The moon cast its pale glow over the estate, its beams filtering through the glass-paneled windows of the Von Eldenhall residence. The once distant boy, now wrapped in the cloak of vengeance, walked silently through the halls. Derick's footsteps echoed softly against the polished marble as he passed his father's study, eyes flicking toward the closed door.
He wasn't supposed to be awake.
The night had been long, filled with the muffled hum of music and the smell of expensive wine. His father, Marquis Elric Von Eldenhall, had returned from yet another meeting at the ducal mansion. Meetings that left his father angrier, colder, and more withdrawn.
Derick knew the truth now. He remembered everything.
From the moment he opened his eyes in his thirteen-year-old body, he began observing. Listening. Learning. The second chance he was given wasn't for peace or comfort. It was for revenge. And he would carry it through—no matter what it cost him.
But revenge came with complications.
Her smile.
Liora.
The girl with silver-blonde hair that shimmered like moonlight, and warm hazel eyes that never quite dimmed despite her family's cruelty. She didn't belong to them. Not truly. She wasn't meant to be the shadow behind Seraphina's glare or the punching bag for her siblings' envy. She was kind. She was light.
And that was dangerous—for both of them.
He wasn't supposed to care. He wasn't supposed to feel warmth stir in his chest whenever she laughed. Or hesitate every time she reached for his hand.
Tonight, he nearly told her everything.
They had danced during the estate's midsummer gathering—a traditional celebration meant to honor the ancestors. Aristocrats filled the ballroom in gowns and gold, their false smiles barely hiding greed and pride. But for one fleeting moment, the world fell silent.
Liora had been radiant.
A soft blue gown draped over her form like water, her hair pulled into a loose twist, curls framing her face. And she had smiled at him.
"You're staring again," she whispered, teasingly, as they moved across the floor.
"I'm not," he had lied.
"You're a terrible liar, Derick," she giggled, softly.
He didn't respond. Couldn't. Every word caught in his throat as he held her hand just a second longer than he should have. His heart—damned traitorous thing—beat wildly in his chest.
He had leaned in. She didn't pull away.
And then he saw it—her reflection in the glass window beside them—smiling, radiant… and behind her, the ghost of a memory. Blood. Tears. Her lips whispering his name with her final breath.
He had pulled back just before their lips met.
Liora's smile faltered. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I... I just need some air."
She didn't follow him.
Now, hours later, Derick stood in the middle of the garden behind the estate. A cool breeze rustled the leaves, and the sky shimmered with stars. He drew in a shaky breath and sat on the edge of the stone fountain.
"I almost kissed her…" he whispered into the night.
But he couldn't. Not yet. Not while Vace and Seraphina still walked free. Not while the Duke's family continued their mask of nobility, pretending innocence while guilt dripped from their hands like ink on parchment.
Derick clenched his fists.
In his past life, he had hesitated.
He wouldn't make the same mistake again.
Liora sat curled up in bed, the edges of her dream slowly fading. But this time… it was different.
There was blood. Screams. And a boy.
A boy with dark blue eyes, bloodshot from crying. Holding her. Whispering her name.
Derick?
She sat upright, heart pounding.
It wasn't the first dream she'd had like this. For months now, fragmented visions would come to her in sleep—always in a different place, a different time. A battlefield. A rose garden. A storm.
And always… always him.
He never looked like the boy she knew. He was older. Hardened. But it was Derick. She could feel it. She always woke up with tears in her eyes and the echo of his voice in her head.
"Liora…"
Why?
Why did she feel like she had known him before?
The next morning, things were quiet.
Derick avoided Liora's gaze at breakfast. His siblings didn't seem to notice. Or care. They were busy talking about the upcoming noble tournament—the kind of event that brought together the kingdom's finest houses.
Derick barely listened.
His mind was elsewhere—on Seraphina. On Vace. On what came next.
Liora's eyes flicked toward him, her expression unreadable.
Later that afternoon, they crossed paths again in the stables. She had come to visit the horses—her one source of comfort in this cold estate. He was already there, brushing down Nightshade, his jet-black stallion.
"You've been avoiding me," she said simply, not moving any closer.
Derick paused, hand stilling. "I've been busy."
"With what?"
"Training. Reading. Watching our enemies from the shadows." He bit his tongue. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.
"Enemies?" she asked, her voice cautious.
He turned around. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
Their eyes met. For a second, he saw it again—her lifeless body, her soft smile, the warmth fading from her eyes. And he broke the gaze.
"I just… I don't want you involved. Not in this."
"Then maybe you should stop looking at me like I'm the only thing keeping you from falling apart," she said quietly. "Because I'm not stupid, Derick. Something's going on. I just don't know what."
Silence.
"I care about you," she added, almost a whisper.
"Don't," he said quickly. "Don't say that."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't afford to care back," he snapped. Then his voice softened. "Not now. Maybe not ever."
Liora didn't respond. Instead, she turned and walked away, her figure disappearing into the sunlight.
That night, Derick stood at the edge of the cliffs behind the estate. Wind whipped his coat around him, and the waves below crashed loudly, but his mind was filled only with one thought.
He had come back to change everything. To save his sister. To get revenge. But somehow, along the way, Liora had become part of the reason he fought so hard.
And that scared him.
He couldn't lose her again.
But if his heart softened… would he be strong enough to do what had to be done?