The sword glinted in the dark before Lucien could stop it. Pain tore through him as the blade slashed diagonally across his chest; blood burst forth.
And there stood Tristan, gripping the hilt.
—
Lucien jerked upright with a gasp, his hand flying to his chest. His breath came in ragged pulls, and his clothes clung to his sweat-slicked skin. He lifted his ivory silk pajamas, revealing a lean teenage torso crisscrossed with jagged scars.
No fresh wound, but the gash on his abdomen had now turned into another scar among many.
"…a dream…" he muttered.
Sighing in relief, he sank back onto the bed. His eyes drifted to the canopy's painting overhead—two knights on horseback clashing—as he steadied his breath. It seemed that meeting with Tristan had left a deep impression on him, severe enough to twist into a nightmare.
Exhaling slowly, he glanced sideways—then froze as a mirror caught his reflection. A teenager lay reflected on the bed, cerulean eyes staring back at him. He lifted a hand to his face. The figure in the glass mirrored the motion.
It took him less than a second to grasp the truth. "So, I've truly become Lucien, huh?"
If memory served, Lucien was Tristan's half-brother, two years younger. Both were heirs to the Solairé Empire. However, there wasn't much information about Lucien—he'd already been dead by the time the story began, fated to die at the hands of the protagonist: Tristan.
'But… why did he save him?'
Was it because there were too many people around for Tristan to kill him then and there?
His brow furrowed as he recalled the worry etched across Tristan's face. He had to admit, Tristan had the talent to be an actor.
Dismissing the thought, Lucien scanned the surroundings. The opulence felt alien to him: gilded rococo furniture gleamed under sunlight pouring through arched windows, casting golden pools across the marble floor—a room befitting a prince.
He swung his legs off the bed and headed for the window, but the creak of the door stopped him. An elderly butler stepped inside and froze, his grey eyes widening as their gazes crossed.
"Your Highness…?" he faltered, then his voice boomed, "His Highness has awakened! Summon the physician and inform Their Majesties at once!"
Footsteps pattered down the hall as maids scattered at his command.
The man hurried to Lucien's side. "Your Highness, you mustn't strain yourself," he said, offering his hand. "Let us return to your bed."
Lucien stared at the outstretched hand before meeting his gaze, asking indifferently. "Who are you?"
The butler stiffened, brows furrowing. "P-pardon?"
"Who are you?" Lucien repeated.
Yet, instead of answering, the man gawked at him as if he'd seen the sun rise from the west.
"Her Majesty the Empress is entering!" a blaring voice interrupted, shifting their attention to the entrance.
A blonde-haired woman in an ornate gown, trailed by several ladies-in-waiting, swept into the room. Her bloodshot cerulean eyes brimmed with tears, relief etched on her features.
The elderly butler bowed respectfully and stepped aside. Lucien held her gaze. A whirlwind of emotions—grief, guilt—swelling inside him, though he couldn't grasp the cause.
When his vision blurred, Lucien blinked hard, only for the world to tilt. "Huh?"
"Argh!" Pain lanced through his skull, driving him to his knees, hands clutching his head. The agony seared as countless images flickered at the edges of his consciousness.
"Lucien!" A woman's despair cry rang out before a blinding light flashed into his eyes, obliterating everything in white. The world vanished along with his pain.
…
"Lucien?" The previous voice echoed softly in the void.
He opened his eyes, and colors surged into a sea of smiling faces. Jubilant cheers and lively music filled the air as he sat atop a luxurious open carriage, drawn by four majestic horses. Confetti swirled, vibrant banners fluttered under the warm sunlight—a grand parade.
Confusion veiled his mind at the abrupt shift in reality, yet the scene stirred a strange sense of déjà vu. Amid the surrounding euphoria, a chilling tide of fear crept in, and his heart hammered against his ribs.
'I… can't move my body…'
No matter how hard he strained, his body refused to obey. He couldn't move or speak, like a helpless spectator in Lucien's skin.
"Lucien?" the voice called again.
Lucien turned to find the Empress sitting beside him, smiling tenderly in an elegant peach gown adorned with glittering jewels.
She reached out, fingers gliding gently through his son's hair. "Does this festivity bore you?"
Lucien shook his head. "No, it's just—"
"Neigh!" A deafening whinny split the air, whipping their heads around—the horses were already upon them.
A tremendous force slammed and hurled Lucien onto the cobblestone floor. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth as he tumbled, pain flaring with each impact; the world a chaotic blur. Sprawling on the ground, trembling, his vision flickered like scattered fireflies, the sounds muffled and distant.
"…Luce! …help! Physician!" Tristan's frantic voice broke through as he lifted Lucien into his arms.
Blinking through the haze, Lucien's gaze landed on a white-haired man cradling the Empress in the distance, a wooden shard protruding from her chest. Blood soaked her dress, pooling beneath her lifeless form.
"N-no…" Lucien's voice croaked, tears hot on his cheeks, heart beating wildly. His trembling hand reached for her, only to fall limp. "Mo…ther…"
His chest heaved, tears blurring his vision before the world faded to black, pulling his consciousness with it.
…
"…something!"
"…the Prince…"
"…in pain…!"
"…memories… trauma…"
Jumbled voices stirred Lucien awake, his vision kaleidoscopic. His mind felt sluggish, and his body was slick with sweat. He tried to lift a finger, and relief washed over him, knowing he had regained control of Lucien's body. The experience of being reduced to nothing more than a helpless soul traumatized him.
He never wanted to go through that again.
However, a thought crept in: what if the real Lucien's soul was still trapped within, silently suffering the same helplessness?
