Lasandra sat frozen on the cold marble floor, her breath shallow and ragged. Her elegant crimson dress pooled around her like a river of spilled wine, the fabric clinging to her trembling frame. The pale glow of the rune-lit hall cast stark shadows across her face, revealing every line of fear etched into her features.
Her mind spun in circles, frantic and desperate. 'How does he know?' she thought over and over again, like a chant she couldn't escape.
She had never spoken of her problem to anyone—not to her council, not to her closest advisors, not even to Iresom, her most trusted and loyal butler who had served her for centuries. This secret was hers alone, buried so deep that even whispering it in her own mind felt dangerous.
And yet, here was this man. This stranger. This terrifyingly calm, unreadable man who stood before her as if he had plucked the truth straight from her soul.
Her breath caught in her throat, heart hammering. How... how does he know?
Aron observed her quietly, his violet eyes cold, sharp, and calculating. Seeing her shaken, her once-commanding presence reduced to a trembling figure on the ground, his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. A predator satisfied with his hunt.
He stepped closer, crouching slightly so that his voice reached her ear like a silken blade.
"Queen Lasandra," he murmured, his tone almost gentle, mocking in its calmness. "Why don't we make a deal?"
The words slid into her ears like venom, both terrifying and oddly relieving. A lifeline disguised as a chain.
Lasandra lifted her head slowly, her silver hair falling messily across her face. Her crimson eyes narrowed, gathering what remained of her composure. She knew she had no other choice. Even if she could harm him now—even if she managed to strike a blow—she could not kill him, and he would escape. He had already proven himself slippery and far more dangerous than he appeared.
Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "What kind of deal?"
Aron's smile widened just slightly, his amusement flickering like firelight. "Haha... so here's the deal," he said, his tone light, almost casual, but every syllable carried weight. "I can solve your 'Problem.' And in return... you will help me in three different situations of my choosing once I reach the seventieth floor. How does that sound?"
The moment he mentioned the seventieth floor, Lasandra's breath hitched. Her pupils dilated in shock, her heart slamming against her ribs.
'He knows.'
There was no mistaking it now. He knew exactly what her problem was. Not just that—he knew where she came from. He knew she was a resident of that floor, something she had concealed with ruthless precision. Even her current title and position were carefully crafted layers of deception.
Her entire body went cold.
She stared at him, the words caught in her throat. Slowly, almost painfully, she forced them out. "D-do you really have the solution to my 'Problem'?"
Aron's smirk faded. His expression shifted, becoming something serious, grounded, almost solemn. He looked at her as tears began to gather in her eyes—tears she had never allowed herself to shed before anyone. Lasandra, the proud queen who had faced wars and assassins without flinching, now wept quietly, her tears glistening as they streaked down her pale cheeks.
Aron knew then just how deeply her problem had scarred her. It was worse than he had imagined.
His voice was steady, resolute. "Yes. I have a solution," he said firmly. "It's quite hard... but not impossible."
He rose from his crouch and stepped closer, extending his hands to gently lift her by her shoulders. Lasandra was trembling, fragile in that moment, no longer the untouchable ruler she pretended to be. As he guided her up, he did something wholly unexpected—he pulled her into a slow, firm embrace.
Lasandra stiffened, stunned. No one touched her like this. No one dared. And yet, there was no malice in his arms, only a strange, alien warmth that seeped into her frozen heart.
She sniffled softly against his chest, unable to stop the tears now flowing freely. "U-umm... sniff... sniff... sob..."
Aron said nothing. He simply patted her head with deliberate gentleness, his touch strangely comforting. His violet eyes remained distant, watching her silently as if cataloging every reaction, every shift in her breath. His mind was calculating even now, but there was no cruelty in his actions.
Minutes passed. Slowly, Lasandra's sobs quieted. Her heartbeat began to steady, a soft calm spreading through her chest like warmth after a long winter.
When she finally lifted her head, her tear-streaked face turned upward to meet his gaze. For the first time, she truly saw his eyes. Black pupils, cold and hollow, like an abyss that devoured all light. There was no emotion there, only emptiness—and yet, somehow, she couldn't look away.
