Chapter 10

Stark POVS:

The group of northern men, having concluded their hunting expedition, rode back toward Winterfell with their kills strapped on their horses.

"The accuracy of my shot, you should've seen it," Theon boasted, smirking. "Straight through the deer's heart. A perfect kill."

Robb, having his own experiences with hunting, simply nodded, acknowledging Theon's skills without much enthusiasm. Jon Snow, however, remained stoic and unmoved by Theon's boasts.

Theon, not one to let an opportunity pass, decided to take a jab at Jon. "You know, Snow, maybe if you learned a thing or two from me, you wouldn't look so lost out there."

Jon's response was a measured glance, cold and indifferent. He chose not to engage in Theon's petty provocations, maintaining his calm demeanour. The tension lingered for a moment, but Jon turned his attention away, his focus directed towards the path ahead.

The banter continued to fill the air as the group made their way back to Winterfell.

While the group of Northerners returned from their hunt, the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the dirt road leading to Winterfell. Ned Stark rode at the head of the procession, flanked by his companions, their horses' hooves kicking up particles of dirt as they made their way home.

They passed a cluster of merchants on the roadside, the men bowed respectfully at the sight of the lord of Winterfell, their voices hushed in deference. Ned acknowledged their gesture with a nod before they had continued on their different paths to the group.

Yet amidst the murmurs of the merchants, a particular phrase caught the ear of Robb Stark—the mention of a red-eyed lady who traversed the lands as a doctor, offering her services without cost. Robb's interest was piqued, his mind immediately turning to the enigmatic figure he knew as Lady Yuna.

Without hesitation or any thought, Robb reined in his horse, his sudden departure causing the rest of the hunting party to halt in confusion. Even Ned Stark, ever the stoic lord, turned back to see what had prompted his son's unexpected action.

"Robb?" Theon questioned seeing his friend ride after the merchants.

"Hold it there," Robb called out to the merchants startling them in a flinch of fright, his voice had cut through the quiet chatter of the forest. "What did you say about a red-eyed lady?"

The merchants exchanged uncertain glances, unsure of how to respond to the young lord's inquiry. But Robb's gaze was unwavering, his curiosity burning bright as he awaited their answer.

"Speak" Robb demanded.

One of them, a weathered man with a grizzled beard, spoke up first.

"We don't know much, m'lord," he began, his tone cautious yet eager to share what little he knew. "Just tales and whispers passed along the trade routes. But they say she's not like any other healer we've seen."

"They say she can bring the dead back to life" one equipped getting a confused frown from Robb.

"Her looks, they say, are foreign—like nothing from these lands. And her clothes! Woven from the finest fabrics, they are, rich and luxurious as the silk of Braavos."

Robb's brows furrowed deeply. The description of Lady Yuna was precise but the story wasn't. A feeling of doubt began to churn within him and he began to question whether Yuna was telling the truth about her identity.

He couldn't be sure.

"And her name?" he pressed on, "Was it Yuna?" he questioned with a determined tone.

The merchants exchanged uncertain glances, their expressions betraying their uncertainty. "She never spoke her name," one replied with a shrug. "Others claim it's Ella, Sarah or Emily. She moves from village to village with a different name and story."

Robb's confusion deepened into frustration. His hands gripped tightly on the reins of his horse as he fell into a pit of unanswered questions. Did she lie to him? Had he been deceived? But why?

He didn't understand.

"She lied," Robb muttered under his breath, a sense of betrayal coiling within him like a serpent poised to strike. The revelation left him reeling, his thoughts spinning with questions and doubts. How could she have deceived him so effortlessly? And for what purpose?

"Pardon m'lord?" the merchants said concerned for the frustrated and distraught young lord.

As the merchants exchanged uncertain glances at his sudden change in demeanour, Robb's mind raced with the implications of his discovery. Lady Yuna—Ella, Sarah, or whatever name she chose to go by—was not who she claimed to be. And now, the truth of her deception loomed before him like a shadowy spectre, casting doubt upon everything he thought he knew.

The weight of his realisation bore down on him heavily, etching lines of frustration and disbelief upon his youthful features. His brow furrowed, his jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened with a mixture of anger and hurt.

