When Mer woke again, the pillow beneath her was damp with tears.

But she wasn't alone.

A presence—faint, familiar—lingered in the room like perfume on old lace. She sat up sharply, heart racing, breath caught.

“How long have you been crying?”

The voice, gentle and affectionate, came from the corner of the room.

Mer turned.

Justine Abel, elegant as always in her pale silk robes, stood by the window, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Her expression softened as she approached and wrapped her daughter in a warm, comforting embrace.

The moment their bodies met, Mer broke down again.

“I missed you so much, Mother,” she sobbed, clinging tightly.

Justine exhaled slowly, cradling Mer’s head. “This girl… What am I going to do with you?” she said, rubbing slow circles across her daughter’s back.

Then, with mock sternness, she added, “You disappear for a year and come back looking like you’ve been dragged through a battlefield—and crying like a child. You should’ve come home sooner.”

Mer managed a tearful laugh. “Sorry, hehe…”

“Now she laughs,” Justine teased. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s so funny.”

Just then, the door creaked open, and a firm voice called out.

“Is Mer awake?”

“Dad!” Mer’s voice rose in joy.

She ran into the arms of her father, Marquess Maximme Abel, burying her face against his shoulder. He held her like she was still ten years old, a strong hand cupping the back of her head.

“Justine… why is she crying?” he asked, bewildered.

“How should I know?” Justine replied, folding her arms.

“It’s okay,” Maximme murmured, his voice calm and grounding. “Don’t worry, my princess. You’re home now.”

---

Later, as the light dimmed and the maids helped Mer dress for dinner, the house buzzed gently with familiar life. Warm water, fragrant oils, brushed silks—the ritual of being a daughter again soothed her frayed heart.

But then—something shifted.

A ripple in the air.

A pulse of mana, jagged and unstable, cracked across the threshold of her senses.

Teleportation magic? her thoughts raced. Here?

And then he appeared.

In the hallway outside her chamber, drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged. Cecil stumbled forward, eyes wild, robes clinging to his skin, magic clinging to his aura like torn threads.

“Cecil—?” she gasped, rushing to him.

He dropped to his knees.

He must have jumped over and over again—tracking her across continents. He’d bled his mana dry.

Mer reacted instantly. With a wave of her hand, wind and light swept through the corridor, lifting his body gently. She guided him into her room and laid him on her bed, her pulse thunderous with worry.

“What were you thinking?” she cried, magic already swirling around her fingers as she began to restore his energy, coaxing light into his veins. “You must have teleported too many times—do you want to die?!”

He blinked, barely conscious. His lips moved.

She leaned closer.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered, breath thin and fragile.

Her hands froze.

The words pierced deeper than any spell or blade. Vulnerable. Raw. Real.

Mer looked down at him—her husband, pale and unraveling, reaching for her with a desperate whisper.

He had crossed who knew how many miles in reckless jumps, burning his own life force just to find her. The same man who once watched her from a distance, polite and composed, now collapsed before her, trembling and undone.

She reached out and brushed damp hair from his forehead.

How could someone so composed… look so afraid?

And why did her heart ache at the sight of him like this?

---

Chapter: The Dinner Table

Cecil stirred, his eyes fluttering open to the soft golden light pouring in through the window. His breathing had steadied. The worst had passed.

Mer sat beside him, her fingers gently stroking through his damp hair. She leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead—soft, reverent, full of quiet relief.

Without a word, Cecil wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. The embrace was tight—almost desperate. She held him back just as tightly, as if anchoring them both.

A knock came at the door.

A maid peeked in, bowing slightly. “Pardon the interruption, madam. The Marquess and Marchioness invite you both to dinner.”

Mer began to rise. “Please rest. I’ll explain to my parents—”

But Cecil caught her wrist.

“How could I miss the chance to greet your family?” he said, smiling faintly. “They’re my in-laws.”

Mer blinked, then chuckled. “You’re right.”

---

The dining room shimmered with candlelight and the warm scent of rosemary and roasted meats. Her family was already gathered—her father seated at the head, her mother beside him, and her two older brothers, Eric and Thomas, standing as they saw her enter with Cecil in tow.

Eric, tall and broad-shouldered, immediately stepped forward. “Duke Lance,” he greeted with a firm handshake. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long,” Thomas added, more reserved, but respectful.

Maximme Abel, the Marquess, gestured to the seat beside him. “Come. Sit. We were just talking about how much this one’s changed.” He nodded toward Mer with a gentle smile.

Cecil bowed and took the offered seat.

The table hummed with conversation—talk of politics, of Sovia, of the Magic Tower’s new reforms. Her mother offered wine, her brothers teased each other about the last fencing tournament, her father asked about Ravenrow.

And Mer?

Mer sat in silence, watching them.

Everyone she loved is here.

In this world.

She toyed with her spoon, her smile soft and faraway.

What if this is the only chance I get to be alive again?

What if… this is my second life?

The thought filled her with quiet awe—and a hint of fear.

I won’t waste it.

I won’t.

Across the table, Justine watched her daughter carefully.

The faint furrow between Mer’s brows. The distant shimmer in her eyes. She saw something unspoken in her daughter’s face—a complexity no one else noticed.

With a small, practiced movement, Justine reached for her glass… and tapped her fingers twice against the stem.

Mer looked up.

It was a signal from childhood. Come with me.

---

A moment later, the two women stood out on the balcony, the wind gently stirring their hair.

Justine crossed her arms, leaning against the marble railing.

“All right,” she said quietly. “What’s really going on with you, Mer?”