Sylvera didn't move when the door opened slowly , she just froze there
Her body was locked up and her mind could not catch up what was going on . Her heart started pounding so hard that it was hurting , like it was slamming against bone instead of flesh. Every breath came short and wrong. She started felling dizzy,as if the room was moving fast even though nothing was actually moving.
It was him.
The same man from the picture tall, sharp-eye, and he looked like he might be around his thirties and He was built like someone who knew how to fight, and looked old enough to have lived through things he didn't talk about. he stepped inside the room and then His eyes scanned the room once, quickly and carefully, like he was checking for threats.
Not her.
He wasn't tense. He wasn't angry. He looked… certain.
His dark hair was tied back up neatly. His clothes were clean. His posture was straight. He didn't look like a man who came to kill someone. he looked like a simple neat and nice man.
That scared her even more than things that was going on with her.
Something inside her chest twisted painfully. Not fear. Something worse. Something that felt like recognition. Like her body knew him even if her mind refused to.
She stared at him because she couldn't look away.
"You…" Her voice came out thin, almost useless. She stepped back without thinking. "You're her fiancé."
He nodded once.
"Yes."
That was it. No hesitation. No denial.
Sylvera's lungs forgot how to work.
She backed up a few step. until her back hit the wall.
The cold stone pressed into her back giving her just the enough support to stand upright.
"Stay away from me," she said quickly, as she lift her hand. It shook. She hated that it shook. "Don't come any closer."
He stopped immediately.
Slowly, carefully, he lifted his hands too to make himself clear and look safe . "Why are you scared of me?" he asked. His voice was low, steady, like he was talking to someone on the edge of a breakdown.
"You are suppose to be my wife."
listening to him she felt pretty uncomfortable as her stomach turned.
"I'm not," she said, shaking her head hard.
"I'm not your wife. I don't know you. i have never met you before"
For a split second, his face cracked.
Pain. Raw and ugly. Gone almost instantly.
"I know you're not her," he said. "Not fully. But the soul doesn't lie. You carry her. I can feel it."
"No," Sylvera snapped. "No, that doesn't mean anything at all. And even if it did" Her voice broke. "You killed her." didnt you?
The room went silent.
His jaw tightened. "Did you see me kill her?"
She froze.
"No," he said, taking one slow step forward. "You didn't. You believed a story. One told by a man who took her from me."
She turned her away, her fists clenching so hard that her hands started hurting . "Lorian said—"
"Lorian," he cut in sharply. "The man who lied to you. The man who hid the truth."
She looked back at him, chest burning.
"He took her," the man said. "Promised he would protect her. And yet she still died. He didn't save her. He didn't even try to understand what she was."
"You don't know that!" Sylvera shouted. "You weren't there!"
Silence.
Then—quietly—"You're right. I wasn't."
His voice cracked. Just barely.
"And that will haunt me until I die. But I didn't abandon her. I didn't betray her. I searched for her for years. I tried to bring her home."
Home.
Sylvera swallowed hard. Everything felt unstable. Like the floor beneath her beliefs was starting to give way.
"She trusted him," she said, softer now. "She loved him."
"And he let her die."
Sylvera stumbled back another step. "It was you," she said. "You did it."
The words felt weak even as she said them.
She looked at him properly now. At the silver threading through his hair. At the exhaustion etched into his face. At his eyes—pale too familiar, like she'd seen them in dreams she couldn't remember.
He didn't answer.
He inhaled slowly ,like he was bracing himself.
When he met her gaze again, there was no anger.
Only disappointment.
"Who told you that?" he asked quietly. "Who convinced you I murdered the woman I loved?"
Sylvera tried to answer. Nothing came out. Her thoughts were spiraling. Every memory suddenly felt unreliable.
He stepped toward her.
She flinched violently.
"So he told you," the man said. "That monster."
"Lorian…" Her chest hurt when she said the name.
"Yes. Lorian," he said, bitterness slicing through his voice. "The man who tore her from me. Who poisoned her against me. Who got her killed. And you believed him."
"I don't know!" Sylvera snapped. "He saved me. He's protected me."
"Protected you?" The laugh that escaped from him was harsh and empty. "He dragged you through blood and cursed places. Locked you in ruins. Fed you lies. And you still call him your savior?"
She dropped her gaze, shame crawling up her spine.
"He told me you killed her," she whispered.
"Did he show you?" the man demanded. "Did you see it happen?"
Silence.
He moved closer, slower now.
"I loved her," he said. "She was my world. My family. I would have burned kingdoms for her."
Sylvera's throat closed.
"I tried to save her," he continued. "But Lorian got there first. Twisted everything. And when she died, he made sure no one questioned him."
Her back hit the wall. Her breath came too fast.
"I thought you would understand," he said. "But you're still blind."
"Blind to what?" she rasped.
"You don't remember."
Her collarbone burned sharply. She cried out. "Remember what?"
"You were there," he said. "When he came for her. You chose his side."
"That's not true," she said desperately. "I don't remember that."
"He made you forget."
Her mind fractured. Gaps. Missing pieces. Silence where memories should be.
"He erased parts of you," the man said, quieter now. "But it's not too late."
"Remember what?" she whispered, tears spilling. "A life that doesn't feel like mine?"
"A life stolen from you."
She pressed her hands to her head. "I don't know what's real anymore."
"Then trust what you feel," he said. "The truth is already inside you."
"How?" she snapped. "How am I supposed to search my memory?"
She grabbed the window ledge, needing something solid.
"Because you are Lyria."
The words hit her like a blow.
"No," she whispered. "I'm not."
He didn't argue. Just watched her.
"You will remember," he said. "And I will help you."
"This is insane," she muttered, backing into the bed.
A voice called from outside. "King Arther!"
He turned sharply.
"I don't have time," he said, pulling out a bracelet wrapped in violet cloth. "Take this."
She hesitated. "What is it?"
"It will stop the mark from flaring. It won't heal you—but it will ease the pain."
She took it.
"I don't want you to suffer," he said quietly.
Then he left.
Sylvera sat on the bed, staring at the bracelet.
You are Lyria.
No.
She was Sylvera.
But the name wouldn't leave her bones.
Her collarbone throbbed again. She stood suddenly and threw the bracelet onto the bed.
"No," she whispered. "I don't need your help. I don't need your lies. I just need the truth."
The bracelet stayed where it landed.
And until she knew who she truly was, no one else would decide that for her.
Not even the man who claimed to love her. who claimed to be her fiance.