The night draped its velvet darkness over the quiet forest clearing, where the embers of a dying fire flickered gently against the hush of the wind. The scent of damp earth and pine lingered in the air, mixing with the distant whisper of a nearby stream. Under the soft glow of the crescent moon, the weary knights and sorcerers lay sprawled on their makeshift resting spots, their armor loosened, their breaths steadying after the battle they had faced earlier that day. But amidst them, a lone figure stood apart, his long silver-white hair illuminated by the moonlight like strands of woven stardust. Asael Kian Ravenwood, the man feared for his icy demeanor and unwavering composure, sat upon a fallen log, the usual frost in his stormy gray eyes melting into something softer, something almost... tender. Beside him, the very person who had unknowingly thawed the walls around his guarded heart. They were slightly apart from the others, close enough that the warmth of their presence felt tangible, yet far enough that their voices were hushed, just for them. The air between them carried an unspoken understanding, something deeper than mere words.

  "You’re unusually quiet tonight," the person beside him murmured, tilting their head with quiet curiosity. "Tired?"

  Asael exhaled softly, but there was no trace of exhaustion in his gaze, only a quiet, fleeting peace. He turned his head slightly, his silver lashes casting faint shadows across his cheeks as he regarded the one beside him.

  "I was just thinking," he admitted, his voice lower, warmer. "The stars are clearer here than in the capital."

  A chuckle. "You, of all people, admiring the stars? What happened to the Asael who scoffed at such things?"

  His lips curved into a rare, barely-there smile—one that had the power to steal the breath from anyone who witnessed it, simply because it was so unfathomably gentle. "Perhaps I’m changing."

  They didn’t respond immediately. Instead, they reached out, barely brushing their fingertips against the back of his gloved hand. It was the lightest of touches, almost hesitant. For a second, Asael wanted to turn his palm over, to clasp those fingers within his own—to hold on, just for a moment longer. But he didn’t. Instead, he drew back ever so slightly, pretending not to notice, masking the hesitation in his next words.

  "There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, the faintest hint of something vulnerable in his tone. The person beside him blinked, tilting their head in curiosity. "Oh? What is it?"

  He opened his mouth, then hesitated. For the first time in years, he felt uncertain.

  "...After this next mission," he finally said, offering a small, almost nervous smile, "I'll tell you then."

  A promise.

  A promise that, unbeknownst to him, would never be fulfilled.

  And from afar, the others who had fought by his side, who had known Asael as nothing but a disciplined and unshakable warrior, watched in silent disbelief. Because in that moment, Asael Kian Ravenwood was not the cold and distant knight they knew.

  He was simply a man, allowing himself to feel, if only for a little while. The forest was alive with the quiet hum of the night, crickets chirping, leaves rustling in the evening breeze. The faint glow of the campfire flickered a short distance away, casting shadows on the ground.

  Asael sat beneath an old oak tree, the massive roots curling around the earth like ancient veins. His gloved hand held a whetstone, methodically dragging it across the edge of his blade. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. The steady rhythm was almost meditative, a habit he had long perfected.

  Then, the soft crunch of boots against leaves.

  His sharp eyes flicked up. A messenger, clad in the royal insignia, approached with careful steps. Without a word, the man extended a sealed letter.

  The moment Asael caught sight of the Crown Prince’s crest, his expression darkened.

  Not 'him' again.

  A sigh of annoyance escaped his lips, but he still reached for the parchment, turning it over in his hands. He had no interest in whatever plea or command the prince had written this time.

  He was about to shove it aside when he noticed something odd. The paper felt damp.

  His brows furrowed slightly. He tilted the letter under the moonlight, noticing a faint, almost dried crimson stain near the edges.

  Blood?

  A strange feeling curled in his chest, but he ignored it.

  "Tch. Probably another useless request."

  Without giving it another glance, he shoved the letter into his robes, returning to sharpening his blade.

  That was his first mistake.

  That was the moment he sealed his fate.

  Asael, ever the cautious one, keeps his unease hidden beneath a composed expression. They move toward the mission site, an abandoned fortress at the edge of the kingdom. The wind howls between the broken stone walls, carrying whispers that only Asael seems to hear.

  Something is wrong.

  The map they received is slightly altered from what he remembers. The pathways seem too convenient. The enemy presence is oddly scarce. It’s almost as if... someone had cleared the way for them.

