The world shifted the moment Rin's blood touched the Heart of Sylvanyr.
His vision blurred—not darkness, not light, but something in between, like slipping beneath water. Sound bent, colors stretched, and his breath caught as the world around him fractured like glass.
When he opened his eyes, he was standing on an endless plain of snow.
The sky above wasn't a sky at all, but a great aurora stretched in ribbons of blue, violet, and gold, twisting across the void. Beneath his feet, the snow wasn't cold—it pulsed faintly with warmth, like it was alive. Each step left glowing footprints that faded slowly, as though the land itself wanted to remember he had been here.
A soft wind blew, carrying the scent of blossoms, though there were no trees in sight.
Then, through the shuddering dark, came a voice—soft, familiar, like the memory of a lullaby half-forgotten.
And then—he saw her.
A lone figure stood a short distance away, her back turned, crimson hair fluttering like a banner of fire against the pale snow. She wore a simple dress of white, not a queen's attire, not a warrior's armor—just the garb of someone who belonged nowhere but here. Around her feet, petals gathered where none had fallen, drifting upward as though drawn to her presence.
"…Mother."
The word left his lips before he thought of it.
The woman turned.
Her face was the same as the fragments he had glimpsed in dreams, in the curve of his reflection, in whispers left behind in the necklace. But there was warmth in her eyes that he had never seen before—eyes the same pale blue as his, softened by a smile that reached deeper than any crown or kingdom.
But there she was. White hair glowing in the flames of ephemeral light, eyes warm with sorrow and fierce love. Liora Seo Sylvanyr , his mother, stepping from the shadows—no longer just myth or longing, but flesh and presence. The air seemed to freeze even as the heat amd burden from his heart crackled. He could see the strength in her posture, the gentleness behind her eyes, the way she folded sorrow into her arms like a cloak.
Rin's breath caught. "Mother…" His voice cracked.
She didn't simply respond. She laughed—bright and fierce, like wind through fire—then struck him gently on the forehead, chiding, real. The reassurance in that touch steadied him. Her voice, warm as a hearth in the cold of war, told him she had always loved him, had always waited. She spoke of her hair—how she treasured those who saw it—and how she and Joon had hoped for him even before his first breath.
Rin's arms trembled. He clasped at the air, but she stepped forward and wrapped him in an embrace that cracked something deep inside him—something frozen.
Her words flowed like balm: stories of her childhood, of the Seo who would become his father, of the sacrifices made, of how much she admired him even now. Her gaze said more than words could hold.
For a moment, time suspended: the crack of memory, all of it receded into the background. In that embrace, he felt something he always wanted but thought lost forever—home.
And then, as quickly as she had come, she pulled back. Her eyes, still holding tears, still full of fierce pride.
Liora Sylvanyr's expression flickered, a shadow of regret passing through her smile. She walked closer, each step stirring the snow into glowing motes. When she stopped before him, she lifted her hand but hesitated, her fingers trembling as though she wasn't sure she had the right to touch him.
"I didn't leave you, Rin. I… had to make a choice. And that choice cost me my life." Her hand finally brushed his cheek—warm, impossibly warm. "But I left this… so I could at least tell you I love you. That I always did."
Rin's throat burned. He clenched his fists. "Love…? You left me alone. You weren't there when—" His voice cracked, breaking under the memory of his father, of blood, of a blade cutting bonds apart. "…when I killed him. You weren't there."
Liora's eyes softened, but instead of faltering, they held steady, like frost that could bear the weight of winter. "No, I wasn't. And I'm sorry. I can't take away your pain, Rin. But listen to me—" Her voice sharpened, carrying a strength that reminded him of Seraphina's aura. "—you are not defined by what you've lost, nor by what you were forced to do. You are my son. You are Sylvanyr. And you are never alone."
The aurora above pulsed, sending streaks of light cascading across the snow. The petals rising around them bloomed into full blossoms, circling the two like a crown.
Rin's breath hitched. His body trembled, caught between anger and longing, but when his mother's arms wrapped around him, he couldn't resist. For the first time in his life, warmth he thought impossible sank into his chest.
It wasn't real—not truly. It was only a memory, a fragment. But in that moment, Rin let himself believe.
Liora whispered against his ear, voice fading with the glow around them:
"Walk forward, Rin. Live. And when the world tries to bury you, remember this… the ice in your veins is not a curse. It is our gift. And it will carry you farther than you know."
Her form began to scatter—petals dissolving into light, drifting upward into the aurora. Rin reached out, but his fingers grasped only snow and air.
And then he was alone again—alone on the glowing plain, with only her warmth lingering against his skin.
The world fractured once more, and his eyes snapped open back in the queen's chamber.
He slowly lifted his eyelids, revealing his gaze, and before him was a meal on a floating board.
