Merope’s first morning at Reinhard’s residence began with sunlight falling softly through the guest room curtains.
The room was far more luxurious than anything she could have ever imagined, featuring a bed with fine, crisp sheets and a large wardrobe that, until last night, had been completely empty.
She sat on the edge of the mattress, gazing around with half-sleepy eyes, trying to digest the reality of it all—that she now had a name, a temporary shelter, and two people who, despite having known them for barely a day, were already willing to protect her from a world clearly not ready to accept her.
”Merope,” she murmured softly, testing the name on her tongue just as she had last night, enjoying the sound of it to her own ears.
A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
A maid appeared, bowing politely.
”Good morning, Merope-sama.
Reinhard-sama and Felt-sama are waiting in the dining room.”
Merope blinked upon hearing the honorific.
The suffix -sama felt far too grand for someone who had only learned her own name the night prior.
Even so, she managed a small nod and a faint smile, following the maid down a hallway that still felt completely foreign to her.
The dining room was already filled with the rich aroma of toasted bread and warm soup when she arrived.
Felt was lounging lazily in her chair, chewing a piece of bread with none of the traditional formalities.
”Morning,” Felt greeted the moment she saw her, lifting her chin toward the empty seat across the table.
“Sit. Eat first.”
Merope pulled out a chair and sat down, tilting her head in curiosity.
“Where is Reinhard?”
”He got called away by what’s-his-name—oh right, the Council of Wise Men or something,” Felt replied.
”What is the Council of Wise Men?”
”Well, simply put, they’re the greybeards running this kingdom,” Felt answered, speaking lazily between bites of bread.
“He got summoned early this morning because apparently, there’s a new Dragon Prophecy.”
”Dragon Prophecy?” Merope repeated, her brow furrowing as she tried to comprehend a concept completely alien to her.
Felt sighed, setting her bread down on the plate.
“The Dragon Stone is basically a relic that shows visions of the kingdom’s future. When something shifts dramatically there, it usually means a massive storm is brewing. That’s why the elders immediately rushed to pull in heavyweights like Reinhard for an emergency meeting—or, well… to deal with problems like you.”
Merope blinked.
“A problem… like me?”
”Not a bad problem,” Felt hurried to clarify, realizing her tone might have sounded harsher than intended.
“I just mean… someone like you, appearing out of nowhere with unusual powers and a face that sends people into a panic—that’s not something the higher-ups can just sweep under the rug. Sooner or later, someone’s going to start asking questions.”
Merope looked down at her bowl, stirring the soup slowly without any real intention of eating.
“So… I have to hide? Forever?”
”Not quite like that,” Felt said, sighing as she leaned back in her chair.
“Reinhard is trying to figure out a way to give you an identity that—how do I put it?—people will actually accept. So you don’t have to keep dodging shadows like stolen goods.”
”An identity…” Merope repeated softly, struggling to grasp the nuance.
“You mean I have to pretend to be someone else?”
”Not entirely a lie,” Felt replied, offering a casual shrug.
“More like… crafting a narrative people can swallow. Because if you walk out there and honestly say, ‘I woke up in ancient ruins with total amnesia and a face resembling a legendary witch,’ people are going to treat you like an existential threat right out of the gate.”
Merope fell silent, absorbing the gravity of those words.
For the first time since waking up, she began to realize just how complex the world she had entered truly was—a place where simple, unvarnished honesty could turn deadly.
”Alright,” she finally said, nodding slowly.
“I trust you guys. If that’s what’s best for everyone, I’ll do it.”
Felt stared at her for a moment, genuinely surprised by how readily the girl placed her complete trust in two people she had only just met.
Yet, looking into those deep blue eyes, she saw a purity so absolute that it completely disarmed any lingering doubt.
”Well,” Felt muttered, biting back into her bread, “just take it easy for now.
Reinhard will sort out the details with the Council of Elders.
You just focus on eating your fill and try not to make anything float without permission.”
Merope let out a soft chuckle, the oppressive atmosphere lifting just a fraction.
“Okay, okay. I promise.”
Reinhard’s Perspective
Reinhard entered the palace with his characteristic, calm stride, though his mind remained halfway across the city—left behind at the residence with a girl resting after a chaotic day, and anchored by a promise to shield her from a world that had not yet learned how to accept her.
The council chamber awaited him the moment the heavy doors swung open.
