The rope had fallen away when his hand moved again—not towards my wrist, not towards the bruise, reddened skin he had already seen.
But higher—to my arm.
His fingers closed there—firm, controlled—avoiding the injury with precision that did not feel accidental.
Then without a word—he pulled me forward.
For a second, my body didn't respond. My legs didn't respond. My legs felt foreign, unsteady after hours of forced stillness. The carriage floor shifted beneath me, the world titled as I tried to stand.
I almost stumbled—but he didn't let me.
His grip tightened—just enough. Not restraining, just supporting.
His hands already firm in support as I stepped outside following him.
The air hit me—it felt fresh against the skin, it was more alive than I had been recently—I took a deep breath. Someone whispered in my ears, quite soft—(Live Well)....
That filled my lungs with something deeper than relief, instead of beautifying it's presence I felt something pressed empty inside—eyes reddened with warmth of tears...…but I controlled.
As far as my sight could reach, it was all green—from scent to breath, all green.
It was forest, endless and watching. Tall trees surrounded us, their shadows long and heavy, as if they leaned closer just to observe.
My gaze shifted—soldiers, rows of soldiers behind, ahead, everywhere. Silent, armed, watching.
Not a single woman among them. Not a single presence that softened the atmosphere. Perhaps I was one, but couldn't say if I fitted the description on the time.
Only men shaped by war—and the man who led them.
Atticus did not release me immediately.
Instead, he guided me forward, his told steady as he led me away from the carriage, away from the suffocating box I had been confined in.
We stopped near a rock. It was large and uneven, as if it had grown out of the earth rather than placed over it. Beside it—a pond, a small, still, clear pond.
The surface reflected the sky with unsettling clarity, as if it were not water at all, but glass stretched then across something deeper.
"Sit."
His voice was low—not harsh, but not gentle either.
I obeyed.
Lowering myself to the rock, I felt its coldness seep through the thin fabric of my dress immediately. it grounded me, anchoring me to the moment.
For a while—neither of us spoke.
My gaze shifted to water, I bend to see my reflection.
I looked simple in the flowy gown that commoners wear on outings at summer, my hair loosely braided without much care. I suited more to my past status than the one I inherited in this transmission...…still fine, I looked pretty only—not much difference from my past life, except the hair being a little too long.
"—Bring it," he shouted back at someone, I didn't see. His voice cut through my thoughts.
I looked up to him, his hairs had also been braided similar to mine—glittering in the damp surrounding. Suddenly all the past memories started to jostle inside me, couldn't think how could someone even fear such a beautiful person.
A soldier approached quickly, head lowered, carrying something wrapped in clean white cloth.
Food—of course.
The smell reached me before the sight did. There was roasted meat, roughly prepared, unevenly cooked. The edges were charred in places, while the inside still looked too raw.
Not a meal—a survival.
It was handed to me. I froze for a second but didn't spoke anything. I had never liked meat. Not....like something that felt still felt too close to being alive.
I leaned back slightly.
He noticed.
"In the North," Atticus spoke with calmness, almost indifference, "you will survive on this."
Not a warning. Perhaps not a advice too…..but a straight fact.
I looked at him. He had already opened his portion. Sitting across me, I still remember the very first day when we first encountered in somewhat similar manner.
My eyes stayed unwavering on him as he bit into his portion. His action didn't show any restriction, as if he had tasted it for years now.
Around us, the soldiers followed suit. The quiet forest filled with the muted sounds of eating—rough, efficient, necessary.
No one complained. This was normal.
"…..I see." I lowered my gaze and dug a bite. I forced my fingers to move, my mouth chewed it unwillingly.....but watching My Love eat the same, my heart willingly inhaled it.
One bite, then another. I didn't taste it…..just swallowed.
Again. And again. Until—my stomach twisted sharply, nausea rose, sudden and violent.
I paused. My fingers tightened slightly.
Don't show it. Don't.
I swallowed again.
Atticus didn't gave a look once... fine, at least I was near him now.
...…
This time, I was no longer kept under restriction in the carriage. No one tied me.
Perhaps I wanted to on out on horses, but didn't know to ride. This was still fine. I sat with head on my legs, couldn't sense the scent around me much now.
