Diane rose shakily to her feet, eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and disbelief as she took in the surreal surroundings. "Is this... heaven? Or did I land in hell?"
Her gaze dropped to herself, and froze.
"Uh.."
Gone were her work clothes.
In their place clung a breathtaking floor length velvet gown of purest white. Long, flowing sleeves draped elegantly from her arms, while delicate floral embroidery traced graceful patterns along the high collar and sweeping hem.
She exhaled a stunned breath. "What in the world..."
A tall, freestanding mirror stood nearby, its ornate frame catching the soft, diffused light. Diane hurried over and leaned in, staring at her reflection.
The face looking back wasn't quite hers.
Her skin was impossibly smooth, luminous, and pale, flawless in a way no filter could ever take.
She lifted trembling fingers to touch her cheek, half-expecting the image to ripple like water.
"I'm... even prettier?" she whispered, almost laughing at the absurdity.
Her once-loose black hair had been swept into an intricate updo, pinned and adorned with delicate golden ornaments that gleamed like tiny stars.
Footsteps approached.
A young woman in a simple, unadorned white gown appeared on the path ahead, her attire so plain it actually looked like a servant's uniform.
She paused at a respectful distance, offering a slight, graceful bow and a warm, gentle smile.
"Princess Alya," she said softly, her tone laced with reverence. "Lord Silas requests your presence in the Throne Hall."
Diane... Alya?... blinked at her, spine stiffening. 'Alya? Lord? Throne Hall?
She quickly looked away, mind racing. 'Okay, nope. This is not happening?'
Then she looked back at her, completely lost.
The maid noticed immediately and stepped closer, voice soothing and certain. "Please don't be anxious, Princess Alya. I'm certain whatever your father, Lord Silas, and your uncle, Prince Halwin, wish to discuss concerns Star Haven and… our recent misfortune. They won't hold your admiration for Lord Alistair of the Supreme Domain against you."
Alya's brain scrambled to process the flood of unfamiliar names and titles. 'Star Haven? Supreme Domain? Lord Alistair?… This has to be a dream. I probably passed out on the couch after that insane taxi ride and now my exhausted brain is inventing fantasy nonsense.
"Princess Alya?" she prompted again, head tilted with a worried expression.
Alya forced a tight, awkward smile. 'Fine. Panicking out loud will just make everything weird-er. Better to play along until I figure this out, or wake up.'
She gave a small, jerky nod. "Right. Lead the way."
The young lady turned and started walking down a beautifully carved wooden walkway bordered by low railings.
The path floated gently above a sea of rolling white fogs, the air carried the faint scent of pine and distant flowers and a profound, almost holy stillness wrapped the place.
Alya couldn't stop staring at the place.
It was nothing, absolutely nothing, like the honking neon-lit chaos of the city she knew.
'This... this is definitely heaven, she thought, heart pounding with strange certainty. 'I must have died in that taxi and gone to heaven.'
She swallowed hard and kept walking, trying not to trip over the hem of her impossibly beautiful dress.
Her steps faltered, legs wobbling as though the ground itself were tilting beneath her. She nearly stumbled once or twice, clinging blindly to the path while a wave of nausea churned in her stomach.
'Why is this starting to feel so... real?' she thought, growing more disoriented with every step. 'Every movement, every breath… shouldn't heaven feel peaceful Why am I getting motion sick in paradise?'
She paused, pressing a hand to her forehead and drawing a shaky breath. 'Okay, just breathe. How much farther is this place?"
After a moment she hurried to catch up with the young maid.
The floating pathway ended, and they walked further down cemented platform until they arrived at an elegant wooden residence grandly inscribed above its arched entrance: Throne Hall.
A ring of imperial guards stood motionless around it like statues, their armor gleaming under the morning light.
As Alya and the maid drew near, the guards bent in perfect unison, bowing deeply to her before straightening back into rigid duty.
Alya climbed the wide stone staircase on unsteady legs, feeling every bit the imposter she believed herself to be.
"Princess Alya has arrived!" the young maid announced brightly as she came to a halt just outside the towering double doors.
Alya halted just outside the threshold, still gazing around the place in awe.
A calm, authoritative voice answered from within. "Good. You may return to your duties now."
