"What the hell do you mean by 5%?!"
Aria shouted so loudly even a maid stationed far down the corridor jumped.
She turned away, fuming.
{I did warn you. — GF}
The system's cheeky response flashed in front of her.
Aria closed her eyes, trying hard to remember the last day in her world.
Nothing.
She tried again. Still nothing. All she could recall was that day—the day her heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
"Oh, I still remember that piece of shit," she muttered under her breath.
So… if she pushed her powers too far, she'd start losing her memories. Bit by bit. She clenched her fists.
And then the cruel truth hit her again—GF never promised she'd return to her world. Maybe this was it. This was her new reality.
So what was the point of holding on to broken memories?
Still… there were some things she didn't want to forget. Ever.
She sighed. Again. Survival came first. If she didn't train her aura properly, she'd just end up dead.
"Are you alright?"
The sudden voice startled her.
"You've been sighing nonstop. Didn't even notice I was here." Abigel stood beside her, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.
She blinked at him. The scar from his arrival still marked his eyebrow, oddly beautiful on him. His hair was a mess tonight, a little wilder than usual.
"You didn't sleep?" she asked.
"No. I don't sleep easily," he replied quietly. The unspoken weight of nightmares hung between the words.
His jaw was sharp, and his eyes reflected the moonlight like silver blades.
"You're… handsome," she blurted before her brain could stop her.
Author's Note: Of course, I'd say the same if I met someone that handsome in real life.
He smiled—a rare, almost fragile thing.
"You better get inside," he said gently. "Before Father drags you in himself."
She nodded and went in, warmth blooming faintly in her chest.
But the night wasn't easy for Theodore.
As he stumbled into his chambers, his loyal butler, Alwin, rushed to his side.
"Your Grace, the healer is on the way—"
Before he could finish, Theodore collapsed.
FLASH BACK
The palace was quiet that night. Too quiet.
Snow fell gently, blanketing the black roofs in white, but inside the halls, tension hung heavy like a blade against flesh.
Theodore stood outside the chamber, fists clenched, breathing shallow. His hands were covered in dried blood. Not his.
Inside, the Night Empress—his mother—lay dying.
His legs refused to move. His chest ached with something unfamiliar.
The door creaked open. Selene stepped out. Her silver Armor was cracked at the shoulder, her hair dishevelled, her face pale. Blood—not hers—was smeared across her cheek.
Their eyes met.
"She's gone," Selene said flatly. No tears. No tremble in her voice. Just cold, emotionless finality.
Something broke in him.
"No…" he whispered, taking a step forward. "She said she'd wait for me. She said she'd—Selene, you said she was getting better—!"
"I lied," Selene said, turning her back to him.
His heart shattered into rage. "You lied to me?!"
"I had to," she said, not turning around. "You were always too soft."
He stormed past her, into the chamber.
The Empress lay on the bed, wrapped in dark silk. Her face was peaceful. Too peaceful. Like she had simply gone to sleep, as if she wasn't the only one who ever understood him. The only one who called him "my little light" even when the whole court called him cursed.
The air grew heavy. He dropped to his knees beside her.
"Come back…" he choked. "Please…"
Red sparks began to glow from his clenched fists.
The temperature dropped. The walls trembled. The glass windows cracked from the inside.
And then—
A crimson aura erupted from his body.
It was raw. Violent. Beautiful and terrifying. The ground beneath him split with the force of it. Shadows were painted red. Power surged through his veins—but it came with pain. Blinding pain.
Selene rushed in.
"Theo!" she shouted, shielding her eyes from the light.
He turned to her, his eyes glowing crimson.
"She died… and you left her alone…" His voice was a low growl. "You let her die—!"
Selene stood firm. "You think I didn't try?!"
"Then why do you look like you don't care?!"
And that was the first time he saw it—the flicker. Not anger. Not coldness.
Fear.
Selene took a step back, then turned away again.
"I don't have the luxury to feel," she said softly. "Not anymore."
From that night forward, she began to change.
So did he.
The night the Empress died; the world split in two.
The palace wore black, and so did they—Theodore and Selene, standing on either side of the funeral pyre like strangers.
Theodore no longer joined Selene in the training yard. He stopped attending court lessons. His aura grew stronger, more volatile, but he wielded it like a blade against himself—always pushing harder, as if trying to outrun the grief.
Selene watched from afar, her arms crossed, jaw tight.
"You need control," she said once during a sparring match they barely finished.
"You mean like you?" he shot back. "Heart of steel, no time for tears?"
Her eyes flickered, but she said nothing.
He walked away before she could.
When Theodore turned sixteen, he rode north to the warfront.
No farewell dinner. No embrace.
Selene found the note the next morning, folded neatly on her desk.
Don't stop me. I'm going to fight. To protect what Mother left behind. I won't sit in the palace like a doll. I'm not like you.
She didn't follow him.
Instead, she locked herself in the chamber that once belonged to the Empress and stood there, gripping her mother's last cloak until her knuckles went white.
Two weeks later, she sent a care package to the Northern garrison.
It contained reinforced armour, an enchanted blade, and a letter with no name—just one line written in perfect script:
Don't die.