"Idealogies will prevail.... if lives remains.." . Those were my uncle's last words, whispered as he died in my arms. He was an impudent old man, stubborn as iron, yet he always believe that I, his reckless niece, would one day bring a change to this accursed world.
In her world, the shadow reign,
Where blood and sorrow leave their stain
As child she is, yet forced to fight ,
In endless dark, without a light.
Aurelia Cambria, a warrior's heir,
Yet kindness and doubt leave her bare
Her uncle's death doth guide her way,
Through darkened lands, She shall not sway.
Aurelia Cambria was only sixteen when the first ember of her trial was lit. She did not know that her path would be carved in blood, fire, and grief. Her world was one of shadow, a realm where cruelty and sorrow were not exceptions, but law.
It was in those days, not long before her uncle's final breath, that Aurelia's life changed forever.
The world around her was a frozen expanse, a vast field of snow that stretched into the horizon. Each step she took crunched sharply beneath her boots, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the hush of the cold air. The wind was sharp, carrying with it the scent of frost and pine, and her breath came in small clouds that vanished before her eyes.
Above her, the sky was pale and still, and a strange light spilled across the land. It was not the harsh glare of the sun, nor the soft glow of the moon — but something in between, a light that seemed alive. It touched the snow like crystal fingers, turning each flake into a shard of diamond.
The air shimmered with it. Every surface - tree, stone, blade of grass buried beneath the frost - reflected it, scattering beams of pure brilliance in every direction. It was as if the entire world had been cast into a dream where beauty and cold could coexist.
For Aurelia, that light was more than beauty. It was memory. A memory of laughter of her uncle teaching her to fight of summer mornings before war darkened the land, of her own childish dreams. In that light, the pain of the present dimmed, replaced by something fragile and warm, as if hope itself had found a form she could touch.
But she knew it could not last.
The light, like life, was fleeting.
Aurelia pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders as the cold seeped deeper into her bones. Her breath came out in quick, visible bursts, and each exhale seemed to vanish into the crystal air. Around her, silence pressed in, heavy and still broken only by the soft crunch of snow under boots.
Raymond stood a few paces away, his figure a dark silhouette against the shimmering whiteness. His cloak was dusted with frost, his hood drawn low, shadowing the sharp lines of his face. He was watching her, as he always did, with that quiet patience born of years she could not yet understand.
"How can someone be rude yet kind.... " she muttered under her breath, breaking the silence.
"You talk too much " Raymond replied without turning to look at her.
"You are teaching me this stuff like I'm the last hope of the universe...." she said, her voice low, almost teasing, though edged with frustration.
"Aren't you going to say something ?....."
"Stop murmuring! And start...." he snapped.
She stepped forward, drawing a deep breath into her cold lungs. "Hmmm..! Now step aside , watch and behold ....."
Clenching her fists and she shouted to the void.
"Flamma Igneesh..."
A spark appeared at her palm - fragile and trembling before dying into nothing. The cold air swallowed it as though it had never existed. Aurelia stared at her hand, the faint warmth gone, her breath cathing in her throat.
Raymond's gaze was steady. "Again..."
"I can't!" she said, frustration cutting through her words. "It's been a year since I've tried this spell . This is not my craft! My strengths lies in my fists, not in words."
Raymond's eyes did not soften. "Exactly," he said quietly, " which is why you will train. Tonight, you will train until the mountain itself swears you have learned."
The wind clawed at Raymond's cloak as he left the peak, his niece's faint glow flickering behind him — small, uncertain, brave. Snow whispered beneath his boots as he descended toward the valley lights, distant and cold. He looked back once; her magic shimmered in the dark like a memory he could never return to. Then he turned away, and the mountain kept the rest.
Raymond stepped into the village, boots crunching against frost, and immediately saw the soldiers — disciplined, silent, and armed, their presence sharp against the muted glow of smoke-filled huts. No villagers were in sight; they had already been corralled or hidden.
The soldiers moved to block him. Without hesitation, Raymond struck. Steel clashed, shadows danced, and one by one, the soldiers fell beneath his skillful, desperate strikes. Blood mixed with snow, the crunch of bodies underfoot echoing across the square.
