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Plot Armor: 'the informal definition of plot armor is a character's unusual or unbelievable abilities to survive physical damage/injury due to their importance to the story'

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"Novarra."

She was at a table. A familiar, long banquet table full of hazy faces. The Ultra family. Venomous relatives and acquaintances, all looking to seize her position.

A memory.

Novarra had always been seated next to her father - unwillingly, of course.

She looked at the plate in front of her. Roasted chicken.

Navven's voice was firm.

"You will inherit my empire."

She snorted. "Why should I, Father?"

"Don't you want to be at the top?"

"No one can be at the top. Someone else is always above you."

"You're a fool."

A laugh. "You helped give birth to said fool."

A sigh. Silence between the duo.

The relatives whispered in the background, obviously noticing the tension between the father-daughter pair.

They would always weasel in between them.

Navven frowned. "You lack grittiness. You didn't earn your place like I did."

"And whose fault was that?"

My father for not raising me? My mother for running away?

Novarra scoffed. Her father's face contorted into an almost hurt expression. Almost was the key word. Navven was never hurt - you could only be hurt by someone if you cared about them in the first place.

"Don't lecture me. Don't you know, Father? We know nothing about each other... And we never will." A pause. "Besides, you'll get sick if you eat everything that's given."

When Novara looked up, Navven's face shifted into another, familiar one. Novicius. Her setting had morphed in the hazy way that dreams sometimes did, of smoke and shadow. The table had disappeared, and she was now seated on a chair opposite the Archduke. Her brother.

No - the original's brother.

"Nova, trust me. I'll always be there for you."

Dark eyes, darker hair. Novicius had inherited the Ultra royal family's sharp yet delicate features, reminiscient of porcelain sculptures. It was said that the Ultras were descended from the Mei clan of the Undines, and it was correct in saying that the family ancestral hall was full of portraits featuring fairy-like subjects.

Novicius outstretched a hand, an offer to his sister.

Novarra couldn't control her hand as the other Novarra accepted, blindly listening to her adorable younger brother she had doted on as a kid.

She could feel her lips moving.

This was her brother, who had always been there for her.

He would never betray her.

Right?

All Novarra had wanted was escape, not to be Queen.

"I trust you. I always will."

A sweet, high voice belonging to the other Novarra.

Novicius chuckled, picking up a cup of tea from a nearby table.

He smiled, his lips curving.

"Good."

----

Novarra opened her eyes.

She guessed it was the original Novarra's soul merging with her own or some sort of uniting. After two weeks, it felt as if Novicius really was the brother who had manipulated her for the past five years, that she was Novarra and Novarra was her. There was no magical deity that appeared and said that their souls were merging, but that was the only possible conclusion as the other Nova's memories gradually seeped into her brain.

Stolen novel; please report.

Slowly, but surely.

It was now sunny.

She could hear screams.

Ah. The protests.

She swore.

D-Day.

----

"Down with the villain!"

The townspeople rioted at the gates while Novarra calmly sipped her tea, occasionally nodding and raising her fist along with the riots like she was cheering on a football match.

"Down with the villain!" she hollered along with them, on the balcony above.

One of the townspeople snarled, "Do you have no shame? You kill us, and then you mock us?"

Oh, right.

She blinked, remembering as she narrowly dodged a rock.

I was the villain.

Oops.

"Sorry, man, I keep forgetting," she called out, earning a tossed torch. "Tell me if you guys need water, though. I'll send some guards down if you're thirsty~"

Rocks were pelted by the angry citizens.

Luckily, Novarra was armed with a steel umbrella-like contraption that served as a shield for the incoming barrage.

What was she doing?

She was, undeniably, trying to aggravate them.

The mocking was something the original Novarra allegedly had done; She couldn't deviate from the storyline just yet.

Besides, it was entertaining.

It would be four hours before Sir Antony Archibald, Evan's mentor and Kiara's original mentor, would have the brilliant idea of using fire arrows to strike the palace guards down. A brawl would break out, with Resilia's Knights having the brilliant idea of retaliation by fighting fire with fire. The rest would be chaos.

She remembered that Sir Antony had been one of her father's most trusted knights, and had disapproved of her closeness to Novicius.

Thus, he had been fired as Novarra had suspected that he was trying to create a divide between the brother-sister duo.

Aii, you dumbass you... she scolded her former self.

She planned to wait an hour after the Firefight of Resilia to burn herself to death.

