NOTE : THIS CHAPTER IS LONG AS IT CONTAINS FLASHBACK
{System: turning on… User exhausted… turning off}
Far away, within the swirling twilight of the System Realm, the golden data streams shifted uneasily. A certain presence stirred; eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"Icarus supposed to save her always" murmured Faith, his fingers dancing through holographic threads of fate. "He knew real aria is dead so he don't want to save her anymore" Faith laughed.
Across from him, two figures stood before the central system core. One, bright-eyed and restless, was YG—the Young God. The other, cloaked in ancient light and shadows, was the Soul Keeper.
He had a name once lost in time, but now he went by Caelus.
YG and Caelus exchanged a glance.
An unspoken tension passed between them
(Author's note: no FAITH, they both have no faith on you.)
Aria slept for days, her body claiming the rest it desperately needed. Even when she wandered out for meals, still dressed in her nightgown, the maids would panic—yet no one dared stop her. She often fell asleep at the table, sometimes mid-bite, head tilted gently to the side. It always made Theo smile.
And Theo does not smiled like that often.
Kaelen eventually returned to the Southern Duchy, after Aria refused to leave with him. Her decision was firm. The North was her home now.
But someone else began visiting the North in his place.
Caisson.
Whether he came out of worry for Theo, or simply to make peace, no one could say. Some days, he stood alone in the corridor, staring silently at Alexandra's portrait, as though trying to ask for forgiveness from someone long gone. But Theo never acknowledged him. He was far too busy preparing the duchy—organising, negotiating, and paving the way for Abigel's future as heir.
On the third day, Aria was pulled back to training.
A knight of the North couldn't afford to slack—not even her. And after all, she had chosen this path.
Her body ached, but she endured.
Returning from the field, still sweaty and covered in dust, she paused at the entrance hall—startled by the raised voices inside.
"I can't let you do this, Theo!" Caisson shouted. "You're handing the North to someone whose background you don't even know. It's reckless. It's—stupidity."
"You never cared before. Why now?" Theo's voice was cold, but firm. "The decision is made. Abigel is my son, and he will inherit the North."
Caisson's voice cracked. "Who told you I never cared about you? I did. I always did. Do you really think I didn't know you took in the abandoned prince of our enemy kingdom?"
The silence was instant—like the breath had been knocked out of the room.
Even Theo's expression wavered. Shock flickered across his face, but the soft gasp from the doorway was louder.
Everyone turned.
Aria stood there.
Her eyes flicked between them, then to Abigel, whose head hung low.
The silence settled heavy.
Was it really Abigel's fault he was born that way? Aria thought. Did any child deserve to be abandoned by their parents…?
She walked in slowly and sat down beside Caisson without hesitation.
"Grandpa," she said softly, "don't you think you should at least give Uncle a chance to explain?"
Her voice was calm. Clear. Mature.
And somehow, that broke the tension more than anything else could.
Caisson stared at her.
Theo stood still, unreadable.
But it was clear: this was Caisson's last moment of hesitation. To accuse Theo of treason—for harbouring the prince of a neighbouring enemy—was no small thing.
Theo sighed.
Flashback – 10 Years AgoLocation: Northern War Camp, Arcanthas Border
The snowstorm outside howled like a beast, shaking the thin walls of the war tent. Maps and scouting reports were pinned to the table in front of Theo, then a young commander at just twenty-three. His armour was dulled from battle, his eyes sleepless but sharp.
"Your Highness," Sir Alwin said, placing a gloved finger on the northern ridge of the map. "If we wait until spring, Corvania's army will reinforce through the Eastern Pass. The terrain will thaw and their war caravans will move faster."
"I agree," said another knight. "But if we strike now—before the snow softens—we can trap them in the canyon. Their supply lines are already weak."
Theo's eyes swept across the map. He nodded slowly.
Plan: Operation Frozen Trap
Bait and Cut Off:"We'll send a small unit to feign retreat along the frost road," Theo said. "Corvania will chase them, thinking we're withdrawing. We'll lead them straight into Winterfall Canyon." Terrain Advantage:"The canyon is narrow, lined with unstable ice formations and overhanging cliffs. If we position our archers and elemental casters at both ridges, we can trigger a controlled collapse—seal their main force in and isolate their vanguard." Supply Interruption:"Meanwhile, another unit will burn the supply wagons stationed here—" Theo pointed to a marked depot just behind enemy lines, "—cutting off their warmth, food, and medicine. Winter will finish what we start." Final Blow:"Once the canyon narrows, we surround them from both ends. No way out. The cold will crush their morale. And if they try to retreat, the cliffs will do the rest."
