Seven stood with his hands lazily tucked into his pockets.
He wore simple black clothes with a high collar. At a glance, he looked ordinary. But if one noticed his thin wrists, they would see how frail he truly was.
Eden turned around and looked at him.
There was no change in Seven's appearance. But now, looking at him, it felt like she was staring at a stranger.
'He changed again…'
Eden narrowed her eyes.
She studied his posture and the way he stood.
There was no trace of sluggishness that should have come with waking from a three-day-long unconscious state.
There was no hint of disorientation either.
If anything, he looked more composed than she had ever seen him.
She smiled.
"You finally woke up."
Before he could even process her words, Eden dashed forward and pulled him into a tight hug.
"Sister—"
"Don't."
He was flabbergasted.
He had no idea how to react.
Eden was not the type to show affection.
If anyone else had seen this, they would have undoubtedly questioned everything they knew about Eden Hart… the cold, ruthless woman feared by many, the one who never showed a shred of warmth or hesitation.
And yet, here she was, holding him as if he were something irreplaceable.
He was her favorite.
That much was clear
Still, the situation felt surreal. Awkwardly, he lifted his arms and returned the hug carefully as if he were afraid that the moment would shatter if he so much as breathed the wrong way.
|| Basic Information ||
|| Character: Eden Hart ||
|| Age: 24 ||
|| Talent: Weapon Mastery ||
Eden Hart.
His favorite character
The only person capable of wielding a sword that surpasses even those who trained their whole life with the sword.
In all honesty, the author did argue several times that if Eden was born in either assassination or archer family, she would have a mastery of them just like what she had on the sword.
The one who could master every weapon if she wanted to.
The one he had admired and followed through countless chapters.
The woman who had fascinated him more than any other.
And now, not only did he find himself in the body of her beloved younger brother, but he was standing here, close enough to feel the way her presence consumed the space around her.
…Close enough to hear the quiet, steady rhythm of her breath.
She was…
'Beautiful.'
No, even that was not enough to describe her.
Eden Hart's beauty was so refined that it felt as if she had been sculpted by the hands of a divine artisan, carved from the purest marble, and brought to life with an effortless grace that made even Iria whom he first thought was beautiful seemed to dull in comparison
Then, just as quick as it came, Eden let go.
Step.
She took seven measured steps back to her previous position.
The warmth faded.
In its place, the cold Eden Hart stood once more.
"You look well-rested."
Eden said.
Seven shivered, unsure how to respond.
The reason he decided to show up two hours after he woke up was because exploring the system's interface and finally found a use for the narrative points.
But more than that, he was busy talking alone in his room as he imagined what Eden Hart would say.
Talking with Iria took an unexpected turn, and thus he cannot allow it to happen again.
He needed to act more naturally.
"I… I had three days of sleep."
"Fair point."
Eden chuckled a little.
"I was beginning to think you wouldn't wake up at all."
Seven hummed.
"That would've been unfortunate."
"For whom?"
"For me, I… I suppose."
Eden had smiled at that response.
After all, the phrase 'I suppose' was Seven's most used words. Coincidentally, Seojin's most used phrase was also the same, second only after the 'Fudge'.
Hence, that response cleared her doubt of Seven's body being taken over by a dark mage or some cultist.
"You've changed."
Seven did not answer.
Of course, he knew.
He was not the same person who had lived in this body before.
The Seven Hart who once occupied this vessel was dead, drowned in a death of his own making. In his place stood someone else.
Someone who had no business being here in the first place.
But Eden did not know that.
She only saw a brother who had changed in the span of a mere three days. A brother who, for the first time, was not sneering, was not whining, and was not hiding behind his privilege like a cowardly child.
"Yes. It's about time for you to change."
Her gaze drifted back to Seven's wrist, searching once more for the telltale mark of a Zaen Gate. But his skin remained unmarked as there was no bracelet tattoo on his wrist.
She frowned.
'What is this feeling of unease…?'
She then dismissed the idea.
Perhaps it was nothing more than exhaustion clouding her judgment, and the result of staying awake for three days straight to ensure that no assassin would dare come near her younger brother.
Hah…
With a slow exhale, she tried to shake off the unease sensation inside her chest.
Then, without another word, she tossed the sword in her hand. It spun once before plunging into towards Seven who stepped back and barely avoided it.
If not because of the artifact that let him see a second into the future, that sword, though only tossed lightly by Eden, might as well have killed him.
Seeing how he dodged it, Eden chuckled.
She then slowly raised her arm toward the weapon rack at the edge of the training ground and a cyan glow pulsed from her fingertips, tendrils of Zaen energy surging forward like a living current.
The energy wrapped around one of the wooden swords and lifted it from its place before pulling it back toward her in a single, fluid motion.
The moment it reached her grasp, the glow dissipated, leaving only the weight of the weapon in her hand.
She then raised the wooden sword in an elegant motion.
"Show me."
"W–What?"
"Show me how you've changed
"...?!"
***
In the Basement Prison
The prison was a grave of flesh and bone.
Cells lined the stone corridor as their rusted bars held nothing but skeletal remains. Skulls littered the ground, some cracked, and others were grinning through the filth. Dried blood stained the walls and long since turned black.
At the farthest end, behind a reinforced cell wrapped in glowing inscriptions, a man was bound in chains.
His wrists were locked in enchanted Eternum cuffs.
It was a cursed restraint that sealed Zaen and stripped an individual of all strength. With them, he was nothing more than a man left to rot.
His body bore the marks of that truth.
His bones were protruded beneath torn flesh and deep gashes exposing raw muscle with some still weeping fresh blood, his fingers were broken at odd angles and his joints were shattered and reset over and over again, and his chest was a canvas of burns with overlapping scars.
Jet-black hair clung to his face, wet from both his tears and sweat— his head hung low, chin brushing against his collarbone, and the rise and fall of his breath was almost imperceptible.
He asked to no one but himself,
'How many times have they killed me today?'