Long silence. Then again—drip. I lean forward, trying to see where it landed, but the branches below are too thick. There’s no clear path. The tree hides its secrets well.  I brace myself to return to the window. But something's wrong.

The branch beneath my feet quivers—shudders. Then all at once, the tree begins to shift. The branches creak and twist, spiraling and folding in impossible ways. All around me, the gems tremble in their cradles. A soft chiming sound fills the air—like distant bells in a windstorm. Higher-pitched ones tinkle like laughter, while deeper ones echo like warning drums.

I turn, trying to retrace my steps, but the path is gone.The window is gone. The branch beneath my feet jerks. I lose my balance.

I scream. Loud high pitched full of terror.

My body falls—branches cracking and snapping against my arms, my sides, my legs. Yet leaving no scars. I tumble past thousands of glowing gems. One grazes my cheek as I fall. I see something inside.

Images—more defined than before. Faces. Places. Magic. A battlefield? A tower? A stage. A hospital? But everything’s still too blurred to understand. I fall faster. More branches. More gems. Everything becomes color and sound. And just before I hit the ground—

I woke up. Gasping. My body jerks as I sit up, sweat clinging to my skin. My breath is shallow, and everything aches. A soft clinking pulls my attention toward the door. A maid enters, quietly carrying a tray. Steam rises from a small bowl and a ceramic cup. She walks with grace, her expression composed and calm. She glances over and smiles gently. “I see you’re still running a fever,” she says, setting the tray down on the desk beside the bed. 

Her fingers are cool against my forehead. I sigh at the contrast.

“What time is it?” I ask, my voice raspy, dry like paper. I notice then—my father is gone.

“It’s a new day,” she replies, pouring something from the cup into a small spoon. “You slept through the rest of yesterday.”

I’ve been asleep for a day? What was that all about? And did we really fuse? What was that tree? Those gems? And where did that gem disappear too?

“Also, inform you Miss. The Duke has ordered your bed rest until you're better” She bowed.  “Shall I ring for a light meal”

“Bed rest?” I rolled my eyes, expecting to get straight to training. It would give me more time to relax my thoughts. “A light meal would be nice, thank you.” I voiced, the maid left. 

The gentle knock at my door was followed by the sound of soft footsteps. Mary entered, balancing a tray with a bowl of soup, a few crackers, and a small teapot. Her smile widened when our eyes met.

“We really do need to break this fever,” she murmured, setting the tray on my nightstand. Her hand pressed lightly to my forehead again, cool against my burning skin.

“Hopefully it breaks soon,” I muttered, my head pounding like a steady drum. I dipped my spoon into the soup, testing its warmth before taking a slow sip. “What’s your name?”

Her eyes brightened. “My name is Mary, princess.”

“Thank you, Mary.”

For a fleeting moment, something passed over her face — a shadow of sadness, a distant memory surfacing. But she quickly replaced it with that same kind smile. “No worries, princess. It is truly my pleasure.” She bowed gently.

I studied her — she looked young, maybe thirty-five at most, with short black hair neatly tucked behind her ears and eyes as blue as a clear winter sky.

“Do you wish for me to stay by your side, princess?” she asked sweetly.

I blinked, unsure what she meant. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m not even sure what that means,” I admitted, raising a brow.

She chuckled softly, her tone light. “It means if you want me to stay — just in case you need something.”

“Oh,” I said, half laughing. “Well, you don’t have to do that. I’m a little more independent than you think.”

Mary’s smile softened into something blissful and knowing. “Yes, I believe that. But try not to push yourself too hard, princess. You have servants for a reason.”

“Thank you again, Mary. I’ll ring if I need anything, right?”

“Yes, princess,” she said, bowing one last time before quietly leaving the room.

The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the soft glow of afternoon light and the faint scent of herbs from the soup. I stared at the tray for a long moment after Mary left, listening to the faint echo of her footsteps fade down the hall. The aroma of the soup filled the room — warm, light, and comforting. I picked up the spoon and took another sip. The broth was simple but rich, the flavors gentle on my aching throat.

“Mmm,” I hummed softly, surprised. “This is actually really good.”

Each bite warmed me from the inside out, melting the dull ache behind my eyes. My fever still lingered, but for the first time all day, I felt a sliver of peace.

As I ate, my thoughts drifted — tangled, restless.

What is the best way for us to live this life? I wondered, staring at the steam rising from the bowl.

That strange forest flashed in my mind — the sharp crystals, the pulsing energy, and that tree that felt both alive and ancient. 

What was that tree? Will I see it again? And what happened to that gem? Did it really fall into the water... or was that all in my head?

But the thought that came next made my stomach tighten.

What would Dad’s reaction be if he knew I possessed Rena — his daughter?