From afar, Robb's father Lord Eddard Stark had turned his attention over, his eyes narrowed slightly as he watched his son's abrupt departure from the group to engage the merchants. There was a flicker of concern in his gaze, a silent questioning of his son's motives.

He guided his horse to Robb's side, his expression calm yet attentive. "Robb," he called out, his voice steady and authoritative, "what's this about?"

The young heir turned to his father, meeting his gaze with a mixture of frustration and determination, his jaw set with resolve. Though he struggled to articulate the storm of emotions raging within him, he found solace in the steady presence of his father at his side.

"It's... it's nothing, Father," Robb replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Just a misunderstanding in my part." The young heir didn't ponder over it further and left it there, guiding his horse around and leaving.

There was only one thought running through his head right now. Where was Yuna right now if she had lied about her departure back to Essos?

Ned observed Robb's reticence with a knowing gaze, recognising the weight of unspoken worries that burdened his son. Though Robb's words had been dismissive, Ned could sense the underlying turmoil brewing beneath the surface. Yet, he respected Robb's need for privacy, understanding that some concerns were best pondered in solitude.

With a silent nod of understanding, Ned refrained from pressing further, allowing Robb to retreat to the company of his companions. He returned his focus to the front of the group, his expression stoic as he resumed his position at the lead, guiding the procession back towards Winterfell.

The familiar silhouette of Winterfell emerged on the horizon, casting its imposing shadow over the landscape, Lord Eddard Stark led his retinue homeward along the winding dirt path. The air was crisp with the promise of an impending chill, and the sound of hoofbeats echoed through the stillness of the early evening.

Just as they had reached to the sight of Winterfell something had caught the eyes of Lord Stark.

In the distance, Ned's keen eyes caught sight of a figure standing resolutely in the middle of the road ahead. Clad in a long, brown cloak that billowed softly in the gentle breeze, the figure seemed unperturbed by the approaching party.

The figure stood not far from a majestic black stallion, its glossy coat gleaming in the fading light and a small wooden wagon was attached to its saddle. Despite the approaching riders, the figure remained motionless, their head bowed as if in deep contemplation.

He paid them little mind at first, assuming them to be a passing traveller or perhaps a peasant from one of the nearby villages. Winterfell's gates were in sight, and his thoughts were likely preoccupied with the responsibilities awaiting him within the castle.

He continued riding, the distance between them gradually closing in.

Ned Stark and his party continued their approach, and as they drew nearer, the mysterious figure gracefully stepped aside, creating a clear path for the noble procession. The person's actions seemed considerate, as if she had sensed the approaching group and made way for them to pass without obstruction.

Despite the approaching riders, the figure remained resolutely focused, their head bowed as if lost in silent contemplation and not once did they turn to look behind themselves. Though their features were hidden beneath the shadow of their hood, there was a palpable sense of presence that lingered in the air.

Soon, Ned's horse trotted past her, although not one to easily divert his attention, Lord Stark couldn't help but cast a side glance at the cloaked figure. The hood was large and concealing, shrouding the person's face in shadows. All he could discern was the presence of a book in her hand, open and a wooden cylinder tube being used to sketch on the parchment, leaving dark black lines behind with every stroke of her hand.

It made sense to Ned why the person didn't turn around; they were too focused on drawing.

His gaze was suddenly drawn to the object cradled in their hands—the book, its pages fluttering gently in the breeze. Intrigued, Ned's eyes flickered to the parchment within, where the figure's deft hand traced delicate lines across its surface.

In that fleeting moment, his eyes caught sight of the intricate sketch taking shape beneath the figure's skilled hand. With each stroke was a familiar sight to the Lord. The person was drawing the castle. Winterfell's ancient battlements had emerged in stunning detail, the graceful curves of its towers and the imposing sweep of its walls captured with remarkable precision.

The sight gave Ned pause, his curiosity piqued by the unexpected display of artistry before him. For amidst the bustle of their journey homeward, here was a solitary figure, lost in the act of creation, their focus unwavering as they immortalised the castle of Winterfell upon the page.

Drawn by an inexplicable sense of admiration, Ned halted his mount, his gaze lingering on the sketch with a newfound appreciation. There was a raw beauty in the way the figure captured the essence of Winterfell, a testament to their talent and the depth of their craft.

He noticed their sudden stop as well. The figure abruptly halted their sketching, their movements freezing in place as if caught in the grip of sudden stillness and a tension that seemed to radiate from their very being.

