The vision of the Dreamer did not fade; it shattered, collapsing in on itself and leaving me gasping on the floor of the West Wing drawing room, the cold silver of the locket a brand against my palm. The psychic backlash was a physical blow, a wave of cosmic vertigo that left the real world feeling thin and unreal, a pale imitation of the profound, terrifying truth I had just witnessed.
"You... you saw her, didn't you?"
Princess Seraphina's whisper was not a question; it was a confirmation, a shared, sacred horror. I looked up at her, this girl who was now my fiancée, and saw not just a princess, but a fellow prisoner of the dream, a lucid soul who had been carrying the weight of this impossible knowledge alone. Her eyes, usually pools of serene compassion, were wide with a desperate, frantic hope. For the first time, I saw the true depth of the burden she carried.
I could only nod, my throat too tight for words. The silence in my head, the void where ARIA should have been, felt vaster and more terrifying than ever. ARIA would have parsed this revelation, broken it down into hypotheses, calculated the probabilities. I was left with nothing but the raw, unfiltered, mind-breaking truth.
Elizabeth rushed to my side, her earlier anger and betrayal momentarily forgotten, replaced by the sharp, analytical concern of a scholar witnessing a new, impossible phenomenon. "Kazuki, what happened? What did you see? Your mana signature fluctuated wildly. It was like... you weren't here."
"We are all not here," I finally managed to say, my voice a hoarse croak. I pushed myself up, using a nearby chair for support, my legs still trembling. "This world... Seraphina is right. The demon general was right. It's a cage. A dream. And we just met the Dreamer."
I relayed the vision in stark, simple terms. The cosmic entity. The paradise corrupted by nightmares. The parasitic "gods" harvesting consciousness as a power source. The truth of our existence as data, as cattle in a divine farm.
Luna, who had been standing by the door, a silent sentinel, let out a small, terrified whimper. Her empathic link to me meant she hadn't just heard my words; she had felt the residual echo of the vision, the profound, soul-deep wrongness of it all. "The trees... the birds... the sky..." her thought was a wisp of pure agony in my mind. "Is none of it real?"
Elizabeth, however, did not react with fear. Her face went pale, her lips a thin, white line, but her eyes... her eyes began to burn with a fire so intense it was frightening. It was the fire of a scientist who has just been handed the unified field theory, the fire of a philosopher who has just been shown the true nature of reality. It was the fire of ultimate, terrible understanding.
"It all makes sense," she whispered, her voice trembling with intellectual ecstasy. "The System. The predictable laws of magic. The respawning dungeons. The very concept of 'levels' and 'stats.' It's not a metaphor. It's the literal user interface of the simulation. We are living inside the most complex piece of software ever created."
She looked at me, her eyes seeing me in a completely new light. "And you... your 'glitch'... you are not just breaking the rules. You are a user who has stumbled upon the developer console. Your commands are not magic; they are cheat codes. Your respawns are not a miracle; they are a flaw in the system's memory management."
The Dreamer had called me her hope. Elizabeth, in her cold, brilliant way, had just defined what that meant.
"She wants me to set her free," I said, the weight of the cosmic responsibility settling on me like a mountain. "To wake everyone up."
"To crash the server," Elizabeth corrected me, her expression grim. "And what happens to the data when the server crashes, Kazuki? What happens to the seven million people in this kingdom when their reality is deleted?"
The question hung in the air, a chilling counterpoint to the Dreamer's desperate plea. To free the prisoners, I might have to destroy the prison itself, and everyone still inside it.
It was into this atmosphere of existential dread and cosmic revelation that the mundane, vicious reality of our situation intruded. The Lord Chamberlain returned, his face a mask of polite neutrality.
"Lord Protector," he announced with a stiff bow. "Your new chambers in the West Wing are prepared. Her Highness, the Princess, will of course be given her own suite adjacent to yours, as befits her station. And Lady Elizabeth..." He paused, and his gaze flickered toward her with a hint of pity. "Has been granted a room in the guest quarters. On the opposite side of the palace."