  And yet, Ashen walks beside him, smiling softly, speaking in the same voice that once made Asael feel at ease. The flickering torchlight dances against Ashen’s face, casting shadows Asael swears weren’t there before.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  "You’re overthinking, Asael," Ashen chuckles, eyes gleaming. "For once, can’t you just enjoy a mission that goes smoothly?"

  Asael’s hand tightens around his sword hilt. "Smooth missions don’t exist," he murmurs, but he allows himself to relax—just a little.

  And that’s his second mistake.

  The ambush happens too quickly.

  A series of thuds echo through the fortress halls—doors locking into place. The few knights Asael trusted are nowhere to be seen. The soldiers behind him are suddenly grinning, blades already drawn.

  And then—Ashen moves.

  Not to fight.

  Not to defend.

  But to step away.

  The very presence Asael once found warmth in is now standing against him, watching as the so-called ‘loyal’ soldiers turn their blades toward him. A slow, knowing smirk plays on Ashen’s lips.

  "Asael," Ashen’s voice is like velvet, smooth and betraying nothing. "Didn’t I tell you to enjoy this mission?"

  Asael's world shatters. As Ashen slowly stepped into the shadows leaving Asael there surrounded.

  The battle raged on, a storm of magic and steel. Asael fought desperately, his movements sharp yet slowing, his body screaming in agony from the countless wounds that marred his once-pristine form. Blood dripped from his fingertips, staining the hilt of his fine crystal-forged sword. The once-magnificent glow of his spiritual mana flickered weakly, like a dying flame against the howling winds of betrayal.

  His trusted knights—those who had sworn loyalty to him, who had ridden into battle alongside him countless times—fell one by one. Crimson painted the ruined ground, bodies piled in grotesque shapes, their expressions frozen in shock and horror. Their cries echoed in Asael’s ears, a haunting melody of agony and despair.

  He barely registered the spells cast against him, his body moving purely on instinct, dodging and countering, his long silver-white hair whipping around him like a ghostly veil. But the weight of exhaustion, of betrayal, bore down on him. His knees threatened to buckle, his vision blurred. Where was Ashen go? The one person Asael trusted more than anyone, the one person he had bared his soul to—where was he?

  A sharp laugh cut through the night, sending chills down Asael’s spine. His breath hitched as he turned, his stormy gray eyes locking onto a figure emerging from the shadows, arms crossed, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

  “Ash…?”

  Asael’s voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. His grip on his sword faltered as realization crashed over him, colder than any blade that had torn into his flesh. The mocking glint in Ashen’s amber eyes, the cruel twist of his lips—this wasn’t the man he trusted, the man he… loved.

  The moment stretched between them, suffocating. And then, Ashen took a step forward, his voice smooth, sickly sweet. “You’re still standing? Impressive. But honestly… you should have died long ago.”

  Asael’s breath stilled, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. “...What?”

  Ashen chuckled, shaking his head in mock pity. “Poor Asael. So righteous. So loyal. So… blind.” He took another step closer, tilting his head as if inspecting a dying animal. “You actually thought I was on your side? That I cared?” His expression shifted, eyes darkening with something cruel, something wicked. “You really are a fool, trusting me too much..”

  A cold shiver ran down Asael’s spine. No. No, this wasn’t real. Ashen was his partner, his closest confidant. He had been there through everything, through the victories, the hardships, the quiet moments under the stars. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

  But then Ashen’s smirk widened, and the final blow came, not through steel—but words. “You even dared to fall for me, didn’t you?”

  Silence.

  Asael’s breath caught in his throat. His heart clenched, a sharp, unbearable ache spreading through his chest. His fingers curled against his bloodied robes as if trying to grasp at something, anything, to ground himself. Ashen knew. He had known all along.

  And yet, he had never cared.

  A slow, cruel chuckle spilled from Ashen’s lips. “You should see your face right now. So pathetic.” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering into a taunting whisper. “Did you really think I’d ever see you as anything more than a tool? Did you really think I would return your feelings?”

  A tremor passed through Asael’s body. His world tilted, spinning into chaos. Everything—the trust, the bond, the silent glances, the whispered promises, all of it had been a lie.

  And before he could fully process it, a sudden, searing pain erupted in his chest.

