Cold.
That was the first sensation that returned to him.
Cold water dragging him downward, numbing his limbs, dulling the burning agony of the arrows jutting from his back and ribs. Aaron's awareness flickered like a dying flame. Light and shadow spiraled above him, distorted through the churning river. Sound faded into a distant murmur.
Then—
Something pale drifted past.
No—someone.
Aaron's eyes, half-lidded and heavy, widened.
A woman's form spun gently in the current, her long dark hair fanning behind her, her dress torn by water and stone. Her hands floated limp at her sides. Her body bobbed once, caught briefly between two swirling currents.
But her head—
His mind refused it at first.
Where her head should have been, there was only the red blur of torn flesh and water. The river carried her forward, twisting her body away, out of sight.
Aaron's fading heartbeat lurched violently.
Mother.
The word didn't make it to his lips. It lived only in the shattering of his chest. His throat burned with a sound that drowned before it could become a scream. Rage, grief, despair—each hit harder than the arrows, harder than the river, harder than death itself.
He reached for her.
His fingers slipped through dark water, grasping nothing.
The last of his strength drained. The world dimmed at the edges, collapsing inward. His vision smeared into black.
I couldn't save you.
I couldn't save any of you.
Neria—
His heart stuttered.
And stopped.
For one suspended moment, everything was silent.
Then—
A voice.
Soft. Vast.
Echoing through a place that was not water, not air, not the mortal world at all.
"Aaron Aserion," the voice whispered, gentle as sunlight yet resonant as thunder. "Come forth, my champion. A new world awaits you."
The river vanished.
Light—whiter than snow, brighter than stars—burst from his skin, consuming the darkness. His body dissolved into radiance, shaped only loosely by its fading outline.
And in a place between worlds, something stirred.
Aaron Agustsa felt himself drifting. Weightless. Quiet. Not in his body—no, he could feel that form falling behind him like discarded clothes. He was only spirit, loosened from flesh, pulled by a thread of divine warmth.
In the infinite white, he sensed another presence.
A figure stepping toward his dissolving light. Tall. Calm. Familiar in a way that made no sense.
Aaron Aserion.
Not him—but like him. The same voice, the same heartbeat, the same soul-echo, but from a different existence, a different world, a different life. A man who had died elsewhere and been summoned here. A soul called by goddesses to fill a void.
Aaron Agustsa could feel the connection between them—thin, wavering, impossibly intimate. Like looking into a mirror that showed not your reflection but your other self.
Aserion stepped closer, his form more solid than Agustsa's fading light. He stopped just before him and bowed his head once in solemn respect.
"I am sorry," he said quietly, his voice carrying weight despite the emptiness around them. "I didn't expect to take another's place. When the being of light called me, I thought they were offering me rebirth... a second chance. I didn't realize someone was still fighting to live."
Agustsa's fading soul trembled—not from fear, but from sorrow. From the crushing weight of everything he was leaving behind.
Neria.
He couldn't speak aloud, but Aaron Aserion heard him all the same. Souls had no walls between them. No secrets. No lies.
"I know," he whispered, his expression softening with genuine pain. "I saw her. I saw everything through your memories. The moment I touched your soul, I felt it all—the carriage, the arrows, the fall. Your mother. Your sister." He paused, swallowing hard. "Everything you loved. Everything you fought for."
The fading prince's light flickered weakly, barely holding form.
"You did everything," Aserion continued, voice firm but gentle. "Everything a brother could do. Everything a son could do. You carried her when you couldn't walk. You shielded her when arrows came. You held her even as you died." He met what remained of Aaron Agustsa's gaze. "You did enough. More than enough."
Agustsa's soul wavered, resisting. Not from anger—only reluctant acceptance. The kind that comes when you know you must let go but can't bear to.
"Neria... my little sister... don't let her be alone."
The thought radiated from him like heat from a dying ember.
"She won't be," Aserion said firmly. "Not for a single breath. I swear it on my life—on your life. I will take care of her. I will protect her. I will love her as if she were my own sister."
Agustsa's form shivered, fragments of light breaking away like ash.
"But you're not me. You don't know her. You don't know what she needs—"
"I will learn," Aserion interrupted gently. "I have your memories. I can feel what you felt. I know she's afraid of thunder. I know she calls you when she has nightmares. I know her favorite story and the way she curls her fingers into your sleeve when she's scared." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I know her, because you knew her. And I will honor that."
The fading prince hesitated, his light pulsing weakly.
"And Mother... did you see...?"
Aserion's expression darkened. His jaw tightened.
"I saw," he said quietly. "I saw what they did to her."
