( 10 Years Later )

Ten long, brutal years had passed since that terrifying first day in the forest camp.

Aria was no longer the fragile, scared eight-year-old girl who cried herself to sleep every night. She had been forged in fire, pain, and endless cruelty. At eighteen years old, she had transformed completely.

Her body was now lean, strong, and battle-hardened. Years of running with weights, climbing, sparring, and surviving impossible drills had given her powerful yet graceful muscles. Her movements were silent and deadly, like a shadow in the night. The constant wearing of the mask had become second nature. Her skin beneath it had toughened, and her warm mid-tone complexion — once called ugly — now glowed with a healthy radiance from years under the sun and harsh training. Her long dark hair was usually tied back tightly. Her eyes, visible through the mask’s narrow slits, were sharp, calm, and carried a quiet storm within them.

She no longer cried over small things. In fact, she rarely cried at all. The girl who once sobbed at every whip lash had learned to turn pain into fuel.

General Vark, now older and even harsher, stood in front of the entire camp one morning and declared in front of everyone:

“Out of all the dogs I’ve trained in my life… Aria has become the finest weapon in Eldoria. She is the best soldier this camp has ever produced. Faster than lightning. Stronger than most men twice her size. Deadlier than a venomous snake.”

The soldiers who once mocked her now looked at her with a mix of respect and fear. No one dared call her “ugly rat” to her face anymore.

But not everyone had been cruel.

In the second year of her training, when she was ten and still very much alone, one boy her age had approached her during a short water break.

He was tall for his age, with messy brown hair and kind but determined eyes. His name was Ruhan — the son of a low-ranking knight who had also been sent to the camp for elite training.

While others avoided the masked girl like she carried a plague, Ruhan sat beside her on a fallen log and offered her his water pouch.

“You’re not going to die on me, are you?” he asked with a small, awkward smile. “I saw you take that beating yesterday. Most kids would’ve quit by now.”

Aria had looked at him suspiciously at first, expecting another insult. But none came.

From that day, Ruhan became her only friend.

Over the ten years, they trained together every single day. They pushed each other harder. When Aria fell, Ruhan would secretly help her up when no one was looking. When Ruhan struggled with sword forms, Aria would stay back after training hours to practice with him.

One quiet evening, after a particularly exhausting day, they sat together at the edge of the camp near the forest, both covered in sweat and bruises.

“You’ve changed so much, Aria,” Ruhan said softly, wiping his face. “Remember when you were small and used to shake every time Vark shouted? Now you look like you could beat him in a real fight.”

Aria gave a rare, small chuckle behind her mask. “I still remember the day you first talked to me. Everyone else treated me like I had a disease. You… you didn’t.”

Ruhan shrugged, smiling. “I thought you looked mysterious with that mask. And honestly… I was lonely too. Having a friend who fights as hard as you do makes all this pain bearable.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while.

“Sometimes I still miss Mira,” Aria whispered, her voice barely audible. “My real mother… the king… my sisters. But I don’t cry anymore. I’ve learned that tears don’t change anything. Only strength does.”

Ruhan looked at her seriously. “You’re the strongest person I know, Aria. Mask or no mask. One day the whole kingdom will see it.”

Meanwhile, far away in the golden halls of the royal palace, life had been nothing but luxury for Princess Ema and Princess Isha.

Queen Lira, Aria’s biological mother, had completely rejected her own daughter. Instead, she had adopted Emily — the beautiful orphan girl from another kingdom — and treated Ema and Isha as her true daughters. The three of them were inseparable.

The king showered them with love, jewels, and attention.

Every few months, grand royal galas were hosted in the palace. Nobles, princes, and kings from allied kingdoms attended. Ema and Isha were always the center of attention — dressed in the finest silk gowns, adorned with diamonds and pearls, their fair skin glowing under chandeliers.

At one such recent gala, Ema, now twenty, was seen flirting openly with Prince Leo of the neighboring Kingdom of Sylvana.

“Oh, Prince Leo,” Ema said with a sweet but cunning smile, placing her hand on his arm. “Your dancing is simply divine. I feel like the luckiest princess alive when I’m with you.”

Isha, standing nearby with a glass of wine, laughed lightly but her eyes showed jealousy. “Sister, don’t hog the prince all night. There are other handsome guests who also deserve my attention.”

Later that night, in their private chambers, the two sisters dropped their sweet masks.

“I can’t stand how Prince Leo kept looking at that duke’s daughter,” Ema hissed, throwing her expensive necklace onto the bed. “She’s not even as beautiful as me! I should be the one he marries.”

Isha smirked cruelly. “Then we make sure she has an ‘accident’ before the next gala. A little poison in her drink… or a rumor about her family. We’ve done it before.”

Queen Lira entered the room, smiling proudly. “My beautiful daughters. Emily was asking about you both. She wants to join us for tomorrow’s outing. Unlike that disgusting creature I gave birth to… you three are my real pride.”

Ema laughed. “Mother, do you ever remember that ugly girl you threw away? What was her name again… Aria?”

Isha waved her hand dismissively. “Who cares? She’s probably dead in some ditch by now. Father sent her to be a soldier, remember? A fitting end for something so hideous.”

The three of them laughed loudly, their voices filled with jealousy, arrogance, and pure cunning. They had grown more vicious with age — skilled at smiling in public while destroying anyone who threatened their position behind the scenes.

