Ashen crouched atop the slanted roof of a nearby building, hood pulled low over his face. When he was alone, he rarely used a disguise; stationed at a distant post following orders to guard, he saw no need to drink the potion to hide the color of his eyes—it was too much of a hassle.
The sun's bright light cast long shadows on the windows of Elara's balcony. Inside, the woman he was assigned to protect moved with deliberate steps, each gesture measured yet graceful.
Curious, he thought. Not just cautious—she observes everything, even when she thinks no one is watching.
Her fingers brushed lightly along the spines of books at a small stall, lingering on a parchment as her brow creased faintly. The tilt of her head, the way her eyes flicked over the inked letters—everything spoke of a mind constantly calculating, weighing, predicting.
Ashen's golden eyes narrowed. So much precision. So deliberate. Something unspoken. She isn't merely cautious; she expects.
He followed her every move from his vantage point at the tree opposite Elara's balcony.
She's fascinating, he admitted quietly. I want to know how she thinks… what she fears… what she's planning.
Back in her chambers, Elara unfolded the small piece of parchment she had retrieved from her mother's room. The cryptic line glowed faintly in the candlelight:
"If the moon still weeps over the sea, then I am not gone—only waiting."
Her fingers traced the letters carefully. This isn't just a message. It's a clue. A thread that leads to more than I can see, and my father must pull it.
She would hire someone from the guild to send an anonymous tip to Duke Caelum. Subtle enough to nudge him into action without revealing her hand. He'll investigate. Quietly. Carefully. And he'll notice the irregularities that would otherwise go unseen.
Perfect.
A faint smirk curved her lips. "Some things are better discovered when they believe it's their own intuition,"she murmured.
Elara slipped into a dull dress and hood, disguising herself, and made her way to The Iron Fox Mercenary Guild. The morning streets were quiet, sunlight catching the cobblestones as she approached the familiar building.
Inside, the guild was alive with its usual clamor: mercenaries sharpening blades, coordinating assignments, and exchanging low murmurs.
Elara moved with purpose, her hood casting shadows over her face.
At the reception, a burly man glanced up, eyebrows raised. "Morning, My Lady. Another business here?"
"I do," she said, voice steady and controlled. "I have a request—discreet. Instructions must be followed exactly."
The man's gaze lingered, measuring her. "Discreet is our specialty. Instructions?"
Elara lowered her hood slightly, letting only a glint of her eyes show. "I need an anonymous tip sent to Duke Caelum. Something subtle. Something that will make him question whether everything he knows is true, whether everything he's been fighting for was just. Something tied to his late wife."
She produced the torn parchment she had taken from her mother's room and laid it on the counter.
The ink shimmered faintly in the morning light. "This," she said, calm and measured, "deliver it to him as if it turned up by chance. He must not know who sent it."
The burly man weighed the paper in his hand. "You want it to look like a coincidence."
Elara nodded once. "Exactly. No signatures, no trace. The rest I leave to your judgment, as long as it reaches him quietly and without risk."
The man nodded slowly. "Consider it done. Who's handling the assignment?"
"I trust your best operative. Someone precise, someone who knows how to move unseen," she replied. "And one more thing, timing is crucial. It must appear as if it's chance, not design."
The man's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Understood. The Iron Fox does not fail its clients, no matter how delicate the matter."
Elara gave a small nod, eyes flicking across the room one last time. "Good. That is all. Ensure discretion. And… thank you."
As she turned to leave, morning light spilled into the guild hall, illuminating the murmurs and clinks of its busy occupants, oblivious to the subtle game she had set in motion. The threads were in place, and now she would wait.
The Imperial Palace was quiet, the afternoon sun slanting through the tall windows of Duke Caelum's office.
He buried himself in a stack of documents, but fatigue was inevitable. His head drooped, eyes closing against his will, and soon sleep claimed him.
In his dreams, fragments of the past replayed vividly.
First, Selene appeared—his previous wife—the memory of her carriage teetering on the edge of a cliff, plunging into darkness.
Then, another scene unfolded: Elara confronting him about the wrongs committed by Isolde and Seraphine, especially concerning the child Isolde had borne.
Why did Elara insist so fiercely that the child wasn't mine? He muttered in the haze of the dream. And why didn't I believe her here? Why did I side with Isolde?
