Ethan Aurellia's Perspective
The southern gates of Aurellia stood hunched against the winter sky, their iron frames dusted white with frost. My horse's hooves cracked through the frozen gravel as we approached, each step sharp and deliberate. I tightened my gloves, feeling the stiffness in the worn leather, the ache settling in my shoulders after the long ride.
No banners. No servants. Only the brittle breath of winter curling through the air.
Of course. It was the season of the winter hunts. No one had time for homecomings.
I slid from the saddle and led my horse through the open gate. The guards stationed at the entrance gave me a quick nod—professional, detached. A soldier's welcome. Appropriate, I supposed.
It didn't matter. I didn't come back for fanfare.
The cold gnawed at the edges of my cloak as I walked. The Academy's sigil scratched faintly against my chest—the embroidered crest heavy, suffocating. Crownlight Academy. I had spent years there sharpening every weakness into a weapon. Third among hundreds. Only the Goldwyn heirs, born gilded and blessed, had outpaced me—and even then, only because divinity had tilted the scale.
Without blessings, I stood beside them.
That meant something. It had to.
The estate's courtyard opened before me, blanketed in thin, brittle snow. As I passed under the shadow of the gatehouse, a figure moved from the side path—a girl, small and pale beneath a worn traveling cloak. Blonde hair brushed her shoulders, catching what little sunlight slipped through the clouds.
What caught my eye was the sword beside her waist. Playing soldier are we?
Our eyes met briefly as we passed each other.
There was no hesitation in her stride. No acknowledgment.
She moved past me like I was a stone in the road.
The guards straightened slightly as she passed, their gazes more formal than they had been for me.
I slowed, frowning, watching her leave through the outer gate without a word. The frost crunched crisply under her boots, leaving a neat trail in the whiteness.
Strange. But not my concern.
The heavy oak doors of the estate groaned as I pushed them open. Inside, the warmth hit me—a dry, still heat that smelled faintly of woodsmoke and old parchment. The familiar scent grounded something in me that had felt adrift since I left Crownlight.
Home. If it could still be called that.
The butler approached with a practiced bow. His face was as stern as I remembered—more stone than flesh.
"Welcome home, Lord Ethan," he said, voice even. "The Duke awaits you in his study."
I nodded, brushing the frost from my shoulders. My boots thudded against the stone floor as I followed him through the wide, cold halls.
Each step echoed harder than the last, like a drum counting down.
I would prove myself this winter. Not to the capital's socialites. Not to the paladins or the Goldwyn heirs. Only to one man.
The butler stopped before a heavy door carved with the old crest of Aurellia—a wolf standing beneath a broken crown. He rapped once and stepped aside.
I drew a slow breath, forced the tightness from my shoulders, and entered.
The study smelled of aged wood, faint smoke, and iron oil. The hearth crackled low in the far corner, more embers than flame. My father stood near the window, arms folded behind his back, his silhouette sharp against the washed-out winter sky.
He turned when he heard me.
For a heartbeat, he said nothing—just studied me, his gaze slow and measuring, the way a general might study a sword before a battle.
Then the corners of his mouth tugged upward—not a full smile, but close enough.
"You've finally caught up," he said. His voice was deep, roughened by cold air and command. "Sixteen, and already looking me in the eye."
I straightened instinctively, shoulders back, chin level.
"A fine heir," he added, almost to himself.
He let out a breath—quiet, almost a sigh of relief—and crossed the room in three heavy strides. His hand, calloused and warm, landed on my shoulder with a firm, solid weight.
"Well done, Ethan," he said. "Top marks. And behind only those golden whelps, no less."
The pat on my shoulder was brief but heavy with meaning. For him, it might as well have been an embrace.
I bowed slightly at the waist, more formal than necessary. "Thank you, Father."
The words came out crisp. Polished. The way they always had. Not the casual warmth of a family. Not the easy familiarity I'd seen among my Academy peers and their fathers.
But it was ours.
He grunted, approving or dismissive—it was hard to tell with him—and gestured toward the map table near the hearth.
"You arrived just in time," he said. His fingers tapped once against the wood, near the northern ranges marked in black ink. "We're assembling at the northern barracks before dawn tomorrow. For the hunt."
