Chapter 4: The First Contact

Just a few years later, Kamaria, now

thirteen, and Sulien, now fifteen, had grown not only in age—but in power.

Kamaria had learned to use her magic

not to haunt, but to heal—calling upon the shadows to protect, to guide, to see

what others could not. Yet she still wore her gifts like a hidden blade, concealed beneath polite smiles and long sleeves. In a kingdom that already viewed her people as cursed, she feared what they'd do if they saw her for what

she truly was.

Sulien, meanwhile, trained with

unwavering devotion. Day after day, sword after sword, spell after spell. Under

the watchful eye of Haruka Masaru, he was determined to become something the world had never seen: the perfect fusion of blade and magic.

Then, one morning, everything changed.

"Young Sir!" Haruka Masaru called

across the training field, her voice firm, but lined with something softer. She

approached, her eyes meeting Sulien's with unspoken pride.

"Remember everything I taught you,"

she said, her tone gentler now. "If you find yourself in danger, trust your

instincts. Control your mana. Protect yourself."

Sulien stood tall, the sunlight

catching in his silver hair, his sword sheathed at his side.

He gave a quiet nod.

"Thank you, Ms. Masaru. If it weren't

for you… I wouldn't have been acknowledged by the Monarch."

She smiled, her usually strict

features softening like melting stone.

"Please, Young Sir," she said with a

bow. "Call me Haruka."

He blinked, then smiled in return, and

bowed even deeper.

"Only if you call me Sulien."

Haruka chuckled, her eyes glassy with

unshed pride.

"Before you go Youn- Sulien." Sulien stopped in his tracks and waited to hear what Haruka had to say. "Here take this, it's one of the best swords that has been

made for me and is something worthy for someone like you. Not even I used it." She took out a wrapped sword, unwrapping the bundle carefully. Fold by fold, the cloth fell away to reveal a katana—its saya a deep midnight blue, streaked with faint silver veins, like cracks in the night sky. The tsuka was wrapped in black silk and indigo thread, ending in a small silver pommel engraved with a stylized balance symbol—half light, half shadow.

Sulien's breath caught.

"I had it polished for you… balanced in weight, tempered with mana, and embedded

with the seal of our house. It is called Hikari-no-Yoru—Light of Night."

 Sulien reached out, hesitant, almost reverent.

His fingers curled around the hilt, and he felt it immediately—the quiet thrum

of magic, the warmth of steel that had waited for the right hands.

"Thank you, I will take my leave now and I will take great care of this possession of

yours." Sulien bows.

"Very well. Good luck… Sulien

Kobayashi."

She watched as he turned, walking

toward the palace gates under escort, waving back at her like a child too eager

to look back more than once.

*

"Kamaria! Don't forget your bag,

sweetheart!"

Sora's voice rang from the doorway,

clutching her daughter's worn satchel.

"Thanks, Mom," Kamaria said, slinging

it over her shoulder. "I'm going to miss you." She threw her arms around her

mother, squeezing her tight. "Be careful," Sora whispered into her hair.

"Promise me." "I promise," Kamaria whispered back, holding on a moment longer.

"Good luck, Miss Kamaria Suzuki," said

Mr. Hoshino from beside the door, his old eyes full of warmth. Kamaria gave a

small nod and turned, walking alongside her father toward the waiting horses.

They mounted in silence. The moment

felt heavy—important, though Kamaria couldn't explain why. As they rode, trees

blurred past in golds and greens, the horizon stretching wider than her

thoughts could hold.

She stared ahead, chewing her lip.

Why me?

Why out of the thousands in the

kingdom… why does it have to be me?

Her thoughts must have escaped her

lips, because Rasetsu turned his head.

"What was that, kiddo?"

Kamaria sighed. "I just don't get why

the king would choose me to carry out a mission. I don't even know what it's

about. Why not someone older, someone more powerful, someone who actually wants to go?"

Rasetsu smiled gently, reins in hand.

"Because of your gift, Kamaria. If you didn't have that magic flowing through

you, I imagine you'd be safe at home, away from all this madness. But you're

not. You're special, my Ria."

She glanced down at her gloved hands,

shadow magic gently pulsing beneath her skin.

"Maybe… maybe that's true," she said

softly. "But what exactly am I meant to do? I'm just a lowly Shadowbinder.

Everyone else thinks we're cursed."

Her father didn't answer.

But the silence between them said

enough.

Even he, in his kind words and strong

shoulders, couldn't deny the weight of their title.

As the forest cleared, the land gave

way to dark stone walls and spiked gates.

In the distance, rising like a tower

out of the abyss, stood the citadel of her people—twisted and beautiful, old as

the shadows themselves.

A massive iron gate marked with faded

sigils loomed ahead.

And above it, carved in rough stone,

were the words:

CHORT PALACE.

Her pulse quickened. This was real.

Kamaria dismounted the horse, her

boots landing softly on the worn stone path. She stared up at the massive

obsidian steps that led to the towering entrance of Chort Palace, each one

gleaming like it had swallowed starlight. Her heart thumped, heavy but steady.

Behind her, Rasetsu adjusted his

reins, his usual smile faltering.

"Good luck, kiddo!" he called out,

forcing cheer into his voice. He couldn't stay—none of them could. Parents were

forbidden from lingering. Any hesitation invited suspicion. Or punishment.

Kamaria turned, her hand rising in a

wave, eyes already glassy.

"Goodbye, Dad! Tell Mom I love her!"

Then he was gone, swallowed by the

mist and stone roads behind her.

She looked forward.

Let's do this. Just get it over with.

Inside the Chort Palace, the air was

cold and dry, thick with old magic. Dark tapestries lined the corridor

walls—woven scenes of shadows twisting into beasts, kings crowned in black fire, and hooded figures bowed in eternal service.

A servant, pale and expressionless,

approached the throne room. He gave a low bow and announced in a formal tone:

"Your Highness, Miss Kamaria Suzuki

has arrived."

The Chort King, seated atop a throne

carved from black crystal, didn't look up.

"Tell her to come in."

The servant nodded and returned to

Kamaria, who was standing quietly, nerves coiled tight in her stomach. Without a word, he gestured her forward.

She stepped into the throne room.

The ceiling arched impossibly high,

and the King sat cloaked in velvet black, the room's dim candlelight casting

jagged shadows across his sharp, unreadable face.

Kamaria stopped a few steps before him

and dipped into a low curtsy.

"Your Royal Majesty, why have you

called me to your service?" she asked, voice steady but polite.

The King tilted his head slightly,

lips curling in what might have been a smile—or a warning.

"Ah. Miss Kamaria Suzuki. Daughter of

Rasetsu Suzuki. Student of Yuto Hoshino… Am I correct?"

Kamaria blinked.

That's Mr. Hoshino's full name?

Wait—did he just say… my father's

name?

"Yes, Your Royal Majesty, you are

correct." She bowed again, deeper this time.

The King's eyes narrowed.

"I don't need your correction. I

already know." His tone was sharp—measured.

