The first thing Lyra felt was the cold.
Not the biting chill of death, but the subtle, creeping cold of silk against her skin, damp from sweat. Her eyes snapped open and stared at the familiar canopy of her old chambers—the delicate golden threads, the dragonfly embroidery, the stars on midnight-blue fabric.
Her breath caught.
No flames. No chains. No scent of scorched flesh or screams echoing in her ears.
She was… alive.
Not alive as in spared. Alive as in reborn.
She bolted upright, clutching the sheets with trembling hands. A tremor coursed through her body as memories surged—her sister's smile as the pyre was lit, Kael's eyes filled with stone-cold indifference, the crowd cheering for her death.
No, no. She had died. She remembered every searing second of it.
And yet…
Her hands were unscarred. Her long raven hair spilled like silk over her shoulders. Her voice, when she whispered, was not cracked and dry from screaming, but young and whole.
She stumbled to her feet and rushed toward the full-length bronze mirror standing in the corner.
The girl who stared back at her was seventeen.
Seventeen.
She staggered backward. That was five years before her execution. The year she had first stepped into the imperial palace as Kael's chosen consort.
The year everything started.
"How—" she whispered, clutching her chest. "How is this possible?"
Ding.
A soft chime rang inside her mind. It was not a sound from the physical world. It came from somewhere deeper.
[Imperium Heart System Activated.] Welcome, Host. Rebirth Protocol Complete.Primary Objective: Ascend to the Empress's Throne.Secondary Objective: Survive.
Her heart stopped. Or felt like it did.
A system?
She blinked rapidly. "I must be dreaming. I've lost my mind."
[No, you're very much awake.]
The text shimmered inside her vision, then faded.
Lyra stumbled back and sat hard on the edge of her bed, palms braced on either side.
A system. Just like in the legends the guards used to whisper about late at night. Divine systems. Celestial contracts. They were always just stories. Fables from the outer realms.
But she'd just died.
And this… this wasn't a second chance. This was a weapon.
"Milady?" A voice came from beyond the door. Familiar. Shaky.
Sera. Her maid. The only one who had stayed until the end. The one who had tried to hide the burning coals in her sleeves as Lyra screamed on the pyre.
Tears pricked her eyes.
She cleared her throat, adjusting the lace collar of her night robe.
"Come in."
The door creaked open and Sera stepped in, holding a tray with dried flowers and tea. She paused when she saw Lyra upright.
"Oh! You're awake early. Are you feeling better today, Milady?"
She blinked.
"Sera... what day is it?"
The maid tilted her head. "The first day of Frosting Moon. The Emperor's engagement ceremony is tomorrow, remember?"
Lyra's lips parted. The day before Kael formally declared her his consort.
The day before her downfall began.
Her hands curled into fists.
"No," she whispered. "Not this time."
Lyra didn't leave her chambers all day.
Sera brought in warm broth, unaware of the storm swirling in her lady's mind. Lyra spent hours pacing, sorting through her memories.
At this point in her past life, she had been a soft-spoken, obedient shadow. She had bowed to nobles who whispered behind her back, smiled at a prince who never looked her in the eye, and stayed silent as her sister, Elara, slipped into every corner of her life.
But she wasn't that girl anymore.
She had burned. She had bled. She had died screaming.
This time, she knew their faces.
This time, she knew who held the knives.
And she had the system.
[Daily Task Generated: Prepare for the Imperial Banquet.]Completion Reward: +1 Charm | +1 Intuition]Bonus Reward for Host's First Task: Insight Skill (Level 1)
She stared at the glowing interface in her mind.
Insight?
She blinked and focused. A wave of awareness rolled over her—colors sharpened, emotions prickled in the air. Even the wind brushing past the balcony seemed to carry secrets.
So this was how it began.
She stood and moved to her vanity. The girl in the mirror still looked soft, gentle, docile. Her hands trembled as she picked up her mother's hairpin, a golden phoenix clutching a ruby in its beak.
She stabbed it into her hair like a dagger.
This time, I will not kneel.
The banquet was held in the golden pavilion under a roof of glass and firelight.
Lyra entered dressed in her old silver and white hanfu, the one she'd worn once and hated—because it made her look forgettable.
Now she chose it on purpose.