Sir Alwin looked impressed. "It's bold. Dangerous. But if it works…"
"We end this war by winter's end," Theo said. "Before Corvania can dig in."
"But if we fail," another murmured, "we lose hundreds of men to the snow. Or worse."
Theo looked out at the blizzard raging beyond the tent flap.
"We won't fail. We're the North. We don't fear the cold."
As Theo's plan unfolded, the enemy fell just as expected—trapped, starving, and outmanoeuvred. He led the final charge himself, cutting through the remains of Corvania's noble bloodline with brutal precision.
When the battle above ended, Theo descended into the cold, damp underbelly of the fortress. Rows of iron bars and rotting wood lined the underground prison. Soldiers freed the surviving prisoners—civilians, slaves, and forgotten soldiers.
But then, at the far end of the corridor, Theo halted.
A small figure was curled into the stone floor of a dark cell—skin pale, lips cracked, and barely breathing. As Theo pushed open the rusted gate, a sudden burst of black aura lunged at him like a feral animal.
"Your Highness, step back!" one of the knights warned. "That—That's a curse!"
But Theo didn't flinch.
He reached out with his own crimson aura, the mark of Northern royal blood, a power that crackled like fire against the black mist. The two forces clashed silently in the air—crimson pushing back the shadows.
"No," Theo murmured, studying the boy. "This isn't a curse. It's… protection."
"Obsidian Aura…" Theo whispered, recognizing it instantly. He had studied ancient auras all his life. This one was rare. Deadly. Ancient. Loyal only to its master.
The boy hadn't lifted his head. He didn't move a finger. But the aura responded like a guardian, fighting for him with the last ounce of strength.
Theo bent down and scooped the frail child into his arms. The obsidian aura shimmered once more, then faded like smoke.
"Who is this boy?" Theo asked one of the trembling maids nearby.
The maid hesitated before whispering, "He… He is the illegitimate prince. Born to a concubine. The palace believed he was cursed. Bad luck incarnate."
"What happened to his mother?"
"Beheaded," the maid said quickly, eyes lowered. "By the king's order. For birthing a monster."
Theo looked down at the child—so light, so broken, and yet still alive. Barely.
Was it pity…? Or something else?
A knight stepped forward uneasily. "Your Highness… Should we dispose of him? Ending him here would save trouble later."
Theo remained quiet for a long moment.
Then… he nodded.
"Do it."
He handed the boy to the knight. Turned his back.
Walked away.
But five steps later, Theo stopped.
The blizzard wind howled through the broken fortress walls.
The boy hadn't made a sound. Not a cry. Not a plea.
Why…?
Theo turned around slowly—and saw something that stopped him cold.
The knight couldn't do it.
His hand trembled, sword halfway raised, but frozen. The black aura—though weak—was still there. Wrapped tightly around the boy like a shield, refusing to let him die. A dying body protected by dying magic.
It wasn't the boy's aura that screamed to live.
It was his will.
Theo exhaled.
"Bring him to my horse," he said. "From now on, he's under my protection."
The knights hesitated.
"But Your Highness—"
"That's an order."
As Theo returned to the Northern mansion with the boy wrapped in his cloak, the entire estate murmured in whispers. Suspicion, curiosity, fear—all swirled through the air like a storm. But one glare from Sir Alwin was enough to silence everyone.
The boy was placed in the knights' dormitory, far from the main wing. Sir Alwin personally stood watch every night, keeping him safe… and keeping others safe from him. The obsidian aura that clung to the child like a second skin frightened even the bravest knights.
Days passed. Then weeks.
He slowly gained strength—enough to sit up, eat, and walk short distances. But he never left his room. Never spoke a word.
Theo didn't forget.
"How is that boy doing?" Theo asked, not looking up from the stack of papers on his desk.
Alwin, standing nearby, crossed his arms. "Physically better. But strange. Never talks. Stays in his room all day. Too quiet, even for a child."
"Bring him here," Theo ordered, flipping a page without glancing up.
Within minutes, Alwin returned—carrying the boy on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Theo's eye twitched. "Put him down. He's not a bundle of firewood."
Alwin grunted and set the boy down carefully.
The boy stood there, barefoot and stiff, wrapped in a wool coat far too big for him. His eyes were unreadable—like deep wells that had never reflected sunlight.
"What's your name?" Theo asked.
No answer.
Theo drummed his fingers against the wooden desk, his crimson aura faintly flickering in annoyance.
"Do you think it's polite not to answer when your lord asks you a question?"
Still, the boy said nothing.
But then—a cold breeze blew into the room, despite all the windows being shut.
A dark, hushed voice whispered in the air:"He… does not have a name."
It wasn't the boy who spoke.
It was his aura.
Theo's eyes narrowed slightly. "So you can speak."