He glanced at me, the barest tilt of his head.
"You don't have to come," he added. "You're tired from the journey. I'd understand."
The offer was real. I heard it in the roughness of his voice, in the way he didn't meet my eyes as he said it. An old soldier's mercy—spare the young if they aren't ready.
But I was ready.
I clenched my fists lightly at my sides. "I'll come," I said, steady. "I don't want to wait another year."
For a moment, the fire popped behind us, filling the silence.
Then—so slight I almost missed it—the Duke smiled. Not the cold smirk he wore with other nobles. Something smaller. Softer.
Pride.
He nodded once, firm. "Good."
Then he waved me toward the door with a casual flick of his fingers—the audience dismissed, the duty acknowledged.
"Rest. You'll need it."
I bowed again, this time a little deeper, and turned to leave.
As I stepped out into the hall, the cold stone under my boots, I felt it.
The small smile.
The weight of his hand on my shoulder.
The rough, clumsy pride buried under years of armor.
It burned in my chest, sharper than the cold ever could.
Tomorrow, I will show him. Show them all.
The next morning, the northern barracks buzzed like a disturbed hive.
Snow crunched under my boots as I crossed the yard, my breath curling into the brittle air. The soldiers were already gathered—huddled in loose groups, laughing too loudly, jostling each other like schoolboys.
Their armor clattered with every careless shove. Their swords leaned forgotten against frost-coated racks. Their excitement hung heavy in the air, as thick as woodsmoke.
I moved through them, straight-backed and silent, the way I had been taught.
A sharp voice cut through the noise.
"Well, if it isn't the boy who used to trip over his own scabbard."
I turned toward the sound instinctively, and found a familiar face grinning at me. Captain Halric—his dark beard streaked with new gray, his posture as solid as the walls themselves. The man who had once taught me how to stand, how to fall, how to bleed without whining about it.
I bowed stiffly. "Master Halric. It's good to see you."
He barked a laugh loud enough to turn a few heads. "Spare me the formalities, lad. You're taller than me now." He clapped a heavy hand against my back. "Stronger than any poor fool here, too. Welcome home."
I allowed myself a rare smile. Brief. Controlled. "Thank you, Captain."
Halric's eyes crinkled at the edges as he leaned closer. "Your father's been waiting for this day longer than he lets on."
Before I could answer, a hush fell over the barracks.
Boots snapped into position. Swords were straightened. Shields were lifted from the snow without a word of command. Every soldier fell into formation like threads tightening in a loom.
I turned toward the entrance.
The Duke of Aurellia strode into the yard, his cloak rippling behind him like a severed banner. His presence alone drove order into chaos.
Behind him, four others climbed the makeshift stage—captains of the northern, western, southern, and eastern posts. Men and women I had once dreamed of standing beside.
But another figure drew my eye. Small. Unmistakable.
A girl, barely to my chest, with pale blonde hair tied behind her shoulders. She wore the same uniform as the captains—less decorated, but cut from the same cloth. Her posture was rigid. Her eyes, scanning the assembly, sharper than any blade.
My brow furrowed.
Before I could speak, a soldier standing beside me chuckled under his breath.
"You're wondering, right?" he said, half-grinning. "Everyone does the first time."
I didn't answer, but he continued anyway.
"That's Alliyana Aurellia," he said. "The Duke's adopted daughter."
The words hit harder than they should have.
"Went on an expedition back in Thawn this year. Slayed a high demon alongside a paladin. Only two survivors. Word is she's tougher than half the officers here."
I stared at the girl, feeling the words wedge under my ribs.
Standing where only the strongest were ever posted.
The Duke called for silence, his voice a low, commanding bark that carried over the yard. Soldiers froze mid-breath. Conversations died in their throats.
"New recruits," he barked, "form ranks over there."
He pointed—straight at the little girl.
A ripple of disbelief passed through the newer soldiers. A few hesitated, but the veterans moved first, herding them forward with practiced hands.
I stood frozen for a breath longer than I should have. Every instinct in me screamed against it. Only the best captains were trusted with new blood. Only the strongest.
And now—
I swallowed the knot in my throat and marched to where she stood.
Her eyes tracked me before anyone else. Cool. Measuring. The way a blacksmith might study a blade fresh from the forge.