The order was clear. It was the Duke's move, a petty, spiteful retaliation delivered through the King's own staff. He was separating us. Isolating Elizabeth, removing my chief strategist from my immediate vicinity, reminding her of her new, diminished status.
Elizabeth's face hardened, her brief moment of intellectual excitement replaced by a familiar, icy fury. "That will not be necessary, Lord Chamberlain," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "I will be staying in the West Wing. As a key political advisor to the Lord Protector and a specialist in our current... security situation... my presence is required."
The Chamberlain looked flustered. "But, my lady, the Duke's orders... that is, the King's arrangements..."
"My 'arrangements' are my own concern," Elizabeth stated, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Find me a suitable room in the West Wing. See to it."
She had thrown down the gauntlet. She was refusing to be sidelined, openly defying the Duke's will. The Chamberlain, caught between a furious Duke and a defiant, high-born lady, bowed nervously and fled.
And so began the era of my "Princess Problems."
The West Wing became a microcosm of the kingdom's new political landscape, a tense, cold war fought over breakfast trays and seating arrangements. We were a bizarre, dysfunctional royal household. I was the prophesied hero and future Prince Consort, a man with the power to shatter mountains but who still didn't know which fork to use for the fish course. Seraphina was my fiancée, a living saint who spent most of her days in quiet prayer and meditation, her gentle presence a constant, calming counterpoint to the chaos. And Elizabeth... Elizabeth was the ghost at the feast. The annulled wife. The brilliant, resentful, and absolutely indispensable Prime Minister of our fledgling faction.
The tension between the two women was a palpable thing, an invisible, crackling energy field that permeated every room. They were polar opposites, two different kinds of power, two different kinds of femininity, and they were both now irrevocably tied to me.
Seraphina was the embodiment of divine grace and gentle strength. Her power was passive, restorative. She moved with a quiet dignity, her every action guided by a profound sense of duty and compassion. She treated me with a gentle, formal respect, a princess addressing her sworn protector. But there was a distance to her, a deep, sorrowful resignation. She was a sacrifice on the altar of prophecy, and she knew it. Our conversations were about the Keystones, about the ancient history of the world, about the logistics of our coming quest. There was no warmth, no personal connection. It was the duty of a princess to her guardian.
Elizabeth was a storm of fire and ice. Her power was active, aggressive, intellectual. She was a creature of politics and strategy, her mind a razor-sharp weapon that was constantly analyzing, planning, and countering. She treated me not as a hero, but as a complex, dangerous weapon that she was still learning how to aim. Our conversations were about the Duke's latest move, about the shifting allegiances of the noble houses, about the reports Luna brought us from the palace's underbelly. Her pride, wounded by the annulment, manifested as a sharp, biting sarcasm and a relentless, unforgiving training regimen.
"Your footwork is still atrocious," she would snap during our morning sessions in the training yard. "The Princess may see you as a 'Stone Bulwark,' but to me, you still look like a newborn foal trying to walk on ice."
"Good morning to you too, Elizabeth," I would reply, panting as I dodged another of her practice spells.
The most awkward moments were when the three of us were together. Our daily strategy meetings in the library were exercises in extreme tension.
"The mission to Mount Draconis is our first priority," I would begin.
"Indeed," Seraphina would agree, her voice soft. "The 'Breath of the Wind' is a Keystone of Air. The ancient texts say it is guarded by elemental spirits and the treacherous terrain itself. We must prepare for high altitudes and unpredictable weather."
"And political ambushes," Elizabeth would cut in, her tone sharp. "The northern passes are controlled by House Marden, who are sworn allies of my father. He will know the moment we leave the city. He will have agents waiting for us. We need to plan a route that bypasses their main patrols. We also need to secure our own supply lines, independent of the royal quartermaster, who is also one of my father's men."
Seraphina would look at Elizabeth with a kind of gentle pity, as if looking at a creature who could only see the world in terms of threats and betrayals. Elizabeth would look back at Seraphina with a barely concealed contempt, as if seeing a naive child who didn't understand the brutal realities of the game.
