The sharp crack of the carriage wheel echoed unnaturally loud in the stillness of the forest, splintering the quiet like a warning that something had gone terribly wrong.
Ravon did not react immediately.
He remained seated for a brief moment, as though listening to something far beyond the broken wood and startled horses, and then he drew in a slow, controlled breath before stepping down from the carriage with measured ease.
Neria followed him instinctively, her form drifting lightly to the ground as her eyes swept across their surroundings.
The place felt wrong.
It was not merely a forest, but something far more unsettling. The trees stood thin and crooked, their branches stripped of life, while the ground was littered with wilted leaves and brittle remnants of plants that looked as though they had died long before their time.
Even the air carried a dry, hollow stillness that made the entire place feel abandoned by life itself.
"This place is… unsettling," she murmured, glancing around warily.
Behind them, the coachman had already climbed down, his hands trembling slightly as he inspected the broken wheel.
"Master, I… I do not understand," he stammered, his voice tight with panic. "I checked the carriage this morning myself. Everything was in perfect condition. I swear it. I would never...."
Ravon raised a hand lightly, cutting him off before he could spiral further.
"It is fine," he said calmly, his tone devoid of irritation. "Go to the nearest town and bring back a replacement wheel."
The coachman blinked in surprise, clearly expecting anger or punishment.
"Y-Yes, Master. Thank you, Master," he replied quickly, bowing deeply before hurrying off down the road, his steps hurried and uneven as though he could not quite believe he had been spared.
Neria stared after him, then slowly turned back to Ravon, her expression filled with disbelief.
"Hold on," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Just minutes ago, you told someone to cut off a man's arm, and now you are out here being reasonable?"
She folded her arms, circling him slowly as though trying to reconcile the two versions of him she had just witnessed.
"Are you secretly two different people, or do you just decide who deserves mercy and who does not based on your mood?"
Ravon did not respond as he couldn't even hear her.
He simply leaned lightly against the carriage, reaching into his coat pocket with unhurried precision before pulling out a small, dark case.
Neria tilted her head.
"Is that… cigarettes?"
Her brows lifted in surprise as she watched him take one between his fingers and light it with a subtle flick of magic.
"Well," she continued, "I did not expect that. I am honestly more shocked that cigarettes exist here than the fact that you are smoking them."
She turned her head away instinctively, expecting the familiar harsh scent.
But the moment the smoke drifted into the air, she froze.
The smell was nothing like what she remembered.
It carried a crisp, cool fragrance, reminiscent of winter air brushing against frost-tipped leaves, with a faint sweetness beneath it that lingered gently rather than choking the senses. It was clean, almost refreshing, like standing beneath a pale sky after the first snowfall.
"…Okay," she admitted reluctantly, glancing back at him. "That is not what I expected. That actually smells… nice. Annoyingly nice."
Ravon exhaled slowly, the pale stream of smoke curling into the air like a ghostly ribbon.
For a moment, everything seemed still again.
Then the forest shifted.
It was subtle at first, a disturbance in the air, like something moving just beyond sight, but it was enough to make Neria's attention snap toward the trees.
"What was that?" she whispered, her body tensing.
Before she could focus on it, however, a far more terrifying sensation overtook her.
Her body flickered.
She looked down instinctively.
Her breath caught.
Her entire palm was fading.
The translucent edges of her hand dissolved slowly, breaking apart like mist under sunlight, and the sight sent a wave of panic crashing through her.
"No… no, no, no," she whispered frantically, clutching her disappearing hand as though she could force it to stay. "This is not happening."
The world around her blurred.
Before she could react, before she could even process what was happening...
She was gone.
Neria reappeared inside the mansion without warning, her form collapsing onto the cold marble floor as though she had been torn from one place and thrown into another.
For a moment, she did not move.
Then she lifted her hand again.
Or what remained of it.
Her palm was almost completely gone.
Only fragments of her fingers remained, flickering weakly like dying light.
Her entire form felt unstable, as though she could vanish at any moment.
"I do not want to disappear," she whispered, her voice trembling as fear tightened around her thoughts. "I do not want to disappear like this…"
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, though she had no breath to lose.
There was no one to call.
No one to help.
And for the first time since arriving in this strange world, Neria felt truly alone.
******
Back in the forest, Ravon stood exactly where she had left him.
