"Guess what?"
Her voice was light and playful as if she were about to play a game. She stood by the window, her back turned to him, fingers tracing the edge of a textbook absently. The afternoon sun caught the strands of her black hair, turning them into threads of shadow and gold.
The student paused, his hands stilling over the stack of tools he'd been organizing. "Hmmm...?" he prompted, though something in her tone made his chest tighten.
She exhaled softly. "This is my last day teaching."
Silence.
"Huh?" The word escaped before he could stop it, his brows raising.
She turned just enough for him to see the curve of her smile, small, resigned. "I'm getting married this weekend. And after that... well, I'll be a housewife." Her eyes remained closed, as if she couldn't bear to see his reaction.
His mouth opened. Closed.
"..."
And then...
He woke up.
Again?
Always before he could speak.
The dream slipped, and he woke up. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, the only thing on his mind was that smile.
What did I say that day?
"If only... haaa," he sighed before finishing his sentence.
There was no point in wondering. The past won't change.
*********************
Steam curled off his skin as he stepped out of the shower, muscles still aching from the brutal workout. Water dripped from his hair onto the cold stone floor as he dressed, the fabric soft against his skin. Absent-mindedly, he ate.
Sapphira. A world where strength determined the rights of individuals, and weakness was a death sentence.
The powerless weren't just forgotten extras; they were used. Fodder for the protagonist's rise. Cannon fodder for the plot.
His fingers tightened around the fork. I need to get stronger. Fast. But how? He didn't even have the real Anthony's memories... just fragments of a novel he'd barely paid attention to. The descriptions themselves were vague.
In any world, the weak have shitty lives while the strong can bend rules cause no one can stop them.
Sigh. No use spiraling. If only I could read what he wrote.
Then a bright purple magic circle formed on the wall, and the wall parted, revealing a man in a black uniform with golden embroidery and on his hilt a strapped sword. Around him was a thin blue aura...
I know what that is its aura... so that shit is visible? I thought it was just an artist's way to show the readers the power display... Very nice!
"Prisoner 001… carry your possession and get out."
The guard stood silhouetted in the doorway, face unreadable.
Of course.
He'd known this was coming. Transmigration rules were clear: no stale beginnings. The moment you wake up in another world, the plot moves.
The only thing that looks personal is that book.
Here we go. He thought as he stepped out.
*****************************************************
An article was released to all and circulated throughout the continent.
The Coronation of King Varian Ragna and the Controversial First Decree
RAGNA CAPITAL – The bells of the Grand Cathedral tolled at dawn, their echoes rolling across the city like an omen. By midday, the crown had been placed upon the brow of King Varian Ragna, the youngest and now only son of the late King Aldric Ragna.
The coronation was a spectacle of grandeur and foreboding. The young monarch stood before the High Prelate, cloaked in dark ceremonial robes that seemed to absorb the light. His expression remained unreadable, even as he rose to face the gathered masses. The crowd erupted into cheers, yet the celebration was tainted by murmurs of uncertainty.
Still, ill rumors spread because his three elder brothers died in unexplained accidents within two years, their deaths leaving the throne vacant for Varian alone. Some claimed they murdered each other, though the palace made no statement about any accusations. Doubts, therefore, lingered, festering beneath the surface of the kingdom's collective consciousness.
Before the coronation feast could commence, King Varian wasted no time in asserting his rule. His first decree, issued, ordered the immediate release of all "prisoners of interest," basically hostages held within the prison Black Citadel, kept as bargaining tools in political conflicts.
The announcement sent shockwaves throughout foreign courts. Among the freed were Lord Jareth of House Veyne, who had spent five years imprisoned with his ransom unpaid; Lady Seradi Marlos, who was reported kidnapped en route to her wedding and used as leverage to prevent naval warfare; they were all minor nobles of the empire but held strategic benefit. However, the most surprising name among them was Anthony Gregor, once heir to the Gregor Dukedom and arguably the most valuable hostage held within the kingdom.
"The Prodigal Returns from Hell"
Attached to the decree was a single haunting image: The Gregory, barely recognizable. He was barefoot, clad in simple blue, visibly thin, his gaunt frame stripped of all remnants of nobility. His long, black, unbound hair fell over his face like a shroud, concealing whatever remained of the young scion.
The Gregory family ruled the Northern Territories, and the previous duke, although not having a saint title like his peers, still stood equal to the other saints.
As the prisoners were escorted to the Holding House of St. Aurel, where they would remain for 24 hours before their forced exile, a guard was overheard whispering.
To many, King Varian's decision seemed an act of benevolence, a symbolic gesture to mark a new era. Yet skeptics and seasoned diplomats alike could see the strategic implications behind his decree. Was this truly a move toward reform? Or was it a calculated maneuver designed to destabilize rival nations by returning their own who may have been turned into spies?
King Varian Ragna delivered a speech that sent ripples through the kingdom and beyond. He declared that the prisoners released under his first decree were not held by his command, but rather were the result of decisions made by the previous administration. He emphasized that their captivity had been a reflection of an era tainted by manipulation and political coercion—an era he would not continue.
Without hesitation, he offered a stunning proposition to the foreign courts: should their respective nations wish, he would send all individuals affiliated with this project to face judgment beyond Ragna's borders
Yet, it was his next statement that truly marked the dawn of a new rule. King Varian proclaimed that he would not walk in the footsteps of his predecessors. The kingdom of Ragna would witness a transformation unlike anything in its history. "We will not be shackled by the sins of those who came before," he declared.
The proclamation was met with a mixture of shock and intrigue. Some saw it as a bold promise of reform, while others viewed it as the declaration of a ruler willing to reshape the kingdom by force if necessary. Whatever the true intent, one thing was clear: the reign of King Varian Ragna would be unlike any before him.