Silence settled over the ruined battlefield.
The clash had ended, yet the land still bore the weight of it—broken earth, shattered stone, blood soaked deep into the ground. Raven remained conscious, though barely. Her body felt distant, as if it no longer fully belonged to her.
Footsteps approached.
She lifted her gaze and saw Aryas standing before her.
"You…" Her voice was hoarse. "What are you doing?"
He did not answer.
Aryas knelt and raised his hand. Before she could react, his palm pressed against her chest—right where her heart resided.
Her eyes widened instantly.
She glared at him, forcing strength into her voice.
"You… what—what are you doing, Aryas?"
He remained silent.
His hand stayed there.
Steady. Unmoving.
Seconds passed.
Then a minute.
Then another.
The silence stretched unnaturally long.
Raven clenched her teeth. Every instinct screamed at her to strike him away, yet her body refused to respond. She could only endure.
Nearly five minutes passed.
Then something changed.
The tearing sensation inside her chest slowed.
The sword winds that had been ripping through her soul no longer tore recklessly. Their movement softened, their destructive intent fading into something controlled.
Warmth spread outward from his hand.
Not heat.
Something deeper.
It reached into fractures she had thought permanent, stitching together what should never have been repaired. The constant agony dulled. Her breathing steadied.
Her soul stopped breaking apart.
Raven's glare weakened, disbelief replacing rage.
"…My soul," she whispered. "It's not getting injured anymore."
"It's stabilized," Aryas said quietly.
She looked at his hand, then slowly up at his face.
"A soul-bond," she murmured. "You actually did it."
"Yes."
She let out a weak, humorless laugh.
"You're insane."
"Maybe."
The warmth continued to hold her together, anchoring her existence. The hole in her body remained, but it no longer felt fatal.
Then she noticed it.
Blood slipped from the corner of Aryas's mouth.
"…You're paying for this," she said.
"The damage has to go somewhere," he replied. "Until your soul adapts, part of it passes through me."
She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again.
"If you break your word," Raven said quietly, "I won't forgive you."
"You don't need to," Aryas answered. "I'll act regardless."
She was silent for a moment.
Then, forcing herself to speak before her strength faded, she said, "Find them."
Aryas did not ask who she meant.
"The ones who escaped," she continued. "There's a ravine west of the sanctum. Hidden paths."
Her breathing grew uneven.
"They won't trust you," she added. "So don't go as a conqueror."
"I won't."
Raven nodded faintly.
"Keep them alive," she whispered. "That's enough."
Her strength finally gave out.
Her eyes closed, and her body went slack.
Aryas watched her for a moment, then raised his hand.
He traced a short sequence of runes in the air. The symbols faded as they formed, sinking into her without resistance.
Her presence dulled.
The sharp, unmistakable aura that marked her as the Queen of the Forbidden Name folded inward, concealed beneath something plain and unremarkable. To any observer, she would appear as nothing more than a severely injured woman.
"Stay hidden," Aryas said quietly.
He slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her carefully.
For a brief moment, he glanced at the battlefield.
Then space bent.
The world folded inward, and Aryas vanished—taking Raven with him.
Only silence remained.
---
---
Space folded back into place.
Aryas emerged within the territory of the Bloodwall Sword Clan.
Far to the north, the massive fortress of the clan stood tall, its dark stone walls rising like a mountain carved by human hands. Ancient formations were etched into every layer of its structure, radiating silent pressure into the surrounding land.
This was not merely a stronghold.
It was a declaration of dominance.
Within the fortress, movement was constant.
Columns of soldiers moved through wide courtyards, their steps measured and synchronized. Knights clad in crimson armor crossed between towers and training grounds, their presence sharp and disciplined. Orders were issued calmly, without raised voices.
Chaos had no place here.
What set the Bloodwall Sword Clan apart was not its size, but its baseline.
In this fortress, even an ordinary soldier was ranked Third Tier—a level that most noble houses would consider elite.
The knights were Fourth Tier, warriors capable of overwhelming dozens of common troops on their own.