It wasn't disdain. It was appraisal.
I felt the weight of it settle across my shoulders.
My worth, my pride, everything I had built with blood and steel—being judged by a child barely more half my size.
My fists clenched at my sides before I caught myself. I said nothing. Did nothing.
She shifted her gaze to the other recruits without a word. Methodical. Cold.
As if this absurdity—this insult—was the most natural thing in the world.
I glanced sideways, expecting to see confusion, anger, anything.
Nothing.
The other soldiers, even the captains, saluted her as naturally as they would salute my father. Like it had always been this way. Like she belonged here.
The cold seemed sharper suddenly, slicing through the seams of my cloak. I drew a slow breath, steadying the weight pressing against my ribs.
I remembered my father's voice, just yesterday.
You'll be a fine heir.
Was it a lie? Why adopt another?
Why place her in the role I had been born to fill?
I stared straight ahead, locking my body into stillness as the frost bit deeper into my skin.
I would prove myself. No matter what it cost. Maybe it was just politics.
I shifted my weight slightly, arms at my sides, forcing my breathing to stay even as the cold gnawed at the edges of my gloves.
She survived alongside a paladin? Convenient story. Stolen valor, maybe.
A paladin would sacrifice anything to save a child. It wouldn't be the first time a survivor wore someone else's glory.
My jaw tightened.
But that didn't explain the way the captains saluted her. The way the soldiers obeyed without hesitation.
Fear and respect weren't things you could fabricate. Not here. Not among men and women who had bled in the northern snows.
I'll observe for now. Nothing more.
The soldiers murmured low, shifting uneasily. I followed their gazes.
The girl—Alliyana—stepped forward onto the platform, boots crunching softly against the frost. She didn't stumble. She didn't hesitate.
She faced us—a field of seasoned warriors—and the weight of her gaze seemed to pin the very air in place.
Without any signal, the soldiers fell silent.
Her voice, when it came, was cold and clear—sharp as a drawn blade—and far too calm for someone her age.
"Come home alive."
The words didn't fall like stones.
They drove like iron stakes into the frozen ground.
No shouting. No grand gestures. Just brutal certainty, hammered in with each unflinching command.
My fist tightened until the leather strained over my knuckles.
This should have been my father's speech. Brief. Blunt. Unforgiving.
But it wasn't him standing there.
It was her.
And they—all of them—listened.
Not because she bore the Duke's name. Not because she was a child wrapped in authority.
Because she meant every word. Because she had seen the blood, the broken lines, the cost—and still spoke of returning.
I stared at the girl in the captain's uniform, frost swirling around her boots like smoke. There was no innocence in her stance. Only purpose honed too early, too clean.
A chill deeper than winter gnawed at the edges of my pride.
Something was wrong.
The hunt began at dawn.
We formed into units of three, as tradition dictated. Veterans took the lead at the front and alongside the carriages, their armor creaking faintly as they moved through the snow-packed forest roads. New recruits, myself included, were positioned at the rear. Safer that way, they said.
Until we reached the mountains.
There, we'd splinter off. Each group led by a captain assigned to their hunting ground.
Ours was the East.
The quietest quadrant. Fewer beasts. Fewer risks. It had always been that way. And for that reason, it was customary to place the strongest to lead it. A final trial—not of survival, but of control. Containing green blood before it spilled too early.
Captain Halric should've led us.
He was the one who trained me. The strongest among them. I'd seen him break a charging warg's jaw with a single blow. His mere presence used to straighten the backs of half-trained soldiers.
But he wasn't leading us. The little girl was.
Alliyana.
The one everyone saluted like it made sense. Like this wasn't absurd.
Even Halric had said nothing. No protest. No hesitation. Just handed her the space like it belonged to her.
I clenched my teeth and said nothing, letting the rhythm of boots through snow fill the silence in my head.
"Um—hey," came a voice from my left.
A girl. Around my age. Pale-brown hair tucked beneath a fur-lined hood, eyes sharp but a little too polite.
"I'm Alexa Birch," she said, offering a gloved hand. "I, uh, wasn't sure if I should talk to you. You being the Duke's son and all."
I raised an eyebrow but shook her hand. Her grip was firm.
