Everything faded.
She didn't know how much time had passed.
But when consciousness flickered back for a brief moment, she realised she was lying under a blanket—tucked up to the neck. She didn't know where she was.
It didn't matter.
Pain had taken over every inch of her body. Sharp, unbearable pain—unrelenting, suffocating.
It hurts!
Everything hurts! Aghhh!
Her eyes couldn't open. She curled up under the blanket, humming to herself, trying to stay sane.
She rolled over, once, twice. Nothing helped.
No relief. No mercy.
For a moment—just a moment—she wanted to call out for someone to end it.
And then—
A cold hand slipped under the blanket. Pressed gently against her forehead.
The touch was so soft that even though the hand was cold, it warmed her heart instantly.
The pain began to fade.
Slowly. Gently.
Moments later, it was gone.
And she slipped into deep, dreamless sleep.
"Spring, I'm back! I'm coming in."
Spring opened her eyes, still in a daze, and slowly realized she was in the hut. She laid there, staring at the ceiling.
What happened… Was that just a dream?
The pain was... too real. It was just like—
The door burst open with a soft thud, and Spring sat up instantly.
Winter stepped inside, a radiant smile on his face.
"Hi, love." He kissed her on the cheek. "I'm glad to see you."
Spring smiled and hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Me too… How did it go? What was that all about?"
Winter had met privately with the king. When he left, he'd promised to tell her everything once he got home. And that moment had arrived.
"Uh… Dante wanted me to collect an item. But to be honest, I couldn't even see it. It was locked inside a chest. I'm not sure what he plans to do with it—or what it even was."
He paused, his smile fading slightly, concern slipping through the cracks.
"I have a bad feeling about this."
Spring nodded slowly. She'd thought the same.
Seeing him like that stirred something in her—something old, buried deep. Winter, worried, was rare. And it had been a long time since they'd been apart, even briefly. Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to a memory from long ago…
Over fifty years ago, not long after the rebellion, Spring had fallen ill. It was the kind of sickness that arrived early and refused to leave. The kind that bound you to bed for an unknown period of time.
She stayed with Summer during those days. Her condition was too fragile; she needed near-constant care. But there were times, maybe twice a week, when Summer had to leave town to gather provisions.
On those days, Winter would come to visit.
Sometimes, he brought peonies—her favorite. He didn't know how to help, not really, but he remembered that flowers always made her smile.
So he came.
And came again.
And again.
Still, Spring never answered the door.
From the outside, it looked strange. Poetic, almost. A cold-blooded knight like Winter—worried? That alone could've stopped time itself.
To see someone so powerful, so untouchable... helpless?
It was heartbreakingly beautiful. The kind of moment that made romantic fairy tales look dull.
He would knock.
And wait.
Not long after, it became just wait.
He never barged in. Never forced his way through. She didn't owe him anything. He just stood outside quietly, praying for her healing.
That small distance between them—it weighed on him like an ocean.
Surely, for the man who had the power to rip through space itself, this should've been nothing.
But it wasn't.
The man who was given the power to go anywhere in the world...
was suddenly bound.
When he asked, Summer always told him the same thing:
She's getting better.
But in truth, she wasn't sure Spring ever would. She just couldn't bring herself to say it out loud.
Winter didn't fully believe her—but even so, her words became a ray of hope in his frozen chest. The hope that one day, maybe, Spring would answer the door.
He wouldn't give up on her. Not now, not ever. Not on his life-long love.
So he waited.
And waited.
Days turned to months. Months into a year. Then two.
It was nearing three.
Until, one day—
She opened the door.
And the rest... is history.
Winter suddenly looked at Spring, as if caught in a trance.
He had just received a telepathic message.
That was Dante's specialty.
Winter took Spring's tiny hands into his and kissed each one gently.
"Although I'd be the happiest man in the world to sit and hear how things have been on your end," he said softly, "I'm afraid I have to go to Dante again."
Spring froze. She was still shaken—whether it had been a dream or not, she wasn't sure. But whatever it was, she didn't want to be alone now.
