Returning to the ethereal white-haired maiden, Celena Froister, a profound realization dawned upon her. She had been reborn as a mere shadow, a background character in the grand tapestry of destiny. Surprisingly, this revelation filled her with indescribable joy. Who wouldn't relish the chance to avoid the burdens of being a protagonist? As the cherished daughter of one of the Kingdom's esteemed dukes, Celena enjoyed a life of opulence and privilege. Her fate was preordained to be one of tranquility and solace, far removed from the tumultuous intrigues of courtly life.

"Hmm... if I remember correctly, I'm inside this novel called 'A Fate Unwritten: The Baron's Daughter.' It revolves around a strong female protagonist who meets a cowardly crown prince and they fall in love, or something like that. But I'm not going to dig too deep into it. Besides, I definitely won't get involved, haha. As for Celena, there isn't much information about her, apart from being a duke's daughter. She's 17 years old and has an older brother who will inherit the Froister household. I'm here two years before the main plot kicks off after the current crown prince gets assassinated. What was his name again?"

Lost in thought, Celena wore a mischievous smile on her face. She knew she wouldn't make her entrance into the narrative for another two years when the current crown prince met his unfortunate end. But his name remained elusive, teasing her memory like a playful ghost.

Her finger gently brushed against her chin as she strained to recall his name. Passersby glanced at her with puzzled expressions, finding her behavior peculiar. However, their confusion quickly dissipated when a woman of evident authority, her face contorted with frustration, approached Celena with determined strides and delivered a resounding smack on the back of her head.

"Celena! Pray, who in the heavens granted you the misguided notion of gallivanting about in naught but your nightgown?" the woman admonished, her voice filled with displeasure.

Celena stole a glance and recognized the reproachful yellow-haired figure as her mother. If she hadn't been momentarily engrossed in the family portrait adorning the nearby wall, she might have retorted with equal force. Suppressing the pain resonating in her head, she composed herself and offered a faint smile.

"Mother, what an unexpected delight to encounter you. Good morrow!" She greeted her, a hint of irony pervading her words.

Her mother's eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of her daughter, the unmistakable handprint marking her delicate cheek. The impulsive act of self-inflicted punishment had proven ill-advised in the early morning hours. Raising an eyebrow, her gaze penetrating, the matriarch pinched Celena's ear and gently, yet firmly, guided the whimpering girl back to the refuge of her chambers.

As Celena's rosy eyes caught sight of a familiar figure lurking in the hallway's shadows, she implored her father with desperate urgency, her outstretched hand a plea for rescue. Yielding his concealed vantage point, he emerged, seeking to salvage the situation with a strained smile and a throaty clearance.

"Grace, my dearest, I implore you to handle Celena with utmost gentleness. Remember, my love, she is our delicate blossom," he pleaded, his sheepish grin accompanied by an awkward scratch of his nape.

Casting a glance at her white-haired husband, Grace narrowed her blue eyes, her glare casting doubt upon his resolve. "Fill, if you dare intrude upon this sacred mother-daughter bonding time, be assured that you shall find no solace in our marital bed this evening," she playfully remarked, her expression deceptively innocent. The color drained from Fill's face, his determination crumbling under her gaze. Without uttering a single word, she closed the chamber door behind her, resolute in her mission to shape her daughter's demeanor throughout the day.

Celena's faint cry of "Father, you fucking coward!" reverberated through the chamber, but it fell on deaf ears. Fill, his pink irises locked onto the closed door, shivered involuntarily, clasping his arms for solace and seeking comfort in the warmth of his touch. Without further delay, he immersed himself in his daily tasks, determined to ignore Celena's impassioned pleas of "Let me out!"

And so, another ordinary day unfurled within the sacred walls of the Froister Household, while its slightly unhinged daughter remained blissfully unaware of her role as a character ensnared within the intricate tapestry of this tale. Armed with her unconstrained spirit and eccentric quirks, fragments of a 21st-century soul transplanted into this fantastical realm, she vowed to stay true to her peculiar nature, defying the expectations that confined her. 

Within the confines of the castle, the morning sun casts a warm glow upon the aged stone walls, enhancing their timeless grandeur. Intricate carvings adorned the walls, depicting mythical creatures and noble ancestors, their stoic gazes seeming to follow the movements of those who passed by. The castle's entrance loomed ahead, its grand gate a testament to the tales of chivalry and strength that echoed through its ironwork.

Stepping through the doors, Michiya found himself transported into a world of serene beauty. The tranquil halls embraced him with their soft ambiance, their floors adorned with mesmerizing mosaic patterns that seemed to come alive under the flickering glow of ornate chandeliers. Each step he took released a gentle echo, as if the very air held its breath, respecting the palace's hallowed tranquility.

As he ventured further into the heart of the castle, the palace workers caught his eye. Their attire formed a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues, a celebration of color and dedication. The royal insignias embroidered upon their garments served as a symbol of their roles within the palace's intricate machinery. They moved with purpose, the orchestration of their tasks merging seamlessly with the whispers of silk and the gentle rustling of parchment.

