Lin hadn't yet reached the threshold when the Matriarch's voice pierced the silence, as cold as her magic:
"wait?"
He stopped in place.
Then she turned to one of the girls standing like silent statues:
"Eislyn. Take him to the library. You will be responsible for him."
Lin walked out in silence. His steps soft, as though treading on fragile snow. But inside, his thoughts screamed:
"The library? How predictable. Surveillance, restrictions, and sweet little Frosita as a leash. But things… won't go the way she wants."
He glanced at the girl assigned to him. She stared back without expression.
"Eislyn, take me to the library."
"As you wish, Master Lin."
At the entrance, she exchanged a few words with the guard, then turned to him with a faint smile:
"I'll be waiting outside."
He entered alone.
Then stopped.
It was as if time had frozen.
Before him stretched a world of interwoven shelves, like living nerves. Spiral staircases reached upward into oblivion, as though leading to the heavens. Books stacked in chaotic harmony, dust dancing over them—but it wasn't dust... it felt like sleeping mana.
A chill traced his spine.
And then… a touch on his shoulder.
He spun, driven by instinct. And found her.
A girl... smiling. In a house where smiles were foreign.
"What brings you here, handsome?" she teased, though her eyes were far too clever for such playfulness.
He stepped back. Her smile remained unchanged. She approached, brushing his cheek.
"So this is the boy who won the family's tournament and bewitched my sister?"
He studied her carefully… snow-white hair, eyes the color of a frozen sea… yet holding an odd warmth.
"Who are you?" he asked calmly.
"Silveria Frost." "Frosita's sister."
Her name rang inside him like an alarm.
"Why the fear?" she chuckled softly, as though knowing more than she let on.
She turned her gaze to the shelves.
"What kind of book are you looking for?"
"Show me the sections first."
Her voice shifted—gaining a strange gravity:
"To your right: elemental magic—fire, wind, water, ice… but be warned, mastering it depends on your blessing."
She gestured to another shelf:
"Curses. Some are alive. Don't read aloud. Their pages pulse if you get too close."
Her hand glided over the books, releasing a faint magical mist.
"And here… world history. From the birth of continents to the fall of dynasties. These are the wars no one wanted written."
She stopped before a solitary shelf, where time itself seemed to slow.
"Advanced magic. Mana shaping, soul-linked incantations, and those written not in ink… but memory."
Lin looked at her and asked:
"Have you read all this, Lady Silveria?"
"You may call me Silveria," she smiled. "And I've read some."
He asked, "Do you know anything about an old clan called Noctarien?"
Silveria's gaze sharpened. "There is no clan by that name."
He excused himself and went to search.
Anything… any line… about Noctarien.
He found nothing.
By day he trained, by night he read.
His days became like pages… repeating without titles.
When he asked about Luna and Frosita, he was told they were at the academy. They vanished from that day on.
His routine became threefold: books, mana, and training.
And when he did rest—it was in conversations with Silveria.
One night, while gazing at the Forbidden Shelf from afar…
A voice called out.
"You. I know you can hear me."
A book… spoke.
Encased in black ice, its title carved not in letters—but pulses, as if the book itself was alive. Lin approached carefully, his hands hesitating, sensing something beyond mere paper and leather.
Before he could touch it, he heard a whisper. Faint. Strange. Mysterious. He couldn't tell if it echoed in his ears… or his soul:
"You… free me, and I will help you."
The words coiled around his mind like invisible chains.
"I possess vast knowledge," the voice added, seeping through cracks in time.
Lin stood frozen. His heart pounding. The whispers meant more than they seemed. The book promised something unimaginable… but deep inside, he felt the cost might be unbearable.
"Who are you?" he asked softly, the weight of the question anchoring him.
"I am a prisoner here," the voice replied, steeped in ancient sorrow.
"A soul seeking knowledge."
"Release me, and I will grant you what you seek. I have answers."
Fine. Do you know anything about Noctarien? Lin asked.
The book stuttered… but gave him nothing useful.
