Rebirth System: Blood and Ash

The room felt too small.

Aric sat curled on a thick velvet cushion, his tiny, frail body leaning against the stone wall. His legs dangled off the side of the seat, feet barely brushing the ground.

The air was cool, the chill of a fading summer creeping through the cracks of the old palace walls, but Aric felt warmer than usual, a slight fever running beneath his skin.

His caretaker, a woman with a kind face, moved about the room. Normally, she hummed softly as she worked, always with a calmness that made the boy feel safe.

But today, there was no humming. She fidgeted instead, her movements sharp and restless, her hands wringing a cloth that didn't need wringing.

Aric noticed how her eyes flickered toward the door every few moments, a tightness in her brow that hadn't been there before.

"Miss Edina," Aric's voice was soft, barely louder than a whisper. He hated how weak it sounded, hated how every breath felt like it took more effort than it should. "Why are you so... worried?"

She flinched at his words, her fingers halting for a moment before resuming their nervous dance. She turned to him, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Worried? No, no, young prince. I'm just tired, that's all. It's been a long day."

Aric didn't believe her. He had always been more observant than people gave him credit for. He might have been weak, his body fragile, but his mind was sharp. He could see the fear in her eyes, the way her hands trembled ever so slightly.

"Where's mother?" he asked, his small voice cracking just a little. "She hasn't come to see me." Chapter Explore:

Edina's face tightened. She turned away, busying herself with folding blankets that were already neatly stacked.

"She's… she's busy today. Very busy. Important matters with the court."

It was a lie. Aric could hear it in the way her voice wavered, like she was speaking too quickly, trying to cover something up.

His stomach twisted, a dread forming deep inside him. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

"I want to see her."

Edina didn't turn around.

"Not now, Aric. Maybe later."

He sat there, staring at her back, his little fists clenching at the fabric of his cushion. It wasn't fair. Why did everyone always keep him locked away? Why did they treat him like glass, as if he would shatter with the slightest touch? He was a prince, wasn't he?

He deserved to know what was happening. He deserved to see his mother.

Edina made her way to the door, glancing back at him with that same strained smile. "I'll be right back, alright? Stay here, be good. I'll bring you some tea."

The moment she left, the room felt suffocating.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

The silence pressed down on him, heavily. His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of fear and frustration mixing in him. He couldn't just sit here, waiting. He had to know what was going on.

With more effort than it should have taken, Aric pushed himself off the cushion, his legs shaky beneath him.

Every step he took felt like a battle, his body weak and unsteady, but his determination kept him moving. He slipped out the door, his small frame hidden in the shadows of the grand hallways, careful to avoid any passing servants or guards.

The palace seemed darker than usual. The walls that usually brought warmth to the halls now felt suffocating, the flicker of torchlight creating long, eerie shadows across the stone floors.

His breath came in shallow gasps, but he kept moving, following the faint sounds of voices—loud and angry—coming from deeper within the palace.

As he turned a corner, he saw the doors to the grand hall ahead, slightly ajar. The voices grew louder, more frantic.

His heart raced, sweat breaking out across his skin.

Something in him told him to turn back, that whatever was behind those doors wasn't meant for him. But he couldn't. He had to know.

He crept closer, peeking through the small gap in the door, and his entire world shattered.

His mother knelt on the floor, her regal gown torn and stained with blood. Her dark hair, usually so carefully arranged, was matted and hanging in clumps, her face swollen and bruised.

There was blood everywhere—on her skin, on the stone beneath her. And beside her, an executioner stood, his hands gripping the hilt of an enormous sword.

Aric's breath caught in his throat. He tried to scream, but no sound came. His legs locked, his body frozen in place as his wide eyes took in the horrifying scene.

In the crowd, courtiers and nobles sneered, their faces twisted in righteous fury. Their voices blurred together in a mix of hatred, calling for blood, calling for her death.

Aric couldn't make sense of it. How could they—people who had once bowed before her—now demand her execution?

Then he saw him—his father.

The emperor.

Sitting on his throne, watching. His face was stone, his eyes dark, but Aric saw something flash there, just for a moment.

His father quickly wiped at his face, his fingers brushing away the moisture in his eyes before he stood and stormed out of the hall, his steps quick and immediate, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.

Aric felt his knees buckle, his legs giving out beneath his frail form. He fell to the floor with a soft thud, his trembling fingers gripping the edge of the doorway as his life seemed to collapse.

His mother, as if sensing his presence, turned her head just enough to see him. Her swollen eyes softened, and she smiled—a small, broken smile.

The same smile she gave him when he was scared, when he was sick, when she held him close and whispered that everything would be alright.

But it wasn't alright. It would never be alright.

The sword came down.

Aric watched in silent horror as the blade sliced through the air, through her neck. Blood splattered across the stone as her head fell, rolling a few feet away from her body.

Her eyes, still open, still gazing at him, were the last thing he saw before everything blurred into a nightmare of red and black.

The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices a sickening roar in his ears.

Aric wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to do something, but all he could do was sit there, his small body shaking, his throat burning from the scream that never came.

His vision darkened, and for a moment, he felt like he was drowning.

"Prince!"

"Prince!"

"Prince!"

Aric's head shot up, heart pounding in his chest as his breathed in short gasps.

For a moment, the echoes of the crowd's cheers still rang in his ears, the flash of steel, his mother's smile before the sword fell...

But then, reality came.

The cold bit at his skin, the smell of snow and blood filled his senses, and the rough movement beneath him reminded him that he was far from that place, far from that past.

He blinked against the harsh winter wind and looked around, disoriented.

His eyes adjusted to the white expanse of the northern lands, where frost clung to the trees like ghosts.

Around him, the world was quiet save for the soft crunch of snow beneath heavy hooves. The fur of a thick cloak was draped over his shoulders, and the warmth of a body leaned against his own.

He quickly realized he was on horseback, no, a Kriger.

His hand brushed against something soft and cold—blood, but not his. His eyes trailed up to purple hair stained with red, twisted and tangled by the wind.

He was leaning against Yrsa.

"Where—" Aric's voice croaked, throat still raw from the fight and the dream.

Yrsa shifted slightly, glancing back at him over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker.

She held up his mask, her gloved fingers turning it between them. The mask was smeared with blood, cracked at the edge where it had hit the ground.

"Looking for this?" she asked, her voice low and casual, though there was an edge to it, a teasing grin tugging at her lips. "It fell while you were getting beat up."

Aric blinked, then reached for the mask.

His fingers trembled slightly, the lingering exhaustion making his movements slow. He took it from her without a word, staring at the bloodstained surface, the fractured lines running through it.

"Might as well not put it on." Yrsa's voice broke through his haze, her laughter light but sharp. "You're quite handsome, especially with blood on you."

"Please... stop talking," Aric muttered, his voice a whisper, his head falling foward against her shoulder as his body gave in to the weight of his fatigue.

Yrsa laughed again, it wasn't a cruel laugh—just amused, as if the world and all its pain were nothing more than a fleeting joke to her.