Just wait

The room was silent, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the window.

Curtains sway gently.

The air was thick with incense smoke.

In the middle of the room, a girl lay on a lavish bed.

Her face, calm, peaceful—too peaceful.

And then, suddenly—

"Aah!"

The girl jolted upright, her nightgown clinging to her skin, soaked in sweat, her chest rising and falling in sharp bursts. 

"Haa... haa..."

Her breath came in shallow, frantic gasps. Fingers clutched the linen sheets as if they were a lifeline.

The quickly, her hands flew to her stomach, trembling as she felt around—smooth skin.

No wound. No blood.

"H-How?" she whispered, voice hoarse. "I was stabbed."

The vivid memory of cold steel sinking into her abdomen sent a shiver down her spine.

She remembered the pain, the warmth of her own blood, the way her vision had dimmed…

Creak!

Before she could gather her thoughts, the door creaked open.

"Lady Lyria!" a voice called out.

A young maid, in a crisp uniform—hurried in, eyes wide with concern. "Are you alright?"

Lyria?

The girl blinked, stunned.

"I—I'm fine," she answered automatically, her voice unfamiliar even to her own ears.

The maid hesitated, then added. "Please call me if you need anything, my lady."

Lyria gave a slow nod.

The maid bowed and left, closing the door gently behind her.

Silence returned—but not peace.

Lyria sat frozen for a moment, her mind was a mess.

What's happening?

Her gaze swept across the room.

Gilded furniture.

Her bed was canopied. The sheets were embroidered in silver. The curtains were elegant.

And—

Her limbs felt off—lighter, smaller.

Her breath caught.

She scrambled out of bed, bare feet hitting the cold marble floor as she rushed to the tall mirror in the corner.

She stared—

And.

What she saw made her blood cold.

Silver-white hair cascading down her shoulders in soft waves.

Her amethyst eyes, widened in disbelief.

The face staring back wasn't hers…

It was younger. Smoother. No older than twenty.

"I was supposed to be dead…" she whispered, stepping closer to the mirror.

"I died. I know I did. Then how is this…?"

Her fingers trailed over the smooth skin of her abdomen, confirmation that the blade never left a mark.

No scar. No blood. No stab wound.

Nothing from the fatal wound that should've ended her life.

And this wasn't her face—not exactly. Her features were similar, but...off.

She narrowed her eyes. Did I… travel back in time?

But the room was unfamiliar.

Lavish, yes—but not hers.

The décor, the patterns, the scent in the air… all were foreign to her.

Then it hit her.

What the maid did called her—

"Lyria?" she murmured. "That's not my name."

She took a shaky step back from the mirror.

"What's going on?" she muttered.

Her heart thudded. Is this someone else's body?

It made some twisted sense.

The appearance was nearly identical—same hair, same eyes—but the name, the place, her own voice…

Then, suddenly—

She clutched her head as a blinding pain tore through her skull.

"Nngh—!"

She staggered back from the mirror, her knees buckling.

Images. Thoughts. Memories that weren't hers surged into her mind—fragmented flashes of laughter, screams, training, command.

Her breath hitched.

Then—

Thud!

Her body collapsed, eyes rolling back as darkness claimed her mind.

******

"Haa… haa…"

Alaric gasped, his chest heaving as he lay sprawled on the cold, stinking floor.

Sweat clung to his skin, mixing with grime. The ache in his muscles throbbed with every breath.

"Damn it… Only five?" he muttered bitterly. "I'm—no, this body is so damn weak…"

Creak!

Just then, the door creaked open.

And the other slaves stumbled in, their footsteps sluggish, shoulders drooping. Some dropped where they stood, some clinging to corners.

Most of them looked half-dead.

A few cast sideways glances at Alaric, their eyes flickering with something between envy and scorn, muttering faint words that were hard to caught.

But Alaric paid them no mind.

His gaze remained fixed on the moldy ceiling above, eyes hollow, mind distant.

A few minutes passed in silence, except for their heavy breathing.

Then—

Creak!

The door creaked open again.

And a pair of guards stepped in, carrying a wooden tray stacked with stale bread and watery soup.

Thud!

Without a word, they dropped it on the floor with a loud thud.

The other slaves immediately crawled toward the food, their limbs trembling from fatigue, but the hunger drove them like animals.

The guards snickered, amused by the desperate display.

One kicked a crawling man in the ribs, laughing as he groaned.

"Argh…" Alaric grunted as he forced himself upright.

The bruises from his earlier beating still throbbed, made worse by the pathetic attempt at push-ups earlier.

He winced, massaging his sore arms, then limped toward the food.

One guard stepped in front of him, sneering. "Get on all fours and beg for it, mutt."

Alaric's gaze sharpened, his eyes cold and defiant.

He didn't say a word, just stared.

The guard scowled. "You want to eat? Crawl."

"I won't do it," Alaric replied, voice low but firm, refusing to bow.

The guard raised his arm, ready to strike—but just then, a voice shouted from the hallway,

"Why aren't you idiots at your posts?"

The guard clicked his tongue in irritation, then threw a loaf of dry bread straight at Alaric's face. "Tch. Lucky dog."

They stormed off, boots thudding down the corridor.

Alaric sighed, swallowing both the pain and humiliation.

He rubbed his jaw and clenched his fists.

The elderly slave from earlier picked up the bread and handed it to him gently.

"You've got spirit, boy," he said, patting Alaric's shoulder.

"But don't let pride get you killed. We're slaves now… this is our fate. No point in fighting it."

Alaric said nothing. He took the bread, walked back to a dark corner, and began eating in silence, eyes still burning with fury.

Then—

[Ding!]

[Daily Quest Completed!]

[Rewards: +5 Domination Points, +1 EXP, +1 WIL]

Alaric's eyes lit up, corner of his lips twitched into a sly smirk.

Just you guys wait.