Chapter 18: The Start of the First Arc of the First Game (End)
The golden corridors of Eden's Royal Academy unfolded like a quiet dream under the morning sun, their high ceilings curving gentle as the inside of a vast shell, letting light spill in soft waves from tall windows framed in carved stone. Mana lamps along the walls hummed low, their blue glow rippling faint over the smooth marble floors, like water catching the sky's reflection. Students wandered the halls in loose groups, their voices a mix of soft laughs and easy talk— that fresh spark of being young and safe again after the scare of the day before. The air smelled clean, like rain-washed earth mixed with the faint sweet hint of flowers from the open gardens nearby.
But Lucian Azrael Von Blackstar moved through it all like a shadow passing through fog—steps light and sure, face blank as a calm sea, his dark eyes taking in nothing but the empty space ahead. He wasn't heading to the dorm rooms where kids dumped their bags and swapped stories of the raid, or the big gathering spots where friends hugged tight and promised to stick together. No, his feet knew the way from long ago, pulling him toward a spot that felt like a held breath in the middle of all the noise.
The music room.
A tucked-away corner of the academy where the world slowed down, where he'd found a taste of quiet in his first transmigration—back when life here still felt like something he could grab hold of.
He turned into a long side hall, empty except for the sun pouring through big windows that painted the floor in stripes of silver and gold. He could almost hear it already—the soft hush waiting inside, broken only by the piano's patient keys.
But halfway down, right at the last bend before the door, he stopped.
A soft pull tugged at him—not sound, but feeling. A glow of mana, warm and steady like sunlight on skin, brushing his senses light as a feather.
And then, she stepped into view.
Her steps came soft, her whole way of being pulling the eye without trying—dressed in the academy's white and gold uniform that fit her like it was made for her, her silver hair falling long and smooth, catching hints of blue in the light like frost on a clear winter day. Her gray eyes held a peace that felt almost too big for the room, calm and deep as a still lake.
Celestia Silveria Van Lumina.
The First Princess of the Lumina Empire. The hidden heroine of the game. And the woman who, in his first transmigration, had hated him down to his bones.
Lucian's feet planted still, his gaze landing on her—not wide-eyed or surprised, but with the quiet weight of remembering something old and done.
'So even here... fate loves its mean tricks,' he thought.
He took her in for a quiet second, seeing the easy grace she carried—the way her hair shone like fresh snow under sun, the way her uniform sat perfect on her slim build, like she was born to wear it. Most folks would say she looked like something holy, a goddess walking plain among people.
But as he looked, a small ache woke up in his chest, soft but there.
'Still,' he told himself inside, 'Seoryeon would always be my top one.'
His eyes went a little softer, just for a beat—the first time in days.
'Even if Celestia looks like a goddess, Seoryeon was more than that. She was winter itself... the clean beauty of frost and quiet... the snow that wouldn't give in, no matter how hard the sun beat down.'
The idea hung there a second, like a soft wind passing, then slipped back into the empty spot in his heart.
When he looked at her again, she was already watching him—unsure, holding back, but with something hungry in her eyes, like she was reaching for something lost.
"Lucian..." Her voice came out shaky soft, like a song half-sung, full of old feelings.
He didn't say a word.
She took a small step closer, her hands in white gloves twisted together tight. "It's been a while."
Lucian just tipped his head a bit. His voice stayed low, even. "Yeah."
Celestia waited, her lips opening like she wanted to say more, then pushing the words out anyway. "I... I wanted to say sorry. For before. For the things I said... and did."
Lucian kept quiet. His eyes didn't move, didn't warm up.
She kept going, words tumbling like an old hurt opening up fresh. "I was mean. I know it. I said stuff I had no right to. But I—" she bit her lip light, her voice catching like it hurt, "—I thought I knew it all back then. Thought I had everything figured out."
Her hands shook a little. "And now, seeing you again... I—"
Her voice cracked there, the perfect princess face breaking just a bit.
Lucian didn't budge, standing still as she let it all out, her feelings spilling like rain on dry ground that wouldn't soak it up.
In her eyes, he caught it—that pull, that guilt, something bigger than just saying sorry.
He'd seen eyes like that once before. But not here. Not in this life.
The memory hit him quick—her tears hot on his skin, her arms holding tight around his body as it went cold, her voice breaking over and over, calling his name like it could pull him back.
He'd been dying then. A hero who'd started as a villain. And she, the princess who'd hated him once, held his body like her whole world had ended.
Lucian dropped his eyes a touch, his voice so low it almost got lost. "...Why now?"
Celestia blinked fast, her gray eyes going wide. "What do you mean?"
He looked up at her again, face even but far off. "You never cared before. Not when it counted."
Her mouth opened, but nothing came. The quiet between them got thick, heavy with old hurts.
Lucian turned a little, like he was going to walk by her. "Nothing to say sorry for. The past is done."
Celestia pulled back sharp, like he'd slapped her. Her hand shot out quick, grabbing his sleeve.
"Please..." she said soft, almost begging. "Don't go yet."
He stopped.
Something in her voice—real and hurting—tugged at him light, like a string from way back.
Her fingers shook where they held on, her words coming out broke. "I know you hate me... and maybe that's fair. But when I saw you today—here, breathing—I felt..." She stopped, hunting for the right word. "Relief. And something more I can't put a name to."
Lucian turned his head slow, his dark eyes locking on her shaky ones.
There it was—that look again. That silent question. That feeling that jumped over time, worlds, and endings.
But he had nothing left to hand her.
Nothing to feel.
He took her hand off his sleeve gentle, like moving a fallen leaf. "Princess Celestia, you shouldn't look at me like that."
Her breath caught short. "...Like what?"
"The way people look at ghosts."
Her heart squeezed tight.
He stepped by her, his mana brushing hers faint—cold and away, like winter wind on warm skin.
"I'm not the guy you knew," he said quiet. "And even if I was... that guy died a long time ago."
Celestia stood stuck, her silver hair moving soft as his steps echoed down the hall.
"...Lucian..." she said under her breath, voice shaking, "then who are you now?"
He stopped, back to her, light making a thin outline around him like a faded picture.
After a long quiet, he said soft— "...Just someone who's tired of dying."
And with that, he kept walking, his steps getting smaller in the distance.
Celestia stood there by herself, her hand still shaking from where she'd touched him. Her eyes got shiny—not the bright princess shine, but the real, hurting kind from a girl who'd lost something she couldn't say out loud.
"...Then why," she said to the empty hall, tears starting at the edges of her eyes, "why does my heart hurt like I've lost you again?"