I exhaled in relief, my body trembling as I realized the object that had flown past wasn’t a severed head, but a dented metal helmet, likely ripped from some fallen knight. It clattered to the ground beside me, harmless now, though the fear still clung to my skin.

I remained frozen in my hiding spot, muscles tense, listening to the eerie silence around me. There was less chaos here, a temporary calm in the storm of battle. But I couldn’t forget—I was still trapped in the middle of a warzone. The cold air was thick with the coppery stench of blood, and it twisted my stomach.

"Damn, he's a monster," I said quietly. I could see the prince fighting. He moved so smoothly and killed the last enemy soldier easily. His face never changed, even when he wiped off the blood.

The only reason I felt a little safe in my hiding place was because of him. He had killed most of the enemies around; if it's a good thing or not, I don't know. I hid in the snow, putting my face on my knees.

I felt so depressed.

I had only wanted to buy some nice shoes after working at home for so long. Now I was here, trying not to die in this crazy world. The life I wanted to go back to seemed so far away now.

Why am I even trying to live? I thought sadly. I should be safe at home by now... What did I do to deserve this? I started to cry a little. I slapped my cheeks to make myself stop.

'Crying won't help. Get yourself together!' I took a deep breath and tried to think clearly in all this chaos.


"Wait, this scene... could it be—" I stopped, realizing something scary but still hopeful.

The bloody ground, the dead bodies everywhere—it was just like when I first came to this world. It was like I was in a twisted version of a story I once read, where the main character had to keep living through the chaos she had started without knowing. 

Could this world be like that story I read? I hoped so. If it was, there had to be a way out.

In stories, characters always find something—a bracelet, a necklace, some magic thing to help them escape. But I had nothing. My shoes, my bag, everything I had when I came here was gone. I felt desperate as I looked around the battlefield, hoping for a sign.

'Please, please, let this be inside a story or something,' I pleaded in the back of my mind.

Maybe there was a hidden door, like the one that brought me here. I looked in the air, even jumped around, half-expecting to see a glowing hole, a way back to my world. But there was nothing. Just the cold, hard truth of where I was.

I have not transmigrated, and this is not inside the story. This is...reality.

"So, you managed to dodge death, but you're still crazy in the head, huh?" The prince's voice cut through my frantic thoughts, sharp and mocking.

He strode toward me, tapping the hilt of his sword against my skull. It stung, but more as a jarring wake-up call than a true hit. I winced, the sharp pain pulling me back into reality. His icy demeanor, his gaze as frigid as the blood-stained snow beneath us.

"Leave the bodies. We move forward," he commanded.

The prince called out to one of his personal warriors, "Pierce, leave your group to clean up this mess." He mounted his horse with ease, giving one last glance at something before leading his remaining men forward into the heart of the empire.

The Homonhon palace was a breathtaking contrast to Marceau's fortress. While Marceau's palace screamed of gold and brute power, the Diamond Palace shimmered with an almost ethereal elegance. As soon as I stepped inside, I was mesmerized. The walls, adorned in silver, blue-grey, and white, sparkled like facets of a diamond, casting a soft, otherworldly glow.

Slender arches and graceful columns seemed both delicate and strong, a marvel of sophistication. The polished floors gleamed beneath me, reflecting the light from ornate chandeliers that scattered a prismatic glow. The cool, fragrant air carried the scent of exotic flowers, making the entire palace feel like a dream brought to life.

As I marveled at the palace's beauty, something caught my eye—a series of intricate markings woven into the palace's very design, eerily familiar to those of Marceau, but with one key difference: a dragon encircling the symbols. My thoughts immediately drifted to the scroll.

