Heart thumping like thunder, Elysia woke up with a shock.
THAT was not a dream. It felt too vivid and real to be one. Thinking about what she had seen in her vision, she, ensured herself it's not something to worry about.
All those painful memories, dire situations, orchestrated movements, espionage, assassinations,.... and that betrayal.
Betrayal. One thing she never expected, even lesser from that person.
But all of that is in the past, and she surely is Elysia Nohar de Almeida, the Princess of The Principality of Almeida and the youngest Magic Engineer to gain a position in the Magus Council.
Looking around the room, Elysia was taken aback.
She was neither in her Royal Chambers nor in her Official Quarters, but a room looking more grand... too much luxury.
The mattress beneath her was too soft, the air too still. Her instincts screamed at her to move.
She tried to push herself up—only to feel something heavy wrapped around her waist.
A hand.
No—two hands.
A deep, slow breath against her shoulder. The solid warmth of a man sleeping beside her.
Elyssia froze. Her heartbeat slammed in her ears.
No—this isn't right. I—who is—
Panic seized her. She shoved the man away with full force and scrambled backward, gasping.
A startled grunt. The thump of a body hitting the floor.
"...Liz?" The voice was deep, confused—almost hurt.
Noticing herself wearing a not so appropriate negligee, she covered herself with the bed sheet.
Elysia's breath came in quick, shallow gasps. Her eyes darted toward the man on the floor, his hair tousled, eyes widening in shock. She didn't recognize him.
She screamed with all her might and shouted for her Lady in Waiting, "Francesca!"
Footsteps.
The door burst open, and a young woman in a neatly pressed uniform rushed in.
Elysia's head snapped toward her, past instincts honed by missions, assessing the threat. But there was none. Just a Lady, standing anxiously at the middle of the room.
A woman she didn't know.
"Your Grace! What happened?!"
Everything was wrong. This wasn't any of the places she knew of.
Listening to how she was addressed differently, Elysia felt doubtful. "Who are you?... Where is Francesca?"
"Who is Francesca, Your Grace? Do you not remember me?"
Too confused to comprehend what she said afterward, the dizziness hit her hard. The room spun, her pulse roared in her ears, and the last thing she saw was the look of heartbreak on that man's face before darkness claimed her again.
----------
Miss Giselle, the resident physician, arrived, her brow furrowed in quiet concentration. She placed the back of her hand against Elysia's forehead, then pressed two fingers to her neck, gauging her vitals with a practiced touch.
The room fell deathly silent, awaiting her verdict.
After a long pause, she finally exhaled.
"The Lady has fainted from stress," she stated, her voice measured but firm. "She will recover soon."
Alric's jaw tightened. It was an answer—but not enough.
She reached into her satchel, withdrawing a small glass vial. Without hesitation, she filled a syringe, tapping it once before pressing the needle to Elysia's arm. The liquid disappeared into her veins in an instant.
"This will stabilize her condition." She turned to the maids. "Ensure she rests properly and does not exert herself when she wakes."
The tension in Alric's shoulders refused to ease.
He needed more certainty.
Miss Giselle hesitated before adding, "If you wish to be thorough Your Grace, Count Æther is currently in the estate, en-route to the Imperial Capital. He may provide deeper insight."
Alric stilled.
His expression remained impassive, but something sharp flickered in his gaze.
Count Æther.
The most renowned Alchemist in the world. A man of insufferable genius and insufferable arrogance.
A man who, in Alric's opinion, stung like a wasp and was twice as irritating.
Alric exhaled slowly, reigning in his immediate disdain. The last thing he wanted was Elysia be in that man's presence.
But she lay unconscious before him.
That alone outweighed his pride.
Suppressing his reluctance, he turned to one of his retainers. "Escort Count Æther to the residence."
As the retainer bowed and hurried out, Alric glanced once more at Elysia.
For her sake, he would endure anything.
But that didn't mean he had to like it.
----------
Elysia's eyes fluttered open to the murmur of voices and the restless shuffling of feet.
The air was thick with tension, suffocating, pressing down on her like an unseen force. Disoriented, her vision blurred for a moment before sharpening—too many figures, too many unfamiliar faces.
A slow, cold rage coiled in her chest.
Her hazel eyes darkened, their sharp intensity slicing through the gathered onlookers like a blade against fragile silk.
A single glance from her sent a chill down the room's spine—a silent warning, laced with pure, unfiltered animus.
Who were these people?
Why were they here?
Her breath came slow and deliberate, but her gaze burned like a dagger poised for the kill. The room stilled under the weight of her silent fury, as though the very walls braced themselves for an impending storm.
The air shifted the moment he entered.
It wasn't just the sound of footsteps—it was the weight of his presence. A silent, creeping force that coiled around the room like an unseen fog.
Elysia's breath hitched.
She didn't know why, but something about this person felt inherently wrong.
The man who had just stepped into the chamber carried himself with an unnatural stillness, his movements eerily fluid—as if he had long since abandoned the need for haste.
