Ophelia's Point of View
I stayed on my room still feeling conflicted. I sigh. I kneeled down and clasp my hand's together.
"Please… I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I tried. I really did. I was so close to the truth. But why does it all feel like I'm losing parts of myself every step I take?"
Then, a knock.
No—not a knock.
A hard shove, and the door opened. Cold air swept in like an omen.
Serenya stood in the doorway, her coat still dusted with travel. Her eyes were sharper than ever.
"You need to decide," she said firmly. No greetings. No softness. Just the edge of a storm. "Now."
I stood up slowly, throat tightening. "I was going to—"
"There's no goingto anymore," Serenya interrupted, stepping inside. "His fever is worse. He can barely breathe. His body is burning like he's being eaten from the inside out. Ophelia, if you wait any longer—there might be nothing left to save."
I stared at her.
The bed behind me suddenly felt like a ledge. The room felt like a cage.
"But—what if I'm meant to stay?" I whispered. "What if the truth I uncover here stops something bigger? The archives, the curse, the darkness—I saw it. I touched it tonight."
My heart pounded. I could still feel Magnus's presence—like a thread tying me to something fragile and real. The way he sulked. The way he smirked when I teased him. The way he looked at me like I wasn't just light—I was his light.
"I don't want to abandon my mission," I whispered, almost to myself.
"But will you abandon him?" Serenya asked.
Silence. Heavy. Unforgiving.
And then—
I moved.
I grabbed my cloak. My pouch. Horace looked up from the corner, ears twitching as if he already knew.
Without looking back, I followed Serenya out into the night.
Leaving the palace behind.
Leaving the archives unopened.
Leaving a piece of myself in that dim little room… but holding onto the piece that mattered more.
....
The forest howled around us, trees bending like they were trying to warn us away.
Snow crunched beneath our boots as Serenya and I ran, our breath sharp in the bitter wind. Horace clung to my shoulder, ears flat, claws digging into my cloak for balance.
We were halfway through the ridge path when the world went still.
Too still.
Serenya halted mid-step.
"…Something's wrong," she muttered.
Then it came.
A bellow that shook the ground. Not a roar—something deeper. Hungrier.
The trees behind us exploded, splinters flying like daggers.
A beast lunged through the shadows.
It towered above us—eight feet tall, maybe more. Its body was twisted with sinew and rot, black flesh veined with glowing red like molten cracks. Eyes—no, sockets—burned with a hollow fire. Antlers curled like claws from a skull too large for any living thing.
Darkness dripped from its mouth.
"Run—!" Serenya barked, already pushing me behind her.
I barely had time to move before a second one crashed through the trees beside it. Then a third.
Three of them. Monsters made of nightmare and smoke.
Lurkers.
No. Worse.
"Shadespawn," Serenya hissed. "They're not supposed to be this far north!"
One lunged.
She shoved me hard out of the way, rolling under its massive claw and slashing upward with her twin blades. Sparks flew—but the creature barely flinched.
I scrambled back, snow burning my hands.
I tried to summon light.
Nothing.
Another beast charged.
Serenya threw herself in front of it—but her arm was clipped. She hit the ground with a grunt, blood blooming across her sleeve.
"Serenya!" I screamed.
The world slowed.
A scream rose in my throat—not of fear.
Of something else.
Something older.
Then—I saw it.
A memory.
A battlefield on fire.
Flames licking gold-plated boots.
A sword in a warrior's hand—my hand.
It shimmered with white-hot brilliance, pulsing like it had a heartbeat. Etched along its blade were celestial runes glowing like starlight. I remembered the weight. The balance. The way it hummed when I swung it, singing with purpose.
Solaira'sblade.
My blade.
Back in the present, my hands moved on instinct.
I reached forward—there was nothing there.
And then—
Light.
It bloomed in my palms, white and blinding, burning the snow beneath.
The hilt formed first. Then the blade.
Steel shaped from memory.
