That night, the sky above the city was cold and empty, stripped of stars. Torches blazed, casting long, feverish shadows across faces twisted with rage, fear, and hysteria. In the center of the square, a little girl of seven was dragged forward, her small body stumbling with every harsh tug. Her long red hair was matted and tangled, her face streaked with dust and cuts. She looked fragile, breakable, and yet in her eyes burned a faint light that had not yet been extinguished.

“That child brings destruction.”

“Since her birth, disaster has plagued the kingdom. She is not human.”

“Only her death can save us.”

The voices struck like knives, each word cutting deeper. Ashtoria stood frozen, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths, her eyes trembling with confusion. She did not understand.

‘Why… why do they hate me?

What have I done wrong?

I was only born… I never harmed anyone…’

Her hands were bound, and the rough rope was looped around her small neck. They forced her onto the gallows in the city square, where the wooden beam loomed above her, thick and unyielding.

The rope tightened. Her body was lifted.

CRACK!

Her throat was crushed. Air vanished. Ashtoria kicked wildly, struggling for breath, reaching for anything that might save her, but her arms were bound tight. Pain exploded in her neck, fire burned in her chest, her vision blurred. Her small body writhed helplessly.

Around her, the crowd roared.

“Kill her!”

“Do not let the demon live!”

“Die! Die!”

Then the stones began to fall.

Thud! Crack! Thump!

Rocks slammed into her head, her shoulders, her stomach. Blood streamed down her temple. Each strike was a condemnation, as if the world itself rejected her very existence.

Ashtoria wanted to scream, wanted to cry out for help, but no sound came. The rope strangled every voice, leaving only a ragged, broken rasp.

‘Why…?

Why must I die like this?

I never did anything wrong… I never committed any sin!’

Tears spilled from her eyes. Her chest burned, her head spun. Slowly, her strength drained away. Her legs stopped thrashing, her body sagged against the noose.

And in that moment, something inside her shattered.

She stopped fighting.

She let her body hang.

She felt the world cast her aside completely.

‘If this is my fate… if the world itself wants me dead…

If I was born only to be hated…’

Hatred erupted within her chest. Not only toward the people throwing stones. Not only toward the crowd. But toward the world itself, which had rejected her from the very beginning.

Her tears turned to fire. In her mind, a scream tore loose:

‘If I am a monster, then I will become one!

I curse you all!

Die! Shatter! Burn! Collapse into nothing along with this world!’

Her fury ignited the sky.

Black clouds swirled above the square. Thunder rumbled, the earth quaked. The rope strangling her trembled, then split apart—snapping as if burned from within. Ashtoria’s small body crashed to the ground. She coughed violently, gasping, her eyes glowing red with an otherworldly fire.

The villagers who had jeered fell silent. Fear drained the color from their faces.

“W-what is that…”

“She… she really is a demon!”

Then the wave came.

BOOOOOM!

The ground split open. Stones flew like shrapnel. Screams filled the air. Dozens of people were hurled back, their bodies broken, blood soaking the earth. The survivors crawled, shrieking in agony as their flesh tore apart, consumed by the curse that had been unleashed.

Ashtoria, who had nearly died moments before, rose to her feet. Her small frame shook, blood dripping from her brow, her face torn with wounds. But her gaze had changed. Her crimson eyes burned with a cold fire, as merciless as the curse itself.

The people who remained fled in terror, their cries ringing through the night.

“Monster…”

“Demon child…”

“Destruction…”

And there she stood, Ashtoria, a child with eyes of hatred burning against the world.

In that moment, she understood the truth.

.

.

.

The crackle of a campfire stirred in the silence of the night. Insects sang faintly from the forest’s edge, weaving a rhythm of nature into the stillness.

Footsteps approached through the brush. Riven emerged, freshly bathed, his hair still wet and dripping. He carried two blankets and a large fur jacket—cheap, but warm.

Without a word, Riven handed the first blanket to Melly. The little girl snatched it eagerly, squeaking as the night air bit at her skin. “It’s freezing!” she cried, wrapping herself until her small body disappeared into the folds.

Riven turned to Ashtoria, holding out the second. “Take this. Sleeping outside at night, especially in a forest, can be brutally cold. As a noble, you probably have never had to endure that. It may not be comfortable.”

Ashtoria shook her head softly. “I do not need it.”

Riven frowned. “Cold can be cruel. I once saw a beggar fall asleep and never wake again. So please, take it. I insist. I will not have you sick tomorrow.” His voice sharpened with faint annoyance. “Or is it that you refuse because it is only a cheap blanket?”

Ashtoria studied his face, and in his stubbornness she saw something else, something genuine. Concern. After a pause, she nodded and accepted the jacket. It was simple, even heavy, yet oddly reassuring. The warmth it carried was more than fabric. It was intention.

She lowered her eyes, staring at the ground. No words followed. Silence lingered, but it was no longer heavy. It was peaceful.

After a time, Riven doused the fire, smothering the glowing embers with water so as not to draw wild beasts. They settled against a broad, flat stone, still warm from the fire.

The night deepened.

They lay close, their shoulders brushing. Melly curled between them, buried in the blanket. Riven wrapped himself in the jacket, bracing against the chill.

There was a reason they chose to sleep outside that night instead of inside the carriage like the night before. When they woke up in the carriage that morning, their bodies felt stiff and sore. The cramped space offered no comfort.

Minutes passed before Melly wrinkled her nose and sat up. “Riven, you smell. I don’t want to sleep next to you.”

Riven snorted. “You’re the one who smells. You did not bathe, dirty brat.” He sniffed himself but caught no scent.

Melly scooted over to Ashtoria’s side. “We should sleep close together so we stay warm.”

Ashtoria shifted, and now her shoulder touched Riven’s directly. He said nothing, only stiffened slightly before closing his eyes, sinking into meditation, drawing mana into himself until sleep claimed him.

Melly was the first to drift off.

But Ashtoria did not sleep. She gazed at Riven’s resting face. In silence, she tried to decipher what she felt—a strange warmth in her chest, something that frightened her in ways she could not name.

And so the night stretched on, wrapping them in quiet, a fragile peace beneath the stars.

Ashtoria never once allowed herself to sleep.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep