Before breath returned to her lungs, before the world pulled her back into cold sheets and candlelight—Mer remembered.

But it didn’t feel like remembering.

It felt like reliving.

She stood in the underbelly of the world—a vast, hollow tunnel carved beneath a forgotten ruin, damp and humming with arcane energy. Flickering crystal torches lit the carved stone walls. Cecil was beside her, his face stern in concentration, while several robed wizards moved in tandem, chanting in unison.

She knelt beside a stone altar and carefully placed a small, rune-carved box onto it. Her hand hovered, glowing faintly as she enchanted it—binding it with wards of protection and mana conductivity.

Cecil’s voice echoed from the far end of the chamber. “Third box is stable. Maintain the barrier.”

Then—

Fwwaaaaahhhhhhh…

A trumpet-like sound roared through the cavern.

“We are under attack,” said one of the wizards, eyes wide in grim certainty.

“What a coincidence,” Cecil muttered grimly, drawing his sword from its sheath.

Mer's heart sank. This wasn’t a simple interruption. It was sabotage.

Something—or someone—was summoning monsters to disrupt the barrier installation. Whether it was foreign forces or traitors within Tharamid, they didn’t know. But they would not be stopped.

Monsters burst through the sealed wards—horned beasts, shrieking shades, scaled horrors. They surged through the underground settlement, turning on residents and mages alike.

Mer activated the fourth box under fire, her left hand creating a magical shield while her right kept the mana conduit from shattering under the pressure. As the fourth crystal glowed to life, a massive monster lunged.

Cecil shouted, casting a shield that fell just short.

The creature’s claw tore into her shoulder. She screamed—but kept the spell steady.

The beast exploded in a storm of fire and bone as Mer spat out an incantation through clenched teeth.

“You’re bleeding!” Cecil called. He was too far. His healing magic couldn’t reach.

“I know,” Mer growled, voice shaking. “One more box.”

She sealed the wound crudely and teleported to the final set of coordinates.

There—dozens of monsters awaited.

Cecil followed. They fought side by side, joined by soldiers and spellcasters. One of them—a radiant figure with a blue aura—stood tall in the chaos.

“That’s Hans!” Mer gasped. “Tell him to protect the site!”

Cecil flew toward him, slicing down beasts with controlled fury.

While Mer worked with the others to place the fifth and final box, she noticed something strange: a wizard with a mana stone necklace. It pulsed irregularly—disrupting the flow.

“Remove that necklace!” she ordered.

The man hesitated but obeyed. Mer grabbed it and traced a complex circle in the air. The stones resonated violently.

She hurled the necklace into the center of the spell.

Light blazed.

Then—a shriek.

A shadow-like monster descended, drawn to the light. Its magic speared into Mer like a rain of black needles. Agony overtook her. Her core was under attack. She couldn’t heal, couldn’t stop the blood. She was dying.

With a final breath, she threw the necklace to the nearest wizard. “Finish it!”

The fifth box activated. The shield snapped into place, humming with complete power. Balance had been restored.

Then—

Darkness.

---

'The Return'

Mer’s eyes opened.

Thirst clawed at her throat. She reached weakly for the bell and summoned help. Her body felt drained, not unlike the aftermath of channeling far too much mana.

While the maid fetched water, Mer sat in silence, trembling.

“I was attacked by monsters,” she murmured to herself. “But my core… it feels intact. I survived.”

Or had she?

“Is this the afterlife?”  

“Before I passed out… it felt like drowning in deep water.”  

“Is this an illusion?”

She looked around—walls of carved marble, candlelight, and velvet drapery. Too perfect. Too real.

“If it is,” she whispered, “then whoever created it must be the most powerful wizard alive.”

She pinched her arm. Hard. Winced.

“…This feels real.”

Mer pushed off the covers and raised a trembling hand. She traced a spell mid-air—an observational scrying circle. Through it, she saw the land outside: people walking, children running, birds in the sky. All normal.

“Could an illusion be so vast?”

She hugged herself. “I need to go back. To Sovia. To the Tower. To my mother. My father. Cecil…”

Her voice softened.

“I miss Cecil…”

A soft knock interrupted her.

The maid returned, bowing low. “Madam… Lord Cecil requests your presence. If you are feeling well enough.”

Mer looked up slowly.

She would see him again—not the man in her memory, fighting by her side, but the one who’d kissed her like a stranger the night before.

---

Before the Light Breaks

Cecil awoke slowly, disoriented by the softness pressed against him.

Her head rested on his shoulder. One of her hands had slipped beneath the sheets to lay gently across his abdomen, warm against his skin. Her breath moved softly at his throat, steady, peaceful.

Mer.

After the encounter in his office—after her whispered need, her hands clutching him, her kisses like fire and silk—he had carried her back to their chamber. She hadn’t let go of him, even in sleep. And now, in the pale hush before dawn, she remained curled against him like something sacred.

He stared up at the dark ceiling, unmoving.

Her touch lingered on him, even in memory. The way she had pressed her lips to his jaw. The way she had held his face like it was something cherished. The way she had moaned his name—not out of pain or obligation—but like a woman unafraid to want him.

Could trauma shift a soul so completely? he wondered. Could a fall down the stairs carve out an entirely different person?

Or…

Was this her true self?

The girl he had watched from a distance at galas, smiling at others with a grace that felt like sunlight through glass. So lovely. So untouchable. She had laughed with Philip once, danced with a nobleman's son at the Moonlight Ball. She had sparkled with life—but never toward him.

Until he claimed her.

Until the king’s decree.

Until the wedding where her hands had trembled in gloves she hadn’t chosen.

Cecil closed his eyes.

"I love you."

She had whispered it like it was a truth that always existed.

A lie? A dream? A cruel twist of fate?

Or the one thing that could finally tether him to this version of her—to this illusion of a life he had longed for, now inexplicably within reach.

"I love you."

Could he ground himself in those words? Could he believe them, wrap them around the aching parts of himself that still feared her silence, her detachment, her quiet resignation?

Her hand twitched gently in her sleep. Her fingers curled into his side like a secret.

He didn’t move.

He just stared into the ceiling’s darkness, wondering—if love was given to you from an illusion, and you chose to believe in it… did it still count as real?