Pain was the first data point.
Not the sharp, clean stab of a knife, but a spreading burn that started deep in the gut and radiated outward, as if someone had poured fire into my veins.
I forced my eyes open.
The ceiling above me was carved stone, patterned with unfamiliar symbols. Thick curtains hung around the bed, muting the light and trapping the smell of perfume and sweat. A place I had never seen before—and yet, as I tried to sit up, my body moved like it had done this a thousand times.
Wrong room. Wrong body.
The world tilted. I gripped the mattress until the spinning slowed. The urge to scream rose with the pain, but old instincts pushed it back down.
I remembered sirens. Red lights flashing off metal. The hiss of ruptured valves in a chemical plant, the heavy thump of emergency shutters slamming closed. In my previous life, when things went wrong, there was never time to panic. Panic was noise. Noise killed people.
So I did what I had done then.
I took a breath, closed my eyes for half a second, and started to think.
Unknown room. Severe abdominal pain. Metallic taste in the mouth. Dizziness. Sweating.
Poison. High probability.
The mattress shifted beside me.
I turned my head.
A young woman sat hunched on the edge of the bed, clutching the rumpled blanket around herself with both hands. Her maid's headscarf was half-off, dark hair escaping in messy strands. Her shoulders shook with every breath. She looked like she had been crying for a long time.
"Y–Your Highness," she whispered when she saw me looking. "You're awake."
The title slid into place too easily. Images that weren't mine flashed through my mind: polished floors, tutors in stiff robes, brothers in embroidered coats, a distant figure on a throne.
Prince. I was a prince now. Or rather, I was occupying one.
The pain flared again, sharp enough to make my vision white at the edges. I pressed a hand to my stomach and forced the word out.
"What… happened?"
The maid's hands tightened on the blanket. "Advisor Corvin said… said the healer prepared a special tonic," she stammered. "For your health. For… for blessings." Her gaze dropped to the floor. "He told me if I drank it before… before attending you, it would help me bear your child. So that I would not be sent away from the palace."
Her fear wasn't for herself alone. It was for her position, her future, whatever fragile security she had.
Tonic. Special healer's draught. Taken before meeting the prince.
Symptoms in this body lined up in neat, ugly rows.
"Arsenic," I muttered.
The word meant nothing to her. To me, it meant leached groundwater, contaminated filters, charts full of organ failure.
"B–Beg your pardon, Your Highness?" she whispered.
"Water," I said. "And a bucket. Now."
She scrambled off the bed, nearly tripping on the blanket as she ran to a corner of the room. A ceramic basin and a jug sat on a low table there. She brought them back with trembling hands, setting them within reach.
I didn't bother explaining. I grabbed the basin, pulled it close, and forced my fingers down my throat. The body fought at first, muscles clenching in refusal, then surrendered. Bitter liquid and half-digested food came up in violent waves. The pain sharpened, then ebbed in brief, gasping intervals.
When there was nothing left but a sour burn, I pushed the basin away.
"Charcoal," I said. "From the brazier. Crush it. Fine as you can. Mix with water."
She blinked at me, wide-eyed and exhausted. "Charcoal? But—"
"Do it," I snapped, more sharply than I intended. Then, softer, "Please. It might pull some of the poison out."
That, at least, she seemed to understand. She ran to the low iron brazier by the wall, grabbed a fire poker, and knocked a blackened lump of charcoal free. A few frantic minutes later she had it ground between two cups into a coarse powder, then stirred it into a bowl of water until it turned into a thick, black slurry.
It smelled like wet ash and desperation.
I took the bowl and drank. The gritty mixture scraped my tongue and teeth, clung to my throat all the way down. Activated carbon in a controlled dosage would have been better. This was the best analogue this world could offer.
"Sit," I told her when the bowl was empty. "If I fall over, try to keep my head up. If I stop breathing, shout until someone comes."
She obeyed, perching on the edge of the bed again, watching me like I might vanish at any second.
We waited.
The burning in my gut plateaued, then began a slow, uneven retreat. My hands shook, but not as violently. My thoughts stopped fragmenting and started lining up again.
Alive. For now.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Prince Valian?" Advisor Corvin's voice seeped through the wood—smooth, measured, touched with just enough concern to sound appropriate. The kind of tone you used when you were already picturing a funeral.
I slid off the bed. The maid flinched.
"You're not going to—"
"I'm going to answer the door," I said. "You stand behind me. Head down. Say nothing."
I grabbed the first piece of clothing I saw—a long shirt thrown carelessly over a chair—and pulled it on. It hung loosely, hem brushing my thighs, sleeves too wide, but it was enough to pass for decent in a hurry. My legs still felt unsteady, but they held as I crossed the room.
On the way, I caught sight of myself in a polished metal mirror nailed to the wall.
The face staring back was younger than I remembered being—late teens, maybe—but clearly worn from fever. Sweat plastered dark hair to a pale forehead. And my mouth…
The charcoal slurry had done its work. My lips and teeth were stained a deep, uneven black, turning my smile into something that belonged on a festival mask, not a human.
I looked like a corpse that had decided, halfway through the process, that it wasn't finished yet.
Good, I thought.
I slid the bolt back and yanked the door open.
Advisor Corvin stood there with two guards behind him, expression poised in a careful mix of grief and duty. That expression shattered the instant he saw me.
He froze.
His gaze swept over me in a single, shocked second—bare feet on the cold stone, oversized shirt hanging crooked over my frame, skin still damp with sweat, and above it all, the blackened grin. His practiced composure went as pale as paper.
"Good morning, Advisor," I said.
"My… Prince?" Corvin's voice cracked. "You are—" He swallowed. "You are awake."
"I am." I let the corners of my mouth curl up, slowly, deliberately, revealing more of the charcoal-stained teeth. The image was absurd, but that was the point. "The tonic was a little strong for my taste. But as you can see, I managed to keep it down."
His eyes flicked, just for a heartbeat, to the empty space beyond me where a body should have been lying still. He had expected to find a corpse. Instead, he had a half-dressed prince with a demon's smile staring back at him like nothing was wrong.
Calculations flashed behind his eyes—what had gone wrong, who would be blamed, how much danger he was in standing here.
"I… I will inform His Majesty that you are well," Corvin managed. His voice had lost its smoothness. He dipped his head, more out of habit than real respect. "The King will be relieved to hear of your recovery."
"Do that," I said. "And tell him I'll be attending the morning council."
His head jerked up, eyes widening. "The… council, Your Highness? So soon after—"
"I said I'm fine," I replied, letting a thin edge of irritation sharpen my tone. "Unless the royal physicians are in the habit of declaring men dead while they're still speaking?"
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Whatever polite objection he'd been about to make died there in the doorway.
"No, Your Highness," he said finally. "I will make the arrangements."
"Good." I held his gaze for one more long, uncomfortable second, then stepped back and let the door swing shut between us.
The bolt slid home with a dull, satisfying click.
I exhaled slowly, letting my shoulders drop. Behind me, the maid let out a breath she'd been holding since the knock.
"You should be dead," she whispered.
"I was supposed to be," I said. "That's different."
The pain in my gut was still there, but dulled. My head still ached, but my thoughts were clear enough to form a plan. Someone in this palace had decided Prince Valian was a weak link that needed to be removed.
They had miscalculated.
One attempted murder confirmed. One conspirator rattled. One message sent.
System reboot complete.
Now it was time to start rewriting the code.