The world snapped.
One heartbeat, I was in the arena—bleeding, dizzy, Seraphina's hands pressing against my wound, shouting for a healer—
And the next, the sand, the noise, the sunlight—
all vanished.
Cold air slammed into my lungs.
Fog curled around my ankles.
Snow crunched beneath my boots.
The Hidden Kingdom.
Not the memory-version from before—not the strange dreamscape that felt too soft, too quiet.
This time it felt real.
The cold bit.
The wind stung.
The air tasted like the familiar metallic sharpness of the fog.
And in front of me, carved from frost and bone, stood the throne room I'd seen before.
Hel waited on the throne like she'd known exactly which second I would appear.
Her pale hair drifted weightlessly around her as if underwater, her icy-blue eyes glowing faintly against the darkness. When she saw me—my bloodied tunic, my shaky legs, the faint tremor in my hands—she let out a long, dramatic sigh.
"Oh, little queen," she said, voice dripping with disappointment, "still so weak?"
I flinched despite myself.
Hel rested her cheek against her hand, gaze sliding lazily over me. "Look at you. Wounded by a mortal boy in a schoolyard duel."
"It wasn't a schoolyard duel," I muttered. "And he stabbed me while I was blinded."
"Aww." She cooed mockingly. "Did the little prince cheat? How tragic."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at a literal goddess.
Hel shifted, her expression flickering from mockery to mild irritation. "You promised to assist me, little queen. Yet here you are—barely able to withstand a single blow."
"I didn't exactly plan to get stabbed."
"And yet," she said, raising an eyebrow, "you did."
I inhaled slowly, trying not to snap. "If you summoned me just to insult me—"
Hel stood.
She didn't walk toward me. She glided.
Her feet never touched the ground.
The frost beneath her spread wider with each movement until the entire hall dimmed under a faint layer of ice. She circled me once, eyes scanning me from head to toe like I was a flawed object she was contemplating returning.
"You won't be able to keep your promise if this is your limit," she said simply. "And you are nowhere near your limit."
I frowned. "I'm doing my best."
"No," she said, stopping in front of me. "You are surviving. Barely. That is a very different thing."
I bristled, but before I could respond, she clicked her tongue.
"And why," she asked, "have you not used your blessing?"
"Blessing?" I echoed. "What blessing?"
Hel blinked at me.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—
A sound escaped her that I never expected.
She laughed.
Not elegantly.
Not coldly.
Not divinely.
She laughed like someone choking on their own tongue.
"Oh gods—" she wheezed, clutching her stomach. "You—YOU—didn't know?"
Heat climbed up my neck. "N-no?"
"You didn't notice anything? Anything at all?"
"Like what?!"
She flailed her hand at my shoulder.
"The mark, little queen! The one on your skin!"
I stared at her flatly. "Most people don't just stare at their own shoulders."
Hel froze.
Then covered her face with one icy hand.
"…unbelievable."
"It's not like shoulders are… y'know… convenient to look at!"
"Turn around."
I hesitated.
"Turn. Around."
I did.
Hel pressed her cold fingertips against my wounded shoulder—strangely gentle for someone who mocked me two minutes ago. The burn of the injury faded temporarily under her touch, numbness spreading across my skin.
"Look," she said.
A mirror of ice rose from the ground.
I stared.
My tunic had been torn by the stab wound—but beneath it, etched onto my skin like frost carved into stone—was a glowing mark.
Two marks, actually.
One shaped like a curling wave, like the deep ocean swallowing starlight.
The other a faint spiral of bone-white mist.
Both pulsed faintly beneath my skin.
"I gave you the blessing of knowledge," Hel said softly, almost reverently.
"And the blessing of death."
I swallowed hard. "That sounds… ominous."
"It is," she said plainly.
"…That doesn't help."
Hel stepped back, her expression shifting into something more serious—more ancient—than anything she had shown so far.
"These two blessings are not meant to coexist," she said. "Not normally. There is history behind it—history I did not intend to share so soon."
"I didn't ask for two," I said quietly.
"I didn't give you a choice."
I blinked.
Hel's gaze softened for a fleeting moment—so fleeting I wasn't sure I didn't imagine it.
"You made a vow with me in the dream," she said. "A vow tied to your blood, to your kingdom, and to your soul. Two blessings were required. So I gave them."
"Why?" I whispered.
She hesitated.
A real hesitation.
A crack in the godlike mask she wore.
Finally she exhaled.
"…because the curse that binds your kingdom—the fog that traps your people—was woven by two hands."
My breath caught.
"Two gods?" I whispered.
"No," she said distantly. "One god. Two intentions. Two forces twisting together."
She stepped backward, shadows curling around her ankles like ink in water.
"I cannot help you stop the curse with one blessing alone," she continued. "Nor can I ask you to fulfill your promise without preparing you."
My heart pounded.
"What does the blessing of knowledge do?" I asked carefully.
Hel smiled faintly. "You will see the truth of things others overlook."
"And the blessing of death?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Her icy eyes drifted to the mark on my skin.
"That," she said, voice lowering, "is harder to explain."
I swallowed.
"Explain it anyway."
Hel's gaze met mine—steady, sharp, and uncomfortably knowing.
"To explain why you bear the blessing of death," she said slowly, "I must first explain why there must be two blessings at all."
She raised her hand.
Fog spiraled around her fingers.
The throne room dimmed.
My stomach tightened.
Hel's voice turned soft.
Dangerously soft.
"Let me tell you," she whispered, "about the true nature of your kingdom's curse."
And the world flickered—