And I was stuck in the middle.
Luna was my only solace, my constant, silent support. Through our shared senses, she was my anchor to sanity.
"Lady Elizabeth is correct about the supply lines, my lord," her mental voice would whisper while I was seemingly studying a map. "I have heard the quartermaster boasting in the kitchens that any supplies sent to you will be... 'misplaced.' But the merchants in the lower city, the ones you saved from the monsters... they are loyal to you. They would gladly and secretly supply our expedition."
"And the Princess?" I would think back.
"She spent all morning in the gardens, tending to a bird with a broken wing," Luna would reply. "Her heart is pure, my lord. But I fear it is a purity that will not survive this court."
My own preparations focused on the one thing that could give us a true edge: ARIA. Every night, I would lock myself in the study with her book. I would pour my mana into it, not in a flood, but in a slow, steady trickle, like a nurse feeding nutrients into an IV drip.
[MP: 150/150 -> 149/150]
The book would glow faintly, the digital heartbeat within growing a fraction stronger. I was nurturing her, feeding her my own power, my own glitched code, hoping it would accelerate her reboot.
One night, as I was performing this ritual, something new happened. A single line of text, in the familiar, crisp blue font, flickered into existence on the page for a fraction of a second before fading.
[...syntax error in line 4,082,371...]
It was a fragment of a thought. A debugging note from her subconscious. A sign that somewhere, deep in the silent darkness of her hibernation, she was working. She was healing.
A fierce, desperate hope surged through me. She was coming back.
The day before our scheduled departure for Mount Draconis, the Duke made his move. It was not an attack. It was a gift.
He arrived at the West Wing unannounced, flanked by his guards, his face a mask of paternal concern. He came bearing a massive, ornate chest.
"A wedding gift," he announced to Elizabeth, his voice smooth and conciliatory. "Or, perhaps, an annulment gift. A token of my continued affection for my daughter, regardless of the King's... hasty decisions."
He opened the chest. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a suit of breathtakingly beautiful armor. It was crafted from a strange, lightweight, silvery metal, etched with intricate runes of protection. It was a masterpiece, a suit fit for a king.
"This is 'Mithral,' my dear," the Duke said to Elizabeth. "The lightest and strongest metal known. This armor was commissioned for you, for your own protection in these dangerous times. It will turn aside any blade, and the runes will protect you from any hostile magic."
Elizabeth stared at the armor, her face unreadable. It was a peace offering, a lavish gift designed to mend the rift between them.
But we all knew it was a lie.
"My lord, the runes," Luna's thought was a sharp, urgent whisper in my mind. "They are runes of protection, yes. But there is a secondary, hidden layer. A 'tracking' rune. And... something else. Something that feels... parasitic."
I focused my own senses, my new, deeper understanding of the world's code. Luna was right. Woven into the defensive wards was a subtle, brilliant piece of enchantment. A tracking spell that would allow the Duke to know Elizabeth's location at all times. And beneath that, a 'Mana Siphon' rune, a parasitic charm that would slowly, imperceptibly, drain the wearer's magical energy, feeding it back to a master amulet that was, no doubt, in the Duke's possession.
He wasn't offering her protection. He was offering her a beautiful, gilded cage. A magical leash.
Elizabeth, a master of magical theory, saw it too. I saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes, the sudden, cold fury. She looked at her father, at his smiling, duplicitous face, and I saw her make a decision.
She smiled, a brilliant, dazzling smile that did not reach her eyes. "Oh, Father," she said, her voice filled with a daughter's affection. "It is beautiful. You are too generous. Thank you."
She accepted the gift.
Later that night, after the Duke had departed, smug in his apparent victory, Elizabeth brought the armor to the study.
"He thinks I am a fool," she said, her voice a low, dangerous hiss as she ran a hand over the treacherous runes. "He thinks I would not recognize my own mother's runic signature. She was a master of warding... and tracking. He is using her own art against me."
"We will destroy it," I said.