"You've got quite a talent there," Ned acknowledged, his voice carrying a note of genuine admiration. He waited for a response, his gaze lingering on the figure, yet they remained still, as if frozen in time.

The figure remained silent, her hood still concealing their features. Ned sensed their hesitation but respected their silence, understanding that some might be wary of sharing their creations with strangers. Instead of pressing for answers, he decided to approach the situation differently.

"May I see it?" he asked politely, extending his hand towards the book. There was a subtle shift in their posture, a slight tilt of their head as if considering his request. For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the soft rustle of the pages in the breeze.

Then, with a suddenness that caught Ned and the rest of the company off guard, the figure's hand moved, slamming the book shut with a decisive thud and the sound reverberated through the air.

Ned's brow furrowed in surprise, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the figure before him. Rodrick and Jory, standing nearby, exchanged disapproving glances, their expressions soured by the perceived rudeness of the commoners actions.

Before Ned could speak, the figure turned slightly to the side, their hood still obscuring their features. In a voice that carried a cold edge and revealed that they were in fact a girl, she uttered a single word, "Sorry."

The apology was delivered with an air of indifference, as if the figure felt no remorse for their actions. "But the book is off limits to strangers" she finished her sentence delivering it with the same tone.

The girl sounded young, no older than 17 just like Robb.

Yet, despite the girl's abrupt dismissal, Ned remained composed but before he could respond, Rodrick stepped in, his voice tinged with outrage. "How dare you refuse the Lord of Winterfell in such a manner?" he demanded, his tone sharp and authoritative.

The young girl froze, her body had stiffened and her head slowly turned to look at Ned.

Lord Stark was surprised to see the girl wearing a mask under the hood of her cloak and so did the rest. It had caught him off guard as he did not notice it before. As he sat on his majestic white Stallion his gaze fixed upon the mysterious figure below him. The girl, her features obscured by a simple brown mask, seemed to emanate an air of enigma that unsettled him.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. He glanced up at the girl's mask, catching a glimpse of her eyes through the hollowed eye sockets. For a fleeting moment, he could have sworn he saw those eyes glow a fiery red before the light faded away, leaving behind an unsettling emptiness.

His gaze lingered on those eyes, now a deep shade of crimson, and he felt a chill run down his spine. There was a distant quality to them, as if the girl was present in body but not in spirit. It was as though she cared little for the situation unfolding around her, her care elsewhere, lost in some unseen abyss.

As the girl's eyes met his, Ned felt a curious sense of scrutiny, as if she were assessing him in turn. Then, with a barely audible mutter, she uttered a simple acknowledgment, "I see".

Her words were followed by a brief apology and explanation, a gesture of contrition that seemed almost perfunctory. "I guess I should apologise for not knowing a lord when I see one but then again Essos pays little attention to Westeros to acknowledge a lord from across the Narrow Sea."

A voice rang out clear and firm, cutting through the tension like a blade through silk. It carried the weight of disappointment and authority, a reflection of his determination and resolve.

"Don't presume to imply that those from Essos lack the basic decorum to distinguish between nobility and the common folk. Disregarding the honour of my father, the revered Lord of Winterfell, is unacceptable, irrespective of your Essosi background. Let it be known that birthplace does not bestow entitlement to arrogance." Robb had rode his horse out from the company into the clearing view, an angry frown visible on his expression as he stared at the figure that he seemed to know.

The girl froze at his words, her movements stilled as if caught in a sudden gust of wind. All eyes turned towards her, their gazes heavy with scrutiny, suspicion, and anger. Even Ned, usually composed and unruffled, regarded her with a hint of curiosity.

Robb's tone softened slightly as he continued, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency "Aye lady Yuna of the village hidden in the leaves if I'm not mistaken… if that is your name." He said, his words laced with a hint of frustration and doubt. "…But forgive me if I'm not entirely convinced. I'm just curious if that was just another one of your stories you like to tell as you go from village to village."

The girl remained silent; her face hidden behind the mask of her hood. Her silence only served to heighten the tension in the air, leaving a palpable sense of unease hanging over the group.

