The corridor stretched long and dim before him, washed by moonlight that seeped through tall windows like filtered remnants of forgotten divinity. Each step Kel took was deliberate, measured—not exhausting, but thoughtful, as if his mind required his body to slow to match its pace.
His boots made almost no sound.
The manor had fallen still.
The banners of Vanhart and Malloren hung silent in the main hall behind him—two houses that had just sworn allegiance.
Without his asking.
Without his claiming.
He walked alone.
Yet not entirely.
The cold that lingered deep beneath his bones—once familiar, once born of curse—felt starkly different tonight.
Not oppressive.
Not harming.
But… awakening.
When he reached his chamber, he stood before the door for a lingering moment.
His reflection faintly visible on the lacquered wood.
A boy of thirteen.
Eyes older than the timber of this estate.
He entered.
The room welcomed him with quiet darkness—the embers in the low brazier pulsing in slow patterns, casting amber-red shadows along the stone walls. Patterns that looked too much like scars.
Kel unfastened his cloak, hanging it over the stand. His coat followed, draped neatly. Snow melted silently along the fabric's edges.
He did not light more candles.
He preferred the room dim.
Like the moment before a sword strike.
He moved to the edge of his bed and sat down, elbows resting on his knees, fingers steepled before his lips. His eyes half-lidded.
And then—just then—his thoughts uncoiled.
"As planned…"
As planned…
After moving the last piece… I gained what I desired.
His inner voice was not boastful.
It resounded like the impassive voice that once narrated cutscenes in his former world.
Two households now stand behind me. Money—secured. Influence—confirmed. Power—acquired if I choose to wield it.
His fingers tapped lightly against each other.
The phrasing sharpened.
If I choose.
A low breath escaped through his nose.
He leaned back, gaze drifting up toward the canopy of his bed, the ceiling beyond it.
*In the game,* he recalled, *these pieces never aligned here. Sera would not have survived. Vanhart's territory would fall by Chapter 42. Malloren would eventually collapse in the Borderland Conflict…*
But now—
The board had changed.
He had rewritten the subplots before the main arcs even began.
Power, in his world, was not something taken.
It was rewritten.
"Should I use it?"
Kel's dark eyes narrowed slightly.
I could use them now. On demand. Finance campaigns. Push political shifts. Gain footholds before academy arc begins.
But then—
A faint glint of restraint passed through him.
No.
He answered himself in silence.
Power wielded too early is simply another curse.
Sairen's voice, soft and ancient, stirred against the edge of his consciousness.
You move with patience.
No, he thought.
I move with memory.
A whisper, not heard, but felt.
Of eighty hours gameplay.
Twenty full runs.
One life that knew what happens when you win too quickly.
He sat up straighter.
Let them believe the move was spontaneous. That it was born from sentiment.
Not design.
His hand lifted to his face, fingers brushing over the bridge of his nose.
They think they offered loyalty.
His lips curved.
Subtle.
Cold.
They don't realize they were led to choose it.
Nor that I allowed them dignity in the choice.
Sairen did not interrupt.
She only listened.
"…for now, I will not use it."
Kel's shoulders lowered—not in exhaustion, but in confirmation.
I could bend two houses to my will.
But I will not.
Not yet.
There will be a time when I must move not as noble's son… but as a strategist bound for war.
That time is not today.
He stood, walking toward the window.
Snowfall danced in the air outside, catching starlight.
He opened the latch.
Just enough.
Cold wind drifted through, caressing his skin in pale silver breath.
His hair fluttered softly.
Eyes reflecting the winter moon.
For now, loyalty is a seed.
Let it take root.
Let it grow. Unseen.
He placed a hand on the window frame.
Felt the frost against his fingertips.
—
In the courtyard, dim lanterns glowed. Vanhart knights were posted at gates, unaware that their lord's heir had, tonight, pledged himself to a different future.
Far beyond them, Malloren's banners would be restored.
The world believed a noble youth was training in seclusion inside Rosenfeld estate.
No one knew he stood beneath the moonlight of another land, quietly assembling pawns into generals.
Kel inhaled.
And let his breath blend with winter.
Final Thoughts This Night
He closed his eyes.
Two houses.
One mythical entity.
A bond with weapons training daily beside me.
And knowledge of every major arc still to unfold.
He opened them again.
Starlight shimmered faintly.
I must build slowly.
Or even those closest… will break beneath the acceleration.
A final thought crossed his mind.
Half mirth.
Half sorrow.
I used to chase endings.
Now endings follow me.
His gaze softened.
Just a little.
May this time… be different.
Sairen's Whisper
Her voice came like frost over still water.
You are pleased with today.
Kel did not deny it.
Yes.
And burdened.
Also yes.
Kel.
Hm?
When the time comes for you to stand alone—
He laughed once, quietly.
I won't be alone.
…because of them?
His eyes slid to the horizon.
Because of you.
Silence followed.
Long.
Tender.
Then, faint as drifting snow—
Rest then, traveler.
Tomorrow, we begin planting chapters no one expects.
Kel closed the window.
Extinguished the lantern.
Laid upon his bed.
In the darkness, beneath furs warmed only by his own body heat, he said one quiet thing—to the ceiling, to the night, to the future.
"Move, then."
"Checkmate will wait."
The snow whispered back.