"No," she replied, a cunning, predatory glint in her eyes. "We will not. Destroying it would alert him that we have discovered his trick. We will do something better."
She looked at me. "Your power, Kazuki. You don't just command the earth. You command the code. Can you... edit it?"
I looked at the armor. I focused my will, my INT, my glitched soul. I reached out with my mind, not to the stone, but to the magic itself, to the lines of code that formed the enchantment. I could feel them, a complex, interwoven structure of logic and power.
It was difficult, like trying to perform brain surgery with a sledgehammer. But Kaelen's knowledge, dormant in my mind, gave me a new understanding. I found the line of code for the tracking rune. I didn't delete it. I simply... changed the destination address. I rerouted the signal from the Duke's amulet to the simple silver pin she wore, the one she had given me. She would now be tracking herself.
Then I found the 'Mana Siphon' rune. This was more complex, more deeply woven. I couldn't erase it without unraveling the entire defensive ward. So I did something else. I added a new line of code. A new rule.
IF (MANA_SOURCE == "ELIZABETH_VON_CRIMSON") THEN (SIPHON_RATE = 0.001%).ELSE IF (MANA_SOURCE == "THERON_VON_CRIMSON") THEN (SIPHON_RATE = 200%).
I turned the parasitic rune into a weapon. It would barely touch her own mana. But if the Duke ever came near her while she was wearing it, it would try to drain him dry.
I pulled my consciousness back. The runes on the armor flickered once, a faint, emerald green, and then returned to their normal, silvery glow.
"It's done," I said, my head throbbing from the mental effort.
Elizabeth looked at the armor, then at me, her eyes wide with a new, profound level of respect. I had not just broken her father's trap. I had rewired it to explode in his face.
"You are truly a monster," she whispered, and for the first time, it sounded like the highest compliment she could possibly give.
The day of our departure arrived, a crisp, clear autumn morning. The West Wing courtyard was a bustle of quiet, efficient activity. Three sturdy mountain ponies were laden with supplies—supplies secretly procured by Luna from the loyal merchants of the lower city.
We were dressed for the road, in simple, durable leather and warm, hooded cloaks. I had the book—ARIA's book—in a specially reinforced satchel at my side. Elizabeth, to my surprise, was wearing the shimmering Mithral armor her father had given her, a silent, defiant message to anyone who was watching.
Princess Seraphina came to see us off. She stood before us, her expression a mixture of hope and fear.
"The fate of the kingdom rests on your journey," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Be swift. Be safe. And Captain..." She looked at me. "Protect them."
"With my life, Your Highness," I replied, and I meant it.
She then did something that shocked everyone. She stepped forward and gave me a brief, formal hug, a chaste embrace of a princess to her sworn protector. "May the light of the Dreamer guide your path," she whispered in my ear.
Over her shoulder, I saw Elizabeth's face. Her expression was like stone, her eyes chips of ice. The loyalty reading on my HUD, which had been slowly climbing, flickered and dropped five points.
[Loyalty: 55/100 -> 50/100][Notes: Subject has interpreted the Princess's gesture of favor as a threat to her own strategic position within the alliance. Her jealousy is not personal, but political. She fears being replaced.]
This, I realized, was the true nature of my "Princess Problems." It wasn't just about navigating the affections of two women. It was about managing the ambitions and fears of two brilliant, powerful queens on a chessboard where I was, unwillingly, the King.
We mounted our ponies. I looked at my two companions. Elizabeth, the brilliant, resentful, and utterly indispensable strategist, her face a mask of cold resolve. And Luna, the loyal, devoted, and surprisingly resourceful spymaster, her eyes shining with an adventurer's spirit.
My mind, my shield, and my heart.
We turned our ponies and rode out of the palace gates, leaving the intrigue and the politics of the capital behind us. Before us lay the wild, untamed north, a journey into legend, a quest to find a Keystone and to save a sleeping soul.
The road was long, the dangers unknown. But as we rode, for the first time since I had arrived in this world, I did not feel like a bug, or a glitch, or a pawn.
I felt like a player, finally making my own move.