Better to be the ghost in the corner than the spotlighted pawn.
At least, for now.
She stepped lightly, trailing behind the noble ladies as they tittered and whispered. She saw them glance at her. Saw Elara standing at the far end of the hall, her red dress clinging to her like a promise of blood.
Elara's smile was sharp. Calculated.
Like it had always been.
Lyra's fingers twitched at her side. She held her head high and walked past her, eyes empty.
Elara's smile faltered for just a second.
A satisfying crack in the mask.
"Consort Lyra," someone called.
She turned. Her heart almost froze.
Kael.
He was just as she remembered—tall, draped in midnight robes with imperial gold embroidery, his face carved in cold marble, his dark eyes impossible to read.
He nodded once in her direction.
She bowed stiffly. Not too deep.
"Your Highness."
He seemed to study her longer than usual. His brows twitched slightly. "You seem... different tonight."
"I'm no longer sick," she said calmly. "The fever must have burned something away."
A quiet pause.
Then, the faintest smirk touched his lips. "Perhaps that's for the best."
She said nothing.
[Kael: +1 Suspicion | +1 Curiosity]
A flicker of amusement passed through her as the system pinged quietly. He never liked anyone who bowed too low. Now she gave him distance—and he noticed.
The night wore on. Dancers spun. Wine flowed.
Elara approached eventually, all honeyed words and perfect grace.
"Sister," she said sweetly. "You've recovered. How wonderful. I was worried."
Lyra met her gaze calmly.
"You should be," she said softly. "I don't stay broken for long."
Elara blinked, her smile freezing. Then she laughed, high and soft, and took Lyra's hand.
"You always were so dramatic. How charming."
[Elara: -1 Composure | +1 Malice]
The system flickered like a warning bell behind Lyra's eyes.
Enemies don't reveal themselves in war. They reveal themselves at tea tables and banquets, in pretty smiles and quiet insults.
She would remember that.
Every single time.
After the banquet, Lyra returned to her chambers and sat quietly before her mirror.
[Daily Task Complete. Rewards Applied.]Insight (Level 1): Enhanced perception of emotions, lies, and manipulation. Duration: Passive.]
A low hum buzzed in her chest.
She touched her heart.
She wasn't just reborn.
She was evolving.
Late at night, footsteps echoed outside her window. She parted the curtains and frowned.
There was movement in the courtyard below. A servant sneaking away?
She crept silently down the hall, heart hammering. Every instinct screamed something was wrong.
She turned the corner and saw a figure standing in her room.
Male.
Tall. Face half-covered.
He looked straight at her as if he had been waiting.
And in his hand—
A blade.
Not to kill.
To offer.
He knelt before her and pressed the hilt to the ground.
"I swore I would never serve another," he whispered. "But you… you died for them. And now you've come back."
She froze.
"Who are you?"
The man lifted his head slowly, eyes filled with fire.
"My name is Ashen. And I remember everything.
The scent of jasmine clung to the silken drapes of the chamber, but to Lyra, it smelled like a lie. Everything in this place was a lie. The polished marble, the fresh linens, the maids with downcast eyes. Even her reflection in the mirror. Her skin unburned, smooth. Her eyes sharp. Her youth returned.
But she remembered how it felt—when the flames kissed her flesh, when her throat went raw from screaming his name.
She stood in silence before the gilded mirror, brushing her long dark hair, each stroke calming the tremble in her fingers.
"Your Majesty?" A soft knock. The head maid's voice. "Prince Caelan has arrived."
Her heart didn't jump. Not like it used to.
She set the brush down slowly, deliberately. "Send him in."
The door opened, and in walked the man who had once made her heart bloom—and later, burned it to ash.
Caelan Draven. Crown Prince of Aetheris. Golden-haired, tall, his eyes like the sky after rain. That same damn smile on his lips. The same one he wore the day he signed her death.
"Lyra," he said, as if the sound of her name on his tongue didn't make her want to carve it out. "You summoned me?"
She turned to face him, careful not to flinch. "I wanted to thank you. For the clothes. They're lovely."
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "They were your favorite, weren't they?"
They were. In her past life. But now they felt like a costume stitched by betrayal.
She smiled. "You remember too much."
He stepped closer, hands behind his back, eyes soft. "How could I forget the girl who saved me from the Red Palace fire?"
