The first time Aria saw death, she was five years old. She had been playing outside the old cottage where she lived with her mother, chasing fireflies as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. The world had felt safe then, small and warm, cradled by the thick forests that surrounded their home. But then— The vision struck. It came like a sudden gust of wind, sweeping her away from the present and into something else. A man. His face was pale, his lips parted as if caught mid-scream. His hands clawed at his throat, his eyes bulging with terror. Behind him, a figure loomed, obscured by darkness, holding a glinting blade. Then—blood. A horrible, wet gurgling noise. The man fell. And just like that, the vision was gone.