Plopped atop a sea of blooming delphiniums and irises, Nyala spent the better part of the morning sprawled across the courtyard alongside Sager—and the maid, still peacefully asleep, not far from where they lay. The maid was dressed for travel—practical and ready to move at a moment's notice. She wore fitted trousers, a leather-corseted vest, gloves and belts, and sturdy boots that looked worn and tough, as if she'd spent days hiking through rough terrain. Her hair was cut short, a deep copper hue that caught the light when she moved. Her complexion was olive-toned, her features sharp with quiet determination. Even in sleep, her thick yet neatly shaped brows remained gently furrowed, as if her mind could not fully rest.
The maid had been gently carried moments ago by a family of opossums Nyala had summoned shortly after releasing magic over the courtyard. The same courtyard, once silent, forgotten and bare, now thrived with flowers and sunlight, magic and memories.
The air smelled of wildflowers, warm stone, and the gold of morning.
Eyes closed, breath steady, Nyala let herself drift—her soul, for the first time since her imprisonment and execution, almost at peace.
The courtyard was alive with song: birds trilled in harmony, butterflies flitted through beams of light, bees buzzed about the blossoms, and golden motes of sun dust danced in the breeze. Leaves whispered to one another as the trees swayed gently. The scent of wood and fresh grass grounded her. And as she laid back, she meditated on the living essence of the earth beneath her reborn body.
"Sager," she murmured, arms pillowed behind her head, gaze fixed on the radiant blue sky framed by tall, whispering trees, "this child—what is her name?"
"Her birth name," Sager replied softly, "is Fhenadove Liora of Talemerein and Solléonis."
Nyala sat bolt upright, heart leaping in her chest. "Talemerein?!" she squeaked in disbelief, joy cracking through her voice. "I'm still born of Talemerein blood?!"
Still lounging, Sager cracked a smile and nodded. "Yes, Master."
Nyala laughed—pure, ringing joy erupting from her chest. "I'm still my mother's blood!" she beamed, then flopped backward once more with a contented thump against the blanket of flowers. "Then… should I begin calling myself Fhenadove now?" she asked, turning her golden eyes toward Sager.
He peeked through one eye. "As you wish."
She paused, thoughtful. "Would that not dishonor the soul of the original Fhenadove?"
Sager opened both eyes now and sat up, his voice calm but resolute. "Master… you should know this—though the truth is both simple and tangled. The day you were born, I knew you were already my Master. I was wandering the Southern Continent, searching for your lost soul. And then… I felt it. Your cry—on the day of your birth—rang through the heavens like a bell. I heard it echo through the wind. I only used a small portion of power you sealed in me to travel quickly. And there, in Hammendir, I found you—wrapped in linens, in your mother's arms."
Nyala took a breath, her heart swelling. Slowly, she rose to her knees and leaned forward, collapsing softly onto Sager. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into the curve of his small neck, her voice muffled but full of emotion.
"Four hundred years… you wandered without a companion. Alone. Searching for your master," she whispered. "I cannot imagine the loneliness you must have endured… how much of yourself you must have lost. Your body has been reduced to light, but I promise—once I recover all my sealed magic, I'll restore you to your full form."
Her small frame trembled with tears.
Sager's eyes welled. Silently, he lifted one paw and placed it gently upon the child's back, holding her in return.
"Thank you, Master," he whispered.
After a long, quiet moment shared between old friends—master and guardian, finally reunited—Sager stirred again.
"The original soul of this child's body is yours alone, Master," he said gently. "Only the consciousness of your past life has awakened. Body and soul, this child is you now."
Nyala—no, Fhena—nodded with resolve. "Then henceforth," she said proudly, lifting her chin to the sun-dappled sky, "I shall go by my new name. My new identity: Fhena."
Sager beamed, his little tail flicking once behind him.
"How old am I?" Fhena asked suddenly, eyes narrowing in curiosity.
Sager's brows knit together. "Five一do you not remember everything this body has lived through?"
