Sterlla’s heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his voice. She stared down at him, seeing not only her friend but the commander who had pledged his loyalty to her. His words, full of purpose, were more than just a comfort—they were a promise.

A mixture of emotions swirled in her chest. Relief, gratitude, fear—all of them collided as she gazed down at him. She had never truly expected someone to stand with her in this strange, cursed journey, yet here Linone was, ready to face it with her.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Sterlla allowed herself to believe that perhaps she wouldn’t have to bear the burden of this cycle alone.

EPISODE 6
RIFTBORN

The evening sky outside Sterlla’s window had begun to dim, painting the royal palace in soft hues of lavender and rose. After the intense conversation with Linone, she felt the weight of their shared goals pressing down on her. The parchment with their hastily scribbled list of questions lay on her writing desk, its ink still drying. The questions loomed over her like a phantom—haunting, unsolved. Why was the picnic incident unchangeable? Who stood to gain from her death? Each answer was a potential key to breaking the chains of her torment, but for now, the keys remained hidden.

Linone had taken his vow seriously; he moved like a shadow, never straying far from her side. The palace guards, once stoic and poised, now buzzed with a heightened awareness. Orders had come down directly from Linone, and no one dared to question him. The castle, already vigilant due to the recent assassination attempts, had turned into an impregnable fortress. But despite the added protection, Sterlla’s mind was a battlefield where fear and hope warred relentlessly.

As twilight descended, Sterlla felt fatigue wash over her. The burden of constant vigilance and relentless pondering weighed heavily on her spirit. She decided to forgo her evening lessons in diplomacy and retire early. Her chambers were just down the marble corridor lined with ornate candelabras and murals of ancient heroes. The echoes of her footsteps, mingled with Linone’s steady ones, resonated off the polished floor.

Just as she approached her door, a sudden, inexplicable knot twisted in her stomach. It was a sensation unlike any she’d experienced before—cold and foreboding. Her breath caught in her throat, and she hesitated. Something was wrong; every nerve in her body told her so.

Linone’s keen eyes caught the flicker of unease on her face. He stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of her. His broad frame blocked her view of the door as he reached for the ornate brass handle, his right hand hovering over the sword at his hip. “Pardon me, Crown Princess. I shall enter your room first,” he said, his tone gentle yet commanding.

Sterlla nodded, unable to form words, and watched as he opened the door and disappeared inside. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting, listening for any sound that would confirm her worst fears—a clash, a shout, a scream. But the silence stretched on, punctuated only by the soft rustle of Linone moving through the room. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw him standing in the middle of her chamber, scanning every corner with the precision of a hawk.

“There is nothing of harm here, Crown Princess Sterlla. You may enter now,” he announced, his eyes meeting hers with a reassuring nod.

Her shoulders relaxed, but only slightly. She stepped across the threshold, the familiar warmth of her room wrapping around her like a thin veil of comfort. The wards she had placed—magical protections that safeguarded her room—remained intact. Yet, the unease lingered, an unwelcome guest in the pit of her stomach.

“Thank you, Linone. You may go to rest now,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the lingering tremor in her chest. Linone bowed and exited the room, his boots making deliberate, echoing steps down the corridor.

When the door clicked shut, he lingered just outside, positioning himself against the carved wood with his arms crossed. He had no intention of leaving her unguarded, not when the shadows of danger still lurked unseen.

Inside, Sterlla moved mechanically, shedding the suffocating layers of her court dress for the simplicity of a silk nightgown. The smooth fabric felt cool against her skin, offering a reprieve from the day’s heavy attire. The scent of lavender oil from her bath still clung to her, mingling with the faint aroma of jasmine that wafted through the room from the open window.

The evening breeze whispered through the chamber, stirring the gauzy curtains that framed the window. Sterlla let out a long sigh and allowed herself to sink into the plush expanse of her bed. The world felt distant now, the weight of her concerns dulled by exhaustion. Her eyes drifted shut, the promise of rest lulling her into a fragile peace.

But that peace shattered in an instant.

A sudden, loud crash resounded through the room, like glass splintering against stone. Sterlla’s eyes flew open, her heart thundering as she bolted upright.

The sudden crash sent a chill through Sterlla’s body, sharp as the edge of a blade. The sound had come from outside her chambers, possibly near the main hall. Her heart raced as she sat up, eyes wide, straining to catch any sign of further disturbance. Before she could fully compose herself, the door to her room swung open with an urgent force.

