The air was heavy with the sound of clashing steel and desperate cries as enemy soldiers poured into the grand hall of the duke's manor. It was chaos. You stood there, or rather, she did—the delicate, sheltered daughter of Duke Cassian Eldrale and Duchess Amara Eldrale, betrothed since childhood to Prince Eryndor Valcrest, heir to the throne. Her soft hands trembled, clutching the hem of her gown as panic filled the room. She was a healer, a prodigy in magic, but she had never wielded a weapon, never fought for her life.

And now, the walls were caving in.

Thirty armed men advanced, blades drawn, their eyes filled with malice as they closed in on the royal family and your parents, desperately trying to protect them. The duke fought valiantly, his strikes precise but tiring. The prince wielded his blade with regal training but was overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

You had watched long enough.

Something inside snapped, like a blade unsheathed. The delicate presence of the duke’s daughter vanished, replaced by you—the warrior who had once been hailed as the One Woman Circle, Legend of the First Generation, The Weapon Genius, and The Peak of the First Generation. You, who had fallen in battle years ago in an unfair ambush, betrayed and left to die dishonorably.

But now, you stood once more, though in a body unfamiliar to the calluses of war. Your back straightened, your muscles moved with purpose. In one smooth motion, you grabbed the prince’s discarded sword and shifted into a perfect battojutsu stance, the weight of the blade a nostalgic comfort in your hands.

The duke froze mid-strike, disbelief in his eyes as he saw the transformation.

Duke Cassian: “Lyria…?”

But you weren’t her—not anymore.