"Hu—!"
Shiki awoke with a sharp, frantic gasp. Air flooded her lungs as if she had just been dragged from the depths of the ocean. Cold sweat drenched her skin, clinging to her back and neck, while her heart hammered too violently for a morning that was supposed to be peaceful.
Her hands moved faster than her thoughts, fumbling over her chest, searching for the gaping hole that should have been there—the wound that was supposed to have claimed her life. But all she felt was the warmth of skin, the softness of her own touch, and the steady pulse of life. There was no pain. No tear. No blood.
Slowly, as if fearing the world might shatter if she moved too abruptly, Shiki opened her eyes.
Pink.
Soft pink walls greeted her vision, adorned with framed photos of herself and A-list celebrities—smiling, posing, alive. Panoramic lights on the ceiling displayed a faint aurora that still lingered despite the morning light. Thick curtains with gold accents were half-drawn, allowing sunlight to filter in politely—not blinding, just warm. The air in the room was cool, clean, and still. It was the polar opposite of the heat, the blood, and the metallic stench of the battlefield.
Shiki lay upon a plush mattress beneath a finely carved canopy. The sheets brushed against her skin like a long-lost embrace she never realized she had craved. Beside the bed stood a tidy nightstand. The digital clock atop it read 09:25 AM, May 30, 2083. A nearby diffuser breathed out a gentle floral scent, so soothing that her chest felt lighter with every breath.
She recognized this place.
Of course she did.
This was her bedroom in Ignisira, a sanctuary she had only dared to visit in her dreams for years. The room that always appeared when her body lay in trash-filled basements, when the stench of rot and the chill of the earth were her only realities.
Every time she dreamed of this place, Shiki always made the same wish: don't wake up. Let her stay just a little longer. But those dreams were always cruel. She would always awaken, returned to the world that tore her apart without mercy.
But this time… it felt different.
There was no piercing shock. No forced anxiety. Instead, there was a strange serenity—warm, silent, and resigned.
Shiki knew.
She knew she was dead.
The battlefield, the fire, the blood, the Procession Tower—it was all over for her. Her body might be rotting somewhere now, or worse, preserved and toyed with by the living. Yet, that thought stirred nothing in her heart.
The dead have no right to care.
Slowly, Shiki pulled the duvet up over her shoulders. Her eyes traced the room once more, absorbing every detail as if trying to commit them to memory. Then, with a faint, almost invisible smile, she closed her eyes.
If this is my final dream, then let me enjoy it.
And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Shiki allowed herself to rest—without war, without obsession, without pain.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The tapping was soft and rhythmic. A sound that had been part of her mornings for years.
"Young Lady, are you awake? Madam requests that you see her after breakfast."
Shiki froze.
That voice pierced her chest deeper than any war cry ever could. Her eyes flew open, her breath hitching, as if a single word were enough to topple the world she had just convinced herself was a dream.
Andrea.
The name didn't need to be spoken. Her memory had already recognized the cadence of the voice. Warm, calm, and filled with a patience she had never appreciated.
Shiki scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over her own blankets. Her heart thundered—not from fear, but from a hope she didn't dare acknowledge. Her hands trembled as she reached for the doorknob, swinging it open before she could even straighten her appearance.
And there Andrea stood.
Exactly as Shiki remembered. An elegant middle-aged woman with a straight back and a guarded expression. Her black-and-white uniform was impeccable; her hair pinned into a perfect bun. Time seemed not to have touched her. No traces of exhaustion, no new lines of age. She was exactly the same as the last time Shiki had left her.
The hallway behind Andrea was clean and quiet, other servants moving with their usual disciplined order. Everything was too organized. Too real.
Andrea's gaze flickered with surprise when their eyes met.
However, that surprise quickly turned into confusion as Shiki's eyes began to well up.
Before Andrea could utter a word, Shiki stepped forward and threw her arms around her in a tight embrace.
No hesitation. No pride. No distance.
"Yo—Young Lady?!" Andrea's voice wavered, her hands hovering awkwardly before she finally returned the embrace cautiously, as if fearing the girl before her might break if held too firmly.
Shiki buried her face in Andrea's shoulder. The scent of clean fabric and mild soap filled her senses. A scent that had always been there, yet she had never realized how much she missed it. Her chest felt tight—not from a wound, but from the guilt that had accumulated over the years.
In the past, Andrea had always woken her the same way.
And in the past, Shiki had always greeted her with a sour face, sharp words, and cold commands. She had never said thank you. She had rarely even looked Andrea in the eye. To her, Andrea was just a servant—one of many supporting characters in a life she viewed as her own personal stage.
Even on the day she was forced to move to the Procession Tower, Shiki had left without looking back. No goodbye. Not a single word.
Now, that realization hit her harder than any blow she had ever received on the battlefield.
Andrea wasn't just a servant.
She was the figure who had been with her since childhood, who fed her when she refused to eat, who waited outside her room when Shiki cried from nightmares, who was present more often than her own mother—who was always too busy building her business empire.
The embrace felt warm.
Too warm for a dream.
Shiki remained silent, feeling Andrea's heartbeat, feeling the return embrace slowly tighten—full of confusion, yet also relief. Something deep inside her whispered that dreams weren't supposed to hold warmth this vivid.
But Shiki closed her eyes and stifled the whisper.
She didn't dare to hope.
She didn't want to be hurt again by the false belief that she could return to this life. This world was too beautiful to be trusted blindly.
For now, Shiki chose silence, holding on tighter, and burying her regrets within her chest—unspoken, yet flowing warm, like a prayer that had finally found its home.
"Andrea, where is my mother? In her office?" Shiki asked quickly, her voice nearly racing against her own footsteps.
"Eh—Yo-Young Princess, Madam is in her office. However, she requested that you have breakfast first before seeing her—"
"I don't have time for that!" Shiki cut her off without hesitation, her hand already pulling at Andrea's arm. "Come on, take me there. I want to see Mother. Now."