Whenever she opened her eyes, she would find herself in a different place. Her mind was foggy, and the cloyingly sweet smell that had clung to her since they'd taken her by force grew sleepier by the hour. In a semi-conscious daze, she somehow managed to piece together fragmented thoughts amid the chaos she was enduring, struggling to recall where she'd first encountered that scent—now intoxicating, now dragging her back into oblivion.
Hard wood, animal fur, and the rocking motion of a carriage occupied her first impressions during the journey. Feathers—the last thing she remembered was feathers and the scent of the sea, a sea unfamiliar to her. It wasn't the Shattar Sea; this new sea that reached her nostrils smelled different. The air also felt different, charged with mana that a noble could identify as poor in quality. Yet, submerged in the haze of that cloying sweet smell had accompanied her throughout the trip, she couldn't think of anything else, nor could she find any clue as to where she was or where theywere taking her.
Time slipped by unnoticed for her in that state. Thus, on the day the smell that had been lulling her to sleep finally vanished and her head emerged from the fog and drowsiness, she found herself in a cell.
A small room with a hard-mattressed bed, barely enough to cover basic needs, with no doors or windows—only thick iron bars marking the boundaries of the living space. It was a prison for nobles, that much was certain, as commoners' cells wouldn't even have a tattered blanket for cover; she knew this from personal experience.
Her mind flashed back to the dark days just over five years ago, when she'd been unjustly accused and thrown into a filthier, darker cell than the one she now occupied. A chill gripped her body at the trauma of reliving it all. Truly, Canaria was on the verge of collapsing from the stress of being in an unknown place, in a situation that echoed a past trauma—all while pregnant.
She hadn't even noticed the person standing beyond the cell bars, stationed in silent vigil. Nor did she notice when the guard pulled a mana stone from the leather pouch on his belt, which transformed into a noiseless bird that clasped a piece of paper in its beak and flew out through one of the windows in the walls—those without bars, not part of the
personal cell reserved for nobles. In truth, Canaria couldn't have perceived anything beyond what the drug forced into her system allowed.
Her watery, sore eyes could barely stay open, too swollen and red for her aquamarine irises to be visible. She lacked the strength to rise, and her trembling hands could only inch toward her face at a snail's pace.
Even so, Canaria knew where she was. Memories of what had happened to her in the past answered who now held her captive. The fact that her treatment had improved only filled her with fear and distrust toward the vile, wicked individual behind it all—and whatever they had planned.
Her sorrows were hardly surprising. She had lived five peaceful, happy years with her husband, troubling no one, believing she had escaped the nightmare she'd endured since her earliest memories. Yet, it was not to be.
Raised as a noble, with a father absent due to his duty as the Empire's sword and shield—a man later murdered in a colonial uprising—and a mother forced into remarriage with a cruel tyrant, she had never expected much from life, truthfully. Still, her betrothal to Prince Sigurd had kindled a fragile hope that she might someday prevail. Moreover, she knew all too well what would happen if she did not fight to change her fate.
Of course, her own self—her memories of a strange future that existed only in dreams, her innate abilities awakened after the baptism, the Book of Destiny—were far from infallible. She had fought tooth and nail to prevent the events written in her god-given magical book from unfolding. Yet, despite her relentless efforts and the fleeting belief that she had overcome her trials, there was one factor the book had not revealed: Silvine.
So, when Canaria believed she could finally be happy —that her fate, once steeped in tragedy, had become nothing but a bad dream— Silvine Irohim appeared with evidence framing Canaria Von Lancet in an international conspiracy. Silvine's angelic face, tear-streaked over the betrayal of someone she'd considered a friend, twisted with grief and disillusionment as the accused desperately pleaded her innocence.
Yet, by the kindness and grace of the angelic Silvine, Canaria's mother had been spared from the purge. Only Canaria faced confinement and the hardships of the common prison, stripped of her noble status. At first, the stench, filth, and rotten food were so unbearable that she felt she might die there from illness brought on by the squalor. For a moment, thoughts of suicide flickered through her mind.
