Callius sat in his spartanly furnished office—nothing but a desk, chair, and stacks of paperwork requiring his attention.
This mansion, rented temporarily for his stay in the capital, reflected none of the ostentatious grandeur typical of the Empire's established noble families. Simple. Functional. Impermanent.
Originally, Callius had no intention of lingering in the capital long enough to justify extravagant accommodations.
Though plans have changed considerably. And that's entirely Chloe's fault.
The return to Ronheim had been delayed indefinitely.
"Your Excellency."
"Brentian."
His aide entered the office with characteristic precision.
For a Ronheimer—a people renowned for their formidable builds and warrior physiques—Brentian cut an unusually elegant figure. Slender rather than bulky, with long blue hair meticulously tied back, he moved with the refined grace of a scholar rather than a soldier.
The near-empty office amplified every sound. Brentian's measured footsteps echoed cleanly against the bare walls and high ceiling.
"Is everyone executing their assignments?"
"Yes, Excellency. The men report they're quite enjoying themselves—said it's like being paid to attend drinking parties every night without needing an excuse."
"Good. That's precisely what I wanted to hear."
Callius nodded with satisfaction.
Recently, he'd been deploying his knights to taverns and ale houses throughout the capital with specific instructions: spread rumors.
Rumors about the holy relic possessed by the Saintess of Ronheim.
A divine gift capable of raising the dead, restoring lost vitality, returning youth to the aged. A miracle crystallized into physical form.
For generations, it had been dismissed as legend—nothing more than folklore from an isolated, backward territory that civilized society barely acknowledged.
Ronheim, with its minimal contact with the outside world, remained an unknown land. Who would believe fantastic tales emerging from such obscurity?
Yet as travelers began seeking out Ronheim to verify these stories for themselves, whispers transformed into conviction. The relic's existence became accepted fact.
And then the hunters descended.
Treasure seekers. Desperate nobles clinging to fading youth. Warlords seeking invincibility. Merchants dreaming of monopolizing immortality.
Ronheim's pristine snowfields became a graveyard painted red with ambition and blood.
Still, Ronheim's stalwart warriors had defended their sacred territory and its holy treasure for centuries. The relic remained secure, protected by generations of guardians who would die before surrendering it.
Until twelve years ago.
When unknown assailants launched a coordinated assault unlike anything Ronheim had faced before. The holy relic vanished. And the Saintess who had guarded it—
She was murdered.
No one discovered where the stolen relic had gone.
Officially, at least.
Brentian's expression clouded with concern.
"Excellency, there are already countless exaggerated stories circulating about the relic. Is it wise to add more fuel to those fires?"
"If the tales are already inflated beyond recognition, what difference will a few additional embellishments make?"
"It may make recovering the relic even more difficult."
"Recovery won't become any easier if I simply remain passive. Nothing will change through inaction."
Brentian fell silent briefly, then continued with renewed determination—his tone shifting to something more personal, less formal.
"I don't wish to interfere with your plans, but as your old friend, I must speak plainly. Why would things not change? Using yourself as bait puts you in tremendous danger. They'll target you directly."
"That's precisely the point, Brentian."
Brentian's voice rose with frustration barely held in check.
"Don't take unnecessary risks. We've already sacrificed too much for that relic. Have you forgotten how brutally they murdered the Saintess?"
"Forgotten?"
Callius's gaze fixed on Brentian with an intensity that communicated volumes left unspoken.
Brentian hesitated, then dropped his eyes.
"...Forgive me."
Of course Callius hadn't forgotten.
The Saintess of Ronheim had been his mother.
Callius released a slow breath and spoke more gently, easing his friend's anxiety.
"If Empress Kavala makes any move regarding this matter, it will constitute proof that she stole our sacred treasure. Until now, we've operated under mere suspicion—forced to tread carefully. But once she acts, we can move with certainty."
His confidence radiated absolute conviction.
Though he claimed it remained only suspicion, Callius spoke as though Empress Kavala's guilt was already established fact.
"Moreover, the Empress cannot harm me until she discovers the nature and location of the key."
He alone possessed that crucial information.
