NOVEL NEXT Chapter 14: Chapter-14
A.N: I messed up the chapter number and uploaded this first, check out chapter 13 above this.
drop suggestions in the comments
have a nice time.
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Winterfell, Deep Within the Castle
January 25th, 1956
The ancient stone halls of Winterfell were cloaked in an eerie stillness, broken only by the hurried, echoing footsteps of Benjamin Romanov. He moved with purpose, his heart pounding as he neared the hidden chamber at the castle's core. The wards' warning had been clear—something extraordinary was happening. Something involving Aryan Stark.
As he reached the heavy door guarding the chamber, he paused, steadying his breath. With a creak, the door swung open to reveal the room within. It was dimly lit, the ancient dome at its center dominating the space. Benjamin's eyes widened in alarm as he saw cracks forming along the smooth, unyielding surface of the dome, a soft hiss emanating from within.
Taking cautious steps, he approached, his pulse quickening. The dome split further, parting like the petals of a flower, releasing a rush of cool air. When the opening finally revealed its secret, Benjamin froze.
There, lying within as if untouched by time, was a child. Aryan Stark, who had vanished a decade ago, looked no older than three. His eyes fluttered open, glassy with confusion as they tried to focus on the room around him.
"Aryan," Benjamin whispered, falling to his knees beside the boy. His voice broke under the weight of overwhelming emotion.
Aryan's gaze found Benjamin, and recognition flickered faintly in his violet eyes. But then, like a flood bursting through a fragile dam, memories overwhelmed him—the horrors of that fateful night, the screams, the betrayal, the crushing loss.
"No…" Aryan whimpered, his voice small but filled with raw pain. Tears spilled down his cheeks as the emotions overtook him. And then, the air shifted.
An immense surge of magic erupted from Aryan, wild and uncontrolled. The room quaked as raw energy rippled outward, lifting objects into the air. Books, torches, and even heavy furniture began to spin violently in the air, crashing against the stone walls. Sparks of power danced around the room like lightning, and Benjamin could feel the force pressing against his chest, suffocating and immense.
"Aryan! Stop this!" Benjamin shouted, his voice trembling with urgency. But the boy was lost in his grief, his sobs echoing through the chaos. The magic was a reflection of his heart—broken, raging, and untamed.
Benjamin tried spell after spell—calming charms, magical barriers, even a desperate Stunner. Yet, Aryan's magic shielded him from everything, a protective cocoon that refused to let anyone touch him.
"Your mother wouldn't want this!" Benjamin cried, his voice cracking. But the words were drowned in the maelstrom.
Then, as if the storm within Aryan had spent itself, the chaos began to slow. The objects that had spun violently around the room drifted back to the ground, landing with soft thuds. The sparks faded into nothingness, and the room fell silent once more.
Aryan sat in the center, trembling, his body wracked with sobs. "My mother…" he whispered, his voice hoarse, his small frame sagging with exhaustion.
Just as Benjamin reached out to comfort him, a new sound filled the room.
"Aryan…"
The boy's head snapped up, his tear-streaked face lighting with disbelief. That voice—it was so familiar, so deeply embedded in his heart. He turned, his breath hitching.
There, at the doorway, knelt Joanna Stark, his mother. Her eyes glistened with tears, her arms open, trembling. "My son," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"Mother!" Aryan cried, his voice breaking into a sob. With a sudden surge of energy, he leaped from where he sat, throwing himself into her arms. His small body trembled as he clung to her, burying his face in her shoulder.
Joanna held him tightly, her tears falling freely as she rocked him gently. "You're safe now," she murmured, her voice soft and filled with unshakable love. The wild magic that had consumed Aryan finally subsided, his small body relaxing as if an immense weight had been lifted.
For the first time since he had woken, Aryan felt safe. He felt whole. Hope blossomed in his chest, banishing the darkness that had gripped him for so long. In his mother's arms, he knew he was not alone in this world.
As exhaustion overtook him, Aryan's eyes fluttered shut, and he drifted into a peaceful sleep. Joanna slowly sat down on the cold stone floor, lowering him gently so his head rested in her lap. She brushed a strand of hair from his face, her fingers trembling as she traced the contours of her son's face. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, a mixture of relief, happiness, and gratitude filling her heart.