Yuna cocked her head back, the hood falling down her head and resting on her shoulders, revealing her silky long jet-black hair that slowly danced with the light breeze. Her red eyes cold and indifferent stared back at the eldest Stark from within the wooden mask. "Did you want an apology as well?" she said her voice hint of ridicule and sarcasm.

Robb Stark's gaze settled upon Yuna, a flicker of anger danced behind his eyes, although his outward demeanour remained composed. His brows, typically relaxed, now furrowed with a subtle intensity, betraying the anger simmering beneath the surface.

His jaw tensed imperceptibly, the muscles tightening as he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of Yuna's deception and disrespect. Though his lips formed a thin line, there was a distinct edge to his expression, a silent warning of his growing frustration.

But it was in the grip of his reins that Robb's anger found its physical manifestation. His hands clenched tightly around the leather, knuckles white with the force of his restraint. The muscles in his arms tensed as he fought to rein in his emotions, the sheer intensity of his anger palpable in the rigid control he exerted over his mount.

Despite the turmoil raging within him, Robb Stark remained outwardly composed, his anger simmering just beneath the surface as he confronted the deceit before him.

"What is the meaning of this Robb?" Ned had interrupted with a demanded, his tone stern and commanding. His brows furrowed in confusion yet there was a sight of incense simmering behind his eyes. "Do you know her?"

"She is the red girl Bran spoke to you about, father. The one from Essos" Robb explained his gaze not once leaving Yuna.

Ned's brow furrowed slightly as he heard the name. It tugged at the fringes of his memory, a faint recollection stirring within him. Then, like a bolt from the blue, it came to him. "Lady Yuna from Essos," he murmured, piecing together the fragments of information he had gathered.

Realisation dawned upon him as he connected the dots. His son Bran had spoken of encountering a mysterious woman with red eyes from Essos, accompanied by Jon, Robb, and Theon.

He turned to look at Yuna. "Take off your mask and let me see what my son Brandon had meant" Ned asked politely but his tone was one of a command.

There was silence.

As Ned's request hung in the air, the tension in the group grew palpable. Yuna remained silent; her gaze fixed on Ned as she contemplated his words. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she reached up and began to remove her mask.

As the wooden mask was peeled away from her face, revealing her features to the world, a collective wide-eyed group held their breath. Yuna's appearance was striking, her exotic features a stark contrast to the familiar faces of Winterfell. Her almond-shaped eyes gleamed with an otherworldly hue, a deep crimson that seemed to pierce through the very soul.

Ned's eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight before him. Bran's description of the red-eyed woman from Essos had been accurate but seeing her in person was an entirely different experience. Yuna's beauty was undeniable, her youthfulness and grace evident even in the dim light of day.

Robb, Jon, and Theon were stunned once more. Though they had encountered Yuna before, her true appearance had remained concealed behind the mask. Now, as they beheld her unveiled beauty, they found themselves captivated by her presence once again.

Robb's heart quickened at the sight of her, a sudden rush of admiration flooding through him. His anger and frustration seemed to have evaporated leaving the young Stark heir in a mesmerised state.

Jon too felt a strange stirring in his chest as he gazed upon her. Despite his best efforts to remain composed, he couldn't deny the pull he felt towards her. There was something about Yuna that drew him in, something he couldn't quite put into words.

Even Theon, ever the jaded sceptic, found himself momentarily speechless in the presence of such beauty. His usual swagger faltered as he took in her features, a flicker of awe crossing his face before he quickly composed himself.

As the silence stretched on, Yuna met Ned's gaze with a mixture of apprehension and defiance. Though her red eyes betrayed a hint of vulnerability, there was a steely resolve in her expression that spoke volumes.

"Uncle do you think that is…" Jory whispered to Rodrick who only gave him a side glance of understanding but was silence. Jory began to believe that this girl may be some kind of sorceress or witch from Essos and he began to feel a wave of hate towards magic.

Akame had put back her mask, a sense of anonymity once again enveloped her features. She then slowly bowed her head in apology, acknowledging the breach of etiquette with a humility that belied her earlier defiance. "I apologise if I may have come out as rude. It was not my intention too and I understand deceiving a noble is a crime and is punishable but I'm only a little girl whose weary of strangers, especially when coming to foreign land."

Ned Stark regarded her with a stern gaze, his expression unwavering despite the apology. There was a hint of understanding in his eyes, acknowledging her plight, yet his demeanour remained firm, unyielding to her attempts at justification.

