A wave of panic washed over me, as if my entire being were poised on the edge of flight. My thoughts spiraled downward, weighed by a flood of anxieties I could barely name, and my body felt coiled like a spring ready to snap. Everything was too much there were too many revelations, too many voices clamoring for attention, and the looming shadow of my past pressed against the edges of my mind. Worst of all were the dark memories that flickered behind my eyes, reminding me of an old, unhealed wound.

Suddenly, I was no longer in that ornate palace restroom. Instead, my memory yanked me back into a different room entirely, one where I knelt on a cold floor, cradling a lifeless body. Its eyes stared emptily, and I remembered the promise I'd failed to keep. My heart lurched, and the moment felt so vivid that I could almost smell the stale air of that place, could nearly taste the bitterness of my own regret. The recollection tore at my composure, leaving me trembling.

Then Adora's voice cut through the haze like a lantern in the darkness. "Kori, Rheala," she said, her tone firm but laced with concern, "I need to speak with John alone for a moment. You two should stay here and finish preparing for tonight."

A momentary flicker of surprise crossed Kori's and Rheala's features, but they nodded in unison, responding with the quiet deference due to their lady. "Of course, my lady," they said, voices pitched in the same respectful cadence. While still radiating curiosity, neither pressed for an explanation, giving me a tiny pocket of relief.

Adora turned her eyes toward me, assessing my tense posture. Her look was gentle but resolute, like someone determined to help a frightened animal without causing it to bolt. "Come with me," she murmured, nodding toward the door that led to the adjoining room her companions had vacated not long ago.

My pulse still drummed in my ears, but something about her calm beckoning disarmed me. Nodding jerkily, I allowed her to guide me across the threshold. The transition felt abrupt: on one side lay Kori's and Rheala's menacing presence, while on the other was a quieter space that smelled faintly of lingering candlewax and spent mana.

Inside, the room was elegant, as everything in the palace seemed to be. Rich tapestries depicting pastoral scenes hung from the walls, and a handful of crystal lamps glowed softly, casting dappled light across plush carpets. Yet, despite the finery, it felt oddly temporary like a lavish guest suite intended for short stays rather than a beloved personal haven. The bed was massive, its sheets rumpled and askew, and the faint musk in the air suggested recent activities that were none of my business. Several pillows lay strewn about, as if tossed aside in a rush of passion or excitement.

Adora closed the door behind us with a quiet click, then stood there, letting the hush settle. For a moment, neither of us spoke. I could still feel a tremor in my hands, the ghost of that terrible memory clinging like cobwebs around my thoughts. Adora observed me with a concerned frown, stepping nearer with careful deliberation.

"John," she said softly, "you looked like you were about to bolt back there. Is…is everything all right?"

I swallowed, unable to form an immediate reply. How could I begin to explain the torrent of fear and shame roiling inside me? In the silence, my gaze darted around the room, noting the intricate carvings on the furniture and the gold-thread embroidery on the curtains trying to anchor myself in the physical details, anything to keep from drowning in my own mind.

She took another step forward, close enough that I could catch the subtle fragrance of her hair—some floral shampoo, perhaps—and placed a gentle hand on my arm. Her expression softened, eyes carrying a blend of empathy and earnestness. "You can talk to me," she said. "I know it's been…overwhelming. Kori and Rheala can be a lot to handle."

I forced a breath into my lungs, exhaling a shaky sigh. "It's not just them," I managed, voice strained. "There's…there's so much on my mind. And I'm not sure how to handle all of this." My words felt inadequate, but it was a start.

Adora guided me a few steps farther into the suite, away from the door. She gestured at a small chaise near one wall a piece of furniture draped with velvety throws in pale gold. "Sit with me?" she offered. "We need to talk. Or not, if you'd rather just breathe for a minute."

Her kindness tugged at some tender part of me, and I nodded again, letting her steer me toward the chaise. As I sat, I caught another whiff of that lingering musk from earlier. My cheeks burned with a strange mixture of embarrassment and envy I couldn't help imagining Kori and Rheala in this very space, losing themselves in each other's warmth. But I pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the present moment.

