CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:A Fate Rewritten

It started the same way it always did.

Darkness loomed ahead, stretching endlessly, and I had no choice but to keep running straight. Every breath burned my lungs, every step sent a sharp pain tearing through my side—my hand slick with blood as I pressed against the wound—an unfortunate parting gift from the assassins who had been hunting me since I left the Duchy. But the wound felt distant—real yet unreal.

I knew this moment. I had lived it before.

Shadows flickered at the edge of my vision, shifting between faceless figures and memories too blurred to grasp. The Queen truly wouldn't let me be after witnessing how much I had grown over the years of staying away from the capital.

I staggered through the underbrush, keeping my hand pressed against my bleeding side. The wound wasn't fatal, but it slowed me down—something I couldn't afford right now as the sound of pursuit grew louder.

My father—the Duke—had warned me. "Lay low. Disappear for now."

I thought I had gained enough of a head start. But I was wrong. I hadn't expected an attack so soon. I knew leaving the Duchy would put a target on my back, but I had at least hoped to reach neutral ground before the first blade came for me. I should have been more careful.

A rustle in the trees above sent a jolt of adrenaline through me.

They were still following. Damn it. I hadn't even made it that far before they caught up.

I forced myself forward—until the ground beneath me disappeared.

My stomach lurched as I pitched forward, the world tilting violently as I tumbled down the rocky slope. I twisted, trying to break my fall, but jagged stones and thorned branches tore at my skin as I crashed downward.

I should have died here. I thought I would.

By the time I hit the bottom, the air had been knocked from my lungs. I could barely move. My body screamed in protest, every muscle aching. The pain in my side pulsed like a heartbeat—hot and unrelenting.

For a moment, all I could hear was my own ragged breathing and the distant voices of my pursuers.

I was losing too much blood. I needed to move.

Gritting my teeth, I tried to push myself up—only to freeze at the distant sound of hoofbeats. I held my breath as a carriage came to a stop. The flickering lantern light cut through the dense trees, casting long shadows across the uneven ground before slowly fading as it passed me.

The carriage stopped. Footsteps followed. My fingers twitched toward my dagger, but I didn't have the strength to lift it.

The blood trickling down my forehead made it hard for me to see the person standing in front of me, but from the way he was dressed, I could tell he wasn't just anyone.

"Is he dead?" A woman's voice drifted from inside the carriage—soft, yet carrying a sharp and steady edge. It made it clear that she could be either an enemy or a noblewoman of influence.

There was a brief pause as I kept my eyes closed, waiting for their next move. Then, a different voice—a man's. Low yet guarded.

"No. He's still breathing."

I heard the rustling of fabric, followed by measured footsteps. My body went rigid when I felt something soft brush against my bloody forehead. A faint vanilla fragrance rose from the cloth, infiltrating my senses and pulling me back to a distant memory—the blooming garden of the Azalena Duchy, the place I had once visited as a child.

I felt a soft tap on my uninjured shoulder. "You can stop pretending."

Hearing the woman's calm words, I finally opened my eyes and saw the owner of that voice.

Mismatched eyes loomed over me—one dark as night, the other golden as the sun. My gaze shifted to the familiar face behind her. Even through the haze of pain and exhaustion, I recognized them—two teens my age, watching me with contrasting expressions. One looked calm yet unguarded, while the other's eyes remained sharp and wary.

Karina Azalena and her twin brother, Keiran Azalena—a truth known only to his family and mine. My parents and I knew because our mothers were best friends, though I doubt the twins ever realized that we were aware of their secret.

Something's wrong. No, something's... different. Keiran's twin...

A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips, but I had no strength left to give.

Why did it have to be her? Of all people. As if fate wasn't done playing games with me.

"Can you get up?" Her soft yet steady voice pulled me back to my senses.

For a moment, I frowned.

Didn't she recognize me?

Then it hit me. After killing the assassin who had managed to wound me, I had immediately used an artifact to change my appearance mid-chase.

She turned to her twin—who was acting as her butler. "Help him up. Make it quick, or his pursuers will notice us."

Her piercing gaze settled on me, and a gentle smile formed on her lips. "You look rather young to be a mercenary. But rest assured, in my land, you'll be safe."

Keiran Azalena helped me up, his touch gentle as his twin marched back to the carriage, waiting for us.

"If you want to stay safe, keep your identity to yourself," he whispered, his words laced with warning, as if telling me he had seen through my guise. "You really provoked the Queen, huh?" This time, his tone was teasing before he helped me onto the carriage.