Seated at the breakfast table alongside the esteemed royal family, Michiya immersed himself in the lively atmosphere of the dining area. The harmonious symphony of clinking utensils filled the air, creating a rhythmic backdrop that mingled with the hushed conversations of the family members. Against the intricately adorned walls, the maids stood with their gazes fixed on the floor, adding a touch of subtle anticipation to the scene.

It was amid this captivating ambiance that the queen's voice gently broke the silence. Her words carried a delicate tone as she addressed Michiya,

"Pray tell, my dear," the queen delicately uttered, her voice laced with concern. "I couldn't help but notice the traces of tearful slumber adorning your visage." Her amber eyes briefly intertwined with Michiya's fiery blond orbs, sharing a moment of unspoken understanding, before finding solace in her chestnut tresses, cascading like autumnal foliage.

At the helm of the table, the king, donning his regal seat, nodded affably, his presence commanding respect. His golden eyes seemed to pierce into the depths of his son's soul, silently urging him to share his burdens. His locks of blond hair cascaded ever so slightly in tandem with the gesture, accentuating the regal air that surrounded him.

" Twas a dream of the most whimsical and ethereal nature, Mother," Michiya began, his voice maintaining its usual monotone cadence. His gaze momentarily flitted towards his mother, who responded with a tender smile, encouraging him to continue. "It was a realm beyond reality, brimming with exquisite beauty. It enveloped my spirit with a tranquil embrace, sending shivers coursing through my very core. It told a tale woven around a maiden and a lad."

The queen, filled with anticipation, erupted in joy. "Ah, the tapestry of fate unveils its enigmatic threads, Michiya! Surely, the coming spring tide shall grace your path!" Her hands clasped together, exuding eagerness and hope.

"Ah, jest not, dear Mother," Michiya responded, his tone tinged with a hint of skepticism. "The figures and faces within the tapestry remained elusive, as if safeguarded by a secret veil. I am uncertain whether the protagonists were familiar to me or to young Natsu," he mused, his gaze shifting towards his younger sibling seated by his side.

Despite being the crowned prince of the empire, Michiya was not the sole prince within the realm. There existed a shared lineage, intertwining their destinies.

"Verily, I cannot discern if it was I or another, known or unknown, who graced the stage of this reverie. Yet, witnessing their harmonious kinship brought forth a profound solace," he sighed, his thoughts burdened by the weight of uncertainty. Natsu, catching the fleeting sigh, sputtered and coughed, hastily spitting out the water he had imbibed, his amber eyes scanning Michiya with genuine concern. In a tender display of brotherly affection, he extended his hand, gingerly pressing it against Michiya's feverless brow.

"Are you feeling well, dear brother? No signs of illness trouble you," Natsu whispered, his concern etched on his face. Michiya, always composed, gently clasped his brother's wrist, briefly placing it against his forehead before releasing it onto the table.

Natsu found the situation strange. His brother displayed a hint of emotion. While he knew Michiya had feelings, it was rare to see them. Pray, misunderstand him not, for the knowledge of Michiya's capacity for sentiment brought solace. Yet, why now, in this fleeting moment? Michiya had forever been renowned as the Ice Prince, bearing an icy facade that seldom melted, his concerns confined to matters of the kingdom and royal obligations. Uncertain of whether this change was a boon or bane, Natsu yearned for his brother to taste the fruits of sentiment, to wear his heart upon his sleeve.

"Pondering upon this, methinks the visage bore resemblance to thine own countenance, dear Natsu," Michiya revealed, causing his brother to laugh. Natsu, the supposedly cowardly prince, being romantic with a fair maiden? The idea seemed unbelievable, he shook his head in disbelief. If Michiya were revered as the epitome of the Ice Prince, Natsu, in turn, would have become the embodiment of the Coward Prince or, dare one say, the Shadow of Lost Courage. Rising from his seat, Natsu bid his farewells to their parents and departed the chamber.

 "Methinks thou art destined to be the protagonist of this unfolding tale, dear brother, and I shan't rob thee of that precious flicker that ignites thy spirit. Fortune favor thee in thy royal duties," he waved, adding, "Should anyone require my humble presence—although the summons be nigh impossible—I shall venture forth in the company of trusted companions."

The king, sensing the solemnity of the moment, cleared his throat, briefly closing his eyes before fixing his gaze upon the crown prince. "Indeed, Natsu speaks the truth, Michiya. Your frames do bear striking resemblance, though thou dost tower above, endowed with a more formidable stature. Furthermore, 'tis time for thee to seek a partner to partake in the noble art of governance, a union that shall further enrich the tapestry of our royal lineage," he pronounced, triggering a steely glint in Michiya's eyes.

"Xander!" Nana interjected swiftly, reproaching her husband, for she could sense the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging in the air. Amid their conversation, Michiya quietly slipped away from the room, his absence going unnoticed as he embarked on a solitary journey toward the training grounds. However, before venturing forth, his gentle blond eyes lingered upon a familiar tree, its leaves swirling gracefully in the breeze, before casting a final glance down the corridor where a cloaked figure cradled a sleeping maiden, nestled in the embrace of dreams.