We settled in, and Adora angled herself slightly to face me. "You don't have to explain everything," she murmured, her voice low to preserve the fragile sense of privacy we'd claimed. "I just want to make sure you're not… being overwhelmed."

Adora hesitated, eyes flicking across my features as if she'd spotted something in my expression some hidden nuance that compelled her to speak. When she finally began, her voice was low and tremulous, yet underscored by a quiet resolve that hinted at years of pent-up yearning.

"John," she said softly, after we silently sat there for a long moment. She inhaled sharply, as though gathering her courage, then continued in a measured tone. "When I was younger, I was the black sheep of my family. It wasn't that I was unwanted, but more that my mother had me by the numbers. She was forty-third in line and was not expected to produce heirs at her age, so once I was born, she didn't live long. I didn't have sisters to play with, only a multitude of cousins who never really wanted me around. I was this odd, solitary girl, already set apart from them by rank and birthright."

Her gaze dropped for an instant, perhaps recalling the loneliness of those days. Then she swallowed, forcing a small, wry smile. "None of my cousins cared much for me, except one person: the prince. He was my first real friend, and, well, my first crush. He was also the first man I ever met who didn't treat me like an inconvenience. Instead, he would listen to me—my wild ideas, my daydreams, the silly pretend games I wanted to play. I cherished every moment I spent with him."

She paused, mouth tightening, her eyes reflecting an ache she'd clearly carried for too long. "He died, you know—alongside so many others of my generation—when the royal estate fell during the incursion. I survived because…well, I became the 'Chosen'. My entire life changed overnight. All the gentle dreams I'd once imagined for myself disintegrated in the face of duty."

For a moment, her composure wavered. She swallowed hard, then pushed on, voice quivering with emotion. "But I always wondered—what if he'd lived? What if we'd had the chance to grow up together, to see whether that childish infatuation could become something real? I spent countless nights imagining the future we'd never share. And now here you stand, John. You're not him, but you remind me so strongly of what I dreamt he might have become if he'd been spared. There's a warmth, a compassion, a steadfastness in you that I used to invent in my mind whenever I missed him."

Her cheeks flushed, and for a heartbeat, she looked self-conscious, as though doubting the wisdom of laying herself bare. Yet she took a steadying breath and pressed on. "I know it's a bit unusual for a woman like me—especially one of my station—to be a romantic at heart, but I can't change who I am. I am a romantic. I've always wanted to find the man of my dreams, to forge a bond so deep that it envelops body and soul. If the Aspects smiled on us, maybe even resonate with him, share mana in a way that's so rare and special. And then…here you are. I barely know you, and yet it feels like you've stepped right out of those long-held fantasies."

She lifted her gaze to meet mine, a tentative hope shining beneath her apprehension. "I realize this is a lot, and I'm not asking you to promise your life to me on the spot. But…I do want you, John. Your kindness, your strength, your flaws—all of it. You must think I sound reckless, like Alexandria the Great chasing after a man she'd known for only one fateful night. But now I finally understand why she risked it all. Sometimes, the heart recognizes what it wants before the mind can rationalize it away."

Her voice grew steadier, conviction threading through her words. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to be with you. To claim this chance at happiness the moment Fate has provided me. There's no pressure, I promise. It's your choice. But I have to say it out loud: I want you, John. In every sense of the word."

She let the admission hang in the air, and for a few seconds, the only sounds were our breathing and the distant hum of palace life outside. Then she added, quieter, more vulnerable, "Please…tell me you'll at least think about it."

Her gaze held mine, the depth of her emotions evident in every tremor of her voice. For all her poise and training, she was just a woman standing on the precipice of hope—hoping, perhaps, that I might take her hand and join her there.