I looked at him and saw him make a hushing gesture, leaving me unsure whether he was an ally or not.

The scene wavered—more like it shifted.

I found myself rushing toward a certain place, my heart heavy with a feeling I couldn't quite place, one I couldn't remember.

Where am I going again?

The question echoed in my mind just as my hand pushed open a door at the end of the corridor. The scent of fresh paint filled my nose, yet my heart constricted as I saw her—her elegant posture, absorbed in her painting by the window.

"Are you happy, even though you know he allowed this engagement for political reasons?" The brush in her hand continued to glide across the canvas with fluid grace, and even without fully seeing her face, I could tell her smile had deepened, a subtle reaction to my thoughts about her current piece.

How did I know her emotions through that painting?

"You really know me well." She chuckled as she set the brush down and turned to face me. Her smile faded when she noticed my somber expression. My eyes felt sore, and even without seeing my reflection, I could tell—by the sting—that they were red from crying. The droplets of sweat on my face were a clear sign that I had run to get here. "What's wrong, Kairos? Is something bothering you?"

Kairos? Where had I heard that name? And this scene... it feels oddly familiar.

For some reason, I forced a smile and turned my gaze back to her painting. She stepped back and leaned against the window sill, taking a moment to admire her final masterpiece. The colors of the painting swirled together like a dance of emotions. Soft brushstrokes of pink, lavender, and gold created a sense of love and longing, reminiscent of her feelings for the crown prince. A yearning for his love that she knew would never be returned, despite him agreeing to their engagement. Bursts of yellow and orange added warmth, a strange happiness that contrasted with the sadness lingering beneath. Deep blues and purples bled into the edges of the canvas, hinting at the ache of unrequited love she tried to ignore. Yet these were softened by the vibrant, hopeful tones at the center.

The fact that she wants to stay by the crown prince's side—despite knowing she would be used as his pawn—makes my insides feel like they're ripping apart.

Why does it hurt so much? Do I have feelings for this woman? Who is she really? And why... why do I know everything about her?

"Are you going to give that to him?" I finally mustered the courage to ask, taking a step toward her painting for a closer look. My voice came out calm, but inside, I was being overwhelmed by a tsunami of emotions that had been building up, slipping subtly through my eyes as the sadness I felt lingered while I stared at the canvas.

I guess...I really have feelings for her.

She shook her head and smiled. "No. I know my place. I just wanted to paint what I feel... for the last time."

"Can I... have it?" I asked, looking at her almost immediately after she spoke. My eyes lingered on her, almost melting under the weight of the emotions I couldn't quite explain.

"Why?"

My body moved on its own. I closed the distance between us, leaning a little closer, trapping her between me and the window sill. For a brief moment, I saw the unease in her eyes as she registered the unfamiliar expression on my face. But she quickly composed herself, looking at me as if she were etching my figure into her memory.

For the first time, I realized that this Karina was different from that Karina. Since the moment I was pulled into this strange dream, I hadn't seen a hint of weakness in those mismatched eyes. She wasn't gloomy at all—instead, she was brimming with life, like a vibrant canvas brought to life.

"So, she's finally coming back, huh." A voice came from behind, and the face I was staring at froze, as the scene around us began to fizzle, like a screen flickering out.

I turned around, but the person in front of me had unrecognizable features. I knew someone was there, but for some reason, his face remained blurry, like a figure lost in the fog.

"Who are you?" I asked, without an ounce of fear in my voice, despite his intimidating figure.

I heard him chuckle as he walked toward me, and to my surprise, my body reacted instinctively, stepping forward to shield the frozen figure of Karina Azalena behind me. This only made the unknown person shake his head as he halted in his tracks.

"Me? I have a few names. But in this world, I go by the name Sol." He snapped his fingers after saying his name.

The ground beneath me became unsteady. A pulse of heat—white-hot and searing—shot through my skull. A flood of images. Memories. Pieces I had forgotten—no, pieces I had lost.

And then, the dream shattered.

I wake up.

Sweat clings to my skin. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I stare at the ceiling, the weight of realization sinking in.

That wasn't just a dream.

It was a memory.

And this time—

I remembered everything.

—

I found myself in front of her place. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I caught my breath. It felt like I had raced against time just to get here. But now that I was at her door, my body felt rigid. I didn't even know what to say when I finally faced her.

"When she's out of Limbo, you will get back all your memories, including our conversation."