Because you forgot me the moment your sister framed me.
Because you watched them burn me alive.
Because you kissed her after.
She tilted her head. "You should forget me, Caelan. It would make things easier."
His smile faltered, just slightly. "Why do you sound like someone preparing for war?"
Because I am.
But she said nothing. Let him wonder.
Later that night, she sat beneath the crimson moon, fingers tracing the black tattoo etched across her collarbone.
It hadn't been there before. Not in her first life.
A symbol—an imperial lotus blooming from a blade.
The Imperium Heart System had whispered to her again as she stared at her reflection earlier.
Initiation begins with awakening. Growth demands blood. Loyalty demands loss.
Mission 1: Influence Caelan Draven's first royal decision.
Reward: First Ascension Key – Core Rank Initiate
Failure Penalty: Pain memory simulation — Level One
She didn't know what the pain memory simulation meant, but she could guess. She'd lived enough of them.
By morning, the castle was alive with whispers. Nobles arriving early for court. Ministers preparing scrolls and numbers. Everyone bustling with excitement.
But she only listened for one name.
"Elira," the maid said, placing a cup of tea beside her. "Princess Elira is to perform for the royal banquet."
Of course.
The golden child.
Her beloved younger sister. Adopted, delicate, radiant.
Deadly.
In the past, Elira had cried when Lyra died. Cried so hard she fainted. Everyone praised her loyalty.
But it was Elira who slipped poison into Lyra's drink the night before the trial. Elira who forged letters. Elira who smiled sweetly as the noose tightened.
Elira. The sister the Empress favored.
Lyra wrapped her hands around the cup of tea and felt the heat seep into her fingers. "What else do they say?"
"That the Prince plans to name someone his Royal Advisor by dusk."
There it is.
Her first chance.
The first test.
The throne room gleamed with gold and blood-red banners. Ministers lined the edges like vultures in silk. At the front stood Caelan, dressed in ceremonial armor, scroll in hand.
Beside him stood Elira, glowing in blue.
Lyra moved silently to the side of the room, where nobles' children gathered. She wasn't here to be seen. She was here to make the decision bend.
She studied the ministers. Among them was Lord Renar, a quiet man with a mind sharper than any blade. In her past life, Caelan ignored him, naming some fool cousin instead. But Renar had later saved the kingdom during the border wars—though no one remembered.
Lyra whispered to the girl beside her, "Who's that minister with the bronze pin?"
"Lord Renar. Strange man. Never speaks much."
"Is he well-liked?"
"Feared. Not liked."
Perfect.
Lyra excused herself, approached a younger noble close to the Prince's circle. A talkative one. One who'd been eyeing her for days.
"Lord Phaelon," she said, smiling gently. "Would you do me a favor?"
His eyes lit up. "Anything."
She leaned in. "Whisper into Prince Caelan's ear that Lord Renar has the loyalty of the border generals. That if he's not brought close, he might be... swayed by coin."
Phaelon blinked. "You think—"
"I don't think anything." She smiled. "But perhaps the Prince should."
Moments later, Phaelon did exactly as she asked. Caelan's expression shifted. He looked directly at Lord Renar. Studied him.
Then spoke.
"I name Lord Renar as my Royal Advisor."
Gasps.
Stunned faces.
Lyra took a quiet breath.
Mission complete.
Reward granted: First Ascension Key acquired.
That night, she felt it.
Heat blooming across her back.
The symbol on her skin glowing faintly.
Core Rank Initiate unlocked.
System voice: New features available. Stats panel opened.
A translucent screen blinked into view in her vision.
NAME: LYRA ASHVALESYSTEM STATUS: BOUND – Imperium Heart SystemCULTIVATION RANK: Core InitiateASCENSION KEYS: 1CURRENT MISSION: Build Influence – Court Web (Progress: 12%)UNLOCKED: Pain Resistance +5, Influence Skill +1
She stared.
She remembered stories of systems from the old empire. Forbidden arts. Lost in time.
But she had one now.
And she would use it to burn them all.
She spent the following week weaving threads. Whispers placed in ears, favors granted, debts created. Nothing big. Nothing loud. But slowly, she was remembered. Not as the discarded crown princess. But as someone worth watching.