"But! You just arrived. Can I come too? Did he say you should come alone?" she asked in a single breath.
After all, Dante hadn't said anything more—but not less either.
Winter smiled faintly, asking:
"Hmm. Did you miss me?"
His calmness soothed her immediately but she did not respond.
Spring dashed through the house, throwing on her usual garment—this time not forgetting anything important—and returned straight into Winter's embrace.
Winter always looked at her as if she were the most treasured jewel in the world. And he treated her as such.
His very own snowdrop.
Winter smiled, placed a hand on her lower back, and lifted his other to open a rift—glowing and circular—right in front of them.
Together, they stepped through.
They stepped into the Throne Room, where Dante stood in his usual place, two fingers pressed against his temple.
But this time, he looked visibly tense—far more than when Spring had last seen him.
As soon as they arrived, he stepped down to greet them.
"Ah, there you are!"
"Dante," Winter said, lowering his head in greeting.
Spring couldn't even manage a proper hello. Her concern was written all over her face—and Dante noticed. So he got straight to the point.
"I know you've felt it. Not just noticed—but felt it, haven't you?"
He looked between them, then added:
"Something is wrong. Seriously wrong. I'll need you to stay close to Rowen for now. And you should expect more from me."
"Yeah, we figured as much," Winter said, glacially.
"So we just wait around until you tell us what's going on?"
"I'm sorry it has to be this way. I'm not hiding it from you. I just... don't know what it is for sure yet. I have an idea. But it's—"
"What?" Winter snapped, his patience thinning.
"I have to be certain first," Dante said, quieter now.
Winter hated this. He hated ambiguity. He didn't understand why, if Dante knew, he hadn't just summoned them the moment he suspected something. Winter had no interest in the kingdom's affairs. He'd made that very clear since the beginning.
"Dante," he said, almost grinding his teeth, "I'll tell you this only once. We are not your—"
But Spring gently lifted her hand.
He stopped immediately.
She turned to Dante, voice soft.
"Please, Dante. At least tell us why you called Winter. There must be something we can do for you, right?"
The contrast between her voice and Winter's was so striking, it reminded Dante of how they got their titles. Winter and Spring.
It made him smile.
Just for a second.
Then the smile faded.
"Not far from here, directly south, there's a small settlement. You'll know you've arrived when you cross a bridge over a pond."
He paused.
Then:
"All the people there—a few dozen—suddenly died."
Winter, who had almost dismissed the conversation, went still.
There had been cases like this—back when they were part of the Royal Army, just after their Ascension. And those cases were never simple.
It could be anything.
A robbery gone wrong. A lone madman.
But not two cases were ever alike—so there was no generalizing.
Once, a young woman had died from her husband's relentless beatings. With her final breath, she cursed him. Her soul was so furious that the curse wiped out the entire village, choking everyone—husband, son, neighbors—in their own blood.
That was the problem with curses.
They didn't discriminate.
But the ones that win by far in terms of collateral damage, are love related curses.
Curses like that usually emerged at the moment of death, triggered by rage and sealed in blood. Most were unintentional—grievances twisted into power at the last breath.
But once, the five of them had encountered something far worse.
A true curse. One created intentionally, through the sacrifice of living beings.
That was the kind of curse the Seasons never forgot.
The kind they still carried with them, like a scar they didn't speak of.
They never wanted to face that kind of horror again.
Winter's curiosity sharpened—but so did his anger.
He would never forgive Dante if Spring was made to suffer through something like that again.
And yet, there she stood—calm, resolute, that familiar glimmer of purpose in her eyes.
"We'll leave at once!" she said, her voice strong.
She was eager to help. But she also knew—this had to be connected to the greater issue Dante had hinted at. It couldn't be coincidence.
If it were just a task… a dirty job dumped on them…
Winter would've killed him.
They all knew it.
"Thank you, darling," Dante said, smiling—but he was looking at Winter when he said it.
His expression read: Take notes.
Winter sighed, turned to Spring with a smirk.
"Let's go, darling."
The emphasis made both of them smile.
Then Winter raised his hand again.
A rift opened—and they stepped through, headed straight for the bridge over the pond Dante mentioned.