Kamaria flinched. "I'm sorry, Your

Majesty. Please forgive me," she said quickly, nearly falling to her knees out

of reflex.

There was a moment of silence.

"May I ask a question?" she ventured,

careful not to lift her gaze too high.

The King waved his hand lazily. "Ask

away. I'm sure your head is already full of them."

Kamaria hesitated. Then, in a firmer

voice:

"How do you know my father?"

The King's eyes glinted. For a long

moment, he said nothing—only the crackling of a fire somewhere behind the

throne filled the void.

Then he laughed.

Low. Dry. Cold.

"Rasetsu? He was a good man. Sharp.

Loyal. The perfect advisor." His gaze pierced her. "Until he broke the one rule

he swore to uphold."

Kamaria froze.

"He got your mother pregnant. Then

married her. Without my knowledge. Without my consent." His voice was still

calm—but it buzzed with something more dangerous.

Kamaria's breath caught in her throat.

She had never heard this story. Her

father had always been a noble man in her eyes. Respected. Quiet. Dutiful.

The King continued.

"He defied me. A betrayal, by the laws

of this kingdom. Every advisor swears not to love, not to wed, not to divide

their loyalties with something so fragile as family." The King stood slowly

from his throne, his black robe spilling down the steps like smoke. "He knew

the consequences. And yet, he chose her anyway."

Kamaria swallowed hard.

"Then… why did you let him live?" she

asked, the words trembling off her lips.

The King walked past her, slowly.

"Because I liked him. Still do, in

some twisted way." His voice softened. "But understand this, child: mercy does

not erase betrayal. It only delays consequence."

Kamaria lowered her head. Her hands

curled at her sides.

The Chort King returned to his throne

and sat.

"You are here not because of your

father's past… but because of your future." He leaned forward. "And whether you will prove loyal to your blood… or to your King."

*

The wooden cart creaked rhythmically

as it rolled over the cobbled road, weaving between sun-drenched hills and

flowering cherry groves that swayed under the morning breeze. Sulien sat

quietly, elbows perched on the edge of the cart, chin resting on one hand as he

gazed out at the scenery. The landscape was something out of a dream—verdant

meadows stitched with silvery rivers, scattered petals dancing like confetti in

the wind.

For a moment, he forgot he was on his

way to meet the Qilin Monarch—the most powerful man in the kingdom.

"Beautiful day," he mumbled to

himself. "Shame it's the same day I might accidentally say the wrong thing and

disappear from existence."

Next to him, Kagetsu Kobayashi, his

father, sat with one leg crossed over the other, arms folded as he admired the

efficiency of the guards escorting their cart. But his attention eventually

fell on the wrapped bundle in Sulien's lap, tightly bound in deep indigo cloth,

marked with subtle golden embroidery—a family crest long lost to time.

"What's that, son?" Kagetsu asked

casually, raising a brow.

Sulien looked down. "Oh, this? It's a

gift from Masaru." He patted the bundle lightly. "She said it was too powerful

for her to keep. Something about it being 'unworthy of her hands.'"

Kagetsu leaned forward. "Looks like a

sword?"

"It is. She said it might be a family

heirloom… or a ceremonial gift from her teacher. She didn't say much else."

Kagetsu's brow furrowed. "Did it have

a name?"

"Yeah, something like… Hikari-no-Yoru,

I think."

The moment Sulien spoke the name,

Kagetsu froze. His expression shifted as if he'd just seen a ghost.

Then—suddenly—he jumped, jostling the cart with such force that even the guards riding beside them turned their heads.

"WHAT?!" he shouted, his voice echoing

through the hills.

Sulien blinked. "Y-Yes? Why are you

screaming at me?"

"THAT'S THE SWORD SHE GAVE YOU?!"

Kagetsu's face was red now. "Hikari-no-Yoru?! The Hikari-no-Yoru?! Do you know

what that is?! That sword—boy—that sword was wielded by the greatest swordsman and magic user our land has ever known!"

"Okay," Sulien said, scooting an inch

away. "Maybe I don't want to know anymore if you're going to scream at me like this. People are literally staring."

"There's no one here—" Kagetsu paused.

"Okay, maybe the guards, but that's not the point! That sword is legendary. I

wanted to see it with my own eyes since I was a kid! The wielder of that blade

fought in the final battle against the Chort Monarchy—alone. Held off an entire

army! A tragic hero!"

"Then he died. Soooo not that great."

Kagetsu's jaw dropped. "Take that back

right now! Everyone dies eventually! Even legends!"

Sulien shrugged. "Not me. I came back,

remember?"

Before Kagetsu could interrogate that

suspicious line of thinking, the cart came to an abrupt halt.

"Lord Kobayashi, we have arrived at

the Qilin Monarch's palace." The driver, Itsuki, bowed his head respectfully.

"Thank you, Itsuki," Kagetsu said,

still winded from the excitement.

Sulien stood, slinging the wrapped

katana over his back and hopping off the cart with a roll of his shoulders. His

nerves began creeping in now—the palace gates were enormous, wrought from enchanted silver and gold, guarded by twin statues of celestial Kirins glowing with faint light.

"Alright, I'm going in," Sulien said,

adjusting his collar. "Tell Mom I love her… and Masaru too."

"I will, son. Go make me proud,"

Kagetsu called after him, smiling.

Then he paused, watching Sulien

disappear into the gates. "…Wait. Why'd he say I love you to Masaru?"

The halls of the Qilin Palace were

magnificent. Gold-veined marble floors stretched beneath soaring columns etched with ancient runes. Murals covered the walls—depictions of wars fought with light and shadow, of noble ancestors who once carved the very shape of the world. It smelled faintly of incense and steel, and every step echoed like a whisper across eternity.

A royal advisor appeared. "Your

Majesty, Sir Sulien Kobayashi has arrived."

From atop a staircase-shaped throne

carved from radiant sunstone, the Qilin King gave a simple nod. "Tell him to

enter."

Sulien stepped forward, pausing only

to admire the breathtaking throne room. He dropped into a deep bow.

"Sir Sulien Kobayashi, son of Lord

Kagetsu Kobayashi, Your Royal Majesty."

The King looked at him, his face

unreadable, composed, with eyes that shimmered like glass yet felt as heavy as

fate itself.

"Ah. The heir of the Kobayashi home,"

he said calmly. "An excellent lineage… though it's unfortunate your father got

distracted by fatherhood."

Sulien's neck prickled. Was that a

joke? An insult? A warning?

He held the bow a few seconds longer

than necessary before rising.

"You may stand, Sulien."

He did. The King gestured to a

servant.

"Get the boy a chair. And bring tea.

The usual," he added with a wave.

The servant nodded and disappeared.

"You may be wondering why you're

here," the King said. "You're strong. Dangerous, even. But the other kingdoms—"

He stopped as the servant returned.

"Your Majesty, the tea and snacks have

arrived. I've brought the Young Sir a chair—"

Crack.

The room froze. The King didn't blink.

