Life.

Deep-blue eyes mirrored the tiny white bloom at her fingertips. Her hair fell like a waterfall, veiling half a porcelain-pale face. She tilted her head, staring at the last petal. If she plucked it, the answer would be—

Survive.

It had been decided the moment she chose to pick the flower.

Petals are born numbered, like stars counted by fate.

Her lids lowered; long lashes quivered like moth wings. She breathed a whisper, soft as night rain. “Fate, is it?”

Defiance flared first, like ember under ash. “I don’t buy fate,” she said with a lazy smile that cooled to ice. “Let’s see what else you can do to me.”

She lifted her head. Her gaze flashed like lightning, slit the void for a thousand meters, and speared the silver moon.

Air surged. Wind ran wild. Her hip-length hair turned crystalline strand by strand, floating up. It drank moonlight without giving any back, becoming pure black—so black it dazzled—as if it had condensed every shadow in the world. Yet it wasn’t the black of the [Demon King], not quite. It was orderly, regimented, darkness drilled into ranks.

The [Demon King]—Ye Weibai—ruled a darkness more chaotic, unruly, a storm that refused a leash.

Her left eye hid under a slant of bangs. Her right, deep blue, held a heaving ocean; waves rose and broke inside. Beneath her, a black iron cross stayed silent. Her body drifted. A white skirt with lace worked at the hem danced with her dark hair.

She only lifted her chin, and the clinging fatigue blew away like mist. In its place rose a keen, kill-cold air, like winter steel.

Black radiance whirled around her like a cyclone. It gathered into massive petals, unfurling outward. From above, a great black rose bloomed under moonlight.

She stood at its heart, feet on the cross, chin raised to the sky, a stem swaying in shadow.

In that moment, a black-haired, blue-eyed girl in a white dress stood like a sovereign of night.

Noble. Austere. And dangerously beautiful.

When a gold-haired, gold-eyed girl stepped from the forest, silver sword in hand, drawn like a moth to a flame, her eyes fell on that scene.

Aerin’s lips parted. Her step locked, rigid. Her wide eyes flooded with awe and a hungry yearning.

She marveled at the other girl’s frost-sharp poise—and envied her blaze of bloom.

Beneath that, a strange echo stirred. She saw, in that girl’s silhouette, a sliver of herself.

Contradiction bit. The other had the stance Aerin chased and never caught, yet looked—just a little—like the weak, helpless Aerin she knew.

The ridiculous thought flashed and was cast aside like chaff in wind.

Master Bai’s voice slid through her mind: Your companion lives in here.

Breath stalled. Her scalp prickled like frost. So it’s her? My first companion?

Strong and beautiful like this?

I’ll be friends—with someone like her?

Aerin’s eyes overflowed with pure, unhidden joy, bright as sunrise on snow.

That—would be wonderful.

She lifted her gaze and stepped forward, but before she could speak, the black-haired girl spoke first.

“You’ll die.”

It was as if time rewound. The black rose around her folded back, petal by petal, then shattered into soot-fine powder and drifted away on a wind you couldn’t see.

That kill-cold aura ebbed like a tide. Laziness returned like a cat to its perch. She settled lightly onto the iron cross, body reclined, skin like coagulated cream. She tilted her head, one eye half-lidded, a sleepy look tossed at Aerin. She yawned and said, almost carelessly, “Step into this ring, and you’ll die.”

Die?

Aerin froze mid-step.

Only then did she notice it: with that black iron cross as the center, the circle around it was barren. Not a single blade of grass dared. It felt like a forbidden spell of Life-Withering carved into the ground.

She pressed her lips, steadied her breath, looked up to the girl, and spoke. “My name is Aerin. As for my family name—Master Bai says I’m not yet qualified to give it.”

“Mm.” The black-haired girl nodded, calm as still water.

“Then—”

Aerin lifted her eyes, hope bright and careful, like cupped flame.

“And you?”

“Trouble.”

“Eh?” Aerin hunched her shoulders.

“Don’t get me wrong. Not you.” The girl sighed, a gust across winter reeds. “My name’s long. Saying it’s a hassle.”

“Then… a nickname.” Aerin thought, then perked up, excitement sparking like flint. “I—I could give you one? I’m pretty—”

“No.” The refusal was clean, a blade in the air. It nicked Aerin’s sudden enthusiasm. The girl added, cool and soft, “Lustrous. Call me Lustrous.”

The letdown lasted a heartbeat; the name of a new companion lit her spirits anew.

“…Lustrous?”

Lustrous didn’t explain. She lay there with sleep heavy on her lashes, moonlight skimming off.

Aerin let it go and gathered herself, then asked the question that mattered most. “Lustrous… would you—”

“I would.” The answer snapped like a flag.

“Eh? Eh?” Aerin blinked. “I didn’t finish.”

“You’re this era’s [Hero King], aren’t you?”

“Uh… yes.”

“That’s enough.” Lustrous sounded blissfully unbothered.

“I thought…”

She’d expected refusal. That lazy, cold air around Lustrous felt like winter that turned people away.

She thought she’d have to climb mountains, pay prices, trade promises, and win a first nod. Then build that nod into trust through battles shared—like the knight stories she devoured.

“Then should I refuse?”

“No! Please don’t!” Aerin jolted, almost stepping into the dead ring. She halted just in time, breath slashed thin.

“Ah.” Lustrous sighed, a breeze through pine. “Then I’ll ask one thing—”

“O-okay.”

“Aerin. Why do you want to become the [Hero King]?”

“I—I…”

Fear swept first—cold along the spine, scalp prickling.

No.

No—something’s wrong.

This question—others had asked. She had asked herself—again and again.

Why be [Hero King]?

To kill the [Demon King], save the [World].

She had answered that countless times, a mantra hammered into iron.

That answer was law and creed and—faith.

It was the last wall that let her keep living under sneers and stares.

She fights for the [World]; she will not quit for a scrap of personal gain.

Yet after all those self-answers, tonight, here, under Lustrous’s gaze—she hesitated.

In that split-second of white-out, a thousand answers flickered like gnats. None fit the road of “justice” and “sacrifice” she’d sworn.

The glitch lasted a blink, an infection caught and burned out. The proper answer rose, as it always did.

But—

Aerin had, indeed—

changed.

…

…