Above them stood the true backbone of the clan:
Fifth Tier — Blade Veterans, seasoned sword users who had survived countless campaigns
Sixth Tier — Blood Elites, figures whose names alone carried weight across the northern provinces
Seventh Tier — Clan Pillars, beings whose presence could determine the outcome of a war
And above all—
One position stood alone.
The Patriarch of Bloodwall.
For generations, the fortress had been a place of absolute order and unquestioned strength.
...
---
Aryas passed through the inner gates without slowing.
The presence of the unconscious woman in his arms drew glances, but no one questioned him. Discipline was absolute within the Bloodwall fortress.
As he entered the central corridor, a man in crimson armor stepped forward and lowered himself to one knee.
"Patriarch."
He was tall, his armor worn but meticulously maintained. The insignia on his chest marked him as a Fourth Tier knight, yet there was no hesitation in his posture.
Aryas stopped.
"Report," he said.
"The northern patrols are stable," the knight replied calmly. "No movements from the border factions. Casualties from the previous campaign have been accounted for."
Aryas nodded once.
"Prepare a sealed chamber," he said. "No entry without my permission."
"Yes, Patriarch."
The knight hesitated briefly, his eyes flicking toward the woman in Aryas's arms, then he looked away.
"I will see it done."
Aryas moved on without another word.
.....
---
Aryas laid her gently on the bed.
For the first time since the battle, he had the chance to look at her properly.
Raven's long hair, dark with a faint crimson sheen, spilled across the pillow, no longer bound by battle or blood. Her face was pale, worn thin by exhaustion, yet her features remained sharp and dignified. Even unconscious, there was a quiet severity to her expression—something that spoke of authority earned, not claimed.
The marks of pain had not erased her beauty.
They had only tempered it.
He adjusted the blanket over her and stepped back.
There was nothing more he could do for now.
Turning away, Aryas left the chamber and sealed it behind him. The formations activated silently, isolating the room from the rest of the fortress.
He exhaled slowly.
"…I hope these memories are correct," he muttered.
A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. The strain from the soul-bond, combined with the fragmented memories of a life that wasn't supposed to belong to him, made his thoughts feel heavy and unfocused.
His mind hurt.
With a flick of thought, Aryas opened his spatial storage. A small vial appeared in his hand.
He uncorked it and drank the potion in one motion.
The bitter liquid burned briefly as it went down, easing the pressure in his head and steadying his breathing.
While he was a swordmaster above all else, Aryas could still wield limited magic.
Up to Third Circle space magic.
Enough to store, retrieve, and move without inconvenience.
The pain dulled.
His thoughts cleared.
Aryas straightened, his expression returning to its usual calm.
There was still much to deal with.
And very little time.
---
---
The ravine was called Ashveil Hollow.
Raven had named it herself long ago, back when it was only a forgotten scar in the land. Few knew the hidden paths that led into it, fewer still could find them without guidance.
Tonight, it sheltered what remained of her people.
A small fire burned weakly near the stone wall. Its light barely reached the edges of the hollow, where shadows clung tightly to the rock.
"Lower your voice," a woman whispered sharply. "You'll wake the children."
"I wasn't shouting," another replied, just as quietly. "I was asking."
Asking questions no one wanted to answer.
A man sat nearby, his back against the stone. His arm was wrapped in bloodstained cloth.
"She should've returned by now," he said. "Even wounded, she would've found us."
No one contradicted him.
A younger woman shook her head. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like she's already—" Her voice broke. "Like she's gone."
A child tugged at her sleeve. "Aunt… are they coming back?"
She knelt quickly, forcing a smile. "No. You're safe here."
The lie tasted bitter.
Then—
A sound.
Low. Wet. Wrong.
"Did you hear that?" someone whispered.
The fire flickered.
From the narrow entrance to the hollow, stone scraped against stone.
A growl followed.
Slowly, something crawled into view.
"Oh gods…"
The monster's body barely fit through the passage. Its flesh looked hardened in places, soft and pulsing in others. Several eyes opened along its head, rolling as it sniffed the air.
"It smelled us," a man said hoarsely.
"Don't move," another whispered. "Don't—"
The creature roared.
Children screamed.
"Run!"
There was nowhere to go.
The monster lunged—
Clang.
The sound was soft.
Almost casual.