Those were Sol's words when he reincarnated me into this world. And getting my memory back could only mean one thing: Karina Azalena is now in the same world as mine. Or perhaps she has always been here, and I just hadn't regained my memories yet for some unknown cause.

For the umpteenth time, I took a deep breath and gathered the courage to knock. I heard hesitant rustling behind the door before it finally opened, and her gloomy figure emerged once more. I frowned, the woman I loved in my past life was in front of me, yet my heart remained still, as if it wasn't the person who would cause a bug in my system. I sighed as I stared at her confused expression, feeling the weight of unfamiliarity settle in my chest.

"W-why are y-you here?" she asked, confusion and fear clear on her face as she blinked her lens-covered eyes.

"You..." I took a deep breath, trying hard to compose a proper sentence in my head. In the end, I chose to ask something ridiculous. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"

She stared at me for a moment, and I couldn't tell what was going on in her mind. It was as if she was lost in something that only she could understand.

"Are you here as Kai Alaric the fencer, or Kai Alaric, the Duke of the North?"

Her words struck me. If she knew me as the Duke of the North, then this person is truly—

"I'm not her—not yet, at least." She opened the door wider, as if inviting me to come in. Still hesitant, I found myself stepping into her small room. It wasn't a mess, but the stacks of unused boxes made it clear—it was the room of someone preparing to leave.

My gaze shifted to Karina as she took a small envelope from her drawer and handed it to me. "Can you pass this to her? But only when she finds her true ending."

I frowned. "What's this?"

"A gift." She simply answered.

And then, there's silence. Only the soft tapping of keys as she types on her laptop, the quiet hum of the machine blending with the faint buzz of the desk lamp. The glow from the screen casts shifting shadows on her face, highlighting the slight furrow in her brows, the way her lips press together in thought.

Outside, the distant hum of the city lingers, muffled by the closed windows. The clock on the wall ticks steadily—almost midnight now.

I watch her move, my expression unreadable, yet my mind is anything but still. Questions pile up, tangling together in a mess of contradictions. She looks like Karina—moves like her, breathes like her—but why does it feel like I'm watching a stranger? If she wasn't the Karina, I was waiting for...

"How did you know the title I go by?" I finally found my voice and asked.

Like always, when she was in front of her laptop, she didn't spare me a glance. Her fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced ease, the rhythmic tapping filling the silence between us. Yet, when she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, fragile—like a thread stretched too thin.

"Hmm... because I was the one who wrote that world."

She tapped a few more times, the screen's glow flickering against her face before she finally shut down her laptop. The soft click of the lid closing felt like the final note of an unfinished symphony. Then, at last, she turned to face me. Her expression was void of anything—no amusement, no pride, no hesitation. Just an emptiness that unsettled me more than any answer ever could.

I frowned. "Wrote that world?" Confusion was clearly written on my face. "What do you mean?"

Karina took a deep breath and looked up, as if searching for the right words. "It's hard to explain. Just think of it like this..."

She reached for something beside her and handed me a black notebook—the same as the one I had with me, the one I had forgotten to return.

Carved in gold lettering was her name on the cover. She gave me a small nod, silently urging me to open it.

So, I did.

My frown deepened as I flipped through the pages, each turn revealing sketches of characters—figures that felt eerily familiar. Names, faces, details... all of them too precise, too real. Too familiar to be a coincidence.

And then, at the very last page, my fingers froze.

There, drawn with painstaking detail, was me.

My face.

And beneath it, written in the same precise hand, was my name and the very title I went by in Aelius Kingdom.

"What is this?" My voice came out quieter than I intended, my grip tightening around the notebook. "Are we just characters in your story? A fragment of your imagination?"

The weight of the thought pressed down on me, twisting something deep in my chest. The names, the faces, the memories I had lived—were they nothing more than ink on a page? A carefully crafted narrative written by the woman sitting in front of me? My pulse drummed in my ears as my thoughts spiraled. If everything had been written, if our lives were merely the remnants of her ideas, then what was real? What was I?

But Karina only shook her head, her gaze drifting toward a picture frame on the desk. "I assure you, you're not." Her voice was quiet, steady—but there was something unreadable in her expression. "But let her think of it that way... for now."

Her eyes returned to me then, and a wistful smile ghosted her lips, fleeting yet heavy with meaning. "Once she gets the rightful ending that she deserves, you'll know everything—after you give her that letter."

My gaze dropped to the letter in my hand, the weight of it suddenly suffocating. A single piece of paper, yet it carried an expectation I wasn't sure I could bear.

"How would I even know the rightful ending she deserves?" I murmured, my throat tightening. "I don't even know if I have the right to face her... after failing to save her."