The silence between them stretched, heavy with shared grief.
"I will make them pay," Aserion added, his voice turning cold. "The Queen. The assassins. Everyone who took her from you—from us. They will answer for it."
Agustsa's soul flickered—not in approval, but in warning.
"Don't let revenge consume you. Neria needs you alive. Not dead chasing ghosts."
Aserion bowed his head. "I won't. I promise. Neria comes first. Always."
The fragments of Agustsa's soul began to drift apart, dissolving like mist in morning light. But before they scattered completely, his presence softened. Warmed. Trusted.
"Thank you."
The words weren't spoken. They didn't need to be.
Aserion placed a hand over his heart and bowed deeply. "Rest now. Your burden is mine. Your sister is safe. I will carry what you could not."
At that, Aaron Agustsa's soul let go.
The last fragments of light pulsed once—gentle, accepting—and then drifted away into the infinite white.
Gone.
Aserion stood alone in the void for a long moment, staring at the space where the prince had been.
Then he turned and stepped downward—
—into the vacant, broken body being carried downriver.
His new vessel.
His new fate.
His new life.
The world flashed.
The transfer was complete.
Darkness, then light again—different this time. Warmer. Softer.
Aaron Agustsa found himself standing in a vast corridor of gray stone and silver mist, without weight, without pain. At the end of the corridor glowed a soft radiance. Within it stood a woman.
Even without a face—without the head she had lost—he knew her instantly.
But then the light brightened, shaping itself into her full form again: whole, beautiful, gentle. Her head restored. Her eyes warm. Her robes unstained by blood or riverwater.
"Mother..." His voice was small. Fragile. Childlike.
She opened her arms.
He ran to her.
She embraced him with warmth he had not felt since childhood. A warmth no river, no arrow, no death could steal from him. A warmth that belonged only to home.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into her shoulder, fighting tears that spirits weren't meant to shed. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I couldn't lift the beam. I couldn't stop the arrows. I'm sorry I failed—"
She hushed him softly, stroking his hair the way she used to when he was small and frightened.
"My brave son," she murmured. "You did not fail. You protected your sister with every breath. You carried her when you could barely stand. You shielded her with your own body." She pulled back slightly to look at him, her eyes shining. "You did everything a brother could do."
"But you're dead," he choked. "And I left Neria behind. She's alone now—"
"No," his mother said gently, shaking her head. "She is not alone."
Aaron pulled back slightly, confusion mixing with hope.
His mother smiled—a soft, knowing smile that carried no sadness.
"That young man who took your place," she said. "He will care for her with all of his being. With love. With devotion. As if she were his own blood."
Agustsa's fading spirit trembled—not from sorrow this time, but from relief.
"You mean... he will truly...?"
"Yes," she whispered. "I saw his heart. I felt his oath. He is a good man, Aaron. A kind man. And he will keep his promise."
"But what if he forgets? What if he gets tired of her? What if she's too much trouble and he—"
"He won't," his mother interrupted firmly, cupping his face in her hands. "Because he carries your love for her now. He feels what you felt. He knows what she needs. And more than that—he chose to accept this burden. He chose to protect her."
Aaron's eyes stung.
"Then... she'll be okay?"
"She will be," his mother said. "And so will you."
She embraced him again—tight, warm, final.
Light swelled around them.
"Rest now, my sweet boy," she whispered into his hair. "Your burden is carried. Your story is honored. And your sister is safe."
The corridor dissolved.
Their forms faded into brightness.
And then—
Nothing.
Only peace.
Far below, in the cold river of the mortal world, a body stirred.
The arrows still jutted from his back and chest. The wounds still bled. But something had changed.
The eyes that opened were no longer the same.
Aaron Aserion gasped, choking on water, pain slamming through him like a hammer. His lungs burned. His ribs screamed. Every nerve in his body shrieked in protest.
But he was alive.
Somehow, impossibly, he was alive.
He coughed violently, spitting out water, dragging in desperate breaths. His vision swam. The river still carried him, slower now, toward calmer waters ahead.
And beside him—
Neria.
Her small form floated face-up, unconscious but breathing. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, fragile movements.
Aserion's new heart clenched.
He reached for her with a trembling hand, pulling her closer. His body protested every movement, but he didn't care.
"I've got you," he whispered hoarsely, voice raw. "I've got you, little star."
The words felt right. Familiar. Like he'd said them a thousand times before.
Because in a way, he had.
The river carried them both downstream, away from the assassins, away from the ravine, away from the bodies and the blood.
Into the unknown.
Into survival.
Into a new beginning neither of them had chosen—but both would have to face