The cold never used to bother Winter.
Born with magic coursing through her veins, her affinity to ice was as natural as breathing. Yet now, standing alone by the shattered arena's edge, arms crossed and brows furrowed, a strange warmth simmered beneath her skin.
She watched Hajun from afar—his calm expression, the dangerous air around him, the sheer power he displayed earlier. It wasn't just magic. It was something primal. Something earned.
"That guy…" she whispered.
He had stood against five rankers—and won.
Not with flashy spells, but with terrifying skill, precision, and instincts honed far beyond their years. She remembered the moment he caught her eye during the entrance exam—wild, mysterious, too quiet for someone with such power.
Now? He felt untouchable.
"Winter," a voice called. Her teammate, pale and wide-eyed. "He got summoned by the gods."
She stiffened. "What?"
"They sent him a divine order… The tower called him."
Her heart skipped.
That place was no joke. Only elites—S-rank hunters, chosen disciples, or nobles with god-blood—were ever summoned to the Tower. For a student to be called?
Insanity.
Or genius.
Or revenge.
She looked up, finding him still there, holding the scroll with a faint smirk.
There was no fear in his eyes.
No confusion.
Just certainty.
And something else…
Hatred.
Winter's hand trembled slightly.
Not out of fear.
But out of the realization that she wasn't looking at a rival anymore.
She was staring at a storm.
A storm named Hajun Ardyn.
And somehow… her heart beat louder every time he looked her way.
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