The morning sun spilled gently through the tall arched windows of Lysira Valenheart's bedchamber, casting soft pools of light over embroidered silks and polished marble. The palace was waking with its usual hum , distant footsteps on stone corridors, the murmur of servants preparing for the day, and the faint clink of armor being checked in the armory. Yet inside Lysira's room, everything remained quiet, save for the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusted the sleeves of her training tunic.
She sat at her vanity, hands folded lightly on her lap, staring past her reflection. Her pale skin and white hair framed a face that had already begun to carry the subtle weight of responsibility. It was not the light-hearted girl who once slept late, laughed with her handmaidens, or worried about the petty intrigues of court. The awakening had changed something fundamental within her, not just the surge of power in her soul core, but the memories flooding back, layering experience over innocence.
Her handmaid, Celyne, entered quietly, carrying Lysira's polished sword and a fresh water jug for the morning ritual. The girl moved with practiced care, her eyes flicking to Lysira with something like cautious curiosity.
"Your Highness," Celyne said softly, setting the sword down on the table. "Are you feeling well this morning?"
Lysira blinked, turning fully toward her. "I'm fine," she answered, voice steady. "Thank you."
Celyne hesitated a moment. "You've been… different since the awakening. Quieter. More focused. The tutors are talking."
Lysira gave a small, noncommittal smile. "That is to be expected."
The maid nodded and left, leaving Lysira alone with the weight of unseen memories.
Later, in the palace training hall, Lysira's tutors awaited her arrival. The space was filled with polished wood floors, racks of practice weapons, and banners bearing the empire's crest. Master Elhar, a stern man with silvering hair and sharp eyes, stood beside the sword rack, arms crossed.
"Princess," he said formally as she entered. "You're early today."
Lysira inclined her head. "I prefer to start before the others."
Elhar gestured toward the practice dummies arranged in a line. "Very well. Show me your form."
Without hesitation, Lysira drew her blade. Her movements were swift, precise , every swing, parry, and step executed with the practiced skill of a seasoned warrior. The Virellian flow, known for its blend of elegance and lethality, unfolded seamlessly beneath her hands.
Elhar watched closely. "Your form is… unusual for someone so young."
Lysira lowered her sword but held his gaze. "I have trained consistently since I was a child."
He frowned thoughtfully. "That much is clear. But there's a confidence behind your strikes. One that suggests experience beyond mere lessons."
She said nothing. Experience born of memories no one in this palace could imagine.
Elhar sighed, shaking his head. "The Imperial Academy entrance exams are in two months. With your progress, I expect you will be well-prepared."
Lysira nodded. "I intend to be ready."
Outside the hall, nobles and servants whispered quietly. Word had spread that the Emperor's youngest daughter was mastering swordplay at an astonishing rate. Her elder sisters were already students at the Academy , one in her third year, the other a second-year. Lysira's upcoming attempt at the exams was both expected and watched closely.
Among those watching was a young nobleman, the eldest son of Duke Drevan, currently a third-year at the Academy. His reputation preceded him , skilled but arrogant, with a well-known rivalry against his own younger brother, Kael. The two had clashed over more than just politics; old wounds and family expectations ran deep.
Kael himself paid little mind to such court gossip. His focus was elsewhere. The politics of the empire, the power plays between noble houses , they all felt distant and hollow compared to the memories of a life filled with real battles, real losses.
In the private training yard of House Drevan, Kael's sword struck the wooden dummy with controlled force. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dampened his silver hair. His muscles burned, but his movements were precise and unrelenting. Unlike his older brother at the Academy, Kael carried no interest in climbing the political ladder. He trained for strength and endurance, pushing to increase the raw power behind his soul core.
A servant called out quietly, "Master Kael, your father requests your presence in the study."
Kael didn't respond immediately, focusing on his next strike. The servant waited, then repeated, "The Duke wishes to speak with you."
Kael sheathed his sword and followed silently.
Inside the Duke's study, tall shelves lined the walls with maps and tomes. His father regarded him steadily. "Your elder brother has taken a keen interest in your progress," the Duke continued. "He's well established at the Academy, and soon you will join him. It is tradition, and expectation."
Kael met his father's eyes evenly. "I will do as I must."
The Duke's expression hardened but he said no more. The door closed behind him.
Back in her chambers, Lysira wrapped the velvet scarf around her wrist, the fabric cool beneath her fingers. She did not expect understanding or sympathy from the court. The past was hers alone.
But in this life, she would face the trials ahead on her own terms.
The Imperial Academy entrance exams would test every awakened child, noble or not. For Lysira and Kael, the coming months promised challenges, not of politics or intrigue, but of power, endurance, and the quiet hope that perhaps, this time, they could live the lives they'd once dreamed of.