The carriage thundered along the winding road, its black wheels cutting grooves into the damp earth. Tall pines lined the path like sentinels, their ancient branches clawing at the gray sky. Inside the carriage, silence reigned, thick and suffocating.
Jiwon sat with her hands folded in her lap, her back straight despite the tension curling in her stomach. Across from her, the Duke of the order of dark, Drake Haint, sat like a statue carved from shadow—silent, still, watching.
He had not spoken since they left Lorine. Not once.
But his eyes never stopped moving.
They studied her as if she were a puzzle, a mystery to be unraveled. Every twitch of her fingers, every flicker in her eyes, was noted. Tracked. Catalogued.
Jiwon knew she was being measured. Assessed. Like prey before the strike.
But she was not prey.
Not anymore.
She met his gaze once. He didn't look away.
Instead, he said, voice smooth as cold iron, "Who taught you to resist enchantment?"
She blinked slowly, tilting her head. "I don't know what you mean. I'm just a maid. From Lorine."
Drake's lips curled, not into a smile—never that—but something darker. "A maid who watched two people die in front of her and didn't flinch. A maid immune to magic meant to crush minds. Don't insult me."
"I'm not playing games," she said, quiet but firm. "I just... don't remember."
"Don't remember?"
"When I woke up Rossy told me I tried to kill myself. That I lost everything—my name, my past. All I had left was she told me my name is jiwon and I work in lorine mansion."
For the first time, Drake shifted. The shadows in his eyes deepened.
"Convenient," he said.
"It's not convenient," she murmured. "It's terrifying."
The carriage slowed.
Ahead, two massive iron gates creaked open. Beyond them loomed the Fortress of Blackthorn, its towers stabbing into the mist like the fangs of some sleeping beast. Obsidian spires reached toward a moonless sky. The banners of the Order of the Dark hung limp and heavy, their emblem—a serpent devouring its tail—barely visible in the gloom.
Drake stepped out first, his cloak flaring behind him. "Welcome," he said, "to your new cage."
Her room was beautiful. Luxurious. And suffocating.
Silken sheets, a marble hearth, arched windows looking out over the cliffs. It was a room meant for nobility—yet she was still a prisoner.
Drake's final words echoed in her skull: your new cage.
Sleep eluded her.
Thoughts tangled in her mind like weeds. Who was she really? Why had the Duke taken an interest in her? And why did something in this fortress feel... familiar?
Hours passed. The moon rose high, spilling silver light through her window.
Jiwon left the room.
The hallways were quiet. No guards challenged her. No doors creaked. It was as if the entire fortress had fallen under an enchantment of silence.
She stepped into the garden.
It was a strange place—half overgrown, half manicured. Roses bloomed beside blackthorn bushes. Statues lined the path, many broken, their faces worn smooth by time.
She sat beneath an ancient tree and looked up.
The stars blinked down like scattered memories.
And then, she cried.
She didn't know what to do. Grief with no name. Pain with no shape.
A voice broke the silence.
"What are you doing out here?"
She looked up sharply. Drake stood a few feet away, arms folded. His voice was softer now—less steel, more shadow.
"I couldn't sleep," she said, wiping her tears quickly.
He stepped closer. "Why are you crying?"
She hesitated. "I don't know."
His eyes searched hers. "Has someone hurt you?"
"No."
But her voice trembled.
Drake knelt, surprising her. "You're not the woman from Lorine. The woman I met there wouldn't cry. Not for anything."
"I'm not what you think," she whispered. "I don't think I've ever been."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
Jiwon turned her face to the stars. "Have you ever heard of Izar Ishtar? The Star of the Northern Empire?"
Drake's expression darkened. "Yes. She was the woman I respected the most but unfortunately she was Betrayed by her co-commander. Her head was delivered to the Southern King."
"Please... stop." Her voice cracked.
She stood too quickly. Her legs buckled.
Drake caught her before she hit the ground.
She weighed nothing in his arms.
He looked down at her, confused. Curious. Concerned.
Who was she?
He carried her back to her room and laid her gently on the bed. She didn't stir.
For a long moment, he watched her.
Then he left, silent as a ghost.
Dawn came with pale gold light.
Jiwon woke slowly, the memory of last night heavy on her chest.
A knock at the door. A voice: "The Duke invites you to breakfast."
She rose, dressed in silence, and followed the guard through the winding halls.
The dining room was vast and echoing. Light poured through tall windows. The long table was half-filled with steaming dishes: eggs, roast meat, dark bread, and sweet fruit.
Drake sat at the head, waiting.
She approached, cautious.
His gaze met hers. Not cold. Not warm.
Measured.
"How are you?" he asked.
It caught her off guard.
"Are you feeling well?"
She sat slowly. "I think so."
"Good." He gestured to the food. "Eat."
She did. Not like a noble. Not like a maid.
Like a soldier.
Fork precise. Posture straight. Every motion efficient.
Drake watched.
She was not who she claimed to be. That much was clear.
After a long pause, he said, "Are you ready for the interrogation?"
Jiwon looked up.
"Yes," she said.
The chamber was colder than the rest of the fortress, lit only by a ring of pale crystals embedded in the stone. A single chair sat in the center. Jiwon took it without hesitation.
Drake paced slowly around her.
"What's your real name?"
"I told you already it's Jiwon."
"What do you remember?"
"Flashes. Fire. Steel. A mountain citadel. A child's voice. And... betrayal."
He paused. "Who betrayed you?"
"I don't know."
He narrowed his eyes. "What about your training? You handle yourself like a battle-hardened warrior. That's not something one forgets."
"I told you already I am a maid and I don't know how but it's like I am doing it from my childhood."
Hours passed. He asked about pressure points. Sword forms. Magical resistance. Army formations. She answered each question—not with feigned ignorance, but with unsettling precision.
"Where did you learn that aether warding technique?"
"what technique I don't know what you are talking about."
It was like interrogating a dream—one vivid but slippery. The harder he pressed, the more he saw flashes of something terrible, something powerful... but no name.
He brought in records. Portraits of dead commanders. Lists of exiled spies. None stirred recognition.
At last, he brought a sketch. The only known image of Izar Ishtar.
He watched her closely.
Jiwon studied the image. A long silence stretched.
Then: "She looks brave."
"Do you recognize her?"
"Yes.I read about her yesterday night in a book from your library and I saw her picture too."
Drake leaned back. He was used to uncovering lies, used to digging out secrets with a scalpel's precision.
But this woman—her posture was like a soldier.
And the name Izar Ishtar remained secret in shadow as she wanted.
He left the chamber with more questions than answers.
And Jiwon sat alone, staring at the sketch.
"I don't know whose body this is or how I was reincarnated, but this time I will change my fate—and I will do anything to take revenge for my betrayal."
To Be Continued...