short this time. The fire compensated for the lack of reach in his limbs. The sword tore the air. The flame whip at its tip extended like a living snake, breached the Shadow's defense, and wrapped around his left arm.
SIZZLE!
The sound was like meat thrown into hot oil. The leather armor melted. The flesh beneath scorched. The Shadow hissed in pain, stumbling back. Smoke rose from his arm, but he did not take his eyes off Aetherion.
His surprise gave way to a terrifying enlightenment. His gaze shifted from the silver-haired girl lying on the ground to this burning boy before him. What he sought was no longer a "Silent." What he sought was this Fire hiding beneath the ice of the North.
Aetherion raised his sword to make a second move, to wrap that whip of flame around the man's neck. But the Shadow was no longer a warrior, but a messenger. Delivering this secret, this "impossibility" to his master was a thousand times more valuable than killing the Silent.
The man showed no sign of pain despite his charred arm. He swirled his cloak with his right hand. His body became fluid like black ink. The shadows beneath his feet climbed up, wrapped his legs, and swallowed him like a living cocoon.
When Aetherion's fire whip beat the air, there was no one there. The Shadow had sunk into his own darkness, slid over the snow, and blended into the night.
Only the steam rising from the melting snow, the smell of burnt flesh, and a silver-haired girl lying unconscious on the ground remained.
"HELP! ATTACK! CALL THE HEALERS!"
Aetherion's scream cut through the howl of the storm and echoed through the castle.
Within seconds, the courtyard turned into an overturned beehive. The metal boots of the guards thundered on the stone floor in panic, torches on the ramparts were hurriedly turned downwards.
Aetherion collapsed beside Runa. With trembling hands, he cleaned the blood from the girl's face and the snow clinging to her silver hair. He checked her pulse. It was weak, but it was there.
This time, he thought, clenching his jaw. This time, I wasn't too late.
Someone in blue robes broke through the crowd. Elara.
His mother knelt on the snow like a healer. Her face was ashen as her hands roamed over the veins in Runa's neck. Behind her, a silent figure emerged from the shadows: Nara.
Nara didn't scream. She didn't even cry. The pain of the Silent was not noisy; it was deep and suffocating. When the woman saw her daughter's bloody face, she simply collapsed where she stood, onto her knees. Her mouth opened, but instead of words, a silent breath tore from her lungs and vaporized.
As Runa was laid onto the stretcher, her silvery hair waved over the white stretcher like the flag of a lost battle.
Aetherion involuntarily stepped forward. His hand wanted to reach for the stretcher, to touch Runa.
However, an armored hand landed on his shoulder like an iron vise.
"Stand back, lad," said the guard captain. His voice was gentle but held a certainty that accepted no objection. "Let the healers do their work. Don't get underfoot."
Aetherion hesitated. He slowly lowered his hand to his side. He didn't resist the soldiers because he knew the real battle would not be fought here, but in his father's room momentarily.
"Aetherion!"
That voice drowned out all the chaos in the castle.
Zero stood under the portico, in the shadows. He had removed his helmet. The expression on his face was something colder, more terrifying than steel.
"My office. Now."