"You can drop the formality," I said. "I'm the same rank as you."
That truth itched more than I expected. Not because I was placed low—but because someone else wasn't.
Alexa motioned toward the figure lagging a few paces behind her. A tall boy with short black hair and a quiet gait. He walked like his armor weighed more than it should.
"That's Ban Fuller. He doesn't talk much."
Ban nodded once when I looked his way, and I returned it. Fair enough.
"I'm Ethan," I said. "Aurellia. I just got back from Crownlight yesterday."
Alexa's expression shifted, just slightly. Not surprise. Understanding.
"You're wondering about her, aren't you?" she asked.
I didn't respond right away.
"I'd be lying if I said no," I finally said. "I left the duchy. I came back to what feels like a dream I wasn't invited to."
She nodded, slowing her pace so Ban wouldn't drift too far behind. Her voice dropped just enough to mark the change in subject.
"She doesn't train with the soldiers. Not formally, anyway. She's been helping run physical assessments. Combat drills. The Duke adjusted the entire training protocol based on her notes."
"Her notes?" I repeated.
"Yeah," Alexa said, as if it wasn't strange. "She observes, gives feedback, disappears."
"Disappears?"
She shrugged. "Ask the soldiers at the Northern Gate. They say she leaves just after first light. Comes back before her assigned shift."
I frowned. "What shift?"
"She's technically a low-class healer," Alexa said. "Assigned to the Western Barracks."
That stopped me.
"A healer?"
Alexa nodded. "Yeah. Rank-wise, that's all she is."
"Then why," I said slowly, "does a low-class healer carry a military-issued blade sized to her frame? Why does she wear a captain's uniform? Why do captains salute her?"
Alexa didn't answer right away.
She glanced toward the column of marching soldiers ahead of us, then back toward Alliyana—barely visible near the front, her white-blonde hair catching flecks of frost like a ghost leading the living.
"I don't know," Alexa said. "No one really does. Some think the Duke trusts her judgment. Maybe too much. The rest of us…" She paused. "We're still figuring her out."
That felt like a curtain I hadn't realized existed.
"She's not a real captain," I said. "That's why her uniform isn't decorated."
"Maybe," Alexa replied. "But the Duke listens. And if he listens, then we listen. That's how it works out here."
I didn't answer.
She looked back at me. "Maybe he's just asking for her opinion on the new recruits."
That hung in the air longer than it should have.
Maybe he wants her opinion on me.
I clenched my jaw again.
I didn't care about rank. I didn't care about her name. I cared that the Duke—my father—had placed a stepchild, a healer no less, in position to evaluate me.
She was a test. And one I was expected to pass under her gaze.
I looked ahead.
Her small figure stood still, leading the column deeper into the woods. The frost didn't seem to touch her.
I hated how natural it looked.
I leaned closer to Alexa, lowering my voice to keep it between us.
"How old is she, really?"
Alexa blinked, then glanced up the trail toward Alliyana's distant figure—still walking in front, still somehow setting the pace without ever looking back.
"She turned nine this year," she said. "Back in the month of Floren."
I stopped walking for just a heartbeat.
"…Nine?"
Alexa nodded. "Yeah. I thought she was older too, at first. Maybe thirteen. But no. Nine."
I looked back at the small form cutting through the snow ahead of us. Her posture. Her precision. The sharp edges of her uniform and that oddly fluid way she moved—efficient, almost mechanical.
Nine.
That wasn't even adolescence. That was a child still meant to be tripping over bootlaces and scribbling letters. A child.
She looked older. Not just in size, but in the way she carried herself—shoulders drawn back, gait measured, eyes fixed forward. There was no wobble in her stride. No uncertainty in her frame. She walked with purpose.
The weight in my chest returned. Not fear. Not exactly.
I had spent years clawing upward, studying, training, measuring myself against the best.
And now I was standing behind a child. Not metaphorically. Literally.
Not even ten. And they listened to her.
What had she done to deserve that?
What had I not?
I didn't want to ask.
Because I wasn't sure I could stomach the answer.
The caravan halted without ceremony.
No farewells. No parting words. Just quiet nods as each unit peeled away into the snow-choked woods, heading toward their assigned quadrants.
