The morning sun spilled softly through the half-open window.
For the first time since his arrival, Crown Prince Kael was awake — truly awake.
His cold, silver gaze met Liora's as she mixed herbs beside his bed, the faint scent of lotus and sage in the air.
"You've been watching me all night," he said, voice low and husky.
Liora's hand stilled mid-stir.
"I was making sure you didn't die," she replied, masking her nerves.
"That's what you said last time too."
Her breath hitched. "Last time?"
Kael's lips quirked faintly. "In a dream, perhaps. I saw you standing by my bed, just like this… saying those same words."
He leaned forward slightly, his sharp features illuminated by morning light.
Liora stepped back, clutching the bowl tighter — every instinct screaming to run, but something deeper rooting her in place.
As Kael reached to adjust his robe, she caught a glimpse of his bare chest — and froze.
Just below his heart, a thin scar ran diagonally across his ribs — the same scar she'd left with a blade in her previous life.
It shouldn't exist.
Not in this world.
Not in this lifetime.
"Where… did you get that?" she whispered.
Kael glanced down casually. "This? Old wound. I don't remember how. They say I was attacked as a boy."
Liora's world tilted.
That scar was carved by her own trembling hands the night she'd confronted him before her death — when she'd realized he was the traitor.
Her dagger had struck that exact spot.
"You're pale," Kael said softly. "Did I say something to frighten you?"
She shook her head, forcing her voice steady.
"No, Your Highness. Just… a healer's concern."
But when she reached out to check his bandages, her fingers brushed the scar — and the room shimmered.
A wave of silver light burst between their skin.
Images flashed before her eyes — the Blood Moon, the poisoned chalice, her dying breath, his tear-streaked face.
Kael gasped too, clutching his chest.
"What—what was that?"
Liora stumbled back, trembling. "It's… impossible."
Their eyes met, both wide with the same unspoken fear.
For the first time, Liora saw confusion in his gaze — but beneath it, something else. Recognition. Longing. Guilt.
"Who are you, Elara?" he asked, voice cracking. "Why do I remember dying with you?"
The room fell silent except for the sound of their racing hearts.
Outside, the wind howled again — carrying with it the whisper of a curse neither could escape.