"Hey, Senay."
Fingers snapped in front of my face—sharp and sudden, pulling me from the murky depths of my thoughts like a fish yanked from water.
I blinked. My eyes adjusted, focusing on the man standing before me.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with a stern jawline softened by a neatly trimmed beard and eyes that betrayed a hidden warmth behind the discipline—my father, Victor Fleming. The glint of polished white armor caught the morning light that spilled in through the arched windows of the royal corridor. The beautiful etchings on his breastplate shimmered gold and white, the colors of the King's Guard.
I'd seen him in that armor more times than I could count, yet today, something about it felt... strange. Off.
Wrong.
A tug in my chest. A flicker in my mind, like remembering a dream after waking—but not my dream. Someone else's. Someone older. Someone... foreign.
"You alright?" Father asked but with a sliver of concern threading through. "You were staring off again."
I nodded slowly, though I was far from being feeling good. "Yes, Father. Just—thinking."
He smiled faintly. "Well, think later. Your mother took her sweet time making sure your outfit was just right, so don't go ruining it before you even get to work."
I looked down.
The black butler's uniform clung snug around my frame—tailored perfectly for a ten-year-old. White gloves, polished shoes. Everything crisp. Perfect. Lifeless.
I felt like I was wearing someone else's skin.
"Right…" I murmured.
Father crouched to my eye level, placing a gloved hand on my shoulder. "Now, listen carefully. The Princess can be a handful—but she is royalty. Show her respect. Obey her wishes. And above all else, remember who you represent."
I hesitated, then looked up at him, eyes wide. "Father…"
He raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"
"I… I don't know how to explain this, but—I remember things. Things that don't belong to me. I see a man, older than you. And he played a game—a game that's like our world, but... not. Everything is the same. The castle, the guards, even the Princess. Her name is Serena, just like here, but it's like—like she was inside it, like it was real and not real at the same time and—"
"Senay," Father cut me off, shaking his head. "You've always had a vivid imagination, but this isn't the time for stories."
"But it's not a story—"
He stood, rolling his eyes and sighing. "Dreams are just dreams, my son. Everyone has them. Now stop wasting time. The Princess won't wait for you."
With a hand pressed to the small of my back, he nudged me forward.
I stumbled a step, then steadied myself.
Ahead, standing like a dark monument near the gilded hallway doors, was Sebastian—the head butler. Impeccably dressed, his white hair pulled into a tight tail, posture as rigid as the stone pillars lining the hall. His expression was carved from granite.
He turned without a word and began walking.
I followed.
My hands trembled slightly. I stared down at them as I walked.
They were mine—small, pale, familiar. And yet...
Why did they feel so alien?
Why did everything feel like a layer of reality placed over something else?
That dream—if it was a dream—felt too real. Too detailed. I remembered the way the Princess had spoken in that other world, the very shape of the gardens, the smell of the waxed floors. It wasn't just memory—it was experience.
And if I was right, if this was that world from the game...
Then everything that had happened there was about to happen again.
The events, the trials, the decisions.
Princess Serena, in that other world, had looked less human—more idealized, more like a drawing than flesh. But the name. The feeling of her presence. It matched.
This Serena was real.
And I was her butler.
"I hope the months I spent training you haven't been a complete waste, boy," Sebastian muttered under his breath as our footsteps echoed between the marble pillars of the castle hallways.
He didn't even glance at me.
"Yes, Sir. I'll fulfill my duty to the Princess without fail," I replied instantly, as I'd been taught—back straight, voice firm, words clipped and proper.
That was the response expected of me.
And yet, my insides felt hollow.
For six long months, I'd trained under Sebastian's iron discipline—learning etiquette, sword forms I'd never be allowed to use, noble family trees, the complexities of the palace law, how to serve tea without spilling a drop, and the thousand invisible rules that governed life in the royal court.
I was a commoner, born to a soldier's blood. My father, Victor Fleming, had carved his way into the elite as Captain of the King's Guard through sheer grit and unbreakable loyalty. And somehow, with strings pulled and debts called in, he'd secured me this impossible position—personal butler to Princess Serena herself.
I should have been proud.
And I was—at first.
But now?
Now all I could feel was dread.
Serena...
I frowned slightly, forcing myself to walk in rhythm with Sebastian's swift, disciplined pace. My mind churned beneath my calm exterior, clawing for fragments of memory from the dream that hadn't felt like a dream.
A game. That's what it was. I had seen this world before—through the eyes of someone else. Someone older, someone who had played through a story. A story where everything was familiar—the castle, the halls, even Serena.
If this was the same world...
Then I wasn't supposed to be here.
I wasn't in the game.
Not even a minor character. Not even a footnote.
That could only mean one thing—I was expendable.
Was I going to die?
My steps faltered for half a second before I corrected myself.
Or worse—was someone else going to die?
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, hard.
I hadn't heard much about my parents in that dream. I knew why. In the story, when Serena turned fourteen, she became Queen after the assassination that claimed the lives of the King, Queen... and my parents. My father had died defending the royal family and my mother was there as well I think.
My sister should be safe maybe.
Serena and I were the same age. That meant I had four years.
Four years before that nightmare became real.
Unless I did something.
I clenched my fists so tightly that the white gloves creaked at the knuckles. No. I wasn't going to let that happen. Not to Father. Not to Mother. Not to anyone I could save.
We turned a corner, passing a series of tall windows bathed in golden light. At the far end of the hall stood a pair of grand doors inlaid with silver filigree and the royal crest—Serena's quarters.
Sebastian didn't slow his stride. He reached the doors, paused, and gave two sharp knocks.
"Your Highness," he announced with formality practiced a thousand times, "it is Sebastian. Your new butler has arrived."
There was a moment of silence.
Then the doors creaked open.
A girl stood on the other side. Around my age, perhaps a year younger, in a simple maid's uniform. She looked me up and down with quiet curiosity, then stepped aside and held the door open wide.
And I saw it.
Serena's quarters.
It was like stepping into another world.
High arched windows framed by velvet curtains flooded the room with natural light. The floor was covered in plush blue carpeting, soft enough that it silenced our footsteps. Gilded bookshelves lined the walls, and a crystal chandelier glittered from the ceiling above. The air smelled of lilacs and honeyed perfume.
This was not a place for commoners. Even most nobles never saw the inside of this chamber.
And yet—I had been invited.
Or rather... summoned.
At the center of the room stood a young girl with her back turned to me. Two maids worked diligently to tie the sash of her lavender gown, while another gently brushed the midnight-purple strands of her long, flowing hair. It shimmered like starlight, curling slightly at the tips.
Even without seeing her face, I knew it was her.
Princess Serena.
"Sebastian," she spoke, not turning around, "are you my butler again?"
Her voice was soft, but it held a clear note of authority. Like someone used to being obeyed.
"No, Your Highness," Sebastian replied without hesitation. "He is."
He stepped aside, revealing me fully.
Serena turned her gaze toward me.