The door closed behind her with a soft click.
She walked several paces down the corridor before stopping.
For a moment, she stood perfectly still. Her gaze fixed on the floor. Something held her back from turning around. Some lingering doubt she couldn't quite put into words.
Eventually, she looked back towards the closed door.
Her expression wavered.
She raised one hand. The shadowy figure appeared before her almost instantly.
"Slandna," she said quietly. Her earlier warmth gone. "Have Dimitry examine him. I want to know whether there's any sign of Anomaly possession. Or anything else wrong with his soul."
She paused. Her fingers tightened slightly.
"And keep this between us. Make sure no one hears about it. Not even the Duke."
Slandna offered no verbal response. She simply bowed her head once.
A moment later, she vanished. As silently as she'd appeared.
Silvia remained in the corridor. Her hand clenched at her side.
She couldn't explain why she'd given such an order. Perhaps it was the way Leonal spoke now. Or the unfamiliar expressions that crossed his face. Perhaps it was simply a mother's instinct. Sharpened by the fear that something terrible might have happened to her son.
Whatever the reason, she couldn't shake the feeling that something about him had changed.
She knew he'd lost his memories. The physician had already explained that much. But this felt different. As though the person behind those familiar eyes wasn't quite the same boy she'd known all his life.
Silvia lowered her gaze.
Please. Let me be wrong.
---
(West Wing of Graythorn Manor)
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls of the study. Their dark wooden frames rose almost to the ceiling. Thousands of books filled the shelves. Some bound in worn leather. Others bear unfamiliar symbols carved into their spines. A few looked so old that even their titles had faded beyond recognition.
At the centre of the room stood a massive desk crafted from dark mahogany.
Behind it, a broad window overlooked the manor grounds. Afternoon light spilled across the gardens. Heavy curtains framed the glass. Their deep colours complemented the room's dark, elegant furnishings.
A man sat behind the desk in a high-backed wooden chair.
His black hair fell to his shoulders. Framed a sharp, imposing face. A pair of striking blue eyes rested on the documents spread before him. Their gaze steady. Difficult to read.
His broad shoulders and muscular build gave him the appearance of a man in his early thirties. Though there was something about his presence that suggested considerably more experience than his looks implied.
He sifted through the papers. Examined each one with measured attention.
Eventually, he drew out a letter tucked beneath the stack.
A layer of crimson wax sealed the folded parchment. The insignia stamped into it was unmistakable.
The mark of the Imperial Family.
His eyes lingered on the seal for a moment. Then he set the letter aside.
A knock broke the silence.
"Enter."
The door opened. A man clad in dark armour stepped inside. He crossed the room. Stopped several paces from the desk. Bowed respectfully.
"My lord, we were preparing to escort Young Master Leonal here. As you ordered."
He hesitated before continuing.
"However, Lady Silvia..."
"So she refused to let you take him."
The Duke leaned back in his chair. His expression unchanged.
The armoured man lowered his head slightly.
"We informed Lady Silvia that the High Council would be involved. Explained that the matter could not be dismissed so easily. Even so, she refused to yield."
He paused. Chose his next words carefully.
"She said that if the High Council wanted Young Master Leonal, they would have to come here in person."
Silence settled over the study.
The Duke's fingers stopped moving against the armrest.
"She said that?"
"Yes, my lord."
The soldier's voice grew a shade more hesitant.
"She was... quite firm about it."
For several seconds, the Duke said nothing. His blue eyes remained fixed on the man before him. Giving little away.
Then he released a quiet sigh.
"So Silvia has decided to make this personal."
He turned his attention towards the letter on his desk. Though it was clear his thoughts had already moved elsewhere.
For a moment, he considered the situation in silence.
Then he reached for the letter. Folded it neatly. Placed it inside one of the desk drawers.
"Very well."
He rose from his chair.
"Prepare the carriage. I'll go myself."
--------
(Inside the bedchamber)
Leonal sat on the edge of the bed. Staring blankly ahead. Trying to make sense of everything Silvia had told him.
