Chapter 2
The first breath burned.
Ethan jolted upright, choking on air that tasted like butter. His lungs screamed for oxygen, his fingers tearing at silk sheets that clung to his skin. The scent of jasmine and incense filled his nose, soft and intoxicating, it was nothing like the sterile stench of blood and gunpowder he expected and was used to.
He froze.
The sheets beneath him weren't bloodstained marble. They were silk, pale cream, embroidered with gold vines. Above him hung a canopy draped in silver lace. Light spilled through transparent curtains.
Where the hell was he?
He pressed a hand to his chest… and paused.
The heartbeat beneath his palm was frantic, delicate. The skin was smooth. Too smooth.
Ethan blinked, slowly raising his trembling hand in front of his face.
The fingers were slim, uncalloused, with nails painted pearl white.
"What… the…" His voice cracked. Not deep. Not his. It was soft, melodic, almost fragile.
He stumbled off the bed, his bare feet sinking into plush carpet. Every movement felt wrong, lighter, weaker, like the balance of power inside his body had been rewired. The world around him was rich with warmth and color, yet his mind, honed from years of blood and control, reeled in cold calculation.
His last memory returned in flashes: the meeting room, Marcus's smirk, the gun, the heat in his chest… then that voice.
["Your reign ends here, Ethan Cross. But your lesson begins."]
Lesson.
His jaw clenched. Whoever had done this… whatever this was… thought they could teach him a lesson?
He scanned the room again, searching for exits, for cameras, for threats. The place looked like something out of a royal drama… carved furniture, jeweled chandeliers, walls painted with celestial murals. No electronics. No wires. No weapons.
A mirror stood across the room.
He moved toward it, each step uneven, as though his legs didn't belong to him. His body swayed with a grace that wasn't his… and it infuriated him.
He reached the mirror.
And the world stopped.
The reflection staring back was not Ethan Cross.
It was a woman, tall but delicate, her hair a tumble of silvery gold spilling past her shoulders. Her skin was pale as ivory, her eyes an ethereal violet that seemed too large for the face that held them. Her lips, parted in shock, were a shade of rose. She looked like she belonged in a painting, not in his nightmare.
Ethan's pulse thundered. "No."
He touched his face. The woman did too. The same motion.
His fingers trembled as they traced her jawline… his jawline… soft, narrow, heart-shaped.
He looked down, and the confirmation hit like a blade. The curves, the fragile wrists, the soft lines of her form wrapped in a nightgown of silver silk.
He staggered back. "What the hell is this?"
His voice… her voice… broke the silence.
He clenched his fists, but even that simple motion lacked the familiar strength. His arms trembled. He could barely make a proper fist. Rage burned through his veins, the only thing that still felt his.
He slammed a fist into the mirror. The glass didn't shatter… it rippled. Like water disturbed by a stone. His reflection warped, then corrected, showing the same terrified beauty staring back.
"No, no, no…" he hissed under his breath, pacing the room like a caged animal. "This is a hallucination. The poison. The bullet. I'm dreaming."
He pressed a hand to his temple.
A surge of agony tore through his skull. He fell to his knees, clutching his head, his scream muffled by the softness of his new voice. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt… electric, divine, merciless. It was as if his mind was being rewritten in real time.
When it finally stopped, he was drenched in sweat, trembling against the floor.
Ethan's breathing slowed. "So this is what death feels like," he muttered, voice hoarse. "And this is what comes after."
"I don't know who's playing this game," he said quietly, rising to his feet.
His reflection in the mirror glared back. For a moment, she looked every inch the queen she was never meant to be.
Then, from beyond the door, came a sudden sound, hurried footsteps. Female voices, whispering urgently.
"The Lady is awake?"
"Impossible! She was meant to be unconscious until the trial!"
Ethan turned toward the door, jaw set.
The knock came first, timidly. Then the door burst open.
A group of servants rushed in, skirts brushing the marble floor, their eyes wide and uncertain. They froze when they saw him… or rather, her… standing before the mirror, disheveled, half drenched in sweat, with that wild, feral look in her violet eyes.
"L-Lady Liora…" one of them whispered, her voice quivering. Somehow, the name they called him… her… sounded familiar to his ears
Ethan's gaze snapped toward her, sharp and cutting. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice ringing too high, too delicate to carry the authority it once did. "Where am I?"
The servants exchanged fearful glances.
Another, older maid stepped forward, hands trembling as she curtsied. "My Lady, please, calm yourself. The physician said you were not to move until the tribunal…"
"Tribunal?" Ethan's tone sliced through her words. "What tribunal?"
Silence. Only the rustle of silk and the faint, terrified breathing of women who seemed to have walked into a demon's cage.
Ethan took a step toward them, ignoring how his new body swayed slightly. "Answer me!" he snapped. "Where's Marcus? Where's my empire?"
