Fractured reflections

Eris woke with a jolt.

Her breath hitched, her chest rising too fast, too sharp—like something had torn through the fragile fabric of her mind.

For a moment, the world was a blur. Then the room came into focus. Polished wooden beams. A chandelier glimmering overhead. Curtains drawn tight against the morning sun. Everything was pristine, untouched.

Too real. Too suffocating.

Her hands clenched the plush coverlet, fingers trembling as she fought to steady her pulse. She didn't remember how long she'd been lying there—only that she had been somewhere else before.

The game. The trials.

The scent of blood. The taste of fear. The weight of a life slipping through her fingers.

It had been real. Every moment of it.

But now, there was only silence.

She was home.

The thought landed like a stone in her chest. Cold. Crushing.

The castle walls stood unchanged, as if time had not bent, as if she had not bled, suffered, or fought for her life. As if she were still just Princess Eris—the overlooked twin, the lesser one.

But she wasn't.

She couldn't be.

A faint sound—so quiet she almost missed it—slipped into her ears.

Ding.

Eris froze.

The air in the room felt heavier, pressing down on her chest. The faint chime had been so familiar, so hauntingly sharp.

The system?

Her pulse hammered. She turned sharply, scanning the room, searching for the cold, unfeeling text that had once dictated life and death.

Nothing.

The silence remained unbroken.

For a long moment, she didn't move. Then, slowly, she exhaled, pressing a trembling hand against her temple. I'm imagining things. That's all.

Yet, deep inside, she knew better.

The game had never truly let anyone go.

She pushed the thought down and forced herself upright. The motion sent a tremor through her spine, her body aching with the ghost of past wounds. She could hear voices in the corridors—distant, blurred echoes threading through the marble halls.

Her mother's voice, sharp and deliberate, as if every word needed to be measured. Her father's, firm and commanding, leaving no space for argument. And Celeste's voice—soft, effortless, carrying the ease of someone born to rule.

The old familiarity of it all made Eris' stomach turn.

It's not that bad. The lie barely formed before it soured on her tongue. I handled it. I'm here. I'm fine.

But every inch of her body screamed otherwise.

The door creaked open.

A maid stepped inside, her steps careful, as if the wrong movement might shatter something unseen. She carried a tray of tea, the porcelain clinking softly as she set it on the bedside table. A simple act. Ordinary.

And yet, it struck Eris like a slap.

Her lips parted, but her throat felt dry, constricted. When she finally forced a whisper, the words barely made it past her lips. "Thank you."

The maid hesitated, her hands clasped before her. Eris could feel the weight of unspoken words in the air—curiosity, concern—but none of it left the girl's lips.

The silence stretched too long. Too heavy.

"…Princess?" the maid finally ventured, voice hesitant.

Eris' fingers twitched.

Just a simple word. Just her title.

But she had heard it said differently before. In another place. In another voice.

Player Eris, Stage One Completed.

A chill raced down her spine.

Her breath came faster now, shallower. The polished wooden floor blurred beneath her. The scent of tea curled around her like a suffocating fog, trapping her in the unbearable contrast between the past and the present.

The shrieks of dying players. The sickening crunch of bodies breaking. The cold whisper of the system announcing their fates.

She had wanted power. She had wanted control.

But at what cost?

Her hands curled into fists over the blanket, nails digging into her palms as she forced herself to breathe, to push it down, to bury the weight of it deep.

But the moment passed too quickly. The guilt remained.

What if I hadn't made it out? What if I was still there, lost to the game?

Her hand slid over her knee—her skin felt cold, unnatural, like something no longer her own. The realization sent a fresh shiver through her.

It was too much to bear.

"Leave me," she whispered hoarsely.

The maid hesitated for only a second before bowing and slipping out. The soft sound of her retreating footsteps faded down the corridor, but the silence that followed felt heavier than before.

Eris sat frozen for a long moment, staring at the untouched tea.

Then, slowly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her limbs aching with the effort. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror—her face pale, her eyes rimmed with red.

The perfect princess was gone.

In her place was something unrecognizable.

I need to be stronger.

