Sara once again found herself standing in the great hall, the weight of the ceremony pressing down on every soul present. Her face remained an unmoving mask—calm, unreadable, untouched by the noise of the world.
It was not the poise of arrogance, nor the coldness of disdain.It was the stillness born of a life already lived once before.
In the echoes of her mind, fragments of her past life drifted like ash—choices that had gone wrong, moments she wished she could carve from time, and the bitter cost of every mistake. She had lost everything once… and the ache of that loss had not dulled, not even here, in this life.
And so she stood, unfazed by the nobles around her, unmoved by the hierarchy that made others tremble. The names being called, the titles announced, the whispers of prestige—none of it mattered. Not anymore.
Hatred could have taken root in her heart, yet it did not. The people before her, the world that had once betrayed her, the forces that had stripped her of what she cherished… she found herself unable to care enough to hate.
For her single desire was no longer glory, nor revenge—it was simply to protect what she had lost before. And to do that, she would endure.
Sara's gaze swept over the stage with the same measured calm she had carried since the ceremony began. Yet beneath that stillness, her eyes traced the faces of those stepping forward one by one.
Some she hated.Some she loathed.Some she had once admired.And some… some she had once called dear.
She recognized more than a few. People who, in her other life, had lived long and well. People who had died with swords in their hands upon the battlefield. People who had been cast out to wander the Land of Tainted—a place whispered of in fear and contempt.
The name alone stirred something heavy within her. That land was more than a place of exile; it was a graveyard for the innocent, a place where mistakes—real or fabricated—were punished without mercy. She remembered the screams, the hunger, the madness that festered there… yet, for her, the thought of it brought not fear, but a strange quiet.
For she knew—he was still there. Waiting.
Her fingers curled slightly at her side as her turn drew closer.
Finally, the emperor's voice rang out, calling her name. "Sara of the Barony Jorem, part of the Sephera Duchy—step forward."
She moved with grace, her posture impeccable, but inside her heart had begun to beat in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each step echoed louder in her mind. When she reached the sphere, she extended her hand without hesitation.
The moment her fingers touched the cool surface, it was as if a dam broke.
Memories of her past life surged forward, flooding her vision. She saw herself once again—hailed as a hero after her academic years, the prodigy who reclaimed the Defiled Lands. She remembered the pride in her people's voices, the banners bearing her crest, the warmth of victory in her chest.
And then… the slow unraveling.
How the world she had protected turned against her.How the same people who had once cheered her name whispered her ruin.How her allies became strangers, and her friends became accusers.And how, in the end, she too was dragged to the Land of Tainted—branded a traitor, stripped of her honor, abandoned to rot among the damned.
The light from the sphere grew blinding, but her expression did not change. She had already seen the end of that road once before.
And this time… she would not walk it the same way.
And then… the same thing happened. Exactly as Sara remembered.
The light from the sphere dimmed, the runes burned faintly across its surface, and the old man's voice rang out, reciting her evaluations. Gasps and murmurs swept through the crowd—just as they had before. She could almost predict every reaction: the awe, the envy, the quiet fear in certain eyes. The emperor's approving smile, the nobles leaning forward in interest, the hidden glare of those who despised her.
It was as if time had folded back on itself.
Stepping down from the stage, her gaze swept the hall—and then it caught.
A boy stood there, not looking at her but staring past her… no, staring behind her. At the sphere. At the Book of Ichor. His expression was unreadable, but the shadow in his eyes was unmistakable.
Ether.
…This was none other than Ether—the person who, in her previous life, she had once loathed more than anyone… yet, over time, her opinion of him had changed in ways she never expected.
. An arrogant, bitter man, driven by a festering inferiority complex. She remembered their first meeting—how he had masked his insecurities with venom, lashing out at everyone around him, herself most of all.
Now, however… she saw the cracks more clearly. She understood. She understood why.
And so, instead of hatred, her eyes softened. There was pity there… and something else, something she could not quite name.
She took her first step down from the platform.
A memory rose unbidden in her mind, vivid as the day it happened. The royal chamber—shrouded in the scent of blood and iron.
A man sat slumped upon the throne. Black hair, face half-hidden in shadow. His left hand gripped a blade driven deep into the ground beside the throne; his right arm hung lifeless at his side. His chest was pierced by several swords, their hilts still protruding grotesquely from his body.
His eyes—once sharp and commanding—were now dull and red, staring into nothing. Blood streamed from them, from his nose, from the corner of his mouth, trailing down to the cold marble floor.
Sara blinked, her foot touching the second step. The image wavered, reality bleeding back in.
By the third step, her mind was clear again.
And in that moment, she made a vow.
This time, no matter what path the world tried to take, she would protect him.
This time he must survive.