I exhaled in relief, my body trembling as I realized the object that had flown past wasn’t a severed head, but a dented metal helmet, likely ripped from some fallen knight. It clattered to the ground beside me, harmless now, though the fear still clung to my skin.

I remained frozen in my hiding spot, muscles tense, listening to the eerie silence around me. There was less chaos here, a temporary calm in the storm of battle. But I couldn’t forget—I was still trapped in the middle of a warzone. The cold air was thick with the coppery stench of blood, and it twisted my stomach.

“Damn, he’s a monster,” I muttered under my breath. From my vantage point, I watched the prince, his movements fluid and efficient, as he effortlessly dispatched the last enemy soldier around him. His cold expression never wavered, even as he wiped the blood from his face. My fists clenched in frustration. The only reason I felt even the slightest bit safe from my hiding place was because of him. He cleared up most of the enemies around.

Huddled in the snow, I buried my face in my knees, feeling a wave of despair wash over me. I had only wanted to buy a pair of branded shoes after working from home for so long. Now here I was, fighting for survival in a world that made no sense. My promise to myself, the life I’d hoped to return to, seemed impossibly distant now.

Why am I even fighting to live? I wondered bitterly. I should be living peacefully by now... What did I do to deserve this? My breath hitched as I sniffled, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I slapped both of my cheeks, the sharp sting snapping me back.

'Crying won’t help. Get yourself together!'

I took a shaky breath and tried to gather my thoughts, forcing myself to think rationally in this chaotic mess.

“Wait, this scene… could it be—” I froze mid-thought, a cold realization gripping me. The blood-soaked earth, the bodies strewn across the battlefield—it was all too familiar. This scene mirrored the one I had stumbled into when I first arrived in this world. It was like I had stepped into a twisted version of a story I’d once read, where the protagonist was cursed to repeat the chaos she had unknowingly unleashed.

Could this world be a reflection of that story I once read? Please, let it be. If it followed the same tropes, then there had to be a way out. In stories, characters always found something—a bracelet, an amulet, some enchanted item to help them escape. But I had nothing. My shoes, my bag, everything I’d had when I arrived was long gone.

Desperation surged through me as I scanned the battlefield, hoping—praying—for a sign. Maybe there was a hidden portal, like the one that had dragged me into this place in the first place. I searched the air, and jumped around half-expecting to see a glowing rift, a doorway back to my world. But there was nothing. Just a cold, harsh reality.

“So, you managed to dodge death, but you’re still crazy in the head, huh?” The prince’s voice cut through my frantic thoughts, sharp and mocking. He strode toward me, tapping the hilt of his sword against my skull. It stung, but more as a jarring wake-up call than a true hit.

I winced, the sharp pain pulling me back into reality. His icy demeanor, his gaze as frigid as the blood-stained snow beneath us.

“Leave the bodies. We move forward,” he commanded, his voice void of any emotion.

The prince called out to one of his personal warriors, “Pierce, leave your group to clean up this mess.” He mounted his horse with ease, giving one last glance at something before leading his remaining men forward, into the heart of the empire.

I followed, feeling like a ghost as I trailed in his wake. The Homonhon Empire’s palace loomed ahead, dark and foreboding. The generals had already carved a bloody path, the soldiers inside easily overwhelmed. No one stood in our way. The entrance yawned before us like the maw of some great beast, waiting to swallow us whole.

The Homonhon palace was a breathtaking contrast to Marceau’s fortress. While Marceau’s palace screamed of gold and brute power, the Diamond Palace shimmered with an almost ethereal elegance. As soon as I stepped inside, I was mesmerized. The walls, adorned in silver, blue-grey, and white, sparkled like facets of a diamond, casting a soft, otherworldly glow.

Slender arches and graceful columns seemed both delicate and strong, a marvel of sophistication. The polished floors gleamed beneath me, reflecting the light from ornate chandeliers that scattered a prismatic glow. The cool, fragrant air carried the scent of exotic flowers, making the entire palace feel like a dream brought to life. As I marveled at the palace's beauty, something caught my eye—a series of intricate markings woven into the palace’s very design, eerily familiar to those of Marceau, but with one key difference: a dragon encircling the symbols. My thoughts immediately drifted to the scroll.