A bad taste permeated his mouth, compelling him to shove the thoughts aside.
Turning toward the noises beside his bed, he saw the Empress and an elderly man in a white robe engaged in a heated discussion. Nevertheless, a flicker of unexplainable catharsis arose upon realizing the Empress was unharmed.
Sitting upright, Lucien held his head as dizziness struck him. When the stillness descended, he glanced sideways and found everyone present staring at him.
"Luce…" The Empress' face contorted in relief, tears cascading down her cheeks.
She threw herself and wrapped him in a tight embrace. Burying her face in his shoulder, wrenching sobs escaped her.
"My dear… my son…" her voice quivered with emotion.
Lucien felt conflicted, unsure of what to do; he had never encountered a situation like this before. Still, his heart ached to see her crying like that.
Were Lucien's emotions clouding his judgment?
After all, he had no reason to feel such deep sorrow for someone he had just met.
After battling with hesitation, Lucien cradled her in his arms and gently patted her back. "Please don't cry. I'm all right."
Yet, instead of stopping, her tears flowed relentlessly. Sobs filled the room as she tightened her grip on his clothes, her hands trembling. The guilt gnawing at him now twisted into something deeper, heavier.
She… deserved the love of her real son, not the hollow comfort of a stranger in borrowed skin.
"His Majesty the Emperor, His Highness Prince Tristan, and Lord Samuel of the Silverfall are entering!" a voice reverberated into the room, grabbing everyone's attention.
Eight figures entered Lucien's chamber, prompting everyone present to bow and curtsey respectfully.
Leading the group was a middle-aged man with short white hair and crimson eyes, followed by a man with light brown hair and eyes, with Tristan beside him. All wore clothing that screamed of their high social standing. Five knights shadowed behind them.
Upon their arrival, the seven of them, excluding the white-haired man—presumably the Emperor—bowed reverently toward the Empress.
The Emperor fixated on the crying Empress and Lucien, then turned to the Physician. "How is my son?"
"His Highness has been stabilized. However, as a result of the traumatic event, Prince Lucien appears to have suffered memory loss—"
"What?! How is that possible?!" Tristan exclaimed, disbelief lacing his voice and features.
The Emperor raised his hand, signaling Tristan not to interfere. "Can you devise a solution?"
The Physician shook his head apologetically, "I fear such a feat is beyond my capability. While blood manipulation can, indeed, hasten the healing process, memories reside in the mind, not the blood, and cannot be mended by physical means."
"…I see," the Emperor murmured thoughtfully, his hands clenched tightly.
"How can this be…?" Tristan muttered, barely audible.
Tristan glanced at him, frustration painted on his face, teetering on the edge of fear. But his figure was obscured as the Emperor approached Lucien.
Sitting beside the Empress, he offered him a warm smile and gently stroked his hair, "Don't worry. Everything will be all right. Your memory will return."
With the last sob, the Empress released him and wiped away her tears. Rising to her feet, she faced the Emperor with an indifferent demeanor. "Lucien must rest. Please, return."
Silence.
The Emperor said nothing and stared at his wife with an indescribable expression. The atmosphere grew dramatically heavy and suffocating with tension as their eyes remained locked.
People exchanged nervous glances. Of course, they weren't foolish enough to miss the simmering rage beneath the surface. Though Lucien didn't know the inside story, he could tell it was far from trivial.
After what felt like an eternity, the Emperor eventually broke the silence with a long and deep sigh. Standing before her and staring fearlessly into her cerulean eyes, he spoke with an icy tone, "My wife is right, Lucien must rest."
The Emperor glanced at him once more before marching toward the entrance. Those present instinctively bowed as he passed, and three knights quickly positioned themselves behind him.
Tristan—whose eyes still lingered on him—stepped forward and mustered a strained smile, asking apprehensively, "Dear brother, is there a chance you might… remember me?"
He held his gaze apathetically before shaking his head. "I apologize, but I'm only familiar with your name."
Tristan froze, his face dyed with disbelief, as though the world crumbled. "I… I see." After a brief pause, he forced out a smile. "Then, I wish you a swift recovery, my dear brother. Please rest well."
Lucien nodded curtly, "Thank you."
With a final bow toward the Empress, Tristan and Samuel, accompanied by their knights, made their way to the entrance. Tristan cast a last worried glance at him before vanishing behind the door.
Lucien clicked his tongue mentally. Had he not read the novel before being thrown into this world, he might have undoubtedly believed Tristan was a truly caring brother.
The Empress whirled to the elderly butler. "Sanchez, please prepare a basin of warm water for my son's bath."
"As you wish, Your Majesty. Is there anything else you require?"
While the Empress conversed with Sanchez and the Physician, his mind drifted back to the glimpse he had seen. Given the severity of the Empress's wound, she was unquestionably dead on the spot.
Yet, here she stood, alive and well, so it couldn't have been a recollection of Lucien's memories. This left only one conclusion: it was a vision of the future. If that was the case, it perfectly aligned with the plot: just like her son, the Empress died before the story began.
But… why did he suddenly see a sight of the future?
An Extra like him, no less?
Not only that, but the fact that he couldn't control Lucien's body during the vision—did that mean the real Lucien would eventually regain control of this body, leaving his soul trapped inside?
He clutched his head at the surge of an unbearable headache. As if being thrown into the novel and fated to be killed by his half-brother wasn't bad enough, now he had to contend with the soul of 'the real' Lucien.
Whether Tristan ended his life or his body was overtaken, it seemed he was destined to perish either way, huh?