Nerina’s P.O.V.

  『From the wicked, hide your unstained heart.』

  『But doing so will dye one's eyes red』

  The study was empty save for the sound of rustling parchment and the faint crackle of candlelight.

  The weight of the letter in Nerina’s hands felt heavier than it should. Words scrawled in pristine ink, each line a carefully woven threat wrapped in the guise of royal decree.

  She had two choices.

  Attend the Noble Rehabilitation Camp—a military training ground for failures, outcasts, and noble children deemed defective—

  —or refuse, granting the king an excuse to step foot onto Morwen territory under the pretense of a ‘personal visit.’

  The latter was unacceptable.

  A long-standing agreement, bound by blood and honor, had kept the crown’s grasp from ever touching Morwen soil.

  Even the king himself was not permitted to cross their threshold without invitation. A tradition upheld for centuries, carved into their laws with iron and steel.

  If she refused the summons, that law would shatter.

  The king would come, flanked by his entourage, all under the pretense of mere formality.

  But Nerina knew better.

  The moment they allowed the crown into their domain, the Morwen estate would be nothing more than another pawn on the board.

  And Nerina would sooner burn before she let that happen.

  She exhaled slowly, setting the letter aside as her choice had already been made.

  A place meant for noble failures—those who couldn’t wield magic, those with weak constitutions, and those deemed cursed.

  A dumping ground for the unwanted and a petty prison disguised as reform.

  And yet, she would go.

  Because if the past had taught her anything, it was that she had left behind precious things in that wretched place.

  Nerina had left them.

  The cursed children, pitiful souls damned by the world like herself —fodder discarded as garbage and left to rot.

  They bore no sins aside from being born, yet their own kind treats them like blight.

  Nerina had abandoned them once.

  She would not do so again, her role was of the 'villain' —not an incompetent wannabe, who bore evil with no purpose.

  “I refuse.”

  Ofcourse, things would not be so simple —when had it ever?

  Fate was a fickle mistress, always getting the last laugh and petty enough to leave a bad taste in the victor's mouth should she ever lose.

  Evelyn’s voice was sharp for once, clipped with a rare edge of panic.

  “The choice is not yours to make, Evelyn”

  “My decision is already made.”

  Nerina replied just as flatly, fastening the buttons of her riding coat.

  But Evelyn stepped forward, blocking her path—the girl stomped her foot hard and planted her heels deeply unto the floor.

  Quite an immature act in all honesty, such childish display unbefitting of the stoic and usually composed stature her friend had.

  —which all but entailed one reason, she was angry.

  “It's no different from entering hell willingly, you understand that right?”

  Of course she did. How could one ever forget?

  Nerin remembered every miserable moment—the cold stone barracks, the suffocating stench of damp earth and iron.

  The way whispers turned into daggers, the way every glance from her 'instructors' held nothing but scorn.

  She remembered the agony, the humiliation, the failure.

  How she had returned from that place hollowed out, too exhausted to do anything but cry for three days straight.

  But more than anything—

  She remembered those she could not save.

  Others who, like her —had been deemed unfit for noble society.

  Those who bore marks upon their skin, in their blood, in their very souls—marks that had been declared unnatural, unholy.

  Those who had placed their trust in her, who had once looked to her for protection and the shared burden of being unwanted.

  And she had failed them.

  This time, she would not.

  Now, she would not come as a girl struggling to survive.

  She would return as a Morwen.

  To be the 'hero' —however temporary.

  As the girl who had tethered on knives and danced with devils.

  The one who would never allow history to repeat itself.

  Thus, Nerina adjusted her gloves —her eyes meeting Evelyn’s gaze without hesitation.

  “How could I not? I'm of sound mind.”

  “Then why? You’re not that desperate to prove yourself, right?”

  

  Nerina almost laughed, it was such a pitiful reality.

  Once, pride had been her sole reason. The desire to stand tall, to show the world she was not broken despite their scorn.

  But this was different.

  This was no longer about herself.

  

  The damned souls who've trusted her, only to be abandoned when she failed to stand for them against the cruel hands of fate.

  “I have unfinished business. The bill comes due is all” nerina replied simply.

  Evelyn’s lips pressed into a thin line, she gripped the chair by nerina's desk and sat down with a swift edge.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh nothing much”

  Nerina continued, brushing past her even as evelyn crossed her legs to signal her frustration.

  “I just have a promise to keep.”

  Slender fingers grabbed Nerina's wrist, grip tight as Evelyn opted to strangle her stubborn friend if it meant keeping her in place and preventing the fool from ransacking the treasury.

  “Nerina Morwen”

  Evelyn rarely used her full name so plainly.

  It was usually Nerina, or idiot —always laced with familiarity. But now, her voice carried something else.

  A silent plea.

  “You're going to die.”

  "About time for once."

  "If you live, all you'll be is the sole reminder of countless horrible things!"

  “And I swore that will never happen again.”

  Nerina exhaled —physically she was there, standing in the Morwen House treasury and arguing with evelyn before her voyage to hell.

  But inside... her mind was racing, reliving the ash barren field covered in the scent of metal and blood.

  The two dinstinct smell merged unto one foul stench, metal began to rust while blood had started to dry.

  And the pile of corpses under her name would only continue to rise, the crimson stains on her hands would not fade but fester.

  This time, she would not break. Neither will she fail miserably like a wretched fool.

  []

  Stolen story; please report.

  Nerina would succeed...