But even as she thought it, the words felt hollow. Like an echo of a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.

And in the silence of the castle, the shadow of the game loomed over her still.

An hour later, Eris stood before the vanity, staring at the mirror.

A girl in royal silks stared back—pristine, elegant, a perfect daughter of Tinzen's royal house. Yet something beneath the surface felt wrong. The reflection moved as it should, yet she swore it wasn't hers.

Her fingers traced the embroidered hem of her sleeves, the fabric too smooth, too untouched—unlike her. Unlike the girl who had clawed her way out of that place.

The altar had taken something.

And now, she was expected to sit at breakfast as if nothing had changed.

A knock at the door.

"Princess, the royal family is assembling," a maid called.

Eris inhaled, smoothing her dress with steady hands. "I'm coming."

Her body moved on instinct, shoulders squared, head high. A princess did not stumble through the halls like a lost child.

Yet as she walked, the castle felt distant. The polished marble floors, the golden tapestries, the heavy gaze of painted ancestors watching from the walls—none of it felt real.

Did they know what she had done?

What she had touched?

She swallowed the thought and stepped into the grand dining hall.

---

The scent of warm bread, honeyed fruit, and spiced tea filled the room. Sunlight streamed through the arched windows, bathing the polished table in a golden glow. It was a picture of normalcy. A world unchanged.

And yet, she had changed.

Her father, King Aldric, spoke to her elder brothers, Alistair and Fabian, their conversation low but firm. Her mother, Queen Evelyne, sat with the ever-perfect Celeste, exchanging soft words.

Celeste, of course, was radiant.

Draped in a flowing white gown embroidered with golden threads, divine magic hummed beneath her skin like a heartbeat. Effortless. Unshaken. As if she had never known fear, never faced powerlessness.

Eris slid into her seat across from her twin. Her expression remained neutral, but inside, her thoughts churned.

She had survived the game. She had fought, bled, changed.

And yet, here she was—expected to play the role of the lesser princess once more.

A hollow smile curled Celeste's lips as she lifted her tea. "You're quiet this morning."

Eris's grip tightened around her fork. "I didn't sleep well."

Celeste smirked over the rim of her cup. "Strange. I had the best sleep of my life."

Of course, you did.

Celeste had never struggled, never suffered. She had never needed to fight for her place.

But Eris had.

And she never wanted to feel powerless again.

She finished her meal in silence, her mind racing.

✔ She wasn't strong enough. She needed training.

✔ Her magic was unstable. She had to understand it.

✔ She had no weapon. She needed something practical.

After breakfast, she retreated to her chambers sending everyone else away. The moment the doors shut, she exhaled sharply, pressing a hand against her chest.

She had survived, but survival wasn't enough.

Eris extended her palm. If her magic responded to will, then she would will it into something sharp, something lethal.

A dagger.

Dark wisps curled in her hand, shifting, flickering. A shape took form, edges jagged, unstable—before shattering into nothing.

She sucked in a breath.

Again.

She forced her will into the magic. This time, the dagger held for five seconds before dissolving into air.

Her heart pounded. It was responding. But it was fragile.

She tried again—this time, a shield. A translucent barrier flickered to life, barely the size of a book. It cracked. Splintered. Shattered.

Eris clenched her fists.

Her magic was unreliable, bending with her emotions. When she panicked, it failed. When she doubted, it broke.

That couldn't happen in the game.

She needed control.

She needed more.

She sank into her chair, fingers drumming against the armrest.

Her weaknesses were clear:

1. She lacked physical strength. She needed training.

2. Her magic was fragile. She needed mastery.

3. She lacked combat skills. She needed a weapon.

A knight? Too obvious—her father would notice.

A scholar? Theory wasn't enough—she needed action.

A servant? …Maybe.

Her mind turned to one possibility. A retired knight. A man who still trained castle staff in self-defense.

If she framed it right—if she made it seem like she simply wanted to improve her personal safety—no one would question it.

It was a risk.

But she had no time to waste.

Eris rose from her seat, resolve hardening in her chest.

Tomorrow, she would find him.

Because if she didn't master her power soon,the game would come for her life next.