There is no absolute good or evil.
Just the perspective from where we stand.
>>>
>>>
"How am I still alive?"
A wonder it was.
Buried deep within the snow, Riley woke up cold and quivering. It felt like being buried alive, breathing slowly becoming a struggle.
Boom.
His hand broke through the surface, then the other. He dug frantically until he saw light.
"I'm alive."
He muttered it with a frown, but just then a thought struck him and he plunged back into the snow, scattering it desperately until he found what he was looking for.
The frozen head.
"Mother..." he muttered, picking it up gently.
He let out a breath that curled into mist against his face. Then he looked around the mountain. Snow white in every direction. All that remained were the ruins of his home, the buildings still partially standing, half-buried. No corpses. Those had long since been swallowed by the snow.
"How long has it been?"
He swept his gaze across the terrain with an exhausted expression. It was obvious more than a few days had passed, perhaps even a few weeks. Which made the question that much heavier.
"How am I alive?"
He looked down at his free hand. His fingers were back, though the scars across his skin remained as they were. He touched his face.
"Haah."
He sighed, then looked around one final time. There was nothing left. Even if he wanted to find the bodies and give them all a proper burial, he knew it was impossible. The snow had long hidden them away.
"I need to get out of here."
He turned toward what seemed like the exit down the mountain and began trudging forward, feeling lightheaded but pressing on regardless. The cold was brutal. Merciless. His feet felt frozen, the chill burning deep within his bones. Each gust of wind left him shivering.
But he kept on. Only time would tell if he would ever make it out of this blizzard.
>>>
>>>
"How are the preparations for the festival coming along?"
The man in the oxblood long-sleeved shirt sat behind a desk laden with documents, addressing the staff members standing before him. The professors tasked with overseeing the upcoming festival had been summoned, though neither of them quite understood why.
"Everything is on schedule," the woman with glasses replied curtly, her attire rather more suggestive than strictly professional.
"The selections are done, all is set," added the other, a man who had settled casually onto the couch, unlike his colleague who had remained standing throughout.
"Good." The principal nodded slowly.
The two exchanged a brief glance before the man turned back.
"Is there... a problem?"
It was unusual for the principal to summon them both merely to inquire about festival preparations. That meant something more was at play, something urgent.
The principal sighed, setting down his pen.
"Riley Snow."
They frowned.
"What about him?"
"You were both assigned to monitor him. I need everything you have on the young man."
"Why, though? He's supposed to be dead," the woman said, her frown deepening.
"That's the problem."
The principal slid a letter across the desk. The woman, being closest, picked it up and read. It only took a brief moment before her expression shifted.
"What is this supposed to mean?"
She passed it to the man, who was now on his feet. He read it, and realization settled slowly over his face.
"It seems the decision to wipe out the Snow family was not the right call," the principal said, his gaze drifting toward the window.
"That doesn't make any sense. The prophecy states the vessel would come from the Snows. If they're all dead, that shouldn't be possible anymore," the woman said.
The principal glanced at her.
"Are they though?"
A pause.
"Wait. You don't think someone actually survived that day, do you?"
"You read the letter. Someone must have."
"This is bad," the man muttered, the weight of it settling in. "Someone who survived that would almost certainly seek revenge. And that's it, isn't it. That's how the vessel comes to be." His eyes widened as the full implication took shape. In trying to prevent a dreaded future from ever coming to pass, they had brought it into existence themselves.
"That's right. Whoever survived that day is most certainly the prophesied vessel."
"You're not thinking it's Riley Snow, are you? Riley is... Riley. Remarkable with a sword and word glyphs, perhaps, but unremarkable in every other respect. His team confirmed his death themselves. It can't be him."
"That's not why I'm asking about him."
The principal pulled out another document and slid it forward.
"What's this?"
He gestured for her to read.
"A record of every awakened aspect within the Snow family." She looked up. "Every single member?"
The principal nodded.
"Is that even possible?" the man asked with a frown.
"It is, though not widely known. Every awakening that takes place in the empire is recorded and forwarded to the royal house." The principal leaned forward. "Among all those names, there is exactly one with an unidentified aspect."
A beat of silence.
"Riley."
"Yes. Riley. The prophecy has not changed, which means someone from House Snow survived that day. This is only a theory, but... what if Riley Snow's unknown aspect is precisely what saved him from dying?"