They crossed the bridge and walked for a few miles, turning their heads to feel the air around them.
The settlement was just a cluster of wooden houses—some with small, worked lands attached, others with animal sheds. The place couldn't have held more than fifty people at most.
It was completely empty.
Spring felt an eerie sensation crawling up her spine. Her earrings, trinkets of fine magic, allowed her to hear everything within a ten-kilometer radius. Nothing could sneak up on her—no people, animals, birds, or even insects.
This time, she heard nothing.
The silence was so profound it made the hair on her back stand.
"I feel that too…" said Winter, his voice calm, but uncertain. He wanted to reassure her—but he wasn't sure how.
They walked slowly through the village, peeking into the houses through their windows.
"Winter… this has to be—"
"Yes."
It was a curse, for sure. Nothing else could explain this. No living thing was anywhere near them.
Winter closed his eyes, concentrating.
"There's a faint smell of blood."
"But… there's nothing here. Dante said they died, didn't he? Did something else happen?"
"If they're not in the houses or outside, maybe…"
They both paused, then looked at each other—and then down.
"Underground!" they said in unison.
Winter created another rift, and sure enough, it revealed a stone path beneath their feet. He jumped down first, holding up a hand to help Spring down after him.
The smell hit them instantly.
Blood. Decay.
So strong, they raised their arms to cover their faces.
"This has to be it!" said Spring, nearly in tears.
Winter's rift closed behind them, plunging the space into total darkness.
Spring reached into her pouch and pulled out a handful of leaves. She used alchemy—something most Royals scoffed at—to create glowing orbs of light. It wasn't flashy magic, but it had saved their lives more than once.
The orbs floated around them, pulsing faintly.
Winter watched them with a rare softness in his eyes.
They moved forward through the narrow path, the stench only growing worse. Until finally, they reached a massive round room. They couldn't see much, just four exits identical to the one they'd entered—spaced evenly along the circular walls.
They stopped, unsure which way to go.
Boom!
In an instant, all the exits slammed shut with stone.
They were trapped.
Winter dropped into a defensive stance.
"Stay close to me!"
Spring was already beside him—her back almost touching his. He didn't need to say it. She'd already heard it.
Something was coming.
A dragging sound—slow, heavy, like someone pulling a sack across the stone floor. But there were no footsteps.
Spring's floating orbs moved just far enough to show the horror slithering in from the dark.
Bodies.
Decomposed. Twisted.
Dragging themselves along the ground with their hands. Skin rotting. Limbs bent at unnatural angles.
They were everywhere.
Spring's sweat turned cold. She looked at Winter, her face pale with shock. Both of them were frozen.
Where were they coming from? What were they?
They had never seen anything like this. Not in all their lives.
Are people… coming back from the dead?
Winter snapped into action. He drew his swords and began slicing through the air with terrifying speed and precision.
But—
Nothing.
The blades didn't cut them. It was as if the dead were made of stone.
Winter looked down at his swords, stunned.
"No way… what the—"
Spring shook herself back into focus. That dream—or whatever it was—had reminded her of a fear buried deep.
She hadn't used her powers in years.
But this wasn't the time to worry about it.
The undead were closing in. Some were nearly brushing the edges of her boots.
She threw up a magical barrier, stopping them instantly. The corpses pushed against it, clawing and writhing—but could not get through.
Spring's nose started bleeding.
But she didn't notice. She stared, terrified, trying to think. What now?
"Spring…" Winter said, looking at her with the deepest care—and guilt.
He was doing the thing he hated most: putting her in danger because of someone else.
His eyes burned. He raised one hand and cast a spell.
The room exploded in a blast of piercing ice.
The frost spread like wildfire, freezing every corpse in its path.
They stood still, listening. Watching.
It worked.
The undead were frozen solid.
Spring let her barrier fall—but didn't move.
"Winter… what… what is that?!" she finally whispered. The fear cracked through her voice.
"Love, I… don't know," he said, holding her close.
She tried to return the hug—but her body wouldn't move.
They both stood there, deep in thought.
