It was August 6th, 176 DD.
Lucjan woke up to the faint light of dawn filling his room. His eyes were tired, but he sat up anyway.
Every day felt the same lately. He would stare out the window for hours, watching the sun move across the sky.
Sometimes, he'd spot the gardeners trimming the bushes or the knights practicing in the courtyard.
But none of it made him feel alive.
The "Therapy Checks" with Guinevere were the only things that broke the silence.
She called them that, and the words felt strangely familiar. But he never asked why.
Curiosity kills the cat, he told himself. He'd learned the hard way that searching for answers only brought more pain.
So, he spent most of his time thinking about his life. About how different things could have been.
If he hadn't been given this cursed death loop system, maybe he'd be with his sister Clementine right now.
Maybe he'd be working a normal job, laughing with friends, or just living quietly.
It would've been nice.
He rested his head against the window frame. But this is my life now.
Guinevere stepped quietly into the room, closing the door behind her. She walked over and sat beside Lucjan, her eyes searching his face.
"Lucjan," she started softly, "are you alright today? Have you been sleeping well?"
"Yes… I'm fine. I got some sleep."
"Are you sure?" she pressed, leaning a bit closer. "Do you feel any heaviness in your chest? Any strange thoughts?"
Lucjan hesitated for a moment. "No… not today. I'm just… tired, that's all. But I can handle it."
Guinevere placed her hand gently on his shoulder. "Good. That's what I need to hear. If you ever feel like you can't handle it, you need to tell me. You know that, right?"
"I know," he murmured, voice flat. "I promise."
She gave him a small, sad smile.
"Alright. That's enough for today's Therapy Check." She stood up, smoothing out her dress. "I'll let you rest—"
Suddenly, the door burst open. A maid stumbled in, eyes wide with panic. "Your Highness!" she cried out, breathing heavily. "King Isaac—he's been poisoned!"
Guinevere's expression hardened instantly. "What? Is he alive?"
"Yes, he's safe for now," the maid said quickly, voice shaking. "But the royal doctor says the poison is advanced. They think it might've come from the Kingdom of Tarnowek. The king is demanding an investigation!"
Guinevere turned to Lucjan. "Stay here. Don't go anywhere. I'll handle this."
"Wait—Guinevere," Lucjan called out as she moved toward the door, "do you think this has something to do with… everything else going on?"
She paused, glancing back at him. "I don't know yet. But I'll find out." Then she stepped into the hallway, the maid trailing after her, leaving Lucjan alone.
---
In the quiet halls of the royal castle, the air felt heavy with fear. Across the kingdom, thousands of copies of the Dravoj News were spreading like wildfire, each headline screaming the same message:
King Isaac Poisoned – Evidence Points to Tarnowek!
Crowds gathered in the streets, anger and disbelief in their voices.
"Are you kidding me?" a merchant shouted at the corner.
"The king is poisoned?" cried a woman clutching the newspaper.
Inside the royal bedchamber, four of King Isaac's children stood by his side as he lay pale and unconscious on the grand bed.
Fingereen Von Meranne, the second oldest, wore a long black military coat lined with silver embroidery.
His black hair was slicked back, and his sharp blue eyes glared at everyone like knives.
Guinevere Von Meranne, the youngest, wore a flowing white dress decorated with delicate blue patterns.
Her blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders in gentle waves, and her emerald eyes shimmered. She stood closest to the bed, one hand resting on her father's arm.
Dzidzilela Von Meranne, the second youngest, stood tall and graceful in a tight crimson gown adorned with intricate gold designs.
Her dark brown hair was pulled into an elaborate braid crowned with a silver tiara. Her face was calm but cold.
Gediminas Von Meranne, the middle child, wore a dark green robe with a golden sash, the outfit of a royal scholar.
His brown eyes hid behind a pair of thin glasses, and his curly black hair framed a thin, serious face. He fidgeted with his robe's hem, looking uneasy.
But one figure was missing entirely—their eldest brother.
Their eldest brother was ???. No one knew where he was or what had pulled him away from the kingdom during such a dangerous time.
Guinevere stepped forward alone, her face pale but steady, and began speaking quietly with the king's personal doctor, Dr. Leopold Henriks, a thin man with graying hair and a stern expression softened only by worry.
The other siblings stood at a distance, their eyes flicking anywhere but the bed.
"Dr. Henriks, how bad is it?" Guinevere asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"He'll live," Dr. Henriks answered, nodding as he checked the king's pulse. "The poison was potent, but it seems it wasn't enough to kill instantly. We've stabilized him."
