Elara sat by the window, her hands trembling slightly as she watched the sunlight spill across the marble floor. The world outside seemed calm — too calm — as if pretending nothing had changed.
But inside her, everything was chaos.
The memory of Mira's lifeless smile haunted her; Cale's betrayal burned like a wound that refused to close. She had trusted him — fought beside him — and he had buried a dagger in her back.
Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to breathe and calm herself.
She had to stay calm.
The past was gone. This world is her present now.
She is now the Elara of this world they are one now.
Closing her eyes, she tried to piece together the parts of the original owner's memories that the locket had shown her. They came in flashes — like dreams she had never lived but still remembered.
She saw a grand academy where young nobles learned to control their inner energy, the glowing patterns of spells formed into scrolls older than empires. People here didn't hide magic — they cultivated it, nurtured it, used it to extend their lives and strengthen their families' names.
But in these memories, her — the other Elara — had always been fragile. Her energy flow was unstable since birth, her health weak, her body too delicate for cultivation.
her mother had given her this locket before her death.
And her stepmother…
Elara's eyes narrowed.
She remembered the woman's sweet voice, her perfectly practiced smiles, her gentle touch in front of others — and the sharp, cold eyes that appeared only when no one else was watching.
The original Elara had feared her and her daughter. They mocked her, created trouble, whispered poison into the servants' ears. Yet, they could never truly harm her — because the General adored his daughter too much.
Her mother had died shortly after childbirth, and her older brother — her only real family — was away studying at a renowned magical academy.
Now, this body carried all of that pain, all of that fear.
But this — Elara — was not the same girl anymore.
A soft knock broke her thoughts.
"Come in," she said quietly.
The door opened, and a young maid hurried in — her face pale, eyes full of concern.
"Lady Elara! You shouldn't be out of bed," the maid said, rushing to her side. "You fainted again this morning. The General was worried sick."
Elara studied her for a moment. Something about the girl's eyes — soft brown and honest — stirred a faint memory from the original's mind.
"Lina…" she murmured, recognizing her name.
The maid nodded quickly. "Yes, my lady. It's me. You remember?"
Elara smiled faintly. "I do. You've always been loyal to me, haven't you?"
Lina lowered her gaze, her voice trembling. "I grew up beside you, my lady. My mother served your mother before she passed. You're like family to us."
A warm ache filled Elara's chest — not from pain, but from something gentler.
"Lina," she said softly, "tell me something truthfully. Do you trust the Lady of the House?"
The girl froze, her hands twisting in her apron. "My lady… please, you shouldn't ask such things."
"Answer me."
Lina swallowed hard. "I—I don't know what to say. But please… be careful. The mistress and her daughter came to your chamber yesterday while you were unconscious. They told the others they were 'checking on you,' but…"
"But?"
Lina's voice dropped to a whisper. "They told the maids to burn your old clothes and change the locks to your study."
Elara's expression turned cold.
So something had already begun.
After Lina left, Elara rose from bed slowly, her body still weak but her mind clear. She walked to the desk where a small leather-bound book lay tucked beneath a stack of letters — the original Elara's diary.
Its pages smelled faintly of jasmine and ink.
Most of it was filled with innocent things — thoughts about her brother, her father's return, the loneliness of the manor. But near the end, the handwriting grew shaky, the words darker.
"I think something strange is happening . The tea tastes strange lately. I can't tell Father… he won't believe me. but I had always drank that tea it feels strange .Mother used to say if something happens you will find a solution in the eastern tower."
Elara's heart pounded.
"The eastern tower…" she whispered, tracing the words with her finger.
The locket against her chest pulsed — a gentle warmth spreading across her skin, as if agreeing with her.
She closed the diary, her resolve hardening.
"I couldn't save Mira," she murmured. "But I can't let this girl's story end the same way."
She turned toward the window. The sky outside was streaked with crimson and gold — beautiful, but heavy with warning.
Thunder rumbled in the distance..