Unable to read her Book of Destiny due to the magic-suppression chains binding her, sleepless nights consumed by revulsion and dread of the vermin scuttling across the filthy floor, and tormented by self-blame for her naivety and stupidity, Canaria endured that hell for nearly a month before her questions were answered.
Silvine, the girl who had accused her of conspiracy, visited her that day. Her expensive clothing —soft hues and diaphanous fabrics that made her resemble a fairy— stood in stark contrast to Canaria's wretched state. After a month of starvation and torment, Canaria had lost the beauty that once defined her.
The gaze of someone Canaria had once considered a friend was now filled with disgust and contempt. Silvine's nose was covered with a perfumed handkerchief to mask the putrid stench of the dungeon's filth. Yet beneath it all, a twisted, mocking smile flickered.
Silvine, hailed as the Angel of Lothien, reveled in the sight of Canaria's defeated, battered form. She crouched slightly, perhaps to get a better look at the aquamarine eyes that had lost their luster.
It was a whisper from Silvine's gentle voice that ignited Canaria's fury and jolted her from her despair.
"You tried to change your fate. You tried to steal everything that rightfully belongs to me. Tell me, Canaria… how does it feel to be forced back into your original purpose?"
"I just wanted to live peacefully…"
Silence —a heavy silence that stirred confusion and surprise. A silence that barely lingered before Silvine resumed speaking, with the confidence her new role as the Imperial fiancée —not Canaria— had granted her.
"I was shocked when things didn't go as they were supposed to. How dare you try to rewrite the story where I'm the protagonist?! My arrival in this world, ordained by the gods' design, was supposed to bring me happiness! But you… you arrogant little viper —were you brought here too? Ah, now I see. That explains why everything was so fucking wrong. But I fixed it! Still, I'm a merciful person. Truly, I don't think you meant to do it, Canaria."
Canaria's eyes widened in shock. She had expected violence, or at least for Silvine to end her suffering —to kill her outright. Yet there Silvine stood, her embroidered, perfumed handkerchief pressed to her nose, rummaging through her bag with a grace that seemed almost unfit for a high noble like her.
"You too… have..." Canaria finally said, realizing that Silvine must possess a BookofDestiny like her own. It was a strange ability in itself, yet given Silvine's nature —and the fact that the girl before her was the gods' chosen— it seemed the most logical explanation.
"I am regarded as a saint, and that is why I am far too benevolent, my dear. I believe you've suffered enough punishment, which is why I've sent your mother to the frontier. She awaits you there. Go. Leave in silence and live the peaceful life you always longed for."
Silvine's face once again took on the guise of a saint —her long golden lashes and sorrow-laden gaze could move anyone to tears. In that moment, Canaria almost believed the girl before her had truly meant well.
Silvine had hurled a heavy leather bag through the metal bars of the cell. It clattered open upon hitting the floor, revealing glints of gold coins and part of a set of keys. Still reeling from the recent turn of events, Canaria hastened forward with her aching body toward what would now be her means of escape.
"Take this and never return. If you do, I can't guarantee your safety. Goodbye, Canaria."
Once Silvine had left, Canaria rushed to unlock the cell. As expected, the key for the mana-suppression collar was missing, but she didn't care. In her heart, Canaria felt genuine gratitude toward her newfound savior.
With no imperial guards in sight, she ran with all the strength her shaky legs could muster toward the exit. There, a soldier awaited her. His face was covered by a dark cloth, as if shielding himself from the night's chill, though in truth, it was to conceal his identity.
He'd been rough and discourteous when he grabbed her arm and barked in crude slang that it was his duty to escort her to the city's outskirts, where a horse would carry her to the border town. But she didn't mind. All she cared about was leaving the country, reuniting with her mother, living quietly, and forgetting everything that had happened.
Yet not all her wishes would come true.
The moment Canaria passed through the city gates and mounted the horse bound for the first rest stop, Aethril Von Lancet —former
member of the imperial family— was poisoned to death.
