Who...

Sethius's gaze bore into her.

Poisoned.

The word seemed to have struck every fiber of his being, a fact that should have alarmed him but instead felt oddly insignificant like it was someone else that went through that unfortunate fate.

"Poisoned" he repeated, his voice an unsettling mix of fury and curiosity. 

And, unknown to everyone, his fingers clenched slightly the silken sheets, his body faintly trembling thanks to the strain of suppressed emotion.

But what emotion?

Fear towards the unknown?

Anger towards the culprit? 

Or relief because he is still alive and kicking?

Sadly, he couldn't tell.

Everything within him felt Muted. Hollow even as though he were just a mere reflection of a person and not the real thing yet.

The maid, sensing his change, took a cautious step back. "Y-Yes, Your Highness. T-The royal physicians worked tirelessly to save you. It has been... t-two days since you fell into the coma. We all feared you might never wake!"

But, without giving her a chance to continue, his voice cut through the air like the sharp edge of a sword. "Who poisoned me?" He leaned forward slightly, the movement seemingly predatory and precise without an ounce of the fear he showed earlier.

The maid's lips parted, then closed again as though the words were too important to be said.

Alas, Her silence confirmed what Sethius instinctively knew—he was not among allies but right in the middle of the tiger's den.

And, after letting the silence stretch until it became unbearable for her, the maid finally stammered, "I-I do not know, Your Highness. Please, I am just a mere maid. I swear! Please, I—"

"Enough." Sethius raised a hand to stop her, and she immediately fell silent, tears falling down her rosy cheeks.

His mind swirled with fragments of thought, his half-formed memories refusing to fuse.

This chamber, this maid, this failed assassination—none answered the question knocking at the back of his mind: who was he really?

His eyes flicked to the window, more exactly, at the golden sunlight spilling onto the polished marble floor like some sort of salvation.

He felt an inexplicable pull toward it.

A yearning, to be precise to escape the suffocating weight of the room, the maid's crying form, and the heavy title of "Your Highness" that felt like a shackle rather than a crown.

"I need..." He paused, his voice softening just slightly, "...time."

The maid blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion as she hardly stopped herself from weeping. "T-Time, Your Highness?"

"Alone," he clarified, his tone sharp and cold again. "Leave me. Now"

"But, Your Highness, I—"

"Now!" He repeated while shouting. The single word was smeared with menace as if she dared to utter just a single thing again her head would go flying toward some colder places.

Hearing his final and unrefusable command, the maid immediately dropped her gaze, her cheeks now pale. She bowed her head quickly in deference and scurried toward the door, her footsteps uneven as if fear robbed her of her balance.

The door closed with a soft click, leaving Sethius in silence once more.

He exhaled a long breath and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

His bare feet touched the cold marble, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the grand bed.

Sethius rose unsteadily, every muscle in his body groaning in protest. He staggered toward the window, gripping the ornate frame as he gazed out at the world outside his confine.

And what he saw was... vast and unfamiliar.

Sprawling colorful gardens filled with vibrant flowers and meticulously trimmed hedges.

Birds flying through the air, their songs muffled by the thick glass.

And, what seemed to be soldiers clad in iron armor adorned with magnificent crimson accents patrolling the tall wall at the end of his field of view.

He pressed his forehead against the cool pane, closing his eyes. The faint warmth of the sun on his skin was a welcome distraction from the chaos happening in his mind.

He had awoken into a world he didn't understand, among people he couldn't trust.

The thought of staying here, entangled in whatever power games or interests had led to his poisoning, filled him with a somewhat sense of... unease.

But out there... perhaps out there lay the answers. 

Or at least, a way to gain freedom from this shitty, suffocating room. For now, though, all he wanted was silence—to piece together the fragments of himself without the prying eyes of strangers.

"Who am I really?" he whispered to the empty room, the question heavier than the striking sword that was leaning unseen on the frame of his bed.

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A/N: I'm back peeps! Finally, I can get a breather from all that shitty schoolwork after nearly 2 weeks ( I hope at least for now).