She shook her head slowly. "Only fragments… glimpses. I understand enough to know I've once again been living under cruel hands. I've seen flashes of this-self afraid—small, hurt, punished."
Sager's face crumpled, grief and fury colliding in his gaze. "I couldn't do anything, Master. I watched and watched, but I was powerless…"
Fhena cupped his soft, plush face between her palms. "Don't you dare blame yourself, Sager. I know you would've acted if you had even a shred of power left."
His golden eyes shimmered, and Fhena, despite the heaviness of their conversation, couldn't help but grin. "You look so pitiful when you're about to cry," she teased, pinching his cheeks. "You're too cute for your own good."
Sager huffed, but let her squish his face without protest.
"What's done is done," Fhena continued, voice hardening with strength. "I've endured worse. Harsher cruelties. Atrocities against my body and spirit in the life before—this pain is nothing compared to that. What matters now is that I am aware. I have awakened."
She stood abruptly, defiant as a flag in the wind, eyes ablaze with renewed fire—only for her stomach to emit a long, trembling growl.
There was a pause.
Both she and Sager turned to her belly.
"Have I… not eaten since last night?" she asked, blinking.
"You haven't eaten in a week," Sager replied flatly.
Fhena sighed, then cracked a sheepish smile. "Well. That explains the hunger thunder."
Without hesitation, she knelt to the soil and pressed her hands to the earth. She whispered a short, warm prayer in a language older than the trees, and with a breath of golden magic, the ground responded. Miniature fruit trees sprouted instantly, bearing vibrant fruit that swayed in the morning breeze.
"Come on, Sager. Eat up," she said with a grin. "We need strength for what's to come. And I have so many more questions."
Once their bellies were full, Fhena and Sager once again laid upon the fragrant bed of delphiniums and irises, the air thick with the scent of bloom and morning sun. Fhena stared at the sleeping maid nestled not far off—Maelith—who now served as a makeshift pillow for a group of bunnies contentedly curled around her.
"That maid…" Fhena murmured, her brows knitting as memories, blurred and fragmented, stirred to the surface. "Her name is… Maelith?"
"Yes," Sager replied, his tone soft. "She is of Arrocel blood. A loyal house. She served closely under your mother in this age."
Fhena remained silent for a while, brows furrowed in thought. "She tried to help me escape… She was taking me to the Grand Duchy of Hammendir?"
"That is correct."
She sat up, brushing stray petals from her lap. "But… wasn't Hammendir just a contested mining region? A land of unclaimed highlands, walled in by mountains and hills? Empires fought over it for centuries."
Sager gave a solemn nod.
Fhena's eyes widened slightly. "And yet… the Solléonis managed to claim it? Develop it? The Empire truly was formidable." She let out a wistful laugh, equal parts admiration and melancholy.
Sager bowed his head. "Master… You must know. The Solléonis bloodline no longer sits on the throne."
Fhena blinked. The words struck her like a whip across still water. "What?"
"The shift began over three hundred years ago. Precisely… three hundred and eight. The one who seized the throne was Alessondra Velmorian."
Fhena reeled back as though struck. "Velmorian?!" she gasped. "How is that even possible?"
With a heavy heart and a shadowed expression, Sager continued, "I do not know all the details. I only returned to the outside world from the Dark Forest two years after your execution. By then, the air itself had shifted—among monarchs, among nobles, among the people. I apologize, Master... you were my sole priority. For eight months, I watched over the Empire one last time before setting out to trace any signs of your soul."
He paused, eyes distant as though sifting through fading memories.
"I pieced together what I could from stories—tales shared by travelers, mercenaries, and townsfolk. And one thing stood out: eighteen years into the reign of Emperor Vaelkain and Empress Venyssa, the alliances within the imperial court began to fracture. The noble houses grew restless. Power shifted in whispers and smiles."
Sager exhaled slowly.
"Ten years later, Vaelkain's uncle, Lord Kaelsin, staged a coup. It tore through the Empire like wildfire, dividing the noble houses, shattering trust and alliances. The Empress Dowager held on as long as she could, but eventually, age and grief claimed her. She died during that time."