He watched, bewildered, as she spoke with unwavering resolve. The question lingered, gnawing at him—the insistence, the certainty, the boldness. What is she seeing that I can't?
The visions blurred, and suddenly he saw Elara again, poisoned at her debutante; the wine in her glass glowed red.
He jolted awake, heart pounding, fragments of the dream still vivid. The afternoon sun had moved, casting a lazy glow across his chambers.
Exhausted, he returned to his room in the dukedom, sinking into the lounging area. He pressed a hand to his temple, the throbbing headache a reminder of both stress and lack of sleep.
The dreams lingered, nagging at his mind—why now?
An envelope sat on the table, plain and rough, edges uneven as if torn from a larger sheet. No name, no seal. Nothing elegant, nothing polite. Yet something about it made Duke Caelum pause, an instinctive unease curling in his gut. He couldn't explain why, but he knew he shouldn't ignore it.
Hands shaking slightly, he tore it open. Inside was a note, hastily scrawled:
"Duke Caelum, are you sure you're seeing the whole picture? What really happened at the cliff, the carriage… do you remember? This might answer the questions you've been avoiding."
Beneath the note lay a folded piece of parchment. Its edges were worn, ink faded in places, as if handled many times:
"If the moon still weeps over the sea, then I am not gone—only waiting."
Duke Caelum's heart stuttered.
Wife? A carriage? The words clawed at a memory he had tried to keep buried.
A chill ran through him. Slowly, realization crept in. The letter referred to Selene, his late wife before the accident.
Yet who had sent it? The handwriting was rough, almost careless, nothing like Selene's own. Someone wanted him to see it…but why, and from where? Questions crowded his mind, pressing from every side, leaving him frozen, caught between dread and curiosity.
The envelope sat there, innocuous yet dangerous, and he knew instinctively that ignoring it was not an option.
A knock at the door broke his thoughts. "Dinner, Your Grace," the butler announced politely.
Caelum exhaled sharply, setting the envelope down.
He rose wearily, each step heavy as he made his way to the dining area. Confusion and exhaustion tugged at him, the suspicious envelope and lingering dreams weighing on his mind like a shadow he couldn't shake.
Night had deepened. It was the hour Ashen had promised Elara he would deliver the spy who had been following her. He prepared everything carefully, scouting a secluded, abandoned area. Once there, he bound the spy, ensuring he couldn't escape.
Before approaching, Ashen disguised himself once more, drinking a potion that changed the color of his golden eyes to muted grey, and wearing a wig to hide the color of his hair.
When Ashen led Elara to an abandoned area, shadows pooled between dilapidated walls. The spy she had sought, a wiry figure bound and subdued, slumped against the bricks, eyes wide with apprehension.
"So this is the one who followed me," Elara said coolly.
Ashen's voice was low, neutral. "Caught him trying to escape earlier. He knows enough to be dangerous."
She studied the spy's reactions, noting fear and hesitation. "And you're sure he won't try anything once released?"
Ashen's eyes flicked to hers, sharp beneath the hood. "If he does, I'll be there. I always am. But you… You handle him now."
Elara faced the spy again. The man's sharp gaze pierced her, but she felt nothing—only cold, simmering irritation. "Who commanded you to spy on me?" she demanded.
The spy said nothing, eyes unwavering. Ashen, hidden in the shadows above, frowned. Why would anyone hire someone to follow Elara so closely?
"You won't talk? Fine. Ashen, finish him," Elara said, flat and icy. She was numb to cruelty now. After all, she had lived through it countless times.
As much as she hated to harm anyone, she knew that to achieve justice, someone had to pay the price.
Ashen's lips curved slightly at her words. "You sure, Princess? I thought you were afraid of blood."
Elara met him with a sharp, cold look. Ashen felt a thrill run through him, impressed by the resolve in her eyes.
Just as Ashen raised his weapon to strike, the spy finally spoke. Low, deliberate, almost a whisper against the night air:
"You ask who sent me… but the answer is not what you seek. The one who watches from shadows is closer than you think, and the hand that guides you may yet betray you."
Elara's eyes narrowed. "Cryptic enough. Now speak plainly. Who sent you?"
