The following web novel series is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

I'm Going Through Time to Meet You

Chapter 1

It was the height of day in the palace of Antre, a kingdom so small it hardly warranted the name. The footsteps of Eleanor, the only duchess of the kingdom, tearing around her office echoed noisily. Quickly shutting the magical references lying all over the place, she ignored the warning in red: “Before casting, take the time to deliberate and heed the advice of those around you.”

The meaning behind the overt warning was clear. Ignoring the reality that she was about to take a great risk, Eleanor slammed the last book shut. The time for careful deliberation had passed; she had already prepared to cast the time-turning spell that required utmost caution. In truth, there hadn’t been time to contemplate much at all. Eleanor moved quickly.

I haven’t the time. Muttering to herself, she pulled back the large carpet on the office floor, revealing an intricate design of magical symbols. The intricate magic circle, glowing faintly in a pale green, was three years in the making using the finest magic stones available. It was flawless—nothing short of perfection. Eleanor gazed down at the symmetrical design with a satisfied smile.

Knock, knock.

Eleanor looked up, her eyes narrowed. She laughed and answered, “The door’s open. Come in, Your Majesty.”

The door swung open, and the king of Antre entered. A young king who had only recently inherited the throne, he let out a heavy sigh the moment he saw Eleanor. She raised a hand in understanding, though the king still wore a frown.

“How did you know it was me—what is this, Eleanor?”

The young king froze at the sight of the magic circle that filled the room. A look of shock crossed his face.

“You’re not seriously—are you?” the look on his face seemed to say.

Eleanor smiled mischievously. “Perfect timing. I was just about done with preparations.” She didn’t forget to add, as usual, “I’m going to drop the formalities since we’re alone.”

Eleanor dusted her hands off with a satisfied grin.

“Eleanor, did you really set up a magic circle in your office?” the young king asked, looking dumbfounded as he glanced around.

Eleanor stepped aside so he could get a better view, then perched on the edge of her high desk, answering with pride, “Of course I did. I spend half my day here. Where else would I put it? How’s everyone doing? I think I’ve taken care of most of the major issues.”

So that no one would feel her absence.

There was no regret or sorrow in Eleanor’s voice as she spoke. She acted as if her departure was the most natural thing in the world. Her nonchalance made the young king’s face twist.

She was, after all, a Master.

There were as many mages in the world as there were stars in the sky, but the title of Master still held unmatched prestige. It was equivalent to a doctorate in the academic world, or akin to the status of a grand duke among nobility. Very few mages earned the title of Master. That Eleanor had managed to keep her existence hidden from the empire all this time had been nothing short of a miracle… that was about to come to an end.

“You understand, Eleanor, that Antre is not our biggest problem right now.”

“I know. So, what’s the situation?”

“We’ve just received urgent news that an envoy from the empire is headed to Antre,” he replied, his voice grim.

Eleanor’s expression also darkened.

An envoy. She had seen this coming, but things were moving faster than expected. She cast her gaze out of the large, round window. In the distance, a train had just departed, and people scurried about the platforms like tiny dolls below. This, too, was the work of mages, a symbol of the changing times. And another reminder that time was running out for her.

“They’ll arrive before dinner at the latest, then?” Eleanor asked.

“Unless they are delayed.”

Eleanor narrowed her eyes at the young king’s irritated tone. “Surely, Your Majesty isn’t thinking of intervening, are you?”

“If I can bribe the mage controlling the station, we can delay their arrival.”

Eleanor turned away, seeing the determined look on his face. Intimidation? Her childhood friend and benevolent sovereign was clearly planning to take action against the empire’s mage.

“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head.

“Don’t? Eleanor, do you even understand what it means for the empire to send an envoy?”

Of course, she understood. Eleanor smiled bitterly.

Three great railways stretched across the vast continent of Rahk, transporting an endless stream of information and talent. Thanks to the railways, the empire could easily govern its vassal states, and the brightest minds were constantly drawn into its center. The empire had grown prosperous and powerful—and it would only continue to do so.

So why was the empire sending an envoy? There could only be one reason for the visit.

“Of course, I do,” Eleanor replied. “As we’ve suspected all along, my real father, whose name and face I’ve never known, must be a noble of the empire.”

