The night guard's clappers echoed through Harthwyne Village, slow and steady, like a wooden heartbeat. The sound wasn't loud, but it had a way of crawling into dreams and dragging people awake. Aria opened her eyes the moment she heard it, her gaze clear despite the darkness.
She had slept, but not deeply.
Sleep was a luxury, and she had spent five hundred years learning how expensive luxuries were. Plans ran through her mind like ink on a scroll, layered over each other until rest became impossible.
She pushed aside the thin blanket and swung her legs to the floor. The wood beneath her feet was cold, and the room still carried the smell of rain soaked into the walls. Outside, the air was sharp with spring, wet soil, fresh leaves, and the faint sweetness of flowers waking up.
It cleared her head in three breaths.
A soft knock came from the stairs, followed by light footsteps. Seraphina entered carrying a basin of water, her movements careful and practiced. She had the kind of pretty face that looked brighter in candlelight, and the kind of smile servants learned early, warm enough to please but never warm enough to offend.
"Miss Aria," she said softly, setting the basin down. "I brought water for you."
Aria watched her without speaking.
Seraphina stepped closer and began adjusting her collar, smoothing the sleeve of her robe as if she were dressing a noble daughter for a festival. Her fingers were gentle, almost intimate, and her expression carried a sweetness that would have melted anyone's heart.
In another life, Aria might have mistaken it for affection.
Now she only saw what it really was.
Training.
Aunt and Uncle didn't hire servants to serve. They hired them to shape people. A gifted servant here, a soft compliment there, a careful reminder of status and worth, all woven together like a net.
Aria caught Seraphina's wrist.
The servant froze instantly, her smile faltering.
"I can dress myself," Aria said calmly.
Seraphina's lips parted as if she wanted to explain, but she swallowed her words. "Yes, Miss Aria."
She bowed and retreated, her footsteps suddenly heavier than before.
The room fell quiet again.
A while later;
At the doorway, Ryan stood like he had been standing there for a while. His shoulders were narrow, his hands held awkwardly at his sides, and his eyes were fixed on the floor as if it might swallow him.
Aria studied him in silence.
It was strange, seeing him like this again. Not the Ryan who had learned how to smile politely while sharpening resentment in secret. Not the Ryan who had grown into someone capable of betrayal with a steady hand.
This Ryan was still soft.
Still unsure where he belonged.
He glanced up once, then quickly looked down again.
"Ready?" Aria asked.
Ryan nodded. "Yes… Sister."
The word carried no warmth, but it carried habit. A thin cord that still bound them, even if neither of them understood what it truly meant yet.
Aria adjusted her robe and stepped toward the door. Ryan moved aside quickly, like he was afraid of blocking her path. She didn't spare him another glance as she walked out into the morning air.
Outside, the village was already stirring.
Youths walked in small groups toward the clan pavilion, their breaths fogging in the cold. Some were laughing too loudly, trying to sound confident, while others kept their mouths shut, their faces pale with quiet fear.
The Awakening Ceremony did that to people.
It turned fifteen-year-olds into gamblers, and talent into a life sentence.
As Aria walked, voices drifted toward her like mist.
"That's Aria…"
"They say she writes poems that even elders praise."
"Hmph. Poems won't help her in the river."
Another voice, sharper with envy, muttered, "If she fails, she'll fall harder than anyone."
Aria didn't react.
She listened the way one listened to rain. Useful for knowing the weather, meaningless for warmth. Behind her, Ryan walked half a step closer, his expression tightening with every whisper he caught.
Aria could see it clearly.
The world weighed them differently.
Not because of effort, not because of kindness, but because of value. Her aunt and uncle had been tipping those scales for years, feeding Ryan scraps of affection while making sure he always felt smaller beside her.
They didn't need to beat him.
They only needed to remind him, again and again, that he was the lesser twin.
In her past life, that realization had made her angry.
Now she simply noted it.
Kindness from the powerful always came with strings. And those strings were tied tight enough to trip a child without the child ever realizing he had been pushed.
Aria could cut those strings today if she wanted.
She could ruin her aunt and uncle, strip their masks off in front of the clan, crush their pride, and drag their household into disgrace. She could even turn Seraphina into her own pawn, use her the way she was meant to be used.
She could burn the village down if she felt bored enough.
But burning things took effort.
And effort was better spent elsewhere.
Five hundred years had taught her one simple truth: wasting energy on small fights only weakened you for the long war. She had survived too long to throw her strength away on petty revenge.
If people stayed out of her path, she would ignore them.
If they stepped across the line, she would bite.
Simple.
Ryan walked beside her, opening his mouth once as if he wanted to ask something. The words never came out. His throat moved as he swallowed them back, and his gaze dropped again.
Aria didn't slow down.
"Go," she said.
Ryan stiffened.
The word wasn't loud, but it landed like a command carved into stone. It wasn't just telling him to move forward. It was telling him not to cling, not to expect, not to become necessary.
Ryan took a step back, his face pale.
"Yes, Sister," he whispered.
Aria didn't look at him again.
The pavilion soon came into view, tall and dark against the pale sky. A hundred youths gathered at its entrance, shifting nervously as elders watched from above. The air smelled of wet wood and incense, and the ground still held last night's rain.
Morning had washed the village clean, but it hadn't washed away ambition.
Aria stepped into the crowd without hesitation.
Eyes followed her immediately.
Some curious.
Some bitter.
Some hungry.
She could feel the weight of their attention like hands reaching out to grab her sleeve. In her past life, it would have made her uncomfortable. Now it felt like nothing more than wind.
She carried five hundred years inside her mind.
She was light because she knew what was coming.
She was heavy because she knew exactly what she would have to take.
A voice rang out from above.
"Fall in," the academy elder called.
Her hair was snow-white, but her steps were firm, and her eyes were sharp enough to cut. She didn't waste time with ceremony. She didn't smile, and she didn't offer comfort.
"I won't waste your time with speeches," she said. "Follow me."
The youths moved quickly, filing into the pavilion. Their footsteps echoed across polished floors, and the grand hall swallowed their nervous whispers. Aria walked in the middle of the crowd, calm enough to look out of place.
Most expected the elder to lead them upstairs.
Instead, she turned toward a hidden stone passage and walked down.
The air changed immediately.
Cooler.
Damp.
And faintly humming, as if the mountain itself was breathing.
The stone corridor stretched downward until it widened into a cavern, and gasps broke out all around her. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like crystal fangs, glowing in shifting colors. Blues, purples, greens, and gold spilled across the walls, bathing the youths in strange light.
"It's… beautiful," someone whispered.
Another youth laughed nervously. "If I steal one, do you think I'll get executed?"
"Shut up," his friend hissed. "The elders are right there."
Aria didn't bother looking up for long.
She had walked this path before.
The Harthwyne Clan had built its roots here because the mountain had shown them mercy. Hidden beneath this pavilion was a spirit spring, a river of cultivation resources that could feed generations. Without it, the clan would have been crushed long ago.
The elder kept walking, leading them deeper.
The glowing colors faded, and the sound of water grew louder until it echoed off the stone. When they rounded the final bend, the cavern opened wide, and a luminous river appeared before them, glowing pale blue as moonlight poured into a stream.
Fish drifted lazily through it, their scales flashing as they turned.
Beyond the river, the cavern floor bloomed with moon orchids. Thousands of them swayed gently, their petals curled like crescents, glowing softly in blue and pink. In the dim light, they looked like stars scattered across the ground.
The crowd fell silent.
Even the most arrogant youths stared in awe.
The elder waited until the murmurs died down, then spoke.
"You know what to do," she said. "When your name is called, walk into the river. Continue as far as you can."