We turned east.
Alliyana led from the front, hands folded calmly behind her back, as if this wasn't her first march through hostile ground.
I said nothing. I didn't ask why she walked ahead without scouts.
After what Alexa told me—how she left the Northern Gate every morning without fail—I understood enough.
She knew these mountains better than any of us.
She didn't need maps. She had made the paths herself.
We moved quickly, boots muffled by old snow and damp pine needles.
After a mile or so, she raised a hand casually, and the column slowed.
"We aim for the eastern camp," she said, voice steady and sharp. "That's our base for the next three weeks."
Her gaze swept the recruits behind her, cold but not unkind.
"Stay sharp from here on. The caravan is no longer shielding us. Demonic beasts will not wait for orders."
The soldiers nodded instinctively. Some checked their weapons. Others pulled their cloaks tighter.
But no one hesitated.
Alliyana dropped her hand and resumed walking, as calm and centered as if she were out for a morning stroll.
The calm of someone who had done this—led people into danger—many, many times.
I tightened my grip around the hilt of my sword and fell into step.
It wasn't long before she halted again, turning her head slightly.
Her voice cut clean through the ranks:
"Hunting groups Four and Five—engage incoming. Northwest. Warg pack."
The recruits around me shifted uneasily, hands finding hilts and staves.
Alliyana continued, still serene.
"This subspecies is larger than common wolves. Prioritize group cohesion over speed."
I blinked, scanning the treeline.
Nothing.
The wind stirred the dead branches. The snow whispered against my boots.
Nothing.
A flicker of doubt gnawed at me. Was this the first crack in her armor? Had she misread it?
Then—the ground began to tremble, faintly at first, then louder, like a heartbeat accelerating.
Footsteps. Dozens of them.
Alliyana's voice remained crisp.
"Groups Four and Five—prepare to engage."
Ban and Alexa immediately moved into formation to my left, along with three others from Group Five. Without needing a call, I slipped into place beside them.
Wargs—bigger than any normal wolf, with matted fur and bone-crusted teeth—burst from the treeline with blood-thirsty howls.
Alexa and Ban veered left, intercepting four of the beasts.
Three barreled toward me. Good.
I narrowed my stance, heat gathering around my fingertips. Flame bloomed along my sword's edge, crackling in the cold.
A second pulse of magic flared at my back—a thin wall of fire searing across the snow to split the three beasts from flanking.
Their momentum broke for a heartbeat. That was all I needed.
I lunged. The first warg's throat parted with one clean swing.
The second tried to pivot, but I was faster—fire searing into its ribs before the blade severed its spine. The last barely had time to snarl before my sword split its head from its shoulders.
The heat from casting fire magic left my body cold, shivering beneath my armor worsened because of the snow.
I immediately twisted the ambient magic back into myself, pulling the warmth back.
Casting fire magic in the cold has its risks, but as long as I stay close to the flames I cast, I should be able to warm myself up.
I glanced left. Alexa and Ban had finished theirs cleanly. Ban nodded at me once—silent as ever.
To the right, Party Five struggled to contain their pack.
Without hesitation, I pushed off and sprinted toward them.
Two beasts remained. Their backs exposed. One leap—two clean strikes—and the fight ended.
The soldiers from Party Five let out a muted cheer, pumping fists silently so as not to alert anything lurking deeper.
I took a steadying breath, wiped my blade clean in the snow, and turned—
Instinctively, I looked for her. For Alliyana.
Reflexively. Without thinking.
But she wasn't there on the ground.
A voice floated down, calm and measured.
"Good work, Party Four. Party Five, stabilize your rear line."
Heads tilted upward. I followed their gaze. There she was. High above us, standing in the open sky.
No—not flying.
Standing atop a lattice of light—hexagonal barriers woven into invisible platforms.
She looked down on us, arms crossed loosely behind her back, the faintest trace of a smile on her lips.
That same calm, patient smile she gave after her brutal speech.
A mentor's smile. A commander's smile.
The cold pricked at my skin, but it wasn't the wind that made me shiver.
She wasn't floating on magic alone.
She was standing on the weight of authority—earned, not given.
And we—all of us—were beneath her gaze.
I wanted to be angry.
Part of me still was.
