The bed was soft—too soft. The silk sheets clung to Ash's skin like warm water, and the sunlight pouring in from the window painted golden shapes across the ornate ceiling. He groaned and sat up slowly, groggy from the long nap. For a moment, he forgot where he was.
Then it hit him.
This wasn't his room.
This wasn't his life.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and blinked at the closet, still ajar from earlier. Inside, a mess of frilly clothes hung like ghosts waiting to be worn. He'd gone shopping in the market earlier that day, sewing together something that at least looked like it belonged on a real person and not a glass doll.
But now? He was back in the palace. And he had overslept.
In a mild panic, Ash rushed to change. The outfit he'd made—something between a tunic and a dress—was wrinkled and crooked, but it would have to do. He tied up his long yellow hair into a low bun, letting some strands fall naturally around his pale face. His eyes, that strange pink-white shade, caught the light in the mirror and almost startled him.
He looked like a dream.
But behind the door, the world was waking—and judging.
The moment he stepped into the hall, the servants flinched. Some lowered their eyes. Others backed away entirely. Their fear was quiet but heavy.
Ash slowed down.
"Why… are they scared of me?"
He hadn't yelled. He hadn't hurt anyone. He hadn't even raised his voice since arriving here. But the way they looked at him—it was as if they expected a slap or a sword to follow every word.
Then came the knock.
"Princess… your mother wishes to see you," a servant said, not daring to meet his gaze.
Ash blinked.
Princess.
Right.
He finished adjusting his attire—pulling the collar up, smoothing the sleeves—and made his way to the Queen's quarters. He paused before the door. He wasn't sure what kind of reception to expect.
The door creaked open.
And there she was.
The Queen sat by the window, framed in soft light, older than Ash had expected but no less graceful. Her expression shifted from blankness to something softer when she saw him.
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
"There you are," she said gently, motioning to the chair across from her. "I was beginning to think you'd gone and run away again."
Ash hesitated, then sat down. The air in the room was perfumed with jasmine. A tray of untouched tea sat between them, still warm.
"I overslept," he muttered, unsure of what else to say.
The Queen raised an eyebrow, then laughed—quietly, but genuinely. "Well, that's something you used to do often as a child. Even now, some things don't change."
Ash glanced down at the tea. "You remembered I like rose honey?" it's a lie. Ren doesn't like rose honey, it's Ash who likes it.
"Of course I did." She poured for him, her movements elegant and slow. "I may be Queen, but I'm still your mother."
Ash took the cup with both hands. "Thanks."
They sat in silence for a while. The Queen studied him carefully—not with suspicion, but with something softer. Familiar. Protective.
"I was worried about you earlier," she said after a moment. "You didn't eat much at breakfast."
"I wasn't really hungry."
"Are you still having the dreams?"
Ash blinked. "What dreams?"
"You used to talk in your sleep," the Queen said, leaning back. "Something about stars… falling. A voice calling your name."
Ash's throat tightened, but he nodded slowly, even though he wasn't sure what the Queen was talking about. "Sometimes. Not often."
She smiled faintly. "You always did have one foot in the clouds."
They talked for a while longer—about trivial things. Garden plans. The kitchen's new pastry chef. Some minor scandal involving a duke's son and a talking crow. Ash laughed more than he expected to.
For a moment, it felt real.
For a moment, he forgot he was hiding anything at all.
---
The next morning, he woke early and dressed plainly. The heavy gowns, the jewels—they weren't him. Not really. Not anymore.
He headed to the palace library, determined to find answers.
The towering shelves stretched endlessly, filled with glowing tomes, scrolls, and books with unfamiliar lettering. He studied for hours, scribbling down notes. Most of what he read made little sense. The language had shifted—half of it felt like ancient code.
Then he saw it.
A thin, coverless book, wedged tightly between two thick encyclopedias. No title. No markings.
He tugged it free.
It was locked.
Literally.
A strange magic seal shimmered across the pages, preventing them from opening. Ash turned it over in his hands, even tried biting the edge once out of frustration—then burst out laughing at himself.
What was he doing?
But just as he set the book down, the letters on the seal began to glow and drift upward like mist.
Symbols.
Unfamiliar ones.
He couldn't read a word.
But something told him—this was important.
---
Days passed.
He didn't leave his room much. He studied the symbols, practiced the written language, and even tried sounding things out under his breath.
Then, a knock.
A butler delivered a letter: a golden envelope bearing the royal crest.
Inside was an invitation.
An event—held at the center of the Eight Realms. All noble houses, magical creatures, and realm emissaries would attend.
Ash's heart jumped.
In the game, this was the first time the main character—Lin, would be introduced. He remembered how the cruel princess was meant to mock and embarrass her.
But that wouldn't be him.
He wouldn't do it.
"I'll just… behave," he told himself. "Like a puppy."
---
The carriage ride was his first, and it made him feel like a child again. He peeked out the window constantly, amazed by the changing scenery. Trees with sapphire leaves, floating lanterns, whispering winds—it was all so vivid, so unreal.
The event itself was overwhelming.
Everywhere he turned, radiant beings filled the plaza. Winged nobles, horned merchants, cloaked mages—creatures from realms he had only read about. Their auras pressed in on him, dizzying and intense.
He stumbled. A drink was offered by a kind stranger. He accepted it, barely registering their face.
He never saw Lin.
Not this time.
Instead, he wandered to the buffet, trying to ground himself. The food was warm, sweet, comforting.
Then—
A loud voice rang out.
"THE GEMS ARE GONE!"
Gasps. Panic.
Ash blinked. Gems? He didn't even know what that meant.
Then something flared behind him—hot, glowing. Ash turned.
All eyes were on him.
Or more specifically—on the strange, faintly glowing shard hanging from his belt.
"Wait–what is–?"
The crowd surged forward.
Weapons were drawn.
"Wait, I didn't–!"
Too late.
He grabbed the gem, stuffed it in his pocket, and ran.