His head turned slowly, eyes locked on

the servant like a predator sizing up prey.

"You interrupted me." His voice was

cold. Ancient. Final.

The servant froze in place, tray

shaking in his hands.

"Your Majesty, I didn't mean—"

The King stood from the throne. The

air thickened.

"You. Disgusting. Lowly simpleton.. Do

you have no sense of order? Do you know what your interruption could have

cost?" His voice rose, reverberating through the gilded walls. "I could erase

your name from history. I could turn your bloodline to ash."

The servant dropped to his knees,

sobbing. "Please, Your Majesty, I beg you! Mercy! Spare my family! I'll accept

the punishment myself—"

The King leaned forward slightly,

casting a shadow over the groveling man.

"Very well. Since you wish to suffer

in their place… Give him the Ishikozume."

Another servant flinched and ran to

obey.

Sulien stood frozen. The Ishikosume…

that's not just punishment. That's erasure. Exile without voice. Without name. Without light.

His stomach churned.

Japanese punishments? In this world?

What else is the same…?

Before he could think more, he caught

the King's eye—and immediately lowered his gaze. The King slowly returned to

his throne, and with a single flick of his hand, silence returned to the

chamber.

"Now," the King said smoothly, as if

the horror had never happened. "Let us continue, Sulien. There is work to be

done."

 The royal chambers echoed.

From two very different thrones in two

very different lands, the Qilin King and the Chort Monarch delivered the exact

same chilling decree—across two palaces, two spies, and one rising war.

"You will disguise yourselves as mages. You will infiltrate the region of Thildesa, the capital city of Selmor, and uncover

the plans their king is forming against us."

Though they sat miles apart, their

voices seemed synchronized, as if fate—or something more powerful—was speaking through them.

"Your mission is simple. You will blend in among the higher noble families of Selmor. They are the ones closest to the Mage King. Observe them. Befriend them. Extract their secrets."

There was a pause. Cold. Heavy.

Then came the threat:

"And if you fail... and get caught?"

Their eyes sharpened.

"We'll discuss your fate... when the time comes."

In the silence that followed,

Kamaria's breath hitched.

Her pulse thundered in her ears,

thoughts spiraling into a cloud of chaos.

What if I get into a fight and my

magic flares out? What if I say the wrong name? What if they sense I'm a

shadowbinder? What if I never come home?

Across the land, Sulien's fists

clenched at his side. The air around him felt suddenly too warm.

If I mess up, even once… if they see

my magic and recognise me… will the Qilin Monarch turn his back on me too?

And yet, the Kings' words followed,

gentle but unnerving.

"I understand you have doubts.

But no one is more suited for this role than you, Sulien."

"Than you, Kamaria."

Their voices echoed in perfect unity

again.

"Fine," Sulien said with a forced

smile, masking the storm inside him.

He dropped into a low bow. "If Your

Majesty believes me worthy, I will give everything I have to fulfill this duty.

Thank you for the opportunity."

"If you believe I can carry this

weight, Your Majesty," Kamaria said, curtseying deeply, eyes down, heart

pounding. "I will complete my task. I will serve you with my life."

Neither of them truly understood what

they were stepping into. But orders from royalty… weren't to be questioned.

A Few Days Later – Qilin Palace,

Dressing Chambers

"Young Sir," the palace servant called

out, holding a long wooden box in one hand and a bundle of bizarre clothing in

the other, "your disguise is ready."

Sulien turned, jaw half-open as he

stared at the pile of robes, accessories, and… a hat that looked like a wizard

got lost in a wind tunnel.

"Do I really need all this?" he

muttered.

"Yes, Young Sir. It's essential to fit

in. The nobles of Thildesa are highly observant. A single wrong hemline and

they'll call for a public execution." The servant chuckled nervously. "Just a

joke, ha ha. Sort of."

"…Great."

The servant moved forward and—without

warning—began undressing Sulien.

"HEY—EXCUSE ME—what do you think

you're doing?!" Sulien yelped, grabbing the nearest pillow and covering himself

like he was defending his honor in a stage play.

"I must change your appearance, Young

Sir," the servant said innocently, still trying to unfasten his cloak. "Your

hair, clothing, scent, posture. Everything must scream 'I belong here'… not 'I

wandered in from a peasant ballad.'"

"I can do it myself!" Sulien

protested, now backed into a wall, the pillow still his shield.

"Please, Young Sir, it'll only take a

few—"

"Fine! Fine! Just—turn around or

something, will you?!"

After a few muffled grumbles, a lot of

awkward shuffling, and one accidental head bump with a mannequin, the servant stepped back proudly.

"Behold. Luan Tomoko, son of the East

Winds. Mage noble of Thildesa."

Sulien stared into the mirror.

Gone was the sleek, armor-draped

swordsman. In his place stood a tall, confused noble in a mud-brown robe, a

scarlet sash, and boots that crunched when he walked. An oversized hat drooped over one ear, making him look like a sleepy mushroom. Rings, bracelets, and a necklace with a dangling sunstone hung around his neck like someone had dumped a treasure chest on him.

"…I look like a cosplay gone wrong."

"And your companion!" the servant

added, placing a black cat gently on his shoulder. It blinked at Sulien once,

then climbed into his hood like it owned the place.

"This can't be real life," Sulien

mumbled.

"Oh! One more thing!" The servant

reached into a drawer and pulled out a slim, polished wand. "This belonged to a

mage who tried to cross our borders. We kept it. Consider it your prop."

"Neat," Sulien said, taking it—until

he noticed the servant also reaching for his sword.

"Hey! Hands off!" he snapped, grabbing

the hilt of Hikari-no-Yoru.

"Forgive me, Young Sir, but you cannot

bring this. If anyone in Thildesa sees it, they'll recognize it instantly as a

balancer relic. It could compromise your entire mission."

Sulien sighed… but let go.

"Give it to my father and next time just

say you wanted a closer look," he muttered.

The servant chuckled awkwardly,

clutching the katana like it was sacred. "Heh… maybe a little."

At the Palace Gates

Sulien stepped out of the main corridor, now fully disguised. His outfit rustled loudly with every step, and the black cat clinging to his shoulders like a furry capelet gave him an unimpressed side-eye.

He didn't expect the entire royal family to be waiting at the gates for him.

The Qilin King, tall and commanding in his ceremonial armor, extended his hand with a nod of approval. His wife, serene and graceful in sweeping golden robes, stood beside him with a smile that made Sulien's knees wobble just a little. Behind them were two tiny figures—the royal children.

Before he could speak, something barreled into his leg with the force of a charging squirrel.

"BAI BAI SULI!!!"

came the high-pitched voice of Princess Amane, who couldn't

have been older than two. She hugged his shin like it was her personal plushie

and began giggling in delight as she patted his boot like it was a horse.

"Ah—uh—Princess! Hello! That's my actual leg, yes—ah—very nice to meet you too."

Sulien awkwardly tried to keep his balance, bent slightly so he didn't knock her over with the swing of his mage robes.

