Path of the Extra

Chapter 214: The Girl with Silver Hair

Celestina Frost was a girl born with everything.

From the instant her grey-diamond eyes first opened. She was a princess. Promised to be the future queen, the next head of the Frost Clan, she carried the weight of legacy like an heirloom sewn into her soul.

The world below gazed up at her, their eyes filled with awe and envy, while she stood atop a pedestal sculpted by generations of power. To them, she was a goddess—a radiant figure whose smile rivaled silver moonlight, whose heart held the promise of something untouchable. And her talent... She might one day rival the Crimson Princess herself.

Her story, however, was never simple.

For every brilliance she cast, her light forged an immense shadow. Though born with a spoon as silver as her hair, her life was never the dream others imagined. From the very beginning, the Frost Clan, like the other three great clans, were not just revered—they were worshiped. Kings, queens, princes, princesses.

From the time she could walk, there were few who dared approach her—not as a person, but as an equal. Friends? True friends were a luxury even her vast wealth could not buy. Most saw her only as the Frost Princess, a title too grand to touch. When she revealed her [unique skill]—a gift that should have inspired admiration—it instead created distance, erecting walls she could never climb.

So, she learned to shut her heart to those who looked up at her and opened it only to those who stood beside her.

It was only natural that the princes and princesses of the four great clans would gravitate toward one another. They were the only ones who could understand the peculiar loneliness of royalty. And so, Celestina found companions: Jasmine Crimson, fierce and brilliant; and Caleus Nebula, the dreamy prince whose future was not yet written.

But there was another.

An exception.

Anastasia.

Though not a child of the great clans, her lineage was no less prestigious. Back then, she bore another name, one long forgotten by most. But now, she was known only as Anastasia—the daughter of the strongest saint.

Together, they were four.

Celestina. Jasmine. Anastasia. Caleus.

And for a time, they were everything children could be—bright, careless, inseparable. What could go wrong in a world of innocent laughter?

But innocence is fleeting.

As they grew, the weight of their worlds began to press down on them. Celestina and Jasmine, groomed for leadership, carried the burden of their clans. Caleus, still unchosen as an heir, wrestled with the sting of uncertainty. And Anastasia... Anastasia carried something darker—a quiet hate she did not yet understand.

It was Anastasia who shattered their fragile bond.

She didnʼt mean to, not entirely. At least, thatʼs what Celestina told herself. But Anastasia had always been good at stirring the pot, her words like sparks in a dry forest. One day, her playful cruelty pushed Caleus too far. She whispered into his ear, feeding his jealousy, his growing sense of inferiority, until he challenged Jasmine and Celestina to a fight.

It wasnʼt even close. Caleus lost.

It didnʼt take long for the truth to emerge: Anastasia had orchestrated it all. The fight, the humiliation, the rift. And just like that, their friendship shattered.

The four became two.

Celestina and Jasmine remained. They grew together, their love for one another like sisters. But in their closeness, they drifted further from Caleus and Anastasia.

She had learned two truths.

The first: never reveal her [unique skill].

The second: never open her heart again, except to those who bore the name Frost or Crimson.

And she had accepted these truths, like an unspoken oath etched deep into her soul.

It was fine.

She was fine.

Until she wasnʼt.

Until the day the world twisted, showing her the depths of hatred, despair, agony, and terror it could hold.

Celestina had been there—on that cursed day when she lost her grandparents.

She had stood frozen, a fragile shard of glass in the path of a storm, as they appeared.

Abominations that no god could have conceived, walking on the very floors she had tread for years.

Skinwalkers.

Even devils, she thought, would shun the foulness of their presence. Their existence was an affront, a violation of reality itself.

The horror of them left a scar, one that even time couldnʼt smooth over.

From that day, she had learned more than loss.

She learned of revenge, of grief, and the unbearable truth of how utterly doomed their world truly was.

The nightmares followed. They clung to her like shadows that stretched far beyond the night, but so did something else—a reason to grow stronger.

And yet, no matter how fiercely she tried, it was as though an invisible barrier stood before her.

Her progress was sluggish.

She would watch Jasmineʼs back grow further and further away, until it was a distant speck on the horizon. The whispers began—the ones that once spoke of her as a rival to the Crimson Princess now faded into doubt.

Why?

Was it only because Jasmine was a year older? A few more battles against void creatures couldnʼt account for the widening chasm between them.

She knew it wasnʼt easy. Hunting void creatures, absorbing their mana cores—it was a path few dared to tread. Most humans never advanced beyond the intermediate stage. Talent was finite, and the courage to confront the voidʼs horrors was rarer still. Only the four great clans and some other madmen were reckless—or desperate—enough to endure the endless bloodshed.

