After the devastating vision in which she saw Narel die, Elizabeth could no longer appreciate the wonders around her. The splendor of the castle, the enchanted murmur of the jade fountains, the floating lights dancing above the crystal-carved hallways… it all felt too perfect. Too unreal. As if she were seeing it through a fogged mirror.
Fear clung to her skin like a second layer. Each step echoed louder than the last. She could feel her pulse pounding in her temples like hammer strikes. She knew she was supposed to smile, to greet, to respond to the courteous bows offered by servants and nobles… but she could barely stand.
And then, as she crossed the threshold into the palace's great vestibule, the second vision struck. Without warning. Without mercy.
A blink. A held breath. And the world changed.
The magnificent palace of Vhalmir crumbled before her eyes. The domes of light reduced to rubble. The gardens of eternal snow burned with black fire. The walls that moments ago overflowed with art and music were now covered in dried blood and twisted shadows.
And the bodies…
Dozens. Hundreds. Piled without order. Many still wearing their formal welcome garments. Some were familiar faces. One was the maid who had just smiled sweetly and adjusted her cloak. Another was the same elderly man who had guided her gently from the entrance—his hand still outstretched, as if waiting for her gratitude.
Elizabeth's stomach clenched. A wave of nausea surged from her chest, wild and unstoppable. The world spun with brutal violence. Her ears, teeth, and spine throbbed with pain. Every sense ignited to the limit, as if her body were being dismantled from the inside.
She tried to step back, to flee from the image… but there was nowhere to go. The floor beneath her was no longer marble—it was ash. The stained glass windows shattered in silence. And amid the stillness, the air reeked of rust, broken magic, and ancient fear.
"This… is going to happen," she thought. It wasn't a warning. It was a sentence.
Her breathing turned erratic. She tried to hold onto memories, to logic, to something that grounded her in the present. But all she found was more darkness.
And in that darkness, a new terror emerged: the castle wasn't just collapsing.
She was there.
Alive. Desperate. Trapped in the ruins, searching for someone… searching for Narel.
And when she found him, his body lay among the debris. Motionless. Cold.
The vision shattered like glass. A white flash blinded her.
And then—nothing.
Elizabeth collapsed to the floor with a dull thud, her silk gloves stained with dust and shame. She didn't hear the murmurs of the courtiers. She didn't feel the hands trying to hold her up. All she perceived was a sharp, piercing hum—like a needle through her skull.
Everything turned black.
And then, as if someone had flipped the switch on the universe, everything turned white. Not bright. Not warm. Just white—like nothingness. A blinding void, with no horizon, no gravity, no sound.
In front of her, a woman sat on the floor. She trembled, her body shaking as if something invisible were tearing her apart. She held her head in both hands, fingers tangled in her hair like she was trying to rip the thoughts from her skull. She sobbed uncontrollably. Her weeping wasn't from sadness—it was from despair.
Elizabeth approached cautiously. Each step felt heavier than the last. The air offered no resistance, yet something about the space made every movement feel like wading through an invisible sea.
Then, the woman looked up. Her eyes were red. Her face soaked with tears.
"I tried! I swear I tried!" she cried out, her voice broken.
Elizabeth froze. The impact wasn't immediate… but when her eyes recognized that face, her body instinctively stepped back. That woman…
That wasn't a memory.
That wasn't another Elizabeth from another timeline.
It was her.
Not the princess.
Not the heir.
Her real self—the one from before the accident. The girl from the other world. The one who fell down the stairs with a mind full of doubt and a life full of unanswered questions. The one who still believed in free will and thought everything could be solved with determination.
The figure curled into a ball, choking on her sobs.
"I don't know what to do! No matter how hard I try, I can't save anyone! No one!"
Elizabeth felt a lump rise in her throat. She couldn't speak. Not because she didn't know what to say—but because she knew too much. That woman wasn't a vision. She wasn't a metaphor.
She was the origin.
And she was broken.
"I can't waste this chance," Elizabeth thought. "I don't know if I'll get another."
She knelt in front of her. Hesitated. Then, with trembling strength, she gently held the woman by the shoulders and spoke with as much resolve as she could muster:
"Tell me what's going on. Tell me everything."
The other Elizabeth shook, as if the weight of the truth was too much to bear.
"I… I can't explain it all. There are things I don't know… things I've forgotten. But I can give you something…"
She raised her hand slowly—fingers stained with the past.
"But it won't matter…" she whispered. "This is an impossible mission. Everyone will die… no matter how many times you try…"
"Give me what you can! Anything!" Elizabeth insisted, desperate. She already knew what was coming. The black shadow. The forgetfulness. The loss. If she was going to fight, she had to at least understand a little more of the puzzle.
The woman looked at her with eyes full of unspeakable pain… and touched her forehead.
She stood up. Walked to the door. Placed her hand on the frame. And with a voice that was steady, though soft, she opened it.
On the other side, they were all waiting.
"It's not your fault," Elizabeth said, her voice firm though still slightly broken. "Something on the moon caused it…"
Everyone turned to her, confused. The silence in the room thickened, as if her words had stirred an ancient echo no one dared awaken. But in her mind, the phrase "I didn't act in time" kept repeating like a verdict. She wasn't going to run. She would act in time.
Vincent was the first to approach, his steps silent, though his face brimmed with worry.
"Your Highness, are you alright?"
Without saying a word, Dren was already helping her sit. His movements were gentle, yet as tense as a coiled spring.
"Yes…" Elizabeth replied, her gaze fixed on the window, where the moon still hung—motionless, ominous. "However… there is powerful magic in that satellite. Very old. And we must find out what's hidden there."
Narel, who had remained silent until then, knelt before her. His face was solemn, but his eyes revealed a deeper concern—one beyond politics.
"Your Highness… that place holds no value. It's a magical fault. An accident that caused a catastrophe… and we left it floating above us as a warning—as a symbol that even magic has its limits."
"Narel…" said Elizabeth, her voice steady with resolve. "You don't have to come. I have my retinue. I have my guards. With or without you… I will go explore that place."
Vincent and Veldora exchanged a quick glance. Then, as if they had rehearsed the moment all their lives, they smiled with pride.
That was the spirit they expected from the heir of Aurel.
They knelt in unison, heads bowed, and declared in a clear voice:
"As you command, Your Highness."
Narel exhaled slowly. He didn't argue further.
"Very well… so be it. Prepare the finest warriors, the wisest mages, the most skilled healers. We'll explore that ancient rock… but prepare as if we're going to war. That's an order."
Dren let out a bitter laugh—the first sign of relief since everything began.
"I suppose we're going on an expedition, little Mayron."
"Don't call me little," the young prince snapped. "To you, I'm His Highness, Prince Mayron."
A brief chuckle rippled through the room, easing the tension for just a moment…
Until someone knocked at the door.
It wasn't a discreet knock, nor a ceremonial one. It was desperate, hurried—almost disrespectful.
Narel raised a hand. Everyone tensed.
"Come in," he ordered.
The door burst open, restrained urgency in every movement. A messenger stepped in, still panting from running through the castle corridors. His cloak was askew, and he clutched a crumpled scroll in his hands—but he didn't read it. He didn't need to.
He bowed slightly—just enough to show respect—and spoke with a trembling voice:
"Your Highness… Princess… Princes…"
Everyone waited.
"I must report that one of the princes… one who didn't attend the pilgrimage…"
Silence turned to blade.
"…has been assassinated."
No one spoke.
Not a breath. Not a question.
Only the creaking of Elizabeth's heart, as for a moment, time seemed to stop again.
And out there, far above the clouds…
the moon kept watching.