The world felt… wrong.
Everything was dim, dulled - like I was viewing it through smoke-stained glass. My senses were muffled, distant, as if submerged underwater.
I stood in a hallway I recognized. Rich red carpets beneath my feet. Gold trim carved into every arch, every pillar. The same faceless portraits and masked saints looming from the walls, their painted gazes locked on me. Their heads turned the more I looked - quietly, subtly.
Except this time, it wasn't during the chaos.
Everything was still. Too still.
No fire. No blood. No screaming.
Only silence.
I looked down.
My hands are smaller.
Black trousers. White buttoned shirt with sleeves that hung too far past the wrists. A tight black vest strangled my chest, and the polished shoes on my feet were clearly too big, clumsy with every step.
It was a servant uniform.
I wasn't just seeing through someone else's eyes - I was in someone else.
And I wasn't in control.
My body moved without me, one foot after another. A silver tray balanced in my hands, lined with polished glasses of amber and violet liquid. Their contents shimmered in the low light as I approached the banquet hall.
Arthur's voice rang out from within.
Bold. Commanding. Graceful.
I couldn't make out the words, but I knew them already.
I've lived this already.
But then something shifted.
A pulse. Not in my chest - in my head.
Like a heartbeat echoing in my skull. Not pain. Something deeper. Something wrong.
My steps faltered. The tray trembled in my grip, the glassware rattling.
My knees buckled slightly as I leaned against the wall for support. Sweat beaded at my collar, soaking the tight cloth of my neck.
The hallway stretched before me, growing longer with every step, like I was walking through a tunnel that kept moving forward. The further I went, the further the end became.
I looked behind me.
No one.
No sounds.
No other servants. No guards.
Nothing.
I was alone.
Another pulse hit - sharper this time. I groaned. My muscles stiffened, my legs locking in place. My grip on the tray slipped.
It crashed to the floor.
Glass shattered. Metal rang against the tiles. Colorful liquid pooled at my feet.
Yet no one came.
No voices.
No footsteps.
Only silence.
I staggered toward the wall, my hands now dragging along its surface as I stumbled forward - toward something that hadn't been there before.
A mirror.
Tall. Full-length. Framed in ornate gold leaf. Too clean. Too pristine. It was just too inviting.
I didn't want to look. Every instinct screamed at me not to.
But some part of me - a cruel, curious piece - forced my gaze up.
And I saw him.
The boy.
The one I killed.
Same delicate features. Same porcelain skin. Same uniform. Only now, his reflection stared back at me with wide, unblinking eyes. Twin pools of glassy white - like a porcelain doll. There was still a dark brown in his iris, but it was slowly being consumed by the milky white, like an infectious disease.
Then his lips parted.
Black smoke spilled out. From his mouth. From his eyes. It crawled across the glass, veining up the mirror's edges, and then spilled into the room.
The air thickened. I tried to move - but I had no legs. I wanted to scream - yet I had no mouth. I collapsed, paralyzed. My breath caught in my throat. My lungs wouldn't fill.
And then he stepped through the mirror.
The boy.
He smiled. A wide, deranged grin.
The cultist's smile.
He knelt beside me, pressed a hand to my throat.
I couldn't scream. Couldn't move. Couldn't even blink.
I started to panic, seeing my relfection in his eyes. I saw pain, fear, tears weld up in my eyes as I tried to scream again.
Then-
I woke up.
Gasping. Choking.
My lungs were on fire. Sweat soaked my body. I jolted upright, heart hammering in my chest.
Warmth surrounded me. Silken sheets. A thick duvet. A mattress so soft it felt unreal. My body trembled beneath the fabric, and I sank back slowly, trying to center myself.
It wasn't the mansion floor.
This was…
A noble's bedroom.
Luxurious. Even by noble standards.
Tall windows with ivory curtains veiled the sunrise. Gold light seeped through the cracks. Candlelight danced from an elegant holder beside the bed, its flame flickering gently, soft and controlled.
I raised a hand to wipe my face.
Just a dream.
Another shitty, terrifying dream.
I'd had enough of them to last a lifetime. This one, though - it wasn't just memory. It was something more.
And what haunted me most wasn't that I had seen him again.
It was that I saw through him.
I shook my head, trying to ground myself before my thoughts spiraled again. Anger wouldn't help. I needed clarity.
Everything had escalated too fast. I thought I had time. Time to prepare. Time to plan. But in one night, I'd gone from careful observation to being hunted.
My breathing slowed. My heart rate settled.
And only then did I notice-
Well, that's awkward.
Sitting in a finely carved wooden chair beside me, legs crossed, posture regal as ever, was a man I'd grown all too familiar with.
The Regent himself.
But he wasn't smiling.
The charm he wore like armor was gone.
No warmth. No humor. Just sharp calculation.
He stared at me in silence. I stared back.
The tension held - unspoken, heavy.
Finally, he stood. Each movement deliberate, controlled.
"Good. You're awake."
His voice was low. Calm. But not friendly.
"I hoped I'd be here when your eyes opened. Seems I was right."
My voice was hoarse, my throat dry. "...Where am I?"
He turned slightly, letting the morning light glint off the silver trim of his tunic. More casual than his usual wear, but still aristocratic.
"My private residence," he said. "In the noble quarter. Center of the city. Far from the common rabble."
He gestured to the window, then the candle, then the ashtray beside him - still smoldering faintly.
"You've been unconscious since last night. The physicians say it's Aetheris exposure. A divine overload. Complicated, but far from life threatening."
I stayed silent. Let him speak.
"I've had time to think. Haven't slept at all really. And I've heard… conflicting reports."
His tone shifted. More intimate. More serious.
"Let me be blunt, Damian."
I braced.
"You're different."
He stepped forward, standing at the corner of the bed, eyes locked onto mine.
"You're not like the others. You think. You watch. You hesitate. You're not a parrot for Church doctrine, and you don't worship the Emperor like a desperate fool begging for purpose. You don't just listen to the Emperors commandments, you embody them."
He folded his hands behind his back, voice steady.
"Basically, you're not a puppet."
He let that hang in the air.
"Something's coming. Something big. What, I don't know yet. But secrets are unraveling. The foundations of this city are starting to shake."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
"I need someone sharp. Someone who can operate in the dark. And someone who understands discretion."
Then came the real ask.
Please don't say it. Don't say the thing. I can feel the cliché-
"And someone I can trust… to keep Her Highness - my beloved niece - alive."
I closed my eyes. There it was.
Worse than expected.
The answer is no. A thousand times, no.
But I didn't say it.
He straightened his posture, letting out a slow breath like he'd just finished reading a eulogy.
"We'll speak again soon. Rest while you can. When I return, we'll begin properly."
He turned, walking toward the door.
But paused.
"And Damian-"
I looked up, eyes heavy. I was already tired again, and I had slept all night.
"Don't mistake the kindness I've shown you so far. The moment you become a threat to the Empire…"
His voice didn't waver.
"I'll be the one to put you down."
He left.
And I was alone again.
Except for the reflection in the window.
My face - my face - stared back at me.
I exhaled slowly.
Still me. Still sane. For now.
I turned to the curtains, admiring the clean lines of the city just beyond the window. The rooftops. The clean chimneys. The cathedral spires.
For now.