The storm outside mirrored the chaos inside Lucien's heart.
Raindrops lashed against the tall windows of Ravencroft Manor as he stood alone in the library, hands clasped behind his back, staring into the flames dancing in the hearth. The warmth of the fire couldn't thaw the cold clenching in his chest.
He had spent weeks trying to change the script—refusing war, earning Eiran's reluctant trust, and slowly rewriting the villain's tale. But something was off. Pieces were moving behind his back, too precisely, too purposefully. Someone else was playing the game now.
Behind him, the doors creaked open.
He didn't need to turn.
He felt him.
Eiran.
"Should I be worried," the prince said, voice low, "that the infamous Duke Ravencroft has taken to brooding alone in the dark?"
Lucien allowed a small smile to tug at his lips but didn't move. "Only if you believe brooding is contagious."
Eiran stepped closer. The soft thud of his boots on the carpeted floor was the only sound beside the thunder. He stopped just a few feet behind Lucien, the heat of his presence brushing across the duke's back.
"You've been distant," Eiran said. "Even more than usual."
Lucien's throat tightened. "You know why."
"I want to hear it from you."
Lucien turned slowly, meeting the prince's piercing gaze. Eiran looked tired—troubled—but determined. His blue tunic was damp at the shoulders, his hair tousled by the storm.
"You've asked me to trust you," Lucien said, voice low, "but there are truths I cannot share without breaking that very trust."
"Try me."
There was a flicker of emotion in Eiran's eyes. Pain. Frustration. Hope.
Lucien stepped back. "If I tell you what I know… you might hate me."
"I already did, once," Eiran whispered. "I don't think it could ever be worse than that."
Lucien exhaled shakily. "Fine. But not here."
---
They moved to the inner sanctum of the manor—a hidden chamber beneath the library floor, accessible only through a sealed mechanism Lucien had discovered in his second week in this world.
There were scrolls here. Maps. Secrets.
And a mirror.
Not an ordinary one.
It shimmered faintly, as if alive. The Mirror of Ilithor—said to show not your face, but your fate.
Lucien lit a lantern and set it down beside the relic.
"This mirror," he began, "was hidden by Ravencroft's ancestors. It was forbidden to use it. But I did."
Eiran arched a brow. "And what did it show you?"
Lucien hesitated.
"It showed me… your death."
Eiran went still. "What?"
"In the original timeline," Lucien said softly, "you were betrayed. Lured into battle, ambushed by your allies, and killed at my order."
"Your order?" Eiran's voice was sharp now.
"Yes," Lucien whispered. "Because I wasn't me back then. I was him. The real Ravencroft."
Eiran took a step back.
"And you—what are you now?"
Lucien lifted his eyes. "I'm someone who remembers another life. Another world. Someone who knows this is a story. And I'm trying to change the ending."
Silence rang between them like a bell.
"That's insane," Eiran muttered. "You expect me to believe this is all… fiction?"
"It doesn't matter if you believe it," Lucien said, stepping closer. "What matters is that I'm doing everything I can to save you. Even if it means damning myself."
For a long time, Eiran said nothing.
And then—"Why me?"
Lucien's breath caught. "What?"
"You've changed everything… for me. Risked everything. Why?"
Lucien opened his mouth. Then closed it.
He stepped even closer, so close now that only a whisper separated them.
"Because somewhere between the chapters and bloodshed," he said, voice trembling, "I fell for the one man I was destined to destroy."
The thunder outside swallowed Eiran's response.
But in the silence that followed, he didn't pull away.
---
Later that night, Lucien stood alone again—this time in his study.
A sealed letter lay open on the desk.
It was from an anonymous informant, slipped under his door.
> "You may be trying to change the story, Duke. But some fates are meant to repeat. The real villain never left. He just found another face."
Attached to the note was a single black feather—raven-dark and laced with blood.
Lucien stared at it, his heart thudding.
Was there someone else who knew?
Someone who remembered?
---
Meanwhile, far from the manor, a figure cloaked in shadows stood atop the cliffs of Velinor Bay, watching the sea rage below.
He held a book—Crownfall—the same edition Lucien had once read on Earth.
His lips curled.
"Let's see how long you can rewrite the tale… before it devours you."
---
To be continued...
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