Winter gently placed his hands on her arms and looked into her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak—
And the ice shattered.
"Winter!" Spring screamed.
"I'll get us out!"
He started hastily forming another rift—but before he could finish, a voice echoed across the chamber.
Low. Feminine. Soft. Deadly.
"Drop dead."
The moment the words left her lips, the corpses collapsed in unison.
Again.
Nothing moved.
It was over.
Spring and Winter couldn't see her—not yet. The light didn't reach that far.
But Spring knew.
As the terror drained out of her, a smile bloomed on her face. Her heart skipped.
"Summer!"
It was her.
Sin made flesh.
Eyes of the dragon.
Long red hair with unsymmetrical braids and golden rings woven through them.
Thin, muscular, dravarynian.
A dysfunctional mother-figure that Spring simply adored.
Summer stepped forward, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor.
She moved slowly—likely to avoid dirtying her extremely expensive shoes.
"You two sure know how to make the most of your time, I'll give you that! Just look at this mess!"
She laughed.
And was immediately tackled by Spring, who threw her arms around her and buried her face in her chest—highlighting the vast difference in height between them.
"Where have you been?! I missed you so much! You haven't said a word in years—I was so worried about you!"
Summer smiled, unable to help it, and looked down into Spring's eyes.
"Come on, Spring. Worried? Why would you worry about me? You know I don't like writing. It spoils the fun of seeing your faces in person—like now."
Winter sighed, though there was a smile tugging at his mouth.
"So... you like making people worry."
"You can call it whatever you like." She turned to him. "Winter. It's been a while."
Her voice was warm, but her posture was stiff.
Winter and Summer had always had a complicated relationship. They didn't fight like Fall and Winter did, but they didn't like each other either. They kept their distance. Maybe out of respect.
Maybe out of fear.
They were each other's counter arcanes—and that carried weight.
"Yes. And you came just at the right time."
"I always come at the right time," Summer said, smiling far too suggestively.
Spring's face went completely red.
Of course.
She forgot how lewd Summer could be.
"Summer!"
"I'm sorry, Your Highness! Old habits die hard."
Your… Highness…
Hearing it again—that name—after all these years, stirred something deep in Spring's heart.
She hadn't heard it in so long.
Once upon a time, she had been... Her Highness.
"So… what happened here?" asked Summer, her voice casually curious.
"We don't know. I was hoping you might have some idea," Winter replied.
They were both visibly shaken, and seeing them like that made Summer feel uneasy for the first time in a long while.
"There must've been some kind of curse. But… like this…" Spring's voice cracked. Her emotions swallowed the rest.
"One that brings the dead back, huh?"
The way Summer said it—so blunt, so unfazed—made Spring jump.
"Don't just say that!"
"But it's true, isn't it?"
Summer lowered her gaze.
"I think we should leave and let Dante know what we found. They'll stay dead now, I assure you."
At least the ones in this room.
"Yes. We should leave," Winter agreed.
He raised a hand and swiftly created a rift between them that led straight back to the palace. They leapt through.
Winter remained turned toward the rift as it closed, staring at it as if expecting something to crawl through after them.
Nothing did.
They landed in the Throne Room.
But it was empty.
Dante was nowhere in sight.
"And here I thought I'd get to see him again too…" Summer said, her voice dripping with obviously fake sentimentality.
She didn't hate the king, not exactly—but she shared Winter's desire to avoid state affairs. If Dante called, it meant work.
Every time.
"Where could he be? He's always here," Spring said softly.
"He can't stay away forever," Winter muttered. "He'll be back. Let's not wait around for him."
His annoyance was starting to show.
"Didn't even bother to leave us a note."
He turned to Spring. He was tired—and just wanted to go home and lie down with her. He'd already been away far longer than he liked.
"Yes, yes. You two lovebirds should go," Summer teased, flashing a grin as she pointed toward the stairs that led to Dante's private library. "I'll check around for him. Might find something interesting in the meantime. Catch you later."
"He's not here. No one is… How odd." Spring said instantly.
She could hear everything in the castle.