From the moment he woke up, he'd known something was wrong. The unfamiliar room. The strange people calling him their son. The luxurious surroundings. All of it pointed to one thing. He was somewhere he didn't belong.
But after hearing Silvia explain the world around him, the possibility that he was no longer on Earth had become harder to ignore.
And honestly? It was absurd.
How was he supposed to accept something like that? One moment he'd been living an ordinary life on Earth. The next, he'd woken up in the body of a nobleman's son. In a world where people practised divination and wore mysterious pendants to protect themselves from supernatural creatures.
It sounded like the plot of some ridiculous fantasy novel.
Yet there was another detail that had bothered him from the beginning. Something he'd initially overlooked in the confusion.
The language.
He could understand Silvia perfectly. More than that, he'd been responding to her without any difficulty. Like they'd been speaking the same language his entire life.
At first, he barely gave it any thought. He'd been too busy trying to figure out where he was and why everyone seemed to know him.
But now that he'd had time to think, something didn't add up.
The words coming out of his mouth weren't English. Weren't even a language he recognised.
He couldn't say he knew every language on Earth. But he was fairly certain he'd never encountered anything like this. And yet, he'd been speaking it as naturally as his mother tongue. Without struggling to form a single sentence.
How was that even possible?
If he'd somehow ended up in another world, how could he immediately understand and speak its language?
Leonal fell silent. His gaze fixed on the floor.
Then an absurd possibility crept into his mind.
Could it be that my soul somehow entered this body?
Even thinking about it made him feel ridiculous. He'd never been particularly religious. As far as he knew, the soul was still more a matter of belief and philosophy than something anyone could prove existed.
But then again, he was sitting in a world he couldn't explain. Inside a body that wasn't his own.
At this point, dismissing the idea simply because it sounded impossible seemed a little pointless.
Perhaps his soul had somehow entered the body of another person who happened to share his name.
Leonal. Seriously? Of all the names in the world, we had to share that one?
The coincidence was almost too absurd to believe.
Still, the more he thought about it, the more questions arose.
What happened to the original Leonal's soul?
Was it gone? Had it somehow merged with his own?
Or was it still there, buried somewhere beneath his consciousness?
Another possibility occurred to him. Perhaps the original Leonal's memories hadn't disappeared at all. Maybe they were still somewhere inside his mind. Inaccessible for reasons he couldn't understand.
That would explain why he could speak the language so fluently. The body or whatever remained of its original owner's memories might still retain everything Leonal had learned throughout his life. Even if he himself couldn't consciously recall any of it.
If that were true, then perhaps the memory loss everyone kept talking about wasn't entirely wrong.
It was just that the memories he'd lost belonged to the original owner of this body. Not to him.
So in a way, the original Leonal really does have amnesia. I'm the one who's perfectly fine.
Well. Assuming his current situation could be called fine.
Perhaps some incident or trauma had caused the original Leonal's memories to become inaccessible. If so, there might be a way to bring them back. He just needed to figure out what happened. And whether anything could trigger those buried memories.
Of course, that was all speculation. He had no evidence to support any of it. And he couldn't even be sure whether his theory about souls was remotely close to the truth.
But it was the only explanation he could come up with for now.
He leaned back slightly. Let out a quiet breath.
One problem at a time. I'll figure out the rest later.
Then another thought struck him.
Wait a minute. I haven't even seen what I look like yet.
He'd already noticed the differences in his voice and hair. But he'd been too preoccupied with everything else to examine his own appearance properly.
Now curiosity was getting the better of him.
He shifted on the bed. Tried to move his leg.
It was easier than before. But the moment he attempted to adjust his position, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. His leg still felt strangely numb. Like it had fallen asleep and refused to wake up properly. He could move it a little. But the sensation was unpleasant enough to make him hesitate.
Walking anywhere like this was out of the question.
Great. Not only am I stuck in another world, but my new body barely works.