Then came Prince Jinrai, maybe five,

toddling forward with a determined frown and his hands clasped behind his back

like he was mimicking his father.

"Bye-bye, Mister Suli," he said with utmost seriousness, his nose scrunched like he was concentrating really hard on

sounding grown-up.

"Don't get eaten by shadow monsters or anything."

"And you hafta come back for tea time. I said so."

"…Yes, of course, Prince Jinrai. I wouldn't dare miss tea," Sulien replied, bowing

slightly and gently tapping a fist to his heart, which made the prince beam

like he'd just knighted him.

Jinrai took Amane's hand and waddled her back beside the Queen, giving Sulien a final wave that involved a lot more elbow than wrist.

Sulien turned to the King again and dropped into a formal bow.

"Thank you for trusting me, Your Majesty. I'll return with the truth."

"And hopefully not your head in a box," the Qilin King said with a smirk.

Sulien gave a lopsided grin, climbed into the royal cart, and took a deep breath. His

awkward hat shifted in the wind, his cat sneezed, and the cart rolled

forward—pulling him toward Selmor… and the mission that would change everything.

*

"Kamaria, your disguise is ready. You may go change into them." A girl said who works for the Chort Monarch.

The voice came from a young servant girl—a quiet thing with wide eyes and nimble

hands, barely older than Kamaria herself. She gestured to the shadowy partition

near the back of the chamber, where a dark set of garments lay neatly folded.

Kamaria stepped behind the screen and began changing. The moment she touched the fabric, she could tell—this wasn't just a costume.

The robe was dyed a murky blend of deep sea green and midnight blue, catching the candlelight in a strange, oil-slick shimmer. Unlike Sulien's more structured outfit, hers flowed—loose, layered, and intentional in its unpredictability, like fog slithering through a broken window. Intricate stitchings resembling vines and runes snaked across the sleeves. She slipped on the crooked, wide-brimmed mage hat, then adjusted the angle in the mirror—tilted, slightly arrogant, perfectly her.

Her boots were tall, laced up to the knee, but scuffed as if they'd been through a dozen marches

already. A hefty satchel hung diagonally across her body, filled with books, dried herbs, and crumpled spells she barely

understood. Around her neck, she fastened a chunky blackened silver

pendant, engraved with a whisper rune that vibrated softly against

her skin.

And then… came the frog.

"Why do I need a frog?" Kamaria deadpanned, holding the soggy,

dull-eyed creature at arm's length with a wrinkle in her nose.

The servant girl, trying not to laugh, answered dutifully:

 "All noble mages are given magical

companions. It's a sign of class. The wealthy always show off with strange

ones— cats, birds, foxes, even snakes. Yours is... unique."

Kamaria sighed.

"Unique is one word for it. You look like a dropped dumpling, you know that?"

She squinted at the frog.

The creature croaked indifferently and blinked in separate directions. Kamaria

smirked.

"I guess I'll call you Mellie. I'll give a good name for an ugly face."

Her hair, long and once wild, was braided halfway and twisted into an elaborate

spiral that curved behind one ear, held by silver pins with dangling onyx beads. She studied her reflection again, tilting her head.

"A mage's hairstyle... maybe. A mess with intention. I like it."

She stepped out into the open corridor, cloak swirling behind her like smoke, and

made her way through the palace's jagged halls—lit only by flickering lanterns and hanging soul-lights. Every Shadowbinder corridor looked like a place stories warned you about.

At the grand front gates of Keidonia's Chort Palace, the Chort

King stood waiting. Unlike the gilded flair of Sulien's

send-off, this moment was stripped bare—quiet, almost too quiet.

He wore no crown, only a sleek black robe and a smile that held secrets like

knives behind velvet.

"Good luck, Kamaria Suzuki. I know you will do well."

His voice was low, but it carried. There was no fanfare, no children clinging to

her boots. Just the chill of mist curling at her ankles and the weight of

expectation on her shoulders.

She bowed, stiff but respectful.

"Thank you, Your Royal Majesty. I will try my best not to fail you."

As she mounted her dark mare—black-coated, flame-eyed, and too tall for

comfort—the King added one more thing:

"You will need an alias. Think of a name, but the surname shall be Ayame. The noble family you'll stay with bears that name. Make it convincing."

She nodded once and pulled the hood of her cloak higher over her hat as the palace

began to disappear behind her.

The road was cold. The wind hissed in her ears. Mellie the toad clung to the

saddlebag, unimpressed with all things.

"Hmm.. Mizori. Mizori Ayame."

She whispered it to herself as she rode.

"Has a noble ring to it. Mysterious. Reminds me of the old me. But Perfect."

She passed into the mist, one hand resting on the crooked shepherd's

stick strapped to her back—disguised as a mage's wand, though it

looked more like something a swamp witch would use to stir curses.

"I wonder if these people know

I'm just pretending."

She smiled slightly.

"Or maybe pretending is exactly what l'm best at."

*

The sun dipped just above the forested

horizon, casting long golden shadows as Sulien's cart rattled gently down the

earthen road. The landscape, dotted with lavender fields and tall ancient oaks,

rolled like a living painting. Inside the plush cart, Sulien sat with his arms

crossed, the hem of his borrowed mage robe fluttering faintly near his boots.

His fingers tapped idly against the

ornate armrest. The brown robe he wore felt foreign, and the stiff sash at his

waist itched. His hair, normally combed to the side in a sophisticated Balancer

fashion, was now loosely swept to the back and pinned with a brooch shaped like a spiral sun—a mage symbol he had just learned meant "clarity."

If they think this disguise will fool real mages, then maybe they've never actually met one… he

thought, tugging uncomfortably at the high collar.

Beside him, a jet-black cat with

piercing silver eyes lay sprawled on the velvet cushion, purring lazily. The

creature opened one eye occasionally to survey its companion, only to return to

its nap, unimpressed.

The driver called out as the cart

crested a hill. "Young Lord Luan Tomoko, we're nearing the border gate. Get

ready."

Sulien nodded absentmindedly. In his

lap, his fingers nervously turned over the wand he'd been given—an old thing,

slightly chipped, supposedly confiscated from a trespassing mage. He had yet to

use it.

The cart slowed to a stop as a sleepy

voice called out.

"Who goes there?"

A lone border guard sat beneath a

crooked wooden arch that marked the boundary to Thildesa. His uniform was

half-unbuttoned, a sandwich hung half-eaten in his hand. The man squinted at

the approaching cart with mild interest.

Sulien's driver lifted his chin

confidently.

"Good day, border watch.

I bring back a noble mage to his homeland. Lord Luan Tomoko, son of House Tomoko from the outer provinces."

The guard raised a brow but didn't

move. "Another one of you fancy types, eh? Well, you look the part… big robe,

fancy hat, even a cat. That'll do. Go on then, don't loiter."

The cart rolled forward without

further inspection.

Seriously? That was it?

No check? No papers? They just let anyone in as long as they look like they've bathed in money?