A subtle realization flickered in my mind as I gazed at her a moment of unspoken clarity that made everything fall into place. This was why I felt so at ease with her, why I'd been so drawn to her, why I'd allowed myself to confide in her and reach out for her comfort. In one instant, I understood: she reminded me of my wife from my past life as I reminded her of her lost love.

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Not in her appearance, my wife had been a stout woman with soft freckles dotting her cheeks, a few extra pounds around her middle, and the sort of haircut that was always slightly tousled. But in spirit, in the way she spoke, in the underlying kindness and quiet strength that marked her every move, Adora was uncannily similar.

I'd tried not to dwell on memories of my wife. It hurt too much; we'd spent years by each other's side, weathering hardships as our world slowly teetered toward collapse. Together, we had navigated the everyday challenges of raising a family, juggling finances, and supporting one another through sleepless nights and days filled with mounting anxieties. Amid that tumult, our love had been the steady anchor—the safe harbor I relied on whenever my worries threatened to overwhelm me. Losing her had felt like having a piece of my soul torn away, an ache that never truly faded.

And yet, in ways both quiet and profound, Adora unconsciously filled that void. I could see my wife's warmth in her gentle smiles, sense her earnestness in the way Adora reached out without hesitation when she sensed my distress. The way Adora carried herself, a blend of gentle authority and underlying grace, echoed the same calm resolve that my wife had shown when life's challenges pressed down on us. It was nothing as simple as identical gestures or similar physical traits; rather, it was the essence of who they both were: loyal, empathetic, and fiercely determined.

The moment this realization surfaced, my heart tightened. I recalled the hushed moments from my old life: the two of us cooking in a cramped kitchen, her hands flour-dusted as she tried to teach our youngest how to knead dough. The long nights spent planning for a future we weren't sure existed, curling up together on a battered sofa. The swelling grief of that final goodbye as she held me as I died. Memories like these hovered at the edges of my consciousness, ever-present yet tender and raw. Never fading.

Now, here was Adora, unknowingly slipping into a role that had once belonged to my wife. It seemed she had slotted herself into that vast emptiness in my life without me realizing it. My chest ached at the realization that, while I would never forget or replace my wife, a piece of me had instinctively clung to Adora's familiar spirit her quiet encouragement, her unwavering concern, her capable strength. That was what made me instinctively gravitate toward her, even when part of me screamed to keep my distance.

Guilt mingled with self hatred. Did it dishonor my wife's memory to let myself be drawn to Adora's? Or was this an echo of the grace my wife had always shown me, nudging me to find solace and comfort instead of wallowing in the safety in loneliness? The questions tumbled through my mind, tangling with the longing I still felt for a life that was gone, yet I couldn't deny that Adora's presence brought a semblance of calm to my turbulent heart. Or was this Fate at work clouding my mind, making me see what she wanted me to?

My voice came out hoarse, trembling with a weight I could scarcely name. "Adora," I began, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat, "you need to understand—I'm broken. I might not look it, I might not act like it all the time, but…I'm just a shadow, moving through this world."

Adora's eyes widened slightly, concern rushing into them like a flood. She stepped closer, her posture radiating a protective urge. "Then let me help you," she murmured, earnestness thrumming beneath her words. "I'll do anything I can. Whatever you need me to be—whatever you need me to do—just say the word."

For a long moment, I stood there, wrestling with my own warring emotions. Tell her, my mind urged, but the sheer vulnerability required felt like it would flay me raw. Finally, I exhaled shakily and forced myself to continue. "Adora, listen. I'm…an emancipated man." The term hovered in the air between us like a shield I was too ashamed to lower. "And I didn't get that status as a gift from wealthy parents, or by earning it as a favor from someone powerful. I'm only free because of the Anthos Mandate—an amnesty that was granted…after a lifetime of captivity and—"

I paused, my heart thudding like a drum in my chest. The darkest truth of all the piece I couldn't force across my lips pressed at the edges of my thoughts, threatening to unravel me. Memories surged in quick, brutal flashes of my time in the Black Queens Court. Years of relentless abuse, the calculated destruction of my will through mental manipulation, forced domination of mind, and the vicious punishments that descended at any sign of resistance. Over time, my battered body learned to crave the warped relief being repeatedly raped offered, the only release I'd known in the midst of my despair. Then there was the final horror—the mercy killing I carried out, which chained me to remorse and sealed my fate. The milker came after, and all those years of suffering paled in comparison to a single day, a single hour, in that cursed machine. Even death wasn't an escape. I don't know how many times I died, and my soul was forcibly dragged back, before Maeriel had saved me.

