" please don't leave. If you leave… how can I live? Wuuu..."
In the darkness, faint weeping echoed in Leon's ears. The cries were mournful, like a sorrowful bird singing at dusk—distant, yet heartbreakingly near.
Who… who's calling me?
Wait—didn't I die?
And… what's with this woman?
Leon had no parents growing up. With no attachments, no one to mourn him, he had thrown himself into the deadliest special forces unit without hesitation.
Could it be that...
He suddenly started to wake up, like a drowning person who finally floated to the surface and regained consciousness instantly
"I'm not dead?!"
Leon's eyes flew open. What greeted him was a low-ceilinged room built in the style of a bygone era. The wooden beams were weathered, and the walls bore cracks from years of neglect.
A heavy scent filled his nostrils—bitter, earthy, and strong. Traditional herbal medicine.
It hit him like a shockwave. His head pounded.
Bang.
A surge of memories—jumbled, foreign, and overwhelming—crashed through his mind like a tidal wave.
"Ah! Damn it, it hurts…!"
Gripping his head, Leon clenched his teeth and endured the splitting pain, trying to digest the flood of memories that didn't belong to him.
As clarity slowly returned, realization dawned.
He had… time-traveled.
His soul now inhabited the body of someone else. No longer was he Leon Ashford, elite special forces operative.
Now, he was the eldest prince of the Kingdom of Eldoria.
But this Eldoria wasn't any ancient land from Earth's history books. It belonged to a completely different world, a parallel realm with a feudal structure eerily similar to the Ming Dynasty—yet far more stagnant in development.
He was twenty years old—just shy of the crown prince's age by less than a month.
To an average person, waking up as a prince in a new world might've felt like a divine blessing.
But Leon felt no joy.
Because the body he now possessed had lived a wretched life.
He was born of a concubine—not the Queen—and had been looked down upon since birth. Over ten years ago, his mother's family was falsely accused of treason. She—Lady Elira—was stripped of her status and cast into the cold palace, taking her young son with her.
Ten long years of exile.
They had been tormented by nobles, mocked by servants, and trampled on by fate.
Even recently, Leon had inexplicably fallen gravely ill. Poisoning was a possibility. A silent assassination, perhaps.
If his soul hadn't entered this broken body, this prince would've been buried and forgotten by now.
How could anyone rejoice in such cruel circumstances?
"Leon… you're really awake?! Ahem…"
A frail voice broke through the fog of thought. A woman rushed forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him.
Tears streamed down her hollow cheeks as she sobbed uncontrollably.
"Child, do you know that you have been in a coma for five days and five nights? Even the royal physician said..."
She choked and coughed a few times again: "Ahem... Fortunately, you finally made it. Thank the stars, thank the stars!"
Leon froze, then slowly raised his arms and returned the embrace. Her body was alarmingly thin—fragile.
"This woman, this body 's mother, once a royal consort who lived in luxury, was now gaunt and aged beyond her years.
Her hair was dull and yellowed, tied loosely with a plain wooden pin. Her eyes were sunken, her skin sallow. Though just past forty, she already bore the air of old age.
She was ill—gravely so. Ever since being forced into this cold palace, her health had steadily declined."
A surge of guilt clawed at Leon's heart.
This woman… had suffered because of him.
If his predecessor hadn't been born before the crown prince—if he hadn't held the title of eldest prince—none of this would have happened. His mother would never have been cast aside like this.
But now… things were different.
He had inherited this body. And with it, the life of someone else's son,now he is her sonand he would bear the burdens.
"Thank you, mother... mother, for your concern. I have made you worried these days."
Leon clenched his fists silently, vowing in his heart to protect his mother at all costs.
Lady Elira had no idea her son's soul had changed. Overcome with emotion, she finally released him and gently sat by the bed.
"As long as you're safe, that's all I need," she whispered.
Noticing Leon wrinkle his nose, she glanced toward the brazier in the corner. A thick white mist rose from a small iron pot resting atop it.
"That's the medicine I prepared for you. Ahem… now that you're awake, drink a bowl first," she said warmly, attempting to stand.
But just as she pushed herself up, her hand flew to her forehead, and her body staggered.
"Mother!" Leon sprang forward, tossing aside the quilt and reaching out to steady her.
She waved weakly. "I'm fine… just a little dizzy. You've only just recovered, Leon. Don't get out of bed so soon."
She steadied herself, then added with a smile, "Once you've taken your medicine, I'll warm some food for you."
It was only then Leon noticed several plates sitting cold on the nearby table. He realized she hadn't eaten—likely skipping multiple meals while tending to him.
His chest tightened.
"Mother, let's eat together once the food is warm," he said gently.
Lady Elira paused, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Even in the depths of winter, warmth spread in her heart.
She nodded slowly. "Yes… I must eat. If I'm not strong, how can I care for you?"
"I've grown up, Mother. I can take care of myself now."
His calm, resolute tone made her smile once more.
"Yes… my son has grown up."
In the past, Leon had been meek, cautious, afraid to speak out. The palace had crushed him, instilling fear and shame so deep it clung to his bones.
But today… he was different.
Lady Elira simply assumed that facing death had awakened something within him. Suffering, after all, had a way of forging resilience.
Just as she leaned toward the brazier—
Bang!
The wooden door flew open with a violent crash.
A fierce wind rushed into the room, carrying flurries of snow.
Already weak, Lady Elira trembled and doubled over in a fit of violent coughing.
Leon turned, eyes flashing with cold fire.
A woman stepped in, eyes sharp and condescending. She wore a silk jacket, her posture smug, her gaze filled with disdain.
Even her palace servant attire looked more luxurious than Lady Elira's threadbare robe.
Even a lowly maid lived better than them.
In that instant, Leon fully grasped the depth of their humiliation.
"Lady Elira," the maid sneered, purposely refusing to acknowledge her former title as a royal consort. "Her Majesty, Empress Victoria, asked me to deliver a message. Have you finished washing the clothes she sent down?"
Her shrill voice echoed in the small room,her voice was loud and condescending completely devoid of respect. She didn't even pretend to show the proper courtesy to someone of noble birth.
She didn't bow. She didn't address them properly. She didn't even hide her contempt.
She raised an eyebrow and clicked her tongue. "Don't blame me for not reminding you. If those garments aren't cleaned to Her Majesty's liking, you and your son won't have it easy today."
The cold wind continued to seep into the room, but the chill that now settled in Ethan's chest wasn't from the snow.
It was from the realization of just how cruel and petty this palace could be.