Kael's voice cut through the silence, slow and steady.
"…Amon wins."
He didn't yell it. He didn't need to. The verdict was obvious. Final.
Ren didn't move. His legs trembled beneath him, not from exhaustion—but from disbelief.
His sword still lay on the ground. Forgotten. Useless.
Amon didn't spare him a second glance. He stepped out of the ring with the same calm he had entered—no excitement, no gloating. Only precision, only purpose.
Kael turned slightly, watching him walk, his expression unreadable.
He's more than dangerous, Kael thought.He's inevitable.
Orin let out a slow breath. "That wasn't a duel," he muttered. "It was a lesson."
Ren finally moved. He reached down, picked up his blade with shaking fingers, and stood—barely. His eyes didn't meet anyone's. Not Kael's. Not Orin's.
And especially not Amon's.
He turned and walked away, defeated in body and in soul. And somehow… worse than that.
Forgotten.
Kael stepped forward now, his boots echoing against the cold stone.
Amon stopped near the edge of the ring.
Their eyes met.
"You've passed both tests," Kael said. "Conviction and blade."
Amon said nothing. He simply waited.
Meanwhile—outside the manor, in a city too cheerful to be trusted...
Two figures strolled through the winding stone paths of Ironborn's outer districts.
One was clad in a crisp maid uniform—modest, clean, efficient.
The other?
She moved like a song written by moonlight.
A dark gown hugged her slim figure, embroidered with silver threads that shimmered beneath the rising sun. Her skin was flawless—smooth and pale as sculpted jade. Long black hair flowed down her back like silk torn from the night sky.
But what drew the most attention were her eyes.
Hidden behind a delicate band of black velvet and silver pins—ornamental, yet mysterious.
A blindfold.
And yet… she walked with perfect ease. No hesitation. No misstep. As though the world moved around her.
The maid—stern but loyal—sighed in frustration.
"My lady, your father warned you. Again. You keep skipping your training like a thief in the night."
The girl didn't respond at first.
She simply smiled—bright, girlish, defiant.
Then, softly… she began to hum.
"La… la la… la."
The tune drifted through the marketplace like perfume, drawing glances from nearby vendors.
Sumi, the maid, groaned aloud.
"I swear, my lady, you're already eighteen—but you act like you're still fifteen."
The girl tilted her head, her grin widening.
"Aww… is Sumi worried for me?"
She leaned in closer, mischief dancing in her voice.
"Or are you scared father dearest will catch me again—and you'll lose your job?"
Sumi folded her arms with mock annoyance.
"My lady, you've tried making me the villain since the day you were born."
She smirked. "But you always fail. Because your father believes me."
The girl giggled, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
"Guilty as charged," she said, twirling once in the sunlight. "But don't worry. You know my father. He's never even scolded me—not once."
The words held a hint of pride… but also something else.
A subtle sadness.
As if she wasn't sure whether his silence came from love—or fear.
The blindfolded girl paused, the city's murmur weaving around her like a soft chorus.
She tilted her head slightly and smiled.
"Look at them," she whispered. "All these people… they don't even know my face. To them, I'm a story. A name whispered through the gates."
She chuckled, light and airy.
"Some even think I'm a rumor."
Sumi, ever the grounded one, frowned. "That's because it's safer that way, my lady."
Her voice dropped, quiet but stern.
"You know what happened the last time your blindfold slipped. You were just five. A mere Acolyte."
Her voice faltered—haunted by the memory.
"And yet… you turned an entire city into ash."
The noble girl's smile faltered for half a second—but she quickly waved it off.
"I know, I know. So please—stop nagging."
Sumi looked like she wanted to argue more, but she bit her tongue.
Just then, a hunched figure shuffled up to them from the crowd. An old man with too many rings on his fingers and a crooked smile stretching under his wide-brimmed hat.
He raised a hand like a merchant pitching his best lie.
"Young lady! Care to know your future?" he called. "Love life, fortune, destiny—I see all!"
The girl blinked.
Then laughed.
"Oooh~ I like this," she said, clapping once like a child spotting candy. "Let's do it."