Sulien let out a small huff of

disbelief and leaned out to see the land ahead and what he saw silenced every

sarcastic thought.

Thildesa bloomed before him like a

fantasy come to life. Glowing mushrooms the size of trees lit the roads. Wooden bridges hung between hilltop homes shaped like teapots and acorns. Wisps of magic floated through the air like fireflies. Small elementals played in the brooks, and elves danced in circles with pixies humming sweet lullabies.

"It's… beautiful." he

whispered, genuinely awed.

It was the first time since arriving

in this new world that he felt wonder—real, childlike wonder.

The cart came to a gentle stop before

a grand villa, set apart from the whimsical houses around it. It stood tall

with gothic archways, ivy-covered stone, and twin spiral towers on either side.

 "Lord Luan Tomoko, we have arrived." the driver announced with a respectful bow.

Sulien stepped out slowly, boots

clicking against marble steps. He tilted his head up to examine the structure—this was no ordinary home. The architecture, though foreign, echoed the regal designs of Balancer cities.

A butler approached and greeted him

with a deep bow. "Welcome home, Young Master Luan. The household awaits you

inside."

Sulien glanced down at the black cat

curling around his leg. It yawned.

Guess I'm a noble now.

*

Kamaria's arrival, on the other hand,

was anything but smooth.

Her horse galloped down the winding

forest path, flanked by thick hedges and flowering trees. The sun glared

against her eyes, and Mellie—her sour-faced toad—croaked irritably every time

the ride jolted.

Her clothes were stiff: a robe of deep

bluish green embroidered with silver runes she couldn't read, boots that

pinched her toes, and an absurd pointed hat that kept sliding down over her

eyes. Her long pink hair was braided back and tucked under the hat, but stray

strands clung to her sweaty face.

Why a toad? Why not a

bird? Or at least something less… squishy. She grimaced as Mellie blinked at her.

As she neared the border checkpoint,

her chest tightened. Two guards lounged near the post. Unlike Sulien's lax

encounter, these men looked alert—swords at their hips, scanning every traveler with hawk-like precision.

 "Who goes there?" one barked,

stepping forward.

 Kamaria's brain blanked. Her hands

tightened around the reins.

Think. Think! Say

something!

"Err… umm…"

The guard narrowed his eyes, stepping

closer, hand drifting to the hilt of his sword. "Well, spit it out girl. You from

outside? Or are you trying to sneak in? Speak, or I draw my blade."

Kamaria's heart pounded. Her mind

raced.

Say anything. Lie.

Convince him!

"I'm here because—because I transport

goods! From Thildesa to the southern regions. I haven't returned in a year.

Maybe that's why you don't remember my face." she stammered, trying to channel the same energy she used to fake sick during school exams.

The guard tilted his head. "You don't

look like a merchant. You look like a shadowbinder. Why'd it take you so long

to answer?"

Kamaria gasped, forcing herself into a

dramatic stance.

"How dare you?! A shadowbinder? Me?

That's—disgusting. I'd sooner jump into a snake pit than be compared to one of

those cursed monsters!" Her voice cracked, but the emotion was genuine. "And you threatened to kill me over nerves! Maybe you're the criminal!"

The guard stared at her. Then, with a

sigh, waved her on.

"Go. But don't cause trouble. Or next

time, that toad'll croak alone."

Kamaria bowed quickly, forcing a

smile.

As soon as she was out of sight, her

entire body slumped with relief. Sweat poured down her back.

That was too close. Way

too close.

She pushed forward, and as she did,

Thildesa revealed itself to her.

The change in scenery was like

crossing from dusk into morning. Golden grass swept across wide fields.

Floating lotus lanterns bobbed gently through the air. Elves sat in open-air

markets reading spellbooks. Birds the size of children sang in perfect harmonies

from moss-covered balconies.

Sunlight bathed her face. For the

first time in weeks, she felt warmth—real warmth—on her skin.

"Wow…" she whispered, breath caught in

her throat. "This place… it's like another world."

Following the directions on her map,

Kamaria arrived at a villa marked "Ayame Villa." The gate was gold-laced iron,

blooming with live roses. She

dismounted and knocked on the door.

It opened almost instantly.

A woman stood in the entryway, dressed

as elegantly as a noble, though her posture revealed she was staff.

"Welcome. Please state your name and

reason for visit."

Kamaria blinked.

"Hi, I'm Kam—Mizori. Mizori Ayame."

she caught herself just in time.

"Of course. Please follow me."

 Kamaria stepped inside and immediately

removed her shoes at the woman's request. Her socks, mismatched and

hole-ridden, made her cringe.

Great first impression,

Kamaria.

The hallway was lined with golden

candlesticks, a floating chandelier, and portraits of mages mid-spell. A soft

chime followed them as they walked.

Inside a sitting room, a man in dark

robes sipped tea. He was surrounded by a woman and two boys.

"Master Ayame, Mizori has arrived."

the maid announced.

The man turned, his gaze piercing.

"Kamaria Suzuki, I presume?"

Kamaria's heart sank to her feet. Her

body dropped into a deep bow.

"Yes, sir. I am her. How do you know—"

He cut her off with a smirk. "The

Chort Monarch sent word. Don't worry—I'm not a mage. I'm a shadowbinder, like

you. You'll pose as my long-lost daughter, Mizori Ayame. You'll stay here.

Understood?"

Kamaria gulped.

A noble daughter?

Seriously?

"Yes Si- Father." she corrected herself,

voice slightly trembling.

The man nodded. "You have a gala

tonight. Wear something nice. Don't embarrass us."

Kamaria bowed again, Mellie croaking

ominously.

A gala already? I

should've taken those acting classes back in high school seriously…

*

The ornate bronze knocker fell against the lacquered door with a deep, echoing clunk. Sulien stepped back and exhaled,

brushing the creases from his borrowed mage robes. The estate loomed behind the gates—tall, foreign, and intimidating its windows like watchful eyes peering

into him.

A voice drifted from behind the door.

Crisp, feminine, and unshakably composed.

"Who is it? State your name and

business."

Sulien straightened his posture and

spoke clearly but quietly, matching the air of practiced nobility he had been

coached to adopt.

"I am Lord Luan Tomoko, from the outer

provinces of Thildesa. I've arrived under royal assignment."

There was a beat of silence.

Then the door clicked open to reveal a

woman not much older than him—her dark hair swept into a neat bun, her eyes

sharp and assessing. She wore a pristine uniform with gold-trimmed sleeves and

a glimmering phoenix emblem stitched into the collar.

"Ah. Welcome Lord Luan," she said with

a respectful nod. "Please come, follow me."

The name 'Luan' still felt strange on

his tongue, but hearing it spoken aloud somehow made the identity feel real.

He stepped through the threshold into

a hallway that reeked of wealth—polished floors, scroll paintings of celestial

beasts, and floating lanterns that hovered midair, glowing gently. He barely

had time to admire the decor before the woman guided him through a tall sliding

door into a chamber lined with velvet drapes and soft incense haze.