But another part—an uglier, smaller part—understood why my father listened to her.
And worse—
I hated the part of myself that had reflexively looked for her approval after killing those beasts.
As if I needed it.
As if I had fought not for the Duke. Not for the duchy. But for a single nod from a girl younger than my failures.
Her smile lingered.
Not mocking. Genuine. Congratulatory.
And it seared more deeply than any wound.
The march carried on.
The snow deepened around our boots, crunching harder underfoot with every mile. Thin pines loomed on either side of the trail, their boughs heavy with old frost. The cold gnawed at the seams of my cloak, but I hardly felt it anymore.
Alliyana moved like a point of gravity ahead of us—small, steady, her cloak barely fluttering even when the wind picked up.
"Group Six," she called, her voice cutting cleanly through the morning mist. "Drift left. Two strays coming in from the ridge. You'll intercept them by the bend."
No hesitation. No uncertainty.
Just fact.
The soldiers peeled off without question, weapons drawn and formation tightening like a noose.
I frowned. There hadn't been any sound. No snapping branches. No growls.
Nothing a normal human ear could catch.
How the hell had she known?
A few minutes later, muffled thuds echoed back through the trees—short, brutal. The soldiers returned within minutes, dragging two demonic beasts by the scruffs of their blood-matted fur.
Another call.
"Group Three—north slope. One scout beast breaking through."
The same precision. Every time.
I quickened my pace slightly, falling in line closer to Alexa.
"How does she know?" I asked under my breath.
Alexa shrugged, keeping her eyes ahead.
"I don't know," she said. "None of us do."
Her voice dropped a little lower, thoughtful.
"This is the first time any soldier's seen her in action."
I stared at her for a moment, but Alexa kept her gaze steady on the trail.
"I was nervous too," she said quietly. "All of us were.
No one knew if she could really handle it—or if we'd just been sent out here to freeze and die while someone played captain."
She adjusted her grip on her spear, shaking out a cramp in her fingers.
"But watching her now..."
Alexa exhaled slowly, her breath misting in the sharp air.
"She keeps everything under control. Clean. Calm. Like she's been doing this for years."
Her voice grew more certain with each word, as if hearing herself say it made her believe it more.
"I thought I was unlucky at first," Alexa admitted. "Getting stuck under her for my first Winter Hunt."
She shook her head once, a small, almost embarrassed gesture.
"But now... I think I might be lucky. We might be the lucky ones—getting to see her before the rest of the world figures out who she is."
We were nearing the camp.
The trail narrowed into a ridge, the scent of frost thick in the air, pine and rot layered faintly beneath. The recruits in charge of the carriage slowed behind us, scanning the tree line, while the rest of us trudged forward with quiet optimism.
I studied the back of Alliyana's head as she walked ahead, hands tucked behind her coat like an officer ten times her age.
She probably got this role because she's good at scouting.
Enemy detection. Early warning.
It made sense. She must've memorized the terrain. Maybe her morning hikes through the Northern Gate gave her that edge. That's all it was.
But to put a scout in charge of rookies?
It didn't make sense.
Scouts don't lead groups. They're vanguard, eyes—not command. If something goes wrong, a scout isn't trained to handle panic, collapse, field casualties.
It was irresponsible. And reckless.
Just like—
"Stop," she said.
Her voice cut clean through the air.
"Stay low. Move in close."
I obeyed before thinking.
The group slowed into a crouch, huddling tighter as she stepped forward, crouching down herself. Her voice dropped just above a whisper.
"Demonic bears. Twenty-one, by my count. They're circling the eastern cave."
Murmurs rippled through the formation.
Twenty-one?
"They've made the cave their home," she said. "Unusual behavior. They're cohabiting—forming a pack."
She didn't sound alarmed.
Just... analyzing.
"The Duke told me to expect a few. Five, maybe seven. Not this."
She doesn't even address him as "father".
Alexa stiffened beside me. A few of the other recruits started to fidget, weapons shifting in nervous hands.
"Twenty-one is too much," Alliyana said calmly. "Especially for six hunting parties. Especially for rookies."
Someone cursed under their breath.
"We're not engaging them," she continued. "It would be irresponsible of me as your captain."
