Darkness swallowed her without warning.
There was no sensation of falling, no feeling of being pulled, no body that moved. There was only… silence. A silence so thick it felt alive, creeping across her skin, slipping into her pores, whispering a primal fear that didn't even have a name.
Liora didn't immediately realize she was dreaming.
She only knew that she could no longer feel her body's weight. She didn't feel the floor. She didn't feel pain. She didn't feel space.
As if the world had abandoned her.
That thought alone made her tiny heart tighten—if she still had a heart. She didn't know if she was still breathing. Didn't know if she still had eyes. Everything was dark. Everything was silent.
How long had she been there?
There was no time in that dream. No seconds. No minutes. No days.
Only a faint consciousness, like a thread about to snap.
"...H-hello?" Her own voice sounded strange—no echo, no rebound, simply swallowed by the void. She wasn't even sure she had spoken with her mouth or merely imagined it.
There was no answer.
Liora hugged herself in the directionless darkness. But even her arms felt like smoke. As if she wasn't fully there. Fear began creeping between her unseen bones.
"Don't… don't leave me…" she whispered, though she didn't know who she was speaking to.
But the darkness didn't care.
And from afar—something changed.
---
At first, there was only a small sound, like distant crumbling stones. Then the darkness began to move, not like wind, but like thick fog clearing a narrow path. A dim glow slipped between the black—faint red light pulsing like a giant heart.
Liora froze. Something was forming.
Not a world, not a forest, not an empty void—
but a castle.
Or what was left of one.
The remains of blackened walls towered around her like petrified monsters that had died thousands of years ago. Massive pillars lay broken, split apart, cracked like shattered bones. The dark marble floor was fractured like land scarred by an ancient war. Everything was dim, dusty, and felt like a place the world had forgotten.
And from above, red fragments of light dripped like slow-falling rain.
Liora stood still. She didn't know whether to move or not. Her heart tightened even though she wasn't sure she had one in this place.
"Where… is this…?"
The castle was so grand—even in ruin—that it made the small girl feel insignificant. Like a trivial creature lost in the ruins of gods.
Before she could think further, a voice spoke.
Deep—so deep it seemed to rise from the earth's core.
Yet soft. Beautiful and dangerous.
It flowed into her ears like night wind brushing skin.
"At last…"
The voice felt close, familiar, as if it had called her centuries ago. Liora gasped, her breath—if she had breath—caught in her throat. She turned her body—or her mind—toward the sound.
And she saw him.
A figure stood at the far end of the hall.
Tall. Taller than any human. Cloaked in black that looked like liquid smoke, shifting as if alive. Faint red light gleamed along the folds of his robe. But his face…
Was not visible.
A shadowy mist covered where features should have been, like a fog that refused to let light through. Only the silhouette of a man with broad shoulders, perfect posture, and an aura so cold it made the surrounding darkness seem obedient beneath his feet.
Liora swallowed, unsure if her body functioned at all.
Her legs trembled.
This was not a human. Not something she was meant to meet.
"Do not fear," he said.
And somehow, that made him even more terrifying.
The man stepped forward.
Each step didn't shake the ground physically—but it shook the air. It felt as though the space itself shifted to make room for him. Darkness moved with him, trailing behind like a dragon's tail.
Liora wanted to back away.
But she couldn't. Her legs didn't respond. Or perhaps the darkness held her still.
He stopped directly in front of her. Close. Too close.
Liora's small body shivered as she looked up.
Then the voice flowed again:
"It has been a long time…"
He wasn't angry. Not harsh. Not commanding.
Simply… acknowledging.
Liora was confused, terrified, tiny.
"I… w-who… are you…?"
A cold breeze brushed her face. Or maybe it wasn't a breeze—maybe it was his aura.
Then he spoke, low, gentle, but carrying something that bound fate:
"You've finally returned, my sorceress… my light…"
Two words that meant nothing to Liora.
"Sor… sorceress?" Her breath hitched. "No… I'm not… I'm nobody…"
She sensed a smile behind that shadowed veil—even without seeing it.
"You've forgotten," he murmured. "It's fine. You will remember… slowly. And when everything returns to you… the world will kneel once more."
Liora's heart slammed in her chest.
She didn't know why those words made her want to cry.
As if something deep inside her recognized them. Something long-buried awakening inch by inch.
"W-why am I here…?" her voice trembled.
He leaned closer—not touching—but letting his dark aura brush the air near her cheek.
"Because you fell," he answered. "Because your small body is fragile. Because this world treats you like filth."
His tone sharpened.
"Because your blood is hated by fools who don't understand its worth."
Liora shivered.
"You… you know about me…?"
"I know everything about you."
His voice flowed soft, alluring, but dangerous like sweet poison.
"Even the things you have not remembered."
Liora didn't have the chance to ask more.
Because the world trembled. The ruined castle began to crack apart. Dust rained from above. Pillars collapsed with thunderous force.
The man didn't move.
He only looked at her.
"We will meet again," he said softly.
"When your time comes."
Darkness tore the world apart.
Liora screamed as the floor fell beneath her.
She fell, fell, fell—
And everything vanished.
---
Awakening in a Room That Was Not Hers
Something pressed against her chest.