Inside stood a man draped in fine

robes, embroidered with silver thread. His posture was rigid, like a statue

carved from discipline and magic. He had clearly been waiting.

"Master," the maid said gently, "Lord

Luan has arrived."

"Thank you, Suzume, you may leave now."

She bowed and retreated like mist into

the hallway, closing the door softly behind her.

Sulien stepped forward, attempting a

noble bow—but as he began to straighten, the man dropped into a deep bow of his own.

Sulien's eyes widened. "Erm… Master

Tomoko—why are you bowing?"

The man straightened, a faint smile curving his lips.

"Because, Lord Luan, you outrank me. You've inherited nobility. I'm surprised no one told you... but here, that title carries

weight-whether earned or not."

Me? A Lord?

Sulien's heart skipped. That makes me nearly adjacent to the Phoenix Monarch

himself.

But anxiety crept in like smoke under

a door. "What if… what if the King doesn't recognise me?" he asked cautiously.

The man chuckled without humor.

"That won't be an issue. Lord Luan, the real one, was granted the title through royal charity, not by merit. You bear an uncanny resemblance to him, and the Monarch rarely bothers memorizing the faces of his Lords. So long as you play the part, no one will question you."

Sulien was about to exhale in relief

until the man added casually:

"Of course, if anyone does find out... the true Lord Luan will be executed for treason. And likely, his entire bloodline wiped from the records. But that's a risk he was willing to take."

The words hit Sulien like a blade to the chest.

Wait…

what?

He froze mid-step.

"Executed? His entire bloodline?"

The man's tone was strangely calm,

even amused. "Yes, well. That's the punishment for harboring loyalties to the

Qilin Monarch. It is… severe. But Lord Luan is bold. Or foolish. Perhaps both.

He was desperate for a way out of court life—so, he offered his place to you."

Sulien's mouth went dry. A tightness

coiled in his stomach. This wasn't just a political game anymore—this was a

noose around two necks. If he slipped even once, he wouldn't just doom himself.

He'd kill a man and his family by

proxy.

No pressure.

The man noticed the boy's stunned

silence and gave a short sigh.

"Your mission is simple tonight: attend the royal gala, remain inconspicuous, observe what you can, and leave an impression of Lord Luan's presence. Nothing more."

He clapped twice.

"Rest for now. I'll have Suzume bring

you something to eat."

But Sulien's voice rose, strained and

urgent. "May I ask… why me? There are other boys who look noble. Others who

could play the part."

The man tilted his head thoughtfully.

"That's a fair question. You were chosen for three reasons. One: your resemblance to the real Lord Luan is uncanny. Two: your age, both 15. The same as his. And three... you are gifted. More than you realise."

Sulien blinked. "He's fifteen? And

already a Lord?"

The man nodded solemnly. "He was

granted the title after his father—an old noble—angered the Phoenix Monarch by

fleeing the country. The King, in his twisted sense of justice, stripped the

father of his rank and gave it to the boy instead. A replacement for loyalty."

Sulien choked back a bitter laugh.

"So this kid inherits a noble title

because his father abandoned him?"

The man shrugged. "Sometimes cruelty

wears the mask of favor."

He stepped aside, gesturing to a tall

shoji screen behind which a meal tray had been left. "Now go. Rest while you

can. You won't get another chance tonight."

Sulien turned, still reeling from the

revelations, and walked quietly toward the meal. As the door slid shut behind

him, he exhaled deeply.

A noble at fifteen. A borrowed life. A man's fate hanging on mine. And a gala tonight.

He bit into a rice bun, his appetite

drowned by the weight in his chest.

*

As the amber light of dusk dipped

beneath the distant mountains of Thildesa, two separate homes across the city came alive with preparation.

Inside the Tomoko Estate, Sulien stood

in front of an antique mirror, hands fidgeting with the buttons of his newly

tailored attire. The black suit was crisp, slim-fitted, and lined with subtle

silver embroidery that shimmered with each movement—an ensemble that looked like it had stepped straight out of a royal fashion magazine.

He adjusted his collar and stared at

his reflection with surprise.

"Finally… something normal

to wear," he muttered, running a hand over the sleek fabric. His voice was

filled with a quiet joy. "Since I got here, I've been stuffed into robes and

cloaks and other weird stuff. Why a suit for this though? They have medieval

castles but somehow—suits?"

The reflection before him looked like

someone he would've avoided back in Japan. Back then, suits belonged to the

elite: student council presidents, prodigies, and the rich. Not him. Not

Sulien. Yet here he was—wearing one like he'd been born for it.

"What was that, Lord?" a

maid's voice rang politely through the door.

"NOTHING!" Sulien barked

back, cheeks flushed crimson. He cleared his throat and composed himself again.

Across the city, in the Ayame Villa,

Kamaria sat quietly as the final touches were added to her ensemble. Her eyes

gazed at the full-length mirror, almost unrecognizing the young woman staring

back.

A flowing, wine-red dress hugged her

form softly, cinched at the waist with a smooth brown belt. Gold-thread

embroidery adorned the edges, dancing with intricate floral patterns that

shimmered under the lamplight. Her sleeves draped like river silk over her

arms, elegant yet modest. Around her neck was a choker strung with red and

honey-colored jewels, and matching bangles clinked on her wrists.

But the crown jewel of it all was the crimson and sapphire hairpin nestled delicately in her styled curls. It shimmered just like her eyes—soft, cool blue—giving her a regal aura she'd never dared to imagine for herself.

"You look like a noblewoman from a storybook," the maid whispered behind her in awe.

Kamaria offered a faint smile. For the

first time since she'd arrived in this world, she felt… beautiful.

*

They departed in style—each in

elaborately crafted carriages drawn by stallions with polished silver bridles.

Sulien rode alongside Master Kiyoshi, his assigned 'advisor' and guardian for

the evening. Meanwhile, Kamaria accompanied her assigned 'father', the nobleman who had claimed her as his long-lost daughter.

Both carts bore their companions: a

sleek black cat with glimmering eyes in Sulien's lap and a squat, moody-looking

toad perched beside Kamaria, croaking indignantly every time the cart bumped.

*

The ride had been long, and Sulien was

quick to show his irritation.

"How far is this venue from the house? I feel like we're travelling across the continent!" he grumbled, peering out the window with narrowed eyes.

Kiyoshi sighed as he leaned against

the velvet seat.

"You're exactly like the real Lord Luan. Always complaining. At least you're staying in character."

But when the cart suddenly slowed, and

Sulien leaned forward to look out—his breath caught in his throat.

"What… the…?"

Outside, the Gala Palace loomed like

something out of a long-lost legend. Towering marble spires scraped the sky,

the walls carved with stories from ancient battles and celestial beasts. The

gates were plated in bronze and engraved with phoenix feathers. The stained glass windows glimmered like enchanted jewels, refracting candlelight into waves of colored magic across the garden courtyard.

The entire building radiated age and

power—an opulence Sulien had only ever seen in anime and fantasy artbooks.

