Aika woke up with an unnatural cold creeping up her back. It was not the cold from an air conditioner left running continuously at sub-zero temperatures. Nor was it the result of rain that refused to stop. Rather, it was the cold of the damp stone floor beneath her. It felt moist, hard, and smelled of old metal, or perhaps dried blood?
She opened her eyes slowly.
The ceiling above her was high and arched, filled with unfamiliar carvings she had never seen before. Dim torchlight danced along the walls, creating long shadows that moved like living creatures. The air felt heavy, as though every breath required permission.
Aika did not move immediately, instead feeling her unfamiliar body. Too light. Too small. The hands raised before her eyes were not the hands she knew, the fingers slimmer, the skin paler, with thin scars around the wrists. Her heart pounded rapidly.
This is not a dream... she thought.
The realization did not come as panic, but as a cold precision. Like puzzle pieces falling silently into place.
She tried to sit up, lifting her small body—still not accustomed to this body—and only seconds later she flinched.
Her ankles were bound. Rough iron chains scraped against her skin, their sound sharp in the silence of the stone corridor. Aika held her breath, reflexively. This body seemed already accustomed to staying still, as even the slightest movement could prove fatal.
The corridor was narrow. Long. Windowless. In the distance, the sound of footsteps could be heard—not one, but two. Slow. Steady. Too calm for someone merely passing by.
Aika swallowed. The palace's lower corridor. Memory struck her suddenly. These were not memories she knew from her own life, but fragments of a story she had once read. A fantasy novel she had left open beside her pillow. A novel she had cursed for being too cruel to side characters.
The lower corridor of Valenroth Palace.
The place where lowly servants "disappeared."
Her chest felt tight. "I'm... just dreaming, right?" she whispered softly, more to herself than anyone else.
The footsteps stopped just as Aika finished thinking, causing her to freeze in the silence. Even the sound of her breathing felt like a disturbance in the stillness of the abandoned corridors. In the darkness, Aika's eyes searched for the owner of the footsteps. Her mind wondered again whether it would be a hero, a monster, or an ordinary human who would come to save her.
Or instead torment her even more than this.
The shadows of two figures fell on the stone floor just before they emerged from the bend in the corridor. Black uniforms. Bearing no family crest. Their faces were half-covered with cloth, their eyes empty and expressionless.
Palace assassins.
In the original story, they only appeared in one short paragraph. They had no names. No dialogue. They existed solely to ensure one side character died so the plot remained neat.
That character was—
"You're awake," one of them said. His voice was flat. Almost bored. The other drew a dagger. Torchlight reflected along its blade.
Aika swallowed hard. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, her voice slightly trembling. "I... I don't know anything. If it's about the documents—I didn't read them. I just—"
The dagger stopped right in front of her throat. It was so close that Aika could smell iron and oil.
"Not important," the assassin replied. "Orders are orders."
This is that scene.
In the novel, this part was only one sentence:
The maid was silenced that night.
There was no escape. No miracle. No rescue. Except—
Aika's thoughts raced, forcing herself to stay conscious. In the story, there was one variable that was never explained. One thing that only appeared as a footnote in reader discussions. The villainess was not supposed to be here.
"If I die now," she thought wildly, "the story will continue."
The heroine would shine. The villainess would fall. This world did not care about side characters.
The dagger in the assassin's hand moved again. At the same time, the air seemed to split.
"Stop."
One word. It sounded soft and sufficiently calming. So much so that Aika thought she had just been saved. Yes... only her imagination. Hopefully...
Now the entire corridor seemed frozen as the dagger stopped a single breath away from Aika's skin.
Both assassins turned simultaneously.
At the end of the corridor stood a woman in a long black gown. Her silver hair fell straight past her shoulders, gleaming under the torchlight. Her face was pale, beautiful in an unkind way—sharp, measured, and too aware of her own power.
Her eyes were purple. They did not feel cold, nor did they radiate anger. Only... interest.
Aika knew that face before her mind could process it.
Elowen.
The main villainess.
The antagonist who would one day be defeated by the heroine. The woman who was not supposed to care about the death of a lowly servant like Aika.
"Your Highness," one of the assassins said, immediately kneeling. "We were not informed—"
Elowen raised one finger. The sentence died in his throat.
She stepped closer. Her heels made no loud sound on the stone, yet each step felt like pressure on Aika's chest. When she stopped, the distance between them was only a few steps.
Elowen looked at Aika.
Her gaze did not seem like she was looking at a human being. Rather, it was like reading something interesting in the middle of a boring page.
"Your name?" she asked. Her voice was low, nearly bored.
Aika opened her mouth, her voice hanging at the back of her throat; she was too uncertain. In the story, this maid's name was never mentioned. There was none.
"...Aika," she finally answered.
Elowen raised a thin eyebrow.
"Interesting," she murmured. "Do you know how rare it is for people in this palace to answer honestly?"
She crouched in front of Aika. The hem of her gown brushed the stone floor. From this close, Aika could see small details—a thin scar on Elowen's neck, black spike-shaped earrings, and a faint smile that never reached her eyes.
"Do you know why they want to kill you?" Elowen asked.
Aika nodded stiffly. "Because... I'm not important."
Elowen's smile widened slightly.
"First mistake," she said gently. "In this world, those who are not important do not need to be killed."
She stood, then glanced at the two assassins. "Leave."
"But—"
"Now."
Her tone did not rise. It did not threaten. Yet both figures immediately vanished into the shadows of the corridor without another word.
Silence fell again.
Aika was still bound. Still kneeling on the floor. A position that made her feel small—and Elowen was clearly aware of it.
"You're lucky," Elowen said. "I'm bored."
She stepped closer again, then—with one light motion—released the chain from Aika's ankle.
Metal hit the floor with a sharp sound.
Aika hardly dared to move.
"Why?" she asked softly, before her mind could stop her. "Why save me?"
Elowen looked at her for a long time.
One second.
Two.
Three.
"I haven't decided yet," she finally answered. "Maybe because you look at me as if I'm not a monster."
Aika held her breath.
"That's dangerous," Elowen continued quietly. "Usually people die because of that."
She turned, walked away, then paused briefly. "Come with me."
Aika hesitated. "What if I don't want to?"
Elowen turned slightly, just enough to reveal the curve of a faint smile.
"Then I will regret saving you."
The threat was spoken without emotion. Without hatred. And that was precisely what made it absolute.
Aika stood on trembling legs, then followed.
As they walked down the corridor, one thought filled her mind, heavy and unavoidable.
This is not a rescue.
This is the beginning of something far more dangerous.
And far more intimate.