The urgency of the dispatch suggested he might even be a high-ranking noble.

At Eleanor’s words, the young king’s lips stretched into a grim line. Eleanor continued, waving a finger in the air for emphasis, “Sending an envoy instead of the military means they want to officially claim me. Half of my blood belongs to the empire, so if they push for their right to take me—”

“Eleanor,” the young king cut her off with a low warning, signaling her to stop.

But Eleanor didn’t. She met his eyes and finished what she had to say: “Antre cannot protect me.”

“Don’t be so sure. Antre isn’t going to just hand over the Duchess of Rivellon just like—”

“Your Majesty.” Eleanor shook her head as if to remind him of the obvious: there was no way to protect her against the empire.

The young king knew that as well, but knowing this didn’t make it any less infuriating.

He gritted his teeth. “So, you’re just going to go with them willingly?”

“I never said that.”

“Then what?”

In response to his question, Eleanor gracefully hopped down from the desk where she was perched.

“I’m going to make a run for it.”

Eleanor expected the young king to get angry and accuse her of being irresponsible. But instead, his eyes widened as if to say this was a great idea.

“Right. We’ll hide you first.” He urgently grabbed her by the arm. “I’ll have them ready the horses. If we leave now, we can make it to Raween before the envoy arrives.”

“Horses? Surely, you’re not planning to smuggle me out of Antre, are you, Your Majesty?” Eleanor playfully shook her arm free from his grasp, a teasing smile on her lips. If they were caught, Antre would surely become a vassal state of the empire for good this time.

The young king’s face darkened. “There’s no other way! I made a promise to the late duke to protect you, Ellie!”

At his words, Eleanor’s hand froze. She turned slowly, closing the gap between them. The distance she had stubbornly maintained from him since childhood now shrank as she stepped closer. Her cold hands reached up to cradle his face.

She didn’t look away from the pained expression in his eyes as she whispered, “You didn’t promise to protect me—you swore you wouldn’t let the empire take a Master mage from Antre.”

It was a subtle but important distinction. The young king bit his lip, and that was all the answer she needed. Eleanor smiled wryly, as if to say there was no need for further difficult words, and turned away. The young king clenched his eyes shut as he watched her move swiftly, her skirts pulled up and tied to one side for easier movement.

She was right. There had been no clause in the promise about what to do if Antre itself was in danger. Was he still supposed to protect Eleanor, even if it meant putting Antre at risk? Would Isabella have wanted that?

The young king couldn’t be sure.

But still—

“So, what then? Am I just supposed to hand you over? Let the empire take you? Sit back and watch them use you however they want?”

“What are you talking about? I told you, I’m going to run away.”

“You said you wouldn’t leave Antre! Where exactly do you plan to—” The young king trailed off as something dawned on him.

Eleanor shrugged. “I thought I might go visit my mother for a change.”

“You can’t be serious, Eleanor. That’s a joke, right?”

“Oh, but this is no time for jokes.” Eleanor laughed softly at the young king’s horrified expression.

But the young king couldn’t bring himself to laugh with her.

“I really am going to see my mother.”

Isabella.

Isabella was none other than Eleanor’s mother, the former Duchess of Rivellon, and the first person in Antre’s history to attend the Imperial Academy, where she had graduated with honors and become a source of pride for so many.

As a teen, she had been brilliant, beautiful, and extraordinary.

“Is that even possible? No matter how remarkable a mage you are...”

Isabella was extraordinary.

The young king barely managed to swallow the words: “Isabella’s dead.”

If she hadn’t fled back to her homeland in the winter of her twentieth year, just before graduation, she might have gone down in history as a truly great woman. But she had returned—pregnant. She had claimed the father was a noble of the empire, but never revealed his name, leaving Eleanor with no knowledge of her father.

Isabella had given birth as an unmarried woman, and though she had remained a great mage and a beloved duchess in Antre, her health slowly declined until she passed away ten years ago. Antre lost its most cherished duchess in history.

Even now, the people of the kingdom harbored a deep-seated resentment toward the nobles of the empire. Up until five or six years ago, taverns across the land were nightly boisterous with curses that began with, “Those damned imperial nobles—”

“Your Majesty.”

Eleanor called out softly to her old friend.