The dream came vividly, yet fragmented, like scattered pieces of a story I couldn't grasp. I stood in a warmly lit room, books and scrolls piled on every surface. The scent of lavender mixed with parchment hung in the air, familiar and comforting. My hands hovered over an open manuscript, its words shimmering faintly: a story foretold, a web woven, and a fate unknown.

"Amira," a voice called softly, its tone a mixture of love and urgency. I turned toward it, but the figure's face was blurred, like a shadow lost in the fog. Their presence filled me with an aching sense of loss, though I couldn't understand why.

"Don't forget—" The voice trembled, but before I could step closer, the figure dissolved into light.

The scene shifted. I was younger, sitting at a desk in a quiet library. My cracked phone displayed a webtoon panel: knights battling in a burning kingdom, a mage with glowing eyes, and a golden brooch at the center of it all. The story felt deeply personal, as though it wasn't fiction but a forgotten truth. I reached out to swipe the screen, but the image blurred.

Another shift. I stood in an archive filled with glowing scrolls, the air heavy with ancient energy. Beside me, a man's voice spoke, calm and steady: "These aren't just stories," he murmured. "They're something more."

"What do you mean?" I asked, stepping closer to peer at the text.

"Prophecies," he said softly. "Or a warning."

I opened my mouth to respond, but the room rippled, the air growing thick. The scrolls glowed brighter, and the light became blinding. I stumbled back, reaching for the voice, but the scene shattered.

The dream twisted again. A warm, comforting presence enveloped me. Someone brushed their fingers gently through my hair, their touch soothing, though I couldn't see their face. The faint echo of their words lingered: "I'm sorry, Amira. I tried…" Tried what? For what?

Before I could hold on to the moment, the dream dissolved entirely.

__________

I woke abruptly, my chest tight and tears streaming down my cheeks. The pale light of dawn filtered through the large windows of my room, casting muted shadows across the lavish furnishings. None of the luxuries around me could soothe the ache that lingered in my chest.

The fragments of the dream slipped away quickly, like sand falling through my fingers—blurred voices, glowing scrolls, and an overwhelming sense of loss. Who were they? Why did their presence feel so painfully familiar? I clutched at my chest, trying to steady my breathing.

Raising a trembling hand, I brushed my fingers through my hair, mimicking the motion from the dream. The touch felt oddly comforting, though I couldn't place why. No memory surfaced, only a lingering ache.

A soft knock on the door broke my thoughts.

"My lady," Patricia called from the other side. Without waiting for an answer, she stepped in, carrying a silver tray with tea and a fresh pastry. Her movements were precise, her expression calm yet attentive.

"Good morning, my lady. Do you want to wash your face first?" she greeted as she brought the basin of cold water and a cloth, then set the tray on a small table by the window. Her sharp eyes studied me as I sat up, brushing the remnants of sleep from my face.

"Yes, please," I murmured, sliding out of bed. The cool water Patricia poured into the basin was bracing against my skin, clearing away some of the heaviness from the dream. After wiping my face, I sat by the window and reached for the tea. Its warmth spread through me, grounding me slightly. The pastry, still steaming, smelled faintly of cinnamon.

Patricia tilted her head, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "Another restless night, my lady?" she asked, her tone gentle but probing.

I hesitated. "Just a dream," I said finally, keeping my voice steady. "Nothing worth dwelling on."

Her gaze lingered, but she nodded. "Shall I prepare your uniform, my lady?"

"Yes, please," I replied, grateful for her discretion.

__________

Later that morning, I stood in the courtyard, addressing the assembled knights. Cedric, my lieutenant, stood to my side, his expression calm but alert. The men stood at attention, their gazes a mix of curiosity and unease.

"Today, we'll be starting a new routine," I began, stepping forward. "I'll be teaching you a style of combat known in my homeland as Mixed Martial Arts. We'll be starting with Jujitsu, focusing on close-quarters combat and grappling techniques. This will include using your sword in unconventional ways. Think of this as an enhancement to your existing skills—not a replacement."

The men exchanged glances, their skepticism clear. One of the older knights, Gareth, raised his hand. "Captain, no offense, but this sounds… unconventional. Where did you learn it?"

"I learned it from my grandmother's friends," I replied smoothly, hiding the truth. "They believed mastering techniques like these would prepare any knight for the unexpected. Consider this a secret weapon unique to our unit. Do not share this knowledge with anyone outside our group."

Murmurs rippled through the knights, their curiosity outweighing their doubt.

The training began with basic Jujitsu principles—control, leverage, and redirection of force. I demonstrated how to use an opponent's weight against them, combining this with sword techniques to disarm and incapacitate.

"Watch closely," I said, gesturing for Cedric to step forward. "Cedric, come at me as though you're trying to overpower me."

He hesitated, but at my nod, he lunged. I sidestepped, redirecting his momentum, and twisted his arm into a lock that forced him to drop his sword. In one fluid motion, I swept his legs and pinned him to the ground, my blade poised at his throat.

The men watched in stunned silence.

"This is the essence of Jujitsu," I explained. "Control your opponent by using their own movements against them. It's not about strength—it's about precision."

After demonstrating the basics, I invited Gareth, one of the senior knights, to spar with me. His expression was cautious but determined as he stepped forward.

"Ready when you are, Captain," he said.

The sparring match began with calculated movements. Gareth attacked with measured strikes, his sword aimed precisely. I parried easily, using the techniques I'd just taught. Each time he pressed forward, I redirected his attacks, leaving him momentarily unbalanced.

"You fight like no knight I've ever seen," Gareth muttered, frustration creeping into his voice.

"That's the point," I replied calmly.

As the time prolonged, my instincts took over. I sidestepped a heavy swing, swept his legs, and pinned him with my sword hovering inches from his chest. The crowd of knights erupted in murmurs, their expressions a mix of awe and respect.

"You'll need to practice more, Sir Gareth," I said with a faint smirk, offering him a hand to stand. "But you've got potential."

He laughed, brushing the dust from his armor. "You don't hold back, do you, Captain?"

As the match intensified, I felt a surge of energy deep within me. My hand gripped the wooden sword tightly, and with my next strike, golden lightning-like aura flickered along the blade. The weapon glowed faintly, and as I swung, the aura surged outward, slamming into the wall of the training hall with a deafening crack.

The wall crumbled, leaving a jagged hole behind. The sparring match came to an abrupt halt as the room fell silent.

Gareth scrambled back, his eyes wide. "Captain… are you trying to kill me?"

Cedric stepped forward, staring at the damage with a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Well, this makes things easier for the builders. No need for a demolition crew."

I lowered the shattered remains of the sword, my voice calm but firm. "Cedric, file an official report. Indicate that the cost of the repairs should be charged to my account at the Imperial Bank."

Cedric gave a mock salute, grinning. "Understood, Captain. Though I doubt this will put a dent in your Imperial fortune."

I shot him a sharp look, but he only laughed, and the knights exchanged amused glances.

By the time our session ended, the knights were sweating and exhausted, but a newfound excitement buzzed among them. It felt good to share a piece of myself with them—something real, even if its origins remained hidden. I simply repeated my tale of “Grandmother’s friends.”

I had no desire to involve my father or stepmother in this life, nor did I want to confess that I’d actually learned the moves as Katherine Davis from trainers in Korea—or, even more oddly, from the pages of a webtoon.

As the knights began dispersing, Cedric approached me with a grin after inspecting the damage in the wall. "Captain, that was impressive. But… you might have given them something to gossip about."

I arched an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

He chuckled. "Let's just say you're no longer the untouchable captain in their eyes. They're starting to see you as human—and maybe a bit terrifying."