He lowered his gaze.
"Two years after her death, the Velmorian House was declared the Empire's new Solstice. They named themselves the New Moon of Solistia."
Fhena fell into a silence so deep it rivaled the grave beneath her feet. The weight of history—her history—pressed on her like a thousand phantom crowns. The seven-hundred-year reign of House Solléonis, which once stretched across the realm like the sun across the sky, had been snuffed out like a candle in a storm.
"I want to see them," she whispered, voice catching like a thread in the wind. "Vaelkain. Venyssa. The Empress Dowager. Are they… here? Were they buried in these grounds?"
Sager nodded solemnly. "After the Velmorians seized the throne, the remaining Solléonis bloodline aside from Kaelsin's House was confined within these palace walls. Servants came and went, delivering food and clothing—many believed it was Alessondra's mercy. But as the years dragged on—five, then seven, then ten—Vaelkain and Venyssa grew frail. Illness took them quietly, gently, beneath the fading light of an empire that once bathed in gold."
The palace where Fhena had awoken in the morning was once the proud heart of the Solistian Empire. Now, it was little more than a forgotten provincial estate. The last Emperor and Empress of the Solléonis line now rest atop the tower of Highgarden.
"The Empress Dowager?" Fhena asked softly.
"She died two years before the confinement decree," Sager replied. "So she wasn't locked away in the palace. It's said her ashes were scattered at the Fleimir Sea. I once searched for her tomb here, but found no trace—no engraving, no sign of her resting place."
Fhena smiled faintly, recalling a moment when the Empress Dowager had shared a secret wish—to be reborn as a mermaid. The Fleimir Sea was said to be the home of ancient mermaids.
The maid shifted in her sleep. Both Fhena and Sager flinched and watched her quietly, but she remained asleep.
"Right… the maid," Fhena said, turning her thoughts. "I should visit Kain and Venyssa later, but first, her. Did she know about the abuse I suffered?"
"She did," Sager confirmed. "She suspected it long ago and had been planning every detail to rescue you from Madame's hands for the past eight months."
Fhena tapped her forehead in frustration. "Were no other maids assigned to me? The memories are slowly coming back, but all out of order. This is so much harder than reawakening." She groaned, almost pulling at her hair.
"No," Sager said quietly. "They all turned a blind eye, afraid of Madame's wrath if she caught them."
"The Grand Duke knew nothing?" Fhena asked.
"No. The maid tried to write to him, but every attempt was blocked. A year ago, the Grand Duke placed you under Madame's care. She was your assigned tutor, as ordered by the late Duchess, who died a year after you were born."
"I remember that," Fhena said quietly. "I was a weak child, unable to speak a single word until I was three. I was so behind in everything… What happened after that?"
"Two years ago, the Grand Duke was sent to Sidria, an allied kingdom, on imperial business," Sager explained. "I don't know the full details, but he's been there ever since and is expected to return in five months. You were kept here, in what is now the Solléonis estate, as an act of protection from your father."
"But… I wasn't really protected," Fhena murmured.
"The maid was your protector," Sager said gently. "She would shield you whenever Madame's fury fell on you—when you stumbled over a word or faltered in your lessons. But six months ago, the maid was locked away in the dungeons, punished for trying to sneak you out of the estate. Since then, Madame has been free to do as she pleased with you—"
"I remember," Fhena interrupted, her voice steady and firm. Sager felt a chill run down his spine at the strength in her tone.
"It seems I recall my suffering more clearly than my victories. In this life, Fhena has yet to truly win." She snapped her gaze to Sager. "But the maid said something about taking me to Hammendir, to the Grand Duke. If my father isn't there… is there someone else acting as Grand Duke?"
Sager nodded. "Yes. The Young Master, Rheomund."
"Who?" Fhena asked, wide-eyed.
"Your older brother."
Fhena's expression shifted, comically stunned. "I—I have a brother?!" Her eyes sparkled with sudden excitement and joy.