Caelan visited twice.
Each time, he smiled more carefully.
And Elira?
Elira watched her now, with a tilt in her gaze that reminded Lyra of the moment she revealed her fangs the first time.
The storm was coming. And Lyra would walk right into it.
On the eve of the Royal Banquet, the court gathered beneath the sky of lanterns.
Music played.
Dancers floated like petals.
Elira stood in the center, dressed in white silk, her voice rising like a nightingale's.
She was flawless.
Perfect.
Beloved.
Lyra clapped softly, like everyone else, her face calm.
Until the last note faded.
Until Elira stepped forward and said—
"I would like to honor someone tonight. My sister. Crown Princess Lyra."
Gasps rippled.
Everyone turned.
Caelan's gaze shot to Lyra.
Elira smiled wide. "Sister, join me?"
Lyra rose slowly, her hands clenched behind her back.
This wasn't part of the script.
This wasn't part of anything.
Elira reached out.
Her voice gentle.
"I missed you."
And beneath that soft tone, Lyra heard it.
I know you're back.
Everything inside Lyra felt like it was on fire—but it wasn't from the fear of death this time.
It was… rage.
A scream burned behind her lips as she felt something ancient stir inside her chest. Not a voice. Not a whisper. It was a soundless pulse, steady and slow, like the beat of a second heart buried beneath her real one.
A wave of golden light exploded from her chest, throwing the blade—and the man who held it—backwards with such force he slammed into a marble column and slid to the ground, groaning.
The entire execution courtyard fell silent.
The crowd, the guards, the nobles in their silken seats. Even the wind seemed to pause.
Lyra was glowing.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Her veins shimmered with a warm, golden hue, like sunlight had been poured into her bloodstream. The glow faded slowly, but not before everyone had seen it.
She stumbled forward, her breathing ragged, her body trembling from the effort. The executioner groaned behind her, disarmed and stunned.
Then it came.
A voice, but not spoken aloud. It echoed inside her skull, clear and commanding.
[System Activating…]
[Imperium Heart System successfully bonded to Host.]
[Initializing Awakening Protocol…]
She clutched her chest. "What… what is this?"
No one heard her. They were too stunned. Too afraid.
Even the Empress, seated on her sapphire throne, had risen to her feet. Her golden eyes narrowed at the glowing girl who should have been dead on the platform.
"Impossible," Queen Elira whispered. "She should have died with the rest of them."
Lyra looked up slowly. The whispers had begun. Terror. Awe. Superstition.
And her name.
"Is that… is that Princess Lyra?"
"But she was executed…"
"She glowed like… like the ancient ones…"
Lyra turned, scanning the courtyard, until her eyes found the one face that didn't look surprised.
Zavian.
He was watching from the shadows of the upper balcony, his eyes fixed on her like he'd known all along.
But there was no warmth in them. Just calculation.
She looked away.
A tremor shook the platform beneath her. Not from her. From the world itself.
[Warning: Host emotional threshold breached.]
[First Skill Awakening: Flame Rebirth – Tier 1.]
[Skill Effect: Burns surrounding hostile intent and resets vital damage.]
Golden light surged again, but this time it turned into flames—real, white-hot fire that didn't burn her but coiled protectively around her skin like armor.
The guards took a step back. Even the royal mages hesitated.
Then Lyra opened her eyes—and they weren't just blue anymore. They were threaded with flickers of gold, glowing faintly.
Her voice came out low, shaking with fury. "You all wanted me to die. And now you're afraid because I didn't."
The silence cracked.
Screams erupted.
"Run—she's cursed—she's—"
"She's one of them! The Starborn!"
"Kill her before it's too late!"
Guards surged forward.
Lyra didn't move. The fire moved for her.
It spiraled out, slamming into the nearest man and sending him flying. Another guard tried to charge from behind. She turned just in time to feel the wind of his blade as it missed her by inches. Her instincts flared.
[Host in danger. Activating Auto-Defensive Protocol.]
She didn't think. She just raised her hand.
A blast of flame exploded from her palm and sent the man crashing through the wooden barricades.
Gasps echoed from the balconies.
Elira stepped forward, her golden crown gleaming. "Seize her! Now!"
Lyra turned her gaze on the woman who had ordered her death twice. "You'll have to try harder this time."