The castle had been attacked by a small rescue squad targeting Canaria, who was a prized asset for the conspirators embroiled in the plot. Such a move was anticipated, given the implicated nations' risk of severe repercussions if she dared to speak. Or perhaps they sought to retrieve her due to her uncanny ability to stay silent even under torture and mana suppression. Whatever drove her allies to rescue her led to a pivotal death: that of Prince Igfrid Severe D'Tyr.
The morning after the calamity, Canaria learned the news from the travelers. Merchant wagons had arrived at the inn of the nearest town to the capital, coming from the north and bearing trivial yet despairing rumors. When she heard, a chill seized her entire body.
She tried to flee the moment she grasped the unspoken truth, her legs unsteady from the emotional blow. She took one of the horses she and her companion had ridden, urging it to gallop like a winged griffin. Yet she was soon overtaken —or perhaps ambushed. A novice at such travel, she'd chosen the main road, and before reaching the outskirts' inn, she was captured.
There, she discovered everything had been orchestrated by Silvine.
As the brutish men —mercenaries with no semblance of refinement— drank and reveled in tormenting their captive, who was destined for a brothel, their tongues loosened. They spilled what they knew.
"They paid so well for you! Even the noble lady gave us permission to use you! Lucky us… so lucky…" one said, rubbing his hands.
"I'll visit the brothel they sell you to, little whore," another sneered, licking his lips as he tore at her clothes.
"Don't be greedy! The boss gets her first!" slurred a third, his voice hoarse from drink.
They all took their turns, reducing her to a living corpse. Her torn clothes and shattered mind and body were discarded in a corner of the filthy, stinking cave where they'd dragged her, pausing only to gorge on alcohol and stale bread.
Her captors, certain she wouldn't escape given her wounds and broken state, left her unrestrained and exposed. Thrilled to have defiled a noblewoman who once looked down on them, they basked in their fleeting superiority and neglected to guard her.
Drunk on lust and liquor, they slumped into unconsciousness one by one —and she fled.
The horse she seized galloped so fiercely that her already bruised thighs began to bleed. Her injuries were the least of her worries, yet the pain cut deep. Deeper still was the agony of being utterly alone. Her parents were dead; no one in the world awaited her. Why flee? The
thought haunted her, tempting her to give up —to die roadside or hurl herself off a cliff. Yet beneath her exhaustion and despair, her heart clamored for justice. To achieve it, she needed to reach safety, anywhere.
"Maybe the neighboring nations framed alongside me could help…"
It was her only hope, as fragile as a soap bubble in the wind.
Learning from her mistakes, she avoided roads, navigating mountains and forests instead. She drank from puddles, ate unknown herbs, and slept in caves and worm-infested holes. What was a fight for survival to her was nothing but a hunting game to her enemy —one they relished enough to unleash hounds.
She heard the dogs bark during her brief stay in an abandoned mountain mine. By luck, not skill, the pack never reached her, but their barks and the wolves' howls echoed through the distance.
The suppression collar still clung to her neck, leaving her defenseless. Weaponless, she could only pray to the gods to blind her pursuers and grant her escape.
Yet even the gods who once blessed her seemed to have abandoned her.
Nearing the border, as she emerged from the dense forest, a squadron of soldiers awaited her as if forewarned of her arrival.
Spotting them, she spurred her horse —now foaming red at the mouth —into a desperate sprint. Behind her, she heard the soldiers' vulgar curses and threats as they gave chase.
And then, she didn't even notice when the horse finally collapsed, hurling her forward and sending her tumbling into a nearby ditch.
Injured, Canaria tried to stand but failed. Her legs refused to obey —whether from fear or the sheer exhaustion of all she'd endured. Her hope died as she accepted defeat. She had only delayed the inevitable, and now she understood.
"Silvine was right… I should never have tried to alter her destiny."