Lin turned away.
"Damn. A talking book trying to deceive me."
"I won't touch it."
"I'm not foolish enough to meddle with things I don't understand."
He continued his search for anything related to the Noctarien clan—but came up empty.
After days of study, he found nothing.
He shifted to learning basic magic. Tried to breathe mana wherever he walked.
Kept up with his training.
And as time passed, he saw no sign of Luna, Ian, or Frosita—not even Camellia or her mother, who had apparently gone with Frosita to care for her. Word was—they were at the academy.
Lin's life became an endless loop of training, reading, and speaking with Silveria.
Then came the fated day.
The expedition.
Lin entered the hall to find the supervisor and Eislyn waiting.
"Thank you for saving Luna," the supervisor offered a faint smile.
Lin cursed inwardly. "Worst decision of my life."
Never again.
He had packed food, borrowed a book from the library, prepared a few daggers…
And then they set off.
Lin quietly contemplated escape.
Let's wait. When we arrive, I'll make a plan.
The icy road stretched like a pristine white ribbon, glittering under a pale sun as though paved in crystal. The horses' hooves crunched softly, composing a symphony of winter. On both sides, towering pine trees stood cloaked in thick ice, their snow-laden branches drooping in reverent grace. Their needle-like leaves retained a dark green hue, shimmering as though nature had dusted them with powdered silver.
The forest was silent, save for the wind's passage through the trees, carrying a crisp scent—pure, like the breath after snowfall.
Between the trees, small frozen lakes appeared, their surfaces smooth as mirrors, reflecting the pale hues of dusk and sky. In places, the ice was so clear, the rocks and dead plants beneath seemed like sleeping spirits.
In the distance, mountains stood like ancient sentinels. Their peaks cloaked in snow, their edges carved by wind into icy sculptures. Mist drifted between their slopes, veiling and revealing, casting an aura of mystery and cold beauty.
Everything whispered in the language of ice: silent, yet deeply moving.
And amidst that haunting beauty—
Lin fell asleep.
As the carriage pierced the pristine forest, the air shifted—from cold to suffocating. Then, without warning, the sky cracked.
Lin jolted awake.
The cracks were quiet, nearly invisible—like hidden carvings in the heavens. But from them emerged a swirling vortex of ice… no, an abyss suspended in the sky.
Eislyn spoke, her voice lifeless:
"…No… That's not an opening… That's an Abyss. We must—"
Before anyone could flee, gravity shattered.
The carriage, the travelers—everything—was pulled in.
They didn't fall… they slid into eternal silence.
Everyone woke in terror… except Lin, still trapped in unconsciousness.
The supervisor reached him, gently shaking him awake. "Wake up… We must move."
He stared into her burning eyes for a moment, then rose slowly, whispering, "…Another hell?" He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, exhaled, and muttered bitterly, "Fine."
Lin and his companions pushed deeper into the abyss, abandoning any thought of escape—survival now meant sticking together.
The ground beneath them was pure white, layered in translucent ice reflecting scattered lights from crystal formations sprouting from rock and air, pulsing faintly with eerie life. Mountains encircled them like silent walls, vast and sacred, making them feel as if they'd entered the heart of another world… beautiful, haunting, and alien.
In an instant, when no one expected it, something unimaginable happened.
The serpent appeared.
There was no roar, no tremor announcing its presence… just the sudden vanishing of Eislyn, swallowed by the serpent in the blink of an eye, without sound, without resistance… she vanished like a shooting star in a dark sky.
A faint cry escaped from the overseer, and she rushed towards Lin... but her hand never reached him.
A sudden, silent, decisive devouring. She was gone in the blink of an eye.
And when Lin turned...
Absolute silence.
No screams. No breaths. Not even a gust of wind.
Only a severed human hand, lying on the ground.
Her hand had been severed before she could pull Lin back.
And when Lin turned again...
The silence remained.
No screams. No breaths. Not even a gust of wind.
