[Nerina's P.O.V]
Nerina Morwen was many things.
A disgrace. A failure. A villain.
A thief?
Well, that one was debatable.
But Evelyn Arkwright certainly seemed to think otherwise, judging by the way she loomed over —arms crossed as the very picture of exasperation.
"Are you seriously ransacking your own family's treasury?"
Nerina, half-buried in a pile of artifacts, simply waved a dismissive hand.
"It's not ransacking if it technically belongs to me."
Evelyn's brow twitched. "Your mother would strangle you."
"She'd have to catch me first."
A silver goblet clattered as Nerina tossed it aside. She wasn't sure what she was looking for—something useful, something practical.
The treasury held countless treasures, magical relics, and heirlooms steeped in history.
Which meant most of them were utterly useless.
"What even is this?" Nerina held up a necklace that pulsed faintly with a dull blue glow.
"A relic imbued with ice magic," Evelyn answered without missing a beat.
"Capable of freezing an entire lake solid. Single use."
Nerina squinted at it. "…Eh. Too dramatic."
She tossed it over her shoulder.
Evelyn barely caught it before it hit the ground, inhaling sharply through her nose. "You are insufferable."
"I get that a lot." Nerina grinned.
She heard the distinct click of Evelyn's heel tapping against the marble floor.
It was a tiny sound, one she'd learned to recognize over the years. The I-am-ten-seconds-away-from-strangling-you sound.
Nerina, wisely—chose to ignore it.
Instead, she rummaged deeper, pulling out a gleaming dagger with runes etched along the hilt.
The blade vibrated faintly in her grip, as if whispering something just at the edge of her hearing.
"Now this—"
"No."
Nerina blinked. "I didn't even say anything yet."
Evelyn –understandably, pinched the bridge of her nose. "That is a cursed dagger, Nerina."
"Pfft. 'Cursed' is such a strong word." She twirled it between her fingers.
"I prefer the term personality."
"It whispers to its wielder."
"So do you."
"I –for one, do not encourage murder when I do so."
Nerina flipped the dagger once more before reluctantly setting it down with a flick, it's edge spun as it etched itself to the floor.
"Fine, fine. No murder-knife. You're so boring."
Evelyn merely gave her a flat look. One of disapointment? Possibly. Resignation —most definitely.
"Well forgive me for having a sense of self-preservation."
Nerina snorted, moving on without a care in the world.
The two of them worked in relative silence after that —Nerina sifting through relics with reckless abandon, Evelyn occasionally salvaging whatever she deemed too valuable to be treated like junk.
It was a well-practiced rhythm.
Evelyn complained. Nerina ignored her. Evelyn complained louder. Nerina continued to ignore her.
If someone walked in, they might mistake them for bitter rivals.
They weren't.
Or perhaps they were, in a way.
But if Evelyn truly disapproved, she wouldn't be here, folding a spare set of clothes and slipping an enchanted ring into Nerina's bag when she thought she wasn't looking.
Nerina didn't call her out on it.
Instead...she picked up an old, tattered cloak from a forgotten chest —running her fingers over the frayed edges.
"…How long will you be gone?"
Evelyn's voice was softer this time.
Nerina glanced up and found her friend standing still, gaze sharp despite her carefully neutral expression.
"3 years..." Evelyn answered her own question.
"It'll take at least that long for my return to the Arkwright estate to be noticed. And by then…"
Evelyn didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to.
By then, Nerina would be gone.
They both knew it.
Nerina simply stretched, feigning nonchalance.
"Well, don't get yourself killed while I'm not around."
Evelyn rolled her eyes with a huff, "I should be telling you that."
Nerina simply grinned. "You always do."
Evelyn clicked her tongue but said nothing more.
They continued packing.
Later that night, long after Evelyn had left —Nerina found herself sitting on her windowsill, staring at the stars.
Her fingers traced the edge of a ring she didn't remember packing.
A parting gift, no doubt.
She exhaled, leaning back against the cold stone wall and let her mind wander.
To the past.
To the Holy Order.
To the events that had led her to that wretched moment—the one where she stood before the Holy Sword Eris Kaelis, bathed in golden light.
It had called to her.
It had chosen her.
And she had taken it.
Then with it, she had torn apart the world.
Nerina could still feel its weight in her hands, still hear the whispers of prophecy that had rung through the cathedral halls.
The chosen hero. The savior of the realm.
She had been nothing of the sort.
Would the sword choose her again?
…No.
Most likely, Adrian would stop the coronation before it ever reached that point.
Or maybe the sword would simply stay silent this time, unmoved by her presence.
Good.
That was how it should be.
Because Nerina Morwen was unworthy.
And she intended to stay that way.