The monster froze.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then its body slid apart, severed cleanly from shoulder to hip. Blood splashed across the stone floor.
The upper half collapsed.
Dead.
Silence fell so suddenly it hurt.
"…What?" someone whispered.
Footsteps echoed from the entrance.
Slow. Unhurried.
A man stepped into the hollow, sword lowered at his side. His presence alone seemed to press the air downward. Ashen-silver hair. Calm eyes. No visible urgency.
Several people instinctively stepped back.
"Who—who are you?" a woman demanded, her voice shaking.
The man stopped a short distance away.
"My name is Aryas," he said. "I'm looking for the survivors of Raven of the Crimson."
At the sound of that name, multiple people stiffened.
A man clenched his fists. "You have some nerve saying her name."
Another spat on the ground. "Bloodwall. Of course."
Aryas inclined his head slightly.
"I know what my name represents to you," he said. "I'm not here to argue that."
A woman stepped forward, anger barely containing her fear. "Then why are you here?"
He answered honestly.
"She asked me to find you."
The hollow went quiet.
Someone laughed—a short, broken sound. "That's not funny."
Aryas met her eyes. "I'm not joking."
A man shook his head slowly. "You killed her."
"She's alive."
The words hit harder than the monster's roar.
"…What?" someone breathed.
"She's injured," Aryas continued. "But stable. She requested that I locate you and ensure your safety."
A long silence followed.
Finally, the first man spoke again. "If this is a trick—"
"It isn't," Aryas said. "I won't force you to follow me. I won't order you to do anything."
He sheathed his sword.
"I'm asking," he said. "Let me protect you until she can speak for herself."
A woman looked down at the children huddled together.
"…If we refuse?" she asked.
Aryas answered without hesitation. "I'll still keep monsters away from this place."
The man frowned. "Why?"
"Because she asked," Aryas replied.
No grand reason.
No justification.
Just that.
A quiet, trembling voice spoke from the back.
"This is Ashveil Hollow," an old woman said. "She named it so it wouldn't be forgotten."
Aryas nodded once. "Then Ashveil Hollow will remain untouched."
The fire crackled.
Slowly, weapons lowered.
Fear remained.
But something else surfaced with it.
Hope.
---
---
Silence lingered after Aryas's words.
The fire crackled softly.
A man finally spoke. "We're not leaving."
No one argued.
A woman nodded. "This is Ashveil Hollow. She chose it for us."
Another added quietly, "If she's alive… then she'll come here."
Aryas listened without interrupting.
"We don't want to follow you to the empire," the man continued. "Even if you say you'll protect us."
"I understand," Aryas said.
Several people looked at him, surprised.
A younger woman frowned. "You're… not angry?"
"No," he replied. "It's reasonable."
An older man shifted his weight. "Then what now?"
Aryas glanced around the hollow—the narrow paths, the exposed rock, the lack of proper defenses.
"You stay," he said. "Here."
A woman tensed. "And you?"
"I'll keep this place clear," Aryas replied. "Monsters won't enter Ashveil Hollow."
"That's it?" someone asked.
"That's it."
A man narrowed his eyes. "And soldiers? Hunters? Empire scouts?"
Aryas met his gaze. "None will come."
The man hesitated. "How can you be sure?"
"I won't allow it."
The words were calm.
But final.
A child tugged at his mother's sleeve. "Does that mean we're safe?"
The woman swallowed. "For now."
Aryas crouched slightly, lowering his presence.
"She will come," he said. "When she does, she'll find you alive."
The old woman exhaled slowly. "That's all we wanted."
Aryas straightened.
"I won't stay inside the hollow," he added. "But I'll be close."
A man asked quietly, "Why go that far for us?"
Aryas paused.
"She trusted me with your lives," he said. "I won't fail her."
No one spoke after that.
Weapons were lowered fully.
The fire burned a little steadier.
As Aryas turned toward the narrow exit, a woman called out.
"…If she doesn't come back soon?"
He stopped.
"She will," he said. "Even if I have to carry her myself."
Then he left Ashveil Hollow, leaving guards unseen and danger unwelcome.
For the first time since the fall—
They waited, not in fear…
But in belief.
...
.....
...
.