The first light of day filtered through the windows, gently illuminating the figure of a slumbering girl nestled on the bed. The abrupt intrusion of an alarm woke Ember from her sleep, compelling her to rise.

With an almost mechanical precision, she stood, stretched her limbs, and proceeded to the bathroom to initiate her morning routine. Every action was executed devoid of emotion, a carefully orchestrated dance of habit.

After getting ready she went to the dining room, where her family awaited. A quiet breakfast ensued, a mere prelude to the relentless demands of her upcoming day.

After Ariel died, Ember’s existence became a symphony of discipline and endurance. She spends practically everyday training.

The regimen she subjected herself to was a merciless gauntlet. Runs through unforgiving terrain, strength training that tested her very limits, and combat drills that honed her skills to lethal precision.

The grueling routine was etched into her very being, a testament to her unyielding resolve. Through every agonizing repetition, a singular mantra echoed in her mind, driving her forward: “I have to get stronger.”

Amidst the sweat and strain, Ember’s thoughts sometimes drifted to a memory, a fleeting echo of a young boy’s promise: “You’re never alone.” The memory would tug at her lips, coaxing a wistful smile even in the midst of hardship.

As night descended, Ember returned from her arduous training to once again share a meal with her family. Stepping into the dining room, her gaze swept over the familiar faces already seated, noticing that Avalon wasn’t in attendance. With a casual “hey,” she acknowledged Atticus’s greeting.

Anastasia, ever perceptive, “How was your day, honey?” inquired about her day, concern etching her features.

Ember’s response was an unchanging “it was fine,” the mask of composure firmly in place, but Anastasia’s worried gaze lingered.

Freya chimed in, “Are you getting ready to go to camp, honey? If you’re not ready–” 𝘪𝘳.𝒸𝘰𝑚

Ember’s voice cut through the question, “I’m ready.”

Freya and Anastasia exchanged glances, their shared concern evident as they faced the enigma before them. Ember’s quiet demeanor and withdrawn nature had become a growing source of worry for both of them.

Her once-guarded disposition had intensified since Ariel’s passing, causing her to retreat further into her own world, isolating herself from those around her.

Anastasia’s brow furrowed, reflecting her inner turmoil as she struggled to find a way to bridge the gap that Ember’s silence had created.

Freya, too, shared in the uncertainty, her usually assertive stance softened by the realization that Ember’s pain ran deep and remained hidden beneath the surface.

After the meal, Ember retreated once more, her destination clear, the training grounds that held both her sanctuary and her crucible.

As the day’s end approached, Ember’s unrelenting pursuit of strength continued, an unbreakable rhythm in the symphony of her existence.

***

The next day, a procession of gleaming hover cars surged through the landscape, their sleek forms slicing through the air. If one would look closer, you would see that they were heading outside Sector 3. They were currently close to the border, in an area devoid of life, a barren land.

Within one of these vehicles, “I still don’t get why we’re running. We’re not afraid of those white haired bastards” a man occupying the passenger seat said. He had black hair framed a face that seemed carved by the hands of experience.

He glanced at his surroundings, his gaze flickering over the landscape outside the window, lost in contemplation.

A voice broke the silence, originating from the driver’s seat. “That’s not the point. Master Alvis decided we should lay low for a bit. We would lose a lot of resources if we fight those mad men,” he explained.

“We wouldn’t even be in this mess if Ronad hadn’t kill that white haired monkey.” he retorted

“I’d advise you to watch what you say,” the driver cautioned, his tone steady and authoritative.

His retort was immediate, his voice laced with pride. “I’m not scared of—”

Out of nowhere, a towering ice wall, ten meters wide and two meters thick, materialized before the lead hover car. The driver’s urgent shout broke the silence, guiding his car to a narrow escape just in time.

The other hover cars followed suit, evading the icy barrier with split-second precision.

A sense of relief hung in the air, but the respite was short-lived. Ice spikes suddenly materialized above, piercing through the engines of the hover cars. Mere moments away from detonation, swift reactions saved the stronger occupants, but the weaker ones met a different fate, their vehicles becoming their icy tombs.

The survivors, hearts pounding, emerged from their vehicles, greeted by a scene of devastation.

A woman’s voice sliced through the tension, each word dripping with a chilling weight. “Don’t tell me you lot challenged the Ravensteins and now decided to run when things got rough.” The voice seemed to emanate from the very shadows, a spectral whisper that sent shivers through the men.

Gazing upward, their eyes met a figure that ignited fear’s flames within their chests. “The Ice witch!” One man’s voice quaked with dread, a name that encapsulated their collective terror.

Lyanna’s descent was a study in elegance, her landing a stark juxtaposition to the chaos that had just unfolded. With an unwavering gaze, she fixed her attention on the trembling men, her words a riddle that held their fate.

“Hard way or easy way? Please choose the hard way. It’s been a while since I’ve tortured someone” Her voice, laced with a disconcerting calmness, echoed like a siren’s call.

A collective cry erupted as the men’s primal instincts overtook reason. “Run!” Their voices melded into a cacophony of panic, and they fled utilizing their most powerful movement techniques.

Lyanna’s lips curled into a chilling smirk, her voice a haunting whisper as she uttered a single word that carried an undeniable weight.

“Domain.”

A whispered incantation, and a surge of energy painted the sky with an icy hue. A frigid cocoon, vast and all-encompassing, unfurled, ensnaring the men within.

In the blink of an eye, the world transformed into a frozen abyss, a wasteland that defied all notions of warmth and life. Those ensnared felt the bitter bite of cold, a cruel reminder that mastery over fire or ice offered no immunity in the face of Lyanna’s might. The terrain, flat and featureless, stretched endlessly, a canvas of desolation that mirrored the depths of their predicament.

Lyanna’s visage remained unflinching, her lips curling into a chilling smile. A procession of attacks, each one a manifestation of the men’s desperation, hurtled towards her. Yet, her stance remained unchanged, an eerie calmness enveloping her.

With a casual gesture, an ice shield sprang to life, intercepting the onslaught with ease. The attacks dissipated, their impact a mere flicker against her formidable defenses.

Ice spikes, sharp and unyielding, erupted from the ground, entwining the men’s legs in a frozen embrace. One by one, they fell, their struggles in vain as they succumbed to the relentless grip of ice.

Lyanna raised the only survivor’s chin and he met Lyanna’s gaze. Her touch was a chilling caress, her words a whispered command that sent shivers through his very being. “Resist, if you can.”

Dozens of master rank individuals, each a symbol of prowess and respect any where they go, met their untimely end without a chance to retaliate.

Such was the power of Lyanna Ravenstein, the head of the Silent Nexus!

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