The rolls were wrapped neatly in tender cabbage leaves, steamed and softened until pliable, each one stuffed generously with a filling of cooked rice and lentils. The mixture is seasoned and simmered in a tomato-based sauce, which coats the rolls in a rich, tangy glaze. The red sauce contrasts beautifully with the light green cabbage, creating a dish that looks as vibrant as it tastes. Sprinkles of fresh herbs—likely parsley—are scattered over the top, adding a bright freshness.
Then the artificial intelligence broke the silence by saying, "this is the kind of meal that feels both comforting and wholesome. Served hot, it's warm and filling without being heavy, making it perfect for dinner. It's vegetarian, healthy, and satisfying—a dish that's as nourishing as it is delicious."
Rin didn't care about her words all he did was consume the the food with elegance and etiquette befitting of a royal.
He finished his meal, pushing the empty plate aside with deliberate ease. The clink of cutlery on porcelain echoed faintly in the quiet room. Settling back into his chair, he folded his hands in his lap, the calmness of his posture reflecting a mind at rest. The air around him seemed to still, as if the silence had chosen to linger with him, embracing the stillness in his steady gaze. Time passed without urgency, and for a moment, the world outside seemed distant, forgotten.
Rin still felt the warmth of his mother's memory lingering in his chest when the air shifted. A faint fragrance—sweet, sharp, like blossoms blooming over frost—slid into the chamber. He didn't need to turn; he knew who it was.
From the balcony, perched lazily as though it were her throne, the World Tree spirit swung one leg idly, her form half-shimmering, half-solid. Petals coiled around her fingers, dissolving into motes of light before touching the floor.
"My, my," she said, voice lilting with that familiar tease. "You cry so easily when it comes to family. Yet you freeze suns and split mountains when it comes to enemies. How adorable."
Rin's jaw tightened. "What do you want?"
She tilted her head, eyes glowing like blossoms catching firelight. "Want? Hm. Perhaps to save you from yourself." Her smile thinned into something sharper. "Your way of wielding ice… crude. Primitive. Like a child hammering nails with a jewel. Effective, yes. Refined? No."
He frowned, hand unconsciously brushing the hilt of his blade.
"You think the blade is your ice," she continued, petals swirling as if the air itself bent to her rhythm. "But it is not. The frost runs in your blood, not in your steel. The Sovereign Blade—Winter's Touch—merely amplifies what you are too bound to realize. Without it, you stagger. With it, you rely. That is not mastery."
Her words cut deeper than her tone implied. Rin said nothing, only gripping tighter, a shadow passing over his eyes.
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, her grin bright and merciless. "The royal elves were not remembered because they swung pretty swords. They were remembered because their veins froze rivers , their breath summoned storms and froze concepts. Their will alone turned battlefields into glaciers. Their blades were extensions, not crutches."
Silence hung between them, thick as snow.
"Crude," she repeated softly, almost pitying. "You are crude. But you need not remain so."
Rin's blade hand twitched. "Then fight me. Show me what you mean."
Her laughter chimed like breaking glass, echoing against the frost-lit chamber. "Oh no, sweet one. Our battle… that tale will be for another day. Today, you still shake from memories. Today, you are not ready."
She rose from the balcony rail, drifting closer until the light of her petals brushed his face. "But do not pout. Your grandmother has already decided." A playful finger tapped his chest. "From tomorrow morning, you begin training. Not with her—oh no, she's far too busy ruling. You will learn the bloodline's frost from one who walks it daily."
Her lips curved into that mischievous crescent. "Your cousin, Rose. Try not to bore her. She's sharper than you, and much prettier when she's laughing."
Before Rin could respond, her form unraveled into a swirl of petals, scattering into the chamber's cold glow, leaving only the faintest whisper in his ears—
"Grow, little heir. Or remain a butterfly trapped in the cocoon that establishes a defined boundary to your limitless potential."
The room was quiet, wrapped in a velvet stillness that seemed to hum with the day's last breath. The faint glow of the moon spilled across the floorboards, soft and silver, painting the edges of the bed in pale light. Rin drew the blanket closer, its weight familiar and grounding, like an anchor pulling him gently from the waking world.
His body sank deeper into the mattress, every muscle loosening in slow surrender, the tension of the day ebbing away with each exhale. The pillow cradled his head, cool against her cheek, carrying the faint scent of lavender that clung like a lullaby. His eyes fluttered shut, not abruptly but in quiet intervals, as though the night was negotiating with him for the right to claim him.
Somewhere beyond the walls, the world carried on—distant footsteps fading into silence, the rustle of leaves outside whispering their own secrets—but here, in this cocoon of warmth, time thinned and slowed. Her breath found a rhythm, steady and soft, like waves brushing the shore.
Thoughts drifted in and out, half-formed, dissolving before they could take root, until even they stilled. Darkness rose not as an intruder but as a tide, gentle and enveloping, carrying him away into the boundless sea of sleep.
And with one last sigh, Rin surrendered—falling, yet held, into the quiet embrace of dreams.