Karina's soft chuckle broke through the weight of my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. It wasn't mocking, nor was it condescending—it was light, almost amused, as if she found something oddly entertaining about all of this.

I turned to her, and sure enough, a small, knowing smile played on her lips as she met my gaze. There was something unreadable in her expression, something just out of reach.

"Do you want to know a secret?" she asked, her voice carrying an air of quiet mischief.

I frowned. "What?"

Her smile didn't waver. "I think you two are fated to be with each other."

My brow furrowed deeper. "What crazy—"

Before I could finish, her gaze flickered toward the cluster of pens scattered across her desk, as if gathering her thoughts. "Though, it's just a theory in my head," she mused, almost to herself. "But I feel like... you're not just a side character in her story."

Her words did nothing to ease my confusion. If anything, they only made the questions in my head pile up like an avalanche—sudden, unstoppable, and suffocating.

"How will she get here, by the way? And why should I be the one to give her this letter?" I asked after a few moments of silence that had settled between us, thick and unyielding.

Karina didn't answer right away. Instead, she paused, her gaze lingering on me as if weighing how much she should reveal. Then, with the same unsettling calmness, she said, "I'll summon her here, of course."

I blinked. "What?"

A quiet laugh escaped her lips, but there was no humor in it—only certainty.

"Is that even possible?" I pressed, my pulse quickening.

She tilted her head slightly, a knowing look in her eyes. "You should know by now," she murmured, "that nothing is impossible in a world where stories and reality intertwine."

I fell silent. It was true.

After everything I had seen—everything I had remembered—who was I to question what was possible? The lines between fiction and reality had already blurred beyond recognition, twisting into something I could no longer define.

And yet, the thought of summoning her here, of facing her again, made something tighten in my chest.

Would she even want to see me?

Would she even believe me?

My grip on the letter in my hand tightened as the weight of it settled deeper into my bones.

I forgot—she never met the Duke of the North.

Although I had made countless memories with her before she fell in love with that person, the face and name she knew wasn't the one I had now—my real face and name.

She had never seen it.

Not while I was disguising myself as a mercenary, Kairos.

Karina smiled sadly as she picked up a black pen from the table and began drawing a diagram on the floor.

"I was hesitant to be honest," she said, glancing at me for a moment. "I thought I'd fail, but with you coming here, I've made up my mind." She spoke with no ounce of regret in her voice as she continued drawing something I recognized from my past life. A soul-switching diagram—one that's irreversible once completed.

"What are you—"

"She wanted to leave that world so badly," she cut me off, pricking her finger and letting three droplets of blood fall in the center of the diagram. "And I'm done with this life as well."

A flash of red light flickered. I tried to stop her, but I was thrown back by the force of the summoning circle she had drawn.

"Hey!"

The contacts she had been wearing melted with the heat, revealing those mismatched eyes that had always given me peace.

Then, she mouthed, "I'll leave everything in your hands now, Duke. Please take care of her."

Just as the clock struck twelve, a blinding white flash engulfed the room. I instinctively shut my eyes, a sharp gasp catching in my throat as the overwhelming light consumed everything. It wasn't just brightness—it was something deeper, something that seemed to pierce through my very being. The air shifted, thick with an unexplainable force, as if reality itself was being rewritten in that single moment.

For a brief second, there was nothing. No sound, no movement—just an empty void.

And then, just as suddenly as it came, the light vanished. When I opened my eyes, her body lay motionless on the floor. I was about to pick her up when her body began to glow with light, and the scars and bruises on her skin started to fade away, along with the faint traces of the diagram she had drawn.

I quickly scooped her up and checked her pulse. My heart thumped in my chest, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I felt her steady heartbeat. Gently, I laid her back in bed and waited for her to regain consciousness.

"Go home for now."

I turned to find the hazy figure of Sol standing behind me.

"She won't wake up—not yet."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Time difference."

"What?!"

Sol walked over to us and picked up a page from the stack of papers scattered across the floor.

"That Karina," he continued, "just wrote the ending of her story and set a specific time for its publication. The Karina you're waiting for will only regain consciousness once the story is published tomorrow at exactly eight o'clock in the morning."

"What kind of—"

"Watch your language, kid." He cut me off mid-sentence, then picked up a pen from the floor and looked at me. "Don't worry. From here on out, I can assure you, her ending will be different from your past."

He didn't let me say another word. With a snap of his fingers, the next thing I knew, I was back in my car, in front of my house.