The scrolls had hinted at something about a realm guarded by dragons. The scroll spoke of pieces and a rightful space. It gnawed at me. Could it be referring to... the way between worlds? The dragon’s power. The prince’s obsession. It all began to fit together, like fragments of a long-forgotten puzzle. And the fact that I was suddenly transported here was undeniable proof that there might be a way out—if I could figure it out in time. I tried to remember what I discovered these past few months:

📜

Inscribe: 𝖫❍57 5❍ⵡ𝖫 ᗵ#❍ 𝖫❍❍|< 7#𝖸 ᑭ𝖫4☽3, 74|<3 4 ᑭ13☽3 4Ⲡ☥ 6ⵡ1☥3 ᗵ17# 4 6𝖫1ᗶᑭ53. 𝖫37 7#3 6ⲅ347 ☥ⲅ46❍Ⲡ 6ⵡ4ⲅ☥ 𝖸❍ⵡⲅ ᑭ𝖫4☽3 4Ⲡ☥ 17 ᗵ1𝖫𝖫 5#❍ᗵ 𝖸❍ⵡ 7#3 ⲅ16#7=ⵡ𝖫 5ᑭ4☽3.

Translated: Lost soul who look thy place, take a piece and guide with a glimpse. Let the great dragon guard your place and it will show you the rightful space.

The symbols twisted before my eyes, but one stood out—a dragon's claw. Slowly, the text unraveled in my mind: Lost soul who seeks their place... take a piece... the dragon guards your rightful space. The prince had boasted of great power and wealth contained within the scrolls, and I now understood why he was so obsessed. After studying the 8th part of the scroll, which spoke of a promise bound to the strong heart, I wondered if the “pieces” referenced were indeed the scrolls themselves.

📜

Inscribe: |, ᗵ#❍ #❍𝖫☥ 7#3 ᗵ34𝖫7# 4Ⲡ☥ ᑭ❍ᗵ3ⲅ ❍= 7#3 ᗶ16#7𝖸 ❍Ⲡ3. B𝖫3553☥ 34☽# ᑭ13☽35 7❍ 7#3 57ⲅ❍Ⲡ6 #34ⲅ7. ᗵ17# 4 ᑭⲅ❍ᗶ153 81Ⲡ☥ 1Ⲡ ᗶ𝖸 #4Ⲡ☥, Ⲡ❍ ᗶ4Ⲡ ᗵ17# 4 51Ⲡ=ⵡ𝖫 #34ⲅ7 ☽4Ⲡ #❍𝖫☥ 7#3 ᑭ❍ᗵ3ⲅ 1Ⲡ ❍ⵡⲅ #34ⲅ7.

Translated: I, who hold the wealth and power of the mighty one. Blessed each piece to the strong heart. With a promise bound in my hand, no man with a sinful heart can hold the power in our heart.

Leon’s words echoed in my mind, amplifying my unease. The prince’s belief in the scroll’s magic only deepened my suspicions. The author of the scrolls had knowledge from both the past and future, guiding someone—maybe someone like me—back home.

As my mind spun with the scroll’s secrets, the throne room came into view. The grandeur matched the palace’s beauty, but my thoughts were elsewhere—on the pieces of the puzzle that now felt so dangerously close to falling into place. Yet the prince, sitting on the throne, was all too real.

The prince settled into the vacant seat with an air of absolute authority, as though the space had long awaited his presence. The throne, a magnificent creation of silver and crystal, gleamed under the light, each facet catching it like a flawless diamond. Its design blended perfectly with the lavish room, a marriage of grandeur and restrained elegance.

Then, the atmosphere shifted—thicker, charged with something unspoken. A presence entered, drawing the attention of every soul in the room, mine included. My breath stilled. The man who strode in carried a beauty beyond description, more ethereal than human. His golden hair caught the light like spun sunlight, and his eyes—blue-grey and fathomless—seemed to pierce through flesh and bone, as though seeing the secrets within me. His physique held both strength and elegance, each movement deliberate, calculated.

But he was bound—thick silver chains clasped his wrists and ankles. This wasn’t just any citizen of Homonhon. He was a prisoner.

Something within me shifted, a sudden, inexplicable rush of unease and attraction. I couldn’t pull my eyes away.

“He’s... stunning,” I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice.

And yet the truth came crashing in: He is not my ally. This man, whatever power he held, was in chains—under Marceau’s control. A tool for their purpose, not mine. Whatever danger he posed, it was aimed at me just as much as it was contained by the prince’s will.

Fear knotted in my chest. Could he know something of the scrolls? Of the dragon?

What if he’s the key?

He might be the missing piece—the one who could either complete my puzzle or tear everything apart.