She searched my face, my brow furrowing. "It doesn't matter," she whispered, as though sensing the gravity in my unfinished sentence. She laid a gentle hand on my arm, her touch almost reverent. "You shouldn't have had to fight for something that should have been yours by right. A person's freedom… it isn't something others can dangle like a prize."

My chest tightened, the storm of old memories clashing with the fragile reassurance in her words. "It was never a prize," I managed, my voice catching. "It was a crumpled piece of paper that said I was no longer property. That's what it meant for me, Adora. Not a ceremony, not a blessing—but a grudging acceptance that I'd been through enough, so now they'd let me walk away. I am damaged goods; someone like you can't be with someone like me."

She closed her eyes briefly, as though absorbing the shock of my confession. Then, letting out a breath, she squeezed my arm more firmly. "Then let me help you," she said again, her voice low but unwavering. "If there's anything I can do—anything at all to ease that burden—tell me. I can't erase what happened, but maybe I can help you find a way forward."

The tenderness in her offer nearly unraveled me. Part of me wanted to push her away, to hold onto the walls that had served as my protection for so long. Yet another part—one that longed for hope—urged me to trust her, if only for a moment. "I've never talked about it," I admitted, pressing a hand to my sternum where I could feel my heart's unsteady rhythm. "And I'm still not ready to share all the details. But I…I appreciate your kindness more than you know."

She nodded in silent understanding. "Take your time," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere." Her gentle conviction washed over me, offering an anchor I had never expected.

For a few precious beats, neither of us said a word. The hush felt strangely serene, like a chance to breathe in this chaotic tapestry of duties, expectations, and half-buried traumas. At length, I mustered a weary smile, though it trembled at the corners.

"Adora," I murmured, "thank you."

Her eyes shone with compassion, and when she spoke, her voice was like a soft pledge. "You've had to rely on yourself for too long, haven't you? Let me be someone you can lean on—for as long as you need."

A knot formed in my throat, and I simply nodded, letting her see the gratitude that my words couldn't convey. She responded with the faintest curl of her lips, almost a private smile meant just for me. In that instant, it felt as if a fragment of the broken piece inside me might finally catch a glimmer of light, guided by her quiet resolve to see me whole.

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Codex

Public Notice: WANTED: Information Leading to the Elimination of the "Black Queen"

The Alliance of Nations Global Security Council is issuing a call for assistance to all Kindred in the pursuit of justice against one of the world's most nefarious criminals, known only as the "Black Queen." This individual, a high elf of considerable cunning and malevolence, is the mastermind behind the largest and most ruthless slaving operation in the known world.

The Black Queen has eluded killing for millennium, building an underground empire that thrives on the misery of others. Her organization deals in the illegal trafficking of individuals, coercing them into servitude through fear, violence, and mental domination. Known for her cold-hearted strategies and amoral practices, the Black Queen's influence extends across borders, making her a top priority for law enforcement globally.

A substantial reward is offered for any information that directly leads to the killing or neutralization of the Black Queen. The exact amount will be disclosed upon the verification of the information provided, but be assured, it reflects the severity and urgency with which we seek to dismantle her operations.

We understand the risks involved in standing against such a powerful adversary. Measures are in place to ensure the safety and confidentiality of all informants. Your courage in coming forward can help end a reign of terror and save countless lives.

We urge anyone with information, no matter how small it may seem, to contribute to this cause. Together, we can bring about the downfall of this criminal empire and restore peace and justice.