Sumi groaned. "My lady, he's clearly a con man."
The old man huffed and crossed his arms.
"I'm standing right here, thank you very much," he said dryly. "And for the record—I don't con. I entertain."
He grinned again, tipping his hat.
"Think of it as a game. If I'm wrong—you laugh. If I'm right…"
He paused, eyes gleaming beneath the brim.
"Well… we'll see."
The noble girl chuckled. "What do you say, Sumi? One fortune won't kill me."
"Hopefully," Sumi muttered under her breath.
But the girl was already stepping forward, her blindfold catching the sunlight like silk.
"Alright, old man. Tell me," she said, voice playful and challenging.
"What does fate have in store… for the girl nobody knows?"
The old man grinned, revealing crooked yellow teeth.
"You have come to my humble corner of the world," he said, sweeping his arm toward a narrow alley hidden between two taverns. "Now, let the cards show you what your heart seeks."
Without hesitation, the blindfolded girl followed.
No fear. No second-guessing.
Sumi walked just behind her, not even blinking.
They didn't ask where he was taking them—because they already knew.
Sumi had memorized every back route in this city years ago. And her lady? She could shatter a street with a thought if she truly desired.
The alleys twisted like veins, narrow and tight. Lanterns flickered overhead. Stray cats scurried under crates. Somewhere in the distance, a lute played off-key.
They turned one final corner.
And there it stood.
A crooked hut barely holding itself together—wedged between two larger stone buildings like a secret too stubborn to die.
The wooden sign above read:
"Fortunes & Forgotten Futures."
Inside, it smelled of sandalwood and old paper. A single glowing orb lit the cramped room, casting strange shadows against the faded velvet curtains and towering bookshelves. Dust floated like ash in the golden light.
Two worn chairs sat opposite a small table carved with arcane markings.
The girl sat without hesitation, folding one leg over the other. Sumi remained standing, arms crossed behind her.
The old man lowered himself into his seat slowly, as if time clung to his bones.
"Now then," he said, cracking his fingers. "What is it that your spirit seeks?"
The girl smiled, her voice sweet but clear.
"Love."
The word hung in the air like a spark on dry grass.
"Ah…" the old man exhaled, already reaching for his cards—old, black-edged things that felt heavier than paper should.
He shuffled.
The cards made no sound.
And yet—
As he touched them, something changed.
His grin faded.
His fingers trembled.
Sweat began to bead at his temples.
He kept shuffling—but his eyes weren't on the cards anymore. They were locked on her. On the blindfold. On something only he could feel.
Sumi's hand twitched near her blade.
The girl tilted her head.
"What's wrong?" she asked lightly. "Afraid of what you'll see?"
The old man swallowed.
"No… not afraid. Just… surprised."
He laid out three cards in a slow, reverent motion—each turn felt like peeling back fate.
The first card flipped.
A figure in silver armor—kneeling before a woman cloaked in night.
"The Savior," the old man murmured. "He will come from shadow… but not to save the world. He'll save you."
He flipped the second.
A road winding into endless storms, a dragon coiled around the horizon.
"Adventure," he said. "Endless. Terrifying. Beautiful. He'll drag you into the eye of chaos—and you'll follow willingly."
He paused. His hand hovered over the third card.
He hesitated.
Then flipped it.
The final image was painted in red.
A throne of bones.
A crown split in half.
A woman standing barefoot in the ruins of a burning city, her blindfold gone.
The old man went still.
He looked up slowly.
His voice was no longer showman's flare—but raw, grave, almost prayerful.
"…And he will bring your end."
The girl didn't flinch.
She just smiled—softly. Almost sadly.
"My end?" she whispered. "Or my beginning?"
The lightbulb above flickered once. Then steadied.
The old man didn't answer.
He simply leaned back, exhaled like he'd aged ten years in ten seconds, and said:
"…He's already close. Very close."
The girl's lips curled.
"I hope so."
She stood, turning toward the curtain-draped exit with a glimmer of anticipation in her blindfolded eyes.
Because in her heart…
She already knew.
That storm was coming.
And she couldn't wait to walk into it.