Flashback 1

Two weeks ago, before Milo left, snowflakes shimmered beneath the warm lights of the Crystal Capital. She saw a shop nestled between two boutiques. Inside floated trains and enchanted mobiles; shelves brimmed with puzzles, strange and impossible. And framed by golden light stood young Karl. Toys hummed in loops around him.

She tilted her head, moving closer. He stood as if the world had fallen away, and that tugged at her attention. He was no longer the feral child with impossible strength, he was simply a kid staring at a soldier figurine, holding it too carefully.

She said nothing, only watched. But he sensed her presence and turned, wide-eyed. She flinched.

“Do you think they really look like this?”

Aurora tilted her head.

“The real soldiers.” He shook the toy. “You think they look this perfect?”

There it was—the flicker of innocence. It stopped her cold. She scratched her head. Were they that perfect?

“Maybe,” she said softly. “I don’t know.”

He moved on, brushing past other kids.

Then abruptly—

“This.”

He held up a bear. Too big, with a red bow. Fluffy.

“This?” She raised an eyebrow, smirking. That was the first mistake.

Karl stuffed it back onto the shelf, cheeks coloring. “You’re right. It’s dumb.”

“Wait—”

She reached forward, then stopped. She’d said the wrong thing. She picked up the bear and followed. Karl stood frozen before the centaur display again. Then—crack. The toy shattered in his hands. But he didn’t stop. His fingers dragged along the nearest shelf—snowglobes toppled, glass exploded.

People stared, then screams erupted. He reminded her of the worst version of herself—angry, directionless, hurt. But the wonder that had been in his eyes...

Aurora lunged. “Karl—wait—”

He flung her aside without thought. Her back hit a display stand. Toys crashed around her. Karl’s hand rose. Blue energy flared. He aimed toward a family cowering near the door.

“Karl, no—!” She threw herself forward, knocking his arm off course.

“Get off me!” he shouted, twisting under her. “I won’t wait!”

More shelves collapsed in a wave of heat and pressure. A doll caught fire. A glowing orb cracked and howled. It would have escalated further if Milo hadn’t stepped in.

—------------------------------

Now, ash fell instead of snow. The toy shop was destroyed. So were the other buildings. Selus burst through the great doors, raising both arms. “Loyal citizens!” he bellowed, desperate fire spiraling up from his sleeves. “The traitors are among us! Rise up and help me!”

As if on cue, an army of footsteps thundered from the ruined outer gates. Aurora squinted and saw that they were not soldiers, but figures marked by the world they’d survived. Servants. An army of men and women who were skinnier with fire in their eyes. The people of the outer walls. The lowest in the Crystal Kingdom’s caste system.

And then, the air changed. And like lightning striking the center of the square—Milo appeared. This was his rebellion.

Bitch! Aurora glared.

The plaza went still. He didn’t speak, he didn’t need to. Even the fire on Selus’s palms dimmed, like it, too, remembered fear. Then, he stepped back, remembered himself, then fired. But his flames bent away from him, as if ashamed to burn in Milo’s presence.

Milo stared at him, one hand still in his pocket. He raised the other, Selus dropped as if his spine had increased in weight. The brute dropped with finality, his body kissing stone like a forgotten truth.

Selus staggered. “You knew,” he rasped.

Milo turned to him at last. “Of course I knew.” His voice was quiet and measured. “You were loud, predictable…convenient.” He tilted his head, almost fond. “Just the kind of fool I needed to destabilize the government.”

Selus’s gaze jerked to Aurora. “She told you?”

Milo’s smile disappeared like a blade sheathed. “Don’t look at her.” His foot pressed down on Selus’s shoulder, pulling a scream from deep inside. Aurora didn’t realize what she’d meant to him. At least, not back then.

Selus lifted trembling hands, his magic fraying into smoke. Milo watched him with indifference. “Thank you, Selus,” he said, almost tender. “You were an excellent piece. But the game’s over.”