"I will not press the matter further. Consider yourself fortunate that you stand before a lord who values understanding over rash judgment. But be warned, such leniency may not be afforded by others in the future."

His voice was authoritative, carrying the weight of his position as he offered a reprieve tempered by caution. With a nod, he signalled her dismissal.

"Thank you" she said with a low bow.

"But I expect you to apologise to my son, Lady Yuna… If that is your name" with that Ned reined his horse and with a command he continued on forward towards the gates of his home. The rest followed by and each one giving another glance towards the red eyed Essos girl.

However, Jon, Theon and Robb did not follow the rest but stayed where they were. Robb was still frustrated and he was upset about it too. He gazed down at Yuna with a sought to pierce the veil of mystery surrounding the girl. "Your real name," he insisted instead of asking for an apology, his tone tinged with determination.

But she met his gaze with a steady resolve, her expression unreadable behind the mask. "There is no point in giving my name to someone I will not see again," she replied evenly, her voice carrying a hint of resignation.

Robb's brow furrowed in frustration at her evasiveness, his desire for answers warring with the realisation that no matter who it seemed to be his father or him she will not say her name. He opened his mouth to press the matter further, but a subtle shift in her demeanour gave him pause.

"Sorry" she muttered under her breath, although her tone seemed as if she was forcing herself to say it. She pulled the reins of her black horse, turning around and beginning to march away.

"Have a lovely day." She said.

"Wait Lady-"

"Robb!" Ned had called out to his son from afar, interrupting the young Stark. He looked back to see his father waiting for him and the look of disapproval etched on his face. He didn't need to say anything because his expression said it all.

Come.

Robb looked back to the girl only to see her strolling away with her horse and wagon. He watched as the silhouette of Yuna grew smaller and a sense of helplessness washed over him. Though he burned with curiosity to unravel the mystery of her identity, he knew that his father's orders were to be obeyed.

With a heavy heart, Robb turned his horse around, his gaze lingering on the spot where Yuna had stood just moments before. He felt a surge of frustration welling within him, tempered by a profound sense of sadness at the missed opportunity to uncover the truth.

Jon on the other hand could not say anything and watched with a heart filled with many questions and doubts.

Did his older brother also find some kind of interest towards the girl?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sitting on the dirt road, Akame found herself grappling with a whirlwind of frustration. She had messed up big time, allowing herself to be caught in the presence of nobles despite her resolve to avoid such encounters. Ned Stark's reasonable demeanour had been a relief, but his son Robb was a different story altogether.

Robb's persistence grated on her nerves, his curiosity and determination to uncover her true name proving to be a formidable annoyance. Despite her attempts to maintain a facade of composure, Akame couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach.

She berated herself silently for allowing the situation to escalate to this point. In her line of work, discretion was paramount, yet here she was, exposed and vulnerable. The consequences of her actions weighed heavily on her mind, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed web of secrecy she had woven around herself.

"Fuck!" she cussed under breath, tracing her black locks back. Taking a deep breath and exhaling out, her breath crisp from the cold air she calmed herself down, easing her troubled mind.

How Robb figured out that she had lied to him is no surprise, she had chosen to help the sick in those villages knowing word would spread. So much for keeping a low profile in these lands to avoid any unwanted attention. She put herself in those situations by helping those sick people and helping villagers in everyday chores.

"Whatever, it's not like I will go back to Winterfell." she told herself. "Shame though, I never got to finish my drawing".

Brushing off the encounter with the Starks, Akame found solace in the belief that they would likely dismiss her as nothing more than a passing traveller, skilled only in the art of drawing. As long as they harboured no suspicions about her true abilities and intentions, she could continue her journey without fear of being pursued or investigated.

Aragorn nudged her shoulder with his head, giving her comfort by his presence. The lone soldier smiled a little and patted his muzzle.

"From now on you're going to be the one lead."

Soon night fell and darkness enveloped the world around her, Akame found herself drawn to the flickering flames of her campfire, their warm glow casting dancing shadows across the forest floor. The fire crackled and hissed, sending sparks spiralling up into the night sky like tiny stars momentarily liberated from their earthly confines.