He was clad in a monochromatic ensemble, every shade between black and gray blending seamlessly, absorbing the dim light rather than reflecting it. His coat billowed slightly as he moved, though there was no wind.
His silver-threaded gloves flexed once before his hands came to rest at his sides, fingers too still, too poised.
Elysia's pulse quickened.
Her instincts screamed at her—leave. Now.
This room, this place, this entire situation—none of it felt right.
She needed an escape.
Her gaze darted toward the nearest door, then the windows—calculating exits, searching for a way out. But just as she tensed to move, she felt it.
His stare.
Sharp. Clinical. Dissecting her without ever touching her.
She swallowed.
The tension in the air thickened.
And then—he spoke.
"Everyone. Leave."
The command wasn't loud, nor was it laced with emotion. Yet it cut through the room like a scalpel, slicing through any thought of defiance.
The maids hesitated for a mere breath before lowering their gazes and hurrying out.
Miss Giselle frowned, glancing at Alric as if waiting for a counter-command.
Alric's expression was unreadable, but his jaw tightened ever so slightly. A flicker of irritation passed through his face.
Still, he gave a curt nod.
Without further protest, the room emptied.
One by one, footsteps faded down the hall, until the heavy doors shut with a final, resounding click.
Elysia stiffened.
She was left alone with him now.
The air was too still. The silence too loud.
And Count Æther—the man who had sent chills racing down her spine from the moment he stepped in—stood between her and the only way out.
----------
The silence in the room was thick, stifling.
Elysia sat on the edge of the bed, every nerve tense beneath the silk sheets. Across from her, unmoving and unreadable, sat Count Æther.
His monochrome attire blended into the dim lighting, his posture perfectly composed. The early sunlight carved sharp angles into his features, but it did nothing to warm them.
It only made him seem sharper. Colder.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but edged with something unshakable.
"Tell me, what pieces of you still exist?"
His silver-threaded gloves flexed once, slow and deliberate.
"Your life. Your family's situation. Everything."
Elysia stilled.
There was something about his words—not a request, not even an interrogation. It was an inevitability.
She knew, instinctively, that there was no point in lying to this man.
But can she tell about her past life? No.
That dream-like memory is still not ascertained to be true.
"I am Elysia Nohar de Almeida"
"My parents," she started, voice even but hollow, "were blind, foolish, and incompetent. The Emperor and Empress of Almeida basked in their privilege, shutting out the cries of their people while the kingdom decayed from within."
Count Æther remained silent, motionless.
Waiting.
Elysia's lips curled into something sharp, bitter. If she was going to lay her truth bare, she wouldn't hold back.
"My brother," she said, and even the word itself tasted like poison, "was a disgrace. Self-absorbed, power-hungry, and utterly useless."
Memories surfaced—his smug expression, his carefully crafted lies, the way he always slithered out of responsibility and into favor.
"I spent years doing what he should have," she continued, voice taut. "Building what he ignored, fixing what he destroyed. Made all my way up to becoming a member of the Council. Yet, he had the audacity to act as though he was entitled to rule."
Her fingers curled into the sheets. "And four days from now, he was supposed to be engaged."
A bitter laugh almost escaped her.
Four days.
Only four days.
But—that wasn't right.
A thought struck her, sudden and sharp.
Her hazel eyes flickered toward the Count, searching his face for answers.
"Where am I?" she asked, her voice now laced with urgency. "And how do I return to my palace?"
Count Æther tilted his head slightly, as if studying something fragile and easily broken.
"You are home," he replied smoothly.
Elysia's stomach twisted.
"Not in Almeida," he continued, his voice cold and clean as a finely honed blade. "But somewhere else entirely."
A chill traced her spine.
She opened her mouth—to argue, to demand an explanation—but he cut through her.
"You have lost close to three years of memories," he stated, each word as precise as a dagger slipping between ribs. "Your brother's marriage took place more than two and a half years ago."
Elysia's breath caught.
Her mind rejected it—no, that wasn't right. That wasn't possible.
Three years?
Three whole years of her life—gone?
"That's not..." her voice faltered. Her thoughts scrambled to make sense of it. Had she really been missing for so long? How could everything have shifted so drastically in what felt like only moments?
Her heart pounded. She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus. "And Almeida? My country?"
Count Æther studied her, his expression a cold steel mask.
Then—for the first time since he entered—he smiled.
It wasn't kind.
It wasn't cruel.
It was detached. Inevitable.
"The Principality is no more."
The words were simple.
Precise. Cutting. Unforgiving.
Elysia's breath hitched.
Count Æther didn't speak another word. He stood slowly, the motion predatory in its grace, as if this was a routine.
As if she was just another problem to solve.
"Rest. We will speak again." His voice was cool, and just like that, he was gone, leaving her alone with the suffocating truth that now twisted like a javelin in her chest.
The weight of those words sank into her bones, cold and suffocating, pressing down like an iron shackle.
Something inside her cracked.
The world tilted.
And the room—once foreign, now a cage—began to close in.
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