They stopped.

  It was as if something was physically blocking their path.

  A little girl stepped out from between the trees, her arms spread wide as if she could realistically stop three trained fighters and an impossible creature.

  "Stop right there! Now!"

  Her voice trembled, but her resolve didn’t.

  "Girl… don’t do anything, please…" Seralyn said, her breath unsteady.

  "Don’t do anything? You’re enslaving the hero!"

  "Hero?" Tila tried to correct, panting. "Sweetie, you got it wrong… this isn’t the hero. He’s just… magic, you know?"

  "But he looks exactly like the man who saved us!"

  Before Tila could answer, light footsteps came from behind the child.

  The mother appeared first, carrying a box.

  When her eyes landed on the Perfect Warrior standing motionless behind the three girls, her expression went out like a candle in the wind.

  "Ah…" was all she managed to say.

  The father arrived next, carrying a backpack.

  When he saw the unmoving, flawless silhouette, his face went pale.

  "Y-you…?" he murmured, too overwhelmed to find a name to call him.

  The mother placed a hand over her heart, emotional. "You came back… sir? We were on our way to another village, but… we didn’t expect to see you again…"

  The Perfect Warrior didn’t answer.

  He only stepped forward.

  One slow step.

  One inevitable step.

  One step that made the ground look fragile.

  The little girl beamed.

  "He came to see us!"

  The three girls wanted to cry.

  Tila whispered, frozen: "No. He didn’t… he’s not here to see anyone. He’s just… walking…"

  The father stood in front of the Perfect Warrior as if protecting something precious.

  "Sir… if you need help… we… we can help. You don’t need to pull a cart for anyone…"

  Anaalyn slapped a hand over her face.

  "I knew it… I KNEW this was gonna turn into a mess…"

  The mother touched the Perfect Warrior’s arm gently.

  "Are you hurt? Do you want to come with us? You don’t need to work for these girls."

  Then the warrior turned his head toward her.

  Slowly.

  Coldly.

  Emptily.

  Like a predator trying to understand why an insect was making noise too close to its jaws.

  The little girl smiled, delighted. "He remembered us!"

  Tila, Seralyn, and Anaalyn felt their blood turn to ice.

  Because that look…

  It wasn’t human.

  It wasn’t kind.

  It wasn’t the man who had saved that family.

  "You girls, stop this!"

  The father pulled a hatchet from his back, gripping it firmly.

  "This cruelty… forcing someone to pull a cart like an animal!"

  Anaalyn lifted both hands. "Calm down! Calm down! It’s not what you think!"

  "It is!" the little girl yelled. "You’re making him work against his will!"

  Seralyn almost fell backward. "For the love of the gods, not you too!"

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  But it was too late.

  The father took two steps forward, weapon ready.

  The mother pulled the child back.

  Tila tried to explain through trembling breath — not because of the father, but because the Perfect Warrior was right behind them.

  "He’s not… he’s not a person! I mean, he is, but he isn’t! It’s complicated!"

  Chaos erupted.

  Shouting.

  Confusion.

  And the father nearly attacked the Perfect Warrior — who ignored him completely — until Seralyn had to scream:

  "IF HE GETS UPSET, WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

  Silence.

  Real, crushing silence.

  Then everyone agreed it would be better to talk… far away from the monster.

  ---

  30 minutes later

  The three girls sat inside the family’s simple home, drinking water and trying to recover.

  The little girl glared at them.

  The mother served food.

  The Perfect Warrior stood outside… unmoving… staring into nothing.

  The father sighed deeply.

  "I’m sorry for all this… it’s just that he looks exactly like the hero who saved us."

  Anaalyn snorted.

  "Yeah, we noticed."

  Tila scratched the back of her neck. "And… sorry about the rope too."

  Seralyn sipped her water, still shaken. "I never want to play human-cart with a supreme monster ever again."

  The little girl crossed her arms in indignation. "I didn’t like how you treated him! The man was good to us!"

  Tila sighed. "I know, but… that one out there isn’t him. That’s just… magic. A copy."

  "But he’s just like him!" the girl protested.

  "That doesn’t help," Seralyn muttered.

  The father looked through the window, observing the creature standing still like a statue dreaming of violence, blocked only by a tree in its path.