Sitting beside the fire, Akame watched the flames with a sense of quiet contemplation, her eyes reflecting the dancing light in shades of amber and gold. The warmth of the fire washed over her like a comforting embrace, chasing away the chill of the night and filling her with a sense of peace and tranquillity.

Her katana lay cradled in her arms as she sat with crossed legs against a tree.

Lost in thought, Akame stared into the heart of the fire, mesmerised by its ever-shifting dance. For a moment, the worries and cares of the world fell away, replaced by a profound sense of connection to the primal forces that had shaped the world since time immemorial.

While her gaze remained fixed upon the fire, her mind began to slowly adrift to a deep sea of memories.

As the flames licked hungrily at the logs and casted eerie shadows on the surrounding trees, the familiar sounds of the forest began to blur and warp, melding with the haunting echoes of distant memories. The gentle rustle of leaves in the wind seemed to transform into the anguished cries of the wounded, the rhythmic beat of her own heart drowned out by the thunderous roar of artillery fire.

In the flickering light of the fire, Akame's mind was transported back to a time long past, to the battlefields where she had fought and killed alongside her soldiers. The memories came flooding back with startling clarity, each one a jagged shard of pain and loss etched into the fabric of her being.

She remembered the chaos and deaths of the battlefield, the acrid stench of smoke and gunpowder filling her nostrils as she fought for victory amidst the madness of war. The screams of the dying echoed in her ears, their haunting cries a constant reminder of the cost of conflict.

In the midst of the turmoil, Akame remained stoic and unyielding, her emotions buried deep beneath a veneer of icy resolve. She had seen too much, endured too much, to allow herself to be consumed by the horrors of war.

It all had just became numb to her. Nothing bothered her anymore; she had gotten used to all of it that none of it could hurt her.

As the fire crackled and spat, Akame closed her eyes and allowed herself to be consumed by the memories of war. Though the scars of battle ran deep, she knew that they were a part of what she once was.

And so, as the night wore on and the fire burned low, Akame sat in silence, her mind awash with memories of a past she could never forget. For better or for worse, the echoes of war would always linger in the depths of her soul, a constant reminder of the world she used to live.

She let out a long-exhaled breath but it had come out as a form of flames, like a dragon breathing out fire. When she had opened her eyes, she found herself face to face with a figure bathed in the warm glow of the firelight.

The figure was seated across from her, behind the campfire, their form shrouded in the shifting shadows cast by the dancing flames. The features of the figure began to come into focus, revealing a man dressed in formal military attire.

He wore a crisp uniform adorned with polished insignia; his peaked cap perched jauntily atop his head. His hair, a striking shade of pure white, seemed to shimmer in the flickering light of the fire, each strand catching the glow and casting an ethereal aura around him.

Though his face remained obscured by the shadows, Akame could sense the warmth of his smile, a soft curve of lips that spoke of kindness and familiarity.

For a moment, Akame found herself lost in the depths of his gaze, drawn in by the quiet strength and compassion that radiated from him. It was as if time itself had stood still, the world around them fading into insignificance as they sat together by the fire.

But as quickly as he had appeared, he disappeared with a blink. Akame's heart clenched with grief. The figure was a remnant of her brother Kaito back when they were still in the Japanese Self defence forces.

The lone soldier felt her gaze drift down to her left hand where a silver ring adorned her finger. It was a simple band of pure metal, yet etched into its surface were intricate carvings of a Japanese dragon, its sinuous form coiled around the silver ring like a guardian watching over its wearer.

Kaito had given this ring to her on their birthday during a secret mission in Guilin, China, 4 years ago. It was a set piece that he had brought, a black ring and a silver ring.

She wore the silver one, a symbol of her brother, a representation of his essence – his white hair, his mastery over the chilling powers of ice. Opposite the silver ring, on her right hand, rested its counterpart – the same ring but in black. This ring had once adorned Kaito's hand, a reflection of Akame herself – her black hair and her fire powers.

But now, with Kaito gone, Akame bore both rings.

As she traced the delicate carvings of the dragon with her fingertips, Akame felt a surge of emotion welling up within her. The rings were more than just pieces of jewellery; they were symbols of the enduring bond between siblings that transcended even death itself.

The rings was one of the few tangible connections Akame had to her past life, a cherished memento that bridged the gap between worlds. As she gazed upon its gleaming surface, she couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards the lord that had allowed her to bring it with her to this new world.