Lígia's footsteps echoed softly on the polished marble, almost like sighs contained between the tall columns of the mansion.
Through the hallway window, she observed the gardens bathed in the evening sun, hedges trimmed with surgical precision, servants folding fabrics in the wind, and a hunting dog that seemed more interested in chasing its own shadow.
It was all so serene... and unreachable.
As if the nobility of this world were floating two feet above the ground, while she, reincarnated, confused and stumbling over protocols, dragged her feet in an attempt to keep up.
As she turned the hallway that led to the library, fate played a trick on her.
Dorian.
Her brother, leaving the library with an elegant posture, his dark hair with aristocratic carelessness, and that gaze that seemed to pass through walls, thoughts... and perhaps people.
Lígia's heart skipped a beat.
A survivor's reflex.
She spun on her heel, hiding behind the curve of the hallway like a stray cat running away from a pedigree dog.
"Why live like a cat and mouse, Lígia? Are you an idiot?" she muttered under her breath, irritated with herself.
"Clearly." purred a mocking voice at her side.
"Shhh." She gave a symbolic slap in the air, which, of course, went through the virtual cat without even moving a whisker.
Ignoring the digital mockery, Lígia waited until she heard Dorian's footsteps disappear into the opposite hallway. Only then, with a restrained sigh as if freeing herself from a spell, did she enter the sanctuary of books.
...And what a sanctuary!
The library of the Casa d'Argêntea was vast, vaulted, and rich in the smell of aged leather, ink, and ancient dust.
Dark wooden bookshelves rose to the ceiling like walls of knowledge. There were moving staircases, deep armchairs with golden cushions, and heavy curtains that fluttered gently in the breeze from the high windows.
Lígia's eyes sparkled.
"Wow... so many books... My soul as a reader is tingling now," she murmured, almost in a trance.
Like a child in an amusement park, she ran, discreetly, of course, as the etiquette of a pretended noblewoman demands, from one shelf to the other.
She ran her fingers along the spines, feeling the relief of the ancient letters, the golden titles that told of treatises on magic, historical novels, compendiums of magical botany, and even forbidden volumes locked behind an arcane grid.
"The Fall of Solarys"
"Potions for Desperate Ladies"
"The Velmor Contract: A Mystical Analysis"...
Hm...
It was then that her eyes fell on a volume bound in crimson velvet, slightly worn at the edges.
"The Story of the Crimson Rose — Chronicles of the House of Argent"
Her fingers touched the spine. "Oops… a precious find."
She carefully removed the book, feeling a slight warmth radiate from the cover. As she opened it, a pressed rose fell from within the pages, dry and ancient, like a fossilized memory of some family secret.
Sitting on the couch by the window, Lígia prepared to delve into the past of her new identity.
The System yawned theatrically beside her. "I hope there are pictures. I like to see old costumes."
She ignored him. For the first time that day, she felt that maybe… maybe… she was beginning to put together her own puzzle.
The weight of the book was comfortable on my lap. The velvet of the cover seemed to whisper ancient secrets beneath my fingers. The golden light of the late afternoon filtered through the curtains, bathing the opening page in a melancholy glow.
"Chronicles of the Crimson Rose"
I took a deep breath, carefully opening the pages, and began reading:
"At the dawn of the First Solar Age, when the Empire was still a dusty idea in the back of the prophets' throats, three figures ventured into the world with their hands stained with blood, wine, and eternal promises."
My eyes shone.
"The first of them was Auren d'Argêntea, born of night and day, son of a fallen nobleman and a vampire exiled from the Dark Empire. Half human, half immortal predator, Auren carried in his eyes the nostalgia of the moon and in his heart the ambition of the sun. Beside him walked Selya Caelthur, storm mage and mistress of the sky's currents, and Solen Sun I, the man who would become the First Emperor."
Each line seemed to pulse alive in my mind. It was as if I saw the trio: the half-vampire with violet eyes, the sorceress with hair that danced like lightning, and the man in golden armor who dreamed of an empire where magic and order reigned as brothers.
The next page featured an ancient illustration. In it, Auren wielded a sword of black light, surrounded by crimson roses. Behind him, towers rose beneath twin moons, and before him, a silent battlefield, engulfed in violet flames.
