Warmth.

It was the first thing she felt, though her body was heavy and weak, as though she had been submerged in darkness for centuries. Warmth pressed against her palm, human, trembling faintly. A hand, she realized. Someone was holding her hand as though it were the only thread keeping her tethered to this life.

Her fingers twitched. Instantly, the grip tightened, desperate, protective, unwilling to let go.

Her lashes fluttered open. The ceiling above swam into focus: carved beams of polished wood, a canopy of pale silk threaded with faint glimmers of mana. Shadows stretched long across the chamber, flickering with the candlelight. She inhaled shakily, and the air filled with the bitter tang of herbs and faint incense smoke, as if the room itself had been steeped in prayers.

And then she saw him.

A young man sat at her bedside, shoulders bent forward under exhaustion, his back curved like a bowstring pulled taut. His black hair was unkempt, strands falling across his pale face, but his beauty was undeniable, refined, noble, marred only by the lines of sleeplessness carved into him. His lips were pressed thin, but when her eyes met his, his expression broke.

Ciel Valdy.

The name rose unbidden in her mind, as though her new body carried the memory even if she did not.

His eyes—violet, sharp as amethyst—glistened with relief so raw it nearly stole her breath. For the briefest instant, she thought he might cry.

"Nahi," he whispered, his voice frayed and fragile. "You are awake. Thank the stars."

The name struck her chest like shards of ice.

Her throat was dry, her tongue heavy. She tried to speak, but the sound that left her lips was no more than a rasp. Her panic clawed at her ribs, I am not Nahi, I am not this girl you love. But the words lodged in her throat, strangled by the devotion in his gaze.

Ciel leaned closer, his free hand brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead. His touch lingered with a reverence she had never been given in her old life. "You frightened me," he murmured. "You would not wake. The healers said your mana had burned itself out. I thought..." His voice cracked, breaking into a ragged hush. "But you are here. You are safe. Do not ever do that to me again. I could not bear it."

Safe. The word sounded foreign.

Because she was not Nahida Valdy.

She was Reith Resonance, torn from another world, a dead woman thrust into this fragile vessel. And Ciel could never know.

Time became formless inside the manor.

Day and night bled together into a haze of drifting in and out of consciousness. Yet whenever her eyes opened, Ciel was there. His presence was constant, as though he had sworn not to let her out of his sight for even a breath.

When her body trembled too weakly to hold a spoon, he fed her broth, whispering encouragement as though she were a child.

"Just a little more, Nahi. One sip. That's it... good."

The taste was strange, herbs steeped in flavors she did not recognize, too bitter on a tongue that had never belonged to her. She made a faint face, and his lips curved into the smallest, tired smile.

"I know it tastes awful. The healers swear it will help your strength. I—" He hesitated, his voice softening. "I cannot lose you over something as foolish as broth."

When she tried to sit, her head swam, and she swayed dangerously. He caught her instantly, one arm firm around her back, his other hand clutching hers as though by holding tightly enough he could anchor her soul to the world.

"Easy," he murmured. "Don't rush. Your body needs time."

"I... I can do it," she whispered hoarsely, though her limbs betrayed her.

"You don't have to," Ciel said firmly, steadying her. His gaze burned with quiet desperation. "Not alone. Not ever."

And when nightmares clawed at her, pulling her into blackness, whispers of shadowed voices hissing give me your soul, she jolted awake gasping, heart hammering in her chest.

"Shh. Nahi, it's just a dream." His voice was rough with sleep, but his arms were already around her shoulders, his warmth shielding her from the cold. "I'm here. No shadows can touch you while I still breathe."

Her breath hitched. She wanted to tell him he was wrong—that the shadows weren't after Nahida at all, but her. But the words tangled in her throat.

Always, always, he was there. His violet gaze sharp, his hand already reaching, his sword within arm's reach.

He never left.

But his devotion was not for her.

It was for Nahida.

The servants whispered.

Their voices floated through the wood when they thought she slept, trailing behind them as they carried trays of herbs and bandages.

The young lady is fragile.
The heir worries too much.
Perhaps the Academy should wait another year.

