CHAPTER 11: A DUKE'S REFLECTION

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The cold night air seeped through the open balcony doors of Duke Everhart's study. A single candle flickered beside him, casting his shadow against the darkened walls. He had dismissed the servants for the night, preferring solitude.

Yet, his mind was far from quiet.

The girl—Seraphina Liora.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the wooden armrest. Their meeting had been brief, a mere formality at best. And yet, it lingered in his thoughts far longer than it should have.

She was not what he expected.

Most noblewomen were predictable—either frightened by his presence or eager to gain his favor. Seraphina had been neither. She had stood firm, poised, her violet eyes sharp as if weighing every word spoken between them.

But it was not just her confidence that unsettled him.

It was the familiarity.

Everhart had met many people in his life, yet when she spoke, a strange, fleeting sensation stirred within him, something he could not place.

He exhaled, turning his gaze toward the unopened letter on his desk.

A letter with no sender, sealed with the same unfamiliar crest that had found its way to his estate before.

At first, he had dismissed the previous messages as mere attempts at manipulation—schemes meant to provoke his curiosity. But now, after meeting Seraphina, the timing felt too deliberate.

With a swift motion, he broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

> In the Library of Forgotten Names, truths buried by time still whisper their secrets. Seek, and you may remember what was lost.

His grip on the letter tightened.

It was cryptic, frustratingly so. But something about those words struck a chord deep within him.

The Library of Forgotten Names.

The name was not entirely unfamiliar, but he could not recall from where. A hidden archive? A legend? Something more?

He closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temple.

This was ridiculous.

He was a man of logic, not of riddles. And yet, as much as he wished to dismiss the letter as nonsense, something within him resisted the notion.

His thoughts drifted back to Seraphina.

For a moment, when their eyes met, he had the absurd sensation that he had seen them before—not in passing, not in paintings, but in a way that defied explanation.

Memories that did not exist.

Or rather… memories that should not exist.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"My lord," a voice called from outside. "An urgent report from the capital."

Everhart set the letter down and straightened. The matters of the empire could not wait.

But the unease in his chest did not fade.

As he stood, he cast one last glance at the letter, the words lingering in his mind like an unspoken promise.

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