Magic shaped from soul.
The sword dropped into my grasp like it belonged there all along.
The beast lunged at me.
I swung.
One clean arc.
Light met shadow.
It howled as the blade tore through its torso like fire through paper. It burst in a flash of black mist and red ash, vanishing into the snow.
The other two hesitated.
Serenya stared at me, wide-eyed and pale.
"What the hell…?"
I didn't know what to say. My chest heaved. My fingers trembled around the glowing hilt.
But the blade felt right.
Like it was part of me.
Like it was me.
Another beast snarled.
I raised the sword again.
"I remember now," I whispered.
And with that—
I ran toward the fight.
I moved like the wind had learned to bleed.
The blade pulsed in my hand, and every swing felt like something I had done a thousand times before—every step, every pivot, every breath guided by a memory buried in muscle and soul. My body reacted before thought could catch up.
A beast lunged, snarling.
I ducked low, spun, and drove the sword up into its chest. The creature let out a shriek that echoed like broken glass in the sky, then collapsed into mist and cinder.
Another tried to flank me.
Too slow.
I turned sharply, slicing its leg, then its throat. The final blow cleaved through the air like sunlight splitting a stormcloud.
Their bodies didn't fall—they disintegrated. As if the blade wasn't just a weapon… but a judgment.
And I was the executioner.
My eyes burned. Not from tears. But from the fierce clarity rushing back into me with every heartbeat. I didn't know who I was before, not fully.
But this? This part?
This warrior?
She never left.
The last of the shadespawn fell.
Silence followed. Heavy and ringing.
The forest was once again still.
I exhaled shakily, my arms trembling from the effort. The sword's glow dimmed and vanished like dust caught in wind, leaving only snow and soot behind.
That's when I turned to Serenya.
She was leaning against a rock, pale but still upright, clutching her wounded arm. Her eyes—usually sharp and unshaken—were wide.
Like she was seeing something she hadn't expected.
I knelt beside her and gently pressed my hand over the gash.
Warmth flowed through me. My power, subtle but sure, trickled into her skin. Light stitched the wound closed with golden threads of healing.
She stared at me the whole time.
Then, finally, she whispered, "…Who really are you?"
I looked at her for a long moment.
A snowflake landed in her hair. Horace curled up by her foot, yawning as if none of this mattered.
I smiled faintly.
"Someone really old," I said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Serenya raised an eyebrow—but didn't push further. She just let out a soft breath, nodding once.
"…Good," she murmured, wincing slightly. "Because that was the most terrifyingly elegant thing I've ever seen as a warrior."
I gave a small laugh. "Elegant?"
"You fought like the moon was angry and the stars were ashamed of watching."
"…That's poetic."
"It's the blood loss or got infected by that drama queen"
I laughed again, steadier now. The cold air didn't sting so much. The fear had melted into something quieter.
Resolve.
We stood slowly.
The shadows had cleared.
But I knew this wasn't over.
Something inside me had cracked open.
And what lay underneath…
Was someone I didn't fully remember.
But maybe now, piece by piece—I would.
Unknown point of View
From the shadows of the frost-covered pine, I watched her.The sword in her hand shimmered like a memory. Ancient. Holy. Dangerous.
Every strike she made—it wasn't just instinct. It was muscle memory.
Old. Refined. Lethal.
She moved like she used to.
The wind carried her name across the snow, though she didn't say a word.
Her hair—shorter now. Her face—different.
But I would know her even if centuries had passed.
Even if time and heaven tried to erase her from my soul.
"You haven't changed," I murmured to the silence.
No…
That wasn't true.
She had changed.
She looked... Different.
"You came back," I breathed, voice cracking with something I didn't dare name.
My fingers curled around the seal in my pocket. The one I hadn't touched in lifetimes.
The air shifted. Something had begun.
And as I stepped back into the snow-covered dark, unseen and silent, only one thought lingered in my mind:
Does she remember me at all?