“Rik? Ira? Someone please answer me!”

The voice came in sobs, echoing through darkness. Ira stirred, the chill of a stone floor seeping into her bones. Her limbs ached like she’d fallen down an escalator. She blinked rapidly and saw three humans in faint light.

“Mom?” Her voice came out dry, confused.

A soft grunt nearby. “Ira? Is that really you?”

“I think so?”

She tried to sit up, only to crack her elbow against something hard and muttering. “Ow—why does everything feel frozen?”

Another voice, her brother Rik’s: “This place smells like wet stone and old cheese.”

A fourth voice—her father’s. “Okay, either this is a very elaborate prank or we’ve been kidnapped.”

“No one panic,” Ira said quickly, though her own heart was thudding like mad. She could barely make out her family’s shapes around her in the dimness. No phones. No lights. No windows. And her clothes—velvet? Silk? What even was this?

Before anyone could process further, heavy footsteps approached.

The cell door creaked open. Torchlight burned her eyes.

A giant man stepped in, armored like something out of a fantasy film. Not cheap cosplay armor—real, clanking, iron-forged armor. The kind that said knight, executioner, or you’ve definitely made a mistake.

His shadow fell over her.

 “Lady Millicent. You’re summoned”he grunted.

“I think you’ve got the wrong—” she began, but he grabbed her arm and hauled her up like she weighed nothing.

“Wait! That’s my daughter!” her mom cried.

“Where are you taking her!?” her dad demanded, voice rising.

“Shut up before I make it permanent,” the man growled over his shoulder.

Ira’s feet scrambled for balance as she was dragged through long, stone halls lit with flickering torches. This wasn’t a prank. Or a set. Or a dream. Was it?

Was it?

Then came the chamber.

Massive, silent, eerie in its emptiness. At the center stood a young man dressed in a dark, high-collared coat with silver embroidery glinting like constellations. His posture was elegant but rigid, like someone who hadn’t smiled since birth. His hair was silver, long and messy, falling just past his chin. His ice-blue eyes caught the torchlight with an unnatural glow.

He stared at her as the guard dropped her to her knees.

“Millicent Grace,” the man said, with a mock-gentle tone. “You’re awake. That’s... a shame.”

She blinked. Her mouth opened, then shut again.

This has to be a dream.

“I’m sorry,” she said slowly. “Could you... tell me what’s going on? Where am I?”

A cold smile crept onto his face. “Still playing dumb?”

He stepped forward, the air around him strangely heavier.

“Fine. Let’s start simple. Where is Lillian?”

Lillian?

The name rang somewhere faintly in her memory. But right now, Ira had one dominant thought:

What the hell is going on, and who the hell am I supposed to be?