The morning sun spilled through the tall mullioned windows of the prince's study, casting golden beams that danced across shelves lined with ancient tomes and polished wood. Dust motes shimmered in the air like drifting flecks of light, caught in the gentle warmth that filled the room. Outside, the gardens stirred with life—songbirds trilling their bright notes, a breeze carrying the faint fragrance of blossoms. Yet within these sunlit walls, despite the beauty of the hour, the air held a tautness that sunlight could not soften.
Prince Alexander sat in his wheeled chair behind the imposing oak desk, his hands steepled before his lips, his storm-gray eyes fixed upon the woman who dared to intrude upon his sanctum with whispers that belonged to folktales and madness.
Sophia sat opposite him, posture composed though her palms, hidden beneath the fold of her gown, trembled. Firelight painted her pale face in hues of gold and rose, catching the flicker of defiance in her gaze.
It had begun so simply: a question. Do you believe in transmigration, Your Highness?
That word—transmigration—still reverberated in Alexander's skull like a struck bell. He had schooled his face into an impassive mask the instant it fell from her lips, but within him, his thoughts warred with one another, sharp and relentless.
Foolishness. Nothing but superstition. A convenient lie she conjures to excuse her inexplicable behavior.
And yet…
His memory betrayed him. The feverish hour in afternoon of the day after their marriage when his body rebelled against itself, when even his most trusted physician faltered. She had stepped forward then, with calm hands and precise words, guiding a treatment that had not failed. By rights, he should not have improved as swiftly as he did. The physician himself admitted it. And she had spoken with the sureness not of guessing, but of knowing.
It gnawed at him. Truth and impossibility tangled in her words.
But Alexander was not a man to reveal the turmoil within. His expression remained unreadable as he leaned back, fingers tightening imperceptibly upon the carved armrest of his chair. Only the steady ticking of the clock on the far wall dared break the silence.
Sophia, for her part, did not shrink from the quiet. She held his gaze, unwavering, though her pulse thundered in her ears. She knew how insane it sounded. She knew what risk she took. To speak openly of another life, another world, was to invite dismissal or worse. Yet hiding the truth would help neither of them.
At last, Alexander's voice cut through the tension, low and clipped."Do you take me for a fool? Or do you truly expect me to entertain such absurdities?"
His words struck sharp, but Sophia's resolve did not falter. She drew in a breath, steadying the tremor of her chest."I expect nothing, Your Highness. I know how it sounds. But it is not falsehood."
Alexander's jaw tightened. Not falsehood, she says. Does she not hear her own madness?
He allowed a pause, long enough for the fire to snap again, before asking, "Then tell me what precisely do you mean by this… transmigration?"
Sophia lowered her gaze briefly, as if gathering courage, then lifted it again, determination burning there."It means, Your Highness, that the woman you knew—the Sophia of this world—collapsed and died. And in the moment of her death… I came."
The prince's hands, hidden within shadow, flexed against the polished wood of his chair's arm. His mind reeled, though his face betrayed nothing."You speak as though souls may trade flesh as merchants trade coin."
"In rarest of fates, yes," Sophia whispered. Her fingers clasped in her lap, wringing against one another. "My body—my real body—was not here. It belonged to another world, a future you cannot yet imagine. There, I was a physician. A healer of the sick, trained in arts not yet dreamed of in this age. But in the midst of surgery… I, too, died."
Her voice faltered, but only briefly. She straightened, meeting his scrutiny. "And when my eyes opened again, they opened in her body. In this body. I awoke to her fading heartbeat....and now I am here."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Alexander's eyes, cold as tempered steel, narrowed. Inside, however, disbelief roared. Another world. Another time. She dares spin fables of future ages, of healing beyond comprehension. Does she expect me to kneel before such nonsense?
And yet… his thoughts betrayed him. Her speech, her composure, her knowledge, it is not the Sophia I knew. That one was vain, shallow, blind to duty. This one… she carries herself with gravity, with wit. Her words strike like tempered steel, not gilded fluff. Could death itself have reshaped her spirit so utterly? Or is there some other truth…?
His voice was quiet when it came but edged with disdain. "You speak of dying in two bodies, two lives. Tell me, then.....if this is truth, why should I not consider you insane? Or worse, possessed?"
Sophia's heart clenched, but she had expected this. Her lips curved in the faintest, bitter smile. "If I were mad, would madness have guided your physician rightly? If I were possessed, would the spirit not seek to harm you instead of healing?"
He gave no answer, but his gaze sharpened, cutting into her with renewed intensity.
Sophia pressed forward, her voice soft yet unyielding. "I cannot prove everything at once. But I can show you fragments. Hints of the world I came from. In that world, the stars were mapped, and great ships carried men across oceans in days instead of months. Flames harnessed not by wood, but by oil drawn from beneath the ground. Metal birds carried men through the sky—"
"Enough." Alexander's tone cracked like a whip.
Sophia stilled, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Yet she did not look away.
The prince's face was carved from stone, but within his mind, a storm raged. She paints visions of future marvels as though reciting scripture. Ships flying like birds, fire without wood… such things belong to dreams, not flesh. And yet, she speaks them with certainty, with no falter of doubt. Why risk such madness unless she believes it herself?
For a long moment, neither spoke. The fire burned low, shadows thickening. The clock's tick seemed to echo louder with each passing second.
At last, Alexander leaned forward slightly, his voice lowered, dangerous."You understand, do you not, what folly it is to speak thus in my court? One word from me, and you would be confined, declared unfit, silenced forever."
Sophia inclined her head in acknowledgment, though her eyes shone steady. "I understand. And still, I speak."
His breath left him slow, measured. She knows the risk. And yet she places her life on the table, wagering her truth. Madness—or conviction?
"You gamble much," he murmured.
"It is no gamble," Sophia replied softly. "For truth is not a wager, it is simply what is."
Alexander reclined back once more, the wheels of his chair creaking softly as he shifted. His features betrayed nothing, but his hands, hidden from her sight, curled into fists.
Inside, his mind was a battlefield. If I dismiss her, I lose nothing but words. If I entertain her, I risk indulging a lunatic. And yet… to ignore her is to risk losing a resource I cannot explain, one who holds knowledge of medicine my court does not. A dangerous game she plays but perhaps one worth observing.
His gaze fixed upon her once more, piercing, unrelenting."And if I were to accept even a sliver of this tale… what would you ask of me in return?"
Sophia's lips parted, her answer immediate yet quiet. "A chance. Nothing more. Permit me to prove my worth through action. Judge me not by the strangeness of my words, but by the results I bring."
A faint flicker crossed Alexander's eyes, swiftly extinguished. She offers herself as tool.
As risk.
As possibility.
At length, he spoke, his tone cold but not final. "Very well. You will prove yourself. And if you fail.....no story, no madness, will shield you."
Sophia bowed her head, relief mingled with resolve. "I understand, Your Highness."
The flames crackled once more, casting their faces in shifting light. Between them stretched a silence taut with unspoken possibility of danger, of trust, of truths yet to be unraveled.
And though Alexander's expression remained unreadable, his mind whispered with relentless persistence:
She may be liar. She may be mad. But if even one word of her truth is real… then she is unlike any woman I have ever known.