Dawn had not yet broken, but the palace was already awake.
Servants hurried through marble corridors with arms full of silk and white flowers. Musicians tuned their instruments beneath vaulted ceilings, their soft notes echoing like ghosts through the grand hall. Guards rotated shifts, yawning, grumbling about the early ceremony.
No one noticed the boy in servant's clothes slipping through the kitchen entrance.
Elya moved like water.
Fluid. Silent. Inevitable.
His white hair was hidden beneath a dark hood, golden eyes lowered in practiced submission. In his arms rested a neat stack of folded linens — a perfect disguise.
Purpose made him invisible.
Just another servant.Just another nobody.
Behind him, Puma followed in shadow.
Literally.
The creature had learned to flatten itself into darkness, becoming nothing more than a distortion in lamplight. Only its molten-gold eyes betrayed its presence — and only if you already knew where to look.
Elya had spent three days studying the palace.
He memorized guard rotations.
Noted which servants were too new to recognize faces.
Mapped every staircase, every blind corner.
He knew exactly which route led to the princess's wing with the least patrol coverage.
He climbed.
Third floor. East wing.
He passed the portrait gallery where generations of Ashveil rulers stared down in painted judgment. He avoided the main corridor guards, slipping instead through a servant passage narrow enough to scrape shoulders, smelling faintly of polish and old stone.
His heartbeat remained steady.
This was simply another step toward justice.
He stopped before an ornate door trimmed in gold leaf.
The Ashveil falcon crest gleamed faintly in torchlight.
Behind it waited his leverage.
His path to revenge.
Elya placed his palm against the wood and closed his eyes.
He reached inward — past muscle and bone, past breath and pulse — into the cold that lived beneath his skin.
Frost crept silently into the lock mechanism.
Metal contracted.
Internal pins snapped.
The door opened without a sound.
Inside, lamplight flickered across silk curtains and scattered wedding preparations. Jewelry rested on velvet cushions. A ceremonial dress hung nearby — white and silver, beautiful and suffocating.
And seated by the window, staring into the dark horizon…
Princess Nana Ashveil.
She didn't turn immediately.
"If you're here to remind me about the ceremony schedule," she said quietly, exhausted, "I already know. Dawn. Grand hall. Smile and don't cry."
"I'm not here about the wedding," Elya replied.
She turned.
"Who—"
"Your father's enemy," he said calmly. "And your way out of a marriage you don't want."
They stared at each other.
Nana's hand drifted toward the bell cord beside the window. One pull would summon guards.
"You're witch-born," she whispered.
"Does that frighten you?"
"Should it?"
Elya didn't answer.
Instead, he murmured softly—
"Release."
Dark light folded inward.
A blade manifested in his hand.
Black. Elegant. Razor-thin.
A Spada.
In this world, witches could manifest weapons directly from their souls. These soul-forged arms were called Spada — each one unique, shaped by memory, trauma, desire, and inner truth.
And the energy that fueled them…
Was Magical Arcanum.
Most wielders relied on external Arcanum — elemental power refined through training and enchantments.
"Probably," he said at last.
Nana swallowed.
"What do you want with me?"
"You're coming with me."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll carry you."Her jaw tightened.
"I could scream."
"True."
"You'd be captured."
"Unlikely."
"You're that confident?"
Elya met her eyes.
"I've survived worse than palace guards, Princess."
Something in his voice made her believe him.
Her hand fell away from the cord.
"If I come… will you tell me why?"
"Eventually."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's honest."
Heavy footsteps thundered outside.
Elya's head snapped up.
"You triggered a hidden ward."
"I didn't—"
"Pressure plates. Magical alert system," he said calmly. "Clever."
The door exploded inward.
Six royal guards stormed in, rune-forged weapons glowing.
Their armor pulsed faintly with embedded crystals.
Rune Stones.
Ancient suppression tech.
Each stone generated anti-magic designed to neutralize Magical Arcanum.
Against normal spellcasters, they were devastating.
"Step away from Princess Nana!"
Elya stepped in front of her.
"Leave."
His golden eyes sharpened.
"One step closer… and I kill you."
Bloodlust flooded the room.
They laughed.Then he moved.He vanished.
A white blur crossed the chamber.
Steel screamed.
His Spada intercepted the first strike — ice raced instantly along the enemy blade, freezing it solid.
The guard yelped and dropped his weapon.
"If you came looking for death," Elya whispered, already behind him, "you chose correctly."
His palm struck another soldier's chest.
Instant neural freeze.
The man collapsed.
The remaining guards attacked together.
Elya flowed between them.
Duck.Pivot.
Slip past a thrust by millimeters.
His movements were surgical — like someone who had fought too many battles and learned how to waste nothing.
"Activate rune stones!"
White suppression fields flared.
Pressure slammed into Elya's chest.
"You don't look so confident now, witch."
Elya tilted his head.
"You're wasting my time."
He blurred forward with pure physical speed.
He smashed one guard's head into the wall hard enough to fracture marble.
Another drew a pistol.
Bullets flew.
Elya walked between them.
Casual.Unbothered.
He kicked the shooter's skull into stone.
Six guards fell in under a minute.
Nana pressed herself against the wall, staring in silent horror.
Then the windows exploded.
Archers rappelled in.
Crossbows fired.Gunshots cracked.
Elya deflected arrows mid-air with impossible precision.
A bullet grazed his shoulder.
He didn't slow.
He raised his Spada.
"Gelo di Spada."
Ice detonated.
Crystalline branches erupted outward like frozen lightning.
Arrows stopped mid-flight.
Guards crystallized where they stood.
Even shattered glass froze in the air like suspended diamonds.
Twelve soldiers neutralized in one heartbeat.
Elya grabbed Nana's wrist.
"We're leaving."
She didn't resist.
He walked.
Past frozen soldiers whose eyes still moved.
Past shattered banners.
His Spada trailed cold vapor.
They reached the grand hall.
"STOP!"
King Ashveil's voice thundered across marble.
He stood atop the staircase — tall, armored, holding a massive rune-etched sword across his shoulder.
His aura burned yellow-green.
Veteran.Conqueror.Monster.
Elite guards formed behind him.
Nobles watched from balconies.
Elya turned.
For the first time in twelve years, he faced his family's murderer.
Nana felt his hand trembling.
Not fear.Rage.
"Your Majesty," Elya said softly.
Ashveil surveyed the frozen devastation.
"Bold," he said. "Foolish, but bold."
"Release my daughter. Tell me your name. I may grant you a quick death."
Elya nearly snapped.
Every instinct screamed to kill.
But not yet.
He lifted his hand.
Ice raced through the palace.
Rune stones froze before activating.
Everyone immobilized.
The temperature dropped ten degrees instantly.
In the air above the hall, letters formed from pure crystalline frost:THE GHOST
Elya pointed his Spada at Ashveil.
"Debts," he whispered.
"Don't go unpaid."
Ashveil snarled.
"Bring back my daughter, you monster!"
Elya turned away.
"We'll meet again… friend."
Then he vanished into the morning mist.