Elizabeth's POV – Dukedom of Couronne
Waaah… Waaah…
The sound of a baby crying filled the grand birthing chamber. Maids and ladies-in-waiting rushed through the marble corridors of the royal palace in Couronne, their silk dresses whispering like frightened ghosts.
'I thought I died.'
The realization hit like ice water. The mansion. The gunshots. Gabriel bleeding out in her arms. Juan's mocking laugh. Her own brother's betrayal. The pain… then nothing.
'Gabriel… oh God, Gabriel.'
She tried to scream, but only a newborn's wail escaped her tiny lungs. Her vision was blurry, filled with towering, colorful shapes. Human figures moved around her like giants. The air smelled of incense, blood, and roses.
A warm, strong pair of arms cradled her. A beautiful woman with golden-blonde hair streaked with sweat looked down at her. Her eyes were a striking mix of blue and green, and heavy gold jewelry — symbols of royal power — adorned her neck and wrists.
"Shhh, my little princess," the woman whispered, voice melodic yet exhausted. "You are safe. You are home."
'Princess…' Elizabeth's infant mind reeled. Reborn. I've been reborn as royalty in… wherever this is.
The clank of heavy plate armor echoed down the corridor. Maids scattered as a tall, imposing knight entered.
"Leave us," he commanded. The room emptied instantly.
Elizabeth felt overwhelming fatigue pulling at her new body. 'Too much… I'll figure this out later.' She surrendered to sleep, the weight of two lives pressing down on her tiny frame.
Third Person – Dukedom of Artois
Far to the northeast, in the dense, shadowed forests of Artois, another miracle unfolded that same fateful night.
Grail Knight Stovain d'Artois strode into the royal birthing chamber of Castle Artois, his silvered armor still flecked with the mud and blood of recent skirmishes. The Queen lay propped against silk pillows, cradling a newborn prince. Her beauty was legendary, but those closest to the court whispered of a colder heart beneath the grace.
"My lady," Stovain began, voice heavy, "you must convince the Duke to return from the campaign against the greenskins. Beastmen warbands are razing villages along the Forest of Arden. The peasants grow restless. Some even doubt the Duke's protection."
The Queen's lips curved into a smile that did not reach her eyes. It was a cold, calculating expression — the smile of a woman who viewed the world as pieces on a board.
"Those grain-eating peasants are of little concern to me," she replied smoothly. "This castle and its true inhabitants are what matter. Let the Duke fight alongside King Louen Leoncoeur. Glory awaits him there."
Stovain shuddered inwardly. He had long heard the rumors that the Queen lacked true chivalric virtue, but seeing it confirmed still pained him. He bowed deeply. "As you command, my Queen."
He left the chamber with a heavy heart, the weight of duty pressing upon him like the forests of Artois themselves.
Later That Night – Outside the Castle
Stovain rode through the torchlit streets of the settlement. He dismounted at a modest tavern, the sign of the Silver Grail creaking in the night wind. Inside, the warmth and smell of ale offered little comfort.
"Stovain!" the tavern keeper, Clovich, greeted him. "You look like you've seen a wight."
"Nothing is well, old friend," the Grail Knight muttered, laying his longsword beside his stool. "Beastmen raid our borders. Vampires stir in the east. The Queen refuses to recall the Duke. I can rally perhaps twenty knights and eight hundred peasants… if they don't flee first."
Murmurs spread through the tavern. Men made the sign of the Lady and prayed fervently.
The Lady of the Lake — ethereal and ancient, said by some to be of elven blood — was the divine patron of Bretonnia. She granted her favor through the Grail to those knights pure enough to drink from it. True Grail Knights became nearly superhuman. Stovain had refused the final vow years ago, choosing instead a stricter personal code of honor that put the people before glory. Many called him a fool for it.
He drank deeply, paid for his stay, and rode home to a modest fortified cottage on the edge of the forest — humble for a Grail Knight, but enough for the family he cherished.
Gabriel's POV – Inside the Cottage
Inside, the air was thick with tension and the scent of herbs.
"Push, Erica! I can see the head!" an elderly midwife urged.
Erica, Stovain's wife, cried out in exhaustion. "I… I can't…"
"One more, daughter!" her mother encouraged.
With a final, desperate push, a new cry split the air.
Waaah! Waaah!
"It's a boy!" the midwife announced joyfully. "A strong, healthy boy!"
Erica, sweat-drenched and trembling, took the infant into her arms. Tears of joy streamed down her face. "You are so handsome… I shall name you Gabriel, after your grandfather."
The baby — tiny, but already gripping her finger with surprising strength — quieted as she held him. He drifted into sleep against her chest.
"You must rest now," her mother said gently, taking the child so Erica could recover.
As she left the room, she found Stovain standing in the doorway, armor removed, eyes wide with wonder.
"How is she?" he asked.
"Resting. She did well."
Stovain reached out. The grandmother placed the newborn in his massive, calloused hands. The Grail Knight gazed down at his son with fierce love and quiet determination.
"Gabriel…" he whispered. "My son. I vow by the Lady and my blade to protect you and your mother from whatever dangers this dark world brings. Grow strong. Grow true."
The baby stirred, blue eyes flickering open for a moment — eyes that seemed far too aware for a newborn.
Twenty Years Later
The forests of Artois had grown darker. Beastmen raids increased. Whispers of corruption spread. In Couronne, court intrigues swirled like poison in a grail cup. Two souls — once betrayed and murdered in a distant, modern world — had grown into their new lives.
Memories still fragmented. But they were beginning to return.
And with them came change.