The sound of screeching tires was the last thing Lucien Vale heard.
It was just a blink—a single, stupid blink while crossing the street, his eyes on his phone, skimming the latest update of Crownfall, the fantasy web novel he had followed religiously for the past three years.
He didn't even feel the impact.
No pain. No chaos. Just… darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, it wasn't to the sterile white of a hospital ceiling, nor the velvet black he'd always imagined death to be. It was gold—ornate, overwhelming gold. Drapes trimmed with sapphire thread fluttered beside massive windows. A chandelier dangled above, made of crystal and phoenix feathers.
This was not Earth.
He sat up in the four-poster bed, heart racing. His body felt different—taller, broader, heavier. Alien. And yet, familiar.
A mirror stood across the room.
Lucien swung his legs over the bed, staggered to it, and froze.
Pale skin. Icy blue eyes like chipped glacier. Hair as black as ravens' wings. A jawline that looked carved from marble. And a cruel smirk twisted on the face—even in rest.
He knew this face.
This wasn't his.
This was Duke Lucien Ravencroft.
The villain of Crownfall.
The tyrant who would bring war to the Eastern Kingdoms. The man who would manipulate, betray, and ultimately kill Crown Prince Eiran—the beloved hero of the story.
Lucien staggered back.
"No, no, no…" he whispered. "This can't be real."
But the truth stared back at him with aristocratic disdain.
He was inside the very novel he had obsessed over—and worse—he was its main villain.
---
A knock shattered the silence.
"My Lord," a deep voice called from the other side. "The Council awaits your presence. Shall I prepare your cloak?"
Lucien's pulse thundered. "What Council?"
There was a pause. "The Royal War Council, My Lord. You summoned them at dawn."
Right. War. Of course he did. That was all Ravencroft ever did—plot war.
Lucien turned to the window, the rising sun casting long golden shadows across the marble floor.
This was real. Somehow, impossibly, this was real.
But he wasn't the Lucien Ravencroft of the story. He wasn't going to start a war. He wasn't going to kill Eiran.
He wouldn't be the villain.
---
The War Council chamber reeked of incense, cold stone, and concealed tension.
Noblemen lined the long table, their faces painted in false civility. A tall man with silver-streaked hair bowed low as Lucien entered.
"My Lord Duke," he intoned. "The generals await your command. Shall we march on the Northern Province as planned?"
Lucien's mind spun. The Northern Province… that's where Eiran was stationed right now.
In the novel, this campaign would be the beginning of Eiran's downfall. The betrayal. The ambush.
He clenched his fists beneath the cloak.
"No," he said clearly.
The room fell silent.
"No?" the silver-haired man blinked.
"We will not invade the North," Lucien said, voice colder now. "Send messengers instead. Extend the olive branch. Open negotiations."
Murmurs spread through the chamber like wildfire.
"Your Grace," one of the younger generals whispered, "Prince Eiran will see it as weakness. Mercy is not the Ravencroft way."
Lucien met his eyes with a calm smile. "Then perhaps it's time the Ravencroft way changed."
---
Eiran stood at the edge of the training grounds, sword in hand, sweat glistening across his brow. His white tunic clung to the defined lines of his body, and his golden hair shone like a flame under the sun.
He was beautiful.
Lucien watched from afar, cloaked and hooded, as the prince struck down practice dummy after dummy with ruthless precision.
He wasn't the soft-hearted protagonist Lucien remembered from the early chapters. He was colder. Sharper. Broken in ways only readers who reached the epilogue could truly understand.
Lucien's heart ached.
I know what happens to you. And I won't let it happen again.
"Show yourself," Eiran said suddenly, without turning.
Lucien tensed. "You noticed me."
"You reek of blood and secrets. Of course I noticed." The prince turned, eyes narrowing. "You're far from your castle, Ravencroft."
Lucien removed his hood.
"I came alone. I wish to speak."
Eiran's grip on the sword tightened. "So you can deliver your threats personally?"
"No," Lucien said softly. "So I can stop being your enemy."
The silence between them crackled like thunder.
---
Back in his chamber that night, Lucien stared at his reflection again.
He didn't know how long this second chance would last. He didn't know why he had been reborn in this body, or who had given him this chance.
But he knew one thing for certain—
He wouldn't follow the script.
He wouldn't become the monster.
And if fate insisted he had to be the villain… then maybe, just maybe, he'd find a way to change fate itself.
Even if it meant falling for the very hero he was supposed to kill.
---
To be continued...