"Mama?"
The soft, innocent voice broke the silence. Joanna turned, her teary gaze meeting the curious eyes of a little girl standing nearby. Her violet eyes, so much like Aryan's, were wide with worry.
"Is he okay? Why are you crying, Mama? Is he going to be fine?" the child asked, her small hands tugging gently at Joanna's sleeve.
Joanna smiled through her tears, pulling the girl into her embrace. "Yes, my sweet one. Everything is going to be fine," she murmured, her voice shaky but filled with conviction.
In the corner of the room, Sebastian, who had been silently watching, broke into tears. The sight of the tearful reunion—the family together at last—was too much for him to bear.
Winterfell, Aryan's Room
Hours Later
Aryan slowly stirred, blinking as he took in the familiar surroundings of his room at Winterfell. He felt a strange vitality coursing through his veins, an energy he couldn't quite explain. As he shifted, the bed creaked beneath him, but he moved with a strength and ease that was startlingly new. He felt... powerful.
He glanced around, noticing the intricate details of his room—the texture of the wooden walls, the faint flicker of the dying fire in the hearth, the dust motes dancing in the morning light. Everything was vivid, sharper than ever before, as though his senses had been heightened to an extraordinary level. His memories, too, were crystal clear, each one more intense and vivid than the last.
With a sudden burst of energy, Aryan leapt out of bed. He felt stronger, more capable, yet as he walked to the corner of the room, a mirror caught his attention. He paused, staring at his reflection. He was taller, his body more defined, but his face—the face of a child—remained unchanged. It was as though time had frozen him at Five years of age, despite the passing of a decade.
A familiar presence approached the door, and Aryan's senses alerted him even before the knock. The door creaked open, revealing Joanna, who halted in surprise upon seeing her son standing, fully awake and alert.
"You're finally awake," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. She crossed the room in an instant, pulling Aryan into a warm embrace.
He stood there, his body stiff at first, but then the tension melted away as he leaned into her hold. Her familiar scent and the gentle pressure of her arms wrapped around him brought a semblance of peace he hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. Time stretched as they remained like that, a fragile moment of solace amidst the chaos.
Pulling back slightly, Aryan hesitated, his voice wavering as he asked, "Father?"
Joanna's expression faltered, her relieved smile dropping into a somber line. Her eyes glistened as she shook her head, her voice breaking with the weight of her grief. "He couldn't survive."
The words hit Aryan like a blow, the room spinning as his chest tightened. He felt his mother's heartbreak intertwine with his own, the shared sorrow building into an unbearable weight. Tears streamed down his face as he clung to her, seeking some anchor in the overwhelming storm of emotion. Joanna held him tighter, her hand gently stroking his hair as he buried his face against her shoulder.
The air in the room grew thick, the sadness suffocating, until a flicker of awareness broke through Aryan's despair. His senses tingled as he became aware of someone standing at the door. Lifting his head slightly, his gaze shifted toward the entrance. Joanna noticed the movement and followed his line of sight.
There, standing quietly in the doorway, was a small figure. A girl, no more than three years old, with midnight-black hair that framed her face in soft waves. Her deep violet eyes, striking and curious, met Aryan's. There was something achingly familiar in her features, a reflection of himself that stirred something deep within.
Joanna's face brightened, her tears momentarily forgotten as she wiped them away. "That's your sister, Aryan," she said, her voice lighter, carrying a hint of joy. Turning to the little girl, she beckoned her closer. "Come here, Eve. I want to introduce you to someone."
The girl hesitated for a moment, then padded into the room with small, cautious steps. Joanna lifted her gently onto the bed and settled her in her lap. Stroking Eve's hair, she smiled and said, "This is your brother, Aryan." Her gaze shifted to Aryan, a glimmer of hope in her tear-brimmed eyes. "And this little one," she added, brushing a stray lock of hair from the child's face, "is your baby sister, Evelyn Stark."
Aryan stared at the small girl, a mix of emotions swirling within him. Her innocent eyes gazed back at him, unburdened by the grief that weighed so heavily on the room. Slowly, he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he touched her tiny hand.
"Evelyn," he whispered, the name rolling off his tongue like a tentative promise.