Sometimes their pity bled through their masks when they looked at her directly. Their eyes lingered too long, as if searching for cracks. Perhaps they saw them already, the hesitation in her smile, the emptiness in her gaze, the unnatural flicker of turquoise in her eyes.

At times, she stared into a polished silver tray. The reflection that stared back was not hers. Long black hair spilled across thin shoulders. Skin pale as porcelain. And those eyes, too bright, too unnatural, like twin shards of crystal glowing faintly even in dimness.

Not Reith.
Not Nahida.
Something caught between.

Every time Ciel called her Nahida, it shattered her chest.

One evening, as dusk painted the chamber in muted violets and soft shadows, his voice broke the quiet.

"You do not remember, do you?"

Her pulse stumbled. Slowly, she turned. "What?"

Ciel's eyes were steady, though they trembled faintly with fear. "The way you look at me. The hesitation when I call your name. You have been... different since the collapse." His jaw tightened. "The healers said mana exhaustion can scar the mind. Is it that? Memory loss?"

Her hands clenched in the sheets. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

He rose and came to her, lowering himself to one knee at her side so their gazes aligned. His hands cupped her shoulders, firm but shaking.

"I do not care if you have forgotten," he said fiercely. "I do not care if the memories never return. You are still my sister. You are still Nahida. And I will protect you—no matter what it costs me."

Her throat burned. His words should have been a balm, but they hollowed her instead.

Because she was not Nahida.

And yet... part of her longed to believe him. To pretend, just for a heartbeat, that someone might care enough to protect Reith Resonance.

But she could not speak the truth. It would destroy him.

So she let the lie live.

That night, when exhaustion finally overcame him, Ciel did not remain in the chair. She felt the mattress dip as he settled beside her, too worn to keep vigil upright any longer.

Reith froze, her breath catching. His warmth pressed close, steady and solid, and though he kept a respectful distance, his presence filled every inch of the bed. His hand sought hers in the dark, fingers curling around her own with instinctive desperation.

"I'll just stay here... only for tonight," he murmured, his voice thick with fatigue. "So I know you're safe."

She did not answer. She could not.

The candle burned low, its light gilding the strong line of his jaw, the shadows beneath his eyes. Even in sleep, his hold on her hand never loosened, as though he feared she might vanish if he let go.

Her gaze drifted across the room. On the desk, an envelope waited, its crimson wax seal gleaming faintly in the flicker of the dying flame, stamped with the crest of the empire.

Aetherion Academy.

She had overheard the servants whisper its name.

Her stomach twisted.

Nahida's destiny. To study magic in the empire's greatest halls. To rise among the High Council. To carry the name Valdy.

But Nahida was gone.

And Ciel lay beside her, holding the hand of a ghost.

Reith's hand hovered over it. The parchment was thick, heavy as iron, pulsing with expectation. She wanted to open it, to read the words, to know the path that would now fall on her shoulders.

But she dropped her hand.

It was not hers to read. None of this was hers.

Wasn't that all her life had been? Carrying weights that did not belong to her?

Later, she stood before the mirror.

The mirror did not lie. It showed her a stranger.

Her breath fogged the glass, but when it cleared, the girl staring back was still not Reith. Long black hair fell in tangles across shoulders too narrow to bear the weight of a family name. Her skin was bloodless, as if death still clung to her. And those eyes, turquoise, unearthly, shimmering faintly as if they carried a light not meant for mortals.

Her lips curved upward, but the smile was a mockery. It cracked into laughter—low, sharp, bitter.

"I carried too many burdens once," she whispered. "Burdens I never chose. They crushed me until there was nothing left. And now... now I am meant to die again, under the weight of someone else's name? What a cruel joke."

Her hand pressed to the glass, trembling. "I was nobody in my world. Invisible. Forgotten. And still... at least I was me."

Images rose, unbidden, in her cramped apartment, the broken ceiling fan that buzzed without cooling, the smell of damp curtains. A photograph of a dog whose eyes never stopped smiling, though he had long since died. The ache of being unseen, of working until her bones ached, of crying in silence because there was no one to listen.

"And yet," her voice cracked, "even there, in that empty world, I was mine. My life was my own. My pain, my failures, my choices. Here... here I am nothing but a ghost wearing Nahida's skin."