  "If he’s not him… then why does he exist?"

  Anaalyn let out a weak laugh. "Great question. We’d love to know too."

  "My name is Rasnar. My beloved wife is Helmira and my dear daughter is Lysa. I’m sorry for the trouble."

  "No need. It’s… hard to understand what’s going on. But you said he saved you?" Tila asked, curious — and the other two even more.

  "One day bandits came to our home," Rasnar said with a long exhale.

  "I don’t remember how many entered… but before they could do much, he appeared. Killed them all with a few punches. In the blink of an eye he vanished. It was so fast… but unforgettable."

  "Oh my gods… he did all that alone?" Tila asked, shocked.

  "He did," Rasnar confirmed, glancing at the Perfect Warrior outside, holding the diary like it was just another rock.

  "He didn’t say a word. He just… appeared. And disappeared. Like a spirit."

  "Lysa spent days talking about the man who saved us," Helmira added nervously.

  "She said he had gentle eyes, even with blood on his face."

  "Gentle?" Seralyn almost choked on the word.

  "Looking at that thing outside… he doesn’t seem very gentle."

  "He’s not him," Tila repeated. "He’s just… a projection. A spell. A sort of copy."

  "But why does he look so dangerous?" Helmira asked.

  "Because the mage Revan was a genius bastard," Seralyn muttered, her cut cheek burning.

  "And apparently he left a special present for his apprentice."

  "Apprentice?" Lysa approached the three, eyes shining.

  "And who is he?"

  The three exchanged looks.

  Tila inhaled deeply.

  "Most likely… the same man who saved you."

  Lysa smiled.

  Seralyn looked away — because seeing that smile and imagining Bruno smiling like that hurt more than any injury she’d taken.

  Anaalyn crossed her arms.

  "Now it makes sense. He helps small folks and destroys big ones. Typical of him."

  "But there’s one thing," Rasnar said, suddenly tense.

  "Why is he heading in that direction? Your village is that way, isn’t it?"

  The three girls immediately looked at the door, where the Perfect Warrior remained motionless.

  Tila looked out the window.

  "Yes… he’s probably heading for the original. I just hope it’s for something good."

  Then Seralyn’s eyes widened.

  "Girls. Look."

  They turned pale.

  The Perfect Warrior had lifted one hand.

  One barehanded slice — and the tree trunk split clean in half.

  He resumed walking.

  "Shit. Let’s go, girls — we’re out of time."

  "Wait!" Lysa called.

  "What’s the hero’s name?"

  Anaalyn looked over her shoulder.

  "Bruno. His name is Bruno. Remember it well."

  "Bruno…" Lysa repeated, as if storing a treasure inside her heart.

  They ran outside — and the sight nearly knocked the breath from their lungs.

  The Perfect Warrior was already far ahead, walking with heavy, rhythmic steps, like a monster with a single purpose in existence.

  "His pace is increasing…" Anaalyn murmured.

  "No. He’s focusing," Seralyn corrected.

  "Now that he knows the way, he’ll go straight to Bruno."

  "For something good…" Tila repeated, but her voice was thin.

  Seralyn stared at the ground, then lifted her gaze — fear hidden under the steel of her composure.

  "Then we need to make sure this ‘something good’ doesn’t become a disaster."

  Lysa shouted from the door:

  "Come back alive, okay!? And tell him we’re fine!"

  The girls waved.

  And chased the creature that carried the name, the shadow, and the past of the man none of them understood completely —

  but whom all of them desperately wanted to protect.

  The road was long. But with the white horse, the Perfect Warrior wasn’t slowed at all.

  He pulled the cart without pain, fatigue, or even intention.

  He simply moved — inevitable, like time itself.

  Until, in the distance, they spotted a beggar.

  Broken.

  Starving-looking.

  Eyes empty.

  "Another problem… I pray he isn’t one more person Bruno saved," Seralyn muttered.

  The beggar finally seemed to notice them.

  But unlike any normal person, he didn’t react to the fact a "man" was pulling a cart like livestock.

  His eyes locked only on the girls.

  "You girls… be careful. I feel the presence of the ice demon ahead," he warned, walking beside the cart.