The scrolls had hinted at something about a realm guarded by dragons. The scroll spoke of pieces and a rightful space. It gnawed at me. Could it be referring to... the way between worlds? The dragon's power. The prince's obsession. It all began to fit together, like fragments of a long-forgotten puzzle. And the fact that I was suddenly transported here was undeniable proof that there might be a way out—if I could figure it out in time. I tried to remember what I discovered these past few months:

📜

Inscribe: 𝖫❍57 5❍ⵡ𝖫 ᗵ#❍ 𝖫❍❍|< 7#𝖸 ᑭ𝖫4☽3, 74|<3 4 ᑭ13☽3 4Ⲡ☥ 6ⵡ1☥3 ᗵ17# 4 6𝖫1ᗶᑭ53. 𝖫37 7#3 6ⲅ347 ☥ⲅ46❍Ⲡ 6ⵡ4ⲅ☥ 𝖸❍ⵡⲅ ᑭ𝖫4☽3 4Ⲡ☥ 17 ᗵ1𝖫𝖫 5#❍ᗵ 𝖸❍ⵡ 7#3 ⲅ16#7=ⵡ𝖫 5ᑭ4☽3.

Translated: Lost soul who look thy place, take a piece and guide with a glimpse. Let the great dragon guard your place and it will show you the rightful space.

The symbols twisted before my eyes, but one stood out—a dragon's claw. Slowly, the text unraveled in my mind: Lost soul who seeks their place... take a piece... the dragon guards your rightful space.

The prince had boasted of great power and wealth contained within the scrolls, and I now understood why he was so obsessed. After studying the 8th part of the scroll, which spoke of a promise bound to the strong heart, I wondered if the "pieces" referenced were indeed the scrolls themselves.

📜

Inscribe:

|, ᗵ#❍ #❍𝖫☥ 7#3 ᗵ34𝖫7# 4Ⲡ☥ ᑭ❍ᗵ3ⲅ ❍= 7#3 ᗶ16#7𝖸 ❍Ⲡ3. B𝖫3553☥ 34☽# ᑭ13☽35 7❍ 7#3 57ⲅ❍Ⲡ6 #34ⲅ7. ᗵ17# 4 ᑭⲅ❍ᗶ153 81Ⲡ☥ 1Ⲡ ᗶ𝖸 #4Ⲡ☥, Ⲡ❍ ᗶ4Ⲡ ᗵ17# 4 51Ⲡ=ⵡ𝖫 #34ⲅ7 ☽4Ⲡ #❍𝖫☥ 7#3 ᑭ❍ᗵ3ⲅ 1Ⲡ ❍ⵡⲅ #34ⲅ7.

Translated: I, who hold the wealth and power of the mighty one. Blessed each piece to the strong heart. With a promise bound in my hand, no man with a sinful heart can hold the power in our heart.

Leon's words echoed in my mind, amplifying my unease. The prince's belief in the scroll's magic only deepened my suspicions. The author of the scrolls had knowledge from both the past and future, guiding someone—maybe someone like me—back home.

As my mind spun with the scroll's secrets, the throne room came into view. The grandeur matched the palace's beauty, but my thoughts were elsewhere—on the pieces of the puzzle that now felt so dangerously close to falling into place. Yet the prince, sitting on the throne, was all too real.

The prince settled into the vacant seat with an air of absolute authority, as though the space had long awaited his presence. The throne, a magnificent creation of silver and crystal, gleamed under the light, each facet catching it like a flawless diamond. Its design blended perfectly with the lavish room, a marriage of grandeur and restrained elegance.

Then, the atmosphere shifted—thicker, charged with something unspoken. A presence entered, drawing the attention of every soul in the room, mine included. My breath stilled. 

The man who strode in carried a beauty beyond description, more ethereal than human. His golden hair caught the light like spun sunlight, and his eyes—blue-grey and fathomless—seemed to pierce through flesh and bone, as though seeing the secrets within me. His physique held both strength and elegance, each movement deliberate, and calculated.

But he was bound—thick silver chains clasped his wrists and ankles. This wasn't just any citizen of Homonhon. He was a prisoner.

Something within me shifted, a sudden, inexplicable rush of unease and attraction. I couldn't pull my eyes away.

"He's... stunning," I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice.

And yet the truth came crashing in: He is not my ally. This man, whatever power he held, was in chains—under Marceau's control. A tool for their purpose, not mine. Whatever danger he posed, it was aimed at me just as much as it was contained by the prince's will.

Fear knotted in my chest. Could he know something of the scrolls? Of the dragon?

What if he's the key?

He might be the missing piece—the one who could either complete my puzzle or tear everything apart.