[Lysira's POV]
The sun poured through the arched windows of Lysira Valenheart's bedchamber like warm honey, casting long shadows across embroidered silks and polished marble. Once, this light would have drawn a sleepy smile from her. Once, she would have stretched under the soft blankets, giggling as her handmaidens teased her for sleeping in past the morning bell.
Now, she sat at her vanity, spine straight, fingers clasped together on her lap. Her blue eyes stared into the polished mirror, not at her reflection, but through it. Pale skin, white hair cascading like snow over her shoulders, a face sculpted with grace, these things had not changed. But the girl behind them had.
She could still feel it.
The moment the soul core bloomed inside her, everything had shifted. Like a key turning inside a locked door, releasing not just power, but memory. Waves upon waves of moments. A life before this one. A life of battle, fire, and sorrow. A boy.
His eyes.
His voice.
The warmth of his hand as she died.
Lysira touched her chest as if she might feel the ghost of that final wound.
She blinked when her handmaiden, Celyne, entered quietly and began brushing her hair. The girl said nothing, but her movements were hesitant, almost reverent.
"Your Highness," she said after a moment, "you haven't smiled since the ceremony. Are you feeling unwell?"
Lysira shook her head. "I'm fine."
Celyne looked up at her through the mirror. "You seem... different. Sharper. Quieter."
"Do I?"
"Yes. It's not bad. It's just..."
Lysira offered the faintest smile. "Change is part of growth."
The maid said nothing more. But Lysira saw the flicker of unease in her eyes.
Later, in the palace courtyard, her royal tutors noticed it too.
"Excellent form today, Princess," said Master Elhar, after Lysira completed a sword form without flaw. Her blade moved like wind, graceful, precise, and lethal.
A week ago, she had struggled with basic transitions.
"Who taught you the Virellian flow?" he asked.
She blinked. "I don't recall. It came to me."
He frowned, rubbing his chin. "Remarkable."
She knew she had startled him.
Just like she'd startled the scholars when she corrected their lecture on ancient demon treaties.
Just like she had stunned the mage instructor by grasping elemental harmonics in a single sitting.
It wasn't that she had grown smarter. She had simply remembered.
She had once been a war general, a symbol of hope, a girl who had stood atop corpses and castles and still managed to believe the world could be better.
But that girl had died.
Now, she was a princess in a peaceful kingdom, with power but no purpose.
She walked the halls of the palace, nodding politely at nobles and servants alike. They noticed, of course. The sudden stillness in her presence. The quiet strength in her gaze. The difference in how she carried herself, less like a pampered royal, and more like a seasoned warrior in silk.
Behind closed doors, they whispered.
"She's matured overnight."
"The awakening must have unlocked something rare."
"Is this the making of a queen, or something else?"
She let them speak.
She let them wonder.
She did not care.
At night, she sat by her window, a velvet scarf wrapped around her wrist, not the original, but one like it. The same color. The same feel.
She closed her eyes, remembering the first time it had been tied there. By his hands.
A gift. A shield. A vow.
He was gone now.
But he had loved her. And she had failed him.
Even if this world was peaceful, she could not bring herself to embrace it.
Still, she would live.
Because he would have wanted her to.
"You always hated it when I cried," she whispered. "So I won't. Not tonight."
[Kael's POV]
Steel rang against steel in the Drevan estate's private training yard.
Kael moved like a ghost. His silver hair clung to his skin, damp with sweat. His breath came slow and measured as he spun, ducked, and parried.
Three practice dummies lay broken at his feet. His sword was chipped. His hands were blistered.
He didn't stop.
"Master Kael," a servant called carefully. "Your father wishes to see you."
Kael ignored him.
Not out of defiance.
Out of disinterest.
Nothing in this world held the weight it once did.
Since the soul awakening three days ago, everything had shifted. Not just the surge of energy in his core, not just the magic potential that stunned the family mages.
No. It was the memories.
The blood.
Her face.
He had lived and died already. Once.
He had loved. Lost. Burned the world in agony. Screamed his soul into the heavens. And then, silence.
Until now.
His fingers gripped the sword tighter.
He struck again.
And again.
His movements had changed, too. The old Kael had been a promising heir, trained by the best swordsmen, intelligent and composed. Now? Now he moved with brutality born from survival. His footwork was not elegant but efficient. His blade did not dance, it killed.
Servants watched from the shadows, whispering.
"He doesn't speak anymore."
"He trained until dawn yesterday."
"He looks at you like he's already seen you die."
Kael heard them.
He didn't care.
Later, in his study, he sat before a map of the kingdom, fingers tracing borders. He remembered how some of these lands had once burned. How others had betrayed their own. How blood had soaked into the soil where children now played.
He lit a candle. Watched the flame. Felt nothing.
"Kael."
His father entered. The Duke. Tall, stern.
"Your soul core results have astounded our scholars," he said. "Your mana output is ten times the norm."
Kael said nothing.
"You could lead armies someday. Make the Drevan name eternal."
Still silence.
The Duke frowned. "What did you see during the awakening?"
Kael met his gaze, red eyes calm and unreadable.
"Enough."
That was all he said.
The Duke left without another word.
When the door closed, Kael leaned back, eyes to the ceiling.
He remembered her laugh.
Her stubbornness.
Her ideals.
She had wanted to save him. And he had walked into the fire alone.
Even now, her voice haunted him.
If there's another life...
He scoffed.
"You fool," he whispered. "You really let me believe I could have that."
He stood, walked to the balcony, and stared out at the city.
Peaceful. Quiet.
This world was... dull.
But she had loved life.
And she would not forgive him if he wasted it.
"Fine," he said. "I'll live. Not for me. For you."
___
In two separate rooms, under the same moon, two souls looked up at the stars.
Neither knew the other lived.
But both, quietly, resolved the same thing.
They would keep walking.
Not because they hoped.
But because the one they loved would have wanted them to.
Lysira: "If you're watching... I'm still here."
Kael: "Just don't hate me for living without you."