Tears blurred her vision. "Ciel looks at me and sees her. The world calls me by her name. Every breath I take belongs to someone else. When will I belong to myself again?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper, jagged with grief. "Why should I care if this world burns? It isn't even mine."

Her knees buckled, and she sank before the mirror, pressing her forehead against the cold glass. Sobs ripped through her chest, raw and silent, each one carving her hollow. She wept until the reflection blurred, until the stranger dissolved into nothing, until she was left with only darkness staring back.

The night she chose to leave was frozen in silence.

She had known, deep inside, that she would not stay. The thought had rooted itself the moment she saw the Academy's letter. But knowing was different from doing.

Her heart pounded as she moved through the chamber. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint rasp of Ciel's breathing where he lay beside her on the bed.

Exhaustion had finally claimed him hours ago. He slept on his side, close enough that she felt the heat of his body against her back. One of his arms rested protectively over the blanket, his hand still tangled with hers. Even in sleep, he had refused to let her go.

Slowly, carefully, she slid her hand free. His fingers twitched faintly at the loss, closing around the empty air where her hand had been. The sudden absence of his warmth seared her skin, making her ache with guilt.

She sat up, moving slowly so the mattress would not dip and wake him. Her satchel waited beneath the bed. She pulled it out, the leather stiff and cold beneath her trembling hands.

Her fingers moved clumsily as she packed: a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth, a small crystal vial of water shimmering faintly with mana. She clutched the bag to her chest, her heart hammering.

Her eyes swept the chamber, searching for anything more she might take.

On the vanity sat a comb inlaid with mother-of-pearl. She reached for it, then drew back. Too delicate. Too heavy. Not hers.

Books lined the shelves, Nahida's books filled with spells and histories. She picked one up, its leather cover warm from the fire's dying glow. For a moment, she imagined herself carrying it, as though she could belong in Nahida's life. But the weight pressed against her chest like a stone. She set it back down. She could not carry the burden of her lies in ink.

Her gaze shifted to the desk. Ciel's cloak was folded neatly, a soldier's discipline even in this quiet sanctuary. Beneath it lay a trinket: a polished stone charm, smooth from years of being held. She had seen his fingers brush it countless times, absent and instinctive, as though it anchored him to the world.

Her hand hovered over it, trembling. She wanted to take it, to hold on to some piece of him. For a heartbeat she imagined tucking it into her satchel, carrying his strength with her into the night. But her chest tightened with shame. To take it would be theft. To keep it would be betrayal.

With a shuddering breath, she set it down.

Her gaze drifted back to the bed.

Ciel shifted in his sleep, his brows furrowing. His hand groped across the mattress, searching for hers again, but found only the cold emptiness she had left behind.

Her throat tightened painfully. Tears pricked her eyes as she stared at him. The candlelight painted his face in soft gold, gentling the sharpness exhaustion had carved into him. He looked younger, almost fragile, like the boy he must have been before the weight of the Valdy name pressed on his shoulders. A strand of black hair had fallen across his cheek. Her fingers ached to brush it back, to memorize him just once more.

But she did not dare. If she lingered, she would not be able to leave.

"I am sorry, Ciel," she whispered, broken. "I am not who you think I am. I never was."

Her voice trembled in the silence, unheard.

The satchel hung heavy against her side as she forced herself toward the door. Each step tore something inside her, each breath sharper than a blade.

The corridor stretched before her, cold and endless. Each step echoed against stone like betrayal. Portraits of Valdy ancestors loomed from the walls, their painted eyes sharp with silent condemnation. The sconces flickered as she passed, shadows clawing across her path as if trying to drag her back.

The courtyard was silvered with frost. The air bit at her cheeks, and her breath curled in pale clouds.

The manor gates loomed high, iron bars black against the night sky. She pressed her palms against the frozen metal.

The hinges groaned, the sound reverberating like a funeral toll.

She faltered. For a heartbeat, she imagined him waking, imagined the despair etched into his weary face.

But she did not turn back.

The gates clanged shut behind her, the sound echoing like judgment through the night.

And Reith left the Valdy house behind.