Victoria Tiger
Killian kept running, dodging soldiers and weaving through corridors. Eventually, we escaped. The place we'd been trapped in was a mansion. Once outside, Killian moved like a ghost—silent, swift, striking only when needed. But even those necessary skirmishes stirred up trouble. We left the city and entered the forest, but no matter how well Killian covered our tracks, the soldiers kept following. And then I started feeling... strange.
Two days passed. We didn't stop. Well—he didn't. I was on his back the entire time, useless baggage.
Eventually, we came to a large river. Killian stopped and gently dropped me from his back. He was panting, but it was controlled—sharp inhales, steady exhales. He splashed water on his face, letting the sunlight reflect off the surface. Then he looked at me.
Hood down. Dagger sheathed behind his waist. Blank gaze. Silver hair fluttering in the wind. He looked my age, but he moved and fought like someone who had already lived a thousand lifetimes.
He knelt and reached toward the stump where my arm used to be. His violet irises shifted to blood red, pupils narrowing into slits. A pale blue light gathered in his hand, then enveloped my shoulder. The sensation was soft… cold.
A glowing white arm began to form—growing slowly, taking shape, then settling into a natural color. I stared, wide-eyed. Shocked. Confused. Speechless.
His eyes faded back to violet. He exhaled and tried to stand—then dropped to his knees, breathing heavily.
"Are you okay? Killian!" I asked, my voice full of worry.
"I'm fine," he replied. "Let's move. We're close to the border."
"But aren't you tired?" I asked. He had carried me day and night for two days straight.
"Don't worry. We have to move," he insisted, standing again.
We followed the river upstream. Killian said there'd be a bridge—a crossing point. He was right. A small village was built around it. But something about the place felt… off. The villagers were all smiling, but it wasn't real. I'd grown up around enough politicians and nobles to recognize fake smiles when I saw them. Their eyes followed us, even as their lips moved in casual chatter.
I glanced at Killian's back. Still calm. Still walking. Unbothered.
We were almost at the bridge when—Boom!
An explosion shook the air in front of us. Wind whipped through my hair, and when I looked up, the bridge was gone. Just... gone.
Then came the laughter. Loud. Cruel. Familiar.
"Hah... ha, ha, HA! Did you really think it would be that easy, hmm? Your Highness?" a voice taunted.
He stepped out of the crowd, that same sadistic smile curling his lips. I clenched my jaw, fury simmering beneath my skin.
"Oh come now, Princess," he continued. "Didn't I say not to ruin that pretty little face of yours? Not that it matters anymore. You see, I was ordered to capture you both—but let's be honest, I want the War Demon Prince. He's far more valuable than you."
He stopped a short distance away, his eyes flicking down to my regrown arm.
"My, my... what's this? Incredible. So the rumors were true. You can regenerate limbs, huh? The stories say the War Demon King could fight for months—no scars, no losses. Tell me, what was that just now? Hashi Art? A special ability?"
I looked at Killian, waiting for his reaction.
And then, for the first time… I saw it.
His expression changed.
Rage.
"Shut up," Killian said, his voice low and lethal. "You're starting to annoy me."
"Huh? Oh please, forgive me, Your Highness," the man sneered, giving an exaggerated bow.
Killian didn't respond. He just drew his obsidian dagger, eyes locked on the man.
"HA, HA, HA! Demon Prince, LET'S FIGHT!" the man roared, grinning maniacally.
Around us, the villagers began to close in—pitchforks, shovels, pickaxes, hoes. Gardening tools. Farming weapons. We were surrounded.
"Stay behind me," Killian ordered. His voice had dropped to a cold, quiet rumble. A pale blue aura surged around him.
"Killian..." I whispered. Something about him had changed. His presence felt dangerous—more than ever before.
"Stay behind me," he repeated, still not turning to look at me.
His energy glowed faint and cold, like the color of winter.
Like the color of snow.