The heavy silence hanging over the castle hall shattered with Jonka’s clear voice.

“Lunch time.”

Just like that, the tension popped like a bubble.

The kids stopped whispering and humming, blinking like they’d woken from a trance. They rushed to a rough wooden table piled with scraps—stale bread, bruised apples, and a hard cheese that had definitely seen better days.

I just stood there, dumbfounded. All that pomp and ritual… only to end in a sad medieval picnic?

“Ah, yes. Nothing like summoning ancient powers with a feast of old bread,” I muttered under my breath.

Jonka smiled, handing out the meager food like a seasoned hostess.

“Even ancient rituals need a break to feed the forces,” she said, half serious, half teasing. “Or maybe it’s just to keep the drama from spinning out of control.”

As they ate, the castle’s gloomy atmosphere dissolved, replaced by childish chatter and silly teasing. These were just kids—despite the heavy weight in their eyes.

“Come eat with us, Hat.”

Jonka called me like it was the most natural thing, holding a limp apple in one hand and a piece of hard bread in the other. She smiled like nothing had happened—which, honestly, annoyed me more than any shouting ever could.

“I’ll pass,” I said, leaning against the farthest wall. “I have some reservations about turning into a frog if I chew anywhere near that circle.”

She laughed, clearly unbothered.

“Just a little royal family tradition. You know how it is.”

“Of course. Kids covered in dust drawing spirals with charcoal and whispering forbidden names. Very traditional.” I crossed my arms. “Now you’re going to tell me it helps digestion?”

Jonka hesitated. That comfortably wide smile of hers shrank just a little.

“It’s old stuff. From when the lineage began. Nothing dangerous.” She glanced at the bread, then back at me. “Kind of silly, really.”

Yeah. Silly. Like summoning a minor deity in exchange for stale bread.

“If it’s so silly, why didn’t anyone warn me before dragging me into a Gothic theater improv?”

No immediate answer. Instead, she rummaged through a cloth sack by the wall. From it, she pulled a book—leather cover, torn corner, smelling like old paper and uncomfortable promises.

“Found this among my grandfather’s things. He was close to the king… or something like that. Thought you might want to read it.”

She handed it over like offering an apology she couldn’t quite say.

I took it without a word. Not because I trusted her. But honestly, this was exactly the kind of thing that would mess me up anyway—so why not start now?

My reading enthusiasm crashed when I saw the name on the cover:

Amelye Smuhr.

Lye?

That Lye?

No way… It can’t be. I don’t even know how long I’ve been reincarnated into the future. Or if I’m really in the future at all.

But my mind froze flipping the page, because that’s when I saw the handwriting.

Arrogant, slanted, almost like it was slapping me.

A slap? How ironic. I’ve taken plenty of those from her. And I’ve read that handwriting dozens of times.

It was hers.

“You okay?” Jonka asked, trying to chew a piece of the hard bread. “You just zoned out.”

“What kind of book is this? It doesn’t even have a title.”

“It’s one of Master Smuhr’s writings. No idea how old, but it’s been passed down in the family.”

Suddenly, she stopped eating and leaned close, whispering in my ear:

“This book’s a secret, okay?”

Secret...

How many things are secrets now? Why was her book here?

“Lye...” I murmured.

“Who?” She went back to chewing the stale bread.

“I mean… Master Smuhr.” The words barely left my mouth. Calling her “master”? Felt like a bad joke. “Who is she?”

“What!?” The other kids chimed in, all eyes suddenly on me.

“You don’t know her? They say she was the greatest mage in history! She even was part of the party that defeated Vynuc, the Demon of Darkness!”

“Yeah... I know her...” The voice came tired, like that story had been heard a thousand times.

What they didn’t know was that to me, she wasn’t just a legend. She was something more… someone I knew—or at least pretended not to, to avoid sounding insane.

I slowly moved away from the table, pretending disinterest, but secretly drawn by a painful curiosity. That book was a door. A door to a past I’d left behind—or maybe not a past at all, but another life, another reality pulling me back.

I found a quiet corner, away from curious eyes and childish voices. I opened the book carefully, smelling the unmistakable scent of old paper mixed with a trace of forgotten magic.

The pages were full of notes, diagrams, and spells, written in a handwriting I knew all too well—the same one that once ordered me, scolded me, taught me, and sometimes punished me.

Lye. Amelye Smuhr. A strong woman. A friend—well, sometimes. And something more I still needed to understand.

I reread a passage about a protection spell when a strange feeling hit me: like every word was engraving not just knowledge, but also emotions—pride, fear, hope, and that hint of sarcasm only she knew how to put in the most serious things.

Suddenly, saying “Lye” out loud felt insane. But in my mind, it slipped out uncontrollably.

“Lye...” I whispered, almost against my will.

It was like talking to a ghost—or maybe recognizing a part of myself I’d tried to forget.

My chest tightened. And I knew, right then, that story wasn’t just in the book. It was inside me. And I’d have to face it—sooner or later.