I looked at her, frowning. "Then what now? We find a new campsite?"
She turned her head slightly. "No. You stay here."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I'll handle the core group alone," she said.
The words landed like a stone in my gut.
She said it without arrogance. No bravado. Just certainty.
"This expedition isn't a trial," she said, scanning our faces. "It's training. Your lives aren't mine to gamble."
I shook my head. "That's reckless. You'll die."
She looked at me for a moment—calm, unreadable.
"Stand down, Ethan."
Something in me recoiled at the way she said my name.
No familiarity. No bitterness. Just instruction.
She turned away before I could speak, but paused after a few steps.
"You're in charge of stragglers," she said. "Organize an ambush. Don't engage the core pack directly. Stay alive."
Then she glanced over her shoulder.
"I don't want injuries on day one."
And then, she smiled.
A quiet, simple smile.
Like she wasn't walking into a death trap.
And just like that—she left.
We waited.
The silence stretched too long.
Snow drifted in lazy spirals. The trees creaked under weight. I shifted from foot to foot, trying not to let the anxiety crack through.
I was about to step out, maybe look for her, when movement caught my eye.
A soldier from Party Two stood above the ridge, raising one hand—a signal.
Three. Northwest. I drew my blade. Felt the cold bite into my palm.
Focus. I nodded to Alexa. Then called out, sharp and low:
"Ready. Now!"
We moved.
The stragglers came into range fast—demonic bears, hunched and thick, jaws slick with old blood.
"Form up! Tag formation—two teams per target!"
Our lines closed around them.
My group hit the center beast. Ban and Alexa moved seamlessly—Ban drawing aggro with brute pressure, Alexa slicing in from the blind side.
The second group switched with us, then again, keeping tempo.
The bears went down one by one. Controlled. Fluid.
We didn't break formation. We Adapted. Finished.
And then—her voice.
"Good control. Minimal injuries. Impressive response."
I froze. So did the others.
We looked up. There she was again—standing in the air.
Standing on something invisible, light glinting faintly as snow caught against it—hexagons, barely visible in the sunlight.
She'd been watching the whole time.
A test. There hadn't been twenty-one bears. That was a lie. This was the test.
She smiled again—subtle, unbothered. "Regroup. Bring the supply team forward. We move uphill."
No theatrics. Just the next command.
We followed.
The trail narrowed as we climbed. And that's when we saw them.
Bear corpses. Dead. Piled across the slope.
Some with clean neck punctures. Others sliced with precision, some had their skulls crushed from above. Brute force. Blunt. Did she kill it with a punch?
Different methods. Same result.
Each kill was deliberate. Not a single wasted strike.
The rookies went silent.
"Clean up! Drag the bodies to the left beside the cliff."
One soldier muttered, "Shouldn't we dump them down the mountain?"
Alliyana turned her head, still walking.
"And waste good meat?"
Her voice wasn't cold. It was... practical. Like the answer should have been obvious.
The soldier didn't reply. None of us did.
She was going to eat them. And after everything we'd seen today... it didn't even feel strange.
"She's terrifying, isn't she?" Ban said quietly.
I glanced at him. First time he'd spoken all day. His voice wasn't shaken—just low. Honest. Like he wasn't asking. Just... confirming what we all already knew.
We just stared at the trail of corpses she left behind and followed orders.
I felt my throat tighten.
She didn't need to scream to lead. She didn't need to prove anything. She simply was.
It wasn't bravado. It wasn't luck.
It was control.
My father didn't just trust her.
He relied on her.
We weren't trapped out here with demonic beasts.
The beasts were trapped out here—with her.
The sun was setting behind the mountain ridge, bleeding orange through the dying trees. The snow reflected its light like dull metal, glowing faintly beneath the rising cold.
Around the camp, the soldiers were settling down—securing tents, stoking low fires, unpacking dried rations with stiff fingers and worn discipline.
I stood at the edge of the ridge, staring out over the white valley. The first day had passed. No casualties. No chaos. It went smooth I hated to admit it—but it was because of her. My step-sister.
No one else in the duchy—no one—could have taken on eighteen demonic bears alone. Not Halric. Not even my father. Maybe not even two captains combined.
I could take one. Maybe two. And I'd be torn apart doing it.