"I can," the aura replied. "He cannot. Or chooses not to. He is… different. You should let this child go, while he is still blank. Before the world carves into him."
Theo stood, walking around the desk slowly.
"I've spent my entire life studying aura," he said. "Crimson… obsidian… even the lost ones. I know what I'm doing."
The aura pulsed faintly around the boy like a shadow trembling in fear.
"I don't want to hurt him," Theo continued. "But if he stays here, I need a promise."
The aura flickered again. "What kind of promise?"
"When the time comes," Theo said, his voice quiet but resolute, "he must protect something precious to me—just as I've protected him. He must never go against the North, no matter what happens. Even if it costs him his life."
The obsidian aura wavered gently in the candlelight. "What is it you wish him to protect?"
"You'll know," Theo replied, looking out the frost-covered window. "When the person arrives."
The aura flickered curiously. "Is it your lover?"
The boy's eyes widened and he quickly slapped his small hand over his mouth, smothering the aura's voice before it could say more.
Alwin let out a rough chuckle in the corner. "You really think Theo would fall in love? That's impossible. Not with his temperament."
Theo didn't respond at first. He simply smirked and said, "You'll understand when the time comes."
He turned to the boy. "From now on, your name will be Abigel."
The conversation ended there. But that moment changed everything.
From that day on, Alwin took it upon himself to train the boy. Abigel's small hands trembled the first time they wrapped around a wooden training sword. But he didn't cry. Not once. He endured. He fought. And with time, he began to master his strange aura, using it not to shield himself—but others.
He went hunting with soldiers, followed commands without complaint, and never forgot the promise his aura made:
To protect what Theo cherished.
Theo couldn't remember the first time Abigel spoke aloud. It just happened, somewhere between sword swings and long winters.
But he did remember the first time Abigel stopped in front of a portrait in the hallway—staring, eyes wide.
It was a painting of a small girl with silver hair, laughing as she hugged a white fox.
"She's... pretty," Abigel whispered, voice rough with disuse.
Theo raised an eyebrow. "You shouldn't look at my niece like that, Abigel."
Abigel immediately bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Your Grace."
"Hmph. Well... I know she's pretty. Just like her mother," Theo said quietly, his gaze softening for a fleeting second.
A faint smile flickered on Abigel's face—but it vanished just as quickly as it came.
A few days later, Theo called him into the study.
"I'm going to adopt you," Theo said, blunt as ever. "Any problem with that?"
A tear slipped down Abigel's cheek, gone before it could touch his chin.
"No, Your Highness. Thank you," he said, voice trembling.
"You should call me Father." Theo looked away, pretending to read a document. "But I don't know if I'll be any good at it. Still... I'll try."
And he did try—in the only way Theo knew how.
He threw Abigel into the harshest training. Send him into battlefields before he was ready. Pushed him toward monsters three times his size with nothing but a blade and told him to survive.
But that was Theo's love.
He didn't coddle. He prepared.
Because deep down, he knew his time was limited.
As years passed, Abigel grew into a force of his own—no longer the cursed child in a cell, but a young man strong enough to stand beside Theo.
And as Abigel grew, Theo began to fade.
His crimson aura, once a proud banner, now flickered at his fingertips like a dying flame.
"It's coming soon," the black aura murmured one night
Abigel looked away; his jaw clenched. "Don't say that."
Theo patted his shoulder with a tired smile. "I'll be fine. I've fulfilled my promise. And I'll make sure you're safe... before I go."
And for the first time, the boy with no name—now a man—lowered his head not in obedience, but in grief.
As Theo finished the story, the room was silent.
Caisson looked between the two—the sharp-eyed Duke of the North and the quiet boy who had become a man under his wing.
Was it really just because of a promise? Or had Theo truly come to love Abigel as his own son?
Caisson couldn't tell. But unease twisted in his gut like a coiled serpent.
"Even if you don't accept him," Theo said calmly, as if he'd expected this reaction, "I've already declared my will. As Duke of the North, I have the right to name my successor without interference from the royal bloodline."
"He will stay."
Caisson's jaw clenched.
"Looks like I can't change your mind." He rose slowly, his presence still heavy despite the gray in his hair. The aura around him shifted—cold, sharp, ancient.
He turned toward Abigel with narrowed eyes.
"If he ever betrays the North," he said, voice like steel, "I will kill him myself—before anyone else even knows."
With that, Caisson swept out of the room, leaving silence in his wake.
Abigel stood still. Not afraid. Not angry. Just... quiet.
Theo didn't move. His expression was unreadable.
Then a small voice cut through the tension.
"Why can't the royal family interfere with the North's heir?" Aria asked, eyes wide with curiosity.