The spy let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "I serve a purpose, not a master. But heed this… some truths are safer left buried, and some paths are only walked when the moon is ready to witness."
Ashen's grip tightened. He had expected defiance, but not riddles.
Elara's expression hardened. "Then you leave me no choice. Tell me everything, or die."
The spy's lips curved into a faint, almost mocking smile. "Everything comes at a price, Princess… as it always does."
Elara felt a twinge of puzzlement.
Everything she thought she knew now seemed unknown.
Why was this spy speaking in riddles? What did he mean—the sigil on her wrist, her bloodline… Who? Who is the one who sent him? She had thought it was Isolde, her stepmother, yet a nagging doubt told her she was back at square one, forced to dig deeper to uncover the truth.
Elara told Ashen to keep the spy alive.
Ashen nodded, and as they walked back, to break the tension, he spoke through the night air.
"Your mark…" he stopped and looked at Elara's wrist where the sigil was located. "It's unusual. Most I've seen are simple, their purpose clear, their radiance contained. Yours… radiates faintly. I'm afraid there's meaning behind that."
Elara's brow furrowed. "Is it odd that it radiates this faintly?"
Ashen tilted his head, eyes glinting. "The Segments. I recognize it as one, but it's unlike any I've encountered. Nothing like it before."
Elara looked down at her wrist, examining the circular emblem carefully.
Divided into ten segments, each faintly radiating like a shards of light. Perhaps representing the lives she had lived, Elara thought.
At the center lay a small, luminous teardrop-shaped core. Fine, threadlike runes weaved between each segment, connecting them in an unbroken loop. The sigil glowed softly in a silver-blue hue.
Ever since awakening in this life, this was the first time she truly studied it. Celestial, timeless, and almost ancient in spirit.
Her pulse quickened. Then she looked at Ashen straight into his eyes. He knows things… things he shouldn't. Who is he, really?
The next day, Elara woke with a headache. She had barely slept, restless with thoughts about what Ashen might know regarding the sigil. After freshening up, she made her way to the dining hall for breakfast.
The room buzzed with soft murmurs and the clinking of silverware. Elara greeted everyone neutrally before taking her seat. She ate quietly, eyes and ears alert, observing everything.
Isolde, however fixed her eyes on Duke Caelum, sharp and suspicious. He had always been somewhat distant, but in recent days, his distraction and preoccupation had become unmistakable, and she noticed everything.
"Something on your mind, my lord?" she asked, feigning casual concern but leaning closer.
Caelum's jaw tightened. "Nothing. Just… tired."
Isolde pressed on. "Tired? Or hiding something from me? I've noticed—your manner, your absences…"
He finally snapped, voice sharp. "Isolde! Must you question me at every turn?"
She recoiled slightly, then softened, playing the victim.
"I only worry for our child. For us. Don't dismiss that. Don't shout at me," she said, voice trembling as if tears could fall at any moment. "Don't treat me like I'm… nothing," she added.
Elara ate silently, posture elegant and composed, sipping her tea while observing. Her gaze shifted between Caelum and Isolde.
Sighing at the drama, she let the moment hang like a shadow over the table. Then, with a faint smirk, she blurted out, "Our child?" Her eyes locked onto Isolde's, piercing as if looking straight through her soul. "Is it really my father's?"
Duke Caelum looked puzzled, but Elara paid him no mind.
Isolde left the table soon after, retreating to her chambers and locking the door.
She sank onto the bed, head in her hands, thoughts wandering: unrequited feelings for Caelum before Selene arrived; her arranged marriage and the child she bore; obsession that festered when Selene married Caelum and bore Elara; the carriage accident orchestrated decades ago; long-hidden orders she had given; decades of quiet scheming just to make the Duke hers.
Her fingers traced the edge of the pillow. No one can ever know, especially him.If Caelum knew, everything would unravel… even now, after all these years.
Soft tapping sounded at her door. Seraphine was waiting. But Isolde did not answer.
Her mind raced, worried and calculating, replaying every potential outcome. She thought of secrets she could never reveal, the balance she must maintain to ensure her plans remained hidden.
Outside, shadows shifted, and the weight of her past pressed down, a silent vow forming: she would protect what must remain hidden, no matter the cost.