That was her final thought as she glimpsed, from the ditch, the soldiers who had ambushed her approaching calmly. They yanked her up violently, like a ragdoll.
Beaten, battered, and cursing the gods she'd once praised, her aquamarine eyes suddenly caught sight of something impossible.
A tall and thin man stood before her. His presence wasn't imposing; instead, he radiated a sheep-like calm. His straw-colored hair, tied in a dull ponytail, framed gentle gray eyes that watched her with sorrow. Canaria saw his lips move slowly, as if trying to speak, but she couldn't hear him. All she could muster was a plea for help —a survival instinct. Her once-sweet voice now croaked like a wounded bird's cry, begging for salvation. A plea that was answered.
The guards who had subdued her inexplicably released their grip, and the bony hand of the unknown young man who'd heard her claimed her. In that instant, warmth enveloped her body, and a light engulfed them. Canaria shut her eyes reflexively, and when she opened them again, she was elsewhere.
It was dark, cluttered with crates. Faint light seeped through cracks near the ceiling, resembling the glow of the twin moons at night.
Still terrified, Canaria anxiously scanned every corner and shadow, fearing another trap meant to prolong her suffering. The young man, sensing her distress, tried to comfort her by taking her hands. She recoiled at first, trauma flaring at a man's touch, but his soothing voice and bovine demeanor gradually drew her in, until her hands rested in his.
"Hush… It's all right now," said the stranger. His voice felt familiar; his touch carried the comfort of someone she'd always known. The solace he offered was so safe, so familiar, that she surrendered.
Then, she finally broke. She wept for the betrayal, the disillusionment, the injustice she'd suffered. Her only sin had been trusting those she loved —those who'd called themselves her friends.
"What do I do now? Who can I trust?" Her mind stormed with doubt, fear, and betrayal.
"Do not fear," whispered her savior as Canaria sobs grew louder and her hands clung to his back like a lifeline. His voice, soft and low, reminded her of a shepherd singing to his sheep on a stormy day. "I will help you, I swear it. But first… we must tend to you. You're so hurt, so wounded…! While we do, you can tell me what happened. I will not judge you, I promise. And I will find a way to keep you safe, no matter what occurred. No matter who did this."
Hearing those words, it felt too good to be true. Canaria was afraid to trust again, even as something in her heart whispered she could trust this man. "Is it safe to trust him?" He'd saved her despite knowing imperial soldiers were hunting her. "Why offer such kindness? Is this another trap?" She trembled, fearing this was another cruel game orchestrated by Silvine for amusement.
When Canaria finally calmed enough, the young man rose slowly from where she'd collapsed in tears and offered a gentle hand to help her up. He then scratched his head nervously, a tic of his, while scanning the stacked crates in what Canaria now realized was a storage room.
Despite the dim light, the young man seemed familiar with the space and its contents. Finding the crate he sought, he pulled out a blue raincoat. In his kind tone, he began excitedly listing its benefits as a new product from his company.
"Ah… but I suppose that's not what you care about right now, is it? Forgive my rudeness," he finished awkwardly, his soft smile returning as he scratched his head again. This made Canaria think he truly was harmless —a gentle soul, his movements as calm as a lamb.
He guided her upstairs to his office on the second floor, explaining their location. Canaria was stunned to learn she'd awakened in Duat —a colonial city of Lothien on the new continent, worlds away from her homeland. Suddenly, the dim light filtering through cracks made sense.
"How…?" she began.
"How did we get here? Let's just say… it's a prototype magic tool I created, inspired by one I saw in my youth. It's dangerous, so let's keep this secret, yes?" He whispered the last part with a disarming smile, clearly trying to soothe her.
The modest office, sparsely furnished for meetings with traders or investors, fit his unassuming demeanor. Though still wary, Canaria felt a flicker of calm —yet she didn't even know his name.
He settled her on a simple but comfortable sofa and left briefly. When he returned with a tray of non-magical medical supplies, Canaria resigned herself to his care, despite the mana-suppression collar still clamped on her neck.