At that moment, a chill wind from the imperial mainland swept through the office—slipping through some unseen gap and cutting sharply across the room.
But both men had weathered Ronheim's brutal snowstorms with bare skin. This sticky southern breeze left only mild discomfort before dissipating harmlessly.
"The Empress will attempt to plant informants to extract information. But it won't be simple."
Callius smiled with leisurely confidence.
He'd traveled with only a small contingent of elite knights—no servants, no common attendants, no one whose loyalty wasn't absolutely ironclad.
Infiltrating such a tight-knit group without detection would prove nearly impossible.
"I'm curious to see what bold method the Empress employs to plant her seeds of espionage."
His smile carried dangerous edges—the expression of a hunter anticipating his prey's next desperate move.
I lay on my side, staring blankly at morning sunlight filtering weakly through the curtains.
Another endless night had finally surrendered to dawn.
I couldn't sleep again.
I sighed—a sound that seemed to drain what little energy remained in my exhausted body. After days without proper rest, my limbs felt disconnected, as though the tether binding soul to flesh had loosened and frayed.
It feels like my spirit is leaking out somewhere I can't see.
Since my regression, insomnia had arrived alongside my hunger for revenge—twin afflictions that granted no mercy.
The moment my eyes closed, that final scene replayed with vivid, merciless clarity.
But it wasn't fear or shock that tormented me through those sleepless hours.
It was the truth I'd learned only at death's threshold. The betrayal of everyone I'd trusted. The realization of my own willful blindness.
"What a spectacularly stupid woman you were."
The knight's final words echoed endlessly through my mind.
Why didn't I know? Why didn't I see it? How could I have been so easily deceived for so many years?
My jaw clenched involuntarily, teeth grinding together.
Was I truly that stupid?
Andrea and Kavala were the deceivers. They were the villains in this narrative. I understood that intellectually.
But the rage burning inside me didn't target only them.
It turned inward with equal ferocity.
Why was I so blind? Why didn't I question anything? Looking back, the inconsistencies were glaring—how did I miss every single warning sign?
Self-recrimination. Self-hatred. The cycle repeated endlessly.
Though I'd eaten nothing, my chest felt weighted down as if filled with stones, making each breath a laborious effort.
Fragments of memory surfaced unbidden—Andrea's gentle smile, his warm voice saying, "This brother will always protect you, Chloe."
Disgusting.
I forced my heavy body upright—limbs feeling waterlogged and uncooperative—and clutched at my hair with trembling hands.
I believed him. I believed every lie.
A phantom voice whispered relentlessly in my ear: "Stupid Chloe. Foolish Chloe. This is all your fault. You were too stupid to see."
Anxiety crawled over my skin like invisible insects. I felt exposed, vulnerable, as though unseen attackers surrounded me from all directions.
I groped blindly for the blanket, desperate for any form of protection, and pulled it over my head.
That was when—
"Chloe."
Karl's face appeared from behind the curtain.
Apparently he'd successfully infiltrated the palace again.
"Karl!"
I greeted him in a hushed whisper—quiet enough that the maids stationed outside my door wouldn't hear.
The moment I saw his face, it felt as though something blocking my airway suddenly cleared. I could breathe again.
"You couldn't sleep again?" Karl's worried eyes studied me with the intensity of someone emerging from deep water, gasping for air. "I was concerned, so I came early. What's happening with you lately? Are you truly ill?"
I managed a faint smile and shook my head.
The words "My heart hurts" rose to the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them.
"I'm... managing."
Karl released a frustrated sigh.
"You have the face of someone drowning in dark thoughts."
I looked down, stung by the accuracy of his observation.
"Do I?"
"Oh, Chloe."
He settled beside me on the bed, speaking with a tone that managed to be both scolding and profoundly affectionate.
"I don't know the specifics of what happened to you. But I know this with absolute certainty: it wasn't your fault."
"How can you possibly know that?"
"I don't need to know the circumstances. I know you." His expression softened with gentle conviction. "Of all the terrible things that happen around you, rarely—if ever—are they actually your fault."
"...!"
"Trust yourself, Chloe. You're far better than you give yourself credit for."
The suffocating guilt that had been strangling me dissolved instantly at Karl's words.
