Aria stood frozen, unable to move, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out every sound of the night.
The man with ember eyes had vanished, but the fear lingered — raw, acidic, coursing through her veins like fire.
She gathered her senses, staggered, then ran through the trees, stumbling over roots, scratched by branches, her throat dry, her vision blurred.
She ran without knowing where, fleeing a land she no longer understood, a world that had turned against her.
And then — darkness.
Her body collapsed onto the cold moss of the forest, her strength drained.
Aria lost consciousness, alone in the night.
---
But she was not alone.
Hidden in the shadows, a figure watched her.
Silent, the King of Shadows stepped forward slowly. He leaned over her, watching her for a long moment, then lifted her into his arms with infinite gentleness.
His footsteps made no sound as he crossed the woods.
He walked like this until he reached an old forgotten dwelling, its stones eroded by time.
It was once the home of his only friend, General Arven, long dead — fallen five centuries ago in the Great Border War.
Beside it, a small cottage still stood, a pale light glowing behind its worn curtains.
The King knocked once.
The wood echoed.
An old woman with piercing eyes slowly opened the door.
She said nothing, but her gaze lingered for a second on the red eyes in the dark.
She recognized the shadow of the King — knew him, or at least what he had become. A silent tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek, but she did not speak.
With a beat of his wings, the King of Shadows vanished, leaving Aria at the doorstep.
The old woman called softly:
"Roy... come help me, my boy."
A young man, barely seventeen, came running.
Together, they carried Aria into the little house and laid her on a bed near the fire.
The night resumed, as if nothing had happened.
---
When morning came...
Golden light caressed the stone walls. Aria opened her eyes slowly, her eyelids heavy. A soft blanket covered her, and the smell of warm bread lingered in the air.
"Where… where am I?" she whispered.
The old woman, sitting beside her, smiled.
"You're at my home, dear. You're safe now. Drink some water — you fainted and slept through the whole night."
Aria drank. Her heart began to calm.
She didn't dare ask about the man in the cloak… she wasn't even sure she hadn't dreamed it.
---
The seasons passed.
Aria remained in the village — first out of gratitude, then out of attachment.
She cared for the old woman like a grandmother. She helped prepare and sell the flowers, wove violet crowns, and organized medicinal herbs. Roy, the grandson, had a clumsy charm that always made Aria laugh.
Bit by bit, they formed a sibling bond.
She teased him whenever he blushed around the girls at the market.
He fiercely protected her from the village bullies.
One day, a boy pulled on her braid. Roy grabbed him by the collar and threw him into a pile of potatoes.
No one dared bother her again after that.
The old woman smiled as she watched them.
"God gave me two grandchildren instead of one," she'd say, gently stroking Aria's hair.
---
Aria became a quiet sun in that small world.
Her cooking was the most fragrant in the village. Neighbors came to ask her for spice tips and cooking secrets.
Some said even the flowers bloomed better under her touch.
But at night… at night, she didn't always sleep.
Often, she stared at the moon, remembering the red eyes, the black cloak, and that moment suspended in the clearing.
She had never seen him again.
But deep inside, she knew he was still watching.