The kingdom’s elder statesmen were seated in a rigid row with taut, tense expressions, and standing among them was Chief Commander Marcos, looking equally grim.
Reinhard bowed his head politely.
“Why have you summoned me at this hour?”
”We have received a prophecy from the Dragon Stone that has thrown the entire court into turmoil!” Bordeaux replied, his voice vibrating with a nervous mix of anxiety and excitement—the typical tone that preceded a major crisis.
”Turmoil?” Reinhard echoed, raising an eyebrow slightly while maintaining his outer composure.
”Indeed,” Miklotov stepped forward, his voice more measured yet undeniably grave.
“The Dragon Stone has revealed a new revelation—the number of royal candidates has unexpectedly shifted from five to six.”
For a fraction of a second, the room seemed to freeze around Reinhard.
The number six—not five, as the entire nation had believed since the Royal Selection commenced—echoed in his mind.
Before he could stop them, his thoughts raced straight toward the platinum-haired girl currently resting at his estate, a girl wielding powers even he could not fully explain.
”Six,” Reinhard murmured, more to himself than to the assembly.
“Did the Dragon Stone specify who this sixth candidate is?”
”We do not know her name,” Miklotov answered, “but the vision depicts a young girl with deep blue eyes and platinum hair.”
Time seemed to grind to a halt.
That description—so precise, so undeniable, matching the exact profile of the girl sleeping under his roof—made Reinhard’s chest tighten with a mixture of dread and cold certainty.
He kept his face perfectly composed, though a storm of questions immediately began tearing through his mind.
Was this a mere coincidence?
Or did the world itself, through the ancient artifact that had guided Lugnica for centuries, already know the true identity of the girl he had saved yesterday?
”I see,” Reinhard replied, keeping his voice steady through sheer willpower.
“Were there any other details attached to the prophecy?”
Bordeaux and Miklotov exchanged brief, hesitant glances.
Beneath his calm exterior, Reinhard braced himself, knowing the next revelation would drag both his life and Merope’s into an inescapable vortex.
”She is the sister of the witch from four hundred years ago,” Miklotov stated, his voice heavy as if weighing the sheer weight of the syllables, “though which witch remains unknown.”
A profound, suffocating silence descended upon the room.
To the elders, the sentence was nothing short of apocalyptic—the sister of a witch, appearing out of nowhere, potentially wielding powers just as catastrophic as any of the infamous Witches of Sin.
For Reinhard, however, the blow landed far heavier.
Standing in absolute stillness, the pieces clicked agonizingly into place: the sheer terror the girl’s face had inflicted on an entire village, her immunity to magic and spirit arts, and now, the official decree of the Dragon Stone declaring her lineage.
A witch’s sister…
Reinhard slowly clenched his fist beneath the folds of his cloak, the only visible sign of the tempest raging within him.
”I understand,” he said finally, his voice strictly controlled.
“What does the council expect of me regarding this?”
”We want you to locate her,” Miklotov instructed.
Reinhard paused, weighing his words with extreme care before speaking.
”With all due respect,” he said, offering a slight bow, “it appears I have already found the sixth candidate.”
The silence that followed shifted instantly.
The nervous tension evaporated, replaced by a wave of pure, unadulterated shock rippling through the room.
”You have already found her?!” Bordeaux shouted, his voice cracking as he half-rose from his seat.
Miklotov, though maintaining more composure, narrowed his eyes, studying Reinhard with intense calculation.
“Reinhard—rumor has it you were also the one responsible for discovering the fifth candidate.”
”Yes,” Reinhard confirmed quietly.
“I found her.”
Bordeaux and Miklotov exchanged looks once more, this time driven by a growing sense of uneasy reassurance.
The fact that both anomalous candidates had been discovered by the same man—a knight of unwavering loyalty and unmatched capability—provided a fragile anchor amid their panic.
”In that case,” Miklotov declared, his tone shifting back to official business, “bring both candidates to the opening of the Royal Selection one week from today.”
Reinhard bowed his head in obedience.
“Understood.”
Yet deep within his heart, behind the serene mask he wore for the world to see, a crushing new burden settled.
How was he supposed to tell Merope—a girl who barely understood the world she had awakened into—that in less than seven days, she would be thrust before the entire kingdom as a contender for the throne of Lugnica?
…..
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