Only a severed human hand, surrounded by dark bloodstains spreading outward, as if the earth itself bled from the horror of what had transpired.
The stillness of the scene screamed, and the bloodstains stretched across the snow forming a demonic tattoo.
Lin froze in place, his eyes widening with a terror he had never known before.
Lin froze, his eyes widening,
and then his gaze fell upon the nightmare.
The serpent.
White.
With crimson eyes,
larger than any eye could encompass, longer than the shadow of a mountain,
sliding between the rocks as though the earth itself breathed through it.
Its skin was not like that of any creature.
It was like icy glass, partially transparent,
glistening under the dim light as though made of living crystal,
yet it bled coldness that sliced through the air.
And its eyes...
A dual catastrophe.
They glowed with a deep crimson,
not like flames, but like blood set ablaze by fury.
These were not the eyes of an animal.
But of something older than time,
calmer than death,
and harsher than life.
The overseer – despite the pain ripping through her body – gripped Lin tightly, as though holding onto life itself. She unleashed her superhuman speed, weaving her path between the crystals, while the serpent slid silently behind her, as though death itself was in pursuit.
She shouted to him, her voice trembling between pain and plea:
"If you make it out… protect Ian… protect Luna… do what I couldn't do!"
And then, with everything left in her… she threw him.
She hurled him across the abyss, far away, as though casting her heart with him.
The serpent drew closer, with a relentless cold, but her eyes never left Lin.
She smiled.
A farewell smile. A painful smile. A mother's smile, embracing her fate.
She looked at him, tears falling in silence, and whispered in a faint, shaky voice, as if the entire world was collapsing around her:
"I'm sorry, Lin… sorry for being cruel… sorry for burdening you with the unbearable…"
And in the next instant… the serpent swallowed her.
Time stopped.
Everything stopped.
Even Lin's breath... betrayed him.
He rolled across the ice, his body aching, his soul unraveling.
And when he managed to stand… he ran.
He ran as though fleeing would save him—
from regret, from helplessness, from the truth.
He ran without consciousness, without direction, without hope.
Until he arrived.
A dead end.
A narrow, closed passage.
No escape. No salvation.
He turned slowly…
his heart pounding as if the silence itself would scream.
The serpent was there.
Standing before him, towering, eternal... like a fate that could not be outrun.
Its red eyes glowed in the darkness, neither angry nor merciful—
but watching in a heavy silence, as if time itself stood still in respect for its presence.
The sword in Lin's hand shook.
His knees trembled, and suddenly... he no longer felt his body.
As if the frost had not only frozen his limbs, but had crept inside him—into his mind, into his heart.
His pulse slowed, his breath turned into mere whispers of air, and the world around him... vanished.
No sound.
No color.
No meaning.
Then, in complete silence… he fell to his knees.
He stared at the icy ground—
but he didn't see the ice.
He saw himself.
His face reflected there—erased, featureless. Without identity.
As if he had never been.
The sword slipped from his hand,
sliding across the ice,
coming to a stop with a faint shimmer—
like the echo of a dying star.
And in that moment… something inside him extinguished.
It wasn't fear.
It was something colder. Deeper.
As if his soul had quietly torn apart—without a scream.
As if despair had enveloped him not as a monster—
but as an old friend, returning to lead him to his final rest.
What's the point?
What's the use?
These questions weren't spoken—
they were asked through a glassy stare,
through eyes that no longer reflected.
Then the tears came.
Not tears of survival.
Not even sorrow.
But the tears of a human robbed of his right... to simply be human.
He whispered, his voice broken like the edge of a shattered blade:
"I just... wanted to live."
He paused, swallowing the tremor in his breath, then continued:
"Is that too much?
Is that... wrong?"
He raised his gaze to the gray sky,
as if it were watching him from above with mockery,
and whispered in a tone on the verge of collapsing:
"What does this world want from me?
How many times must I die to please it?
How many times… must I break?"
Then, in a hoarse voice, as though it were being dragged from his chest and not his mouth, he muttered:
"I just…
want to live."
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