The absolute, biting silence of the frozen wilderness was broken only by the rhythmic, sharp crackle of a lone campfire.
Areia threw on a heavy coat, the thick, premium sheep's wool enveloping her frame in a sudden, luxurious embrace that shielded her skin from the unforgiving glacial draft. Sitting down cross-legged on a smooth stone facing the flames, she rubbed her small hands together, letting the radiant heat thaw her frozen fingers. She smiled softly, a rare look of pure contentment washing over her features. Her incredibly white hair with a white Camelia tucked on the side, flowing down her shoulders like spun silk, blended seamlessly with the immaculate white exterior of the coat.
It had been days since she bade farewell to the humble, weather-worn home of the old fisherman. Now, her long, grueling journey to the legendary lair of Amag was finally drawing to a close. Just across the jagged, windswept mountain edge ahead lay the ancient magical gate required to access the hidden domain.
Reaching out, she dragged her large traveling bag closer—a heavy-duty stuff sack overflowing with specialized survival equipment and rations given to her by the old man before she departed. Areia stood up for a moment to adjust her footing, lightly brushing the dirt from her black skirt. It was practically the only time she had ever worn a skirt on a mission; her usual traveling pants had become caked in mud and slush, and she had left them to dry over a nearby boulder, which happened to be the only patch of earth in the entire clearing not currently buried under three feet of pristine snow.
Areia was, by any mortal metric, extremely pretty—possessing a flawless, porcelain complexion and sharp, ethereal features that made her look more like a misplaced winter spirit than a traveling warrior.
She reached deep into the bag, her slender arm rummaging through the gear for a few moments before she pulled her hand back out, triumphantly clutching a thick, dried-out piece of monster meat. She sat back down and began to munch on it, chewing contentedly as she watched the embers rise into the winter sky.
Clink. Clang.
The dense bushes directly beside her campsite rustled violently. Except, in this extreme sub-zero climate, it didn't sound like ordinary leaves brushing together; the foliage was frozen completely solid, the icy branches clanging against one another with the sharp, musical ring of shattered glass.
Mandevor emerged from the frozen thicket, his rugged face twisted into a sour, deeply irritated expression. His short brown hair was dusted with frost, and his equally dark brown eyes met Areia's striking purple gaze for a brief, tense moment before he looked away, thoroughly disappointed. His straw hat hung limply against his back, suspended by a leather cord, and a massive, heavy-duty blade was slung securely across his broad shoulders.
"I couldn't find any game," he muttered, his deep voice carrying a gravelly edge as he trudged heavily through the snow toward the warmth of the fire, his thick winter jacket rustling with every step.
Areia didn't look up right away, her vibrant purple eyes slowly scanning his posture, noting the frustration radiating from him. The hilt of her own elegant sword, resting comfortably across her waist, glinted in the firelight.
"Also," Mandevor growled, his gaze dropping to the half-eaten strip of dried meat currently held in her delicate fingers. His brow furrowed deeply. "You shouldn't be wasting our food rations like that, Areia. Stop eating the survival meat like they're casual snacks!"
Areia slowly chewed the last bit of the dried meat, completely ignoring his outburst. She didn't even blink her vibrant purple eyes, treating his anger like a gentle winter breeze.
I still don't get why he's following me around, she thought casually, her gaze drifting back to the dancing orange flames.
They had spent the last few months living under the same roof at the old fisherman's hut, but for some completely baffling reason, the exact moment Areia packed her gear to leave, Mandevor decided he was tag-teaming the mission. Honestly? Areia couldn't care less. Having a walking meat-shield who also happened to know how to properly season a hot meal in the wilderness was a net positive. It did no harm.
"We're not going to survive very long at this rate," Mandevor growled, aggressively rubbing his frost-dusted brown hair in frustration. He stomped his boots against the hard, snow-packed earth. "At best, my human metabolism can only go a few days without solid food before my muscles start tearing themselves apart!"
Areia looked down at the immaculate blanket of white at her feet. Leisurely, she dipped a single delicate finger into the fresh snow, scooped a tiny mound, and popped it into her mouth to taste it.
BAM.
An instantaneous, agonizing spike of brain freeze tore straight up her spinal cord and slammed into her brain. Damn, that is extraordinarily cold, she thought, her porcelain face tightening for a microsecond before she smoothed her expression back out.
She began to mathematically ponder their survival logistics. If they were to completely run out of rations, her specialized physiology meant she could easily coast for a month or two before her body even entered the initial stages of starvation. Mandevor, on the other hand, would be a frozen corpse. But she shrugged the thought away; there was no need for unnecessary worries since they were practically standing on the doorstep of the hidden lair anyway.
"Hey. Grumpy hat," Areia called out.
She pivoted on her heel, turning around sharply with a fluid, lethal elegance that caused her black skirt to flare out against the white sheep's wool coat. Her intense purple gaze locked squarely onto him.
Mandevor instinctively took a half-step backward, his heart suddenly racing against his ribs. His brown eyes widened slightly. What is she doing? It was incredibly rare for Areia to actively initiate a conversation with him; usually, she treated him like he was completely invisible, a background prop in her daily routine.
"What... what is it?" he asked, his hand drifting slightly toward his hair a faint blush on his face.
"Where I am going is exceptionally dangerous," Areia said calmly, her melodic voice dropping into a register that was fundamentally colder than the jagged ice surrounding their camp.