Even the weakest paladin would struggle with ten. But she did it without a scratch.
I recalled my father's words when I first arrived.
"You'll be a fine heir."
Why would he say that…
And then send me out here to be overshadowed?
Why assign me to her?
My thoughts were cut short by a voice behind me.
"You did well today."
I turned slightly. Alliyana stood there, her expression unreadable—but calm.
"I was impressed," she said. "Your swordsmanship. Your magic control. Your strategic pacing. Most can only master one. You demonstrated strength in all three under pressure."
She paused.
"The Duke has nothing to worry about."
I clenched my fist. I turned to snap at her, thinking she was mocking me—dancing above us, calling herself captain, pretending to judge.
But when I met her eyes, I saw no condescension.
Just… warmth. A genuine smile. Soft. Honest. Affectionate.
The words hadn't been meant to sting. They were acknowledgment.
I let out a long breath and dropped my gaze.
"...I'm sorry," I said.
She nodded once and sat beside me on the snow-dusted stone.
"I understand how you feel," she said, quietly. "Coming home. Finding that everything shifted. That the father you knew… now has another child."
The cold breeze passed between us.
"I wasn't supposed to tell you this," she continued. "But I trust you'll keep it between us."
I glanced at her. She didn't look mischievous. Just tired. Honest.
"The Duke asked me to lead this expedition," she said. "Specifically because he knew you wouldn't say no to it. He wanted someone impartial to observe your growth—someone who could report on your progress without bias."
My thoughts went still. That… made a strange kind of sense.
It didn't solve everything. But it helped.
I looked at her again. "So… are we siblings, now?"
She chuckled, shaking her head.
"The adoption's politics," she said. "Nothing more."
She didn't explain further. I didn't press.
From up close, she looked… ordinary. Beautiful, yes—but not untouchable. Her face lacked the rigidity of the battlefield. Her posture was relaxed. Her voice lacked that impossible calm.
She looked human. And that… was what humbled me the most. She reminded me how far I had yet to go.
I had blamed my third-place finish at the academy on divine favoritism. On the Goldwyn heirs being chosen. On myself lacking divinity.
But the girl sitting beside me had no divine blessing. Not even a trace.
And yet—I felt it then. A faint pressure in the air. Like something alive but contained. Twisting, writhing softly at the edges of my senses.
Corruption. I stiffened.
"…Why do I sense corruption on you?"
Alliyana smiled. Not like before—this one had teeth.
She opened her satchel and pulled something black and faintly pulsating from within.
A slime. Its body glistened like pitch in a moonless swamp, but it didn't move aggressively—just quivered, tucked gently in her gloved hand.
"My pet," she said. "The Duke let me keep it after a scholar confirmed it couldn't reproduce."
I stared at her. Then at it.
"...You're serious."
"As always."
I sighed again. I couldn't help it. The tension cracked and slipped out of me in pieces.
"You're insane."
She grinned. "Takes one to know one."
Despite myself, I laughed—quiet, but real.
There was something disarming about her.
For someone who moved like a ghost, she had the warmth of fire when you finally let yourself near it.
I hesitated.
Then asked the question that had been building all day.
"…Would you teach me?"
She blinked. Tilted her head slightly.
I didn't flinch. Was it pride relinquished? Pride shattered?
No—only redirected. If strength like hers could be earned—then I'd earn it. Not just to stand beside her.
But to surpass her. To rise above the Goldwyns. The paladins. Even the ghosts of my own expectations.
She studied me for a moment.
"How far are you willing to go?"
"All the way."
A small smile tugged at her mouth. She nodded slowly.
"Do you know simple healing?"
"Only mentioned in passing," I said. "The academy called it outdated. Not worth learning. It couldn't compare to divine healing."
She exhaled through her nose—half disappointment, half amusement.
"Well," she said. "You're eating with me tonight either way. I saw how you used ice magic earlier. That'll come in handy."
I paused.
"...You're cooking demonic meat?"
She gave a slow, innocent nod.
Relief. Confusion. And a small flicker of dread all churned in my gut.
But beneath them, a deeper feeling stirred. Opportunity. She'd opened a door.
And I couldn't pretend I didn't want to walk through it—not when she stood there, holding it open.