"Oh…" The young man sighed, noticing her touch the collar. "Removing it will be… tricky. It might take time. For now, I'm afraid we'll have to treat you unconventionally, my lady."
She nodded nervously.
"Apologies… I'll be quick and respectful. Medicine isn't my forte," he said, dabbing her wounds with a cotton ball. As he worked, Canaria recounted her story.
The straw-haired man paused often to check her comfort, focused yet clumsy. But when she confessed to being accused of murdering her mother and the empire's second prince, he burst into laughter.
"Sorry—" he gasped between giggles, startling Canaria. "It's just… hilarious. Pfft… I'm… deeead? Hahahaha!"
Confused and numb, Canaria wondered if her savior wasn't a saint or a kind Samaritan, but a madman mocking her vulnerability. Or worse —was this a hallucination as she lay dying in that ditch, brutalized by soldiers?
Neither assumption was true.
The soft, masculine voice of her savior began to chant an unfamiliar magical hymn —one she'd never heard, despite graduating from the noble academy. His sweet, gentle tone deepened slightly yet remained soothing. His dull straw-colored hair now gleamed gold with silver undertones, and his lead-gray eyes had shifted to a vivid blood-red, still holding the kindness they'd shown moments prior. A red she knew well: the hue of the founding mages, the royal family.
His face became recognizable —his gentle smile, the same one that had eased her loneliness on bleak days. He was her dearest friend, someone she'd vowed to protect.
Her heart pounded at the most joyous and agonizing revelation of her life. Igfrid, the disabled young prince, stood before her acting… normal. Alive.
"Igni?!" she cried, tears streaming anew. The brother of her former fiancé, the so-called "disabled prince" afflicted with a mental illness that left him childlike despite his age —the boy she'd tenderly cared for —now stood transformed. Different from the future she'd avoided and the past she'd lived, but undeniably him. His gentle aura remained, tempered by newfound maturity, though shadowed by a faint swirl of darkness.
Chanting his name like a prayer, Canaria melted into his embrace until her strength failed. The warmth of Igfrid's arms confirmed this was no dream.
Igfrid had meant to keep his true self hidden, but seeing Canaria broken shattered his restraint. Anxiety and rage had nearly consumed him. He'd barely held his façade when she accused herself of murdering Aunt Aethril… and him. The irony overwhelmed him —used again as a pawn to punish the one he'd loved since their first meeting.
His latent death wish and escape from the palace, leaving a magical impostor behind, now haunted him. Why had he fled so far? He'd been a fool. Clutching Canaria tighter, he offered two choices:
"We can settle in any city west of here, live as merchants, and forget everything —so far they'll think us dead." He stroked her silver hair. "Or I can return and spark a revolution. With my wealth and connections, toppling my gullible brother and his vile bitch would be simple. Just tell me, Canaria —what do you want? Anything. You don't know… how I've longed to stay by your side. I regret leaving. Had I known… Had I not thought you'd be safe in Lörien…" He clung to her, apologizing. Three years ago, her future had seemed bright without him. Who could foresee this?
Though her mother's death screamed for vengeance, Canaria was exhausted. She refused to drag Igfrid into her crusade.
"I just want to forget…," she whispered, voice fractured.
Later, she'd regret that choice.
Five tranquil years passed in Shattar's warm southern lands. Pretending to be lovers as a joke, they became one in truth. Immersed in mundane life and common labor, they believed the nightmare over.
But it was an illusion.
When memories faded into darkness, Canaria became pregnant. Celebrations erupted, but it was a trap. She awoke in a cell, drugged, her last memory Igfrid poisoned and bleeding on sand, fighting to survive.
All because of she. Because of Silvine.
"It's been a long time, Canaria." Silvine's greeting dripped venom as she entered the cell. Unchanged —voluptuous figure, angelic face, rose-pink eyes sharp enough to kill.
A sense of loss settled in her chest. Canaria had thought it was all over long ago, yet Silvine clung to her like a tick, refusing to let go until her last breath —until she was certain Canaria was dead.
