The academy's gazebo sat on a rise overlooking the west gardens, its marble pillars wrapped in flowering vines that swayed in the evening breeze. Serenya sat at the center table, a porcelain teacup in hand, steam curling lazily upward. The soft clink of silver cutlery and the faint hum of cicadas filled the silence.
Her maid poured a fresh cup, movements neat and precise, though her hands trembled slightly when Serenya's gaze lingered on her too long. She was young, perhaps only a year or two older than Serenya herself, dressed in the crisp black-and-white uniform of Arclight retainers.
"You," Serenya said finally, breaking the silence. "I don't recall your name."
The maid straightened, bowing quickly. "Elira, my lady. I… I've been assigned as your personal attendant."
"Elira." Serenya let the name roll off her tongue, tasting its unfamiliarity. "And how long have you worked for the Arclight family?"
"A month, my lady. I only arrived at the manor shortly before the academy term began."
Serenya arched a brow. "A month?" She set her teacup down, her tone deceptively mild. "Then you've barely had time to learn the halls of the manor, let alone the habits of its wayward daughter."
Color rose to Elira's cheeks, and she bowed again, so low her forehead nearly brushed the table.
"Forgive me, my lady. It was Headmaster Arclight's decision. He thought… perhaps you would benefit from someone new. Someone without… preconceptions."
"That hardly excuses your inexperience," Serenya replied flatly.
As Elira flinched, Serenya studied her in silence. The timing was too neat—her grandfather appointing a maid with no history—there could be one reason for that.
A mole, she thought, fingers tightening around her cup. He's trying to observe me, even here.
The maid murmured apologies again and again, her voice quivering. Serenya wasn't usually this harsh, but in this world she couldn't afford to lower her guard. Trust was a luxury, and luxuries got you killed.
"Did you collect the key to my dormitory?" Serenya asked at last.
Elira's eyes widened. "I—no, my lady. I thought we were going to fetch it together."
Serenya regarded her as though she had just told a joke without a punchline. "The registrar will be closing any minute." She let the silence stretch, her gaze sharp, until Elira squirmed. Only then did she add, cool and precise, "Well? What are you waiting for? Go. Get the key."
The maid stumbled into a clumsy bow, stammering apologies before nearly tripping over her own skirts as she rushed from the gazebo.
Serenya watched her retreat, eyes narrowing. The girl's incompetence was almost too believable.
If Grandfather thinks this little pawn will keep me on a leash… he's in for disappointment.
Now that she was alone, Serenya could finally think freely. Her thoughts circled back to yesterday, to the impossible moment she had woken up here. No matter how many times she replayed it, she still couldn't understand how it had happened.
If this were reincarnation, she reasoned, then surely she would have memories stretching back to childhood. But there was nothing. No laughter of parents, no fragments of a young Serenya learning her first spell. What she remembered began only a year ago.
Not reincarnated… transmigrated. Yes, that was the word she had been groping for.
Her soul had been transplanted into this body for reasons she couldn't yet grasp. In her old life, the last thing she remembered was lying down to sleep, then her chest seizing with the crushing weight of a heart attack. Darkness had taken her—then light, and then this.
But what unsettled her most wasn't her death. It was the silence of the one whose body she now inhabited.
Where is the real Serenya?
If her own soul had crossed worlds to land here, then what became of the girl who once carried this name? Did she vanish, erased without a trace? Or was she still here, hidden in some corner of this body, waiting?
And why… why only a year of memories?
Those questions made her anxious.