Continuing reading the next page:
"Auren used his bloodline like no one before him. Where others hid their nightblood in shame or drowned in it, he shaped it like steel. His skills surpassed those of ordinary mages. His regeneration, speed, and mastery of shadows made him feared even among the vampiric generals of the Dark Empire."
"When the Empire of Solarys was founded, it was Auren who cleansed the northern territory, decimating entire troops with an army of shadows that obeyed only him. For this deed, Solen I named him Earl Guardian of the North, bearing the crest of the Crimson Rose, a flower that sprouted from Auren's blood spilled on a cursed hill and that since then blooms only in the light of the full moon."
My breath caught for a moment. So that's where the rose comes from…
I turned more pages.
"During the height of the First Era, the House of Argent grew so powerful that rivals accused the bloodline of coveting the throne. But Auren refused him three times, claiming, 'I am the steel in the shadows, not the crown under the sun.' Even among the vampire royalty of the Dark Empire, his name would begin to be feared. Some said that Auren was the first hybrid to evolve his vampiric bloodline back to his ancestors and awaken the 'Ancestral Will,' a hidden power that tripled his power in battle."
I closed the book for a moment, feeling my heart beat faster.
I…am I of his bloodline?
I felt the system jump on my shoulder holographically, purring sardonically.
"Well, well, descendant of a thousand-year-old half-vampire warrior and charmer… now tell me: how did you manage to trip twice on a staircase yesterday?"
"Well..." I murmured.
I stood up from the couch, still holding the book, as if I were holding my identity for the first time.
The library was silent, but my head was a whirlwind of echoes. Auren d'Argêntea. The half-vampire who shaped the empire with his own blood. The one who made a crimson rose bloom on the cursed field of war. And I... I was his descendant?
What cosmic joke is this? I thought.
closing the book carefully, as if the gesture could contain the fervor that was rising in my chest.
I sank into the upholstered seat, my eyes fixed on the tall stained glass window that filtered the golden afternoon light. Dust danced in the air like sleepy fireflies, and the shadows of the bookshelves stretched around me like ancient arms.
"Did you know my family history?" I asked the holographic cat, who materialized on the back of the sofa like a digital jewel.
The feline raised an invisible eyebrow, the hologram so well rendered that it made me want to pull out his mustache just for the hell of it.
"Of course," he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm literally connected to every historical record in this dimension. Congratulations on finding out now, princess of medieval Google."
"Ugh..." I sighed, covering my face with one of the silk pillows. "Typical."
There was a silence. One of those silences that are louder than a thousand voices.
My chest felt heavy with the revelation. That story wasn't just a pretty legend.
It was...
It was part of my blood now. Part of the burden that I hadn't even asked for, but that now pulsed inside me as if calling me.
"You're living the continuation of a legend, Lígia..." whispered an internal voice that I immediately told to shut up.
I stood up slowly, as if emerging from a dense dream.
Trying to distract myself, I walked towards the shelves.
Each step between the shelves was soft, I ran my fingers along the spines of the books, feeling their ancient texture, absorbing titles carved in golden letters.
I wondered how many truths were stored there, waiting to be read, waiting for eyes that knew how to see beyond the words.
The history of my lineage tasted like full-bodied wine: fascinating, but too strong to swallow all at once. I needed time. And another book.
I followed my instinct among the ranks, or maybe it was just the random luck of someone stumbling upon destiny. My eyes stopped on a nearly invisible title, squeezed between two thick volumes of military chronicles:
"The History of the People."
I raised an eyebrow.
"What a creative name," I muttered. "Wow, it must be a box office hit."
"Yes, because knowing how the people think, live and revolt is super uninteresting, right?" the cat replied with a virtual eye roll. "Maybe that's why so many noblewomen fall when the people decide to storm the castle."
I rolled my eyes too. A perfect synchronicity. Soulmates? No.
Archenemies who share the same brain? Maybe.
I took the book to the table and opened it with some skepticism. The first few pages spoke of harvest rituals, extortionate taxes, and an ancient rebellion led by a baker turned prophet. Hm... this is going to be interesting.
I sat back down, adjusted my posture, and began to read.
After all, if I was going to live in this world... I might as well understand not only the castles and coats of arms, but also the calloused hands that held the ground on which they stood.