"You must be wondering… why? Your face betrays you… You're so easy to read, Canaria." Silvine sighed dramatically as her prey stared back with fear-glazed eyes. "I won't deny how your terrified, pathetic face excites me. You're so adorable when you suffer!"
Canaria crawled toward the cell bars, clinging to the cold metal. Her bruised face and lifeless aquamarine eyes made Silvine's heart race as if infatuated.
"Please! Please! I'm begging you… let me go! I'll promise you anything, just… just wait until my child is born! After that… you can torture me! Disfigure this face you hate! Just… just let my baby live. I'm begging you!"
"Oh… darling." Silvine knelt just out of reach, cautious despite the suppression collar restraining Canaria. "I truly don't plan to harm you. Much, anyway. You see… I, unfortunately, can't bear children. Sad, isn't it? But a relief, too—sparing me from birthing that idiot emperor's heirs. Yet you, Canaria…! Sweetheart, you're conveniently pregnant with another prince's child. A prettier prince, in my opinion —though he wasted years pretending to be disabled. Still, I always found him beautiful. His children ought to be too, I can imagine."
"No… You can't… I—"
"Oh, darling, darling. Of course I can! In fact, I already am. Don't worry —I won't hurt you until the child's born. I want it healthy. You'll be pampered, fed, monitored… no expense spared. Think of yourself as a sheep, and your child the prized lamb the shepherd needs. I won't slaughter the livestock until I have my little mutton. So enjoy my hospitality… while it lasts. Once that baby's here, you'll take the blame for my husband's murder."
"What? No… wait. No!" Canaria had no strength, no means to fight. Grieving Igfrid's death and her doomed future, she felt like a doll at fate's mercy —no, Silvine's mercy. She'd always been one. Even the gods' gift —that cursed Book of Destiny —was a cruel joke, dangling false hope.
"With your child, I'll secure power once my fool husband dies. Then I'll marry my true love. At first, I thought, 'Oh, the crown prince is marvelous!' But then I met the real him —a small man, whining about his inadequacy, bedding women to fill his void. Ugh! This isn't the story I was promised! I deserved a perfect prince, a happy ending, not a brainless weakling! Then I met my true love… but he's loyal to the emperor. Ignores me for that womanizing fool! So I schemed… and remembered you. When I heard you were pregnant —bingo! I'd fake my own heir, kill the emperor, and take everything."
As Silvine ranted, Canaria's blood boiled. Weakness gave way to rage. Her life, her struggles —all shattered by this delusional woman's selfishness.
"How far will you twist this world for your greed, you damn bitch?! We're not your toys! How could the gods choose a monster like you?!"
Silvine laughed.
"Selfish? You dare call me selfish, you bastard whore? You, who knew the story like I did, who tried to steal my role with your pathetic book? Don't make me laugh! You exploited your little 'gift', tried to rewrite history —to rob me of what's mine! You've no right to judge me!"
Enraged, Canaria lurched up with a guttural scream —more wounded animal than human.
Then, it clicked. Silvine wasn't just cruel. She was an outsider.
Silvine was no saint but a calamity —someone who saw this world as fiction, a tale where she could play heroine.
"I… I just wanted peace…" Canaria rasped, her voice raw from screaming. "Yet you… you selfishly abused your power—"
"I knew it! You think this is all about you?"
"Me?" Canaria scoffed, tears streaking her face. "You're the deluded one! This isn't some story—it's real! You've ruined lives, including yours! When is it enough?!"
"Finished?" Silvine ignored her. "Good. Consider this our final 'friendship' gesture. Can't risk you blabbing, so I've found a way to… quiet you."
On cue, a shadow emerged behind Silvine. Canaria's stomach churned.
"It can't be…" The traitor—her former friend and healer—approached with pliers and a knife. The man she'd laughed with, confided in, now ready to carve out her tongue.
"Sorry," he muttered. "I can't defy mybig sister."