Celestina wasnʼt alone in her change.

Jasmine had changed, too.

It started after her brother, Azriel Crimson, died. Their friendship, once so natural, began to falter. Jasmine grew colder, more remote—a blade without a sheath.

...And Azriel?

He had always been an enigma, even in life.

Celestina had barely known him before his death. He had been a phantom, never mingling, never leaving even the faintest ripple in their world. Over time, the whispers began—poisonous rumors about the strange boy. Yet he never seemed to care, his indifference a shield impenetrable to malice.

Then, impossibly, he returned.

Two years after his presumed death, Azriel Crimson walked back into their lives.

Her father had invited her to the Christmas banquet, and she had accepted, unaware of the storm about to unfold.

Because unlike most, despite it never being confirmed, she knew.

Azriel Crimson was dead.

She had believed it with every fiber of her being, the way one believes the sun will rise or the wind will blow.

It was him.

And yet, it wasnʼt.

Older, yes. Taller. Sharper. The boy she remembered was now changed, but the air around him, that otherworldly detachment, hadnʼt just persisted—it had evolved. He no longer felt like someone from another world. No, now it was as if he hailed from another universe entirely.

But what stood out most wasnʼt his transformation—it was that speech.

Gods, that awful speech.

To this day, Celestina couldnʼt fathom why he chose to deliver such a thing. There were infinite ways to convey his intentions—eloquent, subtle, commanding ways. Instead, heʼd spoken like someone too bored to care, his words rough-edged and unpolished. It was absurd. Lazy, even. At least, thatʼs what she thought until he announced heʼd be joining the Hero Academy.

And then there was her own moment of humiliation—the careless slip of her tongue, blurting out that she wanted to fight him when he proposed duels. Sheʼd never forgive herself for that.

Duels.

She hadnʼt expected him to issue such a challenge, to stride so boldly into conflict. And yet he had. And not only had he fought, but heʼd also won—against Caleus, no less. Though Caleus for some reason had clearly held back at the end, the victory still belonged to Azriel.

But none of that compared to that moment.

The engagement proposal.

To this day, she could feel the heat of mortification crawling up her spine at the memory. Her parentsʼ betrayal in arranging such a thing without her consent was a wound she wouldnʼt soon forgive. Even though the proposal had fallen through, the damage to her pride was done. Worse, it forced her into an unbearable situation—alone in a room with the boy who was supposed to be dead.

Desperate to fill the silence, she had spoken of her desire for revenge.

And he hadnʼt laughed.

Instead, he listened.

That, perhaps more than anything, surprised her. His response wasnʼt mockery but an understanding that unsettled her deeply.

Azriel Crimson was... interesting.

So, when they met again at the academy, she did something she never thought sheʼd do. She allowed herself to consider him a friend.

It wasnʼt easy. Jasmine had grown distant, her warmth dulled by time and tragedy. But he was Jasmineʼs little brother. Surely, if she could trust Jasmine, she could trust him too.

But as the days passed, she began to see the widening gaps—not just between herself and Jasmine, but between herself and Azriel. They both seemed to move at an impossible pace, leaving her behind in the wake of their brilliance.

What did they have that she didnʼt?

What secret strength propelled them forward while she remained shackled?

Azriel Crimson was a paradox. He carried himself as though he ruled the world, yet faced every challenge with the audacity of someone who didnʼt care if the world crushed him. Even if there were someone who could squash him like a bug, Celestina knew—heʼd still look that person in the eye as if they were equals.

But there was more to him than confidence. Something deeper, something darker.

It was in his eyes.

Celestina prided herself on her ability to read people, to unravel the threads of their emotions and motivations with ease. But Azrielʼs eyes were a puzzle she couldnʼt solve. There was something there—an emotion, perhaps, or a force of will so powerful it refused to be ignored. It screamed to be understood, yet eluded her grasp.

What was it?

She didnʼt know. Not yet.

For now, she let herself believe he could be a friend. But more than that, she let herself learn.

Azriel Crimson was more than a boy who had defied death.

And Celestina Frost would learn his secrets.

He was the key.

To what she sought.

And she would follow him into the abyss if it meant finding what she lacked.

[AN: I didnʼt think this was necessary, but given the number of questions and complaints Iʼm receiving, Iʼll put this here so I donʼt have to address it again. Despite how far weʼve come in this book, I ask that you trust me in what Iʼm doing and how Iʼm writing. Yes, Azriel may seem out of character or, as some say, ʼsimping,ʼ but I assure you thereʼs a very good reason for everything. Once again, I ask for your trust.]