"How could this happen?" Guinevere pressed.
Dr. Henriks sighed deeply, folding his hands behind his back. "It could have been slipped into his wine or food, maybe even applied to something he touched often, like a quill or goblet. It's sophisticated work—something that points to experienced hands."
Each sibling looked at the others with suspicion or fear before they quietly left the room one by one, leaving Guinevere and Dr. Henriks alone by the king's side.
Dr. Henriks looked at Guinevere, his lined face softening as he tucked his hands into his coat pockets. "Guinevere… it's been a long time, hasn't it? You were just a girl the last time I saw you—thirteen, right?"
She nodded, her eyes dropping for a moment. "Yes… I'm fifteen now. You missed my birthday."
He sighed, a sad smile crossing his face. "I know, and I'm sorry for that. I wanted to come, but your father needed me here with everything going on. You've grown so much. Are you… are you managing? All of this must be overwhelming."
"I'm… trying. It's a lot, but I can't break down now. Not when Father needs someone to hold everything together."
Dr. Henriks placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You've always been stronger than you look, Guinevere. Remember that."
She managed a small smile, then stepped back. "Thank you, Dr. Henriks. Please… take care of my father. I'll handle the rest."
With that, she turned and left the room. Dr. Henriks watched her go, a flicker of worry in his eyes before he turned back to the king's bedside.
---
Guinevere stepped into Lucjan's room, closing the door behind her.
Lucjan looked up from his chair, book in hand, eyes sharp with curiosity. "What happened? How's your father?" he asked right away.
Guinevere exhaled, sitting on the edge of his bed. "He's stable. Dr. Henriks says he'll recover. But the poison definitely came from outside Dravoj… they suspect Tarnowek."
Lucjan's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, turning the book over in his hands.
Guinevere leaned forward, catching the title. "What are you reading?"
"The Principles of Silent Resolve," he answered. "It's about how ancient warriors controlled their breathing and mind during moments of fear. It teaches how to center yourself, even when you think everything's falling apart."
Guinevere raised an eyebrow. "That… sounds like something you'd read." She smiled faintly, then sobered. "You know, the academy's reopening in less than a week. Are you ready to go back?"
Oh, that's right... She embarrassed me in front of everyone last time.
Lucjan hesitated, thumb brushing the book's worn spine. "I don't know," he admitted. "But… I guess there's no other choice. I'll have to be."
Guinevere reached over, squeezing his hand. "Then we'll face it together."
---
August 7th, 176 DD
They stepped out of the carriage into the heart of Derek City, the jewel of Dravoj.
Streets wound in a spiral pattern around the towering Ivory Clocktower, which chimed every hour with bells said to be blessed by an ancient Principled.
Stone roads were lined with bright awnings, vendors selling everything from rare spices to mechanical watches, and posters showing the royal family's recent portraits.
Derek City was the oldest city in Dravoj, its walls still bearing faded murals of past wars and peace treaties, and every street had a story older than most families.
They arrived at a cozy shop tucked between two bookbinders: Quill & Crest Stationery.
The windows were filled with displays of leather-bound journals, shimmering ink bottles, and intricate pens crafted with tiny gemstones. It was the go-to place for academy students needing quality supplies.
Inside, they browsed aisles of notebooks stamped with silver sigils and pens that could write in rain or snow.
Guinevere pointed out a notebook with a blue phoenix on the cover. "This looks like you," she teased, holding it up.
Luc chuckled softly, picking out a plain black journal. A phoenix, huh? I feel more like ash than a bird ready to rise, he thought, pushing the dark thought aside.
They walked together, voices low as they debated the best type of ink and what classes they were excited—or dreading—to return to.
Luc felt a strange warmth in the simplicity of the moment. If only life could stay like this, he thought, glancing at Guinevere's smile.
Guinevere set down a stack of notebooks on the counter and looked over at Luc with a playful sigh.
"You know, when I first enrolled, I thought we'd just need a few notebooks and ink. But do you remember the full list? It's like they expect us to build a fortress."
Luc raised an eyebrow, picking up a bundle of special rune-engraved pencils. "Yeah… I remember. Alchemy vials, measurement crystals, arcane compasses, enchanted rulers…" He shook his head. In Earth, a laptop could get you through an entire semester. Here, you basically need half a store.