She took a slow step forward, the hilt of her sword glinting over her skirt. "It is not that I doubt your strength—I know you can fight. But I have no idea what grotesque anomalies we will face inside that domain. Though it's been a while but, I personally slaughtered the high-ranking lords running the facility and wiped out a massive portion of their standing armies. Things might have changed drastically in the power vacuum."
She paused, tilting her head slightly, her brilliant white hair shifting like a curtain of snow.
"Are you absolutely sure it is wise to keep following me? Sure, I don't care either way if you tag along. But... it will reflect very badly on my relationship with my master if I allow you to die a vain, meaningless death out here."
Yeah, it had to be something like this, Mandevor thought, letting out a heavy, internal sigh as he stared at the crackling campfire. Of course I was stupid to expect a normal, heartwarming conversation from her.
He cleared his throat, adjusting the heavy jacket around his shoulders. "Are the people left in that facility as strong as you?" he asked, trying to gauge exactly how suicidal this mission actually was.
Areia tilted her head, her purple eyes tracking a stray ember as she pondered the question for a moment. "I am significantly stronger now than when I was just a lab rat kept inside those walls," she murmured smoothly. "And considering the fact that I personally took out their key figures... I highly doubt any of them match my current level."
In short, it's a definitive 'no,' Mandevor thought, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
He had noticed this about her before. For some bizarre reason, despite how overwhelmingly terrifying Areia was in combat, she didn't exactly know how to scale her own power. She had this weird habit of putting herself below her actual level, or acting like opponents were on par with her when she could clearly obliterate them in seconds. She's incredibly self-conscious about her past, he realized silently.
"Well, if they're weaker than you," Mandevor said aloud, a confident smile breaking across his rugged face as he tapped the hilt of the massive blade slung over his shoulder, "and seeing as the gap in our strength isn't exactly massive, I reckon I'd be able to hold my own just fine." He paused, his brown eyes softening slightly. "Thanks for caring, though."
Areia stared at him for a long, quiet moment. Her beautiful, porcelain face held a completely blank, unreadable expression.
"Do you need something from me?" she asked bluntly.
Mandevor's breath hitched in his throat, his heart suddenly hammering violently against his ribs like a trapped bird. Wait, what?! Why is she asking that all of a sudden? a frantic voice screamed inside his head. Is she... is she finally actually noticing me as a guy?!
"Why are you asking that all of a sudden?" he managed to reply, desperately trying to keep his voice from cracking while his face secretly began to burn hotter than the campfire.
"Well, you are following me around, and you even insisted on accompanying me into a highly hazardous zone," Areia muttered, her tone entirely clinical as she lightly smoothed down the fabric of her black skirt. "Unless you possess some sort of hidden, ulterior motives... I highly doubt any regular person would willingly do something like this for the fun of it or cause of kindness."
Mandevor let out a forced, boisterous laugh, waving his hand dismissively in the freezing air. "Ha! You're completely over-analyzing it, Areia!"
"I don't think I am, if I'm to be honest,If you don't tell me what you want right now and instead choose to wait for me to figure it out on my own... it will be entirely your loss," Areia said simply.
Mandevor's nervous laughter died instantly, freezing right in his throat.
Does she know?! The thought hit him like a physical blow. Does she actually know that I like her?!
He stared at her white hair, his mind racing through a million miles an hour. No, wait. Knowing Areia's emotional density, the chances of her picking up on romantic feelings are almost zero. But still... there's a non-zero possibility! I know she's completely devoted and into her master, but she might have picked up on the subtle things. The actions that portray my feelings rather than words. Should I just go for it right now? How would she even react? Has anyone ever confessed to her before? She and her master aren't actually together yet, so it might be possible... Maybe this is my one and only chance!
"Did the cold freeze you solid?"
Mandevor snapped out of his existential panic instantly.
Areia had stepped closer, her immaculate white sheep's wool coat brushing against the edge of the campfire's light. Her deep purple eyes were staring directly up into his, entirely unbothered by his internal crisis.
"Just answer my question," she asked, her voice tilting with a faint hint of genuine curiosity. "Is whatever you want from me really that big of a deal for you to be thinking about it this much?"
"Just out of curiosity... aside from your master, has any boy tried courting you before?"
Mandevor asked the question in a rush, his chest tightening so hard it felt like an iron band was wrapped around his lungs. The campfire popped between them, throwing a frantic shower of orange sparks into the freezing air. At the absolute back of his mind, he was praying to whatever gods were listening that she didn't pick up on exactly what he was getting at with a question like that.
"Yeah. I think so," Areia replied smoothly, her melodic voice entirely unbothered by the sudden shift in gravity. "It was a long time ago, though. A few years at least. There was this beastkin boy who simply wouldn't leave me alone."
She pondered the memory for a short while, her purple eyes drifting toward the dancing flames as she traced the ancient, buried thought. Then, her train of thought abruptly ground to a halt.
She stopped moving.
Slowly, her gaze drifted down to her own shimmering white hair, then down to the tips of her black leather boots resting on the frozen earth. Finally, like a hawk tracking movement in the snow, her eyes trailed slowly upward until they locked directly onto Mandevor's face.
She took in everything in a single, hyper-analyzing sweep: his shifting, panicked brown eyes, the sudden, unnatural crimson flush creeping up his neck, and the incredibly tense, rigid posture he was currently holding under his thick winter jacket.
Oh, Areia thought, her porcelain face remaining completely deadpan as the puzzle pieces slammed together in her brain.
Darn it.