He exhaled another slow stream of smoke, his gaze fixed on the trees ahead as though he had been expecting what came next.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
He brushed dust from his coat with visible annoyance, his expression twisted in distaste.
"This place reeks," the man complained, glancing around with irritation. "Could you not choose somewhere less… unpleasant?"
Behind him, another man appeared, bowing slightly.
"My apologies, my lord," the follower said quickly. "I did not anticipate the condition of the area."
The first man waved him off dismissively.
Then his gaze landed on Ravon.
His lips curled.
"So," he said slowly, "you have been difficult to find."
Ravon said nothing.
He did not even look at him.
The silence stretched, heavy and deliberate.
The man's expression darkened.
"Do you think ignoring me makes you superior?" he snapped. "Or have you simply forgotten your place?"
Still no response.
The man laughed bitterly.
"You have always been like this, Ravon," he continued, his tone sharpening. "Arrogant. Detached. Acting as though the world does not concern you."
He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Father still asks about you," he added, his voice dripping with disdain. "Even now. Even after everything. Do you think it is because you are special?"
Ravon's hand stilled slightly.
The man smirked.
"No," he said coldly. "It is because of her. Your witch of a mother who refuses to let go of him even in death."
The air shifted.
Something dark flickered behind Ravon's eyes.
And in the next instant....
He moved.
He appeared directly in front of the man, his fist driving into his stomach with brutal force.
The impact echoed sharply.
The man's body folded, then vanished from the spot entirely, thrown away by the sheer force of the strike.
The follower froze, his entire body rigid with fear.
Ravon did not even glance at him.
He simply turned.
And disappeared.
.....
The palace corridor was quiet.
A maid carrying folded linens turned the corner.....
And nearly dropped everything.
Ravon stood there.
He had appeared out of nowhere.
Her mouth opened in shock, a scream already forming....
But before it could escape, Ravon lifted a hand and flicked her forehead lightly.
Her body froze.
The tension vanished from her expression instantly, her mind falling into a quiet, controlled stillness.
She blinked once, then continued walking as though nothing had happened.
Ravon moved on without pause.
.....
Elsewhere in the capital, a figure crashed violently into a pile of refuse behind a row of buildings.
The stench hit immediately.
"RAVON!" the man roared, his voice filled with fury.
He pushed himself up, his clothes smeared and ruined, his entire body trembling with rage.
"I will kill you for this," he hissed.
He raised a hand sharply.
A figure appeared beside him.
"My lord....." the follower began, then stopped abruptly, his face twisting in horror as he took in the situation.
He quickly covered his nose.
"My lord, you....."
"Do not speak," the man snapped coldly. "Get me new clothes immediately."
"Yes, my lord...."
"Wait."
The follower froze.
The man narrowed his eyes.
"No," he said slowly. "I will go myself."
The follower blinked in confusion.
"My lord?"
"You," the man continued coldly, "will remain here."
The follower's expression fell.
"My lord, surely....."
"For three hours," the man finished, his tone final.
And with that, he vanished.
The follower stared at the empty space where he had been, then slowly looked down at where he was sitting.
"…You could have just left me out of this entirely," he muttered miserably. "I truly hate smells."
*****"
Ravon entered the king's chamber without hesitation.
The young king looked up from his desk and smiled faintly.
"Lord Ravon," he greeted. "You arrive swiftly as always. Please, come in."
Ravon inclined his head slightly and stepped forward.
"You wished to see me, Your Majesty."
"Yes," the king replied, gesturing for him to sit.
"There is a matter regarding the upcoming royal ball."
Ravon remained standing.
"I am listening."
The king leaned back slightly.
"It will be larger than previous gatherings," he explained. "Delegations from multiple regions will attend, including representatives from the northern provinces."
Ravon's gaze sharpened slightly.
"I see."
"I want the event to proceed without incident," the king continued. "Which is why I require your oversight."
Ravon nodded once.
"It will be handled."
The king studied him briefly.
"And the matter of the north?"
"I have already taken steps," Ravon replied calmly. "An invitation has been extended."
The king's lips curved faintly.
"Good. Then I will leave it in your hands."
Ravon inclined his head once more.
"If that is all, Your Majesty."
"Yes," the king said. "You may go."
Ravon turned and left the chamber.
As he stepped into the corridor....
A voice called out behind him.
"Lord Ravon, wait."
He paused.
The princess stood a short distance away, her expression composed but her eyes bright with intent.
"I would like a moment of your time," she said.