Laplace's eyes fluttered open, his body jerking with a faint twitch as he woke from uneasy sleep. The first thing he noticed was space—far too much of it. The room around him stretched out at least ten times larger than his tent. Red and white walls gleamed under the light of tall windows, a polished wooden desk sat to one side with neatly folded clothes stacked upon it, and an enormous bookshelf rose against the wall, crammed with volumes of every color. Across from the bed, a wide cabinet stood half-open, revealing elegant clothes hanging in perfect order.
Laplace sat upright in the oversized bed, pressing his back against the wall. His throat tightened. Where am I? Is this a dream?
A sudden creak split the silence. The cabinet door swung open, and a girl tumbled out onto the floor with a sharp thud.
"Ouch!" she groaned, rubbing her elbow.
Laplace nearly leapt out of bed. "Who are you?!" His voice cracked with shock.
The girl scrambled to her feet, placing one hand on her hip and pointing the other straight at him. "What do you mean, 'who are you'? How could you forget your own sister?" Her pout was equal parts scolding and disbelief.
"I don't have a sister!" Laplace shot back, pointing right back at her. "And where even am I?"
"You're home, silly." She laughed lightly, though her eyes flickered with something more serious. "I guess the servants must've been a little rough when they carried you here."
"That doesn't make any sense!" he snapped. His mind churned, but despite his protests, something about her face tugged at him. Familiar, but from where? A shop worker's child, maybe? Someone he'd glimpsed years ago?
Before he could piece the thought together, a knock came from the massive door he hadn't noticed before. He stiffened. The door opened slowly, and a woman in a maid's uniform entered, carrying a tray. Her presence was calm, her smile soft.
"Good morning, Prince. Good morning, Princess," she said, bowing slightly. "It warms my heart to see you together again." She set the tray down: a steaming omelet, strips of bacon, and a glass of orange juice. Then she turned to Laplace, offering the plate. "If you're hungry, Your Highness, please eat."
Prince? Laplace's mind spun faster. None of this added up—but he forced a smile and accepted the food. "Thank you."
The maid bowed again and slipped quietly out, leaving the room in a silence broken only by Sapphire's impatient tapping foot.
"Forget breakfast," she said suddenly, seizing his wrist. "I'm giving you a tour of the mansion!"
"Wait—your name—what's your name?" Laplace stumbled after her as she dragged him out the door.
She tossed her hair back with mock indignation. "Forgetting your little sister's name? It's Sapphire. But you always called me Saphy. Don't tell me you've forgotten everything. You've only been gone three or four years!"
Her voice carried through the vast hallway, the red carpet stretching endlessly beneath their racing steps. Laplace's thoughts clashed with her words. Gone? Four years ago, I was living the same life I always have. Work, eat, train, sleep… repeat. Nothing about her story made sense.
The day blurred into endless corridors, grand halls, and sprawling gardens. Sapphire ran ahead, pointing and explaining with boundless energy, while Laplace trailed behind, bewildered and breathless. By the time they returned to his room, his face was flushed, his legs aching. Sapphire excused herself for manner lessons, vanishing with the same whirlwind energy she'd carried all day.
Laplace collapsed onto the soft, fur-lined bed, groaning. That girl doesn't run out of energy, does she? He guessed she was fifteen, maybe sixteen—not a child, but still younger than him.
Later, he pulled himself up to take a shower. The bathroom, unsurprisingly, was as oversized as everything else: twin sinks, a bathtub large enough to live in, and a shower bigger than his old tent. As he reached for the door to fetch clothes, a sound stopped him cold—whispers.
He froze, pressing his ear to the wood. Two men. Their voices were low, hurried.
"…quicker, before anyone notices…"
Laplace tightened his grip on the doorknob and yanked it open. The room beyond looked empty. His skin prickled. Am I imagining things?
Then—crack. Glass shattered, sharp and close.
"Hurry! We don't have time!" another man's voice hissed, harsher this time.
Laplace crept forward and peeked around the corner. His stomach dropped. Two men in black masks were inside his room, sweeping valuables into sacks with practiced hands.
"Hey—hey!" Laplace barked, his voice more instinct than thought.
The thieves spun toward him. For a moment, their dark eyes locked with his. Then, without a word, they hurled the sacks aside, vaulted through the open window, and disappeared into the night.
Laplace stood frozen, his heart pounding. The silence that followed felt heavier than before. What the hell is this place? And how dangerous is it… really?