© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved

The first time I saw her, snow stopped falling.

A stillness blanketed the courtyard as Chaewon stood beneath the frost-lit archways of the Citadel, her hands laced behind her back, eyes sharper than winter’s edge. Not a flinch. Not a word. Just that unreadable expression she wore like armor.

“You’re late,” she said, her voice calm and cool—yet not unkind.

“I got lost in the maze of mirrored hallways,” I replied, brushing snow from my coat. “Or maybe it was part of your test.”

She glanced at me, just barely, and that tiny flicker of amusement—gone in a heartbeat—felt like the rarest warmth in this frozen place.

Chaewon turned and began walking, her fur-lined cape trailing behind like a shadow made of silk. I followed.

“You’ve studied the maps of this fortress?” she asked.

“I’ve memorized every corridor. Except the ones that change.” That earned me a faint, approving nod.

“They shift depending on who walks them,” she said. “The Citadel reflects intention. Uncertainty makes it... rebel.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” I muttered with a smirk.

She stopped. Looked at me fully for the first time. “I’ve been called worse than a fortress,” she said, ice lacing her tone—but her eyes held something softer. A flicker of curiosity. Maybe even trust.

I didn’t look away. “Have you ever been called lonely?”

A pause. The air between us crystallized. And then... her voice dropped lower.

“Emotions here are currency,” she whispered. “Every feeling shown is a piece of yourself sold.”

“So what would it cost to make you smile again?” I asked.

Her eyes widened. Just a little.

“You’re reckless.”

“Only with things worth risking.”

She exhaled slowly, a cloud of frost leaving her lips. Then, turning back to the path: “Follow me. There’s something I want to show you.”

We moved through the corridors of ice, down a staircase carved from moonstone, until she stopped at a door sealed with violet light.

She placed her hand on it. The light flared. “This chamber… holds my strategies, my visions. And my regrets.”

“You’re letting me in?”

“No,” she murmured. “I’m inviting you. There’s a difference.”

The door opened. A thousand shards of light danced on crystalline walls inside, revealing a map that pulsed with threads of emotion—anger, fear, hope, love—spun like constellations.

“This is the heart of the war,” she said, her voice gentler now. “And you’re standing at the edge of it… beside me.”

I turned to her. “Then let me be more than just your soldier, Chaewon. Let me be your constant—when everything else shifts.”

She blinked slowly, and for the first time… her lips curved into a faint smile. Just enough to melt the snow.

“The cold keeps me focused, not frozen,” she whispered. “But you… you make me forget I’m supposed to stay that way.”