Wait that means that… she was a piece too? Her cheeks flushed as the rage deepened. He lifted one hand. Black lightning struck Selus square in the chest. Despite herself, she flinched.

Milo turned. The sounds of war erupting around them. “You did well. You surprised me.” Then, to her horror, Milo turned again. This time, toward Kristo. A blade slid into his hand like an afterthought.

“And you.” His voice stayed calm. “You had one role to play.” The blade turned. “I told you to protect her. But you let him touch her.” Milo’s pause was cold. She saw what was about to happen. “No—!” She threw herself, pushing Kristo back, between them.

Milo’s eyes met hers, then narrowed.

It clicked. She understood now why Kristo had been so kind. He too was a pawn in Milo’s game, not just hers. His kindness to her had been a test. Her hands shook as her cheeks flushed again. She was furious that Milo had set him up to this. And that he had controlled her like a puppet.

Her gaze was razor sharp. She could kill him. And he saw it. She didn’t know then that she was still playing too perfectly into his plan. For a split second, he almost flinched. A shadow crossed his face. Then he looked away, toward Kristo.

His movements were a blur. Kristo gasped as Milo struck. Aurora lunged, but it was too late. Milo’s energy flung her back. She skidded across Selus’s blood before jumping back to her feet. He dropped Kristo and the blade, then faced her.

“Pick it up.”

He wasn’t smiling or taunting. At the time, she missed his true goal. She didn’t understand the motivation for his crude actions, didn’t realize that he equated his eventual death with saving her. That, to him, their hidden history led to inevitable consequence.

“One chance.” He gestured to the blade at her feet. It was crimson and still warm. “Thirty seconds, if you want to save him. I won’t resist. I won’t use any tricks or magic.”

Why was he giving her this chance? She stared at the blade, at Kristo, at Milo. It didn’t matter. He was a madman. She didn’t doubt he meant it — that he would kill him. Her only friend.

The seconds ticked like war drums. She almost hesitated. Almost. She grabbed the weapon. Time folded around her. Her body surged forward without hesitation. And then—something slammed into her side. She felt the heat and weight as a body collided with hers, dragging her down.

The blade skittered across stone. She turned, steaming, thinking Milo had lied. But when she turned, her eyes met Kristo’s. He was holding her wrists, bleeding. Her eyes were wild with fury while his were… softer. Worse, sad.

Then she realized, it didn’t matter what Milo had said to him. He didn’t take care of her because of Milo. All of that was really him. Blood smeared his lips. His breath came ragged. And he looked at her like she was still worth saving. For one second—just one—she hated him for it. For still believing she was worth saving, when she was trying so hard to stop.

She looked up. Milo wasn’t relieved, but livid. He stepped forward, quiet and terrible, and whispered: “She was ready.” His glare was not directed at her, but at Kristo. “And you intervened.”

Kristo swayed, blood trickled down his arm. He didn’t flinch as Milo stepped forward. She didn’t understand the fury in his eyes, not then. “You don’t deserve to live.” He jabbed, moving at impossible speed. Kristo collapsed.

Aurora lunged for the blade. Her fingers brushed metal, but Milo’s gaze pinned her.

“Your thirty seconds are over.”

She froze as his magic buzzed around him. “What should I do?” he asked softly. “Kill him?”

She just stood. She didn’t understand him. Not yet. But her instincts told her what to say. “If you spare him… there’ll be another chance.” She didn’t know where it came from. An ancient thrum moved between them. “And next time—I won’t hesitate.”

And for the first time, Milo blinked. A shadow of a smile passed his face, so quick you might miss it. His fingers curled slightly at his side before he straightened, gaze sharpening again.

“Finally,” he murmured, like he’d been waiting to hear it. He turned, taking a step forward. Then he paused, barely looking back. “Maybe, this time, you will move past me.” His voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “It would be... disappointing if you didn’t.”

Aurora’s eyes widened as she looked around. She moved toward Kristo and supported him to his feet.