But the soldiers had been preparing for more than combat. Arcane symbols glimmered faintly beneath their boots, a ritual already underway. Raymond's assault disrupted the delicate formation — and the magic reacted violently. Light flared and twisted, twisting the air with a deafening crackle. The ritual's energy spiraled uncontrollably, consuming everything in the village. Huts burst into flames of unnatural color, snow turned to ash, and a wave of destructive energy swept across the square.
Screams echoed, mingling with the roar of magic gone awry. Villagers and soldiers alike were caught in the backlash, the ritual's fury leaving nothing but ruin. Raymond fought through the chaos, shielded only by sheer instinct and skill, and when the storm settled, the village lay in smoldering ruin. Only two figures remained: Raymond, bloodied and exhausted, and a tall, silent silhouette standing amid the smoke.
Raymond's chest heaved as he turned, and there — dark against the fire-lit haze — the figure watched him. The outline was familiar, yet cold, distant, and impossible to mistake. His former pupil, the boy he had once taught, now a shadow of something far more dangerous.
"Hello, old man," the figure said, voice calm, deliberate, cutting through the roar of the wind and the crackle of ruined fires.
"Draxil… are you him?" Raymond demanded, every muscle taut, hands glowing with flickering fire and frost.
"The one you knew has die, the one you see has evolved."
"What have you become?"
"What was required."
Raymond's eyes swept the destruction, the remnants of lives and homes. "Then I will stand here, against the ruin, against even you if I must. I will not let this darkness claim everything."
Draxil's gaze fixed on Raymond, unmoving, calm, almost detached.
Before Draxil could react beyond observation, Raymond acted. Hands blazing, he unleashed every spell he had mastered — fire, ice, lightning — a torrent of magical energy hurled at Draxil. The sorcerer moved with minimal motion, relying on enhanced strength, speed, and his metal bracer. He used magic only sparingly: a brief lift to dodge a fireball, a surge to amplify his strength for a landing.
"You strike as if survival alone matters," Draxil said quietly.
"Because it does!" Raymond shouted, ice shards spiraling toward him. "Lives matter more than your ideals! You destroy the present for some imagined tomorrow!"
Raymond's desperation fueled a relentless storm of energy. Draxil dodged, twisted, absorbed, and redirected each spell with bare-handed precision. The metal bracer rang with every clash, every strike of magic meeting flesh and steel.
"Then I will not yield!" Raymond roared, flames coiling around him, ice forming jagged spikes at his fingertips. "Even if I face the most powerful being in this realm… I fight for those who cannot!"
"Then test your resolve," Draxil replied softly, landing on a broken wall, eyes cold, calculating.
Raymond focused on Draxil's wrist, aiming a decisive strike. Draxil's gaze met his, calm and deliberate. His voice cut through the roar of the wind and the crackle of fading fires:
"Harshness that protects the innocent is mercy. Softness that tolerates evil is cruelty and cowardice."
"Watch yourself—" he added softly, a quiet warning, staying firmly in place, letting Raymond's own magic push the limits.
From the distant peak, a massive pillar of flame erupted. Aurelia, practicing with raw, untrained intensity, sent a torrent of fire nearly as high as the village itself. Raymond's attention faltered, eyes drawn to the brilliance, heat and light forcing him to stagger.
In that instant, Draxil's wrist — the bracer-enhanced arm that had deflected countless attacks — was exposed. Raymond's strike connected. Metal and flesh gave way; blood and energy spilled across the ruined snow. Draxil staggered, faltering for the first time, but did not cry out.
Lowering himself to the frost, Draxil spoke softly: "Peace be upon you, old man."
He glanced briefly toward the distant peak, sensing Aurelia's flame even from over a hundred kilometers away. He restraint.
With deliberate calm, he rose, bracer gleaming faintly in the dying light. His fingers closed around the hilt of the sword in the stone. Without another word, he turned, moving through the swirling snow and ash, leaving Raymond standing among the ruins, chest heaving, energy spent, watching the silhouette of his former pupil fade into the horizon.