With practiced ease, she sliced a piece of roasted beef, dipped it in sauce, and placed it upon her tongue. The rich savor of the meat mingled with the tang of the dressing, dissolving into a harmony of flavor across her palate.
Upon the table lay a spread of dishes, most of them Western in style. Save for a trace of unfamiliarity, the taste proved passable.
Throughout the hall, nothing stirred but the muted clatter of silverware against porcelain.
The Baron, who had been brooding with eyes cast down, seemed suddenly recalled to thought. He lifted his head, turning his gaze upon Zhang Lin.
"Freyja, how fares your health?" he asked gently, a fragment of white bread still in his hand.
"It has nearly recovered," Zhang Lin replied with respectful composure.
"Good," the Baron nodded, though concern lingered in his eyes. "Your constitution is stronger than most, yet you must not grow careless. If you have need of anything, speak directly to Mary. The territory lies troubled of late—best you remain within, unless compelled."
"Yes, Father…" Zhang Lin inclined her head softly, his quiet concern etched into her heart.
A chair scraped faintly against the floorboards. The Baron rose, setting aside the remnants of his meal, dabbing his lips with a napkin in a motion of careless grace.
With a light tap of his finger against the table's edge, he spoke:
"Bailey, attend me in my study once you have finished."
"Yes, my lord." Howard inclined his head, his face an impassive mask, as though he had long foreseen the summons.
Watching the Baron's retreating figure, Zhang Lin frowned faintly. Piecing together his broken words from before the meal, she had already suspected that this vagrant affair was not as ordinary as it seemed. Yet seeing the Baron's expression left no doubt as to its gravity.
She weighed swiftly the possible causes in her mind, but for want of knowledge could form only conjectures. And even if she discerned the truth, what aid could she offer in her present state?
The Baron's departure disturbed no one else at table; the meal continued undisturbed. Soon after, Howard too excused himself and departed.
Zhang Lin finished her portion, exchanged courtesies with those remaining, and withdrew to her chamber.
Closing the door behind her, she gazed upon the familiar room, then cast herself backward onto the silken coverlet. The soft folds enfolded her like flowing water, drawing her body deep into their embrace.
The tautness coiled in her heart eased at last. Since her passage into this world, she had adapted to her new station, yet a dissonance lingered, subtle but unshakable.
In her former life, solitude had been her only true companion. Independence and fortitude were her armor; even in adulthood, though she had found a few kindred spirits, true intimacy had been scarce. But now, in this strange new life, a man's genuine care pressed close upon her heart, wearing away its once unyielding stone. The sensation was tender, disarming, almost unreal.
From Freyja's inherited memory, the Baron's love had long been etched into her being. And though Zhang Lin had only dwelt in this world but a single day, that affection did not vanish with Freyja's passing—it lingered, as if it had always been hers.
She knew well such devotion belonged to the girl who was gone. Yet in this moment, it rested upon her.
"What is the meaning of existence? If one loses memory, even within the same flesh, does the self remain unchanged? Or am I now the sum of Freyja's memory and my own—yet still myself?"
These thoughts, profound and unsettling, turned endlessly within her mind.
Upon the wall, a gilded cross-sword glimmered faintly in candlelight. She closed her eyes, her consciousness spinning between two lives, two bodies, two overlapping worlds—yet somehow, within her, they coalesced in eerie harmony.
Abruptly she opened her eyes. Her azure pupils dilated, and in an instant, the twin memories seemed to converge. In her sight, a ragged, stubborn girl in threadbare clothes overlapped with a noble child in a pristine white gown—until, at last, the two became one.
"Since I have inherited all that you were, then I am Freyja… and Zhang Lin alike."
With this realization, the last trace of discord in her heart smoothed away. Weariness surged upon her, as if she had run a day's journey without rest. Unwittingly, she curled herself upon the bed, drew the quilt close, and drifted into sleep.
Morning light pierced the mist, casting its golden veil across the earth.
The castle too shed its shadows, revealed beneath the rising sun.
From beyond the walls came the crisp cadence of voices raised in drill, shattering her slumber.
Rubbing her drowsy eyes, Freyja awoke, a faint ache throbbing at her temples.
She glanced down: her garments were still those of yesterday.
"How did I fall asleep?"
The moment of clarity last night had drained her spirit as if her very soul had been emptied, leaving her no strength to resist sleep. The sensation was strange, inexplicable.
Her fingers brushed her temple. The dull ache did not hinder her; instead, it sharpened her thoughts. Details once overlooked now rose vividly before her mind's eye, as though her mind had gained a second edge.
For this uncanny change she could find no explanation. Perhaps something had transpired in the night…
Beyond the window, the steady cries of drill sergeants rose again.
The guards were at their morning training.
A transformation of the body was, after all, a blessing. Rubbing her brow until the ache faded, she cast aside the gown and donned a simple hunting attire.
The Baron's fragmented words before supper lingered in her thoughts. By her station, as his most beloved daughter, her safety was well-guarded. Yet she knew—this was no world like Earth, where law stood sentinel over all. Here, only strength commanded authority, only strength ensured survival.
Though Freyja's memories bore little of bloodshed, yesterday she had seen with her own eyes how fragile life could be, severed in an instant.
Perhaps the world deemed those vagrants deserving of death. Yet to her, something precious had been stripped away—something that could never be regained.
She opened the window, letting the crisp morning air sweep away her last trace of drowsiness.
In the great circular yard below, the guards drilled in full armor, their voices echoing like thunder. A few brawny men sparred with wooden swords, the crack of their blows carrying even to the castle's third floor.
"It is time," Freyja murmured, narrowing her eyes upon the scene below. "Time I began to strengthen myself."