"By crown and soul, do you accept Lucian Aetherion as your husband?" the High Priest says.
Okay. I can fix this, Celine Yue thinks.
She stands beneath towering white arches, stained glass glowing softly with magic.
Elves and human nobles sit side by side, all eyes fixed on her—as if she's about to decide the fate of the world.
In front of her stands an exceptionally handsome, tall man—Lucian Aetherion.
Easy. If i just bite my tongue hard enough to cut it off. Then I swallow it and die. Then I wake up. This is clearly a dream. A very expensive, poorly written dream.
She bites down.
"Ouch—ahh—haa! Huff!!"
Everyone in the church gasps.
"Your Highness… are you alright?" the High Priest asks, but Lucian doesn't even flinch or lose his cold expression.
"I'm fine," Celine says quickly. "Just… nervous. Apparently my tongue is also nervous."
The High Priest nods and repeats, "Do you accept Lucian Aetherion as your husband?"
Tsk. It didn't work.
So. Tongue failed. Dream logic failed. I am, unfortunately, still alive.
Her tongue throbs, metallic and sharp. She swallows and instantly regrets it.
Fantastic. Now I'm bleeding and married soon.
She feels it—the weight of hundreds of eyes. Elf. Human. Noble. Commoner.
Right. No pressure. Just a room full of nobles watching me decide the fate of kingdoms. Totally normal morning.
She glances sideways.
Lucian Aetherion stands there—tall, unmoving, unreal. Cold. Detached. Like he's waiting for a weather report, not a wife.
If I say yes, my life in this world is ruined.
If I say no, there's a war. People die. I die first. Obviously.
The High Priest's shadow stretches toward her feet.
Waiting.
A thin circle of light forms beneath their feet, humming like a spell.
Amazing. One choice ends my life. The other just ruins it slowly.
Her fingers curl, nails digging into her palm.
If I'd known this was coming, I would've kicked that bitch Mia off that bridge with enthusiasm.
Earlier that night…
The bridge's sideway is narrow, lit by flickering yellow lamps. Protest banners lie torn on the ground, trampled and dirty. Sirens wail somewhere far away.
"Take this pendrive and show the world the truth about our Congress party," Celine Yue said, pressing it into the young woman's hand.
The woman stood still, face blank, fingers closing slowly around the drive. Her eyes stayed on Celine's face. Empty. Too calm.
"Mia," Celine said sharply. "Go. Run. I'll buy you time. They'll be here any second—"
She grabbed Mia's shoulders and shook her.
"Go!"
Thung!
Pain exploded at the back of Celine's head.
For a moment, sound disappears— her vision went white.
Her body lurched forward, crashing into Mia. The world tilted. Sounds stretched and warped.
"Mia…" Celine whispered.
Mia didn't move.
Celine's hand reached behind her head. Her fingers came back wet. Sticky. She stared at them.
Red.
Her breath hitched. She forced herself to turn around.
Standing there was Mr. Alice—leader of the Congress party—calm, composed, a metal rod hanging loosely in his hand. Behind him stood several men in black suits, their faces cold and unreadable.
Celine lunged forward and grabbed him.
He didn't even flinch.
"Ah—!" Pain tore through her skull. "Mia, go—run!"
Her voice cracked. She shoved at him weakly.
Mia remained still.
Slowly, without a word, Mia stepped forward and placed the pendrive into the hand of one of the men in black.
Celine froze. Her grip loosened.
Everything finally made sense.
Mr. Alice shoved Celine away.
She hit the ground hard, her back slamming against the road. Her head struck the asphalt again, pain bursting behind her eyes. Her vision blurred, the night smearing into shadows and light.
Cold wind brushed the back of her head.
Blood slid down, warm and sticky, soaking into her hair and against her cheek.
She tried to move. Failed.
"Mia…" Her voice trembled. "Why…?"
No answer.
Footsteps approached.
Mr. Alice crouched in front of her, calm as ever. He brushed invisible dust from his coat, slow and deliberate—like she was nothing more than filth that had touched him.
Then he pressed the edge of the metal rod against her cheek.
Not hard enough to break skin. Just enough to hurt. "You idiot," he said quietly. "Your precious friend Mia?"
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"We used you."
Celine's breath came shallow. Her ears rang.
His words reach her in pieces, like a bad radio signal—clear enough to hurt, too broken to fight.
"Your clean image," he continued. "Your speeches. Your little sense of justice. Perfect bait for those Gen Z protesters. They trusted you. Followed you."
He leaned closer.
"Now the government has collapsed."
His smile widened.
"We'll blame your death on the opposition. Public outrage will do the rest."
His eyes gleamed.
"And then—guess who becomes the next president?"
"Guess which party rules the country?"
The rod pressed harder.
Celine's chest tightened.The stars above her blurred into darkness.
No.
The Gen Z protesters fought. They bled. They stood against a corrupt government—
for this?
To be ruled by this piece of shit?
The thought screams in Celine's mind.
Her hand jerks up, weak but desperate, trying to shove the metal rod away from her cheek.
Mr. Alice doesn't pull back.
He presses harder.
The rod scrapes across her face—cheek to cheek—dragging her head against the rough road.
"Ahhh—!"
A broken sound tears out of her throat.
Her vision flashes white.
Her body jerks, trembling uncontrollably as the pain overwhelms her. Then—nothing. Her eyes roll back, darkness swallowing the world.
Voices drift in, distant and muffled.
"Sir," a man says, footsteps echoing faintly. "All data from the pendrive has been deleted."
Mr. Alice straightens and steps away from Celine's motionless body.
"Well done," he says calmly. Then, turning to Mia, he smiles. "Excellent work. When I become president, I'll make sure you get a seat in parliament."
Silence.
Tsk.
I really thought we were friends.
The thought flickers weakly in Celine's fading mind.
Rough hands grab her.
Three men lift her limp body and drag her toward the bridge railing. Instinct kicks in—her fingers clutch at fabric, gripping two suits desperately.
Her body twitches, trying to fight. Trying to live.
Then—
Pain explodes at her scalp.
Mia's hand is in her hair.
She yanks Celine upright, slams her against the railing, and leans close.
Her breath is warm. Her voice cold.
"Goodbye," she whispers. "You fool."
And then she pushes. Celine's body tips forward.
The night air rushes up to meet her as she falls from the bridge.Cold water crashes over her, pain tears her apart, and the last thing she feels is betrayal.
So this is it, she thought, the light from the surface fading into a tiny, shimmering dot. I fought for a country that didn't want me, for a friend who sold me out. What a waste of a life.
Her lungs burned. Her heart gave one last, sluggish thud against her ribs.
If there's a next time... Celine's eyes drifted shut. I'm staying far away from politics. I'm going to be lazy. I'm going to be selfish. And I am definitely never trusting a "friend" again.
As the last bubble of air escaped her lips, a strange, blue light flickered in the darkness of the deep water.
It was a voice. Not human, not animal—just a sharp, ringing tone that echoed directly inside her soul.
[ Soul Compatibility: 99.9% ]
[ Initiating Emergency Transference... ]
[ Welcome, Celine Yue. Let's see if you can handle a crown better than a protest banner. ]
The water around her vanished. The cold turned into a searing heat, and the silence was replaced by the sudden, deafening sound of a cathedral choir.
Celine's eyes snapped open.