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Where It Begins

Return from Oblivion

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His emerald-green eyes gleamed like gems, filling the hall with his gaze. As he stepped forward, his face became fully visible, and the color of his eyes shifted—like the gemstone alexandrite under light—from green to blue.

Seeing the man she had once called “Master,” Astia muttered under her breath—inaudible to others—yet her expression made it clear she was ready to tear him apart at any moment.

She fidgeted with the pendant, but suddenly Lucien raised his index finger threateningly, like a father about to discipline a child, his eyes full of reprimand.

Astia drew a deep breath, her face twisting like that of a sulky, furious cat. She released the pendant, lifted her foot from the servant’s chest, raised her hands in calm surrender, shrugged, and took a casual step back, paying no heed to the knights.

After a brief pause, still under the scene’s influence, the knights swiftly arrested the servant.

Everyone suddenly became dazed and bewildered by what they had witnessed—the truth was that Astia had never intended harm toward her older brother, and only now did others realize her true intent.

Yet the Church of Heaven still harbored plans against the girl.

“Do you think that because you just tried to save the crown prince, everything will be forgiven? Perhaps this was all planned from the beginning!”

Astia stared at the High Priest’s face; the flush of anger revealed she could not control herself.

She smirked openly, a motion that only further enraged the man, prompting him to shout.

“How dare you… damned half-blood!”

Suddenly Lucien’s voice halted him.

“Kyle, why don’t you finish this?”

Lucien regarded Kyle with a gentle voice and his usual smirk. Kyle, who had never shared a good relationship with Lucien, grew even angrier upon seeing his face.

“What’s the problem, Lucien? Are you defending her because that girl was once your talented and favorite pupil?”

Lucien let out a short laugh and pointed at the servant.

“He’s an infiltrator sent to assassinate the crown prince. Don’t you think the only faction in this world capable of opposing the empire is the Church of Heaven?”

“You… how dare you so casually level such an accusation?”

Kyle’s gaze unconsciously slid across the hall, where the crowd had fallen into whispers, their curious and anxious eyes drawn toward them. Suddenly his eyes landed on Elin’s flushed face, then on Rian.

Rian offered a smile devoid of warmth—a cold, terrifying smile. After the heavy silence, he finally spoke.

“The perpetrators of this assassination will face the harshest divine punishment.”

After a pause, Rian slowly turned his eyes toward Kyle—a brief but weighty pause, like the moment before a death sentence descends. Darkness had settled over his face, so deep that he needed no raised voice.

“Anyone involved in this matter, for the insults hurled at my daughter, will have their tongues cut out, their hands and feet severed, and their bodies hung from the golden palace walls as a warning—”

As though obeying an unspoken command, every attendee fearfully lowered their heads. The ceremony that had begun with joy and splendor now resembled a battlefield more than a celebration.

Kyle fell silent; his throat dry, he swallowed hard with visible effort, lacking the courage to speak again.

Meanwhile, the heavenly knights—despite the futile struggles and flailing of the servant—dragged the man out of the hall.

Astia stared at her bloodied hands, watching the blood drip from her skin. Elin, with hesitant steps, approached his younger sister; far too much time had passed since their last meeting—precisely after that private afternoon tea, the last time they had sat together at the same table.

When their eyes met, Astia revealed no emotion on her face, and that indifference broke Elin’s heart more than anything, for he had always awaited his sister’s beloved smile—she had always smiled, but now she appeared utterly different from her childhood, like a flower whose beauty had been stolen by storm.

Elin slowly extended his hand, gesturing toward the girl’s hands. Astia glanced briefly at it, then offered her own.

Elin hesitantly took his sister’s delicate, small hands—hands that seemed as fragile and delicate as glass. Then, with his other hand, he transferred a golden energy into Astia’s palms. Gradually, the girl’s skin began to heal, and all wounds vanished as though they had never existed—the healing power of the imperial bloodline clearly manifested in that moment.

Meanwhile, the knights were guiding the nobility toward the inner palace so no one could leave the ceremony without permission. Gradually, all attendees vacated the hall, leaving it calm and empty.

In the vast hall, only Rian, Astia, Elin, and Lucien remained.

Lucien stepped angrily into the center, his power revealed. He raised his hand and magically displayed the energy dispersing from Astia upon her body—the flows of mana around her appeared faint and withered.

“You are officially turning into a living corpse, with no energy left to sustain life… How long has it been since you last slept, Astia?”

Astia sighed and distanced herself indifferently from Rian and Elin.

“What difference does it make… I can still stand.”

Rian felt ill; for the first time, he did not know how to speak to his daughter. Yet Astia saw everything: a father who had always ruled with power and relished others’ trembling… and now, that same man stood before her looking helpless—that contrast hurt her more than any insult.

“Astia… you need to rest.”

Rian stepped forward. When his warm hand settled on Astia’s shoulder, something inside the girl shattered. After years of rejection, abandonment, being driven from the family… that warmth took root like a trembling sprout in her heart—but in that very instant, a sharp pain like a burning dagger pierced her chest, right over her energy core. Her breath cut off, and everything collapsed. Lucien rushed toward Astia.

“How long will you keep being stubborn? Your core is falling apart.”

Astia dropped to her knees; blood spilled from her mouth, spreading across the cold hall stones. A heavy silence swallowed everything.

Before Astia’s body could fully collapse, Rian caught her in his arms.

Astia could no longer see; sounds grew distant, the world blurred.

In her final moment of consciousness, only one thought passed through her mind: When had all these disasters begun? How could she bear this burden alone? How was she supposed to explain to others the events yet to come, or the reasons for the actions she was forced to take? Would anyone even believe her words? And hardest of all… how was she to face that boy again, after their last encounter—a meeting whose weight still lingered in her mind, causing sleepless nights and nightmares?

All these thoughts fell upon Astia’s spirit like cold weights, dragging her downward—until the only thing she desired was to sink into deep sleep—a long sleep, so that for a brief while she could distance herself from everything and rest.

In that moment, a quiet, painful wish passed through her heart: If only she could return to a time when everything was still simple, when she had nothing left to lose—returning to the past… to a place where, before everything crumbled, breathing still did not hurt.