Back in the soldiers’ camp, Aria finished another flawless training session. She had just defeated three senior soldiers in a row during combat practice. General Vark nodded at her with rare approval.

Ruhan walked up to her, grinning. “Another perfect day, huh? Want to practice archery at sunset again? I still need to beat your record.”

Aria nodded, a quiet strength in her posture. “Yes. Let’s train.”

As the sun began to set behind the dense forest, the masked warrior and her only friend walked side by side. Ten years of pain had shaped her into something unbreakable.

Yet deep inside, the little girl who once cried for her mother’s love still existed — buried under layers of steel and silence.

She had no idea that the world outside the forest camp was about to collide with hers once again.

Another ordinary dawn broke over the forest camp — cold, misty, and unforgiving as always.

Aria woke up before the horn even sounded. She had trained her body to rise with the first hint of light. She stood up, stretched her toned muscles, adjusted her mask carefully, and began her personal warm-up routine inside the small hut. Ten years had turned even her mornings into disciplined rituals. There was no room left for laziness or unnecessary thoughts.

BAAAAAARP!

The camp horn blared. Moments later, a soldier shouted outside, “All elite soldiers report to the central ground immediately! General Vark’s orders! Move!”

Aria stepped out of her hut, her posture straight and powerful. She walked with calm, measured steps toward the central training ground. Ruhan jogged up beside her, matching her pace.

“Any idea what this is about?” he asked, slightly breathless.

“No,” Aria replied flatly, her voice steady behind the mask. “Doesn’t matter. We follow orders.”

They joined the small group of the camp’s best soldiers — twelve in total — standing in perfect formation. General Vark marched in front of them, his scarred face serious, whip tucked at his belt.

“Listen up!” Vark’s voice boomed across the ground. “We have received a direct order from King Reginald himself. Tomorrow, Princess Ema and Princess Isha will be hosting a royal picnic near the Crystal Lake, along with several princesses from allied kingdoms. This is a high-profile event. There are rumors that a rival kingdom may have sent spies or low-level assassins to disrupt the gathering or harm the princesses.”

He paused, scanning the soldiers with sharp eyes.

“You twelve are the best this camp has. You will be their personal protection detail. You leave at first light tomorrow. Your job is to secure the entire area, stay invisible unless needed, and eliminate any threat without hesitation. Failure is not an option. Am I clear?”

“Yes, General!” the soldiers shouted in unison.

Aria stood completely still. Her heartbeat didn’t quicken. Her hands didn’t tremble. Nothing stirred inside her chest as she heard the names Ema and Isha. It was as if the general had mentioned strangers — or perhaps mere objects that needed guarding.

Just another task, she thought coldly. Secure the perimeter. Watch for assassins. Complete the mission. Return.

The little girl who once desperately wanted her sisters’ love had been buried long ago under thousands of whip lashes, sleepless nights, and lonely tears. The harsh training had forged her body into steel, but it had also frozen her heart. She felt no excitement, no hatred, no longing — only the calm emptiness of duty.

General Vark continued, “Dismissed. Prepare your gear. Rest well tonight. Dismissed!”

As the soldiers began to disperse, Ruhan turned to Aria with wide, sparkling eyes. He could barely contain his excitement.

“Crystal Lake? With the royal princesses?” He grinned widely. “Aria, can you believe it? We’re actually going to see Princess Ema and Princess Isha up close! I’ve heard so many stories about them. They say they look like fairies — skin like milk, hair like gold, beautiful like seductresses from the old legends. Imagine… real princesses laughing and enjoying themselves. This is going to be something!”

Aria glanced at him sideways as they walked back toward the huts. Her voice remained flat and emotionless.

“It’s just a protection detail, Ruhan. Nothing more.”

Ruhan laughed lightly, still buzzing with energy. “Come on, even you must be a little curious, right? They’re the king’s daughters. They live in the palace, wear the finest clothes, attend grand parties every month. Don’t you want to see what they look like after all these years?”

Aria stopped walking for a brief second. She looked at the ground, then forward again.

“No,” she said quietly but firmly. “I don’t care what they look like. I don’t care about the palace. My only job is to make sure no assassin reaches them. That’s all.”

Ruhan scratched the back of his head, noticing her cold tone. “You really have no feelings about this at all? They’re… well, technically your—”

“Don’t,” Aria cut him off sharply, though her voice stayed low. “They are not my anything. They are targets to protect. That is all.”

Ruhan fell silent for a moment, then gave her a small, understanding nod. He knew better than to push her on this topic. In all ten years, Aria had never spoken about her family except in rare, painful whispers.

“Alright,” he said gently. “We’ll just do our job perfectly, like always. And maybe… maybe I’ll get to see if the rumors are true.” He smiled again, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, a beautiful princess smiling at me might be the highlight of my entire life in this camp.”

Aria didn’t smile. She simply nodded once.

“Go prepare your weapons and armor. We leave at dawn.”

That night, while Ruhan lay awake in his quarters, imagining the elegant princesses and the luxurious picnic, Aria sat on the edge of her hard bed, sharpening her blades with slow, precise movements. No memories of her sisters’ cruel laughter surfaced. No pain about her father’s rejection. No longing for her mother’s warmth.

Only the quiet rhythm of stone against steel.

Complete the task. Stay alert. Return to camp.

The girl who had once cried for love had become something else entirely — a perfect, emotionless weapon.