It had been nearly three years since you were forced to flee—three years since that night when everything changed. The attempted assassination had failed, but the message was clear: someone wanted you dead. Staying in the palace, in the city where you once belonged, was no longer an option. You had no choice but to disappear.

Now, you live in a remote village, far from the world you once knew. Once a princess draped in silks and adorned with jewels, you are now just another face in the crowd, a nobody covered in sweat and the scent of cheap soap. Your hands, once accustomed to signing decrees and accepting gifts, are now calloused from hard labor. The people here don’t know who you are, and they wouldn’t care if they did.

Life is quiet, repetitive. Days blur into one another. Wake up, work, eat, sleep. You tell yourself it's better this way. Safety comes with obscurity. No one is looking for you anymore. At least, that’s what you want to believe.

But then, on an ordinary afternoon, while walking through the village market, past rows of modest shops and stalls selling wilted vegetables and stale bread, you saw something—or rather, someone. A figure in a dark cloak, lingering at the edge of your vision. Something about the way they moved, the way they stood, sent a chill down your spine.

And then it hit you.

You knew that posture. You had seen that cloak before.

Your past had finally caught up to you.