Guinevere laughed, her eyes crinkling. "It's true! And don't forget the Principle Assessment Cards. Last time, I saw a boy nearly faint when he realized he left his at home."
"Assessment Cards…" Luc muttered. "I always hated those. They made me feel like a lab rat."
Guinevere's smile softened. "They're outdated. But they're part of tradition. And Dravoj loves tradition." She picked up a crystal globe small enough to fit in her palm. "Do you know what this is?"
Luc blinked. "A paperweight?"
"Nope. It's a Memory Sphere. We'll use these for Historical Strategy class. You put it near your head, and it records everything you hear. Then, you can replay it later." She set it into their growing pile.
Luc snorted. "So they're basically… magical voice recorders."
Guinevere leaned closer. "Exactly. But I'm worried about you, Luc. You've been quiet today. Are you really alright with going back?"
Luc hesitated, running his thumb along the spine of his new notebook. "I… I don't know. Part of me wants to run away. But another part thinks maybe this is how I move on."
She reached over, resting her hand on his. "Then let's face it together. And remember, I'm here."
I really don't deserve her, Luc thought, but he managed a small, grateful smile.
They paid for their supplies and stepped back into the street.
---
He checked the date on the calendar pinned above his desk. August 9th.
The day classes began again. It was almost here.
Lucjan gathered the last of his supplies: notebooks, rune pencils, Memory Sphere, and a fresh set of Principle Assessment Cards. He smiled faintly.
This is it. I have to act like the Lucjan everyone remembers—sharp, quick, and always a step ahead.
He knew he had a reputation. Lucjan Wurford, the boy with a Comprehension Principle—one of the rare Principles that could adapt and learn almost anything at an absurd speed.
Because of that, professors often expected more from him than anyone else. If I slip up, they'll know something's wrong…
He remembered the Southern Dravoj Academy clearly. Founded nearly three centuries ago by King Alderic Von Meranne, it was the pride of the Dravoj Kingdom.
Only nobles and a handful of gifted commoners could study here. The academy grounds were massive, with towering spires, lush courtyards, and the famous Obsidian Hall—a black stone building where only the top 10 students could train.
He laid out his supplies on his desk, checking each one carefully as memories surfaced. There were so many subjects.
Historical Strategy, a class that used Memory Spheres to replay past wars.
Principle Theory, where they debated the nature of Principles and their evolution.
Combat and Stance, where they trained with wooden blades under the watchful eye of Master Grigor, who Luc remembered as a stoic man who rarely praised anyone—but once told Luc he had "potential."
Alchemy Fundamentals, a class Luc both dreaded and loved; Professor Sarita, an eccentric older woman who called him her "favorite brain," taught it.
Political Discourse, a subject that always set him on edge because it forced students to argue with ruthless precision.
Some professors liked him more than others. Professor Sarita was fond of him, but Master Grigor's expectations weighed heavy.
Lady Bernice, who taught Principle Theory, respected his insights but hated his bluntness.
It's like walking into a den of lions, he thought, smoothing his uniform. But he exhaled and nodded to himself. No. This time, I'll do it right.
He looked at the clock. Only two days left. The academy would judge him soon—and he needed to be ready.
---
They sat across from each other inside the royal carriage, the emblem of House Von Meranne embroidered on their crisp uniforms.
Outside the window, Lucjan could see dozens of carriages, some carrying nobles, others filled with students from distant regions.
Flags bearing family sigils fluttered from the caravans, all moving steadily toward a single destination.
"Hard to believe, huh?" Guinevere said with a soft smile. "Just look at how many people are headed there."
Lucjan nodded, clutching his satchel. "Yeah. It's like the whole kingdom is converging on one place."
He traced a finger over the crest on his uniform—a silver falcon with wings spread wide.
That emblem marked him as part of the royal academy's elite class, the top tier of students who were expected to become future leaders of Dravoj.
Through the carriage window, the Southern Dravoj Academy came into view.
It rose over the horizon like a fortress of white stone, its tallest spire gleaming in the sun.
The main gates stretched wide, flanked by marble statues of legendary warriors and scholars.
Rows of banners lined the entrance road, each one bearing the academy's symbol: a double-headed eagle clutching a book and a sword.
So it begins again. I have to survive this year… and not let anyone see through me.
Guinevere leaned forward, eyes shining with excitement. "Lucjan, promise me one thing."
"What?"
"No matter what happens… don't lose yourself. We'll get through this together."
He forced a small smile, but his mind kept replaying everything he'd endured.
Still, he nodded. "Yeah..."