Aron gave her a single, unreadable look before carefully turning her by the shoulders and guiding her back toward the ornate chair she had been sitting in before. He placed her gently down, like one might set down a delicate artifact, then stepped back, retreating to his own seat across from her.
Lasandra's throat felt raw as she swallowed. Her voice trembled when she finally spoke. "Sorry about earlier... I couldn't control my emotions." She hesitated, then drew in a shaky breath. "Umm... about your deal... I accept. If you really have it, then I wouldn't mind helping you on the seventieth floor..."
She forced a wry smile, though her eyes still shone with lingering tears.
Aron regarded her for a moment, then allowed a small, genuine smile to cross his lips. Not mocking, not cold—simply real. "Ok," he said softly. "But to solve your 'Problem,' I have to pass the fifteenth floor first. Then, I can make the 'Item' to solve it."
His tone shifted slightly, a thread of amusement creeping back in. "Oh, and don't try to get information about the ingredients for making it. Even if someone already has them, only I can create it. Haha..."
Lasandra's eyes narrowed as she studied him carefully, trying to gauge the truth in his words. For a moment, suspicion warred with desperation. But finally, she exhaled in resignation, leaning back into her chair.
"Sigh... Ok then," she said quietly. "I will be on the fifteenth floor, waiting for your arrival at Grashin's main palace. And please... don't break this trust."
Aron's expression softened further, becoming almost warm. "You don't have to worry about that," he said. "I will be there with the 'Item.'"
The tension between them seemed to ease slightly after that, like a storm passing. For the next half hour, they spoke of smaller matters. Lasandra asked how he had managed to breach the Treskson Wall. Aron's answer was smooth, convincing, though carefully crafted lies danced beneath his words.
"I didn't breach the wall," he said casually. "It was an artifact given to me by someone."
He offered no further explanation, and though Lasandra clearly wanted to press, she let it go, her trust in him tenuous but present.
When their conversation finally dwindled, Aron rose from his seat. His movements were calm, unhurried, as he strode toward the massive doors of the mansion. The doors opened with a soft groan, revealing Iresom waiting patiently on the other side. The butler bowed deeply in respect.
"My Queen," Iresom said, his voice smooth and formal. His gaze flickered to Aron briefly, unreadable.
Aron returned the nod with cool indifference before stepping past him, leaving the mansion without another word.
The night air outside was crisp, carrying the scent of rain and stone. Aron walked steadily down the winding road, his boots striking softly against the cobblestone. His mind, as always, was a maelstrom of calculation.
So, Lasandra really had that 'Problem,' huh? he thought, a smirk tugging at his lips. I didn't expect her to cry like that... interesting. Well, at least I've gained one of the ingredients while still on the second floor. Haha...
His pace quickened, the anticipation in his chest translating into speed. Within moments, he was sprinting, his cloak billowing behind him like a shadow.
"Wait for me, Lasandra," he muttered under his breath, his tone darkly amused. "I will have the Item in my hands soon."
Inside the grand hall, silence reigned once more. Lasandra remained seated on her throne-like chair, her body motionless, her thoughts a tangled storm.
The image of Aron's embrace replayed in her mind again and again. The warmth of his arms, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek—things she had not felt in what seemed like centuries.
Her face slowly turned crimson as heat flooded her cheeks. She pressed a hand to her chest, startled by the rapid pounding beneath her palm.
"Wh-why is my heart pounding this hard?" she whispered, her voice barely audible in the empty hall.
She lowered her head, trying to banish the memory, but it returned with relentless clarity—the way he had patted her head, the gentle strength in his touch.
Her blush deepened, her crimson eyes wide with confusion. "Wh-what is this feeling?... why is my heart beating so fast?"
Her words fell into the stillness of the room, unanswered, as her thoughts spiraled into a realm she had never dared tread before.
The great Queen Lasandra, feared and revered by countless, now sat alone in the vast, silent hall—utterly powerless before the unfamiliar storm raging within her heart.
_ _ _
To be continued...