  A choked gasp tore from Asael’s lips. His stormy gray eyes widened in agony as he felt the cold bite of steel piercing through his body. Time slowed. The pain was unlike anything he had ever known—sharp, burning, merciless. His fingers twitched, trying to reach for something, someone.

  His sword slipped from his grasp, the once-pristine crystal blade clattering uselessly against the blood-soaked ground.

  Crimson dripped from his lips, soaking his robes, staining his trembling fingers as he reached weakly toward Ashen—toward the man who had just driven a blade through his chest.

  Ashen twisted the sword.

  Asael convulsed, a strangled cry escaping him as blood splattered across the ruins. The agony was unbearable, a white-hot fire consuming him from within. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees, hands clutching at the wound as if he could somehow hold himself together.

  Ashen knelt down, his voice a whisper against Asael’s ear. “You were in my way.” He pulled the blade free in one swift, merciless motion, and Asael coughed violently, his vision darkening at the edges. Blood poured freely, staining the ground beneath him.

  Distantly, through the ringing in his ears, he heard murmurs—laughter, voices whispering in triumph. And then, just before the darkness swallowed him whole, a few broken words reached his slowly fading consciousness.

  “...Crown prince… knew… dead…”

  His thoughts spun in chaos. The crown prince? What did he know? Why was he mentioned now?

  His vision blurred. His body slowly grew cold.

  The last thing he saw before the world faded was Ashen’s retreating figure, bathed in the eerie glow of the moonlight, surrounded by the victorious laughter of traitors.

  The distant sound of galloping hooves reached Asael’s fading consciousness, muffled and hazy, as though it belonged to another world. His eyelids, heavy with exhaustion, barely lifted. Darkness tugged at the edges of his vision, urging him to let go.

  The rhythmic pounding of horseshoes grew louder, closer—then a sudden, frantic halt. Boots struck the bloodied ground in hurried steps, splashing through crimson pools as a voice, filled with urgency and desperation, called his name.

  "ASAEL!"

  The voice—familiar, yet distant, as if spoken from behind a veil of mist—tore through the cold silence. He wanted to respond, to acknowledge whoever it was, but his lips refused to move. His body was no longer his to control.

  "ASAEL!"

  A frantic rustling followed, bodies being turned over, the sound of someone stumbling through the sea of fallen knights. Another cry, louder this time, raw with emotion.

  "ASAEL!"

  A pause. A sharp intake of breath. Then the sound of hurried footsteps—rushed, desperate—before the warmth of a trembling hand touched his bloodied face. A choked sob broke through the air.

  "No… No, please… NO!"

  A strong grip wrapped around his cold, lifeless body, pulling him into an embrace, cradling him as though trying to shield him from death itself. The person trembled against him, their voice shaking, whispering words filled with sorrow.

  "I should’ve been here. I should’ve been earlier… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Asael."

  Asael felt… warm. Despite the creeping numbness, despite the cold that had settled deep into his bones, there was warmth in this person’s desperate embrace, in the way they clung to him as if refusing to let him go.

  With the last of his strength and spiritual mana, Asael forced his eyes open, just enough to see the glint of a jade pendant swaying above him—a stormy gray gemstone, a reflection of his own eyes. It shimmered against the blood-soaked ruins, and beyond it, blurred by tears and darkness, was a face…

  Who…?

  His vision wavered. The person holding him sobbed uncontrollably, gripping his lifeless hand. His name was spoken again, softer now, breaking under the weight of grief.

  A single tear slipped from the corner of Asael’s eye, falling onto the blood-drenched earth beneath him.

  Then, something bloomed.

  From the pool of his spilled blood, delicate petals unfurled—red with white-tipped edges, small at first but spreading, growing, weaving through the ruins like a silent requiem for the fallen.

  The moment was suffocating in its beauty and its sorrow.

  The mysterious figure, still holding Asael’s lifeless form, let out a scream—a sound so full of anguish and despair that it echoed through the ruins, carrying with it the weight of a grief that could never be undone.

  And then, silence.

  The ruins, once a battlefield, became a graveyard.

  The red-and-white flowers continued to bloom.

  The identity of the one who wept over Asael’s cold body remained unknown.

  TO BE CONTINUED. tell me what you think about this chapter :)