"Don't… don't touch them…" Eleanor's voice came out weak, barely more than a strangled whisper.
Darkness pressed in from every direction, thick and suffocating as though even the air had decided not to move. The sharp smell of iron filled her senses, mixing with something worse. Something undeniable.
The smell of death.
She tried to move, but her body wouldn't cooperate. Her hands trembled as they met the cold, wet floor beneath her.
"Wake up, Eleanor." Another voice distant, yet somehow right beside her. "You're already too late."
A dim light began to surface slowly, shapes forming into something real. The grand hall that should have been magnificent was destroyed. Curtains torn. The floor stained dark. A silence so heavy it pressed against her chest.
Eleanor looked ahead, and her breath stopped.
The figures were there, lying still.
"Father… Mother…" Her voice broke apart.
Duke Marcus lay motionless, blood pooling beneath him, his eyes open but empty. No life. No warmth. Nothing of the man she had always known.
Eleanor crawled toward him, her hands shaking as she reached out.
"No… this can't be…"
But the body was cold. Too cold.
Footsteps sounded from behind her slow, unhurried, completely at ease.
Eleanor froze.
"It's done," the voice said lightly.
She knew that voice.
Slowly, with every breath feeling like broken glass inside her chest, Eleanor turned.
Reginald stood there. His clothes were clean. His face was calm. As though none of this was anything at all.
"This is the price of your choices," he said.
Eleanor stared at him, her eyes wide and disbelieving. "You…."
But the words never finished, because another sound cut through.
A scream.
Eleanor spun around, and in the distance she saw another figure fall.
"Mira!" she cried.
Her loyal maid crumpled to the floor, blood spreading from her shoulder. Her face was pale, her eyes searching for Eleanor as though asking for something that could no longer be given.
Eleanor tried to stand, tried to run, but her legs refused to move.
As if the world itself was forcing her to watch.
"Why…?" she whispered.
Reginald took a few steps closer, his expression unchanged.
"Because you chose the wrong path."
The darkness swallowed everything again and the last voice she heard was… "All of this could have been avoided."
Eleanor woke gasping.
Her body was drenched in cold sweat, her hands gripping the sheets as though checking that the world beneath her was real.
The room was dark, lit only by moonlight through the window. But the feeling was still there, vivid and immediate, refusing to fade.
"Your Highness?" Mira's voice came from near the door, edged with panic.
Eleanor turned quickly, her eyes still carrying the last traces of fear that hadn't fully let go.
"I'm fine," she said though her voice wasn't entirely steady.
Mira approached carefully. "Another nightmare?"
Eleanor didn't answer right away.
She closed her eyes for a moment, working to slow her breathing, willing her heart to stop racing.
"Not a nightmare," she murmured.
Mira went quiet not fully understanding, but wise enough not to push.
Morning came without waiting for anyone to be ready.
The palace returned to its usual rhythm as though nothing had changed but for Eleanor, everything felt different. More urgent. More real.
"You look tired, Your Highness," a servant remarked while setting out breakfast.
Eleanor gave a small nod. "Just a poor night's sleep."
Across the table, Arthur watched her in silence.
He said nothing at first but his eyes didn't miss a single detail.
"You look like someone who just saw the future," he said finally.
Eleanor looked up, meeting his gaze directly. "Or the past," she replied quietly.
Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly. "Which one is more dangerous?"
Eleanor didn't smile. "Both."
That day, Eleanor moved faster than usual. She wasn't just listening anymore, she was asking, testing, gently pushing boundaries in ways that didn't look like pushing at all.
Every conversation became a tool. Every glance became a clue.
"You've changed, Your Highness," Mira said as they walked through a quiet corridor.
Eleanor didn't slow her pace.
"I just don't have time to hesitate anymore," she answered.
Mira watched her with quiet worry. "Is this because of the dream?"
Eleanor stopped briefly, then turned.
"It's about making sure the dream doesn't become reality."
Night fell again, and as always, the balcony was where they met.
But the atmosphere this time was different. Colder. Tighter.
"You're moving too fast," Arthur said, skipping any greeting.
Eleanor stood beside him, her gaze fixed on the distance.
"Not fast enough," she replied.
Arthur turned to her. "This isn't a game you can force."
Eleanor finally looked at him. "And it's not something I can afford to delay."
A silence settled between them, not the empty kind. The kind that's full of things neither person has said yet.
Arthur exhaled slowly. "You saw something."
Eleanor didn't deny it.
"Enough to know what happens if we're too late."
Arthur held her gaze longer than usual.
"You're not usually like this," he said.
Eleanor smiled faintly, with no warmth in it.
"Because I've never died before."
For the first time, Arthur went completely still.
No question. No deflection. No dry remark.
Just silence.
The night wind moved through quietly, carrying a tension that felt more real than anything before it.
"Then," Arthur said finally, his voice lower than usual, "we change the path."
Eleanor shook her head slightly. "Not change," she said quietly.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Then what?"
Eleanor looked straight ahead, her eyes sharp and without hesitation.
"We destroy it before it happens."
In the distance, the palace looked exactly as it always did grand, composed, full of secrets.
But Eleanor knew. Beneath all of that, something was already moving.
And this time, she was not going to be the one it moved over.
"Not anymore," she whispered.
Arthur glanced at her sideways. "You really have no intention of stepping back, do you?"
Eleanor smiled thin, quiet, certain. "There was never a way back to begin with."
The night stretched on in silence, but for Eleanor it felt louder than anything. Her mind was full of images that hadn't fully released their grip, fragments of the past pressing closer to the present with every hour.
She stayed at the balcony railing without moving, as though anchoring herself to a decision that could no longer be undone.
"What did you see? Who falls first?" Arthur asked quietly, and this time there was nothing easy in his voice.
Eleanor was silent for a moment before answering. "It's not about who falls first," she said softly. "It's about who doesn't make it at all."
The night wind swept through colder than before, lifting strands of her hair. She closed her eyes briefly, pulling back details too vivid to be called just a dream.
Arthur watched her without speaking, his expression unreadable.
"Then we're not just fighting a plan," he said slowly. "We're fighting something already in motion."
Eleanor opened her eyes, and her gaze was sharper than it had been all night.
"Which means we have no room for mistakes," she replied.
For a long moment they stood without words but the understanding between them had never been clearer.
Arthur finally exhaled. "Alright," he said.
Eleanor glanced at him. "What?"
Arthur smiled faint, but with a firmness behind it that he wasn't trying to hide.
"I'll stop holding back."