Zeyra stepped aside to let me rise, but as I made for the door, she cut me off with a raised hand and a faint shake of her head.
"You can't go like that, Young Master."
I glanced down at myself. Loose black robes that I had picked out early. Hair that likely hadn't seen a comb in days. But honestly? I didn't think I looked that bad.
She clearly disagreed.
"Come." Her tone left no room for debate as she glided toward a side door.
When she opened it, I froze.
This wasn't a closet.
It was an entire wing. A wardrobe chamber big enough to shame my old apartment - hell, my entire floor back home. Racks stretched from wall to wall, each lined with garments so rich they practically radiated wealth. Silken robes in every imaginable colour. Embroidered tunics studded with gemstones. Jackets that looked like they belonged on emperors, not a broke shut-in.
Naturally, Zeyra went straight for the most ridiculous thing in sight - a blazing crimson cloak threaded with gold, topped with fur-lined shoulders large enough to seat a family of four.
"No," I said instantly.
She arched a brow.
"This, then?" She held up a deep violet coat, its chest dominated by a silver phoenix mid-flight.
"Absolutely not."
Another option appeared in her hands - a shimmering sea-blue robe, the kind stage magicians wear when they're trying to look mysterious and failing.
"I'd rather die."
And so it went. Many minutes of fashion warfare.
Eventually, we compromised on something tolerable: a charcoal-gray robe, long but well-fitted, with sharp lapels and a folded collar that leaned closer to a modern suit than ceremonial garb. It was understated yet refined, dignified without making me look like a peacock.
It didn't feel like home, but it didn't feel like a wild costume either.
"I can live with this," I muttered, tugging at the cuffs.
Zeyra didn't answer. But the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth told me I'd won something rarer than her approval - her amusement. For her, that was practically a standing ovation.
We left through the manor's grand front hall, which took us quite a while to reach. The manor was giant after all. And the hall was the kind of place architects probably wept over. Vaulted ceilings stretched overhead, arches lined with gilding, and two massive dragon statues coiled around the entry pillars like silent sentinels.
I kept my face calm, but my heart kicked into overdrive the moment we stepped into the courtyard.
Because that's when I saw them.
Carriages.
Five of them, lined up like jewels in a crown - each one so massive they could've passed for rolling fortresses. Their frames gleamed bone-white beneath the afternoon sun, edges traced with intricate golden filigree that shimmered faintly as if warded by spells. Enchanted lanterns hung from the sides, burning with steady blue flames that didn't flicker in the breeze.
The horses were just as otherworldly. Towering beasts, easily twice the size of anything I'd seen back on Earth, their coats a spotless silver-white that almost seemed to glow. Their breaths burst into plumes of fog, nostrils flaring, hooves striking the marble tiles like war drums. Even their harnesses gleamed, etched with faint runes that pulsed softly, keeping the beasts steady and obedient.
Dozens of soldiers flanked the scene in perfect formation. Their polished armour caught the light like mirrors, but what drew the eye was the insignia carved into every chestplate: a blazing sun cradled by a ring of seven stars. It was the mark of the Empire - radiance crowned by order, light framed by the arcane. A banner bearing the same symbol rippled above the carriages, stitched in gold thread that shimmered with each ripple of wind.
Servants in tailored uniforms moved like clockwork around them - adjusting saddles, checking reins, securing baggage with practiced precision. Not a movement wasted, not a voice raised. The entire courtyard thrummed with an efficiency that spoke of discipline drilled into the bone.
And yet… all of it was background noise.
Because every gaze, whether soldier, servant, or bystander, inevitably gravitated toward the two figures at the head of the procession.
The space around them was telling. No one dared stray too close, as though invisible lines had been drawn in the marble itself. Respect, fear, reverence - it all pooled into a wide, empty circle around them.
I didn't need anyone to tell me who they were.
Auren Thorn.
And the Imperial Princess.
'So that's the bastard who's caused me all this pain every time I move around.'
My brother looked less like a man and more like some artist's attempt at bottling divinity in flesh. Radiant golden hair caught the light like a crown. Eyes that glowed faintly, as though the sun itself had burned its reflection into them.
He wore the expression of someone who had never once known doubt. The cream-and-gold military coat hugged his frame like it had been stitched onto him, sword gleaming at his hip, posture so flawless it was almost insulting. He didn't just stand there - he commanded the courtyard by existing in it.
But that wasn't what surprised me…
What surprised me was that he looked like me!
'Duh, he's your brother,' is what you're probably thinking.
But this is not in some vague, family-resemblance kind of way. He really looked like me - same face, same bone structure, same eyes. Just… better.
'No one told me he was my twin,' I thought, stomach flipping. 'When she said younger brother, I was thinking at least a year younger. Or from another mother. Not this. Not-'
I stared.
It was unmistakable, despite how different we were.
He was everything I wasn't.
Taller. Stronger. Healthier. Filled with vitality, vigor, and energy. The kind of man who made poets write odes and soldiers follow without question. He didn't just radiate nobility - he was nobility. Honor. Command. Power.
If someone looked at the two of us side by side, I already knew what they'd see.
He was the real prince.
I was the knock-off.
The spare.
The pathetic loser, as the system put it..
'Great,' I thought dryly. 'I didn't have any relatives to speak of in my old life. Now I've got a twin brother who's perfect, beloved, and already beat my ass once. How am I supposed to navigate this relationship? Shake his hand or stab his back?'
I was still trying to figure out how to process that, when my eyes finally shifted to the woman beside him.
And for a second, I forgot how to blink...