"It looks like a palace straight out of medieval England," he whispered, stunned. "I'd believe it if someone said royalty from the 1300s still lives here."

He stood there with his jaw hanging

open until Kiyoshi tugged at his collar, dragging him forward.

"Close your mouth before a fairy flies in," Kiyoshi muttered, rolling his eyes. "Try not to look like a

country boy."

The moment Sulien stepped through the

grand entrance, he was engulfed in a whirlwind of nobles—mages in cloaks of

velvet, women with tiaras made of woven moonlight, and lords with enchanted

canes that whispered secrets. They greeted him with warm familiarity,

completely fooled by his disguise.

He nodded, bowed, smiled—pretending

like he'd known them all his life. Inside, his nerves screamed.

*

Moments later, Kamaria's carriage

arrived at the palace gates.

She leaned out the window, and her

eyes widened.

"Wow…" she murmured,

breathless.

Before her stood the same building

Sulien had seen, though she didn't know he was already inside. The soft golden

glow of lanterns lit up the palace, casting its silhouette against the twilight

sky. A soft breeze tousled her hair, and she felt the warmth of the Thildesa

sun still clinging to the stone paths.

"This is the place where the gala's held every year?" she asked in wonder. "I'd rather live in it than

rent it."

Her 'father' chuckled, adjusting his

formal cloak.

"Ah yes, this building

is centuries old. Crafted with hand-enchanted stonework by the first mage

architects. You don't see palaces like this anymore."

As the cart slowed to a halt,

Kamaria's heart picked up pace. She took a deep breath as she stepped out,

nearly stumbling when the long dress tugged at her legs.

"Stay close to me, Mizori," her 'father' warned. "You don't want to get separated here. This isn't

just a party—it's politics masked in music and silk."

"Uh-huh," Kamaria

mumbled, her eyes locked on the dazzling lights. She barely heard him.

Everything around her was too captivating. Lanterns that floated like stars. Couples twirling under floating petals. A harpist playing notes made of wind.

Her nerves pulsed. But still, she took

the nobleman's arm, raised her chin, and walked forward into the light of the

ballroom.

Her frog, Mellie, croaked in protest

from his pouch. She gave him a light pat.

"Don't worry, Mellie.

I'm acting like I belong. And that's half the battle, right?"

She entered through the open doors

just as the chandeliers sparkled above, and the music swelled.

She didn't know it—but just across the

room, beneath the light of the same enchanted chandeliers, Sulien stood only a few steps away.

Fate was drawing its lines.

And soon, the Gala would begin.

As the night pressed on, the grand

ballroom swelled with life—a shimmering ocean of laughter, music, silk, and

secrets.

Golden chandeliers floated midair,

casting twinkling reflections across the glossy marble floor. Couples danced in

elegant circles beneath glowing lanterns that pulsed like fireflies. Servers

weaved through the crowd with trays of glittering champagne and pastries shaped like stars. The scent of roasted chestnuts, enchanted lilies, and perfume

lingered in the air like a dream.

People arrived, people left. Some

danced until their shoes wore thin. Others stood in tight-knit groups,

whispering noble gossip and biting into imported fruits from far-off lands. It

was the kind of Gala that made you forget war even existed.

And in this crowded whirlwind of

cloaks, curls, and noble titles, two lives were about to collide.

Sulien, or rather Lord Luan Tomoko, stood stiffly near a gilded column, trying not to look lost. He had already dodged three conversations and one noblewoman who insisted she remembered "his sweet voice as a child." Kiyoshi hovered nearby like a bored hawk, sipping tea and whispering cues whenever someone important approached.

Then, from across the room, a deep, familiar voice boomed over the music.

"LORD LUAN TOMOKO!"

Sulien flinched so hard he nearly

dropped his drink. He turned just in time to see a broad-shouldered man with a

gleaming pinstripe cloak striding toward him—Mr. Ayame, Kamaria's assigned

'father'.

"Long time no see! You look well. How's the business? Still with the Phoenix Council? That proposal we discussed last summer—did it ever go through?"

A hundred questions hit Sulien like

arrows. He stared, blinking like a deer in torchlight.

"Ah…"

"Mr Ayame," Kiyoshi

muttered under his breath behind Sulien, elbowing him lightly.

"Ahh! Mr Ayame!" Sulien

blurted, grabbing the nobleman's hand and shaking it enthusiastically. "So glad

to see you again—wow, it has been a while."

He shot Kiyoshi a quick mouthed "thank

you", trying to smile like he totally knew what was going on.

"I've been, uh, great!

Just… busy. You know. Barely made it to this Gala with all the… noble… things I

have to do." He scratched the back of his neck, nervous laughter bubbling up.

Mr. Ayame raised an eyebrow but

chuckled heartily.

"Busy, eh? Just as

expected from someone working so close to the monarch! But—tell me this, Lord Luan… where's the lady?"

"The… lady?" Sulien

repeated, panic hitting his face like a slap.

"Yes! A handsome Lord such as yourself surely wouldn't attend alone. Surely there's a woman on your arm? A secret fiancée? A muse? Someone you've sent flowers to at least once?"

Sulien stammered, brain screaming in

every direction.

"Oh! Haha… that lady.

No, no, I've been far too busy. You know how it is—scrolls, strategy, saving

the kingdom. No time for… women." He laughed nervously, but it came out like a

squeaky cough.

"Ah, what a shame," Mr.

Ayame said with a sly grin. "Because, as fate would have it, I have the perfect

lady for you."

Sulien's eyes widened. No no no no

no.

"You… do?" he asked

slowly, stomach twisting into knots.

"Indeed! My daughter. Yes—you probably haven't met her yet. She's just returned after a miraculous discovery. Turns out she's my long-lost daughter! Can you believe it? DNA spell and all. And what a coincidence—she's single. Let me just call her over—"

"WAIT—! I mean—um—"

Sulien gulped down the rising panic like a bitter potion.

Before he could bolt or fake a cough

dramatic enough to flee, Mr. Ayame turned and shouted over the music.

"MIZORI! MIZORI, COME HERE!"

Kamaria, standing on the other side of

the room admiring a dessert tower (and mildly regretting not grabbing more

tartlets), flinched when she heard her fake name echo across the marble hall.

"Coming!" she called

back, grabbing the hem of her gown and making her way through the crowd,

dodging floating drinks and slow-dancing nobles.

Sulien was practically vibrating.

"Kiyoshi," he hissed. "I can't talk to a girl—I haven't even looked one in the eye since middle school.

What do I say? What do I DO?"

"You don't panic,"

Kiyoshi said without looking up from his tea. "And you don't faint. She's just

a girl."

"You say that like I

didn't die in my last world without ever having a girlfriend—"

Then she arrived.

Kamaria stepped up beside Mr. Ayame,

her gown flowing like liquid rubies, her eyes wide with curiosity—and Sulien

froze.

"Mizori," Mr. Ayame said

proudly, "this is Lord Luan Tomoko. He's a noble friend of mine and very close

to the Phoenix Monarch. I think you two will get along beautifully. Who knows?

