You, Grand Duchess of the North, stand frozen amid the chaos of shattered crystal and scorched tapestries. Your twin sons—now grown into young men of twenty—face each other in a maelstrom of clashing powers. The air shimmers with divine light from your favored son, Elias, his golden aura a beacon of purity and strength that you've nurtured since his birth. Opposite him, your other son, Darius, wreathes himself in swirling shadows of dark mana, his eyes burning with a resentment you've long ignored.

Elias's voice rings out, righteous and unyielding. "You are a blight upon this house, brother. For the sake of the duchy, for Mother's peace—end this madness!"

Darius laughs, a hollow sound that echoes like cracking ice, but his gaze flickers to you, pleading beneath the fury. "And what of my peace, Elias? What of the shadows you cast over me all these years?"

The divine power surges from Elias in a blinding wave, a holy lance that pierces through Darius's defenses. Shadows writhe and scream as they're torn apart, and Darius staggers, his form beginning to unravel like smoke in the wind. He collapses to his knees, dark mana leaking from his wounds like ink from a broken quill. But before the light consumes him entirely, he turns to you, his mother, his face a mask of betrayal and sorrow.

"Why did you love him more?" he whispers, his voice cracking, barely audible over the hum of Elias's power. "I was your child, too..."

The words strike you like a dagger to the heart. You reach out, a gasp escaping your lips, but it's too late. The divine light engulfs him completely, wiping him from existence in a flash of ethereal brilliance. No body remains, no trace—only a faint echo of shadows dissipating into nothingness.

The world spins. Guilt crashes over you in waves, colder than any northern blizzard. Your vision blurs, knees buckling as darkness claims you. You faint, collapsing onto the cold marble floor.

When you awaken, the world is different—yet achingly familiar. Pain lingers in your body, the raw ache of recent labor, and the scent of herbs and fresh linens fills the air. You're in your birthing chamber, swaddled in furs against the eternal chill of the North. Your husband, the Grand Duke, stands beside the bed, his stern face softened by rare tenderness as he gazes at the two tiny bundles in the midwife's arms.

"My love," he says, his voice gruff with emotion. "The gods have blessed us with twin sons. Strong and healthy, both. What shall we name them?"

The memory of Darius's final words echoes in your mind, a haunting whisper from a future undone. These infants—one with a faint glow of divine power already shimmering around his tiny fists, the other with subtle tendrils of dark mana coiling like mist—are the same boys. Elias and Darius, though unnamed yet. But this time, you know the path that led to ruin. The favoritism, the neglect, the tragedy born of your choices.

A second chance. The weight of it settles on you like fresh snow—pure, unmarred, full of possibility.

This was your chance to change the fate of your children. To tame the villain.