  "Ice demon? What do you mean, sir?" Tila asked.

  "Elaris… the ice demon. And if you’re not careful, she’ll take one of the things most precious to you."

  "Elaris? You mean the Ice Princess, right?" Anaalyn responded.

  "You know her?" Tila asked, surprised.

  "She’s been to my village. Nothing serious happened. Let’s just… ignore this crazy old man."

  "She was only waiting for you to know your precious thing…"

  He tried climbing onto the cart — Seralyn kicked him off without mercy.

  "How I wish he were faster… but at least he doesn’t stop," Seralyn grumbled, watching the Perfect Warrior continue in absolute silence.

  "I can see your village, Tila… but at least the pain’s fading," Anaalyn said, massaging her neck.

  "What is that?" Seralyn narrowed her eyes.

  A carriage — elegant, polished wood, silver details, silk curtains, frost-patterned symbols — stood near the village entrance.

  "A carriage? But—" Tila tried to see better.

  "No one here could afford something like that."

  "Then… someone brought it," Seralyn whispered.

  Anaalyn pulled the cart’s.

  "This looks bad."

  Tila recognized the symbol at once.

  A stylized silver snowflake.

  Her heart plummeted.

  "No… no, no…"

  "Please tell me this isn’t who I think it is," Seralyn murmured.

  Tila’s voice trembled.

  "Elaris… the Ice Princess… is in my village."

  "She’s not here because of him right?…"

  Tila whispered.

  "She came… because of Bruno."

  The Perfect Warrior kept walking, indifferent.

  But Tila, Seralyn, and Anaalyn?

  They sprinted.

  "Faster!" Seralyn shouted.

  "Elaris doesn’t visit villages casually, she doesn’t DO—"

  "SHUT UP AND RUN!" Anaalyn barked.

  Ice spread across the ground as they ran.

  Roofs frosted over.

  Villagers watched from afar, afraid of the luxurious icy carriage near the healer’s home.

  "Please… please…" Tila begged under her breath.

  If something happened to Bruno—

  If he was hurt—

  If Elaris was there for him—

  Seralyn was the first to reach the healer’s door.

  She shoved it open—

  And froze.

  The room was winter itself.

  Ice on the walls.

  Floating crystals like frozen stars.

  And at the center—

  Bruno lay on the cot, unconscious, pale, breathing softly.

  And Elaris — the Ice Princess — leaned over him.

  Her hand cupped his face with impossible gentleness.

  Her long blue hair draped like liquid frost.

  She looked no older than twenty-two, yet her noble presence filled the room.

  And she kissed him.

  A slow,

  deep,

  breath-stealing kiss.

  Tila froze at the door, world collapsing.

  Anaalyn released a curse so strong even the ice quivered.

  Seralyn went still, hand going to her blade without realizing.

  Elaris opened her eyes mid-kiss — icy blue, aware of them.

  She ended the kiss only when she wanted to.

  She released Bruno’s chin slowly, like closing a sacred ritual.

  Then turned to them with cold grace.

  A small, victorious smile curved her lips.

  "Forgive me…"

  Her voice was sweet, icy, sharp.

  "You must be his… friends."

  Seralyn trembled.

  Tila had no voice.

  Anaalyn’s fists cracked the frost forming on them.

  "But…" Elaris touched her own lips, still faintly wet.

  "It seems I’ve already won at something."

  She walked forward with the calm of someone who had already conquered.

  "If you intend to compete…"

  She leaned forward slightly.

  "...I suggest you hurry."

  A pause.

  Deliberate.

  Cruel.

  "Or I’ll win by a landslide."

  Then — something no proper princess would ever do —

  Elaris bowed.

  A graceful, taunting curtsy.

  She walked past them as if they didn’t exist.

  Frost trailed behind her steps.

  Tila tried to speak—

  "Wai—"

  No sound came out.

  Seralyn couldn’t move.

  Anaalyn muttered:

  "I’m going to kill that woman."

  Elaris didn’t even look back.

  She simply raised a hand in a soft, dismissive gesture.

  "Good luck."

  And left — leaving a trail of winter

  and three girls shattered from the inside out.

  Tila could only say one thing:

  "SON OF A BI—"