The sound of crackling fire filled the small wooden house. The faint scent of herbs and warm broth drifted through the air.
When Elzay opened her eyes, her vision blurred before settling on a rough wooden ceiling — so ordinary, so human, that her heart stopped for a second.
"...Elzay?!" a familiar voice gasped.
She turned her head weakly and saw a man in his late thirties rush to her side, his hands trembling as he touched her forehead. His eyes — tired but full of love — were brimming with tears.
"Thank the stars… you're awake," he whispered, voice cracking. "You've been out for three days. We thought—"
"Father?" her lips quivered.
He froze. The word hit him like sunlight after a storm.
"Yes, it's me," he said, brushing a strand of red hair from her face. "You fainted near the river. Your brother found you and carried you home."
Her brother?
Elzay's eyes darted to the other side of the room where a boy — barely sixteen — leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed but his eyes soft with worry.
"You scared us, dummy," he muttered. "Next time, don't wander off alone."
Elzay's breath caught. In her first life, both her father and brother had been executed — framed for treason by the very man she'd once called her prince.
But here they were. Alive. Breathing.
Her heart clenched so tightly she could barely speak.
"I… I'm sorry," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks before she could stop them.
Her father frowned, confused. "What's wrong? Does something hurt?"
"No… it's just—" her voice broke, "I missed you both."
They exchanged puzzled looks, but her father simply smiled, pulling her into a gentle embrace. His calloused hands, warm from years of working the forge, wrapped around her like a shield.
For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, Elzay allowed herself to cry — quietly, desperately — against her father's chest.
---
That night, when the house had gone quiet and her father's snores filled the room, Elzay sat by the window and stared at the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
The world outside was calm. Ordinary.
And yet her heart raced like thunder.
The last thing she remembered was her death — the Crown Prince's sword piercing through her chest, the taste of blood on her lips, and the echo of his voice:
> "You should've never been born, Elzay."
Now she was back. Younger. Weaker. Powerless.
Her reflection in the glass showed a pale girl with long crimson hair and eyes glowing faintly like rubies, trembling in the quiet dark.
"What is this…" she whispered. "A second chance?"
She looked around the room — the cracked walls, the tiny lamp flickering beside her bed, her brother's soft snoring in the next room.
Everything was so normal.
So painfully human.
She wasn't in a noble's mansion or an academy of power. She was back home — a commoner's daughter in a world where people like her never had a voice.
But this time, she wouldn't waste her life following others into ruin.
She clenched her fists.
"I won't let history repeat itself."
---
The next morning, the small house buzzed with noise. Her father was already at the forge, hammering metal with rhythmic precision, and her brother was carrying baskets of coal to the back.
When she stepped outside, the smell of earth and smoke greeted her like an old friend.
"Feeling better?" her brother asked without looking up.
"Yeah," Elzay said softly. "Thanks to you."
He shrugged. "You're still weird, though. Crying when you woke up."
Elzay smiled faintly. "Maybe I had a bad dream."
He looked up and snorted. "Well, you're awake now. So stop dreaming and help out before Dad yells."
She laughed — genuinely. For a brief moment, it almost felt like peace.
But deep in her chest, under the warmth of that ordinary morning, a faint light pulsed again — the same one she'd felt the night before.
When no one was looking, she raised her palm.
A shimmer of energy appeared, forming a faint silver circle etched with unknown symbols. Inside it, the outline of a gun flickered for a second before vanishing into mist.
Her heart pounded.
So it wasn't a dream.
Whatever power had brought her back, it had left something inside her — something not of this world.
Elzay stared at her trembling hand. "What… am I supposed to do with this?"
The wind blew softly, carrying the scent of ash and lilies.
And somewhere, far away in the imperial capital, a young prince with red hair and golden eyes stood before a burning target, his hand still trembling from the fire magic he could barely control.
Both of them were alive again.
And fate had already begun to turn.