The youngest maid flinched back, nearly tripping over her own feet. "M-My lady, please don't speak such nonsense again. You'll anger the guards."
Anger the guards?
Ethan's brows furrowed. He didn't care about guards… he wanted answers. But as his fury rose, something else stirred in his mind. A dull, pounding ache… and then images.
Flashes. Fragments. Memories not his own.
A marble courtyard filled with jeering nobles.
A young woman… the very reflection he saw in the mirror… standing in chains, her silken gown torn and muddied.
An older woman seated upon a golden throne, judging her with cruel, cold eyes.
Words echoing through the crowd: "Liora Valen, daughter of House Valen, you are hereby stripped of title and privilege for treason against the Crown."
Ethan staggered back, grabbing his head as the vision burned through his skull.
He saw the same woman… his new face… dragged through the streets as people threw stones and spat her name like venom.
He saw a ring… snapped in two and hurled into the mud.
He saw her father, silent and motionless as she begged for mercy that never came.
Then blackness.
The memory faded, leaving him panting. Sweat trailed down his neck.
He wasn't just in another world. He was inside the body of a fallen noblewoman… a disgraced heir, awaiting execution.
"Lady Liora," one maid whimpered, clutching her apron. "You shouldn't speak of the past. The Empress's spies…"
Ethan's hand shot up, and the woman froze. His instincts, that familiar, commanding aura, leaked through the fragile frame he now inhabited. Even the air seemed to tense around him.
"Do not," he said quietly, dangerously, "speak to me like I'm a child."
The maids exchanged terrified glances. The older one swallowed hard. "My lady, we only wish to help. You… you hit your head before they brought you back from the cells. You're not thinking clearly."
He turned his glare toward her. "I'm thinking clearer than all of you combined."
Then softer, but no less lethal, "Now. Tell me everything. Why am I here? Who sentenced me? And where is Marcus Cross?"
The servants blinked, confused. "Marcus… Cross?"
"Tall, dark hair, pale eyes, a snake who doesn't know his place?" Ethan's tone was acid.
They stared blankly at him. One whispered to another, "She's mad again."
"Enough," Ethan barked. "Bring me my phone. My laptop. A car… whatever the hell passes for transport here. Do it now."
The older maid's hands began to shake. "M-my lady… I don't know what those things are."
Ethan froze. "You don't…" His sentence trailed off as realization dawned like a curse.
No phones. No tech. No empire.
This wasn't just another city or another time. This was a different world.
His gaze darted to the window. Outside, the view stretched over marble courtyards, spires of gold, and floating banners bearing strange crests. Soldiers in silver armor patrolled the streets below… all women.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Of course," he muttered. "A matriarchal fantasy. Perfect."
"My lady," one maid whispered again, stepping forward timidly. "Please, you mustn't mock the Empire aloud. You'll…"
"…anger the guards. Yes, yes, I keep hearing that." Ethan's voice was dry, cutting. "Tell me something I don't know."
He moved toward them, but the moment he did, pain lanced through his skull. It came out of nowhere, a burst of blinding white agony that sent him collapsing to his knees.
The maids screamed. "The curse! It's the curse again!"
"Lady Liora!" one cried, rushing to his side, but Ethan shoved her away. His breath came in ragged gasps as fire traveled through his veins.
"What…what is this?" he managed to choke out.
["Violation detected," a voice murmured, it was the same one from before, echoing inside his head.]
Ethan froze, his body trembling. The maids were shouting, panicking, but their voices were distant now and muffled.
["You are not authorized to alter this path."]
["Resistance will result in disciplinary correction."]
And then, it hit him again, pain so pure and electric it seared his consciousness. His scream tore through the chamber.
He tried to fight it, tried to breathe, to stand, to command, but his body betrayed him. Every nerve burned.
The maids could only watch, horrified, as a faint blue light bloomed above their lady's body.
Ethan forced his eyes open. The glow sharpened, forming letters in the air. A screen, translucent, hovering, impossibly bright.
[Welcome, Host.]
[You have been chosen by the Reversal System.]
Ethan's lips parted. "System…?"
The blue light pulsed, almost alive.
[Your previous existence has been terminated. Your soul has been transferred into Host Body: Liora Valen.]
[Objective: Achieve balance through reversal.]
[Mission One: Survive your execution in seven days.]
His breath hitched. "Seven days," he whispered, staring at the glowing text.
[Warning: Failure will result in permanent erasure.]
The words burned themselves into his vision. When he blinked, they stayed like a cold reminder that whatever ruled this world wasn't giving him a choice.
He wanted to curse, to scream, to fight, but all that came out was a strangled whisper:
"Whoever you are… you've made a very big mistake."
The blue screen flickered once. Then it vanished, leaving behind only silence, the terrified maids, and Ethan's defiance.