Light from the blue moon flickered through the vast forest below, illuminating the ancient trees with an ethereal glow. Everything was tinted in shades of azure and silver, painting this eternal night with an otherworldly beauty. The sky above had never beheld a single star—only that singular blue moon that had hung there for as long as anyone could remember.
At the edge of the forest, a large hill rose from the landscape, separating a small town from the wilderness beyond. Atop that hill stood a mighty castle, its three towers reaching toward the starless sky. Green moss wrapped around the weathered stone, marking the structure's ancient lineage. Generations of rulers had lived and died within these walls, their names carved into history and then forgotten by time.
In one of those towers, a window stood open to the night air.
Elric stood before it, his hands resting on the cool stone sill. In his previous world, this might have been a sight to behold—something that would force anyone to abandon all worldly worries and simply lose themselves in its beauty. The musty smell of the forest reminded him of his mother, especially of a camping trip they had taken together when he was young.
But that was just a figure of speech. For the past two days, he couldn't even remember what he'd eaten, much less think clearly about memories from his old life.
Some days ago, everything had changed.
After awakening a strange ability that allowed him to create a clone in another world, he'd transferred his consciousness here without fully understanding what he was doing. The ability had seemed straightforward enough—create a duplicate self in a parallel reality, experience two lives simultaneously.
Who could have known it would be far more complicated than that?
Because the moment his consciousness arrived in this body, almost sixteen years' worth of memories had been violently stuffed into his mind. Memories of growing up as Prince Elric in this world, of learning swordsmanship and etiquette, of court politics and family dinners, of birthdays and funerals and everything in between.
The influx had nearly paralyzed him.
For two days, a terrible headache plagued him every time he tried to think about anything substantial. The two sets of memories—his original life and Prince Elric's—kept trying to reconcile themselves, creating a nauseating confusion that left him bedridden.
So he'd done the only thing he could: lay down and pretend to be sick. The castle's physicians had examined him, prescribed rest, and left him alone. He could feel the worst of it passing now. Just one more day, perhaps, and his mind would finally settle into its new configuration.
His eyelids began to feel heavy. With a yawn, his body started to protest the simple act of standing. Even walking around his chamber for just two hours had left him exhausted. This body—Prince Elric's body—was still recovering from the mental trauma, and physical exertion came at a cost.
He lifted his heavy limbs and turned away from the window, intending to return to bed.
Then he froze.
The moment he turned, his vision went dark. For a terrifying second, he thought he was about to faint again, like he had a dozen times over the past two days. His knees weakened, and he braced himself for the familiar sensation of consciousness slipping away.
But the expected dizziness didn't come.
Instead, a very faint scent entered his nose—something that didn't belong in his somewhat familiar room. It was subtle, almost masked by the forest smell drifting through the open window, but distinctly different. The smell of leather and steel.
He refocused his eyes, forcing them to adjust to the dim interior after staring at the bright moonlight.
To his astonishment, an unknown man was standing in his chamber.
The figure stood mere feet away, close enough that Elric wondered how he'd missed the sound of an intruder entering. The man wore black clothes that covered his entire body, including the lower half of his face. Only his eyes were visible above the dark cloth—eyes that now met Elric's in a moment of mutual surprise.
Elric hadn't been expecting anyone at this hour. Certainly not someone this close. And definitely not someone dressed like an assassin 1/1.
The turning motion seemed to have caught the intruder off guard as well. For a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other, frozen in mutual shock.
The man's eyes held something strange—hesitation? Guilt? His gaze shifted away from Elric's face as if he couldn't bear to maintain eye contact.
But Elric's attention wasn't on the man's face. His eyes were drawn inexorably downward, to the blade gripped in the assassin's hand. The knife glinted in the blue moonlight streaming through the window, its edge sharp and purposeful.
Elric didn't think someone would arrive at this hour, dressed head to toe in black with their face hidden, just to cut fruit or help with late-night chores.
It didn't take a genius to understand the man's purpose.
"HELP!" The shout tore from Elric's throat, loud and desperate.
His voice cracked on the last word, raw with genuine terror.
The assassin had been standing there stupidly, seemingly lost in some internal conflict. But Elric's shouting shattered whatever spell had held him frozen.
The sound reached its intended target. From somewhere in the castle, several hurried footsteps began approaching, along with shouts of alarm. Guards were coming.
Skia—for that was the assassin's name—snapped back to his senses. His eyes, which had lost focus while dwelling on some unknown memory, sharpened with renewed purpose.
All the hesitation he'd felt about killing a child suddenly vanished. Or rather, it was suppressed deep within him, buried so far down that it wouldn't bother him until this mission was completed. He'd done this before—locked away his humanity to do what needed to be done. It was the only way an assassin could function.
His grip tightened on the knife's handle, knuckles going white with pressure.
Using all his might, he thrust the blade toward Elric, who stood frozen before him.
Time seemed to slow.
Elric could only watch helplessly as the knife came toward him, moving with terrible inevitability. His body wouldn't respond. Whether from the lingering weakness of the past two days or simple shock, his muscles refused to obey the screaming commands from his brain to move, dodge, do anything.
The blade crossed the distance between them in less than a second.
Without any resistance, it slid between his ribs and entered his beating heart.
The pain was immediate and overwhelming—a white-hot agony that exploded from the point of impact and radiated through his entire chest. Elric gasped, but no air would come. His lungs seized, refusing to draw breath around the foreign object piercing his most vital organ.
He looked down in disbelief. The knife's handle protruded from his chest, the assassin's hand still gripping it. A spreading darkness stained his nightclothes, warm and wet.