The Extra's Rise-Chapter 207: Northern Sea Ice Palace (8)

Seraphina was somewhere else entirely—back in a memory as sharp and biting as the frost in the air.

It began with laughter. Soft, clear, like ice chimes tinkling in the wind. It echoed through the grand halls of the Northern Sea Ice Palace, a place of shimmering cold and breathtaking beauty. In her mind’s eye, she saw her mother moving through those halls, her presence commanding yet elegant, her footsteps barely making a sound against the polished floors of enchanted ice. Sculptures lined the corridors—serpents twisting in frozen coils, wolves locked mid-leap, plum blossoms caught in an eternal moment of bloom.

The palace was a wonderland. It was a place where the air itself carried a quiet melody, where the walls seemed to glow under the pale northern lights, where her mother’s laughter turned the winter cold into something warm and alive.

Seraphina, small and bright-eyed, had once followed at her mother’s heels, trying to step exactly where she stepped, her little feet crunching in the snow-dusted halls. Her mother’s hand was warm as it closed around hers, her voice a gentle hum of stories and promises.

"One day, this palace will be yours."

Seraphina had believed it, once.

But memories have a cruel way of turning.

The cold that had once been comforting became suffocating. She wasn’t there when the palace fell, when the enemy descended like shadows stretching across the ice. She had been at Mount Hua Sect, under her father’s care—or rather, under his shadow.

She had not seen her mother’s final stand, but she had heard the whispers.

A storm of ice and steel. An explosion of magic that could have frozen the stars themselves. A final, desperate defense.

And then—nothing.

Gone.

The news reached Mount Hua like an avalanche. A few words, spoken too quietly to hold the weight of what they carried.

Her mother was dead.

Her home was gone.

Her father—her indomitable, untouchable father—did not look at her when he heard the news. He did not gather her into his arms, did not kneel to meet her gaze. He had simply turned away.

From that moment on, he barely saw her at all.

Seraphina could count on one hand the number of times her father acknowledged her in the following years. He was consumed by something greater now—a singular, all-devouring goal. The Martial King. The man who stood at the peak of the world, an obstacle in her father’s relentless ascent.

And Seraphina?

She was not an obstacle.

She was simply nothing.

She did not cry. She did not plead for his attention. She did not demand to be seen.

Instead, she turned to the only person left—the boy her father had brought back from some far-off battlefield. Sun Zenith.

He was four years older than her, quiet and composed, a boy who was already a legend in the making.

Seraphina had wanted to believe in him.

She had wanted to believe she was not completely alone.

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She found him alone one day, standing beneath the great plum blossom tree in the sect’s courtyard, where the pink petals fell like slow-moving snow. In her small hand, she held one of those petals—soft, delicate, the very symbol of Mount Hua’s philosophy.

She stepped forward, gathering her courage.

"Sun," she said, offering the flower.

For a moment, he looked at her.

And then—smack.

His hand knocked hers aside, the blossom tumbling to the ground. He stepped on it, grinding it into the dirt without a word, before walking away.

Seraphina did not move.

She did not cry.

She only looked at the crushed petal beneath his heel, her hands curling into fists.

She was six years old. And she understood then that she had no brother.

That was the last time she reached for him.

The years passed.

Seraphina was not alone, not truly. Her uncle was kind, and the elders adored her, but she always felt it—the emptiness where a father’s love should be. The absence of warmth in a home that was never really hers.

By fifteen, she was admitted to Mythos Academy. The best academy in the world.

Her father had barely acknowledged the achievement.

Sun had set records. He was the youngest Ascendant-ranker in history. His name was whispered with awe, his future already decided—a ruler, a kingmaker, a monster among prodigies.

By comparison, Seraphina’s accomplishments meant nothing.

She did not care.

She was strong. That was all that mattered.

Then, she arrived at the academy, and she met them.

The monsters of Class 1-A.

Rachel Creighton, the Saintess of Order.

Cecilia Slatemark, the Archwitch.

Lucifer Windward, the Prince of Prodigies.

Ren Kagu, the Warborn.

Jin Ashbluff, the Necromancer Prince.

Ian Viserion, the Draconic Heir.

And at the very bottom of that list—Arthur Nightingale.

She did not pay him much attention at first. Rank 8. Weak. Forgettable.

