Prologue

Fairy tales always begin the same way.
Once upon a time.

A girl suffers. She waits for the day her prince arrives on a white horse, bringing a kiss, a miracle, a new life.

But fairy tales lie.

Because Reith's story began with death.

The apartment was suffocating.

A broken ceiling fan buzzed overhead, blades moving just enough to remind her it still worked...barely. It stirred nothing but the scent of damp plaster, old wood, and failure. The air was heavy, pressed down by summer heat and the weight of things left unsaid.

Curtains hung like wilted limbs, sun-bleached and moth-eaten, sagging half-open across the window as if even they were too tired to function.

The only light in the room came from a cracked lamp on the floor, flickering faintly like a heartbeat on its last pulse.

Shadows huddled in the corners.

Reith lay curled on a mattress too thin to be called a bed. It rested directly on the floor, its seams fraying, its surface stained with years of quiet misery.

Her body burned with fever.

Sweat soaked the back of her shirt, gluing it to her skin. Every breath scraped through her throat like she was inhaling broken glass.

Her lips were cracked. Her voice long gone.

Her fingers, shaking violently, clutched the one thing she had left: a photo.

A little white puppy. Seamus.

Fur fluffy. Tongue out. The memory of joy, frozen in paper.

The corners of the photo had curled with age. Water damage blurred part of the image, but his eyes still sparkled. They looked alive.

He wasn't.

She had buried him in a shoebox, alone. She couldn't even afford a vet.

Just like her mother. Just like the future she worked so hard for. Gone.

She had taken double shifts at the café, studied psychology at night, rationed her food so her mother could eat. She skipped sleep. She carried every responsibility — until her body couldn't carry anymore.

And no one helped her.

No friends. No relatives. No one noticed when she stopped replying.

Her cracked lips moved.

"How long has it been since anyone checked on me?"

Silence.

Even her voice was too weak to echo.

She coughed, a sharp bark that rattled her chest. Her vision swam. The corners of the room thickened.

Shadows twitched.

They didn't move like lightless spaces. They moved like they wanted something.

Darkness oozed from under the bedframe. It rippled like oil. Pooled like blood.

It was crawling toward her.

Her heart kicked in her chest.

She tried to rise — her elbows slipped, body trembling, fever devouring her strength. She gasped, breath catching like a fraying thread.

The darkness touched her foot.

Icy. Solid. Too real.

It climbed up her legs like a serpent. Her thighs. Her waist.

It didn't cling like water. It gripped like fingers.

Her mouth opened, but her scream never came.

The blackness coiled around her throat — and pulled her under.

"Since you are already dying..."

A voice like silk. Soft. Melodic.

But wrong. Utterly wrong.

"...give me your soul."

Reith gasped.

She surfaced as though dragged from the bottom of an ocean.

Light stabbed her eyes. Her lungs burned. Her mouth flew open with a choking inhale.

A hand clutched hers — warm, firm, alive.

"Nahi! Can you hear me?"

The voice broke.

Her eyes fluttered open. Blinding whiteness. Movement. Panic.

A man leaned over her — hair black as ink, tied at the nape, strands escaping around his temples.

His eyes were purple. No — amethyst.

They glittered like grief.

And none of it was for her.

He was looking at her with love. Relief. Terror.

But that gaze was not for Reith.

It was for Nahida Valdy.

The heat inside her rose too quickly. Mana. Foreign. Violent.

Her chest convulsed. Her body rejected itself.

A scream ripped free, raw and bloodied — and then the world blinked out again.

Now she was standing.

In a place that did not exist.

The sky was gone. The ground was void.

Only black stretched in every direction, endless and silent.

She looked down. A white dress hugged her body. She didn't remember putting it on. It shimmered faintly, glowing with each footstep as though her movement disturbed the dark.

A figure stepped into view.

A girl.

Unreal.

Her skin was pale as untouched snow. Hair black as midnight spilled over her shoulders. Her turquoise eyes glowed unnaturally, bright as a curse and sharp as blades.

"You look terrible," the girl said.

Reith swallowed. Her voice cracked.

"...Nahi?"

The girl smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.

"So you remember me. Good."

Her expression turned severe.

"I am Nahida Valdy."

She stepped closer. The shadows recoiled from her bare feet.

"But I do not have time for pleasantries. What is your name?"

"...Reith. Reith Resonance."

"Interesting."

Nahida's voice softened, but her presence became heavier.

"You are dead in your world," she said flatly. "And in mine... I am trapped."

"I don't understand—"

"You don't need to. Until I return, you will keep my body alive."

Nahida's tone sharpened.

"And you must never let anyone know you are not me."

The void trembled with her voice.

"Most importantly... protect Sinclair. No matter what."

"Wait, who is—"

The void shattered like glass.

Reith awoke with a gasp.

Her body jolted, lungs clawing for air.

Sweat poured down her face. Her fingers twisted the sheets.

"Nahida!"

The man from before. The amethyst-eyed one.

He rushed to her side, his voice hoarse.

"Please... you scared me."

His hand reached for hers. His grip was gentle, trembling.

But his relief was not meant for Reith.

He had no idea the girl he loved was already gone.

Reith opened her mouth.

Tell him the truth.

But Nahida's voice rang in her skull — a brand seared into her bones.

Never let anyone know you are not me.

Then another whisper, deeper, rooted in the marrow of her spine.

Protect Sinclair... or watch this world burn.

She said nothing.

Fairy tales begin with once upon a time.

Reith's began the night she died.

And this time, she wasn't allowed to rest.