My nose tingled. Tears welled up and spilled over before I could stop them.
I laughed and cried simultaneously, striking his shoulder with playful frustration.
"You don't know anything about what happened."
If I hadn't had Karl, would I have survived any of this? The answer was clear: I wouldn't have. Not in my previous life. Not now.
I wrapped my arms around him tightly, soaking his small shoulder with tears I'd been holding back for days.
"Karl, from now on I'm only trusting you and myself. No one else. I won't live like a fool ever again."
"Yes, yes. You can do it."
My only comfort. My only peace. That was what Karl represented to me.
"I'm so glad you exist, Karl."
After leaning against his shoulder until my breathing steadied, I pulled back and looked at him with renewed sorrow.
"But when I leave for Ronheim, we won't be able to see each other anymore..."
In my previous life, I'd lived with Viscount Pelsus in a mansion within the capital—close enough to the palace that I could still meet Karl in secret despite being married.
But Ronheim lay impossibly far from the capital.
"We'll..."
I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence. Instead, I gripped Karl's hand tightly.
But he said something completely unexpected.
"Chloe, wherever you go, I'll be with you."
"What...? But how could you possibly—"
"Don't worry. There's a way."
He smiled brightly—radiantly—as he spoke.
"...!"
I stared at him, momentarily speechless.
Because in that moment, Karl's smiling face and Callius's features overlapped with disorienting precision.
What is this strange sense of déjà vu?
Before I could examine the feeling further, noise erupted outside my chambers.
I hurriedly helped Karl to his feet.
"Go quickly, Karl!"
"I'll come again soon."
He vanished through the window just as he'd arrived—disappearing into the morning like a secret shared between friends.
The moment the boy disappeared, my bedroom door burst open unceremoniously. The maids rushed in like a small invasion force.
"You're awake."
They spoke in their characteristically sullen tones, pulling me about like a decorative doll—sitting me down, standing me up, dressing me in layers of silk and brocade, manipulating my hair with hands that carried no warmth whatsoever.
One maid conducted a final inspection, looking me up and down as I surrendered myself to their ministrations like an inanimate object awaiting display.
"Well, I suppose that will do. Now then, let's proceed to the sitting room."
"The sitting room?"
I was genuinely confused. They typically preferred I remain sequestered in my bedchamber all day like a forgotten doll in storage.
Curious despite myself, I followed them hesitantly into the reception area.
Then I froze.
"What is all of this?"
The sitting room had been transformed into a veritable garden.
Crimson roses bloomed everywhere—dozens upon dozens of perfect red blossoms filling every available surface.
An attendant approached bearing a silver tray. Upon it rested a sealed letter.
The envelope bore a name written in elegant script: 'Callius Rodrian'.
A maid peeked over my shoulder with poorly concealed curiosity.
"Isn't that a love letter? Read it quickly! Quickly!"
Though the maids showed little interest in my wellbeing, apparently my romantic prospects provided adequate entertainment.
Since the letter was sent so publicly, I suppose it's meant to be read openly?
I carefully broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment.
Then I read the first few lines.
My mouth fell open in blank astonishment.
To Princess Chloe—
More dazzling than the sun at its zenith, more luminous than the stars adorning the velvet night sky—
I first beheld you several evenings past at the palace celebration. That night was graced with particular beauty. Reflecting upon it now with the clarity of hindsight, I perceive that all lovely things—the graceful trees, the fragrant blossoms, the gentle wind—were surely divine portents heralding our fateful encounter.
Ah, the overwhelming intensity with which my very soul ignited upon first meeting your radiant gaze remains vividly seared into my consciousness...
— Callius Rodrian
After reading that far, I double-checked the name written on the envelope.
'Callius Rodrian'
As if that wasn't sufficient verification, I turned to the attendant.
"This letter truly came from Marquis Rodrian?"
The attendant nodded with absolute confidence.
"Yes, Your Highness. Delivered personally by his courier."
I must be mistaken. Please tell me I'm mistaken.
How exactly should I interpret this letter?
Is this an assassination attempt? Trying to stop my heart through sheer mortification?
It seemed a perfectly reasonable hypothesis.
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