She assumed he would be replaced soon, relegated to Class B where he belonged.

But he wasn’t.

He grew stronger. Faster than anyone expected.

She watched as he drew Rachel’s curiosity, Cecilia’s amusement, Lucifer’s cautious respect.

She began to see it—the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he never seemed quite what he appeared to be.

Arthur Nightingale was not weak.

He was something else entirely.

A puzzle, more enigmatic than the prodigies who had already been written into history.

And Seraphina?

She was intrigued.

She was confused.

And, though she did not know it yet—

She was falling into his orbit.

Love was a mysterious thing. Sometimes it crept up like a slow-burning ember, warming gently before you even noticed. Other times, it struck like a sudden storm, all-consuming, impossible to ignore.

The only constant truth about love? When you love someone, truly, your desire to be theirs outweighs everything else.

Seraphina fell in love with him.

Looking back, it felt inevitable. Arthur Nightingale. The man who kept defying expectations, who refused to be ordinary, whose very presence bent the world’s narrative around him like a gravitational pull. His care for her—hidden beneath layers of wit and steel—unraveled her defenses in ways she hadn’t expected. His voice, his presence, the way his azure eyes held her in their quiet depths, as if whispering that she belonged there, with him.

She wasn’t the only one.

She saw it. She felt it.

Arthur kept rising, like the tide, relentless and undeniable. He dethroned Lucifer Windward, the man who had seemed unshakable, and in that moment, Seraphina had almost given everything to Arthur.

Almost.

But not quite.

It was only when he returned to Mount Hua Sect, when he stood before her again, when he spoke with that same quiet certainty—not demanding, not pleading, just being there—that she understood the full weight of her feelings.

And then, he brought her here.

To the place where her mother had died.

The island she had never returned to.

The trauma she had buried, the pain she had ignored, the memories she had locked away—all of it should have crushed her under its weight.

But with Arthur, it didn’t feel heavy.

With Arthur, it felt light.

With Arthur…

Everything felt right.

She took a step forward, her breath catching as a figure emerged from the mist of memory.

Platinum hair, almost silver, flowing like silk. Ice-blue eyes—Seraphina’s own eyes, but wiser, older, holding warmth where hers held frost.

Her mother.

Not truly, of course. Just an illusion, woven from magic and longing. But for a moment, just a moment, it didn’t matter.

Seraphina’s hands trembled at her sides.

"Mother," she whispered.

The illusion did not speak, only watched her, the way she used to—calm, patient, understanding.

Seraphina swallowed.

"I…" Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. "I am not a bad daughter for wanting to move on, am I?"

The illusion tilted her head, silent. Seraphina clenched her fists.

"I love you, Mother," she said, her voice stronger now, steadier. "I always have. But I can’t be consumed by this anymore. I don’t want to be consumed by it."

She took a breath, one deep enough to settle something inside her.

"I am done drowning in despair, in the unfairness of it all, in the emptiness of what I lost. Because…"

Her fingers brushed against her chest, where her heart beat steady and strong.

"Because I found him."

The illusion flickered, but her mother’s gaze never wavered.

Seraphina smiled—a real smile, small but certain.

"I found him. The man who fills the void in my heart. The man who loves me, even when I struggle to love myself. The man who has done more for me than I ever thought possible. He… he is willing to go further for me than I have ever gone for him.

"And I want to try." Explore more at novelbuddy

Her breath hitched. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat, pushing through it.

"We’re far from perfect. We don’t even… have a relationship. Not yet. But I want to believe in it. I want to believe in us.

"Because… you would want that for me, wouldn’t you, Mother?"

The illusion smiled.

Not a grand, glowing expression. Just a soft, knowing look—a look Seraphina had forgotten, buried under years of frost and silence.

Her chest ached.

"This is goodbye," she whispered. Her voice cracked, and for once, she let it.

She closed her eyes, exhaling softly.

"I love you."

When she opened them, the illusion was gone.

Shattered like frost under sunlight.

She was back in the room.

The silence was vast, achingly real.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, a crystalline drop of warmth against her cold skin.

She wiped it away with the back of her hand, inhaled deeply, and steadied herself.

And then, she saw him.

Arthur, standing across the chamber, still trapped in his illusion.

For the first time, Seraphina realized—he had his own ghosts to face.

She took a step toward him.