I turned five with a tiara on my head and dread in my soul.
Most kids dream of cake. I dreamed of not dying tragically in Chapter 3 of a novel I might or might not be living in.
Things changed when I turned five.
My magic, for one.
It started acting like it had a mind of its own. The wind followed my moods. The candles flickered when I lied. One time, I sneezed and made it snow indoors.
The maids called it cute.
The gardeners called it terrifying.
Mother just sipped her tea and whispered,
"She's ahead of schedule."
Schedule for what, though?
She never said. Just smiled like she knew something I didn't. Which, let's be real—she probably did.
I kept pretending.
Pretending to be normal.
Pretending I hadn't read this story before.
Pretending I wasn't increasingly sure I was the extra girl with a death sentence.
"You're lucky to live in such a big house," the kitchen maid once told me with a smile.
"Sure," I said sweetly, "if you ignore the incoming monster war and the dead sister subplot."
She blinked. I giggled.
She chalked it up to "noble child nonsense."
I chalked it up to looming doom.
By age six, I had two obsessions:
Confirming if this really was the novel I remembered
Finding a way to survive it
I needed proof—real confirmation that I wasn't just spiraling from reincarnation brain fog.
That's when I heard the name.
"Lilith Lucerion."
A priest visiting for tea casually mentioned the "next lightbearer" would soon awaken—a divine child born under the silver eclipse.
I froze mid-scone.
Lilith. The Lightkeeper's Heir.
The heroine. The saint. The sealed-demon-wielding magical goddess of fate.
That was it.
This was the story.
And I was in it.
I locked myself in my mini-library for days, pretending to study elvish vocabulary while scribbling theories behind enchanted curtains.
If Theo was the second male lead, and Lilith the divine heroine, and the world was about to fall into apocalyptic chaos…
Then I—Lysara Aetheria—was an inconvenient footnote.
A "soft and fragile younger sister," dead at 10.
Gone before the novel even began.
I had roughly four years before fate started checking names.
Time to make a move.
Step 1: Stay out of the plot.
Step 2: Disappear somewhere no one could find me.
Step 3: Live long, chill, and eat magical fruits in peace.
What I needed… was a sanctuary.
Not a room. Not a country estate.
I needed something permanent. Hidden. Protected.
A tower.
Tall, remote, cloaked in enchantments.
A place where no demon, political drama, or overly sparkly prince could ever knock on my door.
I tested the idea during dinner one night.
"Mother," I said sweetly. "Do we own any forests?"
She blinked. "Several."
"What about... cliffs?"
Theo looked up from his soup. "What kind of question is that?"
"A practical one."
"You're seven."
"And environmentally conscious."
Mother looked vaguely amused. Father raised an eyebrow.
I continued eating like I didn't just announce I wanted to exile myself from society.
Over the next year, I began preparing.
I practiced spells late at night under glowing crystals.
I bribed the house librarian to "accidentally" leave blueprints of tower wards in my reading pile.
I studied magic circles, self-sustaining enchantments, energy fields, climate-control charms.
"Are you building a fortress?" Theo asked once.
"A greenhouse," I lied. "For tomatoes."
He didn't buy it. But he didn't push.
Not until my ninth birthday.
The day was quiet.
No big ball. No nobles. Just tea, cake, and the people I loved most.
"What would you like for your gift, my little flower?" my father asked, cutting his slice of cake.
I inhaled. Exhaled. Time to commit.
"The Forest of Lomendil," I said. "And a tower in it."
Everyone froze.
Even the cake fork paused mid-air.
"That's... specific," my mother said carefully.
"I'd like it to be cloaked, self-sustaining, with elemental warding, a flexible interior enchantment, and zero foot traffic."
Silence.
Theo looked like he'd swallowed his teacup whole.
"You want to live... alone?" he asked.
"Yes."
"In the middle of nowhere?"
"Yes."
"At age ten?"
I sipped my tea.
"It's called early retirement, Theo."
My father stared at me long and hard.
I stared back.
Finally, he sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"She gets it from your side," he muttered to Thalia.
My mother looked at me for a long moment. Not angry. Not worried. Just... understanding.
Then she smiled.
"You'll need strong wards," she said. "And a backup alarm spell."
"Deal."
And just like that... I won.
My tower was happening.
Lomendil would be mine.
But something in my brother's eyes changed that day.
Like he was watching me slip away without understanding why.
And maybe... just maybe... he knew more than he let on.
[End of Chapter 3 Teaser]