The world returned in pieces.
The sounds drifted into her ears first—muffled shouts, metal clashing, and the heavy scrape of boots on stone.
Then sensation returned—cold biting into her knees, something rough burning against her wrists, and the faint tang of smoke in the air.
Last came sight—the hall stretched endlessly upward, its vaulted ceilings draped with banners of a golden wyvern. Torches flickered along the walls, casting shadows over the stone floor. Armored guards stood like statues along the periphery, while two lines of nobles, ten on each side, dressed in flowing silks and embroidered doublets, formed a corridor through the center.
Esme gasped softly.
Her heart hammered, ears ringing as she looked around in disoriented panic.
Where… was this?
Moments ago, she had been speaking with that strange old man, and now she was kneeling on cold stone, wrists bound tightly with rope.
Her breath hitched as she stared at her hands.
Bound? Why? What crime had she committed?
Her thoughts scrambled—
Five lives, the old man had said.
Her pulse lurched.
Is… is this the first?
The thought barely formed when a heavy thud echoed across the hall.
Esme looked up.
That was when she saw him.
A man stood alone on the elevated platform, motionless as if carved from stone. His posture was perfectly straight, shoulders broad beneath a navy tunic embroidered with gold thread that caught the light, with a jeweled sash across his chest.
His face was striking: sharp jawline, high cheekbones, eyes like dark onyx. His presence bent the air around him; even those who tried not to look inevitably did. He was royalty, unquestionably.
His gaze swept lazily over the prisoners, cold and uninterested…
until it brushed hers.
Esme's breath halted.
Something tightened in her chest. A strange familiarity flickered, swift and unsettling.
Before she could grasp it, his voice cut across the hall like a blade of ice.
"Take them away."
He paused.
"Have them beheaded."
Esme's heart plummeted.
Beheaded?
She had just arrived in this world. How was she already losing her head?!
A hush fell over the hall.
But a second later, chaos erupted and several voices descended in panic all around her.
She jerked, realizing only now that dozens of others knelt around her, all bound the same way. She had misheard—he'd said "them," not "her."
Her pulse slowed slightly with relief. She wasn't singled out… but that didn't help much if she died with the rest.
Cries filled the chamber.
"Your Majesty, please—!"
"We were framed!"
"Spare the children!"
"The Wynters have always served the throne!"
A baton slammed sharply against the stone.
"By His Majesty's decree," the trial officer barked, "the Wynter household will be taken to execution!"
The words reverberated across the hall. Soldiers stepped forward quickly, their armor catching the dim torches around the tribunal.
One of them reached for her arm.
The instant his gloved hand touched her—
A piercing ring exploded in her ears.
A faint, translucent blue panel flickered before her eyes.
[ARC-01 SYSTEM INITIALIZING]
Subject: Esme Wynter
Lifetime 1: ACTIVE
Her eyes widened.
She stumbled back instinctively, but the text disappeared as swiftly as it came.
What was that? A hallucination?
She barely had time to breathe before shouts erupted again.
Esme turned in time to see a young man—a tall, slender boy with storm-grey eyes—snatch a sword from a distracted soldier. He swung it wildly, forcing guards backward.
"Don't touch my sisters!" he roared.
The nobles shrieked, stumbling back.
"He's mad!"
"Disarm him!"
"How dare he brandish a weapon before His Majesty!"
"Has he lost his mind?!"
Soldiers moved to subdue the youth immediately, raising their spears with unconcealed murderous intent.
Silence descended over the hall.
Everyone around Esme froze.
Even she held her breath in worry that the boy would be killed right there.
But before the guards could lunge, an elderly man stumbled forward. His white hair hung in disarray, his frame frail but desperate. He dropped to his knees and slammed his forehead against the stone.
"Your Majesty!" he cried. "Please, spare them. Spare my children. Take this old life instead!"
A hush swept the nobles as several recognized him. Once, he had been the backbone of the Wynters, held authority, and served the imperial family loyally. His fall from grace struck a quiet ache among several watching. Some exchanged conflicted looks.
But pity was not universal.
Noticing the slight shift in the nobles' demeanor, a few courtiers stepped forward quickly, as if threatened by the sympathy beginning to stir.
Their voices dripped with disdain:
"Enough with the theatrics, old man," a noble sneered. "Treason is treason."
Another scoffed loudly. "Do you imagine His Majesty will pardon you merely because your family once served the late consort?"
"There's no mercy for traitors!" someone spat.
Their disdain emboldened one particularly vocal courtier. He bowed sharply toward the platform.
"Your Majesty! These criminals plotted against the Grand Dowager. You must punish them before more dare follow!"
Esme looked toward the man on the platform. Her eyes narrowed slightly: so he was the Emperor.
He was watching the scene, lips curved faintly in displeasure as the nobles invoked his authority for their own theatrics.
A shadowed figure in military attire leaned to whisper in his ear. The Emperor listened, nodded once, then moved to the throne and sat with languid ease, as though settling in to observe entertainment.
His silence swallowed the noble's theatrics, but the man pressed on.
"Your Majesty, surely you cannot ignore the Grand Dowager's accusation."
He whirled toward the trial officer.
"Investigator Lanz! Her Highness saved you from slavery and raised you to this post! Is this how you repay her kindness!?"
The hall stirred.
"Yes! They attempted to assassinate her!"
"Repaying kindness with betrayal, that's vile!"
"Punish them now!"
Those words seemed to have hit a nerve. He snapped back from his earlier pity for the Wynter patriarch, his face reddening at the accusation of disloyalty.
He barked at his soldiers.
"His Majesty has ordered it! Drag them out!"
The hall erupted again in shouts. "We were framed!" "Your Majesty, please!" The overlapping cries of the Wynters threatened to overwhelm the chamber.
Their complaints only rattled the investigator further. He strode forward, face twisted in fury, drew something from his sleeve, and hurled it to the floor.
A metallic clank echoed across the hall.
A small medallion spun on the floor to a halt at Esme's feet. The entire Wynter family looked down to see it clearly. Meanwhile, it had fallen right in front of Esme.
But she didn't understand what it was or what it signified. It was a simple medallion made of gold, and on it was a moon crest glinting dully in the torchlight.
She eyed it thoughtfully: this was called a sigil, right?
"This," Lanz bellowed, "was found at the site of the assassination attempt. Your treachery is undeniable!"
Shock rippled through the entire family, unable to deny the claim. It was their family's emblem, indeed.
A heavy silence settled over the hall, thick with tension as every gaze fell on the incriminating crest.
Esme stared down at it, pensive.
Then, without hesitation, she reached out and picked it up.
Her hands closed around it. It was heavier than she expected.
The small action drew every eye. Even the Emperor shifted his gaze toward her.
The investigator sneered.
"What? Hoping it will vanish if you stare long enough?"
His expression sharpened. "Or perhaps you intend to destroy evidence?"
Murmurs instantly rose around her, and she quickly fell under scrutiny.
The Wynters panicked.
"Seraphine, don't speak!"
"Stay quiet!"
"You'll make it worse!"
Esme ignored them.
She turned the medallion over once more, lips pressed together in thought.
Then her gaze lifted, steady and unwavering.
"This is not ours," she said calmly.
The hall froze.
Even the Emperor's cold eyes lingered on her.