On the western edge of theEmpire of Solris, where the divine sun waned and the world grew cold, lay the land of Ardenos the domain of House Ardent. It was said to be the Empire's shield, its flame that never faltered, and its graveyard for the weak.
Ardenos was no ordinary Duchy. It was the one region that bordered nearly every known enemy of Solris a frontier where war was less a threat and more a tradition.
To the far north towered the Thalric Peaks, an endless wall of black ice and blizzards, home to the Icekins descendants of the Demon Gods of Hell. They were creatures of frost and fury, born in the aftermath of the First War, their blood infused with the remnants of infernal energy.
Few races in Aetherion could match their savagery or their power, yet Ardenos alone stood firm against them for generations.
To the south stretched the Emerald Plains, where the nomadic Volotor warriors roamed fierce horsemen who revered the wind as their god and the spear as their prayer. Their raids were swift, merciless, and endless. And still, the Ardent banners burned bright across those fields, marking the empire's claim.
The land itself reflected its rulers wild, unyielding, and glorious in its brutality. The rivers ran with faintly glowing water, carrying traces of divine essence through the soil. The mountains glittered with veins of Divinity Stone, a rare and precious mineral formed when divine energy solidified over countless millennia a relic of the Chaotic Era, when the gods themselves reshaped Aetherion through war and fire.
Because of these stones, Ardenos thrived. Its forges never slept; its warriors never lacked for weapons or will. But such abundance came at a cost. Divine energy was thick in the air here so dense that even the wind hummed faintly with it. For those born weak, it was suffocating. For those strong enough to withstand it, it was power itself.
And at the heart of it all, beyond rivers of light and storms of frost, rose Leatas, the capital of the Duchy of Ardenos. A beautiful fortress city carved from the bones of mountains and the ruins of a divine battlefield. From its highest tower, one could see the whole of Ardenos a land of fire and ice, of monsters and men.
The people said it plainly: "Ardenos is where the Empire ends and strength begins."
To Cassandra Nova, those words had always felt more like a warning than a proverb.
Even after a year of serving in Leatas, the heart of Ardenos, she still found herself holding her breath whenever she looked out from the manor's highest balcony.
From there, the land stretched endlessly rivers that glowed faintly with divine light, forests whose leaves shimmered gold at dusk, and mountains so tall they tore the clouds apart. Beautiful, yes… but everything about Ardenos was beautiful in the way a blade was elegant, deadly, and never still.
The Ardent Manor was not a home.
It was a fortress dressed in marble and gold a monument of power that dared anyone to step inside. The moment Cassandra first crossed its black-iron gates, she understood why the people in the empire whispered about this place in both reverence and fear.
The air itself seemed heavier here, laced with divine pressure so thick that it made the unworthy tremble.
The halls stretched endlessly, lined with towering statues of Ardent ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow intruders wherever they went. The chandeliers burned with pale blue flame, divine fire that never went out, each one said to contain a fragment of the Ardent family's blessings. Even the servants moved with discipline more fitting of soldiers than maids because in truth, that's what they were.
When Cassandra first joined the House of Ardent, she thought she knew what fear was.
She'd trained in the Imperial Knight Academy since she was twelve, fought monsters that could tear through stone, and seen comrades die beside her.
But when she stepped through those gilded gates into this house she realized that everything she knew about strength, about power, about monsters… was a lie.
The House of Ardent wasn't a noble family. It was a den of predators.
To even become a maid here, one had to survive a trial that broke most applicants. Cassandra still remembered the taste of iron in her mouth after that final spar. The days of sleepless drills. The way her limbs screamed until she couldn't even lift a blade.
After a month of being pushed to her limits physically, mentally, and spiritually she'd been granted maidship.
Not knighthood, not command. Maidship. and yet… that alone was considered one of the highest honors in the Empire.
Every day since then, she walked among monsters.
The guards who patrolled the each one a warrior who could destroy a small nation if they ever turned their blade the wrong way. The elders… beings who had transcended human limits long ago. And the Patriarch Lord Ardent himself the man whose power had ended the war against the Icekin invasion in the frozen north many years ago. Even the thought of him sent a shiver crawling down her spine.
Yes. She was terrified of them all.
But none of them not the guards, not the elders, not even the Patriarch himself terrified her quite like him.
The one-year-old who talked.