"Yes, my Lord," the maid bowed once more, then turned and walked away without so much as a glance in her direction.
Alya blinked. "Wait... hey! What about me?"
She just bowed at me and hurried away.
Alya turned back toward the doorway, a slow, uncomfortable realization settling over her despite every instinct screaming that this couldn't possibly be happening.
"Alya Valehart," the voice inside called again, patient but firm. "Why are you still outside? Come in. We have something important to discuss."
'Is this a case of transmigration?' The word flashed through her mind. 'But I wasn't reading a novel. I wasn't watching some fantasy drama. I was literally doom-scrolling TikTok in a taxi. And yet... here I am, apparently stuck in the body of someone named Alya Valehart.'
Swallowing hard, she opened the massive doors and walked inside.
The Throne Hall stretched before her. It was vast, and airy, lit by soft golden light that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere.
At the far end rose a single imposing throne of pale wood and silver filigree.
Seated upon it was an older man, perhaps mid-fifties, one elbow propped on the armrest, long fingers slowly massaging his temples as though warding off a persistent ache.
He was dressed entirely in white... crisp trousers, polished boots, a high-collared shirt beneath a fitted doublet and a flowing kingly robe edged in subtle silver thread.
Standing to his right was another man, younger, perhaps late thirties, dressed in an almost identical ensemble of white trousers, boots, high-collared shirt, and doublet.
'Is white a thing here?' she thought wryly. 'It's almost misleadingly angelic?'
And she had no idea who these people were supposed to be to her, or how Alya Valehart would normally behave in their presence. But the way they carried themselves made it painfully clear they own the place.
The man on the throne finally raised his eyes to meet hers, the weariness in them deepening for a moment before he spoke.
"Come closer, daughter," Lord Silas Valehart said, gesturing with a motion of his hand.
Alya walked toward them, her gaze darting nervously between the two men.
The older one, clearly the one in command, watched her with disappointment etched across his features. The younger one stood beside him, arms loosely folded, wearing an amused smile on his face.
Lord Silas exhaled heavily, the sound carrying the weight of recent defeat.
"What exactly were you thinking?" he asked, voice low and edged with reproach. "Star Haven is reeling from our humiliation at the Empyrean Dominion Trial. We the once proud fourth upper realm, were crushed by the lowest of the low of the Divine Empyrean Palace. Do you have any idea how deeply that shame cuts?"
Alya could only stare back at him, utterly blank. She had no idea what he was talking about.
Lord Silas looked away, rubbing his temple again as though the ache had returned tenfold. "We've been demoted to the lower realms. We're a laughingstock now. All the privileges, the resources, the respect that came with upper-realm status… gone."
The man at his side, Prince Halwin Valehart, finally spoke with a lighter, almost teasing tone
"Alya," he began, "we're bringing this up because of your… rather obvious fascination with the man who orchestrated our downfall. Just yesterday you nearly got yourself killed rushing off toward the Supreme Domain..." He let out a soft chuckle, glancing sideways at his brother. "I suppose that's what happens when a young, handsome sovereign like Alistair Rehn suddenly seizes power. Even our princess falls victim to the charm."
Lord Silas remained silent, jaw tight, visibly unsettled.
Halwin studied him for a beat, then drew a slow breath and turned fully to Alya.
"The Supreme Domain is entrenched in the upper realms now. After that tournament, it's painfully clear no one's dislodging them anytime soon. Their new warriors are simply too strong, our best couldn't lay a finger on them. However, as the fifth-lowest realm, it's still crucial we hold our heads high and keep our dignity intact. The only realistic path forward… is to secure an alliance through marriage."
Alya blinked once, twice. The words refused to compute.
"Marriage?" she echoed faintly. "Marry… me off?"
Halwin nodded, his smile widening just enough to seem encouraging.
"Indeed. And before you protest, I suspect you'll be more pleased than you expect when I tell you who the groom is. We've already consulted the upper realms. We met with Alistair Rehn himself. He has agreed to the union."
Lord Silas's voice cut in, flat and bitter.
"Not willingly," he added, shooting Halwin a sidelong glance. "He agreed. That's all."
Alya's eyes widened slowly, the reality crashing over her in cold, disorienting waves.
'Now I'm getting married?'