Not a hand, not a stone—
but air.
Air that was too warm, too soft, too… alive.
Liora stirred weakly. Her small body felt unbearably heavy, as if her bones were made of cold iron. Her eyelids fluttered, refusing to open. Her breath sounded strange in her ears, as if she had just returned from a place where breath was not needed to live.
"She… she's moving."
A voice.
A woman's voice. Soft but nervous—nothing like the rough voices of the usual servants.
Liora forced her eyes open.
Light.
Bright light from a large window stung her vision. She blinked several times, her eyes burning after being in darkness too long.
Then she realized—
She wasn't in the damp storage room she used as a bed.
She wasn't lying in the dirty hallway where she had been beaten until she passed out.
She was in a room that…
… could never be hers.
Tall windows draped with soft white curtains. Gleaming marble floors. A vanity table, fresh flowers in vases, plush carpet, and even a large mirror on the wall.
But the thing that froze her was—
The bed she lay on.
Soft. Warm. Covered with thick, clean white blankets. The pillows smelled fresh. No humidity, no dust, no biting cold.
This…
This was a noble girl's room.
But Liora wasn't a noble.
She was a cursed servant child. A reject not even allowed to eat at the same table as other servants.
"W… where am I…?" her voice rasped.
The young maid beside her—one Liora had never seen before—jumped slightly and hurried to the door.
"I-I'll get the Young Master! He said to inform him the moment you woke up!"
Young Master.
One of the two brothers.
Liora's stomach tightened in fear.
Kael?
Lucien?
If it was Kael, he would scold or slap her.
If it was Lucien…
… Kael would be better.
At least Kael shouted.
Lucien spoke calmly—and his words always cut deeper.
Liora tried to sit up, but her body refused to move. Her arms were limp as cloth. Her chest ached. Her throat was dry. Her head spun.
Why…
Why am I here?
Did she die?
Was this another dream?
Was she dragged into this room for some reason she didn't understand?
Before she could think further, the door opened.
Calm, measured footsteps entered—footsteps of someone who was never in a hurry.
Lucien.
The 17-year-old young master walked in with his usual cold expression. His black hair was neat, his elegant clothes immaculate, and his pale gray eyes—eyes that always seemed to judge the world with a controlled disgust—looked at Liora without a trace of emotion.
Two older servants stood behind him with deep bows.
Liora trembled. Her instinct urged her to roll off the bed, kneel on the floor, and apologize. But her body wouldn't move.
Lucien approached slowly, his steps silent on the carpet. He stopped beside the bed, staring at Liora as if assessing whether the thing in front of him was worth keeping or discarding.
"So, you're finally awake."
His voice was flat, containing not a hint of concern.
Liora opened her mouth, but only a broken whisper came out:
"I-I'm… I'm sorry…"
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Apologizing for what?"
Liora lowered her head, messy pinkish-red hair falling over her face.
"I… I don't know… but I must've done something wrong…"
Lucien inhaled lightly through his nose, like someone just realizing they were wasting time speaking to something beneath them.
"You were unconscious for four days," he said. "Nearly dead."
Four days.
Liora's eyes widened.
"I… four… days…?"
"Yes."
Lucien's tone remained cold.
"You were found in the back corridor without food, without water, your body as cold as a corpse."
Liora swallowed. She remembered—the punishment. The darkness, the cold, the hunger, and then… the dream.
The memory of the dark castle and the mysterious man made her shiver.
Lucien noticed her reaction but didn't ask. He didn't care. He cared about only one thing:
"Lowbloods like you are not allowed to die without permission."
He stepped closer, voice dropping.
"Your death would make Father appear incompetent in running his own household."
Lowblood.
He said it like a scientific classification.
Liora bowed her head lower.
"I'm sorry…"
"No need to apologize," Lucien cut in. "Just don't do anything as stupid as almost dying again."
The words should've been comforting. But from him, they felt like a threat.
"I… I don't understand…" Liora trembled. "Why am I… here…? This…"
Lucien glanced around the luxurious room.
"Don't misunderstand."
His cold eyes met hers.
"You weren't moved here because you deserved it. You were moved because Father doesn't want outsiders to see your pitiful state and assume the Salverin family treats their slaves better than you."
The words struck like a dull blade.
Dull—but stabbing repeatedly at the same spot.
"You're only being hidden," Lucien continued.
"Not honored."
Suddenly the room felt smaller.
The warm blanket felt like golden chains.
The soft bed felt like a gilded cage.
She understood.
She truly understood.
Nothing had changed.
She was not valued.
There was no miracle.
No kindness.
Just relocation.
From one dark corner… to another, slightly cleaner, dark corner.
Lucien turned to leave, but paused at the door.
"Oh, one more thing."
He looked at her over his shoulder.
"Don't cause trouble. You just woke up—don't expect mercy. You are still lowblood."
The door closed.
Liora lay still in the room too beautiful for her existence.
The only sound was her heartbeat—soft, fragile, and full of fear.
Then the tears she had held back finally fell.
Not because of the room…
Not because of Lucien…
But because of the dream.
That mysterious man.
That ruined dark castle.
That voice—calling her my light.
Why…
Why did the dream feel warmer than reality?
---