Cassandra had been assigned to Lady Ibalena Ardent, one of the duke's lesser wives though "wife" was generous. Ibalena had come from the far eastern land of Khasiria, the same place Cassandra herself was born. The Duke had brought her back from one of his campaigns, a woman of rare beauty, grace, and quiet sorrow.
To Cassandra, Ibalena looked less like a noble and more like a bird trapped in a golden cage, wings clipped and song stolen. She didn't belong in this cold marble world. And yet, she smiled softly, painfully as if determined to bloom in winter.
When she gave birth to the Duke's youngest child, Delian Ardent, Cassandra was assigned to assist her directly. She remembered that night vividly the child's silence. He didn't wail like most newborns. He cried only once. Once… and then nothing.
Perhaps that should've been the first warning.
From the start, Delian was different. He refused to breastfeed, instead reaching quite stubbornly for the bottle as if he'd already decided he preferred self-reliance.
He was quiet, observant, and his eyes… gods, those eyes. They weren't the eyes of a newborn.
When other babies learned to crawl, Delian walked.When others stumbled their first steps, Delian ran.And when most children were learning to babble their first words… Delian was already speaking.
The first time Cassandra heard him, she dropped the basin she was holding.
"Good morning," he had said clearly, calmly looking up at her with that unnerving maturity.
For days after, she convinced herself she'd imagined it. But when it happened again when he spoke full sentences she knew this was no ordinary child.
No. This was something else entirely. and deep down, in the quiet hours of the night, when the manor slept and the torches burned low, Cassandra often wondered what was Delian Ardent?
After she summed it up to him being a child of the Sword Saint even though none of the other children were anything like him Cassandra's thoughts about the boy began to shift.
She'd often find him doing strange things. One day, he'd be standing by the window, silently watching the sky as though trying to read the wind. The next, he'd be staring intently at books far too heavy for his tiny hands.
Sometimes, she'd catch him observing the trainee guards during their drills, eyes narrowed, studying their movements like a tactician in thought. At first, she'd simply smiled and thought what a curious child.
She knew, of course, that Lady Ibalena and her son were shunned by the other wives and even by most of the household staff. In this house, bloodline and influence meant everything, and Ibalena a foreigner from distant Khasiria had neither.
Cassandra pitied her deeply. They were both outsiders in this cold, towering manor of stone and gold. Perhaps that was why she'd grown so protective of her mistress and her quiet, strange boy.
Then came that day. When her thoughts on Delian Ardent completely changed.
She remembered passing the halls, the whispers following her like smoke. The other maids the ones who bowed and smiled only when the higher wives were watching were gossiping again. About Ibalena. About the boy. About her.
Cassandra's jaw had tightened, but she said nothing. She simply followed behind as they reached Ibalena's chambers, her steps heavy, her heart a little heavier. When she entered the room, Lady Ibalena was out, and only Delian sat there, a small figure at the edge of the bed, legs dangling.
And then he spoke.
"It must be hard, Miss Cassandra."
The words froze her mid-step. For a heartbeat, she wondered if she'd imagined them. Slowly, she turned. "...What did you say, young master?"
He looked up at her, those calm, knowing eyes locking onto hers. "They're starting to talk about you too," he said softly. "You're being dragged down because of us."
Cassandra's breath caught in her throat. No stammer, no hesitation just quiet certainty. For a moment, she truly thought her knees would give out.
"I—I don't care for stupid gossip," she managed to say, forcing a small, brittle smile. "I only do my duties."
Delian tilted his head, studying her for a moment longer. Then, with that strange air of maturity he always carried, he said, "If it gets too much… you shouldn't bear it. Leave when you can."
When Lady Ibalena returned, Delian's entire face changed. That calm, solemn mask melted into something soft a gentle, innocent smile. He reached out to her with small hands, and she gathered him up in her arms.
Cassandra stood by the door, her chest tightening.
He only ever smiled for his mother.
It was then she realized how wrong she'd been about him. Delian wasn't just a prodigy who could speak early, or a strange, unnerving child. He was someone who already understood. Someone who saw the scorn and cruelty around him and bore it silently just as his mother did.
Her heart warmed when she realize the young child had already realize people weren't so good and he tried to protect her from it. So in that moment, she made a quiet promise to herself.
She would never again think of him as strange child.He didn't need fear or suspicion he just needed someone to understand him. and if no one else would, then she would.
Even if it meant standing against the world itself, she would protect that small, fragile smile.