And by the time we stopped again—night had already taken hold.
I stepped out without waiting. People around probably waited for a rest, some where chatting, joking, eating small snacks. No one would care now...….
I could feel some low breeze near, there was probably a lake nearby. I moved into the trees, just twenty meters away laid that beautiful water.
My legs carried me towards it almost instinctively.
I knelt, dipping my hand. Cold—
The sensation spread instantly, numbing the lingering sickness from earlier. I washed my hands, my fingers moving slowly, methodically.
And then—
The memories came. Though uninvited, though relentless...….it still came.
Laughter echoed in my mind—not kind, never kind.
Words whispered loud at my back, then to my face. I was that common target...perhaps a directed target—a villainess.
A jealous sister who would do anything to be in her sister's shoes, Lilian—beautiful, radiant. Gifted with golden hair that caught the light and soft features, it was quiet easy to grab attention of anyone. That one beauty with brain, she even exceled in fire mana control.
A pathetic lover who couldn't go to any extend to get a bit of Crown prince's attention who was already in love with Lilian.
An ignored child born from a mere maid, Anaphora—I was beaten for every small mistake, bullied. Her status made no difference to other's perception of her. Good at nothing, rather it be swordsmanship or study—I was s disgrace to the royal family. Being mixed blood, it was natural for me to not own any energy.
This world was built on it—power.
The royals had mana control—fire, ice, water. The commoners relied on their strength...…perhaps I was good at nothing.
"...…..How fitting."
The water rippled. Shattered by the after which seems to repeat the same past I leaned forward—
Just then---
A force slammed into me—strong, sudden.
Violent enough to tear me away from the edge before the thought could ever settle.
"What are you doing here?"
His voice—it broke. Not loud, but enough—enough to make something inside me freeze.
I was pulled back hard, my body colliding against something solid—him.
His grip tightened around me, fingers digging in just enough to anchor me to the place.
I blinked. Slowly.
"I…I was washing my hands," I answered looking into his eyes, but my answer felt small.
He breath more steady now, but his eyes still searched my face with sharpness, with intensity, almost accusing. As if he were trying to confirm something—something he had already feared,
"...Do not move without permission." He spoke after a certain low, tight voice. Should I consider it a warning, or perhaps a fear led by my past actions...
I stared at him. And then—unexpectedly a though slipped through------ This Anaphora....really was a problem.
I almost laughed. But I didn't.
"...Understood."
He didn't respond immediately. His grip lingered a second longer than necessary—then released.
Abrupt.
As if he had realized something.
Without another word, he turned slightly and crouched near the water. And then—
He dipped his hands in.
I watched, nah, I stared.
At first—nothing.
Then-- the lake changed.
Not violently, not suddenly. But unmistakenly .
The water around his fingers stilled. Then—a thin layer of frost spread outward.
It crawled across the surface like something alive, the temperature dropping so sharply that I felt it against my skin even from where I stood.
If felt silently deliberate, but gave some dead chills down to my spine.
My breath caught. His hand—it wasn't entirely human.
Not like this.
Faint scales surfaced along the back of his skin, barely visible beneath the pale light. They shimmered subtly, like ice forming over something alive beneath.
Beautiful.
In a way that felt wrong. But I can't avoid the beauty.
The air grew colder. Sharply piercing through the spine. And yet—
He comfortably splashed that cold water against his face, as if that coldness was nothing. As if it was all normal.
"….So it's true."
The memory aligned perfectly now,
Atticus Gabriol—the warlord, the blade of the empire, a man who commanded ice and water as if they were extension of his will.
He was someone capable of freezing the world—without rising a voice. Could flood a town in seconds if necessary. But he never out-stepped the boundary in any fight—all his win were purely based on his swordsmanship.
He was so powerful, still failed to get a bit of love from his parents. Always looked down by the elder brother- the Crown Prince, he always kept himself in isolation. At last even after so much power struggle—all he could get was the Northern territory which had nothing to be exact.
My eyes were still admiring his glimmering beauty. Perhaps I should have stepped back, but my heart refused to.
I wanted to be with him, there—forever. He was still the same—the same love I know. Same love I remember.