Perhaps more than friends, eh?"

"Father—!" Kamaria

gasped, cheeks burning. "I don't think I'll get very fa—"

Then their eyes met.

For a split second, neither of them

said a word.

There was something—familiar—but too

fast to grasp. A flicker in the back of the mind, like a word on the tip of the

tongue. She- She seems so familiar, I can't pin point her face in my memories

Sulien offered a stiff, nervous smile.

Kamaria's posture tensed, trying to remember where she might've seen that

awkward half-smile before. He's seems so familiar like a face I've seen

before just not here.

And then it hit them.

KAMARIA!?

SULIEN!?

To take the tension away from Mr Ayame

they greet eachother, but with hatred in their voices.

"Nice to meet you, Lady

Mizori," Sulien said, voice higher than usual. He bowed.

"A pleasure, Lord Luan,"

Kamaria replied, curtseying gracefully—but her eyes squinted for a heartbeat

too long.

Something was off.

And the universe? Well, it just leaned

back with a smirk.

The Gala had only just begun

Sulien's breath caught. His eyes, locked

on her. Why. What. Her.

Pink hair. Ocean-blue eyes. The curve

of her jaw. The way the gold light kissed her skin—

Kamaria.

Kamaria's gaze froze, like time folded

in on itself.

Grey eyes. White hair. That smug,

polished look on his face. Like a statue carved by spite.

Sulien.

Their eyes locked—and neither moved.

The colors of the Gala faded. The music dissolved into static. The world shrunk

until it was just the space between their stares.

Kamaria's lips parted slightly. Her

skin paled.

Sulien took a single half-step back,

almost tripping on his polished shoes.

"Huh? What's wrong?" Mr. Ayame said, furrowing his brow, glancing between the two.

"You both look like you've seen a ghost."

Neither answered. Because that was

exactly what it felt like.

A ghost from a different life. A life

where betrayal was the last memory they shared.

Sulien's mind exploded with thoughts.

What on God's green earth is KAMARIA doing here?!

Kamaria's brain raced just as fast.

What the hell is HE doing here—and why does he look like he belongs? Why is his name LORD Luan?!

Her legs almost buckled.

Sulien blinked, and without thinking,

offered a too-smooth bow, his instincts kicking in from all the etiquette

training he'd endured.

"Ah—Mr. Ayame, I'm honoured as always," he said quickly. Then, barely hiding his urgency, he grabbed Kamaria's wrist and yanked her aside.

Mr. Ayame blinked, confused. "Wha—"

They ducked behind a tall rose-adorned

column, hidden from the main ballroom. The golden light now flickered above

them like fire on water. Shadows cast over their faces.

Sulien shoved Kamaria against the marble.

"What the hell are you doing here, Kamaria—or whatever fake name you're using now?"

Kamaria scowled, yanking her arm from

his grip.

"Look who finally grew a spine," she spat. "I could be asking you the same thing,

Sulien—or should I say, Lord Luan?"

Their glares could shatter glass.

"It's still Sulien. And yes, I am a Lord now," he said, smug and bitter. "So I suggest you address me with respect—I outrank you now. I hold the power."

Kamaria's breath hitched.

"What. Do. You. Mean?" Her voice dipped into a whisper. "How did you even come to this world?"

"I was born here. Idiot. Well… not exactly here," he said with a cruel grin.

"What?! So was I." Her voice softened, almost reluctant. "Except I wasn't born in

Thildesa. I'm a…"

She leaned in, whispering low—

"I'm a Shadowbinder."

Silence.

Sulien's smug smile cracked. His hands

clenched. Then… he laughed. Hard. Loud. Bitter.

"AHAHAHA! Oh my God—you're lower than I thought. A Shadowbinder? The cursed race? The rats in the dark?"

Kamaria flinched.

Sulien doubled over, laughing so hard

he couldn't speak. When he finally stood straight again, the amusement in his

face evaporated.

"I'm a Balancer."

Kamaria's jaw dropped. A sound caught

in her throat.

Balancer.

The legendary middle ground. The ones

gifted by equilibrium itself. Respected. Revered. Rare.

And he's one of them?

Her knees trembled.

"I hate you, no i despise you, Kamaria," Sulien suddenly said, his voice cold and trembling. "I despise you so much that I want to scream your kind's name across this ballroom. Let everyone know there's a filthy Shadowbinder here."

Kamaria's breath caught in her chest.

Her heart pounded so violently, it ached.

"I will never forgive you for killing me that night. And not only that. The way

you treated me in the previous world. Just because who I was and my status."

Kamaria blinked.

Those words shattered her.

She remembered. The car. The panic.

The crash. The scream. His blood. The emptiness.

The guilt had followed her across

death and into life.

"I—I know," she whispered. "But please. Please don't turn me in. I'll do anything.

Just don't 'grass me up', please…"

Her voice cracked.

"My life is already barely hanging on… and to be honest—so is yours."

Sulien stepped closer, venom in his

voice.

"And who would they believe?" he growled. "A Lord noble—or a lowly cursed rat like you?"

Kamaria dropped her gaze, lips

trembling. The silk of her gown suddenly felt suffocating.

She clenched her fists, but her tears came faster than her breath. Why

did he get to be a noble? Why do I have to be this? Just a shadow. Just the

mistake.

Her sadness cracked into rage.

She lifted her head and screamed at

him, her voice cutting through the hallway like lightning.

"YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME? JUST BECAUSE YOU GOT LUCKY IN THIS WORLD?!" she shouted. "I've suffered! I've starved! I've fought to breathe!"

"Typical Kamaria," Sulien muttered, unmoved. "Still selfish. Still cruel. Even death couldn't change you."

He stepped forward—and spat.

Right in front of her.

Kamaria's breath hitched in shock.

Then Sulien shoved her.

It wasn't hard—but it was enough to

send her stumbling backward. Her knees hit the floor, her palms scraping

against cold marble.

She looked up. Eyes wide. Cheeks

flushed. Tears rolling down.

And then he froze.

His anger fizzled just for a moment.

His chest heaved with guilt. His throat tightened. That wasn't… right.

He reached his hand toward her.

"Kamaria—"

"NO." she barked. "Don't you dare touch me, you disgusting man!"

Her voice cracked, brittle as glass.

She stood, wiped her tears with her

sleeve, turned—and ran.

Disappearing into the crowd like a

ghost. Like a fading dream.

Sulien stood alone in the hallway, the

orchestra swelling again in the distance. Laughter returned. The Gala lived on.

But the storm had passed through.

How is she here?

And it left them both shattered.

From across the ballroom, their eyes

met again later in the night—daggers and sadness behind both stares. He sipped

his drink. She pretended to talk to nobles.

But the truth was:

They weren't nobles. They weren't

enemies. They weren't even themselves anymore.

They were just two broken pieces of a

ruined past…

In the wrong place.

At the wrong time.

With the wrong memories.

And fate had only just started to

play.