Linone burst in, eyes scanning the room, sword half-drawn. His voice, usually steady and composed, now carried a rare edge of concern. “Sterlla, are you okay?” His eyes met hers, and the sight stopped him momentarily: the Crown Princess, with her hair still damp from her bath, clad in a silk nightgown that whispered against her frame, one thin sleeve slipping from her right shoulder. The innocence of the scene juxtaposed against the tension of the moment.

Realizing the impropriety, Linone turned on his heel so fast it seemed a practiced move. “P-pardon me, princess. I was merely afraid you might have been hurt,” he stammered, his ears tinged red with embarrassment. The room fell into an awkward silence, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as Sterlla shifted. “I shall go and look for what caused the noise.”

“Wait!” The urgency in her voice halted him mid-step. She rose from the bed, the silk gown clinging as she moved, unconcerned with the slipping sleeve. Her eyes, steady and resolute, met his back.

Linone sighed, a sound laced with both resignation and relief. He turned slowly, fixing his gaze not on her attire, but on her face, reading the determination there. Without a word, he unfastened his overcoat, the rich navy fabric embroidered with gold thread catching the candlelight. Stepping closer, he draped it around her shoulders, the warmth of the coat and his nearness chasing away the chill that had taken hold.

“If you say so, Crown Princess Sterlla,” he responded, his voice low and composed, reclaiming its usual cadence. His eyes, unwavering, sought her approval before turning toward the hallway.

Clutching the overcoat close, Sterlla felt its weight as both a shield and a comfort. The embroidered edges brushed against her skin, grounding her amidst the uncertainty. She nodded to Linone, a silent agreement between them, before following him into the dimly lit corridor. The shadows of the palace seemed to deepen as they moved, torches flickering like silent witnesses as they approached the source of the disturbance, their steps quick and determined.

Linone led the way, every movement taut with vigilance. Sterlla followed close behind, her fingers tightening on the lapels of his coat as they neared the main hall.

The main hall was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight streaming through the grand windows, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor. Sterlla's heart pounded in her chest as she reached the source of the disturbance. Her gaze fell upon the scene unfolding before her—Sigel crumpled on the floor, her slender frame outlined by the scattered remains of a shattered vase. The large, ornate vessel that once adorned the staircase now lay in jagged pieces around her, its contents spilling across the floor in a pool of glistening water. The delicate blooms, once artfully arranged, lay strewn in disarray, their petals bruised and scattered.

Standing at the end of the grand staircase was Crown Prince Simore, his figure stiff, eyes dark with fury. The tension in the air was palpable, each second weighed down by unspoken words. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles white, trembling with the force of his suppressed anger. He glared down at Sigel with such intensity that it seemed the very air around him might shatter.

“Brother!” Sterlla called out, the urgency in her voice slicing through the silence as she hurried down the sweeping stairs. Her bare feet barely made a sound on the cool marble, the silken hem of Linone’s coat trailing behind her. She stood beside Simore, eyes wide with worry as she grasped his shoulders gently. “Brother! Look at me! What happened? Are you okay?”

Sigel’s eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and confusion, flickered up to meet theirs. Her lower lip quivered as she glanced back at Simore, the look in her eyes more telling than words. Tears threatened to spill over, glistening at the edges of her eyes as she tried to speak, her voice faltering beneath the weight of the moment.

A group of palace maids, summoned by the commotion, arrived swiftly. Their soft murmurs filled the hall as they bent down to assist Sigel, lifting her carefully, their practiced hands checking for any signs of injury. The damp hem of Sigel’s gown clung to her legs, soaked from the water that pooled around them, trickling down the grand staircase in thin rivulets.

Linone, who had stood back, observing the scene with an unflinching gaze, stepped forward, his boots making a solid, reassuring thud against the marble. He looked up at Simore, his eyes sharp, the question hanging between them like an unsheathed blade. “Crown Prince Simore! What happened here?” His voice was firm, devoid of any deference usually reserved for the prince.

Simore’s chest rose and fell with labored breaths, the rage in his eyes not abating. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he met Linone’s gaze, his fists still trembling with barely contained fury. But no words came from his lips, only the silent testament of his anger, directed like a weapon at the trembling figure of Sigel.