The weight of despair was nearly unbearable, but boredom forced curiosity to creep in as I took in my new surroundings. The opulence of the room suggested that I was someone of importance in this new life. The grand furniture, rich tapestries, and luxurious fabrics hinted at a status far above the common man. The thought crossed my mind: I might be part of a very important family. Perhaps even royalty.
I suspected I was living in a castle. The scale of the hallways, the grandeur of the rooms, and the presence of armed guards at certain doors all hinted at it. However, the reality of my existence in this place was far from the fairytale life one might expect of nobility.
I was attended by what I presumed were maids, but they never spoke to me. They never smiled or showed any care for my well-being beyond the bare essentials. I was cleaned and fed, nothing more. Their faces were often marked by a grim determination, and even when they thought no one was listening, I heard their whispers. Their voices were laced with fear, and it was clear they were afraid of something, or someone, beyond my comprehension. It was as if the world outside mirrored my inner thoughts.
Most of the time, I was left alone, with long periods of solitude and no supervision. My days were spent in silence, broken only by the rustle of the maids' hurried movements. I had no books, no entertainment, and no one to converse with. Not that I could talk despite my best efforts. I presumed that I would not be able to read because the few words I heard uttered close to me weren’t in any language I understood. It was a prison of luxury, isolating and suffocating.
One day, a sudden commotion broke the monotony. The maids frantically filled my room, cleaning every corner and dressing me in fine clothes. They moved with a sense of urgency and anxiety that I had never seen before. I was then led to a large, opulent chamber where a young lady, equally finely dressed, held me awkwardly. Her eyes were wide with anticipation, and she barely looked down at me, only staring at the massive double doors that served as the entrance.
Suddenly, the entire room fell silent. The maids scurried out through the back servant exits as the front doors swung open. A monstrous man entered, his presence commanding and terrifying. He wore a crown and was dressed in a loose-fitting Arabian outfit of silk, the rich fabric flowing around him with every step. His skin was dark, and his eyes held a cold, calculating glint. The air seemed to grow heavier with his arrival.
The man spoke one word, "Vahagn," his voice deep and resonant, carrying the weight of authority. At his command, a scrawny-looking man in green robes stepped forward. I would have rolled my eyes if I could. For as long as there were powerful men, there would be snake oil salesmen more than happy to dance and chant and cast “magical” hexes for a piece of the power.
The man, who I presumed to be a shaman of sorts, walked forward and muttered a few words before placing a hand on my chest.
Great, now Mr. Rasputin is touching me, I thought. But the thought was silenced instantly when green light emanated from his hand, and I felt a strange sensation. For the first time in this new life, I could see and feel magic flowing into me. It was a tingling, electrifying sensation that filled me with a mix of awe and fear.
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This was my first interaction with magic, and it left me with more questions than answers. Who was this man in the crown? What is Vahagn? Why was Mr. Rasputin using magic on me? And what was my place in this strange, luxurious prison?
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The weeks and months that followed were much the same. I remained isolated, with the maids attending to my basic needs and nothing more. The young girl who had held me during the encounter with the king never visited again. She was dressed better than the maids—was she my mother? Or family? She was not my special caretaker because she was not the one taking care of me.
Despite the isolation, I began to experiment with the strange sensation I had felt during my encounter with Mr. Rasputin. One evening, as I was left alone in my room, I focused on that tingling feeling, trying to grasp what it meant. I tried to remember the feeling of the first time I felt those words, the first day I woke up in this body.
LV: 1 Experience: 0/100
Vitality: 8
Endurance: 1
Strength: 1
Agility: 1
Senses: 5
Mind: 27
Magic: 3
Clarity: 1
Skills:
It wasn’t like seeing words flash before my eyes or receiving a notification. Instead, it was a profound understanding that emerged from the depths of my being, a grim acknowledgment that resonated with my soul. This was me in my most basic form.
The realization was bleak. The magic wasn’t a gift but a burden, a reminder of the life I had lost and the pain that still lingered. Yet, I couldn't help but be drawn to it. I concentrated on the sensation, trying to manipulate it, to understand it. After days of persistent effort, I felt something shift within me.
In that moment of clarity, I became acutely aware of the mana that flowed through and around me. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing the intricate dance of energy that permeated everything. With this newfound awareness came a cold, clinical understanding: I had gained a skill, [Mana Awareness].
The days turned into weeks, and I continued to hone my ability to sense mana. The skill brought a small measure of purpose to my otherwise monotonous existence. I began to feel the threads of magic in everything—the walls of the castle, the food I ate, even the air I breathed. It was all interconnected, a vast web of energy that I could now perceive.
One evening, there was another commotion. People filled my room once again, cleaning and dressing me in finery. I was led to the same opulent chamber, where the young lady waited. Her disgust at seeing me was palpable, but she took me and awkwardly held me. This time I noticed that none of the maids dared make a sound and none of them dared look at me. No, they were avoiding the lady holding me, not me. The front doors swung open, and the same monstrous man entered, his presence as commanding and terrifying as before.
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Lysandra stood there, holding the baby she despised. She did the part that the queen could not, so why had the king not taken her in? Why could he not see how much she loved him? It was all this child’s fault; it must be lacking in some manner.
If he would only give her another chance, she knew she could give him an heir that he and she could be proud of. But every visit from him was like a cruel twist of fate, as he only came to check on the little brat in her arms. Her single largest failure. She longed for him to notice her, to see her as more than just the caretaker of this failure.
Why couldn't he see her? Why couldn't he recognize her worth? She was more than capable of being by his side, ruling with him if only he would give her a chance. The baby was her only ticket to his heart, and she would use it, manipulate it until the king had no choice but to acknowledge her.
As she held the child, her grip tightened slightly, a sinister smile playing on her lips. She would find a way to turn this situation to her advantage. She would make the king notice her, and love her, and together they would rule. And anyone who stood in her way, be it maids, servants, or the child itself, would be dealt with accordingly.