The Queen didn't flinch. She raised her scepter—and from it, a pulse of violet energy shot toward Lyra's heart.
But the flame armor surged up again, blocking it.
Still, Lyra staggered from the impact, pain lancing through her shoulder.
Her breath caught.
She wasn't strong enough yet.
She needed to get out.
She needed answers. About the System. About why she was back. About what the gods had done.
And she needed power. So much more power than this.
[Host Survival Instinct Detected.]
[Initiating System Escape Protocol.]
[Available Route Detected: Underground Sewage Channel. Time Limit: 20 seconds.]
A glowing path suddenly appeared at her feet, like sunlight traced into stone.
Lyra didn't hesitate. She ran.
The crowd parted in confusion as she sprinted off the execution stage and into the shadows behind it.
"After her!" Elira screamed.
But Lyra was already gone.
—
The underground tunnel was narrow and damp, but she didn't care. She ran until her lungs screamed and her legs burned, until the torches on the walls had disappeared behind her and the only light came from the pulsing lines beneath her feet.
She stopped only when she reached a dead end.
Or… what looked like one.
There was a stone door, sealed and ancient, with no handle or lock.
But the System pinged.
[System Task: Open the Gate of First Flame.]
[Requirement: Blood Offering from Host.]
[Status: Awaiting.]
She took a breath and sliced her palm against a jagged rock.
Blood dripped.
The stone glowed.
Then, slowly, the massive door began to slide open.
The air that escaped from within was warm. Familiar.
It smelled of fire. And memory.
Lyra stepped inside.
And gasped.
It wasn't a room.
It was a shrine.
A forgotten one.
Carved with murals of warriors cloaked in flame, standing tall against beasts and gods. At the center of the shrine stood a pedestal—and on it, a sword.
No. Not a sword.
Her sword.
She didn't know how she knew.
But she knew.
She stepped toward it.
The System buzzed again.
[Host Recognition Confirmed.]
[Flame-Bound Relic Identified: "Ashra's Wrath."]
[Legacy Skill: Flame Dominion – Tier 1 unlocked.]
[WARNING: System Tier remains at Foundation. Relic usage limited.]
Lyra's fingers closed around the hilt.
The moment she touched it, her memories pulsed. Not of her past life.
But of before. Of battlefields soaked in divine fire. Of gods falling to their knees. Of her name being chanted in languages no longer spoken.
She gasped as images flashed before her eyes.
She had been more than just a princess.
More than just a traitor's daughter.
She had been—
[System Interruption.]
[Emergency Protocol: Intrusion Detected.]
The room darkened.
The door slammed shut.
A figure appeared in the doorway behind her, cloaked in shadows.
A slow clap echoed.
"Well," came a voice she hadn't heard in years. Smooth. Cold. Familiar.
"I was wondering when you'd wake up, little ember."
She turned, sword drawn, heart racing.
Her voice cracked.
"You…"
The figure stepped forward into the light.
Silver hair. Amethyst eyes.
Prince Caelum. Her former fiancé. The man who betrayed her family to the Queen.
But he wasn't alone.
Behind him…
Stood Zavian.
Expression unreadable.
Watching her.
Like he'd been waiting.
"You look just like her," Caelum said, circling her like a vulture. "But different. Brighter. Burning."
Lyra's voice shook with rage. "Stay back."
Zavian said nothing.
Caelum smiled. "Oh, we're not here to kill you. Not yet."
He leaned in closer.
"We just want to see if you're truly worthy… of the flame you stole."
Lyra raised her sword.
And then—
[System Warning: Host Vital Signs Spiking.]
[WARNING: Enemy bloodline signature detected.]
[ALERT: Ancient Protocol Activated.]
[Skill Locked: Ashra's Wrath Unleashed – Tier ???]
The blade in her hand ignited.
And the shrine began to shake.
Everything she had feared, everything she had buried, came rushing back all at once.
She wasn't just reborn to survive.
She was reborn to finish what had been started.
But as her gaze locked with Zavian's—
Her heart cracked open again.
Because in his eyes, for just a second—
There was remorse.
Real.
Painful.
Human.
And then he spoke for the first time since her return.
His voice was low.
And it shattered her.
"You weren't supposed to come back."