  —no matter the cost.

  『From the wicked, hide your unstained heart.』

  『But doing so will dye one's eyes red』

  The study was empty save for the sound of rustling parchment and the faint crackle of candlelight.

  The weight of the letter in Nerina’s hands felt heavier than it should. Words scrawled in pristine ink, each line a carefully woven threat wrapped in the guise of royal decree.

  She had two choices.

  Attend the Noble Rehabilitation Camp—a military training ground for failures, outcasts, and noble children deemed defective—

  —or refuse, granting the king an excuse to step foot onto Morwen territory under the pretense of a ‘personal visit.’

  The latter was unacceptable.

  A long-standing agreement, bound by blood and honor, had kept the crown’s grasp from ever touching Morwen soil.

  Even the king himself was not permitted to cross their threshold without invitation. A tradition upheld for centuries, carved into their laws with iron and steel.

  If she refused the summons, that law would shatter.

  The king would come, flanked by his entourage, all under the pretense of mere formality.

  But Nerina knew better.

  The moment they allowed the crown into their domain, the Morwen estate would be nothing more than another pawn on the board.

  And Nerina would sooner burn before she let that happen.

  She exhaled slowly, setting the letter aside as her choice had already been made.

  A place meant for noble failures—those who couldn’t wield magic, those with weak constitutions, and those deemed cursed.

  A dumping ground for the unwanted and a petty prison disguised as reform.

  And yet, she would go.

  Because if the past had taught her anything, it was that she had left behind precious things in that wretched place.

  Nerina had left them.

  The cursed children, pitiful souls damned by the world like herself —fodder discarded as garbage and left to rot.

  They bore no sins aside from being born, yet their own kind treats them like blight.

  Nerina had abandoned them once.

  She would not do so again, her role was of the 'villain' —not an incompetent wannabe, who bore evil with no purpose.

  “I refuse.”

  Ofcourse, things would not be so simple —when had it ever?

  Fate was a fickle mistress, always getting the last laugh and petty enough to leave a bad taste in the victor's mouth should she ever lose.

  Evelyn’s voice was sharp for once, clipped with a rare edge of panic.

  “The choice is not yours to make, Evelyn”

  “My decision is already made.”

  Nerina replied just as flatly, fastening the buttons of her riding coat.

  But Evelyn stepped forward, blocking her path—the girl stomped her foot hard and planted her heels deeply unto the floor.

  Quite an immature act in all honesty, such childish display unbefitting of the stoic and usually composed stature her friend had.

  —which all but entailed one reason, she was angry.

  “It's no different from entering hell willingly, you understand that right?”

  Of course she did. How could one ever forget?

  Nerin remembered every miserable moment—the cold stone barracks, the suffocating stench of damp earth and iron.

  The way whispers turned into daggers, the way every glance from her 'instructors' held nothing but scorn.

  She remembered the agony, the humiliation, the failure.

  How she had returned from that place hollowed out, too exhausted to do anything but cry for three days straight.

  But more than anything—

  She remembered those she could not save.

  Others who, like her —had been deemed unfit for noble society.

  Those who bore marks upon their skin, in their blood, in their very souls—marks that had been declared unnatural, unholy.

  Those who had placed their trust in her, who had once looked to her for protection and the shared burden of being unwanted.

  And she had failed them.

  This time, she would not.

  Now, she would not come as a girl struggling to survive.

  She would return as a Morwen.

  To be the 'hero' —however temporary.

  As the girl who had tethered on knives and danced with devils.

  The one who would never allow history to repeat itself.

  Thus, Nerina adjusted her gloves —her eyes meeting Evelyn’s gaze without hesitation.

  “How could I not? I'm of sound mind.”

  “Then why? You’re not that desperate to prove yourself, right?”

  

  Nerina almost laughed, it was such a pitiful reality.

  Once, pride had been her sole reason. The desire to stand tall, to show the world she was not broken despite their scorn.

  But this was different.

  This was no longer about herself.

  

  The damned souls who've trusted her, only to be abandoned when she failed to stand for them against the cruel hands of fate.

  “I have unfinished business. The bill comes due is all” nerina replied simply.

  Evelyn’s lips pressed into a thin line, she gripped the chair by nerina's desk and sat down with a swift edge.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh nothing much”

  Nerina continued, brushing past her even as evelyn crossed her legs to signal her frustration.

  “I just have a promise to keep.”

  Slender fingers grabbed Nerina's wrist, grip tight as Evelyn opted to strangle her stubborn friend if it meant keeping her in place and preventing the fool from ransacking the treasury.

  “Nerina Morwen”

  Evelyn rarely used her full name so plainly.

  It was usually Nerina, or idiot —always laced with familiarity. But now, her voice carried something else.

  A silent plea.

  “You're going to die.”

  "About time for once."

  "If you live, all you'll be is the sole reminder of countless horrible things!"

  “And I swore that will never happen again.”

  Nerina exhaled —physically she was there, standing in the Morwen House treasury and arguing with evelyn before her voyage to hell.

  But inside... her mind was racing, reliving the ash barren field covered in the scent of metal and blood.

  The two dinstinct smell merged unto one foul stench, metal began to rust while blood had started to dry.

  And the pile of corpses under her name would only continue to rise, the crimson stains on her hands would not fade but fester.

  This time, she would not break. Neither will she fail miserably like a wretched fool.

  []

  Nerina would succeed...

  —no matter the cost.