"Ah, Belluse. Can you add more sugar? The tea's too bitter."

Belluse complied, while Novarra leaned close to her, to subtly whisper.

"Belluse, have you made the preparations?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. The carriage is ready."

The whisper was courtesy to the guard Novicius had placed beside her, the overprotective manipulator he was. It may seem like he was a siscon to outsiders, but manipulators often isolated their target from outside influence, a sign that Nova should've run at the second she noticed.

"If they want to riot, let them riot. If they get tired, send them water. If they need more people, go send the guards to riot with them. Easy."

Novarra said it naturally, and the citizens heard.

More rocks.

The steel umbrella was needed.

----

"Sir."

Novicius Ultra was given a daily report of his sister's activities, a short summary that he never really bothered to pay attention to.

"Her Majesty seems to be mocking the protests from a balcony."

"Her Majesty...she's not even a proper Queen, why bother to put a title on an incompetent?" Novicius lazily snorted, continuing to sip his wine. "Let her do as she pleases, as long as she doesn't interfere with my plans. Report on the protests?"

"Sir Antony Archibald seems to have joined them. Right now, it seems like they're planning something...Large barrels of what seems to be kerosene and gunpowder have just arrived."

"Fire…" Novicius hmmed, laughing. "A futile attempt. They say, if you fight fire with fire, the whole world gets burned."

A pause.

"Well, it's a good thing burning the world has always been a dream of mine."

---

Novarra could smell smoke.

Scarlet flames wreathed the gates, and she could feel blood in the air. Arrows and gunpowder, fire and blood. Reading about it was one thing, but witnessing the infamous Firefight of the Year of Solaris was another.

She, in both bodies, had never witnessed a battle.

The desperation, the raw emotion etched on the commoner's faces showed the years of injustice they had faced; while the ruthlessness of the Knights showed just how hard they would fight to keep their advantageous positions. Tortured screams of people burning alive filled the air; many tried to scale the brick wall surrounding the castle with sheer will, and failed. Charred bodies were in a heap on the bloody soil; scarlet liquid and bright flame wreathed the walls - she could smell burnt flesh from the balcony, that gave her a wide view of the Firefight.

Keep calm, Varra.

She could feel her heart beating like it was about to break out of her chest. Novarra liked gorey novels. But this was the first time she was in one. She blinked hard.

I am not here. This is all a book.

The second Novarra accepted that she would be stuck here for the rest of her life would be the second she would lose her former self.

I am not here.

Finally, her fingers could move.

Belluse slammed a steel plate over the guard's head at her signal.

"Belluse, the bodies."

Opening the casket Belluse had hidden the bodies in, Novarra uncorked the bottle of kerosene hidden in her pockets and spread it all over the study. She watched the stream of oil stain the small bed and study the former Queen had called her home.

Even the Queen's bedroom had been confiscated by her brother, as Novicius had tricked her into giving it to him in exchange for a small study.

Even in false death, you are wronged.

Novarra felt pity for her namesake.

The Queen would die in this small room.

After pouring the kerosene on both the guard's body and the two burn victims, Novarra gestured to Belluse, who struck a match.

I am not here. I am not a murderer.

Belluse dropped the match on the guard's body, who was quickly gagged in case he screamed something useless while being burned alive.

Novarra turned her back on the dying man as the flickering flames consumed the room.

"Let's go, Belluse."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

This was where the Queen, Novarra Ultra, died in history.

---

The carriage ride was cold. Novarra and Belluse wore full-face masks and cloaks along with gloves, to cover all of their distinguishing features. She had instructed Belluse to only communicate directions either through note form or hand signals.

There's no room for error.

The carriage driver didn't seem taken aback by their strange disguises, continuing his driving silently.

Novarra had mapped a safe route, the path circling from the back of the palace through the woods and stopping at the Silver River that bordered Resilia and Elevyar. She had requested an allocation of funds for the building of a vacation home, which she used on a comfortable house in a minor border village in Elevyar.

They would cross the River via bridge and carry their wealth along with them, hopefully living out the rest of their lives quietly there.

The drive would take at least three weeks.

Novarra breathed in Belluse's ear. "The rations are already packed?"

Belluse nodded, whispering back, "It should last a month. We also brought currency just in case."

She closed her eyes. "Good." She sounded groggy. "I need to sleep now. I'll be up...soon…"

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