The medallion was heavier than it looked.
Kyle sat cross-legged on the stone floor, the small carved token resting in his open palm. Its edges were smoothed by time, the lacquer slightly worn. A winged serpent coiled tightly around a sword, fangs bared, eyes shaped like drops of ink.
He didn't know why, but holding it made his chest tighten.
Like someone whispering just behind his ear. Familiar… but out of reach.
*Talia said Kael nearly killed her for touching it.*
Kyle turned it over again, inspecting the back. No writing. No markings. Just smooth wood and the faint scent of aged polish.
His thumb ran along the grooves of the serpent's wing, and something flickered behind his eyes.
A flash.
A room.
Firelight reflecting off marble walls. Tall shelves filled with leather-bound books. A boy—no, a teenager—sitting on the floor. Cross-legged. Alone. Fingers tracing the lines of the very same medallion.
And then—
A door slamming.
A woman's voice, sharp and cold.
"You were never meant to exist."
The vision vanished.
Kyle jerked backward with a gasp, the token falling from his hand and clattering against the stone.
"What the…?"
His pulse hammered in his throat.
He stared at the medallion like it had just bitten him.
Had that been—?
*A memory?*
His memory? No. **Kael's**.
The body remembered.
He reached out slowly and picked it up again, cautious, as if it might explode.
Nothing happened.
But the feeling lingered. A deep, echoing sorrow. A quiet rage simmering beneath.
Kyle sat there for several long minutes.
He didn't want to feel sorry for Kael. Everything he'd heard so far painted him as cruel, arrogant, possibly a would-be murderer. But that flash—*that pain*—hadn't felt fake. It hadn't felt like a villain's pain.
It had felt like a **boy's**.
A forgotten, angry, lonely boy.
Kyle leaned his head back against the wall and exhaled. The stone was cold against his neck, grounding him.
*Five days left.*
He needed more of these memories. More threads. If he could dig out enough of Kael's past—reconstruct the pieces—maybe he could avoid stepping into traps he didn't even know were set.
But what triggered them?
The token?
The body?
Or—
The **system**?
He hadn't heard the system's voice again since the first night. No pop-ups. No mission logs. No guidance. Nothing but silence. Like it was watching from afar, waiting for something.
"Great," he muttered. "A system with commitment issues."
He glanced up at the cell door, then toward the corner where the medallion had clattered earlier.
Talia was right. This wasn't just about pretending anymore.
He had to **understand** Kael.
Or this world would chew him up and spit him out before day seven even arrived.
His thoughts were broken by a new sound.
Footsteps. But not armored this time.
Two sets. Uneven in rhythm.
Then—
A rattle of keys.
Kyle shifted, hiding the token under his sleeve as the lock groaned and the door swung open.
In stepped a girl.
No older than sixteen. Her clothes were dusty and oversized, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She had tan skin, messy black hair tied in a rushed braid, and the kind of wide, suspicious eyes that never stopped moving.
Behind her, a lanky man with sunken cheeks and thinning hair followed. He carried a bucket and a cloth sack slung over one shoulder. A maintenance worker. No armor. No weapons.
The girl glanced around quickly, then locked eyes with Kyle.
She stopped. Stared.
Kyle stared back.
The man grunted. "Keep moving, Reen."
"I know who that is," she said flatly, still looking at Kyle. "That's Prince Kael."
The man rolled his eyes. "We don't talk to the condemned, girl."
"But he's not what I imagined," she said, taking a cautious step forward. "I thought he'd be taller."
Kyle blinked. "Thanks?"
"You're welcome."
"Reen!" the man snapped.
The girl sighed and continued across the room, setting the sack down beside the rusted bucket in the corner. She pulled out a few cleaning rags and began scrubbing half-heartedly at the floor.
The man started replacing the torch near the door.
Kyle stayed silent, observing.
"Hey," Reen said suddenly, glancing over her shoulder. "Did you really kill your brother?"
Kyle met her eyes.
"Did he die?"
She blinked. "No. But he nearly did."
"Then I didn't kill him."
The girl frowned. "That's not what I asked."
Kyle tilted his head. "What do you think?"
She studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing. Then shrugged. "I think you don't sound like a killer."
The man groaned. "Can we not—?"
"I think," she continued, ignoring him, "you talk different. You don't sound like a prince either."
Kyle smiled faintly. "That's because I'm not a good one."
Reen grinned, showing slightly crooked teeth. "Fair enough."
The man grabbed her shoulder. "We're leaving. Now."
She looked like she wanted to protest, but something in the man's expression stopped her. She nodded and began gathering her things.
Before they left, she turned back and held up a finger.
"You don't look like a Kael," she said.
Kyle arched a brow. "What do I look like, then?"
She grinned. "More like a Kye. Short. Simple. Doesn't sound like a noble trying too hard."
"Kye, huh?"
He considered it.
It wasn't much.
But in a place where **everything** was Kael's—including the chains, the crimes, and the execution date—**maybe having one thing that was his alone** mattered more than he realized.
She gave him a wave and followed the old man out.
The door closed. The lock clicked.
Silence returned.
Kyle looked down at the token in his palm.
Then, quietly, he whispered to the stone walls around him:
"…Kye, huh?"
He let the name settle into the space.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, **he smiled without bitterness.**