The spoon paused halfway to my mouth. My heart gave a faint, painful throb.

Would he still accept me? Or would he see me as an imposter — someone who stole her life before she even had the chance to live it? Would he call me a monster? Would I lose another father all over again?

I swallowed hard, but the food suddenly felt heavier in my throat.

I’m afraid of him finding out.

It was a quiet, trembling truth. I’ve only just started to know him. And somehow… I’ve already taken on the role of the daddy’s girl. How did that even happen?

A small, sad smile curved my lips.

But it doesn’t matter, does it? He deserves to know. Even if it terrifies me. Even if he rejects me.

I set the empty bowl aside and curled beneath the blanket, staring at the ceiling as the weight of it all pressed against my chest.

I’m not ready to lose another father.

As soon as the fear of my father’s rejection weighed heavily in my chest, the door creaked open — almost as if on cue.

“I came to check on your fever,” he said, stepping inside. His voice was steady, composed, but there was a tremor of concern hiding beneath it. “Mary told me she brought you something. It’s nice to see you eating after waking up.”

I blinked up at him from the bed, caught off guard by the warmth in his tone. “I’m fine,” I murmured, setting the bowl aside. “I didn’t expect to be bedridden just for trying to activate my mana.”

He gave a faint, knowing smile and sat at the edge of the bed, his posture graceful yet weary. “Well, actually,” he began, “every mage gains a fever after their awakening. It’s the body adjusting to its new flow of energy. It often takes the average person about four months to fully recover. Others longer — depending on the potency of their mana.”

“Four months?” I repeated, appalled. “I’ll miss my chance to get into Acreon. Being bedridden for four months is so not fair.” I paused, then tilted my head curiously. “How long did it take you?”

He looked faintly amused as his eyes drifted upward, as if searching through the haze of memory. “I believe... about a month?” he said at last, though it came out sounding like a question.

My brows furrowed. “Is that normal?”

He gave a soft laugh — one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No,” he said grimly, “not at all.”

The air between us grew quiet for a moment. I could see the shadow behind his smile — something unspoken. Something about power and cost

“Originally,” he began, his tone quiet and steady, “I wasn’t meant to inherit the dukedom. It was supposed to go to my uncle — my father’s youngest brother. He had close ties with the royal family, and many in our bloodline believed that would prove useful. Having the royals in their back pocket… that was the dream.”

He paused, eyes distant, the faintest flicker of bitterness crossing his features.

“But—” I prompted softly, sensing there was more.

He inhaled deeply, the lines around his mouth tightening. “There was a highly respected family member of ours who spoke up — she said that I should inherit the title instead. That I had more potential, more intelligence… that it was time our family stopped depending on royal favor and learned to stand on its own.”

He gave a small, mirthless laugh. “That didn’t go well with the others. I was only eleven at the time. They didn’t agree with her, and soon their anger began to… shift. They needed someone to direct it at. And that someone became me.”

His voice grew darker, roughened by the memory.

I felt my stomach twist. “Their demons who had attacked you?” I whispered, horrified. “To harm and bully a child… that’s evil. How can anyone think to do that to an innocent child.”

His gaze met mine — steady, calm, but heavy with something buried deep. “Yes,” he said simply. “Evil. But power and envy often are.”

Silence filled the room again. I could see the ghosts of that boy still flickering behind his eyes — the fear, the betrayal, the pain.

Then, just as suddenly, he exhaled and straightened, his tone returning to its usual warmth. “I’m going off topic,” he said lightly, almost apologetically, brushing away the memory with practiced grace.

He looked at me, his expression shifting — serious now, but also deeply worried.
“You see the marks under my eyes?” he asked quietly.

“Your freckles? Yes.” I leaned closer, studying his face more carefully. The gray freckles formed an upside-down triangle under each eye, with dotted lines extending down his cheeks — faint, but distinct.

“Yes,” he murmured, “but normal freckles aren’t colored like ours.”

He paused, his thumb brushing over one of mine as if drawing attention to it. “Discoloration in the eyes or skin is called a mutation. A mutation occurs when someone carries an overabundance of mana — so much that it can cause poisoning which is the same as a death wish… or even an explosion capable of killing those nearby.”

My breath caught. “So… it’s dangerous to be born with one?”

He nodded slowly. “Mutations are birthed, Rena. You come out of the womb with mixed-colored eyes, discolored skin, or marks like ours. And people—” his jaw tightened, “—people call you a monster, a freak. Something that is viewed to be unnatural and dangerous.”

He lifted both hands to my face, cupping my cheeks gently but firmly, forcing me to meet his gaze. I could see the fear in his eyes — fear not of me, but for me.

He’s telling me this because he must have faced this. Feared and tortured by his own family, for what greed to get close to the royals.