[Alverin's Dungeon—Midnight]
Step… step…
The sound of footsteps echoed through the damp stone corridor. My head snapped up, my bloodied fingers clutching the iron bars as hope clawed its way into my chest. Shackles bit into my wrists and ankles, but for a moment, I forgot the pain. Someone was coming. Someone I'd been waiting for.
And then—she appeared.
My mother. The Duchess of Alverin House. Evelara Alverin.
Perfectly composed, her black hair tied into a severe knot, emerald eyes glinting beneath the flickering torchlight.
"Mother…" My cracked lips trembled into a smile. "Mother, I knew you would come for me."
She did not answer. She only stood there, her gaze colder than the dungeon walls, her presence heavy, unyielding.
"Mother…" My voice broke. I reached for her through the bars. "You know I would never do such a thing. I would never poison the Crown Prince. You know it, Isavelle—"
"Liora." Her voice cut like a blade, sharp and precise.
I froze.
"We raised you for eight years," she said, her tone flat, almost businesslike. "We gave you everything—food, education, a name, a home. You lived in luxury; you were treated as our daughter. Now, I expect you to return that favor."
My hands trembled on the iron bars. "W…what do you mean?"
She looked at me without a shred of warmth.
"I want you to die instead of Isavelle."
. . .
. . .
The world tilted. My heart stopped. The words echoed inside me like shattering glass.
How could she say such things so Casually?
My mother. No—my adopted mother. Evelara had picked me up from the street because I resembled her dead daughter—same black hair, same facial expression. She had called me a blessing. A miracle. A chance to heal.
And now she was asking me to die for her miracle.
"Wh…what do you mean, Mother?" My voice cracked, small and thin. "I am your daughter too… how can you—"
"But I did not give birth to you."
Her words were cold as steel. "You were brought into this house for Isavelle's sake. We clothed you, educated you, and sheltered you. That was your payment for the part you played. Now it's time for you to repay us."
I stared at her, horror widening my eyes.
"Mother… you know she poisoned the Crown Prince. I would never—"
"IT'S BECAUSE SHE WAS DESPERATE!" Evelara's composure cracked for a moment, her voice rising like a whip.
My throat tightened. "What?"
"She thought you were taking her place as the Crown Prince's bride. She made a mistake—"
"A mistake you framed me for?" My words spilled out, trembling, bitter.
A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes but vanished just as quickly. "Isavelle is weak, Liora. She has suffered enough. If she rots in here, she will die."
"And what about me?"
She flinched.
My voice rose, shackled hands clenching so hard they bled. "I am going to die! I'm to be executed tomorrow for a crime I didn't commit!"
. . .
. . .
She lowered her gaze briefly, then whispered, "I will pray for your soul. I will pray heaven for you."
My body went cold. "What?"
How could she say it so calmly? Did I really not mean anything to them?
After Isavelle returned, I had been pushed aside like a broken toy. Humiliated. Ignored. Yet I had tried—endured it all to win back their love. And now they were throwing me under the blade… as payment for a childhood I never asked for.
"What about Father? My brothers?" My voice cracked, a last shred of hope.
She closed her eyes, then opened them again, guilt flickering there like a dying candle. "They… they wish the same. Please, Liora. Return the favor for all these years we raised you. You will be remembered."
A bitter laugh slipped from my throat, but it sounded more like a sob.
So that was it. No one had ever loved me. They had loved the shadow of their real daughter inside me. I had been nothing but a doll—played with, dressed up, then thrown away.
Evelara turned to leave, her voice soft, almost gentle, but each word another knife.
"Mother loves you, my dear. You will always remain a part of our lives."
Her silhouette faded into the darkness. The dungeon door slammed shut. And I crumbled to my knees.
"But… I'm turning sixteen tomorrow."
I whispered it to no one, my gaze drifting to the tiny barred window high above. Beyond it, an owl sat perched, watching me with unblinking eyes. Its head tilted as though curious at my muttering.
"So… I'll die at sixteen? Isn't it too early to die?" My voice broke. The owl blinked once, then twice, before spreading its wings and vanishing into the night.
Tomorrow.Tomorrow was my end.
***
[The Execution Ground—Next Day]
The bells tolled across Dravathia, each heavy clang drowning out the roar of the crowd.
I stood at the center of the platform, wrists bound, steel shackles biting deep into my skin. The noose loomed above me, swaying gently in the cold wind like the hand of fate reaching down.
My sixteenth birthday—what should have been my coming-of-age—had turned into my death sentence.
I glanced up at the balcony. The Crown Prince sat with icy composure. Beside him—my family. And Isavelle.
Then someone yanked my hair back, forcing my face upward. I hissed in pain as my knees hit the rough wooden planks.
"Convicted of treason, attempted murder of the Crown Prince," the herald announced, his voice echoing across the square like a death knell. "Liora Alverin shall face execution."
"Traitor!" a voice bellowed from the crowd.
"She poisoned the Crown Prince!" another spat.
"Burn her! Hang the witch!"
The roar grew, a hundred voices blending into a monstrous chant. Rotten fruit smashed against the platform, its stench mixing with sweat, mud, and the acrid bite of iron. Children clambered onto shoulders to see me die.
I lifted my head just enough to look at them—my family, the people I had once called home. My father avoided my eyes. My brothers stood stiff, their expressions unreadable. And there—sitting confidently beside the Crown Prince—was Isavelle, her hands folded neatly, her face painted with pity.
Pity.
But then… just for a heartbeat… her lips curved.
A smirk.
My breath caught. My heart stuttered. That look—it wasn't guilt. It wasn't regret. It was a victory.
And that's when I realized I was just a pawn in her plan from the start.
I was no longer a daughter, no longer a person—just a name to spit, a thing to destroy.
My head was shoved down toward the execution block. My black hair fell like a curtain. Tears slid freely down my dimmed purple eyes.
This is insane. Why should I suffer? Why should I take the blame for something I didn't do?
No.No, I don't want to die like this.
I shut my eyes tightly.
Someone… someone, whoever there is—god, demon, angel, beast—please. I can't die like this. Give me another chance. Please. Someone...someone Help me. If there is someone near me...please help me.
And then—
"Do you want to live?"
The voice was smooth and deep, like velvet dragged across steel. My eyes flew open, but no one had spoken. The herald continued his speech. The crowd jeered. No one seemed to hear it but me.
"I shall help you… but you must return the favor. There's nothing free in this world."
Who...who are you?
Silence. Deep silence.
I couldn't tell where it was coming from. It wasn't a whisper in my ear—it was inside me, curling around my soul. Desperation left me no choice. Tears dripped from my chin onto the wooden block.
"Whoever you are… help me. I promise—I'll return the favor. Just help me."
I didn't hear that Voice again and then the voice chuckled, low and amused.
"Then… see you soon, my bride."
Silence fell. The crowd's roar dimmed in my ears. And when I looked up one last time, my gaze snagged on someone standing at the edge of the crowd—a man in a hooded robe.
Golden hair glinted beneath the cowl. Eyes like molten gold met mine—slitted like a serpent's, burning with an otherworldly light.
He smirked.
And then—The blade fell.
CRUNCH!!!
Darkness.