"Then I'll wait," Summer replied with a shrug. "I don't mind that either. Surely the king has some honeywine stashed somewhere."
She smirked. "I love a good hunt."
Spring looked at her, and her heart sank a little.
They'd just reunited—after years of silence. And now they had to part again.
She wanted more time.
Winter noticed.
He sighed. Then smiled softly.
"No," he said. "I'll stay."
Spring's eyes lit up.
"You should go with Summer, love. Take your time. I'll… wait for Dante. I'd rather give him the details now than come back later anyway. If he doesn't show up fast, I'll find something to write the report on and leave it behind."
Spring threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
She pulled back and whispered, "Thank you."
Then turned with a bright smile.
"Summer, come with me, please! We'll go… in town!"
Spring's radiance lit the room.
And Summer followed.
They walked slowly from the castle to the very crowded town.
The streets were bustling, as always.
Spring and Summer wandered aimlessly through the noise and color, talking about all kinds of things—mostly Summer's breathtaking adventures.
She was living a carefree life, unbothered by whatever the next day might bring. She made just enough money through small jobs—nothing terribly illegal—but enough to take her to every corner of the world.
Spring looked at her in awe, asking a million questions a minute.
They paused here and there at pawn shops, pretending to be interested in dusty rings or strange talismans, just for fun.
"Summer... why were you there?" Spring asked. "Did Dante tell you to go?"
"Huh? Where?"
"Back there. In that dungeon."
Summer almost laughed.
"Oh! You mean how I came in to save the day!"
"Actually, yes! So how did you—?"
"It was genuinely a coincidence," Summer said, waving her hand lazily. "I was about to come to the castle, but I had to make a small trip there. I was looking for someone. I didn't expect... that."
She paused, a little more serious now.
"I was given a job. From a rather... uninteresting man. But he was offering good coin. He asked me to deliver a lock back to his hometown—to give it to his wife, as a sign that he was alive and thinking of her."
She looked away.
"He said he hadn't heard back from her in a long time... and wouldn't be able to return himself anytime soon."
Spring's eyebrows creased with concern.
Before she could say anything, Summer waved a hand again and grinned.
"Your Highness! Enough about me already!" she said, only half-mocking. "How are you? Be honest with me—is he treating you right?"
Spring laughed, flustered. "Of course! He really is… the best."
But mid-sentence, her confidence faltered.
The words didn't quite land. Like she wasn't entirely sure.
Summer noticed. Of course she did.
But she didn't press.
Instead, she changed the subject.
"I want to tell you a story I heard while I was on Tikadilly Mountain. It's a scary one. There's this ancient tale about a berserk—"
She went on, animated as always, her voice rich and rhythmic.
Spring was listening.
Until she wasn't.
And Summer's voice slowly faded out of focus.
As they walked through the city, the streets churned with people—so many that every face blurred into a mass, indistinguishable and forgettable.
All except one.
One man caught Spring's attention—and she didn't know why.
He was tall, with long black hair tied back neatly. His robes were black, flowing, elegant. His face was unfamiliar.
Maybe… a Royal?
The way he walked. Effortless. Confident. Familiar in the most haunting way.
Her breath caught.
He approached. He was going to pass her.
And just before he did—he tilted his head. Slowly. His golden eyes met hers.
He smiled.
A small, mischievous smile.
And whispered, so soft only she could hear it:
"Spring"
That was all.
The crowd swallowed him whole.
But Spring froze in place.
It felt like a dagger had been driven through her chest—so sharp and silent she couldn't even breathe.
That smile…
That smile.
That smile!
No.
No, no, no. It couldn't be.
She stared blankly ahead, couldn't even blinking, her arms wrapping around herself as if to keep from falling apart. But it was too late.
She was spiralling.
That tiny, rogue spark still buried in her heart had ignited.
The internal ground she had so carefully rebuilt shattered beneath her.
Every wall she'd raised—leveled. Every thread of healing—undone.
Her insides burned.
That smile ran loose in her mind now—dragging with it the past.
Friendship. Joy. Love.
Betrayal.
All loose, once again, in complete chaos.